The Harvest Tide Project

by Oisin McGann

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s get out of here.’

  They passed through the hallways and up the stairs, Groach shuffling as fast as his leg irons would allow. As they headed for the front door, a coach was drawing up outside. Groach slowed down, but Emos egged him on.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ he muttered as they walked out.

  The door of the ornate coach opened and the Prime Ministrate leaned out.

  ‘Ah, Mungret, there you are. And Shessil too, I see.’ He motioned to Emos. ‘Get in, and bring our little traitor. I have some more questions for him before we send him to the skack grubs. I need you to fetch me the plans for a siege defence. The Karthars and Braskhiams are closing on the outskirts and we’re going to have to close off the gates soon. I need those plans.’

  Emos hesitated. They were surrounded by the Prime Ministrate’s escort. There was no chance of escape. Thinking fast, he nodded and shoved Groach in the direction of the coach. They climbed in and sat down opposite the Noranian leader. The door was closed behind them and the coach started off.

  ‘You’re not looking yourself today, Mungret,’ Namen commented. ‘Lungs at you again?’

  ‘Just all the excitement, Prime Ministrate,’ Emos wheezed, hoping the Noranian would not notice the difference in his voice. His head was starting to itch. He had spent years learning to hide the Myunan plague brand under his hair where it could not be seen, but it was cursed always to find its way back to his face so that all those who came into contact with him would know what he was. Now he could feel it edging towards his hairline. Holding it at bay took enormous effort.

  ‘Yes, well we’ll soon show that scum what it means to betray Noran. And if the Karthars want to fight us on our home ground, they can pay the price too. I’ll cut down every last one of them.’

  20 A BEXEMOT HUNGRY FOR LOVE

  On the river, the three eb-tower fortresses were being stocked up for a siege, with food, water, ammunition, and other supplies. The huge trees with their turrets, platforms and heavy weapons emplacements were a hive of hectic activity, so nobody noticed two extra barrels appear out of nowhere to join a stack that sat on the docks. They were picked up and carried past the guards, and onto the island-like base of the centre eb-tower. Every now and then, a pair of eyes would open on one of the barrels and glance around. Taya and Lorkrin had undone their uncle’s transmorphing. It had taken a lot of effort and a few near accidents to do it. They had suffered aches, stinging, swelling, numbness and dizziness, but they had finally managed it, and now they were determined to break Groach out. With no idea where to start looking, they had made their way to the eb-towers. Because they were tall and important-looking, and because Shessil said he worked with plants. For once, luck was on their side.

  A coach led by an armoured wagon pulled past and stopped inside the gates leading onto the base of the huge tree. A man who had to be the Noranian Prime Ministrate got out with a smaller man in tow, followed by Shessil Groach. They heard the Noranian leader order the second man to take the prisoner up to his quarters. Namen wanted to speak to the officer in charge of security for the eb-tower.

  The two barrels sidled out of sight behind a pile of flour sacks and slunched back into their normal forms. Taya unwrapped her tools, and began to mould her skin into the texture of bark. Her hands trembled, slowing her down. The atmosphere was heavy with the threat of looming battle, but she blocked it out as she worked. Flushed with the thrill of the rescue, her mind was filled with their tribe’s tales of romantic adventure. She would show Uncle Emos that they were no longer children. The sound of alarm horns burst out above them, making her start. Cursing men’s stupid love of war, she gritted her teeth and added the finishing touches to her camouflage with a routing comb.

  ‘Where do you suppose they’re taking him?’ Lorkrin asked as he did the same.

  ‘The Prime Ministrate said his quarters. They’re probably really high up, near the top. That’s where I’d be if I lived here.’

  ‘We’d better check the windows as we go up, all the same. You never know.’ He twisted his head right around so that he could see as he worked on his back.

  It did not take them long to complete their new forms.

  ‘Are you ready?’ his sister prompted.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go.’

  Moving slowly until they reached the first branches, so as not to be noticed, the two Myunans began to climb. Their fingers and toes were long, and ended in hooked claws that could grasp any small crevice in the tree’s surface. Their camouflage made them almost invisible against the dull brown bark, and they were careful to stay in the shadows wherever possible. Bit by bit, they made their way up the towering eb-tree. When they reached a ledge, Taya stopped for a rest, and gazed out over the city. Beyond the walls, past the factories and houses, she could see a dust cloud rising on one whole side of the city. Within it, there were hundreds – no, thousands – of soldiers and vehicles, an army moving in a wave towards the centre of Noran.

  ‘There’s going to be one almighty fight,’ Lorkrin whispered beside her.

  ‘Let’s make sure Shessil isn’t here when it happens,’ she replied.

  They both went still as a guard strode around a walkway above them. He carried on around the trunk and tramped down some stairs. All about them, men and women were busy preparing for the siege. Weapons were being loaded and buckets of water positioned to put out fires. People ran back and forth carrying things and shouting to one another. There was a feeling of adrenalin-charged urgency in the air. Lorkrin had always wanted to see a battle. Like every other boy he knew, he had played at war with his friends. Now he was seeing it as it truly was, and his heart was thumping in his chest, his stomach knotted with excitement and fear. His scrape with death when he fell in the esh had changed him, and for the first time, he had been faced with the knowledge that people could die for stupid reasons, without noble last words, or some heroic last stand. Death was fickle. And today, in this battle, everybody would be facing down fate. Something in Lorkrin got a sickening thrill from that knowledge.

  They had to stop again when they were blocked by the floor of a heavy crossbow emplacement. There seemed to be no way around. There was a turret filled with soldiers to their right and a walkway to their left, with people stamping up and down it in a constant stream. They had reached a dead end. Taya pressed herself as flat as she could. Her camouflage was good, but hanging here as they were, their shapes could be seen against the curve of the tree by anyone who looked hard enough. She swore silently. They might have to give up and head back down.

  Lorkrin bit his lip, feeling the strain starting to tell down his arms and shoulders. He was suspended from his claws and his toes were beginning to cramp. He stole a glance at Taya, and could see that she was also struggling to remain still.

  ‘We’re stuck. We’ll have to go back down,’ Taya hissed.

  ‘Wait!’ Lorkrin tugged her arm. ‘We can get up that way!’

  Out along a branch was a rope ladder that hung from a platform where a winch sat for hauling up supplies from the base of the tree. The platform was well above the level of the crossbow emplacement, and they would make a lot of headway if they took that route. There was no one at the winch. It would mean climbing out in full view, but it was less risky than taking the stairs. They walked out on the branch, balancing precariously, Lorkrin reaching the suspended ladder first. He checked below them, to make sure that there was nobody climbing up, and then started his ascent to the platform. Watching him go, Taya prayed that he was not seen. Disguised as he was, he looked like a thin, dead tree stump making for the sky. Even the dumbest soldier would be bound to get a mite suspicious.

  He crawled onto the platform and waved her up. She took the ladder in both hands and scaled it quickly. Up by the winch, there were coils of thick rope and harnesses of various kinds. A gurney was slung from a cable between the platform and the tree trunk, and together they jumped on and slid the length of the cable to the relative
cover of the trunk. Here, they stepped off the walkway and clung to the heavily ridged wood, continuing their climb, peering into windows as they went up, looking for signs of Shessil or the Prime Ministrate.

  Draegar and Hilspeth found their way to an outdoor kitchen that served tourists to Noran. He had to keep a low profile as Parsinors were being arrested all over the city, but she was relatively free to wander and find out more about what was going on. While she stood waiting for her soup, Hilspeth talked casually to the old woman who was serving. Draegar sat down at the table in the corner, keeping a wary eye out for soldiers.

  Hilspeth joined him with the food, pushing the soup and some bread towards the Parsinor.

  ‘Apparently the Prime Ministrate is raging. He has the word out that we are to be executed when they find us. All the Myunans and Parsinors that they’ve found can’t tell them anything, so the Noranians are threatening to execute them if we’re not captured.’

  ‘Damn their rotten souls! Any word on what’s happening beyond the walls?’

  ‘The Braskhiams and the Karthars are almost at the outskirts of the city. They’ve smashed their way past the sentry posts in the hills, and have sent word that they want the Prime Ministrate himself or they will sack the city.’

  ‘They could do it too, if they could take the eb-towers. Listen, I’ve been around this area before. I used to sell maps to the Noranians. We need to cause some chaos, give Emos the chance to break Shessil out, and maybe do some damage to the eb-towers into the bargain. If we can distract the Noranians’ attention, Emos can save Shessil. I know how he thinks. This is what we need to do.’

  After he had explained what he had in mind, Hilspeth nodded.

  ‘I know exactly how to do that.’

  Emos followed the Prime Ministrate up the stairway, keeping Groach ahead of him. This was not going according to plan. While they were surrounded by soldiers, there was little hope of getting the botanist out, and his head was starting to itch intolerably. It was all he could do to stop from constantly scratching it. The brand would show on his face before long, and then his disguise would be useless. Cossock, the monstrous bodyguard, stayed close behind him so he was unable to say anything to Groach. After a seemingly endless climb, they reached the Prime Ministrate’s quarters. Namen gestured Emos and their prisoner into the main study.

  ‘Pull out everything we have on siege strategies while I’m gone. I must see to the defences. I’ll be back soon.’

  With that, he left and they were alone together.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Groach asked.

  ‘I’m thinking,’ the Myunan replied. Walking to the window, he looked out and wondered how far down it was to the river. Too far, he decided.

  Rak Ek Namen went down the steps three at a time with Cossock at his heels. There was so much to deal with and so little time. He was convinced Groach’s friends were Karthar spies, and that they must be found before they could cause any more harm. Then there was the battle ahead. The opposing army was strong, but they were tired from travelling and would not be well supplied; he was sure he could defeat them.

  He nearly ran into Mungret, who was climbing up the steps towards him. Namen stared at him.

  ‘I thought I told you to …’ He paused, frowning.

  ‘To what, Prime Ministrate?’ Mungret enquired, knowing trouble brewing when he saw it.

  ‘Grab him!’ Namen shoved the clerk at Cossock and raced back up the stairs.

  Emos was listening at the door. When he heard the Noranian leader running up the steps, he turned and cast his eyes around the room. There was no time to amorph into another disguise. In the shadows between two bookcases, there was a stand holding an array of antique spears and swords. He stared at them for a moment.

  Taya looked up and shouted a warning to Lorkrin, hugging the trunk as some spears fell past her. They narrowly missed her brother, who swore in fright.

  ‘Bowels! They’re onto us!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Taya shook her head, gazing upwards. ‘I don’t think that was meant for us.’

  ‘What, you think they chuck spears out of windows for laughs up here?’

  Rak Ek Namen burst into the study, closely followed by Cossock and a nervous clerk, and found only a slightly bemused Groach standing in the middle of the room. His face a mask of controlled rage, the Prime Ministrate looked around the room, and then strode forwards and peered out each window. Cossock checked behind the door, and searched through the official robes hanging in the large, ornate wardrobe.

  ‘Where is he?’ the Noranian leader demanded.

  ‘Who?’ Groach replied, pointing at Mungret. ‘You mean him?’

  Draegar and the scentonomist left the kitchen, and walked along the back alleys to the docks. Hilspeth stayed ahead of the Parsinor, checking that the coast was clear before he followed. They hurried across the loading areas to a bridge that spanned the river above the eb-towers. Climbing down, they slipped into the water underneath, and vanished beneath the surface.

  Hilspeth had always been a good swimmer. She had grown up in an area on the shores of a great lake, and she and her friends would often spend summer days playing in the clear waters. The water of the River Gullin was in stark contrast to that lake. It had a mud bottom that was constantly disturbed by the current, making it murky and full of silt. Pollution from the factories gave it a dank smell, and something in it was stinging her eyes. Draegar touched her arm and pointed. Below them, partly buried in the mud, was what they had come to find. It was a bexemot, sleeping on the bed of the river. Draegar had told her that they were enticed here by the Noranians, who used them for moving the eb-towers into deeper water when the river level dropped. This was one of at least five that he knew were in this area. Letting some air out through her closed lips to take the pressure from her lungs, Hilspeth held her nose and popped her ears as she dived deeper.

  If there was anything that Hilspeth knew a lot about, it was smells. And when you knew a lot about smells, you learned a lot about noses too. It was all part of the job. Even unusually large noses like that of a bexemot. Actually, studying the inside of a bexemot’s nose was essential to a scentonomist’s training. How else was one to get such a close look inside a working nasal passage?

  She swam down to the head of the monstrous animal, and worked her way along to one of its nostrils. Then she ducked inside. Just inside was a large hollow, big enough to hold an air pocket at the top that she could fit her head into. She exhaled as she hit the air and heaved in a few breaths. The nostril was the width of a respectable wine barrel, and its walls were lined with a slimy mucus that made it slippery. There was no movement in the passage. A sleeping bexemot could hold its breath for weeks. She felt uneasy being in such a confined space, but she had a job to do, which was enough to keep her wits about her.

  Digging her feet in to hold her head in the small air space, she reached into her waistcoat and pulled out a vial. There was almost no light in here, but she knew most of her bottles by feel. Holding her nose, she unplugged the cork and let the contents empty into the water around her. It was essence of timbleleaf. For humans, it was a treatment for jealousy: for bexemots, it was a powerful love potion. There was enough in that vial to make even the most unfriendly bexemot go looking for romance. She was not sure how fast it would work. She had her answer before she could get out of the nostril.

  The world about her shook and there was a rush of moving water. She felt the pressure change, and was almost sucked farther in as the creature’s head broke the surface and it took a deep breath. With an almighty explosion of air, it sneezed, blasting her into the sky as high as the roofs of the buildings on either side of the river. She sailed through the air, arcing down the river and landing on her back with a smack that stung her from head to toe. She skimmed the surface, bounced and slapped the water hard again. The wind was knocked out of her, and she sank beneath the glassy ripples. With a few frantic strokes, she clawed her way up to the surface again, fig
hting for breath. She paddled weakly until a heavily muscled arm encircled her waist and guided her to the shore. Draegar pulled her out under the cover of the bridge and watched her until he was sure she had recovered.

  ‘Never seen that before,’ he told her.

  The bexemot was wide awake, and could be seen with its head and back rising out of the murky water. It swivelled slowly this way and that, then found a scent and started moving.

  ‘I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl,’ Hilspeth mused.

  The enormous animal swam past the bases of the eb-towers, snagging anchor lines and brushing against the thick roots on which the trees floated. The tall floating fortresses swayed violently back and forth, starting to pull at their moorings as their suddenly unanchored bases began to move with the current. The mooring ropes pulled taut, and the huge trees shuddered, held in place only by the ropes and the long cables that ran from the ground to the higher branches to hold the tops steady.

  The bexemot continued on its way, determined to find love. It dragged some anchor chains with it, and was hardly slowed when they jerked taut and snapped, shaking the towering fortresses to their roots. Horns were sounding the alarm, and soldiers and dock workers ran to help secure the eb-towers. But nothing could be done while they rocked from side to side; men and women were tossed across the roots and thrown from the branches into the river; loose ropes and chains whipped around and knocked people to the ground. Hilspeth winced as she saw one soldier hurled towards the bridge by a pivoting tree.

  ‘I think we may have overdone it,’ she grimaced.

  ‘They’ll be all right.’ Draegar was unsympathetic. ‘A good swim never hurt anyone. At least it’ll draw attention away from Emos. He should have got Shessil out by now.’