Talus and the Frozen King (21 page)

'Poor Gantor. He didn't deserve to die.'

'Indeed. Yet I fear his death may not be the last.'

Mishina was coming out of his trance. A pair of women helped him to his feet. Murmured conversation was beginning to break out among the villagers. The shaman's performance was over.

'Talus,' said Bran, 'are you going to tell me who ...?'

Before he could finish the question, Tharn stormed up to them, dragging Alayin behind him.

His brothers had joined Mishina at the edge of the totem pit. Fethan had hooked Farrum's black-bladed swathe on to his belt. Arak and Sigathon huddled close together, a little apart from the others. Cabarrath towered over them all. His arms were folded and he glowered down into the pit where Farrum and his men were trapped.

'The totem pit is strong,' said Tharn. 'But men are stronger. My brothers will guard the traitors. The rest of you will come with me to the feasting circle. That includes you, bard.'

Talus walked with Bran in the footsteps of the king-to-be while the rest of the crowd followed.

Whispered conversations came and went in the throng—mostly speculation about what Tharn was planning—but Talus ignored them. For now all was well. The totem pit was secure and Lethriel was busy with the task he'd set for her.

As for Tharn himself, he was more concerned with not letting Alayin out of his sight. His hold on her arm was firm, and expression was grim. She stumbled at his side, limping a little on the ankle she'd twisted when he'd thrown her from the boat, entirely submissive.

By the time they reached the arena, the fog had begun to disperse. Lacy afternoon light rippled down through the tremendous aperture in the overhanging roof.

Tharn dragged Alayin past the heap of ashes lying beneath the gigantic smoke-hole: the remains of the previous night's bonfire, still not cleared away. A large boulder stood on the far side of the circular space. When they reached it, Tharn turned and thrust Alayin into Bran's arms.

'You will hold her,' he said.

'Do you trust me this much?' he said.

'If you allow her to escape, I will kill the bard.'

Tharn seized Talus's wrist—his grip was strong—and hauled him up on to the boulder. The arena was filling up with both the people who'd followed them from the totem pit and those who'd come out of their houses to see what was going on. Soon all Creyak was there.

Talus willed his body to relax. Despite Tharn's threat, he didn't believe he was in danger. In fact, he knew exactly what the king-to-be wanted him for.

Tharn raised his hands. Gradually the crowd fell silent.

'Death walks among us,' he said. His voice was soft and full of menace. It carried all the way from one side of the arena to the other. 'I am here to send death away. I am here to tell you that the time of old king is gone. The time of the new king has come.'

The crowd listened as Tharn spoke on. So did Talus. He used words well. In another place, another life, he might have been a bard.

By the time Tharn's speech reached its conclusion his voice was ragged, his face drawn with heavy lines. His breath made billowing clouds above his head. The crowd was hushed, clearly impressed by his oration. Here was Hashath's eldest son, next in line, claiming his rightful place at their head. This was the undeniable way of things.

Tharn ushered Talus to the front of the boulder. 'I am sorry I forced you here,' he murmured.

'You are king,' said Talus. 'It is your right.'

Again Tharn faced the crowd—his people.

'Talus will give us a tale to mark this day,' he boomed. 'Bard—make it a tale of glory. A tale to fill up the king's day with fire.'

This was just what Talus had expected. But his mind was blank. As he looked out at the expectant faces, panic threatened to seize him. Was this the moment when the great river of stories ran dry? When he opened his mouth and no words came out.

Among the faces were those of Bran and Alayin. Both looked tired and defeated, as if they'd trekked a long way across strange lands. Well, they had. Alayin's fur hood trembled in the breeze blowing through the arena: a dark woman wearing the pale skin of an ice monster.

And the story came to Talus at last.

'One day,' said Talus, 'a king stepped out on to the far northern ice in search of a monster.'

The entire crowd leaned in towards the boulder. Already Talus had them. With just a few simple words, the bard had gained as much attention as a king might hope for in a lifetime.

'The king took with him three loyal hunters,' Talus went on. 'Each was brave and wise, and each had sworn his life to his master.'

'I suppose you've heard this one before,' Alayin whispered to Bran.

'In two years I've never heard Talus tell the same tale twice,' Bran replied.

He wondered if Alayin would try to run. He didn't much care whether she did or not ... except for what that might mean for Talus. Up to now, Tharn hadn't struck Bran as a cruel man. But he was no longer just a man. Now he was a king.

Now he'd caught his audience's imagination, Talus went on to describe the characters of the king and his hunters. The crowd was captivated. Bran, however, was finding it hard to focus on Talus's words. This felt like one of those stories where nothing much happened for a very long time.

'Why did you lie to me?' he said.

'I said what I needed to say,' said Alayin, 'to protect myself.'

'So why are you really here? Did you have something to do with the murders? Don't lie to me, Alayin. I'm tired of all that. Just tell me the truth.'

'You already know what the truth is, Bran. It's right in front of you.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Tell me what you see.'

She stood back. Bran studied her: a tall, proud woman swaddled in ivory furs. Her back was straight; her chin jutted. She exuded such an air of control it was hard to believe she was supposed to be his prisoner. He wanted to dislike her: she'd made him feel foolish. But something had risen in her that he hadn't noticed before. 'You're trapped,' he said slowly.

Her taut muscles relaxed. 'There,' she said. 'That wasn't so hard.'

'It's your father, isn't it?'

'My father. The men I fall for. Everyone.'

'What do you mean?'

'Some women ... some women have a shape that fits the arms of men, a shape that fits this world ...' Alayin worked her hands, trying to mould the thoughts she was struggling to express. 'That is not my shape. I want to be my own, Bran, but I am not. Do you understand? I am not my own.'

Bran shook his head. She puzzled him, this strange woman from an island he'd never seen.

Her scars were a mask behind which her true face was sometimes hidden, sometimes revealed.

With a start, he realised he'd forgiven her lies.

He plucked a tuft of ivory fur from her hood.

'People talk of ice-bears,' he said, 'but you never meet anyone who's actually seen one.

They're just monsters from stories.'

'I am proof they're not. Don't you believe the truth, Bran, even when it's before your eyes?'

'Did you tell Sigathon the truth? Or Cabarrath?'

'What?'

'I know you were with them both.'

'Oh. Well, that's all over with.'

'Are you sure?'

'Cabarrath was a good man. But Sigathon ... he was a mistake. Beside, after all this do you think I'd willingly pair myself with another of these wretched brothers?' Her voice filled with sudden venom. 'Do you think that's what I would choose?'

'I think Sigathon killed Hashath.' Bran immediately regretted saying it. But, now the words were out, he rolled them through his mind, testing them.

'Sigathon?' said Alayin. 'That's ridiculous. The boy's an idiot, but a killer? Why would you think such a thing?'

'He acts as if he's drugged. Talus said ...'

'Talus? Oh, your friend up there. Is he really a bard? He looks like a wading bird. Do you heed everything he says, Bran? Do you believe all his stories?'

Bran resisted the urge to shake her. No wonder she had no man if this was how she carried on.

Talus spread his arms wide and launched himself into the main narrative of his epic tale.

'And so came the day,' he said, 'when the king and his three hunters finally set out on their great quest. On the first day, the first hunter found the tracks of a tremendous beast in the snow.

Each paw was bigger than a house. Each claw was bigger than a man. The hunter followed the tracks into a blizzard, and was never seen again ...'

Bran listened with only half an ear. The crowd pressed close against him. Suddenly he was the one who felt trapped. Death had come to Creyak, and it hadn't yet left. What were they doing standing around listening to Talus prattle on?

'I don't think I like this story,' said Alayin. She wriggled her body inside her furs. 'I don't want to hear it.'

'Well, we can't go anywhere. Anyway, what's wrong with the story?'

'It's as if he knows.'

'Knows what?' Alayin was trembling. Bran supposed she could use some comfort. But if he put his arm around her there was no telling how the watchful Tharn might react. 'Knows what, Alayin?'

'Knows about me.'

'How could Talus possibly ...?'

'It doesn't matter. Be quiet and listen to the story.'

Now Talus was telling the crowd how the king and his two remaining hunters searched in vain for their companion. Normally Bran was happy to hear one of Talus's tales. Not this time. 'Why do I get the feeling you've got a story of your own?' he said.

'Everyone has a story. Don't you?'

'Will you tell me yours?'

She closed her eyes. 'Very well. My story is also about a journey across the ice. And a hunting party. There were four men altogether. And there was me. I was hidden in one of the sleds. I wasn't supposed to be there. Women aren't allowed to go on hunts.'

Bran opened his mouth, about to make some remark about her being a compulsive stowaway. The faraway expression on her face changed his mind.

'We travelled one whole day before making camp. That was when they found me. One of the hunters—an ugly man called Grantha—tried to rape me but the others killed him before he could ... before he could finish.'

'Killed him?'

Alayin shrugged. 'I am the king's daughter. If I'd been harmed, their lives would have been forfeit.'

'But Grantha didn't care about that?'

'He'd always had his eye on me. He thought he loved me. I suppose he thought I loved him back. Love drives men to violence, haven't you noticed that?'

'It's something Talus tells me constantly. Would the others have saved you if Farrum hadn't been your father?'

She gave him a withering look. 'What do you think?'

Talus had begun to lope back and forth on his rocky stage. Bran heard him say something about the second hunter finding a mound of dung left by their elusive quarry. The mound was as big as a mountain.

'After they killed Grantha,' Bran said. 'What happened next?'

'The men staked out Grantha's body on the ice for bait. They draped skins over the sleds and covered them with snow so they couldn't be seen. They sat in the hides and waited.'

'And you?'

'I sat with them. I remember thinking, "Is this all hunting is? Hiding under the snow and waiting for something to come?"'

'And did something come?'

Alayin's body jerked. Bran felt his good hand clamp down on her arm. But she wasn't running away. It was just the tremor of memory.

'Oh, it came,' she said. 'It wasn't what I'd expected, but it came.'

She stopped, and immediately her voice was replaced in Bran's ears by that of Talus. The bard's words soared through the dank, grey air. The collective breath of the crowd rose and mingled with the fog. Bran could feel the two stories—Alayin's and Talus's—melting together in his head.

'Now two of the king's hunters had been lost to the blizzard,' said Talus. Bran has missed hearing how the second hunter had died. Knowing the way Talus's stories went, he probably got buried beneath the huge mound of dung. 'When the third hunter announced his intention to track down the beast, the king told him to stay. "I have lost enough of my hunters to this monster," the king said. "I will go myself." 'So the king walked out into the blizzard. He walked for many days. He passed the huge paw prints and the gigantic pile of dung. At last he came to an enormous cave. The cave was so wide he could not see the sides of it. It was so high he could not see the top of it. It was so deep that it took the echoes of his footsteps three whole days to return to him.'

'Will he slay the monster, do you think?' said Alayin.

'Who?' said Bran, momentarily confused about which story he was listening to.

'The king in Talus's tale.'

'I thought you weren't interested in Talus's tale.'

She gave him a pale smile. 'I have one ear listening. So do you. Don't pretend you haven't.'

Bran chuckled. The laugh came more easily than laughter had for a long time. This brought him up short. Here he was surrounded by strangers, charged by a novice king to guard an unpredictable woman, on an island where sudden death lay round every corner. Yet, incredibly, he felt relaxed.

'I'm more interested in your story,' he said. 'Does the monster come in that one too?'

Alayin's smile vanished. 'Oh yes,' she said softly. 'It comes.'

'Tell me.'

She blinked. There were tiny beads of ice on the ends of her lashes.

'It came without warning,' she said. 'A great bear, gliding over the ice. It stood higher at the shoulder than a man is tall. Its jaws were stained with blood. Its fur was almost white but ... richer, somehow. It roared.'

Her eyes had locked on something in the far distance. Bran was spellbound.

'One of the men stood up and called to the bear. It padded towards him. I could smell it. It stank of meat and death. The other men crept round behind it. But it heard them, or smelled them.

It turned and charged. They hit it with their axes but it bit them and struck them with its claws. It tore them apart. Soon it was standing there in a lake of steaming blood, and there was nothing left of them but bones and steaming meat.'