Song of the Shiver Barrens

by Glenda Larke

  The air was thick with scurries of dust and heavy with an indescribable stench of rot. There was no way they could see where they were going, so Arrant gave the shleth its head. They had to hope it wouldn’t carry them over an edge. The animal trotted on, its long neck pushed out in front like a spear, with the fingers on its feeding arms trying to shelter its eyes from the bombardment of dust.

  Afterwards, Samia couldn’t have said how long it was before they stopped. They’d gone uphill first, then the slope of the land had altered and the shleth had gained enough momentum and energy to gallop. The wind lessened, the air cleared. Breathing became tolerable again. Gradually the animal tired and came to a halt, panting, its head hanging low. Arrant slid from its back, unwinding the linen from his face and unslinging his waterskin. He uncapped it and handed it to the animal, which snatched it from him and drank deeply. Afterwards it didn’t want to relinquish the skin, and they tussled for it. In the end Arrant was forced to pull it out of its fingers. ‘After a run like that, you mustn’t drink too much, you stupid lump of wool. You’ll bloat up like a dead pig.’

  He handed it up to Samia.

  She took it but didn’t drink. ‘That,’ she said, still shaking, ‘was the most ridiculous, idiotic, totally insane thing I have ever seen anyone do. You should have gone back the other way, to Sarana and Garis. You were closer to them. You would have been safe. Mirage take it, Arrant, you could have ended up under all those boulders. And what made you think I’d ever mounted a shleth that way before? I might have pulled you off. And this is a wayhouse hack anyway. How could you possibly know it knew what to do?’

  ‘Of course you would have done that before. Being a girl never stopped you from doing anything, I’ll bet.’

  ‘Sweet hells, though, how could you be sure the shleth would let us do it? It all depended on its feeding arm, and it almost failed you.’

  ‘Most wayhouse beasts were riding hacks for someone else once. I just gambled that it would remember…’ He shrugged. ‘I was wrong, as it turned out. It didn’t remember. But I have a way with my mounts.’ He fingered his necklet.

  Her anger drained away. ‘You saved my life.’

  ‘Can you feel our parents?’

  She enhanced her hearing. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘We’re probably too far away for Illusos power to pick up anything. They blasted that creature to bits, and one of them was alive to make a ward. I felt it. Maybe they could make it strong enough to—’ To stop an avalanche of boulders and earth from flattening them.

  They both turned to look back the way they had come. Or rather, the way they thought they had come. It was impossible to be sure any more. No path was visible anywhere. Even the recent paw prints of the shleth had vanished under the sand scurrying to and fro, chased by the remnants of the wind.

  ‘We can’t go back the way we came,’ Arrant said. ‘The landslip will be too unstable to cross, even if we could find it again. Trouble is, I haven’t a clue where we are. Not on the road, certainly.’

  ‘And we’ve lost my shleth, too. Perhaps you’d better start finding something good to say again, Arrant, before I start crying.’

  ‘Um, we have my waterskin, my sword, the contents of my saddlebags. Er, containing a change of clothes. That’s helpful. Just what I need, to save my life. But there’s also some food and a bag of oranges the wayhousekeeper gave me. Oh, and grain for the shleth. And his nosebag.’

  ‘I have my waterskin too. Plus the contents of my belt pouch—a comb and some other useless stuff. But that’s about all. And although we are separated from your mother and my father, we probably aren’t cut off from Firgan. Oh, and just in case it has escaped your notice,’ she added, waving a hand at the sky where another long billow of brown loomed ahead of them, ‘in a few minutes’ time we are going to be in the middle of an even worse sandstorm. Ravage-gale. Whatever. That’s between us and the rakes, isn’t it?’

  He glanced at the position of the sun and nodded. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said, managing to sound cheerful. She suspected that was for her benefit because as he gathered up the reins again, he said, ‘We only have one way to go, Sam, and that’s in the general direction of the First Rake.’

  ‘I think we had better walk that poor beast, rather than ride it,’ she said, trying to be cheerful in turn. ‘It looks as if it has had the stuffing knocked out of it.’

  He glanced at the sky again and dragged in a startled breath. The turbulence had come much closer in just the moment they had spent talking, towering over them in dark bulges. The wind sharpened once more and sand grains flicked against their skin. ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘It’s like being pulled backwards through a thornbush. Let’s use the linen again, and I’ll put the nosebag on the shleth.’

  Hoping to interpose the animal’s bulk between them and the direction of the gale, they walked alongside the shleth, but the wind was too strong, its direction too unpredictable, the sand it contained too blinding. When Arrant finally shouted that they couldn’t continue like this, Samia nodded in relieved agreement.

  The moment he halted the shleth, it dropped down into a slight depression in front of a low rock, curled into a ball and tucked its face under its arms—but not before it had given them both a reproachful look.

  ‘That,’ Samia said, ‘would have frizzled our wool if we were fellow shleths.’

  ‘Get down next to him,’ he said. He drew his sword and looked at it. There was a faint splutter of power as his cabochon slid into the hollow on the hilt, and then nothing, even though her latest seal still held. He flung himself down as a sudden gust of wind threatened to send him aloft, puffed along with his cloak as a sail. Even crouched beside her, he was having trouble keeping his cloak clutched around him. She giggled. He pulled a face at her and asked, ‘Do you think you could raise a ward for us all?’

  She nodded, aware that he was embarrassed. An Illusos cabochon ward was a poor thing in comparison to what he ought to have been able to do with his sword. She began the conjurations, keeping the area small, just enough for the shleth and the two of them. The smaller the area, the longer she would be able to maintain it. They hunched with their backs against the animal and their feet drawn up in front.

  After the choking, stinging Vortex outside, the peace inside her ward was blissful. The gale still howled and battered, but it couldn’t penetrate the wall. Arrant twitched back his hood, scattering dust.

  She resisted the temptation to run a hand through his hair and dug her waterskin out of her saddlebags instead. She took a drink and offered the skin to him. She said, ‘That thing in the wind back there. My father or Sarana killed it.’

  He nodded and took a sip. ‘More than one.’

  ‘The first one looked at me. Its eyes met mine—but it wasn’t looking for me. Then it saw you.’ But she couldn’t go on. She couldn’t tell him what she had seen there. Glee. A hungry joy that it had found what it sought.

  ‘It was hunting me.’ It was a question, she knew, but his tone was flat.

  She nodded. ‘That’s what it looked like. And the rockslide—I thought it was caused by the wind at first. But it wasn’t really, was it? The creatures did it.’

  Reluctantly, he nodded. ‘Sam, I think I am finally face to face with an evil that I have been fleeing from all my life, from the time I was an essensa inside the Ravage, before I was born. My dreams have been haunted by those creatures since I was a toddling brat, too young to understand. Something—something happened when I was in the Ravage. They tasted me. Learned something about me then. The question is: what?’

  ‘Your connection to Tarran?’

  ‘Something more than that.’ He shook his head in puzzlement. ‘I think I could be a great bridge builder one day, even perhaps the designer of the loveliest aqueduct arcades ever constructed. But a Magor warrior capable of ravaging the Ravage even with Tarran in my head? I don’t think so.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘I have felt Ravage strength via those dreams. Besides, Ta
rran knows what it would take to defeat the Ravage, and it’s not us. They are vile, they are strong and there are too many of them, believe me.’

  ‘Yet they have tried to scare you. Kill you even.’

  ‘Yes. And not just then, either. I think they were responsible for what happened when I received my sword. They made sure the Mirage Makers in the Shiver Barrens were pulled away in a hurry.’ He dribbled some dust through his fingers. ‘I have a confession to make. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I hadn’t decided that the Ravage does indeed—for some mysterious reason—fear me. Which doesn’t necessarily mean that it has reason to, of course. Samia, I am more than three parts in love with you. Give me another hour or two, and it will be all four parts. No, what am I saying? It’s already all four parts. Head over heels and any way you want. And yet I fetched you here, because I needed someone to seal my cabochon. I weighed up your wellbeing against that of Kardiastan, and you lost.’

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he had already ploughed on. ‘If this is a mistake, I don’t think I could live with the outcome. If you die, then so do I.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a great comfort, Arrant. You certainly have a genius for unorthodox declarations of love. “Hey, Sam, I adore you. Oh, and by the way, why don’t you come and get killed with me?”’

  ‘I never was much of a one for poetry,’ he said with a sheepish smile, and then added with brutal honesty, ‘I’d do it again, you know. No matter how much I love you. I believe, somewhere deep inside, that there is one chance, one way the Ravage can be defeated. And it has something to do with me. I knew I’d never find out what, if I stayed in Madrinya.’

  She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You worry far too much. You did right. This is larger than both of us, and we both know it. I will do my part, if this damnable wind will let us do anything at all. And I want you to remember one thing: I chose to come; I chose to die out here, if dying is what’s needed. If the Ravage gets as far as Madrinya, riding on the backs of enslaved Mirage Makers, we all die anyway. You aren’t sacrificing me.’ She paused, then adopted a mock-dramatic pose, palm flat to her heart, head thrown back, eyes cast upwards. ‘Self-sacrifice of a pure young maiden for her country—’

  ‘Maiden? What maiden?’ he interrupted, grinning.

  She bent forward and kissed him hard on the lips.

  The wind worsened. The force of it buckled the ward. The protected area grew smaller as the sides and top sagged; sand drifted in. Arrant watched as Samia went through the conjurations again, then looked at her handiwork critically. ‘It’s not doing so well this time,’ she admitted. ‘Illusos wards are really not made to withstand a continuous battering like this.’

  He tried to call on his cabochon power, but it remained quiescent. ‘Skies, Sam—I don’t know what I think I am doing. What can I do when my power is so unreliable? Bash the Ravage over the head with a dead sword?’

  ‘I have a horrible idea our problem is more immediate. This ward is not going to last, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep mending it.’ She looked down at her cabochon. The colour had dimmed from its original bright crimson. ‘You know, Arrant, I thought we’d die fighting in what’s left of the Mirage, and I’d sort of resigned myself to that. But now I’m not too sure that we’re going to live long enough to get there.’

  He thought, ‘Sweet Elysium, she’s right.’ The ward was bending alarmingly; he could feel it pressing into his side. Dirt silted in underneath to cover their feet. He couldn’t see anything outside; they were looking into a vicious murk of whirling brown. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. He meant it as a gesture of comfort for her, but even under these circumstances, the feel of her body against his was enticing. He ruthlessly quelled the urge to do something about it.

  The ward gave an audible creak and a blast of dust-laden air whirled in. Her skin was bronzed by the colour of the light that filtered through the dust and sand around them; she was lovely and he told her so.

  ‘You’re moondaft,’ she said, but he enjoyed the smile she gave him. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘I like talking about you. Let’s start at the beginning. Where were you born?’ he asked.

  ‘Altan. We were there because Papa and Brand were helping the rebellion against Tyrans. We left after my mother died, and went to live in Cormel for a while. Then Gaya.’

  ‘What happened to your mother?’ He remembered something Garis had once said to him. A tragedy summed up in a few words: I was responsible for the death of my wife and my unborn child because I did something foolish.

  ‘She died while giving birth to my little sister.’

  ‘But your father blames himself. Why?’

  ‘He told you that? Yes, he does. We were in the Delta at the time. You’ve been there, haven’t you? You’ll remember what it was like. All those reed islands with the narrow waterpaths between, like a maze. We lived in one of the rebel strongholds on an island. But for some reason, Papa decided it wasn’t safe there and moved us to another island. He was wrong. The legionnaires attacked our new refuge, my mother went into labour. We were cut off from help. Papa and some of his friends tried to get us out, but the legionnaires saw us. There was fighting, the boat overturned. Papa grabbed me and swam to the closest island. Brand was the better swimmer, even though he had a withered arm, so he took Mama. Papa said you knew him.’

  His heart beat uncomfortably fast. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, he saved Mama, but they were separated from Papa and me. By then she was very weak. She gave birth on the beach, but the baby was dead and she bled to death because Brand didn’t have the healing power to save her. Papa blames himself for making the wrong decisions. For not keeping her safe in the first place. For taking me and letting her go with Brand instead of the other way around.’

  ‘Do you remember all that?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not really. Just some vague recollection of fighting and blood and being in the water. I kept thinking Mama would come back. But she never did—and gradually I forgot her. Isn’t that sad? Not to remember someone who loved me so much once. But your father told me something that was beautiful. He said I am what I am, because she was there for those first two years of my life. I’ve held on to that thought ever since.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘Yes. He understands things about people. He’s very proud of you, you know. And you aren’t nearly as proud of yourself as you should be.’

  He thought about that. ‘There was a time when I was ashamed of my lack of power, I’ll admit. But not now, because I don’t think it’s my fault. It’s just the way I was born. Like you having freckles on your nose.’ He grinned at her. ‘I used to blame myself for lots of things. I’ve got over it, mostly. The adult me can finally forgive the child of nine and the youth of thirteen that I was.’

  ‘So what bothers you now?’ she asked, searching his face with eyes that were far too knowing. ‘You have a dark place inside you still, Arrant. I’m a healer. I feel it.’

  ‘I allowed myself to be castrated of power by Korden because I thought I was at fault. I gave up, you see. And one shouldn’t ever do that. You have to pick yourself up and go on. That’s what Father did when he was blinded. I betrayed him the day I let Korden have his way. I betrayed Kardiastan too. I allowed Firgan a vile victory. The only excuse I have is that I didn’t know it at the time. One day soon I will remedy that, if the Ravage gives me a chance. But I think the thing that bothers me most is that I know there’s a way Tarran and I ought to be able to save the Mirage Makers. And we have failed to find it.’

  A trickle of sand dribbled on his trousers and he brushed it away as he strove to regain composure, to repair the dam holding back the memories that still had the power to well up and choke him.

  There was a long silence before she spoke. When she did, it was with prosaic triteness. ‘Life—life’s not easy sometimes, is it?’

  He looked at her, then at the sand battering against her ward,
heaping up against the barrier of it, then at the trembling shleth looking at him with a miserable, fearing gaze, then back at her dusty face and sand-filled hair and reddened, gritty eyes. ‘You may be right,’ he agreed solemnly, his face bland, his tone overly polite.

  And simultaneously, they started to laugh.

  An hour later the wind died.

  Her ward had held.

  When the ravage-gale finished, they headed northwest, knowing that sooner or later they would hit the First Rake. ‘We’ll take it in turns to ride,’ Arrant said. ‘You go first.’

  She smiled slightly as she took the reins.

  ‘What’s amusing you now?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah, I see the Miragerin’s influence in you all the time. She has taught you well.’

  ‘Taught me to do what?’

  ‘Treat me as an equal,’ she said, ‘not as some fool girl who has to be coddled.’

  ‘You aren’t equal,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re a darn sight better at most things. You should coddle me.’

  ‘About as much chance of that as milking a shleth. Which way is northwest?’

  He looked at his shadow and the position of the sun and pointed.

  ‘I’m glad you always seem to know that sort of thing.’

  ‘I had the best astronomer in Tyr as one of my teachers. Our problem will be the terrain. It looks rugged, to put it mildly. We must be miles off the road. And I don’t even know if it is to the west or east of us.’

  ‘You don’t think my shleth could have survived the sandstorm, do you?’

  ‘As much chance as you’d have of milking it,’ he said.

  About half an hour further on, as they were discussing what to do when they reached the First Rake, he had to take back those words. The ground erupted in front of them, and her shleth emerged from the heaped-up sand.

  Samia yelped in momentary panic. ‘Skies! I’ll be sandblasted.’ She drew in a calming breath. ‘Um, sorry. I thought it must be a Ravage beast. Arrant, it buried itself.’