Calvinus

The Kingdom of the Isles

Act 2. Rebellion

Chapters 25-31

Chapter Twenty Five

Cai and Alex

Cai walked behind Alex as they picked their way long the paths, finding the fork of the ways and then taking the Pilgrim's Path to the summit. Perhaps Alex did not notice how the return to this path one year on affected his slave, but he was very quiet himself. That was not surprising, Cai thought to himself, as Alex's own brother had died on this race a year ago too.

Not that either of them intended going anywhere near the swamp where he had died.

They made good time, in part perhaps because they were climbing so early and before the heat of the sun sapped their strength. They ate all the provisions early, but Alex was not worried as he knew there would be refreshment available to nobles at the temple.

Tired from the walk, but by no means exhausted, they approached the temple, which was still a fair walk from the head of the Pilgrim's Path, and they saw a priest coming out towards them.

"Lord pilgrim, welcome," the priest said, inclining his head respectfully to Alex. Alex tilted his head back and made the sign of respect with his hands, pushed out from his body.

"You have come to witness the coming of the new champion?"

"Yes, sir," Alex said to the priest. "And I ask that we find accommodation out of the sun until they arrive."

"But of course, all lords of Neped are most welcome," the priest replied, although his smile was a little fixed. "We can arrange for somewhere to bathe and refreshments, and no doubt the elders of your house will join you shortly…"

"Thank you, that would be welcome," Alex said as formally as he could. The formal register of the language sounded unnatural to Cai's ears. Alex never spoke like that, but he knew this was how one was supposed to speak to the priests, so he covered up his grin by looking at the priest's feet.

"But," the priest continued, "I must remind you that the slave will need to wait outside," and the look he shot at Cai was not entirely pleasant.

Alex faltered and looked at Cai, biting his lip. Cai had known he was not allowed in the temple of course, but had Alex forgotten that? Apparently so, because now he looked flustered, unsure.

"Yes, er, yes of course. Perhaps if I remain outside, some… er… refreshment may be brought?"

The priest looked at Alex, and Cai noticed that his mannerisms were less respectful now, almost bristling.

"That is an unusual request, my lord," he said, and now when he called Alex a 'lord' there was something faintly amused in his voice. "But I am sure your slave will not wander off if you care to leave him here."

Cai watched Alex's face flicker with uncertainty, before he finally replied:

"Very well, Cai, remain here and wait for me. I will be back to check on you shortly."

Cai bowed his head and then the priest turned and Alex followed him towards the temple. Cai sat down on the ground, but that was not comfortable. The hot mountain lived up to its name here, and the rocks were uncomfortably warm. He stood up again, and paced around, watching Alex approach the outer temple court.

He thought he could smell smoke, but the mountain had many such smells, and worse, so he ignored it, until he saw the smoke too. Even that was not unheard of on this mountain, but that was followed up with shouts and then Cai watched in horror as the priest, on the edge of the temple court, seemed to crumple to his knees, and beside him Alex stopped still and stared towards a group of figures who had just spilled out of the temple itself.

Cai could see at once that something was wrong and he shouted to Alex. Alex turned around and started running back the way he had come, and then two of the figures were following, chasing him.

Damn the law, Cai told himself, picking up a handful of stones, the only weapon that came to hand, and running towards Alex. Damn the law, and damn him if he was going to let anything happen to Alex.

The figures caught up with Alex before he could get there, but Cai was not far behind. He flung his handful of stones at a man – a naked man, so a slave – who had just grabbed the Neped boy. The man yelled, flinched, lost his hold of Alex for a moment, and turned to face the onslaught from Cai.

Cai's attack was brave but hopeless, and in a moment the man had lifted him up, struggling, kicking, biting, but still powerless in the strong arms of the full grown slave. He screamed and cursed as someone else grabbed at Alex, kicking him savagely in the head before Alex desperately grasped at his attacker's legs and pulled him down.

Cai screamed at Alex's attacker, who was not much bigger that they were. A boy, and one he recognised.

The two of them sprawled to the ground, but in a moment Wil, who had been Wil Lapin, but was now nothing of the sort, was on top of Alex, holding him down as he struggled and cried out. He kicked him again and again until Alex yelled his submission and kneeled in defeat. Wil bound his hands and feet, and gagged him, before standing with a foot on his neck.

"Leave him alone! Leave him alone!" Cai screamed and the slave who held him slapped him.

"Shut up, Cai," Wil hissed. Cai tried to struggle free, but he was held fast by the older slave.

"Cai, listen to me," Wil said. "Today everything has changed. The King of The Isles is dead. There will be no race, no more champions, no more slaves. There has been a revolution, and you – you can join us."

"Don't hurt Alex," Cai yelled.

"We won't kill him," Wil said, as the slave that held Cai set him down in front of Wil and took up Wil's position in guarding their noble prisoner. Wil looked long and hard into Cai's eyes, before finally continuing.

"We won't kill him, but all the noble houses are finished. We are going to take the clothes of every noble. Every last one of them will end today as a slave, your friend included."

"No! Alex is not a slave. Let him go!" Cai look set to run off but Wil grabbed his arm. He tried to pull it away, but the boy slapped him across the face. Not hard, but hard enough to sting, and Cai glared back.

"Cai, stop it. What has happened has happened. The old regime is over. You can be free.

You want to be free, right? You don't want to be a slave?"

Cai bit his lip and looked at Wil and then at Alex. No, of course he didn't want to be a slave. He wanted to go home to his family. He wanted to wear any clothes he liked. He didn't want to be the one made to fetch and carry, or to do chores. He wanted to stay in bed until he felt like getting up, or stay up late at night. There were a million things he wanted, and none involved remaining a slave. Well, except for one.

"I am a slave. I can't change that," he said at last. He hoped his voice did not carry the sense of regret he felt.

"You were a slave, but you can be free now," Wil said, but Cai just shook his head, his eyes tearing up, so he had to blink quickly several times.

"Whoever Horjock has cursed…" Cai began to recite.

"Fuck Horjock. Look at me. I was a slave, but now I am free. An old man prophesied it last year. He said I would be a slave for a year and a day and then I would be free. He knew… you see that Cai? He knew this day would come and he is here now, in the temple. We are all free. All the slaves are free."

"You wear clothes, but you still have your tattoo," Cai said.

"That is just pigment. It means nothing. We are free."

"A year and a day?" Cai asked, and Wil frowned.

"It is close enough."

"I think you are still a slave, and so am I." Cai replied.

"Until tomorrow. When we enslave the nobles tomorrow and the new republic is formed, then the prophecy will come true. So join us. You can be free too."

Cai looked at Wil and then at Alex.

"What? You are still worried about him? I told you, we won't harm him. Maybe he can be your slave. What do you think of that, Cai? Your old master can be your slave."

Cai shook his head.

"I don't want that. Let him go. Leave him alone. I love him!

Don't you get that? I love him!"

A dark flash of anger crossed Wil's features. He looked down at Alex, kneeling at his feet, not struggling now, but shivering – perhaps from the shock. Wil looked at the smaller boy and spat on him.

"I know who you are, Alex Neped. I watched your brother die. He died like a coward. Did you know that? He screamed so loud when the Yataveo seeded his arse. Screamed like a girl. You would scream too. Cai here may think you are noble and kind and fair, but I know… I know that you would be just like your brother in the swamp. Just another scared spoilt noble brat, living off the sweat and blood of your slaves."

Alex struggled against his bonds and shouted something incoherent into his gag. Cai, on the other hand, went very still. Wil looked at him, and Cai could sense that he hoped that the little speech would have woken him up, convinced him of what side he was on. Wil was waiting for him to agree to join them, and there was no doubt that the thought of freedom was very tempting.

Cai leaned his head forward and whispered very quietly, so that Wil was forced to lean closer to try to understand him. Cai leaned closer too, his mouth close to the boy's head. That was when Cai bit Wil's ear.

Wil screamed and thumped Cai in the stomach. "Little brat!" he yelled, clutching his ear.

"You think I could join you? I know you Wil, Kawabata slave. I am a slave because I tried my best to finish the damned race, but I couldn't do it. You are a slave because you were a coward and hid in a tree. You hid in a tree because you were scared and you stayed there until someone sent slaves to die for you just so that you could get out, and even then you were too useless to finish the race on time. A stupid useless coward, that is all you ever were.

"You think I would join you? Never. You think I would betray Alex? Never, never, never. I love him and if you hurt him… if you so much as set a finger on him, I am going to find you and kill you."

Wil's face turned darker and darker at this outburst. He looked murderously at Alex and then back at Cai. He breathed deeply, and then suddenly reached out a hand and squeezed Cai's neck.

"You stupid little turd. You fucking runt. I am not going to hurt your precious coward of a master! Oh no. It is you that is going to be screaming for mercy. But first, strip him!" he yelled, pointing at Alex. "Those clothes would probably just about fit me."

Wil grabbed Cai and held him, wrestling him to the ground as the slave stripped Alex. Cai struggled, but he was still no match for Wil. Stripping Alex would have been easier except for the need to undo and refasten his bonds to get the clothes off, but by the time Cai's master and friend was kneeling on the ground, naked and sobbing, he was on his knees too.

"Now, you can fuck him," he said to the slave, pointing at Cai. The slave needed no second bidding, and Wil dressed himself in Alex's clothes as the burly man forced Cai's legs apart, and then laughed as the small boy screamed, his sphincter collapsing under the onslaught of his huge cock that he rammed into the boy's virgin butt.

Cai howled as his body rocked under the furious thrusting from the slave. His back grazed against hot stone, and his breath seemed to come in fits and starts as the man panted and grunted his pent up passion.

It did not take him long, and when the slave reached his moment of climax Cai felt something spurt inside his body as the man roared his appreciation, lost in a powerful moment of perfect pleasure that washed over Cai like a rolling wave of shame and pain.

Quickly the man pulled out of Cai's butt, lifted the boy to his feet, and began marching him back to the temple.

Chapter Twenty Six

Bran

Smoke was beginning to fill the inner sanctum, pricking Bran's eyes, catching at his throat, making him cough. Gently the old man tried to lift Bran to his feet, but the boy shrugged him off.

"We have to get out, Bran, the fire is spreading."

Bran did not want to move. He did not let go of Quintus. He had unwrapped the boy;s linen covering and stared at him. Quintuls looked asleep, not dead. He could not be dead.

"Quintus would not want you to die here Bran. Come. Quickly!" Bran looked up miserably, his face streaked with tears.

"Bran, the ones who killed him are outside. Come on!" the old man said, and at last Bran found the will to stand, and the anger to act. He leaned over one last time, and kissed Quintus' face, before turning his back on the room, and walking to the courtyard beyond.

The victorious rebels were there, along with the surviving priests, who had been gathered into a circle, weapons and clothing taken from them. Bran marched right up to the circle, and the other rebels gave way, allowing him through.

"Your sick reign is over," Bran yelled at the high priestess. "You are murderers, all of you."

"You think you can stand against the might of Horjock?" the priestess retorted. She was on her knees but she looked haughty, imperious, unafraid. Bran looked at her and reached for one of the knives lying in a pile of captured weapons lying on the floor.

"I will kill her," Bran growled, making a move to fetch the knife, but the old man grabbed his arms, spun him around and looked him in the eyes with his piercing, soul searching gaze.

"You will not kill her. You will have no blood on your hands this day," he said. "I will do it."

Moments later he crossed the courtyard to where the priestess still knelt, and in a single movement he brought his own sword arm around, slit open her throat and kicked her backwards. It all happened so quickly that Bran barely noticed and certainly had no time to object.

As the priestess lay dying there was a roar of approval.

"We have done it. The priestess and the king are dead. The kingdom is no more," Wil laughed happily, and he laid his own blade into one of the priests. Others finished off the remaining priests, leaving none alive.

Everyone was smiling and cheering, except for Bran, and the old man. Bran was too miserable to feel the triumph. As for the old man, his face was a mask but he showed no triumph.

"What has to be done is done," he said, turning to Bran, speaking quietly enough that only the boy could hear over all the other shouts and laughter. He took his arm and gently led him back inside the temple gates, but upwind from the fire and smoke. A private spot, away from the blood frenzy now taking place beyond.

"I hate them. I hate them. Why did you stop me?"

"Because," the man said quietly, his voice betraying sadness, "your time is not yet."

"You said I was the sword that would strike the heart of Horjock. Why didn't you let me kill her?"

"Prophecy is such a tricky thing."

"You keep saying that, but you haven't explained anything. Who am I? What am I supposed to do? You killed Horjock, not me."

"I killed Horjock's high priestess, but the god… he is not so easily felled."

Bran frowned and looked hard at the man. He wanted to shout and scream. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted people to pay for what was done to Quintus. He imagined Quintus' last hours in that temple, and it made him sick to think of all that had been going on as he had been marched down the mountainside a year ago today.

"Tell me who I am," Bran demanded, anger giving his voice an edge.

"I have told you already."

"But I am not Bran Aramat. You know that much?"

"Bran Aramat died. His mother was heartbroken, so she took in a boy of the same age, you. Your father consented but never saw you as his own. Still he loved you in his way, I think. He loved you but he always expected to give you up one day."

"How do you know this?" Bran asked.

"I was there, of course."

Bran looked at the old man and frowned again. Of course? "Who are you?"

"Me? I am just an old man who kept you from shedding any blood today."

"So? I want to shed blood. I want to kill them all, for what they did to Quintus. I want to be the sword who will strike the heart of Horjock. I hate Horjock. I hate him."

Bran found that he was crying and his voice wavering. There was so much more he wanted to say, so much more to ask, but it all came back to this: Quintus was dead.

"I hear you, Tal and I know what you want. Still you have shed no blood here. That is the way it must be. Today is not the day for you to strike. Trust me."

"I can't trust you. You lied. You said Quintus would not be harmed."

"I did not lie, Bran. I said that we would not harm Quintus. That is all. I am sorry, I truly am. My heart is as broken as yours about the boys who died in that place.

"You have to understand, Tal, that you are not the only one who lost a boy he loved in that place. I too lost someone once. My own son died in there."

Bran looked at the man and he could see a glistening in his eyes. Was the man about to cry? Yes – a single tear ran down his cheek now. The sight of it soothed Bran's anger but only very slightly. He was silent a while before he started to question once more.

"So are you a noble?"

The old man shook his head.

"I was once counted as being from a noble house, but I long since abdicated my title. I am but a priest of D'lan, god of the waters."

"I have never heard of D'lan," Bran frowned.

"Of course not. His worship is forbidden. His temple lies forgotten and in ruins, and the crocodiles were brought in to keep people away from it. Ever since the cataclysm, the law has said that it is the god of fire who must be propitiated."

"The cataclysm?" Bran asked.

"The race has not always been the way it is now. Many years ago the race was run, not from the palace as it is now, but from the temple of D'lan to the temple of Horjock. The winner was feted and made a champion in his house, and the house then, as now, chose the King of the Isles for that year from its number.

"In those days commoners from the islands could also run as champions, and they often won. Losers were made to run back naked, with their house colours around their neck, as now, but the forfeit was just for the return journey and there would be feasting at the temple of D'lan for all the participants. In those days, in any case, going naked did not lead to a life of slavery. There were few slaves back then. Only those convicted of crimes were made slaves, as punishment for their crimes, and they were marked with a brand rather than nakedness."

"A brand? Like the eternal curse given to runaways?"

"The brand was the same," the old man replied, "although no one believed then that the curse lasted beyond the grave. It was simply the mark of a slave.

"That was the way it was, a gentler time when heroes were celebrated, not murdered.

"But then came the cataclysm. One year, on the day of the great race itself, there was a great shaking of the earth, worse than any we had seen before or since. Not just the earth shook but Horjock rained fire from the sky. Scorching heat straight from his forges scoured a whole town on the capitol island, and the inner sea boiled. Ships caught fire and sank, and those that survived were then taken up on a great wave that swamped the islands, killing thousands.

"The death toll was terrible, but most of the nobles survived, because they were at the Temple of Horjock. Although the shaking in the temple was bad, the temple did not fall, and it was as though the great plateau was protected by Horjock's divine hand.

"So the priests told it. At once they reminded the nobles of the great struggle between Horjock and D'lan. As they told it, D'lan, god of the waters, had warred with Horjock, god of fire. The gods had fought and D'lan had sought to wipe out the kingdom in the great wave, but Horjock had saved his faithful.

"Now D'lan was the defeated god, but Horjock's strength against the waters could only be maintained by the sacrifice of his people. Henceforth the worship of D'lan was to be forbidden, and each year the race winner was to be sacrificed to Horjock.

"Only men of the noble houses would know what the sacrifice truly entailed. Only they could participate, and they alone because it would only be their sons who could run the race.

"Only those who had faced the race or whose sons were eligible for it could enter Horjock's presence and take part in the sacrifice of the champion. This would be their sacrifice too, for in so doing their passion would feed the god of fire and strengthen him in his fight against the god of the waters."

Bran listened to this explanation, feeling his mind fill with questions. He had known none of this, although he had heard mention of a cataclysm. The race had not always been this way? That seemed unimaginable, and yet also so obviously true that he could not believe he had never thought about it before. He had always just accepted that the race was instituted by the god. He had never considered when or how that happened.

"So how did you become a priest of D'lan?" Bran asked at last.

"Thirty years ago my son was selected for the race. I knew he would win, and I knew what that would mean. I would have been the King of the Isles that year, but I could not do what was asked of me. The day before the race, I visited the oracle on our island. The prophecy, I thought, was clear. If I abdicated my role then my son would not win the race, would not die.

"I think I may have mentioned, prophecies are difficult things," the man said ruefully, looking at Bran with a curious expression now. "I thought I had saved him, but he still ran. Our house won, and he died without me. He died thinking I had abandoned him to his fate. He died without knowing how much I loved him and wished…"

The man stopped, looked away, and Bran waited, uncomfortably aware that the man was overcome with emotion. He cried into his hands, and Bran watched, feeling uncomfortable, unsettled. There was so much he did not understand still, but now he understood that this man had lost just as much as he had to the monster that was Horjock. Horjock the liar. Horjock the thief. Horjock whose evil priests had made the world a darker, terrible place.

"Who are my true parents?" he asked at last, but just then there was a shout and another coming from the courtyard. The old man looked up, his face turning pale.

"Come, quickly," he said and strode towards the courtyard. Bran followed, listening to growing commotion, although there were no sounds of battle. Still there were more men's voices than he expected.

When they walked into the courtyard Bran saw men running across the temple plateau. Half naked men covered in blood, and at their head, already shouting out orders, was the father of Nikki and Caris.

"What happened?" Nikki was demanding of his father, who looked at his son almost absently. "What happened? Why are you here?" he demanded again.

"They fell on us… It was a slaughter. A trained army against untrained slaves…" Nikki's father said, and then looked behind him at the slaves running or hobbling towards the temple.

"Who? Who fell on you?" Nikki demanded.

"Kawabata. They came from Kawabata. The sea swarmed with their boats, and they kept coming and coming… Gods… there were so many… Kawabata had an army… why did they have an army? How could they have had so many people?"

How indeed, Bran wondered, watching aghast as what was left of the slave rebellion found its way to the temple plateau. There were still many of them. Men and boys, and even some girls and women. In all there were easily a hundred or more people on the plateau, but that was a fraction of those who had been released in the rebellion.

They had known the houses would retaliate, but Bran knew what every noble knew: the number of nobles was small. With so many boys lost to the Great Race and so many more who had died from the fever, their numbers had always been far smaller than the number of slaves and commoners.

All the noble houses feared slave rebellion because they knew they were outnumbered.

That was why any small uprisings were so brutally suppressed, and that too was why some houses, such as Kawabata, had banished all free commoners from their island.

Bran had supposed, as everyone had, that all the houses had the same problem. That was why boys might have to compete more than once in the Great Race: because all the houses were small.

That was why the defeat of Aquila in the city had seemed so auspicious for the rebellion. Of course the nobles of the islands would counter attack, but they were surely outnumbered by the slaves, and separated by the inner sea, they would be picked off at the harbours. They should have been unable to form a bridgehead that allowed them to retake the city – and certainly with such ease.

For Kawabata to have defeated the rebellion they must have had ships and numbers.

More numbers than anyone knew.

Why?

Bran watched and shivered. As the slaves arrived, Nikki's father quickly arranged them in a makeshift defence of the temple. The pursuit was not far behind, and indeed, as the last slaves were emerging onto the plateau, there were men in Kawabata colours pursuing them. Some slaves fell to swords in their backs, and others turned to meet their death head on.

Orders were being screamed now and the slave defence lined up on the temple walls.

Bran watched in horror as more Kawabata soldiers arrived and began to form up into a phalanx.

"Come with me, Tal," the old man said. "I want to stay and fight."

"No!" the man said, his voice firm, final. "You come with me, and you shed no blood."

"I will kill them or die trying," Bran said, through gritted teeth. They had killed Quintus.

They and all the noble houses, his own included. He meant what he said.

The old man meant what he said too, though and before he even saw the blow coming, he hit Bran across the head with the flat of a sword. Bran toppled to the floor unconscious.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Wil

WIL stood beside the same people he had climbed the mountain with, clutching a sword and shivering.

The air was cool but the mountain was always hot. He did not shiver because of the chill but because of the swarm of figures appearing at the far side of the temple plateau, chasing down straggling slaves, cutting them down almost thoughtlessly and then flowing over where they had been, like ants over spilled honey.

There were hundreds of them, and they kept coming. The number seemed impossible, but still they came. Save for a few who seemed to be commanders, in Kawabata colours, almost every one of them dressed in black.

Black, Wil whispered the word to himself. Black like a slave. Not one of the ordinary soldiers wore any colours beyond the shining iron of their weapons, or the brown leather of their bracers. Every strip of cloth they wore was black, and as they came closer, Wil could make out the dark smudge on their left breast. A smudge that must surely be a tattoo just like the one he bore.

"They are slaves," he shouted angrily into the growing roar as the sounds of the army grew louder, punctuated by the screams of their first victims. Slaves – but that made no sense. "Kawabata armed their slaves – that is against the law!"

Caris looked at the blade in Wil's hand. Her face was taught with fear, but she still managed a tight smile. Wil looked at his own weapon, and shrugged. That was different. He had broken the law to end the power of the noble houses, but these slaves – they were armed and fighting the rebels. Fighting for the noble houses. It was not right.

The advancing army slowed to a standstill, and formed up into three neat lines, one behind the other, and reaching out to the very edges of the plateau. Wil had heard no order at this distance and seen no sign, but he had to acknowledge the discipline of the force that they were facing. He looked at the rag tag knots of slaves around about. They were outnumbered at least three to one, but even if the numbers had been even, there was something about the black army facing them that told Wil they would not have stood a chance.

A shout and at once the sky was full of spears. Wil watched in terror as the whole front row of the army launched their weapons towards the rebels, and before any reached their mark, already the front row was kneeling and the second row launched their spears too.

Wil did not feel the hot pee that ran down his legs as he watched the storm of spears coming for them, and he did not see the third row launch their own weapons, even though they must have done so just as quickly. He dropped his sword and was already running before screams began to echo across the battlefield, spear after spear finding its mark, felling the rebels all about him.

Even though he was running away, several spears flew over his head, some falling close to him. The air was filled with the clattering and thudding of spears and the screams of those who found themselves underneath one.

He ran desperately, not bothering to look back as he heard a huge roar. He knew the army was charging now, and all he could think was that he needed to find somewhere safe to hide.

In that one terrible volley of spears, he was convinced he had seen the defeat of the rebel army.

So much for the prophecy, he thought as he found a rock to cower behind. He was supposed to be free tomorrow. Tomorrow would be his year and a day. The old man had promised he would be free then, hadn't he? Wil tried to tuck himself into the protection of the rock. Perhaps the rebel army would miss his hiding place. Perhaps the old man's prophecy was true still. He did not believe it though.

***

Caris watched Wil run, and nearly followed him. She understood his terror as death rained down on the rebel army, but she still despised his cowardice, and stood her ground close to Nikki. She watched as the army of black clad warriors broke into a run, chasing down their own spears, swords drawn and flashing in the sunlight. She heard their combined roar, their mouths opened in bellowing shouts of rage. Who would have known that battle would be so noisy?

It was not just Wil who turned and ran. Other slaves were running too, and so many others were writhing on the ground, or lying still, with spears piercing limbs, chests, necks. The ground ran red and moist with their blood.

As the oncoming army grew ever closer, the rebel line grew weaker and more ragged as more slaves fled. Caris gritted her teeth. She was not going to be one of the cowards who ran. She was ready to die, and she would take some of these Kawabata slaves with her.

She saw one man running towards her, raised her blade, and swung it. The man swatted her sword away with a parry of his own weapon that looked effortless but the collision of the blades sent a pain up Caris's arm into her shoulder and her sword was swept away. She heard Nikki roar his anger but already he was fighting a soldier of his own, and being pushed away from her. Caris tried to dodge away from the soldier, but he was quick, he grabbed her and held her upside down as she kicked and struggled. The man laughed, dropped her, and planted a foot in her back, preventing her escape. Soldiers swept around them, charging forward as he stood on her still struggling body.

Caris did not see much more of the battle. She fought when the man picked her up again, but the man wrestled her to submission as the battle line pressed forward and away from them. She was vaguely aware that her struggle was being imitated elsewhere on the battle field, as other slaves that had been disarmed were being bound hand and foot into a kneeling position. It looked for all the world like a baling operation after cutting wheat in a field.

Ahead of her the line marched right up to the temple, still smoldering, where the remainder of the rebels were now holed up. She did not see the surrender but heard the roar from the army when it happened, and knew what had happened when the cowards that had run now came out unarmed, and hands stretched wide to show they were no threat. Soon enough they too were being bound up.

The rebellion was over. It had all come to nothing. They had lost.

***

"Well what have we here?" a deep voice bellowed out. Another answered with a question, from a little further off, and Wil cowered down behind his rock, but he knew he was caught.

"Trying to hide like a rabbit down a hole. Come on, little rabbit. Out you come," the nearer man said, and when Wil did not move, a hand grabbed him by the hair and wrenched him forwards. Wil let out a shriek of pain and rolled onto the ground, grit biting into the skin of his arm and side where he fell.

Now a huge and well muscled slave, dressed in a black loincloth, reached down and ripped the pee soiled clothing from Wil that he had stolen from Alex. He tossed it aside with a laugh.

"Scared were we?" he sneered, and shook his head. "Don't worry, lad. Things are only going to get… a lot worse for you.

Now move. Over there with the other slaves."

Wil picked himself up and walked miserably towards where the other rebels were being stripped of their clothing and hog tied. There were still a lot of them left alive, he saw. Over a hundred still, but there was no fight in any of them. They seemed dazed and miserable as they submitted to being stripped and bound.

What now? He wondered. He saw some of the black army building a fire, and saw the irons lying beside it. He knew what that was for. His stomach went tight with dread as he imagined what it would feel like to be branded. Every slave there was a runaway, so yes, all would receive the brand, Horjock's eternal curse.

The old man had said that it had not always been an eternal curse, but the old man had said he would be free. The old man was there, being stripped of his clothes like everyone else. What did the old man know? The old man had helped lead the rebellion, and they had failed. What else had he been wrong about?

Wil did not feel so sure that the brand was just a brand. He could feel the wrath of Horjock around about him. He remembered the terrible dream he had of Horjock consuming him in fire. Horjock was real, and angry, and he was about to be branded with Horjock's eternal curse.

"Oh don't you start sniveling like a toddler, you traitorous piece of shit," the soldier said, swatting Wil about the head. "If you are big enough to fight your betters, you are big enough to take what's coming like a man."

Wil tried to stop crying, but he couldn't.

Alex & Cai

"All slaves out," a soldier barked when he found Alex and Cai hiding among the dead bodies of the priests in a temple cloister, upwind from where the fire still burned in the main part of the temple. The two prisoners had been forgotten when the slave army had fallen upon the rebels, and at first they had tried to hide away from the fighting, and now they were trying to avoid the few other rebels who were trying to hide away rather than surrender. Sitting with the bodies seemed as good a place to wait rescue as any.

"I am not a slave," Alex said, standing up to face the soldier, although he dropped his hands to hide his nakedness from he man. "I am a noble of House Neped, and this is my slave."

"You are naked, so the law makes you a slave," the soldier said with a shrug. Alex looked back at him angrily, noting the man's own black loincloth and black tattoo of House Kawabata. Slowly he raised one arm and then spoke very deliberately, trying to push away the quavering of his own voice.

"Do I look naked to you? Do you have problems with your eyes?" he said, showing the bracers that Wil had not thought to take from him. Just bracers, but they were clothing. That was the point. That was why the bracers were bound on so tightly.

The soldier looked at the bracers and no doubt took in the lack of tattoo on Alex's chest. He looked set to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. He nodded to Alex.

"As you wish, my lord. We will take you to a place of safety."

"And find me some more clothes," Alex said, his voice a little to high, a little to shaky to express the imperious tone he had intended.

"Yes my lord. If you would come this way," he said and indicated to another soldier to look after Alex.

"Come on Cai," Alex said but now the man stepped forward and put a hand on Cai's shoulder.

"I am sorry my lord, but I cannot permit that."

"You cannot permit that, slave?" Alex asked, speaking the last word emphatically, wishing to press a point home.

"I am under strict orders, sir. All slaves are to be taken outside."

"But Cai is my slave. He is not one of the rebels," Alex tried not to sound like a whining child, but he was aware how his voice sounded.

"Of course sir, but my orders are…"

"I order you to leave Cai with me. He is my slave."

"I am sorry, sir, but although I am a slave, I am not your slave. I must answer to my master's orders. All slaves must be rounded up."

"Gods be damned!" Alex swore and stamped his foot petulantly. "Cai is not one of the rebels."

"He is a slave, in the middle of a slave rebellion…"

"He tried to save me…"

"And yet here you are, captured by the rebels, or were you, perhaps, one of them?"

"Don't you dare suggest that," Alex said, his voice cold and steadied now by the deep anger he felt. "We came to watch the Great Race, and we were attacked. Cai fought to save me."

"He fought? He failed then because here you are, and he is still alive," the man looked at Cai with a sneer.

"He would have died for me!" Alex shouted.

"But he didn't. What kind of slave says he will die for his master and then fails?"

"They raped him…" Alex yelled, his frustration making his voice carry. Tears of frustration and fury filling his eyes. "They raped him right in front of me."

"He probably liked it."

Alex made to strike the soldier but the second one steered him away and then when he began to struggle, he picked him up and carried him away.

"Calm yourself my lord." he said as he carried the struggling boy away from his own slave. "Don't worry about the slave. Justice will be served."

Cai made to run after Alex, but the first soldier grabbed him and as Cai screamed his rage, he was carried out to join the other slaves. A few of the rebels looked at him, and then looked away. No doubt this was a scene they had seen repeated many times today.

Bran

Bran did not see the battle, did not hear the screams as rebels were slaughtered. He did not see the final bitter surrender as disciplined and well armed Kawabata soldiers over-ran the temple.

He came around in darkness, only shortly before the door of the room he was in burst open. It was only when that happened that he realised he was in a cell, locked from the outside.

"Well what do we have here?" a soldier asked, coming into the room. He was ready to drag the boy out, but Bran tried to bite the man's hand, and earned a hefty slap to the face for his trouble. Then the soldier kicked him in the balls, but as Bran doubled over, he took a closer look at Bran's collar, and then swore. He left the cell and locked the door behind him.

Some minutes later the door rattled and was opened again, and this time Bran found himself looking up at his father.

"So you joined this rebellion?" his father asked.

Bran looked up at him from his kneeling position, tears in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice shook. Hid father just glared at him, his face a picture of fury. Bran swallowed and tried again.

"I saw. I saw what they did to Quintus… to all the champions."

His father looked back, his eyes narrowing, but there was neither curiosity nor shock in his expression. For Bran, this confirmed what he had suspected. His father knew, had known all along. Had he won the Great Race, he would have suffered Quintus' fate, at his own father's hands. His father had never loved him. He had only ever been a means to an end for the man.

Bran bowed his head, not from shame but because he could not bear to look at his father any longer.

"You are no longer my son," his father said, and Bran knew what this meant. His father was disowning him as a traitor and abandoning him to a life of slavery. He would not be putting clothes back on today. He would never wear them again.

"You were never my father," Bran shot back angrily, and now at last he got a stronger reaction from his father. Now the man leaned in, grabbed him by the collar around his neck and twisted it, starting to choke him. Bran tried to grab at the hands, but his father's grip was firm.

He looked his father in the eye and saw a deep rage in them, and something else. Was that fear? Was that one secret too far for the man? Had he struck home? Had he surprised him by what he knew? If so, he was ready to surprise him further. He had another revelation for the man he had always called father.

"I know who my real father was. I met him," Bran said, his voice weak and breathless from the choke hold his father had. He felt his face reddening, heard the blood rushing in his ears, but now his father's angry look seemed to shift subtly. Was there a hint of curiosity there? The man's next words confirmed it.

"And who, pray tell me, was your father?"

"The old man. The priest of D'lan," Bran replied, feeling a rush of certainty. It all made sense. The priest had said he was there when he had been born, and had usurped the real Bran's place. The priest had said, too, that the prophecy said his own son would survive, and hadn't he survived the Great Race? The man kept saying that prophecy was a tricky thing, so didn't that make a kind of twisted sense? That was why he had been locked in here – to keep him safe.

"The priest? What priest?"

"He was once a noble… it must have been on Neped, because he mentioned the oracle. And he told me… he told me he was there when… you adopted me."

Bran's father's face flashed between confusion and alarm, and then settled on something else. A smile. He was smiling, but it was not a pleasant sight.

"He told you he is your father?"

"Yes," Bran lied. The man had not so much as said that, but Bran knew it was true.

"Then he lied to you. I don't know why, but he lied. Marik Neped is not your father, and since you think you know so much, know this… you are not Neped, not Aramat, not anything. You were not born to a noble house. You were just some stray, the get of some slave whore, no doubt. You were nothing and you are nothing. You are right, you are not Bran Aramat. You are just some filthy little slave."

With a desperate wrench, Cian Aramat ripped Bran's collar free and threw it away. Bran fell backwards, banging his head hard. The world seemed to grow foggy, but he was aware as his father grabbed and held his face and then he drew a knife with his free hand. Bran looked on in dazed horror. He felt woozy, whether from the choking or the bang to his head he could not know, but he could barely order his thoughts.

Was his father going to kill him in cold blood?

Cian pushed him on his back, pinned his limbs down between his legs, and held his head back with one hand, forcing fingers into Bran's mouth, and forcing his jaw downwards as he pushed his head up and backwards. Bran tried to bite, but the man's grip was powerful, and his mouth remained open. Bran tried to struggle, but his father was strong. He had one arm trapped beneath him, and his other limbs held firmly in place, his head forced back painfully. He saw his father push the knife into his mouth. He tried to scream, to yell, but in a moment he tasted the bitter tang of metal, and a terrible pain like he had swallowed a hornet, or perhaps a whole nest of them. At once his mouth filled with hot blood.

There was a moment when Bran felt like this was all unreal, far away, like it was happening to someone else. This could not be happening… and then the blade bit deeper into his tongue and the blood sluiced from his mouth. He gasped, choking now on the blood that closed off his airway, and then spilled down his face.

His father cut mercilessly and then tugged. His tongue was still stubbornly attached by sinews and so he put the knife down so as to take hold of the tongue and gave it an almighty tug that ripped the sinews away.

Bran gasped, choked, coughed. Blood fountained from his mouth as his father held his severed tongue up in front of his face.

"Secrets are dangerous things, boy. Some secrets must never be told and now you will never speak of what you saw in the temple to anyone. Neither will you tell your other lies to anyone again," he said and dropped the tongue on the floor, crushing it with his heel.

"You are no longer an Aramat, if ever you were. You will stand trial as a Trettien slave, and live or die, that is all you ever will be," he said and turned and walked away, leaving Bran choking and spewing blood on the ground.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Cai

CAI kicked and struggled, but it was no use. The soldier who held him was very strong and seemed impervious to pain.

"I am not a rebel. Let me go," he squealed.

"Quiet, you," the man growled, but Cai would not be quiet, and soon enough some other soldiers were gathering around.

"Got a feisty one there," someone laughed and Cai glared at him. "Let's brand him quick. That will shut him up."

"No," Cai screamed, "no, you can't brand me. I am not a rebel. I am not a runaway. I was with my master the whole time."

The soldier that had laughed looked at the one who was holding Cai and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that true?"

"We found him with a boy with no tattoo and not quite naked. Claimed he was a Neped lord but could just be a commoner. They were hiding in the temple with the other rebels."

"He is my master. That was Alex Neped. I was with him the whole time, just ask him. We are not rebels." Cai struggled and pleaded again, looking at one man who seemed to be perpetually amused, always laughing.

"Could be true. Then again, maybe the Neped boy was one of the rebels. It wouldn't surprise me if some of them were mixed up in all this," he said, shrugged and looked towards where a man dressed in the colours of Kawabata stood surveying the scene. "We had best ask the commander."

And as Cai watched, still held by the soldier who had found him with Alex, laughing man went and started speaking to the commander. The man looked in Cai's direction and narrowed his eyes. Cai recognised him at once. That was Nino Kawabata's father. He had not seen him for a year but he still remembered him well enough.

The two were talking in low voices and then the commander turned away and laughing man came back.

"The commander says all slaves on the mountain get branded. No exceptions. He was in the temple, and that is forbidden to slaves, so he is as guilty as the rest of them."

Cai suddenly felt light headed, and he was aware of the blood draining from his face. He felt weak with terror and shook his head.

"No. Please no… it is wrong…it is a mistake…You are slaves. You are not getting branded."

Laughing man laughed again and shook his head.

"We are not just slaves. We are the Shadow Guard. You are just an ordinary slave, and you were hiding where no ordinary slave can go. Commander says you get branded and then you stand trial tomorrow. Penalty for a slave entering the temple is what? Oh yes, I remember. It is death."

"I was with my master!" Cai screamed in frustration. "I am no runaway. I…"

"Commander says you are. Says he knows whose slave you are, and knows your master is not on the mountain. That makes you a runaway too."

Cai was about to argue further but he had run out of time. The soldier carrying him had reached a barrel and now threw him across it. Cai yelped but was quickly held down. He was aware of someone else coming over, holding a glowing red branding iron.

This was not right! This could not be happening. Not the eternal curse. Not the brand that would make him a slave in this life and the next. He was noble born… this was not right.

They could not do this. Please… Morgannock, he prayed, please have mercy on me. Please save me.

But Morgannock did not save him, and a moment later Cai knew the searing hot pain, driving all other thoughts from his mind. In that moment the world existed only in the deep burning agony in his butt. His body reacted and spasmed against the firm hands that held him and Cai screamed, just like he had heard others screaming. He screamed like he had never screamed before. He screamed until his lungs were empty and still the scream seemed to echo around him.

They took him away then, and dumped him among other slaves who had already been branded in a makeshift holding pen. Cai curled up in a corner, sobbing and trying not to think about the sickening terrible pain in his butt. He found himself close to other sweaty, naked bodies.

He was not the only one crying and moaning.

Wil

WIL struggled all the way as he was dragged to the area just outside the temple court where the Kawabata soldiers were erecting makeshift slave pens, and branding slaves. He heard an ear splitting scream and saw Cai being branded. Some part of him thought that it served the little runt right. Cai, who had defied him and refused to join the rebellion, was being dragged away, his butt flaming red with the blackened marks of the brand of a runaway clearly visible. So much for his noble resistance.

The sight was little comfort though as Wil knew that very soon he would receive the same treatment. Very soon he too would receive the brand of a runaway, and after that, what then? He doubted very much they would let him live if they knew he had been in the temple, and had even killed a priest.

If they did let him live, the brand brought its own new level of shame. Although slaves were allowed to wear black at times for hygiene reasons, or at their owner's discretion, that too was forbidden to a runaway. A branded slave was absolutely forbidden to wear any clothing ever again, and because of that they were considered unclean, not fit for household duties. It would be back to the fields for him where he would die from exhaustion… and that was if he were lucky. They might just use him as a whore instead, or have him digging in some mine, using only his bare hands because they would never trust him with anything that could be used as a weapon again.

Wil wondered whether death was the better option, but some part of him quickly rejected that idea. He was alive. As long as he stayed alive, there was hope. There had to be hope. He had to live – whatever it took.

"So, you are a Kawabata slave?" one man asked. Wil looked at him, aware that he was uncomfortably close to a brazier that had branding irons sitting in it. He looked at the brazier, being pumped to high heat, and then he looked at the man who spoke to him. The man was one of the slaves from Kawabata's army, and Wil thought of refusing to answer, but he reminded himself: whatever it takes. Stay alive.

He nodded to the question. He could hardly deny the tattoo on his own chest.

"How then did you get to the capitol?" the man asked and Wil told the man about the rebellion on the island and how he had escaped on that night.

"Who helped you? That rebellion was quelled. You could not have escaped without help."

Wil searched around, saw Nikki lying unconscious and Caris nearby. They were both naked, and Nikki was lying on his front. Wil could see that neither of them were branded – but that made sense. The brand was for runaway slaves. They had their own punishment in that they had been stripped and made slaves.

"It was them. They helped me."

The soldier indicated to one of the others and a moment later Caris was brought and forced to her knees beside Wil. She looked at him and glared, but said nothing to him.

However, when she looked towards the brazier, her mouth opened, and Wil heard her gasp of breath. He looked at her and then at the boy tending the brazier. He was a Kawabata slave too, but like the soldiers, he was not naked. He wore a black loincloth.

"Lewis," she whispered.

The boy looked at her and there was recognition in his eyes. He left his bellows and walked over, oblivious of the looks the soldiers were giving him. He walked right in front of where Wil and Caris were kneeling, and looked directly at Caris.

"Lewis! I thought you were dead. We looked. We searched for you… we wanted to…"

Lewis' face was like the cloud chased sky on a windy day. One moment there was incredulity, then something like a smile, which was quickly chased by a tightening around his mouth that was probably fear, and then his expression clouded over completely and turned dark.

"You needn't have bothered," he said. "We wanted to set you free," Caris looked up at him, and there were tears in her eyes. "We were going to bring you home."

"I am already home. I found my home. I am going to join the Shadow Guard. You think I want to go back to that hovel you came from and spend all my life stinking of fish guts? Why would I want to go with you?"

"Lewis, you are family. We would never leave you. You should be free…"

"Free? Free like you? Free to have everything you make and do stolen from you? Free to starve? Free to die young from fever? Free to drown at sea or freeze in the cold rains? You were never free, and neither was I. I would never go back to that. You wasted your time. I am already home."

One of the soldiers put a hand on Lewis' shoulder and the boy looked up, falling silent.

"So you came to Kawabata Island to steal a slave, and you did not find the one you wanted and stole another?" the soldier asked of Caris.

She looked back at him, her face set firm but Wil could see her shoulders trembling.

"You do not deny it, so it is so. You were a thief before you were a rebel," the soldier said and then turned back to Wil. "Tell me, slave, how many people did you kill here?"

"None," Wil lied. "I never wanted any part of the rebellion. I just waned to run away. I am sorry I ran away with them, but that's all. I swear on Horjock's name, that I never hurt anyone."

Caris looked at Wil, and perhaps narrowed her eyes just a little, but she did not denounce him, she did not contradict him, and Wil felt a glimmer of hope. If she would not denounce him, then he could yet survive this. If he could persuade them that he had never hurt anyone, then he might yet get to live, and with life there was always hope.

"Very well. By your own admission, you are a runaway. That is all we need for now. Brand him!"

They grabbed him and threw him over the same barrel that he had seen Cai draped over, and Lewis was back at work with his bellows. Wil felt a surge of terror at the impending pain he would have to endure, but he knew there was no escaping it.

"Now don't struggle or it will be worse for you."

Wil did not struggle, but he closed his eyes and went tense. He could hear someone laughing, and then he felt the glow of the iron hovering just above his skin. He could not believe this was happening, could not imagine how it was going to feel…

And then the brand was pushed into his skin and his flesh crackled and fizzed as it was burned away. Wil's first reaction was to pull away and had he not been held firm he would have jumped up as a sudden piercing blazing agony erupted in the flesh of his butt.

Someone cheered and the laughing continued, but now Wil was screaming in agony. The brand seemed to be held to his flesh for a long time. So long that he feared it would burn all the way through to his pelvis. He howled and screamed, and at last the cruel red hot iron was removed, to reveal Wil's curse brand.

Bran

Bran coughed and gobs of blood ran to the floor. His father had left him, and he was alone, kneeling in a growing pool of blood. There seemed to be a lot of it, and he wondered how much he could lose before it became a problem. He had swallowed plenty too, and felt ill with it. The illness was almost worse than the pain, which had lessened now, although his mouth throbbed and the memory of the moment when his father had torn his tongue away would live with him forever.

There was a clattering of keys on metal and the door swung open again, revealing two men dressed in black and sporting Kawabata tattoos. They entered the cell and dragged Bran, now much more docile, out into the temple courtyard.

The sight that greeted him was soul destroying. All around there were slaves, naked and tied up. The old man was also hog tied and naked as was an injured Nikki, the teen boy's father nowhere to be seen. A little further away he saw Wil, and there was Caris too.

The soldier forced him to his knees and then a man came over, and with him a boy. A boy Bran knew well, whom he had left tied up naked on the mountain slopes, but who now was dressed once more, sporting his house colours, his slave hair cut already shaved away. The year of shame was over and Karl Trettien had been restored to his house.

Bran saw something else too. It was not just Kawabata soldiers here now. There were nobles from the other houses present. Many from House Lapin, and a large number of Trettiens, as well as a handful from the other houses. And there among them all was his father, who flicked only the smallest glance his way and then looked away again, and continued his conversation with a Kawabata noble – Nino's father.

"What are we doing with this slave?" one of the men holding Bran asked, and another Kawabata noble looked up and towards Bran.

"Cauterise the wound, brand him and put him with the others," the noble replied, hardly looking at Bran. Bran tried to struggle then, and particularly when Karl noticed and came over to watch. Still, he had no fight in him as they draped him over a barrel, and one man held his jaw open.

"Watch my fingers," he said darkly to another man, approaching with a poker he had just pulled from the flaming brazier that was being kept hot by a Kawabata slave boy in a black loincloth, pumping it with hand bellows.

"Just hold him still, and I will be careful."

The man holding Bran looked dubious, as he pulled Bran's mouth wider still, taking care not to put his fingers into the boy's mouth.

"This is going to hurt, slave, but it will hurt a lot less if you stay absolutely still. If you struggle you are going to end up with a poker brand across your face, and we don't want to mess up your pretty looks, do we?"

Bran felt a nauseating rush of terror, as the poker came closer. He went rigid, but tried not to move. He wanted to escape, wanted to run away, wanted anything but what was about to happen, but at the same time the blood was still pouring in his mouth and down his face. He knew this had to be done. He held his breath, saw the poker being lined up with his open mouth, saw the man squatting down to see what he was doing. Time stopped still as he felt the heat of the metal rod so close to his lips.

Bran screamed, and kept screaming as the poker was hurriedly withdrawn and the man holding his face gratefully let his jaw go.

He kept screaming as they pulled him off the barrel and forced him into a submissive kneeling position. One soldier held him tight again and another quickly pressed a branding iron into his right butt cheek.

He kept screaming as the brand bit deep into his flesh, marking him out with the brand of a runaway, the brand that was thought of as the eternal curse of Horjock. He kept screaming as this new part of his body burned up with blistering heat.

Karl watched and laughed, and taunted the boy, telling him of all the punishments and pain and suffering that he would see inflicted on Bran, in revenge for being left to die on the mountainside.

"You are going to die, Brannie" he whispered into Bran's ear, "or else I am going to make sure you are my slave and you will wish you died."

And then, pain.

Terrible, heart stopping, panic inducing pain. The stump of his tongue was burning. There was a horrible crackling and fizzing right inside his head, so intolerably loud and the pain so intense that he almost bit the poker. He probably would have done but for the restraining fingers of the man who held his jaw open.

He could see smoke rising from his lips, could smell and taste the smoke as the wound was cauterised, and that was when he discovered that even without a tongue, it was perfectly possible to scream.

Bran could hardly process what he was hearing, as all he knew was the pain. The terrible, insistent, all encompassing burning pain that ate into his mind and his soul, and then somehow, to Karl's annoyance, But mercifully for Bran, he passed out.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Wil

Gods, his butt hurt.

Wil lay on the ground and moaned. He could smell the stench of old sweat, and it felt like he was back in the slave sheds, but for the burning ache in his butt. He tried to find a position that would hurt a little less, and moaned. Plenty of others around him were moaning too, every runaway slave now having been branded.

In the end Wil sat up in frustration. It hurt too much to sleep, so he tried to sit with his weight on the non branded butt cheek. It did not hurt any less, but in the end it did not hurt more either.

There were unbranded slaves too. Every commoner who had joined the rebellion was now also penned up and naked. There were no commoners here now, only slaves.

The pens had been hastily built from fencing and other materials taken from the temple.

Parts of the building had been deliberately pulled down to protect the remainder, and it was largely this material used to create a series of pens all within a larger ring of fence work, some of which was built from the spears that had been so deadly in battle. Cruel iron tips on the fences would threaten any slave stupid enough to try to climb out.

One slave had been so stupid earlier. There seemed little chance of evading the hundreds of soldiers around the pens, acting as a guard. Still, that slave had thought it worth the attempt. A quick death now may be preferable to a slow one, and he had attempted to climb the fence in full view of a hundred or more slaves and many more guards.

Wil still shuddered to think what they did to that man as punishment. His screams would haunt the dreams of any sane person who had seen how he had been flayed raw, but carefully kept alive. No slave was going to be allowed to choose their own death today, and after that no one had tried to escape.

Wil saw the old man looking at him and he glared back. He brooded in silence for a long time, thinking dark thoughts seasoned with the memory of the slave's screams, but the priest kept watching him. Eventually his anger overflowed.

"You are a fraud. Nothing you ever said is true," he erupted, sitting himself up and then burying his head in his arms.

"You are angry, and frightened, little rabbit," the priest said, his voice sad. "I do not blame you for that."

"No? You don't blame me? Well I blame you. I blame you because you told all those fancy stories but nothing you ever said is true, is it? You are just an old fraud. Your precious Tal is right there, and tomorrow they are going to kill him along with everyone else."

Wil had been talking into his arm but now his anger flared and he raised his head again. "You let us think we could win something, but we can't, can we? We can't defeat

Horjock. The god is real, and powerful, and we are the cursed ones. We can't do anything. What hope did we ever have? and now… now I am going to be a slave in the next life too, along with everyone else who trusted you."

"You must have hope, Wil. I told you before, the curse has no hold on the next life." The old man spoke gently, and held Wil's gaze as he spoke.

"Easy for you to say. They did not brand you."

"A brand is just a brand. Just a mark in the flesh. The curse of Horjock was never eternal, and you can't etch it into someone and make it so."

Wil snorted and looked away. Someone coughed, and Cai moaned. Wil could smell pee and wondered whose it was.

The silence grew, and then Wil spat on the ground, before letting out a tirade of curses.

Caris looked at him, and giggled.

"What is so funny?" he asked her. "You think they are going to let you go because you are a girl? You are going to be a slave for life now, and maybe that won't be very long. What is so damned funny?"

Caris just shrugged and shook her head. Wil glared at her.

The old man continued, "Wil, this is your darkest moment. You know there is always hope. I did not always think that. I thought once that my future was so dark that there could never again be light. You say I am a fraud, but it is not so. I always said prophecy is a tricky thing."

"What prophecy? Like the one where you told me I would be free after a year and a day?

That is tomorrow. You still think I will be free tomorrow?" Wil spat on the ground at the man's feet.

"You know, Wil, that I come originally from the island of Neped? The house gods of Neped are Aleth and Erev. The gods of truth and shadow, and that is always the way of prophecy. It is truth that hides in a shadow. No, perhaps it is a shadow that hides in truth. The truth is always veiled. The danger is always that when we hear a prophecy, we think we understand it, and we act on it, but so often it is not as we thought. Prophecy is such a tricky thing.

"Thirty years ago, and with the cataclysm fresh in everyone's mind, I, along with all the other houses, agreed to enter into a terrible covenant with Horjock and his priests. That was because of a prophecy too, you know? The covenant was terrible but the alternative was darker still. On the day that we turned our back on Horjock's covenant, he would turn his back on us too. The Kingdom of the Isles will not endure without Horjock's hand, and so the covenant was essential. Terrible as it was, we all knew we must obey.

"To honour that covenant, my own son was to be the champion of our house. Ah, such a lad he was. Coram was strong, fast, quick witted. I knew he would win the Great Race, but I could not bear it. The divine covenant with Horjock after the cataclysm… I could not bear to have that happen to my own son.

"I suggested that he might not run as fast as I knew he could, that he might let some other house win. I broke covenant even doing that, but I suggested it, knowing that Coram was too strong willed, and too noble of heart to do any such thing. No, he would run to win, and so he would win.

"I could have been king, but I sought out the oracle, to ask if there was some other way. The oracle told me, ‘he who gives up his crown will save the champion.' Foolishly I believed I understood. I was the head of House Neped in the very first year of the Great Race after the cataclysm. All I had to do was abdicate as head of Neped, and my place in the nobility itself.

"My son would then not be permitted to run, and so he would be saved. Coram would live. You are aware that Neped has never won the great race? That is how the histories have it. That history is false. Coram ran anyway, even though he knew what I had done. I did not see him off. I did not see him win, but win he did. He won and because I spurned my duty as head of the house, it was not counted as a Neped win. Instead the high priest made him nominate the house that would take the kingship. Coram chose Morrigan.

"Coram chose Morrigan and then he… he died. I never saw him again."

"Bran saw the truth of it. You did not, but believe me, every winner of the Great Races since the cataclysm has been sacrificed as a servant of Horjock."

Wil was silent for a while. He still felt so angry, so betrayed. He did not want to feel sorry for this stupid old man. At last he swallowed and looked at him again.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

The old man looked around at the various slaves lying around, and then looked back at Wil.

"It is like I told you before, it is not you that I am telling."

Wil narrowed his eyes and searched out the motionless form of Bran. "Bran is unconscious. He didn't hear any of that."

"Actually," the man corrected him, "he has been awake for some time." Wil snorted.

It was at that moment that someone approached in the gathering dark. Whoever it was, they were walking within the outer fences, and between the various slave pens. The sun had set and night was coming, but there was just enough light to see that this was someone dressed as a noble, although without obvious house colours, and the noble must have had just enough light too, because he let out an exclamation of relief.

"Cai, thank the gods."

Cai looked up from where he had been sitting, with a surprised start. When he saw who it was, he stood up and launched himself up on the side of the pen, throwing himself into the arms of the man.

"Quiet, lad," he said. "I am not trusting you to those faithless new priests. You are coming with me. We have to be quiet though. I have bribed the nearest guards handsomely, but I do not have enough gold to bribe any more."

Cai needed no second bidding, and clung onto the man, who held him tenderly, like he was holding his own child, and turned to carry him out through the entrance to the outer fence, where some guards were looking the other way.

"Please, take me too," Wil called, and as soon as he did, others started asking too. The noble cursed, and hurried quickly away into the dark. Wil watched them go, and all around him there was a growing angry commotion by the slaves left behind, so that very quickly the inattentive gate soldiers came over, cracking whips until everyone settled down.

Despite that, no one told the Kawabata guards that they were now short of one prisoner. Wil looked into the darkness and decided that much as he disliked Cai, he could not begrudge him his rescue. Maybe a Lapin lord would come for him later. Maybe his own father. It was like the old man said, one must always have hope.

Maybe the old man was right after all. Maybe tomorrow he would be free. Maybe he would look back on this dark night and realise things had not been so terrible after all. He had to hope that the old man was not the fraud he had accused him of being.

Cai

Alex's father carried Cai through the gate, past guards who did not so much as nod their heads in greeting at the man. Cai tried to pretend he was not there, but the men would have to be blind not to see him. Still, they did not stop them, and that was good enough for Cai.

They walked into the darkness of the temple plain and Cai recognised the descent now onto the Pilgrim's Path. Even in the darkness he knew where they were going. Only when they had dropped below the rim of the mountain did Orinn Neped, Alex's father and Cai's legal owner, put the boy down and permit him to walk.

"My son had better be grateful," Orinn said into the darkness. "I just spent ten times more on you than you cost in the first place."

Cai did not know what to say. He tried to stammer a thank you, but Orinn waved it away.

"Thank me by taking care of my son," he said curtly and strode off fast enough into the darkness that Cai had to run to keep him in sight.

The descent of the mountain was painful. Cai's butt still burned from his brand, and he frequently stumbled or stubbed his toes in the darkness, but Orinn was in a hurry to be down, and with good reason, Cai knew. The guards had taken him for a rebel, as he had been a slave on the mountain, and if their commander discovered him gone, there would surely be an attempt to hunt him down. All the talk had been quite clear that evening: all the rebels were to face trial in the morning. Cai had known that such trials were not exactly stacked in the favour of slaves.

When they did reach the foot of the mountain, they took a fork in the route that led towards the western settlement of the island. An inky dark area ahead had to be the sea, and now Cai could see a few lights in a few stone buildings. Orinn hurried on towards one, and was about to enter, when Cai saw another figure standing in the darkness, just beyond the building, closer to the harbour.

It was dark, and Cai could see very little, but there was something very familiar about that figure. He was dressed as a noble, and wore a cape, a hood covering his face. There were almost no distinguishing marks to the man, but something about the way he carried himself woke instant recognition in Cai, and he stopped, his jaw dropping open. He wanted to rush to the man, but suddenly Orinn's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing tight.

The man in the shadows nodded his head, and Orinn nodded back. Now a hand was raised in a symbol of thanks, and the man turned away.

"No…" Cai whispered.

"Come on, lad, we need to get you back to Neped." Orinn said, his voice soft, almost regretful. "And we also need to talk about what you can tell people. I am sure you understand that you can never tell anyone that you were on the mountain today."

Cai had not considered that, but of course his master was right. He had been stolen away from the judgment of the priests of Horjock, if any of those were still alive to deliver it.

If that were known then his life would surely be forfeit.

"More than that – I don't know what you saw in the temple. Did you go inside?"

Cai shook his head to that question. "Did anyone say what they saw inside?"

Cai began to shake his head and then checked himself. What had the old man been saying? But something about his master's tone of voice made Cai think about his answer. He shook his head again, and Orinn appeared relieved.

"That is… for the better. Cai, if you heard any rumours, or saw anything of the temple, you must never speak of it. Not even to me. Not even to Alex. Do you understand me? You were never on the mountain, understood? You were not there."

"I understand, sir," Cai replied, still glancing in the direction where the other man had disappeared.

"And that means," Orinn went on, "that I am afraid we must explain your brand differently."

The brand! He had not thought about it, even though he had been living with the constant pain of it all the way down the mountain. He felt a sudden weight in his chest, a terrible sinking feeling in his gut as he knew what his master was about to say.

"We have to say that you ran away from Alex this morning. The story will be that we had you tracked and caught trying to take a ship back to Morrigan. We will say that I had you branded as a runaway. A Morrigan crew will attest you stowed away in their ship if questions are asked. In this way, there will be no question you were ever on the mountain."

"But I did not run away…" Cai said, his eyes brimming with tears.

"I know that, and you know that. Alex will know it too. It is for the best that no one else be aware of this. I am sorry, Cai, but we will have to treat you as if you were truly a runaway. It is not my first choice, but it is the way it must be."

Cai nodded and sniffed.

"Yes, good, have a good cry about it. When you are taken back to Neped, people will expect you to be miserable. Go ahead and have a good cry," Orinn said, and again there was that curious warmth in his words.

"Cai, you have become very special to my son, and to my wife. I suppose to me too. You are a slave, but know this – I do not regret any of the gold I spent on you today. But just… please don't waste my money by getting yourself killed.

"I have to treat you as a runaway, and that will seem harsh, but if I do differently, it puts you at risk. So get used to this: you will not be allowed any clothing ever, and you will be forbidden from serving in the house. There may have to be other punishments too. You understand though, that I do this to protect you?"

Cai swallowed and used his fists to wipe his tears away. He nodded, and then because it was dark, he said, "Yes sir."

Orinn was quiet a moment and then ruffled Cai's hair before he turned and called for a slave, who hurried out from the stables near the house, holding a lantern. Cai now saw that the house was a very small and humble inn.

"Boy," Orinn said, addressing the slave, a lad in his late teens, "This runaway will be taken at once back to Neped. You will rouse the crew of my own boat and inform them to make the night crossing, and then ensure that this slave is kept in isolation awaiting my return. You will ensure he is held securely in a shed on his own, with adequate food and water, but nothing else. Do you understand me?"

The slave looked wide eyed at Cai, and then the lamp light revealed Cai's brand and the look that crossed the slave's face was not a pleasant one. He nodded his head.

"Yes, sir," he said and led the weeping Cai away.

Alex

Alex immediately stood up when his father entered the room grim faced. They were back in the inn of the western settlement that Alex had woken up in that morning. It seemed like a very long time ago. Kawabata soldiers had led him down the mountain, and brought him back here when he had told them where his father had been renting their rooms, but his father had not been here. There had just been a couple of commoners, who had explained that the lords of Neped had been called away to an emergency. Alex knew well enough what that emergency was.

His uncle had returned first, just before dark, but he had said nothing, except to tell Alex not to worry, and not to ask questions. Now it was full night, long past the time Alex should be asleep, but his father was finally back. The forbidden questions sprang readily to the boy's lips.

"Is it over?" he asked.

"For now it is over. Kawabata forces have secured the temple. The word is that the priests are all dead."

"All of them? What will they do?"

"Oh that is not a problem it seems. Lapin has long had a surfeit of men. They do not seem to lose any in the great race, and it appears that many had trained as priests and acolytes. They even had a suitable candidate for High Priestess ready. Even now House Lapin is supplying new priests of Horjock."

"One would almost think they planned it that way," Alex's uncle said from his place by the window. "Is there news of my son?"

"None of the champions were harmed," Orinn said, but Alex could see he wanted to say more. Something was troubling him, and his uncle noticed it too.

"But?"

"But today is the race day, and by divine covenant, all the champions are deemed to be running the race."

"How is that possible? There has just been a rebellion. All the priests are dead. The palace where the champions were waiting was under siege!"

"Not all the champions were in the palace," Alex's father said, and then he crossed the room to the window. "Aramat were to race Bran again, and the Kawabata champion came across with their fleet and climbed to the temple behind the assault force. Lapin did not have their champion at the palace and he reached the summit late this afternoon. Trettien are also claiming they were to run Karl again, although that seems to be opportunist."

"Opportunist?"

"Kawabata claim their champion reached the summit first. However, on their way up the mountain, forces found and released Karl Trettien. He is said to have arrived at the temple first, as he was with the assault force, not behind it."

"So they are claiming that as a victory? That is nonsense."

Alex watched his father and uncle talk, his mouth open, incredulous at what he was hearing.

"Kawabata has already claimed the throne. Truth be told, it will be hard to dispute the claim. Their forces have seized the palace and Lapin is supporting them. As I mentioned, Lapin has taken control of the priesthood.

Trettien's claim appears to just be a ploy to argue that their hostage in the palace was not their runner. Instead Karl has simply been disqualified as over age, and assisted…"

"So their champion is not made a slave," Alex's uncle finished, and then he looked out of the window, not speaking for a while. When he did, his voice was wobbling.

"It is a crafty ploy. As he is disqualified, they argue he need not suffer another year of slavery, but as they presented him and an alternate runner for the race, there is no question that they did not supply a runner. It is all very dubious but it seems Kawabata and Lapin will accept the argument in return for support of their own claims."

"And the hostages in the palace…?"

"Did not complete the race before sundown. They are declared slaves."

Alex had never heard his uncle swear before, but he heard it now. Morrigan had no candidate old enough to run this year, and with all the other houses weaselling out of it, Alex saw what the problem was. Only the Aquila, Neped and Trettien candidates had been held hostage and thus failed to complete the great race before sundown. Trettien had lied and cheated their way out of the consequences of it, but the Aquila champion and Alex's cousin, Calder, were not so fortunate. They would not be coming home this year. Alex thought about that and fought down an overwhelming urge to cry.

"There is one thing they have not considered though," his father said after a while. "If Bran Aramat was with the rebels, then it was he who was the first champion who made it to the summit. His claim is as good as the Trettien one."

"You can't seriously be suggesting…"

"Aramat does not seem to have made the claim themselves. It is a murky issue, but I have spoken with slaves who tell me that, although he was with the rebels, he took no part in the fighting. Alex, you were there. Can you confirm this?"

Alex swallowed, looked back at his father, but instead of answering, he asked the question he wanted more than anything to ask.

"Is Cai going to be okay?"

Orinn looked taken aback, and then his face creased with worry, and the frown he had been wearing only deepened.

"Cai is safe. I sent him back to Neped with other slaves just now. He won't be harmed there."

Alex nodded and felt some of the tension of the day lifted from him. He had been so worried. He had raged against the Kawabata soldiers who had taken his slave away but they had not relented, had ignored him. There had been no word at all. Now, at last, he knew Cai was safe and well. His father had arrived in time.

"Alex, this is important. Bran Aramat… did he?"

Alex shook his head emphatically, but his father and uncle were still looking at him.

They clearly wanted more.

"I saw Bran, but he did not kill anyone. Wil did… the one who used to be Lapin. I saw him kill a priest in cold blood, and he was the one who was going to make me a slave and had Cai raped. He is evil. An evil coward. Cai called him a coward to his face. You should have seen it. Cai was ferocious… he tried to save me… he…"

Alex broke down into tears and his father crossed the room, and put an arm around him, holding him close. He just held him until Alex had cried out the tension and fear from the worst day of his life.

"Cai is a good slave," his father agreed. "He is safe now. But please Alex, we must be very clear about this. Bran Aramat killed no one? Perhaps he did not want to even be there?"

"He didn't look like a captive," Alex said thoughtfully, "but I know that he didn't kill anyone. The old man hit him right at the end and locked him up because he said it was important he killed no one."

"Indeed it was," his father said thoughtfully and now looked at Alex's uncle. "You can't be serious about this!"

Orinn nodded, chewed his lip, and then spoke.

"It is all politics now. Maybe if we support Aramat's claim, we can find a way to save your son from slavery."

"But Bran did not climb alone, and what of the will of Horjock…" his uncle said, uncertainly.

"Fuck the will of Horjock. You think the other houses are thinking about the will of Horjock? There is more going on here today than the divine covenant. Lapin happens to have a backup priesthood ready, and Kawabata happens to have a slave army…"

"A slave army?"

"That is what they are saying. They say that Kawabata has steadily been buying up slaves, and have turned their strongholds and smaller islands into barracks."

"But they are clothed…"

"In black, yes. They kept to the law. That law at least. But they are still slaves."

"Foolish. To arm slaves is madness. Worse than that, the law forbids weapons to slaves. Why would the slaves fight slaves?"

"Why indeed? Because it seems they are not treated as slaves. The rumour is that they took the brightest, the best, the hardest, the strongest and they trained them and bribed them and persuaded them that once Kawabata took power they would be something else. They are claiming that these are no longer slaves, but life indentured soldiers. Not free, of course.

"Horjock forbids that, so it is hard to see how it differs from slavery, but they claim the status of these soldiers will be above the common people. The indentured receive good food, and other privileges. And of course, the new high priest has blessed the interpretation. It seems it was Horjock's will to create this new army, and Horjock's will that Kawabata should control it. They are calling them the Shadow Guard."

"Do you think Kawabata was behind the whole rebellion somehow?" Alex's uncle asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, although it does not make sense – how would they persuade commoners to rise up like that? Maybe they planned it, maybe not, but they were certainly ready for it. Aquila is wiped out. There is not a single adult male left in their house. Kawabata and Lapin have things sewn up between them and Trettien look ready to cut deals. Morrigan are… well, Morrigan. We either have to go begging to Kawabata now, or we support Aramat."

"It sticks in my throat to support Aramat, it really does." Alex's uncle spoke, his voice quiet, but his deep anger evident in the tone.

"I am not sure Aramat will even thank us for it. The rumour is that Bran has been disowned by his own father."

"Then why…?"

"Because it creates doubt. If we make the claim, Aramat will be honour bound to support it. I think Morrigan will side with us, and then, to avoid a civil war…"

"A civil war we would lose…"

"I know," Alex's father waved away the objection, "but this new order – it lacks legitimacy, and so I think they can be persuaded to make small concessions if it is in the interest of the kingdom as a whole. Perhaps Horjock could be… petitioned… over whether your son really began the race, or whether, in fact, Alex could be considered the Neped champion this year… and disqualified of course, for setting off with a head start."

Alex looked at his father, making no effort to conceal his startlement.

"But I climbed with Cai. I was not wearing… I did not… I don't want to be a slave for a year!" he tripped over his words, which all seemed to fall from his mouth at once.

"Alex, you will trust me in this," his father speaking in the voice he used when he expected to be obeyed. "I do not think it will come to you being a slave for a year, but if it does, we will buy you back. You will do this for Calder though, because I know you would not let him suffer a lifetime of slavery."

"Of course, father," Alex said. Of course he would do that for Calder, and his uncle smiled at him in a way that reminded Alex that he could do nothing else, but the other objections remained.

"Alex, I have already discussed with Cai, and again, you will trust me in this. Cai did not climb with you, and you climbed in just your house colours. No free person is alive who saw otherwise and no slave's testimony is worth anything. We will say that you climbed alone. You understand?"

"Yes father," Alex replied.

"And one more thing, Alex. I am sorry to say that we must set off early in the morning back up the mountain. You need to be there for the coronation if we are to press the claim."

Alex's face fell. He had climbed the mountain today and if he was not stiff enough from that, everything else that happened made the prospect of another trip up very unwelcome.

Orinn saw the look on his son's face and laughed.

"Don't worry, boy. We will set out early and take a boat to the eastern harbour. I think we can experience the delights of the slave lift rather than go by foot again. I just hope there are enough slaves left to operate it."

With Alex mollified, Orinn turned back to his brother.

"I understand your reservations about supporting Aramat. Believe me, I feel them too.

Consider, though, that if the Lapin priests don't allow our claim for Bran and Alex, it puts Trettien in a weaker position, so Trettien will want to support us too, as long as we do not actually succeed in making Bran the winner. Trettien in particular will be looking for an agreeable compromise, and when it comes to that, I have an idea."

The men looked at each other, and emotions seemed to war on his uncle's face, but finally his mouth turned into a tight smile.

"Then yes, I think I must agree. Bran Aramat won the race," Alex's uncle said, nodding emphatically.

Chapter Thirty

WIL lay awake all that night. After Cai had been snatched away, he kept hoping that his own father would come for him. He understood now, after what the old priest had said, that his father had cared for him more than he knew. His father had never wanted him to die on the great race, and that was why he was encouraged to finish, but not to win. He understood now that when his father sent slaves to die in the swamp so he could escape the crocodiles, it had not been so he would win the race, but so that he could finish the race and escape the life of slavery.

He had failed his father, but would his father fail him now? Surely he must love him more than the Neped lord who had claimed Cai and whisked him away. Surely if anyone were to be rescued, it would be him.

He convinced himself of the truth of this, and once again took heart from the old man's prophecy. A year and a day of slavery, he had been told. As night turned to the grey of dawn, Wil knew this was it. His last day of slavery. Where was his father? Where was the rescue? He refused to sleep, for fear he might miss it.

But as the grey light of dawn grew stronger and the sun edged above the horizon, Wil saw soldiers come for slaves, in groups of ten, leading them into the temple courtyard. That was the closest a slave could come to the temple of Horjock, and he knew why they were being taken there. The courtyard was where justice would be dispensed, and the hearings did not take long. Slaves went in quietly and then came out just minutes later, often wailing loudly or shouting angrily. They were tied to one another then and soldiers guarded the growing chain of miserable slaves.

Eventually they came for Wil and those with him, and at last Wil had to recognise that no rescue was coming. He walked towards the temple court, Caris and the old man in the same group as him.

He walked with growing trepidation into the temple courtyard, his head bowed submissively. The ten of them were then stopped, and made to kneel to the new High Priestess of Horjock, Horjock's most powerful representative on earth, and traditionally the only female servant of Horjock.

Wil lifted his eyes then and looked up at the High Priestess, who was ready to dispense the god's justice. He found himself looking into the eyes of his own mother.

All colour drained from his face, and Wil felt a rush of feelings as he saw her for the first time in a year. His mother looked back, impassively, coldly even, and Wil wondered whether she even recognised him, and yet he could see in her eyes that she did.

Why was his mother the new High Priestess? What did she think when she looked upon her naked and branded son? Wil suddenly felt very ashamed of his nakedness, in a way that he had not done since the early days of his slavery. He felt especially ashamed of the aching and sore brand he wore, and he lowered his head as he felt his cheeks burn.

Despite all the shame he felt, Wil knew some hope. Now he understood why there had been no rescue. His mother would save him now. She would surely not condemn her own son to death.

"You are one of the slaves that entered the temple, the most sacred place in the Kingdom of the Isles, a place forbidden to slaves, and there you fought and killed priests of the sacred order of Horjock, and the Champions of the Isles?" she asked, and Wil looked up. She was asking him directly – speaking to just him and not the other nine slaves who knelt with him. Again, hope flared, and again it warred with shame, as he answered.

"High Priestess, I admit I entered the temple, but it was never my intention to harm anyone, and we did not even see the champions. We only saw the priests and I did not kill any," Wil said, keeping his head bowed.

"You think this will save you from your fate, slave?"

"I beg Horjock's mercy, my lady. I was brought here under duress. I harmed no one."

Wil swallowed. This was his mother's chance. This was the moment that she could save him from the punishment of death. He was a runaway, but he had already been branded for that. The High Priestess was dispensing justice though, and who could deny her right to show the mercy of Horjock.

Wil dared to look at his mother.

"He lies!" a voice shouted from the crowd and Wil looked around in consternation. He had expected that Caris might denounce him, but this was someone he did not recognise.

Someone who had not even been there. No, he thought, he did recognise him. Wasn't this the man who had stolen Cai away last night?

"Orrin Neped? What testimony do you bring?" the Priestess asked, recognising the Neped lord.

"As you know, my son was captured, robbed and threatened. My son is quite clear that this…" Orrin pointed at Wil with an offhand wave without even looking at him, "This useless piece of pond scum, was the cause of that. He also witnessed him killing an unarmed priest in cold blood."

Wil felt the colour drain from his face. He looked around and found Alex in the crowd, watching them.

Their eyes locked and Wil was forced to look away. People were murmuring, shaking their heads, looking at him murderously.

"Then there is nothing more to say," the High Priestess began, but Wil made one last attempt to save himself.

"He lies. He made it up because he hates me because I saw his brother die! And his father lies too.

He stole a slave from the slave pens last night!"

The muttering from the crowd became dangerous, and Alex's eyes narrowed.

"Enough," his mother, the High Priestess, shouted. "Slaves are all liars. The testimony of a slave is worthless. I find you guilty of murder, treason and rebellion. You will die with the rest of the rebels. Take him away. Take them all away!"

Wil's mouth dropped open. "Mother…" he pleaded, but then a soldier jammed a hand in his mouth and dragged him away by his hair.

***

Bran

BRAN was dragged into the temple courtyard, and thrown to his knees in front of the new High Priestess. There was a roar of anger and a ring of guards, all dressed in black, moved to quell any disturbance as the High Priestess held up her hands.

Bran could hardly concentrate on what was happening around him. Like most of the slaves, he had been awake most of the night, but the time had passed in a blur of agony. His tongue was all but gone, but the seared stump that remained was swollen in his mouth. It felt strange, alien, and so sore it made his throat ache with it. He could hardly swallow, not that he had been given any food to eat, and only a little water. He had choked on that, and then they had thrown water over him to wash away the blood. As for his butt, that throbbed and burned just as intently.

He was vaguely aware that the sun was low and the air was cold. It was morning then? Yes, the sun was in the east. Of course it was morning, but again he felt the disorienting sense that time had passed without his noticing it.

It was the day after the race day. The day of the crowning of the new King of the Isles, but still so early that the ceremony had not yet begun. Instead the priests were gathered around and a crowd watched on from behind the line of black clad guards.

He had been aware of others being taken into the temple court before him. He had seen Wil and Caris go, but they had all been taken in in groups of ten. He had been led in alone, when no one else remained.

"Bran Aramat," the High Priestess of Horjock said, her voice laced with menace and disdain. "You have been a slave for a year, but that could have ended. You could have fought with honour alongside your noble brothers against the tyranny unleashed upon our people yesterday. Yet you chose to side with the forces of insurrection. You joined murderers and rebels, slaves under Horjock's curse, even though they committed acts of murder and sacrilege.

"You committed these crimes while you were still a slave yourself, and so you deserve nothing more than the same ignominious death as they. There should be no mercy for you. Do you not agree?"

Bran hung his head. He could not look at anyone. It had all gone wrong. Everything was over. His life was over, and he deserved to die. He deserved to be executed under Horjock's curse. He knew it, but he did not answer. He could not answer. His mouth ached and the stub of his tongue burned like a hot coal.

"Bran, tell me, do you deserve to die? Nod for me. All we need is your assent."

Bran looked up, tears in his eyes making the world blurry. He saw his father watching him, but when their eyes met, his father turned his back on him, abandoned him. Of course he did. Of course. His fingers went to his neck, and of course the collar was gone – his last vestige of clothing – the only thing that had separated him from a life of slavery.

"Answer me, Bran."

Bran looked at the High Priestess and gave a single tiny nod of his head. The Priestess was not satisfied though, and asked again.

"Answer me, Bran."

Bran nodded again and a murmur ran through the crowd.

"Wait!" someone shouted, and Bran looked around to see who had spoken, as did many others. A man had stepped forward. A noble from House Neped. Bran did not know him, and for a moment one of the guards looked like he would stop him, but the noble scowled at the guard, pushed him aside and strode forward towards the Priestess.

"Orrin Neped, again?" The High Priestess spoke with evident exasperation.

"Bran Aramat was the Aramat champion again this year," the Neped noble said, his voice loud and clear. "He was set free from the Capitol at dawn and reached the temple before any other champion. I say that this boy is the winner of the Great Race, and regardless of any other consideration, the Law of Horjock dictates that Aramat should take the Kingship this year."

There was a murmur that seemed to swell in intensity. The High Priestess looked furious, and as Bran looked around he could see other outraged looks too. Black clad soldiers were reaching for their weapons, but so too were nobles. Bran had never seen anything like this in his life, but he could sense the danger, and could see that peace hung on a knife edge at this moment.

The High Priestess held up her hands.

"Silence!" she shouted, and the voices settled, allowing her to speak on. Now she turned to Orrin.

"Orrin Neped, what is it that you want?"

"Nothing more than yourself, Priestess. Horjock must be served."

A look of frustration passed across the face of the Priestess and she beckoned Orrin closer. The Neped noble walked forward and it was as if everyone held their breath. There was no other sound.

"This slave has been disowned by his own house, Orrin. And in any case, he began his ascent with the help of the rebels. This was no unaided run, and when he reached the temple he took part in the slaughter of the priests and the past champions. How can he be the Champion of Aramat? He is Aramat's shame, not their champion."

"As to the charges that he took part in the slaughter, I have it on good authority that he killed no one. No one died at his hand, and indeed the rebels locked him up in a cell, where he was later found, which shows he was never truly one of them."

Orinn paused a moment, and did not mention the champions specifically. Bran knew that it was a lie that the rebels had killed the past champions, and no doubt the High Priestess and the Neped lord knew that just as well, but neither mentioned the fact.

"Further," Orinn continued "the law says he must receive no assistance from his house. It is a law that most houses keep well," Orinn said, stressing the word ‘most' meaningfully as he looked at the Priestess. "but the law itself is unclear on whether a boy may be aided by anyone else. It has long been accepted that racers can team up, and so I think it is well established that help from another house, or indeed from commoners of no house, is possible. Some might even argue that help from slaves of their own house is acceptable at times, although perhaps that stretches the issue too far."

The look on the High Priestess's face was thunderous, and there was some murmuring from the crowd, and even a snort of laughter from somewhere, quickly stifled. The High Priestess narrowed her eyes and spoke again.

"No, Orrin, that is not established. That is a matter of interpretation. Racers helping each other is not the same as…"

"As sending slaves to die for a boy, yes I know that."

The High Priestess bristled, and looked darkly at the Neped lord.

"So you wish to see an Aramat King of the Isles again? Since when did Neped prefer Aramat rule?"

"It is not a matter of preference. It is a matter of ensuring that Horjock's will is… properly understood, and then followed."

"You think it is Horjock's will that this… this specimen be the Champion of the Isles?"

The Priestess glared at Bran, but he held her gaze. He well knew what it would mean to be the Champion of the Isles. He had seen the Hall of the Champions, and if Orinn Neped had his way, he would suffer the same fate as Quintus and all the others. He might have said something about that if he had a tongue, but in any case he found a curious sense of peace about the situation. He was expecting death today, but a champion's death might be better than a traitor's one.

He felt the scorn of the Priestess, but he did not care. The Neped lord was right. He had reached the temple first, before anyone else. He had won. He was the Champion of the Isles, just as Quintus had been last year.

"I wonder," Orinn spoke now, as if just thinking of something, "since we are considering what could be Horjock's will, why it might be Horjock's will that the Trettien champion this year was Karl, who was clearly and known to be over age. How can that be Horjock's will? And yet, it seems to me that both Trettien and Aramat champions travelled together, and so if one is his will, as Horjock has already decreed, then surely so must the other be."

Now the murmuring began again, and someone let out a shout of annoyance. Bran was gratified to see that it was Karl, quickly being silenced by other Trettien nobles. Bran suddenly saw the trap the Neped lord had just laid. Now Trettien had to support Bran's claim or else give up their pretence that Karl had been a disqualified runner. Even if they gave up the pretence, Lapin, who had, it seemed, assumed the priesthood, had to uphold the claim as it was already Cian ***GOED???**** the decreed will of Horjock. It was clear that the Trettiens saw the dilemma but did not like it. Supporting an Aramat win was as welcome to them as dancing with a yateveo plant.

The High Priestess looked at Bran, her eyes filled with loathing, but she said nothing for some time, and a murmur of disquiet rippled through the crowd as everyone wondered what would happen next. At last she looked Orinn squarely in the face and spoke.

"We will adjourn this trial. This slave will be housed in the cells where the other failed champions are waiting the coronation. I will issue my judgement just before the coronation. In the meantime, Orinn Neped, I would speak with you, and with Cian Aramat, this slave's father, and with one representative each from Kawabata, Lapin, Morrigan and Trettien.

CIAN Aramat did not know what dangerous game Orinn Neped was playing, but he was not happy about it as he strode into the temple and was ushered quickly into the Hall of the Champions. This was a place he had been before, of course. The last time was when Rixon had been sacrificed as champion of the Isles. He knew the place well enough, although part of the hall was blackened by soot. The fire had spread into the hall but had been put out before its total destruction. Some of the bodies of the champions were on the floor, and there was other debris, mostly from where the roof of the adjoining passageways had been deliberately collapsed by soldiers to stop the spread of fire.

Soldiers, he thought. Soldiers in the most holy place in Horjock's temple. Soldiers who were slaves. They would have seen the bodies of the champions. They should all die for setting foot in here.

So much had happened in the last day that it was hard to keep it all in mind. He had been in the Capitol when the rebellion had struck, but fortunately for him, he had not been in the citadel itself when the siege had begun. He was meant to be there, of course, but he liked to think that it was Horjock himself who had given him the urge to find a whore that night. It was Horjock's hand that guided him when he was able to fight his way out of the city to a Kawabata vessel that itself was able to fight its way free and sail for their island, where the alarm was raised.

Kawabata had not exactly welcomed him into their ranks but they let him fight alongside them to get free, and then, when it was clear that they were mustering a much larger force than he had supposed existed, they allowed him to sail back to the Capitol in the vanguard of their fleet.

That had been a lot of time spent with nobles from Kawabata but they were not very forthcoming about their army. All the same, Cian had good enough eyes to see what everyone else now knew too. Kawabata had bought up far more slaves than anyone supposed, and had trained and armed them. To Cian that was sacrilegious. Slaves were an important part of Horjock's divine order, and the law was clear. No slave could be armed. Still, that had not been a good time to stand on principle, so Cian had returned and fought with the slave army as they retook the Capitol and then chased the rebels down, all the way to the temple of Horjock itself.

Perhaps he should have stood on principle, he thought now, because that had just been the first compromise, the first small leak in a dam that now seemed to be collapsing like sand walls before a torrent of water, cascading out of control.

Cian looked at the High Priestess and wondered how it was that Lapin could just have taken control like that? And yet the King of the Isles had died in the citadel, so there was no king to decree it or otherwise, and without a priesthood there could be no new king. So yes, he had accepted that too. Why not Lapin priests?

And then there had been the claims from Kawabata that their champion had just arrived. That was Kawabata claiming the kingship, and as they had the army, who could deny them that anyway? If Kawabata did away with the rotating kingship altogether, who could stand against the slave army they had amassed?

Compromise followed compromise, but Cian had never been one for such things. When he had found Bran in a cell, having come here with the rebel army, Cian had been in no mood to compromise. When he had found what Bran already knew, Cian had known what he must do. He refused to feel ashamed of the dried blood on his hands.

But now… what was Orinn up to?

They were all assembled and it was the High Priestess who spoke first.

"We cannot find the staff of Horjock," she said, almost matter of factly, like someone might say after mislaying a slave. It was not how Cian had expected this conversation to start.

"Then how…?" Orinn asked.

"We will have to make do without it. One of the slaves must have moved it. We fear it must have been lost in the fire."

"No…" said more than one voice.

"The most sacred artefact, lost. This is a grim day indeed," confirmed the Priestess. "And yet we have already sent for a replacement staff to be brought up for the coronation. It will have to do."

Cian considered what they were being told. Another compromise. The King of the Isles was named when they received the staff from the hands of the champion. That was part of the great covenant. The staff was more than a symbol, it was the very power of Horjock, and without it any king named would lack legitimacy. Would it even break the covenant? Would Horjock punish them all for breaking faith with him? Cian shivered at the thought. He had only done all he had done in this life because he truly believed that Horjock guided and upheld him. Where was the god now?

"Horjock have mercy on us," he muttered and several others spoke their agreement to his prayer.

"The reason I tell you this now," the High Priestess said, "is because when the coronation takes place, we must all be in agreement. I am sure you are all perfectly well aware how close we are at this moment to a civil war – the very kind of war that the Great Race was always meant to protect us from.

"If Bran Aramat is declared the winner of the race, there will be war and the kingdom will fall. We all see that, I think, even though we may already find ourselves sleep walking into the alliances that such a declaration will make."

Orinn made as if to speak, but the Priestess held up her hand.

"So we agree now, here and in this place. We agree what we must and when we go out, I deliver judgement, and you abide by it."

"You would have Kawabata snatch the kingdom through trickery and deceit," the head of House Morrigan said, speaking what everyone knew to be true.

"Only the Kawabata and Lapin champions reached the summit yesterday unaided," the Priestess replied, but Orinn snorted and stamped his foot.

"And very strange it was too that those champions were not in the citadel. Even stranger that Trettien may have accidentally put the wrong champion in the citadel and then accidentally entered a champion who was ineligible."

"Who is to say he is ineligible?" The Trettien representative retorted. "His year of slavery has prevented him undergoing his initiation into the nobility. We entered a child in good faith."

"Good faith, Horjock's hai…" Orinn started, and then checked himself, remembering where he was. He nodded to the Priestess and continued. "You know that no champion may be entered once they are of an age for initiation, regardless of whether they have undergone the rite or not."

"This is why we are meeting now," the High Priestess spoke firmly. "We will establish what is legitimate and what not, and when judgement is announced, there will be no division, no questions. I asked you before what you wanted, and now I ask you again, Orinn Neped, and you Cian Aramat – what do you want here? What will satisfy you to ensure peace for the next year in our kingdom?"

Cian tried to hide his surprise, but of course the High Priestess thought he was in league with Orinn. Of course she thought it was all politics. In truth he wanted nothing. No one here knew that Bran was never a true Aramat. No one here knew quite how dangerous Orinn's gambit was. And yet, he had to think about his house now. Impossible that Aramat could take the kingship this year – it was as the High Priestess said: if Bran were declared the victor there would be civil war. Cian had to consider the future though.

"Kawabata's army is a danger to the kingdom. How do we know that once the High Lord of Kawabata is King of the Isles that he will relinquish the title next year?" Cian asked.

The High Priestess seemed to consider this, but Cian saw a look between her and the Kawabata lord present. There was no communication, but he suspected this was something they had already discussed, and when she replied, the answer was a little too neat, confirming the fact.

"The Kawabata army will be relinquished to serve the whole kingdom. It will be Horjock's Shadow Guard. Commanders from each island may be chosen for garrisons on their islands, but we priests will retain control of the Shadow Guard on the Capitol Island. We will use them to ensure that never again can slaves and rebels be used against Horjock's temple.

"We will also all renew our vow today that the Great Race will always be the means for choosing the King of the Isles. As you know, without the race the kingdom will fall. The race will endure and Kawabata will swear to honour the divine covenant anew."

Cian frowned. He was not happy with that, but it was probably the best he could achieve here. Taking command of a part of the army may reduce the danger from Kawabata, but Cian was under no illusions about the difficulty of retaining loyalty from such an army. Neither was he under any illusion about the difficulty in persuading Kawabata to relinquish so many slaves.

"You will defend yourself from slaves with an army of slaves?" he asked. "Life indentured soldiers, not slaves," the Priestess replied.

"The difference is semantic."

"The difference is real. The Shadow Guard will be well looked after, will be permitted black clothing at all times, and will be given a status that befits their service, above the commoners."

"And the soldiers who entered this place? The slaves must be killed," Cian said. "No, they are Horjock's soldiers now. The Shadow Guard will be permitted in the

temple. They will be permitted to worship Horjock too." "But…"

"Horjock has spoken."

The High Priestess crossed her arms and Cian frowned but nodded his assent. He was not happy, but it was not a point to fight a war over. Another compromise.

"And you, Orinn Neped, are you happy now?"

"Not quite," Orinn said, and the High Priestess sighed. "You see, if we are all to agree that House Trettien made this mistake with Karl, I wish it to be known that my own son, Alex was also to be the Neped champion this year, but in the confusion of yesterday, he impulsively set out from the western settlement, thus shortening his route. No doubt he too must be disqualified without penalty. His error was no more grievous than the Trettien one, although I accept we cannot accept him as the race winner… even though he too beat the Kawabata candidate to the summit. Calder Neped, who you have locked up pending the coronation, was no more this year's Neped champion than Tijs Trettien was that house's champion."

"I need not remind you, Orinn, that the race is a sacred covenant…" the Priestess began. "Of course not. And yet, as we know, this year the covenant has been… stretched. What

matters, of course, is the pure sacrifice of a worthy champion to Horjock. Kawabata are offering us Akio Kawabata for that purpose, and I have a proposal I would share with you for how we deal with the fact that the Aramat champion arrived first. Moreover our urgent need for replacement slaves to replace those we are about to execute can be met in part with Rufus Aquila. We need not make slaves of Calder Neped or Tijs Trettien, who clearly did not even start the race, and who had, shall we say, deputies!"

There was a long silence and then the High Priestess slowly nodded.

"Very well, it is as you say. Alex was the Neped champion, but was disqualified without sanction… except for this. Next year, Alex Neped will be the Neped champion. Calder Neped, as he was clearly your second best, will not be acceptable."

Orinn suddenly looked uncertain. He hesitated, and then spoke. "But the prophecy…"

"You are afraid your son might actually win, Orinn Neped?" "He is my last child…"

"And yet you entered him this year for the race," the High Priestess said, with a cold smile, "so it is clear that you would give him up to Horjock."

Again a long silence, but then Orinn nodded at last. "It is as you say."

***

Bran

BRAN was brought back to stand before the High Priestess. He looked at the faces of the nobles but they were cold and blank.

There was no clue from them what had been decided. It mattered little to Alex. The verdict would be death or death.

The High Priestess turned back to Bran, fixing him with a cold stare.

"Slave, you have already admitted that you deserve death. And still this is a curious thing. The law of Horjock is clear. The winner of the race serves Horjock alone, but losers are cursed by him. No one who is cursed by Horjock can be the Champion of the Isles.

"And this very day your father cut your house colours from you, made you naked, made you a slave for your treachery in joining with the rebellion. He also maimed you, taking your tongue, making you imperfect as a servant of Horjock. Worse, you have been branded as a runaway. You wear in your flesh Horjock's eternal curse. No champion can be so cursed. Horjock cannot accept you.

"Thus we shall approve Horjock's curse by showing you this mercy. We show you mercy not because you deserve it, but because you do not. We show you mercy because you are weak, and useless, a traitor and a slave, and no champion. You will henceforth be a life slave under Horjock's curse. You will become the permanent property of House Trettien, to dispose of as they see fit. You were made a slave by your father before sundown, before the end of the Great Race, so you were already a Trettien slave before the race was done. This too is why Horjock cannot accept you.

"You ran away from your duties to join this rebellion, so you have been branded as a runaway. Still the testimony of House Neped, which confirms what I have heard from the other rebels, is quite clear that you killed no one and this is confirmed by the locked cell you were found in. I am persuaded that you may be punished as a runaway, but not as a murderer.

"You received the punishment of a runaway, and your slavery has been made permanent, in this life and the next.

"Your father cut your tongue out, no doubt with good reason, but had he not done so, I would have had it taken out myself. No slave may enter the temple of Horjock and then speak of what they saw. Your tongue was taken but I also forbid you to try to communicate in any way with anyone about what you saw. Should you try to do so, you will be immediately put to death in the cruelest way imaginable, and any commoner or slave whom you communicate with will share your punishment.

"Furthermore each year, on the anniversary of this date, and in remembrance of the great evil you did not fight against, you will be taken to Dead Man's Drop where you will be whipped until your back is raw and ragged, and then left to hang there for the day of the Great Race, so that all who watch the race can find you and see the consequence of rebellion, and all who wish may rub salt or worse in your wounds."

Now with the judgement finished, Bran was led by two soldiers directly to Karl Trettien. "Kneel, slave," Karl said, and Bran knew better than to disobey. In front of the

murmuring crowds, Bran knelt and then Karl put his foot on Bran's neck, pushing him to the floor. Then the boy started to piss on him.

In that moment Bran saw his sister, or the girl he had always thought of as a sister, looking at him from the crowd, and through the blur of his own tears he could make out her look of contempt. Their eyes met and then he closed his, too ashamed of what he had just become.

Alex

Chapter Thirty One

ALEX stood beside his father and watched as Bran was taken away. The slave was clearly unsteady on his feet but he fell into a stumbling run as he was encouraged by the whip of a Trettien overseer. Karl had made to follow him, but Alex saw a Trettien lord, perhaps Karl's own father, place a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

It was coronation day, and nobles from all the houses were expected to be in attendance. Karl was of age now to be counted a lord of Trettien himself, although he presumably had not yet been through the initiation rite, whatever that might be. When a noble male came of age he went through an initiation where he learned all the secrets of the Kingdom of the Isles. The secret knowledge of Horjock. The thought that there was such secret knowledge had often made Alex long for his own initiation, but that was still years away in his case.

Nobles had to be here but Alex did not.

Not normally at least, but his father had explained his plan, and Alex had dutifully gone along with it. Thus he, like Karl, was technically failed house champions today. Alex knew that there had been a risk that this might force him into a year of slavery, but when his father had returned from the council, there had been just enough time for a few words of reassurance. All would be fine. Still, he had to stand with his father as the disqualified Neped champion.

The shame of that quickly vanished, however, when he saw his cousin, Calder, being led out of the cells and brought to them, dressed only in his house colours still. Calder looked so grateful that he might cry, and so overcome that he could not speak. He just stood beside his own father and Alex, and the other Neped nobles as they watched Akio Kawabata step forward to applause that were polite rather than filled with adulation. Akio's feat in finishing the race at all, and unaided, was rather less spectacular this year when one considered that only he and Remi Lapin had truly run, and that he had been beaten to the top of the mountain by not just one but three disqualified candidates.

Alex thought about that, and about the trial he had just witnessed of Bran. Bran had been made a slave by his father before the race was over and that was why he was disqualified. Still, he had reached the temple before his father did that. Was it really fair that the boy now being marched down the mountain to a life of servitude had, to all intents and purposes, won the Great Race?

Still he could not fault the words of the High Priestess. Bran had been branded with Horjock's eternal curse, so he could hardly be a servant of Horjock in the temple, could he? So he supposed it was a just and right decision. Moreover Bran had been involved in the rebellion, and the rebels had attacked him, wanted to make him a slave and had raped Cai. He could not forgive them for that. No, Bran was getting what he deserved. It was just that Akio was not the most worthy winner of all time.

Still, Akio it was who now brought the staff of Horjock to give to his head of house.

Again, though, the watching nobles were not entirely happy when it became clear that the staff being carried this year was not the true staff. There was a muttering of discontent, and some of the watching nobles seemed to be quite distressed at the sight. The heads of the houses, however, made no response. Alex's father squeezed his shoulder again in reassurance and Alex knew that he must know why this staff was being used. He would find out soon enough.

Akio passed the staff to Hiro, the head of House Kawabata, and named him King of the Isles, pledging the oath of allegiance as he did so. The pledge was in the old language, but everyone knew it by heart, pledging their allegiance to the rightful King of the Isles. As Akio spoke the words, so all the nobles present began to recite the words too:

Hiro ichama rege avachami Hiro ichama ivikape pora Hiro ichama kapache ivimi Ovuchapa korikama me.

The old tongue was full of guttural sounds, and Alex liked the sound of it. He had been taught how to speak the oath properly, and he spoke the words confidently, even though it meant pledging allegiance to the head of another house. One day, he swore to himself, people would pledge themselves to a Neped king.

The new king nodded to Akio and then the boy turned to ritually strip the house colours from the failed runners. Remi Lapin was first, and stood impassively as Akio cut his house colours from him and wove them into a collar for the boy's year of shame. He knelt then, and Akio turned to the only other boy present.

Rufus Aquila was clearly not on board with what was about to happen, And Alex could understand that. Everyone knew that all the men of his house had been wiped out, and that presumably meant that there was no one to perform the coming of age rite for any new Aquila boy, of which there were also very few left. Not only had all the men of his house died yesterday, but he had been prevented from running, so now to be paraded out as a failed champion, one who had not completed the race, was clearly galling to the boy. So much so that the priests had been forced to gag him and tie his hands. He struggled, and there were tears in his eyes, but Akio still stepped forward and cut his house colours from him, and then picked them up and dropped them into a brazier.

Rufus was not silent. He was shouting something into his gag, but what was done was done. The slave was forced to his knees, and now Akio was led into the temple, sped on his way by applause, mostly from Kawabata nobles.

By convention the sale of slaves came next, and the King quickly led those proceedings. Lapin bought back their champion, of course, although they had to bid a larger amount than usual as other houses offered bids.

Rufus also attracted several bids, and Alex was curious to see his father bidding on the boy. In the end though, Aramat bought him, again paying more than usual for the pleasure, and the Aramat nobles did not look pleased by that.

"Do we go now, father?" Alex asked. "When the king dismisses us."

But the king did not dismiss them yet. Instead he stood up and began to make a short speech about the terrible events of the past day, and the need for unity and reconciliation.

"For the rebels, there will be no quarter, of course," he said. "No slave who takes up arms against his betters can be allowed to live. Executions will begin at Dead Man's Drop as soon as Akio's initiation into the service of Horjock is complete."

Again there was a squeeze from Alex's father and the boy looked up at it, surprised. He did not understand why his father needed to reassure him at that moment. Perhaps because he may be upset about the executions? But Alex understood well enough that the slaves had to die. He wanted to watch Wil die, in particular.

"The terrible events also force me, as king, to judge on some pressing issues, and so I make these judgements now," King Hiro went on.

"As we know, House Aquila has been wiped out. This leaves Aquila Island without lordship – a situation that cannot be allowed to remain."

Suddenly there was disquiet among Aramat nobles. They were muttering to each other and one of them looked ready to interrupt the king, although to do so would be a terrible offence. Alex understood their disquiet. Aquila Island bordered Aramat and was joined at low tide. One could make the case they were the same island, but it appeared the king had other ideas.

"We cannot create a new noble house where there was none before, and so Aquila

Island will come under the lordship of the King of the Isles, just as Capitol Island does. Moreover, to show that the Shadow Guard will not be the private army of just one house, its main body will henceforth be garrisoned on Aquila Island, under the direct command of the year's King of the Isles."

Disquiet turned to outrage, and Alex, even at his age, could understand why. An army of Kawabata slaves under the command of a Kawabata king on the doorstep of Aramat Island was hardly an impartial protector of the peace. It was almost a declaration of war.

Cian Aramat stepped forward, barely holding his tongue as he waited to be recognised by the king and allowed to speak.

"I remind Cian Aramat that he himself pledged his renewed oath to Horjock just before this ceremony. That all there present swore to always uphold the ancient law, the sovereignty of the king, and the divine covenant expressed through the Great Race in knowing Horjock's will," Hiro said, but Cian did not step back. The muttering among Aramat nobles was louder now.

"That is all, now I must attend…"

"I demand the right to speak!" Cian said at last, and there was a collective gasp from all present. Hiro turned to face Cian, his anger burning hot in his eyes.

"You demand?"

Cian bowed his head, but went on anyway.

"The people on Aquila Island – the women – many are originally from Aramat…" Hiro waved his hand in an off hand way.

"Ah yes. Very well. All the noble women may return to their noble house of birth, with their children, if their houses will have them. All who remain will be declared commoners under my lordship, and the stewardship of the knight commanders of the Shadow Guard. They will be moved to the commoner village, as we will need the citadel for the garrison."

More muttering, more voices raised but the king ignored them all and walked into the temple, accompanied by the other Kawabata lords.

Caris

CARIS was still in shock. She had not been expecting mercy, and it had been clear that everyone facing trial was coming away angry, or in tears or shocked to silence, so when she had been taken before the High Priestess she had known what to expect, and yet the reality of her death sentence was still shocking. This truly would be the day she died.

She had always known life was short and brutal, and when she had joined the revolution she had known the risks. Her father had been reluctant to allow her to join at first, telling her it was too dangerous, but she had persuaded him. She had persuaded him because of what had happened to Lewis, and because of the ever present danger it would happen to her too. She had told her father that she would rather die than become a slave, and in the end he had believed her.

Except it turned out that was a lie. If the high priestess had just now promised her a life of servitude rather than death, she would have chosen the servitude. If she had been offered the choice of becoming a slave girl whore in the cheapest and bawdiest of taverns, she would have said yes, and opened her legs. She would have said yes in a heartbeat, because now that she was faced with the inevitability of death, she found that she really really wanted to live.

She had made her choices though, and now soldiers were binding her hands and leading her to join the long slow procession of scores of slaves, maybe even hundreds of them, starting the long slow walk to Dead Man's Drop.

She wished her father were here, but she accepted now that he had died in the battle. She had not seen him fall, but the old priest had. He had quietly informed her last night that her father and her uncle were both dead, and she had wept for them. She had wept, but their deaths were the better ones. They had died in battle, fighting for what they believed in, for the People of the Sea, whereas she was to die the traitor's death – slow and agonising.

Wil was nearby, and she glanced at him. Why had he been so important? She knew what her father had said. He had wanted to collect yateveo spores, because his plan had always been to use them to defend against counter attack, but that plan relied on the plants growing before the attack occurred, which was nonsense – they would never have had that long – it could take months for a yateveo to grow large enough to kill a man. She had never been convinced that was why he had wanted Wil.

No, it had really been to do with finding the ancient stepped path up the mountain. That was what he had really been after. That was why they had bothered to rescue Wil at all, because only Wil could find that secret way to the temple.

That secret way had been key to the assault on the temple, of course. That and the old temple of D'lan with its strange old priest who liked to talk in riddles. Because of that secret path up the mountain and the priestly guide, they had been able to take the temple with a tiny force – but to what end? They had killed the priests of Horjock, only to fall victim to the counter attack.

How much of this was just chance? They saved a Kawabata slave who happened to know about a secret way up the mountain, and then they happened to meet a guide who clearly knew a lot about what was happening. Because of this they could take the temple with a small force, which her father had been confident enough about that he had sent her and Nikki and the mystery boy Bran. Bran who was Tal, a name she had heard mention of but whose significance she had never fully known. She had mulled on all this all night, and more and more confidently she had come to the conclusion that her father had known more than he had told her, and now he could never tell her.

But if they knew so much, how had they failed?

Caris quickened her step and worked her way forward in the line of slow moving slaves, until she was close enough to speak to the old priest.

"Did you know this would happen?" She asked him directly, angrily, and the old man looked back at her with sadness showing in his eyes.

"Why do you think that I did?"

Caris bit her lip and tried to bridle her anger. She wished he would just answer a question straight for once.

"You stopped Bran from killing, and I saw him being chased away by a slave driver. You saved him, didn't you? You saved him because you knew that we were all going to die. All except for him because you locked him up and didn't let him hurt anyone."

"You wish that I had saved you too?"

Caris led out a cry of frustration, and then she spat on the ground. "Me, you, everyone. Yes! Of course! Why didn't you save us all?"

"Did anyone ask if you killed anyone?" the old man asked, his voice so quiet she could hardly hear it over the noises of the other slaves.

No, no one had asked, and so she did not reply. She knew what he would say if she did. Something about Bran made him special. Something about him meant that he alone could live by not killing. Perhaps, then, the old man had saved the only life he could. Except that was not true. He could have saved the whole party if he had hidden them in the lower temple and then they would still be alive and free, and so she said as much.

"Staying alive for what? To watch your world devoured? To see men burn your houses and enslave you all? The People of the Sea are few now, but if they hid away, they would be none. In one year, or five – it is so hard to be certain – but one thing is certain. We could have prolonged your suffering, but nothing could have prevented it.

"Kawabata have long planned to seize power, and in the end, if they had done so, there would be only them, a couple of lesser houses, and slaves. It would have been the end of the world, and the end of the People. Believe me, or believe Wil if you prefer. Existing under Kawabata rule is not living."

"Then it is the end of the world," Caris retorted. "Because they took control, and we are all about to die."

"They took control, but not in the manner they intended. We forced their hand today. Their army was not ready, and their fleet remains under construction. They were forced to rely on Trettien ships, which created an alliance they did not anticipate nor welcome.

"Remember that today it may look like we lost, but we changed history. Today we brought what was done in secret into the open, and we can hope that the day will come when the People of the Sea will triumph."

"With Bran leading them, I suppose? Some hope!" Caris asked.

"Tal is the key," the man replied, but then uncertainty crossed his features and he shook his head. "At least, I hope he is. Prophecy is such a tricky thing. It has to be Tal… it has to be, or else…" He shrugged helplessly.

Caris scowled. Some hope he was offering her. She was about to die but it was all okay because maybe Bran would maybe become some great revolutionary or king, despite the fact that he was now a branded slave who could never issue a command in his life even if he were permitted to do so. And this from a man who admitted he let his own son die because he misunderstood a prophecy.

The line of slaves walked slowly forwards and Caris fell into a black mood, looking at the bare legs of the slave in front of her, her eyes cast down. The slaves were herded by a line of soldiers on each side who used whips and sticks and the flat side of their blades to encourage the slaves onwards.

Meeting the eyes of the guards was an easy way to feel the bite of a lash on bare flesh, so Caris did not look at these soldiers, so she was not aware when one small trainee soldier fell in step nearby. She did not notice him until she heard the old man speak, and she glanced at him and saw him walking almost next to a boy of about her age. Lewis!

"The day will come," the old man spoke, his words loud enough for Lewis and Caris to both hear, "when a great choice must be made. Never forget that your father died for what he truly believed in."

Lewis did not look like he had noticed, and Caris looked curiously at the old man. Had he been speaking to her? No days were coming for her beyond today. The old man himself was looking ahead, catching the eye of neither of them.

Caris looked again at Lewis and edged closer, trying not to be too obvious about it.

Lewis saw her looking at him, and glanced around quickly. Other guards were nearby, and he noticed them at once. One of them noticed him looking.

"You are a stupid fool. You deserve to die," he said loudly, but when Caris looked at him, his eyes were glistening.

"I'm sorry," his mouth shaped the words but no sound came out. He said it again, and then once more to be sure that she had understood. Caris nodded to him and Lewis flitted away.

She would never see him again.

Wil

WIL shuffled forward in the line of miserable slaves as they approached Dead Man's Drop. The line moved slowly, and they had already been there hours, but there was no escaping what was happening. If the reputation of the place was not enough, they could all hear the screams of agony from up ahead, even though they could not see what was happening.

They were all going to die. Every last one of the rebels who still lived were making their way slowly towards their death. Men, women, children – none were to be spared.

In front of him was a boy he did not know. The boy had been a slave, swept up in all that was happening, and so now he would die. Nikki was a little further ahead, and he had lost sight of the old man from the lower temple. He

had rounded the rock face that dropped down to the ledge of Dead Man's Drop some time ago.

They had already reached the rise where they would get a good view of the drop, and when Nikki had rounded the rock face, Wil had seen him stagger and be held up by a guard who laughed at his terror.

They shuffled forward once more and now at last Wil had his first view, and he was almost sick at what he saw.

A series of stakes were mounted in the ancient post holes cut into the rock of Dead Man's Drop, and on each stake dangled a body. Nearby, two men and a girl kicked away their last moments of life, their bodies slipping down the stakes, pulled downwards by the bags of rocks that had been tied to their legs.

The stakes had been pushed through the butt holes of the men, and in one case had emerged from a man's stomach. The girl, however, had the stake pushed into her cunt. All were screaming in terror, in agony, and all had messed themselves too. Wil realised in horror that the girl was Caris. As he watched her screaming and writhing something gave inside her and her body slipped a handspan down the shaft, her eyes bulging and blood suddenly foaming out of her mouth.

The stench of death rolled over the place like a fog, and Wil gagged. It smelled like a latrine laced with blood and vomit, and it was not just those on the stakes who were vomiting.

Wil bent over and retched, acid spilling from his near empty stomach. He dry heaved for some time before his body seemed to recognise there was nothing else to throw up and he shuffled forward shakily again.

Many of the prisoners tried to back away, looked to run away, but they were hemmed in by soldiers, and any who did not move forward received heavy blows from the flats of their blades.

Caris had stopped moving now, the stake having penetrated close to her neck, and perhaps having passed right through her heart. For now the guards ignored her though, as they threw one dead body from the stake next to her. They lowered the stake and pushed the lifeless body over the edge of the cliff, and then they held down another man, pushed the stake into his butt and then used ropes to lift the stake, now holding the screaming man, into a stake hole. It settled with a bone juddering jolt that caused the man to scream louder. Wil saw with horror that the man now atop the stake, kicking his life away, was the old priest.

Now as Wil watched, the guards lifted and tipped the stake Caris was on, and then one held the stake as another pulled her body off it. They untied the weights and then threw her lifeless form off the edge of Dead Man's Drop.

Wil could not see over the edge but he knew that her body would bounce its way down the cliff and into the swamp below. Caris had just become crocodile food.

The stake she had been on was shorter, narrower than the others, and Wil saw the guards ignore the men at the front of the line and walk up the line until they reached Nikki.

"Still too old, he can have the man's stake," one guard said and then they reached the boy in front of Wil, grabbing him by the hair, and pulling the shrieking boy forward.

The boy struggled and howled his terror, begging for mercy, begging for anything but this, but there was no mercy.

Two guards held him down flat on the ground, and someone in the crowd bellowed with rage. Wil realised that the man shouting was the boy's father. There was a clear resemblance, and he was howling in anguish at what was happening to his son.

Two soldiers held the boy down, legs apart as a third pushed the stake against his butt hole. Wil turned his head away but there was no mistaking what happened next when the boy started to shriek and howl.

The boy shrieked again, screaming like a girl, and the cries reached a crescendo as the men pulled the stake upright, and settled it with a bone juddering thud into the post hole.

The post swayed as the boy struggled, but his hands were tied and all his struggling did was cause it to drive in deeper, making him scream again.

The weights were tied on and then the men walked away, laughing, betting how long he would last as the weights dragged his body ever further downward on the impaling stake.

Wil watched in terrified fascination, a horror so unsettling that he could not give expression to it, but just remained rigid. And worst of all was the realisation that he was next for that stake. There were no more boys in front of him now. He was next on that stake.

The boy's father sobbed and wept, but before long they were hoisting him up on a stake beside his son and the old priest.

The old man was ashen faced, but he had stopped kicking. There was no denying the man's agony, but he was not screaming for mercy like the father and son beside him were doing.

"You have lost, old man," a Kawabata noble said as the priest kicked twitched his remaining life away. The noble laughed and so did the soldiers around about.

"I have not lost," he gasped, squirming in agony as the wights pulled him deeper down on his stake. "But you… there is something you have lost."

The Kawabata noble looked blank for a moment, but then he seemed to snap to attention.

"What do you know about that? Where is it?"

The old man laughed, kicking and tipping his head back. As he laughed, the weights dragged him down in a sudden surge and blood foamed from his mouth as he convulsed.

"Tell me! Where is it? What did you do with it?"

But the old man was not going to tell anyone anything ever again. He was spasming now, and blood was pouring from his mouth and nose. His eyes rolled back in his head and then, far too quickly for the soldiers' liking, he died.

***

The boy died next, although not for some time. When he did stop struggling the soldiers quickly tipped him off the cliff edge, his father howling in renewed anguish.

Wil struggled when they dragged him forward, and gasped as he was forced to the ground. Now he lay there, a booted foot pressed into the small of his back, and he saw someone else approach. Someone he had not seen in a year but knew very well.

Someone he had hoped to see last night, but whose presence now was far less welcome. His father.

"And so we see what becomes of the weak, the useless, the traitor. Mark this well," his father said and Wil saw two boys flank him. His younger brothers.

"No Trettien will be a slave. This specimen is no Trettien."

With those words, his father spat on him, and then pulled his cock out from his trousers and started to piss on him, the hot pee splashing on Wil's head.

"Now take the traitor and show no mercy," he said when he was done, and he turned away, abandoning Wil to his fate.

"No… please no…" his words erupted into a terrified howl as one soldier rolled him on his back and lifted his legs, exposing his butt. "Please, have mercy… pleeeeaase… arrgghhhh!"

The stake penetrated his sphincter. He had been raped in that hole but this was something worse, because as his sphincter collapsed under the blood slick wood, this stake did not stop where a cock might but was thrust ever deeper and he felt it rip its way into his guts even before they raised him up on it.

When they did raise the stake, Wil felt a terrible disorienting moment of panic, his body seeming to fly upwards, but dragged down through the shaft that was impaling him. The agony erupted deep in his gut, a terrible ache and agonising tearing soreness. He kicked wildly, trying to find a position that hurt less, but that only made it worse and worse and worse.

As he thrashed about, soldiers grabbed at his legs, swearing when he kicked one in the face. When they caught his legs they chained them together. No mere ropes for Wil, they used leg irons instead, cuffing his ankles before tying on a bag of rocks. Wil was howling and begging for mercy the whole time, but soon enough the rocks were tied on and with a cheer, the soldiers let go. The sudden weight dragged Wil far deeper onto the stake, and he felt the point push up into his guts.

Wil had screamed himself hoarse even before they tied the weights on his leg, but now they had released the rock filled bag and he felt his body being dragged down on the staff. He let out a pitiful wailing as he was inexorably dragged further and further down on the spike.

His brothers were watching him impassively as he howled his terror and pain. He felt a terrible pain in his bladder as it ruptured, and then all of a sudden he seemed to slip, out of control, falling, deeper, deeper.

He could feel the stake pass right through his guts, and he howled onwards until at last

his shock was so great that he fell silent, his body shuddering as it slipped again, and again.

He felt the moment his right lung collapsed, the stake penetrating his diaphragm, and then as it passed through his lung cavity he felt a terrifying breathlessness as he slid quickly deeper. There was a crunching and cracking noise, as one of Wil's ribs tore away from his sternum and the stake stretched his skin as it threatened to break its way out. The pain was unimaginable, and he screamed breathlessly.

"Oh no you don't" laughed a soldier as he saw the stretched skin of the distressed boy. "Your father was quite specific. This one has to go all the way through."

With those words, the man grunted and lifted the boy's body upwards, weights and all. Will felt the grinding of wooden stake against bone inside him, and then the man reseated him, and suddenly, with a tremendous wrench, pulled him downwards.

The speed of that descent allowed the stake to slip right up into his trachea, and he started to choke.

The guard was watching carefully what was happening and smiled as he pulled on Wil's body, guiding and tugging it down with renewed force, pulling the boy's head back by his hair to give the stake a straight run. Wil felt the stake forced from his throat and right out of his mouth.

He watched in shock as the point appeared before his eyes in a shower of blood. There was a great cheer from the watching guards and his twitching grew still.

"That is the last kid?" someone asked.

"Aye," came the answer. "Don't need that stake anymore."

In Wil's last moments of consciousness he felt the stake he was on being hefted out of the hole. He was aware of two guards flanking him. They did not pull him off like they did for Caris but simply hefted the whole stake over the edge of the drop.

Wil found himself falling. He bounced off a rock with a sickening crack, his legs snapping as he fell, and then with a horrifying crunch, he hit the swamp below, feeling the stake break inside him and several of his bones crack too.

He was vaguely aware that he was still alive… had they known that when they dropped him? And then the sudden thought, the sudden tiniest hope. Might he survive this? Were the animals down here sated? Could he somehow crawl to safety?

He tried to move. It seemed a slim hope, but he was alive. They had not killed him, and with life there was still hope. He struggled but his body would not respond to his command.

He tried to concentrate, but the world was foggy. He could see nothing more than a vague sensation of grey mist. The wooden stake was still lodged in his throat and he could hardly breathe but somehow he willed himself to take half a breath. He coughed, his body shaking and twitching.

And then a crocodile erupted from the water, tempted by his movements, preferring live food to dead. Its maw closed on Wil's broken leg, tearing it off. A moment later the other crocodiles were engaged in a feeding frenzy, and soon Wil's agony vanished into the red, frothy oblivion of death.

End of Act 2

TO BE CONTINUED