Читать книгу The Melded Child - Rebecca Locksley - Страница 10

Yani had cut off the skirt of the gown she’d been wearing when she been captured and now, axe in hand, ready to fight, she travelled through the forest at scout’s pace - ten paces walking, ten jogging. Shut up in Daria’s carriage, she had no idea the direction they had taken from the coast so she headed for the nearby mountains hoping to find a hiding place and perhaps even some kind of border over which she might be safe. With any luck she would be able to find someone who knew whether the coast was north-east or south-east from here, so that she could reach a harbour and try and find some way to meet up with Marigoth.

For now the most important thing was to get as far away from Daria as possible. After the savage way Daria had treated her, she must have left lots of bits of hair and skin behind which were exactly the things Mirayan mages used to find a person nearby. Hunting dogs might be a danger, too. Yani had no idea how experienced Daria was in tracking escaped prisoners or if she even had hunting dogs, but it was best to err on the side of caution. When she came upon a large stream flowing from the mountains, she followed up its course walking in the stream bed wherever it was shallow enough so as to foil anyone who might follow her.

The landscape here was utterly different from the scented forests and Mangiri trees of Yarmar. This forest was made up of low green bushes and large leafed spreading trees, which were almost as wide as they were tall. The smells were mostly of good earth and rotting leaves. Everywhere she saw signs that people used the forest for wood and food collecting, but there was not a soul to be found.

Around midday she rounded a bend in the stream and saw a village ahead. She stopped to take stock of her situation. She couldn’t just walk into that village and ask them to take her manacle off. If they were Daria’s peasants, they might well be too loyal or too afraid to help and even if they were not, in a country where death mages roamed free, it made sense to be cautious of a strange person wearing witch manacles.

What she needed was a smithy with useful tools and a fire. Yani climbed into a tree and took a good look at the village. Scanning over the buildings, she was surprised to see no smoke coming from any of the houses. Even on a sunny day like this there should be cooking fires. What was going on here? The village looked poor but too well-kept to be abandoned. Climbing down from the tree, she circled the entire settlement, creeping along under the cover of the forest.

The place seemed deserted, but she could make out a building that looked like a smithy. The only way to find a trap is to spring it, and if she could only get these damned manacles off everything would be so much simpler. She slipped in among the little houses made of mud and thatched with grey mouldy-looking straw. A hunk of bread lay on a table in one of the huts. Hungrily Yani slid inside, ripped a piece off the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth. It was hard and stale, but it was food. Signs of hurried flight were everywhere. A pot full of stewed vegetables hung in the fire showing that people had been here in the last day. They had taken their animals too. Fleeing from what? Daria Symina perhaps?

She slid out of the cottage and crept carefully between the houses into the dark smithy. The fire was out. A smith never lets his fire go out! In the dim light she felt around on the benches. A file. She could file through the manacle clasp. It would take forever, but it was her best choice so far.

Standing fumbling round among the tools, she chanced to glance out of the window at the little sandy clearing between the houses and saw blood and flesh on the ground. Sweet life! Some kind of large animal had been killed here. A goat or sheep had been torn apart here - it bloody carcass lay there, its white ribs like a cage, and guts and limbs were strewn everywhere. Pray she didn’t meet whatever had done that!

A couple of sacks hung by the door. Yani shoved several files into one and, in the spirit of groundless optimism, added a hammer and chisel in case she met someone she could trust enough to use it. Then she crept back down the street and into the forest again. Safely back under cover she straightened, leaned back against a tree-trunk and relaxed.

Crack! A terrible pain on the side of her head and briefly things went blank. She staggered, saw stars, hit out blindly. Then they were on her, too many of them to fight off and in a moment she was on the ground, a man kneeling on her arm and another holding a knife to her throat.

A wrinkled face glared down in hers and a constellation of dirty faces hung behind him. A mouth full of blackened and broken teeth said something in a language she couldn’t understand. A stubby hand tugged at her neck manacle. The question was repeated louder. Yani still couldn’t understand a word.

“Mirayan? Trade Talk?” she asked.

Another face spoke, this one younger, lean, with sunken cheeks.

“Who you?” said this face in something like Mirayan. “Where you come from?”

Strange accent, but at least she understood.

“The Archipelago,” said Yani. “I am not Mirayan.”

Wrinkled face said something urgent. Yani couldn’t understand a word. What was this? Wasn’t she in Miraya anymore?

“You healer?” said Thin face.

“Yes,” lied Yani, thinking they might take her out of the manacles. It wasn’t exactly a lie. All Tari could strengthen people by channelling their life force into them.

The men had a heated discussion in the strange language. Yani thought she heard the name Symina several times. Were they Daria’s friends or her enemies? She counted seven of them. Those she could see looked like farmers, an unkempt-looking lot with bad teeth and pinched faces. Archipelagan farmers never looked as miserable as this. Was this what the Mirayans wanted for the Archipelago? Pray she survived to stop them!

The thin faced man shook the manacle again.

“Daria Symina make this?” he asked. Sweet life. Should she lie? Or had she found friends?

“Yes,” she said.

Suddenly there was a shout from behind them in the village. Fear lit in the faces of the men.

“Get up! You come with us.”

Though the knife was suddenly gone from her throat, they kept firm hold of her hands, twisting them behind her back and tying them with a strong cord. Two heavily laden oxen waited in a nearby clearing. Moving quickly, her captors blindfolded Yani with a filthy scarf and bundled her onto the broad back of one of the oxen along with what felt like several bags of flour. Wonderful! Captive once again! She forced herself to relax and listen to the life spirit. The whispering of the life spirit of this strange forest sounded different from that of the forests in Yarmar yet its essential nature was familiar.

Several times she heard something howling in the distance. Each time the men around the oxen swore softly and muttered Daria Symina’s name. The howling sounded like something much worse than hunting dogs. Fortunately the sound was a long way off and her captors were taking precautions. At every little stream they came to, and they crossed several, they turned and splashed along in the water for a while.

Up and up they climbed until at last they stopped and pulled Yani off the ox. One pair of hands took her round the shoulders and another round the ankles and she was carried into what, from the echoing of their footsteps and the cool damp air, must be a cave. She could hear the sibilant hiss of whispering voices in front of her and the oxen plodding behind.

Finally she was set down on the ground and someone unbound her hands and pulled the bandage off her eyes.

Even the dim torch light made her blink. A cluster of men were looking at her and talking intently amongst themselves. Their pinched greyish faces were shadowy in the flickering torch light.

As her eyes adjusted she saw that they were in a huge dark space. People were gathered around the talking men, but others, many others, sat around the walls on mats, their indistinct faces turned to Yani as if staring intently. Cages filled with small animals and chickens were arrayed among them and to one side Yani could see pens for larger animals.

The men seemed to have come to an agreement.

“Come!” said a man, whose face was fleshier than the others and who seemed to be their leader. He pulled her up from the ground and tugged her deeper into the cave towards some mats where two small bundles lay side by side.

Two children lay with the unnatural tidiness of the very ill, their faces and arms covered in bloody bandages. Where their skin was not bandaged, it was badly scratched.

Yani knelt down, carefully lifted the bandages on the first child, a boy, and sucked in her breath. Some large, vicious animal had savaged him, leaving such terrible wounds that he might not survive. The little girl beside him was less badly wounded, but she would probably never walk again. Even Yani, who had no significant magical powers, could feel the death magic about these wounds. It was obvious what these people wanted.

“I can strengthen the life forces of these children,” she said in Mirayan. “But I cannot promise the boy will survive. The dead hand of the Abyss is on him.”

“Try!” said the fleshy man.

“You must release me then,” she said, holding out her manacled wrists.

More heated discussion. Even the three women who were crouched beside the children, their heads covered in scarves, took part in it. Who could blame them? How could they know that she was not some evil creature like Daria Symina? She looked down at the children again. She had only a rough knowledge of the art of healing so she was glad to see that the children had already been washed and skilfully bandaged. She had only ever used her healing power in the heat of an emergency to strengthen the life spirit of the injured until they could be treated by trained healers.

Even though she was wearing iron manacles, when she touched the boy, death filled her mind with its cold, unyielding power. She pulled away quickly, feeling unaccustomed panic and forced herself to relax and try again.

She touched the boy’s bandages one by one and felt a cold, hard something that was part of the Abyss was lodged in the child’s shoulder. That would have to come out before anything could be done for the boy, otherwise it would just absorb all the life spirit she gave him, like a sponge absorbs water. She looked up. The villagers were still arguing about taking her manacle off, but an older woman with a lean, brown face and bright eyes was watching her closely.

“This child has a piece of darkness in him,” said Yani

The woman understood her immediately.

“Where?” she said, in the clearest Mirayan Yani had yet heard.

Yani pointed to the place. The woman pulled off the bandage and with expert fingers gently prodded the wound. The unconscious child did not even stir under her hands.

“Perhaps you are right,” she said. She must be the village healer. She unrolled a bundle of cloth beside her and brought out a long thin probe which she offered to Yani.

“Since you can feel it, it would be best if you dug for it.”

Yani looked down at the boy. Through the taint of the iron, she could feel that his life force was a thread, stretched thin, ready to break. And if it did? These people would surely turn against her. They had already fallen silent, watching her and the healer.

“No,” she said. “I cannot do it with these iron things on. The probing will surely kill him.”

The healer sighed. Then she spoke loudly in the unknown tongue. Instantly people were galvanised into action. A man grabbed Yani and, leading her over to a rock on the other side of the cave, took the hammer and chisel out of her sack.

The fleshy man scowled at Yani. “If you treat us ill, we find revenge.”

“I will not harm you.”

The man with the hammer spoke. The fleshy man took her shoulder and pushed her down against the rock so hard that the manacle clanged.

“He say hold still less you want lost ear.”

Pray the hammer man had a steady hand!

The chisel hit the manacle with teeth jarring blows, but it came off easily. So did the wristlets. Then the wonderful feeling of the life spirit free now of the taint of iron came flooding freely back into her.

Her first instinct was to flee, but she could not leave those children. Before she sat down to work on the boy, she drew the Tari sign of the life spirit on the ground of the cave, four concentric circles representing the four elements Earth, Air, Water, Fire with the cross of Life itself bisecting it. She whispered the morning chant to herself. The words brought the life spirit even closer, its gentle cleansing power washing away her fear. She could feel the earth all around her and somewhere behind her the air at the opening of the cave.

She called for a candle and a cup of water and placed the cup of water on one side of the boy and the candle on the other. Now with all five elements, Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Life present, her contact with the life spirit was strong and she picked up the probe and after giving it to the healer, took her hand and showed her where the piece of the Abyss was embedded in the boy’s shoulder.

“You must dig for it. I shall keep the boy alive while you do.”

The healer sighed again. “This boy’s father is the village headman,” she said. “Do not let him die.”

Yani put one hand on the child’s heart and another on the pulse in his neck. She let the life spirit flow over her like gentle waves in a summer sea.

“Begin,” she said.

The healer was blessedly skilful. Only the boy’s weakened condition had made her reluctant to clean the wound more deeply. Soon she let out an exclamation of triumph and held something up. The villagers shouted with pleasure. Yani was too busy to pay much attention to it. With the draining power of the Abyss out of his body, the boy could absorb the life spirit she was passing to him and Yani felt the thread of his life suddenly thicken and grow. Already his breathing was deeper. She sighed and relaxed for a moment. Now for the little girl.

But as she got up to go to the girl, the village headman caught her arm.

“No waste time with her. She not important. Spend healing power on son.”

Yani couldn’t believe her ears.

“Who are you to make such a choice?”

“I Father. Girls not matter.”

Yani’s mind filled with hot red light.

“What kind of father...? What kind of animal makes such a choice between his children?” She shouted. The man shrank back.

There was silence and in that silence, the woman sitting by the head of the boy began to sob.

“Lady, don’t harm us,” cried the healer, catching Yani arm.

“Don’t worry,” said Yani. She turned back to the man. “And who is it who bears the sons that you find so valuable? The boy has had all the healing he can manage for the moment. I will heal the girl now.”

“If son die, I kill you,” muttered the headman.

“Go away you nasty man,” snapped Yani, kneeling at the girl’s side.

Afterward passing her life force to the girl she was tired to the bone. “I need food,” she said to the healer who was hovering nearby. It was really sleep she craved, but she must leave here as soon as possible. If Daria Symina was looking for her, Yani’s presence here would bring danger to these people.

A couple of women bought her food. One of them, who seemed to be the children’s mother, kissed Yani hand’s and wept. Yani blessed her more from force of habit than any real intention. The woman could not understand a word Yani said in any language.

“What language do you speak here?” Yani asked the healer, whose name was Mab.

“It is serf Mirayan, Lady,” said the healer. “She is thanking you, and I thank you, also, for these are my grandchildren.”

“Why are there two languages here? How is it you can speak the same as me and they cannot?”

“Only those who have dealings with the Princes of Earth learn to speak noble Mirayan,” said Mab. “Once upon a time I worked in the Symina household as Lady Daria’s nursemaid.”

“Daria’s nursemaid!”

“Yes,” Mab smiled ruefully. “Such a sweet little baby. Now when she is here at the manor house she lets her blood beasts roam freely and her men raid our villages. They do not care that I once suckled her.”

“They never find you here?”

“There are many caves in these hills,” said Mab. “And they do not really look so hard. We have an agreement...” Her face changed as if she had said something wrong and she looked quickly over her shoulder.

“The Symina are not fools,” she went on quickly. “Their wealth comes from lands such as these. Without us there would be no wealth. They do not come here often. The Pimenovs who own the lands over the mountains are their deadly enemies. Lord Malov has taken land further south which is much safer for them.”

“Daria told me her brother killed their parents.”

“I think that would be true. Malov Symina is a beast. Far worse than Daria because he is colder.”

“A death mage?” Yani asked.

“Yes. But he never had much power himself without his demons. Daria has the magic in this generation. A cruel family, the Syminas. Cruel even for the Princes of Earth. They have always leaned towards the Abyss.” She peered into Yani’s face. “You should sleep lady. You are tired to death.”

“I cannot stay here,” said Yani. “I shall lead the lady Daria to you.”

Mab nodded. “When you leave, go over the mountains to the east. Those are Lord Pimenov’s lands. You will find shelter there. I will get you food for your journey.”

Yani’s back ached. She lay flat for a moment to rest her tired muscles.

It only seemed like a moment later that she opened eyes again, but from the blanket that lay over her she knew that she’d been asleep for some time. She sat up quickly. Impossible to tell how long had passed in this dark place. There was no sign of Mab, but a number of women were seated nearby staring at her with a strange intensity.

“How are the children?” she asked.

None of them seemed to understand her, so she got up and looked for herself. The little girl was now sleeping quite naturally and the boy had some colour in his cheeks. The children’s mother was still sitting by their heads. She took Yani’s hand and kissed it again.

“Where is Mab? Mab?” she asked the woman, thinking she must surely recognise the name.

Was it the torch light or did anxiety flicker across the woman’s face?

She pulled Yani down and said something urgent to her.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” said Yani, unease growing. The woman repeated herself again even more urgently. Then suddenly she stopped, let go of Yani’s hand and turned her face away.

Someone touched Yani’s shoulder. A woman leaned down and passed her a bowl of stew. The hot savoury smell of it made Yani’s mouth water. She took the stew and thanked the woman.

“Where is Mab?” she asked this new woman.

The woman merely shook her head and walked away, and Yani took a spoonful of the stew. The children’s mother looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching, put her hand on the hand Yani was lifting to her mouth and said something urgent. This time she pointed towards the opening of the cave.

Did she want her to leave? Yani jerked her head towards the opening of the cave and the woman nodded vigorously and actually pushed Yani.

“Right,” said Yani. “But first some food.” She put the spoonful of stew to her lips.

The woman let out squeak of protest and dashed the stew from Yani hands. The earthenware bowl fell to the ground with a clatter.

“What?” cried Yani, but the desperate look on the woman’s face told her that the stew had not been safe to eat and that she should go. Now!

She jumped up and made for the opening, wishing she had her weapons.

The cave was suddenly hushed. Yani’s scalp tingled with the feeling of all those eyes watching. There was a flurry along the walls and a black mass rose to intercept her. In the torch light it resolved into a group of men, led by the fleshy-faced headman and the blacksmith.

“Where you going?” demanded the headman.

“It’s dangerous for me to stay here,” said Yani.

“Oh no Lady, do not go. Safe here. Lady Daria never find us,”

“Lady Daria can find anyone she likes,” said Yani, edging forward round the group. She could feel the movement of air and, yes there, she could see the curve of an opening in the torch light. She edged towards it. The men moved and suddenly they had surrounded her. They were all a head shorter than her, but there were a lot of them.

“No lady!” said the headman washing his hands ingratiatingly. “Not here. Powerful spells have we.”

“That so?” said Yani. All her senses spoke of danger, but she forced her body to relax. The men relaxed too. “Then perhaps I should stay here.”

She stepped back so that she was out from among the men.

“Dangerous for you out there,” said the headman. “I so grateful to you. Let I take care.” He sidled forward and reached out for Yani’s hand. She saw the smith at the back of the group grin. At the last moment she side-stepped so that the headman missed her. She jumped back, turned and ran back into the cave.

“Raven, Raven, Come!” she shouted, reaching inside herself to set free the Raven. She heard yells and heard the men come after her.

Suddenly the Raven was there and her humanity was sinking into it. Yani pushed her body forward into the Raven shape. With jagged pain her bones drew in and her muscles and skin changed to feathers. Suddenly she was flying instead of running.

She swerved and banked high into the air. She could not see well, but a draught of fresh air told her were the opening was. She swooped toward it, dodging past grasping hands, flapping her wings as hard as she could. From behind came shouting and the sound of running feet, and some thrown object whizzed past her. Light came to meet her and suddenly she was in the cool open air. She flapped her wings hard, climbing upwards in the sudden space, flying into a clear sky. Oh joyful, joyful freedom! She dipped and swerved for a few moments, familiarising herself with the different body shape, careful to stay as high as she could. Beneath her, she saw people streaming out of the cave mouth. One of them threw a rock, but it came nowhere near her. She let out a derisory cawing and flew upwards, enjoying the feeling of the late afternoon air beneath her wings. Far below two of the villagers had left the group and were running away along a pathway down the hill. The rest were rushing back into the cave. Yani turned and followed the pathway for a short way overtaking the runners. As she come out past an outcrop in the mountain side, she could see down into the valley to where the village was, just as a small group of horsemen headed by a veiled woman in gold brocade entered it.

They had sold her to Daria in return for safety. Ungrateful, cunning pigs! Even after she had healed their children, they had sold her. But after all she was a stranger and better to sell a stranger than someone you knew.

Yani turned in the air and flew back toward the mountains.

The problem with becoming a raven was clothing. Once your body changed, you shed clothes, armour and everything you carried. Mages had ways of dealing with this, but Yani was not a mage. When she had become the Raven - the Tari War Leader - the life spirit had simply gifted her with the magical ability to change shape.

Dusk was falling. She could find a safe roost and spend the night as a raven but spending a long time in raven form was...disturbing. While you did not forget your humanity, your mind was dominated by raven thoughts, simple thoughts of food and safety. On top of that, ravens were not great strategic thinkers, so if Yani wanted to plan what to do next she needed to resume her own shape. The moment she passed over the brow of the eastern mountains into the presumed safety of the Pimenov lands, she began looking for somewhere to spend the night. As dusk became darkness, she came upon little shelter full of hay, hopped inside and changed back into human form. The painful stretching feeling of changing into a bigger body left her shaken as always.

Fortunately it was a mild night and the little cocoon she made in the scratchy hay kept her warm. She lay trying to think about what to do next, but was so tired that she fell asleep.

Awaking in the grey light of dawn, she was quickly certain of her course. She could not leave Daria unchecked. She would go to this Pimenov fellow that Mab had told her about and try to join forces with him. Surely he must thank her for the information about Daria’s proximity, and he should at least be able to tell her how to get back to the nearest port. She hoped she would not miss meeting Marigoth on her return journey.

After so much uncertainty it was good to have a clear path. She lay for some time in the warm hay enjoying her freedom and well being, until voices calling to each other somewhere in the distance reminded her that she could still be caught. Wriggling to the front of the shelter, she pushed herself into the painful change of the Raven.