by Unknown
‘You’d be betraying those who trust you and compromising the protection of the longhouses. You’d be breaking your oath.’
Kest came to his feet. He was a good head and shoulders taller than her, but she didn’t break her gaze or step back.
‘That’s an interesting idea and, I admit, one I hadn’t thought of. I give you credit for a vivid imagination and proficiency with words, but the more likely scenario is this: The death of Kandor and the wounding of Tresen have unhinged you. Your grief for your younger brother is well known, and it’s understandable that you might yearn for death for a time. I would be remiss if I didn’t bring you back to the Warens, so that you might have time to heal and grow strong again.’
Kira was rigid, hands clenched. ‘I’m not yearning for death, I’m going to the north to get aid!’
Kest stared at her in astonishment. ‘From the Terak Kutan? The descendants of a people Kasheron broke with because of their violence? It’s unlikely they even remember us. Even if they do, why would they help? Kasheron’s parting was bitter, and I doubt they’ve lost any sleep since worrying about our welfare. How many Terak have visited the Bough to see how we do, Kira? Precisely none.’
‘They’re blood, and I’ll go there as Leader to call upon their Leader to honour the blood-link.’
‘And how do you intend to get to the north? It’s a journey of many, many days,’ snapped Kest.
‘I have a map.’
‘Oh, and that’s going to be wonderful protection against spears and swords.’
‘Stinking heart-rot, Kest! I’m Leader and it’s my duty to seek help for my people. Your duty is to stay here and protect the longhouses. I suggest you concentrate on that!’
‘Don’t presume to tell me what my duty is!’ he hissed, lifting his hand to remonstrate. Kira flinched, and for a moment neither of them moved, then Kest stepped back. Curse Maxen for being as ill a father as a Leader, he thought. He rubbed his hand through his hair and half turned, noticing for the first time that his men had ceased any semblance of resting or eating, and were openly watching them. He glared and there was a hurried averting of heads and a sudden rumble of small talk, then he felt a hand on his arm.
‘It’s not you. I don’t fear you.’
It was a strange sort of compliment, but he took it as one.
‘I’ve been thinking, Kest.’
‘That’s a good start.’
‘If the Shargh believe I’m with you, they’ll follow the patrol. That’ll give me time to get ahead of them, even leave the forest before they know I’ve gone.’
‘Why would the Shargh believe you’re with us?’
‘Well, Nandrin isn’t much different to me in height, and if you travelled more at dusk and dawn, and he wore a cape, and checked on Tresen regularly, even walked beside him and seemed to be looking after him, you might trick the Shargh.’
‘Nandrin doesn’t look anything like you and he certainly doesn’t walk like you.’
‘How do I walk?’
‘Not like a man,’ he said irritably. He took several steps away and pulled at his hair again. ‘You’re assuming I’ll let you go.’
‘I’m assuming you’ve accepted the Warens don’t command the Bough.’
Kest grunted and the lines round his mouth deepened.
‘If you were looking for me in a crowd of Protectors, what would you look for?’ she pursued.
‘Someone small and finely built,’ he answered grudgingly.
‘That could be Nandrin.’
‘And your hair. Nandrin doesn’t have a long, fair braid.’
‘That’s easily solved.’ She fumbled in her pack and pulled out her herbing sickle, then caught her braid, and with two quick strokes, severed it.
‘Kira!’ said Kest, horrified.
‘Now Nandrin will look like me and I’ll look like an ordinary Protector,’ she said with a grin, holding it up. ‘You will guard Nandrin carefully, won’t you?’ she asked, suddenly serious.
Kest ran his fingers over the heavy silk. ‘Your beautiful hair.’
‘Am I so ugly without it?’
The cutting of her hair seemed ominous, as if the Kira he’d known was already gone.
‘Not ugly. Different.’ Like Kandor.
Her hand touched his arm again. ‘Don’t be angry, Kest.’
‘You can hardly expect me to rejoice in sending you to your death,’ he said, bundling up her hair and pushing it into his pack. ‘And if you’re determined to go ahead with this charade, we’d better start now. Pull your hood up and keep your eyes down, and when I address you, put your hands to your sides and straighten your back. If you must speak, deepen your voice, and call me Commander, followed by a respectful bow of the head. I suggest you spend time practising the respectful part; it won’t come naturally to you.’
Kira fastened her hood, straightened and dropped her head. She knew Kest’s anger stemmed from his anxiety for her, but his manner was stirring her own resentments.
‘Yes, Commander,’ she clipped and, giving a short bow, turned on her heel and strode back to the fire.
41
The men slept with their sleeping-sheets unfastened and their weapons unsheathed and close to their hands. In spite of their preparedness for battle, though, they did sleep, unlike Kira, who lay tense and fearful, listening to their snores and snufflings.
Her fear had grown with the ending of the day and multiplied with the darkness. The realisation of what she was finally about to do lay on her chest like a stone, crushing all hope. No matter how much she chastised herself for being foolish or self-pitying or cowardly, she kept coming back to the thought that this might be her last night alive. At dawn the Protectors would go, taking Tresen with them and leaving her behind. She rolled onto her side and ran her fingers through the leaf litter. If the Shargh killed her in the forest, would she feed the hanawey and frostking, perhaps even the mira kiraon, before her bones became litter as well?
Her hand closed over the leaf litter, holding it entombed, like the earth now held Kandor. He was safe from the beaks and claws of birds but did it really matter once you were dead? She clenched her hand and let the leaf fragments sift through her fingers. Her thoughts were wild and strange; maybe she was unhinged as Kest had suggested. Surely it was madness to leave Allogrenia when she had no hope of outrunning, out-hiding or outwitting the Shargh. Maybe what she really wanted was to be with Kandor but, lacking the courage to swallow everest, was pretending some heroic quest north. She rolled onto her back, gritting her teeth at the burst of pain from the bruising.
The ground vibrated, then a sleeping-sheet was thwacked down beside her, billowing up the litter and making her blink. Kest lowered himself down and flicked the sheet over him.
The scouts had returned and he could at last take some rest.
‘Not sleeping, Protector Nandrin?’
Kira pulled her own sheet closer and shook her head.
‘Is your back paining you?’
‘No, Commander.’
‘Considering the bruising, I find that hard to believe. I notice that you didn’t eat with the men. Aren’t you hungry?’
‘No, Commander.’
‘I don’t believe that either and you can drop the Commander bit and start acting like a Leader again.’
‘And how should a Leader act, Commander?’
Kest bit back a retort. ‘The Bough doesn’t command the Warens nor the Warens the Bough, as you’ve pointed out, and that makes us partners in protecting the Tremen, which means we work together. So you can begin your leaderly behaviour by telling me what’s keeping you wakeful when you’re clearly exhausted. I might even be able to help.’
She was silent, digging at the ground with her fingers. ‘I was thinking,’ she said at last.
‘What of?’
There was a long pause and he strained to see her face in the darkness.
‘Of what happens after death.’
Was she thinking of Kandor or herself? Either would b
e enough to rob her of sleep. ‘The Northerners have many gods that they believe take them back at death. The Shargh believe the same. But Kasheron spoke of the dead feeding the living, of seeds sprouting, growing and decaying, becoming food for that which follows. Even the rains that fall rise again as mist, or are sucked back by the summer sun so they can fall again.’
Her hand gouged at the leaves, building small mounds and flattening them. ‘Do you believe that?’ she asked, without looking at him.
‘The truth of it is all around us.’
‘Do you fear death, Kest?’
He took a deep breath. ‘I fear the pain that must come with sword-death,’ he said honestly, ‘but I don’t fear what comes after. When my father died he was very peaceful, as if going to sleep.’
‘A very long sleep,’ she murmured, ‘with no awakening and never to see the sun again or feel warmth or love.’
By the ’green she was bleak, as if preparing for her own death. Perhaps there was still a chance of persuading her to stay.
‘If you came back to the Warens we could devise a better way for you to go north. If we sent a patrol with you the Shargh would still know you’ve gone, but you’d be safer.’
‘Yes, but the Protectors wouldn’t be. A single spear through the trees or sword slash would leave them with a wound full of rot and no one to bring them back. How many times would the Shargh have to attack before all the Protectors would be dead or dying? No, Kest, enough people have suffered on my behalf already.’
He caught her hand, stilling its violent movement through the litter. ‘The fault’s not yours, Kira. You’re not to blame for their stinking blood-thirst. You don’t have to pay for it!’
‘I know. But I have to stop it.’
‘There’s no guarantee . . .’
Her fingers closed over his. ‘We’ve been through this before, Kest; don’t start it all over again.’
Kest stared down at her hand, seeing again how fine her fingers were, locked through his in the way lovers held hands. Her face was fine too, and he remembered how happy she’d been at Turning, luminous in her love for Kandor. If only she were older, more aware, ready to bond, he would court her now, if only to keep her safe.
Her slim form was visible beneath the folds of the sheet and it would easy to lean across now and caress her face, to bring his mouth to hers. He wasn’t new to the art of love-making and even here, surrounded by the sleeping men, he was confident he could rouse in her a passion that might persuade her to turn aside from her chosen path. But should she bond with him? Kesilini and Merek had pledged knowing fully the gravity and consequences of what they did, but Kira knew nothing beyond curing the hurts of other. He sighed and withdrew his hand.
‘We’ll delay our departure for another day,’ he said slowly, ‘and let Tresen build his strength. Then tomorrow night, when it’s fully dark, I’ll take you to the terrawood grove Saresh and Deran found earlier. We’ll take three or four men with us and disguise it as a gathering expedition, then you can spend the rest of the night there while we make a great show of preparing to leave. We’ll go at dawn and you can stay in the terrawoods till the next night. I think it’s best you continue to travel at night.’
Kira nodded. ‘Another full day of rest will help Tresen greatly but I don’t think he’ll be able to journey all day. Will you be able to stop as you travel?’
She was being careful not to impinge on his role of Commander, noted Kest.
‘There’s no haste in our journey back; in fact, it will be better if we go slowly so you’ll have time to get clear of the forest while the Shargh follow us.’
‘And they’ll attack?’
‘At some point they might, if they judge our strength less than theirs. They’ve already lost six of their number. Of course I don’t know how many more have since joined them. Time will tell.’
‘The Writings are clear on how to treat the wounds and there’s plenty of fireweed in the Warens,’ said Kira. ‘Arlen and Paterek know how to prepare it and can stitch wounds as well as I can.’
‘No one can stitch wounds as well as you, Kira,’ he said shortly, ‘and I know your pack is full of salves and herbs. What are you intending to eat on the journey?’
‘I’ve got nutmeat and dried fruit, which I’ve been saving by eating pitchie seeds and sour-ripe since I set out.’
Kest grunted. ‘A Protector needs a double handful of nutmeat to march all day. How much are you carrying?’
‘I’m smaller than a Protector.’
‘One and a half handfuls then and, judging by what I saw of your pack, I’d say you’ve about five days’ supply.’
‘About seven days, and I can gather as I go.’
‘Really? Have you read in the Writings what gathering’s available beyond the trees?’
‘No.’
‘Neither have I.’
‘Kasheron and his followers must have lived on something when they came south,’ pointed out Kira.
‘They came on horses and turned them loose when they reached the trees. You can carry a lot more on a horse than you can on your own back.’
Kira pulled her sheet higher and said nothing.
‘I’m not trying to be difficult,’ said Kest. ‘As a Protector, I know how much food you need to journey. If you don’t eat enough you’ll lose fat, then muscle, and you can’t afford to lose either. It’s pointless escaping the Sharghs’ blades only to die of hunger and weakness further north. Look, Kira, I can give you more nutmeat to take but you’ll have to leave the salves and herbs behind.’
‘I’m a Healer, Kest, I must have them with me.’
‘Once you leave the forest there’ll be no one to heal but yourself and the best salve for that will be food.’
‘I’ve always carried my herbal kit,’ said Kira stubbornly.
Kest wriggled slightly, making a dip in the litter for his hip. The sleeping-sheet was pleasantly warm and his eyelids were growing heavy.
‘Then compromise and take less of each herb and salve. You might be able to gather more beyond the trees.’
‘And where did you read that in the Writings?’
He grinned. ‘Sleep,’ he said, and let his eyes close.
42
Tarkenda clenched her jaw, biting back her fear. The bed’s covering was drenched with birthwater and blood, and blackness from the baby’s bowels was adding to the stains. Tarkenda knew what that meant, for she’d seen it before when a child had been lost – and sometimes the mother too. The babe should have been born by now! Even she had never laboured this long. It must be dawn beyond the rain-sodden clouds and long since Palansa had even the strength to groan.
The birthing-woman was silent, her hands on Palansa’s belly, her head half turned as if listening. What was there to hear? The wind still screeched like brawling mawkbirds, scooping up the rain and dashing it back against the sorcha as if the Sky Chiefs were venting their fury. Having parched the lands for moons on end, they now seemed intent on drowning it.
They certainly had cause to be angry. Arkendrin had broken Erboran’s mourning time and plotted to break the line of first-born Chiefs, and now, to add to his contemptuous disrespect, Arkendrin and his cronies roamed the forests instead of safeguarding the passing into life of the new Chief. Was this the cause of the Sky Chiefs’ fury or . . . a terrible thought occurred to her. Supposing the Sky Chiefs had intended the Telling to come about. Suppose they bequeathed the Last Teller with his vision to prepare the Shargh for it, not to warn them of it? And supposing they’d sent her visions for the same reason? Perhaps, in trying to prevent their unfolding, it was she who was offending the Sky Chiefs, not Arkendrin.
Shaking, she lowered herself onto a chair. Surely the punishment wouldn’t be the death of Palansa and the babe? Dread quickened her heart as she stared at Palansa. None of her visions had shown Arkendrin as Chief and she’d taken this to mean that Palansa had birthed a boy and both had lived, but her visions hadn’t shown that either, just fair-haired men on
white horses slaughtering Shargh warriors.
Why hadn’t these things occurred to her before? Were the Sky Chiefs gifting her a moment of insight, or was she so addled with weariness and fear that her mind was wandering along strange and misleading paths?
‘The child’s big,’ said the birthing-woman, jolting Tarkenda from her reverie. ‘We need to get her up.’
Tarkenda looked at Palansa doubtfully. She lay as if dead.
‘Take her arm,’ ordered the birthing-woman.
Tarkenda gripped Palansa’s arm and together they hauled her upright, Palansa groaning, her head lolling forward.
‘Hold her,’ instructed the birthing-woman, and Tarkenda took her full weight, grunting as her back and hips screamed in pain, and tightening her grip as a shudder passed through Palansa’s body. The birthing-woman was busy between her legs, blood dripping off her elbows onto the wolf-skins Erboran had hunted. Tarkenda watched it pool in crimson puddles and faltered.
Palansa shuddered again and jerked convulsively, and the birthing-woman’s heavy frown gave way to a gap-toothed smile. ‘Ah, so you’ve decided to greet the world, have you,’ she muttered, quickly changing her position.
A bloodied fist appeared, perfect in miniature, then a slide of sticky hair and a bluish back. Tarkenda struggled to hold Palansa upright as the food-bag came away and there was a single high-pitched squawk as the birthing-woman cut the cord. Tarkenda gritted her teeth as she lowered Palansa back onto the bed and pulled away the sodden coverings, turning back in time to see the birthing-woman putting on her cape. The sleeping-sling was swaying gently, weighted by a small bundle.
‘What is it?’ Tarkenda forced herself to ask.
‘Only a man would give that much trouble,’ said the birthing-woman, picking up her bag. ‘And a Chief at that. Keep her abed for the next few days and send for me if the bleeding grows heavier.’ Then, pulling her hood close, she turned to the sling and touched her forehead briefly. Then she was gone.