tribes. My Weapon. They worship fire, and they shall worship me. I shall lead them against these Freemen and strike before they are ready. And burn them into ashes. They will join me, those who are left, they will be mine, part of me. And I shall give them enemies, creatures to hate. Birdfolk and Woodlanders and Varg. And lead them to conquer new lands. They shall shout with one voice and think, if at all, with one mind – which I control. That is the new history of O, Susan Ferris. You played your little part in the old, but you have no part written in the new.’
She could not answer. She felt very tired, and told herself that tomorrow, chance or not, she would escape. Osro turned away and went into his shelter, but the memory of his face, with its sharp bones and hungry mouth and pale hot eyes, stayed with her as she tried to sleep. Steen threw a blanket over her and sat behind her on a stone, holding the rope knotted round her waist. The embers in the fire dulled.
She did not know she had slept, but knew she was woken. She was cold, the blanket gone. And someone was kneeling by her head. She heard the gristly creaking of his spine as he bent close. Fingers nipped her mouth so she could not scream.
‘No sound. If they wake we are dead.’ It was Steen. ‘Follow the rope. Go where it leads.’
She heard him stand, and knew she had no choice but to follow. With no one to trust, she would trust him. She sat up, stood up, felt the rope tugging at her waist. She stepped after it, past the pale blur of Osro’s shelter. She had no idea where the guards were sleeping, but heard snorts and gurgles, whispered dreams, nightmare slayings. Steen took her soft-footed round their edge. She heard the exhalations of his breath. A hot pool hissed and simmered as they passed – heading west, or starting west. The jungle made a humming; distant screams as something died. Steen led her into it, giving little tugs like a fisherman feeling bites.
‘Steen.’
‘Don’t speak. Not yet.’
She followed, walking blind, for what seemed hours. At last he stopped. She felt his fingers working on the knots and the rope fell away. He put the end in her hand. ‘Hold it now and follow.’
‘Why are you doing this? Helping me?’
For a moment he made no answer. She seemed to see his eyes moving faintly in the dark. ‘I can be this Osro’s man no longer. So I will take you to your friends.’
‘They’ll kill you if they catch you.’
‘They’ll kill us both. We must get far away. They will hunt, but not for long. Osro cannot waste the time.’
‘Slarda won’t give up.’
‘She is the one. We must keep ahead. Do you have the rope?’
She gave it a jerk.
‘Hold and follow.’
‘What about animals?’
‘We must take the risk.’
She could not tell how long they went on then, but guessed three or four hours. They climbed spurs and threaded through valleys, crossing streams that were cold or warm, and sometimes both. Steen seemed to know his way; but told her when she asked that he did not know this part of the jungle, he was heading west, that was all.
‘Why west?’
‘We’ll go to the coast. Birdfolk will find you there. Or perhaps these Seafolk men you say you talk with.’
‘I can talk with them. And Stonefolk. And Woodlanders. Varg too, in a way.’
‘I know nothing. That is all I know.’
Dawn came, lighting the sky, but leaving the jungle almost as dark as night. Steen gave her meat from his pack. They found berries, sour but edible, and drank from a spring tasting of iron. It set her teeth on edge.
‘Do you need to rest?’
‘I can keep going.’
‘They have woken and found us gone. Slarda hunts. She tracks like a dog. We must stay ahead.’
She tried to see his face but could make out only his eyes, pale and gleaming, and the movements of his hands as he carried food to his mouth. A few days ago he had wanted to kill her. Now he risked his life to help her escape.
‘Why can’t you follow
She could not answer. She felt very tired, and told herself that tomorrow, chance or not, she would escape. Osro turned away and went into his shelter, but the memory of his face, with its sharp bones and hungry mouth and pale hot eyes, stayed with her as she tried to sleep. Steen threw a blanket over her and sat behind her on a stone, holding the rope knotted round her waist. The embers in the fire dulled.
She did not know she had slept, but knew she was woken. She was cold, the blanket gone. And someone was kneeling by her head. She heard the gristly creaking of his spine as he bent close. Fingers nipped her mouth so she could not scream.
‘No sound. If they wake we are dead.’ It was Steen. ‘Follow the rope. Go where it leads.’
She heard him stand, and knew she had no choice but to follow. With no one to trust, she would trust him. She sat up, stood up, felt the rope tugging at her waist. She stepped after it, past the pale blur of Osro’s shelter. She had no idea where the guards were sleeping, but heard snorts and gurgles, whispered dreams, nightmare slayings. Steen took her soft-footed round their edge. She heard the exhalations of his breath. A hot pool hissed and simmered as they passed – heading west, or starting west. The jungle made a humming; distant screams as something died. Steen led her into it, giving little tugs like a fisherman feeling bites.
‘Steen.’
‘Don’t speak. Not yet.’
She followed, walking blind, for what seemed hours. At last he stopped. She felt his fingers working on the knots and the rope fell away. He put the end in her hand. ‘Hold it now and follow.’
‘Why are you doing this? Helping me?’
For a moment he made no answer. She seemed to see his eyes moving faintly in the dark. ‘I can be this Osro’s man no longer. So I will take you to your friends.’
‘They’ll kill you if they catch you.’
‘They’ll kill us both. We must get far away. They will hunt, but not for long. Osro cannot waste the time.’
‘Slarda won’t give up.’
‘She is the one. We must keep ahead. Do you have the rope?’
She gave it a jerk.
‘Hold and follow.’
‘What about animals?’
‘We must take the risk.’
She could not tell how long they went on then, but guessed three or four hours. They climbed spurs and threaded through valleys, crossing streams that were cold or warm, and sometimes both. Steen seemed to know his way; but told her when she asked that he did not know this part of the jungle, he was heading west, that was all.
‘Why west?’
‘We’ll go to the coast. Birdfolk will find you there. Or perhaps these Seafolk men you say you talk with.’
‘I can talk with them. And Stonefolk. And Woodlanders. Varg too, in a way.’
‘I know nothing. That is all I know.’
Dawn came, lighting the sky, but leaving the jungle almost as dark as night. Steen gave her meat from his pack. They found berries, sour but edible, and drank from a spring tasting of iron. It set her teeth on edge.
‘Do you need to rest?’
‘I can keep going.’
‘They have woken and found us gone. Slarda hunts. She tracks like a dog. We must stay ahead.’
She tried to see his face but could make out only his eyes, pale and gleaming, and the movements of his hands as he carried food to his mouth. A few days ago he had wanted to kill her. Now he risked his life to help her escape.
‘Why can’t you follow
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