To kill Piroxi would give her the satisfaction she required, of course. But what would happen then? With Piroxi dead at the foot of the King, there would surely be no course left for the Uruhenshi but war against the Sond? And the Sond were not ready. If there was open conflict between Sond and Uruhenshi, the Seven Isles would be devastated.
Perhaps if Orla were to serve the King truly, to do what he had asked of her, it would give the Sond greater strength against the Brethren? It would be slower. Piroxi would walk away alive from this encounter. But if she could assist the King to regain his strength and begin the fight that was required, the whole Archipelago might one day be free of the darkness of the Uruhenshi.
She blinked. She could not afford to think like this, not now. There were too many questions, too much resting on hope and wishes. She thought back on what Mishi had said. That was how the King was viewed now: as broken, inadequate. He was not somebody who could be looked to to lead the Kingdom to freedom. To support him was uncertain, and on any rational balancing he was more than likely to fail. Whereas what she held in her palm – she fingered the tiny bottle again for a moment – that was definite.
But so many will die
It was Merryn’s voice, as clear as though she were standing beside her. Orla stopped and looked around. Someone was playing with her, they must be. But they were in an empty corridor lined by high, arched windows, and there was nobody else in sight.
‘Are you well, Orla?’
Roland had stopped too and was watching her closely.
‘Just nerves,’ she said, and attempted a smile.
‘All to be expected,’ Roland said, but she saw he continued to watch her and the look of concern did not leave his face.
Orla began to walk again, slower now, each step tentative, uncertain.
Please don’t do it, Orla. Please. She gasped. For a moment, the memory was as real as if she were living it. She could hear the rush of water; it had rained the night before. She could smell the dirty smoke of the rubbish fires. She stood on a high branch above the river. Merryn waited below, pacing anxiously. A small gathering of children watched. They had been taunting Orla for days, and so she had dared them to jump as she jumped, and the ringleader had agreed but she knew he was afraid. As he should be. Orla knew the river like they did not. There was a deep section, hidden amidst the flow and flurry of water. It was just there, not far from the tree. She would make it look easy. It would take care and precision, but if she lined herself up perfectly…
‘Orla, no!’
She looked down and saw that Merryn squinted up at her.
‘I’ll be alright,’ she called down, feeling the branch moving gently beneath her bare feet as the wind began to rise.
‘It’s not you I’m worried about…’
Orla looked across to Kerell, the boy who’d led the taunts. He was from the Metkaran as well. His clothes were as dirty and threadbare as their own, his hands as red and beaten up from work as theirs. She guessed that he went hungry two nights out of every three, that he stayed away from the house when his father started with the draak, that he picked on her because, of everyone in the world, she might be the only person he ever met who was lower. Apprenticed to the slaughterer. Mistrusted for her strangeness.
He deserves it, Orla thought. He needs to learn not to pick on those who can’t defend themselves.
The branch moved again, more dramatically this time. The whole tree moved. Orla shifted her footing and took a stronger grip to stay steady. She looked down. It was Merryn. She’d taken off her shoes and hiked her skirts up and she was climbing. And Merryn hated heights. Orla saw that determined look on her face she knew too well. She waited. What else was there to do? She looked across and saw Kerell looking anxious, trying to look tough, and a few of the kids talking in whispers behind his back.
‘What are you doing?’ Orla said, when Merryn finally reached the branch below the one she stood on.
‘If you’re jumping, I’m jumping,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘You expect him to do it; I’ll do it too.’
‘Merryn, you can’t!’
‘Of course I can,’ her sister smiled up at her sweetly. She had Orla and she knew it. Orla cursed under her breath. Finally, she held Merryn in a steady stare.
‘You’ve heard the things he says about us, day after day. You’ve heard how he is, always wanting to make the life of someone worse off than him more miserable than it already is. I’ll be helping him. Make him think twice next time…’
‘You jump, I jump,’ Merryn said again, unwavering.
‘No,’ Orla said, ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Then Kerell’s not jumping either. I’m not going to let you hurt him. Find another way,’ Merryn said.
Find another way.
✤
The door swung open.
Orla had expected something like the scene of the welcoming ceremony: rows and rows of people in formal dress, soldiers and guards and musicians, a mood of sombre excitement. Instead she found a few people sitting, silent, around a bare table.
‘Ah, here she is now,’ Aderon said lightly and everyone turned to look at her.
Orla bowed quickly.
Was he here? She hadn’t seen him at first glance. The King was at the head, Aderon to his right, an empty seat, her own she guessed, to his left. Along either side of the table were the Uruhenshi delegates. She scanned them quickly, looking for familiar faces. Neither Kendrid nor Piroxi appeared to be present. Her heart beat faster.
The High Commander was recognisable instantly by the cloak he wore, which was a heavy grey lined with vivid red silk. He had a thin face, pockmarked as though by some childhood disease, the scars drawing fine red lines that curved across his jaw to his ear. His close-shaven head was like a newly-furrowed field of dips and lumps, misshapen and strange. Orla forced her gaze away from it, and met his eyes. You might think him ugly until you saw his eyes. Then he just seemed terrifying. She sensed, without reaching out, something fierce and grasping in his gaze.
The door opened again behind her.
‘I think that is everyone now?’ The Commander said. Orla’s skin prickled. It was them. She could not mistake them. They were directly behind her, so close she could almost imagine she could feel their breath on her neck. She froze, unable to move, waiting for them to pass. Roland pressed a hand on her back, propelling her to shift from where she was standing, and directing her to the chair that awaited her. It wasn’t just the dress now, or the make-up. She felt as though she were frozen or made of wood, her movements stiff and awkward. Roland pulled the chair out for her and she sat, heat rising to her face.
They would recognise her. Surely they would recognise her.
You look the part. The King directed the thought to her. There was something different about him, she realised. Something in his tone that she hadn’t heard before. He was happy. He was actually happy. At last I make my move, and she inclined her head slightly to indicate that she’d heard. It was vital that nobody suspected, that nobody had any notion of who she was or what she could do.
Orla scanned the room once more, looking for Rashwin. His lean grey form was in its usual place, beside the fire, long snout tucked beneath his front legs.
‘I do not mean any disrespect, but some explanation as to how this meeting is expected to progress given the King’s obvious disability…’ The High Commander smiled as he spoke. No disrespect, Orla thought, wanting to spit at him. They did not know the meaning of respect. Everything they did was lacking in it.
‘I am the King’s Voice,’ Aderon said. ‘I will speak on his behalf.’
Bloody pantomime, she heard the King’s restless thought. You are supposed to be scribing, child. At least try to look like you know how to hold a brush. Orla startled and looked down. Sure enough, before her there was a parchment, a fine segmented brush, a small pot of black. She almost laughed at the irony of it. Up until a few months ago she wouldn’t have known
which end of the brush should meet the page and now she was expected to pass as formal scribe at a Treaty Council meeting?
I hope you are listening.
And she realised that, for the first time, she was supposed to be using her powers. She was supposed to be listening and sensing, not just the King, but everyone. She shivered slightly, a wave of hungry anticipation washing over her. She could do this. She wanted to do this. It was what she was born for, she thought, a rush of power surging through her with each heartbeat.
Aderon had begun speaking but she didn’t listen to his words. They were irrelevant. She looked from one to the next of the Uruhenshi delegation. She would still have to be careful, of course. She might have the King’s permission, but she certainly didn’t have that of those she was investigating.
She resisted the temptation to turn directly to Kendrid or Piroxi. She didn’t want to do anything to bring herself to their attention.
She focused on the High Commander, the He’kam in their language. Jexin Beyn he was called, though people rarely used his given name. It took a few moments. She had to take a couple of sweeps before she caught the strain of thought that was his.
There was a peculiar quality that she’d encountered a few times before, that Jexin Beyn also had. It was like he was hardly there. He was so focused, he had emptied himself out so completely in order to attend to the people and situation before him. He was pure observation: sharp, hard, definitive. She caught herself in his gaze, but only for a moment. He had quickly ruled her unimportant, and turned to the King and those surrounding him.
So few, and uncertain, see how they hold themselves carefully around him as though scared that he will break. See how he struggles to make himself understood, to have his wishes obeyed… Easy, this will be too easy. But why? He paused, silent, and around him the formalities that opened the negotiations continued to ring. It cannot be so easy. What am I missing?
‘It has come to the King’s attention that the terms of the Treaty have been extended somewhat through informal arrangements reached between the Uruhenshi Brethren and individual Council members…’ Aderon’s voice, usually so musical and engaging, droned almost as badly as toad-man’s did. It was a ploy, Orla guessed. Deliver everything in a flat monotone and leave them to guess how the King might respond on any particular issue. With luck, it might force them to reveal more than they otherwise might.
Crumbs. They sit on the edge, feet dangling, about to be pushed and they’re worried about the crumbs that they’re dropping. Orla felt Jexin restrain an urge to laugh that she would never have imagined from just looking at his face, which was serious and concerned.
‘The King hopes you understand that the terms that were agreed are generous in the extreme. Never before in the history of the Sond have we parted with three Ashkar ships. The delivery of the first last week opens a new era for the Uruhenshi, an era in which the far horizon, so long unknown, might now become reachable, dreams become realities. The King would have hoped that this would be sufficient to satisfy your requirements….’
‘But of course,’ Jexin interceded quickly, without so much as glancing at the delegation seated around him. ‘We are grateful in the extreme for the ship, which even now is making passage to the outer isles. The opportunity to extend the reach of the True Faith is a blessing of God as much as it is a gift of the Sond. But as you rightly claim your part in this, of course we thank you for it.’
‘And the additional payments?’ Aderon said, leafing through a pile of papers that sat before him.
‘If individuals within your Council wish to reach personal agreements with individual Brethren to ensure the wellbeing of their righteous brothers, I do not see that it is any business of the King…’
‘It is absolutely the business of the King. The signing of the Treaty was intended to create a binding agreement that would be both fair and lasting and provide a basis for peace and friendship between our peoples.’
‘I still don’t see…’
‘It may be different where you are from, but here, when Darkfall comes, the stockpiles that have been saved are all that sustains us for as long as it takes for the light to return. Animals die, plants wither, the very soil becomes hard and unyielding. The waters are poisoned, no fish swim. And the creatures that arise with the Darkfall wreak havoc beyond imagining. All who wish to survive must wait, and use whatever they have at their disposal. The Treaty will not hold should the Sond begin starving. The Brethen will be neither welcome, nor safe here.’
‘We appreciate your candour,’ Jexin said. ‘We believe that the God will provide for us, that he will keep the Darkness at bay, if we keep to his strictures.’
Orla sensed the King’s rage, unspoken beside her.
‘Nonetheless. It is true that perhaps decisions have been made that do not take into account the full extent of the shared circumstances in which we find ourselves. I will speak to the High Brethren and see whether there might perhaps be better methods to meet their requirements while they are doing important work here in the Archipelago.’
The door opened. Three servants entered, none that Orla had ever seen before, bearing trays carrying jewelled goblets and tall bottles.
‘Ah, well timed,’ Roland said. ‘Negotiation is thirsty business, is it not?’
The servants placed the trays on the table, then bowed and exited the room walking backwards, heads lowered.
‘Well, who’s pouring?’ Roland asked.
‘A moment,’ Aderon said, a little sharply. ‘I must confirm there is nothing further the King wishes to raise at this juncture.’
The King grunted.
I do hope this has been of some enlightenment to you Orla, she felt him whispering to her mind.
‘Let us record,’ Aderon turned to Orla. ‘Agreement that the additional payments shall end and the terms of the Treaty shall remain the binding scope of the relations between Uruhenshi and Sond.’
‘It is agreed,’ Jexin nodded.
Orla looked down at the page. She placed the brush in the ink and then began making the marks, slowly and carefully as Ged had taught her. As she let the line reel out from the tip of her brush like a fine black ribbon unwinding, she allowed herself at last, for a moment, to reach beyond Jexin to Piroxi.
Do you remember, she wondered? Do you even remember my sister or are there so many of us that you have tortured and maimed and killed that it is of no account to you now?
Piroxi’s mind was dull with tiredness and a black hatred that felt poisonous to touch. He hated his commander, she realised, but not as much as he hated the King, and everyone and everything that surrounded him.
Orla felt her hands sweating, a tremor rising from deep within her. She breathed, tried to steady herself. She couldn’t afford this now. She focused all her attention on the line that she was drawing. A single misplaced movement could destroy the entire work and she would have to start again. It would be more than embarrassing. For her to draw attention to herself was dangerous. She let go the thread that joined her to Piroxi and gave all of herself to the final few characters that set out the new agreement.
Done.
She exhaled with relief. It was as though some spell were broken. The delegates began to speak again. Roland commenced filling the goblets. The whole atmosphere of the room shifted, tension dispelled. She did not look up but sat, waiting for the anxiety that she’d buried deep to finally settle. And then she sensed it.
While everybody else had moved on, one pair of eyes remained on her. Kendrid. He was not certain, but something had sparked his interest. She sat still and quiet. She looked down at the parchment before her, and then she saw: her hands. Her hands. It had never occurred to her. Her right hand bore a distinctive scar, from where Joseph’s knife had slipped once and she’d almost lost a finger. She felt confident that she was unrecognisable in face and figure. She’d never wondered that, as she was scribing, attention would be on her hands.
But he had seen. And he suspected.
<
br /> This was her moment, she realised. Delegates were standing from the table, stretching, adjourning to speak in small, intense huddles in the corners of the hall. She stood too.
‘Well done,’ Roland said quietly beside her. ‘Nobody would think to see your work that you could barely scrawl the simplest characters just matters of months ago. Ged will be proud.’
Ged. Her heart throbbed. She had barely thought of him these past days, occupied as she had been with her own preparations. But even now he was out there somewhere, seeking information for her. The truest friend she’d ever had, she realised, and the only one she trusted.
In her hand she felt the tiny bottle that she had secreted away. The longing to act was even stronger now than the longing to see Ged one last time. She knew she could only put it off for so long.
Roland gave her a careful nod, then moved on to make polite conversation with a nearby Uruhenshi delegate.
Orla glanced quickly about the room. Piroxi was distracted, his goblet within reach. She had planned it, imagined it, and now she could see exactly how it might unfold.
Against the far wall, Rashwin groaned and shifted in his sleep.
The circumstances could not be more propitious. Then, as though she were picked up and carried by a powerful current, it all happened exactly as she’d been thinking, as she’d been planning. She felt herself seek the note and hold it and Rashwin sat up, shook his head in alarm, then began to howl. There was a moment of chaos in which everyone turned to see the source of the commotion, and in that moment Orla reached forward and added the drops to Piroxi’s goblet. It was as easy as that. And then it was done.
She was hardly sure that it had really happened.
And then the dog settled and everyone returned to their conversations, until Roland began making the customary banging of the bottle that indicated it was time to drink.
Orla watched as they filed back to the table. The leader was in close discussion with a thin, blank-faced young man who sat to his right. Piroxi and Kendrid and a dark-haired woman who had not been present earlier came back into the room together. And then, something that Orla had not imagined. Orla felt her mouth dry. No, this wasn’t the way it was meant to happen. It didn’t make sense. There was a fuss of politeness, as Kendrid offered the woman his seat, and then Piroxi offered Kendrid his seat and pulled a chair in closer to the leader. But that meant–
The Dying Flame Page 22