No Present Like Time

by Steph Swainston

  None of the Zascai were prepared to help Gio take on Lightning or Serein. They concentrated on me instead, stepping forward warily, trying to time their attack together. I backed against a tree and motioned for Mist to do the same. She never stopped swearing as she raised her katana with both hands. A gleam ran along its perfect edge, daunting the rebels.

  Gio circled Lightning’s short sword with his rapier blade and then hit it hard under the forte. He flowed the move on with grace, beat away the straight thrust Wrenn made at his chest. He kicked a foot at Wrenn’s hips, shoving him off balance. Wrenn bounded back, spread his wings.

  The man fighting me turned and ran. I looked to Mist; she was shaking, white hands wrapped around her hilt and an expression of disbelief on her face. Blood peeled off the blade’s razor edge. Her adversary lay on the ground in two pieces. For one beat, blood pumped out slickly around his solid guts. His lips moved, then set.

  “Shit,” I said. “It went straight through him!” I hadn’t seen before what a blade designed for cleaving Insects could do to a human.

  Mist said nothing, trying to think her way out of the horror.

  Gio spun on the ball of his foot and lunged at Lightning. Lightning missed his parry but instinctively turned away from the point. It ripped through the left side of his shirt at the waist and into his back.

  Gio whipped out the black blade, thirty centimeters slick with blood.

  Lightning fell to his knees, heavily. Gio turned to Wrenn.

  The Zascai stopped and looked at Lightning. He lay on his side with his body arched, knees bent, his wounded side raised from the ground. His eyes clenched shut with agony; he drew deep breaths through his open mouth.

  The thugs shrank back, their broadswords loose in their hands. Gio’s charisma had worn off and they were themselves again, every terrified individual. I shouted, “See what you’ve done? Killed the Archer!” I made no attempt to hide the panic in my voice. “Lord Micawater. The oldest man in the world after the Emperor himself! Put your weapons down!”

  Their blades dropped to the earth. They turned tail and fled, in ones and twos, every direction into the forest. I yelled after them, “San will bring you to justice! I’ll see you all hang!”

  Gio and Wrenn were still dueling to kill fifty meters away. Gio forced Wrenn to retreat against a broad oak trunk; he was in danger of tripping over its roots. The last of Gio’s allies raced past. A look passed between them-the terrified man urged Gio to run. Gio glanced back, realized his friends had split and his chance had gone. He jumped out of Wrenn’s reach, shouted something I couldn’t catch, then disappeared between the trees.

  “What did he say?” said Wrenn. “Jant, chase him!”

  “No such thing-look at Lightning!”

  “Hurry!” Mist snapped. “Help me with Saker! Saker, you’re going to be all right.”

  Lightning’s square face was pallid as clay; sweat broke out on his forehead. His body was rigid. “Leave me alone,” he said faintly. He tried to fend me off and pull himself into a sitting position, so Wrenn and I supported him, me on the left and Wrenn on the right, and eased him against a tree trunk. We propped him upright and I rucked up his shirt to see the damage.

  The rapier had passed through the forearm of his left wing, between its two long bones; radius and ulna, and then out and through the wing’s bicep before gouging deep into his side. So his folded wing had been stuck through twice, leaving two entrance holes and two exit holes, but it had protected his side from receiving the length of the blade.

  Lightning tried to spread his wing but couldn’t. “It’s only a scratch,” he said, vaguely and inaccurately. I took its wrist, held together its three elongated fingers and pulled it open with a grating sound deep within the lacerated gristle. Blood flowed in strong pulses from the upper limb and soaked it. Normally broad with splayed feathers like a hawk, it looked thin with the wet golden plumage plastered down to the skin.

  “Water. Hot water.” I rounded on Wrenn. “You can do that, can’t you?”

  Wrenn fetched a canteen from the fire Ata had built and began to pour water through Lightning’s wing. I whispered, “He can live without a pinion. The stab in his side’s more serious. Here, cut away the shirt.”

  Lightning tried to tug his wing out of my hand. He would rather die of blood loss than be in such an improper position. “I’m sorry, Saker,” I said aloud. “We have to treat it.”

  We mopped away the blood on his back, leaving a red-brown map of his skin’s tiny pores and lines. The skin around the puncture hole was spongy and inflamed. Lightning was growing too confused to be rid of our administrations. “Better luck next time,” he said to Wrenn, then rested his head on his knees. “Ah…it bloody…hurts.”

  I applied my tourniquet to his wing for a minute while I cut strips from his shirt to make a field dressing. It was impossible to tell how deep the wound was. I saw that it was more than four centimeters, but I had been taught not to probe them. I couldn’t do anything about internal bleeding. I couldn’t prevent infection; I didn’t have sutures, nothing even as basic as a mold plaster or a clean bandage. Lightning looked so weak that all I felt was shame. I had never seen him like this before, and I should never have to. It wasn’t the right way around: as at Slake Cross, I should be the injured one and Lightning should be helping me. He’s the second-oldest Eszai, the richest immortal. He is the center of Awia; he taught me its language, etiquette, martial arts. His money drip-feeds Wrought. What will happen without him? “My god, what are we going to do?”

  Mist said, “Finish the job.”

  Wrenn said meekly, “How can I help?”

  I yelled, “Look after your own sorry hide! Gio had a system for fighting two men that you didn’t know!”

  Mist spat, “Shira, keep working. Wrenn, then go and fetch the horses.”

  Wrenn plunged about in the forest, falling over, cracking branches and making an awful noise. When he returned holding the reins of our three mounts Mist took two from him and left him with his palfrey. “Ride back to the Culver Inn, find our coach and summon the driver. I’ll build the fire up so you can see where we are.”

  The Swordsman was only capable of a canter rather than a gallop; he led his horse to the road and we heard its hooves resound loud in the night then steadily fade. Mist said, “I wish you weren’t tripping so hard.”

  “Ha! I saved you.”

  She looked surprised. “Well, a second later I saved you! That man I cut apart, he…Oh, forget it…”

  A quick fix would steady me and help me think clearly. Or I could take my whole supply; unconsciousness was very appealing. I pushed the inappropriate thought away and said, “He can’t reach the Castle. In fact, I don’t want him to lie in a coach even as far as Eske.”

  Lightning forced himself to recover a little. Calmly but muzzily he said, “San needs us. I’ll be there. Gio broke my bow…Pass me my bow; I want it.” He was blanking out the pain, which I admired because I have tried to do that more than once and failed. “I hate rapiers. A murderer’s sword. Worse than…”

  “You haven’t been hurt before in my memory,” said Mist.

  “Long ago.” Lightning sighed.

  “There’s something I can give you,” I offered, gesturing for Mist to fetch the splintered longbow and my pack. “Everything will look a little strange for a while but you’ll be too relaxed to care. Don’t worry and let yourself-”

  Lightning seized my hand and clenched it so tightly I winced. “No drugs. Promise?”

  He spoke with such certainty that I nodded. “I promise.”

  He huffed in great breaths, chest heaving like the sides of a tent in a gale. Then he lay down carefully and in a couple of gasps was unconscious. Mist dragged across his opulent gold and pale yellow coat, its gray fur lining collecting beechmast and broken twigs. We draped it over him.

  Then I sat down beside him on a tree root. I ignored the blood soaking through my trousers and tried to sense the Circle. The Doctor once t
old me how, but she had more practice than me. She had taught herself to feel when the threads of our lifelines are strained. She can sense if someone is close to death because they pull on the Circle and it tries to hold them. Like a spider with her fingers on invisible filaments, it’s possible that she already knows Lightning is injured. The Emperor would feel it; after all, he makes the links, sharing our time and preventing us from dying.

  I watched the rise and fall of Lightning’s shallow, in-shock breathing. If it stopped, I wanted to be prepared for the terrible sensation, the very moment when he rips through the Circle. No, I mustn’t think that.

  Mist stalked up to the fire and turned to me, her expression livid. “Zascai shouldn’t be able to murder Eszai. Immortals can’t be struck down this way! Saker can’t die. He’ll wake up. I’ll kill Gio Ami. I will-the bastard-how could he dare?”

  “Ata-”

  Her white hair tousled as she beat her fists on her thighs. “Gio Ami. When I’ve finished with him there won’t be enough left for a dog to roll in!”

  “Look,” I said loudly. “The thrust hit his wing and didn’t go deep in his back. If dust doesn’t infect it, the wound may not be fatal. But if we stay here, I won’t bet on it. Return to Awndyn, and his so-called lover can nurse him.”

  Mist’s eyes glittered; their shine in the darkness looked halfway insane. “No-on to the Castle.”

  “You landed us here. For once plan for someone other than yourself.”

  “I can’t believe a Rhydanne has the gall to say that!”

  “Only half-”

  She interrupted, “If we retreat we give Gio the advantage.”

  “As if we have the advantage now!” I glared at her. “Wrenn’s illegal vendetta against Gio is bad enough without you joining in. He’ll duel with Gio’s followers all together or one at a time. Now you are trying hatred on for size.”

  “You’re right,” she said softly.

  “Eszai are supposed to work together; let’s earn our immortality. Damn it, Mist, god will show up, coffee mug in hand, before you bother cooperating. Go back to Awndyn, where I’ll bring you San’s directions as I should have done in the first place.”

  Hours passed and Wrenn did not return. I watched over the Archer, straining to see by the insipid moonlight. Mist said little but glowered more and more until sometime in the early hours she burst out, “I should have gone instead!”

  “Serein is a poor rider but nominally the best Swordsman,” I said shortly.

  “Well, where has he got to? Has he been captured?”

  “I hope not. Lightning’s condition is deteriorating, thankfully slowly because he’s strong. It’s imperative we get him out of this wilderness.”

  Mist stomped around the clearing, cracking twigs underfoot and kicking dry leaves onto the hearth. I hissed, “Keep quiet! And keep listening; Gio might return. You islanders don’t realize how far your noise carries.”

  Lightning woke up but only stayed conscious, unmoving, for a few minutes. I tried everything except scolopendium but I couldn’t bring him back.

  I sighed. “Gio’s wrecked his chances of regaining the Circle, that’s for sure. He could have-one of my predecessors was displaced then rejoined it.”

  Ata shook her head. “There was such a fast turnover of Messengers that they had a good attitude; they saw it as a temporary prize and a few more years of life. I remember one man, three or four Messengers back, who when he lost his Challenge joined the Imperial Fyrd. We saw him grow old. But most people who leave the Circle are too broken to try again.”

  If I was displaced from the Castle as a Messenger, I would try to convince San to make me a new place in the Circle-an Eszai for reconnaissance. Somebody might one day be able to outpace me, but they would never manage a bird’s-eye view. It is theoretically possible for someone to hold two titles in the Circle but it has never happened because it’s so difficult to keep hold of even one title. Anyway, seeing as every Eszai has to be beaten on his own terms, I would change the requirements of my Challenge to favor my strengths no matter who I’m up against.

  All I really fear is the advent of another hybrid like me who has taught himself to fly and appears out of the blue with a Challenge. As far as I know I am unique and I’m careful not to have any children. In mortal living memory, relations between the countries of Darkling and Awia have become appalling; Rhydanne and Awians are active enemies, at least in the Carniss area. I only know of one marriage between them, when Jay “Dara,” a fyrd captain from Rachiswater and man of rare tastes, climbed to Scree to find himself a wife.

  Jay was my best soldier and after Pasquin’s Tower Battle nearly thirty years ago, when the governor of Lowespass was killed, I placed Jay and his wife Genya as governors in Lowespass fortress. I knew that I could check on them there, and especially on any of their off-spring that might have both a sprinter’s speed and long wings. But unfortunately for Jay running Lowespass fortress is a hazardous job, and twenty-one years later he died childless when Insects ambushed him by the Wall.

  Gradually the sky paled; the darkness shrank away into the long shadows of the trees across the whole forest. The dawn chorus broke out; roosting birds roused and called from the branches above us. Mist listened to them with extreme suspicion as she chewed the last of the pan forte.

  She paused, hearing the clop of hooves and the heavy whirring of ironbound coach wheels from the direction of the road. Between the trees a light glowed, faded. The din ceased. Wrenn’s voice called, “Comet? Hey!”

  I raised my voice: “Hey, Serein! Over here!”

  “Good morning. I’m sorry I took ages. It was a long way and there were rebels everywhere.” The young man’s voice swung toward us, obscured by the sound of hacking as he cut his way through dewy briars. He emerged from a thicket, grinned and pointed his rapier at the road. “But they’ve all passed by now.”

  I motioned for Wrenn to help me lift the Archer. He said, “I feel as if I shouldn’t touch Lightning.”

  “I understand. You heard tales of his exploits in history when you were a boy, right? Well, you take his legs and I’ll lift his arms.”

  We struggled to carry Lightning out of the forest, over the uneven ground. He seemed even bigger limp and lifeless, and was a dead weight, although his bones were hollow. Wrenn climbed into the coach, reached down to grasp him under the arms and pull him up.

  “It’s not as elegant a carriage as he might have wished,” Mist remarked dryly, but with obvious relief.

  I laid Lightning on his side, on the floor because the seats were occupied by our sea chests. The wound in his back started bleeding again, dark and clotted blood. Mist stanched its sluggish flow with the last of the cloth. “What am I supposed to do?” she snapped. “I don’t have the faintest idea how to care for casualties. Jant, come with us to Awndyn. Tris is three thousand kilometers away, and at the moment your report is hardly San’s vital priority!”

  “But I have to help San muster fyrd against Gio.”

  Wrenn said, “You can’t stop Gio; you’re just a messenger…Shit, I’m sorry, Jant.”

  I said, “Don’t you dare go after Gio! Sit up there with the driver.” Wrenn hopped onto the bench with the nervous obedience of a captain receiving direct orders. I took the opportunity to whisper, “I’ll accompany you to Awndyn and we won’t stop en route. But when I leave you, don’t trust Mist. She doesn’t fancy you, Wrenn; it’s all bluff. Ignore her seductive words and low-cut tops if you know what’s best. Without Lightning, you and I have little protection from her schemes. And-I never thought I’d say this, but-beware of Zascai. Too many are Gio’s devotees.”

  “Jant, this is overcautious.”

  “No. Do as I say. When I return with San’s orders I want to find you alive.” I climbed into the coach and thumped the ceiling. The driver cracked his reins, and we gathered speed down the straight road. The forest formed a block on both sides, a palisade of trees. The Remige Road was so silent that I found it hard to believe our d
esperate fight had actually occurred.

  We reached the manor house after five hours and I ransacked it for medicines. I explained everything to Swallow Awndyn, who made sure that the Archer was given a clean bed. The manor’s resident sawbones was a sensible man, but seemed to be completely out of his depth.

  I wrote a letter for Swallow’s courier to deliver posthaste to the Doctor at Hacilith University: “For the hand of Ella Rayne only. Follow the bearer to Awndyn manor where Lightning lies in a serious condition from rapier wounds. A single thrust pierced his wing twice and made a puncture lesion in his back near the kidneys which pours blood at the slightest provocation. Rapid pulse and dyspnea; the rapier blade was dirty. C.J.S.”

  I caught a few hours of sleep but it was late on Monday evening, a full twenty-four hours after we were ambushed, when I felt able to leave Lightning and set out for the Castle.

  I flew in a strikingly clear sky. A full moon gibbered over the forest. Above me, stars between stars; the familiar constellations could scarcely be distinguished among the litter of faint points of light. The immensity of what had happened began to weigh on me. “Saker,” I said aloud. Lightning was hurt. But why now? He had survived so long. I had never known him injured by Insects; he could only be hurt by people, now that the Empire was turning on itself. I flew, chilled by extreme loneliness. Tern has abandoned me and now Lightning was gone. I need to take a bit more scolopendium, I thought, and was suddenly terrified that I might. I was vastly more afraid of scolopendium now that I was alone.

  Strange. I beat my wings, finding their strength reassuring. I can rely on no one. Whatever I am going to do is up to me now and I have to stay alert. We must trust the Emperor. My wingtips brushed the forest canopy as I flew low, throughout the night, back to the Castle.