Ebony Hill (10 page)

“What about an escort? Will Brenon provide one?”

Relief shows on Truso’s face as the conversation reverts to the track he wants it to follow. “As soon as the reinforcements arrive.”

“When will that be?” a voice demands.

“It’s days since we sent word,” another adds.

Someone snorts. “Late, like the first lot.”

“We’re not sure what’s caused the delay,” Truso says. “It doesn’t change my proposal: we should have our group ready to depart as soon as the jigger arrives.”

“Why wait?” someone asks. “They could go now, by foot. Our field crew could act as escort. We’re not all as useless as Brenon seems to think.”

Truso shakes his head. “We need the crews here – not only for defence. Our children are our first priority, but we have another, larger purpose.” He holds the pause to ensure that he has everyone’s attention. “Not letting these paras win goes beyond fighting. We’re here for a reason. We’re here for Vidya.”

Around the room eyes meet and slide away on new tangents. Truso scans the group, gathering us all in. “If
we don’t get the crops sown in the next few weeks, Vidya will pay the price next winter, when there’s no wheat for bread and no potatoes and pulses.”

There’s a murmur of agreement. “My views and Brenon’s diverge on this point,” Truso admits. “Quite rightly, he doesn’t want us to offer ourselves as easy targets – that’s his brief, and that’s what he believes our field crews would be.” His gaze circles the room, a hawk hunting for prey. “That’s exactly the risk I’m asking each of you to consider.”

The room seems to hold its breath.

“Vidya is sending men and women to fight for us,” Truso adds. “Let’s fight for them too, not with weapons: with food.”

“What about the risk?” Jago asks, his voice quiet but clear.

“We minimise it as best we can. We stagger shifts and vary locations daily. We place sentries. We take as many precautions as we can think of. But we get the crops in the ground.”

There’s a buzz of agreement. For most of the community, this war has so far been at a distance. They’ve all heard about the attack last night, but in terms of our success, not the losses we suffered. They need to be doing something, to feel useful again. I glance at Saice. Her face gives nothing away. I understand what Truso’s saying, and why. He’s right – yet still I’m reluctant to endorse his plan. I’ve seen the damage a single bullet can do.

Midway through the night I’m woken by a hand on my shoulder. “Ness,” a voice whispers. “There are men in the yard.”

I blink at Tanlin. A sliver of moon shows her thin face and the gap where our curtain is drawn back.

“Something woke me and I heard them outside. I don’t know who—” Her voice cracks.

Sleep flows fast from my head. Sliding my feet to the floor I hurry across to the window. Moonlight has leached the day’s colour, washing the sheds in a dull palette of grey. I glance at the ridge above the farmhouse and the dark bulk of Ebony Hill beyond. A voice drifts through the night, tugging my attention to the space between the implement shed and barn. Two shadows break away and jog towards the house.

“It’s the new unit,” I whisper, relief prickling through me even as I wish that it could be the evacuees from Dales and Pinehill. But it isn’t. The men’s clothing tells me so, and the crossbows slung across their backs. “Go
back to bed, Tanlin. I’ll make sure Brenon knows that more scouts have arrived.”

Pulling on my trousers, I revise my plan: better to avoid placing myself back under Brenon’s scrutiny. My bare feet make no sound as I pad to Saice’s room.

When I ease open the door she sits upright so suddenly I doubt she was sleeping at all. “Who is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s me: Ness. There are men in the yard.”

“Injured?”

“I don’t know. It’s more scouts I think. Someone should make sure Brenon knows.”

She swings her legs out of bed. “You’re right. I’ll go.” She pulls on a jersey – other than that she seems to have slept in her clothes. “Go back to bed, Ness. You need the sleep.”

“I’m awake now. There’s no point.”

She considers. “Come with me then.”

From the foot of the stairs we follow the thread of light that spills from Brenon’s office. I hang back as Saice pokes her head around the part-open door. “Men in the yard,” I hear her say. “Is it the new unit?”

“Some of them.” Brenon’s answer is gruff. “Come in Saice. I was about to send someone to wake you.” She opens the door wider and Brenon glances past her, his expression tightening when he sees me. He flicks his gaze back to Saice. “There was a bomb on the line,” he says, each word clipped to a terse, solitary sound.

Saice flinches as if she’s taken a blow. “Oh no.”

“Quite. The advance party reports fourteen injured. I’ve sent a team to help bring them in. You should
prepare for an influx at 0200 hours.”

I don’t hear Saice’s answer. Fourteen! And another bomb. Whoever these para-militaries are, they fight dirty, and to win. Saice’s hand on my shoulder brings me back to the moment, steering me towards the med room.

“We’ll have to move this one out,” she says, nodding towards our injured scout. “The less serious injuries can go straight into the ward.” She looks around the small, boxlike room with its cupboards and shelves. “I hope we have enough space. And medicines.” She rakes a hand through her hair. “Ness, you’d better wake Aiya.”

Aiya is one of the farm’s long-term residents and scarcely younger than Jago.

“We’ll bring the worst cases straight in here. Aiya can assess and prioritise in the meeting room. We’ll need to organise extra beds. Wake Rys too,” she adds as I turn for the door. “Aiya won’t be able to manage alone, not so many. And perhaps it will make Rys a little less blasé about dying.” Saice’s lips press into a thin, sorry line. “I’d like you in here with me, Ness, if you’re willing. It’s not going to be pleasant.”

Our eyes lock and I wonder whether it can be worse than sewing up our injured scout’s leg. Even if it is, I don’t see that I have any choice. Saice can’t do it alone. Wordless, I nod.

It is worse. Much worse. Worse than I could ever have imagined.

Maybe Ben got off lightly, dying in an instant. Grisly as they are, wounds made by rifles seem straightforward
compared to the results of a bomb.

By dawn we’ve dealt with the most serious cases, the mutilations beyond our ability to repair. One man died as we tried to save him; another we could only make comfortable. Saice says he’s unlikely to last the day. Two others might recover, if shock doesn’t kill them, or infection, or complications like pneumonia. But they’ll never be whole.

And that’s just the beginning. Ten more patients are crowded into our makeshift ward or waiting on mattresses in the hall. Farra refused to remain in a bed and is sitting there as well, keeping an eye on their progress, he says. The scouts in the corridor have only broken bones and lacerations. Only. The sound of their pain drifts in through the med room door, whenever it’s not drowned out by the suffering in here.

They left seven bodies in the wreckage and one more along the route. Of a unit of thirty scouts, nine are dead, one dying, two permanently mutilated and ten more wounded. Only eight survived unscathed – and you wouldn’t claim that if you look into their faces.

As they brought the first victims in, I could hear Rys retching.

By the time Saice has seen the last of the patients, I’m aching with exhaustion, my eyes red with strain. Someone leads me to the kitchen and pushes me into a chair, places a cup in my hand and closes my fingers around it. I can’t remember what it is I’m supposed to do next. Jago wraps his fingers around mine and lifts the cup to my lips. “Drink, Ness.”

The liquid burns a track to my belly. Sinking back against the chair, I give way at last to tears. Jago pats my shoulder as they roll unchecked down my cheeks. “Good girl,” he says. I don’t understand why.

“We’re running low on just about everything,” Saice says to no one in particular. “I don’t know what to do. I haven’t enough sleeping draught to even keep them comfortable. If we can’t—” Her voice cracks.

Jago pats her hand. “It’s all right. We do what we can. It’s enough.”

“Is it? Is it?” She’s shaking. Jago squeezes her shoulder.

“Our best is always enough. You need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t. I—”

“You must. You’re no use to anyone until you’ve rested.” Someone comes over and leads Saice away. “You too, Ness.”

My legs are rubbery and I’m grateful for the arm that grips my waist. When I turn my head – slowly: the world has somehow slipped into slow motion – I’m surprised to see that it’s Farra beside me. “C’mon lass. Time for a kip. Up we go now.”

“How’s your side?” I try to ask as we navigate the first of the stairs, but my tongue seems to have forgotten how to properly shape the sounds.

“Is she all right?”

“Asleep on her feet.”

The sensation is familiar. I hunt for the memory, but all I find is the smell of wet wool and mud. “Marn?” I
ask, as strong arms lower me into bed. There’s no answer. Something else tugs at my mind; someone else I need to know about. “How’s …” My words trail into a blurred mumble and the thought is gone, replaced by a safe and velvety darkness.

When I wake the room is empty. I turn over and stretch. My back aches. I feel sticky. I sit up. Traces of blood still loiter in the creases of my knuckles. I look at my shirt, and pull it off. Grabbing a towel I stumble to the bathroom, building a dam in my mind against flooding images of the night’s carnage.

When I’ve scrubbed myself twice over and pulled on clean clothes, I make my way down the stairs. The corridor is crowded, a group of scouts leaning tiredly against the wall outside Brenon’s office. I catch the eye of one who looks vaguely familiar and he grunts a greeting.

“What’s the time?” I ask.

“Just after three.”

I slept four hours. Without dreams. That at least is a mercy.

Manet emerges from the med room as I pass, a bowl of bloodied bandages in her hands, her face a stiff mask of indifference. I wonder how much it costs her, to tend these survivors of a bomb. “Are they …?” I can’t finish my question.

She shrugs.

I wish I could scrub away the memory of their injuries.

In the kitchen, three men are slumped at the table.
Two are scouts from the first unit – Brenon’s unit. I wonder whether they’re coming off duty or going on. We’ve all begun to look so ragged it’s not easy to tell. The third man’s face jolts me to a standstill.

“Zeek!”

He gives me a half-hearted smile.

I stare around. “Where’s Ronan? Did you—”

“Ronan’s not back.”

“Why not?” My voice comes out higher than normal. I clear my throat.

“We’re not sure, Ness. I—”

“He’s at Dales,” Truso interrupts from the doorway behind me.

I glance at him then back to Zeek. “Are the others with you? And the children?”

He shakes his head. “I came ahead. Three children from Pinehill came back with us – two girls and a toddler. Mardon’s bringing them.” His eyes swivel to Truso.

I follow his gaze. “What’s wrong?” I ask, moving away from the table so that I might see them both.

Truso scrubs at his jaw. “Dales is under attack. The paras sent a force in during the night.”

My mind ticks over slowly. “And … Ronan and Opi …?”

“I don’t know,” Zeek says. “We split up. They went to Dales while Mardon and I went on to Pinehill.” I nod to show I understand, though I don’t.

“We talked them into sending their youngsters back with us; told them they’d be safer with us.” His voice falters but he keeps on. “We were on our way back to
Dales when Mardon spotted a bunch of paras. We nearly walked right into them.”

My stomach contracts to a tight ball.

“Not long after, all hell broke loose.” He lifts a hand then lets it drop, forgotten, to the tabletop. “We had the children with us: we couldn’t …” He stops, shakes his head.

“You did the right thing,” Truso says.

Zeek swallows. “Once we were well clear of Dales, I left Mardon to bring the children at whatever pace they could manage while I got back here to raise the alert.” His face is desolate.

“Brenon sent a Decon team to find them,” one of the scouts at the table offers. “They’ll be here soon.”

I turn my gaze to Truso. “What about Ronan and Opi? And the people at Dales?”

The silence that greets my questions feels sharp with hidden thorns. I stare around the faces. All look ill at ease. I’ve no time to step with care.

“What?” I demand. “What’s the matter?”

Truso sighs. “Ness, we don’t know if Ronan and Opi made it to Dales. We don’t know when the attack started, or whether the place was under siege before they arrived. They might have got in and still be there. They might have got in and out again. We just don’t know.”

“But if they got out, wouldn’t they be here by now?”

“They might not have been able to get past the patrols. Or they might have decided it was safer to stay put.”

I let Truso’s options run through my head and I keep coming back to the one he didn’t return to: that they never reached Dales at all. I push it away. “What about
Dales? Has Brenon sent people to help them?”

Another silence. One of the scouts clears his throat. “Lee’s gone up to do a reccy,” he says. “Couple of Tan’s unit went with her and Jofeia from Decon.”

Zeek mutters something under his breath.

“But—” I begin.

Truso interrupts. “We’ll make a decision when we know more of the situation,” he says.

Zeek stands abruptly. He looks about to say something, then spins on his heel and stalks from the room.

Truso drags a hand down his face, pulling his expression into a parody of despair. “Brenon thinks it might be a ruse to draw resources away from Home Farm,” he tells me. “We’ll know more soon.”

My mouth is dry. “But we can’t just let the paras …” My voice locks in my throat.

Truso reaches a hand to my arm. “We’ll do everything we can, Ness. But we also need to ensure we can defend ourselves.”

Each breath I take seems to rock me on my feet. My hunger forgotten, I march out of the kitchen. The meeting room is empty, the night’s trauma still clearly visible in tumbled piles of blankets, abandoned gear, a bin of bloodied towels. Someone should be detailed to clean up. If we have another influx – I force the thought from my head.

The scouts are gone from the corridor. I look in on the ward room. Aiya gives me a smile. “Did you sleep?” she asks.

I nod. “How are they?” I run my eyes along the beds
– nine. Most of the men and women in them are asleep. Two watch me with dull, bloodshot eyes.

Aiya shrugs. “They’ll recover. One went back on duty already. Farra too.”

“Farra? The wound he took will take another week at least before—”

“You can try telling him that.” Her tone is dry. “Half of these will be up once they’ve had a decent rest. None of them has slept in days, not since before the bomb.”

“Who’s watching the others?”

“Saice.”

“I thought she was still sleeping.”

“She came down half an hour ago.”

I thank her and head for the med room, feeling my cowardice that I didn’t go there first.

One of the beds is empty.

“Ness, how are you? Did you get some rest?” Saice makes a poor effort at a smile.

“Did you?” I counter, though I guess that she has: the shadows under her eyes have paled a fraction.

“A couple of hours. I needed it.”

“What happened to the other scout?”

Her pause forewarns me. “He died.”

“But why? I thought you said—”

“He’d lost too much blood before he got here. And sometimes—” She sighs. “You don’t always know exactly why. It might have been shock, or injuries we couldn’t see. Possibly he just didn’t want to live without a leg.”

I look at the remaining man. His breathing seems steady. I lay a palm against his forehead. It feels cool to
the touch and slightly clammy. The bandaging around his truncated arm looks like a mistake: as if we should have been able to find his hand and fix it back on. As if the damage shouldn’t be so permanent. I turn away, my eyes sliding to the other bed, smooth and freshly made.

“He wasn’t alone, was he, when—”

“No. Tan, his unit leader, was with him.”

Relief unwinds the tension in my muscles a tiny fraction. Saice watches me. “We do our best, Ness. That’s all there is.”

I know what she means, yet it seems not enough. A horror that’s been haunting me forces its way past my tongue. “If it had been me who died, instead of Esha, then—”