Young women. Foolish young women. Far-a-mael gripped the wooden railing until his fingers hurt. It’d been days since their drunken romp and time hadn’t resulted in Far-a-mael’s being any more forgiving. El-i-miir especially should have known better. Once outside of the Frozen Lands, she was a representative of the Elglair and needed to behave as such. Of course, the girls had both paid for it the following day. It’d been such a peaceful day, too. Far-a-mael hadn’t heard a peep from either of them.
‘Far-a-mael,’ Captain Waxnah called, all formality having long faded from his voice.
‘Yes.’ Far-a-mael turned to the captain.
‘The river has become too narrow and shallow to risk going any further. We’ll be docking at the next town,’ Waxnah stated with finality. ‘Butterdry is a tiny place, so I doubt you’ll find it on your map, but it’s only a few miles south of Sat Elam and you’ll be able to purchase stallions for the remainder of your journey.’
‘Very well,’ Far-a-mael replied. ‘When do you expect we’ll arrive?’
‘Within the hour,’ Waxnah said dismissively before turning to stride across the deck.
‘What be the fate of the young silt?’ Briel asked casually, having come to lean against the railing beside Far-a-mael.
‘That be none of your business,’ Far-a-mael snapped. ‘I know you sympathise with the creature and I know Fes brought it food. Did you really think the guard wouldn’t alert me?’
‘Ye mustn’t mind Fes.’ Briel lowered his eyes. ‘She cannah stand ta see nothin’ suffer. It be the mother in her.’
‘I don’t give a damn.’ Far-a-mael pushed away from the railing. ‘As soon as I’m off this boat I hope never to lay eyes on either of you ever again. For your own sakes, you’d better hope not to see me either.’
Without waiting for a response, Far-a-mael marched across the deck, through the hatch and down to the girls’ quarters. ‘Pack your things,’ he urged, popping his head through the doorway. ‘We’ll be docking within the hour.’
Far-a-mael headed farther along the corridor and descended the spiral staircase, but stopped short to inspect his hand on reaching the bottom. It was slightly yellowish and bruised. Had he really squeezed the railing that hard? Perhaps he was just having an allergic reaction to something he’d touched. He really needed to take better care of his progressively ageing body.
Without giving the matter much further thought, Far-a-mael strode across the hold, arming himself with the Ways as he went. He spun the wheel on the door to the brig and pulled it open. ‘Get out.’
‘Why?’ the silt asked warily.
‘Ah, good, you’ve decided to make this fun for me,’ Far-a-mael replied. Ilgrin’s aura had taken on a lot of dark purples and sickly greens since he’d been imprisoned, making Far-a-mael’s task even easier. Creating fear in the silt wouldn’t require the implantation of new emotions. All he’d have to do was stir up what was already there. ‘There you go,’ he pulled the purple forward and sunk it into a patch of brown that oozed across the aura’s surface.
Ilgrin’s face paled with fear. ‘Please,’ he squeaked, doubling over. ‘Not that.’
‘Dear boy.’ Far-a-mael smiled cruelly. ‘You make me grateful for my limited capacity for affiliation. That ability really does take all the fun out of being a gil. Now move.’ He flicked his wrist, allowing a stream of despair to leak away from his finger and penetrate Ilgrin’s soul.
‘Yes.’ Ilgrin shuddered. ‘I will.’
‘Good boy.’ Far-a-mael fed the silt miniscule amounts of comfort with every obedient move he made. It was never enough that he might regain his senses. Only so much that he’d have some hope and continue to do as he was told. ‘Put this on,’ Far-a-mael scooped up Ilgrin’s cloak and tossed it into his hands. ‘You’re revolting. We needn’t give anyone nightmares.’
With jarring motion, the silt pulled on his cloak and slid the hood over his head. There was no real way of hiding the wings, but at least the average fool might mistake them for an abnormal growth or something.
‘Far-a-mael,’ El-i-miir gasped from the top of the stairway. ‘What’re you doing down here?’
‘Collecting the prisoner.’ Far-a-mael glared at her, irritated by her lack of formality in addressing him. ‘I’d hate for him to escape so close to home.’
‘Allow me.’ El-i-miir stretched out her hand so that translucent strands of affiliation started weaving across the room.
‘No,’ Far-a-mael sneered, snapping a white band of light around El-i-miir’s weaving and severing it before it could reach its destination. ‘I’ll deal with him. And you really must learn to direct your Way without using your hands. I expect more from you by now.’
‘Yes, Gil’rei.’ El-i-miir lowered her eyes and removed herself from sight.
The silt watched as she left, eyes losing hope and his aura a litany of steadily darkening blues, yellows, and pinks.
‘How interesting,’ Far-a-mael murmured. His voice broke the spell and Ilgrin’s aura plunged back into murky darkness. ‘What could that little minx have done to get you, a demon, to fall in love with her?’
‘I . . . don’t know.’ Ilgrin squirmed as Far-a-mael poked about in his aura.
‘You do,’ Far-a-mael sneered. ‘I hope for your sake she hasn’t fallen in love with you, too. The Tome condemns such things as an abomination, often likening it to bestiality. On this particular matter, I happen to agree with the old writings. You must be an embarrassment even by the standards of your own kind. Is that why they sent you here, to get rid of you?’
‘I am from Sitnic.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Far-a-mael rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve heard it all before. You truly won’t budge from that silly little story, will you? What a stubborn creature.’
‘What the torrid is wrong with you?’ Ilgrin gasped, clamping the sides of his head. ‘Everyone else believes me. Why won’t you?’
‘Do you really want to know?’ Far-a-mael lowered his voice and marched over to the silt, stretching up to put his lips close to the creature’s ear. ‘Because I don’t want to,’ he whispered. ‘A technicality like that might ruin my plans.’
‘You,’ Ilgrin cried. ‘You’re the evil one, not me.’
‘Get up stairs,’ Far-a-mael ordered. ‘I don’t know how you managed to survive Cold Wood, but I assure you that you will not fare so well in Vish’el’Tei.’
Once they were off the boat, Far-a-mael turned on Briel and Fes. ‘Our business has reached its conclusion.’ He handed Briel a small moneybag. ‘You’d best be on your way.’
‘My horses be dead,’ Briel replied, sounding as tired of Far-a-mael’s company as he was of theirs.
‘I’ve given you enough to make up for your loss.’
Briel and Waxnah’s men were still struggling to remove the wagon from the riverboat when Far-a-mael and his companions left to make their way into town. The roads were dirt and the buildings were shabby. The central building was the Butterdry Inn, which of course happened to be the only one in town.
‘Good evening,’ Far-a-mael said as he approached the most sensibly dressed man in the building. ‘I require two rooms: one for myself and the gentleman to my right, and one for the ladies.’
The fellow didn’t even raise his head to ask for the appropriate sum of money and handed over a pair of keys. ‘Upstairs to your right.’
After pointing the girls to their room, Far-a-mael unlocked the next door and pushed the silt inside.
The room was small, its contents sparse. There was a narrow bed against the far wall and a modest table with a chair beside it and a small mirror that hung above it. Far-a-mael looked at the silt and smirked. He grabbed him by the neck and shoved him into the corner. The creature fell hard, his hood bouncing back to reveal a bruised face.
‘How long do you think you can keep me hostage?’
Far-a-mael answered by backhanding Ilgrin across the face. ‘Don’t look at me.’
The creature deserved to die and he’d have ended its pitiful lif
e long ago if it weren’t for the sake of his people. Few throughout recorded history had managed to capture a living silt. When the elders learnt of his success, they’d accept his proposal immediately. He was certain of it. Far-a-mael glared at the silt, keeping an eye on him as he rummaged through his bag.
‘There,’ he murmured, retrieving a small pouch of herbs, but froze when a shiver ran down his spine. Something wasn’t right. But Far-a-mael’s power of knowing was weak in comparison to other gils. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. After a moment of transfixed silence, the feeling faded and Far-a-mael disregarded it.
He turned back to the creature on the floor and clutched his chin. Just touching the demon’s pasty white flesh revolted him. Far-a-mael yanked back Ilgrin’s head and pressed the bag of herbs under his nose until he passed out.
He put the herbs away and went to the door. He had little time before sunset and needed to be sure he could purchase some horses for the following day. He reached for the handle, but stopped at the return of the peculiar sensation he’d felt earlier. Someone was watching him. Far-a-mael spun around, grabbed the silt by the throat and peeled back his eyelids. But the herbs had never failed before and the silt was lost to the deep sleep they induced. Far-a-mael frowned and exited the room.
The door shut with a solid thud and Far-a-mael took two steps. His eyes widened and he froze in his tracks.
‘Seeol,’ he whispered, anxiously turning back to his room. This was his chance to destroy the creature once and for all. It was trapped. He hovered over the silt and patted down its body. Before long, he found a small bulge squirming about in his shirt.
‘Ah!’ Far-a-mael yelped and pulled his hand away to reveal a break in his skin. The little monster had bit him. He turned his attention back to the silt in time to see Seeol squirm free. Far-a-mael leapt at the owl but it evaded him and flew for the exit.
Far-a-mael kicked the door and was satisfied to see it slam shut on the bird as it tried to escape. He rushed over to examine the door. There were plenty of feathers, but no blood. Far-a-mael yanked it open hoping dearly to see the bird’s lifeless form on the carpet outside, but what he stood before him made his blood run cold.
Seeol had transformed into his other self, the creature now filling the entire hall, barely able to move in such confinement. Far-a-mael reached for his bag in the hope of retrieving his pistol, but before he could put any distance between himself and the monster, it picked him up in its talons.
‘Seeol . . . please,’ Far-a-mael begged as the mutant bird started squeezing, making it impossible to breathe.
The monster’s grip slackened and Far-a-mael hit the floor. He raised his eyes, expecting to see a giant foot come crashing down. But the fiend stood entranced. A glimpse passed the beast revealed Seteal, her eyes deep with concentration.
She had become one with the Ways. How she’d stilled the creature with so little experience was beyond Far-a-mael. Her strength had been proven so many times that he was almost willing to believe her potential limitless. Then the creature began to shrink. Seteal was reversing Seeol’s condition, something Far-a-mael had never succeeded in doing nor had he expected possible.
Once back to his regular self, Seeol launched into the air and out the door. Seteal fell against the wall, breathing raggedly. It was then that El-i-miir approached, somewhat paler than usual and offered her hand to Far-a-mael.
‘I’m fine!’ He battered her hand out of the way and clambered to his feet, wincing at a definite ache in his chest.
The innkeeper stormed up the stairs.
‘Torrid,’ Far-a-mael cursed and slammed the door before the he could get a proper look inside.
‘You in there. Open up.’ The innkeeper slammed his fist against the door. ‘I’ve taken a risk allowing Elglair to stay here with Jenjol across the river and this is how you repay me? What are you hiding in there? What was all that noise?’
Making eye contact with El-i-miir, Far-a-mael put a finger to his lips and listened as heavy footfall moved back down stairs, only to return moments later.
‘He’s got a master set.’ Far-a-mael’s eyes widened at the sound of jingling keys. He grabbed El-i-miir by the arm and pushed her down next to the silt before tearing the blankets off the bed and throwing them over both of them. ‘Try to look sick.’
‘What?’ El-i-miir’s eyes widened fearfully. The child must surely have been terrified lying beside such a creature.
‘Just make sure you keep that thing covered.’ Far-a-mael hushed her.
With a bang the door swung open and Far-a-mael put a finger against his lips aggressively. ‘Can’t you see how unwell she is?’
‘What in Maker’s name is going on?’ The innkeeper asked furiously, looking from Far-a-mael to El-i-miir covered apparently in a very large volume of blankets.
‘I’m sorry . . . is there a problem?’ Far-a-mael wove ropes of coloured light into the man’s aura, forcing him to calm down. ‘This child is simply ill.’
‘How ill?’ the innkeeper enquired, already backing out of the room.
‘Don’t be concerned.’ Far-a-mael rested a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘It isn’t catching.’
The innkeeper swallowed nervously, perhaps even wondering why he didn’t seem able to summon the anger he should’ve been feeling. Far-a-mael haphazardly pushed small bursts of pulsing olive cowardice into the man.
‘Well.’ He turned away from Far-a-mael’s penetrating gaze. ‘I think it’d be best if you were on your way at first light.’ The innkeeper backed out the door and pulled it shut.
‘You can get up now,’ Far-a-mael urged, having noticed the girl remaining in place even once the door was closed. She got up without too much delay, but not quite as hurriedly as Far-a-mael would’ve expected from someone in her situation.
As the innkeeper had demanded, Far-a-mael made sure to get the girls out of bed early the following morning, but having decided they probably needed the additional sleep, he first went out alone and purchased four horses at a ridiculously high price. The day that followed was mostly uneventful. For this, Far-a-mael was grateful, as his bones ached and his head was heavy.
As it turned out Butterdry was not as close to Sat Elam as Waxnah had proposed, and although Far-a-mael was loathe to do so, that meant another night sleeping in tents. The following morning they were all reminded of their destination by the rapidly declining temperature and the steady elevation of the landscape. Several hours later, the party arrived in Sat Elam.
‘Take Seteal into the city and bring back something to eat,’ Far-a-mael ordered El-i-miir, handing over his money bag. ‘I’ll stay out here with the silt.’ Far-a-mael frowned at Ilgrin tethered to a grey stallion, trotting beneath his influence.
‘Gil’rei?’ El-i-miir enquired with much more respect than that which Far-a-mael was accustomed to receiving.
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘If you’d like to see the city for yourself, I’d be happy to watch the demon for you.’
‘And have you let it escape?’ Far-a-mael rolled his eyes. ‘I think not.’
‘No, Gil,’ El-i-miir’s face expressed panic. ‘I’d never!’
‘I meant as an accident,’ Far-a-mael clarified, shaking his head. ‘Look, it’s fine, El-i-miir. I’ll wait here. I’m too old to be bustling about in city crowds.
When the women returned with bread and butter, Far-a-mael hurriedly ate and they continued on their way. It wasn’t until they passed the final row of ramshackle houses at the northern outskirts of the city that Far-a-mael squinted into the distance to witness a sight that brought warmth to his heart. When he heard Seteal gasp, he wasn’t at all surprised. The beauty of the Frozen Lands was enough to take anyone’s breath.
A flat desert of ice stretched out to the north, marred only by the occasion tree poking through its surface. Beyond that ten or so miles of icy plains were towering cliffs that stretched into the sky, their peaks breaking through the clouds. These mountains were not constructe
d of earth, but of ice. The entire landscape glowed as sunlight was captured and the blue of the sky was caught and reflected.
Far-a-mael exhaled in relief. He was finally home. These were the Elglair Frozen Lands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE TRUTH WON’T SET YOU FREE
The Inner Circle: The Knowing Page 51