by Jen Williams
‘I’m sure he’ll love that.’
Noon raised an eyebrow. ‘That doesn’t really matter, does it? We’ve still got to look.’
Tor waved his arm in Kirune’s direction. ‘Go ahead, see what you can do. I read once of a festival entertainment in Jarlsbad where men would put their heads inside the mouths of wild cats for the delight of the crowds. I’m sure you’ll be great at it.’
Noon stood up. ‘Fine. I’ll just get Vostok to hold him down, then.’ She looked at him. ‘Tor, he could die.’
Sighing, Tor stood up and followed her over to the bigger fire. In truth, Tor was reluctant not because he was lazy, but because it was hard to see the big cat in such a state. The sting from the giant starfish had caused one side of his head to swell up, making his fur stick out wildly and closing his right eye. His neck looked wrong too, oddly lopsided, and on the floor in front of him was the fish they’d given him to eat. Kirune had taken a few dainty bites from it and left the rest.
‘How are you feeling, Kirune?’ At the sound of Noon’s voice the war-beast lifted his head warily, lips peeling back from his teeth briefly in a half-growl.
‘I am fine.’
‘You don’t look fine, old chap.’ Tor grimaced. He had hoped, as they flew over the Barren Sea, that the salty air would calm the swelling, or the sting would simply dissipate by itself. Instead, it appeared to have got worse. ‘Will you let us take a look at it?’
Kirune growled, low and dangerous in the back of his throat, but when Noon stepped forward and placed her hands gently on his thick neck, he did not snap at her, or even protest. The fell-witch gently prodded him all over, pressing her palm against the whiskers on his snout and peering closely at the fluid running from his partly open jaws.
‘Well.’ Noon stood back. ‘Fucked if I know what I’m looking at, but I reckon it’s bad. What do you think?’
‘Centuries of time on my hands, and I never bothered to learn anything about medicine. Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Vostok? Do you have any ideas?’
The dragon roused herself, bringing her long head over to them. In the shadows, her violet eyes looked as purple as orchids. She looked at Kirune for a long moment, then shook her head.
‘A long time ago, we would have had Eboran men and women who cared for our health. Once, I remember a similar injury was suffered by one of us, and they lanced the wound with long silver needles, applied a hot poultice . . . but I believe that was a snake bite, not Wild-touched. I cannot say what they would do about this.’
‘We’ll have to go back,’ said Noon immediately. ‘Forget about this island thing and go back to Ebora.’
‘For what?’ said Tor. ‘I don’t want to be pessimistic, but it’s not like we have anyone at the palace who knows war-beast medicine either.’
‘There are other Eborans,’ pointed out Noon. ‘They could know something.’
Tor grimaced, thinking of them. The few Eboran survivors were old and decrepit – one or two he had spoken to appeared to be losing their minds. They kept asking after people who were long dead, or demanding their share of non-existent sap.
‘Noon, if we have any war-beast experts amongst us we would have found them by now.’
‘I don’t want to go back,’ said Kirune. His voice was muffled. ‘I am fine.’
‘It could go away by itself,’ said Vostok, but for the first time that Tor could recall she sounded uncertain. ‘War-beasts are strong. We can withstand injuries that would fell humans easily.’
‘Or,’ said Noon, ‘it could fester badly enough for Kirune’s blood to turn bad, or become sore enough so that he can’t eat anymore. And then what?’ She shook her head. ‘We had a healer on the plains, and the Winnowry had a place they took you when you were sick, but I don’t know anything about it. We shouldn’t be the people caring for him when we just don’t know.’ She shot a look at Tor. ‘Vintage would have a better idea. Or Nanthema would.’
‘I will not go back!’ Kirune raised himself to his full height, holding his head up with obvious effort. ‘You cannot make me, human.’
‘Kirune, this isn’t about saving your bloody pride here.’ Tor took a slow breath, and lowered his voice. ‘Being ill isn’t a weakness. Being hurt isn’t a weakness.’ With some difficulty he resisted touching the scars on his face. ‘You have to think about what is best for Ebora here – we all do. What is best for Sarn. We can’t afford to lose a war-beast.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I cannot afford to lose you.’
For a second, no one spoke, and suddenly Tor wished that he was somewhere else; anywhere else, but preferably some smoky tavern in Mushenska, halfway into his second bottle of wine with someone warm and friendly on the bench next to him. He could feel Noon looking at him, her dark eyes too shrewd for comfort, and then Kirune was speaking.
‘You think I am nothing. That I am born wrong and weak. I am as strong as any of you, and I want to see this place more than any of you. I will not turn back. You cannot make me. I might not breathe fire, but I can fight.’ Yellow eyes like lamps flickered to the dragon and then back to Tor. ‘I can fight, with tooth and claw. Go home if you want, but I am carrying on.’
Tor blinked. It was easily the most he’d ever heard Kirune say at once. Vostok had turned her head away, shaking it slightly, and Tor was reminded of his sister shaking her head over some foolish notion of his.
‘Tor, how far are we from this place, anyway?’
He met Noon’s eyes gladly. ‘Not so far, actually. Or at least, not so far according to Micanal’s instructions, but there’s also a pretty good chance that there’s nothing there at all aside from a big stretch of empty sea and a lot of embarrassment.’
‘I don’t think you’re born wrong, Kirune.’ Noon spoke softly now. ‘I think you’ve been born into a bad time, but so have the rest of us, haven’t we? We can’t help when we are, or who we are.’ She straightened up and exchanged a look with Vostok. ‘Let’s stay here for the night, then, rest up. This at least doesn’t look like the sort of place that might get invaded by a horde of marauding star fish, and we can get going again in the morning light. Kirune, you’d better eat the rest of that, though,’ she pointed at the partially devoured fish on the ground, ‘because you’re our best fisherman, and it might be a while before we get any more like that.’
Kirune actually seemed to puff up a little at that praise, and he dutifully picked up the fish in his jaws and choked it down in one go, trying his best, Tor thought, to make a point of how his throat did not hurt and he was completely capable of eating.
‘At least we’re not so exposed here,’ said Tor. Tall black trees rose to either side, while above them the sky was a strained orange, late afternoon filtered through a coming sunset. ‘It would take Wild-touched starfish some time to negotiate through this forest.’
‘Since we’re staying here, I’m going to have a look around.’ Noon stretched her arms over her head as she spoke, and Tor distinctly heard the pop of bones in her shoulders – very like the crackle and snap of the fire.
‘If you’re looking for some exciting nightlife, I suspect you will be disappointed. I think even the birds turn in early here.’
‘Fresh food would be nice, wouldn’t it? Nuts, berries, mushrooms, birds’ eggs.’ Noon lifted her arms and dropped them. ‘Foraging is something I dimly remember from home.’
‘Why not? A spot of food poisoning would round this trip off nicely,’ Tor said. Noon turned to go, not judging this worthy of an answer. ‘It’s getting dark. You won’t be able to see these nuts of yours soon.’
Leaning extravagantly against a tree, Noon held up one fist. A glove of green fire popped into existence around it, chasing strange shadows through the trees.
‘I have my own lamp, don’t I, Bloodsucker?’
He smiled wanly as she disappeared into the trees, swiftly becoming a bobbing circle of emerald light, growing weaker all the time. Vostok watched her go too, before curling up into a scaly heap, head tucked c
arefully under her wings. Kirune was already lying back down, his tail twitching miserably. The silence here, Tor realised, was eerie – just the hiss of the distant sea, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and the steady breathing of the war-beasts. When Noon’s light had completely vanished, no doubt hidden behind a series of thick tree trunks, the darkness seemed to come in all at once, seeping in at the corners and pooling in the deep places. He had, he realised, a distinct sensation of being watched. All the hairs on his neck stood up, and after a moment he drew the Ninth Rain and laid it across his lap.
‘I’ll just stay here then, shall I?’
Despite her confident words, Noon quickly found herself discouraged. It was all very well claiming to know about foraging because of expeditions you went on as an enthusiastic nine-year-old, but that was a very long time ago, and they were in a strange place – she had no way of knowing if the things growing here were poisonous or edible. Vintage would have had a better idea, no doubt, but then she suspected that if Vintage had been along for the ride they’d never have found themselves on the Island of Bastard Stinging Starfish in the first place. Instead, she found herself frowning vaguely at splotches of luminous fungi, and kicking at the roots of a bush with her foot. It was while she was doing this – wondering what Tor would say if she came back empty-handed – when a round face appeared on the far side of the bush, looming out of the shadows.
Noon yelped and leapt backwards, managing with some difficulty not to summon the winnowfire to her hands. The face resolved itself into a tall, lean man, his own eyes wide with something like wonder. He had long black hair, tied into plaits that hung either side of his face, and warm tan skin, just like Noon’s. He wore, as far as Noon could tell, clothes woven from bark and some dark, flexible material, and at his belt were a series of small knives – they were strangely coloured, although it was difficult to make out in the rapidly dimming light. The man stepped around the bush, holding out one hand in an unmistakably placating gesture.
‘Hello? I will not harm. Hello?’
Noon blinked. The man with the long plaits spoke a strange version of plains speech – familiar enough for her to follow, but with an accent she didn’t recognise. It took her a moment to puzzle out the words.
‘Fucking hell. I didn’t think there was anyone else on this island! What are you doing here? What’s your name?’
The man smiled hesitantly. ‘We are island people, we live here. My name is Tidewater. You are not from the island. You are . . . new?’
‘New, yes. Do you have a whole village here or something? Houses? A settlement? Where did you even come from?’
‘Small places, yes.’ Tidewater came closer, and Noon could see that the dark woven material that connected the softened bark plates of his clothing was made up of hair. Human hair. And the knives at his waist looked very much like the multicoloured beaks of the strange birds they had seen at the starfish island; they had been cut and sharpened into tools. ‘Many small places, throughout.’ Tidewater gestured around him, taking in the whole forest. ‘I will take you to one, if you would like?’
Noon smiled. The man looked so much like the people she had grown up with, and he was strong – the muscles on his arms were clear even in the fading light, and he held himself with the easy confidence of someone able to run and climb at a moment’s notice. ‘Sure. Show me where you live, Tidewater.’
The man nodded, and turned away. Noon followed him through the trees. Tor would no doubt be outraged by this decision – he would not be happy about being left out of such a discovery – but communication with the man was so fragile. Noon was not convinced she could explain to him that she needed to collect her friend first, and there was always the chance that these people had some food they could trade, or even medicine.
‘A friend of mine is sick.’
Tidewater turned to face her as they walked, his forehead creased with concern.
‘He has been stung, here.’ She touched the side of her jaw. ‘It’s very sore. Do you have a healer? Any medicine?’
The man’s mouth turned down at the corners, evidently confused by the words.
‘I mean, someone who looks after people. Makes things better?’
Tidewater brightened at that, and nodded. ‘We do. I will take you.’
They walked for some time, the shadows growing deeper all around while Noon’s doubts about her decision to go with the man grew. Eventually, the light changed, and Noon realised she was looking at a series of small campfires filtered through the trees.
‘This is your place? Where you live?’
‘One of the places,’ said Tidewater.
It was a very small settlement indeed, squeezed into a tiny clearing. Noon saw one large hut and four smaller ones, made from wood and bark and what looked like a fair quantity of mud. One central fire, just outside the biggest hut, appeared to be a cooking fire, and propped over it were several sticks, each with a pair of skewered squirrels slowly turning brown. A man stood next to the carcases, tending them carefully to make sure they didn’t burn, and there were a handful of other people. Tidewater called to them as they entered the settlement, and Noon saw several pairs of eyes turn to her. Mouths dropped open.
Everyone began to talk at once, and almost immediately Noon lost track of what they were saying. Words and phrases she had known all her life were eaten up by a storm of terms she had never heard before, although most of them felt familiar, as if she were glimpsing the shadows of some shared history. Several people appeared to be angry or alarmed, judging by the tone of their voices, while others – including an ancient man with thick bolts of white hair running through his braids – were staring at her in something like awe.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t . . . I can’t follow what you’re saying. Could you slow down?’
Tidewater clicked his tongue with irritation.
‘They want to know where you have come from. How you got here. No one travels on the sea, it is death.’
‘From the monsters and the poisonless. Do you come from them? We must know.’ This was from a short man wearing a cuff of brown and black feathers around his throat. He had a kind face, but even so, he looked worried, and Noon sensed that her sudden appearance had ruined his day in ways she couldn’t understand.
‘She could be a monster!’ A young woman with fierce eyebrows stepped forward. She was carrying one of the beak-knives in her hand, holding it so that Noon could see it.
‘Do not call me that.’ Noon felt the first stirrings of anger, but Tidewater shook his head brusquely.
‘Of course she is not. Look at her! I think she is a message, a sign.’
‘I’m just visiting,’ Noon’s jolt of anger had quickly dissipated to unease. The idea of explaining who she was and what she was doing on this island abruptly seemed not only complicated, but also deeply unwise. She didn’t know what she had walked into here, but her instinct was to get away again, before they decided she was some sort of messenger with a secret message, or a monster – and she had had more than enough of being called a monster. ‘I’m not a monster, and I don’t know anything about poison. Do you have a healer? My friend, he’s . . . further back in the forest, and he is sick.’
This caused a flurry of more chatter, and again Noon lost the sense of what they were saying. The young woman with the eyebrows brandished her knife, but Tidewater shouted her down, and then the older man with the cuff of feathers came directly over to Noon, a torch in one fist. He still looked wary, but he nodded to her.
‘If you are a message from the gods, then we should see your friend, and help him. Messengers from the gods usually come with a test, or a price.’ He smiled thinly. ‘And if you’re a monster, well, I am one old man, and not worth the wear and tear on your teeth.’
‘I’m not a bloody monster.’
‘You do not look like one.’ He took a breath. ‘Come, take me to your friend. I will heal them, if I can. Tidewater, walk with us.’
The rest of the
camp stayed behind, although Noon could feel their eyes on her back all the way into the trees. Tidewater moved on ahead, walking confidently along a path only he could see, while the short man walked beside Noon.
‘My name is Borrow,’ he said. ‘This island is Firstlight. What is your name?’
‘Noon. I . . . my name is Noon.’
The shadows were thick now, and with a crackle of shame Noon realised that if she had not been with them, she might not have been able to find her way back to the camp. There was also the question of what would happen when they did get back there – Tor’s surprise at visitors was, on reflection, the least of their problems. If these people were shocked to see her, what would they think about a dragon and a giant winged-cat?
Borrow was oblivious to her discomfort. He smiled, nodded. ‘You have a name like ours, I think. A name taken from something significant on the day of your birth, yes? Your mother, she saw the noonday sun, perhaps. We must be the same.’
‘I think so. I come from the plains, beyond the Bloodless Mountains. I mean, I was born there.’ Borrow looked at her blankly. ‘Perhaps you travelled from there? Once, a long time ago, and came to Firstlight?’
The man looked disturbed by the question. ‘We fled,’ was all he would say.
Orange light danced between the trees ahead, and Noon swallowed hard. ‘All right,’ she said, trying to sound casual, ‘what you will see might seem alarming, or scary, but it’s all fine. I promise.’
It was too late. Up ahead, Tidewater gave a shrill cry, and Noon saw the huge bulk that was Vostok rise from her resting place, firelight glinting over her scales like a cascade of embers. There was a growling cough as Kirune sprang to his feet, and Tidewater actually leapt backwards, colliding with a tree.
‘Who’s there?’ It was Tor’s voice, unnaturally gruff in his surprise. ‘Noon, if that’s you, you’re about to get set on fire or filleted.’
She ran forward, ignoring the growing expression of terror on Borrow’s face.
‘It’s me, and some friends! Everyone bloody calm down, all right? Vostok, it’s fine, stop it. Tidewater? Borrow? It’s safe, honestly.’