The Skein of Lament - By Chris Wooding Page 0,141

blighted trees, stark in the moonlight, which Kaiku recognised. They were at the edge of the Weaver’s territory.

‘The Mask, Kaiku!’ Tsata urged, glancing back along the flat ground that they had just crossed. The ghaureg burst into sight, galloping relentlessly after them.

They ran again as Kaiku pulled the Mask out from where it was secured to her belt. But she had secured it too well, and in her haste the lip snagged on her clothing and the Mask spun from her hand, clattering to the stone, its mischievous face leering emptily.

She swore in disbelief. Tsata had his rifle out in a moment, tracking the approaching Aberrant as Kaiku ran over to where her Mask had fallen. The ghaureg had covered the distance between them fast, and Kaiku was not exactly sure how far the barrier was from here, and whether they would get to it in time.

It was the last, fleeting thought that crossed her mind before she scooped the Mask up and put it to her face.

The warm, sinking sensation of mild euphoria was stronger this time, more noticeable than it had ever been before. The intimation of her father’s presence was stronger too; the smell of him seemed to emanate from the grain of the wood, gentling her as if she were a child in his arms again. The Mask was a perfect fit for her face, resting against her skin like a lover’s hand on her cheek.

‘Run!’

Tsata’s voice shattered the timeless instant, and she was back to the present. The Mask was hot against her: the barrier had to be close. She fled, and Tsata dropped his arm and fled with her. The ghaureg bellowed as it raced up the treacherous incline, unhindered by the sliding soil, its hands and feet digging deep into the earth and throwing out stony divots behind it.

‘Give me your hand!’ Kaiku cried, reaching back for Tsata. The barrier was upon them, suddenly, and she realised it was too close, for if Tsata was not with her then he would not get through.

He reacted almost before she had finished her sentence, springing toward her and clamping his hand tight around hers. The ghaureg was mere feet away from them now, blocking out the moons with its bulk, its teeth dripping with saliva as it roared in anticipation of the kill.

The Weave bloomed around Kaiku, the world turning to a golden chaos of light as she plunged headlong into the barrier. She felt Tsata loose his grip instantly, felt him tug to the right as his senses skewed and he tried to change direction; but she had his hand, and she would not let it go. She pulled him as hard as she could, felt him trip and stumble sideways as his body went in a direction that all his instincts told him not to. His balance held for several steps before the two of them fell out of the other side of the barrier, and the Weave slipped into invisibility behind them.

Tsata was on his hands and knees, the familiar listlessness and disorientation in his eyes. Kaiku ignored him, her attention on the ghaureg. The creature had turned around and was racing away from them at an angle, pounding back into the heart of the Weaver’s territory as if unaware that its prey was no longer in front of it. She kept her gaze on it until it had disappeared from sight behind a fold in the grey land.

Tsata recovered quickly, by which time Kaiku had reluctantly taken off the Mask. She had begun to feel guilty about doing so of late, as if it were some sort of betrayal, that by doing so she was disappointing her father’s spirit somehow.

The Tkiurathi’s brow cleared; he sat down on the rock and looked at Kaiku.

‘That was an extremely lucky escape,’ he said.

Kaiku brushed her fringe aside. ‘We were careless,’ she said. ‘That is all.’

‘I think,’ said Tsata, ‘the time has come to give up. We cannot get close to the Weavers or the Nexuses. We have to return to the Fold.’

Kaiku shook her head. ‘Not yet. Not until we find out more.’ She met his gaze. ‘You go.’

‘You know I cannot.’

She got to her feet, offered her hand to him. He took it, and she helped him up.

‘Then it seems that you are stuck with me.’

He regarded her for a long moment, his tattooed face unreadable in the moonlight.

‘It appears so,’ he said, but his tone was warm, and made her smile.

Chien os

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