Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell

by Rhiannon Hart

  Overhead, the brants tracked our progress. We were drawing them away from the village to give the Jarbin time to secrete themselves among the thin scrub and trees that bordered the eastern corner of the floodplain. The men had their barbed hooks and ropes and the women their bolas.

  We reached the oasis and stopped. I tried not to think of the Jarbin hidden in ambush. Rodden’s foot beat the ground in an irregular tattoo.

  ‘I don’t like this at all,’ he muttered. ‘We’re putting these people in danger for no one’s benefit but our own.’

  ‘They are fully informed and helping us willingly,’ I countered. ‘You just have trouble relying on anyone but yourself.’

  ‘I wonder if they know what they’re getting themselves into. It’s my responsibility to get us home safely. Not theirs.’

  ‘Don’t I get a say in this? I’m the one the harmings are after for killing the Lharmellin leader.’

  ‘You know I would have that another way also, if I could.’

  ‘You can’t have all the glory.’

  ‘I don’t want glory, I want you to –’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’

  The sun had begun its descent and the shadows were lengthening. There were three more hours until sunset. I hoped it would be enough time to lure the harmings from the sky and kill them. ‘Do you think the Jarbin are in position yet?’

  ‘A little longer.’

  The silence stretched, punctuated by the drowsy chirps of crickets among the reeds.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Oilif ran away from home.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Rodden said. His eyes darted over the surface of the oasis. He was too distracted to listen. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to discuss the idea that had been forming in my mind since I’d spoken to the leader’s wife.

  I glanced towards the village. Not a creature stirred.

  ‘All right,’ Rodden said, hefting his pack higher on his shoulder. ‘Let’s go and surrender.’

  Like moths to a flame, the harmings wheeled their mounts to follow our progress back through the village and out onto the plain. We dumped our bags on the dried mud.

  ‘Ready?’ Rodden asked.

  I nodded. We looked up at our enemy. Pushing all thoughts of the Jarbin out of my mind, I let down my walls. With not a little malice I brought forth my memories of killing the Lharmellin leader, its brackish blood flowing in rivers down my arms. With the full force of my resentment, I flung these pictures at the harmings.

  I did it. It was me.

  From their great height, I heard the harmings scream in anger. The brants dipped and wheeled violently as they sensed their masters’ turmoil.

  My memories had a bigger effect than I’d expected. They actually seemed to be in pain.

  ‘Can you sense that?’ I whispered to Rodden.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, frowning. ‘Your memories seem to be hurting them. Can you do it again?’

  I did, and they yelled in fury. One brant broke from the others, drew in its wings and hurtled to the ground. It landed at speed and staggered, twenty yards from where we stood. The harming rider dismounted, his body tight with anger. He approached, halting at ten paces distant. The desert sun had not been kind to him. His face and hands were a mass of angry red blisters. Breathing heavily, he snarled, ‘You! You are the traitorous one.’

  ‘Glory to Lharmell,’ I hissed.

  ‘We wish to parley,’ Rodden said. He nodded at the sky. ‘With all of you.’

  The harming’s lip curled. ‘You do not order us, you traitorous wretch.’

  ‘Zeraphina, show them again what you did to their beloved leader.’

  With all my strength I hurled my memories of the Turning at the five harmings. The screams of the dying Lharmellin. The orange light in its eyes as the yelbar coursed through its body; the screams of the crowd as they beheld their dying leader. I showed them the arrows sprouting from the other Lharmellins and their bodies crumpling and smoking. And then I showed them our escape.

  There were screams of anger overhead.

  ‘We will come willingly,’ said Rodden, ‘as we realise we will never make it out of this desert alive. The Jarbin refuse to help us or hide us. But we will discuss the terms of our capture with you first. We’ve killed many of your kind and my friend here would be more than pleased to share her memories with you.’ Rodden gave his most charming smile. ‘Please. Indulge us.’

  The harming shot us a look of pure loathing. Silently, the brants above began their descent. One after the other, they landed with a thud on the cracked ground, encircling us. The riders slithered from their mounts.

  The first harming glared at us. ‘Tell us your terms, and be quick about it.’

  Rodden wet his lips. I heard a whirring sound from the bushes. Two harmings cocked their ears to the sound. The first stared at us, puzzled at our silence. Then he too heard the low humming that filled the air and realised his mistake. ‘It’s a trap!’ he screamed.

  They leapt for their mounts as the Jarbin let fly. Two brants were ensnared with ropes and pulled to the ground. They screamed and lashed out with their beaks and talons. Three harmings found their legs hobbled by bolas but one was already worming herself free. She and another leapt for Rodden.

  The first harming came at me.

  ‘You will die a thousand deaths,’ he screamed. He was weaponless, but I saw the mad glint in his eye and didn’t doubt that he was strong enough to tear me limb from limb with his bare hands.

  I whipped the yelbar dagger from its sheath and dropped into a crouch. ‘One death from you is all I require.’ My heart pounded in my chest. I wished for the certainty of a bow but the harming was too close. I’d practised knife-fighting with Rodden but this was the real thing. As the harming lunged, instinct kicked in and I dodged his attack. I slashed at his arm but he was quick to avoid me.

  The screams of harmings and brants filled the air. The Jarbin were now on the floodplain and I heard the whirr of bolas again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rodden cut the throat of a harming and let her fall to the ground. The body began to smoke and burn before her dying gurgles had faded.

  I struck out with the knife, but the harming evaded my blow and kicked me in the stomach. I fell to my knees, winded, and the harming was on me, pushing me flat and trying to wrest the dagger from my grasp. His cracked and burned face was inches from my own.

  ‘The Great One will visit such agonies upon your body,’ the harming growled, spittle flying from its lips.

  I elbowed him in the nose, hard. There was a crack and blood spurted over both of us. He howled in pain and I took the chance to buck his body off mine. Knife firmly in my grasp, I sank both my knees onto the harming’s shoulders, pinning his arms. I pressed the tip of the blade against his throat and watched the skin sizzle. He glared up at me through the blood on his face.

  ‘Who is the Great One?’ I demanded, pressing the point harder.

  ‘Torrents of poison rain will strip the flesh from your bones,’ he said, somewhat hoarse from the pressure on his windpipe. ‘Your accomplice will have his body torn asunder by the power of the tors and we will drink his corpse dry.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  The harming began to laugh.

  I flipped the knife in my grasp and smashed the hilt into his broken nose. He howled. ‘You will show me who it is and where they are.’

  The harming still laughed, his mirth punctuated with grimaces and hisses of pain.

  He was not going to reveal anything, no matter how hard I beat him. I remembered the way the harming in Ercan had plundered my mind, searching for information. I could do the same, I realised. Or I could at least try.

  I shot thoughts like arrows into his mind. They were deflected easily. I called to mind shooting the harmings in the pass at Lharmell as Rodden summoned the
brant from its nest, and I flung that memory at the harming.

  He stopped laughing. Rage parted the walls of his mind and images tumbled through. I was ready for them. Pictures of Lharmell. The forest and the tors. Then places I hadn’t seen before. A vast, underground cavern. Hundreds of harmings, their faces upturned in admiration for a figure I couldn’t make out. I had to know who it was, who had taken over and was making the harmings smarter since last winter.

  The harming heaved his body under me and the images stopped.

  ‘Show me who it is,’ I demanded, and punched him with my fist, splitting the knuckles of my glove on his teeth. My hand stung.

  I bombarded him with memories of killing his kind, but he was ready this time and his mind stayed tight as a vice.

  Anger flared. I would do this for Rodden. Rage made me strong. I punched him again.

  He laughed, spat blood, and laughed some more.

  I stood and pushed the sweat and blood and hair back from my face. ‘Tell me!’ I screamed. ‘If you don’t I will kill you.’

  The harming giggled at my feet despite the oozing blood and his burned flesh.

  I tightened my grip on the yelbar knife. ‘This is for Rodden,’ I said. My arm rose, and plunged.

  Hands caught my wrist. I struggled against them. I was blinded by blood and sweat but could still tell enemy from friend.

  ‘No! Rodden, let me go.’

  ‘Give me the dagger.’

  ‘I want to kill this one. Let me at least kill this one.’

  He wrested the knife from my grasp and threw it far from my reach. Grabbing a fistful of the harming’s cloak, Rodden dragged him a few yards from me and dispatched him with his own bloodied dagger. Then he threw the knife aside.

  Silence fell, broken only by the scratching of talons on mud and the brants’ weakened cries.

  Rodden knelt beside me. ‘Give me your hands.’ He stripped off my gloves and cradled my bleeding hands in his lap.

  ‘I wanted to kill one for you,’ I said.

  He smoothed the hair back from my face and wiped away some of the blood. His own face was splattered with gore. Looking into my eyes, he smiled. ‘Thank you. What is it they say? “It’s the thought that counts”?’

  My shoulders shook with mirth and tears.

  The Jarbin receded, leaving us alone on the blood-soaked plain with the blackened bodies of our enemies.

  TWELVE

  Eventually, Leap and Oilif approached. Leap’s eyes were large with worry. Rodden was bandaging my knuckles while I sniffled my way back to composure.

  ‘Look at you,’ Oilif tutted, surveying us.

  We were both covered in blood. Well, I was spattered. Rodden was soaked.

  Leap sniffed at my sticky hands and had a tentative lick. ‘Yuck,’ I said, holding them out of his reach. ‘One of us doing that is quite enough,’ I whispered to him.

  Rodden got to his feet. ‘I must talk to Uwin.’

  ‘It can wait, surely,’ said Oilif. ‘We’ll get cleaned up and see to these birds –’

  Rodden cut her off. ‘Zeraphina and I must leave, and by nightfall there must be no trace of what happened here. There will be more harmings on brant-back sent to relieve the ones we killed, and if they realise the Jarbin had anything to do with their disappearance, and ours, it will be the worse for you. Yelbar weapons or no.’

  Oilif paled, and nodded.

  ‘Will you go with Zeraphina and help her get our things ready? We’ll need warm travelling clothes, if you can spare them.’

  Ignoring both Rodden and Oilif’s offered hands, I struggled to my feet. Rodden held his knife and I realised what he meant to do. I looked at the brants, which were struggling against their bonds. They were magnificent creatures and had never done us any harm of their own volition.

  ‘Must you kill them?’ I asked. They reminded me of Griffin.

  Rodden pressed his lips into a grim line. ‘Not all of them.’

  Oilif began to lead me away, but I stopped. ‘Wait. I must tell you something, Rodden.’

  When Oilif had receded out of earshot I said, ‘I saw something in that harming’s mind. A Turning, I think. But it was underground, and it wasn’t a Lharmellin that was leading it. In fact, there weren’t any Lharmellins that I could see.’

  Rodden considered this. ‘A harming.’ He frowned. ‘The taking of destitutes, and sailors from ships. These are new things. Innovations. Lharmellins aren’t much good at innovation.’

  ‘It’s the Lharmellins that have control of the weather, though. The real control, not like my wind-calling. If Amentia has thawed, but the harmings are still active, do you think it could mean the harmings have taken over?’

  Rodden looked alarmed. ‘But that’s unheard of. Why would they do that?’

  ‘Maybe they’re impatient. Maybe they’re sick of waiting for the Lharmellins to turn things in their favour.’

  He nodded. ‘It makes sense. You know,’ he said ruefully, ‘this could be our doing. Killing the Lharmellin leader – it might have been the catalyst for the harmings to take charge.’

  ‘You mean we might have done more harm than good,’ I said grimly.

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘The enclaves that are being set up. They could be springing up all over Brivora. What if it’s those we need to put a stop to, and not go back to Lharmell at all?’

  He shook his head. ‘You saw whoever it was in Lharmell. The harming who is leading is directing things from there. They’ll still need the Turning ceremony to create more of their number. They won’t have done away with the Lharmellins entirely. The caves you saw, I’ve heard about them. They’re underneath the tors. My guess is the Turnings have been moved there.’

  ‘Is this going to make things harder for us?’

  He squeezed my arm. ‘You know, it might actually mean the opposite.’

  By the time I’d bathed and changed, the shadows were lengthening on the ground and the beginnings of a large pit were being dug in the soft ground beneath a copse of trees. Beside it were piled the harming corpses and three dead brants. On the floodplain, children were scattering dirt over the evidence of our skirmish.

  Alone, I carried an armful of clean clothing towards Rodden, who was washing at the edge of the oasis. His shirt was damp and streaked with red, but his face and neck were clean.

  ‘Here.’ I passed him a towel, and in turn he gave me a flask of blood. I knew what blood in the evenings meant: we weren’t sleeping that night. I sniffed the contents and recognised the musky odour. Brant blood. It was richer than the small-animal blood we’d existed on for weeks. I drank half and felt like I could run to the moon.

  ‘All of it,’ Rodden said as I tried to pass it back. ‘I’ve got my own, and more for later.’

  I drank the rest and wondered when I could expect to sleep again. ‘Did you kill all five of the harmings?’ I asked, turning away while he dressed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did it feel?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Rot. You just don’t want to tell me.’

  He was silent. I heard the whisper of cloth against skin and the sound of his belt being buckled.

  ‘I swore I would kill one. Ever since you told me about Servilock and your family I’ve wanted to.’

  ‘You’ve killed harmings before. Doubtless you will again.’

  ‘I want to do it with my hands, using a knife. A bow isn’t the same. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Zeraphina –’

  ‘And don’t tell me girls shouldn’t say such things, or it’s not my place because I’m a princess. I’m a harming, the same as you, and it’s my right if I want to.’ My voice grew shrill. I was drained from the fight, but pepped from all the blood, a strange combination that was making my heart
race, fast and light.

  ‘You can turn around now.’

  I turned. He stood, hands on hips. ‘What do you want me to say? “I’m sorry for not letting you kill the harming”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Too bad. I won’t. If I’d been busy fighting and you’d killed that harming, then so be it. But what sort of person would I be if I’d stood by while you killed the harming when it was already at your mercy, knowing how I have been tormented by memories of doing just that?’

  It irked that he felt he had the right to let me do things or not.

  ‘I can see you’re annoyed,’ he went on. ‘It’s not because you’re a girl, or a princess. I swear. I would do the same for anyone who wasn’t used to killing.’

  ‘Are you mad? I am used to killing. I do it all the time.’

  ‘Not with a knife.’ Rodden set his teeth. ‘I am touchy about knives, all right?’

  ‘Oh.’ His family. Ilona. How he’d murdered them. ‘I’m sorry. Of course you are.’

  His eyes dropped to the ground. I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his neck. I pressed my cheek against the dampness there. He smelled of sunlight and rough soap.

  After a moment, he clasped me back. Where our chests touched I felt a low vibration spread through me, right to my fingertips and down to my toes. I never wanted to let him go.

  Finally, I had to, but he seemed reluctant to pull away also. My hands trailed down his sleeves and over his fingertips, and then the contact was broken.

  Rodden’s eyes met mine, and his face looked warm beneath his tan. ‘Now,’ he said, voice husky, ‘let’s go and say thank you to the Jarbin for saving our sorry skins.’

  At the edge of the pit, which was now heaped with corpses and rapidly filling with dirt, we said our goodbyes. When it came time for me to farewell Oilif, I flung my arms around her neck.

  ‘I wish I’d had time to ask you what your right reasons were for running away,’ I whispered.