Broken Earth Read online

  Sometimes he came with the face of a handsome man; with eyes that did not change from their serpentine state, but which were nonetheless compensated for by his human form. Sometimes, though, he took no care at all – and came with the head of the beast, horns forged by fire and tail tipped with pointed spikes. Dain could hardly bear to look at him, then; but did her best to hide that fact.

  Just like every other, he came this night to rouse her from sleep that could no longer be but tense and tenuous. He spoke her name, and motioned for her to come and stand beside him.

  At least he wore his mask tonight.

  “Come and eat with me,” he said. “You shall sit by me as always.”

  The room disappeared, and Dain found herself sitting next to him, at a long table laden with food.

  “Eat and drink,” he said. “You must be strong for the trials to come.”

  He poured red wine into her goblet, and then poured for himself.

  So as not to spark his ire, Dain sipped at her wine, and took a few mouthfuls of food. She did not like to think of the creature it had been, before it became what filled the platters all down the table; and before it filled her mouth.

  He ate ravenously, shovelling quite as much food into his mouth as he could lay hands upon. His feasting lasted, just as usual, for exactly one hour. Dain sat quietly while he ate, and watched the naked servants as they went to and fro, bringing plates full of food, and bearing the empty ones away. Her eyes lingered on the livid welts that covered their bodies, the remnants of the burns they received each time they angered their Master. Even as she watched, one of them dropped a platter of fine china; and it went crashing to the floor in a hundred different pieces. The Master did not scold; and no, he did not even speak. He only raised his eyes towards the servant – and the hall was suddenly filled with the sound of his sharp screaming. His body was for a moment engulfed in flames; and when they had been extinguished, his skin was burnt so badly, that he could not but fall down to the floor where he stood.

  “Do be more careful next time,” said the Master, turning his attention back to his supper.

  When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with a scarlet napkin, and folded his hands on the table before him.

  “You do not seem yourself,” he said. “Is something wrong, child?”

  “Nothing at all, Master,” said Dain. “I am only weary.”

  “I am sorry for waking you – but you know how I enjoy your company, while I eat.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I meant not that I would rather be somewhere else.”

  He smiled and said, “That I know, and is why I love you so.”

  Dain tried to smile back, as though she took great pride in what he said; but was not sure if her face moved exactly as she wished it to. Yet her worry died quickly away, for the Master did seem content.

  “The Princess is much stronger than we thought,” he said. “I have never seen anyone escape from this place, without my leave.”

  “Do you desire her still for your army?”

  “Certainly. She will have to be broken down, and then trained as you were – but I want her no less.”

  “What if we cannot break her?”

  He seemed to ponder for a moment. “Such a thing is very rare,” he said. “But we shall do what must be done, when the time comes.”

  “Of course.”

  He looked into her face, then. Whenever he did such, she was always afraid that he would see one of the many things that could anger him there; but he looked just as pleased as always, and reached out a hand to touch her cheek.

  “You may go,” he said. “Rest until I come for you again.”

  She rose from her seat and bowed low, remaining thus until he rested his hand atop her head.

  “Goodnight, child,” he said.

  “Goodnight, Master.”

  Back in her bed, she still dared not turn out the lamp. She wished with all her might for just a single window; and yet in its absence, did try to envision that perfect white circle of moon, what hung just out of her sight.

  She heard the Narken, moving about on the levels below, and speaking in gruff voices. The sound brought her to a shudder; and it was a shudder, not of fear, but of great disgust.

  Even the short time she had spent that night, in the depths of the lower realm, had been too much for Dain. She kept the imaginary moon fixed in her mind, and tried to rid herself of that feeling of suffocation, which always resulted from evenings with the Master.

  XIII: The Shadows Dissipate

  As they rode into Ludjo, Dera began complaining of feeling sick. She held her stomach as her face turned a nasty shade of green, and leaned forward on Dillyn as though she could hardly keep herself upright.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Heidi.

  Dera shook her head. “I don’t know. It feels like . . .”

  She pulled Dillyn to the side of the street, jumped off his back, and ran to vomit in a low row of hedges.

  “The owner of those hedges is going to be very unhappy in the morning,” said Heidi.

  “Not as unhappy as I am now.”

  Dera took hold of Dillyn’s reins, and led him forward on foot. They went on that way for a little; and Heidi had begun to think that all was well, when Dera hurried again from the road, and made a repeat performance of her sickness.

  Heidi got down from her horse, then, and went to Dera. She had fallen down beside the hedges, and was breathing hard. She gagged, and coughed; and heaved repeatedly to no effect; for there could honestly have been nothing left in her poor stomach.

  Heidi knelt down beside her, and peered into her face. “Gods, Dera,” she said. “You look terrible.”

  “Thank you, Heidi,” said Dera; and if her voice came as little more than a whisper, it was filled with no less than its usual sarcasm. “It is so kind of you to notice.”

  “Come now,” said Heidi, offering Dera an arm. “You can’t lie about in the street. I shall find you a bed.”

  “I thought you said –” (she coughed again, with quite as much force as it would have required, to lose a great piece of any vital thing there inside her chest) “– that we had no money?”

  “We will make do.”

  As they walked back to the horses, Dera leaned the greater part of her weight against Heidi. They went along down the street, until they came to a small hut-like structure, with a sign that read: “Nightly Lodging, One Drya.”

  “I think we can spare two dryas,” said Heidi, fishing for the coins to hand to the fellow outside the front door. Another man beside him took the reins of the horses from Heidi, and led the animals to the rear of the hut.

  The man by the door looked strangely at Dera, whose face seemed to be changing colours by the moment. First it was green, and then it was grey; then it was blue, pink, and bright red, with small beads of sweat running all down it.

  “She no have disease, do she?” asked the man.

  “No,” Heidi snapped. “Would you move out of our way, please?”

  He held up his hands. “Hey, I sorry, lady. But you should see some of sick people I see.”

  “I doubt I would want to,” said Heidi, sliding a little to the left as Dera fell even heavier upon her. So she made for the back of the lodging, fleeing quite as far as she could manage from the bitterly cold air of the street.

  There were two rows of beds, and the row of the right had four empty ones at the very end. Heidi settled Dera into the bed nearest the wall, and sat down to put a hand to her forehead.

  “You’re so hot!” she exclaimed. “How long have you had this fever?”

  “A few hours.”

  “You should be dead by now!”

  “I am nearly there. Believe me.”

  Heidi sat silent for a while, keeping watch over Dera as she tossed to and fro.

  “Do you feel no better?” she asked finally, smoothing back the damp hair from Dera’s brow.

  “No,” she moaned. “I feel worse. Much, much worse.”

/>   “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Make it go away.”

  “I would, if my hands could do what yours can.”

  “It’s a shame,” said Dera, closing her eyes.

  “Dera?”

  But she said nothing. She only lay there, breathing and shaking – with a faint rasping in her throat, and an obvious shivering in her limbs. Heidi pulled the blanket over her, and sat beside her for many minutes, before she deemed her asleep, and went to lie upon her own bed.

  But she lay awake long into the night, listening to the sound of Dera’s heavy breathing. She recollected the voice in the darkness, what she had heard while she lay upon the road. Though it made little sense to her in that moment, she could not help but fall to associating that mysterious event, with Dera’s equally inexplicable sickness. There seemed no plausible connection between the two; but that did little to quell Heidi’s suspicions.

  ~

  To add to an already dismal morning, it was pouring rain when Heidi woke from a short and broken sleep.

  She moved to look at Dera, who seemed to be talking in her sleep. Her face was turned towards Heidi, and her lips moved without making sound. Her arm was flung out over the side of the bed, and her fingers were twitching, as if they reached for something that they could not find.

  Heidi looked back to the open doorway of the one-room house, and saw the thick sheets of rain that fell slantwise across it. It seemed that half of the beds were full; but none else had woken yet.

  Though she could find no means to lull herself back to sleep, she lay unmoving for a while more. Though restlessly, Dera slept on; and Heidi had not the heart to wake her.

  Yet there did come a time, when she judged it kinder to rouse Dera, than to allow her strange dreams to persist. Her lips had begun to move again, as if speaking silently. Her legs jerked beneath the covers, and her hands clenched into fists.

  Heidi rose up from her bed. She squeezed Dera’s hand, and pressed a palm against her forehead. Yet she drew her hand away quickly; for the skin was so very hot, it quite burnt to the touch. She spoke out Dera’s name, and shook her gently by the shoulder, but there was no waking her. Her arms and legs twitched continually, and her head swivelled from side to side – as if something moved too near to her face, and she needed shift repeatedly to avoid its touch.

  This went on for almost an hour. Heidi had lain back down, and was staring at a patch of water-rot upon the ceiling – when she heard Dera cry out. She looked quickly towards her; but was so surprised by what she saw, that she knew not straightaway what she ought to do.

  Dera had fallen to the floor, and was hunched over on hands and knees, with her hair hanging down over her face. She seemed, again, to be gagging over something; but she lost nothing from her mouth. Finally she began to cough, heartily and horribly, and fell down onto her side. She curled her legs beneath her body, and wrapped her arms about herself.

  Everyone in the lodging, of course, had waked by this time, and was looking upon Dera in either confusion or fear. Heidi had gone down to the floor, to see to Dera; but still took a bit of time to look up at the spectators, and to shout for them all to mind their own affairs.

  “I know she was sick!” exclaimed the keeper of the lodging, who was standing now between the rows of beds. “You leave right now! You no make trouble here!”

  Heidi pulled Dera to her feet, and assisted her to the door, where their horses were already waiting.

  “You go right now,” said the man. “Go on. Get.”

  Heidi helped Dera to mount Eriah; and then swung up behind her. She tied Dillyn to Eriah’s saddle. Most everyone from the lodging had come to congregate in the street; and Heidi needed make use of whatever control she had left, to avoid screaming curses at them all.

  Dera was slumped against Eriah’s neck. Her eyes were closed, and her face was pale. Her eyelids were bruised, and her lips were blood-red.

  She and Heidi suffered the looks and whispers of what seemed every occupant of the city, as they conducted themselves down the main thoroughfare. Heidi was caught in betwixt such a combination of anger and worry, that she could scarcely keep from casting those despicable onlookers into the brick walls before which they stood and whispered.

  “It’s going to be all right, Dera,” she said (though perhaps more in an effort to comfort and distract herself, than to do the same for Dera; for, indeed, it seemed that the latter could not hear a word she said). Yet she did go on anyway, so far as to say, “I do promise it will.”

  She remembered those words that were whispered into her ears, when she fell down upon the road – and began to wonder, was she wrong in going forward? She had paid little heed to the threat, at the time of its issuance; but looking down now upon a silent and unresponsive Dera, she could do little but doubt.

  Yet what more, or other, could be done? There seemed no chance of any kind of assistance back North. It seemed that their only option was to continue on into the heart of danger, where at least they could find others who might understand their plight. Heidi had ceased to assure herself, that they would find Jade up ahead; and concentrated now, on what was certain to be there. The Princess of Onssgaard (now the apparent substitute for the Queen) was somewhere in that centre of darkness – and though Heidi knew hardly anything of her, she was becoming more and more certain, that she was the only one who could help them. She had no reason at all to think that the Princess would know how to help them; and whether or not she would was another matter entirely.

  ~

  They had ridden far past Ludjo’s city line, when Dera finally stirred. She lifted herself from Eriah’s neck, and stretched her arms, yawning loudly and rubbing her eyes.

  “Why am I on your horse?” she asked.

  “You remember nothing?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Heidi drew Eriah to a halt; for Dera was making repeated gestures, that she wished to ride atop Dillyn. She said nothing of sickness, or weariness, or any other type of hindrance; till she reached up and took hold of her head, and cried out as though some great pain had come upon it.

  “I see now,” she gasped, pulling back on Dillyn’s reins. “I see it now.”

  “What?”

  She doubled over, and clutched at her stomach. “I see Jade,” she said, pressing her face into Dillyn’s neck. “She is very sick. I feel – what she feels.”

  “You can see her now?”

  Dera closed her eyes. “She is in a forest, under tall trees. She is lying on the ground.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She is alive – if that is what you mean.”

  “Can you tell where she is?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  They were farther South now, and there were patches of brown earth showing through the snow, which turned to mud beneath the horses’ hooves. Heidi glanced up at the sky; and a chilly mist fell down upon her face.

  ~

  Three days after collecting Dera’s letter from the post, David sat with his father at the kitchen table, sharing a late supper.

  Yet he could think of nothing but Jade.

  He set down his spoon, and said, “Pa?”

  Jum Misaria glanced up from his soup, his face conveying a slight annoyance. The men did not usually speak during supper.

  “Might I talk to you about something, Pa?”

  “Well, ye already started,” said Jum. “Ye might as well finish.”

  “It is about Jade.”

  “What about her?”

  “It seems she is in trouble. Her friend, Dera Black – she wrote me a letter. But I can make neither heads nor tails of it.”

  “Jade?” said Jum, rubbing at his beard of whiskers. “In trouble?”

  “According to the letter.”

  “Well, what kind o’ trouble?”

  “It did not say.”

  Jum stood up, as quickly as his old bones were able – and knocked his chair to the floor.

  “Well, let’s go over there an�
�� find out!”

  “We can’t,” said David. “There is no one home.”

  “Then what am I to do with what ye’ve told me?”

  “The same thing I have been doing, I suppose.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Jum righted his chair, and sat back down, huffing and puffing like an old winded rhinoceros.

  “Ye should go an’ look for her,” said Jum. “It’s a brother’s duty.”

  “But where am I to look? I know not where she went.”

  “Ye look all over, that’s what ye do. She’s yer sister, curse it all!”

  “I know that, Pa. Don’t you think I know that?”

  Jum took a sip of his coffee, but pushed his bowl away. “I can’t eat with all this talk o’ trouble,” he muttered.

  ~

  As David and Jum sat together at the dinner table, eating food that any person would deem normal and acceptable, Jade sat hunched over yet another slaughtered deer.

  It was her fourth in the past three days. Her hunger pangs grew daily stronger and more unavoidable – and if not fed, were followed by terrible sickness. Her stomach turned over and over, faster and faster until it was almost spinning – just like her head.

  By the time she arrived upon the third deer, she found that the meat (even if she were to eat every scrap there was) did no longer satisfy her.

  She shivered and shook over her grisly meal, sweating profusely but feeling chilled to the bone. She finished as quickly as she could, and went afterwards to the river, where she washed away all of the blood that she was able. She had crept through the forest to this place by the Kala, where a small grove of trees banded together to form a sort of enclosed clearing.

  At this onset of insatiable hunger, and immobilising sickness, she put away all plans to journey to the Aria. She could not bear even to look down upon herself, or to catch sight of her reflection in the surface of the river; and so did conjecture, that it would be unfitting to allow anyone else at all to lay eyes upon her.

  And so she remained, in that clearing she had found. She slept there each day; hunted each night in the woods surrounding it; and then bathed in the river, to rid herself of any and all evidence of the things that she could not keep herself from doing. She prayed, every time she closed her eyes, for the hunger to pass; for it to fade away, like an unpleasant thought; to stay away forever and never come again.