Taste of Lightning

  The tramp of boots grew louder and louder. Tansy could hear the rhythmic beat of a marching chant, without being able to make out the words. Da-dee-da-dee-da-dee-dum, da-dee-da-dee-da-dee-dum. The shuffle and clatter of shields and spears and breast-plates built to a roar; Tansy’s hand tightened on her sword-hilt. Then, to her surprise, she found her other hand in Perrin’s cool, dry grip, and he was smiling at her. It was a smile of encouragement, one soldier to another, and Tansy returned it uncertainly, her feelings more confused than ever.

  And then, before she had time to realise it, the noise of the troops was fading. The marching chant diminished to a grumble like a dying thunderstorm, and was gone.

  ‘They’ve passed,’ said Perrin, and let go of Tansy’s hand.

  ‘Listen,’ said Tansy. ‘We oughta send Skir on ahead. Skir and Penthesi. They’ll be safe in the trees, they can wait for us there. Don’t matter so much if you and me get caught, long as Skir’s all right.’

  But Perrin shook his head. ‘Better if we all stick together.’

  ‘No it ain’t. Safer if we split up, specially now we know there’s soldiers around.’

  ‘I said no, Tansy!’ Now the clear angry blue light was turned on her. ‘Not when we’re so close.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Skir. ‘Talk about me as if I’m not here. As if I don’t exist.’

  ‘Oh, stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself,’ snapped Perrin. Then his head whipped around; he had better hearing than a dog. ‘Hoof-beats.’

  Tansy’s heart skipped. ‘The Captain?’ she whispered. ‘Wanion’s man?’

  Perrin had scrambled up the dune to look. ‘It’s him. Browny-grey cloak. Coming fast.’

  ‘That’s it then.’ Tansy made a step for Skir with her hands. ‘Gallop for the woods, hard as you can. Don’t lose Penthesi. Perrin’ll find you later.’

  ‘But I can’t gallop Penthesi! I couldn’t even manage Sedge.’

  ‘Quick,’ said Tansy. ‘Quick!’ She hoisted Skir onto Penthesi’s back. Penthesi barely waited for Skir to find his seat before he was off, thundering away along the curve of the beach.

  ‘Tansy!’ Perrin grabbed her shoulder. ‘I said no! We can’t split up now!’

  ‘Too late.’ Tansy watched them go. ‘Safer this way. Gotta be.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘All our supplies are in the saddlebags,’ said Perrin lamely. ‘Oh well. Come here.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Putting my arm around you. If the Captain looks over the dunes, he’ll think we’re a courting couple. By the bones! Anyone’d think you’d never been walking with a boy before.’

  ‘Is that what they call it in Rengan?’ said Tansy tartly. ‘Walking?’ After a moment she began to giggle. ‘You forgotten I’m wearing boy’s clothes?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Perrin. But he left his hand where it was, resting lightly on her waist; and Tansy let him.

  Numbly, Skir gave Penthesi his head; he didn’t think he could control him even if he wanted to. It was all he could do to hang on while the bags and bundles bumped against him and the sand blurred below. Penthesi put his ears back, and his hoofs thundered. Presently the big horse seemed to decide that it was time to leave the beach; he leaped and scrabbled up and over the dunes.

  ‘Hey! Whoa!’ said Skir, in alarm, staring around to see if the soldiers or the Captain were in view. But Penthesi had chosen well. They were in a narrow valley where a stream ran down to the sea, hidden from either side.

  Penthesi streaked across the meadows toward the thick hedge of green below the brown haze of the mountains. Skir managed to keep his balance. The rhythm of the gallop swung through his bones; he wasn’t going to topple off. The woods were closer. The border forests were all one colour, the dull, unrelieved grey-green of needlewood. The trees waited, still and silent, as Penthesi galloped toward them, and a chill ran down Skir’s spine.

  Then, suddenly, they were at the edge of the forest. Penthesi halted, his sides heaving. In the silence, Skir heard the drumbeat of distant hoofs.

  Skir squeezed his legs in panic. ‘Go on! Go on! He’s coming!’

  Penthesi snorted. Clammy sweat broke out all over Skir. He wished he’d never let the others out of his sight. The forest was dark and tangled; the heavy branches of needlewood brushed the ground. Then Skir realised what the problem was; Penthesi was waiting for him to get down. It would be easier to walk between these trees than ride. He slid off Penthesi’s back and wound the bridle around his fist.

  Pushing between the branches was like shoving against an endless leaden curtain. Each downward-hanging branch was laden with stiff, prickly needles, a dead weight that resisted being moved aside. The sunlight that struggled down between the needlewoods was murky and shifting; Skir couldn’t see the sun or tell which direction they were walking. The needles snagged on the canvas of the saddlebags, and soon Skir’s arms were covered in tiny nicks.

  After a while Skir stopped and listened. Nothing. ‘We’ll wait here,’ he murmured. ‘That’s what we’ll do. Sit tight.’ Penthesi regarded him with one solemn, liquid eye. Skir felt like crying. Were they far enough into the forest? Would they be safe? Priest-King of Cragonlands, heir to the Circle of Attar, leader of his people? He couldn’t even walk through the woods. He was useless, a fraud, an impostor. Without Tansy and Perrin to look after him he wouldn’t have lasted half a day. He’d be better off dead . . .

  It was true. The words seemed to take on a weight of certainty: a cold, stony logic, like a rock in his stomach. Everything would be better if he were dead. Cragonlands would be better off: the priests could choose a new Priest-King, one with the powers he was supposed to have. Beeman and Tansy and Perrin would all be free –

  A twig cracked in the forest, and Skir started violently. Formless terror flooded through him. He wanted to be dead, but not caught by Wanion, with her skin-peelers and her finger-slicers.

  Skir threw himself onto Penthesi, and the horse smelled his terror. Even before Skir could urge him on, Penthesi crashed away deeper into the forest, with the Captain crashing after them.

  To Skir, the chase stretched endless as a nightmare. He blundered through the trees, whipped and scratched by needles like a thousand metal pins, sliding around on Penthesi’s back, his feet tangled in saddlebags and bundles. Sometimes the Captain was so close that Skir heard his horse whinny, and the crash and crunch of hoofs on fallen needles. But then Penthesi sped away, and Skir could hear only the pounding of his own heart and the rasp of the stallion’s breath. Once they waited while the sun shifted a handspan across the sky. But then came a horse’s snort, the metallic clash of branches, and the hunt was on again.

  Perrin’s hand didn’t remain on Tansy’s waist for long. An unspoken urgency drove them to walk faster and faster, hand in hand, and then they began to half-run, in silence, along the sand.

  Tansy panted, ‘We oughta cross the road. Cut through the fields.’

  ‘No,’ said Perrin. ‘Keep to the beach.’ He put on a spurt of speed so that she had to run outright to keep up with him. They splashed across the stream that Penthesi had jumped and kept running, feet squelching in their wet boots.

  ‘No sign of Skir.’

  ‘Nor the Captain. He must’ve passed us.’

  ‘Unless he’s waiting.’

  They both ran faster, Perrin with long, loping strides and Tansy’s feet flashing beside him. They didn’t speak, just ran steadily, side by side, while the sun glared on the tops of their heads, then slowly began to slide down the sky behind them.

  Then Perrin stopped dead. ‘There.’ His voice was low and savage.

  Tansy stared. The beach curved around to meet the forest in a tumble of rocks. The mouth of a creek flowed out between the steep sides of a wooded gully, forming a narrow, sheltered inlet. In the tiny harbour lay a boat.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Perrin. ‘They’re not here. They’re upstream, at the bridge. At Dody’s Leap. Come on.?
?? He began to climb the slope into the forest, springing from one tree to the next, steadying himself against the rough bark of each tree trunk.

  ‘Perrin! Perrin, wait! I don’t –’ Tansy followed, her face creased in bewilderment.

  ‘We have to find Skir and Penthesi before they do,’ called Perrin over his shoulder. ‘I told you not to send the horse away.

  You’re going to need him.’

  ‘What? I’ll need him?’ Tansy caught up with Perrin at last at the top of the gully, which had deepened beside them into a steep-sided ravine with the creek running along the bottom. She seized his sleeve and held fast. ‘Perrin, stop. What’s going on?’

  ‘The rendezvous team, the second team. They’re waiting for us at Dody’s Leap. For me and Skir. To take Skir back to Rengan. That’s what the boat’s for. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got it all worked out. They won’t get you. You’ll take Penthesi, just like we said in the beginning, remember? You can ride him home to Lotch, or wherever you want. Don’t look like that. You’ll be safe, Tansy. We just have to find the damn horse.’

  Tansy stared at him. ‘You’re taking Skir to Rengan?’

  ‘Those are the orders. Hand over the target at Dody’s Leap.’

  ‘But – you’re supposed to be rescuing him. Taking him home. If you take him to Rengan, that ain’t a rescue. That’s kidnapping.’

  Perrin shrugged impatiently. ‘I only know my orders.’

  ‘But what do they want him for?’

  ‘To be Rengan’s hostage instead of Baltimar’s, I suppose.

  High Command didn’t confide the details in me – I’m just a humble swordsman, remember.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘What? Stop looking at me like that. I told you, I’ll see you get away safely. I won’t let them hurt you. What’s the matter?’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Tansy’s face was white. ‘You lied to us! You been lying all along! You said we were going to Cragonlands, you promised –’

  Perrin spoke over her. ‘But you’re going to be safe –’

  Tansy cried, ‘I thought we were together – all of us together. I trusted you, and all the time you –’

  ‘I had orders. I never said –’

  Tansy choked. She put out her hands blindly in front of her to ward him off, and then she was running, slipping and stumbling on the carpet of fallen needles, deeper into the forest.

  ‘Tansy! Tansy, listen –’

  Perrin wheeled around. He heard voices, not far off. Rengani voices. The bridge must be nearer than he’d thought. He hesitated, peering through the trees. They were here, they were close by. All he had to do was walk a few steps toward the bridge; the Rengani Army would close up around him like a fist . . . He shut his eyes for an instant. Then, just as if he were on a parade ground, he turned on his heel, and took off after Tansy.

  She hadn’t got far. He was almost close enough to touch her. ‘Tansy . . .’ She spun around and wildly swung her fist at him. He caught her wrist before she could hit him. Their feet slipped on the needles. ‘Tansy, wait –’

  She cried, ‘I hate you!’ Her face was blotched and swollen with tears.

  A horse’s scream rang through the forest.

  Tansy gasped, ‘Penthesi!’ She shook her wrist free and tore off toward the sound, back toward the gully. Perrin followed, close on her heels.

  Tansy burst into the clearing. Penthesi was rearing at the very edge of the ravine, his front legs thrashing the air, nostrils flared, eyes rolling in terror. Skir cowered on the ground beneath his flailing hoofs; sacks and bundles, all their precious supplies, slid off the horse’s back and spilled down into the gully: the bag of oats, the bed-rolls, the cooking pan.

  ‘Skir, get back!’ Tansy darted forward. ‘I’ll take his head –’

  ‘Let me sing first.’ Perrin thrust out his hand. ‘Good boy, good boy . . .’ He sang a chantment, rather breathlessly, and Penthesi shuddered and lowered his head, blowing through wide nostrils. Tansy grabbed his bridle, dancing back out of reach of his hoofs. A flurry of small stones skittered over the edge.

  Skir sat up, feeling Perrin’s song slow his own drumming heart. ‘The Captain’s close. But this ravine marks the border. The other side is Cragonlands.’

  Perrin nodded. ‘We can’t use the bridge.’ He shot a look at Tansy. ‘We’ll have to cross here.’

  Tansy threw back her head and glared at him as she hung onto Penthesi’s bridle. Her grey eyes were huge in her pale face. ‘We? Who’s we, Perrin?’

  Perrin reached out and gripped her by the shoulders. ‘All of us together, just like you said. We’re all crossing into Cragonlands. You, me, Skir, Penthesi. All right?’

  For an instant they gazed at each other; then Tansy nodded. Perrin let her go and turned to Skir. ‘But we can’t use the bridge because Rengani soldiers are crawling all over it.’

  ‘Rengani?’ said Skir faintly. ‘But –’

  Perrin swung back to Tansy. ‘Can Penthesi jump it?’

  ‘All stirred up like this? You must be joking.’

  ‘Pity you’re not an ironcrafter,’ said Perrin to Skir. ‘You could just –’ He brought his hands together to mime the sides of the ravine drawing close, then parting again.

  ‘Sorry for the inconvenience,’ said Skir bitterly, stabbed once more by his own uselessness.

  There was a noise of snapping twigs and distant shouts. Tansy’s eyes widened. ‘That ain’t the Captain. That’s more’n one, that’s soldiers!’

  ‘Then we have to cross. Now.’ Perrin glanced around. ‘There! Where the gap’s narrow.’

  He pointed to a place where the sides of the abyss leaned close together. From the ledge on their own side to the lower clifftop opposite was about the distance of a long, but not impossible, jump. ‘But the other side doesn’t look very safe. The edge is crumbling away.’

  Tansy looked. ‘I can jump that easy,’ she said at once.

  ‘Let’s see you do it then,’ said Perrin, and again the challenging look flared between them.

  Tansy thrust up her chin, gathered herself and sprang. She landed in a heap on the far side; a small cascade of stones rattled down the cliff-face.

  ‘Easy as jumping a creek,’ she said. ‘Long as you don’t look down.’ She held out her hand to Penthesi. ‘Come on, darling boy. Step over.’

  But Penthesi wouldn’t budge. He was hemmed in by the trees.

  Tansy looked at Perrin. ‘No room to jump.’

  ‘He’ll jump if I tell him to,’ said Perrin grimly. ‘Or we’ll leave him behind.’

  ‘No!’ said Tansy. ‘You said all of us. All of us, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Perrin softly.

  Tansy peered down into the depths of the ravine, swallowed, then nodded; far more concerned, thought Skir, with the damn horse’s safety than she had been with her own. She held out her hand again. Without looking at Perrin she said, ‘Sing him over then.’

  Perrin sang. The chantment made Penthesi’s ears prick, and he whinnied. He took one step back, then a step forward. Perrin frowned, stopped singing, then began a different chantment, livelier, more rousing. Penthesi tossed his head and pawed the ground.

  Skir was aware of a gathering of muscle, and then the leap: a black blur and a rush of wind. And Penthesi was across, shaking his head as if even he couldn’t believe what he’d done, and Tansy threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  ‘My turn,’ said Perrin. He chewed his lip, kicked off against the side of the cliff, and jumped. He landed hard, half over the brink of the ravine, and his legs thrashed in mid-air, dislodging loose stones from the crumbling edge. Tansy grabbed his arms and hauled him up.

  ‘What, no kiss?’ panted Perrin. ‘Well, it was worth a try.’ But he jammed his hands into his pockets to stop them shaking.

  Tansy said in a low voice, ‘Reckon that scared you more than the fight at Rarr.’

  ‘Reckon it did,’ said Perrin. Their eyes met. ‘No going back now.’

  Tansy said
fiercely, ‘There wasn’t never any going back.’ Her face flushed, and she looked away. ‘Now Skir,’ she said abruptly.

  Skir stood hunched, arms folded. The three figures on the other side seemed very far away. Faintly he heard Perrin say, ‘Come on, darling boy.’

  The malice drifted past without touching him. Skir advanced to the edge. It was a long way down, much higher than his window at Arvestel. Somewhere far below a creek dashed over rocks.

  He only had to step off the cliff. Just one step.

  ‘Don’t look down!’ Tansy’s voice seemed to come to him through a long tunnel. ‘You can do it.’

  Much sharper was the yell from behind him: ‘Over here!’ Boots crunched through needles.

  Skir swayed. This was his chance, to plunge into nothing. He tried to lift his foot, but he couldn’t move. Useless. He couldn’t even do this.

  Then the strangest thing happened: he heard Beeman’s voice, warm and clear, as if he were right there in the forest.

  Skir!

  The three figures on the other side of the ravine wavered before his eyes; he seemed to see Beeman standing there with them, shaking his head.

  Skir, you spend altogether too much time thinking about yourself.

  ‘I can’t help it. I’m not brave like Tansy.’

  You think it’s brave to die? Courage is to go on living.

  ‘I killed that man –’

  And if you step off this cliff, you’ll have killed another.

  ‘The Witch –’

  Superstitious rubbish.

  ‘I’m a fraud. I’m not a chanter like Perrin.’

  If there was a mistake, it was the priests’ mistake, not yours. You don’t have to be a chanter to make use of chantment.

  A shiver ran through Skir. He felt light and tingling all over, as if someone had taken a blanket off his head; he was filled with a strange exultant calm. His eyes flicked open and he looked at Perrin. ‘Sing me across,’ he called.

  Perrin’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t. We’ve already had this discussion.’

  Tansy cried, ‘Help him, Perrin, just try!’