"You… You said we'd train today?"
No eye glared in the gap. Silas pushed the door. He regretted it in the same instant, tensed for a barrage of words or fists. But the door swung inward and the room lay empty. There wasn't even any baggage. No clothes or weapons littered the floor or table. A few creases in the sheets gave the only sign anyone had slept in the chamber.
Silas frowned. Was he late? Had he spent too long in his dormitory, waiting for her to send for him? Was Katrina fuming somewhere, wondering where that flabby fool of a trainee had got to?
He went outside. Deserted, just like the dorms. The others were off on their run. But hooves clopped through the stillness, and Silas headed towards the noise. He found a stablehand walking one of the stallions. The girl glanced at him.
"Er…" Silas groped around for her name. "Morning… love."
She stared. So did the horse. Silas resisted the urge to kick himself, and ploughed on before she decided to do it instead.
"Do you know where Mistress von Talhoffer is?"
"Her with the…?" She put a hand over one eye.
"Yeah."
"Went off with Master Gunnar and the rest of them. All the masters and mistresses."
"Huh? Why?"
"If it's not about the horses, they don't tell us, do they?"
"Oh. Right. Thanks."
The horse neighed. Silas stayed away from the animal's hindquarters as they trotted off, since he was still due a kick.
He walked the academy's grounds, unsure whether he should find Katrina or do some arms drills until she summoned him. Voices and the clang of iron drew him to the forge. A few of the servants gathered there, amid the heat and sparks. Their conversation died out when he approached. A couple of them nodded, and he nodded back. The blacksmith tapped a horseshoe into existence.
"Um…"
Silas looked around, but knew none of them by name. Some of the trainees referred to the smith as Double Black, on account of his profession and complexion. But if he didn't relish that nickname… The blacksmith's muscles rippled. Metal glowed and gave way beneath his blows.
"Mates…" Silas said. He mentally added a few more kicks to the tally, but they didn't lynch him. "Any of you know what the masters and mistresses are doing?"
"Meeting," a woman said.
She chewed on a bit of salted beef, and Silas waited for some seconds before he realised she was done talking.
"You not heard about Traverd?" the smith said.
Silas shook his head.
"Kharjis attacked. Last night." His hammer thudded. "Killed everyone. The whole village."
The smith held his gaze and didn't blink. Silas couldn't think of what to say. An entire village… gone. Slaughtered!
"Silas?" a girl's voice said.
"Yeah?" He turned around, glad for the excuse.
A young woman stood a few yards away from the forge.
"Helen!"
Silas swelled. Finally! Someone whose name he knew! Now these people would see he wasn't some stuck up twerp who thought servants were nameless, interchangeable, and… And everyone was staring at him, because he'd yelled her name like a battle cry.
"That's me." The maid curtseyed. She lowered her head, but it didn't quite conceal her smirk. The others sniggered. "You're to go to the quartermaster for weapons, before-"
"Oh. Sure." Silas hurried past her.
"…you leave."
"Yeah. I'll…" He stopped, turned. "Leave?"
"I've packed your clothes and supplies on the horse, but the quartermaster-"
"I'm leaving? Where am I going? I don't…"
She shrugged.
"Ask Morris. He might know."
"Morris…"
"The quartermaster."
"Right…"
His head spun. Leaving! Were they kicking him out? Had Gunnar and Katrina talked about what he did in the dorm, and decided…? But that didn't make sense. Not if they wanted him to collect weapons. The quartermaster wouldn't give sharp objects to rejects, so they could carve people up on their way out the door.
Morris loomed above his counter in the armoury building. Racks of swords, axes, and spears gleamed behind him.
"Morning, Silas."
"Uh… Morning." The greeting was so mundane, incredulity echoed around his skull. "I'm… Helen said I'm leaving."
"That's right. Here you go." He placed a bundle on the counter. "Something sharp, something blunt, and a sturdy belt."
Morris gestured, so Silas strapped the belt around his waist. The sword and iron bludgeon settled into place. Their weight dragged at him, but he was used to this. Weapons always felt heavy when you first put them on. It made sense, and right now it was the only thing that did.
"Where am I going?"
"Heard what happened? In Traverd?"
Silas nodded.
"The militia sent a bird. Message said they want one of our lot there. Katrina's going."
"And me?"
"You're her apprentice, aren't you?"
Apprentice. The word was heavier than the weapons.
"But… We haven't even trained together. We were going to…"
"You'll learn on the road. That's the whole point of apprenticing."
"But…"
"Don't keep her waiting. Usual place. Good luck, mate."
He held out his hand. Silas shook it, then made his way back towards the dormitories. By the time he got to where the horses waited, he barely noticed the sword or bludgeon at his sides.
Katrina von Talhoffer sat atop her steed. She looked down at him.
"Do you know where we're going?"
"Traverd."
"Good. Mount up."
Silas climbed into his saddle. A breeze swept through the space between the dorms. The other trainees were still off on their run. No… Not other trainees. He was an apprentice now, like Cryze. His innards scrunched up. No one was going to see him off. This was it. He'd be gone by the time they returned. No goodbyes, no hugs or kisses or exhortations. He wouldn't have to face Jonas and Lucy…
He looked at Katrina, tried to find something to say. But she just rode off. So Silas followed, and the clatter of hooves drowned out his thoughts.
***
When the darkness softened, Clara thought her eyes tricked her. But the roots, the barrier of leaves, the ice-girl who shivered in her arms, all took shape amid the shadows. Night should've lasted forever. How could there be anything after that? Yet day had dawned, and the universe swept her along.
"Sa…" Rayya's voice rasped and died. She shuddered, fought for breath, and tried again. "Sachin… Need to tell Sachin…"
A splutter stole the rest. It rattled in her throat, and the vibrations passed from her body to Clara's as though they could carry her meaning. Rayya coughed, wheezed.
"Water," Clara said. Then, after a few moments, "We're near the river…"
Rayya went still. Silence hardened around them. If they left their hiding place, if they went out there…
"It's okay," Clara said. Stupid words. Things would never be okay again. But she forced them out, and kept going. "They're gone."
She reached for the leaves. Rayya snatched at her arm.
"We have to." Clara clasped Rayya's hand, held it for a second, then moved it off her forearm. "You need water."
Rayya groaned but didn't stop her. Clara brushed aside the heap and marvelled that something so flimsy had shielded them. She peered out at the new universe that'd come into being, then crawled through the gap. Things poked her skin, dug at her bones. But they didn't matter. She turned around on her hands and knees, and helped her friend scramble out into the daylight.
Rayya toppled. Clara clutched her fingers and steadied her.
"Can you walk?"
She nodded. Clara kept hold of her, but she didn't crumple. They padded through the forest, moved from trunk to trunk, bush to bush. Their necks jerked at every sound. But no footsteps pounded. No voices cried out. They'd left those things in the night.
The burning, bloody night…
Water burbled. It grew into a rush that swallowed their footsteps by the time they glimpsed it through the trees. The river smothered Rayya's groan. Clara caught her when she fell, took her weight. Rayya clung to her and trembled. But even that was weaker than before, as though her body was too exhausted to even shake or sob.
Clara half-carried her into the nearest bushes and sat her down.
"It's okay. I'll bring you the water. It'll help."
Rayya's head moved, and it may've been a nod. Clara squatted beside her. It was like looking into a magic mirror, one that reflected the girl inside Clara Mandrake. The tired, shattered child. But somehow the skin and muscles wrapped around her could still go on. So Clara stood. Shoots stroked her cheeks, caught at her nightgown. She rustled through them and made her way down the slope to the bank.
Cool air enveloped her. Mud squelched underfoot, colder still. But her flesh burned. Maybe she had a fever? Didn't matter. Rayya. Water.
She scoured the bank for a minute or so before she found the right plant. The one the children all called cup-blooms. What was their proper, grown-up name again? She'd have to ask her mother. Oh…
The inner Clara wailed. The outer Clara took hold of its flesh and pulled. It tore. She grunted and seized its neighbour. This time she grasped it lower, a few inches down the stalk. She yanked. The stalk gave way, and the cup-shaped end stayed whole.
Clara padded and squelched her way to the water's edge. White flecks sprayed her shins, then splattered her face when she crouched. The river rushed by but left its blood on her cheek.
Blood…
She dipped the cup into the flow, turned it when the current tried to snatch it away. Clara drank. It tasted of nothing, though cup-blooms usually made everything sweet. But it spread through her body and quenched the distant thirst. She filled it again for Rayya.
Then Clara looked up and saw her, across the silver-blue expanse. A black woman knelt on the opposite bank and drank from cupped hands. She glanced up too. Breath hissed through Clara's lips. She wasn't black. Snakes writhed around the woman's arms and face.
Clara stood. So did she, and a sword swayed at her side.
A Kharji.
They stared at one another. Clara inhaled. The snake-woman couldn't get her, not with the river between them. She'd have to work her way around…
Clara Mandrake turned and ran. Water sloshed over the cup-bloom's lip and splashed her wrist. Mud caught at her toes. She grabbed a tuft of grass with her free hand, scrambled up the slope, sprinted.
"Rayya!"
Rayya Shimud's head snapped up and she yelped.
"Whuh?"
"Drink. Fast." Clara thrust the cup-bloom at her friend. "We need to go."
***
Katrina von Talhoffer signalled. Silas shifted his weight back in the saddle and coaxed the reins. His horse slowed to match the steed in front, and the drumming of hooves broke into a clip-clop. Silas held his breath. Maybe he could stay behind her, see out this walk-rest in silence, then-
She waved him forward. He sighed and nudged the animal's flank with his thigh. It turned, sped up.
"Other side."
"Oh. Yeah…" Blood rushed into Silas' face. "Sorry."
He aimed the horse in the other direction, and came alongside her on the left instead.
"In combat, you can fight on my blind side if you want. But talking in the saddle's easier this way."
"Sorry, Mistress von Talhoffer. I… I didn't think…"
"Katrina. You're an apprentice now, not a trainee."
"Right. Sorry."
Katrina. It clopped around his brain in time with the hoof beats. First-name terms with Katrina von Talhoffer! Cardew, Jocasta, and the rest would gawp when he addressed her in front of them! But Lucy and Jonas headbutted their way into his thoughts. Their glares melted his pride to sludge.
"Gunnar said you come from noble stock."
"Uh… Yeah…" He met her gaze, then looked away.
"Raised on fine dinners."
His cheeks pulsed, and all of a sudden he was that fat trainee again — the one the others mocked, till he threw a couple of them around.
"We had good cooks."
"The academy must've been a shock."
"I wasn't expecting banquets."
"You impressed him."
"Mas… Gunnar?"
"He didn't think you'd last a day."
"My family's rich, not weak."
Silas winced, and wished he could cram the words back into his mouth. But Katrina gave the slightest of nods.
"You're a third child?"
He managed a smile.
"My brother gets the title and the estate. Most of the rest goes to my sister."
"So you chose the academy."
"Yeah."
"If you're looking to bring a bit of glory to the family name, you won't find it in our work. Most days, we ride down dusty roads and talk to superstitious fools after something's scared them in the night. It's almost always a cat."
She turned and spat.
"When there is a real encounter, there's a good chance we'll die in pools of blood and shit."
Katrina fell silent, but her words echoed in Silas' head all the way to Traverd.
***
Their eyes met across the water. The girl stood there, barefoot. Only a nightshirt shielded her from the cold that rose off the river. Fahmaia thought of the laughing, boisterous children in the Kharji camp, and cursed herself. The poor thing must've shivered for hours.
The girl scurried up the slope. Hand and feet scrabbled in the mud like a mouse's paws. Fahmaia longed to go to her. One stroke of the blade, Allat's will and the mawlana's pity. But water rushed between them and the girl disappeared into the wood.
Fahmaia mirrored the child and made for the trees. Her muscles ached. Wounds throbbed. But her legs pumped, and she flew over the red-gold forest floor. If she cut across to-
"Help!"
The cry stole her speed.
"Goddess! Help!"
Momentum carried her forward a few paces, then died. Sayeeda's voice. One of her handpicked warriors. It came from deeper in the forest, the opposite direction. Fahmaia glanced towards the river. Her quarry was so close…
"Help!"
The mawlana swore. She couldn't abandon a fellow Kharji. And the girl wouldn't get far unshod. Her legs protested, tried to cling to their repose. But Fahmaia ran and they found the strength to propel her.
Sayeeda yelled again. This time a roar drowned out the woman's words.
Fahmaia froze at the edge of the tableau. Sayeeda clung to a branch high above. Crimson slathered her thigh, smeared the wood beneath her. And enraged the beast below.
The bear looked up at its prey. It bellowed again. The sound reverberated from tree to tree and through Fahmaia's bones. Those bodies at the edge of Traverd…
"Help!"
Sayeeda's eyes fastened on the bear. If she saw the mawlana, if she shouted to her instead of the forest and Allat, she gave no sign. Fahmaia's hand went to her belt. She'd seen a bear fight a lion. Even that fierce feline hadn't stood a chance. If the creature struck her, it'd shred her innards, tear her limbs off, crush her skull.
She drew her sword. Another blade might only nick its hide, scratch a slab of muscle, and doom her. But she wielded Allat's Earring now. Maybe, just maybe…
The bear rose onto its hind legs. Its fur rippled, frame stretched. It planted its front paws on the trunk, as though it would climb or else shove the tree and send it crashing to the ground.
Sayeeda was silent now. Fahmaia didn't look up, but imagined the woman's eyes on her. She crept forward. If she struck fast, before it knew she was there, and thrust deep into its vitals…
The bear's nose twitched. Its bulk twisted round and thudded back onto all fours faster that she'd have dreamt possible. Their eyes met. Fahmaia clutched the sword, braced for slaughter, and wondered which of them would die.
But the be
ar just stared, and she realised it was looking at her markings. The animal sniffed again. Its muzzle shifted from left to right, then scrunched up. The expression was so similar to a quizzical child's that she almost laughed. It took several steps backwards. Its eyes and nose pointed at her face for some seconds, even as its hindquarters turned, and only spun away at the last moment. The bear ran off.
Fahmaia exhaled and thanked Allat.
Sayeeda clambered down from the tree. She tried to put weight on the injured leg, and it buckled. Fahmaia took hold of her and examined the wound. Blood seeped along the woman's leg, soaked into the shreds of cloth at her knee.
"Thank you, mawlana. I…"
"Give me your shawl."
Fahmaia took the garment and bandaged her.
"We'll find one of the others," the mawlana said. "They'll take you to safety."
"But…"
"You're no good to the Goddess if you bleed to death."
"Forgive me, mawlana. I should've heard it coming. I should've…"
"Allat filled this world with creatures stronger and deadlier than us, to teach us humility. It's not your fault."
Fahmaia took Sayeeda's weight and they plodded away on three legs. She glanced in the direction of the river.
No, the girl wouldn't get far…
***
"The village is still burning." Silas pointed.
Tendrils of smoke rose over the treeline and seeded the sky with a second layer of cloud. He tightened his grip on the reins, prepared to send his steed into a gallop. But Katrina forestalled him with a gesture.
"No. Even the worst militia would've put a bucket brigade together by now. Those'll be pyres."
"Oh."
The road turned, took them into the outskirts of Traverd, and the world changed. Houses lay in ruin, like the stones of an ancient graveyard. Bits of door and shutter littered the ground or dangled from hinges. Some buildings were roofless, save for crowns of blackened thatch. A couple had collapsed into heaps. They might have been the dwellings of a long-forgotten people. But crimson painted wood and stone.
Silas swore under his breath.
"Kharji raiders usually take what they want," Katrina said, "kill whoever gets in their way, and go. Same as any other bandits. But this…"
He nodded without looking at her. A small red handprint marked a door frame, low down. He tried not to imagine, but couldn't help it.
Clara Mandrake's Monster Page 7