Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  'And that is all it will ever be. List the parents of the tenth strand and tell me I am wrong. Gorian or Kovan on the other hand . . .' He folded his arms under his cloak and leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. 'Both have strengths the Ascendancy needs.'

  'Stop it, Ossacer,' said Mirron suddenly uncomfortable. The whole idea was ridiculous to her. They were only thirteen, all of them. Yet she yearned for the closeness of Gorian's skin. The smell of his hair and the sheer strength of his gaze.

  The door to their right beneath the colonnaded passageway opened then and out he came. He was wearing a plain black cloak. The hood was thrown back and his glorious shoulder-length blond hair lit up his face. But it was a face broken and sad. Mirron wanted to run to him. To embrace him and tell him it was all right, that they had all forgiven him. But she could not. The damage he had inflicted on her brothers was still too fresh.

  She felt the tension in the air like a sharp frost on a mid-dusas morning. Arducius had drawn himself up to stare at Gorian from as high as he could and Ossacer's face was blank with contempt. She didn't want it to be this way. She so loved them all. She wished none of it had ever happened but it had.

  Gorian's eyes flickered from one to another as he approached. He stopped by the brazier, making no attempt to sit with them. Behind him, in the doorway, Hesther and Meera stood with Father Kessian, watching. There was a hush on the garden. No one knew what to say. No one knew if they were supposed to say anything. She focused on Gorian who now stared at the ground. It was down to him.

  'Th-thank you all for agreeing to see me,' he said, the words struggling to get past his lips. He glanced back towards the door. 'I know nothing can change what I did but I am truly sorry for what happened and I promise it will never happen again.'

  'Until when?' snapped Ossacer, hand stroking the bandages covering his burns. 'You never mean it but you always do it.'

  Mirron saw Gorian's eyes flash but he nodded his understanding anyway. 'I can change,' he said. 'I will change.'

  All their words hung in clouds of breath on the still air. Mirron couldn't find anything to say. Nor, it seemed, could Arducius though she could feel his mind working, seeking a solution.

  'I am so sorry for the hurt I caused you, Ossacer,' said Gorian. 'And I never meant for you to have to break yourself protecting him, Arducius.'

  'I would have done the same to protect you, Gorian,' said Arducius quietly; and Mirron felt tears pricking at her eyes.

  'And I would have told you what you wanted to know,' said Ossacer. 'All you had to do was wait until I was ready. But you couldn't.'

  'I understand that now,' said Gorian. 'I need you to forgive me.'

  Another silence with no one prepared to say the words. Gorian looked at Mirron and she averted her gaze, staring instead at Ossacer who's anger burned bright.

  'We have no reason to trust you,' said Ossacer.

  Gorian breathed hard like he was about to cry. 'I know, I know. But you have to give me another chance. We have to stand together.'

  'You didn't think that when you burned me,' said Ossacer.

  Gorian said nothing for a while. His eyes shone wet and he shivered with more than the cold of the morning. 'Thank you for being able to fix Arducius,' he said.

  'I had little choice,' said Ossacer. 'He broke his wrists so badly he would have lost his hands.'

  Mirron saw Gorian react as if slapped. The shock on his face paled it more than the cold ever could. Again, she held herself in check. She could comfort him later.

  'I had ... I wouldn't have—'

  'But you did,' said Ossacer. 'And look what might have happened. Then where would we be? The Ascendancy quartet. One blind, one with no hands, one with no control over his temper and one who isn't sure what she is. Pretty poor for all the love Father Kessian has shown us.'

  'Enough,' said Arducius and he stood up, looking powerful and so determined. 'We cannot live if we snipe at each other forever. We were born to be together and so we must be.' He stepped forward and grabbed Gorian's collars. 'I know you are sorry for what you did and I know you would change it if you could. And we will forgive you now even if we don't trust you just yet. But we have to believe in each other like we always have or we're lost. I can't do any of this without all of you.' He beckoned Mirron and Ossacer to stand up. The gesture was too quick for Ossacer to follow in the trails and Mirron whispered in his ear and helped him.

  'From now on what we do, we do together. Always. And we will never hide anything from each other however small. Swear it and join with me.'

  They did and joined in the embrace. Mirron gripped Gorian hard and he responded. To her left, Arducius clung on to her, his fingers biting her flesh, demanding she agree. But across the circle, Ossacer's hand on Gorian was tentative and his face clouded. For him, forgiveness would take its long, slow time.

  Though it was barely past midday, the lanterns that bordered the forum shone under the cold grey sky. From his position on the oratory, Marshal Arvan Vasselis looked out over the gathering of the citizens of his most beloved town. The Ascendants sat looking small and fearful to his right. The Echelon, with Reader Elsa Gueran, stood proudly to his left. The borders had been closed for the duration of the meeting though there was no traffic expected; the cold discouraging all but the very hardiest of traders.

  There were a couple of visitors in Westfallen and they were being kept away with the reason simply that the Marshal Defender was addressing the citizens of Westfallen on a private and personal matter. True enough.

  Most of those citizens knew the subject of the address. None of them knew the detail and Vasselis was going to have to be at his best to bring them to stand behind him and the Ascendancy for what was to come. He glanced up at the heavy clouds and hoped the snow would hold off long enough. Kessian said it would not snow until evening. Arducius reckoned it would be a little earlier than that. Above his head, the feeble glow of the sun was just visible as a lightening of the grey. It was time.

  Vasselis stood up, took off his fur-lined gauntlets, swept back the hood of his cloak and walked to the dais. The cold bit deep into his face and hands but he could hide neither and remain honest. The murmur of the crowd, bunched tight together for warmth, died to a whisper and then away altogether. The wind whistled around the columns bordering the forum, bringing in the sound of waves grabbing at the fleet hauled high and safe on the beach.

  The oratory was well-lit and coal braziers stood in eight places on the stage. They offered Vasselis precious little in the way of warmth where he stood underneath the vaulted open-fronted oratory, between the two intricately carved columns supporting the cross-beam.

  'My friends, thank you for coming to listen to me at what is a critical time for Westfallen, Caraduk and indeed the whole of the Estorean Conquord. I could have wished you'd brought me warmer weather. I don't know about you down there but it is perishing cold up here.'

  He waited for the ripple of laughter to subside. The faces turned to him were expectant and welcoming. He knew how much they loved him. Guilt gripped him over what he was going to have to say. It would be like the end of innocence; a rude welcome to the rest of the world.

  'You know, every time I come here, I fall in love with this beautiful town a little more. My family wish we could live here and I enjoy nothing more than to walk among you, drinking in your health, strength and kindness. There really is nowhere else like this in the Conquord and I salute you for what you have built here.'

  The cheers were louder this time and the applause took some time to die down.

  'But it's not just what you have built that sets you apart, it is what you have nurtured here over the decades and the centuries. The great work to which so many of you have been a crucial support. A great work that is blessed by God. A work that has seen most of you enjoy abilities that will one day be enjoyed by the many, not the few. How wonderful that you have been part of it. And in a thousand years, your names and name of the Westfallen will be written large
in history and legend. You will never be forgotten.'

  They were with him now. Silent.

  'And why is this? It is because right now, the potential Gorian wrote so much about has finally been realised. And these four young citizens to my right represent everything that all of us and our fathers before us have worked for so long to achieve. You will all have read about the trials that our ancestors faced. Keeping the Ascendancy secret from the Order; constant disappointment; deformation of mind and body in those born into high expectation. Maintaining the Ascendancy strands through illness, through war and through suspicion. Such enormous problems that it would so often have been easier to give up and consign it all to myth.

  'But the belief shown then was too strong and with the support of this fine town, the Echelon have continued to the success we now enjoy. And now is the time when we must be stronger and more as one than ever before.'

  His tone had hardened and as he paused for breath, he scanned the citizens. His reminder of history had worked and the pride of achievement was shining from hundreds of faces. But it was mixed with anxiety. There were too many out there who knew very well that following the building of ego and pride, came the need for belief in the face of adversity.

  'Because with our success comes change. And with change comes fear of the unknown and fear of the reality with which we are faced. I have heard of your reactions to our young Ascendants and I understand them, I do. Of course you must do what you believe is right for yourselves and your children. But you must not overreact and you must always remember that you are deeply imbued with what is happening here. You cannot ignore it.

  'So I am disappointed that many of you are so anxious that it has led you to remove yourselves from the Ascendants and so isolate them, shun them even. They may have extraordinary abilities but they are still just ordinary children in their hearts. And they need your help to remain ordinary. They are your friends, as are the Echelon. Do not turn away at the moment they need you most. You all know that my son is a great friend of theirs. He doesn't fear them, he loves them.'

  He held up his hands, noting the guilty shifting of feet.

  'But enough. I am not here to lecture you on how to bring up your children, though I would like you to examine how you think today. What I am here to tell you has far-reaching ramifications for us all.

  'We have reached a crossroads. The young Ascendants have emerged and they are learning their talents very quickly. And many of you are surprised, I am sure, how fearful you have sometimes been about what that means. We have all had our moments of anxiety. But what you have to understand now is that change is upon you and your lives will never be quite the same again.

  'The nature of the Ascendancy is that one day it will be announced to the outside world. That time is now.'

  Consternation swept the gathering like wind across fields of corn. Vasselis held up his hands for quiet.

  'Citizens of Westfallen. My friends. We none of us knew if this would happen in our lifetimes and we should celebrate our triumph though danger comes as its bedfellow. I have recently returned from Estorr where I met with the Advocate herself. I have told her what we achieved here and have begged for her acceptance.'

  Shock stilled every body and every voice. Vasselis smiled as best he could though his heart was pounding in his throat. Only now did the risk he had taken with the lives of all those before him register. He fought a quaver from his voice.

  'The fact that I stand here today demonstrates that she has given that acceptance. But it is conditional. To calm your fears, I can also confirm that the Order knows nothing, and for now at least, I can keep them from here as I have done for twenty years. But the Advocacy will come here to investigate and we can do nothing but answer all their questions with complete honesty. The eyes of the Advocate are on Westfallen and we must not fail now. Nothing must be hidden and none of us must speak ill of the Ascendancy in which we are all so steeped.'

  Vasselis waited while the citizens digested what was going to descend on them.

  'This town and all its people have been a haven of peace and tranquillity for those lucky enough to live and visit, for hundreds of years. But for now at least, that peace will be shattered. I know many of you will go back to your homes and be saddened, thinking the life you love is gone. And perhaps it has. But the measure of the truly great, the truly courageous, is the ability to grow in the face of adversity and change. To make a life better than the one left behind.

  'And as I look about me today, I see greatness and courage in every single one of you. I am proud to count you among my people. I am proud to call you my friends.' The cheers began. 'Stand with me. Stand with the Ascendancy. Together we will become legend!'

  Chapter 18

  848th cycle of God, 30th day of Genasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  Genastro had been late on the ground in Tsard. And, following a deep, harsh dusas, where hypothermia had been the biggest killer in the legions camping in the occupied territories, the fresh season of growth was most welcome when it eventually arrived.

  Roberto Del Aglios and the two legions and two alae under his command had been more fortunate than most. Making up half of the north-eastern front, they had been given leave to camp in the outer reaches of Sirrane, the great kingdom of wood and mountains that swept along the north of Tsard.

  For Roberto, it had been a double benefit over the hundred and fifty days since the conditions dictated an end to hostilities. His mother was desperate to secure a formal alliance with Sirrane. Even now, Conquord diplomats ventured deep into the closed forest lands. Roberto played his part, maintaining a disciplined camp, foraging only in the area of forest granted to him and burning the minimum of timber.

  As a result, food was sufficient and his armies were content enough. Desertion rates were low and morale reasonable. No one was happy to be marooned for dusas on campaign and there was no doubt that in Roberto's experience, Tsard was the bleakest terrain he had ever seen once the snow and ice came.

  He had his discipline problems through the quiet days. Boredom was a dangerous demon and in an army of over sixteen thousand men and women, spread like disease. Drills and organised inter-manipular and inter-legion games were his most successful weapons, in addition to ensuring he rotated the foraging teams to give everyone a taste of the hunt. But arguments between lovers, over the Sirranean

  whores that walked the camp, shares of food and drink, card games . . . anything on a cold night sparked fights and insubordination.

  And while Roberto had the reputation of an understanding general, he would not tolerate indiscipline. He had executed three men and two women for serious breaches and those deaths weighed heavily on him. But in a campaigning army of this size, he had to make an example or face mutiny. In years gone by, loyalty to a general was enough. But the Tsardon campaigns had been going on for five years and patience among those who had left their families to farm in their stead was growing thin.

  This last dusas had been a busy one for the administrators. Roberto had been visited by a senior delegation of the Gatherers to assess manpower, morale and discuss planning for the genastro campaign. Paul Jhered himself had visited the huge legion encampments some two hundred miles inside Tsard from the eastern border of Atreska. It was where the Tsardon armies had been particularly aggressive during the last campaigning season and where progress remained tortuously slow. The southern front legions camped by the borders of Kark had also suffered, but more at the hands of raiders from the steppes who targeted supply lines and ambushed marching columns.

  Roberto was of the opinion that he and his fellow generals needed no reinforcement. Rather, they needed to be utterly certain the eastern front would remain firm so that the northern and southern armies could advance far enough into Tsard to close the pincers.

  His aim was to secure the southern border of Sirrane far enough east to stand directly above the Bay of Harryn, which lay the best part of a thousand miles south. Ambitious but achievable and o
ne brick in a year's campaign that ought to see the Tsardon broken and pushed back into their heartlands, fastnesses and strongholds. Surrender would then be a realistic outcome and they could all go home.

  It was the message he had been giving his soldiers and cavalry ever since the Gatherers had left him. They took back his thoughts about doubling the guard on all supply lines and manning every one of the nearly two hundred border forts that were the defence against Tsardon incursion into Atreska and Gosland. He had been disturbed to hear that one in three were no more than empty shells. And one thing guaranteed to sap morale, particularly among the Atreskan alae under his command, was word from their countrymen that the raids were unabated and the civil war still simmering.

  Communication between the fronts had gathered pace the moment the snows began to melt. The massive campaigning force, twenty Conquord legions and sixteen alae numbering in total close on one hundred and twenty thousand citizens, had begun drilling into fighting order and fitness at the same time. Roberto loved this time of the year. Energy and belief surged through his soldiers and cavalry. Each man and woman believed that this year would see their last on campaign. Each dreamt of a return to the lives the Conquord offered them in return for their service in the legions.

  For Roberto, he would swap his armour and gladius for the toga and rod of high political office. He wasn't sure how much he was looking forward to it but such was the destiny of the Advocate's eldest son. She wanted him home. Perhaps that was why he was reluctant to give up the soldier's life. Thirty-eight he might be but she would mother him like he was ten, schooling him in the vagaries of political life. She meant well but it could be so patronising.

  Roberto shook his head and blew out his cheeks. He ran a hand through his close-cropped black hair and pushed himself up from his desk, taking the paper the Conquord messenger had delivered to him. He turned to look into the mirror set up in the right-hand corner of his command tent, which sat in the middle of the camp. One valuable piece of advice his mother had given him was to be aware of his appearance at all times. Five years on campaign in Tsard made no difference to that advice. Legion commanders had to be in control, had to set the standard for discipline and that began with his personal bearing.