‘Merryn, I’m here, I’m going to get you out…’ she crouched beside her and took Merryn’s hands, squeezed them, rubbed the skin as though she could bring her sister back from the greyness that she was trapped in. Merryn was so slight, the drugs had taken a powerful effect already. Her sister could barely focus, could not speak.
‘I’m here Merryn. Be patient, be brave, I won’t leave you. I’m here for you. You just have to wait a little longer, but I’m going to get you out.’
‘That’s your great plan?’ Rian’s voice cut like a knife. ‘Be patient, be brave?’ she laughed and flung something at Orla. The wire. Slick with blood. ‘Better you cut her throat now, yourself. That is the greatest mercy you could show.’
Orla threw the wire on the floor and stood. A surge of anger flowed through her. She thought of Din and how he had died. She thought of Joseph, so broken, so sad, who she would never see again. She thought of her mother, the look on her face as the Confessors had taken Merryn from their home. She thought of the boy who’d been killed just a moment ago, before her eyes. All the ugliness and injustice that framed her world, and the silence: all the things she knew but hadn’t said. All the things she’d wished to do and hadn’t done.
‘Don’t talk to me of mercy,’ she said, the words low, but low as the rumbling quake that precedes the collapse of cities. And then, she felt it, a surge of darkness flowing from the centre of her chest, flowing out at Rian, at the Penitents, at the guards and the Confessors, and a shudder as the stones themselves shifted in response.
‘Orla?’ Merryn’s voice beside her brought her back. Her sister was looking up at her with a confused, frightened expression.
Rian sobbed and clutched at her throat. Orla let go, she released whatever force it was she had summoned and felt the world return to the shape it was intended to take. She tasted blood in her mouth, salty and sharp. Then there was the sound of footsteps and banging on the door outside and then it burst open.
‘Now you’ve done it,’ Rian said hoarsely, still rubbing at her throat. And suddenly the room was full of light and a dark figure was striding forward. It was Piroxi.
‘It was her,’ Rian said, her voice trembling with terror. Orla saw her changing before her eyes, becoming plainer, less noticeable, less. ‘I couldn’t stop her. I don’t know what she did.’
‘You,’ Piroxi cried, turning on Orla. ‘You dare to enter the Vaults and practise the forbidden arts?’
Orla’s heart was racing. She spoke quickly. ‘You came to my house and you took my sister Merryn. It was a mistake. It was me you should have taken. I’m mage-born. I can… do things, hear things. I can hear people’s thoughts. Merryn is nothing. It’s me you want, not her.’
And slowly, Piroxi smiled.
‘Oh that is good. Very, very good. A mage-born. I have not seen one for some time. Jexen believed they were all gone but I had never doubted they remained, in hiding like snakes curled under a woodpile. And now one has slithered out into the open before us. Guards? Take her to a cell. This one I will question myself.’
‘And my sister? You have to let her go…’ Orla cried desperately as she felt the guards surrounding her and tightening their grip on her arms.
‘It seems that now I have you both, as must be the God’s will…’
Chapter thirteen
The guards pushed her through the doorway and closed the door after her. She heard the heavy bolt clicking into place.
Orla stood and looked around. The cell was empty, the walls and floor of bare grey stone. A small grate high up let in a suggestion of light and fresh air. Orla cursed as she saw it. It was too small and too far away. There was no way out. She had given herself away. She had not rescued Merryn. She had – what? She wasn’t sure what had happened, or what she had done, but it was something she’d never done before.
She had to think.
She walked to the far wall and sat, leaning against it, and closed her eyes. She didn’t know how long she’d have until Piroxi came to question her. And she didn’t know what would happen then, though the memory of Rian’s shattered face haunted and sickened her. She had tapped into some form of power… if she could just do whatever she had done again, if she could control it, direct it, maybe it would give her a way out?
She swallowed. Even if she could somehow stun or injure Piroxi, or even kill him, she still had to get to Merryn, and she wouldn’t know where her sister had been taken. And then she’d have to get them both out through a maze of corridors and stairs, past easily a hundred guards and Confessors who would all be on alert now. She still felt weak and shaken from her earlier effort. Whatever it was she’d done, she wouldn’t be able to do it again any time soon.
She needed to rest. She needed food and water. And she needed something to soothe her head, which was starting to throb as badly as if she had her own personal drummer pounding just behind her eyeballs.
Then, in a rush, she sensed somebody coming. Whoever it was, they were paralysed by a piercing terror. She pressed back against the wall. The fear was contagious. Already her heart was racing; she began to sweat.
She heard footsteps and then, below the terror which almost masked everything else, she sensed Piroxi, and one, maybe two other people. Their thoughts were muted. They were unconcerned by whatever was taking place before them, almost bored by it. How was that possible, she wondered? How could people be confronted by such suffering and feel nothing?
The door opened.
Piroxi stepped in first, then stood to one side and allowed a pair of guards to enter. Between them they held a figure, hands bound before them so they had to be half-dragged, half-carried. A sack covered their head.
For a moment Orla felt as though she were suffocating. She could taste the sacking, could feel the tightness of the bindings… She shook her head to clear it.
‘I have decided your coming to me now can only be a gift of the God Assayn,’ Piroxi spoke in a low voice. ‘For weeks we have been questioning this most valuable suspect. We believe they are connected to the Dryuk insurgency. We believe they know the whereabouts of the Dryuk base here in Ekenshi. They hold information of critical importance to our fight against the Dryuk. And no matter what we do, they refuse to speak. This is a problem.’
Orla looked away.
‘Guards, leave us please,’ Piroxi’s voice was low and emotionless.
The guards shuffled out, leaving the bound figure kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room.
‘I believe that you want to do right, Orla, despite the perversion of nature you were born to. It would take courage to enter the Vaults. You must love your sister very much. And maybe there is something to what you say. Maybe there was some… confusion. Maybe it was you that we should have taken and not her.’
Orla knew he was playing her. She could sense the counter-current of his intentions, running against the soothing flow of his words. She said nothing.
‘The tools that we have been using up until now to gain information are so... coarse. So blunt. But you – you tell me you can read minds…’
Then in a swift movement, Piroxi lifted the bag and pulled it off. Beneath it was a young man. His hair had been shaved, his skin was pale and shadowed with yellow, purple and grey. Old bruises and new bruises. There was a smear of dried blood below his nose. He blinked and then stared, a fierce and defiant gaze. His eyes reminded her of Din’s. Orla knew that the man was confused, exhausted and terrified, but he showed none of that.
‘You can save him, Orla. We do not wish to inflict pain. We take no joy in it. If you can find the answers to the questions we have been asking, then we will not need to resort to… harsher means.’
The man stared at Orla and Orla allowed herself to meet his gaze.
‘You will let him go?’
‘Of course,’ Piroxi said quickly.
‘And Merryn?’
‘We will reconsider the charges against her. It may be that there have been some human errors…’
Or
la paused. She remembered the horror that was Rian’s face. If she could save one person from such a fate…
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘But you must unbind him.’
Piroxi hesitated, then reached for the blade at his side, and in one deft movement cut the ties that held the man’s wrists.
‘We need to know three things: the name of his leader, the place where they are hiding, and the word which will allow us entry there.’
Orla nodded. She felt Piroxi almost shiver with anticipation.
‘I’m sorry,’ Orla said to the man before her, then reached across and took his hands, which were already bruised and bleeding. The shift was dizzying. For a moment there was nothing but pain, the excruciating ache of his injuries. Then mages, thoughts, memories poured through her, many making no sense at all. She’d never used her gift this purposefully before. She tried to keep the questions in mind but it was hard, the rush of information and the intense emotions the man was experiencing confused and overwhelmed her.
The name of his leader.
The place where they are hiding.
The word that allows entry.
She tried to rein her thoughts in, to direct them, to focus, search. And then, with the kind of satisfying sensation she got from solving a puzzle, she saw it. The answers. She let go of the man’s hands, gasped. Her head was pounding fiercely now, and the pain behind her eyes was stabbing. She felt sick and she dripped with sweat.
‘Fara Bilin, he’s hiding in the caves on the slope of Ekan-Eretrai, and the code word is… is…’
She shuddered. She’d had it for a moment and now it was gone. There was only blankness.
‘I need to know, Orla, or I will have to consider you as not having fully cooperated,’ Piroxi’s voice was soft, but heavy with threat.
She closed her eyes and reached again with her mind, even as the pain increased, the pressure in her head threatened to push her over into blackness.
‘Kestrel,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s the word that will let you pass for one of them. Kestrel.’
Piroxi exhaled, a fine hiss that unravelled between his teeth.
‘Wait,’ he said. He walked to the door and opened it. ‘Guards,’ he called.
Orla shivered.
The man turned, stared at her. His eyes were bloodshot.
‘What are you?’ he said, and she felt his horror.
The guards entered the room again.
‘Beyren, it is done,’ Piroxi said, and turned away. In a single, swift movement, the guard unsheathed his sword, and drew it across the man’s neck.
The prisoner shuddered, and fell.
Orla felt a rush of energy move through her. In an instant, the pain that she had felt, the exhaustion, was all gone. She felt clear. At her feet, the blood was pooling.
‘Wait – you said – you promised…’ she protested.
‘Did I, Orla? You read minds. You must have known that I had no intention of allowing this pestilence to live once I had what I needed from him, which was confirmation of your powers. We had already extracted the information we required from him through our usual methods. But what took us weeks, you accomplished in moments. If you chose to ignore what you knew so as to better serve your own purposes, then that is a matter for your conscience, not mine. Guards, clean this up, then take Orla to her cell.’
Piroxi stepped over the recumbent body and strode from the room.
Chapter fourteen
The guards pushed her into an empty cell and her legs gave way beneath her. She collapsed and did not struggle, even when one of the men aimed a kick at her. She lay, curled in a ball, until they left.
Worse than the pain and the stench and the darkness was the thought of what she had just done. Even worse than that was the thought of Merryn, here, in this nightmare place, unprotected; Orla had seen enough of Piroxi’s mind to know that there was no reason for him to keep her and release Merryn when he could have them both. He did not give prisoners up willingly, not until they had met the punishment the God decreed.
Orla closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists, holding in a scream.
Merryn, her Merryn: there had to be something she could do to help her. There had to be something.
So far she had done nothing but blunder from one mistake to another, barely pausing to take a breath let alone to think what her next move should be. Now there was nothing she could do but think.
But even as she tried she realised she was exhausted. She had nothing left. Even as she tried to stay alert, to listen, to plan, she couldn’t stop the drift into sleep.
✤
She woke in the dark to the sound of footsteps approaching and raised voices. Her heart raced. Was Piroxi coming back for her? Was it time for her punishment to begin? She listened carefully, tried to make out words, to get some indication of what was going to happen next. They were right outside her door.
‘Through here–’
The door burst open and light flooded her cell.
A tall thin man with wild red hair entered, and a Confessor Orla did not recognise stood a few steps behind him. Orla sat up and pulled her knees to her chest.
‘This is her?’
‘It is, my Lord.’ Orla had never heard the Confessors sound deferential before, never without that tone of cold sarcasm that served to underline their utter lack of respect for everything and everybody.
‘Doesn’t look like much.’
‘We do not yet know the extent of her powers. But they will not be reflected in her appearance. If you give us time…’
The man snorted. ‘Of course. If we’d given you time you’d have undertaken a full investigation and reported your findings back to the Palace as requested, I have no doubt. I think we can consider this a short-cut to that process, yes?’
The Confessor bowed slightly. ‘I would counsel caution,’ he began. ‘Piroxi will not be pleased. We have the experience and the expertise–’
‘Right. If I want somebody tortured until they confess to something that is utterly untrue, and then tortured some more, I’ll send them your way. In this instance I think we’ll take a different approach. Can you walk?’
He turned to Orla, held her gaze. He was strange-looking; his hair so bright, his skin pale and flushed, his eyes a vivid blue.
‘I… I think so,’ she said.
‘You won’t have to walk far anyway. There’s a carriage waiting just outside.’
She saw the Confessor who had been speaking frown, his mouth a tight line of unspoken anger. She didn’t understand. Was this some kind of trick? Were they testing her?
‘I can’t… My sister… they might free my sister if they have me to take her place.’
‘Well they can’t have you. You’re property of the Crown. Come.’
He indicated for her to rise.
‘But the Confessors…’
‘Have been very helpful, as I don’t doubt the King will note.’
Orla tried again. ‘No, my sister, you don’t understand, she hasn’t done anything wrong…’ she felt her eyes filling with tears. She didn’t know who this man was or what he wanted but the only thing she had achieved, if you could even call it that, was to be in the same place as Merryn. She couldn’t leave her here alone. If Orla was taken now without Piroxi’s consent surely Merryn would suffer the consequences?
‘I don’t doubt your sister’s innocence, but that doesn’t do much to distinguish her from the three hundred and sixty-seven other Penitents within these walls, does it?’ the man said evenly.
‘But they have to let her go...’
‘You will have the chance to raise it with the King. Come.’ He stared at her fiercely and held out a hand. She took it without thinking – she was weak and in pain. At the contact she heard his voice, urgent and desperate, as clear as though the words were spoken into air: I cannot hold them off much longer. Piroxi is on his way. He will not permit me to take you. We must leave now if you or your sister hope for any chance of survival.
<
br /> She took a sharp breath and released his hand.
‘Please help her,’ she said. ‘Her name is Merryn Grimstal. She’s being held here. Somewhere. Bring her with us.’
‘I’m afraid that is beyond my power,’ the man said. ‘But as I have said, you will have the opportunity to raise your sister’s imprisonment with the King himself. That offers her a greater chance than if you remain a prisoner here with her, wouldn’t you say?’
Orla looked at the man. He was right. She could do nothing to help Merryn when she was trapped in this cell.
‘You are agreed then? Good,’ the man said quickly. ‘Let us go.’
The black-cloaked Confessor stood aside.
‘Brother, you have been most obliging,’ the red-haired man said, smiling broadly at him. Orla felt the Confessor bristle. ‘Really your reputation for treachery and obstruction appears quite inaccurate. I shall make sure the King knows.’
✤
‘Quickly please,’ the man said to the carriage-driver as he supported Orla’s arm and helped her climb in. Orla had never been in a carriage before. She’d never even seen one in the Metkaran – not one like this anyway, with ornately carved wood and heavy velvet curtains and actual cushions inside. She felt as though she’d fallen into a dream.
The man climbed in beside her, pulled the door shut, and they began to move.
Orla felt numb. She wanted to cry.
‘I imagine you’d like to know how I found you?’ He didn’t seem to require a response, continuing on despite her silence. ‘There are those who serve the King’s purposes still within the Vaults. They have been instructed to look out for one such as yourself. And fortunately for you I was in Ekenshi this week on business of my own when word of your disclosure was sent.’
‘What do you mean?’ Orla said, dully.
‘Come, you don’t have to pretend with me. Not after you have declared yourself publicly to the Uruhenshi Brethren at large. You are a mage-born. Specifically, one with power to sense thoughts and feelings. A Reader.’
The Dying Flame Page 6