‘They’re in here!’
Noon didn’t see who yelled, but panic spread like a fever. Now they were all running, all clamouring to flee down the steep steps. In their terror, some of them were taking life energy from the others, and Noon saw several fall down, weakened by their fellow prisoners before being trampled on by them. She saw one unfortunate woman tipped over the guardrail of the walkway, no doubt falling to her death. Rushing forward onto the dark staircase, Noon was pressed against so many bodies her breath seemed to lodge in her throat. There were cries in the dark, women sobbing and calling out to each other. Somewhere up ahead, someone was wailing that the doors were all locked, that they couldn’t get out this way, but the press was relentless, pushing her forward. It was nearly pitch-black, yet somehow Noon could see bodies on the floor; women who had fallen and had been stamped on, and amongst them, like a terrible rippling tide, the black beetles that had swarmed inside Marian. They were everywhere. Flesh pressed against her on all sides, and perhaps it would be easier, quicker, if she summoned the flames and burned them all. One great typhoon of fire and it would be over; better than the hollow nightmare, better than the crawling death.
And then she was outside. The Behemoth that had once been the corpse moon had extended long insectile legs and they were breaking away pieces of the Winnowry, scattering black rock and white marble onto the desolate ground. Noon was on her own on the dirt, exposed to the busy sky. As she watched, the Behemoth, now dangerously alive, ripped off the top of one of the Winnowry’s towers, and a host of bats flew out. Most of the giant creatures managed to fly away, but some were caught up by the Behemoth’s legs and by the things that were crawling out of its pulsating mouth. Noon, who had occasionally glimpsed the great bats flying back and forth over her years in the Winnowry, had never heard any of them make the smallest sound. Now those that were caught were squealing, a terrible noise so high pitched she thought her ears might burst.
Without thinking about what she would do when she got there, Noon turned and fled for the beach, trying to ignore the corpses that littered the ground. However, as she lifted her head to look across the bay to the distant city, she saw that the sky was heavy with Behemoths. They hung below the clouds like terrible growths, and she knew that all the land beneath them was being harvested. The people of the city were being turned hollow, eaten inside out.
‘We’re coming back.’
The voice was soft, female, and just behind her right ear. In the way of dreams, Noon found she couldn’t move or turn her head – instead, she stared across the bay as the city of Mushenska was turned into something slick and alien.
‘We’re coming back, and Sarn will be ours, finally. There is no one to stand against us, Noon.’
Except that wasn’t true. There were those who would stand against the invaders, who had always stood against them. They were despised amongst the plains people, and cursed for the Carrion Wars, but her people had still sung songs and told stories about them.
Stumbling, she looked at the spaces between the terrible shapes in the sky. That was where they would be – it was where they were in every tale and song she remembered from her childhood. Great beasts of ivory feathers and silver scales. Mother Fast had chanted stories of the ancient battles, and her own mother had shown her pictures in books.
But there were no Eboran war-beasts in the skies over Mushenska, and no army of shining knights to be seen on the coast. There were just the dark shapes uncurling, and she knew that on the streets of the city – and in the shattered buildings behind her – men and women were dying, and then, worse than that, opening their eyes again . . .
There was a low chuckle from behind her, and she turned to see a humanoid shape walking across the sand. It was hard to see properly – it blurred and shifted, as though it wasn’t quite sure what shape it was – but the voice was female. It had to be their queen.
‘We are coming back. And where is Ebora now?’
Noon woke with a start, not on her narrow bunk but on the iron grill of the floor. She had fallen out in her sleep, and then lain there long enough to imprint deep red lines in her skin where she had been in contact with the metal. She sat up, shaking with fright. The dream felt like it was still all around her, thick in her throat like fog. In it, she had known true despair; first, when she had been trapped in the dark, knowing that they would all die down there, and then at the sound of the woman’s voice. There had been no speculation in the woman’s voice, only certainty: they would all die, and Sarn would be lost.
Groaning, she rubbed her hands over her face, feeling tiny grains of ash under her fingers. Akaris was supposed to stop the dreams. She hadn’t had such a vivid nightmare in years.
‘Noon? Are you unwell?’
Marian’s face was turned up to hers.
‘I’m fine. I had a bad dream.’
Even in the gloom of dawn she saw the look of surprise on the other woman’s face.
‘The akaris didn’t work. It was so real . . .’
Noon swallowed hard. Real was an understatement. Looking down at Marian she remembered how the beetles had scampered up her arms, eager to get inside and eat her away. Mostly, though, she remembered being trapped. All at once, being in the Winnowry was more than she could take, and the crushing terror of ten years caught like a spider under a pot rushed over her. She stood up, still shaking. It was difficult to breathe.
‘If the akaris isn’t working, you should tell one of the sisters.’ Marian’s voice floated up to her. It felt like it was coming from a great distance. ‘Perhaps they could give you more.’
They might well do that. At the Winnowry, everyone was encouraged to be calm at all times. ‘Unfortunate emotional states’, as they were referred to by the sisters, were greatly discouraged, and a series of bad dreams could lead to unpleasantness. Noon, who had suffered from terrible nightmares when she had arrived at the Winnowry, took the akaris every day without fail, and valued her dreamless sleep. She took a deep, shaky breath. Her emotional state, she felt, could definitely be classified as unfortunate.
‘Fell-Noon? What are you doing?’
Noon looked up to see one of the sisters peering in through her bars. Unusually, she held her silver mask between her gloved fingers, and she looked old; dark circles pulled at the bags below the woman’s eyes, and her thin lips looked chapped. From her voice she recognised her as Sister Renier.