The Dark City (11 page)

They stayed where they were, not exploring. They drank water, chewed the last of the fish, maybe even slept a little. Raffi wasn’t sure. The darkness confused them; they seemed deep, deep underground. Time seemed still. There was no way of knowing if the storm had ended. Maybe it had finished hours ago. And yet none of them moved.

Lying there, Raffi began to imagine he saw scrawls and carvings on the stones overhead, spirals that swirled if he stared at them, so that he looked away, uneasy, and when he looked back they had shifted.

Galen sat huddled, resting forehead on arms. Carys was silent, as if the barrow swallowed her words before she spoke them. Raffi gathered his strength. With a great effort he managed to say, “It may be safe now.”

Instantly they all felt hours had been lost. Galen looked up, his face haggard in the candlelight. “What are we doing! Look outside!”

Raffi dragged the stones free. A small draft blew into the chamber; the light outside seemed dim. Late afternoon, Carys thought, rubbing her face. Raffi’s head and shoulders blocked the hole. Then he squirmed back inside. “It’s stopped. But the seeds are lying all over the ground.”

They crawled out one by one and stood stiffly. The tomb rose in a sea of yellow; the scattered seed lay in a clogged mat all around them, as far as they could see on the downland. Here and there swathes of grass were clear, or the fall was light, but in places the poisonous carpet looked almost solid.

“Can we get through that?” Carys muttered.

“We have to.” Galen pulled the pack on and gripped his stick. “Follow me close.”

Hurriedly blocking the barrow-hole behind them, Raffi took a last glimpse inside. For a moment he felt the sense of something else there, staring at him out of the dark. He jammed a stone in the gap and jumped back.

Galen was stepping carefully through the fallen seeds. He headed west, and went quickly, because there was no knowing how many miles the seedfall stretched, and to be caught in the middle of it on only a two-moon night might be disastrous. But avoiding the densest clots meant they had to circle far out of their way, placing their feet carefully among the seared grasses. Close up, Raffi saw the seeds were fist-sized balls of spikes that rolled in the breeze; sometimes a few gusted up in the air, and the travelers had to stop and watch them anxiously. It was slow, treacherous work, and they knew the corrosive acids were eating into the leather of their boots at every step.

They had walked for two hours and were weary of it when they came to the top of a rise and saw the sunset blazing the sky before them. Something else made Raffi jerk up his head like a fox.

“Galen!” he said.

It was too late. Below, looking up at them in surprise, were three men, two on horseback and one walking.

They were armed, and their horses were painted in dark reds and black. They were the Watch.

13

Even across the dark, even across the loss, even across the emptiness, soul will speak to soul.

Poems of Anjar Kar

C
ARYS STOOD STILL. She decided to do nothing and say nothing. For a start, she wanted to know how Galen dealt with this, whether the keepers really did have the mind-weapons legends spoke of. And if they escaped, she needed to stay with them.

One of the Watchmen called them down. She was surprised when Galen laughed sourly. Raffi looked terrified.

The Watchman yelled again.

Galen raised a hand and nodded. “There’s a village beyond the trees,” he muttered, glancing at the smoke. “If they ask, we come from there.”

Making his way down between the scattered seeds, he looked sidelong at Carys. “If we’re found out, tell the truth. You fell in with us two days ago. You don’t know who we are.”

She grinned at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Oh don’t worry about me. I’m good at lying.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said coolly.

The seed was thin here; they were at the edge of it. The Watchpatrol waited for them. They were well armed, Raffi noticed, wearing a patchwork of body armor. One had a helmet, badly dented. His heart was hammering in his chest; desperately he wished he knew what Galen was up to. He’d learned to fear that cold laugh.

Close up, they saw the men had hardly outridden the storm. They were all burned, and in pain; one had his arm bound up and gripped it tight. And they must have lost a horse.

“Good evening,” Galen called out cheerily. Carys glanced at him in astonishment.

The Watchsergeant, the one on foot, looked them over.

“Where have you come from?” he growled. “Out of the downs after a fire-fall?”

Galen leaned on his staff. “There are places to shelter if you know them. You obviously weren’t so lucky.”

“We’d have been dead if it hadn’t stopped.” The man was big, stolid, but shrewder than the other two, who seemed in too much pain to be curious. Carys knew his sort. He’d be suspicious.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Harn,” Galen said recklessly. “These are my children, Raffael and Carys.” He put his arm around her and squeezed. She smiled up happily at the Watchman and thought that Galen could tell lies as well as she could. He was far more cunning than she’d thought. She’d have to be more careful.

“You come from the village there?”

“We do,” Galen said confidently.

“Then take us there. My men are hurt.”

They should have been ready for it. It was a staggering blow, but Galen didn’t flinch. He nodded, falling into step beside the Watchsergeant, talking about the seeds as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Grudgingly the Watchman listened as he walked. The two on horses trailed behind. Neither would be any problem, Raffi thought; he knew enough to terrify horses. But the third! They should jump him now. What was Galen doing!

Carys was beside him, her bow slung on her back. “He’s mad. What’s his plan?”

“I don’t know.” Raffi stared at his master’s back. “He gets like this sometimes. Does reckless things. You can’t talk to him. Sometimes I think he’s trying to get himself killed.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“He looks for trouble. At least since the accident—” He stopped.

“What accident?”

He shrugged. “A relic exploded. He was hurt.”

“His leg, you mean?”

Raffi nodded. He didn’t seem to want to say any more.

She looked away, at the seeds on the stubble-field. “Not much of a reason for getting killed.”

He didn’t answer. She knew there was something important here; something he wasn’t telling her, but before she could try again they were in the muddy lane between the first houses. A group of villagers were brushing fireseed into a heap. When they saw the travelers, they stood stock-still.

“Too late anyway,” Carys muttered. She unslung her bow, annoyed, glancing back at the stumbling horses. Galen Harn was hers. No one else was bringing him in, certainly no potbellied sergeant. “Get ready.”

Raffi shook his head. “You’re not in this.”

“I am now.”

The Watchsergeant strode up to the villagers; most of them fell back, leaving a thin gray-haired man in a patched brown coat as the spokesman. He nodded grimly. “So you’re back.”

“We said we would be,” the sergeant snarled.

“We were afraid the seeds might have killed you.” The man’s voice was acid.

The sergeant gave him a small sour smile. “Well, they haven’t.”

“Haven’t you had enough from us!” a woman screamed from the crowd. “Where is my son? Where is he?”

“You know where they are.” The sergeant drew his sword easily, sensing the rising tension. “In good hands. The Watch will feed them, clothe them, and they’ll be taught. More than you could have given them. You should bless the Watch.”

“And now you’ve come for more.” The gray-haired man gripped his hands around the rake handle.

“No. You’ve given your quota. We’re only here because the storm caught us out.” He half turned. “We met your friends here on the down. They’ve been lucky as well.”

The villagers stared.

Carys gripped her bow.

Galen glanced briefly at Raffi. Carys was close; she heard Raffi barely whisper the word. “Arno.”

The keeper strode forward, slapping an arm around the villager’s shoulder. “Arno! Good to see you. How have things been?”

Amazed, Carys watched. For a moment Arno was silent, stiff with surprise. He won’t do it, she thought. Her fingers slid the bolt in. Behind her, Raffi waited, hands gripped tight.

Then Arno spoke. “They’ve been fine,” he said. His voice was dry; his face held no flicker of astonishment. “We’ve been expecting you, brother. Here’s your wife.”

Galen took a step back. He looked wary at once; his face darkened. A woman ran out of the crowd, tall and fair-haired; she flung her arms around him and kissed him. “You’re back! And early too!” She came to Raffi and Carys and grabbed their hands. “You both look half starved. I’ve got some fine chickens roasting for you, just as you like them . . .” Talking and laughing and not letting them answer, she led them briskly between the houses, away from the crowd. Glancing back, Raffi saw the Watchmen dismounting, the sergeant giving orders.

Around the corner Galen stopped the woman. “What’s going on!”

She shook her head impatiently. “I should ask you that! How could you just walk in here with them! And why haven’t you been answering me? For two days I’ve been trying to make you hear.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes narrowing with delight. “You’re a keeper!”

“Of course I am. Now in here. Quickly!”

She pushed them through a low doorway into the house. Straightening, Raffi saw a long room with another beyond it, a bright fire crackling, a complicated arrangement of spits with three chickens being turned by a very old woman who grinned at him, showing only one tooth.

“Is this them?” she asked.

“Yes.” The tall woman looked back through the slit of the door. “No one seems to be following. The Watch are back.”

The old woman spat. “God curse them.”

“Arno will keep them busy. Go and keep an eye on them.”

The old hag winked, and pulled a shawl around her head. She slid silently through the door.

“Can we trust her?” Galen asked.

“Of course I can, she’s my mother. Now, leave your pack. Sit down. The first thing is to get you something to eat.”

Raffi watched her slice the meat. Suddenly he knew he was starving. The hiss of the grease dropping in the flames, the smell of it, tormented him. As she worked, the woman said quickly, “My name is Lerin. I was a scholar of the Order. My master was taken and killed.”

“His name?”

“Marcus Torna.

Galen nodded somberly. “I knew of him.”

“I escaped. I don’t think the Watch knew he had any pupils with him. I had nowhere to go, so I came home. Here. Ten years ago now. The people here are my family. They despise the Watch, more so now than ever. Those men were here three months ago. They took ten children, all under five, for their filthy Watchhouses. God knows what will happen to them.”

She thrust a plate of meat at Raffi. “Think of it! Our own children, drilled and trained and warped into our enemies. The brightest, the cleverest!” She paused, staring at Galen. “What future do those children have? Their mothers are distracted with grief.”

He shook his head heavily. Carys sat staring at the fire so hard that Raffi nudged her. When she looked at him, just for a moment, something flickered in his mind, a drift of pain. As he reached for it, it was gone.

She glared at him. “Leave me alone, Raffi.”

The woman looked at her suddenly. “Who are you? I didn’t know about you.”

“We met her,” Galen muttered. “On the downs.” He sat down on a bench, as if he was suddenly weary.

Lerin glanced at him. Then she stood upright, the knife still in her hand. “Why didn’t you answer me, keeper? I have sense-lines—good ones—flung right out into the downs. Two days ago you walked through the first. I searched for your mind. I was nearly a Relic Master—only a few more months with Marcus and I would have made the Deep Journey. I know what I’m doing. Why didn’t you answer me?”

Galen lifted his head. He faced her across the room, the fiery shafts of the last sunlight slanting between them. “I think we should talk about this later. Alone. Many things have happened. But I am who you think I am. Galen Harn. Relic Master.”

For a moment they looked at each other, and the sun faded. Then the woman’s face changed; Carys thought she seemed astounded, and then horrified. “Can it be . . . ?”

“Later!” Galen looked away into the dark. “I’ll explain later.”

Journal of Carys Arrin Karnosnight 11.16.546

I thought Raffi would burst, he ate so much. Mind you, so did I. Now he’s asleep and so is Galen. After the meal everyone was too tired to talk. Tomorrow, the woman said. The Watchpatrol may have moved on then. She’s out, but the old woman is somewhere about.

Something’s wrong. He has to ask Raffi for information. The villager’s name. Why didn’t he know it? Why not answer the woman’s mind-call?

Maybe he’s a fraud. Maybe the powers of the Order are nothing—and yet she would know that.