by Ben Peek
‘No.’ She placed the empty glass on the table. ‘I have tried a few times, both here and in the Enclave. I sit down with a pencil and paper, but I do not have the patience for it. I barely have the patience to read the books I have found – when I open them, I think of everyone on Wila and how I haven’t been able to help them. It doesn’t help that all that has survived of Ger’s words are poetry and fiction, all of it allegorical, all of it about how he asserted control over the elements to stop their destruction.’
‘Being here doesn’t help,’ Zineer said.
‘It’s not that.’
‘You have so much to do,’ Faise said, continuing, giving voice to concerns that the two must have shared with each other when they were alone. ‘You shouldn’t have to worry about us.’
‘I would worry wherever I was. Maybe we should go somewhere else.’
‘Somewhere safe?’
‘Leviathan’s End.’ Zineer refilled their drinks. ‘I would feel safe there.’
Faise took her glass back. ‘I suppose we have become mercenaries,’ she said. ‘Accountants for hire. Maybe we need swords.’
‘Sinae Al’tor would help,’ Ayae said.
‘I doubt that.’
‘Captain Heast said he would. He said he could get you out of Yeflam.’
‘Out?’ Faise repeated. ‘Out to where?’
‘He didn’t say.’ Ayae lifted her glass. ‘I can’t believe we still drink this.’
‘We started because it was cheap and got you drunk quick.’
‘Well, there’s that. At least we learned something in our childhood.’
3.
Approached from the coast’s road, Cynama appeared fractured, as if it had been shattered across the land. Built to sprawl over the flat plain beneath, it was cut by five thick stone-lined canals that ran throughout. Laid to funnel rain water into a large low-tided lake, the canals fulfilled that purpose while also – inevitably – dividing the city symbolically.
The long muddy road on which Bueralan and Orlan approached Cynama held few travellers. The first they had passed had been as the morning’s sun reached its peak and the humidity left lines of sweat down their backs. An elderly man, seemingly unaffected by the oppressive conditions, walked past with a large backpack. Shortly after, two women with a loaded mule and cart followed. They had said nothing, and after that, Bueralan and Orlan had watched the butterflies that fluttered across tall grass and trees before falling into the muddy ground. At midday, they passed a father and a son at the front of a wagon, the back filled with men and women and animals. Again, none of the people had spoken, or made eye contact with them. As the afternoon’s sun began to rise, and the humidity started to wane, the largest group of men and women they had seen walked past, their belongings bagged and strung between the shafts of wood they carried.
‘They’re fleeing,’ Bueralan said, once they had past. The final six men and women had had chains around their ankles. ‘The rich and the poor.’
‘That they do,’ Samuel Orlan agreed. ‘Not many countries will recognize their right to the ownership of slaves, however. Assuming they survive the journey, or are not sold at Dyanos, the prospects of those men and women will improve greatly. Much better, perhaps, than ours.’
‘The road goes back, if you want to leave.’
‘We have more than enough reason to turn around.’
He grunted sourly. ‘You speak as if you know how it will end.’
‘There are enough refugees from Sooia to tell that story to both of us.’
Bueralan nudged the tall grey forwards but did not reply. He had heard the stories. At their core was a man and his army laying waste to a continent and its people. There were atrocities, always. There were seven hundred years of horror stories, but he never felt as if they particularly affected him. By Aela Ren’s own inarticulate reasons, and by the distance between Sooia and him, he had been unmoved by what he heard. As a child, it had been a violent fable that his parents had threatened him with. He had maintained that state of disinterest, through no real intention of his own, well into adulthood. Regardless of which story was told to him about the Innocent – either by refugees or by those who worked the charity ships out of Sooia – the words were elusive and intangible, a child’s horror.
‘Do you feel as if you have come home yet?’ Samuel Orlan asked.
‘No.’ He did not hesitate. ‘I do not know that I have a home anywhere these days, but if I do, this is not it. We’ll have to find a place to stay.’
‘I have a shop in there, across from Pereeth Canal.’
An expensive part of the city. ‘How many shops do you have?’ Bueralan asked.
‘A number.’ Orlan shifted on the smaller of the two horses, stroking its neck as he did. ‘Did you have somewhere else planned?’
He had not. His mother’s estate had been claimed by the First Queen, part of the price of his exile. Even if he had still owned it, he was not sure that he would have gone there. Ignoring the neglect that it would have come to over seventeen years, it was located an hour’s ride outside the city, one of the many estates that populated the flat plains before the rocky, jagged, excavated land that led to Karaanas opened up.
‘How far is your shop from the palace?’ he asked.
‘Three or four blocks, if I remember right.’ Orlan regarded him curiously. ‘Do you still plan to present yourself at first light?’
‘You saw the blood in the stables.’
‘I did, yes,’ he agreed. ‘Do you hope for mercy?’
‘I’ll get none if I am caught in the city.’ He shifted the tall grey’s reins from his right to left hand. He had replayed the fight in his head as he rode. It was the first fight he had had since he had stood above Ger, and the god had used him. He would not say he felt stronger, or faster, not as he had in the submerged temple, but he would not say, either, that he felt the same. He had briefly thought about bringing it up with Orlan, and thought of it again now, but he dismissed the thought. He did not need to encourage the cartographer to talk about gods. He said, ‘Besides, a man in exile has no chance of receiving the Mother’s Gift.’
‘Neither does a dead man. We can still turn around and put this folly away.’
‘As I said, the road goes back if you need it.’
The last of the day’s butterflies lay on the ground before him. Ahead, the afternoon’s sun had fallen and, slowly, one at a time, Cynama’s lights began to emerge, as if the city had seen them and stirred awake.
4.
Beneath the early light of the morning’s sun, Ayae, Faise and Zineer walked through the crowded lanes of Mesi’s Farmers’ Market.
It reminded Ayae of Mireea, though she knew there was very little to compare the two. The number of stalls in Mesi was only a fraction of those that had lined the cobbled roads of Mireea, the total probably further reduced by the deepening cold of winter and the ocean’s brittle winds. Most of what the market sold came from across the ocean, from the trade lanes that Yeflam owned, and it halved as the produce they brought from Gogair and Faer fell quiet with the winter. The Mesi market sold only food: there were no toys to tempt children, no games of any kind, and no card, palm, or psychic readings by men and women with no power. In addition, while music could be heard from Mesi, it was at the midday mark, and was characterized by the simple, stripped-back instruments of musicians at an early stage of their career. In general, the Mesi market also lacked the hard hustle and long barter that had been an integral part of the Mireean markets. Ayae supposed that this was because the stalls were constrained by prices set by the Traders’ Union, prices that increased the further away from Burata your stall was.
‘One day, you won’t have to come here,’ Faise said as they made their way along one of the wide lanes, wooden crates of green, yellow and orange fruits and vegetables on either side of them. She was the only one of the three who held a canvas bag, the bottom of it already sagging with fruit. ‘One day we’ll be able to come here without you.’<
br />
She shrugged. ‘I won’t get apples that day.’
‘They’re sour, awful things – and you’ll thank me that day.’
In the past, Ayae had laughed, or stuck out her tongue, or responded quickly, but today, she managed a slight smile, her attention on the people around her.
She was nervous. She had been on edge since they had stepped out of the house. Both Faise and Zineer were anxious as well. Halfway to the market, Ayae had thought that they should turn back, but she told herself that she shouldn’t. In the final hours of the night, Faise and Zineer had rejected the idea of going to Sinae Al’tor. They shouldn’t have to hide, Zineer said and Ayae agreed with him. She agreed with Faise as well when she said that they still had to help the Mireeans. None of them should have to hide because of that. But Ayae knew that her movements were quicker than they would normally be. She knew her skin was warmer than usual. And she knew that she was searching for anyone out of place, anyone who paid too much attention to her or Faise or Zineer, anyone who held a cloak strangely across them. Yet all she had spotted was a Leeran priest at the back of the market, speaking to the largely unresponsive crowd. His hand rose occasionally over the heads of people, a book in his hand.
Faise touched her shoulder.
Startled, Ayae said, ‘Sorry?’
‘You’re not paying attention.’
She grimaced. To the left of Faise, Zineer was buying large thick-skinned oranges. ‘I just – it doesn’t matter. What did you say?’
‘I asked if you wanted one of those books for Zaifyr.’ The other woman turned in the direction of the priest. His arm had dropped and Ayae could no longer see him. A wave had washed over him and he had sunk beneath the black sea. ‘He’d probably appreciate it.’
‘He would,’ she said. ‘But those – only the priests can touch those books. He told me that.’
Zineer turned, a twine sack of fruit in his hands. ‘Who do you think is paying for the books?’ he asked. ‘I mean, the printing of them, that is.’
‘Why not the priests?’ Faise replied.
‘They claim not to have any money.’ Slowly, the three began to pick their way through the crowd. Zineer took the bag from Faise and placed the fruit in it as he continued to speak. ‘They are arriving without artifice. I heard one claim that the other day. We are but flesh and blood, were the exact words, I believe. They offer nothing but the truth of that.’
‘The Enclave thinks it is Benan Le’ta,’ Ayae said. ‘They haven’t come right out and said it, but he has been seen meeting with the priests, so the accusation follows.’
‘There aren’t that many presses capable of printing books in Yeflam.’ Zineer pushed the bag up his arm. ‘Most do papers, pamphlets – only five, by memory, can do actual books.’
‘One is owned by Le’ta,’ Faise added.
‘Leaving four . . .’
Ayae’s voice trailed off. Before her stood Commander Bnid Gaerl. He was a tall man with a heavily lined face. He had dark flat eyes almost lost in the lines of his face. Over his back he carried a large two-handed sword, and when he stepped into the path the three had been taking with casual ease, he did so without evidence of the weapon’s weight.
‘Leaving only four.’ His voice was rough, as if his throat had been damaged at some time. ‘Rather inauspicious, don’t you think?’
‘You’re only one.’ Ayae moved in front of Faise and Zineer. ‘I would say the odds are not in your favour.’
‘They say you don’t burn, girl.’ Gaerl’s tone sharpened the last word. ‘But do you bleed? I bet you do. All you cursed bleed.’
She took a step forwards.
‘You think I’m here to fight?’ He laughed unpleasantly. ‘I’m here to see you panic. To hear you plead.’
‘You haven’t enough life left for that.’
‘You’ll plead,’ he said. ‘You’ll plead once you hear that the Captain of the Ghosts was arrested.’
‘He isn’t even in Yeflam.’
‘Oh, he is. He told me where he was. He told the Soldier as well. He thinks he’ll be able to play us against each other and get some safety.’ Around the mercenary, the market crowd became still, his words capturing those closest first and then spreading. ‘But he’s just going to go to Wila and rot.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Little girl.’ He laughed again. ‘Do you want me to tell you your fortune? I do that for girls I find special sometimes.’
‘There’s no need.’ The anger in her voice did not surprise her. She took another step towards him. ‘I know how it goes.’
‘Then you know about the two people I got behind your friends.’
Ayae stopped.
‘You are no soldier, girl.’ Gaerl’s voice was hard. ‘When Heast is on that island, he won’t be able to help you. He won’t be able to begin no miracle, no twist, no turn. He’ll just have to watch you bleed from Wila. He’ll know it’s his fault as well. He’ll know he failed. He’ll know ’cause I’ll drop your traitorous heads down to him before I start working my way through his spies and paid-for soldiers.’
He stepped back into the still crowd, ending the conversation suddenly. The crowd rippled as he did, the stillness evaporating as he presented the long, well-oiled leather scabbard of his sword to Ayae and Faise and Zineer before he disappeared.
‘I think you made a friend,’ Faise said, finally.
‘I’m using my charm.’
‘I can tell.’
‘I’m s—’
‘If you say sorry,’ Faise said, suddenly angry, ‘I will not buy you apples.’
Ayae laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. She heard again Gaerl’s words, the Captain of the Ghosts was arrested, and knew that she should have killed him then and there, before he walked away.
5.
‘Do you always sleep with trousers on?’
He did not open his eyes. ‘Only in brothels.’
‘That’s funny.’ She did not laugh. Instead, her hand touched lightly the leg of his trousers – the left leg, the bad leg. ‘There is a man outside for you,’ she said.
‘A fat man?’ The Captain of the Ghosts opened his eyes: the morning’s sun slanted through the small window at the top of the room. The girl, her pale blonde hair almost lost in the light, murmured ‘yes’ as she traced the ring of blood around his leg. ‘There is a Keeper, as well,’ she said. ‘The Soldier.’ ‘Good.’
Slowly, he rose, his steel leg falling heavily to the wooden floor.
‘Does it hurt?’
She had fallen forward, onto the warm, rumpled sheets he had lain on. Her bare feet stretched down to where his head had lain. ‘You get used to it,’ Heast replied, picking up his jerkin. ‘Like all pain.’
Her smile was slight. ‘Do you want a knife?’
He ran a hand through his grey hair, shook his head.
‘I have two.’
‘They’re not a threat to me.’
‘What if you are a threat to them?’
‘You don’t need a knife for that,’ he said. ‘Do you plan to come down?’
She shook her head and he left her there, wrapping herself in the unmade sheets of his bed.
Sin’s Hand was quiet, the morning’s light illuminating the black stains left from candles, the sooty remains of the evening and its transgressions and transactions. Downstairs, he passed a man cleaning the bar, a woman sweeping the floor, and a pair of large guards waiting at the front door for him. They were unarmed, but for one, who held Heast’s sheathed sword. He handed it wordlessly to him as he approached.
Outside, Sinae Al’tor and two more unarmed guards stood before Benan Le’ta and Xrie. Half a dozen blue-mailed guards stood on either side of the two men, but Le’ta stood easily between them in an expensive mix of browns and blacks, and a heavy cloak to shield him from the ocean’s cold wind. Yet it was the other man who drew Heast’s attention.
‘Captain Heast.’ The Soldier’s voice was strong, assertive. ‘I am afraid I
must return you to Wila.’
‘For what reason?’
‘Your safety, of course,’ Le’ta interjected smoothly. ‘Commander Bnid Gaerl and I are duly concerned that some of his men have not reported back. We fear the worst and we are afraid that people will blame the Mireeans.’
It was not what he expected to hear. ‘What does that have to do with me?’
‘We are merely concerned that the law will be taken into another’s hands.’
He tossed the sheathed sword to the Soldier. ‘You’re welcome to check it for blood,’ he said. ‘There’s none there. I just buy things now.’
‘Yes,’ Le’ta replied blandly. ‘I’ve heard.’
‘Enough.’ Xrie did not check the blade, but did not return it, either. ‘I have not the time, nor the inclination for this. Captain Heast, it is not exactly as Benan Le’ta is explaining. Bnid Gaerl has accused you of being responsible for the loss of his men. You must know this because you let me know you were in Ghaam.’
‘I expected Gaerl to be here with his accusations.’
‘Commander Gaerl –’ Benan Le’ta was the first to emphasize his title – ‘is a law-abiding citizen. He believes in allowing justice to take its course. The soldiers who disappeared were part of an investigation by the Traders’ Union into land purchases that have threatened Yeflam’s economic stability.’
‘I don’t own any land,’ Heast said. ‘I never have.’
‘Captain—’
‘The Captain,’ Xrie cut in, ‘surely understands that going to Wila is as much for his own safety as it is a response to the charges.’
He told them that of course he did, and let himself be led to a carriage. At the door, Heast waited for Benan Le’ta to seat himself. He glanced behind him to Sinae, who gave a slight nod of his head, before Heast stepped into the carriage. The Soldier followed, closing the door to the carriage behind him. A whip cracked and the carriage shuddered into movement. Around it, blue-armoured riders spread out and fell into orbit for the slow journey to the island.