Blood of the Volcano: Sequel to Heart of the Volcano

by Imogen Howson

  When she spoke her voice sounded like the scrape of metal against metal, sharp, wavering. “I should have known better than to talk to you. You lie. Like all criminals, you lie. You want to blame the god for what your own sin brought upon you, and now you want me to blame him too.”

  “No. No, Maya—”

  “I will not listen,” she shouted, then, “I should have let you die! I wish I had. I wish I’d killed you.”

  It was like a slash across his skin, a slash from maenad talons, tearing the fragile—far too fragile—web of trust, of talk, of the tentative beginnings of understanding. He looked at her and saw the hardness in her face, her tight-clenched fists, the scavenger-bird tension in her body. She’d been maenad a long time. The power of it might have gone from her, but the tracks in her brain had remained. She was half-maenad still, inside, where it mattered, where he could not reach.

  She bent, her face as hard as the flat of a sword, then swung the pack to her shoulder. She took a moment to adjust its weight on her back before turning towards where he stood near the entrance of the gully.

  “I’m going,” she said. “The truce is over. If you try to stop me you’ll wish I’d left you to the spider poison.”

  Despite the knife she held, it wasn’t the threat that made him step out of her way. It was the look in her face. She looked at him with contempt and hatred, something he’d remember always.

  She walked past him, the desert robe hushing almost inaudibly against her skin. A spark of errant sunlight glinted suddenly off one anklet. I run with the madness of the god.

  She stepped out of the gully, around the corner leading to the desert, and was gone.

  I run with the madness of the god. She had. And she would again. And he hadn’t been able to save her.

  He was turning back into the gully, to the remains of the fire and the thrown-open chests, when the call came, a sound like the wind echoing through caves. He looked up and saw the silhouette, soaring down out of a blue blaze of sky. A bird of prey, not an unusual sight. But that can’t have been its call?

  Like a shock in his chest, memory clutched him. Just a bird, or was it…

  The shadows deepened as the silhouette, grown huge, swooped overhead. Stone rasped against stone with a grating, echoing sound. Stone wings. So it was Coram, although why he was here he had no idea—

  Then came a soft thump on the rocks outside the gully, a scatter and whisper, first like sand pattering across the rock, then like bare footsteps, and a familiar figure bounded up into the gully and threw herself at him.

  “Philos. The maenads—oh thank the gods, we thought they’d got you.”

  He’d put his hands out automatically to catch her. “Venli, what are you doing here? Who else—”

  “Philos.” The next figure into the gully was much bigger, his broad shoulders turning sideways to fit through the gap, his face split in a beam. “I made sure you were too tricky to be caught. But with what the boy said… How’d you pull it off this time?”

  “I…” Philos shook his head, bewildered. “Not easily, I can tell you. But what are you doing here? What are you doing? We agreed, not to move unless I sent word—”

  Venli grinned up at him. “We’re ready, Philos. We’ve got our army. We’re marching.”

  “No.” He looked down at her, aghast. Her eyes were shining, she was alight, confident. “Leos, tell me this isn’t true. We’re nowhere near ready.”

  The big man humped his shoulders in a massive shrug. “Things have changed fast. She’s right. We’re on the march.”

  “We’re the advance guard.”

  “No,” said Philos, cold settling in his chest. “You are not. You’re not capable. Gods, Leos, tell me the rest of them haven’t sent Venli in the forefront of an army?”

  Leos grinned sideways at the girl. “You shouldn’t tease him. We’re not part of the army, Philos. We’re scouts, that’s all. The boys said the guards were after you—we didn’t want to attack the city not knowing whether you were prisoner or not.”

  It was all too bewildering. He remembered this now, about both of them, neither could tell a story straight. At least, whatever Venli liked to claim, it seemed their leaders hadn’t run so mad as to put her in the front line of an army.

  “What boys?” He wanted at least something clear. “What boys, and what did they say?”

  “The last boy you sent us,” Leos said. “It seemed you’d messed up there—”

  “I did. I nearly got myself killed.”

  “—but he got enough of the message, all the same. Heard and saw you too, followed you out of the city before going back for his…friend.”

  Philos hardly noticed how the other man hesitated on that last word. “Followed me? My camouflage was slipping, but—”

  Venli broke in. “He did it by scent. He’s a shifter, a roof-rat.” She giggled. “He’s sweet. Anyway, he tailed you all the way to the wall. Then—” she faltered, her smile disappearing, “—the maenads were coming. He hid, watched them catch your scent…”

  Leos picked up where her voice trailed away. “Saw them chase you into the ravine. Half of us were sure you’d be dead. What were you thinking, to let them corner you?”

  “Try it yourself and see if you do better.” Philos heard the snap in his voice. For an instant he was back there, in the sweat and terror, listening to them pour over the edge. He took a breath through his teeth, forcing the memory away. “So, the boy took his chance.” That makes it worth it, doesn’t it? A life saved. Two lives saved. That must be worth the pain and grief of the last two days…

  His head jerked up. “Gods, what’s wrong with me? I’m not thinking. You’re not alone? You’ve brought others?”

  “Of course. Aera stayed back, but Coram’s here.”

  “That’ll do. That’s enough. Listen, there’s a girl, down in the pass, headed towards the south. You need to get her. She needs to come with us.”

  “A girl?” said Venli. “A refugee, and she’s going back?”

  “I can’t explain now. Leos, you need to get her. She’ll fight—”

  “Powers?” Thank the gods that Leos, at least, only asked the important questions.

  “Not right now.”

  “All right. No, Ven, you stay. One girl, without powers—I’m thinking I can handle her.”

  “No,” said Philos. “Coram’s out there? Take him too.”

  Leos gave him a brief, frowning look, but nodded, a quick jerk of his head, and left. His shout echoed in the pass outside, and again the gully darkened as the shadow—Coram, of course—swooped across.

  “You saved someone else?” said Venli. “Philos, no one ever thought you’d save so many. All this year, they’ve kept coming. We’d not have an army at all if it weren’t for you.”

  Admiration glowed in her eyes, warmed her voice. Not anything more, not now, but within him, an old-familiar warning sparked, and he broke eye contact, stepped a little farther away.

  “Please.” Laughter sharpened the edges of the word, and he chanced a look at her. “That’s over, remember? Well before you left. I was hardly going to hang on for a year, hoping, was I?”

  “All right. I’m sorry.” It was all coming back, the confused affection—real and unreal—the temptation to give in and let her feelings make do for them both, the sickly guilt when, for a short time, he’d done just that. He still felt wretched when he thought about what that had done to her. But he’d been so lonely, adrift with no family, no friends, no god, and he hadn’t yet fully learned the danger of his gift, hadn’t learned to barrier himself from the unwanted effects, and it had been so hard to keep resisting.

  “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not asking you to say it. I told you, it’s over. I worried, while you were gone, we all did, but trust me, I didn’t pine.”

  The edge to her voice wasn’t just laughter, but a little bit of spite—hidden, although not well enough. Spite, and triumph. Ah.

  He gave her what, presumably, she wanted. �
��Who?”

  Her smile widened. She nodded towards the gully entrance.

  “Leos?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Shouts came from outside, and half his attention fled. Had they caught Maya? Was she, as he’d warned Leos, fighting? Was she running? I should have gone with them—she won’t know where they’re from and if they’re both shifted they’ll look terrifying…

  “Well?”

  He glanced at her. “I don’t know, Venli. He’s older…”

  “So are you.”

  “Older than me.”

  She tossed her hair back. “So?”

  “And he’s had a harder life than most of us. He’s been badly hurt.”

  “I know that.” Impatience sizzled across the space between them. He broke eye contact, but not before he picked up the sting of irritated disappointment too. He hadn’t been supposed to react like this. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Another shout. His attention shot away. He shouldn’t be waiting here. Wounds and exhaustion or not, he should be out there, not here, having another of the conversations that, a year ago, he’d promised himself he’d had the last of. He didn’t want to say anything, but it needed to be said.

  “He’s not as strong as you’d think, Venli. What’s between you—you’re both adults, and free, it’s not my business. But please, try not to hurt him.”

  “Try not to…?” Her words sizzled into a flare of anger he could almost feel lash against his face. “Try not to hurt him? That’s good advice, coming from you.”

  He could have said something else—although, at the moment, he wasn’t sure what. He could have said sorry, again. Could have tried to explain further. But at that moment a scream came, shrill and high, razor-edged with terror. Maya. And all at once Venli hardly existed as he ran, stumbling on still-clumsy legs, to the gully entrance and the desert.

  Chapter Nine

  The monsters came from nowhere. One moment Maya was trudging across the sand, forcing her legs to move through the soft weight around her ankles, forcing her body to work despite the unfamiliar cold pressing on her chest. The next moment an enormous shadow swept overhead, then something four-legged, shaggy and sand-brown circled around ahead of her, and she jerked to a halt, heart leaping into her throat and sticking so she could neither breathe nor swallow.

  These, not Philos, are the real monsters. These are the things I had nightmares about back before my own gift came.

  If she only had her gift, if she only had some residue of the volcano’s blood left in her veins, to turn this lightning-shock of terror into power and violence and action…

  Her hand closed on the knife hilt, but it slipped in her sweat-damp palm, and she knew it wasn’t enough. The thing, the animal, ahead of her was far too huge to be killed, or even badly injured, with a few-inches-long dagger. If it changes, though…

  It must be a shifter. No real animal was that big. And if it’s a shifter it will change… She stood waiting, all her muscles tense.

  Its eyes met hers. Golden-tawny eyes, with pupils slitted like a cat’s. It’s a lion. A lion-shifter. They’re so strong. If it doesn’t change I have no hope…

  It did change, rising upwards onto back-bent hind legs that became human legs, the sandy fur rippling away into nothing as if it were indeed just sand blowing and disappearing in the wind. It was still huge, though—an immensely tall, broad-shouldered man, very dark-skinned, his toga-tunic straining over a wide chest.

  But just a man, now. I can deal with a man. She took a tighter grip on the knife.

  A heavy thump, sand flurrying up in clouds, brought her eyes flicking briefly to where the flying thing landed. A… Oh, what in all the world is it? Another huge man, this one made out of not flesh but stone, and with enormous stone wings that made a noise like a rockfall and thunderclap combined as he swept them through the air to fold onto his shoulders.

  For a moment the sand and sky swooped around her. Darkness edged into the corners of her vision. These are the real monsters. And they’ve come for me.

  The stone one spoke, his voice echoing like the boom of the ocean in underground caves, so distorted that she could not at first hear the words. “Friends. We’re friends. It’s all right.”

  I don’t think so. She eased the knife a little farther out of its sheath. You need to change too, stone man. I can’t stab you yet.

  “She’s not listening,” said the other. “Just grab her, Coram. Philos said—”

  Philos? The rest of the man’s sentence blanked out behind a rush of cold, a feeling of sudden sickness. Philos sent them after me?

  He wasn’t her friend, she knew that, she knew it. And her last words to him… There had been no trust, no friendship. It was ridiculous, shameful, to feel betrayed. But he let me go…only to send monsters after me.

  The stone man spoke again, the words clashing against her head like blows. “Leos. If Philos brought her out here she has gifts. I’m not just grabbing her. If you did that to Aera you’d lose an arm.”

  “No, it’s all right. He said she has no powers.”

  The cold flared into a white blaze behind Maya’s eyes. He told them I had no powers? He dares to humiliate me? The knife hilt slid, smooth and solid, into her palm, and she clenched her hand around it, no longer shaky, fury stiffening her all the way through.

  “All right. Take her. Philos can explain it when we’re done.”

  The animal man reached for her first, and she struck at him, snake-fast, slashing his tunic and bringing a thread of bright blood springing across his chest. She expected him to leap back and was already poised to follow him, to press her advantage, make him sweat, make him scream for talking about me that way.

  But he didn’t. He ignored the cut as if it were nothing but a mosquito-bite, came onwards, sweeping her knife hand away like a mosquito. His hand closed right around hers, pain wrenched through her fingers and the knife fell useless on the sand. The next moment both her arms were twisted behind her back and she was held, motionless, against a broad, warm chest that still smelled, disgustingly, terrifyingly of the animal—the monster—he was inside.

  She screamed. It was meant to be the maenad scream, but as it left her throat she heard it, and there was nothing in it but fear. It was a woman’s scream, not a maenad’s, it wouldn’t frighten anyone.

  The stone man, the grey colour flowing from him, changing into the normal colours of brown skin, dark hair, came around in front of her. “It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you. If you’ve come from the city we’re your friends, you’re safe here.”

  She would have backed away—friends? You think we’re friends?—but the animal man was holding her too tightly. She was trapped, helpless, worse than she’d felt when Philos caught her. With him, she’d felt his reluctance coming through his hands, but the man gripping her—he wouldn’t worry if he hurt her, wouldn’t apologise for holding her prisoner.

  “What’s wrong with her?” His voice rumbled at her back, speaking over her head to the stone man. “You think they’ve hurt her mind?”

  The stone man frowned. “No. I think Philos took her prisoner.”

  “Huh. So you’re not our friend, then, little one? A spy, maybe?”

  Little one. And talking about her as if she couldn’t understand, as if she were nothing but a child. I wish I’d cut you deeper, you stupid great oaf. Much, much deeper.

  “Let her go.” Philos’s voice, coming from behind, where she couldn’t see. “Leos, you’ll hurt her—”

  “Hey.” The big man sounded incongruously wounded. “You told me, man—”

  “I know. I know. I mean—yes, keep hold of her, just not so tightly.”

  The grip on her arms loosened a little.

  Philos appeared in front of her. His face was taut, and for a moment she remembered the feel of his hands on her, not imprisoning her but drawing her into safety. The memory smarted, harsh as salt on an open wound, against what he was doing now, sending others after her, ta
king away her last vestiges of power over her own life.

  I hate you. Whatever I felt it meant nothing. We were never friends. We were never anything but enemies.

  “Maya.”

  She made her face go blank, her eyes unfocused. No more talking. I should never have talked to you in the first place. I should have let you die. If I had—

  But although she tried, that thought would not let itself be finished.

  “Maya. I’m sorry. The priests—I can’t let you go back to them. Not till—not till you’ve at least heard—”

  A new voice interrupted him. A normal human’s voice—a girl’s voice, laughing. “Well, Philos, you did say you didn’t like gratitude! But this…what’s happening? What have you done this time?”

  The speaker moved round into Maya’s vision, coming next to Philos. She was slight and sleek, with long hair that gleamed in the sunlight as if polished, and a smooth oval face. She smiled, a shining smile that lit her face, but her eyes flickered sideways, just a little, the untrustworthy flicker of phantom lights on the horizon.

  “Not now, Venli.” Philos spoke across her, the words clipped, authoritarian, and the girl’s smile flicked out. “How soon will the rest be here?”

  The man holding Maya moved in what felt like a shrug. “Now.”

  “We’re travelling in groups,” added the girl—Venli. “The first, aside from us, are setting camp in the first valley beyond the top of the pass. They’ll be there now.”

  “All right. We’ll go up to them. Leos—” He stopped, and visibly changed what he’d been about to say. “Keep hold of her, but don’t hurt her. Let’s get to the camp.”

  They didn’t go into the little gully this time, but followed the left-hand path up and up, breaking finally out into the dazzle of midday sun, then up a shale slope, around a massive shoulder of rock before ending up looking down the next slope, into another gully, somewhat bigger, lined with short, scrubby trees.

  And there were people. A whole crowd of them. Awful, ragged-looking people, with tunics and cloaks patched in all different colours, not just white. Like gypsies or…