The Demon Horsemen (18 page)

Scripture was still kneeling as Word took a tentative step forward. Despite his fear, he ventured to the lip of the entrance and stared in amazement. Flames flickered on the ocean where the Ranu dreadnoughts had been at anchor. The settlement had been evaporated. The entire island was buried beneath a mantle of grey ash. Nothing moved. Nothing was alive.

‘Where are they?’

Word turned to see Moon and Law emerging from the cave, fearfully scanning the storm-ridden sky. He looked up, suddenly aware of a blue glow. A Horseman hovered above him, spiked armour and sword aflame, horse pawing the air impatiently. He froze. Sharp, brutal images crystallised into a guttural language in Word’s mind, at first unintelligible, then meaning magically evolved.

Where is the one who calls himself Scripture?

Behind me
, Word responded automatically, though his limbs were shaking and the ability to move had long abandoned him.

Tell him that when he makes a bargain it is expected that he pays it immediately
.

Word averted his eyes from the vision and turned his head to see Scripture still kneeling in the cave mouth. Law and Moon had retreated into the depths with the others. Word tried to speak, but it was as if his voice had left him. He stared at Scripture, shrouded in the blue light.

Then, as if he had heard the Horseman’s words, Scripture rose and walked out of the cave until he was five paces ahead of Word. The blue light enveloped him. He looked at Word and said slowly, a heavy sadness in his voice, ‘You must carry on our work. Each of us, in our turn, will make this sacrifice to bring Paradise to the world.’

‘What is happening?’ Word blurted.

‘For the Horsemen to do as I bade, I agreed to serve them in return. After me, there is you. And you also must name a successor, should you need to call on them before the Last Days. This is the term of—’ Scripture suddenly evaporated in a burst of blinding blue light.

Word flinched and shielded his eyes, feeling intense heat across the backs of his hands. When he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, Scripture was gone. Thunder rumbled across the island and the ocean and the blue light at the centre of the clouds shrank and vanished. The air was still. Word stared at the devastation before him.

‘I have seen the future, and it is a world utterly changed by the hands of Jarudha, and it is good.’

F
ROM
R
EVELATIONS
, S
EER
L
AW

M
eg sat on a hill beneath a broad gum tree and studied the settlement nestled in the clearing below. It was not what it seemed. Externally it gave the impression of a growing village—houses, meeting hall, shops, a well—but it was a cleverly constructed working facade, a place the residents used during the day but abandoned at night. The real settlement was a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms dug in the earth beneath; a refuge should the settlement ever come under attack from King Shadow’s forces.

Meg had learnt that the underground settlement had originally been built by a group who called themselves bushmen—hunters and trappers who now claimed this region that Meg remembered as the tribal lands of the former Shessian kingdom. To avoid conflict with the remaining tribes, they had built a hut on the ground’s surface but actually lived beneath it. The settlement’s recent rapid expansion had been spawned by the arrival of King Inheritor. Close to death, rescued by the Joker’s former bodyguard, Hunter, Inheritor had been brought here because his rescuer’s father had once been a bushman, until he left to find work in the city. Meg had gleaned all this from Swift, who had had a long talk
with Trapper shortly after their arrival. She smiled as she recalled Swift’s unusual self-consciousness in Trapper’s presence. The signs were there but Meg knew Swift would vehemently deny any affection for the man.

The initial days in the settlement had not been without tension for Meg and her companions. While they were made to feel welcome, there was a Kerwyn king among the people and it was widely known that Swift was the assassin reputed to have murdered his brother, Shortear. Swift avoided Inheritor wherever possible, but Meg noticed how he stared at the young woman when he thought she wasn’t watching. Meg wondered how strong Inheritor’s relationship had been with his dead brother. In her short life as Batty Booker, she had heard plenty of city gossip from her neighbours and knew Shortear had been infamous for his drinking and lechery. The common belief among the people was that he would inevitably meet a violent end because of his habits, and when news spread of his murder it was received with knowing nods on the streets and in the alehouses. But he was still Inheritor’s brother and, as she herself knew, family blood was binding. There was also some tension between Hunter and Chase, although the two young men were civil to one another. These latent animosities between her party and the settlement residents made Meg keep up her guard.

The settlement was much more than a refuge. Its population—mainly men, with a smattering of women and children—was preparing for war, encouraged by the rightful heir to the throne. They spent their days crafting and collecting weapons, exploring and rehearsing tactics, and their nights plotting Shadow’s downfall. ‘There’s a larger army being rallied in the north,’ Trapper told Cutter and Meg when Cutter asked what they were intending, but he wouldn’t elaborate beyond that in Meg’s presence.

What Meg observed made her sad. She estimated that perhaps four hundred men lived in the settlement, and of them less than a hundred had experience as soldiers. Their weapons were swords, spears and bows, supplemented by a few antiquated Kerwyn thundermakers and ten Ranu peacemakers. No one told her these things. She watched with the eyes of one who had survived a rebellion, a war and two invasions; who had stood terrified in the front ranks on a battlefield as a raw, untried soldier; who had led armies while she used her amber magic to destroy the kingdom’s enemies. She knew that Inheritor’s fledgling army would be slaughtered if it ever faced Shadow’s military might.

Blade Cutter’s arrival in the settlement had generated a surge of hope among the inhabitants. They believed his knowledge and experience would bring them an edge they knew they lacked, and he was quickly drawn into the inner circle of planners and plotters. Trapper in particular was keen to use the old Shessian warmaster’s experience, and begged his support in helping Inheritor to train the younger men.

Meg asked Cutter and her friends not to reveal her identity beyond her being an old woman who had owned a bookshop in the city.

‘Why not?’ Chase asked when she told them to keep her secret.

‘These people should know who you really are,’ Cutter insisted.

‘Not yet,’ Meg said. ‘They don’t need more false hope. They already have enough. When the time is right, I’ll reveal who I am.’

She knew her resolve disappointed them, since they too had been caught up in the fever of rebellion that permeated the settlement, but she had bigger matters to deal with—matters that would overwhelm any rebellion, win or lose.

She spotted a small group of children running between the houses, playing a chase game. Little Jon with his blond hair was among them and Jewel was leading them all a merry dance. There was a time when Meg had believed she would never see her children again, let alone grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Wars had torn apart her family. Now that she had found her grandchildren and great-grandchildren she was in the throes of yet another brewing war, fuelled by men’s sense of injustice.
How many other women have felt my fears?
she wondered.
How many feel them now in this world?

She took a deep breath and cleared her thoughts. She had come to the hill, away from prying eyes, for a reason. She took another, longer, deeper breath and imagined taking the form of a kookaburra—the long kingfisher beak, spiky white crest and chest, flecked brown, black, grey and white feathers. A sudden rush of vertigo overwhelmed her and when she gathered her senses she was peering at the world from less than a hand-span above the ground. The momentary disorientation gradually dissipated.

Whisper, who had been foraging for insects nearby, trotted towards her and stopped to sniff. Into Meg’s mind came an image.
Meg?

Me
, she replied.

Whisper kept sniffing and staring, full of rat curiosity, which made Meg burst out with laughter—and then she stifled her outburst as she heard a raucous kookaburra laugh echoing across the hills. Last time she’d shape-changed into this form she hadn’t been able to laugh like a kookaburra. This time, without thinking, it had come naturally. Her excitement made her chuckle again, and again she had to restrain herself, especially when she saw Whisper cocking her head from side to side as if she couldn’t comprehend what was
happening.
It’s me
, Meg projected to the rat. Finally satisfied that everything was as it should be, Whisper turned and trotted to the edge of the bush and started scavenging again.

Meg took in her odd view of the world.
Whisper sees it from this angle all the time
, she mused.
I am a bird
. She concentrated on spreading her wings, feeling them lift with the slightest stir of air. She moved them experimentally, feeling how the muscles and tendons pulled and relaxed, recognising what was familiar as arm movement and what was alien to her experience. As a child in Summerbrook, she had watched young sparrows and magpies learning to fly, launching from their nests and fluttering awkwardly to the ground, flapping their wings and spreading wing and tail feathers to gauge the air currents and their own movements. She had watched the process many times with fascination, and always imagined it must be exhilarating to take to the air, but now that she was the bird who’d never flown she was afraid, and wondered if baby birds also felt fear.

She practised adjusting her tail feathers, acutely conscious of how many different muscles and movements she needed to learn to make her new body work. She’d never imagined that preparation for flight would be so complex.
I can’t do this
, she thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied something in the air: three magpies chasing each other across the tree canopies. They dipped and rolled, circling after each other, diving and twisting acrobatically before racing out of her field of view. The brief vision at once inspired her and made her feel even more certain that she was being stupid to attempt to take to the air.
A Ahmud Ki said that when he finally mastered flight as a bird it was the most exhilarating experience
, she reminded herself, recalling a conversation they had shared during their long journey together.

She tested her wings and tail again, feeling the gentle air riffle through her feathers, and her sense of the limitless possibilities the amber gave her returned. She gathered her determination and courage, hopped forward on her kookaburra legs and flapped her wings frantically.

Swift looked at her askance. ‘What happened?’

Meg blushed, self-conscious about the scratches on her face and along her lower arms and ankles. ‘I fell into a bush when I was climbing down a steep slope,’ she explained.

‘Then you’d better be more careful,’ Swift advised. ‘What were you doing out in the bush anyway?’

‘I like to keep watch. It’s an old habit.’

‘There are plenty of guards around the settlement perimeter. No one’s going to sneak up on us.’

‘So what have you been doing?’ Meg asked, keen to change the subject from her injuries.

‘Talking with the king,’ Swift replied.

‘You’ve been talking to Inheritor?’

Swift grinned at Meg’s astonishment. ‘I was just as surprised as you. It was Cutter’s idea. He brokered a meeting between us. Inheritor wasn’t exactly enamoured of his brother.’

‘He’s forgiven you?’

Her grin broadened. ‘Not as such. But he did ask me not to kill him.’

‘What?’

‘He has a sense of humour,’ Swift told her. ‘I understand why he’s so popular here, even though he’s Kerwyn aristocracy. He asked if I would train a group as assassins.’

Meg frowned. ‘Do you want to do that?’

Swift’s grin faded and she looked over Meg’s shoulder
momentarily before her bright green eyes focussed again on her face. ‘No.’

‘So what did you say to the prince?’

‘I told him I’d think about it.’

Meg put a hand on Swift’s arm. ‘You know they can’t win.’

‘They can if you help them.’

Meg shook her head and dropped her hand. ‘What I have to do doesn’t concern armies,’ she said.

‘And what’s that?’

Meg sighed and sat down on a stump. ‘I still don’t know.’

‘When will you know?’ Swift challenged. ‘Before this lot march against Shadow’s army? Or after they’re all dead?’

Meg looked at her granddaughter who was standing with her arms folded across her chest staring at her. ‘As long as the Seers don’t have access to the Demon Horsemen I have time to plan. I’m thinking of negotiating with them—trying to make them see reason.’

‘You said they wouldn’t,’ Swift reminded her. ‘After all the stories you’ve told us, and what we know of Lady Amber, there’s clearly no reasoning with the Seers.’

‘I suppose not,’ Meg agreed. ‘I’m just not willing to see thousands of people die in another pointless war. But if I can get hold of something to bargain with, or even bluff the Seers into stopping their mad scheme, then I can avert all that needless bloodshed.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like the canvas bag Chase found. If the Seers understand what it is, and that we have it in our possession, I can bargain with them.’

‘But the bag’s with the Joker. Chase left it with her.’

‘And she was meant to give it to Inheritor,’ Meg said. ‘We need to find out if she did give it to him, and what he did with it.’

‘What if Shadow and the Seers already have it?’ Swift asked.

‘Then we’ll have to take it back.’

Scars, dark heavy beard and long hair aside, the man on the stool opposite Meg had a strong and handsome face. His dark eyes sparkled with uncommon energy, his smile was unpretentious and he had a muscular physique that marked him as a powerful warrior. Meg had never before been in a position to assess Inheritor closely, but now she understood why the people in the settlement and beyond were rallying to his cause. His charismatic presence reminded her of another prince, one who had stolen her heart as a teenage girl. It was an association that startled her, and she had to struggle to suppress the long-forgotten emotional memories.

‘Why the interest in the canvas bag?’ Inheritor asked, studying her.

‘I know that what it contains is of interest to the Seers,’ she replied.

‘And what does it contain?’

She had expected the question. She looked at Cutter, who was watching the exchange with curiosity, then at Chase and Swift who were squatting at the entrance to Inheritor’s hut. ‘The hilt of an ancient sword,’ she said.

Inheritor raised an eyebrow and shifted his head as if trying to look at her from a different angle. ‘Mrs Merchant brought the bag to me just before my brother’s assassins arrived to despatch me,’ he said. ‘She couldn’t tell me what it contained or why it was considered so dangerous, only that her grandfather wanted it kept away from the Seers.’ He rubbed his bearded chin, then ran his hand through his hair and across the back of his neck. ‘What do you intend to do with this sword hilt?’

‘Use it to bargain with the Seers before they can release the Demon Horsemen. If they know we have the
one weapon that can destroy their Horsemen, they may reconsider their intentions.’

‘A hilt isn’t a weapon without a blade.’

‘Then we would give it a blade,’ she said with composure.

Inheritor sighed and stood. He walked to the wall then turned to face her. Again, he sighed. ‘I like your optimism,’ he said. ‘If I thought my brother and the Seers were capable of being rational, I would applaud your intentions. But they’re not. They’re madmen, consumed by their religious passion, unable to understand anything except power and Jarudha’s promise that they will rule over everyone. I don’t have the bag. The Seers most likely have it, courtesy of my brother. And if they do have it, they will have locked it away, under guard, to prevent anyone taking it from them.’

‘Where did you last see it?’ Meg asked.

‘In my chamber, as the assassins broke in.’

She screwed up her mouth in disappointment. ‘Then Shadow definitely has it,’ she said, ‘and he would have handed it to the Seers, being the good disciple he is.’