Taste of Lightning (19 page)

Skir and Tansy pulled apart. Skir cautiously felt his nose. Tansy snapped a handful of sea-grass and scattered it over Sedge; the mare's once glossy coat was dull now, and her legs stuck out as stiff as poles. Tansy paused over her. ‘Funny, ain't it? How she ain't
here
no more.'

‘Yes,' said Skir, and all at once he was in the clearing by Elvie's hut, with the dagger in his hand, and there was the soldier jumping out at him, and it was so sudden, so quick, the feel of the dagger as it went in, the noise as it came out. The young soldier's eyes going wide, his wispy yellow moustache, his open mouth, his crooked teeth – As if Tansy sensed his thoughts, she turned to him. ‘You're a priest. You got any words to say, words for the dead?'

Skir pulled himself upright. Of course he knew what to say. This was one part of his role that always felt right and true: he spoke well, and he knew it, and he knew that others knew it too. He tasted the solemn power of the words, even there on the beach, under the wide sky, without the echoes of the Temple to give them strength. Though somewhat muffled because of his swollen nose, the familiar speech flowed without a stumble.

‘Sedge, our sister in faith, we honour you in death as we honoured you in life. From earth and air, from fire and water, you were born. To earth and air, to fire and water, you will return. As the rain joins the river, your spirit joins the Great Spirit and becomes one with it. You are not lost. You have come home.'

He bowed his head, and the gulls cried overhead. Tansy blinked.

‘Did you think that up yourself?'

‘Me? No! It's ancient, as old as the Temple. Maybe older. We say those words when a priest dies.'

Tansy nodded. ‘Well, it was beautiful.'

Skir said, ‘Tansy, are you angry with me for not being a chanter?'

Tansy was quiet. Then she reached for his hand and squeezed it. ‘I ain't happy that you lied to me. But I ain't angry. You can't help what you are, no more than anyone.'

‘I suppose that means Perrin can't help being obnoxious,' said Skir savagely.

That made her laugh. Skir thought, I should kiss her now. Right now, while we're alone, while she's holding my hand. Now, after I made her laugh, while she isn't thinking what an idiot I am.

But it was too late. Tansy wiped her nose on her sleeve, and sighed. ‘Better catch up with Perrin and Penthesi, I guess.'

‘Yes,' said Skir. At least they were still holding hands as they walked together, both grateful for the silence and the falling dusk.

CHAPTER 11

Dody's Leap

THE next day they loaded Penthesi and set off along the beach, hidden from the road by the swell of the dunes. The sand was baked hard, and the sun glared overhead. They walked mostly in silence. Skir had two black eyes. Tansy suspected that Perrin might have actually broken his nose. How would the Cragonlanders punish someone who broke their Priest-King's nose? Because whatever Skir said, sorcerer or not, he was still the Priest-King.

Tansy squinted against the rising sun as she walked with Penthesi. It was as if Skir were two people: the self-assured priest, master of words, who had spoken over Sedge's body; and the miserable boy who scuffed his boots in the sand ahead of her, his head twisted against the sun's glare. And because of that, Tansy's own feelings were a muddle between awe and respect on one hand, and a kind of exasperated, protective fondness on the other. Tansy remembered Elvie's sly smile as she'd questioned her about the boys.

And what did she feel about Perrin? He was two people, too. There was the arrogant obnoxious smart-breeches that Skir complained about, but there was also the gentle man who'd stroked the mare's nose as he sang to her . . .

Penthesi snorted, and looked mournfully around for Sedge. Tansy murmured, ‘I know, my sad boy. You loved her, didn't you? You'll miss her, poor Sedge.'

Perrin stalked ahead. ‘Look!' he called over his shoulder. ‘We're almost there.'

Now they could all see the brown folds of the mountains of Cragonlands, floating on a thick haze of green: the dense forests of needlewood that marked the border.

Skir said nothing; he stared ahead, tenderly touching his swollen nose.

‘Cheer up!' said Tansy. ‘You're nearly home.'

‘If they still want me,' muttered Skir.

‘Least Wanion can't catch us there –'

‘Sh!' Perrin held up his finger for silence. Swiftly he scrambled to the top of the dunes to check the road, and just as quickly slid down again. ‘Soldiers.'

Tansy put her hand automatically to her sword-hilt, just as once she would have clutched at her luckpiece. ‘How many?'

‘A company. A couple of hundred men.'

‘Which way are they coming from?'

Perrin gestured ahead; the troops were between them and the forest.

‘Solk's Wood,' said Skir dully. ‘The road leads to Solk's Wood. It's a garrison town. Crawling with soldiers.'

Perrin's hands curled into fists. ‘Then why didn't you –' With an effort, he controlled himself. ‘It might have been useful to know that earlier,' he said through gritted teeth.

There was nowhere to hide. The beach was wide, and empty; only the soft mounds of the dunes, scattered with clumps of sea-grass, stood between them and the approaching soldiers. They could all hear the faint clink of metal, the tramp of boots, growing louder every moment, and there was nothing they could do but wait for the troops to pass. Tansy felt a trickle of sweat run down her nose. Penthesi shifted from hoof to hoof, not understanding why they'd suddenly stopped, and Perrin reached up to pat and shush him.

Perrin looked very handsome with his tousled dark hair and his clear, angry blue eyes. Angry with Skir, thought Tansy, and felt a stab of protectiveness. While the others stood tense and alert, Skir had slumped onto the sand; his head drooped between his knees as the sun beat down on the back of his neck.

The tramp of boots grew louder and louder. Tansy could hear the rhythmic beat of a marching chant, without being able to make out the words. Da-dee-da-dee-da-dee-dum, da-dee-da-dee-da-dee-
dum
. The shuffle and clatter of shields and spears and breast-plates built to a roar; Tansy's hand tightened on her sword-hilt. Then, to her surprise, she found her other hand in Perrin's cool, dry grip, and he was smiling at her. It was a smile of encouragement, one soldier to another, and Tansy returned it uncertainly, her feelings more confused than ever.

And then, before she had time to realise it, the noise of the troops was fading. The marching chant diminished to a grumble like a dying thunderstorm, and was gone.

‘They've passed,' said Perrin, and let go of Tansy's hand.

‘Listen,' said Tansy. ‘We oughta send Skir on ahead. Skir and Penthesi. They'll be safe in the trees, they can wait for us there. Don't matter so much if you and me get caught, long as Skir's all right.'

But Perrin shook his head. ‘Better if we all stick together.'

‘No it ain't. Safer if we split up, specially now we know there's soldiers around.'

‘I said no, Tansy!' Now the clear angry blue light was turned on her. ‘Not when we're so close.'

‘That's right,' said Skir. ‘Talk about me as if I'm not here. As if I don't exist.'

‘Oh, stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself,' snapped Perrin. Then his head whipped around; he had better hearing than a dog. ‘Hoof-beats.'

Tansy's heart skipped. ‘The Captain?' she whispered. ‘Wanion's man?'

Perrin had scrambled up the dune to look. ‘It's him. Browny-grey cloak. Coming fast.'

‘That's it then.' Tansy made a step for Skir with her hands. ‘Gallop for the woods, hard as you can. Don't lose Penthesi. Perrin'll find you later.'

‘But I can't gallop Penthesi! I couldn't even manage Sedge.'

‘Quick,' said Tansy. ‘
Quick!
' She hoisted Skir onto Penthesi's back. Penthesi barely waited for Skir to find his seat before he was off, thundering away along the curve of the beach.

‘Tansy!' Perrin grabbed her shoulder. ‘I said no! We can't split up now!'

‘Too late.' Tansy watched them go. ‘Safer this way. Gotta be.'

‘Yes, but –'

‘But what?'

‘All our supplies are in the saddlebags,' said Perrin lamely. ‘Oh well. Come here.'

‘What are you doing?'

‘Putting my arm around you. If the Captain looks over the dunes, he'll think we're a courting couple. By the bones! Anyone'd think you'd never been walking with a boy before.'

‘Is that what they call it in Rengan?' said Tansy tartly. ‘Walking?' After a moment she began to giggle. ‘You forgotten I'm wearing boy's clothes?'

‘Oh,' said Perrin. But he left his hand where it was, resting lightly on her waist; and Tansy let him.

Numbly, Skir gave Penthesi his head; he didn't think he could control him even if he wanted to. It was all he could do to hang on while the bags and bundles bumped against him and the sand blurred below. Penthesi put his ears back, and his hoofs thundered. Presently the big horse seemed to decide that it was time to leave the beach; he leaped and scrabbled up and over the dunes.

‘Hey! Whoa!' said Skir, in alarm, staring around to see if the soldiers or the Captain were in view. But Penthesi had chosen well. They were in a narrow valley where a stream ran down to the sea, hidden from either side.

Penthesi streaked across the meadows toward the thick hedge of green below the brown haze of the mountains. Skir managed to keep his balance. The rhythm of the gallop swung through his bones; he wasn't going to topple off. The woods were closer. The border forests were all one colour, the dull, unrelieved grey-green of needlewood. The trees waited, still and silent, as Penthesi galloped toward them, and a chill ran down Skir's spine.

Then, suddenly, they were at the edge of the forest. Penthesi halted, his sides heaving. In the silence, Skir heard the drumbeat of distant hoofs.

Skir squeezed his legs in panic. ‘Go on! Go on! He's coming!'

Penthesi snorted. Clammy sweat broke out all over Skir. He wished he'd never let the others out of his sight. The forest was dark and tangled; the heavy branches of needlewood brushed the ground. Then Skir realised what the problem was; Penthesi was waiting for him to get down. It would be easier to walk between these trees than ride. He slid off Penthesi's back and wound the bridle around his fist.

Pushing between the branches was like shoving against an endless leaden curtain. Each downward-hanging branch was laden with stiff, prickly needles, a dead weight that resisted being moved aside. The sunlight that struggled down between the needlewoods was murky and shifting; Skir couldn't see the sun or tell which direction they were walking. The needles snagged on the canvas of the saddlebags, and soon Skir's arms were covered in tiny nicks.

After a while Skir stopped and listened. Nothing. ‘We'll wait here,' he murmured. ‘That's what we'll do. Sit tight.' Penthesi regarded him with one solemn, liquid eye. Skir felt like crying. Were they far enough into the forest? Would they be safe? Priest-King of Cragonlands, heir to the Circle of Attar, leader of his people? He couldn't even walk through the woods. He was useless, a fraud, an impostor. Without Tansy and Perrin to look after him he wouldn't have lasted half a day. He'd be better off dead . . .

It was true. The words seemed to take on a weight of certainty: a cold, stony logic, like a rock in his stomach. Everything would be better if he were dead. Cragonlands would be better off: the priests could choose a new Priest-King, one with the powers he was supposed to have. Beeman and Tansy and Perrin would all be free –

A twig cracked in the forest, and Skir started violently. Formless terror flooded through him. He wanted to be dead, but not caught by Wanion, with her skin-peelers and her finger-slicers.

Skir threw himself onto Penthesi, and the horse smelled his terror. Even before Skir could urge him on, Penthesi crashed away deeper into the forest, with the Captain crashing after them.

To Skir, the chase stretched endless as a nightmare. He blundered through the trees, whipped and scratched by needles like a thousand metal pins, sliding around on Penthesi's back, his feet tangled in saddlebags and bundles. Sometimes the Captain was so close that Skir heard his horse whinny, and the crash and crunch of hoofs on fallen needles. But then Penthesi sped away, and Skir could hear only the pounding of his own heart and the rasp of the stallion's breath. Once they waited while the sun shifted a handspan across the sky. But then came a horse's snort, the metallic clash of branches, and the hunt was on again.

Perrin's hand didn't remain on Tansy's waist for long. An unspoken urgency drove them to walk faster and faster, hand in hand, and then they began to half-run, in silence, along the sand.

Tansy panted, ‘We oughta cross the road. Cut through the fields.'

‘No,' said Perrin. ‘Keep to the beach.' He put on a spurt of speed so that she had to run outright to keep up with him. They splashed across the stream that Penthesi had jumped and kept running, feet squelching in their wet boots.

‘No sign of Skir.'

‘Nor the Captain. He must've passed us.'

‘Unless he's waiting.'

They both ran faster, Perrin with long, loping strides and Tansy's feet flashing beside him. They didn't speak, just ran steadily, side by side, while the sun glared on the tops of their heads, then slowly began to slide down the sky behind them.

Then Perrin stopped dead. ‘There.' His voice was low and savage.

Tansy stared. The beach curved around to meet the forest in a tumble of rocks. The mouth of a creek flowed out between the steep sides of a wooded gully, forming a narrow, sheltered inlet. In the tiny harbour lay a boat.

‘It's all right,' said Perrin. ‘They're not here. They're upstream, at the bridge. At Dody's Leap. Come on.' He began to climb the slope into the forest, springing from one tree to the next, steadying himself against the rough bark of each tree trunk.