by Ian Whates
It wasn't that wide, the dramatic setting being the only thing that made this seem even remotely daunting. Tom knew he could make the jump comfortably but wasn't so sure about Mildra. However, she gave him a confident smile, gathered herself, then ran a few short steps and sailed across the narrow gap with arms outstretched like a dancer. Tom was reminded of the rooftop dash he and Kat had made, and how her elegance had made him feel awkward and clumsy. He decided to stop worrying quite so much about the Thaistess and concentrate on getting across safely himself.
As morning wore on the snow stopped falling, but they now travelled across a patchwork landscape of brown and white, and the ground underfoot became increasingly treacherous. Still the Thair sang its warbling song beside them.
They came to a point where the river divided, and each branch was itself fed by a number of tumbling, melt-swollen streams. Perhaps Gold Tooth hadn't been entirely wrong after all. Ky continued along the righthand fork without hesitation.
"Is that right?" Tom asked Mildra quietly.
"I… I'm not sure," Mildra replied. "I think that's right, but the goddess's presence is so strong around here that I seem to sense her everywhere."
Soon after, the three of them rounded a rocky bluff. Ky stood to one side and simply grinned, apparently waiting to see their reaction.
Tom came to stand beside the hunter; only then did he understand why. The view was spectacular. The rocks here were of a deep, dark brown, starkly prominent against the blanket of pure white snow which might once have covered them completely but now did so imperfectly, as bold rock thrust through the whiteness, tearing gaping wounds in the virginal mantle. Dramatic enough in its own right, this scene was relegated to a supporting role – that of mere backdrop – by what stood in the immediate foreground.
An abandoned temple; stonework weathered and brown, seemingly ancient. The stones the buildings had been hewn from were a perfect match for the rocky slopes around them, as if the temple were an extension of the very mountain, sharing the slow strength and majestic wisdom of ages. Columns had been built of great flat stones piled one on top of another, each an individual shelf – those at the bottom marginally broader than those above so that they formed squat, tapering towers without ever actually reaching a point. From one such solemn buttress the image of a great beast snarled at them – a stylised lion, Tom decided, though it wasn't easy to be certain. The whole place seemed old in a way that Thaiburley never managed to.
None of the buildings were overgrown – there were no tangles of vine or shoots reaching into nooks and crannies to strangle the stonework and pull apart the structures – though here and there water dripped from the corner of a roof, as if the rock was wringing itself fully dry.
"The High Temple of Thaiss," Ky said. "Abandoned now, of course."
"Why?" Mildra wanted to know. Tom agreed; there was some rubble, yes, a few fallen pillars, but on the whole the place seemed in remarkably good condition.
"Because for much of the year this temple is buried under snow and ice. Only for the few months of summer's thaw does it emerge." Which perhaps explained the absence of invading plants. "Generations ago the priests would come and go with the thaw and the snows, but not anymore; easier to remain at the temple in Pilgrimage End than to constantly migrate with the seasons."
A large black crow alighted on the lion's head to stare at Tom inquisitively. It opened its maw as if preparing to screech either welcome or warning, though no sound emerged. Then the bird launched itself into the air, to be joined by a mate. The pair spread splayed black wings and soared away out of sight.
Following the bird's flight, Tom's gaze came to rest on Mildra. Only then did he stop to wonder at her reaction to this place. In the passage of days they'd spent together he had all but forgotten that she was a Thaistess, a fact brought starkly back into focus at Pilgrimage End. Certainly it wasn't a Thaistess he was thinking of when he recalled in such vivid detail their encounter in the flower meadow. Whatever did or didn't lie between them, now or in the future, faith was one facet of this girl who had come to mean so much to him which he would never be able to share.
He wondered what was going through her head now as they stood on the threshold of this lost place of ancient worship. It was a far cry from the commercial temple they'd visited the previous day; this place had a presence, a sense of inherent importance that even Tom could sense. It made him want to creep around on tiptoe out of sheer respect.
As he watched, Mildra stepped forward between the first two pillars. Her eyes seemed focused only on the temple, as if she'd forgotten about her companions entirely; but then she surprised him by looking to him and smiling. "This," she said, "is a lot more like it."
Ky came up beside him and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Really something, isn't it?"
"Definitely," Mildra agreed, without looking round.
Tom felt a slight scratch to the underside of his chin when Ky's arm withdrew, as if he'd been caught by a sharp edge on a ring or some such.
Mildra was staring up towards the temple's roof, which looked to be intact despite the neglect. "I can't believe they'd abandon this place."
"I know," Ky agreed as he sauntered up to stand beside the Thaistess.
And then he hit her. A vicious swipe of the fist that came out of nowhere. Caught completely off guard, Mildra sprawled to the ground.
Tom went to react; he tried to shout out, to rush to Mildra's aid, to move… to do anything, but he couldn't. To his horror, he was frozen to the spot, paralysed. He was still breathing, but other than that only his eyeballs would respond; he couldn't even blink.
Mildra seemed to fumble with something, her knife; but Ky wrenched it from her hand. "Now, now," he told her. "Behave and this will all go a lot easier on you. And don't expect any help from the boy. He won't be able to lift a finger." The man laughed, presumably at his own attempt at humour. "A nerve poison, distilled from a local plant found around the temple, as it happens. By the time you and I've finished having our fun, he'll be dead. Don't worry, though, he'll live long enough to see most of it."
Mildra tried to struggle, a desperate lashing out of legs and fists, but Ky struck her again, slapping her in the face. The Thaistess sagged back, either stunned or unconscious.
"Pretty girl like you is wasted on a kid like him in any case. It's not right. What you need is a real man." As he spoke, the hunter was tugging at his belt, pulling his trousers down.
Tom could only look on. He tried desperately to move a hand, even a finger, but failed. Nor could he feel anything anymore, as if the nerve endings had fled from his skin. In his head, he screamed, but no one heard it except himself.
Ky had obviously been planning this all along. Tom and Mildra were pilgrims, who was going to miss them? And in the unlikely event someone did, how could anyone be blamed? After all, they'd insisted against all advice on striking out into the icy wilderness beyond the town. Whatever happened to them after that was obviously their own fault.
Gold Tooth. Was he in on this, feeding his brother likely victims to drag off into the back of beyond to rape, rob, and quietly murder? Tom could picture the pair of them huddled together late that night, smirking as they split their gains. They were no better than the thugs who had attacked him and Mildra with sticks and knives as they returned from the temple, merely more sophisticated.
Tom watched in horror as Ky, trousers now pushed back around his ankles, drew a knife and reached towards Mildra, who was moving feebly.
Tom remembered how he'd broken Magnus's command to halt and kept running when fleeing from the wall. If he could defy the power of a senior arkademic, surely he could fight this. He focused on the little finger of his left hand, willing it to move, if only a fraction, but nothing happened.
Everyone kept insisting he was special, powerful; he'd saved the whole city for Thaiss's sake, and yet here he was, helpless to save someone he cared about, not to mention himself. What good his much vaunted abilities now? They wor
ked only against mechanisms… Or did they? Mildra had told him he could be a healer with the proper training, and his original talent, that of hiding in plain sight, had been used on people from the very start…
He needed to concentrate but couldn't close his eyes, so instead he stared intently at Ky, drawing on that part of himself he'd tapped into when striking down the Rust Warrior, that coil of something deep inside which he'd always accepted as a part of his self without ever questioning its import. Tom stared at the hunter, refusing to be distracted by what the man was doing – now kneeling between Mildra's knees as he forced her legs apart – and instead willed his senses to reach beyond the man's clothing and skin, into the body itself. At the same time he sought to project thoughts of savagery, of rending and tearing and destruction, without any sense that this was necessarily the right thing to do, just the hope born of desperation that it might be.
Ky stopped in mid-motion, as if afflicted with the same drug he had administered to Tom. His eyes widened and he suddenly threw back his head and screamed, like some primordial beast baring its soul to the stars. He rolled or, more accurately, threw himself to one side, Mildra hastily drawing her feet out of the way. The hunter was on his back, thrashing legs and arms, body convulsing in violent spasms.
Tom stared in morbid fascination: did he do that, just by willing it?
Even as he wrestled with feelings of thrilled excitement mingled with disbelief, a hooded figure arose from the rubble behind Mildra. Swathed in thick clothing which looked to be a patchwork of rags, the figure seemed a part of the wilderness itself. Tom had no idea where this apparition had come from; all he registered was that this man towered over Mildra with a drawn knife in hand. He didn't hesitate, but lashed out with the same power that had just felled Ky. The newcomer froze, convulsed, and collapsed, the knife tumbling from his hand.
Mildra was screaming. Not simply in terror, there were words. She was trying to tell him something. "Tom, stop it! You have to stop whatever you're doing. That's Dewar, Tom, it's Dewar!"
Finally the words' meaning penetrated. He stopped instantly, horrified. Dewar? It couldn't be. The figure he'd seen, the figure he'd struck out at, had been menacing Mildra with a knife. He was sure of it. Why would Dewar do that?
Mildra had scrambled over to the newcomer, who was convulsing as if in the throes of a fit, his limbs thrashing the ground. Nearby, Ky lay supine and still, eyes open and staring at the heavens. The Thaistess pushed back Dewar's hood and placed her hands either side of his head. Tom could see it was Dewar now; unshaven, with several days' growth peppering upper lip and chin, but obviously Dewar. Why hadn't he been able to see that before?
Part of Tom wanted to take offence that Mildra had gone to Dewar first. After all, he was the one who had been poisoned and was slowly dying here. But the larger and less selfish part of him recognised that Dewar's need was the more immediate, and that the man wouldn't be in this state at all if not for him, so perhaps he didn't deserve the Thaistess's help at all.
Dewar stopped moving. Tom wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. Mildra withdrew her hands, rocked back on her haunches and took a deep breath. Her shoulders sagged as if from weariness. Then she gathered herself, stood, and came towards Tom. Her face! Only now did he get a proper look at the split lip and angry welt where Ky had hit her. He wanted to reach out, to hold her and comfort her, and wondered whether any of that showed in his eyes as she met his gaze, smiled a little crookedly, and said, "Thank you, for saving me."
Her hands reached out to either side of his face, as they had with Dewar, and he thought he could feel them, faintly, though that might have been pure imagination. Slowly, feeling did begin to return and with it, control. He could blink, could feel the warmth from Mildra's touch, then he could move his mouth and take his first deep lungful of cold mountain air in what seemed an age. Mildra didn't stop to acknowledge this success. Her eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration. With agonising slowness the sense of warmth spread throughout his body and, with it, the ability to move began to return.
His hands were among the last to regain feeling, his feet the very final part. As he felt his toes obey the command to wriggle, he was prepared to accept that he might live after all. Not that he doubted Mildra's abilities, but he'd never seen her have to work this hard before. Mildra's hands slid away from his face, and, with a snort of expelled air, she wilted.
Tom caught her under the arms, and her eyes halfopened. "Sorry," she mumbled. "So tired."
Her feet scrambled against the slippery ground, and between them, she and Tom managed to lower her into a sitting position, back against a wall.
"Dewar?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Don't know."
Tom grabbed some food from his pack – a moist, sugary cake favoured by travellers because it was said to boost energy levels. The Thaistess thanked him and ate mechanically. Several mouthfuls disappeared before she said, "Enough." Her eyes flickered shut almost immediately and she fell into exhausted sleep.
In contrast, Tom felt buzzing with nervous energy and didn't want to sit down, afraid that the paralysis might return. He'd seen corpses aplenty in the City Below, many of them a good deal closer than he'd cared to, but none as unsettling as Ky's. Though lying on its back, the body seemed twisted, compressed, while the limbs were arranged at odd angles, like a marionette whose strings had been severed in midstride. But it was the face Tom found hardest to look at, contorted as it was into a frozen scream, with eyes wide open, mouth snarling, drying spittle on the chin. What made it especially difficult was the knowledge that he was responsible, that he had done this.
He was also responsible for what had been done to Dewar, but at least their former companion was still alive and, following Mildra's ministrations, sleeping peacefully as far as Tom could tell. He covered Dewar with a blanket, rolled Ky's body over so that the eyes didn't seem to follow his every move, and made Mildra as comfortable as he could; then he hunkered down to wait, knowing that he wouldn't be going anywhere until the Thaistess and hopefully Dewar woke up again.
TWENTY-ONE
Time disappeared rapidly as Kat and M'gruth made the rounds, leaving a note under a stone at a prearranged spot, whispering in a barmaid's ear here, a shopkeeper's there, standing on the right corner at the right hour to speak to a man who knew somebody – the full gamut of measures necessary to spread the word and ensure that all those who needed to be reached had been. It took two days, but they were here now, those who remained of the Pits' survivors, the Tattooed Men – some thirty-odd souls in total, including the still-recovering Rel. Kat swallowed on a suddenly dry throat, oddly nervous about addressing these people whom she knew so well. She leapt up onto a low table, planting her feet firmly as she turned to face them. Conversation stilled; somebody shifted in their chair – the grating of wood on stone floor strident in the gathering silence – then all was quiet.
"We've been slow," Kat began, "or maybe distracted." And if so, she'd played more than a small part in that herself. "The streets are changing. When we came out of the Pits we found ourselves in a place that had already been carved up into territories and sections by the streetnick gangs and others. Perhaps we should have been stronger then, but everything was new to us and, after all we'd been through, we didn't want to take on the world. So we fitted into the cracks, the shifting borders where gang turfs meet, the no-go areas dividing this territory from that. And so the Tattooed Men have lived ever since, roaming the streets, going where we will; the nomads of the under-City. But we don't need to, not anymore. We can stake our own claim. If the Fang have done anything useful, it's to prove that even half-wits like them can establish a territory in this new world. Well, we've broken the Fang, and now we'll take what was theirs, and the shopkeepers and traders will welcome us with open arms. Who wouldn't after being forced to pay protection money to scum like the Fang?"
She had them; not entirely perhaps, but enough. Nods and smiles outnumbered the furr
owed brows and uncertain glances.
"No more being constantly on the move, no more packing and unpacking; we can stay put and organise life so that it becomes what we want it to be." More smiles now and even a few calls of "yeah".
"Then, of course, there's the Soul Thief. If the Fang hadn't stuck their noses in when they did we'd have finished her off at Iron Grove Square, but thanks to them she got away, and we all know what that cost us." There were nods and murmurs at that. "Near as we can figure out, the bitch raids the streets every couple of years, kills a bunch of folk, feeds, builds up her energies or whatever, and then disappears into the Stain again until the next time.
"The thing is, if she has gone back to the Stain now – and we still haven't heard of any more attacks so that seems more than likely – then she's going to be hungry. We took her for almost everything she had the other night, and it seems as if the only thing she's had to feed on since is Chavver." Kat almost lost it then; she could hear her own voice quivering at those last words. She paused and cleared her throat before continuing. "So the bitch will be coming back, sooner than usual, much sooner, and when she does, she'll be coming into our turf, where we'll be nice and settled in and waiting for her. This time, there won't be any Fang to crash the party and we'll finish what we started at Iron Grove Square."