The Inner Circle: The Knowing (21 page)

The whisp laughed, but the sound came
from within her head, whispering voices filling Ellona’s mind.

‘
Do it . . . push it
. . . take the life . . . cut it out.’ Ellona’s throat bled as she
screamed. Agony consumed her as she sliced through her own flesh
and dug the knife into the heart of her unborn child.

CHAPTER
Fourteen

Pieces of Emquin

Seteal seemed incapable of having a
regular conversation anymore. She spoke of nothing other than her
recently acquired animosity toward silts. El-i-miir felt tempted to
unravel Far-a-mael’s weaving just to spite him, but thought better
of it. Not only would he know that she’d done it, but such hatred
was presently the only thing empowering Seteal to do anything other
than curl up on the floor.

El-i-miir stared at the wagon perched
across the road. Ilgrin laid uncomfortably in the cold. She
couldn’t help but feel sorry for the creature with his leg chained
and hands tied. El-i-miir shook her head. What was she thinking?
This was a silt, a demon. He deserved whatever he got . . .
regardless of how attractive he was. El-i-miir widened her eyes
disbelievingly at the inappropriateness of her thoughts.

What might a demon feel like? El-i-miir
wondered if he’d be cold to the touch as she gazed upon his bare
white chest. She wandered over and reached out to poke the tip of
his wing. The demon mumbled under his breath and El-i-miir leapt
back in fear. After regathering her confidence, she reached out and
placed a hand flat against his chest. He was warm, like an ordinary
man. El-i-miir hadn’t known what to expect, but she hadn’t
anticipated he’d feel the same as anyone else. Her eyes slid along
the silt’s slender, muscular body. His features were warped,
angular or elongated in certain places, but not at all in an
unappealing way. El-i-miir snatched back her hand and glared at the
silt as though it’d been his fault that she’d had such thoughts.
She took a moment to remind herself that if the stories were
anything to go by, he was a monster constructed of purest evil.

Bright purple eyes opened and took away
El-i-miir’s breath. They were beautiful. She stepped back
nervously.

‘
Thank you,’ the silt
whispered. El-i-miir had been educated to believe that Ilgrin was a
terrible foe and yet she could feel no evil in him. Her instincts
were finely tuned to detect even the faintest taste of treachery
and yet she could find none in the man before her. His aura served
as a window into a soul filled with more kindness and compassion
than El-i-miir had seen in a long time. She couldn’t understand how
Far-a-mael was so unable to see it. Or unwilling.

‘
What for?’ El-i-miir
replied, glanced over her shoulder to check if anyone was
watching.

‘
For checking on me,’
Ilgrin replied.

‘
That’s okay.’
El-i-miir shrugged nonchalantly.

‘
Do you believe what
I told the others, El-i-miir?’ Ilgrin lifted his head and leaned on
an elbow.

El-i-miir’s heart raced at the sound of
her name on his tongue. It was beautiful when it came from his
lips. ‘I have to believe you.’ She sighed. ‘I’m able to detect
dishonesty. From you, I’ve heard none.’

‘
Then you’ll set me
free?’ The silt sat up, hope filling his eyes.

‘
No.’ El-i-miir
shuddered at the thought. ‘I can’t.’

‘
But you said you
believed me.’

‘
I’d be condemned for
such an act.’ El-i-miir threw out her arms. ‘They’d kill
me.’

‘
Then come with me,’
Ilgrin beckoned.

‘
No,’ El-i-miir
gaped. ‘Where could we possibly go?’

‘
Who cares?’ Ilgrin
replied. ‘We’d be alive. If you do nothing, they’ll kill
me.’

‘
I’m sorry. I really
am.’ El-i-miir shook her head wearily. ‘But I can’t just throw
everything away . . . my life . . . my family. I can’t give that up
for a . . .’ She trailed off.

‘
For a demon,’ Ilgrin
finished, his tone becoming bitter.

‘
I suppose that’s
true.’ El-i-miir clenched her teeth. ‘You’re still a silt, whether
you were raised in Sitnic or not. You’ve killed people.’

‘
And you haven’t?’
Accusation was written across Ilgrin’s features.

El-i-miir opened her mouth to reply,
but could think of no way to defend herself. Through him, she too
had raised the dead. El-i-miir turned to walk away.

‘
Wait!’ Ilgrin
cried.

‘
What?’ El-i-miir
snapped furiously.

‘
Is that . . . ?’ The
silt shielded his eyes to gaze up the road. His attention was
locked on Briel, who was busy slicing up the remains of his horse.
With long days ahead, there was no sense in leaving the meat to
rot.

‘
Goodbye, Ilgrin,’
El-i-miir grumbled. ‘I’d keep quiet if I were you.’

‘
No!’ the silt
shouted, leaping to his feet. ‘Emquin!’ The howl tore from his
throat, revealing a level of compassion not ordinarily expressed
for a horse.

‘
Shut up,’ El-i-miir
pleaded that the silt be quiet if only to protect him from
Far-a-mael’s wrath.

‘
You have to stop
this,’ Ilgrin gasped, tears pouring down his face. ‘If you have any
heart at all, you have to stop him.’

‘
It’s just a
horse.
’ El-i-miir shook her head,
confused by the silt’s dedication. ‘I don’t
understand?’

‘
No, you
don’t.
’ Ilgrin’s purple eyes burned with
fury. ‘You really don’t!’

‘
If you don’t shut
up, I’ll have to shut you up!’ El-i-miir warned.

‘
Stop him!’ Ilgrin
shouted. ‘Stop him and I’ll explain. She deserves a decent
burial.’

‘
That’s it,’
El-i-miir gritted her teeth, ‘I warned you.’ She embraced the Ways,
spun a string of light around the silt’s aura and severed it. The
aura dulled as the silt’s head hit the earth. El-i-miir glanced at
Far-a-mael’s tent and was relieved to see he hadn’t exited. She’d
split Ilgrin’s consciousness quite deeply and was satisfied that he
wouldn’t wake up for hours.

*

The fire warmed Seteal’s toes and for
that she was grateful. She couldn’t recall the last time her feet
had been warm . . . or perhaps she could. She smiled at the memory
of her father handing over a hot cup of tea as they sat before the
fireplace. Normally the two fought like wild dogs, but that night
they’d laughed so hard Seteal had thought her sides would split.
The young man her father had invited over earlier that evening had
been so nervous he’d spilled his wine, his soup, and even his
desert. By the time he left, Seteal couldn’t tell what colour his
pants had originally been.

A short, sharp sob escaped her
throat. Memories were all she had left. If she was willing, even
that young man would turn in disgust at the prospect of having her
as a wife.

Far-a-mael didn’t emerge from his tent
until the sun sat tiredly on the horizon. Briel waved him over then
turned to offer Seteal a piece of horse meat. ‘You don’t actually
mean for us to eat this do you?’ Seteal cringed, looking back and
forth between the two men. ‘I’d feel guilty with Darra
watching.’

‘
Eat it or starve,’
Far-a-mael growled, having abandoned any pretence of caring for
her. ‘It’s cold, there’s nothing to hunt, and much of our journey
is yet to be had.’

‘
Horse it is then.’
Seteal sighed miserably. She’d been about to add something
sarcastic, but a distressed cry through the dimming light stole her
attention.

The demon called out an
unfamiliar name and then with a shout snapped the rope that bound
its wrists. Briel and Far-a-mael leapt to their feet and hurried
toward it. Seteal got up and stumbled back in fear, her eyes locked
on the site before her. The silt’s face scrunched up in pain as it
beat its wings, rose into the air and rocked the entire wagon. It
wailed in frustration and fell back to the earth.

Briel reached the demon first,
but it was far too strong and hurtled him back through the air.
Far-a-mael threw out his hands, but it was too late. Fes crept out
of the darkness wielding a frying pan and with a solid crack to the
back of its head the demon crumpled. Briel sat up to stare at his
wife in shock. Far-a-mael shared a similar expression. Fes spread
her hands innocently.

‘
Never be sendin’ a
man ta da a woman’s job,’ she chuckled.

‘
Don’t ye ever be
puttin’ yeself in that kind of danger again, ye hear me?’ Briel
limped over to his wife and wrapped her in his arms.

‘
Come now, Briel,
don’t be makin’ a fuss.’ Fes pushed him away.

‘
All of this
excitement isn’t good for my heart.’ Far-a-mael bent over, resting
his hands on his knees. ‘This ought to make him behave.’ The
Gil’rei pulled out a knife and wedged it into the silt’s infected
wound, splitting it open afresh. Dark blue blood and puss trickled
down the creature’s wing.

Whether it was repulsion or hunger that
drove them, everyone headed back to the fire. Briel fancied himself
as something of a chef and volunteered to cook some more meat. It
smelled odd, but not undesirable. Seteal opened her mouth and took
a small bite. It wasn’t terribly chewy. She could almost pretend it
was an ordinary steak. Almost.

‘
Seteal.’ Fes sat
heavily, a large chunk of meat clutched between her fingers. ‘We’ve
nah had much of a chance ta get ta know ye?’

‘
I suppose not.’
Seteal looked at her feet. She’d have preferred not to engage in
conversation.

‘
I can’t help but be
wonderin’ what a young Gor be doin’ travelin’ with Elglair.’ Fes
frowned.

‘
It be none of our
business,’ Briel reprimanded his wife.

‘
She’s a half-caste,’
Far-a-mael stated.

‘
I mean nah
disrespect.’ Fes raised her eyebrows. ‘But I always thought ye
people did nah much care for the half-bloods.’

‘
Seteal is of special
interest,’ Far-a-mael grumbled. ‘Now, I’ve had enough of this
discussion.’

‘
You didn’t really
think they’d just leave me to die, did you?’ Seteal
frowned.

‘
Who said anythin’
about dyin’?’ Fes laughed.

‘
I don’t understand,’
Seteal said slowly, but her confusion was left unanswered, as it
was in that moment that the silt awoke.

‘
Bastards,’ the demon
moaned, its hideous purple eyes locked on the meat in Seteal’s
hands. The creature bent over gagging and carrying on. ‘You’re all
going to burn in torrid. You know that? You’ll burn.’

‘
Shut up, demon!’
Far-a-mael snarled, before tossing a chunk of gristle at the
creature. The silt leapt aside in disgust, his eyes filled with
tears. Seteal gaped. Surely it couldn’t be crying. Silts didn’t
cry. They were evil. The silt dug a hole in the earth, nudged in
the piece of gristle with a stick and covered it over.

‘
What ye be up to?’
Briel asked suspiciously.

‘
In your memory,
Emquin,’ the silt said softly. ‘May you find the peace you sought,’
he murmured, placing two fingers to his forehead and then
heart.

Far-a-mael rolled his eyes, but
otherwise ignored the silt. ‘El-i-miir, pass me some more of the
blackened parts. I’m so hungry I could, well . . . I could eat a
horse.’ He laughed and slapped his knee.

‘
I hope ye be right
about this silt,’ Fes spoke up. ‘He be wearin’ Abnatian clothin’,
has an Abnatian accent, and just now performed an Abnatian funeral
tradition.’

Far-a-mael shook his head vigorously.
‘Our boy here simply knows what he’s doing.’ He strode over to the
silt. ‘Don’t you? You’ve trained hard, haven’t you?’ The silt
glared at Far-a-mael but said nothing. ‘You’re pathetic,’
Far-a-mael muttered, turning back to the fire.

For some mysterious reason, El-i-miir
filled a bucket with water and carried it over to the silt. The
creature took the bucket and drank greedily.

‘
What’d you do that
for?’ Far-a-mael asked.

‘
There’s not much
point in bringing him home if he’s dead when we get there.’
El-i-miir shrugged.

‘
Thanks. Here’s your
bucket,’ the silt called as he tossed it into the fire and
succeeded in putting it out.

‘
You see what they
do?’ Far-a-mael asked El-i-miir. ‘You show them the slightest bit
of mercy and they repay you with wickedness.’ He wandered over and
stared at the silt with penetrating eyes. At first it tried to
resist, but it didn’t take long before it collapsed, writhing and
howling in misery.

Seteal watched as Far-a-mael’s attack
stretched on. It didn’t bother her. No matter how much she saw the
silt suffer, she couldn’t have cared less. And that was unusual.
She’d always been compassionate toward others and couldn’t stand to
see the sufferance of anyone. She watched as the silt clasped its
head and gritted its teeth, but found she was only able to enjoy
what she saw. Repulsed by her lack of repulsion, Seteal abandoned
the scene and headed down the road. When she returned everyone had
gone to bed.