THE MISTRESSES OF MADNESS

by ICEBARD

If you have a moment, please Feed the Bard:

Part 2

CHAPTER SIX

Arak walked along the docks to the north of the harbour. Sometimes he met his older brother there. If so, the latter was usually on his way to or from one of the brothels or drinking houses that populated the alleys that led to the quays.

Today he passed on, towards the Ridge. Before he got there he clambered down over a line of pilings to the sand beneath - the tide was out - and made his way along the widening beach. Waves hissed gently to his right. Sea-wrack and flotsam lay in thick strands, left by the retreating water. The smell of brine and fish was strong in the air.

Black hate ate at him and lustful excitement filled him as he thought about the new girl from the north and what he would do to her.

Yet he was aware that he must plan his strategy well and that he must take his time in executing it. If he allowed his impatience to better him, he might win nothing. Better to be careful and then to savour her humiliation.

He rounded a crumbling spur and entered a small cove with low cliffs at its back. Caves penetrated the rocks here. Awash at high-tide, they were empty now. After climbing over jagged boulders to one of the entrances, he made his way within.

The floor was wet. It was dark and smelled strongly of the ocean. Seaweed and crustaceans and little gelatinous things clung to the walls.

He liked the place. He liked to come here at night and lie down in the water while the tide came in outside. Sometimes he would bring a bottle of black liquor, supplied by his brother. Sometimes he would poke sticks into the gelatinous creatures on the walls - watching them ooze, killing them one by one. He wished that instead of having such small creatures in his power, he had girls like Hexiya or Kaledria. Almost every night he had hot, dark dreams about them. Dreams of hurting them, humiliating them, letting them feel his strength. Dreams of being inside their bodies and inside their heads. Dreams of dominion. Dreams of them begging him to hurt them.

Once, a long time ago, he had had a dream about a man made entirely of stone. Now, all these years later, he was no longer sure if it had just been a dream. For the man had promised he would come to him, and that when he did he would give him what he craved. As he had grown older the promise had burned brighter, becoming more real with each passing day.

Soon, he thought. Soon he would be given what the man of stone had promised.

Outside it began to grow dark. The sound of the surf neared and intensified, pounding against the rocks beneath the cave. Eventually the waves splashed over the lip and surged inside, swirling about him where he sat in the saltwater pool on the floor. A strand of seaweed washed in towards him. Fishing it out of the water, he chewed upon it. The smell of the ocean was intoxicating to him.

A noise came from outside - a slow, deep grinding of rock. It was followed by a low, heavy boom as of a falling boulder.

Startled, Arak sat straight, looking towards the dim orange-brown glow of the entrance. As he did so the noise came again, and then again. It was as if one immense slab of rock after another had been dropped from the cliff onto the stones below. The cave and the earth itself shook with each impact.

One more crushing boom thundered around him, and a huge man stepped up into the mouth of the cave. Sudden quiet fell but for the echoing hiss and rush of waves.

Silhouetted as he was by the ochre radiance of the evening, Arak saw that the figure was tall, thick, broad-shouldered and heavy-limbed. Upon his head was a drooping, wide-brimmed hat.

The man took a step towards him. As his foot came down, the rock beneath it cracked and splintered. He took another step, and another, and each time the boom of a mighty impact and the creaking sound of splitting stone filled the cave. Nor did he move in an ordinary way. Rather, he moved as if it was a vast struggle to shift his immense weight. Not only was he slow and ponderous, but he swayed and lurched as the rock beneath his feet barely withstood his huge mass. He seemed utterly inhuman.

And yet Arak was not afraid.

The man came to a halt in front of him. The cave was quiet again.

He stood there, still for a while. Then he said: 'You know me.' His voice was completely alien. It was impossibly deep and utterly without inflection. Each word was enunciated very slowly and sounded like the grinding of stone upon stone.

Arak nodded, an unconscious smile touching his face. Peering upwards, he tried to penetrate the dimness. He could just make out the rough cloth and long cloak that garbed the man, but his face was hidden by the shadows of his hat. Nevertheless he could feel the intensity of his gaze.

The man reached out a huge, slab-like hand that grazed his knee. Arak felt in that single touch that the hand had far more mass to it than the whole of his own body.

'I will help you to what you lust for,' said the awful, cracking voice. 'In return you will help me with your speed and youth.'

Only later did Arak wonder why such an awesome entity might need any kind of help at all.

To Hexiya's surprise, Serriss merely said: 'Yes, yes,' and waved her away when she asked to stay over at Kaledria's place. Relieved and excited, she ran quickly through the streets to the southern side of the town where her friend lived.

She found her home without difficulty. Built on the flank of a hill, it nestled within extensive grounds. Trees heavy with fruit overhung the perimeter walls.

Kaledria must have been waiting for her. She threw open a door inset in the main gate just as Hexiya approached. Together they walked up the drive towards the house.

As they went, Hexiya looked around her, wondering at the beauty of the great garden that surrounded the place. Plants grew rampant. Crimson and violet flowers drooped in the heat. Dust and pollen drifted in coloured layers through the air. Everything was tinged with deep red and mauve light by the suns that lowered towards the western horizon.

The house itself was a long, large, pleasant-looking structure with white walls and red-tiled roofs. Flowering vines covered parts of it.

'Come in,' said Kaledria as they reached one of the entrances.

The interior was airy and surprisingly cool. Slim, elegant columns, marble floors and frescoed walls reached away through shadowy arches and wide spaces. The halls and rooms were built around a wide atrium. Three wings stretched outwards from the central area.

'This place is incredible,' breathed Hexiya.

'I'm glad you like it,' said Kaledria. 'I'll take you to meet Avassia, then show you around if you want.'

She led the way to a dining room where her adoptive mother was sitting at a long table and reading a book.

Avassia looked up and smiled as they entered. She was an impressive woman, no longer young, with lambent yellow eyes and long yellow hair that had several plaits woven into it. She had broad shoulders and looked athletic and vigorous. In her youth she might have been a beauty of the seas, wild and fiery, sought-after by merchanters, marines and pirates alike. Now her face was weathered and had become rather rugged, but was pleasant enough. She looked like someone of great character and strength.

'You are very welcome here,' she said to Hexiya; and the warmth and consideration revealed in her voice and in her attentiveness moved the girl deeply. It contrasted greatly with the coldness, callousness and petty cruelty of Voitan and Serriss.

'Sit down, the both of you,' said Avassia. 'You're probably hungry.'

They talked as a young maid - dark-haired, meek, pretty - brought them a meal of cold meat, cheeses, fresh bread, fruit, cakes and a pot of tea. Avassia asked Hexiya about herself and conversed with the two girls in easy tones. She seemed very glad that Kaledria had found a friend in Kohidra.

'I am glad to have met you Hexiya,' she said at length; and having sat with them for a while, she excused herself and left them to it.

'She's very nice,' whispered Hexiya. 'And this house . . . I've never been in a place like it.'

Kaledria shrugged. 'Avassia was a successful trader.'

It was fully dark now, but they explored the length and breadth of the place. Hexiya marvelled at the intricacy of the layout of rooms and halls. Every chamber had an irregular, complex and marvellous shape.

Kaledria had the smallest wing to herself. Her bed-chamber was marbled and pillared and rich rugs were set upon the floor. Large, beautifully-carved chests stood against the walls. Wide windows were open to the rear garden and the scents of night-flowering blossoms were in the air.

They sat side by side on a low couch and set a single candle on a table beside it. It cast shadows and flickering orange light into the darkness around them.

Kaledria seemed to brood for a little while, then said: 'You know, we should go back. To the place where the animals were rotting.'

Hexiya said nothing for a moment. Just the mention of the place sent a rush of fear through her, knotting her stomach.

'There were all kinds of things there,' continued Kaledria. 'Maybe we could find out who the children were. Maybe they left some clues.'

Hexiya sighed, then nodded. 'Yes. We should go.'

They arose before dawn and had a quick breakfast. Hexiya found it hard to eat. Sickness ate at her when she thought about where they were going.

As the eastern sky paled to orange and violet and the stars - hot embers in a hot sky - were gradually extinguished, they made their way down to the centre of Kohidra.

The early morning was full of colours and smells and activities - early risers beginning to move about, street-traders setting up their stalls, wagons delivering goods from the countryside, bakeries emitting wondrous scents, children gathering water from wells, animals grunting as they were herded into meat markets, town guardsmen in black chainmail tramping back to their barracks, the last of the night's revellers staggering from the taverns, tired harlots meeting up for breakfast before turning in for the day.

But in the alley leading to the hideout it was quiet, and the girls saw no one around. Down the steps to the entrance they crept, to where the door hung open just as they had left it.

Once inside, they closed the entrance behind them. Kaledria took two candles and a box of matches from her bag and gave one of the candles to Hexiya. Lighting them, they looked about them.

Chairs were still overturned. Tins and dishes and cutlery still lay where they had fallen as the children had struggled to get away. Shelves were still stacked with cans and containers.

They began to search the place. Opening a cupboard and a chest, they discovered a lot of clothes - all of them small, none of them for adults. Venturing into an adjoining room, they found that it was empty but for some sleeping-mats and bedding that were rolled up and stacked against the walls. A bathroom off the passageway held nothing but a hole in the ground and a broken tap.

They returned to the main room and searched it again. 'There's a satchel here,' said Hexiya of a sudden. She had not seen it at first - it had fallen behind an empty crate.

She spilled its contents out over a table.

There were two notebooks, some pencils, a small knife, a carving of an animal from the tropics, and a paper bag with a few mouldy biscuits in it.

Hexiya picked up one of the notebooks and flicked through it. It was filled with schoolwork. On the front cover was a name - Yavek Irsala.

'Yavek,' she breathed. 'I knew him.'

'From here in Kohidra?' asked Kaledria.

'From school. He disappeared a few months ago. I didn't think anything of it. I just thought his family must have moved away.'

'He was one of the children that died here?'

'No.' Hexiya rubbed her eyes, struggling to recall exactly what she had seen. She felt alarmed that it suddenly seemed so difficult. 'Yes,' she said at length. 'He . . . It was him. He was lying in the alley at the back. He had been hurt but he was still alive. So Arak cut his throat like he was trying to cut his head off. But . . . I should have recognised him . . . Why didn't I recognise him?' She rubbed her eyes again, then ground the heel of her hand into her forehead. 'I'd seen him at school almost every day. So why didn't I know who he was until now?'

Kaledria picked up the second notebook and opened it. 'What's this?' she said, her voice full of surprise and wonder. She began to go through it quickly, from front to back.

Hexiya looked on in amazement. From cover to cover, a strange and exotic hand had filled the leaves with symbols - writing perhaps, or maybe something else - that made no sense at all.

'Could Yavek have written all this?' asked Kaledria.

'I don't know. I don't know what it is.' Taking the notebook from Kaledria, she scrutinised the weird script. Tiny, incomprehensible diagrams mixed with complex sequences of what looked like pictograms. A feeling filled Hexiya that she was looking at something utterly alien and incredibly ancient.

At length she stashed the book in her bag and they looked around the place one more time.

'There's an awful lot of food here,' said Kaledria. 'And five large barrels of water too. It's like they were getting ready to hide here for months. And there are lots of candles and lamp-oil, and playing cards and story-books - things to pass the time.'

They finished their search in a hurry. Hexiya was finding the place more and more oppressive. She wanted to be out of there, away and in the fresh air, not in this gloomy hideout from which a group of children had been chased and senselessly slaughtered.

At last they made their way along the passage and up the steps to the rear entrance. Kaledria pushed the door open a fraction and peered out.

'All clear,' she whispered. But just as they stepped out into the alleyway, they glimpsed movement from the doorway across the street at its end. A figure shuffled away and out of sight.

'It's him!' said Kaledria. 'The same man we saw there before.'

'The old fisherman,' agreed Hexiya. 'Malajik. What's his interest in this place?'

On their way to school they stopped at a stall for hot loaves, sausages cooked to bursting, and sweet yellow tea - a good meal. They ate while sitting on a bench overlooking a tiny park.

'Do you remember any of the other children that were killed?' asked Kaledria.

Hexiya struggled with her memories of what she had seen. 'It's like . . . I should remember, but my mind can't quite grab hold of anything. Yavek Irsala . . . I'm sure he was there now, but the others . . . Most of them were strange-looking, wide-eyed and rather thin. And they were silent even as they ran and died. I'm sure I'd not seen them before. But now that I remember Yavek, I can also remember that there was a girl with him. Maybe a girl from school, though I can't quite picture her face. I have a feeling that I should recognise her. But I can't quite see her clearly enough, nor fit any facts to her.'

Hexiya was silent for a while, then looked across at Kaledria. She suddenly felt very frightened again. 'Something has interfered with my memory,' she breathed. Tears started from her eyes. Sobs began to rack her.

Kaledria reached out and held her. At her touch, Hexiya felt as if a boundless warmth was suddenly enveloping her - radiating from her friend and filling her with a sense of infinite tenderness. Protected by the embrace, more emotion welled up within her and found its way out through her tears.

When she was quiet again, Kaledria said quietly: 'Do you know where Yavek lived?'

'More or less. One of those tenements on the south side of the warehouses - a lot of the children at school come from there. They walk home in groups. I guess we could ask around for where the Irsalas live.'

'Or maybe we should find that old fisherman.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was a quiet day at school. During the break between classes, Arak was strangely subdued and would have nothing to do with the other children. His face was red, his eyes were puffy, but there was a look of dark and vile excitement about him. Hexiya and Kaledria, sitting by the pond, did not miss how often he gazed in their direction.

They asked some of the other children, the quieter ones, if any of them remembered Yavek Irsala, a boy who had once come to school with them.

No one was aware that they had ever met him.

After school Hexiya and Kaledria cornered Vania at the main entrance. Kaledria casually tossed and caught a large stone. The fat girl thought better of trying to get away from them. When she looked around, hoping for the support of Arak or Varai, her cohorts were nowhere to be seen.

'That day we killed the animals,' said Hexiya, looking up into the girl's pale, round, sweaty face. 'What did we kill? Who?'

She might not have believed any words that came from Vania's mouth, but the girl's expression told her everything - confusion, ignorance, obliviousness.

They left her by the school gates and walked north through the Old Town.

'She didn't remember anything at all,' said Hexiya. 'Just like the others.'

'How could that be?' asked Kaledria. 'How could they forget that they had butchered a group of children?'

Hexiya shook her head. 'Maybe the reason why I remember most of what happened is because I didn't actually kill anyone.'

At the market square they reluctantly parted company. Hexiya had to get back to Serriss and Voitan if she did not want to be punished, and knew that they would not be welcoming to Kaledria. As she walked home the heat mixed with her troubled thoughts, making her feel tired, despondent and blackly depressed.

Once she was back at her guardians' place, she helped to prepare the evening meal. While she was chopping some vegetables, Serriss struck her across the back of her head. 'Stop dreaming!' the foul-smelling woman snarled. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the mug of beer she kept to hand while she cooked. What she was preparing smelled good - grilled meat, steaming vegetables. But Serris's stench was a sick thing - the usual mix of sweet flowers, acrid sweat and the stink of badly-cured leather.

When they sat down at the dining table, the last thing Hexiya wanted to do was to eat. But Voitan, slow and heavy, brought his slab-like hand down upon the table and made it clear that she had no option. Three times in the past he had used his belt or his nailed boots to hit her. If possible she would not let it happen again.

She ate silently, politely, and kept her eyes downcast - a model of obedience. But she noticed something different about her guardians during the meal. Normally fat Serriss aired her endless complaints about the world while Voitan ignored her, impervious as a rock. Normally, unless they wanted her to fetch something, they disregarded her. But today they kept glancing at her. Even though she only saw it from the corners of her eyes, she knew their looks were full of suspicion. She even felt that a certain malice was being projected towards her, kept in check only by fear - though fear of what she could not guess. Serriss's monologue was not its usual endless flow, but halting and disjointed. Voitan was not just a dull, hard, heedless presence but a menacing and threatening one.

Perhaps they had seen her paintings, she thought. Or worse, perhaps they knew something about the dead children.

Once her chores were done, Hexiya went out again. She made her way down the hill, heading back to the market square. Kaledria was already there, leaning against the wall of a shop and watching the evening traders setting up their stalls. At this time, on this day of the week, they sold strange jewellery, incense, rare liquors, exotic weapons, herbs and roots with mind-altering properties, and stranger products that were not on display but which interested parties could ask for. One trader was arguing with a customer over some canvas sacks at his feet. Sometimes he nudged one of them, and whatever was inside the sack would move and twitch.

'Which way to Yavek Irsala's home?' asked Kaledria. Her tanned face glowed in the mauve, red and orange shades of dusk. Her eyes were incandescent blue mirrors that reflected the livid western sky.

Hexiya did not answer but regarded her for a long moment, caught up suddenly by her extraordinary appearance. Wildness and power were written upon Kaledria's face and evident in the lines of her body for all that she was so young. In adulthood, Hexiya realised, Kaledria would be an exceptionally beautiful woman. That beauty would be within her as well as without. She would be noble, brave and forever untamed. She would be sensitive, compassionate and tender. She would have fierce and fervent passions. And she would also be capable of ruthlessness when she felt it necessary.

It was almost, she thought, as if Kaledria had stepped out of some distant past in which people had been far greater than they were now. As if she had come from some primaeval time of vast kingdoms and seething, unexplored wildernesses. As if she had mixed with champions and heroines of old, and had met kings and queens who understood the deepest mysteries of life.

Kaledria smiled, blue eyes looking into green. 'You're staring at me.'

Hexiya looked away, blushing and not knowing quite why she blushed. She hoped the sunset might hide it.

'Yavek,' she said, recovering herself. 'He lived not far from the warehouses. This way.'

They passed through the hushed and mysterious marketplace, then headed down narrow streets towards the river and the great storage buildings that lined it - huge grainhouses, barn-like structures stacked with foodstuffs, and guild-stores full of products ready for shipping. As they passed one of the entrances they glimpsed men struggling with pallets, bales, crates and barrels, shouting and cursing as they worked.

Beyond was a district of tenements where many of Hexiya's and Kaledria's fellow pupils lived. These were run-down places. Their walls were black with age and soot. The panes of their windows were cracked and dirty. Washing lines criss-crossed the spaces between their crumbling balconies. Small children went running and shouting down the alleys under the grim structures. The smoke of fires and the smells of cheap meals mixed with the stenches of bad drainage and poverty.

Kaledria stopped a couple of urchins as they ran past. The little boys stared up at them out of their dirty faces, sullen and suspicious.

'Where do the Irsalas live?'

One of the boys pointed down the street.

'Which door?'

The boy said nothing, but walked in the direction he had pointed. He stopped not far from a low entrance and pointed again.

'Thanks.'

The boy opened his mouth wide. His teeth were yellow and broken and he had no tongue. A strange noise came from his throat. When Hexiya started and gave an involuntary gasp, he laughed maliciously and ran away up the street.

The two girls looked at each other. Then Kaledria stepped forwards under the arch of the entrance, and knocked.

The door swung open and a woman looked out at them - young still, but worn-looking. 'Yes?'

'We're sorry to disturb you, but we're looking for the Irsalas. They live here?'

The woman nodded. 'You've found one. Come in,' she said.

Warily, they stepped into a small, crowded room. Clothes and sewing materials were strewn over a table and some chairs.

'Sorry for the mess. Sit down if you want. Would you like some tea?'

They declined.

'We're looking for Yavek,' said Hexiya, not knowing quite what else to say.

'Yavek? Who's Yavek?' asked the woman. Was there a flicker of fear in her eyes? Did her hands twitch? If so, these signs of stress were gone in an instant.

'Your son.'

A smile split the woman's face. It was very sudden, as if pain had been changed suddenly into laughter. The grin did not really fit her weariness. 'I don't have a son.'

Hexiya saw that there was a little family portrait - a sketch really - hanging at an angle on the wall behind her. It depicted five people: the woman, her husband - presumably - and three children - two girls and Yavek. 'That's him there,' she said, pointing.

The woman turned. 'Him?' She frowned. 'I don't remember who that is. Maybe a friend of Venda or Rinnia.' She trailed off, blinked a couple of times and seemed to struggle with a memory that ultimately eluded her.

There was a door on the far side of the room. It opened into a short corridor, on one side of which was a bedroom. From where she was sitting, Hexiya could make out a pair of bunks, some drawings on one wall - stick-people, a rainbow, a ship - and some toy warriors standing on a shelf.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'We must have the wrong family. It's just that he used to go to school with me and I thought he lived here.'

'Well,' said Mrs Irsala as she saw them to the door. 'Good luck in your search for him.'

As they walked back the way they had come, Hexiya said: 'I don't understand it. Why can I remember what happened - more or less - but everyone else seems to have forgotten it?'

'Perhaps your memory is just better. It resisted being meddled with.'

Hexiya looked up into the sky. The last of the ruddy light still lingered in the west but the stars were starting to come out. A gentle breeze had picked up, blowing in from the sea. It seemed to have cleared the smoke and dust from the air over Kohidra. The night would be very clear.

'I don't want to go home,' she murmured. 'Serriss and Voitan . . . I'm afraid of them.'

'Come home with me,' said Kaledria, softly.

Hexiya was not sure. Her worst fear was that her guardians would take steps to prevent her from spending time with Kaledria. She had long since realised that they saw their parental role as her subjugation. Kaledria, as a loved friend, would be a symbol of freedom that they would take away as soon as they knew about it.

'I'll come by tonight,' she said eventually. 'I'll go home and go to bed. When Voitan and Serriss are asleep, I'll come over.'

Hexiya's guardians always turned in early and Voitan's snores were audible through half the house. As soon as she was sure that he and Serriss would not hear her, she climbed out of bed, threw on her clothes and crept downstairs.

She went slowly, avoiding the creaking floorboards. The only illumination was that of the stars and the harbour-lights seeping through the windows. But she knew the building well and did not miss a step.

As she descended past the first floor landing, she glimpsed both Voitan and Serriss through their bedroom door - it was open a fraction. Both of them were blowing and rasping like bellows.

Once she was on the ground floor she felt a wave of relief. Silently she padded across the stone slabs. Just before she reached the kitchen and the back door, she passed the living room and glanced within.

A tiny gasp escaped her. She stumbled to a halt and stood motionless.

Long moments passed. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. Ice was in her belly. In the darkness she tried not to make a sound; tried to silence her breathing and quieten her thundering heart.

She had seen . . . No, she could not have.

She turned where she was, very slowly. The arched doorway to the living room a couple of yards away, an orange dimness against the blackness. Just barely, she could make out the open door itself and the sofa beyond it.

She took one step, then another. Though something screamed within her that she should flee, that she should run for the back door and out into the night and not look back, she held herself in check.

Two more steps. Half the living room came into sight. There was nothing unusual to be seen.

She leaned forward slowly, holding her breath. Then she peered around the doorpost.

She saw his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. Voitan, big and ponderous, standing by the window. Just around the corner from her. So close she could have reached out and touched him. He was holding the curtain open a fraction and looking out. His big head was turned slightly to one side. He was nodding slowly as if he was listening to instructions.

For a long moment she could not quite see what he was looking at. Then he shifted slightly; and in the mirror, she could see a shadow against the curtain, blocking the harbour lights - the figure of someone very large, far bigger even than Voitan, standing just outside the window.

It shifted suddenly, slowly. As it did so there was a loud creaking noise as of rock splitting and breaking. Through the gap in the curtains that Voitan was holding open, she caught sight of a dark, hideous face made entirely of stone. The eyes - pocked, irregular balls - moved slowly and heavily in their sockets. She did not doubt but that they were looking for her, searching her out.

Not knowing if she had been seen, she thrust herself away from the doorpost and fled to the back door. Throwing the latch, she pushed through and ran out into the garden. No point going back to her room. Better to run and hide.

She sprinted across cracked earth and dried grass to the crumbling wall of the old tropical fruit-garden. Rounding it, she swung herself up into the redfruit tree where she and Kaledria had sat and talked. Only when she was crouched on the platform-like bough near the top of the garden wall did she halt. Catching her breath, she peered back the way she had come. Horror at what she had seen thrummed in her veins.

From where she perched, the living room windows were concealed by the bulk of the kitchen. But the stone man, she knew, must still be there, out of sight behind the obscuring walls.

She stayed where she was, crouching low, breathing quickly and silently. And she waited. Everything was still and silent. The night was without wind and the people of Kohidra were mostly in bed. The river, reduced by the drought, could not be heard.

Long minutes passed and she wondered if, after all, the stone man was no longer there. Perhaps he had taken his leave as she had crossed the garden. But no. He had not had the look of a man who could move quickly.

Nevertheless, after a long wait, she was ready to give up her vigil. But just as she was about to swing herself up over the wall and down into the dirt road beyond, to make her way to Kaledria's house, she saw movement from the beyond the kitchen.

He was there: a huge figure wrapped in a cloak that concealed much of his bulky shape. A wide-brimmed hat threw his face into black shadow. He walked very slowly and with an odd gait, as if struggling to keep his balance. With each step that he took, there was a dull thudding sound. Each time, the ground shook and a deep vibration shivered up through the trunk and limbs of the redfruit tree.

He did not look in her direction but made his way up the side of the house towards the front entrance - a shambling, terrifying and utterly inhuman figure. She saw that his booted feet were sinking into the hard-baked ground as if he was walking through soft mud.

Leaving through the gate, he vanished around the corner.

Hexiya did not wait any longer, but climbed over the wall and dropped down to the road. Then she ran through the night and the town, heading southwest towards the hill where Kaledria lived.

'You're shaking!' said Kaledria as she let her in through the small door in the big front entrance.

'Let's get indoors. I'll tell you about it.'

A few minutes later they were sitting in Avassia's kitchen. Kaledria had drawn the curtains tightly, then lit a single candle. She made tea and brought out some bread and cheese and cakes.

Hexiya stumbled out an account of what she had seen.

'Voitan was asleep!' she repeated at the end. 'I saw him! I heard him snoring! Upstairs. Not in the living room.'

Kaledria merely stared at her. At length she merely shook her head in confusion. 'You think the man he was talking to was looking for you?'

'I don't know. Maybe.' She grimaced. 'Probably.'

'I don't think you should go back there. I'll ask Avassia and see if it's all right that you stay.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kaledria woke at first light. Hexiya was still asleep on the other side of the bed. The northern girl was surprised that her friend had slept at all after what she had seen.

She climbed out of bed and opened the curtains. Outside, the trees were coiling, branching silhouettes against the diffuse pink glow of the sky.

Walking around to where Hexiya lay, she looked down and regarded the small form of the sleeping girl. She saw her unusual prettiness, the fairness of her skin and the paleness of her long blonde hair. She found herself as fascinated by her as when she had first set eyes upon her.

There was something magical about her, she thought. Despite the fact that she looked young for her age, Kaledria felt that Hexiya possessed a curious wisdom beyond her years and beyond normal perception. She was sensitive and gentle and possessed a rare degree of insight. Also - and of this she was certain - she had great strength.

But more than this, Kaledria felt that Hexiya held within her some kind of conduit to depths that went far beneath the mundanity of day to day reality. She seemed to be connected to levels of profundity that were vast and strange and which, one day, she hoped might be revealed to her.

She could feel those deep places within her just as she could feel the presence of a hunting animal in the jungle - unseen, unheard, but sensed nonetheless. And like a hunting animal, Hexiya seemed to Kaledria to be immensely powerful but to keep her power silent and unseen.

But even without her awareness of such hidden expanses, Kaledria knew that she had never had such a friend before. Every time she looked into Hexiya's eyes she saw herself reflected there - understood, accepted and valued. Hexiya, she thought, was able to see the world as no other could.

We are like a sun and a moon, she thought. I am a sun, full of energy that I radiate. You are a moon, full of hidden mystery.

Now Hexiya stirred. Her pale blonde hair was tangled with sleep and she raised a hand to push a strand out of her face.

Her eyes opened, soft green around deep pupils; and she looked into Kaledria's face and smiled.

'I wish we could leave here,' said Hexiya after a gulp of tea. They were having breakfast in the atrium - sweet green globefruit, bread hot from the oven, cold meat and fresh butter were laid out on a tray. 'Leave Kohidra behind. Travel to a place where we do not feel afraid.'

Kaledria regarded her. 'I've been to different places, good and bad. Tropical Aradune and ice-girt Garenda. The Alavain Desert and the islands of Lake Sentarin. I know how to survive, but . . .'

Hexiya smiled wanly. 'You're brave,' she said. 'And my mother is here. I could not just leave her.'

Kaledria was silent for a while, then said: 'I think we should speak to the town guards.'

A short time later they made their way to the nearest barracks - a long, low, heavy building of grey stone, built on the flank of Indigo Hill and overlooking the town centre. Despite the early hour, the streets were already sweltering. The distances shimmered with heat-mirages such that Kohidra's spires and domes were made dream-like and insubstantial. The three suns - red, mauve and white - shone fiercely down, pitiless and unforgiving.

The main entrance to the barracks was open and they made their way within. The shadowy interior was hot and close and smelled of dust and . . . something else. Like blood, thought Hexiya.

Three warriors crossed the hallway in front of them, wearing their characteristic chainmail, with bolt-throwers and swords hung at their hips and across their backs.

The two girls walked up to the front desk. A young woman was on duty. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, she looked up from the paperwork she had been doing and regarded them with small eyes. 'I know why you're here,' she said. There was scorn in her voice.

Hexiya was about to say: 'Why?' But she did not even get to open her mouth before the woman waved her to silence. 'Don't,' she said. 'You think we're so stupid as to be taken in by your stories? Don't you realise we have more important things to do?'

'You haven't even -'

'Oh, I know all about it. The dead children. The man of stone. A pretty fabrication.' She looked down, returning her attention to her paperwork.

'You're wrong,' said Kaledria.

The woman dismissed them with a flick of her wrist, as if batting away a pair of annoying flies.

'Let's go,' murmured Hexiya.

Just before they reached the door back into the street, the woman called out after them: 'Hey!'

They turned and looked at her.

'Hexiya,' she snarled. Her teeth were bared and there was hate-filled venom in her voice. 'You're just the walking dead,' she hissed. 'Dead already and you don't even know it.'

They ran out into the street. Hexiya felt black wings fluttering within her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. All she could think of was to flee.

They did not halt until they came to a small marketplace at the base of the hill. Leaning against the wall of a shop that sold exotic foods, they recovered their breaths.

Kaledria gently held her arm. 'Don't be afraid,' she said, and Hexiya did not miss the curious fire in her eyes. 'We are all right.'

'But how did she know my name?' gasped Hexiya.

A slight, unexpected smile touched Kaledria's mouth. 'Perhaps it's not quite so remarkable. You do look rather distinctive you know. Kind of angelic.'

'But what about knowing about the stone man and the dead children?'

Kaledria became sombre at this, and shook her head. 'I don't know.'

They went to school. Another quiet day passed, slow in the heat. Their teacher seemed indifferent as to whether they learned anything. The children all seemed to be wilting like plants in their pots.

Early in the afternoon, Arak arrived outside the school grounds. He had not attended classes during the day. He wanted to be waiting when Hexiya and Kaledria left the building.

When the lower class came out, he saw the two girls trailing at the back. Watching from behind the trunk of a tree, he found himself fascinated by them. Hate and lust mixed and surged in him. Had he been asked, he would not have been able to identify these emotions. But he felt them nevertheless, rising powerfully within him.

Kaledria, especially, had captivated him. Her black hair and flashing eyes, her grace and her athletic form had gripped him so tightly that he felt almost as if he could not breathe. Her passionate, flaming spirit obsessed him. Her strength and courage made him want to break her.

He turned and signalled to where his brother and his brother's friends waited in the shadows behind him, concealed in an arched entrance to a square. There were eight of them. All were three or four years older than Arak - not quite men, no longer boys. With them were a couple of the coarse young women they liked to spend time with - harlots from the streets or brothels.

'We're being followed,' murmured Kaledria. 'Young men . . .'

Hexiya, alarmed, was about to look about her when Kaledria grasped her arm and whispered: 'Don't show that you know. Let's just head for the town centre. It's not far. If they try to rush us, we go there and drink tea at a stall until they get bored. They won't attack us in such a crowded place.'

'How many are there?'

'Two I think.'

Even as Kaledria said this, two more youths turned into the street just ahead of them, stepping out of a side alley. Another emerged from where he had been waiting in a doorway to their right.

'Damn. Run!' said Kaledria, but Hexiya was already in flight.

They ducked into a passage on their left - the only way open to them. Sprinting up it, they climbed steps between two old buildings, passed over a ridge and ran down a curving alleyway towards the river.

They almost collided with the three young men that were lying in wait for them, concealed by the curve. It was a good trap, and they had rushed right into it. It was also in a carefully-chosen place. The abandoned workshops on either side hid the alley from sight - no one would see whatever might happen there. Hexiya had the fleeting thought that the youths might have used this place before, to prey on women or to take money from anyone who might pass by.

Kaledria slid across the dusty ground, found purchase, pushed away to her right. She just avoided the reaching arm of a boy with a sparse beard. Hexiya collided with another but he failed to grasp her. Then Hexiya sprang away towards the entrance to a workshop, seeing it as her only hope of escape, though it would separate her from her friend.

She hit the door hard. Partway open, it banged inwards and she dashed inside. As she ran between dust-covered benches, lathes and rusting machine tools, she heard the young men charging after her.

She glanced back once. Through a cracked and stained window she saw Kaledria standing upon a high ledge above where they had been ambushed - an impossible jump.

Then she was running again, across the room and down a passage to a back door.

She went through and slammed it behind her, but even as she leapt down the steps beyond, it burst open. Before her was a low area of pebble beach and then the vastness of the sea. To either side was a narrow loading way.

She went left but did not make it twenty yards. One of the youths, faster than her, threw himself at her and grabbed her around her waist, bringing her down. The jarring thump of it bruised her bones. She left skin upon the pavings.

She cried out, struggling vainly, but a grubby hand closed over her mouth. Thrashing about, terrified, she bit hard and kicked out, trying desperately to get away. Hot blood welled in her mouth but the bite did no good. She heard a curse and then something hit her hard in the stomach, doubling her up.

She collapsed to the ground again and lay on her side, curled up, retching, unable to breathe. Four of the youths stood about her, silhouettes against the bright sky.

Two of them wrapped their fingers through her hair. Then they dragged her mercilessly across the ground and down cracked wooden steps to the shingle beach. They dumped her at the base of the wall beneath the loading way.

As she gasped for breath she found herself staring at the green wrack that clung to the stones. Seaweed lay in wet strands beneath her. The place was wet and rank, the tide having only just gone out.

A youth pulled her over onto her back. She lay where she was, looking up.

There were not only young men there now, she saw. A couple of women had joined them, street-whores or hangers-on in gaudy clothes, looking older, in their masks of make-up, than their years.

Then she saw Arak, standing at the back, and Varai too. They were staring at her with contempt, hatred, scorn. Drinking in her capture and gloating over their prize.

Even in her pain she saw that Arak had changed. His face was swollen somehow. His eyes seemed to reflect some sick inner knowledge that was even greater than his hate.

He nodded at his cronies, and three of them held her down. Then one of the young women, laughing through red lips around white teeth, raised her skirt. Standing over Hexiya, she urinated over her.

Kaledria leapt across the gap, from one side of the way to other. She grasped the sill of a second-floor window and hauled herself up. The glass was already cracked and a blow of her fist shattered it inwards. Dropping into the dark, musty interior, she looked around. Rotting bales and crates and abandoned equipment lay everywhere.

She could hear her pursuers running through the lower levels and mounting steps to catch her.

She ran to the next room - a storage area. Looking for possible weapons, she found them and was grateful for the luck - a rectangular length of pig-iron and a stack of sawing disks.

She waited behind a doorpost. Four of the young men were spreading out through the floor, noisy despite their attempts at silence.

The first to come through took the length of iron full in his face, swung with all her strength. His nose and cheekbone shattered. Blood spattered across the wall. He collapsed, twitching and moaning.

The others came running, footsteps hammering across the floorboards of the next room. Leaning around the doorpost, she hurled a sawing disc. It embedded itself in the leading youth's forehead, deep into the bone of his skull. Though it was not enough to kill him, it would leave an injury that would never fully heal.

She pulled herself back into cover and leapt lightly and easily over a work bench.

The remaining pair of young men halted before the threshold, unable to see her from where they were. They looked down and around at their fallen comrades. Then they glanced at one another and beat a hasty retreat, running for the stairs.

Kaledria ran to the far side of the building and looked down. The loading way was directly beneath her. She could just see Hexiya on the beach beyond it, lying at the foot of the wall, surrounded by youths and a couple of young women. Varai was with them and Arak stood at the back, gazing at Hexiya with a hot, gloating hunger in his eyes.

Even as she took in the scene, one of the youths pulled Hexiya's hair and dragged her backwards over the shingle. She squirmed in his grasp and cried out at the pain. Two more held her by her arms and legs. Then the harlots forced open her jaw and forced a mass of wet seaweed into her mouth, taking her time and savouring her humiliation.

While the others laughed and sneered, Arak looked on and feasted on the sight with dark pleasure. Kaledria understood that for them it was malicious fun but that for him it was something more. It was the feeding of a hot darkness inside him, bringing him a satiation that he could only find through the pain and degradation of others. This was his core, the thing he lived for.

Emotion surged within her, a swelling weight and power in her chest. Her heart went out to Hexiya and tears welled in her eyes, a desperate sorrow and regret at what they had done to her. But a moment later these feelings were replaced with rage. And though Kaledria was not prone to hate, she hated Hexiya's abusers in that moment. And most of all she hated Arak and despised his lust for her debasement.

She counted them: four young men, two harlots, Arak and Varai. Then she weighed a sawing disc in her hand and aimed the first at Arak's face. With all her strength she threw it at him and knew that her aim, as ever, was true.

He moved. It could have been chance, but she was not sure. She had the sudden suspicion that something had intervened on his behalf. His lurch backwards was too perfect, too convenient.

It struck him, not full in the face but upon his shoulder. After slicing through his shirt it cut through muscle and bone.

He threw back his head and screamed.

She raised another disc, intending to throw it at the boy who held Hexiya's hair.

Then a movement from along the loading way caught her attention. Glancing to her left, she saw an old man turn onto the paved ledge and stand above Hexiya and her tormentors. Kaledria recognised him. He was the man that had been watching each time they had gone to the hideout where the children had been killed. A fisherman, Hexiya had said. Malajik.

He came to a halt and stood there, looking down. She could see that his face, seamed and stubbled, was dark with anger. For all his age he looked very fierce. His feet were braced and his fists clenched.

The young men and the harlots looked up at him, while Arak whimpered and clutched at the disc embedded in his shoulder. Blood drenched his side.

'Clear off,' said the old fisherman in a deep voice that was harsh with the years. There was no doubt in his tone or stance. He knew they would obey. And though he was aged and they were young; though they could easily have overcome him had they wanted too; yet they were afraid of him - afraid of the ruthlessness and ferocity they perceived in him, afraid of real consequences should they cross him. And perhaps, without Arak's goading, they had no courage.

Sullen, resentful, they moved away. Varai waited as Arak stumbled after them. Pain and fury were in his eyes. But for now there was no fight left in him.

They disappeared around the pilings and away.

Kaledria ran swiftly down through the building, passing the two she had injured as they made their way down the stairs. They would live, she saw, but felt indifferent to the fact.

She pushed out through the back entrance of the workshop and found herself a few paces from the old fisherman. Warily she regarded him. He had sparse grey hair and piercing grey eyes. His skin was tanned and weathered. He wore a work-shirt that was open to his waist, stained black trousers and heavy, old, scuffed boots.

Then she swung herself down the steep wooden steps to the pebble beach at the foot of the wall, and ran across to Hexiya.

She was trying to get up, her face screwed up with distress. Kaledria helped her and saw that she was struggling not to cry. Nevertheless she was racked with helpless rage and shame.

They went down to the water - fifty yards across the shingle to where the waves boomed and hissed.

Hexiya waded out into the sea. It became rapidly deeper beyond the low-tide mark. She ducked under the surface and scrubbed at herself, especially her face and hair.

A minute later, standing drenched upon the beach, she stood with her head hanging, long wet locks plastered to her. She shivered despite the heat of the afternoon. The suns were lowering behind the workshops, leaving them in shadow.

Then Hexiya cried, and Kaledria held her, holding her shivering form to her. They sank down upon the stones and sat there for a long time, the northern girl holding her friend's head and stroking her until she quietened.

Eventually, in silence, they stood and made their way to the wall. Up the cracked steps and over green sea-moss they went, Hexiya first. Soon they were on the loading way.

The fisherman was still there, standing still, regarding them gravely. 'Bad times,' he said to them, eyes missing nothing.

Hexiya looked at him but felt that the world was receding from her, as if she was no longer quite connected with it. A profound apathy was taking the place of the anger and humiliation that had been burning in her.

'Thank you,' said Kaledria. 'For helping.'

He shook his head once, dismissing the matter. 'You remember me, don't you?' he asked, regarding Hexiya. There was no sign of his former fierceness now. It was suddenly hard to imagine that an elderly man such as he could be fierce at all. He just seemed tired and worn out. 'I was an acquaintance of your mother,' he continued. 'Still am, as a matter of fact.'

Hexiya was surprised by this. Her curiosity penetrated the numbness that had spread through her. She looked at him quizzically.

'I visit her occasionally at the asylum,' he explained. 'My wife made a cake for her the first time I went. But it wasn't much use. I just go and say hello now, each time I pass by.'

'Your name's Malajik,' said Hexiya. 'I do remember you.'

He nodded and smiled, obviously pleased that she had been able to recall his name.

'Why were you watching us?' asked Kaledria. 'Before, I mean. Where the dead animals were.'

'I wasn't watching you. I was watching the place. Mysteries interest me.'

'What do you know about it?'

He gave a slight shrug. 'Not much. But I've been watching the sky for years, and something strange has been happening. I can show you if you want. I moor my boat on the north side of the Ridge. Be there an hour after midnight, any time over the next few nights, and you'll see for yourselves.' He shrugged again. 'If you wish.'

He turned away from them and went on his way - slowly and with some difficulty.

'I don't want you to go back to Serriss and Voitan,' said Kaledria as they made their way towards her home. 'Not ever. I'll ask Avassia. She won't mind you staying.'

'Perhaps we should tell her everything.'

'All right.'

Avassia was not at home that evening. Hexiya had a long soak in the outsize pool of red marble in Kaledria's bathroom. She shampooed her hair, scrubbed herself, ran the bath full a second time and had another soak.

Emerging wrapped in a towel, she felt recovered in part. It was as if she had been able to wash away some of her anger and her humiliation at what had been done to her. But she knew that she would never fully forget.

Kaledria looked up at her from where she had been reading on her bed. She smiled. 'You look a bit better. Shall we prepare something to eat?'

CHAPTER NINE

Havena sat in her chair. Her breathing was shallow and occasionally a faint tremor would pass through her spindly limbs. Otherwise she remained motionless - waiting, existing, drifting. She was incapable of doing anything else.

The distant cries of the insane fluttered at the edges of her awareness. Somehow, as if she was connected to them by some tenuous thread, she was aware of the inhabitants of this place - a man who scratched himself desperately and incessantly unless he was restrained, convinced that thousands of tiny spiders were crawling all over him; a crazy woman who had become pregnant twenty years before and in whose emaciated body the baby still lived; a giant of a man whose brain had never developed, perhaps with the intelligence of a dog - slow, but strong enough to crush rocks; others with congenital deformities, twisted and twitching in their cots; still others with minds that had been eaten away by disease until they were little more than rotten honeycombs.

She could feel the weight of the thick manacle around her wrist and knew that a long, heavy chain connected it to a hoop buried deep in the stonework of one wall.

It did not matter. Nothing mattered except Hexiya. But even she seemed to be fading now - the last thing of importance remaining in her diminishing consciousness.

Once, many months ago, Havena had been aware of how she had come to end up in this madhouse. Now she could remember almost nothing.

The room trembled as if an earthquake had suddenly rocked the town. There was a loud creak from behind her - the noise of splintering stone. Then more movement, a powerful cracking sound and the crushing rumble of shattering rocks.

A huge bulk moved around the edge of her vision, blocking the red and mauve sunlight that filled the atrium. The figure leant close in towards her but she could feel no breath upon her face, no heat from its presence.

She was not afraid. Nothing could touch her in the remote parts of her mind where she dwelled these days.

Then it placed its great, slab-like fist of pocked grey stone over her own, and she realised that she was mistaken. Her consciousness became a fluttering thing - a tiny, frightened bird trapped in a small, confined space.

'Where is your daughter? Where is Hexiya?' The stone man's voice was impossibly low. The floor vibrated as the words came out, though they were not loud. A cold wind touched her as if exhaled from a chill underground space. As his face lowered, wide and hideous under his drooping, broad-brimmed hat, she found herself looking into blank stone eyes of irregular shape that moved very slowly in their sockets.

Her daughter. Hexiya. Yes, she remembered her, though she did not know where she was. But she could not move or speak to tell of her ignorance.

Within her mind she began to retreat from the awesome force before her, falling deeper into forgetfulness, approaching the nothingness that had beckoned her for so long.

Then the monster's fist lowered over her knuckles. He did not push down but merely seemed to let it rest. It crushed her hand against the stone arm of her chair, bursting it like a rotten fruit under a hammer.

She did not feel it. The fluttering fear had vanished as she had withdrawn further inside herself. After a moment she could not even remember it.

Suddenly the skin around her eyes crinkled a fraction - a tiny smile triggered by the mention of her daughter. Hexiya, she thought, and love welled up in the deep darkness that she now dwelled in. The feeling was a pale echo of what it had been when she had been well. But it was warming nonetheless.

During the night Hexiya dreamed a vivid and powerful dream. In it she found herself sitting by a pool of water in a tiny clearing in a forest. Not a forest like any that she knew, but one that was strange and alien. The trees, though beautiful, were not like any that she had ever seen. Rainbow-coloured birds fluttered and sang among sapphire leaves.

She leaned forwards and looked down into the pool. Her reflection was clear and she saw that tears ran down her cheeks. When they fell to the still surface, ripples spread out across the water.

She sat back. Horror filled her as fleeting images of Arak and the others flitted through her dreaming mind.

'I don't want this any more,' she heard herself murmur.

Then she heard a soft rustle from between the trees on the other side of the pool. Looking up she saw a beautiful woman enter the clearing. Her long hair was black on the right side and red on the left. Her eyes were huge, their colour light amber. Her clothes - exotic, jewelled and worked with gold - hid little of her body but emphasised her large breasts and curving hips. Her bare feet were quiet on the turf as she walked around to her.

The newcomer sat down beside her and gazed into the pool. She did not speak, but even in her silence she seemed to radiate a warmth that banished Hexiya's startlement and fear.

At length the woman said: 'Rest tomorrow.' Her voice was quite low and had a strange but pleasing accent.

Hexiya opened her mouth to ask her who she was but the woman suddenly looked up. Her eyes seemed to draw her in and to bathe her with love and compassion.

'My name is Obenaia,' she said.

The dream faded and Hexiya fell back into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Kaledria and Hexiya awoke late. Hot, dappled, three-coloured sunlight shone through the branches of the towering trees outside and fell in shafts through the windows.

'I had a strange dream,' said Hexiya. She sat up and stretched on the bed they had made up for her in the broad alcove next to where Kaledria slept. 'It was so vivid and clear it seemed almost real. I felt so much emotion. I felt such clear feelings. It was wonderful.'

'Tell me,' said Kaledria.

Hexiya did so. As she finished she said: 'The woman looked like one of those goddesses that are depicted on the walls of the Temple of the Red Moon. A goddess of love or of fertility. It's strange that I dreamt of one though.' She looked across at Kaledria. 'I'm hungry,' she said with a smile. 'Let's have some breakfast.'

After going to the bathroom and washing they made their way to the kitchen. There was no sign of Avassia. When Kaledria ran quickly through the rest of the house she did not find her.

'Don't worry,' she said on returning, seeing Hexiya's concern. 'She often goes out. Perhaps she travelled over to Vayathary City.'

'She wouldn't leave a note for you?'

'Usually she does,' said Kaledria, nodding and looking thoughtful.

Over the wood-fired oven they fried sausages, toasted bread and brewed tea. They finished their breakfast with some fruit.

Afterwards they walked in the garden.

'This is a beautiful place,' said Hexiya. Rolling lawns of rich red grass spread under sinuous trees with grey bark and huge, pale green leaves. Two tiny streams trickled and widened into a pool. One ran over a bed of turquoise sand, the other over ruby-coloured stones. The walls of the grounds were hidden behind verdant growth. Berries and nuts hung from branches and vines. A low fence enclosed a vegetable and fruit garden. Steps led through bushes to an orchard. The scents of the red, blue and yellow flowers drifted on the air. Birds called softly, their music soothing and pleasant.

Even the heat of the day was muted in these peaceful grounds.

They settled down by the side of the pond. Fish scattered at their appearance, then returned - small, swift, turning as one. They glowed silver, sapphire and gold, seeming to shine with inner light.

'Have you always lived where you do now?' asked Kaledria.

'No. My parents owned a small house on the north edge of the Old Town. It was nice. The neighbours were friendly and dropped in from time to time. I liked the garden. My mother tended it. Sometimes she joined in with my games. I like to remember her sitting with me on a bench under a tree and teaching me to read.'

Kaledria regarded her. 'What happened?' she asked.

Hexiya turned her head and looked into her eyes. Then she looked down and plucked at the grass. 'Everything was good,' she said. 'And I loved my father as well as my mother. He was a boat-builder and had a workshop near the fishing-boat yards on the south side of the Ridge. He took pride in his work and took his time with what he did. He was a talented craftsmen and his yachts were works of art. They commanded good sums.'

She shrugged and bit her lip, then said: 'A year ago my mother went out one afternoon. When she came back it was as if she was walking in her sleep. She looked haunted, terrified, almost insane. It was clear that something dreadful had happened. She just came to me and held me. When I asked her what was wrong she said . . .' Hexiya winced and her voice cracked. 'She said my father hadn't been himself and she had tried to set him free. That's what she said, just these words: "He wasn't himself and I tried to set him free."

'Then an hour later the city guard arrived. They took her away and wouldn't let me come with them. When I went down to my father's workshop there was blood on the floor, blood on the walls, blood everywhere. Nothing else. No other sign of him. So I went home and spent the night alone.

'In the morning another member of the city guard arrived and told me that my mother had been placed in the asylum and that I could visit her if I wanted to. Then he took me to Voitan and Serriss's house. He said that they would look after me.'

'You knew them?'

'Not really. I'd seen them a couple of times in the marketplace. I was just told they were childless and wanted to adopt. Twice I ran away, but each time the city guards found me and Voitan beat me. So I stayed with them.'

'You don't have any idea what happened?'

'I asked. No one wanted to tell me. They thought they were protecting me I suppose. Then, eventually, a male nurse at the asylum spoke to me. He was drunk. He said that my mother had killed my father with a boat hook. Then she had donned an apron and a pair of leather gloves and had proceeded to cut him open and remove everything from his body cavity. She was starting on his head when some dock-workers found her at it. She screamed and fought, telling them that they didn't understand, that she had to finish what she was doing. Then she escaped them and came back home.'

'She was covered in blood?' asked Kaledria.

Hexiya shook her head. 'No. When I asked about it I was told she had discarded the apron and gloves. But I don't believe any of it.'

'What do you think happened?'

'I don't know. I wondered if someone else killed my father, and my mother found him and went insane. I also wondered if the whole story was just a rumour. But I didn't find out anything. When I asked the town guards about it they just looked uncomfortable and wouldn't answer my questions.'

They did not go out. After the previous day's happenings they wanted nothing more than safety and comfort - and the streets of Kohidra had come to seem menacing and dangerous. Also, as far as either of them knew, neither Arak nor anyone else knew where Kaledria lived.

With the run of the house and the garden, they explored and talked and rested.

Time passed. Avassia did not return and the maid - who was only employed for two days each week - was not around to ask. By late afternoon Kaledria was more than a little concerned. Yet there was nothing they could do.

As they ate their evening meal in the main dining room - a grand place with columns of red glass and a long table lit by tall, red-stemmed candles - Kaledria said: 'Should we see the fisherman?' She looked grim for a moment, her mouth downturned. It was a subject they had discussed at length but which they had not made a decision about.

Hexiya sighed. 'Yes,' she said. 'I think we should. He knew my mother, and they smiled and greeted one another when she passed by his boat. She said he was a kind man. At least he's not a complete stranger.'

Kaledria did not say anything but nodded her assent.

The evening passed slowly. Hot sunset was followed by the warmth of dusk and the gathering of shadows and gloom in the house. The air had taken on a reddish tinge. There was no breath of wind. Everything was still and quiet.

The two girls sat in Kaledria's room by a single green-flamed candle. They talked in hushed voices. After the peace of the day they had become afraid again. Both kept glancing around at the smallest noise. Both hoped that Avassia would soon return. But she did not.

CHAPTER TEN

Shortly after midnight they left the house and threaded their way through the sleeping outskirts of the town - as the taverns and dockside dives would still be open, they wanted to avoid the centre. The red and blue moons hung low in the east and northeast, casting their glimmering light across the ocean and throwing dark shadows across the streets. Only once did they see anyone - a man walking an animal and smoking a pipe, strolling slowly across the way before them.

It took them an hour to get to the top of the Ridge. On its summit they stopped to rest. Far below them, on the north side, they could make out jetties and storehouses and lines of fishing boats, dinghies and canoes tied up for the night.

The wide bay beyond was quiet and still. A few houses were built upon its nearer shores. Further away there were only beaches and impenetrable forest.

'Let's go,' whispered Hexiya. When Kaledria glanced at her and nodded, Hexiya was struck by how her black hair was touched by the red and blue light of the moons and how her eyes were remarkably reflective even in the night.

They headed down a switchback track. Before long they stepped out onto the wooden planks of the way at the bottom. Hexiya was not quite sure where the old fisherman moored his boat, but headed towards the end of the great spur of the Ridge.

They saw Malajik before he saw them - standing in the prow of his little fishing vessel and coiling a rope. He did not seem at all menacing in that moment. He was just an old man tending his boat, for all that it was well after midnight. But as they neared him they saw a certain urgency about him that distinguished him from the usual run of fishermen.

He nodded in greeting when he saw them and seemed pleased that they were there. Stepping up onto the wharf he looked down at them. There was a slight tremor in his hand after his efforts with the rope. He was old , Hexiya realised. Far older than she had first thought. Not a strong man at all, for all his apparent power when he had chased off the young men who had attacked her.

'We have to go out,' he said to them, speaking very quietly. 'Not far. But we can't see them from here.'

'See what?' asked Kaledria.

'The lights.' He smiled. 'Be patient. You'll see.'

It took them a while to untie the boat and cast off. There was no wind at all, so Malajik kept the sail down and bent to with a paddle. Kaledria and Hexiya, seeing that it was a strain for him, helped with two other paddles.

Slowly, sliding over phosphorescent, moon-touched waves, they moved away from the jetty and out into the bay.

The old man guided them. Heading straight out to sea, they passed the end of the Ridge and kept on going for half a mile or so.

Eventually he said: 'There. This is far enough.' And he turned and regarded the blue moon, which was sinking into the ocean at the end of the stream of light it had set glimmering upon the waves. The red moon had already set and the orange had not yet risen. 'We'll wait until it goes down,' he said, seeming satisfied. Bringing out a telescope, he scanned the eastern horizon briefly, then settled down to wait.

A few minutes later the orb had vanished in a flare of cold turquoise fire, leaving only the faintest afterglow.

Malajik proceeded to gaze through the telescope for long minutes, directing it first towards the horizon and then higher into the sky.

'There!' he said suddenly, his voice an excited whisper. His whole frame was suddenly alive as he squinted and peered upwards.

After a minute he handed the telescope to Hexiya. Pointing into the sky he said: 'You see the Dagger constellation? Look at the right tip of the guard - Vental's Star. There's a dim orange point just above it and to the left. Tell me what you see.'

It took Hexiya a while to locate the place. She marvelled at the amazing number of stars she could see. They were countless, like prismatic dust strewn across just the tiny section of the sky she was looking at. When she peered harder there were even more to see beyond them. It awed her and made her feel terribly small to know that her world was just a tiny grain of rock covered with films of water and air, and that other worlds, innumerable, perhaps infinite, swarmed about those minute, inconceivably distant points of light.

'You see them?' asked the old fisherman, his voice a reverent whisper.

'See what? I . . .' She trailed off. Three points of light seemed to have detached themselves from the dim orange star. She blinked and stared harder. There were not three, but six of them, in pairs. And they were moving in slow, stately loops and spirals around it. The intensity of their light rose and dimmed and occasionally sparkled. She gazed in wonder at the moving points.

'What are they?' she asked after a while, lowering the telescope and handing it to Kaledria.

'Not planets round a star,' he said. 'Too fast, and in any case such a phenomenon would never be visible from here. No, I think that orange point isn't a star at all. I think it's much closer. I think it's hanging motionless above the world and watching us. Waiting, perhaps.'

'But what are they?' she asked.

Malajik shook his head. 'I don't know. Boats from other worlds perhaps? Visitors, watchers? Space-faring creatures, gathered at a favourite point of the cosmos?'

Kaledria was staring through the tube. 'They're just circling, diving, looping each other,' she said. 'Why would they do that?'

'Why do birds circle, dive and loop one another?' asked the fisherman. 'Who knows?'

'Why did you bring us out here?' asked Hexiya. 'Couldn't we have seen this from the Ridge?'

He shook his head. 'No,' he said softly. 'I've searched and searched the sky from different points on land, and I've never been able to spot those moving points except when out here on the water. I have no idea why. It's only from the ocean that they're visible. I can't conceive of what the reason might be. Certainly the night is darker away from the lights of the town. But I can't believe it's only because of that.'

They watched for a long time, taking it in turns with the telescope. Hexiya noticed that the patterns the lights described never seemed to repeat themselves. She wondered if there was some message within the dance, a kind of celestial writing. Or perhaps it was as she perceived whalesong to be - aesthetic, ever-changing, beautiful.

The lights changed colour as she watched, from mauve through blue to green and yellow, then darkening and shifting back to mauve. Occasionally they pulsed with magenta fire. Once she thought one of them left a trail behind it, but it was hard to be sure.

A shame they weren't closer, she thought. They were not visible at all to the naked eye, and even through the telescope they moved across only a tiny fraction the visible sky.

Beside her, Kaledria suddenly gasped. Lowering the telescope, Hexiya looked anxiously across at her.

'Look!' And the northern girl raised her arm and pointed to the northeast.

It was as if a star was falling out of the sky. It brightened as it descended. Its path was not straight like that of a meteorite, but a wide loop.

Suddenly, with no apparent slowing and no curve, it changed direction. Once, then again, then again. Its colour changed from white to deep red, and still it grew more luminous.

Then it flashed towards them, changing suddenly from a point to a haze-edged sphere.

Seconds later it hung about twenty yards off the prow, quivering slightly. Its light, that had become a glaring brilliance, dimmed suddenly. Within the red luminosity they could make out a pyramidal shape, perhaps ten yards high. It rotated slowly and rocked from side to side, staying where it was for half a minute. Then it brightened again and shot away to their right. A moment later it soared up into the sky and flashed over them and away to the north.

Even as they watched it fade and disappear, Kaledria shouted out, 'There!', and pointed again. A second light had appeared to the southeast. Low over the horizon, it flew almost straight towards them, its green radiance heightening and swelling as it approached. It stopped almost exactly where the first object had halted and its luminescence lessened as it did so. Within the remaining viridian glow it was irregularly shaped with scalloped and curved surfaces that were carved with intricate geometric designs. It looked distinctly biological in form, though it appeared to be fashioned from stone. Rather larger than the pyramid had been, it was about twenty yards long and fifteen wide. It too rocked gently, like a boat floating upon waves. Then, accelerating from nothing to an impossible speed in a fraction of a second, it turned and flashed away to the north, apparently following the object that had come before it.

They sat in silence for long minutes, scanning the heavens and the distances. Everything was still but for the slow swell of the gentle waves. Above, around the orange star, the points of light still danced their mysterious dance.

'You expected that?' whispered Hexiya at length, staring at Malajik. 'You saw those things before?'

The fisherman shook his head in amazement. 'I've seen lights moving across the horizon before. But never so close. Never enough to make out more than the tiniest disc or sphere.' He was staring out into the night like a man ensorcelled. His eyes were full of wonder.

They stayed out on the water until the first sign of dawn. Then, reluctantly, they headed for the shore. When they passed the tip of the Ridge and neared the wharves on its north side they saw other fishermen and sailors getting ready to go out for the day.

'Pretty catch!' said one good-humoredly as they drew past him and docked at Malajik's tiny wooden jetty.

The old man tied them fast and made ready to help them climb out.

'Wait,' said Hexiya. 'Tell me something. You were at the place where the dead animals were found. Please. Tell me what you know of them.'

He sat down again and looked into her eyes rather regretfully. As the boat rocked, his head obscured and revealed and obscured the boathouse behind him. Waves lapped peacefully against the hull.

'I know very little,' he replied, keeping his voice low. He seemed suddenly very tired, very frail. 'I found out nothing at all about that particular occurrence. I'm sorry.' He shrugged his narrow shoulders. 'But I've read of such inexplicable things happening elsewhere. On a farm outside Olangin last year, forty megatharons were found hacked apart in the field where they were left to graze. There are no animals on this side of the continent big enough or fierce enough to attack a megatharon. So what did it? Humans? Maybe. But I doubt it.'

'You follow these mysteries for pleasure,' said Kaledria.

He looked glanced down, his eyes suddenly haunted. 'No. I had a son once, many years ago. He was killed by a group of school-children. Later they could not remember what they had done.' He shrugged. 'I never found out what really happened. But it started me thinking. And it started me watching. Now, so many years later . . . stranger kinds of mystery have become something of an obsession. I still wish I could find out what really happened to my boy, and set things straight.'

Malajik scratched the stubble of his chin and grimaced. 'Mystery is one of the reasons I go to the asylum sometimes,' he continued. 'Not only to see your mother, Hexiya, but to listen to the mad. Behind their insanity there can sometimes be a frighteningly deep intuition of the nature of the universe. It is as if those insane people have come too close to an appalling truth and it has burned their minds.'

For a long moment he regarded the two girls gravely. Then a slight smile suddenly touched his face. 'Would you like some breakfast?' he asked. 'There's a place just down the way that should be open.'

They sat at a window table. The eatery was a simple affair, open most of the day and offering sustenance to the fishermen and small traders who worked on the north side of the Ridge. A fat woman with a friendly smile ran the place, bustling between the scrubbed wooden tables and the kitchen. There was a wonderful smell of fresh coffee, hot bread and frying food in the air.

They ordered a hearty breakfast and drank tea while they waited.

Malajik regarded his two new acquaintances with something between awe and regret. Though he suspected they were unaware of it, they struck him as the most remarkable youngsters that he had ever met. Intelligent; speaking and acting as if from experience; with a depth of emotion that was remarkable in ones so young; empathic and disconcertingly wise . . . What had made them as they were? Yet he rued the fact that Hexiya had been dealt the tragedies of her father's death and her mother's illness. And he wondered why the wrath of the older children at the school had been focused upon her. Were they jealous because of her remarkable prettiness? Or did they, like him, sense an . . . otherness . . . about her? Or was because of something else?

So different, these two, he thought. One was small and quiet and full of the suggestion of some ineffable mystery, as if in her heart was some deep universal power. The other was a long-limbed child of the wilds - a young huntress, or perhaps an animist - a part of nature, by turns alert and full of restlessness and energy, or quiet and in awe of the world.

As for their looks, he thought they complemented one another sublimely. Though both had rather fair skin, Hexiya was quite pale while Kaledria had a suntan. Hexiya was small and blonde and had gentle green eyes. Kaledria was tall and dark and had brilliant blue eyes.

Deep water and blazing fire, he thought. Moon and sun. Hidden mystery and overt strength.

And, sitting next to each other as they were, they seemed far more than the sum of the two of them. It was as if they gave each other something that made them much greater. He did not miss the bond that was between them, making their friendship as strong as any friendship could be.

The rotund and cheerful proprietress brought them their food - three large plates heaped with fried eggs and sausages, toast and fried vegetables. She set an earthenware jug of fruit juice in the middle of the table then hurried away.

The three of them drank thirstily, then set to.

Towards the end of the meal, Hexiya and Kaledria regarded one another, looking suddenly serious. A message seemed to pass between them. Then Hexiya looked up at Malajik, her eyes deep and limpid.

In hushed tones she told him everything.

He heard about the huge man of stone in his wide-brimmed hat and cloak, who sank into the ground with each step he took. He heard about the children that had died and been replaced by animals. He heard about the way everyone seemed to have forgotten Yavek Irsala - the one dead child they had been able to identify.

He listened and wondered. 'My son died all those years ago,' he murmured once. 'And now you tell me that the same thing has happened in the same way to other children.' He shook his head and saw them take some kind of sustenance from the fact that he believed them. Most other adults, he supposed, would have dismissed them as making it all up.

Yet he did not know what to tell them. He understood it all no better than they did. All he could do was listen to them and hope that his understanding and his presence might give them some comfort.

An idea came to him then. 'That notebook you found at the hideout,' he said. 'The one you said was filled with strange symbols and meaningless diagrams. Can I have a look at it?'

'If you want,' replied Hexiya, rather dubiously. 'But I've opened it a few times and its content is entirely mystifying - certainly nothing like any script I've ever seen.'

'Nevertheless I'd like to see it. I have some talent with ancient languages . . .'

'All right. I'll bring it by this afternoon. Will you be here?'

'I'll be happy to wait.'

When the proprietress checked on them, Malajik paid for their meal. Then they left the eatery. Feeling powerless and very old, he regarded the two girls with a mixture of admiration and concern. 'Be careful,' he said, as they turned to set off up the path over the Ridge. 'Keep out of danger as much as you can.' But the words sounded meaningless and lame.

Avassia was there when they returned home. The big blonde woman hugged Kaledria and smiled widely, obviously glad to see her. She kissed Hexiya upon the forehead. Hexiya wondered again at how full of life she was and at the kindliness in her visage. So very different to Serriss or Voitan.

'Where were you yesterday?' asked Kaledria as she followed her into the kitchen.

Avassia, just beginning to make some coffee, looked at her quizzically. A half-smile slanted her mouth. 'I was here. You saw me. What do you mean?'

'In Kohidra?'

'No, here in my house, you weird girl. I spent the morning sorting out books and papers in the library - the latest shipment from the Roith Archipelago.'

'And in the afternoon?' asked Kaledria, astonishment in her voice.

The half-smile faded. 'What's got into you? I organised some work in the garden with Sorak.' Sorak was the gardener.

'Sorry,' said Kaledria. 'I must have . . . never mind.' But her eyes met with Hexiya's and revealed her bafflement.

Crossing the breakfast room, Hexiya passed a news-sheet on the table. 'Is this today's?' she asked Avassia, trying to keep the question casual.

'Yes. I've already looked at it. Help yourself.'

Hexiya gazed at the date: the thirty-fifth day of the month of Sunfire.

'We seem to have acquired an extra day,' she murmured to Kaledria as they left for their room. But even as they headed down the hall she stopped short and looked into Kaledria's eyes. 'That dream I had,' she said in an urgent whisper. 'The woman - Obenaia. A goddess of love, so I thought. She said to me: "Rest tomorrow." And that's what we did. We did not leave the house or its grounds all day. Not until after midnight.'

Kaledria merely shook her head, bemused. Then she said, surprise in her voice: 'You look relieved.'

Hexiya smiled of a sudden. 'That dream,' she said. 'It was . . . impossibly vivid. Perhaps Obenaia is real. And I wonder if, in her, we might have an ally of some kind.'

Continued in Part Three

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