Vengeance

There was no time to ask, and the last thing she wanted was the company of a blind madman who had visions, yet without Wil’s swift action the captain would be packing her head in a bag and taking it back to Cython. How could she refuse him?

‘This way,’ she said, turning in the direction of Caulderon.

Wil reached out to her like a shy youth. She took his cracked hand, uncomfortably.

‘Where you going?’ he said in a childlike, breathy voice.

‘I don’t know,’ she lied.

‘Wil the Sump, they call me. Not respectful, is it?’

‘No,’ Tali said absently, checking for lanterns. The enemy could not track her without light, though to conceal themselves they would open their lantern shutters as seldom as possible. Unless she kept watch every minute, she could miss them.

‘First to see the new book, Wil was,’ said Wil. ‘First to read it, too.’

‘What book was that?’ said Tali. Books were rare in Cython — at least, in the Pale Empound — though it was said the enemy had huge libraries containing hundreds of volumes.

His face took on a closed expression. It was remarkably mobile, considering he had no eyes.

‘Can’t tell you about the Solaces. You Pale, you our enemy.’

‘What are the Solaces?’ She had never heard the term before.

‘Secret books. They tell the stories of our past and our future.’

‘Who wrote them?’

He did not reply.

‘Why do you want to go with an enemy, Wil?’

He looked around as if afraid someone would overhear. ‘Touched the iron book, Wil did,’ said Wil in an awed whisper. ‘Saw you change the future.’

‘What iron book?’ She reminded herself that he was mad, and that, no matter how clever he had been in leading the enemy to her, his words might not mean anything.

‘Can’t speak of it. Contest still going. Have to see the ending.’

Tali shivered. ‘Did you see what was going to happen?’

He hugged himself around the chest. ‘Change the story, change the truth. Mustn’t touch it.’

‘What story?’

‘Saw it first.’ He let out a high-pitched laugh. ‘They can’t take that away. Earned his tattoo, Wil did. Wil is special.’

‘I believe you,’ said Tali, pitying the unfortunate man for a life so lowly that even the slaves had mocked him as they trudged by.

‘Not Wil’s fault,’ said Wil, his face crumpling. ‘Wil didn’t put them down.’

The chill was back. ‘Who, Wil?’

‘Matriarchs made Wil tell. Wil just protecting the ending. All those children, all those children.’

The fine hairs stood up on Tali’s arms. ‘Are you saying that children were killed instead of me?’

He crumpled to the ground, rolling over and over, his face covered by his forearms. ‘How was Wil to know? It wasn’t in shillilar.’

She could not stop here; the pursuit was too close. She lifted him and led him by the hand. ‘What have you done, Wil?’

‘Couldn’t let matriarchs find you.’ Wil moaned like an animal in a trap. ‘They kill you, it ruin the story. But ah, the children, the little children.’

She checked around her, saw no lights, then shook him. ‘When was this? Tell me!’

He could barely get the words out. ‘Twelve years ago. Lied to matriarchs. Had to protect the one. They must not change her story.’

‘What did you tell the matriarchs?’

‘That the one had black hair — olive skin — mother cleaned effluxors. Wil didn’t know,’ he said shrilly.

The hair stirred on Tali’s head as a childhood memory surfaced — screaming mothers, uproar among the effluxor slaves and a rebellion bloodily put down. Her own mother would never talk about it.

‘The matriarchs took other children in my place. How many?’

‘All the ones that fitted. Thirty-nine black-haired little girls. Put to death to prevent shillilar.’

It was dreadful, but she had to know why it had happened. ‘What is the shillilar?’

‘Not Wil’s fault. Why they make Wil watch? Horrible, horrible.’

‘All those little girls killed instead of me,’ Tali whispered. ‘Why, Wil? What am I supposed to do?’

‘Can’t say.’

‘Why not?’ she snapped, shaking him again.

‘Change the contest. Ruin the ending,’ said Wil. ‘Anyway, can’t remember.’

Obviously a lie. Perhaps Wil did that filthy work cleaning sumps as a penance for what he had done, but it could never be enough. How could anyone atone for thirty-nine black-haired girls killed in the place of one who was blonde?

Yet despite his protests, Wil still feasted on his discovery of her. Tali did not like him at all.

It prompted her to question everything she had done, though. What was it about her that created havoc wherever she went? Why did those innocent children have to die, that she should live? She’d had nothing to do with it, yet she felt an obligation to make up for the waste of their young lives. And her mother’s. And Mia’s. It strengthened the blood oath. She had to find a way.

They might have travelled a mile since the escape, but there was still a long way to go and in the dark she could not be sure she was going in the right direction.

‘Wil?’ she said. ‘How do you find your way around?’

He shrugged. ‘Just see, better than Wil could with eyes.’

‘Which way is Caulderon?’

He pointed to the left of her heading.

‘How far?’

He shrugged.

‘What about my enemies? The captain, and Orlyk? And Tinyhead?’

‘Can’t see own people.’

Damn! ‘Well, we’d better hurry if we’re to get to Caulderon before the sun comes up.’

‘Not going to Caulderon,’ said Wil.

It solved her problem. ‘I am. You can go wherever you want.’

She was turning away when he grabbed her with those hands that seemed too big for him.

‘Saved your life.’ Wil held her arms behind her back in a grip she could not break. ‘You Wil’s now.’

He had only hauled her a hundred yards when there was a soggy thud behind her and his grip relaxed. Tali turned to run but Orlyk dealt her an even harder blow. By the time she swam back to consciousness she was bound so tightly that there was no hope of escape.

‘I’m putting Mijl the pothecky in charge of you,’ said Orlyk, shining a glowstone lantern in Tali’s eyes. ‘She’s an expert in chymical pain: one whiff of her distillates sets the nerves ablaze, her congelas can etch the skin from living flesh, her refracts set living innards solid as stone. And unlike me,’ Orlyk bared her teeth in a sickening smile, ‘Mijl has good reason to hate Pale.’

Mijl, a small, sinewy woman with nostrils like mine tunnels and stubby, spatulate fingers, touched Tali on the temple with a yard-long glass tube as thick as a magian’s staff. Its rounded tip was thickly smeared with a brown substance.

Bright pain sparkled at the touch and slowly spread across Tali’s temples like a flame consuming a sheet of paper. She tried to brush the gunk off her forehead but a similar pain seared through her hand, which stiffened until she could not bend her fingers.

‘What was that for?’ gasped Tali.