A Solitary Journey

by Tony Shillitoe

  The handler moved and pressed the stake against her chest. ‘Get out of the way, lady!’ he yelled, his eyes glittering with anger. Realising that she was not intending to step aside, he pushed, but as the stake point pierced Meg’s blood-stained shirt and skin the handler’s face contorted. He dropped his weapon and staggered back, clutching his chest and gasping for breath, and his eyes widened as she reached forward to prod his chest with her finger. He made a strangled yelp before he collapsed with a gurgling scream, his legs thrashing against the floor. She turned her attention to the remaining dog and invaded its mind to find writhing images of hatred and killing swarming through the animal’s psyche. Mustering her energy, she pushed through the images and replaced them with overwhelming fear—images of a whip and heavy boots. The dog yelped and bolted, and the shed fell silent.

  Meg kneeled and held out her hands to Whisper, crooning, ‘Come on. It’s all right.’ The rat squeezed between the cracked wooden bars and climbed into her embrace, and started licking the blood on her cheek, making Meg laugh. As she lifted Whisper to her shoulder she surveyed the carnage and whispered, ‘What have I done?’ The old man was gone. Realising she was in danger, she lifted the rat from her shoulder to the floor and headed for the door, but as she reached it she heard voices beyond.

  ‘I’m telling you what I saw. She killed him with her finger.’

  ‘You should stay away from the booze. You say she’s still in there?’

  ‘I think so. She hasn’t come out.’

  She recognised the old man’s voice. The other was a stranger, but he clearly intended to find her. ‘We have to hide,’ she whispered.

  Follow, Whisper urged and ran along a cage row. Meg followed, turning a corner behind a tall wooden screen as the shed door opened. Whisper stopped and sat up to sniff and listen, and Meg heard boots thudding on the floor sounding like there were more than two men. This way, the rat ordered and disappeared under a collapsed pile of boards and logs.

  No, Meg projected, seeing the small hole into which Whisper vanished. She peered around the screen, but couldn’t see anything, only hear voices.

  ‘She did this?’

  ‘I saw it,’ the old man declared. ‘The dog caught fire when it jumped on her.’

  ‘Search this place. Carefully.’

  So they were hunting her already in this new land. Why does it have to be like this? she wondered in despair.

  Here. Whisper was perched on a fallen log beside a larger hole in the wood pile. Here, the rat reiterated. Meg squeezed in, trying to make as little noise as possible, terrified the men would hear her scrape against the wood. The gap under the pile barely accommodated her and she couldn’t turn, only lie on her stomach, facing in. The wood slid behind her. Where are you? she asked. There was a faint scampering of paws and Whisper appeared in a cosy gap to her left where she sat up and began preening.

  Meg heard footfalls twice as the searching men approached and passed the pile. I’d look in here, she thought. It’s an obvious place to hide, but no one stopped or poked the pile. She held her breath when she thought the searchers were close and she wondered if she’d left a blood trail from her injuries. Footprints, she wondered. They’ll see them in the dust. Hiding was becoming a permanent part of her life—it was becoming her life—so keeping still for an extended time wasn’t difficult, although it was incredibly tedious. She waited, envious of Whisper who curled up to sleep when she finished preening as if there was nothing dangerous in the world. Then tiredness committed treachery and she fell asleep, only realising it when she opened her eyes to find the light trickling into the wood-pile, like Whisper, was gone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Ikilled someone.’ A Ahmud Ki’s right eyebrow twitched as he studied the dishevelled woman wrapped in an old torn coat. ‘Who?’

  ‘A rat hunter.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he was going to kill Whisper.’ He looked past Meg. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, tears trickling through the dust smeared across her cheeks. ‘Did anyone see you?’

  She nodded. ‘The old caretaker at the slave sheds.’

  A Ahmud Ki shook his head. ‘You’d better get cleaned up,’ he suggested. ‘We can’t stay here if someone’s looking for you.’

  ‘But where do we go now?’

  He reached forward to place a comforting hand on her shoulder and the energy sparked. ‘You leave that to me. I’ve been busy today. I wasn’t expecting to leave tonight, but I’m sure it can be arranged. You get cleaned up and gather what you can. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a little while.’ He leaned in to kiss her forehead and again the energy flowed. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to your room.’ He grabbed a dark blue cloak and left his stay-house room in a hurry.

  Back in her room, Meg touched her forehead where he had kissed her and smiled at the memory of his gentle demonstration of affection. She ran water from the spout and pulled off the tattered coat she found hanging on a line after leaving the Slave Market shed. It was so old and threadbare that she figured no one would miss it and she desperately needed to cover her blood-stained shirt before she could get back to the stay-house. She stripped and inspected her body to discover that the neck bite and claw gouges on her chest and legs were already healed, the unexpected sleep in the woodpile providing time for her amber magic to work. She was disappointed that Whisper had gone her secret ways again after the incident. The city was an unknown except for the rat hunters and Meg was worried for her long-time tiny companion.

  The water was refreshingly soothing as she bathed and her head cleared. A Ahmud Ki was planning to help her to escape, but what exactly did he have in mind? Where could they hide in this strange place now that she had killed a man? ‘I swore this would never happen,’ she muttered, staring at her reflection in the mirror above the wash bowl. ‘Why must it happen?’ She dried quickly, chose grey trousers from her meagre wardrobe and started dressing.

  Knocking interrupted her. She grabbed a fresh green tunic and as she slipped it on she asked, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Peacekeepers, lady,’ a voice replied. ‘Can we speak to you?’

  Fear flashed through Meg’s veins. ‘Is this about my papers,’ she asked, tying the cords at the top of her tunic.

  ‘Among other things,’ the voice replied.

  ‘I’m just putting on my clothes,’ she said as she crossed to the window and quietly opened it before unlocking the shutters. The narrow alley a storey below was empty and dark. How do I get down there? she wondered.

  ‘If you don’t open now, lady, we have permission to break in,’ the voice announced authoritatively.

  How? she wondered. Something thumped against her door, so she focussed on the window frame and as the door cracked a blue haze filled the window. The door cracked again and swung open as she dived through the window and the haze vanished. Six bewildered Andrak Peacekeepers stepped into an empty room.

  Meg listened at A Ahmud Ki’s door before she gently eased it open to peer into the corridor where three men in dark green jackets with light green stripes and cream trousers, wearing green peaked hats, each carrying what looked like a short thundermaker on a belt over the shoulder were pacing the floor. She closed the door, her heart beating furiously. Do they know I’m here with A Ahmud Ki? What if they come in here next? What if they set up guard outside my room? How do I get out of here? Someone in the corridor shouted so she held her breath and listened.

  ‘Papers!’ She heard the sound of paper unfolding, and a cough. ‘You know this woman?’

  ‘I came to Andrak with her.’ Meg’s pulse quickened. What would she do to save him now?

  ‘And this is her room?’

  ‘Was,’ A Ahmud Ki replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I heard her come in a while ago. She knocked on my door and she was covered in blood, so I asked her what was going on. She said she’d killed someone and she begged me to lend he
r some money so she could sail back to Shess. I told her I didn’t have any and she attacked me, so I locked myself in my room and waited until I couldn’t hear her. When I came out her door was locked, so I got out of here. I came back when the girl downstairs told me you were up here to arrest her. She’s crazy.’

  ‘She was in here when we knocked. Now she’s gone.’

  ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘Looks like she jumped from the window. She must have been pretty quick. No sign of her in the alley.’

  ‘From the window? Are you sure?’

  ‘Look for yourself.’

  She pressed against the door but she couldn’t hear more than mumbles from her room. Then A Ahmud Ki’s voice became louder as he returned to the corridor. ‘I just travelled with her from Shess to escape the war. I didn’t know she was mad enough to kill someone.’

  ‘You should be more careful about the company you choose.’

  ‘She was a cousin, but I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘We may need to talk to you again. Don’t leave the city.’

  ‘I’ll be right here.’

  Boots shuffled at the door, the handle turned and Meg crept back, terrified that the Peacekeepers were following A Ahmud Ki into his room, but when the door opened A Ahmud Ki appeared alone. He winked and turned back to face the corridor. ‘If I can help in any way, let me know. What’s your name?’

  ‘Captain Tarca. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain Tarca, and good luck.’ A Ahmud Ki closed the door and leaned against it to listen before he straightened and approached Meg, his finger pressed to his lips. ‘There are men on guard out there. How did you get out of the room?’

  ‘Portal,’ she whispered.

  A Ahmud Ki grinned. ‘Clever. You’ll need to do it again to get us out of here now.’

  ‘Into the alley?’

  ‘No. They’re searching down there. Take us where you were today.’

  Meg’s eyes widened. ‘The Slave Markets? They’ll be guarding them.’

  ‘You can recall it clearly, can’t you?’ he persisted.

  ‘Yes. But then what?’

  ‘I’ve arranged for us to go to the capital city. Get us to the Slave Markets and I’ll take you to a new friend. They won’t be expecting you to go back there. They’ll be searching elsewhere. Trust me. Make the portal.’ A Ahmud Ki collected a bag and stuffed clothes into it while Meg quickly constructed a portal in the window frame, her memory focussed on the small office in the Slave Markets shed. When she was finished A Ahmud Ki grinned and said, ‘After you.’

  The dragoneer closed the door as they left his house and stepped into the field. ‘You’re lucky the wind currents are going north tonight,’ he said, leading A Ahmud Ki and Meg towards a dark mass on the grass in the dull moonlight. ‘I haven’t flown at night over this much distance before,’ he told them as they reached the inert shape which stood three times their height, ‘but your money talks to me of adventure and I’ve always wanted to be in an adventure.’

  ‘How long will this take?’ Meg asked, trying to listen to all of the dragoneer’s information while she was secretly fretting for Whisper who hadn’t reappeared since the attack in the Slave Markets shed.

  ‘If the wind stays as it is, maybe a full day,’ he told her. ‘If it gets stronger, then quicker, and if we have to use the pedals and windwheels it might take twice as long. It’s still faster than going on the carriages for three days.’ He climbed into a basket under the flaccid material and lit a burner. ‘It will take a little while to fill her up, so if you need to go to the toilet I’d do it now. Once we’re up in the dragon egg there’s nowhere to piss except over the side.’ He laughed. ‘Easy for us men, but you might find it precarious,’ he said, winking at Meg.

  She heeded his advice and wandered away from the men to relieve herself. After, she watched the burner spurting flame upward and the shadowy dragon egg rise steadily from its limp state into the fat tomato shape that she’d seen when they arrived in Port River. The dragon egg journey was costing them a thousand notes, payable on arrival in Lightsword, an amount she thought exorbitant, but she understood it was the only way they could leave the city undetected and she was impressed with A Ahmud Ki’s ingenuity. What she wanted, though, was Whisper. Where are you? she projected into the night. We’re leaving.

  ‘Meg!’ A Ahmud Ki’s shadow walked towards her. ‘Luca says it’s ready.’

  ‘I won’t leave without Whisper,’ she replied.

  A Ahmud Ki stopped in front of her. ‘I know what you feel, but you can’t stay here. They’re hunting for you. They’ll be hunting for both of us by morning. We have to go. Whisper knows how to look after herself. She found her way onto the ship when you thought you’d lost her.’

  ‘But this is different. She doesn’t know this place and we’re travelling in a way no one travels where we come from. She won’t find me.’

  ‘The breeze is picking up!’ Luca the dragoneer yelled.

  ‘Please, Meg,’ A Ahmud Ki gently urged. Reluctantly, she took his proffered hand, ignored the now-familiar tingle, and walked with him towards the glowing orange dragon egg.

  As they climbed into the basket Luca ordered, ‘Unhitch the four ropes,’ and he loosed another burst of flame from the burner which now hung above them, suspended by the dragon egg’s floating fabric.

  Meg reached for a rope, but as she started to untie it she spotted a black shape scampering up its length towards her. An instant later Whisper was in her arms and Meg hugged the little animal against her chest, cautiously looking over her shoulder to check that the dragoneer hadn’t seen the new passenger, but the basket tilted alarmingly. Meg clutched the side with one hand to avoid toppling out while holding Whisper with the other.

  ‘Untie the ropes together or we’ll tip!’ Luca warned.

  A Ahmud Ki pushed past Meg and loosened the ropes beside her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Look,’ she prompted.

  Seeing the rat in the crook of her arm against her chest he grinned, and asked, ‘Was I right?’

  ‘He mustn’t know,’ she said, nodding towards Luca who was firing up the burner again.

  ‘Then hide her,’ A Ahmud Ki advised and moved towards Luca to distract the dragoneer while Meg tucked the rat inside her tunic.

  The rising sensation overwhelmed Meg’s senses as the light in the dragoneer’s cottage window began to sink. Then the surrounding building lights and the lights along the city’s streets appeared and also started sinking, filling Meg with awe. The cold night air stung her skin and her eyes watered, but she gazed at the glittering city of lights steadily drifting away beneath her, amazed at the flickering gas lights lining the main streets just as the old man in the Slave Markets had described. The lights made the night city beautiful.

  ‘If you get cold, come closer to the burner,’ Luca invited. ‘The higher we go, the colder it will get. That’s the city lights. So what do you think?’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Meg murmured in response, mesmerised by the rare view, the faint wisps of a half-forgotten dream stirring. The warmth of Whisper’s body against her breasts comforted her.

  ‘Who made these dragon eggs?’ A Ahmud Ki asked.

  ‘We don’t really know, but there’s a general agreement that the first real dragon egg was designed and flown by a Northern Andrak inventor named Ekkar in three-thousand-nine-hundred-and-thirteen,’ Luca explained. ‘The Ranu claim they were building dragon eggs for years before that and Ekkar stole the idea from them, but no one can prove it.’

  ‘What’s this use of numbers?’ Meg asked.

  ‘You mean the years?’

  ‘What do they mean?’

  ‘It’s how old the nation is,’ he replied. ‘This is the year four-thousand-and-five. That means Andrak as a nation started more than four thousand years ago. It might be older, but the historians argue that the foundations of the nation were put in place by the early barbarian warlords about a thousand
years before the era of mythology and the time of the Bretan kings. There’s not much evidence, of course—people couldn’t write until the early period of the Bretans and what they wrote most often were fantasy stories, legends and ballads. The oral tradition was strong, but it was all about supernatural things like magic and dragons and heroes.’

  ‘Like A Ahmud Ki,’ Meg said.

  Luca laughed. ‘You speak our language oddly at times. It shows that you’re foreigners. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s pronounced Amuchki. Where did you hear about him?’

  Meg glanced at A Ahmud Ki’s face lit by the burner’s glow. ‘The shipmaster—sorry, you call them captains—told us about him.’

  ‘I don’t know much about that old stuff,’ Luca apologised. ‘I only know about Amuchki because they teach children about him schools.’

  ‘Schools?’ A Ahmud Ki interrupted.

  ‘You don’t have schools in Shess?’

  ‘After coming here it doesn’t seem we have much of anything,’ Meg said, and she gazed down at the receding city lights as Luca described schools. They had come to a very strange land, one filled with magic that the Jarudhan Seers could never imagine. Did the Seers learn about thundermakers from travellers who’d been to Andrak? she wondered. Will they lay claim to other Andrak things as Jarudha’s magic? With Luca and A Ahmud Ki’s voices resonating in the cold air, the dragon egg’s soft orange glow overhead surrounded by a tapestry of sparkling stars, the half-moon washing the night world below in silver light, the receding jewels of the city’s lights and Whisper’s sleeping warmth against her, Meg was immersed in flying above a new world, carried by the cool breeze towards a place where her children might be waiting for her. She was exhilarated and happy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Lightsword was vaster than any city she imagined possible. From the altitude of the dragon egg it spread across the landscape in a mosaic of red roofs and white buildings, with roads running to all directions of the compass, and a sparkling river snaking through the city seemed to flow from a plateau covered with stone ruins at the city’s centre. From several quarters, smoke formed a brown haze like the one that hung above Port River, reminding her that this world was not like Western Shess at all because of the impact of invention, as Marlin had always said. Beyond the city margins was a green-and-golden tapestry of fertile plains, all ordered into squares and rectangles with little farmhouses on their edges or at the centres, and to the east, west and north the city plains were bordered by snow-capped mountains. The blue sky, the soft breeze and the natural colours told her this was the season of Akim in Central Andrak. In Western Shess it would be Doyanah, the land beginning to die in preparation for the brief cold spell of Shahk, but here the seasons were either strange or upside down.