A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) (11 page)

‘How?’

‘They do not know who you are — they think you are just an ordinary girl. So we will feed them false images — Dana eating. Dana sleeping. And one of us will always stand on watch.’

I felt such sudden relief that I wanted to cry. ‘Can you really do this?’

Suzanna looked at Rob. ‘Of course. We are Guardians, after all.’

‘Thank you.’ Tears ran down my eyes, but I smiled, anyway. ‘Oh, thank you!’ I stopped. ‘They spoke of something, or someone. The Kamaye. Do you know what that is?’

Rob shook his head. ‘There is naught else on this ship beside yourself, the sailors and the magicians. But if we find anything, we will let you know. Likely, they were trying to scare you.’

Suzanna and Rob appeared familiar. ‘When were you Guardians?’

Robert looked surprised. ‘Near on three hundred years ago. Suzie came after me.’

‘I was his wife.’

‘She follows me everywhere.’

‘Someone needs to tidy up after you, you great lummox.’

‘I’ve heard of you,’ I said, staring at Robert. That beaked nose, the craggy eyebrows. There was a portrait in the long gallery. He had worn a green doublet, and carried something. What was it? A square, or a sextant, or something.

‘You were the craftsman king,’ I said, suddenly. ‘You built the outer walls.’ I turned to Suzanna. ‘And you designed the pleasure wood.’

‘Fancy that, Rob! All these years gone by, and still they remember.’

The King touched his wife’s cheek gently. ‘Ah, no one could forget you, Suzie.’

***

T
he time seem to creep by. During the day, light filtered through the deck planks so the world seemed bounded in strips of sunshine. But when night came the darkness engulfed me and I felt that I was in a living tomb.

I thought of Jed, with his leathery face, his sudden, unlooked-for smile. I worried about N’tombe. Mostly, though, I thought of Will. I tried to remember each conversation: the lightness of his hands, his mouth, the joy of standing beside him. I missed him. Sometimes, the ache of his absence hurt so badly that I burrowed into the straw like an animal. Those times were the worst.

The ship seemed alive. The hull creaked, the water sloshed against the side. Feet trod the deck above. Some moved slowly, heavily, and others were light and quick, like a lad running a fast errand. I grew to know the footsteps of the sailors, heard them groaning as they pulled on a heavy rope, or calling sharply to each other in a strange tongue. There must be some sort of mechanism on the deck; from time to time I heard it clacking as feet trod a circle on my roof.

I saw nothing more of my captors. If I hadn’t been fed and watered I might have thought they had forgotten me, except sometimes I felt their attention, a brief regard. This did not concern me overly; there was little enough to see, and besides, the Guardians had promised to keep them occupied.

My prison was not large. Seven paces long, three paces wide; a compartment below the deck. Sometimes I wanted to scream, or throw something at the walls, or beat my fists against the wooden decking. Anything to get a response. Anything would be better than this living burial.

But each time I drew breath to scream, I felt an invisible hand press over my mouth, and heard in my ear a soft whisper, ‘
Be strong’
. I tried to remember that although I felt most lonely, I was not alone. I had five souls about my wrist and sometimes they spoke with me. So I bit my lip and kept silent, but tears still filled my eyes, and sometimes I hid my face in the straw to keep from crying out.

Despair can only last so long. I began to chart some order to my world. I started scratching notches on the roof with an old nail to mark the days, adding a few scratches to mark the days I did not remember. The scratches amounted to seven. Only a week! But it felt much longer in my memory.

I tried exploring the ship with my mind. I sat cross-legged and told my legs not to cramp, my nose not to itch. Sometimes this worked; the world began to glow and it seemed this ship that confined me so closely was just a bark chip tossed about in a great teeming ocean. But then something would happen to bring me back to myself; a tickle, a sudden rock of the boat. The shock of returning to the darkness of my prison was worse than not being free at all.

So most of the time I preferred to rest in the dark and husband my strength. I dreamed a lot, also. My dreams were most instructive. It was in my dreams, I felt, that I was truly alive. Eventually, my imprisonment in the darkness began to feel like just another dream.

––––––––

I
t was daylight outside. Feet paced on the deck above, thump, thump. Where they walked, dust fell through the deck planks. You could see it twisting in the light. Dust falling! So exciting! Ignore your tears, Dana. They will pass.

Using knotholes in the wooden walls, I clambered up the sides of the cabin, pressed my face to the deck slats. Above me, red sails turned in the wind. Barrels, full of oily-smelling liquid, dripped onto the deck. A rope flicked across the deck and I flinched backwards, falling into straw.

I lay there for a time, just watching the light. My dreams were certainly becoming very strange. It was the beads about my wrist — now they’d established themselves they seemed to see my head as their own territory. Phileas, the singer, visited my dreams often. As did Robert, Suzanna and Adianna; a constant parade of people capering through my head.

Adianna had been the regent nearly four hundred years ago. Her husband had died fighting on the mainland, leaving her in charge of the Kingdom and their five-year-old son. And after the son had grown, she’d taken on the role of Guardian.

‘The current Guardian was growing frail. So I stepped in.’

‘You volunteered?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘what else could I do? My son, Owein, had grown and the Regency had long been dissolved. It seemed the best for all of us, really. Besides, I couldn’t stand his wife.’

I couldn’t imagine why someone would
volunteer
to be a Guardian, but to Adianna, becoming a Guardian wasn’t a death sentence; instead, it offered her independence.

‘I’d become used to being in charge,’ she said, ‘becoming Guardian was a natural progression.’

Phileas told me more of the history of the Guardians. Originally the Guardian was the person best fitted for the role — male, female, royal or common. Anyone was acceptable, provided they had the gift.

‘But the gift was most commonly found in those of the blood,’ Phileas said.

‘The blood?’

‘The royal family. Usually, that is. There are exceptions, of course. Rinpoche was one.’

‘I thought that the Guardian had to be the daughter of the King.’

Phileas laughed. ‘You’ve met Rinpoche?’

I nodded sadly. I missed the small man’s jolly smile, his laughter.

Phileas touched my hand gently. ‘Don’t be sad, Dana. He is one with the world now. Rinpoche was there when the necklace was newly made. Oh, there have always, always been Guardians. But the necklace — ah, now that came much later, with Rinpoche, for it was he who brought the ruby to the Kingdom. The ruby changed everything, of course. Rinpoche was one of the first of the souls who formed the Necklace. And he was male. Of course a Guardian can be a man.’

The evil dreams had not returned, but I still felt permanently on edge, like a thread that is pulled so tight it might snap. I was restless from inactivity. I needed an outlet — I needed
movement
. This room was so damn small.

When Will and I had begun sparring, we’d done slow exercises, a way of stretching into the activities. I could do this now. So I began to drill: lifting arms, breathing in; pushing down, breathing out. Twisting, rotating head and neck as far as one could go. Calming my breaths to match the movements. It was difficult to keep my balance against the movement of the ship, but that was good, because it added to the challenge.

What was it Will had said?

‘Imagine you are carrying a sword in two hands.’ He had lifted my arms above my head. ‘Bend your elbows. Turn your head. Now, lunge sideways, point the sword at the target. Slowly, slowly, breathing all the while.’

I had felt like an idiot at the time, as if I was dancing without music. Now, I was grateful for the teaching, because although I had no partner, I could still dance. I could still move. And when I moved, I felt that I was still me.

I practiced constantly, inventing new poses based on fighting postures. I had no weapons, but I imagined that I did; knives or staves. I imagined an opponent sometimes, which made the practice seem more like combat. At times, I could almost see my adversary and feel my weapons. One day the ship would reach the end of its voyage. When that day came, I wanted to be ready.

The exercises were tiring. Which was a good thing, for when tired I slept deeply. But not too deep for dreams; dreams came still, regardless.

***

A
canal ran through the town, its calm waters reflecting the sky. Wearing embroidered robes, men and women passed along stone paths beside the water. Trees arched over plastered walls and their blossom fell on the paths like snow.

It should be a peaceful scene: the blossom, the people in bright clothes, this gentle lapping of the stream against the walkway. Yet I felt tension, like the pressure of a storm building on a hot summer’s day. Something ominous and unseen was growing.

‘Here you see the town of Gusu.’ A woman in a white robe sat down beside me. She indicated the water at our feet, and the waves, splashing against the stone. ‘Famous for its canals and waterways.’

‘Are you a Guardian?’

She turned her head, smiled. ‘I am Wynne.’

Her face was lined, her hair silver-white. Her eyes seemed strangely aware and intensely blue against her pale face

Grasping my hand, she turned my palm over. ‘There are five of us on your wrist. I am the oldest.’ Lifting her face to the sky, she breathed in deeply. ‘It is pleasant to sit here. You miss the sun, don’t you, when the world turns dark?’

I nodded. Yes. I missed the light.

As she spoke, the calm waters of the canal trembled, creating tiny ripples. In the distance, thunder rumbled. The trees shook, scattering blossom. As the light leached away their branches looked like skeletons.

My pulse began to race. ‘What? What’s happening?’

Wynne squeezed my wrist tight. I couldn’t move. ‘Wait!’

Suddenly, the world turned pitch black. The thunder rolled again, louder and louder, as the ground rocked. I cried out, but could not hear my voice.

Wynne pulled me to my feet, dragging me along the pathway. ‘Careful! Behind you there’s a gate. Can you feel it?’

My fingers found cool smooth plaster — the wall.

Wynne stroked my hand across the plasterwork until I felt wood, slippery with polish. ‘Feel for the latch. So. Open the gate. Tell me, what do you see?’

I stood at the open gate and waved my hand in front of my eyes. ‘Nothing! It’s too dark. Please, can we go?’

A sudden gust of wind lifted my hair. I smelt smoke. Something was burning, but I could see no flames. The wind smelt of cooking flesh, pork roasting on a spit. I coughed, put my hand over my nose, trying to stop the stench. Ashes blew against my face like feathers. The air felt greasy.

‘Not yet. Feel along the inside of the wall. Careful how you go; you don’t want to trip.’

In the darkness, I stumbled and nearly fell. No. This was a dream. This was
my
dream. And, as though the dawn was coming, the world lightened to a pearly grey and I could see.

‘Very good. You are learning. Now tell me, what do you see?’

We stood in front of the smoldering remains of a house. Charred beams lay among piles of stone and shattered tiles. A blackened window frame stared out of the ruined house like an empty eye. Once, this had been a garden; the remains of trees and pots were broken on the cobbles. A heap of rags lay against the wall.

‘It’s all burnt down. There’s nothing here.’

But I was wrong. As if in answer to my voice, the rags moved, groaning. Against the bone-white wall crouched a man. He seemed to be trying to hide beneath his cloak. As if aware of our presence, he turned his face toward me.

Oh my God! His face!

‘Enough!’ I said. ‘Enough!’ I was sick of these Guardians, with their cold manner and their evil dreams.

Feeling nauseated, I rushed back through the door in the wall. I didn’t want to know what had happened in that horrible house that smelt of roasting flesh. I didn’t want to know about the town. And I definitely didn’t want to know about the man who crouched in the corner like a shivering dog.

He probably didn’t even know I was there. He certainly could not have seen me. Streams of thick red blood ran down his face, from the empty holes where his eyes should have been.

––––––––

‘L
ad, lad,’ Jed shook his shoulder. Will ignored him.

Dimly, he heard Jed telling the puzzled villagers about Dana, explaining she’d been taken captive by enemies who meant her harm. They murmured their sympathy as Will watched the empty sea. He’d been so foolish, thinking that all would be well. Nothing went well for him, ever.

‘Come on,’ said Jed, pulling Will around.

Will turned slowly, reluctant to stop staring at the distant horizon. You never know, he thought, maybe the ship will turn around. Maybe, I’ll see those sails reappearing. As they walked back along the rough beach, he stared at the sea, but saw only the unending waves and the wind.

‘We’ll find her, don’t worry,’ said Jed.

How would they find her? That ship could be heading anywhere in the world.

Will barely noticed when they reached the alehouse. Just an hour or so ago, he’d been drinking light-heartedly, thinking all the world was fine. What an idiot he had been.

‘Sit down, lad,’ Jed pressed him onto a bench and went inside.

Dully, Will watched the harbor. The sun was burning into the sea and the clouds were streaked with red and gold. The tide was coming in; more boats were afloat.