The Scarred God Read online

‘For a little while,’ her shadow whispered.

  Chapter Six

  The stream was more like a river in the torrential rain.

  Anya was still limping from her beaten ankle and wounded thigh, keeping Vedic in sight more through force of will than any strength. She knew if she fell, the woodsman might not notice until whatever was wrong with his left arm flared up again. The first time she had lost sight of him, he had bellowed in pain and come back to find her, his left arm clutched to him. Each time after, if he got too far ahead, he returned doing the same thing.

  They no longer heard wolves. The sound of the rain on the water and the leaves was overwhelming, but still the woodsman pressed on down the stream. Anya was soaked to the skin. She felt tired in her bones, and her lungs were burning with deep ragged breaths that felt like she might combust into flame at any moment. At least I would be dry then, she mused. She fell. The water gushing behind her rolled her over and over, and she thought she would drown. Large hands lifted her firmly from the onslaught, righting her onto her feet, and the woodsman clasped her head in his shovel-like hands. He looked her straight in the eye. The man’s gaze was like the moon – all-seeing, cold, mercurial.

  ‘You are at the end of your strength?’

  She shook her head.

  The woodsman frowned. ‘Warriors know their limits, little one. Your death will help neither me nor the ones you seek to save.’

  ‘But the wolves—’

  ‘Are a danger,’ said the woodsman. ‘But they are unlikely to scent us this far downstream.’

  Grasping her right arm, the woodsman turned and half dragged, half led her up the bank and out of the stream. Once they had clambered up, both becoming coated in viscous mud, they paused to listen for any sign of pursuit. The trees here were bigger than those near the cabin, large leafy branches attached to trunks twice the width of the forestal, and if Anya had ever known their names, she could not think of them now. The surrounding undergrowth smelt sweet in the rain.

  The woodsman pointed up a slight incline that led north, away from the water, to where the trees grew closer together again and the light was minimal.

  ‘Can you manage it?’

  Anya wasn’t sure but she nodded. The woodsman might be right about warriors knowing their limits, but she had yet to take the ink and could not afford the luxury. She knew as well as he did that they needed a hiding place to rest. She limped after the forestal.

  They walked on until the trees grew more tangled. Anya thought every now and then that she could see Fin following, a ghost glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, seen between the boughs, head covered in blood. She was too exhausted to feel guilt. She just wondered if the blood would attract the wolves.

  Vedic stopped periodically to examine the trees, always sloping and tangled. Anya thought that he was looking for a makeshift platform where they could rest without worrying about anyone stumbling on them.

  The howl was like nothing she had ever heard.

  Anya had time to half turn, half consider that the noise sounded vaguely vulpine before whatever it was bounded into her and sent her to the ground.

  Vedic swore in a language she didn’t recognise.

  Anya rolled to her feet, searching for a weapon. The woodsman was on the ground. A tangle of hair and fur was wrestling with him, howling that god-awful noise and gnashing at him with teeth that looked all too human. The woodsman was holding the creature’s hands, claw-like, away from his throat. He had not managed to draw his machete, and the two were now locked in a kind of stalemate.

  Anya grabbed a branch of the nearest tree and broke it off. Vedic howled in pain. Anya swung the branch at the creature, knocking it from the woodsman. The thing scurried up onto the trunk of the nearest tree and leapt at her. The two of them tumbled end over end, Anya managing to throw the creature away from her once more.

  ‘Anya!’ shouted Vedic, throwing her the machete.

  She caught the weapon by the hilt and swung without thinking as the creature leapt at her once more. She severed the creature’s arm, causing the thing to scream and crash to the wet mud, where the animal hissed and spat at her. Anya pointed the machete at the creature’s head. It looked just like an old woman, lined and grey-haired and with eyes that spoke of human intelligence. The woman’s face had the same expression as the young guard had before Anya had forced the blade under his armour and into his heart. For a brief moment, Anya thought she was the guard, her stomach lurching and making her feel as if she were back in the Kurah camp, right in that moment where she had first killed.

  Vedic stepped forward and broke the creature’s neck with one swift twist of his hands.

  ‘Never hesitate,’ he said, taking the machete from her. ‘You will die.’

  Anya was still staring at the body. It looked like a collection of wet furs and skins.

  ‘Banshee,’ said Vedic, examining himself for wounds. ‘I doubt she was with the wolves, but she’ll have raised enough noise. We need to go up into the trees. Do you need a rope?’

  Anya was about to say no, and then she remembered his words. He was right. She suspected he often was. She was exhausted. She nodded.

  Vedic made no comment. He undid the rope around his torso, looped one part to him and the other to her.

  ‘We’ll go as fast as you can,’ he said.

  ‘What if the wolves come?’ she replied.

  ‘Then we will think of a new plan,’ he said. ‘Thinking about ifs will get you killed just as much as hesitation.’

  They climbed.

  In the end, it was Vedic who could not carry on. They had been climbing carefully for an hour or more. The morning light was occasionally visible above them, and the rain had slowed to a drizzle that they could hear more than feel. The forestal stopped at the end of a large flat branch and sat down as if someone had struck him suddenly on the head.

  Anya limped up to him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Vedic looked worn and old and in pain. He pointed.

  ‘This was its lair,’ said the woodsman.

  Anya could see the tree ahead of them had been partly felled. Its taller section lay hanging from a sinew; its top dug into the ground below. The exposed innards of the tree showed the fresh white of recently broken wood, and parts of the lower trunk looked as if they had exploded out. In the centre of the tree, the crystal had fractured and was dull.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Anya, her disbelief obvious. Her grandfather had told her tall tales of the forest where the trees had diamond hearts and the Tream emerged from the dark green like wraiths.

  ‘It is dying,’ said Vedic. His voice was thick with emotion Anya couldn’t place. It might be guilt. ‘I should end it now.’

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  Vedic looked at her. ‘The wolves will sense it. Whatever is helping them would guess where we are.’

  ‘Well, I can’t do any more,’ said Anya, sitting down next to him. ‘I must rest.’

  Vedic looked at her. ‘I’m surprised you lasted this long.’ He looked at the dressing on her arm. ‘I think this stuff is keeping you going, but that probably means you’ll take longer to heal.’

  Anya gently stopped him reaching across to check the dressing. ‘No healing right now. I need to sleep.’

  Vedic nodded. He took the rope from around his waist and looped it around the branch. ‘In case you fall off.’

  Anya shook her head. ‘Unlikely.’

  The world was still dark when Anya opened her eyes. She ached more than before she had fallen asleep, but her clothes had begun to dry. She could think in a straight line again. I must have slept through the day, she thought. Anya’s memory returned. The sacking of her village ran through her mind, robbing her of the moment of calm. The wrenching guilt came sauntering after, wearing Fin’s face.

  Vedic was nowhere to be seen.

  Anya lurched to her feet. She took a moment to find the woodsman – he was so well camouflaged he might have been one of the mythic
al Tream from her grandfather’s tall tales. He was wrapped around the broken trunk, his legs gripped tight and holding him in place as much as his hands, which were clinging hard around the crystalline centre of the tree. There was a dull glow from the crystal that made it easier to see how one might mistake the core for diamond.

  ‘Hey,’ she whispered.

  The forestal’s eyes snapped to her. She watched the man pull himself up onto the top of the break, his feet balancing with a skill she had never seen in a man of that size. He leapt from the trunk and landed on the branch with a grace that any Shaanti swordsman or woman would have sacrificed much for.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Anya laughed. ‘How do I look?’

  Vedic shrugged. ‘A little rested, banged up …’

  ‘It wasn’t a genuine question,’ said Anya, sitting back down with a sigh. ‘How long was I out?’

  ‘Most of the day. You missed the end of the storm and the sunset,’ said Vedic.

  ‘The wolves?’

  ‘The odd one in the distance,’ said Vedic. ‘Bet they have not thought that we could travel this far with you in your condition. You are a tough little one.’

  Anya frowned. ‘I’m not that little. Old man.’

  Vedic shook his head. ‘I’ll call you what I like, woman. I’m not a nice man.’

  Anya felt her cheeks burn. She would have knocked anyone else on their arse for speaking to her like that, but she couldn’t be choosy. Her companion was as he was.

  ‘What were you doing?’

  Vedic looked shamed. ‘I was trying to see what the poor thing had learned.’

  Anya blinked.

  ‘What?’

  Vedic tilted his head in curiosity. ‘You must know the trees in the forest are aware.’

  Anya felt the world lurch. She felt as if she’d run straight into one of the legends her grandfather had seemed to love so much. Why not my mother? thought Anya, not for the first time. She had never told her any stories that Anya could recall.

  Your grandfather loved the sound of his own voice, but legends cannot defend against the blade of your enemy.

  Anya forced herself back to the present.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said. ‘You will be telling me next that the Tream walk through the forest.’

  Vedic stared at her. ‘You are Shaanti, no?’

  Anya nodded.

  ‘Then speak with care,’ said the woodsman. ‘Before you dismiss those the gods protect. You may only be standing here because of one or more of them.’

  Anya felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

  ‘What did the tree say?’

  Vedic sighed. ‘I am not as skilled as the gods or the Tream at this, and the tree has been driven mad by its wounds. The banshee was seeking us.’

  The Tream are real as well. ‘The creature was after us?’

  Vedic scratched his beard. ‘Yes, but not for the wolves. The banshee was reacting to a faint message.’

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head. ‘The message was garbled. More a picture of me and of you and a sense of need.’

  Anya felt cold. The breeze that was wafting through the trees offered little in the way of drying her clothes any more than they were already. The thought that someone else was hunting them did nothing for her mood.

  ‘Why fight?’ Fin stared at her from his perch on a tree a few feet away. His skin was pale and mottled, and his head an ugly mess where the axe had taken him from the world.

  Anya forced herself to close and open her eyes until he disappeared.

  ‘You warm enough?’ asked Vedic, gesturing at her shaking right hand. It wasn’t the cold.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Anya.

  Vedic held her in his gaze a little too long to convince her that he believed she was fine.

  ‘Where will we go?’ asked Anya.

  Vedic gestured to the west. ‘To the glade, and the only person who can protect us against whatever has come for you.’

  Anya looked at him. ‘That’s where Danu is supposed to live.’

  ‘Who else do you think I am talking about?’ asked Vedic, smiling. ‘The goddess rules this place, and she can protect us.’

  Anya caught herself. The gods are real. The fear returned.

  ‘I am not supposed to be here. It’s forbidden.’

  Vedic nodded. ‘Yes, but I imagine if an old bastard like myself can come to an arrangement with the goddess, then a little one like you will be fine.’

  Anya frowned. The gods in her grandfather’s tales were not as even-handed as the woodsman was making out, and even Danu had her moments of capriciousness.

  The wolf gave no warning. He scampered down the slope below, growling and sniffing the ground as if sensing a faint scent. He had a chunk of the banshee in his mouth, and his eyes glowed yellow in the dark.

  Vedic and Anya pressed themselves flat along the branch. They did their best to meld into the wood as the creature paused, dropped the chunk of meat and howled at the sky. He picked up the meat and carried on.

  ‘That was close,’ said Anya, rolling onto her back. ‘We need to move.’

  Vedic got to his feet and began untying the rope that anchored Anya to the branch. A she-wolf leapt down from above.

  How she had got there, they would never know, but she landed on Vedic and died as the forestal reacted faster than Anya could follow. He used the creature’s weight and momentum to carry her over the edge of the branch, his hands finding her jaws. It was like the woodsman tore the animal in two, and she fell to the ground, gushing blood all over the mud. There were more howls as the woodsman dispensed with the knot and cut the rope free. They dropped to the ground and ran.

  Anya found her thigh no longer ached with the fire of a fresh wound. Instead, it felt tight and itchy like a newly minted scar. She had no time to examine what magic the forestal had woven on her torn flesh. The animals behind her were not far away.

  The woodsman moved as if he knew every inch of the forest, although surely the wood was far too vast for anyone to know the entirety in a single lifetime. He wove deep into the thickets of trees, passing willow, oak and pine and more that Anya had no names for. The wolves came on regardless.

  They were heading uphill again. Anya had lost all bearings, and the suns were hidden. She could not tell if they were making for the north, east, south or west but knew only that if they were caught, they would be torn limb from limb. When Vedic disappeared in front of her, leaping from whatever ledge lay ahead, she didn’t think, and she felt no fear as she followed.

  Even death below was better than what lay behind.

  The ledge gave way to the river at the heart of the forest, the Yiger, and she hoped the water was deep enough as the torrent came up to embrace her. She realised too late that she could not see Vedic. The forestal was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  The horse wanted to run. Smoke billowed through the streets of the city like wraiths fleeing a burial site. Everything stank of a kaleidoscope of fear, pain and destruction. The sound of masonry crashing was like thunder. The general riding alongside the king glanced at Montu with concern. The creature moved beneath Montu, forcing him to pull the reins hard before trying to canter in the opposite direction. The king squeezed hard with his knees and ushered a command in Shaanti to stay. The clan had fought hard to defend the city of Anara, almost succeeding in getting away to the beacon and lighting the warning. There was always a chance that this would draw the thain out to the wrong battleground. He wasn’t here to provoke the thain. Montu wanted control of when and how the thain learned of the invasion. It was important that she turned to fight rather than ran for the coast. Anara was about Cernubus.

  Montu had lost his mount in the battle and was riding one of the enemy’s steeds, having killed its owner in a vicious exchange. The king’s armour was streaked with blood, but none of the gore was his own.

  ‘Add the children to the prisoners,’ said Montu. ‘Kill everyone else
.’

  ‘What about the beacon?’ asked the general.

  Montu nodded. ‘Dismantle it, carefully – no fire.’

  ‘Aye,’ replied the general. He kicked his own mount into a gallop and disappeared into the smoke.

  Montu looked around. The city was hardly worthy of the title compared to the great stone edifices of the Kurah. Anara was a simple collection of wooden and stone buildings shoved up against the river and surrounded by a trivial wall, a basic stone keep at the centre – keeping the peace. The Kurah had taken a leaf from the Shaanti, travelling under darkness and only taking sufficient numbers of men to accomplish their task. They had given no warning, and now the last outpost between the Kurah and the plains that led to Vikrain were taken. They controlled the border of the forest and the main roads down from the more inhabited western reaches.

  I’ll not repeat my grandfather’s mistakes, thought Montu. Patience and planning win the day.

  The wooden buildings were all aflame. The stone ones were smouldering where they had wooden beams on display or, worse still, thatched roofs. Bodies lay strewn in the streets; crows and wild dogs were starting to venture in, lured by fresh meat. They scattered as Montu moved on his horse, down through the main street towards the dock.

  The city of Anara sat on the banks of the Eukahn River, the waters providing a ready route to the sea and the trade that went beyond. The docks were the lifeblood of the city, and they were on fire along with everything else. Boats had been scuttled, their bows pointing to the heavens in a broken salute to the dying town. The warehouses were smouldering ruins, and the smell of burnt grain and meat permeated everything.

  Montu had his sword drawn as he slipped from his horse and called out.

  There was no answer.

  Montu called out once more.

  ‘Do not shout again, sire.’

  Montu spun round to look at the guard who had spoken. The man’s eyes were the only part of him that were on display. The rest of him was swathed in black from the boiled leather armour that protected his torso to the jerkin and leggings that kept him from freezing. Even the man’s head was wrapped up.