Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘I feel like Haq’s donkey,’ he protested.

  ‘Oh, stop moaning. Just think how it will help firm up those strong ankles.’

  ‘Very funny. Just make sure you find Lindarn. It’s not like Ma to turn down a chance to visit Frecha. She looks ready to drop. Did you hear her last night? She was wheezing and coughing so much I didn’t get a wink of sleep.’

  The grey bags under his eyes told the truth of his remark. With a quick goodbye, Zastra left the path, skirting round the crown of the mountain before heading downwards in a southerly direction. She had only been to Steepcrest once before and hoped she was going the right way. It was hard work. Prickly silver ferns grew densely at this point and there were no paths. She prised her way between entwined limbs and several times was forced to crawl under low-lying branches in order to make progress. She had been going for some time when yet another set of low-hanging branches forced her to lie on her belly and wriggle beneath them. In this uncomfortable position, she felt something she had not felt for many years; the sharp pain and pressing weight of a mindweaver trying to enter her thoughts. Taken unawares, she had no mental barrier in place and she was fixed, utterly helpless as a dark shadow fell across her. Had she been finally caught, after all these years?

  I thought I’d taught you better, Zastra. The pain vanished and she was free to move again.

  ‘Dobery?’

  An old man, his ugly face blemished by a large brown birthmark, held out his hand to pull her up. Zastra jumped up and puffed out her cheeks.

  ‘Your mental defences are weak,’ her old teacher clucked. ‘Remember what I taught you? You must practise every day without fail, or you will be vulnerable to any passing mindweaver.’

  ‘Well, you should come more often and make me. We’ve barely seen anyone except the villagers. Soldiers and mindweavers don’t come this far up from the valleys.’

  ‘You have been fortunate. But I’m afraid your luck may be about to run out.’

  The lines across his face were deeper than she remembered. He had always been an old man, but now he looked drained and frail.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There is a shift in Golmeira. A turn for the worse. There are tales… well, I have not time to tell them now. Suffice it to say, there are soldiers everywhere and the Kyrgs are back. There was a whole troop of them at Kirkholme when I passed through, all wearing your uncle’s uniform.’

  ‘Kyrgs? Zastra shuddered. She’d had brushes with Kyrginites during her escape from Golmer Castle and had seen for herself how brutal they could be. ‘What are they doing out here?’

  ‘The last time Thorlberd called on them it was to defeat your father. He must have something big in mind to risk such an unpopular move. Sendor perhaps. He thought it conquered years ago, but he should have known better. You must be on your guard, my dear.’

  He darted a probe into her mind. This time, she was prepared, offering him only the mind of Layna, a mountain girl. Dobery nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Why don’t our people stand up to my uncle?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘They are scared. He controls all the mindweavers and to even think the wrong thing is a crime. He also has many supporters. Invading Sendor was a popular move and the marls that sided with him when he overthrew your father have been rewarded for their loyalty. Unfortunately that means the most greedy and selfish are now in positions of power.’

  ‘I feel so useless,’ Zastra said bitterly. ‘Hiding in the mountains while that traitor rules Golmeira. The thought of what he did to my parents makes me want to pull up trees with my bare hands. Is there nothing to be done?’

  Dobery looked thoughtful.

  ‘You ask that, my dear and I almost dare not answer. I have long debated whether I should even come.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  ‘Our people are almost without hope. Unless we act now, I fear Thorlberd’s grip on power will become absolute. We must show them that someone dares to stand against him.’

  ‘By someone, you mean me?’

  ‘They need a leader to rally around.’

  ‘I’ve done little but tend crops and wash out wool for the past five years. Hardly ideal training for leadership.’

  ‘Character is more important than experience. But you must have the courage to reveal yourself, and be willing to accept the responsibilities that come with being a leader. Neither of those will be easy.’

  Zastra yanked a twig from a nearby tree and slashed it against the trunk.

  ‘What would you have me do? Walk down to Kirkholme, proclaim myself the daughter of Leodra and politely request to have back my rightful position as Grand Marl?’

  ‘That would be foolish. Although my plan may hardly be less so. The question is, are you ready?’

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘There are some who refuse to kowtow to Thorlberd. They are barely more than a thorn in his side at present, hiding out in the Sea of Golmeira. Their leader is called Lord Justyn. I have made contact with one of his followers and she waits for us a few leagues south, by a lake shaped like a horseshoe. Do you know it?’

  Zastra nodded.

  ‘She has a boat ready to take us down to Castanton. I have told her you are alive and may be willing to join them, but we must leave by nightfall.’

  ‘You expect me to just up and leave Findar? I can’t – not if there are Kyrgs around.’

  ‘If we don’t act soon, then nowhere in Golmeira, or Sendor for that matter, will be safe. The future for Findar, Kastara and any other children growing up in Thorlberd’s Golmeira will be bleak indeed. We can leave word for Etta, but you must come now.’

  A chance for revenge. One she had been waiting for ever since her uncle’s betrayal. But what about Findar? He would be safer with Etta and Dalbric than if she took him to meet this Lord Justyn, but the idea of leaving him behind made her feel sick. The old mindweaver whirled round, eyes narrowing.

  ‘What is it?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘Kyrgs. Many of them and close. You must make up your mind and quickly.’

  Even as Dobery spoke, a harsh cry rang through the forest, followed by a scream. It came from further down the slope.

  ‘Steepcrest!’ exclaimed Zastra.

  ‘We have no time—’ Dobery began to protest, but Zastra was already scrambling down the mountainside. The shouts became louder and she slowed to a crawl, inching forward until she was behind a leafy bush. She parted the branches and all of Steepcrest village was laid out below her. A few moments later, Dobery eased himself into position next to her, his joints cracking in protest.

  Flaxen-haired men with red faces were rousing the villagers from their houses. Kyrgs. They divided the villagers into two groups. The middle aged and the elderly were placed together, along with the children, while the tallest teenagers and all of the younger adults were rounded up and their hands bound. Zastra recognised Lindarn’s stocky figure. He was arguing with a large Kyrg with a tattooed face. The Kyrg grabbed the healer and flung him to the ground.

  ‘Can’t you do something?’ Zastra whispered to her companion. ‘Something mindweavy?’

  Dobery shook his head. ‘I’m afraid there are too many, even if we had time. Which we don’t.’

  ‘Please, Dobery.’

  Dobery’s face went blank, and she knew he was concentrating all his powers on the Kyrgs. Not for the first time, she cursed the fact that she had no mindweaving abilities. She could do nothing to help. Dobery roused himself.

  ‘There may be something I can do. Watch the guthan.’

  ‘What’s a guthan?’

  Dobery was already lost in concentration. The Kyrg with the face tattoo staggered backwards, shaking his head. He then barked out a series of orders and gestured away from the village. Astounded, Zastra watched as all the Kyrgs charged out into the forest, leaving the villagers behind. She jumped up and raced into the village.

  ‘Layna!’ cried Lindarn as she emerged from the forest. ‘What are you doing here?
You must leave, or they’ll take you too.’

  ‘I came to ask you to see Etta. She’s not well. What in the stars is going on?’

  ‘They are taking all the youngsters. They said they’ll kill all of us if we tried to stop them. Yet they have gone, for no reason that I could see.’

  ‘You must all flee,’ Dobery limped down the slope towards them. ‘I’ve bought you a few moments, no more. They’ll soon be back.’

  Lindarn’s eyes narrowed. Mountain folk were generally suspicious of strangers.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Never mind who I am, my good man. Suffice to say, I bring news that you are surrounded and the Kyrgs have orders to capture every young man and woman in these mountains and force them to serve in Thorlberd’s army.’

  ‘Everyone?’ cried Zastra. ‘Fivepeaks too?’

  Dobery’s hesitation was enough.

  ‘I must warn Dalbric and the others.’

  Dobery barred her path.

  ‘You have a responsibility to our people, Zastra. They need a leader. This is bigger than a single village. I cannot get Justyn’s woman to wait, not with Kyrgs everywhere.’

  She pushed him aside.

  ‘Dalbric and Etta saved my life when they took us in. I will not leave them or Fin to the mercy of Kyrgs.’

  As she ran, she felt him reach into her mind. Her defensive stonewall snapped into place, and she sensed a sharp flash of frustration. She paid it no heed. Fivepeaks was further from the main valley road than Steepcrest, so there was a chance the Kyrgs hadn’t reached it yet. She only hoped she could make it in time.

  Chapter Eight

  There was no time for stealth. Birds flapped up from the treetops with angry squawks as Zastra thundered past. Her breath rasped against the back of her throat and her mouth was as dry as sand but she dare not stop for a drink. The difference between being in time and being too late might only be a moment. The sun beat down between the tree branches and she was soaked with sweat by the time she reached the outskirts of Fivepeaks. She came out, chest heaving, just above the set of parallel wheel tracks that had been formed by the passage of Haq’s cart as it had journeyed towards Kirkholme. Below her, a large band of Kyrgs came into sight round a bend, heading towards Fivepeaks. Zastra forced herself into a final sprint, her legs giving way beneath her as she stumbled into the village and clattered into the muscular frame of Kikan.

  ‘Layna,’ he cried. ‘What’s the matter? Lost your little brother again?’

  ‘Fetch everyone,’ she gasped. ‘Hurry!’ The urgency in her voice was enough. Kikan rounded up the village while Zastra used the last of her strength to bang on the door of Frecha’s house. Dalbric and Hanra emerged, squinting in the light.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is it Ma?’ asked Dalbric. The villagers gathered around them as Zastra sucked desperately for air.

  ‘Kyrgs… coming… for the young folk. They’re just behind me. We’ve got to hide.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ cried Hanra. ‘Layna, it’s not funny.’

  Zastra was dismayed to see that no one had moved. They all just stood staring at her.

  ‘Dalbric, please, make them listen.’

  ‘Right.’ Dalbric roused himself at last. ‘Layna wouldn’t say this if it weren’t true. Everyone split up.’

  ‘Head up the mountain. They come from the valley.’ Zastra gestured breathlessly toward the gap in the trees through which the Kyrgs might appear at any moment. The young people began to scatter, disappearing into the forest. Dalbric, Hanra and Zastra went together. Dalbric helped Hanra up into the branches of a blackwood tree, its dense needle-like foliage providing excellent cover. Zastra felt a strong shove help her up into a neighbouring tree and then Dalbric hauled himself up behind. They were only just in time. An instant later, the Kyrgs entered the village and began to search the houses. They became increasingly enraged as they found only old people and children. One of the Kyrgs dragged Frecha out of her house and appeared to be shouting at her. When she shook her head, he shoved her to the ground. Dalbric growled and started to climb down the tree. Zastra restrained him. She heard a stifled whimper from the neighbouring tree. Hanra. A jaunty whistle came from the northern edge of the village. Through the tree branches, Zastra saw Gonjik sauntering towards his house, unaware of the danger. He would walk straight into the Kyrgs. Cursing under her breath, Zastra lowered herself down from her branch.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dalbric exclaimed in a harsh whisper. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  But not even Gonjik deserved to left at the mercy of Kyrginites. She crept forward, hoping to intercept Gonjik, but as she reached the edge of the track, a triumphant cry went up and two Kyrgs ran past her to grab the youth. Zastra shrank down behind the trunk of a silverfern. As they dragged their prize back to the centre of the village, one of the Kyrgs paused near Zastra’s hiding place and began snuffling the air like a hunting dog. Zastra tensed and held her breath. The Kyrg took a step towards the silver fern.

  ‘You monsters!’ Mexun appeared from nowhere and began to attack the Kyrgs with a large hammer. Zastra took advantage of the diversion to retreat, erasing her tracks with a leafy branch as she went. Dalbric reached down to haul her to safety. Mexun was thrown aside and Gonjik tied up and dragged away. A heavily silence descended on the village. Zastra’s legs began to cramp after her long run and she was desperately thirsty, but she dared not move.

  ‘Can we get down yet?’ Hanra whispered plaintively. ‘My bottom is numb from sitting on this horrid branch.’

  ‘Wait,’ whispered Dalbric and Zastra in unison. They sat silently, even as the sun began to set. Zastra sighed inwardly. Nightfall. Dobery would be long gone, along with Lord Justyn’s contact. With them went any chance she had to take up the fight against her uncle. She felt bad that she had left Dobery so abruptly. He had been angry, which was rare for him. You have a responsibility to our people. The words had been Dobery’s, but in Zastra’s mind it was as if her father were talking to her, urging her to avenge him. Although her only aim had been to save Dalbric and the others, she wondered if she had also been running away from Dobery and his plan. Afraid of taking responsibility. Dalbric grabbed her wrist, rousing her from her thoughts. A pair of Kyrgs were circling around the village, using the forest as cover. The same Kyrgs who had captured Gonjik. One of them crouched down every so often and sniffed the ground. They halted directly beneath Hanra’s tree.

  ‘We are wasting time,’ one of the Kyrgs grumbled.

  ‘This is our last chance to fill the quota,’ replied the other, snuffling noisily through his flattened nose. ‘I was sure I could smell another Golmeiran. A female.’

  The scar on Zastra’s back began to itch, a reminder of the time she had nearly been killed by a migaradon. Why did it always itch when she was scared? She fought the urge to rub her back against the tree trunk and remained as motionless as if she were hunting for vizzal. Beside her, Dalbric was equally still.

  ‘Have you got a scent or not?’ the first Kyrg asked impatiently.

  ‘The trail leads here, but then stops. Makes no sense.’

  ‘The guthan said we had to be back at the rendezvous by nightfall. We’ll be in trouble if we’re late.’

  With one last sniff, the Kyrgs gave up and jogged away down the valley road. Zastra and the others waited until they were sure the Kyrgs had gone before heading back into the village.

  ‘Are you all right, Frecha?’ Dalbric looked the weaver over with concern.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, duckie. You’re all safe, that’s the main thing. Except poor Gonjik. I told them the blue fever had done for all the young folk last spring. They might have believed me if the poor lad hadn’t turned up at the wrong time.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll be back?’ Hanra shivered.

  ‘Who knows?’ Kikan said grimly. ‘You younguns should make yourself scarce tonight. Camp out in the forest. They might come back at night, hoping to catch everyone sleeping.’

  Han
ra did not like the idea of camping out in the forest and Dalbric invited her to come up to the cabin and stay with them. Etta, looking pinched and tired, nonetheless welcomed Hanra warmly. Hanra did not stop talking all evening, hanging on to Dalbric’s arm and repeating the events of the day over and over again. Zastra knew it was just Hanra’s way of trying to cope with what had happened, but she wished the weaver’s daughter would shut up. Every time Gonjik was mentioned, Zastra felt guilty. If only she had run faster from Steepcrest, she might have been in time to save him. She also wanted to tell Dalbric about Dobery, but there was no chance of that, not with Hanra clinging to him like a baby goat nestling against its mother.

  Eventually, Zastra took herself off to bed, leaving the others talking. She was so exhausted that she fell asleep almost immediately. She woke to find Dalbric clutching her shoulder, a candle trembling in his hand. Shaking her head to clear it, she sensed it was past dawn, as pale light filtered in through the cracks in the doors and shutters.

  ‘It’s Etta. She needs help.’ Dalbric’s voice was fractured with panic. Zastra sprang up, instantly alert and stumbled to Etta’s bed to find her half sitting, half lying. Her face was purple and she strained for breath as if she was being throttled by an invisible hand. She was trying to speak, but could not get the words out.

  ‘She can’t breathe. I don’t know what to do.’ Dalbric grasped Etta’s hand between his. Zastra propped a pillow behind Etta’s head to try and make her more comfortable, but other than that, she could think of no other way to help. Etta’s whole body jerked with the effort of trying to draw breath.

  ‘Ma, don’t leave us,’ Dalbric sobbed. Fin woke up, took one look at Etta and started to howl. Hanra’s head popped up from her blanket, her eyes heavy with sleep.

  ‘Wassmatter?’

  ‘Ma can’t breathe.’

  ‘Try steam,’ Hanra muttered, before her head dropped back onto her pillow and she fell back to sleep.

  ‘Steam?’ It didn’t make any sense, but they had no other ideas so Zastra stoked the stove and put a pan of water on to boil.