‘Nilah is not well. I am her daughter, Tuoni, and I will interpret your words.’ The woman spoke with a gentleness that faded day by day in her elder. ‘My father wants to know whether you enjoyed last night.’
‘Your alcohol is very…strong,’ replied Lysander.
Tuoni translated for her father and he gave the hall and its guests a gruff chortle. Beneath the exterior, however, there was a deep contemplation. With his wife ill, their lives lay in his hands and his hands alone – an encumbrance he would prefer to be rid of.
‘Why do you travel through the Wilds? What is this quest you speak of?’ asked Tuoni.
‘We have come from Carrigan, specifically the town of Old Haven, and plan to journey from these lands to Mezbollah and the Nhamoon Desert. Our reasons are our own.’
‘No, robed one, they are not.’
Lysander took a breath and sought a mental road round the impediment. The daughter was not going to be easy to brush off.
‘Well?’
‘We are missionaries. We preach the Shaper’s word and wish to convert the heathens of the desert to the one true religion, that of the Redeemer.’
The six behind him tried to keep a straight face.
‘Missionaries? What kind of missionaries carry weapons and strange vials full of poison?’
‘If you’ve touched them, I swear…’ came Kara’s voice and a step forward that was pushed back.
‘Watch yourself, Carric. We have little time for your insolence and plenty of arrows to take it away.’
‘We are indeed missionaries. Praise be the Shaper and his divine will!’ It may have been the jungle juice rearing up, but Lysander swore a trickle of bile climbed up his gullet. ‘The weapons are for our protection. As you yourself know, the world is not as it once was. Many fight one another in senseless wars. Bandits have come to our very lands and torched our houses. Filthy and unashamed are they. Look at these three behind me,’ shaking his hand vehemently at the Venecians, ‘I have turned them to His will and He has set them free. Still they cling on to these effeminate charms and hairstyles—’
‘Wha—’ Cesar got a pinch from Anna and he gave her one in return.
‘You see their disobedience? When rot has reached the core it takes years to be washed clean. But mark my words: none can escape His glorious light and its holiness is anathema to any trace of sin. They will find their way through the salvation of another.’
‘In the desert, yes?’
‘That is correct. Mezbollah is a wicked place, full of worshippers of false gods.’
‘We do not worship your Shaper. Have you come to convert us too?’
Lysander said with a salesman’s smile, ‘How can we convert those that have found Him through the forests and its animals. Do you not see? You are already His children.’
Tuoni gave him an arched eyebrow and conferred with her father in Reyen. When that gruff chortle came again Lysander thought they were doomed.
‘Jor does not believe a word that you say, but you have lightened his heart. He has decided not to kill you.’
‘Shaper bless you.’
‘Don’t push it. You will have our assistance, but we first demand yours. The Grelv have taken my brother’s life, along with many of my kin. My father does not wish to repay the favour. He wants a ceasefire and the prospect of resolution that comes with it. None of our envoys have been able to cross over into the land of the Grelv. If they have come back they have done so with spears in their chests. But you seven are neither Ilo or Grelv; you are a neutral party in these wilds and can succeed in taking our message of peace where they have failed.’
The seven talked amongst themselves. It was decided that this was either a trap and the Ilo would murder them, or not a trap and the Grelv would murder them. Either way, they would definitely, one hundred percent, not get out of this jungle alive.
‘What makes you think they would not kill us on sight?’ queried a wary Lysander.
‘It is possible. The Grelv have less and less time for thought. But to arrive in this jungle you would have come through the mire of fear and crossed the river to the north. We think you possess some talents.’
‘We cannot stop a war that has been going on for nine years. You ask too much of us.’
‘Monk, your options are these: you can join the river and float towards the sea facedown, or you can accept this challenge and have a chance to see another day.’
‘And if we simply leave and never come back once you set us free?’
‘Not even your Shaper can guide you out of the Wilds alive.’
The seven were pinned, backs against the wall, weaponless and out of choices. Anna had been captured and made to do someone else’s bidding so many times she was thinking it was just a recurring gag she’d not been let in on. If the Shaper did exist they would have very unholy words one day.
‘We accept, not that we have an alternative.’
‘A wise decision. A guard will take you to the armoury to retrieve your weapons. There you receive a map. It is better than any you possess. I know. I have checked. Do not hope that the map will lead you out of these lands – most of it has been removed. It will, however, take you to the nearest stronghold of the Grelv. They have spread through this jungle like wildfire, so do not be surprised if you encounter an encampment we have not yet noted. What is that, father?’ Jor was whispering to her in their common tongue. ‘Ah, my father, the jester. He wishes you well on your journey, but says you do not need his goodwill. You have your glorious Saviour protecting you. What can go wrong?’
‘That woman has a real bee in her bonnet,’ said Tommy, bitten and chaffed in all the wrong places.
‘I do not think it stayed in her bonnet, if you catch my drift.’
The word that best described the day’s trek through the jungle was moist. Lysander was charging on, leaving the rest to their petty disputes, Mateo not far behind. The comely lad had felt ostracised since the drunken kiss. Andres had been the same with him, but stubborn Cesar had let it affect their relationship and kept his distance.
‘You have a problem with strong women, you know that?’ said Anna to Cesar. ‘It’s not our fault that we manage to clean up your mess, take care of your young, and keep ourselves looking trim while you grow bald and fat.’
‘Don’t you have lips to fall on somewhere?’ he asked, taking immense pleasure in the taunt.
‘I’m not sure. Maybe your secure, masculine self can guide me. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your daily facial routine, that is.’
Anna scored a high five from Kara, who had more spring in her step since the group’s division and Anna’s conversion to the dark side. The two had been best buddies throughout the sweaty day.
‘I cannot help it if I take pride in my appearance,’ said Cesar. ‘Is hot water so hard to come by in Carrigan that even Daddy’s girl cannot afford to bathe?’
Kara’s face grew severe. ‘Watch your tongue, Venecian, lest I cut it out.’
‘Have I hit upon a sore topic? Is Daddy not up for discussion? Perhaps Mommy would be better. Does she like to cheat on him with the help?’
The girl grabbed her daggers from their sheathes and spun them round her fingers. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’
A worn-out Lysander told them to shut up, for they were right on the edge of the Grelv base. Kara looked over at Cesar, who was furnishing her with a pucker of his lips. You won’t be kissing anyone if I can get a Vial of Black Pox down your gullet, pretty boy. Anna told her he wasn’t worth it. Kara holstered her knives. For now.
The seven snuck to the cliff face and dropped flat on their stomachs when they saw what was beneath: hundreds of Grelv men; spearmen sharpening their death-sticks; apes being tortured and led into cages in chains; a great water wheel spinning round, its silver slipping out and down to the next tier. Smog caught in their lungs and a workshop was the culprit, polluting the air with smoke and the hammerclang of rock armourers who sculpted stone into armour. To the west was
a stockpile of wood. Beyond, the seven saw not towering green but stumpy brown. The Grelv had cut a swath through their home, and trees that had dripped with rain and birdsong for thousands of years were lost.
‘Why don’t they just talk to the apes in that funny language?’ said Tommy. ‘Why do they have to treat them like that? It’s horrible.’
‘Maybe the apes don’t respond to it,’ said Kara.
‘Or they have lost the gift. Had it t-t-taken back.’
Andres heated the air with his words, ‘These are not good people. They persecute the land and the living. We must stop them.’
‘We’re here to speak to them remember, not threaten them.’
‘Lysander, they are winning this war. They are not going to listen to seven outsiders and there’s no reasoning with people that do this to their motherland.’
The monk admitted Andres was right. A tentative estimate by Kara informed them they were outnumbered fifty to one. ‘We can’t fight them directly,’ she said. ‘But I have an idea; a replication of a little stunt I pulled at a vicarage last spring. Teach them to hog the wine.’
‘The less I know, Kara, the better,’ said Lysander.
The group listened to her plan. How deliciously evil her tone was. Always beneath that veneer of sweet virtue was a melting pot of depravity and mischief. It was a good idea though, wasn’t it? Yes, it would get their attention – those that remained conscious anyway. Lysander consented and they laid in wait for nightfall, the Trickster preparing her merchandise.
When the Night Mother came and cloaked Kara and her chosen in darkness, they tiptoed down the hill and kept low to the ground to ensure a silhouette did not give them away. The Grelv had no jungle juice to lift their spirits; they were isolated from their ilk and determined to keep their wits razor sharp. The water that span round slaked their thirst and the smell of roast boar was enough to get them drinking.
The seven had to move fast. Run run with the jungle willing them on. A spearman paces round on his watch and his eyes see through the darkness better than any of the seven. They dive to the floor and stay there long enough that creepy crawlies start to think them food. Tommy and Anna shake their legs; Andres uses his sword to get the long-legged bleeders off. Mateo does not fear them and Cesar watches his brave friend with jealousy and admiration, showing him solely jealousy.
The spearman waits, hovers, comes close, checks the ground where they have been a moment ago and moves past the trees in which they now hide. Boar meat is in his nostrils and his brothers are calling him to it, telling him to stop worrying and get a decent meal for a change. Who knows, tomorrow night it may jujubee again – that hard, dry fruit with nutrients galore and – oh yes! – no taste.
Anna, Mateo and Cesar leave the trees and do not realise the hands they grasp in the black until they bump into one another and recognise each familiar scent, dropping the handlink when they do. Anna and Mateo are not on bad terms. Strained, some might say. Awkward. Cesar and Anna maintain a simpler relationship of pure hate that serves them just fine, thank you very much.
At the water wheel and its reservoir, the group pour in foul-smelling vials. Ten Vials of Scorpbite to bring fire to their innards. Twelve Vials of Liquid Choking to suffocate them into submission. Fifteen Vials of Ice Breath to turn them to slush in the nightlight. Last but not least, twenty two Vials of Slumber to overpower their wits and bring the gates crashing down. The group mix the cocktail with their weapons and Kara presides over her coven with a proud smirk.
They sneak away and watch the result from the treeline. Lysander prays as much as the atheist can. Let the effects be diluted. Have them not die needlessly. Kara has less noble thoughts that mostly revolve around what ailments the heady cocktail will result in. Mostly.
Look now at the first to take a sip. His skin erupts in a rash that spreads down to unspeakable regions. The rash turns from orange to blue as the Ice Breath takes hold, his capillaries constricting, heated blood taking flight. Before the Scorpbite can sink its teeth Slumber has sent him nodding off on his chair. Around him his brethren slurp at their drinks and so loud is the din that cries of poison go unheard.
Another drinks. And another. One gets Liquid Choking down his throat and sinks to the floor with the vice clasping tighter and tighter. His bearded father is luckier, head drooping into sleep. Ten men become twenty, twenty becomes fifty, fifty becomes a hundred. Some see the drink is the root of it and throw their mugs to the floor, ground hissing and smouldering when the mixture leaches through.
A rush towards the seven. Cesar competes with the Trickster to see who will win; who will down more. The girl takes two with separate vials and feels night instil her blades with insight. In rapture she kicks and cuts, legs and arms a blur in the elastic dance.
Lion-hearted Anna Gray takes her gemmed short sword and swings it toward a spearman whose stick finds Mateo’s shield and whose face finds Cesar’s. When she opens her eyes to the man lying on the floor, she is happy with her work, not to mention amazed.
‘There are too many,’ says Andres, saving from harm an ambitious Kara and a shaking Tommy, whose fingers have stopped being able to pull back the klether string. ‘We must retreat!’
A Grelv spearman, brothers fallen, aims a keen lance and like a thunderbolt does it travel toward Tommy, who is busy with two tribesmen that confine him in a pincer movement. Eyes on the twisting spear scraping past Tommy's chin. A sigh of relief.
Everything is okay.
Spear twisting still.
Breathe.
Spear piercing through Mateo's flesh, a gravelly yell pulsing through the air to the daeva who cannot control the Aether as it empties into its amphora. Men see this black-eyed girl and command their death-tools to take the fiend to the Shadowland. Spears find the wind itself shields her. The ground shakes. The six are powerless as in an ungodly shriek fiery veins course from her feet, earth rupturing with their travel and burying men under dirt. A river of flame sprouts from the cracks, lava riding to sever the stalk that has injured Mateo. Under waves of heat, anguish-teeming eyes rake at the monk, rake rake rake as the lava rides.
Thirteen – What the Future Will Bring
‘Anybody else never gonna get used to her doing that?’
‘So we’re going back with him and hoping that everything will just sort itself out? A tad optimistic, don’t you think?’
‘We have little other choice.’
‘What a shambles.’
‘It was your stupid plan that started this, princess.’
‘I had no romanticism about poisoning them. You were the ones that wanted vengeance for a war and a land that is not even yours.’
‘Everybody stop, she’s coming round.’
Andres lifted Anna, slung like a sack over his shoulder, and placed her feet back on solid earth, where she wobbled till her legs woke up. She saw everyone was staring, fear on their breath.
Tommy said that she did that “scary black-eyed witch thing” again but not to worry because Lysander walloped her on her skull before she could do any major damage, setting the river of flame to rock. ‘Hit the ground like a blackwood,’ he added, miming a tree falling through the air, complete with furry creatures running scared, screeching in high-pitched voices, ‘Please don’t squash me, miss, I’m so likkle and afwaid.’ (There was more said than this, but the boy somehow lost his footing in the undergrowth and the words were mixed in with a bout of screaming.)
Wondering if the trees always swayed like that, Anna shuffled towards Mateo and Cesar, the latter of whom was supporting his comrade with an arm. The shoulder wound was covered in a poultice that was saturated with blood. ‘He needs rest,’ said Cesar to Anna, apprehension curling around him. ‘A couple of days’ rest. No strenuous activity.’
‘I can s-s-s-s-s—’
‘Speak for yourself, I know, only I do not have the energy, she does not have the energy, and you certainly do not have the energy. Concentrate on walking straight. You look like that three
-legged mutt that used to yelp for scraps during training.’ Turning to Anna, he added, ‘Always gave him his lunch, didn’t he? Real smart guy.’
Mateo was outlining Anna’s face, eyes not quite meeting hers. ‘You l-look like someone put the moon under your sk-kin.’
Cesar explained that Kara had given him something for the pain.
‘Ah.’
‘I wish you t-t-two didn’t fight. You r-r-r-really are so much alike. I’ve never met two people so s-stubborn.’
Anna slipped her hand into Mateo’s. ‘You’ll be okay. I know it.' She did not know whether Cesar was afraid of her, or whether the display of affection offended him, but she could tell he wanted her away from them both. ‘Keep talking to this one when you can get a word in edge ways. I’m going to go speak with Lysander over— Um, who’s that?’
Cesar glanced over at their new travelling companion. Where the large stick had come from he didn’t know, but Her Ladyship was certainly fond of it. If only the same could be said for the man…
‘You know what,’ said Anna, ‘I’ll ask them.’
By the time she made her way over, Kara had discovered an angle to prod the prisoner without Lysander noticing. Poke one resulted in a girlish cry that caught everyone by surprise. On poke two the cry morphed into a deep, masculine snarl. And by poke three Lysander had clocked on to the stick and in a deft motion grabbed it and snapped it over his leg.
‘I can’t help it if he’s being an unruly little oik. Grumpy jungleman. I think you need a pick-me-up.’
Lysander gave her an inquisitive look.
‘Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about special medicine. Tastes like liquorice. Until it burns, that is. Med-i-cine? Make jungleman clean, yes? Eugh, it's no use, he obviously doesn't speak a word of Carric. Anna, what do you think: burn or broil?’
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