Betrayal

by Lara Morgan

  She watched them, their heads bent over the old writings. Neither had had much sleep and both had eaten their meals with absent expressions as they pored over the old parchment.

  ‘I am going up to get some air,’ Tuon said, and squeezed past the cook to climb the stairs to the deck.

  Outside the day was blustery but fair. The crew paid her scant attention as she went to the bow and leaned against the rail, looking down at the swift-running water. The splash and roil of the white foam carving back from the ship was hypnotic, and she stared down at it, thinking of nothing until a dark flick of shadow caught at the corner of her eye. Asrith and her Hive of ten sailed overhead, so high they looked like a flock of enormous birds.

  ‘They are beings of majesty, aren’t they?’ Ivar stepped up beside her.

  Tuon turned in surprise. ‘Yes, but shouldn’t you be helping Veila?’

  He smiled. There were signs of weariness in his face and his glossy dark hair flicked back and forth in the wind.

  ‘Even my young eyes get tired sometimes. Besides, the Seer has gone to rest and I prefer your company to Ashuk’s. She talks of nothing but ropes and sails and thinks men are only good for one thing.’ His smile widened to a grin as Tuon raised an eyebrow. ‘Cooking them sweet nut cakes, of course,’ he said.

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ He affected a hurt look. ‘We Isles men are left with such little dignity.’

  She laughed and a gust of wind blew her hair loose from its clip and spread it all over her face. She struggled to gather it again, spitting out strands that stuck to her lips.

  Ivar laughed. ‘Perhaps you should shave your head like Ashuk. It seems a better idea for a boat.’

  ‘I don’t think so. What man would want me then?’

  ‘I am sure you would be just as beautiful without hair as you are with it,’ he said. The tone of his voice was quiet but Tuon sensed the admiration of more than friendship beneath it. She sighed, tightening her grip on the rail. Her heart was still too full of Rorc to see another, regardless of his qualities.

  ‘I’m getting cold,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll go back in.’

  Ivar nodded, seemingly unperturbed. ‘All right,’ he said, and leaned on the rail. ‘Perhaps tonight you can help us decipher some of the scrolls, there are too many for only two sets of eyes to get through.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tuon said, and walked back toward the cabins.

  A storm caught up with them at sunset. Rain pelted down in heavy streams and the seas became a heaving nightmare of high peaks and low troughs, the ship dipping and rising as if dangled on the end of a child’s string toy. Tuon thanked the gods Ashuk kept a store of herrin powder on board or they would all have been clinging to the sides. As it was, both she and Veila retired to their cabin soon after the storm hit, too queasy to eat. Ivar had been pressed into ship duty to help battle the storm.

  The rocking of the boat and the close confines of the cabin soon made Tuon claustrophobic, though, and she left Veila asleep on the bunk and made her way up the narrow companionway to the galley. It was deserted and she could hear faint shouts and thumps coming from above alongside the constant howl of the wind and crash of the sea. Being below deck made her fear being trapped if something should happen to the ship, but Ivar had told her that she was far safer below than above. Still, her insides were tense as she sat at the table against the hull, watching the flickering shadows cast by the lamplight as the ship moved. Everything creaked and the pots and pans clattered in the cupboards as the ship swayed.

  Time passed slowly. The polished wooden bench was hard and after a while Tuon’s back started to ache. She looked around for one of the stiff cushions Veila had been using earlier, finding them in a pocket of webbing nailed to the wall. She pulled one out and saw Ivar’s pack containing the scrolls stowed behind it. She hesitated then thought that at least it would give her something to do.

  She carefully removed one of the scrolls, unrolling it and weighing the corners down with four metal pot stands. Her heart beat faster as she bent over it in the dim light.

  Delicate line drawings of an ornate gate of stone, a serpent’s head and a woman’s face in profile filled the top right-hand corner, etched in what must once have been a deep blue ink. The figures were rendered in confident strokes, no line overlapping another. Tuon studied the woman’s face. A high forehead, slightly flattened nose and full lips; she wondered who it was. It could have been a young woman, but she wasn’t sure; the Prophet’s wife or perhaps his daughter? It was larger than the other drawings and the serpent’s head had been drawn to look down upon it in a menacing manner. She wondered if it meant anything at all. Below the drawings the now familiar flowing script was set out in closely written columns, sectioned out across the rest of the parchment.

  The Prophet wrote from right to left and often staggered any passages that related to each other in a diagonal fashion starting from the top of the parchment and continuing across its breadth. Tuon started reading from the section directly beneath the drawing of the woman.

  It was very slow going. She had chosen a newer scroll because the most ancient ones were written in the serpents’ language, but still the letters were so ornate that at times she spent several minutes puzzling over just one word.

  The Prophet wrote about the ancient city he called Al Hanatoha, the home of Azoth’s empire. Great halls built of black stone, statues carved in the god’s likeness and the rituals of daily life. The passages were written from memory and sometimes it seemed he showed signs of the strangeness which Veila said peppered his writings.

  I see the dusk again in the serpent’s eye, gold flecked and pure, rain comes to our home like silk fallen from the sky. He calls me his scribe but I was nothing but his betrayer, scribing downfall coming for him, darkness shrouds.

  It was as if he felt sorry for Azoth and his destruction. She concentrated on the next passages but found more of the same: he wrote of darkness coming for Azoth but with little explanation. He could have been talking about the Four Lost Gods awakening and causing his downfall, but why refer to that as darkness? Unless he meant Azoth was to be sent to the darkness of the Void.

  Time became measured in the gaps between the ending of one passage and the beginning of another. Closer to the centre of the scroll, she found a passage that was different; it actually seemed to be more about prophecy. Excited, Tuon bent close over the words, trying to decipher meaning.

  Tales of the resurrection, the passage was titled, and beneath it was written a strange verse:

  When the old awake, the two must sunder.

  From her pain shall come the light

  And so into darkness go.

  Who will sing her home?

  She read it several times. The old awake — that could mean the Four Lost Gods again. But who were the two? She was sure there was something here of great importance. She thought about waking the Seer, but held back. Perhaps there was more that would explain it and she could show it all to her at once, but the rest of the passage was filled with memories of the ancient city, snippets of scents and descriptions of Alhanti. Frustrated, Tuon rubbed at her eyes and read the verse again. It was as if he’d had a flash of something, written it, then gone back to what was before. But maybe that was how prophecy worked.

  Resigned, she continued. Her back began to ache and her eyes became gritty with fatigue but she was determined to read the entire scroll. Finally at the bottom of the parchment she was reading an account of the destruction of Azoth’s reign when she froze, staring at the words. She read it again.

  Enraged they came, Four of grace and power, they spread their hands and the light shone from them and extinguished those who would stand against them.

  Tuon stared. The light shone from them.

  Boots suddenly thudded down the stairs from the deck and Ivar came into the galley. He was drenched, dripping water onto the floor as he tried to towel himself off. Tuon realised the howling of the wind had eased an
d the ship was no longer rocking as violently as it had before. Ivar nodded at her, his hair plastered to his head.

  ‘The storm has passed,’ he said, and his gaze ran over the scroll open before her. ‘Where is the Seer?’

  ‘In the cabin. Ivar,’ Tuon said, ‘you should see this.’

  Something of her urgency must have shown in her face for he frowned. ‘I don’t want to get water on the scrolls, so just let me change.’ He went down toward the lower deck, pulling his sodden shirt over his head. Tuon waited impatiently for him to return.

  She was just wondering if she should rouse Veila when Ivar returned wearing a dry shirt and trousers. His normally sparkling eyes were dull with exhaustion and his movements slow, but he slid onto the bench beside her.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘Here.’ She pointed at the first passage about tales of the resurrection. ‘And here.’ She indicated the last sentence she had just read. ‘There are passages that mention light. I think it may help figure out what the light means in the other scroll.’

  ‘It might,’ he said vaguely as he scanned the script. Then he saw the drawing of the woman. ‘Does it say who this is?’

  ‘No,’ Tuon sighed, ‘just read this, please.’

  ‘All right.’ He smiled. ‘But I may be slow — I have been bailing water all night.’

  ‘It’s morning?’ Tuon glanced at the galley’s tiny porthole and saw a pale glimmer coming through the thick glass. Feeling a little guilty she got up. ‘I’ll fetch you a glass of ravek to warm you up,’ she said.

  ‘And maybe a slice of nutbread?’

  ‘And some bread.’ She smiled and handed him a glass of ravek then fetched herself a glass of the strong, coconut liquor, bringing it back to the table with a plate of nutbread. She had to balance the plate in her lap as the scroll took up the entire table.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted, but he didn’t raise his eyes from the parchment as he sipped the ravek.

  ‘I need something to eat first,’ he said, and reached for a slice of bread, chewing it thoughtfully. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure, but I think the light is a symbol for the Four Lost Gods. He talks about light coming from them,’ she frowned, ‘but then it doesn’t make sense in regard to the first passage, From her pain shall come the light.’

  Ivar shrugged. ‘There can be two meanings for one thing. The bringing of light banishes darkness — so, for example, when the Four vanquished the darkness of Azoth’s empire.’ He picked up another slice of bread and stared at the words. ‘Light can also illuminate that which we do not wish to see.’

  ‘But then he writes, and so into darkness go,’ Tuon said.

  ‘So perhaps he means the light will illuminate the coming of another dark time.’

  Tuon nibbled at her own slice of nutbread and read the scroll. What Ivar said made sense, but was it what the Prophet meant?

  ‘What was that passage you were reading yesterday?’ she asked.

  Ivar frowned. ‘It is on the smaller scroll, at the back of the bag.’

  Tuon slid to the end of the bench and pulled one out. ‘This one?’

  Ivar nodded and together they spread it carefully on top of the other. It was one of the earlier scrolls written in the serpents’ tongue, a text that was made more of curled symbols than letters.

  ‘Here.’ He pointed to a small section on one side. ‘And the light shall come but will bring only darkness,’ he recited. ‘If what you think is correct he is calling the Four the light.’

  ‘Yes, but why would they bring a time of darkness when it is the Four who once saved us?’ Tuon said, frustrated. ‘And why talk about them at all? They are lost.’

  ‘So we believe,’ Ivar said. ‘But what if they are not lost?’

  Tuon chewed her lip. Could the Prophet be saying that the Four would return?

  Ivar made a small sound of surprise.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Here.’ He pointed to a faded line of symbols. ‘I missed this before.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘The stone once broken, opens the way to salvation. Sing through the darkness, sing her home.’ He frowned.

  Tuon pondered the words. ‘The stone could mean the Birthstone,’ she said. ‘You know the one I mean?’

  ‘It’s mentioned in other scrolls. A totem of power used by the gods.’

  Excitement and hope began to rise in Tuon’s breast. ‘Is he saying if the Stone is broken we will be saved?’

  Ivar’s eyes filled with a gleam of possibility. ‘We should wake Veila,’ he said.

  Tuon got up from behind the table but as she hurried back to the cabin, she heard loud shouting from the deck above and the ship suddenly bucked ferociously, sending her to the floor. Her head smacked against the hard wood then the boat rocked again, sending her sliding back to the steps that led up to the galley. Rolling, she put out her hands just in time to stop herself slamming against them.

  ‘Tuon!’ Ivar jumped down the steps. ‘Are you all right?’ He helped her to her feet, but the ship rolled once more and she fell onto him as they were thrown against the wall.

  ‘Hold on to the rail,’ Ivar said, pulling her hands to the slim metal rod.

  ‘What’s going on?’ She could hear feet pounding across the deck above her head and spray hitting the hull. ‘I thought the storm was over.’

  ‘It is,’ Ivar said. ‘I think we’ve reached Deadman’s Stream.’ He put an arm around her waist as the ship lurched again.

  Tuon remembered Ashuk had warned her about that stream when they’d first come on board. It was a fast current that ran up the coast of Saranthium and would shorten their journey back by three days, but she’d also told her it was called Deadman’s Stream because if you didn’t tack out of it at the right point it would drag a ship all the way to the Point of Turin in the Free Lands and fling it onto the rocks.

  ‘I should warn Veila.’ She made to turn but one of the ship women thundered down the stairs.

  ‘Captain wants you both on deck,’ she barked at Ivar, then ran nimbly past them toward Tuon and Veila’s cabin, the swaying of the boat barely seeming to bother her. ‘I’ll fetch the Seer, go!’ she shouted.

  ‘Come.’ Ivar grabbed Tuon’s hand.

  ‘What about the scrolls?’

  ‘I’ve already secured them. Now, we must secure ourselves.’

  Tuon let go his hand to grab the stair rails and hauled herself up.

  Above deck the ship was in organised chaos. Ship women were crawling in the rigging and dashing about the deck, their faces set in hard concentration as Ashuk shouted orders from the bridge. The boards were wet from the storm and a cold wind blew from the south, cutting through her thin shirt and whipping her hair about her face.

  Ashuk saw them emerge and hollered at Ivar, ‘Strap stations!’ She pointed behind them to where the two skiffs were stored on the port side of the ship.

  The women danced around them as if they weren’t there as the pair skidded and swayed to a hard narrow bench next to the skiffs. Thick leather harnesses she hadn’t noticed before were fixed to the back of the bench and Tuon felt a moment of fear as she glimpsed the sea over the side. Barely half the ship’s length away the water was a churning, flowing torrent of choppy waves and current that swirled northward in an obvious stream at least a league across. She went cold wondering how they would fare when they began to push into that maelstrom.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ivar said as they sat on the bench, ‘Ashuk has done this many times before.’

  ‘I’m not relieved,’ Tuon said. He smiled and shrugged his arms through the thick padded straps of the harness.

  ‘Fasten yourself in — it won’t take long once she turns the ship.’

  Tuon pulled the straps over her shoulders and buckled them at the front as the ship woman they’d seen below decks brought Veila to sit with them and strapped her in without comment. The Seer was pale.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Tu
on asked.

  Veila nodded. ‘I will have to be. I see the storm has passed only to deliver us into another trial.’ She smiled wanly at Ivar. ‘You must have been up all night battling the wind — you look very tired, have you not had any rest?’

  ‘No.’ Ivar glanced at Tuon. ‘We’ve been looking at the scrolls.’

  Tuon felt guilty that she had pressed him to study them before he’d had time to rest and said, ‘I couldn’t sleep so I went to look at the scrolls. I think I found something.’

  ‘She did find something,’ Ivar said. ‘Something significant, I think.’

  Veila’s brow cleared slightly. ‘That is good news. What is it?’

  ‘It’s better if you read it.’ Tuon’s confidence had dropped now she was telling the Seer. What if it was nothing?

  But Ivar said firmly, ‘I am sure it’s important. It’s to do with the prophecies of the light. We believe the Prophet may have shown us a way to defeat Azoth.’

  Veila’s look became distant and worried. ‘While I was sleeping I slipped into the Void and saw things … worrying things.’ She frowned. ‘But we will speak of them later, now is not the time. Yet time is so short.’ Her lips tightened and Tuon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind.

  Sensing her disquiet, Ivar took her hand and squeezed it tight. ‘We’re about to enter the stream,’ he said. And then she had no room for any thought but fear as with a sharp call from Ashuk the ship creaked, turned and plunged into the swirling current of Deadman’s Stream.

  Chapter 17

  Shaan and Irissa followed Tallis around the edge of the crowded square of the Serpent Yard. Faithful were everywhere, carrying either bows or swords. Riders gathered in groups, some watching while others helped gather arrows from the arms store. It was late afternoon, the air still and hot, and for the last hour groups of the Faithful had been heading up through the main gate from the city into the yards.