by David Hair
*
Zarelda had been expecting the whole ‘Lord Protector’ spiel for days, but when her father finally cornered her on the slope overlooking the inconveniently melted bay, it didn’t go at all as she expected.
‘Look,’ he started, ‘I’m not going to lecture you about men in general or Banno in particular. We’ve been through all that before and it’ll bore us both. Just, please, be careful. I’m too young to be a grandfather.’
She pulled a face. ‘Dad, that’s the last thing I want.’
‘Good.’ He sighed heavily, which made him look older still, and at thirty-six he was already ancient. ‘One day we’ll settle down properly, somewhere secure, and then you’ll be free to be your own woman.’
‘We weren’t even secure at home,’ she muttered.
‘True, but that wasn’t normal. It’s usually only once in a century that the Great Houses face a purge like that.’
He tousled her hair and she wondered if he’d actually noticed she was growing it out; she was tired of looking like a boy.
‘In time, we’ll have our real lives back,’ he promised.
‘But what if that day never comes? Do you want me to spend my life as a spinster?’
‘Well, yes, ideally,’ he replied, then winked at her. ‘I just want you to be careful, and not just with your body, but your heart. You’re only fifteen.’
‘Nearly sixteen—’ she began.
‘Indeed,’ he interrupted, smiling suddenly and fishing in a pocket, pulled out a little box. ‘When I said “only”, I meant “Happy birthday for tomorrow, sixteen-year-old”.’
She couldn’t believe she’d lost track of the days. Her heart thudding, she felt a burst of joy and love for her father.
‘I’m of age tomorrow,’ she realised, throwing him a teasing look.
‘Try to ignore that fact. You’re still under my protection.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Zar, let’s find this istariol, become filthy rich, topple the Mandaryke cabal and get Mother back. Then you can do what you like. That’s all I ask.’
‘That’s all?’ she echoed sarcastically.
‘I reckon it’s do-able,’ he insisted. ‘Friends?’
As usual, that crooked grin which had been her beacon from her earliest memories, won her over. They hugged hard and everything was right again.
‘Friends,’ she repeated, and crooked her little finger.
As he linked his with hers, he grinned. ‘Good. By the way, I have a job for you, my sorcerer’s apprentice.’
*
‘Catch!’ Ando Borger called, and the rope came snaking across the rockface.
Banno Rhamp caught it left-handed, clinging by his right to a stone nub at eye level. His boots were wedged into barely-there toeholds, the river surging past furiously just a few feet below them.
The previous afternoon, Foaley and Vidarsson had marked a crossing place between the rocky cliffs. At low tide the current was treacherously swift; at high tide a backwash created a confusion of whirling counter-flows that reduced the current to a sluggish swirl laced with sea-spume and driftwood.
There was no way to get wagons, horses or gear down here and across, but anyone lithe enough for the climb could manage. The far riverbank was some forty yards away and just as steep, but there were plenty of fractures providing hand- and foot-holds in the cliffs on either side.
Banno secured the rope to a log trapped at the water’s edge, creating a guide for the climbers following him. Most were younger men from Teshveld, sons of sons of craftsmen who’d grown up with hammers and saws in the their hands. Even young Norrin Harper was there, with his instrument strapped to his back beside a satchel of hand-tools.
And Zar’s with us. That thought made him smile.
She appeared behind the last man, her face taut with concentration as she found the crevices, then, grinning impudently, she leaped down to join the young men.
‘Easy,’ she said. ‘Don’t see what you needed a rope for.’
‘We’ve got packs full of nails and tools and shit,’ Rolfus Bohrne growled. ‘Men’s work.’
‘Labourers’ work,’ she retorted. ‘Follow me.’
Banno had been lectured about Zar being sacrosanct by Raythe Vyre himself. That had been embarrassing enough, but afterwards, his own father had pulled him aside. ‘Court her if you want, boy, but keep it seemly,’ Elgus told him. ‘I like watching Vyre squirm over his daughter, but I need his goodwill for now, so keep it chaste.’
That was fine. He liked Zar a lot, but no way did he want Raythe Vyre coming after him. It was enough to be with her, for now.
The next part, crossing the river, was the most dangerous. Although it was high tide and the water was almost unmoving, there was plenty of debris to snag clothes, hair and limbs and drag a swimmer under.
Ando Borger, who was nominally in charge, began giving orders. ‘One at a time, and be careful. Watch for driftwood and don’t get snagged. First one over strings the rope for the rest of us. First one ready gets the honour of leading us over the river.’
The young men pulled off their shirts, all clamouring to be first – and then turned expectantly to look at Zarelda, a few flexing muscles to provoke a reaction.
But she didn’t even blush: just laughed, took a coil of rope and tossed Banno one end, then dived fully clothed into the river. A moment later she came up and her arms began to churn as she headed for the far side.
‘Look at her go!’ Ando Borger exclaimed.
She swam well, powering through the eddies until she found her footing just short of the far shore and waded to the narrow strip of gravel, water streaming from her clothing.
‘Nice arse, if you like ’em skinny,’ Rolfus Bohrne chuckled.
‘You mind your tongue,’ Banno told him.
The other man gave him an ‘I’ll say what I bloody well like’ look, but shut up. Banno was his boss’ son, after all.
Zar tied her rope to a rock and Banno did the same at his end, tightening it until it was taut enough for those following with the heavy satchels of gear to cling to.
It was almost an hour before they were all standing on the far bank.
Banno joined Zar as she sat on a rock drying in the sun. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘First into Verdessa.’
‘I know.’ She gave him a satisfied grin. ‘I win again.’
*
Zar felt like she was floating on a heady sense of freedom. She knew Father loved her, that he was trying to protect her, and that necessitated hiding and anonymity and constantly moving on, but it was so wearying. Being given licence to do this was wonderful.
What’s the point of being alive if it’s just to live in a box?
Feeling exhilarated, she bounded on ahead of the others and clambered up the rockface, then helped Banno secure the rope for the others, before setting off along the clifftop, climbing along the edge of the ravine all the way to the sea-cliffs, then around to those with the ocean below. Adefar was with her, darting hither and thither, shapeshifting from reptile to bird to goat and back to fox for sheer joy.
The young men, weighed down by their tools, were left well behind, all except Banno, who strove manfully to keep up with her, panting under the weight of his burden. By the time he caught her, he was perspiring heavily, his cheeks bright red and hair slick with sea-spray.
‘Wait!’ he called, sounding exasperated.
Zar sped up again, freedom and the joy of life giving her wings, but finally she came to a notch in the cliff where another small stream cascaded off the edge, a small, erratic waterfall that fell all the way down into the breakers below. She peered over the cliff and saw waves breaking around a ring of rocks, dozens of yards below. But the space inside that ring was still, and it looked deep. Her imagination began to feed her wicked thoughts.
Banno appeared behind her and stopped, breathing hard. ‘Gerda’s sake, Zar,’ he puffed. ‘Slow down. We don’t know what’s out here – and you might fall—’
‘Fall?’ s
he said, with a sudden laugh. ‘What, like this?’
Turning, she pretended to lose her balance and plummeted over the edge as Banno shouted in alarm.
She dropped through the waterfall towards the swirling ocean below.
With Adefar swooping alongside protectively, she breathed deep, pinched her nostrils shut and slammed feet-first into the water, right in the middle of the ring of rocks. When at last she struck the stony bottom, she kicked off back to the surface, gasping at the freezing cold.
Okay, this is stupid – but dear Gerda, it was fun to see the look on his face.
A moment later, Banno hit the water beside her in a huge splash. She squealed as he plunged past her and then erupted from below, grabbing her forearms as they trod water and shouting, ‘What in the Pit are you—?’
She grabbed his face, kissed his mouth, hot and salty in this freezing place, then pushed him under and thrashed away. By the time he spluttered up again, she’d climbed onto a rock, laughing hysterically.
‘Zar!’ he shouted, red-faced now.
She dissolved into giggles at the sight of him, as he kicked towards the rock, but as he tried to clamber up beside her, a wave hit the pool and knocked him off his feet. He vanished, then came up choking with water and laughter, and she felt a wave of vivid affection.
A man who laughs is a treasure, her mother had said, almost the last thing before they parted, which was odd, because Mirella had never laughed once in the brief time Zar had been with her and her new husband, while Raythe had made her laugh all the time.
But that was another time and place, and this was the first real fun she’d had in weeks, since the dance. Banno clambered up beside her, shaking with cold and laughter, his eyes fixed on her, and she met him, grasped his shoulders and kissed him again, half in and half out of the water, savouring his taste while his lips explored hers, and then as their mouths opened, their tongues coiled together and a surge like praxis-energy jolted through her. She moaned softly into his mouth and felt her soul adhere to his.
‘This is wonderful,’ he told her, as their lips parted, ‘but we’re going to freeze to death.’
She shivered in response, but it wasn’t from the cold. He was right, though: the chill was going straight to her bones, despite the burning in her heart. ‘Let’s get ashore,’ she panted.
To her surprise, he picked her up and waded to the beach, a tiny strip of sand beneath the cliffs – cradling her against his chest. His big, beautiful brown eyes were full. Then he lowered her to the sand, rolled against her and kissed her, drinking her in.
‘Do you know what today is?’ she whispered. ‘It’s my birthday.’
He pulled back and looked down at her, filling her sight and senses. His strong body felt solid as the cliffs, but gentle and warming as the sun. Their wet clothes barely felt present as they clung together. ‘How old?’
‘Sixteen. Of age, by Imperial Law.’
He swallowed. ‘Deo on High, your father would kill me.’
‘Me too,’ she giggled, then she kissed him again. ‘I don’t care.’ She stared at him, willing him to take the lead, to take control.
He groaned and looking away, murmured, ‘It’s not right, not without our parents’ consent.’
Her disappointment in him was crushing. A moment she felt like she’d been building up to for months was evaporating, making her doubt everything.
‘Are you afraid of my father? Or yours?’ she demanded, more bitterly than she’d intended.
Aren’t I good enough for him? Or is he not who I want him to be . . .?
He sat up, looked at her and said, ‘Zar, you’re utterly glorious. But I want to be better than my father and my brothers. I don’t want to be just another mercenary who takes everything and leaves a trail of girls in trouble. I want this to be right, and I’m prepared to wait.’
His restraint softened her disappointment.
‘And,’ he added, ‘I want it to be somewhere nice, not at the bottom of a cliff in freezing saltwater with Rolf Bohrne and Ando Borger and the rest watching from the cliff.’
Fair enough.
That killed most of her remaining ardour and restored her faith in him. He can think as well as feel, she thought admiringly, and her spirit was suffused in warmth despite the cold wetness.
‘How come you’re not married?’ she blurted. At twenty, he was past due.
He pulled a face. ‘I was going to be, several times, but the wars got in the way. First time, alliances shifted and it got called off. Second time, we had to flee after a defeat. Third time, my betrothed caught the plague when her father’s castle was besieged. Since then, we’ve been moving too much.’ He threw her an anxious look. ‘I guess I’m bad luck.’
‘Not to me,’ she told him.
He kissed her again, and for a long minute all she could do was devour him hungrily, until they disentangled and made their way along the narrow shore, clinging to rocks as the waves pounded in, delighting in the power of the waves and their own ability to resist it.
They emerged on a long beach on the western side of the bay, shivering in the cold wind and their salt-stiff clothing, and found a driftwood log to sit on and warm themselves until the others arrived, soldiering down the slope with their heavy packs. Ando Borger had brought Banno’s as well as his own; he’d left it at the waterfall where Zar had jumped in.
‘Don’t think I didn’t see you two,’ the blacksmith’s son told Banno and Zar quietly. ‘Think of your virtue and of Gerda watching on high,’ he advised. ‘Restrain yourselves.’
‘We are,’ Banno replied, ‘but Zar is going to be my wife, one day – you’ll see.’
Ando’s eyebrows shot up and he backed off, shaking his head.
Zar turned to Banno, struck dumb by his words. From first kiss to secretly – or not so secretly – betrothed in a matter of minutes? It felt giddy and mad, but somehow it didn’t feel wrong. Most girls were betrothed to virtual strangers before they were sixteen, and some were married off even earlier, regardless of Imperial Law.
Chimes rang in her heart as she gazed at her man and imagined the life they would have together.
I can wait, she thought tremulously. But not too long.
*
‘You’re looking a touch put out, Boss,’ Jesco drawled. ‘Anything on your mind?’
‘Nothing but the task before me,’ Raythe lied.
When Zar had vanished around the headland across the river mouth, he’d felt like he’d lost her, regardless of their words before they’d parted. Telling her to go forth wasn’t the same as actually letting go. She was the centre of his world, the only part of Mirella he still had. If he lost her, he didn’t know what he’d do.
To love is to trust, Varahana had told him, and she’d given him a hug. He’d needed that.
He’d spent the last few days trying very hard not to think of what might be going on across the bay – although he’d still kept a distant eye on them. Zar’s young men seemed to be working hard, for through his spyglass he’d seen the trees being felled and trimmed. Each evening their cooking fires gleamed in the twilight. But he still worried about what might be happening after the fires burned low.
Then Varahana and Kemara arrived, barely looking at each other. ‘I’d better see what these two want,’ he told Jesco apologetically.
Varahana began talking the moment he was in earshot. ‘Raythe, how long are you going to let this go on?’
He knew what she meant. Despite sharing his camp, Kemara still refused to train. She wouldn’t learn the praxis language or undergo a manifestation, and that meant her gift was festering inside her, and that would end badly. If a mizra-spirit entered her, she could lose all control – people could get hurt, or even die.
‘It’s not my choice,’ he replied. ‘You can lead a horse to water . . .’
Vara’s normally serene features creased in annoyance; the way she was glaring at Kemara told Raythe that she was jealous. Some scholars couldn’t conceive of why they,
with their huge intellect, couldn’t grasp sorcery. ‘She had a whole past she never told me when I took her in. I thought she trusted me, but now . . . I’m vexed, Raythe. She’s exasperating.’
‘Welcome to my world.’ They turned and looked at Kemara, who’d heard every word.
‘Mistress Kemara, we owe it to our fellow travellers to either train you, or attempt another cauterising. We can’t just let this go on.’
Kemara scowled, then asked, ‘What’s involved in trying to cauterise my potential again?’
Raythe tsked in disappointment. A sorcerer’s gift was rare and he felt personally betrayed by her refusal to embrace her gift, but tried to understand. Maybe what she went through the first time traumatised her too much? What a waste.
He shared a resigned look with Varahana and said, ‘Kemara, I’ve never done it before, but I know the theory. At the moment all my energy must go into the crossing, but after that, I’m sure we’ll find an opportunity.’
Looking relieved, she curtseyed ironically, then stomped away.
‘I’ve never met someone with that potential who doesn’t want it,’ he commented.
‘Some must be thrust into it all unwilling – like me and the Church,’ Varahana replied.
‘You’ve come to terms with your lot, though.’
‘Most days, Raythe, but not all. It’s hard to put aside that it wasn’t my choice to begin with. I miss my books, my friends . . . I even miss my family, sometimes, and they’re the bastards who made me take vows.’
‘Then leave,’ he urged. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere and this isn’t even imperial territory. If you don’t want to be a priestess any more, then defrock yourself. Grow your hair, go mad.’
She laughed, her voice cracking a little. ‘How could I do that, Raythe? I’d be letting so many people down. I’m Gerda and Deo’s representative here – I can’t betray that trust. They’re my flock, my people.’
‘You’ve got six Sisters of Gerda. Promote one of them.’
She gave him a sour look. ‘That lot are only good at singing and praying, Raythe, dear. They’ve known nothing but a nunnery since they were young, and most of them are past sixty. Why do you think I’m in charge?’