by Simon Birks
Jenza walked among the fences and the houses of Broken Song. She didn’t know what she was looking for. She rarely did. Her methods were inexplicable, even to herself. Still, she had the feeling something out here mattered. Her superiors in the Telar-Val accepted these ‘feelings’ as an eccentricity they could overlook, as long as she continued delivering the results she had achieved since she’d completed their training program.
Before the Telar-Val had recruited her, Jenza had found life difficult. After her time at the Complex, she didn’t want to be anywhere near other people, but neither was she strong enough to cope completely on her own. In the end, she decided to seek out a remote village she’d heard of called Tience. They said it was a home for people without a home, and that’s exactly how Jenza had felt.
The first of her ‘feelings’ had happened six months after her arrival. There was a square at the centre of the village, which held frequent markets of one sort or another. On the day in question, the market was one that visited each month. It travelled around, dealing with exotic plants, food, charms and gifts, and even though she couldn’t afford anything from it, Jenza liked it. It brought out the more colourful characters of Tience. Even the chief and his wife could be seen mingling with everyone else.
Jenza had been sitting on the edge of the square, drawing pictures, which she tried to sell in order to buy food. Suffice to say, she didn’t get to eat very much. She was three-quarters of the way through one such picture of a group of people, haggling at a market stall, when her hands started to shake. She looked at them, confused; this had never happened before. Jenza closed and opened her hands to see if it made any difference, but they continued to tremble. As she watched, the movements became smaller, changing the shaking into vibrating. They moved faster than anything she’d ever seen. Had this sensation not been so frightening, she might have laughed from the way it tickled.
Carefully, the young Jenza moved her hands down to her lap where they couldn’t be seen, and looked around. The hagglers were concentrating on their bargaining. People wandered around with sacks of belongings. Nothing seemed out of place.
Over there.
Opposite Jenza, across the square, a woman sat, cloaked from head to foot. Jenza wondered how she could tell it was a woman, the clothes gave nothing away about the wearer underneath, yet she knew it was. She also knew the woman was eating a loaf sweetened with honey, and her drink was a mixture of thradder and hagwheat, which was, to her knowledge, banned from being sold. More than this, however, Jenza knew the woman was watching her. She felt scared.
“What’s happening?” Jenza whispered to herself.
The woman stood, arranged her cloaks and started to walk towards her. Jenza’s hands continued to vibrate, but now they no longer tickled, and were instead starting to ache. They were useless to her, she knew.
As the woman moved closer, the vibrating moved up Jenza’s arms. This was going to be impossible to hide. She looked around; no one seemed to have noticed. The woman in the cloaks stopped a few feet away.
“I did not come here to find you,” the woman said. “Yet here you are.”
Her voice was rich and deep. If it were not for the fear she felt, Jenza would have loved that voice, trusted it.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Your hands are shaking because they are warning you.”
“About what?”
“About me. Whenever you feel the vibrations, danger will be nearby. Not just people. Objects, too, as well as other things.”
“I don’t understand,” Jenza said.
“Then you are not listening. Trust the warnings, Werida. They are protecting you.”
“My name is not Werida,” Jenza said, but the woman had already turned and was heading towards the throng of the market. “Stop!” Jenza called, as loudly as she dared, but it was no use. Within a few seconds, the woman was gone. Moments later, her arms grew still.
*
Back at Broken Song, in the heat of the day, Jenza’s hands began to shake. She’d known they would. The gift she had of divining danger came with a gift of knowing where to look for it.
Over the last six years, she had been able to improve the skill. Maybe improve was the wrong word; tame it a little. She no longer lost the use of her limbs, she no longer threw up if it went on too long. It was as under control as she thought it ever would be, enough for her to use the fluctuating strength of the vibrations to divine which direction to look in.
Jenza turned and walked round in a tight circle. Lower, lower, lower, greater, greater. Greatest.
She looked.
That’s odd, she thought; it was the direction she’d come from. As Jenza watched, Graim appeared, walking towards her. Something must be wrong at the Ka’s house.
*
Graim saw Jenza start moving in his direction. No doubt the witch had already ‘sensed’ a problem. If it had been up to him, she wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the Telar-Val. Any potential gains a woman like her gave them would be laced with mistakes, he was sure; and how would you tell one from the other, when all you had was this woman’s word for it? The people in charge had clearly lost control.
“What’s the matter?” Jenza asked him.
Graim saw her hands, clenched in tight fists to try and hide the shaking.
He put on his gravest face.
“It’s Jin Hoep,” he said. “He tried to attack me. Said something about the body being his. Made no sense at all.”
Graim was acutely aware of all the muscles on his face, knew what expressions to pull to make it seem realistic. He had planned this since before leaving the house. If he could successfully blame the body’s disappearance on that stupid Hoep, there was a good chance he’d be absolved from any blame.
“The body being his?”
“He started threatening me. He told me he wanted the body. I asked him what for, but he drew his sword, and repeated the body was his. I came to find you. Something’s happened to him. I can’t get near the Ka’s body.”
Jenza walked past him without saying another word. Graim fell in behind her, resting his hand on his sword.
Excellent, he thought. Excellent.
The Enemies Within
Something tapped on the shutters of the guards’ room at the food store. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Nayt knew what it was. He went over, pushed the clasp up which held the shutters shut, and pushed them outwards. The bird hopped inside. A sandy-coloured bird, its body the size of Nayt’s fist, its eyes too knowledgeable by far.
The bird looked at Nayt.
“There are no enemies but the enemies within,” Nayt said.
“And the enemies within?” the bird replied.
“Are the greatest of all,” Nayt finished.
The bird nodded.
“The order has come,” the bird said. “The time is now. The last stage will begin.”
Nayt nodded. The last stage.
“And I am promised…?”
The bird looked at him.
“I do not understand.”
Of course it doesn’t, he thought. But still he tried.
“I was promised… I would be not be harmed.”
The bird stared at him for a few moments more, and Nayt expected the standard ‘I do not understand’ to come again, but it didn’t. Instead, the bird threw back its head and laughed, long and hard, until Nayt could barely stand it, but stand it he did.
When it finished, the bird levelled its gaze on him once more.
“I do not understand,” it lied.
Contagious
“Was the master there?” Visenai asked. It was the first time either had spoken since they left the house. They sat in the Ma’s kitchen, the girl cradling a bowl of warm porridge. The cook wondered if she’d ever feel like eating again.
“I didn’t see him,” Ma Poppun replied. “It’s possible he was. Everyone was very hard to... recognise.”
“Shouldn’t we be cleaning it up?” she asked.
Ma Poppun looked at the girl and recognised the shock she was in. Visenai had been well-liked amongst the household and staff, and she’d always returned the friendship they’d offered her. Now they were all gone.
“I’m not sure if it’s contagious,” Ma Poppun said.
“You’re not ill,” Visenai replied.
There was no precociousness in the reply. It was just a statement.
“I’m not ill, yet. And let’s pray I don’t become ill, as it’ll mean you surely have it, too.”
“Should we send a message to the Telar-Val?” the girl asked.
Ma Poppun shook her head. “No. The Telar-Val have no part in this. They will accuse us, take us prisoner, and seize the house for their own.”
“Then… what are we going to do?” the girl asked. “Did no one survive?”
“No one who was in the hall. There’s a chance…”
“What chance?”
“Hossip may have been with the horses. He left early.”
Visenai stood. “Can we check?”
Ma Poppun nodded. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt important to find the coachman.
“All right,” she said. “But I want you behind me at all times. Agreed?”
This time it was Visenai’s turn to nod. Ma Poppun picked up the long knife from the side, and the pair of them walked out towards the stables.
Monsters
The medical building was dark, the shutters still closed against the sunlight. Ka Yeta couldn’t blame the healers. They led a quiet, solitary life. The children didn’t often injure themselves, and diseases didn’t tend to bother with the trip, which meant that a lot of the healers’ time was dedicated to research from the main governing body in Langeph, the city on the ford. She wasn’t sure exactly what research they did, but then it wasn’t any of her business.
Everyone had to pass through the medical building when visiting Broken Song, but while others didn’t pause, Ka Yeta often stopped to read some of the books on the shelves, collect supplies and drop off any mixtures they’d asked her to create. Medicine was a hobby with Ka Yeta, and as long as she kept out the way, the staff seemed happy to oblige.
It took her two attempts to find the healer; he wasn’t in the place she had expected him to be. He had said Oak Water, and the Waters were housed in their own circular room, on many narrow shelves that circumnavigated the wall, strings of woven twine running parallel to the shelves, under which the neck of each bottle sat, snug and secure.
The room was no bigger than twelve feet across, yet it had always enchanted Ka Yeta. It was a library of medicine, and just as people claimed they could feel the weight of the thousands of words in a traditional library, Ka Yeta could feel the weight of healing in the Waters room.
Yet the healer was not in there.
Ka Yeta went straight to the Oak Water and saw it sitting on the shelf. She removed it from the wall, and placed it in a pouch on her belt. Instinctively, she felt for the hidden dagger tucked into the same belt at the back. It was still there.
The Ka turned and walked out of the room.
“Hello?” she called into the darkened corridors.
She had expected an echo, but the sounds of her words were swallowed up almost immediately, as if the place had been built to keep hold of noise.
There was a shuffling in the darkness in front of her. Ka Yeta retrieved the dagger and held it tightly. It didn’t seem a serious enough weapon now she wielded it.
Carefully, she made her way forward, checking each room as she passed. There were all empty. Yeta stopped and listened. The shuffling noise had come from the room at the end of the corridor. It was where the healers could rest.
“Hello?” Ka Yeta called again.
Still no reply. The Ka inched into the darkness.
“Hello?” she said one last time.
She waited, straining to hear any sounds at all. There was nothing. Ka Yeta stepped into the room. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she was able to make out bunks lining the far side of the wall, enough to sleep ten people.
That’s strange, she thought. She’d only ever seen two people working in the medical building at a time.
Why would they need so many beds?
Ka Yeta found a cloth on a shelf and used it to jam open the door. Slowly, she moved further into the room. From what she could see, it was empty. Everything was squared away; impossibly neat.
“This is a bad time to have come here,” said the healer.
Ka Yeta twisted, dagger still in hand. It caught the healer’s arm. He yelped and stepped backwards.
“It’s not going to let you live.”
“What isn’t?” Ka Yeta asked. Adrenalin was rushing through her body. The room became sharper. The healer took a step toward her. There was something about his silhouette that didn’t seem right. The angles were lopsided, incorrect.
“Stay away from me,” she warned.
“You can’t leave. It won’t let you.”
“What are you talking about? What won’t let me?”
“The monster.”
“Monster?”
“Don’t deny it. You can feel it, can’t you? You can feel the monster,” the healer said.
Ka Yeta swallowed. She didn’t know what he was talking about. And yet…
“Get away from the door,” she said.
The healer held his arms up.
“Of course,” it said, a smirk in its voice. “There’s nowhere to run.”
Ka Yeta backed herself towards the door carefully, keeping the outline of the healer in her vision at all times. She took a couple of more steps backwards and into the corridor. A question flashed into her mind.
“Are the children in danger?”
The healer laughed.
“You mustn’t worry about the children, Ka Yeta,” the healer said. “It’s coming for you. Don’t you feel it?”
Something brushed her leg, or that was how it felt. She looked down, but nothing was there. Then she saw the rip in her trousers, the blood seeping out. For a moment the wound was numb, and then all of the pain arrived at once. Ka Yeta screamed, felt faint, but managed to focus her swimming eyes enough to glance backwards down the corridor, searching for the nearest door. It was close.
She looked back towards where the healer had been stood. He was no longer there. It took her a moment to see his body laying prone on the floor. When had that happened? She thought. What made him fall? She shook her head, confused.
She wouldn’t be able to run, she knew. Instead, Yeta rested a hand against the wall and hopped, as best she could. She would have laughed at herself if she’d had a chance to think about it.
What tore your leg?
It took Ka Yeta four hops to reach the door. It opened, and she pushed her way inside, slamming it behind her with everything she had. There was no lock.
“Damn!” she cried.
Ka Yeta scanned the room. There were fire-rocks dotted around, their dim light allowing her to see three pedestals, standing upright like sinks around the other three walls. There was a strange pattern on the floor, too, but Ka Yeta’s focus was on the nearest pedestal.
She hopped, grabbed, and dragged it back. It was heavy, but whatever strength her adrenalin was giving her, it was enough. She was able to slot it under the door handle.
Ka Yeta fell backwards, angry, frightened and sick. She lay on the floor of that strange room, sweat pouring off her body. She could feel her consciousness fading, and tried her best to hold onto it.
“Hear me, Great Chana, in my hour of need,” she said, grabbing at the words her own Ka had taught her. “Hear me and help me and show me the way. The world is my master, and you are its master. And in all things you are great, and wise and cruel, as needs be. Hear me, Great Chana. The life in me is almost gone. Take me as you will. Punish me as you will. Heal me as you will. I am yours, as I was the day I first drew breath. And if this is death, then keep me close.”
Ka Yeta’s eyes closed, and the l
ast two thoughts before consciousness left her were;
Why can’t I hear the monster?
And finally; Am I the monster?
Armoured
Gideon heard Ka Yeta’s scream, but he didn’t go to help her. Instead, the boy moved away from the entrance to the houses and the Ka’s cry, towards the other end of the building. He passed by several corridors, until at last he reached one where the air seemed fresher. A series of storerooms led off the corridor, containing bedclothes, logs for fires and fire rocks. The last storeroom he came to was locked, and he had to force the door. There were weapons inside.
Why does the medical centre need weapons?
It was odd, but he didn’t dwell on it. Within a few minutes he had donned leather armour, sheathed a sword, secured two daggers and held a shield. He wasn’t practised in any of the weapons, yet still felt far happier with them than without.
The building was eerily quiet, and he was surprised that they hadn’t discovered his disappearance. Surprised, and pleased. He didn’t want to stay at Broken Song. Gideon moved to the end of the corridor, where a heavy door stood between him and the outside world.
Gideon pulled the handle back, hearing the mechanism inside slide and lock into place. He pulled at the door and it moved towards him. The air that rushed in tasted clean.
I’m free.
Gideon stepped outside, squinting in the sunlight. Twenty feet away, across a rectangle of ground with high walls on both sides and trees dotted at regular intervals, he could see the door to the food store. It was the last place he had to get through.
The boy smiled. This was going to be easy.
Witchcraft
Ja Jenza, with Jin Graim following closely behind, reached the edge of the dead Ka’s house.
“Do you want me to go in first?” Graim offered. “It may be dangerous?”
Jenza shook her head.
“I can handle myself,” she replied, annoyed at the question.
“Of course. I’m right behind you.”
“Make sure you are.”