The apparent disappearance of its prey gave the Aberrant pause. Tsata and Kaiku took advantage of that to put distance between them and it. The decline became shallow and fractured, depositing them into a wide, flat-bottomed trench scattered with rocks. On the far side, a natural wall rose to higher ground, pale and grim in the combined light of Aurus and Iridima, whose orbits had lately begun to glide closer, threatening the prospect of a moonstorm if the third sister joined them in the nights to come.
Kaiku struck out for a cluster of rocks. They were too exposed here. If they could get out of its sight for long enough, she was sure it would give up the chase. Though the ghauregs were brutal and dangerous, they were not the most intelligent of the predator species that the Weavers had collected.
But Shintu was not on her side that night. They had almost gained the shadow of the rocks when the Aberrant appeared on the ridge. Kaiku caught a frightened glance of its shape, its head low between its hunched shoulders as it surveyed the trench. Then it saw them, its eyes meeting Kaiku’s and sending a shiver down her back. With a howl, it leaped from the ridge down to the floor of the trench, a clear twenty feet; Kaiku felt the impact of its landing through the soles of her boots.
Ghauregs. They were the largest of the Aberrants that Kaiku and Tsata had yet encountered in the Fault, and by far the most vicious. But they were also the most disturbingly akin to humans, and that struck Kaiku worst of all. When she had first heard their roars and seen their shaggy outlines in the night, she had found them unsettlingly familiar; it was only days later when she realised that she had hidden from those very creatures in the Lakmar Mountains on Fo, huddling and shivering in the snow during her lone trek to trace her father’s footsteps back to the Weaver monastery. Then, they had been ghostly, half-seen things, glimpsed against white horizons; now they were brought into relief, and she found that they were worse than she had imagined.
They stood eight feet high, though their habitual slouching posture meant that they would be even taller if fully upright. They were somewhat apelike in appearance and though they could run on all fours, their back legs were thick and large enough to allow them to stand on two legs, and they tended to walk that way, contributing to their grotesquely human-like appearance. Their skulls were huge, dominated by enormous jaws that were heavy enough to account for their slouch. The jaws were like steel traps, bearded with shaggy fur and full of omnivore teeth, blunt at the sides and sharp at the front. Small, yellow eyes and a snub snout were little more than mechanisms for locating what to eat next.
Their bodies were covered in a thick grey pelt, but their hands and chests and feet were bare, and the skin beneath was a wrinkled black. Though they did not have the natural weaponry of some of the other predator species, they made up for it in sheer size and power: their strength was truly appalling. And they were not slow, either.
Kaiku froze for the shortest of seconds as it landed in the trench and began to pound towards them on all fours, paralysed by the sheer size of the beast. Then Tsata was pulling her again, and she fled.
Her kana boiled inside her, fighting for release, as they raced across the trench. She dared not let it go. She had only been able to get away with using it before, on the dead shrilling, because she had employed it in an extremely subtle way. If she did something as violent as attacking the Aberrant, the Weavers here would detect it and spare no effort to find her.
Yet they were fast running out of other options.
‘Here!’ Tsata cried suddenly. ‘This way!’
Tsata sprinted past her in a burst of speed and changed direction, heading up the trench to where a section of the far side had split and cracked, making a shallow fissure in the rock. Tsata reached it at a run and clambered up. Kaiku reached the sheer wall a moment later, her rifle clattering painfully against her back as she threw herself up at the fissure. She was no stranger to rock-climbing – it had been one of the challenges she and her brother Machim had competed at when they were children – but she could afford no purchase on her first try. Fear made her waste a second looking over her shoulder. The ghaureg was racing towards her, galloping on its knuckles, its matted hair flapping against its massive body.
‘Climb!’ Tsata shouted, and she did so. This time she found something to grip on to, wedging her fingers inside the fissure, and she pulled herself high enough to get a foothold. Tsata’s hand was reaching down to her. Too far away. She found another purchase, took the strain on that and scrabbled for another, higher spot to put her free boot.
‘Kaiku, now!’
The toe of her boot dug in, and she propelled herself with it, her hand reaching for his. He caught her with a grip like a clamp and wrenched her upward, the veins standing out on his tattooed arm. She was pulled over the lip and into his arms an instant before the ghaureg reached her, and its hand missed her ascending ankle by inches.
There was no time for relief. Kaiku extricated herself from her companion’s grip and they ran again. The ghaureg could jump, but it was too heavy to get much height. The top of the trench wall was out of its reach, but it would not be long before it found an alternative way up.
Things had become too dangerous. Whatever the truth about the relationship between the Aberrants and the strange, masked handlers – which Kaiku had dubbed Nexuses – it was obvious that the Weavers knew something was amiss inside their protected enclosure, and had determined to remedy it. Kaiku and Tsata’s forays through the barrier had become progressively more risky. The blighted, bleak land that surrounded the flood plain where the Aberrant army was stationed now swarmed with sentries. Time and again they had been forced to retreat without getting anywhere near the plain, let alone managing to find one of the Nexuses. Tsata’s suggestion that they should kill one of the black-robed figures so that Kaiku could try and divine their nature was looking increasingly impossible; and it was becoming apparent to both of them that they could not keep on trying with things the way they were. Sooner or later they would be caught or killed.
The ghaureg was just bad luck. Normally they were easy enough to avoid, for they were hardly silent creatures and not particularly skilled hunters, relying on brute strength to dominate the food chain in the snowy wastes they had been gathered from. But Kaiku and Tsata had been avoiding a furie that had picked up their trail, and in their haste to get out of that Aberrant’s path they had accidentally ran into another. It was the kind of slip that Kaiku had begun to think Tsata incapable of making, but it appeared that even the Tkiurathi was fallible.
She just hoped that discovery would not cost them their lives.
‘Which way is it?’ she panted, as they raced over the uneven ground.
‘Ahead,’ he replied. ‘Not far.’
Not far turned out to be a lot further than Kaiku imagined, and by that time the ghaureg was on them again.
It spotted them from a rise in the land as they headed across a slice of flat terrain, and howled as it gave chase. Kaiku observed that it seemed to be the way of the ghauregs to go to high ground when trying to spot prey, for they were without natural predators and hence unafraid of revealing themselves out in the open. She noted it in case they ever had the misfortune to deal with one again. Staying low and close to obscuring walls was the best policy when trying to avoid this species.
But it was too late now. The beast was thundering down after them. They scrambled up a shallow slope, dislodging rocks and soil in little tumbles as the ground shifted beneath their feet. At the top was a withered clump of blighted trees, stark in the moonlight, which Kaiku recognised. They were at the edge of the Weaver’s territory.
‘The Mask, Kaiku!’ Tsata urged, glancing back along the flat ground that they had just crossed. The ghaureg burst into sight, galloping relentlessly after them.
They ran again as Kaiku pulled the Mask out from where it was secured to her belt. But she had secured it too well, and in her haste the lip snagged on her clothing and the Mask spun from her hand, clattering to the stone, its mischievous face
leering emptily.
She swore in disbelief. Tsata had his rifle out in a moment, tracking the approaching Aberrant as Kaiku ran over to where her Mask had fallen. The ghaureg had covered the distance between them fast, and Kaiku was not exactly sure how far the barrier was from here, and whether they would get to it in time.
It was the last, fleeting thought that crossed her mind before she scooped the Mask up and put it to her face.
The warm, sinking sensation of mild euphoria was stronger this time, more noticeable than it had ever been before. The intimation of her father’s presence was stronger too; the smell of him seemed to emanate from the grain of the wood, gentling her as if she were a child in his arms again. The Mask was a perfect fit for her face, resting against her skin like a lover’s hand on her cheek.
‘Run!’
Tsata’s voice shattered the timeless instant, and she was back to the present. The Mask was hot against her: the barrier had to be close. She fled, and Tsata dropped his arm and fled with her. The ghaureg bellowed as it raced up the treacherous incline, unhindered by the sliding soil, its hands and feet digging deep into the earth and throwing out stony divots behind it.
‘Give me your hand!’ Kaiku cried, reaching back for Tsata. The barrier was upon them, suddenly, and she realised it was too close, for if Tsata was not with her then he would not get through.
He reacted almost before she had finished her sentence, springing toward her and clamping his hand tight around hers. The ghaureg was mere feet away from them now, blocking out the moons with its bulk, its teeth dripping with saliva as it roared in anticipation of the kill.
The Weave bloomed around Kaiku, the world turning to a golden chaos of light as she plunged headlong into the barrier. She felt Tsata loose his grip instantly, felt him tug to the right as his senses skewed and he tried to change direction; but she had his hand, and she would not let it go. She pulled him as hard as she could, felt him trip and stumble sideways as his body went in a direction that all his instincts told him not to. His balance held for several steps before the two of them fell out of the other side of the barrier, and the Weave slipped into invisibility behind them.
Tsata was on his hands and knees, the familiar listlessness and disorientation in his eyes. Kaiku ignored him, her attention on the ghaureg. The creature had turned around and was racing away from them at an angle, pounding back into the heart of the Weaver’s territory as if unaware that its prey was no longer in front of it. She kept her gaze on it until it had disappeared from sight behind a fold in the grey land.
Tsata recovered quickly, by which time Kaiku had reluctantly taken off the Mask. She had begun to feel guilty about doing so of late, as if it were some sort of betrayal, that by doing so she was disappointing her father’s spirit somehow.
The Tkiurathi’s brow cleared; he sat down on the rock and looked at Kaiku.
‘That was an extremely lucky escape,’ he said.
Kaiku brushed her fringe aside. ‘We were careless,’ she said. ‘That is all.’
‘I think,’ said Tsata, ‘the time has come to give up. We cannot get close to the Weavers or the Nexuses. We have to return to the Fold.’
Kaiku shook her head. ‘Not yet. Not until we find out more.’ She met his gaze. ‘You go.’
‘You know I cannot.’
She got to her feet, offered her hand to him. He took it, and she helped him up.
‘Then it seems that you are stuck with me.’
He regarded her for a long moment, his tattooed face unreadable in the moonlight.
‘It appears so,’ he said, but his tone was warm, and made her smile.
Chien os Mumaka lay on a bed in the infirmary tent outside Zila, hazing in and out of consciousness. Sleep would not come to him, though his body ached and it felt as if the ends of his bones were rubbing against each other. The tent was empty apart from him. Several rows of beds lay waiting to be filled when the conflict began. It was cool and shadowy, and he was surrounded by the muted sounds of a military camp: subdued voices rising and falling as they passed near, the snort of horses, the crackle of fires, unidentifiable creaks and taps and groans. Out here near the coast, on the plain south of the fortified town, the night insects were not so numerous or noisy, and the dark seemed peaceful.
He had been taken into the care of a physician as soon as he had arrived at the camp, who had given him an infusion to drink, in order to bring down his fever. Chien had demanded weakly that he see the Barak Zahn. The physician had dismissed him at first, but Chien was insistent, declaring that he had a message of the gravest importance and that Zahn would be very unhappy with whoever delayed him. That gave the other man pause for thought. Chien knew well enough from his time as a merchant that people were more likely to do what they were told if they believed that they would be held responsible for the consequences of inaction. Yet the physician did not like to be ordered about within his own infirmary, and Chien was very ill, and Zahn was already abed by that point.
‘In the morning,’ the physician said, snappishly. ‘By then you will be well enough to have visitors. And I will ask if the Barak wishes to see you.’
Chien was forced to be content with that.
Once alone, Chien was left to think about the events of the day. Gods, that Mishani was a sharp one. He did not know whether to feel ashamed or philosophical about how she had outguessed him in the end. It was not as if he could help what he said in dreams. In fact, he was inclined to think it was the will of the gods, or more specifically of Myen, the goddess of sleep, who had more than a little of her younger brother Shintu’s trickster blood in her. In which case, who was he to feel bad about it?
And she was right: he had to grudgingly admit that. Leaving her was the best way he could help her. He had failed to protect her twice; it was only by the narrowest margin that she had survived the attentions of her father’s assassins. He did not know what kind of game she was playing with Zahn, but he was glad that he would be out of it once his message was done. His obligation would be fulfilled then. As long as Mishani survived, Muraki would be honour-bound to release Blood Mumaka from their ties to her family.
He managed a small smile around the pain of the fever. His whole life, he had been fighting an uphill war, overcoming the prejudice of being an adopted child. It had not helped that his parents had subsequently managed natural children, though physicians had given them no hope of it. Every day he had been forced to prove himself against his siblings. But though he might not be elegant or subtle or educated, as his younger brothers were, he could hold his head with pride. As if it were not enough that he had been instrumental in raising up his family from the disgrace his parents had put them in, he was now going to free them from the debt they had incurred by choosing love over politics.
Unconsciousness slipped towards him, bringing respite from the fever; but he came awake again suddenly as something moved at the tent flap. He raised his head with some effort, peering into the darkness. His eyes refused to focus properly.
He could not see anyone, but that did not lessen his certainty. There was someone in here with him. The sensation of a presence crawled across his skin. He got himself up on his elbows, cast around again, trying to find the elusive shadow he had glimpsed. His head went light. A hallucination? The physician had warned him that the infusion might have side-effects.
‘Is someone there?’ he said at last, unable to bear the silence any longer.
‘I’m here,’ said a voice at Chien’s bedside, and the surprise made him start violently. A black shape, made fuzzy by the drug in his system, standing next to him.
‘You’ve caused my employer a great deal of trouble,’ the man hissed, and as he did so Chien felt a gloved hand smothering him, holding his nose, and a wooden phial shoved between his lips before he could close them. He thrashed, tried to cry out and gagged on the liquid in his mouth a moment before another hand clamped over his face, preventing him from spitting it up. He swallowed reflexively to clear his airway
; and only then did he realise what he had done.
‘Good boy,’ the shadow said. ‘Drink it down.’
He stopped thrashing, his eyes wide in mute terror. A new drowsiness was spreading through him, turning his muscles to lead. His limbs become too heavy to lift; his head lolled back onto the pillow. A dreadful sleep descended on him, too fast for him to resist.
In seconds, he was still, his eyes open, pupils saucers of black staring at the roof of the darkened infirmary tent. The intruder took his hands away from Chien’s face, watched as his breathing became shallow gasps and finally stopped altogether.
‘I commend you to Omecha and Noctu, Chien os Mumaka,’ the assassin murmured, closing the merchant’s eyes with his fingers. ‘May you have more luck in the Golden Realm.’
With that, the shadow was gone, slipping out into the camp to resume his guise as a soldier in Barak Moshito’s army. Barak Avun tu Koli may have been far to the north, but his reach was long.
Chien lay cooling in the darkness, a death that would be attributed to fever in the morning, and his message remained undelivered at the last.
Reki tu Tanatsua, brother-by-marriage to the Emperor of Saramyr, huddled in the corner of an abandoned shack and wept into his sister’s hair.
He had crossed the Rahn at sunset, having ridden headlong from Axekami all through the previous night. The bridge on the East Way had been far too dangerous, but he had found a ferryman without any trouble: a small mercy, for which he should have been grateful, if he had been capable of feeling so. But there was no room in him for anything but grief, and so he sobbed in the shadows of the old field-worker’s hut that he had found to shelter in, amid the smell of mouldy hay from the pallet bed and rusted sickles leaning against the thin plank wall. The horses whickered nearby, uncomfortable at being kept in such close quarters; but he had not dared leave them outside, and they were too exhausted to be restless. They munched oats from their feed-bags, and ignored him.