Map’s Edge

by David Hair

  *

  Kemara had a moment’s doubt, wondering if this was the last thing she would ever do, but the mask on her face felt like armour and the mizra was like dancing on a volcano, so when Raythe Vyre said, ‘Now—’ she was ready.

  ‘Kaneska alla mizra,’ she snapped, the darkness boiled and Buramanaka snarled. ‘Shiku shita kori,’ she added, sending the ravenous spirit’s awareness beneath the surface of the glacier, seeking the rock below—

  —and the istariol Raythe had noticed earlier, a core of blood-dust running from its source to the sea.

  I hope the kragging Bolgies don’t know about it, she worried as the footmen below halted, unshouldered their guns and took aim. She and Raythe were in the open, gazing down their barrels.

  Dear Gerda, protect us . . .

  As the Otravian directed his praxis-spirit, she called to Buramanaka, ‘Kaneska, shiku istari.’ Her awareness followed her familiar down through the ice to where the precious red powder ran like a thread through the very bottom of the ice current. The mizra-spirit latched onto it and she sensed glee.

  A flintlock fired, Jesco Duretto getting his retaliation in first, and she heard a sharp cry of pain below. Someone barked an order and Raythe’s voice snapped, ‘Now.’

  ‘Kaneska, moyasu istari ima,’ she commanded, as Vyre said the same in Old Magnian: Burn the istariol now.

  And an instant later the entire section of ice before them, two hundred yards of dirty white glacier, was lit from below by a scarlet flash, streaking the faces of the Bolgravian soldiers and causing them to look down in sudden fright. A few instinctively pulled their triggers, flintlocks belched smoke and fire and lead balls whistled around her.

  Then the entire section of glacier below exploded, throwing great chunks of ice and fountains of suddenly liquefied scalding water into the sky. The soldiers barely had time to shriek in terror before the surface bulged and broke, engulfing them in ice and churning water. Then those behind them went down as the meltwater surged down the slope, billowing clouds of super-heated steam. A pile of boulders in the middle held firm, an islet where a few men managed to cling on, but the bombards plunged into the maelstrom and were gone, along with riders and footmen.

  But at the far end, she could see four figures still standing, each atop a pillar of ice that had somehow resisted the burst of energy.

  Then Vyre shouted, ‘Lagus, impetus—’ and drew her deeper into the meld and suddenly, all she could feel was him: his smell, his taste, his energy, his will. It was like being thrust into his arms naked, but far more. She could read his intent and blending her will to his, shouted, ‘Mizu suishin suru—’ impelling the water ever faster.

  She could see them – Buramanaka and Cognatus, like angels of dark and light, hostile but yoked together. Something that was greater than either of them coursed through them and her whole body arched in pain-pleasure. Her feet left the ground, her mouth venting a howl of ecstatic agony; beside her, Vyre was doing the same and she felt all he did, all that exquisite torment.

  A moment later, the mountains of ice still piled on the cliffs on either side, plus everything that had already fallen into the ravine, boiled together into a torrent, bursting against the four pillars of ice and smashing two of them down and she sensed two of the figures spinning away into the flood.

  But the remaining two were resilient as granite, and she could have sworn she saw blind milky orbs that pierced her to the bone. She struck as they did and their powers met in the middle like giant glass hammers that shattered upon each other, and the concussion hurled her and Vyre backwards, sending them tumbling across the surface of the glacier. She fetched up in a snowdrift, battered and dazed.

  Then someone loomed over her and despite her dizziness, she recognised a gun: she snapped a shriek that Buramanaka turned into a command and the shape was battered away.

  Raythe had been ripped from her senses, Buramanaka was howling through her and the pit of inner darkness around which she danced suddenly tilted towards her.

  And this is how we lose control, she realised as she tried to rise to fight. This is how the mizra takes us. The world spun again and she began to fall—

  But someone grabbed her arm, the world steadied and Raythe’s psyche anchored her once again to the here and now. Her feet planted, she shouted, ‘Kaneska yameru,’ and slammed the door in Buramanaka’s face.

  Instantly, the mizra-spirit was gone and she was back. She ripped the mask from her face and stared up at Vyre, her skin flushed, her body burning up and soaked with perspiration. She had an impulsive desire to bite him, to crush him, to burrow into him and never emerge—

  . . . then she remembered herself and shoved him away.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Raythe panted, as her hyper-awareness of him receded. His brow beaded in sweat and his hands were shaking. ‘Kemara? Talk to me.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, angry to have been the one who failed. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold it. What happened?’

  He steadied her, then helped her stand and pointed down the valley.

  Below their perch, she could see the gully was now bare of ice: the liquefied glacier had swept almost everything away, including all four of the icy pillars where the imperial sorcerers had made their stand. Bodies dotted the ground, but a dozen men were clinging to a small pile of boulders at the far end. The remains of the bombards were piled against the bottom rock, smashed beyond repair.

  She stared, then mumbled, ‘Well done, I suppose. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.’

  Raythe gave her a puzzled look. ‘Kemara, that was mostly you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were like riding a runaway bull – I just clung on and occasionally tugged on the horns to steer you.’

  She stared, trying to take that in.

  Someone groaned behind her and she turned. To her surprise, Moss Trimble was lying on his back, winded and gasping. Beside him lay a flintlock, the long barrel twisted at right angles.

  Jesco slithered down from his perch and stalked towards the sailor. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Came back,’ Moss panted. ‘Shamed to be runnin’.’ He sat up, grimacing at the movement. His back was streaked with blood again.

  I nearly killed Moss, but Raythe dragged me back from the precipice, she realised, appalled at what she might have done. ‘Moss, I couldn’t see straight – I didn’t know it was you.’

  He gave her an unsteady look, but nodded. ‘Heat of battle. I had no business being there.’

  ‘But you came back to help,’ she said, conscious of the others watching. ‘Thank you for that.’

  He was willing to risk himself for me.

  Only Ionia had ever risked death for her, so Moss’s act threw her into a swirl of gratitude and confusion. Then she recalled the way Raythe Vyre had taken over her senses during the meld and felt overloaded with otherness, as if she were a silent party in her own body, a secondary presence that might be ousted at any moment. Scared by the sensation, she stammered, ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ and stumbled away.

  The three men were all staring at her, but she regained her self-possession and focused on Trimble, who looked confused, as well he might. ‘It’s all right, Moss. I’ll be okay in a moment.’

  She wasn’t, though – all the stored-up terror of standing in full view of the guns, the lead balls pinging around her that but for sheer luck could have buried themselves in her, and most of all, the glorious potency that had plunged through her, impaled her and ridden her to rack and ruin. It all combined to make her legs go weak, so she dropped to her knees, hugging herself and shaking.

  That first time at the beach was just scratching the surface. This time, I almost lost it all.

  ‘Hey,’ Raythe said gently, reaching down to pull her up, ‘you got through.’

  She knew he was trying to be nice, but she just couldn’t stand his presence right then. She snarled, ‘Don’t kragging touch me. Keep your blasted chivalry to yourself.’

&nb
sp; Raythe straightened, his face hardening. ‘You need to improve your control,’ he snapped.

  That, unfortunately, was true. ‘I’ll do it,’ she blurted, jerking her gaze away. I have to.

  Raythe looked doubtful, but Moss Trimble said with quiet sincerity, ‘I believe in you.’

  It was a small thing, but it gave her the strength to go on.

  *

  Toran Zorne walked to the edge of the stony lip that now marked the end of the glacier. The small canyon below, only minutes ago filled with ice, was now scoured stone. A few dozen scouts were all that remained of the Bolgravian force. Deo on High, am I on my own?

  When Vyre joined him, it took considerable strength not to flinch from him. ‘Trimble, I told you to go back to the caravan,’ the Otravian said tersely.

  ‘I couldn’t leave—’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told in future. If that had gone wrong, no one would have known what happened, or got any warning. I thought naval men could take orders?’

  Zorne hung his head, his Trimble mask now fully in place. ‘Sorry, milord.’ Pointing down the ravine, he asked, ‘So is the whole glacier gone?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Vyre replied. ‘I only sensed the effect for a few hundred yards, a mile at most.’

  A mile . . . they melted a mile of glacier. That’s unheard of.

  ‘What will you do now?’ he asked. ‘Kill the rest?’

  ‘That’s not so easy. There’s still dozens of them out there and I can’t repeat that trick. The best I can hope for is that they’re dissuaded from following and don’t make it home.’

  That could happen, Zorne worried, but my empire never gives up. Someone will come. In the meantime, I must lay low. The thought of having to cosy up to these snakes any longer was horrifying, but he steeled himself for the task. I’m a trained agent of the Ramkiseri, he reminded himself. I can endure anything.

  ‘What did you do?’ he asked, seeking reassurance that Vyre didn’t completely overmatch him.

  ‘I used the istariol traces in the glacier to melt it,’ Vyre replied. ‘Well, I say “I” but it was mostly Kemara.’ He glanced sideways at Zorne. ‘You should stay away from her. She needs all her concentration to master her powers.’

  Zorne pretended to contemplate his words in the way he imagined Trimble would have. I see him as a loyal man, quietly reassuring to those around him. ‘Perhaps my friendship will anchor her?’ he suggested, pleased at the seafaring terminology in his response.

  Vyre sniffed, ‘It’s your life,’ and stalked away.

  Is he jealous? Zorne wondered. Relationships were a mystery, but perhaps Vyre desired the witch? They were of a kind, even if they often argued.

  Perhaps that’s something I can exploit?

  He found himself gazing at Kemara and when she saw, he tried a smile – and she responded in kind. Perhaps she was softening? I’ll be her blind spot – and then the dagger in her heart.

  Part Three

  Ancient and Always

  1

  Poumahi

  ‘It’s a poumahi,’ Mater Varahana announced, examining the carved arch over the steaming river. ‘It’s an Aldar word – it’s got two meanings. In this case, it signifies a kind of totem, like those the Krodesh use to mark their territory.’

  Raythe, Vidar, Kemara and Elgus studied the relic. ‘What’s the other meaning?’ Raythe asked.

  ‘Ghost-watcher.’

  That wiped the smile from Jesco’s face.

  It had taken Raythe three days to catch up with the expedition and move everyone off the glacier and across the frozen lake into the dead forest. He prayed the survivors crawling home didn’t make it, but had to admit that bloody-minded persistence was a defining characteristic of the Bolgravian Empire.

  The brief spell of fine weather had given way to fog and low cloud which rendered the world a grey blur. But they’d been hearing bird-life, and some had even glimpsed the giant birds that had attacked Zar and Banno; in the daylight they looked to be flightless.

  ‘Whoever left it here is as dead as this forest,’ Elgus Rhamp said. ‘Let’s use it for firewood.’

  ‘No,’ Raythe replied, ‘there’s plenty of dead wood without destroying such an ancient artefact. Pass the word down the column: no one touches these things. Vidar, have the scouts returned?’

  ‘Foaley got back in an hour ago,’ the Norgan ranger replied. ‘He says there’re no trails, but the undergrowth died away a long time ago, so it’ll be easy to pick our path. He found three more of these poles with faces, by the way.’

  ‘Perhaps they mark a trail?’ Raythe suggested. ‘Regardless, we’ll follow the river as best we can. I’ve found istariol traces in it: the motherlode’s upstream and it can’t be far.’

  They reacted with subdued excitement: they could almost taste success, three months after leaving Teshveld and the empire behind.

  ‘We’re a hundred miles north of Verdessa and the last imperial outpost,’ he reminded them. ‘There’s no one out here and anything we find is ours. We just need to keep together now.’

  ‘For a change,’ Kemara put in.

  ‘Aye,’ Vidar agreed, ‘everyone must keep in sight of another wagon. We’ll travel as fast as our slowest wagon.’

  There was a chorus of agreement and Raythe added, ‘And if we find anything odd, I want to see it. I’ll be with the vanguard today – I need to ensure the river is still carrying istariol. We don’t want to bypass the place we need through carelessness.’ He watched them process that. ‘Any questions? Then let’s get underway.’

  *

  ‘Can you feel it?’ Kemara murmured to Beca, stroking the mule’s mane to encourage her as she tugged the cart up out of another dip, following the wheel ruts left by Relf Turner’s wagon. ‘It’s getting warmer and drier.’ She scratched between the mule’s ears. ‘You’ll appreciate that, won’t you, girl?’

  They’d spent the day slowly crawling through the murky forest, but now they’d started climbing and the forest was coming to life around them. The riverbanks rose several feet above the surface and the water was running faster, but despite the ascent, the air was no colder.

  ‘Are you talking to your mule?’ a merry voice asked and Zarelda appeared from the mist.

  ‘Of course,’ Kemara chuckled. ‘Beca won’t go anywhere without being asked nicely.’

  Zarelda glanced at Moss in the driver’s seat, wrapped in blankets. He waved, but she ignored him.

  ‘He’s an imperial,’ the girl muttered. ‘Watch out for him.’

  ‘He was pressganged,’ Kemara replied, ‘and right now I’m grateful he’s recovered enough to drive, because Regan Morfitt’s going to give birth any day now and I can’t drive and midwife at once.’

  ‘Even so,’ Zar muttered. ‘How’s poor old Veet?’

  ‘No better,’ Kemara sighed. ‘His lungs are just about gone and nothing I try is working.’

  A fully trained healer-sorcerer would know a way, she thought bitterly, but she was insufficient to the task and Vyre knew little more.

  She put that aside with an effort, and asked, ‘How’re your praxis lessons going?’

  ‘Dad’s too busy for me,’ Zar grumbled, ‘but I can reach it easier and easier. What about you?’

  Kemara frowned. ‘I’m too busy too.’

  Clearly Vyre had kept his promise not to tell anyone about her mizra ‘problem’, so she wasn’t about to. She could just imagine the conversation. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m a witch and by rights should be burned alive’ wasn’t a great opening line.

  ‘I don’t know how you can think about other things,’ Zar exclaimed. ‘Magic’s more important than anything.’

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘my patients are.’

  Just then, Veet Brayda coughed weakly, then fell silent.

  ‘One day, I’m going to find a spell that fixes pneumonia,’ Zar declared, then added, ‘Best get on. Vidar has us running perimeter patrols and I’ve got this flank.’ She waved and trotted away.


  ‘Bright girl,’ Moss commented.

  ‘She is,’ Kemara replied. ‘How’s your back holding up?’

  ‘I’m getting by,’ Moss answered laconically, ‘but I don’t think Veet’s breathing.’

  Oh krag . . . Kemara walked back as Moss reined in, peered into the cart and flinched. Veet was lying open-eyed, blood drying on one corner of his mouth. She reached in to feel his pulse, then let out a heavy breath. ‘Aye, he’s gone.’

  ‘Do we bury him here?’

  ‘No, we’ll wait until we camp tonight. Least we can do is give those who knew him a chance to say farewell.’

  Moss made the Sign of Gerda and she closed Veet’s eyes and covered him, thinking, How many have died on the road, so far? Eighteen? Twenty? And the worst is probably yet to come. ‘Deo take his soul,’ she murmured.

  ‘Aye,’ Moss said, then he clicked his tongue and Beca heaved the cart into motion again.

  ‘That damned beast obeys you better than me,’ she grumbled.

  ‘It’s my charm,’ the Pelarian sailor replied. ‘And my gentle touch.’

  She rolled her eyes at him and snorted, but found herself concealing a smile as she walked back to her place beside Beca. It’d been a long time since a man had made her smile, but Moss could. He was steadily clearing her hurdles, though he still had a way to go.

  Then she heard an agonised wail from the Morfitts’ wagon, just ahead.

  Oh Gerda, she groaned. She went for her birthing gear, thinking that while Veet’s death was sad, life kept on begetting life.

  *

  Hunger woke Zarelda on a frigid morning where the steaming breath of men and beasts hung over the camp like ground mist. But after the austerity of the trek up the glacier, hope now sustained them too.

  Today, we’re going hunting.

  Her father was already awake, as always, discussing the food supplies with Jesco and Vidar. She gave them a vague wave and went to pee, squatting over the trench beside a village girl who might as well have been a different species entirely, dressed neatly as she was in her cotton dress and ribbons.