The Scarred God Read online

  She watched herself blink once before her training kicked in, and she attacked the man’s still-shocked companion, thrusting the dagger into his unprotected leg. She twisted the blade to prevent him being able to give chase and tried to ignore the woman’s voice telling her she should have killed him too. Taking the men’s swords, she emerged from the cage. She looked back, briefly, at the other cages – the ones where small hands were emerging from the darkness, their owners pleading for her to take them with her. The remaining warriors leered, drawing their own blades and making ready for some sport. She ran, fighting only where she had to, and emerged victorious each time as panic began to spread through the camp. She burst free of the tents, running through the Barrens, her mind still on the tiny hands she had seen reaching from the shadows …

  Anya opened her eyes. Her ankle throbbed in time with her heart, but she ignored it as best she could, standing with care. She tested her weight on the leg and found the limb held. She limped on slowly. The Kurah warriors sounded as if they had wandered further away, lost as to which direction Anya had run in. The memories of her escape threatened to return, her gut lurching almost as if she were back there once more, but she caught the unhelpful intrusion and pushed it away. Not now. There was only room for putting one foot in front of the other.

  ‘There she is! Hey! She’s over here!’

  The voice cut through Anya’s fragile hope. In desperation, she limped on as fast as she could, forcing herself not to look back at the Kurah warrior giving chase. She tried not to think about the sounds of him fumbling with his bow as he came, trying to let an arrow fly after her. He swore and discarded the idea, his pace quickening behind her.

  The undergrowth pulled at Anya, and tree branches snagged her skin. One whipped clean across her body, badly bruising her ribs and leaving her gasping as she plunged on through the undergrowth. The dark of the forest was broken suddenly by sunlight. It blinded her. She had no idea where she could be, having never been allowed to come in further than the edge. Still half-blinded by the light, limping and near passing out again, Anya lumbered on, arms outstretched to prevent further falls. She had carried on a dozen paces before her eyes adjusted to the light, and she realised she was in a wide clearing like the ones in her grandfather’s stories. The only difference was a log cabin at the far end, where smoke was gently wafting into the air from its chimney.

  Anya did not have time to look for cover. The Kurah behind her slammed into her and sent her sprawling just as she noticed there was another person in the clearing. He didn’t appear to be a Kurah, as he was too old to be in their army, and he was dressed in Shaanti clothing. He stared at her with intense blue eyes as she lay tangled on the grass. He remained bent over his axe. The axehead was embedded in the wood in front of him.

  Anya tried to scrabble away from the guard, but he had hold of her hair and was trying to get a set of chains on her wrists. Anya tried to lash out, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She could taste the copper tang of blood in her mouth. I was right, I am dying. In her mind’s eye, the hands reached out to her from the cage; voices whispered to take them with her; and she could smell fear like piss reeking in her nostrils. She was about to call out to the strange woodsman when the guard let go of the manacles, his eyes trying to focus on the axe now embedded in his head. The Kurah warrior collapsed even as others appeared in the clearing.

  The last thing she heard before she fell back into the dark was screaming. She wasn’t sure whose voice it was.

  Chapter Two

  The king was here.

  The commander of the battalion guarding the prisoners stared hard at the note the messenger had handed him. The king wanted to see him. He felt dizzy and hyper-aware all at the same time. The cocktail of smells in the camp – the smoke, the men, the cooking food, the piss and the shit – they all poked at his nose. The sounds clambered at his ears from the forge: the men bantering and the prisoners whimpering and moaning. The entrance to his tent flapped in the breeze. He could have returned back inside, but there would be no avoiding an explanation for the king, so what was the point?

  The Kurah lines stretched across the Shaanti territory for miles; Montu couldn’t visit everywhere – it wasn’t feasible – but now his warriors would be singled out. He must know of the escape. In a few short years, this young king, Montu, had made a name for himself every bit as feared and respected as his grandfather’s. The commander necked a strong swig from his hip flask before he responded to the messenger.

  ‘Tell the king I shall attend to him in a moment—’

  ‘You can attend to me now,’ replied the king, pulling his gloves from each of his hands.

  The commander turned around to look at Montu. The king smiled without a trace of irritation. The commander couldn’t help but glance at the man’s sword; Polestar gleamed on the king’s shoulders. Montu was renowned for his skill with the blade. The sword was the first to earn a name in its own right since the time of the last war with the Shaanti. It was the sword that slew the last king. Will my blood coat the blade too?

  ‘What has one of my commanders so spooked? Have you seen the ghosts of the priests coming behind us?’

  The commander shook his head. There was no sense in drawing this out. ‘Sire, there has been an incident.’

  The king’s smile broadened out into a grin. ‘No, my dear fellow, there has been no incident.’

  The commander felt ice up his back. ‘Yes, sire, there has—’

  Montu laughed. ‘No, there has been a monumental fuck-up. An incident would be “I’ve run out of potatoes” or “an unarmed prisoner was killed during an escape attempt”, not “an unarmed prisoner managed to kill a guard, seriously wound another and fight her way out of the camp”.’

  The commander knew he was dead in that moment.

  ‘Sire, I regret to report a prisoner escape in our camp. A single prisoner has managed to get free, killing a guard, wounding another and in all likelihood has led another three men to their deaths in the forest.’

  The king’s smile faded. ‘You tell the truth too late. Had you dispatched to me at once, had you but told me as you saw me, things might have been different, but now … you will be executed tomorrow at dawn. Bring me to where the escape happened, and have the men who were present and not maimed brought to us.’

  The commander felt ice in his belly. His hands shook. Perhaps I can still turn this around? I just need to be helpful. He led the king through the network of tents to where the cages had been set up. They passed vast wheeled structures that had been erected to prevent the prisoners from looking on the rest of the camp. They stopped in front of the makeshift dungeon.

  The defeated Shaanti were a bedraggled collection of adults, too young or old to fight in some cases, but the majority of the prisoners were children. No tattoos amongst any of them. No warriors had been allowed to live, and no Shaanti swordsmen or women would expect the Kurah to take prisoners. The Shaanti that had survived were frightened and confused at this deviation from Kurah practice, unsure if this meant they would survive, or if they would be slaves. If they should be happy, or anguished and unable to look away from the bodies of the dead. Many of the captured were crying.

  ‘Which one got away?’

  The commander looked at the king. He realised he did not know the name of the prisoner and that this admission was another nail in his coffin.

  ‘From the reports, it was a girl, almost of age, who lured the guards in and then fought as well as a warrior.’

  Montu held the commander’s gaze. ‘Rather better, given she escaped from the camp.’

  The commander clenched his jaw.

  ‘You’re sure she had no markings?’ asked the king, peering closer at the prisoners.

  The commander nodded. ‘We would have executed her if she had been marked.’

  ‘Which cage was it?’

  The commander pointed at Cage Ten. There were only a couple of other prisoners inside, all women in their sixties and all sta
ring at the king with very wide eyes.

  ‘Open the cage,’ said Montu.

  ‘Sire?’

  The king looked witheringly at his commander. ‘I can shorten your life further. Open the fucking cage.’

  The commander moved to the lock, and it took him two goes to unlock the door, given the way the king was looming over him. Once it was open, Montu pushed past him into the cage, drew his sword and cut the head off the first of the three women. The other two screamed.

  The king wiped his blade on the fallen woman’s dress.

  ‘You are to understand that I am serious when I say harm will befall you if you do not cooperate and tell me what I want to know,’ said the king to the surviving prisoners.

  ‘Who was the girl?’

  The women stared at him, too terrified to speak.

  He extended his sword, now clean, towards the closest one.

  ‘Do not make me ask again,’ he said.

  ‘She was Anya, General Thrace’s granddaughter,’ said the woman nearest to the blade.

  ‘She was a warrior?’

  The other woman shook her head. ‘No. Thrace forbade it …’

  The king raised an eyebrow. ‘But …?’

  ‘I heard her talking to Fin … you killed him … saying she was going to run away. Our Evie says she thought Falkirk may have been training her.’

  The king closed his eyes briefly. He left the cage and strode over to the commander.

  ‘You’re an even bigger fool than I gave you credit for. Did you interrogate the prisoners?’

  The commander looked blank. Why interrogate soon-to-be-dead prisoners? Wouldn’t that further demean the enemy’s warriors in defeat? They would say anything – true or false – to save their lives.

  ‘Promises were made, Commander, and one of the conditions was we hand over the prisoner your men allowed to escape to Cernubus. That promise has now been broken.’

  ‘She was just a girl.’

  The king moved so he was nose to nose with the commander. ‘A girl whose grandmother was the greatest warrior the Shaanti ever produced and whose grandfather was a skilled general. Regardless of her heritage, we warned you about those Shaanti of fighting age.’

  ‘Sire, she’s a girl. How were my men supposed to know …?’

  Montu stepped closer to the commander, wrapping one hand around the back of the man’s neck and whispering in his ear. ‘We’re not talking about your men, we’re talking about you.’ He thumped the commander in the stomach for emphasis, driving the air out of his gut.

  The king moved back, wiping a small knife on the edge of his cloak before turning away. The commander coughed in pain. The blow had left a dull ache in his stomach that was growing, making him double over. Everything felt distant and distorted. He tried to move after Montu but found he could not; indeed, he felt like he was melting away into the grass. He looked down and saw blood seeping across the front of his tunic as his legs folded up underneath him. He was staring up at the sky now. His last thought was that he had finally seen the young king lose his calm. It was a triumph, of sorts.

  Montu looked at the executioner getting ready to kill the men who had let him down. The temporary scaffolding looked only just sturdy enough to hang them. The suns were edging closer to the horizon in their slow waltz across the sky. The smell of the evening meal mingled with the dying embers of the forges they had set up to keep their supply lines running. He had picked every other man from the squad of guards who’d failed to secure the prisoner, and marked them for execution. In an hour, he would pardon those who had already proved themselves in battle, and execute the remaining three. Discipline had to be maintained. The lines would be stretched before they had control of the Shaanti, and Delgasia was only just under control.

  I will not repeat the mistakes of my grandfather.

  ‘That is reassuring,’ said Cernubus.

  Montu turned to look at the god. He was leaning against one of the cages, his hood thrown back to show his ragged curls, and he had wrapped his cloak around himself. The prisoners were staring at him with fear from the furthest corner of the cage. Their nightmare was a real and living thing: the banished god come amongst them to punish.

  ‘I will not find myself abandoned as the stone god was, then?’

  Montu flushed. Did he suspect? ‘As long as you keep your side of the deal, I will honour mine.’

  ‘But you have already broken your side by letting the girl go,’ said Cernubus, not moving.

  ‘The magic you described, the reason these dishonoured people were kept alive, does not rely on a single girl. There is no chosen one in Shaanti myth.’

  Cernubus smiled. ‘You are but a child in armour. A precocious and violent one, I grant you, but do not speak on matters beyond you. The girl has her value.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Cernubus stood up straight and walked closer to the king. ‘I have taken the forest under my control. You will not experience any attacks on your flank.’

  Montu felt his shoulders relax. ‘The goddess has lost the forest. I wonder if the thain knows yet?’

  Cernubus shook his head. ‘There were no humans in the forest.’

  Montu froze. There were humans now.

  Cernubus tilted his head. The god had heard Montu’s thought. He stared at the king. ‘The girl …?’

  Montu nodded. ‘And some of the men went in after her. The ones who fear us more than the old legends.’

  Cernubus was silent.

  Montu felt the god’s anger. Rage vibrated deep in the base of his skull and crackled on the air as if he were barely holding in his power. The runes painted into his skin moved faster, changing with the beat of Montu’s heart, or so it seemed.

  ‘She’s just a girl.’

  ‘The problem is the forest is large and she may run into help.’

  You said you had the forest under control, thought Montu.

  ‘And I do. Where did she enter?’

  The king did not like it when Cernubus listened to his mind. The mages had still to find him a reliable technique for blocking such intrusions.

  Montu pointed north. ‘She knew what she was doing. The southern belly of the forest is its furthest outcrop, due north of here and the fastest route to cover.’

  ‘The forestal …’ whispered Cernubus. ‘Well, that’s a pretty twist.’

  ‘Who is the forestal?’

  Cernubus looked up as if remembering the king was there. ‘Your men are dead or dying. The forest will not abide Kurah in its boundaries, I did warn you.’

  ‘And the girl?’

  Cernubus knelt and drove his hand into the soil.

  ‘Most people think the Barrens were always this way, but when I was young, these hills and valleys were covered in trees. The soil is weak now, but still remembers the forest.’

  Cernubus rubbed the soil over his hands and forearms. The runes pooled and poured over the dirt with the occasional flash of red and green. The god closed his eyes briefly.

  ‘The girl is alive,’ he said. ‘I must go. While she is free, there is a risk I have not accounted for.’

  Montu frowned. ‘What of us?’

  Cernubus looked around. ‘You have taken nearly all of the Shaanti borders. You have them locked in, and they cannot out-siege you at this time of year. She has no choice but open battle, and as long as the battle is joined by the alignment, we will be fine.’

  Cernubus stepped back from the king. He dropped his cloak to the ground and pulled his tunic off in one motion. Other people were looking now.

  ‘Go, then. But do not stay away long lest I forget when you want the ceremony …’

  ‘Have faith in me,’ said Cernubus, a little loudly. Montu knew he was playing to the crowd.

  ‘I’m an atheist,’ replied Montu.

  Cernubus laughed. He turned and ran, shifting form to a stag as he went, and disappeared from view.

  ‘He has too much power,’ said the guard closest to Montu.

 
Montu looked at the guard. ‘Why?’

  The guard shrugged. ‘He doesn’t fear you, and so his promises are empty, and he has already left us half a dozen times when we needed him.’

  ‘Good observation,’ said Montu. ‘And brave words. Are you prepared to speak your mind to me when you disagree, but follow my orders as if they were your own?’

  The guard shrugged and nodded.

  ‘Good. You’re the new commander.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t. Do your job, that’s enough. Now find out if anyone knows how to get rid of this god before this deal sours any further.’

  The new commander nodded and headed off to the magi’s tents.

  Chapter Three

  The heat was like a hand pressing down on the god as he made his way across the desert. The vast wasteland seemed to stretch away to the ends of the world, the ground a cracked and dried mud, broken only by occasional rocky deposits and drifts of sand at the bottom of shallow valleys where it could not be blown away. The forest seemed a distant dream. If he stopped for any length of time, Pan feared he would melt away, leaving nothing but a smudge of damp in the dirt. Each step took him further from the forest and from the Shaanti clan. His power was ebbing away. The occasional breeze just whipped up the dust and sand, forcing him to cover his nose and mouth with his cloak.

  If he did not find water before his powers retreated altogether, leaving him as weak as the mortals, he would have to finally take the long walk across Golgotha.