The Year of Our War (7 page)

His eyes were pale blue, no differentiation between pupil, iris and sclera. They were fixed on us, as with a deep, ursine voice he grunted, “More tourists.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

“I’m not a tourist,” Dunlin answered, his blood heated by the interruption. I pulled at his sleeve. First thing to learn in the Shift, Tine are dangerous.

“What the fuck’re you then?” He squinted down, eyes like azure pebbles. Awia will mean as much to a Tine as the Cult of the Perforated Lung does to us.

“The Sovereign of Awia.”

“Yeah. A tourist. Get lost before I spill your guts.”

No one in the bar had made a sound since the Tine appeared. Silence deepened as every creature surreptitiously listened in on our show. The Tine snarled, showing myriad, laniary teeth.

“Dunlin,” I put in quickly, raizing a hand as the Tine reached out. “Know when to back down or you won’t last two minutes. Tine,” I addressed him. “I’m an immortal.
Deathless
. And I’m protecting him. So just fucking try it, beast.”

The creature lumbered down onto talons and knees. His bulk pushed the table aside as he gravely licked my boot toe with a tattooed tongue. “Lord. Am Pierce. Am Tine. Drink basilic vein blood, eat spleen, have your testicles for breakfast, tourist. Not that y’have any, hur hur.”

“How did you do that?” said the Sovereign of Awia.

“Immortals don’t fit into their creed. So I usually get worshiped—or attacked. Beliefs are stronger here than in the Fourlands, but don’t ask what the Tine believe in; you don’t want to know. What are you doing here?” I asked the brute.

“Got thrown out of the Aureate,” he rasped. “The Cult of the Clotted Artery’s a heretical sect. No good slaying here; can’t make enough for a cut of meat.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dunlin said calmly.

“Do you know you smell of streaky bacon?” said Pierce.

Now that trouble had passed, Felicitia reappeared and started dealing out drinks. I think Dunlin started to relax, although that may have been a bit much to ask. How could I help him further, now he was stranded here with a lizard, a Tine and a gay Awian? I decided to give him my palace, which I had built over many, many Shifts, a long and painful project.

“The least I can do is give you Sliverkey,” I said. I unpinned my chart from the wall behind the bar and laid it over the table. My outline flickered. I began to feel the pull. With careful timing I said, “You can have this as well. It took me decades, it’s a map of Epsilon. It’s the only map of Epsilon.” My outline began to flicker rapidly and started to dissolve. “Dunlin!” I shouted. “Goodbye!” We rushed to shake hands, but mine were like smoke and Dunlin reached straight through them.

I looked up with a half-smile and faded out halfway through a bow. Dunlin’s last connection with the Fourlands, severed.

I
figured that if I could move my little finger I would eventually be able to move my arm, then my whole body and thus be able to stand up. I sent frantic mental messages down my outstretched arm, but the hand—curled up, skeletal and bluish—refused to move. The syringe was still hanging in the crook of my arm, rooted in my bloodstream. I felt as if it had poured another soul into me, an unreal one, leaching out my quick colors, leaving me chemical.

The thought of this angered me so much that I twitched my fucking little finger, then the rest of my hand, my aching arm, and sat up in an unplanned movement that made the room whirl.

Rayne was still sitting in her rocking chair, watching with timeless patience. She called on god avidly on my behalf. I told her to shut up.

She said, “Jant, that’s not a habi’, tha’s a suicide attemp’.”

“Actually I have much to live for.”

She said, “Jant, wha’ you used was practic’ly clear.”

“Do you think impure is safer?”

“Perhaps eterni’y’s a poor escape from immortali’y.”

“I used to call overdose ‘eternity,’” I agreed. “But these days it’s simply oblivion.”

“Dunlin died.”

Her somber tone whipped my brittle mood up into fury. “I know, Rayne! I already bloody know!” I creaked to my feet, the effort making laden blood crash my mind. God’s wings. “I have a job to do.”

“Yes. Go deliver the will. They’re meeting in t’Solar. Can y’make i’?”

“If I die will you bury me?”

“Comet?” she sounded concerned.

“Listen, Doctor, he died happy. When he rode behind the Wall he did what he wanted to do. He was in control of his own life. Let me know when you find even one immortal who can honestly say that.”

Rayne spread her brown smile. “That’s why we
don
’ die,” she said.

W
hen I walked back through the hospital I saw that the King’s bed was stripped. Now empty, the pewter cup was still on the side table. There are ways of testing for scolopendium. I dropped the cup out of the window, into the river.

S
o we are agreed?”

Mist’s voice, “I back him.”

Ata: “Aye.”

I insinuated myself into the Solar Room as Staniel said, “No. I strongly disagree. With all due respect, Archer—”

“Oh, here he is!” Six pairs of eyes met mine, Staniel looked away again.

I said, “I’m sorry I’m late,” realizing that I must look as sick as I felt.

“
At
last. Now we have to go through all this
again
. Where in god’s Empire have you been?”

I answered the rhetorical question: “I’ve been ill. It was a hard day.” I collapsed into a ladder-backed chair at the foot of the table, my wings tight against it. This furniture had certainly not been crafted in Awia. I looked down the long dining table—transformed into a forum of war.

Mist and Ata sat on my left, with Staniel opposite. Past them on the right were Tawny and Vireo. Candles had been lit to dispel the darkness; it was about one in the morning. A fire in a large stone hearth was reduced to red embers, which with the flickering candle flames cast an ever-changing pattern of shadows over their faces. Coats hung on chair backs; in the last hour Mist had filled a little ashtray to capacity with cigarette butts. I could see another packet in the bag under the table, with a knife, his blue cloak rolled up and a copy of
What Whore
magazine.

There was a carafe of water, which no one had touched, and Genya, presumably, had ordered there to be a whiskey jug as well. The night was hot and I could smell the spirit diffusing from the stoppered jar. I helped myself to water, with a very careful sip. It lessened the nausea and I started to feel a little healthier. I was strongly tempted to just put my head down and go to sleep, but I caught Lightning’s look. I said, “Pray continue.”

Lightning had taken control of the meeting, walking around the outside of the table and occasionally getting sullen responses. He said, “Comet, we will send you back to the Castle, to relate these events to the Emperor.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll stay to disband the Plainslands fyrd, and then I’ll follow on to the Castle, so I should meet you there next week.”

“I have business at the coast,” put in Ata. The bruise around her eye was yellowing, making her look even more frightening than usual.

“The Sailor and his wife will leave for Peregrine. But so we do not leave Lowespass undefended, I recommend that Tornado and Vireo, and Staniel remain here with the Awian fyrd.”

I said, “That sounds fine to me. I can—”

“No. I do object.” Staniel spoke up. He had been sitting with eyes closed, thin fists clenched in a mass of golden hair, drowning in self-pity. He said, “My brother…” His voice was so uneven that he stopped, but couldn’t quite pull himself together again.

Vireo said, “We’ll send a cortege tomorrow.”

Staniel said, “I…I…”

“Yes?”

“I would like the Emperor’s Messenger to announce the news. Every shop will be shuttered; every flag will be lowered. I would rather not sojourn here; I will depart for Rachiswater tomorrow to arrange the coronation.”

Lightning cut in: “Patience, my lord. Awia is safe.” He gave a smile that only I saw as condescending. Awia might well be a safe country to Lightning, who owns a little less than one third of it. “You shouldn’t leave Lowespass under Insect threat. The more commanders here, the better. Follow in your brother’s footsteps!”

“Comet once said I was no warrior,” Staniel pointed out.

“Would you learn?”

“Need I learn when Tawny and Vireo guard Lowespass? I’ll take charge from the Palace which my family built, and then conceivably I will live longer than Dunlin.”

Staniel was suspicious of Lightning’s motives. Uncertain of what moves the other lords might make, he wanted to secure his kingdom. It seemed to me that such misgiving was part of Staniel’s weakness—an overlord who fears those who answer to him will not be a sound ruler. I also knew that Lightning would rather not have him as King, but the Emperor has made it clear that Eszai should influence the affairs of mortals only lightly, if at all. Our purpose is to help them rather than rule or overawe them. It is a difficult balance for Lightning to maintain; his plans for his manor develop over centuries. He is always more comfortable when Awia has a wise overlord—one wise enough to know when to leave well alone.

My history is as far removed from the power play of Awia as the slums are from the Palace; it is my responsibility to remind them of the Castle’s authority. I addressed Staniel: “Your Highness, if you wish to leave that is your decision as King, and we must agree to it.”

“Is he, though?” said Lightning softly. “Castle will take charge if it isn’t clear who rules.”

“But it is clear.”

“We don’t know Dunlin’s will.”

“We do.” I took the folded piece of bed linen from my back pocket and shook it out. “While you lot were sitting here and bickering, I was doing something useful. Shall I read it?

“‘I, Dunlin, leave the manor of Rachiswater and the Kingdom of Awia to my brother and heir Staniel. The fortune is entire for him, for no other and to be split with no other. Signed by my hand this night August 15, 2015. Witnessed by Comet Jant Shira and signed by him below.’”

I took the ring with its eagle close emblem, and passed it to Staniel, who sat with shoulders bowed. “You spoke to him?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What else did he say?”

I shrugged. “He barely had breath for that, let alone any more.” The will was passed around the table and when it reached Staniel, he examined it carefully. He sat up straight, said, “Nothing will stop me leaving as soon as daybreak, with an escort of five hundred. Jant, do you agree?”

“As you wish.”

“And Lightning, have you got anything to say?”

“Only that your authority will need practice before it ceases to sound like arrogance.”

Hurriedly I said, “Lady Vireo, stay here. Tawny, stay with her. Defend Fortress Crag. Keep the Calamus Road clear so we can supply you with food and weapons from Awia.”

Vireo was overjoyed; she had just gained a fortress. “Thank you! That’s to my taste! Jant? Look! That’s
her
.”

Genya grasped the top lintel, swung herself through the window and ran a few paces, jumped onto the table and crouched like a spider in the center. Her arms and legs extended from a swath of pale green material which encircled her body, and she silently proceeded to unwrap herself, passing the material between her legs and over her shoulder, until it gathered on the table and she was left, a very thin peeled figure. I thought the green fabric was a curtain but she took an edge in each hand and opened it out. It was the Lowespass flag. She had taken the flag down. Genya stalked across the table and left it in a massive bundle in front of Staniel. “For the Featherback King!”

“Thank you,” said Staniel.

I said, “Genya. Welcome…”

Mist kicked my ankle. I shook myself and wiped a couple of drops of drool off the tabletop with my shirt sleeve. I put out a hand to her, she strode over and buried her face in my palm, breathed deeply through her nose and mouth, taking my scent. She pushed her face against my palm, the way a cat does when it is urging you to stroke it.

“Genya. Genya. Mmm.” I tried to kiss her but she jumped back. I shuffled in the seat, aware of an increasing pressure against the crotch of my leather jeans—thankfully hidden by the table. “Can you run?” I murmured.

“Rrrrrrrr.” A purr or a growl?

“Excuse me, you two.”

Genya stood up, traversed the table toward the Archer with a single stride, the Insect antennae in her hair waving. She flourished long bare arms at him; he looked rather uneasy.

“I want to know what is going on,” she proclaimed. “I spit on Insects from the battlements. Insects bite at the walls. What you do is sit in dark halls and talk. What did Dunlin fight for?”

“Listen, Rhydanne—” snarled Lightning, and she was behind him in a flicker of movement, thin hands with nails like daggers caressing his neck.

“What say?” she asked.

“I’m not talking to you until you behave civilly.”

“You talk, Featherback, or I rip you throat!”

“My lady.”

Genya slid back onto the table and sat legs crossed, a wide grin splitting her face. She held her head on one side, a ponytail of frothy black hair cascaded down to her waist. She wore skimpy shorts; all her clothes were minimal because Rhydanne can’t feel cold. She liked to make a point of showing this. Her pale, limber legs were wreathed in invisible designs, zigzag flashes and scrollwork. They were ikozemi tattoos, cut using white lead and still poisonous. They only become visible when the skin is flushed, for example by hot water, pleasure, or drunkenness—Genya only ever has the last of these.

Lightning sighed, attempting to mitigate her presence. “We were discussing—” he began.

“Help me.”

“How?” I asked, nervously. How much would she tell? I wondered if I would be able to stop her if she intended to reveal any secrets. I knew I couldn’t hurt her.

Genya crawled across the table on hands and knees, and regarded me quizzically. “I want to go home,” she said. “If I run the Insects chase me. So I am trapped here. Jant says he will help me, but how long have I been here? Jay is gone, so why stay? I want to know where is all the snow? This place is so bad. It is hot. The air is thick. It is full of Insects, and now it is full of Featherbacks.”

Staniel removed one hand from a bloodshot eye, said, “Excuse me…?”

Genya ignored him. “This is not like Darkling,” she concluded flightily.

I caught her gaze and said warningly, “Sister—”

“I am not your sister! If I was your sister I would marry you!”

“This isn’t Scree. Please be quiet.”

“You are a pathetic, Shira. Insects gnaw us out from where we sit and you would not notice. In Scree this would not happen.”

“That’s because there aren’t any Insects in Scree,” I muttered, but she caught the comment.

“No,” she agreed lightly. “There are just mistakes.”

I hissed. It hurts to be reminded that I’m illegitimate, a Shira. Genya’s surname was Dara, born within marriage, and in the mountain culture that meant that she could feel superior to me. My hopeless lust turned to anger. A Rhydanne born in wedlock wouldn’t associate long with a mistake like me. My childhood of abuse flashed to mind—

“Fucking Dara slut! Slow-runner! Bitch!
Sgiunach!
”

“Goatherd!”

Lightning forced me back into my chair. I pointed a shaking hand at Genya. “Get this lone wolf bitch out of here or I’ll kill her! Tawny, throw her out the window!”

“Don’t,” said Lightning, and the conflicting commands rendered Tornado too bewildered to move. I gave Genya a longing look, which wasn’t requited.

She strutted on the table, stretching her lean legs, patting Staniel reassuringly on the head.

Staniel gave her the kind of look a child would give a hunting hawk. “I comprehend,” he said softly, “that you have had no exemplification of our abilities in recent hostilities and also precious little toward you in the practice of chivalry. It occurs to me that, my lady, since your husband left you as Governor in Lowespass, we have been presumptuous in prevailing upon you. My jurisdiction extends only to
Featherback
-land, but I propose, with the good will of the Eszai, to serve you as we may.”

I had to translate this for Genya, who clapped thin hands in delight. “I want to go home.”

“Well, a Rhydanne would run away,” remarked Vireo.

“None of that now!” Ata rebuked her.

“Jay shouldn’t have gone out riding along the Wall by hisself,” Vireo taunted.

“Fishwife! He killed more Insects than you could count.”

“Hush and hear what Jant says,” said Mist. “Horse’s mouth.”

All eyes were again on me, as if they sensed there was something between Genya and me which it was my duty to end, and end peacefully. I thought for a while, knowing that to Genya, Lowespass was a foreign and frightening place. Vireo and Tawny would certainly not take her into consideration. From living in comfort with her kindly husband, she was alone and confused. From ruling the manor and its solid fortress, she suddenly had nothing at all. It was like being conquered.