‘Then it is no coincidence that Aviti and I managed to leave the room, undetected by yourself and Tyla?’ asked Wist. ‘Both of us managed to lift a weapon from you before we left. This Lytch somehow aided your sleep.’
This time Faric remained unmoved, neither refuting his conclusion nor confirming it. ‘Then there can be no blame on either of your parts.’ He indicated the Lyrat Pair with his hands. He’d no idea whether they had heeded his argument, so he let the point go.
‘We cannot stay here,’ said Faric. ‘Sunlight shall keep the Lytch at bay, but that is little protection. We must move before nightfall and put this cursed place behind us. We are vulnerable here.’
‘If there is a Lytch, then other horrors dwell here also,’ said Tyla. ‘We must travel during the day and cross the Corb before nightfall. There shall be no rest before we cross the river. Can you can do this?’
Both Wist and Aviti agreed, but again it felt like they had little choice in this. Wist would be glad to be far from here.
‘Very well,’ said Faric. ‘We shall leave as soon as we are able. This shall be a hard day. Prepare yourself.’ Faric turned and went back to the room in which they had slept – Tyla left the house, moving to where the horses had been tethered in the shade of the building.
Aviti stood, still facing him, visibly shaken from the encounter.
‘I saw it change,’ she said, her voice quivering as she spoke. ‘Just as I left the room. Who was the woman, whose guise it initially wore?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he lied, ‘someone from my past.’
‘Please do not treat me as a child,’ she said. ‘You recognised her as surely as I recognised my mother. Who was it?’
He searched for a way to evade the question, but her directness had removed any room for manoeuvre.
‘My own mother,’ he replied, ‘though I can’t recall her face now.’
8 - When The Sun Rose Again
Two great plumes of dust billowed into the brilliant blue sky as the parallel tracks cut by the thundering horses’ hooves dissected the flat expansive plane. The uncounted miles consumed already that day were dwarfed by the distance they had left to travel. The sand whipped by beneath their mounts. The colossal pace set by these graceful beasts was astonishing. When they’d travelled by night, Wist had thought the pace had been quick, considering there’d been so little light. Now he’d witnessed what they were truly capable of.
Wist tried to look around for their companions, but at this speed, he lost his balance when he moved his eyes from the direction of travel. Gone was the relaxed posture of the previous night’s journey and now he grasped Faric to ensure he wasn’t thrown to the ground. His heart still raced from the encounter with the Lytch. The face of his mother wouldn’t return to his mind, but he was sure of whom it’d been.
Why had his thoughts turned to her? The Lytch must have picked her from his mind to use against him. The words she had said to him - had they also been lifted from his memories or had it been goading him, the same way it had tried to force Aviti to give into her urges? His mother had blamed him for something - part of him thought she had blamed him for everything. He wondered whether Aviti would have defied the Lytch, as she had claimed she would have. It must have read her thoughts, or emotions, as easily as it had stolen his. She held him responsible, for her fate and that of her family, whether she admitted this to herself or not.
Her mother had been even more beautiful than Aviti. Mabon, he recalled, that had been her name. Even her spectral image had shone with an inner power. As they rode faster still, Faric began to sing, his words catching the relentless rhythm of the hard hoof-falls.
Talus, mark of fang draw near,
Talus, fight and know no fear,
In battle bled, our screams to hear,
On to Victory.
Until Moon and Sun shine no more,
Water still, tides hold the shore,
We fight or die, until time ignore,
Death not Slavery.
What shall be your final hour?
Watch as time and age devour?
Withered, beaten, crawl and cower?
Life, let fade away.
Tribes shall stand, tribes shall fight,
One man’s call, the tribes unite,
Throw off the yoke, flames ignite,
Life, be grasped today.
Now see your kin in servile chains,
Or grab your time, your life regains,
A fire so fierce, your blood contains,
Lyrat, bend no knee.
Foes shall come and foes shall fall,
For Freedom claims a price of all
But dare you hide from Talus’ call?
Stand and fight with me!
As Faric’s song ended, Wist realised that he’d found the oscillating movements to match the rhythm of the horses’ stride. The rousing song stirred memories once more of that long march to meet Tilden’s forces. Like many of the songs they’d sung on the march, it carried him along. There’d been no singing in the rout that followed; the camaraderie had been smashed beneath the boot of reality.
How long could they keep this up? He was struggling under the blistering heat of the sun, but the horses must be stretched to breaking point. The massive snorts of air that they grabbed continued unabated. Neither Faric nor his mount showed any signs of easing the pace. As Wist looked to the distance, the horizon was distorted by haze, making the desert appear endless, the line between earth and sky indistinct.
‘How far are we from the river?’ he shouted over Faric’s shoulder. At first, he thought that the Lyrat hadn’t heard him, but he quickly realised that Faric was concentrating on guiding the horse, whilst attempting to ensure their flight was unobserved.
‘It is close,’ Faric replied. ‘If it were not for the noise of the horses, even you would be able to hear it.’ The words held no malice, but Wist was again unsure whether this complex man was teasing him.
The sun had long since passed its peak and had begun to wane, shining strongly into their eyes on their left-hand side. He was glad of the cloak that Faric had given him; its cowl pulled in close to give him some protection.
‘Have you ever been to the mountains,’ Wist asked loudly, ‘where the river begins? Eliscius spoke of it a few times to me. He spoke of their peace and tranquillity; their permanence and solidity.’
‘Unlike the shifting sand we ride upon?’ the Lyrat commented. ‘Yes, I have been to the foot of those mountains. I have never ventured into their heights though. My life is here, among the changing dunes. I feel their rhythms and movements in my blood, as they are in Tyla’s. As they are …’Faric left his words hanging in the burning desert air.
‘What’ll happen with your people? Won’t they pursue us through the desert?’ Wist’s voice betrayed a little of the fear he felt at the prospect of a tide of assassins pursuing them.
‘I know not what will become of my people.’ Faric spoke so softly that Wist struggled to hear him above the cacophonous clatter of hooves. ‘I can only hope that they can throw off what holds them in thrall; that one day I can be with my people again, with my son.’
‘You -,’ Wist began, ‘you have a son?’ Either Faric had not heard his question or he simply did not reply. ‘You never mentioned anything about any children. How old is he? What is his name?’
‘Torra is his name, and he is no longer a child,’ replied the Lyrat. ‘I have not seen him for many years.’
‘Why not?’ Wist felt himself growing angry.
‘My bonding with Tyla precludes any –’ Faric struggled to find the words. ‘We shall never marry or settle to life with a partner, Tyla and I. Our life is one of servitude to our people. One which I willingly accept, or rather I had accepted.’
He felt the loss that Faric and Tyla had suffered when they had left their tribe; their entire life lived in service to their kin. Then they had been forced to walk away from everything they knew, abandoning whatever meaning their lives had previ
ously held. Their people’s fate must pain their every waking thought. To witness your own proud race’s downfall, whether through bewitched entrapment or succumbing to an inner weakness, would cripple even the strongest of men.
Yet, the decision to abandon a child rankled in Wist. He knew that his tribe would have relied on Faric’s prowess, perhaps as a scout or a hunter; his value to his own people was inestimable, but an uneasy resentment ate at him. It was too easy to find an excuse to jettison responsibility.
‘What’ll you do once we have reached Eliscius? Can’t you return to your people?’
‘There shall be no return for either Tyla or I,’ said Faric gravely. ‘For a Lyrat there is no greater punishment than to be exiled. It is reserved for the greatest of crimes. I have witnessed it being passed down as a sentence only once. The tribesman who was found guilty took the only way out. To have chosen this fate for ourselves –’ Faric’s voice faded into the desert sands.
‘It is an act so cowardly that a Lyrat, of any tribe, will be compelled to slay us,’ continued Faric, ‘should they ever find us. The moment we decided to leave, we sentenced ourselves to a transitory existence. There shall be no safety on the desert, or in the shadows of the mountains. It is a bitter path we walk, but it is the right one.’
--*--
The miles continued to ghost by. The ochre glow from the sand stung Wist’s eyes, forcing him to squint through half closed lids - not that he could make out any landmarks from his position. The mountains had been barely visible when they had set out this morning, and he was unsure whether they had drawn any closer. By the position of the sun, he was fairly sure they were heading Northwest rather than straight North.
‘Who was Talus?’ he asked Faric. ‘In the song you sang earlier. I have never heard of him.’
‘A man,’ Faric answered, ‘a myth perhaps; a legendary leader of my people. It is said that he united our people and led them from oppression to the freedom of the open sands. His name is carried in the heart of every Lyrat. Some even claim to have spoken with him. Possessed of an inner vision, they journey out into the deep heart of desert to commune with his spirit for guidance or enlightenment.’
‘And have you?’ Wist asked.
‘No.’ Faric smiled as he spoke. ‘I have often thought that those “truth-seekers” had seen a little too much sun.’
‘But you sing his song.’
‘I do not belittle Talus,’ Faric said, his tone remaining light. ‘Nor do I denigrate what he achieved; among our people he is possibly the greatest ever to live. I simply do not believe his spirit walks amongst us. There are some who use his name to gain an advantage in the struggles for power.’
‘Power struggles?’ Wist asked.
‘You think because we live in the wilderness, we are savages?’ chided Faric. ‘Perhaps life would be better if that were true, if we simply roamed the land in search of food and shelter.
‘The same problems that pollute your world permeate ours. Greed, envy, the lust for power, they are all too evident in my people. The blame for our woes is often placed at the feet of the Settled, or Mashesh and the land of the Damned. Whenever food is scarce or disease ravages our people, there are some who would pass the responsibility to others. Most of our tribe accept that the difficulties we face in life are a consequence of our choice to live the way we do. There will always be those that seek the easy path.’
Wist thought about Faric’s words for a moment as the horse continued its gallop. ‘You say that you choose your life, but what choice do you really have? You say that being outcast from your people is a fate worse than death. Surely then, you follow the path that your parents made for you and not your own?’
‘There are many fates worse than death,’ said Faric solemnly. ‘The one I fear most is to become a tool for another. To have all choice removed, my life rendered meaningless. My separation from my people is intolerable. Yet, it must be borne.’
‘Having Tyla must help? You can never be truly alone when you have him here.’
‘Perhaps you do not comprehend the depth of our bond? In many ways, we are parts of the one. We are so close that among our people we are called Hlon. It is not a name, but neither is it a label. It describes the union of our minds and spirits, the closeness of our souls. We have been together since birth, born only hours apart. The bond was strong even then, so I have been told. Even the least Talented amongst our people could feel the connection.’
‘Does Tyla have any children?’ asked Wist.
‘No, he was never able to conceive,’ answered Faric.
‘You said that you would never take a wife, then how can you have a child?’ Wist enquired, and then regretted talking without thinking.
‘You surprise me, Wist,’ smiled Faric. ‘I would not have thought you would be so restricted in your thinking. My union was arranged. The preservation of our people relies on children, in the same way as any other race. It was not an altogether unpleasant experience.’
Wist’s cheeks burned with shame. ‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you or your people. You and Tyla are all that is keeping us alive.’
--*--
Aviti sat behind Tyla, their blond mare storming through the desert. She had been riding horses all of her life, but none of those plodding beasts of burden could compare to this stunningly swift horse. Despite all the time she had spent riding, seldom had she ever galloped, and never had she ridden so quickly. Most of her duties on horseback had involved finding stray animals and shepherding flocks. The exhilaration of this flight helped to lift her from her darkness, although the shock of seeing her mother’s face had done more to propel her from her fugue.
She had known the instant that the apparition had taken her mother’s form it had been a lie. Despite that, when she had seen her mother again, all of the resentment and anger that had been festering inside her had gone. The pain and loss she felt for her family remained; a dull, constant, immitigable truth. Yet, as they sped away from the deserted homestead, she felt that she was emerging from beneath the ruins of her life. Her rebirth was in no way complete, but the sight of the sun burning in the sky allowed her to lift her head. This was the freedom that she had sought all of her young life, if only she had known the price she would have to pay would be so high.
‘Tell me about your people, Tyla,’ she asked, trying to distract herself from her cycle of thoughts.
‘What would you like to know?’ replied Tyla, in his dense tones. ‘What do you know already?’
‘I know little,’ she admitted, her ignorance shaming her. ‘My father never spoke ill of your kin. My friends would tell stories to scare each other - tales of pillaging and looting, and worse.’ Aviti’s face warmed as she spoke, but Tyla chuckled lightly to himself.
‘That does not surprise me,’ said Tyla. ‘Most of the settled are ignorant of our lives. The same may be said of my people. Faric and I were mistrusted for our dealings with your people.’
‘You had dealings with us?’ She could not hide the surprise in her voice.
‘Many people pay well for information,’ answered Tyla. ‘Your churches often requested this and other services; tasks that they did not wish it to be known that they undertook.’
‘I do not understand,’ she said. ‘Why would they ask a Lyrat for information?’
‘Child, I believe that I know more of your city than you do,’ laughed the Lyrat.
‘Do not call me child!’ she snapped. ‘I only ride behind you because we do not have sufficient mounts. Otherwise, with a little time and practice, I would leave you in my wake. Just because I have spent my life working on my parent’s farm does not make me wholly ignorant.’
‘Forgive me, Aviti,’ apologised Tyla. ‘My remarks were not meant to cause offence. Most of the people of Mashesh are ignorant of the ways in which the Church controls your city.’
‘What do you mean?’ She bristled from the perceived insult.
‘In the past we have been asked to gather information
on powerful men or groups,’ replied Tyla. ‘I am aware of members of other tribes who have even carried out executions.’
Aviti’s head swam. This could not be true. The Church was the cornerstone around which most citizens based their entire lives. Not her father though. His irreverent attitude had enraged not only Cairn but most of the neighbours. Had he known more than he had ever spoken to his children about? Judging by what she had seen in her dreams (she refused to call them visions), it seemed most likely.
‘Did you ever do that?’ she asked.
‘Execute for payment?’ Tyla said, his voice staying steady. ‘No.’
Aviti exhaled the breath she had not realised she had been holding.
She stayed silent for a moment, thinking through the implications of the Lyrat’s words.
‘But what of the men convicted of the murders that your kin carry out? They would have been hanged?’ She thought of the few public executions that she had heard of in Mashesh. Her father would never let either her or Cairn attend. She had been glad of the excuse not to go. Some of her friends had gone along with their parents, bringing home gruesome accounts, which she had been forced to endure.
‘Innocent men would have died.’
‘Men who had not committed those crimes were given the blame,’ said Tyla, his voice shifting timbre, taking on a more sombre tone. ‘I cannot speak of their innocence though. What man meets his end without a blemish on his soul?’
‘How can you speak so callously of such a foul act?’ Aviti asked. ‘Taking a life is murder! There can be no excusing it.’
‘I have spilled the blood of beast and man alike. I have had no choice in this, but does that make me innocent or guilty? What gives me the right, other than the necessity of life?’
Aviti felt like screaming, if only she had more time to think. She abhorred killing, but she could not find the words to continue the argument, so she sat in silence once more as the horse rushed forwards.
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