The Inner Circle: The Knowing (18 page)

‘
We’ll stop here for
the night,’ he called up to Briel, who obediently slowed his
horses. The sun was halfway vanished and he was exhausted. ‘Set up
the tents,’ Far-a-mael ordered El-i-miir as he slid off his horse.
He released the affiliation, allowing the animal to wander over to
a roadside stream.

In unison with their small party, the
distant rider likewise stopped for the night, furthering
Far-a-mael’s suspicions that he was up to something. Soft footfall
revealed Seteal’s presence as she exited the wagon without shoes
and sat in the dirt beside the road. Sad eyes made a prisoner of
the young woman’s features. She slid her finger through the dirt,
making squiggly patterns. She tucked her knees up beneath her chin
and wrapped her arms around them. Far-a-mael shook his head
worriedly. She was terribly upset by the whole affair, even to the
point of having become an entirely different person.

‘
How long do you
think it’ll take for her to recover?’ Far-a-mael asked El-i-miir.
She hadn’t been trained as a jilt’lesit, but he was aware of her
indulgence in personal study.

‘
I’m not sure,
Gil’rei,’ El-i-miir muttered, dropping the tent pole she’d been
working with and straightening to face him. ‘I’m not a jilt’lesit,’
she said bitterly. She sighed and looked away before answering.
‘Some women take months or even years before gaining any sense of
normality. Some may never fully recover, but Seteal is a fighter,
Gil’rei Far-a-mael.’ El-i-miir looked at the woman sitting in the
dirt, her forehead creasing in concern. ‘She’ll be able to resume
her training soon enough. It’s not like there’s any
real
urgency, is there?’

‘
You keep your mouth
shut,’ Far-a-mael hissed irritably, casting a glance in Seteal’s
direction. ‘My reason for training her is by far more important
than the one we provided.’

‘
Fear not, Gil’rei,’
El-i-miir whispered resentfully, ‘your secret is safe.’

‘
Oh, I know it is.’
Far-a-mael frowned. ‘This mission is not only more important than
her life, but it’s more important than yours. You’d do well to
remember that.’

‘
I don’t know how you
sleep at night.’ El-i-miir narrowed her eyes and waved in Seteal’s
general direction. ‘What happened to her is our fault. Don’t you
get that? Do you really have so little compassion?’

Far-a-mael gaped at El-i-miir in utter
disbelief. She’d never spoken to him so audaciously before. He
worked his jaw, but was quite lost for words.

‘
Just think about
that.’ The fight fled El-i-miir’s eyes and she hurried away. Just
as well, too. If she’d remained another minute, Far-a-mael might’ve
backhanded her across the cheek for such disrespect. Not only was
he her Gil’rei, but he was also easily more than eight times her
age.

Far-a-mael affiliated Seteal’s horse to
approach before rummaging through his bag to find his diary and a
map. He flicked through the pages until he came to the day’s date.
There he made a note on El-i-miir’s behaviour. He’d have to keep a
stern eye on her. He closed the little book and unfolded the
map.

Old World was marked out by charcoal
shading that Far-a-mael had added himself, but every time he
travelled south, he’d return having to add a little more. Where
their territory began was irrefutably marked out by the black
clouds that blocked the sun and bathed the land in eternal
darkness. As Old World spread its ugly wings, countries such as
Shinteleran and Olgarnda came ever closer to losing the precarious
grip they had on their southern homes. Slowly, they were swallowed
up.

Far-a-mael slid his finger down the
path they’d be taking along the river. He hesitated before jabbing
his nail at the border of Jenjol. The country had reportedly
assembled an army of fearful proportions, rumoured to be purposed
for the annihilation of the Elglair.

When Far-a-mael’s tent was set up, he
turned to Seteal and invited her inside. Reluctant though she was,
the girl soon appeared in the entryway, her face twisted by
fear.

‘
Do you know why I’ve
asked you to join me?’ Far-a-mael said as he sat on his rolled-up
blanket.

‘
I can’t.’ Seteal’s
eyes remained focused on the floor. ‘I’m so tired. I don’t want to
practise.’

‘
Of course not, you
silly girl!’ Far-a-mael exclaimed. ‘We won’t rush back into that
just yet. I thought we might have a little chat instead.’ He
gestured toward a cushion. ‘Sit.’

Seteal lowered herself tentatively and
winced, having to readjust her position several times before
attaining any level of comfort. Far-a-mael felt a pang of guilt.
This was Jil-e-an’s daughter, after all. He looked into Seteal’s
hazel-coloured eyes, if only to avoid the purple bruising on her
face. The poor child. Some silly little part of him wanted
desperately to hold her in his arms and tell her everything would
be okay. Some small selfless part of him desired so entirely to
protect the child from what she would inevitably have to face, but
he pushed the thought aside.

Far-a-mael buried his feelings beneath
cold logic and intellect. He did not know Seteal. He never had. He
was pursuing goals for those he’d lost . . . those he’d loved. He
was doing this for dear Sar-ni, not the insolent child sitting
before him. Seteal would fulfil her usefulness and then have her
peace, but not before Far-a-mael was done with her. And it was
likely she’d see horrors greater than rape before her days were
done.

‘
Listen to my voice,’
Far-a-mael whispered, surprising even himself by the roar emotion
contained therein. He hurried to suppress the sound and was
grateful to see the girl’s lack of reaction. ‘Tell me, how do you
feel about silts today?’ Far-a-mael embraced the Ways and expertly
wove tendrils of colour into Seteal’s murky aura in such a way as
to allude her suspicions.

‘
I hate him,’ Seteal
snarled as Far-a-mael spun deep red loathing into oozing green
waters.

‘
Him, you say? Not
all of them?’

‘
I don’t know all of
them.’ Seteal slumped. ‘But I know him. I feel his hold around my
arms. I hate the colour of his skin. I hate those ugly toes without
nails. His eyes aren’t shaped right and his blood should be
spilled.’

‘
Indeed.’ Far-a-mael
smiled encouragingly. ‘Can you tell me the colour of silt
blood?’

‘
No.’ Seteal
recoiled. ‘Is it black? It’s black like their souls.’

‘
Worse.’ Far-a-mael
moved his finger discreetly, flicking whips of brown and red into
Seteal’s aura. ‘It’s blue, the very opposite to our own. They are
our true and mortal enemies. Between us, there can be no
peace.’

‘
Yes.’ Seteal clapped
her hands together, her eyes widening joyously. ‘We should invade
their land. We should kill their children.’ She giggled
malevolently.

‘
Perhaps someday we
shall,’ Far-a-mael agreed, even as he began to severe the tie. He’d
done enough for one session. Overwhelming a subject could lead to
their recognition of the foreignism of their thoughts. Far-a-mael
could not afford such a setback. ‘What do you intend to do with the
rest of your evening?’

‘
I’m hungry,’ Seteal
muttered, her eyes squinting and foot tapping. She was anxious, but
didn’t know why. Far-a-mael had pushed her too hard. He’d better go
easier the next time. She was fragile. ‘I’ll probably go to sleep
soon.’

‘
We have a long day
tomorrow.’ Far-a-mael nodded in agreement as he retrieved the final
translucent weaving of affiliation. ‘You’d best be off.’

‘
Yes.’ Seteal
straightened her dress and stood, confusion muddling her features.
This was a good thing, but her attempted recollection gave
Far-a-mael cause for concern. She was one of the more suspicious
people he’d ever worked with. ‘Good evening, Gil’rei.’ Seteal
nodded respectfully before departing the tent.

*

El-i-miir ran her eyes along the same
line on the page for what felt like the hundredth time. No matter
how she tried, she couldn’t concentrate on the book in her hands.
She put it down and sighed. How had it come to this?

Seteal lay quietly across the tent. Her
body was still, her eyes were locked on the canvas above. El-i-miir
had only a vague understanding of what Far-a-mael was up to, but
the little she knew sent shivers down her spine. There was a new
darkness that moved about in the old gil’s aura. Or perhaps it’d
always been there, El-i-miir having formerly been too inexperienced
to see it. A reflection of that darkness drifted about in Seteal,
preaching testament to Far-a-mael’s having affiliated and tampered
with her.

El-i-miir hated being a part of it. It
made her sick to her stomach . . . all the lies. And it got harder
every day, with her impression of Seteal growing fonder. Of course
the Gor woman had her weaknesses: she was impulsive, quick to
judge, and sharp with her tongue, but she was also honest and had a
kind heart.

El-i-miir had been training beneath
Gil’rei Far-a-mael for no less than six years. She’d been just
fifteen when he’d whisked her away, her parents waving her off.
She’d seen very little of them ever since. The Sixth Cleff was
simply too far away from the place in which El-i-miir did the
majority of her training, the Eighth Cleff, Far-a-mael’s home.

It saddened El-i-miir that she’d
missed out on being there for her younger sisters. She’d never
wanted to be a gil, but her parents had long ago promised her to
Far-a-mael. The reason for their doing so was still very much
shrouded in mystery, leaving El-i-miir to doubt whether she’d ever
find out the truth. Perhaps it all had something to do with
her.
El-i-miir turned to glare disparagingly at
Seteal.

Rancid browns and murky greens
swirled about in Seteal’s aura, revealing a mental state that was
far from stable. Since the incident, the woman had scarcely said a
word and avoided human interaction wherever possible. She’d
remained in the Keacos’ wagon the entire day. She didn’t eat or
drink and wore dark circles beneath her eyes from a lack of
sleep.

‘
Seteal?’ El-i-miir
whispered, struck with pity.

‘
What?’ Seteal
replied when El-i-miir’s voice broke the silence. Rather than
lifting her head or sitting up she simply rolled over to face
her.

‘
I can help you,’
El-i-miir said softly, embracing the Ways so that Seteal’s aura
ignited further and she was able to see every last weaving of light
that danced within her soul. She unfurled her finger and a slender
stream of blue twisted away like fine lace.

‘
No.’ Seteal cringed.
‘Please . . . I don’t want that.’ She recoiled dramatically. ‘Get
it out of me! Get it out!’ She wailed, sitting up to push El-i-miir
away.

‘
I’m so sorry,’
El-i-miir’s mouth fell open in horror as she immediately regretted
what she’d done. How could she have been so insensitive? The last
thing Seteal wanted was to have yet another person forcing
themselves into any part of her. ‘Maker, I didn’t think.’ El-i-miir
shuddered. ‘I just wanted to help.’

‘
I don’t need your
help,’ Seteal narrowed her eyes. ‘Who are you, El-i-miir? Who are
you but a stranger? I don’t need your friendship. I need my father.
I need my home. I need not to be traipsing across the world in a
Maker-damned tent,’ she choked out amidst a flood of tears. ‘I need
my life back: where silts don’t pluck you off the street, where
owls don’t talk or turn into hideous monsters, and where I could
believe that men were decent. So if you need to tell me something,’
Seteal sat forward and gripped El-i-miir’s shoulders, ‘do it now.
If you want to do right by me, tell me the truth.’

‘
I-
I don’t understand,’ El-i-miir
stuttered through a dry mouth.

‘
I’m scared,’
Seteal wept. ‘I’m alone and I don’t want to die. I don’t. But the
price has been so great. Please . . . please tell me that you’re
not making a fool out of me. Tell me Far-a-mael is genuine. Tell me
that this isn’t all for nothing, because honestly, El-i-miir, I
don’t know who to trust anymore, but I
think
I can trust
you.’

‘
You
can
trust
me.’ El-i-miir swallowed loudly. ‘Far-a-mael is telling you the
truth.’

‘
All right.’ Seteal
nodded, closing her eyes. ‘All right then.’ She exhaled slowly and
laid back down.

Shaking like a leaf, El-i-miir turned
and blew out the lantern before she could give herself away. In the
darkness, she rested her head and clamped a hand over her mouth to
stifle the sobs trying so hard to escape her throat. She’d been
raised to be honest, but in just a few short years Far-a-mael had
transformed her into a successful liar. Maker knew she wanted to
tell Seteal the truth, but the cost was just too great. The mission
was too important and she would certainly be sent to Vish’el’Tei
for treason if she did. That was a price El-i-miir simply wasn’t
willing to pay--not for Seteal, not for anyone.

CHAPTER
Twelve

Slaughter