Awakening Page 17

  ‘Shalnor!’ Attar shouted over the sound of the wind.

  The town where the river met the sea. Tallis stared at it, feeling the ease of the past day leaking away.

  They reached it by late afternoon. All around the town, surrounding it in a semicircle, field upon field of grape vines were planted in the fertile basin of the river. Large homes made of stone and thatch sat among the vines, and Tallis saw the occasional muthu pulling a cart along the tracks that ran alongside. People stopped and looked up at them as they flew over, but none looked panicked to see them, and Tallis wondered what it was like to live so casually with these beasts of the sky.

  The town of Shalnor was huge to his eyes. A sprawling mass of flat-roofed buildings and dirt streets, it spread in haphazard fashion along both sides of the river and then, as the water widened, formed rows of buildings looking out over the mouth of the river to the sea. Bridges spanned the river in three points, joining both sides of the town, and on the southern side a small port was built in the sands of the river mouth, a long jetty running out into the sea at which several three-masted ships listed gently, bobbing up and down on the incoming tide.

  Tallis could not keep from staring at the unending expanse of water that ran away to the horizon and that seemed to swallow the sky. How could there be so much water in the world?

  The serpents tilted north as they neared the town and, skimming rooftops, headed for a large building on a hilltop, looking out over the town and coast. Several square, flat-roofed buildings were joined together by a series of covered walkways around a massive central courtyard. The serpents alighted in the centre, their heads the same level as the rooftops.

  Three men came out from one of the buildings and walked toward them, carefully avoiding the serpents’ barbed tails. All three were dressed in brown trousers and sleeveless shirts and wore black ankle boots. They carried no weapons Tallis could see, and all had their hair cut short against their skull, like clan children, although they could not be mistaken for such. Their skin was pale compared to his own, and they looked over him and Jared with wary expressions.

  ‘Captain,’ the shortest one, but obviously the leader, nodded at Attar. ‘You’ve come from the desert?’ His eyes slid to Tallis. He was shorter and older than Attar and a thin greying moustache covered his upper lip under a wide, reddened nose.

  ‘Yes,’ Attar replied. ‘Have you received any word from my Commander?’

  ‘No.’ The man’s eyes went beyond them to the serpents, and Tallis saw the other men also eyeing the beasts warily. ‘Will they need anything?’

  Attar smiled. ‘An arm or a leg, it’s been a long ride.’

  The man narrowed his eyes and Attar laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come now, Vilan, where’s your humour? Left it in a wine vat?’

  ‘Very funny, Attar,’ Vilan said sourly. ‘You know we’re not so far from Salmut that the rumours haven’t reached us.’

  Attar lost his smile. ‘Well, don’t believe everything you hear.’ He nodded at Bren. ‘You and the boys get the saddles off the serpents; I’ll meet you inside. Now,’ he put an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, ‘take me to that wine barrel I know you’re hiding.’ And he pulled him away toward the buildings, the other men following.

  ‘Come on,’ Bren said shortly and started to unbuckle Haraka’s straps.

  Uneasy, Tallis approached Marathin carefully, but she paid no attention to him. As his hand touched her smooth hide, though, he felt the strange vibration start in his chest and his own breath felt hotter, his blood speeding through his veins. He felt the connection between them like a glowing, living strand stretched taut. Cautiously, he reached his mind out to her. For a moment he felt a glimmer of control and a word hissed through him, so fast he couldn’t understand what it was. Marathin shifted. Her head whipped around, and with a shriek she lunged at him, her neck twisting back at an impossible angle, her fangs bared. He jumped back, but not fast enough to avoid the sweep of her wing. Hard sinew and membrane slammed into his chest sending him tumbling backwards as the serpent leaped into the air.

  His ears rang as his head bounced off the ground, and the air from Marathin’s exit swirled his hair around his head, dust flying into his eyes.

  ‘Tallis!’ Jared was by his side, helping him to his feet. ‘What happened?’

  His chest throbbed painfully. ‘I don’t know.’ He pushed his hair back from his face and met Bren’s hard stare.

  ‘What did you do?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Bren’s eyes narrowed, and behind him Haraka was crouched low, his tail swinging back and forth across the stone. ‘You’re a liar, clansman.’

  ‘Watch what you say, wetlander,’ Jared turned to him.

  ‘No.’ Tallis put a hand on his arm. ‘Leave it.’

  Boots sounded on stone, and he looked to see Attar running toward them, a wine cup in his hand. ‘What happened?

  ‘It was the clansman.’ Bren jerked his chin at Tallis.

  ‘Again?’ Attar looked at him.

  ‘I’m not sure it was such a good idea to bring them with us,’ Bren said. ‘The serpents don’t like them, they . . .’

  ‘Go inside, Bren,’ Attar cut him off. The younger man’s lips thinned and his expression grew dark, but he lurched away, disappearing into the closest walkway.

  Tallis stayed still, wondering what the warrior would do. But the older man gave no sign of even being annoyed. He took a long sip from his cup and looked at them silently. The sun was dropping and the light around them was dusky and soft, a touch of cooler air creeping in. Attar tipped back his head and took a long deep breath of it.

  ‘Much different to the desert air.’ He looked at them. ‘Softer, and smells different doesn’t it?’

  Tallis and Jared didn’t move and Attar took another sip of wine, draining his cup. ‘Come inside, we’ll eat, have some wine, and then tomorrow we go to Salmut. Bren will feel differently by the morning.’ He smiled slightly, raised his empty cup to Tallis and, turning, beckoned them with one arm. ‘Come! There’s Shalnoran women inside.’ Without looking to see if they followed, he strode off.

  Tallis looked at Jared, baffled by the Wetlander’s reaction. But they had little time to ponder; Attar was disappearing into the shadows.

  ‘Come on,’ Jared shrugged and pulled at his arm. ‘I’m hungry anyway.’

  So was he, Tallis realised. Unsettled, but unable to work out what else to do, he followed Jared into the building.

  Nothing more was said of it. Vilan hosted a meal for them, and they spent the rest of the evening eating fire-roasted goat and suffering suspicious stares from his men. The women Attar had talked of turned out to be the daughters of Vilan. Pale-eyed creatures, with hair the colour of the red earth, both Tallis and Jared found themselves the object of their combined fascination. Jared was his usual charming self, and managed to elicit a smile from one of them, but mostly they spent the evening blushing and staring at them. For Tallis, used to the forward ways of the clan women, they were more like children than women. No clan woman would have sat so quietly when a man interrupted her conversation as disrespectfully as one of Vilan’s men had done. If it had been Irissa he would have felt the sharp end of her hunting knife. But thinking of the fiery-tempered clan woman made an ache lance his side; it was unlikely he would see her or any other clan women again.

  After that, the evening soured for him and he sat silently, drinking little, and listening to Jared argue with Attar about who was the better knife thrower, until Vilan put a stop to it and they retired to beds they’d been given in the soldiers’ common barracks.

  19

  The whispers pulled at her. Shaan clutched at the rough sheet in her sleep, stretching it tight between her hands, a fine film of sweat covering her bare skin.

  Cara merak Arak-si, the voice hissed.

  She was spinning slowly in blackness. Her breath was short. She knew she had to get out before it found her, but she had
no control over her body; she didn’t know which way to go. A sudden bright light pierced her eyes then was gone as pain arrowed through her skull.

  Arak-si, it chattered at her.

  Stop, she begged, but she only spun faster, the force pushing her ribs, bending. The blackness was closing in on her, sucking out the air. She couldn’t breathe! Terrified, she reached out. The spinning stopped and, with an intake of breath, she fell.

  It was dark and she was standing on wet earth. The air was warm and damp and she could hear a wind moving through leaves. Light flickered in the corner of her eye. Flame flared up and ran along a high stone wall beside her. With a sob she crouched down, huddling in on herself, as she realised where she was: the city of fire and death. Screams and voices called out filling the air and a great boom shook the ground. Nearby was the broken gate, its shattered frame hanging off chipped stone pillars, and from it flowed a great mass of people screaming and stumbling.

  Arak-si, the voice whispered again.

  Terrified and disorientated she turned, looking for the voice.

  A huge wave of air fanned her face and a screeching cry sounded above. She looked up to see a great, gaping maw descending. Huge wings lashed at the air, sending debris spinning. A great eye fixed on her. She felt the serpent’s breath on her face. A boom shook the earth again, sending her to the ground and a sharp pain shot through her leg. With a cry, she opened her eyes.

  She was in her bed at the inn. Taking a shaky breath she reached down and rubbed her kneecap. She must have cracked it against the wall in her sleep. She pushed the sheet off and rolled wearily out of bed, pushing open the window. Salt-scented air flowed in, drying the sweat on her naked skin. The sea was a dark mass and a pale pink stained the sky. Most of the city was still in shadow and there was barely any wind. She felt cold and rubbed her arms.

  It had been more than a week since she’d seen Morfessa and the dreams had become worse, coming to her almost every night. The salve he’d applied seemed to have done its job though. The bruises had faded and the cut on her face healed leaving no scar. But it was all nothing against what the old man had told her. Arak-si: descendant of Azoth. The meaning haunted her.

  She took deep breaths and looked over the city. The roof of the Serpent Dome was limned in crimson and her stomach knotted at the sight of it. There was work for her there today, but she didn’t want to go. She had not been assigned to Nuathin again but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be today.

  She drummed her fingers on the sill. What had possessed her to say those things to Morfessa? What if he had talked to Commander Rorc about her? Relax, she told herself. It had been a week and there’d been no Faithful at her door, no summons from Rorc. Surely if the old man had spoken, the Commander would have shown his hand by now if he wanted her? He had uses for people with ‘different’ talents, he had said. But having strange dreams wasn’t a talent was it?

  She watched the light of the sun creep over the bay, pushing back the shadows. Out across the sea a band of cloud sat on the horizon and the air felt dense, thick with moisture, the earth waiting for the season of rain to start.

  The weather suited her mood. Over these past few weeks, as the dreams had become worse, she had felt a strange kind of quickening inside, like a storm building. It was as though she knew it was all leading to something. But where? Arak-si. Descendant. Was that what she was? A descendant from a fallen God. But how could she be? There was no sense to it. Perhaps Morfessa could tell her more. If he knew about that word, would he know what the others meant? For a moment she thought of going back there.

  But what of the Faithful? With a groan she massaged her temples and ran her hands through her hair. It was all too complicated. All she wanted to do was become a rider, to make something more of herself. Not this. And she had coin to earn. Pushing it all to the back of her mind she got off the bed and pulled on a pair of faded red trousers and a three-quarter sleeve shirt.

  Tying on her sandals she went out into the hall. Most of the girls had had customers last night and the inn was very quiet, but Tuon had not been around. Perhaps she was asleep in her room. Shaan knocked softly, then turned the knob. The room was in shadow, but she could see her bed was empty. Withdrawing with a frown she headed down to the kitchen, the stairs creaking under her feet.

  The room was lit by an ornate metal oil lamp, its soft light fading as the sunlight came through the open back door. Torg sat at the table talking quietly with a small older man with thin arms and large ears that stuck out from beneath his curly grey hair. A few small packets tied with string sat on the table and the man coughed in short frequent bursts as he talked. Shaan recognised him as a local healer. They both looked up briefly as she entered. She nodded at them and went to the water urn to pour a drink.

  ‘Shaan,’ Torg said. ‘The markets will be opening. Take some coin and go buy me some stone flour, salt and redfruits.’ He held out a few copper coins. He was unusually curt today and looked tired.

  Shaan put her cup down and took the coins.

  ‘And I need you to get me some rock snails as well, since you caught no fish last night.’

  ‘But I have to work at the yards today,’ she protested quietly.

  ‘Well you better be quick then.’

  Shaan opened her mouth to protest, but one look at his face shut her up. There was an uneasy tension in the air, and she flicked her eyes to the healer, but he was looking down at the table scratching at an invisible mark.

  ‘All right.’ She closed her fist around the coins and dropped them into her pocket. ‘Is there anything to eat?’

  ‘There are some flat cakes in the jar over there.’ Torg motioned to the top of the cold oven. ‘Take some and go.’

  She took two heavy round cakes, the size of her palm, from the jar and, shoving one in her mouth, picked up her rope bag from the hook by the door and left. Chewing on the crumbly sweet cake, she crossed the yard and stepped out into the quiet street. There were few people about. A young boy was coming toward her trailing a length of fabric, and up ahead an old woman shuffled along carrying a basket.

  She headed up the street toward the markets. She had about five hours until she had to be at the Yards to serve mid-meal. The boy ran past her whooping and laughing as he flew the fabric out behind him. He grinned at her and Shaan couldn’t help but smile back. She turned, watching as he skipped on, and her steps slowed. Commander Rorc was disappearing into the back yard of the Red Pepino. Her heart leaped and she instinctively drew back into the shadows of a building. What business could he have at this hour? Was he looking for her?

  Her heart thumped against her ribs. She thought about going back to listen at the door, but quickly discarded the idea. He might not be alone, better to just leave. Quickly she turned and hurried off, heading into the tangled streets.

  A few folk were out putting up awnings and dragging out baskets, and the smell of old fish hung in the air. She stopped to buy a small bag of dried fruit from one of the shops then hurried on, nodding to people she knew as she passed. As she went she noticed a few faces she hadn’t seen before. A strange little man with bare feet and yellowed eyes was sitting on the step of a closed shop; at the head of an alley a cluster of men and women were talking. They wore long, dirty robes over their clothes, their skin was very pale and when they spoke they made constant gestures with their hands. As she passed, they stopped and watched her with dark eyes.

  She didn’t think she had ever seen people of their kind before. Ahead of her, the street met the Great Avenue and a steady stream of people and muthu pulling carts were moving both ways. She stopped at the juncture, looking down the road at a strange sight. Pouring out from a side street was a group of weary and dust-stained people. Like those she had just seen, they were all pale-skinned and were wearing long cloaks. Men, women and children clustered closely together, casting closed looks at those watching. Many carried bulging sacks over their shoulders. They moved up the Great Avenue silently, their faces determined and
their eyes dark and tired. There was so many of them. She counted at least fifty, and there were yet more coming.

  ‘I wonder where they’ve come from,’ Tuon spoke at her side.

  Shaan looked around in surprise. ‘Tuon! Where have you been? I was looking for you this morning.’

  She looked very tired again and was wearing the same dress she’d had on the day before.

  ‘I was working,’ she answered. ‘I’m on my way back to the inn now.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. I just need to go home and get some sleep.’ She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘And get some food, I’m starving.’

  ‘Here, have this.’ Shaan pulled the other flat cake from her pocket and dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘Commander Rorc’s at the inn.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I saw him going in the back gates as I left. Was he coming to see you?’

  Tuon’s face was pale. ‘No. Perhaps he came to see you.’

  There was a question in her eye and Shaan shook her head. ‘I told you, I wouldn’t work for him.’

  ‘Well,’ her gaze went past her to the crowd, ‘I guess it will remain a mystery, unless he chooses to tell us.’ She nodded at the people moving by. ‘I think their entire village has been destroyed.’

  Shaan turned to look at them, but her mind was still on the Commander. If he hadn’t gone to the inn to seek Tuon, why was he there? Had Morfessa spoken to him about her? She watched the strangers walk past. A child of about seven stared at her with sunken, hollow eyes, but she barely saw him.

  ‘I don’t think these will be the last strangers we’ll be seeing in Salmut,’ Tuon interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘What?’ Shaan scanned the crowd surreptitiously, looking for the telltale black of the Faithful.

  ‘I saw others in the traders’ quarter that looked like them. Something is driving them here.’ Tuon nodded at the strangers then looked at Shaan. ‘Are you listening?’