‘Very dangerous, though they seldom attack people unless they get between a mother and her cubs.’ Nish’s eye met Tinketil’s for a second.
‘Have you ever killed a snow bear?’ asked Ketila.
Nish felt the urge to make up a heroic story, but suppressed it. He was not sure why. ‘No, Ketila, I haven’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t like killing things much, and snow bears are magnificent creatures.’
‘You killed the nylatl.’ They had all heard that tale.
‘I had to, or it would never have stopped trying to kill me. It was mad, the poor creature. The lyrinx flesh-formed it out of nothing. Did I tell you that?’
‘No,’ she breathed.
The whole family was listening as he told the tale of the lyrinx attack, the flesh-formed little monstrosities he had found in the ice houses on the plateau, and all that he had learned about the depraved Art since. It was a long tale, and both girls’ eyelids were drooping by the time he finished it.
‘Thank you,’ said Ketila. ‘That was a wonderful tale. You are so brave. Good night, Nish.’
‘Good night.’
When they were asleep he said quietly to Oinan, who had been out earlier in the evening, ‘Have you had any luck so far?’
‘No. It’s a delicate matter, Cryl-Nish. I have to be sure we won’t be informed on before I ask my favour.’
Since there was no more he could do, Nish settled down to sleep. It was not a good start.
The weary days went by. One night, something roused Nish in the early hours of the morning. It had been a noise, far off. He looked out through the opening of the hovel. It was still pitch dark. Crawling outside, he stood up and stretched. The night was mild compared to what he was used to. The stars glittered in a clear sky. He wandered around the huts, relieved himself, yawned and headed back. Again came that noise, a faint, distant roar like an angry mob.
Fleeting across to the palisade he peered through a knothole. It was dark outside, which was strange. Normally the guards patrolled with blazing torches, calling to one another. He went further along, to a gap between two poles, and heard that faint roar again.
Nish pulled himself up the palisade. There was not a guard in sight. He slipped his leg over and sat atop the fence as if it was a saddle. The roar was louder from here and he made out a glow in the north, from the direction of Nilkerrand.
A not-so-faint glow when he stood up, one foot on the outside rail, the other in the valley he had been sitting on. It looked like a fire. He knew there was no forest up that way, and it was too early in the season for the fields to be burning. It must be in the city.
The sound came on the wind, louder now, a terrified mob. Flames shot up. Nilkerrand was burning, its hundred thousand inhabitants running for their lives, and the guards of the refugee camp had fled. The battlefront must have moved faster than anyone expected. It was almost on them.
Racing back to the hovel, Nish shook Oinan and Tinketil awake. ‘Get up!’ he hissed. ‘Nilkerrand is burning and the guards have run away. The enemy is upon us.’
They must have been used to fleeing in the night for they woke instantly and pulled their boots on. Nish felt for his own. Tinketil woke the children, who were just as silent and grimly efficient. In a reed-light Nish saw Ketila’s eyes on him again.
‘I’ll wake the camp,’ Nish said, crawling out.
Oinan caught his leg. ‘There’ll be a stampede. We’ll never get out.’
‘I can’t let everyone be slaughtered in their beds. How will I find you?’
‘Which way, Colm?’ cried Oinan.
‘Down the gully where the waste runs,’ said the boy without hesitation. ‘We can get through the fence at the far end, if there are no guards at all.’
‘I’ll meet you there,’ said Nish, ‘but if I don’t come, go without me.’
He ran down the row to where the great gong hung by the workhouse. Snatching up the mallet, he thumped the gong, one, two, three.
There were cries all over the camp. ‘Wake!’ he roared. ‘Nilkerrand is burning and the enemy is upon us. Wake!’ Giving it one last thump, he dropped the mallet. Then, thinking that it was a better weapon than his bare hands, Nish tucked it under his arm.
People were running everywhere, shouting, screaming and crashing into each other. Down the row, one of the hovels was ablaze. As he turned the corner, Nish was swept off his feet by a stampede. Holding his arms over his head, he scrunched up and waited for them to go by.
Once they passed, he crept along the walls of the buildings. A flame leapt up to his left: someone had set fire to a shanty and in its light a mob was attacking the gate. A dark figure went over the top and hurled the bar off. The gate burst open.
Nish kept going. Most of the camp was behind him now. Stumbling along in the dark, he fell off the edge of an embankment, skidded in greasy clay and slid all the way to the bottom. Judging by the putrid smell, he was in the gully. The drain must be just to his right. Well, that saved him looking for it.
He picked his way down. Several others must have had the same idea, for he could see figures further along. Perhaps it was the family. Nish did not call out in case it was not. A vibrating shriek of terror came from behind, then screams from hundreds of massed throats. Was it the enemy? He had to know. Scrambling up the side of the gully, Nish climbed a mound, stood on tiptoes and stared towards the gate, clearly visible in the flames.
People were streaming back, screaming and trampling each other in their desperation to get away. He knew what was behind them but had to see it with his own eyes.
A great shape came over the palisade, landing in front of the flames. The silhouette was unmistakable – a massive body, crested head and leathery wings. A lyrinx. Others stormed through the gate.
Nish could not bear to watch. He hurtled down the gully, splashed through the stinking muck in the bottom and along the other side, running and running despite the agony in his injured leg. He could not ignore it, but it was a reminder of what it would be like to be eaten alive. Nish rounded the corner and the fence stood in front of him. Several of its poles had been torn away. Someone was just going through the gap. He squeezed after them, tearing his shirt.
On the other side he looked around for Colm’s family, but they were nowhere to be seen.
TWENTY-ONE
Ullii was down the mine with Irisis, her only friend now that the scrutator had betrayed her and Nish abandoned her, and even Irisis was suspect. True, she had defended Ullii previously, but she had also been Nish’s lover. Ullii resented that with all her jealous little heart, and took pleasure in defying Irisis whenever she could get away with it.
Dandri and Peate, the leaders of the two mining teams, were there as well, to make sure artisan or seeker did not wander into unsafe ground, and also because it was their mine and they did not like outsiders poking around in it. They were accompanied by a pair of soldiers armed with heavy crossbows. The loss of the crystals, and the discovery of that secret tunnel, had been a shocking blow. The mine was no longer their haven from the world, but an unknown and threatening place where at any moment they might find a lyrinx behind them.
They were now completing a survey of the seventh level, working in the section below Joeyn’s vein. It was a dangerous area, with many sections out of bounds because the roof was too unstable. It had been a frustrating week and Ullii had found no crystal at all.
Please find something, Ullii, Irisis prayed. Anything! I can’t bear to tell the scrutator no again. He’s afraid. I saw it in his eyes last night.
‘I can’t see anything.’ Ullii was standing against the wall, her arms and hands pressed to the stone. She had been saying that all day.
‘All right,’ said Irisis tiredly. When had she last had a decent night’s sleep? ‘Where to now, Dandri?’