Tim Lebbon - Dawn

“A’Meer Pott,” O’Gan said.

Kosar glanced up and saw the Mystic’s eyes grow wide, staring at some past memory.

“‘Hope,’ she said to me,” O’Gan continued. “She spoke the language of the land, and she told me ‘Hope,’ but none of the Elders believed me. Their memories are tainted by what came before. They see only the bad. But there has to be good as well.”

“There is,” Kosar said, confused but invigorated. “Her name is Alishia.”

HE TOLD O’GAN of Alishia, Hope and Trey, traveling southward for Kang Kang and the Womb of the Land. He told him of Rafe Baburn and what the boy had carried; their flight south; the pursuit by the Red Monks and their battle in the machines’ graveyard. He glanced sideways at Lucien, trying not to imagine the Monk using his sword to end A’Meer’s life. And finally he told O’Gan why he had come to New Shanti.

“They need time,” Kosar said. “To reach Kang Kang and find the Womb of the Land. And they need protecting.”

“And what happens if they get there?” O’Gan asked.

Kosar shrugged. “You’re a Mystic. I’m just a thief. Don’t you know?”

O’Gan shook his head.

“Alishia thinks she can do something,” Kosar said.

“In Kang Kang? That’s a bad place. They’ll be killed before they get farther than its foothills.”

Kosar closed his eyes. I wish I could believe that isn’t true, he thought. I wish I could believe that Noreela itself is guarding them and guiding them. But Rafe followed that voice in his mind, and still the Mages won.

“There are no guarantees,” Kosar said. “Nothing’s written. We write history with every breath we take.”

“That’s a Shantasi saying.”

Kosar smiled.

O’Gan nodded. “So, you came to ask us to march to Kang Kang with what’s left of the army of New Shanti-leaving Hess open to the Krotes-and stop them from reaching this girl?”

Kosar nodded. “I’ve no way to persuade you,” he said. “But I saw A’Meer, and you…?”

“She was my student.”

“You taught A’Meer!”

O’Gan nodded. “She was one of my first. I haven’t seen her in over fifty years, and a day ago she appeared to me on the Mystic Temple. A vision. A ghost.”

“Mimics,” Kosar said.

“The Elders always told me that mimics are a myth.”

“Myth or not, I’ve seen them, and so have you. And where are the Elders now, O’Gan?”

O’Gan’s pale face actually seemed to take on a darker hue, and his eyes grew narrow. “You’re in no position to demean the Elder Mystics.” His voice was low and threatening, and Kosar knew that he was right. But times were changing.

“They’ve done that themselves,” he said.

O’Gan stood quickly and walked away, heading toward the open desert and the shadow of the spice farm.

Kosar watched him go, wondering what all this meant. The mimics had shown him the way to New Shanti, and now this Mystic claimed to have seen the vision of A’Meer. She spoke the language of the land, he had said.

Kosar groaned, coughed into his hand, saw the splash of darkness in his palm that could only mean blood.

Leaning back, closing his eyes, he tried to shut everything from his mind for a while.

“WE’VE BEEN WAITING here for a day,” O’Gan said. Kosar opened his eyes to see that the tall Shantasi Mystic had sat down beside him. “Waiting for the Mages and their Krote army to attack. I’m confused. I wish there were Elders I could commune with, but…” He shook his head, looked back out into the desert. “The spice farms are dying,” he said. “That’s sad. They’ve been there for a long time-over a thousand years-and they’ve never failed to provide us with a crop. They’ve weathered so much in that time, from drought to floods, and everything in between. Each year, thousands of Shantasi flood into the desert to harvest the spice, take it back and distribute it around New Shanti. It tastes nice, and smells good. It’s used for treating some cancers, and it can guide the mad back to normality. It’s the smell of New Shanti. Soon, the farms will be dead and we’ll never smell it again.” He looked at Kosar. “Your Monk told us that he killed A’Meer.”

“I know,” Kosar said.

O’Gan nodded. “And yet you still travel with him.”

“Only for now.”Do I mean that, Kosar thought. Is there enough hate in me to kill the Monk, when all of Noreela is dying?

“Revenge is a powerful driver,” O’Gan said. “But it bears no reflection of what’s needed and what is not. Revenge has no logic.”

“The Mages are here for revenge,” Kosar said.

“And they’re having it. It could be that they’ve killed Noreela already.”

“I still have some fight in me.”

“Perhaps,” O’Gan said, “although it looks as though you’ve been through enough fights. Can you fight without eating? The sun has been gone for a long time, and it may be absent for a long time more. It’s growing colder. Plants are dying. When the plants die, the animals die. When the plants and animals die…there’s nothing left to eat.”

“I’ve seen the Mages,” Kosar said. He was aware of O’Gan’s surprised intake of breath, but he ignored it and finished what he had to say. “They want more from revenge than dead grass. They want blood.”

“They’ll be having it as we speak,” O’Gan said. “And they’ll come for New Shanti last because they know we’re the strongest in Noreela. At least, we were.” He bowed his head.

“So is this all talking around what you’ve already decided?” Kosar asked. “Are you staying here to fight the Krotes, or will you come to Kang Kang? If the Mages get to know of Alishia-and they have their ways and means-they’ll go for her with all their army and might.”

“You could be mad,” O’Gan said.

“I feel that way.”

“Youcould be insane. I saw a man once-a trader-who believed he was a Sleeping God.”

Kosar smiled. “I’ve seen the like as well. Usually with their face in a bottle of rotwine.”

O’Gan fell silent for so long that Kosar thought he had fallen asleep. When he looked up at last he found O’Gan staring right at him, as though trying to penetrate his skull and see whether the thief told lies.

The Mystic nodded. “We’ll come with you,” he said.

Kosar’s eyes widened. “Just like that?”

O’Gan shook his head. “No. Not just like that. I’ve been waiting for something to happen, and I think your arrival is what I’ve been awaiting.”

“Fate,” Kosar said.

Again, O’Gan shook his head. “History. The Mages expect Noreela to roll over and die before their greater power. I believe we should take the fight to them.”

Kosar closed his eyes and smiled. Alishia, he thought, I really hope you can do what you claim. I hope this is all for real. Because all I want to do is curl up here and sleep, though I know I can’t. “How big is your army?” he asked.

“I have almost two thousand Shantasi warriors, and an equal number untrained.”

“Four thousand. Do they all have the Pace?”

O’Gan raised his eyebrows. “A’Meer?”

Kosar nodded. “But she said she couldn’t talk about it. Hinted there was more.”

O’Gan stood, smiling. “Good for A’Meer,” he said. “The warriors have the Pace, and yes, there’s more. If you live through this, thief, you’ll be able to tell your children you saw the Shantasi at war. It’s not something you or they will forget.”

“HOPE, I NEED to learn more,” Alishia said. “I’ve been told so much, but I still don’t understand.” She looked down at the burn on her palm as though truths were written there.

The witch glared at her. It had started to snow, and flakes hung in her wild hair like bizarre decorations. Alishia was cold. Her skinny body shook and shivered. She tried to hug her clothes tighter around her but they were too large, letting cool air in and allowing her meager body heat to escape. She was certain that if she reached inside and touched her chest she would find only ice.