why you'll see ghost towns all across this island, and maybe it's the same on other islands, too, I don't know.'
Munio remained utterly silent, already knowing this potted history.
'And the people out here… are they angry with the Empire?' Rika asked.
'Probably just bitter these days, more than anything. But what can they do? They've no control over their own lives. But what annoys me, you know, was back in Villjamur no one had a clue about what was going on here. They just heard the party line about the fringe world from the Council, and never thought to ask questions. The news recovered was exaggerated or incorrect. They assumed that anyone who tried to protest or resist the oppression was simply encouraging evil. Those who objected to Imperial ways were branded terrorists.'
'If you hate the Empire so much,' Rika said, 'why are you now helping me?'
'Because Eir wants to help you, and if that's what she wants, so be it.' He looked across at his love, but she didn't know what to say to that. He'd already sacrificed a lot for her. It was a dangerous way of thinking – and he knew it – but his love was all he had right now. 'Besides, you personally have played little role in history, and you yourself know how tricky people in the Council can be.'
'I believe I can change things,' Rika said. 'Once I'm back in Villjamur, back in power.'
'Best thing you can do, if you ask me, is decentralize that power. Just give the people back the land that was theirs.'
Rika looked thoughtful, and they continued in silence.
*
Down faded paths suffocated by ferns, along steep hillsides with rocks jutting from them like black broken bones. Snow staggered in waves across this hiemal forest.
Near dusk on the fifth day, they decided to take refuge in the ruins of what appeared to have once been a hunting lodge. Constructed alongside a sheer cliff face, it was crowded with spindly ulex plants, and leaned outwards as if the rocks behind had become animated and were pushing it forward. Coloured pebbles were mixed in amongst the masonry, the windows were all long since shattered, and the door was broken – but at least it was shelter.
A storm came, sudden and rough, ripping up the landscape like a wild thing. They lit a fire in the old hearth using sulphur and lime, and Eir, without much idea of what she was doing, began to cook three hares Munio had caught earlier. That was despite Randur's nervous suggestion that he should continue to look after culinary matters. Rika sat down cross-legged in a corner, soon in deep contemplation. While the old swordmaster scrutinized a map, Randur boarded up the broken windows as best he could, with some fragments of wood. It felt good to be doing this – making some progress, settling in. Jokes shuttled back and forth rapidly between himself and Munio, as they slowly rebuilt their relationship.
They lit lanterns. Inside there were remnants of ornaments, paintings, furniture, riding and hunting implements, but closer examination showed they had all been purposely damaged, leaving Randur wondering at the cause of this destruction.
'What d'you suppose happened here then?' Randur lifted a tin plate to examine the decay in the half-light. 'There are even teeth marks in the metalwork.'
'Someone must have been pretty hungry,' Eir suggested. 'Will our horses be all right, left outside in this weather?'
'They'll be fine,' Randur said. 'They've some shelter out back, and I've fed them amply. How's our progress so far, Munio?'
'Good,' the old man said, his face unreadable. 'Right on schedule.'
'You sure it's the most direct path?'
Munio turned and glared at him. 'We must not stray from this route if we ever want to get there, let alone stay alive. Or do you still not trust this old mind?'
'I trust you.'
'Good. Now, do we have any wine left?'
'You drank the last of it last night.'
Munio grunted, and began studying the map again. He had been very diligent in making sure their progress went according to his schedule, but where this sudden burst of efficiency had come from, Randur hadn't a clue. Perhaps it was because all the wine had gone, and this was Munio's natural state – sober and angry and driven.
Eir brought over the cooked meat, her gold necklace glittering in the candlelight as she leant across the table. The food was burnt on the outside and undercooked inside. 'Just another minute back on the fire and we're ready,' he said to encourage her – and also so he wouldn't spend the rest of the night vomiting out into the storm.
Rika finished off her meditation, and engaged with Munio in ascertaining their route. She followed a thick line with her finger and asked, 'Is this a road used by the military? I would rather we kept away from anywhere the army might be.'
Munio shook his head, staring down at the charts. 'We have no choice except to cross it, but there are no soldiers in this section of the island. The road was mainly used for transporting ore.'
With a cautious pride, Eir brought the food from the fire again. 'I think the wind has died a bit, Rand. Would you like to check to see if the storm's eased and look at the horses?'
Randur sighed. Would you like to…? was, it seemed, a common question in these close relationships – something he was so far unused to – and the actual answer was of course, No, I would not like to. I have just spent the last half-hour blocking out any thoughts of the bastard storm. I would rather stay warm and dry, thank you very much.
'Yes, dear,' he offered meekly, then shuffled through to the next room and over to the front door.
He kicked away two thick logs helping to secure it and unhooked the door. In the dim lighting of the glade stood several figures, glancing about. His heart flipped. He closed the door carefully, so it wouldn't make a noise. Taking a peep through a gap in the wood, he could discern several people with… pure white skin? What on earth were they – albinos?
Another look: men and women, naked, very slender. They were clearly visible against the backdrop of the dark forest, but when they moved against drifts of snow, they were utterly camouflaged. Their movements seemed jerky. Behind them, the trees stirred loudly in the breeze.
He beckoned Munio immediately and gestured for the swordmaster to take a look. Crouching to see clearly, Munio gave a start of surprise when he saw them.
'Ghosts?' he gasped.
More came, ten in all now, and they began pointing and gesturing in hand signs like tribesmen out on a hunt, ready to kill – that was no reassuring omen.
'Ghosts, my arse,' Randur grunted. 'Ghosts don't communicate like that.'
'And when, dear boy, have you ever seen a ghost do anything?'
'Good point,' he conceded.
There was a gentle sound over to one side, out of sight, then one of the horses was led forward into the open by two of the white-skinned newcomers. They gathered around the horse – primitive weapons in hand, crude spears and bows, axes crafted from stone – and suddenly the animal shuddered violently, staggered, and collapsed, blood spurting from the artery in its neck. With savagery, the alien people set out about severing the animal's head from its body, their own skins reddening slickly.
Light was fast deserting the sky.
'Shit, what should we do?' Randur hissed, panicking. Defending their shack against those unknown beings seemed a daunting prospect, to say the least, but he was prepared to go out and fight. Without horses for transportation they would soon die out here in the wilds.
Munio eyed him harshly until he ventured a response. 'We're heavily outnumbered. And the four of us could just about fit on three horses…'
'So your solution, O great swordfighter, is to sit here and do nothing while they eat all our transport. And then maybe us for dessert.'
'You want to get us killed, Kapp-'
'Stop calling me that! I'm Randur now. And I'm not going to just sit around and do nothing.'
Randur stomped into the other room to inform the sisters of what was happening. Eir hurriedly tied up her bootlaces, then picked up her blade. Rika's face maintained the same calm demeanour as always.
