by Tia Reed
A glow on the horizon. Dindarin. It had to be too cold for those beasts to prowl. Perhaps. He could not tell. His muscles were numb. His wound was afire. What other predators skulked this hostile land? He had to risk it.
Not able to take one more step.
✽ ✽ ✽
His gambit had paid off. In that briefest touch of minds, Vinsant found access to the indigo crystal. He seized the djinn’s magic, drew the dense indigo web into himself. A burst of unimaginable, agonising power surged through him. It cut off as soon as it was initiated, teasing him with the merest taste of it.
Levitos. His quartz burst into crimson light. He floated.
Clumps of snow dropped from the cliff high above. Flurries whirled across the valley far below. Levitos. Concentrating took a monumental effort. His magic had dissipated down the link. Incredible that was still open, but he had bigger problems to worry about. His magic was failing. He was drained. Didn’t have enough in him to make it the whole way up or down.
Down then.
Above, distant and weak, on a level with the yellow moon, beige light winked. A tentative magic caught him, pulling him up in stops and starts. Vinsant held his breath. This was not the magic of a strong mahktashaan. He strained to find a glimmer in his crystal. He had nothing left. Had to trust Padesh could stop the whooshing wind buffeting him away from the cliff. Jerk by jerk he rose until he was past the icicles hanging off the edge.
Padesh set him down on the icy path. His chattering teeth were louder than the wind. As for his fingers and toes, they were too numb to even wiggle. He sighed as Padesh touched a hand to his head and warmth tingled through him, thawing death’s approach. Vinsant lay there, shivering despite his steaming clothes, too done for to even think, just grateful for the shield Padesh had erected around them. The scums if he knew what had just happened.
“Who were you linked to?”
A warning tinkled in his mind, right next to the tickle of the link. “Don’t know. The link. . .was –” He frowned. “Strange.”
Beige eyes narrowed. “Get up.”
Vinsant’s practice sword appeared in his hand. Vinsant managed a single shake of his head.
“Up.” Padesh’s crystal flared and Vinsant found himself on his feet. “You will drill.”
He willed his arm to move but Padesh had batted the sword out of his hand before he realised he wasn’t holding it right. Another thrust and Padesh toppled him.
“Up.”
Padesh yanked him to his feet. No chance of him finding them otherwise. The sword felt like lead. A slash with a blunt edge cut him down. Standing was beyond him, but Padesh wasn’t about to care. He had to have had Levi as a mentor. Up. And down. And up. Over and over while the drifts outside the shield thickened.
Vae, wasn’t this what had landed Tokver in trouble? It was slavery, not training.
“Who were you linked to?”
On one knee Vinsant shook his head. Padesh slapped a hand on his forehead. Vinsant started. The link was still open. Old merry Sai bit berry pie. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. That had to be warning enough. Arun snapped the link a moment before he did. A moment before Padesh was in his mind, prowling for the answer.
No! This was a violation. He wouldn’t submit. You can’t!
Somewhere within him, the awe and might of Mahkos barricaded his thoughts. Padesh’s mind bounced out. The mahktashaan released him.
“If you shelter this mahktashaan, you are complicit in his guilt.
“Mahktos,” Vinsant began as a matter of habit.
He was unable to complete the thought. He toppled on a yawn, asleep before he hit the ground.
Chapter 38
THIS TIME IT was more than a prickling sensation on her skin. This time Sian heard a bird call that was not a forest bird. All her glances over her shoulder, peering through the broad trees, tangled vines and sweeps of the bushy canopy had not been rooted in imagination after all. She jogged up to Erok.
Her hunter looked down at her. “Keep moving,” he said. “Don’t let them know you hear.” He swung his spear like he was relaxed but his grip was firm. It had been for some time.
Behind them, Orin tripped on the uneven ground. Brax steadied him without comment but he exchanged a worried look with Erok. Neither of them had wandered off to hunt today.
“Climb on my back, Soothsayer,” Brax said. “We cannot stop now.”
Sian hung her head. Orin was Guardian of Spirit Lake, first of the Soothsayers. He should not be carried like a child. She trotted after Erok. “Do you think they’re Akerin?”
“Akerin do not hide from Akerin.”
“The outcasts?” The sudden pang for her family made her trip. She had overheard old Farina murmur to Grandmother Vila, the day the village had thrown them out, that she was better off without them. Their scolding and spitting and contempt had torn her apart, but having no one to call family was ten times worse. She looked up at Erok. When they were journeying from Myklaan, she had come to believe he enjoyed her company but he was only coming with her now because Draykan and the soothsayers wished it.
“Maybe,” Erok said.
She had to think to recall her question. “Who else?” she asked.
“If you did not see it your dreams, I do not know.”
She stayed silent. Perhaps because of that they caught the snap of a twig. The three of them came to an abrupt halt just as an arrow whizzed from their right, grazing Erok’s shoulder as he turned towards the sound.
“Run,” he said pushing her down the sloping path.
She stumbled along but turned in time to see his spear sail towards a clump of ferns. To see Brax set Orin down and tell him to lie flat. To see Erok draw his knife, and Brax lift his spear. To hear a pained bellow as Erok’s spear lodged in flesh, and bodies thrash past low branches. Sian ducked behind an outcrop of shale, hiding from soldiers crashing onto the path from all directions. She couldn’t help, but she didn’t want to run, so she peeped out. Brax flung his spear. It lodged in a man’s chest. The soldier’s eyes popped wide, his arms swung behind him and his mouth opened before he collapsed. His tribe just streamed around him, so confident because Brax was unarmed, and Erok’s knife no match for the swords. She leaned out to see better. Her hand dislodged loose rock. She held her breath but the clatter was masked by the fight.
The soldiers were ringing the men. Orin was sitting on a log, calm as a full scumhopper, but Erok and Brax crouched, ready to fight. One soldier barked three words. Orin replied, too low for her to hear. Glowering, Erok threw his knife to the dirt. The men closed in, three on each hunter, pushing them to their knees and then onto their stomachs, binding their hands behind their back. Their leader nodded towards Orin. A soldier grimaced but strode behind the blind old soothsayer who stared calm acceptance as the soldier raised his sword.
“Noooo!” Sian hurled a rock. It thumped onto rotting leaves five spear-lengths from her target, but now they knew she was there. Two of them sprang after her. She darted off the path, down the slope, hoping to lose herself in the trees. Brush crunched underfoot. Ahead, a figure hovered between the trees. She rounded a peculiar rock. Her abrupt change of direction caused her knee to twist. The shot of pain brought her down. She slid down the hill, grasping at shallow rooted plants that dislodged in her hand. She bent a leg to the side to break her slide. The movement turned her sideways.
A soldier jumped in front of her. She rolled into his legs. Reaching down, he grabbed her by the arms and hoisted her up. She kicked and screamed, but he hefted her around and pinned her to him. His words were tempered, but she struggled until they met the path. Her kicking and screaming did nothing to loosen his hold. They passed the peculiar rock. Up close, its head and club were obvious. Fear of a nest quietened her until she saw other soldiers ahead.
“Let me go. Let me go.”
Her captor said something. His voice was not harsh but he wasn’t offering friendship. Her feet kicked above the ground as he bore her to the other intruders l
ike a chicken for the chopping block.
He dropped her on the ground next to Orin. The soothsayer, still seated, was staring ahead, unperturbed. Sian held his leathery hand. Her lips trembled as she sought reassurance from Erok. Her hunter was lying on mossy clumps with blue beetles crawling all around. He turned his face so they could see each other and she read murder in his eyes.
“You must trust the spirits,” Orin said.
At the sound of his voice, a black-robed figure rose from the side of a soldier with a wound over his ribs. His hood obscured his face but the teal crystal around his neck pulsed with magic, and he was striding right for her. She shrank against Orin.
“Courage child,” the soothsayer said.
Wind rippled the edges of the magic man’s hood. He was tall and thin but the sharp lines to his face weren’t mean.
“The spirits guide you,” Orin greeted, like he was welcome to the tribe.
“You speak Laanan, old man?”
“I speak what you need to hear.”
Sian drew a sharp breath. Her reaction drew the magic man’s regard. She dropped her head to avoid his strange eyes. They were teal to match his stone. Their power was intense.
“We have need of guides to take us through these hills. Will those men comply?”
She risked peeping up. It was soothsayer magic to understand a foreign tongue. Orin was granting her a gift when he kept hold of her hand.
“Is it the way of the Terlaani, to abuse then ask for help?”
“Times are dire, old father. Convince them to serve us without trouble. I would rather not have them killed.”
Erok should not have considered when Ortiz relayed their request. “Tell them to let Sian go.”
“No,” she said, sliding to her knees beside him.
He raised his eyes to hers. It didn’t matter he was silent; she knew he was urging her to continue on their path. “Tell them we will guide them to wherever they want to go if they leave the two of you free.”
She shook her head as Orin spoke to the magic man. The cruel spirits were going to leave her all alone.
“The Terlaani mahktashaan will not release Sian,” Orin translated. “He has orders to take her to his leadsman. They have sensed great power in her.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine. She watched a brittle leaf rip from a bare branch, tossed every way by the winds, out of its own control.
“Command the spirits to protect her, Soothsayer,” Erok said, rolling over and sitting up.
“The spirits are not mine to command, young Erok. I am their tool, as is Sian.”
“The spirits ask much and give little.”
“It is not for us to judge the value of their gifts. You must have faith. We must all have faith.”
“Faith in these warriors, who would turn Sian from her path? Faith in the spirits themselves, who allow creatures of darkness to destroy our village? The spirits have forsaken us, Soothsayer.”
It scared her, how tired and ancient Orin looked when he bowed his head. “If this is how you feel, the Akerin are already lost.” His breath shivered through him the way the wind sighed through reeds. He looked past the teal crystal, a weak, blind man. “Erok and Brax will cooperate in exchange for their lives and your protection of the girl.”
“We do not do this willingly,” Brax said. “We will slaughter them the moment they let down their guard.”
The magic man must have picked up his sentiment, his question to Orin was so sharp.
“They will kill you,” she whispered to Brax.
“If that is my fate, I will die with honour in the service of the spirits.”
The slightest tremble passed through Orin.
“If you have the chance you must run,” Erok said, low and calm so the lowlanders would not guess what he spoke.
She would not do it, not without Orin. She slipped her hand into his.
“I regret I cannot take you with us, old man,” the magic man said. “You will slow us down too much.”
“So be it.” The soothsayer gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. The wind whispered disapproval through branches bare and leafed.
“Alone, out here, you are vulnerable. Death will linger. I can offer you a quick release.”
Down in the valley, a lone wolf howled.
“My life is in the hands of the spirits. We will meet again and soon, Garzene of the mahktashaan.”
The slightest movement of his head betrayed the lowlander’s surprise but he recovered in the beat of a dragonfly’s wing. “May your spirits guide you.”
Orin drew her hand up, bidding her stand, handing her over to the brutes who thought nothing of killing a man if it served their selfish need.
The soldier who had captured her herded her away.
“Soothsayer Orin,” she said, reaching for the old man.
“The spirits reach and guide you,” he said. He levered himself up with his staff, standing straight for one so old. His milky eyes fixed right on Erok, who gave him a single, sharp nod before the point of a sword forced him on, away from the defenceless old man they were abandoning to death.
She kept her head down while they marched into the narrow, wooded valley and up the steep side, well past the time those unfamiliar with the forest should have organised a camp. When they stopped, they used rope they carried to tie Erok and Brax to a tree. Sian sidled as close as she dared. The lowlanders’ ineffectual bustle as they gathered wood for fires made her jittery. Their careless tossing of twigs on flame, their laughter while they gutted rabbits for roasting sent her heart plummeting into the earth. The forest was stirring, marking those who pillaged. She could feel its anger beating through its roots, its dismay groaning in its branches.
The littlest Akerin knew the way of the spirits. Sian knelt and dipped her head to the soil, singing her thanks to Forest for meat and wood, Water for drink, Sky for breath, Earth for their path. Far away a cry ululated in harmony, a reed-thin voice that could only have belonged to Orin. Sian sang louder, letting Wind carry her tune, and Erok and Brax added their hoarse voices to hers.
A squat soldier pulled her up far enough to deliver a slap. Erok yelled. Sian choked a sob and resumed her thanks. She was here among the desecrators, ready to eat their spoils. She would not stoop to their disrespectful lowlander ways.
Another slap had her cowering in ball. Erok raged over the terrifying magic man’s bark. The black cloak pulled the squat soldier aside and crouched beside her, offering a rabbit leg. Sian shook her head. The forest nurtured a deep rage. If she could not give thanks she would go to bed hungry. The black cloak hummed a wonky tune. She looked up in surprise. Off key and out of time, it sounded like the Song of Thanks. She dared to trill a quiet bar. He nodded his permission for her to finish the song. That made it okay to take the meat. When she had gnawed the bone clean, Leader titled his head at Erok and Brax. She crept to the fire, took some rabbit and fed the hunters strips of meat, ignoring the snickers of the bad lowlander men. They were chewing the last scraps when a yowl silenced the soft nighttime chatter of the forest.
“Get into a tree,” Erok said.
Three of the soldiers remained vigilant, peering into the threatening gloom of the forest; the other four sat, and laughed, and ate with an eye on their prisoners. Sian didn’t want to call attention to herself by moving.
The yowl turned to hoots.
“Get into a tree now.”
She stood and tiptoed towards the nearest poplar but a soldier jumped up and barred her way.
“Ogres,” Erok snarled. “Ogres have smelt us. Ogres, you lowland scum.”
The soldiers caught the crucial word. Leader snapped an order. The lot of them drew their swords and melted to the periphery of the camp. Sian reached for the lowest branch but the soldier nearest her whirled and frowned.
“Ogres. We must climb,” she whispered, pointing up, looking down.
The soldier caught her arm and dragged her to the fire before returning to his watch. They were a
ll looking into the forest now. Sian picked a log from the fire, put it down, and eased out a burning stick instead. She felt around the hearth for a sharp stone. Slow and steady, she crept to Erok. The hot stick frayed the rope, making it easy to saw with the stone. She was cutting the last fibres when a squat soldier caught her. He dealt her a backhand blow as ogres burst from the forest, charging three abreast. The soldiers rallied but the long clubs knocked swords from hands before they could inflict a wound.
“Spirits help us! The ogres are cooperating,” Brax said, so startled because the beasts stood side by side.
“Gor,” Erok replied, snapping the last of his bonds. “He’s taught them to fight.” He snatched a branch from the fire just as two more ogres crashed through the trees. Sweeping the torch in a wide arc, he kept them at bay while Sian scooted for Brax. She hacked at his ropes but her nervous hands slipped and the stone cut his flesh.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.” He was brave not to make a sound.
The magic man murmured a word that set the hairs on her arms on end. Teal light flared from his crystal. A lightning bolt shot from his hand and hit an ogre. It fell, charred flesh sizzling around the blackened hole in its chest. Another bolt struck a second ogre before it understood the danger.
“Run,” Brax said. She kept sawing at his ropes. “I said run.” They were almost frayed through. “You stupid, demon-touched girl. We can’t escape if we’re burdened with you.”
Her hands froze as the nasty words struck.
“Get. Go on.”
She tottered back, tears streaming down her face.
“You deaf or just plain stupid?”
A daily torment echoed in the brawl. What’s wrong with her? the other children always asked when she fitted or when a simple question turned her dumb.
Ignore her. She’s stupid. Was born with half a brain, her pah always answered, before he spat at her.
The pain cut so deep she had to cross her arms over her middle and hunch over. She never wanted to be a burden.
“Go on. Get.”
Sian bolted, dodging a soldier who was running to Erok’s aid. Behind her, shouts and clangs rang out. The hiss of Black Cloak’s magic marked the fall of ogres while cracking twigs warned her someone gave chase. She sprang sideways, following a beam of Dindarin’s light. Dried growth crunched underfoot, announcing her passage like a beacon. Her breath rasped up and down her throat as she fought down her hurt.