He ate about thirty of the little creatures, only stopping because they were salty and he had nothing to drink. Nish climbed the sandstone stack at the back of the promontory to look for a stream.
From the top he could see the towers of Nilkerrand, still burning. The westerly wind drifted a greasy brown plume across the landscape. Smoke trailed upwards from several parts of the refugee camp and lyrinx circled in the air over it.
To the south a long curving beach extended as far as he could see. Behind the beach were dunefields and salt marsh, country difficult to cross, easy to get lost in. There were hundreds of boats on the water, from majestic barges to little dinghies with scraps of sail. All were heading away from Nilkerrand, well out to sea where the lyrinx would not dare attack. He waved in the faint hope that one might come to his aid. None did.
To the east Nish saw a road crowded with refugees. It offered the safety of numbers and the possibility of begging for food. Further on, a meandering line of trees appeared to mark a creek. Nish set off in that direction.
Two hours later he was sitting in the shrubbery next to the road, thirstier than ever, watching the refugees go by. He had not reached the creek. His leg throbbed after the long walk through the dunes and he did not think he could go much further.
The refugees comprised every kind of humanity imaginable. Passing him now was a fat merchant or lawyer, staggering under bags of silver plate and precious metal chains. His fine clothes were tattered and soot-stained; he was drenched in sweat and scarlet of face. He would not last long, nor his equally plump and beringed wife.
Behind them trudged a mother and four young children, the youngest a babe-in-arms. They were dressed in peasant’s drab, coarse brown cloth that hung in baggy folds. They would not last long either. Then Nish saw the knife in the woman’s belt, the fixed look in her eye, and was not so sure. He would not want to get between her and her cubs.
A farmer’s cart followed, a rickety affair with a wheel that squealed at the top of every rotation. The mournful nag looked as if it wanted to lie down and never get up again. An aged woman and her equally weathered man sat on top.
The dismal procession continued. Nish was looking for someone who had been in authority and was still strong and capable. He planned to ingratiate himself, which was not going to be easy – people would be more suspicious than ever. Failing that, after his accidental success with Colm he would try to find a child to befriend, in order to get into the good graces of the parents.
Hours went by. He kept watch for Colm and his family but did not see them. Nish saw few people who looked more competent than himself. However, around midday his eye was caught by two girls, about twelve years old, coming up the road arm-in-arm. They looked to be identical twins. Both had the same coppery-brown wavy hair, the same dark eyes and sturdy figure. Each was dressed in plain green blouse and pants, their faces shielded by broad-brimmed hats. Their little packs were identical. Superficially they could have been any children on the road, but their clothing was of fine weave and well cut. But they were alone, and that was no good to him. No point, if they had already lost their parents.
One of the girls was limping. She sat down on a stone at the edge of the road, not far away. Taking off her boot and sock, she inspected a blistered heel.
‘I don’t think I can go much further, Meriwen,’ she said. ‘My foot really hurts.’
‘Remember what father said. If we were separated we must keep going, and never stop, until we get to Kundizand. He will find us there.’
‘My foot is killing me.’
‘It’s not far, Liliwen.’
‘It is! It’ll take us all day and half the night.’
‘The sooner we start the quicker we’ll get there.’
‘You sound just like Mother,’ said Liliwen crossly.
Another group of refugees, wearing straw hats and labourer’s drab, passed by. No one gave the twins a passing glance. The world was full of lost children.
‘They’ll be really angry if they can’t find us. You know Father has to go back to the army tomorrow.’
‘If there is an army,’ Liliwen muttered.
‘Of course there’s an army! There will always be one.’
‘The beasts might have eaten Mother and Father,’ said Liliwen, clearly the pessimist of the pair.
‘Stop it!’ shouted Meriwen. ‘Don’t talk like that!’
Nish, desperately thirsty and in considerable pain, could see no better prospect. Cutting through the scrub, he came out behind the girls, who were still arguing as he limped by. The wound in his leg was agonising. He walked on a dozen steps, then perched on a boulder. Pulling his trouser leg up, he began unwrapping the bandages.
The rents in his calf muscle had been healing, but one had torn open with the night’s exertions and was trickling blood. The tooth marks were red, swollen and filled with pus.
The twins were walking towards him. As they came by, Nish probed the wound, groaned and looked up. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any ointment, have you?’
The first girl stopped. They weren’t absolutely identical. Liliwen had thicker eyebrows than Meriwen, a rounder face, and the beginnings of a bosom. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Liliwen. ‘Mother has some but she’s … not here.’
‘Is she coming?’ said Nish, looking down the road. ‘My leg is killing me.’
‘Liliwen!’ hissed Meriwen, standing some distance away. ‘We’re not allowed to talk to strangers.’
‘That’s very wise,’ said Nish, knowing that he must look a fright. ‘There are all sorts of wicked people on the road. My name is Cryl-Nish Hlar, but everyone calls me Nish. Actually, I hate that name,’ he said confidentially, ‘but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.’ He held out his hand.
Liliwen took it in a way that suggested she had never shaken hands before. ‘I’m Liliwen. This is my sister, Meriwen.’
‘Hello, Meriwen,’ said Nish.
‘Hello,’ she said grudgingly, keeping well away. ‘You sound strange.’
‘I come from the other side of the world. I’m not very good at your language.’
‘Come on, Liliwen.’
Nish rose and limped beside Liliwen. Meriwen kept to the other side of the road.
‘Do you live in Nilkerrand?’ Nish asked.
‘Yes.’ Liliwen looked up at him. ‘At least –’ She suppressed a sob.
‘What happened?’
‘The enemy came, those horrible flying beasts. Everything was on fire. Our lovely house was burnt, and all my toys, and …’ she began to sob, ‘poor Mixy.’
‘Who was Mixy?’ he asked gently.
‘Her old tomcat,’ said Meriwen, still uncomfortable with him.
‘I’m very sorry. I lost my cat too, when I was a kid, about as old as you.’
Liliwen wiped her eyes. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Her,’ said Nish. ‘Finn was her name. A cart ran her over in the street. I cried for days.’
‘Did you?’ Meriwen thawed a little.
‘I loved my old Finn,’ said Nish. ‘She used to sleep on the end of my bed at night. She kept my feet warm in winter. I can still hear her purring sometimes, when it’s dark.’
They continued along the road. ‘What’s the matter with your leg?’ asked Meriwen.
‘I was attacked by a nylatl,’ said Nish. He showed them the wounds. ‘It nearly killed me.’
‘What’s a nylatl?’
He explained, and though it was a bright day, both cast a glance at the undergrowth and moved closer to him.
‘Have you lost your parents?’ Nish asked a while later.
‘They’re going to meet us down the road,’ Meriwen said quickly.