Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides (57 page)

She choked back a laugh. ‘Kore Almighty!’ He felt her lean over him, felt the weight of her elbows beside his shoulder. ‘You idiot! Don’t you know that—?
Sol et Lune
, you didn’t know, did you?’ Her voice went up an octave and she sounded close to hysteria. ‘It’s all my fault – I should have taught you—’

‘I was just trying to lure out the fish, then blast it with lightning,’ he interrupted her. ‘But he was bigger than I thought—’

‘Ha! Was he ever! He was almost as big as I am. If you weren’t a mage you probably would be dead. He’d have held you under until you drowned. Biggest damn catfish I’ve ever seen,’ she added in an impressed voice.

‘In Baranasi they sometimes catch catfish as heavy as oxen,’ he told her. ‘But I never thought there would be something so large here.’ He cursed. ‘Shame it got away.’

She laughed again. ‘Oh no it didn’t! You put enough energy into the river to kill every fish within a hundred yards, and then some.’ Her voice dropped. ‘Water and lightning together are very powerful: the water feeds the lightning. The only reason you’re still alive is that you were the originator of the blast and that softened its impact enough that all you suffered were burns.’ She patted his cheek. ‘You’re lucky I’m a healer. You’ve lost most of the skin from your torso and legs, and you would have been blind if I hadn’t got you under treatment immediately.’

He felt his skin prickle with retrospective fear and had to calm his breathing as she went on, ‘Three layers of skin I’ve had to slough away – but don’t worry: I’ve smoothed the skin pigment so there aren’t any blotchy patches. You’re a work in progress, but I think you’ll be back on your feet in a few days.’

‘How long was I … ?’ He paused, almost afraid to ask the question, but she patted his shoulder reassuringly.

‘Asleep?’ she finished for him. ‘Almost two weeks.’ She poked him lightly. ‘You do look a little odd, though, now that you’re white-skinned.’

‘
WHAT—?
’

Strong but gentle hands restrained him as he tried to push himself upright. ‘Calm, Kazim, calm. You need to relax and rest if you are going to get better quickly. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to it – I have.’ She laughed slyly. ‘Would you like some catfish stew?’

*

When she did finally let him pull off the bandages, of course his skin wasn’t white at all; that had been her idea of a joke. It was certainly paler than it had been, though. All his chest hair was gone, and his legs were hairless too, but his head and beard were fine – because they’d been out of the water, Elena said.

The light hurt his eyes at first, but she had been ministering him closely, feeding him with healing-gnosis and gradually unwrapping the gauzy bandage, letting a little more light in every day so that his eyes could accustom themselves bit by bit to raw daylight. She made sure he had a sheet draped over his body all the time now, even though he knew that she’d not just seen every inch of him, but she’d been washing him and cleaning up his waste. The embarrassment was almost overpowering.

‘I owe you my life again,’ he said, more bitterly than he’d intended.

‘Well, sorry about that,’ she responded caustically.

He floundered. ‘No, no, I didn’t mean—’ He tried to rephrase it so it sounded less insulting. ‘It’s just that all I seem to do is owe people.’

‘It must hurt, to be indebted to a ferang jadugara, huh? How nefari does that make you?’

He winced. ‘Many lashes.’

Her eyebrows went up and her lips quivered in that indignant way she had, but for once she didn’t launch into another diatribe of criticism. ‘Lashes? The Kore haven’t burned sinners at the stake for a long time.’ She thought about that, and then added fairly, ‘Apart from during the Crusades.’

‘Better to purge the flesh than burn eternally,’ he quoted. Though his memory of the exact words was hazy, Haroun had said something of the sort to him once. He wondered where the Scriptualist was – was he even still alive? He wiped his eyes and they stayed clear this time, though the dim room seemed horribly bright still.

‘And the women are lashed also?’

He shook his head. ‘If a nefara woman knowingly pollutes another man, she is stoned.’

‘Why are women always treated worse than men?’ she asked sourly.

He shrugged. ‘It is just how it is. Ask a Godspeaker, not me.’

‘I’ve had enough debates with priests to last my lifetime,’ she said dismissively. ‘They are all liars – some of them even know they are.’

He made a warding gesture in case an apsara was listening. Ahm’s angels watched every act and recorded every sin, the Godspeakers taught. ‘You should not insult holy men.’

She sighed heavily and sat beside him, propping her elbows on the bed as she often did. Her blonde hair, tied back, gleamed like platinum. She looked both mildly irritated and amused. ‘Anyway, Kazim Makani, the only thing you owe me is thanks. I don’t store debts.’

‘You would not survive in Baranasi. Debts are what they trade.’

She smiled at that, which pleased him enough that his own mouth twitched involuntarily.

‘Oh look,’ she teased. ‘The stern warrior smiled.’ Her eyes were warm, but she looked away shyly. ‘La, I shall let you wash yourself, now you don’t need my help any more.’ She stood up and bustled away, as if she too found the little moment of intimacy too much.

‘Elena?’

‘Mm?’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled. ‘Debt paid.’

Then she was gone.

*

Spin, block and dance away.
Bang, bang!
The staves of tempered wood bashed together. Lunge and go! Elena felt an exhilarated buzz in her
veins as she executed the movements perfectly, and a flash of admiration at the way Kazim stayed with her. Then his stave was flashing at her face, even as he dropped and lashed his lead foot sideways.

‘Uhh!’ she flipped sideways, let the motion flow with her gnosis, spiralling through the air and out of his reach above the pond. She was wearing a red ribbon on her arm to show that she was bleeding, but to her surprise Kazim hadn’t declined to practise with her. It gave her hope: she might actually be getting through to him, maybe changing his views.

‘Cheat!’ He slashed at her, but couldn’t reach, even though he leapt at her from the lip of the bridge railing. She laughed and righted herself in mid-air.

He scowled. ‘You know I can’t reach you.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘Come back down, you craven ferang.’

His remaining gnosis had been burned out by the catfish incident. He said that the hollowness inside him felt like a cancer, but the yoga helped him deaden it. He no longer laughed at her meditation training.

‘Come and get me,’ she teased, twirling her weapon.

‘You promised: no magic.’

‘I had my fingers crossed.’ She grinned at his annoyance. ‘Catch me if you can.’

He came over the edge of the bridge in a single bound, roaring at the effort. His stave flashed at her – damn, but he was fast these days! – but she managed to block, even though she almost lost her grip at the strength of his blow. His gnosis might be gone for now, but his body was fully operational. He trained bare to the waist now, having announced that he needed to regain some colour, and she’d threatened to do the same, making him blush furiously.

Bang!
Thrust and move, duck and run. He was backing her into a corner. She tried to go left, then had to arch her back and pull herself in, desperately trying to put her body out of the way of his stave as he blocked off her escape.

Shit, I’m trapped …

Thwack!
She blocked a low kick with her own stave, but she couldn’t
move her planted feet quickly enough, leaving her open to his blow. Her free hand flashed upwards and shields flared, battering his stave away.

‘Cheating bitch!’ he roared, and threw himself at her. His body was twice her bulk; he flattened her shield and bore her down, his weight knocking the air from her lungs. One hand grasped her wrist, trapping her hand, and as his stave went flying he grabbed for her periapt. ‘Got you!’ he crowed.

She tried to flip him off as the hand seeking her periapt tore through her buttons and grabbed.

Then he went utterly rigid, his face changing in an instant from triumph to horror as he realised that his hand was not holding a gemstone, but a mound of soft, silky flesh. ‘Uhh—’

‘Easy, tiger,’ she panted. His weight on her felt …
too damned good
. But he’d accidentally scratched her skin and that was smarting. ‘Get off,’ she said peevishly, when it became clear that he’d frozen in embarrassment.

For an instant it was as if he’d not heard her. His eyes were filled with lust, and then with something worse: the hunger in his gaze that rose whenever the Souldrinker side of him threatened to take over. The latent dread that she might one day have to kill him or be killed herself flashed across her brain.

Then he exhaled, and was himself again.

‘Ahm’s Light, I’m so sorry,’ he gabbled, jerking his hand away as if she was diseased.

He stood quickly and backed off as she tugged her tunic closed. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—’ His face was scarlet.

She bunched the tunic and knotted it shut, feeling both foolish, and very relieved. ‘It’s okay, Kaz – it’s nothing, really. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before.’

‘I just wanted to take your periapt so you couldn’t cheat again.’

‘I know – it’s all right.’ She sat up. ‘You beat me fair and square.’ She traced the line of blood on her breast, swathing the little wound in soft light, cleansing and sealing it.

He took in what she’d just said and slowly beamed: a radiant smile that gave Elena goosebumps. ‘I did, didn’t I? Fair and square.’

‘Don’t get cocky.’ She rubbed the back of her head ruefully. Being smacked to the stones then crushed by someone twice her size had left her more than a little battered. She reached a hand up to him. ‘Just try not to grab my tits again, right? Now that
would
be cheating.’

He stammered another apology, then clasped her hand and pulled her upright, carefully averting his eyes.

Get dressed, Ella, before the boy dies of embarrassment.

‘Let’s finish for the day,’ she offered. ‘It’s getting late. Your turn to cook.’

He kept his face averted, but she didn’t mind too much: he had a nice profile, and his torso was a beautiful array of toned muscle under bronzed skin. She felt like she was radiating heat herself, and some of that was flooding to parts of her body she didn’t want to think about just now.

From the door, she turned back and called, ‘Kazim?’

He turned and faced her. ‘Ella?’

Ella
… He’d not shortened her name before. She felt a little flutter of pleasure and pain at the way he said it.
We’re so close, but the barriers are still there
– she felt such an urge to rip them down. ‘Kaz, you do see it, don’t you: that these rules and punishments are how they control us? They don’t come from God. They are nasty little strictures invented by men to enslave other men.’

Like the rule that says I’m nefara, and so you won’t see me as a woman …

His face tightened as if in pain. ‘Ella, this last year, I have lost almost everything – my home, my family, my fiancée, and now even my fellow warriors. Everything has been torn from inside me, one by one, and there is nothing left now but a tiny flame, surrounded by God’s mercy. It hurts me when you question that.’

She winced at the bleakness in his voice. ‘The Jhafi Amteh don’t even have the concept of nefara. I’d never heard of it until I met you.’

He shook his head sullenly. ‘Then they are heathen also. You cannot pick and choose the laws of Ahm, Ella. You are either faithful totally or not at all.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Damn it, you’re in a cage and you don’t even see it.’ She recalled other arguments, with Kore priests and Sollan drui, cunning debaters with glib tongues and faultless reasoning who could explain any crime as God’s will.

She stomped away, abruptly sick of the whole subject.

*

Kazim lay on his mattress in his darkened room. Through the small square window the night sky glittered with stars. The mountain winds caressed the leaves of the vines that clad the outside stonework. The cooler weather and daily rain had stirred fresh vigour into the vegetation, bringing it back to life. In Lakh tales, romance always blossomed during the rainy season.

He rubbed his palm on the sheet again, as if trying to wipe away the memory of her breast under his hand. Despite the later argument and his pent-up frustration at their bickering, it was that moment he was carrying with him into the night. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of some unspeakable fall.

She is nefara: utterly nefara.
She had boasted of it – admittedly, while she was drunk.
Lies. Theft. Murder. And unnatural acts – she said so herself
.

But still he couldn’t help but picture her lithe body as he’d seen it that day in the river, could imagine her lying beneath him, moving with him as they coupled. The mental images were driving his cock to new extremes of rigidity.

If she walked through my door now …

His mind went
YES!
as his door swung open.

But it wasn’t Elena, come to drag him into Shaitan’s fires.

It was Jamil, with his finger to his lips.

Hermetic: Animism

Some there are that even speak with beasts, hear and smell and taste as beasts, and even take their forms. There is no limit to the deviancy of the Magi.

T
HE
K
ALISTHAM
, H
OLY
B
OOK OF
A
MTEH

Strange though it may sound, I feel closer to Kore in beast-form than at any other time.

S
ENDARA
G
ARRYN
, B
RICIA
, 791

Javon Coast, Antiopia
Zulqeda (Noveleve) to Zulhijja (Decore) 928
5
^th
and 6th months of the Moontide

Smoke rose lazily from the funeral pyre which lit up the surface of the river carving its way through the valley. The low hills all about them were purple with heather, and lush grasslands all but choked the flow of water on this wide delta. The song of passing rose from fluted alien mouths, carrying through the still night air.

Mesuda and Reku, the two Eldest, had died, and every lamia mourned. Mesuda had gone first, dying within a few minutes of landing in the promised land on this chosen place, here on a river delta five miles inland from giant falls on the west coast of Javon.
The Promised Land
. The sheer power of her emotions had ruptured her aged heart.

Reku had finally been granted the title she had craved for so many years, only to die that same night, so now Kekropius was Eldest, and
his first job was to preside over the double funeral of the first two lamiae to die in their new home.

Alaron found himself weeping, affected by the sorrow of all about him. Mesuda had been almost kindly, though she’d always put the clan’s interest far above his own. He had even come to respect Reku – and he’d proven himself to her in the end, he was sure of that. He’d visited her just before the end and she’d gripped his hand and smiled at him as she nibbled his thumb in jest. He’d even miss her – a little, at least.

Cym reached out and took his hand. They were standing next to the Rondian windshipmen, whose fate was still undecided. Kekropius was trying to work out an oath that might be compelling enough that he could afford to let them go, though there was considerable dissent on the matter.

After he’d finished his words of farewell, Kekropius joined Alaron and Cym. ‘This place is perfect,’ he told them, his voice heavy with emotion. ‘No humans come here. The nearest settlement that the map on the windship shows, this “Lybis”, is more than one hundred miles inland. There is plentiful fresh water and game, even land for cropping, if we can learn the art of it. It truly is the Promised Land.’ He laid a hand on Alaron’s shoulder. ‘This is all thanks to you, Milkson.’

That’s enough about the milk
. ‘I was just lucky you were there when that Inquisitor found me,’ Alaron said, the high emotion of the moment making him feel rather uncomfortable.

‘It was a happy day for everyone.’ Kekropius smiled, flashing his fangs. ‘Except the Inquisitor. So, what will you do now?’

‘We have to find my mother,’ Cym interrupted before Alaron could respond.

‘Where is she?’ Kekropius asked. ‘Can we aid you in any way?’

‘We’re both as bad as each other at Clairvoyance,’ Alaron admitted. ‘I think we’re going to need Ildena’s help again. It’s nearly three hundred miles to Hebusalim and the sea’s in the way, as well as mountains.’

He turned back to Cym. ‘You’ve not seen your mother since you
were a baby – you don’t even know what she looks like.’ He hated to sound so pessimistic, but as he’d told her over and over again, he doubted they’d be able to do it, even with the lamiae’s help.

Cym pulled up her sleeve to reveal a tarnished silver bracelet. ‘She left me this when she handed me to my father. She took it from her own wrist.’

It’s just a trinket – who knows if your mother had any emotional connection to it? But I found you with a wooden doll, so who knows?

‘It’s worth a try,’ he said, trying to instil some enthusiasm into his voice.

*

They tried scrying for Justina Meiros that very evening. Alaron sat cross-legged in a circle on a hill overlooking their encampment, together with Cym, Ildena, Nia and Vyressa. Ildena cradled her distended belly protectively; she was due any day now.

Kekropius sat to one side, trying to placate Fydro, who was concerned the exertions might harm his wife and their unhatched offspring, even though Alaron was fairly confident that scrying carried no physical risk to her.

‘We’re just testing,’ he told her. ‘You don’t need to work hard – just be careful not to over-exert yourself, okay?’

Nothing happened, and after half an hour Alaron was about to give up when he suddenly recalled something Magister Fyrell had once said: to find a blood relative, one could use actual blood.

After persuading Cym that the spell needed just a few drops, not a flagon of her blood, he pricked her finger with the tip of his knife and carefully dripped three drops into the water in the scrying bowl. Behind his closed eyes he watched as the gnosis links surged and carried them outwards like a web of light. He had no idea which way they were going, for their inner vision blurred from host to host: the spirits of the air and the ghosts of the living.

Then, abruptly, those spirits became fewer and fewer, and he and the lamiae had to push harder to find the next. Ildena’s hand became slick with perspiration and he could feel sweat running down his own brow.

We can’t keep this up much longer
…

Then they struck a ward and they all shouted in shock—

he sent to the lamiae women.

They struck the second veil, and Cym cried aloud, ‘Mother?’

A hesitant, stunned mental voice responded, ‘
Child?
’

Alaron felt Cym’s tears as if they were his own. The ward-veils opened all at once and they saw a woman in a blue mantle, standing in the middle of a cylindrical, open-roofed chamber made of stone. Waves crashed and gulls shrilled.

Cym shouted, her voice hoarse, ‘
Mother! It’s me! It’s your Cym—
’

‘
Sol et Lune!
’ The mental image surged closer, revealing a pale, aristocratic face with a haughty nose and harsh mouth. Justina Meiros’ diamond eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. ‘Cymbellea? Truly?’

Isle of Glass, Javon Coast, Antiopia
Zulhijja (Decore) 928
6
^th
month of the Moontide

Ramita Ankesharan was cooking, a magic she understood more clearly than any of Justina’s gnosis lessons. She had chosen a recipe her mother had taught her and was lightly roasting spices over the gnosis-heated element while soaking chunks of defrosted chicken in the yoghurt she’d made herself. Her body felt lethargic and offcolour, as if she was starting a slight fever. Winter was coming. The air was palpably colder outside now, and it seeped into the stone that enclosed them. The sunlight through the skylights barely lit the chamber, and the gnosis-lights felt wan.

As she entered the seventh month of her pregnancy, Ramita felt like she’d doubled in size. Her belly was so swollen she could no longer walk but was reduced to waddling everywhere. In the mirror-glass her face was pudgy; she looked like her mother. That made her cry.

She barely heard Justina as she came down the stairs, but when
she did look round she cried out in alarm. The jadugara was clinging to the railing; she looked as unsteady as a drunk. Her first thought was that she’d been at the opium again, despite all her promises, but then she saw Justina was almost blinded by tears.

She took her frying-pan off the heat and hurried over to her, crying, ‘Justina, what is it?’

Justina stared glassily at her, then let go of the railing and collapsed into Ramita’s open arms. She staggered, and only her involuntarily summoned Earth-gnosis gave her the strength to guide Justina to the nearest chair. Justina collapsed into it and began to cry anew.

Ramita knelt beside her, growing increasingly alarmed. ‘What has happened?’ she asked. ‘Justina, what can I do?’

After several moments, Justina gasped out, ‘My daughter—’

Ramita stared. It took her a minute to work out what Justina was saying, but then her mind took her back to the sad tale Justina had told her, of bearing a daughter, and giving the child away to the father. Was she having some attack of remorse?

‘I am sure she is well,’ she began, but Justina cut her off.

‘She contacted me,’ she whispered hoarsely.
‘My daughter contacted me.’

Ramita went cold all over, terrified. All the lessons Justina had pounded into her, of being wary of the tricks and traps other magi might set, of false contacts and cruel games, set off warning bells inside her head. Why would this semi-mythical daughter contact her now, when she was a fugitive, hunted? Her mind went instantly to Alyssa Dulayne, who knew all of Justina’s secrets and vulnerabilities. Concocting some lie to lure Justina out would be child’s play to her.

‘Are you sure it was her?’ she demanded sceptically.

‘I gave birth to her,’ Justina said. ‘I
know
her.’

‘You had her only a few months,’ Ramita pointed out. ‘Do you know her now?’

Justina made a conscious effort to gather herself. ‘I know my own child.’ She wiped her eyes and met Ramita’s probing stare. ‘I hear what you are saying – I do. But it was her, I would swear it.’

‘And what are her loyalties to a mother she has never met?’ Ramita
replied. ‘She was raised in Yuros. Why would she contact you now?’

‘She’s in trouble. She has something the Inquisition want.’ Justina seized Ramita’s hands. Fear spread over her face. ‘I cannot let those bastards take my daughter. I must protect her.’

Ramita licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘What did you tell her?’

Justina looked away. ‘I told her to come here.’

Ramita stared. She had spent night after night in overpowering loneliness, fending off Huriya’s whispers, though she longed so much to open up and talk to someone –
anyone
. And now, Justina had cast aside prudence – on a whim! It filled her with an anger that surprised her.

She rose to her feet and shouted, ‘How
dare
you? We are here to guard your father’s unborn children! You swore to protect them, and now you risk everything for your own selfish wants?’

Justina’s eyes flared. ‘She’s my daughter! She needs me, for the first time ever, she
needs
me!’

‘You think only of yourself!’

Justina’s aura flared red and her hand whipped across—

—and Ramita caught it. She didn’t know how; she made no conscious move, but reflex and the weeks of training took over. She clamped her stone-hard grip about Justina’s skinny wrist and held on.

As Justina snarled and gathered her energies, Ramita sent her skidding across the room, armchair and all, not even considering the ‘how’. As woman and armchair thudded against the wall, the wooden frame of the seat cracked and Justina’s body was thrown back into the padding.

‘Don’t you
ever
hit me,’ Ramita shouted.

Justina stared at her, stunned, as the armchair broke apart, leaving her sprawled in the wreckage. They glared at each other from opposite sides of the room as the air crackled with unresolved energies. Then sanity returned.

In all their training they had carefully avoided direct confrontation, but she clearly regarded herself as the stronger. That brief flurry of activity had taken less than a second and they’d both been
acting without thought, but the winner had been clear. Ramita had never been stronger than anyone in her life – she’d not fought physically since she was about eight. She barely recognised herself.

Justina exhaled and visibly calmed herself.

Ramita watched warily for some underhand counterblow, but none came. ‘You have put us at risk,’ she stated.

Justina hung her head. ‘I know. But she
needs
me.’

What will I do, when my children call my name?
Ramita unclenched her hands. ‘I understand. It is done now.’ She cradled her belly. ‘What do we do now? When will she arrive?’

Justina acknowledged the placatory words. ‘In a few days. They have a windskiff.’

‘
They?
’

‘There is a
boy
with her.’ Justina said the word ‘boy’ as if it meant ‘noxious parasite’.

Ramita smiled at that.

Justina scowled. ‘I am sorry for striking you.’

‘You didn’t,’ Ramita reminded her. ‘You only
tried
to.’

Dhassa, Antiopia
Zulhijja (Decore) 928
6
^th
month of the Moontide

Huriya sat facing the circle of Souldrinkers, who were hanging on her every word. They were all Hermetic magi, the exact opposite of her. She couldn’t shape-change, but they couldn’t do the mind-work she could. Though she was jealous of their bond, she was not jealous of them. She was who she was.

‘I have been calling to Ramita Ankesharan, using Mesmerism to make the call more alluring,’ Huriya said. ‘She is hiding somewhere with Justina Meiros. I can feel Ramita listening to me, even though she doesn’t respond. She is not very skilled in Clairvoyance; she fails to realise that just by listening, she creates a link.’

‘Is it enough to find her?’ Perno asked in his deep voice.

‘Not yet. She has strong wards. But it reveals certain things.’ She glanced at Zaqri, who smiled deferentially at her, but with no warmth. She wanted him, but he didn’t want her – that had never happened to her before. Her resentment of Ghila, the leonine pack leader’s mate, deepened.

Sabele had summoned Zaqri’s pack after many days in the wild to follow up the new clues Huriya had found. They were all naked and dirty and they looked even wilder and more bestial than before. They’d ignored all other foodstuffs save for raw meat, and Huriya realised many of them were barely human now. Only the older ones had managed to find their human voices again.

She was very glad that animism was not a strong affinity for her.