by Lara Morgan
Attar lifted his hand and backed away. ‘It’s your choice, clansman,’ he said and left, his heavy steps shaking the floor.
Tallis looked at the young woman whose lips tightened. They stared at each other for a moment, then with a short jab of her finger she indicated the corner of the room. Tallis nodded and went and sat on the floor, grimacing at the pain as his shoulder met the wall. The woman ignored him and went back to her work, her small hands gently washing away the dried blood on Jared’s back. As he watched, Tallis’s head began to feel light and his vision wavered. He shook his head, his fingertips were tingling and his feet felt a long way from his body.
The older woman came in again and handed some instruments and bowls to the young woman. They said nothing, communicating only in hand signals. Outside a breeze was rustling leaves, sounding strangely like the wind sighing through the caves of his home. His eyes closed and he floated away into the dark.
Inti was shining high in the sky and Alterin could hear the soft voices and sounds of her people outside on the walkways by the time she had finished. The cut had been deep and needed many stitches. She had had to cover it with a strong healing powder to deal with the infection, but she was satisfied he would live. It had irritated her that the other men had not known that to speak around one injured so badly could invite the spirits of the dead. She sighed. Ignorant ocean dwellers, no doubt.
The young man was sleeping more easily now, his breathing less laboured, so the spirits had not wanted him. The amount of blood he had lost worried her though. She mixed up some nuk root powder with water and forced it down his throat, then instructed Mishi to make sure she gave him more every hour.
Wearily she turned to the other young man leaning against the wall and saw his eyes were closed. She had felt his coming as a distant buzz of insects rising in the jungle, even before the semorphim called to her. He looked younger in the pale sunlight, and sleep had eased the lines of fatigue and worry from his brow. His hair was long and black and dirty, and hung knotted and ragged. A plait on either side of his face, decorated with a single metallic cuff, was his only adornment. His browned skin was streaked with sweat and grime and his clothes also. His features were different to the other one’s. He had high cheekbones and strange blue-black eyes, but it was not an unpleasant face.
Alterin absently wiped her hands of the nuk powder on her skirt. Her gaze dropped down and she noticed, with a frown, a smear of blood across his forearm. He had removed the heavy, long-sleeved coat he had been wearing earlier, and now she saw a long streak of dried blood running down his bare right arm. Her healer’s instinct shouted a warning.
‘Mishi!’ She called the older woman as she hurried over to him. ‘Help me.’
Together they reached for his shoulders and pulled him forward. Alterin had a glimpse of a wound, but then he suddenly woke. With a grunt, he sent Mishi tumbling backwards and Alterin had her wrists seized in a crushing grip. She cried out as her bones grated and he mumbled something in a low voice. But Alterin barely heard him, for the contact of his hands on hers had opened a way between them.
For a moment the world went black around her, then her mind was assailed with a jumble of images: winged creatures black as shadow, a man dying, a woman’s face, the wind rushing past her, and a hot land barren of life. And behind it all Alterin could feel a core of fear and pain unfurling. She struggled to be free of him, twisting in his grip, trying to wrench herself away. There was a great roaring in her ears and then suddenly she felt him inside her. Her vision cleared and she stared with horror into his eyes. He was in her mind, she could feel him. She knew his name, as he now knew hers.
Uriel? He whispered her true name into her mind, hesitant, unsure. Alterin shook as the sound of it impacted upon her. None knew that name but the one who had given it to her. She drew in a breath and saw his eyes widen as he felt her lungs expand and contract. Locked in that gaze together, Alterin knew that if he wanted to he could stop her breath, stop her heart, and she saw that he knew it also; but the terror she felt from him meant he did not know how to retreat.
Let go, she said into this mind, staring into his eyes trying to stay as calm as she could. But he seemed frozen, his hands locked around her wrists. Tallis, she tried the name that now seemed part of her. Tallis. She felt his arms tremble. He was very weak from his injury. Alterin pressed him. Let me go.
But his grip grew tighter, and with alarm she felt his body weaken. He was losing the fight for consciousness and drawing on her to stop it. Her vision wavered and an ache speared into her behind her eyes. Uriel! he said again and she felt darkness reaching up for her and then suddenly, he tore himself away and Mishi’s arms were around her, pulling her out of his grip. Shaking, Alterin fell back.
‘Little fish! Little fish!’ Mishi called her by her pet name. ‘What happened?’ Her soft hands touched her head, her arms.
‘Nothing, nothing. I’m all right.’ Gently she pushed her away, patting her arm. For a moment she just sat breathing. Then, careful not to touch him again, she instructed Mishi in cleaning and dressing his wound. His was not as bad as the other’s, but she made Mishi sprinkle some strong healing powder on it that also contained a sleeping drug. It was better he slept for a while, better for them both.
After it was done she leaned back against the wall of Mishi’s house and looked up out of the small window. A soft smatter of rain was falling on the thick green leaves of the oonunga tree outside and the air was warm; but Alterin felt a chill wash over her skin like a whisper. She reached under her dress and pulled out the sliver of merapod tooth that hung on a strap around her neck. Polished and shaped into a likeness of the luna bird, it felt warm and smooth under her fingers. She clenched it in her fist and closed her eyes, calling to the strong spirit of both animals to help her.
This man’s coming drove fear into her. She had been questing when the semorphim had found her, and like the bitter aftertaste of faran fruit, she could still feel the vibrations Tallis had made in the World Between. She should have known it then, but she had been careless and let herself be caught ill prepared.
Letting go of her talisman, she stood. Anyu was waiting, but would he be ready to hear what she must tell him? Like many of her people, he did not truly believe his lifetime would see the return. It had been so long. The ancient ones were defeated; they thought they were free. But she had always suspected he would return. Ever since hearing the name Magdi had given her: Uriel – witness. For what else would a seer be witness to but the coming of the Fallen. Alterin’s insides hollowed with fear and dread. This stranger here now, this man from the hot lands, was a messenger of the truth. The Fallen was returning and there was nothing now they could do but wait.
33
Balkis stared as Azoth and the serpent bore Shaan away, then he raced back toward the rooftop opening.
Farrith! he called to his serpent as he ran down the spiralling ramp. He would have to chase them. He thought briefly of the saddles in the tack store, but there was no time. He would have to fly bare, risky but he had done it before. He reached out his mind to the serpent again as he drew closer. He could feel that she was already awake, but a strange apprehension was filtering through to him.
Farrith? He voiced again, but she didn’t answer. Running into her crell he found her pressed up against the furthest wall, crouching low to the floor and staring upwards.
Farrith! Come we must fly. He strode toward her, but she didn’t move or acknowledge his presence. Farrith! He slapped a hand on her neck, and as he made contact a loud chattering burst into his mind, like a thousand serpents voicing at once. He shouted and snatched his hand back, drawing his mind away as Farrith turned purple eyes upon him.
The father is back, she voiced, fear rising in her tone. Arak!
She lifted her head and let out a high keening cry. It echoed in the crell like a shriek. Balkis cried out and covered his ears, falling to his knees. Throughout the Dome other serpents answered her, some higher pitched other
s lower, until the building rang with the sound of their keening.
Balkis staggered to his feet and ran from Farrith’s crell, charging blindly down the spiral ramp and outside, almost running into Rorc. The Commander grabbed his arm steadying him, and Balkis faintly heard him shouting something but couldn’t hear him over the noise of the serpents.
He pointed to the sky. ‘Azoth has taken Shaan and escaped on Nuathin,’ he shouted. ‘They went east. I couldn’t follow them, I can’t communicate with Farrith.’
Rorc nodded that he’d heard and jerked his head down toward the barracks. They couldn’t talk here. They ran back down the hill together. The serpents’ cries had brought all the riders out in the yards and they gathered outside staring up at the Dome. They cast inquiring glances at them as they passed, but Rorc didn’t speak to them.
‘As soon as the serpents stop shrieking,’ he said to Balkis, ‘I want all riders to try to communicate with their serpents. Report back to me as soon as anything happens. I’m going to Morfessa’s to check on the Guardian. And Balkis,’ the look he gave him was tight and angry, ‘don’t be so stupid as to try going off on your own again.’
Balkis had been expecting a reprimand and was about to reply in defence when a shape in the cloud-scudded sky caught his eye: a serpent was flying in toward the Dome; but instead of flying steadily it writhed and twisted, its tail lashing while on its back a rider was desperately trying to stay on.
‘Look!’ He pointed skyward.
Rorc frowned and turned to look as it swept over the treetops. The rider could clearly be seen hanging half off her saddle. A faint scream reached them, but was drowned out as the serpent stretched its neck and screeched, flying fast toward the barracks. As it neared them it writhed its body once more and with a final heave, flung her off. She fell with a scream to the rooftop of the dining pavilion, her cry cutting off as she bounced on the hard tile.
‘Catch her!’ Rorc shouted and the riders in the courtyard surged forward, but they were not quick enough and she fell to the paving below. Shocked, Balkis stared up at the serpent as, with a final screech, it turned and disappeared into the night the way it had come.
He followed as Rorc pushed his way through the crowd of riders to the woman’s side.
‘Florin,’ Balkis breathed as he recognised her. She was a young rider, only out of fledglings a year. Her eyes fluttered open as the Commander leaned over her, gently pushing strands of dark bloodied hair from her face.
‘Sir,’ she rasped and a trickle of blood ran from her mouth.
‘What happened?’ Rorc’s voice was low.
Florin frowned and her face twisted in pain. ‘Our serpents . . . they attacked us . . . killed the others, the villagers . . . why?’ She stopped, coughing up blood.
‘What others?’ Rorc said but she didn’t answer, her eyes looked beyond him and up at the sky and a single, short breath came from her lips, then nothing.
Rorc didn’t move. Around him the other riders stood silent and pale while the cries of the screeching serpents in the Dome sounded like a thousand gongs ringing the young woman’s death.
Finally he said, ‘When the serpents are quiet you will go in pairs and try to communicate with your mounts. But no one . . .’ he stood and scanned the faces watching him, ‘no one is to attempt to ride them. Report to your sept leader if any of you are successful and pass it on to those not here. Go.’
The riders turned and began making their way slowly back into the barracks.
‘Balkis,’ Rorc turned to him. ‘Where was Florin coming from?’
‘I sent her and two others to Ranith Bay, a small fishing village,’ he hesitated. ‘Do you think she means the other riders are dead, that their serpents attacked the village?’
Rorc looked grim. ‘It looks that way, but we can’t be sure. I’ll send a patrol out there, but I hold little hope of survivors if they have attacked them.’
‘And what are we to do about Azoth and Shaan?’ Balkis said. ‘I had hoped to try and track him. We don’t know . . .’
‘How were you going to follow him?’ Rorc cut him off. ‘The serpents aren’t safe to ride and I will not have you running off across the land. I need you here.’
‘Then how are we to find out where he’s gone?’
‘The Seer will quest the Void, will try to find him there. If he truly is Azoth, it’s most likely he will head for the places he knew well when he ruled this land.’
‘And where is that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rorc snapped. ‘And it is not something you need to worry about now. I need you to keep the riders calm, Balkis. If that man is Azoth, we must prepare for the worst. Florin’s serpent has left the Dome, and more may follow. I need you here. If the serpents join the rogues and turn on us, just how long do you think we will last?’ His gaze was stony. ‘Now, go to the bird keep and send messages to the patrols on the Free Land borders to return, then set guards on the lookouts. I will be at Morfessa’s.’ He looked down at Florin’s body. ‘Have her sent to the Temple and her family told.’ Without another word he turned on his heel and left Balkis staring after him.
Down in the streets the noise of the serpents echoed across the bay and Rorc saw many faces staring fearfully up at the Dome. A feeling of impending doom snapped at his heels as he pushed open the gate of Morfessa’s house. The sun was rising above the hills as he headed for the door, but Morfessa opened it before he could reach it.
The old man’s skin was grey and his eyes dull and watery. Something dropped in Rorc’s gut as Morfessa stared at him.
‘Rorc,’ he whispered, ‘She’s . . .’ he stopped and Rorc took a step toward him.
‘What’s happened?’ Sudden fear gripped him.
‘I couldn’t . . .’ Morfessa shook his head, staring at him, then he reached out and gripped his shoulder. ‘Rorc, the Guardian is dead.’
Tuon sipped carefully at the hot tea the Sister had left, wincing at the pain whenever she moved her head. A long bruise ran along her side, and a matching purple shadow spread from her left temple and up through her hairline. The Sisters had smoothed some kind of salve on her during the night, but still her head ached dully and she could taste the residue of smoke in her mouth and smell it on her skin. She badly needed to bathe. She wanted to climb into a tub of hot water and scrub her skin, to rub and rub until she had washed away the night before: the blankness of Shaan’s face, the blood spilling from Torg’s body, her own uselessness. Abruptly she pushed the cup of tea away, spilling it, and stood up.
Pain spiked through her skull and she gritted her teeth and held still, waiting for the dizziness to pass, then reached for the dress the Sisters had given her. At least it was clean, smelling of herbs not smoke. She pulled the soft, white fabric over her head and pushed her arms through the elbow-length sleeves, fastening the ties around her waist. The dress fell to her ankles and felt cool and light on her tired body, and the aroma of herbs was soothing.
What was she to do now? The fact that she had nowhere to go suddenly hit her. She looked around at the small plain room. There was nothing but a single bed, a table and chair, the smooth thick walls washed white. Feeling suffocated, she went over to the window and pulled open the shutters. There was no glass, and it faced out to a small courtyard garden. On either side grew dark green shrubs with purple flower buds. No sound came and the light outside was grey and dull. Looking up, she glimpsed a patch of sky heavy with cloud. The world held its breath waiting for the rains.
A soft knock on the door made her jump and a short, brown-haired woman came into the room. ‘The Commander is asking for you.’ She smiled.
Tuon’s heart jumped. ‘Now?’
The woman nodded.
She was suddenly overly conscious of the smudges of soot and dirt on her skin. ‘Can I not wash first?’ She pushed smoke-tinged hair back from her face.
‘No, there’s an urgency about him, come.’ She held out a hand to her as though she were a child. ‘It will be all right.’
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Tuon hesitated, but unable to think of a logical reason to delay, she followed the Sister from the room.
Rorc was waiting for her in the study as before, standing near the desk; but he was not alone. The Guardian’s Seer was with him. Pale, grey eyes fixed on her as she entered and Tuon felt the skin prickle on her scalp. Before she could think of a proper greeting, Rorc was coming toward her.
‘Tuon!’ He crossed the floor in three strides and for a moment she thought he was about to take her into his arms, but he stopped short, his eyes roving over her face. ‘Have the Sisters taken care of you? Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ Bewildered, she nodded. He was looking at her closely, concern in his face. It was suddenly more than she could bear and she went quickly and sat in a chair by the window near the Seer, avoiding his eye, her chest tight.
‘I’m fine now,’ she said hoarsely and fell into silence, waiting for him to speak.
He came to the desk and leaned against the end of it near her. Her stomach tightened and she stared at his boots. She tried to take a breath, but it felt as though there was not enough room in her lungs for air.
‘Tuon, I need you to go with the Seer and help her retrieve the Prophets Scrolls from the Isles,’ Rorc said.
Go somewhere? She gripped the carved arms of the chair. She had nowhere to go now. There was nowhere left.
‘Tuon.’ Rorc leaned toward her. Immediately she lifted her head.
‘No. I don’t want to go anywhere,’ she said her eyes skitting over his green gaze and focussing instead on his jaw. ‘I don’t want to do anything more for the Faithful.’
Her tone was weak and he was too close. Annoyed with herself she said sharply, ‘The Faithful and you have brought me nothing but pain’.
He leaned back and her heart twisted at the hurt she glimpsed in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry for Torg’s death, Tuon,’ he said. ‘He was also a friend of mine. The one who killed him will pay.’