The Inner Circle: The Knowing (14 page)

‘
And what da that be,
Gil’rei Far-a-mael?’

‘
There is a young
woman with whom I’m travelling whose become ill of
health.’

‘
It nah be catchin’?’
Briel sat back sharply.

‘
It’s nothing like
that,’ Far-a-mael reassured him. ‘It’s something of a personal
matter. Now, you say you’re heading for Merry Island,
yes?’

‘
That da be the
case.’ Briel nodded slowly.

‘
Then I imagine
you’ll first be taking the road to Sat Elmore.’ Far-a-mael
hesitated only a moment before going on. ‘You see, I’m afraid my
young friend is too unwell to ride on horseback, but I’m in a
terrible rush to get home in order to take care of some rather
pressing matters.’

‘
Ye want ta travel
with us so the lady be able ta rest in the wagon,’ Briel stated,
surprising Far-a-mael by his quick intelligence.

‘
Yes,’ Far-a-mael
replied. ‘In return, I’ll pay your way to the port of Ignish,
including transport by boat to Veret, and you will have my sworn
protection for the duration of our time together. You’re aware of
the silt sighting and the kind of protection I am able to offer
doesn’t ordinarily come cheap.’ Briel put his hands flat on the
table, but remained silent. ‘Well, come on, man!’ Far-a-mael
barked. ‘I’m offering you a deal you cannot refuse.’

‘
Ye needn’t have
offered me anythin’,’ Briel said at last, his eyes filling with
compassion. ‘All ye had ta da was tell me ‘bout the young lady.
I’ll nah let my conscience be bothered by her
discomfort.’

‘
Well,’ Far-a-mael
sat back, ‘you are an unusual man, Mister Keaco.’ He reached out
and shook the Merry Islander’s hand. ‘I’d very much like to leave
at first light.’

‘
That suites me,’
Briel nodded. ‘I da have one question though.’

‘
What’s
that?’

‘
How da ye plan we
get ta Veret by boat?’ Briel asked. ‘There’s nah direct
route.’

‘
There is,’
Far-a-mael kept his voice hushed.

‘
Ye can nah be
serious,’ Briel hissed. ‘Ye can nah go that way. There’ll be nah
captain willin’ ta take us.’

‘
I have already
arranged it,’ Far-a-mael reassured the man. ‘So, yes, I very much
intend on travelling through Cold Wood.’

‘
Ye be a madman.’
Briel looked away.

‘
I’m not mad,’
Far-a-mael disagreed. ‘I’m a gil. And I’ve been practising my
discipline for well over a hundred and forty years. You’ll be safe
with me, even through the heart of Cold Wood.’

‘
Ye still be mad.’
Briel stared Far-a-mael in the eye. ‘But on the terms we’ve
discussed, we’ll accompany ye.’

‘
Good . . . oh,
dear,’ Far-a-mael murmured more to himself than to Briel before
touching his cheek. ‘Am I a little flushed?’

‘
I nah be able ta
tell behind ye beard.’ Briel frowned and leaned in for a closer
examination. ‘Maybe a little. Ye said the illness was nah
catchin’.’

‘
It’s not that,’
Far-a-mael pulled back sharply. ‘It’s the lobster,’ he grumbled.
‘I’m allergic. There must’ve been some on your hand when I shook
it.’

Briel raised his eyebrows sceptically.
‘We’d best hope there be nah lobsters in Cold Wood.’

*

It’d all been a horrible nightmare. No,
it hadn’t. The pain between her legs told her that it hadn’t. The
dull ache in her face and the grit between her teeth told her that
it hadn’t. But she preferred to think of it as a nightmare so that
perhaps on the fringes of sleep she could pretend it wasn’t real.
It didn’t work.

She hated silts, deep and true. It was
a loathing. But where did the hatred come from?

Seteal opened her eyes to find
El-i-miir watching her from her place atop a straight-backed chair
at the bedside. She tried to stop it, but couldn’t. She didn’t even
know where it’d come from. The sob tore free of her chest. The
sound was foreign. It wasn’t a sound Seteal was accustomed to
hearing escape her throat, a deep, guttural moan.

In a wave of motion, El-i-miir was on
the bed and wrapping Seteal in her arms, holding her tight. Her
strange white pupils bore into Seteal’s soul and piece began to
worm its way into existence.

‘
Don’t,’ she sobbed.
‘Let me feel it. Let me know what I’ve become.’

Without a word the sorrow returned and
El-i-miir remained, but only to hold her hand and stroke her hair.
Seteal closed her eyes for a long time. Then she opened them. She
wasn’t sure how she preferred them, open or closed? Open or closed?
It seemed like a terribly important matter. But it wasn’t.

Some day she would cut off their wings
and slice open their ugly blue hearts. She’d never before hated
with such passion.

Seteal went to get up, but pain
and fear stopped her. What was outside the blankets? What if it was
too cold? What if someone wanted to hurt her? She wouldn’t be safe.
She should stay put. The blankets would protect her. No, they
wouldn’t. Seteal knew they wouldn’t. Nothing could protect her now.
There was nothing left to protect. He’d taken what’d made her a
lady. And it had to be
him.

Was this Maker’s cruel joke? Did
Maker sit on His throne laughing? Did He laugh? Was it funny to
Him? Did He watch while it was happening? Did the all-powerful
Maker just sit there and watch her suffer . . . have
that
stolen from her? Was it the irony He enjoyed, that it’d
been a man to touch her, when it was not the touch of a man she
desired? But Seteal didn’t believe in Maker. How could she put her
faith in someone so cruel?

And the silt that’d left her alone in
the field. For him, she would reserve special torment. She would
enjoy killing him slowly. So that she could become a monster,
too?

El-i-miir had been gone awhile. She
returned later. Time moved awfully quickly . . . and also slowly.
El-i-miir packed their bags at a hurried pace.

‘
Seteal.’ Her face
filled the world. ‘You need to sleep. Far-a-mael told me we’re
leaving tomorrow.’

‘
Leaving?’ Seteal’s
voice sounded weak, even to her.

‘
He said we have to
get on with our journey.’ El-i-miir frowned. ‘He’s organised a
wagon as transport and I’ve bought you some clothes.’

‘
Why must we go on?’
Seteal looked El-i-miir in the eye, her lips cracking as she
spoke.

‘
Because we have to
get you to the Frozen Lands.’

Seteal put a hand to her throat. ‘What
for?’

‘
You know what for,’
El-i-miir said defensively.

‘
Do I?’

‘
Of course,’
El-i-miir flushed pink and backed away. ‘Now, get some sleep. I
have to see Far-a-mael.’ She hurried out the door, stumbling twice
as she left.

The door slammed and Seteal found
herself alone once more. She pulled back the blanket and lifted her
night dress to look beneath it. El-i-miir must’ve cleaned her up at
some point, although when exactly remained a mystery. Seteal put a
hand on her cheek. It was inflamed and swollen. With a deep sigh,
she dropped the blankets and rested her eyes.

‘
Pretty little thing,
but none too bright,’ Master Fasil smiled down at her.

Seteal sat up and screamed. The room
was black. She leapt out of bed and stumbled while disabling pain
sapped her strength. She sprawled across the floorboards and cried
until a light was ignited and El-i-miir gathered her into her arms.
She was wearing her nightdress. Seteal must’ve slept for hours.

‘
It’s okay,’
El-i-miir whispered in her ear. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘
I don’t even like
men,’ Seteal sobbed bitterly. It seemed like such a silly thing to
say, but she couldn’t force the thought from her mind.

‘
I know,’ El-i-miir
sighed, rocking her back and forth like a child. ‘I
know.’

Deuteronomy 22

25. But if a man find a damsel in the
field, and the man force her and lie with her, then the man that
lay with her shall die.

Scriptures of the Holy Tome

CHAPTER Nine

The Bird, The Horse and A
Demon

The pain in his shoulder caused
Ilgrin to gasp before granting him a moment in recollection over
what’d happened. He wondered how long he’d been unconscious and how
deep the blade had penetrated. He remembered his parents' empty
expressions and the blood on the floor. Ilgrin gagged but
suppressed the urge to vomit, instead shaking violently from the
emotional trauma. It was dark and he wasn’t far from home. He could
resurrect them . . . if only he could find a way to stand up.
Bra
nches scratched Ilgrin’s face,
reminding him of his position, sheltered beneath the
shrubbery.

At the sound of a rumbling snort,
Ilgrin turned to discover an old white horse with a large brown
spot on its back. The animal stared at him over a rickety fence as
though it was surprised to see him.

‘
Best you being
careful,’ a scratchy voice whispered from the other direction.
Ilgrin snapped toward the sound so quickly that something popped in
his neck. ‘They looked for you for so very many times.’ The voice
spoke with a note of concern.

Ilgrin peered through the dark and
found no one but a little bird whose golden eyes caught and
reflected the moonlight. ‘Was that you?’

‘
I is Seeol,’ the
figure approached and rubbed his beak across Ilgrin’s arm for a
moment. ‘I saw when you landed you was going to sleepy times and
waited for you to be awaken up. You have wings. Do you become a
monster, too?’

‘
A monster . . . no.’
Ilgrin pushed aside the branches and sat up. ‘I’m
delirious.’

‘
You’re not
delirious, dearie,’ a deep but decidedly feminine voice reassured
him from behind the fence. ‘He’s been talking all night,’ the horse
finished as Ilgrin turned to face her.

Resting the back of his hand to his
forehead, Ilgrin took a moment to gauge whether his temperature was
above ordinary. Perhaps he’d developed a fever. ‘Did that horse
talk just now?’ He enquired of the little bird, whilst
acknowledging the absurdity of his decision to do so.

‘
Yes, cutie,’ the
bird bobbed his head energetically. ‘She talks, too. We is all
animals who is talking.’

‘
Did you just call me
cutie?’

‘
Cutie!’ Seeol
squealed delightedly.

‘
Be quiet,’ hissed
the horse. ‘You’ll get us killed.’

‘
Do you . . . know
each other?’ Ilgrin questioned.

‘
No,’ the horse
replied. ‘We met when you collapsed.’

‘
But you can both
talk,’ Ilgrin whispered incredulously.

‘
And I’m sure we both
have marvellous stories as to how that’s possible, but right now we
have more pressing matters requiring our attendance,’ the horse
said with finality. ‘If those people find you, they’ll kill you.
Maker only knows I’d have once done the same.’

‘
You’re a
horse!’

‘
I wasn’t always a
horse,’ Emquin said tenuously.

‘
I’m not always an
elf owl,’ Seeol said regretfully.

‘
You were human,
too?’ Ilgrin asked.

‘
No,’ Seeol replied.
‘I’m not a big human.’

‘
What’s your name
anyway?’ the horse enquired.

‘
Ilgrin.’

‘
Emquin.’ She
momentarily bowed her head. ‘We’re going to have to work together
to get out of here alive. You’re too weak to get very far on your
own and I’m offering you a ride if you can get me out of
here.’

‘
Why?’ Ilgrin asked
suspiciously. ‘Shouldn’t you hate me?’

‘
I’m too old to hate
anyone, boy,’ Emquin snorted condescendingly. ‘Besides, I’m from
Shinteleran. In the borderlands, we don’t cling to such naïve ideas
about silts as the northerners do. Your kind are a daily occurrence
and we’ve long come to realise the situation is not so black and
white as many would have you believe.’

‘
Shinteleran?’ Ilgrin
exclaimed. ‘How did you end up in Sitnic?’

‘
It’s a long story.’
Emquin stomped her hoof. ‘My current circumstances have me playing
the role of a pet on a daily basis and I’m not sure how much longer
I can keep it up.

‘
You mean . . . ?’
Ilgrin trailed off.

‘
They don’t know I
was human.’

‘
You wouldn’t tell
them?’

‘
I’ve tried that
before.’ Emquin shook her head in dismay. ‘It never goes well. Last
time I wound up as an attraction in a travelling
circus.’

‘
That must’ve been
awful,’ Ilgrin sympathised. ‘Well, I’d be happy to help you out.
Where’s the gate?’