Strange Attractors (17 page)

Thunder clapped overhead as clouds rolled in. The bright green foliage turned dull, the colour drained from the leaves. The air went thick and still.

‘Perhaps it can get worse.’ He strained to see the sky through the treetops. ‘Coming early, are you?’ He waited for a reply but the storm didn’t answer.

He’d been tracking the thief for two days, falling further and further behind. There was little chance of catching up now, considering he had lost the trail, had no idea where he was or where the demon thief had gone. ‘You think you can take my life from me, but you can’t. I will find you!’ He sank the machete into the ground.

For months, or was it years, Everett had relived the night the babies had vanished, the night they’d been spirited away. His sleep was tortured by the memory, his mind never quite getting past the shock, the guilt, the paranoia. When he awoke, he would run after the phantom. Sometimes he told Regina or the others he had to go back to Sector Six for supplies; other times
he said nothing and took off, running away in the night, under a new moon, and not returning for days. When he did come back, he had little recollection of his absence—none that he could discern from his strange dream states—and no better understanding of his own behaviour, though he was haunted with peculiar visions. Haunted and disturbed.

Regina wanted to take him on a vision journey, a ritual that would penetrate the disassociated realms of his mind and bring him back to balance, but he refused. At those times, when she encouraged him, it seemed that she was in league with the thief. He accused her of it, pounding his fists on the table or threatening her with the back of his hand. She denied it, of course, which enraged him further. She remained calm, sitting quietly with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes resting gently on his. He wanted to kill her in those moments. He could never trust her in any case. It was her fault. She was the one who had let the thief in.

No matter how Regina explained it, he knew she was to blame as much as he, but if he killed her the thief may not come back. Then how would he find the children. Everett needed to follow the demon’s trail. The children would be grown now, he realised in his more lucid states. Still, he had to get them at any cost. One of them was different—more different than could be imagined. She was from a distant world perhaps. He’d yet to find out where, or how that could be, but it was the only explanation for her peculiar DNA.

Regina offered her vision quest to solve that mystery as well but he suspected it was a way for her to control him, subdue his behaviour, trap him even. She would bind him up in his own mind and he would never return. Yet she coaxed so innocently at times, as
if she had no selfish thought or agenda other than his wellbeing. Could he trust that? It was worth the risk, she’d say, but she didn’t know the child’s true origins, or what he’d done in the past. No one did, and these strange happenings were between him and the thief alone. He would succeed, some day, if he persevered. He had dreamed it. And the thief always returned, a strange cloaked figure that arrived in the morning like a crow, vanishing before he could find out what had happened to the children. He would find the thief and bring the children back.

‘Find the thief? There’s something to laugh at. I can’t even find myself.’ He slammed his hand into the trunk then roared with pain. His knuckles were bleeding now. Why did he do that? He slammed the tree again; tears were running down his cheeks as he tried to remember where he was. ‘I’m hunting the demon,’ he told himself and sprang back to his feet.

He capped the waterskin and, using double-handed swipes with the machete, he chopped his way through a mass of palm fronds. They fell to the ground, leaving a carpeted trail, a bridge over the rich loam of the jungle floor. He altered his course, taking the easiest way he could find—the path of least resistance. Being with Regina had taught him that, when he could remember it. When he could trust it.

‘Life is best when you travel with ease and peace,’ she’d said, and she was right. Why did he ever doubt her?

He hacked again at the leaves; working his way forward, he moved steadily towards the thinning foliage. Another clap of thunder ripped overhead. ‘Here it comes.’ He gazed skyward.

The birds went silent. That was a sure sign. The thunder sounded again and the rain hit his shoulders
in fat heavy drops, cold and stinging like needles. In moments, water ran into his eyes and down his back, soaking his socks and boots. Winding up for the next slice, he tightened his grip, stopping short before the swing. He squinted, pushing his glasses up his nose. There was movement ahead.

He lowered his arms and squatted to watch through the cover. He recognised the valley, the edge of the Borderlands. That was something. He knew his way home from here, but who was that sheltering under the strangler fig, huddled in a large sheepskin coat?

It wasn’t anyone from the village, but the man ahead did remind him of something, someone. The way he sat there immobile, as if asleep, registered in the back of Everett’s mind. For an instant, a slice of light cut through the gloom and he recognised him. Then it was gone. He scratched his head. At least he had found his way back to the edge. That was good. The thief had eluded him again, but it was time to return home. He would try again tomorrow. He laughed to himself, a chicken’s cackle.

He thought he’d been lost when it turned out he was paralleling the valley all along. When he shifted his weight a frond snapped and the sound brought the other man’s head around. Not asleep after all. Everett froze, uncertain what to do next. This was the Borderlands. All forms of strange people could wander here. But there was still something evocative about this one. It reminded Everett of another time in his life—a time before the darkness grabbed hold. A time before the thief.

He straightened his back and took a chance. ‘Hey there!’ He waved, cutting his way out of the last line of twisting vines and fronds. ‘Are you lost?’ Everett’s grip stayed tight on the machete.

The other man called out to him, waving back. ‘I’m not certain.’

Everett sheathed his machete and trotted down the grassy slope. The voice was kind, easy.

‘Kelly?’ the man said. ‘Everett Kelly?’ His voice was a whisper, his brow furrowed.

‘Do I know you?’ Everett asked. He wiped his hand on his soaked shirt and extended it. The other man pulled him under the fig tree to get him out of the downpour. ‘From Sector Six perhaps?’

‘You do. I’m Grayson Nath.’ He returned the handshake. ‘We met not long ago, in the Parklands. Canie introduced us.’

‘Canie?’ Everett shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t been to the Parklands in many years. You got my name right, though. I’m Everett Kelly. Must be some other explanation.’

‘Must be. But if you don’t remember me, then I think I am quite lost.’

Kreshkali rode at the gallop, the glow of the flaming city lighting her way. Jarrod was beside her on the tall palomino gelding, matching her mare stride for stride. They were on the quarry road, the jagged stairs looming in front of them.

‘Some path you picked,’ Jarrod said when they came to a halt under the steps. He twisted his neck to view the top of the quarry wall. ‘I have a bad feeling about this place.’

Kreshkali stared at him. ‘You don’t get bad feelings.’

‘I do about this.’

The stairs were broken, chipped away by runoff, deep gutters turning to ravines on either side.

‘I thought it would be in better repair,’ Kali said.

‘The horses won’t make it.’

‘I see that.’

‘Turn them loose, or tie them until we get back?’

‘We’ll have to let them go. There’s no telling how long this will take now.’

He shook his head. ‘Too many variables to round it down.’

They dismounted and untacked the horses, leaving the saddles on the ground and the bridles hanging on a nearby branch.

‘This will be a little puzzle for the Corsanons, I imagine.’ Kreshkali smiled as she released the mare. The palomino had bolted the moment Jarrod slipped off his headstall, but the mare lingered, whickering as she stroked her neck. When the Three Sisters swooped in, the mare’s head went up and she trotted down the path, following the other horse.

‘Where is the rain?’ Kreshkali stared at the sky.

‘Teg may not be up to the task,’ Jarrod said, pointing at the glowing orange city above them. The stars were fading behind plumes of smoke. ‘No sign of a storm.’

Teg?
Kreshkali called to her apprentice. Had he fallen back asleep?

I’m here.

How are we coming with the rain?

I got distracted. There’s this young witch…

Teg!

She has the strangest eyes. Reminds me of…

Teg, forget the girl. We need rain. Work with me.

Kreshkali kept her mind linked to Teg’s as she and Jarrod climbed the ruined stairs. All she allowed herself to think about was rain. She imagined the wind blowing, her sleeves saturating, droplets moistening her eyelashes and beading in her hair. She smelled the earth release its rich fragrance of soil, roots and grass in response to the rain, the sound of patters hitting
the dry stones, forming pools and rushing to the road below. The higher she climbed, the harder the rain fell in her mind until she reached the top and looked skyward again. Clouds had gathered overhead and the first drops of rain, big as plums, splattered the back of her hand.

Nice rain pray, Teg. Well done. You have it there?

Coming down in buckets, Mistress.

How’s your head?

Better.

And that girl? What were you going to tell me about her?

She’s got some strange magic. Something you need to see.

Keep her close.

Can’t. She’s gone.

Where to?

Same way you and Jarrod went.

Follow her.

Shaea ran down the road as the storm gathered. There hadn’t been a single wisp of cloud obscuring the stars moments before and she suspected sorcery. She also suspected it had something to do with the trouble Rall was in. She frowned, looking up at the clouds. Rall had told her how weather could alter with a single thought, though she’d doubted it at the time. Otherwise, why would winters be so cool and summers parched? Why frostbite and floods and icy winds? Living on the streets kept her apprised of the climate, day and night. If she had known how to control the weather, she would have made it forever spring. Wouldn’t everyone?

Shaea stumbled to the ground, tripped up in her long skirts. She hadn’t kept her beautiful dress clean for long. Would she be sucked back into her gutter
life, this moment of release fading into memory, a dream that didn’t come true? She listened hard before scrambling to her feet. She knew the lad was following her, though not by any sound he made. There was nothing on the wind. It was more a sensation in the pit of her stomach that warned her of his proximity. He wasn’t far behind. Maybe he was curious, an idle lad with nothing more on his mind than following a pretty girl? She giggled to think of herself in that way but she’d seen the reflection in the mirror. She was pretty, no other way to say it.

Or was he simply trying to get a better view of burning Corsanon? Maybe. Or he might have been sent—a spy. She didn’t know. Her mind whirled, the events of the long day taking the sense right out from under her. She ducked behind a grove of elms, flipped up her cowl and hid, catching her breath. She was a fast runner, had to be in the streets, but the fine outfit slowed her down, and the new boots. In any case, he kept up. Rain hit the ground and in moments it turned the road into a muddy river. She shivered, wrapping her cloak tight.

‘Uncanny weather, don’t you think?’

Shaea startled at the voice. ‘Teg! Why are you following me?’

‘Not following. Our paths are simply taking the same course.’

They were both puffed from the run.

‘Same thing, don’t you think?’ She coughed, clearing her throat, remembering to keep her voice smooth and clear. ‘Where are you going? This way leads only to the quarry road, did you know?’

‘The quarry road is where I’m headed,’ he said, laughing. ‘Don’t look so startled. I’ve been asked to meet someone there, is all. Same as you?’

‘Who’ve you been asked to meet?’ She watched for it but he didn’t hesitate. His pupils didn’t expand. He didn’t lie.

‘My mistress.’

Shaea nodded. It was a truth, and no surprise that he would have been attached to a mentor. One with his looks and manner would not be passed by no matter what his other talents. He was too pleasant to be around. She couldn’t imagine passing him by in any case.

‘Shall we go together?’ he asked.

‘Might as well. You’d have a hard time tracking me in the downpour.’ She lifted her cloak up to her knees and examined her new boots.

‘I would never have a problem tracking you,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ He was talking nonsense. Her prints vanished the moment she lifted her foot from the ground and she told him so.

He winked. ‘Tracks are not the only way to follow a woman.’

Shaea scrunched her face. ‘Then don’t follow.’ She held out her hand and pulled him into step beside her. Rall had said to run and she had, but the quarry was in sight. There was no need to race now and she didn’t mind his companionship. His hand was large, his long fingers lacing hers. She pretended it was Xane and smiled, until she remembered Rall. The witch said things had gone wrong.

How wrong, she didn’t know. Shaea looked over at Teg; the rain hammered down between them. On closer inspection, he looked battle sore, battle weary. It didn’t make sense, unless he’d been in the fray with Xane. She wanted to ask which side he was on but didn’t. He was with her now and it felt right. Besides, with his build and the sword he carried, he could come
in more than handy before the night was over. It didn’t hurt to have him along; she could use someone like him. He might even help her find Rall. She squeezed his hand and carried on.