by Tia Reed
Pouting at Arun, he murmured, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Enough!” Levi said, in much the same tone Father used when he was at the end of his patience. “I speak of your conduct among us. Your quartz was not lost. You gave the symbol of your office to a lay person, a woman, then organised a diversion that allowed the very person you are training to protect to roam into danger. Your liberties with your training and your superiors are unforgivable.”
“Mahktos knows,” Vinsant said through clenched teeth.
They were exactly the wrong words. Levi loomed over him, almost as close as Ahkdul had been. Beneath his hood, his black eyes glared something fierce. “But I did not! Your deception is inexcusable. Not only have you violated our trust but you have also placed a member of the royal family at risk. Your behaviour warrants punishment. By my authority as Majoria, you are sentenced to the Crystalite Mines for a period of one eight-day.” The Majoria turned to face Arun. The two mahktashaan engaged in silent, intense concentration that set his heart thumping and teeth chattering. Then Levi strode from the room.
Vinsant slid back down to the floor. He wished he could slow his nervous breaths. “He’s s-sending me a-away?” he asked as Arun joined him. “How can he do that when Mahktos sanctioned my actions? Ahkdul should be the one to leave.”
“Do not question me on this. The Majoria has forbidden me to talk on it. Suffice it to say, this is not what it seems. He is right in this, Vinsant. The mahktashaan are founded on loyalty and rank. You must respect that if you are to succeed in this office.”
Vinsant shook his head, then tilted it back, dislodging some books. Too much was happening at once. It was impossible to know where to start making sense of it all.
Arun settled that for him. “We need to talk about Kordahla.”
“Ahkdul thinks she is riding for Myklaan.”
“Riding. She has a horse then?” Arun asked.
Really too much was happening. It was unlike him to make slips like this. “I just assumed. She would already be caught if she was on foot, wouldn’t she?”
“Nice try, Vinsant, but I think you know. Now are you going to talk to me?”
Vinsant stared straight ahead, arms folded on his knees.
Arun sighed. He stood, removed his robe and hung it over the leather chair. Taking a deep breath, he clutched the crystal at his chest, lifted it over his neck, and placed it atop the robe. Then he sat back down, his arm against Vinsant’s shoulder.
“You can’t do that,” Vinsant said. “The mahktashaan are always mahktashaan, even when they’re not working.” The remarkable blue in the Minoria’s eyes was already fading.
“Vinsant,” Arun said gently. “The mahktashaan are here to protect you. And right now, I think the best chance I have of protecting both you and Princess Kordahla is by getting you to confide in me. Tell me as one man to another and I promise whatever you say will remain a confidence. A mahktashaan has already sighted the Princess. It is only a matter of time before she is found. Both Ahkdul and the Shah are in foul moods over her flight. If one of them invokes blood honour, she will need someone to champion her cause.”
The kindness was his undoing. The pent-up mix of fear and guilt ruptured in a single sob. He wiped the traitorous dampness in his eyes with the back of his hand, stiffening as Arun gave him a quick hug.
“There is no shame in tears. A grown man may cry if the occasion calls for it.”
“Yeah.” Without thinking, he was pouring out his guilty heart. It felt so good to have someone else know, he had to catch himself before he admitted to stealing the crystal. Somehow, he did not think that act would be in any way forgivable.
“Are you sure she made no pact with the djinn?” Arun asked. “Perhaps his assistance in her escape for some curse on her life?”
Vinsant shook his head. “She said no boon was worth the price.”
“Let us beseech Mahktos she remains of that mind.”
“Father can’t make her marry that man.”
“There is more to politics than looking after those you love,” said Arun.
“So you’re just going to hand her over to him?” It came out as a growl.
“I am going to do what I can to see her happy, Vinsant. But surely you understand, if she reaches Myklaan, it could mean war.”
Chapter Thirty-one
A squelch warned Kordahla to pull up. They had been riding hard along the Arezou River for hours, and the horse was lagging. The grassed verge had ceded to damp earth, which was becoming more sodden with each step. If that was not warning enough the scums drew near, the reek of decay pervaded the hot, still air. Neither man nor horse could traverse those stinking marshes without an experienced guide. They would have to follow the river along its turn to the west from here. Walking to land firm enough to bear them back south would eat precious time, and they would first have to find the ford. Wide and fast flowing, white water churning over rocks, the Arezou River offered no inkling of where it might be safe to cross. She looked behind them. Down the road, a black speck was raising dust as it raced to catch up.
“Can you swim?” she asked Timak without hope of making it to the other bank alive. He gave a small nod. He had retreated into himself and she, too tired and dazed and disbelieving of what she had got them into, did not have the strength to draw him out. At least he was more alert now, startled by what had occurred in the field and curious about the land.
The horse was refusing to walk on, so she dismounted and led it. Surely if they kept close to the bank, they would succeed in reaching the hills. These waters reached Lake Arezou untainted. Boulders or solid earth had to keep them separate from scum. She started to climb the rocky bank. The horse could not pass, but if they were lucky, they might find some nook in which to hide. Shooting another look around, she let out a cry; the speck had assumed the form of a mahktashaan.
“The ford’s yonder,” a creaky voice said in the antiquated dialect of the scum dippers. A man covered in filth from head to toe climbed over a rock and walked towards them. “Though ye’ll not be a swimming it in that garb.” Kordahla spun, slipped off a rock and almost twisted her ankle as he hopped past, bringing the stench of rot with him. Under the layer of muck, he was naked save for a loincloth and a knobbly bag over one shoulder. Though he moved with the agility of a mountain goat upon his spindly legs, his lean ribs and gaunt face suggested the thinning of age. Without pause, he jumped into the river and began scrubbing. The agitated water whipped sticks right past.
“What lies on the other side?” she asked.
The scum dipper closed one eye and looked at her. “Nothing but fields and farms and the scum dipper town. Ye interested in derral, lady?”
Rare and expensive, derral was a princess’s dream. In the palace, she had exclaimed over the prized rainbow lining of the coychan shells found nestling deep in the scums. As for Pashderral, the scum dipper town was a wonder. Its large dwellings, their facades inlaid with derral, were said to rival even Myklaani villas in beauty, and no wonder because the scum dippers were among the richest citizens of Terlaan. Never mind the stink that oozed from every pore of their body after years of diving the foetid scums. It took a special man – or woman – to ply this trade, and they received ample rewarded. The scum dippers were the Shah’s people to the last, for few others could afford the derral that sustained the scum dippers’ lavish lifestyle. She would be god-blessed to avoid capture in that town.
She made her decision in a heartbeat. “We’re interested in a guide, to take us across the scums. This instant.” The mahktashaan had drawn so close she could pick out his crystal in the glint of the sun.
The dipper closed one eye and looked at the rider. “Trouble ye be in, then.”
“You can have the horse, and I’ll pay a purse of gold.”
She had not expected him to chuckle. “You can’t take the horse across. He was already mine, if he doesn’t die under the boy.” He wagged his head and sucked on his cheek, consideri
ng at his leisure. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll take ye.”
“Right now,” she said, when he insisted on scrubbing his hair with his webbed hands. She wrinkled her nose because she could smell him from here. She shuddered to think the vapours in the scums would overpower even his reek.
With an exaggerated sigh, he climbed out of the river. “Well it’s not scum dipping we be going,” he said, and leapt back to the sodden ground, then onward, not waiting for them nor offering to help with the bundle she pulled from the horse. They scampered after him as best they could, Kordahla sparing only a passing thought for the mud that sullied her hem. Mud, she thought with a wry inward smile, was what had got her here in the first place.
A slimy green blob of an animal sprung up in front of her and she started. When it landed with a plonk, she almost tripped in an attempt to avoid stepping on it.
The old man laughed. “Ye not be scared of scumhoppers now, be ye?” he called back.
Walking became more of an effort. Their boots sank deeper with every step, the mud sucking them loose from their feet. The barefoot dipper was walking easy, but Kordahla was determined to hold her boots to the last. The terrain in the hills would be rough. If they made it that far.
The mud gave way to ooze. She gagged on the noxious vapours rising off the slate coloured water and batted at aggressive dragonflies as they passed gnarled and stunted trees groping their way out of the scums. Puffers broke the surface just long enough to snare the buzzing insects with a sticky tongue, and scumhoppers skimmed the top, their bulbous webbed feet able to hold them on the surface until they sprang to withered lily leaves, the only green vegetation in the water.
“Mind ye be walking behind me,” the scum dipper said.
Kordahla took extreme care to match his footsteps heel to the toe. Whether by some uncanny sense or long years of experience, the old man led them a wending path that had them slush no more than ankle deep in muck. The foul liquid splashed cold upon her calves. Scumhopper excrement mixed with mineral leach was what the scholars proclaimed the scums. The rich cared not while derral came in abundance. She cared less with a mahktashaan hounding her. She chanced a look back. He sat astride his horse, a midnight figure on a midnight mount, watching them wind their way through the bleak barrens. She took a step without turning her head, splashed knee deep into the scum, and cried out as her stomach lurched from the stumble.
The old man shook his head. “Be more of this if ye continue. ‘Tis when ye be in to yer chest or over yer head ye have to worry. Them’s where the bazwaeels live.”
At mention of the razor-toothed beast, she scrabbled back onto the path. Behind them, the mahktashaan had entered the scums. Every few steps, he paused and turned, continuing when his crystal glowed. Kordahla could only hope his was the slower path. Then, in front of her, Timak stopped and squealed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He pleaded with his wide, frightened eyes. She tried to take his hand and pull but his body lurched forward, one leg trapped in whatever lay beneath the muck.
Their guide clucked his tongue. “Told ye be careful, didn’t I?” He rubbed one foot against the other calf and closed one eye as Kordahla tugged harder.
Three bubbles burst the surface in succession. “Now yer just lucky, ain’t ye?” the dipper said, and launched himself into the ooze at Timak’s feet. Kordahla held her breath, willing him to reappear. The seconds passed, and then Timak lurched forward, a bootless foot lifted from the mire. She caught him as he toppled. The dipper broke the surface, a large knobbly shell in hand, and winked at the boy. “Ye wanna be rich, ye just apprentice to old Ali,” he said. He grinned as Timak retched, and added, “You’ll get a-used to the stench.”
“Hurry,” Kordahla said through the segment of cloak she had lifted over her nose. The mahktashaan was a mere hundred paces behind. The grinning dipper led them deeper into the scums. The wretched wastes stretched to the hilly haze on the horizon. They would not traverse these mires in a day. Eventually, they would need to rest. If the mahktashaan conjured a light after dark, they would have no hope of evading him.
“Here now,” Ali said, alighting on a mound of earth. At its centre, a barren tree’s twisted branches bent to the water at awkward angles.
It was a relief to set foot on the spongy, moss-covered islet. “Wait,” she called as the scum dipper hopped back the way they had come. Ten paces out, he tossed the shell to Timak. “Just ye stay put if ye value yer lives,” he said with a wag of his head.
Her dismay as Ali traced a nimble path towards the mahktashaan was lost on Timak. Her young companion was turning the shell over, oblivious to all else.
About halfway to the mahktashaan, Ali made a bow. “Be it these fugitives, ye seek?” he asked. “I can lead ye to them or lead them away. ‘Tis all the same to me.”
The mahktashaan moved on at a steady pace. “You’ll be rewarded to keep them there.”
“Ah me. Me poor, old body ain’t as strong as it once was, and scum dipping be physical work, ye see. I’ve a need to supplement me income in me age, and the beauty’s offered a full purse of gold.” Ali sprang back towards her, finding his path with unerring precision. Not once did he look around as he zigzagged to the mound. His webbed feet might be aiding his balance, but Kordahla had to wonder if the scums were as treacherous as the tales would have them believe. They were scum dipper tales, after all, crafted to protect the folks’ lucrative interest. A leap back, a step sideways, a shuffle along. Would Ali be so confident in his footing over treacherous ground?
“You will receive ample reward from the Shah himself,” the mahktashaan said.
That decided her. “I’m going,” she said to Timak, placing a tentative foot off the mound. The boy could make his own choice since he responded to her not at all. Like as not, he would be as scared of moving as he was of staying. If he even had the capacity to feel anymore. The Vae should curse Ahkdul thrice over for that. As for her fear, it was overcome by the anger she felt at Ali’s betrayal. When the sole of her boot merely sloshed through a puddle before contacting firm ground, she strode out. Behind her, Timak’s splashes marked his pursuit. There was nothing to finding this firm footing. She broke into a run.
“Halt! Halt! Ye dain’t know where ye be going,” the dipper called.
A glance over her shoulder caught him dancing towards her.
“It will be your head if any ill befalls them, dipper,” the mahktashaan said.
No danger could menace so dark as the one closing in on them. Abandoning all care, Kordahla flew forward, straining in vain to detect solid land beneath the steam that wafted off the foul waters. A footing was there beneath her each step of the way.
And then it was not. Her foot slid through the muck and she was toppling into the stinking filth. It slithered warm into her nostrils, eyes and ears and mouth, dragging her down, binding her with its weight. It would be so easy to drift below. So easy had she not felt a searing stab at her breast. By some will of its own, the quartz around her neck drifted upwards. The pain subsided, but not her alarm. Her lungs began to burn even as she willed her sluggish hand to follow. It seemed an age before it heaved through the muck. Then her fingertips broke into humid air. She pushed and her hand came free. Ali seized it and yanked hard, the webbing between his fingers sticking fast to her skin. Her head popped into air. Ali adjusted his grip and hauled her onto a wet ledge. There was more strength in his sinewy limbs than she would have guessed. On hands and knees, she gasped for air, spat drops of the foul scum from her mouth. Her legs trembling, she watched the mahktashaan release his crystal from his hand. The quartz thudded against her chest, heavy as her mud soaked garb. She struggled out of the mahktashaan cloak and robe, taking the crystal and tucking it deep into her kameez.
Tremulous fingers touched her shoulder. She looked up at Timak, his eyes meeting her own for the first time. She closed her filthy hand over his, then stood on legs as gelatinous as a puffer. A tirade of abuse was streaming from Ali
’s mouth. She was not listening. The mahktashaan had taken another step. Holding Timak’s hand, Kordahla placed a tentative foot forward and checked the ground. When she was sure it was solid, she placed her weight on it.
“No ye don’t,” Ali said, catching her above the elbow.
She spun and pushed him at the same time Timak kicked. The startled dipper fell into the muck. It sucked him under until there was no sign of him, save for the dented impression of a body on the surface. She touched her fingers to her clammy lips as the vapours wafted over the pool and clouded even that. Dear Vae, she hoped they had not just murdered a man. Then his fingers wriggled free, and she lost any trace of guilt.
“I can see the way,” an urgent voice said. “It’s a step to the right of the boy, and then three forward.”
Kordahla snapped her head up. There in the misty sky a rose genie hung upside down, arms folded, legs crossed like she sat on an inverted cushion of vapour, her unbound hair falling up to her waist. Beaded chiffon covered her arms and legs, and pearls sequined her bodice. Kordahla made the warding sign but bit her lip when the genie’s eyes clouded in hurt. Beside her, Timak was smiling, beaming even. He reached a hand up and wriggled his fingers. Kordahla shook her head. The boy had a genie after all. The trouble they could have saved if he had commanded her powers from the start.
“Come on.” She grabbed Timak and followed the instructions. The genie righted herself, and floated along.
“I’m not talking to anyone,” the rose genie said, looking at the hills, at a deep pool, at the mahktashaan. Looking everywhere but at them. “I’m just exploring this maze. There’s a ridge two steps to the left of those humans and it runs ahead thirty paces or so.”
This genie was as mad as the boy, but it was trust her advice or suffer the justice of blood honour. As she counted the last step, she looked back. They had gained a good few paces on the mahktashaan. As for Ali, he was dragging himself from the water. Covered in scum, he looked like a primal beast of the swamp. With a start, she realised she must look the same. The stench had thickened into a cloud, and the churning in the pit of her stomach suggested she was about to lose what little breakfast remained inside. Worse, the caking muck was not only hindering her joints but weighing her down. The pool to her left seemed liquid, if just as foul. She squatted and eased herself in, convinced it could be no worse than the mud. They would move faster and lose the weight of the caked mud swimming across.