by Susie Mander
“Don’t,” I whisper feeling the knife cut into my flesh. “Please.”
“Drop your weapon,” she says but I shake my head. She digs the blade in deeper. Blood trickles down my neck. I do as I am told and Eunike falls into the mud.
“Let her go,” Ried says from behind the soldier. She holds the tip of her sword against the hoplite’s back.
The soldier holds her hand out to the left and looks as if she is going to do as Ried says. I run out of her grip but the soldier snatches up her blade and turns on the red priestess. “Highness, run!” Ried yells.
I hesitate.
“Now!”
I pick up Eunike in a fistful of mud and without looking back I run for the second time that night. I run because I have no choice. I run because I want to be far from Tibuta.
The Seawall swims in my vision. I am dismayed to see thousands of people trying to leave. However, as I am engulfed by a mass of people with their possessions in sacks slung over their shoulders or resting on their heads, I realise they are a blessing; I am invisible amongst them. They absorb me, swaying gently from side to side and shuffling towards the cages every few minutes. The top of the Seawall is hidden in dark cloud.
“What happened to you?” says a woman with a missing tooth and a ring in her nose. Her clothes are a mismatch of coloured rags: red for her skirt and brown and yellow on top. Her hair is wound up in a floral blue scarf. “Your hand. What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say, then look away.
“Was you in that battle at the temple?” she says but I ignore her. We take a few steps towards the Seawall. Her bare, filthy feet scuff the ground as if she is too tired or lazy to lift them.
I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. “I am sorry. Yes, I was caught in the battle. A soldier slashed my hand,” I say, opening my eyes.
“Where will you go?”
“Away. Anywhere but here. Caspius, probably. I have a friend there. I want a simpler life, you know? Maybe a garden.”
“No such thing,” she says, laughing. “Myself, I plan to go to the Spice Isles. Got family there. No point staying here and watching the place tear itself apart.”
I hold my left hand in my right. The wound is worse than I first thought and blood pools in my palm. The cut on my throat is much shallower but it hurts even worse.
“Let me see that,” the woman says and unravels a layer of cloth from her headscarf. She tears it with her teeth, wraps it around my hand and ties it in a knot. All the while I watch her face. When she smiles it reaches her beautiful grey eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Us Tibutans gotta watch out for each other. No one else will,” she says, chuckling.
We move again, one excruciatingly small inch forwards. At last I can see the big topless slaves who work the pulleys. Their bulging muscles glisten in the torchlight. I am jostled forwards and eventually it is my turn. “Good luck,” the woman calls as she waves.
A cage appears from the dark and bumps to the ground. I am caught in a surge that drags me in. There are people on every side. I can feel them against my back, my shoulders, and my front. I want to crouch beneath them, to crawl under them. I want to hide. Jerky spurts lift us off the ground and I whisper my goodbyes: to Drayk, to Adamon and Nike, to Alexis and to Ried. I pray they are all still alive. Most of all I pray for my father.
At the top of the Seawall I can see the fires in Bidwell Heights reflecting off the clouds that hang low over the city. My people are burning and I can’t find it in myself to care. I step across the gap from the wall to the cage. A gust of wind makes the cage sway and for a moment I am suspended with only air between my legs. I could simply step off, I realise. To all who saw it would be an accident. I picture myself falling through the air then splatting on the ground below like watermelon.
But now is not my time, I realise; I still have too much to do. You see, men on the mainland have their stories. Typhon has his storm, Ballus has his water, Rai is the king of the gods. And in Tibuta we have stories of Shea and Ayfra. Now it is my turn to write my story.
I step to safety and allow myself to be jostled to the back of the cage. We descend. At the base of the Seawall the ocean crashes against the rocks like an armada smashing to pieces, white sails billowing. People fling themselves into the churning sea like rats. I stagger to the edge. Lightning explodes overhead. I have abandoned my post. I have turned my back on my people.
In that instant I envisage Adelpha on the throne. The thought does not upset me. In fact, I find it reassuring. Tibuta will get the leader she deserves.
I glance up and see Callirhoe circling overhead and I know she rides ahead of more devastation. The Tempest is coming. I can feel it in the crackling air, in the water that lashes against my face. The waves are bigger than usual, unruly. And there is something about the water’s oily surface that makes it seem unnatural, alive.
I don’t care.
I dive into the water beside the other freemen. The second set of eyelids closes over my eyes and I swim down into the abyss to new beginnings.
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About the author
Susie Mander lives in Sydney, Australia. Her first encounter with fantasy was hunting for fairies with her grandmother in the garden when she was five. She studied fantasy at the University of Sydney as part of her Bachelor of Arts. She also has a Bachelor of Teaching/Master of Teaching though due to the education system’s preoccupation with realism she has only had the opportunity to teach fantasy once.
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Sneak Peek: Book Two of the Harpy’s Curse
I’m going to die.
My lungs scream out in pain. My calm ebbs like the tide. My brain protests. I’m claustrophobic; the vast ocean is a heavy blanket that’s smothering me. I’m a Tibutan. I’m used to being under water, but this is too much. If I don’t surface soon, I’ll surely perish.
The monstrous panic refuses to let go. It has a vice-like grip around my chest. Thrashing, I break through and take my first gulp of air.
Thank the Moon, the Elysians and the tides!
The swell is high. A wave rumbles above me and drags me back. Just as I get my balance another takes me by surprise and thrusts me forwards. I tumble head over heels.
Yes. I am going to die, I think.
Another wave looms above me and I am dragged back under. I muster all my strength to push to the surface again, kicking frantically. My sword drags me down. I hear a man’s voice calling over the waves. I am under again. I wait for the lull between waves then push up. A surge carries me in and just when it threatens to drag me under, something snags my collar. There is the sound of ripping fabric as I am lifted from the water.
The man looking down at me has the darkest eyes. His if the confidence of one who knows his place in the world and does not question it. This Caspian is like no man I have ever seen and he is frowning at me.