She released the pent-up energies, sending them blasting down into the centre block of the floor. Rock shattered. The block shifted beneath her feet. She tottered forward but an arm encircled her waist, holding her. Skinner. Clattering rock resounded from beneath them. Several stone blocks had fallen away, revealing floored-over circular stone stairs.
The priest appeared from nowhere, cackling and waving his arms in triumph. He jumped and leaped his way down the steps. Skinner released Mara and rushed to follow. ‘Remain!’ he ordered, adding, ‘Hold them here …’ as he disappeared from sight.
Jacinth came to Mara, steadied her; the woman’s blazing mane of hair now hung bedraggled and lank about her shoulders. Ice rime feathered the red-stained leather scales of her armour. ‘I’ll hold the stairs,’ Mara told her.
The swordswoman nodded and glanced about at the remaining Disavowed — a mere eight. And of Petal there was no sign. Washed away, Mara imagined, feeling an unexpected pang of loss.
Another wave surged towards them. Mara readied herself. The avalanche of water hit the chamber and Mara fought to repel it. But an opening had been created, and she could not contain the pressure; the force pushed her aside like a cork and the course streamed past her to rush down the throat of the staircase. Almost immediately the waters round them swirled down to a mere wash about their knees and this too was sucked away down the stairs.
Damn. Skinner … I’m sorry.
A convulsion from below kicked the floor. Everything loose jumped, including all bodies, living and dead. Mara rammed her elbow into the floor, raising stars in her vision.
Stones came crashing down among them. Cracks tore the set blocks apart.
‘Out! Now!’ Jacinth bellowed.
The Disavowed all ran scrambling for the entrance. Mara descended the iced stairs down the front then stopped to look back. Further concussions shook the ground beneath her feet. Great cracks now climbed the walls of the tower.
Skinner! Come on!
The priest appeared. He came running and dodging from the entrance. Mara didn’t think that holding his hands above his head would really have helped him much, but he did make it out. She caught hold of one skinny blue-hued arm as he ran past. ‘What happened? Where’s Skinner!’
‘He has it,’ the priest growled, enraged. He pounded his chest and shouted, scattering spittle: ‘I should have the honour! It is mine!’
‘Your god’s, you mean,’ Mara answered and released him to totter onward.
Skinner … now would be good …
She scanned the water for any sign of a new wave. The sea raged, choked by clashing white-capped waves that broke in every direction. It is as though they are confused, unsure. Hurry, Skinner. We have a chance!
Farese pointed. ‘Someone!’ It was the wide black-robed figure of Petal emerging from among the broken boulders of the slope. Farese ran to help him.
Mara felt an unaccountable degree of relief. Now at least I still have someone to talk to.
‘Do you feel that?’ Jacinth called. ‘It is quiet.’
Mara felt for tremors: the ground was still but for the pounding of waves. The tower remained, though wide cracks climbed its sides. It also stood rather canted in its rise.
‘There!’ Shijel called, pointing.
Skinner was at the entrance. He came stepping over fallen blocks and he carried a large chest in both hands. The chest gleamed silver in the overcast half-light.
‘Open your Warren!’ Jacinth told the priest. ‘Now!’
Mara’s attention was drawn from Skinner as he descended the slope. She felt something tug at her awareness. Magery, on the far side of the tower. Someone familiar.
‘Someone comes!’ she shouted to everyone.
The priest opened a gate. The chaos roiling through it made Mara gag once more. It gave her a headache like a spike being pounded into her temple.
‘Go now,’ Jacinth ordered the Disavowed. ‘Go!’ They hurried through one after the other.
She shoved the priest but he would not move. ‘Not until I have it!’ he yelled.
‘Just send us all now!’ Mara shouted over the wind and crashing surf.
‘Someone must bring it,’ he answered, snarling his frustration.
‘Go!’ Mara told Jacinth. Furious, the lieutenant backed into the gate, glaring.
‘You, too,’ the priest told Mara. She ignored him.
Closer now, Skinner called out, ‘Go now, all of you …’ Mara edged back into the gate, slowly. The priest followed after her, also backing in. As Mara went she heard a bull-throated yell sound out, so loud it drowned all the noise of the roaring wind and the pounding combers: ‘Skinnnnerrr!’ it bellowed on and on.
She tried to return but it was too late. The gate had hold of her. She heard, or thought she heard, Skinner calling something, and then she was gone. The repulsive touch of chaos enmeshed her and her own absolute abhorrence made her push at it as if she could somehow keep it from touching her.
She fell out on to hard dry dirt, choking humidity, and the screeching of birds. Jacuruku. The land was not welcome, but its heat certainly was. She fought down her heaving empty stomach and watched, fascinated, while streamers of mist rose from her arms and blue-tinged hands. Never again would she complain about the heat. Never.
The priest emerged and moments later Skinner appeared. He still carried the large chest, which Mara saw now was indeed made of hammered silver. ‘Who was that?’ she demanded. ‘Someone shouted. Who was it?’
Skinner just tossed his wet hair and laughed. ‘Bars! Can you imagine? And Blues. They must have come for the shard.’ He hefted the chest. ‘Well … it is ours now.’
Blues? Really? Mara felt astonishment, but also relief. She was strong in D’riss, but his understanding of it was far more subtle, and deeper.
‘My god’s, you mean,’ the priest snarled. ‘Now open it and give it to me.’
Skinner set the chest down. The priest threw himself upon it, rubbed his hands over it. ‘How do you open it? Is there a catch? A latch?’
Mara flexed her hands; feeling was returning to them in a most painful wave of pins and needles.
‘I believe you open it like this,’ Skinner said, reaching down. And he clasped hold of the priest’s head and savagely twisted it. The snap of his neck made Mara jump.
The body fell aside. Mara’s gaze climbed to Skinner. Her amazement and horror must have shown on her face for he shrugged. ‘We have no more use for him. He has delivered to us a shard. Now we have a bargaining chip in all this.’
‘But you are King of Chains — what of that?’
He picked up the chest. ‘It too has served its purpose. Now it is no longer necessary either.’
‘But are you not … what of retribution?’
Skinner threw his head back and laughed again. ‘Retribution?’ He started walking. ‘That creature has far greater things to worry about.’ He raised his voice: ‘Shijel! Which way?’ The swordsman pointed. ‘Very good. Farese, help Red. Mara, can you help Petal?’
Mara took hold of the mage’s arm through his frigid sodden robes. ‘What happened to you?’
The big man touched a hand to his head, hissed his pain. ‘I almost drowned.’
Mara nearly laughed aloud. Yes, drowned. There were times when plodding literalness is somehow appropriate.
Later in the afternoon Petal was treading along in front of Mara, swinging from side to side with his elephant-like gait, when he suddenly stopped. Mara nearly ran into him. ‘What is it?’ she asked, rather annoyed.
He was peering up at the canopy. ‘Someone … some thing … watching.’
‘Tell Skinner.’
He twisted his hands together. ‘I may be wrong …’
She sighed her impatience, shouted, ‘Skinner!’
He glanced back from the fore. She raised a hand, signed: company.