Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell Page 14

  ‘I was tired,’ I said, my voice tart. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Harvesting natron. Are you here to work?’ he asked, nodding at my clothes.

  I nodded. ‘Why not? What do I do?’

  He passed me the flat metal object he held in his hand. ‘Bend and scrape, Your Highness.’

  I took it, biting back an irritated retort.

  Rodden went to find another scraper and I watched the other workers for a moment. There didn’t seem to be much to it: scrape the white crust from the ground and deposit it in one of the clay trays that were scattered about. The villagers seemed to be avoiding the areas streaked with yellow and grey, so I did too.

  After a few minutes of scraping, the natron began to sting the tiny cuts and scratches on my hands worse than salt in a wound.

  ‘What’s so good about this stuff, anyway?’ I grumbled when Rodden returned. We worked side by side, prising the white crust from the floodplain, avoiding the veins of grey and yellow.

  ‘I’ll never understand the ruling classes. You’re surrounded by beautiful things every day and you don’t think to question where they came from or how they were made.’

  I clenched the scraper in my hand. ‘Do stop going on about it, Rodden. Every time I start feeling just like any other person, you have to go reminding me I’m not.’

  ‘I don’t forget so easily,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Do you really want to know about natron?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was something to take my mind off the baking hot sun.

  ‘The blue of the Pergamian standard,’ Rodden began, bent double with the scraper in his hand, ‘is the blue my father used to make. Verapinian blue.’

  I glanced at him, wondering if this was bringing up painful memories, but his face was impassive.

  ‘It’s a mixture of copper, lime, sand and natron, crushed together and heated in a furnace.’

  I leaned on the tip of my scraper. ‘This stuff, plus metal and sand, makes blue?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m astonished, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Doesn’t it seem an awful lot of bother, transporting natron all that way just to make some blue cloth?’

  ‘Can you see kings and queens – and princesses – dressing themselves in the drab colours of peasants?’

  I thought back to my own clothes over the years: scarlets and yellows and purples, the delicate blues and pinks of Lilith’s gowns. I hadn’t spared one thought for where the cloth had come from. It was just . . . there.

  ‘And it’s not just for dye. Natron is used for all sorts of things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Insect repellent, as you know. Soap, lamp oil, teeth cleanser, wound cleanser. It’s used to tan leather, preserve meat. My mother used it to bleach fabric. The glassblowers use it to make coloured glass and the potters in their ceramics. It’s also used in the rites for the dead.’

  ‘Really? How?’

  ‘It desiccates bodies and preserves them.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’

  ‘In Brivora you might bury your dead, or cremate them, but in some cultures that’s horribly disrespectful, as bad as leaving the bodies to wild animals.’

  ‘What do they do instead?’

  ‘Wrap them in cloth and entomb them.’

  I shuddered. ‘Sounds lonely.’ I wiped my stinging hands on my trousers. ‘Much more of this and you’ll be able to entomb me, no rites necessary. Would you look at that?’ I held out my reddened hand to Rodden.

  ‘Careful!’ He grabbed me before I could plant my foot in the middle of a vein of grey and yellow natron. ‘Those impurities in the natron. That’s bennium.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’

  ‘No, but if you stand in it you’ll get it mixed in with the sand.’

  I looked at the dirty crust on the ground. This was what we’d almost killed ourselves for: a patch of grey and yellow crystals. They seemed so insignificant.

  ‘But this is what we’ve come all this way for. Why aren’t we harvesting it right now?’

  ‘Because that would be rude to our hosts. We do a day’s labour. Then we collect the bennium.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Tonight. Before the sun sets and the dew falls. It’s best to harvest it at the end of the day.’

  I couldn’t help grinning at him. ‘The glass. The bennium. There’s just the yelinate to collect at the mines and we’ll be ready.’ I stood, arching my back. ‘It’s a good feeling, Rodden. It’s like we’re finally getting somewhere.’

  He gave me a sardonic smile. ‘Well, you’re not getting anywhere fast. Back to work. Did you think this was a holiday, Your –’ He caught himself. ‘Zeraphina?’

  I arched my eyebrow at him. ‘Thank you. And no, I was never under the impression that this was a holiday. The sleeping rough, living in constant fear, going unwashed for days, almost dying on several occasions. I figured it out.’ Sweat trickled down my forehead and into my eyes. I wiped my brow on my shoulder, not daring to touch my face with my hands.

  ‘We can have a holiday tomorrow, if you like. Do whatever you want. A sort of celebration for getting this far.’

  ‘Really? You wouldn’t rather we level a mountain or paint the sky pink?’

  He smiled. ‘We could perhaps sweep the desert of sand in the afternoon if we got bored.’

  ‘What I want,’ I said, staring at the dirt under my fingernails, ‘is to spend all day swimming in the oasis.’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’ He bowed, as if we were in court and I was in one of my finest dresses. ‘Now get back to work, princess.’

  I stayed by the oasis all day, lying on the banks, getting back in the water as I dried off and grew hot again. The water was deliciously cool with soft, squishy mud at the bottom, waist-deep near the edges and seemingly bottomless in the middle. Oilif had given me a linen bathing wrap. Weeks at sea and in Verapine had taken their toll on my skin: I’d tanned right through my clothes on the trek through the desert and was now a warm brown all over. What would Mother say? I lay on the grassy bank, squinting up at the sky and smiling to myself.

  The bennium was safely in our saddle bags: five small sacks of it, a dark crystalline substance. It would be enough to makes hundreds of arrow points once we had the yelinate.

  It was odd, this sense of accomplishment. I wasn’t used to it. Still smiling, I gazed at the dragonflies that hovered over the glassy surface of the oasis. Grasshoppers creaked and rustled in the reeds. On the far shore stood white cranes, their long black legs descending into the water, thin as twigs. Their heads bobbed this way and that on elegant necks as they scanned the water for titbits.

  I could almost pretend I didn’t have a care in the world.

  There was a mighty roar, and something large and dark flashed overhead before plunging into the water. The cranes leapt into the sky, honking. I snatched up my bow and had an arrow notched before the last bird had cleared the water.

  Rodden’s head and torso broke the surface. He shook the water from his hair and grinned at me.

  I sagged with relief. ‘I could have shot you,’ I called, putting my weapon down.

  ‘Well, I would have died happy in the knowledge that I’d impressed some battle-readiness on you.’

  I grabbed the bow again. ‘I can still shoot you – you’re a sitting duck right now,’ I threatened.

  He laughed and dived under the water. I watched him swim laps. The cranes watched him too, wary of this noisy, splashy intruder.

  Eventually Rodden emerged, dripping, and sat beside me on the grass. He pushed the water off his arms and legs as we had no towels. He wore trunks, but I hadn’t been this close to him when he’d been wearing so little and I didn’t quite know where to look.
‘When must we leave?’ I asked, sneaking glances at him. He had very long, brown limbs, lightly muscled. I longed to trace with my fingers the silvery scar that ran down his left thigh.

  Rodden cleared his throat with a strangled cough.

  Horrified, I realised I wasn’t concealing my thoughts, and my eyes snapped back to the oasis.

  ‘Tomorrow. The next day at the latest. I’ve hired us a guide who will escort us to Rilla, south of Pol, where we can get passage to Varlint and then on to Amentia.’

  I sighed. ‘Another sea-crossing.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rodden lay down and covered his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

  ‘Try not to kill yourself vomiting this time.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  I elbowed him in the ribs.

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’ But I couldn’t keep the smile from my voice.

  I sat back on my elbows. The only thing that spoils this afternoon, I thought, staring at the sky, are those damned buzzards.

  There were five of them, forever circling, as if waiting for something to drop dead. They’d been with us on and off all the way from Pol . . .

  I sat up, peering at the sky. ‘Rodden,’ I whispered.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Do you notice anything strange about those birds?’

  ‘What birds?’

  ‘The birds right above us.’

  Rodden let his arm fall back from his face and squinted up at the sky. Then he sat up. ‘Piss and blood,’ he swore. ‘Do you think they’re brants?’

  ‘They’ve followed us from Pol, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘I did. I said, “Oh look, the buzzards are back”. That’s what I thought they were. But look at their wingspan. They’re huge. Buzzards aren’t normally that big.’

  ‘How’s your cloaking?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, and mentally thickened the walls around my mind. ‘Do you think they have riders?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Let’s stop staring at them.’

  We looked at each other instead. Rodden’s jaw clenched. Harmings, here. My skin crawled as I imagined them looking down on us.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We go back to the village. Slowly. Don’t look up.’

  Fighting the urge to run or at least notch an arrow in my bow, we walked back to the huts.

  ‘Why haven’t they attacked yet?’ I hissed. ‘What are they waiting for?’

  ‘Put them out of your mind.’

  ‘But what do we do now?’ We had no yelbar. Only my bow and a crossbow Rodden had bought himself in Pol to defend ourselves with. We stared round at the Jarbin village: the flimsy reed and mud structures; the children playing tag among the bushes; the old women crouched in doorways, sewing. What had we brought to this peaceful place?

  Rodden looked grim. ‘We find Uwin.’

  We sat in our soggy bathing clothes on a reed mat. Oilif offered us tea and cordial, but Rodden shook his head, tight-lipped.

  Uwin regarded us with solemn eyes as Rodden explained what we’d seen. For once there was no glimmer of amusement on his face. I began to shiver in my damp clothes, though not from cold.

  Rodden reached the end of his short speech, and said one word over and over. ‘Lika.’

  ‘What’s lika?’ I asked.

  ‘“I’m sorry”,’ murmured Oilif, draping a blanket round my shoulders.

  I turned to Uwin, pressing a hand to my breast. ‘Lika.’ I felt wretched that we’d put the villagers in danger.

  Uwin shook his head and began to talk, addressing both Rodden and I though I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. The conversation went back and forth between the pair and I clenched my thumbs in my fists to prevent myself from crying out in frustration.

  Finally, Rodden turned to me. ‘He says once we’re alone in the desert with our guide, the harmings will attack. So he won’t give us a guide.’

  ‘Could we get to Rilla by ourselves?’

  ‘We’ll be killed. Five harmings on brants against two with no yelbar, we don’t stand a chance.’ Rodden glanced at Uwin, and then at me. ‘He wants to help us fight them.’

  ‘No. These people are dancers, not fighters. And besides, it’s our fight, not theirs. We can’t ask them to put themselves in danger.’

  Rodden repeated what I’d said. Uwin jutted his chin and motioned for us to follow him outside. He called out to a clutch of young men standing in the shade of an awning, and watched them, hands on hips, as they scattered, grabbing things from inside the huts. With a flick of his hand he bade us follow him to the eastern side of the oasis. Overhead I felt the birds tracking us. I called to Leap and Griffin with my mind, needing them close. Griffin alighted on my arm, wings hunched.

  ‘Griffin didn’t even know,’ I said to Rodden. ‘She could always sense harmings in Lharmell.’

  Rodden shook his head. ‘I’m a fool. I don’t know why I thought we could outwit them. We’re harmings, just like they are. They know exactly what we’re capable of and our weaknesses too.’

  I looked back and saw that the village men were following us, coils of rope and wickedly curved hooks in their hands. Their expressions were grim, and I remembered the ferocity of the sword dance in the desert.

  We entered a copse of trees, the canopy so thick it blocked out the sky. The harmings wouldn’t be able to see what we were up to.

  Uwin turned and called back to the men, and they jogged past us. On Uwin’s command they surrounded a dirty blob, eight feet tall, made entirely of mud.

  ‘What is that?’ I asked Rodden.

  ‘A termite mound. Stand back.’

  The men swung the metal hooks over their head, faster and faster. Each hook resembled an anchor, but barbed on four sides instead of two and twice a hand-span in size. Uwin barked a command and the men swung faster, so fast that the hooks became a blur. On his word they let fly; the barbs whistled through the air, wrapping around the mound and embedding with a dull thud. The men grasped the ropes and pulled. The mound imploded with a crack, sending up plumes of dust and termites.

  I hastened back as thousands of tiny pale bodies erupted out of the shattered earth.

  A whirring sound filled the air and I turned quickly, anticipating an attack from vengeful insects. Oilif stood with a half-dozen women, all whirling bolas above their heads. They were long ropes that split at the end into three cords tied with weights. I’d seen them for sale but never in action. Fascinated, I watched as Oilif cried out a command and the women flung the bolas. Six men, including Rodden and Uwin, found themselves hobbled as the ropes encircled their legs. Rodden grasped my shoulder for balance. He glanced around at the Jarbin, all straight-backed with ferocious expressions.

  ‘All right, then,’ he said.

  ‘There.’ I pointed to the eastern edge of the floodplain. ‘That’s where we surrender.’ I stood with Rodden, Uwin and Oilif on the edge of the village, hidden under the eave of a hut. ‘The trees surround that spit on three sides. They don’t give complete cover, but it should be enough.’

  Rodden turned to Uwin. ‘We might not kill them all. If a harming escapes back to Lharmell with the news the Jarbin have allied themselves with us, there will be nothing I can do to help you. Zeraphina and I must get back to Pergamia as quickly as possible.’

  Uwin bade us follow him to a mud-brick building. He waved the two guards aside and ushered us in. The afternoon light barely touched the room, but my rapidly adjusting eyes saw a tell-tale orange glow. Lining the walls of the room were swords, spears and daggers, all glowing faintly orange. Yelbar weapons.

  ‘Stars above,’ Rodden breathed, reaching for a sword and then thinking better of it.

  ‘They’re very old, but the
y’re in perfect condition,’ Oilif said. ‘There are tales, you see, of creatures that attacked and killed our ancestors, and only a special type of weapon would work against them. This stockpile has been maintained in case we ever need them again. We listen to our old stories, you see.’

  I turned to her. ‘You know how the truth about the Lharmellins has been suppressed on Brivora,’ I guessed.

  ‘I thought they were superstition and nonsense. But they’re not. The bennium draws them here from time to time. They froze the mountains to the north, but they cannot stop the monsoon.’

  I’d been right about the mountains. The Lharmellins had locked up all the water in the ice caps.

  I noticed she made no distinction between harmings and Lharmellins: she didn’t realise that the ones who froze the mountains and the ones who had come from the north to attack the Jarbin were two different creatures. They knew enough to keep the weapons, but not more. I didn’t want to disabuse her and the rest of the village of the notion, fearing she’d discover that Rodden and I were harmings too.

  She gazed at the weapons. ‘So we are not helpless after all. We have found ways of protecting ourselves.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Rodden said. ‘Pity there are no yelbar-tipped arrows in your armoury.’

  Oilif translated for Uwin, and the man snorted. He hefted a sword from the rack. Rodden and I stepped back instinctively. Uwin gazed at the weapon, the sharp metal lit from within. A harming wouldn’t hesitate to attack a sailor who carried a cutlass, but they would think twice about coming near the bearer of such a sword. I didn’t need anyone to translate Uwin’s words.

  Who needs arrows when you have this?

  With our weapons concealed in our packs, Rodden and I sauntered west of the village, unhurried. I had my bow and Rodden his crossbow. We each had a yelbar dagger, gifts from Uwin, sheathed at our belts. Rodden had taken them gingerly from the man, thanking him but suggesting quietly that I fetch our gloves. We hadn’t told the Jarbin of our harming blood, nor had they asked why the brant-riders were so interested in us. We let them assume that it was because we sought yelbar for the king of Pergamia. Which was half-true.