by Jo Spurrier
There’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something …
He huffed a breath and shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the furs. The right arm didn’t seem to know what to do with itself. There wasn’t much of it left — the stump below his elbow was shorter than the width of his palm, and the truncated arm hung awkwardly by his side. Isidro acknowledged the annoyance and dismissed it, as Delphine had taught him to do. She’d taught him to meditate, back when he was her slave. When Cam and Sirri were gone, lost seemingly forever, he’d used it to keep his head above the waters of despair that threatened daily to drown him. It ought to help now.
Isidro took a deep, slow breath and willed the tension from his muscles. It was only then that he noticed how tight his shoulders were, and that he was clenching his jaw so hard his head ached. He turned his attention further inward still, and tried to empty his roiling mind.
For a moment — a bare moment — it seemed to work, the storm inside his head calming to a peaceful sea. Then, it struck him with the force of a punch to the chin. THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE!
With a wordless roar he found himself on his feet, and staggered. He’d stood too quickly. Somehow he kept his feet, and felt his hand bunching to a fist. He wanted to take a swing at something. He wanted to beat his head against a wall. Anything to make this incessant thought stop. By the Black Sun, he thought. What is wrong with me?
You’ve lost your wits, he told himself in reply. They bled out along with your blood.
That’s right. They’d tried to tell him, many times. That’s why he always felt so confused, why he’d struggled in the early days to follow even a simple sentence … not that it was a great deal better now.
He remembered Delphine weeping. At the time, he couldn’t understand why. He’d tried to comfort her — he knew that’s what a man did when a woman wept. But when he’d tried to wrap an arm around her, it had only made her break down into choking sobs. Sierra had pulled him away, while Cam took Delphine off somewhere else. Devoid of understanding, stung by Delphine’s rejection and frightened by the fear in Cam’s eyes, Isidro had demanded to know what was wrong, and when Sierra couldn’t make him understand, Isidro had cursed her until she retreated too, leaving him to wallow in disorientation and bewilderment. He’d barely noticed that, as she left, she’d stooped to pick up something and carry it out of sight.
Now he understood what had set Delphine weeping. Sierra had retrieved a book, discarded on the groundsheet. He couldn’t remember what it was — the scratch-marks on the pages had meant nothing to him. There were hundreds of pages of them, an interminable number, unbroken by sketches or drawings that might have drawn his interest. Isidro couldn’t understand why she’d given him such a thing. He’d glanced at it briefly before setting it aside, and then he’d turned back in time to see her crumple.
Now, it was all too clear. The man she’d fallen in love with, the man she’d sacrificed her home and safety and career for, was gone. He’d died on the sunbaked rocks when Rasten sawed through the splintered bones of his arm, the essence of him seeping away into the dusty soil. What was left was just a shell. I’ve lost everything that made me who I am, Isidro thought. Losing my sword hand was bad, but I could go on without it. I still had my mind, and with that I could find other ways to fight. But now … there’s nothing left of the man I was.
And there’s something out there.
Isidro felt his jaw clenching tight again. One of these days, he imagined, his teeth would crack under the force, shattering to splinters like old dry bone.
There’s something out there.
He drew a deep breath. Well, if the nagging, incessant thought wouldn’t be dismissed, he would cursed well find out what his broken mind insisted was so important. Alright, he said to himself with a sigh of defeat. Where?
He let his mind go still, inwardly bracing himself for impact when it screamed into his skull again — THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE — he turned on his heel until he felt it, calling like a beacon, like a signal fire on a dark night.
Something moved inside him, like a snake wrapped around his spine, shifting in restless coils. Isidro’s belly clenched tight. His tainted power had awoken.
Long ago, someone had told him to think of power as water flowing through packed earth, and the source of it, the coil of energy around his spine, as a spring. Last summer, Kell had thrown something rotten into that spring. Ever since, the poison had been spreading through him in a slow seep, turning his power into something polluted and foul.
At first he’d tried to fight it — he drained off his power to starve the beast, and barricaded off the link with Sierra that let her power flow into him. But doing so left him as weak as a new foal. He’d made himself wait until he was stronger, and as his vigour returned he realised how foolish he’d been — he couldn’t starve the beast without starving himself. He could no more cut it out than he could cut out his bones. Kell hadn’t tainted his power — he’d tainted him.
Just what that meant was a question too great for his weakened mind to answer.
The intrusive thought was still there, beating against his skull like a moth battering at a lantern. Theressomethingouttheretheressomethingouttheretheressomethingoutthere … Isidro steeled himself to reach for the poisoned well of power. Perhaps he could wall it out, erect another barricade like the one he’d built against Sierra’s seeping power. But the moment he touched it, something shifted in his mind, unfolding like an insect spreading its wings.
Men. Men and horses. Soldiers. Mages. Lying in wait. He could sense their direction, though he couldn’t have given its bearing by compass. He’d been too long inside this tent, inside his own mind, cut off from the world. Even so, he could feel them, as if the land was a piece of cloth stretched taut, and the forces lying in wait were a weight placed upon it. Theressomethingouttheretheressomethingouttheretheressomethingoutthere …
‘Have to tell Cam,’ Isidro heard himself mutter. ‘Have to tell Sirri. There’s something out there. Men. Soldiers. Mages. Have to warn them …’
‘Issey?’
The voice came from over his shoulder, and Isidro froze. The beast stirred — it was his blood-tainted power that had sensed the encroaching threat and sent the nagging warning. And now it sensed some other prey, far closer and more vulnerable. A small morsel, but an easy target.
Isidro shook himself and opened his eyes to find himself standing with his nose an inch away from the tent’s canvas wall. He turned to find Delphine watching him. Behind her, two attendants lurked near the doorway — the women who saw to the upkeep of Cam’s tent, tending the fire and cooking meals. They watched impassively, used to his antics.
Delphine started towards him, but as the beast within him reared up, battering against the wall he’d built to enclose it, Isidro stumbled back.
Her belly made a large mound, the cloth of her jacket stretched taut to wrap across it. It always surprised him how much it had grown, and he had to remind himself that of all the weeks that had passed he’d spent only a small fraction lucid and alert.
Delphine froze with one hand reaching towards him. She let the hand slowly fall, folding her arms across her chest instead. The gesture made her look very small and defensive. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Where’s Cam?’ he said. ‘I need to talk to him.’
‘He’s not here. He rode out yesterday morning with Sierra, don’t you remember? You wished him farewell.’
Now that she mentioned it, he did recall — but he could have sworn it happened weeks ago. ‘Where … where did he go?’
‘Southeast, to see about that legion. Issey, what’s wrong?’
The direction meant nothing to him. The way
his head was spinning, he wasn’t sure he could point up from down.
‘There’s something out there,’ he said. ‘Soldiers. Mages. Coming for us. You have to warn them, Delphi.’
Delphine’s heart had barely slowed when Commander Rouldin answered her summons. She met him in the vestibule, leaving Isidro behind in the interior, pacing and muttering to himself.
Rouldin made her a bow. ‘How may I be of service, my lady?’
Perhaps it was discourteous to receive him out here, but Delphine didn’t want him to see Isidro in this state. But would it truly make any difference? she asked herself. All they know of him is this halfwit shell.
In Cam’s absence, Rouldin was in command. Cam’s commanders treated her with deference, but if the camp came under attack, Delphine knew Cam expected her to obey their orders. I only wish some of my wretched students understood how these things work, she thought with a touch of sourness.
‘Commander,’ she said, ‘this may seem odd, but please humour me. The patrols to the west … have they seen anything of note?’
Rouldin raised his eyebrows, but there was no hesitation in his reply. ‘No, my lady, nothing at all.’
‘How far do they reach?’
‘Our long-range sentries set a course two miles beyond the camp boundaries, my lady. May I ask the reason for your concern?’
Delphine glanced back towards the tent. ‘The prince’s brother believes there is a threat to our west.’
For a moment Rouldin was silent. His expression did not change. ‘I see. Has he given any reason, my lady?’
A hunch, Delphine thought. But Isidro’s hunches are worth listening to. ‘Rouldin, all I ask is that you humour me.’
She laid her hand on her swollen belly, feeling the babe shift within her. Rouldin started to reply, but Delphine saw a movement behind him, a figure hurrying through the muddy avenue of tents. It was one of the Mage Corps, a young fellow whose name escaped her. It was so hard to remember them all, when there were so many and they stayed with her just a few short weeks before setting off again.
Rouldin noted the shift in her attention and turned. ‘Please excuse me, my lady, this may be important —’
‘Of course,’ Delphine said.
At Rouldin’s gesture the young fellow came close. ‘Sir, we’ve had word from Lady Sierra. Prince Cam has broken off the chase, they were worried the Akharians were trying to lead them away. The prince orders the camp placed on alert, increased sentries and patrols and additional scouts sent out.’
Rouldin lifted his chin sharply, and threw a glance at Delphine. ‘Well, my lady,’ he said, ‘perhaps Lord Isidro is more aware of his surroundings than we thought.’
Delphine pressed her lips together, forcing down the urge to snap at the man. He doesn’t know any different, she told herself. He’s never seen him at his best.
Then, something occurred to her — if Sierra suspected a threat, perhaps Isidro had picked up on her thoughts. Perhaps he was finally reestablishing his connection with her, regaining some of his old self.
Rouldin had noticed her expression change as she followed the thought. ‘My lady, is there something else?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘that’s all. I won’t keep you from your duty. Please keep me informed.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ Rouldin said, bowing again. ‘With your leave …’ and he marched away, the messenger following.
Back inside, she found Isidro standing by the doorway, as though he’d been listening. It was unlike him to eavesdrop. Actually no, Delphine corrected herself … her Isidro would have no compunctions listening to a conversation like that. It was just unlike him to be caught. ‘Did you hear enough?’
He gave her a blank look. ‘Hear what?’
‘What Commander Rouldin and I were saying.’
He made no reply, but just kept staring at the tent’s western wall with a blank gaze that made her uneasy.
Delphine cleared her throat. ‘There’s been word from Cam and Sirri.’
That earned her the briefest of glances. ‘Oh?’
‘They broke off the chase. They’re worried the Akharians were drawing them away from us.’
‘They know they can’t fight Sirri,’ Isidro said. ‘Best attack the den when the pack leaders are away.’
‘Issey … do you think you took this from Sierra? Can you really sense something out there? Or could Sirri be trying to reach you?’
Isidro studied her for a long moment before his eyes screwed shut and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. ‘I … I don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore, Delphi. Where are they? Are they coming back? There’s something out there, my head just won’t shut up about it. If we lose the training mages, the women and children, the wounded … it won’t be the end of us, but it’ll be a hard blow to bear, and if they take hostages …’
Delphine bit her lip. Was that him talking? Or was he merely giving voice to the thoughts running through Sierra’s head? As much as she wished it could be his own wit and strength returning, she wasn’t sure she dared believe it.
She took him by the arm, tugging him towards the fire. ‘It’ll be alright,’ she said. ‘Commander Rouldin will send out more patrols. If there’s any danger we’ll learn of it. You’ve done what you can, now come sit down and rest.’
Try as she might, she couldn’t convince him to settle by the fire, and in the end she gave up and left him where he was, still muttering under his breath as he scowled at the western wall.
To tide her over until the evening meal came, and to take her mind off the unintelligible muttering behind her back, Delphine made herself a pot of coffee and nibbled on a piece of fruit cake as the fragrant stuff brewed. There was an abundance of the dark, aromatic beans in the camp at the moment. Delphine hoped it would help wake her up — the bone-deep aching weariness of the early months of her pregnancy had passed by, but she didn’t feel the same as she had before her womb had quickened. She’d left the training mages in the hands of her assistants when she’d found herself nodding off during meditation.
She offered cake and coffee to Isidro, but after a long, studious gaze at her pot and the gilded cups, looted from the same Akharian general who’d supplied their tent, he turned away again with a shake of his head.
A nap was a bad idea, Delphine considered. Still, it would not be long now before the evening meal and hopefully not much longer until Rouldin’s scouts reported. As she sipped her coffee, Delphine arranged herself on the pillows so she could watch the man pacing along the western wall, and willed herself to stay awake.
Isidro pulled the hood over his head and slouched low to disguise his height. It didn’t truly seem necessary. No one in the camp gave him a second glance.
A soft rain was falling — the drops hung in the air as though weightless, only beading on his coat when he brushed against them, breaking the spell that kept them suspended.
It was the hour for the evening meal, and around him folk were huddling in damp tents to share out bannock and bowls of stew. Everywhere he turned he heard children squabbling, a woman soothing her babe in arms, or an old, cracked voice singing to tired and hungry little ones.
These folk weren’t the target, Isidro knew that. The Akharians had to know there was only one person in Cam’s army with the knowledge and skill to teach the new mages, even if what they learnt were little more than a few tricks and rote responses. Even so, these folk would not be spared. Those who resisted would be slaughtered, those who surrendered would be enslaved once again.
An attack here wouldn’t break the back of Cam’s army. It wouldn’t halt the roving bands in the east, and it would only serve to strengthen Sierra’s fury. No, what it would do is break the heart of the freed slaves, delivering a blow every bit as gut-wrenching as the original raids. For these folk to have come so far and survived so much, only to fall again when it seemed they were finally heading home …
A strange sensation washed over Isidro then, and he stopped in his tracks in
surprise.
It was odd, very odd, to suddenly realise that he was thinking clearly, when for weeks and months he’d felt like his skull was stuffed to bursting with unspun wool.
He raised a hand to his forehead, and shuffled to the side of the path so as not to block the road. Where was he going? Why was he out here alone? Delphine must be back in the tent — probably asleep if he’d left without fuss. He should go back.
But as soon as he turned on his heel a feeling of wrongness struck him, so forceful that he wheeled back to face the last hints of the setting sun streaking through the clouds. No, he’d come out here for a reason. If only he could remember what it was.
He started walking again, skirting around patches of mud as he thought back to what Delphine had said. He was not the only one who sensed a threat. Sierra had raised the alarm as well.
What if he had merely picked up her thought? And why was his mind working again, after so long hobbling around in circles like a beast caught in a snare?
Sirri, Isidro thought. Maybe Sirri can help me understand.
He reached for her — or at least, he tried to. He knew he’d done it in the past, for a time it had come to him as naturally as breathing, but this time … nothing.
When he realised why, he wanted to curse himself for his lack of wits. Hadn’t he spent long hours walling her off? Why did he think he could block off her power without blocking off the connection that bound them as well?
He veered from the path, and once he was shrouded in the darkness between the tents, Isidro closed his eyes to concentrate. There had to be something he could do.
The connection always felt to him like a trail beaten through scrub. When Kell first forged the connection, it was little more than a single set of prints, soon erased by the passage of time. But once they met again and Sierra had pulled him down into her furs, it had grown to a well-worn trail, the sort he could follow in his sleep.