It somewhat heartened Nico to hear the old man standing up for him. But then, he knew it was more than that. It was also this on going rivalry between the two – or, at least, sense of rivalry which seemed to emanate from Baracha.
A soft breath against his ear, almost lost in the breeze. 'Know that Aleas will not hide like a rat. He will position himself for an ambush, as the predator would. Tread with care, boy.'
'Cats may go!' came the order.
The remaining apprentices sprinted for the various doors of the monastery. Nico hesitated, and at last he met the old farlander's eyes. What he saw made him blink.
He thinks I will lose!
With the slightest of nods, the old man gestured for Nico to go.
Nico headed for the far door of the north wing. He was all at once focused on what he must accomplish, the urge almost overwhelming to prove them all wrong.
*
It was good, at least, to be out of the wind.
The monastery was even quieter than usual, its inhabitants having vacated much of the building for this afternoon devoted to scenarios. The west wing housed the library and study rooms, also the large chachen hall used for indoor meditation. Such spaces were brightly lit from their large windows, and smelled of polished wood and old dust.
A gust from outside as Baracha, and then Ash, entered the hallway, cup of chee still in the farlander's hand. Both wore white armbands, and were to follow him from a distance as supervisors only, since no instruction was to be the given during the coming trial. The object was to learn by doing, and thus nurture faith in following one's own instincts.
The attic, Holt had said, so Nico found the stairwell, and trod upwards to the first floor. A young Rshun bustled past him. He acted as though Nico wasn't even there.
The wooden stairs leading to the attic were at the far end of a corridor lined with the doors to individual sleeping quarters. A window on the other side looked out over the rugged valley and towards an escarpment of dark rock beyond. A cloud mass drifted torn and tattered across a distant peak. Nico stopped and studied the open trapdoor at the top of the stairs. It was dark up there. Perhaps he should first find a lantern?
No, he thought, that was a stupid idea, he'd only make himself an easier target.
Ash and Baracha waited behind at the other end of the long corridor. They watched as he removed his sandals, laid them with care to one side.
Taking a deep breath Nico ascended as slowly as he could, staying to one side of the steps where it would make least noise under his weight. He ducked as he neared the opening. This would be as good a place as any for Aleas to launch an ambush, just after Nico poked his head though, momentarily blinded by the gloom.
Moments of reflection passed, and no ideas came to him.
There was only one thing for it, then.
He scrambled upwards, vaulted through the opening and tumbled across the creaking floor of the attic. He lay there on his back with the knife held before him, waiting for an attack.
When nothing happened, Nico lay where he was, trying to subdue his breathing. He'd already made enough racket by his entrance. He remained like that, until his vision adjusted to the lack of light, and gradually he could see about him the shadows of dark objects.
Without sound, Nico stood and inched away from the dim light of the opening. The attic was warm, and larger than he had expected. It ran for ten or so feet in all directions before becoming veiled in blackness, but he could sense the scale of the place from its faint motions of air. Items in storage stood everywhere: crates and boxes, piles of cloth, discarded furniture, even stands of arms. To hide in here successfully was just to pick a spot, any spot, and simply not move.
Nico took a step forwards, testing his weight on the floorboards for creaking, then another step… The wind outside pulled at the wooden roof tiles above his head. Some had worked loose enough to clatter, and now a chorus of them provided an eerie accompaniment to the keening of the wind itself.
He stopped at the very edge of the light infiltrating up through the trapdoor. Here too was a likely place for the ambush. Nico was still visible here, while the ambusher could remain in darkness.
Aleas was close by. He could sense him.
Nico squinted and peered into the dark spaces beyond. To the right of him, a cobweb hung from the sloping roof, glowing a ghostly white. Beneath it lay a jumble of shapes he could barely discern. To his left was an even deeper gloom, the light obstructed by something large. Nico took a step backwards. By inches he eased to one side at a crouch, continually scanning from left to right. He opened his mouth to hear better. He waited, almost without breathing.
It suddenly struck Nico how absurd this situation was: like playing a children's game of hide-and-go-seek, armed only with wooden knives. But then he thought of the knife in Aleas's hand, doubtless somewhere close, sharp as his own, and as capable of drawing blood. Nico's heartbeat began to pump in his ears.
For a moment the light diminished behind him, enveloping all in deeper blackness. He swung his head around to see the silhouettes of Ash and Baracha stepping through the opening. They made no sound either.
Nico waved them out of the way, until they had crouched either side of the opening and the meagre light was restored.
Now, he urged himself, think.
The cobweb nearby stirred. Nico had only time to lean back sharply as a vague form loosed itself at him from his right. He felt the air brush past his face, detected a blur of motion… then lunged forward, with his own knife. But it slashed through empty space, and then he felt the sting of pain across his left cheek, and again, across his right.
He was stunned enough to fall back upon his haunches. Crouching there, he clasped a hand to his face, blood leaking through his fingers.
'Owhh,' he moaned.
Aleas stepped before him into the dim light. The young man had streaked his face with grime, so that only the skin immediately under his hairline was still white. A chuckle sounded elsewhere in the attic, before Baracha clomped heavily back down the stairs.
Ash still waited, as Nico gained his feet and turned to him. He could not read the old man's expression.
Ash took a drink of chee and smacked his lips.
'Keep trying,' Ash murmured. 'You must be ready when I take you into the field.' And, with a swirl of his robes, he departed too.
Aleas nodded to Nico's facial wounds. 'Coat them with beeswax,' he suggested. 'It will keep the scars small. Come, I'll help you.'
For a moment, Nico found himself alone in the clammy darkness of the attic. Through his fingers blood dripped in a slowing rhythm. His right hand, shaking, sought the cool hard assurance of the wooden floor, and he sank down with it, his legs dangling over the edge of the trapdoor. He let out a long breath, and waited for his heart to stop pounding.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Cull The night lay brooding in its own heat.
At the centre of the Lake of Birds, the imperial barge rocked gently, far from the distant lights of the towns that glittered around its shoreline. A jangle of music could be heard from those towns across the still water, and shouts and laughter, and the barking of dogs.
On the barge itself the only sound was the whispering of the slaves and the steady, heartbeat rhythm of a single drum. The atmosphere was unreal, heavy. The Nathalese slaves could sense it, huddling terrified together in their cages at the near end of the barge. They knew at last why they had been abducted so roughly from their everyday lives along the Toin. Tonight was to be their last night of captivity.
Above the rank stench of the slaves themselves, the air was pungent with musky incense wafting from the
