Scarred Man (24 page)

I've been spending too much time alone. I am starting to think too much.

There was a door with a honus leaf carved in it: the universal sign of a healer. Maida pushed it open and stepped in.

The Ce Atli was a tall, angular man with wide, intense eyes and long, well-tended, fair hair. He was clearly in discomfort as he stood with his back to the wall, wearing the normal red smock of healers over what looked like the blue uniform of the Agents.

His face was alive with intelligence but his complexion was unusually pallid for a man who spent his time aboard ship. At her intrusion, he looked up from the book he was reading and lowered his sparse eyebrows in a scowl. His eyes flicked up and down, as if giving her a quick examination.

‘Maida?' he asked.

‘Yes. The Guide said you were going to look at these.' She held out her wrists.

‘Sssa, chains. Hateful things, chains.' He pushed himself away from the wall and reached out for her. Maida stepped towards him and held her wrists out for him to examine. He took her hands
in his own — pale and long-fingered — and leant over her wrists, turning them over as he looked. ‘You are lucky. Another couple of days and this would be nasty. As it is, I can help.'

He pulled her slightly, moving her towards a chair. When she sat down, he released her hands and almost immediately staggered as the ship rolled. His long arms flailed briefly as he sought something to steady himself. After gripping a beam in the ceiling, he held it tight while he took unsteady steps towards a cabinet. Maida watched him carefully release one hand from the ceiling and quickly shift it to the cabinet before letting go with the other one. Only once both hands were securely gripping the cabinet and he was leaning against it, did he allow himself to open the door.

Inside Maida could see rows of boxes, bottles and pouches containing all the powders and other various things that a healer might need, in addition to the more wicked-looking implements used for repairing a body when subjected to the kinds of mistreatment that ship-board labour might bring. The Ce Atli made a humming sound as he regarded his stores. Finally, he stopped and selected a small bottle containing a thick-looking yellow fluid.

‘This is the one,' he said. He turned and held it out to Maida. She rose and took it from his hand. ‘Rub this onto the raw skin whenever you remember to. It is very strong and might sting a bit, but it will clear up the infection and stop it getting worse. Who knows? You might even keep both of your hands.'

When Maida's eyes widened in concern, he gave a forced smile. ‘Don't worry. You will be fine, the
chains were cleaner than most; you won't suffer any lasting problems. That —' he pointed at the small bottle, ‘works every time.' He leant back against the wall —
the hull
, Maida corrected herself — and closed his eyes as the ship rolled a little.

‘You not a sailor?' she asked.

‘Ten Crossings in the service of the Blindfolded Queen,' he said unsteadily as the ship rolled again, causing him to grab at the ceiling to steady himself.

‘I've been on this ship for less than ten days and I am more steady on my feet than you.'

‘Being afloat for a long time does not take away the fear.'

‘Ah.'

‘Too much imagination,' the Ce Atli explained. ‘I was sunk once, by Seagulls out of Rilamo, and I have never forgotten what that was like, nor the things that rose up from the depths to eat my fellow Agents.'

Maida nodded. ‘I imagine that would make being aboard a ship uncomfortable.'

The Ce Atli barked a short, sardonic laugh. ‘Uncomfortable? Yes, a little. Now, if you will excuse me …' He removed one hand from the beam above his head and gestured towards the door.

Maida raised the small bottle in thanks and left. As she closed the door behind her, she heard the unmistakeable sounds of someone being violently, uncontrollably sick.

‘I don't envy you,' she muttered.

Slave held his Claw in front of his face as he stared at the guards. One of them raised his sword in a similar gesture. There were three and they were nervous. From the bodies at their feet and their own wounds, they had reason to be.

‘I have no fight with you,' Slave said.

‘If you want to come through here, you do.'

Slave lowered his Claw and shrugged. ‘Fine. I will go the other way.'

One of the other guards barked a harsh laugh. ‘There is no other way.'

‘Yes, there is.'

‘And who are you, the Desescuro?'

‘I don't know what that means,' Slave admitted.

‘And nothing proves better that you shouldn't be here than that.' The guard lowered his sword from the salute and advanced on Slave.

‘Don't,' Slave said. ‘I don't need to kill you.'

‘But we need to kill you, outdweller.'

‘Why?'

‘Supervisor's orders. Any outdweller in these levels is to die.'

‘Since when?'

‘Since the Rogue Troop started the revolt.'

Slave sighed. He had known exploring as he went was a mistake, but the troop was moving so slowly and noisily, they were easy to track. It meant he fell behind, giving the authorities time to replace guards and send out new orders. It also meant that these three men might have to die.

‘What's the revolt about?' Slave asked conversationally as he slowly started edging away, back towards the darkness beyond the range of the torches.

‘The Rogue wants his turn at being Supervisor.'

‘Why?'
Two more steps. Just keep him talking.

‘He's from the upper-middle level and there hasn't been a Supervisor from that level in six generations.'

‘Where have they come from?'

‘Don't you know anything? They always come from the Peak, right up there where the air's so thin their brains get addled.'

‘And them in the Peak don't know what it's like being down here in the lower levels?' Slave suggested. He was already half in shadow. Another step and he would become a phantom to vanish before their eyes. If he could get them to say another sentence, he could save their lives.

‘Yar, that's right,' the guard drawled.

The shadow closed over Slave and he threw himself backwards into a reverse roll, springing up onto his feet and silently sprinting away into the dark, along the passage. Behind him, their startled cries were enough to reassure him that they had
seen him all but vanish before their eyes. They would be slow to follow, and if they did, they would bring their torches with them. He was safe now, as they were safe from him.

The alternate path that would take him past the guarded door into the next level up was three doors farther on his left. He had sensed it earlier by the smell of the air and had explored it as far as the stairway. Beneath his feet, the ground held the story of its long abandonment and probable slip from the memories of those who no longer lived here. The signs of habitation were everywhere, but the population had slowly declined, shrinking away from these lower levels to move higher up the Wall. From what he had read of the great City of the Wall, if it were to ever fall into disuse — and the mighty magics that kept the dam operating cease — the whole eastern edge of the Silvered Sea would change irrevocably. Such chaos would suit the Revenant's purpose. That alone made the time spent in this welcoming darkness worth the delay. He knew where Maida and Myrrhini were going and would catch them up eventually. As he would easily catch Keshik and the noisy people with him. They made so much noise as they clattered along, it was no wonder they hadn't heard him padding behind them. He smiled at their blundering, before he started to run up the stairs.

… if it wants her dead, we should keep her alive …

It had become almost like his own dofain, like the one Keshik kept muttering to himself and thought Slave could not hear.

Why am I following Keshik?

I know where I am going, I watched him navigate by the stars. I can do that. The Blindfolded Queen cannot hide, I will find her. I will find Myrrhini and keep her alive.

So why am I following Keshik?

Memories of panic, near-panic and whole periods of time when he was almost incapable of doing anything beyond putting one foot before the other came back to him. The vast open space of the plains to the north, the terror of the storms, the overwhelming sense of blindness, of naked vulnerability in the open were his constant companions outside. While he could function now, he still struggled with other people. Their ridiculous customs, their mating rituals, the need to hide behind idle chatter, the complexity of trust — these he could not grasp.

Is that why I am following Keshik? To guide me through humanity?

Even as he thought it, he knew it was only part of the answer. He did need Keshik for that, but there was more. The other part of the answer lay in his hand. Slave looked down at the glowing Claw. The beautiful weapon enthralled him. He spent so much of his time simply feeling it, running his fingers over its exquisite shape and intricate decorations. There was so much more than just the animal shapes on the handles: it was covered in subtle signs and what had to be ancient writings. It fascinated him and distracted his mind.

And yet, it was a gift from the Revenant he had released. The Revenant that was spreading chaos
across the world. The Revenant that he served, albeit unwittingly. How could something so beautiful come from such evil?

This instrument had brought so much death already. He had killed without it, but killing was easier with it. Killing was a joy with this instrument.

Slave knew that even were he to throw this weapon away, the ‘blessing' of the Revenant would haunt him still. So why didn't he just throw it away? He looked at it again and knew he would not do so. He shoved the Claw back inside his clothes and kept jogging up the stairs.

It was apparent that this stairway was never designed for common use: it was too narrow and steep with few sconces for torches. Slave surmised it might have been built originally for secret access to a higher level. The air became fresher, but with an overtone of animal, as he ran. It was no animal Slave had ever smelt before. As the stairs continued to rise steeply through level after level, light slowly started to filter down. There were no openings onto the levels he passed, but he counted the steps and made rough guesses as to where he was. By the time the light was enough to see by and sounds were trickling down, he estimated he was beyond the Peak.

Voices now, he could hear voices. He slowed to a walk, then came to a halt as he listened, but they spoke in a language he did not know. It was a curious mixture of languages that he had heard often here in the Wall and was distinctive enough to be a dialect of its own. He presumed it was the
spoken version of the odd pictograms he had felt carved on the walls.

An animal shriek echoed down the narrow stairs. Not a sound he recognised. He kept still, listening.

The people were making the sort of sounds he had heard others make to their horses — gentling, soothing sounds beneath words, on a simple emotional level. But why would there be horses up here? An animal screeched again and Slave realised he was hearing not horses, but something similar. He crept forward, taking more care now he knew what lay before him. Air was pushed down the stairs by the winds that blew in through the large openings. Slave dropped onto his chest to slither up the last few steps until his head cleared the upper floor.

The stairs had brought him up into a darkened corner of what looked like a huge cave. Dozens of men and women were busy tending to the wyverns resting in their nests. Beyond the cave, Slave could see nothing save sky. There were at least fifty of the massive winged beasts settled into their crude nests. From the way the people were tending them, it was clear they were mostly wild. From time to time one would rise up on its muscular tail and flap its leathery wings while raking the air with savage-looking talons. The display was accompanied by a deafening screech. The wind that seemed a constant companion up here whistled through the cave, bringing the smell of ice from afar as well as dust that had been swept up from the canyon so far below.

Slave rose slowly up from the stairwell until he was standing in the dark corner, watching the wyverns. They were magnificent. Easily three times the size of a horse, they were covered in scales like a snake, but had feathered wings and taloned claws at the end of their backward-jointed legs. Their wings were tipped with vicious-looking claws and each was three or four paces long, giving them a huge wingspan.

But they were beautiful, with brilliantly coloured feathers and rich, deep red scales that would glow like polished bronze in the sunlight. Their sinuous bodies ended in a barbed tail. Each creature had a fanged, lizard-like mouth beneath two sharp green eyes. When they weren't rearing up, they were lying comfortably, allowing the people to clean their bodies, arrange their feathers or feed them raw meat. Slave was entranced by them.

At regular intervals, a wyvern would fly screeching in. It would land majestically on its claws, raise its wings high and shake them with a great rustling sound like a multi-hued tree. Its rider would leap off and busy himself with unbuckling the saddle before the wyvern stalked towards its nest, where it would settle down and prepare to be pampered. As it walked, it held its tail off the ground, whipping it from side to side as if seeking an enemy to engage.

Slave stood motionless, watching them until the sun started to dip behind the Wall. At some stage, he reached inside his clothes and brought out his Warrior's Claw, gripping it by the wyvern arm, feeling the exquisite carving beneath his fingers. No
matter how well it was carved, it could not do justice to the awe-inspiring creatures before him.

When the sun slid behind the Wall, darkness took over the cave quickly, despite the remaining light outside. Slave stepped out of his hidden corner and, for reasons he would never be able to fully explain later, walked towards the nearest wyvern. It sensed him almost as soon as he moved, turning its face towards him and fixing him with an intense stare. Its green eyes seemed to contract and glow as they regarded the approaching man. Slave raised his Claw in salute, holding it in front of his face. The wyvern hissed at him, but it seemed somewhat desultory: less a warning, more a greeting. When Slave lowered his Claw, the wyvern stopped hissing and gave a low warble.

Slave continued to approach as the wyvern watched him. When he was a few paces short of the nest, the wyvern lowered its head and nudged Slave gently in the chest. He reached out and touched it. The wyvern warbled deep in its throat. Beneath his fingers, the wyvern's skin was warm and much softer than he had imagined it would be.

‘You just look like a snake, don't you, girl?' Slave said. ‘You're no more a snake than I am.' He smiled. ‘And how do I know you are a girl?'

The wyvern nudged him again, this time a little more firmly. Slave staggered back under the force.

‘You are a strong girl, aren't you?' She nudged him again. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?'

Slave placed both of his hands on the wyvern's face and stared into her eyes. Her head was easily as big as his torso, each fang as long as his hand,
yet he felt no fear, only a mounting sense of excitement. He ran his hands along her neck which moved sinuously under his touch. When he reached the edge of her nest, he climbed up the pile of sticks as the wyvern watched him, her head close to him, nudging him upwards. At the top of the nest, he stopped. The wyvern rose on her legs, stretched her neck upwards and flapped her huge wings as she screeched. The sound was painfully loud, causing Slave to clamp his hands over his ears and almost drop to his knees.

From around the cave came answering screeches as every wyvern, it seemed, also rose up onto its legs. When the screeches faded, the sound of flapping wings and cursing followed. Slave looked around to see all the wyverns turn towards him, together with every person.

‘Ice and wind,' he muttered.

The wyvern lowered herself and folded her wings back beside her body before nudging him once again. This time, Slave did not hesitate as the urging in his mind became more insistent. He swung his leg over and slid down to rest at the base of her sinuous neck. Once seated, he wrapped his arms around her neck.

‘I hope this is what you mean,' he whispered.

As if in answer, the wyvern extended her wings and, with a powerful downthrust, rose from her nest. She went straight up until she almost collided with the ceiling before wheeling around sharply to the left. Slave gripped tighter as she drove straight towards the opening. Others rose from their nests, filling the air with their cries and their wings,
causing the wyvern beneath him to weave and dodge through them. Below, the people yelled and cursed impotently as the whole cave suddenly filled with flying wyverns, dodging, screeching and slashing their barbed tails. More than one creature took a wound as they collided but somehow Slave's mount was able to negotiate her way through the chaos safely.

Suddenly, they were out, shooting into the open air like an arrow released from a bow, flying away from the dark Wall. Slave was filled simultaneously with dread and exultation as the unimaginably vast scene below him unfolded. He saw the canyon extending to the horizon, the sky expanding above him changing colour from indigo through to red. The wyvern screeched again, but this time Slave sensed her joy and simple pleasure in flight. He gripped her neck with all the strength he possessed and laid his cheek against her.

‘You are magnificent,' he whispered. ‘Now where do we go?'

He lifted his face enough to look around.

‘What's that?' he asked as he stared at the Wall.

In response, the wyvern raised her neck and flew straight up into the sky before turning sharply and diving back down again. Slave cried out in terror, but held on as she plunged towards the Wall. Even as he plummeted down, he knew one thing — he had followed Keshik for a reason.