Waer

by Meg Caddy

  The weather started to change as we moved further south. The chill was taken off the air, and the rain fell less frequently, but with more weight. Grass became scrub, and the trees thinned. Moth said the air would only get warmer as we neared Luthan. She said they had never seen snow there; much different from the Valley, where we saw snow every other winter.

  Home was too far away to think about. I forced my mind away, to the journey ahead. And Luthan.

  As we drew closer to Luthan, we were forced to take the dirt road. It became cobbled, and filled with people as we neared the city. I felt the old grasps of panic at the sight and smell of so many people. Lycaea was straight-backed, her eyes gleaming as she took in her surroundings, obviously familiar with them. The limestone buildings ahead were dense and uniform, with few windows and grey roofs. The city was so populated, houses were built on top of one another – entire families lived above others. For a waerwolf who had come from the Valley, where everything had been spacious and clean, this was an alien concept. The skies were thick with smoke and the smell of salt and fish lay heavily upon the air, indicating the main trade within Luthan.

  People passed us pushing carts of fish, and I saw someone carrying what Dodge told me was a shark. It looked monstrous, and I said as much to Lycaea. Unusually conversational, she told me sharks were nothing compared to durlows. Durlows were enormous, furred creatures who inhabited the north-east seas and often came as far south as Coserbest. Lycaea told me they were as large as a whale, which meant little to me; I had never seen a whale. Both whales and durlows were hunted by the Coserians, for oil and meat.

  The city loomed above us, pale and weather-beaten. It stood on the top of a hill, which cut down sharply to the ocean. I had never seen so many buildings before. They were surrounded by a large sandstone wall, but from what I could tell passage through the city was largely unrestricted. There were guards, but they did not check the caravans and wagons in front of us, and they waved us through with less than a cursory glance.

  We stepped into a narrow street, framed on each side by high walls of thick limestone. There were a few gaps in the wall on either side, offering glimpses into the sprawling districts on either side, and guarded doors. The houses in the north-west corner of the city were barely standing, held together with dubious materials, mostly scavenged. Sounds of brawling came from behind the wall. Men and women shuffled out, pushing carts and hauling bricks. Small children peered through the gaps in the wall or walked along the top, nimble as kittens. They were thin, with big eyes and grubby faces. They called to us as we passed. They knew Moth and Dodge; I heard some of them of them asking for stories. Dodge laughed and waved them away, promising to return.

  The doorways of the second section were guarded by armed men in uniforms. Any person to enter the upper section had to present identification and proof of birth, to indicate they were worthy to enter. I watched elegant men and women walking though, attended by servants.

  ‘That’s the Primero,’ Dodge told me. ‘It’s for the high and mighties, anyone with a title.’

  ‘And the other section?’

  ‘Ultimo,’ he said. ‘The slums. Powers that be decided it would be best to separate the city into classes. So one night, about a hundred and fifty years ago, they herded the poor and the helpless into this section, closed the gates, and put guards on them. You need a pass to leave the section, and you need serans to get a pass.’ Serans were coins used by most of Oster. They were made out of fish-scales, packed together tightly. We sometimes used them in the Valley, but more often we bartered and exchanged goods. They were only really useful when the travellers and chipre-folk came through the area.

  ‘And if you cannot obtain serans?’

  ‘Then you’re trapped.’

  I stared at Lycaea. ‘You live in a place like this?’

  Her lips tilted. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Just wait, Sencha.’

  ‘To the south side of the city, beyond the Mercado, are the Grinaja and Ciadudan districts,’ Dodge went on. ‘The Grinaja is a prison quadrant, and the Ciadudan is for the regular civilians.’

  The Mercado, the market, sprawled out before us. I stopped at the wall separating the corridors from the square. Sweat prickled my brow. I could smell animals, and hear them squawling behind the wall. People. Children. Strong aromas burned my nostrils. I stumbled. Too much. Too many. It was hot, and my hands shook. The acrid combination of urine and smoke hit my nose. My wolf growled, and it rumbled through my throat.

  ‘Lycaea? Lowell?’ Dodge touched my shoulder.

  Lycaea’s jaw was clenched. I knew she felt it too, though perhaps not the way I did. The assault on the senses. I forced myself to move. My hand broke the space between us and brushed hers. She did not move. She took two deep breaths, then spoke.

  ‘Keep walking forwards. Mind your pockets. Don’t get waylaid, and don’t stop for anyone.’

  She thrust her chin up and walked forwards. Ignoring the scream of every instinct, I followed her.

  The square was large, framed by taverns and inns. Bright colours flooded the market – tents and flags, ribbons and gilded wagons. At the far end of the Mercado was a row of cookeries, roasting goat and beef and pig on spits. A man sat to our right, peddling roasted almonds and chestnuts. A child with orange hair streaked past me, barefoot and shouting obscenities. Perched on the roof of a tavern, a group of men and women sat with their brown legs dangling. They were drinking and calling out to passers-by. I turned in a slow circle, lost in the swarm of activity. A woman bustled by me, a goose under each arm. One honked, making me jump. Lycaea clamped a hand on my shoulder and steered me through the crowd.

  Moth was waylaid already, bent to speak to a group of children. They bounced around her, calling and laughing and reaching to touch her hair. Dodge wheeled around and joined her, hoisting a young girl onto his shoulders. Moth took off her spectacles and placed them over a boy’s nose. Her laugh rang out clear. I felt a pang of sadness for them both. They would have been so suited to children of their own.

  ‘They’ll catch up with us when they’ve finished playing,’ Lycaea said over the noise of the crowd. She kept her hand on my shoulder. It grounded me. I walked, forcing my way through pressed shoulders and waving arms, past carts and stalls and musicians. Someone tall Shifted to my left, and I felt the burst of energy expelled from the action. I stared as a large wolf prowled through the crowd – a souther-waer. Simultaneously, I felt the call of the pack, and utter reprehension. My kind, and yet not my kind.

  ‘Watch out for them,’ Lycaea said. ‘Sometimes they eat people.’

  Not my kind at all.

  A juggler wandered by, a path cleared in front of him as he tossed flaming batons. Lycaea dragged me after him and we walked a few paces behind in the clear spaces wrought by his work.

  ‘Pattern and flow,’ Lycaea said. ‘You learn to follow the beat of the crowd. Keep up, Sencha.’ In spite of her initial pause, she seemed to be enjoying herself now.

  I could not see where we were going. I had lost all sense of direction. Moth and Dodge had long been swallowed by the milling masses. How could one place be so full, so alive? I made myself breathe steadily. Followed Lycaea. The people around us were deafening. I was lost, could not string together my thoughts.

  ‘Here. Here, Wolf.’ She pulled me forwards and we broke out of the crowd. We stood in the shadow between a temporary weapons-stall and the permanent inn standing behind it. I braced my hands on my thighs and dragged in several lungs of air.

  ‘Is it always like that?’

  ‘Mostly. Can you breathe?’

  ‘Yes.’ I straightened. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Never apologise.’ Her voice was brusque, but I was learning not to mistake that for unkindness. ‘Not for things beyond your control. Come. We still have a way to go.’

  ‘Moth and Dodge?’

  ‘They know where we’re going. They’ll catch up.’

  ‘Where are we going, Lycaea?’

  ‘The Grin
aja.’

  I stopped, trying to remember if the Grinaja was the quadrant designated to the prisoners, or the civilians.

  ‘The Grinaja?’

  ‘The prison district,’ Lycaea confirmed. ‘Keep close. Be careful.’ She ducked into an alleyway between the inn and another building. I followed, glad to leave the rush of the Mercado behind. We walked through the narrow alley, shaded by the roof-ledges. The sun glared through the cracks, shining onto the cobbles. I squinted at it, unable to believe this was winter in Luthan. It was warm, even in the shade.

  We came to a fence and Lycaea climbed over. It was high and metal, but not difficult to scale. On the other side lay a bare street and an imposing wall. Lycaea nodded towards the wall.

  ‘The Grinaja is beyond,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to go in an old way, through a broken fountain. Assuming it’s still there. Guards patrol most of the streets, so be alert. If they catch you out, you’ll get a beating. Or locked up.’

  ‘Have you been caught before?’ I lowered my voice as we neared the wall.

  ‘Three times. The first two times were unpleasant. The third time was different. I was one of Hemanlok’s people by then, established. The lawkeepers let it slip, because it was better than crossing the boss.’

  ‘Does everyone in Luthan know who he is?’

  ‘Of course.’

  We rounded a corner, into a dead end. The old fountain was there as Lycaea had said; several limestone horses standing on a platform. Lycaea climbed onto the platform and ducked between the legs of the horse. She was lost in the shadows, and I hastened to go after her. I had to crawl. It should have smelt musty and foul in the tight space, but instead I caught traces of clean air. I wriggled through the darkness and found the statue legs replaced on either side of me by brick. When I clambered out, I was on the other side of the wall.

  The Grinaja was quiet. Still. The buildings were large and rectangular, regular, with barred windows. There were some lights, but it was mostly dark. I wondered that a whole district could serve the purpose of housing criminals. Were there so many?

  Lycaea seemed to read my thoughts. ‘The criminals and their families live here,’ she said. ‘If your parents are both imprisoned, for example, you get moved to one of the Crims’ Orphanages here in the Grinaja. Awful places. Half the time, the children would be better off on the street. If your spouse is imprisoned, you’re forcibly moved here and given a job washing or whoring or breaking up bricks or maintaining the streets. Either that, or you’re forced to pay an extortionate tax to keep yourself out. Some people go so far into debt to avoid imprisonment in the Grinaja, they end up in the Ultimo. Couldn’t rightly say which is worse.’

  ‘Regardless of their innocence?’

  ‘It’s supposed to be more of a deterrent to criminals if their spouses suffer too. I don’t know. You force people into the criminal district, pretty sure you’ll just get more criminals.’

  ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘Because I’m a criminal. Hush now.’

  We stole around buildings. My heart pounded with the same mingling of fear and delight associated with childish hide-and-find games. Felen only knew why I trusted Lycaea. She seemed determined to give me reasons not to.

  Shouts and wails were faint in the Grinaja, but almost ever-present. I could hear two people shouting at one another. Every so often, a face appeared at the bars, or an arm stretched through. I wondered at the children who were kept in such a place. I tried not to imagine Kemp there, though it was the first thing to spring to my mind. My poor little brother.

  Lycaea took my arm and pulled me into the shadow of a wall. She was alert; her hand gripped me tightly. I could not tell if she was frightened or exhilarated.

  ‘Do you smell that?’ she demanded.

  I lifted my nose and breathed in the sharp tang of leather, blood-like traces of metal. Sweat and dirt. The sounds reached me now; footsteps rounded the corner. Lycaea was frozen. It was her sweat I could smell. We pressed closer to the wall, just out of sight. I held my breath.

  The footsteps were heavy, booted. There was more than one person; I heard softer steps following, and a light sound of something brushing against the wall. Maybe three of them, from the scents. Murmurs reached my ears. I heard Lycaea’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Wik said she saw them coming though the Mercado. Healer and storyteller both, and our girl.’ A woman’s voice with a strong Luthanese twang. ‘And some norther-waer blood. Wik didn’t know him.’

  ‘Is she sure?’ A man, also Luthanese. His voice was thin and reedy. ‘Is she sure it’s our girl?’

  I looked at Lycaea. Her face was white. She did not move.

  ‘Boss?’ The woman again. The heavy footsteps had stopped. ‘What is it, Boss?’

  A large hand grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me away from the wall. I shouted and kicked, found my feet hovering off the ground. The man holding me was immense. He held me with little effort. I clutched at his hand, trying to free myself from his grip. He shook me. A wolf shaking prey. I tried to remember what Lycaea had taught us and hit out at his neck, tried to claw at his eyes, but he swung me around and slammed me against the wall. My teeth clacked together. Though my back took the initial impact, my head was forced back until it knocked against the bricks. His hand was at my neck then, cutting off the air. I kicked and struggled. My lungs ached. I could feel blood gathering in my face, swelling it.

  The man brought his face close to mine. His skin was nut-brown, but his eyes were white. The white of blindness. He bared his teeth and spoke. His voice was impossibly deep. My vision hazed.

  ‘I could hear you breathing, blood.’

  ‘Put him down, Hemanlok.’

  The man’s grip on me tightened with Lycaea’s voice. I closed my eyes. Slowly, I felt the hold on my neck slacken. He dropped me and stepped back. I slid down the wall, holding my throat. Lycaea pushed past Hemanlok to my side, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ My voice was thin, but I could breathe.

  ‘Brat.’ The man’s voice jerked our attention back to him. Lycaea straightened. She kept her hand on my arm, and I did not pull away. I suspected she needed the support as much as I did.

  ‘Not easy to catch you unawares,’ she said. ‘Either I’m getting quieter, or you’re getting slow.’

  ‘That’s not her.’ It was the other woman, her voice hard and clipped. ‘Our girl wouldn’t talk to you like that, Boss.’

  ‘Pipe down, Flick.’

  ‘Boss.’

  ‘Flick.’ Although he did not raise his voice or address me, his tone made me shrink back. The woman, Flick, set her teeth and lowered her head. I dared a glance at Lycaea, and wished I had not. I had never seen her so frightened. Her features were pinched and tight. One fist was clenched, and the other hand still gripped me.

  ‘Where’s Derry?’ Hemanlok asked.

  ‘In the Mercado. Playing with the street-urchins.’

  ‘She could’ve just heard that from what we was just saying,’ muttered the third person, a short man with lank hair and cracked teeth. ‘She’s carrying a sword. Our girl didn’t carry a sword, not in habit. Bow-staff, every time.’

  ‘I didn’t exactly have a gleaming selection to choose from,’ Lycaea snapped. Her fear was getting the better of her.

  ‘Shut your mouth, Shard.’ Hemanlok’s attention never wavered from Lycaea. He stepped towards us. Lycaea dropped my arm and wrapped her fingers about the hilt of her sword. I heard it rasp as it dragged an inch from the sheath.

  Hemanlok heard it too. He smirked. ‘Think you’re quick enough, girl?’ he asked.

  ‘Quicker than I used to be.’

  ‘That ain’t so hard.’

  She said nothing. Hemanlok drew back. His lip curled.

  ‘It’s her,’ he said. ‘But she ain’t ours anymore.’ He turned away. ‘Walk on.’

  Lycaea stared. Shock melted into hurt on her pale features. S
he looked at the ground as the three started to walk away, and her shoulders hunched. My stomach clenched. My wolf had hackles, was growling, wanted to bite.

  Without thinking, I scooped a loose stone from the ground and hurled it at Hemanlok’s retreating back.

  ‘You owe her!’

  Kaebha

  She lay on her stomach, tasting dirt and blood.

  ‘How much do you know about the waer, Kaebha?’ Leldh had stopped expecting her to answer by now. ‘Do you know what they did to my people?’ He stepped around her. She could not crane her neck to look at him. Her eyes fixed instead on his polished boots. Her mouth was too dry to spit on them.

  ‘They joined with the Watchers,’ he went on. ‘Which was natural for them, as they were wrought by the Dealer. But being cowards, and lacking the discipline and talent to fight with weapons, they reverted to their animal nature. They attacked our people in packs. Used their mind-speech to confuse us. My people retaliated by using the soul-bond against them. We broke their pairs. When the war was over, it was the waer who attacked us most savagely. If they could not kill us, they turned us.’

  Kaebha focused on her breath. Everything was a haze of pain.

  ‘The waer blood works like a disease. When mixed with regular blood, it corrupts. Like a pestilence, like a plague, it spreads through the body. Finally, once it has claimed every drop of your blood, it forces you to Change. To take the shape of the deformed mongrel. Many of the Kudhienn killed themselves rather than allow that. But it did not matter either way. The shape was too much for them to sustain. Those Kudhienn who were turned, died.’

  He crouched before her and pulled her head up.

  ‘I wonder what it will do to you.’

  She did not have time to scream. He slashed open her ragged shirt and the flesh beneath it. Kaebha choked, and squirmed.

  ‘Blood,’ Leldh said. Cooper handed him a small vial. There was a pop as Leldh unstoppered it. Liquid splashed across her flesh.