Nevernight

They rode another two turns, with Tric in the driver’s seat and Mia by Naev’s side. She wet a cloth, moistened those malformed lips, wondering who or what could have mutilated the woman’s face like that. Naev talked as if in a fever, speaking to some phantom, asking it to wait. She reached out to thin air once, as if to caress it. And as she did so, those lips twisted into a hideous parody of a smile. Mister Kindly sat beside her the entire time.

Purring.

Flowers and Bastard were both exhausted, and Mia feared either might go lame at any moment. It seemed cruel (even to Bastard) to make them run beside the wagon needlessly. Tric and Mia had passed the point of no return; they’d either make the Red Church or die now. She’d seen wild horses roaming the broken foothills, supposed there must be water somewhere near. And so, reluctantly, she suggested they let the pair go.

Tric seemed saddened, but he saw the wisdom of it. They pulled the wagon to a stop and the boy untied Flowers, letting the stallion drink deep from his waterskin. He ran a fond hand over the horse’s neck, whispering softly.

‘You were a loyal friend. I’ll trust you’ll find another. Watch out for the kraken.’

He slapped the horse on its hindquarters, and the beast galloped east along the range. Mia untied Bastard, the stallion glaring even as she emptied an entire waterskin into his gullet. She reached into her saddlebag, offered him the last sugar cube on an upturned palm.

‘You’ve earned it. I suppose you can head back to Last Hope now if you like.’

The stallion lowered his head, gently nibbled the cube from her palm. He nickered, tossing his mane, nuzzling his nose to her shoulder. And, as Mia smiled and patted his cheek, Bastard opened his mouth and bit her hard just above the left breast.

‘You son of a motherless—’

The stallion bolted across the wastes as Mia hopped about, clutching her chest and cursing the horse by the Three Suns and Four Daughters and anyone else who happened to be listening. Bastard followed Flowers east, disappearing into the dusty haze.

‘I can kiss that better if you like,’ Tric smiled.

‘O, fuck off!’ Mia spat, rolling into the wagon and flopping about on the floor. There was blood on her fingers where she touched the bite, the skin already bruising as she glanced inside her shirt. Thanking the Daughters she wasn’t a bigger girl for the first time in her life, she hissed under her breath as Mister Kindly laughed from her shadow.

‘He was such a bastard …’

Naev was fading swift, and they could afford no more stops – Mia feared the woman wouldn’t last another turn, and the First of Septimus was the morrow. If they didn’t find the Church soon, there’d be no point finding it at all. They were in the foothills now, mountains curving about them like a lover’s arms. She’d read dustwraiths often made their home where the winds howled worst, and her ears strained for telltale laughter over the whispering breeze.

Blood had thickened over the wagon floor, crusted in flies. She did her best to keep them off Naev’s belly, despite knowing she was already a dead woman. Naev’s resolve had broken – when unconscious, she moaned constantly, and when awake, she simply screamed until she passed out again. She was in the midst of a howling fit as Tric brought the wagon to a halt. Mia looked up at the absence of motion after turns of riding, fatigue thick in her voice.

‘Why’ve we stopped?’

‘Unless you can fix these spit-machines’ wings’ – Tric pointed to the snarling camels – ‘we’ve gone as far as we’re going to.’

The simplest mountain rose up before the camel train in sheer cliffs, broken and tumbled all about. Mia looked around, saw nothing and no one out of the ordinary. She leaned down and clutched Naev’s shoulder, shouting above her cries.

‘Where do we go from here?’

The woman curled over and babbled nonsense, clawing at her rancid belly. Tric climbed down from the reins and stood beside Mia, face grim. The reek of human waste and rotten blood was overpowering. The agony on display too much to bear.

‘Mia …’

‘I need a smoke,’ the girl growled.

She rolled out of the wagon, Tric hopping down beside her as she lit a cigarillo. The wind snatched at her fringe as she sucked down a lungful. Her fingers were crusted with blood. Naev was laughing, bashing the back of her head against the wagon floor.

‘We should end it,’ Tric said. ‘It’s a mercy.’

‘She told us not to.’

‘She’s in agony, Mia. Black Mother, listen to her.’

‘I know! I’d have done it yesterturn but she asked me not to.’

‘So you’re happy to just let her die screaming?’

‘Do I look fucking happy to you?’

‘Well, what do we do now? This is the simplest mountain for miles, far as I can see. I don’t see any steeple, do you? We just ride around until we drop of thirst?’

‘I don’t know any more than you do. But Naev told us to ride in this direction. That blood werking wasn’t just for shits and giggles. Someone knows we’re here.’

‘Aye, the fucking dustwraiths! They’ll hear her screaming miles away!’

‘So is it mercy or fear ruling you, Don Tric?’

‘I fear nothing,’ he growled.

‘Mister Kindly can smell it on you. And so can I.’

‘Maw take you,’ he hissed, drawing his knife. ‘I’m ending this now.’

‘Stop.’ Mia clutched his arm. ‘Don’t.’

‘Get off me!’ Tric slapped her fingers away.

Mia’s hand went to her stiletto, Tric’s hand to his scimitar. The shadows about her flared, long tendrils reaching out from the stones and swaying as if to music only they could hear.

‘She’s our only way to find the Church,’ Mia said. ‘It’s my fault those kraken got her in the first place. And she asked me not to kill her.’

‘She couldn’t find her britches for a piss, the state she’s in. And I didn’t promise her a thing.’

‘Don’t draw that sword, Don Tric. Things will end badly for both of us.’

‘I picked you for a cold one, Mia Corvere.’ He shook his head. ‘I just never knew how much. Where do you keep the heart that’s supposed to be inside your chest?’

‘Keep it up and I’ll feed you yours, bastard.’

‘Bastard I might be,’ Tric spat. ‘But you’re the one who decides to be a cunt every turn of your life.’

Mia had her knife out, smiling.

‘That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

Tric drew his scimitar, those pretty hazel eyes locked on hers. Confusion and rage boiling behind her stare. A soup of it, thick in her head, silencing the common sense shouting at the back of the room. She wanted to kill this boy, she realised. Cut him belly to throat and wash her hands inside him. Soak herself to the elbows and paint her lips and breasts with his blood. Her thighs ached at the thought. Breath coming faster as she pressed one hand between her legs, murder and lust all a-tumble in her head as Mister Kindly whispered from her shadow.

‘… this is not you …’

‘Away,’ she hissed. ‘To the Maw with you, daemon.’