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A loud crack like a stock whip jolted Cal out of sleep. He lay still for a moment, listening, his heart hammering, and tried to figure out if the sound had been real. The pink dawn, visible through the open shutters, convinced him he must have dreamed it. Today was their one morning off all week and they were allowed to sleep until third hour. It was far too early to be awake.
As he rolled over, though, he saw that the hut was empty. Blankets were strewn across the floor, as if the boys had found a nest of brown snakes and bolted. The door crashing against the wall must have woken him.
Out the window, Cal caught sight of one of the girls racing across the yard. She lined up with the others beside the mess hut. In their haste, the boys hadn’t bothered with shirts, and most of the recruits were barefoot. Roan stood beside them, his quicksilver gaze following another Arai soldier approaching on horseback. This Arai wasn’t tall enough to be Alexander. When he dismounted, the Arai recruits knelt before him, and Cal recoiled with a gasp.
It was King Thanos.
Cal fumbled with his shirt and shoes, adjusting the last bootstrap just as Roan appeared in the doorway.
‘Sir, what’s happened? Have the Bandála retaliated?’ Cal asked.
Roan shook his head, looking grim. ‘It’s Artemis. She left just after midnight, went to the king’s country estate, and stole his horse.’
‘She deserted?’
‘Worse. She left her Arai jacket for him to find, with the Bandála star drawn on the chest.’
Cal’s stomach pitched. ‘Skata! She defected?’
He rushed outside to join the recruits kneeling in front of the king, hoping his delay wouldn’t attract too severe a punishment. He watched the king’s feet pace up and down in front of the recruits. The king wore scuffed regulation Arai boots, same as the ones worn by every other Arai soldier. This wasn’t unusual. It was widely known that he liked to blend with his bodyguards, although Cal suspected it was more a necessity than a preference, given that half the population despised him and the other half feared him enough to follow him without question.
A shadow fell across Cal. ‘Stand up, boy, and look at me.’
Cal obeyed. The king’s black Arai jacket was hanging open as if, like the rest of them, he hadn’t had enough time to dress. The royal tattoo above his heart was dark against his pale skin. A scar snaked across his neck and ended at an ear, and his amber stare was fixed on Cal with cool intent. Cal bowed his head.
‘I said look at me.’
Cal swallowed, then raised his eyes. It took all his willpower not to look away.
‘What is your name?’
‘Cal, my lord.’
‘How well do you know Artemis?’ The king’s voice was calm, but the way he held himself, with firm shoulders and a tight jaw, revealed the measure of his rage.
‘Very well, my lord. We’ve both been at this training camp for four years. She’s my...’ Cal gritted his teeth.
The king’s eyes narrowed. ‘She’s your what?’
‘My best friend.’
‘Was. She was your best friend. Now, she’s a traitor.’
Cal replied quietly, ‘Yes, my lord.’
Thanos regarded him, unblinking, for a long minute. ‘Which direction do you think she would go?’
‘I...I doubt she’d go south, my lord,’ Cal said, thinking fast, ‘or west. She’d want to cross the border as quickly as possible, so if I was to guess, I’d say she headed north into the Yándemar Highlands.’
‘You’d know that region well, I suppose.’
The king was referring to Cal’s Highlander features, and the implication of this turned Cal’s stomach.
‘Yes, my lord. I lived there until the Arai...until I was twelve.’
‘Roan tells me you’re a talented tracker.’
The king wanted Artemis dead, not captured. He wouldn’t have needed a tracker for this mission otherwise.
With a slow nod, Cal said, ‘I’ve finished the training, my lord.’
‘Good. My best trackers are busy with another assignment, so all I’ve got is you. Saddle your horse. You’ll leave immediately.’
‘Sorry, my lord, but my horse was commandeered after the Bandála massac...’ Cal faltered. ‘Uh, I mean, after the solstice mission.’
‘Captain, get him a fresh horse,’ the king said to Roan then turned back to Cal. ‘Two men from my elite guard will meet you at the road. You’ll lead them into the Yándemar Highlands.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And Cal,’ Thanos added, ‘if you fail me, I will have your head as well as hers.’
As soon as the king waved a dismissal, Cal shot into his hut. His hands shook as he yanked on his jacket, strapped his hunting knife to his thigh and sword to his hip. Over his shoulders he slung his bow and quiver of arrows. He wrapped his Arai mask around his wrist and pulled his sleeve over it. Into his boot he slipped a dagger. Lastly, he buckled his medicine pouch to his belt. By the time he’d stepped outside again, the king had gone and Roan’s own grey mare was saddled.
‘I, ah...sir, I can’t take her,’ Cal stammered.
‘You’ll need her,’ Roan replied. ‘Ride fast, no matter which direction you take. And don’t stop for anything, you hear? Not for anything.’
Cal frowned. ‘Sir?’
Roan leaned closer and hissed, ‘If you bring Artemis back, Cal, I will have your head.’
‘But sir—’
Roan pressed the reins into Cal’s hand and pointed to the track. ‘Hurry. The king’s men will be waiting.’
Cal led the mare down the slope and glanced back to find Roan already directing the recruits to begin their morning chores.
‘Goodbye, Captain,’ Cal murmured, and trudged towards the valley.
It was not even second hour yet but already the day was hot enough to draw the oil from the gum leaves and drench the air with the scent of eucalyptus. As Cal emerged from the bush at the foot of the hill, two Arai soldiers came into view, both of them unmasked. One was only a few years older than Cal and had feathery brown curls and bright eyes the colour of moss. As he reached for his reins, Cal caught sight of a mottled series of scars across the back of his hand. The other Arai had lank blond hair that draped to a narrow, unshaven jaw.
‘Hurry up, mileskúlos,’ the blond soldier growled.
Cal mounted his horse and headed for the northern border. They travelled fast, concentrating on covering as much ground as possible. Cal stopped now and then to check the track. At first, the two Arai soldiers demanded to know what he’d found. It occurred to him that neither of them had any tracker training, and they were relying on him to lead the hunt. He could take them wherever he wanted.
As Cal suspected, Artemis hadn’t gone north to the Yándemar Highlands. He knew she wouldn’t have stayed here in Korelios, not with the entire Arai force on the lookout for her. That left one option – over the western mountains and into the heart of Bandála territory. Into Yándemar.
‘How far is it to the northern border?’ the blond soldier asked, squinting up the rocky path to the ridge above.
‘We’ll get there around nightfall, sir,’ Cal replied.
The sun reached its zenith and scorched the hills, crisping the leaves and turning the grass into stiff, crackly stems. Several times, Cal had to clear a path for the horses, and he was glad he’d sharpened his sword the day before. Someone had ridden this way recently, but not recently enough for it to be Artemis.
As Cal slashed through a stubborn clutch of bower vines, he thought about how he could get rid of the two Arai soldiers. They’d soon realise he was misleading them, and when they did they’d either murder him or tie his hands to a saddle and drag him back to Korelios. The men were older and more experienced than Cal, but Cal had one distinct advantage over them: he was a Highlander. He’d spent the first twelve years of his life in these hills and knew every valley, river and ridgeline. As soon as he crossed into the Highlands, he could vanish. Of course, the Arai would return to Korelios and send reinforcements to hunt him down. It’d be risky for them to travel through these parts, but they could well be enraged enough to try.
Cal’s breath caught in his throat as another, more terrifying thought occurred to him: the Arai might go after his family.
He sheathed his sword and climbed back into the saddle. He had to buy himself some time to get his family out. The Arai had spies in many of the villages. That’s how they’d recruited Cal in the first place. Someone somewhere had noticed him, realised his potential, and notified the Arai.
Now the only safe place for his family would be the city of Auremos.
Cal shuddered with the thought. Artemis had been brave enough to desert the Arai and enter the enemy’s city. But she’d had no family to risk. To save his father and sister, Cal would have to follow her. He’d have to turn himself over to the Bandála and tell them anything they wanted to know in the hope that the rebels might protect his family.
First, though, he had to shake off these two Arai soldiers, and he knew exactly how to do it.
That evening, just as the sun was setting across the purple peaks, they reached a deep gorge. On the Korelian side was an abandoned Arai watchtower, the crumbling ruins overrun with daisies. A long rope and wood plank bridge spanned the gorge, creaking in the breeze, and a shallow creek trickled between sharp rocks far below. On the ridge opposite, the dense Highland bush reared towards the sky.
‘Do you think it’ll hold?’ the younger Arai asked, peering at the fraying cords.
The other kicked one of the rotting bridge stumps and said, ‘I guess we’ll find out after the little peaker crosses.’
Cal gritted his teeth but didn’t retort. They could insult him as much as they liked. One of them would be dead in a minute.
He fixed his Arai mask over his horse’s eyes then led her across the bridge and tethered her to a wattle tree. He waited until the blond Arai and his blindfolded horse were halfway across the bridge before he drew his sword. The man stared, his mouth hanging open as if about to yell, but no sound escaped. Cal swung his blade high and sliced one of the bridge ropes. The horse lost its balance and vanished from sight.
An arrow nicked the side of Cal’s neck and he spun away, clapping a hand across the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers. Another arrow thumped the ground next to his boot. He ducked behind a tree. He couldn’t reach the bridge now without being shot by the Arai sharpshooter on the opposite cliff. After calculating the distance and angle, he leaped out and threw his sword. It whistled through the air and slashed another rope. The blond Arai climbed hand over hand towards Cal. Wooden planks clacked together and the bridge lurched. Cal flicked his hunting knife and severed the third rope. The man scrabbled towards the edge of the cliff. Cal drew his dagger but before he could take aim the remaining rope snapped and the bridge sailed into the gorge, clattering against the rock face.
A sickly moan sent a splinter of pain into Cal’s heart. He whipped around in time to see his horse collapse, foaming at the mouth, an arrow sticking out of her flank. He touched his own neck, stared at the blood on his fingers. The arrowtips must have been laced. He ripped open his medicine pouch, snatched a small leather flask, and gulped down the contents. He sat trembling and sweating, eyes shut, fists clenched, breathing fast and shallow. Finally, the poison ran its course, his pulse calmed, and his limbs stilled. He tossed his Arai jacket into the gorge then wet some dirt to make a muddy slush that he smeared over his black boots and trousers. This at least might stop the vicious Highland raiders from shooting him on sight. With any luck, they’d think he was a runaway slave and ignore him.
His thin disguise worked. The raiders, if they saw him, didn’t emerge, and he passed through the ranges unchallenged. He travelled as fast as he dared, knowing that if he ran too fast it would attract attention.
He travelled across country for three days, resting only for a few hours in the middle of the night, and eating whatever he could scavenge. At this time of year, the middle of summer, white and red gumnuts were bursting to life. The colours and bush smells reminded him of his childhood. Again and again he forced the aching memories to the back of his mind, but the beautiful, rugged Highlands refused to let him bury them for long.
It wasn’t until well after dark on the fourth day that he reached the small town where he grew up. The name of the place escaped him – in the first few months of his time with the Arai, his captors had tried to erase the details of his past from his mind. But the feeling of the land – its lay, its dips and curves – had never left him. The only names he’d managed to hold onto were those of his father and sister, Jakob and Safía.
On the outskirts of the town, a skeleton dressed in an Arai uniform swayed from a noose hitched to a tree. Cal clapped a hand over his chest, as if the bush around him could see right through his shirt to the black tattoo beneath. He was glad it was night – his muddied clothes might fool archers at a distance, but the disguise wouldn’t hold up under close scrutiny.
He padded up the dusty path and skirted a clutch of mudbrick houses, careful to avoid the candlelight that seeped onto the road. Halfway up the hill he stopped at a door. This was the place. He could feel it. He remembered the open-air smithy built off to one side, with its large stone hearth, piles of firewood and barrels of water. As he circled the workshop, his fingers brushed the copper shards on the bench. The embers in the hearth still blazed as if they’d just been left for the night. Any tools had been locked away, perhaps in that solid blackwood chest in the corner. Grimy hay was strewn across the floor, smelling of earth and oil. Cal shut his eyes and drew a deep breath as the memories began to return in sharp flashes.
Metal grated across stone, making him jump. He turned and came face-to-face with a glowing iron rod pulled fresh from the fire.
‘Who are you? What are you doing in my workshop?’
That voice. Cal remembered that alright. His gaze followed the soot-blackened arm to a gaunt face framed with tangled ebony hair. It had been four years since he’d last seen those soft amber eyes. Tonight, though, they were anything but soft.
‘Answer me, boy.’
Cal flinched away from the intense heat. ‘Jakob, it’s me. Cal. Your son.’
The rod in Jakob’s hand wavered. His stare roamed over Cal’s face and filthy clothes, then he reached out and tugged Cal’s collar down. Cal didn’t try to stop him. When Jakob saw the Arai sundisc and mileskúlos line, he recoiled.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ Cal said.
Jakob’s gaze flicked between Cal and the street. ‘What do you want? Is it Safía? Have you come for her?’
‘No. I’m alone. I’ve left the Arai.’
Jakob sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Truly?’
Cal nodded. ‘Truly.’
For a long minute, Jakob stared at Cal, his chest inflated as if he was holding his breath. Then he flung the rod into a barrel, making the water hiss and steam, and yanked Cal into a fierce hug. Cal’s first instinct was to struggle. He was no longer used to this type of affection. But the warm strength of Jakob’s arms, the smoky smell of his clothes, the scratching of his beard against Cal’s cheek, all these things tapped into the deepest of Cal’s buried memories and he surrendered to them.
‘Gods, boy. When they took you, I...I thought I’d never see you again. I can’t believe you came back. What made you desert?’
‘It was because of a mission on the summer solstice. We went to—’
Jakob thrust Cal back to arm’s length. ‘You took part in the slaughter of those soldiers?’
Cal wished he hadn’t let down his guard. He swallowed and gave a nod.
Jakob released him, horrified. ‘They were Bandála. They were here to help us. To help your people.’
‘You don’t understand. If we hadn’t...if we hadn’t, we would’ve been killed. General Alexander forced us to...’ Cal heard the words in his head, and his mouth went dry.
‘What?’ Jakob demanded. ‘The general forced you to do what?’
‘To...to execute the prisoners.’
Jakob’s eyes widened. ‘You took prisoners? And then executed them?’
‘I– it was them or us. We...I didn’t have a choice.’
With a slow shake of his head, Jakob replied, ‘You always have a choice, Cal.’
The words brought a painful ache to Cal’s heart. They were the words of his childhood, a lesson he’d long since forgotten. ‘Even...?’ he began, and gulped down the lump in his throat. ‘Even if the alternative is death?’
‘Death is far better than what you have become.’
Cal winced.
‘If the Bandála ever find out you had a hand in that massacre, Cal, deserter or not, they will rip you apart.’
‘I know,’ Cal whispered.
Jakob pointed to the street. ‘You have to leave. Now.’
‘Dad, I—’
‘Don’t call me that. Go. I can’t protect you from the Bandála.’
‘I don’t expect you to, but I won’t—’
Jakob picked up an unfinished mace. ‘I said get out!’
Cal stood his ground. ‘I won’t leave without you and Safía. It’s not safe here anymore. The Arai will kill you both.’
Jakob’s mouth fell open. ‘Why? Did you lead them here?’
‘No! I would never do that.’ Cal raked his fingers through his hair. ‘They’ll do it to punish me. Because I deserted. They threaten us with this to keep us loyal. It’s why I had to come back tonight. To warn you.’
Jakob swung the mace onto the bench, embedding the spikes in the wood. ‘Curse you, boy. Curse you!’
He disappeared into the house. Cal drew several ragged breaths, waiting for the pain of those words to dampen, then he crept forward and stepped inside. The room smelled of vegetable soup. He found a flint and steel set on the mantle shelf above the hearth and lit a candle. Beneath the shuttered window stood a battered table. He remembered there had once been four stools. When his mother had died, there were three. Now, only two remained.
Tucked away on a shelf next to the window was a carved wooden box. Cal rested the candle on the table and, with trembling fingers, opened the lid. Inside, he found a pale silk scarf. His mother had worn this for special occasions, wrapped around her shoulders to veil her rough village dresses in elegance.
‘Don’t touch that.’
Cal shut the lid and retreated to the hearth. Jakob stood in a doorway across the room, watching Cal with a wary expression.
‘Sorry,’ Cal mumbled, and clasped his hands behind his back.
‘You can come out now, Safía.’
A girl stepped into view. Her patched grey shift hung askew off her bony shoulders, and her feet were bare. She had black hair, straight as river reeds, and eyes as gold as sunshine that widened at the sight of Cal.
‘Don’t be afraid, Safía. It’s me, Cal. Your brother. Do you remember me?’
She glanced at Jakob then took one tentative step towards Cal, then another and another until she was standing an armspan away.
‘The Arai took you,’ she said. ‘I ran after them, but they were too fast.’ She rubbed away tears.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Saf.’
Twisting her fingers around her sleeves, she asked, ‘Did they...do you have...their mark?’
He nodded.
‘Can I see?’
Gritting his teeth, he pulled his collar down to show her his tattoo. She recoiled with a gasp.
‘I’m here to help you, Saf. Please, believe me. I—’
Jakob stepped forward between them. ‘Stay back. You’re scaring her.’
‘I would never hurt her, Dad. Jakob. Never.’
‘You can make all the promises in the world, Cal, but I don’t know you anymore, and I will not entrust her life to you.’
Cal didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His throat was too thick for words.
Jakob dropped a loaf of sourdough, some cheese, apples and smoked meat into a sack and asked, ‘How long have we got?’
Roan’s warning echoed in Cal’s head: Don’t stop.
‘Not long,’ Cal replied.
‘Safía, put on your boots.’
She vanished through the doorway.
Cal noticed a sword hanging above the mantle shelf. He took it down and tested its balance. A bar of reflected candlelight flickered across the room as he twirled the blade.
Jakob’s stare took on a strange intensity, as if he was struggling to understand what he saw. ‘You were such a gentle child. No wonder I didn’t recognise you.’
Cal turned his back and swallowed with difficulty. ‘Just...get Safía to safety. I’ll cover your tracks. Delay them if necessary.’
Outside, a horse whinnied. Cal lifted his sword and blew out the candle. Nothing happened. Perhaps his instincts had played a cruel trick.
‘Hurry up,’ he muttered. ‘They could be here any minute.’
He heard rustling then the creak of hinges, and through the doorway he saw the outline of wooden houses across the street. Jakob paused for a moment on the threshold, as if mustering the courage to leave the house, and their lives, behind forever.
‘Wait,’ he muttered. He went to the engraved wooden box, drew out the silk scarf, and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then he took Safía’s hand and stepped out into the night.
At that moment, a fist of silhouettes emerged from the shadows, letting the starlight spill over their black masks and drawn swords.
‘Run!’ Cal yelled.
With a horrified howl, Jakob pulled Safía back inside, grabbed a cooking pot, and swung it at the intruders. He was knocked to the ground. Cal yanked Safía behind him and raised his sword. He felt the warmth of her cheek against his shoulder. She was trembling. He slashed at the nearest Arai, who yelped and retreated. Another one came from the side, a third from the back. They wrenched Safía away and kicked Cal’s legs out from under him. A boot on his chest kept him down.
Cal recognised Roan’s quicksilver gaze and hope blazed in him. ‘Captain, please, my sister—’ He faltered as a sword tip pressed into his neck.
‘You led two of the king’s elite guard into a trap and murdered one of them,’ Roan growled. ‘Then you deserted the Arai. You are well aware of the penalty for that crime, Cal.’
‘But you told me—’
Roan stood hard on Cal’s chest, stamping the wind out of him. Then he whipped his sword away and said, ‘Take him outside.’
‘No! Safía! Safía!’
Cal fought, ferocious and desperate, as the Arai dragged him into the street and crushed him down under their weight. He glimpsed during his wild struggle a few people peeking around doorways to watch the commotion but no one dared challenge the Arai. The threatening skeleton at the village gate was the only defence they had against this enemy.
Inside the house, Safía screamed.
‘Roan, stop!’
Cal thrashed till a fist crunched his jaw. In the hazy minutes that followed, he could hear Safía’s cries ripping through the night. Then they ceased altogether, and the absence of sound shredded Cal’s heart.
Someone dragged his head up by his hair. Through the hot saltiness, he saw Roan standing in the doorway, backlit by a fast-spreading fire, and his sword dripping blood. Cold metal rested against Cal’s throat.
‘Wait,’ Roan called. ‘He’s my recruit. My mistake. I’ll do it.’ He hauled Cal to his feet, adding, ‘And I’ll make sure there’s not a scrap left of him.’
Roan steered Cal away from the spectators and into the bush. Cal didn’t resist. He could barely even breathe past the choking shock. It seemed an hour had passed before Roan released him. He slumped to his knees, the words of an ancient Highlander prayer hovering on his trembling lips. He stared out across the midnight valley and the rope of stars above and waited for death.
‘I told you not to stop, Cal,’ Roan said, his voice ragged. ‘Damn it, you shouldn’t have stopped!’
Cal wondered whether Roan would run him through or push him over the edge of the cliff. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. He was defeated.
‘Just get on with it,’ he whispered. ‘Just end it. Please.’
Roan shifted his weight and gazed at Cal with something like determination. ‘Things are about to change. Soon, a new sun will rise, a dark sun that will chase away all shadows.’
Cal looked to the east, but there wasn’t even a hint of dawn on the horizon.
‘Leave the Highlands, Cal, and this time don’t stop.’
He felt a hand on the back of his neck. Before his numbed mind could react, a sharp pressure beneath his jaw turned the world black.