Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  He stroked the woman's head and prayed Harkov had reached Westfallen in time.

  Chapter 42

  848th cycle of God, 26th day of Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  The new day dawned beautiful and clear. The sun quickly warmed the air and the earth. A light breeze rustled ripe crops ready for harvest. It brushed across the surface of the water. Moored ships bobbed gently and wavelets caressed the shore. Westfallen was as much a picture as it ever was during solastro.

  A visitor would have thought the population had disappeared, such was the emptiness that echoed around every corner and the blank front of every closed business. The forum was deserted. The fishing fleet drawn up on the beach. The fields empty. A single voice rang out across the town. It came from the House of Masks and every citizen of Westfallen was grouped on the grass in front of it to hear the lay Reader speak.

  Arvan Vasselis stood with Netta among the citizens, joined with them in their grief and loss. This was the first of too many com-mendments to be made this day and it was the one which dragged at the heart as no other truly would. A commendment of a return to the earth was a time to celebrate the life just passed and the rebirth that would follow. It was a time when the loss suffered by those the dead loved was tempered by the knowledge of a union between the dead and God. Or so it should be. But this day there could be no true celebration and there could be no mitigation for the cold that swept the hearts of Westfallen's citizens.

  Ardol Kessian had been returned to the earth, wrapped in a deep green woollen cloth and placed in a grave in the woodland behind the House. A private ceremony that only Genna, the Echelon and Vasselis had witnessed had taken place as dusk fell the night before.

  Now his mask, along with those of Elsa Gueran and the seventeen

  others who had died during the horror in the forum, was displayed outside the House with attendant flags. Vasselis could not take his eyes from it. A thin clay mould taken from his face on the day of his death and decorated by his loved ones with messages and symbols. The mask would hang in the House for a single year from this day before being returned to them for the family shrine.

  Vasselis fancied he could see the laughter lines beneath the bright colours and words covering the mask and it brought him the briefest moment of levity. Around him, he could hear crying and muttering as the lay Reader intoned the words of commendment. Each phrase merely heightened the sense of injustice they all felt, and the intolerable harm done to their community and all of their lives. He hugged Netta close and listened to the Reader, a fisherman's wife thrust into the role following Elsa's murder.

  ' . . . we are all of us called by God to return to His embrace and be at one with His love before our cycles continue on His earth. And we that remain are left to celebrate all Ardol Kessian gave to us and to God during his wonderful life among us. God will call in His way and in His time.' She looked up from the scriptures, closing them and shaking her head. 'Though it is impossible to conceive that He would have called dear Ardol in this way, nor any of those whose commendments I am desolate to be making.'

  A tear fell from the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek as she reopened the scriptures.

  'Let Ardol Kessian's Mask hang in the House to watch over us for a single cycle. Let him look out over us all and give us guidance and support. And let all those who would seek his counsel come here free of prejudice and ask it of him. Let his life just passed warm all of our hearts in the seasons to come. Let it be so.'

  'As it always is,' intoned the crowd.

  'And now I invite all those who wish it to place gifts in Ardol's travelling chest, that he may have fresh food and clothing for his journey into God's embrace.'

  She knelt and opened a small wooden chest, carved with roots and the sun. It would be filled with gifts from the citizens and buried at his feet. Vasselis walked first to the chest and squeezed the Reader's arm as he knelt by the chest.

  'Thank you, Elena. Your words are those of the true God.' He placed a hunting knife in the chest. 'For you, Ardol, my dear old friend, to help you hunt that which you need on your journey. God will smile on you.' He felt a constriction in his chest. 'And I, left here in your wake, will dedicate my life to bringing justice for the crimes committed here in the name of God by a fake priestess.'

  He rose and held out his hand for Netta. The two of them led the procession away from the House of Masks. A place where they would all be returning, time after terrible time, in the next days, to commend those that should not have been taken.

  'I have to go to Harkov, now,' he said, feeling the weight crush him again. 'Talk to him. Make him understand.'

  'Don't let him take you,' said Netta, her expression desperate. 'You have to be here. You have to keep the fires lit for the return of our son.'

  Vasselis all but broke then. Kovan. Catapulted into the wilderness. Unprepared and so young to take on the responsibility that had been placed upon him. He was a strong young man but this . . . Vasselis could only pray that those in place for this eventuality and those they met at random would help him. Help all of them. There was nothing he could do now other than keep their home safe for the day they came back. Should that day ever come.

  He walked with Netta to their villa and released her into the care of his men before mounting up. He rode up the slope out of West-fallen towards Caraduk, where Harkov had made his camp at a respectful distance. One hundred and sixty levium were with him. The forty palace guard had escorted Koroyan, Vennegoor and the survivors of the Armour of God away from Westfallen.

  The Chancellor had gone only reluctantly, all but accusing Harkov of collusion with Vasselis and the heresy of Westfallen. He had held his calm admirably and in his capacity as a captain of the Advocate's palace guard had written assurances to her concerning the independence of the enquiries he was making. In the same capacity, he officially recorded her accusations against named individuals but also noted Vasselis's counter-accusations. There would be trials, he had said. And they would take place in Estorr, not Westfallen.

  He had given leave, finally, for Vasselis to remain at liberty during the commendment of Ardol Kessian and for his part, Vasselis wasn't going to abuse that trust. Harkov was an honourable man from the same exemplary mould as Paul Jhered. He was a man on his way up in the Advocacy.

  Harkov rode out to meet him and the two men walked their horses down a slope in the vague direction of Lake Phristos.

  'She'll be back, you know,' said Vasselis, once the pleasantries had been dispensed.

  'She will be returned to Estorr and my deputy will read the charges you have laid to the Advocate. I don't think she'll be going anywhere.'

  'You're being naive, captain. We both know the Advocate won't detain her, leaving her free to act again. And she only has eyes for one place.'

  'I cannot imprison the Chancellor of the Order,' said Harkov. 'And I have to respect her word. All I can do is release her into the authority of the Advocate. Anything else is beyond my powers.'

  'You didn't see her,' said Vasselis. 'I did. I saw the zeal in her eyes blinding her to her actions. She cut the Reader of Westfallen's throat in front of the entire town. There are hundreds of people here who would bear witness. If you were in her position of power, what do you suppose you would do?'

  Harkov regarded him for some time while they walked across sunbaked grass.

  'Marshal, you know the feelings of the three of us who came here. And you now know what happened to D'Allinnius and why the Chancellor came here in the first place. But ultimately we all answer to the Advocate and she has ordered your arrest.'

  'You cannot remove me. We may as well burn Westfallen ourselves.'

  Harkov raised a hand and Vasselis calmed. He relaxed the grip on his horse's reins.

  'Please,' he said. 'With the Chancellor gone, I can speak freely. I am not here at merely the behest of the Advocate but of Exchequer Jhered. He blames the Advocate's fear on the Chancellor feeding her untruths about the risk
to her rule the Ascendants represent. He fears that in killing them and you, she would be killing something that could potentially save the Conquord.'

  'Is that not a little over-dramatic?' said Vasselis. 'Our Ascendants' Works are all based in peace, not war.'

  'I know what he said to you about their capacity for destruction. And he believes further that the Advocate and through her, the Chancellor, cannot be allowed to destroy this weapon. He will be very unhappy that I was unable to take the Ascendants into my custody.'

  Vasselis stopped. 'He is acting against her?'

  'He fears for the Conquord. You've heard his concerns about the war. His only concern is for the Conquord and though he loves the Advocate, it's the Conquord he serves, and all the peoples it contains.'

  'And what about you, Captain Harkov? Where do your loyalties lie?'

  'They lie in truth and justice and the desire for Conquord unity.' Harkov cleared his throat. 'They lie, in this case, with the Exchequer.'

  Relief cascaded through Vasselis. 'You will not regret this, my friend.'

  ‘I have agonised about this, Marshal. I am with the palace guard. I have a young family and I am betraying the orders of my Advocate and making myself an enemy of the Chancellor, just like you. It is no accident that the levium, not my own riders, are still with me. I will not implicate them.'

  'And what happens now?'

  'What happens is that you are in my custody. That much has not changed. But I have been given no set date by which to deliver you to Estorr.' He nodded his head at Westfallen. 'Tragically, I suspect this place is to become a battleground of Conquord faith and we must be ready. I cannot let you leave Westfallen but your deputies and I will make free use of the messenger service.

  'Bring your people here, Marshal Vasselis. Bring your soldiers and your engineers and your scientists. Because when the Chancellor realises I have no intention of bringing you to trial, she will be back, with or without the Advocate's blessing. And we must be ready or we will all burn.'

  'Why are we going there? I don't want to go there. I don't. I want to go home.'

  Mirron's misery was complete. She was seasick on top of everything else. She stood apart from the rest of them at the port rail, looking away back towards Westfallen. Below her, the oars of the trireme were silent while the wind pushed the ship forward at a healthy pace. They had found the ship, Cirandon's Pride, as light had faded the evening before. Their initial relief at being on board was short-lived and the fact of their situation intruded on them harder now, a day later.

  Arducius had done his best to be strong for them all but he felt as Mirron did, though he was not as vocal in opposition. Ossacer was sick too, shock having taken his strength from him again. He was below the deck being tended by the ship's surgeon, while the skipper, a woman called Patonius, tried to explain her orders. She was a powerful woman. Not tall but with muscled shoulders, close-cropped hair and a face red and rough from years at sea.

  'Sirrane is a secretive, closed country,' she said patiently. 'And the Marshal has been keenly involved in the negotiations to secure trade and proper diplomatic links with them. They know him and they trust him as far as they trust anyone. You'll be safe there in a way you'll not be safe anywhere else right now.'

  'It's so far,' said Gorian.

  'Another reason it's so safe,' said Patonius. 'You'll leave ship at Byscar and take the Conquord highway all the way through Atreska and Gosland. Some of the Marshal's best people are on board and will be with you.'

  'But I don't want to go there,' wailed Mirron.

  'Well, you must,' snapped Patonius. 'God-embrace-you, child, you should be grateful you have such powerful friends. You do not know how lucky you are.'

  Gorian opened his mouth but Kovan was quicker.

  'Gorian, don't,' he said. 'Captain, to these Ascendants this doesn't seem like luck. They've been hounded from their homes, seen their beloved Father die in front of them and seen more blood than anyone ever should. These are true innocents. Give them time to adjust, please.'

  Arducius found himself staring at Kovan with renewed respect. Mirron was doing much the same, though Gorian merely frowned.

  'So don't tell us we're lucky,' he said, tone sullen, eyes sunken from lack of sleep.

  Patonius nodded. 'Innocents, are you? I don't know who you are or what it is you are supposed to be able to do, but let me tell you this. It is over twenty days to Byscar, if the wind is still. If it blows from the south up the Tirronean at a steady six knots we could make it in twelve. Then it's another twenty-five days by horse, boat and on foot to Sirrane. At the very least. That's travelling without a break because your enemies might be behind you. Enemies that want you dead or you wouldn't be on board my ship.

  'You are in for a hard time and no amount of crying over what you have lost or where you want to go will change that. You are under my care, as ordered by Marshal Vasselis. And I will deliver you safely to Byscar. That means you stay out of the way of me and my crew or you'll find yourselves swimming to Atreska. Do I make myself, clear? This is the open sea and I am in charge. Innocence is over.' She turned and inclined her head to Kovan. 'Complain to your father about me when you next see him if you want to. Right now I have greater concerns.'

  She walked away to the stern and the tiller, glancing up at the sail as she went.

  'Why did you let her talk to us like that?' demanded Gorian.

  'Because she runs this ship. My father considers her among his best skippers, and that's good enough for me. She isn't really that bad. I just think she doesn't like anyone who isn't a sailor.'

  Mirron was noisily sick again over the side of the ship. Her hair trailed in her mouth and vomit mixed with saliva hung in strands from her lips. Kovan went to her but she shrugged him away.

  'Ossacer will stop it when he's able to,' said Arducius.

  'If, you mean,' said Gorian.

  'And you'll leave him be.' Arducius glared at Gorian, already tiring of his sharp comments. They were the only words he spoke. 'You know how hard it hit him.'

  'And it didn't hit me hard?' Gorian had tears in his eyes again. ‘I watched him die, too. We all did. And now he's gone, and we are alone and lost and going to some foreign land, and we don't know when we're ever going to be able to go home. Probably never. What can we do, Ardu? What can we ever do?'

  Beneath his anger, Gorian was as scared as all of them. There was a pleading in his eyes mixed with the brooding Arducius recognised only too well. He'd never be able to read him properly. There was always something else there within him.

  'We can continue to study and learn and improve,' said Arducius. 'You saw what we did at the forum and that was almost without thinking. There must be so much more we are capable of.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps we can speed this boat on a little, eh?'

  'What's the point?' said Gorian.

  'The point is that we can't stop now. Or the Father will have died for nothing. You don't want that, do you?' Gorian shook his head. 'Never.'

  'Good. Neither do I. So let's try and make the best of this. Make sure that everything we do, he would have wanted and do it all in his memory. What do you say?'

  Gorian nodded. 'I say that I will never forget him. As I will never forget who has killed him. One day I'll get her. I'll make her sorry and her God won't be able to save her from my fire.'

  Arducius sagged where he sat. 'Don't waste your time hating her,' he said. 'You'll never get close to her.'

  'Yes I will,' said Gorian.

  'And what will it prove? That you are a killer, just as she is?'

  'No,' said Gorian. 'That she should have listened to us rather than try to kill us. That her time is over and the time of the Ascendants is here. That we are the new power in this world and her God is no longer the master of our earth. We are.'

  Arducius was gaping but he could do nothing about it. Next to him, Kovan had stopped sharpening his sword and was staring. Even Mirron had turned from her misery at the rail.

  'It is God w
ho has granted you your abilities,' said Arducius eventually. 'We do the work of God.'

  'Think what you like,' said Gorian. 'You can be hunted all your life if you want but I won't be. And the only way to stop them is to make them see that it is we who are in control.'

  Chapter 43

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

  The woman thrashed and spat her fury. It took three men to hold her down while Dahnishev examined her. Her face was filthy and cracked, burned so deeply by the sun the scars would never heal. Her hands were ragged beneath her torn gauntlets and when they had removed her roughly repaired breastplate to ease her breathing, they'd found a livid bruising where at least one rib was pressing on her lung.

  The scouts who had come across her had thought her dead. Her horse, hardly in better condition, had been nuzzling her body. But she had flown at them with the strength of the insane. They would have killed her but had seen the Estorean crest on her armour. Instead, they had tied her across her horse to bring her back to the camp for treatment.

  'Is there nothing you can give her to calm her?' asked Roberto.

  The noises she made were disquieting. Her eyes would snap open and would always fix on him. Then the stream of babble would come. Completely incoherent but with a repetitive urgency that worried him deeply.

  Dahnishev indicated a mug next to him. 'I've got a decoction of white mandrake here and it would knock her out if only I could get enough between her lips.' He straightened. 'She's in a poor state.'

  'That much I can see,' said Roberto.

  'She's terribly dehydrated. I doubt she's eaten enough for many days but it's her exposure to the sun that is her main problem.' He looked up at his General, if she hasn't cooked her brain, I'd be surprised. Listen to her.'

  'We need to know what happened to her. She's a refugee from somewhere.'

  'Or a deserter,' said Dahnishev.