by Lucy Hounsom
The pack leader must have caught their scent, for it stopped abruptly and swung its blunt head towards them. It looked halfway between a cat and a dog, wolfish about the ears and tail, but with a low-slung body like a Dry Lands tiger – not that Kyndra had ever seen one in the flesh. A growl came from its throat, a low purring rumble which the others took up.
Kyndra eased back a step. ‘What do we do?’ she hissed.
‘Nothing,’ Nediah said tightly, ‘just wait.’
It was hard, waiting. Kyndra’s heart raced. She was convinced that the beasts would charge, that those hulking paws would hit her in the chest, knocking her sprawling. But the six creatures stood stock-still on legs that quivered with tension. Whatever they’d been dragging was hidden behind their bulky forms.
Then, at some silent sign, they melted back into the desert and lost themselves among the dunes. Their burden remained supine on the scrubby ground where sand met rock, a limp bundle of clothes and limbs.
Kyndra approached cautiously, but the body remained inert. It looked like a man, lying on his side in a tangle of greyish, matted hair. His clothes were unusual and torn in places, presumably by the beasts’ teeth. She reached his side and squatted down. His skin was as strange as his clothes, dark like an archipelagan’s, but lacking that rich brown hue. It was the grey colour of shadows, Kyndra thought, her fingers poised over the man’s arm. He had a nasty-looking wound, puffy, badly healed. She listened to his breathing, ragged and almost imperceptible.
And then without warning, the man’s other hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Kyndra yelped in surprise and tried to jerk away, but she couldn’t. He might be on the verge of death, but his grip was vicelike and his fingers tightened painfully, as if he sought to draw strength from her. He raised his head and even that small movement pulled a moan from his throat.
Yellow eyes met hers, already half-filmed with death, and despite the grey hair, Kyndra was surprised to find herself staring into the face of a young man. He could only be a few years older than her. Time seemed to stand still while they locked gazes and Kyndra felt a memory stir, a memory older than Kierik’s, older even than the Sartyan Empire, but when she reached for it, the details slid away and she grasped only air.
‘We can help you,’ she said to him, not knowing whether he could understand her.
‘Don’t touch me.’
‘My friend is a healer,’ Kyndra said slowly. ‘He will make you better.’ But privately she wondered whether he was too far gone for even someone of Nediah’s talent to save. Instead of seeming reassured, the young man grew more agitated. Nediah came to kneel beside him, his gaze raking over the wound and the fever in the stranger’s eyes.
‘He is very ill,’ the Wielder said softly. ‘The wound looks like it has poisoned his blood, but I’ll do what I can.’
The stranger flinched. ‘Don’t touch me!’
‘You’ll die if we don’t,’ Kyndra told him. He was still gripping her wrist, his skin hot and dry and dark against her own. ‘Is that what you want?’
The stranger didn’t reply, but he held her eyes with his odd yellow ones until his strength gave out and he sank to the ground.
Nediah and Medavle moved him into the shade of the large rock and laid him on several folded blankets. The others wore her own curiosity, Kyndra saw. ‘If I’m to save him,’ Nediah said, after placing his hands on the young man’s body, ‘we won’t be going anywhere today. It’s blood poisoning and very far gone. Most healers would give up on him.’
‘But you’re not most healers,’ Kait said.
Nediah gave her a strange look before turning back to the dying man. ‘To have made it this far,’ he murmured. They watched the familiar Solar glow spring up around him. Nediah closed his eyes, but opened them a moment later with a little gasp.
‘What?’ Kait said, kneeling down beside him.
‘He’s …’ Nediah shook his head. ‘Later. I have to concentrate.’
The healing seemed to take forever, much longer than when he had healed Owen’s arm. The sun dragged itself into the west and it still felt as hot as midday. Used to cool, Brenwym summers, Kyndra pushed sweaty hair out of her eyes and turned her face to catch the slackening breeze.
‘The injury that caused this was made by a knife,’ Nediah said abruptly, opening his eyes. He gestured at the now neat scar on the stranger’s arm. ‘This man had enemies.’
‘Let’s hope they’re not about to catch up with him,’ Irilin muttered.
Kait gave Nediah her hand. He hesitated before taking it and letting her pull him to his feet. Although he looked wrung out, his eyes were wary when they glanced down at his patient.
‘Is he going to live?’ Kyndra asked.
‘Yes. He has some strength in him.’ Nediah looked around at them all. ‘Perhaps because he isn’t human.’
‘What?’ Irilin took an involuntary step away from the stranger. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s human enough to die from fever and he has the same internal workings as you or I. But his blood …’ Nediah shook his head. ‘There’s something not quite right.’
That memory surfaced again, teasing, just out of Kyndra’s reach. She sighed in frustration. ‘I … something in me recognizes him,’ she said. ‘But I can’t remember.’
‘He has markings.’ Kait crouched down beside the sleeping stranger and pointed to his forearm. ‘Here. They’re hard to spot against his skin.’
‘Let me see.’ Medavle bent over the man. ‘Slaver’s tattoos,’ he said after a moment, eyes travelling from one to the next, as if reading them like a book. ‘This man comes from a slaving caravan in the Beaches. I think these –’ he pointed at a cluster of inked pictures – ‘are the names of towns along their route.’
Irilin made a noise of disgust. ‘We rescued a slaver? Is slaving legal here?’
‘It didn’t used to be,’ Medavle said. ‘The empire outlawed the practice. But perhaps it’s made a comeback if Sartya’s hold is weakening.’
‘What are we going to do with him?’ Kait asked.
Kyndra’s eyes kept straying back to the young man. A slaver? His dark face was peaceful, if pinched with thirst. ‘He deserves a chance to explain,’ she found herself saying.
‘What’s to explain?’ Irilin snapped. ‘He chained people up and sold them.’
‘Nobody’s perfect,’ Kait murmured.
‘Let’s just leave him.’ Irilin folded her arms. ‘He’s not in any danger now, is he?’
‘But he’s without food or water,’ Nediah said, frowning. ‘I didn’t spend half the day healing him just so that he could die of thirst.’
Irilin looked at the sun. ‘We can’t afford to wait around, not if we want to reach Cymenza before our own supplies run out.’
‘He’s coming with us.’
They all turned to look at her and Kyndra was surprised at the strength of her own certainty. ‘Those beasts brought him out of the desert,’ she said. ‘They saved his life. I want to know why.’
‘Ned saved his life,’ Kait said. ‘It was just a very lucky coincidence that we happened on him.’
‘Are you sure it’s coincidence?’ Kyndra spread her hands. ‘I thought a lot of the things that happened in Naris were coincidence … before I realized they were all connected.’
‘You’re reading too much into this.’
‘What if he knows something that could help us?’
‘If he did, what makes you think he’d tell us?’ Kait said.
Kyndra shrugged. ‘He’s in our debt.’
‘Ned said he wasn’t human.’ The tall woman tilted her head on one side to regard her. ‘That doesn’t trouble you?’
Kyndra’s mind filled with fire and death, memories of Sigel and the star’s determination to destroy her world. ‘What does it mean to be human?’ she said softly.
She was thankful none of them chose to reply.
The sun set, the stranger slept on, and Kyndra found herself wandering away from the others
to stand looking up at the bulbous Acrean moon. The same moon, she thought, watching it clamber up through the evening clouds. We’re all one now. The wind had finally strengthened again, but too late. On the chill fringes of the night-time desert, it brought shivers instead of relief. Kyndra huddled deeper into her cloak and leaned against the side of a boulder taller than she was.
She caught an echo of Lunar song as Irilin set wards about their camp and the delicate chimes made her think of Brégenne. What was the Wielder doing even now, half a world away? Had she managed to convince the Trade Assembly of the threat Acre posed, as she’d hoped to? And what of Gareth and his gauntlet?
They owed Brégenne an envoi, but if Gareth was with her, he’d see whatever Kyndra wrote about Shika. How could she put Shika’s death into words? Gareth would never forgive her.
‘You’re looking serious, Nediah.’
Kyndra started. The clear night carried Kait’s voice – the two Wielders must be standing on the other side of the rock. Perhaps Nediah had jumped too, for Kait laughed, a soft, throaty laugh that caused Kyndra to frown. She peered around the boulder and caught sight of Nediah standing stiffly, Kait quite close beside him.
Eavesdropping, her mother said, was not a nice habit, but Kyndra didn’t move away.
There came a sigh. ‘You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?’ Kait said.
‘What if I was?’ There was silence and then Nediah sighed. ‘I was wondering where all of this is leading.’
‘You never cared before, when we were young. You never cared where each day would take us.’
‘Perhaps I should have,’ Nediah replied and Kyndra heard a heaviness in his voice. ‘I’d have seen where our actions would lead. I could have stopped it.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t regret a moment. My years with you were the best of my life.’
Kyndra couldn’t help it; she risked another glance. Nediah and Kait were of a height, standing eye to eye in the moonlight. ‘Were they?’ he asked, as soft as her laugh.
Kait held his gaze a little longer before sweeping the moment away. ‘We were glorious,’ she said and Kyndra ducked back behind her rock. ‘Do you remember when we planted Councilman Everland’s amulet on Alandred?’
‘He wasn’t a master back then,’ Nediah said, some of the weight leaving his voice.
‘And those love letters to Hebrin,’ Kait continued. ‘We made him think Master Markah was smitten.’
‘I seem to recall he reciprocated it.’
‘Yes – what was the likelihood? And then Hebrin confronted him.’
‘In front of about a dozen witnesses. He must have been mad.’
‘Or in love.’
‘Hebrin didn’t get over it for months,’ Nediah said and Kyndra heard his amusement quite plainly. ‘And Master Markah literally turned and ran whenever he saw Hebrin coming. One of our greatest triumphs by any account.’
There was silence and Kyndra cautiously peered around the rock again. ‘You know, Nediah,’ Kait said to the dark. ‘The citadel hasn’t seen our like since.’
‘Oh I don’t know. Kyndra and the novices were quite prepared to break into the seventh level of the archives.’ The humour left Nediah’s tone abruptly. ‘They should never have been allowed to come here. I blame myself for what happened with the wraiths. If we’d been more vigilant—’
Kait laid a hand on his arm. ‘There wasn’t anything either of us could have done, Ned. Kyndra should have—’
Nediah pulled his arm away. ‘You can’t lay Shika’s death at her feet.’
Kyndra’s heart began to pound. She felt sick. No good comes of eavesdropping, her mother’s voice chided, but still she couldn’t leave. All she could do was cling to the rock, squinting at the shadows where Kait and Nediah stood.
‘She’s already laid it there herself,’ Kait said.
‘That doesn’t mean she’s right to.’
‘She’s a Starborn. She has all the power Lord Kierik lost and she could have used it to destroy the wraiths before they began shooting our own damn energy back at us.’
‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Nediah said, putting some distance between himself and Kait. ‘A Starborn’s ability comes with a price.’
‘Oh yes, the corrupting influence of the stars. Sacrificing a few feelings seems a small price to pay for the power to rip up the very earth.’
‘Kyndra doesn’t think so.’
‘Then she’s a fool,’ Kait said bluntly. ‘I wouldn’t hesitate.’
Kyndra had finally heard enough. The sickness was climbing into her throat. She swallowed it back and turned, suddenly desperate to distance herself from the conversation.
‘You didn’t hesitate, as I recall,’ she heard Nediah say in a hushed voice as she hurried away, her heart still pounding horribly. ‘Not even for me. I loved you.’
‘Some things’, Kait replied, ‘are more important than love.’
17
Market Primus, Rairam
Brégenne
His hands tangle in her hair as he kisses her and both her own are pressed against his chest, one clutching his tunic, his heart beating beneath her fingertips. She is alive with the sensations that rush through her, a river sweeping her up in its current. She yields to the flow, letting herself feel every caress, every heated touch. There are no spaces between them and the air itself seems afire. He draws her down to him so that they both kneel and when he reaches for her bodice, she lets him and the material slides from her shoulders to pool at her waist. She meets his eyes and sees herself: a woman with a woman’s body, her hair falling around her—
Brégenne opened her eyes. For a moment she was disorientated, blinking at the dark, unfamiliar room. Her heart was beating quickly. She pressed one hand against it and let herself savour the dream before wakefulness returned in a rush.
She sat up abruptly in the huge bed Trader Marahan had granted her for the night. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, though no one was there to see her blush. I just miss him, she tried to tell herself. It was natural to miss Nediah – they’d been together a long time. She’d become used to his presence, taken it for granted that when she turned around, he’d be there, ready with a smile or wry remark.
That didn’t lessen the pain of his absence. Brégenne had to admit that what she felt was more, dangerously more, than the despondency of separated friends. It was a feeling that had crept up on her unawares, a feeling that had perhaps been years in the growing. Now that Nediah was gone …
She forced herself to focus on the day ahead. First things first, Brégenne thought as she dressed. The mob at the gates had to be dispersed. She was afraid that the peaceful solution she had in mind wouldn’t find much favour with people who were half starved and maddened by grief at the loss of their homes and loved ones. She tugged on her boots fiercely, cursing the Trade Assembly. Charity and compassion were clearly not words with which the merchants were familiar.
Trader Astra Marahan greeted them in the breakfast room. The Marahans were one of the oldest merchant families and their affluence was gaudily apparent. Servants hovered by painted screens, waiting to spring into action at Astra’s slightest gesture. Brégenne and Gareth sat in high-backed chairs, confronted by a veritable army of pastries. While Brégenne was impressed and faintly appalled at the surrounding luxury, she could tell by Gareth’s frequent fidgeting that he was out of his depth. The first time he’d reached for a pastry – iced and arranged in a spiral – one of the servants had pursed his lips in unconcealed disapproval. There was an order to the eating of pastries and iced cinnamon spirals were among the last to be consumed. Gareth had dropped the thing as if burned, which caused the servant’s lips to purse even more. Brégenne took pity and handed the novice an almond heart, which Gareth ate apprehensively.
Their host sat at the head of the table, her husband to her right and one of her sons to her left. Brégenne noticed that she hardly touched the food, but a servant – following some unspoken signal – frequently toppe
d up her tea from an elegant silver pot. No one spoke and the room’s silence was an uneasy one.
Brégenne decided to break it. ‘Thank you for putting us up for the night, Astra. It’s appreciated.’
If Astra didn’t care to be called so informally, she didn’t say so. ‘You are welcome. If your news can be verified, the Assembly will be in your debt.’ Her blue eyes were piercing and she placed an emphasis on the word debt that made it sound distinctly double-edged.
Brégenne swallowed the obvious retort and nodded graciously. ‘When do you intend to leave with Argat?’
‘I may not leave until the situation here is resolved.’ Astra tucked her little finger through the cup’s handle. ‘Once it has been, I will give Acre my fullest attention.’
It was the best Brégenne was going to get, but it still made her want to jump up and shake some sense into the woman. The complacency that came with peace had taken root too deep. Even the terror of the Breaking hadn’t been able to shake it.
‘So Argat has been granted permission to unhook his ship from the great chain?’ she asked.
Astra tilted her head. ‘Temporarily. This will be made clear to those captains who seek the same. We take a risk in unhooking the Eastern Set. The ships are secured for their own safety and are far too valuable to hand over to their captains. Not all are as experienced as Argat.’
Brégenne frowned. ‘Has Argat been informed that the situation’s temporary?’
The tightening of Astra’s lips told her that he hadn’t been. It didn’t bode well.
‘Mother says you’re a sorceress,’ Astra’s son piped up suddenly. He looked about thirteen. ‘Is it true?’
‘As true as Acre’s return,’ Brégenne replied with a pointed look at Astra.
‘My tutor said Acre was just a story. Like magic.’