Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2

by Louise Cusack

  ‘We must accept that she is gone.’ Mooraz knew he was speaking to himself.

  Hush shook her head. She closed her eyes, put her head to the side, on her hands.

  ‘Sleeping?’

  Hush opened her eyes and nodded happily. Then she jumped from trotter to trotter, clearly excited with this breakthrough.

  ‘My Lady Lae is sleeping?’ Mooraz asked.

  Hush shook her head, pointed to herself.

  ‘You are sleeping?’ That made no sense. ‘You were sleeping?’

  Again Hush nodded.

  Mooraz simply gazed at her. Sleeping. Was he particularly dense? ‘I fail to understand what your slumber has to do with my Lady Lae.’

  Again Hush put her head on her hands, then withdrew one and fluttered it above her head, as though to draw pictures with it.

  ‘Dreaming?’ Mooraz guessed. ‘You dreamt of Lae?’

  Hush opened her eyes and clapped for glee, jumped up and down with a clatter on the hard flagstones beside Mooraz’s bed. A moment later, however, she had herself under control again and was cradling her arms in front of her, rocking them as though she held a babe.

  Now Mooraz stared at her in complete bafflement. ‘You dreamt that Lae was a child?’

  Hush shook her head. Pointed to her chest and swirled a finger over her cheek to indicate Lae’s tattoo. Again she cradled her arms.

  ‘You dreamt that Lae carried a child in her arms?’

  Hush grinned, showing even rows of the thick grinding teeth Cliffdwellers used to chew the seaweed that was their staple diet.

  Mooraz still did not understand the importance of this revelation. ‘I also dream of Lae,’ he admitted, ‘yet this does not prove she is alive.’

  Hush stilled and looked at him, a quietly penetrating glance. Then she reached out a hand towards his right side, as though expecting to find a hand there that she could take. Mooraz frowned at this, but even as he struggled to decide if she was mocking him or simply stupid, he felt the stub on his shoulder rise as though to lift the arm that was no longer there. In all the months of his rehabilitation this had never before occurred, and yet now it did so with no more effort than if he had raised his left arm.

  ‘What magic is this?’ he exclaimed when her hand closed, as though in the act of taking another larger hand within its grasp.

  A hand which was no longer there.

  She lowered her hand to rest it on Mooraz’s leg and he felt his stub lower also, as though the ghost of an arm lay between her hand and his mortal flesh.

  Mooraz had no voice for a moment, then he whispered, ‘Have you found my arm?’

  Hush looked to the candle and raised her free hand to glide her fingers through the flame.

  ‘Haddash?’ he asked, feeling hope and horror in equal portions. ‘My arm is in Haddash?’

  She looked back at him, made no motion to agree or disagree.

  ‘Can I regain my arm?’

  She shook her head. No. Mooraz had known that, but foolish hope had risen within him all the same.

  Hush remained crouched before him, her fingers on his leg still curved as though enclosing his own invisible hand. He suddenly noted how unnaturally still she had become, odd behaviour again, for the Cliffdwellers were a fluid, moving race. ‘You are different to the others,’ he said in understatement.

  She shook her head, then raised her hand to her hairline and made a pulling downward motion, as though to strip a mask from her face. Mooraz stared at her. She was revealing herself to him? ‘You have powers,’ he said, and nodded to where his arm was not. ‘You can …’

  With her free hand she pointed to her eyes.

  ‘You can see things.’

  She made the cradling motion with one hand.

  ‘You can see Lae?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And my Lady is alive? With a child?’

  Again Hush nodded.

  Mooraz did not know how this could be. Lae had been declared a maid when the tattoo of Be’uccdha had been put upon her, and scant weeks had passed between that time and when she had fallen into Sh’hale’s hands. Even if she had been sullied by her captor, not enough time had passed for her to bear a child to term.

  The Cliffdweller’s vision brought more questions than answers.

  ‘Will you take me to her?’ he asked, and even before Hush rose and pulled on his phantom hand, he felt the imperative to follow her, to trace the link she had to Lae and once again be of service to his lady.

  His stub rose with her imaginary tug and he followed it, rising from the bed, letting the Cliffdweller girl lead him. He snatched up his firestone and pocketed that, looping his sword-belt over his shoulder on the wav. At the door he turned back to the solitary candle, the worn blanket on the bed and the small bundle of clothing in the corner. No matter the outcome of his journey, Mooraz would not return.

  He scratched a large X on the door of his room with the firestone, the universal symbol of death. Seeing this, Tulak would assume that Mooraz had fallen into depression and taken his own life. When no body was found they may think he had thrown himself from the castle parapet into the Everlasting Ocean far below. Certainly they would not think that he could leave Be’uccdha without their knowledge. Yet neither did they know that Cliffdwellers had access to the dungeons. Clearly if Hush had got in, they could both get out without being observed.

  ‘Thus I leave Be’uccdha,’ he said, renouncing his house and his ancestry. He turned to see Hush tapping her chest. For once Mooraz understood her and knew she was right.

  There was nothing of Be’uccdha to leave that was not already inside his heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Late afternoon haze congealed towards night and the dry stones of Fortress Sh’hale cracked against each other as they cooled. From his position on the Eastern Terrace Kai heard the first creak and turned to find sanctuary within. The sound was worse at full dark and he always ensured he was surrounded by other noises at that time — dinner with music and dancers. The cracking unsettled him, and although he knew it was foolish he was sure his fears were causing his unsettled nights, full of dreams about their new home transforming itself into Kraal, and Kai finding himself inside the serpent’s belly.

  The Northmen still did not know why Kraal had disappeared. Kai’s scouting parties had found no White among the Southmen they encountered, and the traitor, Be’uccdha, assured them his son was on the Waterworld. There was no reason for Kraal to be gone from them, and perhaps for that reason Kai feared that he had not gone — feared also that their God was toying with them, with Kai.

  ‘My Lord would like a jest?’

  Kai paused in his hurry through the colonnades to stare at the painted buffoon they had spared while killing the Sh’hale men. Though he had never offered them violence and had professed that his only weapon was wit, Kai’s hand went instinctively to the dagger on his thigh. ‘Why do you approach me alone?’ he asked.

  The fool frowned. ‘To test a jest, lest it not be my best, and our guests spear my chest —’ Here he shuddered and clasped his hands over his frilled shirtfront, his eyelashes trembling near closed. Then abruptly his hands fell and he straightened. ‘A ditty a day, I'll witty away, for silence is stupid, as I am, hurray!’ He clapped his hand wildly and danced on the spot, a prancing jig that evolved into a slower undulating movement.

  Kai felt the edges of his lips curve. The fool was mimicking his youngest wife’s dance, the one she had done to lure him to her bed. Performed in front of his men, it had indeed excited Kai, yet to see the fool’s exaggerated movements and sly glances offered a different perspective. What Kai had found enticing now appeared ugly and manipulative, yet he could take no offence from the mocking, for indeed it was cleverly done. Still, ‘Do not perform this for my men lest you shame my wife,’ he said, and withdrew his dagger to place it at the fool’s throat. ‘She would not take kindly to your dance.’

  Just as she had not taken kindly to Kai’s refusal to lie with her, but
in his dreams Kraal took many forms and Kai still could not convince himself that his God was truly banished from their world. When he tried to lie beside his youngest wife and touch her he felt more fear than desire, and so he had been forced to find his pleasures in solitude.

  Kraal, who sometimes spoke to him in the dead of night, mocked these fears, yet did nothing to reassure Kai that they were not true. It terrified Kai to know that his God could be watching him at any moment, perhaps every moment, and over time that terror had blurred into a nervousness of disposition that allowed no restful sleep or hearty appetite. The time when they had lived in the north and only dreamed of honouring their God by taking the Southlands was but a pleasant memory to him now.

  ‘I am convinced. If I dance I’ll be minced,’ the fool said, and Kai returned his dagger to its sheath and continued his journey to the dining hall. The fool fell in beside him. ‘My Lord’s wives are stupid, magnificently so. In this fortress that tradition is centuries old.’

  ‘The previous wives here were stupid?’ Kai asked loudly, to keep the sound of the creaking stones at bay.

  ‘Empty-headed beauties who died tragically young,’ the fool replied, his voice equally loud, echoing through the stone walkway they traversed. ‘When their childbearing was over they were quite often hung.’

  ‘Well hung?’ Kai asked.

  The fool’s raucous laughter jarred the nerves but lightened the heart. ‘My Lord’s wit is honed. It rivals my own,’ he declared.

  ‘No better?’ Kai asked, liking the discourse, thinking he would have the fool with him each morning and night when the unsettling sounds of the castle disturbed him.

  ‘More foolish than the fool? Oh, cruel!’ The zigzag pattern of paint creased on the fool’s lively face as he mimicked anguish, then it stilled. A sound could be heard approaching and he glanced away, then turned back and said softly, ‘Here approaches one who makes me yawn. I swear his wit was never born.’

  Kai turned also and saw his lieutenant approaching — a solid competent warrior who lacked any imagination. His men had been fastidious about continuing to shave the right side of their bodies to adhere to their clan mores, yet rather than using the fine steel they had found at this castle and having to do the task only once a day, they continued to scrape their stubble with the sharpened stones handed down from their fathers. The fool was right, their minds were as dull as their tools.

  The clan lieutenant bowed to Kai and stood silent, waiting for the fool to be dismissed before he spoke. Kai felt a sudden desire to dismiss the lieutenant instead and continue his interesting conversation with the fool, but he resisted. ‘Be gone,’ he told the fool. ‘Amuse me at dinner.’

  The fool bowed low, sticking his tongue out sideways towards the lieutenant when he knew he wouldn’t be seen. Then he raised his head and tip-toed away, mocking the secrecy the lieutenant had demanded. Kai watched him, unable to suppress the smile of amusement his antics encouraged.

  ‘That one is dangerous,’ the lieutenant said, his voice as surly as his expression. ‘He should have been killed with the other men.’

  Kai stared at his warrior, wondering why he had not noticed before how humourless his people were. How boring. No wonder Kraal had sought him out for companionship. He was truly the only one with an interesting mind. ‘I decide which threats will be acted upon.’ Kai replied archly. ‘Your task is to deliver the report, not to instruct me.’

  The warrior did not react to this, he simply related the tale of his scouting party’s meeting with their brothers who still surrounded the Volcastle. Kai felt there was little likelihood of a successfully entry and had sent word that if they abandoned the siege, they would be welcomed to Fortress Sh’hale which Kai held. The dour scout reported a refusal from the leader of the sieging Northmen and even that irritated Kai.

  Begin a fight and then win or die. That was the Northman way. Yet it showed little finesse and no imagination compared to the Southman strategies the fool had regaled him with. Indeed, the fact that the Northmen had never won a war against the south should have spoken to Kai. A battle, yes, but each time they ventured to conquer the south they were beaten back over the mountains and now Kai could see why. This tedious lieutenant before him told the story as clearly as though it was tattooed to his skin.

  The Northmen were inferior. Kai himself was inferior, and further, it was now clear that their people’s struggle to gain the Southlands had been motivated more by their desire to disguise their inferiority than out of any real need to own the land. It gave them purpose and Kraal had driven that purpose, but now their God was gone, and with him had fled Kai’s ignorance.

  ‘If our brothers choose to continue laying siege to the Volcastle, so be it,’ Kai said. ‘We have offered them the comfort of our fortress.’

  ‘Too much comfort,” the lieutenant muttered.

  Kai glared at him. ‘If you find the comfort not to your liking, you may sleep in the open tonight.’

  ‘I meant that our warriors grow fat and lazy with ale and feasting —’

  ‘Then let them drink the kitori.’ Kai himself was partial to the dark flavour of the Sh’hale beverage and appreciated the fact that it did not impair the senses. ‘The previous lord of this fortress enjoyed entertainments,’ Kai said. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Then he was angry with himself for bothering to explain. He waved the lieutenant away and continued towards the dining hall.

  Kai’s favourite entertainment was the game set out in the private pavilion where live players interacted with each other in various exciting ways if they were moved to occupy the same square at the same time. The fool had said his previous master, the Elder Sh’hale, called it Salacious Sagea, and had allowed his most successful warriors to partake of its pleasures as a reward for their service. Kai followed that tradition.

  His men wore black veils over their heads and the women, some of them Southwomen from the fortress, wore white veils. No other clothing was permitted. Each square required of the participants a different action, and Kai was particularly partial to placing two white veils together.

  It was tradition, the fool said, to play the game once a week, but Kai felt the need stir in him to watch it this night. ‘Tell the players to ready my Sagea,’ he told an aide as he entered the long dining hall decorated in the tattered banners of House Sh’hale. ‘We will begin after the meal.’

  It had been in Kai’s mind for some weeks now that he would put his youngest wife into the game, her belly plump with the promise of their child. Perhaps with a Southwoman first. Then, if the mood stirred him, Kai thought he might also put her with one of his men. She would be shocked at his actions, yet that thought stimulated Kai more and he wondered if this was how Kraal felt, strong with the power of controlling his people. Of bending their will. Or perhaps more rightly, of seducing them towards his will.

  Whether the comparison was accurate or not. Kai had no intention of retreating to the Northlands. He intended to remain in this fortress until Kraal returned, at which time his life may be forfeited. In the interim, however, he intended to take all the enjoyment that was offered to him, as surely Kraal himself would do, and more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Tulak was tired and so were his men. They had been marching for days, tracking Plainsmen through the Sanctum Forest, an area they would not normally enter. But the trail was old, stale.

  Now perilously close to the dreaded Forest of Desire, Tulak knew they must rest. Delivering the message to Verdan and finding the Plainsman talisman were his first commissions from his lord and Tulak did not want to disappoint The Dark so early in his tenure as Guard Captain. So he had driven his men on. He could no longer.

  ‘We will camp here,’ he said, pointing to the clearing they were entering. Overhanging branches with their trails of wispy mist-weed gave the area a sinister cast but Tulak knew they could go no further. Tomorrow they would reach Rue Marsh and his men must be rested by then. The melancholy vapours rising from those swamps could sap a man’s wil
l to live. Be’uccdha warriors were hardened of mind and body, but Tulak knew his men were close to the end of their resources.

  Once the fire was lit and guards posted in the forest around their open glade, Tulak allowed himself the luxury of a small square of baked magoria leaf. He chewed slowly, closing his eyes and lying back on the moist ground, cradling his head in his hands as he waited for the shock of illusion to sweep over him, the familiar pleasure.

  As a child he had helped his grandmother tend their family plant in a locked chimney alcove off the kitchens where she worked. While he had been small enough to accomplish the task, Tulak had been tethered to the pulley that ran up the chimney, and with great self-importance he had wiped each angled mirror his grandmother had heaved him to, so that the sunlight would reach their secret plant and continue to favour its growth.

  His grandmother was dead now and Tulak wasn’t sure which nephew held the current honour of cleaning the mirrors, but the plant still thrived and his family continued to harvest its ability to alter reality, if only briefly. Tulak’s station was now higher than any of his kin, allowing him a greater share of the forbidden weed. However, his consumption was growing prodigious. The greater the pressures The Dark placed on him, the more he relied on the drug for relaxation.

  A splash of water into the cooking pot reached Tulak’s ears but it was elongated into a seemingly endless undulating tone, a sound so foreign and yet so delightfully familiar Tulak was unable to stop himself smiling. The tinkling of the last few drops became chords from the strings of a mitabre, vibrating in his ears, tingling on his fingers, his tongue. Tulak wanted to sing those chords, to run through the trees bouncing on the spongy forest floor, jumping and singing. But that was just thought. His body was limp, it was only his mind that soared.

  Then a louder sound penetrated his forest dancing symphony, a clang that reverberated down his spine, sending his mind deep into the earth where it searched out the mysteries of the Ancients who had built the castles of Ennae their descendants ruled from. But there were no descendants of the Ancients on Ennae now. No Mihale or Khatrene with their snow hair and royal-hued eyes. The Dark was their regent, but the earth seemed to say that was wrong. Only a descendant of the Ancients could rule …