Light from the morning’s sun ran along the flat roofs of Ranan, leaving pools of shadow, much like rainwater, along the road Bueralan and the god-touched rode down.
Over the last week, he had slept in snatches, grabbing what he could when the grey needed rest, when the dirt and debris forced them to stop. Se’Saera’s black-eyed slave did not like the stops: he wandered around the god-touched, around the mounts, murmuring to himself, talking about the god, about how she wanted them to return. Zilt’s horrific soldier sat at the far end of the camp, watching him, a foil to his restlessness in terms of stillness and silence. In the last week, Bueralan had come to view the creatures as female, though he could not attribute any one feature or act to her that made him sure of it. At her feet lay the body of Zaifyr, and when it came time to move, she would lean down and pick him up, as if he were a little boy. Yet, no matter how much the black-eyed slave tried to hurry them, the debris from the Mountains of Ger slowed them. More than once, they were forced to backtrack because of a piece of swamp that had opened up through a crack in the land, or because a trail had disappeared into mud.
It eased only when Ranan appeared on the horizon. On the last day, as the clouds of dirt began to fade, Leeran soldiers appeared. The first ones Bueralan saw were thin, their teeth filed down, and on foot, but others began to emerge soon after. These figures were lean, but well fed. They rode strangely silent horses that the mounts of the god-touched did not like. More than once, Bueralan had to pull tightly on the grey’s reins to stop it kicking a Leeran horse. The soldiers who rode the strange horses were not nearly as silent. Many greeted the god-touched. Quite a few of them talked to the immortals: they spoke of Se’Saera’s order to return to Ranan, to prepare for a great battle. Not one of them was surprised by Zilt’s monster and, when she and the blind slave rushed off down the streets of Ranan when the god-touched emerged from the tunnels, none of the Leerans in the streets looked twice at either. Very few looked up from the barricades and walls they were making.
Bueralan wanted to rush to Taela, but years of travel, of caring for mounts, of being aware of their cost, saw him stable the grey properly first. Only Orlan did the same. The cartographer stabled his horse next to Bueralan’s – the god-touched soldiers put their horses in stalls and removed their saddles, but did little else. After they had seen to water and food for their animals, Bueralan and Orlan entered the crowded streets. The bustle was such a stark contrast to how Ranan had been just over two weeks ago that, even allowing for the fortification the soldiers were involved in – the construction of ballistas, catapults, the positioning of siege towers for archers – the presence of so many people took away some of the city’s strangeness. It did not take away all: for that to happen, Bueralan knew, the people on the streets would have to hang up their swords, open markets, inns, forges and all the other businesses and professions that grounded a city both economically and socially.
The crowds thinned at the bottom of the long steps to the cathedral and, by the time the two men reached the top, the only company they had were half a dozen swamp crows. There were hundreds throughout the city now, driven, no doubt, by the crumbling of the Mountains of Ger and their need for a new home. It was something that Bueralan could understand, but the companionship he felt towards the crows was short-lived: the door to the cathedral opened and Kaze stepped out, surprised to see him and Orlan before her.
‘How is Taela?’ Bueralan asked.
‘Tired.’ Kaze smiled wanly. Behind the god-touched woman’s glasses, her eyes were heavy and dark. ‘She – have you stabled your horses?’
He frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No. Well, yes.’ She took a breath, trying to calm her agitation. ‘We are going to have to cut the child out of her. Not tonight, but tomorrow, maybe. It is too big, Bueralan. She cannot give birth to a child of that size. It will kill her.’
He had seen a child cut out of a woman before. It had been in a siege, and food and water had been scarce, and she had died. It would be different here, he knew, especially with Kaze. ‘Have you told Taela?’ Orlan asked, when Bueralan did not speak.
‘She knows,’ Kaze said. ‘She can feel it inside her. If you place your hand on her stomach, you can feel it as well. It has a hardness to it that I have never felt in a child before.’
‘Is it a child?’ the cartographer asked.
‘It is Se’Saera’s child.’
‘Have you told Se’Saera?’ Bueralan asked, his voice cracking a little. ‘Have you asked her for help?’
Kaze laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Go and see Taela,’ she said, instead of answering. ‘She asks for you, all the time. Go and sit by her. We’ll tell her what we plan later.’ She paused and her grip tightened slightly. ‘I have done this before. I have cut a number of children out of their mother’s womb. I have never lost a child or a mother who was not lost before then.’
Bueralan wanted to ask if Taela was already lost, but he did not. Kaze squeezed his shoulder again and then walked down the cathedral’s stairs, to the stables, to the horses she cared for. He turned to find Orlan at the door to the cathedral, the darkness inside waiting, and though he did not particularly wish to do so, he followed the cartographer inside. There, at the door, just as it closed, a tall, dark figure emerged. It was misshapen, as if it had a hump, but once Bueralan’s eyes adjusted to the stilled dark of the cathedral, he realized that the shadow belonged to Zilt.
Over his shoulder, he carried the body of the black-eyed slave.
‘He died after he delivered Zaifyr.’ Zilt shouldered past, pushed open the door that had just closed. ‘He is free, as Se’Saera promised him.’
‘He was a child,’ Bueralan said, turning to him. ‘He should have—’
The door fell shut.
Been treated better, he finished.
‘Come on,’ Orlan said quietly. ‘We have someone to see.’
The cathedral was lit by the time Bueralan and Orlan reached the stairs at the end, revealing its empty pews, dais and stairwells.
The hallway to Taela’s room was silent. At the door to the room, he found Aelyn Meah, standing near the window, her arms folded over her chest, her gaze on the sleeping woman. The Keeper of the Divine was so still that she appeared like a statue, a creation that had been left on guard. At the sound of him and Orlan at the door, she raised her head. Gently, she placed a finger against her mouth, to caution them to be silent, and came over.
‘Taela is sleeping,’ she whispered, after she had stepped out into the hall. ‘She drifts in and out. She’s never awake for long, but we should let her sleep. She is in less pain when she sleeps.’
He nodded.
‘Have you seen Kaze?’
‘Yes,’ he replied quietly. ‘She told us that the child will need to be cut out.’
‘It is about all that can be done.’ There was little hope in Aelyn’s eyes. ‘My brother is here, is he not?’
‘His body is.’ It was Orlan who answered. He had been gazing into the room, and when he turned to Bueralan, his gaze mirrored Aelyn’s. ‘You go in and sit with her,’ he said. ‘I’ll grab a little bit of sleep and come back in a few hours. She shouldn’t be left alone, I think.’
After the two had left, Bueralan entered the room. He half expected it to be stuffy, to feel closed up, and that a smell of sickness would have come to define it, but instead, he found a gentle breeze moving about the room, as if it had been captured.
Quietly, he pulled a chair next to Taela. He could see the size of her stomach beneath the thin blanket that had been drawn over her, and she was much, much larger than when he had left. He had heard of women who had three children at once, and he imagined that such a pregnancy would equal Taela’s size, now. The rapid increase had clearly taken its toll: her face had lost a lot of weight, and she looked gaunt and hollow, as if she was being devoured by what grew inside her.
Taela opened her eyes.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked quietly.
‘Tired.’ Her hand emerged from under the blanket and he took it. ‘I feel like I have this awful weight in me. Like metal.’ Her hand had little strength in it. ‘They want to cut it out of me,’ Taela said. ‘Kaze and – and the other woman. Aelyn. They say it is the only way. They think they can do it without her knowing.’
‘They can,’ he said, when she didn’t continue. ‘They can, I promise. They’ll free you from this.’
But she had fallen back asleep.
Gently, he placed her hand back on the bed, beneath the sheets. As he did, she shifted a little, revealing brown stains of dried blood. Unsurprised, he straightened out the sheet, to conceal it from her when she woke next.