Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary

by Clive Ousley

  The repetitive rhythm of the march left time for Malkrin’s mind to wander. He viewed the setting sun as he ran and smiled at remembered text in the Brightwater library. It told how the land and sea formed a globe that revolved around the sun creating the seasons and the moon revolved around their globe. It had been a revelation but Malkrin had instantly picked up the idea along with the purpose of clocks and time divisions. He thought of his previous ignorance. Especially how Seconchane folk believed that the setting sun fought with the moon in the ground below them before the moon rose victorious. Then they considered that with the break of dawn the sun rose to show how invincible she really was. The Brenna and the priesthood had deliberately kept the people in ignorance.

  They camped that night under a small stand of trees. Malkrin and Halle had a small cloth cover each that pegged into the ground; it was a Brightwater adaptation of the Wolf people’s night protection and was lighter and easier carried. Talgour assured them they were waterproof and windproof. A text in the library had called them tents.

  Malkrin confided his fears about the plaited haired man to Halle. They decided to keep alternative watch through the night, it meant each had half the sleep of the rest of the group but it was the only solution until Malkrin found the right opportunity to confront the Wolf warrior.

  The next day the band was travelling soon after the sun climbed crimson hued beyond the eastern mountain ridges. They needed this early start before the late summer sun heated the land and dehydrated them. It was a decision Malkrin would have taken and he envied BerantWolf’s detailed knowledge gleaned from lifetimes of endless travel.

  They continued at a fast jog. Soon Talgour was running like a living corpse, already he was sweating out the extra fat and was panting less. Malkrin carried his backpack anyway; tomorrow he hoped Talgour would be able to take half of his pack’s weight.

  BerantWolf carried on the fast pace, Malkrin quizzed the chief as they ran. Apparently this next night’s camp would be near the grave of the Goddess’s war-bird. He learnt how the Wolf people paused in their journey to worship at the grave every time they passed the dead War-bird. It was an important shrine to them and signified Jadde’s celestial fight with the dark night.

  A flock of honking geese flew past and a flight of Wolf arrows brought down four. Malkrin looked forward to a filling meal that evening. Later the sun flashed on something amidst the boulder strewn valley they were passing through and BerantWolf stopped the group. As the men came to a respectful halt the Chief put his fingers together before his eyes to encapsulate the spear of light. He chanted tunefully, later explaining this was to ask the war-bird’s ghost permission to approach. The song was too much for one of his warriors, he’d only ever heard the greeting sung when travelling from the opposite direction. He howled and sank to his knees as if in pain.

  BerantWolf interrupted his welcome song at the second cry.

  The shaking warrior held his head between his arms and shrieked, ‘a curse is on us – we should never view the great Goddess’s war-bird in this way.’ His muffled words slid from tightly wrapped hands covering his face. ‘It will mean our doom.’ Suddenly he leapt up and ran back the way they’d come, howling as if he were being chased by a mountain banshee. Malkrin assumed he would run until he rejoined his tribe.

  The other warriors looked shaken and began muttering to each other again. The weight of change challenging their ingrained tradition, for once Malkrin was glad of his and the Brightwater’s beliefs.

  Malkrin, Halle and the two Brightwater Officials sat on nearby boulders and let BerantWolf suppress his men’s superstitions. They passed around a goatskin of water and listened quietly to the ensuing argument. It reached a high pitched crescendo and BerantWolf shouted an ultimatum. Malkrin peered over the large boulder in time to see two more warriors returning the way they’d just travelled. They looked relieved, presumably because they were running in the correct direction.

  BerantWolf came over.

  ‘The faint-hearted have left. My bravest remain and have given an oath to continue and face any ordeal we meet.’

  ‘The war-bird shrine must have powerful magic to place fear in brave warriors,’ Malkrin sympathised.

  ‘Maybe,’ was BerantWolf’s simple answer and they all set off again. BerantWolf’s seven warriors were re-energised; the plaited haired one still ran at BerantWolf’s side.

  An hour later they reached the war-bird shrine. Malkrin had expected an effigy of a giant eagle or a large bird skull with an elongated beak. But his every imagined image paled in comparison to what lay on an upraised ridge. It appeared to be a pile of tangled metal, but as they drew alongside, sleek lines emerged from the confused muddle. He followed the contours of one shining wing and a long crumpled body with a central eye made of starred and broken glass. The eye’s interior was a shadowed hollow. A spindly pine sapling spread from within and shielded the metal shrine from the blazing sun like a Brenna noble woman’s sun-umbrella.

  BerantWolf snarled assertively, ‘you will not take any bone from the war-bird. You will not shout or otherwise disturb the war-bird. You will not touch with hands or feet lest the Goddess’s wrath falls on us all.’

  ‘Am I permitted to approach and worship the ghost up close Sire?’

  ‘You may, but should you violate the holy shrine then we will sacrifice you to placate the ghost-guard that inhabits this place.’

  Malkrin nodded and bowed his acknowledgement. With Halle he walked to the bird sculpture, for that was the only explanation he could assign to this extraordinary tomb. They locked their hands behind their backs in a reverential sign that they would obey BerantWolf’s instructions.

  They stopped a warrior’s height away from the main body where the one intact wing joined the main Bird. It was obvious that someone had been keeping the war-bird from becoming overgrown with grass and debris, for a bank of dead grass and bracken lay beyond leaving the area around the sculpture clear. Only a thin film off dust covered the shadowed contours with visible surfaces mainly bright but pitted. Malkrin walked up to the tree filled eye and looked within. A shout from a Wolf warrior forced him back – but not before he’d glimpsed more intricate decoration between the roots and weeds. Circular glass covered lenses were filled with mildew. Glimpses of lettering behind the lenses had stared back at him. The eye also contained a metal seat-shape with a grass cushion. It was obvious the Wolf Tribe’s external care did not include the interior of the bird.

  A suspicion formed in his mind, it fitted in with Jadde’s legend in some way, but how? Amongst the smashed interior he had spotted thin coloured ropes with jewelled boards laced into them. They felt dead, the pulses and long streets of energy had left them long ago. Jadde had deserted this war-bird in times long past.

  Suddenly he knew – it related to Jadde’s altar somehow. He could remember only too well what he had viewed all those years ago when he was alone beside her edifice.

  He looked at the bird’s one remaining wing where it joined the body. It was one solid structure – but how could such a complex and heavy bird ever have flown? The Goddess’s presence was here although not as active as in her altar. Had she actually flown within it? The matter would need great thought.

  Halle interrupted his contemplation. ‘I can feel the ghost of this place, for this war-bird did indeed fly. It did not have its own life for in that tree-pit a man sat and I felt him leave the stricken bird. He had nursed it to the ground believing he could save it, for it was one of the last of its kind. But as it extended its feet to land a wing dipped and caught a rock and it died here in a cruel landing.’

  Malkrin nodded intently, Halle’s intermittent highsense was indeed a valuable gift.

  ‘Do you see anything else my friend?’

  ‘The man was called Lieutenant-Pilot and he was important to Jadde in a way I find confusing. I must think on the other images for they are foreign to me. A presence hovers here; it has great fear of beings called quarter-men and a great sorrow
for what had already been lost.’

  ‘If the great bird lost a wing then somewhere out here it must lay undiscovered and unsuspected by the Wolf people.’

  ‘That makes sense Sire. But we have not the time to look for it. The wing will have been lying beneath the grass for a considerable time and will be hard to find.’

  ‘Yes indeed. ‘Many Millennia’ are the words I found used in some Brightwater texts relating to how long ago a tribe called Sioux existed, I wonder if this war-bird was theirs?’

  ‘It would require a lifetime of study to unravel its secrets Sire. I respectfully propose we leave it at that.’

  Malkrin finished in frustration, ‘everything we read, and lots of what we see and hear relates back to the fight of the ancient people with quarter-men. I believe they are the same creatures as the Archgry.’

  Deep in thought, he wandered back to the group, and thanked BerantWolf for his permission to worship the great bird closely.

  Too soon it was time to move on. BerantWolf’s urgency to reach the quarter-men was urging them all to dig deep into reserves of stamina. According to BerantWolf’s estimates they would reach the lands of the Sylva tree-dwellers in three days run.

  Talgour made it, but only just. Malkrin helped him stumble over undulating hills, through dense woodland, boggy ground and through fast streams. It took all Malkrin’s strength and wits to support him as they traversed a heart thumping rope-bridge over a roaring torrent. Talgour was too busy mumbling and groaning to notice the flood below; it stretched Malkrin to within a bear’s fur of his strength to guide him. Then the band negotiated more streams with placed stepping stones. They mounted a hill via a wide spiral path and scrambled down the other side on scree broken with boulders and crevasses. By now Malkrin and Eighth-of-Senate each supported an arm and half carried Talgour for the last day’s journey.

  Malkrin marvelled at Eighth’s easily regained stamina, for as the Senate member explained, he still regularly led hunting parties. He could just have lounged with the Senate discussing policy, procedures and laws, but preferred the exercise and the excitement of the chase. Malkrin sensed he would be a valuable warrior should a confrontation with quarter-men arise.

  They ascended yet another hill and at the summit the view tipped down to the tops of giant trees below. Their size drew Malkrin’s and Halle’s breathe away, for the trees were twice as high as the largest they had ever seen. The topmost boughs and canopies of large emerald green leaves flowed in a complex ripple in the breeze and seemed to be waving in welcome. They started down the slope along a well trodden path with worn steps chipped into occasional steep banks. Halle was supporting Talgour with a Wolf warrior to give Malkrin and Eighth a break.

  Suddenly Talgour became aware of his surroundings. He had been here before and it seemed to reinvigorate him. ‘The Sylve, the Sylve, my friends, my friends,’ he kept repeating, then insisted on tottering downhill unassisted. It was a firm footing so Malkrin indicated Halle to release him. He noted a surprising flash of concern from the strange plaited haired warrior. They locked eyes and the concern was replaced with a stare filled with spears.

  ‘Sylva. I’m here, I’m back.’ Talgour shouted. But The Sylve weren’t listening.

  The steep slope and twisting path concealed the massive trunks. As they progressed downhill they swelled to a girth Malkrin would not have believed, he now knew what an insect felt like scurrying between trunks and roots. The behemoth trees were each the breadth of his home in Cyprusnia and seemed to spread further above them as they drew close, as if they were expanding to defend the band. Soon small windows carved into the hollowed trunks could be seen. Some windows were hinged and open to allow the breeze to filter into the hollow spaces within. Other windows moved unrestrained in the cool breeze as if waving a welcome. Well kept paths around the boughs and small cultivated patches of fruit trees and vegetables filled the ground between the paths.

  Now they were level with the tree trunks and Malkrin noted wooden doors flapping on sturdy hinges. As they neared the first tree-home the expected welcome never formed in Malkrin’s highsense. Then Halle pointed to trampled vegetables and drew his flint dagger. An unnatural inactivity seemed to overlay the wood village. Malkrin gripped Palerin ready to draw him hissing from his scabbard.

  Halle massaged his temple, ‘something’s wrong Sire,’ he hissed, ‘the Redwoods are saddened.’

  Malkrin’s highsense remained alarmingly empty with the absence of thoughts emanating from any human or domestic animal. An evil seemed to lay stagnant below the shadowed leaves. The whole party fingered their weapons expecting a horde of rabid wildcats or wolfs or bears to leap from the deep shadows.

  They reached a central paved area where the tree roots retreated underground to provide a gathering place for the community. The space was bordered by curved stone benches forming a rough circle that could comfortably seat a hundred people. A statue of a large woodsman with raised axe lay in pieces in the centre of the clearing. The bad atmosphere congealed into hideous reality.

  The surrounding tree homes seemed to droop in failure. Their lower branches hung shredded, the beautiful emerald foliage reduced to withered brown. The bark around doorways, once intricately woven around living wood, was slashed and injured. The ground was covered in wrenched and splintered boughs, and beneath the foliage crumpled shapes lay. BerantWolf threw shattered branches from the corpse of a grey-haired woman. Malkrin noticed a broken branch had been rammed with inhuman force through her stomach, pinning her to the blood sodden ground.

  ‘This was Trisher. She was mistress of these trees and governess of the tree-dwellers,’ announced Talgour sadly.

  Malkrin looked around as his companions exposed more corpses. All had been slain in similar barbaric manner. He glanced over to where the piled remains of the tree-dweller men lay. His tracking skills told him they had run to engage the threat. All had been decapitated as they fought to protect their brethren. Silently the warriors strode amongst the tree homes, noticing severed heads, arms and legs scattered through the trees and vegetation. Malkrin’s hunter’s eyes interpreted a circle of male corpses protecting a rough ring of dead women. Then at the centre the sad jumbled corpses of elderly and children lay amongst stone seating. It had been a scene of frantic defence against a pitiless foe. Malkrin estimated there must be at least two hundred dead people here. A beautiful place had been desecrated and a valuable tribe destroyed. He hoped some survivors had fled the barbaric wrath.

  A shout rose from one of the Wolf warriors who had bent to a sprawled shape. Malkrin and BerantWolf ran over.

  BerantWolf swore in disgust as the attackers’ identity was confirmed. It was as they had all dreaded and not dared mention. ‘Demons,’ he spat the foul word.

  It lay there with ferocity frozen on its face and with an arrow skewering its windpipe. Malkrin drew Palerin and stepped aside from the black carapaced body to scan the nearby boughs lest quarter-men were about to return. His inner ear extended through the giant boughs into the small rooms within, then beyond. The spaces were clear; nothing malevolent moved, laid waiting or seethed. He finished the search and looked back to the hideous form half expecting it to leap up and behead BerantWolf with its evil bone talons. Two spears were imbedded in the joins around the carapace, but he surmised the arrow had finally brought it down. It appeared to have taken a huge effort in energy and weaponry to kill just this one creature. He counted seven crumpled and dismembered men scattered around the demon and fully realised now why BerantWolf had made such an effort to alert other tribes by capturing their quarter-man.

  ‘We must prepare, for they can’t be far away.’ BerantWolf stated. ‘But first we should look for Sylve survivors in the depths of these great roots.’ He turned to Malkrin, ‘you and your companion have great tracking skills. Circle the tree village to find in which direction the creatures have gone.’

  Malkrin nodded.

  ‘My men – search the village. You two Brightwaters climb into tre
e-homes either side of the village and keep watch for a renewed assault.’

  Malkrin called over Halle and silently they spent two hours circling the huge settlement. Bodies lay everywhere and Malkrin feared none of the Sylve had survived. They soon found traces of an approach and a later return through flattened grass. Splatters of fresh blood told of injured creatures returning the way they had come. Unfortunately this would be the direction BerantWolf’s band must follow to observe the main host.

  They were about to turn back when the sound of whimpering touched on Malkrin’s highsense ear. He paused and raised his hand for Halle to stop. He pointed to where the sounds were emanating, and began perceiving the nooks and crannies amongst giant roots. He directed Halle, whose intuition then led him to the exact spot. Halle spoke soothing words into a black recess between roots. Deep within, Malkrin saw a pair of frightened eyes and was impressed; Halle was learning to use his intuition gift in conjunction with Malkrin’s highsense.

  Halle continued in a fatherly voice and soon with soothing persuasion a small blond haired boy emerged. He was shaking, covered in dirt and had a cut along a tearstained cheek but otherwise appeared unhurt. Malkrin guessed he was of about seven years, well nourished and with calm eyes in spite of his recent ordeal.

  Malkrin grinned encouragement but the boy clung to Halle who ruffled his hair and offered him an oatmeal cake from within his cloak. The boy cheered and Halle led him back to the gathered warriors.

  With BerantWolf was a badly shaken young woman, she had a serious gash in an arm which Eighth-of-Senate had just stitched with cat gut. He was applying a tight bandage to help protect the wound as Malkrin and Halle reached him. The girls name was Tabra and she had helped her husband and father battle a quarter-man. When they were slain she had glanced at her people dead and dying everywhere, and in her dismay had lost courage and ran. The demon creature had followed slashing at her. An arrow had lodged in a seam in its carapace, distracting the creature long enough for it to stop and rip it out. She had fled uphill and had kept running, only returning when she’d spotted BerantWolf's party arriving.