Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell Page 22

  My tone startled him. He dropped my arm. Without a backwards look I marched into the crowd.

  Someone handed me a cloak. I put it on and pulled up the hood. Then I stood very still.

  I shouldn’t try this. I might give myself away. But I had to know Griffin was safe. Breathing deep once, twice to steady my nerves, I sent a tendril of my mind eastwards, over the heads of the crowd. I was surrounded on all sides by harmings, Turned and otherwise. One slip and I would be dead.

  There she is.

  Griffin. Working hard for us. My heart swelled with pride. Good girl, I thought fiercely. The Turning place remained deserted. I felt Griffin fly from the copse into the cave, the leather cord tied around the lip of a sphere grasped in her talons. She hid the spheres behind rocks, on ledges – any place that would conceal them.

  I drew away with care and came back to myself. I looked around. No one was paying me the slightest attention. I could do it! I could conceal myself from them.

  I smelled blood and realised how hungry I was. I forced my way through the press of bodies until backs closed like a wall in front of me and I simply had to wait my turn. Finally a rough, unfired clay bowl was pressed into my hands. I tipped my head back and downed the scant mouthful. I handed back the bowl and shuffled off to the right with the rest. The amount was hardly sufficient but it soothed the dull ache of hunger that had been growing in my chest. It wasn’t until the crowd had thinned that I noticed what a funny taste it had.

  Horse, I thought. No, I could taste horses, but it wasn’t horse blood. I ran my tongue over the roof of my mouth, trying to discern the flavour. Cattle? No, that wasn’t right either. I tasted iron and fresh green grass and . . . bread?

  Farmer.

  My hand flew to my mouth. Oh no. No, no, no. What had I done? Of course it wasn’t animal blood they were handing out. It was –

  In the shadows cast by the rock face I saw them. Seven naked bodies strung up by their feet, arms dangling. Blood trickled over their wrists, dripping from their fingers and down over their chins. There were deep gashes in their necks, throats split ear to ear. I was close enough to see the shocked expressions in their eyes. Two of the bodies were small; children not yet into their tenth summers. Three were women. One was corpulent, the ropes cutting viciously into her ankles. I spotted the farmer, a man in his sixties, his hair greyed and his blue eyes clouded with age. All the bodies were streaked with dirt as if they had been dragged across the ground.

  As I watched, a harming crouched before the shallow dishes laid out beneath the dripping bodies. She ladled blood into the earthenware bowls and brought them to the waiting crowd.

  Horror and disgust was building up inside me, an uncontrollable wave that was about to burst forth and give me away. I tried to bite down on the feelings but they were too much. I couldn’t look away. Any second, someone was going to hear.

  A hand clamped on my shoulder and spun me round.

  ‘Come away,’ Rodden said. He reached for my hand.

  We weren’t supposed to be seen together. In all likelihood we were far more recognisable this way, after travelling so far together. I should have turned and marched in the other direction but my mind was churning and his hand holding mine was so warm. So comforting.

  ‘I drank blood,’ I whispered to him, voice shaking. ‘It was –’

  ‘Hush. I know. I saw.’ His voice was sympathetic. I saw he wore the backpack that contained the master glass.

  ‘I can’t believe I was so stupid. I feel sick. I feel like I’m going to –’

  We had only moved a few feet when it happened.

  ‘Hey!’ The exclamation was indignant, surprised. I looked up to see a man staring at us, frozen mid-stride, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  The face was familiar. I dropped Rodden’s hand, a guilty little gesture.

  It was Orrik, changed since we’d last seen him on board the Jessamine, hurling us overboard. His hair was black and his eyes paler.

  Rodden cursed.

  Orrik had seen us kill harmings with his own eyes. I looked around for somewhere for us to run. We were surrounded on all sides.

  He drew his cutlass. ‘The traitors!’ he screamed.

  I felt hundreds of pairs of eyes turn to look at us. Several more men drew their cutlasses and I recognised them as sailors from the Jessamine, too.

  The crowd began to close in around us, their voices growing in pitch and volume as word spread.

  I grasped Rodden’s arm and started backing away, feeling for my knife. I could see Rodden was reaching for his, too. We edged closer, standing back-to-back, weapons drawn.

  We should have realised the sailors might be here, and could recognise us. It seemed so unfair, to survive for this long only to be caught right before we could execute the final part of our plan. We’d travelled so far, been through so much to get here. And now it was over.

  Rodden began to say something to me, but it was too late. Harmings leapt for us. I swiped viciously with my knife, catching one on the arm. It reeled back, the wound smoking.

  They scrabbled at my clothing, tearing the cloak from my body. The knife was knocked from my hands. Ragged nails scratched at my skin. A hundred furious white-blue eyes danced around me. I opened my mouth to scream and a fist connected with my lower jaw. My teeth snapped painfully together and everything went black.

  Rodden’s breath, quick and fast. Cursing. The sounds of a beating. A cry of pain.

  My arms ached. They were raised over my head and bound tightly at the wrists. Sharp rocks poked my spine. The ground beneath my feet was hard and just as uneven. I was stiff with cold and my head ached horribly. I opened my eyes and for a moment thought it was night. Then I saw the rocky ceiling above. All around.

  The Turning place?

  We were inside a smaller cave, perhaps an offshoot of the main cavern. Several feet from me, three figures danced in the lamplight. A man was at their feet, his white shirt grimed and bloodied. As I watched, one of the figures aimed a kick at his head and he fell backwards. He landed with a thud at my feet and lay there gasping for air.

  ‘Rodden,’ I croaked.

  His eyes fluttered. Blood trickled over his face.

  A figure loomed towards us. I recognised Orrik.

  ‘The bitch is awake. Melf, where’s that bottle the master gave us?’

  ‘Why are you hurting him?’ I cried as one of the sailors dragged him away from me. Pain flashed through my jaw. Orrik took a bottle from one of the others and yanked out the cork. His hand gripped my hair and jerked my head back. The bottle was pressed against my lips and a bitter liquid flooded my mouth. I knew the taste. Laudanum. Fingers pinched my nose and the angle of my head meant I had to swallow or drown in a mouthful of liquid.

  I swallowed. Orrik forced the whole bottle down my throat and then flung the glass vessel against the wall of the cave. It exploded into bright blue shards. He turned back to Rodden.

  The whole bottle. I knew little about the drug but had heard that large doses were ill-advised. Dangerous, even. I doubted that he meant to kill me but, intent or not, it could be the result.

  More to the point, why was I chained to a wall, drugged and ignored while Rodden received the violent attention of a group of thugs? I recognised the others now as they again lay into Rodden with their boots and fists – they too were sailors from the Jessamine. I was the one who had killed the rabbits, not him. I was the one who had killed the Lharmellin leader. It didn’t make any sense.

  ‘Why are you hurting him?’ I called. I begged them to stop. I cried out to Rodden to defend himself but he was fairly insensible and able to do little but protect his head with his arms. I saw bruises and cuts on the faces of the sailors, evidence that, at the beginning at least, Rodden had fought back.

  After a while my arm
s stopped aching. My body felt light and a wave of warmth rolled up from the pit of my stomach. I still watched the scene before me but no longer had the energy or inclination to call out. Then another wave engulfed me and though I could have sworn my eyes were open, I could see nothing. Then they were closed and I saw too much. I felt cold, but too heavy to shiver. I was distantly aware of time passing. The lamplight was gone. Then it was back again. Rodden and the sailors disappeared.

  How odd, I thought, that I could see all this with my eyes closed, but nothing with them open.

  This didn’t bother me overmuch. I hadn’t a care in the world.

  I awoke with a gasp to utter darkness. A bolt of terror hit me. I was blind! The drug had done something to my eyes. I closed them, thinking that perhaps they were still broken and doing things backwards. More blackness. I began to shiver, great, teeth-clacking shivers that made my bruised jaw ache. I stared hard around the alcove, blinking rapidly. A shaft of pale yellow light fell across the entranceway and everything else snapped into focus. My racing heart slowed. Not blind. Just cold and alone and in the dark. The stupefaction had passed and I was again subject to terror, fear and pain. Everything was back to normal.

  A hollow ache in my chest indicated it had been several days since I had fed. I must have been unconscious for all that time. I had a sense of time passing, voices speaking around me. My arms, still tied above my head, ached. My fingers were cold and swollen and I was barely able to move them. I pulled weakly at the knots and the room began to spin. Leaning to the side, I retched bile, foul and bitter tasting. It reeked of laudanum. When the queasiness passed I straightened and looked around again.

  There was a shape on the floor ten feet away. ‘Rodden?’ I whispered. There was no response. I searched for the thread between us but the laudanum had dulled everything. I couldn’t feel the tors, but that might have been because they were sitting right on top of me. That thought brought on another wave of nausea and for a few minutes I concentrated my breathing so as not to not to be sick all over myself. When it passed I held my breath and strained forwards. I caught the sound of Rodden’s shallow breath and sagged with relief.

  I leaned back. So, Orrik was a harming. We hadn’t thought of that, which made us very stupid as we both knew that the Jessamine hadn’t made it to port. If I hadn’t been so shaken by the sight of the dead humans strung up by their ankles then we might not have been recognised. I mentally kicked myself. What had I expected them to eat? This was Lharmell.

  The sound of singing reached my ears, an inexpressibly sweet sound. The Lharmellins were chanting. Blood rushed to the surface of my skin, answering their call. The singing grew louder, the notes overlapping one another as they echoed off stone. Human voices joined the song – or rather, harming voices. The voices of those about to be Turned. I realised it was happening now. The Turning. Would we be forced to join them, or be thrown into the crowd and torn apart at the climax of the blood frenzy? I tried to imagine what would be worse. Once Turned, would I remember the things I had done this past year and loathe myself for having killed so many harmings? Worse, would I turn on the ones I loved? I imagined returning to the palace in Pergamia. Poisoning the wine at the high table with Lharmellin blood. The king a harming. My sister. Carmelina.

  My mind fled from this. Far better to be dead than commit such deeds.

  The backpack. Where could it be? Was there any possibility we would even be able to find it? Smashing the master glass with us inside the cave would be suicide but at least we would take many of them out with us. I wondered if I could bear to break it, knowing that Rodden and I would probably die too. I wondered if I would even be given the chance.

  Footsteps. The entranceway grew brighter. A figure appeared holding a lamp and a bucket. It was a man, tall and sallow with forearms as thick as tree branches and roughened with sparse black hairs. Blue veins stood out on his lined face, though his movements betrayed no stiffness. He paused to gaze down at Rodden and the look of relish on his grizzled features made my blood run cold.

  He placed the lamp on a ledge and dumped the contents of the bucket over Rodden. The water ran red with his blood. Rodden groaned, and struggled into a sitting position. There was dried blood on his top lip and chin and his face was a mess of bruises and swellings. The harming threw away the bucket and cut Rodden’s bindings. He winced in pain and relief as they fell away.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I croaked.

  Rodden’s head snapped up. He saw me tied to the wall and his eyes widened. He turned to the harming. ‘What is she doing here? This has nothing to do with her.’

  The man gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Come now. Are you very surprised?’ His voice was gravelly with age.

  I glanced between the two men. There was bitterness on Rodden’s face.

  ‘You know each other?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, we’re old friends,’ the man rasped, turning to me with a smile. The teeth that hadn’t yet dropped out of his head were black. His nose looked as if it had been broken several times. Puffy blue veins stood out all over his bald head. ‘Won’t you introduce us, my boy?’

  His father? But his father was dead.

  Rodden gave a heavy sigh. ‘Zeraphina, this is Levin Servilock.’

  EIGHTEEN

  ‘It’s you.’ I spluttered the words into the silence that ensued. Rodden had his face pressed against his knees. Servilock stood there grinning and looking between us. This was the man who had given Rodden Lharmellin blood. Who had made him kill his family and the girl he loved. A man clever enough to run a harming training enclave right in the middle of a city. And now he was here, in Lharmell.

  ‘You’re the new leader, aren’t you?’ I asked. My mind raced. ‘The way the harmings have changed their behaviour since we killed the Lharmellin leader – the way they seem more organised, more devious. That’s because of you. I’ve heard about you,’ I spat. ‘You’re a monster.’

  He gave Rodden a vicious kick to the ribs, eliciting a yelp of pain. ‘Say that again, girl.’

  I bit back my next words.

  ‘Very good.’ He paced around Rodden, looking down at him. ‘What a treat it is to have you both here. I knew my star pupil would return to me. I waited so long for him in Verapine, and then I thought, no. He won’t come back to me here. He’ll go to Lharmell. And it was here my real work began. I have galvanised the harmings into an inexorable force. Made them realise that they’re not slaves. That we are the ones with the true power, for we retain our human cunning. We are free to move about the world.’ He smiled his nasty smile. ‘And here you are, my boy.’ He looked up at me. ‘I must thank you, by the way. In the confusion and sorrow that followed the death of the Lharmellin leader I was able to take control of everything. All harmings look to me now.’

  ‘But do the Lharmellins? They don’t want to sing for you, do they? They’ve let Amentia become warm again.’

  His lip curled into a snarl. ‘They’ll comply. They’ll see this is the right way. The Turnings continue. The ice will follow.’ He produced a knife and looked down at Rodden. ‘Now, down to business.’

  My eyes widened. ‘No!’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What, this?’ he said, holding the weapon aloft. ‘Oh, it’s not for him, girl.’

  Rodden started. ‘No, you can’t –’ He was kicked again for his efforts and lay on the ground, gasping.

  Servilock approached me, crouching down to scrutinise my face. He was so close I could smell his fetid breath. ‘You’re not as pretty as the other one. She was milk and honey, all softness.’ His eyes roved over me. ‘You, you’re . . . pointy. As prickly as a kitten that can’t sheathe its claws.’

  He must have meant Ilona. Milk and honey. And I was pointy. Even now the comparison made my heart twist with jealousy. No wonder he didn’t love me.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘But you love him. That’s more than she di
d. Poor Rodden. I tried to tell him she was never going to marry him. He’s got such terrible taste in women, you see. They’re always landing him in trouble. Why, he wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for you. That’s right, isn’t it?’ he rasped. ‘Wasn’t this all your idea?’

  I seized upon his words. ‘Yes, it was me. I’m the one who killed the leader. This was all my idea. Let Rodden go, please. Throw me to the harmings. Let them rip me apart if that’s what you want. You’ve already done enough to Rodden.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said, considering my words. ‘Not a bad little speech.’ He turned to Rodden. ‘Your turn, my boy. Care to beg for her life?’

  Rodden’s face crumpled. ‘I’m sorry, Zeraphina.’ He seemed defeated.

  ‘What, is that all? But then, you never begged for Ilona’s life, either. It would have been strange if you had, though, since it was you who was killing her.’

  Rodden was silent, and it frightened me. It was as if he’d already given up.

  ‘Girl,’ he said, ‘you’re looking at the future ruler of Lharmell. He will take my place once I am gone. He will be even greater than me. I trained him to be so. Under harming rule, Lharmell has flourished this last year. More harmings. Enclaves throughout the land. Under Rodden, it will thrive.’

  ‘He’ll never be like you,’ I spat.

  Servilock smiled at me – a pitying smile. ‘We’d better get this started, don’t you think?’

  Rodden looked up in time to see Servilock drag the point of the knife across my chest.

  He scored me from collarbone to opposite shoulder. He grinned as he did it, his yellowed eyes bright. I screamed and kicked out at him, drowning out Rodden’s hollers of protest. My foot connected with the harming’s ribs and the knife jerked away. I writhed in my bindings. Blood soaked the front of my dress. How was this going to end? I couldn’t see a way out, not when Rodden had already given up.