He turned as footsteps sounded outside and saw Catena in the doorway. She looked solemn, dressed surprisingly conservatively considering today was the Veriditas, a day when most people brought out their finest clothes. Although the previous day for the procession she had borrowed an outfit from the Nox Aves, today she wore her usual plain brown breeches and a leather jerkin over a plain green tunic.
“No shiny clothes today?” He made his voice light.
“Why?” she said. “I am not celebrating.”
He smiled. “I will miss you.”
She met his gaze, then looked away and changed the subject. “Here, boy.” She shooed Atavus into the room, who sat at the end of the bed, looking sheepish. “I found him having his wicked way with one of the bitches that happened to be in heat. Honestly.”
Tahir giggled. “I think he has been with Demitto too long.”
Catena’s lips curved, but as she went to reply, the emissary appeared behind her in the door.
“What is the joke?” Demitto asked as they both started laughing.
“Nothing.” Catena kissed him on the cheek.
Tahir smiled at them both as the emissary whispered something in her ear. He had thought that when he feigned sleep the night before, they would both remove themselves and head off together to their own room. To his surprise, instead they had stayed by his side all night, talking into the early hours of the morning before they had finally dozed off. Tahir had listened with a racing heart as Demitto told the Chief of Guard what he knew about the events that were to unfold that day. He found it difficult to believe that everything was going to change so much, and that he would play such a big role. But ultimately there was nothing he could do about it either way now. He had to let events unfold and do the best he could.
The two of them stopped talking, and turned to face him, their smiles fading and hesitancy replacing the humour.
“It is time?” he asked.
Demitto nodded.
Tahir took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned to Atavus. One of the Nox Aves was bringing the dog along, but he would not be allowed to stay at the Prince’s side. He had spent a good portion of the night holding the dog, which had crept up from his place at the bottom of the bed to huddle by his side. Now, he bent and buried his face in the dog’s fur, kissed his ears and snout, and whispered goodbye. He did it quickly, knowing that if he stayed, he would never be able to let him go.
Finally, holding back tears, he straightened his white tunic embroidered in silver with an oak tree and fingered the silver pendant of the Selected around his neck. He was as ready as he would ever be. “Then let us go.”
He left a whimpering Atavus behind in the room, and did not look back.
Accompanied by a dozen members of the Nox Aves, including Manifred, all dressed in white, they rode through the streets accompanied by the cheers of the people. Some of the women cried as he passed, and he felt that they at least understood his sacrifice.
They entered the busy market square, and from there rode past the palace and onto the street fronting the large wooden fence surrounding the Arbor. There they reined in their horses, and the Nox Aves formed two lines leading to the large doors in the centre of the wooden fence.
Today, the doors stood open. Inside, Tahir could see that what looked like temporary wooden stands had been set up in a mock-amphitheatre style to house hundreds of privileged spectators at the Veriditas ceremony. Music blared, and the sound of everyone talking at once was deafening.
He dismounted and stood in a daze as people moved around him, preparing for his grand entrance to the arena. Closing his eyes, he tried to ground himself. He had to focus, or he wasn’t going to make it through this.
He concentrated on his breathing, and as he did, so the noise around him seemed to fade away until all he could hear was the beating of his heart in his ears.
He stilled, aware that something was happening. Beneath his feet, the ground seemed to vibrate with his heartbeat, but that couldn’t possibly be happening, could it? He could feel it though, a rhythmic pulse that sent a shiver up his legs and spine to the roots of his hair. It couldn’t be his own heart. Was it the pounding of feet from the crowd? No, it was too regular. But it was coming from inside the arena…
He opened his eyes and raised his gaze to the skies. Crows wheeled above his head like black threads weaving the clouds together. Far above Heartwood, the mountain coughed up a plume of steam and a shower of ash rained down like snow. Nobody seemed to notice, however. He frowned, feeling his heart thud under his ribs, matching the beat beneath his feet. Something was happening…
“Tahir.”
He snapped to attention to see Demitto standing on his right, looking down at him, concerned.
“Are you ready?” Demitto asked, raising his voice above the noise of the crowd.
Tahir felt a pressure on his left and realised Catena stood the other side of him. In front, the Nox Aves waited expectantly, Manifred at the end, his gaze steady.
Tahir nodded. “I am ready.”
“I will be at your side the entire time,” Demitto said as they walked forward.
“As will I,” said Catena. “My prince. I am so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Tahir whispered, his throat tight.
They passed between the two lines formed by the Nox Aves. As he felt their respectful gazes on him, Tahir’s final fears fell away. He straightened and lifted his chin.
They approached Manifred who stood in the doorway. Manifred nodded across the arena, and somebody must have signalled something inside because the crowd suddenly hushed. A deep bell sounded from the Nest’s tower, and at the same time, trumpets rang out across the town.
Demitto on his right, Catena on his left, Manifred in front carrying a white flag embroidered with a silver oak tree, Tahir walked forward.
The trumpets continued as he walked along the white carpet. To his left and right, he was aware of the stands rising in tiers, filled with hundreds of people who watched him, silent as the solemnity of the occasion finally reached them. To his right, King Varin and his queen sat on a raised dais at the front of the stands. Somewhere in the stands was Atavus, although he could not see him.
All eyes were on him, and for the first time in his life, he became the focus of everyone’s attention. But he hardly noticed as his gaze fell on the reason for his visit to the city.
Towards the back, the Arbor watched him approach.
Tahir had not known what to expect of the tree. There were oaks all over Anguis, of course, including a large one in Harlton, and he had lain under it many times, staring up into its branches as he pondered on whether the Arbor looked anything like it.
Now, he realised that had been like wondering whether a cupful of water looked like the ocean.
The tree reared above him – above them all – its trunk so wide that five men linking their arms around it would not be able to make their hands meet. Its branches arched across the span of the arena, filled with glossy green leaves in spite of the fact that they were just coming out of The Sleep.
But its size was not the only thing that made him hold his breath in awe. As he slowed and came to a halt where the carpet came to an end in the centre of the arena, the tree shivered, and once again he became aware of the slow, steady beat in the ground through his feet.
It is the Pectoris, he realised with shock. The beat he could feel was from the Arbor’s own heart.
The trumpets fell silent, and Manifred walked forward to a podium in front of the tree and turned to address the audience.
“My friends,” he called, his voice ringing out across the lawn to the tiers, reaching the ears of those listening, enthralled. “We come here today to pay homage to the Arbor, and to offer it this year’s Selected as a token of our gratitude for its care and protection of Anguis and its people. We give thanks to Tahir, Prince of Harlton, for graciously giving up his life for us, and we recognise the solemn sacrifice he is making for the good of
the land.”
He continued on talking about King Varin’s graciousness in allowing them all to witness the ceremony, and then he opened the large book that lay on the podium, which Tahir realised was the Quercetum – the book that held the history of the last few thousand years of Anguis. He started to read out the names of all those Selected recorded in the pages.
As Tahir listened to the names, once again the hushed whispers around the arena disappeared and even Manifred’s voice faded. At the same time, Tahir’s senses seemed to turn crystal sharp. He could feel Demitto on his right, Catena on his left, their combined presence giving him strength and courage. He could feel the light brush of flakes of ash on his skin as they floated down from the mountain. The ground rumbled, disturbing the steady heartbeat for a moment, but then it returned, stronger than ever, drowning out every other sound in the arena. Could nobody else hear it? He glanced around, but everyone seemed to be listening to Manifred, and Tahir knew he was the only one aware of it.
His attention came back into focus again as he became aware that Manifred was concluding his speech. “…And Tahir, Prince of Harlton,” he read from the Quercetum, finishing off the list of Selecteds. He closed the book and rested a hand on it for a moment.
This time, when the ground rumbled, everyone seemed to hear it. Demitto stiffened beside Tahir, and Catena muttered something beneath her breath. Tahir looked up at the emissary and saw his pulse beating rapidly in his throat. He remembered what Demitto had told Catena the previous night, about the arrival of the Apex, and his own heartbeat quickened.
Manifred looked across at Demitto, and Tahir felt the emissary’s hand come to rest in the small of his back. The Nox Aves moved forward once again to form a walkway to the Arbor’s trunk. Demitto, Catena and Tahir walked between them towards the tree.
Music spiralled around the arena, a haunting melody of a cappella voices, male and female. Tahir’s breath caught in his throat at their beauty, and he glanced around but could not see the source.
“Who is singing?” he whispered to Demitto, his feet carrying him ever forward to the tree.
Demitto bent closer and whispered in his ear. “It is the Arbor. It is calling you home, young prince.”
His breathing quickened, and as he came to the end of the line of Nox Aves, he looked up and realised he stood beneath the Arbor’s branches.
The Nox Aves withdrew. Demitto and Catena remained, as they had promised, a pace or two away.
What was he supposed to do? He stood there, uncertain, waiting to be told. The voices rose around him, heart-rendingly beautiful.
Something touched his shoulder. He looked, thinking it was Demitto’s hand, but to his shock saw it was a tree branch. It had dipped, and the leaves now brushed his upper arm affectionately.
Breathless, he watched as the branch dipped lower and the leaves stroked his arm, gentle and persuasive at the same time.
Something touched his foot, and he looked down to see that one of the tree roots had snaked across the ground and now curled around his ankle. The singing intensified, and as he looked up at Catena, he saw tears pouring down her face at the beauty of it.
The tree tugged gently, and he walked forward, up to the trunk, and placed his hands on the bark. It felt rough beneath his fingers, but to his amazement it was warm. Beneath his fingertips beat the steady pulse of the Pectoris, in time with his own heart.
Whispers echoed around the arena – or was it the rustle of the leaves above his head? He closed his eyes, feeling the roots wrap around him, pulling him close. He put his arms around the trunk and rested his cheek against the bark. The tree tightened its grip, and its sharp edges bit into his soft skin.
Beside him, Demitto swore loudly, the curse ringing out across the quiet arena.
Tahir opened his eyes, a small part of him wanting to laugh at the emissary’s irreverence. But the laughter faded at the sight of the sunstone in the pendant around Demitto’s neck glowing scarlet.
Behind him, the King’s expression grew incensed at his ambassador’s disrespect. But at the same time, the crowd began to mutter and voices rose. Tahir followed their gazes and pointing fingers, craning his neck. He could just see, way up above them, a column of flame erupting from the peak of the mountain.
The Arbor wrapped its roots tighter around him, and Tahir closed his eyes again.
It begins, the Arbor whispered.
III
Comminor followed Geve and Sarra’s horrified gazes and saw the horizon spread with scarlet as the firebird rose in the sky.
It was too far away for him to see in which direction it was flying. It was coming vaguely towards them, but he couldn’t be sure if it had seen them yet. Despair filled him. How could he protect her and the new shoot against something so powerful? If the firebird flew directly over them, he had no hope of stopping it from turning them all to ash with one blast of fiery breath.
“We have to get her back to the Broken Room,” yelled Josse.
Comminor hesitated, wishing he had made that decision earlier. He had thought he was doing the right thing, but now he realised he had just put all their lives in danger. He looked up the slope of the mountain, wondering if they could make it back there if they ran. But even as the thought entered his head, he knew the answer. “We would never make it in time,” he said. “It is too far.”
The hope faded from everyone’s eyes, and frustration filled him. He had led them all for so long in the Embers, for years and years. Even though many had hated him, they had trusted him to keep them safe.
In the distance, the firebird blasted the landscape with scorching heat. Dry dust rose in a sandstorm and swept over them, choking him, searing his lungs and stinging his eyes. He closed them against both the dust and the fear, his hand moving automatically to cover the pendant on his chest.
What was he to do? Had he travelled this far, worked so hard, only to fall right at the end?
Sarra’s cries filled his ears as she became gripped with another contraction. He wanted to move, to be at her side to comfort her and help her through this, but something made him remain where he was. His head was spinning. At first he’d thought it was panic confusing his senses, but as pressure built on his ears and the noises around him faded, he realised something was happening.
He held his breath, holding one hand out in front of him as his balance failed and he swayed. He was vaguely aware of the dust blowing across his skin, of the faint cries of Sarra as if from far off in the distance, of the voices of the others rising as they argued about what to do. The world went quiet. His pulse echoed in his ears.
Or was it his pulse? It was not just in his ears, he could feel it, like when he’d stood near the Magna Cataracta and felt the thunder of the water as it cascaded down the rockface. The regular, rhythmic beat pounded against his feet, shooting up through his legs and knees, into his hips and spine, until his bones seemed to vibrate with it, and his heart slowed to match the beat.
He felt himself expand, his consciousness scatter like a handful of blown dust. For a brief moment, he became aware of the passage of time, of history, of the whole timeline of the world stretching back into the past. Suddenly he knew what the Arbor had seen when it was alive – how it had stretched through time and space, how it had known everything there was to see and hear and taste and smell.
It is time, a voice whispered in his ear.
He opened his eyes.
The dust in the air before him shimmered silver the way it had in the ceremonial room. Those around him didn’t seem to notice. Betune and Amabil knelt by Sarra, holding her hands as she grimaced in pain. Geve stood arguing with Josse, looking like he was about to punch him at any moment. Nele, Paronel and Viel looked nervously through the dusty wind at the approaching firebird, seemingly unaware of anything else.
Comminor blinked. Someone was singing. Above the rising bellow of the whirling wind, he could hear voices raised in song. He caught his breath at the beauty of it, not understanding the words,
but the melody brought tears to his eyes. The mouths of those around him weren’t moving – at least certainly not in song. Who was it?
The air glittered, glimmered. As in the ceremonial room, figures flickered, the barrier between times thinning, parting. He saw the faces he had seen before loom out of the darkness, then disappear again, the moment not quite ready, the time not quite right. He wanted to yell, to tear apart the fabric of time and let them through, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stand there like a useless statue, his head spinning.
He looked at his feet, his mouth opening as he stared at the green shoot. It had risen by a foot and now reached almost to his knee. The ground around it crumpled as its roots spread. The shoot waved in the breeze, growing even as he watched, trying so hard to establish itself.
And then he glanced up at the horizon, and the hope faded, and his heart sank. It did not matter – the firebird loomed above the ground, approaching them at a fast pace. It had seen them. It would turn them all to cinders before the shoot could grow its first leaves.
They were too late. The Apex wasn’t going to happen. Through time, everyone was coming together, trying to save the world, to save Anguis, and he was going to be the one who’d let them all down. A sob tore from his lips, but still he could not move.
It was only gradually that he became aware that the pendant in his hand was growing hot. He glanced down at it, confused. The wood remained untouched, the faded deep brown it had always been. But inside it, the oval sunstone glowed as if it had been placed in a fire. He frowned, lifting it up before him, startled as the glow intensified. It burned red, then orange, then a bright yellow-gold, the light hurting his eyes so much that he had to avert his gaze as it brightened.
He looked back up and saw Viel, Josse and Paronel staring at their own pendants, which also glowed a bright red-gold.
ARC: Sunstone Page 44