Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell

by Rhiannon Hart

  I was amazed by how easily he was talking, after months and months of silence. I bit the inside of my cheek, loath to interrupt him.

  ‘I began to try to atone for the things I had done,’ he went on. ‘I’m still trying. I will probably be trying till I die.’

  ‘It wasn’t –’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I told you, I don’t want that from you.’

  Your fault, I was going to say. I glared out into the desert. Ashes. Let it all be ashes.

  ‘Why must Pergamians insist on so much secrecy about the Lharmellins?’ I finally choked out.

  He shrugged. ‘Because that is the way it has always been. Pergamia has been riddled with harmings since time immemorial and the rulers have always kept the citizens in the dark. This means even the soldiers don’t know exactly what they’re hunting. I argued with Helmsrid that the only way to remove the scourge once and for all was to educate the people.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘I still believed in education, for all the good it had done me. Helmsrid refused to even consider it. Simply speaking the words harming or Lharmellin is an act of treason against the king of Pergamia, punishable by death.’

  I remembered how reluctant Carmelina had been to speak the name of her enemy that time in the palace gardens; how adamant she’d been that I left well alone. I’d always believed it had been Rodden to insist upon secrecy, but it seemed the order had originated higher, from the king himself.

  He sighed. ‘I’ve always deemed this profoundly stupid. Secrecy can only lead to more deaths. Pergamia is on the front line, the major entry point for Turned harmings once they return from Lharmell. Through it they access the rest of the world, overland or by the ports. As long as King Askar refuses to reveal the truth to his people, the rest of the world remains in peril.’ Rodden thumped the saddle with his fist. ‘He’s a fool! I can say that now we are thousands of miles from the capital: King Askar is a fool, like all the foolish kings before him.’

  ‘If you think so, why do you stay at the palace?’

  Rodden raised a sardonic brow at me. ‘The juiciest books on the Lharmellins, as you well know, are housed at the palace. In fact, the only books. All others have been destroyed. That penny dreadful you found at the markets last winter – what was it called?’

  ‘Creetchers Moste Fowl.’

  ‘That’s it. The only one I’ve seen of its kind. The rest must have been burned. As a scholar – no, as a human being –’

  ‘Of sorts.’

  ‘As someone with half a brain between my ears, then,’ he amended, ‘I find book burning to be one of the most atrocious crimes a king can commit against his citizens. Open discourse can only strengthen society, but Askar is terrified of widespread panic and civil war if the citizens find out that they’ve been lied to for centuries. So instead of progress, we have parties. At the very least we should share our knowledge with the other kings and queens of Brivora.’

  ‘You rotten hypocrite! Last winter all I wanted was for you to tell me the truth about the Lharmellins, and you wouldn’t. And I’m going to be a ruler of Brivora one day. You knew that and still you kept things to yourself.’

  He smiled and rubbed his neck. ‘That’s because I’m rather attached to my head. Second, you’re a harming, and therefore not to be trusted. Third, you’re a princess. The only princess I’ve ever known is Carmelina, and she lives and breathes gossip. But I told you everything eventually, didn’t I?’

  I snorted. ‘I never know with you. You hoard secrets like a squirrel hoards nuts.’

  ‘Habit.’

  ‘Why do you stay in Xallentaria if you can’t stand the way King Askar handles things?’

  ‘Because he won’t let the blasted books out of the palace! Do you know, when Helmsrid finally sent me to the capital to meet the king, after he first ascertained he wasn’t going to be hung, drawn, and quartered for his troubles, I found the tomes kept at the palace on Lharmell hadn’t been opened in nearly seventy-five years? They’d been relegated to a locked, damp room in the library and were covered with dust and mouldering with age. Many had to be thrown out. The waste reduced me to tears – these books were one-of-a-kind. Irreplaceable, thanks to the king. It took months of wheedling just to get him to let me take them to my turret. I established myself up there pretty quickly, I can tell you. As far away from everyone else as possible, and I only came down for the most important of state occasions.’

  ‘Like the visit of harming princesses?’

  ‘Quite. And only then for the prettiest ones.’

  I glanced away. Yesterday his words would have pleased me. Now they only caused me pain. When my humiliation had dissipated, I asked, ‘You said once that you heard me resisting the Lharmellins all the way in Amentia. Have you heard any others?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A pity. We could use the help.’

  He agreed.

  Ahead, the dunes stretched to the horizon. ‘How much further?’ I asked, trying to keep the frustration from my voice.

  Rodden was silent, and I knew he was picturing his mind-map. ‘If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the floodplains tonight.’

  ‘Are we ever lucky?’ I grumbled.

  He was silent a moment. ‘There’s something I want you to keep in mind once we arrive at the Jarbin village.’

  His tone was careful and I glanced at him in suspicion. ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘There might be harmings.’

  ‘Good. I’ll break in my new bow.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  ‘Why not? I’m dying to shoot something.’

  ‘I’d rather avoid it, if it’s all the same to you. There’s no guarantee that we’ll kill them all, and the last thing we need is to announce our presence while we’re stuck in the middle of the desert with no yelbar. I’d like to get back to Pergamia in one piece.’

  ‘But what if we’re attacked?’

  ‘Then we defend ourselves. Just don’t go starting any fights.’

  I sighed. ‘Fine.’

  ‘That’s not all. Your cloaking is shabby.’

  I turned on him, eyes flashing. ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘Yes it is. Remember the harming in Ercan?’

  ‘He could have picked up on either of us.’

  ‘Then why did he end up in your room? And in Pol, I knew there was a harming following me that day. If I’d bothered to check I would have realised it was you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because I thought you were one of Servilock’s minions and that I was on the right track. You were lucky I didn’t stab you in some dark alleyway.’

  ‘I kept us safe –’ My voice hitched. ‘I kept us safe those days and nights when we were lost at sea and you were unconscious.’

  ‘Probably a sheer fluke,’ he replied. ‘And last night . . .’

  I glared at him. ‘What about last night?’

  He hesitated. ‘In the wagon. You were very . . . audible.’

  Embarrassment flared red in my cheeks. ‘I meant to be,’ I hissed.

  ‘Oh.’ It was Rodden’s turn to look away. ‘Well, despite your other talents, such as wind-drawing, you have trouble concealing your thoughts. So be careful at the Jarbin village, all right?’

  ‘I’m always careful,’ I insisted, though it was a lie. I hadn’t made a conscious effort to guard my thoughts since we left Pol. But I could do it now. I was certain. As long as I concentrated.

  ‘If you say so.’

  We rode in silence after that. Sometime in the early afternoon I saw dark shapes circling in the sky, and remarked, ‘The buzzards are following us again.’

  The first sign that we were approaching the end of our journey was a faint strip of green on the horizon. A ripple of excitement went through the Jarbin. Horses pricked their ears up and strained a
gainst their harnesses.

  Rodden leaned forward in the saddle. ‘We’re almost there.’

  I shifted restlessly. There were still many miles of sand stretching between us and that hint of vegetation. ‘What is that up ahead, anyway? A lake?’

  ‘Used to be. Now it’s an oasis.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Time. Hundreds of years ago this whole area for miles around was a vast floodplain, and the oasis was Lake Keole. It was fed by a river that began as run-off from the mountains to the north-west, and swelled by monsoon rains. The monsoon still comes, most years, but the mountains are ice-locked all the year round now. There’s not enough melt to feed the river, so it dried up. It flows when the rains come, and then the oasis floods, but not nearly to the extent it used to.’

  ‘Why did the mountains freeze?’

  ‘They just did. Weather patterns change. Temperatures drop.’

  ‘The Lharmellins attempted to freeze Amentia so no one could mine the yelinate,’ I pointed out. ‘Couldn’t they have done the same thing with the mountains? If the oasis dried up completely, could anyone live here to harvest the bennium?’

  ‘No, they couldn’t. This is the only waterhole for miles in any direction, and the only place where bennium is found. It’s an interesting theory, and possible, I suppose.’ He looked worried all of a sudden. ‘In fact, you could be right. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me.’

  Soon our horses trod sparse, low-lying grass instead of sand. Undulating dunes gave way to flat gravel. Smoke from cooking fires rose against a setting sun. Beyond thick reeds I spotted a thin line of silver that must have been the oasis, and a collection of squat huts on the far side. The temperature dropped, muggy but pleasant. I unwound my white outer layers and relished the fresh air against my skin. Instantly I was surrounded by a cloud of whining midges.

  ‘What the – look at these things!’ I flapped my scarf at the insects.

  Rodden called out to one of the women and she rode back with a jar in her hand.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, as he began rubbing the salve onto his bare arms.

  ‘Mosquito repellent. It’s made from natron, the mineral the Jarbin collect and sell in Pol. Here.’ He tossed it to me. ‘Keep it with you after dark. The mosquitoes carry a nasty fever.’

  I rubbed the grainy white cream on my arms and ankles and the midges dissipated. ‘Rotten bloodsuckers,’ I muttered, and Rodden snorted with amusement.

  A ululation filled the evening air, a greeting from the villagers. The Jarbin in our wagon train threw back their heads and sang out in reply. A few riders broke free of the train and cantered to meet the rest of the tribe, who were now emerging from their huts.

  Unable to bear being in the saddle a moment longer I dismounted and slid to the ground. Rodden did the same and we led our tired, dusty horses into the Jarbin village. Dozens of men, women and children came forward, deeply tanned with unruly curls. They greeted the travellers with shouts and hugs, and began pulling supplies from the wagons. Several small children, holding fistfuls of their mothers’ skirts, stared up at us with large liquid eyes. I smiled at them and they ducked out of sight.

  A woman with the longest hair I’d ever seen, past her waist, ran to Uwin, who was just dismounting his horse. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He murmured to her for a moment, and they were an island of stillness among the mayhem. Watching them, I felt a flash of envy.

  Uwin led the young woman over to where Rodden and I stood, hovering at the edge of this mass of jabbering people. He made the introductions. I couldn’t catch her name but murmured hello, wishing I knew the right word in Jarbin.

  The woman turned her eyes on me, and I saw that they were green, not brown like the eyes of the other Jarbin we had travelled with. ‘Your Highness, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she said, dropping into a curtsey so graceful we could have been in the Pergamian court. It was incongruous in this dusty landscape, her barefoot and in trousers. I must have been standing there with my mouth hanging open as Rodden nudged me.

  ‘This is where you say “how do you do”. I do apologise, Oilif,’ he said, turning to the woman. ‘We’ve been travelling for weeks and it seems the princess has forgotten her manners.’

  I scowled at him. ‘Rot. I’m tired, that’s all, and I haven’t understood any voice but yours in forever.’ I turned to the woman. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘Oilif,’ said the woman, smiling and glancing from Rodden to me with evident amusement.

  She spoke perfect Brivoran, but in an accent I couldn’t place. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Lippa. On the western coast.’

  ‘I know it – south-west of Amentia, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone from home. I want to ask you a thousand questions, but you have had a long journey. Can I offer you a bath?’

  I was emphatic. ‘You certainly can.’

  She led me away from Rodden and Uwin to a hut enclosing a well and a flagged floor. In the dim light, Oilif helped me strip off my filthy travelling clothes and then poured ladle after ladle of very cold water over me while I scrubbed myself with rough white soap. When I was clean she wrapped thick white sheets around me.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Come outside and I will comb your hair,’ she offered.

  We sat on a stone wall facing the sunset, and Oilif pulled the snarls from my hair.

  ‘How did you get here?’ I asked.

  I heard her snort of amusement. ‘How did you? If you don’t mind me asking, Your Highness.’

  ‘I asked first. And don’t call me that.’

  ‘Very well. I ran away.’

  ‘Oh?’ My interest was piqued. I liked the sound of those words. Run away. A runaway.

  ‘You’re a runaway too, of sorts. Aren’t you?’

  I turned my head to look at her in surprise. ‘Yes, I suppose I am. Of sorts.’ I sighed. ‘But I have to go back.’

  ‘You don’t want to?’

  ‘Not really. But I must.’

  ‘Why?’

  Because either my mother or a horde of blood-sucking monsters will hunt me down and kill me if I don’t. ‘Oh . . .’ I said, giving a blustery sigh. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘It usually is,’ she mused. ‘Do you love this man?’

  ‘Who, Rodden? We’re not – I’m not . . .’ I sighed again.

  ‘Ah. It’s complicated too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe you have not run far enough yet.’

  ‘There’s nowhere to run. They’ll find us.’

  ‘Your mother and father will never find you in a place like this.’ Her voice was dry. ‘Trust me, I am living proof.’

  ‘My father’s dead, and it’s not my mother I fear will find me. Not who I fear the most, at any rate.’

  Oilif’s hands stilled in my hair. I could feel the question on her lips, but instead she said, ‘There are many reasons to run away. Some of them very good reasons. If you have the right reason, when you run you may find happiness. Or you may just run forever, lost.’

  I thought of Rodden, running from Servilock for all the right reasons but still unable to find happiness, his demons following him wherever he went.

  ‘But if you run for the wrong reasons,’ she continued, ‘you will only find misery. There will be no going back, no hope for tomorrow. But either way, right reason or wrong, there will be loneliness, perhaps regret. But if it is truly what you want, or need, you’ll have as good a chance as any.’

  I frowned. Running away from my mother and my duty to Amentia had never crossed my mind. But once the Lharmellins were defeated . . .

  The question was, would he run with m
e? Why would he, if he didn’t love me?

  ‘How did you know I want to run away?’

  ‘You have the look of one who is chased.’

  I sighed. ‘It’s all conjecture. I can’t run away, not properly. He doesn’t love me back.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  I could hear the amused disbelief in her voice, and it grated. What did she know?

  The temperature was dropping and I wrapped the damp sheets tighter around me. I gazed out over the oasis, at the silhouettes of birds as they flew low across the water, black against a darkening sky.

  I pushed Oilif’s words out of my mind. Rodden and I would have no peace while the tors still sheltered the Lharmellins. I wanted revenge for what the Lharmellins had done to me, to Rodden, to countless other people before us. I wanted to kill every last one of them. I would do it, too. Or I would die trying.

  But then? a small voice asked. If you do kill them all, what then?

  If they were all dead, and I was free . . .

  Would I go home to mother, to marriage? Would I willingly surrender myself?

  Or would I run?

  I didn’t know. I couldn’t see beyond the tors and those that resided within. I didn’t want to see.

  My eyes were closing of their own accord. Oilif put me to bed, where I slept like the dead.

  ELEVEN

  I woke to find the village quiet and empty. A cup of water and a bread roll had been placed next to my pallet, and a pile of neatly folded clothes. They weren’t my clothes, but rather the rough-woven shirts and trousers that I’d seen some of the village women wearing. I drank the water and dressed, and went looking for everyone, chewing the roll. A few hundred yards from the village I spotted a group of people labouring over the flats. The heat rising from the desert blurred the horizon in the distance. As I made my way to the group, the low-growing grass underfoot gave way to white-crusted dried mud. I shielded my eyes. In the glare reflected off the ground, I almost didn’t see Rodden.

  ‘Hello, sleeping beauty.’ Rodden wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, smearing white crystals over his forehead. ‘Come to see what the peasants are up to?’