Tribute (20 page)

As I struggle to gasp air into my lungs, to gather enough magic to defend myself, I see her. It wasn't a rat scuttling in the darkened corners of the library.

Twiss appears, sword in hand. She has been so deep in Elsewhere even I couldn't see her. But now she runs forward. And strikes with a cry that burns my soul. Bruin's sword bites deep into my father's back.

Benedict screams. His body arches and his hands claw the air. He drops to his knees, and there is a explosion of magic that scorches my mind with its power. The sword erupts from my father's back, spinning across the floor in a silver-gold whirligig of iron and bronze. But I hardly notice, because Twiss's body is flying through the air like a leaf in a storm. She slams into a smouldering bookcase. And I am nine again. I watch Swift-Twiss slide down the bookcase onto the floor and lie there, crumpled, unmoving.

I find air for my lungs at last. My scream echoes through the room. ‘
No!
'

My father kneels, groaning in pain. Blood oozes down his black robes onto the white marble of the floor. But he's alive. Before I realise what I intend to do, I've darted forward and grabbed Bruin's sword. I run at Benedict, raising the sword over my head. Hatred gives me strength – the sword is as light as thought. I will finish what Twiss began, what Swift failed to do ten years ago.

But I forgot: I may be invisible but he heard my scream; he can hear me running towards him. My father staggers to his feet and somehow, wounded as he is, he finds the strength for magic.

I'm caught unprepared as a net of crystal-hard air spirals towards me, glimmering icy blue through the drifts of black smoke. I hurl the sword at him with a blast of magic. But once it leaves my hand, it's visible. Benedict deflects it with contemptuous ease. The net drops over my head and wraps chill fingers around me. My father reels me in hand over hand, like a fisherman. I stagger as I fight the pull, and reach for my magic.

‘I don't think so, Zara!' Benedict stops pulling in his net. ‘Don't make the mistake of fighting me with magic – you can't win. I've lost a little blood, no more. I won't be dying today. But your colleague has earned a death. I wouldn't like to disappoint them. Or you.' He straightens up. His face is deathly white, but I can feel his strength returning.

I must hit him now! But as I try to gather the shreds of my magic, Benedict ignites a fireball and sends it to hover in the air near Twiss's crumpled body.

‘Surrender!' My father's eyes never leaving the net that drapes over me like a cloak. ‘Or your companion dies. Let me see you, Zara. Or I promise that whatever creature attacked me will burn hotter than the fires of hell. There won't be anything left but charred bones.'

He will act on his threat. I shift out of Elsewhere and my father's eyes narrow in victory. I'm breathing hard. So much magic is wearing us both down, using our warmth, strength. My legs threaten to give way but I have to hope that he's as near the edge as I. And I have one last weapon.

I look through the ice-cold mesh of crystal air and say: ‘You murdered your own child.'

‘She should have died at birth.' His eyes are fixed on me as though I'm something so unpleasant and filthy that he can't look away. ‘By mage law. All products of miscegenation must die.'

‘Your
daughter
,' I repeat. ‘Your blood!'

‘Kine are not human. You're as sentimental as your mother. I don't know why the gods made me love her.' He snarls, flashing his teeth. ‘It's caused me nothing but pain.'

‘You don't know what love is! You haven't got a soul!'

He smiles. ‘I have yours. You belong to me now. I've won. But before I wipe your memory clean, tell me. What is the magic? How do you hide yourself from my eyes and block me from your mind?'

This is it.

I failed Swift. I couldn't save her. But I might be able to save Twiss. If she's alive.
Please gods!
I glance at the place where she lies curled on the floor. Her fingers are clenched into fists, her head moving slowly from side to side. Not dead. Not dead yet. I look back into Benedict's cold lizard's eyes and suddenly I'm not frightened any more.

I should be frightened. He's stronger than I ever dreamed. Horribly strong, even now. But I have a lifetime of hatred and my sister's death to repay. And there is Twiss. Alive.

‘It is magic, isn't it?' I smile as I ready my weapon.

When he sees my smile, doubt flickers in Benedict's eyes. ‘But it isn't mage magic, Father. Tell me how it goes. The creed.

‘“
The gods made mages and gave them magic so that they might rule the earth.

‘“And then the gods made kine to be the servants and cattle of the mages, to serve them and worship them all their days.

‘“Kine have no soul. When they die, they return to dust.

‘“But the mage, being semi-divine, rejoins the gods at death and lives forever in paradise.
”

‘Have I got it right?'

‘Your mother was a blasphemer, Zara!' He's shaking, staring across the room at me with loathing. ‘She died for it. I'll keep you alive, though. I am your father after all. And I have no other child!' he snarls. I watch as he struggles to calm himself. ‘You'll just have to be reborn. As with all births, it will be painful.' He smiles too: a ghastly smile.

‘You were
her
father too!' I shout. ‘You murdered your own daughter! I couldn't stop you then, but I won't let you kill this child. Her name is Twiss. She's a thief. And my friend.'

His face contorts in disgust. ‘You can make a pet of a rat – if you have a low mind – but you can't be friends with vermin. I shall be doing my duty as a parent to kill it.' I feel him gather his strength. He begins to turn towards Twiss.

‘Wait, Father!' I keep my voice light, contemptuous. It irritates him – as I knew it would. His eyes flick back to me; his hand, half raised to direct the fireball, drops to his side.

‘Don't you want to know the answer to your question?' I watch his eyes narrow. He's listening. ‘You asked what sort of magic I'm using. I think you'll find the answer interesting: it's thieves' magic.'

‘
Thieves?
' His upper lip curls in revulsion. ‘Animals! Vermin! Even the kine will not mate with that tribe. And you
dare
use the word “magic” to refer to their tricks?'

His nostrils flare; the whites of his eyes shine as his eyes widen in rage.

I feel a great, fierce joy. I cannot beat my father with magic. But I can destroy his world nonetheless. My heart is racing; I'm shaking as I gather the power of my words.

‘And yet it's the thieves you fear, Father. It's thieves we all fear. The knife in the back, the flint arrow flying without warning. For years you've tried to wipe their tribe from existence.

‘Remember Aris, dear Father? We both know that arrow was meant for you. Next time it will be
you
lying in the dirt twitching like a dying rabbit as your heart stops beating and your brain chills. How did the sword feel, sliding into your back? You can kill Twiss, but there will be other thieves. They will never stop until you are dead!

‘Deny it as much as you wish, but I know the truth: the thieves are magic users. It's how they've survived us all these centuries. They go to a place in their minds where we can't see or hear them, but they can see us. And we can't mind-control them.

‘You know now that Otter is a rebel. But let me tell you the best bit: he's a thief. It's his magic that kept him safe from you. Your own pet Guardian. How many times must he have stood behind you, knowing he could kill you with a single blow. Longing to, but waiting. Because killing you isn't enough. He's going to stop it all. ‘Benedict – last Archmage of Asphodel. He's made a fool of you!'

He's staring at me white-faced, struggling not to believe.

‘I've been living with the thieves, Father. They taught me their magic. I use it to hide in the darkness where you can't find me. Long ago, thieves and mages must have been the same tribe. Mages aren't “the chosen”. So, tell me, Father. How does the fact that thieves are magic users square with your litany?'

‘
Liar!
'

The horror on his face says everything. His world has just crumbled into dust.

I watch my father go mad. He's forgotten Twiss. Forgotten everything but the need to stop my mouth. I see it in his face, and lunge into Elsewhere just before he bursts into my head.

‘You won't ever be able to do that again, Father! Never!'

I've been waiting for this moment. I kindle a knife of fire and slash through the net binding me.

‘You're none of mine!' Benedict is raging, spittle foaming from his mouth. ‘Your mother must have slept with a demon!
I'll destroy you!
'

A flash of raw power and every book in the room bursts into flame and leaps off the shelves. They bombard the room. Fly down to crash like hundreds of falling stars. One hits me in the back, knocking me down. My back explodes in agony as the fire bites. Screaming, I draw water from the air and shower it over me.

Benedict is waiting. He can't see me but he can feel my magic. He commands the burning books to whirl across the room; flaming missiles. I dodge, bat them away with air. Struggle to suck enough moisture from the air to grow a waterfall wall around me. I'm shaking with exhaustion.

And I'm trapped.

My father gathers all his energy for one last assault.

Through a screen of smoke and flames, I see the door burst open.

Otter races in, followed by half a dozen of his Tributes. From one step to another, he races into Elsewhere as my father whirls to face him. The Guardian raises his sword arm. But before he can slice through my father's neck, Benedict blasts a wall of air towards the door. Otter and the Tributes go flying.

It's my chance. I slash a fireball at my father, cursing as I see him turn towards it and magic an air-shield with astonishing speed. As the fireball strikes, Benedict's shield glows intensely blue-hot and explodes in flames. The flash of light blinds me for a moment. When I can see again, my father is at the window. It bursts open, spraying wood and glass, and my father springs into the air and disappears.

Otter grabs a bow from one of the Tributes, rushes to the window and fires three quick arrows after Benedict. As the Guardian lowers the bow, I can tell from the rigid set of his shoulders that he's missed. My father has escaped.

I've used so much energy I can barely stand. I stagger as I run across to Twiss. The thief is hunched on hands and knees, struggling to get to her feet.

I kneel down and scoop her into my arms, and joy sweeps through me as I feel her life force growing stronger with each second. She lets me hug her close for a moment, then pushes me away.

‘I'm all right,' she says. ‘Don't fuss. Got the wind knocked out of me, that's all.'

It isn't all. Her nose is bloody and I can feel a lump the size of a hen's egg on the side of her head, but I won't fuss. Twiss will live. But I share her bitter disappointment. She failed. Bruin is not avenged. Benedict lives.

‘I didn't kill him either,' I say. ‘But there will be another chance. Only next time, don't run off and try to do it by yourself again. That's just selfish.' I pull her to her feet, watching to make sure she's able to stand by herself. She grins at me cheekily and I sigh with relief and turn to Otter. ‘Where's Aidan?'

‘Safe. Waiting for you. Let's go join him before your father regains his strength and regroups his forces.'

I gather Bruin's sword from where it lies. Its blade is stained with Benedict's blood. I stare at the dull red smears, my mind slow, stumbling. I can't bear to put it into the scabbard uncleansed, to bring a single particle of my father's blood away with me. I'm not sure why, but I don't want to use magic, so I walk to a still smouldering heap of books, kneel on one knee and hold the blade in the dying flames until every trace of Benedict's blood is burnt away. Something unknots in my chest. I turn my head and catch Otter watching me, a strange look in his eyes. Pity? Or contempt?

I'm too tired to care. I stagger slightly as I get to my feet and walk over to Twiss. She holds out the scabbard without comment and I slide the sword into it and strap it once more around my waist.

The library is in ruins. The fires are slowly dying. The shelves of books are blackened skeletons. I take one last look at the place Swift met Death.

The paperweight sits on the desk. I walk over to it. Almost, I pick it up and take it. Almost. But it wears my father's mage mark and the mark of his blood. One undeniably beautiful, the other an ugly stain. Both repulse me. I stare at the elegant, intricate maze of silver piercing the glass. What strange magic does this thing hold? Why did it talk to me? Whose voice was it? If there was, indeed, a voice outside those that live in my imagination.

Nearly ten years ago my sister died. Perhaps her ghost lives here, as well as in my heart. Perhaps it was the voice of her spirit warning me. I can't quite believe it, although it would be a sort of comfort, to think that some fragment of her had remained here, waiting to witness Benedict's defeat. But even if something, some echo of her, was here, it's gone now. The paperweight crouches on my father's desk: quiet, lifeless. I can't bring myself to touch it.

Swift is dead.

I couldn't save you, Sister. I'm sorry.

I turn my back on the room, on my father's paperweight, on my memories of blood spilled and blood denied. I take Twiss by the hand, and leave.

We wander through the city at dawn. The mage quarter, with its stone palazzos and marble temples, is far behind us. Columns of smoke rise to the sky. Asphodel is lit by dozens of fires. It is as though the heavens themselves have made war here.

‘How many rebel Tributes are there?' I ask Otter as I take in the amount of damage done in these few hours. He smiles grimly and shifts the sleeping form of Twiss from one shoulder to the other. Aidan walks on the Guardian's other side, still carrying his apprentice. The boy cries if anyone else tries to touch him, and even though Aidan's face is streaked with the blood of his head wound, he strides onwards without complaint. But the Maker is changed. My father invaded his mind. I want to tell him that I know what that feels like, but Aidan avoids my eyes.

‘My army is small,' Otter answers. ‘But well trained. The very best training Benedict could afford.' He smiles at me this time. And I think of all the years we spent in the palazzo  … 

‘Why didn't you tell me? You must have known I was working for the Knowledge Seekers.'

‘Your mind was as open as this sky, Zara. If your father had ever suspected  …  I wasn't going to take that risk. Sorry.'

Otter's lying. He isn't sorry. Or he's sorry for me, but not sorry for what he's done. I've never met anyone so sure of themselves. It should be irritating, but it isn't. I think that's because it isn't about him. It's about aloneness. I've finally met someone lonelier than me.

I glance past Otter at Aidan and catch his eyes. His gaze is blue ice. He turns his head away and transfers the child onto his near shoulder, so the boy's body lies between us. It's like someone's hit me in the stomach: for a moment I can't breathe. I stumble on. The fight with Benedict ate deep into my store of energy and with each step it's harder to force my legs to keep moving.

It's a relief to have to concentrate on something so simple as putting one foot in front of the other. I glance down and am surprised to see that my feet are cut and bleeding. I suppose if I live long enough with the thieves, the soles of my feet will grow thick and leathery, like those of Twiss and the other middlings. I'm not a mage now. I'm  …  I don't know what. Something new.

It takes a few minutes to gather enough courage to raise my head and look past the white-blond of the boy's head. Aidan stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched. There's a glass wall between us and I can't find a way over or through it.

We trudge into the sector of Asphodel outside the walls. The muddy alleyways run with sewage. The narrow, twisting streets are deserted except for packs of pigs and dogs, scavenging and fighting. Wood and mud shacks lean in ramshackle rows along either side of the alleys. Dozens of dirty black fingers of smoke rise from the nearby hills. The smoke drifts over the shanty town and mixes with the acrid stink of the tanning vats. Skinners, tanners and charcoal burners live here. Untouchables. This place is as far from the broad avenues and elegant palazzos of the mage quarter as it's possible to get and still be in the same city.

‘This is our base,' Otter says. ‘I can hide several phalanxes here if necessary. Most of my army, of course, stays at the Wall, fighting alongside the other Tributes. Hiding in plain sight.'

Clever of him to use this part of the city as his base. No mage would come here without a compelling reason: it's too filthy, too smelly. We enter an area that contains newer tents and lean-tos. Faces look out at us as we pass. I hear shouts of encouragement, cheers. And a deeper note of sorrow as the litters carrying the bodies of dead Tributes come into sight.

Otter ignores it all. He gives orders to his lieutenants; dispatches his troops. Two Tributes remain with us. Otter gestures for Aidan and me to follow and marches on out of the tent city into the barren brush land bordering the last hovels. The Tributes pull away a brush pile of dead cedar to reveal a hole like the opening of a well, lined with neatly masoned stone.

‘Down you go,' Otter says, shaking Twiss awake and setting the yawning girl on her feet. ‘You know the way. Lead on.'

Twiss grins at him, mock-salutes and scampers down a rope ladder. Except for the dried blood on her upper lip and a bruised cheek, you wouldn't know that a few hours ago she'd nearly killed the most powerful adept in the land and barely escaped with her life.

Aidan follows, stiffly, still carrying the child. He avoids looking in my direction as he climbs into the earth. I stand, too exhausted to cry, staring after him into the dark hole at my feet. A warm hand takes mine. I flinch and glance up at Otter, relieved to see he hasn't noticed my distress. I couldn't bear sympathy now. Or disapproval. But the Guardian's expression doesn't change.

‘Go carefully,' he says. He steadies me as I swing onto the ladder. My arms and legs aren't working properly and I keep slipping as I struggle on the wooden rungs. With each step down, exhaustion rises up my body like the icy water of a well. Soon  …  soon I will make Aidan talk to me. We can go back to where we were.

We love each other. Nothing's changed.

Liar!

My foot slips and I nearly fall. I cling to the ladder, pressing my forehead into a wooden rung until panic fades. It's no good pretending. My father ripped open Aidan's mind and invaded it. No one can ever be the same after that. But I won't give up. I won't let Benedict win. I've done what I set out to do: I saved Aidan's life. I won't let my father steal him from me now.

Twiss is waiting at the bottom. She sees me stagger and grabs my arm. It's like that first night all over again – walking endlessly into the darkness. Only this time, it feels like coming home.

Twiss hurries me along. A smile surprises me as I imagine how she's rehearsing the story she'll tell later tonight to a gaggle of breathless middlings. Adventures beyond their wildest imaginings: Asphodel and the palazzo of the Archmage. Bruin's sword. My smile fades and I fumble for the hilt; hold it tight. We failed this time, Twiss and I. But there will be other chances.

Otter's footsteps crunch behind us, pacing out the darkness. It's comforting having him at my back. Our journey seems outside Time and I don't know if it's hours or only minutes before we reach the outer catacombs.

The thieves in the guardroom must have had advance warning of our coming. They welcome us without surprise, staring at Aidan with a superstitious wonder and speaking to Otter with a deference that surprises me.

They pass us through and Twiss yelps with excitement. She tugs my arm so violently as we trot down the twisting tunnel towards the centre of the thieves' den that I yank my wrist from her grip and let her race ahead. The thief squeezes past Aidan and disappears, bare feet flashing as she pelts towards a faint glow of oil lamps.

I watch her go, surprised by a strange sadness. My feet slow down and stop. I'm almost too tired to move. And I'm aware of Aidan stalking into the half-light a few paces ahead. I don't want to touch him by mistake. I don't think I could bear it if he flinched from me.

Otter rests a hand on my shoulder, pushes me gently on. The next moment I'm squinting into a glare of yellowish light, breathing in the familiar stink of oil lamps, blinking at the raw sound assaulting my ears. Roars, shouts, yells of joy and triumph. I see Twiss bouncing high into the air over and over again, surrounded by cheering middlings. The next moment Mistress Floster sweeps into view, a gingerly moving, bandaged Hound trailing behind. Floster freezes mid-stride as she spots Twiss. The next second she breaks into a run and sweeps the child up in her arms, twirling her round and round. The Mistress of Thieves is weeping and laughing. Then she looks up, over the heads of the throng of chanting middlings, and sees me. Happiness slides from her face and her eyes grow deadly. She deposits Twiss on the ground and stalks towards me.

I'm too tired for this battle, but I'm not going to have a choice. Otter's hand squeezes my shoulder. I glance up to glimpse the tail-end of what might have been a sympathetic smile. The Guardian steps back with a look that says: you disobeyed orders and now you must take your medicine. The cheers and chatter fade. Heads turn, following Floster's progress as she descends on me. When she stops, a foot away from me, her eyes boring into mine, the cavern is totally silent.

‘You're very lucky,' she says in a low growl, ‘that the child got back here alive.'

‘I thought you've given up on loving.' I glance at Marcus, who raises his eyebrows in warning. But his lips twitch.

‘That's not the point. You disobeyed my orders.'

‘It is the point, I think.' After my father, Floster can't scare me. Not much.

‘I'm mistress here,' Floster says. ‘I won't stand subordination. You think because you're a mage that –'

‘I don't!' Now I'm angry. ‘That's not true and you know it. I left here to try to save the life of someone I love.' I feel my face growing hot. I don't dare look towards Aidan. ‘And, as it happens, I have stopped Benedict's plot to destroy the Makers. If you'd got your way, Benedict's hostage would be worse than dead and the Maker world facing total destruction.'

‘It wasn't your decision!'

My anger splutters out. I stare at her. It's true: I gambled the lives of this entire community. Did I have the right? I don't know.

‘Maybe.' I shake my head, lost. ‘Perhaps I was wrong. I only know I had to try. Because, much as I wish I weren't, I'm Benedict's daughter. I had to try to stop him because there was a chance I had the power to do it, and none of you did. If I don't fight him I'm no better than he is. If you can't understand that  …  if you want to punish me, well, I don't care very much right now.'

There's a ringing in my head. Floster's face is swinging slowly side to side, like the pendulum of the Great Clock. I look past her, searching for Aidan.

He is watching me. The Maker still holds the boy, who is awake at last, staring around him in wonder. The child spots something and begins to twist and wriggle frantically. Aidan leans over to put him down. When the Maker lifts his head his eyes seek me out once more. They're haunted: desire and horror mingled. My father has damaged something in him, perhaps forever. I've read of heartbreak. This must be what it feels like.

Otter's hand grabs my arm and keeps me from falling. ‘This isn't the time, Mistress,' he says.

Floster glares at the Guardian. She is opening her mouth to shout him down when a scream rises above the mutterings of the crowd. A searing wail of joy and pain. Floster's eyes flare wide and she turns towards the sound. Over her shoulder I see the crowd retreating from the centre of the cavern like a waning tide.

Thieves and Knowledge Seekers draw back, edge away. And through the widening gap, I see Tabitha. She's on her knees, embracing Aidan's young apprentice. The child's arms are entwined around her neck and he's clinging to her as though to life itself, shuddering with sobs that shake him from head to foot. Tabitha's face is raised towards the sky we cannot see. Tears stream down her cheeks into her open mouth. Her keening is like the sound of a wounded animal.

I stare at her. At the boy. At Tabitha's golden hair falling onto the silver-gilt head of the child.
Her
child.

And it hits me. Oh gods. What evil has my father done?

Tribute. Hostage. The patterns of Benedict's cruelty repeat; curve back on themselves like the swirls of his mage mark carved in my face.

I wonder how long it will take before the others realise the truth. How long the silversmith has to live. The memory of Bruin's broken body floats before my eyes and I try to hate her. But I look at her face, at the child in her arms, and I can't.

But there is one who will never forgive. Full of dread, I tear my eyes away and search through the crowd for Twiss. I catch sight of her pointed cat-face at the moment that joy fades to confusion. I step forward to go to her, but Otter's hand still holds my arm. He pulls me back.

And then  …  please gods, don't let me long remember the look of horror and pain on Twiss's face as she stares at Tabitha and her son and understanding sinks in.

Mutters of ‘
Traitor!
' writhe through the room, growing darker and louder. The murmurs rise up, swelling into a howl that circles round and round the cavern walls like the cry of wolves scenting prey. Tabitha's eyes widen in terror and she clutches the child to her, bending over him, cloaking him with her hair. A hail of pebbles and mud, scraped from the floor and walls, begins to rain upon mother and child.

‘Stop it!' I shout. I gather my magic, but Otter twists me round to face him.

‘No,' he shouts above the howls. His eyes insist I listen. ‘I'll do it. You stay here and don't interfere, or they'll go for you too.' And without waiting for my answer, he's gone, pushing through the crowd. Floster gestures, and Marcus darts after him.

Otter reaches Tabitha, ignoring the mud storm spattering him, and lifts her gently to her feet. The howls of rage stutter, then slowly fade as he and Marcus take hold of her arms and lead her and her child away into the darkness, out of the sight and reach of those the silversmith betrayed.

Floster's voice rings through the air, shouting for order. I'm shaking with shock and exhaustion. Twiss wriggles into sight, aiming for me like an arrow. She grabs the hilt of Bruin's sword, trying to wrest it from its scabbard. I push her away. Stumble and nearly fall. I back up as Twiss attacks again.

‘The sword is mine, Twiss!' I say, fending her off with a warning hand as she lunges forward. Her face is a mask of hatred. My father would delight in making her the silversmith's murderer. ‘Bruin's sword has one job to do. Only one. Leave Tabitha to your mistress.'

Suddenly Aidan is beside me. ‘Piss off, brat,' he says to Twiss.