Songs of the Earth (58 page)

Tanith stoppered the small bottle and tucked it away in her scrip. ‘That should keep him unconscious for long enough,’ she said, ‘but I’ll have to be quick. I’m afraid we haven’t much time.’

Alderan hunkered down beside her. ‘I called you as soon as Masen saw something was wrong. What is it?’

‘I have a thought, though I don’t know for certain …’ She cradled Gair’s lolling head between her hands and concentrated. The sweet music of the Song skirled out into him, seeking, then abruptly shattered into discord.

Tanith recoiled.

‘What did you find?’

‘A filthy thing.’ Like plunging her hands into a cesspit. She wanted to wipe them on her skirts, but she kept hold of Gair’s head. ‘The worst kind of foulness. When Savin went rampaging through Gair’s memories he left something behind – a tiny thing, a seed of his consciousness. It’s growing.’

Alderan made a face as if he wanted to spit a bad taste from his mouth. ‘Another trick of the Hidden to go with the reiving,’ he muttered and swore softly. ‘Can you remove it?’

‘I can try. It’s behind the shield I wove, so it may not have spread too far, but I won’t know for certain until I look.’

‘What if you can’t?’

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘If I can’t, Savin will have him, mind and soul.’

Alderan’s expression became grim. ‘It must not come to that.’

‘Then I will have to stop his heart.’

‘That would violate your oaths as a Healer.’

‘I may not have a choice. Would you rather I let him scream his life away? We can’t let it come to that either, unless I miss my guess.’

‘Astolan eyes are sharp. They see far too much.’ Alderan sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Very well. Do what you must.’

Not what she could, but what she must. The thought chilled her. A Healer’s oaths were to preserve life and relieve suffering, without fear or favour. To do no harm. Which would she have to break before the day was done? How much harm would she have to do to achieve the greatest good? Steeling herself, Tanith slid back into the Song.

Carefully, she edged her way through the layers of pain that were exploding in lurid colours. Even wrapped and warded in the Song as she was, she felt something of the agonies flaying the living mind around her. When she reached the grey mist that represented her shield, she hesitated. Beyond that fragile-seeming barrier would be a nightmare of half-healed, fragmented memories, childhood horrors unearthed from long-buried pits. And Savin’s seed, growing like some monstrous creeper around it all.

She plunged through.

Alderan motioned Masen a little further along the wall to give Tanith room to work. Only a deepening of the creases around Masen’s eyes gave any clue to his anxiety, but with the familiarity of many years Alderan read it clearly.

‘He’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Tanith can Heal him, if anyone can.’

‘Savin has grown bolder,’ Masen replied. ‘I never dreamed we’d see his handiwork again so soon. When you told the Council to prepare for an attack, I thought you were shying at shadows.’

‘I hoped that I was, but it appears I was not. At least we had some time to ready ourselves. He won’t catch us unawares like he did last time.’

‘There’re only a few of us left who remember. Are you sure they’ll be able to hold the shield?’

‘They’ll hold.’

Masen raised an eyebrow. ‘No matter what he unleashes against them? He’ll try to rend the Veil, bring through Goddess knows what.’

‘I know,’ Alderan sighed. ‘I’m very much afraid we may see the end of an age before we’re done.’

‘If what the Leahn saw is true.’

‘I trust him, Masen, and so far events are bearing him out. Savin’s taken an interest in Gair from the start. He tried to lure the boy, then sent a storm to spite us. Now this.’

‘Is the lad really that powerful?’

‘He has power and to spare.’

Masen considered. ‘What about Pensaeca? It’s likely a ruse to draw us out.’

‘Whilst Savin tries to pierce our shields through Gair’s mind, yes. We wait.’

‘That could cost the islanders a few lives,’ Masen said, but Alderan shook his head.

‘Fewer than you might think. The Nordmen raid these islands every once in a while. The people simply pack up and head inland. They know the hills and valleys like their own faces, and the Nordmen learned long ago that it gains them precious little to pursue. They take what they can carry from the coastal towns and sail north again.’

‘Will they do the same with Savin snapping at their heels? How far will he press them to get a reaction from us?’

‘How far will his patience last? You know as well as I that it was never among his virtues, such as he had. We can wait him out.’

‘And you’re willing to wager lives on that?’

‘You have a knack for asking hard questions, old friend,’ Alderan said, ‘and wanting hard answers, too.’

‘Just as you have a knack for not giving them.’ Masen chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Very well, I’ll tell K’shaa to stand ready. He’ll not want the
Star
to lie at anchor with pirates so close at hand.’

‘You’d best rouse the Masters whilst you’re about it. If Savin comes against us directly, we’ll need every scrap of talent on the island to maintain the shield.’

‘What if Gair’s wrong, or worse than wrong?’

They both looked over to where Tanith knelt over the prone figure of the young Leahn. She was wreathed in green sparks, and even at that distance, her working of the Song tugged at Alderan’s gift; the power she wielded was considerable.

He sighed. ‘We’ll wrestle that bear when it wakes and not before.’ Glancing up at the sky, he frowned. Thin wind-whipped cloud veiled the blue now, and a stiffening breeze struck foam from the waves in Pensaeca Sound. ‘Looks like the weather’s turning,’ he said. ‘I think we’re in for a storm.’

Ivy tendrils snaked across the dusty earth. They put out shoots as they thickened that rapidly became dark, leathery leaves veined purple like diseased organs. The tendrils moved with astonishing speed. Ahead of them, Gair broke into a run.

He slowed when he came to a corner and peered cautiously round it. Nothing. The earthen path lay empty between its green walls. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing behind either. Safety, of a sort, but he was still no nearer finding a way out. He mopped sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve and wished he had some water. His throat was full of dust.

Gentle pressure on his ankle made him look down. A purple-black shoot, no thicker than his little finger, had coiled around his boot. Tiny leaves unfurled along its length. Gair jerked his foot away and the shoot twitched spastically, then groped across the earth towards his other ankle. He backed away and collided with one of the hedges. Thorns pricked his skin through his shirt, deep enough to draw blood. He yelped, whirling around. More shoots had coiled through the hedge, and whatever they touched began to shrivel. Withered leaves pattered down through the branches, as desiccated as if they had been dead for years.

Gair backed further away. The shoot that had reached for his foot was thicker than his thumb now, and it edged purposefully towards him, dragging a little furrow in the dust. Those coiled through the hedge reared into the air like snakes. Behind them, the hedge itself was almost dead, only a few patches of green remaining amongst the curled brown leaves, and they were rapidly being smothered by leathery foliage.

He began to run again. Whippy shoots lunged for him as he passed, plucking at his clothing. Roots broke through the sunhardened earth to trip him. He leapt clear and ducked down the first side-path that led away from the ivy. Dead end. Gair swore and doubled back to the next turning. A quick glance showed it was clear, but before he had gone a hundred yards he heard the rustle of dry leaves sifting down.

He increased his speed, though thorns raked his hands and arms when he took a turning too fast, or couldn’t stop for a dead end. Soon blood flew with the beads of sweat, leaving scarlet smears on his shirt. Now dead leaves blighted every hedge, and dark strands twisted amongst the branches. With every yard more purplish leaves uncurled their hands, and swarmed through the green.

A stitch stabbing at Gair’s side finally forced him to a halt and he leaned on his knees to catch his breath. His lungs felt as if they were filled with hot sand. Around him he saw no sign of ivy; perhaps he had a moment or two to rest. If only he could have
found some water. His throat burned; the air itself was parched by the relentless, invisible sun. Even his sweat evaporated before it could dampen his shirt. Maybe there would be water when he finally found his way out.

Swift as striking adders, purple stems coiled around Gair’s arms and ankles. They jerked him upright, then lifted him clear off the ground. Panic leapt in his chest. He scrabbled for a purchase on the leathery stalks, but they were inflexible as forged steel chains. All he tore was the skin from his fingers. Relentlessly, he was spread-eagled against the hedge behind him. Thorns bit into his back, rump and thighs; they even began to penetrate the stout leather of his boots. As more and more of them gouged his flesh, he screamed—

Enough
, said a cool voice.

The ivy tightened convulsively. More thorns pressed into Gair’s flesh, and fresh blood spattered the dead leaves below him.

This goes no further
.

Brilliant light flooded the dusty maze. Gair screwed his eyes shut against it. His left arm burned, as if touched with iron straight from the forge, and the bond on that limb fell away. Far off, something whined in pain. Blindly, he clawed at his other arm.

Wait
, said the voice.

Gair squinted through the glare and saw a robed shape with a burnished copper halo. A fiery sword swung in towards him and his right arm was freed.

An angel. An angel with a flaming sword.

Hail, Mother, full of grace, light and life of all the world …

The words of the devotion tripped through his head, insistent as the clicking of beads.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall find strength in you. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall find justice in you. Blessed are the lost, for they shall find salvation in you. Amen
.

The angel advanced, wielding the blade as deftly as a surgeon’s scalpel to sever the ropy stems like spider-silk. The fresh shoots
thrusting through the hedge needed time to thicken, and in that time Gair could snap them, with a little effort. When the angel carved away the final swathe, he sprawled full-length on the littered path. Soot and blood smeared his shirt, and hundreds of tiny thorn-wounds burned as he scrambled away from the thrashing lengths of cut ivy and their stinking, oily sap.

Come, quickly
, said the angel.
We must leave this place
. A hand slipped under his arm and helped him to his feet. The hedge was leafless either side of the bloody thorns. New ivy-stems reared away from the angel’s sword as it swung it, ready to lop anything in its path.

‘Thank you,’ Gair gasped. The angel was too dazzling to look at directly.

We must go
.

He stumbled after the angel as it set off down the path. Though it did not appear to move any faster than a walk, he was forced into a shambling run to keep up. It chose their way without hesitation, left, then right, then right again. Its sword blazed in one hand, whilst the other skimmed along the flanking hedge. Where it touched, new leaves appeared and turned green faces towards the sun.