Slaves of the Mastery (36 page)

‘Your esteemed father,’ he explained, ‘has relinquished the throne to me. He and your mother are safe, and under my protection.’

Still Sisi did not speak. Zohon began to twitch the silver hammer in his right hand, not aware that he was doing so. There remained only one more thing to say. No doubt in her modesty it was
this she was waiting to hear, before lifting her veil and taking him in her arms.

‘I ask, my lady, for your hand in marriage.’

Slowly, at last, Sisi raised one hand, and drew the veil from her face. Zohon gazed at her in wonder. She was so beautiful! More beautiful than even he had ever dreamed!

‘My lady! May I dare hope –?’

He went down on one knee.

‘Stand up!’ commanded Sisi. ‘Never address me in this way again!’

Zohon turned a deep red, and rose to his feet.

‘My lady, I understood –’ he turned to glower at Kestrel, ‘that you shared my hopes.’

‘Kess! Did you tell this person that I had any interest in him of any kind?’

Kestrel marvelled at Sisi. She was so grand, so imperious.

‘I told him you would love the one who set you free,’ she said. ‘The one who made your country great again.’

‘There, my lady!’ Zohon recovered some of his composure. ‘Who but I can make our country great?’

‘Are you the heir to the throne?’ said Sisi with withering scorn. ‘I shall make our country great myself.’

Zohon gaped. He still couldn’t quite take in what was happening.

‘You reject my proposal?’

The Johdila inclined her queenly head.

‘Am I to be given a reason?’

‘You are a nothing,’ said Sisi. ‘I have no need of you. I have no interest in you. You may go now.’

The scene began to swim before Zohon’s eyes. His hands started to sweat, and he heard a galloping pounding noise in his ears. He struggled to speak, but hardly knew what to say. Then he
heard a muffled choking sound, followed by another like it. All at once he realised that everyone was laughing at him.

The red mist cleared from his brain. His mighty vanity came flooding back. He stood tall once more.

‘Draw your swords!’ he commanded his guards. ‘If anyone moves, kill them!’

He then gestured brusquely to two of his men.

‘Seize this woman! Hold her!’

Two officers stepped forward and grasped Sisi by either arm. Angrily, she shook her arms to release herself, but the guards did not let go. Zohon drew a long breath. He felt calm and strong once
more.

‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I will put my proposal to you in a different way.’ He spun his silver hammer round, so that the sharp steel blade was towards her. ‘You will
marry me, or you will die.’

‘Baby, no!’ cried Lunki, vibrating with horror.

No one else made a sound. They’re not laughing at me now, thought Zohon grimly. The Johdila stared back at him, her eyes ice-cool with defiance. She looked more beautiful than ever. What a
couple we’ll make, thought Zohon. How handsome our children will be!

‘Kill me, then!’ said Sisi.

Zohon blinked. For a second, his new-found confidence wavered. Then he understood.

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘Oh, I believe you. This is just the kind of battle you like best. An unarmed woman held helpless before you. What a fearful foe! How brave you must be to stand up to her!’

‘Be quiet!’

‘Let everyone see the Hammer of Gang strike his most glorious blow!’

‘Enough, I say!’ He lowered his blade. As he did so, he caught in her eyes a flash of contemptuous triumph. With that one look, all his stored love turned to hatred. As intensely as
he had wanted to kiss her and caress her before, he now wanted to hurt her. She had wounded him in his deepest heart, which is to say, in his pride, and now he wanted to humiliate her in return, to
take from her everything she had, to break her high spirit, to make her crawl and beg for forgiveness. He no longer wanted her to die. He wanted far more, and far worse. He wanted her to live, and
suffer, and regret. He wanted her to curse the day she lost his love, and with it all her chance of happiness.

As the hatred rose within him, he looked on her and marvelled at her beauty. It seemed to him that she taunted him with this beauty that he could not possess. Then the rising wave broke within
him, and hatred flooded his mind. With one quick movement, he swept his blade down her left cheek. A line of scarlet beads followed the blade, and swelled, and flowed into each other, and rolled
down her face. The watching people went still with shock, not moving, barely breathing.

‘I kill your beauty,’ said Zohon.

Sisi never so much as blinked. Instead, slowly, proudly, she turned her unmarked cheek towards him. Still defiant! With a second savage slash of his blade, Zohon cut that cheek too.

‘May the scars never heal!’

With these bitter words, he gestured to his men to release her, and strode back to his horse. Once in the saddle, he called in his commanding voice,

‘Ride on! There’s nothing worth having here!’

The Johjan Guards formed up, and rode away over the brow of the hill. Sisi stood where she had been left, the blood now streaming down both cheeks, and over her neck, to stain her white wedding
dress. Lunki hurried to her on one side, and Kestrel on the other, and they staunched the flow of blood with the sleeves and hems of their garments, and called for water, and washed her face and
neck. All this time, while Lunki sobbed and Kestrel issued commands, Sisi stood still, her eyes dry.

‘Get her something to drink! She’s trembling.’

‘Oh, my pet, oh, my sweetie, oh, my baby! All gone, all gone!’

‘The cuts are shallow, said Kestrel. ‘Look, the bleeding’s stopping already.’

‘But her sweet lovely face – oh, oh, oh!’

Ira Hath brought Sisi a cup of milk, and held it up to her lips. Sisi sipped a little.

‘You’re a very brave young woman,’ she said.

Sisi shivered. The wind was growing colder as dawn broke. All round the camp, people were rolling up their blankets and preparing to leave. Beyond the wagon, Creoth was milking his cows. The
driver was harnessing the horses.

‘Bring her a blanket,’ said Kestrel. They wrapped a blanket round Sisi’s thin trembling body. Lunki went on dabbing at the cuts on her cheeks until Sisi pushed her away.

‘Get me a mirror, Lunki. I want to see.’

‘No, baby, no. You don’t want to see.’

‘I do. Get me a mirror.’ It hurt her to talk. Lunki saw her wince, and wrung her fat hands with grief.

There were no mirrors. Kestrel poured water into a bowl, and when the water was still, Sisi bent over the bowl and looked at her reflection. She looked carefully, seeing how the two cuts ran in
converging diagonal lines from cheekbones to jaw, changing her appearance utterly. All the softness was gone, all the delicacy. She looked older, harder, wilder. The blood was congealing in two
irregular lines, dark red against her cold white skin.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kestrel.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Sisi quietly. ‘I can be me now.’

Kestrel bit her lip. Sisi’s quiet acceptance touched her more deeply than all Lunki’s wails and sobs. She saw her brother watching them, and knew he felt it too.

‘Can I still come with you?’

‘Of course. You can ride in the wagon.’

‘No, I’ll walk, like everyone else. Is it a very long way, where we’re going?’

‘Yes. A very long way.’

‘I’m glad.’ She looked round, and saw Bowman. She made a slight fleeting gesture towards her disfigured cheeks. ‘You don’t have to love me any more. You don’t
even have to talk to me. But I would like sometimes to talk to you.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Bowman.

Sisi tried to smile for him, but the smile hurt her wounded cheeks, and she had to stop.

‘I can’t even smile any more.’ She spoke without self-pity, as if her new state was an inconvenience that had very little to do with her. ‘How different everything is
going to be.’

T
he travellers were now ready, the wagon hitched, the firewood for the coming night gathered and stowed. A white sun was appearing over the hills
to the east, and there were flurries of snow in the air. Hanno Hath called them all together, and asked his wife to speak to them before they set out on their journey.

‘What can I say to you that I’ve not already said?’

She looked over the crowd of familiar faces, and saw there their hope, their fear.

‘We have very little time. The journey will be hard. But the homeland waits for us. We will be safe there.’

She stopped, because she had remembered her dream. She herself would not enter the homeland: these good people, her people, would go on without her. She did not tell them how her strength was
slowly but surely draining away.
My gift is my disease. I shall die of prophecy.

‘This is all that matters,’ she said, reaching out her arms as if to embrace them all. ‘That we hold together, and love each other. We are the Manth people. Let us make our own
Manth vow.’

Hanno Hath, understanding what she meant to do, took her left hand, and held out a hand to Bowman. Kestrel took her mother’s other hand. Pinto held Bowman’s hand, and called to Mumpo
to join her. Kestrel reached out for Sisi’s hand, and so Sisi joined the ever-growing chain. Sisi brought Lunki with her, and beside Lunki stood Creoth. Beside Mumpo was Mrs Chirish, and next
to her, little Scooch, and the Mimilith family, and Principal Pillish. And so they all joined hands, all thirty-two of them, and Ira Hath led them in the old familiar vow. Sisi, who had never heard
the words before, felt tears fill her eyes. She wasn’t crying for the wounds on her soft skin, or for the loss of her beauty. She was crying because the words seemed to come out of her own
longing, and to tell of a love she had never had.

‘Today begins my walk with you.’ They spoke together, their voices sounding softly in the cold air. ‘Where you go, I go. Where you stay, I stay. When you sleep, I will sleep.
When you rise, I will rise. I will pass my days within the sound of your voice, and my nights within the reach of your hand. And none shall come between us.’

So bound together, they pulled their coats close around them, and began their journey. They marched north, by the light of the rising sun. Snow was falling, lightly but steadily, small hard
flakes that stung the face and blew in swirling eddies over the stony ground. It was the first snowfall of the coming winter.

Volume III of
THE WIND ON FIRE

WILLIAM NICHOLSON

William Nicholson is one of the greatest and most imaginative writers of today and has won countless awards for his work in television, plays and films.
The Wind Singer
,
the first title in the Wind on Fire trilogy, won the Smarties Prize Gold Award and the Blue Peter Book Award. His latest novel,
Rich and Mad
– his first for teenage readers –
received much praise, and he has written several successful adult novels. He is an acclaimed Hollywood screenwriter; his work includes
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
, the Bafta award-winning
Shadowlands
, and
Gladiator
, for which he received his second Oscar nomination. William Nicholson lives in Sussex with his wife, Virginia, and their three children.