Once walked with Gods

Chapter 32

I do not require you to die for me. I do not want you to die for me. I merely want you to be prepared to die for me. ‘They are giving us neither food nor water. They are weakening us. The only thing free here is sleep and we spend most of the time sleeping. What else is there but despair?’

The Beethan iad looked exhausted and sick. None of those standing before Katyett looked capable of fighting. The thirst would be maddening, the hunger painful and the boredom dangerous.

‘And what of the dead?’ asked Katyett, gesturing at the covered bodies. ‘How did they die?’

‘We had a riot here in the first hours after the doors were closed,’ said a Gyalan with bruising across his face and a long cut on his right hand, presumably from fingernails or raking teeth. ‘Twenty died. It was over thread hate and rumours about who had what food and water. The others died when they tried to rush the doors to knock them down. It was horrible.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come,’ said the Gyalan.

He led Katyett to the bodies. The other guards, five of them, followed at a short distance. The Gyalan stooped and drew the cloak from a body. Katyett took an involuntary step back and glanced up to the gantry where Graf and Merrat looked on. She forced herself to look down again.

It was hard to tell if she was looking at iad or ula, Gyalan. Cefan, Beethan or Ixii. The corpse had no hair. The scalp was blackened. The face looked as if it had been lashed by a whip of fire. It was slashed and cauterised in twenty places. Ugly, burned scars that had taken both eyes, ripped through lips and nose and pared through to the jawbone.

Though the clothes were largely undamaged, the right hand was burned so deep that Katyett could see the white of finger bones. The left hand was gone entirely. This body had bare feet too. They were blackened and melted. The pain must have been terrible. Katyett knelt and spoke a prayer for the soul to find peace, rest and comfort.

‘What did this?’ she asked, replacing the cloak and straightening.

‘Human magic,’ said the Cefan guard, an ula with oozing patches in his scalp where his hair had been ripped out. ‘Placed on the door. It was like the lightning of Gyal’s worst storm of rage. It came from the wood and covered them, jabbing into them, flaying them and setting their flesh on fire. Since then, we haven’t fought amongst ourselves and we haven’t tried to escape again. There is such fear in here. Most are waiting to die.’

‘And you have brought this on us,’ said the Beethan. ‘The Ynissul invited men to our shores. Here is the result.’

‘So take out your fury on me if you really believe that I, Katyett of the TaiGethen, invited those enemies into our homes. The truth is that all of you who cheered the denouncement of Takaar and the shattering of the harmony have rendered us helpless. Standing together, the threads would defeat this enemy. Fighting amongst ourselves makes us weak.

‘Ynissul heretics have brought this plague to our shores. The rest of us have allowed it to spread unchecked.’

‘You’re blaming us?’ The Gyalan’s voice was raised.

‘Voice down!’ hissed Katyett. ‘I blame all of us, including myself. I did not see betrayal in those I served and loved and I am shamed for that. I blame you because you chose the route of hate of all threads but your own. Because you sought to protect only your own and damn the rest. Because you made it so easy for men to take charge. And do not doubt that they are now in charge of this city.’

‘Really?’ The Beethan gestured around the warehouse. ‘I see no Ynissul here. Nor do I see Apposans and nor do I see Tuali.’

Katyett moved a half-pace towards the Beethan, menacing for the first time since she had dropped amongst them. The Beethan took a full pace back.

‘The Ynissul are not here because after they were victimised, brutalised, raped and beaten by elves from every other thread, I had to take them from the city. I wonder how many in here are guilty of crimes, yet I still wish to save you. The Apposans are not here because they were fortunate enough to be warned away and are now in hiding under the canopy.

‘The jails are full of Orrans and Ixii, and of your brothers and sisters too. All other elves are subject to curfew and are prisoners in their own homes. And the Tuali are not here because men surrounded them in the Park of Tual and slaughtered four hundred of them while Helias walked with the cascarg in another part of the city.

‘We are all expendable to humans. We are all suffering. And your hate has made the situation so much worse. And still I wish to save all of you.’

Katyett pointed back into the warehouse. ‘Every ula and iad in here deserves freedom. I have to have your help or most will die. There are more ships coming. Thousands more men will be here tomorrow and it is our belief that they will murder everyone in here when they arrive. You are trouble and they cannot afford to let you live.

‘So I stand with you. If you are with me, when the time comes, most of us will breathe fresh air once more. If you are with me, you will go and wake those of you in each thread who command authority and respect and I will tell you what must be done.’

Katyett drew both blades from her scabbards and flipped them, holding them out hilts first.

‘If you are not with me, take these blades and end my life now because I have no wish to live among elves with no courage, no belief and no will to survive. And I do not wish to burn.’

There was the most fractional hesitation before the guards exchanged glances and trotted off back to their own peoples. Katyett looked up at Grafyrre and Merrat. She made quick hand signals.

Get Pakiir, Marack, Faleen and Ekuurt. We await you.

Katyett was a powerful force. One elf among thousands should have been swallowed, but the sheer strength of her will had turned a divided mass of desperate elves into a single entity for the moment. And a moment was all she hoped they would need. Grafyrre and Merrat were in the burned-out shop again. With them were the TaiGethen Katyett had requested, brought back from scouting duties deep in Ysundeneth. All six assessed the dockside. Eighteen soldiers, three mages. The numbers were the same but the atmosphere had changed.

Grafyrre smiled to himself. The humans could feel something and it was making them anxious. They were staring into the night beyond their fire but could see nothing. They were glancing at the doors to the warehouse too, and it was there that their poor senses told them all was not well.

Right on cue the chanting began, and it sent shivers through Grafyrre. Rhythmic clapping accompanied the voices. They sang prayers to Cefu, Gyal, Beeth and even Yniss. Humans flew to their feet or ran back from where they had been standing to gather by the line of barrels. Anxious glances were exchanged. Swords were drawn. The mages came together, standing behind the line of warriors. Orders were barked. A pair of swordsmen ran off down either side of the warehouse.

The volume of the singing grew steadily. Above, the clouds were deep and dark. Lightning flashed in their depths. Rain began to fall, hard and heavy.

‘Let us not waste this blessing,’ said Grafyrre. ‘We’ll take the mages. Marack, take Pakiir and Ekuurt as your Tai. Target the swords. Don’t move inside the line of barrels. And we need something to batter down the doors from distance. There has to be a mast on the dock somewhere. The master used to keep a dozen in the warehouse. Faleen. Find one. TaiGethen, we move.’

Grafyrre and Merrat tore out onto the harbourside. A moment later, Marack’s Tai followed them, moving directly at the warriors. The noise of chant and rain masked their approach. Only belatedly did the men sense their peril. They turned and shouted warnings. Mages began to move, gesturing and muttering as they went.

Running towards the fire, Grafyrre saw Marack’s Tai begin their assault. Jaqruis flew out. The soldiers reacted fast. One missed high, a second man deflected his away with his blade and a third man ducked. A jaqrui thudded into the warehouse doors. Sharp white light encased the weapon in a lattice of flashing, spitting energy.

Marack drew both her blades. She raced in towards the line of men. To their right, the mages were still, heads bowed in concentration. Grafyrre powered towards the fire, Merrat by his side. They leapt, turning triple somersaults high over the hissing flames, feet slapping down in a deep puddle right in front of the mage trio.

To a man they flinched and backed off. Grafyrre bared his teeth. His left hand drew the blade from his right-side back scabbard and he chopped the edge through the shoulder of the first mage, crashing through his collar bone and into top of his ribcage. His right hand speared out, straight-fingered, crushing the windpipe of the second.

Merrat kicked the third mage in the gut. He fell back. Merrat turned her body sideways and struck with the base of her left foot, catching the mage under the chin. He lifted from the ground and smacked head first into the stone. Merrat drew a blade and ripped open his throat.

Turning, Grafyrre saw four bodies already on the ground. He saw Pakiir drop and sweep the legs from a swordsman. Ekuurt leapt over Pakiir and landed on the man’s chest, driving a blade into his heart. Pakiir jabbed up from his crouched position, his blade slicing into the waist of another. Ekuurt lashed around two-handed, embedding his sword into the gut of a third.

Marack fenced with a skilled swordsman, who launched a swift attack, feinting to strike down and left but reversing his angle and coming in right. Marack blocked the blow and leapt back. The man came on. Marack ducked a blow to the neck and another to the stomach. A third strike came low at her legs. Marack leapt above it, her right foot snapping out and catching the man in the chest. He was knocked back. Marack landed and spun, unwinding a high kick that slammed into the side of her opponent’s head. He reeled sideways. Marack stepped in and lodged her blade in his heart.

Ekuurt swayed away from a flailing sword. He balanced instantly and lunged with his right-hand blade. The human deflected it with the dagger in his off hand. Another came to join him. Ekuurt backed away a pace. The two warriors attacked together, blades flashing in left and right. Ekuurt blocked both strikes with his blades. A dagger drove deep into his chest. Blood gushed from his mouth. He fell.

Grafyrre and Merrat joined the fight. Grafyrre dragged his blade across the back of a warrior’s thighs. He collapsed in a heap. Grafyrre side-kicked into the face of another. The blade of a third whipped in neck high. Merrat’s block deflected it and she followed up with her second blade, opening a deep gash on her enemy’s face.

Still the chanting rang out and the rain drummed down. On the doors of the warehouse, though the wood was untouched, the jaqrui had melted and dripped to the stone flags of the harbour, where it spat and cooled in the rain. Grafyrre noted it, ducked a wild sweep and thrust up into the groin of his attacker. The man fell back.

Grafyrre drop-kicked him, both feet slamming into his chest. The man was thrust backwards through the barrel line, his body striking the door. He screamed. White lightning speared to his face, hands, mouth and eyes. It burned the hair from his head and ripped the flesh from his cheeks. His eyes smoked and his last shriek ended in a gout of flame from his throat.

Grafyrre swallowed and turned. One man remained. Brave. He faced the four TaiGethen with his sword ready. He beckoned them on with his free hand. From all around the warehouse the clanging of bells and the flat blare of trumpets erupted. Alarms calling the enemy to the dockside. The man grinned.

‘Too late for me. Too late for you as well. Open those doors and bring the whole place down.’

Marack stepped in from the side and sliced his throat with the tip of her blade.

‘Bleed,’ she said.

‘More will be coming,’ said Grafyrre. ‘We have to get those doors open. Faleen?’

‘Over here!’ she called, stripping sail cloth from three masts, loose rigging, barrels and crates. Grafyrre was heading towards her when he realised the singing had stopped. He skidded to a halt and ran back to the line of barrels. The rain was still falling in spears, rattling off tile and spatting high off stone, but he thought he could hear a voice.

‘Katyett, is that you?’ he shouted. ‘Katyett!’

Grafyrre edged closer. His eye was distracted by the smouldering corpse slumped in front of the doors. He definitely heard a voice this time. It sounded like a demand to know what was happening.

‘Katyett. If you can hear me. The guards are down. We have to break down the doors. Stand well back. Be ready to run. More enemies coming.’

He repeated the message three times. Turning, he saw his brothers and sisters heading his way with the mast of a coastal cutter slung between them. It was rigged for carrying with leather bands nailed to it in four places from which hung leather loops. Grafyrre ran to join them. They had the base of the mast forward.

‘Pakiir, Marack. Move back. That set of handles is too close when we hit the doors. Let’s hurry. I’ve asked those inside to stand back.’

‘Did they hear you?’ asked Merrat.

‘We’ll find out.’

Grafyrre joined Merrat at the second band. Faleen was on her own on the third with Pakiir and Marack on the last. The mast was heavy and awkward despite the carrying handles. The TaiGethen moved as smoothly as they could towards the doors. The rain had slackened a little but the alarms were still sounding their discordant summons. Time was short.

‘Straight in,’ said Grafyrre. ‘Push hard!’

They upped their pace. The mast knocked against their thighs, the leather handles bit into the palms of their hands. Ten feet of the fifty-foot length of mast was between them and the impact point. Grafyrre put his head down. Three paces later, the mast struck the doors. Timbers creaked. Lightning chased itself across the face of the doors. Splinters flew out and there was a deep dent. But no break.

‘Again!’

They backed up ten paces and ran in, slamming the mast base in as near to the original impact as possible. The splinters were bigger and the dent deeper. The flashes of lightning a shade darker.

‘Keep it going.’

The alarms all ceased as they prepared to make their third run. The silence was curious, expectant.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Pakiir.

‘Nothing good,’ said Merrat. ‘Let’s go again.’

They ran forward. The mast struck a third time. Door timbers screeched. There was a resounding crack and two of them bent sharply inwards. A splinter as tall as the doors was stripped away. The human magic embedded in the doors spat and lightning writhed around the mast base. When they withdrew, the light kept on spitting and flashing.

‘Almost there, Katyett!’ called Grafyrre. ‘Keep back.’

‘Last time?’ said Marack.

‘Let’s hope so.’

They backed up. Lights were approaching, bouncing along in the hands of men running down the sides of the warehouse. Faleen dropped her loop and reached for a sword.

‘No,’ said Marack. ‘We have to get this door open.’

‘I can defend you,’ said Faleen. ‘It’s the right thing.’

‘Stay close,’ said Marack.

The four of them ran hard, Faleen’s absence making a considerable difference to the strength and speed they could bring to bear. The mast struck the door firmly. The first men appeared from the left. Faleen ran to intercept. The mast did not break through.

‘This is going to take too long!’ called Pakiir.

Faleen chopped the sword hand from one warrior, grabbed the lantern from another and dashed it into his face. Flames leapt over the man’s face and head. Faleen turned a back flip away as swords came in from left and right. Fourteen had come around the left-hand side of the warehouse.

‘Just break it,’ said Grafyrre. ‘It’s all we have to do.’

‘How do you know?’

‘A feeling. Can’t you sense the hold of the magic on the door? It needs the door to be smooth and whole. Back up. Quickly.’

The four TaiGethen moved. Grafyrre glanced left. Faleen ran in, leapt and turned a roll over the front line of warriors, landing behind them and in front of two mages. Her swords rose and fell. Men turned. The shouts were angry and ugly.

‘Run, Faleen!’ called Merrat.

More men came from the right. Another seven. A mage stepped to one side and began to cast. The swordsmen came at the elves and their battering ram. The TaiGethen began to run again. Merrat was looking right.

‘Concentrate,’ said Grafyrre.

Merrat punched out with her right hand. A man fell. She didn’t break stride.

‘Casting!’ shouted Pakiir.

The mage had clapped his hands together and opened them with a shout. The men had scattered. A ball of fire rushed across the space. Grafyrre could feel the heat.

‘Away!’ he shouted. ‘Pakiir. Marack!’

The back of the ram hit the ground as the two elves dived out of the path of the circle of fire, brown swept with angry red. Grafyrre and Merrat had some momentum. They ran the last three paces and shoved the ram at the door as hard as they could. It gave a little more and nothing else.

The magical flame struck the tip of the mast and chased along its length. Grafyrre turned.

‘Yniss preserve us,’ he breathed. ‘Merrat, away. Away!’

Grafyrre dropped the mast, ran two paces and threw himself full length away to the left. He saw that Faleen still evaded her enemies, leaping high, sprinting, trying to get them to follow her from the dockside. Grafyrre landed and rolled. The flame touched the doors. Magic collided with magic. The air was sucked past him. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Pakiir stand up.

‘NO! Pakiir. Down!’

The door to the warehouse exploded. Grafyrre was picked up by the force of the blast and hurled out and right. He saw Pakiir engulfed by flames. Someone else lying on the ground was immolated in a heartbeat. He prayed it was a man and not Marack.

Flames, ash and wood scoured across the dockside and high into the night sky. Fire rolled out like a wave across the sand, licking down into the sea over the harbour’s edge and setting it to steam. Grafyrre landed and rolled, barely under control. The noise of the detonation had deafened him. He drove to his feet. He was fifty yards from where the doors had once been.

And they were gone. Nothing was left of them or the entire front of the warehouse. Flames ate up the frame and were licking back thirty feet along the roof and sides already. The stone flags in front of the warehouse were a carpet of fire, white, orange and brown. Great clouds of smoke billowed out from the doors. An orange and brown glow covered the entrance.

‘Katyett,’ breathed Grafyrre.

Ignoring the pains in his shoulders, hips, elbows and knees from his landing, Grafyrre sprinted back towards the warehouse. The group of men trying to catch Faleen had been cast all over the stone of the docks. Of Faleen herself there was no sign.

On the other side of the warehouse the men had not been hit by the blast. They were grouped just away from the magical fires etching away at the dock and backing away from Merrat, who had a murderous set to her body and was advancing, her eyes only for the mage.

In front of the warehouse, Grafyrre had to stop. The heat was extraordinary. With every moment, the unquenchable fires consumed more of the building. Flames and smoke were burrowing in under the roof timbers. He could barely see the ruined ground right in front, the place where he wanted Katyett to be able to run to freedom. All she had in there were two short swords and a few jaqrui. Nothing that would trouble the walls enough to make them an emergency exit before the whole place came crashing down. She was trapped.

Grafyrre was short on options. He stood, staring at the inferno covering warehouse, stone and sky. It was two things. A clarion call to every enemy warrior and mage in the city. And it was death to all who were within it, praying to Yniss for a miracle. Grafyrre wondered if they were shouting, whether any of them could hear him. But his ears were ringing and useless and his vision was nothing but glare when he tried to see in.

Grafyrre took a deep breath, trying to calm a sudden racing in his body. The fires were not dying down on the apron, they were gathering force. It had begun to rain again but the only result was the hissing of steam as water collided with fire.

He stepped back, the sheer heat a barrier shoving at him. Part of the side of the warehouse gave way, falling in a shower of burning timbers but revealing nothing more than the gathering firestorm within. Grafyrre looked left. Nothing moved but one shape, hopping from body to body. Faleen.

Grafyrre looked right. Merrat had drawn both blades and was advancing. The enemy wouldn’t have seen it but she was favouring her right foot. There was a dark stain on her left thigh. There were four warriors in front of a mage. The latter was doing something. It was he she would target and they knew it.

And the answer, the faintest hope anyway, was right before him. Grafyrre began running and shouting, yelling for Merrat’s attention. The roar of the conflagration made a mockery of his efforts. He tore across the space, the fire licking at his feet, his pace keeping him from the worst of the pain. He didn’t bother with blades. One way or another, he wouldn’t need them.

Merrat attacked and Grafyrre knew the course it would take. The men, of course, did not. She ran for the centre of the quartet, letting them assume she intended to take them head on. Dutifully, they prepared and shifted their positions to strike. A pace before they could land a blow, she fell to the left, rolling around her lower back and hips.

In the same movement she rose to the left of the rightmost soldier, taking the other three out of the game. Merrat backhanded her right-hand blade into the neck of her target. She was already spinning right and her left blade slammed round and down into the shoulder of the next man. Two down.

The others had barely registered her change of angle. The first blocked her straight kick with an arm but it sent him wildly off balance. Her left blade pierced his heart. The fourth and last faced her full on. She dropped to the ground, swept his feet from under him, crabbed forward and buried her right blade in his gut, her left in his chest.

Merrat rose and turned to the mage, who had ceased creating whatever casting had been in his mind. He backed off.

Grafyrre upped his pace. He was screaming Merrat’s name but she wasn’t hearing him. The word sounded loud inside his own deafened skull, booming and reverberating.

Merrat advanced. She took two quick steps. Grafyrre knew what was coming. Merrat cocked her left-hand blade at her waist and her right-hand blade at her neck. She took the final pace. Grafyrre took off. He stretched out his arms, his right fingers snagging Merrat’s jerkin. His left hand caught her waist and spun her. One of her blades still struck out and he heard the mage yelp and grab at his head.

The two TaiGethen tumbled away right in a heap. Merrat was the quicker to react. She balanced on one knee and had a sword ready to strike through his throat until she saw who it was.

‘Graf!’ she shouted, the word indistinct. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Trust me,’ shouted Grafyrre. ‘We need him.’

Merrat scowled. The mage had realised he had been reprieved. He was staring at them, one hand clamped to the side of his face. It looked as if his ear was gone. He was backing away. Merrat pounced on him, bearing him to the ground. Behind them, the roar of the flames intensified. Another part of the warehouse collapsed. Grafyrre could hear screams behind him now. He got to his feet and scrambled over to the mage. The heat was stifling, sucking the air from the sky.

‘Put it out,’ he shouted into the mage’s face. ‘Put the fire out.’

The mage stared at him, his face blank and terrified. Grafyrre and Merrat hauled the mage to his feet.

‘I know you can understand me. Put this fire out. And I promise I will spare your life.’

‘Graf…’

‘Not now, Merrat. Too much to lose.’

‘You will slaughter me like a pig,’ said the mage.

‘I promise that I will if you don’t put this fire out now.’

‘I cannot.’

‘You use fire,’ said Grafyrre. ‘Use ice. Try.’

The mage looked past him to the inferno. ‘It will not work.’

‘Try and I will spare you,’ said Grafyrre. ‘Don’t try and you will burn in your own fire.’

‘I-’

‘No time. My friends are dying within. Is this why you are here? To supervise the murder of thousands of helpless elves? Are their crimes worthy of this death? You have a soul as do they. Study it. But do it quickly.’ Grafyrre held the mage’s gaze. ‘I am TaiGethen. You can trust my word. I will spare your life.’

The mage was alone. He might have more help coming but it would not arrive in time. He shook off the elves’ hands and stepped forward.

‘I will do my best.’

Grafyrre and Merrat stood very close behind him while he prepared. Merrat made a small hand gesture. Grafyrre nodded and Merrat drew a knife and kept it a hair’s breadth from the mage’s back. The man breathed deeply and held his palms together in front of his face. He whispered a word and opened his palms, fingers pointing down towards the fire.

Just like on the bridge, the air froze. Grafyrre felt the air rushing by him. The mage channelled it out over the fire in front of the warehouse. Ice met fire. A dense fog erupted into the air. Within it, brown and orange sputtered and died. But the warehouse still burned, its timbers still fell and its slates cracked and tumbled.

The mage held his arms out, pushing the freezing wind over the stone apron. Grafyrre twitched his hand. Merrat put her knife away. The fog tattered and dispersed on the breeze and under the pressure of the rainfall. In places, the fire roared back to life but at least there was a path. Grafyrre touched the mage on the shoulder, breaking his concentration.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘Others will not share my mercy.’

The mage took off. Grafyrre ran towards the warehouse.

‘Katyett! Come on. Bring them out now. The warehouse won’t last!’ He ran into the mouth of the ruin. ‘Katyett!’

The warehouse was a pit of night choked with smoke. He could make out shapes all over the floor. Roof supports had come down over the first forty feet. Many still burned. The fires along the walls had reached to the last twenty feet or so. Bodies were strewn by the entrance, buried under collapsed wood or burned in the first explosion.

‘Katyett!’ screamed Grafyrre.

Movement. He could see movement. People approaching at a run. There was a thundering crash from deep within. Fire fell from the roof. Tons of slates slumped down. Elves screamed. Some were engulfed. Those still standing ran. Beethans, Cefans, Orrans and Gyalans ran past him and out into the open air. Some drew up the moment they felt safe. Others just carried on running away from their prison and back into the city.

Grafyrre searched the crowd for Katyett. His heart tolled in anguish, his breathing was too rapid. He fought to calm himself. The mass was thinning. Those still inside were the wounded, some being helped, most just left to help themselves.

‘Come on, come on.’

Right at the back, he saw her. An elf had his arm slung around her shoulder and was leaning hard into her. He was struggling to walk at all. There were burns on his face. Other elves were with them, lending support. Grafyrre ran inside.

‘Yniss bless you. Come on. This building is coming down.’

Katyett managed a smile. ‘You noticed? What kept you, by the way?’

‘I’ll tell you later. Pakiir is gone. Eaten by the fire. Faleen is here but I can’t see Marack.’

Grafyrre choked.

Katyett released her charge to another and came to his side. She spoke to the thread elves first.

‘You know what to do. Hide, run, anything. Don’t get in the way of the humans. We will deal with them.’

‘Thank you, Katyett,’ said one. ‘I-’

‘No matter. Thank Yniss. And thank the harmony that means I remain in your service.’ She turned to Grafyrre and the two of them trotted away from the warehouse entrance to where they met Merrat and Faleen. ‘Graf?’

Grafyrre squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remain calm. ‘The flame was so hot. Pakiir, he… It just consumed him. How can a soul survive such a scourge? We will find nothing of him. He is ash on the wind. Gone.’

‘The soul cannot suffer such harm,’ said Katyett. ‘Shorth will embrace him. The halls of the ancients will welcome him. He will be waiting for us.’

‘And Marack?’

Merrat shook her head. The three walked to the harbourside and looked back at the warehouse, seeing its final demise. Thread elves made their way to wherever they wanted to go. Grafyrre could see the lights of torches all over the city.

‘We need to go,’ said Katyett.

‘Before you do, can you help me up?’ Grafyrre spun round trying to pick up the direction of the voice. ‘Down here.’

‘Marack.’ Grafyrre dropped to his knees and reached down into the harbour. The relief he felt sent a thrill of cold through his body. ‘Odd time for a swim.’

‘It wasn’t by choice. I was blown so far I thought I’d land on Balaia. Just get me out. It’s cold in here and I don’t have the energy to float any more.’

‘We lost Pakiir and Ekuurt,’ said Grafyrre, hauling her up, Faleen and Katyett reaching down to help.

‘We’ll pray and grieve later,’ said Katyett. ‘The humans will want revenge. Let’s be sure we are ready.’