Children of the Serpent Gate: Book 3 of The Tears of Artamon - Hardcover

SARAH ASH is the author of five fantasy novels: Lord of Snow and Shadows, Prisoner of the Iron Tower, Moths to a Flame, Songspinners, and The Lost Child. She also runs the library in a local primary school. Ash has two grown-up sons and lives in Beckenham, Kent, with her husband and their mad cat, Molly.

Chapter 1
"I'm old." Kiukiu stared in disbelief at her reflection. "I'm an old woman." Her fingertips moved over her lined face, lifting her wild, dry locks of greying hair, searching in vain for a thread of gold. She was so shocked she could only stare at the aging stranger in the mirror glass. "How long was I gone?"

"Many days, my dear." Malusha had never called her "my dear" before. That in itself made Kiukiu fearful. "Too many days."

"There's a remedy, isn't there, Grandma?" She turned to Malusha. "Tell me what to do, I'll do it. No matter what it is."

Malusha sat a moment, thinking. "I'll go put the kettle on," she said, easing herself up from Kiukiu's side. Making tea was Malusha's remedy for all ills, great and small.

"Grandma, what do you know?" Kiukiu persisted.

"I know that you wouldn't be still in this world if Lord Gavril hadn't flown to Swanholm to rescue you."

"Lord Gavril?" The glass dropped from her fingers. She looked up and found herself staring into the deep blue of Gavril's eyes. "You're alive?" She forgot her own distress and just gazed up at him. "But they said you were dead. They showed me the tower, they showed me where the lightning struck—"

And then she realized that he must be able to see every wrinkle, each strand of dull grey hair. She covered her face with her hands, turning away from him, not wanting him to see her like this.

"Kiukiu?" he said. He said her name so gently—and yet she could detect the bewilderment in his tone.

"Don't look at me. Please." This was the reunion she had dreamed of for so long. But in her dreams, she had been unchanged by the Ways Beyond. She had run to greet him, her arms outstretched, her golden hair loose about her shoulders. "That evil old man," she muttered. "He lied to me. He made me think you were dead, and all to trick me into his trap."

"What old man?"

"Kaspar Linnaius. He sent me into the Ways Beyond to look for you. And then, when I couldn't find you, he spun me some foolish story. And I believed him! Why didn't I trust my own instincts?" She was so angry with herself that she began to shake. "Why did I let him use me?"

"So you got lost in the Ways Beyond, searching for me?"

She nodded. Though even as she did so, she was aware that this was not the whole tale. There was more, much more, and she could not remember what it was, only that it made her shudder even more to think of it.

"Don't cry, Kiukiu." He put his arms around her and held her close, stroking her hair.

"I'm not crying!" How could he bear to hold her, to touch those dry, faded locks? Tears spurted, hot against her fingers. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and feel safe, comforted and cherished. But all she could think of was the haggard, faded creature she had seen reflected in the mirror.

"It wasn't lightning that struck the Iron Tower, Kiukiu. It was the Drakhaoul."

Her sobs subsided a little. So he also had something to confess.

"I was dying. And it rescued me." His lips hardly moved against her hair, as if he were whispering to prevent the Drakhaoul hearing what he said.

"Dying? So the story was in part true?" She felt another shiver run through her. He had suffered, she could sense it now, and he was not entirely healed. And there was something different, disturbing, about him, almost as if the Drakhaoul had begun to leach its darkness into his soul.

"In part."

"Oh, Gavril," she whispered. One hand, wet with her own tears, crept out to touch his face. What cruel things had they done to him in that asylum? What damage had they inflicted?

"Tea's ready," announced Malusha, bringing over three brimming mugs. "You get this hot drink down you, my girl."

Kiukiu tried to take a sip of the fragrant liquid but her hands were shaking so much that she could hardly raise the mug to her lips. She managed a little but then the sides of her mouth begin to sag as the sense of loss welled up from deep within her again. Old. I'm old before I've lived my life. She sobbed helplessly into her tea, unable to stop herself, even though she knew that Gavril and her grandmother were watching her.

"Drink your tea." Even though Malusha spoke quietly, Kiukiu heard a note of brisk command in her voice. She shakily lifted the mug again, slopping tea over the top. She still couldn't stop the tears and now she no longer knew who she was crying for: for Gavril, damaged by the asylum; for herself; for their uncertain future . . . The tea tasted salty—though even the taint of her tears could not disguise another richer flavor. There was a potency in the dark, sweet liquid that spread heat throughout her whole body, right to the tips of her fingers.

"What's in this?" she asked suspiciously.

"Something to restore you," said Malusha. "You're all skin and bone. There's moorland honey from my bees, for one."

"Honey, Grandma?" Kiukiu said muzzily. "It tastes like mead to me."

Malusha shrugged. "Mead's made from honey."

The warmth of the heather mead spread into Kiukiu's mind, seeping through the bitter thoughts, numbing the pain. She yawned and tried to force her lids to stay open. She mustn't drift back into sleep. If she fell asleep, she could find herself back wandering those vast halls among the wan, confused spirits of the Newly Dead—or, worse still, gusted far from those she loved by the whirlwinds into that nightmare realm of dust and shadows.

"That's right," Malusha whispered, gently prising the mug from her fingers. "Just lie back. You're safe here."

"How can I be sure?" Kiukiu murmured.

"Be sure of what?" Drakhaoul-blue eyes gazed piercingly into hers.

"That this isn't a dream?"

She felt his hand close around hers, his grip firm and warm. "Does this feel like a dream, Kiukiu?"

"No . . ." The orange glow of the firelight was receding as her eyelids drooped but still she could see the intense blue of his eyes burning into hers through the gathering mists of sleep.
Kiukiu's eyes closed at last and her breathing came slowly, regularly. Gavril let go of her hand and rose to his feet.

"She should sleep soundly now," Malusha said. She shook her head as she watched over her granddaughter, her wild locks wispy as an old man's beard against the glow of firelight.

A burning shiver of nausea speared through Gavril's whole body. He tried to conceal it, turning away from Malusha so that she should not see it in his face. He had overspent himself. He had used up the last of his strength in his desperation to save Kiukiu, and now the terrible cravings had begun in earnest. He crouched by the fireside, hugging the hunger in, hoping he could try to stave off the worst of the pangs for a little longer.

"It's never been done. Not without cost." Malusha seemed to be talking to herself, shaking her head and twisting a tassel of her brightly colored shawl between her fingers.

Gavril glanced over at Kiukiu—at the faded, shrunken shadow of the girl he loved so much—and another tremor of anger throbbed through him. He was not used to feeling so helpless.

"Malusha." He took hold of the old woman by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his face. "Tell me all you know."

"Is that you or your daemon talking?"

"Does it matter?"

"First you will let go of me, Drakhaon," Malusha said in an icy voice.

His hands fell away. "Forgive me."

"Yes," she said, staring searchingly into his face. "It is growing stronger. I am not sure that I could cast it out now as I did before. It has meshed itself far deeper into you, and it is drawing strength from some distant source of power. I sense others of its kin at large in our world."

He could hide nothing from those disapproving dark eyes. "Eugene and the Magus set them free. There are five—and now that the Serpent Gate has been breached, more could follow."

" 'Only the Emperor's Tears will unlock the Gate,' that's what the Blessed Serzhei said," Malusha muttered. "Kaspar Linnaius." She swore and spat onto the flagstone floor. "Do you know how old he is?"

Gavril shrugged. "He looks about eighty . . . maybe eighty-five."

"Guess again."

"Ninety?"

"Kaspar Linnaius was born one hundred and sixty years ago."

Was Malusha playing games with him? He had never heard of anyone living beyond a hundred years, let alone a hundred and sixty. "But how—?"

"An alchymical elixir. A little dose of that could do my poor Kiukiu a world of good right now."

"Then I'll go back to Swanholm and find Linnaius and his elixir."

Malusha tapped his arm. "You've already flown far. A journey to Tielen and back will use up the last of your resources. How long before you need to feed again, Drakhaon?"

Another shiver of nausea burned through his body. He bit back a groan, hoping she had not noticed.

"Is there any alternative?" The words came out in a snarl. "Would you prefer to fly there yourself?"

"The alternatives?" She ignored his gibe. "I've heard tales of shamans in Khitari, north over the mountains. It's just as far, if not farther."

"Khitari?" The name made him think of the exotic, dusty scent of black and green tea in the kitche...