The Girl and the Stars

by Mark Lawrence

  “Yes.” Yaz tried not to let her surprise show. Everyone knew of the Ictha.

  “Ah, don’t look like that.” His smile erased the offence she’d taken, making her answer it with one of her own. “I’m Kaylal. I’ve been here since I was a baby. The Ictha must not get thrown down the pit very often!”

  Kaylal turned to face her and in a poorly disguised moment of shock Yaz saw that both Kaylal’s legs ended in stumps not far from the hips. Rather than standing as she had assumed he was seated on a high stool.

  “You’ve noticed.” Kaylal smiled but pain ran behind it. “You don’t find men like me up there, do you?”

  “I . . .” Yaz couldn’t look away. Physical deformity was almost unknown among the Ictha and always the result of injury. “Did it hurt?” She could hardly imagine the creature that had taken his legs. An outsized dagger-fish? A blue shark maybe, or a pavvine risen from the black depths? Harder still to imagine how he had survived the blood loss.

  Kaylal laughed. “I was born this way. My parents threw me down the pit when I was a baby. I’ve no memory of it.” His laughter ended and he met her gaze with deep blue eyes. “We’re not all broken the same way, but the Broken look after whoever comes to us. Eular tells me that my parents lived hard lives and made a hard choice. Beneath the ice we make different choices. There are some prices we won’t pay, not even to survive, because the life that demands those prices for continuing loses its value in the paying.”

  “I keep hearing about this Eular . . .”

  “You’ll meet him soon enough.” Kaylal smiled past her as someone entered the shed.

  Another young man joined them, also dark and handsome but lacking Kaylal’s unearthly beauty. He set down his clanking burden and came to stand by the smith, the hand he set to Kaylal’s bare shoulder possessive, his smile guarded. “One of Arka’s group? Well, you’ve met our finest craftsman. Kaylal can fashion an iron snowflake with a ten-pound hammer.”

  “This is Exxar,” Kaylal said, reaching to touch the hand on his shoulder. “The best of us. You can trust what he makes and what he says.”

  A call from outside broke a moment’s silence. “Yaz?” Arka’s voice.

  “I . . . uh . . . better go. It was nice to meet you both.” Yaz made a clumsy retreat, knocking into several of the hanging workpieces and setting them clanking together.

  * * *

  THE OTHERS HAD joined Arka outside and with them stood the familiar figures of Pome holding his star-torch and Petrick, the hunska boy who had distracted Hetta while Yaz climbed to safety. Petrick pushed aside the unruly black weight of his fringe and grinned at her as she crossed over to them. Pome just watched her from narrow eyes. He didn’t have the size of a gerant or the dark hair of a hunska so Yaz guessed he must be a marjal, hiding some elemental talent or one of the rarer powers. Perhaps as Thurin had suggested his magic was in his voice, for many of the Broken had listened to him after the hunter came although he had only harsh things to say.

  “Eular only asked to see these two.” Pome jerked a thumb toward Thurin and nodded toward Yaz.

  “Take them all,” Arka said. “He’ll want to see them soon enough and I’ll only have to repeat myself if you break the drop-group.”

  “Not my problem, drop-leader.” Pome put an edge on Arka’s title, clearly still stung by the loss of whatever prestige it carried.

  “Take them. Or I will bring them myself.” Arka turned away. “You’ll find me here when you’re done.” She started to hop out among the rocks that studded the lake edge. Yaz wondered if there might be fish to catch.

  “Come.” Pome began to walk away, leaving it unclear as to who should follow.

  Quina shrugged and set off after him; the whole group followed. Yaz stayed at the back with Thurin, not wanting to spark Pome’s star-torch to greater brightness.

  “You met Kaylal then?” Thurin smiled knowingly.

  “I did.”

  “He’s a fine-looking fellow.”

  “Yes.” Yaz felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

  “A word to the wise: don’t go making eyes at him. Exxar is very jealous of competition. Though he has no need to be.”

  “Oh . . .” Yaz saw Quina flash a quick grin at her from further ahead where she walked beside Petrick. A little flustered she asked the next question in her head: “Who is Eular?” She spoke in a low voice but it was Petrick rather than Thurin who answered.

  “The man who wants to see you.” He left a pause as if he thought he’d made a joke then added, “The eldest elder we have. Tarko leads us but he takes advice from Eular just as those before him have, and those who come after will.”

  “And why does he want to see just me and Thurin?” Yaz hoped the splashing of their feet in the narrow worm tunnel would keep their conversation from the others.

  “Because Thurin was tainted and we need to know if he can be trusted again,” said Petrick with brutal honesty. “And you make the stars burn brighter.” The boy glanced back at her, his face lost in darkness, head silhouetted against the glow of Pome’s light.

  “You know?” Yaz hadn’t been sure if they did or not.

  “Of course. It’s why Arka told me to draw Hetta off you. That was quite a risk. It’s never safe to tangle with that one, however fast you are.” Petrick shuddered. “When you were fleeing from her in the outer caverns I could see each band of stars light up as you ran past. It’s harder to notice close up. But from a distance . . . I saw it before I saw you. Arka said we had to have you then.”

  “What does it mean?” Yaz asked.

  “Don’t know.” This time Yaz caught the gleam of the boy’s grin. “But it’s not something we’ve seen before. Pome’s the only one of us who can get close to the bigger stars and even he doesn’t like to touch them. Seems like you’re something new!”

  At the front of their line Pome led the way through a series of low caverns. In places the slope of the rock reached the ice and gouged patterns in the roof as the flow moved on. Gravel and small round stones formed drifts here and there, giving off an eerie light from stardust caught in the voids among them. Once again Yaz wondered that all this beauty could have existed for so many years beneath her people’s feet without their knowledge. She wondered what else she might find and what other marvels lay silent, miles down, never to be discovered. Did beauty need an observer to matter? Was anything beautiful without someone to think it so? She found herself wondering in this world of different eyes, different hair, different faces, how others saw her. Did Thurin think her ugly? Again she felt guilty. All her thoughts should be bent on saving Zeen, not on childish worries.

  The group walked on unspeaking for a while, just the splash of feet, the dripping of meltwater, and the groan of the ice echoing in the caverns. And then a distant roar that froze them in their tracks.

  “What was that?” It had seemed to come from behind them.

  “Another hunter? From the city?”

  “I know what it was,” Petrick muttered.

  “Black gods damn it!” Pome started off again, hurrying now.

  “What? What was that?” Yaz hissed at Petrick’s back.

  “Hetta.”

  Yaz went cold, remembering those teeth. “She’s far away though, and we’re close to the settlement?”

  “She’s cunning. If you know this place well enough you can use the tunnels to make it sound as—”

  A huge shape burst from behind the cover of a rock ridge, diving into their midst. Quina and Petrick moved before Yaz even knew what was happening, both diving clear. Hetta bundled through the rest of them, shouldering Kao aside as though he were nothing, her great hand reaching for Yaz.

  “No!”

  Thick fingers grazed Yaz’s ribs, catching hold of her coat in a grip that with a better aim could have snagged flesh and bone, crumpling them up as easily as skins.

 
Yaz threw herself back, twisting. If she’d buttoned and fastened the coat there would have been no escape, but in the heat she wore it loose and open, and now writhed free of it even as Hetta lifted her to slam her against the ice overhead.

  She ran then, gasping, outstretching the others around her, panic driving them all.

  The sounds of Hetta’s raging fell away behind them and Yaz came to a halt, panting, leaning against the cavern wall. The darkness around them was almost unbroken.

  “Why . . . why isn’t she following?” Yaz asked, looking round. “Where’s Pome?”

  “Still running.” Petrick raised his arm toward a point of light bobbing away in the distance.

  Thurin spat, wiped his mouth, then started to call names. Kao, Yaz, Petrick, and Quina answered when he spoke. “Maya?”

  “Is she with Pome?” Yaz asked.

  “She couldn’t have run that fast.” Quina shook her dark head. “She’s only little.”

  “Hetta has her then,” Kao said.

  “If Hetta has Maya, why is she still hunting around back there?” Yaz could see the tainted gerant, the shape of her black against the faint glow of the ice, striding back and forth, kicking through the drifts of stones.

  “The girl must be hiding,” Thurin said.

  “Well, that won’t work for long. Hetta will sniff her out. She can find you in the dark, that one.” Petrick shivered.

  Only when Thurin caught her shoulder did Yaz realise she was starting to walk back toward the raging gerant. “Are you mad? She’ll tear you apart!”

  “I was afraid to die once, and it killed someone.” Yaz shook Thurin’s hand from her arm. If she had owned up to her defect at the first gathering someone stronger would have been beside her youngest brother when he needed help and her parents would have Azad with them on the ice today.

  “What can you do against Hetta?” Quina shouted after her.

  “Finish what I started.” Yaz kept on walking, breaking into a jog now. Her certainty was fading as the black shape grew larger and memory painted detail onto darkness. She wished she had her knife, or better still one of the iron weapons she’d seen the warriors carrying.

  “Slow down.” Thurin came up on her right. “We need a plan.”

  “Keep stabbing her till she falls over?” Petrick caught up on her left, an iron dagger glimmering in his fist. Some might call Petrick ugly, his face too narrow, mouth too wide, nose long and crooked from some old break. But when he smiled, as he often did, the unbalanced collection of his features found its purpose and he became someone Yaz wanted as a friend.

  “Good plan,” she said.

  More footsteps behind Yaz: Kao’s heavy tread and Quina’s quick patter. Neither looked eager but perhaps something of her own determination had struck an echo inside them. They had all been thrown away the day before and discarding Maya to her fate wasn’t something any of them could swallow, whatever common sense might dictate.

  “Can you do that thing with the roof like Tarko did with the hunter?” Yaz asked Thurin.

  “No. Well . . . I don’t think so.” Doubt creased his pale brow. “And if I could, how would I stop it from crushing Maya? We don’t know where she’s hiding.”

  It was true, and staring ahead Yaz could see very few places Maya could have concealed herself, unless she was just circling to keep the outcrops of rock between Hetta and herself.

  “Kao will have to grapple her legs then, get her on the floor, and the rest of us can pound her while Petrick cuts her throat.”

  “Hells . . .” Kao, behind her. Hetta had stopped her hunt and now slowly turned her head in the direction of their approaching group. “She’s . . . huge!”

  Hetta reached behind her and drew from her belt an iron blade, a stolen sword as big as any Yaz had seen but seeming a mere dagger in the woman’s fist. Between the wrist and elbow of her other arm the gerant had bound a great thickness of hides secured by an iron bar twisted into a spiral, a shield of some kind to ward off blows. With a scream of rage Hetta came charging and sudden terror turned Yaz’s muscles to water.

  Hetta came roaring, a band of scarlet across her eyes filling both with blood, and a jet-black stain reaching out like fingers in all directions around her impossibly wide mouth.

  The two hunskas, Petrick and Quina, leapt to either side, Petrick, who hardly reached the woman’s hip, lashing out with his knife. Thurin and Yaz were knocked aside as Hetta seized her largest opponent. She caught Kao around the neck and slammed him down on the rocky floor, water spraying up from the impact. In the next moment she was turning to follow Petrick, her sword swinging low. Swift as the hunska was he couldn’t outrace the leading edge of her sword. Instead, he jumped, clearing the blow by fractions of an inch.

  Yaz sat, shaking away the strange lights that filled her vision after Hetta’s rancid bulk had hammered into her. She saw immediately that her plan had been suicide. If Kao had managed to get her down they might have had a chance, but Hetta stood head and shoulders above him.

  As the hunskas danced out of reach Hetta turned back toward those on the ground. Thurin had almost got to his feet. Hetta could split him in two with that cleaver of hers but she seemed reluctant to grant a quick death. She reached for him instead, and as she did so Thurin threw out both hands in a gesture of rejection. Somehow Hetta’s lunge slowed to a crawl. Both of them stood as if locked in a contest of strength, though with neither touching the other. Hetta howled and started to advance while Thurin’s legs buckled, losing traction on the small ridge he’d braced them against. She drove him back, still not making contact, as though a thickness of glass were interposed between them.

  Quina, seeing her moment, rushed in to pummel Hetta’s exposed side, her fists a blur. Petrick charged in too, launching himself at the gerant’s back, driving his knife in as high as he could and trying to heave himself up with it, or to draw it down, carving a great wound. It seemed though that the blade had lodged tight and he lacked the strength for either.

  Ignoring both attacks Hetta drove Thurin toward the edge of the cavern. Thurin seemed to be weakening but as the wall loomed behind him he drew back one arm and thrust again, this time sending forward jets of fractured ice from the wall. The ice blasted around Hetta’s face, blinding her and allowing Thurin to twist away.

  “Run! Run, Maya!” Thurin took off back the way they had come, Petrick and Quina at his heels.

  Yaz, on her feet now, made to run too. There was still no sign of Maya but the girl had had time to make her escape.

  It wasn’t until she passed by Kao, out cold . . . or dead, that Yaz came to a stumbling halt. Behind her Hetta had cleared her eyes, still framed by that band of scarlet skin, and now came forward, howling murder and scything her sword before her.

  Yaz turned. Even as she did it she was asking herself why. The boy was immature and too full of himself. And yet the answer came to her even more quickly than Hetta did. Throw any single life away as if it holds no meaning and how will your own life be valued thereafter? Everyone she had ever known had stood and watched her brother be thrown down the Pit of the Missing. Abandoning Kao now would say that they were right.

  The river that runs through all things had first revealed itself to Yaz in a moment of great calm when her mind lay serene, clear as slow-ice. She had been watching the new sun rise over the white plains, and the reaching redness of its rays had become a multitude twisting in her mind, flowing and joining, and the river had been before her and in her and through her.

  To see the river again so soon after touching its power was not easy. To do it in the grip of terror as death rushes howling upon you, impossible. But Yaz had set aside her fear and stepped forward accepting the likelihood of her own end. She reached out into that calm and found the river, rushing at her more swiftly than her enemy. Where before Yaz had only dared a finger or the palm of her hand, this time she thrust both hands into
the flood and immediately the power of the current came roaring into her.

  Yaz tried to pull free before the river’s surge carried her away or the force of it swirling through her tore the flesh from her bones. She found herself flying backwards, jolted by the separation, drunk on the strange energies she’d taken, overfull, bursting. The world around her seemed uncertain, fracturing into dozens of possibilities, each drawing Yaz along a different path into the future.

  Kao lay helpless before Hetta but she carried on past the boy, aimed squarely at Yaz.

  It took the singular threat of Hetta’s continuing charge to nail Yaz to the moment. For several heartbeats it had seemed to Yaz that she would simply fall apart into different fragments of who she might be. Instead she rose, blazing with barely contained power, incandescent in her hands, trails of magic scintillating down past her elbows as if it were a liquid drawn by gravity’s pull.

  Yaz raised her arm against the swing of Hetta’s sword and with a bright retort the blade shattered. The other hand, driven flat-palmed at Hetta’s chest, slammed her backwards, both feet leaving the ground. The force of the blow threw the cannibal for yards, sending her hammering into the ridge of rock that she had previously hidden behind. She collapsed against its base in a broken heap, her chest smoking.

  “Yaz!” Thurin was the first to reach her. He gazed at the fallen gerant. “What happened?”

  Yaz folded her arms under each other, trying and failing to hide the light still shining from her hands and well past her wrists. “Kao didn’t get up. I couldn’t leave him.” She willed the remaining energies she’d taken to sink deeper into her flesh but they were slow to obey.

  Thurin knelt beside the boy, checking the back of his head. “I made the water in the puddle cushion his fall. He seems to be in one—”

  Kao let out a groan and his eyes fluttered open. Quina and Petrick were approaching Hetta now, Maya with them, trailing at the back, her eyes full of watchfulness rather than fear. All of them glanced Yaz’s way. It’s next to impossible to hide a light source in a dimly lit cavern and although the power in her was fading it was not yet gone.