‘Nothing. What does it look like I’m doing?’ She spat the words so that the sister wouldn’t hear how frightened she was. ‘What else can I do in here?’
She expected a harsh reply, but Sister Renier just shook her head at her, and after a moment pulled her mask back on. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on its odd metallic twang. ‘I don’t have the energy for this, Fell-Noon. Get ready for your meditations.’
Noon blinked. Meditation. She had completely forgotten. Another method for avoiding ‘unfortunate emotional states’, of course – once every four days each fell-witch was required to complete a sequence of meditations with one of the priests.
The tray with the scarf, gloves and ash was pushed through the slot, and she knelt to receive them. Concentrating on preparing herself reduced the shaking to a tremble in her fingers. When her hands were concealed and her face was covered with the fine grey powder, the door of her cell was rattled back and she stepped out. Sister Renier pulled the cuffs around Noon’s wrists and as she did so, her left-hand glove slipped down slightly on one side, exposing the skin of her forearm. Noon looked up, startled, but the old woman just yanked the sleeve back up and took hold of her arm to lead her towards the meditation chambers. The sleeve of the woman’s robe had a loop at the end that was supposed to hook around her thumb, and then the long gloves were pulled right up over the sleeve. Sister Renier must have forgotten to do it when she dressed that day, but such a slip was unthinkable.
The woman walked her beyond the cells, and into the tightly wound warren of tunnels and staircases that riddled the Winnowry. They found a set of spiral stairs and headed up; at the end, Noon knew, they would come to a set of rooms with relatively large windows – all sealed shut, of course – that looked away from the mainland and out to sea. There was very little to look at, just waves the colour of steel, some clouds perhaps, and the occasional distant bird. The view was supposed to be relaxing, so it was easier for them to empty their minds, but today just the thought of looking out at the vastness of the ocean filled Noon with a chilly terror. It was too easy to imagine the empty sky populated with the bulbous forms of the Behemoths, and she would be trapped in here while the Winnowry was pulled down around them – there was too much stone above them, too much stone on all sides, like a tomb.
Above her somewhere was one of the chirot towers, where the Winnowry kept its giant bats. Noon had never been there or even anywhere close to it, but you didn’t live in the same building for ten years without learning things about it. The idea popped into her head fully formed, and with an irresistible clarity. As Fell-Anya had said, what could they do to her? Kill her? Perhaps that would be a mercy.
‘Sister Renier, is that a mouse on the step?’
It was a cheap trick, but the woman was tired and distracted. As she craned her head up to see ahead of them, her face creased with apprehension, Noon sharply tugged the glove off her right hand.
‘What? I can’t see anything.’
‘You can’t?’
Noon twisted round and grabbed hold of the woman’s arm with both her hands – the bare one, she slipped under the end of Sister Renier’s glove and she felt her fingers slide over bare skin.
‘No!’
It was as easy as dipping her hand into water. Noon tore the old woman’s life energy from her; she did not hold herself back as she did in the furnace, but let her own need dictate what she took. Sister Renier staggered on the steps, almost going to her knees.
‘No . . .’
Surprised the old woman could talk at all, Noon glanced down the steps behind them, and then above, but no one was coming. Inside her, the swirling force of the woman’s living energy was beginning to build to dangerous levels. She had to let it out in some form.
Keeping one hand on the woman’s arm, Noon wrapped the other around the metal cuff that circled her wrist and, concentrating harder than she ever had in her life, focussed the winnowfire down to encompass the silver ring alone. There was a tense moment where Noon was half sure she was about to blow her own arm off, and then there was a blast of greenish light and the cuff shattered into pieces, throwing her and Renier back against the wall. The old woman moaned and pushed away from her.
‘I’m not staying here to die,’ said Noon. There was a roaring in her ears, a rising tide of panic. She let the woman go and she slumped bonelessly onto the steps. Noon bent down to speak directly into her ear. ‘I could have burned you,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t forget that.’
Lusk made his way down the central passage of the chirot chamber, walking silently from habit. To either side, the great bats of the Winnowry were hanging cosy in their alcoves. They were mostly hidden in the shadows, but here and there he could see a swatch of soft white or black fur, or the flap of a leathery wing. For the bats, this was the middle of their night, and they were all sound asleep – aside from the occasional squeak or huff, it was peaceful.
Tending the chirot tower was his favourite job. He would bring the bats their food – a strange mixture of fruit and dead mice – and he would clean up as best he could, scraping away guano and mopping the floors, tidying away snags of fur. Sometimes, if a bat came back from carrying a message while he was there, he would brush them down and scratch them behind the ears. The bats all knew him, and they also knew he was good for ear scratches and the occasional smuggled piece of red meat. Sometimes, very rarely, a patrol would return and he would nod to the fell-witches who dismounted with his eyes on the floor. These were the agents of the Winnowry – fell-witches who had proven themselves to be controlled enough to work for the Winnowry itself. They would fly across Sarn, seeking rumours of fell-witches out in the world, or they would take the akaris to the places where it was sold. Some of them, solo flyers, did jobs that were never spoken of openly. Lusk did not ask. It wasn’t as if anyone would tell him, anyway. And the chirot tower was quiet. It gave him time and space to think; to concentrate on his meditation and the teachings of Tomas.
He was sitting at the small table repairing a piece of leather harness when he heard footsteps on the stairs outside. He rose, sure it must be someone coming to send a message – he would need to prepare a message tube.
‘I will be right with you—’
The door flew open, and to his shock a fell-witch stumbled in. Her arms were bare, and her eyes were wild in her ashes-dusted face.
For a moment they simply gawped at each other, and then Lusk remembered himself and rushed for the pulley on the far wall. It was attached to a bell system that would alert the entire Winnowry.
‘Stop!’ The woman held her hand up and a glove of green flame popped into existence around it, flickering wildly. ‘Don’t move. Not a bit.’