The frightened horse demands my attention with stomping hooves and stops me from drowning in my fury. I speak calmly as I approach him, soothing him with words he cannot understand, but which I hope reassure. Beside him, another horse has collapsed, blood still fresh on his flank where he’s been shot.
His whole body tenses when I rest my hand on his withers. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ I say, as I run my fingers down to the harness and start to unstrap it. ‘You’ll be free soon.’
The horse snorts, but doesn’t put up any resistance when I pull on buckles until he’s eventually released from his prison. For a moment he seems frozen, unwilling to trust what I’ve done, but then he bolts, galloping down the road and putting as much distance between himself and this butchery as possible.
Which is what I intend to do.
Until I feel it. The unmistakable prickle of magic, hot like a rash across my skin. I glance behind me, running my gaze over the dead, moving towards the sensation. And then I see her.
The woman is lying slightly further away from the wagon than the others. Maybe she was trying to run before she was beaten, her body broken.
But she’s not dead yet.
All around her I sense the threads of energy. They weave and shimmer, the hum of her life departing for ever, and I run to see if I can help her.
She’s deeply unconscious, death imminent, and instinctively I reach my hands up towards the life force leaving her. But then I hesitate. A small boy I loved fiercely once warned me not to try to bring back the life of a she-wolf this way. Maybe Tomas was right. Maybe there’s a line with magic that shouldn’t be crossed. I certainly learned plenty of other hard lessons on the Fourth Isle. But that was an animal. This is a person, and she’s not entirely dead, just on the fringes. I’ve never felt this so strongly in a human before. Never. It’s as if talking to the mountain has awoken the magic inside me, and I’m not sure I want to ignore its tempting call. Though perhaps that’s the very reason I should.
A tiny mew interrupts my dilemma. I move closer, searching for its source. Wrapped beside the woman, small and helpless, is a baby.
What choice do I have? Leave them both to die? Take the child and raise it as my own, as Adler once did? Though the last thing I need is to be slowed down by other people, it’s never been in my nature to abandon those in need, no matter how hard Adler tried to beat the impulse from me.
And so I reach once more for the energy around the woman’s body, now understanding why it’s so strong. She doesn’t want to die; she’s clinging to life for the sake of her baby. She’s fighting the way my mother once did to stay with me. My mother failed – no one helped her. I won’t let the same happen here.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but it’s like net that must be untangled and I’ve spent many hours doing that, methodically teasing strands to return to the right place. I fall into a trance, barely aware of my surroundings, focused solely on repairing what should be irreparable, and letting what can only be described as magical instinct guide me. My blood runs hot, the magic flowing through my veins pulsing with my heartbeat, slow at first but then in a rush, the heat almost burning me from the inside out.
But before I can finish, I’m torn from the spell I’ve fallen under. Because someone’s screaming.
It’s the woman.
My first thought is that I’ve killed her, but her lungs are too strong for that to be true. Immediately I fear I’ve done something worse, altered her in some horrific way by incorrectly weaving a magic I have no understanding of. It takes me a moment to realise she has simply regained consciousness and the horrors of her previous waking moments are flooding back.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, wanting to steady her, to comfort her. ‘You’re safe now.’
I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’ve brought her back from the brink of death using nothing more than magic. The power fluttering through my bones is intense and I do my best to ignore it, to give all my attention to the terrified woman in front of me, but it’s hard. After months of avoiding magic, the past few hours have done their damnedest to remind me of its existence.
‘My baby,’ she says, clawing at my arms. ‘My baby?’
‘Is right here.’ I’m speaking in calming tones, as if handling a wild animal, because, honestly, she’s scaring me.
At the sight of her child the woman sobs in relief, clutching the baby to her. Then a wave of confusion passes across her face followed by fear as she looks up at me.
‘What happened?’
‘Your coach was attacked,’ I say, reaching out to reassure her, but she flinches away. ‘I found you here. You were unconscious.’
The woman frowns and she is definitely afraid.
‘Were you trying to escape?’ I hope to coax some information from her.
‘I don’t … I don’t remember.’ She looks panic-stricken.
‘That’s all right. You’re probably just in shock.’
But her eyes are wide as she stares into mine. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I just found you.’ She’s beginning to concern me. ‘What’s your name?’
She opens her mouth, but then closes it again, her brow knitting tight together. ‘I don’t know.’
A horrible sick feeling stirs in my gut. ‘How about your baby? What’s their name?’
The woman glances down at the child now sleeping in her arms. ‘I … I have no idea.’ Her eyes are wild as she clutches my arm. ‘What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?’
I have an awful feeling I know exactly why she can’t, but I’m not about to tell her. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, avoiding the question. ‘I’m sure your memories will come back.’
Internally I’m beginning to panic. This is a disaster. I’m supposed to be stealthily escaping the island, but now I’ve given in to temptation, arrogantly attempted something powerful that I didn’t understand and caused a whole world of mess. I can hardly leave her here now when I’m the cause of her broken mind.
‘I don’t suppose you know where you were going?’ I ask, though I’m fairly certain I can guess the answer.
Her sobs are the only one I get.
‘Right.’ I haven’t got time to waste, not with guards hunting me. ‘Let’s have a look through your things. Maybe there’ll be something that can help us.’
The woman nods and seems relieved to have a suggestion at last. But her bag is all but empty, the bandits having taken anything there might have been of value and everything else besides. We search through her pockets and find nothing to help us, but then we feel the rustling of paper beneath her skirts and realise something has been stitched into the fabric. With my dagger it’s easy enough to reopen the pocket to reveal a letter. It’s tattered and well read, the ink smudged in places from what might possibly have been teardrops. It’s a love letter. Most of what the note contains isn’t useful and is none of my business besides, but the writer speaks of a ship: The Black Nightshade. I haven’t heard of it before, but it could be something to go on. I skim to the end, hoping for a clue in the sign-off, but it’s simply signed with the initial R.