by Lara Morgan
‘Attar!’ Tallis shouted over the noise.
‘Stop! Don’t come any closer.’ The rider swung around as he approached.
‘One of the rogue serpents is coming!’ Tallis put one foot in the water.
Immediately both Marathin and Haraka turned, hissing at him.
‘Tallis!’ Attar shouted. ‘Stop!’ And Tallis stepped back as Haraka swayed toward him hissing, his eyes rolling.
‘We have to fly out to meet the creature, the village can’t defend itself!’ He stared fearfully at the serpent. Haraka lowered his head and hissed again. He would rather not have to get on the back of it if he didn’t have to, but the villagers had only small bows and blowpipes; what good were those?
‘It’s not a rogue that’s coming,’ the rider said. ‘It’s one of their own, another serpent.’
‘But where has it come from?’
Attar spat in the mud of the bank. ‘I don’t know, but it’s not the serpent they fear, it’s what’s riding it.’
‘What?’ A strange chill curled in the pit of his gut. ‘Attar,’ Tallis swallowed, ‘Marathin spoke to me. She told me He was coming, to flee south and . . .’
‘She spoke to you?’
‘In the village.’
Attar looked at the serpent hovering above, her eyes fixed on Tallis.
‘Alterin says someone called the Fallen is coming,’ he added.
The rider turned to him, his eyes wide. ‘What! Surely that’s not possible?’ He appeared stunned and Tallis saw fear in his eyes.
Arak-ferish, Marathin suddenly whispered, jolting him. Must flee.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Attar was saying, ‘Come, we must leave.’
‘Leave?’ Tallis barely heard him as he stared at the serpent. Those words again.
‘Tallis!’ Attar shouted. ‘Come on, we have to go.’
‘What?’ He tried to focus. ‘But, Jared is back at the village, and he’s not healed enough to come.’
‘Well then you stay!’ Attar strode toward him, water splashing up his legs. ‘If I don’t go now, Marathin may well go without me. Whatever is happening here, to these villagers, I cannot help. It’s not a rogue that comes and that’s all I’m interested in now.’ He went to the bank and picked up Haraka’s saddle.
‘What if it’s worse?’ Tallis shouted. ‘What of these people? If Marathin is so afraid of whoever the serpent carries, maybe it is worse. How can you leave the villagers here alone when you could help them?’ Tallis stared at him in disbelief. ‘You have no honour.’
‘And you won’t come because you’re afraid,’ Attar retorted. ‘It’s not your fight, Tallis.’ He fastened the saddle to Haraka’s neck ridge. ‘Come with me.’
‘No, I will not leave Jared!’ He turned to head back to the village. But Marathin, uttering a guttural shriek, swooped over landing on the sand of the narrow beach in front of him, blocking his path. The wind from her wings almost knocked him over and she thrust her head toward him hissing. Must Come. Flee! her voice assailed his mind.
Almost falling backward, Tallis shouted angrily, ‘Keep her back, Attar’.
‘I’m not commanding her,’ he answered.
Come. Flee. Marathin’s head came down until it was level with his own and she was staring right into his eyes. He is coming! He will force the path on us. Change us. He will know you. The serpent’s head was four times the size of his and her blood called to him. A sound like water roaring through a cavern filled his mind and he saw golden and purple lights flickering in the depths of the serpent’s green eye.
Flee! she said again.
He tried to get around her, but she spread her wings, stopping him.
‘Attar!’ Tallis shouted, turning to him for help. He saw the rider’s eyes widen in surprise then felt hot breath on his neck as Marathin’s foreclaws closed around his middle and she lifted him up into the air. Tallis shouted, but was too afraid to move for fear one of her talons would pierce him. But she only carried him a short way, swooping over to Haraka and dropping him into the saddle. Immediately, Haraka rose into the air to hover above the river, high enough so that he could not jump off without breaking bones.
‘Attar!’ Tallis shouted furiously, but Attar shook his head.
‘I’m sorry.’ He fastened his own saddle onto Marathin. ‘I’m leaving now, and it looks like you’re coming with me.’
He jumped onto Marathin’s back and the serpent rose into the air, Haraka following. There was nothing Tallis could do. He clung to the harness as Haraka lifted higher, rising above the level of the trees and into the damp air. Both serpents wheeled about and, as they did, he saw the village below. The entire population was gathered along the walkway before the communal hut. He could see Jared, taller than most, standing next to Alterin who had her hand on his arm. They both looked upwards. Jared stared up at him and Tallis saw his lips move.
‘Jared!’ Tallis cried, but his voice was carried away by the wind.
Haraka turned to the south and he saw, cutting through the swirls of warm mist, the wide flapping wings of another serpent coming toward them. It wasn’t a rogue. It was bigger even than Marathin and it carried two people on its back. It reared its head and hissed, and then, swift as a snake, tucked in its wings and dove at them. Marathin shrieked and swooped to the left and Tallis was almost thrown as Haraka followed, twisting and diving down toward the jungle. Wind whistled in his ears, water streamed from his eyes as the serpent arrowed down. He struggled to turn his head to see their pursuer. Blood roared through his skull and he could barely draw breath as the wind rushed past his nostrils.
The bigger serpent was gaining on them and as he looked up he could see nothing but the bulk of it looming over them, coming for them. It’s going to strike, he thought, and braced himself for the blow, but at the last moment it pulled back and passed over them. His heart pounding, Tallis gazed upward as it swooped across, its wingtips barely missing Haraka’s neck. He glimpsed a black-haired man sitting astride the beast, and then a force like a blow to the guts hit him as he saw Shaan clinging on behind. She stared down at him, her eyes wide with shock and fear, and then she was gone. The serpent passed over, its long tail whipping behind and Haraka dropped and wheeled away, following Marathin into a thick bank of mist, which closed behind them like a fist.
Alterin watched the semorphim with its riders drop gracefully down toward them. All the muscles in her body were tight and she was gripping hard to Jared’s arm, not sure if she was helping to keep him on his feet, or he on hers. The beast landed on the riverbank in front of the village. It was bigger than any others she had seen and shimmering colour ran along its sides as it settled its wings on the damp earth, its spined tail cutting into the soil.
The tall, dark-haired man on its back jumped to the ground and strode slowly toward them. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were the same as Tallis’s. The thought spun into her head and her knees almost buckled. There was no mistaking it, that purple darkness was just like the clansman’s. And she felt him. The Fallen was in her mind, buzzing, buzzing as Tallis had been. Afraid, she wondered what it meant. What had the Spirits not told her?
She held tightly to Jared’s arm and made herself stand tall as he came before them. The villagers around her were still, for they felt the power radiating from him. His face was fine featured, cruel but beautiful, and his dark, purple eyes stared as though he looked down on them from a height greater than they could imagine.
He spread his arms wide and said in a soft voice that yet carried up into the trees, ‘I have returned’.
All the villagers, including Alterin and Jared, fell to their knees, their skin scraping on the hard wood of the walkway. As she bowed down, Alterin caught a glimpse of the woman who accompanied him. She was slight and brown-skinned and she was cradling an injured hand to her chest. She stood back behind the Fallen, staring at Jared, her eyes wide with recognition; but that was not what made Alterin’s heart clench. It was the woman she’d seen in Tallis’s
mind.
37
Rorc woke in a sweat; the salty sheen of it covering him, making him itch. Bare-chested, he got up and pulled open the door. It was daylight, mid-morning, but thick cloud hid the sun and the rain fell in thick sheets, obscuring the view across the courtyard and gardens. He was still wearing his trousers and boots and even to himself he stunk of worry and weariness.
After seeing Tuon and Veila off he’d come back to his rooms in the palace to sleep, but the rain had woken him. Even now after so many years there were times he found it hard to adjust to all the water. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck he took off his boots and stepped out into the rain. Tilting back his head he closed his eyes and let it soak him. The water was warm and he stood in the courtyard and lifted his arms, pushing his hair back from his eyes and letting the water run in rivulets down his body, washing away the sweat and grime.
He opened his mouth, swallowing water and thought of Tuon. A fist of worry sat in his gut; the seas could be rough this time of year, but he would not allow himself to dwell on it. Ashuk was a good ship mistress, one of the best. She would keep them safe, especially since she carried the body of one of her own back to her shores.
He took another mouthful of rain then became aware that someone was watching him. Opening his eyes he saw a messenger boy standing awkwardly in the doorway.
‘Yes, what is it?’
The boy held out a small scroll in an unsteady hand. ‘From Mistress Nilah, Sir,’ he said nervously.
Flicking the water from his face, Rorc pointed to a thick cloth on his bed. ‘Hand me that.’ He waited under the narrow portico for the boy to fetch it, then drying himself, sent him away and opened the short message. His eyes darkened as he read it and, with an angry curse, he threw the scroll to the floor. Changing quickly, he strode from his room to find Morfessa.
He found him in Arlindah’s private study, sitting in a chair and staring out at the rain.
‘Rorc.’ Morfessa didn’t look up as he closed the door. Deep lines of grief marked him and his eyes looked sunken and old, his complexion grey.
‘Nilah sent me a message.’ Rorc approached him. ‘She told me about the meeting with the Council. She has arrested an emissary from Hasan Daag for Arlindah’s murder and Lorgon is pushing for a war with the Free Lands.’
Morfessa grunted a reply, then looked out again at the rain. Rorc frowned.
‘Morfessa!’
‘What?’ He looked up blearily then seemed to register his words. ‘Yes, yes,’ he nodded. ‘The poison used only grows in the Free Lands. I found a trace of it in her food. Her last meal,’ he closed his eyes.
‘What happened, how did the emissary get accused?’ Rorc demanded.
‘A vial was found in his room when Lorgon had all the diplomats’ rooms searched.’
‘Convenient,’ Rorc muttered as his anger grew. He was the Commander of armies, Arlindah’s war chief, and Lorgon had not told him about the search. The man overstepped his office. Gritting his teeth he tried to focus on immediate dangers – with the serpents gone the city was vulnerable.
‘Has Balkis returned from setting the guards?’ he said.
‘Hmm, what? No I haven’t seen him.’
‘Morfessa.’ Rorc squatted down to look in his face. ‘What are you doing here? Where is Cyri?’
The old man looked at him with empty eyes. ‘She’s really gone, isn’t she? I hadn’t . . . I came here where she always sat and . . .’ He shook his head and looked away. ‘Eva and I, we never had children, Rorc. Arlindah was like my child, my daughter.’
‘Morfessa. You must pull yourself together, for Nilah’s sake.’
He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard. ‘How did you stand it, when you lost your family, Rorc? How did you manage when they cast you out, sent you away? It must have been the same. As though they had all died, been ripped from you.’
Rorc drew back. ‘You know better than to ask me that old man. The past is dead. Why do you keep speaking of it?’
‘No man’s past is ever dead,’ Morfessa said and his eyes focussed on him, a light in them now. ‘It influences everything we do, everything we are. You deny your past and yet still I see you yearn for it. You were a Hunter, a warrior of the desert lands and still you cannot help but be that man.’
‘No,’ Rorc said coldly.
‘Yes! I see you now, thinking of blood for blood. It is in your eye. If you could, you would find Arlindah’s true killer and take his blood for hers. It is the way of the clans, and it is your way still!’ The old man’s eyes were bright, staring at him.
Rorc got slowly to his feet. ‘It is no longer my right. I am Outcast, dead to them. You know that old man and you dishonour me by talking of it.’
‘You see!’ Morfessa stood up unsteadily. ‘You still talk of honour. It is in your blood!’
Rorc’s insides were a cold ball of pain as he stared at Morfessa. He could not believe the old man would talk to him of the one thing he knew cut him like nothing else could.
‘Are you mad with grief?’ he said, his voice dangerously low.
‘No.’ Morfessa gripped his arm. ‘But I am thinking of what we must do to survive. Nilah is not strong enough to stand against Lorgon and his supporters, and she is blind to the dangers of Azoth. They will try to force a war with the Free Landers and I fear that some of your captains will be persuaded.’
Rorc frowned and began to protest, but Morfessa shook his head. ‘No, it will happen. The riders and the Faithful are loyal to you, but the soldiers will betray you. They will be won over by promises of wealth, and if the land army becomes committed to a war . . .’ he paused.
‘When Azoth comes we will not be strong enough to defend ourselves,’ Rorc finished.
‘Yes, especially if the serpents desert us and cleave to him. He was their creator, Rorc, he could command them again.’
‘What are you saying we should do?’ Rorc said, although an uneasy suspicion told him already what the old man thought.
‘You must go to the clans, convince them to join with us.’
Rorc shook his head. ‘What you ask is impossible. I am nothing to them now. Why would they listen to me?’
‘You are a great leader – a Commander – you will make them see that. You are not the same youth that was betrayed and cast out twenty years ago. And they must know of the rogue serpent attacks; they will be looking for answers, you can give that to them. You can unite them.’
Rorc looked down at the old man and wondered where his belief in him came from. ‘It is impossible,’ he said.
‘It is our only chance of survival,’ Morfessa insisted and he let Rorc’s arm go. ‘You must do this.’
Rorc was silent. He thought of the day he had been thrust alone out into the desert, he thought of the years he had spent wandering from sand to the Ice Lands, and then to this city. And he thought of Tuon, her pale frightened face as he left her on the dock. He thought of all those he had lost and those he had left.
‘I will consider it,’ he said.
Mailun and Irissa climbed down from the cart as the old woman heaved on the muthu’s reins, pulling them to a stop at the side of a crowded street in the city. The rain had eased to a constant fine drizzle, but there had been no cover on the cart and both women were soaked. Irissa almost slipped over in the red mud on the road.
‘That there’s the main markets,’ the old woman said, pointing to the end of the street. ‘There’s inns and such around, should be some lodgin’s you can afford.’
‘Thank you.’ Mailun handed her a small piece of carved ivory, the only item she had that might be of value here.
But the woman waved it away ‘No, no.’ She frowned, embarrassed. ‘You two helped keep those damned Scanorians away, that’s thanks enough.’ She snapped the reins. ‘You just take care now.’ She patted Mailun awkwardly on the shoulder then urged the muthu off again. ‘Hope you find your boy,’ she flung over her shoulder as, groaning and spitting, the muthu pulled the c
art away.
Watching her go, Mailun fingered the ivory. ‘We should try to find somewhere to exchange this for coin,’ she said.
‘Perhaps those markets.’ Irissa pointed with her spear. A man walking past stared openly at her breasts, outlined by the thin, wet material of her tunic. She glared at him, but he only grinned and kept walking.
‘Be careful, Irissa,’ Mailun cautioned. ‘This place is very different from the clans.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Irissa replied coolly. ‘I can take care of myself. Besides, we are both as ignorant as each other here, Mailun. You have never been here either.’
‘No, but I have heard more about them than you. Stay close and remember why we’re here. Come on.’
They walked awkwardly through the mud up the street. The markets to which the woman had directed them were large, covering a huge paved square surrounded by stone buildings. It was teeming with people, none of whom seemed bothered by the constant light fall of water.
All these people made her nervous: so many in one place, and so many strangers. She didn’t know how they would find Tallis or Jared here. It seemed impossible, but at least now she was near water again. It had been a long time since she had smelled the salt tang of the sea. She drew it in deep. It didn’t have the ice bite of her homelands, but the smell was so familiar it struck an ache inside that hurt as much as it filled her with a kind of hope. She wished Haldane were with her.
Pushing down the pain, she made for a small trading cart near the edge of the square. A young girl was selling trinkets from it, and there weren’t too many people around. But the young girl took one look at her ivory and shook her head.
‘I ain’t got the coin for that.’ She pursed her lips, her eyes running over their clan clothing. ‘But old Nelma, up there a way, might take it.’