‘What do you mean? What’s a bondswoman?’
Now Talon looked at him in wonder. ‘How long were you in Kalda? The ones in white, they’re all bonded men or women. Do you not have slaves in Deephaven?’
‘No.’
‘Well the sun-king doesn’t hold with them either, but this far from Caladir no one much cares. In Kalda the likes of Meridian call them bondsmen and bondswomen, but slaves is what they are. People who have been bought. Who are owned and traded and sold as if they were property. The children and family of debtors mostly. Although of course the merchants of Kalda have acquired some very inventive definitions of debt when it comes to the Taiytakei. The city sells its unwanted to the slavers, the Taiytakei train them and return them. In Kalda the guilds lend money to rich men to buy their “freedom.” Then the loans are called in, the debt is passed on to the man who is now “free” and of course cannot be paid, and in the blink of an eye and the flash of a writ, a freed slaves become bondsmen. It’s the same thing but with a different name.’ Talon snorted. ‘Aimes. That will be interesting. Excuse me, but as head of the visiting party I must now find our hosts and inform them that their property has offended one of my household.’ He sighed, irritated. ‘Since you’re not a bondsman yourself, the proper response would be to allow you to punish her by whatever means you see fit. What on earth did you say?’
Berren shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He was still trying to remember what Gelisya had said about the potion.
‘Ah well.’ Talon snapped his fingers and muttered something. ‘The usual punishment is a flogging. If you wanted to you could ask to have her executed but I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t wish to offend King Meridian by killing a favoured bondswoman, if that’s what she is.’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid woman. She can’t possibly have thought she’d be allowed to get away with something like that. Someone put her up to this to test us.’ He turned and let out a heavy sigh. ‘You’ll have to wield the lash yourself. Ever flogged anyone before? I don’t suppose you have.’
‘No! And I don’t want to.’ Berren shook his head. ‘I’ve seen enough of that. I don’t even know who she was.’ He went back into the gloom of the shed and looked at the potion in the pot. It was thickening nicely. Talon clapped him on the shoulder but his voice stayed hard.
‘Whoever she is, it has to be done. No one will despise you if you choose to go easy on her, but she is Meridian’s property and she has struck a guest, a Fighting Hawk, and what you do now reflects on me. If you make yourself look weak or cruel or stupid, you make us all look that way. You will put her to the lash because that is the law, but no need to be harsh. Ten strokes will do and you may be soft with your hand, although not too soft. I’m sure after two years at sea you know how.’ Talon looked away, glancing down at the congealing mess in the pot on the floor. ‘Is that ready yet?’
Berren shrugged. ‘It has to cool. Not long.’
‘But soon, yes?’
‘Yes.’
Talon looked pleased. ‘We can leave tonight then.’ He glanced at Tarn. ‘Do you need any more help with him?’
‘No. At least I don’t think so.’
‘Then I’ll see you’re left undisturbed until you’re needed.’ He walked out into the sunshine leaving Berren alone in the shadows and the gloom. Berren sat next to Tarn while the potion cooled. Why? Why did he have to whip someone if he didn’t want to? He could hardly blame anyone for hating what he was doing. It was magic, dark magic. Warlock magic. Magic that wasn’t meant to be used.
The potion cooled into a paste as Gelisya had said it would. Without thinking much about what he was doing, Berren prised Tarn’s mouth open and forced in as much as would go. What was left he pressed into Tarn’s nose. I’m probably killing him, he thought, but he did it anyway. When he was done, he watched and waited. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. Tarn twitched. Thirty seconds. Suddenly Tarn arched. Convulsions shook his body. A thin black mist began to form around his face.
‘I can see it! He’s almost ready,’ said a voice behind him, quiet yet ripe with excitement. Gelisya again, and maybe that meant the soldiers and the slave woman too, but Berren didn’t dare look around. He watched as Tarn bucked and spasmed and then went still.
‘I wanted to see,’ said Gelisya. ‘I’ve never seen it work before.’
Berren hardly heard her. Tarn wasn’t moving now, and all he could think was that he’d killed his friend. He forced open Tarn’s mouth and frantically clawed at the paste, flinging it out again.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Gelisya. ‘I didn’t realise it was you. But I went inside, and you are there, and you’re here as well. How do you do that?’
‘I don’t have the first idea what you mean.’
She giggled. ‘Silly! How can you be in two places at once?’
Berren growled at her but she didn’t go away; instead she passed a jug of water.
‘I like my maid,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry she hit you. I’ll tell her not to. I’ll tell her I’m cross.’
‘I’m sorry too. Apparently I’m going to have to hurt her. And then I dare say we won’t ever meet again.’ He poured water between Tarn’s lips. Tarn jerked, then coughed and spluttered. Alive, thank the four gods!
‘You will.’ Gelisya’s voice sounded solemn. ‘And I am sorry. But I know how to make it better.’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘But you’ll like her. And she’ll like you. It’s important. We’re supposed to be friends.’
‘You’re just a child!’ He said it as much for himself as for her. ‘I don’t even know who she is. I’ve never seen her before. I don’t know anything about her and I don’t know anything about you.’ He had to stop, because as he spoke Tasahre flashed into his mind again. The slave, the shape of her, she reminded him of the sword-monk, which only made it all even worse. ‘She slapped me, that’s all. I hardly felt it, and for what I’m doing here, I might have slapped me too. She doesn’t deserve to be punished. So don’t.’
Gelisya didn’t say anything. She twirled in circles on the spot behind him as Berren sat Tarn up and gave him a shake and slapped him on the back. ‘He’d take you with us,’ she said. ‘I know he would if I asked him.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Saffran.’ She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. ‘I know you’re going to keep the teaching stone, aren’t you? I suppose I don’t mind. But you have to keep it safe. You have to promise. He’s my friend in there.’
Berren clenched his fists, Maybe if he wished hard enough, she’d read his mind and go away.
‘It fills the hole, you see. Like the Black Moon and the Dead Goddess fill the hole in the world. He showed it to me. You have to keep it closed otherwise something will come through. Not yet, but one day. Before you both come back for the very last time. You have to keep it closed.’ Even with her lips almost touching his ear, her whisper was so quiet that he could barely hear her. ‘He’s making us ready. To let it in when the Ice Witch brings the Black Moon down.’
Enough! Berren spun around, but before he could throw Gelisya out of the shed Tarn’s eyes flew open. He sat bolt upright, was violently sick, then started thrashing about and screaming. Berren tried to hold him still but Tarn was a big man and strong with it, and Berren was neither. He swatted at Berren, trying to push him aside, eyes staring away into the distance.
‘Petarl? Petarl!’ Whatever he was seeing it wasn’t Berren.
‘I’ll get some of father’s soldiers,’ said Gelisya in a sing-song voice. She danced out. Tarn finally cuffed Berren aside and staggered to his feet.
‘Tarn! It’s me! It’s Berren!’
Tarn stared at him. ‘Petarl? Have the Swords of the Sun struck camp yet? And where’s the bear? I haven’t seen him!’
Berren tried to sit him down but Tarn was having none of it. He scrabbled around for his sword, was sick for a second time and then went back to shouting and screaming. Other Hawks ran into the shed, eyes wide with surprise. It took three of them to wrestle Tarn down, but when he finally grew calm and the first glimmers of recognition flickered in his eyes, it was Berren he clung to. The others slowly backed away, drawing signs of protection in the air around them. The looks they gave Berren were a strange mix — fear and admiration, loathing and respect — but Berren ignored them all, holding’s Tarn’s face in his hands, talking about their days together under Sword-Master Silvestre; and as he did, Tarn seemed to come back, piece by piece from wherever he’d been. It was slow: one moment he was lucid, the next he had no idea who Berren was or where they were or why. He kept asking about Petarl and the bear and the Swords of the Sun, whoever they were.