by James Abbott
After a while Birgitta seemed to relax physically; her shoulders softened. She rose up. ‘There. That will have to do I suppose. Now . . .’ She looked up to the sky, which was empty of Akero.
Birgitta raised her staff and after she chanted the spell of the Four Orders a beam of purple light fired into the sky, and her incantations carried in all directions with great power.
And they waited.
Some time later, a flurry of activity rushed overhead. A moment later, a winged figure skipped to a halt just yards in front of them.
Elysia and Birgitta rose up from the grass, startled. There had been no sign of the Akero’s approach, no silhouette in the sky.
He stood before them, spear in hand, strange tattoos spiralling across one side of his wiry torso, his chest heaving with breaths. There was an ornate golden clasp to his belt, and he wore black boots and trousers. His gaze flicking keenly between the two of them, the Akero rubbed his short beard with his free hand and grunted something in a language Elysia did not understand.
Birgitta said, ‘Strivova?’
‘Ah,’ the man replied. ‘Two women travelling alone. Brings strange omens to a neglected land like this, yes? What are you doing here?’ His voice was bass and rich, as if he was some skilled orator or order-giver. There was a slow and deliberate crispness to his words.
‘We’re simply passing through,’ Birgitta replied and gave their names and told him of their background. ‘We found her here.’ She gestured to the figure on the ground. ‘I have healed what I could, but the wing will need time to mend properly.’
In a lurching movement, the male Akero crouched down, his head twitching as he examined the form.
‘Wait,’ he declared, then picked the figure up in his arms, pushed down with his wings and vanished into the sky.
True to the order, the two sisters waited once again in the long grass. It was an hour until the Akero returned. He arrived as suddenly as he had appeared.
‘The family thank you,’ he began. ‘An attempt had been made on her life, yes, by one of our own. We believe we know who did it. We will undertake proceedings.’
Birgitta remained silent. Elysia didn’t know what to say.
‘Our people owe you for what you have done, yes. It is not common for ground-grubbers to be so kind.’
Elysia smiled at his choice of words.
‘We’re not all the same, you know,’ Birgitta replied.
‘I can see this. The family and the elders would like to speak with you. In person, yes?’ His expression remained unreadable.
Birgitta bowed her head in response. ‘It would be an honour.’
*
Entry to the hilltop home of the Akero was not easy for a so-called ground-grubber. No clear path led the way up the conical hill, therefore the sisters were forced to scramble up the limestone slope.
Elysia’s astonishment grew with every step. The structure, perhaps a quarter of the size of Jarratox, was loosely based on a network of interconnected cave dwellings, except that the habitation was far more than that. Everywhere she looked she could see jutting branches, thick clouds of twigs, decayed leaves underfoot. Clumps of grass and moss from the lands around had been gathered and meshed together with feathers. Scraps of brightly coloured cloth hung down like ragged banners, each with a curious symbol she took to be part of the Akero language. The whole place was one enormous apartment dwelling of nests. Here and there she witnessed an egg that must have been an arm-span wide, and twice as tall. The place had a pungent, earthy tang about it. Curiously there were nests of smaller birds scattered among the homes, though only of one or two species – eagles near to her and, on the far side, vultures.
The Akero was waiting for Birgitta and Elysia as they reached the first proper level of the bird-people, and he led them up a stone stairway that wove around the many levels of the conical settlement.
Breathlessly, and shading her eyes from the sun, Birgitta said, ‘It is not at all easy to get here.’
‘For good reason, yes,’ the Akero replied. ‘And humbling, no doubt, for ground-grubbers.’
Elysia could not tell whether or not there was amusement in his harsh voice. The lower levels of the settlement appeared far dirtier and simpler than those higher up. With every level there seemed to be a more civilized and habitable nest, with more refinement and more artefacts within, and she wondered if a caste system existed here. Akero peered out at them from their dark cave-nests, some guarding their young; others were alone, watching the visitors with a head cocked sideways. All of them wore a similar garb of trousers and boots, with different styles of tattoos, and different coloured wings, from white and brown, to grey and black. One or two came into land with fish they must have caught from the nearby river, which from this distance looked like a glistening green snake that lay across the landscape.
The Akero led them to a level that contained a more elaborate stone dwelling, with a large group of figures sitting in a circle around a brazier. Elysia wondered if the heat would ignite the scattering of dried grass, twigs and branches, but it seemed that mainly a heady smoke rather than heat came from it. A deliberately carved viewing hole stretched like a vast window, offering an almost full-circle view of the landscape around them. From the darkness here, the countryside appeared remarkably harsh and bright, so instead she focused on the several Akero. At first glance they all looked of very similar ages – though they were different sizes and colours. When her eyes grew accustomed to them she could see different tattoo patterns carved across their chests, and two of them were clearly more weathered than others. Elysia spotted, in the far corner of the room, the Akero the sisters had found in the long grass. She was resting peacefully on a heavily feathered bed of twigs.
‘I could tell you were witches, yes,’ the male Akero announced, beckoning them to sit on the ground to complete the circle. ‘But we do not often see your kind, not out this way.’
‘No,’ Birgitta replied, to them all. ‘No, I guess you would not. Here we are, anyway, and we mean no harm by coming through your domain. It is an honour to meet so many of you.’
The Akero questioned them intently in front of the group. He wanted to know just how long they had been in Burgassia, the village that they had come from, their ages, their purpose and why they were carrying weapons. Birgitta handled the questions with a diplomacy and respect that was unusual for her nature. She stressed her admiration for their people and mentioned a community of the Akero that she had once met beyond the borders of Stravimon in the north.
Seemingly satisfied, one of the older, grey-feathered Akero spoke. His voice was harsh, but somehow frail. He first apologized for the questions. ‘You must understand,’ he continued, ‘that figures have passed through these plains, yes, who are not on such honest business. Nor are they necessarily from these lands.’
He twitched towards Birgitta, as if having seen something change in her expression. ‘What have you seen?’ he demanded.
Birgitta explained the recent figure they had captured in Dweldor, and described the strange language written on the bloody walls of the house.
The older Akero listened without expression to her story, and when she finished he simply gave a slight shake to his wings.
‘I have,’ he began, ‘seen more of these figures. We fly afar and go where others cannot. These foreign figures are there. They are warriors, yes. This much is clear. Always, the warriors come first . . .’
‘They are not of Burgassia, no,’ one of the others added. It was a female, young and with striking brown and white feathers. ‘They are from far away. Our elders know nothing of them. These people concern us.’
‘Strange figures do not necessarily mean ill news,’ Birgitta added. ‘You yourself must know that, given how you must appear to the folk of Burgassia.’
For a moment two of the Akero gave something resembling a smile.
‘No, you are correct,’ said the elder Akero. ‘But when they are warriors who come here we must questio
n things, yes? When they carry weapons and walk the shadows we must question what it is they are up to that requires such delicacy. Also, from what you have just told me, they represent a threat.’
‘If indeed they are the same figures we’re talking about,’ Birgitta added.
‘From your descriptions I think it so, yes.’ The elder Akero nodded sharply. ‘I have only watched them from afar.’
‘What do they do?’ Elysia asked.
‘They come to survey the land, young one, yes.’
‘They come in twos or threes, no more, from what I have seen,’ the female added. ‘They are equipped lightly. Carry swords. Prowl the forests of Burgassia, yes. They look at old buildings and pause as if to question their purpose. These are people who want to know the land better, but for what dark means I cannot tell, no. It is as if they are building their knowledge of our world. To report back to whom, I cannot tell either.’ For a moment the Akero tensed and twitched her head in response to some far-off sound, but then relaxed once again, easing her shoulders, and focused on the two sisters. ‘I have seen forty-one of these figures to date, yes.’
‘Forty-one?’ Birgitta leaned on her staff. ‘By the source, that is more than I thought. Have they appeared recently or is this over a matter of months?’
‘Within the last three seasons,’ the elder Akero replied, and ruffled his wing feathers. His gaze lingered at her through the smoke from the brazier. ‘Like you they travel the old green lanes, yes, but they do not stick to them for long, no. They bring their own food. And when they run out they will not hesitate to kill. I have watched some closely, for many days at a time, yes. They are tall, and pale like the ghosts in your stories. Sometimes they follow a figure who wears a cloak, and this one seems the most mysterious of them all, yes, and I cannot get close to it. None of us can. These people have not so far tried to come towards our home. If they do, they will suffer. Perhaps they know this. But more and more are coming, yes. And where they tread, the forest seems a sicker place. The trees under which they have slept are beginning to wilt, I can feel it. These people are a poison to our world.’
For some reason Elysia couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread at what the Akero was saying. He looked an impressive warrior and his concerns were infectious.
Eventually Birgitta spoke. ‘We are on the road to the Silent Lake. We will be meeting with friends, good people. I hope very much that they will know more of what’s going on. If we can help you, we will. You have my word on that.’
The elder Akero gazed intently at Birgitta for a moment before nodding. ‘You are genuine, yes. This is welcome news, witch. And with such spirits and after your deed with our kin, you are welcome to pass through our land. Furthermore, yes, we offer our service in return. How will you contact us from afar?’
‘Oh, that is most kind. And I know of the old methods,’ Birgitta replied.
The Akero shrugged without comment, as if he knew what Birgitta meant. The others twitched their gaze to each other, but now appeared uninterested in the conversation.
‘We will not keep you,’ the elder declared. And with that, the first male who had met them out on the grassland rose from the floor and bid the two sisters follow him outside, into the bright sunlight and back down, until they were out onto the grass once again.
With a swift downdraught, their Akero guide departed wordlessly.
‘Well, that was something,’ Birgitta said to break the stillness after the departure.
‘What remarkable beings,’ Elysia replied, as his figure grew ever smaller in the distance. ‘We should probably continue on our way. I was prepared to sleep back on that grass, on a warm day like this. Where should we camp?’
‘In those hills.’ Birgitta indicated to the north with her staff. ‘The Silent Lake lies the other side of them, and will take us many more days yet.’
‘You may need to cast us in shadow if the Akero suspect there are more of those strange warriors around,’ Elysia said it in a matter-of-fact manner, but she still felt a sense of dread – and primitive excitement – at the prospect of a threat.
‘Making ourselves unseen is simple enough,’ Birgitta said. ‘But that is on the assumption that these other beings are not using any nefarious means to watch us. They might be following our every move, for all we know. It’s what they’re doing here and what they want that really worries me.’
Entourage
Finally. To be on the road again with a sense of purpose. It was, after all, how Xavir had spent most of his life as a warrior. The road had once given him reassurance that he was doing something useful with his time, that through his battlefield victories, he would make a difference to the kingdom. Such sweet sentiments were the echoes from a younger man’s mind, certainly, for today he felt very little.
Food and clothing and weapons. Just the bare minimum. Lupara had ensured essential documentation with which she had travelled out here was carried in leather bags, but as far as a royal entourage went, this was lean indeed.
With Xavir and Valderon’s help, Lupara had sealed her cabin at dawn by boarding up the doors. The look on her face had been telling. This had been her home for years, her place of solitude among the wolves and the trees, and it was hard to leave such peaceful surroundings for an uncertain future. Xavir wouldn’t have blamed her if she had wished to live out the rest of her days in such peace, yet it was Lupara who was pulling everyone else with her in this crusade. Her passion. Her motivation.
The group rode out in a long line, following a hollow way north-east through oak and elm. Few wayfarers had trudged through here in recent times. The sunken lane was covered with leaves and had begun, in places, to be claimed back by the trees as they made arching roofs of their branches and uneven walkways with their roots. Here and there, tucked away upon the higher ground, the group passed ancient burial mounds, with standing stones smothered by lichen guarding the entrances. Yet the road seemed almost enlivened by the queen and her entourage, as if it thrived at being used again. Even the sun came out, poking through the thick canopy with dappled light, illuminating the route ahead of them.
To reach Burgassia would take a good few days’ travelling, even with horses. The sight of the queen of Dacianara riding one of her wolves, with another of the great beasts scouting up ahead and another at the rear, was a novelty to the men at first. After a day of nothing but plodding through the forests the sight became as boring as the rest of the journey.
Xavir purposely rode behind Lupara and Valderon, who spoke in polite but short conversations to each other along the route. He was well aware that Valderon felt unworthy of riding alongside the queen, but if he was to lead whatever army she wished to create, he had to get used to it.
*
They travelled without event for days. Each member of the group took it in turns to stand watch at night, but, save the noise of distant animals, nothing disturbed them. Not even the wolves twitched in alarm.
Despite the seriousness of their venture, the journey was actually rather relaxed. Xavir supposed anything would be better than the confines of Hell’s Keep and it showed in how the men slowly grew at ease with one another. Old rivalries were put aside, the banter became more jocular rather than barbed. One morning the travellers passed close to a small town built around a forested hill. Instead of making their full presence known, Valderon and Tylos went alone to purchase supplies, including much-needed clothing. Soon enough black overshirts, breeches, tunics, leather breastplates and waxed rain capes were distributed. Immediately gone were the haggard, dishevelled men with mismatched clothing; suddenly they looked like a unit. The men laughed at their new attire but it was obvious they were pleased with it. Xavir had learned more about these men in the last few days than he had in the previous five years.
Tylos, seemingly happier than he had ever been, spoke more about his childhood in Chambrek. Xavir asked him about the lands of the hot south, intrigued as to their cultures and history. Tylos spoke of living in vast white stone houses
overlooking turquoise seas, each one filled with objects of art. He told tales of poets who sang late into the night and of walking hand in hand with shrouded women among the forbidden drink houses. Chambrek was a place of high culture, he told Xavir, but it was not like that for everyone. Tylos’s descriptions suggested that he had come from an affluent background, more so than Xavir had previously realized.
‘In more northerly terms,’ Tylos said, ‘I think you could call me a duke. Or at least that is what I was destined to become. My family knew the royals well.’
‘And you decided to become a thief,’ Xavir said, ‘despite such wealth?’
‘It was more the thrill of adventure, I suppose.’ Tylos said. ‘My brothers called me a magpie when only they knew about my habits. But I grew more ambitious. What is the point of being average at such things when one can really perfect the art? I had no need of what I took, naturally, so I merely disposed of them at random to poor households. Over a year or so I really developed my arts with a sword and dagger – mainly in self-defence. The end came when I was caught stealing a rare emerald from the house of a powerful lady.’
‘You kept this from the others in the gaol,’ Xavir said.
‘Who did speak truly of their past in that place? It did not seem politic to share my tale back there. Besides, I was not the only one to keep a few secrets.’
‘No, you were not.’ Xavir gave a half-smile.
‘I do not understand your military structures, but the way some of these men speak about you, Xavir, you seemed destined to be a Stravir king one day.’
‘Something like that.’ Xavir rolled his head and shoulders to work out some of the stiffness from travelling. ‘It was not meant to be, and it matters little. The world is a very different place now. We’re likely to get into some dark situations on the road, Tylos. Tell me. Had you killed before Hell’s Keep?’
‘I had, when there was need for it,’ Tylos replied nonchalantly. ‘I like to think I have more finesse about it than most. Those of us from Chambrek bring poetry to the blade.’