Slaves of the Mastery (33 page)

Now, following that sense that was neither sound nor smell, but through which she felt her twin, and careless of the danger around her, she ran up the stone stairs, knowing he was not far now,
and he was suffering.

Not many strides behind her, also running, came Ortiz.

Bowman stood in the Master’s cell, his eyes closed, locked deep in the mind duel. His face felt cold, very cold. His body was going numb. He had lost all sense of time.
Had he been here for seconds, or for centuries? He no longer knew. The Master faced him, still and expressionless, in silent struggle with his younger opponent. Each had entered the other’s
mind, and slowly, with ever-increasing force, sought to stifle it. To Bowman it was as if he had reached out an invisible hand, and now held it clamped over the old man’s face, crushing and
suffocating him: while at the same time the Master’s hand was on his own face, and it was hard for him to breathe. So hard, so slow –

There came a distant rattle of sound, somewhere far away. A figure entered the room, seeming to float, it moved so slowly. With it came a familiar feeling, warm and strong, tugging him out of
his duel.

Kess
!

At once, seizing the break of concentration, the Master’s will surged into Bowman like a river in spate. Bowman fell slowly, so slowly to the ground, choking, drowning. All around him the
air was full of a thick buzzing, like a cloud of sleepy flies.

Bo! Use me
!

Kestrel was sending him all her fierce young will, to fight the dark flood. Bowman stirred and revived a little, and began doggedly to claw his way back, assisted now by Kestrel’s
will.

Ah
! murmured the Master, feeling the change.
Two become one.

With a sudden push, Bowman was back in the Master’s mind, and the duel resumed. Calling on all his strength, he drove deeper, further than he had gone before, but however deep he went
there was more.

Two is better than one,
mocked the Master,
but you’ll need more. Call for help and help will come.

Never
!

Don’t say that, boy. Even you may need help.

He gave a twist of his mind-grip that made Bowman gasp with pain. But Bowman did not let go. They had reached so far into each other now that they were sharing a heartbeat, and Bowman found with
shock that he could look out of the Master’s eyes. The duel moved at lightning speed, but outside the two of them everything else was moving so slowly it barely moved at all.

It was with this slowed double vision that Bowman saw Ortiz enter the room: first though his own eyes, then through the eyes of the Master. He saw Ortiz turning, his arms reaching out to seize
and hold Kestrel. He heard the low buzzing sound that was Ortiz’s voice.

‘Mmmmaaasssterrr . . .’

Ortiz was asking for orders. Before his request could be completed in the form of spoken words, the Master was replying.

‘Kill her! Kill her! Kill her! Kill her! . . .’

He spoke the words only once: the echo came from within Bowman, as he heard through the Master’s ears, and through his own, round and round in an eternal loop of sound.

No
!

Through the Master’s eyes he saw Ortiz’s face contort with pain. Through his own senses he felt Ortiz’s agony, as obedience clashed with love. Of course! He remembered now,
faintly, from so long ago. He loves my sister. He won’t kill her.

But already Ortiz’s right hand was tracking down through space to find the pommel of his sword, and the left arm was crushing her tight against his chest.

‘I obey, I obey, I obey, I obey . . .’

The fuzzy words echoed in Bowman’s ears as he felt the Master’s power hold him too in its grip, so still and unfathomable and merciless. Dimly, far-off, he heard Ortiz sobbing, and
saw the tears crawl slowly down his face, and knew that he wept for Kestrel, who he loved and must kill. Out slid the bright sword, longer and longer in the slanting light from the sky, until it
flashed free. Bowman saw that slow dazzle from one side, from the other, saw the sharp blade turn and start to float, to drift, ah, so slowly, towards his sister’s breast.

Furiously, wildly, hopelessly, Bowman beat with his own will against the Master’s implacable power. The old man sat still, his eyes open, the faint smile still lingering; but behind that
filmy gaze lay the force he could not overcome. Not alone. Not with Kestrel. Not without help.

Kill her, kill her, kill her, kill her . . .

On sailed the bright blade, driven by the obedient tormented hand of Marius Semeon Ortiz, slave of his Master’s will. Kestrel’s eyes looked round, reached out, uncomplaining, filled
with pity, not for herself but for the brother she loved more than herself –

Love you, Bo –

So close now, and he knew he could not break the Master’s grip, not alone, not without help. What choice did he have?
Quick, now, quick
! Had he not surrendered before? What
innocence had he to protect?
Now, now
! Would he not die for her, his dear one, his half-self, his sister? Then why not call for help from the only source greater than this old man, this well
of desirelessness, this Master?
Must she die for my purity
?

‘Help me!’ he cried aloud, his voice sounding thin and strange. ‘I can’t do it alone!’

He saw the Master’s face twist into a smile of victory, even as he felt the power come pulsing into him.

One of many, part of all
!

He drew deep strong breaths. He grew. He swelled. He burned. The sword was still in motion towards its deadly goal, but now Bowman was overtaking it in its flight, overtaking time itself, as the
bright pure spirit of the Morah rose within him.

We are legion! We are all
!

Kestrel saw in his eyes the many eyes, the hundreds of eyes possessing him, and knew what he had done for her. But she could not stop him now.

No more fear now! Let others fear
!

As the power grew and grew, he turned it on the Master, bearing down on him, suffocating him, crushing him. He heard the old song in his head, and marching now to its tune, though his body never
moved, he felt the savage joy blossom within him.

Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill
!

The old man’s power dwindled before him, unable to resist the legion that was the Morah.
Kill
! said Bowman, pressing, squeezing.
Kill
! he cried, forcing the life out of his
enemy without moving a finger.
Kill
! as he felt the old man fading, and he laughed and rejoiced, and would not let him go.

Ortiz sensed the Master’s power leave him, and the sword stopped in its path, an inch from Kestrel’s breast. Still holding her tight, wracked by anguish, he bent his tawny head over
her shoulder and sobbed.

This is how Mumpo found him as he burst into the room. This is how Mumpo saw him, from the back, his sword still seemingly poised to strike. Springing forward without a second thought, his fist
struck Ortiz at the base of his skull with all the power at his command. Ortiz died in that instant, with Kestrel in his arms, and the tears fresh on his cheeks. Mumpo seized him in his fury, and
tore him away from Kestrel, and hurled him aside.

‘Has he hurt you?’

‘No,’ said Kestrel, shivering and shivering. ‘I’m not hurt.’

She looked down at where Ortiz lay, and he looked unhurt, and beautiful in death. She had her vengeance. But nothing was the way she had supposed. There was no rejoicing in her heart.

The Master’s eyes had never left Bowman’s. The light of life was fading fast now. He fought no more. The great will that had built and sustained a nation was broken.

‘Free at last,’ he murmured; and the light went out.

Kestrel felt the shudder of separation go through her brother. She felt him come slowly from a dark deep place, back into the light. When at last he turned to look at her there was such anguish
in his eyes that she cried out loud and ran to him, to take him in her arms. He let her embrace his burning body, and kiss his fiery cheeks. Slowly he raised his arms to hold her. Slowly,
recognition returned to his eyes.

Couldn’t let you die, Kess. Couldn’t live without you.

Kestrel thanked him with her eyes as she kissed him. But she knew they had very little time.

‘Help me, Mumpo. We must get him away.’

T
he defeat of the Master changed everything. The armed men fighting in and around the hall, pressing in on Zohon’s embattled Johjan Guards,
let their sword arms fall and stood bewildered, uncertain what they were doing or why. They looked at each other, and didn’t recognise each other, and it seemed to them that the men who had
been fighting at their side were strangers. The Johjan Guards understood none of this: only that the tide of battle was turning. Zohon urged his men to renewed efforts, crying,

‘Kang! Kang! Kang! The Hammer of Gang!’

To his astonishment, his encircled men broke through at last. The enemy were giving ground. The enemy were – inexplicably, but all too obviously – giving up.

Kestrel, Bowman and Mumpo made their way back down the stone stairs into a scene of grisly revenge. The Johjan Guards were now advancing on all sides, and killing without mercy. Mumpo protected
Bowman and Kestrel, sweeping armed men aside with brutal skill, as they crossed the great domed hall.

A stout man with a raised sword, who had been fighting his way forward in obedience to his Master’s will, suddenly turned right in front of them and swung his sword against the carved
stone of a pillar. Thock! went the blade as it bit into the delicate stonework. He yelled out loud. Thock! Thock! He yelled ever louder as he hacked, sliced and mutilated the pillar. From outside
in the street there came a loud crash. A group of people had overturned a flower stall, and were stamping and trampling on the flowers. Cries and jeers rose up on all sides. Crash! A window was
broken. Suddenly, as if released by the sound, everyone was breaking windows, swinging at them with swords, pelting them with stones, even kicking them in with their boots. Crash! Crash! Crash! on
every side. A crowd surged into a wine shop and reappeared with their arms full of bottles. Crash! Crash! Crash! as they hurled the bottles against walls, screaming as they did so, howling with
laughter.

In the hall, a tall man stood over the fountain, swinging an axe in both hands. With his first blow he smashed the marble birds. With his second and third blows, he broke the bars of the marble
cage. The water gushed on as before, but now there was no cage to contain it, and no birds to fly the rising wave. Fragments of delicate marble littered the floor, along with shards of broken glass
and blood.

First you destroy –

Destruction indeed! The slaves were free at last, and they were using their freedom to smash and tear, hurt and kill, with no purpose or advantage other than to taste the power so long denied
them. Musicians were trampling on their instruments, dairymen danced in butter, horses stampeded, and children urinated in the streets. Trees were stripped of their branches in the squares. The
gilded carriages of the bridal party were smashed to matchwood. Crazed men even broke into the academy library, and set about hurling books out of the windows. Down in the maddened street the books
could be seen descending, their pages fluttering apart like the wings of wounded birds. Everyone was screaming, either in the wild joy of destruction or in pain from random injuries. And now fires
were being started.

The guards round the monkey wagons had spent the morning watching the antics of a wild grey cat. It had been scrabbling up onto the top of one of the cages, and hurling itself
off again, in the most comical manner. They had tried to pet it, and had offered it food, but it had paid them no attention. Now it was back on top of the cage, preparing yet again to spring into
the air.

Then the shouts and crashes began in the High Domain. The guards turned to see what was going on. The cat too looked across the lake. The prisoners in the cage became frightened, and reached out
to hold each other’s hands. As the sounds of destruction grew, the guards became agitated. They looked from the slaves locked in the cages to the city on the lake and back again, as if aware
that they must do something, but not sure what. Pinto Hath watched them from inside her cage, keeping alert but quiet, holding tight to her neighbour’s hand to give her courage.

All at once her father was there. He had come racing down the hillside to plead with the guards.

‘Listen! Can’t you hear? It’s all over! Everything’s changed now! You can let them go!’

The guard stared back at him with frightened eyes. He was a Loomus, and his mind moved slowly.

‘Let them go?’ he said.

‘Take out the key,’ urged Hanno, speaking clearly and forcefully. ‘Unlock the cage. Let them go.’

‘Let them go?’ said the guard again.

A stream of acrid smoke from the city was carried over the lake by the wind. One of the slaves in Pinto’s cage saw the smoke and cried out,

‘Look! It’s burning!’

‘No!’ cried Hanno. ‘Don’t say it!’

But he was too late. Already the Loomus guard was turning to his companions and saying,

‘Burning! Burning!’

Their wide nostrils snuffed the smell of the smoke, and hearing the distant screams they started to utter small screams of their own. The general confusion seemed to have unhinged them.

‘Burning!’ they shouted, jumping up and down like children at play. ‘Burning!’ They started to laugh. One of them went to the fire and drew out a glowing stick. He held
it out for the others to see. ‘Burning!’

‘Burning!’ they agreed, nodding eagerly.

Hanno threw himself at the guard as he headed for the monkey wagon. The guard never even paused. He just swiped at Hanno with his free hand, and Hanno fell gasping, winded, to the ground. The
guard thrust the burning stick into the dry kindling beneath Pinto’s cage. Pinto and the others tried to push their fingers through the grid to dislodge it, but the mesh was too small.
Already the dry kindling was catching fire. The grey cat felt it, and leaped from the cage-top to the ground.