The Book of Whispers

by Kimberley Starr

  He’s too late. I’ve realised my mistake. It’s not a pile of clothes. It’s a pile of bodies.

  Now, I hear screams coming from inside the walls.

  We run through the gate and follow screams to the town centre. Smoke streams through gaping doorways and shattered windows. Underfoot, cobblestones are slick and slippery with blood.

  ‘Stop!’ Luca calls. I slide into his outstretched arms.

  He pulls me to the side of the road, where a pile of rocks and bricks—someone’s demolished home—provides cover to hide behind. A square ahead is crowded with demons dancing joyful jigs and crying with happiness at every human scream. Five knights in bloody armour surround a group of Saracens tied together with heavy rope. The knights laugh, poking spears at their miserable captives.

  Luca looks grim. ‘They’ll be sold as slaves.’

  ‘Help me!’ comes a cry in a familiar voice.

  Serafina!

  Luca abandons our hiding place and strides into the square. Unsheathing his sword, he approaches the knight in charge. ‘One of our pilgrims is caught up with your slaves.’

  The knight scowls. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, boy.’

  ‘I’m the Conte de Falconi. And that woman is not a Saracen. Free her, or the Princes will have your head.’

  Luca’s title impresses the knight. He turns to the group in time to see Serafina throw back her hood, exposing her pale gold hair.

  ‘What’s she to you?’

  ‘She’s one of us.’ I watch Luca search for a word. ‘My betrothed.’

  The knight raises his hand. ‘Free her,’ he says to his comrades. ‘See no other slave escapes.’

  A moment later, Serafina runs, sobbing, into Luca’s arms. ‘I thought they’d sell me! I thought you were dead!’

  Luca holds her close. ‘Where’s Mattiolas?’ he says into her hair. ‘He said he’d look after you.’

  Serafina shakes her head. She looks like she’s about to cry.

  I can’t watch them.

  Luca’s betrothed. That was the word he used. I walk away, turning a nearby corner. The word betrothed echoes in my mind. He is promised to Serafina. One day they will marry. And I will need to be happy for them because Luca can be safe with Serafina the way he can never be safe with me.

  Betrothed.

  But this isn’t the time for self-pity. I need to keep safe. I peer around, trying to get my bearings. Nearby buildings look like they were once part of a town market. Low stone walls could have been shop counters.

  I hear another scream, and turn to see a pilgrim knight holding an elderly Saracen. A demon with crossed wings stands immediately behind them. Its fingers are intertwined with the knight’s, and it controls the knight like a puppet. Wearing an expression of deep joy, the knight clutches the Saracen’s fingers and, with loud

  SNAPS!

  breaks their bones.

  The Saracen screams, and saliva pours from the demon’s terrible jaws.

  I can’t bear it. This is my chance to try the salt from Lake al-Jaboul. I grab a pinch of coarse powder from my pouch and I fling it at the demon.

  Its skin sizzles and smokes where the salt lands. Startled, the demon loosens its grip on the knight and turns its head to stare at me. The Saracen falls, his good hand clutching his broken one.

  I grab more salt and stride closer to the demon. More coarse grains singe its skin like drops of hot oil. But the injury doesn’t last. The demon’s skin quickly heals over. One ingredient alone won’t work. The demon smiles at me as it reaches again for the knight’s arms.

  Once more, the possessed knight grabs his wounded Saracen victim. ‘Where are your bezants?’ he yells in the language of the Franks.

  The Saracen shakes. ‘I don’t understand you!’ he yells in his own language. He screams and there’s the snap! of another broken finger.

  ‘He doesn’t know your language!’ I cry.

  The knight looks up at me. His eyes are red. Horror washes over me as I realise that’s what the demons were doing that day before we left for Lake al-Jaboul: practising. As we move closer to Jerusalem, they get better at possessing people’s bodies.

  The knight pulls out his dagger and slashes it across the Saracen’s throat. Blood gushes out and the Saracen’s limp body crashes to the street. Behind them, the demon laughs. The knight points his bloody dagger at me, and charges.

  I turn and run. I can do nothing to save anyone here.

  I take cover from various skirmishes and look for Luca while the sun passes overhead. Shortly after noon, I hear him calling for me, and run out to him.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you!’ he says, pulling me towards him.

  He’s so warm! I nearly feel safe.

  ‘I took Serafina back to the camp,’ he says. ‘People are gathering there again now. But—’

  Serafina. I pull away. ‘I tried the salt. It burned one of the demons. But it didn’t really work on its own.’

  ‘We need to use it with the other ingredients. Let me take you to safety.’

  ‘All right. There’s nothing we can do here.’

  We race down a city street, shrieks echoing around us. Bodies are strewn everywhere and stone walls are sprayed with blood. ‘Are you sure the gate’s this way?’ I demand.

  Luca doesn’t slow. ‘It’s just up here!’

  But when the gate comes into sight, he pulls me abruptly into a gaping doorway nearby. The small square where we originally entered Maarrat has become a battleground. Pilgrims, catching up with fleeing Saracens, slash them with swords and daggers. While we watch, a line of pilgrim knights pushes the immense city gate closed. Its hinges squeal, and rivets buckle under its weight. This town entrance is closed to everyone now. We need to find another way out.

  ‘I saw a tunnel,’ Luca says. ‘We’ll try that.’

  We race back the way we came. Each street we pass is the scene of violent attack. Demons strut and fly over it all, fat and happy, like children on a market day.

  Eventually, we pass a deserted town square and reach a steeply angled alleyway. A dark shadow halfway along it reminds me of the cave entrance on our way to Lake al-Jaboul.

  ‘There’s a tunnel under the wall,’ Luca says.

  ‘Did you see all the demons?’ I ask. ‘I’m going mad.’

  ‘Shhh…’ He rests his hands on my shoulders, like he’s passing me some of his strength. ‘We’ll get through this. Believe me, Suzan.’

  I lift my face. His eyes are round and sincere. Smoke from burning buildings stains the air. I can trust him. I love him. He’s always been kind to me. I do believe him. I stop shaking.

  I hear new voices, coming from the tunnel. Murmuring voices. And tears: quiet ones, not screams.

  ‘The language they’re speaking—it sounds Saracen.’

  ‘It is.’

  Luca takes my hand. ‘They aren’t soldiers. They’re refugees. Trying to escape.’

  ‘Something’s trapped them here. I don’t—’

  Luca cuts me off, pulling me into the concealment of a nearby tree. ‘Narlo!’ he whispers harshly.

  Hiding as best I can, I peer through the smoke. Eventually, I make out Narlo’s shape as, across the square, he and a far taller man walk in front of a burning building.

  Narlo points at the alleyway opening. His voice drifts towards us. ‘We’ll smoke them out.’

  ‘He’s with Thanatos!’ Luca whispers. ‘They’re working together!’

  I stare at the taller figure. ‘You’re right!’

  We watch, hidden by trees and smoke, as Narlo follows Thanatos into the alleyway, joined by Sir Oderisi and a few other knights.

  ‘Slash their bellies!’ Narlo’s shout echoes out towards us in the square; he must have entered the tunnel. ‘Cheating bastards have swallowed their bezants! Don’t let them go to Hell until you have those coins!’

  I turn to Luca, horrified. ‘Those Saracens are trying to escape. They need help. We can’t let this happen!’

  ‘Stay here! I’ll
fix Narlo.’

  Luca runs down the alleyway, into the tunnel. A moment later, I hear him yelling, ‘If you slash their bellies, I’ll slash yours!’

  Luca and his cousin appear at the tunnel entrance, Narlo brandishing his sword. Facing each other, the two move closer to my hiding place. There’s room to fight in the square. ‘You wouldn’t dare try,’ Narlo says.

  ‘Tempt me.’

  But more knights run from the tunnel and into the alleyway. They grab Luca’s arms. Although Luca is strong, they overpower him.

  Narlo smiles at Luca’s helplessness, then returns to the alley and tunnel. The knights holding Luca laugh while screams reach our ears, followed by sobs. Finally, there’s silence. Thanatos glides out of the alley, smiling. Narlo struts behind him. His armour is splashed red and his hands drip with blood. ‘Come,’ he says to the knights holding Luca. ‘Let him go. I have what we wanted.’

  Luca spins on his toes and draws his sword, ready to take on his attackers, but they flee within moments.

  I race over to Luca. ‘The people in there,’ I remind him, nodding at the tunnel. ‘Maybe we can help them.’

  Luca stares, his eyes wild with fury. But he sees sense, and follows me through the alley and into the tunnel. Slanted light reaches us from its far exit. Pacing over the sticky ground, through air that smells of copper and human waste, we reach a pile of bodies.

  Dead Saracens, men, women and children, lie in pools of gore. Their bellies have been slashed open, their intestines exposed like chains of sausages.

  ‘Part-consumed bezants,’ I remember.

  ‘What?’ Luca asks.

  ‘Part of the Jerusalem prediction. I wondered what it meant. A part-consumed bezant means a swallowed coin. Thanatos wanted those bellies slashed. Narlo was helping him.’

  Luca shakes at the horror of it. ‘Killing people to help Thanatos! Narlo is worse than a demon.’

  There’s nothing we can do here. There are no survivors.

  Luca and I continue through the tunnel. Just outside the other exit, we discover what trapped the Saracens. A group of pilgrim knights, swords drawn, stand guard.

  Luca rushes at one of them. ‘You didn’t let those people through? The women and children?’

  The knight looks astonished. ‘Let them through? But they’re Saracens!’

  ‘They weren’t fighting!’ Luca insists. ‘They were trying to leave!’

  The other knight shakes his head. His fellow guards walk over. Their armour and robes are still shiny and white, in contrast to Luca’s; his desperate quest to find survivors has left him as bloody as Narlo. The cleanest of the pilgrim guards wrinkles his nose in disgust. ‘Stop yelling.’ He sounds irritated. ‘We were just doing our job.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agrees another. ‘We were following orders.’

  Luca shakes with anger. Though he avoided killing any Saracens, it looks like he’s about to slash one of our own knights.

  ‘Luca.’ I hold his arm. ‘We need to get away from here. It’s too late now to help the people in the tunnel. You said you’d take me to Serafina. Can you do that? There’s nothing to keep us here.’

  It’s nearly time for vespers when we reach the campsite outside Maarrat. Mattiolas is already outside his tent, swigging from a wineskin. His eyes are glazed. ‘You missed an incredible siege. Have you seen Maarrat?’

  Luca slides onto the ground beside him. ‘We’ve been inside.’ He reaches for a wineskin and drinks before passing it to me.

  The vespers bell sounds, but we don’t go to pray. No one does, as far as we can tell. Many are too busy looting. We sit in stunned silence. When the skin is empty, I climb into my tent. Serafina is already there, murmuring restlessly in exhausted sleep. I try to sleep too, but cannot. In the next tent, Luca is also restless. I hear him move around constantly, and eventually, his footsteps stride towards the river.

  Giving up on rest, I crawl out of my tent. Planning to join him, I sling my pouch over my shoulder. I feel safer having it with me. My bow sticks out the top.

  Luca is on his way back from the river when I reach him. My face is cold and wet. Luca uses the edge of his tunic to wipe away my tears.

  ‘You’ll be all right, Suzan,’ he soothes.

  ‘But—everything we saw today!’

  We hear a scream. I clamp my hands over my ears. I have heard too many screams. But I follow Luca as he races back along the road to the city gate. As we near the city, the sound of loud music and cheers—a celebration—drifts out to greet us.

  The massive gate is open again. In the square beyond, pilgrims dance with demons around a huge bonfire. They sing and sway over blood spilled on the cobblestones. The Saracens that, earlier, we believed were to be sold as slaves lie collapsed on the ground. Now and then a dancing pilgrim leaves the impromptu party to run at them with a sword or a spear.

  That was the screaming we heard. Saracens, dead or dying. And the torture continues, as does the dancing.

  ‘Carnage has driven the pilgrims mad,’ Luca says.

  Too close by, beside a roaring fire, Thanatos, his silvery and most beautiful self, smiles over the pandemonium. He looks up and sees us. ‘Such delicious pleasures.’

  Luca shakes his head, appalled, then grabs his sword. Brandishing it, he runs to the place where Thanatos was, but the demon has vanished. A metal grille tops the large fire there, holding a joint of roasting meat. Knights surround it, laughing as they slurp stolen Maarrat ale and wine. I walk over to Luca.

  While we’re watching, knights circle the barbecue, ready to tear at the flesh. Surrounding demons scream and swoop in ecstasy. Most are the rounded, many-mouthed kind I’ve learned to associate with gluttony.

  ‘No!’ Luca cries to the other knights. He waves his sword, but they pay him no attention. Awful understanding whitens his features as he stares at the grill.

  I look closer, and my stomach twists, sickened. There’s something terribly wrong with that meat. It’s as though my body has recognised the full horror of this moment before my eyes can take it in. I recognise the joint they’re cooking.

  It’s a human leg.

  Pilgrims rip at it with their blades and fingers.

  ‘No!’ Luca cries again.

  But he’s too late. The pilgrims turn on him. All their eyes are demon-red. While we watch, demons step into the bodies of the cannibals and walk around in possession of them.

  This is one way demons can enter bodies of the living.

  One of the men pauses limply, as Bianca paused after drinking horse blood, soon before she died. I brace myself for the horror that is watching a demon being born. And soon enough, a set of tusks appear, and a face, part demon, part wild boar, pushes its way through the man’s tangled hair.

  ‘No!’ Thanatos says, reappearing and moving to them. ‘No! This is not the time!’

  Thanatos moves his face close to mine. His breath smells of lilies and other funeral flowers. He glides behind me. I spin. His eyes are wide. The other demons ignore him. They crowd around the square, each already picking out a pilgrim victim. He has lost control.

  ‘Take my advice,’ he tells me. ‘Use your santur.’

  ‘Why should I trust you?’

  ‘Right now, we want the same thing. We want this night over. You’ve read the book, Suzan. You know Maarrat—glorious as all this might be—isn’t where our real battle happens. Now, Suzan. Use your santur. I saw what your mother could do with it. It’s one way to put an end to this. And it’s time you learned what you can do.’

  Staring at him, I untie my pouch from my back. The santur is in there. I remember my mother playing me to sleep as a child. In the open square where cannibals celebrate, I begin to play.

  I play my mother’s lullaby. The music sounds strange tonight, the notes long and sweet and low. The notes don’t belong here with this savage revelry, but gradually, they take over from it. The music comes from the love I feel for Luca and the pain I feel, sharing his suffering today. And the strings vibrate
with the longing I feel for his touch, and the comfort of being held in his arms, the sensation of his breath in my hair.

  I sing the names of people who’ve come to mean so much to me. Mattiolas, Serafina, Luca’s old friend Sir Bottiglio. Drowsily, I notice these people drift to me as though summoned. When I called their names, it meant something. My santur had that power. They look like sleepwalkers.

  I become dimly aware that, even at a distance, people are putting down their revolting meals and weapons, and lying on the ground as though in a trance. All other music has stopped. I sing the names of people I’ve noticed recently, and they stay awake for a while, coming closer. I sing Peter Bartholomew, who approaches, his face losing its mad passion. He settles down in the square not far from Luca. I watch this small group as their eyes drift closed and their faces take on a sedated languor reminding me of the warmly hibernating bats in the cave near Lake al-Jaboul.

  I close my eyes too, and drift into the sad longing I feel when Luca seems the most close. I love him, but our love belongs in the world of dreams.

  Then I am dreaming, we’re all dreaming, and the world drifts away.

  CHAPTER 19

  Three moons

  THE SYRIAN DESERT

  Luca

  Where am I?

  I half wake to the strange sensations of raindrops on my face and a terrible thirst, before falling back to sleep.

  When I open my eyes again, it’s to sunshine. It seems to be mid-morning, judging by the sun’s position. I’ve been asleep outdoors? Why?

  I’m more confused still as I look around. Beside me, Suzan dozes in a cloud of dark hair. She’s curled around her santur. Its hammers have slipped from her fingers. We’re in Maarrat’s town square with a small group of other pilgrims, some of whom are also stirring. I touch my face with my fingertips. My skin feels tight and hot.

  Suzan opens her tawny eyes, then pulls herself into a sitting position. One of her cheeks is sunburned.

  ‘What happened? I’m stiff all over.’ She frowns down at her santur. ‘I don’t often play it during the day.’

  ‘We’ve been asleep for a while.’