Slaves of the Mastery Read Online Free PDF

taut, like the bowstring on an archer’s bow. They would find each other again. The drawn string would be
loosed. Then the hunter would become the hunted, and the arrow would fly.

 
3
The wind is rising
    K estrel remained by the burnt-out wind singer all that day, while the fire raged through the city. As night fell and the air grew cold, the flames
began to die down at last, and slowly, fearfully, she climbed the nine tiers of the arena to see if anyone else was left alive.
    Aramanth was gone. In its place, by the orange glow of the burning houses, she saw ruined streets littered with bodies over which carrion birds screeched. She called out as she went, at first
low and afraid; but hearing nothing, she called louder and louder. No one answered.
    The statue of Creoth, the first Emperor of Aramanth, still stood, the white stone now blackened by smoke. The fountain no longer flowed, but there was water in its basin. She cleared the ash
floating on the water’s surface and drank deep. The water tasted bitter, but she forced herself to drink until she could drink no more.
    She made her way back to the building in which her family had lived, and found it roofless and still burning. The stairs had caved in. There was no way she could reach their apartment, even if
she had dared to brave the fire. Looking up, she made out the space that had once been her room, now a skeleton of black beams against the night sky.
    Her foot stumbled against a dark mound in the street. It was the dead body of a woman. The face was pressed to the ground, but Kestrel recognised that plump back. It was Mrs Blesh, their
one-time neighbour when they had lived in Orange District, before the changes. Her hand, outreached in the dirt where she had fallen, still clutched a merit medal that had been awarded to her son
Rufy, for a prize poem he had written. Kestrel remembered that medal well. Mrs Blesh had carried it with her everywhere, and shown it to everyone. She remembered the poem, too. It was called
‘Waiting to Smile’, and was about being afraid to smile until someone else smiled first. Kestrel remembered how astonished she had been that dull studious Rufy Blesh had had such
feelings at all, let alone put them in a poem. His mother hadn’t understood the poem, but she had been ridiculously proud about the medal, to her son’s embarrassment.
    Gently Kestrel detached the medal from the dead fingers, and slipped it into her pocket, alongside the silver voice.
    Where is Rufy Blesh now? Where is everybody?
    Bo! Where are you ?
    No answer.
    Suddenly she felt faint, and knew she was going to fall. She closed her eyes, and a greater darkness swallowed her up.
    When she woke, it was light. She stood up, and shook her stiff aching limbs. She made herself walk down the smouldering street. She followed the trail of devastation across the
city, and out onto the plain. As she walked, her strength slowly returned. She could feel the cold ocean breeze on her face. She began to be aware that she was hungry. And she began to ask
questions.
    Why has this been done to us ?
    She turned and looked once more at the burned shell of her world, and knew that nothing would ever bring it back again. Now that it was gone, she found she had loved her city more than she had
known. In its clumsy fashion it had tried to make them a home.
    Who has done this to us ?
    In a flash, she recalled an arrogant young face, a tumble of tawny hair.
    Who are you? Why do you hate us ?
    The attack had been so violent, so personal, that she felt as if her own insides had been ripped out, and she had been made hollow. Whoever had done this had meant to destroy them all –
perhaps had destroyed them all. She hadn’t seen a single other living creature since she had left the arena. She could be the only one of the Manth people left alive in the world. This
unknown enemy had meant to destroy her too.
    Why ?
    Suddenly her fierce will caught like a slumbering fire. All her being rose