The Cry of the Marwing

by Unknown

  ‘When did the Leader visit?’ asked Caledon.

  ‘The day before we started patrol. The Tremen Leader spoke with Protector Leader Lis. I can ask Protector Leader Lis to report to you if you wish, Protector Commander. He waits at the chrysen grove.’

  Kest turned to Caledon questioningly, but Caledon shook his head. Miken had clearly wanted Kira to spend some time away from him before the council, and Caledon felt bound to honour his wishes, even to the point of not covertly monitoring Kira’s movements.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Kest, dismissing the young Protector with a nod.

  Caledon and Kest watched Therin hurry away. ‘You only eat too many bitternuts once,’ said Kest with a smile, as they went on.

  Deep in the Warens, a disconsolate Kira sat down, rested her head back on the stone and slept. When she woke, light sheened in from above, which was just as well, as the lamp oil had run out. Sun-starved sour-ripe tendrils trailed down and Kira frowned. Apart from being known for slicing and cutting unwary hands, sour-ripe vine was notoriously tough.

  Taking off her pack and jacket, she methodically rolled, heaved and pushed as many loose boulders as she could against the wall, then clambered atop the pile. But the sour-ripe vine remained maddeningly out of reach. Reclaiming her pack, Kira pulled out falzon bandages, and taking careful aim, tossed loops at the vines until they snagged. Then she hauled the vines down.

  Capturing more of the vines, Kira tied them into bulky knots about an arm’s-length apart to form a rudimentary ladder. Then she cranked her leg up to almost waist height, pushed her boot into the loop, and with her hands protected by her jacket sleeves, heaved herself up.

  Vines groaned and snapped, and foliage sheared off, but the bulk of them held and she struggled upward until she was able to gain enough purchase on the sides of the opening to clamber out.

  The sour-ripe was just as unforgiving under the dim trees as it was in the cavern, and it took Kira a lot of tugging, scores to her face and hands, and rips to her clothing to retrieve her jacket and free herself from the tangle. It had been no better the first time she’d used the opening, except that then she’d been rewarded with plump, juicy sour-ripe. But now the vines, like her heart, were empty.

  49

  In the Bough, Laryia placed the final batch of nutbread carefully in the bread pot, but Tenerini stopped her from lifting it onto the shelf.

  ‘Time for you to rest,’ said Tenerini firmly, heaving the bread pot up next to the others, then adjusting the water pan on the coals.

  Laryia settled at the table and took a handful of mundle-berries from the half-empty bowl. It had been full the previous day, but Laryia had developed a particular liking for them.

  You’re turning into a proper Tremen, Tresen had teased her that morning before setting off for the Kashclan longhouse, and Laryia had laughed, relieved her husband’s mood had finally lightened.

  ‘Is there always this much work to do before a Clancouncil?’ she asked Tenerini.

  ‘Yes. But the Bough usually has helpers – women who come in from the longhouses to do the baking, the cleaning and the making of clothes. Even had Kira’s mother lived, it would have been so, for Kasheron intended those of the Bough to save their strength for healing.’

  ‘So one of these helpers would have looked after Kira?’ asked Laryia, thinking of her own growing with Eris.

  ‘Each helper only stays for three or four moons. It was one of the reasons that –’

  There was a knock at the door and Tenerini opened it to find that it was the Lord Caledon, and that he was alone.

  ‘Has Kira remained at Morclan?’ she asked, peering beyond him. ‘The council’s on the morrow and I’d rather she didn’t travel in the dark by herself.’

  ‘The Leader’s been at the Warens,’ said Caledon.

  ‘I understood that she was with you at Morclan,’ said Tenerini, puzzled.

  ‘Protector Commander Kest and I have been journeying around Allogrenia and didn’t return there until the last night. I’m sure Clanleader Marren would have told us had Kira visited. However, one of the patrols we encountered told us she had been to the Warens,’ replied Caledon.

  ‘Kira must have changed her mind then,’ murmured Tenerini, then recollected herself. ‘The Bough welcomes Lord Caledon,’ she said quickly. ‘Please come in and eat with us.’

  Tenerini was troubled and Caledon looked at Laryia closely as he greeted her. Laryia’s nod was brief, but he couldn’t expect warmth from the sister of the man whose lover he hoped to take. But then, as he watched her grip her hands over her belly, he saw that it was more than that. Like Tenerini, Laryia was anxious.

  ‘You’ve been here at the Bough for the last few days?’ he asked Tenerini.

  ‘Yes. There’s much to be prepared before a Clancouncil,’ she said, passing him a cup of thornyflower tea.

  ‘So you don’t know whether the Leader has returned to Kashclan?’

  ‘No.’

  Caledon’s tea was scalding but he barely noticed. In the last days his attention had been on the clear song of streams, not on what lay above the canopy. He hadn’t felt so carefree since the time on Shardos, just before he slipped – and fell.

  ‘Is there any reason why Kira wouldn’t be at the Warens or at the Kashclan longhouse?’ he asked Laryia directly.

  ‘Obviously because you are not at either of those places.’

  The surge of anger caught him unawares and he slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Tell me what you fear!’

  Laryia cringed and it was Tenerini who spoke. ‘Miken told me that Kira spoke of going to the Shargh,’ she said quickly.

  He whirled to her. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘The fault’s not Tenerini’s, said Laryia. ‘Kira was upset by the sick Shargh child. She thinks it’s her duty to mend all suffering in the world, and that if she fails to do so, the failure is hers alone. If you were close to her, you’d know that.’

  ‘I know your brother failed to keep her safe in the north. I just didn’t know there’d be risk to her here as well!’

  ‘How dare you!’ exclaimed Laryia. ‘If you think –’

  The Bough door opened and Tresen appeared, taking in the angry tableau in an instant. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Is Kira at Kashclan?’ asked Tenerini.

  ‘Not in the last few days. You told me that she had gone to Morclan,’ said Tresen, his eyes swivelling from her to Caledon.

  ‘I haven’t been at Morclan, and neither has Kira, but she was seen at the Warens,’ said Caledon.

  ‘Then she’s still there,’ said Tresen, lowering himself onto a seat.

  ‘There’s a chance she’s gone to the Shargh,’ said Caledon.

  ‘Kira and I argued about that insane notion and she pledged to do nothing until the Clancouncil,’ said Tresen with a shrug. ‘It’s in their hands now whether she comes to her senses of her own free will, or is made to.’

  ‘Made to?’ hissed Caledon.

  ‘Anyone who believes they can go to the Shargh lands and survive is mind-sick.’

  ‘And so you threatened to lock her up?’

  ‘I won’t have her dishonour those who rot beneath what’s left of Allogrenia or whose bones lie beyond the trees! But I’m not the Leader, she is, and so the judgement as to what happens next lies with the council. Kira agreed to let them make the decision.’

  There was a rap on the door and everyone turned. ‘Maybe that’s her,’ said Laryia hopefully – but it was Kest, his expression grim.

  ‘Kira left a message for me at the Warens,’ began Kest without ceremony, producing a folded sheet of paper. ‘It’s addressed to the Commander of the Warens, but it concerns everyone in this hall – in fact, it concerns every Tremen, Tain and Terak.’

  I do not believe the fighting is finished, nor victory ours, he read aloud. The next spear throw and sword slash are simply delayed, until those who now grow up in sickness and suffering strengthen themselves with hate. We know
that this is true. It is in the Writings of Kasheron’s time, and whispered in the leaves of our own.

  I go to the Shargh to give healing to those who suffer, to allow children to grow without hate. If I am to return, it will be before the next full moon. If I do not return, then I beg the next Tremen Leader, in honour of my memory, to exact no revenge. I have broken pledges to those dearest to me, but this last pledge I will not break: I will not allow the Shargh to use me against those I love.

  Tenerini gave an agonised sob and collapsed into a chair, but Caledon simply swept up his pack and strode from the hall, the slamming door rattling the cups on the table.

  ‘Of all the treacherous, faithless –’ began Tresen furiously.

  ‘You insult the Tremen Leader,’ warned Kest.

  ‘A liar whose healing’s so poor she can’t even recognise her own illness! How will the Shargh not use her as a weapon? You’d best call in all your men, Kest, and send warning to the northern Leader and to the Tain to prepare. The bloodshed’s about to begin all over again.’

  Caledon was halfway to the Kashclan longhouse before he realised his direction, and stopped to wrestle some order into his storming thoughts. He was still poised motionless among the trees when Miken appeared. Miken bowed, but Caledon was beyond such niceties, for Miken had known of Kira’s intentions.

  ‘There’s no point conducting a Clancouncil unless it’s to replace your dead Leader,’ said Caledon brutally. ‘Kira’s gone to the Shargh – as she told you she would.’

  Miken swayed and Caledon leapt forward and caught his arm, lowering him onto a nearby log. Neither man moved for so long that tippets began hunting bark beetles next to them.

  ‘She pledged to remain until after the council,’ croaked Miken. ‘I’ve never known Kira break a pledge.’

  ‘She broke her bonding,’ Caledon reminded him.

  ‘And so became as loose as an autumn leaf. I thought my love would hold her – or yours,’ he said, looking up at Caledon. ‘I was wrong.’

  ‘We were both wrong,’ said Caledon, sitting beside the Clan-leader.

  Silence stretched before Caledon spoke again. ‘Kira left a message for Kest telling of her intentions. Tresen believes Kira’s mind-sick. Is that what you also believe?’

  ‘I spoke with Kira of what happened in her time away. She was quite lucid and, given what she’s endured, I find her wish to heal the Shargh understandable,’ said Miken.

  ‘But fatal.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Miken cleared his throat. ‘I was comforted by her pledge to wait for the council because speaking with them would have helped her reconnect with Tremen ways. Kira’s healing skills remain important, as Tresen is never going to have the strength to carry the Healer Leader burden alone.’

  ‘Then you should have held the council immediately,’ said Caledon.

  ‘I delayed the council to give her time to reconsider her feelings for you,’ admitted Miken. ‘While Kira clearly has love for you, Lord Caledon, she’s given me no indication of wanting to bond with you. Before she left Allogrenia the first time, she had affection for Kest, but she didn’t bond with him either. The only man Kira’s bonded with is the northern Feailner.’

  ‘She’s broken that bond,’ repeated Caledon.

  ‘Yes, but she must have been very sure of her love for Tierken to bond with him in the first place.’

  Caledon said nothing and Miken glanced sideways at him. ‘We may all look very similar to you, Lord Caledon, but the Tremen’s ways are as diverse as those in the north. Morclansmen and women have been known to breach Tremen law by taking each other to their beds, and Sherclansmen and women to make and break bondings as thoughtlessly as choosing riddleberries over mundle-berries for mid-meal. But for we of Kashclan, healing and bonding are the most solemn and important things in our lives. We tend to bond late, or not at all.

  ‘The most that can be hoped for now, and I do hope for it, is that Kira renews her bond with the northern Leader. The alternative is for her to spend her life alone, and for Kira that’s dangerous. It was Kandor’s loss that sent her beyond the trees, and it’s the loss of Tierken that has now sent her to the Shargh. Her love for you, for Tresen, for Kest, even for me and Tenerini, hasn’t held her here. And if by some miracle she returns, there will be no reason to stop her risking herself again.’

  Caledon stared down at the mossy bark for a long moment. ‘I thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, Clanleader,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry they weren’t more pleasant,’ said Miken, rising. ‘I need speak with Kest as to how we are to proceed. It might be best to tell the councillors that Kira has requested more time to think through her renunciation of the leadership, for there’s no point in alarming them and upsetting the longhouses unnecessarily. You are most welcome to stay with us at Kashclan, Lord Caledon.’

  ‘I thank you,’ said Caledon with a bow.

  Miken went on, the leafless branches above him locking like black bones across the sky. Caledon pulled his jacket close, feeling tired suddenly, and old. As a Placidien he’d long known that the stars’ intent overrode the wants and wishes of those on the ground, but how much easier it was to carry out their will when it didn’t affect his own wants and plans . . . and heart.

  50

  High on the spur, Tarkenda wandered about outside her sorcha, her mind too full of unanswered questions to sleep. Palansa had set out carrying a son listless with fever and with a breath that bubbled, and had returned with one cured. And the herbs the Healer-creature had given Palansa now cured others. Even more astonishing was Palansa’s assertion that the Healer-creature intended to come to the Grounds.

  It accorded with Tarkenda’s visions, but still seemed incomprehensible. Even if the creature hadn’t always shared the Northerners’ hatred for the Shargh, she surely must now, for Arkendrin had boasted of killing those of her line. If she did come, surely it could only be to wreak revenge?

  But then why cure Ersalan and give Palansa herbs to cure others? Unless the cures were soon to give way to even more terrible deaths . . . If that were the case, the journey of Ormadon and his blood-ties to guide the creature to the Grounds was a dangerous waste of time. The creature certainly wouldn’t come among those it was about to bring greater suffering to.

  The full moon threw her pacing shadow over the sorcha as she trawled though the words of the Telling. The last part of it still baffled her. The ‘thing’ could be the wind or the rain, for neither were living, breathing things, yet could ‘devour’ the ‘dark’ funeral smoke ‘feeding on’ the dead by blowing or washing it away. But there was nothing about the explanation that rang true, and if she were to save Palansa and Ersalan, she must know.

  Kira could see the dark shapes in the distance from early morning, at first thinking them small trees, then Ashmiri herd animals, then realising they were Shargh. She had spent most of the journey worrying about whether Palansa had understood her. If Palansa hadn’t, or was only concerned with her own child, then Kira was journeying towards her murderers. Very obliging of me, she thought grimly, ducking her chin to reassure herself that she could reach the everest with her mouth.

  But death was only a last resort, to save those she’d left behind. She wasn’t going to the Shargh to die, but to give Laryia’s babe a chance of a peaceful growing. And she must remember that, if every last skerrick of courage wasn’t to desert her. Blood pounded in her ears as the group resolved itself into four warriors, one old and three young. They held their spears in front of them, as if testing their weight before hurling them.

  Kira came to a halt and the older Shargh stepped forward. ‘Palansa send Ormadon,’ he said carefully, touching his chest. ‘Come you.’

  Kira’s mouth was too dry to speak, but she suspected the Shargh warrior had used his only words of Terak anyway. Ormadon beckoned to reinforce his message and Kira stumbled after him, the younger Shargh falling into step behind. They went steadily, and after a while her fear eased from an aching, swe
ating storm to a solid lump in her chest. The younger Shargh seemed to have relaxed a little too, conversing among themselves.

  But Ormadon didn’t. His eyes swept over the lands continually. Kira could see Shargh guarding animals like those the Ashmiri herded, and Ormadon gestured to her to pull her hood close. Kira was glad to, for the air was chill, but it told her that Ormadon’s vigilance was because of other Shargh.

  Ahead the land rose in a spur, but they’d have to cross a river first, its banks high in reeds. Kira wondered how they’d traverse it, but when they reached the river, they turned and followed the bank north. The younger Shargh now walked either side of her, and Kira sensed they did it to disguise her presence.

  The spur was crowded with round huts like those the Ashmiri used, and cooking fires were set between them. Men, women and children moved in the firelight, their voices drifting down, as did the occasional shout of a child’s laughter. Small fires also dotted the land to the west, and the smell of burned fat drifted from that direction.

  Her escort kept close to the reeds, and where they grew lower the Shargh bent and dragged her down too. Finally they came to a stop, the river still between them and the huts, and the spur’s sides now as steep as a cliff. It was going to be an awful climb up in the dark, thought Kira, and they still had to cross the river.

  Ormadon whispered and then, without warning, the tallest Shargh swung Kira into his arms. Kira stifled a cry as Ormadon gestured urgently for silence, then pointed to the water.

  ‘Palansa,’ he whispered, gesturing up into the darkness.

  Kira managed to nod and the small party waded into the river. The Shargh’s breath hissed behind her, and the man carrying Kira grunted, as he struggled to keep her clear of it. The water was up to Ormadon’s chest, but somehow the Shargh carrying her kept Kira dry, and they came to the opposite bank and squelched up it, water streaming from their clothes.