by Ziv Gray
In the foreground, a fleet of Althemerian ships floated on the water. Waves splashed against the dock walls, and rope tethers squeaked and trembled under dregs of fog. What was beyond made Emmy’s chest seize.
Enormous ships floated in the distance, too large to bob and sway. Their masts rose like thin talons, pointing to the sky in supplication.
It was the Masvams.
Their fleet was perched at the edge of the harbour, a natural mouth made by spurs of sandy land. Skitter whimpered again, and Emmy wound her talons in his mane.
‘Ssh, dear one,’ she whispered. ‘Hold steady.’
He pawed at the ground, but quieted. Emmy couldn’t stop her gaze returning to the silhouettes of the ships in the distance. By the goddess, whichever one, Emmy thought. They’re three times the size of the ships at Bellim, or more. There must be hundreds of Masvams. Perhaps thousands. I don’t know. I…
Her thoughts stuttered. She pulled her gaze away and wheeled the animal around. The other soldier-slaves still gaped.
‘Alright, alright,’ the pockmarked female said, her voice slicing the silence, ‘you’ve seen ships before. You lot,’ she pointed at a small knot of Metakalans, ‘help get this shifted. As for the rest of you, I’m sure you’ll be put to good use soon enough.’ She turned to Emmy. ‘You’d best pick out where you want your tent.’
Emmy dipped her head. She surveyed the surroundings.
‘Over there,’ she said, pointing to a spot of land in the far corner of the precinct.
‘Go,’ the Althemerian said. The sight of the Masvams had clipped her tongue. ‘I’ll send the cart behind you.’
It took inventive thinking to secure the tent, for they couldn’t hammer pegs into the solid stone flags. Eventually, the canvas was erected, and Emmy was abandoned to the task of sorting its insides.
She did her best to mimic Rel’s set-up, even getting a soldier to drag a heavy water butt by the rear entrance. She wasn’t thanked for the task, but Emmy didn’t care. All that was on her mind was the black ships looming on the edge of the world, and the carnage their landing would bring.
Rel returned once the work was complete and nodded her approval, just as she had done after Emmy’s improvements at the camp.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘You’ve done well.’
‘I don’t think it will matter for long,’ Emmy said. ‘We can see the ships waiting to sail. Why aren’t they moving?’
‘There’s no wind,’ Rel replied. ‘They can’t move without the wind.’ She sat on one of the cots. Emmy joined her. ‘We have many ships here, and more coming, but with no wind, no one moves. The Masvams are out there. They call it a blockade. They are happy to wait.’
‘So, we’re safe for now?’ Emmy asked.
‘As safe as prey in a hunter’s sight,’ Rel said. ‘They have more ships than us, and they’ve landed troops to the north. The Althemerian forces are spread too thin. There aren’t enough ships to protect every port. I hear there’s a fleet from Mellul trying to sail to our aid, but they’re too far south to be of use. If the Masvams move before they arrive, we’ll be dead before they get here.’
Emmy twisted the hem of her tunic in her hands.
‘The Masvams have come faster than we thought possible.’ Rel continued. ‘I don’t know what will happen. The Masvams can see the many vessels along the shore and know that they can’t pass through. Their large ships can’t get into the shallows of harbour, so they need to wait until their landed troops march south.’ Grunting, Rel pushed her fronds from her face. ‘They wait. And we wait. And our soldiers get nervous. Some try to run. But the Masvams will wait, and wait…and wait…until our forces are ready to,’ Rel clicked her fingers, ‘snap.’
Emmy jumped at the simple gesture and gripped the sides of the cot. Her claws went white. Rel smiled, though her brow remained furrowed.
‘Imagination is a powerful weapon,’ she said. ‘There is nothing we can do but wait. We’ll use the time to fortify here. They might not know about the Mellul. They think they will win. We think we will win.’
‘And who will, Rel?’ Emmy asked. ‘Who will win?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rel’s words could scarce be heard. ‘Whoever wins, blood will be spilled until we all weep. The dead will wail, but hopefully, we will not be among them.’
Emmy folded her hands in her lap. Her shoulders shook. Her talons vibrated. Her throat closed.
‘Will you teach me?’ she asked, the words tight. ‘More skills. How to defend myself. Rel… I don’t want to die!’
As her panic rose, Rel reached out to steady Emmy’s shaking hands.
‘None of that, now,’ Rel said. ‘There is little I can do. But I if we survive, I will get you out—you and your friends. Your debt will be repaid. You’ll be free.’
Emmy said nothing in reply. The sound of commotion outside swirled around the tent in eddies. Rel was silent and still as a rock.
‘Will you come with us?’ Emmy asked at length.
‘I will,’ Rel said. ‘I am no slave. I can leave when I choose.’ She cocked her head to the side. ‘And I said I would introduce you to my friend.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Emmy said, trying to smile.
Rel didn’t match her expression. Instead, her gaze burned with a fierceness that was almost…blue. For the first time, Rel Bonebreaker was in front of her. Reflections of the past whirled behind her eyes. Death. Torture. Pain.
‘Listen hard, Emmy,’ Rel said, plucking up Emmy’s talons.
Emmy trembled at the strength in the Belfoni’s hands.
‘Fear nothing. Fear nothing, and be feared instead. That is the only way to survive.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dreams
Mantos, Mantos… Dear brother, I will find you…
‘No!’
Mantos jerked upright in the bed, his chest heaving. Sweat cooled on his brow. Realisation slowly returned. Another nightmare, he thought. The same cursed nightmare.
Twilight stretched along the horizon. It had been light when he last looked. He stared at the mound of blankets, at the soft rise and fall of Fonbir’s breathing. He sleeps in peace, he thought. I wish I could do that again.
Mantos perched on the edge of the bed, staring through the window as his breathing settled. He wasn’t sure how long he sat, lost in his thoughts, but a touch at his shoulder made him turn.
Fonbir, wrapped in blankets, white eyes hooded with fatigue, gave him a sympathetic smile.
‘What pains you, Toketa?’ he asked. ‘Did you not sleep?’
It took some time before Mantos answered.
‘When I sleep, I dream,’ he said. His words felt like an insult to the silent evening. ‘I do not want to dream, and thus, I do not want to sleep. Yet I do, and I am tortured.’
The bedding rustled as Fonbir sat up. His hands went to Mantos’s shoulders, working at the knots of tension.
‘I had a dream,’ he said. His breath was warm on the nape of Mantos’s neck. ‘I dreamt that we were together. Then, when I woke up, I found it was not a dream, but reality.’
Mantos managed a smile as Fonbir pressed gentle kisses to his shoulders.
‘Do we live in dreams?’ Mantos asked. ‘Or do we live in nightmares? Do we live somewhere in between?’
Chuckling, Fonbir wrapped his arm around Mantos’s neck and brought their cheeks together.
‘I am no philosopher,’ he said. ‘I haven’t read the books you have.’
Mantos shifted and took Fonbir’s face in his hands.
‘I have read books, but I am not godly,’ he said. ‘You might not have read books, but you are good and pure. Your hands are not tainted as mine are. I have the blood of innocents upon me. You do not.’
Placing his hands on Mantos’s, Fonbir drew his brows low.
‘Toketa, please tell me what’s wrong,’ he said. ‘You’ve never been so maudlin before. I worry.’
‘I do not feel myself, Nabi,’ Mantos replied. The pet name was awkwa
rd on his tongue. He chuckled. ‘How long as it been since I said that aloud, a not in a letter. My Nabi, sweet and pure.’
Fonbir’s frown deepened.
‘Don’t change my course with sugared words,’ he said. ‘Why do you not feel yourself? Is it the nightmares?’
Exhaling slowly, Mantos shuffled backwards, stretching out along the bed. His tail spilled out, lingering on the rushes. Flashes of memory made him flinch.
‘I don’t think they’re simple nightmares,’ he said. ‘Nightmares change. This one is always the same. Every detail is identical.’
‘You dream of Bandim,’ Fonbir said. ‘You dream of your fears surrounding him.’
‘Yes,’ Mantos replied. ‘I do. But these images are not puppet theatre of the mind. They are not my fears manifested as symbols, like some would say. They are real. And they have become so much worse since I told your mother all I know.’
Memory surged forth. The pain. The suffering.
‘I…I…’
Dizziness overcame him. His whole body jerked. As soon as it happened, Mantos knew he was in the dream again. No! he thought. I am not sleeping. I am awake. I am awake!
He couldn’t think his way out. It was like his eyes were stitched open as he watched, unblinking and unwilling. Once more, he was torn apart, ripped at the seams, destroyed by his own brother,
Mantos…Mantos…
Jerking and twisting in vain, all he could do was succumb to the wave, to be swept away in pain.
Two figures thundered towards each other on giant vaemar steeds, bigger than any Mantos had seen before. One held a staff high above their head, surrounded by swirling robes of smoke and fire. The other wore shimmering plate armour in silver, gleaming like ice, an impossible great sword in their hand. They hurtled towards each other, weapons bared as the paws of their vaemar pounded the ground, getting closer, closer, closer…
‘No!’
Mantos woke on the floor, his throat half-closed. Fonbir screamed at the guards.
‘Get Bomsoi!’ he shrieked. ‘Now!’
‘No…’ Mantos said, though the words were little more than squeaks. ‘Not… Not her…’
Fonbir returned to his side, brushing fronds from his face.
‘Ssh, ssh,’ he said. ‘You were overcome by an evil of shaking, but Bomsoi will know what to do. Stay calm, Toketa. Stay calm.’
Mantos gripped Fonbir’s claws as another wave of tremors came upon him.
Mantos, Mantos… Dear brother, I will find you…
No, Bandim. No…
Weighed by a medallion of shame, Mantos’s chin hit his chest. He stared at the wall of the chamber that had become his prison, legs pressed to the bed frame. He was alone again, save for the guards at the door. And his shame.
I am weak, he thought. I cannot control my own mind. I cannot live with my guilt. But why do I feel such remorse for speaking out? he thought. Why do I feel as though I betrayed my brother, a brother who tried to kill me? A brother who invades my every waking and sleeping moment. He gripped the bed frame until it hurt. Why do I feel so weak?
A voice in his head clarified.
Because you are a traitor.
Burying his face in his hands, Mantos pressed their heels to his eye sockets. The bed sank beneath him, swallowing him whole. He felt as gnarled as an ancient branch, as tied up in knots as the most dreadful of tangles. Mother says I’ve done the right thing, he thought. But how can she know? She’s been almost dead for two decates. How can she know?
There was a knock. Mantos jerked up, ramrod straight, and stared. The knocker entered without permission, and Mantos’s neck scales bristled at the arrogance.
When Bomsoi appeared, his stomach lurched.
‘You again,’ he breathed. ‘Why are you here?’
The tall female entered and bowed. She stayed at a respectful distance. As always, Bomsoi was dressed in sober robes of black. There was no elegant trim, no jewels, nothing to suggest she was in any way important. And yet, she is, Mantos thought. She brought me back from the dead.
‘Your Highness,’ she said, ‘I came to see if you required any further assistance.’
Her armour glittered in the candlelight. Mantos shook his head.
‘I am no-one’s “highness” anymore,’ he said. ‘My brother saw to that.’ He gave her a dark smile. ‘And had it not been for you, I would still be dead.’
‘I do what I must,’ Bomsoi said.
Grunting, Mantos stepped forward. His nose slits flared. Her presence set his anger off in fireworks.
‘And what is it that you must do?’ he asked. ‘My mother tells me you were conveniently there not long after I died. She tells me you were the one to save her, and that you were the one who orchestrated my, my body’s kidnapping. And Fonbir?’ Mantos’s ire rose with every breath. ‘He tells me he worked with you. He tells me you knew I was going to die.’ Mantos’s face was so close to hers, he could smell her breath. ‘What I would like to know is how you knew,’ he continued. ‘How did you know all this? Why were you in the right place at the right time so many times? Tell me that, Bomsoi. Tell me!’
Exploding with full-blown rage, his anger choked him, cutting off his words until he could utter nothing more than a squeak. His face burned with shame and he turned away, spinning on one heel. His tail dragged in a jagged arc behind him. Just get out, he thought. Get out and leave me be!
But Bomsoi did not leave. She stepped closer.
‘I know things,’ she said. ‘I am a stranger in this world, though I have lived in it for many cycles. I am one of you and yet I am not. And I know things.’
Mantos whipped around to face her once more.
‘Why must you talk in riddles?’ he snapped. ‘Speak plainly, or do not speak at all!’
He expected a reaction of fire to match his fury. But that was not what he received. Instead, he was favoured with a knowing look—the sort a mother might give a wayward son.
‘I do not think you would believe me if I told you,’ Bomsoi said. Her eyes gleamed with mystery. ‘Why waste the words?’
Mantos grunted again and waved a talon at her.
‘I have a right to know,’ he said. ‘You meddled with my life. You meddled with my death. And now at every turn, I see you. I deserve to know what you are, so that I can understand what you have done to me. Speak!’
There was an upturn at the corner of her mouth, and something strange that glittered behind her eyes. She gave a shallow nod.
‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I will tell you.’
Before she could speak another word, her entire body stilled. Her eyes shone blue.
Mantos’s throat tightened.
‘Bomsoi?’ he asked, stepping forward. ‘Bomsoi, what is this?’
There was no response. Mantos’s breathing quickened as he watched her, immovable as a mountain, staring blankly with ethereal eyes.
‘What in the name of the Dark is this?’ Mantos asked, backing away.
There was still no response.
He clattered to the chamber door and wrenched it open, landing his gaze on the nearest guard.
‘Get Fonbir,’ he said. Before the guard could protest, he snapped. ‘Do as I say! There are enough of your compatriots to keep an unarmed prince imprisoned. Now go!’
The deliberate emphasis on prince punctuated his point. Startled, the guard scurried down the stone hallway. Mantos sent a seething scowl at the others, before he slammed the door behind him.
It was like Bomsoi was encased in ice. Not so much as a muscle in her jaw twitched.
‘What is this sorcery?’ Mantos said, circling her on light feet. ‘Who are you, really?’
But, as with all statues, there was no response.
It wasn’t long before Fonbir burst into the chamber, his chest heaving.
‘Mantos!’ he said. ‘What is wrong? The guard—’ He cut his own words off as he saw Bomsoi motionless in the middle of the room. ‘Bomsoi, what?’
‘I hoped that you could te
ll me what is happening,’ Mantos said. ‘Your friend came to my rooms, and something has happened.’ He stared at the frozen curve of her mouth. ‘Look at her eyes! Fonbir, who is she? Who is she really?’
Fonbir licked his lips and looked away.
‘I don’t know, exactly,’ he said.
Mantos could smell the lie. He grabbed Fonbir’s arm, pulling him close. The other male’s proximity made his skin tingle, but he beat away temptation.
‘Fonbir, please,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you know.’
There was a trembling in Fonbir’s arm. He licked his lips again.
‘Bomsoi is…a mystery,’ he said. At Mantos’s derisive snort, he shook his head. ‘I know that sounds strange, but she is,’ he continued. ‘She’s been an adviser to my mother for many cycles. She has commanded battalions of the queen’s army, and it was she who trained Valaria in combat. She trains Fylica now. Before, she worked for the longest time in the encampments with her apprentice.’
‘And what of this strange magic?’ Mantos asked, gesturing at Bomsoi’s gleaming eyes. Then he swept a hand over himself. ‘And what of this? How can she command such power? How can she bring the dead back to life? Who is she?’
Fonbir opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to speak. Instead, Bomsoi answered.
‘I am the daughter of gods,’ she said. ‘I am the joiner of hands.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Joiner of Hands
Athomur was barren. Emmy walked through the open courtyard, her steps making little noise on the flags. The daggers on her belt were a comforting weight. The square was filled with tents to billet the countless soldier-slaves. Emmy ran the tips of her claws along threadbare canvases and shook her head. So much blood will be spilled… she thought. There will be so much death.
As she turned back towards the healer’s tent, she caught sight of the high city walls. There were soldiers everywhere. The evening was clammy. The wool of her tunic clung to her skin. Emmy didn’t envy the guards and their armour. At least, not yet. She thought of Charo and Zecha. Where are they now?