Читать книгу A Torch Against the Night - Sabaa Tahir, Sabaa Tahir - Страница 16

We should have killed the Commandant.

The desert beyond Serra’s orchards is quiet. The only hint of the Scholar revolution is the orange glow of fire against the limpid night sky. A cool breeze carries the smell of rain from the east, where a storm flashes over the mountains.

Go back. Kill her. I am torn. If Keris Veturia let us go, she has some diabolical reason for it. Besides which, she murdered my parents and sister. She took Izzi’s eye. Tortured Cook. Tortured me. She led a generation of the most lethal, ignoble monsters while they pummeled my people into servile ghosts of themselves. She deserves to die.

But we are well beyond Serra’s walls now, and it is too late to turn back. Darin matters more than vengeance against that madwoman. And getting to Darin means getting far away from Serra, as swiftly as possible.

As soon as we clear the orchards, Elias vaults on to the horse’s back. His gaze never rests, and wariness suffuses his every move. He is, I sense, asking the same question I am. Why would the Commandant let us go?

I grasp his hand and pull myself up behind him, my face heating at the close fit. The saddle is enormous, but Elias is not a small man. Skies, where do I put my hands? His shoulders? His waist? I’m still deciding when he puts heels to flank and the horse leaps forward. I grab on to a strap of Elias’s armor, and he reaches out to pull me flush against him. I wrap my arms around his waist and press into his broad back, my head spinning as the empty desert streams past.

“Stay down,” he says over his shoulder. “The garrisons are close.” He wags his head, as if shaking something out of his eyes, and a shudder rolls through him. Years of watching my grandfather with his patients has me putting a hand to Elias’s neck. He’s warm, but that might be from the fight with the Commandant.

His shudder fades, and he urges the horse on. I look back at Serra, waiting for soldiers to come streaming from its gates, or for Elias to tense and say he’s heard the drums sending out our location. But we pass the garrisons without incident, nothing but open desert around us. Ever so slowly, the panic that has gripped me since seeing the Commandant eases.

Elias navigates by starlight. After a quarter hour, he slows the horse to a canter.

“The dunes are to the north. They’re hell on horseback.” I lift myself up to hear him over the hoofbeats of the horse. “We’ll head east.” He nods to the mountains. “We should hit that storm in a few hours. It’ll wash away our tracks. We’ll aim for the foothills—”

Neither of us sees the shadow that hurtles out of the dark until it is already upon us. One second, Elias is in front of me, his face a few inches from mine as I lean in to listen. The next, I hear the thud of his body hitting the desert floor. The horse rears, and I grasp at the saddle, trying to stay on. But a hand latches on to my arm and yanks me off as well. I want to scream at the inhuman coldness of that grip, but I can only manage a yelp. It feels as if winter itself has taken hold of me.

“Givvve.” The thing speaks in a rasp. All I see are streamers of darkness fluttering from a vaguely human form. I gag as the stench of death wafts over me. A few feet away, Elias curses, battling more of the shadows.

“Sssilver,” the one holding me says. “Give.”

“Get off!” I land a punch to clammy skin that freezes me from fist to elbow. The shadow disappears, and I’m suddenly, ridiculously grappling with air. A second later though, a band of ice closes about my neck and squeezes.

“Givvve!”

I cannot breathe. Desperately, I kick my legs. My boot connects, the shadow releases me, and I’m left wheezing and gasping. A screech shatters the night as an unearthly head sails past, courtesy of Elias’s scim. He makes for me, but two more creatures dart out of the desert, blocking his path.

“It’s a wraith!” he bellows at me. “The head! You have to take off its head!”

“I’m not a bleeding swordsman!” The wraith appears again, and I pull Darin’s scim from across my back, halting its approach. The second it realizes I have no idea what I’m doing, it lunges and digs its fingers into my neck, drawing blood. I scream at the cold, the pain, dropping Darin’s blade as my body goes numb and useless.

A flash of steel, a chilling screech, and the shadow drops, headless. The desert falls abruptly silent but for my and Elias’s harsh breaths. He sweeps up Darin’s blade and closes the distance between us, taking in the scratches on my neck. He lifts my chin, his fingers warm.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” His own face is cut, and he does not complain, so I pull away and take Darin’s scim. Elias seems to notice it for the first time. His jaw drops. He holds it up, trying to see it in the starlight.

“Ten hells, is this a Teluman blade? How—” A patter in the desert behind him has us both reaching for our weapons. Nothing emerges from the dark, but Elias lopes toward the horse. “Let’s get out of here. You can tell me on the way.”

We race east. As we ride, I realize that, other than what I told Elias on the night the Augurs locked us in his room, he knows almost nothing about me.

That might be a good thing, the wary part of me says. The less he knows, the better.

As I consider how much to say about Darin’s blade and Spiro Teluman, Elias half turns in the saddle. His lips curve into a wry smile, like he can feel my hesitation.

“We’re in this together, Laia. Might as well give me the whole story. And”—he nods to my wounds—“we’ve fought side by side. Bad luck to lie to a comrade-in-arms.”

We’re in this together. Everything he’s done since the moment I made him vow to help me has reinforced that truth. He deserves to know what he’s fighting for. He deserves to know my truths, however strange and unexpected they are.

“My brother wasn’t an ordinary Scholar,” I begin. “And … well, I wasn’t exactly an ordinary slave …”

«««

Fifteen miles and two hours later, Elias rides silently in front of me as the horse trudges on. He holds the reins in one hand, keeping the other on a dagger. Rain mists from low-bellied clouds, and I’ve pulled my cloak tight against the damp.

Everything there is to tell—the raid, my parents’ legacy, Spiro’s friendship, Mazen’s betrayal, the Augurs’ help—I’ve shared it all. The words liberate me. Perhaps I have become so accustomed to the burden of secrets that I do not notice its weight until I am free of it.

“Are you upset?” I finally ask.

“My mother.” His voice is low. “She killed your parents. I’m sorry. I—”

“Your mother’s crimes are not yours,” I say after a moment’s surprise. Whatever I thought he would say, this was not it. “Do not apologize for them. But …” I look out at the desert—empty, quiet. Deceptive. “Do you understand why it is so important for me to save Darin? He’s all I have. After what he did for me—and after what I did to him—leaving him—”

“You have to save him. I understand. But, Laia, he’s more than just your brother. You must know that.” Elias looks back at me, gray eyes fierce. “The Empire’s steelcraft is the only reason no one has challenged the Martials. Every weapon from Marinn down to the Southern Lands breaks against our blades. Your brother could bring down the Empire with what he knows. No wonder the Resistance wanted him. No wonder the Empire sent him to Kauf instead of killing him. They’ll want to know if he’s shared his skills with anyone.”

“They don’t know he was Spiro’s apprentice,” I say. “They think he was a spy.”

“If we can free him and get him to Marinn”—Elias stops the horse at a rain-swollen creek and motions for me to dismount—“he could make weapons for the Mariners, the Scholars, the Tribes. He could change everything.”

Elias shakes his head and slides off the horse. As his boots hit the dirt, his legs buckle. He grabs the pommel of the saddle. His face blanches white as the moon, and he puts a hand to his temple.

“Elias?” Beneath my hand, his arm trembles. He shudders, just like he did when we first left Serra. “Are you—”

“Commandant landed a nasty kick,” Elias says. “Nothing serious. Just can’t seem to get my feet.” The color returns to his face, and he plunges a hand into a saddlebag, handing me a palmful of apricots so fat they are splitting their skins. He must have taken them from the orchards.

When the sweet fruit bursts between my lips, my heart twinges. I cannot eat apricots without thinking of my bright-eyed Nan and her jams.

Elias opens his mouth as if to say something. But he changes his mind and turns to fill the canteens from the creek. Still, I sense he’s working himself up to a question. I wonder if I’ll be able to answer it. What was that creature you saw in my mother’s office? Why do you think the Augurs saved you?

“In the shed, with Keenan,” he finally says. “Did you kiss him? Or did he kiss you?”

I spit out my apricot, coughing, and Elias rises from the creek to pat me on the back. I had wondered if I should tell him about the kiss. In the end, I decided that with my life dependent on him, it was best to hold nothing back.

“I tell you my life story and that’s your first question? Why—”

“Why do you think?” His tilts his head, lifts his brows, and my stomach flips. “In any case,” he says, “you—you—”

He pales again, a strange expression crossing his face. Sweat beads on his forehead. “L-Laia, I don’t feel—”

His words slur, and he staggers. I grip his shoulder, trying to keep him upright. My hand comes away soaked—and not from the rain.

“Skies, Elias, you’re sweating—quite a lot.”

I grab his hand. It’s cold, clammy. “Look at me, Elias.” He stares down into my eyes, his pupils dilating wildly before a violent tremor shakes his body. He lurches toward the horse, but when he tries to take hold of the saddle, he misses and falls. I get under his arm before he cracks his head on the rocks of the creekside and lower him as gently as I’m able. His hands twitch.

This can’t be from the blow to the head.

“Elias,” I say. “Did you get cut anywhere? Did the Commandant use a blade on you?”

He grabs his bicep. “Just a scratch. Nothing seriou—”

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he turns to me, trying to form words. Before he can, he seizes once. Then he drops like a stone, unconscious. It doesn’t matter—I already know what he’s going to say.

The Commandant poisoned him.

His body is frighteningly still, and I grab his wrist, panicked at the erratic stutter of his pulse. Despite the sweat pouring off him, his body is cold, not fevered. Skies, is this why the Commandant let us go? Of course it is, Laia, you fool. She didn’t have to chase you or set an ambush. All she needed was to cut him—and the poison took care of the rest.

But it didn’t—at least not right away. My grandfather dealt with Scholars maimed by poisoned blades. Most died within an hour of being wounded. But it took several hours for Elias to even react to this poison.

She didn’t use enough. Or the cut wasn’t deep enough. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he still lives.

“Sorry,” he moans. I think at first that he is speaking to me, but his eyes remain shut. He puts up his hands, as if warding something off. “Didn’t want to. My order—should have—”

I tear off a piece of my cloak and stuff it in Elias’s mouth, lest he bite off his own tongue. The wound on his arm is shallow and hot. The moment I touch it, he thrashes, spooking the horse.

I dig through my pack with its vials of medicines and herbs, finally finding something with which to cleanse the wound. As soon as the cut is clean, Elias’s body grows slack and his face, rigid with pain, relaxes.

His breathing is still shallow, but at least he is not convulsing. His lashes are dark crescents against the gold skin of his face. He looks younger in sleep. Like the boy I danced with on the night of the Moon Festival.

I reach out a hand and place it against his jaw, rough with stubble, warm with life. It pours from him, this vitality—when he fights, when he rides. Even now, with his body battling poison, he throbs with it.

“Come on, Elias.” I lean over him, speaking into his ear. “Fight back. Wake up. Wake up.”

His eyes fly open, he spits out the gag, and I snatch my hand back from his face. Relief sweeps through me. Awake and injured is always better than unconscious and injured. Immediately, he lurches to his feet. Then he doubles over and dry-heaves.

“Lay down.” I push him to his knees and rub his broad back, the way Pop did with ill patients. Touch can heal more than herbs and poultices. “We have to figure out the poison so we can find an antidote.”

“Too late.” Elias relaxes into my hands for a moment before reaching for his canteen and drinking the contents down. When he finishes, his eyes are clearer, and he tries to stand. “Antidotes for most poisons need to be given within an hour. But if the poison were going to kill me, it would have already. Let’s get moving.”

“To where, exactly?” I demand. “The foothills? Where there are no cities or apothecaries? You’re poisoned, Elias. If an antidote won’t help, then you at least need medicine to treat the seizures, or you’ll be blacking out from here to Kauf,” I say. “Only you’ll die before we get there, because no one can survive such convulsions for long. So sit down and let me think.”

He stares at me in surprise and sits.

I pore over the year I spent with Pop as an apprentice healer. The memory of a little girl pops into my head. She had convulsions and fainting spells.

“Tellis extract,” I say. Pop gave the girl a drachm of it. Within a day, the symptoms eased. In two days, they stopped. “It will give your body a chance to fight the poison.”

Elias grimaces. “We could find it in Serra or Navium.”

Only we can’t go back to Serra, and Navium is in the opposite direction from Kauf.

“What about Raider’s Roost?” My stomach twists in dread at the idea. The giant rock is a lawless cesspit of society’s detritus—highwaymen, bounty hunters, and black market profiteers who know only the darkest corruption. Pop went there a few times to find rare herbs. Nan never slept while he was gone.

Elias nods. “Dangerous as the ten hells, but filled with people who wish to go as unnoticed as we do.”

He rises again, and while I’m impressed by his strength, I’m also horrified by the callous way he treats his body. He fumbles at the reins of the horse.

“Another seizure soon, Laia.” He taps the horse behind its left front leg. It sits. “Tie me on with rope. Head straight southeast.” He heaves himself into the saddle, listing dangerously to one side.

“I feel them coming,” he whispers.

I wheel about, expecting the hoofbeats of an Empire patrol, but all is silent. When I look back at Elias, his eyes are fixed on a point past my head. “Voices. Calling me back.”

Hallucinations. Another effect of the poison. I bind Elias to the stallion with rope from his pack, fill the canteens, and mount up. Elias slumps against my back, blacked out again. His smell, rain and spice, washes over me, and I take a steadying breath.

My sweat-damp fingers slide along the horse’s reins. As if the beast senses I know nothing about riding, it tosses its head and pulls at the bit. I wipe my hands on my shirt and tighten my grip.

“Don’t you dare, you nag,” I say to its rebellious snort. “It’s you and me for the next few days, so you better listen to what I say.” I give the horse a light kick, and to my relief, it trots forward. We turn southeast, and I dig my heels deeper. Then we are away, into the night.