Читать книгу King of Ashes - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 8

His name was Hatushaly, though the other boys and girls called him ‘Hatu’.

He was by nature a youngster prone to anger, often barely able to control it and quick to erupt, but at this moment, Hatu was trying very hard not to laugh.

His two closest friends flanked him as they lay on a heavy awning of bright green and white striped canvas extending from the rooftop of an open-front shop, hidden from the view of those below. They were trying hard not to be detected.

Hatu’s anger was usually forgotten in Hava’s or Donte’s company. For reasons he would never understand, they had become his friends despite his constant rage and furious outbursts, and both had conspired to make his life even more complicated. When he was alone, Hatu became introspective and angry, but when he was with them, the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him were forgotten.

Donte, Hava, and Hatu had been given a task: to observe the comings and goings in the market. Donte had insisted on adding a ridiculous commentary to the scene that had nothing to do with their lesson but threatened to expose their position to the merchant in the shop below as his companions struggled not to burst into laughter. One of Donte’s many talents was a wry wit, but he often lacked any sense of appropriate timing, which earned him his fair share of reprimands, disciplinary duty, and beatings.

Hatushaly tried to ignore his friend’s commentary, while Hava simply closed her eyes and lay with her forehead against her left forearm, both trying not to hear Donte. Hatu could do so with more ease than Hava. The market square was busy: fisher folk, farmers, traders, and travellers crowded every corner of the town. Harbourside was actually a part of the city of Corbara, the main port on the island of Coaltachin. The Kingdom of Night centred on the large island but also spread across dozens of smaller isles, home to many fishing villages, farming communities, small fortresses, and the moorings for a huge fleet of trade and warships.

The three youngsters were taking advantage of the excursion: the instructors rarely sent them away for a day. Hatu, Donte, and Hava were students at one of the many nameless schools in Coaltachin, on Morasel, a little island that was home to a small fishing village on the coast and a farming hamlet inland. All who lived there laboured under the firm command of Master Facaria.

Hava was a girl of intense moods, both light and dark, who performed few tasks without thought and determination. Her dark hair usually hung to her shoulders, but today she had bound it in a simple black scarf to keep it out of her face. She wasn’t what most men might call pretty, but Hatu liked her appearance. Her face was narrow and she always seemed to be squinting, even when inside, though her vision was superb, as she proved every time she shot a bow. Her mouth was slightly turned down at the edges, but he thought she had a wonderful smile. He’d known her all his life. She was agile and strong, and as Hatu had started to change from boy to man, he had also begun to find her lithe body more attractive and disturbing. He’d seen Hava naked many times, for the students often swam or bathed together in the stream behind the school, but now he sometimes found the sight of her troubling, even more so than that of the other girls. Right now she was struggling not to laugh, which made it difficult for Hatu not to laugh.

Donte seemed always to be smiling or laughing. Like Hava, he had dark hair, but his locks were much darker, bordering on black. He was broad-shouldered and stronger than any boy in the school, and faster than all but Hatu and Hava. When Donte decided to become friends with someone, they didn’t have much say in the matter. There was a quiet madness in his approach to life, a willingness to put himself in harm’s way for the thrill of it. No matter how dark the moment, Donte could always contrive a joke, often a completely inappropriate one, to bring sudden laughter, even if his joke itself wasn’t particularly funny. Hatu worried about him, but Donte seemed to move through life without a single care or concern. He was diligent enough in his lessons that his careless manner caused him no serious difficulties. While Hatu considered the future, Donte lived for the moment, seeking only immediate gratification, be it a stiff drink or a pretty girl. Yet Donte was still Hatu’s closest friend among the boys at the school.

‘Look,’ said Hava, pulling them out of their joke. She thrust her chin towards the main street from the docks to the market. ‘Far side, four men.’

Hatu spotted the men, sailors by the look of them, but of a fashion new to him. Coaltachin sailors favoured baggy trousers of light weave, their linen shirts worn loosely to protect them against the heat. Coaltachin people tended to tan or have dark skin, with brown and black hair, but these men were fair-skinned and burned red-bronze by the sun. Two of them had light brown hair, one was blond, and the last was red-haired.

‘Kin of yours?’ asked Hava.

Hatu sighed. ‘That joke was old years ago.’

Only the students who had been raised alongside Hatu knew what his normal hair colour was. He dyed it regularly and had been forced on a few occasions to rub dirt or grease into the roots until he could wash and dye it again. Hatu stood out among the rest of the students. The islands to the east of the twin continents had for centuries been home to a people known as the Igara. They tended to range in height, but most possessed skin easily bronzed by the sun and hair that was typically coloured black to medium brown. A few were blond, but Hatu was one of the two people he knew to have red tresses. Hava’s dark auburn hair only truly looked red after hours in the hot sun – sun bleaching was common with the fishermen and farmers if they didn’t wear hats – but Hatu’s was a unique copper red with golden highlights. ‘Look at that low forehead; more like your kin,’ he said weakly, which caused Hava to chuckle slightly, almost a sound of pity, and Donte to shake his head dismissively.

‘Ya,’ said Donte. ‘It’s not bright enough. Hatu’s is more like a flaming copper. That man’s is … dark carrot, if such a colour exists.’

Hava chuckled again. ‘Why don’t you just shave it off?’

Hatu shook his head. ‘If you think a flame-haired boy stands out, how about a bald one? If I need to run and blend in with a crowd, dirty brown hair is best.’

‘So until he can learn to grow a new head of brown hair in under a minute, he’ll have to dye it,’ added Donte. ‘Besides, what would happen if he’s doing a job and gets caught with a razor?’

Hava nodded. ‘No weapons.’

‘No weapons,’ repeated Hatu. As they approached adulthood, the students had been taught that when violence erupted, they stood a better chance with the authorities if they tossed their weapons aside rather than be captured armed. Loose clothing sewn with rags, to rip away splattered blood, and a host of other tricks had been drilled into the future agents of the Invisible Nation.

All of their training aimed to make the youngsters as useful as possible to their nation. They pledged not to a king, despite their nation’s name, but to a ruling council, a system that had existed for centuries in this region.

While the preceptors bore responsibility for educating the boys and girls, the masters were the final authority in Coaltachin. Each hierarchy within the gang culture of the island had a captain, crews, gangs, and regimes, but the person at the top of the order was simply called ‘master’. Above any single master was the Council, made up of the seven most powerful masters in Coaltachin, and heading the Council was Master Zusara, the single most powerful man in the nation, as close to a king as it was possible to be.

‘I’m hungry,’ muttered Donte.

‘You’re always hungry,’ replied Hava and Hatu in unison, which provoked another burst of barely contained laughter as they struggled to remain hidden.

The forays into the various cities, towns, and villages of Coaltachin were part of the students’ education, but Donte always treated them as an excuse for a holiday, much to the consternation of both his master and his instructor. He began to construct a miniature lance from a windswept tree branch on top of the awning where they lay, using his dagger to whittle it into something he could use to impale a sausage sizzling on a grill below. Muttering, he said, ‘Wish I had a proper spear.’

Hatu shook his head while Hava grinned and chided their friend. ‘We’re supposed to be observing discreetly. Strutting around the market with a spear is hardly inconspicuous.’

The merchant below was busy selling his wares to people hurrying to their own places of work, and to servants from nearby homes seeking the spiced delicacies for their master’s breakfast. If any of the customers noticed that three youngsters were causing the brightly coloured awning of waxed cloth to sag a little deeper than normal, no one spoke of it.

When his opportunity finally came, and no customer looked on, Donte thrust his lance and successfully impaled a stout link on the grill. He quickly pulled it up while the merchant had his back to the fire.

‘You’re going to get us all a beating,’ whispered Hatu.

Donte tried to remove the hot sausage from the makeshift harpoon and burned his fingers in the process, while his companions continued to stifle their laughter.

A small tearing sound caused Hatu to look down in alarm, and he whispered, ‘The awning!’

The students scrambled back to the tiled roof above the awning as quickly as they could, but as they moved, the tear widened and the cloth began to give. None of them could see through the canopy yet, but an angry shout from below made it clear that the merchant had noticed that his striped awning now sagged heavily with a widening tear at its front.

All three youngsters reached the peak of the roof without pause, then quickly scrambled down to the eaves at the back of the house. Like all of the buildings surrounding the market square, the house was a merchant’s dwelling and place of business. There was a good-sized yard below them with a wagon in it and a gate opening onto the alley beyond. Donte glanced one way and then the other, and then signed for Hava and Hatu to follow him as he tiptoed along the edge of the roof. When he reached the alley at the side of the house, he knelt and jumped, and was followed by his two companions. Donte looked back towards the busy market before he motioned for them to follow him to the trade alley behind the yard.

They moved swiftly but didn’t sprint, as they had been taught that running drew too much attention. Donte turned a corner only to find them confronted by a large, broad-shouldered man with a heavy black beard and blue knit cap. He held a long truncheon in his right hand and his arms were crossed.

‘Been stealing sausages?’ he said.

Before any of the students could reply, the man stopped them with a dark look, and with a nod indicated that they were to follow him back into the market. ‘Lose the sausage,’ he instructed Donte, who immediately tossed the warm, savoury treat to the ground. They followed the burly man, a gang captain named Hilsbek, who had been put in charge of Facaria’s pupils while the island master was in a meeting. This wasn’t unusual, as the youngsters spent as much time in the field as in the classroom or training yard.

‘The sausage?’ repeated Hilsbek.

‘I got hungry,’ said Donte, trying not to smile.

A quick cuff to the ear told Donte that this wasn’t amusing to the gang leader. The blow was hard enough to get the student’s attention without damaging him. Donte’s eyes glistened from the pain, but he didn’t let tears come. His face and stance shifted to a position Hatu and Hava knew all too well. Donte would usually have challenged anyone who struck him like that. He’d even risk fighting a crew captain if he thought he could win, but would not defy anyone of a rank higher than that.

Donte was the grandson of Master Kugal, one of the seven masters on the Council, which granted him some additional status, though it was never openly commented upon. The students were supposed to be treated equally, but in practice, their privilege was often dictated by the amount of power held by their close relatives.

Though rank was not official, the pecking order among students had been well established by the time they could leave their mothers. Hava was unusually gifted, among the best archers, runners, and hand-to-hand fighters, both boys and girls, which earned her more respect than was normal for a farmer’s child. Hatu was an orphan, an anomaly without connections, but he was treated with greater care than might be expected.

‘What was your duty?’ asked Hilsbek, his eyes narrowing as he looked from face to guilty face.

Hava and Hatu glanced at each other as Donte, with as impassive a tone as he dared, replied, ‘To watch the market for anything unusual.’

Hilsbek nodded. ‘You were on that roof for over three hours—’

‘And I got hungry,’ added Donte, which earned him another cuffing, one hard enough to leave a red mark on his cheek and tears in his eyes.

Hilsbek glared at the youngster, as if daring him to utter another word.

Donte fell silent.

Hilsbek remained quiet for a while, then spoke in an even tone. ‘What did you see?’

Hava said, ‘A busy market.’

Donte hesitated, as if anticipating another slap, then added, ‘Nothing unusual.’

Hilsbek looked at Hatushaly next. After a pause, the youngster said, ‘There was one group of men trying to appear … normal. They came from the docks and moved a little too fast, as if they were in a hurry but trying not to be noticed. They wore simple robes with deep hoods. One wore boots, the rest sandals. They moved to the north and I couldn’t see them leave.’

Hilsbek looked at Hatu. ‘Well enough. If you were to see such a group while on duty, what would you do?’

Hatu said, ‘What I was told to do. If I was told to report at once, then I’d leave and report. If told to wait until relieved, I’d—’

Hilsbek interrupted. ‘Enough.’

Pointing at Hatu, he said to the others, ‘He knows how to see. You looked, but you didn’t see. Learn how to see.’

Hilsbek regarded the three youngsters for a moment, then he said, ‘You are only months away from being placed …’ He fell silent again and shook his head. ‘If you left training today, you would find a trade, but soon …’ A third silence fell.

Finally Hilsbek said, ‘Find another roof. Watch from there until sundown. See if you can find more men trying to appear normal. Meet at the safe house after sunset.’

As the students started to move away, Hilsbek slapped Donte on the back of his head. ‘I don’t care who your grandfather is, boy. Do something stupid like that when you’re working, and at some point you’ll get yourself and your companions killed.’

Donte grudgingly held his peace as they walked away, but once out of hearing range, he said, ‘I’ll settle with him some day.’

Hatu shook his head in silent disbelief, while Hava laughed openly. ‘Your grandfather will not always be around to get you out of trouble. We all make mistakes, we all get beaten.’

Hatu nodded in agreement.

‘You make a mistake, you just get sent to your grandfather,’ Hava continued.

‘Ha!’ laughed Donte. ‘The preceptors and the other masters are afraid of my grandfather, so he beats me harder than any of them. My grandfather is afraid of no one.’ After a moment, he added, ‘Well, other than my grandmother.’

Hava laughed, but Hatu said, ‘Do you ever take anything seriously? You know what Hilsbek was saying, don’t you?’

‘What?’ asked Donte as they began to look around for a new observation post.

‘The day is coming when we’ll know too much,’ whispered Hatu harshly.

‘Too much?’ asked Hava.

Hatu’s expression held exasperation. ‘To let us live,’ he whispered. ‘Once we know all of the secrets …’

Hava’s eyes widened. Hatu nodded; it was about time she understood. ‘We need to be more careful,’ he added in low tones.

‘Life’s too short to be careful,’ Donte responded with annoyance as they reached the centre of the market. He halted and looked around. ‘Where?’

After a quiet consideration, Hatu said, ‘Over there, I think.’

He didn’t point – another lesson learned early – just raised his chin in the direction of a large building on the far side of the market. It wasn’t situated as advantageously as their last post but offered a good view of anyone arriving from the docks.

‘How’s your ear?’ Hatu asked Donte as they moved quickly through the crowd.

‘Hurts,’ was all Donte said.

Hava shook her head and furrowed her brow as she said, ‘One day you’re going to say something that will get you killed.’

‘Maybe,’ said Donte as he led his companions into the alley beside their new vantage point. He took a quick look around and with a nod of his head indicated that Hatu should be the first to climb. Donte formed a stirrup with his hands and his friend hopped into it without hesitation. Thrown upwards, Hatu caught the eave of the roof and pulled himself onto the roof with ease. He turned and lay flat, letting his arms dangle over the edge.

Donte lifted Hava so she could grip Hatu’s arms and when she reached the roof, she lay next to him. Donte leapt and caught his companions’ hands, and together they pulled him upwards.

Settling in, Donte said, ‘Two hours to sunset.’

‘Try to stay awake,’ chided Hatu.

Hava chuckled as they started to scan the crowd below for anything unusual.

The port was the heart of the Coaltachin nation, and yet at the same time it wasn’t. To those who lived in the Kingdom of Night, and their trusted associates, it was called Corbara: the capital city of a sprawling set of tiny islands, populated by a people whose main export was assassination, espionage, and crime. Its residents were expert at detecting which newcomer should be respected and which should be misled. By tradition and habit no one used the name of the city in front of strangers in the port. Corbara was only ever called ‘here’, ‘home’, or ‘this city’. Some travellers had passed through the port more than once and still had no idea where they had been. Such was the culture of Coaltachin.

This combination of secrecy and commerce forged as strong a brotherhood as there was among any tribe on Garn. The lowest peasant in Coaltachin felt akin to the highest of the masters, and while few natives acknowledged it, the outsiders who had dealings with the island nation were forced to navigate the insular, chauvinistic nature of its people with sensitivity. Anyone not of Coaltachin was at best a necessary nuisance, and at worst a potential enemy. This attitude towards strangers, even friendly visitors, was so ingrained that it was never spoken of, simply learned from childhood.

The three youngsters watching the market and harbour were already part of the nation’s elite. The sons of masters and preceptors, like Donte, were automatically selected for the schools, as were the children with exceptional potential, like Hava. She had been a combative child, and her early willingness to stand against much larger and stronger children had caught the attention of the local master, Facaria. The others knew nothing about Hatu’s past, hut his admittance to the academy marked him as exceptional, and so the fact he came from outland stock was ignored by those who had been raised alongside him.

The students were training to become soldiers, but soldiers unlike those of any other nation. The forces of Coaltachin included squadrons of ships, often disguised, but ready to repel the rare incursions by seafarers who didn’t understand whose waters they entered. Some of the larger islands held defensive garrisons with small units of archers, pikemen, and swordsmen. The true militia of Coaltachin was invisible, a thing of reputation and rumour myth and lethal ability.

In the old tongue, Quelli Nascosti meant ‘The Hidden’, and it was possible that some day the very best among these students would count themselves among their ranks. As the grandson of a powerful master, and son of a deceased master, Donte would almost certainly advance.

Hava was among the finest students in combat and weapons training, and possessed rare athletic skills.

Hatushaly’s advantage was unique. He knew he was receiving special treatment: he had heard of no other outland child at his or any other school. The mystery was one of the sources of his constant smouldering anger, as was the uncertainty over his future.

THAT EVENING, TWENTY-THREE STUDENTS SAT in small groups at the back of a cluttered warehouse. Most of the youngsters were known to the three friends; several were from other villages, here because their masters had been called to an important meeting. As they made their way from the door to the rear of the warehouse, where food waited, Hatu saw a familiar face watching them walk past. Hava saw his expression change and quietly asked, ‘What?’

Hatushaly lifted his chin towards the youngster who stared in their direction. ‘Raj,’ he said in a venomous tone.

Hearing that name, Donte turned. Across the room, near to where the students’ travel bags were stored, squatted three young men, eating silently. Raj’s lopsided smile was easily recognisable. The boy had a strange face: delicate features and deep brown eyes that were overshadowed by a heavy brow, giving him an unbalanced appearance.

Donte sighed and said, ‘Do not start anything, do you hear me?’ He gripped Hatu’s tunic and said, ‘I know Raj’s look; he’s ready to start something. He knows he can goad you, so just leave it alone.’

Hatu forced himself to look away, and Donte added, ‘We’re already in trouble with Hilsbek, and if you start a fight with Raj …’ He made no further comment, simply put his hand on Hatu’s shoulder and steered him to the waiting food.

After a few steps, Hatu shrugged Donte’s hand away and said, ‘I’m not going to start anything …’ He glanced back at Raj and saw that the boy was still staring at the three of them.

‘What is it between you two, anyway?’ Hava asked.

Hatu remained silent as they reached the table where food had been laid out on wooden plates. When they had settled into an unoccupied corner of the room, he said, ‘I don’t know, it started …’

‘Years ago,’ supplied Donte. ‘Do you even remember what that first fight was about?’

‘He called me a name,’ said Hatu, ‘I think …’

Hava’s brow furrowed. ‘You think?’

‘It was before you came to school,’ said Donte. He took a bite from his platter. The food was plain, and as usual cold, but they ate gratefully, for over the years they had trained for periods of privation, and going without food was a normal part of their lives, even if only for short periods of time in training.

It was quiet in the warehouse. Students rarely spoke while eating. From an early age, they had been taught to focus on things most people took for granted, like food, water, and rest, to conserve and build their strength. These drills and lessons had been hard ones: two days without food was not life-threatening, but to a child it felt like an eternity of starvation. Many mornings had broken on severe stomach aches as the youngsters learned which foods were safe to eat and when. Water was always close at hand, for while going without food for days was possible, severe dehydration would kill sooner, and incapacitate even faster. Rest was precious, for the rigours of life under their masters would often require long periods of sleepless exertion.

Hatu looked at the small square of wood that served as his plate and ate his food with his fingers: cold lumps of sticky rice in a congealed broth, a slice of a roll, and a small portion of bitter greens. He would finish every bite.

After a moment of silence, Hava asked, ‘Before I came? How old were you when it happened?’

‘Seven, or eight,’ said Hatu quietly.

Donte shrugged. ‘I’ve lost count of the fights they’ve had.’

‘Seven,’ said Hatu, keeping his voice low, though both his friends could sense his rising tension. He glanced at Donte. ‘Eight?’

‘More,’ said Donte. ‘I lost count at about eight.’

Hava shook her head in disbelief. ‘Ten, eleven? So at least once a year you and Raj just decide to fight?’

‘Sometimes you just don’t like someone,’ said Donte. ‘For no reason. It takes most people a while to dislike Hatu, but Raj hated him from the first moment they met.’

‘I don’t care what his reason is, or even if he has one,’ said Hatu, clearly on edge. ‘He’s a piece of shit to everyone. I just fight back.’

‘True,’ said Donte, turning to Hava. ‘You and I are the only two people on Garn who truly like Hatu, but nobody likes Raj. He just bullies people into pretending they like him.’

‘I know that,’ replied Hava. ‘I just wanted to know what started the whole thing.’

‘Can’t remember,’ replied Donte. He smiled, then purloined the greens from Hava’s plate, a theft she allowed without protest. She couldn’t abide the bitter leaves and would always eat them last, and only then if one of the gang captains or a master was watching. They made her sick but that didn’t matter to those supervising the students’ meal.

Donte, on the other hand, would eat almost anything. He had won many bets for eating all manner of disgusting things, including some large insects that were still alive.

Hatu didn’t care much for food one way or another. He enjoyed some tastes, but he didn’t seek them out to satisfy a craving. As far as he knew, food was necessary for life and beyond that he took little pleasure in it.

While he ate in silence, Hatu’s thoughts turned inwards, and his frustration began to grow. He found Donte’s antics amusing at times, especially in Hava’s company, but on other occasions the big lad’s disregard for authority caused problems.

Raj’s presence did not help calm the situation. Hatu could feel the boy’s gaze upon him, and it took all of his self-control not to turn and meet it. He felt his anger building as he tried to push his mind away from their previous encounters, and from his annoyance that Donte had pulled him away from this fight; more annoyed that Donte was right to do so rather than anything else.

If Hatu dwelled on this intervention, he could easily start to resent his friend, and knowing this unsettled him, for among the male students, Donte was his closest friend and one of the few for whom he’d risk his life. Hatu hadn’t fully accepted the lesson that he might one day have to choose to complete a mission over saving a friend. When asked to envision it, he had little difficulty forsaking most of the other students but he could never reach the place in his imagination that permitted abandoning Hava and Donte to a lonely death. But there were moments where his friend’s antics got on Hatu’s nerves so much that he felt like killing Donte himself. He knew he was letting his deep seething anger rise up and forced himself to practise a calming exercise silently while he ate.

He finished his food and put down his plate. The orders had been simple: silence until everyone had finished eating and then they were to wait for instructions.

He looked around the room, avoiding Raj, and saw only a few faces he recognised in the scattering of strangers. Hava was now leaning against the back wall with her eyes closed. Hatu admired her profile and felt a stirring. He pushed aside the sudden emotion and felt an unexpected rush of foolishness and then anger at himself. He saw Donte also scanning the room for someone to cajole, bully, or bribe for extra food, so he was oblivious to what Hatu thought must have been an obvious display of his reaction to Hava. Donte could usually read Hatu’s moods easily.

Hatu settled back against a crate, finding scant comfort. He tried to calm his mind and failed; instead his impatience grew. The students were often kept waiting; Hatu suspected it was designed to stem their restlessness. When they were little, students would often act up, unable to abide the silence. Hatu quickly realised that repeat perpetrators of such behaviour disappeared from the school.

Thinking of the school made Hatu recall his earliest memory. It was a painful one, a sudden startling sting that quickly faded. It was a memory that had been repeated many times since the first birch had struck the back of his hand, a sharp memory of correction rather than punishment.

He remembered his first experience vividly: he had reached for a carp, golden in the afternoon sun, swimming just below the surface of a pond, and had fallen into the pool when one of the matrons had been distracted.

Perhaps the odd combination of sensations, the metallic burn of water in his nose, his sudden blurry vision, and his heavy coughing, was why he remembered that moment so vividly, but he’d only been a toddler and had cried until the sharp sting of the birch wand had shocked him into silence. He recalled every second: standing there dripping wet, shivering with the sudden cold, and struggling to understand what had happened.

Hatu shifted slightly while those around him finished eating. As usual old emotions rose with the memory, a mixture of anger and fear. He could even feel an echo of that first flare of shock and it reverberated within him.

The experience had marked Hatu: from that moment to this, he’d had a deep need to know what was expected of him, to understand all aspects of any situation he faced. He was content to rise or fall on his own ability, but when he failed due to lack of information, Hatu flew into a rage – often at himself for not acquiring the knowledge, or at others for not providing it. Unreliable information was what he hated most.

He was told he had been a difficult baby, prone to tantrums and fits of violence, and even now his constant frustration often put him at odds with the demand of the clan for obedience and silence. Hatu had learned to stay silent when there was need; to keep the building rage inside, away from others. He held his anger deep, rarely allowing it to reach the surface, but for most of the time, he was on edge.

No matter what caused his anger to rise, it always felt the same: a burning, seething tension that formed as a tight knot in the centre of his body. Only after many lessons, and many beatings, had he learned to control it. But it was always there, a burning just below the surface of his skin, like a fire that would not he quenched. The thrashings he received for fighting had taught Hatu to keep his retaliation in check, though from time to time the instinct bubbled to the surface. It had been months since his last brawl, sparked by a casual remark from a student at the end of a particularly gruelling day of training, when his temper got the better of him.

A sharp poke in the ribs brought Hatu out of his reverie. He glanced at Hava, who had come to sit beside him and now regarded him with a half-smile, an expression very familiar to Hatu. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed her come over.

‘What?’ he snapped, keeping his voice down lest he draw unwanted attention.

‘You’re doing it again,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘That thing where you … go inside your head and get angry.’

‘I do not—’ he began.

‘No!’ she cut him off, raising her voice slightly. ‘You do it. You know you do. I’ve seen you, many times, go back and remember something and get angry over it, all over again, for nothing! Now, stop it!’ she hissed.

Hatu sat back, blinking. He wasn’t introspective by nature, despite clinging to certain memories, and a part of him knew she was right, but his anger flared towards Hava, erupting alongside his annoyance with Donte and loathing of Raj. He glared at her with full force.

‘Fine,’ she whispered. ‘Be annoyed with me if you must be angry with someone, but seething over things that happened so long ago is going to get you killed some day if you don’t—’

He grabbed her wrist and hissed, ‘Stop! Now!’

Her eyes widened, and she yanked her arm away, standing up. Hatu followed her a second later. As they locked eyes, they both knew Hatu was just moments away from losing control.

Donte finally took note of their confrontation. He hurried back to stand next to them as they faced each other in silence. ‘What is going on?’ he whispered, conscious of other eyes being drawn to the trio.

Hatu could barely speak, he was so close to losing his temper. Finally, he managed to swallow his anger and whisper back, ‘Nothing.’

‘It doesn’t look like nothing,’ Donte hissed. ‘You want to get us all punished?’

Hava held Hatu’s gaze, then she turned to Donte to reply. Her words were cut off by a shout: ‘Attention!’ All eyes turned to the gang captain, Hilsbek. Hatu, Donte, and Hava quickly squatted where they stood so as not to be noticed while the others sat. Next to Hilsbek was a man Hatu, Hava, and Donte recognised: Bodai was one of the most important masters, a member of the Council. He looked around the room and spied Hatu in the corner. He pointed and motioned for the boy to stand up. As Hatu did so, Hilsbek shouted, ‘Go and get your bag. Meet us outside!’

Hatu hurried to the pile of ragged bags in the corner of the warehouse and quickly dug out his pack. It looked much like the others and contained a change of clothing, a few coins sewn into a seam, some cleverly disguised tools, and a flat tin can of hair dye. It was an oily dye, and dirt clung to it, but it was a necessity. Unlike the women and men who sought to restore their youth or change their appearance for vanity, Hatu needed only a little to turn his eye-catching red-gold locks to a dingy brown.

He hurried towards the door and suddenly found himself falling forward. He rolled, avoiding injury, though he would sport bruises on his shoulder and hip soon, and came to his feet to see Raj scurrying back, his half-mocking, half-defiant smile daring Hatu to react while those around diverted their attention, not wishing to be even remotely associated with a confrontation.

The anger that had been simmering inside Hatu now boiled over. He took one step towards Raj, then felt arms encircle him from behind as Donte lifted and pulled him back.

At the same moment, Hava stepped past Hatu and with wicked speed spun and delivered a punishing wheel kick to the side of Raj’s head before he could react as he tried to stand to face Hatu. Raj flew sideways, slamming against a crate, his eyes rolling up into his head before he slumped to the floor.

Donte held Hatu for a second as Hava turned and with one step had her nose almost to his. ‘Are you stupid?’ She spoke loudly, not caring who overheard. ‘You were just summoned by a master and you’re trying to fight Raj?’

Donte released Hatu, who had ceased struggling. The sudden intervention of his friends had somehow drained Hatu’s rage. Hava leaned over and picked up his bag and handed it to him. ‘Go!’ she commanded, obviously angered by what she saw as her friend’s intransigence in letting Raj goad him.

Hatu looked around and saw that every student in the warehouse was watching them. A few were looking around to see if anyone in authority was present, for their schooling had taught them all that, as unfair as it was, entire groups were often punished for the misdeeds of one. The fact that the crew boss was outside with Master Bodai had some of them settling back with expressions of relief.

He stumbled towards the door and realised he had said nothing to his friends. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hava and Donte watching him. Hatu nodded his head in farewell.

This was not the first time a student had been singled out to accompany a master or a preceptor on a mission. Hatu had travelled with both, but it was the first time he had been ordered to accompany one alone. On such assignments, he usually travelled with a small group of students.

Outside the warehouse, Hilsbek narrowed his gaze at the boy, as if he was about to say something, but before he could speak, Master Bodai turned and said, ‘I know you, don’t I?’

Hatu shrugged. ‘Yes, master, I have seen you before—’

‘Call me “brother”, for I am a holy man and you are now my beggar boy.’

Hatu instantly fell into his role. ‘I have seen you before, brother, when you came to visit Master Facaria. But we have never spoken—’ Bodai held up his hand, indicating Hatu should say nothing more. He nodded at Hilsbek.

Hilsbek wished them a safe journey and then returned to the warehouse. For an instant, Hatu wondered if Raj’s condition would be noticed, but immediately returned his attention to Master Bodai.

Bodai nodded. ‘Then we know each other by reputation.’ He motioned for Hatu to follow. ‘We take ship soon, and will have ample time to go over details, but for now, tell me what you have heard.’

Hatu was so taken aback by the question he paused for a moment and had to step quickly to catch up. Bodai was old enough to have lost some hair, and had what was known as a ‘high forehead’, but what remained of it was streaked white and grey, and hung to his collar. Hatu guessed he was in his sixties, though he walked with a lively step for a man of his age, and had a sense of strength about his movement that marked him as a dangerous opponent despite his advancing years. Experience and core strength might well overcome a younger, stronger enemy.

Hatu said, ‘I know only what other students have said, brother.’ He looked concerned as he struggled to say the right thing. ‘You explain things. To prepare them for … whatever it is they need to do. Some of them like you.’

Bodai smiled slightly, his tanned face creased like wrinkled leather around his blue eyes, broken nose, and jutting chin. ‘Some of them like me?’ he asked. ‘What of the others?’

Hatu hesitated, and Bodai said, ‘They think I talk too much?’

Hatu nodded once.

Bodai halted and laughed. ‘Perhaps I do. But I’d rather bore you to death than be killed because of your ignorance.’

Hatu was surprised that he found the response both amusing and reassuring. He appreciated the master’s mirth, and the man’s attitude appealed to Hatu’s hunger to understand everything. There was no such thing as too much information; his desire to learn lay at the root of his constant frustration and anger.

Bodai paused, narrowing his gaze. ‘This amuses you?’

‘No, brother, it pleases me.’

‘Well, then,’ Bodai responded with a playful slap to the back of Hatu’s head, ‘as it is my mission in life to please you, boy, we have begun well.’

‘Yes, brother.’

‘I shall call you … Venley. How many languages do you speak, Venley?’

‘Eleven,’ said Hatu, ‘but only five fluently.’

‘Name the five.’

‘Our tongue,’ he began.

Bodai frowned as he resumed walking. ‘Of course you do. Don’t waste my time with the obvious. So, you speak four tongues that are not native to you. What are they?’

‘Westernese—’

‘Which dialect?’ interrupted Bodai as they turned a corner and moved into a busy boulevard that led to the docks.

‘Ilcomen.’

‘Good. It won’t take long for you to master the different patois, if needed. Others?’

They crossed a small street and approached the market where Hatu and his companions had spent the day. Hatu said, ‘I speak the trading language of Matasan, as if I were a native of the island of Katalawa.’ Bodai nodded as if this was good. ‘And I also speak Ithraci.’

‘Who taught you Ithraci?’

‘A language preceptor, brother. It was by Master Facaria’s order, he insisted I learn.’ Hatu shrugged. ‘It’s a dead kingdom, so I never understood the point.’

‘Not quite dead,’ muttered Bodai. ‘And the last?’

‘Sandurani, as if I were born there.’

‘Good, because Sandura is where we need to be.’

Hatu thought on that as they crossed the market and headed towards the docks. ‘So we’re a priest and beggar boy of the One?’

‘Not quite,’ said Bodai. ‘I’m a monk, not a priest. I’ll explain the rest of it when we reach the city of Sandura’s main harbour.’

The expression on Hatu’s face revealed his impatience. He wanted to understand now, not later.

‘You will be busy until then,’ said Bodai as they reached the docks and moved towards a ship readying for departure.

Hatu let out a sigh of resignation; he was to be a sailor again. It was his third assignment aboard a ship, and although he didn’t hate the work, he could have named a dozen things he’d rather have done with his time. He knew it was likely he’d draw the night watch, for the students were often kept apart from most of the crew.

Seeing that Hatu understood, Bodai smiled. ‘Come then, let us be off,’ he said as they reached the gangplank of the ship. It was a wide-bodied trading vessel, a wallower in rough seas, Hatu guessed. He hoped he didn’t have to experience that high in the rigging at night. Resigned to the coming trials, he followed Brother Bodai up the gangplank.