Ian Irvine - Rebellion

Rannilt’s eyes turned inward. “I don’t know. He was suckin’ the gift out of me. The golden threads were streamin’ out and up and away, but I couldn’t do nothin’ about it. I was gettin’ weaker and weaker. I knew I was goin’ to die.”

“We were really worried about you,” said Tali. “Me and Rix and Tobry.”

“I really miss them,” said Rannilt wistfully. “Especially Tobry. He was so kind to me.”

“Me too,” said Tali, turning away. Her eyes blurred.

“When my eyes were closed I saw all kinds of things I didn’t want to see.”

“Were they coming from the wrythen?” said Tali.

Rannilt shrugged her thin shoulders. “Maybe. Stories were gushin’ into my head, a hundred at once. Wars and traitors and people bein’ killed just for nothin’. Had to hide in my own head to get away.”

Tali sat up. She’d thought that Rannilt had collapsed because Lyf had stolen too much of her gift, but if she had retreated to escape the unbearable stories flooding into her mind, it put a very different complexion on matters.

“Then there was the healin’,” Rannilt added, reflecting.

“What about it?”

“The old kings of Cython were the only ones who were allowed to use magery, and they used it only for healin’. Healin’ the land, and healin’ their people.”

Tali knew that, but did not say so. It was so good to hear Rannilt talking again.

“It’s why that rotter Axil Grandys betrayed King Lyf, then chopped his feet off and walled him up in the Cat — Catacombs, to die,” the girl added. “He wanted the king-magery for himself, but he could only steal it when Lyf died and the magery was released — ”

Tali finished the sentence. “To pass to the new king. But it didn’t pass on, did it?”

“It couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one in Cython knew what had happened to Lyf.” Rannilt thought for a moment. “And without his body they couldn’t do all the fancy stuff to make sure his gift went to the new king. The king-magery left him when he died, but Axil Grandys didn’t get it. No one knows where it went.”

“That’s why Lyf became a wrythen,” said Tali. “Without the proper rituals, his spirit couldn’t pass on, either.”

“Serves him right, after all the horrid things he did.”

“He hadn’t done them, then. Until he was betrayed and left to die, Lyf was a good king.”

Rannilt shivered. “I’d love to be a proper healer. Reckon I’d be a good one.” She studied her small hands. Several of her fingers were crooked, as if they’d been broken more than once.

“I’m sure you would,” Tali said absently. “Though it’s curious your blood doesn’t heal.”

“What if that’s what old Lyf was really after?” said Rannilt. “My healin’ gift. Maybe that’s what he was tryin’ to steal from me.”

“Why would he want your healing gift when he has his own?” said Tali.

“He’s healed all sorts of things, but he’s never been able to heal his legs, has he? I’ll bet he wants that more than anythin’.”

And if he had stolen Rannilt’s healing gift, rendering her blood useless for healing, maybe he could do it, too. All the more reason for Tali to uncover his secret, as soon as possible.

“Rannilt, can you help me with something? But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Told you, I’m not helpin’ you escape,” said Rannilt.

“I didn’t mean that,” said Tali. She lowered her voice. “After Dibly took blood the first time, I had a vision of Lyf, in his temple, and — ”

Rannilt started. “No!” she cried.

“He’s looking for something really important. I need to find out what it is.”

“You can’t ask me to look,” Rannilt said shrilly, and covered her face with her hands. “You can’t! You can’t!”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’ll get into my head again. He’ll rob my gift. It’s horrible, horrible…”

Tali cursed herself. Why hadn’t she thought before she opened her mouth? She hugged the trembling child. “I wasn’t going to ask you to look. I just thought you might be able to make it easier for me.”

“No,” Rannilt said faintly. “Nooo…”

Tali held her tightly, thinking hard. The only other way to spy on Lyf was with magery, if she could recover hers, but it would be taking a terrible risk.

Rannilt’s mood went steadily downhill after that, and became ever worse as the afternoon waned. She was dreading the night.

“Can I push my bunk against yours?” she asked around 4 p.m., when the distant light from a slit window above the stair was fading. Most of the lanterns had been extinguished to save lamp oil and it was almost dark in the cell.

“Of course,” said Tali.

In the night something roused Tali, a rustling in the straw. Just a mouse, she thought until Rannilt began to kick and bang her head on her pillow. She had crept closer in the night and was now lying against Tali.

She put an arm around the child and she lay still. But as Tali was dozing off again, Rannilt moaned, went rigid, then began to thrash so violently that Tali couldn’t hold her.

“Rannilt, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. You’re all right.”

Rannilt shot upright and stared around wildly, the faint light from the corridor reflecting eerily off her wet eyes. She shuddered, groaned, then seized Tali’s wrist and sank her teeth into it, at the little scar where Tali had drawn her own blood in that ill-fated attempt to heal Tobry on top of Rix’s tower.

Before she could pull away, Rannilt’s sharp little teeth broke the skin and the tip of her tongue began lapping at the wound, taking Tali’s healing blood for herself.

She tried to pull free. “Rannilt, what are you doing? Stop it, this instant.”

Rannilt’s bony fingers were locked around Tali’s wrist so tightly that, in her weakened state, she could not tear them off. Rannilt pressed her mouth over Tali’s wrist and bit down hard, hungry for her blood. No, desperate for it.

Tali swung her free hand at the child, smacking her across the face. Rannilt let go, swallowed then lay back and slipped into a peaceful sleep — if, indeed, she had ever woken.

Tali stumbled across to the table and collapsed into a chair, shaking so violently that she had to cling to the table. It could almost have been her nightmare, save for the pain in her torn wrist and the tang of blood in the cold air.

Had Rannilt reverted to the time when Lyf had been stealing her gift to strengthen himself, and unwittingly — or wittingly? — revealing the nightmares of his own distant past? Could Lyf use his connection with Rannilt to get at Tali? Was that what he was up to now? If he could, spying on him with magery would be the height of folly.

Or did Tali’s blood have some other value? Of course it did — while the master pearl remained inside her, it was bathed in her blood, and perhaps that was the connection Lyf really wanted.

Or was she over-analysing it? Was Rannilt subconsciously attempting to undo the damage Lyf had done to her the only way she could, by stealing Tali’s healing blood?

Whatever the reason, Tali thought guiltily, I precipitated it.

“I’ve spread a cover story about you being a traitor and spy,” the chancellor said the next morning, “to ensure neither the guards nor the prisoners will have anything to do with you. I’m sure you won’t mind.” He bared his crooked teeth.

His guards had come for her at first light. Rannilt had not stirred, which put off one problem, at least — what to say to the child when she woke. Tali looked down at the wounds on her wrist. Was she being used more ill by her enemies, like the chancellor, or her friends?