His Staying Hand (Star Plague Journals Book 2)

1.

The door opened a crack, letting in a less muffled form of the argument he’d been listening to for the last couple of minutes.

"…pig brained, knat-dicked moron. The door means it is none of your business! No, infact, that’s unfair to the pig. It’d more likely be a better source of dinner conversation. ‘Here, try my trotters, for they are fine and hearty. And my crackling, just divine…’-"

He winced as the door slammed, muffling the sound of whatever riposte had been forthcoming.

The voices were truly a master stroke. Though sadly I missed the mouse, as there was still a door in the way.

Oh, it went down a storm. She dropped her pack, crossing the room to his bedside, one hand immediately going to his brow. The fever’s dropped.

A temporary recession, I assure you. Please don’t take it as comment on your presence in the room.

"Was that flirting?!?" She sat back, regarding him with one elegant eyebrow raised over features that were more and more starting to resemble the man on all the coins in his pocket.

Sorry. A momentary lapse. I promise to keep a more civil tongue in my head.

Now that I very much doubt.

He smiled wanly, clasping her hand in his with fingers that had lost what little strength they once possessed.

I’ve brought you fruit – fresh oranges! The first up from the south. And meat from the butchers. I’ll fix us stew for dinner.

His smile became lopsided. You know that’s not the problem. It’s not nutrition I lack, though a bit more time in the sun wouldn’t go amiss. This is a malady of the soul. Not even mine, at that. He held up his hand, peering at the papery skin. If he turned towards the window, the light there would catch the faint green tinge it carried, turning the palm translucent. Revealing the bones and bind within. The shard of the Abstainer I carry is dying. I’ve kept it caged too long.

But you know the danger. There. That look in her eyes again. It was the same one her Uncle possessed, whenever he sought to stamp his will on a matter. He’d seen it a hundred times in the commons at Sha’Klairon, sat around the screen with the others, watching one of the man’s speeches, in the early days. Eavesdropping via one of the bugs they routinely stowed away on southbound ships…

The slap was stingingly sharp. She had a fierce right hook, he reminded himself, rubbing the offended jowl. Sorry. Did you at least bring drugs?

She rolled her eyes. Stood, crossing the room to retrieve her pack. Dropping it (purposefully, he suspected) on his legs, she began to rummage through, coming up with a small paper wrapped bundle. Nope, after sniffing it. Produced another. Recoiled, after inhaling delicately. Passed it to him like it was some particularly repellent insect.

Pulling back the corners, he licked a finger, dipping it in.

A slightly acrid taste, not dislike soap, and fizzing lemons, was swiftly followed by numbness, which spread across his tongue, making his speech feel a little clumsy. Hmm…

He felt his muscles un-knot one by one; even deluded himself briefly that he could feel his briar unwinding itself from about his bones.

Focus? Accompanied by that annoying thing she did with her fingers. For at least a few more minutes.

Okay, okay. Sighing, he pulled himself back together, which physically manifested as hitching himself slightly more upright against the pillows. The mental effort required was considerably greater, though he was leery of cluing her in to just how much. We’ve been over this a hundred times. I’ll sicken – die, even – if I remain cut off indefinitely from the Garden…

…but the moment you re-establish a link, they’ll be able to find you.

He nodded. In a place like this, it’ll take them a little longer. But I’ll stick out to anyone close by like a gas giant come to paddle in the shallows. He ignored her slightly puzzled expression. Suffice to say, they’ll find me.

"Us. I’m not leaving you."

Terribly sweet of you, darling, but you may have to. If it comes to gloves on, I’m afraid even your aptitude with that lovely blade of yours won’t help you.

We need an alternative. Somewhere new to hide, where you can regain your strength. At the moment, you’re in no fit state to face a baby, let alone a bunch of pissed Fangs.

Sighing, he nodded. Any news on that front?

That’s why I came back. Someone’s coming. And rumour is they’re coming for us. In which case our prayers might have been answered.

Honey, I gave up praying a long time ago.

When Ikari had left Nianen’s shores, just shy of fifty years ago, it had been with the expectation of never coming back. In the post millennial buzz, the country’s south-eastern provinces, most particularly those around Ibaeran and Peshra, were already beginning to show signs of the religious bigotry that the former was to become infamous for. Narrow-mindedness had always grated upon him, and combined with the establishment’s hard-on for their predecessor’s victory against the ‘poison of immortality’ (such a dash of cold water over all his own hopes and aspirations) it had provided the initial impetus that had set him on his path.

He’d never dreamed he would be back. But then he’d also, he now realised, been deluding himself that the Congregate would just leave his people alone. Let them live in peace.

Foolish boy.

Suchain had known this for the falsehood it was. As, he suspected, had Kye and Deliana. And between them, they had laid the plans that brought him here, to this room, withering in the cold spring light from the window. The Right Hand had given him the coordinates that led him to that mountaintop. Had presumably – because Ikari did not believe in coincidences, not like that anyway – organised for the young lady to be waiting for him there.

The question, which with the onset of spring still remained unanswered, was why? And unfortunately, until he could access the Garden again without fear of drawing unwanted attention, it would have to remain unanswered.

For her part Clarissa remained stoically close-mouthed. An attitude that he suspected was more reflex for the young aristocrat than anything else. Her reticence to talk in general suggested she had been doing this for a while: hiding in plain sight. Keeping the wolves from her door.

And my, they’re a tenacious pack.

This was their third boarding house. The first two had fallen to apparently random searches by the local constabulary, the ransackings thinly veiled as ‘tax audits’ by the council, checking that ink on paper matched fact. They’d only just got away from the second, following a tip off from the child living on the floor below, whom Ikari had foolishly allowed to see his true nature. He kidded himself that he’d had little choice – children are, after all, notoriously perceptive, and she’d come straight out with it the first time they were alone together, on the stairs one afternoon – but the truth of the matter was he felt lonely. Lonely and cut off. He missed his family. Not the flesh and blood relatives, parents now long dead he suspected, though his sister would most likely still be alive. No, it was his adopted family, at the Grove, for whom he pined. For long nights around the fire, passing drinks and stories about. Or the warm afternoons walking through the rainforest grottos, marvelling at the tiny shard of beauty they kept preserved beneath the barrier, up in the highlands about the Great Lakes.

The last time had been carelessness on their part, and he openly admitted to owning at least half the blame. They were renting a cottage, working a farmer’s coops and helping tend his other livestock in return for a roof and meal each night. He’d gone out uncovered, just once, and one of the other farmhands had seen him.

The man came to their lodgings that night, gruff and distant. Informed them he had no prejudices personally, but things would be awkward if they stayed. He expected them gone by first light, when he did his morning rounds.

They’d been on the road well before false dawn, the ring a shining line in the sky overhead.

Someone must have spoken though, or else they’d not been as careful covering their trail as they’d thought. Either way, the town they now occupied, at the curve of the Maico, where it turned north for Incarnate, was now crawling with Daiku. Cutting yourself off from the Garden did not stop one being able to spot the Affinity in another, for all you now appeared as Blind as the next man to their eyes. And he could think of no other reason than their presence here for the sudden influx of Islan’s children.

The Myson were as tenacious as their totem. And there was only so much longer he and Clarissa could keep running, before they were brought down.

They needed escape, or aid. Preferably both, but he wasn’t greedy. Either would do, at this point.

And then suddenly, rumour became reality, and hope did appear. In a most unlikely form.

Not so fast, vertical is enough of a challenge as it is.

Pipe down! This isn’t a city, they’re not used to boisterous night life.

More’s the pity. This place could do with livening up a bit…

Clarissa rolled her eyes, but left him in peace. They were making their – slow – progress through the centre of town, towards a particular inn on the far side, where they had been told the new arrivals would be waiting to meet them. Clarissa remained (understandably) sceptical. Their system of drop points for messages was open to abuse, by anything from bored kids to their enemies. All they could do was assume everything was running as it should, and be ready to react if things went pear shaped.

"Who is it we’re supposed to be meeting?"

Clarissa glanced up at him as they crossed a cobbled square, nodding a greeting to a tired looking woman with her gaggle of children, as they walked away from the church. She smiled back lopsidedly, and Ikari fancied something more passed between her and the girl at his side. Some secret understanding of sisterhood, that he as a man was not privy to.

I didn’t get a name, but she’s been with the fish for some time. Even before we agreed to start working with the white.

He nodded, used by now to the nomenclature. And she’s a way out for us?

Clarissa glanced at him, and he realised she’d been holding something back. Cursed himself for not noticing it before; the last few weeks particularly had been a trial, his body sickening as the effects of forced abstention began to take their toll. He’d been immersing himself more and more in a narcotic haze to try and cope, but it had left him with a… less than complete, shall we say, picture of their current situation.

What? What is it you’ve not told me?

Quietly! She glanced to the side; they had neared the church side of the square, and were bare feet from the priest and his flock. The Father, a surprisingly young man (though Ikari guessed they must exist), glanced their way, offering a smile. He returned the gesture from beneath his hood, resisting the urge to twitch the covering further forward. He had no thorns at present on his lower face, a fact for which he was incredibly grateful. Clarissa covered with a smile and a ‘hello’, as they passed the gaggle of children and parents still gathered there. Some sort of junior service, he guessed; the Faith was big on kids, given its origins, and its clergy tended to be quite active in their demonstration of said tenant. One of the Church’s more redeeming features, he’d always felt…

The fingers clicked inches from his nose.

Snap out of it! she hissed.

Sorry, he mumbled contritely. What were we saying?

You were asking insightful questions about tonight’s rendezvous, she replied sourly.

Ah yes. He shook his head, glancing to one side at the lantern lighter as they passed. Coranton wasn’t big enough to warrant witchfire, didn’t possess a mission to maintain it, so they were stuck with good old fashioned oil burners for their lampposts, and only tended to bother with the centre of town. Some of the better neighbourhoods apparently maintained their own, but these were definitely in the minority.

And?

He sighed. We’re on our way now. I hardly think you’d be leading me to my death, unless I’ve very much misjudged you over the last three and a bit cycles. Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that anything you haven’t told me is likely not worth worrying about. A vexation, but not an insurmountable one. Am I right?

She scowled. Sometimes I forget the fact your old.

He smiled tiredly. And sometimes, so do I.

Coranton’s caravan park was situated on its northern edge, and as such, the majority of the town’s pubs and its two inns had sprung up along that side. It was towards the larger of the inns that they now headed, which required that they leave the town proper, the complex having been built along the curve of the river, on the edge of the caravaneer’s fields. A sturdy stone wall surrounded the main inn and its three outbuildings: a stables, barn and a warehouse for storing goods. It also featured an extensive coach park, mostly empty at this time of year, for those rich enough to travel in such style.

Coranton was a way town, no doubt about it. Situated almost equidistant between Incarnate and Peshra, which was as good as saying the Senate and the Imperial Summer Residence, it saw a lot of government traffic. Then there was the trade that came up and down the roads and river from the highlands, though the latter was less inclined to be bound by diurnal constraints. The bargemen tended to tie up as and when, if at all, depending on the needs of the cargo, and the money on offer for a timely delivery.

Ikari spotted a quay as they approached the inn’s road gate, though it was empty at present. For taking on supplies, he mused, noting its proximity to a hefty door in the wall, where the warehouse came up snug against it.

Though town was quiet, the inn itself seemed relatively lively as they approached. A pair of dusty old men in long coats sat smoking on a pair of barrels next to the gateway into the main courtyard. One of them doffed his hat at them as they passed, and Clarissa did the same, fingers touching the wide brim of her preachers hat as they stepped through into the straw strewn square beyond.

To the left, the warehouse rose long and low against the wall, its heavy twin doors bared and chained shut with an impressive set of padlocks. A grizzled grey flank sat in the dirt beside them, eyeing him as they crossed the open space, its eyes lambent in the failing light.

To the right, the stables was a vast, sprawling building, the barn an open fronted cave at its far end. The stables looked taller than you’d expect, suggesting an additional hayloft, or perhaps quarters for the stablehands. The quiet mutterings of animals at rest drifted out on the wind, and the air was thick with their smell.

Ahead, the inn itself loomed, a full three storeys of red brick around a timber frame. Windows in the eaves suggested a penthouse suite, which rose both Ikari’s eyebrows and his expectations as they climbed the steps up to the main entrance, which was thrown back to welcome visitors in. The hall beyond proved to be something of a let down, though the curved staircase up to the first floor was impressive, and the tiling beneath their feet was relatively clean, considering the through traffic it must see. A cat troubled to open one eye from its perch halfway up the stairway, awarding them a desultory glare before lowering the lid again. Remembering another cat, at another inn, Ikari smiled, nodding to Clarissa as she gestured towards the door to their left, which stood slightly ajar. Music and laughter spilled through the gap, along with soft golden light, and heat stroked welcome fingers across his aching bones as they stepped up, and through, into the light and noise beyond.

Cooking and sweat. The smells assailed him like wrestlers as they entered, and he found himself swallowing convulsively to stop the bile that rapidly backed up in his throat.

Don’t embarrass me…! the girl on his arm warned, as she led them through the crowd. An old man and his granddaughter; that was what most would see, he realised, as he shuffled beside her through the noise, towards the line of booths on the far side of the room. As they approached, a young man stood from one, hand raised as if in casual greeting, through Ikari had never seen him in his long life. There was something familiar about the eyes, and the set of cheekbones however, and when he spoke to greet Clarissa he realised with a start that the kid (he couldn’t have been much past sixteen, if that) was from the Vale. The benedictions of friends long parted were bestowed, the mummery presumably for the benefit of the serving boy who appeared to take their requests, and remove the plate that sat before the shrivelled old woman who was the booth’s other occupant. Ikari eyed her warily, noting the marks of time upon her that others assumed on him, given his poor physical shape at present. Crows feet danced about bright eyes, and thin lips returned his wary smile with equal care; negotiators at a table, both realising the interests they represented would be disappointed somehow with the outcome, yet gaining some camaraderie in the face of that shared burden.

Please, can I get you any food? We’ve just eaten, but… the boys voice seemed to die as he met Ikari’s eyes, and he realised the youth already knew what he spoke to. So, the grapevine really had been busy.

Yes, actually. A bowl of stew, and a roll. He scowled at Clarissa’s look of surprise. I can be hungry, sometimes…

The elderly woman waved them both back into their corners, effectively ringing the bell on that round. Personally, I’m surprised you came at all, in your condition.

And you’d be an expert, I suppose?

He regretted the words the moment they’d left his lips. Met the old woman’s mild eyed look, though he couldn’t make the gaze he returned her as contrite as he’d like. I’m sorry, he allowed, sparing a glance for the daggers being shot his way from the lad. I meant no disrespect. This winter has been… trying, and I’m still not finished grieving for a friend.

The old woman nodded. As I said, your being here at all is a wonder in its own right. She placed a hand on the young man’s arm; he shot her a slightly guilty look, before offering Ikari a surprisingly mature smile of understanding.

I’m sorry too. We’ve not got off to a good start. I suspect Kir would have a thing or two to say about forbearance…

He felt Clarissa stiffen at his side. You know the Wind Chasers?

The boy nodded. You could practically see him inflate. Kir’s the main reason I’m here… his shoulders slumped a little …that and the price on my head.

Well, now that we’ve all laid our cards on the table, the old woman said, perhaps it's time for names.

Clarissa glanced at him. Ikari waved a hand. Please, do, go ahead. I’ll sit here quietly until my food arrives.

The boy shot him a little smile across the table, hiding it quickly as Clarissa turned back to face them. Clarissa Rohan, and this is my companion Ikari Shon. And yourselves?

Lyse Soltais, of the Vale farming Family, and my cousin’s grandson Timo.

How are things in the Vale?

The old woman regarded him shrewdly as the serving boy appeared, setting down the bowl, and cloth wrapped roll before him. He glanced at Lyse.

Two more cider, she said, a wine…? Ikari nodded …and for you my dear?

Wine as well. Clarissa smiled. Bring the bottle.

Nodding, the boy left again.

I thought your face looked familiar, Lyse continued, as Ikari tucked in to his grub, stomach rumbling now the food was in front of him. What were you? A Tarn?

He shook his head. Trosan. Clarissa raised an eyebrow, but he waved her off. I think we need to build some bridges here, don’t you?

Well said. Lyse smiled, nodding as their drinks arrived. Life goes well; the last five years have been good to us. Long hot summers, and winters severe enough to kill off the pests. Feels sometimes like we live on a blessed world.

If only you knew. But he kept quiet.

Okay… you’ll forgive me for my reticence. The whole trust thing is a new one for me. Clarissa made a show of surveying those about the table. So, to the meat of the matter. I was told you may have a way out for us?