Thinking of her home brought a wave of sadness across her. So many dead, so much ancient lore destroyed. She remembered the library with its vast store of books, scrolls and artworks, all destroyed, all burned, if Hinrik was to be believed. And were the two of them the only ones left? An Eye and her Bane. And neither of them Acolytes of Varuun.
Was the entire order now gone?
And if it were, would anyone miss it? Would anyone lament the passing of the Acolytes of Varuun?
How many would ever know they existed?
The forest ended abruptly, and she found herself standing at the edge of a field. It shone, waving silver and gold in the moonlight. Now that she was out of the forest, she could see the sky, clear and black, stretching forever. Stars glinted, bright specks like shards of diamond flickering in inconstant light. The constellations wove their eternal magic, wheeling across the sky forever trapped in their pursuit of each other. The Great Spiral, the Sorcerer, the Claw, the Watcher, all stared down at her with … With what?
Contempt?
Pity?
Disinterest?
Boredom?
‘Crossing soon.’ Itxtli’s voice startled her.
‘What?’ she snapped. Her hand still ached from where he had crushed it in his. He was standing beside a tree not three paces from her, so still she’d had no idea he was there.
Itxtli pointed up to where Yatil was about to kiss her big sister. ‘Crossing soon,’ he repeated.
Myrrhini shrugged. ‘So?’
‘Don’t you ever wonder what a new Crossing will bring? Where you will be at the end of it?’
‘That will depend on you, won’t it? Don’t you have the final say about your prisoners?’
‘I do.’
‘So tell me, Achulti, what will this Crossing bring me? Where will it take me?’ When he did not respond, she stepped closer to him, sensing him stiffen at her closeness. Her anger built once more. ‘Where will you take me?’
‘I have already told you, we are heading to Usterust.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember, the sooner we get there, the sooner we will be safe.’ She took another step so that she was almost touching him. ‘But you never did tell me why that would be any safer.’
He tried to pull back, but he was already against the tree. Myrrhini leant into him slightly, pressing her breasts against him, feeling his chest rise and fall.
‘Tell me, Achulti. What is so unsafe here?’
He raised his hands and placed them on her shoulders, pushing her back gently. His grip both pushed and held her, so that when she slightly lost balance against an exposed tree root, he kept her steady.
‘Come with me,’ he said. He released her shoulders, but his right hand ran down her arm to her wrist, her hand, and held it. She did not pull away, but let him lead her away from the forest edge. After several paces, he stopped and turned to the west.
‘You want to know what is so unsafe.’ He pointed over her shoulder, up into the night sky. ‘Look up there.’
‘What am I looking at?’ she asked.
‘That.’
Rising from the western horizon like a plume of smoke was an area of utter black. Through it, no stars shone. The light of the sisters fell into it and vanished. Staring at it, Myrrhini felt a deep shiver of fear.
‘What is that?’
Itxtli shook his head. ‘No one knows. Not even the Blindfolded Queen.’
‘Which is why she wants me,’ Myrrhini whispered.
‘What?’
Myrrhini did not answer him as her Seeing came back to her: A darkness grown out of a city. A creature of malevolence burst from the ground, roaring its defiance. Its arms reached out to encompass the entire city, setting it to flames. Sounds of battle rose to her ears — screams, dying, the clash of weapons — but above it all was the insane laughter of this thing of chaos and hunger. Inexorably, like ripples on a pond, the darkness spread out of the city to engulf the whole world, plunging it into despair and chaos.
‘It has truly begun,’ she whispered. ‘Slave, where are you now? Now that I need you?’
‘What are you talking about?’
Myrrhini did not look away from the vast rising dark. ‘The end of the world,’ she said calmly. ‘Take me to Usterust, take me to your queen. It doesn’t matter now. You have taken my peace from me and nothing else can suffice.’ She turned to face Itxtli, and stared into his eyes, black in the night. ‘You and your queen have doomed us all.’
Itxtli silently followed her back to the camp and stood by her as she eased herself back into the space between the roots, leaning against the mossy trunk. When she was as comfortable as she was likely to get, he nodded a bow and walked away.
Myrrhini fell asleep, to be troubled by dark dreams of violence and war and death. When she awoke, stiff and sore, the sun was hidden behind dark clouds. The Agents were already up and preparing to move on. She ate and they left the forest behind.
It was colder out in the field under the grey sky than it had been at night under the forest canopy. The wind, coming now from the south, was bitter, carrying a new scent Myrrhini had never smelt before — the sea. At first, it was little more than a slight tang, a taste of salt, a hint of something rotting, but the closer they came to the coast the smells became stronger and more pungent. The salt, the powerful scent of massed humanity, the stench of a harbour. Her eyes watered and her stomach churned. By the time they came to the walls of Usterust, she was weak with nausea. She leant forward on her saddle and rested her face on Chicahua’s mane as the Agents led her inside the walls. The gates were open and apparently guarded in a somewhat desultory fashion as they simply rode in without so much as a pause.
After so long riding through wilderness, the sound of the hooves on the hard roads seemed loud and echoed from the buildings that crowded in alongside them. Coupled with the smells, the noises nearly overwhelmed her completely. People stopped to watch as the Agents passed by, their conversations following them along the road. Myrrhini felt the stares, heard the muttering, and cringed under the pointed fingers.
Why are they so interested?
Itxtli led them through the streets of Usterust towards the harbour. They passed a large paved area filled with people, every one of whom seemed to Myrrhini to be shouting or laughing, or gesticulating with their hands. She had never seen so many people in one place in her life. For a moment, she felt a flicker of panic at the sheer volume of noise and mass of humanity, but she took a deep breath and urged her horse on into the swirling throng.
It was a market where it seemed that anyone could buy anything but slaves. She recalled the stench, the sense of despair at Venste and after that, this town felt oddly happy. The people all seemed to be enjoying themselves in their noise and energy. She looked around, seeing stalls selling food, animals, jewellery, clothes and even weapons. Every stall holder looked to be busy, selling, buying, arguing, bartering, or just shouting for the sake of it.
Itxtli rode through the people, apparently hardly noticing them, and they in turn parted before him and those following him. The noise continued unabated. Myrrhini stared, trying to make sense of it all, but failed.
As they left the market, they rode close to a small stall selling herbs and various condiments. Over the flood of new smells, Myrrhini caught a faint hint of something she recognised. She reached out and grabbed Itxtli by the arm.
‘Stop,’ she shouted.
Itxtli turned in his saddle to regard her, but did not slow in his progress. His scowl was angry, but his eyes were curious.
‘Why?’
‘I need to buy something here.’
‘It can wait.’
Myrrhini yanked at him, almost unbalancing him. ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘It can’t.’
Itxtli wrenched his reins and brought his horse to a halt. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘I need to buy something here,’ Myrrhini repeated, pointing at the stall. The man standing behind the table under the shelter of a simple canvas sheet watc
hed the exchange with a curious smile on his face. Itxtli looked away from Myrrhini to the stall. His eyes narrowed and he realised what was on offer. He dismounted and helped Myrrhini to do the same.
She accepted both his help and the coins he offered before stepping up to the stall. A curious crowd had gathered around, having seen the brief disagreement and the subsequent stopping of the Agents. Myrrhini chose to ignore their stares as she faced the stall holder who watched her examine the jars and bottles containing his stock. His face showed surprise when she reached out to pick up a small open jar containing some dried leaves and berries.
‘This,’ Myrrhini said.
One or two of the onlookers muttered among themselves at her choice, and the merchant scratched at his beard.
‘All of it?’ he asked.
Myrrhini looked closely at the sad little collection of leaves and berries before nodding. ‘All of it.’
‘I think I shall close early, then,’ the merchant said. ‘This is worth more than the rest of my poor stock combined.’
‘Nonsense,’ Myrrhini scoffed. ‘You can pick this up anywhere. It grows wild.’
‘In the north, perhaps, my lady, but not here in the south. This plant requires the cold in order to achieve its, um, full, um, potential, shall we say.’
‘But, I …’ She stopped at Itxtli’s hand on her shoulder.
‘The Lady wishes the herb, merchant, not a conversation. Name your price.’
‘I can ask nothing less than twenty erden for it,’ the merchant said with an apologetic shrug.
‘Very well,’ Itxtli said. He looked at Myrrhini. ‘Pay the man, Lady.’
Myrrhini suddenly realised she had never purchased anything in her life and had no idea what twenty erden was. She held out the handful of coins to the merchant.
‘Here,’ she said.
Itxtli sighed and snatched some coins from her hand before the merchant could. He dropped them onto the table. The merchant removed them and then tipped the contents of the jar into a leather pouch which he gave to Myrrhini.
‘Now can we go?’ Itxtli asked Myrrhini.
Myrrhini was tempted to glare at him, but decided against it. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We can go now.’
Itxtli made a sound in his throat like a growl before mounting his horse, yanking the reins around and riding into the crowd. Once again they drifted aside to allow him and the other Agents passage. Myrrhini tucked the pouch inside her dress, unsure what had made her stop to buy it, but sure she would need it. Even the thought of using it made her shudder, awakening memories of the Place and of Joukahainen.
And of Hinrik.
His name still made her recall the nights in the Place when he had lain with her, warming her, caressing her, loving her. That it was all a lie, an unpleasant experience for him — coupling with a lizard — still made her angry, still left her empty.
Bastard!
I hope he froze out there in the wilderness.
I hope Slave left him to die.
She rode, unseeing, out of the market, into the streets and alleys of Usterust, past the buildings that crowded in on either side, towards the harbour. It was only when they stopped that she looked up, aware finally of her surroundings. They had stopped in front of an ordinary-looking warehouse with a locked gate.
Itxtli dismounted and hammered on the gate. A small metal panel slid open to reveal two dark eyes. After a moment, the panel slammed closed and the sounds of the gate being unlocked came from within. The gate swung open and a heavy-set man in the uniform of the Agents stood blocking their way.
‘Took your sweet time, Itxtli,’ he growled.
‘Get out of my way, Chimalli,’ Itxtli replied.
‘I hope yours is better than Huitzilin’s,’ Chimalli said.
‘Huitzilin is here?’
‘Sssa, he’s here. Lording it over everyone, like always. He’s got one of them, too.’ Chimalli stabbed a finger towards Myrrhini. ‘A fair sight better looking than yours, but less quiet. She’s,’ he hesitated, raising a hand to grip his upper arm, ‘dangerous.’
23
The fight that had nearly ended Keshik’s life was never mentioned. It was as if neither man wanted to admit it had happened. That, or Slave was unaware that it had, so complete was his berserk fury. Their wounds healed well as they continued to head south-east. As they travelled, the weather grew warmer and more humid. Rain even fell on them occasionally. They moved faster after they were attacked by a small group of hungry bandits — taking their horses and scant provisions, leaving their dead bodies on the ground.
In the skies, the moons wheeled in their endless dance, tracking the passage of time, marking the days as another Crossing came and went, but still the two men rode. Mostly they rode in silence, neither having any thoughts to share with the other. As time passed they started to talk. By a fire at night, they spoke, telling stories, sharing what they knew.
Keshik came to understand what drove Slave. He saw the hate for a master, the loneliness so deep it was a part of the man; he saw the pain of guilt. His anger burned hot and cold as he listened. This man had killed Maida and had not even known it. He had released one of the Revenants onto the world and in so doing had set up the need for him, a Swordmaster of the Tulugma, to do the same.
Shared guilt was not halved guilt. It was more: it was rage, it was anguish. It was a wound that grew into a need, then into a desperation.
And it was all Slave’s doing.
Slave learnt of a life lived above ground. A life of freedom, a life where a man could look up at the sky and dream. He learnt of the love of a woman, the need for another’s company. Keshik’s training; different from his own, yet in many ways, so similar. The discipline, the long days spent building and then honing the skills necessary to bring swift and sure death. Yet, Keshik had shared his training with others. Spent time laughing with his fellow swordsmen, played pranks, endured harsh discipline at the hands of his masters — always he had shared this life with others. And he had come to love his masters, to look up to them with admiration.
The news that the Revenant released by Keshik — the one he himself had been trained to release — had bested and devoured Sondelle brought Slave a moment of harsh pleasure, followed by a pang of regret he did not understand. He did not speak of either his joy or his regret. For some reason, these feelings were his, not to be shared, not even with Keshik.
Slave learnt a great deal of Keshik: the life spent as a normal child living with a family, the hunger to better himself, the need to be more, the decisions that led him to the life he now led. He saw the pain, the joy, the travails of a life lived among people.
He slowly came to realise that a man could have a friend.
The weather became warm, then hot as they travelled south. The open plains gave way to light forest, then to jungle filled with animal life and the evidence of other people. They rode slower, forced to by the dense growth. Slave had never felt so uncomfortable. The heat was oppressive and the humidity almost unbearable. Both of them would have stripped off as much as possible, save for the swarms of biting insects that accompanied them throughout the daylight, so they rode with light cloths draped over them, miserable and silent. Around them, the jungle sounds more than made up for their own silence. Predators roared, prey scurried, birds called and insects buzzed. Slave tried to ignore as much as he could, but his training would not let him relax: he responded to every new sound, turning in his saddle, looking for each new threat. Every night, he slept in exhaustion.
Clouds formed in the afternoon and rain fell hard. For the first time Slave saw lightning and heard thunder. His fears at the vast open sky above him had been under control for much of the journey, but the blinding flash followed by the echoing rumble that filled the sky awakened old feelings. He panted, fighting to keep control. Had he been out on the plains, he knew he would have failed, urging his horse on to a fatal gallop as he had done before, but the denseness of the surrounding jungle helped.
&nbs
p; ‘What was that?’ he asked when the rumbling thunder had faded away.
Keshik looked at the jungle above and scowled. Even here, under this impenetrable canopy, the rain managed somehow to fall.
‘The superstitious say it is the Seventh Waste, stirring in discomfort at being imprisoned so long, longing to be released again. The scholars say it is the sound of the lightning, echoing among the clouds.’
‘So that was thunder and lightning,’ Slave said.
‘Of course it was. What are you, stupid?’
‘No. I have read of them, but never seen or heard them.’
Keshik grunted and nudged his horse back into a walk, hoping he was still heading south and east. Unable to see the sky, it was too easy to get turned around under the unbroken canopy. Beneath the hooves of their horses, the ground was muddy where it was not covered by leaf litter, evidence of the rain and humidity that left everything damp. Even when it was not raining, the water trickled down the tree trunks and dripped off every leaf. Keshik had not been dry since the day they had entered this vast forest.
They continued through the heat, humidity and insects in the still air until the dimness of day subsided into the utter black of night. Keshik had noted a change come over Slave as the light faded. He seemed to become more alert; his whole bearing changed as if he were coming home. The man actually looked happy as night fell. It struck him that this darkness would be the closest Slave could come to being underground again. Keshik shuddered at the thought of being trapped underground. The wet precluded them even trying to sleep on the ground, so each night they clambered up a tree and tried to sleep. At first it was impossible, but as tiredness built up, it became easier. Keshik found a tree with low, spreading branches and was about to dismount when Slave hissed at him.
‘Listen,’ he said, holding a hand up.
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