Awakening

Lara Morgan

Awakening

Lara Morgan

For two thousand years, the serpents of Salmut and their riders have kept the people of Saranthium safe — but the pact between human and serpent is failing. Rogue serpents are attacking villages, and rumours abound that the banished god of the serpents, Azoth, has returned to resurrect his empire of slavery.

Orphan, thief and survivor Shaan works in the serpent yards of Salmut and wakes from dreams of blood and death. The surprising discovery that she can speak with Nuathin, the oldest serpent of the yards, brings her to the attention of sept leader, Balkis. Handsome, arrogant and seductive, Balkis is also a man with powerful and dangerous alliances and Shaan becomes the target of the city’s most feared arms men: The Faithful.

Meanwhile in the deserts, a young man named Tallis defends his clan against rogue serpents, driving them off with supernatural force. When he faces becoming an outcast because of his power, the truth of his birth is revealed and he embarks on a journey to understand the strength locked within his mind.

Drawn together, Shaan and Tallis become ensnared in the resurrection of an ancient conflict, but on whose side will they stand — that of the serpents or the people?

About the Author

Lara Morgan has loved fantasy since her mother first read her The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings (those Dark Riders still give her the shivers) and her book shelves are stacked precariously with more fantastical adventures than she will probably be able to read in one lifetime. She loves feisty heroines and heroes with depth and prefers to create villains in shades of grey rather than black and white, taking a tip from one of her personal heroes Joss Whedon who said: “All villains believe they are the hero of the story”.

Lara also writes for young adults and you can find her online at www.lara-morgan.com or blogging when she has time at www.laramorgan.wordpress.com and on twitter @Lara_Morgan.

She lives in Geraldton, Western Australia, with her husband and son.

Acknowledgements

Having a book you thought dead and buried brought back to life like a phoenix from the ashes is an honour and a privilege. It brings me great joy to see the lives of Shaan, Tallis and all my beloved characters finding their way once again to readers’ hands, and hopefully their hearts. For that I need to thank my wonderful agent Clare Forster who never, ever gave up and kept telling me it would work out, thank you for believing. To Kate Cuthbert and the lovely people at Escape Publishing for their enthusiasm and for taking this on and resurrecting it.

For Grant, still the muse, but now also the husband.

Contents

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

List of Characters

Glossary

Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

1

The city of Salmut, Saranthium

Shaan jerked awake, her breath coming fast and sharp; she’d been dreaming of fire and death again.

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the cracks in the ceiling. It was just after dawn and already the heat and humidity were building. Sweat covered her limbs, making the bedclothes stick, and in a fit of irritation she kicked them to the end of the bed, running unsteady hands through her short, dark hair.

The dream had been more vivid this time and unwelcome images crowded back. Burning flesh, screams, fire devouring the strange city and that voice following, tormenting her. She shivered. She could still hear his sibilant whisper.

Outside, a refuse collector clattered down the street making her start. Annoyed, she pushed the remnants of the dream away. What good did it do to dwell on it when she had troubles enough already. Getting out of bed, she crossed to the window and pushed open the wooden shutters. The stench of rotted cargo and damp wafted up from the street two stories below and, with a grimace, she lifted her head to try and catch a fresh breeze.

The sky was washed pink with the dawn. Beyond the flat-topped roofs of the city, the warehouses and jetties of the Great Port jutted out into the dark water of the bay. The massive main pier was like a stone arm pointing to the rim of the world and the sea a sheet of dark silk. The ships at anchor barely moved in the low swell.

She looked to the mass of whitewashed buildings that sprawled across the red cliff at the opposite end of the bay. The yards, home to the serpents and their riders. She bit her lip her insides churning. The riders’ trials were only two months away. Would yesterday’s mistake go against her? Would he remember it?

She should have been dreaming of that rather than a burning city. Failure at the trials would mean another two years of cleaning up after the sons and daughters of the city’s elite who practically had their rider positions handed to them. Fail the trials and all her effort would be for nothing.

She leaned on the windowsill, the splintered wood scraping her skin. Sept Leader Balkis had barely noticed her before, now there was no doubt he’d remember her. Thinking of the way he’d looked at her made Shaan feel ill. She’d given him a real blade instead of a blunted sword. The Fledgling rider he’d been training had needed seven stitches in his thigh. It was the dreams, the lack of sleep. If she hadn’t been so tired it wouldn’t have happened.

She needed every advantage she could get to win a place as a Fledgling, and irritating the man who could decide her fate was not going to help. Balkis was the youngest person to make sept leader in more years than she could count, and she had to draw his ire. She stared at the yards as though she could sear his brain with her look. Choose me, she thought, choose me.

A far ranging fishing boat, its sails bright white against the red cliffs, tacked slowly in toward the jetties distracting her and she watched it for a while and then suddenly swore as she remembered she’d promised to get some fish for Torg that morning. With a groan, she pulled a sleeveless, green dress over her head and shoving her feet into sandals, stepped out into the narrow hallway, fastening a wide belt around her waist as she went.

‘Tuon! Tuon, wake up.’ She called down the corridor and knocked loudly on a door at the end. Without waiting for a reply she pushed it open and stuck her head in.

‘Tuon, you awake?’

The room was twice as large as her own. In the far corner a woman was lying diagonally across a wide bed, the sheet pulled up over her head. Only her pink toes were visible, poking out from under the crumpled sheets.

‘Tuon, wake up.’ She let the door bang against the wall.

A tousled blonde head appeared from under the sheets followed by a hand, which flung a pillow in her direction. ‘Leave me be.’

Shaan watched as the feather-filled sack hit the doorframe. ‘You’ll have to aim better than that.’ She strode across the room and stood over her, hands on her hips. ‘Come on, I have to go fishing. Come with me for a swim, it’ll wash some of that stink off you.’

But Tuon didn’t move and Shaan looked down at her in irritation then stooped and ripped the sheet off. ‘Come on, dung worms move faster than you!’

‘Aah, all right!’ Tuon rolled over and blinked, leisurely rubbing her naked belly. ‘I see yesterday’s mishap is going to make you pleasant company.’

Blonde and all curves, Tuon was a favourite with the sailors who came to the Red Pepino. Her skin was pale compared to Shaan’s, she was a head taller and ten years older and was the closest thing Shaan had to family.

Shaan wrinkled her nose, ignoring her comment. ‘Goddess, it’s stuffy in here!’ She went to the window and opened it with a bang. ‘Why don’t you air it out sometimes?’

‘Well, aren’t we in a fine mood today.’ Tuon hoisted herself up to a sitting position. ‘It’s a good thing Torg doesn’t have you making coin for him on your back, looking like that you’d earn him less than a street boy.’

‘As if I’d let some sweaty, stinking pig of a sailor mount me.’ Shaan flicked at a sliver of flaking paint with her fingernail.

‘Is that right? But you’re not above lifting a purse or two from them.’

‘So what?’ Shaan shrugged. ‘They were drunk and stupid, it served them right.’ She picked at more paint, choosing not to notice the eyebrow Tuon was raising at her. She must be losing her touch if Tuon had seen her. When she’d run with the street packs she could lift a purse from a merchant in a crowded market and no one would suspect a thing. Not that she did that anymore.

‘Torg won’t be happy if he finds out,’ Tuon said. ‘It makes it harder for the customers to pay his girls – me included.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Shaan shrugged, glancing at her, ‘that sailor was too drunk to get it up anyway.’

Tuon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You only steal when there’s something wrong. What is it? You not sleeping again, or are you still worrying yourself over that sept leader?’

‘I’m not worried.’ Shaan flicked paint at a cart trundling past below.

‘No, of course not.’ Tuon crossed her arms over her bare breasts. ‘Getting shouted at by the man who could decide your fate at the trials is nothing, happens every day. And of course,’ she gave her a knowing look, ‘it doesn’t help that that man is also outrageously pretty.’

‘And knows it,’ Shaan snorted.

‘Don’t they all,’ Tuon said dryly. ‘But still, a sept leader . . .’

‘Is hardly going to look twice at a worker,’ Shaan interrupted her. ‘Not that I want him to.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting you did.’ She gave her a penetrating look and Shaan felt a touch of heat rise in her cheeks. ‘I was going to say,’ Tuon continued, ‘that a sept leader being angry at me, if I was the one who wanted to be a rider, would make me worry. Or is there something else that’s making you spit like a cat caught in a trap?’

Shaan looked away to stare out of the window. ‘I’m just tired. I have to report to the yards to help serve the mid-meal as well as get some fish for Torg, so if you’re going to come with me then get up, or I’ll just go alone.’

Tuon didn’t move. ‘Have that dream again, did you?’

Shaan leaned back against the window frame, looking at her in frustration.

‘You better tell me, ’cause you know I’ll get it out of you.’ Tuon’s blue gaze pinned her to the sill. Shaan tried to stare back but she was too weary to keep it up. ‘All right!’ she sighed. ‘Yes, it’s the goddess-cursed dream again.’

‘And there was nothing different this time?’

‘No, nothing different. There was the burning city and people and . . .’ she hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about how real it had felt; the smoke filling her lungs, the pungent smell of singed flesh and the voice. ‘It was just a dream, Tuon. The same one I’ve been having for weeks. The same one you’ve heard about over and over.’

‘Just a dream?’

Shaan pushed a hand through her hair, regretting she’d said anything. ‘Yes, just a dream. It was nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ She flapped the front of her dress against her skin. ‘Come on, it’s getting hotter. Let’s just go.’

But Tuon didn’t move. ‘You have to go to a dream seer, Shaan. These dreams, these nightmares, are becoming more frequent. You should see someone. Maybe even Morfessa.’

‘The Guardian’s Advisor?’ Shaan almost laughed.

‘He’s the best dream seer in the city.’

‘No. And anyway, I’ve no coin and I hardly think Morfessa would see just anyone. I’m a yard worker, a nobody.’

‘I’ll pay for it,’ Tuon insisted. ‘You should see someone. These dreams must mean something, they . . .’

‘They mean nothing; it’s just the heat. Come on and get dressed I have to get this fish.’

Tuon sighed. ‘All right, all right, pass me my clothes.’

Thankful she had backed down, Shaan retrieved a blue dress embroidered with flowers from the cupboard.

But Tuon looked up at her as she took it. ‘Promise me, Shaan, that you will at least think about consulting a seer. Will you do that?’

‘All right!’

Satisfied, Tuon dressed quickly and they clattered down the stairs together. In the kitchen, the Red Pepino’s owner, Torg Fair-wind, was energetically punching and kneading bread dough, his bald head covered with a kerchief. A thick ring of gold hanging from the top of his right ear glinted as he moved.

He grinned as the girls entered the room, his teeth white against the blackness of his skin. ‘Morning.’

Both women recoiled from the heat coming from the stove.

‘What are you doing?’ Tuon gasped, fanning her face. ‘There are bread makers for that you know!’

‘Yes, but I don’t trust ’em.’ He slapped a large lump of dough onto the table. ‘No one makes bread like Torg.’ He winked at them and punched the dough so hard the table wobbled.

‘You off for my fish?’ He looked at Shaan and she nodded.

‘Just getting my gear.’

‘Good. And make sure you have yourself a good wash. I can smell the stink of last night’s wine on you! You know, if you washed your hair and put meat on those bones, you could make a little more coin, just like Tuon.’

‘No thanks,’ Shaan scowled. ‘I’d rather stick my head in that oven.’ She picked her fish bag off the hook near the back door. ‘Come on Tuon.’

The sound of Torg chuckling and the steady thump of the dough followed them as they crossed the courtyard and went out through the back gates.

The streets were mostly empty and the walk through the usually crowded seafarers’ quarter was easy going, but as they neared the market square, the streets became busier. Shouts of stallholders calling out their wares came from ahead and carts loaded with vegetables trundled past pulled by snorting muthu. The market was in a huge square, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings of commerce, eateries and kaf houses. A ring of carts and makeshift stalls filled the open central area, the goods shielded from the sun by multi-coloured cloths strung up on poles. In the middle was a shady garden and water fountain.

The scene was chaotic and familiar, but Shaan felt a touch of uneasiness in the air as she and Tuon wound their way through the maze. People were not as raucous as usual. Vendors huddled together in groups, frowns on their faces, casting nervous glances at the cloudless sky and muttering to one another, and buyers picked half-heartedly through the goods, their haggling muted and lacklustre.

‘Wonder what’s got into everybody,’ Shaan said.

Tuon glanced at her. ‘Haven’t you heard the rumours?’

‘What, of rogue serpents attacking villages? Of course.’ Shaan shrugged.

‘But it can’t be anything more than troublemakers telling tales.’

Tuon frowned at her. ‘Why would anyone lie about that?’

‘I don’t know. But serpents don’t kill people, Tuon. They made a pact long ago to protect us. Besides, I haven’t heard of any of the serpents here in Salmut doing anything and, working in the yards, I think I’d be one of the first to know.’

Tuon gave her a dark look. ‘As if they’d tell a worker what was going on. And you know that the histories say the first warning of His return is the serpents changing. We would be better off to take heed of any warnings than dismiss them. If the Fallen one were to return . . .’

‘The skies would be painted black with despair,’ Shaan interrupted. ‘I know the words of the Foundation Scroll as well as anyone.’

But Tuon was not going to be put off. ‘It also says,’ she continued, ‘that serpents turning on humans would be one of the first signs of His return. And the rumours say it is serpents that attacked those villages in the north.’ She frowned and picked up a length of maroon silk from a nearby stall then tossed it back down. ‘I think it would be prudent to heed any warning signs, that’s all.’

‘There’s no proof it was serpents,’ Shaan said. ‘It’s probably Scanorians.’

‘Scanorians are just dirty little cave dwellers, Shaan. They don’t eat people. They say there were bodies half eaten and others ripped apart. Whole villages were burned to the ground.’

Shaan shook her head. She’d heard the rumours as well, but the serpents were their protectors, their allies. It didn’t make sense and she was surprised Tuon was taking the talk so seriously. Usually she was the first to dismiss anything she didn’t know for herself to be true. It wasn’t like her. The possibility that the attacks might herald the Fallen’s return was not something she, or anyone, wanted to believe. He was a legend, a myth, a monster of children’s nightmares. To spread rumours about him coming back was . . . She shook her head and pushed the thought of it firmly to the back of her mind, not wanting to dwell on it anymore. She had enough problems already.

Her stomach rumbled as they passed a fruit seller setting up her stall. ‘I’m hungry, did you bring any coin?’ she asked, stepping over a box of carefully wrapped apples.

‘No. Whoops!’ Tuon grabbed for her hand as she almost tripped over another box of fruit a young boy had suddenly shoved into her path.

‘Hey, you two!’ A huge woman in a flowing red dress was making her way toward them. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get away from my fruit. You ruin it and you’ll be paying for it with your skinny bones!’

Feeling suddenly reckless, Shaan bent down and pretended to fiddle with her sandal, glancing up at Tuon with a grin. It was an age-old thief’s trick and it only took her a moment to snatch the fruit.

‘Stop it!’ Tuon gripped her arm. ‘She looks big enough to throw us both in a refuse cart.’ She tugged at her elbow, pulling her away.

‘Oh, come on! That fat sea cow would never catch us.’ Shaan followed Tuon at a jog, deftly lifting some hot morsels off a tray of pastries as a man carried it past her.

‘Here,’ she caught up and handed her a pastry then pulled the apples from the front of her dress. ‘We’ll eat the evidence.’

Tuon shook her head with a smile. ‘You are a thief, Shaan.’ She looked back to see that the large woman’s way had been blocked by a couple of fighting boys. ‘But you are a lucky one.’

The woman glared at them over the heads of the boys, but could not get past and, flinging a few choice insults at them, she turned and went back to her stall. Catching Tuon’s eye, Shaan laughed and they pushed further into the maze of stalls until they reached the gardens, stopping under the shade of some trees by the fountain to eat the food. In the centre of the bubbling pool was a statue of a naked woman holding a fish and, on the far side, partly obscured by the statue, three richly dressed men were talking, their heads close together. Standing near them, a tall man in a black leather jerkin with a sword at his waist watched the area around them with a keen gaze. His skin was tanned and dark hair hung to his shoulders, a day or two of beard growth shadowing his jaw.

Shaan’s stomach dropped when she saw him and she quickly averted her eyes and kneeled by the fountain, sluicing water over her face, feeling him scrutinising them. Tuon give a sharp intake of breath as she kneeled next to her. Men like him made them both nervous. The black jerkin marked him as a member of the Faithful, the city’s band of elite armsmen.

He was the wrong kind of person to notice you, worse than the city guards by a long stretch. It was said the Hunters of the Faithful could track and capture anyone or anything, and the Seducers could turn your mind to their will. They were the most powerful and most feared of Salmut’s law keepers, the Guardian’s chosen warriors, charged with keeping watch against the Fallen’s return.

Shaan kept her head down and wondered what such a man was doing in this part of the city. She risked a glance through dripping eyes and saw that he was now deep in conversation with the others. She gave a sigh of relief and stared down into the shallow pond, drawing circles in the water and chewing on the pastry. Beside her, Tuon sipped from her cupped hands then sat up on the lip of the fountain, her back rigid with tension.

Shaan watched a leaf sink in the water. The market used to be one of her favourite spots to work when she’d run with the street packs. Easy pickings with so many distracted by the hustle and bustle. Before the Crooked Man took over anyway, she thought sourly. She was lucky she’d gotten out of the packs before he took all of them ‘under his wing’, as he put it. She looked sideways at Tuon. She’d had a run-in of some kind with him. It was the reason she’d come to work at the Red Pepino, arriving not long after Shaan herself. But she never talked about it. She wished she would tell her; how bad could it be?

Shaan played with the leaf. ‘Why won’t you ever tell me what the Crooked Man did to you?’ she said quietly, glancing up at her.

Tuon looked at her, her face pinched. ‘For the same reason you don’t talk about your time running with the street packs, or your dead mother,’ she replied curtly. ‘It’s over. Finished. There’s little point in recounting it, so stop asking.’

Shaan pulled her hands out of the water and perched on the edge of the fountain. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

Tuon only shook her head, still staring out at the market and sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Shaan looked away, following her gaze, watching a vendor threading meat onto sticks. Something was bothering Tuon. She was never that curt and she especially never mentioned Shaan’s dead mother so bluntly. She knew it hurt her to be reminded of the woman who had loved the drug crist more than her own daughter. She’d died of the addiction when Shaan was just five, leaving her to the street packs, the legion of orphaned children that thieved to survive.

Shaan rubbed at a ragged nail on her right thumb. She barely remembered her mother. She recalled red hair and pale brown eyes in a thin face. Shaan’s eyes were such a dark blue they seemed almost purple. Indigo she’d called them in her lucid moments.

‘Shaan,’ Tuon’s voice brought her back. ‘Think too much on the past and it will drown you. Didn’t you say you had fish to catch?’ She raised an eyebrow.

Shaan took a deep breath, feeling weary. ‘Yes, in a moment.’ Tuon shook her head, but Shaan couldn’t muster the energy to get up. The fish would still be there in an hour.

Behind them, men’s voices were rising and falling beneath the sound of the water. They sounded fractious and she turned a little to watch them from the corner of her eye.

Tuon suddenly elbowed her in the side and hissed, ‘Don’t look at them!’

‘Ow!’ Shaan glared at her. ‘I wasn’t.’

‘You were! Men like that are dangerous. And if they found out you’d overheard anything, how do you think they’d react?’

‘They wouldn’t know. I didn’t spend six years on the streets without learning something.’

‘One of them is of the Faithful,’ Tuon snapped.

‘I noticed.’

‘Then you should also know he’s very high ranking. Dangerous.’

‘How do you know?’ Shaan frowned at her. There was nothing on his jerkin to claim rank.

‘I just do,’ Tuon said.

‘How?’

But her face closed up and she looked away, smoothing her skirt. ‘Don’t mess with them. It’s not worth it.’ She rose. ‘Come on, you’ve got fish to catch.’ And she started to walk away.

Shaan watched her for a moment before rising to follow. She was acting very strangely of late. She glanced sideways at her face as they walked. Tuon had been both mother and sister to her since she was eleven, but lately she’d been distant and had taken to staring pensively into space, a frown often between her brows.

A shadow passed over and Shaan looked up to see a purple and gold serpent angling in from the west. It was very close to the city. Too close. She stopped, pulling Tuon to a halt beside her.

‘It’s flying very low,’ she said.

‘What?’ Tuon still sounded irritated.

‘It’s too low,’ she repeated. ‘Look.’ She pointed upwards.

The serpent was coming closer and closer, its great wings tilted down toward them. It was so close Shaan could see the rider and hear the rushing air beneath the beast’s wings. An acrid, sharp scent rode on the wind, like oil burnt to black in a pan.

Her heart pounded as she stared up at it. Riders never brought their serpents this close to the city. Around them other people had also stopped talking and were looking up at the beast as it came lower and lower. It dropped down toward them like a stone thrown by the gods. Its hide gleamed in the sunlight and as Shaan squinted up at it, a strange numbness came over her. She watched its tail unfurling behind it like a pennant in the sky as it streaked down upon them and, without knowing why, lifted a hand to it, stretching her fingers upward.

Suddenly it shrieked, a long, low screech that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.

‘It’s attacking!’ Someone shouted, and the market erupted in panic. People ran for cover, pushing each other aside as they tried to reach the safety of the surrounding buildings. But few were fast enough and the serpent fell upon them in a hiss of wind and clash of talons, like knives scraping on rock.

‘Shaan!’ Tuon grabbed her arm dragging her back toward the garden, pulling her down as they went. Stumbling, her knees skinned as she hit the paving. All around was screaming and panic as people threw themselves to the ground or under carts. Dazed, Shaan rolled on her side and saw the man in black running, his face grim, staring beyond her. She followed his gaze to see the serpent swoop down and across the middle of the square. Sparks flew as the barbs on its tail scraped stone. Its wings, spread full, shattered carts and awnings, crushing the people beneath and knocking down a muthu fleeing in terror. The wind of its passing smelled of smoulder and ash.

It passed by them so close, Shaan saw its rider, his face full of fear as the beast rampaged beyond his control. For a moment he looked straight back at her and then he was gone as with another shriek, the serpent soared up and winged away to the east.

2

Clan lands. Jalwalah territory

Tallis gripped his spear and stood perfectly still, watching the mar rat’s burrow. Slowly, tentatively, a brown nose surfaced and sniffed the early morning desert air. The muscles in Tallis’s right arm ached from holding the short spear to strike, but he remained motionless. Any sound would send the animal scurrying back underground. Patience was the hunter’s best friend, his father had told him. Slowly, the small animal crept from its hole. As long as his forearm and covered in soft, dark hair, the mar rat had exceptional hearing, but its eyesight was poor.

Tallis waited until it had emerged fully and then he braced himself for what must come. For a brief moment the earth beneath his feet seemed to drop away. The sounds and scents of the desert faded, the rock-strewn sands blurring at the edge of his vision. Only the mar rat remained focussed. He felt its fear. He was connected to it as though by an invisible thread, stretched thin between them. He knew instinctively he could make it do anything now, if he thought it, if he set his mind to it. A suggestion was all it took. He’d done it before. It wasn’t right. And yet all men must hunt.

He drew back and the world came suddenly back into focus as he let the spear fly. The mar rat fell to the sand, carried back by the force of the blow. Its legs twitched once then stilled. Tallis fought the brief shot of sickness that always followed a kill.

‘That’s two to you now already,’ Jared spoke behind him.

Taking a breath, Tallis turned and regarded his earth brother. ‘And what of it? If you spent less time binding your braids you might have caught one by now as well.’ He grinned. Where Tallis had only the usual two braids, one on either side of his face, Jared had eight smoothly-oiled, brown braids, fastened with a band of silver at each end.

Jared grinned. ‘You only wish your clumsy hands could braid this well. But luckily they can hunt, so why should I tire myself? If we stay out here all day you can catch enough to feed the whole camp and we can go home early and have the hot springs all to ourselves. No goat hunting and all the women.’ He winked.

Tallis couldn’t help smiling. Jared had just entered his eighteenth year, making them the same age, but he had been charming the women of the clan since he was a boy. Two heads taller and with a lighter build, Jared had a handsome face and a ready smile that had sent more than his fair share of women tumbling into the hot springs to hear his jokes.

Tallis shook his head and tapped his spear on the sand. ‘Stay out here all day? My father would have us sharpening spears for a week. Perhaps if you threw your spear half as fast as you talked, you could catch enough meat to feed the whole clan. But, since you would rather talk, you can get my kill and gut it.’

‘Not likely beetle dung face,’ Jared laughed. ‘I’m going to catch my own rat and you can clean it.’

Tallis snorted and pushed him hard in the shoulder as he went to collect his kill. Jared always made him smile, but it faded quickly. Every hunt, every kill, was a reminder of the secret wrongness inside. A man should not be able to do what he did. He bent down and picked up the mar rat, deftly slicing open the throat to bleed it before scraping out its gut.

A breath of wind brushed his skin and he stood and stretched, facing into it, looking out across the desert to the horizon. They had left the camp as the sun had started to show above the line of dunes in the distance; now the sun hung above the horizon and the moon was a faded half circle in the sky; the cool air of the desert night quickly dissipating. The yellow sands were tinged pink and long shadows stretched toward him from scattered patches of rock. It was at moments like this the Guides were said to walk the land. Old Serita said she had seen one once: the third Guide, Sabut, drifting like a wraith across the sands.

The wind dropped. How quiet the desert had suddenly become, soundless and thick as though he were immersed in the warm waters of the spring. His skin prickled and an echo of his sickness came back to him: the metallic taste of blood that always lingered seconds after the kill.

He scanned the landscape and, as often happened, his gaze was pulled to the west, beyond the ranges to the country of the Wetlanders. The familiar urge unsettled him. Always, part of him had sought to see what lay beyond the clans, to the west, the sea. It drew him, tugging at his insides. But it should not be that way. It was the desert lands he loved, the dry air, and the hot sands, rough under the soles of his feet. Why did he yearn for lands he didn’t know? He forced himself to turn away, his eyes tracing a shadow stretching from an outcrop of rock. It looked strangely like fingers curling toward him.

A feeling of wrongness swept through him. His stomach clenched and he staggered, his eyes closing as he gripped his spear for balance, his breathing harsh. And then it was gone, disappearing as fast as it had come. He stood blinking and unsteady and shook his head, trying to clear it. He must be tired, or perhaps had sun sickness from the hunt yesterday. His heart beat unsteadily in his chest.

It was time to go. He looked for Jared and saw him crouched nearby behind an outcrop of rock; no doubt there was a mar rat burrow on the far side. Careful to stay downwind, Tallis crept up to sit beside him. Jared pulled out his hunting knife, crouched, and in one smooth movement hurled it. There was no sound, but the satisfied look on his face said it had found its mark.

Jared turned and looked down. Something of Tallis’s uneasiness must have shown in his face, for instead of his usual boast, Jared frowned and uttered only one word, ‘Camp?’

Tallis nodded wordlessly. Jared quickly collected his kill and they walked back toward the rise of dunes. Sensing Tallis’s change in mood, his earth brother said nothing. He had grown used to his ways. Jared had seen him vomit from the sickness after Tallis killed his first sand goat when they were boys, and had said nothing of it then, nor of the times that followed.

He had joked that Tallis could not handle the blood. But he had known it was not that. They both knew it was not that. But it was something men should not speak of. It was a power. It could even be the power of the Guides and that was not for men. Only women could harness the touch of the Guides, only women worked the ways of the moon.

Tallis’s stomach tightened, the muscles in his shoulders tense. His mother was from the people of the Ice Mountains, not the clans. He had always been regarded as something of an outsider because of her race, for that and for his oddly coloured eyes. No other clansman had eyes of such a blue they sometimes seemed black. Was it always going to be his fate to be so different?

They reached the dunes and he punched his feet into the sand, pumping his legs through, propelling himself upward. Jared came behind, breathing hard. Tallis topped the dune and stopped to catch his breath, looking down at the camp. Hide tents were spread in a circle around a central fire pit, his family tent on the far side. His father sat at the opening sharpening his spear, and Tallis easily spotted his mother’s dark head near the fire, working the dough for the morning pan bread. The murmur of quiet voices reached him and the snort of the humped muthu. The scene looked so normal and familiar, yet he felt strangely detached. A feeling of dark premonition swept across his skin and the wrongness roiled in his gut again.

His father, Haldane, looked up, spotted him and waved, motioning him to come down.

‘Come on,’ Jared said. ‘Let’s go roast these rats.’ He jogged down the dune to the camp.

But Tallis didn’t move. He hardly saw Jared or the camp as he recalled another time, another place, when he had felt the same premonition, the same sickness. He had been fourteen and his older brothers, sons from Haldane’s first heart mate, had come to say goodbye. Cale and Malshed were leaving to fight the Raknah Clan for the Lake of the Fifth Moon. He had felt the wrongness whispering inside him then. A trickle of sweat ran from the base of his hairline down his neck. Cale had not returned from the battle with the Raknah, neither had Malshed. Many had not returned.

He raised an unsteady hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyes. He was so weary of carrying this difference inside him; it was not right for a man to feel these things. He watched Jared reach the bottom of the dune and stop to talk with Farrin. Laughter carried dully up to him.

‘Tallis!’ His father’s shout cut into his thoughts. Even from here he could see the frown of irritation. Better not to keep him waiting. He took a breath and made his legs move. One foot in front of the other, down the soft sand hill, the mar rats’ bodies bumping against his hip. There was a meal to be cooked and still more hunting to be done. They needed to catch enough sand goats today to feed many families back at the Jalwalah Well. He buried his fears, pushing them deep in his mind. There would be time to think on them later. Besides, what could happen out here in the lands they all knew like the womb of their mothers? Surely the Guides would watch over them here.

3

‘S how your pass.’

The guard on the gate of the serpent yards stood with his legs spread wide, one hand on his knife hilt. Shaan searched the pockets of her trousers for the square of wood with the stamp of a serpent burned into it.

‘Where’s old guard Gringely?’ She frowned, her hands were shaky this morning and her fingers fumbled.

‘Not here.’ The guard stared over her head with a bored expression.

‘Been out drinking or been gutted in a back street, or don’t you know?’ she snapped.

The guard looked down at her with a sneer. ‘Pass now, woman, and stop giving me trouble.’

‘Here.’ Her fingers finally closed around the small piece of wood and she slapped it into his hand.

His mouth twitched as he studied it a moment longer than necessary before handing it back. ‘Right, go on with you.’

Shaan walked through the gate, her body aching with each step. Stretching her arms deep in her pockets she trudged along, her mind going over and over the day before. The events at the market seemed like a strange dream. Surely it wasn’t possible that a serpent would attack like that? But it had and the thing was, she felt as if she’d connected with it. That eye looking at her . . . she shook her head and rubbed at the bumps that rose on her arms. A foolish notion, why was she even thinking it?

The news of the serpent’s attack had spread through the city and soon after the Guardian had posted notices and street criers announcing that citizens were not to be alarmed and that the particular serpent had been ill and sent back to the Serpent Isles. But still the damage was done. The Guardian could put out as many notices as she liked, Shaan thought, but she could not erase what people had seen and what they would say. The rumour mongers now had fuel for their fire.

Mercifully, she had been spared the dream last night, but she had woken many times with the memory of the serpent’s eye looking down on her. She lengthened her stride and inhaled the warm morning air, trying to shake off her weariness. Her stomach grumbled and she pulled a piece of bread folded over soft cheese from her pocket. The sun was still an hour away from rising and the yards were shadowed and quiet, lamps glowing softly in sconces on the walls.

The gate she had passed through was set away from the main thoroughfares. It opened into a narrow paved street that led into a large square surrounded by whitewashed buildings. Long walkways fronted the buildings, with porticoes stretching the length of each. To her left was the Fledgling riders’ barracks and facing her, one of the meals pavilions with a vaulted roof and huge double doors. Two smaller meals pavilions formed the square’s remaining sides and behind them were the kitchens, where Shaan was due to report later in the day. She walked quickly across the flat stones to cut between the pavilions, raising a hand in silent greeting to other workers carrying trays loaded with food.

She passed the training arenas, busy with workers setting up for the day, through to an open grassed area, dotted with trees. Closer to the edge of the cliff, the riders’ barracks proper nestled among well tended gardens and, further still, near the edge of the promontory with a view to the sea, were the sept leaders’ lodges and the Commander’s villa. Immediately, Balkis’s face leaped into her mind, accompanied by a twinge of anxiety.

Averting her gaze, Shaan kept moving up the hill toward the Serpent Dome, her heart beating a nervous rhythm in her chest. For the first time she’d been assigned duties among the serpents and she was nervous, especially after yesterday. The last thing she needed was to be thinking about Balkis. Taking a deep breath she pushed all thoughts of the blond-haired sept leader to the back of her mind and followed the path to the Dome.

An ancient building, the Serpent Dome sat at the highest point of the cliff and was a single, round column made of lightcoloured stone. Topped with a domed roof, circled by a wide landing platform, it had taken the first people of Salmut seven years to build. It was the serpents’ home, the place she most wanted to be – as a rider. She just wasn’t sure if being assigned there as a worker was a blessing or a curse.

Setting her jaw, she made for the storehouse, a small building behind the Dome near a copse of trees. Inside, the walls were hung with rakes, shovels and grooming tools. Huge sacks of fruit and grain were stacked many layers deep at one end and a rough wooden table sat in the corner near the door surrounded by four chairs, an oil lamp glowing brightly on top. Two other workers were already there piling fruit into baskets. Shaan nodded at them and sat at the table.

She’d barely settled when the door swung wide, hitting the inside wall with a loud bang, and a man entered. Over six foot tall, he had a large belly that stuck forward and a dull face. His eyes fell on her. ‘You the new one?’

He had to be the supervisor. Shaan stood up. ‘Yes.’

‘Get a rake. You’re on cleaning duty, crell 83, up the top.’ He leaned on the doorframe, his small eyes looking her up and down. ‘Heard you caused a bit of trouble for Sept Leader Balkis. Don’t hardly look big enough to me, but I guess any idiot can pick up a blade.’ Shaan glared at him, but held her tongue.

He gave her a mean smile. ‘I don’t think you’ll cause any trouble here. You’re assigned to Nuathin. Wait here, I’ll send someone to show you the way.’ He laughed at the expression on her face, slapped the doorframe and left.

Shaan felt faintly ill. Nuathin. The oldest of the serpents. He had once been favoured by the riders, but she’d heard that he now spent most of his time either sleeping or trying to injure anyone who went near him. He was the one exception to the rule of serpents not hurting humans. The last two workers assigned to him had ended up in the Healers Temple. She swallowed hard and went to choose a rake.

As she was walking back to the table an old man came into the storehouse, his keen eyes going straight to her. ‘You the new one?’

Shaan nodded.

‘All right, name’s Perrin. Come help me with this.’

He went to an open sack of grain and began loading it into a set of baskets. Shaan followed, dipping a tin scoop into the sweet, malt-smelling seeds. Fine clouds of dust drifted in the air making her sneeze, but the old man seemed unaffected.

‘So, did they really catch the serpent yesterday?’ she asked him.

Perrin didn’t pause or even look up. ‘That’s what the Guardian said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘That’s what she said and that’s good enough for me.’ He shrugged and pushed a full basket away with his foot.

‘Was the rider all right?’

‘How should I know? Not my business what the riders do and you shouldn’t worry either. It’s not for the likes of us to be asking questions of them.’

‘But have you seen him?’

‘Seen him?’ Perrin shook his head and gave a dry laugh. ‘I keep my head in the grain and my arse in the air and do my work. Besides, they’re strange folk those ones, flyin’ around.’

Shaan swallowed any other questions. Plainly, Perrin thought the riders another breed. She dug the scoop back into the grain and wondered what he’d think of her dream of becoming one of them. As they worked he ran her through the finer points of working in the Dome: cleaning crells, delivering food, and what to do if a serpent became irritated.

‘Duck and scream for a rider!’ he chuckled. ‘But I’ve never had any trouble. Respect them and they’ll respect you – mostly.’

Shaan wondered if that applied to Nuathin. They finished filling the baskets and Perrin gave her some rope to coil.

‘Just do this, then you go up to his crell. It’s best to give Nuathin a bit of extra time in the mornin’. He’s a grumpy old bastard.’

He coughed and with a flutter of nerves in her stomach, Shaan asked, ‘How old is he?’

Perrin shrugged. ‘No one really knows. Maybe five hundred, maybe less, maybe more.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve been here for get-tin’ on for thirty years now.’ He paused in his rope winding to scratch his white stubble, and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Yep, yep.’ He nodded, rubbing his nose. ‘Nearly thirty years now. And I never met nobody yet knows his age. Course everybody knows about him and Faradin.’

At Shaan’s blank look the old man sighed. ‘You know, what they did in the battle over the Free Landers’ country, capturing their leader, ending the war.’

Shaan frowned as she tried to recall the histories Torg had taught her. She did know about the war that had split the people of Salmut. Several thousand had left, defying the Guardian’s rule, to start a new state to the north, beyond the Goran Ranges: the Free Lands. The war had lasted for close to fifty years.

‘How long ago was that though?’ she asked Perrin.

The old man stared into space. ‘Near on two hundred and twenty odd years ago. But the question is, how long was he here before then?’ He squinted. ‘Now that’s a question. But there’s one thing I know, he wasn’t born down in the Isles like they are now. No. He came from somewhere else.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Aah well, he’s just different that’s all, just different.’

‘What do you mean different?’

But Perrin just shook his head and continued winding his rope. ‘You’ll see what I mean. But if you want to know the age of him, why not ask him yourself?’

Shaan snorted. ‘Right. I’ll just stroll right in there and have a nice long talk with the old beast.’ She shook her head. It would be a fine thing to be able to commune with a serpent, to mind voice. Riders spent years learning the skill, and the serpent had to be willing to teach them. Nuathin was more likely to crush her. She tied the rope ends and threw the coil into a barrow.

‘You’ll be all right girl.’ Perrin squeezed her arm. ‘Just watch him and he’ll leave you be. Never turn your back though, he’s a sly one that Nuathin.’

Annoyance flared and Shaan snatched her arm back. ‘Thanks.’ She hefted the rake. ‘I can look after myself.’

Perrin raised his hands up. ‘As you say. His crell is up the main spiral ramp, the fifth level near the top. Take the first right as you enter.’

‘Thanks.’ Shaan went outside, closing the door of the storehouse, and looked up. The Dome towered above her, casting a long shadow. There was no time to waste. She would be needed to serve the mid-meal in a few hours, and her tasks in the Dome had to be finished by then if she wanted to get paid. She gripped the rake and made her way up the short path to the workers’ entrance.

It was surprisingly warm inside, despite the thickness of the walls. The outer wall was almost as thick as Shaan was tall, and she emerged from the tunnel-like entrance into a junction where walkways to the crells spiralled up either side of her between the inner and outer walls.

Directly in front, a tunnel led through to the centre of the Dome. Shaan knew she should go up the sloping walkways straight away, but there was no one else about and it was her first time in the Dome. Checking quickly behind, she crept forward.

The centre of the Dome was enormous and ringed by great stone pillars set wide apart to accommodate the serpents. Smooth walls soared high above her head, interrupted at regular intervals by ledges jutting out into the space, some with dozing serpents sprawled upon them. In the centre of the floor a huge brazier burned with a bright blue flame.

Serpent fire. The stories said it had been sparked into life by Yuatha, the first serpent of Salmut, and had never gone out. In a shallow pool, fed by warm underground springs, two serpents bathed, their skins glinting in the light coming from a circle of coloured glass in the roof far above.

Shaan stopped by the entrance, staring, dazzled by the play of light on the serpents’ hides. The smooth surface changed from pink to purple and then to a jewel-like green as they breathed. The female, slightly smaller than the male, swished her spiked tail, splashing water across the floor. The crest that extended from her head in a ridge down her neck glowed blue. Shaan had never been so close to a serpent. She was beautiful, otherworldly.

As though hearing her thoughts, the serpent turned her head and looked at her. Shaan froze. It was as though she had looked through a spyglass. The serpent suddenly rushed into focus and she swore she could see the flecks of blue in the female’s golden eye. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and, for a moment, she was reminded of the rogue serpent in the courtyard. The great eye looking straight into her own. The blood singing in her ears.

Something clattered on stone behind her, and Shaan jumped, her heart hammering. Tearing her eyes away she turned to see it was just another worker. He’d dropped a bucket in the entrance and was swearing as he swept the grain back up with his hands. Thankful it wasn’t the supervisor, Shaan rushed back down the tunnel. What was she doing wasting time? Her heart was beating a nervous tattoo, like a child caught stealing and, annoyed with herself, she moved quickly to the ramp that spiralled up to the crells.

As she followed the curving walkway, she saw that most of the crells were empty: the serpents were out with their riders performing drills over the sea, or hunting in the low ranges inland.

Nuathin’s chamber was on the last level near the top of the Dome. Shaan approached it and paused, leaning against the wall. She could hear the serpent breathing: the regular suck and blow of air like the sound of the sea heard from a distance. She peered around the doorway.

He lay against the far wall, his head resting on the floor, his translucent eyelids closed and his veined wings folded back against his body. Unlike the serpents in the pool, Nuathin’s skin was a dull grey; the only hint of colour left was a small patch of blue clinging to the tip of his tail. His head was half her body length. If he’d been standing she would only just reach his shoulder joint.

Beyond him, a wide archway opened to a dozing ledge and the centre of the Dome. Pale pink light dappled the edge of the opening. One swipe of Nuathin’s tail could send her over. Picking a corner furthest from the serpent she started work. The floor was covered in a messy layer of old straw and in one corner were a pile of seashells and the dried remains of a small tree.

The serpents hunted for the bulk of their food, taking fish from the sea and meat from the land. Muthu breeders saw it as a sign of luck if a serpent stole from their herd. The grain and fruit the workers fed them were merely delicacies, not sustenance. But it looked like Nuathin preferred sea creatures.

Shaan worked quietly, making sure she was never completely turned away, and every so often glancing nervously over her shoulder; but he did not stir. She began to sweat with the effort, scraping her rake along the sides of the wall and trying not to think about how she was going to clean the other side of the crell where he lay. Perhaps she could wait until he left to hunt.

Her shoulders were tensed for every sound. It was very quiet. The voices and movement far below on the floor of the Dome were dim echoes. There was only the swish of her rake and the rhythmic breath of the serpent. Her shoulders ached as she pulled the dirty straw into a pile.

Hussss. Something rustled. Shaan whipped around, her heart pounding, but Nuathin was still, his great sides sucking in and out. She waited, poised for his flight, but nothing happened. After a long moment, she turned back to her work. And then again she heard it, faint as a breeze over grass. A whisper of sound, like a breath in her ear. The hairs on her arms lifted. There was a feeling in the air, something . . . She whirled around, gripping the rake in both hands like a weapon. But there was no one in the crell but the sleeping serpent.

Who are you? It was a whisper in her ear. She backed toward the wall.

‘Who is it?’ She spoke into the emptiness.

Who are you? Are you one from before? It seems . . . familiar.

The voice was in her head. She trembled, her arms rigid with tension and began to shuffle toward the door. Maybe she was dreaming again. She was asleep and this was a dream. Yes, that was it. She’d fallen asleep.

I know you! A voice shouted inside her mind. She screamed, dropping the rake, and fell to her knees, darkness dancing in her vision.

I know you!

It was inside, taking over her senses, pushing into her mind. She could feel the presence of it. Something other, something . . . but her thought went unfinished as that something took hold of her mind and dragged her into the abyss.

Blackness. She could see nothing, feel nothing. The crell was gone, all light gone. It was as though the earth had opened and swallowed her. Panicked, Shaan sucked in air, feeling her lungs straining, burning, but unable to see. And then she felt it, hovering, watching her in the blackness. A murmuring started.

I know you, I know you, Iknowyou, Iknowyou. The words merged together, growing louder and louder. In desperation she tried to push it away, but it kept on at her, thrumming through her mind. She pushed harder, but it hammered back, eating away at her sanity. Iknowyou Iknowyou. Desperately, she pushed it away with all her will and a glimmer of light came. She strained toward it. It was like wading through a thick sea.

I KNOW YOU! The voice screamed, but it was losing its grip, and at the last, as she reached up toward the light, a great head reared at her through the black. A serpent’s head. It hissed, surrounded by a nimbus of flame, and the hiss became a tremulous voice that said: Is he here then? Is he back? Then it was gone and she was back in the crell and someone was shaking her.

‘Stop,’ she croaked. ‘Stop.’

A man was staring down at her. Her vision cleared and she saw blond hair and frowning blue eyes. Sept Leader Balkis was bending over her, his hands gripping her shoulders. She gasped as he yanked her to her feet and a wave of dizziness made her stagger.

Cursing, he held her up. ‘What is the matter with you?’

‘Sorry, Sept Leader.’ Shaan tried to stand, pulling out of his grasp. Why did it have to be him, she thought desperately.

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Shaan isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘What’s going on here? Did the serpent do something? Has he . . .’

‘No!’ She said, then winced as pain arced through her skull.

‘Why were you screaming?’

Had she been? She shook her head. ‘I . . . I tripped over.’

‘Tripped?’ Balkis raised one eyebrow.

‘Yes and I hit my head. I felt sick. I . . .’ She gasped as another blinding pain speared her and nausea welled in her stomach. Her legs bowed and Balkis had to grip her arm again.

‘I’m not well,’ she whispered pressing a hand to her forehead.

He let out an annoyed breath. ‘Then you should not be working.’ His eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘You handed me the sword, didn’t you?’ His gaze roved over her face, but she couldn’t read his expression.

‘Umm . . .’ Shaan’s insides clenched and she looked past him at the serpent, her breath freezing in her chest. ‘He’s awake,’ she whispered.

‘What?’ Balkis spun around, pushing her away. The world tilted and she grabbed the back of his shirt to keep upright. But he barely noticed as the sliding hiss of old hide scraping against stone sounded and Nuathin shifted, lifting his enormous head from the floor.

The serpent’s gaze switched back and forth between Shaan and the sept leader, as if deciding who to strike at first. He blew out loudly and Shaan felt the heat from his breath on her cheeks.

‘Get out,’ Balkis said softly without looking at her.

Shaan couldn’t move. Nuathin’s eyes were mesmerising. She could suddenly feel every drop of blood in her body rushing through her veins. It had been him in the darkness, his head hissing at her.

‘Go!’ Balkis shoved her toward the door with such force she almost tripped over the rake at her feet. Hands trembling, she picked it up and fled. She heard Balkis behind her, speaking in soft tones, but she didn’t turn to look. Her head was pounding, the taste of bile rising in her throat. Dropping the rake, she ran unsteadily down the corridor, her hand over her mouth.

Other workers gave her curious looks as she flew past them. As she reached the second level her stomach gave a great heave and desperately she dashed through the closest open doorway and was violently ill in a stack of straw. Her head spinning, she retched until it felt she had no insides left then leaned back against the wall. What had happened? How had Nuathin spoken to her? And why? Her eyes watering, she looked down at the mess she had made. She pitied the worker who would have to clean it up, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stay here.

Feeling dazed, she peered back out into the passageway. It was empty. Thankful, she walked the rest of the way down and slipped out into the bright hot sunshine, taking in a great lungful of fresh air. Her mouth tasted foul and she looked around, disorientated. Everything seemed too bright.

A few workers were coming up the hill, but more were heading down it. Three young riders strode by laughing and talking. Each swung a leather helmet and their hair was matted with sweat. A low screech sounded and she looked up to see an iridescent green and blue serpent, with a rider astride it, come gliding toward the platform at the top of the Dome. One of the riders raised his helmet in salute.

Shaan suddenly realised just how high the sun was. Riders were returning. She should be in the meals pavilion to serve them! How long had she been lying on that floor before Balkis found her? With a groan she made for a small sidetrack through the trees at an unsteady run. Her head throbbed and her thoughts were full of a serpent’s head rearing up through a wreath of black mist.

Is he here then? Is he back? The words whispered over and over in her head sending chill bumps along her skin as she ran unsteadily down the hill.

Morfessa jumped as the garden gate banged. He’d been dozing again. He rubbed his eyes, scratching his chin through his cropped grey beard, and levered himself out of his armchair. He pushed open the set of long, shuttered doors that led from his workroom to the garden and stood, hands on hips, at the top of the steps surveying the courtyard and flowerbed. His mouth was dry and the usual dull ache echoed in his skull.

He frowned at the grass, brown and patchy in places, and the plants drooping to the ground. He must talk to the gardeners, there was maintenance needed to fix those plants before the season of rain or they’d be washed away.

He shifted and glass crunched under his foot. Glancing down he pushed the broken wine goblet away with the toe of his sandal. Movement across the garden caught his eye and he squinted against the sun as Prin, his new assistant, come around the side of the house, moving gracefully despite the heat. Tall with an angular face, Prin carried himself with a certain arrogance that irritated.

Morfessa called out as he approached. ‘Did you get the ferris leaves?’

‘No.’ Prin halted at the bottom of the steps. ‘They didn’t have any. I bought these instead, they’ll do the same.’ He handed Morfessa a small cloth bag.

‘Longsten root.’ Morfessa looked at him in surprise, sniffing the sour green smell. ‘I’d forgotten about these. Not many use this anymore. Old fashioned they say, don’t stock it.’ He looked back at the young man appraisingly. ‘Good work.’

Prin only nodded, but Morfessa saw what he thought was a pleased look in his eyes. Strange colour they were, and there was often a knowing look in them that made him seem much older. At times that look made Morfessa uneasy.

‘Any missive from the palace?’ he asked, but Prin didn’t answer. His eye had fallen on the broken glass. Morfessa licked his dry lips and noticed how foul the taste in his mouth was.

‘No, but you have a meeting with the Guardian. You should be there now. Did you forget?’ Prin’s strange eyes watched him from underneath thick black hair.

For a moment Morfessa thought he was mocking him. ‘No.’ His temper rose. ‘I don’t need to be there for all of it.’ He turned and went into his workroom. Damn it! He had forgotten. He wiped his mouth with an unsteady hand and tried not to see the empty wine jug on the floor. He went to his desk and began shuffling papers. He picked up a page of notes with unintelligible scrawl on it and crumpled it savagely.

‘Would you like me to make a paste from the longsten?’ Prin had followed him into the house and was watching him.

‘What? Oh, yes.’ Morfessa handed him the bag. ‘And don’t use too much oil,’ he said more sharply than he should.

‘Of course.’ A smile rose briefly on Prin’s face as he turned toward the healing rooms.

Morfessa frowned. Why did he think Prin had been mocking him? He often had that niggling thought. Those eyes were watchful, they saw too much. Old eyes in a young face. He didn’t know Prin’s age or much about him at all, come to think of it. Did he even need him? Did he?

The Advisor’s hands stilled and he stared unseeing at the empty doorway. He didn’t know where Prin was from. He had hired him quickly, too quickly. When had he become so lax in his observations and assessments of people? He stared at the empty air, frowning; but then as he thought on it, it began to seem silly, the ravings of a tired old man. He gave himself a mental shake. What did it matter? Of course he needed an assistant. Of course. He didn’t know how he’d managed without one before Prin arrived and offered his services. Morfessa stopped, his hand hovering above a stack of papers. Had Prin suggested it to him or had it been his idea? He couldn’t remember. But then he shrugged. What did it matter, he had a meeting to get to. Without further thought, Morfessa straightened his rumpled shirt and strode from the house, picking up a light robe as he left to protect himself from the sun. He had to hurry, he was already late.

4

Tallis crouched behind the rocks next to Jared and waited. The other hunters were ranged out either side of them along the edge of the rocky outcrop. It was past midday and the group had been crouching without moving for the last half hour, waiting for a herd of sand goat to move out into the open.

Sweat darkened his leather vest and sand settled in every crease and crevice. The sun was white hot on his bare head and he regretted leaving his haldar back at the caves. He flexed his thigh muscles, trying to keep the blood flowing.

Jared leaned over and nudged him. ‘I’m going to enjoy soaking in the hot springs when we get home tonight. My back is killing me and I’ll wager you two sand goats that Irissa manages to sit next to you.’ His dark face stretched into a smile and he shifted a little, his tunic creaking.

Tallis grunted and tried to smile back but his heart wasn’t in it. The dark fear from the morning still clung to him like spider web.

‘No. Not tonight,’ he said.

‘Why not?’ Jared nudged him again. ‘I’ve heard her talking about you.’

‘She’s your sister Jared.’

‘So?’

‘Look, I’m not . . .’

‘Silence!’ Haldane hissed. Tallis’s father’s voice carried to them from three men away. ‘We’ll be lucky to get one goat between us if you two keep chattering like old sand sisters.’

The rest of the hunting party smothered laughs and Jared grinned at them, enjoying the insult. Another time Tallis would have joined him, but today he only pressed his lips together and remained silent, feeling the dark fear like a stone in his gut.

Watching his father turn to speak quietly to his mother, Mailun, Tallis wished the goats would just hurry up and come out so he could get the hunting over with. He glanced at their clan leader, Karnit, who had elected to accompany the hunt. The old man’s eyes were narrowed and watchful as he stared out at the desert. His presence made Tallis uneasy. Karnit had never liked him. He had been leader for twenty-seven years and held strongly to clan purity. He believed in desert clans heart-mating only with other desert clans, and Tallis’s fine features, his black hair and lighter brown skin were a constant reminder of all Karnit opposed. Whenever their leader joined the hunt it made Tallis doubly aware of his differences.

He let his breath out slowly and tried to concentrate on looking for the game instead of the hollow feeling in his gut. An ant worked its way under his trousers and bit him on the calf. He slapped his leg, and rubbed the stinging area through the fabric.

There was still no sign of any game. Not even a lizard or sand rat was moving out there. It was strange; they should have seen something by now. A heavy silence had fallen over everything as though the earth itself was waiting. Even the winds were absent. Uneasy, he looked again at his father. Surely he would call off the hunt soon?

‘Look there!’ Mergon, one of the older hunters, suddenly called out and pointed to the sky.

Far off near the horizon two black specks had appeared. Murmurs broke out and everyone started moving, flexing the blood back through their stiff muscles and gripping their weapons.

‘Be still!’ Haldane’s voice rang out and he held out a hand, his eyes on the sky.

Tallis’s breath shortened. They were too big to be birds.

‘What are they?’ Jared whispered.

Tallis’s stomach clenched and a shiver of apprehension ghosted over his skin. A high-pitched shriek came that set his teeth on edge.

‘Serpents,’ he whispered.

‘Serpents!’ Karnit echoed his whisper with a shout and stood. Around him the rest of the party slowly came to their feet and moved out from behind the rocks, staring up at the sky.

A cold finger of fear tapped the base of Tallis’s spine. Serpents were rarely seen in the clan lands. They were regarded with distrust and it was against all clan laws to traffic with them. Tallis himself had seen a serpent only once. Four years ago he had been out with Jared, looking for shrike eggs, when one had passed over him, headed for the west. He remembered it clearly; the small speckled eggs warm in his hand as he stared up at the purple shadowed beast winging overhead. It had stirred a feeling of fear that had reached right to his bones and a rush of blood that had made his heart pound. When it had gone he’d looked down to see he’d crushed the eggs in his fist. He could still smell the musk-oiled air tainting his nostrils.

‘They’re coming closer.’ Jared put a hand on his arm. Around them the other hunters shifted uneasily. Tallis felt the wrongness from the morning come rolling back and with a sense of despair he suddenly knew what it meant. He could see the beasts clearly now: their long necks and huge heads, their hides swallowing the light, glinting black in the sun as they shrieked and angled toward them.

‘What are they doing?’ Ferrin murmured.

Fear her claws sunk in him. ‘They’re going to attack,’ Tallis said, gripping Jared’s arm to pull him back, but the beasts were already dropping.

‘To me!’ Haldane commanded. ‘Stand together, raise your spears. Brace them!’

They pressed themselves together in a tight bunch, spears raised to form a spiked canopy over their heads.

‘Steady . . .’ Haldane’s voice came again.

The brightness of the sun seemed to dim and Tallis gripped his spear as the enormous creatures swooped down upon them and blocked out the sky. The wind from their wings knocked at the spears and their long bodies were like black snakes, writhing and twisting, as they arched and hissed at the hunters; their teeth were rows of swords in their enormous jaws and all about was the rasp and clash of their talon-spiked tails.

Beside him Jared’s sister, Irissa, screamed and thrust with her spear. Tallis shouted with the others, jabbing his spear upwards as the serpents snapped at them. Heat and sand swirled and the smell of ancient dust and oil assailed them.

The beasts circled lazily. They were large enough for one to plow through them. Why did they toy with them? Anger grew and his body became hot with fury as he stabbed his spear at them, always missing. Then one came down closer. It reached out a taloned claw and swiped. His mother screamed as Haldane was plucked from the group, his upper thigh and abdomen pierced by a razored talon. He was dragged out and away, blood trailing across the sand.

For a moment, Tallis watched in horror and then he was consumed by rage. With a roar he leaped out at the beasts, aiming his spear. The world dropped away and he saw nothing but the creature and its great glinting eye. He directed his spear at it and strange words came to his lips. The sound of them was like the scraping of steel on stone, the hiss of water on fire and he spoke them in a voice that was barely his own. Both serpents reeled back, dropping Haldane to the ground. They hovered for a moment, hissing, their wings beating the sand into a storm, then with a shudder that rippled their bodies, they arched back and away and, with a shriek, were gone, winging away to the north.

The hunters stood stunned and silent staring at Tallis, their spears fallen. Mailun ran forward with a sob to kneel by Haldane. Tallis blinked, the world coming back to him, and stared about disorientated. He looked over at his father to see him give a last sigh before his eyes became blank, staring back at him across the reddening sand. A roaring sound started in his ears, his vision blurred and the earth tilted away beneath him as he fell to the ground.

5

The golden light of dusk was starting to settle over the city by the time Shaan left the yards. After the mid-meal, the supervisor had put her to work with some others cleaning out the riders’ barracks. It had been hot and dusty work. Several times dizziness had overtaken her and she had had to hold tight to the frame of a bunk to stop falling.

Now her muscles and head ached and her hands were red and chafed from scrubbing. She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders as she took slow steps along the road that led from the yards back into the city. The extra coin she’d earned for the day jingled in her pocket and other workers hustled past her, eager to get home before dark.

Below, the flat roofs and winding streets were dressed in golden light and the sea was a dark shifting expanse, running in small waves up to the rocks of the land, frothing in a thin white line against the red earth. Far out on the horizon the sun was a bright ball of light, being swallowed by the sea. As it dropped, the long clouds were painted pink and in the hills above the city the domes and windows of the Guardian’s palace caught the light, glinting like fire.

Shaan squinted and dropped her eyes, following the road down the steep hill and into the traders’ quarter. A strong smell of fried onions wafted through the crowd and, too tired to walk further, she hitched a ride with a kaf seller. Settling into the back of his cart between the fragrant bags, she dangled her legs off the back as the muthu pulled it along through the city and down to the waterfront.

By the time they reached the busy seafarers’ quarter, night was starting to settle. The air was warm and humid and the street lamps were lit, the halos of yellow light surrounded by insects. Inns were open for business and sailors were starting to come up from the ships. Shaan’s heart sank. There was quite a crowd of them, which meant business at the Red Pepino would be booming and Torg would want her to serve in the bar. Cursing her luck she left the kaf seller when he stopped at a small inn. Veering up and away from the sea, she quickened her pace, hoping at least some of the sailors would choose one of the other whorehouses.

But by the time she trudged wearily through the back gates, the Red Pepino was already full of chatter. Opening the kitchen door she saw Torg, his broad face shining with sweat, carving a large haunch of meat. The table was cluttered with loaves of bread and slabs of salty white cheese and a pot of gravy simmered on the stove.

‘Aah, my serving wench!’ He smiled widely, his earring glinting in the lamplight. ‘About time your skinny bones came through that door. Where you been, flirting with sept leaders?’

A vivid image of Balkis’s blue eyes staring down at her came into her mind. ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I was working.’

The smell of the gravy made her hungry and nauseous at the same time. She left the door open to let some cooler air in, and sat heavily down at the table.

Torg glanced at her. ‘You look worse than a wet street cat. Here,’ he tossed a thick slice of meat at her, ‘get some bread and cheese as well, you’re too skinny.’

Sighing, Shaan reached for a loaf of bread and a knife. ‘Do you want me behind the bar or serving tables?’ She slowly sawed a couple of uneven slices off the loaf.

Torg stopped what he was doing and watched her as she smeared butter on the bread with an unsteady hand. He was silent for such a stretch that she stopped what she was doing and looked up. ‘What?’

He shook his head. ‘What will I do with you girl? You can’t serve tonight, you’d scare away the customers. Look at the dirt on you! It’s not good for business.’ He began to carve again. ‘Go upstairs and wash. Go on.’ He nodded his head toward the stairs, the ring in his ear glittering. ‘Got enough girls for tonight anyway, smell better than you too.’ He grinned and stuffed a hunk of meat into his mouth. ‘Go on!’ He gestured at her with his knife, his eyebrows raised. ‘Why you still here?’

Surprised and grateful for the reprieve, Shaan quickly slapped the meat between the bread and breaking off a corner of cheese, made for the door. Holding the thick sandwich in one hand and chewing on the cheese she pushed open the door to the stairs.

‘Of course I’ll want twice as much fish on this table tomorrow!’ Torg’s voice followed her out.

She should have known there’d be a catch. Taking a big bite of the bread and meat she went upstairs, the noise from the bar receding to a dull hum as she went into her room.

An hour later she was feeling somewhat revived after a wash. She put on a clean pair of trousers and a fresh shirt, but when she lay down to rest she could not settle. She lay on the bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the footfalls of men and the giggling breathy voices of the women as they took them to the rooms. She’d locked her door in case one of them got lost, but it wasn’t the men wandering around the inn that bothered her.

Nuathin. Now she was alone in her room, the day kept coming back to her. The voice calling to her, whispering in her mind. Thinking about it made her stomach twist in anxiety.

Is he here then, is he back?

Was who back? It made no sense. Even the serpent had seemed afraid. What would a beast of his size fear? Or who? Shaan’s throat closed up. He couldn’t mean Azoth, the Fallen? It wasn’t possible. He had been cast into the Void two thousand years ago by the Four Lost Gods and was never supposed to return. Why would Nuathin think he was back? And why would he want him back? She sat up, leaning against the wall. The Fallen had used many of the serpents to create a personal army, turning them into something else. He’d made them sacrifice their lives so he could create a new kind of creature: the Alhanti, warriors both serpent and human. Why would a serpent want to return to those days? And why would Nuathin ask her? She didn’t know anything. She shouldn’t even be able to hear him in her mind.

She rubbed her hands up her arms and leaned on the window ledge, staring out over the lights of the city. She wasn’t one to worship the Lost Gods like some, the pious who kept bone carvings of their likeness by their beds; but she couldn’t help sending a silent prayer out to them now. They’d martyred themselves to save everyone, maybe they were watching over them still – somewhere. She looked at the stars, dimmed by the reflected glow of the city. Maybe they were up there? Then she stopped, giving herself a mental shake. Since when did she get so maudlin? Nuathin was just an old, mad serpent that barely knew his own name. What was she thinking about gods and stars for? Lost in her thoughts, she stared unseeing at the buildings and streets below, until she became aware of raised voices in the corridor outside her door.

Drawing back from the window she listened to a man complaining in a loud voice, slurring his words. He was answered by a screech and the sound of a slap. She unlocked the door and poked her head out. Standing in the middle of the hallway a short, round-bellied man was bent almost double clutching his groin and moaning while Melita, one of the whores, berated him and occasionally cuffed him on the side of his head. Looking up, she smiled at Shaan before tossing back her hair and continuing to scream at the cowering man.

Shaan smiled ruefully, men stupid enough to take on Melita always lived to regret it. She was about to go back into her room when she caught a glimpse of Tuon’s blonde head disappearing down the stairs.

‘Tuon!’ she called out, but the courtesan didn’t turn around. Frowning, Shaan left her room and went down the hall to peer over the banister.

‘Tuon,’ she called again, but Tuon kept going, disappearing through the kitchen door. Where was she off to at this hour? Curious, Shaan followed her down the stairs and made it through the empty kitchen in time to see her hesitate briefly at the inn’s back gates, then step out into the street.

Surely she should be working tonight. Shaan frowned. Tuon had been behaving so strangely lately. She’d not been around the inn much, and when was the last time she had actually worked here? Shaan searched her mind, but could not remember. In fact, she didn’t recall her being around much at night at all. It was strange, and what was that secretive look she’d seen on her face when she’d spoken of the Faithful the other day at the fountain? Something was going on. Without stopping to consider what she was doing, she followed her out of the back door.

6

Tuon was heading toward the centre of the city. A cooling breeze had come in since nightfall and the streets were crowded, making it hard for Shaan to keep her in sight. Inns, kaf houses and eateries all had their doors and windows flung wide, spilling tables, chairs and the smell of roasted meats into the street. Pools of light blazed from every window and the air was filled with the shouts and cries of children.

But Tuon turned away from the crowds, creeping along in the shadows of the back streets. She was moving swiftly and had pulled her purple silk wrap up over her head, as if she didn’t want to be seen. Shaan had to walk fast to keep her in sight as they left the seafarers’ quarter far behind and headed into the merchants’ quarter. The streets were wider, paved and mostly empty. They passed the tall, shuttered buildings of the traders guilds and coin houses, closed now for the night, and continued down a street that led to a quiet square. Tuon crossed it and paused at the bottom of the steps of an imposing building. The Temple of Amora. Built to honour the slave girl who had freed them from Azoth two thousand years ago, it was the spiritual heart of the city.

The front of the temple was a large, square building with a domed roof that served as the public worship centre. It was connected to a high wall surrounding the entire complex. A collection of interlinked buildings and gardens housed the Sisters of Amora and their library and was also the residence of the Consul of the Faithful. A set of wide shallow steps led up past marble pillars supporting a portico, to a pair of massive double doors. On either side, fountains splashed, throwing shimmering shadows on the walls and a white spire rose from the domed roof like a spear of light into the night sky. Shaan wondered what Tuon was doing here. Hiding in the shadows of a wine merchant’s doorway, she watched Tuon stand a moment longer looking at the imposing building, then creep forward and disappear down a dimly lit path alongside.

Shaan paused for a moment then followed. The path was a narrow foot-road, wide enough for only two people to walk abreast, and was squeezed in between the temple on one side and the thickly planted garden of the Great Hall on the other. Small lamps mounted in the temple wall threw sparse pools of greenish-yellow light like stepping stones and up ahead she saw a flash of purple silk as Tuon disappeared through an opening.

The back of her neck prickling, Shaan moved cautiously. Guards and even men of the Faithful could be on watch in this part of the city. What was Tuon doing here? Her muscles tensed and her ears strained for any sounds as she approached the opening. Ahead, the foot-road continued on into darkness. She hesitated then froze at the sound of voices. Looking furtive would raise their suspicions. Standing up straight she pulled her shoulders back and walked confidently through the archway with a purposeful step. Ahead, two men and two women were walking toward her along a short path between the high walls. All had disgruntled expressions as they discussed some matter between themselves. Beyond them, the path ended at an archway with an open door through which she could see a courtyard and more people milling about. There was no sign of Tuon.

Taking a breath she nodded to the group as she passed.

‘Excuse me?’ One of the women put a hand on her arm stopping her.

‘Yes?’ Shaan paused, her heart lurching.

‘Are you here for the meeting?’ The woman’s grey hair was pulled back revealing a gaunt, thin face.

‘Aah. Yes.’ Shaan hoped it was the right answer.

‘Well it’s over, you missed it. But the Commander’s still there. You can catch him if you hurry.’

‘Meara!’ The man near her spoke up. ‘Mind who you talk to. I’ve never seen her here before.’ He had a curling red beard and distrustful eyes. Shaan guessed he was the woman’s husband.

‘I’m only new.’ She smiled as innocently as she could.

‘Really?’ He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her breasts.

‘I’ve never . . . it’s my first meeting, I got lost.’ Shaan gave him a helpless look. ‘I just don’t know my way around this part of the city.’

He gave her a long look and pursed his lips. ‘Yes, well it is confusing to the new ones,’ he conceded.

‘Did I miss anything important?’

He grimaced. ‘They didn’t tell us much about the serpent attacks, if that’s what you mean.’ He exchanged a disgusted look with the other man. ‘But they did say the Commander had sent a couple of riders out to investigate.’

‘And the Seer fainted!’ Meara butted in, her hand on Shaan’s arm.

‘Meara!’

‘Well, she did,’ Meara sniffed. ‘She came out and was giving a telling and was saying she’d been feeling a strange presence in the Void, and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she just fell down and that handsome Commander Rorc leaped over the table and caught her.’

‘Well that’s not exactly what happened.’ Her husband scowled.

Meara flipped at hand at him. ‘They were saying it might be . . .’ she paused to look over her shoulder then lowered her voice, ‘the Fallen, come back and we’re all to watch out for him.’

Shaan’s insides clenched as Nuathin’s words suddenly came back to her: Is he here then, is he back?

‘That’s not what they said at all.’ Meara’s husband pulled her away.

‘It is!’ Meara looked indignant, but he ignored her.

‘There was talk of the Fallen one possibly returning, but they weren’t sure. What my wife here left out is that the Seer sensed a stranger in the Void. It’s this stranger the Seer said the Faithful want to find.’

‘Why?’ Shaan felt uneasiness curl like sour milk in her stomach.

‘How should I know?’ He shrugged. ‘They just said they think this stranger could be here in Salmut and the Faithful’s followers are to keep an eye out for odd things, strange people and the like.’ He narrowed his gaze at her. ‘What did you say your name was?’

Shaan’s neck prickled. So this had been a meeting of the Faithful. She began to back away toward the door that they’d come through.

‘Aah, I’m Raikah. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for this stranger.’

‘You do that.’ His eyes fell to her breasts again. ‘Come on Meara.’ He pulled his wife away. The other couple cast grave looks over her as they followed him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Shaan made her way toward the archway. What was all that about? Was Tuon working for the Faithful? She couldn’t quite believe it.

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Shaan edged through the doorway. Inside was a small courtyard and she tensed as she saw a Hunter of the Faithful leaning casually against the opposite wall, guarding the entrance. Tall and lean he wore a long sword and had a knife strapped to his thigh. Swallowing, Shaan tagged along behind a group of men going back into the temple, hoping he wouldn’t notice her.

‘You there!’

She stopped in the entrance, slowly turning, her mouth dry.

‘Where are you going?’ He had a narrow face and was young. Up close she could see he’d barely have enough beard to shave.

She thought fast, clasping her hands together demurely. ‘I’ve come to . . . I want to join the order.’ She put a little catch in her voice. ‘I’ve come to see the Primate. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know my way.’ She looked up at him through her lashes and thanked the gods she had rushed out after Tuon and not stopped for her knife.

‘All right.’ He tilted his head. ‘In you go, but . . .’ he moved off the wall and leaned down to her, ‘I will find you if you’ve lied.’

Shaan didn’t doubt his word. She gave him a tight smile and a nod and moved away as quickly as she could, feeling his eyes on her back as she went. She wasn’t sure if he would check on her, but somehow she doubted she had much time to find out. Just what was Tuon doing in a place teeming with the Faithful?

She entered a white corridor floored with pale red tiles. On one wall was a row of colourful tapestries depicting Amora in various heroic poses, and on the other were four closed wooden doors. At the end of the corridor a set of doors stood open and within she could see rows of benches facing a long table on a dais and a few people still lingering. As she drew closer she spotted Tuon inside standing with two men. One was a tall, dark-haired man, and the other an older man with grey hair and a slight paunch. A Hunter stood behind her. The dark-haired man had his back to her, but as Shaan watched he turned slightly to one side to speak to someone else and her heart leaped into her mouth.

It was the man in black from the markets. She recognised the curve of his jaw. Her breath shortened. Tuon had said he was one of the Faithful’s commanders, and the way the Hunter was deferring to him seemed to confirm that.

What was she doing with him? As she watched, the older man put an arm around her and said something to the Commander. Tuon nodded and then the older man drew her with him to an open door at the back of the room. For a moment, Tuon resisted looking back at the Commander, annoyance clear on her face, but then she disappeared through the door.

Shaan hovered in the opening, remembering again the warning Tuon had given her at the markets: don’t mess with men like that. And now here she was among them, talking with the very man she’d warned her about. For a moment she considered not following. It was obvious Tuon was here because she wanted to be. There’d been no one forcing her to come, no one standing over her. Why should she worry? But she didn’t move. There had been something else in her expression that bothered her.

She stood just behind the doorframe watching the Commander talking to the Hunter. Someone across the room called out, and he looked up then walked over to the other side of the room. It was now or never. Taking advantage of the distraction, Shaan slipped in and walked quickly toward the door at the back.

There were still a number of people about and a low hum of conversation surrounded her. Black-clad men stood silent along the walls, and she tried to look as purposeful as possible and hoped none of them were Seducers. If one of them decided to focus his will on her, or became suspicious, it was over.

Keeping her eyes down she made it to the door without being challenged. It was only after she’d passed through she found out why. Coming down the hall, smiling straight at her with a hand extended, was one of the Sisters of Amora.

‘Aah, my dear,’ she reached out and clasped Shaan’s hand. ‘You must be the initiate.’

She was very short, with long dark hair and her brown eyes crinkled as she smiled at her. Shaan stared, desperately trying to think of what to do.

The woman laughed. ‘Well you do look confused. One of the men told me you looked lost, which is hardly surprising given all this activity.’ She waved a hand beyond her to the meeting room. ‘Come with me, we’ll have some wine and you can tell me about yourself before we see the Primate.’

She linked her arm through Shaan’s and began to stroll back down the hallway. Shaan had little choice but to follow.

‘I’m Sister Lyria. I’m the Prior here. I greet all the new ones.’ She looked at her with a smile. ‘I’ll be looking after you throughout your initiation. How old are you?’

‘Um, eighteen,’ Shaan said distractedly, glancing around and trying to guess where Tuon had gone. There were only a few doors and all of them were closed. Ahead, the hall went only a short way before meeting a wall and turning. Had Tuon gone in one of the doors, or further ahead?

‘That’s a bit older than when most girls start,’ Sister Lyria said. ‘Why did you wait?’

‘Hmmm, um,’ Shaan stalled, looking all around for an escape. ‘It took me a while longer to decide I guess,’ she said vaguely.

The answer seemed to satisfy Sister Lyria who nodded and stopped at the next closed door, putting her hand on the knob.

‘You wait in here for a moment, I’ll just go get us some refreshments.’ She pushed open the door and then suddenly propelled Shaan into the room with a surprisingly firm shove. Turning, Shaan reached for the door, but her fingers slipped on the wood as Sister Lyria whipped it out of her grasp with a grimace of distaste and slammed it shut. Shaan heard the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

‘Now, just you wait there.’ The Sister’s voice came muffled through the door. ‘And don’t touch anything.’

Swearing, Shaan wondered how she could have been so stupid. Of course it had been too easy. No doubt the Sister was off to find one of the Faithful, or worse, the Commander. If the Faithful caught her . . . she closed her mind off from thinking about it. She had only one option now and that was to get out. If she could.

She checked the room. It was small and sparsely furnished. There was a narrow bed, a square table pushed up against the wall on her right and a washstand in the corner. A lamp hung from a nail on the wall throwing a warm yellow light on the floor and there was a small square window at chest height directly opposite her, the shutters fastened with a lock. Shaan rushed over to it. The lock on the shutters was sturdy and fairly new, but with relief she saw that the hinges at the wall were simple old bolt hinges. Working quickly she took the lamp down from its nail and unclasped the loop of wire that served as its handle. Straightening it out she wiggled it in and up between the pin and bolt of the shutter hinge and with another wiggle and a sharp upward pull, shoved the bolt up and out. Well, thank the gods for her street pack training, she thought.

She went to work on the other hinge and soon the whole right shutter swung down to hang lopsidedly from the lock, revealing the window behind it. Unhooking the latch she pushed it open and, levering herself up and over the sill, jumped out. The drop was greater than she expected and she had to stop herself from crying out as she landed awkwardly on her side, sharp points of some plant jabbing into her belly and legs. She’d landed in a garden bed.

The ground was damp and all around her rose the astringent scent of herbs. Sticks cracked as she tried to right herself. Yellow light streamed out from the room above her head and from somewhere close by she heard the murmur of voices coming from another room. Crouching, she surveyed the landscape.

She was in a large courtyard garden. A number of raised garden beds interspersed with paths were laid out in a square pattern and she could just make out the shadowy bulk of a high wall enclosing it all. Further to her right, another window – the source of the voices – was open, throwing a square block of light over the herbs planted below. Pushing herself up she stepped out of the garden bed and, in a half crouch, ran silently along a path, ducking around and between the other beds. She was opposite the open window, when the sound of a voice made her stumble. She squatted down suddenly in the earth behind a raised bed of flowers as Tuon’s voice came clearly from the open window. ‘Will the Seer be all right, Advisor?’

Shaan’s heart skipped a beat and she leaned against the low wall, listening.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ A man answered. ‘The Sisters will look after Veila. But are you well, Tuon? You look tired, has he been working you hard?’

Tuon snorted and Shaan heard the bitterness in her voice. ‘I have hardly seen him. This is the first time he has requested my presence for many weeks. Although of course I . . .’ She stopped suddenly.

‘What?’ The man said.

‘Nothing Morfessa, it doesn’t matter.’

Shaan was shocked. Tuon was talking to the Guardian’s Advisor. And in a way that said she knew him well. She peered out from behind the wall, but could only see the edge of a desk, an empty chair facing it, and the top half of a door. She gripped the smooth wall of the garden bed. She should be running. The Sister would have found a Hunter by now and they would be coming for her. But she couldn’t seem to get up. She stayed, staring at the room, listening.

And as she watched, the door opened and the Commander walked in.

‘Rorc,’ Morfessa said. Tuon came into view, standing with her back to the window. Right at that moment Shaan felt someone behind her. Her stomach dropped and she leaped to her feet, but a hard hand fell on her arm and a voice spoke near her ear.

‘Told you I’d find you,’ the young Hunter said and pulled her to her feet.

7

Shaan struggled in the Hunter’s grip as he dragged her down the hallway past Sister Lyria who sneered at her and called out that the Faithful knew how to deal with troublemakers.

So much for the Sisters’ reputation as understanding healers, Shaan thought sourly, and cursed herself for being so stupid. Why hadn’t she just run when she had the chance?

‘Come on.’ The Hunter propelled her up to a door and knocked sharply on the wood calling out, ‘Commander Rorc!’

A moment later a voice answered for them to enter and he dragged her inside. ‘Commander, I found this girl sneaking around the temple.’ He pushed her forward.

‘I wasn’t sneaking, I was lost.’ Shaan retorted then swallowed as she saw where she was. Before her was the dark-haired man she’d seen just a moment ago through the courtyard window. He was more intimidating than he’d appeared from a distance.

He looked her up and down. ‘What is your name?’

Behind him, Tuon stared at her with shocked anxious eyes and an older man, who had to be Morfessa, frowned at her.

‘Well?’ He raised an eyebrow.

Shaan pressed her lips together. If she gave her real name it wouldn’t be long before he found out where she lived and her connection to Tuon. He might even think Tuon had known she was here. Regardless of the secrets she seemed to be keeping from her Shaan didn’t want her to be in trouble with the Faithful.

‘It’s Raikah.’ Again she gave the name of a woman who used to work at the yards.

The Commander didn’t move. ‘Raikah? And what are you doing here? And I warn you it will do you no good to lie. All I have to do is bring a Seducer in. He will soon find out all I need to know, and it can be painful if you don’t co-operate.’

Shaan’s mouth went dry. She’d never seen a Seducer strip someone’s mind, but she’d heard about it. ‘I was only curious,’ she said.

‘I don’t believe you.’ He looked over her head to the Hunter. ‘Bring me a Seducer.’

‘No, wait!’ Tuon sprang forward putting a hand on his forearm. ‘I know her, you don’t need to do that. Please, Rorc.’

The Commander levelled his green gaze at Tuon. ‘You know her?’

‘Yes, and it’s my fault she’s here.’

‘No!’ Shaan exclaimed, but Rorc ignored her.

‘What are you saying?’ he said.

‘She must have followed me when I left the inn this evening. I thought I heard her calling, but I didn’t check.’ She lifted her chin. ‘But you don’t need to worry, she’s no threat to you.’

Rorc turned back to Shaan. ‘What is your real name then?’

Shaan hesitated.

‘It’s all right,’ Tuon nodded at her. ‘Her name’s Shaan. She works at the yards, nothing more, please just let her go. I can tell you all you need to know about her.’

‘I would prefer to hear it from her,’ Rorc replied.

‘Fine.’ Tuon crossed her arms. ‘But I tell you she is no threat to the Faithful.’

Rorc didn’t look at her. ‘Take her to the Primate’s end room,’ he said to the Hunter. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

Tuon glared at Rorc as the door shut behind them.

‘I told you she’s no threat, Rorc. I’ve known her since she was a child. You don’t need to do this.’

‘I won’t hurt her.’ He went over to the desk and picked up his wine glass. ‘But I cannot let people wander about the temple like that. Although I am impressed she got past the Hunters.’ He appeared thoughtful and, alarmed, Tuon said, ‘Leave her alone. You don’t need her.’

He looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘Why? Has your agreement with the Faithful been that bad?’

‘This is different.’ She met his look. ‘What happened to me is nothing like this.’

‘There is something about her though,’ Morfessa interrupted them.

‘What do you mean?’ Rorc said.

‘I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I guess. It was odd, there was something familiar about her, although I’ve never seen her before.’

Tuon didn’t like the way this was going, or the look on Rorc’s face. ‘Perhaps she just reminded you of someone,’ she said quickly. ‘Her dark hair and colouring is like those of the Serpent Isles. She has said her father may have come from there.’

‘Maybe.’ Morfessa looked thoughtful. ‘Although those eyes, such a dark blue, I’ve seen eyes that colour somewhere . . .’ He shook his head and steepled his hands together. ‘No. It was something else, someone else. I know but I can’t . . .’ He stared at the wall.

‘I’m sure it will come to you,’ Rorc said.

‘Hmm, what?’ Morfessa turned to him. ‘Yes, well.’ His eyes seemed to focus again and he drew in a quick breath. ‘Oh yes, you wanted to talk to Tuon. I’ll leave you to it.’ He left the room, a distracted look settling once more on his features as he departed.

As soon as he’d left Tuon’s nerves rose. The silence in the room seemed thicker. Feeling suddenly vulnerable she went to the window.

‘The old man has made me curious,’ Rorc said quietly.

‘Morfessa often says fey things about many people. Are you curious about all of them?’ she replied coldly.

‘Only those who interest me.’

She turned to look at him. ‘Shaan is a simple young woman without family, nothing more. She would be of no interest to you.’

‘Some would say you are nothing more than that either.’ He looked at her over the rim of his glass. Her heart gave a treacherous leap and she struggled to keep her expression cool.

‘I know I am of little interest to you beyond what I can bring to you.’

‘I never said that.’ He put his glass down and his green eyes looked into hers so closely she felt suddenly hemmed in. She moved deliberately away to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘What do you want to know about Shaan?’

‘Everything.’

She let out a breath; there would be no dissuading him. He was like a street dog with a bone.

She settled back in the chair. ‘I don’t know where she was born but she came to Salmut with her mother when she was a baby from somewhere north of here, on the coast I think. Her mother took to crist and died of it by the time she was five. Shaan ran with the street packs from then on until she was eleven.’

‘She was a thief then?’

‘Yes.’ Tuon looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. ‘May I continue?’

He nodded with a slight smile.

‘Torg found her in the cells; she’d been caught stealing. He was looking for another pair of hands at the inn, so he paid the guards and brought her to the Red Pepino. She worked for him in the kitchen and now she also serves ale. A few years ago she started working at the yards to make some extra coin, and that’s it.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s all.’

‘And why did she follow you here?’

‘I don’t know. She was probably worried about me. She’s not stupid, Rorc. Everyone knows not to mess with the Faithful. The gods only know I’ve told her that often enough myself. Why can’t you just let her go?’

He was silent a moment before he spoke. ‘These are dangerous times, Tuon. You were at the meeting tonight, you heard what was said. There are some who believe the Fallen one walks the land once more, and the attack by one of our own serpents on the market has made that belief stronger. The Seer spoke of another she has felt in the Void, one who may be linked to the Fallen, or a catalyst to bring him out into the world again. I cannot treat anyone as beneath suspicion.’

‘Shaan is not in league with the Fallen,’ Tuon said, disturbed by his tone.

‘Most likely not, and yet Morfessa is unsettled by her. I cannot throw his feelings lightly aside. He is not a seer, but he has spent most of his years since his wife died searching for clues to the whereabouts of the Birthstone. He knows things.’

Tuon grew cold. ‘But not everything. And the Birthstone is a myth, a legend. Has he actually found anything?’

‘Are you questioning the wisdom of the Guardian’s Advisor?’ Rorc said and she hesitated.

‘Of course not. I only seek to protect Shaan, she is like a sister to me. Please, Rorc, just let her go.’

He was silent a moment and then a frown appeared between his eyes, a look of great weariness settling over his features. Letting out a long breath he sat down in the chair beside her. Tuon clasped her hands together tight in her lap, unsettled by his nearness.

None of this was going as she’d planned. She had come here tonight with the intention of telling him that their bargain was off, that she did not want to work with the Faithful anymore. But as always he had stolen her will. Words she had come to say would not rise to her lips. Seeing him now, the frown between his eyes and the weight of weariness on his face, how could she abandon him? He who had saved her life.

‘I cannot just release her without questioning her.’ Rorc spoke into the silence. ‘But I promise you that I won’t hurt her, or keep her here.’ He looked at her and she met his gaze, allowing herself to hold his eyes in hers for a moment.

‘Thank you.’ She took a breath. ‘Why did you want to see me?’

‘I have a job for you.’

‘A man?’

‘Yes. One of the Council of Nine, Lorgon, is holding a small banquet and will be hiring some . . . entertainment. I have arranged for you to be one of them. I need you to get close to him, find out anything you can. He will have some of his closest allies with him.’

Tuon’s heart sank. She had dealt with Councillor Lorgon before and knew just what his likes were. She swallowed the sudden bitterness that rose. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Why Lorgon? What do you suspect?’

He frowned. ‘You know I won’t tell you that.’

‘How bad is it?’ She pressed him, suddenly wanting to have something, some reason for this latest order.

He hesitated.

‘Just tell me. You know you can trust me, Rorc. I risk my life doing this. If he discovers me . . .’ She let it hang. His lips thinned as he said, ‘The Guardian has not been well lately, that is all. I am only . . . checking.’

‘You suspect Lorgon?’

‘I suspect nothing,’ he said quickly. ‘Just do this and report back to me. And don’t worry, I would not risk your life. If it came to that you would not be alone.’

‘What do you mean?’

He sighed. ‘Just do this for me Tuon, and trust me.’

She looked at him and then away again, afraid he would see what was in her heart. ‘I will trust you.’

The Hunter took Shaan down a hallway and through a large study, leaving her in a small windowless room lined floor to ceiling with shelves containing scrolls, bound sheaves of parchment, and a lot of dusty boxes. The only place to sit was on a small, double-sided wooden ladder and she perched on the top of it, leaning against the shelves, and wondered how long she would be there.

She worried about Tuon. What was she risking for her? And what would happen to her now the Commander knew she had followed her here? She stared at the floor. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the crack under the door. She could do nothing but stare at the fine layer of dust on the tile and watch the shifting shadow of the Hunter standing guard on the other side.

Eventually she heard voices and footsteps and the door swung open. Squinting in the sudden light she put up a hand to try to block it.

‘Out with you.’ It was Commander Rorc. She rose slowly and went out into the room. ‘Sit down,’ he said.

The Hunter had gone. Crossing a brightly patterned rug, she sat down on a long couch. Rorc remained standing, his back to a large desk, his shadow huge on the shutters behind him. He watched her a moment and she said nothing, staring at his boots.

‘Tuon has asked me to let you go,’ he said eventually. ‘She is worried about you, and she has good reason. It was a stupid thing you did, sneaking in here. Spying on the Faithful is not taken lightly.’

‘I was not spying.’ Shaan looked up.

‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And yet you were caught listening at a window. What is that if not spying?’

Shaan’s stomach clenched. ‘I was only concerned for Tuon. I heard nothing.’ She tried to hold his gaze, but he stared back at her with such intense scrutiny she had to drop her own.

He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. ‘You want to know what Tuon is doing here? I understand that. You’re worried for her. But the more you know, the greater risk there is to her.’

‘You risk her life?’ Shaan said.

‘No. You risk it by following her.’ His lips tightened. ‘Tuon is safe. I would not let harm come to her.’

‘She is a spy for you then.’ Shaan guessed and Rorc looked at her, the light from the lamp slanting across his jaw, his eyes in shadow.

‘She is safe and that is the end of it. You will not follow her, or question her, for doing so will endanger her and I will not allow it. Do you understand?’

Shaan nodded.

‘Good.’ he seemed to relax. ‘Now what interests me, is that Morfessa thought he recognised you.’

Shaan shrugged. ‘I have never seen him before.’

‘That is also what he said about you.’ His gaze became contemplative. ‘Shaan, you managed to get past my Hunters and into the temple. Not very far, but you got past, and that interests me.’ He leaned back against the desk crossing his arms. ‘Tuon said you work in the yards. How much does that pay?’

‘Enough,’ she answered edgily.

‘You used to be a street thief didn’t you? A child of the packs?’

‘What of it?’

‘Were you any good?’

‘It was years ago,’ she said suspecting a trap. ‘I only stole to survive, we all did.’

‘I’m not interested in your past crimes, only your abilities. I can use many different abilities in the Faithful. Not all are Hunters or Seducers. Some have other talents.’

‘Like Tuon?’ Shaan said and his face darkened.

‘It is only due to her that you are not in a cell. I could very easily put you in one.’

‘What is it you want from me then?’

He smiled, his teeth white against his dark stubble. ‘To offer you a choice, an opportunity. I sometimes have need of people with different . . . talents. They are always paid well, more than a worker in the yards makes in a month.’

‘I don’t want to work for the Faithful.’ Shaan clenched her hands.

‘But you don’t want to work against us either,’ Rorc said softly. ‘Think about it.’

She drew a breath. ‘Can I go?’

He became very still. ‘I’m offering you more than you understand,’ he said.

‘I have my own plans.’ She rose. ‘Will you let me go now?’

He eyed her for a moment, and she felt like a twig facing a storm, but she refused to let him bully her.

‘I will let you go because I promised Tuon I would,’ he said. ‘But do not leave here thinking I will forget about you. I will remember your face. Hunter!’ He raised his voice and the door to the study opened, admitting the young man who had captured her earlier. ‘Escort this woman to the street.’

‘Commander.’ The Hunter came into the room and took her arm.

‘And Shaan,’ Rorc said, ‘remember, these are dangerous times. Tuon will not be able to protect you against everything. Be careful.’

Shaan felt a jolt of fear light her insides as the young man pulled her away.

8

Tallis opened his eyes to darkness. His head was heavy and his mouth drier than dust.

He was lying on his side, the air was cold and he was covered with a soft wrap of mar rat skin. For a moment he thought he was back at home in the Clan’s Well, but then he reached out his hand and touched the rough hide and knew where he was: he was still in the desert and his father was dead.

Cold air made his skin prickle and he quickly drew his arm back under the covers. It was as though the cold had found its way into his bones and through his veins. He curled his knees to his chest and pulled the skins up, but still it seeped into him. He tried to push thought and feeling from his mind, to bury it deep, but one image kept rising to the surface, like oil on water refusing to bond: the glinting violet and gold of the serpent’s eye.

Fear carved spaces within him. What had he done? He pulled the skins tight around himself and stared into the darkness. There was no other sound in the tent and blackness pressed against his face. His mind circled in on itself, twisting and turning, over and over. Ancient words had come from his mouth, that he remembered, but what they were he could not recall. He only remembered blinding fury, heat and sand and a cold violet eye looking down on him, understanding what he could not; and the fear and hatred in it as it winged away.

His bladder tightened. He ignored it, not wanting to move from the darkness of the tent. Closing his eyes he tried to breathe deeply, but the need to relieve himself grew. Grunting, he reluctantly kicked back the covers.

All was quiet outside and his breath misted in the cold air. The tents of the other hunters were silent, spread either side in a semi-circle around the still smouldering fire pit. Across the camp the body of his father lay on a platform guarded by two men. He turned his back and trudged away. Three hunters guarded the perimeter of the camp. One turned in his direction. Normally those on watch would give a nod or lift a hand to acknowledge you had been seen, but the watchman did neither. He merely looked at him for a moment and then turned away.

A hollow ache rose within. Was he to become Outcast then? Perhaps he should be. The possibility drove a spike of fear into his spine. Not wanting to have to speak with anyone, or see another back turned on him, he moved away from the camp. There was no moon and he stopped by a small shrub to relieve himself. The stars glowed brightly, wheeling away in a never-ending arc of dark sky. There was no wind and with his back to the camp the world became nothing but bright stars and darkness. He stood there for a long time in the silent desert, staring upward.

The next morning the hunters packed up for the walk home. Men and women worked quickly, dismantling the tents, bundling up the cooking tools and what little meat they had caught, and stacking it all on the muthu cart. Tallis helped his mother with their tent. Mailun said little, only asking him to carry this or that, and she would not meet his eye. Her body was hunched in on itself and she was so pale it made his guts wrench.

Usually the dismantling of a camp was done with much laughter, boasts of the meat each hunter had caught and the occasional song at the prospect of getting home and seeing loved ones, or soaking in the hot springs. But now a deep silence hung over the group. Voices were muted and few words spoken. Even the desert was windless and still, as though the pall that hung over the group had spread to cover the sands as well.

Tallis could feel eyes on his back as he worked. He tried to ignore them, but every muscle, every sinew in his body, was tensed and tight, his stomach hollow and sick. He could not eat and kept trying to recall what had happened, to make sense of it, but it was like trying to capture the remnants of a dream. Maybe it was better not to know.

‘Tallis?’

Jared came up to him clutching his spear hard, his stance rigid. ‘Tallis.’ His voice became stronger and a little louder than necessary. ‘I’m glad to see you have woken. Are you well?’

Over his shoulder, Tallis saw other members of the party glancing at them. They all turned quickly away if they met his eyes, but he knew they would follow every word.

He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, brother, I’m weary, but I am myself.’

Relief flashed in Jared’s eyes. Perhaps he had been a little wary of him also. The thought saddened him.

Jared grasped his upper arm. ‘You will walk beside me then, on the trail back to our Well.’

It was not a question. He nodded and Jared gave his arm a small shake, looking into his eyes before turning and making his way back to Irissa who was tying up their tent.

Tallis saw Karnit watching him with an indecipherable expression. Deep lines were etched into his face beside his mouth and his nose was sharp and large, his chin covered with a cropped white beard. His long braids, white now also, were pulled back and he watched Tallis with watery blue eyes. Tallis wondered what he was thinking. What would he say to the Guides Circle when they returned?

His heart ached and he looked to the platform that held his father. He was the last man of his family now; first his brothers, now his father, had gone to Kaa. His insides loosened and nausea rose. Would Karnit say he should be Outcast? Despair threatened to overwhelm him. What had he done?

He tried to take hold of himself. It would be smart now to show he was still humble to the clan. He dropped his eyes and lowered his head, turning his palms out and flat by his sides in the gesture of respect. But the leader’s expression didn’t alter, he merely continued looking at him for a moment, then hoisted his spear and walked away. Tallis’s heart sank under a stone of doubt and worry.

The trail back to the Jalwalah caves felt longer than it ever had before. Four men led, carrying his father’s body in a sack of hide slung between two poles. Behind them, the hunters walked two abreast following a barely visible track across the desert plains. The sand was pale yellow and stretched and away to the horizon shimmering in the heat. Clumps of rock and grey thorny shrubs were scattered haphazardly across the landscape, and far off a long dark shadow shimmered, cutting the border between desert and sky. The Black Mountains. The sharp barren peaks formed the border between the desert and the land beyond. Tallis had never been past them, but he had heard that beyond them many trees grew, some so tall that they blocked out the sky. The only trees he knew were the squat sparse trees of the sands. He looked at the shimmering line as he trudged silently beside Jared. Perhaps he would see the tall trees soon. The thought depressed him and he looked away.

To his left, the sands rose to form the first in a row of dunes. High soft peaks continued on into the interior beyond the Jalwalah lands into the heart of the desert to the other clans’ lands: the fierce Raknah, the Halmahda, Shalneef and the Baal. They would not welcome another clan’s son.

He took a deep breath, sucking the hot air into his lungs. The heavy ache in his chest weighed upon him. He could not stop seeing his father’s face as he lay dying in the sand. He stared at the back of the hunter walking in front of him. He had done something no man had ever done, but he could not remember how. Perhaps it had been the beasts themselves affecting him? But it was not, a voice whispered. It had come from him. He knew that with a certainty that sickened him. Cold fear curled around his bones and made a nest inside.

He barely felt the heat of the sand on his feet, or the sun on his head. He looked at his mother walking alone. She had rejected all offers of company and walked stiffly her back straight, her head up. Pain for her loss, and his own, threatened to cleave him in two.

Tonight the Clan would wash his father in the sacred sands and deliver him back to the Guides. Tonight the voices of the women would fill the desert with the cry of the dead, and tonight the council would hold the Guides Circle. A matter such as this would not wait.

With every step fear settled itself more firmly within, and he looked ahead unseeing as his thoughts circled in on each other like sand caught in a desert whip wind. Swirling around and around, circling inward around the one word that fed his fear: Outcast.

9

Preparations for the funeral rites began almost immediately they arrived back at the Well. A runner had been sent to forewarn the clan of their homecoming and all in the great cavern stood silent and watchful as the hunting party entered. Shila, the clan dreamer, came forward to speak quietly to Karnit while the men carrying Haldane took him to be readied for preparations to be sent to Kaa.

Tallis could not look at anyone. He felt detached and cold waiting beside his mother. The Dreamer turned to them and took Mailun’s arm to help her back to their family cave. He followed behind, keeping his eyes down but feeling the gazes of the clan members upon him as they parted to let them by. He barely felt Jared put a hand on his shoulder squeezing tightly as he left him.

They walked silently down the cool dim tunnel and his mother put her hand out behind her seeking his. He increased his pace to walk beside her and take her hand. Her flesh felt as cold as his own. The Dreamer said nothing as they walked and remained silent as she pushed aside the thick hide over their cave opening and led them inside.

People came and went and the Dreamer spoke to them, standing guard at the entrance so none could enter. They left offerings for them: a bowl of soft cheese, a plait of flakgrass tied with silver as an offering to the dead, a pitcher of grain spirit from Miram’s own store and a silver braid tie from each hunter and warrior in the clan. All the offerings were taken while Tallis and Mailun sat silent on the cushions of their hearth.

His mother refused to answer any question put to her and forbade anyone to speak to him. She was worried about what he might say, what they might think. After what felt like hours of this silence, Tallis could no longer sit and listen to the murmuring voices of his clan come to pity them. He looked at his mother. ‘I’m going to the springs.’

Mailun gazed at him, squeezed his hand once then let go and looked away. His heart ached to see the fire burning so low in her eyes, but the need to escape all eyes was too great. He left, seeking the darkness and the sulphur scent of the water.

He entered the spring tunnels and sat beside the furthest spring in the cave, listening to the drums echo from the great cavern. It was warm and damp where he sat and the splash from the spring soaked the legs of his trousers, but he barely noticed. He sat there for some time, just watching the water bubble and spit and then, slowly, he became aware of a dull thudding echoing. The drums heralding the death ceremony had started. Kaa’s ceremony: the watcher of the dead. He leaned back against the damp rock.

He had to join them. He had to sit and keep watch as Haldane’s body was given back to the sands that birthed him. He watched the water bubbling in the dim, green-tinged light of the cave. It looked like dark shifting sand.

‘Tallis.’ A shadow came toward him.

‘Jared,’ he answered without looking up. ‘How soon till it starts?’

‘You have to come now, the clan is gathering.’

He didn’t move.

‘Tallis . . .’

‘They will make me Outcast brother.’

Jared let out a long breath. ‘You don’t know that.’

He shook his head. ‘I feel it. What I did . . . the Guides Circle won’t tolerate it. A clansman shouldn’t . . . they will cast me out.’

‘They won’t.’ But Tallis heard the uncertainty in his voice.

‘Why not? The serpent understood me. It doesn’t matter that I don’t remember what I said, or how I did it. A clansman should not have that power. The Circle will do what is best for the clan. They may even say the serpents attacked because of me.’

‘Tallis, your father died but all the rest of us were saved. The serpents would have killed us all if you had not done what you did. How can they say you brought them?’

‘Maybe I did.’ He stared into the water. ‘I felt something that morning,’ he whispered.

‘Tallis . . .’ Jared said warningly, but he ignored him.

‘Do you remember my brothers, the fight with the Raknah?’ Jared nodded slowly.

‘I knew something was wrong then as well. Before they left I felt something – a coldness like death whispering for them. And I felt it again that morning while we were hunting. What am I to feel this? Perhaps I am a danger to the clan.’

‘Stop,’ Jared said harshly.

The sound of the drums grew louder and Tallis stared into the dark water at his feet.

‘Come.’ Jared nudged his shoulder and offered his hand.

Tallis took a breath then nodded and let Jared haul him to his feet, but once standing he clasped his arm. ‘Pledge to me that you will watch over my mother when they cast me out.’

‘They will not cast you out, Tallis, my father will . . .’

‘Your father will do what is right for the clan,’ he interrupted him. ‘As would you. Earth brother, my father is dead, my mother widowed, if I am to go she will be alone. You know she is not of this clan. But she will not go back to her own. Will you talk to your mother? Persuade her to make sure she is accepted. She has always been a friend to her. Will you pledge me your help?’

Jared did not move and Tallis felt his throat constrict. After what felt like an age, Jared replied, ‘I cannot believe the Circle would cast you out with your father taken by Kaa, and your mother alone, but still I will pledge to do what I can should they decide against you.’

Tallis felt a moment of relief; one small knot unravelling inside.

‘Thank you.’

‘Come now,’ Jared said. ‘You must send your father to the Guides.’

Together they walked toward the mouth of the cave.

They were at the very outer edges of the Jalawalah Well, a system of caves that wound through a huge length of rock, rising from the desert like the edge of a long buried mountain. In the centre of the monolith an enormous cave served as the great cavern, the communal space for the clan. To one side a honeycomb of caves held the hot springs, on the other a long wide passage led to a section of pens for the muthu, and further along the home caves of the families of the Jalwalah who lived in the well. Almost two thousand people resided in the Well, and another thousand or more families sworn to their clan lived in nomadic camps spread out across their territory. But only those who dwelled in the Well would bear witness tonight.

Tallis followed the narrow passage to the cavern. The sound of the death drums rolled toward him, and his body reverberated in response. He was drawn to their beat, the sound increasing to a boom as they approached the gathering place. They emerged as the drummers started slowing to a steady rhythm. The cave was lit by many torches, and by an enormous central brazier. The people sat silent, facing the cavern entrance. A clear path had been left between them on one side to let the Bearers through.

Tallis looked for his mother. She was a small figure, alone at the front of the crowd, facing out to the desert night. Dressed only in a light sheath of red cloth she waited.

When I first met her she threatened to run me through with her ice spear, Haldane’s voice came to him. And I would have let her, if only to touch her hand as she pierced my heart.

Tallis looked at her now, straight-backed, facing the night fearless in her grief, and he saw what Haldane had meant. There was a noble fierceness to her that not even grief could erase. The dreadful ache inside threatened to cleave him in two.

‘I will take my place with my family.’ Jared put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Carry your father well, as he has carried you. Help him find his shade.’

Tallis nodded unable to reply. Jared turned and weaved his way through the witnesses toward the front row behind Mailun. Tallis watched with a sense of detachment. He was alone. None would look at him. He was son of the dead, beholden to deliver a soul to Kaa. But that was not the only reason. A whisper had already started of what he had done.

For a moment he could not move. His chest tightened. He was anathema, to be despised. His father was dead while he – an abomination – lived. But he would deliver his father to Kaa with honour. He forced himself to turn and make his way down the cleared path, and through the black opening to the smaller caves behind the cavern where the body of his father waited.

He approached him without speaking. Haldane had been laid on a length of stiffened hide tied to two wooden poles. Tallis nodded at the three men who had been chosen to bear the body with him. Halif, Fen and Rawiri: sons of Miram of the Guides Circle. He had played with them as a child and they filled the places his family would have taken – if he had any surviving. Haldane was the last of his line. Their faces painted black and shining with sweat, they watched him as he stood over his father. Outside the drums stopped.

‘It is time.’ Rawiri, the eldest, motioned Tallis to the front left pole.

Tallis removed his shirt and took his position. Unlike the others he would not have his face painted. While the paint hid them, he would send his father to Kaa unmasked, naked of deceit. As one, the four men hefted the litter onto their shoulders and slowly carried their burden out. The drums started as they came again into the light. Tallis felt the wood bite into his shoulder and the sweat run down his back. He welcomed the pain; it served to push him from the aching separateness that engulfed him.

They moved slowly past the witnesses to stand beside his mother at the great cavern’s entrance: Mailun kneeled motionless on the sand. Karnit and two members of the Circle, Miram and Nevan, stood in a line outside waiting.

Two thigh-high square stones had been placed between his mother and the Circle members. Karnit gestured to the stones and Tallis and the other men moved forward and carefully lowered the litter down to rest on them. As he straightened, he looked down on the pale lifeless face of his father. His eyes had been closed and his hair re-braided into many thin braids, the ends sealed with red fat. A thin line of blue paint ran from his forehead to his chin.

He felt cold and could barely feel the sand beneath his feet. Rawiri’s hand closed around his forearm and he let himself be led to kneel beside his mother, the other men retreating to kneel behind them.

Led by Karnit, the members of the Guides Circle picked up a gourd each and approached his father’s body. One by one they tipped the contents upon him, intoning ancient words as they moved around his body. The coloured sands drifted down from the upturned gourds in a fine veil. Slowly the witnesses behind picked up the low chant until a hum filled the cavern, like the rush of a sandstorm. Then suddenly all sound stopped.

Mailun dropped her hands into the sand by her knees, tilted her head back, and let out a wordless scream. Tallis bowed his head and closed his eyes. The cry was taken up by other women who had lost husbands or sons; joining their sorrow to hers in a primal scream that carried far across the desert.

Tallis rose to his feet and accepted a knife from Karnit. Standing over his father’s body, he sliced through his forearm, a shallow slash, dripping warm blood over his father’s face, giving back the blood that had been taken. He watched the drops fall and began to shiver. Chill bumps rose on his naked torso. The sounds of the screaming faded in and out and the earth tilted beneath him. He blinked and tried to focus, taking a shaky breath. The rush of air in his lungs sounded louder than the screaming. With a great effort he lifted his eyes to the night beyond the yawning mouth of the great cavern.

The blackness of it blurred his vision. He could see nothing beyond the lights of the cave, only endless shadow. A sharp wind swept in suddenly from the desert, whipping his face. He thought he heard it whisper to him. Then it was gone. He swayed and hands steadied him. He dropped the knife and allowed them to lead him back to sit by his now silent mother. When had the screaming stopped?

Disorientated, he watched as the three Circle members each picked up a torch, turned and walked out into the night. The light from their flames played shadows across the pyre waiting for his father’s body. They stationed themselves around the pile of brush and motioned for the pyre bearers to bring Haldane to them. Four bare-chested men moved forward and hefted the litter onto their shoulders taking it outside. The drummers again started their beat.

Tallis watched with a growing numbness as they set a torch to his father. His mother reached for his hand and he held hers in a tight grip as the flames grew higher and smoke rose into the black desert night.

10

Tallis leaned against the wall outside the great cavern and watched the faint wash of pink spread along the horizon. The air was cool and he could still see the quarter moon, pale and insubstantial, fading into the cloudless dawn. He hadn’t slept and he felt light and bodiless, a husk of a man waiting to be blown away across the sands.

He looked down at his hands. His fingers were covered in fine grey dust. Sometime in the night he had stumbled over to the pyre and put his hands into the still hot ashes. He could barely remember it, but a blister was forming on his thumb, tangible evidence of what he had done. He looked to where his mother lay. She had finally succumbed to sleep sometime before dawn, but now her eyes were open and she was staring at the cold pile of ash and bone. A drift of wind caught the top and swirled the dust of his father away across the sand.

‘Kaa always takes the best,’ Mailun said softly. ‘The gods of my people were not so wanting as this one.’ She turned and rested on her arm looking up at him. ‘Perhaps one day they will steal you from me also, if this clan does not first.’ Her face was bleached of all emotion, brittle as bone left to dry on the desert floor.

He could find no words of comfort for her and stared back out at the silent desert.

‘First Cale and Malshed, his first heart mate’s boys,’ she whispered. ‘Now him.’

‘Perhaps you should go back when I am gone,’ Tallis said. ‘Back to the north.’

‘No.’ She sat up and back against the rock. ‘The Ichindar will not take me. But if they cast you out, I will exile myself and go with you.’

He stared at her with horror. ‘I will not let you do that! You have people here who will care for you.’ He thought of the promise Jared had made to him.

Mailun looked at him calmly. ‘There is no one here for me if you are gone, my son. I will not be condemned never to see my child again.’ Her voice dropped low and she stared out away from him across the desert. ‘I have done it once before. I cannot do it again.’

Unsure he had heard her correctly, he frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Her dark blue eyes measured him. He noticed for the first time the fine lines around her eyes and touch of grey in her hair.

‘Son,’ she hesitated, and uneasiness became a cold fist inside him. A whisper of what he had felt in the desert that day brushed his skin. ‘You are not Haldane’s son, Tallis,’ she said quietly. ‘I was already with child when I met him.’

Something dropped inside him and he stared at her.

‘Son?’ She was waiting for him to say something. But he could not speak.

He turned away. He was shaking inside, but worse, he was not surprised. He knew he should be, but he was not. Deep inside a voice whispered: Yes . . . it makes sense, it feels true.

‘Tallis?’ She put a hand on his arm, but he shook it off.

Anger curled like flames, hot and heavy in his limbs. His hands made fists in the sand and he stared out at a bird as it launched itself up from a thorn bush and into the sky.

‘Tallis, I’m sorry but I wanted you to know now in case . . .’ she hesitated. ‘And that is not all, there is something else I have never told you. Something . . .’ She drew in a long breath. ‘You are not my only child. I gave birth to twins that night. There were two of you, but she was so small, so small.’ Her voice caught and he turned to stare at her, his heart suddenly massive and thudding in his chest.

‘What are you saying?’

‘You have a sister,’ she whispered. ‘But she was sick, they took her away from me.’

Cold hollowed him. A child born ill was already touched by Kaa, marked for him alone. It was against clan law to keep such a child.

‘Karnit took her out to the sands that night.’ Mailun looked away. ‘He left her there, and when he returned he said Kaa had already taken her. But I knew different.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘This clan . . . sometimes it was only my love for Haldane that kept me here.’

‘Is she alive?’

‘I don’t know. I went against clan law that night. The one who saved her risked much for me. I know your sister was rescued from the sands, but I do not know where she was taken. Perhaps the Guides have revenged themselves against me and taken her anyway. Or perhaps this is their revenge.’ Her voice was empty as she stared at Haldane’s ashes. ‘All I know is I could not let them do it. I would not give her up so easily.’

He stared at her profile, etched by the light of the morning sun, and felt all that he knew, or thought he knew, about himself and his place in the world had fallen away.

‘Did he know? Did my father . . .’ he checked himself, ‘did Haldane know?’

‘About you? Yes, he knew. But I never told him what I did for your sister. He could not have borne it. The clan ways were too strong in him.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘But he was happy to claim you as his own and to love you as his own.’

‘Loved, mother,’ Tallis said harshly. ‘He is dead.’

Mailun said nothing and the silence stretched between them. Finally, Tallis spoke. ‘Who was my birth father? What is his name?’

Her voice was strained. ‘His name is not important.’

‘Is he alive?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. Too quickly. ‘He died not long after I became pregnant. I went away to mourn and it was then that I met Haldane.’ She took a fractured breath and looked at her hands, then back at him, her eyes pleading. ‘That’s all you need to know. Haldane was your real father, the man who loved you, who raised you. I only tell you this now because . . .’

‘Because now it does not matter,’ he said harshly. ‘He is gone, dead because of me, and they will cast me out. But what does it matter? I am not Jalwalah, not really. I am like you, adopted into clan, taken pity on.’ The thought tortured him. How many others knew he was not really Jalwalah? Did the Circle know? Would it make it easier for them?

‘Son.’ Mailun laid her hand on his arm but he shook it off.

‘Tallis.’ A soft voice called and they both turned to see Shila the Dreamer approaching them.

His breath caught. She was here to lead him to the Circle. Slowly he rose to his feet. The urge to run was almost overpowering. Mailun stood and reached for his hand, but he would not let her hold it.

Shila came close. Like all dreamers her hair was white-blonde – the sign of being touched by the Guides – and hung straight as a curtain around her delicate features. Her lips were full, her skin unlined. She was older than he, older than his mother, but any would think she was still a young woman, were it not for her eyes. She came to him and he felt a giant before her.

‘Tallis.’ Her voice was soft and when he looked into her grey eyes he felt a sensation, like the world slipping away. ‘The Circle is ready to see you now.’

His mother stiffened beside him and tried to touch him again, but he flinched away.

‘I will wait for you here son,’ she said, but he couldn’t look at her.

‘Come Tallis.’ Shila held an arm out toward the caves. ‘They are waiting.’

His mouth dry, he nodded and followed the Dreamer into the cavern.

11

He stood at the bottom of the stairs. The Guide Circle’s meeting place was a small, round cave set deep in the rock of the Jalwalah’s Well. Warm steam rose from hot springs at the back, and light fell in a greenish hue from the oil lamps set in the wall.

The six remaining members of the Circle sat on cushioned stools of rock around a central low stone, sweat shining on their faces. The stool next to Nevan was empty: Haldane’s place. Tallis’s throat closed up as he looked at it and he made himself watch the Dreamer instead as she went to take her place at the right of Karnit, next to her heart mate Thadin. The warrior’s shaved head shone dully in the light and he gave Tallis a hard stare as he met his gaze. Tallis looked away. Like all the clan men, Thadin hunted but he was also chief of the warriors and had won them many an inter-clan battle. He had never had much liking for Haldane, or for him.

The other members of the Circle: Miram, Nevan and Crull, watched him impassively.

‘Sit.’ Karnit pointed to the stone in the centre of their gathering. Without a word, he did as he was told. His heart thudding, he faced them. He could feel the dark eyes of the huntress Miram on him. She was a tall, strong woman and he had always thought of her as fair. He hoped she judged him tonight with her heart.

After he was seated she rose to speak. ‘We are here to lay judgment upon Tallis, son of our clan, blood of our blood.’

Her voice was low and clear and his guts twisted at her words. He was not of their blood, not now, not ever.

‘He has spoken ancient words and has been charged with communing with serpents, an action against clan law. As set down by Rhodin, two thousand years ago: that way lays danger and death and never shall it be tolerated in this clan.’ Her voice rose at the last and she paused for a moment before adding, ‘A life was lost, yet many were saved. It has been the task of this Circle to decide if this man is still worthy to be called a son of the Jalwalah. Tallis, do you have any reply?’

He drew a shaky breath. What could he say? He hardly knew himself what had happened. How could he explain it to them? If he told them of his feelings, of the shivering wrongness inside, how could that help him? He looked at Karnit. The leader’s gaze was hard and pitiless. He did not think that anything he could say would sway him.

‘I don’t remember much of what happened,’ he spoke slowly. ‘The serpents came. I was afraid. They were all around us, attacking, lunging with their claws, shrieking . . . one of them grabbed my father . . .’ He stopped and swallowed, trying to push down the lump that had risen in his throat. ‘It pulled him away and . . . something came over me. I was angry . . . my father was bleeding . . . I spoke then there was blackness. I remember no more.’ He stared at the ground, feeling their eyes upon him.

For a moment there was silence then Miram said, ‘Thank you’. She turned and addressed the rest of the Circle. ‘We have been here many hours debating, and still have reached no consensus. We brought Tallis here in hope his words would help our decision. We have heard them, but now I say we should ask the Guides. I say we ask the Dreamer to search for an answer, for who knows, perhaps it was the Guides who gave these ancient words to our clansman.’

Tallis felt a flare of hope. Could Miram’s words be true? It seemed an impossible thing, and yet he wished it were so. He looked up at Karnit from under his lashes, but his hope faltered under the leader’s hard gaze.

‘I do not doubt the Guides’ power.’ Karnit’s scratched, deep voice came from the shadows of his seat. ‘But I doubt their influence in this boy, who is not even wholly of this clan.’

‘Karnit!’ Shila exclaimed, but he ignored her.

‘I saw him. He looked the beast in the eye and spoke words it understood – ancient words.’ He turned his gaze to the Dreamer. ‘He has the touch of the Fifth Guide on him.’

Shila’s face drained of colour and the rest of the Circle became utterly still. Tallis felt as though all the breath had been sucked from his body. Enocia: the Fifth Guide, the thief of free will. The Outcast.

‘He is too dangerous to be allowed to stay,’ Karnit said.

The loud drip of water in the springs echoed in the cave as all members of the Circle stared at the old hunter, their faces registering shock. Even Thadin looked taken aback. Shila, her face white and her chin high, rose to speak, but a deep voice suddenly echoed through the cave stopping her words.

‘Circle!’

In a daze, Tallis turned to see a bare-chested man striding down the steps from the entrance, followed closely by one of Thadin’s warriors.

‘Who disturbs us?’ Karnit’s face was fierce.

‘Forgive me, leader,’ the warrior said. ‘I could not refuse him entry, he carried this.’ He held up a hard baked disc of red clay imprinted with the outline of the eye of Sabut. A peace token, it was used by the clans to allow messengers to approach an enemy for consul unmolested.

Karnit’s lips twitched in disdain as he saw it, but he beckoned the man forward. ‘Speak, then.’

Tall and well muscled, the intruder had a wide jaw and thick lips and his head was shaved leaving a thin strip of cropped dark hair across his head from ear to ear. He approached Karnit, bowed his head and spread his arms wide. ‘I have no weapon and come for the good of all clans.’

‘Since when do the Raknah care about other clans?’ Thadin said.

The man ignored him. ‘I am Krald, First Warrior of the Raknah. Are you head of this clan?’ He addressed his words to Karnit.

The old hunter nodded, his eyes narrowed.

‘I bring you news of an enemy that kills regardless of clan. Two days past, serpents attacked one of our hunting parties. They killed all but one of our men. He dragged himself back to our Well holding his flesh together. He told me of the attack before Kaa claimed him.’

Karnit stared at him, his face betraying nothing at the news. ‘Are you sure?’

Krald’s face darkened. ‘He was my son. He would not have lied to me. The Raknah are not Ja . . .’

Thadin made a sound deep in his throat and Krald stopped, the effort not to speak obvious.

Karnit was unmoved. ‘Many have lost sons. Many Jalwalah have lost sons to the hand of the Raknah.’

‘And many Raknah have given their sons in battle with the Jalwalah,’ Krald retorted. ‘But these men did not go to Kaa in honour fighting for clan! They were taken by a beast that knew no honour, that cut them down as though they were meat for its table.’

Karnit said nothing and around him the others sat tensely watching.

‘I see you have sent one of your own to Kaa.’ Krald swung around to look at the others. His gaze swept over Tallis and beyond to Haldane’s empty seat.

‘And one of your Circle. How was he taken? Was it the same beasts?’ He looked back at Karnit. ‘I think you already know of the beasts.’

‘We will not share the loss of one of our own with a Raknah,’ Karnit spat the word. ‘You will go now, while you still stand unmarked.’ He nodded his head at Thadin who moved a step toward the warrior, his hand on his knife.

Krald gave a twisted smile and nodded. ‘As you say, Leader. But first I will tell you why I came. I was visited by men from both the Shalneef and the Baal. They too have suffered similar attacks. We suspect it is the same throughout our lands. We are calling a Gathering to unite the clans. I have come to give you this missive: we meet at Sabut’s Well in three days. It is your choice.’

He nodded once at Karnit then turned and left, disappearing up the stairs, escorted by the warrior.

There was a long silence after they had gone.

‘A Gathering,’ Shila said, sitting slowly.

‘There has not been a Gathering in more than fifty years,’ Miram said.

‘How can we trust him?’ Thadin looked at Karnit. ‘He is Raknah, he could be leading us into a trap.’

‘No,’ Shila said. ‘He carried the token. Even the Raknah would not misuse that. And he was mourning for his son. He spoke true.’

‘He may only have spoken the truth of his son’s death. He could still be preparing a trap for us, the Raknah cannot be trusted!’

‘But at least now we know we are not the only clan to have been victim to these beasts,’ Crull spoke. ‘He said other clans have also been attacked. I think this changes how we decide Tallis’s fate. We must consider attending this Gathering.’

‘Enough!’ Karnit snapped. ‘Attacks on other clans do not change what Tallis did. And as for the Gathering, we must think carefully on exposing ourselves to our enemies, not rush in like muthu in mating season!’

Crull’s face turned a dark red. ‘I did not advise that we rush in, only that we consider that it may serve us to find out what the other clans know. If the beasts killed an entire Raknah hunting party we have cause to be concerned. The Raknah are foul dogs, but they are fierce fighters.’

‘Crull is right.’ Nevan weighed in. ‘We cannot turn our back on this we . . .’

‘Silence!’ Karnit cut him off.’ We will decide on the Gathering later, but first,’ he pointed to Tallis, ‘we must settle this matter. Let us all vote on what we gathered for.’ He folded his arms and stood, legs spread, surveying them all. ‘What say you all, do we cast this man out?’

‘I do not think we should make our vote in front of him,’ Miram said. Karnit slowly turned to her.

‘We will do as I see fit.’ He held her gaze. ‘If he has friends or enemies he should know them. Now, how do you vote?’

Miram’s full lips tightened. ‘No. I say no. He shall stay.’

‘As do I,’ Crull echoed, a challenge in his gaze.

‘I say yes.’ Thadin’s lip curled as he looked at Tallis and Karnit turned his gaze on the youngest member of the circle, Nevan. The dark-haired hunter looked worried.

‘I am concerned by what we have heard.’ He did not look at the leader as he spoke. ‘But still I will not vote to cast him out. Lives were saved.’

Karnit’s mouth hardened into a thin line as he turned to the Dreamer.

‘Shila? What do the Guides tell you?’

The Dreamer looked down at Tallis, her pale eyes unreadable. He could not help but hold his breath. Shila held his fate in her hand. That Karnit would vote to cast him out he had no doubt. Shila could change that. But would she? She was Dreamer of the clan, their conduit to the Guides, and her decision would be directed by them. Would the Guides still want one who did not carry the blood of their clan? He waited, his heart thudding against his ribs.

‘I have seen many things for this young hunter,’ Shila said finally. ‘Many paths, but to be Outcast by this Circle is not one of them. Do as you will.’ She addressed the last to Karnit, and Tallis felt an overwhelming feeling of release rush through him.

‘So be it,’ the leader grated. He turned to Tallis. ‘You have your answer. Go now.’ His eyes were cold and despite the Circle’s decision, Tallis felt a chill cross his skin. Karnit had wanted him gone. How long would it be before he had his way? He rose to his feet and, with a bow of his head, turned and climbed the stairs, leaving the cavern to look for his mother.

12

By the time Shaan returned to the inn, it was late. Tuon was waiting for her in the kitchen, but did not ask her anything, and Shaan did not offer. The events at the temple lay between them, unspoken. They shared a meal of leftover soup and listened to Torg throwing out the last of the stragglers in the bar, his deep voice raised over the protesting drunk pleas. Then they went up to their beds.

At the top of the stairs, Tuon turned and hugged her hard. ‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ she said. ‘Rorc is a good man; he only does what he must.’

Shaan nodded and hugged her back, worried by what she saw. Was Tuon in love with the Commander? If so, what would she do for him? What would she risk? The thought made her cold and she hugged Tuon tightly. She went to bed with a heavy heart and her dreams, when they came, were full of fire and death and a voice calling to her, the words like the sound of talons rasping on stone.

The following day, she dragged herself through her chores. Fishing in the morning on a bank of sea grass in the bay, she managed to catch nothing but a few sandflytes. Torg was not pleased and sent her to the markets at the port to buy more. The thick stench of rotting seaweed at low tide, coupled with the crowds, gave her a pounding headache and she wanted to do nothing but lie down and sleep; but there was no time for rest. She was on mid-meal duty at the yards and, after that, she’d be cleaning out the rotting fruit from the bottom of the serpents’ feed baskets and re-filling the grain stores. It was backbreaking work and by sunset her body was aching and her mind numb. Her only consolation was that she was not sent back to the Dome. No workers were. She knew she should wonder why, but she was too exhausted to care.

After a wash at the Red Pepino, she wanted nothing more than to numb her mind even more and without bothering to eat she took what coin she could spare and made her way to the Serpent Inn in the traders’ quarter. A dimly lit cavernous space, the Serpent suited her mood and was a long way from the stench of fish. It was frequented more by serpent riders than drunk sailors and there were no regulars there to harass her for free wine.

She took over a table against a wall and sat glumly fingering a solid green tumbler full of spicy red wine, listening to the chatter of people around her. It was crowded tonight. The room formed an L-shape around the bar and in the longest section, where she was, there were thirty or forty others, mostly Serpent Isle folk and ordinary riders, leaning on the bar or drinking at the tables, while in the back the more private benches and booths were almost completely taken over by the sept leaders and ship mistresses. It seemed everyone was in the mood to dim the real world tonight.

She was staring mindlessly over the rim of her glass when she saw the unmissable figure of Sept Leader Balkis walk up to the bar. Her stomach lurched and she froze. She hadn’t thought that he might be here. She pressed herself into the back of the bench, into the shadows near the wall and swallowed a large mouthful of wine then another, staring at his back. The liquid cut a warm swathe down her throat, helping to dull her anxiety, but it didn’t turn her eyes away. She watched him lean on the bar and start talking to a woman wearing a low cut, figure-hugging dress that exposed more than her fair share of cleavage.

What was she so scared about anyway, she asked herself? Maybe he had already forgotten their encounter. She tipped the glass to her lips again. She had as much right to be here as he, after all. The woman he was talking to threw back her head and laughed, thrusting her breasts towards him as she did so. Shaan took another large swallow of wine and wiped her mouth as she lost a dribble down her chin then slouched back against the bench. Forget about him, she counselled herself, and everything that had happened, that was why she’d come here. She forced her gaze away.

A group of boisterous young men at the far end of the bar, probably farmers by their dress, were leering at the serving women as they brought them ale. She watched them for a while, wondering why the women put up with it, but still her gaze was drawn back again to Balkis. He was a fine looking man. Tall and broad shouldered he had blond hair that curled slightly against a tanned neck, a strong jaw and straight nose and a pair of blue eyes that had all the female yard workers blushing whenever he walked by. But it was also his eyes that gave him away. They were filled with arrogance. The son of a wealthy merchant, Balkis had had an easy life with everything handed to him.

The door to the inn suddenly banged open and a youth ran in, breathing hard. He blundered into an empty table sending chairs and table scraping across the tile. All conversation nearby stopped and heads swivelled in his direction.

‘Oi!’ The barman shouted, but the youth ignored him. He took a few more steps, half hunched to run, and cast a desperate glance around the room. Looking for an escape, Shaan thought, and then recognition hit her. She knew that face. It was older now, but she knew him. Tamlin. Tam she used to call him. He was carrying a small leather bag.

Blood rushed tingling through her skin as the youth’s eyes roved across her, flicked off, and then swept straight back. He’d recognised her too. Whoever he was running from would be through that door any moment. The barman was reaching for him. Shaan’s heartbeat quickened. She should stay still, do nothing. But she couldn’t. She began to rise from her seat. Time seemed to turn backwards. She was nine years old again, running with the street packs and one of them was in trouble. Right or wrong didn’t come into it.

The door to the inn banged opened again, but she didn’t look to see who it was. A man was shouting, ‘Thief! Stop him. Thief!’

People were moving and from the corner of her eye she saw Balkis advancing on him. She kept her eyes on Tamlin, flicking her gaze to the left quickly, then gave him the sign that said there was an exit behind her. You didn’t forget the signs.

She swayed toward him as if she were drunk. To others she hoped it looked as though she made a clumsy attempt to stop him. Tamlin rushed toward her. As he reached her she made to grab him, but instead she twisted at the last moment and fell clumsily, knocking over a nearby set of chairs, sending Balkis stumbling. Imitating a drunken sprawl, she managed to knock the table into the path of the young thief’s pursuers, then she tried to roll aside as people tripped over the furniture and each other, but she wasn’t fast enough. A large body fell, slamming her into the hard tile. Her head smacked against the floor and pinpoints of light danced in her vision. There was a grunt and a hand landed by her ear. Her ribs aching, she tilted her head to see Tamlin disappear out the dark back passageway.

She felt a quick stab of triumph followed by sadness. He had been such a smart little boy; he should have found a different path to follow. She took a breath and realised the weight on top of her was gone. Dizzy, she looked up to see a black-clad man looking down at her. She stared at him for a heartbeat and then registered what he was: a Hunter.

She blinked. She should be terrified, but the only thought that come to her was, surely a Hunter couldn’t be stopped just by tripping him up? She smiled. That seemed funny, even though her ribs and face were aching. Perhaps she was drunk. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up with one hand. All the blood seemed to go to her feet. Her knees buckled and the room swam around her.

‘What is your name?’ he asked in a slow measured tone.

She blinked and tried to focus on his face and standing at the same time.

‘She stopped us catching him!’ An irate voice piped up behind him. ‘Stupid bitch, answer him!’

Shaan wiped some blood from her chin.

‘I know her.’ Balkis stepped forward. ‘She’s a worker in the yards.’ He turned a look of disgust on her. ‘I don’t know her name, but she is obviously drunk. In fact she has proven to be stupid and clumsy even when sober. Don’t bother with her, she’s of no consequence.’

Shaan felt heat rise to her cheeks. The Hunter looked at her without speaking and narrowed his eyes. Shaan looked at the floor. She had the distinct feeling that he was suspicious of her ‘drunken’ state but probably had little interest in chasing a child thief. He released her. ‘I will leave this with you then Sept Leader.’ He looked at Balkis. ‘You will pass it on to the city guards?’

‘Of course,’ Balkis answered.

‘Thank you, Sept Leader.’ He nodded at him then turned and walked out of the inn, the crowd parting hurriedly before him.

‘But . . .’ The man who had lost his purse looked around beseechingly at the quickly dispersing crowd. His eye fell on Shaan and his brows came together. ‘You!’ he growled and raised a hand menacingly, but Balkis suddenly stepped in between them.

‘Come sir,’ he said smoothly. ‘Don’t bother with this woman. Let me buy you a cup of fine Cermezian wine. A runner will be sent to the city guard and when they arrive I will sort all this mess out. The boy will be easy to find. Come, drink with me while you wait.’ He held out his arm to a table in the back.

‘Well, I suppose . . .’ The man cast her a dark look then, grumbling, followed Balkis to the dim corner of the room.

Behind her a serving woman started righting the tables and chairs. Shaan watched Balkis leave, wondering why he had stepped in between them and pretended not to know her name. The man could be a member of the Council. Was Balkis trying to protect her or improve life for himself? She shook her aching head, most likely the latter, she concluded.

The Sept Leader glanced at her fleetingly as he took his seat, but she could not decipher his look. She made her way back over to her bench, passing the same serving woman as before. ‘Wine?’ she said.

The woman gave her a foul look and slammed the last chair upright, before she turned and made for the bar.

Shaan slumped back on her bench, grateful the innkeeper hadn’t thrown her out. The other patrons had gone back to their drinks, but tension still lingered and their voices were quieter than before. None were comfortable when the Faithful showed their hand. She wondered if the incident would be reported back to Rorc. Knowing her luck lately, it probably would be and he’d have the reason he wanted to do what he liked with her. But right at the moment she couldn’t much care.

She rubbed tentatively at a lump forming on the back of her head and wondered if things could get any worse. The serving woman thumped some more wine in front of her and held out her hand. Sighing, Shaan pulled out some coins and the woman snatched them and swept off.

‘Not very friendly that,’ a voice said.

Shaan turned to see a young girl with fair hair watching her, her thin fingers curled around a glass. Her blue dress was cut low across the bodice and split to her thigh on one side. And if Shaan wasn’t mistaken, the fabric was of a higher quality than most could afford.

‘No, doesn’t like me I think.’ Shaan eyed her across the rim of her glass.

The girl smiled revealing perfect teeth. ‘Don’t think she likes anyone.’ She swayed over and, sitting gracefully down on the bench opposite her, offered a slim, white hand ‘Nilah.’

Shaan hesitated a moment then shook it. ‘Shaan.’

Nilah sipped her wine and they sat in silence for a moment. Shaan found her eyes going back to Balkis. She could barely see him in the shadowy corner and people kept moving around blocking her view. She would love to know what he was thinking. Her head was aching dully and she knew she should stop drinking, it would only make it worse.

‘Does it hurt?’

She swung her eyes back to the girl. ‘What?’

‘Your head?’

‘A bit, but that’s what happens when your face gets bounced off the floor.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Nilah took a small sip of her wine and gave her a strange smile, as if she knew something. ‘More wine?’

Shaan nodded and drained her glass. If the girl wanted to spend her own coin that was fine with her. Nilah waved the serving woman over again and waited in silence while she refilled their glasses. Then she leaned forward over the table toward her. ‘I saw you,’ she said quietly with a smile.

Shaan’s fingers froze around her glass, but she stayed sitting relaxed back against the bench. ‘What do you mean?’

The young girl’s eyes glittered. ‘You knew that thief didn’t you? And when you got up, you did something with your hand. You helped him.’

Shaan smiled and stroked the sides of her glass and thought about the knife strapped to her thigh. She could scare her with it. Poke her under the table. Slowly she pushed herself off the back of the bench, and rested her forearms on the table, the smile fading as she leaned toward her.

‘You should watch what you say.’ She pitched her voice low. ‘Bad things can happen to a skinny rich bitch who lets her tongue run away with her.’ She took a sip of wine and watched the smile falter on Nilah’s lips. But she saw too her eyes had gone hard. Perhaps she was tougher than she looked. Shaan doubted it. More likely she just thought she was.

She dropped one hand down to her lap close to the knife. Nilah’s eyes followed it. Her smile was gone, but her eyes still glittered.

‘You don’t need to threaten me. I’m not interested in telling the city guards anything. Or the Faithful for that matter.’

Shaan looked at her. ‘What do you want then?’ The girl didn’t even flinch when she talked of the Faithful.

Nilah shrugged. ‘Nothing. I just like interesting people, that’s all.’

‘I’m not interesting,’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ She tilted her head toward the bar. ‘They think you are.’

Shaan followed her look. The group of farmer boys she’d seen earlier had moved. Now they were hovering closer to their table. The altercation with the Hunter didn’t seem to have put them off their drinking and they were still as loud as before. And three of them were casting glances at her and Nilah and sniggering to each other over their ales.

‘That tall one with the dark hair’s not bad. Nice wide shoulders.’ Nilah giggled. He was tall and broad shouldered, but he had a set of ears you could hang a bucket from.

Shaan snorted and turned back to her wine. ‘Farmers. Probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.’

‘Well at least he’s got something you could hold on to!’ Nilah said and Shaan almost choked on her wine. Perhaps the girl wasn’t such bad company after all.

Three glasses of wine later she decided that she’d been mistaken about the farmer. She turned from yet another of Nilah’s garbled stories to cast her eye again over the tall boy with the wide shoulders. Maybe his ears weren’t that big. She watched him pick up his mug of ale and laugh at something one of the others had said. His hands looked large and strong. Worker’s hands.

Shaan felt herself warming to him. She let her eyes trail down his broad shoulders, down his back . . .

‘Did you know, I once sent three men into the sea when I was on my little boat.’ Nilah grabbed her hand. Shaan turned her eyes away from the boy.

‘What?’

Nilah’s face seemed to take a moment to come into focus. Around them the room was very noisy. Shaan tried to concentrate on what the girl was saying, she could see her lips moving but it just wasn’t making sense.

‘I pulled it up and they fell in!’ Nilah burst into loud laughter.

Shaan gave her a small smile and nodded as the girl slapped her arm and giggled. She saw the boy from the corner of her eye moving away, following his companions. Was he leaving? Nilah was still laughing loudly and prattling about something. She was starting to get on her nerves.

Shaan stood up abruptly and swaying slightly picked up her empty glass. ‘I’m going for more wine.’ She slid out from behind the table.

Nilah looked up, her face flushed. ‘What?’

The girl was definitely drunk. Shaan didn’t give her time to speak further. She staggered as her foot caught on the bench, righted herself, and then made for the bar.

The air was warm and people were moving and talking all around her. They seemed to keep getting in her way and it was hard to see in the dim light. Weaving around them, she made it to the bar, calling for wine. She looked around. There was the farmer boy. He had only moved a little further around toward the wall. He saw her looking at him. Shaan tilted her head and gave him a smile. The boy almost spilled his ale as he grinned back. One of his friends saw and began punching him in the arm. Anticipation stirred in her stomach and she rested languidly against the bar, her eyes drifting.

The corners of the inn were shadowy and the wine was making her feel lightheaded. She smiled to herself. A face moved, a blond head turned and Balkis’s cerulean blue eyes met hers. Her shoulders tensed, disturbing the pleasant numbness she had been enjoying. He was leaning on the bar a little way down from her. His hair was curling in the heat and a thin film of sweat covered the tanned skin on his face and bare muscled arms. He too had large, strong hands and Shaan suddenly wondered what they would feel like on her skin. But then her eyes travelled up and she noticed he was looking at her as though she were nothing. Less than nothing. Was that disgust in his gaze?

A small spark of anger penetrated her wine-soaked mind. What right did he have to judge her? What was it to him if one of the yard workers had some fun? A small voice told her that what he thought did matter, but she pushed the voice away. Not tonight. Tonight she had helped a fellow thief escape. He would have stopped him if he’d been able, thrown him into the jails. And Tamlin had been such a sweet little boy. Just a child when she’d known him.

She lifted her chin and stared back at him. Let him think what he liked. The Sept Leader’s expression remained unchanged, then he turned his head and was lost in the shadows again. She picked up her glass, tipped it to her lips, and then put it down again. She had forgotten it was empty. Where was that serving woman?

‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ a deep voice spoke behind her.

Shaan turned and looked up into the face of the young farmer boy. He was very tall, and maybe not as young as she’d first thought. She had to tilt her head back to see his face, which at the moment had a hopeful expression all over it. She smiled and glanced over to where his companions were sniggering and pushing each other.

She looked back at him then grabbed hold of his arm and swayed a little closer to him. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’ She pulled on his arm and tilted her head toward the door. His smile widened into a grin.

‘Come on.’ Shaan let go of his arm and putting a swing into her hips, made for the door, not bothering to check if he was following.

Outside the air was fresher, but warm and moist. She took a deep breath of it but her head still felt lighter than it should. There was no one about. Shouts and laughter carried from other parts of the city and the sea slapped softly against the docks only two streets away. One lamp lit the street at the front of the inn, but other than that the only light came from the half moon that was now high in the night sky. She looked back at the grey shadow of the young man and beckoned for him to follow. She could hear his breath quickening as he came after her, down the alley beside the inn.

It was dark, but thankfully there was no refuse. She turned and leaned back against the uneven damp wall. The man was a huge dark shape before her.

‘Come on,’ she whispered, feeling reckless.

He came for her faster than she had anticipated and the breath was almost knocked from her as he pushed up against her. He was huge and strong. One large hand closed over her breast as he nuzzled at her neck while the other grasped her hip. Dizzy, Shaan pushed him back.

‘Easy boy.’ She caught her breath, panting a little herself. ‘Let’s slow down a bit.’

‘Why?’ His voice was harsh with desire. He came toward her again and gripping her hips he half lifted her against the wall.

Bricks dug into her back as he pressed his hips into hers and she could feel him already hard. His breath stank of ale and she turned her head as he tried to kiss her, but he felt good up against her. She lifted one leg and hooked it around him, pulling him in. Her head was buzzing and all she could smell was male sweat and ale. Balkis’s face unexpectedly swam into her mind, and she closed her eyes as the farmer’s hand squeezed the soft flesh of her upper thigh. He pressed her against the wall as his other hand fumbled with the laces at the front of her shirt. His fingers kept slipping on the thin cord. He pushed her harder against the wall, grunting.

Shaan laughed. ‘Here let me.’

‘No!’ He pushed her hand away and slammed her back against the wall.

Pain stabbed into her back. ‘Stop!’ She tried to push his hands away but he ignored her and began ripping at her clothes.

Fear rose and the fog of desire lifted. ‘Get off!’ She unhooked her leg and tried to reach down for her knife, but he caught her arm and slammed her against the wall again. Her head snapped back on the brick, the pain making her dizzy. Terror flooded her. He was all over her, ripping her shirt, a hard hand squeezing her breast.

With an angry screech, she dug her thumbs into either side of his windpipe. He wheezed and jerked back and she brought her knee up into his groin. He dropped to the ground with an agonised groan. Furious, she kicked him. His head snapped back as her sandal connected with his chin and pain exploded in her heel.

Gasping, she turned to run, but wasn’t fast enough. His hand closed around her ankle and she went down on the hard paving, all the air rushing from her lungs. Panicking, she tried to crawl away, but he had her and was dragging her back. Her fingernails broke as she clung to the stones. She tried desperately to suck in enough air to scream, but only small, whimpering sounds came out.

He flipped her over and fell on top of her, grunting and cursing. She tried to reach again for her knife but he slapped her hard across the face. Her ears rang and she tasted blood. She couldn’t breathe he was so heavy. He was tugging at her trousers.

Then suddenly everything stopped. Panting, Shaan saw Balkis straddling them both. He held the man’s head back by the hair and had a knife to his throat. For a moment nobody moved.

‘Now,’ Balkis spoke quietly. ‘You will get up slowly and give me no reason to slit you open.’ He pulled the man’s hair harder. ‘Yes?’

‘Y . . . yes,’ the farmer whimpered, frozen above her.

‘Well then,’ Balkis stepped off him and backed away, the long knife still held out before him almost casually. ‘Move.’ He gestured with the blade.

Slowly the boy got off her. Shaan almost passed out as the weight lifted and she rolled onto one side away from the men, covering her breasts with shaking hands, and lay still just breathing.

‘What is your name?’ She heard Balkis ask.

‘N-n-n-Norad,’ the young man stuttered.

‘Well, Norad. You’ll leave now and I don’t expect to see you again.’

‘Y . . . yes.’

‘Now!’ Balkis raised his voice and Shaan heard heavy footsteps moving away.

She didn’t move. She could feel Balkis still standing there, watching her, but she couldn’t seem to get up just yet.

‘Get up.’ His voice was hard, just the same as when he’d talked to the farmboy.

She ignored him. Please, go away, she thought.

‘Get up.’ He repeated and she heard footsteps.

She moved before he could touch her. Rolling away from his hand, she got slowly to her feet wincing at the pain in her back and ribs, staggering as a sudden wave of dizziness swept her. He made no attempt to help her. She tried to cover herself with the remains of her torn shirt, keeping one eye on him standing motionless watching her. His tall form was dimly silhouetted in the light from the street; fine curls of his hair a halo around his head. She couldn’t see his face.

‘You should be more careful,’ he said. And sheathing his knife, he turned and walked away, disappearing from her view.

13

He crept silently into the Dome and listened, his eyes closed, one hand pressed flat against the warm stone. The night was dark and the moon high, a faint sliver in the star-speckled black. He had been careful coming here. There were still things to be done, things to be found before he could feel whole. He could not risk the black-shirted ones noticing him yet. He closed his eyes and listened, concentrating on the life that breathed above him.

He could feel them, all of them. Their blood called to him, but it was faint: a whisper across a vast ocean. They were so young and their blood was cold. A single tear slipped from his eye. Soon he would help them remember. He would help them remember the joy, the truth. They slumbered now, but still in sleep they could be reached; he was good at that, he’d had two millennia to practise that.

His fingers curled and scratched against the wall as he thought of it. So much time taken from him, stolen! His face became tight with fury and he felt again the coldness of the place, the nothingness, and heard again the voices, so close yet impossible to reach. Or so they had thought. He had reached one. He had felt her through the walls of his prison. His own, his blood. She had released him, although she did not know it. He could feel her now; he whispered to her in the dark. He did not know where she was yet, but she would come to him. When her dreams became her waking terror, she would seek the one who could help her – and then she would be his. Then she would help him regain what the others had taken from him.

Anger filled his breast. He still remembered the slave who had stolen the ring. A prophet they called him now. A thief was what he really was! And he had not been able to stop him then, distracted as he was with his siblings seeking to banish him! He had not even noticed it was gone until it was too late. But he would find it. It was here in this city, he felt it, marked as it was with blood. The thieves who had kept it all these years knew it was important to him, but did not know why. A bitter smile stretched the skin on his face, baring his teeth. Once she came to him they would find it together and he would be able to test if his plan would come to fruition. He was sure it would. The ring and the Stone were linked, they would draw each to the other and she would be the catalyst.

He flattened his hand against the wall, feeling the breaths of the serpents reverberating through the stone. His siblings had underestimated him. They had thought by banishing him they would erase him forever. But whose name still lived the strongest now, two thousand years after their deed? They were nothing but wraiths, Lost Gods the people named them. He smiled. They had been forgotten, but still the slaves knew his name. They whispered it, afraid.

He wondered whether his creatures here were afraid of it, or whether they yearned to remember, but did not know how. He had felt the others, the older ones, consumed by madness as they flew from the dark places, killing as they went. They were searching for him, killing in his name; but they could wait for now. They could continue their game a while longer. He knew they played in the villages beyond the mountains, and in the dead lands. He could not follow them there. The sands denied him access as always, as it had ever been. The ancient ones who ruled there had ever kept their lands closed to him. But it mattered not. What interest did he have in lands where nothing grew but goats and savage men? They were no threat to him; they fought too much among themselves. Now he needed to find those here who would join with him. One who could light the fire in the Hive, one who could wake them.

He turned his mind upwards, searching, drifting, careful lest he madden him with fear. And they would be frightened, they carried the memory of his power in their blood. They would know they had betrayed him by making a pact with the slaves, by their ancestors turning against him. But he could be forgiving if they came back to him humbled. He would make them all powerful again.

His mind drifted up through the stone, past the sleeping ones, their dreams redolent with forgotten glory, to the single aged one who would welcome him back. One who yearned for the true paths again. There he was. The shadow smiled. This one was older, much older; he could feel the memories in his blood flowing thick and close. Carefully, very carefully, he whispered to Nuathin.

The dream came again that night. As soon as Shaan closed her eyes, images rushed in. She was pulled into darkness, falling in terror through endless black as the smell of wet earth rose to meet her. Red flickering fire flared, illuminating a burning city, and she was crouching by its walls on the bank of a rushing river.

The water was clogged with debris and bodies were carried swiftly past her into the jungle. Screams rent the air amid the crash and rumble of falling buildings, and she huddled against the stone as people poured from broken gates, running away into the night.

An inhuman cry sounded and a dark shadow sailed over. The long barbed tail snaked behind and Shaan sobbed as the earth trembled beneath a heavy tread. She was too afraid to look up. Then she heard the voice.

Cara merak Arak-si, he whispered to her.

She could not understand. She could not raise her head. She strained, pushing against her invisible bonds, and woke suddenly with a start, her head throbbing. She lay, unable to move for a time, overtaken over by dread. He’d never been that close before.

Cara merak arak-si. The words frightened her. She hugged her knees tight. She wanted to stay in bed all day, huddled on the thin mattress her back to the wall; but she had to work at the yards. What if she was sent to Nuathin’s crell? What if Balkis was there? The thought of seeing him again after last night hollowed her. What would he think of her now? Could she face him?

She looked down at her chipped and ragged nails. She could still feel the farmboy’s hands on her skin. Shame filled her, bitter and sickening as seawater. How had she come to this? Since the dreams had started she’d felt as though she was losing control, as though her place in the world was sliding out from beneath her. No longer was she certain of who she was, or what she was doing.

Shaking herself she sighed; it would do no good to hide in her room. Taking deep breaths she stretched out and got up, dousing her face with cold water, wincing as it hit the cut on her cheek. She put on her work trousers and shirt and went downstairs.

The sun had just topped the horizon and on her way to the yards she passed a group of foreign-looking people huddled together in a doorway. They wore odd three-sided hats and their skin was pale, their cheekbones flat and wide. They stared at her with pale elongated eyes. More refugees, but she was too tired to wonder who they were or where they came from. She walked past them wearily and trudged on to the yard workers’ entrance. Old man Gringely was guarding the gate, but he barely looked at her pass and kept glancing tensely up at the Dome.

‘What’s the matter?’ Shaan said as he handed her pass back.

‘Nothing.’ Gringely scratched his chin and again his eyes slid up to the huge building on the hill above the barracks. Shaan followed his gaze.

There were two serpents on the roof and two more gliding high in the air above it, dipping and twisting in the thermals, the morning sun glinting off their hides. That was odd. The serpents didn’t usually hang around the Dome at this time of day. They should be out in the lowlands beyond the city, hunting or exercising their wings. She stared up at them uneasily.

Gringely noticed her still standing there. ‘Oi! Get on with you, worker,’ he grunted, but his command was half hearted and Shaan cocked her head at the Dome.

‘How long have they been there?’

He sighed and shrugged. ‘A while. Been hearin’ weird noises too, strange . . .’ He trailed off staring at the Dome again. ‘Something’s wrong.’

As if to prove his point a long keening cry echoed across the roofs of the buildings and barracks. It was low and inhuman and it lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. It reminded her of her dream. Gringely looked at her without speaking, but Shaan could see the fear behind his yellowed eyes.

‘I have to go,’ she said and hurried off. Her neck itched and a hollow, creeping fear was in her belly. She jogged up the hill and made it to the workers’ warehouse just before the supervisor arrived.

She was stiff with tension, expecting to be directed back to Nuathin’s crell, but instead she was assigned with another woman to cleaning duties in the barracks. The supervisor gave no explanation about why none were sent into the Dome.

She went quietly with the others back down the hill. Her insides jumped nervously as they neared the sept leaders’ quarters, but all the dwellings were empty and she saw no sign of Balkis, nor could she identify which of the buildings was even his.

The morning passed uneventfully and she trudged back to the Red Pepino in the afternoon, her back aching with each step, a lingering vulnerability stalking her every move. She opened the kitchen door and collapsed against it with a sigh. She had eaten nothing at her own meal break and was feeling lightheaded. She looked around for a jug of water and a bite of anything edible. She lifted the lids off glazed pots, peering into them.

‘Hungry?’

Startled, she turned to see Torg closing the door that led to the bar and common room.

She frowned. ‘Why can’t you make noise like everyone else?’

‘’Cause I’m graceful as a dancing fish.’ He grinned at her sour expression. ‘Not enough food makes women grumpy. Here,’ he went over to the oven and pulled a plate out. ‘Sherrilee didn’t finish her mid-meal, you eat it.’

He put the plate on the table and the aroma of fish stew wafted up to Shaan’s nostrils.

‘Thanks,’ she muttered and sat down taking the spoon he handed her. The stew was warm, spicy and rich and a small sigh escaped her as she ate.

Torg smiled and sat down opposite her with a bowl of wattle peas and started shelling them.

‘Torg always makes good fish stew. But I will need more fish.’ He looked up at her pointedly. Shaan halted, the spoon half way to her mouth. She had forgotten she was supposed to go fishing that afternoon. ‘I’ll go as soon as I finish this.’

Torg nodded. ‘Good. But don’t eat too fast, you’ll sick-up and scare the fish.’

‘That would probably help me catch them.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not those flatna fish, they’re picky with what they eat, they don’t want some skinny girl’s sick-up.’

‘Well why don’t you catch them then,’ she said irritably.

‘I don’t need to.’ He grinned and pointed a wattle pea pod at her. ‘I found a street thief to steal them for me.’

‘I am not a thief anymore.’

He raised an eyebrow and his smile disappeared. ‘No, but you still honour their code.’

Shaan paused in her chewing and looked up uneasy.

‘I have heard,’ Torg continued looking back at his peas, ‘that a young thief escaped at an inn because a drunkard got in the way of the Hunter pursuing him. What happened to your face?’ He gestured at the cut down her cheek.

Shaan swallowed. She had forgotten how swiftly news could travel on the street. ‘Nothing. I fell over at the yards.’

‘Is that so?’ He looked at her. ‘They’re dangerous men those Hunters, Shaan, part of the Faithful. You don’t want to be getting tangled with them.’

‘He was just a boy,’ she whispered.

‘Boys grow to men fast in Salmut, you know that. And he knew what he was doing.’

‘No.’ She put her spoon down. ‘I knew him. He was a sweet boy, he was too young . . .’

‘He was a thief,’ Torg interrupted and she glared at him.

‘That mark was careless. He may have lost a purse, but he still goes home to a table laden with roasted meats and clean linens while Tam sleeps with the city rats. I could not stand by and watch him dragged off to a cell!’

Torg’s expression darkened, but she didn’t care. He knew what the streets were like, he’d brought her in from them himself.

‘I couldn’t turn my back, Torg, I just couldn’t.’ She sat back with a shrug. Let him think what he would. She could no more have left Tamlin to his fate than leaped for the moon.

Torg nodded and watched her for a moment, his lips pursed.

‘You could not, but next time you must.’ He went back to shelling his peas. ‘I cannot have one who consorts with thieves living at my Inn. I don’t need to attract the attention of the Crooked Man.’

‘I don’t consort with them.’ Shaan protested, but his tone made her uneasy. Would he throw her out? ‘Besides Tamlin doesn’t work for him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He never did when . . .’

‘When you were on the street?’ Torg shook his head. ‘Shaan, that was many years ago. He may have changed now, he most likely has and you know it. Many things are changing now, more and more street packs are owned by him. And have you not noticed how many more Faithful can be seen in the city? They are watching us all.’

Shaan’s protest died on her lips. He was right, and maybe she was one they were watching. ‘I’ll try to be more careful.’ She rose from the bench and carried her plate over to the washing trough.

‘I’ll go for your fish now. I’ll be back by nightfall.’

‘Good.’ Torg tipped the bright yellow peas into a bowl. ‘Make sure you are. I need you to serve ale tonight. I’m expecting good custom. There’s a trading ship docked from Torin.’

Shaan’s heart sank, a ship from Torin meant she would be up until after the moon set. The common men from the Free Lands had a great liking for their ale and their women. She sighed and retrieved her fish spear, knife, and a small rope bag. Stepping out into the late afternoon sunshine she met Tuon coming through the gate. Her blonde hair was pulled severely back and there was a red mark on her cheek. She was walking very slowly and barely nodded when she saw her.

‘Tuon.’ Shaan hugged her. ‘Are you all right?’

She gave her a wan smile. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Where have you been?’

‘You know better than to ask me that.’ She reprimanded her, but there was no strength in her tone.

Shaan tried to inspect the red mark on her face. ‘What happened?’

Tuon pulled away. ‘Nothing, it’s nothing. Although I should ask the same of you.’ She took Shaan’s chin in one hand, looking at the cut across her cheekbone.

‘I fell over at work in the yards.’ Shaan lied.

‘Really.’ Tuon regarded her. ‘That looks like a man’s handiwork. What really happened?’

Shaan shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I have to go catch some fish.’ She started walking toward the gate, but Tuon grabbed her arm.

‘Wait. Did Rorc offer you a place with the Faithful? Is that what this is from?’

‘No!’ She pulled away. ‘I wouldn’t work for them.’

‘He did, didn’t he?’ Tuon’s face was hard. ‘I knew it. Did you take it? What did he make you do?’

Her voice was rising and alarmed, Shaan glanced around. She pitched her voice low. ‘I don’t want to work for him, I won’t. This cut . . .’ she hesitated, ‘I got it at a tavern. I had too much wine and fell over, that’s all. It’s nothing to do with him or the Faithful.’

‘You refused him?’

‘Yes. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be worried, that you’d think . . .’

‘That he had you doing what I do for him,’ Tuon finished.

‘He didn’t tell me what you do.’

‘No, he wouldn’t,’ she replied bitterly. ‘But I know him, Shaan, he won’t let you go this easily. You promise me you’ll be careful now. I won’t have you ending up like me. You can still be a rider.’

If they accept me, Shaan thought, and if I still want to be. But it wasn’t herself she was thinking of now. Whenever Tuon spoke of the Commander Shaan saw that sadness in her eye. The pain. ‘Do you love him?’ she said.

Tuon became very still, then looked away, staring at the inn behind her. Shaan gingerly reached a hand out to her. ‘Does he know?’

She laughed then, a harsh exhalation of breath. ‘I’m a whore, Shaan. He is Commander of the Faithful, the Guardian’s Chief of Armies. I gave up any illusions I might have had years ago.’

Shaan’s heart clenched with pain for her friend and she did not know what to say.

‘I still love you.’ She smiled thinly and Tuon’s face relaxed a little and she hugged her. ‘And that is a gift. Go on . . .’ she pushed her away. ‘Don’t you have fish to catch?’

Shaan sighed and rolled her aching shoulders. ‘Yes.’

‘And don’t forget, I’m still going to take you to a dream seer about those nightmares,’ She shook a finger at her, ‘I know you’re still having them’.

‘Yes, mother.’ Shaan rolled her eyes. ‘I have to go, I’ll see you later this evening.’ She headed out the gate, feeling Tuon’s eyes on her back as she left.

She walked down the alley away from the inn pausing at the intersection to the Great Avenue. It was crowded with people coming up from the wharves into the heart of the city. Men in rough seamen’s clothes swaggered in groups, a few street whores lingered on a corner, and the smell of roasting meat wafted in the hot air.

Three Serpent Isle ship mistresses passed her, their tall muscled forms cutting a swathe through the crowd. All had a blue seabird tattooed across the black skin of their cheekbone and they glanced at her with dark eyes as they passed. Shaan nodded at them, then turned right and trudged down the gentle slope of road, weaving through the flow of bodies. The sun was dropping lower in the sky, she would be lucky to land a fish before dark.

Wearily, she slithered like smooth water around a group of raucous young men, and made for an empty side street. She would have to fish from the end of the wharves, there wasn’t enough time to get to her usual spot on the reef on the other side of the port, and to get there quickly she would have to cut through the thieves’ territory. She chewed on her lip and shrugged her bag up onto her shoulder, then gripped her spear firmly with the other. If there was trouble she might as well be ready for it.

She followed the dim street and emerged from between two double-storey stone buildings into a wider road that ran parallel to the Great Avenue. The road was scattered with stumbling groups of men and women, their faces obscured by dirty hair, hats and veils. Either side were dilapidated inns or shops. Most were just fronts for vendors of the mind-clouding drug, crist.

Cautiously, she stepped out and turned right, hurrying along as close to the centre of the road as possible, keeping a wary eye out. Men and women, and sometimes children, squatted listlessly along the fronts of buildings, and on the side of the road. A group of what could have been wealthy citizens staggered out in front of her and she was forced to sidestep. Immediately, a young girl lunged at her, grasping hold of one of her legs.

‘Coin,’ she rasped and cackled.

She was pale and thin with the bright feverish eyes of an addict. Her fingers were stiffened into claws as she pawed at her. She was fourteen years old, maybe less. Dark bruises sat beneath her eyes and a sweet, sickly smell came from her. She would most likely be dead before the season changed. Shaan prised her off easily and moved swiftly away before the girl could catch hold of her again.

The Guardian should be doing something about it, she thought bitterly, but as usual only the wealthy seemed to count. Or maybe some of the wealthy’s predilection for the drug kept the city’s leaders from looking at the problem too closely.

‘Come on, come out!’ A man’s snarling voice made her look up.

Backing out from the open doorway of an inn called the Proud Fist was a large black-haired man. He was shirtless and held his hands up, making fake swings at the small crowd of jeering onlookers gathered around the entrance.

He shouted again to someone inside. ‘C’mon, you bitchlovin’ goat! C’mon!’ The last was a growl and the thick layer of fat around his middle quivered as he staggered and swayed.

‘Kill him!’ A dirty woman shrieked and hobbled across Shaan’s path She reeked of urine and old ale.

Shaan backed away and slunk around and behind the big man. She was nearing the end of the street when she heard a woman’s scream come from an alley ahead, followed by the crash of breaking glass. She slowed and looked behind her. All were preoccupied with the fight. Another pained scream sounded and was abruptly silenced. Telling herself it was a bad idea, she moved cautiously to the corner of the closest building and peered around.

The alley was dim but for a shaft of afternoon light falling between the rooftops above. Dust motes drifted in the soft light and she could make out a man pressing a woman against the wall. Her face was turned to the back of the alley and he was whispering harshly in her ear, one hand about her throat, the other pressing her back. A lovers’ quarrel or an argument over the price of crist? It would be better not to intervene. The man moved and the blade of a knife caught the light as he laid it against the whimpering woman’s throat.

Shaan’s heart thudded. She should walk away now, but a surge of anger stopped her. Another man in an alley and a woman alone – not this time. Carefully, she lowered her bag to the ground and gripping her spear, crept into the alley. Keeping to the shadows she approached the man from behind, took a breath, and with both hands spun her spear and brought the handle down hard on his wrist. There was a crack and with a pained grunt the man dropped the knife and spun to face her, pushing the woman roughly away.

Shaan skipped back near the opposite wall and spun the spear again to point the blade at him. ‘Back off or next time I strike with this end.’

‘Bitch!’ He rubbed his wrist. ‘What d’you want?’ He eyed her spear and laughed roughly. ‘That all you got girly?’

Shaan swallowed. He was bigger than she had estimated, and wiry. A long scar puckered his face from his forehead to his chin.

He suddenly lunged at her. Shaan tried to dodge but he grabbed the spear, pulling it out of her grasp. ‘Now we’re even!’ He threw it behind him. ‘Come on, girly. You scared?’ He bared his teeth like a dog. ‘I’ll give you a taste, and then maybe I’ll have some fun!’

Shaan scowled. She was not going to take a beating from a man twice in one week. His knife was lying near the wall, if she could just get hold of it . . . suddenly his fist was coming at her head. Ducking, she punched up into his exposed armpit, but his other fist caught her in the back, knocking her down. Hot pain flared. Rolling, she staggered back to her feet and dodged sideways as he came in again. He was too close to the wall and roared as his knuckles grazed across exposed stone. With a spite-filled laugh, Shaan slipped behind him and kicked his upper back, slamming his face into the wall. The sound of his flesh smacking brick was immensely satisfying.

‘Bitch!’ He spun around, his face bleeding, and she dived for the knife but was too slow. He sunk a hand into her hair and yanked her back.

‘Time to stop playing,’ he grunted, forcing her to her knees. Her scalp felt like it was burning as she slammed her elbow into his groin. He let go with a strangled groan. Lunging forward, she seized his knife and slashed it across his calf. He yelled and backhanded her across the face. Pain exploded across her cheekbone and blackness danced at the edges of her vision. Get up! A voice in her head screamed as he snatched the knife from her fingers.

‘Watch out!’ A woman shouted and Shaan heard the sound of wood hitting bone. She rolled left as her assailant hit the ground and, blinking, stared up at the woman holding a thick lump of wood. ‘Nilah!’ she exclaimed.

14

Morfessa strode down the palace corridor frowning at the amount of people milling around. Minor landholders, village heads and representatives from the Free Lands had all recently descended on the city demanding answers and seeking assurances since the rogue serpent attacks.

He rubbed his eyes. His head was dull and it felt like the bones in his knees were grating when he walked. How much had he had to drink last night? One bottle? Two? He couldn’t remember, but he had woken in his armchair still in the clothes he had worn the day before with a crust on his lips. A blurry memory of sprawling on the floor muttering while Prin watched from the shadows came to him. Why hadn’t Prin helped him? He touched his fingers to his head and wished he had thought to apply some salve.

He reached the door at the end of the corridor and nodded at the two guards flanking it.

‘Advisor, you’re late.’ Arlindah Soonrah, Salmut’s Guardian, greeted him as he entered. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’

Commander Rorc and Cyri, the Faithful’s Consul, were already seated on high-backed chairs facing her desk.

Morfessa gave her a slight smile as he took the empty seat next to Rorc. ‘Sorry, I was detained.’

Arlindah frowned and cleared her throat. ‘We have just been discussing a request from Councillor Lorgon. The Council of Nine want to have a greater say in running the armys, including the riders. They claim the attacks in the north are destroying the city’s stability and in order to allay the fears of our trading partners, they believe the Council should be making the decisions regarding how the army and the riders are deployed.’

‘Although I notice,’ Rorc said, ‘that Lorgon has not included the Faithful in that request. Probably because it’s hard to control men who can see your real motives.’

Arlindah’s pale grey gaze turned to him. ‘Your may be right Commander, but Lorgon is insistent.’

Rorc shook his head. ‘It’s just another ploy to take control away from you. This has nothing to do with the traders.’

‘I agree,’ Morfessa said. ‘Have any other of the Nine mentioned problems?’

‘No.’ Arlindah shook her head. ‘But I cannot ignore this. If the valley traders did pull their funds out of the city it would be very damaging.’

‘Surely you can’t be thinking of doing this?’ Rorc leaned forward in his chair. ‘Arlindah, Lorgon has never been interested in the good of the city, only his own skin.’

‘Well, what am I to do Commander? The Council of Nine exists for a reason beyond the daily administration of the city. They are supposed to be the voice for the people. If I ignore this and he’s right I risk the city’s stability. ‘

‘If you give in to him you risk it anyway,’ Rorc snapped. ‘The Council do not know how to run an army, Arlindah, and I will not be told how to defend this city by a bunch of overfed merchants, most of whom have never held a sword much less faced one!’ His pushed his chair back and walked a few paces away from the desk. ‘That Council can set decrees and make suggestions, but you can overrule them. You’re the leader, Arlindah. And if you give in to Lorgon you will find me constantly at your door asking for their decisions to be overruled.’

‘I did not say I would give in to him,’ Arlindah said. ‘I’m only seeking to find a way to placate him and ensure our city does not come to ruin.’

‘So what will you do?’

‘May I suggest a compromise?’ Morfessa said. ‘Perhaps allow a representative from the Nine in on conferences between Rorc and his generals – as observers only – so if they have any issue with his commands they can raise them with you, Arlindah.’

Rorc’s face darkened at the suggestion, but Morfessa held up a hand. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘the decision to change any of your orders would be up to Arlindah and she has never yet had any reason to doubt your commands.’

‘No, I have not,’ Arlindah said. ‘That’s a good idea. It will give Lorgon some semblance of control without actually allowing him any.’

‘I’m not so sure it would work,’ Rorc said and Arlindah smiled briefly.

‘Don’t worry Commander, I trust you far more than Lorgon.’

Rorc’s expression softened somewhat. ‘Thank you Guardian, but we have more here to be concerned with than the petty power struggles of one councillor. The serpents are becoming more unpredictable, and I’m worried about the seer’s telling.’ He looked at Cyri. ‘You heard her speak of the shadow in the Void. What if it is Azoth returning? He was the creator of the serpents, would that not explain why they are behaving so strangely?’

Cyri’s thinly fleshed face was composed and unreadable. ‘We cannot be sure,’ he said. ‘I think it is unlikely.’

‘But you can’t be sure?’ Arlindah said.

Cyri turned to her, his pale watery eyes calm. ‘Only the gods’ words are certain. The first consul did write that the serpents should be watched as the children of His hand, but it is not a definitive statement. It could be said to mean we should guard against the serpents rebelling. And besides, the Faithful are strong. For two thousand years we have guarded these lands, our Hunters patrol the streets and our Seducers strengthen the borders of the Void with the power of their minds. I think the Fallen will remain in the Void while we hold strong.’

Watching the zeal light the consul’s eyes, Morfessa felt his irritation at the man increase. Despite their long friendship, he had always found Cyri’s blind devotion to the Faithful’s teachings his biggest downfall. As the spiritual leader of the Faithful it was Cyri’s role to advise on all things related to Azoth and the Four Lost Gods. He, like the consuls before him, were the keepers of knowledge of the gods and the serpents, and their words should be taken as truth. But Morfessa had often thought the consuls’ knowledge too restricted by their stubborn adherence to only their own recorded histories. Cyri believed too rigidly in the doctrines set down by his predecessors: that the Four Lost Gods had banished Azoth forever into the abyss, condemning themselves to the forgetting in the process. That the Fallen could never return because the oldest Lost God, Paretim, had commissioned the Faithful to watch over all with his last breath and so protected them still, this was a claim Morfessa had long found hard to swallow. How could the Four Lost Gods protect them if they no longer had any power in this world?

‘What about the Prophet’s scrolls?’ he said.

Cyri frowned. ‘The Prophet was a madman driven to insanity by the very forces that created him. His writings were nonsense.’

‘The Prophet?’ Arlindah raised an eyebrow. ‘I have heard of him, but only as rumour. Who was he?’

‘The Prophet was a slave who escaped when Azoth’s empire was destroyed,’ Morfessa said. ‘The writings he made about the destruction of the god and his Alhanti and the exodus from the city contain much information about our past. He also made predictions for the future.’

The Guardian frowned. ‘Why have I not heard of these scrolls before?’

‘The scrolls are in the Serpent Isles.’ Morfessa cast a look at Cyri. ‘And you have not heard of them because your mother did not believe in their words, along with many others here. But I have seen them and I do think they have many interesting stories to tell us.’

‘They cannot be trusted,’ Cyri said.

‘Nevertheless, I should like to see them for myself.’

‘That might be difficult.’ Morfessa turned to her. ‘The people of the Isles rarely allow anyone to see them.’

‘I might be able to help with that,’ Rorc said. ‘I have an old friend, an informer for the Faithful, who is from those Isles. He may be able to convince them to let us see them.’

‘Who is he?’ Morfessa frowned.

‘Torg,’ Cyri said flatly before Rorc could speak. His lips formed a hard line. ‘He is a descendant of the Prophet. His mother is keeper of the scrolls.’ A small silence descended on them. ‘I am surprised, Rorc,’ Cyri said. ‘I would not have thought you would be so ready to believe in the ramblings of one long turned to dust.’

‘I cannot see the harm in investigating all possibilities if there truly is a chance that a god who turned us into a slave race could rise again,’ Rorc replied, his jaw tense.

‘No, no harm,’ Cyri said quietly.

‘Good then,’ Arlindah spoke sharply. ‘Rorc, go see this man and organise a ship. And I suggest we keep the scrolls from the Isles to ourselves for now. We don’t know yet if there will be anything of use in them.’ She rose with a frown, rubbing at a spot between her eyes. ‘I will see you all tomorrow.’

With her hand still to her head, she left, followed soon after by Cyri, who exited without saying a word to either of the other men.

Watching him go, Rorc said quietly to Morfessa, ‘Cyri thinks less of me now’.

The Advisor sighed and shook his head. ‘No. Not less, perhaps differently. Don’t forget there are some things about you he does not know.’

‘And shouldn’t,’ Rorc said.

‘Rorc.’ Morfessa patted his arm. ‘Have I ever given you cause to doubt?’

Rorc only gave him a long look and opened the door for him. They made their way down the corridor together. ‘I’m still worried about Arlindah,’ he said in a low voice.

Morfessa nodded. ‘As am I. She won’t let me examine her, even though I can see she is bothered by constant headaches.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s always so stubborn.’

A smile ghosted across Rorc’s features. ‘As always,’ he replied and the smile lit his face for a moment, but then faded and his mood became sombre. His thoughts drifted back to what Cyri had said, and what he didn’t know – what he couldn’t be allowed to guess.

It had been so many years, yet still the memories haunted him. Sometimes he yearned still for it: for the feel of it, the scent of it, and the heat, the burning brightness of the sun. What would he give to go back to that? What hadn’t he given? He made his mind turn away from it. There was no going back. They came to the doors to the outer palace.

‘Morfessa.’ He turned to the older man. ‘There’s something you should know. One of the Hunters saw Nilah at an inn a few days back. And it’s not the first time; others have seen her in places rougher than that. One saw her recently coming from the crist sellers’ quarter.’

Morfessa sighed and nodded resignedly. ‘Yes, I was afraid of that.’

‘You must talk with her.’ Rorc put a hand on his arm. ‘She seems unaware of the danger she puts herself in. Finding out her daughter is consorting with crist sellers would not do Arlindah any good right now.’

Morfessa nodded, annoyance tightening his chest. He should have known Rorc would hear sooner or later, very little seemed to go on in the city without his knowledge. ‘I will talk with her,’ he said.

‘Good. I’ll let you know when you can go to the Isles for the scrolls.’

‘What! Me?’ Morfessa was shocked out of his resignation. Rorc smiled, his teeth white against the close-cropped, dark stubble on his jaw.

‘Well, who else old man? It’s either you or Veila, and I’m not sure Cyri would let her go.’ He slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ He pushed the door open and left, leaving Morfessa standing, staring after him as he strode away.

15

Shaan stared at the young woman. Her blonde hair was in disarray and her fine clothes dishevelled, but she was sure it was Nilah.

‘We’ve killed him,’ Nilah whispered, staring at the man at her feet, then her eyes rolled up in her head and she toppled onto him.

Shaan looked at her a moment then, dragging herself up, grabbed her shoulders and rolled her off, her muscles burning at the dead weight.

Nilah’s eyes flickered open. ‘Wha . . .’ she focussed on Shaan, then her face twisted in pain and she clutched at her chest and sucked in a gasp.

‘What is it?’ Shaan pushed her hand away and carefully felt her ribs. She couldn’t feel any sponginess that would indicate broken bones.

‘I think you’re just bruised.’ A long scratch was bleeding slowly down one side of Nilah’s face from her cheekbone to her chin, and there were painful-looking bruises around her neck. ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded wincing, and got slowly to her feet. Shaan put a hand under her elbow. ‘Dizzy?’

Nilah nodded gingerly then became still and Shaan saw that she was staring again at the man.

‘Is he dead?’

‘No.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

Shaan shrugged. ‘I was just passing.’ She looked up at the sky. It was getting darker. ‘Look, I have to go. Can you find your way home from here?’ There was a burning pain in the muscles across her back and her face ached where the man had hit her.

‘What?’ Nilah looked at her as though in a daze.

A loud cackle of laughter sounded suddenly from the street and Shaan glanced at the mouth of the alley then back at Nilah. She was still staring down at the ground and holding onto her side. ‘Nilah?’ She shook her arm.

‘Huh?’ She blinked slowly, her eyes unfocussed.

Great! The girl was barely conscious, she wouldn’t be able to leave her here. Curse it! She took a long breath and leaning down picked up her spear.

‘Come on.’ Pulling Nilah with her, she went to the mouth of the alley to retrieve her rope bag and checked the street.

The big man had gone from the front of the inn, but there were still people milling about. She looked back. Nilah’s face was very pale and her breathing shallow. Her eyes wandered restlessly.

‘Nilah!’ Shaan grabbed her hand. ‘Look at me.’

Her eyes flickered to her and then seemed to click back into focus.

‘We have to leave here all right?’ She peered at her and Nilah nodded.

‘Come on.’ Shaan slung her bag over her shoulder and forcing the spear into Nilah’s hand, put an arm around her waist and made her move.

Nilah’s face was pinched and she leaned heavily on her as they walked out and up the street. Her eyes were huge in a colourless face and she gripped the spear so hard her knuckles were white.

The sun was dropping to the horizon sending long shadows across the street. It would be gone by the time she managed to get her somewhere safe. No fishing today. What had possessed her to interfere? Shaan silently cursed herself. First the boy at the inn and now this; was she trying to get thrown in the cells again? All she needed now was a Hunter to appear and drag her off to Commander Rorc.

The road connected with a short curved street that ran around the corner of a long wide building. On the other side was the Great Avenue. She stopped, wondering where to go. She couldn’t go to the wharves, and going back to the Red Pepino would mean too many questions from Torg. She bit her lip.

A small open cart piled with crates drawn by an old muthu creaked past. The beast’s long legs were scarred under its short, sand-coloured fuzz and it chewed noisily. The driver stared at them as they passed.

Nilah nudged her. ‘Take me to my friend’s house.’

‘Where is it?’

‘In the hills, that way.’ Nilah nodded to the curved street that led to the Great Avenue.

Shaan chewed her lip. If he lived in the hills that made him a wealthy man, possibly even a supplicant to the palace. She shook her head. Well, what had she thought? Nilah was obviously not from a family wanting for coin by the look of her dress. Cursing softly she hitched her bag higher on her aching shoulder. As soon as she got her there she was leaving.

‘Come on then,’ she said and led them toward the avenue.

They wound their way up into the hills of the city. Nilah’s strength was fading quickly and she was leaning more and more on Shaan for support as they climbed. It was quiet and cool compared to the city below and on either side of them the sprawling homes of Salmut’s wealthier citizens hid behind high walls. Exotic flowers and fruits flowed over the top, perfuming the air, and trees shadowed the pale, smooth stone of the street. Deep, narrow drains ran along one side. The only people they passed on foot seemed to be servants while several covered carts went past, their thick curtains closely drawn. Perhaps the wealthy only travelled in carts, Shaan thought.

Most servants shied away from them as soon as they saw the pair. Their gazes would go from her to her spear then to Nilah and they would blink or start or make a frightened face and hurry away. Two young girls coming out of a vine-covered gate stopped dead to watch them walk past, their pale faces staring as she half carried Nilah along. It made her doubly nervous. They probably thought she was abducting her and she kept waiting to hear the pounding feet of the city guard running after her.

She struggled under the other girl’s weight and prayed that none of the Faithful were around. If they saw her dragging a half conscious rich girl she was sure Commander Rorc would make good on his threat. She glanced at Nilah. She hadn’t said a word since leaving the alley and was very pale. The bruises on her chest could be bleeding inside and there was no way she could help her with that. She hoped the house wasn’t much further so she could get rid of her. Surely whoever was there could take care of her?

‘How much further?’

Nilah pointed up the street to a small wooden gate in a white wall. ‘Just there.’

Shaan staggered up to it. Painted a deep red, the gate came to her waist and was set in a high thick wall that extended for some distance either side. Beyond the gate a path curved away out of sight between dusky green trees and huge plants with thick sword-like fronds.

A long bell chain hung from the top of the right wall and Shaan lifted her hand to it.

‘No. Just . . . go in,’ Nilah gasped.

Shaan hesitated a moment then lifted the latch on the gate and pushed it open. The path wound through the cool green tunnel for some distance then emerged suddenly into a garden of starflowers and moon blossoms. Wafts of fresh sweet perfume filled the air. Beyond the belt of flowers, the path widened into a large circular area in front of a sprawling one-storey building of red stone that stretched away into more garden on either side.

Taking a breath, Shaan dragged Nilah along the path between the flowers, her muscles burning in protest. She was breathing almost as shallowly as Nilah by the time they reached the ornately carved door. She reached for the bell chain and pulled. Dimly, she heard a chime echoing in the house. They waited but no one came.

‘Prin should be here,’ Nilah rasped and took a shuddering breath. ‘Try the door.’

Shaan grasped the handle and pushed. The door swung open with a soft creak to reveal a softly lit entrance chamber.

‘Go in,’ Nilah nodded.

Shaan dropped her bag and took the spear from Nilah, leaning it against the wall, then shuffled in. A dark room was barely visible through an archway to her left and, to her right, another arch led to a hallway.

Her neck prickled, the house was too quiet, but Nilah was now barely conscious.

‘Which way?’ She jiggled her.

‘There.’ Her hand waved to the hall on the right.

Grunting under her weight, she dragged Nilah down the corridor. They passed another darkened doorway and then the wall on her left gave way to widely spaced columns and from the corner of her eye she saw a central courtyard. She glimpsed tall lamps and dark leafed plants and somewhere water was splashing. To her right more corridors disappeared into darkness.

Nilah pointed and Shaan dragged her along, turning again into another corridor and stopping at a set of wide double doors. She grasped the ornate handles and pushed both inwards. The scent of fresh herbs and another sharper, acrid smell she couldn’t identify, flowed out. The room was empty and Shaan dragged Nilah in and dumped her on a long, low cushioned bench with a groan. Nilah flopped down half on and half off it and passed out. Shaan picked up her legs and heaved them up on the cushions then stood awkwardly, grimacing at her burning muscles.

They were in a large, warmly lit room. Floor to ceiling shelves filled with scrolls, containers, and strangely shaped carvings took up most of three walls. A large desk sat in front of the shelves and a comfortable looking armchair faced glass doors that looked out over a darkening garden. Broken glass littered the floor near the chair.

She wondered who owned the house, but didn’t relish the idea of staying long enough to find out. Nilah seemed all right, she was still breathing. And if she left now she wouldn’t have to explain to whoever lived here what she was doing and what had happened to Nilah – not that she really knew anyway. Shaan moved toward the door, but the sound of hurrying footsteps stopped her.

Her stomach clenched. If she fled now whoever it was might think her a thief escaping. She hesitated too long and was still standing there when a tall grey-haired man rushed in.

He stopped and they stared at each other for a moment. ‘You!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

It was Morfessa, the Guardian’s Advisor. Shaan stared, speechless, but then his gaze went past her.

‘Nilah!’ He rushed over to kneel down on the floor, his hands gently turning the young woman’s head. ‘I thought I heard the bell. It was you?’

‘Yes.’ Shaan stared at him in shock. ‘I just found her in the city. She asked to be brought here. I’ll go.’ She began shuffling toward the door.

‘No! Wait.’ He turned and Shaan was startled to see his left eye was grey, but his right was a deep brown, flecked with red. ‘What happened?’

She shrugged. ‘Some man attacked her in the thieves’ area.’

His gaze ran over her rough trousers and shirt, the empty knife sheath strapped to her leg. ‘Did you kill him?’

‘No! Nilah knocked him out and I brought her here.’

‘How did you get in? Did Prin let you in?’

‘No.’ Shaan wondered who this missing Prin person was.

Morfessa frowned and looked back at Nilah. ‘That’s odd,’ he said quietly, then stood. I need to administer some healing. Quick, help me move her.’

‘Aaah,’ Shaan took a step backward. ‘I have to go. I need to catch some fish.’

‘After sunset?’ He glanced at the darkening windows. ‘I have some fish you’re welcome to if you help me. Come on.’ He waved her over.

Shaan hesitated. Torg wouldn’t be impressed if she came back empty handed, and she didn’t have the coin to buy any fish at the markets.

‘All right.’ She sighed and followed his instructions, lifting Nilah’s legs while he picked up her torso. As she did she caught the faintest whiff of wine on his breath. The Guardian’s Advisor a drunkard? That was an uneasy thought. They shuffled awkwardly out of the room and down a hallway, carrying Nilah between them.

‘What’s your name again?’ Morfessa grunted as they manoeuvred though another double doorway.

‘Shaan.’

‘Hmmph,’ he nodded. ‘I’m Morfessa.’

‘Yes, I remember.’ Shaan helped him put the young woman down on a raised narrow bed.

‘There, that’s good.’ He went over to a set of open shelves, muttering.

They were in a room, but at the same time it seemed they were in a garden. Four walls surrounded them, but the roof was partly open to the night sky. Tall, slender trees were planted at intervals along with fat-leafed plants and sweet-scented flowers. Underfoot was, in places, thick grass and in others stone tile, and off to the side were areas where thick carpets and pillows were laid on the grass.

She took it all in a glance but barely absorbed it, uneasiness rising in her along with a driving need to leave.

‘If that’s all, I’ll take that fish and go,’ she said to Morfessa’s back.

He turned and came back toward her holding some jars, thrusting one into her hand, ‘Hold this. Now,’ he smiled at her, ‘you were not expecting this to be my house were you?’ He leaned toward her and said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘Don’t worry, I’m harmless, it’s she who could bring more trouble to you.’

Shaan looked at the young blonde woman in confusion and Morfessa let out a gruff laugh. ‘She hasn’t told you who she is has she?’ He shook his head. ‘Likes to play at being someone she’s not, does Nilah.’ He sighed. ‘Even when she was a child.’

‘I don’t know her. I only met her once before, at an inn. I only helped her because . . .’ she stopped, suddenly aware Morfessa was watching her closely. ‘Because she needed it. She asked me to bring her here.’

The old man nodded. ‘Thank you. And her mother, the Guardian, also thanks you.’

Shaan stared at him. Nilah was the Guardian’s daughter? Her heart thudded. Gods, what would happen to her now? She had hardly treated her with the proper respect.

‘Don’t worry,’ Morfessa smiled. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t. And I know Nilah will say nothing, she’s not supposed to be out in the city on her own.’

‘No,’ Shaan said faintly. ‘No. I won’t say a word.

‘Good.’ His gaze became measuring. ‘You look very tired.’

Shaan had the feeling he wasn’t talking about her journey. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Good, then help me.’ He winked at her. ‘And I shall help you. I have salves that will help soothe those aching muscles.’

Shaan was torn, instinct told her to get out, but it didn’t seem right to just run out now and she still needed that fish. Reluctantly, she went to stand beside him and held various pots and jars as he rubbed different salves into the bruises on Nilah’s neck and chest, and then spent some time massaging her forehead and temples with a strongly perfumed oil. He closed his eyes while he did this and hummed lightly, and Shaan felt the hairs on her arms standing up as energy crackled in the air around him.

When he’d finished, Nilah was definitely breathing more regularly and some colour had returned to her cheeks.

‘Now,’ he turned to her. ‘Come sit over here.’ He indicated a cushioned stool at the edge of the tiled area. Beyond it a thick bed of purple flowers released an herbaceous perfume into the warm evening air. Shaan started to protest, but Morfessa held up a finger. ‘Ah! No complaining.’ He gripped her arm, pulling her to the stool. ‘Your back would have been under considerable strain dragging her up here. I won’t have anyone leaving my home in such a state! Come.’ He made her sit and looked narrow-eyed at her. ‘Look at your face! This cut, those marks!’ He sucked his teeth and shook his head, turning her head this way and that, then went around the back of her and with gentle fingers probed the tight and aching muscles. He continued to make muttering, disapproving sounds as he mixed up pastes and Shaan began to feel as though she were back at the Red Pepino with Tuon fussing over her.

Slowly, she began to forget who the old man was that was rubbing salve on her cheek and started to relax. It was very warm and quiet. The only sound was Nilah’s breaths and a soft scraping as Morfessa mixed his concoctions in a ceramic bowl and muttered as he spread them.

He made her remove her shirt so he could rub oil into her back and she held the cloth in front of her breasts. His detached manner was comforting and unthreatening, and the warm oil eased the sharp knots in her back. She started to feel sleepy. The wakeful nights and harrowing stress of the past week was overcoming her, she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes.

‘You’re body is very weary,’ Morfessa said quietly. ‘Have you had trouble sleeping?’

Shaan’s eyes snapped open. ‘I sleep.’

He laid large, warm palms against her back. ‘Your body tells me differently.’

Shaan felt an intense heat radiating from his hands into her muscles, like the spread of hot syrup. It was impossible to retain the tension. She let out a long breath and suddenly felt strangely emotional. Tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Sometimes I have . . .’ she stopped and clenched her hands together hard in her lap. It didn’t feel right to talk about the dreams, they were too private, too frightening.

‘You have nightmares?’ Morfessa moved his hands up to her shoulder blades, his fingers digging into the tight muscles. ‘Disturbing dreams are an interesting thing. I have spent some time studying them. Oh, it’s all right,’ he said, noticing how tense she was. ‘It’s quite normal to suffer them. For most people they are merely projections of their own worries, a reaction to troubling times in their lives, but for a few they can be something else. You see, dreams can be influenced by the mysterious beings that inhabit the Void.’

‘What do you mean?’ Shaan tried to keep her voice even.

‘Aaah, well,’ Morfessa said, warming to his subject. ‘You see, the Void is many things. It is a dimension unseen by our eyes but felt by our hearts and spirits. The barrier between our world and the nameless place from which all making and unmaking springs. It is the place of dreaming, the source of a seer’s insight and power, and it can also serve as a conduit to the gods.’

‘The gods?’

‘Yes. There are even some who believe the Four Lost Gods exist there still, that that is where they went when they vanquished Azoth and sent him into the abyss.’

‘And what do you believe?’

Morfessa pursed his lips and gave her a brief smile. ‘I am not so sure. I think they are closer than that.’

‘And the Fallen, do you think he has returned?’ Shaan’s breaths were shallow. She wasn’t sure why she’d asked him that. The Advisor’s hands slowed and when he answered his voice was low and measured.

‘I don’t know. It seems impossible.’

Seems. Shaan’s insides felt cold, like a ball of metal weighing her down. Is he here then? Is he back? She suppressed a shiver. ‘Well, they are only rumours.’

But Morfessa didn’t reply. She searched for something to distract him. Perhaps he could help decipher the strange words in her dream. After all, surely her nightmares were no more than her own worries about becoming a rider? Most likely the words were nothing but nonsense, made by her mind.

‘Aah, Advisor, do you know many different languages?’

‘Yes, a few, why?’

‘I have a friend who heard some strange language recently, some odd words. She was wondering what they meant. I thought perhaps you may know.’

The old man shrugged. ‘Possibly. What are they?’

‘I think she said one was Arak-si.’

Morfessa froze and drew back, staring at her. ‘What did you say?’ he whispered.

Shaan grew alarmed at his expression. ‘Arak-si,’ she repeated faintly.

‘Where did she hear that?’ he demanded. He was suddenly tense, the lines on his weathered brown face deeper, older.

‘I’m not sure.’ Shaan wished now she had not said anything. ‘Why, what is it?’

‘It is an ancient tongue. The language of the serpents, though few speak it now.’ He stared at her, his odd-coloured eye watchful. ‘Arak is the name they once called Azoth. Arak-si means one loved by him, his descendant.’

A hand of ice reached in and squeezed her heart.

‘Tell me!’ Morfessa gripped her arm. ‘Where did you hear this?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. No one, I told you, it was a friend.’

‘You must tell me!’ His grip tightened and a strange, desperate gleam came into his eyes.

‘I don’t know!’ She twisted in his grasp, frightened by his sudden intensity. ‘I have to go now!’ With a shove she pushed him away and sprang off the stool, running for the door.

‘No, wait!’ he shouted after her, but she ignored him. Her heart pounding, she raced down the corridor. Behind her, Morfessa was shouting at her to stop but she ran on, racing down the dim halls and past the hidden courtyard, to the front door. Her fish bag and spear were where she’d left them, and not stopping to look over her shoulder, she scooped them up and ran out into the night.

Small oil lamps lit up the garden beds near the house and Shaan sped past them down the path and toward the gate. She’d just gained the trees when the sound of another gate banging made her falter. Did he have guards here? Her breath short, she darted behind a tree and peered out. A tall young man dressed in white was walking across the garden toward the house. He had broad shoulders and long limbs and his hair was black and thick. He moved with a long arrogant stride and she pulled back into the shadows as he passed.

As though feeling her gaze, he stopped and turned. Her stomach contracted, a chill tapping her spine, as he peered up the path. His jaw was clean-shaven and angular, his cheekbones high. He was more than handsome. He was pale and dark at once, light and shadow, and while he scanned the darkness she couldn’t seem to move or even look away. Her breath felt constricted. Transfixed, she stared until, eyebrows drawn together, he turned away and went into the house.

Holding her bag and spear in shaking hands, Shaan watched until he closed the door then she ran for the gate, wanting to put as much distance between herself and this place as possible.

Morfessa ran to his study. He unrolled sheaf after sheaf of parchment, tossing them to the floor as he went, his hands frenzied as he searched desperately through his old notes. Where was it! It had to be here! Kicking rolls of paper from his path, he climbed onto a stool and reached back into the depths of his shelves, throwing jars and dusty ornaments to the floor.

Finally, his hand closed on what he sought: a long scroll, pushed to the back of his shelves. He drew it out, climbed down and carefully unrolled it across his desk. With shaking hands he peeled back the first layer and ran a finger along the line of cramped writing. Halfway along he paused, his breath stopped in his chest, staring at the words he had written so long ago.

My research suggests Azoth may have used the Birthstone to father a child on a mortal prior to the destruction of his Empire. (Ref. scrolls 1–7). Further research has revealed the child may have survived the annihilation. What does this mean now??

He looked up from the scroll and stared across the room. How could he have forgotten writing something so important? He seemed to be forgetting so much lately. He shook his head. No matter, he had it now.

And if what Shaan had said was true, if someone she knew had heard these words, who could have spoken them? No one but himself and Veila, as far as he knew could speak the ancient tongue; he doubted there were even many serpents alive today who could. It was a dead language; it had died with the Gods. But now . . . what did it mean? Could his old theories be true?

Arak-si: ‘loved one, descendant of Azoth’. It was amazing, impossible, terrifying. A line of mortals descended from the Fallen.

Would they know who they were? Was the person who had told Shaan the word ‘Arak-si’ one of them? Could he or she be the catalyst for Azoth’s return? Could the descendants of that first child he had seeded so long ago have been feeding him with strength over the last two thousand years? Could their existence be binding him to this mortal world, allowing him to finally break free of his prison?

A chill ran over him. The gods had not been able to have a child with a mortal, it was forbidden. But Azoth had stolen the Birthstone from the others, forcing them into shadow and taking all the power of the Stone for himself. And he had had it for over five hundred years. He had figured out how to use it to merge humans and serpents into a new kind of creature, why could he not have found a way to plant his seed in a mortal?

The old man stared at the scroll as a sudden frightening thought came to him. Was it possible that Azoth had planned this all along? When the Four Lost Gods had found a way to influence Amora to steal the Stone and free them, they had gone to defeat Azoth knowing the only way was to use the Birthstone against him, and then banish it to a hidden realm. Had Azoth known somehow that the others would defeat him and made a plan for his own survival? Had using the Birthstone to create life in a mortal somehow created a connection in the child both to him and the Stone? And would that connection continue on in his descendants? Was it so strong that now, right now, Azoth was resurrected, alive and walking among them?

His mouth dried and Morfessa went hurriedly over to his wine jug. Pouring himself a generous glass he downed it in one long swallow, then poured another, closing his eyes and savouring the fire of it hitting his belly. It was all so much to take in. He stared at the scrolls. He would spend the night going carefully over them, then tomorrow he would speak to Rorc, show him the scroll and all his others. Rorc would know what to do. Perhaps he could even bring the girl, Shaan, back here, find out all she knew. He was sure she was hiding things about this friend of hers. Perhaps there was no friend. He paused, the glass at his lips.

The door clicked behind him and Morfessa turned around with a start, wine splattering onto his shirt.

‘Prin!’ He looked at the young man standing in the doorway. ‘Where have you been?’

The young man’s eyes went to the wine on his shirt and the scrolls all over the floor, but he did not give him an answer. ‘Someone has been here, who was it?’ Prin’s voice was calm but there was an undercurrent of command that Morfessa didn’t like.

‘Who I have in my house is not of your concern,’ he said. ‘You were supposed to deliver some reports to the Guardian today, did you?’

‘Of course.’ Prin’s gaze slid slowly across the open scroll on the desk and then back to Morfessa. ‘Would you like me to clean all this up for you?’

The way he was looking at him made Morfessa suddenly very aware of the wine on his shirt, and the unsteadiness of his hand.

‘No, I’ll do it myself.’ Why did he feel that the young man was mocking him behind those purple dark eyes? ‘Go tell the cook to prepare a meal for me.’ He spoke sharply but Prin didn’t appear concerned. A small slow smile crept across his lips and he titled his head slightly at him. ‘As you wish, I will leave you then.’ Quietly he withdrew, the door clicking shut behind him.

Morfessa let out the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. Insolent, that was how he would describe Prin’s current behaviour. But it was not only insolence. He hated to admit it, but sometimes the young man made him more than a little nervous. He took another long draught of the wine, and not sure why, went to the door and turned the lock.

16

Tallis pushed at the muthu’s flank. It made a deep grunt and swished its short tail, but didn’t move. He pushed again and it swayed a little toward the wall of the cave. Sweat ran down his naked back and his skin itched. He swore and punched the muthu in the ribs. It spat at him and bared its teeth. Bearing his own teeth back he wedged his shoulder against its side and heaved. It staggered and with a snort moved to the back of the pen where it stared balefully at him.

Tallis swept the dung away from where the beast had been standing and dumped it in a basket then gave the animal a long look before he moved out and dropped the pole across the entrance. Cleaning the muthu pens had always been the least favourite of all his chores as a boy, now he had to do it again. He picked up the big basket by its double handles and dumped it in the fuel storage enclosure then headed out into the main tunnel. He badly needed to wash and, head down, he made his way toward the hot springs on the other side of the great cavern, avoiding the eyes of those he passed. News travelled fast in the Well. Most would know by now he had not been made Outcast. He was sure many would not be pleased.

His head felt heavy and dull. He’d slept badly, his sleep disturbed by strange dreams of serpents covering the sky and fire devouring the sands. And he could not stop thinking about his sister. He had begun to wonder if the vague feeling he’d always carried of difference was because she was not here. He had been with her in his mother’s womb – what had they shared there? Was the strangeness that was inside him, also in her?

It was a disturbing yet comforting thought that somewhere there was another like him. Perhaps another clan had taken her in. She was not dead, of that he was sure. He did not know why or how, but he knew she could not be dead as certainly as he knew he could not tell anyone of it. It would only mark him further as an outsider. He strode through the passageways feeling weary and caged.

He wished he were out hunting with Jared. His earth brother had left early that morning with five others, but he had not been allowed to go. He didn’t know if he would ever be trusted to hunt again. What did that leave? Was his place now to be nothing more than half a clansman? Good only for cleaning up after muthu or repairing the weapons?

He glanced up as he moved through the great cavern. The fire pit was cold but Irissa and three others sat by it. They sent quickly averted glances his way, their eyes tracking his movements. He changed his course, heading closer to the mouth of the cavern, but a large group of men suddenly entered blocking his way. Thadin was among them and cast him a hard look. Tallis swerved back toward the centre. His path took him close by Irissa’s group and he could not help looking at her as he passed. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment he thought she would speak to him. She half rose, then hesitated and in that moment Marita pulled her down, whispering and casting him a narrow-eyed look. Not long ago she’d been casting different looks at him. He kept moving, pretending he hadn’t seen.

He reached the tunnels to the springs and breathed deeply the warm, moist air as he descended. The main tunnel led to the large communal springs but he avoided it, turning instead down a smaller branch that led to a series of springs, deep in the caves big enough only for one or two. The only sound was the slow drip and bubble of the water coming up from the earth. Small lamps provided a dim green light and released a dusty, sweet smell into the air. He picked one out of its crevice and carried it to the very last spring at the end of the tunnel, a place he often went now.

Light was emanating from the shallow cave and Karnit was sitting on the edge of the pool. He stopped, but the Clan Leader saw him and, lifting a hand, beckoned him forward.

‘Come in boy.’

Slowly, Tallis approached. Karnit sat with his feet in the small pool of bubbling dark water, watching him through the rising steam. The lamplight caught the sharp bones in his face and made deep shadows in his gaunt cheeks.

‘Sit,’ he said.

Tallis hesitated.

‘Well, did you come here to wash and ease your muscles or not?’

‘Are you looking for me, Leader?’ Tallis said.

Karnit peered at him in the dim light and his feet swished back and forth through the water.

‘I often come here; this spring has the hottest water, good for my old feet, and it’s almost always empty. Get in if you want to boy.’ He looked down and fell silent.

Apprehension made Tallis’s chest tight. Karnit was lying. He had never seen him down here before; the Leader had his own private spring. But he could not simply turn and walk out. Karnit had spoken, invited him to share the water, to leave now would be seen as a snub.

Uneasy, he put the lamp down and quickly stripped off his stinking clothes, entering the small pool and sitting as far across from the Leader, and as near to the cave’s entrance as possible. The water was very hot and came up nearly to his shoulders. He could feel the current running along the floor of the pool, the bubbles brushing past his toes as the water pushed up through a hole that ran deep into the earth.

They sat for some time. Water dripped down from the roof.

‘I never knew my mother,’ the old hunter suddenly spoke in the silence. ‘She died the night I was born, during the storm cycle.’

Tallis sat stiffly saying nothing, staring at the dark water.

‘It was the last day of the storms. I was in her belly ready to emerge when she fell into a questing trance and walked out into it. She was unusual. There have been no others since to move from the cave during a questing and perhaps none with her talents. She had me out there in that storm. She had me and then she suffocated in the sand. I was found beside her the next morning. Many could not believe it. No man had ever survived a storming before, never mind a child. Some said that she passed something on to me at her death, or that she made a deal with Kaa.’ He watched Tallis through the steam.

‘My father refused to take me. He said I was touched by the Fifth Guide and would bring trouble to clan. But the leader did not like my father and took me in to his home to raise me as his own. My father took his knife to his own throat.’

Tallis’s mouth was dry. Why was he telling him this?

‘Times were different then, to be turned on by clan was . . .’ Karnit paused and let out a slow breath. ‘The kindness of the leader was barely a kindness at all. Many could not forget how I came to be. It is not easy to be different in this clan, Tallis,’ he half hissed, half whispered his name. ‘Many would see differences as destructive and seek to rid a clan of them.’

‘And yet you are leader now,’ Tallis said softly.

‘Be careful boy!’ Karnit’s eyes glittered. ‘I am the Leader now.’ He held his gaze and his voice became low and threatening. ‘Because of the hatred between two men I was allowed to survive. I was given a chance by the Guides; I became their tool to purify the clans, for what better seeker of difference than one who knows the mark of it as well as he knows his own skin.’

Coldness settled in Tallis’s bones. There was no mistaking his meaning. The old man held his well-muscled arms out and turned them slowly, looking at them.

‘I am an old man now, sixty-three years, yet there is much strength left in me. Strength to do what the Guides made me for.’ He looked at Tallis steadily, his eyes pale and hard as he leaned toward him. ‘And I will do that. I will seek out and remove all the differences that weaken my people. The unclean behaviour, the unlawful abilities, and the bloodlines that are mixed with those not of the sands. This clan will be pure.’ He lifted his feet from the water and walked to the cave’s entrance picking up his lamp.

‘The Circle has decided we will attend the Gathering. I have chosen a handful of men to go with me and you will be among them. We leave at first light tomorrow.’

Tallis looked up in surprise and saw a feral smile split the leader’s lips baring his yellowed teeth. ‘As for your position in this clan, Tallis, the Guides may have decided you shall remain for now; but I was there boy, I saw what you did, I know what you are and there is no place for you in this clan.’ He spat into the water near him and with a venomous look, turned and left.

Tallis sat in the pool, unable to move, a deep chill filling him despite the hot water. He knew. Karnit knew. Tallis had seen it in the cold sneer of his thin lips and the contempt in his gaze. Karnit knew he was not Haldane’s true son and he wanted him gone. Gone, away from him and from clan. There was no doubt. His words had been clear enough. The Leader thought him a disease in the clan, a stain to be scrubbed from existence.

He stared at the steam rising and water bubbling and a dark thought came to him that made panic and fear rise. What of his mother? Was she also on Karnit’s list of purification? Was that why he wanted him to go to the Gathering? It would be easy to claim he had suffered an accident while they were out alone in the sands. Mailun would be left unprotected. Jared’s mother would be able to do little against the leader of the clan. Karnit could force her out. She would have no more blood kin and no mate to claim her.

Anger struck him, sharp and cold as blade. He could not let that happen. The Guides had shown the Dreamer that to be Outcast was not his destiny, and perhaps they were right; but they did not show all. He had to survive Karnit’s plans, whatever they were. He doubted the old man would try anything against his mother while they were at the Gathering, but when they returned, and if he was dead . . . Tallis’s fear became a hard rock of anger. He had to survive, for his mother’s sake. Tomorrow, when he went with them to the Gathering, he would be prepared.

Shila snapped awake with a soft cry, her breathing ragged. She looked around. She was alone in the furs. Thadin must already have gone to see the Gathering party on its way. Why hadn’t he woken her! She scrambled to her feet. If she hurried perhaps she would make it. Stumbling in the dark she heard several of her pots tumble over as she brushed past, but she paid them no heed. She rushed through their small cave and pushed the screen open running out into the main tunnel. Oblivious to the quickly bowed heads, she ran, her sleeping robe streaming out behind, exposing her thighs. She neared the great cavern and heard voices and movement.

She could see light there. Dim light. The sun was up. Was she too late? Distress twisted her insides as she burst out into the main cavern and raced to its mouth. She could see a small line of people. Thadin among them, their forms shadows at the entrance.

She ran up to them and pushed through breathing hard, ignoring their quickly smothered protests. The cry died on her lips. She was too late. So far away now they were nothing but black dots and a whirl of sand, the members of clan were on their way to the Gathering, Tallis among them, out of her reach.

‘Shila?’ Thadin put his hand on her shoulder.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ She turned on him and he drew back.

‘I tried, but you would not wake. I didn’t . . .’ he trailed off. ‘What is it?’

She felt cold. All standing there were watching her now, but she could not tell them what she had seen. She shivered. Too late. She took a breath and looked out across the desert again, as though she could draw them back by her will alone. She could feel the others watching, apprehensive. But then a thought came unbidden, and turning she clutched Thadin’s arm. ‘Tell me, where is Jared?’

Tallis kept his head down and trudged along behind the other men. There were twelve of them and he was one of the last two in line. A pall hung over them as, shoulders hunched, they moved forward through the heat and sand. Unspoken among them lay the fear: what if the black serpents found them? They were exposed. Tallis saw one of the men glance up at the sky, his face tense. No one spoke.

Ahead of them all strode Karnit, carrying a pack and spear. Tallis wanted to stay as far from him as possible. He shifted his own pack and held his spear tightly. He could almost smell the enmity of the other men. They had been hand picked by Karnit and the majority were older than him by five years or more. He looked at the hunter beside him. Penrit was his age and he had known him since they were boys, though he had not liked him much then. He kept his sharp-nosed face staring straight ahead and walked quickly to keep space between them.

The day wore on. The sun was hot on his back and an uneasy fear lingered within him. What was Karnit’s plan and when would he strike? Thoughts and possibilities circled endlessly. Tallis was constantly on edge, his senses stretched taught as he tried to keep alert to what the men around him were doing, as well as keeping a wary eye on the horizon for any sign of the black serpents. He didn’t even want to think about what he might do if the beasts found them out here again.

The party stopped once during the day, halting at a sandblasted old well to refill their water skins. Tallis was the last to restock his supply and he saw Karnit watching him as he poured water into his skin from the ancient bucket.

The leader’s eyes were narrowed but unreadable, and after a moment his gaze shifted and he said to the others, ‘We make for the Stolen Well. Come!’ He turned and the men followed.

Tallis tried to drop to the back of the group, but was stopped by an old hunter named Relldin. Eyes hard as flint, Relldin’s mouth curled in contempt as he pushed Tallis to walk beside Penrit again. The young hunter gave him a hostile stare and Tallis looked away.

The sun dropped and the party reached the well as the first cool air of evening started to drift across the dunes. The Stolen Well was a ring of rock on the edge of Jalwalah lands. It had been named to honour the clan’s success in taking it from the Raknah, long before he was born. Large boulders, their edges smoothed by sand and wind, formed an almost perfect circle around a sand floor open to the sky. A small underground spring bubbled up from under a slab of red stone at the far end of the circle, forming a pool, before trickling back into the ground again. Karnit ordered the men to set up their sleeping mats within the circle of stone. It was an uncomfortable camp. Tallis set up his own area against a boulder away from the spring and as far from the others as he could, then pulled a strip of dried meat from his pack and chewed on it. Most of the men were filling their water sacks, talking quietly as they pulled out rations of dried meat or small journey breads from their packs. There would be no fire tonight. They would turn in to their sleeping mats early and rise before the sun tomorrow, so eager were they to get some cover from the open, endless sky.

The sun was gone, leaving only a long green-hued line where the sky met the earth. Soon it would be only black and bright with stars. He wondered briefly how his mother was, but then turned his mind from that path. There was nothing he could do for her out here. His task was to survive and make it back. But if he did, what future lay ahead for them? If Karnit did not succeed here what would he do to them later? How far would he go to purify his clan? He looked at the old man who sat talking on the far side of the camp, and for the first time he considered a life away from the Clans, away from the desert.

The night deepened, but he did not sleep. He sat with his back against the rock, watching and thinking. None of the other men approached him, but occasionally he would see one glance his way. He held a small knife in his hand, down against his thigh, and kept himself awake by resting back against a sharp rock that poked into his spine.

But the events of the past days had made him tired, and sometime in the deepest part of the night, he dozed. His lids fluttered closed, exhaustion overcoming him. They came for him then.

He woke suddenly as rough hands grabbed him. Instinct made him fight back, but the knife had already been taken. Kicking out, he heard a man grunt and a fist slammed into his face. Pain splintered his vision and he squinted at the dark shadows and tried to lash out at the occasional glint of eye, but more fists sunk into his guts, punching the air out of him, and he collapsed, gasping, feeling the small hard rocks under his hands. A hard fist slammed into his kidneys and another smashed down on his temple as he lay on his side. It dazed him, and hands grabbed his ankles and began to drag him out of the camp. Rocks scraped his back and he grunted hoarsely. A hunter nearby turned his head, but did not come to his aid. The betrayal shredded him. Even though he had thought it might happen, still he could not believe it. They would not, surely they could not, do this to one of their own?

Silently, the men dragged him out of the well and away from the rocks. The night was dark; the sands a dull pale glimmer in the starlight. They took him around the side where none could see and then stopped, dropping his legs. He heard the soft slide of metal on leather. Cold fear focussed him. Blood was running into his right eye and as a foot stepped toward him he rolled away. He tried to rise but a hand grasped his hair and pulled his head back. Ignoring the pain he twisted and swung a punch, but strong arms caught him, wrenching him back, forcing him to his knees. In a rage he grunted and fought, but they were bigger, stronger. He looked up and saw the other approach. Relldin, his short beard tinged with white. His eyes glinted and his face was grim, a mask. Starlight slid along the blade of his knife.

‘No!’ he shouted, surging in their grip. He would not die like this. His rage gave him strength and the grip of one faltered, but then Relldin gave a strange gasp. An expression of surprise appeared on his face, followed by a wash of black blood from his mouth and he fell forward, a knife protruding from between his shoulders.

‘Relldin!’ One of the men holding him hissed, but then a dark figure ran in from the desert and he was wrestled away. Tallis lunged from the grip of the other, his fingers scrambling for Relldin’s knife. A hand grabbed his ankle and he turned to see Penrit, his face set as he came for him. His fingers curled around the hilt of the knife and without thought he brought it up and buried it deep in the young man’s chest. Hot blood covered his hand and the shock of the impact travelled up his arm. Penrit grabbed at the knife, a look of pained surprise on his face, and with a shudder fell to the sand.

Tallis got to his feet, staring at him, hollow with shock. There was no wind and all was silent but for Penrit’s dying body twitching softly.

‘Tallis.’

Jared stood before him, dressed in a dark cloak of goatskin. They stood looking at each other, their hands wet with blood. Three men lay dead at their feet. Sickness rose in his gut and Tallis suddenly found it hard to stand. Everything seemed unreal, the world bleached of colour. There was nothing but shadow and sand and death. His earth brother being here seemed no surprise.

Jared’s eyes were hollow and dark as though something inside had been broken and he lifted a hand toward him and pulled at his arm.

‘Come.’

Unable to think, Tallis followed him away from the well and into the shadows of the desert.

17

They walked through the night. The sliver of moon paled and dropped to the horizon and the desert became a shadowed place, dark and quiet. The air was cold and Tallis watched his breath mist as they trudged further and further from the lands he knew.

Barely visible on the horizon was the deeper shadow of the Black Mountains. A jagged range bare of life, it rose from the sands, steep and sharp as teeth. His chest felt too hollow and something squeezed at his heart. Tallis glanced at Jared, but could barely see him in the pre-dawn darkness. He must have walked all night to reach him. Had he known what he would find?

‘The sun will rise soon,’ Jared said. ‘We’ll hunt for some food.’

Tallis nodded and kept walking, the silence stretching between them.

‘Will we go back?’ he said quietly, his voice sounding weak to his ears.

Jared’s eyes were shadowed by his hood. ‘We killed our own clansmen, brother. We can never go back.’

The air in Tallis’s lungs turned to ice and a cold hand gripped his heart. Jared was right. The blood was still on his skin; he could smell it, hard and metallic, buried within the fibres of his shirt. Clan blood. It could never be washed away.

‘Why are you here?’ He forced the question from between dry lips.

‘The Dreamer came to me after you had gone. She told me I had to find you. The Guides had shown her that our paths lay away from our clan, beyond the Black Mountains. They don’t want us back, Tallis. It is done.’

His voice was empty of emotion, as though Kaa had stolen his life away already. Tallis could say nothing. A sharp gust of wind pushed the hair back from his forehead, but its chill could not match the coldness of his despair. What was it that did this to those he loved? His father was dead, his mother alone, and now Jared. What did the Guides want from him?

‘Come,’ Jared laid a hand on his arm, ‘the sun’s rising, let’s hunt. We need to eat, we have a long way to go yet.’

A pale flush of light was creeping along the horizon, highlighting the sharp crests of the distant mountains. Tallis’s throat felt dry and he closed his hands into fists. Jared’s face was gaunt with weariness and there was a hard set to his mouth that had never been there before. Seeing his earth brother like this made him sick to his stomach, but he said nothing. He would not sully Jared’s sacrifice with words of regret.

He looked toward the west, feeling the familiar tugging in his gut, that hated compulsion that sought to pull him away from the lands that he loved. He had never known why he felt it, but perhaps the Guides did. Maybe they had always known he was not one of their own and had planted this need in his soul to be rid of him. And yet they were sending them east. Nothing made sense anymore. Putting his head down, he followed his earth brother as he began the hunt.

They caught enough meat for two days, cooking it and wrapping it, then continued on toward the mountains. Jared gave Tallis a piece of cloth to use as a haldar and they sucked enough water from the roots of the desert shrubs to keep them going. Travelling mostly at night, and in the cooler mornings, they rested for the hours when the sun was hottest.

And every day the massive line of rock grew closer. The Black Mountains stretched as far as Tallis could see, fading to a shadowy glimmer along the edge of the horizon. Sharp peaks reached into the pale light of dawn like black teeth biting the sky, and he wondered how they would ever find a pass through.

On the second day, they stopped to rest beneath the scant shade of a small prickled shrub. Sleeping for close to six hours, Tallis woke as the sun was dropping in the sky. He lay there for a moment, watching the light through the veil of his head cloth. Sand coated his skin, sticking to the sweat on his neck and forehead, and his mouth was dry. Beside him, Jared was still snoring. He sat up, unwinding the cloth from about his head, and reached for the water skin. Taking a small swig he rubbed the sand off his forehead and looked away from the mountains to the desert. They would be skirting Raknah lands by now. Some two leagues to the east lay the border of their claimed lands, marked by deep rifts in the sand and rock that were almost impossible to see until you were nearly upon them.

The faint disc of the moon was visible in the sky and he stared up at it and thought about his mother and the sister he’d never seen. Perhaps they should go west, to the Wetlanders’ country? He was gazing, almost blindly, when two black dots appeared above the horizon. For a moment he just stared at them, lost in a weary haze, but then his mind focussed. An ache in his head stabbed at him and his limbs were suddenly nerveless as he registered what they were. He stared as the huge wings became discernible. The fateful day in the desert rushed suddenly back over him and turning he grabbed Jared’s shoulder.

‘Wake up!’ He shook Jared hard. He stirred.

‘What?’ He lifted his head, blinking, then froze, staring beyond Tallis’s shoulder at the oncoming creatures. His eyes widened and he scrambled out from under the shrub, reaching for his knife. Tallis, his heart pounding, picked up Jared’s smaller blade. They were out in the open with nowhere to hide. Why hadn’t they thought? He cursed their stupidity. There was nowhere to run.

The serpents drew closer and pain tightened like a vice around Tallis’s skull. He barely registered Jared standing beside him. Blood roared through his head and with growing panic he realised it was happening again. Jared was saying something and had grabbed his arm, but his words seemed to come from far away. The world was dislocating around him. All he could see was the serpents coming, and all he could hear were whispers, like wind rattling the doors of his mind, demanding to be loosed.

The setting sun was in his eyes, the serpents only dark shadows against the sky, but he felt them – the deep thumping vibration of their blood. The whispers became louder. He could barely think. It dizzied him. He staggered and with dread felt something rising up from deep within. He tried to deny it, struggling to cling to the part of himself he knew, but the thing within was stronger.

Hovering above, the serpents gleamed with many colours. Their crested heads tilted down to gaze at them, and on their backs sat men in strange garb. These were not the beasts from before! But the thought came to him too late as the thing inside unleashed itself. Words unknown formed on his tongue. The smaller beast seemed to reel back, but the larger, and closest one, reared its head and shrieked and the sound was like a hammer to his skull. Tallis’s knees hit earth and at the last moment he looked up into a knowing green eye before he fell into the black.

He woke to the sound of men talking. He was lying on his side, it was night, and there was a dull ache behind his eyes. He remembered there had been serpents in the sky, voices and a great green eye. He spun around, dust clouding as he leaped to his feet.

‘Finally, I thought I was going to have to smother you to stop the snoring.’

Jared sat cross-legged next to him, facing a fire. Tallis squinted, his head throbbing.

‘How are you feeling?’ Jared asked.

‘Alive.’ He looked at two men sitting on the other side of the fire watching him.

‘This is Bren.’ Jared indicated the younger man. ‘And Attar. They were riding the serpents. They come from the city near the great water.’

The men regarded him silently. Their skin was sun browned and they wore their hair cropped close to their skulls. Both were dressed in long-sleeved dark shirts and leather vests. The younger man had yellow hair and was fingering something in his lap. They both wore long blades.

‘Are we captives?’ Tallis said.

The man Jared had called Attar raised his eyebrows. ‘What would I want a couple of clansmen for? No, we are merely travellers.’

His gaze was mild enough, but his answer didn’t ease the tension in Tallis’s gut. Slowly he sat down beside Jared. His head ached dully and there was a metallic taste coating his tongue.

‘Where are the serpents?’ he asked.

‘Hunting.’ Attar watched him closely. His accent was strange and harsh. A few days’ beard growth covered his heavy jaw and a small scar ran across one eyebrow. Tallis judged he would be taller than Jared when standing, and his shoulders were thick and wide.

‘Hunting for what?’ Jared asked and the older man smiled showing surprisingly white teeth.

‘Whatever they can find. A beast their size can’t afford to be fussy.’ He chuckled as he saw Jared’s eyes flick to Tallis. ‘Don’t worry, they say human flesh is too rancid for their tastes. We drink too much wine, they say it sours the meat!’

His teeth glinted in the firelight as he grinned, and beside him the yellow-haired Bren snorted and shook his head, his narrow features showing irritation as he threw the piece of wood he’d been toying with onto the fire.

‘They say that,’ Tallis repeated Attar’s words and the older man’s eyes slid to him. He nodded. ‘They do.’ The smile receded as he looked at Tallis with a close, appraising gaze.

Did Attar mean he talked with the serpents? Did he know what a clansman thought of those who did? His mouth dried and the words of another older man came to him: I saw what you did, I know what you are. He swallowed and looked away and silence hovered among them, until Attar suddenly slapped his hands on his leather leg coverings.

‘Let’s eat! Bren.’ He turned to the younger man who nodded and, casting a veiled glance at Jared and Tallis, disappeared into the dark. He returned quickly with a pack and started pulling out parcels of food and cooking utensils.

‘So, what clan are you from?’ Attar rested his hands casually on his crossed legs.

Jared flicked a glance at Tallis. ‘You would not know it.’

‘I might. I know more than most coast dwellers about the desert people. I stayed once with the Baal, many years ago, but I can tell you’re not of their Clan. They don’t braid their hair the same, although you,’ he looked at Tallis, ‘your hair is dark enough to be of their lot.’

‘Why did you stay with the Baal?’ Tallis ignored his question.

‘I was injured and lost. What are two clansmen doing so far from any clan’s well?’

‘That is not a wetlander’s concern,’ Tallis said bluntly. ‘What are you doing here?’

Attar gave a laugh. ‘I like you.’ He pointed a finger at him. ‘And I will tell you, if you answer me this: what did you say to my serpent?’

Tallis froze. Attar’s smile was still there, but it did not reach his eyes. Bren glanced up from the pot he was stirring over the fire.

‘I did not speak to your serpent.’ Tallis flicked a glance at Jared who had become very still and was watching the older man, his hand hovering over his knife.

‘Aah, but I think you did,’ Attar said and without looking at Jared added, ‘My blade is longer than yours, clansman, and I have survived many fights with warriors more seasoned than you.’

By the fire Bren stopped stirring, watching them.

‘I mean your clansman no harm, Jared.’ Attar kept his eyes on Tallis. ‘If I had wanted to harm him, I would have done so already.’

Tallis did not doubt him. He held out a hand to Jared, sending him a warning look. The last thing they needed now was a fight. Slowly, Jared’s hand eased away from his blade, but the tension was still palpable.

‘Food’s done,’ Bren said into the silence and filled three bowls.

‘You two will have to share.’ He passed a bowl and scoop to Tallis.

A delicious, meaty aroma wafted up to his nostrils. Bren had made a stew from some kind of dried meat and a plant he had never seen before. It was rich and filling, the meat more tender than the usual dried goat they travelled with. There was pan bread with a spice mixed into it that made the inside of his mouth tingle with its hot flavour.

‘He makes a fine meal,’ Attar said nodding at Bren who ignored him. ‘You like it?’

Tallis shrugged and Attar chuckled. ‘Not like clan food is it?’

‘S’cause it’s not sand goat,’ Bren said around a mouthful of food. ‘May as well eat your leg covers as eat that.’

Attar grinned. ‘That’s why clansmen are so tough.’ He looked at them, but Tallis didn’t respond. The big man’s humour masked his intentions and Tallis didn’t like the way he watched him. Attar had let the question of the serpent go too easily and he didn’t seem the type of man who gave up until he had the answer he sought.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence until, with a belch, Attar tossed his empty bowl to Bren and shifting to lay on one side, propped himself up on his elbow and poked at the fire with a stick.

‘Now,’ he looked at them, ‘I will tell you why we are here. We were sent to investigate attacks reported north of your lands. Some rogue serpents have been slaughtering villages there, and further toward the coast. Do you know if the clans have heard of this?’

Tallis stopped chewing and Jared’s hand froze in the act of scooping up food.

‘The serpents have killed many,’ Attar continued. ‘Two villages were destroyed.’

Tallis swallowed a suddenly tasteless lump of meat and looked at Jared. They had not thought about the beasts attacking beyond the clan lands.

‘Have you heard of them?’ Attar said again and tapped his stick on the ground.

Jared stared at him, his eyes dark, and Tallis knew the same question was running through his earth brother’s mind: could they trust these men?

‘How do we know these serpents you speak of are not the very beasts you ride?’ Jared said.

Attar’s dark eyes looked at him shrewdly. ‘Well, that’s an interesting question. I’d say you did think our serpents were them when you first saw us, clansman, and that you know now they are not because you have seen the very beasts we are hunting for.’ His stick poked at the fire again. ‘Why are you hiding it?’

‘Clans do not answer to wetlanders,’ Jared retorted. ‘We fight our own battles, take care of our own.’

‘Yes,’ Attar replied. ‘But these serpents are not of your lands, it’s not your battle.’

‘And yet you seek them here in our lands,’ Tallis said quietly, locking gazes with the warrior.

Attar stared back at him, his expression inscrutable. Tallis flicked his eyes to Jared who was watching with distrust plain on his face. But what was the point of keeping it from them? They may no longer be Clan, but these beasts were threatening the lives of those they still cared for. He tilted his head minutely at Jared who, after a moment and with a set jaw, nodded his slightly.

‘One of our hunting parties was attacked ten days ago,’ he said to the warrior. ‘And I heard other clans have suffered the same, though they lost more than we.’

Attar nodded grimly. ‘I thought as much. You were there?’

‘Yes,’ Jared said.

‘What were they like?’

‘They were very much like your serpents in size, but their hide was black. There were two of them.’

‘How is it you were not all killed?’

‘We held our spears up; they must have decided we were too much trouble. They flew off.’

The warrior’s eyebrows lifted. ‘They flew off and none were hurt?’

He was trying to protect him. ‘One was killed,’ Tallis said shortly and looked at the fire. The image of Haldane falling to the sand, of his blood turning it red gripped him.

Attar said nothing for a moment, but he could feel the man’s eyes on him. ‘I’m sorry for your clan’s loss, but after seeing what they have done to those beyond your lands I find it amazing that you lost only one. What did you say to them, clansman? Did you speak to them as you spoke to my serpent?’

Tallis kept staring into the fire and didn’t answer.

‘Marathin and Haraka were disturbed by what you said to them,’ he pressed him. ‘They still are, that’s why they have gone off to hunt. They are wary of you. What did you say?’

‘Not everything can be discussed with a wetlander.’ Jared’s eyes glinted a warning at him across the fire.

But the warrior ignored him. ‘You desert people.’ He sat up, crossing his legs. ‘In Salmut, the city I come from, men who can communicate with serpents are welcomed. It is a valuable thing, a talent. In Salmut, serpents are valued highly. We have an entire army made of serpents and their riders. And I suspect that what you are able to do is something similar to us, and you should be glad of it. It helped you drive the rogue beasts off didn’t it?’ He waited, but Tallis remained silent. Attar grunted and spat into the fire, his spit sizzling briefly on the coals. ‘You are more closemouthed than a Seducer!’

‘And you are an ignorant wetlander,’ Jared retorted, ‘who knows nothing of Clan ways!’

‘I know he’s not telling me what he knows.’ Attar pointed a finger at Tallis. ‘He spoke to my serpent and he spoke to the rogues – that is what I know.’

Jared gave him a silent, stony stare in response.

Tallis felt cold fingers slide up his spine. To be able to do what he did was not for a man of the clan. He wanted no one to know of it. Even now when he was no longer Clan – when he was nothing – for another to know and to speak of it set fear and shame in him. And yet Attar spoke of it as though it were a gift, as though it could be of use. I saw what you did. I know what you are. Karnit’s words haunted him. He stared into the fire and a small gust of wind blew across their camp sending the firelight dancing across their faces.

‘Leave it Attar.’ Bren got up, breaking the tension, and started clearing up the remains of the meal. ‘They are men of the clans, they’ll tell you nothing.’

But the older man only shrugged and kicked at the fire. ‘Even clansmen talk sometimes,’ he said, looking at Tallis across the flickering orange flames. Tallis set his face and said nothing while Jared gave a snort. ‘We will never talk as much as wetlanders,’ he said, but the heat had gone from his voice and they all sat for a stretch in silence, an unspoken truce called between them.

Around them the desert was silent as always. Tallis could not help wondering if his mother Mailun was staring up at the stars, thinking of him. He looked at Jared. His dark face was closed as he stared into the flames, and Tallis knew that he too was thinking of home.

Suddenly a sharp, clear call sounded in the sky and they both looked up. The call went on and on. It was like the sound of the great desert falcon, high and piercing, and then it changed and it was the sound of the wind as it whistled through a narrow canyon of rock, soft and desolate. It was full of melancholy and sadness.

‘Marathin calls for her mate,’ Attar said softly.

‘Is Haraka her mate?’ Jared asked.

‘No. Her mate died in the battle for the Free Lands a long time ago. And sometimes she calls for him still, though I’m not sure why. The serpents have many secrets and rituals which they do not choose to share with us, much like your clans.’

‘The battle for the Free Lands?’ Jared ignored the pointed remark. ‘There are tales in our histories of a time when the Wetlanders fought, but that was many, many years ago.’

Attar nodded, ‘Over two hundred now.’

Jared sucked in a breath, ‘How old is she then?’

‘Marathin is around three hundred and forty years old,’ he replied with a tinge of pride. ‘Or thereabouts. Serpents don’t always tell you their age.’

Tallis looked at Jared staring up at the sky, and felt a sudden dark premonition. He remembered again the great green eye of Attar’s serpent looking into his own, and a shiver brushed his skin. The dull ache was growing behind his eyes, it was time to try to get some sleep before it became so painful he couldn’t rest. He picked up his bowl and handed it to Bren who took it without comment.

Attar sent him a contemplative expression. ‘Why don’t you and your friend come back with us to Salmut? What you have seen – what you know – could help us defeat these rogue serpents.’ His eyes were shadowed in the firelight. ‘You aren’t out here by choice, are you? I know enough of your ways to know that. We are a long way from any of the clan wells.’

‘You know nothing of our ways, wetlander,’ Jared said. ‘I am surprised the Baal let you live, if you even spent time in their well as you say. Although I do not believe it.’

‘Believe what you like, but you cannot hide what is plain to all. You are two men alone with one water sac and two knives, one only a hunting knife. Tallis has no pack and there is dried blood on your clothes. You could not be on a hunt, and I don’t believe you are lost so . . .’ he looked at Tallis, ‘what are you then? Men still claimed by a clan would not be travelling like this.’

For a moment Tallis could not speak. He had underestimated him. Attar had hit at the truth, whether he knew it or not, and when his eyes met Jared’s across the fire he saw his own anger and fear reflected back at him.

‘You speak of things you know nothing about,’ he said.

‘Do I?’ Attar narrowed his eyes. ‘I think not. I know that the clans would not tolerate a man who could touch a beast’s mind as you can.’

Tallis’s guts lurched, but he didn’t reply.

‘The way you spoke to Marathin, Tallis, you tried to command her. I felt her waver, I felt her fear. You almost overrode her mind.’ Attar leaned toward him. ‘I could not do that. No rider can. We work with the serpents, we make requests, we cannot command them, but you . . .’

‘I did nothing,’ Tallis replied, his heart pounding. He glanced at Jared who was staring at them stony faced.

‘But you could communicate with the serpents and find out,’ Attar threw back. ‘Marathin knows what you uttered, but she will not tell me. But I think she would tell you.’

‘No,’ he said.

Attar’s eyes narrowed. ‘You say no because you are afraid. Your ability to command the serpents could save lives. You could stop the beasts that are attacking your own people. What if these serpents are not the only ones? What if they are only the first of many? How will we stop them?’

‘You say you have a serpent army,’ Tallis replied.

‘And what if they turn on us? What happens when more of your people are savaged? When the children of your clans colour the sand red with their blood. Will you still say no then?’

Shocked, Tallis stared back and didn’t reply, but his anger had started to fade. What would happen if there were more of them? How would the clans fight them? They had only spears, bows and knives, weapons made for hunting and hand fighting.

His mind churned.

‘You could help stop the beasts from killing your people, Tallis. There’s something in you; you know it. Come back to Salmut with me, learn to train the power that’s in your mind.’

Tallis stared at the warrior, then past him at Jared. His face was hard. He must be thinking about what the Dreamer had said: that they were to go toward the Black Mountains and their destiny would find them there. But what if their journey started here?

‘Come back to Salmut with us,’ Attar pressed him. ‘Your knowledge of the rogues would be of great interest to our Commander and there could be a place in the city for both of you.’

‘We have no interest in a Wetlander city,’ Jared said flatly.

‘How do you know when you have not seen one?’ Attar looked at him. ‘Would you not like to see the great water, the Sergessen Sea, the golden rooftops of the Guardian’s palace? Or the women?’ He smiled, baring white teeth. ‘There are many pleasing women.’

‘None as beautiful as clan women,’ Jared replied unsmiling.

Bren sniffed. ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

Jared sent him a hostile stare.

‘The offer is open to you.’ Attar sat back, leaning on one elbow again. ‘We will leave for Salmut at dawn, it is your choice clansmen.’

Tallis looked at Jared. Deep inside he felt the insidious feeling of something drawing him westward. Maybe the Guides had led them to these men on purpose. But could they trust them? Attar was too interested in what he thought he had said to his serpent. He would seek to prise it out of him. And they would have to ride the beasts. The coldness crept its fingers deeper. Uneasiness filled him, but he could not decide what they would do if they did not go. Where were they headed? They had no plan, just the vague guidance of Shila who had told them so little it was like walking through caves in the dark. A spiking pain seared his mind, making him wince. He blinked and rubbed at his temple. He couldn’t make a decision now.

‘We will let you know at sunrise,’ he said looking to Jared for agreement.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gave a nod and Tallis looked back at the men. ‘Can we trust you not to slit our throats while we sleep?’

Attar grunted a laugh, ‘We’re not Scanorians boy,’ he said.

Tallis didn’t understand the reference, but believed he spoke the truth. Besides, if he had wanted them dead, he could have killed them already. They lay down with their backs to the fire, using their haldars to cover them against the cold desert night.

‘Perhaps in the morning the Guides will give us a sign,’ Jared whispered as they settled down.

‘I don’t know.’ Tallis shook his head. It was too hard to think, the pain in his skull was building and he only wanted to escape it if he could. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out his fears. Just before the dark took him, he heard the faint cry of the serpent echo again across the sands.

18

Sometime before dawn he opened his eyes to see Jared already awake, sitting up staring out across the desert. The air was cool and still and the sky’s blackness was starting to fade as far off on the eastern horizon a glow of light was beginning to halo the mountains. The two riders were asleep on the other side of the now cold fire, Attar snoring rhythmically. There was no sign of the serpents.

He sat up and Jared turned to look at him, his eyes still in shadow.

‘Have you slept at all?’ he whispered and Jared shrugged his shoulders.

‘Some.’

He looked away again. The ache in Tallis’s head had abated, but despite what must have been many hours’ rest, he felt as though he’d barely closed his eyes. He looked out across the shadowed sands and sat silently for a time until Jared said softly, ‘We must make a decision’.

He nodded, ‘I know.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jared whispered, ‘what you did, defying the serpents . . . what if the Wetlander is right? What if you could learn to do more?’

Tallis stared at him. What was he saying? What he did was wrong, a sickness.

‘What I did is not right,’ he whispered roughly. ‘And didn’t Shila tell you the Guides spoke of our future laying east, beyond the Black Mountains?’

Jared looked down sifting sand through his fingers. ‘Yes. But the dreams of the Guides are not always as clear as they seem. And since we . . .’ he stopped his fist clenching down in the sand, his arm quivering with tension for a brief moment before he let out a breath and lifted his hand. ‘They did not say there would be blood, they did not say . . .’ He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. ‘When Shila came to me, she told me the Guides had showed danger for you, a new land, and that I must ensure you survived to see it. And she said a different life would begin for both of us once we crossed the Black Mountains.’ He looked at him. ‘These men could be part of the dream the Guides sent her. Our future could lay beyond the mountains in time, but perhaps not right away. Perhaps the new land is the city of these men and a place we must go before we cross the mountains. The clan deserts are large, hundreds of leagues; how is it that these men have found us now?’

Tallis wrapped the rough strip of his haldar about his shoulders, suddenly feeling a chill. Was Jared right? Did the Guides still direct them? He felt inside for the surety that the Guides still watched over them, that they cared for two clansmen with blood on their hands, but he felt only coldness right to his bones. ‘I don’t know, earth brother,’ he said. ‘I feel as if I don’t understand anything anymore.’

Jared was silent for some time before he said, ‘They could help you, Tallis. I know you suffer. Maybe going to the Wetlander city could ease your pain.’

Tallis looked at him. His earth brother’s face was turned away, his jaw set and Tallis was shamed by how much Jared had lost, how much he had knowingly given up, to save his life. He owed it to him to listen to his counsel, to take heed. ‘All right,’ he said and Jared nodded once but said nothing more.

The serpents had come back to camp at sunrise, disturbing the sand as they alighted, and Tallis told Attar then that they would go with them. The rider seemed unsurprised and had readied them all to leave without ceremony.

He tied rough blankets across the serpents’ backs behind the saddles and fixed leather slings with foot stirrups to stop them slipping. He’d assured them it would hold, but still Tallis’s fingers convulsed on the bar whenever Marathin dipped, and his guts were a hard ball of tension. Even after several hours, it was still hard to believe he was clinging to the back of a serpent as it rode the thermals.

As Tallis had walked toward Marathin to mount, the beast had looked down at him and he’d felt a jolting connection wrench the base of his spine. An awareness of the serpent had ghosted through him, bitter and unwanted. He’d tasted it, cold and metallic like vaporous blood coating his tongue, drying his spit. And the serpent had known it. Her iridescent eye had fixed on him as he’d climbed her broad back and settled into the harness. And as they’d lifted up in a whirl of dust and beating wing, he thought he’d heard a deep thrumming echo through his mind.

Still feeling the tightening dread, Tallis looked down at the patterns in the waves of the dunes far below. Long lines of them ran parallel to the horizon and he felt a sudden deep ache inside. He might never see these lands again.

They flew for two days on over the sands, rising before dawn and only stopping to rest as the sun fell below the horizon. Tallis was amazed at the distance the serpents were able to travel without water.

At night they lit a small fire and roasted mar rats, if they caught them, and talked little. The serpents would fly off, to Tallis knew not where, and he didn’t ask. He assumed they were hunting. In truth he was glad to have some respite, for always when riding he could feel the steady thrumming of Marathin’s blood. It was unnerving and he didn’t know if he would ever become used to it.

On the third day, as the burning sun slid into the red sky of sunset, Attar gave a shout and pointed ahead. They’d reached the end of the clan lands. Looking past him, Tallis saw a mass of low ranges before them. The rocky peaks were close. They would most likely reach them before nightfall.

Clinging to the saddle, he stared at the mass of stone that marked the edge of his known world and felt that familiar tugging deep inside. Perhaps now he would finally discover what it was that drew him westward.

They landed in a clearing in the lee of a rocky hill several hours after the sun had set. His thighs were aching by the time he slid off Marathin’s back. He had been able to see very little of the landscape as they approached in the gathering dark, but the smell of the earth and very taste of the air was enough to tell him they were far from home. There was more moisture in the air here and a certain sweetness on the breeze, but when he asked what it was, Attar only shrugged. The floor of the clearing was mostly sloping bare ground and rock, but here and there small tufts of shrub grew, most no higher than his ankle. Behind them the dark shadow of the ranges rose to the night sky and when he turned he saw the tall shadows of more rocks.

Attar called to him to help unsaddle the serpents. They had fallen into the routine now: land, remove the saddles and then make camp. He made his way carefully under Marathin’s neck and around the far side. The heat from her hide warmed his wind-cooled face. She smelled of dust and musky oil. He glanced nervously at the talons on her forelegs as he passed under her neck. She settled down, stretching down on the ground so he could reach the saddle ties.

The deep thrumming started again deep inside his chest as he touched her. She turned her head, watching him as he worked. He didn’t look at her as he fumbled to undo the straps and toss them back over to Attar.

‘How far is it now to the city?’ He heard Jared ask Bren as he helped him remove the saddle from Haraka.

‘A few days.’

‘We’re on the outer edge of the Pleth Ranges.’ Attar pulled and the saddle slid away from Tallis’s hands. ‘From here we’ll fly down into the valley to the river and then follow the coast to Salmut.’

‘Why not fly straight?’ Jared said

‘The serpents need water,’ Bren replied and Haraka suddenly let out a loud breath and rose from his haunches.

‘They’re hungry. Step back Tallis,’ Attar called, ‘she’s going to rise.’

But he had already drawn away. He’d felt Marathin’s restlessness before Attar had spoken and he pressed himself back against a boulder at the edge of the clearing. Her eye glinted at him in the dark as she gathered her wings and with a powerful leap, launched into the air. Her wings opened just above his head and he couldn’t breathe for a moment as the force of the wind pressed him back against the rock. Dust and grit swirled and he squinted and held up a hand to protect his face, and then she was gone, a black shadow winging away in the night sky, Haraka following close behind.

‘Let’s light a fire.’ Attar began gathering what dry shrubs he could find.

Dusting himself off, Tallis bent to help. After a search of the area they had a small fire going, the flames glowing within a circle of rocks. Bren set to cooking the last of the dried meat and Tallis sat next to Jared, his back to the hill, looking out past the flames at the darkness.

‘Are there many people living near here?’ Jared asked and Attar shook his head, tossing another bit of shrub on the fire.

‘Not a lot, a few small villages. There’s Scanorians in these ranges. The people live down in the valley, round the town of Shalnor on the river. Farmers mostly and wine makers.’

‘What are Scanorians?’ Tallis said.

‘You never heard of them?’ Attar squinted at him, one eyebrow raised. ‘Well no, I guess you wouldn’t. They wouldn’t venture into the desert, too much sunlight for their liking.’ He grunted and turning spat into the dark behind his shoulder. ‘Scanorians are stinkin’ little creatures. Live in the caves underground these ranges and more of ’em live in the Goran Ranges near the Free Lands. They’re small but they’ve got sharp teeth, and skin as black as night and funny webbed feet and they hate us. They come out sometimes and cause trouble for the farmers around here. Steal fruit, fish in the river, and sometimes attack people. Dead scared they are of us riders though.’ He smiled. ‘Run off like a pack of rabbits when they see us coming.’

‘Should we keep watch tonight?’ Bren looked up from stirring his pot. ‘They could be around here.’

‘Probably are,’ Attar said. ‘But I don’t think they’ll come close. They’d have seen the serpents; they’re more likely to just keep an eye on us and let us alone.’

‘Food’s ready,’ Bren said and served the meat into the three bowls.

Tallis ate his share in silence, his neck prickling, wondering if any little eyes watched them from the darkness and feeling further from his home than he could ever have imagined.

They rose at dawn after an uneventful night. If there had been Scanorians they had been silent as mist, for Tallis had heard nothing but the sound of the wind. Rising stiffly, he looked around and saw that they were higher up than he’d thought. The clearing sloped away to end at a tumble of reddish-coloured rocks and a long drop. Below and on either side of them were more rocky hills, some covered thickly with greyish-green shrubs, and many with plateaus and sharp drops, as though parts of them had been roughly hacked off with a giant blade. The hills became gradually lower as they continued away from them and beyond was flatter land, dotted with clumps of dark green and a long winding streak of brown that stretched to the purple haze of the horizon.

‘I think that’s a river,’ Jared said quietly beside him. Neither of them had ever seen one.

‘That’s right.’ Attar strode over to them. ‘The River Pleth, and beyond it is the sea.’ He grinned at them both. Above him, Tallis saw the shapes of the serpents spiralling down. ‘Ready to see the rest of the world clansmen?’ Attar slapped him hard on the back. ‘Let’s go.’ He turned and went to collect his saddle.

They flew on, passing over the ranges and skimming down into a wide valley over an undulating landscape dotted with tall thin trees. The leaves were clustered together in the top branches like flower heads and the earth was a rich, dark red. Scattered intermittently were small dwellings and patches of earth planted with rows of greenery. But it was the river that held his attention. Never before had he seen a stream of water so wide, or so open to the world. All water in the desert was underground, buried deep in a well, or bubbling up in rare pools in the sand. To see so much water flowing so freely above the earth was astonishing. And it seemed to grow larger as they followed it. Starting as a narrow tributary, the River Pleth grew wider, its banks swelling, until both Marathin and Haraka, end to end, could not have spanned it.

The water was brown and seemed to move barely at all in some places, while in others, collections of stones and the curve of the land forced it along in a rush of white froth and spit, sometimes trapping branches from the trees on its banks in its flow. For the first time since leaving the desert, Tallis felt a stirring of excitement and wonder. He had never imagined so much difference in the world.

They stopped once during the day to refill their water sacs from a swift flowing bend in the river. The sun was high in the sky, the afternoon was hot and the four of them shed their clothes to wash off the stink and dust of the journey. Both Jared and Tallis shouted at the unexpected coldness of the water, and Bren found a handful of wild grapes in a nearby copse of shrubs. The skin of the fruit was thick, but the flesh sweet and refreshing compared to the drier berries of the desert.

They camped for the night further upriver under a belt of trees and, the next morning, as the serpents rose into the air with the men on their backs, Tallis saw a dark smudge of smoke on the horizon.

‘Shalnor!’ Attar shouted over the sound of the wind.

The town where the river met the sea. Tallis stared at it, feeling the ease of the past day leaking away.

They reached it by late afternoon. All around the town, surrounding it in a semicircle, field upon field of grape vines were planted in the fertile basin of the river. Large homes made of stone and thatch sat among the vines, and Tallis saw the occasional muthu pulling a cart along the tracks that ran alongside. People stopped and looked up at them as they flew over, but none looked panicked to see them, and Tallis wondered what it was like to live so casually with these beasts of the sky.

The town of Shalnor was huge to his eyes. A sprawling mass of flat-roofed buildings and dirt streets, it spread in haphazard fashion along both sides of the river and then, as the water widened, formed rows of buildings looking out over the mouth of the river to the sea. Bridges spanned the river in three points, joining both sides of the town, and on the southern side a small port was built in the sands of the river mouth, a long jetty running out into the sea at which several three-masted ships listed gently, bobbing up and down on the incoming tide.

Tallis could not keep from staring at the unending expanse of water that ran away to the horizon and that seemed to swallow the sky. How could there be so much water in the world?

The serpents tilted north as they neared the town and, skimming rooftops, headed for a large building on a hilltop, looking out over the town and coast. Several square, flat-roofed buildings were joined together by a series of covered walkways around a massive central courtyard. The serpents alighted in the centre, their heads the same level as the rooftops.

Three men came out from one of the buildings and walked toward them, carefully avoiding the serpents’ barbed tails. All three were dressed in brown trousers and sleeveless shirts and wore black ankle boots. They carried no weapons Tallis could see, and all had their hair cut short against their skull, like clan children, although they could not be mistaken for such. Their skin was pale compared to his own, and they looked over him and Jared with wary expressions.

‘Captain,’ the shortest one, but obviously the leader, nodded at Attar. ‘You’ve come from the desert?’ His eyes slid to Tallis. He was shorter and older than Attar and a thin greying moustache covered his upper lip under a wide, reddened nose.

‘Yes,’ Attar replied. ‘Have you received any word from my Commander?’

‘No.’ The man’s eyes went beyond them to the serpents, and Tallis saw the other men also eyeing the beasts warily. ‘Will they need anything?’

Attar smiled. ‘An arm or a leg, it’s been a long ride.’

The man narrowed his eyes and Attar laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come now, Vilan, where’s your humour? Left it in a wine vat?’

‘Very funny, Attar,’ Vilan said sourly. ‘You know we’re not so far from Salmut that the rumours haven’t reached us.’

Attar lost his smile. ‘Well, don’t believe everything you hear.’ He nodded at Bren. ‘You and the boys get the saddles off the serpents; I’ll meet you inside. Now,’ he put an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, ‘take me to that wine barrel I know you’re hiding.’ And he pulled him away toward the buildings, the other men following.

‘Come on,’ Bren said shortly and started to unbuckle Haraka’s straps.

Uneasy, Tallis approached Marathin carefully, but she paid no attention to him. As his hand touched her smooth hide, though, he felt the strange vibration start in his chest and his own breath felt hotter, his blood speeding through his veins. He felt the connection between them like a glowing, living strand stretched taut. Cautiously, he reached his mind out to her. For a moment he felt a glimmer of control and a word hissed through him, so fast he couldn’t understand what it was. Marathin shifted. Her head whipped around, and with a shriek she lunged at him, her neck twisting back at an impossible angle, her fangs bared. He jumped back, but not fast enough to avoid the sweep of her wing. Hard sinew and membrane slammed into his chest sending him tumbling backwards as the serpent leaped into the air.

His ears rang as his head bounced off the ground, and the air from Marathin’s exit swirled his hair around his head, dust flying into his eyes.

‘Tallis!’ Jared was by his side, helping him to his feet. ‘What happened?’

His chest throbbed painfully. ‘I don’t know.’ He pushed his hair back from his face and met Bren’s hard stare.

‘What did you do?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

Bren’s eyes narrowed, and behind him Haraka was crouched low, his tail swinging back and forth across the stone. ‘You’re a liar, clansman.’

‘Watch what you say, wetlander,’ Jared turned to him.

‘No.’ Tallis put a hand on his arm. ‘Leave it.’

Boots sounded on stone, and he looked to see Attar running toward them, a wine cup in his hand. ‘What happened?

‘It was the clansman.’ Bren jerked his chin at Tallis.

‘Again?’ Attar looked at him.

‘I’m not sure it was such a good idea to bring them with us,’ Bren said. ‘The serpents don’t like them, they . . .’

‘Go inside, Bren,’ Attar cut him off. The younger man’s lips thinned and his expression grew dark, but he lurched away, disappearing into the closest walkway.

Tallis stayed still, wondering what the warrior would do. But the older man gave no sign of even being annoyed. He took a long sip from his cup and looked at them silently. The sun was dropping and the light around them was dusky and soft, a touch of cooler air creeping in. Attar tipped back his head and took a long deep breath of it.

‘Much different to the desert air.’ He looked at them. ‘Softer, and smells different doesn’t it?’

Tallis and Jared didn’t move and Attar took another sip of wine, draining his cup. ‘Come inside, we’ll eat, have some wine, and then tomorrow we go to Salmut. Bren will feel differently by the morning.’ He smiled slightly, raised his empty cup to Tallis and, turning, beckoned them with one arm. ‘Come! There’s Shalnoran women inside.’ Without looking to see if they followed, he strode off.

Tallis looked at Jared, baffled by the Wetlander’s reaction. But they had little time to ponder; Attar was disappearing into the shadows.

‘Come on,’ Jared shrugged and pulled at his arm. ‘I’m hungry anyway.’

So was he, Tallis realised. Unsettled, but unable to work out what else to do, he followed Jared into the building.

Nothing more was said of it. Vilan hosted a meal for them, and they spent the rest of the evening eating fire-roasted goat and suffering suspicious stares from his men. The women Attar had talked of turned out to be the daughters of Vilan. Pale-eyed creatures, with hair the colour of the red earth, both Tallis and Jared found themselves the object of their combined fascination. Jared was his usual charming self, and managed to elicit a smile from one of them, but mostly they spent the evening blushing and staring at them. For Tallis, used to the forward ways of the clan women, they were more like children than women. No clan woman would have sat so quietly when a man interrupted her conversation as disrespectfully as one of Vilan’s men had done. If it had been Irissa he would have felt the sharp end of her hunting knife. But thinking of the fiery-tempered clan woman made an ache lance his side; it was unlikely he would see her or any other clan women again.

After that, the evening soured for him and he sat silently, drinking little, and listening to Jared argue with Attar about who was the better knife thrower, until Vilan put a stop to it and they retired to beds they’d been given in the soldiers’ common barracks.

19

The whispers pulled at her. Shaan clutched at the rough sheet in her sleep, stretching it tight between her hands, a fine film of sweat covering her bare skin.

Cara merak Arak-si, the voice hissed.

She was spinning slowly in blackness. Her breath was short. She knew she had to get out before it found her, but she had no control over her body; she didn’t know which way to go. A sudden bright light pierced her eyes then was gone as pain arrowed through her skull.

Arak-si, it chattered at her.

Stop, she begged, but she only spun faster, the force pushing her ribs, bending. The blackness was closing in on her, sucking out the air. She couldn’t breathe! Terrified, she reached out. The spinning stopped and, with an intake of breath, she fell.

It was dark and she was standing on wet earth. The air was warm and damp and she could hear a wind moving through leaves. Light flickered in the corner of her eye. Flame flared up and ran along a high stone wall beside her. With a sob she crouched down, huddling in on herself, as she realised where she was: the city of fire and death. Screams and voices called out filling the air and a great boom shook the ground. Nearby was the broken gate, its shattered frame hanging off chipped stone pillars, and from it flowed a great mass of people screaming and stumbling.

Arak-si, the voice whispered again.

Terrified and disorientated she turned, looking for the voice.

A huge wave of air fanned her face and a screeching cry sounded above. She looked up to see a great, gaping maw descending. Huge wings lashed at the air, sending debris spinning. A great eye fixed on her. She felt the serpent’s breath on her face. A boom shook the earth again, sending her to the ground and a sharp pain shot through her leg. With a cry, she opened her eyes.

She was in her bed at the inn. Taking a shaky breath she reached down and rubbed her kneecap. She must have cracked it against the wall in her sleep. She pushed the sheet off and rolled wearily out of bed, pushing open the window. Salt-scented air flowed in, drying the sweat on her naked skin. The sea was a dark mass and a pale pink stained the sky. Most of the city was still in shadow and there was barely any wind. She felt cold and rubbed her arms.

It had been more than a week since she’d seen Morfessa and the dreams had become worse, coming to her almost every night. The salve he’d applied seemed to have done its job though. The bruises had faded and the cut on her face healed leaving no scar. But it was all nothing against what the old man had told her. Arak-si: descendant of Azoth. The meaning haunted her.

She took deep breaths and looked over the city. The roof of the Serpent Dome was limned in crimson and her stomach knotted at the sight of it. There was work for her there today, but she didn’t want to go. She had not been assigned to Nuathin again but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be today.

She drummed her fingers on the sill. What had possessed her to say those things to Morfessa? What if he had talked to Commander Rorc about her? Relax, she told herself. It had been a week and there’d been no Faithful at her door, no summons from Rorc. Surely if the old man had spoken, the Commander would have shown his hand by now if he wanted her? He had uses for people with ‘different’ talents, he had said. But having strange dreams wasn’t a talent was it?

She watched the light of the sun creep over the bay, pushing back the shadows. Out across the sea a band of cloud sat on the horizon and the air felt dense, thick with moisture, the earth waiting for the season of rain to start.

The weather suited her mood. Over these past few weeks, as the dreams had become worse, she had felt a strange kind of quickening inside, like a storm building. It was as though she knew it was all leading to something. But where? Arak-si. Descendant. Was that what she was? A descendant from a fallen God. But how could she be? There was no sense to it. Perhaps Morfessa could tell her more. If he knew about that word, would he know what the others meant? For a moment she thought of going back there.

But what of the Faithful? With a groan she massaged her temples and ran her hands through her hair. It was all too complicated. All she wanted to do was become a rider, to make something more of herself. Not this. And she had coin to earn. Pushing it all to the back of her mind she got off the bed and pulled on a pair of faded red trousers and a three-quarter sleeve shirt.

Tying on her sandals she went out into the hall. Most of the girls had had customers last night and the inn was very quiet, but Tuon had not been around. Perhaps she was asleep in her room. Shaan knocked softly, then turned the knob. The room was in shadow, but she could see her bed was empty. Withdrawing with a frown she headed down to the kitchen, the stairs creaking under her feet.

The room was lit by an ornate metal oil lamp, its soft light fading as the sunlight came through the open back door. Torg sat at the table talking quietly with a small older man with thin arms and large ears that stuck out from beneath his curly grey hair. A few small packets tied with string sat on the table and the man coughed in short frequent bursts as he talked. Shaan recognised him as a local healer. They both looked up briefly as she entered. She nodded at them and went to the water urn to pour a drink.

‘Shaan,’ Torg said. ‘The markets will be opening. Take some coin and go buy me some stone flour, salt and redfruits.’ He held out a few copper coins. He was unusually curt today and looked tired.

Shaan put her cup down and took the coins.

‘And I need you to get me some rock snails as well, since you caught no fish last night.’

‘But I have to work at the yards today,’ she protested quietly.

‘Well you better be quick then.’

Shaan opened her mouth to protest, but one look at his face shut her up. There was an uneasy tension in the air, and she flicked her eyes to the healer, but he was looking down at the table scratching at an invisible mark.

‘All right.’ She closed her fist around the coins and dropped them into her pocket. ‘Is there anything to eat?’

‘There are some flat cakes in the jar over there.’ Torg motioned to the top of the cold oven. ‘Take some and go.’

She took two heavy round cakes, the size of her palm, from the jar and, shoving one in her mouth, picked up her rope bag from the hook by the door and left. Chewing on the crumbly sweet cake, she crossed the yard and stepped out into the quiet street. There were few people about. A young boy was coming toward her trailing a length of fabric, and up ahead an old woman shuffled along carrying a basket.

She headed up the street toward the markets. She had about five hours until she had to be at the Yards to serve mid-meal. The boy ran past her whooping and laughing as he flew the fabric out behind him. He grinned at her and Shaan couldn’t help but smile back. She turned, watching as he skipped on, and her steps slowed. Commander Rorc was disappearing into the back yard of the Red Pepino. Her heart leaped and she instinctively drew back into the shadows of a building. What business could he have at this hour? Was he looking for her?

Her heart thumped against her ribs. She thought about going back to listen at the door, but quickly discarded the idea. He might not be alone, better to just leave. Quickly she turned and hurried off, heading into the tangled streets.

A few folk were out putting up awnings and dragging out baskets, and the smell of old fish hung in the air. She stopped to buy a small bag of dried fruit from one of the shops then hurried on, nodding to people she knew as she passed. As she went she noticed a few faces she hadn’t seen before. A strange little man with bare feet and yellowed eyes was sitting on the step of a closed shop; at the head of an alley a cluster of men and women were talking. They wore long, dirty robes over their clothes, their skin was very pale and when they spoke they made constant gestures with their hands. As she passed, they stopped and watched her with dark eyes.

She didn’t think she had ever seen people of their kind before. Ahead of her, the street met the Great Avenue and a steady stream of people and muthu pulling carts were moving both ways. She stopped at the juncture, looking down the road at a strange sight. Pouring out from a side street was a group of weary and dust-stained people. Like those she had just seen, they were all pale-skinned and were wearing long cloaks. Men, women and children clustered closely together, casting closed looks at those watching. Many carried bulging sacks over their shoulders. They moved up the Great Avenue silently, their faces determined and their eyes dark and tired. There was so many of them. She counted at least fifty, and there were yet more coming.

‘I wonder where they’ve come from,’ Tuon spoke at her side.

Shaan looked around in surprise. ‘Tuon! Where have you been? I was looking for you this morning.’

She looked very tired again and was wearing the same dress she’d had on the day before.

‘I was working,’ she answered. ‘I’m on my way back to the inn now.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I just need to go home and get some sleep.’ She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘And get some food, I’m starving.’

‘Here, have this.’ Shaan pulled the other flat cake from her pocket and dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘Commander Rorc’s at the inn.’

‘What?’

‘I saw him going in the back gates as I left. Was he coming to see you?’

Tuon’s face was pale. ‘No. Perhaps he came to see you.’

There was a question in her eye and Shaan shook her head. ‘I told you, I wouldn’t work for him.’

‘Well,’ her gaze went past her to the crowd, ‘I guess it will remain a mystery, unless he chooses to tell us.’ She nodded at the people moving by. ‘I think their entire village has been destroyed.’

Shaan turned to look at them, but her mind was still on the Commander. If he hadn’t gone to the inn to seek Tuon, why was he there? Had Morfessa spoken to him about her? She watched the strangers walk past. A child of about seven stared at her with sunken, hollow eyes, but she barely saw him.

‘I don’t think these will be the last strangers we’ll be seeing in Salmut,’ Tuon interrupted her thoughts.

‘What?’ Shaan scanned the crowd surreptitiously, looking for the telltale black of the Faithful.

‘I saw others in the traders’ quarter that looked like them. Something is driving them here.’ Tuon nodded at the strangers then looked at Shaan. ‘Are you listening?’

‘What? Yes, yes I am.’

Tuon regarded her more closely. ‘You look exhausted; have you been having that dream again?’

Shaan sighed. ‘You worry too much, Tuon.’

‘I want you to go to a dream seer, Shaan. You haven’t had a proper sleep for a long while.’

‘Tuon . . .’

‘Come on, let’s go now.’ She wrapped a hand around her upper arm. ‘I know a good one in the central markets who’s not too costly.’

‘But I thought you wanted to go back to the inn and rest? And I have to buy some things for Torg.’ She pulled back, but Tuon kept a grip on her.

‘Shaan, please, I can’t go back there right now.’

Her face was tight and Shaan hesitated.

‘Please, Shaan, I’m too tired now, I don’t have the strength to face him today.’

She relented. What harm could there be in it after all? ‘All right, where is it?’ she said.

Tuon smiled. ‘This way.’

By the time they reached the markets the sun was a bright hot ball in the sky, and the square was crowded with people. Voices rang loudly through the still air as vendors called out their wares and the eating houses were busy setting out tables and chairs under the shade of their awnings.

‘This way,’ Tuon pulled at her hand and made for a small shaded shop front to their right.

Set slightly back from those flanking it, the building’s walls were painted a dark red and a small black awning shaded the entrance. There was no sign, only a blue tile on the wall near the door painted with an inward spiral motif. Tuon knocked once then pushed open the door, pulling Shaan in after her.

They stood a moment letting their eyes adjust to the dim light. They were in a small vestibule decorated with a sculpture of a serpent made of white stone. In front of them was an archway covered with a richly woven hanging.

‘Petar!’ Tuon called, pulling aside the hanging. Shaan squinted at bright sunlight. ‘Come on,’ she said and Shaan followed her out into a tiny courtyard. A small shallow pool flanked by two stone benches in the middle was set, surrounded by tall plants in earthenware pots and smaller tubs of flowers.

‘Petar,’ Tuon called again, moving forward.

‘Here,’ someone called back. A slight man emerged from an archway. His lined skin was as dark as Torg’s. He had a small tuft of black hair on the end of his sharp chin, and was wearing a blue skullcap and simple white shirt and trousers. For no reason Shaan began to feel nervous.

‘Hello.’ Petar clasped Tuon’s hand, but he was looking at Shaan. His bright eyes swept her from head to foot, and her skin prickled. He looked back at Tuon and his smile widened.

‘So, you have come back to see an old man, eh?’

‘Not so old.’ Tuon smiled. ‘How have you been? You look well.’

‘Yes, yes. I have been drinking lots of juice.’ He laughed gently. ‘Come, let us sit.’ He beckoned them over to the benches by the pool. Shaan sat stiffly on the cool stone next to Tuon while Petar faced them across the pond. A small frog leaped into the water and swam under a lily.

‘I’m here for my friend – she’s been having dreams,’ Tuon said.

‘Yes.’ Petar nodded and looked at her again. She tried to hold his gaze calmly, but her insides were in turmoil.

‘Meli.’ The seer suddenly clapped his hands, making her jump. ‘Drinks.’ He smiled warmly at her. ‘You look nervous, perhaps some juice will help you on this hot day.’

She nodded and attempted a smile. Petar turned to Tuon.

‘You are weary, have you been using that tonic I gave you?’ She nodded, but he frowned. ‘I see though, it is not helping. You are doing too much.’ His voice hardened, ‘You must rest more, it is not good to wear yourself out for others.’

‘Yes,’ Tuon murmured, and Shaan wondered how much the dream seer knew about Tuon’s work.

‘Aah, drinks.’ Petar’s smile returned and he stretched out an arm. ‘Meli, put them here.’ He indicated the bench beside him.

A pretty young girl of about eight came carefully toward them, carrying a tray of glasses. She was intent on putting one foot in front of the other and barely glanced up. ‘Good girl.’ Petar smiled as she placed the tray down with a slight wobble. He pushed some hair back from her forehead and said something quietly to her. Shaan caught something about fish and swimming before the girl laughed and skipped off.

‘Here.’ Petar handed her a glass. ‘Banda and redfruit juice, good for pleasant dreams.’

‘Are you from the Serpent Isles?’ she asked, accepting the juice.

He smiled. ‘Yes, but I have been here many years now. Meli’s mother did not like it there. Too many other fierce women,’ he joked.

Shaan smiled, her tension easing and took a sip of the juice. It was cool and sweet with a sharp tang.

After they had finished, Petar stood. ‘Come now, we will help you.’

Shaan hesitated, her stomach turning. ‘How much will it cost?’

‘You will have enough.’ Petar walked toward an archway opposite the one they had entered. Shaan rose slowly. Tuon smiled at her encouragingly and nodded.

The room he took her to was cool and dim with a high ceiling and no other entrances. It was decorated with a beautiful wall hanging and furnished with a thick rug in the middle of the floor with large cushions.

‘Sit.’ He indicated the rug and, going to the wall hanging, pulled it aside. It ran smoothly along rings to reveal an open window and, outside, a small lush garden. A sweet, earthy smell filled the room and soft light filtered through the thickly planted greenery.

Shaan sat down slowly on a large cushion.

‘Now.’ Petar sat down behind her and placed a hand on each temple. She flinched – his fingers felt very hot.

‘Do I close my eyes?’

‘No.’ She heard a smile in his voice. ‘This will only take a moment. Just relax.’

She tried, but she couldn’t help wondering if she was wasting time. The sun was rising higher in the sky and she still had not got what Torg wanted, or made it to the reef to pick rock snails. She took a breath and tried to contain her impatience.

‘Your inability to accept things is one of the reasons you often find yourself in difficult situations.’ Petar said quietly. He withdrew his hands and rose, coming around to sit across from her on the rug. His dark face was serious. ‘But that is not what disturbs your dreams. Now, I have found the pattern you cast in the Void. I will be able to follow it and try and see what it is that causes your dreams.’

‘My pattern?’

‘Yes. Every living thing creates a unique pattern when they enter the dream Void. This pattern leaves traces, like wet footprints in sand. The trace lasts for a while before it fades, so I will be able to enter the Void and find the traces of your pattern from your most recent dream. I will follow it and see what I find.’ He smiled.

Shaan nodded, feeling relieved that that was all there was to it. He closed his eyes. It was very quiet in the room. Shaan leaned back against the cushions so she faced the garden and looked past her toes at the greenery. The room felt like it was growing warmer, it made her feel lazy and sleepy. She shifted the cushion under her head and listened to the sound of Petar’s breathing. Her eyes started to feel heavy. He seemed to be taking a long time. Perhaps it would be all right if she just had a little doze while she waited. Her eyes closed and while he worked, she slipped into a dream.

Deep darkness surrounded her. Her heartbeat was loud and she sensed something there with her. With rising dread she turned. Something moved in the corner of her eye. A flash of light. A high piercing scream rang out and suddenly she was falling. Frantically, she reached out, but there was nothing to hang onto. She was falling down, down, to somewhere she knew she didn’t want to be. With a thud she hit the earth. Red, hot light flared around her and the smell of wet earth filled her nostrils. Despairing, she saw the wide, dark river flowing fast, littered with bits of wood and people floundering, crying out as they were carried away into a thick jungle. Heat blasted at her back.

Arak-si, the voice whispered, and terror filled her.

She didn’t want to turn around.

But then a different voice shouted her name. A voice that shouldn’t be here. She turned. The wall was lit with flame, the gates beyond broken and bleeding a stream of people, but before her was Petar, forced to his knees by the monster of her nightmares. It was a man, but it was not; taller and heavily muscled, he had a bright blue crest, covered with skin like a serpent’s, that ran from his close-shaved head down his bare back. He smiled triumphantly, his eyes reflecting red in the fire. He had hold of the dream seer’s hair with one hand, and in the other a curved blade.

Arak-si, he hissed at her and raised his arm.

‘Shaan, you must wake!’ Petar shouted and she jerked at the terror in his voice.

‘Shaan!’ Fear filled his eyes as she stared at him. What was he doing here?

‘Shaan, wake up!’ Petar twisted in the thing’s grip and it laughed at her and hissed, Arak-si. His hand began to fall.

‘No! With a scream, Shaan turned and pushed her hand desperately into the fire running along the wall. White-hot pain streaked through her and she woke, panting, on the floor of Petar’s house. But she was too late. The seer lay on the floor, his throat slit, blood soaking the rug.

‘Shaan!’ Tuon appeared in the doorway. ‘I heard you scream I . . . Petar!’ She ran into the room and dropped down beside the seer, grabbing his shoulder. Petar’s head lolled, his eyes wide open and staring, and the cartilage in his neck cracked. ‘Shaan . . . what have you done?’

Shaan stared at her. ‘Nothing! I don’t know what happened. I saw him in my dream and then I woke up and . . .’ She shook her head, feeling ill.

‘What’s this?’ Tuon grabbed her injured hand. ‘Why is your hand burnt?’

‘I don’t know.’ Shaan stared at it.

Tuon’s face was white. ‘Well whatever has happened we have to get out of here. Only his daughter knows we’re here.’

Shaan’s insides contracted. The child, she had forgotten about her.

‘Come on!’ Tuon pulled her to her feet and she winced as her hand throbbed painfully. They crept from the room, crossing the courtyard and slipping out of the house and back out into the market. They walked close together, their arms entwined.

‘How did it happen?’ Tuon whispered, her eyes darting around. ‘I didn’t even see you had a knife with you.’

‘I didn’t!’ Shaan whispered. ‘I don’t. I didn’t kill him Tuon. I was asleep.’ She stared at her friend desperately. ‘You must believe me.’ Tuon looked at her, searching her face, then nodded once her expression taut. ‘I believe you. Though I don’t know how it could have happened if you didn’t do it. There was no one else there.’

‘I was dreaming,’ Shaan said, knowing as she spoke how ridiculous it sounded.

‘You were dreaming?’

‘I fell asleep. I couldn’t help it, I was so tired. Then Petar was there in my dream.’

‘You saw him in your dream?’ Tuon’s hand tightened on her arm.

‘Yes and . . . something was holding him, there was a knife at his throat. He told me to wake up and I tried, but I couldn’t. So I put my hand in the fire . . .’ she stopped, feeling the burn throbbing across her palm.

‘Are you saying something in your dream killed Petar?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked at the ground. Her head was so full of pain she could hardly think. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘What did this thing look like?’

‘It was tall, strong, and had a blue ridge, like serpent skin, running from his neck to his back.’

Tuon stopped, staring at her. ‘Serpent skin?’ she whispered.

Shaan nodded.

‘But that’s . . .’ Suddenly Tuon stopped, staring past Shaan’s shoulder, her fingers biting into her arm. ‘There’s a Seducer here,’ she said quietly.

Shaan’s heart jumped and her mouth dried. There would be no hiding if he were alerted to the seer’s death.

‘Don’t look. Come.’ Tuon pulled her toward the nearest side street. They turned down a small alley and headed back toward the water and the wharves. Shaan’s heart was thudding and sweat coated her back.

‘We need to get some salve,’ Tuon said. ‘Are you working at the yards today?’

‘I’m on the roster to serve the mid-meal.’

Tuon’s mouth twisted. ‘Well, you won’t be able to serve anything with that hand.’

‘But what about the supervisor?’

‘I’ll send someone to tell them you burned yourself in the inn’s kitchen. There’s a woman I know lives close by, she can see to your hand. You can rest there while I take care of Torg’s supplies. Come on.’ She put a hand under her arm and pulled her down a small side street.

20

Marathin was waiting for them when they entered the courtyard the next morning and was stoic as ever as Tallis gained his saddle. Once again, he felt the thrumming singing in his blood, but this time he did not try to connect with her.

He closed his eyes, feeling the rush of salty, cold air across his face as they leaped into the sky. It was a clear day, the sun was hot, but out on the horizon a long low band of cloud darkened the rim of the world.

They flew along the coast, the blue of the sea foaming white where it met the shore and Tallis stared down at it in wonder. So much water. Dark blue faded to azure and then a pale green, and in places it was so translucent he could see the sand beneath it. The play of the sunlight upon the waves created a dazzling sparkle and flash as the water roiled in to meet the rocks. It was so beautiful, hours went by as he stared down at it, lulled by the hypnotic rhythm of the serpent’s beating wings.

Attar had said it would take them less than a day to reach the city of Salmut, and by late afternoon Tallis had his first glimpse of it. As he tore his gaze from the water to the city, he was shocked by the size of it. He had thought the town of Shalnor was big, but it was barely a quarter the size of Salmut. The city sprawled along the curve of a great bay of red rock and white sand. Flat-roofed buildings sprouted among a jumble of twisted streets that ran back from the sea towards a set of hills ringing the bay. A palace with domed rooftops, windows glinting in the sun, was set in the centre of the hills amid pockets of greenery, and at the sea’s edge a great collection of buildings guarded one long stone pier, flanked by three smaller ones, that extended into the water. Smaller jetties poked out along the bay’s northern curve and boats of many sizes rose and fell in the swell, dotting the blue like a scattering of dull stones.

Squinting, Tallis held tight as Marathin spread her wings and swooped in and over the city then up to a headland at the northern end of the bay. They flew over a great complex of long buildings and yards, and then began to drop in eddying circles onto the top of an enormous stone pillar surrounded by trees.

They landed in a rush of air and scraping of talon on rock. His heart pounding, Tallis looked around to see half a dozen other serpents flying in from the sea and land toward the city, their wings spread wide, gliding on the thermals. And on each of their backs was a rider, bringing their serpent home for the night.

Attar turned and grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘Welcome to Salmut, Tallis,’ he shouted, and with a wave at the descending Bren, he jumped from Marathin’s back to the rooftop below. Dismounting, Tallis stood uncertainly near Marathin’s flank as Haraka landed beside them.

The pillar on which they had landed was enormous and dizzyingly high. There was no edge to the roof, only smooth stone that ended in a straight drop to the earth below. A dome of coloured glass was set in the centre and beside it a wide opening, like a dark mouth. The rooftop was big enough for several serpents, and though he was far from the edge Tallis’s legs still felt unsteady, the soles of his feet tingling at the thought of how high they were.

‘Help me with her saddle.’ Attar put a hand on his shoulder. ‘The others are coming in and it’s going to get damned crowded up here soon.’

Beside them, Jared was helping Bren with Haraka’s gear, his face wary and tense. Beyond him, Tallis saw nothing but the vast blue of the great water meeting open sky, and a host of serpents coming toward them. Swallowing, he looked back at Jared and saw the same emotion mirrored in his eyes. What clansmen had ever been so far from home?

He fumbled with the buckles on the saddle, trying to push all thought and feeling from his mind. The serpent’s wing dug into his side and he leaned against her. The thrumming echoed in his chest and for once it was a comfort, almost familiar. He pulled at the straps, yanking them free, and then hissed at a sudden burning pain in his right hand. Wincing, he massaged the flesh of his palm. It was strangely hot and painful. He must have caught it on the sharp barbs of Marathin’s wing, but he could see no sign of a puncture.

‘Tallis!’ Attar called, pulling the saddle from Marathin’s back. Tallis stepped backward as with a crouch and leap the serpent launched up in a rush of wind, her wings snapping open and catching the air.

He held his throbbing hand to his chest, watching her leave and feeling the connection between them stretching as thin as a spider’s web until she became nothing but a black speck above the sea.

‘What happened to your hand?’ Jared was beside him.

He frowned and looked down, realising the pain had gone. ‘Nothing.’ He squeezed his palm, puzzled.

‘Come into the Dome.’ Attar joined them, the saddle slung over his arm. ‘I’ll show you where you can bed down.’

Above them, other serpents with riders still circled. Tallis tried not to look as he followed the warrior, although the back of his neck prickled and the hairs lifted as he felt them watching.

‘Keep to the wall,’ Attar said as he began to descend into the shadowy opening.

Tallis sucked in a breath and hesitated, pausing on the first step. The entrance into the Dome was an enormous drop; looking down, he could see right into the centre, all the way to the floor. At the bottom, a pair of serpents languished in a pool of water, looking the size of birds.

The riders’ access was a set of stone steps carved into one side of the wall. The steps went straight down to an arched doorway. A thin rail of wood was set into the wall on the left side, but on the other was only air.

Jared put a hand on his shoulder, peering over to look down at the serpents in the pool. ‘They’re the size of mar rats from up here. And look – there’s more of them in the walls.’

Ledges jutted out at staggered intervals all the way down, and resting on some of them were more serpents, dozing in the shafts of sunlight.

‘How many are there?’ Jared’s voice was strained.

‘Eighty-five live in the Dome,’ Attar answered from the step below. ‘But it can hold more.’

They stared at him and he grinned.

‘Come on, clansmen, it’s a long walk down.’ He turned away, jogging easily down the stairs.

The steps were thick and wide and two men could have walked abreast, if a little carefully, but they went single file and Tallis kept as close to the wall as possible. They emerged into a dim passageway that curved down away from them, following the line of the wall like a spiralling ramp. Bright yellow oil lamps were set at intervals, and there was a musky dry smell in the air.

‘This way,’ Attar said and set off down the passage at a quick pace.

The floor was swept clean and as they continued down they passed openings in the wall leading to large caverns. Looking through them, Tallis saw the ledges he’d seen from above.

‘Those are the serpents’ crells,’ Attar said. ‘Each serpent has its own. Marathin’s is on the seventh level. They use them to rest.’ He swung out a hand indicating one as they passed.

‘How do they get in?’ Jared asked.

‘Through the opening above. Most riders will go with them, taking the fast trip to the bottom of the Dome, hitching a ride on their beast.’ He turned to them and grinned. ‘But I didn’t think you’d want to do that. It’s a straight dive and if you’re not used to it . . .’ He left the rest to their imagination.

‘Might have been worth it to save our legs,’ Jared muttered and Attar grunted a laugh.

As they descended they passed more crells, some with serpents inside or on the ledges, and through the occasional openings they saw the blur of wings as more serpents dropped down from above. The air was full of the whump of air and screech of talons and the shouts of the riders calling to each other, but they saw few people in the passageways. Occasionally, workers of some kind jogged by carrying a broom, rake or basket, but they barely looked at them, hurrying by to attend to whatever task they had.

‘Do you feed the serpents here?’ Tallis asked.

‘Yes, but only as an extra to what they hunt for themselves. We give them little luxuries like fruit and grains. Mostly they like to bathe in the hot springs at the bottom of the Dome, just through here.’ He pointed ahead and Tallis saw that the passageway was finally flattening out. A few paces more and they emerged into a vestibule where an archway on the left led to sunlight, while one on the right provided access to the centre of the Dome. Directly across, the passageway continued and started to spiral upward again.

‘Through there is the pool and a gathering spot for the beasts.’ Attar pointed into the centre of the Dome. ‘But you can see that later, for now we go to the barracks. Come. We’ll find you a room and some food. I could eat a muthu!’

Tallis and Jared hesitated, peering into the enormous cavern. Tallis glimpsed riders, serpents, and a tall stone urn alight with flame, but no more as Jared pulled on his arm and hurried him out into the sunlight.

Squinting, they saw Attar already several paces in front of them, striding away across the grass.

‘Come on,’ Jared said and jogging they caught up to him as he hit a wide, red dirt path curving down a gentle incline between sparse trees and shrubs.

Around them were several riders and ahead they could see Bren talking with another man. The riders sent curious looks their way, but none spoke or approached them. The sun was sinking quickly into the sea, spreading a soft pink light over the trees. It was still very warm though and both Tallis and Jared sweated in the unaccustomed humidity.

‘Does it not cool down here at night?’ Jared asked Attar.

‘Not much, and this time of year, just before the rains, you’ll sweat plenty, clansman, worse than in your desert.’

‘Rains?’ Tallis said.

Attar grinned. ‘I know water from the sky is pretty unusual where you come from, but here we get buckets of it every year around this time. You’ll see.’ He looked at him sideways. ‘You won’t believe it the first time you see it. Just wait, it’ll run down this path like a river.’

‘I always knew wetlander was a good name for you,’ Jared said dryly and Attar laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

‘Don’t worry, clansman, we’ll get some fine Cermezian wine into you and you’ll feel a bit better about us. Now come on, it’s not far now.’

They walked on and presently rounded a bend in the path and began to descend to an open area and a cluster of long buildings and courtyards. Directly ahead the path opened out, leading to a square surrounded on three sides by long rectangular buildings, and it was there that most of the riders seemed to be heading.

‘The riders’ complex,’ Attar said pointing at the buildings. ‘The two closest are where we take our meals, and that building behind,’ he pointed across the square, ‘that’s the kitchens where all the meals come from. Beyond it is the barracks where we ordinary riders sleep. I’ll find you a spot to sleep there.’

‘What’s that?’ Jared pointed to a huge, open circular area on their right, surrounded by a low wall. A set of raised benches was situated at one end under a sparse stand of trees.

‘The arena,’ Attar said. ‘Every year we have a Freedom Festival and hold trials for Fledgling riders there.’

‘Like a test?’

He nodded, and Tallis wondered if he would be made to do any of those tests.

They followed him into the paved square. A young girl was lighting torches at the corner as they entered, and he could smell meat cooking somewhere. Groups of riders talking loudly were heading into one of the meals buildings, disappearing through several sets of open doors that stretched the length of the front wall. Attar cut diagonally across the square, heading for the building he’d called a barracks. Tallis and Jared followed, keeping their heads down, and feeling the looks of the other men on them as they passed. They had removed their haldars, but still they must look as foreign as they felt to these wetlanders. There was no disguising the darker colour of their skins, or the hunters’ braids which marked them as clansmen.

Staying close behind Attar, they entered the barracks and followed him down a wide corridor past many rooms until he stopped at one and bade them wait for him inside.

‘Stay here, I won’t be long. I’ll report to my sept leader and see if the Commander wants to talk to you.’

The room was small, containing nothing but four hard narrow beds, each with a chest at its foot. A small open window was set high in the wall and two oil lamps in small brackets on either side of the door illuminated the room with a soft yellow light. Tallis sat on one of the beds. He was hungry and a dull ache was starting to throb in the back of his skull.

‘Is there any water?’ He looked at Jared.

‘A little.’ He handed him the skin and he squeezed a few drops of the warm liquid onto his tongue.

Jared’s face was pinched and dark with worry as he took the water skin back.

‘Do you think we shouldn’t have come now?’ Tallis said.

‘I don’t know.’ Jared rubbed the spot between his eyes then leaned his elbows on his knees. ‘This place is stranger than I imagined, bigger . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps the Guides have their reasons.’

Tallis stared at the floor. They had not spoken of the Guides since leaving the desert. Or what had happened there. Jared was here because of him, because of Karnit’s hatred for him. Whether the Guides played a part in that or not, he couldn’t help feeling that he deserved to know why they would make Jared suffer as well. He took a breath and clenched his fists. ‘Brother, I can tell you one reason the Guides want me here. It’s because here I am away from their lands and their clans.’

Jared frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I am not Jalwalah, brother. My mother, you know, is from the Ice Lands, but my father . . . it was not Haldane. She told me she already carried me in her womb when they met. I’m sorry you shed Clan blood for a man who is not even your kind.’ He could hardly look at Jared, but he forced himself to. ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you have ended up like this because of me, lost to Clan.’

Jared’s face was like stone. ‘I see now why Karnit hated you,’ he said. ‘He cannot abide any who are not Clan.’ Then he leaned toward him, his mouth hard. ‘But don’t think to feel sorry for me, brother. The Guides are more knowing than our leader, and I will do what they deem necessary, not what Karnit chooses. I spilled Clan blood for them, because they asked it. And because it was necessary to save you. We are alone now and you are my Clan. We took hunters’ rites together and I will not have you throw that away because of Karnit’s poisonous hate, or accident of birth.’

Tallis felt shamed. Jared was right. He had put his life in danger to save him. He had outcast himself from the Clan to save him, and in repayment he pitied him and himself. Self-disgust lay bitter on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. Footsteps sounded and Attar opened the door, followed by a younger man with yellow hair.

‘Clansmen . . .’ Attar paused, picking up on the tension in the room. His gaze flicked between them. ‘This is Sept Leader Balkis. He’ll take you to Commander Rorc.’

The younger man ran a measuring gaze over them. ‘Thank you, Captain. You may go to your meal now.’

‘Sir.’ Attar nodded at him; then, flicking a glance at the two of them again, he left, his boot heels clicking on the stone hallway.

Tallis rose warily. Balkis was as tall as Jared and looked not much older, but it appeared he ranked higher than Attar. A strange thing. In the clans, the older a man became the more he was honoured.

‘So, you are the clansmen,’ Balkis said. ‘I have heard some about the clans, but have never yet met anyone from them.’ His gaze fixed on Tallis and he frowned, hesitating a moment before saying, ‘Attar says you have seen these rogue serpents.’

‘Perhaps.’ Tallis met his look. There was an arrogant tilt to the man’s head that irritated him and he was looking at him strangely, almost as if with vague recognition.

Balkis indicated the door. ‘Come, follow me.’

He left the room, not checking to see if they followed. Tallis exchanged a look with Jared who shrugged and followed the man out of the barracks.

He led them quickly down the hall, taking a back door and following a path toward a large building. Lamps lined the path, lighting their way through low-lying shrubs, and they entered the building through a set of open double doors going quickly down a tiled passageway. Balkis stopped at a heavy wooden door at the end of the passage, then knocked loudly and pushed it open motioning them in. A dark-haired man standing at a window turned as they entered.

‘Commander,’ Balkis addressed him. ‘These are the clansmen.’

The room was simply furnished with a polished stone table and four stools and a set of shelves on the wall, a thick red rug covered the floor and a damp salty scent wafted in from outside.

The dark-haired man was a little taller than Tallis, and wide shouldered with a short beard that shadowed his jaw. He wore a jewel-handled hunters knife at his hip and there was a stillness about him that reminded Tallis of a desert cat watching its prey.

He didn’t smile as he took them in. ‘Welcome to Salmut, please sit.’ He indicated the stools. ‘I assumed you haven’t eaten and have ordered some food. Balkis get them some wine.’

‘We’d rather water,’ Tallis said and sat down, Jared following.

‘If you like.’ The Commander sat opposite them.

They sat silently while Balkis filled two glasses with water, and two with wine, and brought them over to the table, taking a seat beside the Commander.

‘You are Tallis?’ Rorc looked at him and he nodded. ‘And Jared?’ He picked up his glass and took a sip, regarding them over the rim. ‘You are Jalwalah.’

It wasn’t a question and Jared’s hand stilled as he reached for his glass. The Commander smiled. ‘You see, there are some who know about the clans even here in Salmut.’ He watched them closely, the light from the lamps a pale glitter in his eyes.

‘Wetlanders only think they know things,’ Jared said with hostility and the Commander slid his gaze to him for a moment, before looking back at Tallis. ‘You are far from your Well. Why have you come?’

Tallis hesitated, thrown by the man’s casual use of a term he thought none but Clan knew. And how had he known they were Jalwalah?

‘We came because we were worried for our people,’ he replied uneasily.

‘You sought wetlanders’ help to save your people?’

‘No, you have sought ours,’ Jared retorted and Tallis sent him a warning glance. They didn’t know enough about this man to antagonise him.

‘Well, what have you to tell us then?’ Rorc said. ‘What do you know that can help us defeat these rogue serpents?’

‘What has Attar told you?’

Rorc put his glass down. ‘He tells me he thinks you have the ability to command the serpents, and not just the rogues, but all serpents.’

Balkis stared at him. ‘But none of us can command them, only the F . . .’

‘Balkis!’ Rorc held up a hand, silencing the younger man with a look. ‘Having the ability and being able to wield that ability are two different things.’ He looked at Tallis. ‘Attar told me you did not seem to know how you do it. Is that true?’

Tallis didn’t answer, looking down at the thick-stemmed glass in his hand, staring through the bubbled pale green at the water.

‘Is this ability the reason why you are so far from your Well?’ Rorc said quietly and Tallis’s stomach clenched. He looked up at the dark-haired man. He was watching him so closely, so much like the desert cat. This man seemed to know much about the clans.

I know what you are. Karnit’s hissing voice ghosted through his mind and he had a sudden sharp vision of his mother’s face, twisted with grief at Haldane’s funeral pyre. His hand tightened on the glass and he made himself relax and let it go before he broke it.

‘I came here,’ he said, meeting the Commander’s gaze, ‘to help my people. Both of us did.’ He flicked a glance at Jared and saw him watching, tense as a hawk at prey. ‘And yes, I feel there is something with the serpents, but I don’t know what it is or how to control it, I can’t command them as Attar thinks I can.’

‘You feel it?’ Balkis leaned over the table. ‘What do you mean? Don’t they speak to you? Do you hear their voice in your mind?’

Tallis gave him a silent stare and Rorc put a hand on Balkis’s arm.

‘Enough, they have only just arrived and have not eaten. There will be time tomorrow.’

There was a knock on the door and a voice called out. Balkis rose and let in a slight young woman who quickly deposited plates of roasted meat and vegetables on the table with a basket of bread, then left closing the door quietly behind her.

‘Eat,’ Rorc said taking a crust of bread. ‘Tonight you will rest and tomorrow Balkis will show you the rest of the serpent yards. He will take you to a special mid-meal we are having for all the riders and Freelanders. It will give you a chance to meet more of the riders, ask them questions if you like. We will talk more after then, Tallis.’ He took a swallow of wine and turned to Jared.

‘So, hunter, how good are you with that knife?’ He pointed at the blade strapped to Jared’s leg. ‘If you’re as good as any clansman we would value your skills here. Tracking and hunting is not a skill that comes easily to many city men.’ As Jared cautiously answered him, Tallis ate and watched and began to wonder just where the dark-haired man had come from to know so much about their ways.

21

Shaan had overslept. When she awoke, the morning had almost gone and her room was stifling. Sweat coated her naked skin and she pushed the damp sheet off with a grimace. The woman Tuon had taken her to the day before must have given her a sleeping draught, because she barely remembered coming home and could recall no dreams. She had slept soundly all night, and yet still she felt weary. She rose from her bed.

A full basin of water and a cake of rose oil soap were sitting on the top of her small cupboard. She smiled. Tuon had been in. Careful of her injured hand, she washed off the sweat, closing her eyes and relishing the cool water and the scent of rose. Her hand still throbbed dully, but most of the sting and heat had gone.

Downstairs, the faint sound of voices came from the bar and, after dressing, she made her way down to the inn’s kitchen. Torg was pulling loaves of bread from the oven. He grunted and handed her a thick slice of fresh bread smeared with butter.

She asked where Tuon was but he only shrugged. ‘Out.’

Shaan couldn’t help wondering if she were out working for Commander Rorc.

‘You going to the yards today?’ Torg said.

‘Mmm,’ she mumbled around a mouthful of bread. ‘I have to serve the mid-meal.’

‘You better hurry then, it’s getting close to midday.’

‘What?’ She looked outside and realised he was right. Chewing hastily on her chunk of bread, she gulped down some water and hurried out of the inn, her muscles protesting wearily as she broke into a run.

She made it to the yards with barely a moment to spare and was confused to see more workers than usual streaming between buildings and bustling around carrying trays. She was almost knocked over by a heavily built man as he burst out of the back door of the kitchen carrying a covered tray. He caught her on the shoulder sending her crashing back against the wall. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t come.

Inside it was organised chaos. Half a dozen cooks were bending over three ovens against the wall and a group of chattering women were preparing various dishes on the long tables. Other workers, like herself, were streaming in and picking up or depositing trays before rushing out of the large main door and off to the meals pavilions.

She went to a rack of open shelves and grabbed an overgarment, pulling the material over her head and fastening the ties at her sides. She plucked at the sleeve of a woman hurrying past. ‘Why are there so many people here?’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ The woman looked at her in surprise. ‘There’s a big load of Free Landers visiting today. They came from the palace, plus all the sept leaders and the riders and they’re all eating together! Some big meeting or something.’ She stared at Shaan, sweat glistening on her forehead. ‘Didn’t you get a runner this morning? They sent a heap out tellin’ us all to come in earlier and to bring more workers.’

‘No,’ Shaan frowned.

‘Look out,’ the woman whispered fiercely. ‘Supervisor’s comin’!’

Shaan quickly picked up the nearest tray full of food, wincing at the pain in her hand.

‘Second pavilion.’ One of the preparing women barked at her. Shaan nodded and made for the door. From the corner of her eye she could see the meal supervisor hovering red-faced near the ovens, screaming something at one of the cooks. Manoeuvring the tray out the door around an incoming worker, she followed the others. The pavilions had all their doors opened and the sound of many voices drifted out.

She could see flashes of colour outside. A man wearing the blue shirt of a sept leader was leaning against one of the pillars, sipping a drink, and talking to a beautifully dressed woman. She immediately wondered if Balkis would be in her pavilion? The thought made her stomach jump anxiously and, keeping her head down, she followed the line of servers.

Long tables had been set up inside. Sept leaders chatted with Free Landers at some, while riders ate at others. Shaan had never seen so many riders gathered together at once. No wonder the meals supervisor was so harassed. She approached a supervisor and asked which table she should deposit her food on. He pointed to the other side of the room and carefully she edged her way around and began laying the dishes along between the riders, who ignored her. The heat in the room was rising, despite all the open doors, and by the time she’d laid the last dish down her injured hand was shaking and sweat trickled down her back.

Her head felt light and her mouth parched. She straightened, trying to take a deeper breath of the close air, and looked straight into the eyes of Balkis. He was seated at the next table, watching her as he sipped from a glass. The tray slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor as her heart gave an unexpected leap. In a sudden panic, she turned away colliding with a rider as he pushed his chair back from the table. He staggered and grabbed her, his hands slipping low around her hips.

‘Need a hand?’ he leered, his face red with wine.

‘Get off!’ She shoved him away and pushing past another startled worker, made desperately for the door. Laughter followed her, but she didn’t turn around. She could still feel Balkis’s eyes on her. She burst outside, her breaths coming shallow and fast. She shouldn’t be here. Angry with herself, she leaned against the wall near the door. The sun was very bright and hot. Her head was buzzing and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The burn on her hand felt like fire licking her skin. She had to get away. Staggering around the corner of the pavilion, she headed toward the gardens.

Tallis had been feeling strange since they’d sat down in the huge open pavilion. Jared was next to him while Balkis sat opposite, silently toying with a glass of wine and ignoring the man beside him who had been trying to engage him in an argument.

‘This meat tastes strange,’ Jared said.

Tallis looked at the plate. ‘I think it’s fish,’ he replied. He hadn’t touched his. He couldn’t think of eating while this strange restlessness had hold of him. It was almost as though he was being watched, or – but no, that wasn’t it. He looked around at the unfamiliar faces. An uneasy, tugging sense of being drawn towards something, or someone, gnawed at him. He glanced at the sept leader opposite. Balkis had been watching him closely all day but now his attention seemed elsewhere. He was staring at something behind Tallis with intense scrutiny.

There was a sudden crash and the sound of chairs scraping. Tallis turned to see a young woman with dark hair struggling through the crowd towards a door. She glanced back as she ran out and he felt a jolt inside as if he’d been punched in the chest. That dark hair, the shape of her jaw . . . The sounds of the other people eating and talking faded. Surely it couldn’t be possible? His heart was racing and the tugging, drawing feeling increased, like an arrow readied for release.

Balkis suddenly rose abruptly, pushing his chair back so it crashed against those behind him and without a word to either him or Jared, strode from the pavilion.

Tallis sat stunned, barely registering his disappearance. Had it been her? He couldn’t seem to move. He turned and stared at the bright sunlit doorway, overpowered by a fierce yearning and the feeling that something had just reached inside and was pulling, dragging him toward the woman who’d left. He stood up, his muscles quivering, his breath coming fast.

‘Tallis?’ Jared looked up. But Tallis couldn’t speak. Looking at him he just shook his head, then turned and ran toward the door, pushing past any who stood in his way, ignoring their protests, and bursting out into the hot bright sunlight. There he paused, looking desperately around. Where had she gone?

A small grove separated the pavilions from the road to the Dome and, pulling off her worker’s shift, Shaan rushed unsteadily down a narrow path between the trees. It led to a small pool and her only thought was to get to it and rest for a moment in the quiet, away from the heat and noise. Her breath was loud in her ears and her hand felt on fire. She came out of the trees into the small grassy clearing and was startled when a hand fell on her shoulder from behind. With a startled cry she whipped around. Balkis had followed her from the pavilion.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I was calling – didn’t you hear me?’

Her heart pounding, Shaan took a step backward. ‘No.’ She couldn’t look him in the eye. Why had he followed her?

‘What happened to your hand?’

‘Nothing. I burned it. Is there something you want?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not really, just,’ he hesitated, ‘Shaan . . . that night at the inn . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said quickly, ‘forget it.’

Balkis smiled, a dimple forming in his cheek. ‘Well I would, but you seem to keep falling at my feet, literally sometimes.’

Shaan felt her face grow warm. ‘I have to go.’ She began to back away.

‘Wait.’ He stopped her. ‘You ran from the pavilion so quickly, I thought I should check to see if you were all right. You don’t look well.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t look fine.’ He was watching her closely.

Why couldn’t he leave her alone? The shame from that night, the memory of the man’s hands on her, she just wanted to forget it.

‘Please, Balkis, there’s nothing wrong with me.’ She avoided looking at him. ‘I’m just tired, it’s the heat. I should get back.’ She made to step past him, but he moved, blocking her.

‘Shaan, please, I’m trying to apologise. I shouldn’t have left you in the alley, but I was angry. You seemed to deliberately put yourself in harms way.’

She stared at him. ‘Deliberately? Are you saying it was my fault I was attacked?’

‘No, but taking a man into an alley . . .’

‘How do you know I took him there?’

‘Because I saw you leave with him,’ he said.

Had he been watching her? ‘What business is it of yours what I do?’

‘None,’ he said. ‘But you’re lucky I happened to be passing on my way home and took an interest that night.’

She looked away, her heart thudding hard. It was mortifying that he’d been watching her and even though he had saved her, words of thanks wouldn’t rise to her lips. Her hand throbbed and she cradled it, wondering what to do.

He let out a long breath. ‘Look, Shaan,’ he held his hands out. ‘I didn’t come after you to fight, I just wanted to apologise. You were hurt and I didn’t help you as I should have.’

‘All right, fine. Apology accepted,’ she said quietly staring at the ground.

Unexpectedly, she felt his hand settle on her shoulder. ‘Really, I’m sorry,’ he said. His blue eyes gazed into hers and his voice was low and intimate.

Shaan’s heart beat faster and she had a sudden insight into how he had come by his reputation for bedding dozens of women. She dropped her gaze and took a step back. ‘Thank you, but I have to go.’ She tried to turn away, but his hand tightened, stopping her.

‘Wait. I want to ask you something.’

‘What?’ She eyed him warily.

‘It’s about Nuathin. When I found you in his crell, what were you doing?’

‘What?’ Her heart almost stopped and she felt the chill of a sudden twist of fear.

‘What happened? I sensed it when I came in. It was as though you were mind voicing with him. But it was strange.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered, but he’d noticed the alarm in her eyes.

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘You didn’t fall, did you? You were screaming when I came in.’ He watched her closely, but she avoided his eye, looking instead at the medallion of bronze that lay on a chain against the tanned bare skin of his throat.

‘I was ill.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘Shaan, something is happening to the serpents. If you know something, you should tell me.’

Should she? Fear curled in her gut and Nuathin’s words came back to her. Is he here then? Is he back? She shivered and immediately Balkis’s hand was on her other shoulder, forcing her to look at him.

‘Shaan?’ He searched her face and the look in his eye was steady, concerned.

The temptation to trust him filled her. But something held her back: the knowledge of what had happened to Petar, Balkis’s links to the Faithful. It was too much. She shook her head, pulling away. ‘I have to go.’

‘Stay,’ Balkis said softly. His fingers trailed lightly down her arms as she stepped back. His touch confused her, and she hesitated. ‘Let me . . .’ Balkis began, but the sudden sound of pounding feet interrupted him and, with a lurch, she stepped away as a young man with long black hair ran out from under the trees.

Seeing her he stopped dead, staring, and at the sight of him Shaan suddenly felt the warmth stripped from her body and her breath freeze in her chest. His eyes were exactly the same as her own.

A strange humming started in her ears, as if her blood was running faster through her veins. As they stared at each other another man ran out from the trees and halted suddenly at the young man’s elbow. ‘Tallis, what . . .’ his words disappeared as he saw her.

The young man he’d called Tallis moved toward her, but it was too much.

‘Stop!’ Shaan put her hands up. Dimly she felt Balkis beside her, his hand on her shoulder. ‘Who are you?’ she said.

‘I’m . . . you’re my sister,’ he replied.

He could have been speaking true – those eyes – and she felt such a strange sense of knowing him. But the blood was too loud in her head and her senses too fractured. ‘No.’ She began to back away but somehow he knew her intention.

‘No, don’t!’ He sprang forward but she was already moving, turning as she bolted away from him through the trees.

Tallis stared after her then tried to follow, but Balkis moved fast, grabbing him around the neck. ‘Guards!’ Balkis shouted, but he barely had the words out before Jared launched at him with a growl.

Locked in Balkis’s grip, Tallis twisted against him in fury. The woman was his sister, his twin – the certainty was a fire in his heart. As soon as he’d looked into her eyes he’d known; it was like a hammer hitting his spine. The drawing feeling he’d had all his life had vanished and he had felt his blood singing to her. There was no mistaking her and no wetlander was going to keep him from her.

Balkis was strong, but he was no match for both of them. With Jared on his back, his grip weakened. Tallis twisted and slammed an elbow into his gut, driving the air from his lungs. He let go and Tallis pushed him off and sprinted toward the trees.

He could feel her inside; she was still there, faint as a child’s heartbeat, but she was there. He didn’t get far. A man came from the trees and tackled him, pushing him to the ground, and then there were two sets of hands holding him down. He struggled furiously.

‘Enough!’ He heard Balkis shout. The men holding him pulled him to his feet. Jared, his face tight with anger, was being held by two other men.

Balkis coughed and, turning his head to the side, spat on the ground before giving him a savage look. ‘That wasn’t clever, clansman.’ He strode over and put his face close to his. ‘I could have you thrown in the cells for attacking me.’

‘You attacked him first,’ Jared said and Balkis sent him a hard-eyed look. ‘My orders are to keep you two here, within the yards.’

‘We are not your prisoners,’ Tallis said.

‘No, but you know nothing of Salmut or the people here. If you had followed Shaan, who knows where you may have ended up.’

‘Her name is Shaan?’ Tallis said.

Balkis’s lips thinned. ‘How is it you claim to be her brother, clansman?’ His tone was accusing, protective, and Tallis wondered what she was to him. He shook his head and said nothing.

Balkis watched him silently, then jerked his head at the men guarding them. ‘Come,’ he indicated the path, ‘back to the barracks.’ He stood back and waited for them to pass, escorting them back to their room in silence.

22

Shaan ran blindly, following the winding path. A thousand thoughts flew through her mind: Balkis, his warm breath on her face; the fire city of her dreams; Petar lying in a pool of his own blood; and a man with indigo eyes staring into her own.

Sister he had called her. It wasn’t possible. But she could feel him; he was still there, an awareness. As soon as she’d looked at him it had been like a spark striking a flame inside. She stopped, gasping for breath, looking up at the Dome. How had she got here? It was a dark shadow against the bright blue of the sky, and a few serpents soared high above. She shivered as a screeching cry reached her and something tugged at her insides, as though in response.

You are my sister. The words echoed in her head and she stared up at the serpents circling the city. Was she? But then, who was he? Nuathin’s words came to her: Is he here then, is he back? The skin on her arms pebbled, despite the warmth of the day and she followed the ceaseless turning and twisting of a dark serpent against the clouds. Could the serpent know, could Nuathin explain it to her? He had seemed to know something. Arak-si. She turned and looked at the dark entrance of the Dome. Where else was there to go? Without stopping to think, she ran under the archway.

Inside it was much dimmer and she moved up the spiral ramp, half blinded still from the bright sun. Her leg muscles ached as she climbed and her arms felt like sappy vines, but she took a deep breath and pushed through her exhaustion. She could sleep later.

Nuathin was in his crell, asleep near the ledge, his long tail curled around his body. His crest glowed a deep aquamarine blue, the colour fading then deepening as he sucked and blew from his nostrils, the air hot as fire. She went in quietly, the blood running faster through her veins. Straw shuffled under her feet and one lid opened, a great amber eye regarded her.

Her heart pounded. Slowly, slowly she took another step forward. The lid covering the serpent’s other eye lifted. It was a deep blue. It hadn’t been that colour before. The urge to run was overpowering, but she made herself stay still. Breathing shallowly she hesitated, unsure what to do. She moved one foot.

Wait, a voice whispered in her head. Nuathin lifted his head slowly from the floor. She smelled ancient dust as he snorted and hot air swept over her, redolent of charred wood and oil.

Who are you?

Nuathin? She thought his name as she looked into his eyes. He stared at her, immobile. Had he heard? She moved closer, dangerously close. She was within reach of his huge foreclaws, one swipe and he could disembowel her, but the serpent didn’t move. She stared up into his blue eye. As she looked, the dark spot of his pupil became larger and larger, or was she drawing closer?

A strange kind of lethargy came over her. She couldn’t look away. The serpent blew out and hot air fanned her face. Nuathin? She stared up at him. Something flickered deep in his eye and she heard a whisper, faint as a breath. Arak-si, he hissed and the darkness of his eye reached out and swallowed her.

The world was gone. Her mind was ripped from her body as she plunged into a whirling maelstrom of colour. Bright blues and purples lashed past, then every hue of green. She was falling. Desperately, she called out the serpent’s name, but a deafening wind was in her ears and she could not hear.

Nuathin! She screamed and the colours suddenly disappeared. An endless blue surrounded her and when she reached her arms out she saw straight through them to the blue behind. The wind had disappeared and she became aware of a low hum, like the sound of a thousand bees. She looked down. Far below, a wide river of lights flowed. There were so many colours, some so bright it was like a ribbon of many-hued stars. Forgetting her fear, she drifted down to it in wonder. As she came closer she could hear voices. Many different voices were talking, some slowly some quickly, some whispered. The lights and voices drew her; she wanted to join them, to swim in the river of lights. She reached out to it.

No! You cannot join the Hive.

She stopped and spun around, looking up. Drifting toward her was a long, serpent-shaped cloud, the tail swishing back and forth through the blue. Nuathin. Brilliant colours swirled about him, forming and reforming along his crest, and his eyes were a shining bright purple.

Greetings Azim, the serpent’s voice was deep with an underlying hiss.

He drifted down to float before her.

Was Azim another name for her, she wondered?

No, Nuathin’s voice came again and there was amusement in his tone. Azim is all two-legged ones, humanssss. His head waved from side to side.

‘Where am I?’ she asked carefully. She could not be mind voicing.

No, not mind voice. Nuathin bobbed up and down before her. Mind voice is waking talk, this is deep voicing: mind join. Your thoughts are mine, as mine are yours.

‘But, why can’t I hear your thoughts?’

This is not true mind join, only part. Mind join is special. We do not like to join with all, only those who are Arrackin, who can be trusted. He drew out the s in the word to a hiss and his head rose higher so he stared down at her. You are here but you are not, it is safer until we know you. We need to know who you are.

We? she thought.

The Hive, Nuathin hissed as he dove down toward the stream of lights, then suddenly turned and came back, stopping so close his wraith-like head almost touched her face. My sermorphim, we do not know you.

Semorphim? Shaan tried to calm her panic. That was what the serpents called themselves.

Yes, the Hive. All semorphim speaking together. Nuathin turned his head back down toward the lights, then eyed her again. We don’t know you, he hissed.

‘But you do. I am Shaan, I was here before.’

No! Nuathin suddenly snapped.

Afraid, she said, ‘But you thought you knew me last time’.

Last time? Nuathin wavered back and forth, puzzled, his tail flicking. Last time? His voice grew vague and the vaporous image of him wavered and moved further away, drifting.

‘Nuathin?’ Shaan tried to send her thought to him.

He stopped, hovering, and then turned toward her again. She could barely see him. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was not sure of what he was seeing. Suddenly, a savage shot of anger hit her like a physical blow sending her tumbling back through the blue and he bore down upon her, his eyes flaming red.

Last time! I felt you! Who are you? He shouted into her mind.

Terrified, she shrank back and he stopped in front of her, his great head lowered.

I remember, he hissed slowly. Yes. You are like him, so like, but you are not him. Not.

‘Him?’ Shaan trembled.

His head came around and he looked straight at her, the purple in his eyes became deeper and darker, and the blue vapour around them seemed to vibrate.

Arak. Him, he hissed.

Her insides dropped. She knew of whom he was talking: the Fallen, Azoth.

Little Azim, Nuathin hissed, his translucent tail circling around her. We have thought he might have had fledglings. We thought, we thought, but no, we are told it cannot be, he cannot, none of them can. But your blood sings to us, little Azim, we feel it singing, singing. As we feel his. Are you Arak-si?

‘No,’ Shaan whispered staring at the serpent. ‘My father was . . .’ She stopped. Who was her father? She had never known, and now Tallis . . . panicking she closed her mind on her thoughts, afraid the serpent would hear. ‘My father was from the Isles,’ she said.

But who was his hatcher? And his before and before and before? Nuathin writhed around her, jostling her in his wake. Perhaps you are a messenger from him. Yessss. The world has become old without him and the true paths forgotten. Has he sent you to show us again, we wonder? He drifted about her muttering and she tried to catch his attention.

‘Nuathin, what do you mean?’ But the serpent ignored her, drifting aimlessly back and forth as if she were not there, hissing to himself. Afraid, Shaan looked down again at the Hive. Was that the way out? The lights ebbed and pulsed in waves, and as she stared it seemed to get closer, or was she drawing nearer? A strange prickling tickled her mind, as though it were being stroked by the wings of many moths.

We feel him. Nuathin’s voice suddenly hissed loudly, and he thrust his head before her like a snake. Who are you, small Azim?

‘I am Shaan,’ she answered uneasily. ‘You have seen me in your crell before, I came to . . .’

No! He interrupted her and his voice suddenly became almost a whisper. Are you his messenger? He stared into her eyes.

She trembled and wondered if his mind was whole. A loud roar came from him and he thrust his head toward her, his eyes flaming red.

He will look for you, he hissed, baring his fangs. Come, we will show you. Shaan tried to move away, but his tail curled around her and she heard a cacophony of voices screaming, followed by a roaring sound like a wave rushing toward the shore. She looked down at the Hive and saw a thick stream of light arcing up at her. She struggled to rise away, but with a hiss Nuathin swept a wing over her head and pulled her down into the Hive.

Voices in the dark. Like the sound of silk sheets rustling together. She couldn’t make out the words, only the sounds, a wave rising and falling around her. She struggled to remember where she was. She’d been afraid; she remembered that, and falling. Was she dreaming?

She looked down but there was nothing to see. Everything was dark: soft darkness wrapped around her like a cloak. Should she be worried? She tried to grasp the thought, but it rose away from her like smoke. She must be dreaming, but it was a strange dream. A small voice in her mind was saying something, but she couldn’t hear it properly, and it seemed such an effort to try to listen. She pushed it away and drifted on, trying to ignore it. It came back. She shook her head annoyed, if only it would leave her in peace. Around her the voices whispered and shushed, and the voice in her mind became louder. It was disturbing the others, it wasn’t peaceful anymore. The dark changed, it became threatening, the voices growing sharper.

Who is she? The voice in her mind suddenly surfaced and it was burning and pain. She recoiled but it followed, jabbing at her, questioning. Who is she? She sought to escape, pushing back against it, and then she remembered where she was. She was in the Hive. Panic overwhelmed her. She was trapped!

Nuathin, was he here? Or had he left her to drown in the darkness. There was nothing here but voices. Nuathin? She cried out. There was no answer, but she could feel a presence hovering, watching.

Nuathin, are you there?

Who are you? A multi-layered voice spoke.

I’m Shaan.

No, we feel you are more.

She responded in frustration. I am only Shaan.

No! You are like him. We can see it, feel it, smell it on you. The one who named us, his mark is on you. Is he coming for us? Arak-siii. The voices dragged the words out in a hiss, the sound spreading through the dark, their voices floundering on top of each other. Has he found us? . . . Take us along the true paths . . . He left us, why would he send another? She has his mark even after so long I feel him . . . we have not been true, will he forgive us? Sadness and yearning followed the last voice and she spun around, trying to isolate where they were. But they were everywhere and nowhere. Their words surrounded her, growing, murmuring, filling her mind. She couldn’t breathe. With a desperate effort she screamed, What do you want? Tell me!

All sound stopped. Show her, a single voice whispered. There was a pause and then a wrench and a flood of pain as every serpent in the Hive wove their consciousness through hers. A rushing, tugging pull slammed into her, white light stabbed her eyes and suddenly she could see. She was flying. Wind whipped her eyes and her tail lashed out behind, testing the thermal. It was wonderful, terrible, exhilarating. She was not alone. She felt them all, the others, there with her, sharing, joined.

They swooped down toward thick jungle, hungering for the hot damp, a fire in their belly. The trees were thick and thrashed aside as their membraned wings plunged down, wood cracking, vines tearing. Then they were through and the sweet, wet scent of the earth rose to their nostrils. The river, pungent, fast flowing and brown, slipped past beneath them. And they could see the walls, stone and warm before them, where He waited.

A small, frightened voice inside quailed at the sight of the city of her dreams, at the familiar gates and scent of the earth; but it was swallowed by the others, subjugated, and she went with them, passing through, slipping from herself and into their joining. Others flew alongside them, and Azim, two-legged, wandered below. And He was there, up ahead, waiting for them, calling for them. They could feel him singing in their blood. Arak, they chorused joyfully. Arak. They were whole.

He stood, dark haired, indigo-eyed, and in his hand was the Stone and they wished, they wished, that this time he would pick them.

Enough!

Light and pain pierced her and she was thrown away. Screaming, she tried to hold on, but they pushed her back into the blackness.

Can she find him? The hybrid voice came again, threshing her mind and Shaan whimpered unable to respond. Is she a messenger?

She can tell him. A deep throbbing voice broke through. We are true. We wait. Show her!

And the pain came again, dragging her in, splitting her apart. Her eyes were forced open to a place she knew well: the Dome. But the light was brighter, illusionary, and she was nothing, but she could see.

Serpents hovered in the air, dozens of them wingtip to wingtip, surrounding the Dome. There were so many and she could see nothing beyond them but the sky, a strange purple sky, cloud rippled and golden limned. Standing on the rooftop was a man. He was tall and dark-haired and she could not see his face; she knew he was not a man. She knew who he was. She could feel him, his being sang in her blood. It terrified and chilled her to the core.

Arak, the serpents hissed in unison, and Shaan saw far below into the Dome. It was filled with people, terrified, staring people. They were trapped, waiting for their fate. She looked up into the sky and realised it was not clouds but smoke filling the air and, turning, she saw the city of Salmut on fire.

Tell him we wait, the voice hissed, and in terror she saw the man on the platform begin to turn his head, as though he heard. She was seized with a sudden, terrible knowledge that he must not see her. She fought to escape, although she did not know how. She pushed against them screaming, feeling him turning, turning. There was a ripping, tearing pain and she flew into a blackness so complete she was lost to it.

Shaan opened her eyes to the floor of Nuathin’s crell. She was laying face down, her head twisted to one side. In the dim light she could see the serpent’s tail curled around his body and, beyond, the opening to the Dome. With a sense of disorientation she noticed shafts of moonlight dappling the narrow ledge. There was no sound but for the breathing of the serpent beside her.

Slowly, she pushed herself up to her knees, wincing as a savage pain arrowed through her skull. Her hand was burning and she lifted it up to see the bandage was soiled and rucked up around her fingers. She looked at Nuathin. He appeared once more to be asleep, but she was sure he was not. She struggled to her feet. How long had she been here? Standing, she stared at Nuathin. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked long and silently at her. She remembered everything.

The serpents were planning to destroy the city, to kill all the people.

No, Nuathin’s voice came into her mind, hissing like water on hot wood.

Then what? Shaan sent the thought back at him. What did the Hive show me?

The Hive shows truth. True feelings. That we are waiting and are true to him.

Him again. She took a long deep breath and felt the sudden wavering fear as she remembered Azoth, turning to look at her. Could she believe it? Was he back? How could it be true? It had been so long, he was a legend, a myth.

Why, Nuathin? She sent to him. Why show me that?

The serpent turned his head so he was looking at her from his blue eye, his barrel-sized nostrils sending hot air over her. A message.

Shaan clenched her hands into fists. I don’t understand.

Nuathin blew a stream of air over her. I am hungry. Hunt now. Come back next high sun. And rising quicker than she would have thought possible, he turned and leaped from the ledge into the open air of the Dome. His tail dragged with a screech over the edge and his wings opened sending dust spiralling back over her. He dipped once then rose and flapped up, disappearing from her sight.

23

Shaan crept out from the Dome. It was well after sunset and all the other yard workers had gone home. Through the trees she could see the dim glow of lamps in the riders’ complex, but around the Dome it was dark. There was no moon and the sky was ink black and bright with stars.

She walked down the hard packed dirt path then veered off, taking a narrow track that led down and around the back of the complex to the eastern gate. It was very quiet and the track was barely visible in the dim starlight. The trees were thin shadows and there was a still dampness in the air. She could hear the sea washing up against the rocks of the coast below, like the breath of a distant giant.

She wondered whether Tuon would be back at the inn yet, or whether Torg would be looking for her. He would have expected her to work tonight and no doubt would be angry she wasn’t there. Her hand throbbed dully and the skin itched beneath the bandage. She tried not to think about it and kept going down the dark path. She was numbed by her experience and stared down at her feet as she went, watching them move one in front of the other as if in a dream, until suddenly she stopped, her heart in her throat.

She felt him before she saw him. It was an acute awareness, a stretching of herself that she’d not felt before but recognised instinctively. She looked into the dark shadows of the trees.

‘Come out, I know you’re there.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment and then his hesitant voice came from the dark. ‘Can you feel it too?’

She didn’t reply. She felt stretched taught as wire. It was the man from before – Tallis. The awareness of him was strong now, filling her, alien but familiar.

‘Come out,’ she repeated and heard the tremor in her voice.

He came out then onto the path, the faint starlight catching in the small bands of silver at the end of his braids.

‘Shaan.’

Her insides jolted. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘Balkis told me. I just wanted to see you, I thought . . .’ he spread out his hands. He was taller than she, broader across the shoulders, and he wore his hair long. But it was black and thick like her own and his dark purple eyes stared at her in the faint light.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded, but she already knew and only spoke to stave off the inevitable, to try to deny what he would tell her.

‘I am your brother, Shaan.’

‘I don’t have a brother. I don’t have any family, they are all dead.’

He let out a long breath and shook his head. ‘I know you feel it; I can feel it in you. You are my sister, look at us! You cannot deny how alike we are.’

Her heart thumped against her ribs. ‘You are a clansman, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘From the desert. How . . .’

‘I don’t know.’ He moved a step toward her.

‘Stop!’ She put her hands up.

‘Shaan.’ He stopped, but his expression was pleading. ‘My mother – our mother – gave birth to twins, to us. But you were small, sick, and it is the way of the clans to give back to Kaa those he has already marked for himself.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You were left out in the sands to die.’ His mouth twisted. ‘The leader of my clan put you there, but our mother saved you, she sent someone to save you.’

‘It’s not possible,’ she repeated. ‘My mother was from Goreth, near the Pleth Ranges, I was born there.’

‘Were you?’ he said. ‘Or is it possible you were given to her? A child given to a woman who could not have her own. A gift.’

Shaan said nothing, but deep inside a curl of doubt began to drift upward, like a feather borne on smoke. Her mother had never had anymore children, not even with all the men she had kept company with. She had always thought it was because of the crist.

‘I’ve seen those mountains, Shaan,’ he insisted. ‘They are near the border of the clan lands.’ He was staring at her, but still she didn’t reply.

‘Who was your father, then?’ he said.

Shaan hesitated, her fingers suddenly cold. ‘He is dead.’ She folded her arms about herself and Tallis sighed and came a step closer.

‘Perhaps, but our mother is not,’ he smiled. ‘And you are as stubborn as she. Her name is Mailun and she is of the Ice People, the Ichindar, and she would weep to know you live.’

His eyes shone in the dark and Shaan felt such an overwhelming surge of emotion run through her that she stepped back, her breath short and ragged. She stared at him, afraid. ‘My mother is dead,’ she whispered.

‘No. The woman who raised you is dead, your mother is not.’

Shaan stood very still. She thought of words she could use to deny what he said. She wanted to rail against him, to push him away, and yet she could not. She could not deny what stood in front of her. His presence pulled at her insides like an invisible cord. It was not possible, but she would not have thought what had just happened with Nuathin possible either.

‘Shaan?’ He put a hand out but she drew back. She didn’t want him to touch her, but she could not find the will to deny his words – they felt like truth.

‘Can we talk? Will you come back to the room they have given me? We have much to tell each other.’

She hesitated, but could think of no reason to refuse. ‘For a short while,’ she said.

‘Good, come then.’ He turned and began to walk, glancing back at her almost every step. She followed, keeping her distance.

The room he had in the barracks was small, similar to all the other rooms. The other man from the clans sat on one of the four beds, leaning against the wall. He was taller than Tallis, his brown hair tied back in many braids, and he smiled at her as she entered.

‘You found her,’ he said. He was handsome and his skin, tanned dark by the sun, made his teeth appear doubly white. ‘I’m amazed, usually the women run away from him.’

‘Beetledung face,’ Tallis grunted and turned to her. ‘This is Jared, my earth brother.’

‘Brother?’ she looked at him in surprise.

‘Not a brother by blood,’ Jared said. ‘We are brothers of our clan. We shared the first hunting rites, bled our first kill together, it is almost the same.’ He shrugged. ‘But I am not your brother.’ He winked at her. ‘And if Tallis is your twin, it seems you were born with all the beauty.’

‘Jared,’ Tallis gave him an irritated look, ‘why don’t you see if you can find us some food.’

‘And where shall I find it?’ he replied.

‘I don’t know.’

‘In the kitchens,’ Shaan said quietly. ‘The building nearest this one, try the small side door, it should not be barred.’

Jared smiled at her again. ‘All right, I won’t be long.’ He left, closing the door softly behind him.

Shaan sat on one of the beds. ‘Your earth brother has a silken tongue,’ she observed and Tallis smiled ruefully.

‘Few women in the clan could resist him, I’m sure it will be no different among the Wetlanders.’

He sat down on the bed near hers and leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees up and resting his hands on them. In the light of the lamps she could see the angle of his jaw and line of his nose, it was like looking at a taller, masculine version of herself.

‘Do you know, I only found out just before I left my lands that I even had a sister,’ he said. ‘But when she told me . . .’ he shook his head. ‘I cannot describe it, but it explained so much.’ He looked at her. ‘And then when I saw you . . . I can feel you in here.’ He touched his chest and Shaan swallowed and looked down at her hands. His expression was too intense. It didn’t seem real, any of this, and yet she knew what he meant.

‘That’s how I knew where to find you,’ he continued. ‘I followed it, like a path. It is . . . strange.’ He let out a breath and was silent for a time.

Shaan battled with herself. She could not deny she felt as though she knew this man, had known him always, and yet she did not know him. Looking at him, she wanted to stare and stare, absorbing all the details of his face and yet, at the same time, she could not stand to look at him.

‘You are from the desert clans, you said. Which one, what is the name of it?’

He hesitated before he answered. ‘Jalwalah,’ he said quietly.

‘Why did you leave?’

His face closed up and he looked away, staring at the floor for a long while. When he spoke his voice was flat and strained as though he pulled the words from a deep chasm. ‘In the clans there are things a man cannot do, cannot be. I broke those rules. Clansmen died.’

He stopped and his hands gripped his knees so hard his knuckles whitened. Shaan felt the tension in him, sharp as a knife blade, and an answering ache in her own gut.

She reached out a hand to him then hesitated. ‘You do not have to tell me.’

‘Yes, I should.’ His eyes were full of torment. ‘You should know. I have a wrongness inside me, a . . . strangeness. I can feel the serpents, their blood . . . calls to me.’ He looked away again and stared at his hands, rubbing his fingers across the rough, stained fabric of his trousers. ‘We were out hunting. Jared was with me and Haldane, the man I knew as my father, my mother and many others. We were looking for sand goat when the beasts came. There were two of them, serpents, but not like those you have here, these were bigger and their hides were black. They attacked us, but they were slow about it, toying with us.’ His jaw clenched. ‘The man I thought was our father was killed, and something happened to me. I don’t know what it was, but I said things to the beasts . . . spoke to them in a language I didn’t know, and they left us. But it did not save him. Haldane died there in the sand.’

‘Is that why you left?’ Shaan said and he looked at her and then away again.

‘Do you feel the serpents, Shaan? Do you feel them like that, inside you?’

She hesitated. His eyes were filled with such raw pain and hope, that she had to look away.

‘No, not like that. But I do feel drawn to them, and one of them, an old one,’ she swallowed, ‘he has spoken to me, in my mind. I passed out . . .’ she stopped.

‘Why do you think we are like this?’ he said and she shrugged.

‘Riders speak to the serpents, perhaps we are something like them.’ But she knew the doubt was plain in her voice. They were not like the riders. They were something else. Arak-si. The voices in the serpent Hive mind came to her, but she pushed them away. She could not tell him that, not yet.

‘If we are brother and sister as you say, then who is our father?’

‘I don’t know,’ He shrugged. ‘Mother told me he was dead, but I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem he is to me. Perhaps it is his legacy that makes us this way.’

Shaan felt cold as she remembered again more of the words Nuathin had spoken: Who was his hatcher? And his before and before? Has he sent you?

‘Tell me,’ she said to drown them out. ‘Tell me about your – our – mother.’

A small, hesitant smile curved his lips. ‘All right.’ And he began to speak about a woman named Mailun, and a clan called Jalwalah.

Jared returned somewhere in the middle of his telling with bread and a plate of green olives and cheese. They shared the food and he joined in and told her stories about their childhood and hunts they had made together, often poking fun at Tallis, his brown eyes flashing humour at her. Then later, Shaan talked of her life in Salmut. Of the serpents and the riders, the Guardian high in her palace on the hill, and of the Faithful: the men who could turn a man’s mind with their will.

She stayed well into the night and the little room became a haven from all the fears that hunted her, until she found she couldn’t remember having ever felt so safe or protected as she did there, with the men of the desert, within the bright confines of the flickering lamps.

24

Morfessa was woken by someone banging loudly on his front door.

Bleary eyed, he raised his head from the desk. ‘Prin!’ he called hoarsely. ‘Prin, the door.’

His mouth was dry and drops of dried wine splattered the edge of his papers. A sheaf of parchment stuck briefly to his hand as he rubbed his face. The banging continued.

‘Prin!’ he raised his voice but there was no reply. The only light came from one lamp near his desk, glowing dimly; the others had used up their oil hours before. It was still night and he could see himself reflected in the long glass doors that led to the garden: a startled, grumpy old man in a greasy pool of yellow light.

‘Prin!’

Where was he? With a grunt he pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled to the door, opened it and peered into the hall. There was no sign of his young assistant. Grumbling, he walked stiffly to the front door.

‘What?’ he roared as he opened it, letting it bang against the wall.

‘Advisor, Sir.’ A Hunter stood outside, his expression stoic. ‘The Commander wants to see you at the palace.’

‘Now? It’s the middle of the night!’

‘Yes Sir,’ the Hunter replied. ‘I’m here to escort you. I have a cart waiting.’

Morfessa peered outside and saw a small cart covered with a dome of canvas near his flowerbeds. The muthu it was attached to was busily munching the tops off the nearest plants.

‘Right!’ He glared at the beast and then at the Hunter. ‘Just a moment.’

He went back inside and quickly gulped down a cup of water, trying to clear his head. What could Rorc want at this time of night? And where was Prin? He went to his dressing room and with unsteady hands pulled his wine-stained shirt off and quickly put another on, his fingers fumbling on the smooth buttons. Whatever he wanted, it could not be good news. Another attack? Another sign of the Fallen’s return? Uneasiness and dread crept over him.

He had been going to show Rorc the scrolls about the Birthstone and Azoth’s child. That girl who had come to him last week, what was her name? He searched his memory trying to recall. And the word she’d asked him about: Arak-si, descendant of Azoth. How could he have forgotten it? He’d been going to tell Rorc about her, about all of it, but he hadn’t, why not?

He licked his lips as they were cracked and dry. He seemed to have trouble remembering. Was he ill? No matter, he pushed his fears to the back of his mind; he would tell him now. He went to his study and, rolling up the precious scrolls, tied them with red cord and followed the Hunter to the cart. Clambering awkwardly up inside he clung to the uncomfortably hard seat as they sped through the dark city to the Guardian’s palace.

By the time he arrived, Veila the Seer, and Cyri were already there.

‘Morfessa,’ Rorc looked up as he closed the door. His face was drawn and weary and Morfessa instantly felt worry gnaw harder at his insides.

‘What is it, what’s happened?’

‘It’s the Guardian, she’s collapsed.’

‘What? How . . .’

‘She’s still alive,’ Rorc interrupted. ‘But it was poison, a lot of it.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘With the palace healers.’

‘Why wasn’t I called?’ he cried.

‘You have been. Cyri and I were meeting with her when it happened.’

Morfessa shook his head. ‘I knew she’d been having headaches but . . .’ Anger rose in him then, quick and sharp. ‘I must see her!’

‘Soon.’

‘But there are things I can do that the healers cannot! I can identify the poison, find out how it was administered, help her!’

‘You will.’ Rorc put a hand on his arm. ‘And we think the poison has already been identified. The healers have given her the poison tonics you yourself made in case this ever happened.’

‘What of Nilah?’ he demanded. ‘Why is she not here?’

Rorc’s mouth tightened. ‘She was not in her bed. But I have sent Balkis and the guard out to find her.’ There was accusation in his eyes.

He was blaming him for Nilah’s absence, Morfessa realised. And he was probably right. He’d known about her indiscretions for some time. ‘I’m sure they will find her,’ he said, avoiding the Commander’s eye. ‘She’s probably at an inn in the traders’ quarter.’ When Rorc didn’t reply he added, ‘This must be the work of Lorgon and his cronies’.

‘Possibly,’ Cyri spoke. ‘But we do not know for sure.’

‘And he has been quick to point the finger elsewhere,’ Rorc said. ‘He was in the palace when it happened, although we’ve no idea why he was there so late. A vial was found in her room. It contained a poison only found in the Free Lands.’

‘He will blame them,’ Morfessa said.

‘No doubt.’ Rorc’s expression was grim. ‘Even now he is waking the rest of the Council of Nine from their beds and has confined all the visiting diplomats from the Free Lands to their rooms.’

‘He will order a search and we will have no choice but to let him,’ Morfessa muttered. It would be disastrous for their already cool relations with the Free Lands. He passed a hand over his head, trying to ignore the dull throbbing. ‘The meeting you were having with her, what was it for?’

‘There have been more attacks, more sightings of the rogue serpents,’ Rorc said. ‘They’re getting closer and, most importantly, Veila has seen things in the Void.’

‘Yes.’ The seer sat gracefully down on one of the long cushioned couches by the wall. ‘I am sure now that the Fallen one has indeed returned.’

Morfessa’s gut clenched. ‘You have seen it?’

‘I have felt it.’ She grimaced. ‘His presence is like a dark shadow, spreading through the place of dreams. He is very strong, too strong to be outside our world. He is back I am sure of it.’

‘But without the Birthstone he can never be whole,’ Cyri said. ‘It is the well from which the power of all gods flow and it was lost, destroyed, when he was banished.’

‘Lost, yes,’ Veila said. ‘But destroyed?’ She shook her head.

‘Then where is it?’ Rorc demanded and Veila turned to Morfessa.

‘Advisor?’ Her pale eyes pinned him.

Morfessa’s mouth dried. Always the Seer made him feel as though she saw through all he did. ‘I have brought these scrolls.’ He took them over to the polished stone table and with cold fingers untied them and spread the parchment out flat on the surface. ‘This is some of my research, years old now, that I was doing before my wife died.’ He swallowed, wishing he had some wine. ‘I had meant to show you these earlier, but . . .’ he shook his head. ‘Last week I was visited by that young woman . . . I can’t remember her name, Rorc, but you remember,’ he looked at the Commander. ‘You caught her following Tuon one evening.’

‘Shaan?’

‘Yes, that’s it, that’s her.’

Rorc frowned. ‘I should have paid her more attention,’ he said, then looked sharply at Morfessa. ‘You’re memory is surprisingly bad, old man. If you remember, you remarked to me at the time that something about her seemed strange. You thought she seemed familiar.’

Morfessa stilled. ‘Really?’ He rubbed his cheek staring into space. Why could he not recall that? His memory was so muddy lately, confused. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know . . . but here, this I do remember; she – Shaan – told me she had a friend who had heard a strange word and asked would I know it.’ He took a breath. ‘The word was Arak-si.’

Veila rose to her feet. ‘Descendant.’

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘The language of the serpents, an ancient tongue. Arak was their word for Azoth. Arak-si means, literally, one loved by him, his descendant.’

There was silence for a moment and then Rorc said quietly, ‘A child of the Fallen?’

‘Yes,’ Morfessa nodded. ‘And that is why I brought this scroll, if you look here,’ he pointed at the closely written text, ‘I thought at one time perhaps he had found a way to use the Birthstone to father a child, just before he was banished.’

‘How did you decipher that?’ Veila moved to look at the scroll.

‘I spent some time on the Serpent Isles. It’s in the Prophets Scrolls.’

‘We must have those scrolls,’ Veila said. ‘Rorc, have you spoken with your man, Torg, and procured a ship?’

‘I have spoken to him but, with the Season of Rain so close, ships are hard to find. I’m sure he will persuade someone soon though.’

‘But I cannot go now,’ Morfessa protested. ‘The Guardian, I must stay and watch over her.’

‘Yes. I will go.’ Veila turned quick eyes to Rorc.

‘It is too dangerous,’ Cyri said quietly. But, grim faced, Rorc said, ‘We will debate this later, but for now we should talk to Shaan.’

‘Yes.’ Morfessa looked down at his hands, there was still a wine stain on his fingers. Rorc gave him a hard look. ‘There is something else?’

His head was beginning to throb again and he rubbed at the spot between his eyes. ‘It’s just . . . if Azoth did have a child, what was his purpose?’ He looked at Rorc’s dark, tense face. ‘I cannot believe one such as him merely wanted a baby, and a partly mortal child at that. No,’ he shook his head, ‘I think there was a purpose to using the Stone to create life. I think he knew the end was coming, he would have felt the Four awakening, how could he not? And he would have known that the only way for them to defeat him, was for them to take the Stone.’ He paused. ‘I think the child he conceived may have been born with some inherent link to the Birthstone, and that link could have been carried on down through all the generations.’

‘Until now, when he has found a way to free himself,’ Veila said. ‘The descendant is the key.’

‘Yes.’ Morfessa looked at her. ‘And Azoth will need his descendant to find the Birthstone, to regain his power.’

A moment’s silence hung between them, then Rorc said, ‘I will send men to get Shaan’.

He slunk along like a shadow in the Dome’s dark passageways, smiling as he listened to the serpents’ cries echoing through the stone. He knew he was taking a risk being here, but he’d felt a growing sense of urgency: he was close now, he could feel it.

He had wanted to be here, to feel their blood calling; their awareness of him was thick in the air. It energised him, sharpening his senses, reminding him of what he had once been . . . what he still was. He paused as he heard the sound of booted feet approaching. Silently, he slipped into the shadows of an empty crell. The musky oil smell of a youngling still lingered in the straw and Azoth breathed it in as he watched the men walk past. Their faces were confused and he smelled the fear on them, riding low beneath the surface of their bravado. Always had it been that way with the slaves; fear was their greatest weakness, it made them stupid.

They were afraid now because they didn’t know what watched them. But one did know, he could feel her, the Seer, poking ineptly at the Way Between. She was so clumsy, it amazed him she hadn’t been lost to it yet. But she hadn’t had the benefit of his long years of practice.

The smile dropped from his face and anger glittered in his eyes. Fortuse, Epherin, Vail, Paretim – he repeated the names of his brothers and sisters: the Four Lost ones. They had taken many lifetimes from him, stolen his world. But what were they now? Nothing. Forgotten wraiths, living but not alive. Had they felt him escape? Fortuse had been ever so clever at manipulating the Void. Maybe she had kept a shred of her ability, perhaps she had felt him escape, seen him tear the hole in his prison. He smiled and walked out of the crell, checking behind him, listening to the men’s footsteps fade.

He hoped the bitch had felt him and known. It would torment her, and yet she would not think he could regain what they had taken. They thought they were so clever, and they thought the Stone gone forever, but as always they underestimated him. None of them had known about the child.

Smiling to himself, Azoth trailed his fingers along the rough stone as he walked, feeling the warmth of it as he stretched his mind through it and up, seeking the blood that called to him. Soon, his Arak-si would come to him. She would help him find the ring and he would draw on her to regain some of his power. It frustrated him not to have access to that well of power the Birthstone brought him. Without it he was diminished. He hungered for his Arak-si to restore him.

Nuathin had been very useful, tormenting her, showing her things. If Azoth stretched out his mind he could almost feel her, buried though she was in this city of slaves. Soon she would feel him. Soon she would follow her dreams, seeking help from the old man. Soon she would hear him outside her dreams.

He closed his eyes and dipping into the ether, he called to her again.

25

Tallis woke with a strange feeling of restfulness and energy. Shaan had not gone back to the inn. They had talked well into the night and she had been too weary to return. He looked over at the bed nearby to see if she was awake, but it was empty.

Surprised, he sat up, peering through the gloom of the early morning. The light coming through the window was sparse and grey and the air felt thick with warmth and moisture. Close by, Jared lay quiet and still, but he could not see Shaan. He could feel her though. A stifled, quick breathing came from the corner of the room, and he saw her huddled against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest. She was awake, her eyes wide and frightened.

‘Shaan!’ He sprang from the bed and went over to her, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. ‘What is it?’ He kneeled down.

She blinked, as though just realising he was there. It was warm in the room, but she was shivering.

‘Shaan.’ He tried again, speaking quietly as though to calm a child. She didn’t respond and he put a hand under her arm, pulling her up.

‘Come.’ He guided her over to the bed and she didn’t resist, moving half crouched over as though she were an old woman.

He sat beside her, calling her name several times before she turned to look at him. Her gaze flickered as she focused.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

‘Nothing. It was just a dream. I’m all right.’ She folded her arms and gave him a faint smile.

‘Are you cold?’ He put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at it and then suddenly sprang from the bed and away from him, as though his touch burned.

‘No, no I’m fine.’ Her face was pale and her eyes flitted from him, to Jared, and all around the room without rest. ‘I have to go.’

‘Wait.’ He stood. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No!’ She put up a hand, speaking so loudly Jared stirred, rolling over to look at them.

‘Shaan?’ he said, blinking sleepily.

‘Sorry, I have to go,’ she repeated and began to back toward the door.

Tallis felt a sudden, hollow fear that if she left he would not be able to find her again, that she would disappear.

‘No, wait.’ He moved fast, catching at her arm. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing, nothing.’ She looked up at him more steadily now. ‘It’s all right, I just must go back to the inn, they will wonder where I am. I was supposed to work last night, Torg will be angry.’

But Tallis felt the uneasiness beneath her words. There was something wrong, she was afraid.

‘Shaan . . .’

‘No, Tallis.’ She pushed his hand off. ‘I must go and you have to stay here. If you leave, Balkis will send men to bring you back.’

‘Tallis.’ Jared was awake and sitting up now. ‘Let her go, she’ll be back, won’t you.’ He gave her a lazy grin and Shaan’s gaze flicked to him.

‘Yes, I’ll come back tonight,’ she said and smiled; but there was no warmth in it, only a strange desolation that Tallis couldn’t fathom.

‘Really, I will,’ she said and went to the door. As she turned the handle a keening high-pitched cry sounded outside, like metal scraping across a gong, or glass shattering. Shaan’s head jerked upward, listening as the cry echoed eerily overhead. Tallis’s insides coiled tight and his breath stopped in his throat. She turned, her eyes dark indigo as she stared up at him. ‘The serpents are restless,’ she said and then she was gone, the door closing quietly behind her.

He stood, listening as more cries filled the air, feeling the thrumming energy singing through his blood.

The city was quiet as Tuon made her way toward the temple. It was barely light and there were few people about. A dark band of cloud hung over the sky, dimming the light to a grey pallor and trapping moist warm air in the city. In her hand she held a small cloth bag of aromatic spices, a gift for the Sisters.

She had dressed in a simple, pale pink wrap dress with loose three quarter sleeves and her hair was brushed and fastened high on her head with a comb. To anybody on the street, she appeared cool and calm, but inside she was twisted with anxiety. Rorc had changed their meeting. It was unlike him and it made her nervous. And Shaan had not come home last night. She clenched her fingers around the bag. It had been only a day since Petar’s death; she should not be running around the city like this. Anything could happen.

A terrible image came to her of Shaan sitting in some cell under the Faithful’s eye. Was that why Rorc wanted to see her? Did he already have Shaan and know about the dream seer? What if he saw something in her eyes?

She crossed the street and approached the wide steps of the temple. The smooth marble was swept clean of dust and no one was about. She hesitated. When Torg had given her the message she’d tried to tidy herself, to look as cool and calm as usual. But Rorc was perceptive, too perceptive sometimes, and she wondered if she could fool him.

Bruises and small cuts from the previous afternoon spent with Lorgon ached as she slipped off her sandals and pushed open the heavy door. Inside, a dull gleam came from a shallow pool and the sweet smell of jungle blossom filled the air. She nodded to the silent Sister sitting behind a table and presented her with the bag of spices. The older woman raised it to her nose and inhaled, then looked up at her with a fleeting smile and indicated a door barely visible in the wall behind her.

Made of the same white stone as the walls, it swung silently, spinning on a central axis as Tuon depressed the lock. She slipped through and it shut behind her with a click. Her insides tight, she walked quickly through the silent corridor to the Primate’s study.

Rorc was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window. In spite of herself, her heart started to thud.

‘You’re late,’ he said quietly without turning.

She took her time closing the door. ‘You changed our meeting remember.’ She sat in one of the two hard chairs facing the desk, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands together to keep them still.

He turned from the window. ‘Things have happened. I need to know if you found anything out.’

‘Things? What things?’

He let out a breath. ‘Just tell me, Tuon.’

Frowning, she smoothed her skirt. ‘I went to see Councillor Lorgon as you asked. He was . . . the same as always, but he didn’t leave me alone long enough, I couldn’t search his room. I would have sent you word immediately if I’d found anything.’

Rorc cursed and walked around the desk to sit in a chair beside her. He spread his long legs out in front and sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked very tired. There were shadows under his dark green eyes and lines of worry creased his skin. She had a sudden compulsion to smooth his brow.

‘I was hoping for more,’ he dropped his hand. ‘Tuon, the Guardian has been poisoned.’

‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘Is she . . .’

‘Dead? No, but there are fears she may not survive. And her empty-headed daughter has gone on one of her outings. She hasn’t been found.’ He let out a frustrated breath. ‘I need to know anything, however small, you may have found out.’

Tuon swallowed, her mouth dry. ‘You suspect Lorgon?’

‘He has been vocal about his dislike of her, but he is not the only one.’

‘Well, I didn’t find anything, but Lorgon likes to talk a lot when he’s . . .’

‘What did he say?’ he interrupted.

‘Many things, mostly curses, but at one point he kept saying I should take it, telling me to say sorry. I had to say that a lot, over and over and that he was right. He liked that, especially when I was on my knees.’ She flicked a glance at him and saw his jaw tighten.

‘That’s all?’ he asked quietly.

She nodded and rubbed unconsciously at a bruise under the sleeve of her dress. Rorc’s gaze fell on her arm. His lips tightened and he leaned over and grabbed her hand, pushing the sleeve up to expose the line of finger-shaped bruises on the outside of her upper arm.

‘Leave it.’ She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

‘Did he do this?’

‘What do you care?’

‘If I’d known he was like that I wouldn’t have asked you to go.’

She stared at him. Was he really so blind? ‘They are all like that,’ she said. ‘The more coin they have the more they think they can get away with.’ She pulled away from him and, rising from her chair, went to the window turning her back to him. ‘What do you think I do, Rorc? Or do you prefer not to think about it? It has always been like this. The most powerful men can be the most cruel. Given the choice I would rather be at the inn taking custom from sailors or soldiers.’ She turned to look at him, but his eyes told her nothing. She crossed her arms.

‘Does that surprise you? That I would prefer a man with dust on his hands to one who sleeps on silk. A man who can swing a sword not a bag of gold.’

Rorc blinked and frowned at the vehemence in her tone. ‘Little surprises me,’ he replied, but the look he gave her was puzzled.

Afraid she’d betrayed herself, she sat back down at the desk and fingered a small statue. ‘No, well what does it matter,’ she said quickly. ‘That is not my life.’

He said nothing for a moment, and when he did speak his voice was low and quiet. ‘I’m sorry you were hurt, it won’t happen again.’

She shrugged. ‘It is done.’

‘I mean it, Tuon.’

She looked up. His green eyes were on hers and she held his gaze, letting the silence stretch between them. He did mean it, she could see it in his eyes.

She smiled, feeling as brittle as glass. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ she replied and looked away, feeling as though her heart would shatter.

He was still for a moment, then rose from the chair, adjusting the sword at his hip, and began walking back and forward in front of the desk, his arms folded.

‘Where was your friend, Shaan, this morning? She was not at the inn when my messenger arrived.’

Tuon’s heart leaped into her throat. ‘She wasn’t? I don’t know.’ She affected a frown. ‘She should have been there, I didn’t check.’

He looked at her closely and she wondered what kind of a messenger he had sent. That one of the Faithful could be tracking Shaan made her cold. Did he really not know where she was, or was he testing her?

‘Perhaps she went to the yards. You know how early the workers sometimes start there.’

‘Perhaps,’ he replied. ‘I only want to talk to her. Are you sure you don’t know where she is?’

‘No,’ she said too quickly, and he smiled a small, rueful smile.

‘Even if you did, you would not tell me.’

‘She is of no importance to you.’ She was afraid of the look in his eye. ‘Leave her be, Rorc, please.’

‘She is more important than you know,’ he said cryptically and placed his hands flat on the desk leaning toward her, searching her face. ‘Promise me if you know where she is you will tell me. She may be in danger, you would be helping her.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her heart thudded against her ribs, but he only shook his head. ‘I cannot tell you, but you must trust me. Do you trust me Tuon?’

He watched her closely and fear for Shaan made her skin prickle.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, because she did and because her love for him bound her more than she could sometimes bear.

‘Good.’ He stood back. ‘And Tuon,’ something flickered in his gaze. ‘there is one more thing. The dream seer, Petar, was found dead in his home at the market. Did you know?’

Her breath froze in her throat. Her heart was thudding so loudly she was sure he would hear it. She shook her head. ‘No.’

He stared at her, his eyes holding hers. She felt stretched taut. ‘He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?’

She nodded and looked down at her hands, afraid of what he would see in her face. He mistook her fear for sorrow, though, and said, ‘All right go. I think I will have more work for you soon though.’

And gratefully she did, leaving the room quietly, her hands shaking on the handle as she closed the door behind her, a dreadful fear for Shaan rising in her throat.

26

Shaan pushed through the streets of the merchants’ quarter, shoving her way through the growing crowds. Fat men dressed in silk shirts strolled in pairs looking important, and women in long dresses, their arms adorned with rows of gold bangles, hurried in and out of shops, followed by their servants. The scent of spices tinged the air and thin messengers, dressed in the colours of their owners’ houses, weaved in and out of the crowd like streams of fast current in a slow and steady river.

A few small coins were still in her pocket and she stopped to buy a sweet roll filled with soft cheese from a street vendor. The bread was crumbly and tiny pieces fell onto her clothes as she ate it, watching the people around her. For the past two hours she had been lingering in a small kaf house in the back streets of the quarter. The owner didn’t mind the occasional lowly commoner dropping in for a cup of his kaf – as long as they sat in the back – but she could only afford one cup and had had to leave eventually. She was reluctant to go back to the Red Pepino. Going back would mean questions, arguments. She didn’t think she was ready or knew how to explain to Tuon that she suddenly had a brother. Not that she was sure she believed it herself. She took another bite of the roll and wearily inspected her injured hand.

The dream that had come this time had been much worse. Serpents ripping people apart, ripping children apart, and all of them whispering to her: Arak-si. It had been difficult to wake from it, and even when she did it was only the presence of Tallis that convinced her she was back in the world again, away from the fire and the voices.

Shivering, she handed the small plate the roll had come on back to the stallholder. She couldn’t tell Tallis about it, not yet. Already she sensed he felt too much of her fear, and she wasn’t ready to share it all with him. Besides, she suspected that there was only one man who could help her. Morfessa had known what the word meant, he knew many things and he had helped her before. But how to see him, and could she trust him?

She began to walk toward the port, her mind circling over her options. She had reached the corner of the street when a strange nausea hit her. Slowing, she clutched at her stomach, wondering if the sweet roll had been stale, but then, without warning, a clear and vivid image of Tallis seated on the back of a serpent seared her mind. Sweat broke out on her brow. She could feel the awareness of him slipping away from her, like a thread being drawn out from its spindle. It was as though a fragment of her flesh were being whittled away. With a cry that startled those nearby she broke into a run, dodging around people and carts, staring up at the sky. Slipping and almost falling, she burst out from between the buildings and onto the road alongside the seafront. Turning, she stared up in the direction of the yards and saw the shadow of two serpents, like enormous gulls against the cloud-scudded sky, winging away from the city toward the east. He was up there on one of those serpents, both him and Jared, flying away.

A hollow despair filled her as she felt the awareness of him dwindle, until the serpents were lost in the mouth of the sky. Until the only trace she had left of him was the smallest whisper of his being, like breath on a pane of glass. She stared up at the sky for some time after he’d gone, still barely breathing lest a movement wipe him away, then with a glance once more at the yards, she turned and ran toward home.

She was barely two streets from the inn when a plump, dark-skinned woman in a sleeveless mauve dress burst from a shop and hurried toward her, the silk wrap about her shoulders streaming out behind in a purple cloud.

‘Shaan, dear, I’m so glad I saw you!’ She descended on her with a bone-crushing hug. Startled, Shaan could do little but try to keep her balance, then her breath caught as the woman whispered in her ear, ‘Tuon sent me. You must come with me now – just pretend you know what I’m talking about’.

She pulled away, holding her at arms length, and smiled broadly. ‘So, you look well, and I have that oil ready for you. Do you want to come and get it now?’

Her dark skin was unlined and smooth and her brown eyes glinted in the dull sunlight.

‘Aah, yes,’ Shaan stretched her lips into a smile. ‘All right.’

‘Good.’ The woman took her arm and began walking with her back to the shop. ‘We’ll have some kaf and you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to. Do you like this perfume I’m wearing? It’s a new one I made, all the palace ladies are buying it, but I will give you some to try, here sniff.’ She held her wrist out under her nose and Shaan obediently sniffed at her skin, inhaling a soft scent of fruit and flowers.

‘Lovely,’ she managed, and the woman smiled wider and pulled her under the small awning of the shop and to the door.

‘Isn’t it? Now come in here and I’ll show you some more before I open.’ She pulled her in and closed the door. Once inside her manner changed abruptly. She dropped Shaan’s arm and went quickly to the small window, making sure the shutters were tightly closed.

‘I’m sorry to have startled you,’ she said as she pressed the louvres down. ‘Tuon did say I needed to get you off the street fast.’

Shaan stared at her confused. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I am Meelin and this is my shop. I’m a friend of Tuon’s. She went to an oil lamp and struck some flint, lighting the wick. All of her gestures were quick and graceful, the plump woman moving from window to shelf like a sleek round seal. A warm glow filled the small room and Shaan saw she was in a perfumery.

Two walls were lined with shelves filled with small phials of oil, jars of various dried plants and scented candles. At the back was a small counter in front of which large sacks cluttered the floor. A set of small scales and various implements were set neatly out on the stone top and a stool sat nearby, presumably for customers. Behind the counter was a closed door and the pleasant scent of spices and flowers filled the air. It was surprisingly cool inside compared to the sticky warmth outside.

Shaan stood uneasily in the middle of the room. ‘Why did Tuon send you?’

Meelin flicked a glance to the street. ‘The Faithful are after you,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’ Shaan went cold. Had they found out about Petar?

‘She sent me a message early this morning,’ Meelin continued. ‘It was very short. She said if I were to see you on the street I should get you inside immediately.’

‘Did she say why?’

‘No,’ Meelin shook her head. ‘But you can ask her when she gets here. Now,’ she went to the door behind the counter, ‘Come, wait in here.’

She retrieved a set of keys from under a shelf, unlocking the door, and Shaan followed her into a narrow room that ran along the back of the shop. A long table littered with the tools of Meelin’s trade took up half the space, and a perfume still sat in one corner, bubbling quietly filled with vapour.

‘Sit.’ Meelin pulled a stool up to the table. ‘I’ll send a messenger to her.’

With no other choice, Shaan sat. Meelin opened the back door and whistled once in a low tone. A small girl dressed in shabby clothes appeared out of the shadows of the back alley, listened intently to Meelin’s whispers, then ran off, her bare feet silent on the hard earth.

‘She won’t be long.’ Meelin came back and sat beside her. Opening a sack full of white flowers she began pulling off the petals and placing them carefully in a bowl. ‘Here, you can help me while we wait.’ She pushed the sack toward her.

Shaan hesitated, then, with cold fingers copied the perfumer’s movements, stripping the petals away one by one, the sweet herbaceous scent filling her nostrils. She could hardly think. Had the Faithful discovered she’d been with the dream seer when he died? Would they not want Tuon as well then? Or was Commander Rorc tired of waiting for her to come to him, and was instead coming for her? Dismay filled her. How could she hide from them? Afraid, she sat pulling petals from the flowers and waited for Tuon.

They’d almost finished when she entered quietly through the back door, her face shadowed by a dull green swathe of silk.

‘Tuon!’ Shaan dropped the flower to the table and hurried over to her. ‘What’s happening? What . . .’

‘Sssh, keep your voice down!’ Tuon hissed, pulling the fabric off. ‘I saw no Hunters follow me, but that does not mean they are not there.’

‘Why are they looking for me?’ Shaan dropped her voice. ‘Is it because . . .’ she left her words unfinished as Tuon gave her a warning look.

‘I don’t know,’ Tuon said. ‘All I know is I met with Rorc this morning and he asked about you, about where you were. I don’t know why, but he wants you for something. He says you are important.’

‘For what?’ Shaan stared at her, but Tuon shook her head, her expression bleak.

‘I don’t know. But he told me also that the Guardian has been poisoned and that she lies now between life and death.’

‘The Guardian?’ Shaan stared at her.

‘That is a bad omen,’ Meelin said, her eyes dark.

‘Yes,’ Tuon said. ‘The Guardian is poisoned and the serpents fly about screeching at the sky. It doesn’t feel safe here anymore for anyone, much less someone wanted by the Faithful.’ She took a long breath. ‘We have to get you out of the city.’

Shaan’s insides clenched. ‘But where would I go, and how?’

‘I have some friends I can call on.’ Tuon glanced at Meelin.

‘My brother is taking a trade caravan back to his home in the Free Lands,’ the perfumer said. ‘He leaves tonight.’

The Free Lands? Shaan looked at Tuon. ‘But I know no one there.’

‘And no one knows you, it is the safest place for you.’ She took her hands. ‘I have some coin saved, not a lot, but it will be enough for a little while.’

Shaan stepped back, shaking her head. There had to be an alternative. ‘Can’t I just hide? There are places I used to know, when I ran with the packs, places I could go.’

‘They would find you,’ Tuon said. ‘Do you really think there is somewhere in the city you could hide from them?’

A sick sense of desolation came over her. Tuon was right; there was nowhere else to go but out of the city, and even then . . . but what of her plans to see Morfessa? She would not be able to seek help for her dreams from him now. And what if it happened again? What if someone else touched her in her sleep? What if someone else died? The thought made her feel as though she were standing alone on a precipice with the wind at her back pushing her toward the edge.

It was impossible! But then she looked at Tuon and thought of Tallis, the man who called her sister. She had to separate herself from everyone. What if she hurt one of them?

‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘But what about you? Commander Rorc will know you helped me once I am gone.’

Tuon gave a sigh of relief. ‘Don’t worry about me, I can handle him. Now if there was anyone following me, and I’d say knowing Rorc there was, he’ll be getting suspicious if I don’t leave soon so we have to think fast.’

‘I say the best way to hide something from a man is to put it in plain sight,’ Meelin said. ‘They’ll expect her to be keeping low, sticking to the shadows, but if we’re careful and dress her right,’ her eyes roamed over Shaan’s rough work trousers and shirt, ‘they may walk right past her.’

‘What are you saying?’ Tuon looked at her.

‘I’m saying we dress her up better than she’s ever looked. Perfume her hair, colour her eyes and lips with stains, and instead of hiding her in my brother’s caravan among the barrels, she can sit up next to him. She will be a trader’s daughter returning home.’

Tuon looked over Shaan with a critical eye. ‘It might work.’

‘It will,’ Meelin said. ‘But it will take time, and meanwhile what if someone saw her come into my shop?’ She pursed her lips. ‘We need a girl her size and colouring.’

‘A simple swap trick,’ Shaan said. ‘We used to do it when I was thieving; but would it work on the Faithful?’

‘Not for long,’ Tuon said. ‘But maybe long enough.’

‘I think I know someone who could do it,’ Meelin said. ‘I will send for her.’ And she went to the back door and whistled for the girl again.

‘Now,’ Tuon looked at her, ‘you will need to wash and then we shall find you a dress. Meelin,’ she turned to the other woman, ‘you will have to open your shop soon and I cannot stay long, it will seem suspicious. We will need more help.’

‘Yes, I have sent for some.’ Meelin beckoned to Shaan. ‘Come, I have hot water upstairs.’ She drew back a length of fabric hanging from the wall and revealed a narrow set of stone stairs.

‘Shaan.’ Tuon took her hand before she could move. ‘I will have to go.’ Her eyes glittered with sudden tears. ‘Be careful, I would like to come with you, but . . .’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Here.’ She pressed a small cloth bag full of coin into her hand and pushed a wayward curl of hair behind her ear. ‘Take this so you don’t need to turn to thieving to survive.’

‘Tuon, wait.’ Shaan suddenly felt as though things were moving too fast, but Tuon only smiled fleetingly. ‘I have to go. Look after yourself Shaan, don’t let them find you.’

‘I won’t.’ Shaan felt a strange sense of unreality as she hugged Tuon tight.

‘Here.’ Meelin gave Tuon a small phial of perfume. ‘Take this, you will need to look as though you came here for something. I will come see you when it is done.’

‘All right, be safe.’ Tuon squeezed her hand one last time and then was gone, the back door closing quietly behind her. Shaan stood uncertainly, staring at the door.

‘Come,’ Meelin took her arm. ‘There is not much time.’ And she took her away upstairs.

The day passed in a blur. She was washed, her hair perfumed and nails painted with a dark red stain. Her yard worker clothes were put on a young girl of her build, who had her beautiful long dark hair chopped short, and her paler skin dusted with a powder that made her seem darker. Then she was sent out in the street carrying a phial of oil and wearing a bandage on her hand.

Meelin covered Shaan’s burn with a tinted salve that almost camouflaged it, and applied silvery blue paint to her eyelids, outlining them with a black stick. Then she painted her lips with a dark red powder mixed with oil. When they were finished Shaan barely recognised herself. They had dressed her in a sleeveless, long, sea-green dress that plunged low between her breasts, almost to her navel, and was held in at the waist by a criss-cross of silk ties. Her hair was clean and soft and perfumed and held back from her face with a beaten copper band. A sheer wrap of pale turquoise silk was draped over her hair and down over her shoulders. Tiny beads of coloured glass were sewn along the edges so it glittered in the light when she moved and it could be drawn across her face and fastened so only her eyes showed, in the manner of a woman of the Free Lands.

‘There.’ Meelin stepped back to survey their work. ‘You are now the daughter of a Free Lander merchant. And remember, the women of that land do not talk to strange men. Say nothing unless my brother, Menon, speaks to you. If other men look at you, only stare at them as though they are nothing, as though they are dust under your feet. Women of wealth in the Free Lands are ruled by stricter practices than here. Be guided by my brother. He will be meeting you at an inn, the Sea Falcon, on his way back from some business in the common quarter.’

‘What shall I do when we arrive if I cannot speak to people?’ Shaan felt anxiety stir as she realised just how little she knew of the Free Lands.

‘Menon will help you. With the coin Tuon gave you he can help you set up a little shop of some kind, perhaps trading in perfume.’

‘But I know nothing of trading,’ Shaan said.

‘Then you will learn,’ Meelin answered shortly.

A few hours later, as the sun began to set, Shaan was bundled out the back door of Meelin’s shop and into a covered cart drawn by a surly muthu. After a few short instructions, and a description of her brother, Meelin dropped the cover down and Shaan was alone as the cart pushed through the evening crowds toward its destination.

The air was close and hot under the thick canvas and Shaan began to sweat. Wishing they’d been able to secure an open cart, she unhooked the veil and fanned herself with the fabric. She could hear the noise of the streets outside and smell the familiar scents of roasting meats, salt air and rotting fish. It seemed impossible that she could be leaving it all. She didn’t want to. What would she do in a land where she knew no one and had no idea how to survive? For a brief, mad moment she thought about flinging the canvas back from the cart and running away through the streets back to the Red Pepino. She wanted to be back in her room, in the familiar dusty space, not here crouched in the semi-darkness with the scent of flowers in her hair.

She pushed the canvas back a fraction and peered through the gap at the street outside. They were on the edge of the merchants’ quarter and the light was rosy, sunset painting the white washed walls a softer shade. The street was scattered with traders, sailors and women pulling children along behind them. The scene was so familiar that it sent a sharp ache through her and she almost, almost, stepped from the cart, but then a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Her breath caught and she pulled back sharply as a man dressed all in black melted out from an alley and disappeared into the crowd. A Hunter, or maybe even a Seducer. Her heart beat hard and her hands shook as she fastened the veil once more across her face. She sat back against the hard cushions. They will find you, Tuon’s words came back to her. She fingered the bag of coins attached by a ribbon to the ties of her dress and waited with silent breaths for the cart to reach the inn.

27

The Sea Falcon Inn was large and prosperous. The walls were decorated with mosaic murals and in one corner a jade statue of a great sea bird hovered over a shallow bowl filled with orange blossoms.

Two men were leaning against the bar, and three of the tables against the wall held couples eating. Other than those few, it was quiet. Shaan approached the surly man behind the bar and asked for a tumbler of wine. He gave her a guarded look, but said nothing as he took a glass to the nearest barrel. The dress was cut lower than she was used to and she felt exposed and vulnerable, but she did her best to keep a haughty expression in her eyes, glad the veil disguised most of her face. The man came back with her wine and she found herself a table at the far end of the room where she could watch the door.

It wasn’t long before more patrons began to arrive. A group of Serpent Isles ship women entered; surveying the room with proud faces they glided across the floor and claimed a place at the bar. They saw her and the tallest, and most heavily tattooed, nodded at her. Assuming it was right to do so, Shaan gave them a brief dip of her head. The ship women were followed soon after by groups of traders, merchants and a few riders. Shaan’s stomach did a nervous jump as she saw the riders, but they did no more than glance at her. Annoyed at herself, she tried to sip the wine, but it proved almost impossible with the veil attached so she settled for toying with the glass and wondered where Menon was.

Maybe he wasn’t coming. Perhaps something had happened and he’d been waylaid. Or the Faithful had found out about Meelin and were now on their way to her. Cold fear squatted like a lump of congealed fat in her gut. Tuon had risked much to do this for her – all of them had.

She stared at the door, but there was no one coming in. Irritated and thirsty, she unhooked the veil and sipped her wine. It was rich and dry and warmed her gullet. She took another sip, then another. Time passed, she drained her glass, but still there was no Menon.

Her nerves were stretched taught and she began to wonder if he really was coming. He was too late: this couldn’t be good. It had been nearly an hour. She couldn’t stay here. Fastening the veil again, she rose from the table and took the glass back to the bar, thinking she would ask the barman to call a muthu cart for her.

A man stepped up beside her and she moved over a little to make room. A faint scent of spice and green wood reached her nostrils. She glanced up and almost dropped her glass as her eyes met Balkis’s cool blue gaze. A slight frown furrowed his handsome face as their eyes met, but he quickly looked away again.

‘My pardon mistress,’ he said, and lifted a hand to beckon the barman over.

Shaan was frozen to the spot. Her heart thudding, she placed the glass carefully on the bar. He hadn’t recognised her, but if he looked again . . . Slowly, so as not to appear hurried, she turned away and began to walk to the door. It seemed to take an age to cross that small space and the back of her neck and her spine prickled, but finally she reached it and with an unsteady hand pulled it open. But as she did she couldn’t help glancing quickly back. The door creaked and he looked her way. Their eyes met, his widened and he straightened up, staring at her.

Now she’d done it. She turned and bolted out into the street. Night had fallen and street lamps glowed dimly in the damp air, a haze of insects clouding around them. The only people about were a couple of sailors stumbling down the street. Casting desperately about, Shaan ran up toward the next corner, hoping to find somewhere to hide. She doubted she could outrun him, but at least he appeared to be alone.

That hope was quickly dashed. Before she reached the corner she heard the door of the inn slam open behind her.

‘Tanen, Rees!’ Balkis shouted and two men came out of the doorway of a building on her right. ‘She’s there!’ he yelled and the men turned and began to sprint toward her.

With a sense of desperation she knew she wouldn’t be able to make the corner, wheeling about she saw the only option was to go up. Cursing, she drew her skirts up and ran toward the corner of the shop across the road. A stack of old crates was piled at the edge of the awning, and with a leap she jumped up on them and stretching up reached desperately for the canvas, intending to swing herself up, but she wasn’t quick enough.

‘Shaan, stop!’ Balkis arms went around her waist, pulling her down.

‘No!’ She struggled madly, but the veil tangled about her, hindering her movements, and she couldn’t touch the ground. She kicked out at him, but the shoes were soft-soled slippers and did no good.

‘Shaan!’ he grunted. ‘Will you stop!’

‘Let me go!’ She tried to punch him, but he dropped her suddenly to the ground and changed his grip, trapping her arms in against her sides, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe.

‘Stop!’ he shouted.

She wheezed, and he reduced his pressure a little, but not enough for her to escape. It was no use. She stopped struggling and slumped against him, the veil slipping down over her eyes. ‘All right, all right! Pull this off me will you.’ She shook her head, banging it back against his chest as she tried to dislodge the veil.

‘Why are you dressed like this?’ He kept a tight hold on one of her arms as he yanked the veil sharply off.

‘Ow!’ she yelped as the glass beads scraped her skin.

‘The Commander is looking for you. Why did you run when I called?’

‘Why do you think?’ she retorted, then noticed his men had reached them and were staring openly at her breasts, half exposed by the low cut dress. ‘Keep looking and I’ll cut you a new breathing hole,’ she snapped.

Balkis smiled. ‘So, you have the sharp tongue of a Free Lander woman as well as the dress.’ His eyes took in what the men had been ogling. ‘Is that where you were going?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Are you taking me to the Commander?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you know what he wants me for?’

‘No.’ Balkis turned to the men. ‘You two keep looking for Nilah. If you find her, escort her back at once. I’ll take this one to the Commander.’

‘Sir.’ Both men nodded and smirked at her as they moved off.

Balkis turned back to her. ‘Come on.’ He pulled her forward, chuckling as she glared at the men’s backs.

‘You can hardly blame them,’ he said, and Shaan turned the glare on him.

‘I didn’t wear this to show myself off. It’s a disguise.’

‘To hide what?’ Balkis smiled. ‘There’s very little hidden.’

Shaan looked away. She hated feeling so exposed.

‘Do you want something to cover yourself?’ he said.

‘No.’ She pulled her shoulders back and walked taller. Let him look, she decided. He’d caught her, but that didn’t mean she was going to act defeated. They walked in silence for some time. He took the quieter streets behind buildings, and deserted back alleys. The sounds of people talking, doors slamming and the scent of food cooking hung in the air, but they saw no one. His hand on her arm was loose, but if she moved even a little his grip tightened.

After a time he said quietly, ‘So is that man, Tallis, really your brother?’

She glanced at him, but the look he gave her was hard to decipher.

‘Why?’

‘I’m just curious, you both look so alike. He must be.’ She shrugged and he said, ‘You know he’s not here anymore don’t you?’ He was looking at her, but she kept her face averted. The dull echo of Tallis inside was so faint it pained her. ‘Yes.’

‘He was sent east,’ Balkis said. ‘There have been more attacks. The Commander thought they could be useful. Tallis and Jared have seen the rogue serpents who are doing it.’

Shaan didn’t reply, the thought of Tallis going to where those beasts were made her feel sick. ‘Why tell me?’ she said. ‘I barely know him.’

‘I thought you should know. I would like to be told if it were me.’

‘Obviously you are not me,’ Shaan said, angry with him for a reason she couldn’t fathom.

‘Is he your only family?’ Balkis seemed unaware of her tone. ‘Or are your parents still living?’

‘They are dead.’

‘You have no one?’

Shaan shook her head.

‘That must be strange,’ he mused. ‘I have both mother and father, and a sister, but perhaps there is a kind of freedom in having nobody, there is no one to please.’

‘Freedom?’ She jerked to a stop, rounding on him. His words were foolish, she wanted to strike him for his stupidity. ‘There’s no freedom in being alone. Is that what you think? That having no one who gives a damn if you live or die is freedom?’ She ripped her arm from his grip.

Stunned enough to let her go, Balkis stared at her. ‘That’s not what I think,’ he said.

‘No?’

‘No.’ He was annoyed and for a moment she was glad. She stood her ground, glaring at him. ‘I’m sorry, Shaan,’ he said. ‘You’re upset.’

‘I’m not upset,’ she answered quickly. ‘I’ve heard it before from your kind.’

‘And what kind is that?’ he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘The kind who never has to think twice about where their next meal is coming from. The kind who has a fine roof over their head and coin in their purse. The kind who never sees the child dying in the gutter because their cart goes by so fast it blows dust over them.’

He stared at her as though she’d struck him. ‘I’m not like that. I could never be like that’.

She felt a twinge of shame. No, he wasn’t like that. He was young and selfish and wealthy, but he was not like that. Hadn’t he helped her? Hadn’t he saved her that night in the alley? He’d protected her, more than once, although she wasn’t sure why.

She looked away, staring at the stones beneath her feet. ‘Well, some are,’ she said.

‘I didn’t choose to be born a merchant’s son,’ he said quietly. He put his hand back on her arm, and this time his grip wasn’t tight, it was warm, almost tender.

All the defiance drained out of her. She was tired of fighting with him.

She stared at the ground and the silence stretched between them until finally she looked up. ‘Why can’t you just let me go?’

He shook his head. ‘You know why. I can’t go against what the Faithful want.’

‘And what happens to those the Faithful want?’ She searched his closed face. ‘They don’t let them go, Balkis, you know that.’ Fear welled up in her chest then, so thick her breath caught. ‘I don’t want to be sent to the Floating Isles . . . or worse.’

His hand tightened. ‘Commander Rorc is not going to hurt you.’

‘You don’t know that,’ she whispered.

He let out a long breath and stepped closer. ‘If I promise that I won’t let you get hurt, will you trust me?’ His blue eyes searched her face, and he lifted a hand, running light fingers along the curve of her cheek. ‘Why do you fight me?’

She could think of nothing to say. Her heart was thudding and her throat suddenly felt so constricted she could hardly draw breath. The warmth of his body was so close to hers. She put a hand on his chest, feeling the thud of his heart. Yearning flared in his eyes, sucking the breath from her and then his lips came down on hers. He kissed her hard, his tongue tasting her mouth. Desire surged through her and she pressed herself against him, pushing a hand through his hair, pulling him closer. There was nothing but the feel of him, the taste of him. The muscles of his back were hard beneath her hand, his thighs taut against her own.

Then suddenly a door slammed somewhere and he froze and pulled abruptly away. Dizzy, she stared up at him, trying to catch her breath, still feeling the pressure of his lips on hers. His breathing was ragged and silence fell between them. Shaan’s heart was racing and she saw a strange look in his eye, a kind of wonder mixed with fear, but then suddenly he drew away and it was as though a shutter went down over his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said tonelessly. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ Before she could speak, he took her arm again. ‘Come on, the Commander is waiting.’ And he pulled her with him up the street.

Her mind in turmoil, she could only follow. He kept his face averted and lengthened his stride until she was forced to half run to keep up. It was exhausting and her long dress kept tangling around her legs. What had happened? Stunned, it took her some time to realise they were heading up into the hills of the city, but did not seem to be going toward the palace. The streets started to look a little familiar, a curve here, a tree there, but she could not figure out where he was taking her.

The road became a gentle incline but his pace didn’t slow. The burn on her hand was throbbing and her legs started to ache. ‘Balkis,’ she called. ‘Slow down, I can’t keep up!’

He glanced at her and adjusted his stride slightly.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, but he didn’t reply. He only kept pulling her with him through the dark streets and she was too weary to keep protesting. They walked on in silence for a time and then she saw they were approaching a high white wall with a small gate. Her insides lurched in recognition. Morfessa’s home! Why was he bringing her here?

It was where she had wanted to go this morning, but now the sight of the gate made a lump of fear lodge in her throat. The hair on the back of her neck rose and bumps formed on her skin. There was something wrong in there, she could feel it, a malevolent presence. Nausea roiled in her gut and she began to resist, planting her feet as they neared the gate.

‘No,’ she whispered and he turned to her with a frown.

‘What?’

She shook her head and tried to pull away, her breath becoming short and panic building.

‘Shaan, what . . .’

‘I can’t go in there, please!’ She struggled against him in earnest. There was something in there, she could feel it, pulling at her blood, calling to her. It was like the serpents in her dream again, but she was awake now, awake and terrified.

‘Shaan?’ He had hold of both her arms, but she ignored him, struggling desperately. ‘Please, Balkis, no!’ But he was too strong for her.

‘Stop it!’ He picked her up and opened the gate, forcing her through before him.

The path was a dark tunnel. A faint light was coming through the trees from the direction of the house and all around insects rustled among the plants. Blood pounded through her veins, the sound roaring through her skull. Balkis put her down on the ground and she turned and clawed at him, seeking to push him back and out of the way so she could escape.

‘Shaan, what is it?’ He grunted as she fought him.

‘You don’t understand! I can’t go in there!’ And then with despair she smelled it: the wet earth, rising like vapour around her, and as though from a great distance she heard the crack and whoosh of fire. Her vision wavered and with a surge of fear she cried out as she felt the blackness reaching for her. ‘No!’ She reached for Balkis in terror, as though he could hold her there.

He frowned. ‘Shaan?’ But already she was drawing away from him. She tried to fight it. It was not right, she was awake. Not now! The world became unsteady beneath her and she staggered.

‘Shaan!’ His voice was sharp and his arms went around her, holding her up. She stared up into his face, but couldn’t see him properly, as though she were underwater. She clutched at him weakly, trying to hold herself to the world, to him. But then she remembered, and a wave of panic took her. He was touching her! He would die! It would kill him as well. No! She struggled to push him off, but he was no longer there, and with a final scream, she fell into the dark.

Balkis lifted Shaan up into his arms as she passed out. What had just happened? It was as though she’d been trying to hang on as something dragged her away. Fear filled him and, cradling her against his chest, he ran down the path. She was still breathing, but too fast, and her hands kept curling and uncurling as though she was trying to hold onto something.

His heart pounding, he emerged from the dark pathway into Morfessa’s garden. In a few long strides he had reached the door. He kicked at it and it wasn’t long before Prin was opening it. The young man’s eyes fell immediately on Shaan.

‘Sept Leader,’ he said in cold, quiet voice.

‘Out of the way,’ Balkis ordered.

Prin moved his gaze smoothly to him. ‘Please, come in, the others are waiting.’ He opened the door wider and stepped back, a half smile on his face.

‘Go fetch Morfessa and the Commander,’ Balkis said.

Prin stayed still a moment, his eyes going again to Shaan, and Balkis felt the back of his neck prickle. ‘Now!’ he snapped, some instinct making him turn her away.

‘Of course,’ Prin said, his eyes lifting. And with another insolent half smile, he moved off down the hallway.

Gripped with fear, Balkis stared down at Shaan’s pale face, only looking up when footsteps sounded and Morfessa and Rorc came down the hall.

‘Balkis,’ Rorc said. ‘You found her?’

‘Yes, but something happened.’ He looked at Morfessa who was staring at Shaan with concern. He noticed with shock that the old man looked ten years older than he had a few days before, his skin grey and creased with weariness.

‘What happened?’ Morfessa’s eyes roamed over her face.

‘I don’t know. She just collapsed.’

Morfessa lifted one hand and placed it on her forehead then, with what seemed undue haste, snatched it back. He looked at Balkis with a bland smile.

‘She’s all right, don’t worry. Come, I’ll show you where you can put her and I’ll give her a tonic.’

‘Good, but be quick,’ Rorc said. ‘The Guardian needs you.’

‘Yes,’ Morfessa said and he beckoned Balkis to follow him into the central courtyard.

Clenching her teeth, and closing her eyes to the fire and screams, Shaan pushed her hand again into the flames. The pain jolted her back into her body and with a shuddering breath she opened her eyes.

She was on a bed in a small room. She couldn’t remember how she’d got there. Hot pain blazed a trail of agony across her injured hand as she stared up at an elaborate mural on the ceiling. Footsteps sounded and she turned as Morfessa opened the door and stepped into the room.

‘Shaan.’ He smiled. His odd-coloured eyes were sharp with interest and he watched her intently as he sat on a metal chair by the bed.

‘Am I in your home?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Balkis brought you here. Are you feeling better?’

She licked her dry lips. ‘Is Balkis all right?’

‘Yes,’ he frowned, ‘Why?’

She shook her head, relieved.

‘What happened?’ Morfessa’s red-flecked eye pinned her down.

‘I don’t know, I haven’t been well,’ she answered and he nodded slightly as his eyes roamed over her face. ‘Why am I here?’

‘Because you are special, but I think you know that already.’ The look he gave her was penetrating, as though he knew exactly why she was special, while she did not.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I can feel the weariness on you, Shaan. When did you last sleep?’

She hesitated and he leaned forward. ‘You have not slept well for many days, I can tell. Your mind is blurred with weariness and toil. Let me.’ He reached toward her with one hand.

‘No!’ She rolled off the bed and backed away to the wall, keeping the bed between them.

He frowned, but remained seated. ‘You cannot hurt me as Petar was hurt,’ he said and she stared at him.

‘Who’s Petar?’ she said unsteadily, but he ignored her.

‘You needn’t worry. I do not have his connection to the Void. Oh I heard about the dream seer’s death,’ he said, seeing the expression on her face. ‘The Faithful’s Seer went there today. She told me what she found. She felt you, Shaan. You do not know what you are, do you?’

She swallowed, afraid to speak.

‘You are the key. You are the one who can unlock the prison that keeps the Birthstone from our world.’

She stared at him, not understanding what he meant.

‘Veila felt you in the Void some time ago, but could not pin you down. She is in the healing room with the others and will be here soon, but I wanted to talk to you first.’

‘I don’t understand.’ She pressed herself against the wall.

‘I want to help you, Shaan.’ Morfessa rose from his chair. ‘The Faithful are looking for you because they believe you are dangerous. And they are not wrong. I believe you are, or you will be.’ He walked toward the end of the bed. ‘But I am not sure . . .’

His words cut off as the door suddenly opened, the thin wood flung back so violently it splintered against the wall. The tall young man she had seen in his garden stood there.

‘Prin! What are you doing?’ Morfessa exclaimed.

But the young man ignored him. He had eyes only for her. He stared at her and she felt a jolt of fear in her gut like a blow. Here was the presence she’d felt before. The very air around him seemed to be filled with energy and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.

‘I felt you,’ he said in a low voice. He didn’t move any closer, but it was as though he were whispering right in her ear. She couldn’t look away. His gaze pierced her as though he were calling to her, soundlessly, drawing her to him. And his eyes! They were a darker, deeper image of her own.

‘Prin!’ Morfessa said, sounding far away

But still he ignored him. ‘Finally, you came to me,’ he said.

Dizziness threatened to overwhelm her and Shaan reached out to the wall at her back with both hands. It couldn’t be! Terrified, she pressed herself away from him. His was the voice from her dream. The floor felt unsteady beneath her feet, and her vision faded at the edges. All she could see was his dark eyes, trapping her like a moth under a net.

‘Come with me.’ He extended a hand to her, and she felt her own lifting in response. No, she didn’t want to! She fought against her own body, but her struggles were swamped as a sudden, savage overwhelming need to be near him drowned reason.

‘Prin, stop!’ Morfessa put a hand on his arm and Prin turned his head, his lip curled.

‘I will hurt you, old man.’

Shaan stumbled as his eyes left hers and, looking down, saw she had moved several steps toward him.

‘Shaan, climb over the bed to me,’ Morfessa said, his eyes not leaving Prin’s face.

‘Take-your-hand-off-me!’ Prin’s voice suddenly magnified, reverberating around the small room.

Disorientated and her limbs shaky, Shaan tried to climb across the bed, but Prin’s head snapped back around to her. ‘Shaan,’ he whispered. She whimpered and found that her legs didn’t want to move properly.

‘Come with me.’ His voice was in her head, just as in her dreams, pulling on her, sapping her willpower. Slowly she walked a step toward him. She wasn’t able to stop herself. He was reaching a hand out to her and she went to him. Part of her mind was shrieking at her and she watched in horror as her fingers stretched to touch his.

‘Stop!’ A woman’s voice suddenly said, and Shaan faltered. She saw Prin’s eyes narrow and with a push he sent Morfessa flying across the room into the wall as he turned to face the door.

A small woman with pale blonde hair stood there. She was tiny compared to Prin, but she showed no fear as she looked up at him, her delicate features set in anger. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘Seer,’ Prin hissed and his face twisted with scorn.

‘Veila!’ Morfessa coughed trying to rise from the floor. ‘Don’t . . .’

‘Quiet! I think you have done enough,’ she snapped at him. ‘Who are you?’ she said to Prin.

He smiled at her and laughed. ‘Don’t you know?’ he whispered. Then suddenly he turned and lunged. Shaan tried to recoil, but he was too quick. He grabbed her hand and she screamed as he touched her. It was like the brush of fire and ice together under her skin. Her stomach lurched and her vision wavered. A sound like a great wave roared through her head, and then it was as though she were breaking apart. She was nothing. Blackness engulfed her and then a blinding light flared and she was back in the room and Prin had hold of her still.

She sucked in a deep breath and staggered against him. The burning ice sensation was gone, and the small blonde woman was lying on the floor next to Morfessa, her eyes closed, and for a terror-filled moment she thought she was dead. But then her eyes opened and she stared at her as Prin dragged her to the door.

‘Azoth,’ she said, holding Shaan’s gaze. ‘Beware!’ And then she was gone as Prin pulled her from the room.

28

Tallis crouched low in the saddle behind Attar and gazed ahead into the winds. Marathin’s wings stretched out on either side like veined rafts, skimming through the air. Below, the town of Shalnor spread along the shore, the dwellings like a scattering of pebbles thrown forth from the river.

They had been flying since morning and it was now past noon. His legs were aching from gripping the serpent’s back and his fingers were cold and curled hard around the steel back of the saddle. The riders had given both him and Jared sturdy coats of cured muthu hide to cut the wind, leather leg coverings, and a leather helmet that protected from the wind and rain. The clothes stopped the wind threshing his skin, but still his back ached from holding the same position.

He pushed the pain away and thought instead of Shaan. He had not been able to tell her he was going. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but Rorc had given them little choice. He had told them that if they wanted to stay, to learn, they had to give him something in return: they must prove their worth and potential as warriors. It had struck him as something a clansman might say. And it was something he understood. A test, an initiation. They would go with Attar and Bren across the Black Mountains to the small village of Faro and find out if any had survived.

He could still feel Shaan’s presence: a dull pulse, like a second heartbeat, that told him she lived and a vague awareness of where she was. It gave him little comfort, though; he still worried for her.

Attar made a hand gesture to Bren on Haraka, and the serpents wheeled then dropped down toward the town. They swooped low over the dusty streets heading for the riders’ outpost on the hilltop, the same place they’d stopped before on their way to Salmut. Tallis held tight as Marathin tucked her wings close to her body and dove straight down toward the land, like a hawk diving for prey. The wind whistled in his ears and whipped tears from his eyes and he felt the deep thrumming of the serpent’s life force in his chest, like a great drum buried deep. At the last moment, she opened her wings with a sound like a great sheet of canvas snapping fast, and sailed down to land, her talons and tail clashing on the hard stone of the courtyard. Her sides heaved and Tallis felt a glow of satisfaction emanating from her as she turned her head and eyed the man waiting for them in the shadow of the buildings.

Vilan, the man with the red-haired daughters. He recalled what had happened the last time they had come here; he had tried to reach Marathin with his mind and she had swept him off his feet with her wing. He wouldn’t try again. He swung his leg over and jumped off as Haraka landed in the courtyard with a thud that shook the ground.

‘Here, take this.’ Attar handed him two empty water skins then turned to address the man in the shadows. ‘Vilan!’ he shouted and waved a hand in greeting. The stocky man came out from the walkway to shake his hand.

He nodded at Tallis. ‘We meet again clansman,’ he said before turning back to Attar. ‘You have a message for me?’

‘Yes.’ Attar pulled a thin leather envelope from under his vest. ‘From the Commander.’

The older man eyed him. ‘More attacks across the mountains?’

‘It seems that way. We shall see, though, we go there now. No time to stay for wine this trip. Is your boy around to fill our water skins?’

Vilan nodded and, turning, hollered across the courtyard. He was answered a moment later by a young boy who came running out from one of the nearer buildings. Tall and gangly with red hair, Tallis wondered if this was another of Vilan’s offspring. The boy took the skins from him with a grin and disappeared again.

‘He won’t be long,’ Vilan said.

Jared came over to them and grinned at Vilan. ‘Your son?’ He raised his eyebrows and Vilan snorted and spat on the ground.

‘Yes, and his mother’s favourite.’

Judging by the fact he was already taller than him, Tallis wondered if Vilan was indeed the father. The amused look Jared sent him told him he shared his opinion. Attar laughed and clapped Vilan hard on the shoulder.

‘Well at least it keeps her out of your hair, so to speak!’ He laughed and Vilan gave him a sour smile. ‘You always did think you were a funny one, Attar.’ He rubbed his balding head. ‘I’ll pray to the gods those serpents you seek scare some of it out of you.’

‘Aah, but you’d miss it.’ Attar clenched the man’s shoulder and Vilan gave him a sideways look.

‘Like I miss having sand in my eye.’

Attar laughed and the two men exchanged insults until Vilan’s boy returned with the water, and then they were back up on the serpents and leaving Shalnor behind.

They flew on into the afternoon, keeping the River Pleth on their left. They would not be stopping until the serpents tired. Below, the reddish earth sped by and he began to recognise landmarks from their previous trip. A bend in the river here, a copse of trees there, but it was all still so foreign and strange. He watched the deep gash in the ground made by the river with no less wonder than when he’d first glimpsed it.

The day waned and the sun dropped like a ball of flame, painting the sky a dusky pink. They drank sparingly from the water skins and chewed on dried meat while sitting on the serpents backs as the light faded to darkness. There was no moon and brief flickers of yellow light shone in the black landscape along the river’s edge. Every so often there was a soft gleam as the water reflected starlight, but mostly there was only the cold blue light of the stars and the constant roar of the wind in his ears.

His fingers and toes started to numb and Tallis found himself wavering in and out of sleep. His head nodded forward and he was lulled into a dream by the deep thrumming of the serpent in his chest. It was night and he was standing in a street. Around him loomed many buildings, the windows dark and shuttered, and from somewhere ahead came the sound of running feet. It made him wary. The sound echoed off the walls. He knew he had to go towards it, but he was afraid and he stood still staring into the dark. And then suddenly he was running and a great cacophony of sound was all around him: voices called, people screamed. He rounded a corner and the buildings disappeared. He was in the dark, he could smell dank water and then a wall of flame blazed up in front of him and he saw Shaan silhouetted before it. She turned to him, screaming, her hands outstretched.

He jolted awake, his heart pounding. He’d slipped sideways from the saddle and with shaking hands he pulled himself up. Wind streamed past his face and he took a deep breath of the rushing air.

Something was wrong. Something had happened to her. She was still alive, he could feel the pulse of her, faint as a whisper in the dark, but it was different now, there was an edge to it. Fear laced his insides. The feeling that she was in danger was insistent. But what could he do? He looked down. The river was no longer below them. He could see nothing but a featureless darkness. He flexed his fingers on the steel bar and clenched his toes, wincing at the needlepoints of pain as the blood rushed through. He took a swallow of water, glancing at Jared on Haraka gliding along beside them.

They stopped to relieve themselves at daybreak at the edge of a large cluster of trees. The landscape was similar to the lands past Shalnor. The tall trees grew close together on a slight rise, the clusters of leaves at the top forming a thick canopy and the ground was covered in tufts of pale green grass, sprouting from the red earth. Below them the land was mostly flat, stretching away, dotted with trees and scrub. Far off was the hazy shape of a small town Attar had called Ressina. The day was warm and damp and a thick band of cloud covered the sky to the west.

Jared came up beside him, chewing on a stick of dried meat. ‘You smell that?’ He cocked his head to the side and Tallis frowned, sniffing the air.

‘What?’ He couldn’t seem to clear the musky scent of the serpent from his nostrils.

‘The earth: smells like rain coming,’ Jared looked up at the band of cloud moving slowly across the sky. ‘Bren calls it the Season of Rain. He says water falls from the sky, thick as sand in a windstorm, for days at a time.’

Tallis stared up at the grey sky, palely lit by the early morning sun. It was very quiet. There was no wind and the earth felt still and watchful.

‘He thinks we’ll outrun it.’ Jared looked away from the cloud to the northeast, toward the clan lands. ‘Wonder if it will make it to the desert?’

His voice was quiet and low and Tallis’s guts ached hollowly. It was unlikely they would see those lands again.

‘Jared, I think something has happened to Shaan,’ he said.

His earth brother was silent a moment, looking at him. ‘How do you know?’ he said finally.

‘I feel her, like the serpents, in here.’ He touched a hand to his chest. He had not told Jared before how he had found Shaan that night. He wondered if this would be too much for him to accept. The ways of the Clan ran deep in him and always they had been taught that men did not, should not, be capable of such things. But still Jared had accepted him.

He waited, his throat dry, as Jared watched him, still and pondering. But all he said was, ‘You think you should go back?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head, relieved.

‘You know Attar will never agree.’

He was right. And if they did not complete this task they could not stay in Salmut, Rorc had made that clear. They could not go back, but he could not stay still.

‘I fear for her.’ He looked at Jared. ‘I fear for her, and I don’t know why.’

‘But she is alive?’

‘She is alive, but there is something different, it’s as though she’s hidden from me.’

‘And you are sure it’s not because we are further from her?’

‘No.’ He was certain that was not the reason. Her presence was fainter here, but still he could tell there was another cause of this strange fear that gripped him.

‘Then we will have to hope she stays safe until we return.’

‘Clansmen!’ Attar’s rough voice jolted them. ‘Let’s go.’

Jared clasped his hand on his shoulder, then turned away. For now there was nothing they could do.

For another day and a night they cut through the air without stopping, and Tallis fed anxiously on his worry. Bren was proved right. They outran the clouds, flying under a clear hot sky as they came nearer to the desert lands.

The closeness of the clan lands disturbed him. He couldn’t help but think of his mother: was she still alive? Had Karnit returned from the Gathering? His fear haunted him and yet he dreamed only of his sister. Always it was a confusion of strange lands, and screaming voices, and serpents swooping down upon her, and when he woke he felt as though he had had no sleep at all.

Still they flew on. As the sun rose on their fourth day, the land became flatter and the air lost its damp tinge and took on a harsh dryness that sucked the moisture from their breath. Trees were replaced by tumbles of rocks and low cliffs, the sides sheared off as though by a giant blade. They were on the fringes of the desert.

This land belonged to no clan, but not far in was the Baal’s territory. Allies of the Jalwalah, Tallis had visited their lands once. The Baal were a large clan, larger than his own, and the people lived in a catacomb of caves deep in a ravine that split the desert floor like a gateway to the earth’s core. They sealed their braids with fat stained red by the earth, and all men were tattooed with the symbol of Kaa at the base of their spine to show the guide of the dead they did not fear him.

The thought of the clan so close pulled at his heart, but the Baal would not accept him – none ever would again. He was not Clan. I saw what you did, I know what you are, Karnit’s words haunted him.

Attar suddenly gave a shout, and pointed to the horizon. Ahead, a long dark shadow rose up from the earth, jagged peaks biting at the sky: the Black Mountains were back in his sight again. The peaks spread out, a shadowy haze. Tallis thought of the last time he’d seen them; he’d still had blood on his hands. His heart beat fast and he felt for the thrumming of the serpent inside him, cleaving to something now so familiar. How his world had changed.

As the day bled into night they came upon the mountains, the serpents arcing up into the sky to wing over the first summit, heading into a cold wind that came up from the dark canyons below. As they crested the peak it was as though they passed the boundary between shadow and light. Night fell fast, like a shroud dropping upon them. The air was bitterly cold, and stretching before them was an unending vista of sharp peaks and black ravines.

A sliver of new moon was high in the black sky by the time they landed to make camp on a wide platform of rock. Jutting out from a jagged wall, and with a sheer edge, the plateau was protected from the worst of the cold winds by the high wall of rock at its back; but toward the lip icy winds scoured the rocks bare.

As soon as the men had dismounted the serpents took flight again and disappeared into the night. With no fuel for a fire the men settled for dried meat and shared what bread they had in silence, the mountains oppressing any inclination for talk.

After they had eaten, Tallis approached the edge and looked down, but was met with only blackness and freezing air that blasted the hair back from his face. Before him stretched the shadow of a crevasse which seemed to swallow light, and further away sharp peaks, glinting blackly, reached up to the sky like the open mouth of some great beast.

‘The Black Mountains are aptly named,’ Attar said, coming to stand beside him. ‘I’ve never seen anything but darkness and cold here, no life at all. Or, if there is, it’s something dark and shadowed that I don’t want to know.’

Tallis folded his arms against the cold and glanced at the warrior. ‘You’ve been here before?’

He nodded. ‘A few times. The serpents say that once, long ago, these mountains were covered in jungles and were warm and wet. Hard to believe isn’t it?’ His grin was a flash of white in the dark.

Tallis nodded, but didn’t smile back. He shivered as another blast of air dried his eyeballs. ‘I will be glad when we have left these peaks behind.’

Attar grunted in reply and folded his arms across his chest, widening his stance against the wind as he stared out into the night. He stayed like that for some time and Tallis was about to turn and leave when he suddenly spoke.

‘Can you feel her?’ he said quietly. Tallis turned, knowing he spoke about the Marathin. He hesitated, but then nodded and pointed above them and away to the west. ‘She’s somewhere over there.’

Attar nodded. ‘Did you feel them?’

His heart skipped a beat. ‘The rogue serpents?’

‘Yes, did you feel them when they attacked you?’

He hesitated. ‘Do you expect me to find them for you; is that why I am here?’

‘If you can.’

I saw what you did. I know what you are. A surge of anger took him.

‘I came only to prove my worth as a warrior, Attar, that was the deal I made with your Commander. Not to use whatever it is inside me against them. I don’t know how to wield it, I told both of you that already. I cannot control it and I do not know what it is.’

‘You are afraid to try,’ Attar accused him.

Tallis gritted his teeth. ‘I will do only what I said I would do and no more.’ He turned and went back to the camp, anger and fear roiling around his insides like rotten meat.

‘Tallis?’ Jared rose up on his elbow as he approached, but he shook his head.

‘It’s nothing.’ He avoided his gaze and lay down, staring up at the stars in the black sky.

But Jared remained tense and silent, his eyes still on him, waiting. After a while Tallis sighed. ‘They want me to try to find the rogue serpents. To try and feel where they are.’

‘And can you?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’ The anger had gone now, leaving him weary. ‘I can feel Marathin up there . . . and Shaan, I can still feel her inside but . . .’

‘You’re afraid.’ Jared echoed Attar’s statement and Tallis looked at him.

‘Aren’t you?’ he said softly. ‘You were there Jared, you saw them . . . you saw me.’ He shook his head. ‘I barely remember what I did, what I said. It seems impossible to repeat it. What if I cannot control it? There is a wrongness in me and if I let it loose . . .’ The thought of opening himself to those words and that rage – it was too terrible to contemplate. But if he could control it, who could he save?

‘Perhaps it is the Guides’ way of testing you,’ Jared said and Tallis gave a bitter laugh.

‘The Guides have abandoned us, brother, we are no longer Clan; we’ve become something else.’

Jared didn’t reply and Tallis watched as Marathin sailed like a black shadow across the sky. She dropped down and with a graceful folding of wings landed on the edge of the platform. She swayed forward a few paces then lay down with her back to them, her long spiked tail curved around her body.

Jared remained silent a long while, and Tallis thought perhaps he had drifted of to sleep, when he suddenly spoke.

‘Shila gave me the choice, you know,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have to come. I could have stayed and hoped the Guides would find another way to save you. But she told me if I chose that path I had to be prepared for the consequences. To be Outcast is the consequence of our actions Tallis, but it does not mean we are abandoned. I will not believe that. In our hearts we will always be Clan.’

‘I wish I believed that,’ Tallis said softly.

‘I will believe for both of us,’ Jared replied. ‘But sleep now, earth brother, Kaa does not hunger for you yet.’

It was an old Jalwalah saying and Tallis felt a sharp ache pull at his insides at the sound of it.

Soon, Jared’s breathing became deep and regular and a short distance away Attar and Bren lay snoring quietly, but Tallis couldn’t rest. The flat ground felt like sharpened points beneath him and the cold air made his fingers ache. He closed his eyes, but his mind circled incessantly around his fears and it was a long while before sleep claimed him.

29

Shila sat up. Sweat covered her skin and her was heart pounding. The Guides had visited her again, sending her dreams full of portent and warning. Pushing back the furs she crept from the bed, her fingers questing in the dark for her robe, shaking slightly as they fell on the soft pelt. The Guides had not been happy, even beyond what little they showed her she had felt their fury at things unsaid. Something disturbed them greatly and they had sent a message to her because of it.

Thadin grunted and turned in his sleep as she slipped quietly from their cave. The tunnel glowed dimly in the light of the few wall lamps, stretching away on either side silent and empty. Turning right she followed the path that led deep into the well. She moved silently, her senses straining for any sound that would tell her others were awake, but none came. It was after midnight, she guessed, and most were asleep. The smooth stone was cold and her feet grew chilled as she followed the twists and turns of the tunnel that led to the moon cave.

Oblong in shape and almost as large as the great cavern, its walls rose steeply to form a tunnel high above her head that opened to the sky. It allowed a shaft of moonlight to penetrate to the cavern floor, providing illumination and fresh air deep within the bones of the earth.

The cavern’s walls were honeycombed with living caves, four levels of them, reached by a system of carved stairs and rope ladders. Shila made her way silently across the soft sand floor, keeping away from the circle of light in the centre. She climbed up a narrow rope ladder to a second-level cave where light spilled from around the edges of a simple woven mat covering an entrance.

Without announcing herself, she pushed the fabric back and stepped into the small living area. Sitting on the thick floor rugs, with a lamp between them, were Mailun and Irissa. Both women looked up as she entered and Irissa half rose to her feet. ‘Dreamer,’ she exclaimed.

‘Irissa, I thought you would be here.’ Shila looked at Mailun. The woman of the Ice Lands showed no surprise, her face smooth of expression, her eyes dark.

‘May I sit?’ Shila addressed her.

‘Of course, Dreamer, you need not ask.’ Mailun turned and grabbed a large flat cushion, placing it on the rugs.

‘Thank you.’ She sank down to sit cross-legged facing them.

‘Would you like some nonyu?’ Mailun indicated the small pot warming on the flame of the lamp between them, the source of the aroma in the cave. She nodded and Irissa poured some of the sweet, spicy liquid into a clay cup. She accepted it, savouring the warmth after the cool of the tunnels.

Mailun watched her drink. ‘Why have you come to us, Dreamer?’

Shila put the cup down, placing it carefully on the uneven rugs. ‘The Guides have visited me,’ she answered quietly. ‘Something has changed in the world beyond our sands. They are angry.’

There was a flare of interest in Mailun’s eyes and Irissa shifted nervously.

Shila looked at Jared’s sister. ‘I did not tell you this before, Irissa, because the Guides did not wish it, but now I may. Your brother has not run from the clan, I sent him away.’ She put up a hand as Irissa opened her mouth, ‘I could not tell you child. His was a task appointed by the Guides. He was sent after Tallis to save his life.’

‘Karnit!’ Mailun spat the name, savage enmity in her eyes.

‘It was not clear to me at the time what would happen,’ Shila said, looking at her, ‘but I knew Jared must go, or Tallis would die.’

‘And . . . ?’ Mailun said.

‘He lives. Both live. The Guides have spoken to me this night. Among other things they have revealed that Jared and Tallis have gone to the land of the wetlanders, although I don’t know how or when.’ She reached for her cup again, suddenly needing to hold onto something. ‘They also showed me that still Kaa has come to our clan.’

‘What do you mean?’ Irissa said.

‘I saw Karnit and his men, they arrived at the Gathering with two fewer than when they began. Penrit and Relldin. Both men were sent to Kaa at the Stolen Well, their blood spilled by Jalwalah blades.

‘Jared and Tallis?’ Irissa whispered, her face white.

Shila nodded.

‘And you weren’t told before that this was what would happen?’ Mailun said, a hard edge to her voice.

‘No. They showed me only death waiting for Tallis should Jared fail, but not . . .’

‘The deaths of the others,’ Mailun finished. ‘The Guides didn’t explain what they would have to do to escape, did they?’

Shila’s lips thinned. ‘The Guides’ ways are not for me to question, Mailun. Their reasons are beyond our understanding. They show me only glimpses and often I struggle to understand their purpose.’

‘Yes,’ Mailun said with a humourless smile. ‘The gods of the desert are ever frugal with their guidance.’

‘Mailun,’ Shila warned, ‘the Guides are always listening.’

‘And what more could they do to me? I have nothing left for them to take. Kaa has taken my second sons and my heart mate, and now he stalks the last line of my blood. But perhaps it is not the Guides that punish me, but Karnit. Never has he spoken to me or my son, always he has despised us.’ Her lip curled as she spoke. ‘I say it is he who has caused this. Why else would my son, or Jared, draw a blade against their own if it were not to defend themselves? Karnit sent those men to kill him. Tallis and Jared did the only thing they could to avoid being sent to Kaa themselves.’

‘I was not shown how the men died,’ Shila said. ‘I was only given the little information I told you. It is not certain Jared and Tallis killed those men, neither is it certain that what you claim is truth.’

‘I don’t claim it, I know it,’ Mailun said bitterly. ‘Karnit has always hated us, Shila. You know that.’

Shila didn’t answer. She could not deny what Mailun claimed. Karnit despised any who were not pure desert bred and always he had slighted Haldane for his choice of mate. But would he go so far? Would he murder his own clansman? Something told her there was more at work here than Karnit’s machinations. The Guides shifted in the ether, planning something.

‘Do the others in the Gathering party know Jared was there?’ Irissa asked.

Shila looked at the younger woman. ‘I don’t know. But when they return they will see Jared is not here and suspicion will fall. All know of his closeness to Tallis. They swore the oath of brotherhood when they were children. None will believe he would go anywhere else but to honour his oath.’

Silence fell between them and Mailun stirred the pot of nonyu slowly, staring into the dark liquid. All of them knew what that meant. To spill the blood of a clansman was against their laws. Any who did were made Outcast, and any who helped an Outcast could suffer the same fate. When Karnit and his men returned, the Circle would have no choice but to formally declare Tallis Outcast. And what then would they do to Jared?

Irissa sat fidgeting with the corners of her cushion, her face set in anger until, unable to contain herself, she leaped to her feet and began pacing back and forth smacking her empty cup against her palm.

‘What is the point of this?’ she cried. ‘What is the Guides’ plan for my brother? My mother has not spoken since he disappeared and my father spends all his time out in the sands hunting and searching. And now you say you have seen him living and that he has spilled the blood of his own clan!’ She threw her cup against the wall so it shattered. ‘Are the Guides helping us or leading us to our destruction? Are we nothing to them but sand dust!’ Angry tears filled her eyes.

Shila stood slowly, looking up at the taller woman. ‘I have no answers for you, Irissa. But know this: I came to you and Mailun first because I understand that of all in the clan, you two women are the most affected. I must tell what I have seen to the rest of the Circle as soon as the sun rises, but they cannot make a decision until Karnit returns. I have no doubt that Tallis will be made Outcast.’ Her eyes went to Mailun. ‘Karnit will make sure of it, and there will be nothing I can do. My past interference will be discounted in the face of the death of these clansmen. As for Jared,’ she turned her gaze to Irissa, ‘there may be hope yet. I will tell them the Guides instructed me to send him. It will be hard for them to decide his fate with that knowledge.’

‘But the decision will not be made until the Gathering party returns.’ Mailun looked at her with hard eyes.

‘Yes,’ Shila said. ‘It is hard to hear this I know. I would not be surprised if you both chose to make the pilgrimage to the temple of Kaa to ease your pain.’ She looked closely at Mailun. ‘It is a long way and many paths may cross on the journey.’

Mailun’s expression didn’t change, but she knew she had not missed the import of her words. Shila reached across and took her hand, squeezing it tightly. ‘Thank you for the nonyu, Mailun.’ She flicked her gaze once to Irissa and then left, letting the woven covering fall back behind her as silently as she had arrived.

Mailun sat quietly for some time after Shila had gone, staring at the flickering flame of the lamp.

Irissa strode back and forth across the small space fingering the hilt of her hunting knife, shaking her head until finally she stopped. ‘So now what do we do?’ she said. ‘How can . . .’

‘Irissa,’ Mailun said. ‘Sit.’

‘No! What is the Dreamer saying? That we should go to the temple and sit like old women while our clan disintegrates around us? While your son and my brother are lost to us?’

‘That is not what she said. Now, sit.’ Mailun pointed at the cushion. Irissa stood for a moment staring at her, but after a moment gave in and sat, her face set in stubborn lines.

‘Now,’ Mailun said. ‘The Dreamer has given us a gift. If you had listened to what was unsaid, you would have realised this.’ Mailun reached up a hand to hold the talisman at her neck. ‘She has given us a way to seek redemption or answers for our families.’

Irissa frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Mailun sighed and let go of the ivory. ‘We will not go to the temple, Irissa. I will leave this Well to seek my son, and you will come with me because of the love you bear, both for him and your brother.’

‘But . . .’ Irissa protested, blushing.

‘No. I know you care for Tallis, even though you would deny it to yourself. But I have no time or patience for games. By the grace of the Dreamer we have been given warning and must leave tonight. You do not have to come with me, but if we wait for Karnit to return our chance will be lost. Who knows what he will decree as necessary to atone for all this. But if we go now, there is a chance you can at least save your brother – if you can find him. The Circle’s decision could be reversed if he could speak for himself.’

Mailun squeezed her hand hard. ‘Will you come? It is your chance, Irissa.’ Mailun held hard to her hand. ‘You can find Jared, bring him home.’ Irissa wavered. Whatever she felt for Tallis, her brother was blood and she missed him. She could find him and redeem him to the clan.

She nodded. ‘I will come.’

‘Good. Go now and prepare a pack and tell your mother that I am inconsolable in my grief and that you have chosen to accompany me to Kaa’s temple tonight. She is a good friend and will not question you. I will meet you in the Great Cavern.’

Irissa rose and pushing back the woven covering was gone.

With dry eyes, Mailun filled a small pack with her few clothes, a knife and hunting sling, a sewing kit wrapped in seal leather that had been her mother’s, a small metal pot, a water skin, dried meat and pan bread and, lastly, a small package of cloth the size of her palm. Wrapped inside the oiled cloth was a delicate stone carving of a desert flower. This she put carefully between her clothes before tying the pack closed, then she extinguished the lamp and left the cave without looking back.

Irissa was waiting for her at the mouth of the Great Cavern, and as the two women left the sun started to rise in the east. A thin line of pink and gold limned the horizon, pushing back the purple dark of the desert night. The air was fresh and cool and the mar rats began to emerge from their burrows, poking out their small noses and turning their faces to the rising sun.

‘Which way do we go?’ Irissa asked, turning to take a last look at the place of her birth.

‘The way the Dreamer told us,’ Mailun answered. ‘Away from the sun to the place of the wetlanders.’

She gripped the straps of her pack and strode away to the west and Irissa, after one long last look, hefted her hunting spear and followed.

Hidden in the gloom of the Great Cavern’s mouth, Shila watched with an ache in her heart as the two women disappeared into the sands, their forms so small against the vastness of the sky. They were brave, those two, and capable, but their quest could be in vain. She felt then a moment of anger at the Guides. They had shown her more than she had been allowed to tell.

Tallis and Jared were not in the wetlanders’ city anymore, they were heading east on the back of a serpent and the Guides only knew what would befall them there. She could not fathom why they would not allow her to tell Mailun and Irissa of this. It was the Guides themselves who had told her to send the young men over those shadowed crests. Always it had been this way with them, the imparting of wisdom and then blindfolding her to their purpose. What was their interest in Mailun’s boy? Why did they fight so hard to protect and yet damn him? Shifting her gaze toward the Black Mountains she wondered what they would have her do next.

30

Tallis woke just before sunrise, feeling as though he had had no sleep at all. Attar and Bren were already strapping their packs and tightening the harnesses on the serpents, puffs of breath drifting in the air around them. Pulling his coat close he helped Jared roll up their gear.

They took off just as the sun cleared the horizon. Marathin soared almost straight up and Tallis was glad he had taken only a few sips of water before mounting. His stomach heaved and he had to fight a surge of dizziness until she rose higher and levelled out, gliding on currents of air between the black peaks. The wind was biting cold and he hunkered down low, peering through watering eyes at the mountains.

‘Look!’ Attar shouted and pointed below them, ‘The Pass of Hittar.’ He glanced back, the wind whipping spit from his mouth, ‘The only way through on foot!’

Tallis looked down at a tiny, snaking path almost hidden in the vast blackness of the mountains. It followed the foot of a ridge and then disappeared into the shadow of a rift. He wondered how often it was actually used. Who but damned men would ever choose to pass through these dead and shadowed lands? Jagged black peaks and deep rifts dominated his vision and it seemed there was nothing more left in the world than black rock and dark shadow.

They flew on over the endless blackness for another day and a night, stopping only briefly to rest, for the oppressiveness of the place seemed to seep even into the hearts of the serpents, and they all yearned to be free of it. On the morning of the third day, Tallis finally saw a change. The ranges were slowly reducing until they ended in a dark smudged haze, the lands beyond hidden by the glare of the rising sun.

Finally, as the sun reached its zenith, they swooped around the sheer sides of a square-topped peak, and were suddenly skimming over a grassy plain. Immediately, the oppressive feeling that had been shadowing them lifted. They were through the Black Mountains. The serpents glided together, wingtips almost touching, toward a clump of green, their shadows racing them across the plain. They dropped down as they approached and Tallis saw that what he had thought were shrubs were actually trees, but he had no idea what kind of trees they were, and soon they had left them far behind.

The plains gave way to hills and valleys as they turned north, flying toward a shimmering line, which by late afternoon had resolved itself into a river: a wide belt of dark brown water, edged by twisted, white barked trees. Square houses, built on stilts clustered in pockets along the banks, surrounded by open areas of land. The day waned and as the sun started to drop low in the sky, they came to a wide bend in the river and he saw a thin stream of grey smoke rising into the air. The village of Faro.

More of the stilted houses appeared, built in a spreading circle along the riverbank, perhaps forty in all. Marathin dropped lower and Tallis saw that most of the buildings were either leaning toward the ground or collapsed upon it. They had been knocked from their stilts and were smashed and charred, the ground everywhere littered with debris. In the centre of the village, a huge circle of ash marked the ground.

The smell of smoke and rancid decay hung in the air, and as they approached he saw a number of tents set up on the outskirts of the village in a field of flattened, dry grass. A cooking fire smouldered in the central area and small figures moved around, gathering into a group in the field as the serpents descended.

They glided in toward them and by the time they had dismounted a small group had assembled, led by a short, stocky man who came forward and clasped forearms with Attar. The men exchanged a few words while Tallis and Jared helped Bren unstrap the saddles and harnesses from the serpents.

The men hovering behind their leader stared at them. They were covered in dirt and sweat and, like the riders, their skin was a pale brown. Most had short beards and their hair was cut close to their scalp. Many had a knife strapped to his thigh. Bren called out to them and a few came forward and silently started picking up the saddles. Attar exchanged a few more words with the men’s leader and then turned.

‘Follow me.’ He jerked his head toward the tents.

Feeling the eyes of the others on their backs, they walked into the camp. The tents were pegged in a rough circle facing the fire pit. A metal bar had been set over the fire and a large pot hung from it, but there was no one around. Voices called faintly from the village and the sound of splitting wood echoed eerily across the camp. Uneasiness set an itch between Tallis’s shoulder blades and he glanced at Jared who gave him a dark watchful look, his hand hovering near the sheathed knife at his waist.

Close to the river, a larger tent was pegged, its front flaps decorated with the insignia of the riders: a swirling pale red pattern and two rearing serpents. Attar led them to it.

‘Wait here while I talk with the Captain.’ He indicated a patch of ground under a spindly tree nearby, then disappeared inside the tent.

‘Those men didn’t look too friendly,’ Jared commented as he sat down with a wince on the bare ground. Both of them were suffering chafed and sore legs and Tallis grunted as he lowered himself down and leaned back against the tree.

‘They’ve probably never seen a clansman before. Who knows what stories the wetlanders tell of us.’

Night was falling and his stomach was starting to growl with hunger by the time Attar emerged. The big man looked tense and there was a deep frown between his eyes.

‘I told the Captain that you encountered beasts like those that attacked this village; he is interested to hear more details. We will meet after the evening meal. Now, come and I’ll show you where you can bed down for the night.’ He strode past them toward the tents.

Tallis and Jared followed, but a kernel of apprehension was growing in Tallis’s gut as they did. Attar had been in the tent for a long while. Uneasy, he lagged behind as Attar took them to a small area between two tents, not far from the fire pit. He instructed them to lay their sleeping mats out and told them a meal would be prepared shortly, then left, walking off with quick strides back to the Captain’s tent. Tallis turned to Jared who shrugged, dropped his pack and began laying out his mat.

The evening meal was more of the kind of spicy food that Bren liked to make, and they ate it on their sleeping mats, away from the patrol’s soldiers. Tallis counted fifty men. They sat around the fire talking quietly and casting glances in their direction. His eyes locked with a large man with greying hair who stared at him as he ate. Tallis ignored him and went back to his food. His head started to ache dully as he wiped his bowl clean with a crust of bread.

Jared nudged him. ‘He’s coming.’

The soldiers nodded respectfully to Attar as he passed, and Tallis felt fifty pairs of eyes on them as he crooked a finger and motioned with his head to the Captain’s tent. They rose and followed under the silent gaze of the patrol.

Inside the tent, the Captain was sitting cross-legged on a thin mat. His heavy jaw was covered in a thick reddish beard and he looked up at them from deep-set, hooded eyes. Next to him a covered lamp burned, throwing shadows against the canvas. Nodding at them he indicated they should sit. His eyes measured them, and a creeping sensation peeled along the length of Tallis’s spine as he lowered himself to the mat.

‘So, Commander Rorc has sent you because you have already seen these beasts,’ the Captain said. ‘And you say they are like our own serpents, only blacker in colour and deed.’ His speculative gaze rested on Tallis. ‘You are the one who communicated with them?’

Tallis flicked a glance at the rider. ‘Tell him,’ Attar said his voice flat.

‘I am not one of your soldiers to command.’

‘No, but you are in my camp,’ the Captain said, ‘and I rule it. While you are here you will do what I say.’

‘Then perhaps we should leave,’ Jared’s eyes narrowed. ‘We would have no trouble surviving in these soft lands.’

‘And that would be your choice.’ He gave him a flat stare. ‘But you will not. You know how dangerous those beasts are. You have seen them, they’ve killed your own and could, right now, be killing more. We only ask you to help us stop them. You know you can, in fact you have already, haven’t you?’

Anger rose in Tallis. He had not counted on Attar sharing so much with this Captain. ‘I already told you, I don’t know what I did,’ he said.

‘Attar tells me you bent them to your will,’ the Captain said. ‘That you drove them away.’

‘Attar has told you much.’ He gave him a hard stare, but the rider only looked back without remorse. Tallis turned back to the Captain. ‘But I can’t explain what I did, and I do not know how to repeat it.’

‘Then you must learn,’ the Captain replied.

‘And who will teach me? You?’ They hadn’t been there; they hadn’t seen what he did. I know what you are, Karnit’s voice whispered.

The red-bearded man looked at him with an uncompromising stare. He had probably seen much, Tallis thought: war, death – but this? Neither of them had any idea what they asked.

‘Do you know the words I spoke?’ Tallis said and felt Jared tense, saw his hand hover near his knife. ‘They are not any you have heard. I am not like your riders. I felt a rage so strong it was as though hatred ran through my veins not blood.’ He turned his gaze on Attar. ‘Why do you think Marathin is wary of me? What I can do is not the same as you. Her blood calls to me, it is not a simple mind voicing as you call it, it’s something else. Yes, I think I could force her to do my bidding. But those rogue serpents . . .’ he shook his head. ‘They were different. I could feel their hatred, their need to kill. They wanted us all to die that day. They lusted for it. I could feel it.’ He eyed them. What would happen if in trying to control them, they could control me? What if they could use me to command more serpents, to raise an army for them? What would you do then?’

‘We would have to kill you,’ the Captain said.

Jared made a sound in his throat and rose, his hand on his knife. But suddenly shouting and pounding footsteps sounded from outside and Bren flung back the flap of the tent. ‘Captain! The black serpents have been sighted!’

Attar and the Captain both rose to their feet. ‘Where?’ Attar said.

‘Haraka saw them east of here when he was hunting. They’re heading toward a small farm.’ The young rider radiated urgency as he gripped the canvas.

‘Right, I’ll take the serpents,’ Attar said.

‘And I’ll send a patrol.’ The Captain strode past Bren, shouting out orders as he left the tent.

‘You two come with me.’ Attar barely glanced at them as he rushed out after the Captain. Tallis and Jared looked at each other.

‘Come on.’ Tallis rose and they followed the rider outside.

The camp was full of shouts and the sound of weaponry jangling, men jogging past them with grim faces. Attar was running with Bren for the riverbank. Following them, Tallis saw the shadow of the serpents waiting beyond the low flames of the camp torches. Both were agitated. They swayed their tails and arched their necks and as they approached, Marathin turned and hissed at them, her bright eyes flaming red.

Tallis halted as Marathin’s gaze fell on him. Heat punched into his stomach, flaring out and up his spine, and the serpent’s hiss echoed in his mind long after it had gone from the air.

‘Attar,’ Jared shouted, watching the serpent. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We’re going after them,’ Attar answered, ignoring Marathin’s twisting and hissing as he helped Bren tighten her saddle. ‘We’re going to see if we can save some lives – if it’s not too late. Come on, get on.’ He turned to Tallis and gestured at Marathin.

Tallis’s didn’t move and Attar frowned. ‘Can you feel them?’

‘No, but she can,’ he nodded at Marathin.

The rider pulled hard on a strap and Tallis suddenly felt a dark premonition prickle his spine.

‘Attar, we should not go.’

‘You afraid, clansman?’ Bren suddenly said, stepping up to him.

‘Yes,’ Tallis turned on him. ‘I’ve seen them. Have you?’

Bren’s face darkened, but Attar stepped between them. ‘All the more reason to help those they’re after. Here . . .’ He held out a crossbow. ‘These people may die, Tallis. Do either of you want that?’

Tallis looked at Jared. His earth brother’s eyes were hard and dark, his mouth set. ‘I don’t know how to command them.’

Attar’s look was measuring. He didn’t believe him, but after a moment he gave a curt nod. ‘All right, but you’ve seen the size of them, we could use whatever help you can give.’ He held the weapon out to him again.

Tallis took the bow. ‘Show me how to use it.’

Attar quickly ran through the firing mechanism as Bren called another soldier over and retrieved a bow for Jared.

‘How will the patrol get there?’ Jared took the crossbow and watched as Bren repeated the firing instructions.

‘Muthu.’ Attar tossed his head behind them, and they turned and saw the beasts tethered in the shadows. ‘They run fast. Now, come on!’

Gritting his teeth, Tallis avoided looking at Marathin’s eye as he gripped the back of Attar’s saddle and quickly sprang up. Attar handed him the crossbow and he set an arrow in it before storing it in the saddle holster. His heart pounding, he hung on as Marathin launched into the air. Wind whistled in his ears and his eyes streamed as she ascended and wheeled away. Below, twelve men dressed in dark clothing clung like shadows to the backs of the muthu, crouching low over the animals’ long necks as they raced off along the banks of the river.

Marathin rose higher and with a flap of her wing, they left the soldiers behind. They flew east, following the course of the river that glowed silver in the moonlight. There was no cloud and the moon shone down on the land, turning its features into colourless forms of light and shadow.

Anxiety grew in Tallis as they sped through the night. He could hear, just below the thudding of his own heart, a quiet thrumming vibrating from the serpent. It warmed him like fire in his blood. Marathin was hungering for the chase, and fear beat its fingers along his spine as he felt his own bloodlust rising to match hers. Her wildness was seeping into him. He felt every stroke of her wing, every breath, and they raced as one after their prey.

Barely half an hour had passed, when Bren shouted and pointed. Ahead he saw the dark shadow of two buildings, moonlight silvering the bare ground. There was no sign of light or life. Were they too late? Marathin stretched her wings and was tilting down toward it when Tallis felt the hair on the back of his neck lift and a chill swept though him.

‘Marathin!’ he shouted, and he wasn’t sure if he voiced it, or screamed the warning in his mind. A shrieking call sounded and the serpent tucked her wings and dove just in time as a great black shape swooped them. Tallis was thrown back, the harness stretching. Pain stabbed through his head and he tried desperately to stay conscious as blackness wavered at the edges of his vision.

‘Hold . . .’ Attar’s words were whipped away as Marathin suddenly opened her wings and banked steeply left.

A black hooked wing swept past, barely a hand’s length from his head, and the creature shrieked as it missed them.

Tallis tasted bile at the back of his throat and felt his sense of reality slipping. The world around him dimmed, the thrumming grew louder. He tried desperately to fight it. He concentrated on the feel of the bars beneath his hands, the rough skin of the serpent against his legs.

‘Shoot it!’ Attar shouted as he pulled his bow from the saddle.

But Tallis couldn’t move. He could hear nothing but his own heart, and the insistent thrumming of the serpent. He saw Bren and Jared circling back toward them. Moonlight glinted on the arrow tip in Jared’s bow. The scene had a surreal quality to it. He heard them shouting, and the noise of the wind rushed past his ears, but it all came through a thick wall. The beast was coming again. He twisted in his saddle. It was close behind. It came out of the darkness, its great jaw open, its eyes gleaming. Moonlight shone on the white tips of its teeth.

Tallis forgot the crossbow and instinctively drew his hunting knife. The beast came closer and shrieked again, its wail piercing; its long neck stretched toward them as it lunged. At the last moment, Marathin twisted and they rolled underneath. Its sharp, taloned feet missed, but its wings did not. The hooked barbs of its left wing dragged over Marathin’s flank and caught Tallis across the shoulder.

Marathin shrieked and convulsed, and hot pain seared Tallis’s flesh. He screamed and dropped his knife. Suddenly everything came back into focus. He clearly heard Attar shouting as Marathin hissed and writhed beneath them. The wind whipped past, pushing back his hair, and he smelled blood. Haraka swooped past them and he saw a flash of Jared’s eyes staring, white and angry. Blood ran down Tallis’s back and a fiery agony burned across his shoulder.

‘Where is it?’ he shouted.

‘I don’t . . . there!’ Attar pointed and Tallis saw the darkness coalesce into the beast. It was half as big again as Marathin, and it shrieked at them as its wings thumped the air. Bren and Jared moved in, Haraka darting in toward its side. Bren held his sword out, ready to slash, and Jared shot arrows, but they bounced harmlessly off the hard ridge on the beast’s neck.

Tallis saw another shape emerge from the darkness. ‘Attar!’ he shouted, but they weren’t close enough. The second beast hit Haraka from behind, its talons ripping into the serpent’s tail, opening up flesh. Tallis saw the crossbow fly into the air and blood spurted as Jared fell limply back against the harness.

‘Jared!’ he screamed. Marathin bucked beneath him and he felt the rage and darkness inside reaching for him. Words rose to his lips; like bubbles forming in the hot springs, they burst from him with a hiss. He commanded and Marathin arrowed herself at one of the beasts, swiping at it with her forelegs and tail. Behind, the other still battled with Haraka stabbing at his neck with its talons. Bren threw a knife and the blade embedded in its body near its neck. The beast shrieked, and with one swoop of its wing hooked its sharp barbs into Bren and pulled him from his saddle, then dropped him. Haraka tried to catch him in his claw, but the beast tackled him and Bren tumbled to the earth.

Rage burned through Tallis’s body and words rose, coming out of him like hot metal dipped in water, hissing and crackling. One beast shrieked and recoiled, its tail slashing, and the other reared back from Haraka and whipped around, staring at him. For a tense moment it hovered, and Tallis thought it might flee, but then, with a shriek, it came for him.

‘Shoot it!’ Attar shouted. Tallis reached for the bow. The world narrowed and there was nothing but him and the beast. Rage and hate ran through his veins and he was snarling as he aimed. The world disappeared and a thrumming came to him, cold as death, reverberating in his chest. Its jaws opened but he heard nothing. He loosed the arrow and took the beast in the eye.

With a cut-off shriek its wings folded and it plummeted downwards taking his mind with it. Pain arced through him as his consciousness suddenly spiralled out into the blackness, following the fading thrum. Desperately, he tried to pull back. Dimly he heard Attar shouting and focused on his voice. Blackness surrounded him and he thought, with despair, that he was losing himself. Coldness seeped into him. Then, as though from far away, he heard Attar call his name. He reached toward it and, with a wrenching pull, he could see. The night air was rushing past his face and into his lungs. He blinked hard, and looked around for the other beast, but it was gone. Attar was urging Marathin to the ground, Haraka swooping down next to them with Jared slumped in the harness. Tallis hung on as Marathin landed heavily on a bare patch of earth near the dark farmhouse.

‘Where did the other go?’ Tallis shouted, watching as Haraka landed nearby. ‘Did you kill it?’

‘No.’ Attar jumped off the serpent. ‘Are you all right?’ He looked at the gash on his shoulder.

‘Yes.’ He’d forgotten about his wound, the pain was dim, barely even noticeable.

With a grunt, Attar turned and ran toward a dark shape on the ground nearby. Bren. Sickened, Tallis pulled himself from the saddle and went to Haraka. The serpent’s head was drooping toward the ground and blood ran from cuts along his tail.

Jared was slumped over, blood covering his back and his coat hung in shreds from his shoulders. Cold fear gripped Tallis as he put his arms around him and pulled him from the saddle, lowering him to the ground. Jared cried out as he lay him down and Tallis swallowed as he saw the ripped flesh on his back. He was looking for water on Bren’s saddle when a woman’s scream rang out and he turned to see Attar running toward him.

‘Here!’ He threw Bren’s sword at him. ‘Come on.’

Tallis caught the sword and with a worried look at Jared, ran after Attar into the shadows between the buildings. They emerged into a dusty open area surrounded by low fences. Another of the beasts crouched there, its wings half spread. It held a small, blonde woman in its front talons. Tallis stopped, sweat coating his forehead. She was young and on the ground nearby was a bloody bundle: a baby’s blanket. His stomach turned. The woman saw them and cried out. Blood was running down her dress from a gash in her side and the beast held her above the ground, dangling her from one arm. She stared at them from wide, terrified eyes, blood dripping into the dust.

The beast swivelled its head and stared directly at Tallis. It arched its back and shrieked at him. It’s spiked tail biting into the ground as it thumped it down. Arak-ferish! The word grated through Tallis’s skull, and he almost dropped the sword, staggering with pain. A metallic taste coated his tongue and hate blazed from the beast’s eye as it stared at him.

Unaware, Attar ran toward it with a roar. Shaken, Tallis hesitated, but then a hot surge of rage and a killing need overtook him. His lip curled and with a shout he hefted the blade and followed. They skirted either side of the beast, blades raised, trying to find an opening. Attar ran in, swiping at its wing. Tallis tried to get behind it at the same time. He dodged around, ignoring the hot pain in his shoulder as he raised the blade and tried to slash at its hindquarters. But it was too quick. Hissing, it swiped at Attar then spun and swept a wing at Tallis. He ducked, feeling the air whip over his head. When he looked up again he found himself staring straight into the beast’s eyes. Its black gaze locked with his and Tallis saw something flicker in their depths. Dread filled him as the beast arched its neck and raised a taloned foreclaw.

He gritted his teeth, waiting for the strike, but instead it swung the woman around. For a moment he was looking into her face. She was not much older than he, and there was a tiny scar on her cheek. She was crying and he saw terror, then hope in her eyes as their gazes met, but then the beast shrieked and with one talon ripped her open from the neck.

That sharp, terrible scream she made as the beast took her life would come to haunt him. Blood sprayed, fine splatters showered Attar as he moved in again to attack. The beast threw the woman’s body to the ground, and in desperation Tallis tried to fling his mind out, to make the connection and find the words before the serpent turned on him; but nothing came and the beast didn’t move. It merely eyed him. Arak-ferish, the words hissed through his mind, then with a last snap of its jaws, the serpent crouched and flung itself up into the winds, winging away into darkness. Shaking, Tallis watched it leave.

Arak-ferish – there’d been a message in that last cry meant only for him.

31

Azoth’s grip on her arm was like a bracelet of steel and Shaan could do nothing but follow as he dragged her down the corridors of Morfessa’s house. She tried to scream, but no sound would come from her throat. He pulled her down the shallow steps of the inner courtyard. The fountain still tinkled quietly but the area was empty. They moved through the softly lit space quickly, Azoth casting his eyes about as though he could see well into the deeply shadowed corners.

And maybe he could. After all, he had overpowered both Morfessa and the Seer, and his touch bound her to him like a rope made of iron. Was he really Azoth? He will come for you, she heard Nuathin’s hissing whisper again. They turned left, heading down a columned hallway, passing two doors, stopping at the third. A shout rang out behind them and the sound of boots clattering on tile. She wanted to call out for help, but she was mute. Azoth smiled down at her, then without hurrying opened the door and pulled her into the room. Twisting, she saw the shadows of running men looming on the walls of the hallway.

‘Stop!’ A voice shouted, but Azoth ignored it. Crossing the moonlit room he unlatched a set of doors. Outside, a paved area stretched away to the darkness of the garden.

‘Stop!’ Rorc ran into the room, his sword unsheathed, followed by Balkis and a gaunt, older man.

Azoth pulled Shaan close, his grip on her arm tightening, and laughed. ‘You can’t stop me.’

Rorc approached him, his sword held ready. ‘Let her go.’

‘I can’t do that. Besides, I only claim what is mine.’

Struggling in his grip, Shaan looked desperately at Balkis as he moved to flank the Commander. His sword was unsheathed and his mouth set as he caught her glance. He looked like he was contemplating charging them. Her eyes pleading, she shook her head. Azoth would kill him.

‘You’ll not escape.’ Rorc moved a step closer. ‘My Hunters will find you.’

‘Rorc!’ The old man suddenly spoke sharply. ‘Be careful.’ And he moved toward them, his pale, watery eyes fixed on Azoth.

Rorc hesitated, and Azoth’s eyes flicked to the old man. His look became dangerous. ‘I can feel you old man . . . Seducer,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t be foolish.’

His hand tightened around her wrist and Shaan winced as the small bones ground together. From the corner of her eye she saw Balkis move in, his face furious. She tried to shout to stop him, but white-hot pain raked her and she couldn’t speak. She resisted as best she could as burning cold spread from Azoth’s grip. He was drawing on her again. Screaming in agony, she heard the old man grunt in pain and drop to his knees. Balkis shouted and both he and the Commander charged.

Azoth drew on her harder, sucking the energy from her. The ground tilted beneath her feet, sounds muted, and blackness threatened as she desperately resisted him. Azoth flung out a hand and the men were sent hurtling backwards into the wall, their swords clattering to the floor. She sagged to the ground, her mind numb and ringing with pain. Had she saved them, were they alive? Azoth lifted her up, slinging her over his shoulder, and she saw through bleary eyes all three men lying on the floor as he carried her from the house.

For a while she knew nothing, the pain driving her into darkness. When she woke, she was draped across Azoth’s shoulder. He was walking quickly and she bounced painfully against him. She raised her head and pounded weakly on his back. He stopped and the world tipped as he lowered her to her feet. She staggered and almost fell as blood roared in her ears. He gripped her arm.

‘Careful,’ he whispered. She blinked and tried to focus. They were in a narrow alley between two dilapidated buildings. Rubbish was strewn along one wall and the smell of decay and urine was strong. The place was vaguely familiar. Were they near the wharves? It was still night, but she guessed sunrise wasn’t far off. She hung off his grip, deliberately stalling so she could orientate herself. The alley ended not far ahead, joining with a wider street. She could see the dark shadow of a two-storey building, leaning at a precarious angle against the neighbouring wall, and the small, huddled shape of a person lying near a doorstep. With a jolt of recognition she realised they were near the crist sellers’ quarter.

‘Know where you are now?’ he said.

She didn’t answer, but tried to twist out of his grip.

He gave a low laugh and putting one arm around her, brought his lips close to her ear. ‘Why do you fight me? You need me. You belong to me.’

A tight band of fear squeezed her chest. ‘Let me go!’ Her limbs were weak, but she fought him anyway. She turned on him in a fury, striking out with her free arm, kicking him and twisting in his grip. It was such a sudden attack it caught him unawares. His fingers lost their hold and she lunged away toward the mouth of the alley, tasting freedom. But he was taller, his reach was long, and she heard him chuckle as his hands fell on her and jerked her backwards. He spun her to face him, one hand curled around her neck as he pushed her up against the damp wall.

‘Stop now,’ he said calmly. She tried to wrench his hand away, but he held her wrists in his other hand. ‘Stop,’ he repeated, his eyes boring into hers. A strange tilting sensation took her and she felt all her need to escape drain away. She stopped struggling and relaxed back against the wall, his hand a collar around her throat.

‘Yes,’ he said and his teeth showed white as he smiled. His angular face was inhumanly beautiful in the faint blue-hued light. His hair seemed to blend into the darkness around them and his eyes were almost purple as they stared into hers. She was mesmerised by the way the moonlight caught across his right cheekbone and slid into darkness in the contours of his lips. She felt the warmth of his body. Her breath quickened and sudden desire curled like hot smoke up her limbs.

He saw it in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. His hand loosened around her throat while the other gently smoothed the hair back from her forehead. ‘Shaan.’ His fingers drifted down her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. ‘I have been looking for you, calling you.’ His purple eyes looked into hers. ‘Do you know what you are? Who you are?’ A finger stroked her chin and he smiled. ‘You will, and then you will never want to leave me. I will look after you always.’

Gazing up at him, she knew it was true. He would never leave her, she was his. It felt right and she nodded and her withheld breath came out in a rush. She couldn’t remember why she had wanted to get away. His lips curved in a smile and slowly his hand left her throat. He stood looking down at her, holding her only lightly now by the wrist.

‘I will have to keep you silent, though,’ he said with a frown. ‘Although it does tire me.’ He tilted his head slightly to one side and brushed a hand down her cheek. ‘But this will wear off eventually and you will try to escape again.’ A fleeting look of disappointment flitted across his face.

Shaan suddenly, fervently, wanted to tell him that no, she would never leave him, of course not. But she could not speak.

‘Now, I need to know where this is?’ Suddenly there was an image in her mind: a gold ring glittered and along its outer edge she saw a wavy line, like a serpent’s tail, etched into the metal. ‘You know it?’ His voice was eager and she struggled to do his bidding. Yes, now he was here she could feel it, that ring. She had seen it before. Why had she never realised how precious it was, that it belonged to her?

‘I know where it is,’ she answered, her hands fluttering to touch him. He saw into her mind, saw the thief who had taken it. His smile was triumphant.

‘Come,’ he pulled on her hand, ‘we have much to do, there is a lesson to be taught.’ Obediently, she nodded and followed him eagerly as he led her out of the alley and toward the wharves.

Torg and Tuon sat quietly together at the table in the kitchen, an oil lantern burning between them. The other women had long since seen off their customers and retired to bed, but Tuon, worried about Shaan, had found herself unable to sleep. She’d gone down to the kitchen and found Torg sitting silently at the table, a frown across his brow, his gaze distant. He poured her some wine and pushed the cup across to her without a word. She sat down without touching it.

Since her meeting with Rorc she had been drifting aimlessly from one room of the inn to another, oscillating between panic, sadness and fear. She had received a note from Meelin; Menon had been delayed in the common quarter and when he arrived at the inn, Shaan had not been there. She was sick with fear. Menon had been too worried about drawing attention to himself to ask anyone about her. Coward, she thought. Where could Shaan have gone? Had she got away on her own? Was she now on her way to the Free Lands in some other caravan? Or had Rorc figured out what had happened to Petar and had the Faithful found Shaan already? Did he have her in custody? Perhaps he knew she was involved as well. What could she do? She had stayed at the Red Pepino in case Shaan came back, but how long could she wait? Thoughts chased round and round her mind until she felt they would drive her mad.

She’d thought about running. At some point earlier that night she had stood in her room, folding and re-folding a dress, and tried to think of what she could do. She could follow her own advice, run to the Free Lands. But what if she were caught? Rorc could use a Seducer on her and it would all be over. She couldn’t risk it. And who was she trying to fool? She didn’t want to leave. Leaving meant never seeing him again.

Torg’s chair scraped as he stood up. ‘Hungry?’

She shook her head, staring at the still flame of the lantern. He pulled out a half loaf of bread and sliced off an uneven slab, topping it with a bit of cheese, but then didn’t eat it. He just sat, fingering the bread into crumbs.

Tuon glanced at him. It wasn’t like him to be so morose. ‘Torg, are you . . .’

‘You’ve gotten her out of the city, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘Shaan, she’s gone isn’t she?’

She hesitated. His eyes were dark and weary, but there was no recrimination in them.

‘I know you, Tuon. You thought she was in trouble and wanted to save her, but you may have only made her more vulnerable.’

‘What are you talking about?’ She tried to speak sharply, as though he were telling her lies.

‘I talked to Rorc this morning.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘He does not want her because he suspects she has done anything wrong, but rather because of what she may be.’

‘You’re not making any sense, besides I don’t . . .’

‘He thinks she may be a descendant of the Fallen,’ he cut her off, ‘and if Azoth finds her she could be the key to regaining his powers.’

‘What?’ Tuon whispered. ‘The Fallen isn’t here, is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Torg said grimly. ‘But I know Shaan has been troubled lately. Something in her has changed, she seems . . .’ he spread his hands, ‘different. And the serpents in the yards, they swoop and cry over the city. The Fallen was the lord of the serpents, their master, if he were to return surely they would feel it.’

Tuon didn’t answer. She stared at the lantern’s flame. That was what she had said to Shaan in the market that morning. It seemed so long ago now. She thought about the dreams Shaan had been having; and the day she had come back from the yards, she’d been pale and shaken. What had happened? But she could not believe she’d done wrong in trying to protect her.

‘Rorc is coming here tonight,’ Torg said. ‘You should tell him where she is.’

Tuon’s heart leaped thudding into her throat. ‘What? When?’

He looked troubled. ‘I don’t know, he’s late already.’

Tuon felt a twinge of unease. Rorc was never late.

‘Is he . . .’ But she wasn’t able to finish her words. The door to the courtyard suddenly opened and she looked up, her heart in her mouth. But it wasn’t Rorc; it was a stranger, a tall dark-haired man.

‘Torg Fairwind,’ he said. ‘Where is the Prophet’s ring?’

Torg went very still, then slowly he rose from the table and moved back a step so he was out of the bright circle of light. ‘Who are you?’ he said.

The man smiled and Tuon’s breath caught at the beauty of his face, yet at the same time she was repelled. There was something otherworldly in the cast of his cheekbone, the slant of his eye. A dangerous strength resonated from him. The man stepped into the room and shut the door, and a woman moved from behind him and into the light.

‘Shaan!’ Tuon sprang to her feet. But Shaan’s face was strangely vacant. A slight smile tipped the corners of her mouth and she looked through her as though she wasn’t there. The man flicked his eyes to Tuon curiously and she felt a jolt of fear. Nothing human looked out of those eyes. With a faint frightening smile, his gaze went back to Torg.

‘Where is it Fairwind? I know you have it.’

‘I don’t know of any ring,’ Torg said.

The smile dropped from his face, and the threat of violence rippled through the room. ‘Do not play games, Isles’ man. You are the Prophet’s heir, he willed it to be passed on from one child to another. I know you have it and it is mine. Give it to me.’

‘Tuon, take Shaan and leave,’ Torg said without looking at her.

The tone of his voice filled her with fear, but the man suddenly gripped Shaan’s wrist and pulled her to him.

‘No.’ He fixed dark eyes on Tuon and she found herself unable to move. Her feet felt as though they were fixed to the floor; her mind was willing but her limbs would not obey her.

‘Shaan!’ Tuon tried to reach out to her, but she seemed oblivious, staring up at the dark-haired man with a look of adoration. With a chill, she wondered if what Torg had said earlier was true; was this the Fallen? Was this Azoth?

Without making a sound, Torg suddenly picked up the knife he had used to slice the bread and launched himself at the stranger.

The man’s gaze widened as he saw the thick ring of gold in Torg’s ear. ‘Aaah!’ he exclaimed and, dropping Shaan’s wrist, gracefully sidestepped Torg’s attack. Grabbing the bigger man’s hand, he twisted the knife from his grasp and swept a foot under his legs, dropping him to the floor. With lightning agility he flipped the knife in his hand and dropping down, plunged it to the hilt into Torg’s chest.

Tuon screamed as blood spurted from his heart.

‘So ends the line of thieves,’ the man muttered, and ripped the gold earring from his ear.

‘No!’ Tuon shrieked. Finding that she could move, she flung herself at him.

With barely any effort he caught her flailing arms and threw her back against the table. Pain exploded along her side as she collided with the solid wood and fell to the floor, her head cracking against the hard tile. Her vision wavered. The tile was cold under her cheek and she could faintly see Torg, blood pooling around him. There was the sound of something falling, then footsteps and the door closed. The light in the room was brighter, the air warmer and smoke, was that smoke in the room? A sharp crack sounded and a lick of flame travelled down the table leg. Fire! She should move, she had to get away. Struggling as though against a strong tide, Tuon shuffled across the floor.

‘Take six four-man squads,’ Rorc said to the Hunter. ‘Sweep the city, if you find him, use crossbows, do not,’ he emphasised the words, ‘try to take him with your sword. He is too dangerous. And I want the girl alive.’

The man nodded. ‘What of Leader Balkis?’

‘I will find him.’

‘Sir.’ The Hunter turned and ran down the corridor disappearing in the shadows. His mouth set in frustration, Rorc watched him go. When he’d come to, Balkis had already gone, recklessly taking off on his own after Shaan and the man who called himself Azoth. The gods only knew how he thought he was going to take him. He should have seen it coming, Rorc thought. The man was smitten with her and men blinded by their heart never made the best decisions. Leashing his anger, he went back into the room.

As he entered he saw the Seer striding angrily back and forth across the floor while Morfessa and Cyri watched.

‘How could you not know!’ Veila glared at Morfessa. ‘He was in your home, helping you, right here!’

‘Veila.’ Cyri got slowly up from his chair and put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her pacing. ‘Azoth must have clouded his mind somehow, shielded himself. Do not forget what he is.’

Veila flashed him a look of annoyance and pushed his hand away. She stood over Morfessa. ‘Why did you not bring her straight to me? Why hide her in that room?’

Sitting in his armchair, Morfessa nursed the bruise on his head. He was pale and the deep shadows beneath his eyes made his face look gaunt and old. ‘I needed to be sure,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought the room would be safe. I didn’t know . . .’ he made a futile gesture with his hand and looked away. ‘Those eyes, they were the same, how could I not have seen . . .’

Veila’s lips thinned. ‘Your love of wine has clouded your mind for too long.’

‘Veila!’ Cyri’s voice was firm. ‘Do not be so quick to judge. Azoth is powerful, even now without the Birthstone, and squabbling amongst ourselves will not save us.’

‘At least now you do not argue with me over his return,’ Veila said turning to him. ‘You believe now it is him.’

The Consul’s lips thinned. ‘Now I have no choice.’

‘Stop.’ Rorc stepped between them. ‘What’s done is done.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘We must decide what to do.’

There was a pause as both Consul and Seer looked at each other.

‘He is right,’ Veila said. ‘Thank you Commander, you are ever the voice of reason.’ Her eyes went to Cyri. ‘We must work together. Azoth has Shaan now; there can be no doubt that she is the key. He may be able to find the Stone through her. What will we do if he finds it?’

‘We must find him first,’ Rorc said. ‘Veila, do you have any idea where he would go?’

She frowned. ‘No.’

‘Could you find him in the Void?’

‘No, it is too dangerous,’ Cyri protested. ‘He killed the dream seer, he could kill Veila.’

For all his stern words, the Consul was deeply fond of the Seer, perhaps more than fond. Rorc saw the protective fear in his eyes, the hand possessive on her shoulder.

‘It is too dangerous for her not to try,’ he said carefully.

Veila put her hand over the Consul’s. ‘It’s all right. I must try, Cyri, and he may be too distracted at the moment to notice me.’

Clearly unhappy, Cyri said, ‘Just a short questing then’.

Morfessa rose from his chair. ‘I will check on the Guardian and Nilah. The sun will rise soon, I must prepare Nilah to meet with the Council of Nine. She was drinking at an inn in the common quarter when the guards found her,’ he avoided look at Rorc. ‘I have given her a tonic that should see her sober.’

The Commander’s expression was forbidding. ‘It seems better, then, to keep Nilah out of this for now,’ he said. ‘I doubt she has the capacity to take charge of this. We should handle this ourselves.’

‘I agree,’ Cyri said.

‘Will the Guardian live?’ Rorc asked Morfessa.

He hesitated. ‘I don’t know. When I last checked, she’d fallen into a deep state of unconsciousness. I couldn’t reach her.’

It was the worst news. Rorc felt things slipping from his grasp. The last thing they needed now was to have Arlindah die. Nilah was vain and self centred, he could not see her making the decisions that needed to be made.

Veila saw his fears. ‘Nilah must at least be seen to be stepping in to the breach left by her mother’s illness,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ Morfessa looked as worried as Rorc had ever seen him. ‘I will prepare her to speak to the Council. It’s her place as the heir. If Lorgon is going to confine the Free Landers and, most likely petition to have them searched, then she must at least appear to be controlling things.’

‘But say nothing to her about what has happened here tonight,’ Rorc warned. ‘This is not something the Council needs to know just yet.’ He turned and made for the glass doors.

‘You are going after him yourself?’ Cyri said and he turned. ‘I cannot sit here and wait. Besides, I need to find that fool Balkis before he gets himself killed but if any of my men return with Azoth . . .’

‘We will prepare a cell,’ Cyri said. ‘hopefully one able to hold him.’

‘Be careful,’ Veila said.

Rorc nodded to her and, with a last glance at Cyri, left the room, exiting through the same doors Azoth had taken a short time earlier.

It was warm and still outside and moisture hung heavily in the air. He glanced up at the sky. The stars shone with a cold brightness between the swathes of cloud. It wouldn’t be long until the pale light of the sun drove the stars away. His eyes were dry and weariness made his shoulders tense, but with practised effort he ignored it, hurrying down the quiet streets. He was sure this resurrected god would be making for the Dome and his serpents, so he headed down toward the traders’ quarter and turned up the steep road that led to the yards.

A breeze blew in from the sea, lifting his hair, and he stopped, turning to stare down at the city. He could smell the faint acrid taint of smoke. He searched the rooftops and squinting, saw a wisp of grey drifting above the streets of the seafarers’ quarter – it was coming from the area near the Red Pepino. Too coincidental. Cursing, he turned and ran back down toward the city, his gut tight with apprehension. He was too far away, if it was the Red Pepino he’d never get there in time. He changed his course, cutting through an empty market square and heading for the temple to take a muthu.

The courtyard was silent when he arrived, the guard on duty barely awake as he sprinted through the doors, shouting at the man to get the main gate open. The guard hardly had time to scramble upright and push open the heavy wooden gate before he had mounted a beast and kicked it into action, its hooves clattering on the stones as he urged it out of the stable and into the streets. Lamplights winked on in the windows behind him as he disappeared down the dark avenue toward the seafarers’ quarter.

Following a narrow twisting street between dilapidated buildings, he strained his gaze at the sky. Wisps of smoke, more visible now, were drifting across the rooftops and the smell of burning grew. A door opened and a man peered out, sniffing and looking down the street. Others appeared, looking out from upper-storey windows. The sound of raised voices came to him and with it the unmistakable crack of burning wood.

Clinging on bareback, he urged the animal on. With galloping strides they left the street and turned down an alley that led to the back of the inn. Billows of black smoke were rising in the air and a crowd of people were heading toward it. Using the muthu to push through, Rorc clattered up to the back gate then jumped off and, leaving the animal with a street boy, ran toward the fire. Smoke was pouring from upper-storey windows and dark figures silhouetted against the sky, were jumping out of a window onto the roof of the inn’s storage shed.

Screams came from inside and no one seemed to be doing anything to help, they were merely milling about looking bewildered. His heart pounding, Rorc scanned the crowd for Torg and Tuon, but couldn’t see them. Recognising one of the whores, he strode over and clasped her arm.

‘Torg and Tuon, where are they?’ he demanded.

The woman looked up at him in fright. ‘I don’t know. I think they were downstairs. Aren’t they out?’

Rorc didn’t answer her. He grabbed the man nearest him. ‘You! Go find the city guard.’ The man quailed as he saw who had spoken and, turning, bolted out of the gates running for the guard station.

‘You!’ Rorc jogged over to three younger men. ‘Two of you find some buckets, fill them with water from the well. Start dousing the storage shed and that end of the inn.’ He pointed to where the women were jumping from the window. ‘We’ve got to stop the fire from spreading. Get some others to help. And you,’ he pointed to the tallest and strongest, ‘Come with me.’

The two men went off to do his bidding while Rorc ran toward the back door of the inn, the young man at his heels. Smoke was pouring out of every crevice now and long streaking cracks were forming in the rough render of the walls. Popping and creaking noises came from inside along with the whumping rush of fire.

‘Help me with the door,’ he shouted over the noise, coughing as smoke blew down his throat.

The door was locked and the metal handle too hot to touch, so they stood back together and started to kick it. Made of heavy black wood, it held for a while, rattling in its frame under their attack. The noise of fire increased and a terrible fear seized Rorc that he wouldn’t be able to get the door open, that he wouldn’t be able to get them out. With a roar, he launched himself at the door kicking it as hard as he could again and again, until finally with a sharp splintering crack, it gave way.

The young man beside him fell back as heat rushed out, but Rorc only held a forearm in front of his face and, sweeping aside the remains of the door, leaped inside. Flames were running up the walls and across the roof, and the air was thick with smoke. Coughing and choking he almost tripped over Torg’s body lying near the doorway.

‘Here!’ he yelled to the youth outside and bent down. He knew Torg was dead the moment his hand felt the knife in his chest.

‘Drag him out,’ he shouted. The heat from the flames was intense and he crouched low trying to keep below the smoke. Flames crackled and he could smell his own hair singeing, but he moved further into the room searching for Tuon.

He found her curled up on the floor near a cracked water urn, the moisture-soaked clay had retarded the flames so far, but even as he approached fire danced on the wall near her head like a living thing, daring to get close enough to burn her.

‘Tuon’ he shouted hoarsely. A sudden ferocious fear seized him, and savagely he kicked a chair from his path and ran to pick her up. She was limp in his arms, her head lolling back as he staggered from the burning building, coughing smoke.

Dropping to his knees outside on the hard-packed earth, he put his head to her breast. Her heart was still beating. Intense relief ran through him. There was an ugly bruise near her temple, but she was alive. He kneeled there looking at her face in the flickering orange light. With rage and fear, the thought hit him that a moment more and she may have been dead.

‘Commander.’

He looked up to see a Hunter approaching.

‘Sir, we found this.’ He held up a scrap of green silk. It was from the dress Shaan had been wearing.

‘He was here,’ Rorc said in a hard voice.

‘Yes. Balkis sent me to find you. He says he’s headed to the yards.’

‘He means to take a serpent.’ Rorc rose to his feet. ‘Here.’ He passed Tuon gently into the arms of the Hunter. ‘Take this woman to the temple.’

‘Commander.’ The man accepted his burden and Rorc pointed to Torg’s body a short distance away. ‘And have the city guard take him there also. The Sisters will know what to do. I’ll go after Balkis.’

Rorc turned and ran back to get the muthu, fury giving him energy, despite smoke burning in his lungs. He had no doubt that Azoth had almost killed Tuon and had murdered Torg. The Isles’ man had been of great value to the Faithful and, more than that, he had been his friend. He would find him and, be he man or god, he was determined Azoth would suffer.

Shaan ran. The first glow of the rising sun was touching the flat rooftops above them, but it was a dim light. Thick cloud was starting to drift over the city and there was no wind; the sound of her breathing seemed to be all around her.

Azoth made no noise as he ran beside her, intent on looking forward, as though he could bring their destination to him by his will alone. Occasionally he glanced at her, and whenever he did she felt lighter, happier, and would increase her pace matching his stride. She couldn’t quite remember where they were going or why, but she was sure if she followed Azoth and pleased him that all would be well.

They ran past shuttered homes, and then up a slowly increasing slope where the street was wider, curved and lined with trees and gardens. Azoth veered off and took a smaller path through the trees. They had run for some time, moving in a circular route, before Shaan saw ahead of them a high wall and a closed wooden gate. She realised vaguely that the wall was the one that surrounded the serpent yards, but she was confused about how they had arrived there; but it was a fleeting thought that fluttered in her mind for a moment then left as she waited patiently for Azoth to open the door.

Using some force he pushed it open and they passed through. Shaan saw the white stone of the Dome through the trees. A slight throb started in her temple as they drew closer, and a sudden clear thought that she should not be here pierced the fog surrounding her mind. She stopped, confused, and looked around. What was she doing here? She rubbed her eyes. Who was that man?

Azoth had reached the workers’ entrance in the Dome wall when he turned sharply and looked at her. His brows drew together and, muttering a curse, he ran back. Shaan stared at him and was seized by a sudden sense of danger. Her heart leaped and she turned to run, but he was already on her.

He grasped her wrist. ‘Come,’ he whispered and pulled her after him toward the Dome.

But Shaan’s mind was suddenly clear. ‘No!’ she shouted and struggled in his grasp. Bits and pieces started coming back to her. Balkis flying through the air, the Red Pepino, Tuon hitting the floor and Torg . . . Torg falling, a knife and the rush of fire.

‘No!’ she screamed and planted her feet, desperately twisting.

With economic efficiency Azoth stopped, turned, and slapped her a stinging blow across the face, then he slung her over his shoulder and continued into the Dome. Dazed, Shaan watched as they passed into the gloom of the outer hall. Azoth moved quickly, heading straight toward the spiralling ramp that led to the upper crells.

She tried to clear her head. The sun was not fully risen, but still there should be workers in the Dome. She took a breath to shout, but her mind was suddenly assailed by the presence of Nuathin.

Arak! The serpent’s cry pounded through her skull. Shaan clutched at her head, bouncing painfully against Azoth’s shoulder as he ascended. Nuathin, she tried to send back, but the serpent overrode her mind and she was assaulted with an overwhelming wave of yearning. She could barely see and pain sliced through her mind as the serpent swamped her with his own emotions. He is here! Nuathin screamed, the pain of it ripping into her. He feels us, he knows us, he . . . the serpent paused, and then suddenly whispered: Will he show us the old paths again? Shaan, still reeling, was unable to respond. She blinked and tried to restore her blurred vision. Her skull ached and Azoth’s shoulder dug into her stomach.

Then suddenly he was putting her down. Her feet hit hard floor and she saw Nuathin cowering on the very edge of his crell, staring at Azoth. The serpent’s crest was pulsing a deep red and the colours lit up the walls, painting the stone with the light. His eyes flashed and had changed to a deep purple, not unlike Azoth’s own.

Shaan tried to send the serpent her thoughts: Nuathin. Go, fly. She had a sudden protective urge for the old beast. But either she had not mind voiced properly, or he was ignoring her, for he continued to stare, mesmerised, at the man beside her.

She glanced at Azoth and her insides clenched with fear. His height and breadth seemed to have expanded and a covetous light shone in his eyes. It was the same as when he had first called to her in Morfessa’s room. Power radiated from him and he no longer looked human.

‘My semorphim,’ he spoke softly to Nuathin’s mind in a low sensuous tone. The skin on Shaan’s arms pebbled. She could understand him, though he spoke a language she had never heard. She wanted to run but could not, the timbre of his mind voice sang in her blood, and warmth spread through her. Without knowing why, she fell to her knees.

‘I have wept tears of loss for you for millennia.’ Azoth slowly approached the serpent. ‘My own, my children, barred from me. But I have returned for you.’ He held out a hand to the serpent and in amazement, Shaan watched a tear slide from Azoth’s eye. ‘Come, carry me and mine. We will be family again, all of us.’

His voice was hypnotic and full of such sorrow that Shaan felt tears slip from her own eyes. Nuathin’s crest pulsated with colour, rapidly changing from red to blue then green and orange, swirling along his neck. His great sides heaved in and out and his hot breath pushed back her hair. He stared at Azoth for a moment and the air between them became charged with energy then suddenly he turned and launched himself off the ledge and, with a flap of his wing, headed for the roof.

Azoth turned triumphant shining eyes to her. ‘Come.’ He reached down and pulled her to her feet, heading up the ramp to the rooftop.

Confused, she followed, letting him lead her the short distance to the outer door. She was finding it hard to breathe. The effect of his voice clung to her, but more than that was the effect of his words. Something in her had reacted as though in recognition. There had been a deep pull inside, a wrenching of what she believed. Me and mine. Was she his? Azoth pushed open the rooftop door and she squinted in the light of the sun’s first rays.

Nuathin was already waiting for them. Her heart pounded and for a moment she stopped, uncertain, and Azoth turned and came to her. Looking down, he brought up his hand and caressed her jaw, tilting her head up to look into his eyes. He smiled and Shaan trembled at what she saw.

‘Come,’ he whispered, and she felt again the pull, deep inside, that demanded she be with him.

‘Good.’ His smile widened and he drew her gently with him over to the serpent.

Nuathin looked brighter, sleeker and somehow younger. He turned his head to look at her as Azoth helped her climb onto his enormous back to sit between his wings. Azoth himself then leaped gracefully up in front of her and she wrapped her arms around his middle as if in a dream.

‘Shaan!’ A voice shouted and Balkis burst through the opening to the platform. His sword was unsheathed and his blond hair streamed out behind him as he ran toward her.

‘Stop!’ he cried and reached a hand out to her.

His eyes sought hers and for a brief moment their gazes met. Shaan felt the glamour that surrounded her slip and something moved inside her at the fierce desperation on his face. Had he come for her? She unclasped her hands.

But then Azoth spoke: ‘Fly, semorphim,’ he commanded and the serpent crouched and sprang into the air.

The force made Shaan’s stomach drop, and she locked her hands around him as they sprang upward. Her hair whirled around her in the updraft and she looked down through the fluttering strands to see Balkis standing, staring up at her, as Nuathin carried them away.

32

Tallis cut the thick coat from Jared’s back with his knife. Underneath, shreds of material from his clan shirt were stuck to the skin and a long deep gash ran from his right shoulder blade down to his hip. He was very pale and his breathing shallow. Luckily the beast’s talons had missed his spine, but Tallis could see bone through the ruptured flesh.

He kept thinking of the words the serpent had seared into his mind. Arak-ferish. The beast should have killed him then, but had held itself back. And it had something to do with those words; he’d seen fear in its eyes as it snarled them, felt it in the beast’s blood. It was the same fear he’d felt from it in the desert that day. It was almost as if it were afraid of him, but for what reason Tallis couldn’t fathom.

‘Here, use this to staunch the blood.’ Attar handed him a thick wad of material. Tallis took it silently and pressed it against the wound, tying the strips of Jared’s shirt around his torso to hold it in place.

‘Thank you.’ He looked up at the rider.

Attar’s face was grim in the flickering light of the torch he carried. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood, we need to get him to a healer.’

‘Can the serpents still carry us?’ Tallis looked at Marathin and Haraka. Both had sustained deep gashes and were crouched together, but seemed oblivious to their wounds.

Attar nodded. ‘Serpents heal quickly. They’re made of tougher stuff than we are.’ He frowned as he saw the Captain emerge from the farmhouse. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said and strode away.

The patrol had arrived not long after the beast had gone and were now investigating the farmhouse and surrounding area. Tallis watched as Attar talked with the Captain, then came back to him.

‘They found a man’s body not far from the house. I’d say it was the woman’s husband. They’ll take the bodies back to camp.’

They would be taking Bren’s body as well, Tallis thought. He hadn’t liked the younger man, but he had faced the beasts bravely. He had not deserved his fate.

‘I’m sorry for Bren’s death, Attar. He fought well. I will pray he finds rest and shade.’

The rider nodded, watching as the soldiers carried Bren’s body to a waiting muthu. ‘We must make sure Jared doesn’t suffer the same, clansman. But it’s no use taking Jared back to the camp, there are no healers there.’

Tallis felt a jolt of fear. ‘None?’

Attar shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Our best chance is to strap him to Haraka and go to the Wild Lands. We’re not too far from the jungles now, we should make it. There’ll be water there and the serpents may be able to find one of the forest people’s settlements. I’ve heard their healers are good.’ He paused, ‘He’ll die if we stay here’.

Tallis swallowed. He didn’t want to move Jared, but Attar was right, he could see by the pallor of his skin and his shallow breaths that Kaa hovered dangerously close.

‘You’re sure they’ll help us?’ He looked up at the warrior.

‘Yes. Marathin is sure.’ Attar looked steadily down at him. ‘It’s his only chance, clansman.’

Marathin was sure? Tallis stared across at the serpent. Since the attack he had felt nothing from her and Haraka ignored him completely. Perhaps their own wounds distracted them. Perhaps they understood what the black serpent had said to him. If his earth brother died, his reason for being here, this strange quest the Dreamer had set them, would be for nothing. He looked at Jared’s pale face and wished they were in the desert where he could find plants to heal him, but they were not. He looked up at Attar.

‘Let’s go.’

The rider nodded and clasped his shoulder silently then turned and went to tell the Captain.

They left before the patrol. Tallis sat in Bren’s saddle astride Haraka with Jared strapped behind him while Attar led astride Marathin.

They flew low and fast over the dark landscape, leaving the river and turning east. By the time the sun rose they had left the farmhouse far behind and were passing over wide, grassy plains, dotted with pools of still water. Birds on long, thin legs stalked among the tall grasses, their pointed beaks dipping into the mud, and flocks of smaller birds rose and fell in a synchronised cloud, their chortling calls filling the morning air. None seemed bothered by the serpents.

Tallis’s fingers were stiff from holding on to the low bar at the front of the saddle and his neck ached from constantly twisting to check on Jared. He had awoken at one point, his fingers fluttering on Tallis’s arm, and he had mumbled something, but he then had collapsed back into silence. Tallis hoped it was a good sign, but the tight fist of fear in his belly told him otherwise.

The serpents found them a relatively dry mound of earth with a small stream and they stopped to relieve themselves and fill their water skins. Insects swarmed up from the earth and buzzed around them. The air was warm and stifling and sweat dripped into their eyes. Tallis tried to force some water down Jared’s throat, but was successful only in giving him a few drops. It was impossible to eat because of the marauding insects and they soon climbed back onto the serpents and winged away, both breathing a sigh of relief as the cooler air swept the flies and sweat from their faces.

They didn’t stop again until nightfall. By then they had left the grasslands behind and swathes of trees had begun to appear. The land had become more rugged, with hills and rifts appearing filled with thick belts of green. The warm air was heavy with moisture and clouds filled the sky. Tallis’s shirt was soaked with sweat and he was ravenous by the time Haraka and Marathin dropped down into a clearing, ringed by tree-covered hills.

Carefully, Attar helped him get Jared off Haraka’s back and between them they lay him on the thick short grass so Tallis could clean and re-bandage his wound. The light was dim as the sun set behind the cloud, but it was enough for him to see the redness spreading along the skin from the gash. Infection had set in. Savagely, he pushed away the panic that gripped him and set the new cloth over it, covering the wound. He would not let Jared die. He would not.

He cursed the Guides who had led them here, ignoring the fear that twisted his gut. He wanted them to hear it, he thought bitterly, they should know what their manipulations had made of him: an outcast, a murderer. I saw what you did. I know what you are. He pushed the words away. He couldn’t help what he was.

He got up to retrieve his water skin and sniffed as he caught a strange scent. Sweet and pungent, it drifted in the still air and then a mournful cry came from the surrounding trees. A shiver passed over his skin.

‘Some kind of night bird?’ Attar caught his uneasy look.

Tallis nodded. ‘How far to the Wild Lands?’

‘Not far now. We’ve a bit of dried meat left we can share, and then we’ll go on. We can’t rest.’ His gaze went past Tallis to Jared lying silent and still on the ground. His expression was grim and Tallis knew he doubted that they would make it in time.

‘I won’t let him die,’ he said.

Attar met his gaze and nodded, then pointed to Tallis’s shoulder. ‘Do you want me to see to your wound?’

He turned away. ‘It can wait.’ He sat down by Jared and tried to force some more water down his throat. His shoulder felt stiff and painful and it tingled with heat, but he ignored it. He had cleaned it earlier, but any material he had for bandages was needed for Jared. There would be time for his own wound later. The words of the serpent haunted him. Arak-ferish. What did they mean?

Attar and Tallis shared the food and then once more climbed onto the serpents and flew into the dark night. It was black as a cave. The clouds hid the stars and the men could see little in front of them, save for the occasional glint of a serpent’s eye. But every so often, a deep rumble sounded above them, like stones rolling together, and far away to the north a jagged streak of light illuminated the sky. Tallis couldn’t tell if they were flying into the storm, or if it was racing before them, and he didn’t much care. Weariness had hold of him and the only thing keeping him awake was his fear for Jared’s life.

The night waned and the sun rose and they flew on over the strange country. The cloud cover retreated a little and sometimes the sun would shine through, but for most of the day they travelled in dim soft light through the moist air.

Finally, as the sun set on another day, Tallis saw a dark belt of shadow ahead that stretched across the horizon. It seemed to swallow all light and he could discern neither form nor feature from it. It was nothing but a black mass that rose from the earth, higher in some places, lower in others, like a mountain range made of shadow and mist.

His heart quickened at the sight and a strange unease grew within him. It had to be the Wild Lands. The air became heavier with moisture as they approached and thick clouds swathed the evening sky. The light waned and a damp scent rode on the air that hinted at age and decay.

The serpents flew closer, and beneath him Haraka issued a soft mournful cry that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was echoed in kind by Marathin. Almost imperceptibly, Tallis felt the soft thrumming start in his chest again. It jolted him wide awake, but he wasn’t sure if it was coming from Haraka or Marathin or from the darkness beneath him. Uneasy, he watched as the rugged country disappeared, replaced by a dense, dark canopy of trees that seemed to stretch away forever on either side. Ahead, the darkness rose up to a line of mountains, the peaks shrouded in mist and cloud.

Tendrils of steam spiralled up and there seemed no break to the mat of trees. Then ahead of him, Marathin suddenly dropped down into the dark. Tallis had no time to wonder why, for a moment later Haraka plunged down through the same narrow opening in the canopy. They were flying above a river, the water cutting through the jungle providing an area wide enough for the serpents to descend, and they swooped down, their wing tips almost brushing the trees.

Tallis blinked and strained to see. The banks were thick with growth. He could make out the dark forms of trees at the water’s edge, but little more. Occasionally they flew over trees fallen across the river that slowed the water. The air was thick and warm. After a time, the river widened. There was now a clear gap between the serpents’ wings and the banks and as they rounded a slight bend, a shallow beach came into view. A slim crescent of black sand formed a barrier to the tangle of growth, and the serpents headed for it, alighting in the water at its edge with a splash as their tails sunk into the river.

Attar dismounted quickly and Tallis followed him, removing Jared’s pack from Haraka and wading ashore. The water was warm and a swarm of tiny insects lifted up from it to buzz around him. He slapped at them as he dropped his burden on the sand near the edge of the trees and glanced into the darkness. He could see little past the first few trunks, only a vague impression of more trees.

He turned away and helped Attar lift Jared. Between them they carried him carefully and laid him down on his side on the sand. His skin was now feverish and his breathing more laboured. Tallis looked up at Attar in alarm, but the rider didn’t meet his gaze.

‘Give him water,’ was all he said, then he turned and went back to Marathin to remove her saddle.

Tallis took out the water skin and with unsteady hands urged some liquid down Jared’s throat; then, wetting a strip of cloth in the river, he mopped his brow. Free of their saddles, Marathin and Haraka launched back up into the sky and disappeared into the mists. Attar came back and sat down near him, but said not a word.

They sat together, Tallis mopping Jared’s brow. The night drifted on and he lost track of how long they sat there. Jared twitched occasionally, but did not open his eyes. At one point Tallis looked up and noticed he could now almost make out the tips of the trees around them. Night was fading and still the serpents didn’t return. Things rustled in the jungle behind them, and a bird started to call with a strangely deep chirp. Early light began to reveal details of sand and twig around them and somewhere, something large crashed through branches.

Tallis felt a sudden, deep calling inside and he looked up. ‘She’s back,’ he said, just before Attar’s head jerked up to the sky. The dark, winged shape of the serpent dropped down toward them a moment later. Attar glanced sharply at him and he knew he’d given himself away. He’d felt Marathin coming a fraction before the rider. Attar’s eyes narrowed, but Tallis turned away to check on Jared before he could speak.

A branch cracked in the jungle; startled, they both turned to see a young woman with pale golden skin step out onto the sand. She was small and slight and dressed in a short, sleeveless dress, belted at the waist with a tie of leather. Her feet were bare and her thick black hair was twisted up behind her head. Her features were strange. Her nose was small and flat and her large eyes had a tilt to them that reminded Tallis of the desert cats. They were dark brown and looked at him without fear as she approached.

She said nothing. Her gaze flitted over both men without curiosity before coming to rest on Jared. Quickly she crouched and looked at him, then a moment later, rose and inclined her head back to the jungle, beckoning them. Both men watched her retreat a few steps and she turned and frowned at them. Quickly they bent to pick up Jared.

‘I’ll take him,’ Attar said as Tallis gritted his teeth from the pain of his shoulder. ‘You get the packs.’

‘What about the serpents?’ Tallis asked.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ Attar’s voice was strained as he balanced Jared across his shoulder. ‘Come on.’

They followed the woman into the jungle. Attar was struggling under Jared’s weight as they both tried to keep up with the small woman on the narrow jungle path. Sharp-edged palm fronds swiped at Tallis’s face, and the warm close air that covered them as soon as they left the water’s edge was suffocating. Sweat drenched him but he didn’t remove his coat, it at least offered some protection from the insects that constantly buzzed around them. He glanced periodically at Jared and his anxiety grew. He was very still, his body lolling on Attar’s shoulder like a dead thing.

Finally, they rounded a huge, thick-fronded plant and stepped out of the jungle and into a clearing. Small huts, set on stilts, were scattered around a clearing cut from the jungle. Enormous trees stretched up and around it like a shadowy wall, and although the huts were raised twice his height above the ground, the collection of buildings looked small as bugs against the backdrop of the jungle that surrounded it.

A raised walkway curved around between the huts with bridges made of vine and a kind of stiff reed. Underneath, the ground was covered in thick short grass. Softly glowing lanterns, set at intervals along the main walkway, made circles of light among the huts and from somewhere to his left, Tallis heard the sound of the river.

The woman motioned them to follow as she climbed a thick log notched with steps that served as a ladder. She ascended it nimbly and watched as they struggled to bring themselves and Jared up behind her. The log was set at a steep angle and Tallis’s shoulder burned as he braced Attar’s back to help balance him. His mouth was dry and he was breathing harshly by the time they managed it. The woman turned and, with a jerk of her head, walked quickly off. Panting and in pain they followed. They passed a short, older man on another branch of the walkway dousing the lanterns. He watched them with dark eyes, but Tallis barely glanced at him as he followed doggedly close behind the small woman as she made a quick turn down a branch of the walkway. She hastened across a vine bridge to a small hut where she stopped. The bridge swayed and creaked as Tallis put his weight on it and the woman glanced back at him with a frown, making him wonder if it was going to collapse under him; then he realised she only wanted him to stay where he was.

Tallis motioned to Attar to wait on the walkway and, with a nod at them, the woman pushed aside a woven door covering and vanished inside. It was dark near the hut, the lantern near it having been doused. The walkway ended at the trunk of an enormous tree only several steps beyond. A vine ladder stretched up into the canopy. Above, he could just make out another building built high up in its branches. It was very quiet and still, and there was a faint scent of blossom in the air.

‘Why doesn’t she speak?’ he said to Attar.

He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I’d heard they spoke the same tongue as us, but I have also heard other strange tales of these people.’

‘What tales?’

Attar’s eyes flicked to the hut. ‘That they talk with the dead, that they are not human but are beings of shadow and mist.’ He grunted. ‘Though I think she looks real enough.’ He nodded beyond him and Tallis turned to see the woman beckoning them inside.

They followed her into the small, dimly lit hut. Tallis could make out matting on the floor and square shadowy objects, and then she was pointing them to a second room. They trudged in and Attar placed Jared down on a thick mat near the wall.

Jared uttered a low groan and another older woman, with a round face and rounder body, came into the room behind them and began lighting a small oil lamp. She set a wooden bowl filled with water and a cloth on the floor and then gestured to the young woman who nodded and kneeled down beside Jared, shooing both Tallis and Attar out of the way.

Tallis stood close behind and watched as she peeled away the makeshift bandaging. Why did she say nothing to them? An ache was pounding behind his eyes, his shoulder burned and his limbs felt drained and weary; but he would not rest while Jared barely breathed. The young woman motioned something to the older woman who nodded, glanced at them with quick, brown eyes, and left the room.

The younger woman began to wash Jared’s wound then suddenly stopped and turned around to glare up at him. She gestured outside, but Tallis shook his head. ‘No I will stay.’

She frowned and Attar gripped his shoulder. ‘She wants us to wait outside.’

‘No. I will not leave him. If Kaa takes him I must witness it.’

‘She may refuse to heal him.’

Tallis looked down at her. Her eyes were annoyed, but not angry. ‘No, she will do it.’

Attar lifted his hand and backed away. ‘It’s your choice, clansman,’ he said and left, his heavy steps shaking the floor.

Tallis looked at the young woman whose lips tightened. They stared at each other for a moment, then with a short jab of her finger she indicated the corner of the room. Tallis nodded and went and sat on the floor, grimacing at the pain as his shoulder met the wall. The woman ignored him and went back to her work, her small hands gently washing away the dried blood on Jared’s back. As he watched, Tallis’s head began to feel light and his vision wavered. He shook his head, his fingertips were tingling and his feet felt a long way from his body.

The older woman came in again and handed some instruments and bowls to the young woman. They said nothing, communicating only in hand signals. Outside a breeze was rustling leaves, sounding strangely like the wind sighing through the caves of his home. His eyes closed and he floated away into the dark.

Inti was shining high in the sky and Alterin could hear the soft voices and sounds of her people outside on the walkways by the time she had finished. The cut had been deep and needed many stitches. She had had to cover it with a strong healing powder to deal with the infection, but she was satisfied he would live. It had irritated her that the other men had not known that to speak around one injured so badly could invite the spirits of the dead. She sighed. Ignorant ocean dwellers, no doubt.

The young man was sleeping more easily now, his breathing less laboured, so the spirits had not wanted him. The amount of blood he had lost worried her though. She mixed up some nuk root powder with water and forced it down his throat, then instructed Mishi to make sure she gave him more every hour.

Wearily she turned to the other young man leaning against the wall and saw his eyes were closed. She had felt his coming as a distant buzz of insects rising in the jungle, even before the semorphim called to her. He looked younger in the pale sunlight, and sleep had eased the lines of fatigue and worry from his brow. His hair was long and black and dirty, and hung knotted and ragged. A plait on either side of his face, decorated with a single metallic cuff, was his only adornment. His browned skin was streaked with sweat and grime and his clothes also. His features were different to the other one’s. He had high cheekbones and strange blue-black eyes, but it was not an unpleasant face.

Alterin absently wiped her hands of the nuk powder on her skirt. Her gaze dropped down and she noticed, with a frown, a smear of blood across his forearm. He had removed the heavy, long-sleeved coat he had been wearing earlier, and now she saw a long streak of dried blood running down his bare right arm. Her healer’s instinct shouted a warning.

‘Mishi!’ She called the older woman as she hurried over to him. ‘Help me.’

Together they reached for his shoulders and pulled him forward. Alterin had a glimpse of a wound, but then he suddenly woke. With a grunt, he sent Mishi tumbling backwards and Alterin had her wrists seized in a crushing grip. She cried out as her bones grated and he mumbled something in a low voice. But Alterin barely heard him, for the contact of his hands on hers had opened a way between them.

For a moment the world went black around her, then her mind was assailed with a jumble of images: winged creatures black as shadow, a man dying, a woman’s face, the wind rushing past her, and a hot land barren of life. And behind it all Alterin could feel a core of fear and pain unfurling. She struggled to be free of him, twisting in his grip, trying to wrench herself away. There was a great roaring in her ears and then suddenly she felt him inside her. Her vision cleared and she stared with horror into his eyes. He was in her mind, she could feel him. She knew his name, as he now knew hers.

Uriel? He whispered her true name into her mind, hesitant, unsure. Alterin shook as the sound of it impacted upon her. None knew that name but the one who had given it to her. She drew in a breath and saw his eyes widen as he felt her lungs expand and contract. Locked in that gaze together, Alterin knew that if he wanted to he could stop her breath, stop her heart, and she saw that he knew it also; but the terror she felt from him meant he did not know how to retreat.

Let go, she said into this mind, staring into his eyes trying to stay as calm as she could. But he seemed frozen, his hands locked around her wrists. Tallis, she tried the name that now seemed part of her. Tallis. She felt his arms tremble. He was very weak from his injury. Alterin pressed him. Let me go.

But his grip grew tighter, and with alarm she felt his body weaken. He was losing the fight for consciousness and drawing on her to stop it. Her vision wavered and an ache speared into her behind her eyes. Uriel! he said again and she felt darkness reaching up for her and then suddenly, he tore himself away and Mishi’s arms were around her, pulling her out of his grip. Shaking, Alterin fell back.

‘Little fish! Little fish!’ Mishi called her by her pet name. ‘What happened?’ Her soft hands touched her head, her arms.

‘Nothing, nothing. I’m all right.’ Gently she pushed her away, patting her arm. For a moment she just sat breathing. Then, careful not to touch him again, she instructed Mishi in cleaning and dressing his wound. His was not as bad as the other’s, but she made Mishi sprinkle some strong healing powder on it that also contained a sleeping drug. It was better he slept for a while, better for them both.

After it was done she leaned back against the wall of Mishi’s house and looked up out of the small window. A soft smatter of rain was falling on the thick green leaves of the oonunga tree outside and the air was warm; but Alterin felt a chill wash over her skin like a whisper. She reached under her dress and pulled out the sliver of merapod tooth that hung on a strap around her neck. Polished and shaped into a likeness of the luna bird, it felt warm and smooth under her fingers. She clenched it in her fist and closed her eyes, calling to the strong spirit of both animals to help her.

This man’s coming drove fear into her. She had been questing when the semorphim had found her, and like the bitter aftertaste of faran fruit, she could still feel the vibrations Tallis had made in the World Between. She should have known it then, but she had been careless and let herself be caught ill prepared.

Letting go of her talisman, she stood. Anyu was waiting, but would he be ready to hear what she must tell him? Like many of her people, he did not truly believe his lifetime would see the return. It had been so long. The ancient ones were defeated; they thought they were free. But she had always suspected he would return. Ever since hearing the name Magdi had given her: Uriel – witness. For what else would a seer be witness to but the coming of the Fallen. Alterin’s insides hollowed with fear and dread. This stranger here now, this man from the hot lands, was a messenger of the truth. The Fallen was returning and there was nothing now they could do but wait.

33

Balkis stared as Azoth and the serpent bore Shaan away, then he raced back toward the rooftop opening.

Farrith! he called to his serpent as he ran down the spiralling ramp. He would have to chase them. He thought briefly of the saddles in the tack store, but there was no time. He would have to fly bare, risky but he had done it before. He reached out his mind to the serpent again as he drew closer. He could feel that she was already awake, but a strange apprehension was filtering through to him.

Farrith? He voiced again, but she didn’t answer. Running into her crell he found her pressed up against the furthest wall, crouching low to the floor and staring upwards.

Farrith! Come we must fly. He strode toward her, but she didn’t move or acknowledge his presence. Farrith! He slapped a hand on her neck, and as he made contact a loud chattering burst into his mind, like a thousand serpents voicing at once. He shouted and snatched his hand back, drawing his mind away as Farrith turned purple eyes upon him.

The father is back, she voiced, fear rising in her tone. Arak!

She lifted her head and let out a high keening cry. It echoed in the crell like a shriek. Balkis cried out and covered his ears, falling to his knees. Throughout the Dome other serpents answered her, some higher pitched others lower, until the building rang with the sound of their keening.

Balkis staggered to his feet and ran from Farrith’s crell, charging blindly down the spiral ramp and outside, almost running into Rorc. The Commander grabbed his arm steadying him, and Balkis faintly heard him shouting something but couldn’t hear him over the noise of the serpents.

He pointed to the sky. ‘Azoth has taken Shaan and escaped on Nuathin,’ he shouted. ‘They went east. I couldn’t follow them, I can’t communicate with Farrith.’

Rorc nodded that he’d heard and jerked his head down toward the barracks. They couldn’t talk here. They ran back down the hill together. The serpents’ cries had brought all the riders out in the yards and they gathered outside staring up at the Dome. They cast inquiring glances at them as they passed, but Rorc didn’t speak to them.

‘As soon as the serpents stop shrieking,’ he said to Balkis, ‘I want all riders to try to communicate with their serpents. Report back to me as soon as anything happens. I’m going to Morfessa’s to check on the Guardian. And Balkis,’ the look he gave him was tight and angry, ‘don’t be so stupid as to try going off on your own again.’

Balkis had been expecting a reprimand and was about to reply in defence when a shape in the cloud-scudded sky caught his eye: a serpent was flying in toward the Dome; but instead of flying steadily it writhed and twisted, its tail lashing while on its back a rider was desperately trying to stay on.

‘Look!’ He pointed skyward.

Rorc frowned and turned to look as it swept over the treetops. The rider could clearly be seen hanging half off her saddle. A faint scream reached them, but was drowned out as the serpent stretched its neck and screeched, flying fast toward the barracks. As it neared them it writhed its body once more and with a final heave, flung her off. She fell with a scream to the rooftop of the dining pavilion, her cry cutting off as she bounced on the hard tile.

‘Catch her!’ Rorc shouted and the riders in the courtyard surged forward, but they were not quick enough and she fell to the paving below. Shocked, Balkis stared up at the serpent as, with a final screech, it turned and disappeared into the night the way it had come.

He followed as Rorc pushed his way through the crowd of riders to the woman’s side.

‘Florin,’ Balkis breathed as he recognised her. She was a young rider, only out of fledglings a year. Her eyes fluttered open as the Commander leaned over her, gently pushing strands of dark bloodied hair from her face.

‘Sir,’ she rasped and a trickle of blood ran from her mouth.

‘What happened?’ Rorc’s voice was low.

Florin frowned and her face twisted in pain. ‘Our serpents . . . they attacked us . . . killed the others, the villagers . . . why?’ She stopped, coughing up blood.

‘What others?’ Rorc said but she didn’t answer, her eyes looked beyond him and up at the sky and a single, short breath came from her lips, then nothing.

Rorc didn’t move. Around him the other riders stood silent and pale while the cries of the screeching serpents in the Dome sounded like a thousand gongs ringing the young woman’s death.

Finally he said, ‘When the serpents are quiet you will go in pairs and try to communicate with your mounts. But no one . . .’ he stood and scanned the faces watching him, ‘no one is to attempt to ride them. Report to your sept leader if any of you are successful and pass it on to those not here. Go.’

The riders turned and began making their way slowly back into the barracks.

‘Balkis,’ Rorc turned to him. ‘Where was Florin coming from?’

‘I sent her and two others to Ranith Bay, a small fishing village,’ he hesitated. ‘Do you think she means the other riders are dead, that their serpents attacked the village?’

Rorc looked grim. ‘It looks that way, but we can’t be sure. I’ll send a patrol out there, but I hold little hope of survivors if they have attacked them.’

‘And what are we to do about Azoth and Shaan?’ Balkis said. ‘I had hoped to try and track him. We don’t know . . .’

‘How were you going to follow him?’ Rorc cut him off. ‘The serpents aren’t safe to ride and I will not have you running off across the land. I need you here.’

‘Then how are we to find out where he’s gone?’

‘The Seer will quest the Void, will try to find him there. If he truly is Azoth, it’s most likely he will head for the places he knew well when he ruled this land.’

‘And where is that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rorc snapped. ‘And it is not something you need to worry about now. I need you to keep the riders calm, Balkis. If that man is Azoth, we must prepare for the worst. Florin’s serpent has left the Dome, and more may follow. I need you here. If the serpents join the rogues and turn on us, just how long do you think we will last?’ His gaze was stony. ‘Now, go to the bird keep and send messages to the patrols on the Free Land borders to return, then set guards on the lookouts. I will be at Morfessa’s.’ He looked down at Florin’s body. ‘Have her sent to the Temple and her family told.’ Without another word he turned on his heel and left Balkis staring after him.

Down in the streets the noise of the serpents echoed across the bay and Rorc saw many faces staring fearfully up at the Dome. A feeling of impending doom snapped at his heels as he pushed open the gate of Morfessa’s house. The sun was rising above the hills as he headed for the door, but Morfessa opened it before he could reach it.

The old man’s skin was grey and his eyes dull and watery. Something dropped in Rorc’s gut as Morfessa stared at him.

‘Rorc,’ he whispered, ‘She’s . . .’ he stopped and Rorc took a step toward him.

‘What’s happened?’ Sudden fear gripped him.

‘I couldn’t . . .’ Morfessa shook his head, staring at him, then he reached out and gripped his shoulder. ‘Rorc, the Guardian is dead.’

Tuon sipped carefully at the hot tea the Sister had left, wincing at the pain whenever she moved her head. A long bruise ran along her side, and a matching purple shadow spread from her left temple and up through her hairline. The Sisters had smoothed some kind of salve on her during the night, but still her head ached dully and she could taste the residue of smoke in her mouth and smell it on her skin. She badly needed to bathe. She wanted to climb into a tub of hot water and scrub her skin, to rub and rub until she had washed away the night before: the blankness of Shaan’s face, the blood spilling from Torg’s body, her own uselessness. Abruptly she pushed the cup of tea away, spilling it, and stood up.

Pain spiked through her skull and she gritted her teeth and held still, waiting for the dizziness to pass, then reached for the dress the Sisters had given her. At least it was clean, smelling of herbs not smoke. She pulled the soft, white fabric over her head and pushed her arms through the elbow-length sleeves, fastening the ties around her waist. The dress fell to her ankles and felt cool and light on her tired body, and the aroma of herbs was soothing.

What was she to do now? The fact that she had nowhere to go suddenly hit her. She looked around at the small plain room. There was nothing but a single bed, a table and chair, the smooth thick walls washed white. Feeling suffocated, she went over to the window and pulled open the shutters. There was no glass, and it faced out to a small courtyard garden. On either side grew dark green shrubs with purple flower buds. No sound came and the light outside was grey and dull. Looking up, she glimpsed a patch of sky heavy with cloud. The world held its breath waiting for the rains.

A soft knock on the door made her jump and a short, brown-haired woman came into the room. ‘The Commander is asking for you.’ She smiled.

Tuon’s heart jumped. ‘Now?’

The woman nodded.

She was suddenly overly conscious of the smudges of soot and dirt on her skin. ‘Can I not wash first?’ She pushed smoke-tinged hair back from her face.

‘No, there’s an urgency about him, come.’ She held out a hand to her as though she were a child. ‘It will be all right.’

Tuon hesitated, but unable to think of a logical reason to delay, she followed the Sister from the room.

Rorc was waiting for her in the study as before, standing near the desk; but he was not alone. The Guardian’s Seer was with him. Pale, grey eyes fixed on her as she entered and Tuon felt the skin prickle on her scalp. Before she could think of a proper greeting, Rorc was coming toward her.

‘Tuon!’ He crossed the floor in three strides and for a moment she thought he was about to take her into his arms, but he stopped short, his eyes roving over her face. ‘Have the Sisters taken care of you? Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’ Bewildered, she nodded. He was looking at her closely, concern in his face. It was suddenly more than she could bear and she went quickly and sat in a chair by the window near the Seer, avoiding his eye, her chest tight.

‘I’m fine now,’ she said hoarsely and fell into silence, waiting for him to speak.

He came to the desk and leaned against the end of it near her. Her stomach tightened and she stared at his boots. She tried to take a breath, but it felt as though there was not enough room in her lungs for air.

‘Tuon, I need you to go with the Seer and help her retrieve the Prophets Scrolls from the Isles,’ Rorc said.

Go somewhere? She gripped the carved arms of the chair. She had nowhere to go now. There was nowhere left.

‘Tuon.’ Rorc leaned toward her. Immediately she lifted her head.

‘No. I don’t want to go anywhere,’ she said her eyes skitting over his green gaze and focussing instead on his jaw. ‘I don’t want to do anything more for the Faithful.’

Her tone was weak and he was too close. Annoyed with herself she said sharply, ‘The Faithful and you have brought me nothing but pain’.

He leaned back and her heart twisted at the hurt she glimpsed in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry for Torg’s death, Tuon,’ he said. ‘He was also a friend of mine. The one who killed him will pay.’

‘That will not bring him back,’ she looked up, but could not hold his gaze. ‘And what about Shaan,’ she looked at her hands.’ Why are you not out there looking for her now?’

‘The serpents will not heed us, we have no way of tracking him. Do you think I would not be doing all I could if there was some way to get her back?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Unless it served the Faithful to have her out of the way.’ The bitter words left her mouth before she could stop them; but before Rorc could speak, Veila reached over and touched her arm, making her jump.

‘He was not just a man, Tuon. The one who killed your friend is more than human. I think you know that. And I do not think he will be easily killed, or even if it would serve us to do so. But right now there is nothing we can do to help Shaan. And I know you don’t believe Rorc would lie to you about that.’

Veila’s pale, grey gaze focussed steadily on her. ‘But we need you to help us. The Prophet’s Scrolls may hold answers to the many questions we have about the Fallen and what he may do. They may save us. I need you to come with me, Tuon. You knew Torg well, were a friend to him, his mother will listen to you.’

‘But you are the Seer of Salmut,’ Tuon said stubbornly. ‘Surely she would count your word more meaningful than mine.’

‘That is not how the Isles’ folk work,’ Rorc said. ‘Veila’s standing holds no sway there.’

‘But you would,’ Veila added. ‘You have worked for the Faithful, and you will be bringing one of their own back to them. They will value that.’ She sighed and her hand was warm on Tuon’s skin. ‘It will be better for you to leave this place for a time. There is too much pain for you here.’

Tuon looked up, unsettled by the knowing look the woman gave her. ‘But what if Shaan returns? What if she escapes and is hurt and is looking for me?’

Rorc sighed. ‘You saw the one who took her. There is little chance she could escape.’

‘You don’t know what she’s capable of.’ Tuon snapped her eyes to him. ‘You don’t know her at all!’

‘What she is capable of?’ Anger lit Rorc’s eyes. ‘I think it is you who doesn’t know her. She’s more than you imagine.’

Tuon stared at him. ‘Then why . . .’

‘Stop!’ He rose to his feet. ‘I don’t have time to argue with you. Tuon, the Guardian is dead.’

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘Poisoned,’ he said his face grim. ‘The city is in turmoil. I’m not asking you if you want to go, I’m telling you. This isn’t a choice. There are many problems stalking the city, more than you can know, and I need to get you . . .’ he stopped, checking himself, ‘I need you to go with Veila to the Isles. I don’t want to send her alone and there is no one else I can spare. You have to escort Torg’s body home to his mother. Apart from me, you knew him best and it would be disrespectful to his people if I sent anyone less.’

Tuon’s insides were stretched taught. ‘Will you answer me one question first?’ she said, and after a slight pause he nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

‘Why did the man call Torg the Prophet’s heir and what is the prophet’s ring? He took it from Torg, a gold ring he always wore in his ear. It’s what he killed him for. I want to know what it is.’

Rorc frowned and he looked at the Seer. ‘I don’t . . .’

‘A ring?’ Veila’s brows drew together. ‘I’ve never heard of it. You’re sure he didn’t take it as a talisman of his kill, a token of his power perhaps?’

‘No,’ Tuon shook her head. ‘When he saw it he . . .’ she faltered, seeing again the frightening look, the inhuman eye. ‘He wanted that ring.’

‘It must be more than a ring,’ Veila said. ‘He must need it for something. We must see those scrolls as soon as we can. Rorc, I must get to the Isles.’

He nodded. ‘I have secured a ship, but you will have to wait for the dawn currents to leave.’

‘Then I must quest the Void before we go. I will try to find Azoth – if I can.’

‘Azoth?’ Tuon looked from one to the other. ‘You think it was him, you’re sure?’ A chill touched her spine. Again the Fallen’s name came up. Shaan couldn’t possibly be linked to him. ‘I don’t understand.’

Rorc’s look softened. ‘Tuon . . .’

‘Come with me,’ Veila interrupted. ‘And I will explain what I can when we are on the ship.’ She put a reassuring hand on her arm.’ You must do as Rorc asks and trust that it is done for your good, for he cares for you and would not see you harmed.’

‘Veila!’ Rorc protested and Tuon’s heart faltered, a forgotten hope rose. He met her eyes for a second, but then Veila was moving, pulling her to her feet.

‘Come, you will accompany me to my rooms and help me prepare for our journey. Rorc . . .’

‘I’m going to the docks,’ he said. ‘I’ll send Cyri to you as the sun sets.’

Veila nodded. ‘Thank you. Come.’ She pulled firmly on Tuon’s arm and she followed, keeping her eyes downcast as Rorc stood back to let her pass. But as she left the room she couldn’t help but glance back and met his green eyes watching her as he followed behind. Quickly she looked away and hurried after the Seer, feeling his gaze on her back.

Veila led her out of the temple, and as they stepped out into the street, a low rumble of thunder sounded. An uneasy tension lay over the city and people hurried past in groups, their faces grim. Suspicion and fear was almost palpable and every so often a strange keening wail echoed across the rooftops from the direction of the yards. It sent a shiver along her spine and she walked close beside the Seer. Isolation and loneliness ate at her like a worm burrowing into fruit. Her heart wrenched as a clap of thunder sounded close above the city, and she looked up nervously at the sky thick with cloud. She had never been on a ship before. What if the storms came when they were out there on the open sea? And what had been in Rorc’s eyes?

‘Tuon,’ Veila was speaking to her and she looked up to see they had reached a small gate. They were in the upper hills of the city.

‘Come.’ Veila pushed open the gate and she followed her down a narrow path.

The Seer’s home was set back from the road amid an overgrown garden. It was set on one level and had thick curved walls, raised up from the earth by a layer of unfaced red stone. Veila opened the door and Tuon was surprised to see no servant come forward.

‘Do you have no workers?’ she asked.

‘I prefer to live alone.’ Veila stopped just inside the door to strike a light to an oil lamp, illuminating the dimness. Tuon saw a large open room, furnished simply with low couches and cushions. A thick rug covered the centre of the floor and a set of doors stood open along the back wall. A patio of stone extended outside them to a thickly planted garden.

But even with the open doors the thick cloud dimmed the sunlight and without the lamp the room would have been in shadow.

‘These clouds take all the light,’ Veila muttered as she strode forward, turning down a hallway. ‘Wait here,’ she threw back over her shoulder as she left.

Tuon moved tentatively into the room and perched on the edge of one of the couches. She saw a faint reflection of herself in a mirror on the wall, pale-faced and hunched. When had she become so timid? She straightened her back and looked at the enormous wall hanging to the left of the mirror. It seemed to be nothing but a swirling mass of colour and shadow: blues, purples and reds were intertwined with waves of green. As she stared at it shapes seemed to form, she thought she saw a serpent, wings spread wide, flying over a vast jungle, but when she blinked it disappeared. Uneasy, she turned her eyes away.

Veila came back carrying a small wooden box, which she placed on a table at the end of the largest couch. Tuon watched as she took out a dish made of shell and filled it with liquid from a dark glass bottle. Immediately, a sharp spicy scent filled the air.

Looking up at her Veila said, ‘It’s to prepare the room for my questing. Now,’ she held out her hand, ‘come and we will find you some clothes for the journey.’

Wondering how she would fit into the tiny Seer’s clothing, she followed her down the hall and through an archway into a smaller room. She was surprised to see that Veila had a chest of clothing in many sizes. The Seer chose several dresses, underclothes, a pair of thick, long trousers, and a pair of boots she could wear on the ship. Veila folded it all into a leather pack, along with a beautiful lilac-coloured shawl made of a soft raw silk and a waterproof coat. Tuon was overwhelmed by her generosity and managed a stilted thank you in return. As they were finishing she heard a door open and the sound of men’s voices from the main room.

‘He’s here.’ Veila placed the pack on the floor and Tuon followed her from the room. Cyri and a black-garbed Seducer were standing by the open doors. Cyri turned toward them as they came in. ‘Veila, Rorc sent me to watch over you as you quest.’

Veila sighed. ‘Thank you for coming, but you know you can do nothing if . . .’

‘Perhaps,’ Cyri interrupted her and took her hands. ‘But I would rather know if he does find you.’ He smiled briefly and then looked over her head at Tuon. His bald head shone dully in the lamplight and pale blue eyes rested on her. ‘Rorc’s woman,’ he said and Tuon’s gut clenched, not exactly sure what he meant.

‘Is he sending you with Veila?’

‘Yes.’

His eyes swept her from head to foot and he regarded her for several long moments without speaking. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said finally, then turned his attention back to the Seer.

Relieved, Tuon took a seat on the floor away from the others. Cyri talked quietly to Veila while the Seducer stood unmoving, watching the gardens. Tuon avoided looking at him, playing nervously with the tassels on a cushion. Cyri and the Seer stood talking a moment longer before Veila went over to the long couch and lay down. Cyri sat near her.

‘Tuon,’ he called to her. ‘Come, sit with me.’

Nervously, she did as she was asked, sitting on the floor near the edge of the couch. The sharp, spicy smell was stronger and she saw that Veila now had her eyes closed. Tuon’s skin tingled. She glanced up at the Consul, but his gaze was fixed on Veila, his body tense and leaning slightly forward. Silence descended and Tuon dared not move.

There wasn’t a sound in the room and she could hear the faint rumble of thunder and the cries of the serpents outside. She watched a fork of lightening flash through the clouds, illuminating the still planes of the Seducer’s face. The dull daylight began to fade into late afternoon. Her stomach was empty and her bladder tight, but she didn’t know if she could speak or not. Veila’s eyes were moving fast under her eyelids, but her body was completely still.

Suddenly, Cyri spoke. ‘It’s taking too long,’ he said.

Tuon saw worry in his eyes, but didn’t know what to say. She knew nothing of questing. ‘Can’t you wake her?’ she ventured.

He let out a long breath and shook his head. ‘It’s not like that. She’s not asleep.’

His brows drew together and he reached over and picked up one of Veila’s hands. ‘She’s between the waking and sleeping places.’

‘Can’t you help her? Were you not once . . .’ she broke off as Veila suddenly took a great gasp and gripped convulsively onto Cyri’s fingers. She arched up off the couch and her head began whipping from side.

‘Nevin!’ Cyri called and the Seducer ran to them, gripping hold of Veila’s shoulders. ‘Veila!’ Cyri called her name, but the Seer’s eyes remained closed.

Tuon watched, horrified. She crawled away until her back met the wall and she could feel the frame of the hanging digging into her spine.

Finally, the Seer went limp and both men cautiously lifted their hands. For a moment there was nothing and then, finally, a soft whisper came.

‘I’m all right,’ Veila’s voice was barely audible. She lay for a moment just breathing, then she called out, ‘Tuon, come here’. Her hand stretched out to her.

Shakily, Tuon went to her and Veila laid a cold, white hand on her cheek. Her pale, grey eyes looked up at her with sorrow. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t find her. He is too strong for me.’

Tuon stared at her for a moment, trying to understand, and then suddenly, she was crying. Veila meant Shaan. She had gone into the Void to find Shaan and she hadn’t found her. She was lost, gone. The tears she had been holding came out in a flood. She collapsed to the floor and sobbed, shaking as sorrow rent her body. Veila stroked her head and murmured to her while the two men slipped quietly away.

She slept on Veila’s long couch. She ate no supper and the seer forced nothing on her, but gave her a cup of a hot savoury liquid that filled her belly but did little for the emptiness that had consumed her. When Tuon finally slept, the Seer covered her with a soft blanket and left her to fall into a dreamless abyss.

Veila woke her before dawn. She helped her bathe, gave her clean clothes to wear and a slice of warm bread and honey to eat. Two Hunters arrived and escorted them out of the house to a cart covered by an arch of oiled cloth. The men stowed the women’s packs and the pair sat silently on the hard benches as they were taken down the quiet dark streets to the docks.

As they arrived, fat drops of rain started to fall, splashing onto the dust, pattering on the wood of the jetty. Tuon got out of the cart and stood in the rain, barely noticing as Veila made her put on a weatherproof coat. A light moved toward them and Rorc came down the jetty carrying a lantern. Behind him, tall masts creaked and swayed against the black sky. The moon and stars were hidden behind thick cloud and the smell of freshly wetted earth and salt was in the air.

Wind blew rain in her face, but she hardly felt it. She watched the Hunters take their packs and disappear past Rorc along the jetty.

‘Veila, Tuon.’ He looked at her, the light playing shadows across his face as the lantern swung. ‘This way, the ship’s ready.’ He flicked his gaze to the Seer, a questioning look in his eye, but she only shook her head. Turning, he led them up the long creaking walk of the jetty.

The ship was a dark mass of masts, ropes, and shadows of people moving quickly on its decks. A rough plank was laid between it and the dock.

‘Thank you, Rorc,’ Veila said. ‘We’ll make haste.’

He nodded and, taking her hand, helped her up and onto the plank where another set of hands, dark as black wood, reached for her.

‘Tuon,’ Rorc turned to her, pressing a small package of oiled cloth into her hands. ‘Torg is in the hold. You must make sure you give this to his mother when you see her. Can I trust you to do that?’

But Tuon couldn’t answer. She stared up at him, the world around her unreal.

He put a hand under her chin, tilting her face upward so he could see her eyes. ‘Tuon?’

He was so far away. She wanted to speak, to tell him so many things, but she seemed to have forgotten how.

‘What is it?’ His eyes searched hers and she felt the rough brush of his thumb against her cheek. Her chest tightened, but all she seemed able to do was look back at him, the familiar face that was part of her heart.

It was only later she would regret she had not taken that moment when she had it. That she had not leaned forward and kissed him goodbye, but for now she could only stare up at him, silent and empty.

‘Commander.’ A tall dark-skinned woman appeared beside him. ‘We’re ready to sail.’

Rorc stepped back. ‘Good.’

The rain struck her face, stealing the lingering warmth his hands had left there. He looked back at her, his face closed, the tenderness that had been hers for a moment, gone. ‘Give the package to his mother and help Veila,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you when you return.’

Words formed but she could not speak them. Her gaze traced the contours of his face, committing it to memory.

He took her arm and guided her to the plank; she could feel his grip through the coat, then he was gone and a stranger’s hands led her down on the deck of the ship, the world unsteady and rolling beneath her feet. She staggered and a hard hand gripped her, stopped her from falling, and pulled her back from the side. Shouts rang out, unseen feet pounded and there was splashing and creaking. The plank was pulled back. They were moving away from the dock and she was drawing away from him. A black roiling gap of water opened between them, ever widening. Tuon stood watching him, the package clutched to her chest, until Veila came and drew her away down into the darkness of the ship.

34

Shaan clung tightly to Azoth as Nuathin soared over the land. Her dress had ripped, leaving most of her legs exposed to the wind as they flew into the rising sun. She wrapped the material as tightly around her body as she could and hunched down, using Azoth’s broad back as a windbreak.

Inside, she was empty and drained of spirit. She kept recalling Tuon lying on the floor of the Red Pepino, the flames spreading, and Torg with a knife in his chest. Sick horror gnawed at her. She had stood by and done nothing while Azoth had taken what he willed, killing those she loved. Perhaps she had even aided him, she couldn’t remember. She wanted to kill him, but she had no knife.

The serpent’s huge, leather-like wings rose and fell in slow rhythm, beating the air, and she looked down at the lands far below, spreading to the horizon. The weak sunlight grazed the peaks of the hills. A distant rumble of thunder sounded and black clouds moved slowly in toward the coast like a mountain range swallowing the sea. The sky behind was empty.

Surely there should be riders chasing them? Others will not follow, Nuathin suddenly spoke without warning in her mind. They are afraid. Afraid he will be angry with them for making the pact with the azim. They do not remember the true paths yet.

But you do, Shaan replied bitterly.

Yes. The Father showed me. Hating the serpent as well, she tried to close her mind to him, but Nuathin broke through. Arak-si, he hissed. You are one blood singing.

Shut up! Shaan gritted her teeth, wanting to stab the serpent’s tough hide.

Azoth smiled and stroked her fingers around his middle. She snatched her hands away, but Nuathin dipped slightly and she was forced to grasp onto him again. Azoth didn’t make a sound, but she knew he was laughing at her. Furious, she lapsed back to staring at the ground and tried to coil in on herself, to shut herself away.

They flew on and on and she lost track of time. The hills gave way to valleys, the sun rose higher and then started to dip, and her stomach became hollow with hunger, but still they flew on. The rush of air numbed her and she began to feel disconnected from the world around her. She could feel Azoth gripping her hands, but it was as though she were a long way from them. Weariness crept upon her and her mind drifted.

Balkis, his lips pressed to hers, his face twisted with grim desperation, floated before her and sadness rose, filling her throat. She pushed the thought away, afraid of her own feelings, only to have it replaced by images of Tuon and Torg, bleeding, dying. She swayed sideways, overcome with grief. A tear slipped from her eye and was whipped away by the wind. That was all she could hear now, the noise of the wind in her ears, loud and pulling at her. She closed her eyes. Darkness rose to meet her and she slipped into it gratefully, seeking oblivion, drifting into a dream. But it was not peaceful. With rising dread she felt the familiar darkness seeking her. She tried to open her eyes, but slipped into the void. All was blackness and cold, so cold. She could no longer feel her body. She was nothing: a bodiless wraith spinning in the dark – and she was not alone. Something watched and waited. She could feel it, unseen. She tried to wake, to escape, but she had no compass. Terrified, she began to scream.

Then she heard her name. Shaan, Azoth’s voice reverberated through her skull. He had found her. He would save her. She hated him, but she could not save herself. She reached for him. There was a tremendous pull and she opened her eyes.

Cold dry earth was beneath her back and Azoth was bending over her, her head cradled between his hands. She had time to register that it was night, but then all logic fled as pain split her skull. Clutching at his hands she collapsed into unconsciousness.

Azoth let her fall back into the darkness. Lowering her to the ground, he picked up her arm. The night was dark, but he had no trouble seeing the bright band of gold on her finger. With a satisfied smile he slipped it off and put it back in his pocket.

It was interesting that she hadn’t felt him slip it on earlier. He hadn’t expected quite the reaction he’d got, but it was good. Now he knew. Satisfied, he stood and walked out from under the sparse canopy of the tree. The ring he had crafted so long ago as his fail safe was still connected to his descendant, it would allow her to access the Stone.

The stars were blue bright and the undulating land around was barren, dark shadow. There was no wind, the only sound the sluggish gurgle of the small river behind him. He remembered these lands. He had not liked their dryness before and still did not. Nearby, Nuathin stirred and he turned and looked at the serpent, a dark, bulky shadow on the riverbank.

Hunt, semorphim. You will need your strength. He spoke to him in the old tongue.

Nuathin’s eyes blinked red in the starlight. I have no hunger for meat, I hunger only for the true paths now, Arak.

A lump rose unexpectedly in Azoth’s throat and he became very still. Slowly he went over and reached one hand up to touch the serpent’s side. For a moment his fingers trembled as he touched him.

It has been many years since I have heard that said. He ran his hand lightly along Nuathin’s ribs, watching as the serpent’s skin became luminescent under his touch. Arak – he paused and looked up into Nuathin’s eye, How many would still call me that? How many would remember?

The Hive will again remember when we are reunited. They will come to you and forget their fear. Forgive them.

Azoth smiled briefly then dropped his hand, the smile falling replaced by a dark look that made the serpent quiver and hunch down low to the earth.

‘Yes,’ he spoke aloud, staring once again up at the stars. ‘And you will help them, Nuathin. The Sermorphim will once again be mine and we will follow the true paths together. We will all be together.’

But what of the others? The serpent sent tentatively. Will they not feel your return?

He laughed. ‘My siblings? They are nothing now, powerless. They cannot harm me and they will not find me.’ He shook his head, his teeth shining in the starlight. Suddenly he frowned and looked back at the serpent. ‘You have not named me in the hive have you?’

No, no, Arak. Nuathin dropped his head from his glaring eye. Never.

‘Good.’ Azoth smiled, his humour restored as quickly as it had gone. ‘They are no more Nuathin. Now there is only me. And there will only ever be me.’

He ran his hand once more along the serpent’s skin making his luminescence flare.

‘There is only me,’ he murmured then turned and went back to Shaan.

Do we go to the rain lands? Nuathin asked as he crouched to lift Shaan into his arms. She moaned and flinched as he brushed her burnt hand. The bandage had come loose. But he was unconcerned. She would heal.

Yes, we go back. He approached the serpent and placed Shaan up on Nuathin’s back before jumping up behind her himself. Come, semorphim, carry us on. He urged Nuathin upwards and the serpent, his old heart full of hope once more, leaped up into the night.

Shaan drifted awake to find herself once again on Nuathin’s back, but this time Azoth was behind her, his arms preventing her from falling. It was night and the air was warm, the sky clear. She could see the bright pinpoint lights of a thousand stars. Nuathin’s wings flapped slowly on either side, spreading to glide on the warm air.

‘Are you in pain?’ Azoth said, but she ignored him.

The question didn’t seem to come out of concern, rather as an observation as if she were an insect to be studied – or crushed. Her hand was hurting again and her head throbbed, but anger at her own weakness kept her silent. She had let him help her. Why was she so weak? Sitting as straight as she could she tried to let only as much of her body touch him as necessary. It amused him, she knew, this small rebellion. She felt him smiling at her, sensed it. It made her hate and anger stronger.

She closed her eyes against the wind. Inside, she could still feel the faint, tugging presence of Tallis. It was like the last ember of a fire now, small and dark, glowing only faintly, but she could still feel the warmth in it. It gave her hope. She was not alone, not quite. Azoth may have taken two of those she loved most from her, but he did not know about Tallis, and he would not, she thought fiercely. Wrapping her mind around the thought of him like a shield, she buried his presence deep inside. She would keep him from Azoth even if it meant she could barely feel him, for if Azoth knew she was sure he would try to take him also.

For six days and nights they flew across unknown country. It was hot and dry and during the day she could see, to the west of them, a constant wavering shimmer on the horizon. Azoth told her it was the desert lands, but that they would not fly over them. They were following the coast to their destination.

‘The desert lands are not our lands,’ he said to her. ‘There is nothing there for our kind, and nothing that wants us. We go north.’ And he had looked at her intently and asked if she felt anything or guessed where they went. But she turned her back on him and was silent. How little he knew.

The sun burned her skin and tormented her injured hand. Azoth seemed oblivious to the fact that her dress was dirty and torn, the skirt shredded from the rough hide of the serpent, and her legs rubbed raw. It was painful to walk when they stopped and she was always thirsty. He hardly seemed to need to eat or drink, and she wondered why he simply did not kill her, as surely she would die if she were forced to keep on this way much longer. But he did not, and on the fifth day as the sun rose again, she was relieved to feel some moisture in the air and see clouds scudding across the sky.

In the distance a dark mass crowded the rim of the world, but beneath them the earth was gently undulating and sparsely shrubbed. The dark ribbon of a river snaked across it and when she looked to the left she saw the land flattening and stretching forever. But they did not stop for some time. Bare hills and sparse trees gave way to wide plains of tall dark green grass, dotted with myriad small ponds.

Finally, as the sun dropped to the horizon, Nuathin began to descend. He circled and came to rest near a pond on an open patch of ground ringed by waving grasses. The earth was spongy and damp and insects buzzed over the still water. The grass that surrounded them was as high her waist and marched away to the dark mountain-like mass on the horizon.

‘The rain lands,’ Azoth said, nodding at the shadow. He looked at her as though he expected her to speak, but Shaan turned her back and tried to find a dry place to sit. Batting small flies away, she perched on a small rock near the pond.

She scooped her hand into the fetid water and sluiced it over the burn. It wasn’t much cooler than the air, but the wetness of it was a merciful relief. Soon she abandoned the rock altogether and kneeled in the soft mud at the pond’s edge, laying her entire forearm under the water. Sluicing her thighs as well she closed her eyes and enjoyed the respite; but after a while her back began to ache. She endured it for as long as she could, then smeared some of the cool mud over her skin and she sat back on the rock, staring down at the brown, algae-specked water. She was parched and hadn’t eaten since the day before, but she said nothing. She thought now only of escape.

Azoth came up beside her. ‘It burns,’ he commented.

She gave him a narrow-eyed look but said nothing.

He squatted down next to her. ‘Do you know, it amuses me that you fight me. I can feel it now, your desperate need to escape.’ He lifted a finger to brush a tendril of hair from her brow and she jerked away. He smiled. ‘You resist me only because you do not know what you are – what I am – what we can be together.’

‘You’re a murderer,’ Shaan said. ‘I’ve met your kind before. We will never be anything together.’

‘Are you so sure?’ He stood and walked around the edge of the small pond. ‘What did you discover in the hive mind of the serpents?’

She glanced at him. So Nuathin had told him. She was not surprised; Nuathin was his creature, mind and soul. She almost felt sorry for the beast, almost.

‘Did they not talk to you about me, Shaan?’ Azoth said. ‘Someone whose mark they could feel on you?’

‘They talked nonsense,’ she retorted, but her heart began to pound with apprehension.

‘Do they?’

She didn’t like the way the conversation was going. ‘Why am I here, Azoth?’ She looked up, meeting his gaze. ‘What do you want with me? Will you kill me?’

‘Only if I have to,’ he said and the look he gave her was flat, truthful.

She swallowed. ‘But only when I’ve given you what you want.’

He didn’t answer at once. He walked around the pond, watching as his boots crushed the wet grass, then stopped and looked to the dark mass of jungle on the horizon.

‘Do you see the Rain Lands? Though I think they are called the Wild Lands now. There are many secrets, many pasts hidden within its trees and deep rivers. Many things lost long ago.’ His voice became soft as he stared out across the grass.

Shaan looked at his profile: his straight nose and high forehead edged by the afternoon light, and a shiver passed over her. He seemed to become an otherworldly, fey creature as she gazed on him. All around them the grasslands fell quiet, not an insect hummed, not a speck of breeze stirred the green blades. It was as though the very earth was holding its breath, waiting for him to speak. And she was holding hers with it. He was not human. She knew it, and she should be afraid of him. He could kill her easily. And yet his being pulled at her; she could feel the drag of it now, tugging at her, stretching toward him like an invisible cord. It was similar to the feeling she had with Tallis. But whereas Tallis felt like a warm flame in her heart, his was a cold chain closing around her throat – unbreakable. It frightened her more than dying. She feared that if she gave in to him there would be no turning back. She would lose herself completely.

He turned and looked at her, his eyes a dark violet and a jolt shuddered through her.

‘What do you want with me?’ she said. Her voice sounded scratched and frail to her ears. But he merely watched her, unsmiling, studying her, as though to imprint every part of her in his mind.

‘What do I want with you?’ He turned and walked slowly back across the clearing. ‘I want you to find something for me, that’s all.’

Shaan was afraid. What could she find that he could not?

He smiled. ‘It’s just a small thing. All you have to do is find it for me, then you can go . . . If you want to.’

‘What is it?’

His mouth curved secretively. ‘You will see. But don’t worry, it won’t be difficult. It will almost find you.’

35

Tallis leaned against the railing of the walkway watching some children throwing a net into the swift flowing river. He guessed the three of them were between six and ten years old. They threw the net with confidence and waded naked in the shallows. They were all brown skinned with short, black hair, and the tallest boy shouted instructions to the other two, occasionally pushing them around or pulling them back if they ventured too far into the deeper water.

It reminded him of his own brothers and a deep ache cut him, but he quickly pushed it aside, burying it deep. The desert lands were lost to him now, his brothers long gone. There was no going back. He gripped the railing hard and winced as pain shot into his shoulder. The wound was healing slowly and needed tending, but he had been avoiding Alterin. He didn’t trust himself around her.

‘It would be good to have so few worries again.’ Attar’s voice disturbed his thoughts as he came to stand beside him. ‘I used to love to fish as a boy, could catch a rock squib with my bare hands.’ Tallis looked at him without speaking and Attar raised a scarred eyebrow. ‘You ever catch a fish?’

‘No.’

Attar leaned his forearms on the railing and it creaked under his weight. ‘Well, no, of course, there wouldn’t be many in the desert would there?’ He gave a grunting laugh.

Tallis said nothing and they both watched the young boys pull the net onto the bank of the river.

‘But I didn’t come to talk to you of fish,’ he said finally.

‘I know.’

‘We have to go back,’ Attar said. ‘We must report what we’ve seen to the Commander.’ Tallis didn’t reply and Attar shifted on the railing. ‘Also, something is disturbing the serpents here, they’ve become . . . distant, uneasy. I don’t know why. Have you noticed?’

Tallis looked down at his hands on the railing before answering. ‘I feel it,’ he said shortly. ‘They are afraid.’

‘Afraid,’ the rider repeated slowly. Tallis looked at him. ‘Attar, you told me before that there are those called Seducers in Salmut, men who can somehow control the minds of others. Can they also kill another with their mind?’

The look Attar gave him was wary. ‘Perhaps. I don’t know the ways of the Seducers, Tallis. Why?’

He turned away with a shake of his head. ‘I am trying to understand your world, that’s all.’

Attar took a long breath and looked out over the river and said nothing for a time. A breeze blew the sound of the children’s laughter to them, along with the thick scent of the river. It was rich with the smell of mud and earth.

Attar said, ‘Once, when I was a lad, I saw a boy brought into the barracks. He was young, from one of the outer villages. His family had brought him in to see the Faithful because they were afraid of him. I heard that they’d said he had caused the death of most of their muthu. Another boy in their village, who had picked on him, lay as one dead. He was nothing to look at, thin as a twig, but there was a wild look about him that could make your piss freeze.’ He looked at Tallis. ‘He was an untrained one and try as they might they could do nothing for him. I heard talk that he’d gone that way because he’d opened his mind to his abilities too wide, and had not been able to close it. He killed two men before he threw himself off the cliff into the sea.’

A chill finger tapped Tallis’s spine. ‘Is that what happens to all who do not seek training with the Faithful?’

‘I don’t know,’ Attar said. ‘But I wonder if it’s worth finding out.’

Tallis turned from his probing eyes and thumped a fist up and down on the railing. ‘I tried to reach those serpents when they attacked us.’ He glanced at him sideways. ‘I was afraid too, but then Jared was struck and Bren . . .’ he shook his head. ‘Words came to me that I didn’t understand. I know I commanded Marathin to strike. It was easy. I cannot explain it, but I knew how to push her to heed my will. And then I tried it on those others . . . but they were not the same.’ His throat tightened as he remembered the feel of it in his chest. ‘They were cold, Attar, ancient, older than Marathin. When I shot the one with the arrow I could not escape it. It clung to me, wanting to pull me with it into death. It was you calling my name that brought me back.’

‘A name is a powerful thing,’ Attar replied.

‘Yes.’ Tallis thought of the name the black serpent had called him and the name he had called Alterin. She thought he did not remember it but he did: Uriel. He did not know what it meant.

‘What am I?’ he said almost to himself as he stared out at the river.

‘Only the Consul of the Faithful can tell you that,’ Attar answered. ‘When we return, you must seek his advice.’

Tallis shook his head, torn in two. He knew he had to seek help, and Shaan was there, perhaps in trouble, but still he said: ‘I will not leave Jared here alone.’

‘There is nothing you can do for him. You must come back to the city with me. You will find no help here.’

‘I cannot leave him,’ he said stubbornly and Attar gripped his shoulder. ‘You have no choice, clansman. You do not want to become like that boy.’

‘I will not leave him.’ Tallis pushed him away and, turning, strode off along the walkway, forcing a villager to sidestep hastily as he passed.

‘I leave tomorrow,’ Attar shouted after him. ‘You know where to find me.’

His shoulders stiff with frustration, Tallis kept walking.

Alterin looked down from her hut, high in the oonunga tree, and watched the man from the desert go into Mishi’s hut. His expression was troubled and she could feel his turmoil buzzing in her mind like a river bug. Ever since he had come to them she had found it almost impossible to rest. His presence was a heavy fog that shrouded her and she longed to throw it off. And now there was yet more to add to her worries.

She had met Magdi in the dreamscape the night before. Seer before her, and long since gone to the lands beyond the Veil, Magdi would not have left the dreaming lands on a whim. What she had told her had set dread in her soul, and for the first time in the twelve years since she had been named Seer, Alterin was filled with self-doubt. A fell presence was rushing toward them like a storm, and she feared the part she would have to play in it even more than she feared the abilities of the strange man from the dead lands.

‘Alterin,’ Anyu said quietly behind her. ‘You must not display your worries so clearly, it will frighten the people.’

The old headman came up beside her and touched her brow. ‘The frown is so deep in your skin that you cheat time by growing old before it can take you. Come, sit.’ He drew her away from the open window. Closing the shutters, he made her sit with him on the thick woven mat in the middle of her receiving room.

With a sigh she leaned forward and struck a flint to the twist of palm frond soaked in fragrant oil, watching it smolder slowly in the small bowl.

‘Have you seen anymore that can help us know when the Fallen will return?’ Anyu looked at her through the pale smoke.

She shook her head, avoiding his eye. ‘No. But that he is coming is certain. The Spirits told me that a man would come from the dead lands, that he would whisper my name, and be the warning of one who would follow. There is no doubt that Tallis is that man.’

‘He whispered your true name?’

‘He is the one,’ Alterin answered. ‘That is all I will say.’

Anyu looked annoyed, but only said, ‘And what of the other one?’

She frowned. ‘The spirits have told me nothing of him.’

‘He is not like the other?’

‘No, but he comes also from the dead lands. Tallis is attached to him as a brother.

Anyu coughed and spat into a small container of bamboo at his waist. ‘I do not question the spirits who guided us to bring these men into our village and tend to them, but I worry for the outcome.’ His eyes watered in the smoke. ‘The warrior who rides the semorphim will leave soon. How do we know they will go with him? One is still injured and the other walks with fear in his tread. Are we supposed to keep them both here, or do the spirits have other plans for them?’

‘I don’t know. Whatever their reasons, I am sure they seek to protect us as best they can.’

‘But how will they protect us from Him? The Fallen is powerful – moreso than the spirits – and he will not be pleased to learn we have turned from him.’

‘We have not turned from him,’ Alterin said. ‘He was sent from us. He cannot blame us for that. It was his doing. Our ancestors needed guidance in those years after his loss; they turned back to the spirits to fill that need. Perhaps he will be pleased to see his people survived, even though he had gone.’

Anyu shook his head, his eyes worried. ‘His coming fills me with dread and I cannot think he will be pleased. I fear his wrath may be terrible.’

‘What good would it do him to destroy us?’

He clasped her hand, his yellowed eyes bright with worry. ‘He is a god, Alterin. What concerns would he have with good or no?’

‘Was a god,’ she corrected him. ‘He was a god, Anyu. He could not be as powerful now as he once was, or all lands would be under his sway already. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘He is not yet again a god, but he is coming here to reclaim his birthright and when he comes we will have to bow to him and pay him his due for he will have some power. But you must not worry, I do not think he comes to destroy.’

‘I will hope you are right.’ Anyu let go her hand. ‘But to protect our people I think I will have all young mothers and their children sent down river to stay with the Marlu.’

‘That is wise. I will send Balan with them, she will ensure they are taken care of.’

Anyu sighed. ‘And you do not know when he will come?’

‘No, but a heaviness presses on me, like the hand of a giant covering the earth. It has been so since the strangers came.’

‘And what of the man, Tallis; you fear him?’

Surprised at the old man’s perception, Alterin didn’t answer for a moment. She said carefully, ‘I am not so much afraid of him, as what he is capable of. It would be better for us all if he left with the warrior. His being here is a warning, but also a burden. His presence is like a palm thorn in my foot and I would gladly be rid of it.’

‘But perhaps you would not mind if the other were to stay?’ Anyu said almost slyly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you have tended him most diligently.’

‘He is badly injured,’ Alterin retorted. ‘There is a high chance of infection, especially for those not born here. I only do what I must to ensure he is well enough to travel as soon as he can.’

‘Of course,’ Anyu said and with a grunt, he put his hands on the floor and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I must go now and arrange for the children to leave. It is lucky,’ he said catching her eye, ‘that you do not have any children to worry over.’

Alterin bit back a retort as she followed him to the ladder. Few seers before her had had children, and many like herself had not had a mate, but Anyu was the father of her mother; she knew that if he had had the choice, he would rather have seen her with a mate and child than be a Seer. But it had not been his choice. Alterin sighed and kissed his cheek, promising to eat the evening meal at his hut, before he descended the ladder to the walkway below. She watched him walk slowly away and thought about the stranger from the dead lands, lying below in Mishi’s hut. She would not lie to herself; she had noticed he was handsome to look on. But as a mate? She frowned, he was so different to her own kind.

She looked down at Mishi’s hut and her heart beat faster. She wanted to go and check on him, but Tallis had gone in there. She did not want to see him, but she knew his coming here was no accident. The things she had seen in his mind: the semorphim, black-winged and foul; the woman that looked so much like him; and the barren desert lands where the ancient Guides of the clans held sway – all of these things were linked somehow to the Fallen, for good or for ill.

Tallis had power in him. He had breached the boundaries of her mind without effort, and that was no easy feat. As Seer, her whole life had been devoted to training her mind. She could soothe and calm another without opening herself to their fears, or travel the Place of Dreams and not lose her sanity in the tangled ways. And yet, she sensed he could do more, much more.

There was a great power in him, but he did not know how to control it. He was dangerous and yet she couldn’t help thinking: was he more than just a warning of the Fallen’s return? Could he be the one to save them?

She stared down at the hut, feeling his presence, and fighting with herself over what to do. He was more than she had thought, but should she be the one to tell him? And what of the woman she had seen in his mind? Alterin had felt the connection between them. She was also important, but why?

Alterin stood staring down, but then annoyed with her vacillation, made her decision and placed one foot firmly on the ladder, forcing herself to go down. She could not hide here. She was Seer of this village, it was her duty. Uneasiness roiling in her belly, she walked the few steps to Mishi’s hut and, taking a deep breath, pushed aside the door flap and entered.

Tallis was sitting beside Jared on the floor when Alterin entered. He looked up then immediately looked away, his heart thudding in surprise. But she barely acknowledged him. She crossed the floor with quick steps and kneeled down on the other side of Jared, leaning over to stare into his face. Jared’s eyelids flickered open and he smiled weakly as he saw her before falling back into sleep.

Watching her, Tallis wondered what she was thinking. As though realising his thoughts, she suddenly looked at him. ‘Your shoulder needs tending,’ she said quietly.

‘It’s fine.’ He stood to leave. ‘I should go.’

‘No, wait.’

‘Attar will be looking for me,’ he lied. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could. He remembered the feeling of her fear from before. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt her again.

‘Who is the woman I saw in your mind?’ she said and he stopped, his breath caught in his throat. ‘I felt the connection between you,’ Alterin continued. ‘Who is she, why are you afraid for her?’

His heart thudded. Her question was so unexpected. ‘I have to go,’ he muttered and made for the door.

‘Wait! We must not deny what has happened. You cannot hide from yourself.’

He turned to her. She was half his size, but the look in her eyes was resolute. ‘Do not be afraid for me,’ she said. ‘You will not hurt me again. Who was that woman?’

He hesitated to tell her. ‘What else did you see?’

‘Many things. The land of your birth, semorphim hungry for blood, and a well of power that you don’t know how to control.’

‘Power I hurt you with,’ he said warningly.

‘I am not afraid of you,’ she said ‘I felt you coming. The spirits warned me one such as you would come, that you would speak my true name. It means witness.’

Uriel. Tallis remembered whispering it, hearing it in his mind.

‘The spirits’ naming has now come true.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘You are the first sign. A time of change is coming, and little of it will be good. A storm rides on your back desert man . . . you feel it, I saw it in your mind.’

Tallis tried not to show how her words shook him. Was he to bring death and destruction even here? ‘What is it you want of me?’ he said.

She rose and came toward him and her small hand curled, warm and soft, around his wrist. He went rigid with tension, afraid to look at her for fear of what had happened before. ‘You must learn to control your power, Tallis. It is a great gift; but it comes with a price, one you cannot pay here. You must learn to leash it from those who are more like you.’

‘You want me to leave?’

‘You must.’ Her fingers were firm. ‘You know you cannot stay, you must go with the warrior tomorrow.’ She glanced at Jared, ‘He will understand’.

Tallis’s throat was tight and dry. ‘I won’t leave him.’

‘Look at me.’ There was a slight tremor in her voice, but there was also command in it and slowly, carefully, he met her gaze. Her dark brown eyes seemed to swallow his own.

‘You must leave. When the Fallen comes he will feel your power and he will not stand for it. He will kill you and you will not be able to stop him because you do not know how to wield your own power. But I will offer you some advice: your power is like the great river, to control it you must dam it, form a boundary against it with your mind and let only a small flow out at a time. Use only what you must.’

‘Who is this Fallen?’ Tallis was shaken by her words.

‘The Fallen is the god who once ruled us all,’ she said. ‘He is master of the semorphim, their creator, and to him we are all slaves.’

‘But why would he kill me? The clans were never ruled by any such as him. We have our own Guides.’

‘Yes, the dead lands are closed to him. The ancients that rule the sands are older even than he, older than any and he has never breached them.’ Alterin let go his arm, her dark eyes sombre. ‘But your Guides will not protect you here, Tallis.’

Tallis shook his head. ‘So what do you expect me to do? Leave, run away?’

‘Yes, you must leave with the warrior so you can learn to control your power. I don’t know if I have seen clearly, but this power within you, it may one day save us from the Fallen’s dominion.’

‘This power I have is a sickness,’ Tallis said. ‘And it has brought nothing but pain, both for me and my clan. I will not let it drive me to abandon Jared after what he has sacrificed.’ Anger sickening his insides, he turned away. ‘I will not leave him,’ he repeated and left the hut.

Stepping across the bridge to the main walkway, he leaned heavily on the railing taking deep breaths of the damp jungle air. The wood creaked beneath his hands. Jared had almost died and now she asked him to abandon him? And her talk of this god returning, and the power he might have to defeat him – this power he despised. He felt lost and confused. What was happening to him?

High up in the cloud-veiled sky, Marathin circled, her wings spread wide as she glided on the thermals, a dark shadow against the grey cloud. The thrumming beat sounded deep in his chest as he looked at her.

I saw what you did, I know what you are. Sickness filled him. What was he? In despair, he reached for the presence of Shaan inside, the only link to family he had left, but with a shot of fear he realised he could barely feel her. It was as though she were shrouded from him, hidden. Was she dead? In a panic he tried to search for her as he had done in Salmut. The breath expelled from his body as he sought the pulsing heat of her life force. He stared up at the sky, straining to feel her. The world dimmed to grey and blackness danced at the edges of his vision. He was so intent he barely registered the screeching cry of Marathin. In triumph, his mind brushed Shaan’s, but it was as though he hit a wall of iron. A sound like a gong reverberated through his mind, his knees hit the floor of the walkway as he rebounded back from her mind in a searing rush of pain. His head was ringing and he did not sense the serpent until she was nearly upon him. Her shadow fell over him, her great wings beating the air, and the smell of her breath, pungent with carrion, made him gag as she shrieked into his mind. He is coming! He is coming! He stared up into her green eye, her terror sweeping over him.

36

Tallis rose slowly to his feet, staring after the serpent, his heart pounding. Footsteps sounded behind him and, turning, he saw Alterin coming out of the hut. He looked back again at the sky. The serpent had gone, but something else had appeared: a dark winged shape, just below the level of cloud to the west was moving toward them. His insides dropped.

‘Alterin!’ He turned to her.

‘The Fallen is coming,’ she said, staring up at the sky. ‘I heard the semorphim. We must prepare.’ She tried to slip past him, but he stepped in front of her.

‘Wait! It’s not the Fallen. I’ve seen that before, it’s a rogue serpent. It will kill you,’ he stared at her, but her face was set. ‘Alterin, please you must hide everyone now!’ The Guide’s forsake him. Had he brought death to these people as well?

‘We cannot hide,’ she said. ‘I told you he was coming, Tallis, you must go. Find the warrior and leave. You can’t help us.’ She pushed him aside and ran down the walkway, calling the name of the headman as she sprinted toward the other end of the village.

‘Alterin!’ Tallis shouted after her, but she paid him no heed. With a grunt of frustration he ran into Mishi’s hut. ‘Jared!’ He fell to his knees by the mat and gently took his arm. ‘Jared!’

‘What is it?’ He looked blearily at him.

‘One of the creatures is coming.’

‘Here?’ His eyes opened wider and he struggled to push himself up.

‘I’m sure it’s one of them. I saw it in the sky, just like the others.’

‘Help me up.’ He winced and tried to rise. ‘Where are the serpents?

‘No.’ Tallis put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You aren’t healed.’

But Jared ignored him, pushing off the thin covers. ‘Where’s Alterin?’

He shook his head in frustration. ‘I don’t know, she wouldn’t listen to me. She was talking about the Fallen coming.’

‘The Fallen?’ Jared gripped Tallis’s arm and hauled himself up to a sitting position.

‘I don’t know.’ Tallis shook his head. ‘She thinks it’s some god coming back from the dead.’

Jared pointed at his trousers on the floor. ‘Pass me those, I have to find her.’

‘Can you convince her to make them hide?’ Tallis helped him to his feet.

‘I don’t know.’

‘If they don’t hide, it will kill them all.’

‘No.’ Jared’s face was fierce. ‘We won’t let . . .’ he broke off as a low-pitched horn sounded outside. They looked at each other. ‘Come on,’ Jared said.

‘But you can hardly walk.’

‘I’m fine.’

Tallis’s heart clenched to see him so pale. He had lost weight. His trousers, tied as tightly as possible, still sat low on his hipbones. But the look in his eye was determined.

‘All right,’ Tallis said. ‘You go after Alterin and I’ll find Attar. We will have to fly out to meet it, stop it getting to the village.’

Not bothering to put on a shirt, Jared nodded and they went outside.

The serpent was closer. Tallis could make out wings beating the air.

‘Where’s Attar?’ Jared said.

‘I think he’s by the river.’

His guts churning he turned to go, but Jared gripped his forearm tightly, stalling him. ‘Hunt well, earth brother,’ he said.

It was the words one Jalwalah warrior said to another before going to battle. Filled with a sudden dark premonition, Tallis laid his own hand on Jared’s, gripping it hard.

‘Find shade,’ he replied and they stared at one another for a moment, then Tallis leaped down from the walkway to the ground. He rolled as he hit the earth, then was up on his feet and running for the river.

He glanced back once to see Jared loping along the walkway, but forced himself to turn away and sprinted toward the bank past the villagers who were coming out of the jungle and running toward the huts, staring upwards. He ran harder. He found Attar upriver, knee deep in the water, trying desperately to calm both the serpents who were diving and swooping above the surface, letting out high-pitched cries. The beating of their wings whipped the trees on the bank and created small waves that foamed and swirled on the shore.

‘Attar!’ Tallis shouted over the noise.

‘Stop! Don’t come any closer.’ The rider swung around as he approached.

‘One of the rogue serpents is coming!’ Tallis put one foot in the water.

Immediately both Marathin and Haraka turned, hissing at him.

‘Tallis!’ Attar shouted. ‘Stop!’ And Tallis stepped back as Haraka swayed toward him hissing, his eyes rolling.

‘We have to fly out to meet the creature, the village can’t defend itself!’ He stared fearfully at the serpent. Haraka lowered his head and hissed again. He would rather not have to get on the back of it if he didn’t have to, but the villagers had only small bows and blowpipes; what good were those?

‘It’s not a rogue that’s coming,’ the rider said. ‘It’s one of their own, another serpent.’

‘But where has it come from?’

Attar spat in the mud of the bank. ‘I don’t know, but it’s not the serpent they fear, it’s what’s riding it.’

‘What?’ A strange chill curled in the pit of his gut. ‘Attar,’ Tallis swallowed, ‘Marathin spoke to me. She told me He was coming, to flee south and . . .’

‘She spoke to you?’

‘In the village.’

Attar looked at the serpent hovering above, her eyes fixed on Tallis.

‘Alterin says someone called the Fallen is coming,’ he added.

The rider turned to him, his eyes wide. ‘What! Surely that’s not possible?’ He appeared stunned and Tallis saw fear in his eyes.

Arak-ferish, Marathin suddenly whispered, jolting him. Must flee.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Attar was saying, ‘Come, we must leave.’

‘Leave?’ Tallis barely heard him as he stared at the serpent. Those words again.

‘Tallis!’ Attar shouted. ‘Come on, we have to go.’

‘What?’ He tried to focus. ‘But, Jared is back at the village, and he’s not healed enough to come.’

‘Well then you stay!’ Attar strode toward him, water splashing up his legs. ‘If I don’t go now, Marathin may well go without me. Whatever is happening here, to these villagers, I cannot help. It’s not a rogue that comes and that’s all I’m interested in now.’ He went to the bank and picked up Haraka’s saddle.

‘What if it’s worse?’ Tallis shouted. ‘What of these people? If Marathin is so afraid of whoever the serpent carries, maybe it is worse. How can you leave the villagers here alone when you could help them?’ Tallis stared at him in disbelief. ‘You have no honour.’

‘And you won’t come because you’re afraid,’ Attar retorted. ‘It’s not your fight, Tallis.’ He fastened the saddle to Haraka’s neck ridge. ‘Come with me.’

‘No, I will not leave Jared!’ He turned to head back to the village. But Marathin, uttering a guttural shriek, swooped over landing on the sand of the narrow beach in front of him, blocking his path. The wind from her wings almost knocked him over and she thrust her head toward him hissing. Must Come. Flee! her voice assailed his mind.

Almost falling backward, Tallis shouted angrily, ‘Keep her back, Attar’.

‘I’m not commanding her,’ he answered.

Come. Flee. Marathin’s head came down until it was level with his own and she was staring right into his eyes. He is coming! He will force the path on us. Change us. He will know you. The serpent’s head was four times the size of his and her blood called to him. A sound like water roaring through a cavern filled his mind and he saw golden and purple lights flickering in the depths of the serpent’s green eye.

Flee! she said again.

He tried to get around her, but she spread her wings, stopping him.

‘Attar!’ Tallis shouted, turning to him for help. He saw the rider’s eyes widen in surprise then felt hot breath on his neck as Marathin’s foreclaws closed around his middle and she lifted him up into the air. Tallis shouted, but was too afraid to move for fear one of her talons would pierce him. But she only carried him a short way, swooping over to Haraka and dropping him into the saddle. Immediately, Haraka rose into the air to hover above the river, high enough so that he could not jump off without breaking bones.

‘Attar!’ Tallis shouted furiously, but Attar shook his head.

‘I’m sorry.’ He fastened his own saddle onto Marathin. ‘I’m leaving now, and it looks like you’re coming with me.’

He jumped onto Marathin’s back and the serpent rose into the air, Haraka following. There was nothing Tallis could do. He clung to the harness as Haraka lifted higher, rising above the level of the trees and into the damp air. Both serpents wheeled about and, as they did, he saw the village below. The entire population was gathered along the walkway before the communal hut. He could see Jared, taller than most, standing next to Alterin who had her hand on his arm. They both looked upwards. Jared stared up at him and Tallis saw his lips move.

‘Jared!’ Tallis cried, but his voice was carried away by the wind.

Haraka turned to the south and he saw, cutting through the swirls of warm mist, the wide flapping wings of another serpent coming toward them. It wasn’t a rogue. It was bigger even than Marathin and it carried two people on its back. It reared its head and hissed, and then, swift as a snake, tucked in its wings and dove at them. Marathin shrieked and swooped to the left and Tallis was almost thrown as Haraka followed, twisting and diving down toward the jungle. Wind whistled in his ears, water streamed from his eyes as the serpent arrowed down. He struggled to turn his head to see their pursuer. Blood roared through his skull and he could barely draw breath as the wind rushed past his nostrils.

The bigger serpent was gaining on them and as he looked up he could see nothing but the bulk of it looming over them, coming for them. It’s going to strike, he thought, and braced himself for the blow, but at the last moment it pulled back and passed over them. His heart pounding, Tallis gazed upward as it swooped across, its wingtips barely missing Haraka’s neck. He glimpsed a black-haired man sitting astride the beast, and then a force like a blow to the guts hit him as he saw Shaan clinging on behind. She stared down at him, her eyes wide with shock and fear, and then she was gone. The serpent passed over, its long tail whipping behind and Haraka dropped and wheeled away, following Marathin into a thick bank of mist, which closed behind them like a fist.

Alterin watched the semorphim with its riders drop gracefully down toward them. All the muscles in her body were tight and she was gripping hard to Jared’s arm, not sure if she was helping to keep him on his feet, or he on hers. The beast landed on the riverbank in front of the village. It was bigger than any others she had seen and shimmering colour ran along its sides as it settled its wings on the damp earth, its spined tail cutting into the soil.

The tall, dark-haired man on its back jumped to the ground and strode slowly toward them. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were the same as Tallis’s. The thought spun into her head and her knees almost buckled. There was no mistaking it, that purple darkness was just like the clansman’s. And she felt him. The Fallen was in her mind, buzzing, buzzing as Tallis had been. Afraid, she wondered what it meant. What had the Spirits not told her?

She held tightly to Jared’s arm and made herself stand tall as he came before them. The villagers around her were still, for they felt the power radiating from him. His face was fine featured, cruel but beautiful, and his dark, purple eyes stared as though he looked down on them from a height greater than they could imagine.

He spread his arms wide and said in a soft voice that yet carried up into the trees, ‘I have returned’.

All the villagers, including Alterin and Jared, fell to their knees, their skin scraping on the hard wood of the walkway. As she bowed down, Alterin caught a glimpse of the woman who accompanied him. She was slight and brown-skinned and she was cradling an injured hand to her chest. She stood back behind the Fallen, staring at Jared, her eyes wide with recognition; but that was not what made Alterin’s heart clench. It was the woman she’d seen in Tallis’s mind.

37

Rorc woke in a sweat; the salty sheen of it covering him, making him itch. Bare-chested, he got up and pulled open the door. It was daylight, mid-morning, but thick cloud hid the sun and the rain fell in thick sheets, obscuring the view across the courtyard and gardens. He was still wearing his trousers and boots and even to himself he stunk of worry and weariness.

After seeing Tuon and Veila off he’d come back to his rooms in the palace to sleep, but the rain had woken him. Even now after so many years there were times he found it hard to adjust to all the water. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck he took off his boots and stepped out into the rain. Tilting back his head he closed his eyes and let it soak him. The water was warm and he stood in the courtyard and lifted his arms, pushing his hair back from his eyes and letting the water run in rivulets down his body, washing away the sweat and grime.

He opened his mouth, swallowing water and thought of Tuon. A fist of worry sat in his gut; the seas could be rough this time of year, but he would not allow himself to dwell on it. Ashuk was a good ship mistress, one of the best. She would keep them safe, especially since she carried the body of one of her own back to her shores.

He took another mouthful of rain then became aware that someone was watching him. Opening his eyes he saw a messenger boy standing awkwardly in the doorway.

‘Yes, what is it?’

The boy held out a small scroll in an unsteady hand. ‘From Mistress Nilah, Sir,’ he said nervously.

Flicking the water from his face, Rorc pointed to a thick cloth on his bed. ‘Hand me that.’ He waited under the narrow portico for the boy to fetch it, then drying himself, sent him away and opened the short message. His eyes darkened as he read it and, with an angry curse, he threw the scroll to the floor. Changing quickly, he strode from his room to find Morfessa.

He found him in Arlindah’s private study, sitting in a chair and staring out at the rain.

‘Rorc.’ Morfessa didn’t look up as he closed the door. Deep lines of grief marked him and his eyes looked sunken and old, his complexion grey.

‘Nilah sent me a message.’ Rorc approached him. ‘She told me about the meeting with the Council. She has arrested an emissary from Hasan Daag for Arlindah’s murder and Lorgon is pushing for a war with the Free Lands.’

Morfessa grunted a reply, then looked out again at the rain. Rorc frowned.

‘Morfessa!’

‘What?’ He looked up blearily then seemed to register his words. ‘Yes, yes,’ he nodded. ‘The poison used only grows in the Free Lands. I found a trace of it in her food. Her last meal,’ he closed his eyes.

‘What happened, how did the emissary get accused?’ Rorc demanded.

‘A vial was found in his room when Lorgon had all the diplomats’ rooms searched.’

‘Convenient,’ Rorc muttered as his anger grew. He was the Commander of armies, Arlindah’s war chief, and Lorgon had not told him about the search. The man overstepped his office. Gritting his teeth he tried to focus on immediate dangers – with the serpents gone the city was vulnerable.

‘Has Balkis returned from setting the guards?’ he said.

‘Hmm, what? No I haven’t seen him.’

‘Morfessa.’ Rorc squatted down to look in his face. ‘What are you doing here? Where is Cyri?’

The old man looked at him with empty eyes. ‘She’s really gone, isn’t she? I hadn’t . . . I came here where she always sat and . . .’ He shook his head and looked away. ‘Eva and I, we never had children, Rorc. Arlindah was like my child, my daughter.’

‘Morfessa. You must pull yourself together, for Nilah’s sake.’

He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard. ‘How did you stand it, when you lost your family, Rorc? How did you manage when they cast you out, sent you away? It must have been the same. As though they had all died, been ripped from you.’

Rorc drew back. ‘You know better than to ask me that old man. The past is dead. Why do you keep speaking of it?’

‘No man’s past is ever dead,’ Morfessa said and his eyes focussed on him, a light in them now. ‘It influences everything we do, everything we are. You deny your past and yet still I see you yearn for it. You were a Hunter, a warrior of the desert lands and still you cannot help but be that man.’

‘No,’ Rorc said coldly.

‘Yes! I see you now, thinking of blood for blood. It is in your eye. If you could, you would find Arlindah’s true killer and take his blood for hers. It is the way of the clans, and it is your way still!’ The old man’s eyes were bright, staring at him.

Rorc got slowly to his feet. ‘It is no longer my right. I am Outcast, dead to them. You know that old man and you dishonour me by talking of it.’

‘You see!’ Morfessa stood up unsteadily. ‘You still talk of honour. It is in your blood!’

Rorc’s insides were a cold ball of pain as he stared at Morfessa. He could not believe the old man would talk to him of the one thing he knew cut him like nothing else could.

‘Are you mad with grief?’ he said, his voice dangerously low.

‘No.’ Morfessa gripped his arm. ‘But I am thinking of what we must do to survive. Nilah is not strong enough to stand against Lorgon and his supporters, and she is blind to the dangers of Azoth. They will try to force a war with the Free Landers and I fear that some of your captains will be persuaded.’

Rorc frowned and began to protest, but Morfessa shook his head. ‘No, it will happen. The riders and the Faithful are loyal to you, but the soldiers will betray you. They will be won over by promises of wealth, and if the land army becomes committed to a war . . .’ he paused.

‘When Azoth comes we will not be strong enough to defend ourselves,’ Rorc finished.

‘Yes, especially if the serpents desert us and cleave to him. He was their creator, Rorc, he could command them again.’

‘What are you saying we should do?’ Rorc said, although an uneasy suspicion told him already what the old man thought.

‘You must go to the clans, convince them to join with us.’

Rorc shook his head. ‘What you ask is impossible. I am nothing to them now. Why would they listen to me?’

‘You are a great leader – a Commander – you will make them see that. You are not the same youth that was betrayed and cast out twenty years ago. And they must know of the rogue serpent attacks; they will be looking for answers, you can give that to them. You can unite them.’

Rorc looked down at the old man and wondered where his belief in him came from. ‘It is impossible,’ he said.

‘It is our only chance of survival,’ Morfessa insisted and he let Rorc’s arm go. ‘You must do this.’

Rorc was silent. He thought of the day he had been thrust alone out into the desert, he thought of the years he had spent wandering from sand to the Ice Lands, and then to this city. And he thought of Tuon, her pale frightened face as he left her on the dock. He thought of all those he had lost and those he had left.

‘I will consider it,’ he said.

Mailun and Irissa climbed down from the cart as the old woman heaved on the muthu’s reins, pulling them to a stop at the side of a crowded street in the city. The rain had eased to a constant fine drizzle, but there had been no cover on the cart and both women were soaked. Irissa almost slipped over in the red mud on the road.

‘That there’s the main markets,’ the old woman said, pointing to the end of the street. ‘There’s inns and such around, should be some lodgin’s you can afford.’

‘Thank you.’ Mailun handed her a small piece of carved ivory, the only item she had that might be of value here.

But the woman waved it away ‘No, no.’ She frowned, embarrassed. ‘You two helped keep those damned Scanorians away, that’s thanks enough.’ She snapped the reins. ‘You just take care now.’ She patted Mailun awkwardly on the shoulder then urged the muthu off again. ‘Hope you find your boy,’ she flung over her shoulder as, groaning and spitting, the muthu pulled the cart away.

Watching her go, Mailun fingered the ivory. ‘We should try to find somewhere to exchange this for coin,’ she said.

‘Perhaps those markets.’ Irissa pointed with her spear. A man walking past stared openly at her breasts, outlined by the thin, wet material of her tunic. She glared at him, but he only grinned and kept walking.

‘Be careful, Irissa,’ Mailun cautioned. ‘This place is very different from the clans.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Irissa replied coolly. ‘I can take care of myself. Besides, we are both as ignorant as each other here, Mailun. You have never been here either.’

‘No, but I have heard more about them than you. Stay close and remember why we’re here. Come on.’

They walked awkwardly through the mud up the street. The markets to which the woman had directed them were large, covering a huge paved square surrounded by stone buildings. It was teeming with people, none of whom seemed bothered by the constant light fall of water.

All these people made her nervous: so many in one place, and so many strangers. She didn’t know how they would find Tallis or Jared here. It seemed impossible, but at least now she was near water again. It had been a long time since she had smelled the salt tang of the sea. She drew it in deep. It didn’t have the ice bite of her homelands, but the smell was so familiar it struck an ache inside that hurt as much as it filled her with a kind of hope. She wished Haldane were with her.

Pushing down the pain, she made for a small trading cart near the edge of the square. A young girl was selling trinkets from it, and there weren’t too many people around. But the young girl took one look at her ivory and shook her head.

‘I ain’t got the coin for that.’ She pursed her lips, her eyes running over their clan clothing. ‘But old Nelma, up there a way, might take it.’

Muttering her thanks Mailun turned away.

‘Let’s hope she’s truthful,’ Irissa grumbled, then began rummaging in her pack. ‘Do you have any dried berries left?’ Mailun shook her head, wondering how Irissa could eat with so many people about, shoving them here and there.

She skirted past a group of arguing men and then saw something that made her stop. Her heart gave a shocked leap and her breath froze in her throat as she saw a dark-haired man making his way through the crowd. Not noticing she’d stopped Irissa bumped into the back of her, but Mailun didn’t hear her muttered curse.

It couldn’t be. Her eyes tracked the tall man walking diagonally across the square, not five people away from her. She stared, wanting to deny what her eyes told her, but she could not. His hair was a little longer, but still dark, and a short beard covered his chin; but she would have known him anywhere – Rorc. That walk, the way he moved, she remembered that, had loved to watch him, the sinuous grace of his body. He was older now, but still a fine, handsome man. He turned her way as he manoeuvred around a child and, with a jolt of fright, she stepped back, half hiding behind Irissa as his green eyes swept the area and then away.

‘What is it?’ Irissa cast about, looking for the source of her sudden fear.

But Mailun only looked at her, and then her gaze was drawn back again, watching as he disappeared from her sight. What could she tell her? That the man who had once meant everything to her, that had been her life, was here in this city? Or perhaps she should tell her that Tallis’s father, the man who didn’t know he had a son, the man who had deserted her, had just walked past them.

‘Mailun?’ Irissa looked at her worried.

‘Nothing, it’s nothing,’ she said faintly. ‘Come.’ She turned and led her in the opposite direction.

‘Where are you going?’ Irissa protested. ‘What about the shop?’

‘We’ll find another,’ Mailun said. Her heart in turmoil, she turned instinctively toward the sea, pain curling around her soul like a vice. She was so fixed on her fear she didn’t hear Irissa gasp in shock, clutch her arm and pull her to a stop, staring up at the sky.

A wash of shadow blocked out the light, and all around people cried out as a great flock of serpents, dipping and shrieking flew over the city as one and winged away to the north.

38

Shaan jerked awake, her head knocking against the wall behind her. She was sitting on a narrow platform circling the hut built high in the trees and had dozed off. The day was damp and hot and a dull ache echoed behind her eyes. She had been dreaming of Tallis again and it had left her with a hollow, sick feeling of misery. She rubbed a hand over her face. She had been dreaming of him too often. But it was better than the dreams of Torg and Tuon, their bodies wreathed in flame, better than the dreams of Balkis. Were these dreams even her own? Or did Azoth send them to torment her?

She shuddered and, pulling what little she had left of her dress over her knees, stared down at the village. It was hard to believe that Tallis had been here when they’d arrived, that he had passed by her so close. It had been a shock to see him and the other rider. She should have felt him, but she had been so intent on shielding thoughts of him from Azoth that she hadn’t stopped to think that maybe she would also be shielding him from herself. Now she could not feel him at all and dared not risk reaching out in case Azoth discerned him in her mind.

Not long after they’d arrived, she had dared to ask him why he’d let the serpents and their riders go so easily when he seemed so intent on bringing all serpents and humans under his control.

He’d laughed at her. ‘The semorphim will come back,’ he’d said. ‘When you find what I seek, they will all return to me.’ It was night and he’d been standing by the window, shirtless, looking down at the village. Sweat had gleamed across his brown skin, the finely sculpted muscles of his back highlighted by the light of the flickering lamps. With his face hidden, he’d almost looked like the young man his body proclaimed him to be, but then he’d turned and that dark, ancient gaze had regarded her.

‘Those who do not return, who seek to betray me again, will perish,’ he’d said. ‘But there will not be many and I can wait. I do not rush after my children. They must follow me. They feel their need for me in their blood, in their bones – as you do.’ His gaze had reached across the small space to where she’d sat on the floor, and she’d wanted to press herself further against the wall.

He’d smiled. ‘You fight me my love, but you will see. Even if I let you go, you would yearn to return. I have no doubt the Stone will make it so.’ He’d walked to her and had kneeled down to lightly caress her face. ‘Soon all will come to me willingly. Those who do not will be shown no mercy – even you. I will not suffer betrayal again.’ He had tilted his head, watching his thumb trace her lower lip, and Shaan had barely been able to breathe, overcome with revulsion and desire. When he’d kissed her lightly, she’d been unable to resist, as if she were held in a mould of iron. Then he’d drawn back his hand from her chin. ‘Leave me afterward if you must, when I hold what I seek, but do not think you will ever truly escape. Or that I would forget you forsaking me.’

The gentle laugh he had made as he’d stood and walked outside still haunted her – as did her own inability to resist him. Curling her hands into fists, she stared down through the branches at the walkway below. All she could think of now was escape.

The floorboards reverberated as feet moved across the floor inside the hut. Azoth was in there with the old headman now; she could hear his deep, smooth voice murmuring. It made her stomach taught and her shoulder blades contract. She wanted to speak to Jared, to find out what he knew, but Azoth had not let her near anyone since they’d arrived two days ago.

A shuffling of leaves made her tense: someone was coming up the rope ladder. She winced as she put her injured hand down to lean forward to see who it was. A shiny-haired head appeared at the edge of the platform. Brown eyes looked at her and she realised it was the woman who owned the hut. A small hand beckoned her over.

‘Your hand,’ she whispered, ‘you’re hurt. Come with me, I will help you.’ She looked furtively around. ‘He is inside?’

‘Yes,’ Shaan whispered back.

‘Then come, come now.’ The woman beckoned her again.

Shaan hesitated. If Azoth came out and she wasn’t there he might be angry. But then a surge of self-disgust propelled her away from the wall. Let him be. She motioned to the woman to go down and climbed down the swaying rope after her.

‘This way.’ The woman led her to a small hut not far from the base of the tree. Pushing back a woven door covering she disappeared inside.

Glancing over her shoulder, Shaan followed. The only furnishing inside was a thick mat on the floor and a small stone trough. Jared was standing by the window looking out.

‘Shaan!’ He crossed the floor in three strides and hugged her hard, picking her up off the floor in his enthusiasm, then he held her at arm’s length, taking in her gaunt appearance, the shadows under her eyes. ‘I’m so glad to see you alive,’ he said gently.

She smiled, suddenly awkward. ‘So am I. But what happened to you, how did you get here? And Tallis, where has he gone?’

Jared squeezed her shoulders. ‘We were set upon by the beasts. One took a dislike to me.’ He turned to show her the bandage across his back. ‘Tallis chased them off. We came here to heal.’ His gaze flickered to Alterin. ‘Tallis was hurt also, but not so badly. When we saw you coming . . .’ He shook his head. ‘We thought it was the rogues again. Tallis and Attar went out on the serpents to fight. I don’t know why they left. I can only think it was not his choice. If he’d known you were coming he would have fought the beasts themselves to see you.’

Shaan shook her head. ‘It’s good he went. If Azoth knew of him he would not have let him go so easily.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he is her brother,’ Alterin said. ‘And he would want to claim him. Azoth has come here to take back what is his.’

Alterin looked at her but Shaan was silent. After what Azoth had said, she wasn’t so sure of that. Azoth wanted to reclaim what was his, including his descendants, that was true, but first he wanted them to come willingly, and she could not see Tallis doing that. Azoth had not killed her for her resistance because he needed her, but Tallis – what could he need him for?

Jared was looking at them both, a frown on his face. ‘What do you mean by “claim him” and “take back what is his”?’

Shaan sighed. ‘Jared, Tallis and I are Azoth’s descendants,’ she said quietly.

He was silent for a moment and she saw comprehension flitting across his face. Then he nodded slowly. ‘That explains many things, but also raises many questions. How could the descendants of a wetlander god be born in the clan lands?’

‘It is strange,’ Alterin said. ‘The guides of your people have no love for the Fallen. Perhaps in the future that will help us, but for now we must do what we can. He must not be allowed to know of Tallis – of that I am sure. I told your brother this myself. Tallis has power in him that the Fallen would not tolerate. The semorphim that carried him knew this. It was the female who took him – against his will I think. But you must not worry for him. The serpents will protect him. He knows their tongue.’ She turned her eyes on Jared who was about to speak and, putting up a hand, pushed him lightly in the chest.

‘No, later. You must rest now. Shaan and I have much to speak of and little time.’

Jared raised an eyebrow at Shaan. ‘You see what I have been putting up with?’ He smiled at the small dark woman. ‘Always she is seeking to get me to bed.’ Alterin coloured and frowned. ‘You must rest to heal,’ she said and he winked at Shaan. ‘All right, all right.’ His hand was warm on her shoulder. ‘I am glad to see you little sand sister.’ He smiled and unexpected tears came to her eyes. She gave him a small smile in return, but could not speak as he hugged her again then turned and went into the other room.

‘Come, sit.’ Alterin indicated the mat on the floor. ‘May I see?’ She pointed to Shaan’s injured hand.

With a nod, Shaan sat and carefully peeled off the strip of cloth she’d ripped from her dress. The mud she’d slathered on it earlier had dried and flaked off and her skin was red, blistered and dirty. Alterin clicked her tongue and shook her head, and then rising went into a second room and retrieved two baskets. She sat down on the floor near her and began smearing a pale white paste onto her skin.

‘This will clean it.’ She held her hand in a firm grip and covered her entire hand and forearm in the odourless stuff. Then, picking up a small cloth, she began to wipe it gently off until the area was entirely clean. She worked quickly. It was very quiet in the hut, the only sound the soft patter of rain outside on the leaves.

‘I heard you scream last night,’ Atlerin said as she tied a fresh bandage around her wound. ‘Does he hurt you?’

‘No.’ Shaan tried to keep her voice neutral.

‘Then why did you scream?’

‘I have bad dreams.’

Alterin nodded, watched her for a moment, then started to pack up her salves.

‘I see no fear of him in you.’

‘He disgusts me, he doesn’t frighten me.’

‘He should.’ Alterin sat facing her. ‘You are special to him, as is your brother. Your blood sings to each other.’

Shaan looked away.

‘Why has he brought you here? Why did he take you to the river last night?’

‘I don’t know.’

Alterin looked annoyed. ‘You must know. I have seen him bring you back.’ Her brown eyes stared, but Shaan remained silent. Could she trust this woman? So far she had only seen the villagers treat Azoth as if he were a god. How did she know he didn’t send Alterin as a test, to see what she would do? She cradled her injured hand against her stomach. Jared seemed to trust her, but was that enough?

Alterin blinked then sighed and sat back again, folding her hands together in her lap. The rain became heavier, falling in a torrent onto the thatched roof and dripping from the eaves onto the window ledge.

‘I know you are not sure if I am a friend to you,’ she said. ‘But you must understand, I am the Seer of this village and I seek only to watch over and guide my people. The Fallen was once a god, the keeper of the Stone. He ruled over the soul eaters – the Alhanti. You have heard of them?’

Shaan nodded.

Alterin’s eyes wandered from her face and across the floor of the hut. ‘Yes. We are all, the many peoples of this land, from the same place, slaves to the same master. Al Hanatoha the city was called. It is a ruin now deep in the jungle, but that was where we once all dwelt under his fist.’ Her voice became softer. ‘My people came here when he was defeated. We were the most wretched of all the slaves. We were worshippers of the earth and the Alhanti despised us the most. They beat us, they stole our children and made us their dogs. To survive we devoted ourself to the Fallen. We made him our god to save ourselves.’ She stared out of the window, her expression far away. ‘And because my ancestors did that, we survived. Not all, but enough. When Azoth was banished they came here and went back to the earth, to seek guidance from the spirits of the trees; but we have always known that he would return. We have lived with this knowledge, and now that he is here we must once again find a way to survive.’

She looked back at Shaan. ‘You must not think we are blindly devoted to him, even if it appears that way in his presence. We must be careful, for even though he has lost much of his power, he is still dangerous and if he regains his full strength, we will be as powerless against him as a single leaf against the force of a storm.’

‘What do you want of me?’ Shaan said.

‘I want to know why he has brought you here, why he takes you to the river.’

Shaan rubbed her face. ‘He wants me to find something for him. He calls it the Stone. He puts a ring on my finger and . . . he sends me somewhere else, into a place of darkness where I feel I am barely there anymore, and then he pushes me towards something.’

Alterin bit her lip. ‘He seeks the Birthstone. And if he finds it he will have his birthright restored, he will become a god again. Perhaps he will even try to resurrect his creations.’

‘Then I will not find it for him,’ Shaan said, her stomach turning.

‘I don’t think it will be that easy. There is a reason he is using you to find it. You are special. Perhaps you are like a beacon for it in that dark place and the ring magnifies your light.’

Shaan said nothing. She was thinking of the darkness and Azoth’s power there. The woman was right. She felt the connection when he put the ring on her, the thread that bound her to the invisible presence. And she felt Azoth’s pleasure as she came closer to reaching it.

‘I think if we can discover why he needs you to find it, perhaps we can find a way to stop him,’ Alterin said.

‘You can’t stop him,’ Shaan looked at her. ‘I have to get away. Go far away from here where he can’t use me to find it.’

‘But he will find you.’

‘It’s worth a try,’ Shaan said. ‘I’m tired of being his slave.’

Alterin looked at her silently for a moment. ‘Perhaps,’ she finally said. ‘But first, let me see if I can find out why you are so special to him when there must have been many other descendants before you. There is a place I go, in the jungle, where I might find some answers.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘Two days.’

Shaan dreaded the thought of another two nights in the dark place. ‘I don’t know if I can wait that long,’ she said.

‘You must resist.’ Alterin spoke firmly and gripped her hand, rising to her feet. ‘Come, I will leave before sunset. Now you should go back, he will be looking for you.’

Wondering if there really was anything the young woman could do, Shaan made her way out of the hut and back to Azoth.

Alterin stood staring out of the window for some time after Shaan left. The rain had eased to a soft mist and up in a tree the bright eyes of a bird peered out at her from under a leaf, but she barely noticed; she was thinking of the place she must go.

‘Let me come with you.’ Jared came out from the second room. His footsteps shook the boards of the hut as he stood close behind her.

Alterin didn’t turn around. ‘No.’ She looked at the bird staring down at her.

‘I’ll follow you,’ he said.

Alterin’s hands tightened on the sill, her knuckles whitening. ‘It is dangerous. You are not strong enough.’

‘I’m stronger than you think,’ he replied, and ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, his touch gentle, caressing her bare skin. ‘Let me help you,’ he said in a low voice.

His warmth burned into her back, and she felt her own body warming in response. She closed her eyes and took a breath, listening to her heart. The rain dripped onto earth and leaf and his hands stroked the sides of her neck. With a sharp caw the bird leaped from the tree and flew up into the sky. She followed its path with her eyes then turned and stared up at the man from the dead lands. Raising her hand, she ran her fingers along the curve of his jaw, the skin rough with stubble. As she pulled his head down to hers, she thought: Anyu, finally, would be pleased.

That night, Azoth took her to the river again. The night was warm and damp and the trees above rustled with creatures, but Shaan felt cold and brittle as glass. He stopped in the shadows at the water’s edge and held out his hand to her.

Far above, a high wind tore a hole in the cloud cover and she could see faint stars shining in the blackness. The light of the thin moon broke through and reflected off his skin. His arms were bare and strong and gleamed in the moon’s glow.

‘Come here,’ he said and smiled.

She hated that her heart pounded to look on him, as if her body were beyond her control. His lips were sensuous and the planes of his face were shadow and moonlight. She went to him and his hand was warm around her cold shivering fingers. He drew her closer. She expected him then to guide her into the water; but he didn’t move, he stood still holding her hand.

‘Have you discovered what it is I send you to seek?’ he said and there was a note of amusement in his voice, as though he spoke fondly to a naughty child.

Her breath caught and she was afraid to look up. She held her hand still and tense in his.

He laughed softly, a rich deep sound in his throat. ‘Did you think I would not know? I feel you, Shaan, you are in here.’ He put her hand up on his chest. His muscles were hard and smooth beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

The thought came to her that he would be beautiful naked. He chuckled and, dismayed, she tried to pull back, but he held her fast.

‘Shaan, Shaan,’ he said her name as a caress. ‘It is the way it should be. I know you feel it even before you do. We are one. Look at me.’ It was a command and she could not defy him.

His eyes caught hers in their dark violet gaze. The jungle around her disappeared. All she could see was him and the power that blazed from him. She felt his ancient heartbeat beneath her hand.

He smiled. ‘Others have told you things, but they do not know the truth of it all – the truth of us.’ He took a breath. ‘They didn’t tell how I was betrayed by those who should have loved me most.’ Pain flared brightly for an instant in his eyes. ‘My brothers and sisters, you call them the Four Lost Ones, banished me. But they did not destroy me. I suspected already what they might do; I had planned for it. It was something I should not have been able to do, but using the Birthstone I made a child,’ he said softly. ‘A child by a mortal. Your ancestor.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t you see?’ He let go her hand and ran one finger down her cheek and under her chin. ‘Oh, there have been many others, but they were half alive – not what I needed. But you . . . you are special. Perfect.’

She stared up at him. His eyes darkened and warmth spread through her. She couldn’t look away. He leaned closer and desire throbbed through her as he brought his lips down upon hers. He kissed her lightly and his touch made her head whirl. She clutched at him as the world spun away. She was nothing, he was everything. She pressed against him, parting her lips, wanting. There was only the feel of him, the steady beat of his heart under her hands and his fingers in her hair. She wanted his hands all over her, his flesh on her flesh. His kiss hardened and with a jolt she felt the tip of his tongue brush the inside of her lip.

The shock of it snapped her back to herself and she tore away. ‘No!’ She put shaking hand to her mouth.

His eyes were glinting and dangerous. ‘It was you who sought it.’

Had it been she who had clung to him, she who had pressed herself against him? Revulsion ran through her. Was he doing this to her?

He smiled a knowing smile, his eyes mocking. ‘The river is waiting my child.’ He held out his arm toward the dark waters.

‘No,’ she said, fear making her voice unsteady.

‘You cannot defy me.’

‘No,’ her voice was a whisper. ‘Please . . . I’m afraid.’

His look softened and, reaching out, he took her hand and pushed the ring gently onto her finger. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. As long as you cleave to me you will be safe. I won’t let you fall.’

He drew her into the river and she was unable to resist. The mud was thick under her bare feet, the water shallow and warm, and despair filled her as his hand circled about her wrist and all light disappeared.

39

‘If you want to go back for her, you go alone and on foot,’ Attar said angrily. ‘I must return to Salmut. I cannot help you.’ He threw the bone he’d been chewing into the fire, swatting at the insects buzzing around his neck.

They had made camp for the night in a small clearing among the tall grass of the swamplands. The earth was damp, the fire hard to light, and the food scarce, but Tallis cared little, he was filled with an urgent need to return to the village.

‘Then I will go alone,’ he said.

‘And you will die,’ Attar retorted. ‘Then what help will you be to her?’

‘I cannot sit here and do nothing!’ Tallis paced restlessly around the small space.

‘Do you even know who he is, the Fallen?’ Attar stared at him.

‘What does it matter?’

Attar exhaled and shook his head in disgust. ‘He will kill you. As easily as a candle is doused, he will take your life.’

‘I am not killed so easily.’

‘He is a god, clansman. Two thousand years ago he ruled all, we were all his slaves and now, if the serpents are right, he is back and all will fall under his heel or be crushed.’

‘The people of the clans were never anyone’s slaves,’ Tallis said.

‘The people of the clans were so few he probably thought you not worth pissing on, but you are many now and he will notice. We must go back and warn Rorc.’

‘I don’t care for any of that.’ Tallis brushed his arguments aside. ‘Shaan is my sister, my blood, and I will not leave her, or Jared.’ He set his jaw and stared hard at the older man. ‘There is nothing you can say that will stop me.’

Attar held his gaze, and then turning spat on the ground. ‘The honour of the clans.’ He shook his head. ‘Always it will be your downfall.’

‘Without honour what is there?’ Tallis said. ‘I will leave at sunrise.’

Attar snorted. ‘It will take days on foot.’

‘Then give me a serpent.’

‘Hah!’ Attar swept a hand out to the sky. ‘Go on and take one! See if they will let you.’ He looked at him across the fire. ‘You know they have their own minds. They are not muthu to be traded at will; they will not go with you if you cannot command them.’ His eyes glittered in the flickering light and Tallis sensed a challenge in his gaze.

‘Perhaps I will,’ he said quietly and Attar grinned. ‘Stubborn, aren’t you?’ He spread out his coat and lay on top of it on the ground. ‘Sleep well, clansman,’ he closed his eyes, ‘I’ll tell the Commander not to bother sending anyone to find your body.’

Tallis stared at the fire and didn’t bother answering. Insects buzzed around his face and he waved them away irritably. The air was warm and damp with the smell of rain and fetid earth, and the stars hid behind a blanket of cloud. They had been travelling without pause for two days; he should be tired, but he could not sleep. He kept thinking about what the woman of the Wild Lands had said. He had to learn how to control his power, but who would teach him? He didn’t have time to go back to Salmut and learn from the riders. Shaan was in danger; she needed him now. He would just have to teach himself. What was it Alterin had said about reining it in, building a shield around it?

Filled with determination, he waited until Attar had begun snoring and then walked some distance from the camp, pushing through the thigh-high grass, until the fire was only a faint glow. Then he turned his back and tilted his face to the sky, closing his eyes. He tried to imagine a boundary around his mind. He thought of a wall of stone, rooted deep in the earth, imagined it like a cave wrapping around him, then tentatively felt for the presence of the serpents. They were not far away. Marathin was hunting the grasslands a few miles west of him. He felt the steady rush of her in his blood and let it fill him. Haraka he could sense also, fainter but still there. The younger serpent pulsed with a hot quick fire, while Marathin throbbed steadily with a slow burn. He knew she was aware of him. It was like a head turning to look at him, her mind’s eye seeking him out.

Carefully, he tried to reach down to find the words. The mass of energy inside surged upward, and he tasted it, metallic on his tongue, but he could discern no words. The place they’d come from was deeper. He reached further and his mind buzzed. His head felt as though it were clamped in a vice. He gritted his teeth, pushing his will against an invisible resistance, struggling to maintain the boundary he’d created. Something fractured and pain arced through his skull as the well of his power opened. Blood, life, thundered through his veins. He felt the world – the earth – breathing. His skin felt on fire.

Come to me! He channelled the power and threw a command to Marathin, jolting as it meshed with her mind. She stilled and turned and, for the briefest of moments, wavered; then a bolt of anger slammed back at him and he fell to his hands and knees on the damp earth, gasping as it hammered him. Nausea roiled in his stomach, and dimly he heard the flap of wing as the serpent came toward him. Retching, he shuddered as the smell of the fetid earth rose rank to his nostrils. His hands clenched into the mud as wind from the serpent’s wing swept over him, pushing back his hair. He craned his neck to see Marathin hovering above, her great green eye glinting at him in the dark.

Arak ferish, she hissed and settled to the earth, flattening the grass all around. She crouched barely two arms’ lengths away and looked down on him, her head tilted to one side, waiting. Tallis pulled himself out of the mud and rose unsteadily to his feet. He’d heard those words before. What did they mean?

His destruction, she hissed. The balance. His bane.

Tallis stared. He had felt her enter his mind, soft as the brush of a moth. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said quietly.

She dropped her head down until it was level with his and the heat of her breath pushed at him, redolent with ash and carrion. He swallowed, but stood his ground. You will not frighten me. He met her gaze. The serpent exhaled hard and pulled back slightly, and Tallis felt a trickle of amusement filter into his mind. Small azim, you are brave, it is fitting, she hissed.

Tallis took a breath, trying to control his frustration. His insides still felt as if someone had punched him but he was not going to let the serpent get the better of him. He had to find a way to control the beast.

No control! Marathin arched her neck and hissed at the sky, shuffling her wings, then lowered her head at him again. You must join, create the Hive, be master of it, the Crest. Become Arak ferish, we will follow.

Tallis stared at her. ‘What does that mean? I don’t understand!’

Ferish. You are his bane. The one made who can unmake him. She snaked her head down to him on her long neck, looking deep into his eyes. You are the balance. The female, beloved. The male, his bane. Two made from one.

Tallis’s heart thudded hard in his chest. She was talking about Shaan and the man Alterin had called the Fallen, the god Azoth. So they were his descendants. Why hadn’t Shaan told him? Was that why the black serpent had not killed him? Was it too afraid to kill one of its master’s blood?

Yess, Marathin hissed. Like others in the city, it is weak, afraid of him, but too ready to travel the old paths again, too ready to give up freedom to him.

Come, join I will show. Marathin dropped her head low, thrusting forward so her eye was level with his. Frozen, Tallis could hardly feel his breath as he stared back at her. Her head was half the length of his body, her green eye staring. It seemed to fill his vision: green flecked with gold. From inside came a strange unfurling, a recognition of something forgotten and, without knowing how, he reached toward her with his mind.

Time stopped. The world spun away. He felt the serpent around and within him and the well of his power springing up to meet her, the hard pounding of it running through his veins like cold fire. A fey smile split his face as he saw not the grasslands around him, but another place in another time. He saw a city surrounded by jungle. A serpent and a man cowered at the feet of the dark-haired man and, as he watched, the serpent and man merged, writhed and changed, shedding skin to become something else – a monster, a myth.

The beginning, Marathin whispered. Then suddenly, he was standing on a rocky ledge buffeted by wind and in the open air around him, a host of serpents hovered and he could feel them all interwoven within him. They were like a river of light in his mind. With one thought he could send them where he willed. The hive, Marathin hissed, A new hive. If you find the words.

And suddenly, he understood. A blink of his eye brought knowledge swift as a breath. Without hesitation, he dove down to the kernel of his being, hearing the satisfied hiss of the serpent like an echo, an afterthought. His kin.

Words rose to his tongue, sharp edged like knife blades, hot as earth fire. They were the words of Marathin’s birthing, the words of her kind, and they sang in her blood. Tallis flung back his head, feeling the immensity of his power shoot from him like the bursting of a star. The boundary he’d set flew apart. Pure energy sang through him and, looking up, he saw the dark shadow of the serpent, like a wraith against the cloud, and it seemed her hide was painted with flame.

When he woke it was still night. His mouth was dry and he was lying on his side and could see nothing. For a moment he thought he was in his family tent in the desert, but then he felt the earth under his cheek and smelled the dank scent of the swamplands and knew where he was.

Pushing himself up, he winced as his head throbbed. All around him the night was silent except for the buzzing of insects, and then he became aware of the deep push and draw of a serpent’s breath behind him. Turning slowly he saw Marathin, her hide glinting in the darkness. She crouched in the grass, her head lowered at him like an enormous cornered cat.

He got slowly to his feet. He felt different, lighter, and yet stronger.

Arak-ferish, Marathin whispered in his mind.

‘What did you do?’ Attar said from behind him and he swung around as the rider came closer, the planes of his face suddenly illuminated as a high wind tore a hole in the cloud.

‘She will no longer listen to me. She said she must go with you now. What did you do?’ he repeated.

He was angry and Tallis did not blame him. ‘I’m sorry, but I must go to my sister.’

Attar’s brows drew together.

‘I needed her,’ Tallis said.

‘You need her, do you?’ Attar repeated grimly and stepped forward, but then stopped short, staring at him. ‘You are changed clansman.’

Tallis looked away to the serpent. ‘I found the words to command her.’

‘So I see. And Haraka?’

‘I’ve let him be, you will need him to get home. He’s hovering out there beyond us.’ Tallis pointed west.

‘So,’ Attar nodded, ‘You still think you can face a god on your own, or do you think yourself a god now too?’ He slid his glance over him. ‘You are barely a man.’

‘I don’t know what I am,’ Tallis said. ‘And if I die, I will do it saving my sister. Would you not give your life for yours?’

‘I have none,’ Attar’s face was hard.

‘You could come with me.’

‘And die alongside you?’ He shook his head.’ You keep your honour, clansman.’

Tallis turned and went to Marathin. ‘Hunt well, wetlander,’ he said, but Attar did not reply. He hoisted himself into the space between the serpent’s wings and with a deep breath reached for the words, holding tight to his control. Fly semorphim, he said in the ancient tongue, and with a crouch, Marathin flung herself up into the sky and turned toward the Wild Lands.

40

It felt as though Alterin had gone to the ends of the earth. Two nights had gone past and none of the other villagers had spoken to Shaan. She stood on the riverbank staring at the swirling brown water, her eyes aching from lack of sleep.

The night before had been a battle of wills. She resisted as hard as she could, but Azoth was stronger and the thing, the Stone, was waking. She dreaded what would happen when it decided to reach back. It was like a great seething mass of water, which once released would wash her away.

Wandering away from the village, she found a small patch of sunlight among the shrubs near the bank and sat down on the damp grass. The river lapped the shore and tiny insects buzzed lazily around her head. Swatting at them she lay on her side, resting her head on her arm and bringing her knees up to her chest. She was desperate for sleep. To have a chance at getting away, she needed to be stronger. She had begun hoarding food and storing it in a bag she’d stolen that was hidden in a hollow tree outside the village. A soft root with a mild salty flavour, some dried fish and the large seedy oonunga fruit, which pained her stomach but was better than nothing. Would it be enough to see her out of this jungle? Who knew?

Miserable, she curled in around herself and almost immediately sank into a restless sleep peppered with dreams in which Balkis shunned her and Azoth chased her. His hands brushed at her heels and she tripped and fell, tumbling into a black chasm that echoed with whispering voices. Terrified, she cried out, and suddenly something caught her and Tallis’s face came to her clearly, as though he were beside her. I’m coming, he said and she woke suddenly, the impression so vivid she almost expected to see him.

The sun shone down, drying her damp dress and skin, and she sat up slowly, feeling stiff and sore. Had that been him? It had felt so real, his voice so clear. She sat there for a moment, legs straight out in front of her and took several deep breaths. Since Alterin and Jared had gone, she had made a decision. She was going to run, no matter what the jungle woman said. It was madness to stay here. She’d seen a narrow path that wound south through the jungle alongside the river. That way would do for a start, it was in the right direction at least. She tried not to think about how far Salmut was or how she was going to find her way. It was simple – she must run if she were to survive. She would not keep playing Azoth’s game.

So she was his descendant; she could accept that, but he must accept she would never call him family. No matter how he might make her feel, or the hated connection that ran in their blood, it wasn’t real. She wasn’t his. Tallis was her family: Azoth was an abomination.

There was a rustling sound and with a start, she saw Alterin under the shadows of the trees. ‘You’re back,’ she whispered.

‘Yes.’ She slipped quietly out and sat beside her. Her face was closed, secretive. Jared came out of the jungle behind her.

‘Shaan,’ he hugged her and sat beside her, ‘How are you?’

Unexpected tears of relief welled in her eyes. She’d been worried about him and she blinked them back before he could see. ‘I’m all right. What did you find?’

Alterin hesitated, her eyes darting beyond her toward the village. ‘Many things. Last night, when he made you search for the Stone, did you nearly draw it out?’

Shaan hesitated to answer. ‘Yes . . . I felt it.’

She nodded. ‘It’s very powerful this Stone, but I think there are some who can help us if we can reach them.’

‘Some?’

Alterin paused and stared ahead at the swiftly flowing river. ‘I went to the lost city,’ she said. ‘It is a place of many memories. Have you heard of the Four Lost Gods?’

‘Yes,’ Shaan said. ‘They are revered in Salmut as our saviours, but they lost their own lives in the process of saving ours.’

‘Almost,’ Alterin said. ‘It is not so easy to kill a god; they are not dead.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘At the beginning of our world there were five gods. Azoth is the youngest; he had also two brothers and two sisters – The Four. And each of them had a part of the Birthstone, their own part.’

‘Azoth stole the others’ stones,’ Shaan guessed.

‘Yes and that diminished the others. He reformed all the parts into one and hid the Stone from them. He became very powerful. Without the power of their stones, the others faded. Azoth used the Stone to meld humans with serpents, creating the Alhanti and turning all other humans into his slaves. It was only through the bravery of the Mother slave, Amora, and her resurrection of the Four, that we were saved.’

‘What happened to the Stone?’ Jared said.

‘Azoth managed to hide it. When they banished him and destroyed the city, the Stone disappeared with him. Losing the Stone stole the Four’s powers. But they were not destroyed, they only became diminished. They lost the certainty of who they were when the Stone was taken from them. They know they are not mortal, but they cannot entirely remember what their purpose is.’

‘That’s not what our histories say,’ Shaan said. ‘We are told the Four died. How did you find this out?’

‘I . . . feel things when I visit the city,’ Alterin said slowly. ‘What happened there was so strong – so painful – it is embedded in the air, in the stones. The world is changed, but in that place much lingers in the space between.’

‘So then where are they?’ Shaan said. ‘How do we find them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Alterin said tersely. ‘I am hoping that Azoth’s return may help to wake them, help us to find them.

She hoped? Shaan shook her head. ‘That’s a lot to hope for. And what of why he needs me to find the Stone?’

Alterin looked pained. ‘Yes. I looked into the Place Between and saw what he did. Before he was banished he joined the soul of his yet unborn child to the Stone so that they would be forever tied.’

‘His unborn child?’ Shaan echoed. ‘How?’

Alterin bit her lip. ‘He forced the foetus – while it was still in its mother’s womb – to touch the Stone.’

Shaan felt ill. She didn’t want to imagine how he had done that. ‘And that has joined us, his descendants, to it?’ she said.

‘Yes. To touch the Stone of making is to be bound to it – such is its power. Truthfully, I think the mother only survived because she was carrying the child of a god.’ Alterin placed a hand on her arm. ‘You have been reaching the Stone, haven’t you?’

Shaan nodded, her insides contracting. ‘But there must have been other descendants before me. Why am I the one, did you find that out?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’ Alterin shook her head. ‘Perhaps thousands of years were needed for him to break free of his prison and it is just coincidence that he is here in your lifetime.’ She eyed her. ‘But I do not think that is so. Twins are a powerful omen.’

‘But Azoth doesn’t know about Tallis.’

‘Not yet.’ Alterin glanced at Jared. ‘And he doesn’t seem drawn to the Stone as you are. But there are other powers in the world. Older than the Five, older than the mountains. They dwell in the sands of the dead lands where you were born and where Tallis grew to manhood. Perhaps they have chosen to interfere.’

‘The Guides?’ Jared said.

‘Yes,’ Alterin answered. ‘Perhaps they seek to balance what Azoth seeks to destroy. There must always be a balance. Night and day, light and shadow.’

‘Evil and good,’ Shaan said, her stomach turning. ‘Do you mean Tallis is the good because he may have the power to stand against Azoth, and I am the evil because I can find that which will make him stronger?’

‘Or you were born to bring him out so your brother could defeat him. Nothing is certain,’ Alterin said. ‘But I have hope. Last night I experienced a vivid Void dream. I was in a vast sea on a wooden boat and below me, on the bottom of the great water, I saw four fish swimming; but as I looked I saw that it was not the bottom of the great water, but a land near there. A land of green grass and high mountains, and the Four were not fish, but beings walking together, marching toward a huge village,’ she paused. ‘I think the First will wake and begin to search for their brother.’

Shaan sat very still. ‘How do we know they will not be the same as Azoth?’ she said. ‘What if they want the Stone for themselves?’

‘We don’t know. But it was the Four who sent him into the abyss and destroyed the Alhanti. They must be able to help us.’

‘What are their names?’ Jared said.

‘Epherin, Paretim, Fortuse and Vail,’ Shaan’s skin prickled as she spoke them. Four more gods wandering the earth.

Like Azoth, their powers must be tied to the Birthstone. But what would they do if they had hold of it? What would happen if gods that had been nothing more than myth, were suddenly again whole in the world? And how would she find them?

‘Come.’ Alterin got to her feet. ‘I must gather some food for the journey.’

Shaan stared up at her. ‘What?’

‘Alterin thinks she should go alone to find them,’ Jared said, standing and casting the small woman a dark look. ‘She will not listen to reason.’

Shaan got to her feet. ‘No, you can’t. Azoth will kill you if he finds out. You’re needed here Alterin.’ And too many people have already died because of me, she thought. ‘I’ll go alone. I can get back to Salmut and find protection there.’

‘It’s a long way to the great salt water,’ Alterin said. ‘And how will you escape? Your blood sings to him, he will find you.’

Jared said darkly, ‘Neither of you should contemplate going on your own. Shaan, I cannot let the sister of my earth brother face danger on her own. I will go with you and Alterin, you will stay here.’

‘You do not know the way,’ Alterin protested. ‘You will get lost. You will starve.’

Jared gave a laugh. ‘Starve? Woman, there is more food and water in these wetlands than I could find in a month in the desert! And I will not get lost.’

Alterin glared at him and was about to speak, but Shaan put a hand on her arm. ‘Please.’ Shaan stared from her to Jared. ‘I cannot let either of you put yourself in danger for me.’

‘We are already in danger,’ Alterin said. ‘The Fallen is here, if he regains his full strength, who will save us? No,’ she shook her head and gave them both a hard look. ‘I must go and on my own. I will leave tomorrow. It is decided.’ She stepped back. ‘And now I must go to Anyu, we have an audience with the Fallen at sunset.’ And with another look at them both she left, heading back to the village, leaving Jared staring after her with a look of intense frustration on his face.

‘She is worse than my sister!’ he said, blowing out a long breath and rubbing a hand across his eyes.

Shaan met his look, but was at a loss at what to say. She couldn’t agree with Alterin, but she did not want Jared to go either. Neither one should be putting themselves in danger for her. Not anymore. Jared shook his head and paced down to the edge of the water, staring out across the rippling brown surface. The afternoon sun was hot and insects danced in clouds like motes of light across the water.

Silence settled between them and Shaan stared unseeing at Jared’s broad back as she thought about what to do. She was almost certain Azoth was not as aware of her as he claimed, despite what Alterin had said. Something told her that, unlike the bond she shared with Tallis, Azoth’s awareness of her did not stretch to discerning her exact location, no matter what he might say. He hadn’t been able to find her in Salmut as easily as Tallis had. He’d had to resort to using nightmares, driving her to Morfessa’s home to seek help.

He wasn’t as strong as he thought he was. He might feel her in his being, as he claimed, but tracking her down was another thing. At least she hoped it would be, and if that were the case there was a chance she could make it – but it had to be on her own. With her thoughts thick with possibility, she wandered down to stand next to Jared, looking at the river. The water had risen higher with all the rain and small logs bobbed along in the current.

‘There is so much water here,’ Jared said quietly, glancing at her. ‘In the desert, rain is a myth, a story, it is so rarely seen, but here . . . it’s as common as sand.’ With a wry smile he shook his head.

‘Where do you get water to drink if you don’t have rain?’ Shaan said.

‘We have springs deep in the caves, water that comes up from the earth. Most of it’s hot, but there is some that is cold and clear and sweet.’

Shaan thought about that; water that came up hot from the ground. What had their lives been like, living in a place where the heat was so dry that you did not sweat at all? It could have been my life, she thought, and was filled with a sudden savage burst of anger at what had been taken away from her: her family, her home.

‘I’m sorry you cannot go back,’ she said and Jared turned to her, his handsome face dark and serious.

‘And I am sorry, little sand sister, that you have not seen it. You would have hunted well.’ He held her gaze until something caught in Shaan’s throat and she had to look away. ‘I have to go back to the village,’ he said and softness came into his voice. ‘I have a woman’s mind to change.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I will see you in the morning, sand sister,’ he said and, turning, went back to the village.

No, you won’t, Shaan thought and had to wrap her arms around herself to contain the ache inside. Be safe, she sent to him as she listened to the tread of his footsteps fade. Knowing Azoth would be busy with Anyu and Alterin, Shaan waited until sunset to execute her plan. Azoth had been keeping less of a close eye on her of late and he thought little of her wandering down to the river before the evening meal. She had taken to doing it often, returning as darkness fell and tonight would be no different – except she would not be coming back.

As Alterin and Anyu ascended the ladder to the hut, she was already walking across the soft grass to the river. Her heart beating hard and fast, she wandered casually through a patch of small, scratchy palms and out onto a vaguely defined track, out of the sight of the tree hut. Only when she was sure she could not be seen, did she start to pick up her pace, following the track as it wound along the banks of the river, the brown water obscured by trees and tangled creepers.

A short way along, she stopped and pulled out the small pack of food and water flask she’d hidden in the tree. It wasn’t much, but she’d also managed to steal a change of clothes from Alterin’s hut. Pulling off her ruined dress, she quickly changed into the short, simple tunic. Made from a soft brown fabric, it was sleeveless and fell to mid-thigh with a strip of leather serving as a waist tie. Fastening it tightly, she felt a momentary twinge of guilt at stealing it, but reasoned it was better Alterin lost her clothes than her life. Shoving the remains of her dress under some plants, she continued along the path.

It led quickly into thicker jungle. The air was hot and thick and hard to breathe and had trees like none Shaan had ever seen. Some of the trunks were as wide as Jared was tall, and their long twisted roots forked out from the base above the ground, before disappearing into the dark wet earth. In between them grew slender, pale saplings and twisting creepers that snaked across the ground thick with decaying leaves. Around her the jungle rustled with unseen life and the light was filtered and dim. Sweat stuck her tunic to her back and made her face itch, and minute insects buzzed incessantly around any exposed skin.

Every sound made her flinch, and she expected at any moment to feel Azoth’s hand on her arm, his deep voice in her ear. But all was quiet and she tried to concentrate on keeping him out of her mind. All she had to do was just move forward.

After a while it began to rain. The ground became muddy and she was forced to take off her sandals, flinging them as far as she could into the jungle. It was easier to walk without them. It was almost dark when the sound of heavy flapping wings passed overhead. For a moment Shaan froze, then slid under a bushy palm, pressing down in the mud, and barely breathing. Would the serpent be able to scry her out with his mind? Her lips pressed thin as she waited and she tried to keep a tight wrap on her mind. But if it was Nuathin, the serpent didn’t find her. The flapping faded and after a while she forced herself back out onto the track and kept on walking.

Shaan was hollow with anxiety. It kept raining and what light there was was replaced by shadow as the sun went down. She kept moving, stumbling in the dark, feeling her way. She was sure she was headed in the right direction; if she could just keep heading west, she thought, she could find her way home.

The track headed back toward the river and, exhausted, Shaan followed it, emerging from the trees with an intense shot of relief as she looked up and could once again see sky. Even though it was thick with darkening grey clouds, it was enough to ease the sense of suffocation.

The riverbank was higher above the water than it had been near the village. Essentially a muddy incline, the bank was held together by tree roots and rose steeply up from the swift flowing currents to form a narrow ledge, edged by jungle. She stumbled along it until it began to rain. Heavy fat drops fell from the sky soaking her and making the muddy bank too treacherous to navigate in the dark. Giving up she felt her way to an enormous leafed palm and with some effort wove several leaves together to form a shelter. Huddling underneath, she chewed on some slivers of dried fish and stared out at the water that fell without pause from the sky. It was very dark, and she sat silent and afraid, staring at the dark river moving like a restless animal below.

It was a long uncomfortable night and she barely slept. Every shuffle of leaf, every sound, made her tense. The blackness of the jungle night was so complete she could barely see her hand in front of her face, and the roots dug into her back as she tried to find a comfortable position. A keen sense of utter loneliness filled her and she clung to thoughts of home, of the ocean, of hot skies. She fell asleep and her dreams shifted and broke over her like a wave. Balkis was running, Tuon screaming and Azoth, his violet eyes beckoning, was chasing her, forever chasing, his hand outstretched and under it all ran a constant, cold whisper.

She woke in the grey light of dawn to the screeching cries of a pack of small monkeys, bouncing in the treetops near the river. It had stopped raining. Her neck ached, she was damp, and her legs were black with mud. After relieving herself she chewed on a chunk of sapodilla root then moved back into the jungle.

The track petered out a few hours after sunrise, and she struggled to clear a path to follow along the river. It was slow going. She would have given anything for a knife to cut at the thick plants, and the cloud cover from the day before had blown away, the hot sun beat down, creating a suffocating, steaming atmosphere beneath the canopy. Silent and slick with sweat, Shaan could not stop wondering if Alterin and Jared were all right. Had Azoth harmed them? He would be furious when he discovered her gone.

All the day she walked, stopping only to rest for a moment in the afternoon, taking sips from the leather water containers. Late in the afternoon she came to a place where the river split into two, diverging across her path. An old hanging bridge had been built to cross the wide torrents and it creaked under her weight as she shuffled across. The water swirled away around a corner heading deeper into the jungle.

For a reason she couldn’t fathom, Shaan’s nervousness doubled in that place and she didn’t want to spend the night anywhere near it; but the sun was dropping fast and she was forced to make camp less than a mile from it. As night fell, the jungle went quiet. There were not even any of the small stinging insects bothering her. She tried to rest, laying on a bed of leaves, her eyes staring into the dark. But in the middle of the night she shot upright, her heart pounding, staring into the darkness.

Did you think you could hide from me my love? Azoth’s voice caressed her mind.

Shaking, she rose to her knees as she heard a whumping, flapping sound come from above. The sky was clear and the thin moonlight that dappled the ground shadowed as something huge sailed above the treetops.

‘He’s here,’ Shaan whispered to herself. Her fingers grew cold as all the blood shrank from her limbs.

Run! She stood for a moment, shocked, then slipped into the thick shadows of the trees, pushing blindly through the undergrowth. It was black and damp and anger made her grunt as she pushed forward. She should throw herself into the river, drown herself. But she kept moving, keeping as quiet as she could, straining to hear what was happening behind her.

She couldn’t hear anything but her own harsh breathing, and the sound of the damp foliage slapping at her thighs. Then a high shriek sounded and she stopped, her heart in her throat. Was that Nuathin? Choking back a sob, she kept pushing through the thick plant growth. And then suddenly she thought: Azoth wasn’t stupid, of course he would think she would be following the river!

She was an idiot. She had to get away from such an obvious trail. But if she went into the jungle she would be lost. Could she hide in the water? Not stopping to think, she veered right and pushed through to the bank. It was still high above the water here and she hesitated. The current was very swift, the cloudless night sheeted moonlight across the water. If she kept to the bank though, she would still be in shadow. Looking back upriver she could see no sign of Nuathin or Azoth.

Taking a breath, she began to climb down. The bank was thick mud and she was soon slipping down the face of it. Small branches scraped her body as she went and long roots tangled her limbs. She tried to grip onto them, but the mud made her slip and she tumbled down, striking root and stick, until she hit the bottom and slipped, her arms wheeling out, splashing, as she sank into the river.

41

The water was cold, but not too deep. Her feet touched the bottom and the current tugged at her as she scrambled for a hold on the slippery roots at the water’s edge. She clung there, the wood slimy under her fingers, and tried to silently cough up the muddy water she’d swallowed. Something whistled in the jungle above and she froze. But after a while it was answered by another low whistle, then another, and she realised it was just some jungle creatures calling to each other.

She listened for other noises, for sticks breaking underfoot or the thump of wings, but there was nothing. The river lapped at her neck and she realised the pack had come off her back. She looked back up the slope but it wasn’t there. Turning, she saw it bobbing along in the current, moving out into the middle of the river. He would see it, she thought in panic. Surely it should sink! Why was it floating? Then she saw one of its straps was hooked onto a log that tumbled along with it. She swore, but there was nothing to be done. Gritting her teeth, she began to move slowly along in the water, following the edge of the bank, holding on to stop the current sweeping her out into the main stream.

The jungle was quiet and the mud thick beneath her feet, and for a moment she thought maybe she had a chance, but then from behind her came the flap of wing. Air beaten by huge leathery wings, sucked and whumped above the water.

She turned, cringing back into the bank’s shadow as the dark shape of Nuathin rose above the trees. The serpent emitted a low, keening cry, and the sound sent shivers across her back. Her hands clenched into the mud of the bank. She watched him spread his wings and glide toward where she hid, a mass of shadow and claw against the dark indigo night. Azoth wasn’t on his back.

Nuathin swooped closer, flying low above the water. Trembling, Shaan sank low and tried to press herself under the overhanging roots, turning her face toward the bank so he wouldn’t see the glint of her eye in the dark. She stayed as still as she could, her back muscles hard as stone, and felt the rush of air as he passed by, heard the stretch and pull of his wings, the snort of his breath. The water rippled around her with the force of his passing. He was so close surely he would see her! A terrified, angry scream was working its way up her throat. Then there was a splash out beyond her, and Nuathin cried again, higher pitched like fingers scraping on glass. He’d found the pack! Shaan turned to see the serpent pluck it from the water, the log coming up with it, lifting it effortlessly. His great head dipped and stretched as he screeched again. Panic rose like bile in her throat.

She had to get out of the water! What had she been thinking? She clutched at the roots to pull herself up, and heard a rustle of leaf on the bank above. She froze. Listening. The sound of a leaf slapping back against something solid came, then a low, mocking laugh.

‘Will you hide there all night child?’ Azoth said and stepped to the edge. He was right above and could see her, hiding among the roots.

A sudden fierce anger seized her and she looked up at him with loathing. ‘I won’t do it!’ she shouted. ‘I won’t find it for you!’

He laughed again, his face pale in the moonlight. ‘Come up here,’ he commanded and held out a hand to her.

Come to me, he whispered in her mind. She trembled and gritted her teeth as tears of anger came. She tried to resist him, but her body was not hers to command. Her arms pushed her out from under the roots and her hands dug into the mud, her legs pushing her up from beneath.

‘No!’ she screamed as her limbs propelled her up, slipping and sliding to within his grasp.

He reached down and gripped her arm, yanking her up and over the lip of the bank, almost pulling her arm from her socket. He tossed her to the ground and she lay there at his feet, covered in mud.

‘Why did you run?’ his voice dropped, low and menacing, and he bent over her, blocking out the silver webs of moonlight. ‘Did you think you could escape me? Aaah, my love,’ he curled a finger though her wet and muddied hair and whispered, ‘The Seer and her desert man told me you would try to return to Salmut. Oh they were reluctant, but few can defy me. They begged me to not hurt you as much as I hurt them before I was done.’

Rage made Shaan shake, her lips pulled back from her teeth and with an animal scream she launched herself at him. Punching and kicking, she roared and scraped at him with her nails. He fended her off, his longer arms catching at hers, pinning her. He slapped her hard across the face, but she was numb, she felt nothing but rage and hate. She tried to scratch at his face, to scratch his voice from her mind.

Azoth hefted her off the ground and with an easy swing, threw her into the river. Rushing water ran into her open mouth as she went under. It shocked the numbness from her. It was black and cold and she tumbled over and over in the current. Something hit her side, bounced off, and then crashed into her head. She couldn’t breathe. Dizzy, she twisted and turned then struck out, pulling herself up to come gasping out, floundering in the swift flow of the water. She had barely time to draw a breath before Nuathin was upon her. He hovered over, reached down, and plucked her from the river. She screamed as claws punctured her flesh. Clashing like knives, they came around her, slicing shallow cuts in the soft flesh of her belly. She hung there, bleeding, while the air rushed around her head and the sharp acrid scent of the serpent filled her nostrils.

Nuathin swooped back to the bank and dropped her at Azoth’s feet. She cowered on the ground coughing and retching as river water ran from her nose and mouth. The cuts stung and burned.

He squatted beside her, his voice tight and angry. ‘Stop defying me. I don’t want to hurt you.’ He yanked her up. His hand grazed the blisters on her burnt hand and she screamed in pain.

‘Enough!’ he snapped. ‘We will go to the temple.’ And he began dragging her into the jungle. Shaan fell to her knees, but he didn’t stop. He dragged her though the foliage, the sharp blades of the palms opening cuts in her cheeks. He was immensely strong, pulling her along the ground with one hand as he pushed plants from his path with the other.

Screaming and crying abuse at him, she managed to get to her feet, but had to run to keep pace. It was dark and she kept tripping over fallen tree limbs and stumbling in sudden holes, but Azoth kept going, his hand like a vice around her wrist.

She began to go numb. Her whole world was pain and mud and darkness. She stopped screaming, stopped crying, it was enough effort just to keep breathing and not fall. Blackness pressed in from all sides and the air was thick with the smell of decaying leaves. Her feet were cut and bruised and she twisted her ankle several times, but had to keep going, limping along behind him, each step like a knife in her leg.

They seemed to go on like this for hours. Azoth said nothing; the only sound was her tortured breath and the slow whump of Nuathin’s wings as he tracked them, unseen above the canopy. Strange thoughts started to come to her and she began to see things from the corner of her eye. Once she was sure she saw Tuon, staring at her from behind a tree. But it was too dark to see the trees, it was too dark to see anything and Tuon was dead, she knew that. Everyone who helped her died. There was nothing now but darkness and shadow, and she stumbled on and on forever. The earth disappeared from beneath her; she stepped into the nothingness and fell. Faintly, from far away, she heard Azoth curse and there was a sudden glint of light in an eye, then nothing.

She woke to find herself slung across Azoth’s shoulder, her head lolling as he walked. It was daylight and she could only see properly out of one eye. Her right eye was swollen shut and that whole side of her face was puffy and numb. Her mouth was dry and she was weak from hunger. She put her hands on Azoth’s back and tried to push herself up to stop her head from bouncing. The skin on her burnt hand was peeling and raw, but she couldn’t feel any pain.

‘Stop,’ she called out weakly. But if he had noticed her faint cry he ignored her. She clenched her stomach muscles against the hardness of his shoulder and tried to keep her head up. Her neck and back cramped from the strain, and she began to pound at his back.

Finally he stopped and she almost retched as her feet touched the ground. She swayed, dizzy and almost falling, as the blood roared painfully back into her limbs. He made no attempt to help her and she put her hands on her knees, sucking in air, and looked around. They were deep in the jungle now. There were far fewer plants on the ground and the trees had hard black trunks and towered high above forming a thick canopy that blocked out the sky.

She looked up at him as he handed her a water skin, drinking slowly, keeping her good eye on him. Did he look a little tired? A thin film of sweat covered his brow and he stood with his hands on his hips as he watched her drink. His shoulders were sagging the tiniest bit, his head hanging a little lower, his chin not so proud.

His eyes ran over her from head to foot, dark and watchful. ‘Can you walk now?’

She nodded, handing back the skin. There was still power in his gaze.

‘Come then, it’s not much further.’ He didn’t bother to take her arm this time. He just turned and began walking. He thought he had broken her.

She stood for a moment watching him go, and then slowly hobbled after him, dull pain running up her legs with every step. She thought of Balkis, reaching for her as Azoth took her away. It opened a dull pain in her heart, like a cut splitting open: more wounds.

They pushed through a knot of creepers to emerge once more at the river. It was a tributary this time. They had doubled back, past the path that cut through the jungle near the bridge. The river was narrower here and the water ran slower, but it was what sat on the opposite bank that made her legs tremble: shattered stone walls, the remains of a gate and, beyond, a broken road of stone, thick with creepers. The city from her dreams. Fear leaped into her throat.

Azoth had stopped and was staring at it, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a hard line. He looked suddenly much older, an old man sheathed in youth: a skin of agelessness stretched tightly across an ancient soul. He had been betrayed here, turned on and destroyed. Shaan thought bitterly that she hoped it cut him deep, that he was driven to despair by the sight of it.

But he only stood staring at it silently, and then without looking at her said curtly, ‘Come’. He walked downriver to an old narrow stone bridge that curved up and over the water.

She followed, filled with a kind of useless inertia as she felt hope fly from her. Parts of the bridge had crumbled away and it was covered in a patina of ingrained mould, but it held under their weight. They crossed it carefully, the sky darkening as clouds began to gather. By the time they reached the opposite bank the first drops of rain had begun to fall, a soft wet patter on her weary shoulders.

Azoth seemed not to notice as he strode up to the broken gates and passed through. Shaan followed, her steps unsteady. To her right, just outside the gates between the wall and the river, was the place she had cowered as Petar died. She moved past, pushing back the images that crowded into her mind.

She saw deep cracks made by fire in the massive, crumbling stone pillars and inside the walls. Streets that were once wide thoroughfares were choked with creepers and mounds of stone. On every side of her were the signs of destruction and age. Huge piles of rubble marked the sites of buildings, the blocks of stone now covered in a creeping mass of twisted and gnarled overgrowth. In one area, trees had sprouted up through the corners of walls and pushed aside the stone paving of the streets. The branches were heavy with bulbous orange berries and the ground underfoot littered with fallen fruit. A thick scent of ferment hung in the air.

Azoth kept heading deeper into the city, following what must have once been the main road. As they left the outskirts behind, they began to pass areas which were more intact. Buildings with walls still standing, and streets barely touched by the vines, started to appear as the road wound in a gentle curve. They passed through a square, a fountain in the centre. On all sides, roofless two- and three-storeyed houses looked down, the gaping dark windows like eyes in the misty curtain of rain. Each building had a wide stone platform that stretched from the front of it on the second story, held up by thickly carved pillars. They were close enough to each other that you’d be able to jump from one platform to another. They were also big enough for a serpent to land on. Shaan stared at them and tried not to wonder who or what, had lived in those homes.

The deeper they went into the city, the less damage there appeared to be and the more the atmosphere pressed down upon her. No sound penetrated the city’s walls here, and the air was hot and dense. Memories crowded into the hollows and cracks of the stone; Shaan could almost see them swirling around her, a miasma of destruction and despair. Her throat closed up and she became aware of a faint whispering. It was distant and elusive, but it was there, humming along the empty streets, searching, reaching.

She stopped and terror slammed into her. It was looking for her: the Birthstone. She could feel it! For a moment she couldn’t move and she stared ahead, her eyes wide. It was just up there, around the corner. She stared at a smaller street that led between two columned buildings and disappeared into darkness. Azoth was moving toward it.

No! No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t! The inertia was flung off like a cloak and she turned and ran. Her feet pounded back to the square, away, away from the whispers. But Azoth was already aware of her flight. He moved faster than she thought possible. A step, a leap and his hand struck her back. She fell to the stone. Something snapped in her wrist as she hit the ground. She screamed, a pitiful shout in the thick quiet. And then he was on her and pulling her up, dragging her with him. He didn’t utter a word. His face was closed and determined, his eyes almost black. Shaan pulled against him, writhing and twisting, but he was steel and ice and the rain was in her face as she fell again and again to the ground. She was dragged across the stone, until she managed to get up, her skin broken and bruised, to stagger after him, resisting with a useless rage.

He pulled her down the short, dark street into a circular paved ring of buildings surrounding a temple of obsidian stone. Crouching before it was Nuathin, the serpent’s great eyes glinting, his hide shimmering in the rain. Hot breath came in puffs from his nostrils and his talons scraped like swords clashing as he rose, his barbed tail tapping and screeching across the stone. Azoth murmured to him in a voice tight with barely contained expectation and the serpent crouched low to the ground, splaying itself out before him and laying its great head on the stone, a mere dog at his master’s call.

He dragged her toward the temple and Nuathin swivelled one eye to her as she passed. And then she was tripping up black stone steps, slippery in the wet. The doors of the temple were long gone. It was nothing but a gaping, black hole, a void of shadow and whispers waiting to swallow her.

Azoth didn’t hesitate as he swept her along with him into the darkness. Cold hit her like a fist in the stomach. Aching, biting cold, and then whispers in the dark. It was completely black and she clutched at him, terrified he would let her go. She would be lost to the voice that sought her. She could feel it here, so strong that the pain of her body was gone, replaced by an overriding raw terror.

The floor was cold and smooth under her bleeding feet and her fingers dug into his flesh. Suddenly, he was her only anchor; when she looked behind there was nothing but blackness. The doorway seemed to have disappeared. She was alone in the darkness, she would never find her way out, it pressed in on all sides. She clutched at him desperately, all reason gone, as the dark and the whispers came down upon her.

His hand was on hers and then suddenly there was a glimmer of light as he brought the ring forth. It shone in the darkness though there was no light to reflect upon it. He pushed it on her finger and then in a soft, soft voice he said, ‘Search child, search for me’. And with a wrench, he flung her from him and Shaan screamed as she fell into nothingness.

Tallis clung to Marathin, his hair streaming unbound in the wind, the rain in his face, as they raced man and serpent bound in one mind, toward his sister.

The Wild Lands swept by beneath them, the trees a dark mass of green and the river a black torrent flowing higher as the rain came down. Tallis directed the serpent instinctively toward her. He did not know exactly where she was, but he could feel her pain, like knives in his own flesh. It kindled a dark and terrible anger in his breast as it drew him on. It was Azoth doing that to her. His hands clenched into fists and the serpent beneath him felt his rage and her blood sang with fury.

They swooped down, following the river, and he saw the remains of a city half eaten by the jungle. A shudder shook Marathin’s body at the sight of it, and Tallis too felt a shiver of fear at coming upon the place where Azoth had once been a god.

I feel the old one, Marathin said, and Tallis knew she meant the older serpent Azoth rode upon. Good, then she will be close, he returned, Go there.

Arak is there, Marathin sent and he felt her fear.

Do not be afraid, he told her, I will protect you.

Hearing the truth in his words she gathered her wings, and with a flick of her tail, they dived down.

The world was gone; she was anchorless, adrift in the black. The voice was all around her, whispering, whispering, cold and soft, hard and wanting. And it was stretching her, pulling at her and everything was pain. She had no body, but she burned. Memories came to her like seeds thrown in the wind: a woman’s face, dark hair and pale cheeks; a flash of water against the bow of a ship; a candle flickering on a scrubbed table, and a man’s face black and grinning and more, much more. A kaleidoscope of life whirled through her and then one thought, just one: I’m dying.

It was almost a relief, but then in the nothing, she saw a glimmer. A spark was thrown and Shaan did the only thing she could – she reached for it, and a world of pain exploded inside her.

Her face smacked against hard tile and lights came, flashing across her eyes. She opened them and realised that there was light. She was in the temple, on the floor, one hand outstretched upward, her back straining and at the end of her fingers was a rip in the darkness. The fabric of the world was torn and coming through it, travelling to her hand, was the light. It was small, the size of her fist and it was shapeless, a travelling mass of blackness spun with silver, turning and coming to her hand. She watched it come, her body shaking, unbelieving as it came through the tear in the world. As the Stone touched her, an arc of agony screamed up her arm and through her left side. It stopped her heart and she collapsed to the floor as the energy of making ripped through her.

Outside, Tallis voiced a soundless scream as he felt Shaan’s life slipping away. He fell forward onto Marathin’s neck, his chest heaving, as the serpent landed amid a tumble of stone within the walls of the city. A river of pain was clawing at his left side, an echo of Shaan’s own. He knew if only he could concentrate he could do something, but the pain! He tumbled off the serpent’s back to the ground. At least he could feel her now, he knew exactly where she was. Arak-si. Pain! Marathin hissed, and he leaned against her for a moment.

Come for me when I call, he said and pushing away, he began to run.

As Shaan fell back, Azoth leaped forward and caught the Stone in both hands. His eyes were bright violet in its light and he cradled it as his body was bent back by the force of its loosing. A pale, silver fire surged up from the Stone and covered his body and for a moment he was nothing but light, pure energy. Then flickering, flickering, it was sucked back into the Stone, leaving him standing, his eyes black indigo in the light as the Stone coalesced and became solid in the hands of the god.

Outside the temple, pale fire burst from the doors illuminating the night, but Nuathin did not look for he was staring up, up, his bright eyes watching as a great host of serpents flew over and filled the sky, their high coarse calls filling the air. The rain had stopped and they landed on rooftops and broken walls surrounding the temple, crouching like great terrible birds, their taloned tails striking stone and grinding decaying lumps to dust.

Silently they watched the temple as Azoth emerged, striding down the black steps to stand near Nuathin’s shoulder. Slowly he turned to look at all the serpents and with glittering eyes he raised the Stone in his hand and said in the ancient tongue, ‘I have come and the true paths will be found’. His back was turned as he surveyed the bowed heads of the beasts and he did not see as Tallis slipped behind him into the temple.

His breath short, Tallis ran through the darkness to Shaan’s side. She was still alive, but she was so weak, her heart beat a ragged flutter. He bent and gathered her up in his arms, his soul wrenching at how light and frail she felt. He felt her tenuous hold on life and, afraid for her, he reached deep into his own well and called to her. The words he whispered were ancient and rang with power, and he felt the warmth of them rush through him and into her like a hot desert wind. She did not stir, but he felt her heart grow stronger and, knowing he could not linger, he carried her to the door intent on getting her away.

As he emerged he met Azoth, standing at the bottom of the steps, a frightening smile on his lips as he looked up at him.

‘So,’ he said casually, ‘there is not one but two. How is it I did not feel you before?’

Dark indigo eyes flashed at him and Tallis froze on the top step as he saw what Shaan had not told him. Azoth’s eyes were his eyes, his sister’s eyes, they were the same. A strange, shuddering fear ran through him and he stepped back, holding her close against him and feeling the doorframe of the temple at his back. A tugging pulled at his being, like a cord tightening – or a leash.

‘Aah, yes,’ Azoth nodded. ‘I see you feel me now.’ He looked him over, considering. ‘My black serpents chattered to me about my Arak-ferish, but their minds are not what they once were, I did not think they knew what they said. I see I was wrong. Son.’ His teeth shone white. ‘I have often wondered if the first one I seeded was a son.’ He tilted his head to the side. ‘Tallis, a desert man’s name.’

Tallis struggled for breath. He had plucked his name from his mind. What else could he find? In panic he imagined a barrier around himself, seeking to shut him out.

Azoth frowned. ‘You have power. But how long do you think you can wield it and stand against me?’ He smiled. ‘So young. Bring your sister down from there and don’t look so angry, I would not have let her die. With this,’ he held up a small black shining stone, ‘I could resurrect her.’

The Stone glittered like a piece of night in his hand, but Tallis did not know what it was and Azoth’s casual dismissal of Shaan’s plight set anger in his heart.

‘I am not your son,’ he hissed, ‘and we will not stay here with you.’

‘And how will you escape?’ Azoth indicated the circle of serpents crouched low and unmoving as statues around the temple. His fear doubled. How could he not have noticed them? There were so many. The black serpents who had killed Haldane crouched on a crumbling wall. He felt their hatred reach for him. They were so strong, how would he defeat them all? Despair rode upon him, but he pushed it back.

Marathin, he called, but then a high shriek sounded in the sky above and both he and Azoth looked up to see Haraka with Attar astride, swooping down upon them from the cloud-scudded sky. An arrow struck the ground beside Azoth’s foot and the god turned and shouted a command to the serpents. They rose up in a clatter of talon and wing.

Tallis ran. Holding Shaan close, he sprinted down the steps, calling to Marathin as he did. Come! Come now! Behind him, Azoth turned casually and watched him flee, a slight smile still on his face. Tallis glanced back at him as Marathin swooped down.

Go then, son, it was a whisper in his mind. I have what I need for now. We will be together again. And Azoth raised a hand to him as Tallis awkwardly hauled Shaan up on the serpent’s back.

All around the god serpents were launching up into the air and wheeling to attack the fleeing Haraka. Tallis didn’t have time to think about why Azoth had let them go as he commanded Marathin to rise and go to Attar’s aid. The serpent crouched and flung herself upward, lashing out at a smaller serpent as she did, shrieking at it so it cowered and fled. Then, spreading her powerful wings, she streamed through the air toward Haraka.

Tallis held tight to Shaan, clinging on with his thighs as Marathin dipped and turned, cutting through the mass of serpents rising from the ground. None of the serpents came near them, though they shrieked and wheeled around; they did not attack and only two ahead followed Haraka and Attar as they sped away from the city.

Tallis saw Attar let two arrows fly at the one at his side, and as they approached he prepared to reach deep for the words to command them but, as one, both serpents turned and dropped away, shrieking up at him as they arrowed toward the trees, returning to Azoth and the city.

I will come for you, Azoth’s voice whispered in his mind and Tallis flinched as he felt the cold touch of it stroke him. Shaan cried out in his arms, and then there was nothing but the rain in his face, and the faint cries of the serpents disappearing behind them as they winged away and back to Salmut.

42

Across the lands, the one who had been called Fortuse stirred from her slumber. She opened her eyes with a scream, clutching at nothing. ‘He has it, he has it!’ she muttered, and began crawling on the floor, reaching for invisible threads.

Outside the small hut, a man who had been chopping wood slowly lowered his axe and stood for some time staring up at the sky. He was tall and dark haired and the muscles in his wide shoulders were firm from years of toil, years he could not always remember. As he looked upward, the dark grey of his eyes deepened and flecks of blue appeared. The axe fell to the ground and he turned with long strides walking to the hut and flinging open the door. He stared down at the naked woman crawling on the floor. She gazed up at him with frightened eyes that swirled grey, then green, then blue.

‘Where are the others?’ he shouted, his voice trembling. Then at her scream he staggered and sank to his knees. ‘Where are the others?’ he whispered. She crawled toward him and curled up, shaking, against him. Her hands clutched at him like a child, her red hair spread fine as silk over her face. He has it, her voice sounded sweet as music in his mind and he looked down, staring in wonder at her as he remembered his real name.

‘I am Paretim,’ he said and then stronger, his voice growing deeper, like a drum in the dark. ‘We must find the others.’

EPILOGUE

‘It’s hard to believe there’s so much water in the world.’ Tallis stood by the open window, staring out at the heavy rain. ‘It falls and falls without end.’

‘Move me closer; I can’t see,’ Shaan said, her voice raspy and weak.

‘I’ll put the bed under the window,’ he said and picked up the end of the wooden bed, dragging it carefully. The legs made a dull scrape on the tile as he positioned it at an angle so she could see through to the garden beyond.

The vibration of the moving rattled up through Shaan’s spine and she gritted her teeth at the pain, then cursed as her left arm bounced and flopped down off the side of the bed, dangling like a dead fish.

‘Tallis!’ she cried and he quickly came and picked up her arm, laying it once more across her stomach over the thin sheet. She felt nothing as he touched her and had to look away, blinking back tears of anger. It had been a week and still she had not regained any feeling or control in her left side. Her arm and leg were like lumps of living but inanimate flesh. The Sisters had said it would take time, but how long?

‘Do you want to sit up?’ He pushed a strand of hair back from her face.

‘No.’ She stared out at the dark afternoon.

‘You’ve been laying flat all day,’ he said and, ignoring her protests leaned over and gripped her beneath her armpits, hauling her up until she was leaning against the bed head.

‘Oww!’ Pain streaked up her back and dug knives into her belly. She punched him as hard as she could in the chest with her right arm.

‘Not bad,’ he grunted and casually pushed her left leg away from the edge of the bed. ‘I almost felt something that time.’ He stood back, surveying her. ‘You know, I think you’re getting fat.’

She glared at him, taking short quick breaths as the pain subsided. ‘I am not fat.’ In fact, she’d never felt so frail or thin before. Despite the rich foods the Sisters gave her, she was not putting on weight. All her energy was going into her daily battle against the pain that seemed to be her constant companion. And she could not sleep. She was afraid that every time she closed her eyes, Azoth would find her. She still had the prophet’s ring. And even though it was locked away now deep in the palace she was still afraid he would use it somehow to find her. That he would drift into her dreams and she would never wake again. The only rest she had was when Tallis was there. Holding tight to his hand she managed a few hours a day, it was the only time she felt safe.

‘Balkis came again this morning,’ he said casually striking a flint to a lamp. Her stomach tightened and he looked over at her as the warm yellow light fell across her face. ‘You have to see him sometime.’

‘Not yet.’ She chewed on her bottom lip watching the rain.

‘He comes every day, Shaan.’

‘I can’t!’ Her voice rose and a bright spot of colour appeared on her cheek. Tallis fell silent. He wished once more that Jared were there. He knew women so much better. He would have found a way to convince her that Balkis would not be repulsed by her.

Thinking of his earth brother made his chest contract. He still could not believe he’d had to leave him there in the jungle. He didn’t even know if he lived. Anger at Azoth burned in his gut, and quickly he smothered it lest Shaan felt it. They were connected so closely now, he didn’t want her to feel his suffering as well as her own.

He picked up a stool and sat by her bed, leaning on the low windowsill and looking at the thick, dark leaves of the plants being battered by the rain.

‘They say a war is coming,’ he said. ‘Rorc is gathering the warriors from the outlying lands. Attar says they will not be enough.’

‘And the serpents, have they all gone?’

He nodded. ‘All but Marathin and Haraka.’

Shaan shivered. How would they defend themselves when Azoth came for them?

‘Perhaps Tuon will send word of serpents still on the Isles,’ she said, thinking of her friend, still alive, who she had once thought dead.

But Tallis looked grim as he gazed up at the heavy grey sky. ‘I don’t know, I can’t feel any.’

‘A vast sea separates you, perhaps the water interferes.’

‘Perhaps,’ he shrugged.

‘Rorc should let you take Marathin there,’ she said. ‘It would be faster, and you could speak to any who are left.’

‘He wants to wait until he receives word. He doesn’t want to risk leaving the city so undefended.’

‘I don’t see how it would be any different.’

‘He’s right,’ Tallis said mildly. ‘It would be a wasted journey, and if any of the serpents attack while Marathin is not here, there would only be Haraka and men on the ground to defend the city.’

‘But there must be serpents there, it’s their breeding ground.’

‘Unless they have all gone to join Azoth,’ Tallis said and Shaan fell silent.

It all seemed hopeless. She heard again the whispering voice that had followed them as they flew from the wild lands: I will come for you. She’d heard it, even locked in that darkness she had heard it, as he’d meant her to. She looked at Tallis, but he seemed far away and she knew he was thinking about Jared and the home that was lost to him. She put her hand out, touching his arm, and without looking at her he slid his warm, rough hand into hers.

They sat together silently for some time. Shaan thought of all she had lost, and what she had gained. She thought of Tuon somewhere out on the open sea, and prayed she was all right. She thought of Torg, on his way to be buried in the soil of his birth, and of Alterin and Jared, lost in the jungles of the Wild Lands. She looked at Tallis. His face was averted from her, but she could feel him, pensive and full of anger at what Azoth had taken away, and she was glad at least that he was here with her.

‘Tell me about our mother.’ She squeezed his hand with what little strength she had. ‘Tell me about hunting with Jared when you were boys.’

He blinked and she saw the glisten of sudden tears in his indigo eyes. He looked down for a moment and then with a long sigh began to speak, and she lay back and closed her eyes, letting the images of heat and sand roll over her. He opened himself to her, and she clung to his hand, hearing his words and seeing with him the vast open plains, the mar rat hidden behind a rock, and a woman with dark hair and eyes the colour of the sea, that seemed also to be holding her hand as well until, finally, she was lost to sleep.

LIST OF CHARACTERS

Alterin

Seer and healer of the Wild Lands people

Amora

A slave girl who was the catalyst for the defeat of Azoth 2000 years ago and founder of the city of Salmut

Anyu

Headman of the Wild Lands people

Arlindah

The Guardian of Salmut – ruler of Saranthium

Attar

A captain in the serpent riders

Azoth/The Fallen

Creator of the serpents and youngest of the five ancient gods. He stole the Birthstone and enslaved the majority of the human race, using the Stone to create the Alhanti (see glossary). Banished to the abyss 2000 years prior by his four older siblings.

Balkis

Son of a wealthy merchant and serpent rider. The youngest to be named a sept leader of the serpent riders for many years.

Bren

Serpent rider

Crull

Member of the Jalwalah Clan’s guide circle

Cyri

Consul of the Faithful – their spiritual leader

Epherin

Second eldest of the Four Lost Gods

Fortuse

Only female of the Four Lost Gods

Haldane

Heartmate of Mailun and member of the Jalwalah clan’s Guide Circle

Irissa

Jared’s sister – a hunter of the Jalwalah clan

Jared

Hunter of the Jalwalah clan and Tallis’s earth brother

Karnit

Leader of the Jalwalah clan

Lorgon

A member of Salmut’s Council of Nine

Mailun

Tallis’s mother, originally of the Ichindar, the Ice People

Meelin

Perfumer in Salmut and a friend of Tuon

Miram

Member of the Jalwalah clan’s Guide Circle

Mishi

Alterin’s friend and her nurse as a child

Morfessa

Advisor to the Guardian of Salmut and a powerful healer

Nevan

Member of the Jalwalah clan’s Guide Circle

Nilah

Daughter of Arlindah, heir to the Guardianship of Salmut

Paretim

Oldest of the Four Lost Gods

Perrin

Worker in the Serpent Dome

Petar

Dream seer

Prin

Morfessa’s assistant

Rorc

Commander of the Faithful and Chief of Armies in Salmut

Shaan

An orphan living at the Red Pepino, worker in the serpent yards of Salmut

Shila

Dreamer of the Jalwalah clan

Tallis

Hunter of the Jalwalah clan, son of Mailun and earth brother to Jared

Thadin

Warrior chief of the Jalwalah clan and member of the Guide Circle

Torg

A man of the Serpent Isles and owner of the Red Pepino

Tuon

Prostitute at the Red Pepino and Shaan’s best friend

Vail

One of the Four Lost Gods

Veila

The Seer of Salmut, who has quested the Void to discover Azoth’s return

Vilan

Winemaker who runs an outpost for serpent riders in Shalnor

Serpents

Nuathin

The most ancient serpent in the Dome

Marathin

Attar’s serpent and one opposed to Azoth’s return

Haraka

Bren’s serpent, also opposed to Azoth’s return

The Four Lost Gods

Paretim, Fortuse, Epherin, Vail

GLOSSARY

Al Hanatoha

the ancient city in the Wild Lands where Azoth once ruled

Alhanti

hybrid creatures created by Azoth using the Birthstone. A mixture of serpent and human, very tall and strong, they were the warrior force of Azoth’s fallen empire 2000 years earlier.

Amora

a slave girl instrumental in the downfall of Azoth’s empire. It was Amora who heard the Birthstone speak to her in a dream and awakened the four elder gods who then banished Azoth for his crimes. Amora led the people away from the fallen empire to a new land on the edge of the sea and established the city of Salmut.

Birthstone

the legendary seed from which all life sprung and the source of the ancient gods’ power. Once in five pieces, its power was shared equally by the ancient gods who used it to create the people, plants and animals of the world. Stolen and made whole by Azoth who used it to enslave the human race and create a hybrid human/serpent being, it disappeared when the four older gods banished Azoth to the abyss. It is the key to Azoth’s power.

Black Mountains

a range of mountains of totally barren black rock that forms the north-eastern border of the clan lands.

Clans of the desert

Baal, Halmahda, Jalwalah, Raknah,

lands

Shalneef

Council of Nine

body of councillors who administer the day-to-day affairs of the city of Salmut and surrounding villages

Crist

an hallucinogenic and highly addictive drug

Crooked Man

the self-proclaimed head of all thieves in Salmut

Faithful, The

the most powerful force in Salmut, formed to guard against Azoth’s return and comprising two factions: Hunters who are preternaturally good at capturing their prey, and Seducers who can infiltrate and influence minds

Fledglings

newly recruited serpent riders still in training

Foundation Scroll

the charter written at the founding of Salmut after the banishment of Azoth and the reformation of a new world. It contains the details of the pact for peace between human and serpent and warns for constant vigilance against the return of the banished god Azoth.

Free Lands

land stretching from the feet of the Goran Ranges and bordered by the desert lands of the Clans, the cold lands of the Ichindar peoples and the Sergessen Sea. Split from the rest of Saranthium 223 years ago during the war of the Free Lands. Still a trading partner.

Guides

the creators and guardians of the desert clans. Including: Sabut, Wahtu, Antil, Enocia (the Outcast), Kaa (death)

Guides Circle

Seven men and women who rule the Jalwalah clan

Haldar

head covering made of thick cloth worn by desert clans for sun protection

Hasan Dag

capital city of the Free Lands Hive the collective mind communication of a group of serpents experienced as a river of light suspended in a void. Also describes a family or tribe of serpents led by one older serpent

Inti

the name the Wild Lands people give the sun

Kaf

thick hot drink similar to coffee, sweetened with honey

Mind join

a more complex form of communication between serpents

Mind voice

the method riders use to communicate with serpents

Muthu

four-legged animal with coarse hair and a single small hump across the withers. Foul smelling and found in coastal regions and in the desert

Nonyu

a spicy tea

Primate

head of the Sisters of Amora

Prophet Scrolls

a history of Azoth’s empire written by a slave who escaped at the time of Azoth’s banishment. Kept on the Serpent Isles

Prophet’s Ring

gold ring stolen from Azoth by the Prophet

Rain Lands

ancient name for the Wild Lands

Redfruit

a fleshy, sweetly tart fruit with one large seed

Rogue serpents

black hides and larger than the serpents that live in Salmut. They have been attacking people of the clans and villages on the edges of the desert seemingly without reason.

Sabut’s Well

oasis and gathering place of all clans

Salmut

capital of Saranthium, home to the Guardian

Saranthium

the continent created by the Birthstone and the five ancient gods

Scanorians

a cave-dwelling race that live mainly in the Pleth Mountains but are sometimes seen in the plains near the River Plethnor

Sept

a division of the serpent rider army consisting of ten serpents and their riders

Sept Leader

a commander of a sept of serpent riders. There are eight sept leaders

Serpent Dome

enormous column-shaped building housing the serpents of Salmut

Serpent Isles

a group of islands south-west of Salmut in the Sergessen Sea. Breeding ground of the serpents and home to proud seafaring people

Serpent Yards

large complex of grounds and buildings housing the serpents and serpent riders

Shalnor

large coastal town at the mouth of the River Pleth. Renowned for its vineyards

Sisters of Amora

order of women dedicated to studying Amora’s life and the healing arts

Stolen Well

small water well on the edge of Jalwalah territory

Temple of Amora

place of worship for Amora and the Four Lost Gods. Houses the Sisters of Amora, serves as a meeting place for the Faithful and those who work for them, and is also the residence of the Consul of the Faithful. Commander Rorc also keeps rooms here.

Torin

trading port of the Free Lands and its second largest city

Void

the place between dreaming and waking, scried by seers seeking to find answers and wisdom. Few have the talent to truly plumb its depths. Also called the World Between by the Wild Lands people.

Wetlander

term used by clan people to describe coastal dwellers

Well

the home of a desert clan

Wild Lands

tropical, mountainous area thickly covered in jungle. Home to small villages of jungle people and the site of the ancient city of Azoth’s past empire.

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ISBN: 978-0-85799-099-0

Title: Awakening

Copyright © 2013 by Lara Morgan

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