by Paul Stewart
Bethesda nodded, the expression on her small face taut and bleak.
Esau smiled. ‘You’ll see,’ he said, reaching up and straightening her hood. ‘He’ll meet up with us at our winter den, just like he promised.’ His smile grew broader. ‘Besides, Leah’d have something to say to him if he did not.’
Bethesda nodded again. Her eyes glittered. ‘And Jesse?’
Esau shrugged, then turned away. The fire gleamed on his broad sweaty face. He tossed a couple of trimmed sticks from the meagre woodstack into the flames. They hissed and spat, and the fire gave off writhing coils of smoke. It wrapped itself round the deep cooking pot, which was beginning to steam.
‘I trust Jesse no further than I can spit,’ Bethesda was telling him. ‘And that missing eye ain’t gonna make his temper no sweeter. You know what he’s like.’
‘Jesse’ll do what he’s told,’ said Esau grimly. He was crouched down, his hunched back turned to Bethesda. She was right, of course, and his thin lips tensed and all but disappeared as he recalled what Jesse had done to that kin woman in the cavern, and what he’d intended to do to the kingirl on top of the speckled stack. The wind shifted, and he screwed his eyes up as the acrid yellow-grey smoke blew into his face. ‘He knows better than to cross Solomon.’
‘You could have gone with them, left me behind,’ Bethesda muttered, and she saw how Esau’s back flinched as though struck.
‘That’s foolish talk, Beth, and I will not hear it,’ he said softly.
Bethesda continued to stare at his back. She liked its reassuring bulk. She liked his broad powerful shoulders, and the thick neck that was wider than his head. She liked the hacked hair that had no vanity in it. He was big and he was dumb, and he would walk barefoot across bladesharp flints for her if she desired it. She knew that. He’d have liked nothing better than to press on, she knew that too, yet he had stayed with her, for he was smitten and thoughtful and loyal – as loyal to her as he maintained Solomon was to himself. And Bethesda hoped he was right on that account.
She watched Esau reach down, remove a pouch from a pocket of his jacket and drop pinches of dried yarrow leaves into the mugs that sat side by side next to the fire, his big broad fingers looking incongruous at such a delicate task. She plucked at the wyrmepelt that he’d laid down for her to sit upon.
He’d chosen their rest-up spot well. Just about as kithwise well as a big dumb lug like Esau could manage, Bethesda thought affectionately.
They were settled in the bowl of a shallow depression in the rock. It offered some shelter from the winter-laced wind, while still affording an unbroken view across the broad expanse of flat rock all around them.
There were three large boulders in a loose cluster on the rim of the dip. Two were tall and leaned together conspiratorially, whispering in the wind. While opposite them, the third was broad and grey and shaped like a wedge.
Esau had placed their rucksacks one on top of the other between the two leaning boulders, to form a windbreak that eased the lighting of the fire he’d set on the flat sandy rock in their lee. A gnarled and stunted tree grew out of a crevice in the lip of the depression. Esau had snapped off its dead branches and broken them up for firewood, and when that had dwindled, he’d taken his black and gold handled skinning knife to the living branches, hacking them off, stripping them of their furled leaves and cutting them to length.
The fire smoked and crackled as Bethesda huddled close to it for warmth. She’d grown cold since they’d stopped marching, and she raised her hands to the shimmering heat. The fire was warm and welcome. She would have liked to turn round and feel the heat on her back, but the pain seemed to have dulled for the moment, and she was in no mind to put an edge back on it. She gripped the thick heavy cape – Esau’s cape, that he had wrapped around her shoulders – and gathered it tightly to her chest, but her hip hurt her anyhow.
Esau heard the soft gasp that escaped from her lips, and turned.
‘You all right?’ he said, and smiled when she nodded bravely back at him. ‘Like I keep on saying, Bethesda,’ he told her, nodding with furrow-browed sincerity, ‘you are gonna be just fine.’
He raised his arm and clapped the flat of his hand to one eye and looked back at her. Bethesda’s smile widened into something more genuine, and her two protruding front teeth grazed her lower lip.
‘What’re you doing now?’
Esau twisted his head and looked off into the distance; then up at the sky, the hand still clamped over the eye. Then he turned back to Bethesda.
‘Esau!’ she laughed.
Esau grinned. ‘I was just seeing how Jesse must now be viewing the world.’ He pulled his hand away, to reveal his eye beneath all screwed up and the side of his face twisted round and slumped into a disfigured grimace. ‘And how the world must be viewing Jesse,’ he laughed.
Bethesda’s face straightened. ‘Jesse got off lightly, by my reckoning,’ she snarled, and flinched at the pain that stabbed at her hip. ‘What’s more, he had precious little sympathy for my hurt. You heard him at that fireside parley, Esau. He could not wait to leave me behind …’
Esau reached forward, cupped his hands around hers and squeezed them briefly, then climbed to his feet. He turned and stooped down, grabbed the sides of the pot, using his sleeves to protect his fingertips from the hot metal rim, and tipped water into the cups. He stirred honey into Bethesda’s cup, then turned and held it out it to her.
‘Drink that,’ he told her. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’
The chattering call of a snatterjab wyrme cut through the hiss of the cold wind. It was answered, moments later, by the warbled cry of its mate.
Esau looked down at Bethesda’s hip, and his eyelids flickered tenderly. ‘Then I’ll see about changing them dressings and …’
The sound of footfalls made him glance up. A figure was approaching over the expanse of flat rock in front of them. It was a youth. He was tall and gangly, his face broad and guileless and stained red at the cheeks. His eyes flittered from one to the other of them, and he swallowed, a tentative smile tugging at his mouth.
‘G … Greetings,’ he said.
Esau got to his feet and stood braced, his trunk-like legs apart and powerful arms folded, the black and gold handle of his knife gleaming at his belt. The woman’s small eyes glittered with suspicion.
‘Where in hell’s name did you spring from?’ she demanded, rat-like inquisitive with her long front teeth and sharp twitching nose.
‘I saw your smoke,’ said Micah amiably, nodding to the fire. ‘I have a fresh-trapped wyrme here in my pack.’ He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. ‘Thought I might share it in return for a place by your fire …’
‘I know you, don’t I?’ Esau broke in, his brow like crumpled brown paper.
‘The scrimshaw den, Esau,’ Micah told him. ‘You were with a man called Jesse. And Solomon Tallow …’
‘That’s right,’ said Esau, nodding, his clouded face brightening. He unfolded his arms and turned to the woman. ‘It’s that greenhorn departer who told Solomon about the speckled stack, Bethesda.’ He looked back at Micah. ‘Matthew, ain’t it?’
‘Micah,’ said Micah.
‘Micah,’ Esau repeated slowly. ‘That sounds about right. Solomon had just saved your skin as I recollect …’
‘From a trapper,’ said Micah, nodding grimly. ‘He’d have robbed me and left me for dead if it hadn’t been for Solomon Tallow.’
Esau turned and gave Bethesda a knowing look. She ignored it, her black beady eyes glaring at Micah fiercely.
‘Fact is, it was Solomon I was hoping to encounter,’ Micah went on lightly. ‘He made me an offer that I was too foolish not to accept at the time of his offering. He said I might join you.’
Esau nodded. ‘He did,’ he said. ‘I recall that.’ He swung a great arm in an broad arc. ‘But as you can see, friend Micah, Solo
mon Tallow is not here at present.’
Micah winced. ‘Well, that vexes me,’ he said, ‘for I was hoping to take him up on his offer now that I’ve become more acquainted with the dangers the wyrmeweald holds for a lone traveller …’
‘I thought you was travelling with some cragclimber,’ Bethesda cut in sharply. ‘Isn’t that what Solomon said, Esau?’ Her gaze remained on Micah.
Esau nodded.
‘I was,’ Micah mumbled, and shrugged. ‘We went our separate ways.’
‘And so you followed us.’ Bethesda’s face was cramped up and sour.
‘I saw your smoke,’ said Micah, ‘like I said.’
‘Not from seven days off, you didn’t,’ said Bethesda. She turned to Esau. ‘He followed us all the way here.’
‘I … I guessed where you might be heading,’ said Micah, turning from Esau to Bethesda, and back again. His eyes widened, as if seeking confirmation. ‘For that speckled stack I told Solomon Tallow about, and that he took such an interest in. I was hoping I might meet up with you, all of you …’
‘I don’t trust him,’ Bethesda hissed. ‘What you really after, boy?’
‘After?’ said Micah. ‘Like … like I said, I should like to take Solomon up on his kind offer.’ He hesitated. ‘Did he and the others go on ahead?’
Bethesda snorted. She pushed a strand of stringy hair inside the hood. ‘I don’t like the idea of being tracked.’
‘No more do I, Bethesda,’ said Esau grimly. ‘Even if he is just a greenhorn departer.’
‘Reckon Solomon would slit his throat for such an impertinence.’
Esau smiled, and Micah glimpsed the spittle on his tarnished teeth. The kith reached for his knife.
‘I think I might spare him that inconvenience, Bethesda,’ he said, and nodded towards the backpack at Micah’s shoulders. ‘And relieve him of that burdensome load …’
‘Drop the knife!’
Bethesda swivelled round. Esau turned his head. A rangy cragclimber was standing at the top of the depression behind them. The crossbow gripped in his hands was aimed at the centre of Esau’s chest. At the same moment, from the opposite side of the rock depression, a wyrmekin girl stepped from behind the second slanting boulder; in her hands, a walking staff whittled to sharp points at both ends.
Micah watched Thrace as she moved slowly, sinuously round the rim of the depression, her head held high, her dark eyes on the wyrmekith woman and her corn-silver hair swept back behind her ears. He saw how the flameflicker touched her, making her soulskin shine, and her eyes blaze.
‘I don’t aim to tell you twice,’ Eli said softly, walking slowly forward.
Esau stared back into the hard emotionless face of the cragclimber, with his skin like tanned hide and pale-blue eyes unblinking. His gaze flicked to the crossbow, and the cragclimber’s steady finger held lightly to the trigger. It was a recurve bow. Powerful. The tips of the crossed-D curved towards him, designed to crank up the draw-weight of the string to maximum. It was old, not much used by the look of it; no scratches, no stains, but no less deadly for that.
Micah saw a flash of metal as the knife dropped to the ground. It landed with a soft clatter.
‘Pick it up, Micah,’ said Eli.
He stooped down. He snatched it from the rock. It was bigger and heavier than it had appeared in Esau’s hand. He looked up to see Bethesda staring at the wyrmekin before her. There was a sneer on her lips, even as she eyed the makeshift lance gripped in her hands.
‘Filthy kin,’ she growled, her voice low and beady eyes harsh with hatred. She sneered. ‘Jesse should have finished you off at the stack.’
Thrace stared back down at her, and Micah saw not a trace of emotion in her face. Then one eyebrow slowly arched, and the point of the lance jumped as her grip tightened and her arms flexed.
Eli jerked his crossbow at Esau. ‘Where’s Solomon Tallow?’ he said. ‘And the other two?’
Bethesda answered for him. ‘We don’t know where they are. Stinking kinlover,’ she added, her lip curling.
Eli nodded slowly. ‘Well, that is a surely a shame and a great disappointment,’ he drawled. ‘For you see, I have business to conclude with Solomon Tallow.’ He frowned. ‘But if he is not to be found, you two will have to answer for his misdeeds.’
Esau blinked, then turned to Bethesda. She spoke, her gaze fixed on Thrace. ‘It’s Solomon or us?’ she said.
Eli’s mouth twisted into a smile, though his eyes did not move. ‘That’s about the long and short of it.’
‘I swear,’ Bethesda hissed, her two buck teeth grazing her lower lip, ‘I ain’t gonna get stuck by no kin creature a second time …’
Bethesda’s hand darted inside the folds of her cape, withdrew a spitbolt and took aim. She squeezed the trigger. Thrace flexed her left leg and lurched to the right, twisting her body round as the tip of the bolt struck her glistening soulskin-clad body and glanced harmlessly off.
With a low hiss, Thrace threw herself at Bethesda, coming down heavily on her chest. The kith’s head slammed back against the rock.
‘Beth!’ Esau bellowed, lunging towards the two of them – only for Eli to step forward and fire his crossbow.
The bolt buried itself in Esau’s leg. With a howl of rage, the wyrmekith lashed out at the cragclimber, his massive fist connecting with Eli’s chest. Eli flew back and landed heavily on the rock. The crossbow went skittering off across the rocks.
Esau dropped down on top of him, his knees forcing the air from his lungs, and he punched him hard in the face, once, twice, and a third time, the blows landing on his jaw, his nose. Then he gripped the dazed cragclimber by the neck with both massive hands and began to squeeze.
Esau’s jacket was stretched taut across his broad shoulders, which heaved with exertion. His knuckles were white. Beneath them, Eli’s face was blotchy and purple and his pale eyes stared back at him, bulging and bloodshot. Micah sprang forward, Esau’s skinning knife in his hand. Eli’s throat looked so vulnerable in Esau’s strangling grip and Micah knew that, with one jerk, the kith could snap it like a hickory twig.
‘L … let him go,’ he shouted.
Esau glanced up, a scornful twist to his top lip. ‘You don’t have the guts, boy.’
The colour drained from Micah’s lips and his muscles seemed charged with something hot and strong. He gritted his teeth as he half turned away, then drew back his foot and kicked Esau in the jaw with all the power that he could muster. There was a splintered crack, and Esau’s head shot backwards, his hands torn away from Eli’s neck as his body arched back. At the same moment, Micah lunged forward, and thrust the knife hard upwards into the kithman’s exposed chest.
Esau’s expression flinched with surprise. He grasped towards Micah but, white-faced with shock, Micah stepped back. Esau looked down and pressed a hand gently to the black and gold haft of the knife that stuck out from his chest. Blood was welling up around it. He looked back at Micah’s horrified face, his eyes growing wider and wider till the narrow slits were large and round, and Micah saw with a sudden terrible pang of pity and remorse that they were a dusty shade of green, like moss.
Esau’s mouth opened to speak, but he could not. A soft rasping breath clicked in his throat, and his body slumped sideways, twisting round on itself as Eli scrambled free, and landed heavily, front down, on the ground.
Micah staggered backwards, staring at the body of the man. The dead man. The man he had killed.
He swallowed and looked at Eli, his eyes pleading. Eli held his gaze as he pulled himself up onto his elbows. One hand rubbed at his chafe-red neck.
‘It was him or me,’ he said simply.
Micah looked back down at the body that lay there on the ground like a fourth boulder. He saw the patch of blood grow larger at the centre of Esau’s back. It spread across the rough leather, thick and red, like sunrise spi
lling across the sky.
Behind him, he heard words cut through the cold sniffling wind.
‘Tell me where, and the pain will stop.’
Thrace. It was Thrace …
Micah spun round to see the kin hunkered down over Bethesda, her legs crooked, her back bowed and one hand resting against the rock. Her head was lowered, and she was whispering into the kith’s ear.
Blood was trickling down the wedge-shaped rock from the wound at the kithwoman’s hip. More blood spilled down from her neck, and Micah flinched as he saw the red tip of the makeshift lance protruding from the skin, just below her ear.
The whispering continued, and was followed by an anguished scream as Thrace twisted the lance in the wound. She cocked her head, and pushed her ear closer to the kithwoman’s mouth …
Then the kith juddered and slumped, her mouth dropped open and her beady eyes stared ahead of her, as blind and lifeless as a doll’s glass gaze. Thrace sat back. She pulled the lance out of the woman’s neck and wiped it on the cloak. Some of the blood smeared her fingers.
She turned to the others, as if as an afterthought. Her eyes were rapacious and smoulderdark.
‘She would not say where the two kith have taken the wyrmeling,’ she said. The impassive mask of her face betrayed nothing. ‘But the third of them, Jesse, has gone to the gutting tarn, by clear lake.’
Thirty-Nine
‘Micah?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I … I don’t know …’
‘You never killed before?’
‘No, Thrace, I have not.’
‘Aseel and I have killed.’
‘I know it.’
‘We have killed wyrmekith, though only when we had to …’
‘Had to?’
‘When they came hunting. When they threatened us and our kind.’
‘… And you took no joy in it?’
‘What do you mean?’