Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse (38 page)

I run like a damned rebel.

I never meant this to happen. I just wanted…What do any of us ever really want? To belong? To be heard?

Petra is nowhere to be seen. I hesitate, wondering if I should go back for her. A soldier, one of ours, comes up from behind, herding me forwards. “They are right behind us. Go!”

I race past lopsided back fences and tangled gardens. Rotting refuse assaults my nose. A kylon barks. Defectors and Shark’s Teeth run in front and behind me. Someone shouts, “This way!” My only thought is,
Hurry!
I imagine the orca biting my ankles.

The Holy Way, so long and so straight, goes on forever, disappearing into a shimmering oasis in the distance. I am only half aware of the statues and the canal on my right, the wilderness beyond. A young rebel, a black automaton, drags his useless leg behind him like a plover feigning injury to draw off its predators. I drape the rebel’s arms over my shoulder and lift him off the ground.
He must live
, I think, and this small shift in my perspective, thinking now about his survival rather than my own, is enough to make me persevere.

A Shark’s Tooth calls from behind, “They have turned back.” Defeated, none cheer. All of us know that in the morning, once they have had a chance to regroup, the coalition’s army—or perhaps it is better named the Tri-Nation Army since Satah will amalgamate Tibuta with Whyte and Gregaria—will come for us.

The gate is a relief. The red priestesses treat us with efficient detachment. They lift the wounded Shark’s Tooth from my shoulder and lead him to one of the lopsided tents. The quiet is punctured by the screaming of the maimed and short, sharp demands from the harried priestesses who treat them: “Pass that saw.” “Stem the bleeding.” “More pressure.”

“There are so many,” I say to no one, watching the casualties of my arrogance arrive on stretchers or slung over their comrades’ backs.

Ried finds me and rests her hands on my trembling arm. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “Is it
really
peace we fight for?”

“Highness, I do not envy you. As a priestess I am free from such concerns. When an order is given I must follow it. I must devote myself to my faith. And yet, from one who has studied the ways of leadership in the hope of one day becoming high priestess—” she pauses to see if she has spoken too freely but I am listening attentively “—I must advise you to hold your tongue. Do not show your weakness. They will not forgive it.”

“Yes…” My voice is distant. Iron resolve sets within my bowels and I look at her properly for the first time. “You are right. Thank you. Now, I must speak to the high priestess.”

She does not respond. Instead, she guides me through the entrance and leaves me there in the cold. The sanctuary is silent save for the abashed chatter of the red priestesses, who speak with Maud around the pool of Shea’s Fire. The flickering of the flames in the oily water is too peaceful when only a moment ago we were mid-battle. They look up but I pretend not to notice. I do not want to see their disappointment. I do not want to feel their eyes all over me, counting the dead. I stand beneath the statue of the First Mother, which is strewn with offerings of figs, daisies and wax prayer tablets, and wait for Maud to join me.

“Well?”

I shake my head. “We had over ten men with crossbows positioned around the marketplace but they all missed. The queen got away. Drayk failed to open the gate so we didn’t even get into the palace.”

“Rest,” she says in a tone that invites no argument. “Later we will speak of what to do next.”

Ried leads me down one of the winding, dark hallways at the back of the temple. Alone in the oppressive silence of my room I slip out of my filthy armour and dump it in a pile in the corner before perching on the edge of the bed. I grip my hands to stop them trembling. Already my back aches and later, when my demons come to haunt me, the pain will be almost unbearable. This is entirely different to training. My entire being—my resolve—has been assaulted. My body will not easily forgive me. My eyes will not forget what they have seen.

You sent them to die.

My defiant self is much quieter now.

I want to slump into an exhausted horizontal position of foul moods and contradictory thoughts—
I am only one girl. I cannot change the course of history. Today is the beginning of the end—
but I cannot. Ried is right. I must be the light that shines in my people’s heart.

I push my demons aside and return to the sanctuary. I call a meeting of the chiliarches to reignite their courage.

Petra returns bloodied but uninjured. As I approach she wipes her hands on her thighs and begins to unpeel her armour. “I am sorry, highness, I have failed you.”

I offer her no consolation. I want to tell her it was my fault but I say nothing. From now on everything I do must seem deliberate.
If I admit my weakness she will throw down her conviction along with her armour
, I think.

Petra steps out of her skirt of bronze and bone plates. “I thought I had their support. My men appeared to follow my orders. They spoke openly of their hate of the queen. But they fooled me. Or they changed their mind once they heard the queen speak of unification.” She removes her sandals and wipes one sticky foot against the other. “I don’t know what happened to Drayk.” She wipes her hands on her thighs. “As it stands we have some thousand casualties. We are outnumbered. The queen has two thousand armed hoplites and another seventeen thousand helot infantry, plus the Whyte soldiers and the orca. True, some three thousand hoplites and a further three thousand helots have joined our cause, and there are said to be close to ten thousand Shark’s Teeth but we cannot be sure of their numbers or their loyalty. We are a disjointed army. And I don’t know how we will stop the royal family when they have their gifts. I underestimated them. I thought…I honestly believed our archers could stop them. Adelpha and Thera were too quick.”

I help her lift the cuirass off. “Your soldiers fought valiantly. We must put today’s battle behind us and prepare ourselves for the queen’s counter-offensive. She will attempt to squash us before we can assume a defensive position. I am sure of it.”

“If only you had a gift.”

“Soon,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I let silence permeate my very being. I have accepted my fate and yet I too appreciate my disadvantage.

Slowly, reluctantly, like lost children, the defectors come, their heads bowed and their eyes showing their vulnerability. Petra sends them to me where I sit in the pit around Shea’s Fire. They are nervous, glancing over their shoulders as if the queen might appear from the shadows to reprimand them for their defiance. They tell me of their desire to fight for Tibuta in the greater battle for freedom against the Tempest.

Alexis and Carmyl are among them and I greet them like old friends, taking their hands in both of mine. I miss Drayk, I realise, and this reminder of him is an unexpected interruption.

Alexis stands with her arms by her side and her back perfectly straight. The light from Shea’s Fire illuminates her short-cropped red hair. “We want to personally apologise, your highness. We failed you. We were unable to open the gate.”

“What happened?”

Carmyl flicks her long golden plait behind her back. “Piebald, that’s what. He swapped half of our ranks for new recruits. They refused to open the gate. We fought. At least a third of those loyal to Drayk were killed. We were lucky to get away.”

“How many have come with you?”

“Less than a thousand. Those who got away are downstairs. They refuse to be tested. They await Drayk’s instruction. They say they’ll leave if he doesn’t show. They fear it’s a trap.” Her blue eyes are full of concern.

I thank them and go in search of Maud but before I reach the end of the sanctuary, a shriek reverberates around the room. I focus on its source. My cousin Gelesia of Minesend fights against the Shark’s Teeth who hold her back. “Let her go,” I say and to my relief the rebels obey.

“Verne, it is true,” Gelesia says, flustered. Her expression is tormented by red, weeping grief and some excited rhapsody that means not one of her limbs is still. A storm has passed through her body. Her hair is matted and strewn with leaves and feathers. Her clothes are dishevelled, twisted. I step out of the fire pit to meet her. Gelesia takes both of my hands in her claws and shakes them. “I knew it. They said you were behind the attack at the marketplace. But I already knew. I knew you had left us. I knew from the start. Yes, yes. Of course. It all makes sense.”

I am filled with fatalistic calm. “Why are you here?”

“I always said, after your mother turned her back on the gods, I said it, didn’t I? I said to Chase, Verne will be a troubled child, just you wait and see. She is special that one. Mark my word. But he didn’t believe me, no. No one ever believes old Gelesia. He said I should keep my nose out of others’ affairs. He said I was a meddlesome pest. But I knew. I could see it in your eyes. And now you have gone and done it. Good for you. Good for you.” She falls quiet and nervously looks around. She whispers, “I hope you do not mind me coming. I know they are listening but I don’t care, no. Not any more. Chase would have wanted it this way.”

“Who is listening?”

“
Them
.”

I glance around but apart from the odd red priestess we are alone.

“Gelesia, it is not safe for royalty here. You should go to Minesend, rest.”

“Your mother as good as killed my Chase. I will never know whose spear inflicted that fatal wound but—ark!—as far as I am concerned, she killed him.” She coughs. “Demon! Demon!” Then more quietly, pulling me in to conspire, she whispers, “All I want is to avenge him, Verne. Is that too much to ask?”

“Gelesia,” I say as calmly as possible; Chase’s death has clearly sent her mad, “your presence warms my heart. Tell me, what are they saying in the palace? Do they call me traitor?”

“Traitor and ingrate. They say the high priestess has filled your head with lies. They say Drayk the immortal has dripped poison into your ear. They say the Shark’s Teeth is an abomination and—”

“What do you think?”

“Ark!” she squawks. “
She
created the Shark’s Teeth when she discredited her brother Kratos, didn’t she? And is therefore responsible for each of their murders. She should have listened to Kratos. He was the only one who saw any sense after Tansy and Evada died. And now this. Without her there would be no need for dissidence. She failed the people. But you won’t fail, will you? No, you cannot fail.”

I appreciate the weight of her words. “I will do my best. What about the other districts?”

“Lete is in utter confusion. Let Thera die beside the queen for all I care. She never paid me any attention, banishing me to Veraura and giving me Minesend for my efforts.” She speaks the districts’ names with lemon on her tongue. “I would rather fight with you than see my Chase dishonoured. Anyway, Thera is a traitorous dog, bringing that, that
harlot
Adelpha into the palace when she
promised
to kill her. Why your mother didn’t just slit her throat I do not know. But!” She holds up her finger. “I will not fight beside
them
.” She looks around her at her invisible enemies, wagging her finger in my face.

I call for Ried and ask her to find Gelesia a quiet room at the back of the sanctuary. “When the time comes I will need you to fight. We must all bear arms against those who would sacrifice us to the Tempest. Get some rest.”

Hero is next to arrive. He enters the sanctuary looking unsure of himself but determined. He walks with forced confidence, his shoulders back, chin tilted upward. I cross the room to stand a few feet from him.

“Verne.” His voice is tired.

“Hero. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. But I thought it would be safer if you didn’t know.”

A great internal battle plays on his face as he tries to fight his despair. “No one has ever accepted me except you,” he says, his voice catching. He wipes his cheek. “The others, because of my giftlessness, they…Odell…I cannot help it and yet they treat me as if I
want
to be this way. They call me an aberration.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“They have never made any sense to me but you…you are like me. And yet despite your handicap you rise above tyranny. You stand for something. I just wish you had included me.”

“I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to be a part of it.”

“And I didn’t. But it was a mistake. I want your strength, Verne. I want to be like you. And maybe once the fighting is over the high priestess can test me too.”

“I’m sure she will.”

“I am no good at combat but perhaps I can be of some other service to you. I want the queen to be punished. I want—” he sobs “—I want the pain to end.”

“Hero, my dear, dear cousin,” I say, taking him in my arms. His tears soak my shoulder. “Don’t you see? You are already strong. By coming here today you have demonstrated great courage.” I hold him at arm’s length and wipe the tears from his eyes. “I would love you to join me. It is lonely when your entire family is at war. I am overjoyed that you have come. You cannot know how much your support means to me.”

“I have very few skills, cuz, but I have always been good with my hands. Needlecraft, especially. I thought—”

“If you can handle the blood you can help the red priestesses with the wounded. I will have someone show you around the hospital. It would be good to have you helping those most in need. Your generosity can be your gift. Find Ried,” I say and as he turns to leave I call after him, “And Hero, do you have news of my father?”

He is apologetic. “He is with your mother.”

“Of course he is.” I lower my head. Hero silently acknowledges my pain and retreats.

It is right that he should be with her. His loyalty is unwavering,
I think.

I accused my father of hating himself, of impotence, of tainting the past and damning the future, of subordination. He promised and then withheld his support. He said, “I am proud,” but meant, “Give up.” He was both my friend and my enemy. He is the last person I expect and the one I hope for most. He is…No, I must forget him.

When Drayk arrives in the afternoon he is already a stranger, his appearance foreign, the lines too severe, the edges rough. The firmament around him feels different, unholy. “What happened?” I say, fingering the stone around my neck. He blushes as if I am touching him. We both hang back, reluctant to acknowledge the intimacy we have shared. He will not look at me but walks the parameter of my room, telling the story Alexis told me about Piebald and the new recruits. “I tried to save as many of my soldiers as I could.” I can sense the desperation in his voice, the need for absolution.

“The gods left us today. We failed, Drayk.”

For a long time, neither of us speaks. Finally, he lets out a sigh like the expulsion of air through a whale’s blowhole. “Tides I missed you.”

Such relief, such blissful relief.
“I missed you too.”

We embrace and in doing so break down whatever barrier held us apart. My senses are inundated with his smell, his touch, and his warm, rumbling voice near my ear. “I feared…when we couldn’t get the gate open I thought you might be killed in the marketplace. I don’t care that you failed only that you survived.” It is a lie, or at least not the entire truth, and yet I appreciate his attempt to conceal his disappointment.

“I tried to kill her,” I whisper before melting into his chest. Tears prick my eyes. My small self creeps out of hiding to whisper,
You are a failure, Verne. See, without your gift, with an atrophied mind you are—

“The reality is—” I start but he holds his finger to my lips.

“Reality is cruel. But it is those who recover from their mistakes who prosper. Success is simply a lifetime dedicated to enduring defeat. You must rise above it. One mistake, once. Never again,” Drayk says.

“Never again.”

He presses his warm lips against my forehead.

“I’m going to wash, will you join me?” I say in a moment of pure fearlessness which is, in part, inspired by a sense of impending doom. The immortal nods so I take his rough, blood-stained hand and lead him along the dark hall and down a narrow set of spiral stairs into the base of the pyramid. Pulling back a heavy timber door, I peek inside the small bathhouse. To my delight it is unoccupied. I shut the door behind us, muffling the sound from the rooms above. A low ceiling keeps in the heat that radiates from the hot springs below. The floor is warm beneath our feet. The air is steamy. Within moments our skin is dripping.

I push Drayk against the tiled wall and knot my hands in his damp hair, kissing him with a ferocity that is entirely new to me. I focus on the fullness of his bottom lip as I suck it and the contour of his body as I run my hands up his chest. His response is hesitant, almost respectful as he lets me take the lead.

Laughing, I pull away. I kick off my sandals and cross the room to kneel by a deep stone pool—all right angles and slick, blue surfaces—built beneath a stone fountain. Drayk hovers by the door. I can sense him watching me, preparing to consume me, and my hand trembles as I grip the bronze handle and turn it.

Slowly, warm spring water pumps into the bath via a triple helix screw that draws water up a long shaft. Drayk comes up behind me and as I work the handle, he works my neck and shoulders. An animalistic groan escapes my mouth as he goes deeper and deeper, relieving the tension that has accumulated in my shoulders from wielding two swords.

When the bath is full, I stand, our bodies so close I can feel the friction between our clothes. “Shall I undress you?” he says and I nod. He peels my filthy tunic over my head. He seems perplexed by my body and as excited as a child unwrapping a gift. He works my pants down around my ankles then stands back to look at me. All I wear his is serpent stone. It hangs between my breasts, a symbol of the promises we have made to one another, a symbol of ownership. His gaze is that of a man admiring a new treasure.