Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  'That I have not labelled you deserters is a gift to you, granted only because you have all served me well in battle. But your decision marks a lack of faith in the Conquord that I can neither forgive, nor forget.

  'To those among you harbouring joy that you can return to what you think is an independent Atreska, I wish you nothing but death at the hands of the Conquord's loyals. To those of you going to stand alone in front of their homes against the tide of Tsard that comes before the cleansing of the Conquord, I say this. From myth and legend of ancient kingdoms and empires come many sayings that resonate even today. One is particularly pertinent: there are no tears shed by the mother of a coward.

  'And who is he who returns home before the battle is done? I hope you are shunned by your families as I shun you now. If you should die, I would not miss one beat of sleep. Your shame will bear you down with a weight you can never hope to shake.' He stared at Shakarov.

  'You mean nothing to me now or ever. I do not know you.'

  The big Atreskan met his gaze but there was no regret in his eyes.

  'One day we will shake hands as friends again, General,' he said. 'We do not disrespect you. But there are times when loyalty to our country must come above loyalty to the leaders we love. Do not leave us with hate.'

  Roberto's despair threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted nothing more than to beg Shakarov to stay. To bring the passion of these people four square behind the Conquord. A passion that could sweep the Tsardon aside. But behind him, he sensed a new trust. A new belief. And he would do anything to nurture it.

  He kept his head steady, turned his horse and rode back to the camp to the cheers of his army. He didn't pause until he had reached his tent, where he dismounted, swept inside and threw his helmet across the space. Herides stooped and picked it up to place it on its stand.

  'Out,' said Roberto. 'Find me Davarov and Kastenas.'

  They had followed him from the gates and at the sound of their names ducked into the tent even as Herides scurried out. Roberto slumped on to his cot and put his head in his hands. Tears were threatening. Tears and rage. He could afford neither.

  'You did what had to be done,' said Elise.

  'Spare me your damned understanding,' he snapped. 'It is a failure.

  A failure of my leadership and a failure of the Conquord system.' He raised his head. 'Sorry, Elise, that was unworthy.'

  She said nothing but nodded acknowledgement. Davarov was struggling with Shakarov's decision.

  'They have betrayed us, like Yuran has,' he said. 'You should have had them all killed.'

  'But there's the rub. They believe they are going back to save their country from Tsard and the rebels. Do you really believe Shakarov a traitor?' Roberto pushed himself up from his cot and went to a table set with wine and goblets. He filled three and handed them round.

  'At every turn, the curse on this army strengthens,' he said. 'But never did I think my own soldiers would turn against me in such numbers. It will not be allowed to happen again. How many are we now?'

  'Desertions have been high these last days,' said Elise. 'But today you still command in excess of eleven thousand.' ‘I came to Tsard with almost twenty.'

  'But those that remain will follow you anywhere,' said Davarov. 'You've felt the mood.'

  'It has been the only blessing these last days,' said Roberto. 'There have to be changes to the way we operate. I can't have Atreskan and Estorean lining up as separate legions. Not now. Davarov, I'm placing you in charge of all the infantry. Elise, you have all the cavalry. Pick your personal command teams well. We will drill together on the march to Gestern. Forget those who have gone. We've wasted too much time. Thirty miles a day from here to Gestern or we won't have a Conquord to save when we get there. And when we do, we will fall on the Tsardon with a violence they will not survive. We are the fist of God and His punch levels mountains.'

  Dawn's light was growing and the Karku would be back soon. The snow had not let up and the wind howled into and around the cleft. They were all awake now and waiting. Mirron felt low this morning. She was sitting apart, her hands playing in the flames of the fire. She let the tongues lick up her fingers and warm her. There was comfort in the chaotic energies. They were hypnotic too and she had to take care not to let the fire reach her clothes.

  'Here. Something to warm your insides, too.'

  Mirron looked up. It was Menas. She was holding a steaming tin mug. Mirron didn't really need it but it wasn't Menas's fault she didn't understand. She took a hand from the fire and accepted the drink.

  'Thank you,' she said. 'Want to sit down?' Menas smiled. 'I'd like that very much.'

  Mirron shifted along the log a little way. She sipped her drink. It was sweet herbs and tasted great on a freezing evening. 'What's your real name?' asked Mirron. 'You already know it,' said Menas.

  'No, your first name. The one the Exchequer never calls you.' Menas laughed. 'He does sometimes. When he thinks no one else can hear. It's Erith.'

  'Pleased to meet you, Erith Menas.' 'And you Mirron . . . ?'

  'Well it depends,' said Mirron. 'My mother is Gwythen Terol but my Ascendancy name is Westfallen. All of us are the same.'

  Menas smiled. 'And which do you prefer?'

  'Westfallen,' she said. 'It reminds me of home.'

  Mirron looked away in case a tear fell. Menas was quiet but she was watching. Mirron felt a hand on her shoulder.

  'It seems so far, doesn't it?' she said.

  'Every time I open my eyes, I don't believe what I'm seeing,' said Mirron. 'Just for a moment. It's the best bit of the day. The only bit when I can fool myself I'm still at home.'

  Menas knew she was going to break and hugged her to her chest.

  'I'm sorry,' Mirron said. 'I'm sorry.'

  'What for?' asked Menas. 'I'm just amazed it's taken you so long. Let it out,'

  'It's not right.' Her voice was muffled by Menas's cloak. The smell of wool was strong in her nostrils. 'I shouldn't be here. This isn't how my life was supposed to be.'

  'Shhh. I know. It's hard but not even you have power over your own destiny. None of us do.'

  'You do,' said Mirron. 'You decided to join the Gatherers. You chose your own path.'

  Mirron pushed away and wiped at her eyes. Menas smoothed loose hair back behind her ear.

  'And you think the path I chose was a frozen mountain pass in Kark?'

  'No.' Mirron laughed. ‘I see what you mean.' 'And these?' Menas touched the scars on her face. ‘I didn't chose these either.'

  'How did you get them?'

  Menas smiled though it didn't touch her eyes. 'Not everyone wants to pay their taxes. Look, Mirron—'

  'Are you all right over there?' It was Gorian.

  'Yes, thank you,' said Menas. 'Nothing you can understand. This is woman talk.'

  She winked at Mirron, who laughed again. 'It's so easy for them. It's like some big adventure.'

  ‘I think it might be harder,' said Menas. 'That's what they want you to think but their fears take them in the quiet of the night. Don't let them fool you. At least you can admit your feelings.'

  'It doesn't seem to help much.'

  'Believe me, it does,' said Menas. 'Look, Mirron, it's hard for a woman in the wilds. Even a legion woman. Most men will assume weakness in you in their arrogance. So you need to see through it and be able to prove yourself. You can do it with your ability. I do it with my bow and my sword and with the crest I bear. But it's a long time earned.'

  'That isn't fair. The Advocate is a woman.'

  'No, it isn't, and yes, she is. And she had to earn her respect harder than any male Advocate, believe me. And some men will never believe we should attain positions of influence and responsibility because they say we can't deal with the pressure. They conveniently forget that countless men crumble under pressure and point at those few women who have done the same. Like the Chancellor. Hardly a role model for anyone.'

  Mirron felt the chill of memory through her.

&n
bsp; 'Sorry,' said Menas. ‘I shouldn't have said that.'

  'It's all right, Erith. I understand what you mean. Don't worry. I'll try and be more like the Advocate. Or you.'

  Menas blushed. 'Oh, I'm not so great.'

  ‘I think you are. I'm glad you're here.'

  'Well, that's down to a man so I suppose there are exceptions. The Exchequer understands more than we all think he does.'

  is he really as good as all the stories Kovan tells?'

  i expect so,' said Menas. 'And for all he can be rude and brutish sometimes, he's staking his reputation and his life on what you can do. He believes in you and that is a powerful thing to have on your side.'

  Mirron stared out at Jhered, who was talking to Kovan and going over some sword moves.

  ‘I wonder if he'll ever admit it?' she said. 'What's that?' asked Menas. 'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

  Chapter 56

  848th cycle of God, 20th day of Solasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy

  There were paths through the mountains. Jhered had always suspected it but the Karku concealed them from any unschooled eye. He didn't much care. Just to be inside, away from the deepening freeze, and to hear the Ascendants begin to relax was enough.

  And while they rode or led their mules under lantern-light, deep into the mountainsides, he knew they were travelling fast. The crow could not fly straighter towards the Tsardon border. Their three Karku guides, like the entire race, were an enigma. The metal and minerals they discovered and mined with such skill were at the root of their trading power and their diplomatic strength and yet they were clearly uncomfortable below the ground.

  'I will not believe they are a race of claustrophobes,' whispered Menas.

  Her voice echoed loud in the passage they travelled. It was wide enough for two mules abreast and would probably have taken a small cart. Its ceiling was only a few inches above Jhered's head as he rode but then he would be a giant among the Karku. The passage was rough-cut but smoothed by the movement of people and animals over the ages since it had been made. For the most part it was unadorned but periodically, they'd seen paintings or symbols etched into the rock, depicting sun, mountain, tree and water.

  Ahead of them, one of the Karku turned. Jhered tried to recall his name. Harban-Qvist, that was it. The first name a given, the second a traditional tribal identifier.

  'You think us all miners, cave rats desiring to exist in the confines of the living mountain,' he said, irritated. Menas tensed. 'Is every man in your Conquord a soldier?'

  'No. But I didn't mean that, I was just—'

  'No man, no Karku, would desire to exist beneath the mountain. It is necessity. The glory of the lords of the mountains, the sky, the air and the beasts that roam is all above. That is where our joy and our hearts lie. Do not speak until you understand. You will see.'

  'I'm sorry, I meant no offence,' said Menas.

  'Every mark on these walls is a reminder of where a Karku should walk.'

  Harban turned back to the way ahead, muttering to his companions who walked either side of him.

  'Grumpy, isn't he?' said Mirron from behind them.

  'People make assumptions about you too, don't they?' said Jhered. 'How does it make you feel?'

  'But they are the mountain men,' said Gorian. 'Everyone knows they are all miners.'

  'Harban would disagree with you,' hissed Jhered. 'And I prefer to take the word of a Karku than a young pup who has spent his life coddled in Westfallen. Watch and learn. That's what Father Kessian used to say to you, isn't it?'

  There was a pained silence and Jhered bit his lip.

  'You shouldn't speak of him,' said Arducius quietly.

  'I mean no disrespect to his memory, Arducius.'

  A light was growing ahead and Jhered welcomed the distraction. They'd been travelling much of the day inside the mountain and the weight above pressed on his mind as it did on them all. It had led to many taut exchanges and long, uncomfortable silences. The Karku began walking faster, standing taller. The mules, dogged travellers, pricked up their ears, sampled the air and brayed contentment.

  Jhered found himself cheering up too. The dank chill of the passage had leached through his furs and into his bones. The sun beyond would be cold but it would feel wonderful on his face. Harban glanced over his shoulder.

  'This is land forbidden to the outsider. Remember you are honoured.'

  Jhered emerged into the bright late afternoon sun and shaded his eyes with a hand. Below them, down a gentle snow-covered slope, was all the explanation Harban would ever have to give them about why they chose to live outside the mountains. It made him question the location of the villa he was building back in Caraduk.

  Completely encircled by mountains was a lush, undulating grassed plain. He guessed it at two miles across at least and more than double that in length. A river ran straight through the middle of it, cascading from a cave mouth high above them to the right and disappearing into the maw of the mountain to the left. Every rock face he could see was covered in bright painted friezes up to a height of twenty feet and more. Multiple paths ran away up the slope to disappear into the snowline or into the mountains.

  To the east and west, huge ice-laden slopes began hundreds of feet above their heads and led further up into the sky, dividing the mountains. Jhered felt a jolt of awe. They were surely not natural features but Karku-made. Their positions were too precise for there to be any other explanation. Without them, the plain would already be deep in late shadow. But the angle of the ice face caught the rays of the sun and drenched the whole extraordinary scene in light.

  There was a small town built on the plain. On either side of the river, circular stone-walled buildings of one and two storeys were spread among wide plots of land planted with vegetables or grazed by sheep, goats and long-haired cattle. The roofs of the houses were domed and made of wood. Each had a chimney in its centre. Most were smoking gently.

  To the north end of the town, larger buildings were grouped around an open area. It too was circular and laid with stone. There was a well in its centre and Jhered saw others dotted through the settlement.

  'Oh, it's beautiful,' breathed Mirron.

  Jhered nodded. Indeed it was.

  'Small wonder they want to keep it secret,' said Menas.

  'We have many faces,' said Harban. 'The outside sees only one. Welcome to Yllin-Qvist.'

  He led the way down the slope and broad steps from the passage entrance. Down in the town, people had begun to stop and stare at the strangers being brought into their midst. Children ceased their play and were called to the skirts of their mothers. Groups of adults gathered, many carrying weapons, including short blades, staves, spears and a single-handed weapon that looked like a miniature crossbow.

  Harban's two companions ran ahead, speaking to people, calming anxieties and telling them who had come. Caution turned to reverence. Jhered heard a whisper pass through the people. He smiled at them as he passed.

  'Thank you,' he said in his imperfect Karku. 'Thank you for allowing us into your home.'

  He wasn't sure if they understood him. Frankly, most of them ignored him to stare unabashed at the Ascendants travelling behind him. He looked back.

  'Try and smile,' he said. 'God-around-us, you look like you're going to your own executions.'

  'What's happening?' asked Ossacer.

  'They are staring at us, Ossie,' said Arducius.

  Ossacer studied them with his sightless gaze. He smiled. 'They like us,' he said. 'They want us.'

  'You can feel that?' asked Jhered.

  'Their thoughts bring warmth and calm to their energy maps. They aren't afraid.'

  'Feels good, I expect,' said Kovan.

  'It feels wonderful,' said Mirron, favouring him with a huge smile. The boy blushed almost purple.

  Jhered looked past the others at Gorian. His expression was severe, even unhappy.

  'Worried someone is going to accept you for what you are?' he asked.

&n
bsp; Gorian stared at him. 'What is it they know? I don't like people knowing things I don't.'

  'Then you must dislike an awful lot of people,' said Jhered, feeling a familiar impatience. 'Alternatively, you could decide to treat them with respect and ask them once we've stopped. It's one way to a longer life, I've found.'

  'They shouldn't know so much about us,' he said.

  'You have no idea what they know,' said Arducius. 'It's probably about as much as we knew about the Exchequer before we met him. Rumour and reputation.'

  'Why doesn't it make you happy?' asked Ossacer. 'These are the first strangers who don't hate us.'

  Kovan muttered something and Gorian snapped round in his saddle.

  'What did you say, boy-marshal?'

  'I said it's because you are paranoid,' he said. 'Only it's worse than that really, isn't it? You want people to hate and fear you. It makes you feel powerful. Father Kessian would be so disappointed if he knew.'

  'If you ever mention his name again, I will burn you, Vasselis. He was our Father. Nothing to do with you and none of your business.'

  'He did know,' whispered Ossacer, almost too quiet for Jhered to hear. Then again, louder. 'He did know. That's why he made you promise what he did on the oratory when he died.'

  'Right, that's it,' said Gorian.

  'Gorian,' warned Arducius.

  Jhered heard the tone in his voice and was off his mule in a moment, striding the short distance to Gorian, who had already raised a hand. He grabbed the boy's wrist.

  'I did not save you in order for you to demonstrate your petulant immaturity, boy,' he said. 'You will put your hand down and you will behave or it will not be Ossacer or Kovan who is hurt.' Gorian made to retort but Jhered closed his grip, making the boy wince. 'Do I make myself clear?'

  He slapped Gorian's hand back down into his lap and did not wait for his response. He walked back to his mule but did not remount, choosing to walk the animal.