by Ash, Sarah
Larisa cooed with delight, recognizing her mother’s voice. Taliahad paused, listening. At the same moment, Ardarel focused his attention on the cart where Kiukiu was hiding.
“ There you are, Spirit Singer.”
***
So he’s noticed. Kiukiu forced herself to concentrate, maintaining the slow, stately progression of notes and, taking a deep breath, matched her voice to the rich, deep pitches.
A jet of flame sizzled close to the cart. It took all her will power not to falter; once the song had begun, she must keep singing or the spell would disintegrate.
It’s working.
***
As Ardarel turned, Kiukiu felt the heat of his flaming sword, heard the feathery shudder of his wings as he launched himself toward the cart. Shaking, terrified, she forced herself to sing on.
The cooing issuing from Larisa’s little mouth was growing louder and more insistent.
Is she singing too ?
Kiukiu’s fingertips stung. Without the metal plectra for protection, every note that she plucked from the wire strings burned into her sore and tender flesh; she could feel the blood oozing from the broken skin, making the instrument slick and harder to play with the accuracy the Golden Scale required.
But she forced herself to ignore the pain and kept playing.
And the clouds overhead were slowly parting, rolling back to let the light from another world shine through, illuminating the grasslands with the intense, clear brilliance that comes after a violent rainstorm has washed the ground beneath.
“You were warned once before, Spirit Singer.” Kiukiu was momentarily blinded by the glorious light issuing from the rift she had created. “Never use the Golden Scale again.” As she stared upward through half-closed eyes, she glimpsed a winged figure descending, one whose countenance was so bright she could not distinguish the features, only the searing power of its piercing eyes. “Now you must pay the price for your disobedience.”
Only then did her dazzled eyes make out the flaming arrow he was pointing directly at her from his gilded bow, the bowstring pulled taut.
Her fingers ceased their plucking, the song dried in her mouth and the last phrase hung, unfinished, in the air.
***
Gavril sensed Taliahad react as the golden apparition appeared. And in that moment’s distraction, he also saw with terrible clarity what the third Winged Warrior intended.
“ Kiukiu !” The warning cry issued from his throat, raw and desperate.
And in that instant the Winged Warrior let loose his fire-tipped arrow at the gusly. It streaked through the sky to hit the gusly. The discordant clang and crash as the instrument burst asunder, splinters of painted wood and lethally sharp wires snapped, twanged and spiraled away. Behind the jarring explosion of the disintegrating instrument, Gavril heard Kiukiu’s scream and then—
Silence.
Chapter 56
“Sehibiel,” Taliahad whispered. The name sent a chill throughout Gavril’s body, as if he had been drenched in a sudden wintry downpour.
At the same instant Gavril saw Oskar Alvborg pause in mid-flight, looking upward as the third Winged Warrior hovered above them, a low rhythmic thrum emanating from his rose-gold wings.
“Ardarel. Taliahad. You have broken our sacred code. You will return with me at once.” Sehibiel extended one hand, pointing at each in turn. Gavril felt an immense pressure forcing him down to earth. He landed and dropped to his knees in the grass, wings splayed out, still clutching Risa to him. His only thought was to get to Kiukiu but even though he strained with every muscle to move forward, Sehibiel’s power held him pinned to the ground.
After a moment’s stubborn resistance, Alvborg was forced to the ground too.
“You have disobeyed our laws. You have corrupted your aethyrial bodies. You’ve become polluted by mortal flesh, blood and bone.” Sehibiel made a sudden sweeping gesture. Gavril felt Taliahad being drawn out of him, a viscerally disconcerting, disorienting sensation.
As the watery shimmer of Taliahad’s aethyrial form suddenly appeared beside him, Ardarel materialized too, the flames of his burnished wings dim and faint. Both Guardians were fading fast.
“You will both come back to the Second Heaven with me to be cleansed of these mortal poisons,” Sehibiel said.
“But I have still to complete my mission—” began Taliahad.
Risa let out a squeak of surprise, pointing at the two hazy figures.
Her cry was enough to draw Sehibiel’s attention; he turned his golden gaze full upon her. Gavril held her tight, glaring defiance at the Guardian, yet knowing he could do nothing to protect her from the Guardian’s fiery arrows.
“So this is Khezef’s child.” Sehibiel’s stern voice softened. “So small, so young, so pitifully vulnerable.”
“Please spare her.” Gavril heard his voice shake with an intensity of feeling that overwhelmed him. My daughter . Not Khezef ’ s . He had no idea if Sehibiel would pay the slightest attention to what he was asking but he had nothing left to bargain with but his own life. “If there is a price to be paid for Khezef’s crimes, then punish me. But not Larisa. She’s innocent.”
Sehibiel’s penetrating gaze shifted to Gavril. Gavril forced himself to endure the intense scrutiny, knowing that he was being assessed—and judged.
“Your wife was under a powerful curse,” Sehibiel said at last. “She was in thrall to Anagini of the Jade Springs. And you are still in thrall to her sister, Morozhka.” He pointed to Gavril’s left wrist where the slash made by Morozhka’s ice blade still burned. “Your task is to keep Khezef’s child away from the Elder Ones.” His gaze darkened. “We can’t let them use her for their own selfish ends. The Elder Ones chose to come here and here they must stay. Until they cease to exist.”
Gavril was growing increasingly angry. Sehibiel’s words had only confused him the more. “All I want is for my daughter to be left alone—to grow up an ordinary, happy child.”
“Hold out your left arm.”
Gavril hesitated. “What are you going to do to me?”
“What I did to your wife.” Sehibiel put the fiery arrow back in its quiver and slung his bow over his shoulder. “I’m going to break your contract with Morozhka.”
“You broke Anagini’s curse?” Suddenly Gavril began to wonder if he had completely misread the Guardian’s actions. “You’ve set Kiukiu free?” He dared to glance over toward the cart—and saw that Chinua had reached Kiukiu and had propped her up against one of the wheels. Even though her head was drooping, he noticed that the shaman was holding a water bottle to her mouth. Perhaps she had just been stunned by the Guardian’s attack.
“Your left arm,” repeated Sehibiel.
It was hard to hold on to the wriggling Risa with just his right arm but Gavril did as he was bidden. Sehibiel came closer, so close that Gavril could feel the cloud of heat emanating from his body—yet it was not the fierce, intense burn of Ardarel’s fiery feathers but a more gentle warmth. Gavril steeled himself as Sehibiel reached out and grasped him by the injured wrist.
Heat flowed from the Guardian’s fingers into the jagged slash. At first the sensation was unbearable and Gavril instinctively tried to pull away—and then it felt as if the warmth was spreading up his arm and on into his whole body, soothing and healing.
Gavril looked down as the Guardian released his wrist and saw the raw, rough edges of the wound fading even as he watched, the skin healing over, becoming smooth and whole again. He looked up in astonishment, meeting Sehibiel’s gold-striated eyes for the first time, and realizing that their frank, penetrating expression was not hostile, as he had initially thought, but merely questioning and curious.
“Thank you,” he said dazedly.
“I am also known as Sehibiel the Healer,” the Guardian said. He placed his hand on Gavril’s shoulder, the gilded warmth flowing once more from his fingertips into Gavril’s flesh and bone. “But, even with my skills, I cannot take away the wings Taliahad has given you without damaging you
beyond repair. I can feel that the filaments have knitted themselves so intricately into your flesh and sinews that they are now an integral part of your body. ”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure you do, Gavril Nagarian. I’m telling you that you must not use them again—except in the most desperate of circumstances.”
“Not use them?” As the healing warmth slowly faded, Gavril’s mind began to clear and he realized that Sehibiel was delivering a warning.
“Flying with these wings puts an intolerable strain on your mortal body. They drain you of your energies, both mental and physical. It’s your choice, of course. But know that you and Ardarel’s mortal host,” and he pointed to where Alvborg lay, “will shorten your lives considerably if you take to the air again.”
“But how can I protect Larisa from the Elder Ones? Suppose they—”
“If you want to see your daughter grow up, then you will need to find other ways to protect her.”
“You’re saying that I’ll die?”
“Your task is to keep Khezef’s child safe from Anagini and Morozhka.” Sehibiel withdrew his hand and the golden aura emanating from him melted away like morning mist at sunrise. He rose into the air, beckoning Taliahad and Ardarel to accompany him. “If you fail, we shall have to intervene.” As the heavens opened to let them through, Sehibiel’s words drifted down to earth. “We can’t let them use her for their own selfish ends.”
Chapter 57
“Ma! Ma! ” The insistent high voice penetrated Kiukiu’s consciousness. She came back to her senses to find Gavril kneeling beside her with Larisa in his arms.
“Is that you, Risa? Did you call me?” she said wonderingly as Risa leaned out from her father’s grip to cling on to her affectionately with warm, sticky fingers.
And then she remembered. The golden Guardian, the flaming arrow, the terrifying moment it had struck home. Looking down at her lap she saw nothing but splinters of charred wood clinging to the linen of her skirt and littering the ground around, alongside fragments of the metal pegs and curls of broken strings.
“Malusha’s gusly. The last—the only—thing I had to remember her by.” She stood up unsteadily, the fragments falling from the folds of her skirt. And then she burst into tears and sobbed like a little child. On seeing her mother’s tears, Risa broke into a wail too, her little face puckering up, then turning red as she howled in sympathy.
Gavril put his arms around them both and hugged them close.
“I thought we were all going to die,” Kiukiu said incoherently into his shoulder.
“But we’re still here,” he said, resting his cheek against the top of her head. She clung on to him, torn between thumping him hard with her fists for risking his life so rashly and letting herself surrender to the comforting warmth of his embrace. “And Sehibiel broke the curse laid upon us by the Elder Ones.”
“He did?” She released her grip on him, drawing back so she could look down at her left ankle. Anagini’s mark—the serpent’s poisoned bite that had sealed the curse laid upon her—had vanished. Her skin was smooth and unblemished. “He broke the enchantment?” She could hardly believe that the long nightmare was at an end; she must still be in shock as she felt no joy or relief, only numbness.
“You’re free. Anagini has no hold over you—or Risa—any longer.”
“But the gusly . . .” There had been a high price to pay and as she gazed around her she saw the inescapable evidence of Sehibiel’s retribution. Strewn all over the grass were the charred fragments of wood and tangled wire that had once been her most prized possession: Malusha’s exquisitely painted instrument, handed down to her by her mother, the Spirit Singer’s bridge to the Ways Beyond. She had always dreamed of handing it on to Larisa when she was old enough to learn the Sending Songs Malusha had taught her and now . . .
The Sending Songs. As the warmth of Sehibiel’s healing fire slowly faded away and she tried to remember the first Sending Song Malusha had ever taught her, her mind went blank. Not a single note resonated in her head. It felt as if her brain was filled with a fog of white clouds and all pitches, all sounds muted. And the more she tried to remember, the more elusive the melodies became, like a fluff of dandelion seeds, drifting far from her grasp, borne away on the breeze.
Perhaps it was a temporary loss of memory, brought on by the shock of Sehibiel’s attack.
“I’ve made some tea.” Chinua reappeared, beckoning them round to the other side of the cart, away from the scattered fragments of the gusly. He had regained his human form but was walking unsteadily, as if not yet fully alert.
“Are you all right, dear Chinua?” Kiukiu asked, concerned. The wolf shaman had been knocked unconscious by Ardarel and she had never seen him look so frail.
“I’ll mend,” Chinua said, pouring out strong black tea, and stirring in plum jam to sweeten it. He had even found some rice biscuits for Risa to chew on. But as they sat in shocked silence around the little fire, cradling the bowls of hot, sweet tea in their hands, staring into the flames, the impact of what had happened began to sink in.
“Well, this is nice. Tea and biscuits around the camp fire.” The dry voice startled them all; glancing up, Kiukiu saw that Ardarel’s host was awake and lurching unsteadily toward them. His wings were concealed. “Is there none for me? How inhospitable. I’m famished.”
“You’re not welcome here, Alvborg.” Gavril stood up, placing himself in front of Kiukiu. “You just tried to kill me and my child. Or have you forgotten?”
“That was Ardarel’s doing. Frankly I couldn’t care less what becomes of you and your precious family.” There was something about the man’s tone that made the hairs rise on the back of Kiukiu’s neck.
“I’ll make another pot of tea,” Chinua said and she caught a slight inflection in his voice, so slight that a stranger would not notice it.
“The same special blend you served me and my men back at the pass?” Gavril asked. So he had understood Chinua’s intention as well.
“I believe there’s some left in the cart.”
“I’ll fetch it.” Kiukiu rose. She moved slowly, still not entirely certain she had fully regained consciousness.
In the cart, she found the box containing the “special blend” and as her fingers closed around the dark lacquered wood, the dusty scent arising from the contents triggered a memory from Larisa’s Naming Day. Khulan had brought the gift of tea from Chinua—but it was that same tea that had triggered the visions that had convinced her to flee with Larisa to protect her from the Winged Warriors.
Can I really trust Chinua? The thought that the wolf shaman might have betrayed her to Anagini was so painful she dismissed it. No, it must have been Khulan who had tampered with Chinua’s gift, adding some somniferous substance that had opened her mind to Anagini’s influence when she drank the tea and inhaled the steam.
Which meant that Khulan was Anagini’s agent. And Anagini could have already dispatched Khulan to find them.
We can’t stay in Khitari.
When Kiukiu returned with the box containing the “special blend” that Chinua had prepared in case of unwelcome visitors, Oskar Alvborg was cramming rice biscuits into his mouth, choking them down as if he had not seen food for a week. Risa, now safely on Gavril’s knee, was staring at Alvborg in awe. For a moment Kiukiu almost felt a pang of pity for him; he looked oddly vulnerable in his tattered, blood-stained clothes, his wings concealed, by the same artifice, she supposed, that Taliahad had taught Gavril. Without a word she passed the box to Chinua who proceeded to measure out the tea into the pot and to add hot water.
***
Gavril, only too aware of the presence of Alvborg—and remembering how unpredictable the Tielen’s moods could be—tried to think of a way to distract their uninvited guest as the second pot of tea brewed.
“Don’t worry,” Alvborg said dryly, almost as if aware of what he was thinking. “I won’t impose on your hospitality any longer than I have to.”
�
��But how—?” Gavril stopped as Alvborg, with a glint of a grin, revealed a fiery shimmer of feathered wings before concealing them once more. “Wait! Didn’t you hear what Sehibiel said? If we use the wings again, we shorten our life spans.”
“Ha!” Alvborg almost spat out his response. “He would say that, wouldn’t he! That’s what he wants us to believe.”
For a moment Gavril heard Sahariel’s voice crackling with furious malice. He stared up at Alvborg, half-expecting to see the daemon’s crazed fire-flickering eyes staring back.
“Don’t be so naive, Nagarian.”
“But it’s a risk—”
“A risk I’m prepared to take. Don’t forget; Sehibiel and his Warriors were once our jailers.”
“ Our ?” Alvborg had spoken as if still possessed by Sahariel.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? Don’t tell me you don’t still wake at night, your dreams filled with their memories.”
Gavril held his gaze. “So, you too.” For a moment he almost felt some kinship with Alvborg, saw a shadow of his own nighttime torments in the Tielen’s pale eyes. He began to wonder if Alvborg had gained any insight into the memories left in his mind by Sahariel that might be of help. Then he pushed the thought away, determined not to let himself be drawn into sharing any of Khezef’s memories.
“Will you take jam with your tea, my lord?” Kiukiu asked, carefully carrying a steaming bowl across from the fire.
“Why not?” Alvborg raised his hands to take the bowl of tea. “When traveling in foreign lands, one should always adopt the practices of the natives.”
Trust Alvborg to treat their hospitality with his habitual condescension. Gavril bit back a retort, knowing there was no point arguing with the Tielen. He tried not to watch too closely as Alvborg sipped his tea, in case the Tielen became suspicious. He just hoped that Chinua’s special blend would work as effectively on Alvborg as it had on him and his druzhina.
***
Larisa had fallen asleep at last, snuggled in her tea-chest bed in brightly-colored blankets of red and blue. On the other side of the camp fire, Alvborg lay sprawled in drugged slumber, defenseless. It was time to make good their escape. Except that Kiukiu was exhausted, both in mind and body. She sat staring at the sparks rising from the fire. This was not the time to sit around moping; perhaps when she awoke the next day, the lost songs would return? And yet the emptiness in her heart and mind told her that they were gone for good, seared away by that single golden shaft of fire