The Heretic Land (54 page)

‘Pray s’s all right,’ Mia said from the corner of her mouth. ‘If she dies—’

Tali could not meet her eyes. Why had she been so stupid?

The slave reappeared, panting, and handed the healer a clear bag made from the intestines of an elephant eel. The healer pulled it over Orlyk’s head, inflated it with a small bellows, pulled the string on a pillow-like sachet of blast-balm, inserted it inside the bag and held the bag closed around Orlyk’s tattooed neck while he counted to five.

A loud, wet
flupp
sounded, like gas bubbles bursting at the top of the squattery pits. Mustard-yellow vapour swirled inside
the head bag, then it shrank tightly against Orlyk’s head. After a minute the healer peeled the bag off, thumped Orlyk in the chest and she took a gurgling breath. Red blisters protruded through the coating of yellow balm but the swelling was already going down.

As the healer and the slave girl carried Orlyk out to the Healery, her black eyes fixed on Tali and, with a convulsive snap of the wrist, Orlyk hurled another chuck-lash. Tali ducked, it soared over her head and struck Mia on her swollen belly,
crack-crack-crack
.

Stifling a cry, Mia pressed both hands to her wildly quivering belly.

Tali ran to her. ‘Are you all right?’

Mia nodded and took her hands away to reveal a red and white welt as long as a finger. ‘Only the tip caught me. Lucky.’

‘Lucky,’ said Tali, guilt churning in her. ‘Let me heal—’

‘Someone’s coming.’ Mia began to squash girr-grubs as though it was her sole delight.

Tali did the same. A replacement guard came in, stared at her for several minutes, then went into the next grotto. Through the archway, a toothless slave was scattering compost onto trays of mauve, curly-tipped Sprite Caps. One cap could cure the worst toothache within minutes; three caps would cure life almost as quickly. It was not unknown for desperate slaves to take that way out.

‘We got away with it.’

Mia touched the welt on her belly and winced. She was paler than usual, and in evident pain. Her belly was churning, the muscles clenching and unclenching.

Any other slave would have sworn at Tali, or slapped her. Tali wished Mia would do the same. Anything would be better than this sickening
shame. But Mia was too nice, too gentle. She reminded Tali of her mother.

‘I’m really sorry, Mia. I just snapped.’

‘What is it with you? You’ve been acting strangely all day.’

‘You know what happened to Mama?’

‘You’ve told me at least fifty times,’ said Mia. ‘You never stop talking about it.’

Tali hadn’t realised. ‘Well, according to Father’s letter, Mama’s mother, grandmother and great-grandmother were also killed the same way, and now I’ve come of age I’m marked to be next. Every time someone looks at me, every time I see a stranger pass by, I think they’re the one. I can’t take it any more. I’ve got to—’

‘Shh!’ Mia jerked her head towards the archway.

Tali glanced at the old slave. ‘Suba’s no harm. She’s simple.’

‘I think she’s a
kwissler
.’ An informer.

Tali moved out of Suba’s sight and pressed her hand against the welt on Mia’s belly, beginning the charm Nurse Bet had taught her when she was little. Most Cythonians turned a blind eye to healing charms, since they weren’t real magery, though a vengeful guard might still chuck-lash you for using one.

Healing charms were all Tali could do. She had practised her mother’s gentle magery every night since her death, but it never worked. Tali’s own gift had only come a handful of times, always when she was furious, though it was neither gentle nor controllable. It exploded out of her, wreaking unintended ruin, then vanished for years. Was that because she was so afraid of it?

To save herself and beat the enemy her mama had spoken of, the one that had fluttered in her nightmares like a wrythen, Tali had to find her buried magery and learn to control it. She had to find it fast, but who could she ask?

Trust no one.