An Accident of Stars (4 page)

“All right. So if anyone asks, why don't we just say I'm from near the border?”

Gwen blinked at her. “What? Why?”

“Because I'm wearing a taal,” said Saffron. “You know, like a cultural bleed. We talked about borders in history, and it always seems like that's where clothes and food and languages mix. So I thought, if it's odd in Karavos, maybe it's not odd somewhere else, and we can just pretend that's where I'm from.”

“Not with Veksh,” said Gwen. “With other countries, yes – like Uyu and Kamne – but not Veksh. It was a good thought, though.”

“Oh,” said Saffron, sounding deflated. “Right.” And then, with guileless curiosity, “Why not?”

Gwen found herself doing a very good impression of a pufferfish. “I don't know,” she said, after several seconds of unflattering, open-mouthed silence. “I… huh. I work with Vekshi, but I've never been that far north. There's probably some historical reason for it, if you asked the right person.” Gwen made a mental note to do just that. It was the kind of puzzle Matu loved; if he didn't already know the answer, he'd likely want to help uncover it.

“Fair enough,” said Saffron. “So how come you were at my school? Is the nature strip, like, a magical hotspot or something?”

Gwen rolled her eyes and started to explain about making portals.

For what felt like the better part of an hour, they'd been riding through woods so unfamiliar that Saffron half expected a fairytale creature to leap at her from the bushes. The trees, in addition to being crooked, had creamy trunks and branches – like paperbarks, she thought – and leaves that were rust red flecked with brown, almost the colour of blood. This explained why the distant hills she'd seen from the building had looked so dark, but it made the woods eerie, the way she imagined a proper European autumn might feel.

Beneath her, the roa rocked like a ship, its two-legged gait both jarring and slippery. Her lower back was tense from the effort of keeping upright, and despite the double protection of taal and uniform, her thighs were chafing against the saddle leather. Excluded from the current conversation – Gwen had returned to Pix's side about twenty minutes ago, citing a need to confer with her about entering Karavos – Saffron began to feel anxious about the passage of time. She had a certain amount of leeway before her parents and Ruby started to wonder where she was, but she didn't want to be sent back prematurely either. Getting in trouble for coming home a few hours late would be more than worth it for this.

They were lower down in the hills now, their view unobstructed as the road took new twists and turns. Where before the only signs of human habitation had been empty barns, like the one into which they'd initially portalled, now Saffron could see settled farmland, tilled fields and small steadings that stretched away into the distance. But next to Karavos, which had just come into proper view, none of that mattered. It was massive, its shadow darkening the valley floor like a wine stain on a tablecloth. From a height, the city appeared to be all on one level, but as they grew closer, she saw that the central spires and towers were physically built on higher ground, like the raised hub of a very wonky wheel.

Though protected by walls of reddish-orange stone, the perimeter was far from even, jagging in and out again at random. The walls weren't of a uniform height either, and as their descent changed to afford a closer view of the city's flank, it became clear that some wall sections had been toppled, smashed to rubble as though by an unseen hand. In these places, Saffron could just make out the sight of workers going about repairs, flanked by lines of non-builders. It took her a moment to puzzle this out, and then she realised: soldiers.

For all that Gwen had told her, she still knew next to nothing about this world, and the depths of her ignorance chilled her. Were the guards meant to protect the builders, or to bully them? Was Karavos safe? Back on the hilltop, she hadn't really processed all that talk about arakoi and Vex Leoden, but as she caught the faint glint of light on distant spear tips, it felt rather more urgent. Belatedly, she noticed that many of the surrounding farmsteads were wrecked and abandoned. For every field planted with healthy-looking crops, two others were dead, their plants either burned or rotten. What had happened here?

Without warning, Saffron's roa lurched forwards. She clutched the reins, fearful of falling, then realised that Gwen had tugged on the lead rope, pulling her alongside again.

“We're close now,” she said. Saffron blinked in surprise: while she'd been introspecting, they'd entered the valley proper. Now that they were on a level, the city's walls and towers looked truly massive – imposingly so. Which made no sense at all; she was used to looking up at skyscrapers, and those were modern buildings, surely taller than anything that could be built without the use of steel and cranes.

“Magic,” Gwen said, following Saffron's gaze. “Karavos is an ancient city, but a strong one.” Her smile faded. “Or, at least, it was.”

“The broken walls, you mean?”

“And the war that broke them. Well.” She laughed, but her eyes were devoid of humour. “I call it a war. More a squabble, really. A tiff.”

“What happened?”

“In a way, I did. I backed the wrong man for the throne, and he did that.”

Saffron took a moment to digest this information, putting it together with the (very little) she knew already. “Vex Leoden, you mean?”

“That's him. Vex is a title, in case you were wondering. It's not quite the same as a king, but they're comparable terms.”

“And you…” Saffron struggled to word the question, not knowing how to make it sound less ridiculous. “You… supported him?”

“Something like that.” Gwen sighed. “It's a longer story than we have time for now, as close as we are. Just remember: when we reach the city, keep still and silent. And if we have to run–” she lifted the lead rope slightly, “–then just hang on.”

Saffron gulped. “What if I get lost, or we get separated somehow?”

Gwen's reply was forestalled by a comment from Pix, to which she replied in Kenan. Pix spoke again, her expression calculating. Gwen
hmph
ed, but the sound could've meant anything.

“Pix asked what you said. I told her.”

“And?”

“And she says to tell you: don't get lost.”

Though still sweating beneath her taal, Saffron shivered.

T
hey reached
Karavos just as the sun was slipping below the hills. Gwen fidgeted in her saddle, displeased by the sight of a joint contingent of city guards and arakoi stopping travellers at the gate. Though they'd encountered little traffic on the road – an odd thing in itself, and certainly a troubling sign – they nonetheless had to wait in line while two other convoys were questioned, searched, and then finally admitted into the city. Talking in low voices on their final approach, Gwen and Pix had agreed on a story to explain Saffron's presence. Though Vekshi women could come and go as they pleased, it was nonetheless noteworthy that one should be entering the city in the company of a young, native Kenan and an older, Uyun-looking woman. Throw in Saffron's uncut hair (if they noticed it), her lack of a staff (significant, but not critical) and her complete ignorance of either customs or language, and they were potentially in for a very tough time of it. Getting out of Karavos was easy these days; getting in again was the real problem. For neither the first nor the last time, Gwen cursed herself for ever having been taken in by Leoden's facade. Initially, he'd appeared to be everything a good Vex should be: courteous, quick-witted, compromising at times and rigid at others. But his subsequent actions had proven him to be egomaniacal, manipulative and cold, his plans for Kena so grandiose and twisted that even Yasha struggled to make sense of them. More than once, Gwen had had cause to reflect on the irony of what the Kenan word for a male ruler –
king
being a misleading translation – meant in English.
Vex
, she thought, suppressing a sigh.
Leoden certainly does, at that
.

“You three – step up!”

It was the guard captain. Gwen stilled her face into unthreatening neutrality, even slouching to emphasise her age. “Good afternoon, honoured swords.” The eight guards – all men, though some among the arakoi were female – showed the proper deference to her age and sex, first cupping their extended hands, then closing the palms together. That, at least, was encouraging, though it boded ill that none among the arakoi followed suit.

“Ladies.” The captain stepped forwards, the butt of his long spear resting in the dirt. “May I ask your business in Karavos?”

This time it was Pix who answered. “Honoured sword, I rode out this morning to collect this friend of my mother's–” she nodded at Gwen, “–and her travelling companion. My mother is sick, and wished them to help tend her.”

The guard nodded. “I understand. Even so, there are questions I must ask. Do you carry any weapons?”

“No, honoured sword,” said Pix. “Does anyone in your party possess any talent for magic?”

“None, honoured sword.”

“And do you consent to a search of your possessions?”

Pix hesitated for less than a heartbeat. “Of course, honoured sword.” The guard frowned. “Very well.” He waved the arakoi forward. “Do what you will.”

Gwen didn't hold her breath; she had too much self-control. Instead, she sat immobile while two arakoi – one male, one female – circled their trio of roa, lifting pannier flaps and peering disdainfully at their contents. But what could they possibly find? Not even Pix was foolish enough to tempt fate by bringing something likely to attract the wrong sort of attention. Perhaps this could be easy, after all. Perhaps– “That's an odd pannier,” the female arakoi said, tilting her spear to indicate the right flank of Gwen's mount. The remark startled her, until she realised she meant Saffron's schoolbag. Internally, she cursed herself for a sentimental fool. Though Pix had seen enough of the materials of Gwen's world not to remark on the bag, of course a normal Kenan would. Though battered and dirty, the bag's purple colouring, plastic buckles and synthetic fibre were nonetheless distinctive. She should have made Saffron leave it behind, but she intimately remembered what it was like to be stranded on a strange world with nothing from home, and knew she could never have brought herself to enforce the decision. Thinking fast, she shrugged in an offhand way, thankful for the first time that Saffron spoke no Kenan.

“You've a good eye,” she said. “I bought it from a trader as a curiosity, along with all the contents. I've no idea what they are, and nor did he – the man who'd sold it to him was a sailor. I'd hoped a scholar here might recognise the make, perhaps even give me a good price for it.” She patted the bag and laughed. “At my age, it pays to think about a nest egg.”

The arakoi's mouth twitched in what was almost a smile. “Too true, mother,” she said, and to Gwen's infinite relief, both she and her companion stepped back. “You can pass. Good travels.”

Then she turned to Saffron and – to Gwen's utter horror – repeated her words in Vekshi.

Time slowed. Saffron's heart was hammering so loudly, it felt as though everyone must be able to hear it. What should she do? The woman was looking at her, clearly expecting an answer, but she had no idea what she'd said. Praying it was the right response, she nodded, and almost wept with relief when Gwen tugged firmly on the lead rope, urging her roa onwards. But as they passed the guards, she couldn't help noticing that their leader kept her eyes on them, as though puzzled by something. Ahead, the city gates stood open, revealing a bustling marketplace. Karavos was loud, busy, crowded – and pungent. Food, sweat, livestock, spices, excrement, heat, garbage, vegetables; the overall odour was hot and sour and somewhat unwashed, strong enough that she desperately wanted to cover her mouth and nose. Only fear that the mannerism might be taken incorrectly kept her from doing so.

They were halfway between the guards and the gate when the leader called out to them again. Saffron kept quiet, waiting for either Pix or Gwen to respond. When neither did, she her stomach twisted. What if the guard's question – and it surely had to be a question – was directed at
her
? She froze, panic surging through her like an electrical current, and before she could properly grasp what was happening, her roa lurched forwards, the lead rope stretched taut as Gwen shouted at her to hold on.

And then they were running – or rather, the roa were, stretching out their legs and necks like ostriches racing across a plain. This wasn't like before, when merely clutching the reins had been enough; now, every stride threatened to send Saffron flying. Behind them, the guards shouted and gave chase, but in an open space the roa had the advantage, surging ahead of their unmounted pursuers.

Once they were through the gates, however, the crush of the market quickly forced them to change tactics. Though the roa didn't slow, there was simply no room for three of them to ride abreast, and all of a sudden Pix was riding away from them, whipping her reins from side to side and shouting as she plunged through the crowds. Gwen was forced to ride at an angle, the hand that held the lead rope stretched behind her while the other tried to steer. As the roa sped and dodged – missing a laden wagon here, turning a corner there, baulking sharply at a brightly coloured wall, then racing on again – Saffron's cowl slipped back, revealing her unshaved head to the world. Worse still, her feet were coming loose from the stirrups. With each zig and zag, she felt like a champagne cork being steadily forced from its bottle.

“Gwen!” she shrieked.

The worldwalker risked a glance over her shoulder and cursed. “Hang on!”

Saffron felt a sob rising in her throat. She could barely stick the saddle now, her balance completely shot, and though she tried to wrap her fingers in the roa's long coat, all she succeeded in doing was dropping the reins. Completely unanchored, she felt the next turn almost before she saw it – a sharp alley corner, a stone wall – and rose up with exquisite slowness, aware of the exact moment when both feet slipped the stirrups completely.