A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) (13 page)

The Enchantress ... No. Best not think on that now. Best concentrate on Dana, where she was, how best to find her.

Set across from the quay, the chandlery was easy enough to find, marked as it was with the proprietor’s name, Bryn Jones, above the door. Two horses stood placidly at a hitching post at the front of the shop. Two chestnuts, well-formed, with dark manes. They stood at about sixteen hands. By the looks of them they were valuable animals, the sort of horse you might find in a king’s stable.

Will stiffened. ‘That’s...’

Jed looked at the animals, and swore. ‘By the seventh hell!’

These were Dana and N’tombe’s horses! Had the women been set on by horse thieves? A sudden rush of fury burst through him. Whoever had taken Dana would pay!

He wanted to scream, wanted to kill. The world seemed to turn orange and flicker at the edges, as if there was a fire barely banked and ready to burn. Grabbing his knives, he rushed into the store, Jed beside him.

Shelves of supplies, stretching away into the distance. A smell of hemp and cordage. Salt hams hung from hooks; barrels stacked three deep, containing rum or pickles or whiskey or somesuch. Everything one would need for a ship’s voyage. The place was empty and quiet, like a museum, or a library, save for the clerk at the desk and his customer.

‘I’ve killed you once!’ Will threw his knife, hard. Barely in time, the customer ducked. The knife stuck into the shelf-end, quivering. ‘And I can do it again.’ He advanced into the shop. Heard himself shouting as he sprinted towards the stranger, who waited for him, empty handed, by the counter.

‘Will!’ called Jed. ‘No!’

Too late. Will was on the man, pressed a knife against his neck. Ready to push the blade in, watch the bright blood flying. This time, he wouldn’t stab him in the chest, where a skilled surgeon might stem the injury. This time, he would slit the man’s throat so no one, no matter how skilled, could save him.

But first Will needed to know: where had this Noyan, named TeSin, sent Dana? And what was he planning to do with her?

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‘I
’m scared,’ I said.

‘Scared of your dreams?’

I looked at my fingers. Dirt, rubbed into the creases of my fingers. The nails chipped, rimmed with black. Hardly the hands of a Princess. ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

The dreams were so vivid: the colors, the sounds, even the smell. Emotions were stronger than reality – laughter, pleasure. Fear. My dreams were becoming all consuming. But it wasn’t just my dreams I feared; it was my waking hours also. There was something planned for me. Often, my chest burned as if a knife had entered my heart.

‘Dana.’ Adianna put her finger under my chin and tipped my head up so I could see her eyes. ‘They are your dreams, to be shaped by your will. If anything, those who have taken you should be afraid.’

That made me feel a little better.

‘What did you see that terrified you so badly?’

I told her of the burning house that smelt of roasting pork. Of the blind man, who crouched like a beggar against the walls, blood running down his face. There had been clumps of bloody jelly on his cheeks. The remains of his eyes.

‘You can’t hide from your dreams, Dana. Your dreams make you who you are; they teach you control. You need to tell yourself: you can win.’

‘Can I?’ My voice sounded very small in the darkness of the hold.

‘You can try. You must shut out all other thoughts, think only of your anger.’

***

S
ometimes I watched the sailors. Small men, brown skinned, they called to each other in a strange language. They cooked on small braziers and sluiced each other down with seawater and laughter. At night they put out hammocks and slept on the deck. When it rained they threw up a canvas shield. They never seemed curious about me, lying just below their feet.

The stupid beads warmed and jiggled against my wrist. I rubbed them against my rags, thinking, Shut up. I’m not interested in your opinions right now. I tossed on my straw bed, afraid to go to sleep, yet so tired I could not stay awake. Finally, I slept. And of course, I dreamed.

***

I
t was Wynne again. Why couldn’t I dream of Will? But she looked a little penitent, which made me feel better. I hoped she felt guilty.

‘I thought it might be better if I started at the beginning,’ she said.

We stood under a blossom tree at the bottom of a small hill. Beside us lay a pond filled with golden fish; above was a house with a red-tiled roof. Stepping from the terrace, a man walked down a stone path towards us. He carried something in his hands. A stone, lumpy and green-hued. He did not look at us; he was staring at the rock he held.

‘This is Master Yang,’ said Wynne fondly. ‘The best carver in all of Gusu. He has just purchased a most unique piece of jade. When held to the light the stone he carries is as translucent as glass. Master Yang has never seen jade like it before.’

The man had a wispy beard and his hair hung down his back in a long plait. He held the rock like a nurse holds a child.

‘Master Yang loves jade,’ Wynne paused. ‘It is unfortunate, perhaps, that he is less astute about other matters. Like politics.’

In the distance I heard voices shouting, a clamor of dogs and men. Soldiers wearing mail vests ran onto the terrace of the house. They pointed at the carver, shouting. Two ran down the path, pushed the old man to the ground. They tied his hands behind his back and pulled his head back. Screaming, he dropped the green rock, which fell, rolling, until it rested beside the lip of the fishpond.

Stay calm, Dana. This not real.
But it felt real — the man pleading for his life, the clatter of the soldier’s weapons, the screaming from the house. I wanted to run, hide somewhere.

‘Master Yang,’ said Wynne, ‘has not been very wise.’

The soldiers dragged the carver up onto the terrace, back through the house. Carved wooden chairs, flew from an upstairs window, crashed onto the terrace. A dog, yelping, followed the chairs. It landed on the pavement hard, whimpered once, and fell silent. A woman screamed, a long, sobbing wail.

My head pounded. I did not want to be here.

‘Just before my story opened, the great Emperor began a tour of his provinces. Newly come to immortality, he traveled to view his territories. He demanded a small tribute from Gusu. A jade hairpin, to be fashioned by Master Yang, the best carver in the city. Unfortunately, Master Yang refused to make this pin.’

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t want to look; don’t want to see. But my eyelids didn’t stop the sounds: screams, clashes of weapons, cries for mercy.

Wynne shouted above the noise, ‘As you can hear, the Emperor does not take kindly to refusal.’

‘He ordered the carver killed? Over a
hair pin
?’

She shook her head. ‘Not the carver.’

I sank back, relieved.

‘Just his family: parents, grandparents. All his children.’

The soldiers marshaled a group onto the terrace. Old folk; young; even a baby in a woman’s arms. Some sobbed. An old man fell to his knees and clawed at a soldier’s chest. Swatting him in the face with a mail-clad arm, the soldier turned away.

Master Yang lay in a pool of blood. The soldiers hauled him to his feet and shoved him out of the house towards the street. The shrieks and cries gradually faded as the other prisoners followed. Slowly, the house grew quiet.

Cherry blossoms drifted gently in the breeze. Wynne sounded sad. ‘Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to stop this, Dana. It happened many, many years ago. Do you understand this? You are watching the past.’

I stared up at the tree. White flowers, a blue sky. Peaceful. There had been a
baby
. What kind of soldier takes an infant captive? ‘You said — an emperor?’

Wynne stroked the grass gently. ‘The Great One, he is called. The Immortal; the all-knowing.’

How many immortal emperors could there be? ‘It’s the same one, isn’t it? The same one that kidnapped me?’

Wynne nodded. ‘He sent an armada to your kingdom. He sent an army, too, but Rosa stopped him.’

I waved a hand towards Master Yang’s house. ‘What happened to them?’

She looked at me, hesitating.

I knew so little about this emperor, save he was old and wealthy and infinitely powerful. I needed to know more. Such as, how did he treat the helpless? ‘Wynne. It tells me about him, don’t you understand?’

Shakily, I got to my feet. I felt tired, as though I’d just been given a most heavy burden.

‘Are you sure you want to know?’

I nodded.

Looking straight ahead, she said. ‘They will be tied to a stake in the market place. Their tongues will be cut out. Their fingers will be removed; their arms; their feet; their legs. Finally, the executioner will stab them through the heart, but there will be no point – they will already be dead. This is how the Emperor punishes his enemies; he destroys their families.’

I swallowed, fighting nausea. If this Emperor would do this to innocents, what would he do to my home?

For a while I couldn’t say anything. I stared at the fishpond, watched its ripples dance.

‘And the carver?’

‘He will be blinded. The last thing he will see is his family dying.’

As she spoke the world shifted, darkened. I smelt smoke, and a deep, deep sorrow. Now the carver’s house lay in smoldering ruins. The cherry tree lifted skeletal arms. Master Yang crouched in a corner, his blind face turned upwards to the sky.

‘Now, child. Now, you can help.’

I knew what to do. I picked my way through the remains of a once grand house, and picked up the green rock. It was waxy to the touch, and cool. I thought I heard a woman’s voice calling, from far, far away:

––––––––

‘Where are you gone, oh spirits?

Far from our land you have wandered.

People, return.’

––––––––

I
stepped over to the broken man and pressed the rock into his hands.

A deep voice, gravely and rich, seemed to speak from the same distant place.
‘A stone of unbearable sorrow. Gifted to you from the land of our ancestors. Use it well.’

‘Here,’ I said to the jade carver, ‘is your jade.’ A voice spoke through me, forced my lips to open, my voice to speak. ‘Jade is a stone of beauty; it is also a stone of strength. Can you make a weapon, Master Yang?’

The man took the rock, cupped his fingers around its curved surface. He looked up at me from empty holes where once his eyes had been. ‘Who are you?’

‘No one,’ I whispered sadly. ‘No one at all.’

––––––––

‘W
here have you taken her?’

Will pushed his knife so hard against TeSin’s neck that the skin blanched. But the Noyan smiled as though the steel against his throat meant little.

‘Will!’ Jed shouted. ‘No!’ He grabbed Will’s arm, tried to pull it down. ‘You kill him, we learn nothing. Nothing! Is that what you want?’

Will kept the knife at the man’s throat, but he heard Jed, processed the thought, considered the argument. Jed was right, yes. But it was hard, so hard, to put the knife down. He settled for reducing the pressure on the man’s throat. The Noyan put his hand to his neck, sighed. Relief? Or sorrow?

‘You ask,’ TeSin coughed, ‘where is the girl?’ His speech was harshly accented, so it was hard to make out the words.

Jed nodded. ‘The girl. Yes. And the Enchantress.’

‘Enchant-ress?’

‘Magic worker. The woman with the dark face.’

‘Dark face? Ah! Darkface. I know not.’

‘You lie. You took them!’ Will pressed his knife to the man’s throat again. Again, there was no fear, but a certain wariness in the eyes, and irritation.

‘Please. You kill me, I cannot help you.’ TeSin put his hand on Will’s and pushed his arm away. Will allowed this. The man was not so formidable; he could kill him later. ‘I too, am seeking.’

A throat cleared softly. ‘Gentlemen,’ said a voice. ‘If I might be of assistance?’ A portly man stood behind the counter. Behind him hovered the shop clerk.

‘You are the owner?’ said Jed

The man bowed. He wore a white shirt, its cuffs rolled up, and a cravat at his throat. A thick moustache hid half his face. ‘Bryn Jones sir, at your service.’

‘Did you provision a ship say, a week ago?’ asked Jed ‘We want to know the name of the vessel. Where she was from, where she was going. Who were her crew? What supplies they purchased from you.’

‘So many questions,’ said the store man, rubbing his hand across his moustache. ‘Such interest in a vessel suggests this was no ordinary ship.’ His eyes were acute.

Will could feel anger welling. He wanted to kill something. Or someone. He banged the hilt of his knife hard, on the shop counter. ‘Just. Answer. The question.’

Jones took a step backwards, staring at the knife as if hypnotized. ‘Davey,’ he said, still looking at the knife, ‘Go get the account book, will you?’

The shop clerk jumped. ‘Y-y-yes sir.’

‘I also seek ship,’ said TeSin.

‘Why?’ asked Will

‘Is ... complicated,’ said TeSin and sighed. ‘Please. I sit?’ He held up a hand to show Will it was empty, to show Will he meant no harm. At least, Will hoped that was what he meant. But the man seemed tired and he held himself stiffly, as if favoring an old wound. Well, of course he would. He did have an old wound; Will had given it to him.

‘I thought I’d killed you.’

TeSin lowered himself onto a wooden stool. ‘You did.’ He sighed, rubbed his side. ‘Someone save me.’

‘Who?’

‘Girl. Not know her name. She live in stone castle.’ He rubbed his head. ‘Bright hair.’

‘Dana? She saved you?’ Why would she do that?

The clerk returned, carrying a bound accounts book. He put it on the counter with a thud, then retreated, stepping closer to the door. Will realized he was still carrying his knife. When he sheathed it, the two shop men relaxed and Mr Jones opened the account book. He flicked through the pages quickly.

‘This week, you say?’