by Ian Irvine
“Stands to reason,” said Yggur. “A natural gift like yours, an untrained gift, could grow to protect you.”
“But it feels like I’m losing it,” said Sulien. “Whenever I’ve tried to defend myself with it, like I did against Julken, it just … fails.” She turned to Karan. “Mummy, can you teach me how to use my gift?”
Karan had been dreading that question as well. “No!” she said sharply.
Yggur turned from the controls and gave her a hard stare but did not speak.
“Why not?” said Sulien.
“I wouldn’t know how,” Karan said hastily. “My own gift was blocked when I was young and now it’s too late to learn it properly.”
“You have a physical gift for mancery, and a psychic gift,” said Yggur to Sulien. “Is it your physical gift that’s failing, or both?”
“Physical,” said Sulien. “I can’t defend myself by touching people any more.”
“What about the psychic? Have you had any seeings lately?”
“No … but Ghyll said he found me through my gift—a unique, strong gift, he said. But Mummy, you can do seeings and sendings and make links. You must be able to teach me about them.”
“Your gift is far stronger than mine.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk about it another time,” Karan said firmly. “You need to rest. Come up the back.”
She removed Sulien’s ruined boots, helped her into a hammock and tucked blankets around her. “Go to sleep.” Karan stroked her forehead and Sulien closed her eyes. Karan returned to the seat beside Yggur and gazed out the window at the racing clouds.
After a long silence Yggur said, “Ignored problems don’t go away.”
“Mind your own business.”
“Sulien’s gift holds the key to defeating the Merdrun, which makes it my business.”
“She’s too young.”
“The only way to protect her is to extract the enemy’s secret from her.”
“Even if it breaks her? No!”
“You’re following a dangerous course.”
Every option Karan could think of was dangerous and she did not know how to choose between them. She went to her own hammock, expecting to lie awake, but Sulien sighed softly beside her and the relief was so overwhelming that Karan tumbled into sleep.
Sulien’s hammock rocked with every motion of the racing sky ship. At first it was soothing, but as the day passed the wind became gustier and their passage bumpier, and she woke with her head spinning and her stomach churning.
She sank into sleep again, but the dream of being safe in Karan’s arms gave way to an alarming series of silent images: slaves being flogged, Gergrig bellowing at a shaven-headed boy not much older than herself who was dragging a mutilated body to a pit, a burning field of grain, Merdrun soldiers tearing down an ancient temple and smashing its treasures to powder.
Sulien whimpered in her sleep, half-woke but sank again.
Gergrig bellowed, Drum boy! Did you check on the triplets?
The boy, who was not much older than herself, came running. He was a stocky lad with large staring indigo eyes and a fist-shaped bruise on his left cheek, and the Merdrun glyph on his forehead wasn’t black but scintillating silver. He stopped, looked up at Gergrig then down again.
A scarred fist struck the boy on his bruised cheek, knocking him down. He made no sound, but Sulien felt the pain in her own cheek.
Never show fear, drum boy, and look every man in the eye. Merdrun fear nothing!
The boy rose, touched his swollen cheek but instantly pulled his hand away. He looked up into Gergrig’s eyes, and this time managed to hold his gaze.
The triplets are … better, the boy said.
About time! They have much to learn and much work to do. Have you finished hauling the bodies to the pit?
No, Gergrig. But why me? Sulien detected a quaver in the boy’s voice. Why not give the job to the slaves?
You need toughening up, drum boy. You know what happens to Merdrun who recoil from blood and savagery and death? Merdrun who are kind? Merdrun who allow emotions to rule them? Gergrig emphasised the words as if listing crimes.
You cut them down, whispered the boy. Because they’re weak, they’re not true Merdrun.
Are you true Merdrun, drum boy?
Yes! the boy cried. I’ll do anything you say. But he struggled to look Gergrig in the face this time.
Get the corpses to the pit. And remember you’re on a warning. How many warnings do weak people get, drum boy, before I cut them down and throw their bodies to the dogs?
One, choked the boy.
There you are then, Uigg my lad, said Gergrig, cuffing him lightly over the side of the head. Go!
Uigg stumbled away to the pile of tangled bodies, natives of Gwine, and heaved at the nearest, a man twice his size. As he looked down at the tormented face and hacked body, shuddering and retching and trying desperately to control the emotions that if revealed would doom him, a disgusting stench of blood, death and decay boiled up Sulien’s nose.
She woke abruptly, upright in the wildly swaying hammock, gagging and crying out, “No, no!” then threw up on the floor of the sky ship.
Karan came running. “What’s the matter? Are the triplets attacking?”
Sulien was shaking. She wiped her mouth on her blanket. “I smelled them, Mummy.”
“Smelled what?” Yggur yelled over his shoulder.
“The bodies.”
“Was it a nightmare or a seeing?”
“A seeing, I think. But I could see and hear, and smell them—and that’s never happened before. I even felt it when Gergrig hit Uigg on the cheek.”
After Sulien finished and was back in her hammock, Yggur said quietly, “The gift for far-seeing is a rare one, Karan, and few who have it can far-hear as well. But far-smelling and far-feeling into the bargain—I’ve never heard of such a gift. It troubles me, and you’d better do something about it.”
Karan did not reply, though Sulien could sense her rampaging emotions—anger, self-doubt and an all-consuming fear.
The trip north, though otherwise uneventful, was slow. The journey was plagued by bad weather and such wild winds that they twice had to land and tie the craft down in the most sheltered spot they could find, on one occasion for three cold and miserable days. It took them ten days to reach Sith, and the further north they went the more Karan’s fear grew that she was taking Sulien into danger rather than away from it. Was Yggur right? Should she be taught her gift? No, she was too young.
Yggur circled over Sith late in the afternoon, looking for a landing place, and Karan saw half a dozen sky ships under construction in one of the shipyards along the southern shore of the River Garr. He landed in the middle of the shipyard late in the afternoon. Workers came from everywhere to stare at the sleek craft, so different from the crude, boxy vessels they were building.
They disembarked and Karan studied the busy yard. She had thought no further than getting here and trying to make peace with Malien and Tallia, but first she had to find them.
A burly officer appeared, a very square man whose blocky head sat directly on shoulders twice as broad as Karan’s. His boots were the size and shape of bricks. Yggur introduced himself, then Karan.
“I know who you are,” the officer said in a surprisingly high voice.
“Where’s Tallia?” said Karan.
“Gone.”
“Malien?”
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“That’s secret.”
“Is there any news of Daddy?” said Sulien. “His name is Llian.”
“No,” the officer said forbiddingly.
She gave a small cry and clutched Karan’s hand.
“How’s the war going?” said Yggur.
“That’s secret.” The officer looked longingly at the sky ship. “I’ll take charge of this now.”
Yggur stood up. “Want to bet?” he said with quiet menace.
“It�
�s army property.”
“It belongs to Malien, and unless you want to explain to the Aachim, our allies, how it and half this shipyard was destroyed in a battle with me …”
The officer backed off, scowling.
“Karan and Sulien will be going into town now,” said Yggur. “They won’t be hindered, will they?”
“Not today,” the officer snapped, and clumped away.
“You’ll need to buy clothes, boots and the like,” said Yggur, handing Karan a bag of coin. “I’ll stay here; I daren’t leave the sky ship unguarded. Don’t be long.” He lowered his voice. “And see if you can find out what’s going on.”
Karan took Sulien to the best source of information she knew, Osseion’s tavern, Ninefingers, but it was closed and spiders had made webs in the corners of the front door.
Karan stood on the veranda, wondering what to do. “I haven’t been to Sith in years,” she said. “I don’t know anyone else.”
Sulien knocked on the door, and to Karan’s surprise someone stumped across the boards inside and opened it.
Ussarine, who was supporting herself on crutches and had lost weight, gave her a wan smile. “Come in.” She peered past Karan and her face lit up. “Is this …? Of course it is. You found her! Come in.”
Ussarine, hopping on her crutches, led them into the kitchen, where they sat at a well-scrubbed table that bore the marks of a hundred years of chopping and slicing. Ussarine made tea for Karan and a thick yellow brew for Sulien, the consistency of custard, which she sweetened with honey. Sulien’s eyes lit up as she tasted it.
“Your legs are healing quickly,” said Karan. Ussarine still wore casts though she was taking some weight on her right foot.
“One of Malien’s healers cast a charm on the bones,” said Ussarine. “She said they’d be fully healed at the end of a month. I hope we get that long …”
“What’s going on? We haven’t heard any news since I left … um, two and a half weeks ago.”
“I don’t know. Everything is secret now. And with two broken legs I’m no use to anyone.” There was an edge to her voice.
“That must be hard,” said Karan, “after all you’ve done for us.”
“It’s the way of war. Oh, Tallia left a message in case you turned up: you and Yggur are to fly to Zile immediately.”
“We’d better let him know right away,” said Karan.
“It’s all right, I’ll send a messenger. Where is he?”
“The Thorst Shipyards.”
Ussarine hopped out, returning shortly. “However I can tell you this—many more Aachim have come west in the past week, in two more sky ships, and another six are on the way. We’ve got three of our own built and eight more under construction in two shipyards, though they’re rickety crates compared to the one …”
“That I stole,” said Karan. “Why Zile?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Daddy?” said Sulien, trembling.
“No one knows,” said Ussarine. She leaned forward across the table. “I’m sorry. He just vanished after Snoat was killed.”
“Oh!” said Karan, crushed. Sulien’s hand crept out and took hers, and they sat in aching silence. Karan pulled herself together. “Ussarine, good news. Hingis is with us. He’d hidden in Malien’s sky ship.”
Pain flashed in Ussarine’s eyes, then she leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “I have very bad news for him. Esea is dead.”
After lunch, Karan said, “We’d better do our shopping and get back. I expect Yggur will want to leave at dawn.”
“Do you mind if I come to Zile with you?” said Ussarine.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Karan and Sulien returned to the sky ship after dark, wearing new clothes and boots and laden with bags, to discover that everything had been cleared out of the cabin and Yggur had a crew of cleaners in.
“Malien would want it returned in perfect condition,” he said, frowning at one of the twisted skids. “I’ve arranged for you to sleep in the shipyard’s rooming house.” He indicated a large, shabby three-storey building on the riverbank.
They left their bags and headed to the rooming house. Their room, on the top floor, was large but low-ceilinged, and everything smelled dank and mouldy. They got into bed but Sulien lay in the gloom, staring up at the water-stained ceiling and trembling.
“What is it?” Karan said tiredly.
“I’m feeling people.”
“What people?”
“I don’t know. People suffering; people hurting; people hating.”
“You’re sensing people’s emotions? The Merdrun? The triplets?”
Sulien shuddered. “No, just people, near and far.”
“What do you mean, hating? Hating us?”
“I don’t think so. They don’t know I’m hearing them. It makes my head ache.”
Karan drew Sulien to her. “Close your mind to them; go to sleep now.”
What was happening to Sulien? Was this part of her psychic gift of far-sensing?
She slept poorly—each time she drifted off the same nightmare jerked her awake: Sulien was tied to a chair on the burning platform, coughing from the smoke, the triplets were fastening the killing link to her forehead, and Karan could not get to her in time.
“Mummy, get up!”
Sulien was shaking her. Karan fought her way out of a deep sleep, her brain leaden and her limbs paralysed. Sulien’s blurred face appeared; she was coughing and holding a candle with haloes around it.
“There’s smoke everywhere,” she said. “I think the place is on fire.”
Karan groped for the clothes she had laid out and yanked them on. Sulien opened the door. In the corridor people were shouting and screaming. Karan pushed past Sulien and turned right towards the stairs thirty yards away.
“Not that way, Mummy!” hissed Sulien.
“Why not?”
“Bad, angry, hating people.”
“It’s the only way down. Come on, or we’ll be trapped here.”
Sulien bit her lip, then said, “All right.”
Three men and a woman, all clad in black, burst up the stairs, holding blazing brands out in front of them. Two of the men went left; the third man and the woman turned right towards Karan and Sulien. An old man opened his door and stepped into the corridor, looking around in confusion. The woman stabbed him in the neck and shoved him aside.
“There they are!” she cried, pointing at Karan and Sulien.
“Back inside!” said Karan. Sulien was frozen in horror, staring at the old man bleeding on the floor and perhaps overwhelmed with his raw emotions. Karan dragged her in and banged the door. “Open the window.”
She locked the door and dragged the bed against it. Crash, crash! It shuddered under the force of the assassins’ assault. Sulien was struggling with the window, which did not appear to have been opened in years. Karan prised at it with her knife, snapping the tip off the blade. She swore, prised again and it groaned open.
She looked out. Sith was a small island with a large population and no space was wasted. The outside of the building rose straight up from the stone wall that formed the edge of the shipyard’s dock.
“What are we doing?” cried Sulien.
“Jumping into the water.”
They climbed onto the sill and Karan clutched Sulien’s hands tightly. “When I say three. One, two …”
The lock was smashed in and the door heaved so hard that the bed skidded two feet across the floor. The man burst in, followed by the woman, who shouted, “Kill them!” and drew back her right arm to throw her knife.
“Three!” said Karan, and they jumped.
Almost anything could be floating in the water of a busy shipyard, and as they fell she prayed they did not hit anything solid. They landed in icy water and went under, the impact pulling them apart. Karan groped around desperately as she rose to the surface but could not feel or see Sulien.
Faces appeared at the window. Th
e man held his torch high; the light fell on Karan’s face, and the woman hurled her knife with deadly accuracy. Karan swayed out of the way but not in time, and the knife, slowed only a little by its passage through six inches of water, buried itself in her left shoulder. She gasped.
“You got the bitch,” said the man. “Kill her!”
“Damn her!” said the woman. “Where’s the kid?”
Flames leaped up at the other end of the long building, casting slanting beams of light across the dock. People were screaming. “Sulien?” whispered Karan.
“Here!” she hissed.
She was clinging to a mooring ring bolted to the wall of the dock. Karan swam awkwardly to her, the knife in her shoulder grating on bone. “You all right?”
“Yes.”
They had to find shelter, fast. Several boats were moored fifty yards further along but she did not see how they could get to them—these assassins were experts. The woman was leaning right out of the window, knife in hand, trying to locate them. If she stood on the windowsill it would not be a difficult throw.
The other two assassins appeared at the next window, holding lanterns high.
“If we dive …” said Karan.
“They’ll have a perfect shot when we come up,” said Sulien, her teeth chattering.
The two men heaved a small barrel onto the sill. The bigger man thrust a torch at it and flames leaped up, then they pushed it out. It tumbled over and over, a thick rag stuffed into the bunghole trailing red flame, then struck the water and the rag fell out. Burning oil spread across the water towards them.
The female assassin hurled another knife, which missed Karan by less than a foot. The assassin cursed, climbed onto the windowsill, swayed then pressed her back against the wall and took aim with a third knife.
“You’re … not … touching … Mummy,” shrilled Sulien.
She yanked the knife from Karan’s shoulder, pointed it at the woman’s weapon and said something Karan did not catch over the hissing of the flames on the water and the screams coming from the burning building.
The assassin swung her arm back, and Karan knew the knife was aimed perfectly—at Sulien. She tried to shove her aside but too late, too slow.