Trinity (13 page)

Kiana slowly turned on the spot,
taking in the next section of the fresco. It showed the building of
a castle. Her breath caught in her throat: she had seen the castle
before in dreams and had drawn a crude image of it over and over.
“Is that Orholt?”

Nidan stood alongside her. “I
guess it must be.”

Kiana kept looking, her gaze raced
over the images: people flocking to the castle, a group of fourteen
men with a single crown painted above them, the three gods looking
down upon the castle. She covered her mouth with her hands. Ysia’s
form had been dashed out of the wall, leaving an ugly gash of
exposed grey stone.

In the next section, three figures
had been painted: two women and a man. Above them were the gods,
connected to the figures by strands of red. Once again, Ysia’s
image had been mutilated.

When she turned her gaze to the
next image, Kiana fell to her knees. She saw Miale. Dead. Standing
over Miale was a man depicted with the head of a wolf. The wolf’s
maw was open, its eyes mad and staring. It was inhuman, hideous.
Why hadn’t they drawn the man with a human face?

In the next image, the wolf-headed
man was surrounded by men with swords, one of which had run him
through. Even though it was only a painting, Kiana could feel the
hatred that had been poured into it. She could see it in the facial
expressions of the warriors and the inhuman face of Miale’s killer.
A thousand years old and the hatred was still so clear.

She covered her face with her
hands. “I don’t want to see anymore!” But she knew she had to if
she was going to get answers.

At that moment, the door opened.
Kiana didn’t look up. Footsteps walked slowly into the room and
there was a metallic clang as something large and heavy was placed
on the flagstones. Kiana heard the splash of water being poured.
She could look at the fresco later. Get her answers later. After a
bath. After food. After rest.

*

It was late afternoon. The shadows
in the forest were beginning to deepen, but there was still no sign
of Kiana and Nidan returning. Spending the night alone wasn’t a
problem; if anything, it would be less stressful. From his vantage
point in the forest to the east of the village, Skaric could see
the tall wooden walls of Norlea. Wisps of light grey smoke rose
from within the walls, the only sign of life except for the two
guards that stood outside of the gates.

Skaric smiled as his horse ambled
closer and used its large face to nudge and nuzzle his hand,
searching for something more interesting than brambles and
leaves.

“
Sorry, girl. No
treats.” Skaric absently stroked the white star on the horse’s
otherwise black face. Its hair was short, coarse and smelled musty.
It also stank of garlic, but Skaric had gotten so used to the
bittersweet scent that he barely noticed it. He used his leg to
push away from the tree that he had been leaning against and
scooped up the horse’s reins. It was best if he headed deeper into
the forest before settling down for the night.

Skaric hadn’t gone far when the
sound of light footsteps caught his attention. He froze. The horse
carried on moving, its hoof falls sounding achingly loud as they
clattered over loose stones on the ground. The horse bumped into
him, knocking him forward a couple of footsteps before it stopped
and let out a loud snort. Skaric turned and pressed his hand
against the animal’s nose. The warmth of its breath was wet against
Skaric’s hand as he tried to listen. The footsteps were moving
parallel to him, and he could also hear a high voice singing,
pretty and youthful.

Skaric secured the horse to a
solid looking tree branch and ducked behind the cover of a thorny
bush. He had no time to get further away or to conceal the
horse.

Moments later, the owner of the
footsteps—a dark-haired girl of perhaps nine or ten—wandered past
his position. She was dressed in simple hand woven clothes and
carried a wicker basket. Skaric could just see that it held a small
handful of rich red berries. He held his breath as the girl paused
a few paces away from him in order to pick berries from a nearby
bush. Then she moved on a short way, singing a cheerful ditty to
herself, innocently oblivious to the horse that stood through the
trees a short distance away.

Move away
.

The girl paused at a tree and
stared up at it. Her face lit up as she grinned. Skaric followed
her gaze and saw a brightly-coloured bird sitting on a high up
branch preening itself. Suddenly, the girl set her basket down and
began to climb. Surprisingly, she was a swift climber. From where
he was, Skaric could watch her quick ascent. The bird cocked its
head and looked at her but made no move to fly away.

Skaric’s heart hammered as he continued to watch.
Get down!

The girl began to edge along the
branch that the bird was perched on, her arms and legs hugging
beneath her. She stopped midway along and reached out to the bird.
It looked at her, seemed willing to accept her friendship for the
briefest of moments and then stretched its wings in flight. Skaric
could clearly hear the girl’s sob of annoyance before she began to
edge backwards along the branch.

Get
down
.

There was sickening crack and a
scream filled the air. Skaric couldn’t breathe. The girl’s body hit
the ground with a dull thud, followed immediately by the sharp tap
of the branch. The girl lay motionless.

Skaric waited. Surely her scream
would bring someone running. He counted sixty heartbeats. Nothing.
She couldn’t be alone… could she? Sixty heartbeats more. The sound
of blood rushing through Skaric’s veins drowned out the other
sounds of the forest. He forced his thoughts to calm, made himself
listen. He could hear his horse snuffling through the undergrowth,
the creak of branches being tussled by the breeze and the
background buzz of insects. No footsteps. No one was coming. The
girl was alone.

Cursing under his breath, Skaric
left the safety of his hiding place and slowly approached the girl.
Her left leg lay at an odd angle to her body, the ground beneath
her head was stained with blood and her nose was slowly bleeding.
It was only when Skaric was directly beside her, looking down upon
her broken form, that he could see she was still breathing.

He
knelt beside her and gently patted her cheek. The girl’s eyes
remained closed, her face completely relaxed.
Walk away
. She
wasn’t his problem. Skaric stared at her and the blood escaping her
injury.
A Wolf would walk
away.
He shook his head. He
couldn’t let her die.

“
Why did you come
out here alone?” Who was he talking to: an unconscious girl or
himself? There was no one to convince that he was about to do the
right thing.

Skaric ripped the right sleeve
from his shirt and gently lifted her head. The blood was flowing
more freely from her skull than he had first thought. He folded the
sleeve up and held it tightly against the wound, dismayed that it
quickly became drenched. If he did leave her, she would be dead by
the time anyone came looking for her. Skaric picked her up and
cradled her against his chest. She was surprisingly light.

“
You’re an idiot,
Skaric. A fool.”

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t
leave her to die. Not now. Everything had changed.

Skaric carried her towards his
horse. Why had things changed? Days ago he wouldn’t have cared. She
wasn’t a Wolf and wasn’t his concern. He might have even put her
out of her misery.

Why had things changed? Gently, he
placed her over the saddle and untied the horse. He began to lead
the animal towards the village, walking at its shoulder so that he
could keep one hand on the girl’s back.

Why
had
things changed? Because his enemy had shown him
compassion? Or because he had stared death in the eyes and been
afraid? It didn’t matter. Letting her die would be callous. He
wasn’t that person anymore.

As soon as Skaric approached the
gates, one of the guards pulled his sword free of its scabbard and
held it towards him. The other quickly vanished inside the gate,
and less than a heartbeat later, Skaric heard urgent shouting. He
grimaced as his gaze dipped to a crossbow that stood propped up
against the gate. He couldn’t leave the girl and run, not unless he
wanted an arrow planted in his back. Were his chances any better if
he stayed put?

“
She fell,”
Skaric said in as loud and brave a voice as he could muster. “Do
you have a healer inside?”

The gate opened and the guard
reappeared followed by several men, all of whom stared at him,
their faces twisted into grotesque snarls.

“
Wolf!”

“
What did you do
to her?”

“
She fell.”
Skaric’s mouth had become dry, whilst his heart was beating
rapidly. At least against Berend the odds had been slightly fairer.
“She’s bleeding badly. I think her leg is broken. She needs a
healer.”

None of the men believed him. He
was a Wolf. They obviously thought he was stupid. Common sense
didn’t matter; they only saw one thing—a Wolf standing at their
gates. He really was an idiot.

Despite every nerve in his body
crying out for him to do something, Skaric stood stock still as the
men formed a tight circle around him. He held his hands high to
show that he was completely unarmed as the girl was lifted from the
horse and carried inside the gate. If they had any sense, they
would fetch Nidan. He would heal her. He would make her all
right.

Skaric felt the weight of a heavy
fist slam into his back, quickly followed by a kick at the back of
his right knee. His leg buckled and he dropped to the ground. He
could plead for mercy. They weren’t Wolves; they would listen.
Skaric groaned as a boot struck his cheek.

No, they wouldn’t listen.

Their shouts filled the air as more men stepped forward to
assault him. Magic. He could use magic. Destroy them all. Take the
life from those behind him to kill those in front. Bitter bile rose
in Skaric’s throat as his stomach somersaulted. His skin had gone
cold. He couldn’t use magic. He couldn’t kill them.
Idiot!

Skaric was kicked repeatedly in
the legs, stomach and face. He took the punishment kneeling down
for as long as he could. Their jeers, snarls and attacks grew
fiercer, battering his body, wearing down his mind. Skaric allowed
himself to collapse. Sharp pain overrode his senses. He drew his
knees up to his chest and covered his face with his arms. He didn’t
make a sound; he simply endured the beating. Gradually his body
became numb.

Suddenly, Skaric felt strong hands
close around his arms, pulling them roughly behind his back. He was
pulled to his feet. Two men held him upright, one on either side.
Skaric could just see that there were more people standing outside
the gate, mostly men, but there were some women as well. The man
immediately in front of Skaric punched him hard in the face. For a
while, Skaric stared the man in the eyes; cold hatred stared back
at him. The people around him were shouting, cheering the attacker
on. The punches became more and more frenzied, harder and harder.
Skaric heard his cheekbone crack but oddly, he felt very little
pain at all in his body; he just felt a strange numbness as though
he wasn’t really physical at all. Maybe he deserved what was
happening to him.

Skaric’s vision was blurred and
kept fading in and out. Had another man stepped in front of him? It
was hard to tell. One angry face looked like another.

“
Bring him
inside.”

It was a voice he hadn’t heard
yet. It was authoritative. Why would they take him inside? Couldn’t
they kill him there?

Skaric was pushed forward. His legs refused to move so the men
dragged him instead. Once within the walls, he was pulled fully
upright again. Out of the corner of his right eye, he dimly saw
Kiana walk out of a twin circular building. The colour drained from
her face and her mouth dropped open. She took a few steps
forward.
Please don’t.
Skaric managed the slightest shake of
his head. She stopped.
Thank
Ysia
.

“
Lock him up.”
The authoritative voice spoke again. “We’ll decide his fate once we
know if Innogen is going to live.”

Innogen. Skaric would have smiled
if any of his muscles had been willing to respond to his commands.
There was nothing to decide. They would kill him, but at least, he
knew the name of the girl he was going to die for.

*

Kiana’s muscles twitched as she
heard the guard close the heavy lock with a clunk, which was loud
even through the wooden door behind her. Or maybe it was because it
was so silent inside the storeroom, now a makeshift prison. Kiana
was holding a lit torch in her shaking hand. The sweet smell of oil
overpowered the room quickly, as did the heat of the flame. She
laid the torch down on the earthen ground away from the mudbrick
walls. Could mudbricks burn? Kiana didn’t want to find out. The
flames continued to burn brightly. They danced and guttered,
creating eerie moving shapes that lurched around the room in a
grotesque dance.

Skaric lay against the back wall,
his arms and legs cruelly hogtied behind him. Kiana clenched her
trembling hands; her feet wouldn’t move. In the ever-shifting
light, she could see that Skaric’s face was a swollen, bloody and
blackened mess. The skin on his arms and hands was equally
battered. Kiana’s stomach recoiled from the sight.