The Inner Circle: The Knowing (10 page)

Far-a-mael shook his head. Surely it
wouldn’t have hurt to show at least a little appreciation.

A little girl stood a few strides away,
a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. ‘Why did it hurt
my mummy?’ Her voice was hollow. ‘I want my mummy,’ she sobbed,
without removing her hands from her red face. Far-a-mael shuddered
when he noticed the bloodied corpse fixed in her sights. He touched
her aura ever so gently, intending not to startle her as he
rearranged it: blue, yellow, white, a splash of teal, and some pink
for good measure.

Despite the toll it took on his aging
bones, Far-a-mael got down on one knee, placed his hands on the
girl’s shoulders, and looked into her eye. ‘Listen to me. I know it
hurts. I wasn’t much older than you when I lost my mother. It’s
going to hurt for a very long time, but I promise you one day
you’ll wake up, the pain will have become old, and you will be
okay.’

‘
But I want my
mummy!’

‘
Oh, sweetheart, of
cause you do,’ Far-a-mael swallowed and squeezed the girl’s hands.
‘Sometimes, I want mine, too.’ It wasn’t like him to be emotional,
but losing a parent wasn’t something easily forgotten. ‘We can’t
bring her back,’ he leaned forward to whisper in the girl’s ear,
‘but I will make them pay.’ Far-a-mael rose to his feet.

‘
Deenel!’ A young man
hurried over and scooped the girl into his arms. ‘You found my
sister,’ the man cried. ‘Thank you. Truly, thank you.’

Before Far-a-mael could reply the man
had hurried away, leaving him alone with the haunting memory of
loss in a child’s eyes.

CHAPTER Six

A Silt in Sitnic

Ilgrin flared his wings and landed in
the centre of a field. A startled cow mooed and galloped away.
Ilgrin laughed and slid a hand through his dark blue mop of hair
before a stab of loneliness drove him to examine his fingers. They
were longer and thinner than those of a human and lacked nails. The
colour was wrong, too, Ilgrin’s flesh being mostly white, with
touches of pale blue. His face was angular, with cheekbones higher
than those of most humans and eyes that tilted up at the sides. His
skeletal structure was longer and thinner, but his bones were
covered in so many layers of lean muscle that the end result was a
much larger figure. In strength, Ilgrin had equalled his father by
the age of ten and soon thereafter surpassed him. A few years
later, he’d matched the man in height. Now at twenty-one years of
age, Ilgrin towered over the human.

Ilgrin looked at his toes
disapprovingly. His feet were no greater than half the length of an
ordinary man’s and bore only three toes, one of which extended
posteriorly. Such an arrangement was handy for perching in trees or
carrying things in flight.

Ilgrin turned his large purple eyes
toward the inviting blue sky. He was unable to fly--not the way he
wanted to, anyway. To do so would be suicide. The constant threat
of discovery kept him from ascending any higher than the treetops.
Ilgrin was a prisoner. He looked at the family home with the same
reluctant familiarity that a convict might have for his cell.
Beside the building was a tree stump whose presence sent shivers
down Ilgrin’s spine. It was the place where his mother had died and
where he, in turn, had resurrected her.

Ilgrin took another moment to count the
ways in which he differed from his parents. He often caught himself
doing so. Perhaps it served as a reminder that he was indeed
different, as despite appearances at times he could all but forget
he wasn’t human. Or perhaps he did it to remember why he must
remain hidden. But no matter how he suppressed it, Ilgrin knew that
at the heart of the ritual, its reasons were to remind him that
somewhere out there were others like him.

Ilgrin pushed off from the ground and
flew lazily toward the house where raised voices caused him to
hesitate, hand hovering over the doorknob. His parents were
arguing, not an uncommon occurrence. There was a solitary step
beneath the door upon which Baen had found Ilgrin as a newborn,
blue-faced and screaming in his dead mother’s arms. She’d been shot
through the heart by a silver-tipped arrow and in death the only
evidence that remained of her existence was an unmarked stone at
the back of the farthest paddock.

Not a day went by that Ilgrin didn’t
feel bitterly resentful of a life slowly wasted in hiding. It
wasn’t fair that everyone should hate him because of the actions of
silts elsewhere. He had nothing to do with them. He’d never even
met one. The world so hated silts for what they’d done and even
Ilgrin was no stranger to the wickedness produced through demon
hands. Although Ilgrin himself was guilty of whisp pollution,
surely it could be forgiven him considering his age at the time. A
child so young couldn’t possibly fathom the implications of such an
action.

The whisp may have dissipated as some
were known to do. Or it may have slaughtered an entire family. Was
Ilgrin a hero or a murderer? Such was the price of resurrection.
Someone somewhere would’ve had to die in place of his mother.
Ilgrin often struggled with his conscience, his imagination
conjuring up images of strangers at a funeral in some distant
land.

He turned the doorknob and stepped
inside. Urelie was in her rocking chair, knitting needles clicking
furiously over an ugly green shirt created with wing-holes and
buttons in the back. Baen stood warming his hands over the
fireplace. Neither of them noticed Ilgrin’s presence.

‘
I understand what
you’re saying, but he can’t stay here forever,’ Baen said. ‘Someday
soon he’ll be too big for this farm. He’ll need to spread his wings
. . . so to speak. He’s not a little boy anymore.’

‘
Don’t you think I
know that?’ Urelie replied through gritted teeth. ‘But what do you
suggest we do, package him off to Old World? They won’t take him
in? They’re demons, for Maker’s sake. They’ll probably eat him or
something.’

‘
Don’t call them
that,’ Ilgrin snapped, revealing himself.

Urelie jumped in surprise. ‘I’m sorry,
dear. I didn’t mean anything.’

‘
Yes, you did,’
Ilgrin accused. ‘You meant exactly what you said. You think we’re
all a bunch of . . . of demons,’ he spat the final word, hating the
feel of it on his tongue.

‘
Not you, dear,’
Urelie put down her needles and hurried over to squeeze Ilgrin’s
hands. ‘You’re different, my sweet boy. We raised you with morals
and values. We raised you to be--’

‘
Human?’ Ilgrin cut
her off and pulled his hands free. Urelie paled and jerked away,
turning her face as though expecting to be struck. ‘What’re you
doing?’ Ilgrin gasped.

‘
Nothing.’ Urelie put
a hand over her mouth and tried to scurry away, but Ilgrin snatched
at her wrist and spun her around.

‘
You flinched,’ he
said defensively.

‘
That’s enough, boy.’
Baen put a hand flat against Ilgrin’s chest.

Ilgrin ignored the man and focused on
his mother. ‘You’re scared of me? I thought you said I was
different, that I wasn’t like the others.’

‘
You are, darling.’
Beads of sweat formed on Urelie’s flushed face. ‘I trust you with
my life. It’s just that . . . you know.’

‘
What?’

‘
You’ve truly grown
up these last few years.’ She swallowed noisily. ‘You’re a man now
and you look like . . . like one of them.’

‘
You mean you can’t
just pretend I’m a human with wings anymore?’ Ilgrin asked
bitterly. ‘If my own mother can’t accept me as I am, then who the
torrid will?’

‘
I said no such
thing,’ Urelie scurried on in Ilgrin’s wake as he stormed back
toward the door.

‘
I’m going out.’
Ilgrin slid his feet into makeshift shoes his mother had made him.
They looked ridiculous, almost as long in the back as they were in
the front to allow space for his third toe. He folded his wings and
shoved his arms through coat sleeves, pulled up the hood, and put
on a pair of black leather gloves. The mirror revealed nothing. He
was obscured but for a pale-faced outlined within dark cloth. Not
much could be done about his height, so he hunched over, which
assisted in the illusion of his wings being an abnormal growth. The
disguise wouldn’t stand up against intelligent scrutiny, but it
served its purpose well enough for small outings into the more
isolated parts of the city.

‘
Stop him,’ Urelie
pleaded of her husband. ‘He can’t go alone.’

Baen stared at Ilgrin before
responding. ‘Be back before dark.’

‘
No!’ Urelie wailed.
‘He’s gotten too tall. He’ll be discovered.’

‘
We cannot keep him a
prisoner forever!’ Baen thundered. He was the kind of man that
reserved raising his voice for those occasions when no one would
dare to question his decision thereafter. ‘We won’t be around
forever,’ he continued more quietly. ‘The boy must learn to survive
on his own.’

Ilgrin stepped outside and shut the
door against his mother’s distressed pleas. He crossed the property
quickly, fearing at any moment she would rush after him. He was
only able to breathe once he’d made it to the dirt road to the
city.

Sitnic had no walls or towers. There
was no need for such defences. No one would attack the people of
Abnatol any more than they would attack Egsean or Brin. The three
countries had been allies far longer than the most ancient records
were able to determine, and at their core they believed in peace to
all mankind. The taking of a life was so deplorable to the people
of Abnatol that anyone found guilty of doing so was exiled
forever.

Ilgrin spent several hours meandering
through the city lost in thought. Although he enjoyed the company
of others, he was always careful to keep his distance. The apparent
growth on his back made the task easier, as people had the tendency
of steering clear of disease.

It wasn’t until the sun began to set
that Ilgrin realised how late it’d become and that he should have
already headed home. He dawdled south, reluctant to return only to
sit in his room and listen to his parents fight.

The early hours of the evening were
always quiet, so when a piercing scream sliced the silence, Ilgrin
stopped moving and turned toward the sound. The scream was
repeated, loud and sharp like that of a child. The third was
accompanied by a deafening roar so powerful that it rattled the
air. The screams were cut off to be replaced by others as a crowd
of people spewed out onto the street ahead, all of them running
toward Ilgrin. For a moment, he feared it was him they were after,
but his concerns were immediately eased.

‘
Run,’ a man called
out as he shot past.

‘
What in Maker’s
name?’ Ilgrin’s jaw dropped when a creature resembling the
offspring of a giant bird and the mythical dragon of children’s
books swooped over the road. It shrieked so loudly that Ilgrin was
forced to cover his ears and wince in pain. The gigantic creature
swept back and forth snatching up its quarry and tearing them
apart. It did not discriminate, killing men, women, and even
children.

‘
Watch out!’ someone
shouted as the better runners started passing by.

Ilgrin stumbled back a few steps before
turning to run with the crowd. He charged on, but was soon lost in
the congestion as the humans surged ahead, their legs and feet far
better designed for running than his. Ilgrin soon found himself at
the back with the stragglers as they were picked off one by
one.

An old lady cried out as she was
dragged into air, churning to the beat of the creature’s feathery
wings. A spray of blood told Ilgrin of her death. He crouched low
when the wings returned. A hobbling simpleton was whisked away for
slaughter. Ilgrin followed the boy with his eyes until he was torn
apart far above. His innards rained down to decorate the road. For
a moment, Ilgrin wondered if he should reveal his identity to
escape, but refused to take the risk until he had absolutely no
other option. Once the truth was out, there would be no way of
getting it back.

The creature swooped and Ilgrin threw
himself to the road as beating wings and grasping claws past
overhead. The creature banked and swooped a second time, landed
heavily, and made its way forward with golden eyes fixed on Ilgrin.
He clung to his coat, beneath which his heart beat furiously in
preparation to tear it off.

‘
My daughter!’ a
woman screamed, her bare feet sending up plumes of dust as she
charged over, armed with a shovel. ‘Mary!’

The beast turned to confront the sound,
plucked the woman from the roadside, and tossed her into the air as
though she were weightless. Ilgrin watched the fear of death fill
her eyes as she screamed. He could save her. He could leap into the
sky and snatch her to safety. But he didn’t. Ilgrin remained
frozen, fear rooting his feet to the earth. The woman hit the road,
her body twisting and splitting on impact. With her death the
creature lost all interest in the woman. It killed for pleasure
rather than sustenance.

The creature returned its attention to
the fleeing crowd and beat its wings in pursuit, once again
attracted by the frenzied humans. Mercifully, Ilgrin had been
forgotten. The unknown woman had inadvertently saved his life.

The creature reached the crowd and
picked out a young man, but as soon as it did so, it vanished. The
man was flipped over and landed on his back, but was able to climb
unsteadily to his feet. Ilgrin shielded his eyes and squinted into
the distance in time to see something tiny flit out of the crowd
and disappear around the side of a building. The creature hadn’t
vanished. It had shrunk.