The Exile's Redemption (The Heart of a Tyrant Book 1)

by Reece Dinn

  The cell door opened. The badly shaven Konar and one other stepped into the cell, the two outside had their rifles raised and ready.

  'Up,' said the badly shaven Konar.

  Batterox grunted. 'I'm not telling you anything.'

  'Then this'll get real ugly for you.'

  Batterox rose from the bench, his face a cold mask. 'We'll see.'

  'Out.' Both Konar parted for him. The ones outside kept their rifles trained on Batterox.

  Reluctantly, the yegeyor shuffled out of the cell, his shackles making it difficult to move. The badly shaven Konar eyed Awon, Gentemu and the still sleeping Oaten, then both Konar followed Batterox out. The cell door slammed shut behind them.

  'Take him to Holding Room One,' the badly shaven Konar ordered his two colleagues.

  One of them prodded his rifle into Batterox's back and the yegeyor shuffled off down the corridor. The two Konar followed behind him, watching him closely.

  'Now for you,' the badly shaven Konar said to Norox.

  Norox whimpered.

  Awon came back to the bars. 'Swear ter the gods, yer fuckin' 'urt him I'll rip yer up an' feed yer ter the karrons.'

  The Konar ignored him and opened the door to Red's cell. The other Konar trained his rifle on Red, ordering him and Ekviv to the back of the cell. Scoten appeared out of the darkness and joined them on the back wall too. Awon hadn't even known he was in there he was so quiet.

  The badly shaven Konar stepped into the cell and stood over Norox. 'Up, lad. Got some things to ask you.'

  Norox didn't move.

  'We're not the PLA, lad. Even if we were, you're no munk, are you? Got nothing to worry about.'

  Norox clearly didn't believe him.

  He raised the butt of his rifle up over Norox's head. 'Up. Now.'

  Slowly, Norox got to his feet, struggling in his shackles.

  'Out.' The badly shaven Konar stepped back. The one with the rifle backed out of the cell, rifle still trained on Red.

  'You'll be alright, lad,' said Red, unconvincingly.

  Norox quietly shuffled out of the cell, the Konar following behind him. When they were out the badly shaven one slammed the cell door closed, locking it.

  The other Konar shoved Norox and he tripped and fell into the wall.

  'Yer hurt 'im, no one will find yer body when I'm done with yer, fuckin' cunt,' hissed Awon, and he spat out of the cell. His phlegm landed just short of the badly shaven Konar.

  'Don't worry, lad. Your turn's coming,' said the Konar with a wink.

  The two Konar marched Norox down the corridor. Awon tried to shove his head out through the bars to watch them go, but the gap was too narrow to fit through. Their stomping ceased. A door groaned open then slammed close.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kanisha scrambled away from her mother, scurrying into the corner of the shack.

  'Darling, why do you recoil?' her mother asked, a sad look in her eyes. 'I will not hurt you. I am your mother. I love you.' She cradled baby Jayeh in her arms, rocking her from side to side as she slept. She kissed the baby on the head, the baby's blonde hair sticking to her lips. 'See?'

  Kanisha pulled her legs to her chest, her dirty cream dress hanging loose over her small frame. She shook her head. Do not touch me.

  Her mother shuffled over to her, careful not to wake Jayeh.

  Kanisha pushed herself into the wall, trying to get away.

  'Kanisha? Why do you fear me? What has happened? Why are you so afraid? Talk to me?'

  Her mother shuffled a little closer and reached out with her hand. That long slender hand, full of bones and blood, longing to touch her, prod her, stroke her, feel her.

  She shivered, bile rising up from the pit of her stomach. The thought of those fingers touching her skin was revolting. The pale brown skin of her mother's fingers were a hands-width away from her forehead, inching closer and closer by the second. The fingers spread just as they were about to touch. Kanisha kept pushing against the wall, but she couldn't break through. She took big, gulping breaths, fighting down the vomit.

  Do not touch me.

  Cold, skin covered bone touched down on her forehead.

  Kanisha screamed in panic, her body convulsing. She beat the hand away. The bile rose back up and exploded out of her, splattering all over her mother and baby Jayeh.

  Koma stepped out of the carriage. To her relief the Monster had decided she didn't want to walk down to the lower tiers, for once. The carriage had been comfortable, and it hid her from leering eyes, their desire to touch her. Always the touching. The thought of even one of them touching her with their filthy hands made her want to scream. Every time someone brushed against her she had to fight back her disgust, force herself to remain composed.

  In the streets people hung lanterns over doors in preparation for the Festival of Dark the next day, the day of celebrating the beginning of the Dark season, where the warmth of the sun fades to cold, where birth and growth gives way to decline and death. Lanterns are lit to remember and honour the dead. It was one of the few traditions of the savages that made sense to Koma, although they recognised only two seasons, and not four. Sometimes they're nearly there, but always manage to fall short of being civilised.

  Koma climbed down from the carriage. The Great Archives loomed over her. The tall white building was like a huge white block with many statues carved into its walls. The statues depicted the gods, as well as various Saban and other famous people from Predemagdan history. The name of whom each statue depicted was engraved underneath it. The Archives were a little imposing, Koma had to admit, and held a power that the temples didn't possess. They had the same feel to them as the buildings back in her homeland, albeit not as impressive, but as close as the savages were likely to get.

  The Monster stepped out after her and Koma helped her down, cringing at having to touch her bony, slightly slimy arm to do so. The Monster didn't thank her.

  'You better be right about this,' said the Monster, glancing up at the Archives.

  'It's the best source of information you people have. If you don't find evidence here you're not going to find it anywhere,' said Koma.

  The Monster nodded, but didn't look convinced. Koma couldn't really blame her. They were about to sit for many long hours trawling through rows of disgusting grebbin, searching for information about poisons. Listening to them drone on and on. It's going to be a long day. Why can't these savages just write things down like normal people do? She rubbed her head.

  The two Saban's Guard jumped down off the back of the carriage, their armour clinking as they hit the ground, then they clinked around to Koma and the Monster. One stood to attention, the other walked past them and instructed the carriage driver to remain where he was until they returned. It was only when the Guard turned back to them that Koma noticed that the Guard was in fact a woman. Her features weren't as harsh, but they were butch, and combined with her helm, gave her a manly appearance.

  A female soldier? Are savage women strong enough to be soldiers? The women back home who want to be soldiers have to prove their strength by defeating a man in a duel before they're allowed to enlist. Did she have to do the same here? She looks tough enough I suppose.

  The female Guard stood to attention.

  'You are to keep your distance from us when we are inside,' the Monster instructed the two Guards. 'I'd like some privacy.'

  'Yes, Sabu,' both said in unison.

  The Monster turned and headed towards the Archives. Koma fell in beside her. The two Guards clinked a few paces behind them.

  Two Konar stood guarding the large stone doors into the building. When they saw the Monster they bowed, then opened the doors for her. One of the Konar was skinny and feeble in appearance, his armour much too big for him, and he clearly struggled to open the door, his face flushing. He put down his rifle and heaved on it with both hands. With a little more effort the door opened. Koma did her best not to laugh.

  A vast hall stretched out before them.
Row after row of wooden stacks covered the big white stone floor, each stack populated with many grebbin, a sea of blue fur. Light streamed in through large glass windows, beaming down onto the stacks. The ceiling was high above them and painted with a picture depicting a bald man sat in the centre of converging energies of different colours. Some kind of representation of the elements, Koma imagined.

  An old man with long white, tattered hair sat at a long brown wooden desk, engrossed in the scroll he was reading. His dark blue robe was covered in, what Koma hoped was, little specks of candle wax. So these people can read and write? The man didn't glance up as they approached.

  The Monster cleared her throat. The old Archivist still didn't look up, his eyes moving from right to left as he read the scroll. She looked to Koma, anger flaring in those beady eyes of hers. Koma stepped forward and slapped her hand on the desk. The old Archivist nearly fell back off his stool, the scroll falling from his hands. He shot Koma a dark look, but the look vanished when he spotted the Monster.

  'Sabu?' he spluttered, his voice hoarse.

  'I'm here to gather some information. A personal errand. I need someone to assist me,' said the Monster, her tone formal. If she knew this man at all she didn't show it.

  'Yes. Yes, of course, Sabu.' The old man reached under his desk and produced a golden bell. He rang it, then after a few seconds, when no one answered, he rang it again.

  A slightly younger man dressed in the same dark blue robe, minus the 'wax stains', emerged from out of one of the rows of stacks.

  The old Archivist clicked his fingers at him. 'Densema, the Sabu requires your assistance.'

  Densema was flustered as he approached, but bowed to the Monster. 'Yes. Welcome Sabu. It would be a honour. How can I be of assistance?'

  'I require your discretion in a personal matter. Can I rely on you?' said the Monster, folding her arms.

  'Yes, Sabu. Of course.'

  'Good. Come closer.'

  Densema nervously approached the Monster, leaning in close. She whispered in his ear. Densema nodded like a simpleton. 'Yes. Yes,' he said, 'Follow me.'

  'Remember,' she said to her two Guards. 'Keep as far away as you can.'

  The two grunted their acknowledgement.

  They followed Densema down a row of stacks. Shelf after shelf of the disgusting one eyed grebbin stared out as they passed by, each one standing almost as still as a statue. Koma suddenly felt very uncomfortable being surrounded by so many of them. They wouldn't touch her, of that she was certain, but there was something wrong about them. No creature should behave like they do. It's like they've had the life drained out of them. Been turned into zombies or something. How do these things survive out in the wild? Surely they don't stand there waiting to be eaten, reciting some poem they've memorised over and over again in the face of danger? Their round, single eyes didn't follow her as she passed them by, they remained facing forward, vacant.

  'Is there a particular one you wish to learn of, or do you simply require general information?' asked Densema.

  'It's a particular one,' said the Monster. 'But I've no idea which it is. We'll know when we hear it.'

  'It has to burst a person's appendix,' said Koma.

  Densema's brow furrowed. 'Burst an appendix?'

  'That's what I said.'

  'I don't know of any that do that.'

  Koma rolled her eyes. 'That's why you're an Archivist and not a Poisoner, isn't it?'

  'Koma. Be nice,' said the Monster, shooting her a look. 'Hopefully we'll find what we're looking for here.'

  'Yes, Sabu. I think I know where to look,' said Densema.

  They took a right, then a left down another row of stacks. Another Archivist, a dark skinned learned man from Tiershanan by the look of him, was feeding the grebbin with little bits of bread, and placing bowls of water at their feet. The grebbin would gobble down the bread then lap up the water with their surprisingly long tongues. Koma grimaced, feeling little specks of water flick on her as she passed the drinking creatures.

  She lost track of where they where as they wandered through the seemingly endless rows of grebbin. There were no signs as far as she could tell to indicate what information each grebbin held. Without a guide how are you ever supposed to find anything? Unless that's the point. If everything was marked you wouldn't need a guide, and these old men would be out of a job. Any simpleton can walk around feeding the grebbin. That must be it.

  'This is it,' said Densema, stopping in front of a shelf of grebbin that looked like every other shelf they'd passed.

  The two Guards clinked to a stop a distance away, then clinked a few steps back until they were out of earshot.

  Desema patted one of the grebbin on the head. The creature didn't react. 'This one has the complete index of all known dangerous animals memorised, which will include the poisonous ones, and what it's poison does.' He crouched down and patted two more grebbin on the head three shelves down from the first one. 'And these two each hold a part of The Complete Encyclopaedia of Flora, which will have information about all known poisonous plants, fungi, and anything else.'

  'How long are they?' asked Koma, doing her best to hide her despair. Before he even responded she knew answer.

  'The animal index takes six hours to listen to from start to finish, although you'll need to let the grebbin rest and drink for half an hour about half way through, so six and a half. The encyclopaedia takes fourteen, I think, sixteen if you include the breaks.'

  'We don't have that long, ' said the Monster. 'Is there anyway of speeding it up? Have it skip over the unnecessary parts?'

  'I'm afraid not,' said the Archivist.

  'Is there not a written version?' asked Koma.

  Densema smirked. 'Written version? Why would there be a written version?'

  'Because it's practical.' She didn't even bother to hide the contempt from her voice.

  Densema folded his arms, amused at the comment. 'Wasting paper and ink writing it down, as opposed to training a grebbin to memorise it, is practical to you?'

  'It doesn't matter,' snapped the Monster. 'Thank you for your help. I don't have time to listen to these bottom two, but I'll take the animal index. Do you have a private place we can listen to it?'

  'Of course, Sabu.' Densema carefully lifted the grebbin off the shelf. The little creature didn't even flinch. 'Follow me, please.'

  He led them through row after row towards the far right corner of the grand building, but no matter how far they walked they never seemed to reach their destination.

  Koma huffed, her feet throbbing from the constant walking. It didn't help she'd accidentally worn the sandals that didn't fit her properly and rubbed against her heels. Why did I not throw them away after the last time they tore my feet apart? I'm not buying anything from the market again.

  Eventually they reached a series of stone booths with wooden doors, the stone thick so that it muted outside noise. Densema opened one of them. The inside of the booth was covered with white and purple pillows that looked comfortable and inviting. There was a small table by the left hand wall, presumably where the grebbin stood while it recited.

  'Does this suit your needs, Sabu?' asked Densema.

  'It'll do,' said the Monster. 'Bring some wine, bread and cheeses. And water for the grebbin.'

  Densema nodded. 'Of course, Sabu.' He stepped inside the booth and put the silent grebbin down on the table, then left. The little grebbin bounced on its heels a moment, its single eye surveying the room, then it relaxed, eye fixing on the wall opposite.

  Koma and the Monster stepped inside. The Monster flung herself onto the biggest pillows, shifting her gaunt frame until she was comfortable. Koma settled down on the pillow nearest the door, resting her back against the wall.

  The Monster leaned forward and tapped the grebbin on the head. 'Begin,' she said.

  'A Complete Index of the Animals of the World, by Proximo Tigama,' the grebbin began, its squeaky voice even more annoying than the usual.

&
nbsp; This is going to be a long day.

  Hours passed and the grebbin squeaked on. And on. And on. Describing many different kinds of animals, from tiny insects with a second head on the end of their tails, to massive creatures, larger than the Archives themselves, that ate the leaves off the tops of the tallest of trees. It described animals that lived in a country where the winds never ceased, the creatures that lived there rode the winds to travel around. From what Koma could gather the country wasn't too far from Predemagda, in the west somewhere. The grebbin had said its name but she couldn't remember it, and there was no way of making the stupid creature go back and repeat what it had said.

  The Monster lay half asleep on the pillows, a near empty glass of wine dangling precariously from her fingers. She'd drank the whole bottle to herself, and eaten most of the cheese and bread. Where does the little bitch put it all? She drooled on her pillow, her half open eyes glazed over.

  How much longer is this going to go on? We've barely heard anything about poison, let alone one that can cause an appendix to burst. Not that I'm expecting there is one, but still. This is a total waste of my time. Koma stood and crept over to the Monster. She was fast asleep now, snoring lightly. Koma clicked her fingers in front of the grebbin's eye and it finally stopped talking. She pushed the small glass of water in front of it and it thirstily lapped it up.

  She sat back down and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the gods she didn't demand to listen to those encyclopaedias. I'd have had to kill myself. Or at least her and these weird little creatures.

  The grebbin continued to drink.

  Will she give up on this delusion if she can't find the poison? Or will she insist on trying to find evidence? She usually gives up on things after a couple of moons, but this is different. It's her father. It's unlikely she'll turn against her mother. The Socrae-al though is a different matter. If I can motivate her to kill him, her mother might then kill her, or at least throw her in a cell to rot. Until the dragons come of course.