Anna Stephens - Bloodchild

Crys frowned. ‘No. There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but I have to go to Seer’s Tor. There’s something wrong in Krike. All those stories I learnt in the South Rank, everything I told you before Green Ridge about the Krikites and their way of life … well, we haven’t seen any of that, have we? No, there’s something going on here.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, it’s only fair to meet the man we’re stealing warriors from and give him the chance to join us.’

‘Think he will?’ Ash asked.

‘I really don’t know.’

The Krikite’s name was Sati Hare-dream, and when he burst into Belt Town shouting news of the Two-Eyed Man, Crys was relieved to find Cutta and her warriors already there. He didn’t much fancy explaining having killed four of their number and then asking them to ally with him and Rilpor.

Cutta’s relief at seeing them again was palpable, and it was clear she’d already spent some time trying to convince the town elders of Crys’s double identity, because they didn’t fall about laughing at Sati’s pronouncement.

‘Where is the rest of your hunting party, Hare-dream?’ an elder asked and Ash tensed.

‘In our ignorance we attacked the Two-Eyed Man and his lover,’ Sati said. ‘It was the Lord’s will only I survived.’

I wouldn’t say will, exactly, Crys thought. More like terror. He decided it wouldn’t be particularly godlike to tell them that, though.

‘I would be happy to speak with your priests,’ he said instead. The elders exchanged mutters and embarrassed looks. ‘You do have priests?’

‘The Seer-Mother dispenses wisdom from the tor,’ Cutta said when no one would answer him. ‘I told you this.’

Crys rounded on her. ‘You mean there are no priests left in the whole of Krike, not just Green Ridge? What did you do, kill them?’

‘Of course not,’ Cutta protested. ‘But when the Seer-Mother’s gifts made them obsolete, they were given other work.’

‘Horseshit,’ Ash muttered. Even Dom looked shocked and Crys couldn’t remember an expression other than self-pity on the calestar’s face since they’d left Rilporin. He swallowed bitterness and put him out of his mind.

‘What is a community without priests?’

‘The Seer-Mother dispenses judgement,’ Sati ventured.

‘I did not say judgement; I said community. Your priests are still here – you have just stopped recognising their wisdom. Bring them to me.’

As war leader of the region, it seemed Cutta outranked even the elders, for soon enough an old woman hobbled towards Crys, labouring along the rutted road from a dark, ramshackle house on the outskirts of town. Ostracised. Crys favoured them all with a disgusted look and jogged to meet her; he could hear her whistling breath from ten paces away. He stopped her with a gentle touch and stooped to meet her eyes.

‘Priestess of Trickster and Dancer, I am the Two-Eyed Man and I see you as the vessel through which wisdom passes. Tell me, how can I prove my identity?’

She examined him for long enough that he started to get uncomfortable and doubt began to rear its head. ‘It is for the Seer-Mother to say who you are and who you are not,’ she said in the end, her voice thin as paper. ‘It is she who sees and knows all.’

Crys took her hand, dry as a bundle of sticks, in his and straightened up. ‘Thank you, priestess, but no one is the arbiter of my identity. I ask how you would have me prove it, not whether someone else allows me to be who I am.’ She flinched and he raised her hand to his cheek, acting on instincts that weren’t quite his, despite his fine words. ‘The fault is not yours, priestess. Can you tell me what has happened here, why the Seer-Mother has broken up the priesthood?’

‘I said,’ the old woman began, her voice quavering.

‘And only I am here to listen. I am not Krikite, priestess. You can tell me the truth.’

She sucked her remaining teeth, cheeks hollow, as she examined him. ‘The Seer-Mother has … she has broken our people’s connection to the land and the gods. All prayers must pass through her; all decisions come from her. There is no truth here any more, no reverence. She is the dam that separates us from the river of divinity.’

Her thin chest was heaving under her rags; the grip of her hand was fierce. ‘Save us, Two-Eyed Man. Save us all.’

And there it was, another burden for Crys to bear. And yet how could he say no? If he could do it, then he had to do it. ‘I will go to the tor. I will do all I can to fix this so that you are recognised as priestess again and the land remembers its people and its people the land.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I see you, priestess. There is no dam between us.’

‘I see you,’ she whispered. ‘I see. He is the Two-Eyed Man,’ the priestess called out in a wavering voice. ‘He will restore the gods to us. Follow him.’

A storm of muttering rose from the gathered Krikites, abuse hurled towards the old woman. Crys held his arms out in a barrier as a few began edging forward with clenched fists. Would they tear her apart for daring to speak out? Was this how far their faith had fallen – or been claimed by the Seer-Mother?

Crys headed towards the crowd and they fell back before him. ‘War leader, you will guarantee the priestess’s safety. I want three warriors you trust to look after her while we are gone. This behaviour towards the priesthood – regardless of the Seer-Mother’s pronouncement – is unacceptable.’

She withered beneath his anger and the noise of the dissenters faltered. Wordlessly she pointed to three Krikites and they shoved out of the crowd and passed Crys with bowed heads, taking up position around the priestess. One of them murmured reassurance to her.

‘Does some distant woman’s word mean more to you than decency and respect for those in your community? Does it mean more than the harmony of the land and the voices of the gods? Is this how you show your allegiance?’ Crys was disgusted and made no effort to hide it, uncaring whether he alienated those who were wavering in their decision to follow him. In light of their inability to think for themselves or treat each other with respect, he wasn’t sure he wanted them at his back when it came time to face down the Red Gods.

Ash and Dom fell in on either side as he stepped forward and then Cutta and her warriors behind, with Sati sliding into their ranks. Crys didn’t look back to see whether any others joined him as they marched through the parting crowd. He had a war to win but, first, he had to get to Seer’s Tor and cut out the rot that was infecting Krike.

Seer’s Tor? the Fox God barked. No. My tor.

Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

Fort Four, South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border

Rillirin squinted into the approaching night and jabbed her spear at the pell, pulling back, stepping and then striking upwards with the butt. It skittered off the wood and past, but if it’d been a person, it would have broken their knee, she was sure. She spun to the imaginary enemy behind her and lunged; Dalli’s spear parried and then the shorter woman had her weapon at Rillirin’s throat.

Rillirin froze in shock – she hadn’t even known the Wolf chief was there – and then sidestepped, batting Dalli’s spear down.

‘You’re dead,’ Dalli said. ‘Never hesitate in battle because you’re surprised; train until defence is as instinctive as breathing.’ She flipped her spear around her head and drove it for Rillirin’s temple; Rillirin staggered back, her parry clumsy and weak.

‘You’re dead,’ Dalli said again. ‘Don’t get distracted by your opponent’s words.’