Coldmarch. Daniel Cohen A.

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СКАЧАТЬ at our feet a heavy smoke curled out of the opening of the door. The black cloud was like an old scar. A shameful part of me wanted to drop to my stomach and start huffing, as it would certainly make the journey to my death more pleasant.

      What’s the opposite of penance? I wondered to myself.

      ‘We’re here for the Coldmarch,’ Shilah said, unafraid and standing tall.

      The arrow lowered to point at her mouth.

      A pause from inside, the smoke continuing to escape. ‘No.’

      ‘No what?’ Shilah asked.

      ‘That’s not a real thing. I never heard of no blasted Coldmarch.’

      ‘Mama Jana sent us,’ Shilah said. ‘And my friend here has been bitten by a Sobek. We need your help.’

      The arrow shook. ‘He’ll live. Tell him to suck it up. Least it’s not a sand-viper.’

      Shilah grabbed the severed lizard tail out of her pocket and held it up. ‘It was a baby.’

      ‘Well, you shouldn’t have been out in the sands if you didn’t want to get bit. Go back to your barracks and get medicine there, damned Jadans.’

      Even through my fog of panic I found it interesting that he used the word ‘Jadans’ instead of slaves.

      Cam nudged Shilah out of the way, stepping in front of the arrow and puffing up in the haughty way at which High Nobles tended to excel. I wanted to laugh, as the billowy green flutter-robes wasn’t helping to toughen his image.

      ‘Sir, I’m Camlish Tavor, first in line for my House, and I’m escorting these Jadans on the Coldmarch.’

      ‘No such thing as a Coldmarch,’ the voice growled. ‘Now take your spoiled, High Noble ass back to your daddy, Tavor.’

      The miniature camel began grunting loudly in its stable, the overhanging tuft of fur on its forehead spilling into its eyes.

      ‘Hush, Picka!’ the man grunted. ‘Thisn’t none of your business.’

      Picka, I thought with a grin as I wandered over to it, looking into its long face. What a fine name for a talking camel. Hello, Picka.

      ‘Hello. Thank you,’ the camel said with a smirk in its eyes. ‘Micah.’

      ‘My friends call me Spout,’ I said with a bow, wondering if the camel was pronouncing my name funnily on purpose, or if it just couldn’t make the sounds with its large, lolling tongue. ‘You can call me Spout. It reminds me of my father.’

      Shilah caught me under the arms as I fell, keeping me upright. I glanced down and saw that my feet were now two large sweat bubbles.

      ‘Look, sir,’ Cam said, giving an arrogant bow. ‘I appreciate your discretionary behaviour, obviously a necessity for such a position as yours, but we know very well that you’re Split the—’

      The arrow released, impaling the bag on Cam’s shoulder. I imagined most of our supplies had just been compromised in one single blow.

      ‘Drat,’ the man said with a menacing tone. ‘Missed.’

      ‘Please, won’t you help us, sir?’ Cam asked with a gulp.

      ‘No such thing as a Coldmarch,’ the voice inside warned, grunting a few times before another arrow appeared. ‘And I’m pretty sure I don’t miss twice.’

      I wanted to reach out and touch the arrow to see if it was actually dripping with honey, or if that was just my imagination.

      ‘You dare threaten someone of House Tavor?’ Cam asked, aghast.

      A silver token hopped out of the crack in the door, landing on the ground with the crest face up. I hadn’t seen a coin like that since the days of endless errands as a Street Jadan, and all of a sudden I was back on my corner, the Vicaress parading around a group of my chained, young, and scared kin.

      ‘You dare bother someone from House Suth?’ the voice inside said in an imitation of Cam’s arrogant tone. ‘You hold no sway here, boy.’

      The camel gave a throaty grumble, broken in frantic brays.

      The arrow pointed down at Shilah’s throat. ‘I’m closing the door now.’

      Cam’s face was all fire. ‘Sir, I demand you lower your weapon and talk to us about the Coldmarch.’

      The smoke at our ankles had stopped drifting out. ‘Scarabs on your shitty demands, Tavor.’

      ‘Please,’ Cam said, breaking into panic. ‘We went through the tunnels beneath her shop, we saw the red alder—’

      ‘Say it, Micah,’ Picka whispered to me. ‘Remember? You should say it now.’

      I heard my father’s voice beneath the words of the camel, which was disconcerting, but didn’t stop me from taking the advice.

      My throat opened just long enough to allow the prayer. ‘Shemma hares lahyim—’

      The arrow swung to me, pointed right between my eyes.

      ‘You don’t finish that sentence, slave!’

      At least the words were real this time, and not just in my mind.

      More importantly I’d struck a chord, his words cracked with emotion down the middle. I had to use my tongue before it hopped out of my mouth and grew wings.

      ‘Shemma hares lahyim criyah—’

      ‘I mean it!’ The man was at full alarm. ‘Not another word, or I shoot!’

      Shilah reached over and put a hand on my lower back to get me to stop, but I knew what I had to do, even if my vision was slowly narrowing to a pinpoint, and my arm felt as if it had been buried at the bottom of the dunes.

      ‘Shemma hares lahyim criyah Meshua ris yim slochim.’

      ‘DAMN EVERYTHING TO BLEACHED BONES AND SHRIVELLED TONGUES, FINE!’

      The arrow disappeared and the door was flung open by way of a swift boot kick. The man stormed out, revealing a paunchy stomach, thin and wispy hair, and a nose that was craggier than our way back to Paphos. After closer inspection, I realized this man was also another beige smear. Everything was beige now, actually.

      ‘Fine. The Coldmarch is real,’ the smudge said. ‘I’m Split the Pedlar. Is that what you want to hear, you little brats? Years of peace you just upended. Now get your friend inside and—’

      Beige went black.

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