Regardless, he trailed Lirah and Arjuro down to a cave house he recognised as the soothsayer’s dwelling. The two stopped outside and Froi knew they were waiting for him.
‘Where have you been?’ Lirah asked, her voice harsh.
‘I don’t answer to you or anyone else in this kingdom,’ he said coldly.
Arjuro entered the cave and Froi and Lirah followed. It was small, one room only, with stems and saplings hanging from the ceiling and a smothering odour that seemed to be trapped in the cave walls. In the corner was a grubby bedroll and in the centre of the space was a large pot of water in which the soothsayer was stirring a foul-smelling substance amongst leaves and petals.
He thought of what this wretched woman had done to Quintana year after year, and realised he wanted to hurt her, could easily kill her with his bare hands. But his bond to Trevanion and Perri stopped him. You only kill those who are a threat to Lumatere, Froi.
But Lirah of Serker had no such bond. She grabbed the woman by the hair, shoving her head into the pot of water. Froi watched the soothsayer thrash, struggling under Lirah’s strong grip. He saw the fury and hatred on Lirah’s face.
‘Do you like the feel of that?’ Lirah said.
‘Froi,’ Arjuro said, somewhat calmly. ‘Stop her, please.’
‘Why would I want to do that, Arjuro?’ Froi said, his heart beating fast at the satisfaction of what he was watching.
‘Because I’d like to know a thing or two and that may not happen if Lirah kills our only source of information.’
Froi sighed and stepped forward, grabbing Lirah’s arm and dragging her back. She struggled against him, and although she had strength, Froi easily overpowered her.
The soothsayer collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air, and Froi couldn’t help imagining the child Quintana was, struggling for the same filthy air, year after year.
Arjuro walked towards the woman and stooped, contempt in his expression. When she regained her breathing, the soothsayer struggled to her knees and spat in the Priestling’s face.
‘Oh, the gods’ blessed,’ she mocked viciously. ‘Aren’t those from the godshouse mighty now, Priestling?’
Arjuro wiped the spittle from his face. ‘These two are here to kill you and I am here for answers,’ he said. ‘So what if we make a deal, old woman? You tell me what I need to know and I may just spare your life.’
‘That’s not your decision to make,’ Lirah snapped, struggling to free herself from Froi’s hands.
‘Answers,’ Arjuro repeated. ‘Why did the King order the murder of the male child born to the palace eighteen years ago?’
‘No male child was born to the palace,’ she said.
‘On the night of Quintana’s birth.’
‘There was only one babe born that night and she’ll be hanged soon enough.’
Froi knew she was lying. The woman hardly made a pretence of it. Her eyes met Froi’s and she inhaled deeply, as if in a rapture.
‘And if the King did order the murder of a child,’ she said, her voice drowsy, ‘what makes you think he told me?’
Lirah pulled free of Froi’s arms and gripped the woman by the throat. ‘He was frightened to piss without consulting you.’
Froi placed an arm around Lirah, pulling her back once more. The soothsayer leaned forward, her face an inch away from Lirah’s.
‘Spit in my face and I will tear out your tongue,’ Lirah threatened.
‘Oh, there’s the Serker savage,’ the old woman said, closing her eyes and inhaling. It was beginning to sicken Froi. ‘I smell those of Serker. Waiting. It’s what I can do. Smell the dead. And you have the smell of the dead on you, Lirah of Serker. Because you’ve been there amongst them.’
Froi felt Lirah shudder.
‘Do you know what happens each year I lead our abomination to the lake of the half-dead? Of course you’d know, Serker whore. You saw them yourself that time you tried to drown the child. The way the dead clambered onto the shores, screeching out their pain. They want to go home and unless the song is sung to lead them there, they will never have peace and nor will Charyn.’
‘What is she talking about?’ Froi asked.
‘Those slaughtered in Serker died voiceless,’ Arjuro said. ‘Their names were left unspoken. Only the gods’ touched standing on Serker soil can sing them home to their rest.’
Froi felt Lirah tremble again. Through all her talk of Serker savages, Froi could sense Lirah grieved for her people.
The old woman inhaled again.
‘I used to hear that the wild young Priestlings would travel to the marshes to search for the reed of righteousness. They’d crush it, cook it over a small flame and inhale the scent, and in the euphoria, they would see the gods.’
The woman was staring at Arjuro.
‘Untrue,’ the Priestling said. Even inside the cave he wore the cowl and gorget, every inch of his body covered except for his face. ‘It was a game. We were aroused from the vapours. It’s why we brought our lovers to the marshes. What was the use of all that arousal if you couldn’t share it with the one you loved?’
‘But you saw the gods?’
Arjuro refused to speak.
‘A Priestling once tried to explain it to me,’ the soothsayer said. ‘She fainted by merely recalling it.’
Still Arjuro didn’t respond.
‘Even without the pleasures of the flesh, Priestling, was it not beyond anything you had ever experienced?’
After a long moment, Arjuro nodded.
‘When I sense the dead it brings me the same pleasure,’ she said. ‘The dead are my reed of righteousness and when that girl comes into my home, the dead shake this cave with a power beyond reckoning.’
Suddenly, the soothsayer took Froi’s arm, which was still clasped around Lirah. She scraped her tongue against his skin. Froi shuddered and stumbled away.
‘Quintana of Charyn seeps from your pores. You’ll carry that scent for the rest of your days.’
‘Come,’ Arjuro said quietly to Froi and Lirah. ‘She’s of no use to us.’
They reached the entrance of the cave and Froi felt the hot panting breath of the soothsayer at his neck. He felt her hand on his nape and he spun around, shoving her against the unevenness of the rock.
‘Touch me again and I will kill you,’ he said.
Her breath smelt foul. As if something had died inside her mouth.
‘Nine months before the births,’ she said, ‘the King dreamt that two children would be born to the palace and that the one born first would end his reign. The boy child was born first and was tossed into the gravina along with the Oracle.’
When the soothsayer spoke, there was a whistle to her speech.
‘But he made the wrong choice.’ She looked at Lirah. ‘The secondborn, the fruit of his own loins, was an abomination. Everyone was frightened of her in the palace, running around on all fours like she was some kind of animal. Was she not a savage, Lirah of Serker?’
Lirah looked away.
The soothsayer nodded. ‘Oh, yes, she was. But everything changed when you decided to dispose of her.’
‘It was for mercy, you wretch. She begged me.’
‘And what kind of mercy did she get, Lirah of Serker? Was the little beast who died in your arms the same girl who returned?’
Froi turned, saw the flash of anguish on Lirah’s face.
‘Her mind came back in pieces,’ Lirah said.
‘Because part of her has no aura,’ the old woman continued. ‘Quintana of Charyn returned with the other. A lost spirit collected at the lake of the half-dead.’
The soothsayer’s mouth formed a malevolent smile. ‘And once they hang that girl, the dead get back their own.’
The three of them pushed their way through the crowd camped outside the godshouse entrance. Inside, the number of those taking refuge had tripled and everywhere he turned, Froi saw sleeping bodies on the stairwell or in any corner they could find. So far the street lords hadn’t dared to enter the sacred space, but Froi knew the type well. The godshouse would not be spared.