33
Vintage wasn’t in a great state herself, a fact of which she was well aware. Even so, she was gratified to see the girl’s eyes widen in shock. She stumbled back as Noon jumped out of the bed and threw her arms around her, nearly knocking her into the wall.
‘Vintage!’ The girl broke the embrace and held her at arm’s length, staring at her as though she’d never seen her before. For a moment her eyes brimmed with tears, and Vintage saw her struggle to control it: the sight broke Vintage’s heart, a little. ‘Fire and blood, Vintage, I thought you’d died, I thought you were dead, I would never have left you—’
‘Take a breath, child, before you pass out.’ Vintage patted Noon’s face. She was gaunter than when Vintage had seen her last, her shining olive skin now washed out and pale. Her hair stuck up on end and her eyes were lost in shadows. ‘It looks like you’ve had enough to deal with.’ Before Noon could move away, she took hold of Noon’s arms. They were crisscrossed with cuts, most of them looking painfully fresh. ‘What have you been doing to yourself, my dear?’
Noon looked down at the cuts. She didn’t seem ashamed or alarmed. ‘Tormalin. He was nearly dead. It was all I could think to do.’
Vintage sighed. ‘You probably saved his life, although I’m not sure he’ll thank you for it, vain creature that he is.’ Detaching herself from the fell-witch, Vintage approached the bed. Again, she felt her heart fracture. These children, how broken they were, and she had made it worse. The left-hand side of his beautiful face was a rippled mask of scar tissue, his hair seared away from his scalp. His left arm, which lay above the covers, was in a similar state. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully enough, at least.
‘I don’t know about you, my dear, but I could do with a hot dinner inside me.’
They bustled around the kitchens together, stoking up the oven and opening cupboards, searching through the cold larder. There was little planning to it, and Vintage suspected the girl wasn’t capable of doing so; she seemed easily distracted, her hands trembling now and then. She would stop, as though listening to something only she could hear, before shaking her head and chopping the warty eyes off a potato. Vintage wondered how much blood she had given Tor in the time she had been gone. Too much could be dangerous, but having looked at the Eboran’s terrible ravaged face, Vintage could well imagine making the same decision herself.
When finally they sat down at the table, it was to a hotchpotch meal of boiled potatoes with butter, thick slices of cured ham, pears poached in nutty ale, baked apples, and jars and jars of Esiah’s best preserves. Vintage’s stomach rumbled audibly at the sight of it. She caught Noon’s eye and they both laughed.
‘Vintage,’ Noon said round a mouthful of potato, ‘where have you been? What happened?’
‘If I recall correctly, my dear, what happened was that everything erupted in a giant ball of winnowfire.’ Seeing the expression on Noon’s face, Vintage swiftly continued. ‘I’m not at all sure, but I believe I was blown free somehow. I awoke some distance from the wreckage of the Behemoth, with this delightful scorching on my face.’ She dabbed her fingers lightly to her cheeks, which were still red and sore. ‘And my clothes torn and burned. I had landed in a big puddle, luckily, and I believe that may have put any fires out. I don’t know how long I was unconscious for, but the fire was down to its embers. Everything hurt.’
She paused, taking sips of the apple juice they had found in the larder. It was sweet and tart. ‘I couldn’t move for that first day, or the first night. I lay still and tried to figure out whether I’d broken anything. And I hoped that the parasite spirits didn’t come across me.’
‘I should have gone back.’ Noon had stopped with a forkful of ham halfway to her mouth. ‘I should have come looking for you.’
‘The fact that you got Tor back here in that state is a feat in itself, Noon, my dear. Please do not be distressed. When finally I felt I could stand and walk, I started to make my way to the gate. I did not get far. I lay for another night in the hollow of a tree. It took me a long time to wake the following morning, and I knew I had to get some food.’ She raised her eyebrows at Noon. ‘Food heals, Noon, just as blood heals Eborans. More efficiently, in fact. I hope you have been eating?’
For a moment Noon looked confused by the question. ‘I eat when I remember.’
‘Good. Well, I foraged. You don’t grow up with the vine forest as your backyard and not learn something about what you can and can’t eat.’ Vintage pursed her lips. ‘Although it may be a while before I eat mushrooms again. Where is Esiah? He’s not here?’
‘We saw him as he came in the gate. He was worried, because there was a fire. He mentioned his son.’ Noon grimaced. ‘I don’t think he was in his right mind.’
Vintage sighed. ‘Poor man. He’s not been in his right mind for some time. You don’t need to know the endless details of my survival, Noon, my dear, save to say that it was unpleasant. I am more interested in what happened just before the Behemoth was blown into tiny bits. It was you, wasn’t it? The green that I saw – it was winnowfire?’
The girl looked stricken, then angry, then lost. She pushed her hair back from her forehead – the bat tattoo there looked dark against her ashen skin. ‘It was me. Again. I nearly killed you both. I –’ she gasped, visibly keeping her distress under control – ‘I took life energy from a parasite spirit.’
Vintage sat back, genuinely astonished. She put down her fork, and the clink of silver against the plate was very loud in the eerily quiet house. ‘Well. Goodness me.’
‘It was too much,’ said Noon. ‘It overwhelmed me. It was like filling a bucket from a river, but the river is running faster than you realise. Not only does it fill your bucket, but it also pulls it away from your hands, and it’s lost. I couldn’t control it.’ Noon looked up, and now her eyes were dry and her voice was flat. ‘It was too much for me, Vintage.’
And then, curiously, she gasped again, closing her eyes tight and bending over the table. Vintage stood up, ignoring the various aches and pains that clamoured for attention.
‘My dear! What is it?’
Noon shook her head, half laughing. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know what it is. Ever since the parasite spirit, everything has been slightly wrong. It doesn’t follow me to my dreams, I know that much, but it’s with me the rest of the time. The energy too – it’s still there, it just . . . waits.’ She looked down at her hands for a moment, and when she looked back up, her eyes were filled with a naked desperation. ‘Why am I like this? Why am I this cursed thing? With all your reading, Vintage, you must know why fell-witches exist!’
‘Oh my dear, I don’t know. No one does.’ Vintage sat back down, chasing a potato across the plate with her knife. She had washed and bound her wound as soon as she’d got back to the house, but it was still awkward to eat with one of her hands injured. ‘It’s not passed down from mother to daughter, we do know that much. The children with this ability appear to be randomly chosen. There is no aptitude, no pattern across families that can be traced. It is an unknowable magic. It shows itself in all peoples, all across Sarn. Save for Ebora.’ She paused. ‘I did read something once. Did you have your own gods, amongst your people?’
‘Yes. Gods of storms, the seasons. They were distant. They were just stories, really.’
‘I read of a people once who believed that the winnowfire was a blessing rather than a curse. That it was a gift from a goddess.’
‘A goddess?’ Noon had picked up her fork, but now she put it back down again. ‘Who were these people? What goddess?’
‘I don’t know, darling. All trace of that people are gone – hardly any writings about them exist. I suspect the Winnowry has rooted it all out and destroyed it. The idea of the winnowfire as a gift hardly fits with what they’re selling, does it? But I remember they called the goddess “She Who Laughs”.’
Noon shook her head. ‘That means nothing to me.’
‘No reason it should, my dear.’
For a time they were both quiet. Vintage concentrated on eating what was set in front of her, knowing that it was essential that she get her energy back. The girl was visibly struggling, her hands trembling, and not for the first time Vintage wondered about the terrible event in her past she was trying so hard to hide.
‘I am sorry,’ Noon said eventually. ‘For what I have done to you, and to Tormalin. I can’t control this, I’ve never been able to. I should never have left the Winnowry. It’s true, what they say we are.’
‘It is not true, and do not let me hear you say that ever again.’ Noon’s head snapped up, clearly startled by the venom in Vintage’s voice. ‘The Winnowry is a poison, a poison that has tainted all of Sarn, letting us think that certain women are inherently evil, through something that, as far as we know, is as natural as having freckles, or being left handed. It’s easier to put these women out of our sight, of course, than to force ourselves to think of ways that we can help. All of that potential, all of those lives, curtailed because of the ravings of a sea-addled man –’ Vintage took a sharp breath. ‘Noon, my dear, we would have all died in that wreckage if you hadn’t summoned your handy explosion, and that would have been my fault. I am always too willing to drag others into danger because of my own curiosity.’ She thought of Nanthema then, her quick grin and her laughter, before firmly pushing the memories aside; there would be time to examine her own guilt later. The girl was looking at her uncertainly, her eyes too bright. Vintage took another sip of apple juice.
‘Listen. There was an interesting case a while back. A boy was born in Finneral, who grew up to realise that, actually, he was not a boy, but a girl. This girl grew up wise, clever, able to see patterns in the movements of animals, warnings in the calls of birds, and the Finneral people venerated her. She became a “Stone Talker”, which is their term for a wise person, or a spiritual leader. And then, one day, her winnowfire manifested.’
Noon blinked. ‘She was a fell-witch?’
Vintage nodded. ‘The Winnowry came for her, but the Finneral would not give her up. Stone talkers are rare, and she was beloved of them. The dispute became violent, and the fell-witch was killed in the conflict. The Winnowry and the Finneral have had a very icy relationship since.’
‘That’s terrible!’
‘It is. But, you know, I have spoken to Finneral who insist that she is still alive. She was too wise, too canny, and she made them think she was dead so she could escape. They insist she still lives now, somewhere in Finneral, a secret advisor to their leaders.’ Vintage smiled. ‘I hope that’s true. But my point is, as you can see, that winnowfire isn’t something we’re even close to understanding. And there is so much potential, in all of you. Don’t be afraid of who you are.’
‘I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that. I’ve already done too much damage, I—’ Noon stood up, scraping the chair across the flagstones with a screech. ‘It doesn’t matter now, though, because you’re here.’ The cuts that traced a pattern up her arms were almost too red to look at. ‘We’ll get Tor better together, and it’ll all be as it was.’
‘I can’t, Noon, my darling. I have to leave you. I have to go, immediately. There will be things I must pack, of course, and since it sounds to me like poor Esiah won’t be coming back, well, I’m sure he won’t mind if I avail myself of his supplies. But I have to go.’
Noon stood as if frozen. ‘Leave us? What do you mean, leave us?’
‘Listen.’ Vintage stood up and went to the girl, taking hold of her arm. Her skin felt feverish. ‘There was something I have missed, over all these long years. Something brought home to me by what we found inside the Behemoth remains. It’s possible I have made an enormous mistake, and that someone I care about very much has paid the price. It has been so long, my darling, that I cannot possibly wait any longer. I have to go now.’
‘What do you mean, a mistake? What are you talking about?’
Vintage sighed. ‘It’s probably best you don’t know. I have already caused you and Tormalin enough pain, and besides which, neither of you are fit to travel. Take care of him, and yourself, and, hopefully, I will come back for you.’
Noon tipped her head, as if listening to some internal voice again. She winced as she did so. ‘You really mean to go? Now?’
‘I do.’ Vintage patted her arm. ‘I’ve got a way to go before I come to the first reasonable town, and I need to do it before the long rains come. Believe me, Greenslick is the most miserable place in the rainy season. Now, my dear, help me pack up some of this food. Thank goodness for Esiah’s overly packed larder.’
Noon did what she could to talk Vintage out of it, following her from room to room, presenting her with reasons to stay, but the strange voice and alien images in her head kept intruding, causing her to stop mid-sentence, unsure of what her point had been. She saw that Vintage noticed her distress and confusion but did not comment on it. That in itself shook Noon – Vintage, always so kind and so nosy, had apparently decided she would have to cope with this, whatever it was, by herself. They stopped together at Tor’s room, and Vintage went to his bedside, fussily plucking at his bedclothes until they were neater.
‘He sleeps well, and deep,’ she said. ‘I believe that is a good sign. Sometimes the body just needs to rest, and by the vines, Eborans are tougher than most.’
‘He moves when I . . . feed him,’ said Noon. Vintage hadn’t commented further on that either. ‘But he doesn’t talk or open his eyes. It’s like he’s closed himself down somehow, like a hibernating bear.’ She wondered if she should mention their shared dreams, but that already seemed too personal somehow. And besides which, Vintage had made it very clear that she wasn’t interested. She had other things to deal with. ‘Vintage, have you ever heard of parasite spirits talking?’
The question was out before she’d thought to ask it. Vintage turned to her, her eyebrows raised. Her scorched skin looked tight and painful. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I mean, no one has ever spoken to them? That you know of?’
‘No, no of course not.’ Vintage was looking at her very closely now. ‘Why do you ask that, my dear?’
‘I just wondered. I mean, I thought I heard something in the compound, but it must have been shock, or my head being bashed around. I landed quite hard myself.’
Vintage looked like she might ask more, and then she nodded shortly. ‘I’m sure that was what it is, my darling. It was a strange place. After all these years of waiting to explore it, I have to say, I shall be quite glad to leave it behind.’
With that she pushed Tor’s hair back from his forehead, patted his face once, and left the room. When she took her leave of Esiah’s house, she embraced Noon and kissed her firmly on the cheek. Noon blinked. Who had last kissed her like that? Her mother, probably. She had kissed her forehead when she served their breakfast, and then kissed her cheek when she was tucked up in bed for the night. She hadn’t thought of that for years.
‘Vintage, I . . . please keep yourself safe.’
The woman grinned at her. ‘My darling, I have been keeping myself safe since before you were a twinkle in some rogue’s eye. Stay here, get the pair of you better. This is as safe a place to hide as any.’
She took one of the ponies, which looked glad to leave. She rode out across the courtyard to the gates, a new hat – scavenged from Godwort’s wardrobe – wedged jauntily on her head, and her crossbow bouncing at her hip. Noon watched her go through the gate, wondering if she would wave. She didn’t. Overhead, the clouds were bruising, ready for more rain, and Noon felt goosebumps break out across her arms. To be alone in this broken landscape . . . She went back inside.
From her camp on the lonely hill, Agent Lin watched the black woman leave the gates, moving slowly but steadily up the road that led away from Greenslick. She waited, but her prey and her companion did not follow. Eventually, the rain that had been threatening all morning finally broke, and she moved into her makeshift tent, still sitting at the entrance so that she could watch the distant gates. Behind her, the bulky form of Gull made a muffled trilling noise. At first she had tried to chase the creature off, but the nights were cold in this miserable place, and the warmth of the bat filled the entire tent at night. Now he was asleep, his big ugly face tucked under a wing.
‘Are they dead already? That’s the question.’ Lin squinted through the rain. There had been a fire in the compound, the smoke billowing up over it like a great cloud. Before it had been dispersed by the rain that came and went constantly, the smoke had briefly blotted the whole property from her view under a shifting veil of black and grey. The rain was so heavy now she could barely see the great house and its walls, and a worm of anxiety twisted in her stomach. When it rained, she could see very little. A teeming grey curtain stood between her and the mansion. ‘Wounded in the compound, or killed outright. How would I know?’
Gull trilled again, as if he were answering her in his sleep. It was almost amusing to her that the bat responded to the sound of her voice.
‘If they’re already dead, I will have to go in and retrieve the body. Take it back to that bitch, and they’ll have to leave me alone.’ Leave my boy alone, she thought. ‘You can bet I’ll be fussier about what missions I’ll do for them in future. Let some other agent deal with this nonsense.’
Fell-Noon could be leaving now. Sneaking out the gates under the cover of the rain, following on behind her friend. Lin would have to go right down to the gates themselves to check, and risk being uncovered. If she revealed herself too soon, all would be lost.
‘I can’t let them see me,’ she said aloud. ‘Not until I know I can take them. And in this weather . . .’
Winnowfire was unreliable in the rain. And she wanted everything to go smoothly. She needed everything to be under control.
‘I will just have to be patient.’
Agent Lin shuffled backwards, never taking her eyes off the distant shadow that was the house, and lay back against Gull’s warm mid-section. The bat gave a faint trill of protest, then went back to sleep.