ARC: Sunstone (15 page)

III

Geve waited in the shadow of a doorway until Sarra was level with him, then reached out and yanked her in with him, placing a hand over her mouth.

Sarra fought him, but Geve whispered in her ear, “It is me,” and when she turned her head and saw who it was, she ceased to struggle. “Keep quiet,” he said. “You’re being followed.”

He removed his hand from her mouth, grabbed her arm and led her along the narrow passageway. They were on their way to meet the Veris in the Secundus Quarter, and Geve now knew he was being followed and was therefore sure that the Chief Select would definitely be having her followed too, whatever his reasons for his interest in her.

He led her out of the passageway and across the river. Lanterns here were few and far between and they stumbled often, but he knew it also meant the person trailing them would have more difficulty finding them. They threaded through darkened alleyways and dim rooms, doubling back and changing direction until he was sure they had lost their tail. Only then did he take her to the new meeting place, at the opposite end of the caverns to the previous time.

Sarra hadn’t said a word the whole time they were walking, and Geve had kept silent too. Turstan had come to find him the previous evening and had related that Comminor had called Sarra to his chamber. All night, Geve’s imagination had tortured him with what might be happening to her. Obviously the Chief Select had been unable – or unwilling – to wait for her any longer. What had he done when he found out she was pregnant? Was she lying dead right at that moment, or strapped down in the apothecary’s chair as he cut the baby from her? He had feared the worst and had hovered around the quay all night, waiting to see if they brought out a sack-covered body to send to the Burning Caves. But the next morning, she had walked out, crossed the quay and returned to the Primus District, and although she was still not big enough for the baby to be obvious beneath her loose tunic, Geve’s careful eyes had seen that the slight bump was still present.

That could only mean one thing, surely.

Geve’s hands had curled into fists and nausea had risen in his throat. He hadn’t followed her back to Primus but instead had remained on the quay, trying to deal with his jealousy and confusion about what this meant for the Veris.

Now, he felt a little calmer, but he couldn’t be sure he would stay that way once she began to tell her tale. He glanced across at her as they walked. Her head was down, her face pale. She looked tired and dispirited, and he longed to reach out and take her in his arms, stroke her hair, kiss her fears away. But he kept his distance. There was more at stake here than his love for her.

They arrived at the designated room, and Geve pulled back the curtain to let her enter. He followed her in. The other five were there, seated around a lantern, and Sarra walked over, took a place between Kytte and Amabil and sat quietly with her hands in her lap.

Geve sat next to Nele and they exchanged a glance.

“She was followed,” Geve confirmed. “We lost them before the river.”

Nele nodded. “We are all being watched. Comminor knows about the Veris, and clearly he knows we are all members.”

“But why have we not been arrested?” Amabil wanted to know. She glanced at Sarra, her thin face worried and sullen. “Everything was fine until Sarra came into the group.”

“And we will not start blaming anyone for the way things have gone,” Nele scolded. “Without Sarra we would have no hope of an escape, no way to make our dreams real. We have to trust each other. Comminor clearly knows about the Veris and about us, but obviously he is waiting to make his move.”

“Maybe he knows we meet, but he does not know why,” Kytte said.

“He knows,” said Sarra.

They all looked at her.

She licked her lips. “I think he knows because… I am certain he is a bard.”

Nele’s eyes widened. The others gasped. Geve’s heart seemed to stop.

“What makes you think that?” Nele asked carefully.

“He… talked in his sleep.” Sarra lowered her eyes and stared at the lantern.

Geve had meant to keep calm, to keep his emotions in check, but jealousy and anger bubbled out before he could stop them. “How could you?” he said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.

Nele put a hand on his arm. “What happened when he found out about the baby?” he asked her.

“He said he would look after the babe as if it were his own,” Sarra said.

They all stared.

“Truly?” Betune, her hand rising instinctively to the pouch around her neck that contained the acorn, spoke in a whisper of something like awe.

“So he said.” Sarra spoke calmly. She looked briefly at Geve, met his angry gaze and lifted her chin. She was refusing to feel guilty about what she’d done, he thought, and something twisted inside him.

“He wants you to be his mate?” Nele asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you believe him?”

She hesitated. “I do not know. He seemed sincere. He genuinely seemed to care for me. But can I be sure that he is not using me to get to the Veris? No, I cannot.”

“Of course he is using you!” Geve could no longer hold in his anger, and he shook off Nele’s hand. “How could you lay with him? You have heard the stories about his cruelty. He is harsh and heartless. It makes me sick to think of you with him.”

“I had no choice,” she snapped. “What do you think he would have done with me if I had refused him? Why would I refuse him?”

His hurt must have shown in his face, because she corrected herself, “I mean, why would a woman in my position refuse him? Nobody in their right minds would, and he knew that. He promised me a life of security, where I would be warm, well-fed, respected and loved. Whether that is true or not, it is not something any other woman would turn down. To do so would have aroused suspicion.”

Geve opened his mouth to tell her she was fooling herself. Comminor could have the pick of all the women in The Embers. Rich ones, beautiful ones, clever ones. He could bring them all running with a snap of his fingers. Why would he choose Sarra – a penniless daughter of a leather merchant, skinny and carrying another man’s child?

And yet as he sat there and saw her eyes blaze, her defiant and courageous spirit rising up to meet his, the words faded on his lips and he found himself speechless. Something shone within her, radiating forth like the sun he had once hoped to see, and although he could not put it into words, he knew Comminor had seen it also, and had wanted it for himself. Could he really blame the man for that?

Nele cleared his throat. “You said he talked in his sleep?”

She tore her eyes away from Geve’s. “Yes. He spoke of birds in the sky, and clouds and the White Eye being the moon. And he said the word ‘Arbor’.”

Kytte raised a hand to cover her mouth. The others looked distressed.

“How do we know he had not heard these words from someone else?” Turstan said.

“Have you seen his private chamber?” Sarra asked him. When he shook his head, she continued, “It has stars on the ceiling. And a tapestry on the wall representing grass and the sky and the sea, and animals on the Surface. I cannot be sure – maybe you are right and he knows of these things through someone else, but I think he commissioned that tapestry because of his dreams. I think he has heard of the Veris and he is curious because he did not realise there were others like him.”

Nele raised his eyebrows. “So what are you saying? That he wants to meet us to compare notes?”

She blushed. “No, of course not. I think he likes his position here, and the thought of someone leading everyone else to freedom would mean the end of his control. I do not think he is quite the ogre that the rumours say, but equally I think he has no qualms about quashing those who stand in his way.”

Nele gave her a firm look. “You must tell us now, Sarra, what your plans are. We do not know what lies outside the Embers or how dangerous our journey would be, especially for someone in your condition. If you stay here, perhaps Comminor tells the truth and he will look after you and keep you healthy and well. I would not blame you if you could not turn your back on that. But we need to know. Because if you plan to do so, we must call an end to the Veris now, before we are found.”

Geve watched her. She looked down at her hands, studied them in the light from the lantern. He sensed that maybe she had been asking herself the same question, maybe ever since Comminor had first shown interest in her. His heart ached. Why had he not been born a Select, privileged and able to offer her a better life? Why would she choose him, and an uncertain life for her child, over security and safety?

She lifted her head. He could almost hear everyone holding their breath.

“I cannot say I am not tempted,” she said. “He was kind to me, and I find it difficult to believe everything he said was a lie and the affection he showed me was just a ruse to earn my trust before he made me tell him about the Veris. But… I cannot be sure.” She hesitated. “There is no doubt that many women have had their pregnancies terminated, and that has been at his command. He explained to me last night how he has to control the population because of our limited resources. But he said so coldly, with no sign of emotion behind it. Part of me fears that he is able to be cruel one minute, tender the next. That scares me more than the animal they have made him out to be.”

She rested her hand on her belly. “The dreams are getting stronger, more vivid, as the baby grows. I can feel the wind on my face, the rain, see the clouds in the sky. I can feel myself standing beneath the Arbor, and I look up and see its leaves shaking in the breeze.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “The sun streams through them and scatters golden fragments across my arms and face. And… I know this sounds strange, but I can feel its love.”

Relief showed in her face as the others nodded, Geve included. He, too, had dreamed of the Arbor and felt enveloped in the warmth of its love.

“The Arbor wants us, needs us,” she said. “We must get to the Surface.” Her eyes blazed. “This urge within me to take my child there overwhelms every other feeling I have. It overpowers me, makes me shake with its intensity. I have to go. It is as simple as that. It does not matter if Comminor promises me all the gold and food in the Embers, none of it could replace the feel of the sun on my face as it has been in my dreams.”

Geve felt dizzy with a mixture of emotions; relief that she had not changed her mind, exultancy that they were still to escape, and a strange kind of despair that lingered at the thought of her in Comminor’s arms, lying with him. She had promised herself to him, Geve, if they made it to the Surface. He thought she might even honour that promise, would do so for her child’s sake. But at that moment, he knew she did not – and probably never would – love him.

The thought settled over him like ash.

Nele nodded. “It is done, then.” He shifted on the ground, making himself comfortable. “Let us make our plans.”

CHAPTER TEN

I

Horada reined Mara in and sat looking ahead of her at the Forest of Bream. It stretched to her left and right for many miles, the road she was on leading straight into the trees, bisecting the finger of woods that separated Esberg to the north and Ransberg to the south.

She could, of course, go around the forest. Although she usually liked being amongst the trees, her experience in the hamlet had suggested she was better in the open air, and she felt nervous at the thought of entering the woods again.

However riding around them would mean a detour of probably two days either north or south, time she could ill afford to waste. The urge to get to Heartwood seemed to increase with every minute, and the memory of Cinereo’s words and the way the Incendi had nearly set fire to the inn made her think she should not loiter just because of an uneasy feeling.

Mara pranced beneath her, clearly picking up on her tension. She patted her neck, trying to think calm thoughts. She would ride as quickly as she could through the trees, and before she even realised it, she would be on the other side. She was only three days’ ride from Heartwood now, and it wouldn’t be long before she was in the presence of the great Arbor, and she would be able to take advice from the council and others who knew far more about the problems of the Incendi than herself.

Lifting her chin, firming her resolve, she kicked her heels gently into Mara’s flanks and the horse trotted forward.

The forest closed around her in a swathe of green. The air smelled of mulching leaves, rich loam and the freshness of new growth. The trees – mainly oaks, some beeches and ash – shook in the light breeze, and she could almost taste green on her tongue, making her mouth water, like the tang of metal in the air when riding nearby a forge.

Her mother had once confided she felt uneasy in forests, stating they were like graveyards and smelled of death and decay, the trees like tombstones and the air unnaturally still. She had admitted that had a lot to do with spending much of her time walking the walls of Heartwood, high up, open to the elements and with panoramic views in every direction, or on patrol on the Wall, where the north wind blew across wild plains and nobody could creep up on you without being seen from miles away. Forests lent themselves to stealth and secrets, and Horada could understand her mother’s dislike, even if she didn’t feel the same. She felt the opposite, and had always thought of them as nurseries, focussing on the new buds and twigs instead of the dead leaves underfoot, and thinking of the ancient trees as caring for the newborn seedlings.

That day, though, for the first time she thought she could understand Procella’s wariness. The trees whispered, looming above her, and the undergrowth seemed filled with shadows, with plenty of places for people to hide. Where were the animals, the rabbits and squirrels, the numerous crawling insects, the birds that usually hopped from branch to branch, following her with interest? The smell of rotting leaves rose up to fill her senses, and she couldn’t stop thinking of the way the leaves were falling to the floor to decay. Why did everything suddenly smell of death?

Her heart pounded as she rode, her mouth going dry with nerves, although she didn’t dare stop for a drink. She felt frustrated at the slow pace, but she couldn’t speed up because the path zigzagged through the trees. Clearly, it had not been tended for a while. What had happened to the forest rangers who maintained the roads, the poachers and hunters who knew the natural pathways almost as well as the animals? She had worried that Mara might fall into a trap, but after a while the feeling grew on her that nobody had passed through the forest for a long while. That in itself was worrying.

Branches reached across to whip her face, and Mara stumbled occasionally on fallen logs and vines that snaked across the path. Horada let her go at her own pace, the last thing she wanted was for her horse to break a leg.

For a while she rode quietly, stiff and tense in the saddle, but as nothing happened and the sun climbed high in the sky she began to relax and think maybe she had imagined that the danger would be greater within the trees. Cinereo hadn’t said thus, had just said she should be wary of her connection to the Arbor, and she had assumed he meant that being in the presence of trees would make it worse. She was being foolish, she told herself – she had to be careful not to let her imagination run away with her. A permanent optimist, she made herself roll back her shoulders and let the dappled sun fall on her face, let the fresh smell of nature fill her nostrils.

She had just thought she must be about halfway through the forest when she felt it: a presence behind her, a feeling of being watched, so clear and sharp it sent a frisson up her spine and made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end.

She turned in the saddle and looked over her shoulder, searching the trees. For a moment she could see nothing and thought, again, she had imagined it. And then, far off into the distance, she saw it.

Fire.

Her heart seemed to rise into her throat and choke her as the reddish-orange glow flared in the trees. The forest was on fire, and even as she watched, she saw it spread from left to right, the dry brush and dead leaves catching light and flaring to reach for the higher twigs and branches.

It was too late to conceal herself – they knew she was there, and camouflage wouldn’t save her against fire. She kicked her heels into Mara’s sides and urged, “On, Mara!” The horse leapt forward, and Horada leaned close to Mara’s neck to avoid the branches whipping above her head.

Glancing over her shoulder as the horse thundered through the trees, Horada felt panic flood through her at the sight of the red-tinged greenery. The sound of crackling as the flames chomped on the undergrowth rose in her ears. For the first time, smoke filled her nostrils, and as she looked forward, she saw the fire spreading in her peripheral vision.

Heart in her mouth, she urged the horse on. Mara needed little encouragement. Clearly she could hear the fire and smell the smoke too. Her ears flat to her head, nostrils flaring and mouth flecked with foam, she wove through the trees, leaping over fallen trunks and skilfully dodging the branches that seemed to reach out to grasp them.

For the first time in her life, Horada felt that the forest was working against her, trying to slow her down. Twigs caught at her clothing and hair, vines threatened to catch around her neck, and only staying low and close to Mara saved her from being snagged and pulled from the horse.

It could not be much further, she thought desperately. Instinct told her the edge of the forest wasn’t far, and yet the trees clustered close ahead of her, with no sign of daylight to lift her spirits. Though she knew it was sunny, the canopy of leaves above her head grew dense and thick, and here deep in the forest there were no rays to light their way. Shadows loomed, reached grey hands for her, while the fire clawed its way forward like a huge beast dragging itself on flaming arms, closing around her until she could feel the heat on her skin.

Mara whinnied, and a moment later Horada thought she heard someone call to her right. She risked lifting her head a little and saw through the darkness of the trees an even darker shape – a figure in a black cloak, riding low like herself, matching her speed. Her heart rose into her mouth again, but even as panic swept over her, she heard him call, “Horada!”

It was Julen, she realised – her brother must have been tracking her, and had seen the fire and knew she was in danger. She would have turned the horse towards him, but she didn’t want to interrupt Mara’s agile dodging of the trees, and instead just called back, “Julen!”

He called something else, but she had to duck again to avoid a branch and missed his words.
Brother!
she thought, but could not find the breath to shout. The knowledge that he had come to find her – while annoying in one way that he hadn’t trusted her alone – made her heart swell. He had always looked out for her. How had he found her? She had thought she’d covered her tracks well. But she was relieved he had used his tracking skills to hunt her down. If only she could exit the forest, she thought maybe she would ask him to go with her to Heartwood.

On her right, he moved closer through the trees, his horse matching her pace, but still the forest refused to part ahead of her, remaining a wall of green like a tidal wave coming to sweep over her. The fire crackled loudly behind her, hot on Mara’s heels, and the horse’s eyes shone white with fear. Horada urged her on, patting her neck, but the horse had been running hard for some time now and Horada wasn’t sure how much speed she had left in her.

“Not much further, not much further,” she said to herself, although she couldn’t be sure. Julen had closed the distance between them, and now she could see him just feet away, his horse weaving the same as hers, avoiding the uneven pattern of trees. She managed a glance across and saw his grim face, his frown of concentration.

“Faster!” he yelled, and she kicked her heels, let the horse feel her own panic.

Heat wafted over her, smothering in its intensity. Tree trunks fell and ash rained down on them both, soft as snow but smudging black on her skin. The forest was burning. The forest was burning and she was going to burn along with it.

Was that a glimmer of light through the trees ahead? Her heart lifted. “We are nearly there,” she urged Mara. “Come on!”

Heat engulfed her, and she risked a glance back over her shoulder, only to fill with panic at the sight of the bushes only feet behind them bursting into flames. The fire was spreading at an incredible rate, clearly unnatural, and for a moment she thought she could see the shapes of creatures in the flames, figures running on two legs, racing on four, crashing through the undergrowth after her.

She wasn’t going to make it. Even as the thought filled her head, in her mind’s eye she saw a vision of Cinereo as he had appeared to her in the hamlet, cloaked in grey.

“Ride, Horada,” he whispered on the wind, and the ground trembled and the air thrummed with a low humming like the reverberation of a bell.

The Arbor
, she thought. The Arbor was sending her what power it could to aid her flight. She would make it. Light angled through the trees ahead of her, welcoming arms of sunshine to encourage her into the daylight. The trees cracked, crackled and burned, but she was going to make it…

And then Mara stumbled. Her stride broken, her pace slowed, and Horada screamed in frustration as the fire caught up with them.

The flames swept over her, enveloping her in a wall of heat. The world became a blur of scarlet and gold.

The last thing she remembered was seeing Julen’s horror-stricken face. And then everything faded away.

II

Demitto opened his eyes. For a moment he just lay there, bleary and groggy, trying to focus on the walls of the inn. His mouth felt like he had been licking the floor with it, and his head pounded. Had he been drinking the night before? For a moment he couldn’t think. He had drunk a few ales the night before they left Harlton, but since then he had been careful with his drink, wanting to stay alert, especially since the incident outside Realberg.

Finally able to focus on the ceiling, he lifted his head and looked at the bed next to his, where Tahir had lain the night before.

It was empty.

He glanced across the corner to the curtained-off area where the pisspot lay, but the curtain was drawn back, the small cubicle empty.

Alarm shot through him, but his body refused to respond. It took a few moments for him to push himself upright, wait for the room to stop spinning and then gingerly rise to his feet.

He padded out of the room and into the one next door, only to find that empty too. Catena’s bag and clothes were also gone.

She had taken the boy, he realised. Left him behind and gone who knew where.

He should have expected this. She had withdrawn from him over the past few days, but he had been so preoccupied with the news he received from the Nox Aves every day that he had assumed his talk with her had convinced her of the seriousness of the matter, and that she understood why it was imperative that the young prince accompany him to Heartwood.

Clearly, he had not conveyed his anxiety well enough.

Cursing, he returned to his room and quickly packed away his things. Hefting the bag onto his shoulder, he went downstairs, paid the innkeeper and discussed them delivering some of his belongings to Heartwood – mainly his ceremonial armour, and a few other bits and pieces that weren’t essential for the detour he was now going to have to make.

With just the one bag left, he headed out of the door. It was well into morning, the sun rising in the sky, the air already humid. Sweat dampened his tunic and did not improve his befuddlement. Catena must have drugged him, he thought as he made his way around to the stables. Annoyance and worry sharpened his wits a little, and while he waited for the stable lad to saddle his horse, he ate a bread roll and drank a cup of water, and that also helped him clear his head.

Where had they gone? He had no idea. He doubted Catena would have taken the boy back to Harlton. There would be no welcoming committee waiting there for him, no flags hung out on his return. His father, the King, would only be embarrassed and angered that the sacrifice hadn’t gone ahead. Catena would be disgraced and removed from her position, and the boy probably sent straight back to Heartwood on a horse. Demitto couldn’t believe she wouldn’t think of that.

Equally she would not be taking him to Heartwood, of that he was certain. She had obviously hoped that if she spirited the boy away, he, Demitto, would lose heart and return to Heartwood to find someone to take Tahir’s place. She didn’t understand the vital role that they would all play in the coming confrontation – that they were all of them essential figures in the chess game that was coming together piece by piece. She didn’t understand because he hadn’t told her, worried about confiding too much, fearing she wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. And now he had lost her.

Cursing again under his breath, trying to stave off the guilt and panic that threatened to wash over him at the thought that he had failed the Nox Aves, he took the reins from the stable lad, mounted the horse and turned it to head south out of the city. She would either have gone east or west. His instincts told him west, into the bush. She was more comfortable there than he, and would feel more at home than she would in the wide open fields of east Laxony. Kicking his heels into his horse, he set off at a canter, scattering dogs, chickens and people in his path as he raced through the city centre.

Outside the walls, he headed south for a few miles before turning off towards the bush. The jungle undergrowth had already crept east to entangle the road, and the horse threaded through vines and lush palms for a while before it eventually became too dense to ride any further.

Demitto dismounted and withdrew the wooden pendant around his neck. Checking around him briefly, making sure he wasn’t being watched, he dropped to his knees and pressed the pendant into the soft earth.

As usual, for a few moments, nothing happened. The earth felt soft around his fingers, sticky from mulch and plant decay. The chirrup of cicadas sounded loud in his ears. The smell of rich loam filled his nostrils, and he closed his eyes, imagining he was reaching down into the ground, plunging his hands deep, deep into the earth, searching for the channels he knew ran from the Arbor to all corners of the world.

The connection, when it came, took his breath away, sharp and almost painful, as if he had plunged his hand into an icy stream or grabbed hold of a hot iron bar. He gasped, the energy washing over him, and he had to struggle to concentrate, the winds whipping at his consciousness. He was still under the influence of whatever drug Catena had given him, he thought, and if he wasn’t careful his mind would be torn to shreds. But he didn’t have the time to wait.

He focussed on Catena, imagining her long dark hair, braided and looped over her ears, her bright green eyes with the habitual frown between them, her firm mouth, set in its usual stubborn line. Almost immediately he found her, a few miles to the south-west, as he’d thought, in the heart of the jungle. He concentrated, tried to reach out to her. Her energy was still, like a stagnant pond. She wasn’t moving. Dead? His heart gave a strange thump. Her form gave a shallow pulse like a small ripple in the pond. No, not dead then. But not good. Not healthy.

He turned his attention to the Prince, imagining his face, his dark hair, and those strange, unsettling gold eyes. This time he could not make a connection. He stretched out his feelings into the energy channels like reaching out with a stick to grab something in a river, and for a brief moment he thought he felt a flicker of a presence far to the west, but then it vanished. Instinct told him the Prince wasn’t dead either. But something had come between him and the Arbor’s reach, cutting him off from contact.

Cursing again with a vast and colourful array of swear words, this time he switched direction and reached out to Heartwood. As he reached the boundaries of the city, he felt the usual dislocation, the movement beneath the earth of the channel junctions like cogs moving into place, the opening up of one time to another, three sides to the pyramid.

At the centre, he found the man he knew only as Cinereo. He knew Cinereo was a member of the Nox Aves, but he did not know his identity, which was kept secret because of the ever-present Incendi threat.

“Demitto,” Cinereo announced, appearing before him as a figure in a hooded grey cloak, criss-crossed with leather straps.

“My lord.” Demitto bowed his head.

“You have news?”

“I do, but not of the good kind, I am afraid. I have lost Tahir and Catena. I can feel the latter through the network, but the Prince’s presence is absent.”

Cinereo said nothing, but Demitto was sure he could feel his frustration flooding through the energy channels.

“You
must
find them,” the grey-cloaked figure insisted. “Time is not written in stone, emissary. Although the tablet may remain, its inscription has yet to be carved.”

“I understand.” Demitto’s head throbbed. He cursed himself silently for being foolish enough to let Catena drug him. Why had he not anticipated such an event?

“Do not berate yourself overmuch,” Cinereo said, his voice holding amusement and some gentleness.

“I should have anticipated something like this,” Demitto said bitterly. “I was wary of telling them too much because I thought it might scare them–”

“And it is always nice to be the one in the know,” Cinereo said, still sounding amused.

Demitto said nothing. It was true – he had enjoyed the knowledge he possessed, had coveted it, finding comfort and pride in knowing the Nox Aves had entrusted him to carry out their precious task. And now he had failed them. That was where pride got you.

“You have not failed,” Cinereo said as if reading his thoughts. “This is not the end, just a… setback.”

“I am sorry, nevertheless.”

The grey-cloaked figure gestured with his hand as if in dismissal. “Find the woman,” he said. “Then contact me again. I will help you locate the boy.” The cloaked figure shimmered. “I must go now. Farewell, emissary.”

“And you.” Demitto lifted the pendant free of the earth. The connection broke, the figure disappeared, and the deep humming in his ears stopped. He sat back, drenched in sweat, not realising until then how much heat had been flowing through him. The Incendi searched for him, knew he used the channels to contact the Nox Aves, but with the shield of fire that the Night Birds had created around his pendant, the fire elementals had not yet been able to hunt him down.

He retrieved his belongings from the horse, gave its rump a whack and watched it head back towards the city. Then, passing the handle of the bag over his head and resting it across his back, he set off into the bush.

It closed around him quickly like a green fog, cloying and suffocating with its heat and humidity. Demitto hated the bush. He longed for the wide open countryside: the breeze that played across the high hills, the fields of golden wheat that rippled, the wide rivers and narrow streams that chattered over rocks to the sea. This knotted and tangled jungle was a nightmare from which he thought he would never wake. Vines wrapped themselves lovingly around his neck, choking him, while lush flowers and leaves tempted interest, belying their poisonous, deadly nature. He didn’t mind forests, with squirrels and foxes and badgers, cuckoos and owls, caterpillars and worms, but here the insects bit and burrowed into the skin, the shrill birds flaunted colour that seemed unnatural amongst the dull green of the bush, and the animals consisted of varying species of climbing furred creatures and insidious snakes that he secretly feared.

Still, this time in the jungle he had a purpose, and he focussed on Catena, stopping every now and again to plunge the pendant into the ground to search for her presence. In the end, he found her easily, only a couple of miles from the spot he had entered the bush.

Atavus lay next to her, but stood and shook himself as Demitto walked up. He had blood on his fur, but his tail wagged furiously, and his leaping about showed he wasn’t too badly hurt.

Demitto gave him a quick hug and kissed his head, then fell to his knees beside Catena, alarmed at the sight of the arrow shaft in her chest, the paleness of her face.

“Catena,” he murmured, lifting his bag to the ground and retrieving his water bag. He dribbled some of the water into her mouth and tapped her cheek lightly. “Catena?”

She stirred and opened her eyes. To his relief they didn’t look feverish.

“Demitto?” she mumbled. She turned her head and looked around. “Where is the Prince?”

“Gone,” he said.

She stared at him, and to his surprise, tears filled her green eyes like a river filling a rock pool. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “He was frightened – he is just a child. I did not think he deserved to die.”

“That is not your decision to make,” he said, more irritably than he had meant. He stroked her hair as a tear spilled down the side of her face. “But do not worry about that now. We will find him again. But first we have to get this arrow out of you.”

He took a roll of cloth from his bag, a bottle of whiskey and a jar of ointment. Straddling Catena’s limp form, he took his knife and ripped away her tunic to expose the wound.

“By the Arbor,” she swore as he tore almost to her waist, and she tried to cover herself weakly. “That was my best tunic. And do you really need to expose my entire chest?”

He pushed her hand away, needing to view the wound and with no patience for modesty at that moment. Atavus came forward for a look, sniffing at the wound.

The arrow was embedded several inches above her right breast, deep in her shoulder. Demitto braced his left hand on her arm, knelt all his weight on the rest of her so she could not move. “On the count of three,” he instructed. She nodded, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“One,” he said. “Two.” And pulled.

The shaft slid out, and to his relief it was not barbed or it would have brought half her shoulder with it. She screamed and then sobbed, making Atavus nuzzle her ear, but Demitto ignored her pain for a moment, pouring water onto the wound to clean it, then finishing with some of the whiskey, sighing at the thought of wasting the drink. He smoothed a fingerful of ointment from the jar onto the pad of cloth and placed that over the wound, then bound it to her shoulder, winding the bandages around her arm and chest and knotting it securely.

The last thing he did was to place his hand over the wound and push the pendant back into the earth. For a few minutes he channelled the Arbor’s energy into her shoulder, aware of her watching him, and knowing she must be able to feel the heat that flooded between them. He finished by placing his hand briefly on Atavus, hoping that the heat would heal the wound the animal had obviously suffered to his ribs, probably from a firm kick.

He pulled her to a sitting position. She turned and spat a mouthful of blood and spittle onto the grass, then grabbed his whiskey bottle and took a large swallow, ignoring his raised eyebrow. Finally she gestured to her bag and said hoarsely, “Please find me another tunic so I do not have to ride on with my breasts out for the world to see.”

Smiling wryly, he fetched her tunic and helped her take the old one off and replace it with the new.

“How do you feel?” he asked, pleased to see some colour back in her face.

She rolled her shoulder, winced and gave him a curious look. “It is sore, but not as bad as it should be. What did you do to me?”

“Made you better.” He did not elaborate and got to his feet, took her other hand and helped her up. “We should be going.” He hefted her bag onto his back along with his own.

“Where?” she asked, puzzled. “I do not know where the Prince is. They carried him off, and I could not even tell you which direction.”

“We will head west,” he said. “Towards the mountains. Something tells me the timelines are converging there.”

“The timelines?”

“Yes,” he said, turning and walking off into the undergrowth, Atavus at his side. “We are going to rescue Tahir. And then we are going to save the world.”