The Second God (4 page)

The following morning, Ly and I donned our flying gear. Mine consisted of fur-lined boots and jacket, my thickest trousers and a hat with ear-flaps. Ly wore his usual indoor clothes, with a lightweight coat on top. Like all his people, he never seemed to feel the cold when he flew. Perhaps the magic in his blood kept him warm.

On the roof of the Keep, the eagles were waiting for us, summoned by our mental connections with them. Not just our own eagles, either. Almost a score of the great beasts lived around Kingswell now, left behind after the war against the Blood Clans. They came and went as they pleased, hunting wild deer from the mountain behind the Imperial City and kishorn from further afield, and roosting on top of the Keep. Only a few were bonded with human riders, but they showed no desire to return to their Clanlands home.

Even after five years, I was still awestruck by the size of these birds, far larger than any wild eagle, their size enhanced by the magic in their Blood Clan riders. My own was one of the smallest, but she still towered over me as I approached her. I could feel the excitement in her mind, knowing that we would be flying far afield this sun. She had been bonded first to Ly’s mother, who had given her the name Sunshine, which I still used although it was a ridiculous name for such a magnificent beast.

Arran came to see us off. “Take care of her,” he said to Ly. “Keep her safe.”

“I will.”

“Come back soon,” Arran said to me. He sounded so despondent that I wrapped my arms around his waist, and rested my head on his shoulder. “My little flower,” he murmured, hugging me tightly.

I kissed him and unentangled myself. Behind him, my bodyguard stood silently. Sunshine clicked her beak at me, wanting to be away. Lowering her great head for me to mount, I scrambled onto her back, fitting my feet into the stirrups. Blood Clan saddles were simpler than the horse version, with only a small strap to hold on to, and my first flying efforts had been terrifying. Now, all I felt was excitement. I grinned at Ly, and he grinned back.

At a thought, Sunshine crouched and then launched herself into the air, her massive wings pumping to gain height. Below me, Ly’s eagle did the same. Dust swirled around us as we rose, slowly it seemed, but the Keep fell away rapidly beneath us. We circled once, twice, before turning to the east.

My last sight was of Arran’s pale face, one arm uplifted in farewell.

The thrill of flying never deserted me. The height, the speed, the swooping down and round, the sheer power of the beautiful creature beneath me – I loved it all. And in my mind, I could touch the thoughts and feelings of my eagle. Since Ly could connect to her too, that meant that my mind and his were also joined.

There was something overwhelmingly intimate about being so attuned to another human being. I could stretch a mental thread towards him as we flew, and know that he was just as excited to be airborne as I was. And when our eagles were side by side, Ly would look across at me and I could feel the burst of affection in his mind. His ability for such mental connections was far stronger than mine, and he could control it better, having inherited it from his Blood Clan ancestors.

He had accidentally transmitted it to me the first time his magic had driven us together. I wasn’t supposed to have blood magic, since I was an outsider – ‘unblooded’, as the Clanfolk called anyone not their own kin – but within a moon of that first terrifying coupling, I’d discovered I could jump into the minds of certain creatures. Rats were the first, with their snufflings and acute sense of smell in their dark world in the Keep walls and cellars. Then a bear, brought to entertain the jaded appetites of the nobility. And then the eagles. Even sitting in my apartment, I found myself simultaneously with Sunshine as she flew far above me, looking down through her eyes to the town far below.

This sun there was no need to look through the eagle’s eyes, for my view was the same as hers – the solid red stone of the octagonal Keep, the magically glowing walls and elegant golden palaces of the Imperial City, tucked into the arms of Candle Mountain, and around their feet, the brown sprawl of Kingswell with its busy streets and squat buildings. We soon left the town behind, following the eastern road until it curved to avoid a series of lakes, and after that making straight for the border. This northern end of Bennamore was the earliest to be settled, and its land was a patchwork of small farms, orchards, open grazing land and small settlements, with a scattering of larger towns. But as we flew on, the fields gave way to rougher ground, with hills and winding rivers and dark patches of untouched forest.

And then the border, a fortress with flags fluttering bravely, defended by a ditch and earth bank. Beyond it, the open plains, with their rolling grasslands. At this time of year, the grasses were brown, still awaiting the greening of spring, and the wind tossed them about like a darkly churning ocean. This was Icthari territory, home of my father’s people, but lately the barbaric Vahsi tribes had driven them west, so although we saw two or three small settlements below us, they were abandoned. We saw no sign of the Vahsi, however.

Another hour or so brought us to the Taysil River. We were still beyond the borders of Bennamore, but by looking through Sunshine’s keen eyes, I could just make out the dark stain of the river bank that was Zendronia. My home. Not my birthplace, but the nondescript little town where I’d grown up. I still remembered it fondly, and there were moments in the grandeur of Kingswell and the Drashona’s court when I wished I’d never left it, that I could have lived a simpler life. But then I would never have met Arran, or had my two children, so there were compensations. And I would never have flown on an eagle’s back.

We flew lower now to follow the trading road more closely, but I saw nothing untoward. Only the occasional train of wagons heading for the Karningplain, or returning from it, in groups of eight or ten, with armed outriders. The plains were never entirely safe. Every few marks, a cluster of buildings beside the road, walled and with a watchtower. An inn, a smithy, a small farm, perhaps a brewery, to supply the needs of travellers. Again, all looked peaceful.

At noon, we found a hidden spot in the foothills to the north of the road. Ly dug out a firepit while I gathered wood, and I huddled over the fire, trying to get some heat in my bones. If I could just stay warm, these excursions would be perfect. No bodyguard, no waiting women, no meetings, no one demanding my attention or seeking my patronage. Just me, Ly and the eagles. Freedom.

“Did you see anything amiss as we flew?” Ly asked.

“No, nothing. I’ve never travelled this way before, so I don’t really know what’s normal, but the wagons are moving, the inns look – well, like regular inns.”

“What does a regular inn look like?”

I laughed, but he was serious. “There were people moving about in the yard, smoke from the chimneys, sheep and cattle in the field at the back, that sort of thing. I could see the smith working at his forge at one of them. And all the buildings were still standing. That’s usually a good sign.”

He nodded, but his face was solemn. He often didn’t get my attempts at humour.

“As we get onto the plains proper, we may see groups of Vahsi. Will you let me know if you see anything?”

“My people were Vahsi, once,” he said conversationally. “Before our blood was changed.”

“Oh, you didn’t always have blood magic, then?”

“No. There was a legend amongst the Vahsi ancestors that if you travelled far enough north or south or east or west, you would come to the sea. Endless water. One man went to find it. He went to the north, and he was gone for many, many years. His journeying brought him to a great city, where he became a ruler, living there for thirty years. But then someone else became ruler and so he came back to the plains, and brought his sons with him. Four sons. And he and all his sons had blood magic.”

“So it came from the city? The blood magic?”

“Yes. But he fell out with the other Vahsi over it, and there was a war – the Vahsi like to make war – and the man was killed. His sons fled west with a small group of friends until they found another sea, and there they stayed. But they could not ride horses, like the Vahsi do, because the blood magic spooks them. That is why the name we have for ourselves –
de’haa vyoran
– means ‘people who walk’. In time, they learned to ride other beasts instead, but for a while the ancestors had to walk everywhere.”

“I guessed there was a connection,” I said, “because you both have the same type of skin tent –
clava
. And the lack of horses explains why your people settled, and became farmers and fishers, instead of following the herds, like the Vahsi. This is so interesting. I wish you will tell me more of these stories, Ly.”

“Stories?”

“Histories, if you prefer. None of this is in any books I’ve read about your people. Do your elders tell the children all this?”

“Tell the children?” His face was puzzled. “No, why would they do that?”

“Because it’s important for them to know how the Clans originated. You don’t have writing or books, so someone has to tell each new generation what happened in the past.”

“No one has to tell them. They remember.”

“What?”

“All our history is in our blood. We all remember everything, from the times of the First Ancestor onwards.”

~~~~~

All afternoon, as we flew above the road, skirting the southern reaches of the Sky Mountains, one part of my mind was watching and recording what I saw, but another part was thinking over Ly’s words. It accounted for so much that I’d found bizarre about him and his people. To inherit memories! How strange that must be, to remember not just your own actions, but those of your mother and father as well, and your grandmother and grandfather, stretching back who knows how many generations. I had a thousand questions about it, but I wasn’t going to allow myself to be distracted from the job we had to do. There was time enough to find out more. Ly wasn’t about to disappear.

Late in the afternoon we crossed a range of low hills. Behind us, the rivers fed into Bennamore’s fast-flowing Taysil River; ahead of us was the broad, meandering Dellonar River and Greenstone Ford. The eagles spiralled upwards, feathers riffling, their minds full of contentment as they enjoyed the rising currents from the plains. The river shimmered in the lowering sun, and even from this height I could see the sprawl of the town beyond it. Not a town – it was almost a city, a vast expanse of grey stone smearing the brown of the grasslands.

But Greenstone Ford could wait until tomorrow. For now, I was cold and tired and hungry, and all I could think about was a blazing fire and something hot to eat. We turned towards the Sky Mountains. Further north, so the books said, the peaks rose up into the clouds, a monstrous range that men had never crossed. Even here at the southernmost extremity, the tops were white all year round. But in the foothills, amongst the jagged crevasses and tumbled boulders, were numerous small, sheltered valleys with icy rushing streams, scrubby bushes for windbreaks and enough flat space for the eagles to land.

Ly flew low to the ground, leaning forwards to scan the rocky terrain. I followed behind, leaving him to choose a site for us to make camp for the night. All our previous journeys together had involved staying in the local ruler’s hall, or a comfortable inn, so this was the first time we’d had to camp. I was used to my comforts and wasn’t looking forward to it, but I trusted Ly to make it as easy as possible. His people were skilled at moving lightly through the landscape, and he was completely at home out in the open.

He passed over three or four spots that looked perfectly acceptable to me, before swooping down to land.

“Why this place?” I asked.

“There were three young kishorn hidden in some trees, back there. This is far enough away from them.”

“I didn’t see them – oh, you can connect to kishorn, too?”

He nodded, grinning. “It is one of the benefits to being
byan shar
.” A shadow crossed his face. “Perhaps the only benefit. You did not detect them?” He tapped his head.

“No. My ability is much weaker than yours. I can only connect with a few beasts, and I can’t find mushrooms the way you can.”

The smile returned at once. “That way, just beyond that huge boulder. There are some berries left on the bushes just downstream, plenty of herbs and any number of rodents underground.”

“Rodents?” I pulled a face.

He laughed at my dismay. “They are delicious, cooked the right way. Not as fine as plains moundrats, but these are a similar type, only smaller. Can you gather some firewood while I prepare the fireplace? And some sticks about this long, quite thick and not too flexible.”

“Quite thick and… Hmm. Should I ask?”

“To skewer the rodents, of course. We have no cooking pot for a proper stew, so we will cook them over the fire.”

Once the fire was ablaze, Ly said, “You stay here and warm yourself. I am going to sit over there and call some rodents.”

He picked up the pile of straight of sticks and took himself a little way off, sitting cross-legged on the ground, his back against a rock, eyes closed. He stayed unmoving for some time, and I wondered whether he’d dozed off. Then I noticed movement near his feet. Rodents. It was true, they were very like the giant moundrats of the plains, but smaller, not much bigger than a hare. There were several of them, their brown fur almost indistinguishable from the winter grass and bracken, so that they were invisible unless they moved.

Ly opened his eyes and held out one hand. Immediately one of the creatures hopped into it. Ly’s other hand shot out, his knife flashed and the animal lay still. The others scattered. Ly moved to another spot and repeated the procedure. Again they came, and another creature’s throat was slashed. When he had four, he took them to the river, gutted, skinned and cleaned them, and skewered them for the fire. The whole process had taken perhaps half an hour.

He was right, they were delicious stuffed with herbs and berries. Ly heated a stone to cook the mushrooms in the dripping juices, and they were wonderful too.

When Ly had finished eating, and I was just nibbling at the bones, I said, “How does it work, this memory business? Doesn’t it drive you mad, having your head filled with so many other people’s memories? And how do you ever sort them out?”

He hesitated. The flickering flames gave his face a grotesque appearance, and I couldn’t tell whether he was upset or irritated by the questions. The Blood Clans were a secretive people, and even though I was Ly’s wife, there was much he wouldn’t – or couldn’t – share with me.

“It is not quite like that,” he said slowly.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance, hurling the rodent bones into the fire, where they spat and sizzled. It was astonishing to me how many things in his culture were ‘not quite like that’. I could never work out whether they really were that vague and uncertain, or whether it was just a polite way of refusing to tell me.

He was sitting cross-legged beside me, his arms wrapped around his knees, but now he half rose, and knelt in front of me. “Princess, I wish to hide nothing from you, but I do not know how I can explain something I do not understand myself. I am so sorry.”

Even in the ever-changing firelight, I could see the distress written in his face. “Hush.” I put one finger to his lips. “We’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep, and get this mission over with, and when we get back to the Keep, maybe we can talk about it again. If you wish.”

“Yes.” His expression lightened. “It is easier to think at the Keep. There is not so much going on around me.”

“Going on?”

“The kishorn are moving about. There is a cougar following them. A couple of foxes, some wild goats, any number of hares, two owls…”