Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3

by Louise Cusack

  Mooraz felt his hopes — aroused by the sight of The Catalyst alive — fade. He had seen the serpent. It would be an impossible task.

  Talis looked again to Noola. ‘Breehan was old and ready to die, yet I know he wanted to die with his own people. I’m sorry that he could not.’

  Noola nodded again, then took Mooraz’s fingers and twined them with her own. I have lost many who were beloved to me, she signed with one hand, yet my heart is not empty.

  Talis nodded at this, including Mooraz in his glance. ‘This I have found also,’ he said. ‘Any burden is lightened with love at your side.’

  Noola’s open display of affection had embarrassed Mooraz and he struggled to move past that. ‘Your burdens are heavy,’ he said to Talis. ‘Yet we can aid you.’ But a glance at Noola to confirm this was met by a frown. He reminded himself that she was the leader, yet could he have no voice in the decision? ‘If this fortress will be destroyed before Be’uccdha, we must go there,’ he told her. ‘It will be safest for the whole tribe.’

  Noola raised her eyebrows and released his hand. Go to the home of The Dark?

  Mooraz did not need to hear the rest. The home of the man who had hunted Plainsmen to near extinction. The home of their hated enemy. The place where Plainsmen children were eaten. He had heard all of it thrown at him as insults when Noola had first captured him.

  ‘Lae is The Dark now,’ Mooraz said patiently. ‘With the Guardian Pagan at her side. He will let no harm befall you.’

  Noola raised an eyebrow, reminding Mooraz that Pagan wanted him dead. Plainsmen will never be safe at Be’uccdha, she signed. We stay here, her thumb pointing down to the plush carpet beneath their feet.

  ‘The serpent will destroy this fortress.’

  Noola obstinately shook her head and the lips he had known such pleasure from thinned with resolution. I will not go to Be’uccdha. You know your people hate us.

  Your people.

  He had suddenly become the enemy again, after all these years. Was it because he’d mentioned Lae?

  Talis was tactfully silent, and before Mooraz could reply, Noola turned and strode from the room.

  The two men looked at each other. ‘She will not go,’ Mooraz said. ‘Her mind is made up.’

  ‘They will surely die if they remain here,’ Talis said. ‘Yet I see her sister’s iron will in her.’ He nodded towards the door where Noola had exited. ‘Perhaps all Plainsmen leaders are implacable.’

  ‘All Plainsmen leaders are impossible,’ Mooraz said.

  Talis mustered a smile. ‘Then let us add princesses to that category,’ he replied. ‘For though I would not change a single breath of my beloved’s, her continued disregard for her own safety drives me to distraction.’ They shared a smile, then Talis said, ‘Did you see my cousin when he returned Breehan’s body to his people? Were you with them then?’

  Mooraz shook his head. ‘I did not see your cousin.’ Pride would not allow him to admit that Noola had chained him to keep him away. ‘I wish that I had.’

  ‘Yet he wishes you dead.’

  So Talis knew. ‘As I wish Sh’hale dead for taking my arm.’

  ‘You show great restraint by letting him live,’ Talis said. ‘In his weakened state, you could have bested him.’

  ‘While he was carrying The Catalyst?’

  Talis nodded. ‘I’m sure my cousin will show equal restraint if you come with us to Be’uccdha.’

  Mooraz shook his head. ‘I have told Noola I will stay with her tribe and offer them what protection I can. Though temptation tugs at my heart. To see Lae again before I die …’

  Talis made no show of surprise at this admission and Mooraz felt relieved and yet embarrassed to be speaking openly of his love.

  ‘If you change your mind,’ Talis said, tactfully avoiding the subject of Lae, ‘I will speak to my cousin on your behalf.’

  ‘And I will not attack Sh’hale,’ Mooraz promised, ‘though he greatly deserves to die.’

  Talis smiled. ‘He is much softened by the love and loss of his son.’

  Mooraz shook his head. Kert a father? So much had happened while he had been a Plainsman captive. ‘I too have lost children,’ Mooraz said, yet realised that the grief of that loss was no longer with him. Had he taken on Plainsman traits after all?

  ‘Perhaps even Pagan will have changed if he has won —’ Talis stopped midsentence, as though realising he was about to betray a confidence, ‘… if he has found happiness at Be’uccdha.’

  Mooraz held out the food tray, pretending he had not noticed the slip. ‘You must be hungry,’ he said to fill the sudden silence. ‘Here, eat.’

  Talis struggled upright and took a mealcake from the tray Raggat had brought, eating it slowly. When he was done he looked back to Mooraz and said, ‘All our actions must lead towards aiding The Catalyst. Our fate rests with her. We have no time for vengeance. Even Sh’hale accepts that. My cousin must also.’

  Mooraz had no reply to this so Talis took another bite and chewed mechanically, his exhaustion so great that it was unlikely he even tasted the food.

  ‘I will leave you to rest,’ Mooraz said. ‘If the serpent is returning to this fortress I must speak again to Noola and try to sway her towards leaving it. There may indeed be danger for Plainsmen at Be’uccdha, but it must surely be less than the serpent poses here.’

  ‘I would value your arm beside mine, should you choose to come with us,’ Talis said.

  Mooraz stood. ‘I have given my promise to Noola. My place is with the Plainsmen now.’

  Talis held out his arm and Mooraz clasped the wrist. ‘Then I wish you a clean and honourable death.’

  ‘And you,’ Mooraz said.

  Talis released him and Mooraz paused only to throw more kindling on the fire before leaving the Elder Sh’hale’s chambers to find Noola, intent on convincing her that she must go against every instinct she possessed. An unenviable task.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Barrion screamed, a terrified undulating sound as his body rolled across the ground. In the seconds before his eyes had closed against the wind, he had seen his two remaining Be’uccdha Guardsmen flung into the air like swirling leaves, sucked up into the Maelstrom too quickly even to cry out. But Barrion did. His ears echoed with his own cries as he was banged against the ground then buffeted by the howling wind in an endless bruising tumble.

  He had just begun to wonder how long it could go on when his shoulder slammed into a solid mass, followed by his forehead — a loud crack that rattled his brains. Dust filled his eyes as he opened them, but the glimpse was enough to show him he was wedged against a fallen tree trunk. He could feel the tempest piling dirt and leaves against his back. A small area of open space around his head allowed him to breathe, which he did shallowly, listening to the splintering of trees smashing together and being flung back onto the ground, vibrating the earth beneath him.

  Barrion began to pray as he never had before, not even when he’d feared for his sweet sister’s life, or been tortured by the invading Northmen. He counted each dust-laden breath as a step towards life and wouldn’t let himself believe that he would die here alone when his heart was set on reaching his beloved Verdan Hold.

  He mumbled invocations of safety to the Great Guardian, and gradually the storm passed, leaving behind an eerie silence. Barrion stopped praying and after a time regained a sense of his own body. He could feel wetness on his thighs where he had lost control of himself and he smiled ruefully. Matters could be worse. He had pissed himself, but at least he was alive, and for that he praised the Great Guardian.

  It was astonishing that a man with no arms and legs could survive while younger, more able-bodied Guardsmen could be killed so easily. And killed they surely had been. Barrion did not delude himself that any of his escort had lived. The unfortunates who had just lost their lives joined in death the scout they had sent on ahead who had never returned. And with no one to feed or care for him, he was likely to join them himself before lo
ng.

  The dust began to settle and Barrion strained his hearing, but there was nothing. No cries of pain, no voices calling his name. He was alone, and with many hours distance between himself and his hold. Hours to walk, yet Barrion could not walk. Could he roll there? Determination steadied his mind. He had lived for a reason. It must be to return to his people. He would not give up that cause while strength remained in his body.

  He took a long slow breath and jerked himself to one side using chest, stomach and hip muscles. To Barrion’s surprise, the tactic worked immediately and he found himself rolling onto his back, raising another cloud of dust which set him sneezing. When the spasms had passed, he lifted his head, and though his neck strained at the effort he turned it in all directions to see as much as he could of the surrounding landscape.

  Ruin lay all about him: fallen trees and the debris of a smashed forest softened by the mist that was creeping along the ground. He glanced at the sun and decided the direction he must take, then searched out a path through the wreckage. It would not be easy. There was no clear route, yet some of the branches were small. He could roll over those, or so he told himself to keep up his courage. Had he not lived through years of torture? A few days bruising would not kill him. And the reward!

  To be among his people again, to commune with the spirit of his beloved loch and rest comfortably within the solid walls of his underwater hold. These treasures were worth any sacrifice. And so Barrion set off, using his body weight to gain momentum, rolling back and forth before he could tumble sideways towards his chosen path. He did this many times, ignoring the twigs that scratched his skin and tore his clothes. Rolling, stopping, raising his head to assess his progress. By afternoon’s end his strength was spent and he came to rest amid the soft peppery-scented leaves of a fallen luhz tree where he planned to spend the night. By carefully sighting landmarks, he judged he was a hundred paces closer to his objective.

  A hundred paces. When his hold was ten thousand paces away.

  Despair rang hollow in Barrion’s chest but he was accustomed to its presence. It had been his adversary for many years and had yet to vanquish him. While he lived, he swore it would not.

  To add to his woes, his stomach ached from emptiness, and the bitter taste of vomit soured his mouth, yet he would not spit to clear it. His body’s moisture was a valuable commodity now. He would bear this discomfort as well, and struggle to sleep, to still the nausea that might cause him to vomit again. He must conserve his energy if he was to begin again on the morrow. Amid the fallen trees further on he might find one that still bore fruit.

  The night was balmy, another blessing from the Great Guardian, for Barrion had no additional clothing and no way to cover himself even if he had. Perhaps it was the heat from his bruises that kept him warm, but eventually he slept, in fits and starts, waking often to pains or the surety that a sound had roused him. Yet though he listened, he heard nothing more. It was as if the whole of Ennae had been emptied of life. Despair bit most cruelly then, but Barrion would not succumb, thrusting doubts away as he forced himself back to sleep.

  In the morning he woke to a blessedly heavy dew and had only to roll to his sides to sup the fresh droplets of water from the leaves surrounding him. Refreshed, yet still lacking sustenance, he scanned his surroundings, and before his resolve could weaken, he set off again towards his hold.

  Hours later, when he could barely breathe for the dryness of his throat, nor hear for the blood pounding in his ears, Barrion rolled to a stop, his nostrils filled with the clean sharp scent of the nesdai leaves crushed beneath him. Almost immediately he heard a distant voice calling, ‘M’Lord! Verdan!’

  His heart rose in his throat. They were looking for him. ‘Here!’ he called, but his voice emerged cracked and weak. He swallowed and swallowed. ‘Here on the ground!’ No better. They would never hear him.

  Fresh tears ran from Barrion’s eyes as he struggled to think. Mist was thickening on the ground, although he could see straight up to the sky clearly enough. Should he scream himself hoarse calling for their attention or wait until they were closer? Common sense told him to wait, for surely they would not hear his weak cries at this distance. Yet what if they moved on in a different direction, if he waited and their calls grew softer and then silent? The thought was too terrible to face.

  ‘I am here!’ he cried again, then found himself sobbing. Despair, which he had struggled against for so long, finally claimed him. ‘Don’t leave me …’

  Another voice, closer. ‘They were on this path.’ The missing scout! Barrion heard the subtle Be’uccdha intonation in his voice.

  ‘Here! Here!’ he called, his lamentation having wet his throat, giving it more power. ‘I am here on the ground!’ Barrion strained to search out the direction of his rescuers but his vision was blurred with sweat and tears. He continued to call until his neck gave way and his head fell back to earth, his whole body trembling with exhaustion.

  Trampling sounds came nearer. The rustle of leaves and crunch of boots. Then a dark face swam into Barrion’s field of vision, the Be’uccdha braids obscuring the scout’s face as he looked down, then lifted his head and shouted, ‘I have found your lord. He lies here. Alive.’

  The cries and cheers of happiness that followed this announcement were more reviving than a hot meal and a soft bed. Barrion found he had the strength to smile. ‘You are a welcome sight,’ he told the scout who crouched to support him and offer a flask from which Barrion drank deeply.

  ‘My Lord!’ an excited voice shouted nearby and the Be’uccdha scout tactfully shed his own thick-plaited battle jacket to lay it over Barrion’s torn and bloodied clothing. Trampling grew closer, then the lieutenant of the Verdan Guard came to a halt at Barrion’s side and crouched, an expanse of brown serge below a familiar face. His smile was as tremulous as his lord’s.

  ‘You cannot know the joy your return brings us, My Lord,’ he said softly. ‘After all these years …’ Then he could say no more for tears had silenced him.

  They were soon joined by those others of Verdan who had come out on the search and now surrounded their lord, offering heartfelt greetings. Not a one among them showed signs of the distaste Barrion had feared his deformity would arouse. Had he been alone, he would have wept in gratitude, but before his men Barrion restrained the urge.

  ‘I would stand to greet you,’ Barrion said, and tried to shrug.

  ‘My Lord,’ the lieutenant found his voice again, ‘we know of your injuries.’ He glanced at the Be’uccdha scout then back to his lord.

  ‘Then you will know that I require more than a cane to support me,’ Barrion grinned and the lieutenant shook his head, beginning to smile himself.

  ‘My Lord has not lost his gift for wit.’

  ‘Nor his wits,’ Barrion added. ‘Though my arms and legs are gone, my head remains, dishevelled though it may be.’

  ‘My Lord could do with a bath,’ the lieutenant allowed. ‘But perhaps sustenance is a more pressing need.’

  He took bread and fruits from his satchel and Barrion supped on them, feeling his usual helplessness as food was pressed to his lips and crumbs wiped away, but the lieutenant’s gentle touch eased any embarrassment Barrion felt. At last the ordeal was over and Barrion said, ‘Let us now return to my hold. How I long to gaze upon my beloved loch, the resting place of my sweet sister’s soul.’

  ‘It is much changed, My Lord,’ the lieutenant replied, gesturing for the crowd to fall back. A handful of Guardsmen came forward to assist him in carrying their lord. ‘The Catalyst has parted the waters and therein lies an anchor that joins us to Magoria.’

  ‘This she also did at Be’uccdha,’ Barrion replied, having seen that sky-mirror when he had attended Lae’s investiture ceremony in the Altar Caves.

  ‘Clear the way ahead,’ the lieutenant called, and Barrion was hefted aloft by four Guardsmen using their arms as a litter. The lieutenant walked at his side. The air was still and hot.

  ‘Where is your
captain?’ Barrion asked, only thinking then to wonder why he was absent.

  ‘Lost these last two years, My Lord,’ the lieutenant replied. ‘We fear killed by the Northmen during a sortie to rescue you from Fortress Sh’hale.’

  ‘Then you are my captain,’ Barrion said.

  ‘I awaited your return before taking the position, My Lord,’ the lieutenant replied dutifully. Then he raised his head, and shortly thereafter his arm. The group around them stilled. ‘What is that noise?’ he said softly.

  Barrion heard it then. A soft whooshing sound. ‘Another wind storm?’ he asked.

  ‘There!’ a young woman said and pointed to the sky behind them.

  Barrion craned his neck but saw nothing.

  ‘Drop!’ the lieutenant called, and the hundred who surrounded Barrion fell instantly to the ground. The Guardsmen who carried him also hastily complied and Barrion lay wide-eyed as the sound of rushing wind grew closer.

  ‘The Serpent God,’ his lieutenant said softly.

  Barrion watched it fly overhead, a quarter the size of the Serpent God they had encountered on the Plains years ago. It clutched a length of tapestry in its claws and was silent, save for the flapping of its glossy wings, but Barrion saw the red eye and the ferocious jaws and felt sick with horror as he realised it was making for Verdan.

  When it had passed, he said, ‘Quickly, man, get us home.’

  ‘Up. Run,’ the lieutenant shouted, and Barrion was hoisted aloft and jiggled furiously as his new escorts ran with him, crunching fallen foliage underfoot as they returned to their hold, fear in their hearts for all those they had left behind.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The brand had burnt out and Pagan lay in the darkness of their secret chamber, unable to sleep, though Lae slumbered contentedly in his arms. A cold wind whistled through the tunnels, perhaps channelled from a storm outside, and in consideration of that he’d carefully rearranged the clothing they lay on to cover her where he did not. She murmured occasionally, and snuggled closer against his chest. Pagan could not help touching her hair, stroking it back from her smooth forehead and wishing that time could be made to stand still.