Scarred Man

by Bevan McGuiness

  Even as he thought it, he knew it was only part of the answer. He did need Keshik for that, but there was more. The other part of the answer lay in his hand. Slave looked down at the glowing Claw. The beautiful weapon enthralled him. He spent so much of his time simply feeling it, running his fingers over its exquisite shape and intricate decorations. There was so much more than just the animal shapes on the handles: it was covered in subtle signs and what had to be ancient writings. It fascinated him and distracted his mind.

  And yet, it was a gift from the Revenant he had released. The Revenant that was spreading chaos across the world. The Revenant that he served, albeit unwittingly. How could something so beautiful come from such evil?

  This instrument had brought so much death already. He had killed without it, but killing was easier with it. Killing was a joy with this instrument.

  Slave knew that even were he to throw this weapon away, the ‘blessing’ of the Revenant would haunt him still. So why didn’t he just throw it away? He looked at it again and knew he would not do so. He shoved the Claw back inside his clothes and kept jogging up the stairs.

  It was apparent that this stairway was never designed for common use: it was too narrow and steep with few sconces for torches. Slave surmised it might have been built originally for secret access to a higher level. The air became fresher, but with an overtone of animal, as he ran. It was no animal Slave had ever smelt before. As the stairs continued to rise steeply through level after level, light slowly started to filter down. There were no openings onto the levels he passed, but he counted the steps and made rough guesses as to where he was. By the time the light was enough to see by and sounds were trickling down, he estimated he was beyond the Peak.

  Voices now, he could hear voices. He slowed to a walk, then came to a halt as he listened, but they spoke in a language he did not know. It was a curious mixture of languages that he had heard often here in the Wall and was distinctive enough to be a dialect of its own. He presumed it was the spoken version of the odd pictograms he had felt carved on the walls.

  An animal shriek echoed down the narrow stairs. Not a sound he recognised. He kept still, listening.

  The people were making the sort of sounds he had heard others make to their horses — gentling, soothing sounds beneath words, on a simple emotional level. But why would there be horses up here? An animal screeched again and Slave realised he was hearing not horses, but something similar. He crept forward, taking more care now he knew what lay before him. Air was pushed down the stairs by the winds that blew in through the large openings. Slave dropped onto his chest to slither up the last few steps until his head cleared the upper floor.

  The stairs had brought him up into a darkened corner of what looked like a huge cave. Dozens of men and women were busy tending to the wyverns resting in their nests. Beyond the cave, Slave could see nothing save sky. There were at least fifty of the massive winged beasts settled into their crude nests. From the way the people were tending them, it was clear they were mostly wild. From time to time one would rise up on its muscular tail and flap its leathery wings while raking the air with savage-looking talons. The display was accompanied by a deafening screech. The wind that seemed a constant companion up here whistled through the cave, bringing the smell of ice from afar as well as dust that had been swept up from the canyon so far below.

  Slave rose slowly up from the stairwell until he was standing in the dark corner, watching the wyverns. They were magnificent. Easily three times the size of a horse, they were covered in scales like a snake, but had feathered wings and taloned claws at the end of their backward-jointed legs. Their wings were tipped with vicious-looking claws and each was three or four paces long, giving them a huge wingspan.

  But they were beautiful, with brilliantly coloured feathers and rich, deep red scales that would glow like polished bronze in the sunlight. Their sinuous bodies ended in a barbed tail. Each creature had a fanged, lizard-like mouth beneath two sharp green eyes. When they weren’t rearing up, they were lying comfortably, allowing the people to clean their bodies, arrange their feathers or feed them raw meat. Slave was entranced by them.

  At regular intervals, a wyvern would fly screeching in. It would land majestically on its claws, raise its wings high and shake them with a great rustling sound like a multi-hued tree. Its rider would leap off and busy himself with unbuckling the saddle before the wyvern stalked towards its nest, where it would settle down and prepare to be pampered. As it walked, it held its tail off the ground, whipping it from side to side as if seeking an enemy to engage.

  Slave stood motionless, watching them until the sun started to dip behind the Wall. At some stage, he reached inside his clothes and brought out his Warrior’s Claw, gripping it by the wyvern arm, feeling the exquisite carving beneath his fingers. No matter how well it was carved, it could not do justice to the awe-inspiring creatures before him.

  When the sun slid behind the Wall, darkness took over the cave quickly, despite the remaining light outside. Slave stepped out of his hidden corner and, for reasons he would never be able to fully explain later, walked towards the nearest wyvern. It sensed him almost as soon as he moved, turning its face towards him and fixing him with an intense stare. Its green eyes seemed to contract and glow as they regarded the approaching man. Slave raised his Claw in salute, holding it in front of his face. The wyvern hissed at him, but it seemed somewhat desultory: less a warning, more a greeting. When Slave lowered his Claw, the wyvern stopped hissing and gave a low warble.

  Slave continued to approach as the wyvern watched him. When he was a few paces short of the nest, the wyvern lowered its head and nudged Slave gently in the chest. He reached out and touched it. The wyvern warbled deep in its throat. Beneath his fingers, the wyvern’s skin was warm and much softer than he had imagined it would be.

  ‘You just look like a snake, don’t you, girl?’ Slave said. ‘You’re no more a snake than I am.’ He smiled. ‘And how do I know you are a girl?’

  The wyvern nudged him again, this time a little more firmly. Slave staggered back under the force.

  ‘You are a strong girl, aren’t you?’ She nudged him again. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

  Slave placed both of his hands on the wyvern’s face and stared into her eyes. Her head was easily as big as his torso, each fang as long as his hand, yet he felt no fear, only a mounting sense of excitement. He ran his hands along her neck which moved sinuously under his touch. When he reached the edge of her nest, he climbed up the pile of sticks as the wyvern watched him, her head close to him, nudging him upwards. At the top of the nest, he stopped. The wyvern rose on her legs, stretched her neck upwards and flapped her huge wings as she screeched. The sound was painfully loud, causing Slave to clamp his hands over his ears and almost drop to his knees.

  From around the cave came answering screeches as every wyvern, it seemed, also rose up onto its legs. When the screeches faded, the sound of flapping wings and cursing followed. Slave looked around to see all the wyverns turn towards him, together with every person.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ he muttered.

  The wyvern lowered herself and folded her wings back beside her body before nudging him once again. This time, Slave did not hesitate as the urging in his mind became more insistent. He swung his leg over and slid down to rest at the base of her sinuous neck. Once seated, he wrapped his arms around her neck.

  ‘I hope this is what you mean,’ he whispered.

  As if in answer, the wyvern extended her wings and, with a powerful downthrust, rose from her nest. She went straight up until she almost collided with the ceiling before wheeling around sharply to the left. Slave gripped tighter as she drove straight towards the opening. Others rose from their nests, filling the air with their cries and their wings, causing the wyvern beneath him to weave and dodge through them. Below, the people yelled and cursed impotently as the whole cave suddenly filled with flying wyverns, dodging, screeching and slashing their barbed tails.
More than one creature took a wound as they collided but somehow Slave’s mount was able to negotiate her way through the chaos safely.

  Suddenly, they were out, shooting into the open air like an arrow released from a bow, flying away from the dark Wall. Slave was filled simultaneously with dread and exultation as the unimaginably vast scene below him unfolded. He saw the canyon extending to the horizon, the sky expanding above him changing colour from indigo through to red. The wyvern screeched again, but this time Slave sensed her joy and simple pleasure in flight. He gripped her neck with all the strength he possessed and laid his cheek against her.

  ‘You are magnificent,’ he whispered. ‘Now where do we go?’

  He lifted his face enough to look around.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked as he stared at the Wall.

  In response, the wyvern raised her neck and flew straight up into the sky before turning sharply and diving back down again. Slave cried out in terror, but held on as she plunged towards the Wall. Even as he plummeted down, he knew one thing — he had followed Keshik for a reason.

  … if it wants her dead, we should keep her alive …

  I follow Keshik because I need him. Without him, I will kill everything that stands in my way. I will find Myrrhini and then I will kill her. I won’t want to, I won’t plan to, but I will. I killed Ileki. I killed Waarde. I will kill Myrrhini.

  Keshik will stop me. He will fight me again and Myrrhini will escape me. He will keep me from killing her. He might even kill me.

  I need him.

  30

  Myrrhini woke with a start. She sat up in her narrow bunk and looked around. Above her head, the rigging creaked and groaned as the ship made its steady way south-east. The sounds of men talking as they went about their business were muted and untroubled.

  Why had she woken up?

  The air was cool, but not uncomfortable. She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and put her feet down on the wooden floor. It had the slightly damp feel that everything aboard seemed to have. She stood up and walked to the porthole, shivering slightly as she did. Outside, she could see the stars sparkling in the black sky, and the light of the moons glinting silver off the calm sea. But far to the west, the dark shape still rose from the horizon. She held herself tightly against the sudden chill that swept across her.

  Was this what had woken her up?

  Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true. There was something else, something more subtle that had woken her up. She stepped back to her bed, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders to keep warm before returning to stand at the porthole. The ship creaked as it rolled a little when a small gust caught the sails. The voices of the sailors above rose for a moment as they adjusted the sails and the ship returned once more to an even keel. She could almost get used to this, a life on the open water. As long as the nights were always like this.

  Was it a dream? Could that be what had awakened her?

  No. Something else.

  A despairing cry — the sound of a man in abject terror — tore through her. She felt her stomach lurch. She was falling, yet her feet were firmly on the deck. Wind rushed past her face, filling her ears with its roaring. Her world spun crazily around her, her eyes watering, her mouth dry.

  What is happening to me?

  Myrrhini reached out her hand to steady herself against the wall. The wood was smooth against her fingers, giving her something solid, an anchor against the swirling, flying world in her mind.

  Slowly, she regained balance, the images in her head faded and the sounds dropped away, but she was left with an inescapable feeling that something significant had happened, something that could change the world had just taken place; something she had to know about. Her mind went to the small pouch she still kept under her clothes, the pouch containing the dried daven she had bought in Usterust.

  Was it time for another Seeing?

  Could she do it here?

  Why not?

  She had not attempted a Seeing since the one that had shown her the end of the world and the Scarred Man. It was still seared into her memory, but the image of falling was so strong and the sense of fate attached to it so inescapable that she felt driven to seek out more, to find out what was happening. She knew she could do it without all the rituals — she had done so before — but whether she could here, so far away from the Sixth Waste, was another question altogether.

  Myrrhini undid the laces of her bodice and reached inside to pull out the daven, but as she did, there was a hard pounding at her door. She shoved the pouch back inside and was tying her laces up when the door swung open.

  ‘You are wanted on deck,’ an Agent instructed her.

  ‘How dare you burst in on me,’ she snapped.

  The Agent, a sailor she had not seen before, snorted derisively. ‘I dare because I am acting under orders, Onaven. Now get moving.’ He stepped inside and took her by the arm, to drag her out of her cabin. She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. He released her arm and pressed his hand to his cheek, which was already reddening.

  ‘You’ll pay for that,’ he snarled. He drew his dagger. ‘Now get moving.’

  Myrrhini allowed herself to be urged along the companionway to the steep stairs that led onto the upper deck. Once on deck, the Agent pushed her none too gently along towards the stern where it seemed the whole crew was gathering. He came to a stop next to Maida who stood slightly apart from the others, with an Agent close at hand. On her shoulder was the rodent, the shapeshifter that had torn the Agent apart in Usterust. Myrrhini shuddered as she remembered the unspeakable violence and the horrifying quantity of blood. Unconsciously, she wiped her face, recalling the hot, sticky droplets that had landed there. In her mind she could still see the huge black animal with the stiff yellow mane as it stood amid the carnage, growling low in its throat, blood dripping from its fangs. The rodent fixed its disconcerting, red-pupilled eyes on her as she stood beside Maida. Myrrhini looked away, clenching her fist.

  From behind her came a low chant, joined almost immediately by a beautiful, pure, male voice singing. She recognised the tune — it was the Ahuitl, the ceremony she had seen once before.

  The red-flamed torch passed her, carried by Necalli who was singing the main tune and, as he walked, Iskopra joined in with the other atonal, jarring tune. The Guide reached out for the torch, but as he stepped towards the Agent, the rodent hissed and leapt from Maida’s shoulder, as if to attack Myrrhini. Iskopra staggered slightly, overbalancing into the Agent, who nearly fell. Myrrhini reached out her hand instinctively and grabbed the thick torch. As her fingers wrapped around it, the shapeshifter fell to the deck and scuttled away into the darkness.

  As if nothing had happened, Iskopra regained his balance, took the torch from Myrrhini and split it in two, handing half back to the Agent. As before, once the torch had been broken, each half changed colour — Necalli’s to orange and Iskopra’s bright yellow. The orange flame guttered and went out while the yellow flame continued to burn brightly. Iskopra’s harsh, atonal song went on as the two of them walked to the gathered Agents. Myrrhini watched as a wave of weariness swept across her, leaving her on her knees, both hands on the deck and her head lowered. She closed her eyes and leant forward, allowing it to wash over her. When it did not subside, she rocked back and sat on the planked deck, resting her head on her knees. Her breath came in short gasps. After only a moment, she was seeing spots before her eyes. They danced and spun out of control, weaving complex patterns of brilliant colour across her vision. At first, she thought it was seasickness, but the patterns started to take on form — forms she recognised. Forms she had seen at the Place of the Acolytes.

  With a grim smile, she retrieved the daven pouch from under her clothes, took a pinch of the herb and crushed the daven berries in her hand, shoving them all into her mouth.

  The drug hit her system like a hammer, throwing her back hard onto the deck. Her head slammed into the wood with a thud, sending spark
s scattering through her already dazed mind. Distantly, she heard the Ahuitl reach its conclusion with the pure, simple melody ringing out, but she knew something was different, or would be any moment.

  Sure enough, the song came to an abrupt end as the burning oil exploded, not into red flame, but into a brilliant silver that sent near daylight spilling across the ship. A voice that no one recognised — not even Myrrhini, from whose throat it issued — rose in a cry that silenced everything.

  She called out in the ancient language of Mertia, a tongue that only Iskopra and Itxtli understood. Even as she shouted, Myrrhini knew her Seeing was true, even if she could not believe it herself.

  Maida cradled Myrrhini’s head in her lap as she knelt beside her on the deck. She smoothed the sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead and whispered gently.

  ‘Hush now, Onaven,’ she said. ‘Lie still.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Myrrhini asked.

  ‘Someone shouted during the ceremony. It’s all very confusing. Apparently the ceremony is supposed to be done quietly and whoever shouted has ruined it all.’ Maida seemed to be barely holding back a smile. ‘They are all very cross, trying to find out who it was, but no one recognised the voice.’

  ‘But —’ Myrrhini began. Maida placed her hand over her mouth, stifling the words.

  ‘But no one knows who it was,’ Maida whispered. ‘And we should keep it that way.’

  Myrrhini started to push herself up from the deck, but her weakness prevented her. Maida slipped her arm under Myrrhini’s shoulders and helped her to her feet. As she held her, Maida came very close. She sniffed and her eyes widened as she recognised the daven smell.

  ‘Where did you get the daven?’ she whispered. ‘No, don’t answer that yet. Let’s get you back to your cabin first.’

  Together, slowly, they made their way back down below deck to Myrrhini’s cabin. Maida pushed the door open and shoved Myrrhini inside.