Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

Her father had maintained that it was. He claimed she was devil-possessed, and tried for years to thrash the devil from her. He would drag her from the cabin and tie her to a post in the barn. The words that followed were always the same. ‘Recant! Open your heart to the Source. Beg for forgiveness.’ Karis had tried all that, but it made no difference. If she proclaimed her innocence, he would beat her. If she admitted guilt and called upon the Source to forgive her, her father’s rage would grow incandescent. ‘You lie and mock me!’ he would shout. Then he would beat her legs and buttocks with the birch until she bled. So she learned to stay silent through it all, head twisted, her deep brown eyes holding to his insane gaze.

There was no knight at hand to rescue the child, no hero to stride through the forest and pluck her away. Just her and her world-weary mother, a woman old before her time, beaten down by the years and the cold fists of her husband.

‘One day I will go back and kill him,’ she thought, swilling down the last of the wine. Lying on her back, she stared up at the ornate, painted ceiling. Cracks were showing here too. Giriak was right, Sirano was destroying his own city. ‘It is nothing to me,’ she said.

Does anything matter to you? she asked herself. Or does

life have nothing more to offer than a stunning victory in battle or a sweaty rut with a powerful man?

‘Both are one and the same thing,’ she said aloud. The ceiling shifted and swam. At first she thought it was another tremor, but then, as her stomach lurched, she realized it was the effect of the wine. Rolling to her knees, she forced herself upright. Taking a deep drink from a pitcher of water, she moved to the bed and sat down. As always her powerful constitution began to override the alcohol in her system.

Weariness flowed over her, and she wished now that she had not sent Giriak away. It would have been pleasant to lie close, feeling the warmth of his body as she drifted into sleep.

The bedroom door opened and she felt the touch of a cool breeze. Opening her eyes, she sat up. But it was not Giriak who entered.

Sirano stood in the doorway, and Karis was surprised by the change in the man. His handsome face was thin and drawn, his cheeks covered by black stubble, his eyes dark-rimmed and weary. His clothes, so beautifully fashioned from black silk, were sweat-stained and creased, and his black hair was lank and dark with sweat. Moving to the bedside, he gave a tired smile.

‘You are beautiful naked, Karis,’ he said. The words were forced, no more than echoes of what would only a few days before have been genuine emotion.

‘You look dreadful,’ she told him. ‘How long since you slept?’

‘Days. I swear I am close though. The Pearl’s defences are thin. If I had the energy, I would have stayed for the breakthrough tonight. The Spell of Seven almost made it. It could not save all the victims. That’s when I knew.’

‘How many did you kill, Saro?’

‘Kill? Oh, the girls . . . two. Five survived. But I am almost there, Karis.’

‘You will ruin your city and destroy yourself in the process. Do you know the quakes are spreading further? A rider came in today. He said Corduin was struck three times in the last month. Is this your doing?’

He nodded. ‘Do not concern yourself. With the power of the Pearl, I can rebuild and Morgallis will be a hundred times more beautiful than before. And we will have eternity to make it even better. Immortality lies within that sphere.’

‘We?’ she countered.

‘Why not, Karis? You and I. Young for ever.’

‘Perhaps I do not want to be young for ever,’ she told him.

‘You say that only because you have not yet felt the winter fingers of the grave upon your skin.’ His eyes were bright and feverish. Karis rose from the bed and filled a goblet with water, which she offered to him. ‘Wine,’ he said. ‘Give me wine.’