Tallow (7 page)

Katina sat in the chair opposite, turning expectantly towards Pillar.

It took him a while to find the courage to speak. Slowly, and with great care not to upset me, Pillar told his version of that night on the mountain. Katina never took her eyes off Pillar.

Neither did I.

There were gaps in his story, and I knew there was something he wasn't telling. But, when he finished, Pillar pressed his lips firmly together. For now his tale would lack an ending – or a beginning, I was uncertain which.

Absorbing what she'd been told, Katina sank into her chair. 'I always thought Filippo would last longer in Vista Mare. It must have been too much, all the crossings he made in an attempt to outwit the Morte Whisperers and the oth– To ensure the future. His life-force must have been spent.' She stopped and seemed to collect herself, remembering where she was and to whom she was speaking.

My imagination burned with thoughts and images. My curiosity about the Bond Riders wasn't sated by these snippets of information, but rather fuelled. I could see that Pillar was hanging on her every word as well. I didn't want to interrupt with the questions I was so eager to ask lest she stop talking. I waited, forcing myself to keep completely still.

'All these years,' she continued, 'I believed he'd taken you to someone who would recognise what you were and nurture your talent, prepare you. No wonder it's taken me so long to find you. I was looking in the wrong places.' She laughed. 'A candlemaker. Who would have thought?'

Her laugh was harsh, false even. I thought of Quinn.

Shaken, I slowly stood, biting my tongue as my body protested and pain shot through my limbs, and threw another piece of wood on the fire. 'How come you were looking for me?' I asked over my shoulder. 'You still haven't told us that.'

Katina took a long drink from her flask and then poured some more into all of our mugs. I returned to my chair. 'Because, just like Filippo, I have no choice.'

I looked at her quizzically.

'I am also a Bond Rider.' My heart quickened. 'And, like my brother, I am Bonded to you, Tallow.'

'To me?' I whispered. The room began to contract around me and my heart beat loudly in my ears. 'Why would a Rider Bond to me?'

Katina didn't seem to hear. 'Only, unlike my poor Filippo, after all this time I now have the chance to fulfil my Bond.'

'How?'

'I ... I've been told I must try to train you, Tallow. As for the rest of my Bond,' she shrugged and went to the window. 'All I know is that you are the key to so many things, and that I must prepare you for what lies ahead.'

'And what is that?' I asked softly.

Katina gave a twisted smile. 'The usual – war, heartache and, hopefully, return.'

'Of the Estrattore?'

Before she could respond, Pillar interjected. 'How can you train her?' He rose and joined her. The rain lashed the window. 'For what purpose?' Then a thought occurred to him. 'By God! Are you an Estrattore, too?' Pillar took a step backwards, bumping into the wall.

'Not exactly,' said Katina, smiling. 'But I am the descendant of one. I have been given enough knowledge to unleash many of Tallow's latent abilities and train her in ways to hide them as well. For when an Estrattore reaches puberty – in the case of a girl, menarche – then she also starts to come into her powers. That's why I was able to sense you. To one trained to look, traces of your abilities are everywhere. You've lost your first blood, have you not?'

I lowered my eyes and remembered that time, over six weeks ago, when I'd awoken with severe cramps and found my mattress stained with blood. I nodded. It had been frightening the first time, but Quinn had told me it was normal.
The curse of our kind,
she'd said. I wasn't sure what she meant, but just accepted there was nothing untoward occuring. It had only happened twice so far and wasn't hard to hide.

Pillar coughed. Katina struck the table in triumph. 'Then that explains why I sensed you. And why others can, too. We have to be very careful from now on.'

Recollections of hunger-filled whispers and that overwhelming sense of being watched filled my mind. I shuddered and wrapped my blanket tightly about me.

Folding her arms, Katina regarded me critically. 'It's a good thing you disguised her as a boy, Pillar.
Him.
I mean him. I have to remember that from now on. I will adopt your way. Refer to Tallow and think of you only as a boy. You might be a woman, but we'll work hard to make you a man. It might be the only thing that keeps you safe.'

I shrugged. I'd never thought of myself as other than a boy, so whatever Katina did made no difference to me. I'd already begun strapping my chest and my shirts and vest were big anyway. I was a boy – a strange boy, perhaps – and I didn't know how to be anything else.

'I just hope that today doesn't trigger more omicidi, more allegations and murders of innocents,' said Katina, more to herself than to me or Pillar. 'The soldiers weren't looking for Estrattore; they were searching for kidnappers.'

'Do you know anything about the kidnapping?' I asked.

Katina didn't answer me immediately; instead she went to the window and stared into the night. 'Me? No, why should I? It was just a coincidence, that's all.'

There was something about the way Katina answered – her flippancy and lightness of tone – that didn't ring quite true.

Before I could question her further, she continued. 'They may have been tracking the Doge's grandson, but the Estrattore weren't far from the soldiers' minds, they never are. If I could feel you, chances are there will be someone out there who is trained to look, a padre or someone who may yet report back to –' She paused when she saw the look of concern on Pillar's face. 'I'm sorry. In my excitement, I grew careless. It's my fault the soldiers came here.'

'It wouldn't have made a difference,' I reassured her. 'I've been taught not to engage with strangers, no matter what. You would have had to force me to interact with you.'

'Who do you think might be searching for Tallow?' Pillar interjected. 'What do they want? One Estrattore is not a threat, surely?' Pillar took a step closer to the table, more at ease with Katina now he knew she was only the descendant of an Estrattore.

'Good questions,' said Katina. 'They're ones I keep asking myself. Though let's not forget the poor man they accused all those years ago. He wasn't even an Estrattore, yet he might as well have been. They didn't hesitate to kill him. As for those searching for Tallow, it could be the Doge, or someone connected to him. Remember, it was the Church that persuaded old Doge Alvisio all those centuries ago to get rid of the Estrattore in the first place, convinced him they were a threat and their practices and beliefs heretical. Even now, there are people in the clergy trained to detect them.'

I recalled Padre Foscari in the taverna that afternoon. Clearly, he had been working with the soldiers. I repressed a shudder. Was he one of those trained to find and destroy Estrattore?

'The padres are the worst,' said Katina, seeming to read my mind. 'They're afraid of what will happen should the Estrattore ever return; if the legend comes true.'

'Legend? What legend?' Pillar resumed his seat and picked up his mug. He downed the contents in one mouthful.

'I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. It's in the Church's best interest that it's kept secret. But those with access to archives – the nobiles, philosophers and others within the Church with an interest – know it well. The legend says that one day, an Estrattore more powerful and dangerous than ever before will be born into the world. This Estrattore will unite and lead the exiles triumphantly home and, in so doing, will restore balance to the world.'

'The world is out of balance?' Pillar wondered 'What do you mean? How can you say that?'

Katina raised her eyebrows and leant towards Pillar. Her eyes glowed. 'You need to ask? Can't you feel it?'

Outside I heard the wind screaming. The rain lashed the building, and thunder and lightning tore apart the sky. And, beneath it all, like a persistent melody, was a chorus of murmurs. Faint but nonetheless discernible, it hissed and moaned. The words were not clear, but their meaning was. My head filled with images of dying children, weeping sores and a barren vista of ruins scorched by a pestilent sun. I knew by the expression on Pillar's face that he saw them too. They transformed into pictures of dried canal beds, filled to the brim with bloated toads feeding on swollen corpses.

I shuddered and deep inside me I felt the lure of capitulation.
Don't fight it. It's all inevitable. Nothing can be changed.
After all, death comes to everyone, eventually.

'The world is out of balance,' repeated Katina.

The whispers ceased.

'And the legend says this child can restore it by bringing the Estrattore back?' asked Pillar, his words slightly slurred.

'Indeed, it does.'

'Do you believe in the legend?' I asked.

Katina looked at me carefully. 'I do now, with all my heart.'

'Who ... who is this child, then?' I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear it from this strong woman's mouth.

'Haven't you been listening to a word I said?' Katina shook her head at me, but I could see she wasn't angry.

'It's me, isn't it?' My voice was too small for such a large task.

'Indeed, it is you.'

'HE'S DEAD. YOU'VE KILLED HIM,'
cried Lord Beolin Waterford as he strode across the deck, oblivious to the stares of the sailors or the sting of the sea spray slapping his face.

A tall, cloaked figure standing alone on the poop deck swung at the sound of his voice. Lord Waterford bounded up the steps towards him and then faltered, blame written all over his face.

'You exaggerate, my Lord,' hissed the figure from beneath his hood. 'He is not dead. He is merely severely incapacitated.'

'Why is there no pulse then?' persisted the flustered nobleman. 'I cannot find a pulse. Explain that to me, if you dare, because you'll certainly have to explain it to Queen Zaralina.'

The skeletal being began to shake. He was laughing. Waterford bristled. 'Do not mock me. I don't understand your ways, but I know you've woven your dark magic over the lad and taken the gods know what from him. Unless we bring him to Her Highness alive, then all this has been for nothing.'

His arm swept the deck of the swift Kyprian corsair, the ship they had hired from a merchant who had been not only keen to take their gold but curious about their purpose. Moments after they'd left the isle of Kyprus, their local agent had ensured the merchant did not live to speak of the transaction. Lord Waterford imagined his bloated body was little more than fish bait now.

A gust of wind swept Lord Waterford's hood from his head and his cloak billowed behind him. He quickly pulled the hood back over his hair and held his cloak together with one hand; his other never released its clawlike grip on the rails. By the gods, he thought, glancing at the tortured sky and the tossing seas, it was as if the elements themselves were shouting disapproval at their unnatural deed. Glancing at his companion, he noticed that neither the creature's hood nor cloak even fluttered in the savage winds.

Unnatural indeed,
he brooded.

The creature gave Lord Waterford a mock bow. 'As you are well aware, the boy breathes. He is comfortable; he is safe. That is all that matters. His heart is not your concern.'

Turning aside, Waterford gave a deep, pained sigh. Caught by the wind, it was ripped from his lips and lost in the wide, watery expanse. He too had gone astray, so far from home, so far from those who were familiar to him. Though lately, he reminded himself, home was becoming as alien to him as those he used to call friends. Still, anywhere would be better than drifting on the sea with an unconscious foreign prince and the queen's latest confidant for company.

Instead of dwelling on his current misery and uncertainty, Lord Waterford thought about what lay ahead. Once he was back in the city of Albion, he would present the queen with the fruits of this journey: the Doge of Serenissima's grandson, Claudio Dandolo.

Months of careful planning had gone into the kidnapping. The hiring of the Kyprian ship, which really amounted to stealing and ensured that if their plot was discovered – or worse, foiled – then blame for snatching the princeling would rest solely on the shoulders of Kyprus rather than Farrowfare. The bribing and, later, slaughter of those within the Doge's palazzo who had provided access to the child also ensured their tracks were covered. While he didn't approve of murder, he could at least understand that potential witnesses could not be left alive. Not when a country and a queen's reputation were at stake.

Staring out over the green-blue sea, Lord Waterford wondered, not for the first time, why Queen Zaralina wanted this particular boy. Sure, one day the child would inherit the throne of Serenissima and that made him significant; but there were other, easier ways to grasp power. Serenissima was not averse to forming treaties and trade agreements – not when they worked in the Doge and nobiles' financial favour. Surely there were more subtle ways of establishing supremacy than kidnapping the heir to a throne? That merely invited open hostility.

Farrowfare might lie beyond the Limen, but even that stretch of no-man's land no longer guaranteed protection from invasion – or worse, he thought, glancing at the cloaked figure beside him.

And what did the queen want with a child anyway? Would she demand a ransom? Whatever her intentions, she'd been very clear that the boy was not to be harmed. And while his companion might mock his concern for the prince's wellbeing, at least, he reassured himself, he was adhering to orders.

The ship pitched and Lord Waterford tightened his grip on the rail. Spray rose up over the deck sending a shower of salt water over him. It was cold but he welcomed it as a respite from his fevered thoughts. His eyes flickered towards the creature. Apart from a brief spell below with the boy, he'd maintained the same position – to the left of the wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead – since they fled Serenissima that morning. Waterford noticed the strange grey skin that stretched over the elongated fingers and the spine-like protrusions of the hand splayed on the railing. Though the ship was rolling on the storm-tossed seas and most of the sailors were tied to the sides, or at the very least holding on to something for stability, the creature merely rested his hand. It was if he were a part of the deck, thought Waterford, or a part of the very air.

He was but one of many – the queen's newest allies. They were more shade than human. Dry beings, they seemed to be a part of the earth and yet distinct from it as well.

Appearing unexpectedly at court almost fifteen years ago, the willowy, cloaked creatures, who spoke in breathy whispers and moved with unearthly grace, had been warmly welcomed by the queen. It was almost as if she expected them. Certainly, they behaved as if they'd been summoned.

After their arrival, everything changed: his queen, his country and indeed, his own position at court. Lord Beolin Waterford suddenly found himself, after a number of unfortunate accidents befell his superiors, elevated from minor nobility to the Queen's Council. Not one to miss an opportunity, he made himself indispensable. Learning from the mistakes of his predecessors, he neither questioned the creatures' presence nor his queen's increasing reliance on them. And he was rewarded for his discretion.

Now, Waterford, her most loyal servant, was reduced to nothing more than a kidnapper. He cringed whenever he thought of the boy's mother and father. Already he could imagine their grief, their anger, and most of all their regret because all they would remember over the coming years would be the final punishment they inflicted upon their boy before he was cruelly snatched away. Forever they would wonder about him; their every act from here on would be coloured by the boy's absence: by what Waterford, at the behest of their queen, had done.

And how old was the child? Six? Seven? He frowned, recalling the child's neatly combed brown hair, his blue eyes and ready smile. Why, the boy had welcomed them as they entered the nursery, heavily cloaked and with their weapons drawn. Even the creature, this godforsaken Mortian who had insisted on accompanying them, did not seem to alarm the child. In the end, it had proved a good thing the Mortian had come, for it had quickly dispatched the nursemaid and tutor who had run to the boy's aid, shouting and screaming for help. But help was either out of earshot or dead.

All the boy had done was observe them with his large round eyes. He'd watched as the Mortian killed first his tutor and then his robust nurse. The only time he flinched was when the creature's abnormally long hands had gripped his little chest. Then a small cry had escaped and, his face drained of colour, he'd collapsed. Odd behaviour for one so young.

Would Waterford's own son have been so composed? Unlikely. His Karlin knew far too much, had seen too much in his seven short years. And yet, how would he feel if it was Karlin so white and barely breathing below deck? Whisked away from his family by a group of murderous strangers to a place he'd probably never even heard of, where they spoke an unfamiliar language and followed peculiar customs ... No, he would not rest until he found the culprits. He had no doubt that Claudio's parents would do the same. But it would all be in vain.

Waterford's mind traversed treacherous paths. How could his queen do this to a child? This was out of keeping with her usual methods. And though he'd lied for her, killed for her, and he'd most likely die for her, Waterford didn't like this at all; but he knew from past experience not to show his displeasure – especially not in the company of the Mortian.

The Mortian turned to him. Waterford recoiled. 'You will arrive in Albion in approximately two and a half months' time,' hissed the creature. 'The boy will not wake until he is safe within the castle. You are not to alarm yourself over this, my lord. Your job was to bring me to the child. You have done this admirably.
My
duty is to bring the boy to the queen.
Alive.
Despite your concerns, I will see it done.'

Lord Waterford was surprised. It was the most the Mortian had ever said to him.

'Very well,' he said. 'Do your –' The words froze in his mouth. The Mortian had disappeared. He spun around and checked the poop deck. Apart from the captain standing by the wheel and two sailors in the rigging above, it was empty. The only sign of the Mortian's passage was a grey swirl of mist that quickly dissipated into the evening shadows.

He let out a long, jagged breath. Seconds later, his body began to shake. It was always the same, and not just for him. Uncontrollable tremors and bone-deep chills afflicted anyone who spent too long in a Mortian's company.

For the thousandth time he asked himself: what was his queen up to? Why was she associating with the likes of these creatures? And why, after years of conquering lands to the north and east, was she venturing to the other side of the Limen? No good could come of it. The Limen was there for a reason. Everyone knew the adage:

The Limen shimmers, a force that divides
Revere its power and keep to one side
Respect this for wealth and peace to abide
Breach the gods' rule, and woe betide.

Following the gods' laws for generations, the people of Farrowfare had achieved their promised wealth and happiness. Then Queen Zaralina, despite counsel to the contrary, had decided to breach the Limen and trade with the cities of the Mariniquian Seas, Kyprus, the bountiful Konstantinople and exotic Phalagonia. At first, resistance had been strong, but, as more money came into the country and peace prospered, the adage was conveniently forgotten. But Waterford hadn't forgotten and nor had the others, in spite of their silence.

The Limen had been breached so many times. But now they were bringing someone innocent – a mere child, an unwilling pawn in a deadly political game – through with them. Would the gods allow this? Lord Waterford was not usually a superstitious man, but this was beyond even the gods' archaic laws. This was different. This was life or death. And he knew that one day a price for their disobedience would be extracted.

FINDING SLEEP ELUDED HIM, WATERFORD
stayed on deck as night closed in and wrapped its dark arms around him. The long-promised storm passed over them, breaking somewhere to the north. Nevertheless, they were caught in its tail end as the wind howled and the seas rose. Lanterns were lit and the ship, despite strong gusts that assailed them, pushed on through the reefs. While they believed they'd been successful in their escape, they knew they would not be safe from pursuit until they made it back into the Limen.

Passage through the vast gloomy expanse that formed a border between nations – and, some rumoured, worlds – was usually forbidden to mortals like himself. In the past, only death had awaited those foolish enough to brave its unfathomable paths.

The Mortians, however, had changed that. They were able to sunder a road through the Limen. Holding it open just long enough for the ship to pass through, the Mortian ensured it closed behind them, like a hungry dog snapping at their heels. Waterford still didn't have the nerve to watch. On this voyage from Albion, he'd tried but, afraid of inhaling the unnatural air of the Limen, he'd held his breath to the point of almost blacking out.

While he might have avoided losing consciousness, the looks on the sailors' faces as he'd slowly recovered told him he'd lost his dignity. Better to endure the journey below, where no-one could see his fear, than stand on deck and pretend a bravery that all knew he didn't possess.

Peering into the encroaching darkness, Waterford was grateful that their passage through the Limen was still weeks ahead.

The wind tore through his cloak. Once more, his hood refused to stay on his head. This time, he let it fall. The rain combining with the salt spray tumbled on to his uncovered hair. Water poured down his cheeks, gathering in his eyes and the hollows of his chin and neck. He didn't wipe it away. A splinter of moon pushed its way through the ragged clouds offering little more than a brief sense of direction for the beleaguered crew. But it was enough. Gulls seeking sanctuary lit on the rigging and crow's nest. Their cries gave voice to Waterford's thoughts.
Woe betide,
they said,
woe betide.