Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  Kell dragged herself painfully to her feet. She really was alone and for that she had to be thankful. She tried not to think about the chaos of eighty thousand citizens running across the mud, trying to get to the relative security of the camps. They were six miles and more from her position. If there had been no organised retreat, the carnage could be terrible, the numbers taken captive enormous.

  Damn the Tsardon, their stones and their dogs.

  She began to move back towards what had been the battlefront, picking her way between bodies. She veered towards the river, aware of her vulnerability. Alone behind the enemy. Every pace jarred pain into her ribs and though she tried to hurry, the ground was difficult. Her feet slithered in mud and blood and caught in deep hoof imprints. She stumbled repeatedly, gasping each time as if struck. Her vision wouldn't quite settle and she saw mirages of people and dark shapes that resolved into spears of rock or nothing but tricks of her mind.

  Blood and bodies. Everywhere. Kell stumbled once too often and fell to her knees. The waste of war was laid out in front of her. Some of them were still moving feebly. Hundreds across her unfocused field of vision, scattered like seeds from the hand of God. Torn cloth fluttered. Weapons glinted in the mud. All was dark stained and stinking. Kell was suddenly very afraid.

  She forced herself to look around. There were figures, Tsardon doubtlessly, moving among the dead. Concentrating on picking through the bodies lying across the field; aiding their fellows, hastening the ends of their enemies. Soon she would be seen too and she did not want to die. Not here and not like this.

  She slipped down on to her left-hand side, hoping the lie of the land and the confusion of bodies would obscure her progress, and began to grope her way to the river bank. She dared not look back. Beneath her, the mud was slick. Above her, the late afternoon sun was boiling her inside her armour. Sweat mixed with blood and covered her skin. Every movement was torture. She guessed it to be no more than fifty yards to the bank and cover. It took her an hour of desperately slow movement to get there with the thought of a sudden hand on her shoulder picking at her courage with each passing moment.

  She crawled through puddles of blood, across the corpses of her comrades and through the innards of horses split with steppe blade lances. By the time she dragged herself over the lip of the bank and slithered painfully down the slope to rest in the cooling water's edge, tears of loss and despair had already soaked her face.

  Kell rolled full on to her back and let the water drench her while she wept. She kept a hand tethering her to the bank and stared up at the sky. The sun was below the bank and a cool wind was blowing along the river. Kell's body chilled quickly and she hauled herself out onto the mud in the lee of the bank.

  The lip overhung the river above her head. She was safe here for now. Roughly level with the battle line of the day, she was out of sight of the whole field. It was about a mile to the first ford around a bend in the river. A long way from the camps she doubted were still standing. Two thousand miles from Estorr as the bird would fly.

  Images of the day played out in her head though she tried to stop them. How arrogant they had been. How certain of their ultimate victory. And how comprehensively they had been out-thought. How many of those who had marched out singing the Conquord anthem now lay under God's perfect blue sky? Friends, lovers and great soldiers. So many would be gone. Hopeless exhaustion swept over her and she closed her eyes. At least the tears stopped.

  It was the songs that woke her. Her eyes snapped open onto a starlit night. Confusion gripped her momentarily before her parlous situation forced itself on her mind. They had not been Estorean songs of glory. They had not been sung on a lush green field by the Bear Claws of Estorr. The dream faded beyond her grasp.

  The night was warm and humid despite the clear sky. Kell waited until her eyes had adjusted to the dark before she tried to move. She did well to stifle the scream. Her arm and chest had stiffened while she slept and she couldn't move her hands far enough to unbuckle her crushed breastplate. When the sweep of pain had faded she moved again, more slowly this time.

  The despair she had felt when she had passed out was gone, replaced by a desire for knowledge. She knew the defeat had been total but she also knew that thousands of her people would be scattered and running away from the battlefield, trying to pick a way home in front of the Tsardon army. Some would reform and organise as best they could. Others would run and hide and be lost forever, victims of their terror. She had to get amongst them, help them, try to find information about the magnitude of the disaster.

  Kell slipped and slithered along the river bank as quietly as she could, looking for a place where she could more easily climb the lip. Every move was a sickening jolt to her injuries and even the most shallow climb she could find was a trial. Looking out across the marshy plain towards the camp, the tears, the dread despair and the grief threatened to overwhelm her again.

  Tsardon songs of victory rolled across the open space. Their laughter mocked her. Their fires covered the ground, a macabre carpet of flame illuminating cavorting silhouettes. But none was bigger than the blaze that marked the position of the once proud Conquord camps. Home to eighty thousand. Now pyre to how many, she wondered.

  She stared at it all until her eyes fixed on the dancing flames. The enemy were all around her. Along the plain in either direction, choking the ground between her and the camp and ahead of her at the fords. She stood little chance of escaping them by attempting a crossing of the plain now. Even less so given her injuries.

  But at least when they marched she would have certainty of their positions and direction. And if she could find a horse, she would have more speed than a marching army too. She could afford to wait them out but one way or another, she had to get to Estorr. To Atreska or Gosland even. It was the duty of all Conquord citizens from the routed army.

  Someone had to tell them what was coming.

  Kovan Vasselis found Mirron walking alone in the orchard. The day was peaceful with the sound of gulls echoing distantly up the cliff sides from the bay. It was bright and the sea breeze kept the temperature bearable. She was dressed in that simple blue tunic dress that seemed to enhance her beauty so effortlessly and Kovan felt overdressed in the formal toga his father made him wear when they visited Westfallen. It was slashed with Conquord green and Vasselis blue. His gladius in its gold weave sheath hung from the leather belt at his waist.

  She was sitting with her back to a tree and gazing into its sick-looking branches while her hands were planted firmly in the grass. He noticed the green stems had grown around her fingers as if in response to her presence.

  'I didn't realise that happened,' he said, thankful of a way to open the conversation.

  He found his mouth dry and his stomach full of nerves. Silly really. She was three years his junior but she had always had the same effect on him. Only latterly had he fully realised what that meant and he was determined to win her despite the competition. She started and looked round at him sharply, her face melting into a smile as she recognised him.

  'Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,' he said, standing a respectful distance from her.

  'It's all right,' she said, sounding soft and musical. 'I was miles away, lost in the tree. I'm trying to find out why it's dying. What did you say?'

  Kovan pointed to her hands. 'The grass. I didn't realise it just grew like that around you.'

  Mirron looked down and nodded. 'We're getting closer to everything that grows,' she said. 'I love it that the plants respond to me like this. Like I spread health wherever I go.'

  She spoke quite without arrogance and her voice was full of wonder and joy. Kovan smiled and moved closer.

  'It's amazing what you can do,' he said. 'Is it all so natural now?'

  'No,' she said. 'Any Works take concentration and energy like always. But Father Kessian says our latent energy is what does things like make the grass grow if we rest our hands on it for any length of time. It's the same energy that h
elps us renew ourselves and takes the wrinkles away.'

  'Do you mind if I sit by you?'

  'Of course not.' She patted the ground. 'Plenty of grass to spare.'

  That close to her, he was almost overwhelmed. He could hear her breathing, see the turn of her mouth and smell the freshness of her scent and clothes. He was desperate to touch her and terrified at the prospect. She might recoil, after all, and he didn't think he could stand that. He kept his hands in his lap

  'So what's wrong with the tree, then?' he asked.

  There were curled dead brown leaves and twigs at the end of each branch and the bark was flaking and split.

  'I don't know yet.'

  'Oh.' He paused. 'So why are your hands on the ground?' 'Because I'm starting with the roots. Seeing if they're diseased.' Kovan nodded. 'I see.'

  A sudden panic gripped him. His mind had blanked and for the moment, he couldn't think of anything to say. He felt the silence stretch out and become heavier with every passing moment and all he could think to do was nod and say, 'I see' again. His relief when Mirron spoke was written on his face he was sure.

  'I was about to start on the trunk when you came along. I think it might be rotten inside though I don't know why.' She stopped and turned a smile on him that tipped his heart on its head. 'That's my excuse for being here. What's yours?'

  'I.' Kovan stalled. His face felt terribly hot. 'I just. Well I just wanted to be sure you were all right here on your own.'

  'Why wouldn't I be?'

  'Oh, no reason. But, you know, what with all that went on with the investigation . . .' He trailed off, knowing he wasn't being at all convincing.

  'Kovan, that was ages ago. Well, twenty days and more. But thank you. It's always good to know I have a protector.' 'Always,' he said.

  Her expression sobered. 'Can I ask you something?' 'Of course,' he said and a thousand possibilities clamoured in his head. Her words didn't match any of them. 'We were talking and—' 'We?' he asked quickly. 'Gorian and me.' 'Oh.' His heart sank.

  'Has your father said anything to you about what might happen to us?' She looked across at him, so vulnerable and afraid for a moment. 'We don't want to leave here. Will we have to?'

  'God-surround-us but I hope not,' he said. The thought of her in Estorr so far away was a pain in his chest that would not go away.

  'You know what Exchequer Jhered said to my father though, don't you?'

  She nodded and stared at the ground. 'Father Kessian told us. But we thought your father would be able to make them see it wasn't necessary. That if they wanted to watch us they could do it here.'

  'It isn't that simple,' he said, echoing his father's words. 'Nothing in the Conquord is ever that simple. And it isn't just to watch you, remember, it's to protect you as well. The Order will hate you.'

  'But why? We haven't done anything. And we aren't ever going to.'

  Kovan shrugged. 'They won't see it like that.' He tried to smile but it wouldn't come. Gripping his courage tightly he placed a hand over hers and his heart sang when she did not try to move them. 'You've never seen the Order except Elsa Gueran, have you?'

  She shook her head.

  'Most of them aren't like her. They don't understand that it's God's will that you were born to be what you are. And they seek to destroy anything they don't understand.' Kovan squeezed her hands. He knew he'd scared her but he was happy. He was going to be able to say the words he had planned to say when he walked up here. Words that he was certain would win her heart. 'But I won't let anyone hurt you. 1 will always be there to protect you. Always.'

  She beamed at him and moved her hands to hold his. He felt a thrill rush through him.

  'Thank you, Kovan.' She got up and he with her. 'Now I really should work out this tree or Father Kessian will be annoyed with me.'

  'How is he?' asked Kovan. 'Really, I mean.'

  'He's old,' said Mirron and she swallowed. 'And he gets ill all the time. And though he tries to hide it, I think he struggles to breathe. But he won't let Ossacer examine him. One day soon he won't be there to guide us. I don't know how we're going to cope with that.'

  'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It'll be hard for us all but you the most.'

  She nodded and turned to face the tree. 'Shouldn't waste any more time.'

  She placed her hands on the cracked bark and Kovan saw her jolt violently. She gasped and gripped the trunk tightly. Her eyes closed and she leaned her forehead against it, a low, pained moan escaping her lips.

  'Mirron, are you all right?'

  She didn't respond. She was shuddering and a line of dribble ran down her chin. Her teeth were grinding together. Kovan took a pace towards her and stopped, staring at her hands. The tips of her fingers were discoloured grey-brown like the bark. And as he watched, the colour moved up her fingers, rippling her skin. Veins in the backs of her hands swelled and pulsed, green mixed with the sick grey and brown.

  Mirron cried out, an anguished squeal. She was trying to speak but was incoherent. Kovan didn't know what to do. He was transfixed by her hands which appeared cracked and split now as if extensions of the bark itself. He wanted to drag her away but wasn't sure if it would do more harm than good. And he wanted to shout at the tree that it was killing her while she tried to heal it.

  'Mirron, pull away,' he said. 'Pull away.'

  He moved closer and reached out a hand. He touched her shoulder. She jerked, her hands sprang from the tree and she fell into his arms. He clutched her gratefully and they sank to the floor together. She was breathing hard and he could feel her hands grasping his back and toga. Her heart thumped against him, the pulse rapid with her fear.

  'It's all right,' he said, stroking her sweat-sodden hair. 'It's all right. I've got you.'

  He glanced back at the tree. Where her hands had gripped the trunk, the bark was gone and he could see the shape of her hands as if she'd dipped them in paint and printed them on. And where her feet had been, the grass was long, some of it wilting and brown.

  'What happened?' he asked. 'What happened?'

  Mirron pulled back from him. Her body was shaking. She stared down at her hands as if they'd betrayed her. Nothing of the bark colour remained though the skin was wrinkled and dry. Aged.

  'Mirron?'

  She turned scared eyes to him and tears were starting to run down her face.

  'Get Father Kessian,' she said. 'Get the Ascendants. Please hurry.' Kovan laid her on the ground in the shade of another, healthier tree and ran for Westfallen, shouting all the way.

  Chapter 30

  848th cycle of God, 2nd day of Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  It was night and Kovan was still shaking. He'd tried to sleep a little that afternoon but the shock had settled on him and all he could see in his dreams was Mirron transformed by bark. Sometimes it was just her hands but in others she had leaves growing from her body and her face was sick wood.

  The only thing he could do was talk about it but that seemed futile too. He'd been comforted by his mother and then accompanied by his father to the villa where Father Kessian and the Echelon had spoken with him at some length, trying to understand what had happened. At first they didn't believe him, thought it some adolescent fantasy. But when Mirron had managed to speak, they had all begun to panic.

  Much of it had passed Kovan by in a haze but he had seen them scouring their books and breaking into hot debate and argument. They asked him over and over to make sure he hadn't left out any detail and he'd even had to sit by while an artist sketched his words.

  Finally, they'd finished with him though it didn't seem to have solved anything. Mirron wasn't able to explain herself. She remained confused, apparently. Kovan had refused to leave the villa until Father Kessian said she was all right. And so it was late when the old man came to the library where Kovan was trying to distract himself with books. He rushed to his feet the moment the door opened.

  Kessian shuffled in, leaning heavily on his two sticks and looking exhausted. He had
a sickly pallor from a chest infection he was unable to shake off and his hands quivered as he tried to grip the

  sticks. Genna Kessian walked in behind him. Her concern was for her husband, not Kovan.

  'It was good of you to wait,' said Kessian, his voice quiet and full of phlegm. 'No need to get up.'

  ‘I couldn't leave,' he said. 'How is she? Is she all right?'

  'She's fine as far as we know,' said Kessian. 'Neither Ossacer nor Genna can find anything wrong with her.'

  'Has she said more about what she felt, what happened?'

  'This and that,' said Kessian. 'She's confused. Though it does seem certain that your touch halted whatever was going on. Now, whether that ends up being the right thing to have done or not, we don't know yet because we don't know if Mirron was genuinely in danger or not.'

  'But she was in pain. I heard her,' said Kovan, shivering. ‘I will always be able to hear that.'

  Kessian smiled. ‘I know, Kovan, and we were very lucky that you chose to go looking for her today. However, if there is one thing that our Ascendants have learned, it is that pain in their work is not always a danger sign. Sometimes it is shock as the body reacts and then adapts to something new. And perhaps that is what happened today. Only time will tell and Mirron can explain it all to us.'

  'So have I done her more harm by touching her and stopping it happening?'

  ‘I very much doubt it,' said Kessian. 'Now go back home and get some sleep. And remember this. You acted out of pure honour because you heard Mirron was in pain. And she is grateful to you. We all are. And you were there to come and get help. Most importantly, it meant Mirron was not alone when she went through this new experience, and there is no price you can put on that.'

  Kovan smiled, comforted and was suddenly struck by how very tired he was. He felt small and fragile, not tall, strong and seventeen at all.

  'Thank you, Father Kessian.'

  'Come back and see Mirron tomorrow,' said Genna. 'I'm sure she'll want to see you.'