The Demon Horsemen (13 page)

‘
U
tterly impossible!’ Scripture snapped and smashed his fist on the table, spilling a glass of water.

‘I saw it with my own eyes!’ Fist retorted, glaring at the elderly Seer. ‘They vanished into nothing!’

‘Sit down both of you,’ King Shadow ordered. Fist obeyed, but Scripture glared at him. ‘This is
my
table and you will
sit
,’ Shadow said in measured tones, meeting the Seer’s angry stare. Scripture sat.

Shadow looked at those assembled at the table—his brothers, the Seers, his warlord—and said, ‘It seems we have another problem to solve.’

‘This is scare-mongering,’ Scripture growled.

‘I have dead soldiers and bite marks that prove otherwise,’ Fist retorted.

‘If you speak out of turn again, Warlord, you will personally lead your dead soldiers through the hells,’ Shadow threatened.

Fist lowered his eyes, seething at the disciplinary caution, while Scripture smiled with approval.

‘The situation as it stands is this,’ said Shadow. ‘An assassin wanted for the murder of my brother has rescued a prisoner from within the Bog Pit, with the aid of a strange rat and an old woman who apparently used
magic to help the perpetrators to escape.’ Scripture snorted. ‘The
proof
for this includes a missing prisoner, several dead soldiers, wounds to my warlord as well as his testimony, plus the testimony of his men and even that of the women prisoners in the Bog Pit. I’d say,’ he paused for effect, staring directly at Scripture, ‘that we
do
have a problem.’

Seer Creator cleared his throat. ‘If I may speak, Your Highness?’ Shadow nodded. ‘I think His Eminence’s rage pertains more to the unspeakable possibility that the Abomination that so vexed our predecessors is once more among us.’

‘That possibility is a reality,’ said Shadow. ‘The question remains—how will we deal with this?’

Meg created a small sphere and set it to float above the group gathered in the darkened cottage. Chase, Mouse and Swift were tending to Passion, Wahim stood at the window gazing into the moonlit lane, and Jon stroked Whisper.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Meg said.

‘Passion needs rest,’ Mouse argued. ‘She needs care.’

‘The soldiers know where all of you live. They’ll be here before dawn,’ Meg reminded them. ‘I’ll make a portal to a point I remember outside the city. We can find a place near there to rest and decide what to do next.’

Swift straightened. ‘We can go to Littlecreek. I know people there. We’ll be safe.’

‘Where is it?’ Meg asked. Swift gave the details. ‘I’ve never been there,’ Meg said, ‘but I know the area well enough to focus a portal close by.’

‘Gather whatever you need,’ Swift urged the others. ‘We have to get out of here.’

‘What about the dogs?’ Mouse asked.

‘Bring them along,’ said Meg. ‘Mess the cottage up to make it look like no one’s been here for a while. The
fewer clues we leave, the harder it will be for them to find us.’

She saw Wahim still staring out the window and went to him. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked quietly.

‘I’m wondering where my family are,’ he murmured. ‘My mother and my brother and sister are in this city somewhere.’

‘Do you want to find them?’

He turned, the strength in his face softened. ‘There’s no time.’

‘There’s always time. You don’t have to be involved in this.’

‘The soldiers know who I am. I’m a hunted man now, just as you are hunted.’

‘If you stay with us, you will be hunted further. I can’t offer anything less than that.’

Wahim shrugged. ‘It is better to be hunted and to live free than it is to be left alone in a cage.’

‘A Shesskar saying—I thought you didn’t know much of your culture.’

‘My mother brought up my brother, sister and me to know at least a little of our heritage, especially as our father ran away to sea.’

‘I think we’re ready,’ announced Swift. She clutched two bags of goods, and held one towards Wahim.

The Shesskar looked at the bags then at Meg and grinned. ‘There will be another time,’ he said as he took a bag.

Meg smiled, but inside she felt the man’s sorrow at being separated from his family, especially in a world that had changed so dramatically.

They halted to watch the sun gild the hills and paddocks as it rose over the eastern mountains. Birds chorused and a flock of cockatoos lifted into the
morning air. The clear blue sky promised the full Fuar heat would descend quickly.

‘I think Littlecreek is over the next hill,’ said Swift, studying the landscape. To the north-west a faint smudge of factory smoke flattened against the sky. ‘The city is half a day away.’

‘Will we be safe this close?’ Wahim asked as he helped Chase to lift Passion.

‘We’ll see,’ said Meg.

The party travelled slowly. Mouse’s three dogs gambolled ahead up the yellow grassy hillside, revelling in their newly acquired freedom. Finally, the group crested the hill and gazed down on a small village nestled beside a tiny creek. Smoke drifted from three chimneys. A flock of sheep wandered across the slope and two black and white dogs came flowing across the grass towards them. Mouse’s dogs bounded in to intercept them and they all stopped and sniffed and started to chase each other in circles. Two men emerged from the shade of a tree, one tall and lanky, the other older, his white hair shining in the sunlight. The lanky one carried an old Kerwyn thundermaker. The older man had a staff.

‘That’s Keeper,’ said Swift. ‘I’ll go talk to him.’

She descended towards the two men. When she came within half a dozen paces, the taller man handed his thundermaker to his companion and embraced the young woman.

‘I think it’s safe to go down,’ Meg suggested.

She led the others towards the villagers, but as she got closer she took in the features of the older man and stopped abruptly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Chase asked, halting beside her. ‘Are you all right?’

The colour drained from Meg’s face as the old man stared at her. A thousand memories rushed into her
consciousness and overwhelmed her. Her hands started shaking, and it felt as if all the air in the world had suddenly evaporated with the rising heat.

‘Meg?’ Swift said, coming towards her.

‘Meg Farmer?’ a deep, scratchy voice queried.

She heard Swift say, ‘You know each other?’ but could not answer. She stared fixedly at the man, his face, worn and wrinkled, partly obscured beneath a sparse, untrimmed white beard, his eyes sparkling.
Is he crying?
she wondered in amazement.

‘Meg? Is it really you?’ he was asking.

She looked into deep jewels of light. ‘Blade,’ she whispered.

‘Yes,’ he answered, grinning joyfully. ‘Yes, it is.’

Swift laughed as Jewel chased the dogs around Sparkle’s hut. To be reunited with her daughter, and to know that very little had changed in the village, made her happy beyond measure. If there was a way to get Runner out here as well, her sense of joy would be complete. But her son was too old to be lured to a place like Littlecreek. She ached inside for her irretrievably lost boy. He had lived too long on his own, become too independent, to settle to a peaceful existence. What would he do in Littlecreek? Would he be satisfied tending sheep, or fetching water, or cutting grass or making pots? Unlikely.

She understood how he felt. Like Runner, her childhood had been consumed by survival in the city and now she knew no other way of life. The dream of being a good mother to her children was only a dream. What did she know about cooking or cleaning for her children, about caring for anyone else except herself? She desperately wanted to lead a normal life for the sake of her children, yet she knew that she was destined never to be normal.

‘Mum!’ Jewel called. ‘Look at this!’ and she promptly stood on her hands. ‘See?’

Swift applauded. ‘Very clever.’

‘And watch this,’ Jewel said, returning to her feet. She ran several steps and launched into a cartwheel, landing perfectly. The dogs ran after her, tails wagging expectantly. ‘See?’

‘I saw,’ said Swift. ‘You’re very talented. Who taught you that?’

‘He did.’ Jewel pointed across the creek to where Blade Cutter was walking with Meg.

‘Did he show you himself?’ Swift asked, bemused at the thought of the old man doing a handstand or a cartwheel.

‘Not exactly himself, but he explained it and I tried it and then after a couple of times I could do it.’

‘Jewel?’ a voice called. Swift and Jewel looked towards Sparkle, who stood in her doorway shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Time to feed the chickens, and you could give the dogs a piece of bread each. Then you’d better get out of the heat.’

‘Come on, Mum,’ Jewel said. ‘I’ll race you.’

‘Race the dogs,’ said Swift. ‘I’ll come shortly.’

She watched her daughter run off, Mouse’s three dogs in pursuit, then turned her gaze on the couple walking along the creek bank.
What would it be like to meet someone you thought had been dead for more than thirty years?
she wondered.
A bit like meeting a grandmother you never even knew existed
.

‘Talemaker died in the second volley,’ Cutter told Meg. ‘I went down as well, but none of my wounds were serious as it turned out; just enough to stop me.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s funny, after all these years I still wonder why I was spared and he wasn’t. Do you find yourself thinking like that?’

Meg nodded. ‘I wonder why I’m still here but my children aren’t.’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I know how that feels too.’

They walked on, pausing beneath a young gum tree.

‘Did you ever see your wife or your children again?’ Meg asked.

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘I guess they perished when the ships were sunk in the harbour. A lot of people died that afternoon.’

Silence fell between them again.

‘Look,’ Meg said. Cutter followed her gaze to a bough where a kookaburra was sharpening its beak against the wood.

‘My first few days here, I sat out on the hill with Keeper and just stared at the scenery,’ said Cutter. ‘I never realised how good it was simply to watch the blue haze that rises from the eucalypts along the hills. I almost cried when I woke up one morning and heard these birds laughing in the trees. I hadn’t heard a kookaburra for so long.’

Meg remembered her attempt to become a kookaburra in Chuekwer and smiled.

‘What?’ he asked, an eyebrow raised.

‘We miss the simple things,’ she said in reply. ‘Life can be very strange.’

‘I never dreamed I would ever see you again.’

Meg felt the colour come to her cheeks. She looked at her feet, feeling like a young girl again, as when Button Tailor had asked her to walk with him. The memory tugged at her heart. She looked back at Blade Cutter, realising that they were the same height after the passing of the years.

‘I’m glad we’ve met again,’ she said.

That evening, when they were all gathered in the common room in Sparkle’s hut, Meg gazed at him
again. The warmth lingering in the evening air seemed to exude from her skin. The joy of seeing him alive had sustained her throughout their long walk in the afternoon heat. That frantic escape with A Ahmud Ki, leaving Blade and Talemaker to a fate that Meg should have shared, had haunted her dreams for many years afterwards, until she had buried the guilt along with so much of her life in the euphoria haze aboard Marlin’s ship.

‘Are you really my great-grandmother?’ a voice said. It was Jewel, who had come to stand beside Meg’s chair.

Startled by the little girl’s question, Meg cast a quick glance towards Swift who was leaning against the wall with a grin across her face.

‘I just might be,’ she answered. ‘Would you like that?’

Jewel screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, you talk about it with your mother and see what you both think,’ Meg advised.

‘But you can’t be old enough to be my great-grandmother.’

Meg laughed and held out her arms for the girl to climb onto her lap. ‘Oh, I’m old enough. I was born when Queen Sunset was on the throne.’

Jewel made herself comfortable on the old woman’s knee. ‘Sparkle told me about a queen. Was there really a woman who owned everything?’

‘There was.’

‘Old Mister Cutter was alive then too.’

‘Yes, he was,’ said Meg. ‘He was a very important soldier.’

‘Sparkle said I wasn’t allowed to ask him about that,’ Jewel whispered.

Meg nodded wisely. ‘No. That’s probably a good thing.’

‘I’m going to play with…what’s your rat’s name?’

‘Whisper.’

‘Whisper,’ Jewel repeated. ‘Why is she called that?’

‘To be honest, I don’t know,’ Meg confessed. ‘She’s always been called Whisper.’

‘Did you name her?’

‘No. She was given her name by someone else.’

‘Who?’

Meg shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Jewel slid off Meg’s knee and headed for Whisper, who was perched on a small cupboard shelf—much to Sparkle’s annoyance, who normally killed rats for stealing her chickens’ eggs. Having one in her house didn’t feel right.

Wahim, Chase, Keeper and Cutter chatted together as they ate the meal Sparkle had provided, but Swift remained leaning against the wall. Passion was asleep in Sparkle’s bed in the adjoining bedroom, little Jon curled beside her. The young woman had suffered cruelly during the torture that Fist and his cronies had inflicted on her every day of her incarceration and Meg’s fear was that she may never fully recover. Later, when everyone was asleep, Meg intended to use her healing powers to help the young woman overcome her physical pain. She knew from her own experience that only time could heal the agony churning deep inside.

Right now, Meg was caught between satisfaction and sadness. The satisfaction was due to those surrounding her in Sparkle’s hut. Whether or not she could prove that Chase, Passion and Swift were the children of her long-lost son, Treasure, she believed in her heart that fate had returned her to her lost family. To have two great-grandchildren to dote upon added to her happiness.

The sadness rose from the awareness that she had started a new phase of conflict with the Seers. By rescuing Passion, she had signalled her return and she
knew the Seers would be relentless in their pursuit of her. Only this time she would not hide. She had a family to protect—a family she thought she had lost forever—so instead of retreating, as she had always done in the past, this time she would find a way to end the Seers’ megalomaniacal goal to destroy all life in the name of their god. For too long she had let fate keep her imprisoned.
I am only a prisoner if I let myself be one
, she reflected, remembering the words, written more than three hundred years ago, of a Jaru philosopher named Alwyn.