the edge of the harbor. The water was still several steps higher than usual, and filled with debris. A body floated facedown some way out, bobbing gently with the waves. Its hair was long, and silver scuttling things darted through it, climbing out of the water and sinking back in when they had what they had come for. The body’s back was raw and red.
Kel knew what he must do. There was no use pretending, no point in waiting to see how this resolved itself. If these wereStrangers and this was the invasion, bringing the fight forward would change little. If anything, it might damage whatever plans they had. Perhaps they wanted to take Pavmouth Breaks subtly, forming a quiet beachhead from which they could expand out into Noreela. Make it difficult for them here, turn their trick against them, and maybe he would even create a chance at fighting them off.
If they were not Strangers, and this really was something else, then some small ignominy would be an acceptable price to pay.
Kel edged close to Chief Eildan, watched the visitors begin their walk along the mole, and when they stepped foot on Noreela soil, he prepared to expose whatever the truth might be.
HE TRIES TO chant O’Peeria’s wraith down into the Black, but he has never been adept at such a task. His grief puts him at a disadvantage. Pelly has dragged Rok’s corpse away and hidden it in some undergrowth, and she is kneeling a dozen steps away, crying, and holding both hands to her shattered cheek because the tears hurt so much.
Each chant Kel begins ends in pain. He tries to focus on O’Peeria’s wraith, but his concentration is ragged, his perception poor.
He tries, and tries, but eventually Pelly nudges him with her knee. “Voices,” she says, the blame in her tone obvious. “We have to go.”
“I can’t until—”
“Please yourself.” She stumbles away into the night.
Kel looks down upon the dreadful ruin of O’Peeria’s body, whispers an apology, and follows.
VEK CAME FIRST, two more of his militia walking on either side of him. These two still had their bows at the ready with arrows strung, but Kel had the unsettling impression they were to protect the visitors as much as the villagers. Behind them came the tall woman, Keera Kashoomie, and the four other visitors who had disembarked with her. There were two men and two women, and apart from their clothing, Kel could see nothing to set them apart from Noreelans. One of them even carried a swirling pattern of tattoos up the side of her neck and into her hairline, reminiscent of the body art he had seen Cantrass Angels excel at on one of his visits to the north. The clothes would have looked more at home in Noreela City than in a small fishing village such as this—leather jackets rather than hessian, canvas trousers, heavy leather boots. The quality was uniformly good.
They carried weapons, but nothing excessive. He saw knives, and the two women carried long, thin swords in elaborate sheaths slung from their belts and tied down their legs. They looked more ceremonial than functional.
The Core had found, tracked and killed as many women Strangers as men. Their distinguishing features had always been the same.
All five visitors wore jackets with high collars, covering their necks.
“Maybe you have gills,” he whispered.
We’ll all see soon
.
The visitors looked around at the village and its inhabitants, and the expressions on their faces were of stunned disbelief, mixed in with a tinge of guilt. If they were feigning their emotions, Kel decided, they were doing so very well. But Strangers always had been masters of deception, adept at blending in and being a part of the land they had come to spy upon.
He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, through the tear in the pocket’s side and around the hilt of the small knife he kept strapped to his bare thigh. This blade had once opened a Stranger’s throat while O’Peeria and another Core member held her down. They had run,
Kel knew what he must do. There was no use pretending, no point in waiting to see how this resolved itself. If these wereStrangers and this was the invasion, bringing the fight forward would change little. If anything, it might damage whatever plans they had. Perhaps they wanted to take Pavmouth Breaks subtly, forming a quiet beachhead from which they could expand out into Noreela. Make it difficult for them here, turn their trick against them, and maybe he would even create a chance at fighting them off.
If they were not Strangers, and this really was something else, then some small ignominy would be an acceptable price to pay.
Kel edged close to Chief Eildan, watched the visitors begin their walk along the mole, and when they stepped foot on Noreela soil, he prepared to expose whatever the truth might be.
HE TRIES TO chant O’Peeria’s wraith down into the Black, but he has never been adept at such a task. His grief puts him at a disadvantage. Pelly has dragged Rok’s corpse away and hidden it in some undergrowth, and she is kneeling a dozen steps away, crying, and holding both hands to her shattered cheek because the tears hurt so much.
Each chant Kel begins ends in pain. He tries to focus on O’Peeria’s wraith, but his concentration is ragged, his perception poor.
He tries, and tries, but eventually Pelly nudges him with her knee. “Voices,” she says, the blame in her tone obvious. “We have to go.”
“I can’t until—”
“Please yourself.” She stumbles away into the night.
Kel looks down upon the dreadful ruin of O’Peeria’s body, whispers an apology, and follows.
VEK CAME FIRST, two more of his militia walking on either side of him. These two still had their bows at the ready with arrows strung, but Kel had the unsettling impression they were to protect the visitors as much as the villagers. Behind them came the tall woman, Keera Kashoomie, and the four other visitors who had disembarked with her. There were two men and two women, and apart from their clothing, Kel could see nothing to set them apart from Noreelans. One of them even carried a swirling pattern of tattoos up the side of her neck and into her hairline, reminiscent of the body art he had seen Cantrass Angels excel at on one of his visits to the north. The clothes would have looked more at home in Noreela City than in a small fishing village such as this—leather jackets rather than hessian, canvas trousers, heavy leather boots. The quality was uniformly good.
They carried weapons, but nothing excessive. He saw knives, and the two women carried long, thin swords in elaborate sheaths slung from their belts and tied down their legs. They looked more ceremonial than functional.
The Core had found, tracked and killed as many women Strangers as men. Their distinguishing features had always been the same.
All five visitors wore jackets with high collars, covering their necks.
“Maybe you have gills,” he whispered.
We’ll all see soon
.
The visitors looked around at the village and its inhabitants, and the expressions on their faces were of stunned disbelief, mixed in with a tinge of guilt. If they were feigning their emotions, Kel decided, they were doing so very well. But Strangers always had been masters of deception, adept at blending in and being a part of the land they had come to spy upon.
He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, through the tear in the pocket’s side and around the hilt of the small knife he kept strapped to his bare thigh. This blade had once opened a Stranger’s throat while O’Peeria and another Core member held her down. They had run,
Similar Books
