The Plains of Kallanash (16 page)

Her Companions eyed her with concern, but said nothing. The morning after, Morsha had asked her if she wanted to talk about it, but when she shook her head, Morsha simply nodded and it was never mentioned again. Only the Karninghold Slave insisted on asking questions, more than once, but Mia was adamant that she forgave Jonnor, it was a single lapse and she was not afraid of him, and had no apprehension of a repetition.

It was true, in fact. Jonnor had always had a temper, but he had never struck anyone before, not even Tella, who had routinely irritated him beyond endurance. It was clear, too, that he regretted it, and was trying to make amends.

She had never realised before just how little notice he had taken of her, but now that she had his full attention, she found it a little trying. He talked to her when she wanted to read, he persuaded her to eat when she insisted she was not hungry, he jumped up to fetch things for her and somehow he was always there, always intruding. Where Hurst’s company was restful and relaxing, Jonnor’s made her tense.

Eventually, with fairly roundabout hints, he asked if he could come to her room. She was glad to agree, hoping that sex would restore everything to normality, and bring her a respite from his excessive closeness.

Yet that too was different. Instead of the abrupt, half-drunken demands, he shared her bed and was tender and solicitous. He wondered hesitantly if there was anything she particularly liked. She asked him to stay all night and he did. She asked him to kiss her and he did. She dared not ask him to kiss anything but her mouth, but then she had Hurst for that, when she needed him. Still, it was so much better that the memory of his old ways faded almost as quickly as her bruises, and all her love for him rushed back. Here at last was the husband she had always wanted!

The best of it was that he liked their new habits too.

“May I kiss you a little?” he would say, pulling her close. “You are so soft and warm. This is so cosy, little wife,” he murmured in her ear as they drifted to sleep. “I love waking up with you,” he whispered in the dawn half-light.

It was perfect.

Then the blue arrows arrived and her world fell to pieces.

~~~

It was a strange day in more ways than one. Hurst had returned from the lines the previous day, so the three of them spent the morning going over household details. Mia was on edge in case a row erupted between the two men, but they were politely formal with each other.

They had not been there long when a servant came for Hurst; the Karninghold Slave wished to see him.

“What do you suppose that’s about?” Mia said after Hurst had left.

Jonnor shrugged. “No idea. Odd, though.”

Hurst was gone for some time, and returned distracted and unsettled, but he offered no explanation. And then, even more unusual, Jonnor was summoned too.

“What is going on?” Mia asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Hurst said, and indeed they did.

Jonnor burst through the door, his face a mask of hard anger.

Mia jumped up, sudden fear rushing through her, heart thundering, and backed as far as she could against the wall.

But Jonnor’s rage was all directed at Hurst. “You bastard! You devious lying bastard!” His voice was a low hiss, but he shook with anger. “Well, I won’t tamely lie down for this, make no mistake. Two can fight for that crown, you know.” He was waving his arms about, one hand clutching a vial of glass so dark it was almost black. “I’ll kill you, you bastard!”

“Brother, you’re terrifying Mia. Calm down a little.”

“Calm down!
Calm down!
” His voice began to rise. Then he looked across at Mia. “I suppose you cooked this up between the two of you, eh?”

“No, of course not!” Hurst said.

“Scheming bastards!”

“Mia knows nothing of this.”

“Oh, really? So in all those cosy nights in her bed, you never mentioned that you’d asked for the blue arrows?”

Mia gasped, hands over mouth.

“Well, she knows now,
cousin
. She knows exactly what kind of a
fucking
traitor you are! Fuck you, Hurst, fuck you to the Ninth Vortex and back!”

He hurled the vial against the wall behind Hurst’s head, where it shattered, a dark liquid trickling to the floor amidst the shards, and then stormed out.

Mia was frozen in shock and dread. She couldn’t speak. Hurst was rushing about, saying something, but she couldn’t take it in. Eventually he came over to her and grasped her arms.

“Don’t touch it, do you understand? It’s poison, you mustn’t go near it. I’ll go for cloths, I’ll clean it up, but you mustn’t touch it. Mia, do you understand? Do you?”

“You’re going to kill him,” she whispered. A stray tear trickled down one cheek.

“That’s for the Gods to decide,” he said. “Don’t go near the broken glass, all right?”

“You’re going to kill him.”

And then her tears overwhelmed her and she fled the room.

The whole Karninghold was on edge. Guards leapt out of Hurst’s way as he passed, servants pressed themselves against the walls and Skirmishers huddled in anxious knots, whispering together, only to break apart the instant he appeared and turn to their appointed tasks with studied industry. And Mia – his sweet Mia wept constantly. It almost broke his heart.

The Karninghold Slave called all of them together, the three Karningholders and their Companions, to explain how the arrows were supposed to work. Hurst thought the man was gloating a little, enjoying the drama. Or perhaps he just liked listening to his own voice. They sat in solemn rows in his office while he lectured them about the will of the Gods, and the ancestral traditions, and the irrevocable choice they were faced with, as if they could possibly be unaware of that. Irrevocable indeed.

The Slave droned on, but eventually he got to the practical aspects. Some of it Hurst had heard already at the Ring, and Jonnor seemed unsurprised by it too, but he saw the others concentrating hard to take it all in.

“The key point is this,” the Slave said for at least the tenth time, for there seemed to be many key points, “if anyone should be struck by a blue arrow and fall, do not go near, in fact keep well away, to avoid inhaling the miasma. The Gods cannot make a decision if more than one person falls, so stay well back.” His eyes glittered as he spoke. “A Slave should be the first person to attend the faller, since we are not so much affected by the miasma. Only when the Slave indicates it is safe should you go near the one who has fallen. But do not be concerned if anyone other than the target is struck and falls, for the Gods will be merciful in such a case.”

There were a number of Hundred Leaders at the Karninghold just then, and they came in united formality to Hurst, saluting with practised synchrony.

“We wanted you to know, Most High Commander,” their spokesman said, “that while we are not privy to the circumstances which caused you to take this step, we fully support you in this, as in everything, no matter what the outcome.”

“Thank you all for your understanding,” Hurst said, bowing. “I trust that you will also offer your support to Most High Commander Jonnor, should he choose to request the blue arrows.”

There was just the slightest hesitation before he replied. “Of course.”

~~~

Hurst had always known that Trimon would be the shooter, for he was by far the most skilled archer of the four of them. They only had three days before they all left for the lines again, leaving Jonnor at the Karninghold, and getting a clear shot would be difficult with everyone so jittery, but Trimon was keen to try.

“I can spit him any time you like, so let’s get this over with. He’s at the training grounds every afternoon, what do you say?”

Now that the moment had arrived, Hurst found himself reluctant to begin. “There’s no rush,” he said. “We have three years, after all. We can afford to let things settle down a bit. Besides, we only have three shots at this, we don’t want to waste any.”

“I think Trimon’s right, for once,” Gantor said. “Jonnor will undoubtedly send for his own blue arrows, but we have a chance to get in first and settle the matter once and for all. If Trimon can get a clean shot, I think he should seize the chance.”

As it happened, an opportunity came the next day during the regular afternoon training. One moment the ground was just the usual sea of men clashing swords or practising at the targets or running round the perimeter, the air abuzz with grunts and curses and shouted orders. The next moment an arrow whistled from an upper window full into Jonnor’s chest and he fell like a toppled tree. Silence rippled out from the spot where he lay, everyone turning to look, shocked. Then, forgetting the Slave’s instructions, two of his Companions raced across to him.

Gantor pushed through the mesmerised crowd, shouting in alarm, and Hurst followed in his wake. When they reached Jonnor’s still form, Cole and Torman were gabbling excitedly.

“He’s alive! It’s all right!” they shrieked, then they saw Hurst and their faces closed in.

“Was something unclear about the Slave’s orders?” yelled Gantor. “You were supposed to stay away!”

They looked a little sheepish. One of the Healing Slaves appeared then and confirmed that Jonnor was alive, for the moment.

“Now we must wait,” he said solemnly. “The Gods have not taken him – yet, but until he wakes up, the matter is in their hands.”

“But he’s alive!” yelled Torman.

“Blue arrows do not kill,” said the Slave. “Only the Gods may do that. In all the confusion, they may not yet have noticed him. When they do, they will decide.”

More Slaves appeared, and the Karninghold Slave conferred in whispers with the Healing Slave. He knelt down beside Jonnor and examined him. Then they all stood in a circle, waiting, and eventually Jonnor began to come round. Torman and Cole smirked at Hurst in triumph. Hurst had used one of his arrows, and he had failed to kill Jonnor.

The Karninghold Slave glowered at Cole and Torman.

“You have been lucky this time,” he said severely to them. “You could have been affected by the miasma, it is very dangerous to be so close.”

“What does it matter?” said Cole fiercely. “If he dies, we die too. What difference does it make?”

“You must leave such matters to the Gods,” the Slave said.

Hurst was more shaken by this than he had expected. He thought he was prepared for any outcome; he had planned for it, after all. Even though the shooting had been by Trimon’s hand, not his own, it was his actions, his decisions which had brought this about.

Yet he had been with Jonnor for ten years, they were brothers under the law and skirmish-brothers too, and seeing him laid out on the ground unconscious was surprisingly upsetting. No amount of preparation was sufficient for the reality. One of them would die, that was the truth of the matter. It was a sobering moment.

Gantor was more concerned with Jonnor’s Companions.

“We have a problem,” he said. “Trimon can pop arrows into Jonnor as accurately as you like, but it’s no use if those three kishorn are going to gather round him every time. And Cole’s right, they have nothing to lose by it. What do they care if they get knocked out by the miasma too? It doesn’t even matter much if they die. But it
does
matter if they interfere with the outcome for Jonnor.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” said Trimon. “It was difficult enough today to get a clear shot at him, but they’re going to hang around him even more, now. Whatever he’s doing, they’ll be right there.”

“We’ll think of something,” Gantor said.

~~~

Hurst was away at the lines for more than a week, but he returned to the same situation. Jonnor had asked for his own blue arrows, but had not yet received a reply.

“So we still have an opportunity to get in before he can,” said Walst, “although how we are to get him alone I can’t imagine.”

“I have an idea about that, actually,” Gantor said. “Jonnor goes off for meat in the high tower every evening, and Cole, Torman and Zanikor eat in the family hall and then go through to the guards’ quarters, and Jonnor often meets them there. They don’t wait for him, though…”

“Ah!” said Trimon. “So he crosses the courtyard on his own. Of course!”

“Yes. Is there enough light for a clear sighting, do you think?”

“Oh, sure, there are plenty of lamps. It might even still be light at this time of year. I’ll scout it out.”

And only two days later, Jonnor dropped like a stone at the foot of the steps leading away from the family hall. There was no one else around at the time, for all the servants and guards not on duty were settled somewhere for the evening, so Trimon himself had to go and find one of the Slaves, a task which proved rather difficult. It took him more than an hour, by which time Jonnor was beginning to come round.

“Another arrow wasted!” Gantor fumed. “We will have to be very careful with the last one.”

“Maybe the Gods don’t want to take Jonnor,” Hurst said with a shrug. “Maybe they want me instead.”

“Pfft! Stuff that!” said Gantor. “The Gods aren’t that stupid.”

~~~

Hurst had thought a great deal about the blue arrows themselves, and also about the way forward after Jonnor was dead. He had not thought at all about the awkwardness inherent in a marriage where the two husbands were openly trying to kill each other, but had not yet succeeded. Despite the situation, he and Jonnor and Mia still had to endure family communion, had to manage the Karning together, had to struggle through the stillness and eat meat together, had to sleep each night just feet apart in rooms without so much as a door for privacy. It was a strain on all of them.

Jonnor spoke not a single word to Hurst, addressing him through Mia where communication was essential. Mia had stopped crying whenever she saw either of them, although she was white-faced and red-eyed. She was unfailingly polite, but her manner was distant.

Hurst bitterly regretted the loss of her easy-going friendship which had brought him so much comfort over the years. Every time he saw her sitting, head drooped, he felt the pain of grief like a spear through his heart. He
wondered if it would better for all of them if he were to die instead of Jonnor, and began to consider taking the poison when Jonnor’s arrows arrived.

After a morning spent unproductively discussing some village problems, which none of them wished to leave the Karninghold to deal with, Jonnor stomped out, but Mia, to his surprise, lingered.

“May I talk to you?” she said hesitantly.

“Of course! Won’t you sit?”

She perched awkwardly on the edge of a chair. Hurst sat too, far enough away not to crowd her, and waited. She twisted her hands together, and he thought he had never seen her looking so wretched. He ached to take her in his arms, reassure her, comfort her, but he knew it was impossible. Nothing he could say would help.

Twice she started to speak, and then subsided, staring downwards.

“Mia? What is it?” he said gently. “You can say whatever you wish to me, you know.”

“I only… it’s just that… I wanted to know
why
,” she blurted. “I’d like to understand.”

“Of course,” he said at once, but inside he quailed. How could he tell her the truth?
I can’t bear the thought of never sleeping with you again? I basked in your sunshine for a little while, and the world is all darkness without you… I love you, I want you, I need you…
Would she understand it, even if he could say it?

“Was it because of—?” She waved one hand near her face where a tiny scar was the last remaining sign of Jonnor’s rage.

“No, no, not that. It was before that.”

“Oh. Because you said you weren’t going to…
So I thought it might have been… that something must have happened.
Did
something happen? Between you and Jonnor?”

“In a way. You remember after we came back from the quiet, you and I?”

“Yes. Jonnor asked you to teach me some things.”

“That’s right. To teach you. Well, I assumed that meant I could share you, and I knew
– well, you’d said once – that you wouldn’t mind that.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind.” She frowned, puzzled.

“But then when I asked about it, he wouldn’t. And… and…” He stopped. How could he explain?

“That was the reason? It was because of me?”

“Sort of. In a way. Well, no, not exactly. More because of Jonnor, his attitude to you. It just…”

He got up and began pacing the room, and she jumped up too, backing away a little.

He forced himself to be calm, and to sit again.

“I couldn’t bear it, Mia, and that’s the truth. For ten years, I waited, I hoped. Even after Tella died, it was all right. Jonnor and I had a deal, I would take charge of the lines and he would have you. I could cope with that, I didn’t know what I was missing. But then he asked me
– asked me! – to sleep with you, he let me have you for a little while and then he took you away again! It was more than I could bear. So I asked for the arrows.”

“So this is why you hate him.”

“Hate him? I don’t hate him! He’s put me in an intolerable position, and it has to be resolved, that’s all. I couldn’t go on that way, not after… not after holding you in my arms, not loving you as I do.”

There, he had said it. Her face was chalk-white, her eyes wide with shock. How could she not know? It was astonishing.

She was still standing, and now she moved restlessly to the window and looked down into the training grounds. Then with a little sigh she turned to face him, rigid, arms carefully folded.

“If it’s me you want,” she said, flushing slightly, “we can still do that. Like we did when Jonnor was at the lines. Would that be enough for you?”

She spoke evenly, but he wondered if she hated the thought now, if she were forcing herself to make the offer.

“No, because we could never tell Jonnor. We know how he reacts to that, don’t we?”

“He wouldn’t do that again!” she said fiercely.

“Perhaps, who knows? There is always that risk, we would never be comfortable about it. And keeping it secret would be worse, for he would find out eventually, and… No, it would never work.”