Heartland Page 6

  To his surprise, she retreated, suddenly uneasy. ‘I must see to the girls,’ she repeated and snatched up her dropped bucket. As Char stared at her back, the east wind slackened and the resolute force that had driven him to confront Ma vanished.

  Char helped Hake unpack the wagons and begin work erecting the tents. Genge’s second was a sturdy man – not huge like Tunser, but equally muscled. Rumour had it he’d been born in Na Sung Aro itself, a true child of the Black Bazaar.

  Char grunted with the effort of stretching the tight hide and tethering it to the metal pegs he’d hammered into the dirt. It was hot work, even in the cooling dusk, and sweat prickled his neck. When finally he rose to stow his tools, the unforgiving stars of the desert peppered the sky and lights bloomed in the town like fetid blossoms. The lamp-gas stank and the illumination it produced was yellowy-brown, a colour that suited the debauched streets of Na Sung Aro. Needing some space, Char flipped the gate guard a single white ken and stepped outside. The sounds of the town were muted here, the smooth sand untroubled by mysha prints. The dogs weren’t haunting Na Sung Aro tonight, but he’d do well to stay alert. Char strolled a little way away from the walls, turning his face south to the sea. The Cargarac murmured in its restless sleep and turned over with a sigh. Waves lapped at sands still hot from the day and Char stood watching them, breathing in the salt-scent.

  It might have happened between blinks, or in the still point at the end of an exhaled breath, but where before there was only empty beach, suddenly there was a figure standing a few feet away from him.

  Char hissed and leapt back, his hands going for his kali sticks, but he’d switched his weapons belt for the one that held his tools and hadn’t replaced it. Cursing, he took another step back, but the figure didn’t follow. It just stood there with its arms held loosely at its sides, face shrouded in bandages.

  ‘Who are you?’ Char asked finally, his voice a whisper.

  To his astonishment, the figure placed bandaged palms together and bowed. ‘Kala,’ it said in a male voice, ‘we have searched long for you.’

  ‘For me?’ Char repeated, at a loss. More bandages wrapped the stranger’s torso, arms and legs, leaving bare only the soles of his unshod feet.

  ‘It is my honour to have found you,’ the man continued, and he bowed even lower. ‘It is my honour to serve the Kala.’

  ‘What did you call me?’

  The man spoke to the sand. ‘My Kala, my master and teacher, guide and leader. The one who saw, sees and will see.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of the Kala,’ Char said, now thoroughly unnerved. The stranger must have mistaken him for someone else. ‘How did you come here – how did you avoid the mysha?’

  ‘All beasts are beneath notice, my Kala,’ the man said, straightening.

  Char stared. ‘Few would agree with you.’

  ‘You no longer need worry over others.’ The bandaged stranger’s voice was flat. ‘You will come to us and we will be made rich.’

  Something tightened in Char’s stomach. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘You belong with your people, who have searched through years and lands for the marks of your coming.’

  The man was mad. Char swallowed and cursed himself yet again for shedding his weapons belt. Easing into a wider stance, he said, ‘I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m a slaver, not a leader. I don’t know who your people are.’

  The man regarded him, his expression obscured in cloth. ‘You will remember, Kala. Once we reach Khronosta, you will remember your people.’

  Khronosta. The scions of time. This must be one of the dualakat, the feared assassins bent on taking out Sartya’s leaders one by one. Never seen, never heard, they left only corpses behind them. ‘Shit,’ Char said.

  Before he could move, a figure loomed behind the man, darkening the stars: Ma. Her kali stick swept towards his neck, but the man dodged inhumanly fast and spun to face her, bringing a weapon into each hand.

  Kali sticks.

  Char’s eyes widened. In all his life, he’d only ever seen himself and Ma wield the sticks. Most mercenaries considered them a child’s weapons. Ma, of course, knew better, which was why she’d chosen to teach him. There were many ways to kill or disable a person and only a few of them required blades.

  As Ma circled the stranger, her sticks gripped in gloved hands, Char saw his own shock mirrored in the man’s eyes.

  ‘Who are you?’ the Khronostian asked Ma, whose face was grim and implacable. She did not answer, but continued to circle.

  ‘How long have you—?’

  His question ended in a gasp as Ma launched a flurry of strikes. Char stared – she was using her ironwood sticks and aiming to kill. The quick-footed stranger dodged and parried and Ma’s attacks grew fiercer. If they’d been aimed at him, Char would be dead, his throat staved in, his skull cracked. But the stranger was a formidable opponent. He parried all but a handful of Ma’s strikes and dodged the rest.

  And then – Char blinked. For a moment, it seemed as if the man had vanished and reappeared just behind Ma. Somehow she sensed him there and turned to meet his attack, but she was a fraction too slow; one of the kali sticks slipped under her guard and smacked across her ribs.

  Char made to rush forward, but she snarled at him, ‘Stay back, Boy.’

  ‘Why do you fight me?’ the stranger asked, half lowering his weapons. ‘You must be—’

  Ma yelled and aimed a double blow at his kneecaps. The man dodged it, but only just. His face wrapping was loose and Char caught a glimpse of wrinkled cheek. It surprised him – the man’s voice was surely that of someone years younger.

  ‘You will not have him,’ Ma growled and struck a vicious blow at the stranger’s temple.

  Under her onslaught, the man began to move impossibly fast – Char could not keep track of him. His heart was pounding and he found himself stumbling back. Was this the famed Khronostian power to manipulate time? If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he’d have joked that such a thing was impossible. Surely Ma couldn’t best the man, but it seemed that no matter which direction he attacked from, one of her sticks was always there to block him.

  ‘You – who are you?’ the stranger managed to gasp between strikes. Blood had soaked the bandages around his nose and his movements no longer flowed as they had at the start of the fight.

  ‘I am Ma Lesko,’ she said in a voice like death. The next moment, Char heard the sickening crunch of bone and saw blood pouring from the man’s ruined eye. Ma’s attack had come out of nowhere. The stranger staggered, equally shocked. With a gasp of disbelief, he fell to one knee and Ma was on him. Three blows split his skull, though she could have done it in one. The thirsty sand turned red.

  Char stood, sickened and shaken, unable to meet her eyes. The whole episode had unfolded in less than five minutes. He looked at the corpse of the man who had bowed to him, his blood spilled out across the sands. He didn’t even know his name.

  ‘Help me.’ Ma seized the stranger’s bandaged legs and began to haul him away from the town. Char glanced back, but it seemed the fight had gone unnoticed. The gate was closed and the guard had disappeared. Ren and Tunser were probably dicing, as they always did before a night in the Black Bazaar.

  Moving automatically, he grasped the corpse’s arms and helped manoeuvre it southwards. ‘We can’t go too far,’ he said. ‘What about the mysha?’

  ‘What about them?’ Ma said coldly. ‘I mean for them to eat tonight.’

  Char shuddered despite himself. When Ma considered them far enough away from the caravan, they dropped the corpse and lightly scattered it with sand. The mysha would do the rest of the work. By morning, there’d be nothing left. In silence they retraced their steps until they reached the site of the skirmish. Ma kicked at it savagely until the bloody sand became part of the desert once more.

  ‘Who was that man?’ Char asked as they approached the gate. ‘He seemed to recognize you. And he used kali sticks.’

 
‘Many people use kali sticks.’

  ‘Then how have we never encountered anyone else using them in all the time we’ve travelled the Beaches?’

  ‘They are not popular here. The sticks take years to master and against mysha, a blade is preferable.’

  ‘He said he was from Khronosta.’

  Ma’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t stop walking.

  ‘He wanted me to come with him,’ Char persisted. ‘He seemed to know me.’

  Ma moved so fast, her hand was at his collar before he knew what was happening. She pressed her face close to his, her teeth bared. ‘He was dualakat. If I hadn’t turned up when I did, you would be dead.’ She spat the last word and there was a terrible kind of rage in her eyes, only a shade away from fear.

  ‘An assassin?’ Char asked. ‘Why would the Khronostians want me dead?’

  Ma turned away from him and continued walking. Perplexed, Char hurried after her. ‘Ma?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said and Char didn’t have to see her face to know she was lying.

  ‘Why won’t you tell me?’ he asked, anger finally tempering the shock of the last few minutes. ‘What are you hiding?’

  Ma stopped just shy of the gate. ‘More will come,’ she said, ‘especially when the first does not return.’

  ‘Then we leave.’

  Ma pressed her lips together, said nothing.

  Char caught her arm. ‘You can’t think we should stay after this? You said they’ll send more.’

  She was silent for a long time. They returned to the caravan, now lit only by the oily light of torches spaced around the perimeter. Thick canvas draped the slaves’ cages to keep out the desert night. There was no sign of Genge or the others.

  Ma stopped when they reached her tent. She turned, hands resting on her weapons, staring into the darkness. ‘Very well,’ she said finally. ‘We’ll leave. Tomorrow night when the auction is done.’

  Char stood stunned. After all these years, after all her refusals … Despite the threat of the dualakat, he couldn’t hold back his grin. ‘You mean that? We’re really going to leave? Forever?’

  ‘Forever.’

  The word dropped from Ma’s lips with a finality that made Char shiver. He shrugged it off. ‘We’ll need supplies.’

  ‘I will see to them. I can make back the ken at auction tomorrow.’

  This really was happening. They were going to leave the caravan and the life he so detested. Char’s heart had never felt lighter. The threats of assassins, his run-in with Ren, the rage that lit an uncontrollable fire in his chest … none of it could trouble him right now. ‘Where will we go?’

  ‘North out of the Beaches,’ Ma said, keeping her voice low, ‘and then west. We’ll be safest in the Heartland.’

  Char raised an eyebrow and held up his forearms. ‘Your plan is to walk into the middle of Sartyan territory with tattoos that scream “slaver”?’

  Ma looked unconcerned. ‘They can be removed. The Heartland will be teeming with work for our kind.’ She gently touched his face. ‘We will disappear, Boy. No one will harm you, not as long as I breathe.’

  A bit embarrassed at her vehemence, Char changed the subject. ‘The way you moved tonight. I’ve never seen you fight so well.’

  Ma’s hand fell from his cheek. ‘Merely long practice.’

  ‘You were as fast as him. It was like he disappeared and then reappeared in another place. Can all Khronostians do that?’

  ‘Only the dualakat train in the art.’ Her voice had turned peculiarly flat. ‘They can slow time. To one watching, it looks as if they’re moving unnaturally fast.’

  ‘What about the rest of Khronosta?’ Char pressed. ‘Why are they called the scions of time?’

  ‘They are the children of Khronos. He was their leader. He taught them to control time …’ Ma looked away. ‘But he died.’

  ‘Control time?’

  ‘Large groups can travel through time, but the power is limited. They must have an anchor – someone who was alive during that time. And they cannot interact with the world as it was.’ Ma frowned. ‘At least I hope they cannot.’

  ‘What’s the point of it, then?’

  ‘The ability has kept them out of Sartyan reach for years. They have a ritual which lets them move their temple and everyone in it to … somewhere else.’

  Char regarded her narrowly. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I met a Khronostian once, long before you were born. Where do you think I learned the sticks?’

  Another lie? Char wasn’t sure. He wondered whether Ma had seen the Khronostian bow to him. If she had, why did she believe he was an assassin? Assassins didn’t bow to their marks, they didn’t call them ‘Kala’ and talk about taking them back to Khronosta. Unless that had merely been a trick to separate Char from the caravan, to put him off his guard.

  One thing, however, was perfectly clear: the Khronostian had not reckoned on Ma. And that mistake had cost him his life.

  6

  Naris, Rairam

  Brégenne

  It was an hour past dawn and the passages of Naris were crowded. Wielders and novices hurried breathless about their business, but all made room for her. The silver robes she wore were trimmed with red, her hood lined with rich scarlet. As they passed her, each dipped their head respectfully. She was, after all, one of the three members of the Wielders’ Council.

  Brégenne doubted she’d ever grow used to it. The memory of her earlier disgrace was still too fresh and, looking back, she could hardly take credit for the events that had followed. But Acre was restored, the Nerian absolved, and it all lay at Kyndra’s feet, the first new Starborn in centuries. She was barely eighteen and already she’d changed the face of the world.

  Shaking her head at the wonder of it, Brégenne quickened her pace, telling herself it wasn’t to escape the bows. The mere act of walking these corridors was a new experience after all the unsighted years of feeling her way or using her Lunar power as guide. It was a different world she inhabited now, a sharp world of colour and detail that she’d long thought lost. She’d need time to adjust.

  I don’t have time, she reminded herself. Not with Acre on our doorstep and the citadel in disarray. The mood in Naris was far from equitable. Wielders still shunned the Nerian and the surviving members of the rebel sect stubbornly kept to themselves. To make matters worse, Veeta and Gend, Brégenne’s fellow Council members, took issue with every proposal she put before them, their chief disagreement being Kyndra.

  ‘I know her,’ Brégenne had told them when they’d met in her quarters two days ago, ‘and I trust her. She’s gone to broker peace for Mariar. For Rairam, I mean. We owe it to her to be doing the same here.’

  ‘You formed your trust before the girl came into her power,’ Gend replied. ‘That makes a difference. She is not the same person, Brégenne.’

  ‘She knows right from wrong,’ Brégenne insisted. ‘She’s taken responsibility for her actions.’

  ‘Brégenne,’ Veeta said gently, ‘forgive me for saying so, but you’ve always been a little short-sighted when it comes to this girl.’

  ‘The Starborn is a liability.’ Gend had become far more loquacious since the night he’d lost his erstwhile Council members, and clearly he hadn’t forgotten that Kyndra had killed Helira. ‘The last Starborn managed to shut away an entire world. That kind of power needs to be controlled.’

  ‘You sound like Loricus,’ Brégenne snapped. ‘She’s not Kierik.’

  ‘She’s his daughter.’

  Brégenne took a deep breath and said as calmly as she could, ‘We are not our parents. Kyndra is nothing like the man who fathered her. Until we brought her here, she’d had no contact with him and she worked to undo what he did. Without her, the Breaking would have torn our world apart.’

  ‘Because she had no choice,’ Gend said. ‘We’ve already established that the only way to stop the Breaking was to rid Mariar of Kierik’s influence.’

  ‘Look at
us.’ Brégenne shook her head. ‘We’re reliving old history when we need to be devising a strategy for dealing with Acre.’

  ‘What would you have us do?’ Veeta asked mildly. ‘Until we hear from the Starborn—’

  ‘I meant here in Mariar. In Rairam.’

  Veeta clasped her hands. ‘Messengers were sent out with news of Acre’s return.’

  ‘An action I opposed, if you recall. News of this magnitude cannot be conveyed in a note.’ Brégenne refrained from grinding her teeth. ‘It will either be ignored, laughed off or cause wholesale panic.’

  ‘Then what do you propose?’ Gend asked.

  ‘The first and most important thing is to send a deputation to the Trade Assembly in Market Primus. They alone have the power, coin and influence to unite Mariar. We must be prepared.’

  ‘This is all conjecture, Brégenne.’ Gend folded his arms. ‘We’ve seen nothing so far from Acre that could be interpreted as a threat. Your talk of war is premature at best, unfounded at worst.’

  His condescending tone only inflamed her temper. Brégenne took a deep breath. ‘I admit,’ she said, ‘that I’ve no evidence to base my fears upon except the example of history, but we are trying to gauge the situation from a position of ignorance, not knowledge. That’s why Kyndra, Nediah and the others volunteered to go to Acre. What I’m saying is, we can’t sit idle here. It may be that it won’t come to war – and let’s hope it does not – but to waste what little time we might have is lunacy. We must involve the Trade Assembly.’

  ‘What makes you think they would listen to us?’ Veeta asked.

  Brégenne matched her stare for stare. ‘If you planted a Lunar spear in that great round table of theirs, they’d listen.’ The other two were silent. Brégenne thought she knew what they were thinking. How do you break five hundred years of anonymity? How do you reintroduce what ordinary people call magic to a world that functions without it?

  ‘You would reveal us?’ Gend said. ‘You would break the rule put in place for our own safety?