by Lucy Hounsom
‘Speak words we can all understand,’ Kait growled.
You bring the sun. It is long since we felt it inside us.
Kyndra exchanged a look with the others. ‘Not creepy at all,’ Shika murmured. He was white-faced, as if the wraiths had drained him of blood as well as Solar energy.
‘What do you want?’ Nediah asked.
Life. Substance. Flesh. We want to live again.
Nediah frowned. ‘Only humans can give life.’
A finger-like tendril of mist extended towards Irilin, who flinched away. We are of the moon too.
‘Cosmosethic energy can’t make flesh,’ Nediah insisted. ‘It can heal a body, but not create one from nothing.’
‘It can.’
They all looked at Medavle. He hadn’t stopped staring at the wraiths and now a terrible dread crept over his face. ‘What are you called?’ he asked them.
We are the Servants. We wish to live again. We wish to serve again.
‘No,’ Medavle whispered. His hand closed on the flute at his belt, though he seemed unaware of the fact.
‘Medavle,’ Nediah said sharply. ‘What is it?’
‘It isn’t possible,’ the Yadin said. ‘I saw you die. All of you. The black wind –’
Ahhhh. A sigh ran through the wraiths. The pain.
Medavle staggered. ‘No, this cannot be true. Not after all this time.’
Nediah moved to the Yadin’s side, but didn’t touch him. ‘What are they?’
‘My people.’ Medavle looked up, eyes suddenly blazing. ‘Isla!’ he shouted and they all flinched at the agony in his voice. ‘Isla, are you here?’ His dark gaze swept the mist, but caught on nothing.
You are useless to us.
Medavle’s face twisted. ‘Don’t you remember me? I am your brother.’
You are not human.
‘You have to remember! We are the same.’
‘These are the Yadin?’ Kait asked. ‘I thought you said Lord Kierik killed them.’
Medavle rounded on her with a snarl. ‘He did worse. He doomed them to five centuries of … of this. They aren’t alive or dead. They are lost.’ His voice broke. ‘I don’t know how to help them.’
‘I thought I rid the world of you.’
The words were so sudden, so shocking, that Kyndra clamped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late to call them back. Medavle slowly turned to look at her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted, lowering her hands. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’ But she did. Kierik’s memories were massing like storm clouds behind her eyes. She felt his distaste for the Yadin as keenly as if it were her own. The Wielders had created them to act as servants in the golden age of Solinaris. Playing at being gods. The thought reached her like an echo and she tried to push Kierik’s memories aside.
Her outburst had drawn the wraiths’ attention. Kyndra felt their scrutiny as a prickling along her skin. Their response was instantaneous: malice, palpable as thunder, spread through their ranks. More wraiths took shape, their ill-formed faces no longer emotionless, but contorted in hatred.
If they were the Yadin, she wasn’t the real target of their anger. Five hundred years ago, Kierik had stripped them of the energy that gave them form and used it to destroy the Sartyan army assaulting Solinaris. Only Anohin and Medavle had survived. ‘I’m not him,’ she said, taking an automatic step back. ‘I’ve never done anything to you.’
You are a child of the stars.
Before Kyndra could snatch it away, a tendril of mist coiled around her right palm, stroking as a lover might.
You share his blood.
Their fury seemed to double. Kyndra felt it like a fistful of hailstones against her skin. ‘He’s dead,’ she cried wildly. ‘Kierik’s dead!’
Then we must be content with you.
‘It’s not her fault,’ Nediah said, but it was no use. Dreadful anger surged through the wraiths and a light took shape in their midst: a lance of Solar energy, the same energy they’d stolen from the three Wielders. Kyndra watched as more wraiths sacrificed their forms to feed the lance and although it looked insubstantial, she knew it could harm her.
Kait’s panicked horse finally broke free of her hold. It reared, white-eyed with fear, and then dashed in front of the group, throwing itself down the slope and into the path of the Solar lance. The bolt took the horse in the chest. One moment it was there, outlined against the mist, the next it was gone and only an imprint remained.
There was silence as both sides stared at the place where the horse had been. Irilin gave a strangled whimper and Kait cursed. The wraiths began shaping another lance.
‘Do something!’ Irilin shouted at Kyndra, but Kyndra couldn’t. Her feet felt heavy, rooted to the red earth, and dread lay like ash on her tongue, smothering any words.
Nediah took one look at her face and said, ‘We have to run.’ He seized Medavle’s shoulder. ‘Can’t you do something? A shield at least?’
The Yadin stared back at him, eyes blank. He seemed in shock. Nediah swore under his breath and shook him. ‘I don’t have the strength,’ he said, ‘neither does Kait nor Shika. They’ll kill us.’
Medavle seemed to revive at that. ‘Split up,’ he said. ‘Do not give them such a large target. Each lance burns up more of the energy they took – they won’t use it unless they are certain of a hit.’
‘Reassuring,’ Kyndra thought she heard Shika say as they spread out over the slope, heading for the relative safety of the treeline. She hoped the wraiths were confined to the valley, to the vicinity of Solinaris and the place of their deaths. Could they truly have lingered here for five hundred years, killing anyone unfortunate enough to stray into the valley? Why didn’t the wind destroy them utterly? The last thought seemed to come from Kierik and she strove to push it down.
It was difficult going, what with her horse and the slope and having to look over her shoulder. The wraiths followed, but not swiftly; creating the Solar lance seemed to take all of their strength. When they released the second one, it was aimed at her.
Kyndra had known it and planned for it. There was an outcropping of rock rising from the slope and just as she jerked herself and her horse behind it, she heard the lance shatter against the rock, sending out a spray of stone chips. Some grazed her neck, but she ignored the sting, took a firmer grip on her horse’s reins and ran on up the slope. Little stones rolled beneath her stallion’s hooves.
The six of them were strung out in a staggered line. Kait moved faster without a horse to lead and was almost under the shadow of the trees. Kyndra glanced behind and saw another lance glowing in the mist. None of the wraiths had form now; with any luck, they were nearing exhaustion. All Kyndra needed was a few more minutes. She wouldn’t have to call on the stars, wouldn’t have to speak their names or fear being changed by that terrible power.
You can’t resist us forever, they whispered from the void.
She gritted her teeth, looking for another rock to deflect the lance she knew was coming for her. But this part of the slope was shale, dotted here and there with small boulders, and the trees were still out of reach. Kyndra glanced over her shoulder, breath coming hard in her chest, just in time to see the wraiths hurl the next lance.
It took her a second to realize that it wasn’t aimed at her, another second to spot the wraiths’ real target, and a third to watch the lance hit him.
Shika didn’t even have time to scream. One moment he was there, outlined in fire, and then he was nothing. He was gone. His horse reared and plunged on up the slope.
Kyndra’s heels sprayed up shale as she dug them in, bringing her run to a stumbling halt. Her horse whinnied a protest and she let him go. Irilin was screaming wordlessly, struggling against Nediah’s grasp. The Wielder shouted Kyndra’s name, but Kyndra didn’t listen. She stood still, staring at the space where Shika had just been. Not even a body, not even bones. It was as if he’d never existed.
Dimly she felt her shoulders tighten up, her lips curl ba
ck from her teeth in a snarl. And then the surge of shock and guilt and rage carried her to the threshold of the void, where the stars shone coldly, temptingly.
She reached for Hagal, its whisper already in her ears. Sigel wouldn’t do; after all, the wraiths absorbed power and she needed to strip it from them. She needed a force like the black wind – the spell from the Wielders’ book which Kierik had used long ago.
Now that she’d stopped running, the wraiths slowed too. Their hatred washed over her, but it was nothing compared to the absolute ice of the void. She took Hagal into her veins, feeling the star’s power like a thousand cold rivers flowing through her. Her skin had begun to glow with a dark radiance, the constellation of Hagal burning on her wrist.
She flexed her fingers and sent the star’s power into the wraiths. It seeped like a foul oil across the living mist, dissolving it. Screams of agony reached her ears, but she didn’t stop. Hagal left a gritty stain on her skin, but she didn’t relent. Although she grimaced with the strain of holding on to the star, she wouldn’t stop until every last wraith was gone, forms torn asunder. With a guttural growl she didn’t recognize as her own, she drew on Hagal more deeply, reached out with its power and began to rip at the mist, grasping each wraith and pulling it apart.
‘No!’
A horse whinnied and then Medavle leapt from its back to land in front of her. For a moment she thought he was one of the wraiths, his white robes snapping in the wind, dark eyes full of anger and the horror of a memory. ‘Stop it,’ he pleaded.
‘There are more of them,’ she said flatly.
He struck her.
Wreathed in Hagal, she barely felt the blow, but the shock of it was enough to break her concentration and the star slipped from her control. Kyndra gasped as its fire flashed through her, whipping her insides like a lash. With a scream of effort, she tore herself away from the void before Hagal’s power could consume her. Choking back the pain, she seized Medavle by the throat. ‘Never do that again,’ she hissed. ‘You could have killed me.’
He merely looked at her, eyes opaque, and the strength that held him up left her in a rush. Kyndra collapsed to the ground, clutching her stomach against a wave of nausea. The last few minutes were a blur; they felt unreal and she struggled to remember what had happened, what she’d done.
Shika.
Kyndra felt numb. She gazed at her hands, at the constellation dimming on her skin. It hadn’t been enough. She hadn’t done enough. It was her fault.
A voice reached her ears; Irilin was crying for Shika, her throat already raw with his name.
‘Get up,’ Medavle said harshly. He grabbed Kyndra’s arm and she let herself be pulled to her feet. She thought she saw tear stains on his cheeks. ‘What you’ve done –’ He stopped, looked around at the empty landscape. There was no sign of the wraiths. ‘How many did you kill?’
‘I didn’t kill them,’ Kyndra said tonelessly. ‘Just tore their forms apart.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. If only she’d acted sooner, if only she hadn’t been so afraid. But she knew the stars came with a terrible price. If she kept using their power, one day she wouldn’t care if her friends were killed. She wouldn’t be human any more.
She forced her eyes open, forced herself to look at Irilin’s tear-streaked face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, Irilin.’
The young woman gazed back at her and the look in her eyes said she didn’t know Kyndra at all.
5
The Beaches, Acre
Char
His first name wasn’t Char. That was what the slavers called him. Neither was his second name Lesko: that was Ma’s name. But Ma had raised him, so he had taken her name for his own. In a way, Ma was mother to the whole caravan. We slavers are all Leskos, he thought.
Technically, Ma was nobody’s mother. She was a mercenary, perhaps the finest fighter in the Beaches. No slave escaped on her watch, and when she was present at negotiations, buyers paid the agreed sums and proper courtesies were observed. The slim kali sticks sheathed at her hips were a fierce deterrent to any who thought they could cheat the slaver master, Genge.
Still, if Ma Lesko was anyone’s mother, she was his. She had found him as a baby, after all. And, for reasons known only to herself, instead of leaving him to die by the side of the road, she’d kept him and signed on as a guard with Genge’s caravan. It wasn’t a good life, but they had food and a tent over their heads. Ma had done her best. No matter that the slavers called him Char, saying his dark grey skin looked as if he’d been pulled out of a fire. No matter that they shunned and spat at him when his back was turned. No matter that it was only his relationship to Ma that protected him from a coward’s knife in the back. The slavers were yellow bastards at heart.
And that was why he was going to kill them.
Char eased the kali sticks into his palms. Ma had taught him that, when wielded right, they could break a neck in one strike. It was a quicker death than the slavers deserved and certainly too swift an end for their leader, Genge. But Char was no torturer. He’d settle for justice.
He moved through the camp, a shadow amongst shadows. The night came suddenly in the Beaches. If it caught you unaware on the dunes, you’d never see sunrise. There were worse things out here than slavers.
A voice moaned, loud in the quiet. Char jumped, silently cursing the slave. His fingers slipped on the sticks and he almost dropped them. Concentrate. He tightened his grip. One misstep and it would be his blood soaking the sand. He doubted even Ma could talk Genge down if the slave master discovered him out of bed with drawn weapons in the heart of the camp.
He tried to keep his breathing even, tried to find the calm centre Ma was always talking about. As usual, he couldn’t sense it. He always felt so full of rage.
Char hissed through his teeth. Concentrate, you idiot. Too many thoughts. He was always thinking too many—
There was a sharp blow to his windpipe. Char choked and clapped a hand to his throat. His sticks tumbled to the sand as an arm encircled his neck and dragged him backwards. He hadn’t even time to reach for the knife in his boot. Struggling to breathe, Char kicked back, hoping to catch his attacker on the shin, but his foot met no resistance and the next moment, pain blazed across his knees. He crumpled.
‘Stupid,’ hissed a voice.
It took Char several seconds to recover his breath. ‘Ma?’
‘Shut up.’
He was dragged through the chilly night sand, back towards the safety of his tent, back towards the life he’d sworn to escape. Anger lent him strength. He felt that she hadn’t used the full lock on his arms. Only one stick held them twisted behind his back. With a growl of effort, Char broke her hold and spun to a standing position.
Her full-armed slap sent him staggering back. He raised a hand to ward off another blow, forgetting too late that he’d dropped his kali sticks. Instead, Ma only looked at him. Her face was a chiselled shadow under the stars. He glanced at a dark smear on one of the elbow-length gloves she always wore. Blood. Char touched his stinging cheek and rubbed the wetness between finger and thumb. Ma’s expression did not waver. In one smooth motion, she sheathed her sticks, seized his arm and hauled him bodily through the flap of his tent.
Char said nothing as she sat him down. He let her clean the cut on his face, ignoring the tincture’s sting. Ma worked in silence. Only when she’d capped the bottle and cleaned her cloths did she reach for the two sticks tucked safely behind her belt.
Char took his weapons back. His throat still hurt from Ma’s jab and he swallowed painfully.
‘When you have surprise on your side, always go for the throat,’ Ma said. ‘With the right speed and pressure, you can close an opponent’s windpipe for a few critical seconds.’
Char rubbed his throat and kept silent. For her, disarming him had been no harder than taking an infant’s toy. It rankled more than he wished to admit and he looked away.
Ma seized his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. ‘No,’ she
said softly and he knew what she saw: his eyes burned, black pupils narrowed to slits like a cat’s. Char tried to breathe deeply, tried to force down the ever-present anger, but spiked with humiliation, it wouldn’t leave.
‘Boy,’ she said. She never called him Char. ‘Let it go.’
He shook her off. ‘Why should I?’ he snarled, as the untempered fury beat at his insides. Tonight it felt like vast, bound wings, straining to open. ‘Why did you stop me?’
Ma faced him calmly. ‘You know why.’
It was too much. Char felt walled in by years of unanswered questions, the same things asked over and over again. Where did Ma come from? Why did they live like this? What stopped them from leaving? Every way he turned, Ma was there with her inscrutable face and her refusal to answer. She was the only person he loved in this cursed world. He would never hurt her. But the rage boiled and writhed and lashed him, so that he almost cried out against the horror of what it could do if it ever got loose. ‘Ma,’ he breathed.
‘I know,’ she said in her husky voice, catching him in a rough hug. ‘I know you hate them. But we must stay. We stay because it’s safe.’
Char pulled away. ‘I wouldn’t call Genge safe.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, brown eyes opaque. ‘But he’s a different kind of dangerous.’
‘How?’
Ma wrapped muscled arms around her midriff, though the tent was well insulated against the cold desert night. She gazed at him a while before answering, as if searching for the right words. ‘Genge is a beast, but a beast we know how to handle. There are other beasts out there, ones I don’t understand, ones I am afraid of meeting.’
Char shook his head. ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.’ His anger had begun to fade, a profound weariness taking its place. ‘Can’t you give me a simple answer for once?’
Ma dropped her arms. ‘There are no simple answers, Boy.’ Her dark face was hard. ‘I’ve told you. I can’t fight the beasts I don’t know.’
‘Then I will fight them,’ Char said impulsively. He knew nothing of Ma’s past, of the time before she rescued him. But it was obvious: she was hiding from something … or someone. He grabbed her gloved hands. ‘You needn’t be afraid, Ma. I’ll kill whatever beasts you fear and then you and I will be free to go where we want.’