Shadowless: Book 1 of the Ilmaen Quartet Page 2

  oOo

  When Renia’s mind emerged from the fog that possessed it, hearing was the first sense that returned to her.

  ‘Do you think she’s dead?’

  ‘No. Though it could be arranged...’

  Her heart sank. The nightmare her wandering mind had taken her to had been bad enough; now she was waking to another. The last voice was that of Dailo, Ceri’s nephew. The Hendynion might have decreed that Renia was guiltless and should be left alone, but the only thing that exceeded Dailo’s hatred for her was his contempt for the old men.

  There was nothing she could do, not for a minute or two until the rest of her senses and the power to move came back. Nothing but build terrifying pictures of what Dailo could do to her in that time. But it sounded as though he was moving away.

  ‘Dailo… no, not when she’s like this…’

  ‘What do you take me for, Ianto?’ There was a thudding sound as Dailo returned and dropped whatever he was carrying. ‘I’m just preparing for when she wakes up. I want her good and scared before I’m done with her.’ Well, that’s a certainty, thought Renia. Mind and body were in connection now and the fearful images her thoughts had conjured up were making her heart race. Come on, she willed her body, be mine again.

  ‘We’re with you there. We don’t even have to hurt her. Mind you – ’ an unpleasant laugh from a third voice was echoed by others around him ‘ – if that’s what it takes to make her see she’s not wanted round here, I’d not be averse.’

  Sight was back. They were starting to surround her. Renia could see light and dark through her eyelids when they passed between her and the sunlight. Her mind raced to think of a way out of this, and she was aware of feeling returning to her body.

  ‘What’s she been collecting in that basket, d’you think? Poisons?’

  ‘Something to help her with her hexing, I’ll be bound.’

  Now she felt furious. These idiots spent more time in the woods than she did, and they didn’t recognize a basket full of ramsons? She pitied the village girls, if they ever had to endure any meal their menfolk had cooked. That bolstered her up a little, and she decided to try opening her eyes.

  She saw legs. She looked down towards her own feet, as best she could from that angle, and saw Dailo standing there, hefting a stone the size of an egg in his palm. Bigger stones still lay in a pile beside him.

  ‘So, the “demons” that possessed you have departed, have they?’ he enquired in mock concern. ‘Good, because my business is with you, Charity bastard.’ He dropped the stone on her leg, hard enough to hurt but not to harm. ‘Get up.’

  Renia did as he said, unsteadily. She swayed a little but caught herself from actually falling – sure enough that none of the boys would. The stones they held were softer than the expressions on their faces. She knew that most of them saw anyone who received Charity as less than human. She stared back at Dailo, but took in the people to either side of her from the corners of her eyes. Find the weak spot in the circle; that was her aim. Damn, Ianto wasn’t in view, the boy who had at least shown some principles. She’d thought to go past him, but he must be behind her and there was no telling who was to either side of him – it could be the biggest bully boys in the village, barring Dailo of course.

  Dailo had moved to pick up her basket and what was left of its contents. He held it away from him as though it was full of sewage, the handle balanced on one finger.

  ‘They’re ramsons.’ He turned his look of disgust on her. ‘Wild garlic; you cook with them,’ Renia persisted doggedly.

  He tossed the basket contemptuously at her feet. ‘As if any of us would be stupid enough to eat anything you’d made, child poisoner.’

  She drew a breath to defend herself, let it out again knowing it would be wasted effort. He stared at her a moment longer and bent to pick up his remaining stones; then a click of his fingers and the circle of boys started to walk slowly round her.

  ‘See our faces, Charity bastard? You can’t walk into the village without one of us seeing you, and you know that wouldn’t be a good idea.’ The faces passed before her, eight in total, all set in a way that confirmed Dailo’s threat. Even Ianto’s. ‘We’d really have to do something about it if you did.’ A stone lofted from behind caught her on the arm, again not hard but the unexpectedness of it made Renia cry out. A moment later a second stone hit her; she had clamped her mouth shut, but couldn’t help flinching still. ‘And I can’t say how far—’

  She’d manoeuvred her foot under the basket and picked that moment to flick it up into her hands and swing it by main force into the faces of Ianto and his neighbour. It cleared a gap between them momentarily as she had hoped, and she was through it and on to the path out of the glade before they could gather themselves. She took the blows of the few stones that hit her while she ran with a feeling of perverse satisfaction. That was time wasted on aiming them that her persecutors could have used to catch her. Now she had a lead, as she had hoped; she just had to do something with it.

  The temptation to veer off the path was great but she stuck to it, knowing how easy it would be for her pursuers to catch her if she wasted her lead on beating a track through the undergrowth. In a short while the true path curved, branched then branched again, giving her a good chance of losing them.

  She turned the bend and her stomach lurched as she saw the figures at the fork in the path rise from a crouching position. More of the gang; they must have had time to plan while she was out of her senses, and sent these two to delay any passers by while the rest of them dealt with her. Instantly she went left, trying to recall where she would end up as she steered a course through the trees and undergrowth.

  Further into the wood, this way. There was a big glade somewhere up ahead, with three paths leading from it; damned if she could get her bearings for it though. Every turn the trees forced her into seemed to take her through brambles that snatched at her skirts or tore at her ankles. She could hear her breath catching, more like a sob than a gasp, as she reached the end of her sprinting strength; she could hear too the sounds of others in the wood, pursuing her. Even if she made the glade, she wasn’t optimistic about the outcome.

  The trees thinned and she was surprised to find herself there, more by luck than judgment. A fast scan of the paths out of it, and hope died. She could hear her pursuers on all of the routes, could see them on one. Though she was neither God follower nor star worshipper she looked heavenwards in her despair, and found herself staring up into the branches of two tall trees that leant together like conspirators…

  oOo

  The next stone bit hard. It got her right on the anklebone and really hurt, way past screaming point. But Renia was too high for them to throw anything harder than that. She peered through the branches to the neighbouring tree, the only one nearby that could be climbed; Dailo clung to the branch that extended towards the tree where she sheltered, and Renia knew he'd never have the courage to scramble over to this one as she had done, however much hatred there was in his eyes.

  ‘Stone the gwrach! Stone the gwrach!’

  She settled her back to the trunk behind her, exhausted, clutched a nearby branch and let the gang’s chanting wash over her.

  She had three alternatives. Wait, and hope they’d go away eventually; wait, until she fell asleep and out of the tree; or go down and face them. She hadn’t the courage for the last; that had been drained by the jump from the first tree when she had nearly lost her hold with a thirty-foot drop below her. Instead she sat and felt tears run down her face.

  A sudden roar of unbridled rage came from below, followed by yells of alarm and fear. The group of persecutors scattered from her sight, to be replaced by a lone figure who stood there, panting and furious, then turned in a full circle with a branch held aloft in his hand like a cudgel, looking for anyone foolish enough to stay. She could only see the top of his dark blond head but knew him well enough: her brother Vel. He was six feet four compared to the slighter village folk; big enou
gh to scare her eight attackers who, when it came down to it, were nothing more than bully boys. He peered up and spotted her, his expression still furious, when a movement from Dailo caught his eye and the look went another league beyond fury as he threw the branch down and walked over to Dailo's tree. Vel was out of Renia’s sight now, but Dailo’s reaction confirmed what her brother was doing. Dailo tried to come further out on the branch towards her, then thought better of it and just hung on as Vel’s furious face appeared beside the trunk, barring his safe retreat. Vel stared at him for over a minute – Renia would lay odds it felt longer to Dailo.

  ‘Vel, don’t hurt him,’ she called across. Her brother didn’t react, just carried on staring at the bully. Then he thrust out one finger.

  ‘You. If you want to get down from here alive, do it now,’ he told Dailo, glowering still. Any hesitation on the boy’s part was brief; a short scramble, a squeeze past Vel to cling to the trunk, a rapid descent, and he was scampering on his way after the rest of the gang.

  With Dailo gone, Vel studied his sister from his vantage point. ‘How in a believer’s Hell did you get up there, Ren?’

  ‘Jumped from where you are.’

  He whistled. ‘Well, don’t even try it back again. Climb down as far as you can, I’ll find stuff to break your fall.’ He disappeared; she gathered her strength and began her own descent.

  By the time she reached the lowest branch and clung there, arms and legs shaking with exhaustion, Vel had built up quite a pile of dead leaves and dried bracken. The drop was about twelve feet, not something she’d even dream of trying on her own, but she trusted his judgment. He’d had more than his fair share of rescuing her from situations she’d got herself into, failed tomboy that she’d been as a child – and then, more recently, from things like this…

  ‘Oh, cach, look! This was one of my best shirts, too.’ He was inspecting a tear he had found in the sleeve, far more bothered by that than he was by the deep scratch on his arm beneath it. He gave up on the shirt as a lost cause. ‘Right, I’m ready for you. Come out a bit further and try to drop about here.’

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and wriggled out, keeping chest and stomach close to the branch. Then she hooked her hands around and willed them to hold on as she slid herself off the branch, dangled for a moment, and let go. Vel didn’t try to catch her, rather directed her roll into the thickest layers of leaves, then scrambled over to help her up.

  ‘Thank you, Vel.’

  ‘Well, I could hardly leave you up there, could I? Though how you were daft enough to get caught in the first place, I don't know.’

  Now they came to it. A sick feeling washed over her, and it had nothing to do with what had just happened. ‘They were already there when I came round. I ran but I didn't have a chance to get away.’

  ‘Another falling fit? You're all right?’ She nodded. A long pause, then he asked, ‘Did you see anything?’

  She couldn’t muster a response; the terrible sense of loss from the vision had returned and overwhelmed her.

  Vel sat down and patted the ground beside him.

  ‘Come on then, out with it,’ he urged her. ‘We’re going nowhere till I hear it.’

  It was such a simple vision, but the range of emotions it brought scared and confused her. Still, she managed to describe how she’d found herself on a journey that seemed endless, and the further she went, the more isolated and trapped she felt. After what seemed an eternity of travelling, she’d entered a place that she knew was crowded with many people but everyone was a blur and insubstantial, compared to something in the midst of them that seemed to pull her ever closer. She worked her way nearer and nearer, until finally it could be seen clearly. Or rather she should say they; she had been drawn towards three hangman's nooses. But there was something within each noose, and again she felt herself drawn forwards until she came close enough to see.

  The first of the nooses surrounded a silver sun, blazing brightly. The second held a golden eagle, frozen in flight as though about to seize hold of something. The third… the third had her puzzled for some time. It held a circular grey metal band. Try as she might, her numbed mind could not make sense of it. Then, just as she was about to give up, she realized what it was.

  She halted, having reached the crux of her story, and found she was shredding what she had left of her nails. Vel was looking at her in consternation but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. He put his hand gently over hers; that stopped it.

  ‘And?’ he prompted gently. ‘What was the grey band?’

  ‘It was a ring. A ring I knew.’ Her gaze travelled to his hand and he looked down too at the battered pewter ring he had worn since his coming of age, two years before.

  oOo

  It took some doing to calm her, because she had shocked him; Vel had never been part of her visions before. But he put up some good arguments about how unlikely it was he would ever do anything he could be hung for, and how many people must have pewter rings, and how she had worked herself up into much this same state over Rhyanna, who had soon recovered from her fever. His arguments settled Renia enough to get her started for home. At his suggestion they took the route along the beach rather than the cliff path. That would put them further out of reach of Dailo’s gang, should that bunch of bullies regain their courage.

  Once they were on the beach Vel relaxed a little, dawdling and skimming stones. After all these years he still marvelled at the way the sea could change its nature. Now, it was as calm as a millpond; when he had walked along the cliff top just after dawn, delivering mutton to the village, the water had been choppy. He stood a while longer gazing out to sea, the waves breaking at his feet; he could feel the beach pebbles shifting under the thin soles of his boots.

  A sudden cry from Renia broke his contemplation, and his hand went for his knife. He’d just about had enough of Dailo’s gang.

  ‘Look, Vel, look!’ It was not Dailo; Renia was pointing ahead at the surf’s edge, not back to land, to a bundle being washed by the waves. A body. It was a body!

  They both broke into a run, Vel arriving first and kneeling down beside it. Whoever it was lay almost face down, jacket half off, one boot missing, one arm flung protectively round his head. Vel turned him over – a young man, well dressed in foreign clothes and with what would have been a handsome face, were it not grey from drowning.

  Vel whistled. ‘No one in town this morning mentioned a shipwreck. They must have got caught on the cape, not knowing the waters. In these fine clothes this poor soul will soon be pickings for the shore scavengers. We should bury him.’

  ‘But he's not dead,’ Renia said. As if on cue, the young man groaned weakly and coughed out a mouthful of seawater, and turned a faintly better colour.

  ‘Hmm,’ conceded Vel, ‘but he's not far off. We’re nearly home… Melor will know what to do. You run on ahead and ask him to bring a hurdle back. Meanwhile I’ll see what I can do here.’

  Renia needed no second bidding and scudded off over the stones. Vel meanwhile tried to use the method Melor had once taught him to get the air back into a drowned man's lungs. As he did so the young man's jacket collar fell back into place and revealed a heavy gold brooch. A moment more and Vel registered its shape, a bird in flight; and then, what kind of bird it was.

  He sat back on his heels. For a moment it felt like he’d been punched in the chest; he was winded and couldn’t get his breath. Finally he recovered, and glanced up the beach at his sister. She was a long way off now. She wasn’t going to look back.

  Carefully Vel unfastened the brooch, fished out his handkerchief, wrapped the brooch in it and thrust it deep into his pocket.

  Chapter 2 – Jetsam

  Even deep in delirium, Kerin was vaguely aware that something was wrong with him. He knew he had an important task to accomplish, but before he could remember it, his mind gadded off, reliving a scene from his past. Drained of his usual self-discipline, he was powerless to stop it.

  He was
in some sort of limbo. Perhaps he slept and was dreaming, or perhaps he was dead and on his way to the next life. He could hear plates clattering, not far away; such a mundane sound suggested that this must be the real world. Old life or new, he should make more of an effort to get there–

  And suddenly his father was before him and Kerin had to talk to him, to ask him why he had acted as he had. Kerin had been fourteen at the time, his beloved sister newly dead; it was the moment when he had stopped thinking of this man as his father. After all, what sort of parent would send away a child so badly in need of comfort?

  ‘Why Federin? Why must it be so far away?’ Kerin had demanded, angry in his grief.

  And his father had looked at him, sad but stern-faced. ‘Because there is fever in all the neighbouring countries as well as here. I will not lose you too. Remember why else you are going; you will be companion and support to the Crown Heir. Jastur will have need of you there; and even more need when it is his time to return and become Crown. You will journey with him to Federin, far from the fever. There you will learn and you will grow into the man I know you can be. Sarol, the Crown, commands it.’

  Of course, Kerin knew that. This had all happened years ago. And Jastur had indeed gone from Crown Heir to Crown Designate on Sarol’s death. Kerin was fast losing track of what was dream, and what reality.

  So, was the cave-like room he saw when he opened his eyes real? What of the elusive people he saw, or thought he saw? He would shut his eyes but a moment and the white-haired man who had been standing over him would be transformed into a tall blond youth, or a brown-haired girl with such sad eyes. And they would speak to him, but their words came to his ears as though he was under water still, muffled beyond his understanding.

  Then another scene intruded; he knew this for a memory, and a recent one. It was so vivid that he could still feel the sea spray and hear the ship's ropes creaking above him as he stood on deck. He could see Lemno Tekai very clearly, although it was night; the moon was high and full, lighting their course across the expanse of sea between Federin and Ilmaen. It lit Lemno's face, catching the grey just starting to streak his black hair and making his pale skin ghostly. Everything about his face was sharp; the salt-and-pepper grey beard trimmed to a neat point, the angular cheekbones; the lean frame was the same, its leanness masking his strength. It was too dark to see his eyes, but memory registered their appearance – a pale blue-grey, like new-forged iron. Deceptively innocent-seeming until they looked directly at you, when Lemno seemed to be looking inside, so people said. Kerin had never had that experience, but he didn’t like the man.