Father knelt beside her. “Hush, Liv. Can you stand?”
She pushed him away.
Toulesh suddenly folded back in. What was that? A feeling. Familiarity. Hope. A group approached from the water. Guyen stumbled to his feet, rubbing his eyes free of the stinging sand. Who were they? It was too dark to see, but a figure approached more quickly, racing up. Joy exploded. Rikesh! The simulacrum took one look then ran back to his master, folding in as Yemelyan staggered into view.
Guyen shouted, “Yem, over here.” He met him halfway. Mother shrieked, cold and fatigue forgotten. Yemelyan collapsed next to her. She hugged him as if she would fold him into her like a simulacrum.
“I knew you were all right,” she sobbed. “I just knew it.”
“Wouldn’t miss out on the fun now, would I?” He looked up, despair in his eyes, but it was a shared relief.
Father clapped him on the back. “Good to see you, son. By Norgod, you’re freezing.”
He wasn’t the only one, this felt like having an ice heart. It was a dismal scene. They couldn’t let themselves die of the chills after this gift of survival. But the shivering just wouldn’t stop.
“We need to get going,” Father said.
Several men stood over a dozen dead, discussing what to do with the corpses. Guyen nodded towards them. “Shouldn’t we help?”
“They’ll work it out.”
“That’s rather cold.”
“Tell you what, Guy, I am damn cold, that’s why I want to go. Besides.” He pointed up at the clifftops. Several lit torches danced in the blackness.
“Patrols?”
“Yes. We can’t get caught here.”
It didn’t seem right. “Sorry, I’m helping.”
Yemelyan grunted in agreement.
Father muttered a curse. “Fine, but be quick about it.”
They went over. Some had already begun carrying the dead towards the undercliff. Guyen knelt over a body.
A Krellen tapped him on the shoulder. “Not him, leave that one for the gulls.”
Guyen scanned the dead man’s face. He was familiar—one of the Sendalis who had locked them in the hold.
The Krellen spat on the corpse. “Leave the bastard.”
He was right. Sendalis deserved to rot in the open, bitter carrion for whichever scavengers had such poor taste. As respectfully as they could, they picked up another of the bodies and followed the men heading up the beach. This figure was familiar too, a farmer whose lands had been salted by Sendali army redcoats, his family murdered. Emaciated in life, he was heavy in death. They laid him in the cave and went back for another victim. It was a dismal trudge, but at least generated some body heat. Once all the corpses had been brought up, they helped stack boulders outside the opening to the makeshift tomb. Perhaps people would return one day to bury the unfortunates. Perhaps they wouldn’t.
Father stalked up. “Are you done? The Sendalis are coming.”
“Yes,” Guyen said, adjusting his britches. The wet material was starting to chafe.
They rejoined Mother. She sat on the sand, shivering, rocking back and forth. Father pulled her to her feet. “Right.” He signalled eastwards. “This way.”
Small groups of survivors dotted the beach, still trying to come to terms with what had happened. No one was moving. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest?” Guyen suggested.
Father shook his head. “No, we’ll attract less attention on our own.” He sounded certain.
They set off along the silver sand, the two simulacra ambling behind in silent conversation. What were they discussing tonight? Who knew? Insight into such matters was scarce, most people could only see their own. “Do you even know where we’re going?” Guyen asked.
“We’ll follow the beach east,” Father said.
“To Tal Maran?”
“Ay, son.”
The port town was home to a friend of Father’s, a fellow Krellen named Zial. Father was sure he’d take them in, that warmth and food awaited. It didn’t seem likely. Why would they want to take in a bunch of down-and-outs? Besides, the gods were out to punish the Yorkov family, they wouldn’t bestow such gifts.
They trudged in silence, leaving the rest of the survivors behind, the only company the wind, the waves and the ghostly columns of whipped-up sand which stalked them in forms like oversized men. Sand wraiths—the phenomena were legendary, said to be created by Faze energy, they often scared smugglers and beachcombers. Whether they were anything more than wind and sand was debatable, but they were remarkably human-like, apart from the noise, that was a demonic howl. When they neared, dark thoughts surfaced. It seemed wise to steer clear.
Fifteen minutes later, Mother was still shivering. It was a worry. She wasn’t the strongest. “Perhaps we should build a fire,” Guyen suggested.
“No,” Father said, “we don’t stop.”
“Until the cold cuts us down, you mean?” The bitterness was unfiltered. It was Father’s fault they were in this predicament.
“We’ll attract attention,” Father said. “We need to keep going if we’re to get off the beach before dawn.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“We’re alive, Guy, luckier than some of the poor bastards back there.”
“Lucky? If you hadn’t dragged us here, we wouldn’t have needed luck.”
“Would you rather have stayed in the middle of a war?”
Guyen snorted. “At least we had a chance of surviving there. I still don’t know what possessed you to bring us here? I lost all my books, you know.” He’d only had seven, but back in Krell that was a collection to rival a library.
“Some things are more important than books.”
“Books are useful.”
“So is family. A future. Hope.”
Guyen stopped dead. “Hope? Ha! That’s a joke.” He sat obstinately in the sand. “I’m tired. Go on, I’ll catch you up.”
Father kicked his foot. “Get up. Don’t mess me about. Not tonight.”
Guyen stared out to sea. The waves whipped up twenty-foot walls of spray.
“Fine,” Father grunted. “Stay here then.” He took Mother’s arm and pulled her away. She glanced back over her shoulder.
“There was no need for that,” Yemelyan said. “The old man’s doing his best.”
Guyen shivered. “I don’t know what’s up with him. One minute he’s talking about buying new nets for the boat, the next he’s dragging us here. To the land of our fucking enemy.”
Yemelyan offered a hand. “Come on, arsewipe.” He pulled him to his feet.
“What do you think happened out there?” Guyen waved out to sea. “What’s up with the weather? The red lightning, did you see that?”
“Yes. Strange, mate.”
“Did you see anything else?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, I thought I saw streaks of light in the sky, not the lightning. It was like—it was from somewhere else, a kind of nether light.”
“Maybe it was an afterimage.”
“I don’t think so. It predicted where the munitions were going to fall.”