A Solitary Journey (27 page)

‘I have some leaves and roots,’ he answered.

‘There’s meat,’ she reminded him.

‘I don’t eat it.’

‘Is that something about you, or about your people?’

‘The Aelendyell are
not
my people.’

The undercurrent of anger startled Meg. She was surprised that she hadn’t noticed it before when he referred to the Aelendyell. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I—’

‘You thought wrongly,’ he interrupted and coughed lightly. ‘You wouldn’t know these things,’ he murmured. ‘My mother was an Aelendyell. I look like her—except—’ He paused and stared across the mid-distance. ‘The Aelendyell don’t believe in killing sentient creatures. They live in harmony with their world and
eat only what can be harvested without destroying the environment. You humans don’t understand that.’ He bent forward and scratched Whisper’s ear.

‘She’s adopted you,’ Meg said.

He smiled. ‘She
is
annoyingly persistent.’ He scooped Whisper onto his lap. ‘Where are we going?’

‘My land is through this pass—except it’s not my land any more. It will be dangerous. We will be hunted.’

‘Then why go back?’

‘You’ve seen why. The Shesskar won’t take us in. Where else can we go?’

‘Use your magic. Call a dragon. Make a portal.’

He was staring at her, challenging her. ‘There are no dragons,’ she said. ‘There never have been.’

‘I’ve ridden dragons,’ he remarked coolly. ‘They served me. There
are
dragons.’

She heard the conviction in his voice, even as her logic warned her that the man she’d rescued was mad. ‘Then the dragons are in your land, Andrakis,’ she said, ‘and Andrakis is a long way from here.’

‘And you know where, don’t you?’

‘No.’ She was conscious of his demanding gaze, as if he was willing her to give him the answer he wanted to hear, but Andrakis was nothing more than a name to her.

‘Meg!’ She looked up to see Wombat beckoning. ‘Talemaker and I are going to sing. Come join us!’

‘You need to learn our language if we’re to survive,’ she told A Ahmud Ki. ‘I’ll teach you.’

‘I don’t need your tongue,’ he said sullenly.

She shrugged. ‘I’ll teach you anyway.’ Talemaker’s first melody began at the fire. ‘Come and listen to the singing,’ she urged as she rose.

T
here,’ A Ahmud Ki whispered to Meg. She relayed his information to Wombat who transferred it along the line as they studied the thin trickle of white smoke rising above the trees. Emerging from the pass into Shesskar-sharel three days earlier, they’d discovered reminders to Meg and her companions that they were returning to a war zone where their lives would be in constant danger—the green tract of the Whispering Forest scarred by vast grey and black swathes left by the marauding Kerwyn in their relentless pursuit of the Shess. They kept away from the destroyed areas, moving warily to avoid blundering into an ambush, so when they had spotted the Kerwyn war band from a hilltop the previous morning they’d tried to avoid them, but chance drew the groups together lower along the shallow forest valley.

‘We can go further south,’ Carter whispered.

Meg nodded and tapped A Ahmud Ki on the shoulder, quietly explaining Carter’s plan. He shook his head. ‘They know we are here,’ he said.

‘How?’

A Ahmud Ki pointed and Meg followed his line of sight. At first she couldn’t see anything through the
trees, but then she spotted five men moving erratically through the forest. ‘What are they doing? We never came that way.’

‘Dogs,’ A Ahmud Ki explained.

She understood. Her pet dingo, Sunfire, would have found her in the same circumstances. ‘We have to lose them.’

A Ahmud Ki glanced over her shoulder at the others before saying, ‘You can use your magic for this. It’s easy.’

‘I don’t—’ she started to say, but stopped when she saw his stern expression. ‘I won’t kill anyone,’ she insisted.

A wry smile creased his face and his grey eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘No killing required. Just give the dogs a different scent.’

‘I don’t know how to do that.’

‘Are we going?’ Carter asked.

Meg shook her head. ‘They’re tracking us already.’ When she saw the shock on Carter’s face, she added, ‘Don’t worry. I have a plan.’ She turned to A Ahmud Ki. ‘What is my plan?’

‘I’ll teach you the Targan words,’ A Ahmud Ki replied. ‘You’ll envelop the dogs with a smell that confuses them.’

‘I don’t need words,’ she told him, remembering how the words didn’t affect what she could do. ‘I get the idea.’ She searched for the Kerwyn hunting party and directed her focus, imagining a vile stench like she remembered permeating her village after the Kerwyn war party’s attack—bodies putrefying. She imagined the odour wreathing the trees closest to the Kerwyn and their dogs.
I can’t see their dogs,
she thought. It didn’t matter. She closed her eyes to concentrate until her spine tingled. When she opened her eyes she looked at A Ahmud Ki.

‘They’re stopping,’ he said, gazing into the forest. ‘It looks like they’re confused. We can go.’ Meg passed the news to Carter and the party moved quickly across the shallow valley.

As they neared the crest of the southern slope, Talemaker, who was scouting ahead, came running, waving wildly. A spear flashed past him and the closest women screamed. ‘They’ve set a trap!’ he cried as he scrambled across a fallen log. ‘They’re—’ He stumbled and collapsed.

‘Grab a weapon!’ Wombat yelled. ‘Get the women back!’ He wrenched a branch from the ground and squared up. Dark gathered a rock in one hand and a branch in the other as Kerwyn warriors rushed over the crest and charged at the defenders, bellowing their war cries.

Everything happened so quickly that Meg’s senses were still recovering from the shock as the Kerwyn attacked Wombat and the other men. A Ahmud Ki yelled from behind and she whirled to find four more Kerwyn closing in. A Ahmud Ki picked up a rock and hurled it, but his target ducked and trotted forward, sword swinging menacingly. Meg raised her hand and a fiery missile hit the Kerwyn in the chest as he went to lunge at A Ahmud Ki. His three companions charged and Meg hit another in the chest with an energy bolt. A Ahmud Ki ducked under the spear of the third man, grabbed his arm and pushed him into the fourth. He picked up the first man’s sword and crouched in readiness as the Kerwyn reorganised. Meg hit the third with a flash of energy. As he staggered backwards, the fourth warrior ran for his life.

Meg turned to the melee to find Wombat standing over a prone Kerwyn warrior and fending off two more with his lethal branch. Dark was locked in wrestling combat with another warrior and Talemaker leapt onto the back of one Kerwyn, dragging him to the ground.
Three Kerwyn were stalking the women. Meg aimed at the first in the trio and dropped him precisely with an energy bolt. Startled by the unexpected attack the other two turned and started towards her, raising their spears until she loosed another bolt and a second warrior fell. The remaining warrior fled.

She turned her attention on the warrior fighting with Talemaker. Talemaker had wrenched the warrior’s spear from him and was using it against the Kerwyn’s sword. Meg made the sword hilt glow with heat. As the Kerwyn screamed and dropped his weapon, Talemaker struck with the spear. The surviving Kerwyn, realising they were in trouble, broke from the fighting and retreated. ‘You’re no match for us!’ Dark yelled after the fleeing figures. ‘Run, you bastards!’

Wombat hauled the Kerwyn he’d stunned at the start of the ambush upright and sent him sprawling at Meg’s feet. ‘This one can tell us what he knows about the war bands around here,’ he snarled as he stood over the captive, his foot squarely pinning the Kerwyn between the shoulders.

‘Anyone hurt?’ Meg asked her companions.

‘Bruises and little cuts,’ Carter said, although he’d avoided the fighting.

‘Ask this bastard where the others are,’ Dark demanded. He squatted, pulled the Kerwyn’s belt from his trousers and began lashing the prisoner’s wrists.

‘Set up a watch,’ Wombat advised. ‘We don’t want any of them sneaking back.’ Carter immediately organised the rest of the party to take positions on the crest of the hill. A woman, Wattleblossom Haymaker, dexterously climbed a tall pine to survey the surrounds while the others spread out.

Satisfied the Kerwyn was securely tied, Dark straightened and Wombat pulled the prisoner into a sitting position. Meg squatted before him and studied
his bloodied face. A young man with a square face and a curly brown beard, his dark eyes, brown at the edges, had a softer element than the rest of his features that seemed to be chiselled from a hard fighter’s life. He had a chunk missing from his left ear lobe and his nose was squashed from more than one breaking. She looked up at Wombat and said, ‘I’ve never spoken to a Kerwyn.’

‘Use your magic,’ Wombat urged.

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know a language unless I’ve already heard it or read it.’

‘Well, what’s the use?’ Wombat grumbled and slapped his hand against his thigh in frustration. Then he grinned. ‘Sorry, little bird. I don’t know what I’m talking about.’

A Ahmud Ki, who joined the group around the prisoner, looked down on the Kerwyn and asked Meg, ‘Are you going to interrogate him?’

‘I don’t know his language,’ she replied.

‘That’s easy. Go inside his head.’

She looked up at A Ahmud Ki. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Like you did to me in Se’Treya,’ he explained. ‘Just project into his mind. The language will unravel for you.’

‘What is he saying?’ Wombat asked, seeing Meg’s fascination.

‘He told me how I should interrogate this man using magic,’ she replied.

Wombat glanced at A Ahmud Ki with suspicion. ‘What does he know about magic?’ He looked back at Meg. ‘Well?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Should we stand back?’ Wombat asked cautiously.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. Well, I have, but not with someone who doesn’t expect it.’

‘I think I will stand back,’ Wombat said, but he grinned at her and remained towering over the prisoner.

Meg looked at A Ahmud Ki and said, ‘I’m going to try it.’

‘Good,’ he said, as if she was about to undertake a task with which he was expertly familiar. ‘I’ll watch with interest.’

She looked the young Kerwyn directly in the eyes.
He isn’t afraid of us,
she thought.
He will endure what we do to him because he accepts his fate.
She closed her eyes.
I don’t know how or why I could talk to A Ahmud Ki in my dreams. There’s so much I don’t understand about this—this magic.
She opened her eyes again and saw the Kerwyn gazing at her. With determination, she forced herself to imagine that she was entering his mind, reading what was stored there, listening to his thoughts, feeling his emotions.
This is too complex,
she thought.
This is impossible.

You’ve done it before.

The intrusion of A Ahmud Ki’s thought startled her. How can you do that? I thought you’d lost your magic?

It’s not my magic, he projected. It’s yours. I just seem to pick up on it, like a voice that’s too loud not to be heard.

What do I do? she asked.

Focus on him. Imagine you’re sinking into his mind. Don’t fight—just flow with it. Will he know what I’m doing?

There was silence before A Ahmud Ki replied, Yes. He’ll know.

The realisation that the prisoner would feel her inside his head made her skin crawl and she hesitated, studying the young man’s face again while he stared resolutely back, as if he was staring through her. She focussed on entering his mind and her spine tingled.

At first, it was as if the world vanished and she was in a black void. Her heart raced. Then she felt a presence—of someone who was startled and then
shocked and confused.
I won’t hurt you,
she offered.
Just let me learn about you.
She had the sense of a terrified reply in incomprehensible language. She expected the language to immediately make sense, but she had to hear more words to begin to translate the Kerwyn language. The presence—she knew it had to be the Kerwyn prisoner—was cowering, retreating into the recesses of his mind to escape her probing search, babbling with fear.
I don’t understand,
she projected.
Just talk.

You have to be more forceful.

Meg started. How are you here?

Proximity. When I’m this close to you I feel your energy, your Ki, and it feeds me. I feel my power growing.

Meg shuddered and let her spell evaporate. She blinked in the sunlight. ‘Why did you do that?’ she heard A Ahmud Ki ask and she was conscious of his hand on her shoulder. The Kerwyn warrior was staring at her in abject fear, perspiration saturating his face and the collar of the jerkin under his leather breastplate.

‘I didn’t like it,’ she answered as she shrugged off his grip.

‘Did you learn anything?’

Meg looked up at Wombat. ‘No.’ The prisoner was shaking with shock and his gaze was unfocussed.

‘He didn’t like it,’ Dark muttered. ‘What exactly did you do to him?’

‘Something I shouldn’t have done,’ she said and stood. ‘Our best plan would be to get out of here. The ones who escaped will be telling their friends.’ She glanced at A Ahmud Ki and saw that he was still staring at the prisoner as if he wanted to probe the man’s mind further. ‘We’re leaving,’ she said in his Andrakian tongue.

The Kerwyn were persistent. Meg’s magic and the combined hunting skills of the party during the ensuing three days enabled them to elude their pursuers, but somehow the Kerwyn rallied and rejoined the hunt every time. The diversions and laying of false trails at least gave Meg’s people the chance to rest and gather food. Twice Talemaker and Wombat vanished back along the trail and returned later, nodding silently to Dark and the other men as if confirming something had been accomplished. Meg guessed at first that they were setting traps for their pursuers, but when Talemaker returned late the third afternoon with a nasty gash down his right arm she knew that they were engaging their enemy more directly. ‘Bring that here,’ she ordered when Wombat was trying to clumsily bind the wound for his friend.

Talemaker looked at Wombat and obeyed Meg. ‘I ripped it on a broken branch,’ he told her as he presented it for her inspection.

She glanced down at his ragged trousers and said, ‘And the blood on your leg is from the bleeding tree after you punished it?’ She met his gaze and he blushed. ‘You’re taking stupid risks,’ she told him and gave Wombat a sharp glance to warn him that she held him accountable.

‘It discourages them from getting too close,’ Talemaker argued.

‘It encourages them to keep chasing us,’ she retorted. She cleaned the dirt from the wound as best as she could with a piece of rag and ignored the men’s protests when she closed her hands around Talemaker’s wound, letting her magic go to work on healing him. When she finished she pushed his arm aside and said, ‘I won’t be around to patch up every silly scratch you want to earn.’

Talemaker stared after her as she walked to join the women and Meg overheard Wombat say to him, ‘Don’t
be getting too upset over that, my friend. She’s sharper than you know, but soft as mud too.’

Meg whirled on her heels and glared at Wombat. ‘I’d be careful with my tongue or it also might need healing,’ she threatened. Then she turned and kept walking.

When she could find moments as they kept the Kerwyn at bay she taught A Ahmud Ki the Shessian language. He, however, was far more interested in the Conduit and kept asking her for the details of how she came by it and how it became embedded in her chest. Initially she didn’t trust his curiosity, but his questions wore her down until one evening, as the group sheltered in a narrow gorge, she told him what she knew. ‘I can feel the magic when I’m close to you,’ he told her when she finished explaining and she laughed.

‘Most women would slap you for that,’ she replied. He stared dumbfounded and when she realised that he didn’t understand the joke she asked tentatively, ‘Tell me about—was it Seralinna?’ His grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘That’s if you don’t mind,’ she added apologetically.

His face was a dark shadow in the dusk. With the Kerwyn still hunting them, they rarely lit a fire, eating raw food whenever they were hungry. ‘Seralinna was—she was the first person who—’

He was lost for words, she realised. ‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t have to know.’