Читать книгу The Melded Child - Rebecca Locksley - Страница 8

Around mid-morning the party stopped at a small farmstead to rest and water the horses. While Serge talked with his followers, Jindabyne left Olga in the care of the farm-wife and walked up a nearby hill, where hawks circled in the sky above. She called one close and it swooped down to her outstretched hand. Putting her hand on her forehead, she squeezed her eyes shut and sent her spirit into the hawk’s mind asking to see through its eyes. When the sharp creature sped upward again, it bore Jindabyne’s spirit within. High in the sky, savouring the speed and ease of the hawk’s flight, Jindabyne could see Lamartaine and make out several blackened roofs near the fortress walls. Otherwise, the city looked peaceful. To her relief there was no sign of a pursuing force.

Suddenly something cannoned into Jindabyne’s legs. Her spirit fell out of the hawk and plummeted to earth. The force of the fall toppled her over and she came back to herself sprawled in the grass, with Olga holding her tightly around the waist. Jindabyne opened her mouth to scold her for interrupting a mage, but then noticing that Olga was trembling, she held her tongue and hugged her instead.

Serge was standing nearby looking apologetic.

“She insisted on coming after you and when you didn’t answer her call, there was no holding her back.”

“I wanted you and you weren’t there,” cried Olga, her face muffled against Jindabyne’s neck. Jindabyne squeezed her tighter.

“I’m sorry she took you away from your counsels,” she said to Serge.

He shrugged. “We had finished all sensible talk. I have sent several men out to rouse those we think could be allies. I do not like to encourage racial tensions but most of our supporters will be Seagani Chiefs. Those Mirayans at the funeral who would have supported me were unconscious by the time my Uncle accused me - he may have poisoned them as he tried to poison us. And he had most of our own guards locked up. Everything so well planned.” He sighed.

“You could not have foreseen it,” said Jindabyne. “Your father trusted him after all.”

“He accused me of killing Father,” cried Serge. “I could not believe it. The things he said...” He flushed. “No matter what it takes, I will avenge my family’s death.”

Jindabyne squeezed his shoulder. “I do not doubt you and neither do the others.”

“We should get going. Is he following us?”

“There’s no sign of pursuit. I doubt he planned for you to injure him. It was a good shot.”

Serge grinned. “One thing I can do is fight. Father always says...”

He stopped, misery writ large on his face. Jindabyne saw that he was remembering that his father no longer said anything.

“Sweet life!” whispered Jindabyne softly. “How will we bear such a loss?” At that moment she felt the loss more for Serge than for herself. She squeezed his hand and said, “I know it seems a disaster now, but you will rise again.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Serge shrugged her hand off and turned away with a muttered “of course”. She picked up Olga.

“Ah, you are heavy, child! Won’t you let Serge carry you?”

“No,” muttered Olga, clinging tighter.

“We must find somewhere for you and Olga to hide,” said Serge.

“Perhaps with Chieftain Jark,” said Jindabyne, who remembered Alain’s father fondly.

“Perhaps,” said Serge. “Lev is a powerful mage. There is no chance of your own people... Up in the Gen Mountains? That country called Ermora?”

Jindabyne shivered. “I don’t think so. All I remember of Ermora is that horrible woman, Kintora, telling me I had failed them all. I never knew why... Anyway, Ambassador Ezratah told me that Ermora has been closed to all outsiders for years. Even to the Tari who left.”

“Yes,” sighed Serge. “I thought that was the way of it.” He looked beseechingly at Jindabyne. “I did think to leave you with Lord Petrus. At the moment this looks set to become a fight between the Mirayan Lords and Seagani Chiefs and we must avoid that. It might be diplomatic for me to show special trust in Petrus. He is the only Mirayan Lord I can still count on to support me.”

Jindabyne’s heart sank. Petrus was a good enough man, but a Mirayan of the old school who kept his wife and two daughters strictly secluded. But Serge was right to think he needed the support of more Mirayans. Strange that Lord Petrus had not been at the funeral. She opened her mouth to ask Serge this, but Alain came running toward them and the thought passed out of her head.

They rode on and on down endless dusty roads. Most of Jindabyne’s attention was taken up with keeping Olga soothed. In the late afternoon she fell asleep in Jindabyne’s arms. Olga’s sleeping face reminded Jindabyne of Wolf and a bleakness fell over her. Olga was all she had left of Wolf now. Lev Madraga had taken him away. And for what? Mere power.

All through the day they met parties of Seagani farmers and Mirayan merchants on the road and enlisted them to their cause. Several times Serge sent men out to rouse neighbouring settlements to arms against Lev. They spent the night in the hall of a Seagani clan leader, a client of Alain’s father who had been a good friend to Duke Wolf. The menfolk sat up all night discussing the situation. Jindabyne was exhausted by the long day’s unaccustomed travel after a sleepless night, but there were still duties for her to perform. Seagani regarded the Tari as holy, and after she had bathed and eaten, she found that the private quarters were full of people who wished her to bless their children or to seek her healing touch. It was a long time before she could fall into bed.

They set out early the next morning and rode solidly onward with few breaks. Since Serge had been sending out messengers to potential allies, their party was now only twenty men and five hardy Seagani women. By mid-morning they reached the Eastern border of Wolf’s lands. Beyond that border was the thick dark forest of the Mori kingdom - domain of the Hooded Queen. The Mori were a fierce people, traditional enemies of the plains dwelling Seagani, and relations between their sinister Hooded Queen and the Duchy of Lamartaine were uneasy. Even if Lev had lied about the Mori killing Wolf, there was still the danger of a Mori attack should their party go too close to the forest. Though the road was well out of arrow shot, a quiet watchfulness fell over the group and everyone’s heads turned to constantly scan the nearby trees.

Shortly before noon, they crested a rise and saw a group of forty or so horsemen trotting up the road toward them. Jindabyne heard the woman beside her let out a soft hooray of relief, when they saw that the party was flying the Petrus flag.

A tall tanned man whose fair hair had become white with age was in the lead. Jindabyne recognised Petrus, the Mirayan Lord of this area. Serge urged his horse forward to meet Petrus, who clasped Serge’s arm warmly, even though his face was troubled. The two men dismounted and Lord Petrus drew Serge away into a nearby field so that they could speak privately. But the conversation did not go well. Suddenly Serge recoiled from Lord Petrus in shock, and at that same moment Jindabyne felt a frisson of magic nearby.

Clutching Olga, she swung round in the saddle and with her mage’s vision, saw the glow of magical power around the group of Mirayan men behind her. Something flashed in the hand of one of them. A magic crystal! Sweet life! An illegally disguised phalanx of mages.

A heavy blanket of magic came down on Jindabyne, making her limbs feel like lead and her breathing come in gasps.

She tried to resist, but she was no match for the combined power of ten mages working in phalanx.

“No!” she moaned, out of a mouth that could barely open. Olga screamed and Jindabyne felt her small hands pulling at her.

Then, with a high pitched shriek, a hawk plummeted out of the sky, straight into the face of the man with the crystal. He screamed as his face was blotted out by feathers, talons and ripping beak. The glistening stone fell out of his flailing hands. The magical pressure broke.

A couple of the mages went to their leader’s aid, but others drew their hands back to throw magic at Jindabyne. All around, men were shouting, drawing swords.

“Run!” someone screamed.

Gripping Olga, and clenching her fist to marshal her defences, Jindabyne urged her horse into motion. The horse, shying and dancing at the clash of weapons, broke into a gallop heading towards the Mori forest.

“Hold tight,” shouted Jindabyne to Olga. A glowing attack of magic shuddered against her defences, then a second, then a third, each blow a near miss. The horse, ears back with fright, surged headlong through a field of sun dried grass so tall that it whipped against Jindabyne’s legs. She dug her heels into his flanks, driving him onwards toward the cover of the dark forest.

She gritted her teeth as two more magical blows smashed into them. Then they were in the forest crashing through undergrowth, trees looming up all around, and she knew she was safe, since her attackers could no longer see her to focus their magical attacks.

At last she unclenched her fist and relaxed her defences and as if sensing safety, the horse relaxed with her and slowed to a trot before he stopped and stood blowing hard. Jindabyne coaxed him up against the trunk of a tree and, with a wide sweeping gesture of her hands, camouflaged them with magic so that they blended into the tree trunks and the undergrowth.

Olga was whimpering, tears running down her cheeks but she sobbed quietly, clearly understanding that they were in danger. Jindabyne gritted her teeth in anger. That damned Lev putting Olga through all this!

“Hush, it’s all right,” she whispered. “I’ve covered us with my magic. No one can see us now.”

Nearby, steel rang against steel. Someone shouted and another yelped in pain. A horse crashed through the undergrowth past them. Serge was riding it and after him, so close their horses seemed to merge, came another rider, sword raised. Serge turned in the saddle to defend himself as the following horseman swung a mighty blow. Steel clashed, the blades sliding over each other as Serge tried to hold off the blow and the man pushed down into it.

“Serge!” squeaked Olga in Jindabyne’s ear, forcing Jindabyne out of her magical detachment. Sweet life, she was watching them as if they were a kind of performance! Giving herself a mental shake, she reached out with her magic and threw the man’s sword out of his hand, unbalancing him so that he fell off his horse. Serge swung his horse round to hit him, but the man was up before he could reach him, running away back towards the edge of the forest, keeping close to the tree trunks. For a moment Serge seemed about to follow, but the clash of swords and thud of nearby hooves made him stop. He stood up in his saddle, waved his sword and shouted, “Madragas! To me! To me!”

A moment later six more horses came crashing through the undergrowth, closely followed by several more. Confusion reigned as men and horses clashed together, grunting and yelling. Jindabyne saw Serge urging his horse forward to help his heavily outnumbered followers.

They’re getting the worst of this, thought Jindabyne. Still hidden, she threw a spell at a couple of the Petrus men, knocking them off their horses. With a huff of satisfaction, she threw another one and toppled three more men into the undergrowth. Their horses bolted into the trees away from the fighting. The remaining Mirayans must have realised they were the victims of magic - faces pale with panic, two of them wheeled their horses around and fled, shouting for the others to follow.

Several more of Serge’s followers now came crashing through the undergrowth toward Jindabyne, just as a flight of arrows came hissing out of the trees and one man fell. Olga screamed as several more arrows whizzed past Jindabyne’s hiding place and Jindabyne readied herself to disrupt the next flight. Then a horn sounded out at the edge of the forest sounding the call to regroup.

“Come on,” Serge waved his arm. “We must get away. To me! To me! Jindabyne come on!”

He wheeled his horse around and rode deeper into the forest. With a shrug of her shoulders, Jindabyne dropped her camouflage and marshalling her magical defences again, followed.

***

Alyx Verdey, heir to the Mori throne was hunting with three of her Mori brethren. They were creeping silently toward a herd of hopping mice grazing in a glade near the outside border of their forest, when a shout rang through the trees and they heard the sound of horses and the ring of metal on metal.

The hopping mice fled from the sound. Alyx flattened herself against a tree trunk while her guardian, Didier dropped behind a bush. A horse whinnied and a man shouted. Horses - that meant Mirayans. Sweet life! What were they doing in the forest? Attacking? Was this the next step of their plan to destroy the Mori?

Didier, popped his head up above the bush and beckoned the others to follow as he crept through the underbrush toward the sound. Suddenly a couple of horses came crashing toward them, flank to flank, riders smashing at each other with swords. Silently the Mori group broke apart, all four putting trees between them and the riders. From where she was hiding, Alyx could see an old overgrown camp ground making a clearing in the surrounding forest. Several riders were fighting there and a couple more were hacking at each other on foot.

One young man stood up in his stirrups waving his sword.

“Madragas!” he shouted. “To me!”

Madraga! The surname of the Duke of Lamartaine, her father’s killer. So was he invading the Mori after all his promises? It didn’t look like it. It looked like his party was under attack by a superior force. The liveries showed them to be Lord Petrus’ men, but Petrus was a loyal follower of Madraga. Cursed Mirayans. Why were they fighting each other? And why come into the Mori forest to do it?

Suddenly, several men in Petrus’ livery fell from their saddles. Magic! Alyx looked around for the mage but he or she was keeping hidden. A couple more of Petrus’ men fell and the rest turned their horses and charged away towards the edge of the forest, leaving only those wearing Madraga colours behind. The young man who had called out turned his horse around.

“Jindabyne, come on,” he called. He was looking for a mage too and suddenly a woman carrying a child and crouched on the back of a horse, appeared. A Tari woman. She was so close Alyx would have walked into her had she crept a few steps further. Alyx had never seen this Tari before, even though she had thought she knew all the Tari outside Ermora! Jindabyne? That name seemed familiar.

A horn sounded nearby. Petrus’ men were probably marshalling for another attack. Certainly Madraga’s folk thought so for they turned their horses and fled away deeper into the forest. The moment the Madraga party had passed, Alyx slid round the tree back towards the place where her own group had originally separated. She spotted Didier among the ferns, caught his eye. After a quick exchange of signals, the silent language of hunters, Alyx and the others nocked arrows into their bows ready for when Lord Petrus men came into view.

“Are there Gibadgee in our forest?” asked one of her mother’s guards, using the derogatory name the Mori used for outsiders.

“We drove most of them off,” called Alyx over her shoulder as she entered the opening of the enclosure where her mother held court. “Only a few got through.”

How did news spread so fast? she wondered. After they’d scared off Lord Petrus’ men with a couple of flights of arrows, Didier had sent her and Seb back to the camp while he and Arlette had followed the Madraga group. For once she hadn’t argued about being sent to safety. Better this news comes from me than from someone who doesn’t understand the Madragas’ significance. Especially now that I remember who Jindabyne is.

Alyx handed the guard her weapons and strode down the corridor into the centre of the enclosure. Her mother, Elena Verdey, was there with some of her attendants. Since the attendants were all female her mother was unhooded. Good, Alyx would be able to read her expression.

Her mother had a thin message paper in her hand and a couple of messenger birds sat on a bird feeder that hung over the side of the enclosure. So that was how the camp knew about the Mirayans in the forest. But a bird could only carry short messages. Her mother smiled at Alyx and Alyx’s heart sank. Elena clearly didn’t know. Alyx would have to tell her about the Madragas and break her mother’s fragile peace. Talk of the Madragas meant reminding her mother of Alyx’s father’s murder and of the captivity and abuse Elena had suffered at the hands of his killers. Often as not these memories drew Elena into black moods, leading to days spent sitting silently in the corner of her tent, speaking only as much as was necessary to maintain her rule.

Alyx knelt formally, as was proper for a subject, and gave her report of the fight and of Didier’s plan to follow the intruders.

“He has done well,” said her mother, her eyes bright with exaltation. “Were there any indications of who they might be?”

“Their leader called out the name Madraga,” Alyx told her mother carefully. “I don’t know if it was his name or his chieftain’s.”

Elena clapped her hands, her face full of bitter triumph. “Ha! So they have ended up here.”

Alyx blinked. Not the reaction she had expected. How did her mother know everything when she seldom left the enclosure?

“Our spies in Lamartaine say that Lev Madraga has taken over the Dukedom and driven out the youngest son Serge. So Lord Petrus has turned against Serge Madraga,” Elena paused. “Unexpected.”

“And Duke Wolf?” asked Alyx, feeling so confused by this news that she mentioned a name she normally never spoke aloud.

Her mother laughed mirthlessly.

“He’s dead,” she snapped. “He was killed five days ago with his two oldest sons. The Mirayans blamed us, of course.”

Alyx’s jaw dropped in amazement.

“Dead? Then he’s gone!” Her sense of relief was quickly replaced by outrage. “And they blamed us!”

“Until Mage Lev accused Serge of killing his father. Though I expect that the Mori will still be held responsible for it in the end. Given what I know of Lev, he is probably attempting to conceal his own guilt.”

Her mother’s mood was so strange that Alyx hesitated to go on, but a ruler could not make proper decisions without having all the facts.

“There was someone else with them,” she said. “A Tari. The leader called her Jindabyne.”

“Jindabyne! Sweet life, Jindabyne here!” cried Elena. Her eyes narrowed. For a moment she almost wasn’t beautiful. “So. I am to have vengeance after all.”

***

The Madraga troops bashed their way along through the underbrush in single file behind Serge, the nervous horses occasionally shying at rustling shrubs or uneven ground under their feet. Here the mangiri trees grew as tall and straight as pillars, with few branches low enough to trouble the riders, but the undergrowth beneath them, tall tree ferns and prickly shrubs, was as high as the horses’ heads and covered all manner of fallen logs or stones. Jindabyne was too busy trying to keep her mount under control to pay any attention to the birds nearby.

She was not the only one to heave a sigh of relief when the party suddenly came out onto a path. Serge stopped and the others gathered round him. Except for the breathing of the horses and the shushing of the wind in the trees, it was suddenly very quiet. They could not hear the sound of horns any more.

“Is Lord Petrus still following us?” Serge asked.

Jindabyne sent her magical consciousness back behind them. She could not sense anyone nearby. She sent out her thoughts to find a bird to send back for reconnaissance. To her surprise she found none. But there are always birds and animals around.

“I can’t sense any life at all,” she told Serge, confused.

“What possessed Petrus to attack us?” asked Alain. “I thought he was loyal to your father.”

“He made the same accusation as my Uncle made. That bloody man has thought of everything, curse him!”

“What accusation?” asked Jindabyne.

“He accused me of murdering my own father,” growled Serge through gritted teeth. “Petrus told me he understood it was all your plan, Lady. He said if I handed you over, Olga and I would be safe. May he rot!”

Jindabyne was too shocked to speak.

“He can’t believe...?” whispered Alain Seagani. “Lady Jindabyne is Tari. She couldn’t do such a thing. And he must know that your uncle would kill you.”

“He honestly seemed to believe that I would be safe. And that part about Jindabyne? If you recall, Petrus doesn’t have a high opinion of women.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing else for it, Alain. We will have to keep to the forest for now. Lord Petrus’s fief borders it for a good ten more leagues.”

There were nods of agreement, but Jindabyne couldn’t help casting nervous glances around at the surrounding trees.

“The Mori do not like trespassers in their forest,” said Alain. “That’s probably why Petrus has let us go.”

“My father never broke his peace treaty with the Mori,” said Serge stoutly. “They have no reason to treat us ill.”

He’s doing a good job of hiding the uncertainty he must feel, thought Jindabyne.

“Perhaps if we travel fast they will not notice us,” said Alain.

“Yes,” said Serge. “We should leave the forest as quickly as possible. By the sun this path goes north. Let’s follow it till we can find something that leads back to the forest edge. I think a river flows through here somewhere, doesn’t it? If so, we may be able to find our way by it.”

Only fifteen members the party were left: nine men, three women, Jindabyne, Olga and Serge. No one knew whether those they had left behind during the battle at the forest edge were still alive. The mood of the party was heavy.

They rode silently along the narrow path, keeping their eyes sharp for movement and their hands on their weapons. The Mori were swift, silent killers, savage in defence of their sacred forest and they liked neither Seagani nor Mirayan.

Jindabyne kept her magical sense open to the element of life, but could feel nothing sentient - there was only vegetable life, trees and ferns stirring gently in passing breezes. The springtime fronds of the ferns were unfurling like the fingers of babies and the trees were covered in flowers. Those trees should have been full of honey eating birds, but there was no sign of them. Even the life spirit of the plants seemed muted.

A deep darkness fell on Jindabyne’s heart.

Wolf is dead. The thought so filled her mind that it was as if she was wearing a mourning veil made of lead. When the party stopped in a clearing to rest and get their bearings, she sat on her horse, too limp and heavy to move.

“Lady!” called one of the horsewomen, bringing her horse to Jindabyne’s side. She held out a small cloth parcel. “Here, I have a little food. Give it to Lady Olga. She looks so pale.”

Her words pulled Jindabyne out of her black daze. Olga did indeed look pale.

“I feel sick, Mumma,” she whimpered.

Jindabyne felt nausea roiling around in her own stomach too - as if the black mood had become physical. What was this? She felt terrible - not just grief but a cringing feeling like fear or horror. She increased her magical defences over herself and the feeling subsided. She spread the defences to include Olga and soon the colour came back into her daughter’s cheeks. A drink of water seemed to settle Olga’s stomach and she nibbled on the food the horsewoman had given her.

They started moving again, following the path.

Jindabyne looked around. Still no birds... Sweet life! What was that smell?

“Eww, what stinks!” cried Olga.

“Some animal is dead nearby,” said Serge. “A big one by the stink of it. We’ll be past it soon, Ollie.”

But instead of getting better the stench got worse and worse until it became strong enough to make their eyes burn.

“What the hell can it be? Has a whole herd of cows died?” muttered Alain.

“Smells like rotting fish,” said someone else.

Despair was gnawing at Jindabyne’s mind with small pointed teeth. Why did anyone bother fleeing? Everything was bleak and bitter. If Mirayans had attacked them now, she would have willingly thrown herself on their swords.

The sound of Olga crying jolted her back to awareness. She cuddled her, whispering soothing words, but Olga simply buried her head in Jindabyne’s breast and wept.

Jindabyne was suddenly overwhelmed by the conviction that something was terribly wrong, and in that same moment she knew what it was. The life spirit was wounded - was being attacked!

She reigned in her horse so violently it reared slightly.

“Stop, Serge! You must stop. Something terrible is ahead.”

Perhaps Serge felt the wrongness too. With no more than a quick questioning glance at Jindabyne, he gave the order to stop.

A sense of urgent determination gripped Jindabyne.

She kissed Olga and passed her to Serge.

“Stay with Serge, sweetheart. Here is my kerchief to cover the horrible smell. Serge, you must all turn round and go back. This is Tari business. I will meet you back beyond where the smell starts.”

She slid to the ground and began to run down the path, certain of her course.

“What are you doing?” cried Serge. He spurred his horse to catch up with her.

“I have to go and help. The life spirit needs me.”

“You can’t ... Jindabyne!”

“Go back!” shouted Jindabyne. “This is no place for Olga or for you.”

Serge’s protests were drowned out by Olga’s wailing and he turned back. In a moment Jindabyne had rounded a curve in the track and was out of sight. Even Olga’s wailing was less distressing than the overwhelming sense of horror up ahead.

A short time later Jindabyne heard the sound of horses hooves behind her and Serge and Alain Seagani rode up.

“Where’s Olga?”

“Don’t worry, she’s with the others. They’ve gone back, but I can’t let you go on alone.”

That was the only thing they said to each other, for now the stench was so strong that opening your mouth felt like you were eating something rotten. Tying handkerchiefs over their noses did nothing to help.

The horses refused to go on. Serge and Alain were forced to dismount, and the moment they set them loose, the horses fled away back down the path.

The sense of wrongness filled Jindabyne’s body like a pain. Through eyes blurred with tears she saw that the leaves of the still and silent trees had turned a blighted black. The ground was littered with the rotting carcasses of small animals.

Then they came to an opening in the trees and before them was a red gash in the land, as bloody as a fresh wound. For a shocking moment Jindabyne thought she was looking at a huge piece of torn flesh, before she realised it was a river. A river of red slime.

The sight was as obscene as seeing someone pissing on the face of a baby. Her gorge rose and, falling to her knees, she began helplessly vomiting. Serge was at her side, wiping her face with a cloth which he had wet from a waterskin he carried. The water was a brief blessed touch of balance on her skin before the horror of what she was seeing swept over her again.

Death. The river, the element of water, which should be a force of life, was only full of death. The bodies of animals that had been poisoned by it were littered everywhere and the grass and flowers along the bank were blackened husks.

Jindabyne began sobbing. She tried to crawl forward and fill the wound in the life spirit with her own life spirit. Hands grabbed at her, but still she struggled forward. The closer she got, the more overwhelming the horror became. The stench of it filled her head, the physical anguish of it made her shudder all over as if afflicted by a fever. Then, mercifully, everything went black.

***

As Alyx’s party prepared to go after the Gibadgee, her mother came out of her enclosure to wish them good hunting. She wore a black cloth mask over her whole head which left only narrow slits for her eyes and a hooded black robe that covered her body and her hair.

I wish she didn’t have to wear that thing in public. She looks so sinister, thought Alyx.

“Another bird has come. They are taking the Wulpunya path towards the river,” said her mother.

“Then they will see what has happened to it.”

“Yes.”

“We will have to kill them, then,” said Alyx. The thought was frightening. She had always wondered what would happen to her if she broke this greatest Tari taboo.

“No!”

The party leader spoke up. “Do not fear Lady, I will not let the Forest Child pollute herself with human blood.”

“You must bring them back alive,” said Elena. “I have use for them.”

The leader bowed her head, obviously troubled by the order, but the Mori rarely disagreed with Elena. She turned and ordered the party to go.

Alyx could not help being afraid. She knew how her mother felt about these particular Gibadgee, and Yani wasn’t here to keep things calm.

“Mother! Wouldn’t it be better to kill them outright and be done with it? The life spirit doesn’t allow vengeance. You have told me this often.”

“Don’t preach to me, child!” snapped Elena. “Go! Do as you are bid.”

As she jogged away through the trees after the rest of the party, Alyx’s heart was heavy. She had only been six years old when they had been captives of the Mirayans and her memories of that time were hazy. Sometimes in dreams she relived the terrifying night in a barn when she had seen an evil man kill a woman and threaten her mother. Otherwise she had been kept separate from her mother and her greatest suffering had been her fearful longing to see her.

The time after they were rescued had been much worse. Her aunts had taken them to hide with their foster parents on a swampy island many miles from other people and her mother had been like someone dying of an invisible wound - pale, staring at nothing, weeping when she thought Alyx couldn’t hear.

She and her mother had shared a small room at the back of the farmstead. One morning Alyx had woken up in the grey time before sunrise to find her mother gone. Frightened, she had jumped up to look for her, and seen her in the distance walking into the sea with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. Full of fear, Alyx had run after her. When she got to the shore, there was no sign of her mother and no answer to her desperate cries. Staring at the empty sea and sky, she was overwhelmed by the sense that she would never see her mother again.

Then suddenly the sun broke through the early morning clouds and turned the world as golden as the life spirit, and her mother’s head broke the surface of the water. Much later, she realised that her mother had tried to kill herself that day.

How will her pain express itself when she is faced with the one who caused it?

By the time Alyx’s party had reached the Wulpunya path and caught up with Didier and the others, the Gibadgee party had split up. The Tari woman, Jindabyne, had ordered them to stay and had gone on towards the river with only two companions. The rest of the party had set watch, settled down to wait and had been easily outnumbered and disarmed by the Mori. The only difficulty was the child’s screaming, which their mage quickly stilled with a sleep spell.

“She wants the others alive, as well,” said the Mori leader as she left to escort the prisoners back to the camp.

“I knew that when I saw the Forest Child,” said Didier. He sighed. “We can ill afford so many extra mouths.”

Alyx cursed silently. Who the hell would want to be half-Tari? Tari were forbidden to kill, forbidden even to collude in killing, though Alyx knew her mother had ordered attacks on Mirayan intruders before. How could one protect one’s people against enemies under such circumstances? The Gibadgee were not so handicapped. If Alyx had had some of the Taris’ great magic, the taboo might have been practical. But her only skill was the ability to pass her life spirit to others, a limited ability at best.

“Why do the Mori accept Tari rulers?” she muttered to Didier as they crouched together.

Didier smiled at her. Mentor, bodyguard, almost foster father, he could be very stern but he had a kind heart.

“Stop it,” he whispered. “Tari are holy conduits of Labwa’s love for his children. There is no shame in being unable to kill other men.”

“What do you think my mother wants with these people?”

Didier’s face clouded. He knew more of Elena’s past than most Mori. “I don’t know,” he said, adding, “But she is still Tari. We must trust her to do right.”

“What if...?” Alyx struggled to put her dread into words. She herself felt bitter hatred towards the people who had robbed her of her father and she had not been half as harmed by them as her mother.

“Ssh! Here they come.” Didier’s face became still and alert

Two young warriors came down the path. One had the facial tattoos and torc of a high-class Seagani and the other was a Mirayan, judging by his fair skin and hair. Their faces showed great distress, cheeks stained by tears. The Mirayan carried an unconscious woman in his arms.

Jindabyne! The woman who had delivered Alyx and her mother to their enemies. Alyx was aware of a feeling of satisfaction. Seeing the ruined river the first time had affected Alyx in much the same way.

May the life spirit give the bitch terrible dreams!

The moment the men stumbled past them, Didier rose from the undergrowth and gave the signal to move in.

As always in these situations, Alyx had been told to hang back, and this time she did as she was told. The rest of the Mori simply stepped out of the undergrowth with their swords drawn blocking all escape routes. Two young Gibadgee knew they were outnumbered and only protested when someone put an iron collar on Jindabyne and took her away.

Now was the time for Alyx to step forward. The others spoke only halting Mirayan, and of course the Gibadgee spoke no Mori. And trade talk was no language for speaking to enemies.

She looked at Serge Madraga, the son of her father’s murderer, expecting to see what? Cunning? The signs of an evil spirit? Cowardice?

He was surprisingly good-looking and the frank admiration in his stare caught her off-guard, making her stumble over the vehement words she had been rehearsing in her head. Annoyed, she recovered quickly.

“You are Serge Madraga, youngest son of the late Duke Wolf and this is the Lady Jindabyne,” she said in her fluent Mirayan, learned during her captivity.

The young Mirayan closed his mouth and the admiration went out of his eyes. She could see him thinking about lying.

“Do not trouble to lie. We have already mindsearched your companions.”

“Then you will know we are a peaceful party seeking only to pass through your lands,” said the Mirayan.

“So your people always say,” sneered Alyx.

With visible effort the young man controlled himself.

“Where is the rest of our party? The little girl? Surely even Mori would not kill a little girl.”

“You are a fine one to talk,” snapped Alyx, suddenly furious at this fresh-faced young man with his blue eyes. “Murderer’s son!”

Didier shot a warning glance at her. With difficulty Alyx controlled her feelings. A ruler did not bandy words with prisoners. To show anger was to show weakness. She turned on her heel.

“Bring them!” she ordered.