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Part 7
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
1
In silence they headed south, over the Overlord's Bridge to the Park of Av-Kalir. The Beggars' Guild was not far away. Hexiya thought the barman's suggestion - that they ask some beggars about the man with metal skin - had been a good one. Their Guild was one of the best places in the city for information about what happened in the mazy ways of the city - as long as an enquirer was willing to pay.
But as they went, a sickness of the spirit assailed her. She brooded about what had happened to the prostitute. Not only had her death left her feeling saddened, but its supernatural cause and seeming pointlessness deeply frightened her. It had too many similarities to what she had witnessed as a child.
Furthermore, how could one fight such an enemy? If she herself was attacked by such intangible killers, would she stand any more chance than the girl had?
They walked onwards around the edge of the park. Trees crackled with frost. Fine snow drifted through the air. The high, spiked wall of a private garden ran parallel to them on their left. To their right the land fell away vertically to a frozen lake - a flat, featureless expanse of ice.
Kaledria stopped of a sudden. She reached out and grasped Hexiya's arm. 'Someone's there,' she whispered urgently, peering ahead into the mist. Turning, she said grimly: 'Behind us, too. An ambush.' She unsheathed her sword. Reaching to her belt, she handed a pair of knives to Hexiya.
There was a heavy thud from ahead, as of a sizeable rock being thrown to the ground. The earth trembled with the impact. An instant later there was a second such noise from behind them. Each was followed by a creaking, shifting sound, as if immense boulders were being ripped out of the earth.
Kaledria backed towards the trunk of a huge fir tree. Only its lowest boughs were visible. The upper limbs were obscured by drifting fog.
Hexiya moved away from her, giving her space. She put the wall at her back and tried to pierce the murk with both normal and supernormal vision.
Seven dark shapes emerged from the whiteness. They looked like they had just stepped out of some cruel, bloody and awful era of the distant past.
Each carried a greatsword or a war-axe. All were armoured with sections of spiked metal that slid over one another, rust-red in colour and rimed with ice. Rounded helms, hideous and fearful, covered their heads. Small holes for breathing were set in their lower masks. Larger eye-holes revealed glittering black orbs within.
Hexiya recognised them. She had seen their like depicted in ancient friezes - pictures on the walls of abandoned temples out in the desert. She had read about them too, in ancient histories. They were men whose natures had been changed through the ingestion of certain exotic herbs. They were said to be inhumanly strong and to have near limitless endurance. As their bodies had been altered, their minds had been transformed as well. They were filled with both lust and hate. They lived only to kill and to feed the black desires within them. They worshipped death.
They called themselves the Warriors of Ruin. Such fighters, Hexiya thought, had not walked the world for a thousand years or more.
Strangely, they were accompanied by two Varantan citizens. One was a flabby merchant in rich silks of dark mauve. The other was a priestess of the Red Moon, robed in crimson, with a circlet upon her head. Their eyes were wide and wild - the eyes of the insane.
For a fleeting instant, Hexiya wondered how this trap had been sprung. She and Kaledria had seen nothing, heard nothing, sensed nothing . . . and then suddenly the warriors had been both ahead of them and behind them. It was as if they had emerged from out of the ground.
The metal-clad fighters advanced.
Two of them came at Hexiya. The first raised its sword and swung.
She threw herself sideways, barely fast enough. The blade cut through air.
Then the second warrior bore down on her. She saw his axe rise; desperately tried to avoid the downstroke; knew she had not the time or the space.
A throwing blade struck him on the side of his helm. It bit through metal and flesh.
He reeled away, clutching his face.
The remaining fighter swung again, an arcing sweep of his sword. This time Hexiya ducked; surged forwards under the blow; brought a knife up hard into his stomach.
The blade should have been turned away by his armour. But it was not. It passed straight through, punching into the abdomen beyond, right up to the hilt.
For an instant she wondered what metal the blade could be forged from. And the throwing blade . . . what magical steel?
The warrior, reeling, struck down at her one last time; but with grace and speed, she span easily aside.
He crashed to the ground with a crunch of metal, joining his fellow fighter - both alive, but no longer any threat.
A furious clash of weapons was coming from her right. Kaledria, the fir tree at her back, was caught in deadly combat.
Five of the Warriors of Ruin harried her. But each time they attacked, she warded off their blows. Despite their numbers they could not penetrate her defence.
Her speed was uncanny. She was like a dancer executing the most perfect choreography. Blades whispered past her, missing by fractions of an inch.
Then her sword whipped out; cut through an arm without slowing; bit deep through the armoured chest beyond. Wrenching it free, she spun it high over her head; then plunged the point straight into the lower helm of another warrior. Metal screamed and sheared. The blade thrust into his mouth.
An instant later an arcing axe looked certain to cleave her in two; but she turned with near-impossible speed and it passed over her.
Hexiya glimpsed the fat merchant looking on. He was hopping about as if in some crazy dance. His mouth was wide and from him came some strange ululation. Sweat beaded his brow.
Raising the shortbow he was carrying, he pulled back an ornamented arrow. He aimed it at Kaledria.
Hexiya ran at him from the side, unseen, and slammed the base of her hand into his flabby neck. He was so heavy that he barely moved from the impact; but he crumpled as if he was suddenly without bones to support him.
The arrow, released as he fell, flashed up into the trees.
Now the last three warriors drew back from Kaledria. As one, they raised their blades. Then they charged her.
Her sword whipped out. Its point stabbed deep through the shoulder of the fighter on her right. Her hand-axe whistled down upon the head of the one in the centre and cut through with a sickening crunch. With a sudden shift of balance she slipped out of the path of a great blow from the warrior on her left.
But she could not get out of his way. He hit her hard, his shoulder slamming into her side, hurling her from her feet.
Even as he bore down on her, she dropped her sword and drew a knife and stabbed upwards through his chest-plate.
He was enormously heavy. Together they crashed to the ground, him on top. For a moment she struggled to throw off his weight.
Then the one she had wounded through the shoulder raised his weapon.
Even as Hexiya threw herself forwards, she saw his blade sweep down. She saw Kaledria, trapped beneath the dying warrior, try and fail to get out of the way.
The sword cut into her. Hexiya heard her cry out with pain. Simultaneously she felt Kaledria's agony herself - a sudden stab of redness down her side and though her mind.
As the warrior tried to strike again, Hexiya reached him. He had his back to her, and with all her strength she brought the knife in her right hand down into the base of his neck. It cut through metal and bone.
He collapsed, twitching, to the side.
Then everything was silent. The warriors who were alive had gone suddenly still, as if whatever had animated them had suddenly vanished. The priestess was standing motionless, some way away, as if she was no more than a mannequin.
'Kaledria?' gasped Hexiya. With the strength of desperation, she hauled away the massive bulk of the fighter that had fallen across her.
Pain-racked blue eyes slid across to her. She saw the fearsome wound in Kaledria's side. A killing wound.
'No!' she said, and her voice was deep and choked. 'No . . . Kaledria . . . You will not leave me again!'
And she fell to her knees and took her in her arms. She held her, clutching her close, as tightly as she could - her arms around her, her face buried in the crook of her neck.
' Give it to me! ' she whispered fiercely. 'Let me take your hurt.' There was the strength of iron in her voice. 'We will live if we share it!'
She did not know what she was doing. She just looked into Kaledria's aura - powerful but trembling now with deep distress. She looked at the wound in her side - the crushed ribs and the damage within, and the blood that was spurting through her torn leathers. And she took the injury into herself.
Fire burned in her side. Ribs cracked and flesh parted and blood poured from her. She gasped, choking at the pain. But she did not let go.
' Give it to me! ' she said again. ' Now! '
And then it was done. The damage was shared between them.
Hexiya collapsed, half fainting from the shock and the agony. Her breath rushed in her throat. Slowly, she straightened out on the ground, still holding onto Kaledria.
For a minute, stunned, they did not move. When they did - knowing that to lie there much longer would kill them - it took an appalling effort.
Wounded, chilled and drenched with their own blood, they forced themselves to a sitting position. Then, gasping at the pain of doing so, they took off their upper clothes; used a knife to rip up Kaledria's cloak; and bound each other's injuries.
They said nothing. Only raw determination pushed them on - a struggle against agony, weakness and the cold to save their lives.
At last it was done. The worst of the blood-loss was halted. Clothing themselves again, they held onto one another for warmth, shivering violently.
The warriors lay about them, motionless. Great red-black streams of ichor had washed across the snow.
But the priestess was still there.
They staggered over to her.
'Can you hear me?' grated Hexiya.
The woman's eyes slid slowly sideways and looked listlessly into her face.
'What are you?' asked Kaledria.
'I resurrected them,' said the priestess, as if it was an everyday deed and she was proud to tell them about it. 'The red warriors.'
'Who sent you to kill us?'
'You do not know?' A touch of a smile twisted her blue lips. 'Anyone who hunts Rammon is hunted by him.'
'Rammon?'
'The man with metal skin. You were looking for him.'
'Where is he?'
'He'll find you. He always does. But next time he'll send a bigger force. One that will kill you for sure.'
Hexiya felt her head go light. Kaledria had to hold her to keep her from falling.
Together, they left the scene of carnage. Through the deep snow they trudged, each step painful. Each clutched their right side.
Hexiya glanced back once. The priestess was still standing where they had left her. Her head was tilted oddly to one side, as if a string that had supported it had been severed.
They came to one of the gateways of the park, and stepped out onto a road. No one was about.
'Home or the nearest hotel?' asked Hexiya through clenched teeth.
'Home,' said Kaledria. 'If he can track us, better for us to be on familiar ground. We'll do what we can to fortify the place.'
It was a long and painful walk.
2
In an upper room of a great mansion in southern Varanta, Rammon sat upon a massive seat of carved black wood. Resting his chin on his fist, he wondered.
He had sent serpents of smoke against Hexiya, thinking they would kill her as surely as they had killed the young harlot. Inexplicably, they had fled from her. He did not know why.
Through the priestess, he had called up the Warriors of Ruin instead. The ensuing battle had been impressive. Having projected his awareness away from his body so that he might observe how things would turn out, he had seen it all.
Surprise and dark amusement mixed in him at the fact that she had survived the attack. He had, he realised, greatly underestimated the martial abilities of her companion - the woman he now knew as Kaledria.
And then Hexiya had clasped her wounded friend to her. And she had . . . done something. He did not know what. Except that, all of a sudden, both of them had vanished entirely from his supernatural vision.
This, unexpected as it was, disturbed him.
She's learning, he thought. Beginning to claim the abilities that are in her nature.
He suspected her talents were unique.
How long would it be, he wondered, before she found out what she was?
Qallish. The age-old enemy. Hatred stirred within him as he considered them.
The Qallish were the opposite of his own kind. Each was an elemental force. Always they had been locked against each other - Rammon's people, and Hexiya's.
He would have to hunt her down now. It would not be easy - he did not know where he might start looking for her.
He should, he considered, have killed her when she was a child. He had not known, then, what she would become. But he should have taken her life as a precaution.
3
A long time later, the priestess of the Red Moon entered his presence. From the centre of the floor, she regarded him.
He was standing next to one of the windows, utterly motionless. It was as if he was not alive. Rather, he seemed to be a forbidding statue of grey metal. The grey chain and grey leather he wore merged with the bleak steel of his skin. His eyes were grey. Even the whites were the colour stormclouds.
He was not even breathing.
She kneeled and watched him. After a while he came suddenly alive, from motionlessness to fluid movement in an instant.
He walked across to her. Standing before her, he placed one of his hands upon the top of her head.
She looked up at him with love, even as he tightened his grip.
There was no sign in him that he made any effort at all. Then, between his fingers, her skull burst like a crushed egg.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
1
They bolted the door, shuttered the windows and drew the curtains. Then they lit candles and went through to the bathroom. Hexiya took her medical kit from a cabinet.
Both of them needed treatment. Both of them knew how to administer it.
Hexiya was in greater pain. The wound had opened over ribs that had not fully healed since she had been attacked on the Avenue of the Dead.
Kaledria sat her on the edge of the bath and cleaned the wound. With strong fingers she realigned three broken bones - an agony that almost overwhelmed Hexiya. Then she stitched the injury closed, swiftly and skilfully, and carefully bandaged her ribs.
'You saved my life,' she said as she finished. 'I do not know how. But I will never forget your courage.'
Then it was Hexiya's turn to tend to Kaledria.
Kaledria looked on as she worked. She seemed to have a remarkable ability to endure pain without flinching. When it was done, she said: 'Not bad at all. There are lifelong surgeons with a less delicate touch than you possess.'
Hexiya's smile was slight in her pale face, but she appreciated the compliment.
They bathed as well as they could. Afterwards they made a large pot of tea into which Hexiya mixed a pain-killing herb. They lit a small fire in the grate and toasted small loaves of bread that they buttered and covered in honey.
Curled up together on the sofa, they fell asleep.
Through the night they awoke many times, disturbed by the discomfort of their wounds. Sometimes Hexiya would gaze at Kaledria, taking in her resting form and lovely face that were lit by the embers of the fire. Having her there gave her great comfort. Drowsily, contentedly, she would drift off to sleep again.
2
They did not - could not - do much the next day. All they wanted was to rest and to heal. Nevertheless they placed their weapons to hand, and rehearsed how they might defend themselves if the need arose. They even tied a rope to a beam, ready to fling the end from a window so that they might climb down to the street should it be necessary.
They slept at great length.
The days followed one another.
It could have been depressing, being kept indoors, recovering. But it was not. Rather, it was a magical time in which they were able to learn more about each other. And though they were anxious lest the man with metal skin - Rammon, the priestess had called him - should send more killers after them, their anxiety gradually lessened. Perhaps he would not come. Or if he did, was there anything more they could do to defend themselves?
'We could seek help,' said Hexiya once. But she did not want help. As if reading her mind, Kaledria shook her head and said: 'No. I would not trust anyone not to betray us. Whatever is happening in Varanta, it is far from ordinary.'
'People,' agreed Hexiya, 'are not themselves.'
On their third day of recovery they realised that their injuries were healing with remarkable rapidity.
'Something strange,' said Kaledria, as she stood and carefully stretched, raising her arms above her head. 'I should not be able to do this yet. Perhaps what you did - sharing the hurt - had an extra consequence: the speeding of our convalescence.'
Early on the morning of the fifth day, they went out together, to a shop just down the street. Wrapping up against the cold and arming themselves took considerably longer than the shopping itself.
No one was about. The city seemed to be hibernating, as if the frigid weather had forced everyone into an impenetrable slumber. Nevertheless, to their surprise, the store was open.
'How's business?' Hexiya asked the shopkeeper - a plump, middle-aged woman with a rosy face.
'People have been stocking up,' came the reply. 'Then they don't come back. I'm thinking of shutting for a few days, until this fog clears and it gets a bit warmer.'
'Have you heard any news?'
She grimaced. 'Not much. But everyone is scared. Expecting invasion from Akadar. Two nights ago a large group of people left the city, heading west. Probably they thought they could get to a safe place. But they were attacked. No one knows who by. The few who survived and got back were incoherent. Touched by madness out in the desert. Their stories contradicted each other - wild descriptions of an impossible army of women with indigo skin, or creatures made of sand, or rotting men in black rags.'
Hexiya and Kaledria bought enough food to last a long while - especially provisions that would last, such as dried grains and beans and dried fruit. They took what fresh vegetables were available as well.
'We'll eat well for a few days,' said Kaledria with a smile as they struggled back to their apartment, weighed down with their loads.
3
On the seventh evening after the fight against the Warriors of Ruin, they had a pleasant meal by candlelight and drank a little red wine, while a small fire burned cheerfully in the grate. They speculated about the possibility of war. Then they talked about themselves and wondered at what they were.
They went to bed close to midnight. For several nights now they had shared Hexiya's bed - it was wide enough for them both to have space, and more comfortable for Kaledria than the sofa.
They left a solitary candle with a dark red stem burning on the dressing table, then crawled under the covers. In silence they lay upon their backs for a while, staring at the flickering radiance upon the ceiling.
Hexiya felt glad that Kaledria was beside her. It made her glow from within with feelings of peace and happiness.
Then Kaledria propped herself on one elbow. She leaned over, to kiss her upon her forehead - perhaps to say goodnight.
Hexiya raised her face. Her lips met with Kaledria's. And her whole self and world seemed to melt, to come apart, to become something far greater.
She embraced her, kissing her mouth and face. Feeling the press and heat and silken movement of her soft body against her.
'I have never done this before,' she said after a long, sweet time. 'I was waiting for you. Waiting. Believing and disbelieving at the same time.'
Kaledria was smiling. 'Perhaps I was waiting for you too.'
They made love, slowly and gently. It was a magical, blissful time. Each lost herself within the love of the other.
Afterwards they slept. Their dreams were serene and full of joy. When they awoke, deep in the night, they each were aware of the other waking with them. And they made love again, more urgently this time; then again, more gently; then again. Adventurousness alternated with gentleness and tenderness.
They found that they did not tire. There was no lessening of their desire as night turned into morning and morning into day. They arose briefly, to drink and eat, then returned to their ecstatic embrace, their gentle kisses.
'I am in love with you,' breathed Hexiya, as they held each other after another long time of ecstasy.
'And I with you,' murmured Kaledria.
They fell asleep more deeply then. When they awoke it was deep in the night again, and they were very hungry.
In bed, by candlelight, they ate good food and drank hot tea, then wine. They stared at one another, in wonder.
'How is it that after we make love we feel such utter release, such bliss and contentment, yet we can also recover our desire so quickly?' asked Hexiya.
Kaledria was smiling. 'I don't know. But can you think of a gift more magical than that we will always be able to lose ourselves in each other?'
Later, Hexiya felt a strange mixture of both excitement and peacefulness. It was true bliss, she thought. The complete happiness that so many sought but so few ever found.
4
As much as was possible, they continued to stay indoors. Waiting for their hurts finally to heal. Making love with infinite tenderness from an endless fountain of passion. Lying in each other's embrace.
One night, together in the darkness, they lay awake in their bed, their limbs entwined. Hexiya's head was cushioned upon Kaledria's breast. She was listening to her love's heartbeat - strong, slow, steady, certain. She felt warm, comfortable and at peace.
The only light in the bedroom came through the cracks around the shuttered and curtained windows - an uncertain yellow glow.
Brighter than the street-lanterns should be, she realised with a start. And flickering too.
'A fire,' she whispered. She was not truly afraid. Her apartment was in a building of heavy stone. The structures around it were of stone as well. A fire would be unlikely to spread.
They sat up. Kaledria's fingers brushed through her hair and cradled her head for a moment.
Then they heard a slow, deep, rhythmic thud as of temple drums being beaten. It was followed by a low vibration that gradually became audible and powerful - the sound of people marching; the tramp of innumerable boots. Coming closer.
Together they swung out of bed and padded to the window. They opened the curtain a crack, then one of the shutters - just enough to see out.
Between the buildings opposite, an alley led down to a wide avenue. Looking down the crevasse of the narrow street, they could see people parading past its end. They were darkly-dressed and moved strangely - some of them striding like soldiers, others leaping and dancing, a few crawling and rolling along. Most were cloaked and hooded. Some beat upon drums. Otherwise they were silent.
In anonymity they went. People in disguise. People with dark purpose.
Down the hill behind the marchers, Hexiya and Kaledria saw buildings in flames - a district of wooden tenements that housed immigrants and caravaneers.
'What is happening?' breathed Kaledria. 'It's as if a plague of madness and hate has spread through the city.'
5
The next morning they were silent as they ate breakfast, until Hexiya said: 'The man with metal skin - Rammon. He has not come for us.'
Kaledria regarded her. Her light blue eyes were deep and limpid pools. After a while she said: 'Somehow, the fact that he has not worries me more than if he had.'
'Should we look for him again?'
Kaledria considered for a long time before she answered. 'Yes,' she said at length. 'But let's wait a few more days. I cannot yet move my right arm with ease, though I am exercising every morning. And I still feel slightly weakened.' She shrugged. 'Well, I would like to be able to fight before embarking on such a mission.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
1
Two days later they went out - but not to find Rammon. Though they had plenty of food stored, they wanted to find some fresh fruit and vegetables. They also wanted just to be outside for a while - to walk, to feel the cold air and to be abroad in the wintry city.
But first, Hexiya wanted to go to the university. She was curious to know how her colleagues were faring. She also wished to reassure the university director that she had not abandoned her post or duties. Though Ellakan had probably sent word that she had been hurt, she wanted to check in herself.
The fog still had not lifted. Snow was thick underfoot, though trampled down now after the passage of people and carts and draft animals. It was even colder than the last time they had been out. Despite this, there were many more people about.
They came to a marketplace that was as crowded as it ever was. As they crossed the wide space, they overheard arguments from some of the stalls. Not the good-natured haggling or pretended outrage over prices that they might have expected - and which Hexiya had grown so used to hearing, when she took this route to or from the university - but vicious arguments, cruel taunts, threatened violence. Customers sneered at goods. Stall-keepers insulted customers. There were cries of cheating, stealing, overcharging and failing to give change.
And yet business went on. It was a strange perversion of the market's usual activity - one where it seemed that everything must disintegrate in a moment into riot, and yet which somehow trod only the edge of such madness.
As they passed a line of shoppers at a vegetable stall, Hexiya saw a child walk up behind a young man, knife in hand. With deft ease he grabbed the man's money-pouch and slashed the leather strings that held it to his belt; then ran off with it, dodging through the crowds as the man ran in pursuit, red with anger.
Hexiya and Kaledria turned into the Street of Jewellers and headed up University Hill. They were glad to get away from the noise and the madness of the throng.
In the mouth of a side-alley, they saw a girl-child being beaten by a bear-like man - a red-faced drunk, bearded and pocked, wearing a stained leather apron.
The child was crying and struggling to get away.
Kaledria walked up to them.
The man turned at the last moment. A lascivious grin touched his face. 'Oh, you're a beauty,' he said. 'I've been beating the wrong girl.'
With speed and grace that was as astonishing to Hexiya now as it had been when she had first seen it, Kaledria whipped her axe from her belt, swung it once, and slammed the flat of the double blade into the man's face.
He stumbled backwards, bawling with pain and amazement. His hands covered his smashed nose and blood poured down his front.
The girl, wide-eyed, ran away down the alley.
They continued up the street.
2
On reaching the university they went to the Biological Sciences building. It was deserted and its corridors and laboratories were echoing and silent. The only life they saw outside the cages and aquaria was a small, furred creature skittering away from them across a hall.
The place was eerie and seemed forsaken. Hexiya was relieved when they left.
Outside, her breath pluming in front of her, she said: 'I wonder if anyone is here at all.' And she led the way to a small and pleasant building located in a little park between the library archives and the history building. It looked much like the summer house of a well-to-do merchant. Sometimes the university staff would take time off and go there to relax.
As they approached they thought it was empty as well. But, venturing within, they found Avina and Ragak in the lounge having an early lunch. Hexiya smiled when she saw the two palaeontologists. She had always admired the way they worked so well as a team, and how they clearly loved each other and liked to spend most of their time in each other's company. They looked good together as well - a tall, bearded, red-haired man and a slender, bronze-haired woman.
But she did not miss how haggard they both were now. Ragak looked like he had not been sleeping. Avina's face was pallid and her eyes were rather sunken.
'Hexiya!' said Ragak, standing and smiling when he saw her. 'We heard you'd been attacked. I'm glad to see you're all right.' His eyes slid up and across to Kaledria, standing tall and beautiful and well-armed beside her. 'And you seem to have acquired some rather impressive protection.'
'Hello Hexiya,' said Avina. She turned to Kaledria. 'I'm Avina. This is Ragak.'
Soon they were sitting on leather armchairs around a low table. They drank tea and ate sandwiches that Avina hurriedly brought from the kitchen.
'Have you heard the news?' asked Ragak.
Hexiya regarded him. 'So much seems to have happened in the city. I'm not sure what news you mean.'
'Last night,' said Avina. 'Rumours have been flying that something happened at the Overlord's palace. Hard to know what's true and what's just hearsay, but . . .' She shrugged. 'The Overlord is said to have murdered his own family - his wife, his son and his daughter. Not just a simple killing, either, the way it was reported to me. He cut them into pieces.'
Hexiya looked down and shook her head. 'What's happening here?' she asked. She felt a touch of desperation surging at the edge of her mind. It seemed that the people of Varanta were being swallowed up by a collective insanity - something dark, vile, hateful and unseen. And because it was unseen, they could not fight against it. It was an enemy whose presence they could feel but which they could not touch.
We should leave the city, she thought. Before we too are overtaken by the malicious, rotting contagion that is spreading.
'The army's general commander has taken control from the Overlord,' continued Ragak.
'A recipe for civil war,' said Kaledria.
'And not only here,' said Avina. 'Several hundred refugees came in from Langmasr yesterday. The same things are happening there. They were hoping conditions here might be better.'
To the countryside then, thought Hexiya. Kaledria and I could live alone until the world is safe again. We know how to survive.
'What about here?' she asked. 'The university, I mean.'
Avina shook her head. 'We've been working to identify what is causing the changes in people's behaviour. We thought it might be a chemical of some kind, perhaps in the city's wells and reservoirs. But we found nothing. We took blood samples from people jailed by the city guard - and random samples too - and looked for a bacterium or virus that might be causing it - a plague of hate with a biological basis. But we've found nothing so far. We can't rule it out though. If it's a virus, it may take a great deal of work to identify.'
'A couple of the senior members of the history department came up with other theories,' said Ragak. 'They looked for occasions of communal madness from other times in Varanta's history. And they found them. Once each thousand years or so. A cycle associated with the ascendancy of an ancient god associated with the orange moon.' He rubbed his fingers through his beard. 'A mystical explanation,' he said. 'It's possible, I suppose. They've even asked for the help of a couple of cleric-scholars from the Temple of the Orange Moon.'
'Are most of the university people unaffected?' asked Kaledria.
Avina sighed. 'No. And that's why we're thinking of leaving. Or just holing up at home until it's over, one way or the other.'
'What happened?'
The young palaeontologist looked into her eyes. 'Radrinn was murdered.'
Hexiya felt a surge of shock, then grief. Such a cheerful and helpful young man should not have had his life cut so short.
With a bitter laugh, Avina continued: 'There've been so many murders in the city over the past weeks, it seems almost normal. But it shook me. What if I get crazy? What if everyone does?'
Ragak reached out and took her hand. He looked at her with obvious tenderness.
'What happened?' asked Hexiya again. Her voice was very soft. 'What happened to Radrinn?'
'He was stabbed from behind while performing a dissection,' said Ragak. 'We think . . .' He frowned; seemed to want to say more but was uncertain if he should.
'You think what?'
'We think Aratha may have done it,' he said. 'Maybe. There's no proof, but . . . ' He trailed off.
'Why do you think so?' pressed Hexiya.
'She was the only person in the labs on the night he was killed. And Radrinn's wallet was found on her desk.'
'His wallet ?' she exclaimed. 'Aratha couldn't possibly kill for a few pieces of money!'
Just then Kaledria put her hand on Hexiya's wrist; and when she looked across at her, a spark of communication flashed between them.
We have to leave here, it said. And these people are not to be trusted.
She looked back at Ragak then. She looked straight into his eyes. And saw something there. Something eager. Something hungry. Something that watched her from inside him. Something waiting. Something pregnant with calculating malice.
His aura, however, seemed quite normal. She saw no serpents of blood - though she had suspected for a while now that they had learned to hide from her.
And yet, he was not himself. Not as he had been. Not the kind and decent person that once she had known.
Either he was lying about Aratha and trying to portray her as a monster, or he was telling the truth and revelling in it. Neither fitted what she knew of him.
Again she felt the sense that everyone knew some terrible secret and only she and Kaledria were ignorant of it - that they were utterly alone in the world.
Suddenly he leaned towards her. 'Stop behaving like this,' he hissed. There was venom in his voice. 'You are hurting your friends.'
He had not spoken in the language of Varanta. Rather, he had spoken the language of ancient Serinda - a language that Hexiya had learned when she had stayed in a deserted city far to the west. It was a tongue that had been dead for millennia.
He leaned back. His false smile was suddenly full of concern for her.
And doubts assailed her. She had thought it likely that she was the only person in the world who knew the language. How could he know it? How could he have known she understood it, when she had never spoken of it to anyone?
There was only one explanation. That she was hallucinating.
Was she, Hexiya, misunderstanding all this? Was it possible that it was her that was deluded? That there was nothing at all wrong with Ragak or anyone else? Could she be the one who was insane? How likely was it that an entire population could become deranged and corrupted? More likely that it was all in her head.
'I have to go,' she managed to say, though her voice was very hoarse. She stood up, her heart beating hard and fast in her chest, and turned away.
'You do that,' said Ragak from behind her. And more quietly, to Avina, but loud enough so that Hexiya could hear: 'She's one of them.'
3
Hexiya and Kaledria walked out into the cold, the snow, the fog and the whiteness.
'Hexiya,' said Kaledria. Her voice was full of compassion but did not hide her anxiety. Blue eyes looked down into green. Then she embraced her, holding her close. 'All tricks,' she murmured. 'It is not you. But we are alone now.'
4
They made their way down University Hill.
'We should leave here,' said Hexiya as they hurried down the Street of Jewellers. 'I do not know why we haven't been affected yet. Why we haven't been changed, like everyone else. Luck, maybe. Or maybe the difference we talked about - that we are not like other people. But maybe we will be affected and changed if we stay. And I don't want to risk that happening.'
Kaledria said nothing for a moment. Then: 'You are right. But leaving here . . .' She trailed off, seeming not to know how to continue. A frown touched her brow.
'It would feel wrong,' said Hexiya, very softly. Then, after a moment, with sudden steel in her voice: 'I still want to know what Rammon's connection is to my father's death. I will not find out by running.'
'And I,' said Kaledria, 'would like to do something about what is happening in Varanta.' She smiled suddenly. 'Perhaps that sounds stupidly heroic. But when we were children . . .'
'Rammon, then?' said Hexiya. 'The man with metal skin?'
Kaledria nodded. 'The man with metal skin.'
They had not planned on searching for him for another few days. But now there was an urgency to their task.
5
For the rest of the day they trawled through the taverns. They asked people in the marketplaces. They went to the Beggars' Guild. No one knew anything of a man with metal skin. Or if they did, they were not saying.
It occurred to Hexiya that perhaps they all knew him, and only she and Kaledria were unaware of who he was and where he resided.
Late in the evening, tired and hungry, they returned home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
1
During the night, Kaledria cried out in her sleep.
Hexiya, who had been sleeping with her head upon Kaledrian's upper chest and her arm about her waist, woke at the sound. She propped herself up on one elbow. She was immediately aware of Kaledria's growing distress - the tension in her body and her uneven breathing. She shook her gently. 'My love. Wake up. You are dreaming.'
A moment later Kaledria sat bolt upright. Even in the darkness Hexiya saw her look wildly around, wide-eyed and at the edge of panic. She was sightly damp with sweat and her breath came in panting gasps.
'Hexiya?' she said. There was a fear in her voice that Hexiya had never heard before.
'I am here.'
'Oh, Hexiya.' And suddenly Kaledria turned and embraced her, holding her so tightly that it almost hurt, as if she was afraid of falling from a great height.
Great, racking sobs came from her. She cried from the heart, from some terrible pain. Hexiya held on to her and stroked her hair and murmured soothing words to her, telling her that she was there for her and that she would not let her go.
At last, Kaledria subsided into listless quiet, going limp in Hexiya's arms.
'I dreamed,' she said brokenly, after a while. 'I dreamed that you were lying on the bed. And you could not move. And I hurt you . . . Hexiya. My love. I'm so sorry.'
'Just a dream,' said Hexiya, whispering in her ear and running her fingers through her hair. 'Just a dream.'
'I keep seeing it,' said Kaledria. 'The terrible things I did to you. So awful . . .' And she wept again, more softly this time.
After a long while she said: 'Light a candle. Let me see you. To know that you are all right.'
Hexiya turned sideways on the bed. She reached for matches; lit three bright, dancing flames and handed one of the candles to Kaledria.
'Lie back,' said Kaledria.
Hexiya did so. And she watched as Kaledria examined her. Each part of her body. Checking that she was well, and whole, as if she could not quite believe that it was true.
At length Kaledria set her candle down upon the bedside table. Then, with a kind of haunted need for safety, she lay down and kissed her fiercely, passionately, lovingly.
With fire, they made love. With a power they had not known they possessed, they found an ecstasy that transcended anything they had known before. It was a lingering flowering of molten liquid within each, that did not diminish but grew and grew until, in the light of dawn, in utter, blissful exhaustion, they collapsed together, and slept.
2
And now Hexiya dreamed. It was a dream of being chained in a coffin, unable to move. She had been buried alive. And though she screamed and struggled within her prison, there was nothing at all she could do to escape it.
The dream went on for a long time. She was trapped within it. Even when she realised that she was dreaming she could not wake herself.
She wondered, terrified, if she was to be imprisoned forever in her dream-coffin.
In the end she gave up her efforts. With a dull clank of chains she lay back within the confines of the space. At length, the oblivion of deeper sleep claimed her.
3
When Hexiya awoke, warm and comfortable, she felt the void beside her.
'Kaledria?'
But Kaledria was gone. The blankets had been thrown back on her side of the bed. Her clothes were nowhere to be seen.
Panic surged within her. She climbed from under the covers. 'Kaledria?!' she called, and ran through the apartment.
There was no sign of her. And the bolts on the door were open.
For a moment Hexiya told herself that Kaledria had gone to fetch some fresh bread or fruit. Then she dismissed the possibility, angry with herself that she had tried to convince herself of it.
She stood still, barefoot and naked in the middle of the living room, thinking.
It should have been almost impossible for Kaledria to dress and leave without waking her. But the dream she had had . . . it had trapped her while she had done so.
A sick feeling of hopelessness welled up inside her. Within moments it was replaced by rage.
There was only one thing to do, and that was to search for her until she found her. No matter what insanity might have gripped her.
4
Moving swiftly, she wrapped up warmly and put on good boots, and a cloak with a hood - she had noticed that delicate traceries of frost coated the inner surfaces of her apartment's windows. Then she descended the stairs to the ground floor and stepped outside. It was incredibly cold - far colder than the previous day. A wind was rising too.
Standing on the steps outside her apartment building, she closed her eyes.
What are the limits of my perception? she wondered.
She reached out with her mind. Instantly, the fires of life around her became visible to supernatural vision.
She saw the flames of men and women hurrying down the street. She saw the flickering luminescences of people within the building opposite - burning low if they were still asleep, more brightly if they were not. She saw the crowded sparks that filled the indoor marketplace beyond it.
Outward she reached. Streets and structures and the people among them were revealed to her scrutiny. A wider and wider area of Varanta came into view. She peered through walls. She penetrated the underground parts of the city. No one, it seemed, was hidden from her.
Soon her inner vision encompassed the entirety of the metropolis. Pushing still further, she brought a few miles of the desert beyond into view. Reaching so far required a supreme effort of will. When she tried to see even more, she found that she could not.
Nevertheless, a million sparks glimmered upon the cityscape in her mind - all the people of Varanta. Each was unique - a subtly different colour or combination of colours to the next. Each radiated its own singular feelings and thoughts.
As she regarded them, she felt the inner turmoil most of them were afflicted by. Twisted thoughts; confusion; disorientation; black turbulence; rage; insatiable hungers, thirsts and lusts. And overwhelmingly: hate. Hatred of themselves. Hatred of those around them.
A vile sickness was consuming them from within.
Hexiya wondered if she could locate Kaledria among the million souls, or if the task would be too much for her.
Kaledria , she said to herself. Kaledria, Kaledria, Kaledria . For long minutes she searched through the auras that populated her mind, trying to find a trace of the gold, red and blue flames she knew so well and the thoughts and emotions that filled them: passion, tenderness, adventurousness, depth, strength, wisdom, a touch of recklessness, and a myriad other wondrous traits and feelings besides.
And then, of a sudden, she sensed her. A gentle tugging at her mind and at her heart.
The tugging had direction. Northwest.
She concentrated harder. A distant flame caught her attention. A gold and ruby immolation, four or five miles distant. Brighter than any other she had seen.
She focused upon it, trying to see it more clearly.
There was no doubt that it was Kaledria. And she was fearful and angered and alone. Surrounding her, Hexiya perceived something mostly-hidden, sinister, menacing and terrible.
Anguish wrenched at Hexiya as she observed her. What has been done to you? she wondered.
Perhaps, she thought, she might bring her back to herself - if she could catch up with her. If she could not . . . But she clamped down on the thought. As long as she lived, she knew she would never accept the loss of Kaledria again.
Her eyes snapped open. Moving quickly, she made her way down the street, heading after her. She was sure of the direction. The gold, red and blue aura was suddenly like a beacon to her.
As she went, she shivered within her winter clothes. The temperature seemed to be dropping. Furthermore, after days of stillness, a wind was suddenly rising. It blew the fog into tattered streamers of whiteness that gusted along the roads and moaned around the buildings. Snow began to fall too - a sharp, fine snow that hissed from her cloak and her hood and soon covered her with a layer of ice.
She pulled her hood closer around her head and raised her scarf so that it covered her lower face. Only her eyes were exposed to the growing blizzard.
Across the north side of the city she made her way. She passed the Great Bazaar and ascended the Hill of Shards. She crossed the bridge over the crevasse that split its summit, then descended to the west. Below her to her left, the Overlord's palace came into view for a moment through whipping tendrils of gale-driven snow and mist - a magnificent expanse of massive domes of violet glass and heavy towers of black marble.
She threaded the streets down into the Outlanders' District. With each step she took the weather became worse. Gritting her teeth, she tried to forge her way onwards. But soon the wind was howling along the alleys and around the buildings. It was strong enough that the ice-rimed trees creaked and leaned. When a particularly hard gust blasted across the road she was struggling along, a magnificent old broadleaf tree crashed to the ground a hundred yards ahead of her. Its trunk had been shattered by the violence of the gale and the unaccustomed cold.
Her hands, though gloved, became numb. Her face felt as if it was burning. The storm pounded and buffeted her. Twice she stumbled and went to her knees. Then, as she rounded a corner, she was blown from her feet by a squall of furious power. A moment later she came down heavily on her back.
Pushing herself from the ground, she looked around. The last of the fog had gone. Many windows were broken. Tiles had fallen from roofs. Broken branches had blown along the street.
Above, through sheeting falls of fine snow, she glimpsed a tremendous whirl of purple-grey clouds - the promise of yet heavier snow to come. The day had turned eerily dark.
Grimly, she fought her way onwards through the thickening snow. With each passing minute the cold became more intense. She realised that she might be at risk of losing her life should she not find shelter before too long. And yet her awareness of Kaledria's presence drove her on - an unassailable determination to find her, no matter what she might have to face.
Kaledria! she cried out in her mind, repeating her name over and over again. Kaledria!
And then, suddenly, Kaledria's aura went out, like a candle-flame suddenly extinguished.
Wildly she looked around. Other auras she could still sense, huddling from the storm throughout the city. But of Kaledria there was now no sign at all.
Someone or something, she thought, must be trying to thwart her attempts to reach her. Had the storm been summoned to prevent her?
Staggering to a halt, she tried to stand still against the gale and to search out Kaledria's presence again. Yet still she could feel nothing.
And then, at last, she realised that she must get inside; that she must find a refuge before she was overcome by cold and lost her life. Her iron resolve to find Kaledria would mean nothing if it killed her.
She looked about, shivering violently, aware now of how dangerous her predicament was.
By chance she was in a street that she recognised. A caravan station was not far away, and next to it was hotel - a hundred yards distant, no more. Immediately she began to make her way towards it.
When the edifice of the building reared up before her she felt relief flood through her. Even stumbling up the steps to the entrance was an effort.
But when she pushed against the doors, they did not open. Fear surged through her then. Perhaps she would be shut out, from here and from any other places she might reach.
For long moments she hammered on the portal. She knew there were people inside - she could see them in her mind. As she pushed once more, a gust of wind caught her. At that moment someone must have released the bolts, for she fell through into the interior.
A tall, heavy-set guard bolted the door behind her. Suddenly she was in a place of warmth and stillness.
The man looked down at her, regarding her with mild curiosity. It was as if he thought she was some strange animal that had inexplicably fetched up on his property.
'You have money?' he asked. There was a touch of menace in his voice, but otherwise he seemed only interested in her answer.
The normality of his question unnerved Hexiya. But she nodded, pulling her ice-stiffened hood away from her head and her scarf away from her face. When she tried to talk it was an effort - her lips were quite numb.
'You'll take a room,' said the guard. 'Of course you will. I understand. The reception desk is over there.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
5
She took a suite on the top floor. It was a pleasant and luxurious place that she could not really afford. But then, money had lost its meaning to her now, with all that had happened.
She shrugged out of her outer clothes and walked up and down the bedroom, waiting as life came painfully back to her extremities and the ache of coldness retreated from her limbs. Then she stood at the window, looking out. There was no sign of the weather easing up. When a blast of wind made the glass rattle in its frame, she worried that it might break. Hurriedly she drew the curtains.
She took a bath in the suite's gold-tiled bathroom - a long, hot soak. As she lay there, she closed her eyes and tried once again to seek out Kaledria's aura.
She sensed nothing at all. For a while she wondered how this could be. Perhaps she is being hidden from me, she thought. And with ice in her belly: perhaps she is dead.
She climbed out of the bath, towelled herself dry and went to bed, though it was not late.
Before she fell into a black sleep of exhaustion and despair, she wondered if she might wake up as a different person. She might no longer be compassionate and sensitive, but spiteful and hate-filled. Would she know that she had changed?
She tried not to think of her grief. Of the loss of her love. Of the loss of the woman who was the most important thing in her existence - more important than her own life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
1
In the evening she went down to the hotel restaurant. She was very hungry.
Sitting at a table that was heavy with silverware and cut glass, waiting for the waiter and a menu, she looked around her.
Four people were there. Two men of middle years - traders, probably, looking dignified or, perhaps, self-important. A younger man, probably a soldier of some kind - well-trained, experienced, capable. And an old woman who was scruffy and looked out of place. Perhaps she too had been caught in the blizzard and had come in to save her life.
None of them spoke, nor tried to initiate any contact with each other. All were silent, brooding and fearful.
The waiter emerged from the kitchens and came to her. He was a young man of cheerful disposition. This unnerved Hexiya for a moment. She thought he was acting. She expected him to reveal his darker self at any moment, with a sneer or a hateful remark. Then she checked herself and looked more closely at him; and realised that he was genuinely and willingly helpful.
She ordered a good meal. As she waited for it she drank a glass of hot red wine. It warmed her a little, but did not penetrate the bleakness that had wrapped itself around her heart.
She took her time eating, then settled her bill and made her way back up to her room. On the top floor, she walked the length of the richly carpeted landing to her door.
'Hexiya!' called a deep, familiar voice from behind her.
She wheeled round. 'Ellakan!' Immediately she looked at his aura, wondering if he had changed; but she could see nothing out the ordinary. His thoughts were full of his pleasure at seeing her.
Surprise and relief mixed within her.
He walked up to her, smiling but quizzical. 'Hexiya, what are you doing here?'
'I was caught in the snowstorm. I'm just sheltering until it's safe to go out again. What about you?'
'Much the same. I'd just got back to Varanta from the fort at Mount Karatorum when the blizzard struck. There didn't seem much point pressing across the city to my own place.' He shrugged as if it was of no importance. Then, looking at her with his steady gaze, he said: 'Are you all right?' He did not say it intrusively or with pity, but seemingly out of honest concern.
She supposed that her fear for Kaledria was showing in her face and manner. She appreciated his consideration and took a measure of comfort from the strong, calm stillness of him. 'Do you want to come in?' she asked.
He said nothing for a moment. Perhaps he was wondering at her friendliness, when so often before she had held herself aloof. 'Yes, I'd like that,' he said at length. 'I could do with a cup of tea, and some company would be nice.'
She unlocked her door and he followed her within.
'Where's Kaledria?' he asked as she threw the bolts behind him and went through to the main room.
Perhaps he saw the look of grief that touched her face. If so, he did not show it.
'I don't know,' she replied as she lit a pair of oil lamps - it had grown dark outside. 'I hope she is all right.' She nodded to the window, indicating the hostile weather.
'Well, she seemed like a very capable and resourceful woman to me,' said Ellakan. 'I'm sure she's fine. And after all, I only left her an hour ago, when she was looking very well indeed.'
Hexiya turned to him. Alarm thrilled through her, though she fought to conceal it. She was suddenly very aware of the distance to the door and that Ellakan was standing between her and it. She wondered if he was carrying any weapons.
Fool! she berated herself. So trusting! So stupid!
She set about making some tea, hoping that he would move, hoping that he would give her a chance to run.
'Where did you see her?' she asked, feigning nonchalance.
'She came round to my place earlier this morning.'
So much for the story of being at the fort on Mount Karatorum.
Ellakan took off his long coat and settled down on the edge of the bed. A lascivious smile suddenly appeared on his face - a look that was ugly and grotesque and could not have belonged to the Ellakan that she had formerly known.
'I wouldn't have believed it,' he continued. Then he feigned embarrassment, and the falseness of it was clear. 'Perhaps I shouldn't tell you. Although, I suppose we've been friends for long enough.'
'What happened?' she asked, as if no more than politely curious.
'Well, she came round and just . . . pressed herself on me. I'm not the kind of man to go to bed with a woman I hardly know. But then, she's hardly an ordinary-looking woman. And you'd introduced us, so it wasn't quite such a shock. I suppose she must have liked me.'
Hexiya was standing by the stove over the woodfire, waiting for the kettle to boil. 'Tell me,' she said with a smile, pretending to enjoy his story, pretending that she wanted some gossip. But even as she did so, she wondered at the fact that he did not realise she was pretending. Ellakan - Ellakan as he had been - would have known.
'She was so hungry,' he continued. 'Like fire. I'd never have believed a woman would want to be -' He stopped himself abruptly, as if realising that he had stepped over the bounds of propriety. Looking at Hexiya he said: 'I hope I'll see her again. Well, actually, I'm sure I will.'
'Do you know where she is?'
'Well, I can guess,' he replied. 'At one of the whorehouses, I should think, looking for more satisfaction.'
She nodded. 'I see,' she said, feigning indifference. Wondering, at the same time, how this new version of Ellakan had known how to hurt her and punish her with his words. She gave little credence to what he said. Nor was she prone to jealousy - she did not doubt that Kaledria wanted only her, just as she only wanted Kaledria. Nevertheless it was heart-rending for her to imagine Kaledria so changed.
She was silent as she waited for the kettle to boil - it took a while, for the fire under the stove was burning low. For a moment she wondered if she might hurl the scalding water at Ellakan and run. Yet for all the fact that he was clearly no longer the same person, she could not help but hope there might be a cure for him - that the old, kinder Ellakan might return. If he did, then she did not think she would be able to forgive herself for so scarring him.
She set a tray with teapot and cups and carried them across to him.
As she set it down on the table beside him, he reached out and took hold of her wrist. Not hard, but she was very aware of the great strength he possessed.
'You want me, don't you,' he said, looking at her with open lust. His eyes slid over the curves of her body. His gaze was hot, dark and cruel.
'Yes,' she breathed. And she moved towards him, giving in to his grip so that it loosened a fraction.
Then, with all her strength, she wrenched herself away.
He was almost quick enough to tighten his hold her. Almost. But her arm came free and she staggered backwards, struggling to keep her balance.
He lurched from the bed even as she hurled herself towards the door. She was only able to throw back the two bolts before he caught her.
He slammed into her, his whole weight crushing her against the oak portal. Then his hands, twin vices, grasped her arms and turned her to face him. At the same time he leaned hard against her so that she could not bring her knee up into his groin.
She felt his strength and weight. Twice her mass. Far stronger than her. Far too much for her to resist.
But still she struggled and fought, squirming in his grip. In response he pinned her tighter. Then, suddenly, he released her and brought his hand back, to strike her in the face.
She twisted aside at the last moment. His fist hit the door with a loud bang. All his weight and strength had been behind the blow. Wood splintered and cracked.
In the moment of his pain and loss of balance, she stabbed the fore and middle fingers of her right hand into into his eye.
He stumbled backwards, one hand to his face, groaning.
As Hexiya yanked open the door, his noise became a roar of pain-fuelled fury. She hurled herself out onto the landing and threw the door closed behind her. Just as the latch caught, he collided with it with a heavy crunch.
And then she was running down the hallway and down the stairs - not looking back, hearing only his yells. Too fleet-footed for him to catch. Wanting only to get away. Away from this hotel, where no one would protect her. Out into the streets, to lose herself. Better to risk dying in the cold than to fall into the hands of such as him.
2
Hexiya tried to gain entrance to the caravan station, but its doors were locked. She knocked on the entrance of a private house but no one answered. When she tried a second residence, she saw an elderly woman watching her through barred windows. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace behind her. From the look of pleasure on her face and the malignant glitter in her eyes she seemed to be hoping that Hexiya would succumb to the cold and that she could watch as she died.
She turned away, running and staggering through the blizzard. She raced through the dark, swirling ice and struggled against the raging wind. The cold bit straight through her. Her skin felt as if it was burning. Without coat or gloves or scarf, she knew she would not last long if she could not find shelter. She peered around her as she went, desperate to find any place where she might take refuge.
As the last of her strength failed, she came to a temple of the Orange Moon. It was a small place with a single dome. The whole of it was built on a platform of dark slabs. Its walls and roofs were of translucent orange stone. Every part of its surface was carved and sculpted with flowing abstract designs.
Its entrance was closed but not bolted; and when Hexiya pushed, it gave without resistance.
She stepped within and closed the door behind her. Sudden, smokey warmth and blessed stillness engulfed her like a glove after the freezing snow and howling gale.
The place was almost empty. Two young women huddled together by a ceremonial fireplace at the far end. A priest was standing before a transparent orange sphere in the centre of the small hall of worship.
He turned and regarded her. He was plump and innocuous-looking and had a kindly face. His orange clothes hung loose about him - heavy martial garb that looked strange on a man who clearly was not built to fight.
Though Ellakan had brought home to Hexiya that she could not trust anyone, the priest's look of concern did something to alleviate her fears. After a moment he came to her and said: 'You must be half dead from the cold! Come to the fire!' Gently, he led her across the polished mosaic floor to the merciful heat of the flaming logs. 'It's usually only lit for night-time worship,' he explained as she settled down before it next to the other two women. 'But today I'll keep it burning.' He paused for a moment then said: 'What happened?' But the way he said it made it clear that it was her business if she wanted to tell him or not. When she did not reply he said: 'Well, I can make the four of us some hot tea and wine, at least. We may have a long wait until the storm blows over.' And he scuttled off to a room behind the main hall.
3
She stayed at the temple overnight. The two women - dark-skinned, dark-eyed and enigmatic - came from far to the south and did not speak the language of Varanta. They were delighted to find that Hexiya could converse with them in their own tongue. The priest was also pleasant company - an unassuming, amiable and benign man who did his best to make them all as comfortable as he could.
Hexiya was glad of the improbable fortune that had led her into the presence of four people who had not been changed by the malice and hate that had swept through the city. She even wondered if it might be something to do with the temple - that its god might be protecting them.
After midnight she slept as best she could, stretched out on a rug that was usually used for meditating.
Shortly after dawn, the weather abruptly changed. The sky cleared. The wind dropped. And for the first time in weeks, the brilliant light of the three suns shone down upon Varanta - red, mauve and white. Their radiance streamed, almost horizontally, through the temple's windows. It also flooded, orange-tinted, through its translucent walls. Hexiya, awake, stood in the refulgence and gazed at the way the carvings and stonework of the structure about her were so wondrously lit from within and without. If not for the sadness in her heart, she would have taken much pleasure from the sight.
The priest stood near her, enjoying the glory about them.
'I have to go,' Hexiya said. 'You have been kind. You and the temple may have saved my life.'
He gave her a smile as if to say that it was nothing. 'Being in your company brought me much happiness,' he said. She was struck by the sincerity of his words.
He had given her a rather tattered cloak to keep her warm as she slept. Now he handed it to her. 'Take this,' he said. 'It's still cold outside.'
She offered him money, for himself or for the temple, but he would not take it. Leaving, she emerged into the chill, silent morning. On the temple steps she stood for a while, looking out.
The city, buried in snow after the storm, glowed with rainbow colours. The buildings, rimed with ice, reflected the sunlight in dazzling hues. The parks were magnificent expanses of iridescence. The mountains, far away to north and south, were glorious, many-coloured sentinels. Everything shone as if in some magical, impossible dream.
Looking up, Hexiya saw that the sky was as clear as she could ever remember - a deep red-mauve vault, home to the three balls of fire that illuminated everything with their glory.
Yet to Hexiya, the spectacle did not seem beautiful. Instead, it seemed to mock her. She felt as if she was being shown what she could no longer enjoy.
Without Kaledria, the beauty of the day was no more than ashes.
She walked swiftly home, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the icy cityscape. Heartache and grief held her fast.
But there was no resignation in her. Nor would there ever be. For she could feel, underneath the sorrow and anguish she felt for her love, something else: a slow and smouldering rage. This deep and powerful passion fuelled her; and she knew her resolution would never waver.
'I will find you, Kaledria,' she murmured to herself with grim determination. 'And I will find a way to bring you back to yourself.'
Only death would be able to defeat her purpose.
**