Bloodmind (8 page)

When I looked out again, I realized that the sled had come to a halt. Eld was unhooking the fenris team and I tensed, gripping the edges of the sled, but they did not look at me and made no
move. I reminded myself that before Frey had died, I had controlled a pack of animals that matched these beasts in both ferocity and intent. Still, the visen of Mondhile had been alien, unfamiliar
to me, and the connection we had established had therefore, paradoxically, come more easily. With the fenris, there were just too many memories.

Eld glanced over his shoulder and saw me watching.

‘You vanished there for a while, Vali.’ It was said with a smile. I did not trust myself to give an explanation, but simply nodded.

‘You would have made an excellent vitki. But of course I’ve told you that before.’ He spoke with his usual mildness, but I could not help remembering that the last time he had
complimented me on my abilities, the compliment had been accompanied by the words ‘breeding program’. And that brought back Nhem. Wherever I turned, the past was there, lying in wait
for me. The day suddenly seemed a little colder yet. I did not answer, but forced myself to climb down from the sled and walk over to him. I was very aware of the presence of the beasts: they
radiated their own particular aura, a predation held barely in check, as if I stood too close to a sun. I drew up the black sparkle of the seith and shut them out.

‘Where are we, Eld? Where are we going?’

He raised a slickskinned hand and pointed. Across a narrow channel, sailing with the icebergs of spring thaw, lay a line of coast, high cliffs gleaming with ice.

‘That,’ said Eld, ‘is Morvern.’

‘Where the Morrighanu come from.’

‘Just so.’

‘They’ve taken the Rock. You intimated that you’re aware of that.’

‘Of course,’ Eld said, with a touch of impatience. ‘Why else do you think I went to so much trouble to get you out?’

‘Both Morrighanu and vitki are from Darkland. I was assuming you’re on the same side.’

A bark of laughter, like a fenris’ cry. ‘You said it yourself. Both Morrighanu and vitki are from Darkland. I’ll explain later, Vali. As far as I can.’

Twilight was falling when we crossed the channel. I was concerned that there might be spy-wings along the coast, but Eld assured me that Morvern was a
law unto itself even in this time of war and the coast would, literally, be clear. He left the sled where it was and released the fenris team. I did not see where they went, but was glad to have
them gone. Even the broken pavement of the ice seemed safe in comparison to their presence.

‘We’ll have to go across on foot,’ Eld said, pointing to bobbing ice and racing water, so cold that it ran green-clear through the cracks. I said nothing, but the expression on
my face must have told him everything he needed to know. He gave a slight smile.

‘Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing. The selk have been better scouts than any human or device could ever be. I worked out the route with them when I came this way and
it’s keyed into my map implant. All you have to do is follow me and you’ll be all right.’

All you have to do is trust me.
My paranoia was beginning to work overtime.

‘Very well,’ I said, not without effort. ‘Lead the way.’

Ultimately, it did not take long to cross the channel, but at the time it seemed like several days. It was easier to connect my seith to Eld’s, though I did not like doing so as I was not
sure what I might be betraying. But the man seemed to know everything about me as it was, just as the Morrighanu now did, and I liked that even less. It was as though an invisible line stretched
between us, towing me along as we stepped or jumped from slab to slab. A surprising quantity of the ice was steady, seemingly stone-solid even though I could see through it to the twisting water
beneath, but some of the slabs rocked and heaved as we set foot on them. Eld and I danced and balanced our way across the middle part of the channel and as we did so I wondered just how much the
configuration of the ice had changed since he last came this way. It must only have been a little time ago, but things change quickly in the northern spring. Then, through the green race of water,
I saw three round heads emerge, blink, sink once more and knew that the selk were keeping an eye on us. I could have done with the knowledge of their presence earlier, but it was good to know that
they were there.

And then at last we were standing on a snowy shore, looking back across the channel. I could feel the difference in the air, as though the land itself had turned and was watching me. We had
reached Darkland.

How to explain it? When I kill, I feel a great love and sympathy for my prey. It’s as though I can see their souls going down into the dark and that darkness is a
mother’s womb, no place to be feared. It is clean and pure, especially when done outside in the snow of the forest, and I make sure that they suffer no pain. I bring the illusions to them,
drawing visions from the earth and from their own blood. Sometimes, I like to think, I give them what they most wish to see and then I am doing them a great service, am I not, in freeing them from
the slavery of the flesh?

Besides, everyone dies.

We gave her the new name when she was well enough. She herself chose to be called Khainet, an invented name, as all must be. We held the ceremony up in the bell tower,
about ten days after Seliye and I had brought her down from the mountains. She did not have much speech at that point, naturally, none of the rescued women did, but she was learning fast and she
picked up my name and Seliye’s very quickly. The words for ‘water’ and ‘hot’ were soon to follow, then ‘food’ and ‘light’ and
‘want’. Once she had regained consciousness, Seliye and I spoke in front of her for hours, using simple terms, repeating whole conversations. We were used to this – we’d had
a lot of practice. I could see the patterns settling into her mind, as she silently mouthed the words after us, as the men’s language that she’d heard all her life gradually started to
make sense. It was a good thing to see, as satisfying as the grinding of grain. If we were to teach a small child, how quickly would she learn? We’d often discussed this, but we had no
experience of it: we thought that the learning process might be even faster, but maybe it was just that these grown women were making up for lost time. But no one pregnant had ever made the journey
from the north. Not made the journey and lived, that is to say.

And now Khainet was standing on the platform at the far side of the bell tower, flanked by the goddesses on the wall. I saw her gaze drift towards them, wondering, as if afraid to believe. We
had told her how we saw them, but I did not know what
she
thought. Her white hair streamed down her back; I had never seen anyone so beautiful.

Seliye stepped forward and spoke in a strong voice.

‘Khainet.
Do you take this name?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does it mean?’

A lost look from the newly named and I said quickly, ‘It means whatever you wish it to mean. It is your word.’ Who knows where she got it from? Perhaps it was a word in the
men’s tongue. But now it would be a word in ours.

Her voice faltered at first, but then a breeze stirred our hair, a hot draft from the ochre sands, and she said, ‘It means – it means the mountain wind.’

‘All right,’ Seliye said. She reached out and took Khainet’s hand. ‘From now on, from this day, the word “khainet” means just that. We have a new word!’

And the women made soft sounds of approval, a hissing whisper. But I could see that Khainet was starting to falter. We had brought her up here in the early evening, that favourite time when the
shadows were long, but as that wind had proved, it was still hot, the air between the gusts baking our lungs. A look passed between Seliye and myself and together we led Khainet down the steps of
the bell tower to her chamber below, not far from my own. Later, she could choose a place of her own, if she wished. She looked back over her shoulder at the silent goddesses as we left, that same
disbelieving glance, and it made me sad, but it also made me smile.

The day after that, we went to the shore. On the way down the steps, Khainet had given a longing look towards the black sea, and I noticed it.

‘Do you want to go?’

She turned to me at once, eagerness clear in the bright blue eyes. ‘Is it possible? Is it safe?’

I’d laughed. ‘Nothing’s ever really safe here, Khainet. But it’s safe enough.’

I took her down on foot, with one of the off-duty gate guards who fancied a trip herself. It was mid-afternoon, with the ancient bricks breathing heat. I’d brought a scarf for her, to keep
the dust from her hair and face. We don’t like to cover our faces here in the colony; it’s too much of a reminder, and I thought she might baulk at it, flinch. A lot of the women did,
before they grew resigned to its practicality. But Khainet took the scarf without a word and wrapped her pale hair in its sky-blue folds.

‘Where do you get the – the
stuff
from?’

‘The thread, you mean?’ She was examining the weave, twisting it between her scarred fingers.

‘The thread,’ she repeated after me, softly.

‘It comes from the efreet nests. They spin it from mucus- the fluid in their beaks – and wind it around twigs. If you soak the nests, once the young have flown, you get skeins
of this substance. We dye it with plants. This blue, for example. It’s a little brown lichen that grows in cracks.’

‘And how do you know? That it will make blue?’

I laughed. ‘We just did it until we got it right. We’ve been here a long time – enough time to make a great many mistakes.’

‘I want to learn.’

‘I’ll ask the women in the workshop. I don’t see why not. There’s always room for another pair of hands.’

She grimaced, suddenly, and for a moment I thought it was because she felt ill, but then she said, ‘Food. I don’t want to cook.’

‘You don’t like cooking?’

She scowled. ‘No.’ She held up her scarred hands. ‘This – this was oil. Hot.’

‘You had an accident while cooking?’

‘No. Not accident.’

‘I see.’ We walked in silence for a while, then I said, ‘Look. You can see the shore.’

We had left the colony wall a little way behind and were now heading down the bumpy track that separated it from the cliffs. Once, perhaps, the city had stood directly on the shore, but now the
waves lapped a safe distance from the walls. From this vantage point, the ochre walls were a contrast to the black rocks: transparent in places, with swirls and spirals inside them. When I was in a
certain mood, I would half-close my eyes and imagine that there were creatures trapped in the rocks, peering out, faces gaping in horror. But there were no faces, only marks.

Khainet still moved slowly, like an old woman; stiff from walking across the mountains. But now her true age was apparent: she was only around her late twenties. I can’t remember noticing
beauty when I was in Iznar, though my daughters’ faces made me light up inside, so perhaps that was it. But there was a subtle arch to the bridge of Khainet’s nose, an arch, too, to her
brows and cheekbones. It made me uneasy. I told myself that perhaps I was jealous: so ordinary myself, I disliked beauty in others. Why should this be, when we put so little stock on appearance
here, just glad to be alive?

We walked together across the black rocks, down to the beach. The sand, too, was black, gritty at the poisonous edges of the water, but soft as fur further up the shore. The wonder was back in
Khainet’s face. She bent and scooped up a handful of it, letting it sift through her fingers.

‘It falls like hair,’ she said.

‘It’s very soft,’ I agreed. ‘But don’t touch it beyond the tide line.’ I pointed to the glitter in the sand. ‘Beyond that, it’s sharp enough to
cut your hands.’

She nodded. ‘I won’t.’ A pause. ‘It’s so – different. I never knew the sea was there.’

Did I want to show off my knowledge a little, or instruct? I said, ‘There are lakes along the northern coast, they say – not poisonous water, but water you can swim in.’

‘Swim?’

I decided to explain it to her. She was frowning. ‘How do you know about the north?’

So I tried to explain that, too, about the handful of women who had come here from beyond even Iznar, but I don’t think Khainet believed me. She gave a little smile, as if to say that she
could see through my game of trying to tease her, and walked along the sand to the tide line. A graceful walk, I thought, and was back to wondering again.

I walked more slowly than she did. I caught up with her at the tide line.

‘It’s so quiet,’ she said. There was nothing but the breeze, the skittering cries of the efreets that lived in the cliffs – different to those of the bell tower, with long
curved wings and beaks like tubes – and the soft hiss of the sea on the shore.

‘It’s a quiet place,’ I agreed.

‘Not like the other.’

I didn’t ask her which other. I simply waited.

It’s common for memory to come back in shards and fragments, to be pieced together like a broken pot. The pot will never be the same: it may look similar, but it won’t hold water any
more, there are too many leaks and holes. We mend pots from a glue made from resin – it dries thick and lumpy, it’s impossible to spread it thinly, and you can see all the joins and
fractures. Our minds are like that, too; you can tell where and how we were broken. And the glue is formed from the stories that we tell, to fill in the gaps. Sometimes I think that all memory is
nothing but a story. Sometimes I wonder whether any of it was ever real.

The wind was rising a little, sending swirls of sand across the shore. Khainet began braiding her hair to keep the sand out of it. She did it deftly, with quick movements of her scarred fingers,
and it was a joy to watch. So I told her this.

‘I never had enough hair to do that,’ I said. ‘This is as long as it’s ever been.’