by Cari Z
“If a plague takes us, we’ll know who to blame,” Kith added with a grunting chuckle. Nichol didn’t say anything, and soon after, the men separated and went to their rest. Colm spent the rest of the night quietly awake as he worked with his shards of bone, loosened the Ringmaster’s spell, and thought prayers to the Four in his mind until dawn broke over the horizon.
The Roving Spectacular stopped in the town of Lewel two weeks later. Lewel was fifty miles yet from the sea, but built right at the edge of the vast network of brackish swamps known as the Siskanns. The Siskanns had been one of the last places to fall to the Red-Eyed Emperor’s conquering forces. The mountains had been challenging, but the Emperor had known how to approach them, how to root the mages out of their stony fortresses with overwhelming force. The swamplands were different, a land of inconstant terrain and a people less engaged by fighting and more interested in fleeing the invaders. The largest towns were taken and eventually brought under the Emperor’s control, but there were rumored to still be places out there in the swamps that no Muiri boot had ever touched.
Lewel was their first stop in the wet and muggy wilds, normally a place that welcomed new attractions to distract the inhabitants from the growing numbers of biting insects that unfroze with the warmer weather. This time, though, the Roving Spectacular was only in place for a week before trouble forced them to move on. A young woman in town claimed she was assaulted by a rover, and the local priest latched on to her story and declared her debasement a sign from the gods that sheltering such a group would invite ruin upon them.
“Unholy magic twists the mind and heart!” he yelled, his voice amplified by the wind so that it projected across the entire town and into the field where the rovers had set up. “You cannot think to remain pure without the protection of the Four! Renounce these blasphemers and their vile amusements!”
The growing mob inside the town might have set upon them if the weather hadn’t gone bad that afternoon, dark clouds rolling in and turning the sky black well before nightfall. The Roving Spectacular packed in a hurry and set out along another road, every man, woman and child drenched to the bone.
That night, as the Rovers made a miserable camp, there was a meeting. Nyle wasn’t invited and spent the time huddled on the cart next to Colm’s tank, shivering in the wind but too stubborn to move beneath where he would get more shelter. “I never get any time alone with you lately,” he told Colm with the ghost of a smile when Colm objected. “Don’t push me away now.”
Colm tapped his clawed fingertips in a crescendo across the glass, taptaptap. It was his way of saying “idiot,” and made Nichol roll his eyes. “I would be just as wet beneath the cart,” he said. “The rain has stopped, and I can stand a bit of wind. I was a member of the Sea Guard, remember?”
Yes.
“Well, then. Stop fretting.”
Nichol’s admonition was followed quickly by Kiaran’s arrival, and one look at his face had Colm’s worry rising again. “What is it?” Nichol asked.
“It’s that idiot Wes,” Kiaran said angrily, using his cane to find the edge of the wagon and sit down. “He admitted to Regar that he raped that girl. He says he thought she was a prostitute, thought she was offering it to him but playing hard to get. He’s gotten used to getting what he wants this past month, now he’s got money to throw around thanks to the payment Father gave him after Farval’s death. She couldn’t be bought, so he decided to simply take.” Kiaran’s mouth twisted like he was going to spit. “Filthy pig. He doesn’t even work an act, he’s only here to help set up and break down. He’s got no value beyond that.”
“It sounds as though he’ll get his just comeuppance, then,” Nichol said. “Regar will force him out after this. What use does he have for someone who ostracizes entire communities and puts the Spectacular at risk?”
“You might be surprised at how understanding Father can be of those who make asses of themselves,” Kiaran said hollowly. He took off his blindfold and wrung it out in his hands, his white eyes staring into space. “Wes is a hotheaded fool, but he’s got a bit of a following among the other hands. Everyone who was part of the mer’s capture has been wary of our ways ever since, and Wes keeps them firmly on his side by spending his bloody coin on keeping them happy. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen next. I can’t see it clearly anymore. Father isn’t listening to me right now.”
“You said that Colm would be saved!” Nichol protested. “You told me—”
“And I meant it!” Kiaran hissed, trying to stay quiet. “Your presence here will save him, but that doesn’t mean that anyone else will be safe! Or even that you yourself will survive whatever comes next. I can’t see how it all comes together,” he said more quietly. “The bits and pieces of the future that come to me, they’re woven together in my mind like a tapestry. I can’t separate them all. I wish I could.” He turned to the tank, staring a foot to the left of Colm’s face. “Have you been working hard at the mesh?”
Yes, Colm knocked.
“I can shift it now,” Nichol murmured. “Just a little bit, but it moved.”
“Be careful to secure it going over bumpy roads, we don’t want to give the game away too soon,” Kiaran warned. “But that’s good. That’s very good. It could be important soon.”
* * * * *
The next morning was a dismal one for the Rovers. Regar Brighteyes roused his unhappy troupe and set them down a muddy path, their wagons creaking and groaning as the mules strained to pull their weight through the deep tracks.
“Soon we’ll be back to the big leagues, my lads and lasses,” Regar called out as he rode back and forth along the train, knowing full well how low his people’s morale was. “Back to easy roads and cities that can’t wait to throw their money at us.”
“Why not head there right now?” Kith moaned from his place behind the wagon. Theirs was the heaviest of the entire train, and after almost getting mired in mud once already this morning, they’d decided the only way to keep it moving was for both of them to push from behind, while one of the Bellari acrobats took the reins and handled the mules up front. The exertion wasn’t treating Kith well, though. His skin, always a little sallow, was positively gray, and from where he rested his head on the bottom of the tank, Colm could see the fabric covering his belly writhe and twist with the movements beneath it. He paused to drink every few minutes, not water but alcohol, always alcohol. Nichol was clearly worried about him but trying not to show it. Kith always responded badly when someone inquired after his health.
“Get the back wheel up!” the acrobat shouted back at them. “The mules can’t strain any harder!”
Both men lowered their heads and set themselves to the task. “He must have a reason for it,” Nichol said, grunting as he laid his shoulder to the corner of the wagon and pushed with all his might. “Otherwise—” The wagon popped forward all of a sudden, sending both men sprawling down into the mud.
Kith snarled as he picked himself up. “Bloody furious Two, that bastard had better have a reason for this fuckery.”
If he did, Regar wasn’t making it well known. The Roving Spectacular toiled its way across fields that rapidly gave way to marshes, tiny roads overwhelmed by the sheer number of vehicles in their entourage until the last ones were practically swimming in mud. The farther they went, the wetter the path became.
“We’ll never make another day of this,” Nichol said tiredly when they halted for a break at midday. “It’s too hard. We have to get back to the main roads.”
“What use is Kiaran if he can’t scry a better way for us?” Kith muttered under his breath before he took a pull on his flask.
Kiaran, it turned out, had already had this talk with his father. He found them that night, after the entire camp had turned in early for an exhausted, disconsolate rest. No inns here to trawl for a fresh brew and pretty maids. Even the laborers, most used to hard work, forewent their usua
l evening meeting in exchange for their bedrolls.
Kiaran was the only one moving about, finding his way across the scattered camp with the help of his long, thin cane. Kith was already asleep by the time he joined them, exhausted by the day’s efforts, but it didn’t seem to matter to Kiaran. Nichol motioned for him to sit down next to the fire, and Colm realized that for Kiaran, Nichol was possibly his first friend for years. And for Nichol, social, gregarious Nichol, this connection was a good thing.
It didn’t hurt that Colm’s own curiosities were assuaged by Kiaran’s visits.
“We face an ill choice no matter what way we go,” Kiaran said after Nichol asked. He sounded unusually grim. “Along the main road, that would take us toward the coast, Imperial cavalry are heading this way. Prayers passed between Lewel’s priest and the Ardeaglais have convinced the regent that the Roving Spectacular is an agent of the Two, and an evil in the land. Thanks to Wes and my father’s own stubborn refusal to hand him over to the townsfolk for justice, we must avoid that road at all costs.
“This sends us deeper into the rural areas, where the roads are less traveled. Unfortunately, they’re also less protected, and bandits are a common occurrence in these parts. There’s a town about ten miles east of here that is our goal tomorrow. If we can make it there, we may be safe for a time. If they let us stay. If they’re not in league with a group of bandits themselves.” Kiaran shrugged. “I told my father as much and let him pick our path, and this is what he decided on.”
“Does he not ever try to argue with you about the options you present to him?” Nichol asked. “When they are so dark, especially?”
“He used to. He would beat me, he would threaten me, he would do everything in his power to change my sight. I would even let him, sometimes.” Kiaran chuckled bitterly. “But he learned, along with me. You can’t escape your fate. Sometimes the best you can do is choose the path of lesser evils. Either way, keep your eyes open for your opportunity,” he added. “Chaos is your friend.”
“But we’re not close enough to the ocean,” Nichol protested. “Can a mer even survive in fresh water?”
“The water isn’t fresh,” Kiaran assured him. “Neither is it salt, but if nimh-fish can swim out to sea and return to the inlets here without issue, then perhaps Colm can as well.”
Perhaps, maybe, if, then… So many things needed to fall into place. The top of the cage was well loosened now, the shards of bone doing their job and diminishing the magical bond between metal and glass. One good push, Colm thought, if he thrust hard off the bottom of the tank… With one good push, he could be free. Free to fall onto the ground and writhe about until he asphyxiated, or free to plunge into water that made his skin crawl and killed him more slowly, or…
He had to stop thinking about it, or he’d never rest. Colm shifted in the tank, drawing Kiaran’s attention. “You’re awake, then?” he said softly, getting to his feet and finding the side of the tank with his hand. On a whim, Colm reached out and touched his own hand to it, the way he would with Nichol. Kiaran smiled.
“No matter what happens next, Colm Weathercliff, remember that you’re more than you seem. You’ve bridged a gap between two different worlds and two very different peoples. You have both of their weaknesses, but also both of their strengths. I would never have wished this fate on you, but I’ll never be sorry I met you either.” He turned and headed back out into the camp, as subtle using his cane as a passing zephyr, and both Colm and Nichol watched him go with tired bemusement.
“I wonder what he meant by all that,” Nichol said.
The next day started off well enough. The clouds that had threatened rain were gone, leaving clear skies in their place, and the ground was a little drier. Kith had fought hard to get his wagon moved to the front of the train and Regar had listened, so they managed to avoid the deep ruts that had gotten them into so much trouble yesterday. Regar kept up his running encouragements, letting some of the children take turns riding behind him on his horse, lending a hand here and there with pushing the wagons. Staring back through the sliver of tank that wasn’t covered by the dark oilcloth Kith had draped over the top, Colm saw firsthand all the charisma that he remembered from the show he and Nichol had attended in Caithmor. Regar was a strong leader when he tried to be, and his son was just like him in so many ways. Mysterious, compelling…easy to listen to. Easy to believe.
It had occurred to Colm more than once during these long, dull days when he had nothing to do but sway in a mire of dirty water and tiny bones, that Kiaran could be lying. Or, if not lying, at least being very selective with the truths he presented. He seemed to have a genuine respect for his own capability and what it meant, but that didn’t mean he was completely above bending things to suit his own interests. He seemed to want to help Colm, but visions or no, he had been responsible for Colm’s capture in the first place. He might be playing a game that no one else could see the board for, and no one, not even his indomitable father, would know better.
Speaking of his father… “On, my lads and lasses, on!” Regar shouted, and on they went, not even stopping to eat lunch. “On to Framel, on to a night of warm fires and good foo—”
His voice was cut off suddenly, and the momentary silence soon echoed with screams. “Attack!” Kith yelled suddenly. “We’re under attack!”
Attack…bandits? As if in answer, the tank suddenly shuddered with a heavy scraping sound, and the cloth that covered him was jerked away by the heavy tip of the arrow that scored a scratch across the top of the tank as it flew by. Colm started at the sound and immediately looked to Nichol. The caravan had halted behind them, people falling into disarray as the bandits—Colm couldn’t see them yet—shot more arrows into the crowd.
“Go!” Regar yelled from close by. Colm saw him stride into view, coming straight at their wagon as he exhorted the others to move. “Put your back into it, Nyle,” he snarled at Nichol before turning to Kith. “You’ve got to release them.”
Kith went even grayer. “I can’t—they’re too settled right now.”
“Drowning the one useful thing about you in drink, you useless coward!” Regar grabbed Kith and pressed his back to the tank. The glass began to heat, and Colm drew back. “Release them, or I’ll stick you here by your own chain and leave you for these rogues to use as target practice.”
“I—I can’t, Regar, they won’t all—”
“Target practice it is, then,” Regar said, and he tightened his grip around Kith’s neck and forced the copper links of his necklace flush to the glass. The metal rings started to melt into the glass surface, bonding like the grate had to the top.
“No! No!” Kith struggled for a moment, his hands clawing fruitlessly at his neck, but Regar didn’t make a move to release him, just glowered fiercely as more arrows came close. A moment later, Kith’s whole body seemed to bow with force, arching him away from the tank. Nichol drew back, staring in grotesque astonishment at what was happening to Kith.
He seemed to vibrate for a moment, a faint buzzing that Colm could feel in the water, before Kith suddenly disgorged a torrent of white, sluglike shapes onto the ground in front of himself. Nichol staggered away from the tank, putting distance between himself and the creatures, but Regar stayed, his stern eyes fixed on the little beasts as they stretched and unfurled dragonfly-like wings that fluttered and dried quickly as they lifted themselves up out of the dirt.
“Set them on the bandits,” Regar commanded. Kith obeyed with a groan, and a moment later the slip-thin hatchlings—whatever they might be—flew up into the air, their translucent wings beating incessantly and their spiked tails curled in tight. They fluttered off away from the wagon, and a minute later, the arrows stopped falling.
“Get the wounded into carts and move!” Regar yelled at the rovers, who scrambled to obey.
“Down now…” Kith choked, his whole body slumped so that his neck held almost all his weight
. “Let me down, damn you.”
“Not yet,” Regar snapped. “Not until you recall the little demons safely to your guts. Drive on, Aramin!” He left them, evading Kith’s grasping fingers and leaving Nichol alone, utterly stunned.
“Move us, lad,” Kith managed. “Four damn that Regar, get us moving or I’m as good as dead. If I die, so do we all, ’cause I’m the only thing keeping those little beasts in check right now.”
“I… All right.” The front of the cart shuddered as the mules strained, and Nichol leaned in and began to push again. They started slowly but picked up speed, going as fast as possible with Kith having to stagger backwards, forcing his fingers between the necklace and his skin so he didn’t choke to death on the metal.
This went on for another fifteen minutes or so before the first arrow came arcing back at them, this time headed straight for Kith. It struck the tank just above his head, scraping the glass again but not penetrating.
“I’ll kill Regar, I’ll kill th’ bastard!” Kith gasped. “On, on! We must be gettin’ close!”
“I can see a bridge,” Nichol confirmed. “And rooftops beyond it. We’ll make it there.”
The enormous spotted cat and his handler raced by them, as did others who didn’t have wagons full of their livelihoods to concern themselves with. Wes was one of them, and he grinned nastily as he passed them. “Sticking by your prize, then?” he sneered at Kith. “Ye’ll get what you deserve.”
Five paces on, the wagon fell into another rut. The one just behind them barely stopped in time to avoid causing a collision. Its driver, one of the musicians, didn’t even bother to swear at them, just jumped out of his cart, helped two of his family out and ran on.
Nichol pushed hard at the wagon, but it wouldn’t move. He glanced around the cart again, then back. “The driver’s gone. We’re still twenty feet from the bridge.”
“Better run for it then, lad,” Kith managed. “Get far enough away, and even my beasts won’t come after you.”