Red Sister (Book of the Ancestor 1)

‘That’s what convinced the abbess of Sherzal’s good faith,’ Kettle said. ‘She put Zole into the church’s care.’

‘With Yisht to guard her …’

‘Yisht has a great reputation for her skills.’

‘And now Zole only has Tarkax …’

‘The Ice-Spear’s reputation is greater still.’ Kettle drew a sharp breath. ‘And nobody knows Zole is the Chosen One. If anyone is out hunting it’s Ara they’ll be after.’

Kettle fell quiet for a long moment, long enough for the questions to start crowding in on Nona: how could she help? Could she drag Kettle if she made a travois from branches … the raiders had rope …

‘You have to go.’ Kettle broke the silence. ‘Run. Find Ara.’

‘I’m not leaving.’ Nona sat back on her haunches, arms folded.

‘It’s not a request.’ Another breath hitched past gritted teeth. ‘In the absence of the abbess or senior sister I … represent the convent’s authority.’

‘I’m still not going.’

‘It’s a direct order.’ Kettle furrowed her brow. ‘In the name of the Ancestor.’

Nona shrugged. ‘I’ve never been that convinced by this Ancestor business. I prefer the Hope Church myself. Or perhaps the tunnel gods.’

‘Nona!’ Kettle tried to sit up and fell back with a gasp. ‘This is serious. You have to go. The Noi-Guin will call others.’

Nona shrugged again. ‘I’ll kill them if they come.’ She paused, thinking over Kettle’s words. ‘How would your wounded assassin call for help?’

‘They’re shadow-workers. She could reach out to another, if they had the bond.’

‘How far?’

‘It depends. A mile? Ten? Most shadow-workers could send a simple call for help a fair distance.’

‘So call her.’

‘Who?’

Nona levelled a narrow stare at Kettle. ‘Sister Apple.’

‘But Arabella—’

‘The Noi-Guin want me, not her. And they’ll track me from here if I run. So we need someone here to stop that happening. And if Ara needs protecting – well, I’m the Shield aren’t I? I passed the ordeal. You didn’t.’

‘But—’

‘Call her!’ Nona shouted it.

‘I don’t want her to see me die!’ Kettle shouted it back.

Nona sat back, stunned. ‘You … you’re not going to die.’ The words came rough from a dry throat. ‘It’s just a small knife.’

‘It had venom on it, Nona. It’s eating at me. I can feel it in my bones.’

‘Wait!’ Nona fumbled in her habit, her fingers clumsy with grief. ‘I’ve got the black cure!’ She brought the vial out.

‘Little Nona.’ Kettle’s old smile returned. ‘Where in the world—’

‘I made it.’ Nona twisted the cap. ‘You’ve got to drink it!’

Kettle gave a weak grin. ‘I’d rather drink ditchwater. You should throw that away. It’s dangerous stuff even when not made by novices.’

‘But—’

‘I’m a Sister of Discretion, Nona. I’ve already taken the black cure. I took it when I first saw her. It’s why I’m still alive. But it’s not enough.’

‘Sister Apple would know. She could do something. She’s the Poisoner! She could—’

‘They still call her that?’ The ghost of a smile now, a weak thing.

‘Call her!’

‘No.’

‘Call her, or I swear by the Ancestor I’ll track and kill this Noi-Guin. And then I’ll find the Tetragode and start killing the rest of them until there are none left.’

‘Nona!’

Nona shrugged. ‘I’m going. I saw her blood trail. It went west towards the river.’ She got up.

‘I believe you’re serious.’ Kettle looked surprised, though Nona could see no reason for it.

‘I swear that I will do what I say.’ Nona sprang away, starting back along the path that she had broken through the undergrowth.

‘Nona!’

Nona turned. All around Kettle the shadows gathered, a dark mist bleeding through the wind.

‘Can you reach her?’

Kettle sat with her head back against the bark, her face white as death, a tear running from the corner of her eye. ‘I can always reach her. A thousand miles wouldn’t matter.’ She raised an arm, unsteady, and beneath it a shadow blacker than the night stretched out, reaching for infinity, as if the sun had fallen behind her. ‘It’s done. She knows I need her. She knows the direction.’

‘You swear it?’

‘I swear it.’

‘By the Ancestor?’

‘By the Ancestor.’ The faintest echo of that grin. ‘And by the Hope, and the Missing Gods who echo in the tunnels, and by the gods too small for names who dance in buttercups and fall with the rain. Now go. For the love of all that’s holy, go. You wear me out, Nona. And I’ve got to concentrate on being alive. It would break her heart to get here and find me dead.’ She drew a shallow breath. ‘They’re both in that direction. If you take it until you find some sort of trail there’s a good chance you’ll find Ara and the others on it. Try to travel with Ara and Zole. Tarkax may be able to protect you if the Noi-Guin track you from here.’ Another shallow breath, snatched in over her pain. ‘Go! Now!’

Nona came forward. She set her canteen in Kettle’s lap and kissed her icy forehead. Then she ran.

41

Clera found Nona before Nona found Ara. She came hurrying along a forest track in the late afternoon, chased by a dark squall.

‘Nona! Hold up!’

Nona turned on the path, relieved, feeling the sweat on her forehead start to freeze as she faced the wind.

‘You were racing!’ Clera came puffing to a halt. ‘My excuse was trying to catch up to you. What’s yours?’

‘The same.’ Nona grinned. ‘Are the others safe? I’ve been imagining awful things.’

‘Don’t know. You’re the first I’ve seen.’ Clera bent over, hands on her thighs, catching her breath. ‘I got very lost for a while back there so I’m pretty sure everyone’s ahead of us … Ancestor bleed me! Where in the hells did you get that?’ She straightened, staring at the naked blade in Nona’s hand, a shortsword of Durnish blue-steel, as long as a man’s arm from elbow to fingertips.

‘I took it off a raider.’ Nona frowned. ‘Do you think the others are safe?’

Clera puffed through her lips. ‘Don’t know. We need to find Ara though, and the rest of them … Raider? One of the ones that chased us?’ She glanced back along the track and scanned the trees more slowly. ‘They’re going to want that sword back …’

‘No,’ Nona said. ‘They’re not. Come on.’ She set off at a jog.

‘Wait up!’ Clera hurried to catch up. ‘Are they after you?’

‘Someone might be. And we need to find the others.’

‘Someone?’ Suspicion crossed Clera’s face. She looked nervous. ‘You’re not making a lot of sense …’