The Scarred God Read online

  ‘Granted,’ said the thain, smiling at her old friend’s adherence to protocol. Typical Fal.

  The room fell quiet.

  ‘Kurah …’ said Falkirk. The man’s breathing was laboured, the pauses between the breaths a little too long.

  ‘I knew it. Order the gates closed,’ said Bene.

  ‘Wait,’ said the thain, without looking at her guard. ‘There will be refugees. We need to listen to the man.’

  ‘Anaheim has fallen to the Kurah,’ said Falkirk. He moaned again.

  ‘Were there any more survivors?’ asked the thain, ignoring the reaction of the other warriors in the room. ‘Where is Thrace?’

  Fal looked confused now. ‘General Thrace is dead. The drink … He died three winters ago – we sent word …’

  The thain’s eyes narrowed. Thrace. My old friend, gone? I am alone. Who stopped the message? How long has someone been betraying us?

  ‘More …’ whispered Falkirk. The old warrior was fading. They all sensed it as if the Morrigan herself had come into the room to escort him down to Golgotha.

  ‘What is that, Major?’

  ‘There are too many,’ said Falkirk, struggling. ‘You must run.’

  No one spoke. Major Falkirk never ran. What nonsense was this? He looked close to death.

  ‘Fal, Fal, I need more than that. How many?’ asked the thain, squeezing her friend’s hand.

  ‘Over … over a hundred thousand warriors …’

  A few warriors swore. Bene sat down. Others left.

  ‘This is madness,’ said Golan. ‘The Kurah have just fought a ten-year war. Where would the king find that many men? My uncle is driven mad by his wounds.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Golan, or I will have Bene silence you,’ said the thain. Her chest was tight and painful again. She could feel the sickness between her shoulder blades. ‘Where were they headed next?’

  ‘Across the Barrens,’ said Falkirk, coughing up blood. ‘Taking the border villages. They mentioned Anara.’

  ‘That will stop us flanking them,’ said Bene. ‘And they can take the end of the harvest if they have a long campaign. Clever.’

  Falkirk coughed and blood appeared on his chin.

  ‘Prisoners …’ said the major. ‘They’ve taken prisoners …’

  The thain grew still. She felt sick.

  ‘See – he’s deluded. Even I know the Kurah do not take prisoners,’ said Golan. He sat down next to the thain and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It is the pain talking.’

  ‘Clear the room,’ said the thain, her voice cold and hard. ‘Now.’

  ‘But, milady—’ protested Golan.

  ‘You heard the thain,’ said Bene.

  Bene ushered them all out of the room before returning to the thain’s side. She was gentler with him.

  ‘You too, Bene,’ said the thain, without looking away from Falkirk.

  ‘But, milady, you asked for the council, and now you are blocking everyone from the room. What is it?’

  ‘Now, please. I will explain, but I must hear what else Fal has to say on my own. Golan heard of the attack. He cannot deny the truth in front of the council now.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Bene left the room.

  ‘Fal,’ said the thain as the door closed. ‘Fal, what do you mean?’

  Falkirk moaned.

  ‘Falkirk, you said they’ve taken prisoners. That’s not possible.’

  ‘Prisoners.’ Falkirk opened his eyes. ‘The Kurah have prisoners and …’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Wrong … question … There is a … g … god with them, but wrong question …’ said Falkirk, his eyes bright as he looked at the thain.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wrong question, not important why but … wh—’ said Falkirk. He was struggling to breathe.

  ‘Who?’ asked the thain. ‘Who do they have?’

  Silence.

  ‘Fal?’

  Silence.

  The thain reached over and closed her friend’s eyes. She sat there for a moment, gathering her thoughts before rising, her ascent slowed by age and grief. She paused to look back at the corpse of her friend, who she had known for half her life. The years felt like they were pulling her body over, bowing her spine as they gradually pressed her into the ground. She clasped the door handle. The thain heard the voice of her own mother whisper in her ear from across the years. Appearances matter. She straightened. The thain opened the door and let the men back in.

  ‘Golan, please accept my condolences,’ said the thain, composed. ‘Your uncle has passed on to Golgotha. Bene, please ask the council members to gather in my chamber when they eventually get here. Please signal the gatemen to be ready for refugees.’

  ‘What do I tell them?’ asked Bene. He gestured at the city beyond. ‘There will be a panic.’

  ‘We are Shaanti. We do not panic,’ said the thain. ‘Tell them the truth – the Kurah have returned. Tell them we are at war.’

  Chapter Nine

  The wolves were everywhere.

  Anya watched them stream down the hillside, pouring round the trees like a flash flood, trying to find the scent trail again that would take them to their quarry. The torrent of water that blocked her from their view also made her own vantage point difficult, and it was hard for her to see whether the wolves had picked up their path. The caves behind the waterfall seemed vast, like a hidden road through the mountains.

  The stag changed everything. The wolves scattered as if a lion had come amongst them. The stag was as tall at the head as a grown man, his antlers arching skyward like an elaborate set of trees that could have borne the weight of the world. His hide was a mixture of white across the chest and belly, blurring into darker brown flecked with strange black markings that seemed to move and dance across it. As Anya watched, the stag unfolded into a man at least seven feet tall. Bare at the chest and covered in tattoos from hairline to waistline, the man took in the forest air as he allowed the wolves to show submission by nosing his hands.

  ‘What in Golgotha?’

  Vedic moved next to her and stared without speaking. The giant-man seemed to be half listening to the whimpers of the wolves and half smelling the air. Anya held her breath as if he could hear them through the water of the falls. The giant-man glanced directly at them, held the water in his gaze for a moment and then passed on. He bent down and, a stag once more, followed the wolves down the riverbank and away from them. Anya heard Vedic exhale as he walked back into the cave.

  The woodsman dropped his bow on the wet stone floor behind Anya. He had not said a word since he had pulled her up the river to the shallows.

  ‘Who are you?’ He sounded distant, tired.

  Anya turned to look at her bedraggled companion. The cave smelt faintly familiar … a sickly-sweet smell she couldn’t place.

  ‘I am Anya of Anaheim,’ she said.

  Vedic shook his head. He strode forward and shoved her towards the wall, bracing her with his left forearm against the rock while he held the machete to her throat with his right hand. Anya was so shocked she just stared at him wide-eyed, ignorant of the pain in the back of her head where she had bounced off the wall.

  ‘You said you were the daughter of warriors, but that doesn’t warrant all this. No one manages to get tracked so consistently when they are with me …’

  The magic that kept the woodsman tied to her was now making his left arm and legs tremble. The cords in his neck stood out like rigging on a ship, and sweat was beading down his forehead. This was costing him. Anya didn’t care.

  ‘I am what I have said.’

  ‘Who were your parents?’

  ‘Go to Golgotha,’ she hissed.

  ‘Who!’

  Anya thought of her mother. She didn’t need to hear the voice. She saw the opportunity in how the woodsman moved, and felt herself go limp. She twisted at the moment his breath gasped at her action – he thought he had gone too far. She swung around him with speed that would put her grandmother to sh
ame, wrapping her legs around his neck before flipping back. Her weight threw the woodsman to the ground and drilled his head into the stone. The blow was hard enough to give him a headache, but she had avoided using her entire weight. She needed her guide alive.

  Vedic did not attempt to pick up the machete. He sat up, rubbing a small spot of blood off the back of his head and chuckling.

  Anya sighed. She sat down on a rock with her back to the falls.

  ‘My father was a warrior by the name of Storn, and my mother was Dochas.’

  Vedic shook his head. They meant nothing to him.

  ‘My father died during his trials for the ink. My grandfather raised me – his name was Thrace. General Thrace, husband of Gobaith. Gobaith was my grandmother.’

  Vedic stared at her. She was used to the reaction. Her grandfather always got people listening, but it was her grandmother that always made them speechless.

  ‘You’re the witch-warrior’s granddaughter?’

  Anya nodded. ‘But don’t ask me what she’s like. I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Dead?’

  Anya nodded. ‘When my mother was little.’

  ‘Where’s your mother?’

  Anya shrugged. ‘Who knows? Motherhood wasn’t for her, and so she ran away when I was three, under some pretext from the thain.’

  ‘Who was training you for the ink? Your grandmother?’

  Anya looked at Vedic. He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring out into the water.

  ‘What makes you think Thrace didn’t?’

  ‘Thrace was a big man, nearly my height, and that move would have been beyond him.’

  ‘You knew my grandfather? How?’

  Vedic shook his head. ‘No, little one. I knew of him. I saw him once, from a distance. I wasn’t always a forestal.’

  ‘But you know he is dead.’

  ‘Like I said, you talk in your sleep.’

  Anya felt dizzy. The smell in the cave was really affecting her – it was musky and oppressive.

  ‘What of my grandmother?’

  Vedic did not reply for a moment. ‘Your grandmother’s reputation preceded her; everyone has heard of her.’

  ‘She left. Before my mother,’ she said. That’s what women in my family do. That’s what I was going to do.

  Anya frowned. The atmosphere in here was stopping her from thinking in a straight line. ‘What is that smell?’

  Vedic stood up. ‘Yes, bad, isn’t it? Place smells a little like rotting meat, but these caves are not occupied …’

  Anya picked up the machete. Vedic held out his hand for the weapon.

  ‘Why would I give this back to you after that performance?’

  Vedic raised an eyebrow. ‘Because you can’t bring yourself to strike any more. Look – your hand is shaking just holding it.’

  Anya looked down. He was right.

  ‘I could throw it out there.’ She gestured at the crashing water that masked their hideaway.

  ‘And risk discovery? Or have so little that I can defend us with?’

  Anya sighed and handed him the weapon.

  ‘Stick close,’ he said. He turned towards the back of the cave.

  The pair moved deeper into the dark, where the cave became a tunnel and then opened up into a second chamber that was drier than the first. The smell there was overwhelming, like a fetid hand that covered their mouths and noses. Anya gagged. As her eyes adjusted, she realised the light in this second cave was coming from the faint glow of golden liquid pooled around a prone body. The corpse – a male – had been mauled badly by wolves, though that may not have killed him. The dead man had no head.

  Vedic swore.

  Anya looked round for the rest of him but could not see any sign of the head. Vedic squatted down next to the body and rolled it over onto its back. The man’s chest was a ruin as well: a fist-sized hole over his heart made it look as if someone had just pulled the organ out.

  ‘Who is he?’

  Vedic did not look at her. ‘He is Eridanus.’

  ‘How can a god be killed?’

  Vedic shook his head. ‘I don’t know what could do this to a god. It shouldn’t be possible.’ He looked pale, even with the golden glow of the blood. Was she seeing Vedic afraid for the first time?

  Anya felt her stomach lurch. ‘Do the wolves know about the caves, then?’

  Vedic looked around for tracks. The moment of fear had passed now, and he appeared to be focusing on what he knew of how to understand the cave. ‘No, you are focusing on the body. Look properly. Show me what you can do, granddaughter of Gobaith.’

  Anya flushed. She scanned the room. The blood had splattered onto the ground and into a small pool around the body. Above, in the shadows of the roof, there was a small set of bloodstains where the spurt from his neck had hit the … No, thought Anya, that’s not right. Not enough blood, no head: he wasn’t killed or left here.

  ‘There’s a break in the rock above. He fell down, dropped by whoever killed him?’

  Vedic stood. ‘Very good.’

  Anya sighed. ‘But that means the wolves may find us if they come back, if they can get in through there as well.’

  ‘Yes, but we have to leave regardless,’ said Vedic, folding the god’s arms across his chest. ‘We have barely enough food for the next day, and so we must hunt or die.’

  ‘But are they tracking us?’

  Vedic led her back to their original chamber. ‘Hopefully, on a fool’s errand down the river while we go round through the forbidden lands.’

  ‘Forbidden? The whole forest is forbidden.’

  ‘Tream lands, Anya, we’re going to go through the Tream lands.’

  Anya shook her head. ‘I can’t believe they are real. But even if they are, do you know nothing? They hate us.’

  Vedic shrugged. ‘It’s our only option. Do you want to run into whatever did that? Or the stag?’

  She shook her head once more. She looked at him.

  ‘What were you before you became a forestal?’

  Vedic did not meet her look. ‘Not a nice man.’

  ‘You haven’t changed.’

  ‘Good. You’re learning. Look – they are gone.’

  Beyond the waterfall, there was nothing to see staring up the hill or beyond. The wolves had passed them by. But for how long?

  Vedic sat down. ‘Rest. We need to make sure they have really gone, and I can’t hunt until dusk.’

  Anya sat down with her back against the opposite wall and with stones near to hand. She didn’t trust the woodsman. His manner was entirely too volatile for her liking. He reminded her of a dog she had adopted when she was much younger, before her grandfather’s drinking had got out of hand. The dog would wait until she had just about forgotten the last time he had bitten her, or pissed on her, or sent her sprawling before striking again. He was just mean.

  ‘I don’t think I can sleep,’ said Anya.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Vedic, closing his eyes. ‘Real warriors can sleep on a washing line.’

  ‘My grandfather used to say that.’

  ‘Bet he’d be asleep by now.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ said Anya, looking over at the ghost of her grandfather sitting near the entrance to the second chamber, Fin under one arm. He kept trying to speak to her, but she couldn’t hear it. He was probably slurring, she reasoned, blinking him back to oblivion and hating herself for it.

  She never saw her mother. Did that mean she was alive? Anya wasn’t sure she would recognise her if she walked past her – all she had growing up was a sketch Thrace had done. There were more paintings of her grandmother. She was highly thought of, and Anya had never had to buy a drink for herself or pay for a place to stay.

  Vedic woke her.

  He shook her gently, and when she opened her eyes, he pointed to the low-slung suns beyond the water. The smell had dissipated a little.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Vedic. ‘I’ll be back before the moon hits the top of the sky.’

&nb
sp; Anya was too tired to argue. She nodded.

  Vedic left.

  The suns got lower, and lower, and lower, until the dark came. Hunting really was a long, tedious exercise that required you to spend vast amounts of time waiting. It was also the case that the woods, however you chose to view them, were dangerous. There were plenty of ravines to fall into, wild animals to fall foul of and an actual pack on the lookout.

  ‘He’s probably dead,’ said Fin. The ghost was by the waterfall. He was looking not at her but out at the forest.

  He’s not really here, Anya told herself.

  ‘Did you tell him you knew what you were doing?’ Fin’s ghost turned to her. ‘Will you lead him into the void like me?’

  Anya blinked but the ghost remained. Swearing, she got to her feet.

  ‘I’d best go looking for him,’ she said. ‘You can get out of my head.’ Anya picked up a piece of discarded wood as a makeshift club and left the cave.

  The ice water of the falls brought her heart up into her mouth and painted the night forest in vibrant shades of navy, blue and black. Anya remembered her tracking, and although the woodsman had tried very hard to obscure his way lest the wolves returned, she could see his path. Vedic had stuck to the river. The strategy made sense: remaining close enough that the wolves would be less likely to follow, and if they did find Vedic, the water was fast-flowing enough to carry him away. This would leave him free to double back later on. Equally, animals would come to the river for water and thus make themselves targets.

  Anya followed the woodsman’s path for half a mile before the trail went cold. She scrambled around in the undergrowth, looking for any sign at all, but he had vanished. She looked over at the river. He could have jumped in, but the tracks didn’t show that – they just stopped. Anya was about to give up and head back to the cave when she heard a faint voice carrying on the breeze. She ducked down.

  As Anya’s ears adjusted, she realised the voice was a woman singing in a language that sounded familiar but wasn’t quite that of the clans. She was slightly out of tune, a trembling falsetto meant for no one’s ears but the singer. Anya moved carefully through the bushes and long grass of the riverbank. The river curved round to the left – she followed its path and stopped.