Awakening Page 12

  Cyri’s thinly fleshed face was composed and unreadable. ‘We cannot be sure,’ he said. ‘I think it is unlikely.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure?’ Arlindah said.

  Cyri turned to her, his pale watery eyes calm. ‘Only the gods’ words are certain. The first consul did write that the serpents should be watched as the children of His hand, but it is not a definitive statement. It could be said to mean we should guard against the serpents rebelling. And besides, the Faithful are strong. For two thousand years we have guarded these lands, our Hunters patrol the streets and our Seducers strengthen the borders of the Void with the power of their minds. I think the Fallen will remain in the Void while we hold strong.’

  Watching the zeal light the consul’s eyes, Morfessa felt his irritation at the man increase. Despite their long friendship, he had always found Cyri’s blind devotion to the Faithful’s teachings his biggest downfall. As the spiritual leader of the Faithful it was Cyri’s role to advise on all things related to Azoth and the Four Lost Gods. He, like the consuls before him, were the keepers of knowledge of the gods and the serpents, and their words should be taken as truth. But Morfessa had often thought the consuls’ knowledge too restricted by their stubborn adherence to only their own recorded histories. Cyri believed too rigidly in the doctrines set down by his predecessors: that the Four Lost Gods had banished Azoth forever into the abyss, condemning themselves to the forgetting in the process. That the Fallen could never return because the oldest Lost God, Paretim, had commissioned the Faithful to watch over all with his last breath and so protected them still, this was a claim Morfessa had long found hard to swallow. How could the Four Lost Gods protect them if they no longer had any power in this world?

  ‘What about the Prophet’s scrolls?’ he said.

  Cyri frowned. ‘The Prophet was a madman driven to insanity by the very forces that created him. His writings were nonsense.’

  ‘The Prophet?’ Arlindah raised an eyebrow. ‘I have heard of him, but only as rumour. Who was he?’

  ‘The Prophet was a slave who escaped when Azoth’s empire was destroyed,’ Morfessa said. ‘The writings he made about the destruction of the god and his Alhanti and the exodus from the city contain much information about our past. He also made predictions for the future.’

  The Guardian frowned. ‘Why have I not heard of these scrolls before?’

  ‘The scrolls are in the Serpent Isles.’ Morfessa cast a look at Cyri. ‘And you have not heard of them because your mother did not believe in their words, along with many others here. But I have seen them and I do think they have many interesting stories to tell us.’

  ‘They cannot be trusted,’ Cyri said.

  ‘Nevertheless, I should like to see them for myself.’

  ‘That might be difficult.’ Morfessa turned to her. ‘The people of the Isles rarely allow anyone to see them.’

  ‘I might be able to help with that,’ Rorc said. ‘I have an old friend, an informer for the Faithful, who is from those Isles. He may be able to convince them to let us see them.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Morfessa frowned.

  ‘Torg,’ Cyri said flatly before Rorc could speak. His lips formed a hard line. ‘He is a descendant of the Prophet. His mother is keeper of the scrolls.’ A small silence descended on them. ‘I am surprised, Rorc,’ Cyri said. ‘I would not have thought you would be so ready to believe in the ramblings of one long turned to dust.’

  ‘I cannot see the harm in investigating all possibilities if there truly is a chance that a god who turned us into a slave race could rise again,’ Rorc replied, his jaw tense.

  ‘No, no harm,’ Cyri said quietly.

  ‘Good then,’ Arlindah spoke sharply. ‘Rorc, go see this man and organise a ship. And I suggest we keep the scrolls from the Isles to ourselves for now. We don’t know yet if there will be anything of use in them.’ She rose with a frown, rubbing at a spot between her eyes. ‘I will see you all tomorrow.’

  With her hand still to her head, she left, followed soon after by Cyri, who exited without saying a word to either of the other men.

  Watching him go, Rorc said quietly to Morfessa, ‘Cyri thinks less of me now’.

  The Advisor sighed and shook his head. ‘No. Not less, perhaps differently. Don’t forget there are some things about you he does not know.’

  ‘And shouldn’t,’ Rorc said.

  ‘Rorc.’ Morfessa patted his arm. ‘Have I ever given you cause to doubt?’

  Rorc only gave him a long look and opened the door for him. They made their way down the corridor together. ‘I’m still worried about Arlindah,’ he said in a low voice.

  Morfessa nodded. ‘As am I. She won’t let me examine her, even though I can see she is bothered by constant headaches.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s always so stubborn.’

  A smile ghosted across Rorc’s features. ‘As always,’ he replied and the smile lit his face for a moment, but then faded and his mood became sombre. His thoughts drifted back to what Cyri had said, and what he didn’t know – what he couldn’t be allowed to guess.

  It had been so many years, yet still the memories haunted him. Sometimes he yearned still for it: for the feel of it, the scent of it, and the heat, the burning brightness of the sun. What would he give to go back to that? What hadn’t he given? He made his mind turn away from it. There was no going back. They came to the doors to the outer palace.

  ‘Morfessa.’ He turned to the older man. ‘There’s something you should know. One of the Hunters saw Nilah at an inn a few days back. And it’s not the first time; others have seen her in places rougher than that. One saw her recently coming from the crist sellers’ quarter.’

  Morfessa sighed and nodded resignedly. ‘Yes, I was afraid of that.’

  ‘You must talk with her.’ Rorc put a hand on his arm. ‘She seems unaware of the danger she puts herself in. Finding out her daughter is consorting with crist sellers would not do Arlindah any good right now.’

  Morfessa nodded, annoyance tightening his chest. He should have known Rorc would hear sooner or later, very little seemed to go on in the city without his knowledge. ‘I will talk with her,’ he said.

  ‘Good. I’ll let you know when you can go to the Isles for the scrolls.’

  ‘What! Me?’ Morfessa was shocked out of his resignation. Rorc smiled, his teeth white against the close-cropped, dark stubble on his jaw.

  ‘Well, who else old man? It’s either you or Veila, and I’m not sure Cyri would let her go.’ He slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ He pushed the door open and left, leaving Morfessa standing, staring after him as he strode away.

  15

  Shaan stared at the young woman. Her blonde hair was in disarray and her fine clothes dishevelled, but she was sure it was Nilah.

  ‘We’ve killed him,’ Nilah whispered, staring at the man at her feet, then her eyes rolled up in her head and she toppled onto him.

  Shaan looked at her a moment then, dragging herself up, grabbed her shoulders and rolled her off, her muscles burning at the dead weight.

  Nilah’s eyes flickered open. ‘Wha . . .’ she focussed on Shaan, then her face twisted in pain and she clutched at her chest and sucked in a gasp.

  ‘What is it?’ Shaan pushed her hand away and carefully felt her ribs. She couldn’t feel any sponginess that would indicate broken bones.

  ‘I think you’re just bruised.’ A long scratch was bleeding slowly down one side of Nilah’s face from her cheekbone to her chin, and there were painful-looking bruises around her neck. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded wincing, and got slowly to her feet. Shaan put a hand under her elbow. ‘Dizzy?’

  Nilah nodded gingerly then became still and Shaan saw that she was staring again at the man.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  Shaan shrugged. ‘I was just passing.’ She looked up at the sky. It was getting darker. ‘Look, I have to go.
Can you find your way home from here?’ There was a burning pain in the muscles across her back and her face ached where the man had hit her.

  ‘What?’ Nilah looked at her as though in a daze.

  A loud cackle of laughter sounded suddenly from the street and Shaan glanced at the mouth of the alley then back at Nilah. She was still staring down at the ground and holding onto her side. ‘Nilah?’ She shook her arm.

  ‘Huh?’ She blinked slowly, her eyes unfocussed.

  Great! The girl was barely conscious, she wouldn’t be able to leave her here. Curse it! She took a long breath and leaning down picked up her spear.

  ‘Come on.’ Pulling Nilah with her, she went to the mouth of the alley to retrieve her rope bag and checked the street.

  The big man had gone from the front of the inn, but there were still people milling about. She looked back. Nilah’s face was very pale and her breathing shallow. Her eyes wandered restlessly.

  ‘Nilah!’ Shaan grabbed her hand. ‘Look at me.’

  Her eyes flickered to her and then seemed to click back into focus.

  ‘We have to leave here all right?’ She peered at her and Nilah nodded.

  ‘Come on.’ Shaan slung her bag over her shoulder and forcing the spear into Nilah’s hand, put an arm around her waist and made her move.

  Nilah’s face was pinched and she leaned heavily on her as they walked out and up the street. Her eyes were huge in a colourless face and she gripped the spear so hard her knuckles were white.

  The sun was dropping to the horizon sending long shadows across the street. It would be gone by the time she managed to get her somewhere safe. No fishing today. What had possessed her to interfere? Shaan silently cursed herself. First the boy at the inn and now this; was she trying to get thrown in the cells again? All she needed now was a Hunter to appear and drag her off to Commander Rorc.

  The road connected with a short curved street that ran around the corner of a long wide building. On the other side was the Great Avenue. She stopped, wondering where to go. She couldn’t go to the wharves, and going back to the Red Pepino would mean too many questions from Torg. She bit her lip.

  A small open cart piled with crates drawn by an old muthu creaked past. The beast’s long legs were scarred under its short, sand-coloured fuzz and it chewed noisily. The driver stared at them as they passed.

  Nilah nudged her. ‘Take me to my friend’s house.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In the hills, that way.’ Nilah nodded to the curved street that led to the Great Avenue.

  Shaan chewed her lip. If he lived in the hills that made him a wealthy man, possibly even a supplicant to the palace. She shook her head. Well, what had she thought? Nilah was obviously not from a family wanting for coin by the look of her dress. Cursing softly she hitched her bag higher on her aching shoulder. As soon as she got her there she was leaving.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said and led them toward the avenue.

  They wound their way up into the hills of the city. Nilah’s strength was fading quickly and she was leaning more and more on Shaan for support as they climbed. It was quiet and cool compared to the city below and on either side of them the sprawling homes of Salmut’s wealthier citizens hid behind high walls. Exotic flowers and fruits flowed over the top, perfuming the air, and trees shadowed the pale, smooth stone of the street. Deep, narrow drains ran along one side. The only people they passed on foot seemed to be servants while several covered carts went past, their thick curtains closely drawn. Perhaps the wealthy only travelled in carts, Shaan thought.

  Most servants shied away from them as soon as they saw the pair. Their gazes would go from her to her spear then to Nilah and they would blink or start or make a frightened face and hurry away. Two young girls coming out of a vine-covered gate stopped dead to watch them walk past, their pale faces staring as she half carried Nilah along. It made her doubly nervous. They probably thought she was abducting her and she kept waiting to hear the pounding feet of the city guard running after her.

  She struggled under the other girl’s weight and prayed that none of the Faithful were around. If they saw her dragging a half conscious rich girl she was sure Commander Rorc would make good on his threat. She glanced at Nilah. She hadn’t said a word since leaving the alley and was very pale. The bruises on her chest could be bleeding inside and there was no way she could help her with that. She hoped the house wasn’t much further so she could get rid of her. Surely whoever was there could take care of her?

  ‘How much further?’

  Nilah pointed up the street to a small wooden gate in a white wall. ‘Just there.’

  Shaan staggered up to it. Painted a deep red, the gate came to her waist and was set in a high thick wall that extended for some distance either side. Beyond the gate a path curved away out of sight between dusky green trees and huge plants with thick sword-like fronds.

  A long bell chain hung from the top of the right wall and Shaan lifted her hand to it.

  ‘No. Just . . . go in,’ Nilah gasped.

  Shaan hesitated a moment then lifted the latch on the gate and pushed it open. The path wound through the cool green tunnel for some distance then emerged suddenly into a garden of starflowers and moon blossoms. Wafts of fresh sweet perfume filled the air. Beyond the belt of flowers, the path widened into a large circular area in front of a sprawling one-storey building of red stone that stretched away into more garden on either side.

  Taking a breath, Shaan dragged Nilah along the path between the flowers, her muscles burning in protest. She was breathing almost as shallowly as Nilah by the time they reached the ornately carved door. She reached for the bell chain and pulled. Dimly, she heard a chime echoing in the house. They waited but no one came.

  ‘Prin should be here,’ Nilah rasped and took a shuddering breath. ‘Try the door.’

  Shaan grasped the handle and pushed. The door swung open with a soft creak to reveal a softly lit entrance chamber.

  ‘Go in,’ Nilah nodded.

  Shaan dropped her bag and took the spear from Nilah, leaning it against the wall, then shuffled in. A dark room was barely visible through an archway to her left and, to her right, another arch led to a hallway.

  Her neck prickled, the house was too quiet, but Nilah was now barely conscious.

  ‘Which way?’ She jiggled her.

  ‘There.’ Her hand waved to the hall on the right.

  Grunting under her weight, she dragged Nilah down the corridor. They passed another darkened doorway and then the wall on her left gave way to widely spaced columns and from the corner of her eye she saw a central courtyard. She glimpsed tall lamps and dark leafed plants and somewhere water was splashing. To her right more corridors disappeared into darkness.

  Nilah pointed and Shaan dragged her along, turning again into another corridor and stopping at a set of wide double doors. She grasped the ornate handles and pushed both inwards. The scent of fresh herbs and another sharper, acrid smell she couldn’t identify, flowed out. The room was empty and Shaan dragged Nilah in and dumped her on a long, low cushioned bench with a groan. Nilah flopped down half on and half off it and passed out. Shaan picked up her legs and heaved them up on the cushions then stood awkwardly, grimacing at her burning muscles.

  They were in a large, warmly lit room. Floor to ceiling shelves filled with scrolls, containers, and strangely shaped carvings took up most of three walls. A large desk sat in front of the shelves and a comfortable looking armchair faced glass doors that looked out over a darkening garden. Broken glass littered the floor near the chair.

  She wondered who owned the house, but didn’t relish the idea of staying long enough to find out. Nilah seemed all right, she was still breathing. And if she left now she wouldn’t have to explain to whoever lived here what she was doing and what had happened to Nilah – not that she really knew anyway. Shaan moved toward the door, but the sound of hurrying footsteps stopped her.

  Her stomach clenched. If she fled now whoev
er it was might think her a thief escaping. She hesitated too long and was still standing there when a tall grey-haired man rushed in.

  He stopped and they stared at each other for a moment. ‘You!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  It was Morfessa, the Guardian’s Advisor. Shaan stared, speechless, but then his gaze went past her.

  ‘Nilah!’ He rushed over to kneel down on the floor, his hands gently turning the young woman’s head. ‘I thought I heard the bell. It was you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Shaan stared at him in shock. ‘I just found her in the city. She asked to be brought here. I’ll go.’ She began shuffling toward the door.

  ‘No! Wait.’ He turned and Shaan was startled to see his left eye was grey, but his right was a deep brown, flecked with red. ‘What happened?’

  She shrugged. ‘Some man attacked her in the thieves’ area.’

  His gaze ran over her rough trousers and shirt, the empty knife sheath strapped to her leg. ‘Did you kill him?’

  ‘No! Nilah knocked him out and I brought her here.’

  ‘How did you get in? Did Prin let you in?’

  ‘No.’ Shaan wondered who this missing Prin person was.

  Morfessa frowned and looked back at Nilah. ‘That’s odd,’ he said quietly, then stood. I need to administer some healing. Quick, help me move her.’

  ‘Aaah,’ Shaan took a step backward. ‘I have to go. I need to catch some fish.’

  ‘After sunset?’ He glanced at the darkening windows. ‘I have some fish you’re welcome to if you help me. Come on.’ He waved her over.

  Shaan hesitated. Torg wouldn’t be impressed if she came back empty handed, and she didn’t have the coin to buy any fish at the markets.

  ‘All right.’ She sighed and followed his instructions, lifting Nilah’s legs while he picked up her torso. As she did she caught the faintest whiff of wine on his breath. The Guardian’s Advisor a drunkard? That was an uneasy thought. They shuffled awkwardly out of the room and down a hallway, carrying Nilah between them.