The Crow (52 page)

He remembered how he had first met Zelika, how she had collided with him in the marketplace, filthy and half-mad with grief and the desire for revenge. He thought of all the times she had embarrassed or frustrated or angered him: her crazy desire to fight with Har-Ytan when Turbansk fell, her rages against Saliman, her strict Suderain lessons. Images rose into his mind at random: her rage and his merriment when Ire had dunged in her sandal, the serious crease in her forehead when she was concentrating, her gentle expression when she had picked up the little children in Nal-Ak-Burat. He remembered how she had looked when she came out of the bathing room that first day, her black curls shining and wet, with the infected cut under her eye strangely making her seem even prettier than she was.

If ever we grow up, Hem thought, I would like to marry Zelika.

The thought was such a surprise that he smiled. Zelika very likely would not want to marry him, and if they did marry, they would fight all the time. She was wild and unpredictable and maddening, but he loved her, all the same. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. One day he would kiss her mouth, even though she would probably slap his face. One day he would tell her that he loved her.

But first he had to rescue her from the Blind House. He could not afford to be afraid.

The breathing around him settled into a regular rhythm and Hem began his preparations. First he wanted to speak to Ire, in case anything went wrong. He made a mageshield and summoned him. Ire's voice came back at once, bristling with anxiety.

I'm sorry I couldn't speak last night,
said Hem.
I was so tired.
He told Ire what he had discovered about the Blind House, and what he planned to do.

When he finished, Ire was silent for a time.
I think this is not a good thing,
he said at last.

Maybe not,
Hem answered.
But I have no choice. I have to get Zelika out of there.

Perhaps she is in another place,
said Ire.
Are you quite sure they keep her in this cage?

I'm sure,
said Hem; but he could not hide a sudden doubt. Ire was right: she could, possibly, be in another block. What he had sensed was too blurred for him to be absolutely certain.
She might be somewhere else, but I think the Blind House is the most likely.

I hope you're right,
said Ire.
There will not be another chance. They will look for you.

Hem was thrown by Ire's doubts.
I have to do this,
he said insistently.
I'm sure she's there.

I hope you're right,
Ire repeated.
I want you back.

It will be soon – tonight, if I can get Zelika. I've seen a place where we can climb the fence, and then we'll meet you and go back to Hared.

Ire was silent again, and Hem felt the vigilance shift. Their time was running out.

I'll see you tonight, the Light willing,
he said.
If things go wrong, my friend, my dear friend, go back to Hared.

You are my friend,
said Ire. Hem felt the fear in Ire's mind as if it were his own.
I want you to come back.

I will be back,
said Hem, as they broke the mindtouch, whispering it out loud.
I will be back.

The preparations for his raid took another hour. He rechecked all his magery: the semblance he left on his pallet, his glim veils and shadowmazes, his shield. They were solid and good. He picked up his pack and stole noiselessly out of the Blood Block and crept to the Blind House. Thick clouds covered the sky, and it was as black outside the hut as inside. He skirted around the edges of the training yard, watchful: he saw that there were extra guards tonight. Hulls were patrolling the alleys between the huts. He had feared this might happen, and took special care as he flitted from deep shadow to deep shadow. Hulls could cloak themselves as well as Bards, and he didn't want to simply bump into one.

Fortunately, perhaps because of the strong vigilance that guarded it, the Blind House seemed not to be watched at all. When he reached the edges of the vigilance he halted and sat down on the ground. He was already tired; he needed to gather his strength. This was the most difficult part of his task.

He rechecked his shield, hoping nervously that it would be strong enough, and cautiously began to summon his magery. His hands began to glimmer with silver light, which slowly brightened. Every now and then Hem halted and checked his shield again; it was still containing him. Gradually, bit by bit, he summoned his full powers.

When his body was humming with magery, he reached out delicately with his mind and stroked the vigilance. He was invoking the sleep charm he had often used on the mortally wounded to stay their pain. He bit his lip: if this failed, he could do nothing else. The vigilance tensed on the verge of triggering its alarm and he retreated slightly, but then he felt its awareness slow and gradually become numb, until it was quite still.

Hem breathed out with relief, and began the next charm, his lips moving soundlessly as he said the Speech. This would take some time: it was a spell of unweaving, which would pry into the sorceries that bound the vigilance and gently pick them apart. He was on the third stave of the charm when a shriek burst out of the Blind House and shattered his concentration. For a moment he felt the vigilance stir, and he hastily reinforced the sleep charm. Then he started again, admonishing himself: he had to maintain complete concentration for this spell to work, while another part of him kept alert for any sign of approaching Hulls or guards. He had known it would be difficult. As he continued, his hands began to shake with effort. He forced away his weariness and continued.

At last the unweaving was finished. The vigilance was now dismembered, but it was still active. Now began the most difficult part: one by one, he had to annul the sorcery of each of the dozens of energies he had carefully separated. Each required a subtly different magery, and he had to be wary lest he trigger an alarm by mistake. He had planned what he must do in his examination the night before last; he was sure of his memory. Slowly, patiently, he began.

By the time he had annulled them all, Hem had completely lost track of time. He looked up into the sky and let the power drain out of him, leaving him cold and empty. It was still hours before dawn. His shield had held, and he had dismantled the vigilance. Now, at last, he could go into the Blind House and get Zelika.

He swiftly checked to make sure that no Hulls were close by, and tiptoed to the door. As he had hoped, it was locked by only a bolt. Inside he could hear moaning and faint sobbing. Silently he drew back the bolt and opened the door.

The stench hit him in the face like a fist. Briefly he recoiled with disgust: it was foul beyond imagining. It was the smell of human beings locked into an airless room for days on end, a noxious brew of human filth and diseased skin and stale sweat. Hem took a deep breath, steeled himself, and entered.

At first he couldn't see anything at all. Carefully he made a tiny magelight and closed the door behind him. A confused and frightened babble rose around him: the children inside would not be able to see him, and perhaps would think a Hull had entered, or a haunt from the hills. Hem increased his light as much as he dared, and looked around.

The Blind House could not have been more than ten paces square, yet it contained about thirty children. Their faces were gaunt and hollow, their ribs visible through their rags. They sprawled over the earthen floor in a grotesque tangle of limbs. A few lay unnaturally still; others turned listlessly, their eyes drained of any expression; others still, their faces distorted by madness, gibbered and scratched and took no notice of Hem at all. A dozen or so children stared fearfully at Hem's magelight, its glimmer reflecting in their eyes. Hem scowled, suddenly panicked, wrenched by bewilderment and disgust and pity. In their wretchedness, they all looked exactly the same.

He shook himself out of his shock and began to search for Zelika. It wouldn't be long before someone noticed that the vigilance was gone; his time was very limited. He moved methodically around the room, holding the magelight to each child's face. When the child tried to hide, whimpering, he forced its head around so he could see. Fear and haste made him brutal, and he shut his ears to the cries that rose around him.

Zelika was not there.

Hem couldn't believe it. Perhaps he had missed her in his hurry. He forced down his anxiety and checked again, holding the magelight close to each face, pushing them aside as soon as he was sure they were not Zelika. The children began to panic; wild howls and screams began to rise into the night. They scrabbled pathetically against the walls or the floor, as if they could dig a hole to escape this haunt they could not see, which grabbed them with ghostly fingers and flung them aside.

Suddenly, like a shock in his skin, he felt a distant vigilance sounding its alarm, and then another. He was discovered. Still he looked desperately through the children, searching for Zelika's loved face. Surely she was there, surely. The children yammered and howled and screeched, barely human in their terror. Even through the clamor, Hem could hear footsteps approaching, and the chill presence of Hulls. Hem let the magelight blaze for a few moments and glared wildly around at the huddled, terrified children. Zelika was not there. And soon he would be trapped in the Blind House himself.

Hem pushed open the door and slid out. Just as he passed the threshold, a Hull reached for him, perceiving his presence even through his glimveil; he dodged its bony hands, twisted violently to avoid another, and ran for his life. There were Hulls and dogsoldiers everywhere, all running toward the Blind House. Hem slipped into the dark between two huts and doubled over: he was now near the gardens, where he could climb the fence. He could escape and meet Ire and flee.

Zelika was not in the Blind House. Where was she? Ire must be correct: she must have been assigned to one of the other blocks. For a terrible moment Hem wavered. Every part of his being screamed to escape from the horror of Sjug'hakar Im. But he could not leave without Zelika.

He had to stay.

Afterward, Hem did not remember his return to Blood Block Two. He slipped past Hulls in the utter blackness, holding his breath, so heavily shielded he could hardly move, wading through thick air, as if in a nightmare. He listened outside the hut for a long time before he dared to enter, unable to believe that the chaos outside had not woken the snouts from their drugged slumber. All he could hear was the whisper of sleep. At last he screwed up his nerve and slid past the vigilance, through the door and into his bed. Beneath his shield he dismantled his semblance and other charms as rapidly as possible, forcing himself to be methodical, not to make a mistake. He was driven by some tough instinct for survival, because he couldn't think. His entire body was racked with spasms of nausea, his muscles cramped with weariness, and his skull rang with pain. But worse than all of these was the knowledge that he had failed to rescue Zelika; the misery sat so thick inside him that he could scarcely breathe.

At last Hem lay on his pallet, his magery deeply hidden, staring up into the dark. Despite his exhaustion, he thought that he would never sleep again; he felt as if his whole body were jangling. Only moments later he felt the vigilance leap to alertness, and the door of Blood Block Two was flung open. A dark, cloaked figure stepped inside.

It was a Hull, but not their usual captain. Hem erased his mind as he felt the Hull's eyes sweep the room, questing for any sign of the spy who had raided the Blind House. Its gaze passed swiftly over him, and alighted nearby, focusing for a second on a girl who groaned in her sleep and turned over. Then it turned on its heel and left, slamming the door behind it.

One of the other snouts cried out and struggled in a nightmare, and then the hut was utterly silent.

XXI

S
PIES