Time's Demon Page 33

  Among the other Ancient races, her kind are considered dullwitted. Perhaps they are, at least when compared with Arrokad. Who among the Ancients aren’t? But Shonla? Tirribin? They are no more intelligent than Belvora. Indeed, they have been slow to recognize the growing aggression of humans, and slower still to forge bonds with the young ones. Foolish, and short-sighted.

  She glides near to the ship. They have lowered their sails and gone to oars. She could flap her wings directly above them, and none aboard the vessel would hear. She doesn’t. She tastes the air, seeking the nuance of magick. Travelers, yes. One is a Walker. Of that she is certain. The second is something else. Not quite Walker, not quite Spanner. And the third: even this close, she can tell nothing of this one.

  She circles for a time, trying in vain to learn more. Her frustration builds, until she is ready to eschew caution and her reward and simply feed.

  This would be foolhardy. There are other meals to be had, even in these southern waters. And the ship’s pilot is clearly intent on docking in the city. They will be there on the morrow. Patience, she reminds herself again.

  She makes one last pass over the ship, then wheels away, back toward her perch above the harbor. Daylight and clearer skies may allow her to discern more. She has allies as well, others who might help her and with whom she can, reluctantly, share her bounty. She will not kill in haste.

  One way or another, these creatures of magick will be hers. Regardless of reward, they are prey. And no creatures in all this world are more skilled on the hunt than she and her kind.

  Mara awoke to a persistent tug on her fingers. She opened one eye. Sofya stood by the pallet, one hand pulling on Mara’s, the other thumb in her mouth.

  “I’m hungwy.”

  Mara put a finger to her lips and pointed back at Tobias, with whom she had shared another late night, and who slept still. Sofya blinked, solemn and silent.

  Mara could have slept for another bell or two as well, but in fairness, Sofya woke him early at least as often as she woke Mara. She sat up, pulled on her shift, and carried the princess onto the deck.

  The air was crisp, and smelled of fish and tar. Sunlight glowed golden on the rooftops of Piisen. Captain Larr stood at her usual spot on the aft deck, presiding over a frenzy of activity. Sailors prepared for docking, two pulling the anchor from the water, others already below, with oars in hand, ready to row the ship to port.

  She and Tobias should have been among them.

  Even after so many turns aboard the Dove, the two of them occupied an odd niche in the life of the ship. They did plenty of work, and the captain treated them as she did all her sailors. But they weren’t crew, and everyone knew it. After Tobias revealed who they were and why they had come aboard the Dove, the crew had grown easier around them, accepting them in ways they hadn’t before. Yet his confession also set them further apart, eliminating any remaining pretense.

  At a shouted order from below, the oars splashed into the sea, and the ship pitched forward. Not long after, Tobias emerged from the hold, crooked a smile in her direction, and joined those who were rowing.

  It didn’t take them long to make port. Mara helped lash the ship to bollards on the wharf and set in place a plank that led from the ship to the pier.

  Sofya returned to her side. “I’m hungwy,” she said again.

  Mara lifted her again. “I know you are, love. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  They found the ship’s cook, who gave them three pieces of fried honeybread – one for Tobias – and then ordered them out of the kitchen. They climbed back to the deck and perched themselves on barrels near the ship’s prow.

  Sofya was soon a sticky mess, but she was happy and Mara was content to let her eat in peace. They would wash off later.

  As they ate, Mara eyed Piisen. No gated wall stood between the wharf and the city, so she could see some distance into the lanes. It resembled other cities and towns they had visited. The homes and shops lit by morning sunlight far up the slope were cleaner and larger than the squalid buildings nearest the waterfront.

  The captain left the aft deck and descended the plank to the dock, where she spoke with a woman wearing a uniform of beige and blue. The official was solidly built, but a full head shorter than the captain. She had red hair and a round, flushed face. She nodded at something the captain said, but her expression remained dour.

  Larr handed her a small coin purse. The woman pocketed it, presented the captain with a slip of parchment, and marched off. Larr watched her go, amusement in her mien and stance.

  A moment later, she spotted Mara and raised a hand in greeting. She climbed the plank to the Dove’s deck.

  “Is everything all right?” Mara asked as Larr halted in front of her.

  “Yes. That was the harbormaster, an even more disagreeable woman than her predecessor. I’ve paid the wharfages, and we’re free to stay and trade and wander the city.” She held up the scrip. “This is proof of our payment. If you go into the city, and you have any trouble, bring the authorities back here. We’ll vouch for you.”

  Mara frowned. “Do you expect we’ll have trouble?”

  “Not really. Invariably, the authorities are the most difficult people we encounter here. Most people of the Knot are welcoming.”

  Late in the morning, Mara and Tobias took Sofya into the city, and they found the people to be much as the captain described. To a point.

  Everyone they met was courteous and unfailingly polite, but Mara wouldn’t have called them warm. Several times she caught men and women staring at the three of them, their expressions tight. It didn’t take her long to figure out why. Aside from Tobias, Sofya, and herself, she saw no one in the lanes, or in the Piisen marketplace, with dark skin. The three of them stood out more than they had anywhere else.

  Most of the people they encountered were pale, red-haired, compact. The men had their heads shaved save for long, thin plaits of scarlet hair. No one spoke rudely, or treated them badly, but they knew the three of them for Northislers. Mara sensed their mistrust.

  After only a bell or so in the city, Tobias suggested they go back to the ship.

  Mara didn’t argue. They reboarded the Dove, and remained on the ship for the rest of the day. Captain Larr had released the crew from their duties so that they might explore the city, leaving the three of them with the run of the vessel.

  As evening approached, Tobias left Sofya with Mara and wandered the city lanes in search of food for the evening meal.

  By this time, a few of the crew had returned, and Sofya flitted from one to the next, chattering and playing. Mara stood at her usual spot near the ship’s prow.

  As she eyed the city, movement near the wharf caught her eye.

  A small figure skulked in a shadowed lane, keeping close to the structures there, but making its way toward the wharf.

  Mara stared, trying to pick out details. Something about the figure struck her as familiar. It appeared to be a child, but its behavior was wrong. It moved with the stealth of a hunting cat, graceful, disciplined.

  Within moments, she realized she was watching a Tirribin. When the creature crossed an open area between two buildings Mara gasped. Golden hair hung to the creature’s shoulders in wild ringlets.

  Droë?

  She stood and crossed to the princess, her gaze repeatedly finding that small form in the streets.

  “Nava, I need to leave the ship for a very short while. Can you wait for me here?”

  “I wanna come.”

  Mara frowned, and cast a glance at Ermond, who sat nearby.

  “Nava, can I teach you a new song?” he asked without hesitation.

  The princess spun, wide-eyed and eager.

  “Thank you,” Mara mouthed. She retrieved a pistol and ammunition, then eased to the plank and descended to the wharf, searching in vain for the Tirribin, loading the weapon as she walked. Reaching the buildings that the Ancient had used to conceal herself, Mara slowed and surveyed the lane.

 
“I know you can hear me,” she said, raising her voice only slightly. “I know you can sense my years and so recognize me as a Walker. Come out. Let me see you. Let me talk to you.”

  She waited. No footsteps. Not a word. After a fivecount, awareness raised the hairs on her scalp and the back of her neck. She pivoted.

  The Tirribin stood perhaps twenty paces from her, at the mouth of another alley. The last rays of sunlight shone in her bright hair, and her pale eyes were locked on Mara. It wasn’t Droë, though the resemblance was strong. With her nut brown skin, Droë resembled the children of Trevynisle. This Tirribin was paler, like the people of the Knot.

  It would behoove a predator to fit in with her surroundings. Mara shuddered at the thought.

  A faint smile curved the Tirribin’s lips. Then she blurred to the entrance of the next byway, glanced back in Mara’s direction, and vanished from view.

  Mara walked after her; after a few strides, she broke into a run, still gripping the pistol.

  At the mouth of that next alley, she caught sight of the demon again, at the far end of the lane, where it crossed another street.

  The creature laughed and blurred away a second time.

  “Stop doing that,” Mara muttered. She ran on, cursing under her breath, aware that she was being reckless. Droë had accepted her as a friend, and Tirribin didn’t usually take years from Walkers. But this was no harmless child she pursued. Tirribin were as sly and dangerous as any of the Ancients. She might well have been charging into a trap.

  At the next corner, she slowed, then stopped. For a breath, she saw no sign of the creature.

  Yellow hair flashed through another shaft of sunlight, farther ahead, nearly two lanes away. The Tirribin glanced back, mischief in her grin. Mara expected her to blur away once more.

  So she crossed her arms over her chest, planted her feet, and shook her head.

  The Tirribin’s smile slipped.

  “I’m done playing this game,” Mara said, not bothering to raise her voice. “If you wish to speak with me, you’ll come here. If not, I’ll go back to my ship. Either way, I won’t follow you another step.”

  The demon stared, genuine dismay on her perfect face. They stood thus for a full spirecount, Mara rooted where she was, the Tirribin twisting her hands, brow furrowed, as if she pondered the most vexing of riddles.

  Convinced that the Tirribin wouldn’t let her go without speaking to her, Mara canted her head in casual dismissal and turned away. She had taken but three steps when the Tirribin flashed past her and halted in her path.

  “You can’t go!” the girl said. “That would be rude.”

  Mara had spent enough time with Droë to know the correct response.

  “I believe you’re the one who’s been rude. Running from me? Taunting me at every corner? Leading me deeper and deeper into a city you know is unfamiliar to me? That’s hardly courteous behavior.”

  The Tirribin’s eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth with a slender hand. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was… I was playing.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Or were you luring me somewhere, perhaps on instructions from someone else?”

  Mara hoped this would further unsettle the girl. It didn’t. Rather, she turned coy.

  “Why would I do that? And for who? Are you important in some way?”

  Abruptly, Mara found herself on the defensive, afraid she might reveal too much about Sofya and Tobias. “You’ve led me away from my ship. I want to know why.”

  They considered each other, like combatants about to duel.

  “My name is Mara.”

  The Tirribin’s expression curdled. As Mara knew, it would be rude not to reciprocate with her name.

  “I’m Aiwi,” she said.

  “Why did you come to the dock?”

  “Why should I answer?”

  “To make up for how rude you were.”

  Aiwi glared, but she didn’t refuse. “I smelled your years,” she said, the words wrung from her. “And those of the little one. Hers are sweet and ripe. Both of you are altered. Time around you is…” She made a sharp circular motion with both hands. “It’s confused. Wrong somehow.”

  Mara nodded but said nothing about the misfuture in which all of them lived. If the Tirribin knew of it, there would be no point in mentioning it. If she didn’t, it was too soon for Mara to give her the gift of that knowledge.

  They stood without speaking for a tencount, until Mara grew uncomfortable. She thought she could find her way back to the ship, but she wasn’t certain. More, she didn’t like being alone with the demon. Tobias and the rest of the Dove’s crew knew nothing of her whereabouts, and she had only the pistol to defend herself.

  “I should return to my ship,” she said, taking a step back. “If you wish to speak with me, you know where to find me. I’ll be glad to talk any time.”

  “You can’t leave yet!” Aiwi said, the words too rushed.

  Mara’s pulse accelerated. “Why not?”

  “Because,” came a deeper voice from above her, “I am not yet through with you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  25th Day of Kheraya’s Descent, Year 634

  Tobias wandered the marketplace until he found a husband and wife who roasted red oysters over an open fire. They sold him two dozen. He also bought a small loaf of brown bread and some fruit – a kind he’d never seen before. It smelled floral and sweet and delicious.

  He made his way to the ship, wondering if he and Mara had been too quick to retreat from the city earlier in the day. The people he spoke to as he orbited the market had been kind, even jovial.

  As he neared the wharf, he slowed, instinct making him wary. He scanned the lanes ahead and behind. Thinking of Trevynisle, he even checked the sky, though he knew Belvora almost never ventured so far south.

  A few people lingered in the street, and a flock of gulls circled high above him. That was all. He walked on, alert still, but willing to believe his instincts had misled him.

  He reached the ship and ascended the plank to the deck, only to be set upon by Sofya, who ran to him, arms raised, a broad smile exposing her milk teeth.

  “Ermon’ taught me a song,” she said. “He taught me a song!”

  Tobias set down the food and picked her up. “Well, let’s hear it, then.”

  Ermond’s face reddened.

  Tobias carried her to where the sailor sat, while Sofya sang for him. Some of the words came out scrambled, but he understood enough to frown at the lyrics, which spoke of ale and women and gambling.

  “Sorry, lad,” Ermond said. “Her mum asked me to watch her, and it was all I could think to keep her occupied.”

  Tobias went cold. “Where’s Mara?”

  The sailor shook his head, pale eyes flicking in the direction of the city. “I’m not certain. She left the ship not that long ago. She hasn’t come back.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “I’m not sure of that, either. She seemed in a hurry, though. Like she’d remembered something and had to take care of it right away. I’d wager she’ll be back before you know it.”

  Tobias was less sure. All his fears had returned. He eyed the city, glanced up at the sky again.

  This last saved his life.

  A huge winged creature dropped toward him, talons extended, razor teeth bared. Ermond shouted a warning. So did someone else. Already Tobias was moving. Clutching Sofya to his chest, he dove to the side. Tucked his shoulder. Rolled. Crashed into the side of the hull below the rail.

  Sofya screeched, her voice mingling dissonantly with the outraged snarl of the demon overhead.

  What is a Belvora doing here?

  The creature swooped up, wheeled on tucked wings, and dove again. All in the time it took Tobias to set the princess against the curved wood span. He reached for his pistol, knowing he hadn’t time to load it, knowing he had to try.

  A shot boomed from nearby. The Belvora banked again. Its wail spiraled into the gloaming. Dark blood sta
ined the demon’s body beneath its left wing.

  Tobias tracked the creature, loading and priming his pistol with shaking hands. A second report exploded from even closer. Sofya’s screams redoubled. The Belvora swerved again, one wing beating spasmodically. It fell, missed the ship, and splashed in the brine.

  Tobias released a breath and started to crawl toward the princess.

  “Tobias!”

  He twisted, looked up. A second Belvora was almost on him. He wrenched himself, raised the pistol, and fired, all in one desperate motion.

  The demon shrieked and crashed into him, slamming him to the deck. His head cracked against wood. White pain erupted in his shoulder, his ribs, his gut. He howled. A miasma of demonstench enveloped him: rot, noisome blood, rank breath. He bit back bile and hammered the side of his pistol into the Belvora’s face. It growled. Two more pistol shots made the demon buck. A moment later, it collapsed onto Tobias, its full weight stealing his breath.

  A sailor cried his name again.

  “I’m all right,” he answered. “Just get it off me.”

  Sailors heaved the creature away and dropped it onto the deck. Tobias scrambled to the screaming Sofya and held her close. His shoulder ached, as did his side. He might have broken a rib. Not that he cared.

  Ermond scanned the sky for more Belvora and reloaded his pistol.

  Bramm, dark-eyed, grim, pulled a sword from his belt, strode to the Belvora, and hacked off its head.

  Tobias remembered Saffern doing the same his final morning in Windhome, the last time a Belvora tried to kill him.

  “Why did you do that?”

  Bramm stared at the dead demon. “Only way to be sure an Ancient is dead, isn’t it? Take off its head.”

  Tobias hadn’t known this. “What about the other?”

  “Moth and Starra have already climbed down to get it. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.”