by Ian Irvine
‘With Nish and Maelys by my side, and Flangers and Klarm –’
‘A known traitor!’
‘Klarm was never a traitor. He took service with the God-Emperor years after the Lyrinx War ended.’
‘He served a monster,’ she said coldly. ‘Some friend!’
‘What’s the matter with you today?’
She had never told anyone about it. Karan turned away but saw the attic room again. The mad, twisted sketches. The blood. Shudders racked her.
The sky galleon descended abruptly and Flydd set it down on a mountain slope, foggy and featureless apart from an occasional dead tree sticking up through crusted snow.
He caught her by the shoulder and jerked her around, and his face was hard. ‘You with me or against me?’
Forcibly dragged back to the present, Karan could not manage words. She stared at him, shivering.
‘Because if you’re against me – if you’re too afraid to fight – you can get out right now.’
Her blood stopped flowing. He couldn’t be serious. But his icy stare did not waver, and she recalled stories Lilis had told her about the scrutators – hard men and women, all of them. Individual lives meant nothing to them; there had been times when they’d sacrificed whole armies, even small nations, to gain an advantage against the enemy.
‘You don’t think much of me, do you?’ she said quietly.
‘You were a great heroine, back in your time …’
‘But?’
‘You’ve lost your nerve. You’re so afraid of losing the one thing you have left that you’re unwilling to try.’
‘I haven’t given up! I just don’t see –’
‘How a handful of misfits, long past their glory days, can hope to defeat the greatest army that’s ever come out of the void.’
There was no need to reply.
Flydd indicated the side of the sky galleon. ‘Off you go, then.’
Karan choked. How could this be happening? ‘But … I have no idea where we are.’
And even if he told her, in this rugged country she would be lucky to make five miles a day. She could live off the land but that took a lot of time. It could take months to find Sulien, if she ever did, but she would never see Llian again. The enemy would have killed him by then.
Flydd was still pointing to the side, utterly implacable.
‘I – I’ll just get some food and water.’
‘You brought nothing but your pack. You leave with nothing but your pack.’
‘You heartless bastard.’
‘I won’t give up a single bean to someone who won’t fight.’
Karan fetched her pack and stumbled to the side. Was he bluffing? His face was unreadable. Then she stopped, struck by the realisation that neither would Flydd turn away anyone who could be useful to him. He knew her worth: she was brave, resourceful, and she had survived many desperate situations. And right now he had no one else.
‘Nice try,’ she said, dropping her pack on the deck. ‘But I know the enemy better than anyone, and you need me as much as I need you. All right, I’ll fight your hopeless battle – as long as I have your word that you’ll help me get Sulien and Llian back, afterwards.’ If there is an afterwards.
‘You have my word.’ He managed a smile. ‘I’ll get the dinner on.’
Karan went to a bench and sat down with a thump. What if she was killed? With Llian possibly dead already, Sulien would be an orphan … as Karan had been violently orphaned at the age of twelve, twenty-four years ago today.
And it all came flooding back, unstoppable, overwhelming. The staring eyes, the awful smell in that hot attic room, the great gash across –
‘Karan, what’s the matter?’
Flydd was yelling at her, shaking her. He had been doing so for some time. She was lying on the deck, knees doubled up and arms wrapped tightly about herself, making a dreadful, wailing moan. Trapped in the most awful moment of her childhood and unable to blank it out.
He carried her to his table and sat her down with her back to the cabin wall. She unwrapped her arms but that felt bad, so she hugged herself again. Stared into nowhere. Shuddered.
‘Drink this.’ He put a porcelain cup, brimming with a clear fluid, in front of her. A rose was painted on the side, blood-red petals and long, curving thorns. She rotated it out of sight.
‘What is it?’ she said listlessly.
‘A liqueur I make, when I can get the right fruit.’
‘I don’t drink spirits.’
‘Drink it!’
Karan did not have the will to refuse. She took a sip. Made from clementines, strong and sweet and tangy. Vapours stung the back of her nose and the spirits burned all the way down.
‘All of it.’
She emptied the cup in a series of swigs. He put a large bowl of stew in front of her.
‘Not hungry.’
‘Eat it or I’ll heave you over the side, because this is wasting time I don’t have, and right now you’re worse than useless.’
This time he meant it. By the time she spooned down the last of the meaty, peppery stew the drink had gone to her head and she was glad of the corner wall behind her, and the table to lean on. Flydd sat opposite and ate his dinner, though he only sipped from his cup. Its decoration was a yellow and iridescent green, striped wasp. Appropriate.
He took the bowls away, washed them and left them to drain, and sat down again. ‘Talk!’
‘What about?’
‘What brought that on.’
His face separated into two; Karan had never had a head for strong drink. She forced the two images to converge. ‘None of your business.’ Her voice was slurred.
‘Anything that affects you this badly is my business.’
‘I can’t talk about it. It’s too awful.’
He decanted liqueur into her cup. ‘Just a sip this time.’
‘Why?’
‘To release your inhibitions so you’ll spill your guts.’
‘You’ll despise me.’
Flydd raised his cup, sipped. ‘I was a scrutator for twenty years, Karan. A master interrogator, among other things. Whatever you’ve done, you can’t shock me.’
‘Bet I can.’
‘I’ve seen every kind of human weakness, wickedness and depravity imaginable.’ He looked out into the chilly darkness. ‘And some that are truly unimaginable.’
He wouldn’t be put off. Karan took another sip, for courage. His face split into two again and she left it that way. She put her cup down, hard; the surface of the table wasn’t where she expected. She swayed, caught the curved sides with both hands, shuddered.
‘I’ve never told anyone. Not in twenty-four years.’
He said nothing.
‘Not even dear old Rachis knew the truth. It – it’s been festering inside me since I was a kid.’
‘Time it was out, then.’
‘It was the day my mother died. Killed herself.’
Karan’s head was spinning. She pushed the cup away. Flydd emptied it into his own, dipped a gnarled finger in and licked it. He was not looking at her, and that helped.
‘I know she cared about me, but she was sensitive and difficult and angry, and by the time I was five I’d turned away. Daddy’s little favourite!’ she spat, guilt overwhelming her. ‘We cut her out and she got steadily worse. I knew I was being selfish, but she was so hard to love …
‘I’ve always blamed Mum. I turned a blind eye to Dad’s faults: his long absences in Shazmak, the obsession with forbidden mancery that finally got him killed. I told myself that he had to get away from Mum … Now I’m sure he broke her by rejecting her after I was born. And she got worse after he died.’
‘How?’
‘A stupid accident up at Carcharon, when I was eight. She spiralled down into despair, then a kind of madness. The family curse.’
Flydd raised half of his continuous eyebrow.
‘They were both blendings – Mum was old human with a trace of Faellem, way back, an
d Dad – his name was Galliad – half old human and half Aachim. That made me a triune, and blendings and triunes are often unstable. He was handsome, charming, couldn’t stick at anything. Fatally reckless!’
Karan paused. Flydd was still looking into his cup.
‘The year I turned twelve it didn’t rain. Summer was a heatwave that went on and on: crops failed; animals starving; money almost gone; unpaid workers hammering on our doors day and night … then walking out. And on the hottest day of that dreadful year Mum cracked, screaming at me and whacking me with whatever came to hand.
‘“It’s all your fault Galliad’s dead,”’ she shrieked. ‘“He never would have pursued forbidden mancery if you hadn’t encouraged him. I wish I’d never had you.”’
Karan shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself again.
‘I – I suppose I did encourage him. Dad loved to talk about mancery, and I loved hearing about it.’
‘You were a little girl, enjoying time with your father. I wish –’ Flydd’s face went blank and his fists clenched on the table.
Karan didn’t pursue it. ‘I wanted to be a mancer myself, when I was older. I had the talent for it, back then.’
‘What happened to it?’ Flydd said sharply.
‘I fled to Shazmak after Mum died, and Tensor – the leader of the Aachim, a proud, arrogant fool! – destroyed my gift. Robbed me of the greatest link to my father.’
Flydd’s eyebrow became a V. ‘Why would he do such a thing?’
‘He said my gift was dangerous. He didn’t mean dangerous to me,’ she said, thumping the table, ‘but to him and his stupid plans. Even when he lay dying, I couldn’t forgive him.’
‘But you do have a gift.’
‘Just fragments. I’m a sensitive, and I can sometimes make links and do sendings. Malien tried to restore more of my gift a while ago, and a bit came back, but …’
‘What was lost as a child can’t truly be restored as an adult.’ Flydd gestured to her to go on with her story.
‘Mum’s hateful words shattered me and I hid up in the loft of the stables, but it was really hot and I fell asleep in the hay. Later she mind-called me, woke me and said she was sorry. She needed me, and she knew I’d heard her, but I didn’t answer.
‘An hour later she called again – a psychic cry of agony this time. But I couldn’t face the abuse, the shrieking, the guilt trips …
‘My rejection must have tipped her over the edge; she didn’t call again.’ Karan looked up into Flydd’s eyes. ‘I’m not a monster, Xervish. Just weak.’
‘Weak?’ he murmured. ‘I wouldn’t say so.’
‘If you knew my other secret –’
Karan broke off. She must be drunk, to have mentioned it. He did not ask, and she continued.
‘The guilt finally got to me and I crept up to her attic room, under the roof of the old keep. She used to sew there, and paint and draw; it was her refuge. I was sick with dread, because the psychic sense of Mum I’d always had was gone. Something bad had happened. Sometimes she did things to hurt herself; I think physical pain eased her emotional torment.
‘I thought my heart was going to tear apart, it was beating so wildly. I was afraid to open the door. I could smell blood. Why hadn’t I gone to her when she called? If only I had.
‘I lifted the latch, shouldered the door open, ran in – and … and …’
Karan banged her head on the table. It did not help. Flydd caught her right hand and she gripped his twisted fingers so tightly that he winced.
‘Sometimes the sight or smell sends me back,’ she said without raising her head. ‘The reek in that sweltering room! The floor, covered in wild, tormented sketches – twisted faces, staring eyes, torn mouths.’
Flydd lifted her head and she looked him in the eye. She wasn’t seeing double now.
‘And blood,’ she whispered. ‘Gallons of it! Big, skinned-over puddles. Tracked over the floorboards. The rugs. The sketches. Everywhere.’
She reached for Flydd’s cup, wanting oblivion, but it was empty.
‘There was a long gash in her belly, as if –’ Her voice cracked. ‘As if Mum had tried to cut out the womb that had nourished such a wicked daughter. It must have taken her a long time to die …
‘Her eyes were fixed on me. But no longer accusing me. Saying I was better off without her. There’s been times, deep in denial, when I thought I was. I can never forgive myself.’
‘You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,’ said Flydd.
‘What if it was a test?’
‘No adult should test a child in so cruel a way. Besides, if you’d gone to her that day, she would have tried again another day.’
‘How the hell would you know?’ she said in a cracked voice.
‘In the war I saw hundreds of men and women break, tens of thousands killed. I’ve seen sickening betrayals and malice that would burn your bones. I’ve punished thousands of liars, cheats and profiteers, ordered the execution of hundreds of traitors, and as many leaders whose negligence cost us dear. I’ve seen it all, Karan. I know!’
Maybe he was right. Maybe he did know.
‘You’ll never heal until you forgive yourself,’ he said. ‘Is that why you cling so desperately to Gothryme, even if it costs you Llian?’
That had never occurred to Karan. ‘It’s the only thing I have left of Mum.’
‘You said she loved you, yet you have no good memories of her?’ Flydd said sharply. ‘I find that impossible to believe.’
Karan scowled at him.
‘Dig deeper. Perhaps you blanked the good memories out so you could blame her, and justify neglecting her in favour of your wonderful father.’
She rose abruptly. ‘Dad wasn’t perfect, but he was a great father, and I don’t have to listen to this.’
She staggered to the hatch, heaved it up, swayed and would have fallen through, head-first, had Flydd not leapt across and caught her.
He pulled her back and sat her down. ‘You’re sleeping in the cabin tonight.’
Karan did not have the strength to argue. He tossed a cushion and a sleeping pouch into the far corner. She crawled into it, lay on her back and closed her eyes, but that made her head spin, so she turned onto her side and huddled there, trembling.
Could he be right? She did not want to admit it. Had her father’s rejection destroyed her mother? He should have been looking after her, not chasing phantoms up in the mountains.
And Karan was more like him than she had realised. She had made Vuula out to be a bad mother when she was just a desperate one.
I failed to love her, she thought. Only ever thought about her in anger and bitterness. Blamed her for the way I became. In denial, seeing my reckless father through ever more rose-coloured glasses.
Yet I was just as reckless. Leaving home after Mum died and making that dangerous trip across the mountains to find the hidden city of Shazmak, and my father’s people. Fleeing there six years later and travelling for years, constantly seeking diversion, desperately trying to keep the pain at bay.
I’m still doing it. Sometimes suffocatingly clingy with Llian, other times pushing him away for fear of losing him too. Dominating him and controlling him because I can’t bear to give up anything of Gothryme, the only thing I have left from her.
Lying to him, for years and years. Sometimes I think I’m trapped at the emotional age of my twelve-year-old self. Perhaps that’s why Llian wants to go his own way. He’s had enough.
14
‘I Will Never Despair!
Each time Karan woke, Flydd was at his table in the corner of the cabin, hunched over his farspeaker. Listening to reports from Lilis and his other contacts and tearing at his scanty hair.
At three in the morning she roused with a sick headache. It was so long since she’d had a hangover that it took some time to recognise it. The moment she did the memories came back, though less painfully. Confessing had been good for her. That secret, at any rate.
She made tea from one of the packets of herbs in the galley. It tasted like wet grass. ‘Any news?’
‘It’s odd,’ said Flydd.
She waited.
‘The enemy have taken half a dozen cities, and various mines and war-era manufactories, but they haven’t done anything with them. And they’re not killing and torturing as they’ve done in the past. They seem to be waiting …’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know. Though they’re rounding up architects, masons, carpenters and smiths, artists, sculptors and designers, and workers in all manner of other trades.’
‘What for?’
Flydd shrugged. ‘They’re also searching old battlefields where clankers and other weapons of war were abandoned, and hunting down geomancers, artisans and artificers and pilots.’ He groaned. ‘And I named the best of them in my stupid Histories. I’ve condemned them to slavery … and whatever comes after.’
‘But you sent out a warning four days ago.’
‘Only to the people I knew how to contact.’
‘What’s the plan, then?’
‘We’re heading to Nifferlin to collect Maelys and Nish –’
‘The son of the former God-Emperor?’
‘Yes. Nish was a hero of the war and of the long struggle, ten years later, to bring his father down. He’s the best man I’ve got for the coming fight and I can’t do without him, or Maelys – if she’s in any fit state …’
‘Why wouldn’t she be?’
‘Her son was stillborn two years ago. And Maelys’ little sister died not long after. She’s crushed by grief.’
Sulien could well have died at birth, and it was utterly unimaginable. Karan’s eyes moistened.
‘But they’ll be on top of the enemy’s list,’ said Flydd. ‘I hope …’
He jumped up, ran to the controls and the sky galleon whirled in its own length, scattering snow everywhere, and hurtled into the air.
Hope what? That you’re not too late?
It was just after sunrise and they were heading down through a walnut forest towards Nifferlin Manor. The ancient trees were widely spaced, the soil a dark chocolate colour, the grass thick and green from plenty of rain. Nothing like Gothryme, then.