Starborn. Katie MacAlister

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СКАЧАТЬ What are you doing?”

      My hands danced in the air. Although I’d been a priest at the temple of Kiriah Sunbringer since I was three summers old, I had never been the most studious of pupils. Not until I left the priesthood to bind myself to Hallow, that is…and then encouraged by the amount of time he spent studying his inherited library, I’d looked into some of blessings and protections that had fallen into disuse. “That volume you said that Exodius must have stolen from my temple referenced a benison that offered protection against shadow beings.”

      Hallow didn’t look as impressed as I felt he should. “Are we likely to encounter such beings in Aldmarsh?”

      “You never know,” I said darkly as I finished drawing the symbols of protection on him and began to draw them over myself. “This place is so miserable, it wouldn’t surprise me to find Shadowborn, the old ones who walked Alba before man, and a samartxiki or two hanging around waiting to pounce on us. Ugh. This swamp is decidedly not in Kiriah’s favor.” I shivered despite the cloying air.

      “We should know in a few minutes, although I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of samartxiki.”

      I smiled to myself. Hallow had an insatiable curiosity, and was always pleased to tuck away any random bit of information he happened upon. “Do you not have legends of them in Penhallow? The older priests used to mention them to the initiates when we were young and didn’t have the gravity of spirit that they desired. They used to tell us of how the samartxiki were born in the deepest hours of the night and grew up in the shadows of chestnut trees, hiding themselves until an unwary person passed too close. Then they would leap out and bite at them with teeth like those of a saw. They were supposed to be particularly fond of children who shirked their duties in order to do more pleasurable things.”

      He grinned at me. “Why do I suspect they had a particular initiate in mind when telling that story?”

      “Because you’re a smart man who has the most adorable eye crinkles, and you’ve met Sandor, all of which means you know that I spent more time hunting for rabbits and birds than I did on my knees next to Sandor in prayer.”

      “For which I’m thankful on a daily basis—ah, there, see?” He reined in Penn for a moment when we crested a slight hill. Below us, a small town sprawled drunkenly along the shoreline. There were a few ships bobbing out to sea, no doubt local fisherman, while further out a larger ship was anchored near a sand bar. The houses themselves—more shacks than actual houses—straggled crookedly, and the sound of the surf and sea birds gave the whole place a curiously desolate air. “It’s…uh…it’s…”

      “Horrible. That house on the end is leaning so far over, it looks like it might collapse. And is that a dead samartxiki in the road? This is just the sort of area where I’d expect to find them strewn hither and yon.”

      Hallow pursed his lips as I pointed to a blob in the path winding down to Aldmarsh. The shape lay on its back, four stiff legs pointing skyward, where high clouds hid Kiriah’s light from the land. I had a feeling Kiriah preferred it that way.

      “That, my heart, is a dead cow, not a saw-toothed shadow-dwelling monster,” he said, pressing his heels to Penn. The horse started forward reluctantly, and Buttercup followed.

      “Also the sort of thing I’d expect to find here,” I said, glancing around me with suspicion. “Even the animals don’t want to be here.”

      “Cows die of natural causes, Allegria. Houses lean. And foul airs sometime come up from the ground, making a miasma of decay that permeates everything. There is nothing here that suggests a bad omen,” he said with a little laugh.

      I sniffed and made a face as we approached the town. “What in the name of the twin goddesses is that? The dead cow? It smells like a hundred rotting corpses. And this cow did not die naturally. Just look at its expression.”

      Hallow glanced down as we skirted the dead animal. He said nothing, but pulled the staff from his back and rested it on the toe of his booted foot as we entered the town of Aldmarsh proper. A couple of women stood together with baskets on their arms, watching us with a despairing sense of acceptance that made the fine hairs on my arms rise.

      “Blessings of the goddesses,” Hallow greeted the ladies politely.

      They didn’t respond, but watched us dismount with flat, hopeless eyes.

      “We’re looking for a man named Quinn,” I told the ladies and sketched a couple of general protection runes on them, a normal practice for a priest, but one that felt oddly out of place here. I could feel Kiriah’s presence, but it seemed distant, as if the sun was swaddled. “Could you tell us where he lives?”

      “There is no one of that name here,” one of the women said. Her voice was as lifeless as her eyes.

      “Are you sure? Sometimes he’s called Quinn the Mad.” Both ladies shook their heads. “Ah. Well, may Kiriah’s benevolence shine upon you.” I drew another rune on them, feeling they needed it.

      Hallow said nothing as we turned and led our mounts down the rutted muddy track that was the main street in Aldmarsh. Faint movement of pale faces in glassless windows dissolved into darkness as the inhabitants, having seen us, returned to their cheerless lives. There were no children playing or running around, no animals save for a few scraggly chickens huddled in uncomfortable-looking lumps, and no sound but that of the sea.

      “What are we going to do?” I asked Hallow when he stopped in front of one of the shacks. This one had a fishing net swaying gently from the craggy line of broken tile on the roof, pegged out along the side of the house, no doubt to dry. The breeze from the water did little to dissipate the horrible stench that seemed to come from the ground itself.

      He nodded toward the house. “We’re going to find out who lives here.”

      “Why here?” I asked, my back itchy with the sensation of unseen watchers.

      “Look at the net. Do you see the knife tacking it to the wall of the house?”

      “Yes. So?”

      “Look closer.” I let him take the reins from me so he could tie up his horse and Buttercup, eyeing the knife. It was small, almost as small as an eating knife, the blade scarred, but not rusted. The handle bore a golden tree on a background of white…the symbol of Lord Israel.

      “You think this is the man we want?” I asked when Hallow knocked on the door.

      “The captain said Quinn the Mad had seen more battles than I could conceive of—clearly, the owner of that knife has served under or with Lord Israel, and just as clearly, he is someone with whom we should speak.” He took my hand, his fingers curling around mine in a way that had me wishing we were back home, cuddled up together in bed, with no demands on us but the need to drive each other wild with touches and kisses, and the particular way his whiskers tickled my inner thighs when he—

      “Allegria?”

      “Hmm?” With an effort, I pulled my mind to the present. While I had been distracted, Hallow had led me around the shack to the back, where we found three chairs positioned next to a small stack of barrels and a couple of broken crates. On one of the chairs a man was seated with a net that spilled out across his lap and down onto the brown sand. Next to him, perched on one of the crates, a girl of about six sat cross legged, a dirty red cloth doll sitting next to her. “Oh. Er…greetings and blessings to you both.”

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