The Wraeththu Chronicles (110 page)

"What's this?" he asked me.

"What the hell is going on?" Ezhno squeaked, trying to struggle away from me. Worry had broken through his sensible silence. His eyes darted round the room, seeking bolt-holes.

I gripped his shoulder painfully. "Keep your mouth shut!" I advised, giving him a

small, warning shake.

Ezhno glared at me, but complied. He wasn't stupid.

"Oh wonderful!" Panthera spat. "What do we do with this? And keep your voice down; you'll wake the Mojags."

Behind him, I could see Outher and his companions around the table, all unconscious. One had slipped to the floor, while Outher and the other slept with their heads cradled in their arms on the table. They had suspected nothing.

"What kept you?" Panthera hissed. "I nearly died when Astarth came in tonight. I thought we'd been found out and the Mojags had already started to drink the wine. I wondered whether your friend Kruin and I would have to leave Piristil without you."

"Leave Piristil!" Ezhno had found his voice again. I twisted his arm until he yelped.

"He needs silencing," Panthera observed. Ezhno made some further noise of disgruntlement so Panthera spun lightly around and kicked him in the side of the neck. Quite a feat. Ezhno was still pretty close to me. All I felt was the wind of Panthera's passing foot. Ezhno crumpled to the ground without a murmur. I had an idea that he might sleep a little longer than the Mojags. Panthera was dressed in black and still had the remains of the silver chains round his ankles. I could tell he felt completely confident about all this.

"Any sign of Kruin yet?" I asked and went to the window. With superb timing, Kruin's face popped up and we both jumped, Kruin nearly to his death in the yard below. He waved a fist at me.

"Hurry up!" I mouthed. Panthera was pulling on a pair of boots behind me, which I supposed he must have stolen from the Mojags. They did look a little loose on him, but it was too cold outside for sandals or soft slippers; he had no heavy shoes of his own.

"They keep moving," he said, cocking his head at the table.

"Hmm, I'm not surprised. It was a light dose. (Too light?No, don't think that.) God, I hope we have enough time. Come on, Kruin."

Kruin did not hear me. He was busily applying a smoking liquid to the bars of the window, a scarf tied over his face.

"Think we could take these three on?" Panthera inquired. I looked at him, then at the powerful, lightly slumbering forms of the Mojags. Sometimes, the willowy Panthera can look surprisingly menacing, a creature who could kill by stealth rather than strength.

"Not three, no," I said. "Not even with your high kicks!" I continued to gesture encouragement at Kruin. Panthera opened the window, the sash squealing dreadfully, and overpowering, foul fumes began to drift into the room. Kruin pulled a forlorn face over his scarf as both Panthera and I began to cough.

"Shut the window!" Kruin ordered. "If the smoke reaches the Mojags, they'll probably wake up."

The window was swiftly dosed. We looked through it anxiously. Kruin kept trying to break the bars, but they appeared unmovable. Eventually, after what seemed at least an hour, one of them moved in his hand.

"Thank the Aghama!" Panthera murmured beside me. His fear, anxiety had released an enticing Panthera-type aroma from his pores; a delicious scent of cinnamon and smoke. Even under such conditions of stress I couldn't help noticing it, wanting to fill my lungs with it, wipe out the corrosion-stink. All hara have their own, bewitching perfume; passions of any kind can release it. Panthera became aware of my subliminal interest. He moved away from me and the moment was lost.

Just as Kruin was tugging and wrenching at the third bar, whose removal would give Panthera and myself enough room to squeeze through, there was a noise behind us. The door. I wheeled around and saw the key hanging from the lock, trembling, rattling. It fell, landing with a dull plop on the carpet. Whoever was on the other side of that door had the master key. Panthera and I exchanged an agonized glance. To both of us, a monster Jafit was waiting out there. Panthera swore and threw the window up on its sashes. More foul smoke billowed into the room. Behind us the door swung open. Not Jafit; Astarth. An Astarth with a key in his hand, looking right at me. His face was expressionless.

As air and fumes rushed into the room, Outher uttered a groan and began to lift his head, shake it, make further noises. "Come on!" Kruin urged, panicking. He disappeared, dropping to the courtyard below. Outher was lurching toward us, looking about twenty feet tall, one hand over his eyes, unsure of what was happening. Astarth was feeling his way carefully into the room, one hand over his mouth and nose. It was getting very murky; smoke everywhere. Another Mojag began to stir and rise, the third still lay unconscious on the floor.

"Get going, Cal!" Panthera said. He was grinning from ear to ear, positively vibrating with force.

Suddenly movement seemed to erupt around us. The second Mojag scuttled forward, growling. Outher shook his head clearer, saw us properly and roared. Astarth ran forward, a bottle held purposefully in his raised hand. Panthera tried to push me out of the window, throwing our baggage down before me. Just as I jumped, I saw Astarth smash the bottle down onto the second Mojag's head, then I landed with a sickening jolt in the yard. Looking up, I could see Panthera poised on the windowsill. Silhouetted behind him was the lumbering form of Outher. Kruin helped me up, looking anxiously at Panthera. It was bitterly cold out there, our hot, steaming breath almost clouding the scene on the window-ledge.

"Jump!" Kruin called, but not too loudly for fear of attracting further attention. Pushing off, with an exhuberant cry, Panthera effortlessly kicked Outher in the throat, kicked him senseless back into the room, and soared backwards through the air, to land on all fours beside me. Astarth ran to the window, put his hands on the sill, leaned down. We stared at each other. I could not understand his motives. I could not speak.

"Get going," he said, "and good luck. Give my love to Jaddayoth."

"Astarth?"

"Go on, quickly!" He smiled. "Jafit will come after you, Calanthe. Don't let him beat you. Don't. Now go!"

"But Jafit will know what you did in there! He'll kill you!" An impulsive idea followed. "Come with us, Astarth. Jump!"

He was still smiling at me, shaking his head. "Would Jafit kill me for protecting his prize pussy cat? It looked like the Mojags were attacking him, didn't it? Difficult to tell with the room all full of smoke. No, I didn't know what was going on, Calanthe. Don't worry about me; I'm indispensible. Just get going will you! Now!"

Then light was spilling out into the yard as the kitchen door opened. I heard Jancis's voice cry out. "What's going on?"

I grabbed Panthera's arm and we ran after Kruin, both of us laughing hysterically in our mad panic. Our bags bumped into our legs, the one containing my notebooks thumping painfully against my back.

"Come on!" Kruin shouted. He was in the gateway to the street, already on horseback. Two other horses were prancing in the snow beside him. I could see the rolling whites of their eyes. Panthera, unbelievably, jumped on the nearest horse by vaulting over the tail. I chose a more conventional method by using the stirrup, slinging my bags over the saddle. Behind us, activity in the yard became louder. We didn't look back. We shrieked and kicked the animals' flanks and skidded, slipped, half-galloped up the road, north out of Fallsend. Kruin had bought Gimrah horses and had to borrow money from the merchants for that purpose. Gimrah horses are fast, very fast. We were away before Jafit could follow us. Of course, we knew he would hire trackers to bring us back, or try to, as he had done when Panthera had escaped before, but we counted on him thinking we would opt for the quickest route, which was south. Obviously trained trackers wouldn't take long to realize that was the wrong way, but it could give us a little more time, a little more lead. Filled with the exhilaration of our success, I felt that what we had achieved that night was more of a memorial to Lolotea than what I'd accomplished with Astarth the previous week. We galloped madly past the forlorn, funeral hill. I waved into the snow-lit darkness. "We did it, Teah!" Panthera's laugh echoed my cry.

"May Jafit drown in his own blood!" he said, and we all whooped and cheered as it began to snow once more. If it snowed thickly and quickly enough, our trail would be covered. We estimated that it would take some time for Jafit to engage the trackers—if we were lucky, as much as a couple of hours. We headed toward the main road out of the town so that our trail would be more difficult to follow. Few hara were traveling at this hour, but the main road had been strewn with ashes all the same. What hara we passed looked at us curiously for we were still traveling fast. Although this did attract attention, we felt that speed was more advisable than caution in this case. We rode all night, punishing the horses. By dawn, we were well into the hills north of Fallsend. All towns that we passed were deserted and overgrown. Kruin was familiar with this territory. "We must keep north for a few more miles," he said, "and then head east toward Jaddayoth, following the River Scarm upstream. It should be more sheltered."

As morning began to seep a red mist over the land, the cold crept back into our bones. Camp-fires would not be enough to keep us warm. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable journey.

A Tale by the Fire

"Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I—

I took the one less traveled by"

 
—Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

Fereng will soon be behind us. We have had to cut across its corner to reach Jaddayoth. Here, the air is dry and bitterly cold, making our lungs ache and our eyelashes and nostrils frost over. There is no sign of pursuit from Fallsend yet, but we are not so complacent as to think they're not behind us somewhere. Up here, in the spiky, clean air, it becomes impossible to remember the details of life in Piristil; such things should never be possible. But if I can forget it with ease, I do not think the same can be said for Panthera. After the first flush of excitement and triumph, he became very subdued. Initially, I thought the weather conditions were getting to him. Kruin complained aloud and dreamed of the warm hearths of Natawni. I could not envisage the future, and I am used to cold (cold of heart and cold of body). All I could think of was putting enough distance between ourselves and Jafit.

One night, Panthera and I sat huddled around a meager fire and he began to talk. Kruin was asleep behind us.

"I can't believe I'm free," Panthera said.

"We're not yet!" I told him. "We're only free when we reach Jael and the protection of your family."

"Ah yes, my family," Panthera said in a soft, cold voice, staring at the fire. "They must think I'm dead."

"What happened?" I asked. "How come you were up for sale in Emunah anyway? Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not that sensitive about it, if that's what you think!" he said. "If you really want to know; I'll tell you."

"The night is long," I replied, waving a hand toward the hard, starry sky. "We're cold, without the support of alcohol or good food. Tell me your story, my pantherine. It may help to pass the time."

Panthera shrugged. "You're a ham," he said, settling his chin comfortably on his knees. "OK, here goes. First the background stuff. I was born to the family Jael in the land of Jaddayoth, among the forest hills of Ferike. My sire is the Ferike Castlethane Ferminfex Jael and my hostling an imported Kalamah named Lahela." He smiled wistfully at the fire. "Talk about myself? Very soon; maybe. Now I'll speak of my family, which is a story in itself. People back home write poems about my parents' courtship; I can't remember them though. But I do remember my father telling me about it, how one day, he was invited to the Kalamah city of Zaltana, by the Fanchon, its lord, and there it all began ..."

It was not just a sweet tale of romance as Panthera implied, but also a sneak preview of the Jaddayoth I intended to squeeze myself into; the world of the royal families. Around about the time Ferminfex received his missive from the Fanchon, Zaltana was nearing completion. Panthera said that the Kalamah work very slowly (lots of time for refreshments, etc.), but their architecture is splendid. Zaltana is a diamond of Wraeththu cities. The Fanchon wanted the history of its construction documented, his own accomplishments immortalized by written word—well-written word. The Ferike are the scholars and artists of Jaddayoth tribes. They are often called upon to undertake such work. Ferminfex set sail.

Zaltana is made of creamy, peachy marble and stands upon the coast. Ferminfex was immediately impressed by the wonderful, perfumed air of the place; hanging gardens of riotous, exotic blooms flavored and colored the city streets. He was in awe of the grand, lazy grace of the soaring buildings and the languid, feline beauty of its people. Day after day, Ferminfex would sit in the great library of the Fanchon's palace, working at his papers. He had been given a blond, pinewood desk still smelling of the forest, and as he sat there sunlight would fall on his hands through the open windows. Pausing from his work now and again to drink citrus cordial or smoke a musky, greenleaf cigarette, he would gaze out of the window at the langourous activities of the Kalamah.

In the late afternoons, before the early evening meal, the sons of the Fanchon would come to the tiled terrace beneath the library windows. They would sit on plump, tasseled cushions around their teacher who taught them to play strange, meowing music upon strangely clawed stringed instruments. Ferminfex would gaze down at them, as he took another drink, and be reminded of a pride of young lions from the land ofOlathe. They always had their cats with them, purring and chirruping in cal voices to their small, feline companions. Delightful, artless creatures they were, with tawny, streaky hair like manes, and slim, supple bodies. Lahela was the eldest of them, past Feybraiha but seemingly unattached, and of such loveliness that even the austere and normally unmovable Ferminfex could not help but fall desperately in love with him. Every day, while watching Lahela, he would put aside the dry, dusty business of praising the Fanchon's achievements, to write long, passion-laden poems instead; hymns to the Fanchon's eldest son. Occasionally, Lahela would glance up at the library window and smile at him. He was not a proud creature. Perhaps Ferminfex even let one or two of his desperate odes float down to the terrace below, who knows. Panthera didn't say. I like to think he did.