The Heretic Land Page 3

  Bon and Leki stayed closed, pressed together when they could, trying to hold hands if they were flung from their seats. They did not talk for most of the night, because the sea’s roaring was too loud, and the need to speak too slight. Touch was communication enough.

  Other things boarded the ship. Bon heard them against the sides of the hull, a thud followed by the splintering of wood as they climbed from the sea up onto deck. Shouts, running, scampering, fighting, it soon became impossible to distinguish one noise from another. And all the while the sea roared against the hull from all sides, its endless noise bearing witness to events no one could see.

  In the darkest part of the night, when clouds blocked the pale moonlight and the ship dropped from wave to wave, something caressed the back of Bon’s hand. He thought it was Leki, so he reached out. He touched something wet and hard, and then a piercing pain erupted in the fleshy part of his thumb.

  Bon screamed as his vision turned white with agony. He reached for his knife, because to remove his hand was the only escape from this pain, surely, the only way to remove the fire?

  Something knocked him sideways. He fell from consciousness, and the ship faded away.

  In Bon’s dreams, his son Venden – older now, almost an adult – waited with a giant, unnatural shadow at his back.

  ‘Bon,’ the voice said, and it was calm and confident. ‘Bon, we’re almost there, and if they fling you into the sea like this, you’ll drown.’ He kept his eyes closed for a little while longer, enjoying the darkness that hid away everything that might have happened.

  Then the pain in his hand kicked in, and he had to open his eyes.

  ‘That hurts so much I think I’m going to puke.’

  ‘Puke now, then. Get it all up. We’ve got a long swim ahead.’

  ‘Swim?’ He looked up at Leki where she must have been sitting beside him ever since he’d passed out. Then he glanced around the hold at the other prisoners. They were afraid, expectant, alert, their eyes wide and heavier clothing tied into clumps at their feet. All but the priest, who remained in the same place and pose as before. ‘Swim?’ he asked again.

  ‘You think they land us on the island?’ a young man close to the hatch said. ‘I’m amazed they’ve gone in this far. Lillium’s tits, half of us won’t make it to the beach.’ Someone in the shadows gasped, though at the man’s blasphemy or his prediction, Bon could not tell.

  ‘Come on,’ Leki said. ‘They’ve got to deal with the other hold first.’

  ‘What about the other hold?’

  Leki helped him to his feet without answering, examining his hand, then tugging at his heavy jacket. The less they wore, the easier it would be to swim. Several had stripped completely, and they stood pale and vulnerable in the weak light.

  ‘Something got in,’ the young man said when no one else answered. ‘We heard it. Heard them.’ He shook his head and reached up for the hatch, rattling it in its frame. Eager to get out, move on.

  Bon caught Leki’s eye, and she looked grim.

  His hand was bound tightly in a soft white cloth, wound several times then tied in a knot. It throbbed beneath the binding, sending warm waves of pain up his arm to nestle in his shoulder.

  ‘Sorry I hit you,’ Leki said.

  The hatch rattled open, and Bon grabbed his loose jacket and boots. She’d knocked him out to stop him cutting off his own hand. Then she’d sat and tended him. As the guard shouted down at them – Up you come, bastards, paradise awaits! – he could not help but wonder why.

  There was a pile of corpses on deck. The surviving prisoners from the other hold stood at the railing, huddled close together and shivering in their nakedness. There were only six of them left. The corpses were swollen and blackened with poison, and some of them showed evidence of something having chewed at them. Above the corpses, three spiky shapes hung from the rigging. The killers, Bon guessed. Sea creatures as large as a man, with sharp limbs and stinging things, liquid eyes and mandibles still caked with the dried blood and flesh of their victims.

  ‘Over there!’ one of the guards shouted, pointing at the prisoners at the railing. ‘Get them off! What are you waiting for, the Fade’s blessing? Get them off there!’

  North of the anchored ship, waves broke against a rocky shore. It was a rugged, seemingly uninhabited coastline, stark and windswept, and the few trees Bon could see were skeletal and tall, their branches whipping the air with long spiked leaves. Two dark shapes moved back and forth across the beach, but from this distance he could not tell whether they were human. Behind the beach the land rose steadily inland, and a veil of mist hid whatever lay beyond.

  Two guards edged closer to the huddled prisoners, swords drawn, and started nudging them over the side.

  Bon gasped, and a chill went through him. A woman shouted an objection, and the guard in charge stormed forward, leaning down to press his face close to hers, forcing her back against the cabin wall. ‘You swim with all your limbs, or we hold you down and cut one off, and then you swim. You decide.’

  He’s done that before, Bon thought, and the chill settled in him. He could smell the dead bodies – blood, insides, shit, and the acid stench of something that might have been the poison that had killed them.

  ‘You and you,’ the guard said, pointing to the angry young man and an older, stooped man. ‘The bodies go over the side. Don’t touch the bites.’ He laughed, surprisingly high and light. ‘Wouldn’t want you hurting yourselves.’

  As the two men approached the dead prisoners, Bon and the others were edged towards the railing. The naked prisoners were already swimming for shore, two of them striking out confidently for the rocky, violent coast, the others struggling in the surf. They thrashed against the water and went under when the large waves broke over them, just gathering themselves in time for the next wave.

  Something bobbed on the waves closer to the beach.

  ‘Don’t let go of me,’ Leki said, ‘and try not to swallow any water.’

  Bon nodded. They held hands. He only hoped the guards did not decide to cut off one of her limbs anyway, to try and disadvantage her.

  As they reached the railing, Bon glanced back. The guards were gathered behind them, smiling, unconcerned. The crew went about their business as if nothing was happening, but a couple glanced their way, faces drawn. Whether they were saddened at what they saw, or concerned that they needed to be underway, Bon would never know.

  The priest was also there. He stood at the back of the grouped prisoners, staring out past Bon at Skythe’s coast. His expression was unreadable. Bon wondered what he had done, or what beliefs or opinions had led to this, and suddenly he wanted to know more than anything. He tried to catch the priest’s eye. But the younger man seemed to see nothing.

  Nudged forward to climb the railing, he turned to look towards Skythe. Here was the island he had never thought he would see; the place that had fascinated Venden, and which had then become Bon’s curse. A land where a great civilisation had lived and died, and the disputed cause of its demise six centuries before was the reason he was here now. The Ald maintained that Skythe had launched an unprovoked attack south against Alderia, seeking dominance over that continent in the name of their heathen god Aeon. When their attack was countered by Alderian opposition, the Skythians unveiled their ultimate weapon – a plague, cultured from a distant Outer island and intended solely for war. It backfired, infecting tens of thousands of Skythians, driving them to a murderous frenzy. The Alderian story called these infected people Kolts, and they had destroyed their civilisation as the plague polluted their island and its surrounding waters. Alderia only survived because of the ocean between them – the Kolts were mindless with rage, and could not sail or swim.

  That was the official story, at least.

  And yet Bon had seen the evidence that refuted this account. Evidence that spoke of the Ald’s ancestors actually being the aggressors, attacking Skythe because of the physical manifestation of Skythe’s god, and destroying Aeon w
ith forbidden magic. The Ald could not accept that their entire Fade religion was built upon falsehood, and so they set out to destroy the very thing that brought doubts upon it. Aeon died, and the murderous Kolts were the result.

  There was so much fear, rumour and obfuscation over that ancient war that Bon could not understand why more people did not question it. But he supposed fear itself was a great motivator.

  Leki touched his hand, and her skin was still warm. ‘We’ll go under,’ she said. ‘Hold your breath, exhale slowly through your nose. Don’t thrash or panic. It’ll be easier for me to swim underwater and pull you along.’

  ‘But the things in the water …’

  ‘We’re quite close to shore,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Quite.’

  ‘Just don’t forget I can’t hold my breath as long as you,’ Bon said.

  Leki kept her eyes on him as she dropped her trousers, and in one fluid motion lifted the jacket up and over her shoulders, leaving only her undergarments. He tried not to, but he could not help glancing at her heavy breasts, her flat stomach. His sudden thrill of desire was so out of place that he chuckled.

  ‘Welcome to Skythe,’ the lead guard said, and Bon felt a meaty hand strike him between the shoulders.

  They fell towards the angry Forsaken Sea, and as he struck the surface he squeezed Leki’s hand. The water closed over his head, flooding his mouth and nose and ears, stinging his eyes, the cold snatching his breath away, and he thought of all the stories he had heard of this dreaded ocean. None of them were good, and most involved biting things.

  Leki’s fingers were long and tight, seeming to envelop his hand entirely, and when Bon opened his eyes she was a pale blur beside him. Above, poor light lit the sea’s violent surface, and below and around him clouds of sand and sediment swirled to the sea’s pulse. He breathed out gently through his nose, and the bubbles seemed to fall rather than rise. He gasped more bubbles of surprise, then saw that down was up, and the faint light was actually splayed across the ocean’s uneven bed. Thousands of fish sparkled with throbbing light, creating a display that was both beautiful and hypnotic.

  Leki tugged at his hand and started swimming for shore. Bon kicked, trying to help, but it was her own sinuous movements – body flexing, feet kicking, spare hand sweeping water behind her – that powered them through the water.

  Bon started to struggle. His vision darkened, and Leki lifted them up to break the surface. The sudden roar and violence of the sea was shocking, and people shouted for help, and behind it all there was a voice calling—

  Leki took him down and started swimming again.

  A shape waved through the sea towards them. It was a silhouette with fine fins, twisting like a snake and always seeming to dance just out of Bon’s view. It might have been as long as his hand or the length of the ship, and then he felt a dull stab on his ankle and the thing was flitting away again.

  Leki paused and turned before him, floating effortlessly in the water. She leaned forward and touched his leg, and then Bon noticed the cloud of blood pulsing from the bite. Like shadows cast by the spreading cloud, more snake-creatures were arcing in towards him.

  Leki flicked out a hand and caught a creature, and even as it whipped itself around her hand, head thrashing and pale teeth exposed, she bit it in half and shook its spasming parts away from her. She let go of Bon and pushed him back from her, snatching at shapes as silent waves broke above their heads. She kicked as well, each movement shifting her in the water so that she performed a graceful dance as she fought the biting things.

  Bon let himself rise, needing to breathe again. Through his blurred vision he could see the roaring waves smashing overhead, carrying vague shapes that might or might not have been his fellow prisoners. And just for a moment he held back, not wishing to subject himself to the violence up there again.

  But then Leki was with him once more, grasping his belt and hauling him after her as she surfaced.

  Bon gasped in several deep breaths. They were closer to the rocky beach than the ship now, and the vessel was already making sail. A wave smashed over them, Bon spluttered and spat water from his mouth, and a body was rolled past them in the sea’s embrace. It was a woman, her dark flowing hair mimicking the blood staining the water around her. Her body was battered, head caved in from some impact. And there were bites.

  Leki pulled him down again. As they dived, Bon caught one last glimpse of the waves breaking onto the rocky shore, and the beach beyond. There were prisoners in the waves, some clambering across the rocks towards the beach, a few seemingly as looselimbed as the dead woman. One of them reached shore and staggered up the beach, passing the two large, dark shapes seeming to stand guard. They were human-shaped, but something about the way they stood was very wrong. They held long objects, and at the feet of one lay a huddled form. As seawater stole Bon’s vision again, he was certain he saw blood darkening the pale sand.

  ‘Bon—’ a voice seemed to call, and then Bon’s hearing was taken also.

  Leki dragged him down and swam again, hauling him against the surge and pull of the undertow. Bon’s eyes must have become more used to the saltwater – either that or the light here was different, the water kept clear by back-surge from the land – because he could make out more detail. Seaweed waved feathery fronds, some of them twice his height, and forms scampered within shadows. Corals rose from the seabed in elaborate shapes, beautiful echoes of history building upon the dead past and reaching towards unknown futures. Bon had a sudden, overpowering urge to search for evidence of the Skythian War buried deep; perhaps the remnants of an Engine, a mythical tool used by the Ald to conjure magic. Larger creatures haunted the extremes of his vision – swimming, floating, scampering, crawling. One of them rolled across the seabed, and then he recognised the priest, limbs flailing to the sea’s urges as his sodden robe and boots held him down, drowned. As Leki took Bon upwards once again, he saw more of those shadowy snake shapes darting in to bite the priest’s pale skin. Easy pickings.

  They broke surface, and someone shouted almost in his ear.

  ‘—Ugane! Bon Ugane! Does anyone know—?’

  ‘Here!’ Bon shouted. Leki glared at him, a transparent film passing across her wide eyes. A wave shoved them forward and broke over them, and Leki’s hand slipped from his grasp. Bon panicked for a moment as the sea drove him down, and when something grabbed his leg and pulled he kicked out, mouth opening and bubbles rushing past his chest and stomach for the surface.

  He breathed in air again and Leki pulled him close. For the first time he saw a flicker of panic in her eyes, and glancing back he saw the looming rocks. Waves smashed across them, and a dead man had been forced into a crevasse by the water. He was facing in, but would never see land.

  ‘There he is. Come on!’ Leki said, and she kicked against the draw of the tide.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Bon Ugane!’ a voice called again, and then Bon saw the boat riding the waves a few lengths back out to sea. With three great kicks Leki pulled them there, and Bon squeezed his eyes closed against the next wave. Once it had passed over them, Leki grabbed him beneath the arms and lifted. Her strength was immense. He rose from the sea as if he were kicking against rock, and the man in the boat dropped oars and reached for him. He clasped Bon by his torn shirt and fell back into the boat.

  Bon landed hard atop the man, and the man gasped, winded. The cigar he’d been smoking fell from his mouth and rolled across his shoulder, leaving a trail of sparkling, smoking tobacco that held Bon’s bemused attention.

  ‘Up and off me, for the Fade’s fucking sake!’ the man said, galvanising Bon into motion. He rolled off and sat up, reaching over the side of the boat for Leki. But she did not need his help. She kicked herself aboard, lifting into the boat with minimal effort, and then she crouched down and stared at the boatman. Water beaded and dripped from her skin, and a tracework of fine bites bled across her left shoulder.

  ‘No need to stare at me like that, water lady,’ the
man said. He took up his oars and started rowing, cigar clamped firmly between his teeth once more. The smoke seemed to dance around his head in defiance of the strong sea breeze. ‘I’m no harm, and if I was I’d have not hauled you from the sea, and if you are going to attack me can you do it now instead of later when I’ve saved your skins, save me the effort, save us all the effort.’ He glanced Leki up and down. ‘Nice teats. There’s a coat behind you if you want to cover yourself.’ Still rowing, he looked ashore, past the cruel rocks at the relatively calm beach. ‘You should see what I’m seeing, then we’ll talk.’ He spoke quieter now, and Bon turned to see.

  Though the boat rocked and the sea spray obscured his view, the violence taking place on the beach was obvious. One of the tall, heavy shapes held a naked prisoner with one huge hand, and with the other it was gutting the man, hacking at his torso with a knife, sawing, then slashing at the guts as they spilled to the sand. The man must have been screaming – must have – but the sea stole his voice. Once the man’s guts stopped spooling from the wound across his stomach, the long-haired guard moved the knife up to his throat, transferring its grip to its victim’s hair. The man’s arms waved feebly as the guard slashed at his neck, and as his body fell away from his severed head, hands seemed to clasp at the air to hold himself upright.

  Bon turned away and leaned forward, trying not to puke.

  ‘Slayers get certain names, the names get executed,’ the man said.

  ‘Saves the Ald bloodying their hands on Alderia,’ Leki said.

  ‘Oh, the Ald’s hands are bloodied,’ the man said. He had never stopped rowing, but he turned now to look down at Bon. ‘You going to puke in my boat?’

  ‘You were calling my name,’ Bon said.

  ‘Your name,’ the man said. He turned and put more effort into rowing, and Bon saw big muscles flexing beneath the loose clothing. His hat was made of some red-furred creature. He wore three white metal rings on each thumb. Rough and refined – his voice holding a taint of both – the man was an enigma.