The Equen Queen (7 page)

‘Slow.’ Tab placed a hand on the mare's neck pushing her head away from the water. Too much too fast would make her ill.

The equen staggered away from the barrel. She swayed on her feet.

‘You can sleep. I will keep watch,’ Tab promised.

The mare fixed Tab with a wary and intense gaze for a moment and then, satisfied that her new friend would maintain the vigil as promised, sniffed the bedding. She dropped to her knees. The rest of her body hit the floor with a thump. Her head drooped until her chin was resting somewhere deep in the straw. She groaned, a hoarse wheeze in her chest. She blinked three times and then her eyes stayed closed.

Tab's eyes ran over the little equen's tired and defeated body. She could see the intricate pattern on the backs of her legs. ‘Tattoo,’ she whispered. ‘That's your name, isn't it?’

The mare's eyes fluttered open for a second and Tab saw gratitude there. Tab knew that this equen was as far from home as she had ever been – so far it seemed unfathomable. It was plain on her face that she'd given up any hope of seeing her own kind again.

That feeling of sorrow that she'd felt on the skytraders’ ship draped over her. It was so heavy Tab didn't think she could stay upright. She crouched down next to the equen. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Tab thought of telling Tattoo about the other two equens at the palace livery. They could go there after the fighting was over – assuming that Quentaris won.

‘No time for that!’ Fontagu said interrupting her thoughts. ‘Wake her up. Use that mind skill of yours. I want to know everything.’ He prodded Tab in the side. ‘Go on, then.’

‘She's exhausted!’ Tab protested, slapping his hand away.

‘Listen!’ Fontagu tilted his head to the side. ‘Can you hear it? Sky-traders are fighting with us, taking lives, risking their own, for
her
.’ He nodded towards the equen again. ‘Must be worth something, wouldn't you say?’

Fontagu rubbed his hands together, almost jigging with joy. ‘Tee hee!’ he chortled. ‘I
knew
it! The moment I clapped eyes on the old girl in her cage this morning. But I have always been an excellent judge of true value.’

‘I won't help you!’ Tab said, rubbing her streaming eyes with her sleeve.

‘Yes, you will.’ Fontagu grinned. ‘You can't help yourself.’ He chuckled again. ‘Just at dusk the clouds rolled in and there was an empty vessel in the harbour.’ His fingers danced in front of his face. ‘It was like divine providence. There was no one standing guard. No one! Can you imagine? Those sky pedlars must have mistaken Quentarans for honest folk.’

‘Most of us are!’ Tab told him, but even as she said it she reddened. While she preferred to make an honest living, she had ‘borrowed’ when the opportunity arose.

‘… or fools.’ Fontagu regarded her for a moment with a faint smile on his face. Then his mind turned to self-congratulation once more. He strode about, as though he were on a stage, snapping his fingers. ‘I just have an instinct! It's a gift. Like you, for example. You're not much to look at. Just a scrap of a thing really, but
useful,
and I saw it first! This one will be just the same. You watch.’ He crouched down next to her. ‘Go on, then. Burrow in there, little mouse.’

Tab looked down at the wretched dozing equen and realised that Fontagu was right. She wasn't going to leave her here at his mercy. She'd made a promise.

She closed her eyes and reached out for Tattoo's mind. When she found it Tab couldn't tell if what she was seeing was in the present, or the past, or sometime in the future. It was as though she was living inside the equen's dream.

Tab saw a savannah. Stunted, misshapen trees clung to the landscape like sea anemones on a tide. Spiny grasses sprouted out of the soil in patches between craters of salt and sand. In the distance high mountains loomed and shimmered a deep purple colour.

A family of fin lizards caught a breeze and sailed across the flats, their legs cycling faster and faster. Impossibly fast, they bounded into the air, their fins billowing, as they snatched buzzing insects out of the sky.

There were people, sandy-skinned, with rich, chocolate-coloured hair – the same colours as the equens, like the boy in her dream.

‘Herdsfolk’ and ‘two-legged’ were the words that popped into Tab's head when she saw them, but Tattoo didn't think in words, she thought in feelings. Her feelings about the herdsfolk were that they were safe, near and bossy. They were useful, particularly in their ‘otherness’ – in their ‘two-leggedness’.

Dotted here and there were herdsfolk sentries standing with one heel resting on the inside of their opposite knee, watching the horizon. Others squatted in groups, painting the backs of each other's legs with the round, curlicue script of the equen's tattoos.

Next she saw the herd of equens crossing the long, flat plains. Herdsfolk carried packs and wore long hooded cloaks. Tab felt warm but the air was frozen as it filled her lungs. The mountains were much closer. Some of the younger, more daring drones galloped in the shadow of the foothills. Tab felt anxious. This was the migration – necessary, but forbidding.

A new image washed over Tab and she cried out. A dark shadow passed overhead. She looked up, but was blinded by the sunlight. There was a strong smell, though, of rancid fat and decaying meat. It was such a horrifying smell that she could barely stop herself from running with fear.

She could hear the herdsfolk calling to each other and shooting at the dark shapes with their slings. Nearby an equen screamed as it was dragged into the sky with two huge sets of claws dug deep into its flesh. Tab felt ice-cold and hot at the same time as adrenaline flooded her limbs. Every muscle tensed. She felt loss and terror press against her, crushing her until she couldn't breathe. Her nostrils flared as she took in as much air as she could.

Run! Run first, and then look back, she thought. It made sense when running was what you did best of all. Tab jolted back into her own body and opened her eyes. All at once she understood what it was to be prey.

Tattoo twitched in her sleep.

‘What is it?’ Fontagu asked.

She thought about the sky-traders carting the equens around with slings under the wing craft, and how terrifying that must be for an equen. It was their worst nightmare. It was cruel.

Tab ran her hands over Tattoo's neck. ‘They live for much longer than Quentaran horses.’

‘How long?’

Tab shrugged. It was hard to quantify in Tattoo's terms. ‘Maybe two hundred winters.’

Fontagu's eyes widened.

Tab continued. ‘There is only one breeding pair in the herd. Each year the queen has two foals – one male and one female. Every five winters, all the males of age leave the herd together and go through the forest in search of a new herd. The strongest will find one.’

‘And what if they don't?’

Tab winced.

‘Oh,’ said Fontagu. ‘And what about the other mares? What do they do?’

‘They're workers. They heal the herdsfolk. It's a desert. There's not much to eat for the people. They don't get all they need to stay healthy. That can make them weak and sick. The equens heal them, and in return the herdsfolk protect them and tend to them.’

‘So the males don't do this healing?’ Fontagu pressed.

Tab shook her head. ‘She doesn't seem to think so.’ Of course, it made sense. Talisman and Trinket, the equens the sky-traders had sold them were useless, except as packhorses.

‘Splendid that we have a mare,’ Fontagu said, rubbing his hands together. ‘You know, I think I'm beginning to feel better already. Ten years younger at least.’

Tab ignored him. She knotted her fingers in the equen's mane, consumed by the image of the dark shadows overhead and the screaming. ‘In deep winter the mountains are crusted with ice and there is nothing left awake or alive in the forest, then the scavenjaws come down from the hills to find food on the plains. The mares will stand between the scavenjaws and their queen.’

‘Until?’ prompted Fontagu.

She shuddered. ‘Until the scavenjaws have no more appetite.’

‘One would want to be born the queen, wouldn't one?’ Fontagu observed. ‘I wonder if those skytraders have any more mares? If I had a few more I could probably live forever. Find out if the healing works better if you eat them. Does she have some kind of gland we could drain?’ Fontagu grinned. ‘I know a fellow who will sell me a pallet of pipettes. We can set up our bottling operation right here.’

‘Nobody is going to let you keep her. They will know you stole her!’ Tab told him.

‘Who will? Your friend Verris the pirate? Drass Nibhelline? Or did you have some other model of virtuous commercial conduct in mind? For all they know I could have bought this old nag fair and square.’ Fontagu rubbed his chin. ‘Go ahead and tell your snooty council! I dare you!’

Tab frowned at the ugly expression on Fontagu's face. She turned away as he started pacing out the space inside the slaughterhouse, muttering measurements to himself.

She stroked the mare's neck and Tattoo opened her eyes.

What if the queen gets sick, or dies from a serpent bite? she wondered. What happens to the herd if the queen has an accident? She looked in Tattoo's eyes searching for an answer. Tattoo looked beyond her shoulder, as though considering the question. Tab couldn't feel an answer. Tab guessed that the equen hadn't seen it happen.

>>>Until now

Tab was startled. >>>What do you mean?

The equen rocked onto her stomach and stretched her neck forward. Tab held out a hand to her.

>>>I am Tattoo

Tab suddenly understood. ‘Tattoo’ stood out in her head the way that ‘herdsfolk’ and ‘two-legged’ did. The mare thought, ‘I am Tattoo’, but what she meant was, ‘I am the equen queen’. Tab felt the deep sadness sweep over her again. It was not just Tattoo's fate – there was a whole herd that relied on her, and the herdsfolk too. She remembered the scene of the migration. How many souls depended on this queen?

Tab lay down in the straw next to Tattoo and laid her hand over the equen's shoulder. She closed her eyes.

All at once there was a rumble. Tattoo's eyes widened, she set her legs wide apart to brace herself. Tab sat up, not sure how long she had slept – or whether she had been asleep at all. She looked through a window, up near the slaughterhouse ceiling. High above the city, sails whipped and slapped as the sky-sailors lashed them into place. Rigging clanked as ropes whistled through the pulleys.

Simultaneously, Tab felt a heavy throbbing begin within the core of Quentaris. There was a deep
whock whock whock
noise. The engines that propelled Quentaris had started. After such a long time of stillness Tab had forgotten how loud they were, and how you could feel the thrum of it in your gut, and the prickle of the magic somewhere behind your eyes.

Tab jumped to her feet. Fontagu grabbed her wrist. ‘Where are you going?’

‘We can't leave here,’ she said. ‘That will only take us further away from Tattoo's world. She has to go home.’

Fontagu held on tight. ‘We can make a lovely home right here. We'll get some nice fresh straw. You can brush her twice a day.’

‘Let go of me!’ Tab struggled against him.

‘And oats for her to eat. Yum, yum. She'll learn to love it. You watch. So much nicer than some nasty old desert,’ he wheedled.

Tab wrenched her hand away and sprinted for the door. She threw it open and looked up. She could hear Tibbid's cries ringing through the streets, urging people to return to their homes and to brace themselves for the coming tumult as the city neared a vortex.

Tab thrust both hands out, steadying herself in the doorway, hardly daring to look, but unable to look away. The sky was undulating, swollen in ugly yellows and greys, like an old bruise. Clouds roiled and a series of deafening peals of thunder shook the ground. The sails bulged, deflated and bulged again.

The sky seemed to spin faster, but it was Quentaris that was spinning, twisting and plummeting through the vortex. The timber shuddered under her hands. The sky was a blur now. Her head whirled. Her stomach heaved and churned.