Black Halo

her full initiation.

It saw Taire, she told herself grimly. It saw the longface. It’s seen my arm. It knows. And now it’s gone.

Perhaps it wasn’t any wonder she was breathing more freely now.

‘I don’t wear my robes like this,’ she muttered. A horrific suspicion leapt from her mind to her eyes and she turned them, wide as moons, upon the tall man. ‘I was out for a few days.’

‘Three.’ He canted his head to the side, looking to some imaginary consultant. ‘Four? Six? No … three sounds right, thereabouts.’

‘You didn’t …’ She grimaced as she readjusted her garments. ‘You didn’t do anything, did you?’

‘Seems a little pointless, doesn’t it?’ He sneered at her blue garment. ‘I’ve already seen you naked.’

‘What? When?’ She put that thought from her mind, however difficult it was. ‘No, don’t tell me. Just … did you do anything?’

‘I might have. I am well versed in Sleeping Toad.’

She opened her mouth to protest further, but something in his grin caught her eye. It was not the smooth, rehearsed split of his mouth that he so often wore like a mask. It was strained at the edges, frayed, as though the porcelain of that mask had begun to crack, exposing a desperate grin and wide, shadow-rimmed eyes.

She forced her next words through a grimace. ‘You don’t look so good.’

His parched lips peeled off glistening gums like leather in the sun, seeming to suggest that he was aware of as much. His hair formed a greasy frame about his strained, stubble-caked expression.

‘Not so good at sleeping these days,’ he whispered. ‘There could be enemies anywhere.’

‘All this time?’

‘Doesn’t seem that long now,’ he replied.

She furrowed her brow; she had seen him function on three days’ insomnia without any ill effects before. That he would suddenly seem so rabid didn’t make any sense to her until he loosed a long breath, its stale air reeking with old barrels and barley.

‘You managed to save the whisky?’ she asked, crinkling her nose.

‘Wasn’t easy,’ he grunted. ‘Had to do some diving. Had the time, though. Couldn’t sleep, obvious reasons.’ He patted his breeches and smiled grimly. ‘No more knives, see? Felt naked, insecure. Whisky helped me alert stay …’ He trailed off for a moment before snapping back with a sudden twitch. ‘Stay alert.’

‘You could have slept, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ he snarled. ‘I’m not the healer here. I didn’t know if you would even wake up.’

‘So, you …’ Her eyes widened slowly this time, the realisation less horrific, but no less shocking. ‘You watched over me all this time?’

‘Not much choice,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You were out. None of the others made it. Dread was absolutely worthless.’

‘Dreadaeleon? He’s alive?’

‘Fished both of you out. You were unconscious. He wasn’t. Had him make a raft with his ice … breath … magic-thing.’ He gestured to the beach. ‘Floated here. He stalked off to the forest shortly after, never came back out.’

She followed his finger to the dense patch of foliage over her head, saw the scrawny figure leaning against a tall tree, in such still repose as to appear dead. Perhaps he was, she thought with a twinge of panic.

‘Gods,’ she muttered. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘What isn’t?’

‘You didn’t check?’ She turned to him, aghast. ‘You didn’t ask?’

‘Not the healer.’ The rogue sneered. ‘I couldn’t watch over both of you, and you were the one with breasts. Process of elimination.’

‘How delightful,’ she muttered. ‘I suppose since I’m awake now …’ She made to rise, then paused as she became aware of a sudden pain in her cheek. She winced, pressing her hand to her jaw. ‘My face hurts.’

‘Yeah,’ he grunted, scratching his chin. ‘I’ve been hitting you for the past few days.’

She could but blink.

‘All right … should I ask?’

‘I’ve seen you do it before. Seemed like an easy medical process.’

‘You hit people who are in shock, idiot.’

‘I was a bit startled.’

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. When she looked up again, an unsympathetic sea met her gaze with the uninterested rumble of waves.

‘Lost everything?’ she repeated dully.

‘Does it somehow make it more believable if I say it three times?’ Denaos sighed. ‘Yes, lost everything, up to and including the derelict reptile that got us here.’

‘And Lenk, and Kataria …’ She sighed, placing her face in her hands and staring glumly out over the sea. ‘It …’ She winced, or rather, forced a wince to her face. ‘It had to happen, I suppose.’

‘It did,’ Denaos grunted, casting her a curious eye. ‘I’m shocked you’re taking it so well, though. One would expect you to be all on knees and hands, cutting your forehead for Talanas and praying for their safe return … or at least safe passage to heaven.’

She scratched the spot her pendant had hung. ‘Maybe it’s not so necessary these days.’

‘Gods are always necessary,’ he replied. ‘Especially in cases like these.’

She said nothing at that, instead letting the full weight of the words sink upon her. Lost everything … everything …

‘The tome,’ she gasped suddenly, turning to the rogue. ‘The tome! Did you at least look for it?’

‘Did,’ Denaos grunted, then gestured up the hill to Dreadaeleon. ‘Or he did, rather. Used some kind of weird bird magic that didn’t work before running off like a milksop. Useless.’

That thought plucked an uncomfortable string on her heart. She should have been more upset about the loss of her companions, she knew. But somehow, the loss of the book carried more weight. It seemed to her that the loss of the tome, merely the topmost piece in a growing pile of disappointments, was just a spiteful afterthought to drive home the pointlessness of it all.

It was for nothing. It was futile.

Those thoughts were becoming easier to endure with their frequency.

She looked up at a hand placed on her shoulder, doing her best not to cringe at his unpleasant smile.

‘Losing faith?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t know faith concerned you.’

‘Washed up on an island. No food, little water, friends dead and book lost.’ He shrugged. ‘Not much left but faith.’

She frowned; faith used to be all she needed. Somehow, Denaos seemed to sense that thought, however. He rose up, offering her a hand and a whisper.

‘I’m sorry.’

It came back on a flood of sensation, images carried on the stink of his breath, sounds in the warmth of his grasp.

‘I’m sorry.’ It was his voice that slipped through her memory, clear and concise, stored in the fog of her mind. And he repeated it, over and over. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry … but why? Why does this always happen to me?’

Was it merely an echo? An errant thought emerging from her subconscious? She had been unconscious, she knew, sleeping. She couldn’t have heard him. But, then, why did his voice continue to ring out in her mind?

‘This is the second one,’ he had said, she was certain. ‘I didn’t even do anything this time! It’s not fair! First her, then … her.’ She could remember a hand, lovingly brushing against her cheek. ‘Please, Silf, Talanas … any of you! I deserve it, I know, but she doesn’t! And she didn’t! Please. Please, I’m sorry, I’m