She practised adjusting her tail feathers, acutely conscious of how many different muscles and movements she needed to learn to make her new body work. She’d never imagined that preparation for flight would be so complex. I can’t do this, she thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied something in the air: three magpies chasing each other across the tree canopies. They dipped and rolled, circling after each other, diving and twisting acrobatically before racing out of her field of view. The brief vision at once inspired her and made her feel even more certain that she was being stupid to attempt to take to the air. A Ahmud Ki said that when he finally mastered flight as a bird it was the most exhilarating experience, she reminded herself, recalling a conversation they had shared during their long journey together.
She tested her wings and tail again, feeling the gentle air riffle through her feathers, and her sense of the limitless possibilities the amber gave her returned. She gathered her determination and courage, hopped forward on her kookaburra legs and flapped her wings frantically.
Swift looked at her askance. ‘What happened?’
Meg blushed, self-conscious about the scratches on her face and along her lower arms and ankles. ‘I fell into a bush when I was climbing down a steep slope,’ she explained.
‘Then you’d better be more careful,’ Swift advised. ‘What were you doing out in the bush anyway?’
‘I like to keep watch. It’s an old habit.’
‘There are plenty of guards around the settlement perimeter. No one’s going to sneak up on us.’
‘So what have you been doing?’ Meg asked, keen to change the subject from her injuries.
‘Talking with the king,’ Swift replied.
‘You’ve been talking to Inheritor?’
Swift grinned at Meg’s astonishment. ‘I was just as surprised as you. It was Cutter’s idea. He brokered a meeting between us. Inheritor wasn’t exactly enamoured of his brother.’
‘He’s forgiven you?’
Her grin broadened. ‘Not as such. But he did ask me not to kill him.’
‘What?’
‘He has a sense of humour,’ Swift told her. ‘I understand why he’s so popular here, even though he’s Kerwyn aristocracy. He asked if I would train a group as assassins.’
Meg frowned. ‘Do you want to do that?’
Swift’s grin faded and she looked over Meg’s shoulder momentarily before her bright green eyes focussed again on her face. ‘No.’
‘So what did you say to the prince?’
‘I told him I’d think about it.’
Meg put a hand on Swift’s arm. ‘You know they can’t win.’
‘They can if you help them.’
Meg shook her head and dropped her hand. ‘What I have to do doesn’t concern armies,’ she said.
‘And what’s that?’
Meg sighed and sat down on a stump. ‘I still don’t know.’
‘When will you know?’ Swift challenged. ‘Before this lot march against Shadow’s army? Or after they’re all dead?’
Meg looked at her granddaughter who was standing with her arms folded across her chest staring at her. ‘As long as the Seers don’t have access to the Demon Horsemen I have time to plan. I’m thinking of negotiating with them—trying to make them see reason.’
‘You said they wouldn’t,’ Swift reminded her. ‘After all the stories you’ve told us, and what we know of Lady Amber, there’s clearly no reasoning with the Seers.’
‘I suppose not,’ Meg agreed. ‘I’m just not willing to see thousands of people die in another pointless war. But if I can get hold of something to bargain with, or even bluff the Seers into stopping their mad scheme, then I can avert all that needless bloodshed.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the canvas bag Chase found. If the Seers understand what it is, and that we have it in our possession, I can bargain with them.’
‘But the bag’s with the Joker. Chase left it with her.’
‘And she was meant to give it to Inheritor,’ Meg said. ‘We need to find out if she did give it to him, and what he did with it.’
‘What if Shadow and the Seers already have it?’ Swift asked.
‘Then we’ll have to take it back.’
Scars, dark heavy beard and long hair aside, the man on the stool opposite Meg had a strong and handsome face. His dark eyes sparkled with uncommon energy, his smile was unpretentious and he had a muscular physique that marked him as a powerful warrior. Meg had never before been in a position to assess Inheritor closely, but now she understood why the people in the settlement and beyond were rallying to his cause. His charismatic presence reminded her of another prince, one who had stolen her heart as a teenage girl. It was an association that startled her, and she had to struggle to suppress the long-forgotten emotional memories.
‘Why the interest in the canvas bag?’ Inheritor asked, studying her.
‘I know that what it contains is of interest to the Seers,’ she replied.
‘And what does it contain?’
She had expected the question. She looked at Cutter, who was watching the exchange with curiosity, then at Chase and Swift who were squatting at the entrance to Inheritor’s hut. ‘The hilt of an ancient sword,’ she said.
Inheritor raised an eyebrow and shifted his head as if trying to look at her from a different angle. ‘Mrs Merchant brought the bag to me just before my brother’s assassins arrived to despatch me,’ he said. ‘She couldn’t tell me what it contained or why it was considered so dangerous, only that her grandfather wanted it kept away from the Seers.’ He rubbed his bearded chin, then ran his hand through his hair and across the back of his neck. ‘What do you intend to do with this sword hilt?’
‘Use it to bargain with the Seers before they can release the Demon Horsemen. If they know we have the one weapon that can destroy their Horsemen, they may reconsider their intentions.’
‘A hilt isn’t a weapon without a blade.’
‘Then we would give it a blade,’ she said with composure.
Inheritor sighed and stood. He walked to the wall then turned to face her. Again, he sighed. ‘I like your optimism,’ he said. ‘If I thought my brother and the Seers were capable of being rational, I would applaud your intentions. But they’re not. They’re madmen, consumed by their religious passion, unable to understand anything except power and Jarudha’s promise that they will rule over everyone. I don’t have the bag. The Seers most likely have it, courtesy of my brother. And if they do have it, they will have locked it away, under guard, to prevent anyone taking it from them.’
‘Where did you last see it?’ Meg asked.
‘In my chamber, as the assassins broke in.’
She screwed up her mouth in disappointment. ‘Then Shadow definitely has it,’ she said, ‘and he would have handed it to the Seers, being the good disciple he is.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said and shrugged.
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It was circumstance.’
He stepped back to his stool and sat, his gaze intent on her. ‘But in all this to-ing and fro-ing about the bag you haven’t answered an important question. How do you know what’s in it?’
‘I knew Sunlight,’ she replied, ‘the Seer who was incarcerated in the Bog Pit for all those years. He told me about the canvas bag before he stole it from his colleagues. I thought he was crazy back then. Now I know better.’
‘You believe these stories about the Horsemen and this ancient weapon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can the Seers use the sword?’
‘I doubt they will be able to get the hilt out of the bag,’ she said. ‘And if they did, they don’t have the necessary knowledge or…’ She paused, considering her next words. ‘Or the craftsmanship to reconstruct the original blade.’
‘There are plenty of steel- and ironmongers in Port of Joy,’ Inheritor reminded her.
‘Not with the skill needed to make this blade.’ She ros
e from her seat before Inheritor could pursue the matter, saying, ‘I promised my great-grandchildren that I would watch them play. Thank you for listening to a silly old woman with even sillier ideas.’
Inheritor also rose, nodded to Cutter, and walked Meg to the doorway where Chase and Swift waited. As she took her leave, the king touched her arm. ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ he said, ‘but I have a feeling that you haven’t been totally honest with me.’
Meg met his dark-eyed gaze. At first the words were unwilling to come, then she replied awkwardly, ‘You’re perceptive and I apologise, but I don’t intend you any treachery and I’m not meaning to be disrespectful. When the time is right, I will tell you what you should know. For now, I’ve said all I can.’
To her surprise and relief, Inheritor smiled graciously and bowed his head, letting her leave without pursuing the matter.
‘So?’ Swift queried as the three walked away from the king’s hut.
‘So what?’ Meg replied.
‘What will you do now?’
Meg continued several paces in silence, then said, ‘I’ll get the bag from the Seers before they can cause any more damage.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Word paced the room, unable to suppress his agitation. He stopped to adjust his light blue robe, and wondered why it felt so uncomfortable on him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. I have no reason to be afraid, he told himself. I have been a faithful servant. Yet he was unconvinced and stalked the meeting chamber again, waiting for his colleagues.
Law and Creator entered first and bowed to him. ‘Have you heard anything?’ Law asked.
Word shook his head and motioned for them to take their places at the table, just as Newday appeared in the doorway. ‘Come in,’ Word invited, and the youngest Seer moved to a chair. Pelican and Moon arrived a moment later and sat too. The chair at the head of the table where Scripture normally sat remained vacant.
With his five peers at the table, Word made the holy sign and clutched the back of his chair. ‘I don’t know what I want to say,’ he began, and cleared his throat. ‘I—we—are in a very different time.’ He glanced at the empty chair. ‘We have seen the awesome might of Jarudha.’
‘Praise to Jarudha,’ the Seers intoned.
Word stared at them, their automatic response filling him with a surge of reassurance. We are the Chosen, he reminded himself.
‘Prayer and Scripture have been taken up,’ he said. ‘We witnessed this.’ The memory of the blinding light enveloping Scripture made him shiver with fear and awe. ‘We have opened the door, and with our own sacrifice we can call upon the might of the Horsemen to cleanse this world.’
He spoke as he thought Scripture would have spoken, but the words felt hollow in his mouth. He studied his colleagues to see if they heard the guilt in his voice, but they showed no sign of recognising his falsity. They were embracing the rapture of the Last Days.
‘I am at a loss as to what to do next,’ he admitted.
‘Jarudha will guide you, Your Eminence,’ Law responded.
Law’s comment incensed him. ‘No!’ he snapped. ‘I am not His Eminence. That is a title I will not bear.’
His outburst shocked his companions. They looked at each other and, tentatively, Creator asked, ‘But who will replace Scripture as His Eminence if not you?’
‘There will be no replacement,’ Word replied, his anger calming. ‘We are brothers. That is how it was always meant to be. None of us is above the others. From here on, we think and act as one, together. No one will be called His Eminence. No one except Jarudha is worthy to be followed.’
The silence after his short speech startled him. Then the other five Seers stood, made the holy circle and said in unison, ‘Jarudha be praised.’
‘You have been truly blessed,’ Creator offered. ‘He shines through your wisdom.’
‘Sit,’ Word ordered, but amended it to a request by adding ‘please’. As they resumed their seats, he also sat and it was as if a great weight was lifted from him. He wiped the perspiration from his brow, smiled at his colleagues and said, ‘So, we can expect the Ranu to come to Port of Joy.’
‘How long will it be?’ Moon asked.
‘I’ve heard that they have an invention they call a farspeaker,’ said Creator. ‘It enables them to talk to each other over great distances. If they already know what happened on the island, then they will be here within days.’
‘And we will be prepared for them,’ said Law. ‘The Horsemen must be called again.’
‘No!’ Word said. The Seers turned in alarm to him and he swallowed before repeating ‘No’ with less venom. ‘The Horsemen must be treated with respect, not summoned for petty matters.’ The others nodded agreement, which made Word relax a little. ‘We will use other methods first. The Horsemen can only be called when there is no alternative remaining. We must obey this because of our pact with them. Each time we call upon them, one of us will be taken up to serve Jarudha. Scripture made that agreement when we met them in their lair. That is why he was taken up on the island. We cannot use them lightly. When next we call them, if we need to before the Last Days come, one of us must be taken from this existence. Understand that this is the pact.’
He searched his colleagues for the same fear he felt, but all he saw were faces filled with hope at the prospect of being chosen. Why am I so afraid when my brethren are so filled with faith? he silently lamented. They would willingly go, but I am afraid. Why, Jarudha, am I so weak?
‘Does this mean we will help the king to defend the city against the Ranu?’ asked Law.
‘Yes,’ Word replied, glad to have the focus of the meeting changed to more earthly concerns. ‘Shadow has been a good disciple. He will need everything we can provide.’
‘The new airbirds have been built,’ Creator reported. ‘I am fitting star-reachers to them, but we may not have enough time to fully test their efficacy before the Ranu arrive.’
‘Do what you can,’ Word advised.
‘And the rest of us?’ Newday asked. ‘What can we do?’
‘That is why I’ve called this meeting,’ Word said. ‘We need to decide what each of us can offer to Shadow to ensure the Ranu do not invade our sacred land or interfere with our preparation for the Last Days.’
Meg studied the fresh portal. If her memory served her well, it opened into the Seers’ temple, in a curved corridor a short distance from the meeting room. It was the first place she had been taken to be interviewed as a candidate for Seer training almost fifty years previously. Her interrogators back then had been Seers Diamond, Light, Vale and Onyx; they were all long dead. Her last true encounter with a Seer had been on the dock in Westport the fateful night she and A Ahmud Ki had escaped Western Shess together. That was more than thirty years ago.
She shook her loose green smock into a more comfortable position as she looked for Whisper, and spotted the bush rat, almost invisible in the moonlight shadows, squatting at the edge of the tiny clearing, relieving herself. The full moon shone like a huge pearl in the clear night sky, reminding Meg of the summer nights she had spent as a teenager in the hills above Summerbrook. She wondered what the village looked like after so many years—whether or not it still existed. It would be so easy to go back, to look for the past, to search for reassurance in what had once been daily familiarity, but Summerbrook was filled with ghosts—Button, Jon, her mother and her brothers, old Emma. It was a place of bitter-sweet memories. Going back would only reignite her sorrow and a sense of hopelessness. She was here and this was the brink of the future. ‘Whatever the future is going to be,’ she murmured.
She gazed across the valley to the solitary light still glowing in the bushmen’s settlement. Everyone, except those on guard or hunting, was securely underground in the maze of tunnels and chambers, settling down to sleep or talking quietly of the day’s events. Her grandchildren were safe there. If she told them what she was doing, they would insist on coming with her, but this was a task she had to do alone.
Against the Seers, her magic was the only certainty. Swift’s assassin’s methods would be too crude and Chase would be a liability. If she could retrieve the sword hilt, they would have a tool to bargain for peace with the Seers. And if they still could not see reason to stop their destructive quest to bring on the Last Days, she would find a way to use the sword against the Demon Horsemen. There had to be a way.
‘Whisper,’ she called and walked into the light.
The corridor was different from how she remembered it. Where it had formerly been illuminated by lanterns it was now lit with wire-lightning bulbs and brighter than she wished. She blinked before she realised that two acolytes in yellow robes were standing in the corridor staring at her. One raised his hand and made the sign of the circle.
Meg smiled and said, ‘I am a messenger sent from Jarudha,’ a foolish comment that caught the acolytes off-guard. Before they could respond, she held her open hand before their startled faces and focussed on a spell to erase their memories. ‘This moment you will forget,’ she told them. ‘You will not remember me.’ She paused to see if they were registering her intentions, but they stared blankly through her. ‘You will reawaken when you hear another voice.’
She crept past the mesmerised young men, her memories crowding in of when she herself had entered the Order as an acolyte, her rich and beautiful red hair shaved and wearing the Jarudhan yellow robe. She was already pregnant then with her first-born boy, the legacy of her tryst with the bastard rebel prince, Treasure Overbrook. She was so young, so naive, so trusting, that Queen Sunset used her as a pawn in her political game with the Seers and as a military weapon against her legitimate son, Future Royal. The outcomes of those events cost Meg dearly.
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