A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) (19 page)

Outside, the warm evening air smelt of jasmine and, in a bitter reminder of blind Master Yang, meat-flavored smoke. Why did I have to have these horrible dreams of death and torture? Why couldn’t I just sleep normally? Daddy had told me once that true dreams were sent to teach us something. Yet what had I learned, save that people can be truly evil to each other?

Look at what had happened to Master Yang. All he had now was one apprentice and a piece of jade. Jade. Suddenly, with a strange feeling of relief, I understood why Wynne had shown me that dark and terrifying dream.
The jade knife!
I had to find this weapon that was stronger than steel and hard as stone. But to find the knife, I must escape.

‘You smell smoke,’ whispered Robert, the master craftsman. ‘Smoke means a fire. A fire means burning. Wood burns, little one.’

Wood burns, I thought. My chamber door was made of wood. I opened my eyes to the night.

It was like being in a waking dream.
Candles flickered, red and gold.
I lifted my arms and, like an answer, the flames of the candles grew towards the roof. The air shimmered, grew so hot I could not breathe as, with a rush, wood caught fire. Crackling, the mesh at the window smoldered into ash as the door exploded outwards.

I remember coughing like I was about to die. I grabbed at the window frame, clambered onto the sill. Below, the courtyard was full of people shouting. They stared up at me, at the fire that, crackling wildly, swept through the house. I let go.

My back cracked once, as though it was breaking. Then came a sudden sense of freedom, of soaring, high, high, into the darkness. Smoke stung my eyes. Behind me, timbers crashed, sending showers of sparks.

Far below, the Wayhouse burnt, orange and gold. I felt like flying ever on, up towards the sky. Joined within me, the other Guardians laughed. Stretching my arms wide, I embraced the air. Joy of freedom, of flight. Movement and pleasure. Independence, and open space.

Far below, the earth pulled. I fell slowly, spiraling like a seed. Thoughts slowed; time stilled.

The ground hit, hard. I lay on warm earth, breathless with pain. The fire had disappeared, hidden behind the mountains. The night was dark, so very dark. My hands and hem were charred and I seemed far from any road or town. My eyes, my mind closed. All was quiet.

It was the tugging that woke me. That, and a sudden pain in my scalp. ‘Oww!’

A pause. The tugging began again. Above me was a soft mouth, wet and warm. Sour breath. Yellow teeth. Wide, black eyes. A goat was nibbling at my hair!

‘Go away,’ I pushed at its nose. It blinked, as if surprised that its food had started speaking, and backed away. As I sat up it backed further away. ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘it’s all right. I won’t eat you.’ My stomach growled. ‘Yet.’

Where was I? By the light and smell of the day, it looked like early morning. I lay on dusty earth beside a small, gnarled bush. To my left, grey hills rose against the sky. To the right was blue water — a lake or a sea? I was on a small plateau, where the arms of the hills reached down to the plains.

My goat moved off towards his companions, a small flock of black-haired animals. They had tiny horns and white stripes on their foreheads. Unsteadily, I got to my feet. Fire, and burning. How had I arrived in this place? .

On the ground something glinted. The shears from the Wayhouse. I tucked them into my belt and set off after the goats. They seemed to have hardy stomachs and a way of finding food. Maybe they would guide me.

We headed into the shelter of the valleys. As the sun rose higher and the heat grew intense. I was hungry and, oh so thirsty; I felt like Moses scrambling through the wilderness. I followed the goats back through the hills into a narrow rocky canyon, where the shade was cool and a thin wind siphoned through gaps between boulders. Then through another opening, barely a slit in the stone. Behind lay an open valley, sheltered and private. The goats stopped their wandering. And I did too, for the grass was long and green and the trees grew tall. There were holes in the rocky crags above that looked like windows or eyes, but what did I care for watchers? For in the cracks at the base of the rocks the stone was wet, and faintly, faintly, I could hear water trickling.

Here was a spring, a small stream of water oozing from a gap in the rocks. The goats and I drank then we lay together in the shade, resting. I counted my blessings: Water, shears, clothes, beads, freedom. I was better off than yesterday.

All sound felt thin and lonely in that place. Wind howled through the narrow gaps in the stone; the cry of buzzards echoed from the dry hills. Even the crying of the goats threaded into nothing, lost in the tumble of stone. I saw no signs of people — no refuse, no threads of cloth. Then I must have dozed, for when I opened my eyes the sun was low.

‘Hsst!’ A boy with bright eyes and a dirty face peered over the top of the rocks. He saw me looking at him and ducked. Shingle trickled from his hiding place, and thump! A sting of stone startled the goats.

‘Ha!’ he stood up, waved his arms.

‘Maah!’ they turned towards him.

That’s done it, I thought. He’ll have startled them, they’ll be running away. But I was wrong. The goats swung towards the rock-slinging boy, running towards him as if he was their guiding star. A messy, dirty, star. He scuttled through the rocks, sent pigeons clattering overhead. Little blue lizards ducked into holes as he passed but the goats followed him eagerly, bleating as they went. I trailed behind them, keeping my distance, yet afraid to be left behind.

He led us all to a rectangular opening in the rock and beckoned me to follow; beckoned the goats, too. All seemed welcome in his makeshift stable. Inside the cave was dark. The only light came from a fire burning in the middle of the room. There were no windows.

The room was simple, a cube cut from living stone with a shelf carved at the rear. Two shapes, wrapped in dark blankets, coughed and stirred as the goats and I entered and one said something to the boy. He laughed, pulled me towards the fire, turned my face towards its light.

The older one — a man? A woman? After yesterday, it seemed better to keep my suppositions to myself — coughed and waved a hand to me. In a short while a cup of tea, sweet and strong, was pressed into my hand. The cup was made of delicate glass and no bigger than my palm. I drank the hot liquid eagerly.

The boy passed me a piece of flat bread and some fierce-flavored cheese. I said nothing, but smiled and pantomimed gratitude as often as I could. The old ones wrapped in their blankets smiled toothlessly in return. When the boy stepped out to milk the goats I watched the milk foaming into a bowl with interest. If only I’d known how to do this earlier. Although the goats would never have allowed me to milk them, no matter how nice I was. But in this boy they recognized divinity.

The cave was riddled with lice that leapt and itched and bit. But I didn’t care; the place was warm, it was dry and, most importantly, the people within had offered hospitality and care. The boy passed me a blanket. The weaving was harsh and scratched my skin, but it was warm. Like the others, I lay beside the fire on a pallet of straw. Sleep came quickly.

***

I
stood next to Wynne. Swallows swooped across the canal’s surface, darting up and down and catching flies. In the distance I heard a restless whining; a city, wailing in grief.

‘Where are we?’ I asked.

‘In Gusu, child. Where Master Yang has finished his masterpiece.’

Behind us stood a shanty made of odd pieces of masonry and burnt beams. Master Yang and his apprentice stood in its doorway. The old man rested one hand on the boy’s shoulder. In the other he carried the dagger.

It gleamed dark green, the color of the forest in the summer. Carefully, Master Yang flicked his finger against its edge and the stone rang with a delicate note, like a distant bell chiming. The dark green of the handle was shaped into a dragon’s head, its mouth ajar, all teeth and tongue. The tail of the dragon encircled the blade, spiraling down the shaft; the point of the tail, nearly translucent, formed the dagger’s tip. The thing was as long as my forearm and half as wide. Although at first glance the thing appeared delicate, I was sure it would be deadly sharp. Someone wielding this could cut through bone.

Master Yang handed it to the boy, who took it, smiling. He ran his thumb down its shaft and exclaimed in shock when the blood welled from his finger pad.

‘Careful,’ said Master Yang, softly.

Taking the knife from the boy, the carver wrapped the knife in cream silk. His fingers were gentle, cautious against the blade. Tenderly, he placed the package inside a wooden box and tucked the box inside a leather satchel. The bag and box were plain and roughly made; nothing remarkable at all.

The boy’s face was pale. He watched Master Yang desperately, as if hoping for something more; he seemed to barely notice the dagger. How could he be oblivious to something so beautiful?

‘This is the knife,’ I said, ‘isn’t it? The one I need. The one Rosa needs.’

As the sun touched her white robe and hair, Wynne seemed to glow. ‘Of course.’

I sighed. ‘A dagger. Made of jade. It looks like a big hat-pin.’

‘It is as hard as steel, and is the sharpest knife you will ever find, for it was hardened in fire and tempered by loss. And it has the curse of vengeance set within it — by the people of the stone and by the knife’s creator.’

The boy tucked the bag over his shoulder. His chest heaved, as though he was crying. Stretching out blindly, Master Yang grasped the boy’s shoulders, touched his forehead against his apprentice in a gesture of farewell. Then, with blind eyes, Master Yang stood beside the canal, head tipped to one side, as if trying to catch a final parting sound.

I had another dream that night, but it was so strange that I doubted it was true. Jed lay beside an old woman, snoring. His arm was about her waist. Then I saw Will, squatting in a small ship’s prow, smiling as the waves broke across the bowsprit. Above him, gulls squalled in the wind.

***

N
ext day, the boy led me up into the mountains. The goats followed us, as if I, or the boy, were their gods and they were our disciples. At first I worried that my bare feet would be cut on the stone, but the rock was round and weathered, so it was easy enough to find my footing. I felt as though we were scrambling onto the world’s roof. Far in the distance lay the sea, the blue water disappearing into haze. Ships, their sails white against the sky, passed along the coast. Behind us were dry and arid mountains. The boy pointed at a grey line, far below us, that ran beside the shoreline.

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

The boy smiled, pantomimed people walking, riding.

‘A road?’

He nodded, but I didn’t know if he understood me. I wanted to ask the boy where the road went, but I could not speak his language.

In the distance, to the east, were distant flashes, like the sun glinting from roofs. A town. I wished I knew its name, and wondered if it was the town of the Wayhouse. But I had no idea where I was. All I knew was that I had come a long, long way from my home.

––––––––

F
rom his mattress on the floor, TeSin snored loudly. Will tossed restlessly, trying to ignore the noise. The room was too hot. That was the trouble with these little attic bedrooms tucked into the eaves, they caught the heat from the house and kept one awake. Besides, whenever he closed his eyes he thought of Jed and Ma Evans and felt sick.

He opened the window, inhaled cool air. The scent of wood-smoke and salt was refreshing.

‘Best go in.’ A woman’s voice, speaking low.

‘Ah, there’s no hurry,’ replied Jed.

Jed could never keep his voice down. Will sighed. Maybe he could pour a bucket of water on them? Nay, that would rouse everyone, and besides, he was tired. Leaving the window open, he went back to bed. But Jed’s voice floated in through the window and made it hard to fall asleep.

Will put a pillow over his head to shut out the sound. Tried to think of soothing noises, like waves against a shoreline or forest-leaves a-tremble, but no, now all he could think of was Ma Evans leaning over Jed as he lay naked in the straw. How could this woman do this thing? With her sons so recently dead, this seemed...what? Insensitive? Immoral? Yet, Jed was a grown man, she was a grown woman. Will pushed the pillow from his face. Adulthood seemed mighty complicated. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it yet.

‘That’s enough, big man,’ said the woman. ‘Night’s getting old. Best we go in.’

‘Stay and speak with me a while?’ Jed sounded suddenly sad, as if he did not want to be alone.

‘Why? What’s to speak about?’

‘Gwen. I want to know all about you.’

‘Why? You’ll be gone on the morrow. ‘Sides, telling tales rekindles old memories. Memories can be like doors, Jed. And some doors are best unopened.’ Ma Evans stopped.

‘Well, answer me this, then,’ Jed asked. ‘How did you and your lads come to be living in that tower yonder?’

‘Sure, and that’s easy enough to answer. Tower belonged to my husband’s family.’

‘Your husband? Gwen — are you
married
?’ Jed sounded alarmed. Which, Will thought, remembering the reputation of the dead Evans brothers, he might well be. For if the sons were harsh, what would their father be like?

‘Aye, I was. Rhys passed away five year ago now. Since then, it’s been just me and my lads. One afternoon he came in to the hotel where I worked. Him and his men. Walked out with me.’ She sighed. ‘We were married near on twenty years. Ah, he was a good man. Bad-tempered at times. Comes of living so close to the wild waves, I think. But we rubbed along well enough.’ She paused. ‘We had four strong lads. All gone now, all dead.’

‘Gwen,’ Jed spoke softly, ‘When I was very young, I lost my Ma. Tell you what I think? Ain’t no sense in mourning over-long. The dead don’t thank you. Best to get out there, live life. Make the most of the time you have.’

‘Aye. You’re right. My boys wouldn’t want me grieving.’ Yet her voice sounded sad.