Chapter Five (SC)

Agata grows desperate as the chaos of the Council spirals out of her control.

Fury. It pooled inside her, welling in the very core of what made Agata the Reasoner. Her hands clenched into shaking fists at her sides. Her eyes, dry and focused, narrowed to slits. There was no shock, no horror " there wasn't even any grief. She wanted to punch something, wanted to take someone's head and squeeze it in her hands, wanted to shout and scream like she was a little girl throwing a tantrum. Tantrums used to mean punishments. Reasoners, or girls growing up to be Reasoners, did not lose their tempers. It was what Agata's mother had always said. But Agata was not an average Reasoner, and she wanted to hurt someone.

Her sudden bloodlust was prevented by one thing, and one thing alone. A knife had been left beside Gerda’s severed head. Rolled around the hilt was a note. Agata's green eyes focused on the parchment, and her hands immediately grabbed the knife, unravelling the parchment around it.. She was aware of the Speakers, all watching cautiously, but she ignored them. She unrolled the parchment, eyes moving fast to read each and every single word. It was an insult, as clear as day. A mockery.

Our forest, twelve hours. Be there. Alone.

Siljie had been reading it over Agata's shoulder. Now, she grabbed at Agata's wrist, her eyes burning with a fierce determination. It was clear what she wanted. She wasn't going to allow Agata to leave, to join the Skelski to stop this death. Reasoners, Agata's mother used to say, must be ruthless. Agata did not feel ruthless. Her mother would have refused to see the Skelski. She would have simply shrugged off each Speaker death as if it meant nothing.

Agata was not her mother, and Siljie knew this better than anyone.

“You cannot,” Siljie warned. The other Speakers, ignorant to the contents of the note, stared between them, waiting for someone to enlighten them on this new development. No one did. “This is what they want. Your Imminence, this is treason. They have declared war. Going to them now will be negotiating with an enemy who has shown no desire to negotiate.”

“Get off me,” Agata replied. Her voice was calm and collected. After training her whole life to be Reasoner, she'd found ways to keep her emotions away from her tone and face. Even her eyes were as cold as the ice encasing Astraia. “I said get off me.”

Siljie unhanded her, but she was still shaking her head. “They'll kill you. You have no successor. Your death would mean chaos for Astraia.”

“Then witness it here,” Agata retorted. “Siljie will be my successor, should my life end unexpectedly.”

“Unexpectedly? You're planning to walk straight into enemy hands!” one of the other Speakers shouted. “With all due respect, Your Imminence, you cannot do this.”

“This is stupid,” another Speaker agreed.

Siljie had her I told you so face on, which stirred nothing but resentment in Agata. The urge to scream was becoming more and more prominent. It was a tingle, right at the top of her spine, pushing her forwards. She felt like a puppet on strings. A mechanical machine programmed to respond. Her words were all automatic; her anger felt like someone else's.

“How dare you call me stupid?” Her voice did not rise. It did not need to. Every Speaker was silenced by that tone, that ice. “I know what you all think of me. I'm too young. Too brash. You're all wrong. I have been trained to do this my entire life. I am no child in need of a hand to guide me. I know exactly what I'm doing, and should any of you wish to argue against it once more, you will all be executed. There are thousands of guards who would kill for the honour of taking your place. So if I were you, I would shut my mouth and get on with my duties.”

“With all due respect,” Siljie reasoned, “our duties are to protect the Reasoner. That includes protecting her from herself and her own mistakes.”

“With all due respect,” Agata mocked, “the only mistake I have made is accepting you as my main Speaker. Get out. All of you.”

No one moved. Agata's fury continued to rise. It was like a slow poison, infecting her bloodstream with all the patience of a lioness waiting for the chance to ambush her prey.

Agata's fists were clenched so hard, she felt like her hands were beginning to break. “Am I speaking to an empty room? I said get out!”

But still, no one moved. The silent verdict was clear. It was in the Reasoner's best interests to keep her away from the Skelski, and if they disobeyed her in doing so, so be it. The role of Speaker was not something anyone could get. Only those who were willing to sacrifice their life and the lives of everyone they'd ever known and loved were allowed the position. It was part of the security system of Southern Astraia" another thing Agata despised about her beautiful country.

It was clear that they were not going to heed her words. Agata knew she had to back down. Her threats were empty; she could not simply murder all of her Speakers, even if none of them supported her. They were trying to do their jobs. Who was she to criticise that?

She was the damned Reasoner. That was who she was.

“Fine,” she growled. Her tone wavered slightly. The cool, collected mask she put on was beginning to slip. She'd been trained for this role for twenty-two years " from birth. And yet, now that she actually had it, now that her mother was not here to give her cruel advice, now that Merthin was too distant for proper conversations, she felt like she was standing still whilst a million people shot arrows into her heart. She didn't know what to do with this role. She didn't know what to do with this life. She was slipping, slowly, from the ledge of her sanity. With Gerda gone, too, she felt like she was about to fall into an ocean of ice, freezing her in a slow death.

Agata took a deep gulp of air. She felt like there was no oxygen these days. Like she needed a mask to breathe properly. She didn't tell anyone. She couldn't. But she needed a moment.

She turned away for a second, just breathing, trying to calm her racing heart. Slowly, the fury left her, and it was replaced with the pragmatism and rationality her mother had spent years teaching her. The most important traits in any woman, she used to say. Vital traits in a Reasoner. Agata's hands loosened, and her breathing steadied. She turned back to face her Speakers again.

“I propose we send a search party out to locate Lyosha,” Siljie offered.

It was a good proposition. Agata nodded.

“And I propose we send an ambassador,” Siljie continued. “To the Skleski. I volunteer.”

“If anyone is speaking to the Skelski, they either go with me or not at all,” Agata replied.

“If we have guards in the trees,” offered another Speaker, “we can make it safe. The Skelski cannot fight long distance " they don't use bows.”

“Good idea. Gather a hundred of our best guards,” Siljie ordered, after a nod of permission from Agata. “Station them around the forest. In range, but not too close. And hide them, for goodness' sake. We don't want the Skelski to think we're declaring war.”

Agata snorted, and all eyes turned back to her. “They have already declared war,” she said.

Two of the Speakers rushed out to gather the guards. Siljie, meanwhile, gave the order for the Speakers to arm themselves " another attack was imminent. It was only once every Speaker in the room had gone that Siljie turned, facing Agata with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on her face. She nodded at the dagger at Agata's belt " the knife she'd stolen to protect herself from Kaja.

“How barbaric,” Siljie commented. “Start carrying that around and everyone will think you're a Skelski sympathiser.”

“I can't very well walk in with a bow and arrows, can I?” Agata pointed out. “I'll keep it hidden.”

“Aggie, we have guards.”

Aggie. It was an old childhood nickname, and a reminder that no matter what happened, no matter what position Siljie had, they

would always protect one another.

But what use was it? Agata couldn’t protect Gerda. She couldn’t protect anyone but herself. She was a selfish creature, a woman made of impenetrable steel. Her heart was stone. Siljie would die protecting Agata, as any Speaker would, but how could Agata be so hypocritical as to say she’d do the same? She knew she wouldn’t. She would always put her own life first, through rain and through snow, through day and through night. Did the role of the Reasoner make her superior to other beings? Would she always place survival above morals?

Did she really care that Gerda had died, or was she more concerned with how Gerda’s death had wounded her pride?

She realised, with some calamity, that there was a reason Merthin avoided her.

“So what?” Agata shrugged, struggling to remain calm with all the thoughts racing through her head. She didn’t want Siljie to know what she was thinking. She didn’t want to know what she was thinking.

“If I'm stabbed before the guards can loose a single arrow, there won't be much need for the bows and arrows, will there?” finished Agata.

Siljie rolled her eyes. Sparkly eyes, a deep ocean blue. Agata used to try and draw them, but she had never been a brilliant artist. She'd composed songs instead.

“So stubborn,” Siljie said.

Turning around to make sure there was definitely no one else there, Siljie reached out and squeezed Agata's arm in comfort. Gerda's head still sat on the podium, watching with lifeless eyes. She looked like a dead fish with those eyes and that gaping mouth. Agata couldn't help feeling rather disgusted. She should feel horrified or upset. Instead she was standing here, wondering whether she'd throw up if she continued staring at the head.

“They will pay for what they did,” Siljie said quietly.

Apparently, she'd mistaken Agata's disgust for grief. Was disgust a form of grief? Agata didn't understand how this worked. She glanced at Siljie. She didn't smile.

“I know they will,” Agata returned. “I fully intend to return the favour.” She nodded at the head.

Siljie didn't smile, either. They were grey faces in a sea of colour. “I say this, not as your Speaker, but as your friend,” she murmured. “Please, Aggie. Be careful. The Skelski are barbarians; I will grant you that much. But they're cleverer than they seem. You've seen what they can do. Don't think for a moment that they won't treat you the same.”

Agata shook her head. “What do you take me for? I never let down my guard.”

“No,” Siljie agreed. Her tone was strange. She sounded almost sad. “You don't.”

The two gazed at one another. They had changed. The world had changed. Agata had been raised to suspect anyone and everyone. She had been raised to see an exchange of glances at Court and analyse what it could mean, what it would mean. Often, the internal world was more frightening than the external.

But this? She didn't know how to deal with this. She didn't know how to read the Skelski, didn't know her enemy well enough to understand how they thought, or what they were planning. She was staring blankly into a blind future. She was walking into situations she could not understand. The Skelski had murdered her Speaker for no reason other than the destruction of any security she'd believed in. Did this make them heartless? Did it make them alien?

Why were they so hard to understand?

A shriek came from the corridor. The women turned, wide-eyed. It sounded like a male shriek, which was odd; men were not allowed anywhere near the Council Chamber, and they were certainly allowed nowhere near the Reasoner. There was only one male who would be daring enough to do so. Only one male whose mind would be too far away for him to focus on rules.

“Merthin,” Agata breathed.

“No,” snapped Siljie. “It is breaking tradition. He can't. He "”

“Let him in,” said Agata.

“It's too dangerous!”

“He's my brother. He can't be dangerous. Let him in.”

She only had time to give the order before the doors burst open, and in burst her strange, crazed brother. He was followed by Olga, three other Speakers and two guards, all of whom were attempting to make a grab for him, yelling about the rules and regulations. He ignored them all, but this was clearly less out of malice, and more out of complete ignorance. Agata recognised those eyes. They were the eyes of prophecy. Black, dotted with stars. He was Seeing. And if his visions were strong enough to warrant him losing his senses and bursting into the Council Chamber, it was clear there was something very wrong.

Merthin escaped the reaching hands, throwing himself at Agata. Siljie was so surprised by his presence that Merthin managed to grab at his sister's wrists before Siljie threw herself between them. She pushed Merthin back, immediately arming herself. She pointed her bow at him, arrow poised and ready to let loose. He was a potential threat to the Reasoner, and regardless of the Reasoner's personal feelings, that made him an enemy.

She needn’t have bothered, for all the reaction she got.

“Death!” cried Merthin. He let out a low howl, hands clawing at his own face. “Death, death, death, everywhere, in my eyes, in my head, it's coming for us all, no one escapes, it will destroy everything in its path!”

“Back down!” Siljie growled. “Stop this at once!”

But he was Seeing, and his ears were deaf to her protests. “It comes over the hills, danger, danger. An army; whose could it be? The sun is red. The sky burns with the blood of the damned. The fallen are rising from their graves, crawling along the cobbled roads. Help them, help them. They're desperate. They cannot see. They cannot breathe. What is breathing to the dead?” He took a breath, just one. Then he continued: “In the skies, a winged beast. Its jaw is filled with row upon row of teeth, sharper than her brain, sharper, sharper still. The wings fill the sky with death. It takes her in its teeth, she screams, she is trapped; her enemy clings to her, desperate, she cannot lose another. The beast moves away; they hold fast; it takes them away, far away, she's bleeding, she's scared, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!” He gasped, changed his voice. It sounded like a woman: low, husky, familiar. “'Leave me. My tribe. Save my tribe. Please. I beg you. I beg you. I beg...'”

Suddenly, he stopped. He fell to his knees, gasping, choking. He was retching; trickles of blood dripped from his lips and nose. His eyes were still the eyes of a prophet, but he could not deliver the remaining prophecy. He was trapped in between states.

This had never happened before. He was either seeing or Seeing; they could not exist in unison. But now, here, he was doing both, experiencing an impossibility.

He gasped again, gagging on his own blood. “Please,” he wheezed. “Oh. Oh, the pain. It's too much. It hurts. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. Don't fight them, don't fight them, don't fight them. I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared.”

Agata was too stunned to react. Her brother curled up into a ball on the floor, not sobbing, but breathing so heavily he may as well have been. He sounded like he was struggling to breathe. Like he was choking on oxygen itself. Like he was being poisoned by his natural surroundings.

Agata broke out of her reverie, quickly pushed Siljie out of the way. She knelt down beside her brother, reaching out to gingerly touch his arm. She needn't have bothered. Before she could even touch him, Merthin gave a soft cry, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. Siljie stepped forwards as if to drag him away, but Agata held up a restraining hand. She was safe. She knew she was. Her brother would never hurt her.

“Agata,” he gasped. This time, his voice was his. He was Seeing, but he was aware enough of his surroundings to know who was holding him. “Agata, please. Agata, help me. Oh, it hurts. It hurts. Help me.”

“I'm here,” she assured him. “Everything is going to be all right. I'm going to speak to the Skelski, and we are going to sort this out before it can escalate even further.”

But he didn't seem reassured by this. Instead, he screamed, right in Agata's face. She didn't flinch. If there was one thing she had inherited from their mother, it was her uncanny ability to let no emotion show in her face. Your eyes, though, Siljie used to say. They tell entire fables.

“No!” he cried. “You can’t! Don't! Don't! Don't!”

“It's all right,” she repeated soothingly. “It's all right.”

“You can't,” he hissed, his nails digging sharply into her arms. “Please, heed my words. You cannot.”

“Why not, Merthin?” she asked. It was always better to give him what he wanted. Asking questions made compromise a possible outcome. Asking questions created an illusion of interest. An illusion of listening, of hearing, of heeding.

“If you go to her,” he whispered, “you will seal your fate. I have Seen it. She's the end, Agata. She's the end of everything. She will bring havoc to this world, because you will help her.”

“Who are you talking about?” she prompted. “What are you saying?”

“I " I can't " See it,” he gasped, wincing as though he was in physical pain. “It's blocking me...they're all...blocking me...can't...” His hands grew even tighter on her shoulders. “Do not go to Skeleton Crown. No matter what happens. You cannot go. You can't. Please.”

“Merthin,” she murmured, making sure to make her voice as low and comforting as she could. Her heart was racing. She could barely contain her own fear, let alone calm his. “I have no reason to go to Skeleton Crown. I won’t go there if I have no reason to, will I?”

“You will,” he said. Now, his voice was empty of hysteria. He just sounded exhausted. His hands slackened on her shoulders, and he fell forwards. Automatically, she wound her arms around him. “The reason will come, and you’ll go. I can't stop it. No one can. But when it happens...will you remember that I forgive you? Please remember. Because I need you to know that you’re my sister, and I’ll always love you, no matter what happens. Please. Don’t blame yourself. Remember.”

“Of course I will,” she said, stroking her gloved hand through his straggly hair. If she was anyone else, he would flinch away from the touch. “Always.”

Suddenly, the mood changed again. His eyes grew wide. He threw his head back as though he'd been shocked, staring up at the ceiling with a desperate breath.

“Please stop...you're all talking at the same once. Hush, hush. Speak slowly. I don't understand. Say it again. Say it again. Oh. Oh, Atix, no. Please."

“What?” Agata urged. “What is it, Merthin? What do you See?”

“Death. Death!” he cried. “It’s coming. It’s coming now. Get down!”

Agata had no time to respond before her brother shoved her to the ground, sobbing into her shoulder. Darkness clouded her vision. The whole ground seemed to shake; it felt like she was about to be tipped into the mouth of a monster. She clutched at Merthin, holding him close to her, suddenly terrified of what could happen. Merthin's prophecies were never wrong. If he thought death was coming, it was coming. Whatever was about to happen, someone was going to die.

Light vanished. For a moment, there was nothing. No sound, no vision, no feeling. Then came a whining, low and horrifying, right in Agata's ears. She gasped, clutching at her ears, but it was no use; the whining got through her hands, buried itself deep inside her brain, screaming, screaming, screaming. Her eyes flashed open"when had she shut them?"but she could see nothing. Red flashed in her face, the colour of blood, poisoning her senses.

She heard someone screaming, but she couldn't identify the source of the noise. Someone was speaking, too. She could only just distinguish words.

“Come to me...come to me...come to me...”

The red disappeared, and all at once, Agata's senses returned to her. The ringing ceased. The darkness vanished, leaving light in its wake. She could hear a Speaker standing up, groaning, immediately looking for her.

The Reasoner, find the Reasoner!

Your Imminence?

Can you hear us, Your Imminence?

I don't think she's breathing!

She was breathing. The weight of Merthin had gone now, too. She reached out blindly; she couldn't distinguish one face from another, though she knew they were all staring down at her.

“Siljie,” she groaned. “Siljie.”

“I'm here,” a voice said in her ear. Siljie didn't sound panicked like the other Speakers. But she didn't sound pleased, either, or relieved. There was a grim tone to her voice, and it was sending chills down her spine. “I'm here, Agata. I'm so sorry.”

Agata was reminded of her mother's death. Gerda, sweet Gerda, staring at her blankly in the corridor. As soon as she'd heard the shouts, Agata had run from her room, flinging herself at any passing servant, desperate for news. She'd been ignored. Gerda had been the only one to stand there, grim-faced, knowing what she needed to do.

Gerda had knelt before her, reaching up her hands in supplication.

“I am sorry, Your Imminence,” she'd murmured. Agata could remember it like it was yesterday. “But the Reasoner is dead. Long live the Reasoner."

She thought of this now, as she stared up at Siljie. Siljie was such a beautiful Speaker. She was different to the others, with those deep eyes of hers, and the way her dark hair fell in braids around her face. When they were children, Agata had often tugged on these braids, begging Siljie to let her hair loose. She'd always kept it so tight.

I'm here, Agata. I'm sorry. Agata had an inkling as to what had happened. She turned her head. There was a new corpse in the room. Not decapitated this time. A knife was buried in her chest " the brutish knives of the Skelski. Her eyes were dead and gazing at the ceiling. The note tied to the hilt of the dagger had only two words on it, written in big letters so that even from across the room, Agata could see it.

Olga was dead, and the note read NOW COME.

prev chapter