Above the Snowline (4 page)
‘I’m sure you’ll manage to find some more.’
‘It’s the eyes.’ He smirked. ‘They can’t resist the eyes.’
We reached the bottom of the staircase, emerged onto the grass and turned onto the path that runs between the kitchens and the end of Carillon which houses the Treasury. All the windows of the Treasury were caged and the flagstones of the path were dipped in the centre by the progress and egress of so many thousands of feet over the centuries. We passed the Treasurer’s apartments, then the Cook’s, and on either side the verdant lawns exhaled the moisture of last night’s rain. Although it was late November, the warmth of autumn still lingered and the baroque, red-tiled roof of Carillon looked more beautiful than ever against the cloudless sky.
‘Maybe we should be careful,’ I said. ‘She seems wary. If she’s come all the way from Darkling, imagine how strange the Castle must be to her.’ Jant strode beside me without saying anything. ‘Remember how you felt when you first arrived.’
‘I didn’t come all the way from Darkling.’
‘Sh!’
‘We don’t have to creep up on her,’ he said loudly. He rounded the corner and stopped dead.
The Rhydanne woman stood on the wall of the fishpond, poised motionless like a heron. Her spear pointed, unwavering, at the water.
Jant murmured, ‘I haven’t . . . It’s . . .’ He took two steps forward and halted again.
Her long black hair hung straight down and we could not see her face apart from the tip of her white nose. She was petite in stature but she held herself very erect. Her limbs in a peculiar black vest were unnatural - too long for her build, too sinewy. A leather thong looped up from the butt of her spear and was wrapped around the hand holding the shaft.
Her vest was meagre compared with her white suede trousers - they were sewn with thongs, giving a moccasin effect to every seam with wisps of the fur lining protruding. She wore boots of the sort worn by trappers pulled up to her knees. Some crude metal bracelets decorated her bare arms and, looped around her neck, were several strands of beads, mostly ivory-white but some dyed black and red. They were bones and teeth! A white suede jacket hung on a backpack with a frame of stark polished bone, resting against the wall.
I waited uncertainly, like a traveller privileged to catch a glimpse of a snow leopard, but half hopeful it will cross his path quickly and slink back into the forest without showing its fangs.
Jant thrust his chest out, flexed his wings and sauntered closer. The girl snapped round, levelling her spear at his throat. He flinched, then, disgusted with himself, brushed the point aside. ‘Dein,’ he said softly.
The girl blinked. Now I could see her eyes, striking sea-glass-green with vertical pupils like those of a cat. Her face was quite angular, cheekbones stretching skin as fine as kid leather, surrounded by the mane of her hair. She appraised Jant and drew a breath. She studied his eyes just like hers, the same moth’s-wing pale skin and wiry build, then she swayed side to side to examine his wings. She stirred her spear and its razor point circled his face like a steel mosquito.
He placed a hand on his chest and introduced himself. A frown creased her forehead. She snatched out her arm, grabbed a handful of his feathers and yanked them.
‘Ow!’
She laughed, said something, and at Jant’s perturbed expression laughed some more. The ice was broken. She lowered her spear and crouched on the wall top. She tapped a pointed talon on her breastbone and said, ‘Shira Dellin.’
He answered, and they started talking in a guttural torrent so fast I couldn’t distinguish words. I let it wash over me and watched her curiously: her obvious but alien intelligence, her distilled strength which shone through every movement. She was scarcely human, more like a wild animal masquerading as a girl.
‘What is she saying?’ I asked eventually.
Jant turned as if he’d forgotten I was there. ‘Oh, Lightning. Yes, Shira Dellin here says she’s come to find the silver man.’
‘Who is the silver man?’
‘It’s . . . it’s a character from a story.’ He wouldn’t meet my eye. ‘It’s hardly important.’
‘Tell me.’
Memories long-buried by silt stirred under the dredge, weighty years he had hidden and didn’t want to examine. ‘Oh, for god’s sake. I think she’s been out in the sun too long. When I was a kid my grandmother told me that, long ago, the “silver man” came to Darkling. He stayed with us for a while - with the Rhydanne people, I mean - and during that time everyone had enough to eat. But sadly, he left, and now he lives in the flatlands.’
‘That’s a story?’
‘As Rhydanne stories go, it’s about the most substantial I ever heard. That’s why it stuck in my mind. Eilean impressed on me that if anything terrible happened, anything really disastrous, we should find the silver man and he would help us. To that lot “silver” means “important”, you see. Dellin first thought
I
could be him. But she’s changed her mind. It must be my lack of bangles. In fact, she thought I was a Rhydanne in disguise. Fake wings, do you see? I explained I’m half-and-half, but she scarcely believes me.’
I
could be him. But she’s changed her mind. It must be my lack of bangles. In fact, she thought I was a Rhydanne in disguise. Fake wings, do you see? I explained I’m half-and-half, but she scarcely believes me.’
‘By “silver man” could she mean the Emperor?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. San has never lived in the mountains.’
‘As far as you know.’
‘He’s been sitting in the Throne Room for fifteen hundred years!’
‘But before then?’
Jant shrugged and kicked the grass. ‘What would a Rhydanne want with the Emperor?’
Dellin sat down cross-legged on the wall top with the spear across her knees, and her gaze flickered over us. She clearly hated the fact she couldn’t understand. She was formulating something to say but kept being distracted by the calico carp gathering in our shadows cast over the pond. They were used to being fed and were rising like blotched orange, black and white balloons to mouth at the surface tension. I dabbled my fingers in the water and the fish nibbled at them, to her complete astonishment.
‘Rule one,’ I said. ‘If anyone wishes an audience with the Emperor, he or she may. Rule two: if she asks us to lead her to the Throne Room, we are obliged to do so. You know that.’
‘But . . . me, in the Throne Room, with . . .’ He jutted his thumb at the huntress. ‘I mean, she won’t understand anything, and San will completely terrify her. And, look, Lightning, I’m just out of bed, I haven’t even—’
‘She may be trying to apply to him in a time of need.’
‘And besides, she smells. Why don’t you take her? I—’
‘Jant! She needs you to translate.’
‘All right, all right. If the Emperor will appreciate the services of the world’s best translator, I’ll do it. And besides, it could be a laugh.’ He beckoned and she sprang up, donned her rucksack and twirled her spear. I was actually glad that she couldn’t understand Awian, given that the world’s best translator seemed determined to belittle her as much as possible.
She loped ahead of us like a lithe wolf, over the striped lawn past the Breckan Wing. Her footprints set far apart on the dewy grass drew great circles around us; her pace was longer than a human woman’s. I could tell she was used to travelling immense distances on foot - she was more at ease moving than sitting still.
We turned the corner of Breckan Wing to the front of the palace. ‘How did she get in, anyway?’
Jant smirked. ‘She climbed the Skein Gate Barbican.’
‘Really? And no one saw her?’
‘Judging by the number of trophies she’s wearing, she must be a fantastic hunter. Even though she’s so small - I’ve never seen such a miniature Rhydanne. If she didn’t want to be observed, those bloody lazy Imperial guards wouldn’t have noticed her. She probably only took a couple of minutes to climb the tower.’ He shrugged. ‘They couldn’t have caught her by hand.’
‘By god. Do you have the urge to climb like that?’
‘Certainly not!’ He rounded on me. ‘I’m the Emperor’s Messenger, not some bloody savage!’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t compare me with . . . that thing. I’m civilised. She doesn’t have the most basic manners!’
‘I know.’
‘I was fifteen when I left Darkling. They
hunted
me out. I haven’t been back since. Yes, my mother was like her; yes, my grandmother too. But it’s just an accident of birth. I can’t help it.’
hunted
me out. I haven’t been back since. Yes, my mother was like her; yes, my grandmother too. But it’s just an accident of birth. I can’t help it.’
‘Jant, I said I’m sorry.’
But of course he had to have the last word. ‘You might as well ask if Awians have the urge to eat bird seed.’
We passed the broad, open arches of the gallery that runs along the ground floor of the Breckan Wing, and turned the corner into the Starglass Quadrangle. The Throne Room’s grand entrance reared ahead of us, four steps up into an arched portal covered with carvings. Dellin looked about her with an air of satisfaction, then knelt and rubbed a fingertip on one of the cobbles of black flint chipped square. I approached so close I caught a whiff of her smell, a not unpleasant tang of old leather and the musty spiciness of dried blood. She smelt like a poacher’s game bag, of meat so old it was no longer foul, but patinated like the soles of birds’ feet and smelling as warm as the fur of hares. Her fingernails were filthy and her jacket glazed with dirt. Red flakes of old gore embedded the grain of her spear shaft. ‘What could she possibly want to consult the Emperor about?’
‘She won’t tell me,’ Jant admitted.
We ascended the four steps into the portal, Dellin gazing all the time at the statues in its recessed walls, and passed under the deep-relief carving into the corridor before the Throne Room. It seemed very dim after the sunlight and Dellin walked straight in, almost blind, and startled the guards standing either side of the Throne Room door. They jumped, levelled their spears, and she found herself facing two points. She twisted her body and brought her spear to bear.
Jant jumped forward and grabbed it. He yelled something but she didn’t move.
‘Stand at ease!’ I shouted.
‘Her first,’ said the older guard.
‘With all due respect, Lightning,’ the other guard said. ‘She’s got to drop it.’
I said, ‘Jant, tell her the silver man is behind that door. If she wants to meet him she must give up her weapons.’
‘That’ll insult her.’
‘Tell her it is only temporary.’
He did so, then said to me, ‘She doesn’t want San to mistake her for a herder. The hunters look down on the herders. God, nothing ever changes in Darkling. I told her not to worry - San will know she’s a hunter from her trophies - but she won’t co-operate. She thinks bloody highly of herself, despite that she’s a Shira.’
The guards craned forward. ‘What is it?’
‘Fascinating,’ said his comrade.
‘But what is it?’
I said, ‘If flattery doesn’t work, tell her that if she carries her spear inside, the archers will shoot her on sight.’
‘Archers? They don’t have a word for “archers”. Um . . . This is bloody ridiculous.’ He paused, then smiled, clicked his fingers and mimed drawing a bow.
Dellin snarled and shrank into a crouch, her fingers white on the shaft. The guards tensed, which frightened her even more.
‘At ease! At ease!’ I said, shocked. ‘She isn’t threatening; she’s scared. Jant, tell her we’ll keep her safe.’
He told her and she offered the spear submissively. He took it and passed it to one of the guards. She shrugged off her pack, then hesitantly unwound the thong from her thigh and removed her knife. Its scabbard was decorated with hammered silver beads and tatty tassels. She reeled the thong around it and handed it over.
‘Cheers.’ The guard nudged his friend. ‘Comet’s brought in the cat. Eh?’
‘She’s beautiful . . .’
‘Striking, rather,’ I said.
Jant was preoccupied with psyching himself up to speak with the Emperor, and made no comment.
‘Comet, may we ask . . . what is it?’
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