The Lost Steersman (Steerswoman Series) (58 page)

Across the room, something was slowly unfolding.

A sound, behind her. She spun.

Janus, drawing back from her sword, then half falling forward, clutching at her, and the sound was his voice, he was speaking. No— he would draw the demons, he must be silent. She put her hand on his mouth, but he fell back against the wall, free of her.

And then his voice became a shout, and she could hear him clearly.
“Kill it”

She turned back; and somewhere outside, clouds thinned before the sun; the twice-filtered, diffuse light grew, slightly.

The thing in the room with them was a demon.

But silent, it was silent.

Then she saw: marks on its skin but arranged exactly, precisely where, beneath, the fluid-sacs of its seeing ears lay.

Not marks; wounds. This demon had been blinded.

From behind, Janus clawed at her right hand with fingers suddenly strong, wrenched her sword from her grip, thrust himself away from her, toward the creature.

But he staggered, stumbled, fell hard, full length, and she felt the shock of it through her feet. The blind demon startled, threw up its arms. Rowan made a wild guess where the spray would strike, threw herself to the ground.

The demon was damaged; its spray was weak; it could not see. It missed.

Outside the chamber, not far, and growing nearer: the voice of another demon.

The talisman— where was it?

She cast about in the trash on the floor, found it; she scrambled across to Janus, now struggling to his knees, and took her sword from his hand.

The blind demon swayed, knees trembling; then it flailed its arms, groping, slicing the air with its talons. It took a stumbling step toward them.

The second demon entered the chamber.

Janus gained his feet, fell again, back against Rowan; she caught him in her arms, held him half erect against her. He fought her weakly.

One of the blind demon’s thrashing arms struck the second creature, which caught the striking hand between two of its own. The blind one startled, then clutched the hands, pulled at them.

Janus struggled for balance; Rowan adjusted her hold around his waist, pulled him back—

And stopped.

The talisman was in her left hand, pressed against Janus’s body. Covered.

They had been seen.

The second demon raised its voice, louder, its arms rising and falling. Janus shouted without words.

And Rowan in pure, stupid instinct, raised not the talisman but her sword. She thought only, regretfully: Too late.

Rowan and the monster gazed at each other. The pause seemed eternal, during which time nothing at all moved in Rowan’s mind.

Then the second demon moved.

In one fast motion it gathered the blind demons arm’s down tight against its body, pulled the creature back against itself, held it close, stepped back one step— and stopped.

Another pause. Rowan’s charge struggled weakly in her grasp. The second demon’s did the same.

A thought slowly rose to Rowan’s awareness and stayed there, alone, for a very long time.

The thought was: What am I looking at?

Then Janus subsided, trembling in her arms. And, with the slightest of motions, a mere outward rotation of her wrist, Rowan displayed the talisman.

And the creature stepped away, as it must, pulling the injured one with it, until both stood against the far wall. There, the blind demon ceased to struggle, began to shudder. The shudders diminished to trembling; the trembling stopped. The other demon slowly lowered the limp form.

Rowan used her sword arm to steady Janus, kept the talisman displayed. Together, they left the chamber.

They moved toward greater and greater light, and had passed through five chambers before it occurred to Rowan to wonder why, after showing the talisman, she had not then killed both demons.

Rowan and Janus emerged into gray light, thick, damp air.

Case-objects, dozens, all in a wide sweep on the earth before their feet. Beyond that, twenty-four demons, seated and standing, out to the dens opposite, out to the intersection to the left and to the right.

And a demon-voice in the den behind, now approaching.

She half led, half dragged Janus left; their feet scattered the little objects. She leaned him against the den, held her talisman before them both, pushed him on with her shoulder. They moved slowly, step by shuffling step, along the den, the demons they approached slowly moving back, and back.

They had gone some ten feet more in this fashion when Janus’s knees gave. He slid to sit. Rowan stepped in front of him, knelt on the ground, sword held out to her right, talisman centered before her.

Janus was safe behind her. She glanced back to check his state.

What she saw, out in the chill air, was the exact extent of his injuries and his physical condition.

He would not make it back to the camp in the dunes.

She waited. The creatures around them adjusted, slowly, eventually defining by position, as clearly as if on a diagram, the exact extent and limit of the talisman’s influence.

From the den entrance, a demon emerged— the same that Rowan had seen inside and the same, she now realized, that she had seen in front of this den earlier. It paused, made some movement— she could not see what through the crowd of monsters about her— then stepped right, wove its way through the gathered demons, and was gone. Rowan returned her attention to the creatures around her.

They were shifting.

Slowly at first, a few at a time; the clear line eroded, grew less clear, seeming to open outward, as more and more demons departed.

And then the street, amazingly, was clear.

A thin drizzle began to fall.

Rowan stepped out and faced Janus, freed enough fingers of her sword hand to half-grip his shoulder, shake him slightly. She was appalled at the amount of pain the motion caused him, hoped desperately that he had not cried out; but she got his attention. She could not interpret his expression, but he was, at least, looking at her.

It occurred to Rowan that he might think he was hallucinating her. From his condition, she judged that he had good reason to assume so.

Still no demons about. Rowan turned back, laid her sword across Janus’s lap, placed her freed hand on the center of his chest, fingers spread. He jerked back at the touch, but his gaze did not leave her face.

She mouthed, slowly and as clearly as she could:
I’m real. Come with me.

He glanced left, right, looked up at her; his face twitched and his breath huffed in a helpless half laugh Rowan hoped was silent.

She took his left hand, placed it on her right shoulder, took back her sword, and turned again to face the street.

Eventually, Rowan felt the hand on her shoulder grow heavy, felt the other hand join it, as Janus braced himself and got to his feet. Rowan rose with him. With Janus behind her, Rowan began to sidestep, felt him following.

On the next street, demons, moving in a plodding, flat-footed pace. Rowan, eyes tight in thought, studied their spacing.

Searching. The demons were searching for something walking among them. Only the females.

But even so, none came within the talisman’s safe circle, and those that Rowan and Janus came near altered their steps, staying instinctively clear. And yet, they continued to search, exactly as if they had not noticed their own change of course, exactly as if the humans’ presence remained unknown to them, as if Rowan and Janus were invisible.

But there were so many. And Janus could not keep this up much longer.

They managed to get past three intersections before he fell. Rowan could do nothing but wait. They stayed in place for half an hour, with the demons too occupied to notice that the den entrance before which Janus lay crumpled was now inaccessible. When she saw him stir, Rowan struggled clumsily out of the loop holding the water sack, used one foot to push it toward his hand; she did not dare put down her weapon. She sat with her back toward him, to maintain the best position for the talisman. But some time later, she felt his hand on her shoulder again.

They rose; they continued. He walked with an arm draped completely over her shoulder, his body close against hers. She felt the water sack between them; he had managed to loop it over himself.

Her camp in the dunes was half a world away.

Perhaps they could take over a den or a cess-garden, find some corner somewhere to hide in while she gave him what food she still had, more water, let him rest. Someplace with a single, defensible opening—

When she abruptly changed direction, he stumbled, all his weight suddenly on her. She waited while he adjusted. They continued.

They paused four times. Each time, Janus seemed stranger, eventually moving as if completely blind and aware only vaguely of her motions.

When they finally reached the little ravine, Rowan wondered how to get Janus down without his falling into it. She could not prevent it, and he fell. She scrambled down after him, kicking up dust, then stood over him, breathing through clenched teeth, talisman held before her, sword high and ready to strike down any creature that came to the rattle his falling had made.

A male appeared at the end of the ravine, paused, departed. Another appeared at the edge above, and another. Rowan raised the talisman; the males left.

A female came to the lip. It stood for a long time, until it was joined by a male that reached up to urgently tug at its fingers. Both departed.

Rowan might have no other opportunity; she must be quick.

With desperate speed, she sheathed her sword, put the talisman down the neck of her shirt, got her arms beneath Janus’s shoulders, pulled. He seemed to come awake, seemed not to know who she was, tried to fight her. She got him half up, put a hand over his mouth, shook him. She hoped her hand muffled his cry; but he did see her, recognized her as at least human if not herself, let himself be helped up. They made their way through the brush toward and into the jagged opening of the cave.

Inside, green light blossomed around them as Janus fell to his knees, light that swirled and spun; small, soft bodies struck at them. Rowan felt tiny feet touch her face and arms, spring away again, taking away motes of cool brightness that circled back, then away.

Rowan pulled the talisman out of her shirt and placed it just inside the cave’s entrance. She sat on the floor, her hand on Janus’s back as he gasped and coughed.

The moths took their light further back; the cave opened wider in that direction into a short passageway, the far end just as defensible as the opening, and more secret. Rowan retrieved the talisman, half dragged Janus toward the back of the passage.

By the time they reached it, the moths had settled, dimmer when still. Rowan reached a hand up to the low ceiling, stirred them to brief brightness again, and examined their refuge.

The steerswoman breathed, “Oh, no.”

The chamber was wide, deep, and low, and it slanted downward. Across the entire uneven floor in small groups, large groups, immense agglomerations reaching far into the deep recesses of the cave: case-objects.

Rowan stood, half stooping. If there were a demon in here now, she must kill it. But she could hear nothing, nothing.

But demons would come.

If they could not enter this place, what would they do? Stand forever at the entrance? Gather, waiting? Gather in the dozens, the hundreds?

If she left now, left Janus behind, she could escape. She turned back to him.

He was on knees and one hand, his damaged right hand held before him, regarding it as if it were an object entirely new in his experience. Rowan said, “I hope you’re worth it,” and was shocked at the sound of her own voice in her head. He looked up at the sound, then around, his gaze utterly uncomprehending. He spoke, but she could not tell from his lips what was said.

Demons would come. She could kill each one as it entered; but she and Janus would starve before the process was complete.

She looked around again, brushed her arm against the ceiling to get more light.

Let them come.

Go to the back. Far back. Against a wall. Use the talisman. Be invisible.

Let the demons freely come, and let them go. Hide. Wait. Let Janus regain some strength. Leave when you can.

She sheathed her sword again, tucked away the talisman, went to Janus, took him by his good hand. “Not yet,” she told him. “You can rest in a moment. Just a bit further.”

She saw her name on his lips. He followed her.

39

R
owan moved through a nightmare in which she was surrounded by demons, each of them carrying a pole with a banner at the top, each banner a different color. The hands holding the poles were human hands at the end of demon arms; they snapped and swirled the colors high above. The demons’ voices filled the air and, it seemed, the inside of her own head; but they were human voices speaking human words, which Rowan, with completely inexplicable terror, found she could not comprehend.