Vengeance

CHAPTER 43

Wil had alkoyl, Tali was sure of it. And alkoyl ignited combustible materials at a touch. But the Living Blade was swinging back. There wasn’t time to think things through — only to pray that it would work.

‘Wil!’ she yelled. ‘Run your alkoyl across the ground.’

‘What’s she talking about?’ said the captain. ‘What’s Wil got? Check him, Borst.’

The yellow-haired guard made a lunge for Wil, who twisted the cap off a platina tube and scuttled away, dribbling green alkoyl across the sulphur ground from one mud pit to the other.

The ground seethed up knee-high in yellow foam, caught fire and the sulphur burnt with a towering red flame and dense clouds of white smoke. A breeze drifted it into the faces of the guards, who began to reel about, gasping and choking.

Tali brought her elbow up into the throat of the man holding her, doubling him over, then ducked under the Living Blade and drove her head into the captain’s belly. He went over backwards, dropping the blade, which sang as it cut into the sulphurous ground.

She dived on it and tried to wrench it free, but the Living Blade sent such a shock through her fingers that she could not hold it.

Whoomph! Alkoyl must have eaten through the upper layer of sulphur and melted that which lay below, for a yellow geyser erupted upwards from the centre of the flame, a fountain of molten sulphur burning bright as the sun and blasting up for fifty feet. Fire crept in a blocking line from pond to pond and Tali saw her chance … though if it went wrong she would be cooked.

She hobbled towards the lowest part of the line of fire, praying that she could get there before it erupted. Then she ran, held her breath and dived through the belching smoke, and made it. Wisps of white smoke clung to her face and hair, stinging her eyes, nose and mouth, and when she took her first breath it carved a searing track down to her lungs. Coughing out stinging saliva, she darted away.

‘After her,’ gasped the captain. ‘For your families’ lives.’

The guards hesitated on the other side of the line of fire, afraid to follow. A beaky-nosed fellow gathered his courage and ran, but as he soared above the fire it erupted in a molten sulphur geyser which lifted him high and tumbled him about, blazing like a moth in a flame. He was dead before he thudded to the ground and the other guards drew back. The fire was now yards high and extended from one mud pool to the next, blocking the track and cutting them off from Tali.

Wil was standing by himself, his arms stretched out towards her and his mouth working, though she could not make out what he was saying over the roaring of the fires. And Orlyk’s squad was not far away.

As she turned to go, Wil came flying out of the flames, his mouth gaping and his remaining hair shrivelled, to land sprawling on the crusted ground. He had skinned both knees and blood was running down his shins, but he did not appear to have noticed.

He swivelled his head from side to side as if using some otherworldly sense, then his empty eye sockets fixed on her. The brilliant light threw his face into high contrast. His cheeks and chin were dotted with faded scars, his single nostril was bleeding again and clusters of brown nodules were growing in his eye sockets.

‘Take Wil with you,’ he said, craning his head and upper body forwards, raptly. ‘Wil special.’

‘I don’t think — ’

‘Wil saved you twice now.’

‘Twice?’ said Tali. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘All put to death in your place. You owe Wil.’

His words chilled her. The first time she met him he had mentioned people being put to death, but what did in her place mean?

There was no time to ask, and the last thing she wanted was the company of a blind madman who had visions, yet without Wil’s swift action the captain would be packing her head in a bag and taking it back to Cython. How could she refuse him?

‘This way,’ she said, turning in the direction of Caulderon.

Wil reached out to her like a shy youth. She took his cracked hand, uncomfortably.

‘Where you going?’ he said in a childlike, breathy voice.

‘I don’t know,’ she lied.

‘Wil the Sump, they call me. Not respectful, is it?’

‘No,’ Tali said absently, checking for lanterns. The enemy could not track her without light, though to conceal themselves they would open their lantern shutters as seldom as possible. Unless she kept watch every minute, she could miss them.

‘First to see the new book, Wil was,’ said Wil. ‘First to read it, too.’

‘What book was that?’ said Tali. Books were rare in Cython — at least, in the Pale Empound — though it was said the enemy had huge libraries containing hundreds of volumes.

His face took on a closed expression. It was remarkably mobile, considering he had no eyes.

‘Can’t tell you about the Solaces. You Pale, you our enemy.’

‘What are the Solaces?’ She had never heard the term before.

‘Secret books. They tell the stories of our past and our future.’

‘Who wrote them?’

He did not reply.

‘Why do you want to go with an enemy, Wil?’

He looked around as if afraid someone would overhear. ‘Touched the iron book, Wil did,’ said Wil in an awed whisper. ‘Saw you change the future.’

‘What iron book?’ She reminded herself that he was mad, and that, no matter how clever he had been in leading the enemy to her, his words might not mean anything.

‘Can’t speak of it. Contest still going. Have to see the ending.’

Tali shivered. ‘Did you see what was going to happen?’

He hugged himself around the chest. ‘Change the story, change the truth. Mustn’t touch it.’

‘What story?’

‘Saw it first.’ He let out a high-pitched laugh. ‘They can’t take that away. Earned his tattoo, Wil did. Wil is special.’

‘I believe you,’ said Tali, pitying the unfortunate man for a life so lowly that even the slaves had mocked him as they trudged by.

‘Not Wil’s fault,’ said Wil, his face crumpling. ‘Wil didn’t put them down.’

The chill was back. ‘Who, Wil?’

‘Matriarchs made Wil tell. Wil just protecting the ending. All those children, all those children.’

The fine hairs stood up on Tali’s arms. ‘Are you saying that children were killed instead of me?’

He crumpled to the ground, rolling over and over, his face covered by his forearms. ‘How was Wil to know? It wasn’t in shillilar.’

She could not stop here; the pursuit was too close. She lifted him and led him by the hand. ‘What have you done, Wil?’

‘Couldn’t let matriarchs find you.’ Wil moaned like an animal in a trap. ‘They kill you, it ruin the story. But ah, the children, the little children.’

She checked around her, saw no lights, then shook him. ‘When was this? Tell me!’

He could barely get the words out. ‘Twelve years ago. Lied to matriarchs. Had to protect the one. They must not change her story.’

‘What did you tell the matriarchs?’

‘That the one had black hair — olive skin — mother cleaned effluxors. Wil didn’t know,’ he said shrilly.

The hair stirred on Tali’s head as a childhood memory surfaced — screaming mothers, uproar among the effluxor slaves and a rebellion bloodily put down. Her own mother would never talk about it.

‘The matriarchs took other children in my place. How many?’

‘All the ones that fitted. Thirty-nine black-haired little girls. Put to death to prevent shillilar.’

It was dreadful, but she had to know why it had happened. ‘What is the shillilar?’

‘Not Wil’s fault. Why they make Wil watch? Horrible, horrible.’

‘All those little girls killed instead of me,’ Tali whispered. ‘Why, Wil? What am I supposed to do?’

‘Can’t say.’

‘Why not?’ she snapped, shaking him again.

‘Change the contest. Ruin the ending,’ said Wil. ‘Anyway, can’t remember.’

Obviously a lie. Perhaps Wil did that filthy work cleaning sumps as a penance for what he had done, but it could never be enough. How could anyone atone for thirty-nine black-haired girls killed in the place of one who was blonde?

Yet despite his protests, Wil still feasted on his discovery of her. Tali did not like him at all.

It prompted her to question everything she had done, though. What was it about her that created havoc wherever she went? Why did those innocent children have to die, that she should live? She’d had nothing to do with it, yet she felt an obligation to make up for the waste of their young lives. And her mother’s. And Mia’s. It strengthened the blood oath. She had to find a way.

They might have travelled a mile since the escape, but there was still a long way to go and in the dark she could not be sure she was going in the right direction.

‘Wil?’ she said. ‘How do you find your way around?’

He shrugged. ‘Just see, better than Wil could with eyes.’

‘Which way is Caulderon?’

He pointed to the left of her heading.

‘How far?’

He shrugged.

‘What about my enemies? The captain, and Orlyk? And Tinyhead?’

‘Can’t see own people.’

Damn! ‘Well, we’d better hurry if we’re to get to Caulderon before the sun comes up.’

‘Not going to Caulderon,’ said Wil.

It solved her problem. ‘I am. You can go wherever you want.’

She was turning away when he grabbed her with those hands that seemed too big for him.

‘Saved your life.’ Wil held her arms behind her back in a grip she could not break. ‘You Wil’s now.’

He had only hauled her a hundred yards when there was a soggy thud behind her and his grip relaxed. Tali turned to run but Orlyk dealt her an even harder blow. By the time she swam back to consciousness she was bound so tightly that there was no hope of escape.

‘I’m putting Mijl the pothecky in charge of you,’ said Orlyk, shining a glowstone lantern in Tali’s eyes. ‘She’s an expert in chymical pain: one whiff of her distillates sets the nerves ablaze, her congelas can etch the skin from living flesh, her refracts set living innards solid as stone. And unlike me,’ Orlyk bared her teeth in a sickening smile, ‘Mijl has good reason to hate Pale.’

Mijl, a small, sinewy woman with nostrils like mine tunnels and stubby, spatulate fingers, touched Tali on the temple with a yard-long glass tube as thick as a magian’s staff. Its rounded tip was thickly smeared with a brown substance.

Bright pain sparkled at the touch and slowly spread across Tali’s temples like a flame consuming a sheet of paper. She tried to brush the gunk off her forehead but a similar pain seared through her hand, which stiffened until she could not bend her fingers.

‘What was that for?’ gasped Tali.

‘Advance payment, slave,’ said the pothecky. ‘After interrogation in Cython, you will serve as a terrible warning to the other Pale. With congela, I will take the skin off and lay bare the living flesh. For every one of us who suffered in the shaft, and all those who died in the mud mire, and even for the traitor Sconts, you will feel every minute of their pain.’

The pothecky paused.

‘Then I will extract the cost of the destroyed sunstone from your living flesh with the distillate called red noddy. Then, for impersonating the slave, Lifka, I will bath you in a tincture reduced from a thousand girr-grubs. You will find it … exquisite.’