by Ian Irvine
And Jassika was always rubbing her scarred knuckles and saying, ‘I dare you.’
‘I dare you to steal a bottle of wine from Flydd.’ ‘I dare you to go exploring in the wickedest part of Thurkad,’ and now, after throwing a rope across to the roof of the crumbling building next door and tying both ends down, ‘I dare you to walk the tightrope.’
The rope swayed in the breeze and Sulien felt a spasm of terror. ‘No way. I’d fall.’ The drop was at least thirty feet. Enough to break bones, if not kill her outright.
‘If you do it,’ Jassika said slyly, ‘I’ll ask Klarm to find Llian.’
Sulien was so outraged she could not speak. Did Jassika want her to fall and be badly hurt, or was she just trying to attract attention? ‘I – I can’t.’
‘Don’t you care if your father lives or dies?’
The only thing stopping Sulien from slapping Jassika was the certainty that the tall girl would thrash her. She had the air of someone who had been in a lot of fights. ‘I don’t have to answer to you.’
‘Scaredy-cat! I’ll show you how easy it is.’
Jassika took off her boots and socks, picked up a long pole, stepped up onto the wall surrounding the roof then, holding the pole horizontally in both hands, put a foot on the rope. She wobbled, steadied herself, stepped on with her other foot and went forwards confidently.
She wobbled again, the pole dipped to the left and she tilted that way, letting out a small, stifled cry. Jassika forced the pole down to the right, regained her balance and took another step, and another and another.
She laughed and looked back at Sulien. ‘It’s easy, see!’
Maybe it was, for her. Her father had been an acrobat once and, for all Sulien knew, Jassika had been practicing ropewalking for months.
It wasn’t so easy out in the middle, though, where the wind, funnelled between the two buildings, was stronger. Sulien could see the strain in Jassika now. Every muscle was tense, and she was constantly using the pole to get her balance back.
She swayed wildly, let out a squawk of terror, almost fell, regained her balance and then – to Sulien’s astonishment – Jassika ran up the curve of the rope and over the side of the building next door, onto its roof.
She sprang into the air, raising the pole above her head in exultation. ‘See how easy it is.’ Then she doubled over and threw up on her feet.
‘You don’t care whether you live or die,’ Sulien muttered after Jassika came back, via the stairs. There was vomit between her toes and she did not wipe it off; she did not seem to care about such things.
‘That was the best! You’ve got to try it.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Sulien.
‘You’re so unfriendly. Why are you always pushing me away?’
‘You’re always trying to make me do things I don’t want to do.’
‘Just have a go! It’s so exciting.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t be such a sooky little baby.’
Sulien walked away towards the stairs.
‘You think you’re better than me. You don’t like me because my father’s a dwarf.’
‘You’re right!’ snapped Sulien. ‘I don’t like you. But it’s got nothing to do with Klarm. I like him.’
‘Well, your mother doesn’t like you,’ Jassika spat. ‘She’s sending you away so she can go adventuring with ugly old Flydd.’
‘You’re a stinking liar!’ Sulien screamed. ‘I hate you.’
She bolted down to the room she shared with Karan and hid under the bed in the dust and cobwebs. Jassika called, over and again, but Sulien did not come out. Some friend!
She was too loud, too wild and rude, and too much a troublemaker. Sulien could never trust her. But after being stalked by Maigraith, repeatedly hunted by the Merdrun, and betrayed by the Whelm, who could she trust?
She liked Aviel and Wilm, but Aviel was staying here to make a double batch of nivol in a workshop Flydd was setting up for her, while Wilm was going off with Klarm and M’Lainte to some dreadful place called the Sink of Despair, to look for a mysterious device lost long ago.
Was Karan really going to send her away? Sulien did not want to believe it. Besides, the enemy were too strong, and whatever Karan and Flydd tried to do was bound to fail. They would be killed and Sulien would be left all alone.
Jassika’s right, she thought, burning with guilt. I mustn’t love Daddy enough to try and save him. But she still wasn’t game to walk the tightrope, on the unlikely chance that Jassika would convince Klarm to help.
It had to be Skald, then.
When Sulien crept out again, hours later, everyone was so busy making last minute preparations and getting the sky galleon loaded that there was no time to talk to Karan. Sulien and Jassika were kept busy carrying bags and sacks, boxes and small barrels, and buckets of water to fill the sky galleon’s twin tanks. Jassika avoided Sulien, for which she was grateful. She had to stop Karan sending her away.
It wasn’t going to be easy, especially with the anniversary only days away. The twenty-fourth. Karan was always distracted and jumpy around that day. Tormented.
When all the preparations were done, Flydd and Klarm called Karan aside. ‘We’d better make the arrangements. But not here, where little ears might hear.’
Sulien gave them thirty seconds and crept after them, down to a grubby, water-stained kitchen that stank of drains and rotten vegetables. Sulien crouched at the top of the steps, in the shadows, watching and listening.
‘I can’t take Jass to the Sink of Despair,’ said Klarm, ‘because there’s a good chance I won’t come back. But I can’t leave her here, either. Thanks to your Histories, Xervish, we’re all targets now.’
Flydd’s jaw tightened but he did not reply.
‘And the moment the Merdrun discover we came to the future,’ said Karan, ‘we’ll be targets too. Maybe we already are.’
Of course we are, Sulien thought. That’s why they took Daddy.
‘The girls have to go somewhere safe,’ said Klarm. ‘Where no one would think to look for them.’
‘There’s an old couple I used to know,’ said Flydd. ‘Rather odd …’ He frowned, and Sulien gained an impression that he did not like them much. ‘But reliable, and they live in the middle of nowhere. I won’t say the place aloud.’
Mummy, no! But Sulien knew there was no point begging.
‘I’m not leaving my daughter with strangers again,’ Karan said flatly.
‘You can’t take her where we’re going. It’ll be far too dangerous.’
‘Why do you need me, anyway?’ said Karan.
Flydd sighed. ‘Because you know the Merdrun. And their magizes.’
‘What if I’m killed? What if Llian is already dead? You said –’
‘The arrangements will include provision for the girls’ protection and education, and other expenses, until they’re of age.’
Sulien pressed her forehead against the wall until it throbbed. How could Karan send her away – give her away! – as though she were an unwanted puppy?
Karan covered her face with her hands. ‘I – can’t – do – it.’
‘When you came to the future,’ said Klarm, ‘why did you chose this particular time?’
‘It … just seemed right.’
‘Don’t you find it odd that the Merdrun’s invasion began only days after you got here?’
‘It did seem unlucky.’
‘It had nothing to do with luck,’ said Klarm. ‘I think the summon stone influenced you to end your jump at precisely that moment.’
Why would it do that? Sulien thought.
‘Because Sulien saw the Merdrun’s fatal weakness,’ whispered Karan, sitting down with a thump. ‘And they have to eliminate the risk.’
8
What You’ve Got Into Bed With
A warm wind whipped across the rooftop, raising dust from the corpse of the dead city and tickling Wilm’s nostrils as he hauled barrels of wine, ale and oil up a ramp into
the sky galleon. He would have been happy never to see Thurkad again, had Aviel not been staying behind to make more nivol, the only substance that could destroy the summon stone.
She wasn’t happy about it but had not complained. Wilm hated it that people walked all over her, just because she was small and young and shy.
As he carried the last barrel up, a small, sloshing one with black beer stencilled on the end, a single pink ray climbed the eastern sky, then blushed out to either side like a pair of feathers. Dawn. Time to go.
He turned and there she was, her wind-stirred hair touched by pearly shimmers in the growing light. Aviel had been his dearest friend since he was four and she was two, and he wanted to run and take her in his arms and never let go. Wanted it achingly, but she was complicated and solitary, and shied from physical contact.
Resentment surged. He’d done a lot for her over the years, asking nothing in return, yet she kept withdrawing, and it had got worse since that depraved brute, Unick, abducted and tormented her. The pressure in Wilm’s head rose until white specks drifted across his field of view. His fingers clamped around the hilt of his sword and he fought an urge to hack the nearest crate to pieces.
But an impoverished boy with no father spent a lifetime suppressing urges that would do him no good, biting his tongue and bowing to his betters. Besides, Unick was dead. Wilm had killed him months ago to save Aviel and avenge Dajaes, so why was he dwelling on the swine? Because Aviel still had nightmares about that time, and so did he.
‘Let’s get going,’ called Flydd from the bow.
Aviel’s big hazel eyes caught the light and she took a step forward, gazing at Wilm yearningly. But yearning for what? He moved towards her then stopped, confused, the small resentment still stinging. She bit her lip and made a small, reaching movement with her arms. He froze, sure that if he went to her, she would push him away again.
Her cheeks turned pink. Her arms dropped and she lowered her head.
‘Get aboard, boy!’ bellowed Klarm. ‘Save the tragic farewells for when you become a man – if you ever do.’
Wilm fought a temptation to boot the little man off the roof.
Aviel rubbed her eyes. ‘Goodbye, Wilm. I hope –’ Her voice broke. She turned away towards the steps but stopped. Now she was hiding her lumpy right ankle behind her left, even from him.
She had wanted to give him a hug, and he had not realised. Too late now. He climbed the ramp, hurting all over. As soon as he was aboard it was heaved in and lashed against the side, and the sky galleon lifted and headed east. His hands clenched on the rail and he turned, keeping her small figure in sight. She was gazing after him, looking utterly forlorn. Why, why had he held back? Reaching out to him must have been very difficult for her.
Now he could only see the pale hair that framed her heart-shaped face. Then it vanished and so did she, lost in the shadowy ruins. What would become of her, trapped with that manipulative old hag, Maigraith? Who would protect Aviel when Maigraith was away? Would he ever see Aviel again? Given the state of the war, it seemed unlikely.
‘You might be a big tall hero while you wiggle your fancy sword,’ said Klarm, clunking up beside him, ‘but you don’t know anything about women.’
Wilm’s ears burned. Unable to think of anything to say, he kept his mouth shut.
‘Happy to give you a few pointers,’ Klarm went on, grinning.
Wilm’s mother had brought him up to be polite to his elders, though today it took an effort. What had he done to offend the dwarf?
‘No, thank you,’ he said, contenting himself with a meaningful up-and-down stare.
Klarm snorted. ‘That the best you can do? Point out that I’m a short-arse?’
‘I wasn’t –’
‘During the Lyrinx War I was tormented and humiliated by the most terrible people of all – the Council of Scrutators who ran the world. Yet I rose to be one of the greatest of them, through hard work and cunning, and determination to master every aspect of my craft. Now all but two of those scrutators are dead, and I’m still here. And a hundred times more attractive to the ladies than you’ll ever be.’
‘Only because you buy their favours,’ snapped Wilm.
Klarm smirked. ‘You’ll know otherwise before this mission is over.’
What was he talking about? Klarm went below, wooden foot clunking, leaving Wilm smouldering. Was the dwarf right about him? Was everything he’d achieved due to Akkidul’s aid? What had he done before he got Mendark’s sword?
He and Dajaes had tunnelled into Cumulus Snoat’s compound, Pem-Y-Rum, to rescue Llian, though Dajaes had formulated the plan and done all the clever work. Wilm had just been her labourer and, when she was attacked, he had frozen for a few seconds. Long enough for Unick to blast her dead.
Wilm had failed his poor mother, too. He had been far away when the war came to Casyme, and she had died that day. Now he had left Aviel behind. If the Merdrun discovered she was in Thurkad they would kill her like vermin, because she’d made the nivol that had buried the summon stone and prevented them from reopening their invasion gate for two centuries.
He laid his cheek on the brass gunwale. He didn’t deserve her, or anything good. He was an utter failure, as his teachers had forecast long ago, and he would soon be dead.
Aching inside, Aviel watched Wilm climb aboard. Why couldn’t they get back to being friends again, as they had been most of her life? Now he was going into awful danger and she felt sure she would never see him again.
‘Surely you’re not crying over that idiot?’ said Klarm.
Aviel wiped her eyes. ‘I’m not crying!’
‘This might take your mind off things you can’t change.’ He pressed a small wooden box into her hands and folded her fingers around it.
‘What is it?’
‘Dried hoopis fruit. Do you know it?’
‘No,’ she said, wondering why he was giving it to her. ‘What does it taste like?’
‘It’s not for eating.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It has the rarest scent in the world. And, some say, the loveliest. Put it away and keep the lid tightly closed.’
‘Thank you.’ Aviel was overcome. ‘But why are you giving it to me?’
‘You’ll make something beautiful with it. Santhenar could use a little beauty, a little joy.’
After the sky galleon left, she went to her workshop on the top floor. It had once been a beautiful bathroom with a polished travertine counter along one side, and three stone basins spaced at intervals along it, though nothing came out of the taps. She would have to haul all her water up four flights of steps from a well in the basement.
A square bathtub carved from a single slab of pale green marble contained hundreds of dead blowflies, beetles and moths, and the remains of a small, desiccated frog. The poor thing must have hopped in, looking for water, and died there. Trapped, like her.
She went down and filled two wooden pails, lugged them up, scrubbed out the bathtub and tipped in the rest of the water. Then looked around in despair. A grimy window faced south-west to Faidon Forest and the mountains of Bannador beyond. The huge marble floor tiles were scratched and chipped and thick with dirt.
Flydd had obtained the equipment she needed but the glassware was so filthy that she did not see how it could ever be made fit for use. It would take a week to clean everything and set it all up, and she did not have the heart for it right now.
She perched on a stool and put Klarm’s little box on the bench. It was a cube about two inches on each side, made from a dark, fine-grained wood. Ebony, perhaps. The lid fitted so tightly that she had to lever it up with the blade of a spatula.
Aviel held her breath as it came open. Inside was a clear bag, the opening folded over and over on itself and clipped down. She undid the clips and found another bag inside the first, also folded and clipped. She unfastened it and took a deep sniff. And closed it hastily.
It was unlike any scent she had ever made. Overpowering. Bewitching. Her head was spinning; sh
e had sniffed way too much.
She folded the bags down carefully, put the clips on and pressed the lid of the box down tightly. Aviel closed her eyes, steeping herself in the scent. She sniffed her fingers; they bore a hint of it too.
Then the backs of her hands prickled; she had smelled hoopis before. Or a perfume containing it. Where, though? It was so faint that, for all her skill at scent making and blending, she could not remember, though it did not give her a good feeling.
A young woman came to the rail a couple of yards from Wilm. He turned to say hello but she took a hasty step backwards.
She was very tall, only a few inches below his own height, with teak-brown skin and short, curly hair. Her lips were the colour of a blood plum and she had a small blackberry-shaped birthmark on the right side of her neck. Her shirt and pants were of better quality than his but worn, and neatly patched here and there.
‘Hello,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘I’m Wilm.’
Her eyes, dark amber, slid away from his and she retreated another half step. What was the matter?
‘I’m Ilisial,’ she said grudgingly. She pronounced it Ill–iss-ee-allll. ‘I’m a mech-enchanter … or will be when I’m finished my training.’
‘What’s a mech-enchanter?’
‘We make and repair the mechanisms that draw power from the fields, for all kinds of devices. Even this sky galleon.’
‘And the spellcaster?’
‘Don’t say the name!’ she snapped. ‘The enemy have spies everywhere.’
‘Sorry. Stupid of me.’ The sky galleon was an astounding, absurd creation. ‘You can make craft like this?’
‘Of course not, it’s the only one in the world. I don’t think anyone but M’Lainte truly understands it. She’s a genius …’
‘You must be clever, though, to be taken on as her apprentice.’
‘I’ve made a few little things. Nothing very useful.’ Her eyes shone. ‘But I can learn so much from her … and one day I’m going to design my own devices … but not for war! Not for killing.’