Fate

by Mary Corran

  ‘When was this?’

  Alys leaned back, closing her eyes to facilitate memory. ‘It would be after the war — after Omen fell. I remember that, because my mistress lost a brother in the city and was worn out with weeping, and I thought it a good thing she should have a child to care for, to take her mind from her own grief.’

  Then it was true. Menna was Vallis! Although it was what she had hoped, it was still a shock to find proof of it. Asher exchanged a look with Mylura. ‘Did Menna ever speak of her own mother, of any other family?’

  ‘Did she?’ The old woman’s voice sounded weaker, worn thin by emotion or weariness. ‘She cried, poor mite, I remember that. Night after night they’d dose her with poppy-juice to make her sleep. Dreams she had, too. I sat up with her, for she’d wake, crying as if her heart would break, until at last the Councillor had to ask his diviner to take a hand, for the poor thing was growing thin and pale. That was a man called Truin, not this one.’ Alys gave a dismissive sniff. ‘After that she was better, but she still had dreams.’

  ‘Can you remember what she dreamed?’

  Alys wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘A bird, I think.’ She nodded, plainly pleased to recall so much after the intervening years. ‘That was it — she said she dreamed about a big bird, and that she wanted to fly, but had no wings.’ A note of reminiscence entered her voice. ‘A hawk.’

  Asher felt a hard jolt run through her. ‘Mylla, we must go.’ The warning was too strong to ignore, patterns crowding to the forefront of her mind.

  ‘But we can’t.’ Mylura gestured at Alys, who had closed her eyes and looked nearly asleep.

  ‘Now. Don’t argue.’ Her voice sharpened with tension. ‘We have to get out of here. Now.’

  Mylura removed the empty wine cup from Alys’ lax grasp and put it on the table; the delay was torture to Asher, who could see patterns of warning in her mind, choices being closed off.

  ‘Farewell, Mistress Alys, and thank you.’ She stepped back, pulling Mylla with her.

  ‘What is it?’ Mylura asked, as she closed the outer door to the apartment. ‘What’s so urgent.’

  ‘We have to leave.’ She struggled to stay calm. ‘Mylla, Lassar was watching us. I felt it. We have to get away, at once. Mistress Alys will be safe enough.’

  ‘Where?’ Mylura made no further protest.

  ‘Carob’s. It’s closest.’

  At the foot of the stairs Asher hesitated, then passed the portress’s open door and peered out into the street. There was no one there.

  ‘Quickly. I don’t like it here. It’s much too quiet,’ she whispered.

  The prickling of her skin told her Lassar still had her under observation, but for the moment Asher was less afraid of that than of the prospect of other watchers close by, of physical danger. The sight was of short duration, requiring great concentration, or so Omond said; but where was Lassar? Near, or far off on the other side of the city?

  Then the prickly feeling was gone, but the oppressive silence of the street remained, making Asher feel that behind the closed shutters hid a pair of sharp eyes, keeping them under secret observation. Taking Mylura’s hand, she began to run; it might be nowhere was safe for them now, but Carob’s was at least near.

  It seemed a long way to the inn; as she opened the door to the women’s room and stepped inside, Asher quickly scanned the faces of the women present, but most were familiar.

  ‘Cass, have you paper and ink?’ she asked urgently. The slave-woman nodded and departed in search of both.

  Mylla raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to write to Mallory and tell him what we’ve learned. Just in case.’ She found her hands were shaking, and here, in the inn, felt no safer than in the old nurse’s apartment; all the patterns in her mind were still set at warning, warning. ‘Someone else should know what Alys told us.’

  She sat at a corner table and waited for Cass, who appeared shortly bearing paper, a block of ink, and a pen.

  ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’ she asked helpfully. ‘You’ve only to ask.’

  ‘Yes.’ Asher was already wetting the ink. ‘Could you deliver this letter — not tonight, but in the morning?’

  Cass frowned. ‘Well, surely, Carob won’t mind. Is something wrong, Asher?’

  ‘I don’t know. This is only a precaution. I’ll put the name of the person I want it sent to on the front, but please — don’t mention this to anyone but Carob.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She hesitated. ‘You look very pale. Can I get you some ale?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She was already writing a verbatim account of the interview with Alys, eager to get it all down on paper before Lassar should seek her out once more. Cass and Mylura let her be, talking quietly together, for business was slow and there were few customers waiting to be served.

  Avorian knows. The thought was terrifying in its implications; Asher steadied her shaking hand and continued her account. Before, they had suspected, but now they knew. She did not share Mallory’s hope that he had taken Vallis for any noble motive; he had no reason to continue to conceal her when all Darrian was looking for her, and none to keep her ignorant of her own identity. ‘Wings bound and flightless, layered in forgetfulness.’ Avorian’s diviner had made the girl forget who she was, forget everything except what he told her. While she was a child, it could have been done for her own safety, but not now, with her father the Dominus dying, and herself a woman grown.

  He will try to kill us.

  It was a certainty that kept her writing for a long time, adding her own feelings of doubt to the epistle. This was Avorian’s city; if he wanted them disposed of, it would be simple enough.

  She waved the last sheet of paper to dry it and realized the warning patterns in her mind had not altered, despite her precautions; frustratingly, she could not see precisely where the promise of danger lay, only that it was almost impossible to avoid. Should they stay at the inn? But that would place Cass, and Carob too, in danger, for the inn was by no means impregnable, and there was the letter to consider. But if they left the shelter of the women’s room, they were all too vulnerable.

  She cut off that line of thought; there was no profit in panic. Mentally, she tallied the counts against Avorian from the information she and Mylla had gathered: he had adopted Vallis, he had stolen her, he was making up the Tribute shortfall, he was ambitious but had no children of his own, and could have none.

  He means to marry her.

  Her impulsive observation to Mistress Alys had been the truth, not the lie she had thought it. Nothing else explained his actions. He intended to marry Vallis. He meant her to fulfil the prophecy, but for his own ends, to rule through her authority. Swiftly, she added her conclusion to the bottom of her last page to Mallory. She felt ice-cold. Fourteen years he’d waited. If he had meant well, he would have told Vallis who she was and allowed her to grow up in full knowledge of her destiny. The meaning of the Oracle became crystal clear to her. Avorian had bound Vallis, to himself, and would bind her closer still unless he could be stopped.

  ‘Finished?’

  She looked up to find Cass and Mylura standing over her. ‘Yes.’ She folded the pieces of paper and wrote Mallory’s name on the blank side. ‘Do you know where to take this?’

  Cass peered at the name. ‘I’ll go first thing in the morning,’ she promised. ‘Do you want me and Carob to know what’s in it?’

  ‘No!’ Asher said vehemently. ‘And I wouldn’t even ask you to do this if I had any alternative. Mylla, we must go. Are you ready?’

  She nodded. ‘If you want. Come with me to Jan’s house; it’s closer than the hostel.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Asher bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to bring trouble to your cousin.’ Her gift had deserted her, but not before she saw that there was no greater safety in leaving than in staying where they were.

  ‘He won’t mind.’ Mylla seemed calm, but Asher could tel
l she, too, was nervous, lowering her voice. ‘You were right, weren’t you, in what you said to Mistress Alys? He wants to marry her.’

  ‘Yes. Or it makes no sense.’

  ‘Then we’d better hope he can’t find us.’

  Outside, it had grown dark. Again, Asher looked warily from side to side in the light spilling from the open door, but the only man loitering in front of the inn paid them no attention, and when a young female voice called from the upper floor of a nearby tenement he looked up and shouted back, plainly a local.

  Mylla and Asher began the descent of the long flight of steps which was the quickest way to Jan’s house, but when they were only halfway down Asher looked back, alerted by some sound, to find three men coming slowly towards them. She turned forward to speak a warning to Mylura, and as she did so three more men appeared, as if from nowhere, at the foot of the stair. The trio stood, side by side, waiting.

  ‘Ash,’ Mylura whispered, sounding unexpectedly frightened, ‘that one, the one in grey — that’s Jerr. He’s one of Avorian’s men.’

  For a moment, her legs would not move. Asher stared in frozen disbelief at the men before and behind, seeing how easily and completely they had been trapped. The stair was too narrow to slip past whether they went up or down, and the odds were enormously against them in a fight. She went down one more stair, then stopped and screamed, as loudly as she could, the only thing she could think of doing; but the waiting men made no move, and no response came, no sound of running steps or hope of rescue. In the old quarter, many screams went unregarded after dark, when the residents knew it was wisest to ignore concerns not their own.

  All six men carried knives, held point outwards; Asher could now feel one at her back, digging into her ribs. The three at the foot of the stair waited until the others joined them, then the man Mylura had named jerked his head sideways; at once the two women were hustled down an empty street and left, into a doorway and along a short passage. It was all accomplished with quick efficiency and in an absolute silence more daunting than whispered threats or open violence.

  ‘Get down here.’ The man in grey pointed with his foot to a ladder emerging from a hole in the floor, obviously leading to a cellar. Asher hesitated, and he brought his knife up to her neck. ‘Now! Or die here.’ She descended, Mylura following, into an empty, damp, windowless room some twenty feet square, with a mud floor lit by two lanterns hanging from the ceiling beam.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she managed to whisper as Mylura set foot on the floor. ‘This is my fault.’

  ‘Not yours — Avorian’s.’ Mylura was chalk-white but composed, watching as the six men made a swift descent.

  ‘Split them up. Tie the older one to that beam, but don’t hurt her!’ The grey-suited man gave the instructions in a crisp voice; where the other assailants were almost indistinguishable in the drab waistcoats, loose shirts and breeches of labouring men, he was dressed in grey velvet, and his hands, in contrast to those of his companions, were elegant, the nails neatly clipped. His hair shone a bright gold in the lanternlight, and his long face was handsome, the nose thin and well-shaped, the mouth wide and upward-curving.

  Asher was drawn away from Mylura towards one of two wooden posts that supported the ceiling beam; rough hands bound her arms together around the post, immobilizing her. Mylura, looking suddenly very young, stood in a circle formed by the remaining four men, two staying by Asher.

  ‘If you want money,’ Asher called out, ‘take it. We’ve not much, but you’re welcome to it.’

  ‘Money?’ The man named Jerr smiled in her direction, as if surprised she could speak. ‘But if you have it, we’ll take it.’ She felt a hand at her side, seeking her purse and taking it from the pocket of her skirts.

  Jerr gestured again to his men, and one moved behind Mylura, taking her neck in his hands; the other two stood to either side, each taking an arm and holding it out at shoulder height so that she stood in the form of a cross. She struggled, and Jerr laughed.

  ‘You stepped in too many shadows tonight. What is it they say: “Four may keep a secret, if three of them are dead”?’ He turned to face Asher. ‘You’re lucky tonight. You get to watch. But if there’s another time, this will be you.’ He whirled, knife in hand, and took the neck of Mylura’s dress, slitting it and tearing it from top to bottom so that it hung loosely at her sides; leaning forward, he ripped away the wolf’s head badge and put it in his pocket. Mylura did not flinch but she wet her lips, owning a quiet form of courage that should have earned respect; in her place, Asher thought she could never have been half so composed.

  ‘Let her go.’

  Jerr swivelled his head slowly back to Asher. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because this was my idea, not hers. I can pay you — any amount you ask, if you let her — us — go.’ She had no qualms about promising Mallory’s gold; he would pay gladly for their release.

  ‘Ah, yes, your friend the Councillor.’ He nodded, raising her hopes, only to dash them a moment later. ‘He’s not rich enough, not to buy me. Not enough for me to betray my master.’

  ‘What is enough?’

  It was plain her persistence amused him, for he moved away from Mylura, much to Asher’s relief. ‘Nothing you can offer me, my pretty,’ he said softly. ‘ “Near’s my shirt, but nearer’s my skin”, or so they say. I’d not cross my master, not for all the gold in Darrian; not if I want to live to enjoy it. He’s not a forgiving man.’

  ‘ “Fish always stink from the head down”,’ Asher said, as disdainfully as she could, desperate to keep his attention on herself. ‘By my guess, you must be the tail!’

  His head jerked up viciously. ‘Gag her!’ he ordered one of the men. Obediently, the one on her left took out a filthy rag from a pocket and stuffed it in her mouth, half-choking her; it tasted vile. Jerr moved until he was standing in front of her, then put the point of his knife to her face.

  ‘I know what you’re trying. You hope to keep me from your friend here. But it hasn’t worked. I have orders not to hurt you, but none to prevent me harming her. Every word you’ve said, she’ll pay. And you’ll watch, and know.’ There was no expression at all in his eyes; to him, this was only a day’s work. ‘Watch,’ he whispered slowly. ‘Watch, and remember!’

  Asher tugged at her bonds, desperate to free herself, but could make no impression on them. Jerr returned to Mylura, waiting only an instant before lifting the tip of his knife and drawing it quickly down in a semicircle on one side of her face, then repeating the detail on the other. Blood began to stream from the shallow wounds, and Mylura let out a brief sigh. She kept her eyes on Asher, refusing to look at Jerr, who wiped his blade fastidiously on Mylura’s dress.

  Let that be all, Asher thought, trembling. It’s bad, but she can bear it; she’s the bravest person I know. Please, let that be all.

  ‘They say a woman cares most about her face,’ Jerr observed clinically. ‘But you don’t seem to. Why is that?’

  ‘What good would it do?’ Mylura answered stiffly. A drop of blood dripped from her chin on to Jerr’s hand, and again he wiped it away on her dress.

  ‘None,’ he agreed, moving the point of the knife down to her small breasts. ‘Perhaps here?’ The knife dug and curved, and Mylura cried out.

  No more! Asher choked. It was intolerable to be forced to observe another’s pain, an impossibility.

  ‘Better.’ Jerr stepped back to inspect his handiwork, seeming pleased with the effect. ‘And now, I wonder, where next?’ He fingered the tip of the knife. ‘Perhaps here?’ He aimed the blade at Mylura’s flat stomach, and laughed as she tried to move back out of range, pulling his hand at the last moment.

  ‘Kill me, Jerr, if that’s what you’re going to do.’ His laughter sent Mylura’s head back; eyes glittering brightly, she straightened. ‘If that’s what you’re paid to do. Who am I to deny the Fates, if this is their will? I’m not afraid of death ... ’

  ‘Ah, but death is easy. It’s dying you fear,’ he said softly, interru
pting her. ‘I can see it in you. Because you know, don’t you, that you don’t matter here? You’re only an object lesson for your friend, to teach her the value of silence.’ Mylura’s expression went stiff with the effort to hide her dismay, but Asher, who knew her well, saw her fear and was consumed by overwhelming guilt; it was her fault, hers not Mylura’s. She understood how Mallory must have felt when she was in Lewes’ hands, unable to halt the inevitable, powerless, as she was, to save a friend from pain. She kept her eyes on Mylura’s face, willing her to survive, to bear the unbearable, to let her know she was there, which was all she could do for her now.

  Jerr put up a hand to trace one of the cuts on Mylura’s face, almost a caress. ‘You’re not a beauty, girl, and never were. But that doesn’t matter to me or these men here.’ She went rigid, understanding him too well. ‘It’s what all women fear, isn’t it? You should be glad you won’t live long enough to care.’ He reached to grasp the top of her undershirt to tear it down, but she was ready for him and kicked out, catching him between the legs with her right booted foot, all her strength behind the blow. He screamed and doubled up.

  ‘Asher — make it worth it!’ Mylura was sweating, Asher saw, but knew exactly what she was doing; a quick death rather than rape and a slow one. She wished she could speak, any words at all, and found she was crying. She nodded, swallowing, a vile taste in her throat.

  Jerr straightened himself with an effort, still in obvious agony and with no further desire for his prey; Mylla had won herself so much. With one quick movement, he raised the blade and slashed it across her neck, slicing the main artery. Mylura’s face had time to register shock, but Asher, forcing herself to watch, saw that it was only brief; death was very quick, the light fading from her eyes in seconds.

  No.

  It was impossible to believe it had happened; that one moment she should be alive, the next gone. Sickness and guilt rose in Asher, and a hatred that burned more strongly than either. Avorian. She let the word burn a path to her will; he would pay, no matter what the cost, hatred taking root in her heart. He would pay. Even Jerr, his instrument, was less loathsome to her than the master, a secondary evil.