The Truth of Things Unseen

Cover amongst the dead

Taliette loosed another arrow, forcing Jessamy to take cover amongst the dead, then ducked behind the bush and crawled out of the world, hoping the other girl wouldn’t see.

This mousehole was wide and complex, as though she could get lost in it. She felt the soft threads of the world pressing against her face like tangled rope. She slipped between them, hunting out the true path. Her bow snagged on something, but she tugged it free. The mousehole twisted up and up, and she climbed, bracing herself against the world’s resistance.

She emerged, breathing hard on the old wooden deck at the top of the tower near the pit and rolled over, revelling in the light and sunshine.

She was fifty feet up. Anyone following her would have to come through the mousehole or else climb the wall while she loosed arrows at them. She had a rope coiled here, ready in case she needed to get down in a hurry.

She could see the whole garden from here. There were bodies all over with arrows sticking out of them. She had to resist the urge to hoot. Beneath her, off to one side, the pit churned and chewed at the fabric of the world. There was the ship, black and gold, with some fancy name. Ariannre, Llan had called it. The mooring lines were taught.

The Aden were nowhere to be seen. They would turn up, and when they did they would be ready to run back to their country, and she would go with them, and then, who knew what?

But there, coming out of the trees, who was that? She recognised the little moustache. Greasy old Stent with the maggoty eyes and the bristly, bristly moustache, and over his shoulder a sort of a grey struggling bundle with feet sticking out of the back of it.

It was a long shot, perhaps too long. She could easily hit Fen by accident, and how would that look? Fen with one of her arrows stuck in her, and besides, Fen was not really on the list. If she didn't make it, all the more reason to run. On impulse, she drew an arrow, knocked it and sighted.

"Don't," whispered her heart.

"I can do it," she said, but her heart didn't reply.

Too bad for little Fen, she supposed. Still, at least Stent would die happy, so that was something.

There was some kind of scuffle down in the trees over there. Two bright figures moving, and one enormous craggy rock of a man. Hewitt, fighting Llandred and his mother, Llaneth. Now, there was a shot she could make.

"Be the hero," whispered her heart.

"Shut up," she said, drawing the arrow. They were moving so quickly. Llan was massive, almost as big as Hewitt. He had his white blade out. Hewitt had two choppers. As she watched he caught Llan's blade between them, twisted, and the blade span away. Llan backed up, then stumbled on a root and fell. The lady Llaneth howled and ran at the huge brute, but he swatted her away, and she tumbled across the clearing, limp as rags. Hewitt twirled his choppers as he advanced on Llandred.

"Are you going to be the hero?" whispered her heart.

She let go the arrow. It sailed over the open meadow, down into the trees, missed Hewitt by six feet and thumped into a tree.

"Fuck!" she yelled and fumbled for another arrow.

Suddenly, she was struck hard from behind. Her bow and arrow clattered down onto the deck. She stumbled and fell against the battlements. She stared straight down, fifty feet, into the unkempt garden. The pit was deep and hungry. Her arrows slid from her quiver, down and down, scattering across the lawn like old winter branches. Stunned, she felt herself slipping after them, soft arms sliding over the side, dragging the torso, slick in leather armour.

A hand grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulled her up, and threw her into the corner of the tower against the cold old stones. She lay there on her back, panting, half relieved. She had almost killed everyone, but someone had stopped her. She began to laugh. Someone had stopped her, and now it was over, and she could stop and not do it anymore.

She sat up to see who it was.

"Hello, Hal. You came up through the mousehole. I didn’t know you could do that."

He stood over her, breathing hard, big hands balled into fists.

"What are you doing?" he yelled at her, fury and incomprehension etched on his face. "We’re a team. You killed Pig! You killed Talisker! I sat with her while she fucking choked! Who’s side are you on?"

She gazed at him through half-closed eyes, remembering his lessons. How to fight a man and win. Your smile is a weapon. She smiled at him then, broken.

"I'm sorry, Hal. I just don't understand anything. I don't know what I'm doing. There's something inside of me. I can't control it. Please help me."

She let her voice tail off, watching him from behind her eyes. She let her hair fall over her face and wore her broken smile like a mask.

"Please help me, Hal. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't know how to stop."

Hal sat back in the corner of the lookout. Her bow was tiny in his rough hands. He could break it easily, just snap it if he decided to. She tried not to look. He held his chin and studied her. His eyes were deep, Mercian brown beneath his floppy blonde fringe.

"We’re going to go down together," he said at last. "I don’t know what this is or what’s happened to you, but you’re still my friend. We’ll get down, We’ll get the Aden, then we'll sort it out."

She looked up at him, eyes wide, a couple of tears. A little tremble at the lip. Artful.

"Please, Hal, Please, don’t make me go down there. Jessamy will kill me."

"I'll go down first. I can protect you. They’re mercenaries, but they're good guys. I know them. We’ll work this out. Come with me now."

He tossed her rope over the side. It unravelled down onto the lawn, curled at the bottom. He gripped it and tested the knot. Behind him was the drop, fifty feet, straight down. There were no handholds, nothing to break a fall but hard-packed earth.

He leaned back.

"I'm going down first. You make sure you follow me, and I'll see you're safe. No one will touch you."

She waited until he was fully over the side, holding the rope. Just a little further, wait until his grip loosens.

She put everything into the kick. She locked it in using her breath and the muscles in her abdomen, just as he had shown her, stomping her boot down towards his face as hard as she could. She pictured the kick landing on his nose. She pictured him falling, no one to catch him. She pictured him split open on the ground, red on green.

He caught her foot.

"Clever girl."

He engulfed her foot in one big hand and twisted hard. She had no choice but to go with it. Her hip slammed into the wooden boards, then her face.

He swarmed back up the rope, and she realised, not for the first time, what a big man he was. She grabbed her bow and cast around for her last arrow. Hal saw it first. With one massive hand, he snapped it like a dry twig. He dropped the fletchings but kept the needle-sharp arrowhead.

"I’ll make this quick."

She leapt at him, clawing at him like a wild thing, trying to bite him. Striking him over and over around the head. He pulled her off as easily as a man pulls a cat off a chair. He twisted one arm up behind her and forced her to the floor. She lay on the deck, kicking, trying to get purchase on him. His grip was hard and immovable as stone.

"Hal, I’m sorry, please. I don't want it. I don't want to kill people."

She felt something wet fall on her cheek and realised he was crying.

"The crazy thing is, I liked you." Hal half choked out the words. "I thought you were really something. We could have gone looking for your price, I could have bought back your heart, then maybe..."

"We can still do that, Hal. I can still be yours."

He held the arrowhead in his other fist, close to her face. His jaw clenched, and he shook his head.

"I’m going to kill you now. It won’t hurt, and I’ll hold you the whole time. I’m going to open a little artery, just here. Everything is going to go dark, but I’ll be with you. You won’t die alone."

She arched her back as he brought the point down. Felt the tip prick at her neck.

"I’m sorry..."

He trailed off, his grip went slack, a little line of blood trickled out of his nostril, he crumpled over her like a sack of meat, pinning her. Unseen hands lifted him slightly, and she rolled out from under him. The Aden boy, Llandred, was standing there, a white knife in his hand. His sleeves were soaked in blood.

She sat up, took his hand, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. His eyes were wild, and his breath came in little pants as though he didn’t know what to do next.

"Come with me, my lady," he muttered. "We have to go."