Ka’in turned to address the crowd. ‘Do you believe her?’
The crowd answered in unison. Wine spilled as hands raised. Roasted lizard flecked off fat lips. ‘No!’
‘And what happens to those we don’t believe?’ Ka’in called, almost a chant.
I couldn’t take it any more. It was obvious was what about to happen.
I turned around to begin running.
Shilah was already halfway across the expanse in front of me. She was so quick it was frightening. I waved to Cam and Dunes to follow, but I didn’t look at them.
I couldn’t have them seeing my shame.
Ka’in should be dead. And it was my fault. I’d have to cut into my flesh and start my own death tally, just like Dunes.
All of us reached the Flock just as the Noble cheering reached a maddening level behind us. Shilah was already gesturing wildly, forming an attack plan. She called out orders for which unit to go where. I couldn’t hear her clearly over the blood boiling in my ears. I got behind one of the Wraiths and began pushing out into the moat with every ounce of strength I possessed. I shouldn’t have been able to move the massive thing by myself, as it weighed more than Jia; but maybe there was something of the Crier in the air. Maybe rage doesn’t care all that much about shouldn’t have.
I barrelled across the expanse. The Wraith flowed across the land in front of me like the River Singe. I pushed with all of my might, and a loud noise pierced my ears. It took me a moment to realize it was a battle cry coming from my lips.
But it was also coming from the lips of those behind me.
Before I knew it, my Wraith was moving twice as fast. Cam and Shilah were pushing on either side of me. I chanced a glance back and saw the other Wraiths keeping pace, pushed by the Five and Samsah, their faces serious and deadly. The rest of the Flock was screaming, their daggers and Stingers and crossbows at the ready.
We rounded the corner, shouting murder.
The Nobles had heard us coming. Everyone was already scrambling, their plates and wine cups down, weapons up. Most of them were simply guards, but there were a few real soldiers and Khatfists from Paphos in the crowd. Their armour gleamed and their swords were sharp. The soldiers were first in line when we rounded the corner, ready for battle, forming ranks and lifting their pikes.
It didn’t matter.
Four Jadan bodies now hung off the balcony. The girl with the gnarled fingers was burning, her body hanging taut. She wasn’t squirming. Her neck must have broken in the fall.
Each and every one of these Nobles would die. My heart commanded it so.
The Warrior in me had returned.
‘You!’ Ka’in shouted, pointing the torch down at me, kicking the rope at his feet. ‘I knew you and Hillia here were in cahoots. She protected you till the end, but I have been made most beautiful—’
I grabbed the Wraith hose and wrenched back the release lever almost hard enough to break it off. The stream wouldn’t reach Ka’in, but that was okay. I wanted to kill him with my hands.
Charged water erupted from the spout, blasting with such power that the hose almost bucked out of my hands. The guards and taskmasters watched the water arcing towards them and laughed.
Laughter turned to screams.
I screamed along with them: theirs of pain, mine of glory. I sprayed their faces and hands and aimed down their chest plates, hoping to inflict as much pain as possible. Their bodies jerked and sputtered and they begged for mercy.
I showed none.
I doused half of the crowd with the Wraithwater before the pressure gave and the stream died. By that time, the other Wraiths had flanked mine, and Cam and Shilah were in position with their hoses. They both released the levers and two new streams attacked the Noble crowd.
Shilah’s teeth were bared. Cam’s face was stricken with horror. Their accuracy was divine.
The clinking of metal led me to find Split furiously pumping the pressure back into my Wraith. His face was blood red and he moved faster than I’d ever seen, his wispy hair flying in all directions.
‘Thanks,’ I said, the word coming out oddly soft and tender.
Forces clashed inside of me.
The gears in my brain had ground themselves loose; I was awash with sharp ideas. Some were of honour. Others were of anger. The frantic thoughts stabbed at their barriers, aching to push into the real world through actions. I was full of sensations screaming at me, telling me new ways to inflict Noble pain. My arms buzzed with pleasure. My hands itched as I waited for Split to ready the Wraith.
The Pedlar seethed with effort, the muscles in his forearm bulging back to a former state. His eyes lost years of sorrow. There was a flash of a younger Split; one not yet plagued by so much loss.
I marvelled in Noble destruction, watching the crowd writhe and flail. Most were lying on their backs now. They clawed at their faces and arms, trying to get the Wraithwater off their skin. They shouted of burning and going blind. Their tears were glorious. I could smell their shocked flesh.
Then I realized it was just my poor Jadan family still roasting off the balcony.
I needed vengeance. I needed the Nobles to suffer and die.
Ka’in and the masked followers had disappeared into the Sanctuary, but I wasn’t worried. I’d find them. I’d deal with them accordingly.
Split finished priming the Wraith. My voice nearly broke as I bellowed my next war cry, loosing the next volley of caustic water. Cam and Shilah’s streams had dried up, waiting to be primed, and my new attack arrived just in time. The Noble agony remained fluid.
Pretty soon the whole crowd was one part flailing and one part screams. They tried stripping away their clothes and armour, but their faces only grew more panicked. Wraithwater couldn’t be cured without an antidote; they were only making things worse for themselves.
The pain wouldn’t stop.
Neither would I.
I grabbed a sword from our supplies and ran over to the nearest Khatfist. I stabbed sharp metal into any naked flesh I could find. Metal hit bone and the blade reverberated in my hand. I clutched tightly. The Noble’s screech was high pitched and tickled my ears.
Wraithwater dripped into the wounds and sunk under his skin, and the man’s eyes rolled backwards. He fell unconscious, which was a mercy I wasn’t intending. I moved to the next body rolling on the ground. I found vengeance. And then I found more vengeance.
I would have thought my actions might come with guilt or remorse, but I felt nothing of the sort. The tip of the metal cut through Noble muscles and fat with delightful ease, like carving designs into clay.
The Five were immediately at my sides, cudgels abandoned and swords in hand. They sought their own revenge. Het and Dunes killed the bastards with reckless abandon. Jia wore a deep frown, apologizing under his breath to each victim as he sliced their necks. Kasroot snarled at each spurt of blood. Cleave killed methodically, dispassionate as death itself.
I kicked hands trying to grab at my ankles, keeping off the Wraithwater. A few flecks burned into my flesh, but I’d worn long sun-robes. Most of the water fell harmlessly against the thick cloth.
Soon enough, everyone had been either sliced or skewered, and I doubted we’d be taking any of them alive.
‘Everyone fall back!’ Shilah called, waving our Flock away from the fallen Nobles. Blood seeped from a cut on her arm, but otherwise she was unharmed.
The Flock retreated, leaving the writhing mass to suffer alone.
I did not.
I went back to the Wraith and I started pumping, moving air into the clay stomach of the machine. Madness stirred in my blood now. I looked up again at the hanging Jadan bodies, their burning stench unbearable. I was stricken by fever. I wasn’t finished with these Nobles yet. Only death would save them.
A hand grabbed my shoulder.
‘Micah.’
I kept pumping.
‘Micah,’ Shilah said again. ‘It’s over. Now we go find Ka’in. That’s what matters.’
I kept pumping. The pressure was almost ready.
Split came over to me next. His dagger was thick with blood, and he scratched at the back of his neck.
‘Son,’ he said. ‘Come on. You did good, but she’s right. If we don’t catch that Sun-damn blister of a Noble he might get away.’
I pushed past Split, moving to the front of the Wraith and grabbing the hose. I couldn’t stop. Stopping meant facing the truth. Stopping meant cutting down bodies from ropes; the one who died because I’d been too weak to finish off Ka’in in the first place. I wouldn’t be weak now.
Cam came beside me next. ‘The Wraiths worked perfectly, Spout. This is just the beginning.’
His words didn’t register. They might as well have been in Ancient Jadan.
I clapped on the filter on the hose to broaden the spray.
‘Micah!’ Shilah chided.
I aimed a wordless scream at the Nobles, unleashing the torrent of charged water. The twitches and groans were less frantic than last time, but there were still a few satisfying screams. I aimed for the wounds and growled so loud that my voice broke. The sound continued, from a much deeper place than my lips.
Leah waved the banner high above her head, cheering me on.
The Wraith finally ran dry. Dunes had to pull me away from the hose.
I dropped to my knees and wept, my tears burning into the sand.
We couldn’t find Ka’in.
It was my fault.
We spent hours securing every room, every hallway, every tower, but there was no sign of him anywhere. I had Samsah and a few others guard the secret escape door that led out into the sands, but he’d not gone that way. There must have been other passageways out of the Sanctuary, which would be good for us in the future, but bad in the meantime.
The rest of the night was spent securing the Sanctuary. This involved disposing of twenty more Nobles and taskmasters who’d slept through Ka’in’s ceremony. It didn’t take much effort. The Five knocked them unconscious and bound them faster than I could point. We hauled the limp Nobles through the basement and tossed them in the cages in the ‘Beauty Room’. I hoped the Nobles would wake with fear in their hearts. The walls were lined with terrible pictures of severed body parts and diagrams of naked bones. There were clay representations of organs and jawbones, and the whole place looked like a dead-pit sorted out and pinned for examination.
To make things worse, there were cages in the corner. Ka’in used to keep the Domestics locked up before exposing them to his curiosities. Shilah, Ellia, Ellcia and Leah had counted among those victims.
Shilah had been tortured on one of the tables, which were made of clean metal and had camel-leather straps on the corners. I had Dunes and Cleave take the tables out and bury them in the sands.
I was tempted to have the Wraiths brought in so we could lock our prisoners in the cages and spray them, to make them suffer like they’d made Jadans suffer, but I knew Shilah wouldn’t go for it. She’d barely met my eyes when we were in the room.
There were ten Domestics left alive in the Sanctuary, including the three young Jadans that Ka’in had almost hung and burned over the balcony. There should have been thirteen.
When no one was watching, I’d taken a scalpel from one of the Beauty Room drawers and cut four thin slices into the back of my leg.
Shilah tended to the Domestics in the Sanctuary’s central gardens, offering Cold water and groan salve for their wounds. The necks of the three Jadans from the balcony had serious abrasions from being dragged around with the rope, but the balm would help. Almost all of them were in some state of shock. It was going to be a long battle back to health, but I wouldn’t let them fight it alone.
The Flock helped move the Wraiths to the guard towers and barred the entrances to the gates. Shilah oversaw everything, keeping everyone focused. Her steely commands and upright demeanour quelled any fears over the Khat’s impending reaction. While Shilah was busy being a leader, I took Dunes, Cam and Split on a sombre mission.
There was one thing that needed doing before the night was over.
Dunes lifted the charred Jadan bodies back up to the balcony. He was strong enough to do it by himself. Cutting them loose from their ropes and letting them fall would have been easier, but they were family. They had died for our cause, even if they didn’t know it at the time.
We found a cart in one of the guard towers and used it to bring our kin out into the sands. Shoving boilweed up my nose was the only thing that kept me from breaking down or vomiting. It was long, arduous work, and we were silent the entire time.
We dug three graves into the warm sands and lowered the bodies. Then we gave them an Ancient Jadan funeral. Split had shown me the rituals in the Book of the March, and I was glad to revive the tradition. Eight centuries later, some aspects of old culture would survive.
Funerals were taken very seriously by the Jadans of the past. Family members often presided over their dead for weeks. The Book of the March taught us that they would even perform rituals over the graves for generations to come, often bringing children to the burial spots of their ancestors and telling stories. The ancient Jadans had a penchant for humour, and would sing funny songs about their ancestors, but most were tender and emotional. They planted red alder and Rose of Gilead petals over the sites, which we could not do, as all we had to work with was dust and sand.
I wished with all my heart that I could have done this for my father, that I could have had a place where I could go and sing for him on the nights when the stars were brightest and the wind was most playful.
Dunes put a protective arm around my shoulder.
We laid a Wisp over each of our fallen kins’ eyes, or at least where their eyes would have been. The fires had claimed most of their faces. We didn’t have access to most of the burial seeds and fruits that the Book of the March called for – a lot of the species the pages spoke of were believed to be extinct – but the Crier would understand. I laid some of Jia’s candied figs in whatever folds of clothing I could find.
‘What are the Wisps on the eyes for?’ Cam asked, standing back a few feet.
Split gave me a look, telling me to go ahead.
‘The Khat twisted the old stories to serve his claim,’ I said, sounding strange in my own ears. My voice was high pitched and nasally from my loaded nostrils. ‘They say that we go to the Black if we misbehave, right? And if we’re good we get to serve Nobles in the afterlife.’
Cam gave a guilty nod. His face had taken on a pale tinge from vomiting so many times. He looked like a painting of himself that had been left too long in the Sun.
‘The lie worked because it was born out of our own myth,’ Split said.
‘What myth?’ Cam asked.
Split took out his copy of the Book of the March and held it against his chest. ‘You know I never got to do this ceremony for my daughter. She was only half Jadan, but still I would have done it.’
‘I’m so sorry, Split,’ I said. ‘That they took your family.’
He gave a sad laugh. ‘You’re the last person in the World Cried who has to be sorry. I just hope my little girl found her Frost. She was so tiny and her hands were so small. I worry she couldn’t have picked one up if she tried.’
I put a hand over the Book. ‘I’m sure the Crier doesn’t care about that.’
Cam was silent.
I started to sprinkle sand over the first body.
‘The old myth goes like this,’ I said. ‘When a Jadan dies, they wake up in a long black field. It’s quiet and Cold and dark, because it’s the one place the Sun can’t reach. A secret place just for us.’
I continued pouring buckets of sand over the girl, hiding her ruined flesh. ‘Death carries us there, and then flies away on raven wings.’
The Pedlar gave me a reassuring nod, joining me on covering the grave with sand. The girl’s body slowly faded into the earth. ‘Hillia,’ Ka’in had called her. I hoped she would find her peace.
‘So you wake up in the field,’ Cam prompted.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And the dark land is vast and long and peaceful. And you wander the field and you hear the songs of your family. Time is different in the black field, so sometimes the songs are from the past, sometimes they haven’t been sung yet. And your feet sink into the cool earth as you smile and laugh at the stories in the music. There’s no Sun, and it’s quiet, and all the things you loved seem all the lovelier. You stare at the stars and eat the foods that your family puts in your pockets. You plant the seeds of the fruits so the next Jadans to arrive have something to eat, just in case they didn’t have anyone. And you drink from sweet rivers and wander the black land, until one day you finally come across your Frost. It shines through the black soil, and you kneel down and start to dig it up. It was made just for you. Ever since the Crier was blinded by Sun, this is how He finds the Jadans. This is how He shows you you’re one of His children, even if he’s never been able to see you. Every Frost is unique, each one special. And when you touch the Frost, the Crier knows where you are, and the Cold takes you up into the heavens so you can be with Him forever, with your family. With the spirit of the Jadan people.’
Split wiped away a tear. ‘Anyah and Lizah found theirs. I know they did.’
‘We put the Wisps in the eyes,’ I told Cam. ‘Because they help the dead see their way to the Frost. Cold can always find Cold. The Wisps make it so the dead don’t have to wander aimlessly in the black fields. Loved ones put the Wisps in the eyes so, when those in the black feel ready, they can always find their way home.’
Sand covered the last of Hillia’s body.
‘Did I get it right?’ I asked Split.
‘And then some,’ the Pedlar said quietly, looking up at the stars.
Cam was clearly thinking up a storm. ‘The Noble story of the afterlife is so different. It’s all about decadence and indulging in pleasures forever.’
I shrugged. ‘With the Jadans serving every Noble need, right?’
Cam swallowed hard, his face cycling through a series of emotions.
‘I think I get it now,’ Cam said. ‘The Khat has made it a threat instead of something natural – getting sent to the black – because he claims the Crier deemed Jadans unworthy. So if there’s no Frost in the fields, no light, then there is no hope of going home. If you get sent to the black, you’ll be stuck forever. That’s probably why he also doesn’t let Jadans sing anything other than the Khat’s Anthem. So there’s no more songs from your family.’
‘You got it,’ I said. ‘But in the Khat’s version, if we serve the Nobles well, then we at least get to go where the Nobles go after we die. Because even an eternity of serving is better than an eternity abandoned.’
Cam knelt down over the second small grave. The fire had been merciless on this one’s body. I still couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. Or how old they’d been.
‘Hold on,’ Cam said, fishing through his pockets. He pulled out a few almonds and put them on the body, giving me a sad look. ‘It’s all I have on me.’
I touched his shoulder. ‘I’m sure they’ll go a long way.’
We finished the burial and I sent Cam and Split back. I told them that Dunes and I were going to perform a few more ceremonies out of the Book of the March. That we were going to sing a few private songs for the dead, and not to worry if we didn’t come back for a while. Split’s arm was over Cam’s shoulder as they walked: a family of their own.
Dunes and I exchanged a silent nod.
The rest of the Five showed up out of the shadows, dragging empty carts behind them.
One by one we took the dead Nobles and threw them off the southern cliff.
Chapter Five
I found no sleep that night.
I was too busy searching for salvation.
Dunes and I covered the entire Sanctuary three times, looking for Frosts. Each time though, I noticed the paintings of the beautiful Jadan women on the walls were fewer – Ellia and Ellcia having proceeded with their own mission. I didn’t know if the sisters were burning the canvases or storing them somewhere, but either way I left dealing with the portraits up to them.
Dunes kept his cudgel out at all times in case we found any lingering Nobles. I hoped we’d stumble across Ka’in, but I would have settled for any of the masked bastards; it would at least have given me an outlet for my rage.
We went into every room, secret or otherwise, turning out the entire place. Without a Frost, taking the Sanctuary meant little more than a slight delay in our deaths. If I was going to uncover the secrets of flight, to figure out a way to break the Drought, I needed a secure situation. I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything if my people were dying by the droves, having nothing to keep the Sun at bay.
Hours passed with no Frosts, although we did find useful items.
There was every kind of food imaginable in the kitchens. Loads of supplies were stored in salt barrels and Cold boxes, which would last the Flock months. We found an entire armoury full of weapons, including tar to burn and thousands of arrows to shoot. We found a library full of scrolls, ancient books and a magnificent collection of Jadan art from before the Drought. Apparently Ka’in was a collector.
There were fine linens, and three water-well reservoirs, and even an entire closet of musical instruments. A few harps rested in the back, and my chest squeezed at the thought of Leah with the strings. There were so many useful things that would bring joy and security to the Flock.
But there was no excitement for me. Food and supplies were just bandages, the wound underneath festering.
There wasn’t a single Frost anywhere.
It was maddening, especially since we’d discovered Ka’in’s Coldroom early on in the night. The cavernous space was filled floor to ceiling with different crates of Cold, meticulously separated by type. Thousands of Wisps and Drafts. Hundreds of Shivers. Dozens of Chills. All resting in golden chests with no keys. My heart leapt in my throat each time I easily picked one of the locks, expecting a Frost.
But there was only disappointment.
The last time I was here, Ka’in admitted to having a Frost. The confession had been accidental, but it rang with the sound of truth. And if Ka’in had admitted to having one Frost, it was likely he had several. But now that I had come up empty so many times I had to come to terms with three options, each equally disheartening.
One: Ka’in never had any Frosts in the first place.
Two: he took them with him as he fled.
Three: they were too well hidden for us to find.
Dunes tried to console me, assuring me he’d get me a Frost somehow, but my mood only soured as the night went on. Cam and Shilah joined the hunt, but their presence made me feel more ashamed. I should have been happy we at least had a defendable fortress and enough Cold to keep the Flock alive for months, but I could only concentrate on our inevitable demise. Without a Frost our revolution would end. Our power didn’t come from Wisps or Drafts or Chills or high walls. It came from the promise of change; and without the Coldmaker, our significance would eventually boil away.
I sifted through Ka’in’s private quarters for the fourth time. The rooms were sequestered deep in the basement of the Sanctuary. I insisted on being alone.
The Sun would be rising soon, but it couldn’t reach me directly through so many layers of shadow and stone. The air was luxurious in here, tempered by the Cold Bellows in the corner. There was a private drinking well too, its stone rim studded with tiny Closed Eyes made of clay. I tried to remove them, but they were cemented on.
Vials of precious honey were spread across a few pedestals; and dusty spaces glared at me from the wall, places where portraits of unfortunate Domestics had recently been torn away.