by Shannah Jay
The call went out. In the name of the Serpent.
And in the shrines, the incense burned ever more brightly, a new muskiness creeping in, to make men wrinkle their foreheads and lose the thread of what they were saying, to make them more obedient than ever to the Serpent's will.
Many of the men would pause at the entrance to the shrines, blank-eyed, uncertain, even more reluctant than usual to go inside. But somehow, they could not, they just could not turn away.
Fear drifted around the streets of towns like a miasma and crept across the farm fields at night.
In the name of the Serpent.
Motherless children sobbed quietly in the darkness of the night.
Men became stony-faced, hiding their fear and reluctance to join in for the sake of their loved ones.
Women would stop dead in the middle of their daily work to shiver and cast glances over their shoulders, searching for whatever had suddenly cast a chill shadow over them.
Frail old folk prayed for death - and some chose to take that path early, deliberately.
A few of the young men grew even prouder of their strutting masculinity, and became more violent in their attacks upon the defenceless.
In the name of the Serpent.
Blacksmiths were busy making swords, daggers and pikes. There never seemed to be enough of them to satisfy the Initiates of the Inner Shrines.
Fletchers were making bows and arrows, hundreds upon hundreds, and the arrows were fletched with black-dyed feathers, with just two touches of red at the tips to represent the eyes of the Serpent God.
The symbol of a writhing snake appeared everywhere. On the walls, scratched in the dusty paths, patterned into clothing, woven into mats, etched into glassware, fired into clay pots.
Fanatics even had it tattooed on their foreheads.
Sacrifices were made, and made again. The act was no longer pleasure - save to a few, a very few, who were destined to become Initiates. And those men’s idea of pleasure was warped and twisted indeed.
In the name of the Serpent.
Some people crept away to live roughly in lonely places rather than follow the Serpent's path.
Whole families set off, grim with determination, to walk night after night and hide day after day until they reached the borders of the Twelve Claims. None of them complained about the difficulty and pains of the journey. None fell behind if they could possibly set one foot in front of the other.
They helped one another and grew only stronger and more resolute as the fumes were washed from their heads by the clean fresh air.
Once, people who wanted to explore had been turned back at the borders of the Twelve Claims by some mysterious force, finding themselves unable to go further. Now the wildwoods trails were open to all people of good will and they were allowed to pass right into the unknown outer lands.
Even the winter didn’t hold folk back, so great was their desperation. The snow was patterned with fleeing footsteps, large and small, with the wheelmarks of handcarts and the hoofmarks of nerids, with the skidmarks of sledges and with the hollows where burdens had been set down, just for a moment's rest.
Spring came late that year. Sen-Sether might glory in his preparations and think of nothing save the battle to come, but farmers were afraid for their crops, herders were afraid for their skittering nervous beasts, and orchardists were sorely afraid that the flowers would never bloom under these lowering skies, and that even if they did, the fruit would never set.
And as the smoke and pain drifted across the land, some of the stronger rebels crept northwards, for it was whispered that somewhere in the north the Sisters were preparing to do battle with Those of the Serpent.
Some were caught and killed - painfully, slowly - in the name of the Serpent.
And still it didn’t stop them. Still the people fled.
CHAPTER 16 QUEQUERE'S BAND
Quedras walked up to the Quoin with Fiana because he didn’t feel it’d be right to set off without saying goodbye to Quequere.
She was pining now to return to the Twelve Claims and play her part in defeating the Serpent. If Quequere was urging his people to send help to Herra, then the final confrontation must not yet have taken place.
Fiana still felt that she was destined to help deal with Sen-Sether himself, so she’d been practising her fighting skills with Querilla. She’d never be a great swordswoman, but she was competent, at least, now, and would continue to hone her skills as they travelled.
Quedras had longed to know what lay beyond the Sandrims ever since he met Herra and her squad.
Now he was about to find out, but to his surprise, the leaving caused him a pang or two and he found himself staring around as he walked, trying to memorise everything. He hadn’t realised how much he loved the harsh graven landscapes of the Sandrims until now.
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'It's very different in the Twelve Claims, isn't it?' he asked Fiana suddenly.
'What is?'
He gestured with one arm. 'This. The land.'
'Most of it is different, yes. In some places there are lush green forests, in others wide plains, where nothing grows but grass and flowers and low creeping plants. There are mountains, rivers, lakes.' She stopped at the blank incomprehension on his face. No use describing them. The only openly flowing water Quedras had ever seen in this dry land was Herra's River, and how could Fiana tell him that it was tiny compared to most rivers in the Twelve Claims, an insignificant thread of moisture in an isolated valley. To Those of the Sandrims the river was a wondrous thing, and the now fertile valley was their pride and joy.
'And the towns?' Quedras prompted.
'There are lots of towns. And in each claim there’s a great city with so many houses you couldn't even begin to count them. And in every city there's a temple of the Sisterhood - but they're under stasis now - at least, I'd guess they are - so you couldn't touch them or go inside, but you could still see them.
They're huge places, built of stone, as big as the Quoin itself, with carvings around the entrances - and -
and so beautiful, so very beautiful inside.' Her voice broke and she fell silent, remembering her own life in Temple Setherak before Danver fell ill and his brother Sen-Sether began to rule the claim in his name. After that, things outside the temple hadn't been beautiful anywhere.
Quedras nodded. He’d heard it all before, but today he felt like a child seeking reassurance through repetition. 'And the people, Fiana? Tell me about the people again.'
'There are many, many people. Some with fair skins, some with dark skins. All speak the same language as you do, but some pronounce their words a little differently, just as you pronounce your rrrs when you're angry or upset. And beyond the Twelve Claims lies the Great Ocean. We shan't be going near that, though. It's on the far eastern rim of the world.'
'An ocean.' He clicked his tongue in wonderment. 'Water is such a precious thing. How can it just be lying around for anyone to take and use?' He’d tried to imagine the sea many times since she first told him about it, but in vain. Maybe one day he’d see it and then he’d understand.
As they toiled up the stone steps inside the cavern, the light increased and there was a sense of welcome. The doors to the oval amphitheatre swung open at their approach and the white rock was already lit up inside.
Fiana went across to touch it and left her hand lying there.
Quedras stopped next to the plinth, squared his shoulders and said, 'We're leaving soon, Quequere.
We're going to help Herra and the Kindred fight against the Serpent, as you wished.' Quequere spoke through Fiana and the link between them remained very strong, although another was serving as Quequere's Voice in the Sandrims. Quedras had also acted as Voice, but for a short time only and he knew that the direct link wasn’t as strong between himself and Quequere.
' Good. It's the right thing to do. How many are going? '
'Twenty. Er - we wondered how best to travel. When Herra left, the way up
Drythroat Pass got blocked. And I don't really want to go across the desert, in case the deleff kept us in Dsheresh Vale.'
' I'll open Drythroat Pass up for you again.'
'Oh. Well, thank you. That'd be good. And - can you tell us what lies after that?'
' A village called Rakmar's Holding. Some of the people there may want to join you, once they know it's safe to travel through the Tanglewoods. Take as many as will come.'
'Yes, Quequere.' Quedras didn't really want strangers tagging along, but if Quequere said to take them, then he would. 'Er - what exactly is the Tanglewoods?' He didn't like the sound of that name.
'The Tanglewoods is a place where time itself runs differently, where the trees are thinking beings who control the woods. They helped Herra when she passed through it and I think they'll help you, too. You must go to the edge of the Tanglewoods, find a large tree and ask its help.'
'Ask the help of a tree?' Quedras shot a puzzled glance sideways at Fiana and she shrugged. He opened his mouth to protest at the stupidity of this idea, then shut it again. This was Quequere, who wouldn't lie to his people.
' If you ever get into serious trouble, try to find some rocky ground and call out to me. Sometimes I can reach people through the rock layers. Not always, though.'
The light started to fade. Quedras remained standing there and Fiana had to tug his arm to get him moving.
'I feel,' he said as they left the great cave complex, 'as if I'm deserting my people and home.'
'It's needed.'
She looked serene and happy these days. Quequere had helped her, helped a lot of other people, too. It was good to be one of Quequere's people.
***
The night before they left, Quedras was still worrying about how they would get up the cliffs to Drythroat Pass. He and Querilla were in the middle of a splendid quarrel when the ground beneath them began to shake and shudder.
They both broke off, then made for the door. Earthquakes weren't common, but you'd be stupid to stay inside and risk the house falling down on you when one happened. 'Houses aren't as safe as tents sometimes,' Querilla grumbled as they ran outside. She’d never really got used to the feel of stone walls shutting her in.
The rumbling came again, then a great grinding sound from up the hill.
'Devil take it! I can't see a thing,' Quedras strained his eyes, but the mass above them stayed dark. As only one crescent moon was showing in the sky, and the next one wasn’t due to rise for an hour, there was nothing to be done but go back inside and try to get some sleep.
'It must have been Quequere,' Fiana said. 'It must. He'll have made a way up the Pass for us.'
Quedras was up at first light, rushing outside to stare up at the rock face, and smile in satisfaction at the changes. 'Hah! That's why we're Quequere's people. We ought to be able to get up there now, don't you think?' The cliff showed jagged fractures that promised a route to climb. 'Thank you, Quequere,'
he said automatically, then went to wake the others. It was time to leave.
It still wasn’t an easy route and it took them all morning to scale the cliff, but by noon they were standing at the top staring down for a last look at their valley and homes.
'Looks small, doesn't it?' Quall had insisted on going with them, leaving his erstwhile apprentice Queverith to take over as body doctor. This wasn’t an onerous job, now that the Rimrascals had been
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assimilated and outright warfare stopped. 'Do you think we'll ever see it again?'
Quedras glared at him. 'Of course we will! What a rridiculous thing to say!'
The straggling procession of men and women moved over the pass and found themselves a day later in some tangy-smelling resin woods. They were mostly swordfighters who’d been finding life in an agricultural community a bit tame, a quarrelsome independent bunch, but as Quedras said to Quall, the sort of people you'd trust absolutely to guard your back.
In the woods below the pass they were met by an old man, body twisted, as old bodies often were, but still stubbornly doing his duty. 'I'm Marek, Keeper of the Pass,' he said. 'Haven't had anyone come through here for years.'
'The pass has been blocked. An earthquake unblocked it,' Quedras said.
'Fleeing from the Rimrascals, are you?' Marek probed.
'There are no Rimrascals now. We've settled all the Rims. We're following Herra and the Kindred.'
Marek sucked in his cheeks over the few teeth still left to him. 'I remember that one. Stubbornest woman I ever met. Insisted on going into the Tanglewoods. She and her companions will all have perished there, sure as my name's Marek. No one survives in the Tanglewoods. Absolutely no one.'
'They got through,' Fiana snapped. 'And so shall we.'
He goggled at her, then spat over his shoulder. 'How can you know that?'
'I just do.' This wasn’t the time to explain about Quequere.
When they arrived at Rakmar's Holding, the headman, almost as bent as Marek now, greeted them at the border of the village with his eldest daughter standing beside him, who would, he explained in a long rambling speech of greeting, take over when he died.
A poor sort of place, this was, Quedras thought, trying to stay patient through the yattering and chattering that ended in a feast. But when Rakmar started telling him yet again not to go, he could take no more. He didn't mince words, just stated flatly, 'Herra and her companions got through the Tanglewoods. And so shall we. We're going to the Twelve Claims to fight against Those of the Serpent.'
He raised his voice. 'Hey! People can get through the Tanglewoods now, like Herra did, so if any of you lot want to come with us, you're welcome, but you'll have to keep up. We're a fighting band and we stop for no one.' He reached across for another slice of roast nerid, chewing it with great relish and winking at Querilla as a buzz of startled conversation went round the table.
'These lot couldn't fight a baby butterfly,' she whispered. 'What did you say that for?'
'Quequere told me to. Anyway,' he grinned, 'they will be able to fight after you and I've trained them up a bit.'
'Hah!' But she grinned back and patted her sword hilt in anticipation.
In the morning, four men and two women joined Quedras's small force. Rakmar, his solemn and pitying expression that of a man dealing with people who insisted on killing themselves, led them to the rushing river that separated the Tanglewoods from the village and ordered the planks to be brought.
'Herra's Stream flows more smoothly than this one,' Quedras commented. 'I wouldn't like to wade across it, with all those rocks.'
'You'd be swept away,' agreed Rakmar. 'But it's a quicker death than the one you're facing, at least.'
'Oh, shut up, you old fool!' Querilla snapped, tired of these gloomy prognostications and long faces.
Quedras grinned at the expression on Rakmar's face. His Quer was a fine strong woman, almost as big as he was and just as muscular and he supposed she could be terrifying to people who didn't know her, like he did. These people were weaklings, anyway, compared to Those of Quequere.
Beyond the river, the foliage was thicker than Quedras would ever have believed possible. It was almost as if the plants were battling for every fingersbreadth of space. When two of Rakmar's people slid some long thick planks across the river, Quedras was first across, followed closely by Querilla and Quall. He pointed to the left. 'There's a big tree over there. We'll go over and,' he had to take a deep breath before he said it and his scowl challenged anyone to laugh, 'ask it to help us. Quequere said we should do that.'
Everyone prudently looked elsewhere, not caring to meet his eyes in case they showed their scepticism.
It took them far longer to hack their way through to the tree than they’d expected, and the shrubs and creeping plants grew back again more quickly than anything they had ever seen. Soon they were red-faced and sweaty, cursing as they slashed at encroaching vegetation.
'Give me a good old sandstorm any day,' Querilla panted. 'We'll
never get through to Herra at this rate.'
Herra's name seemed to be something of a talisman and as she opened her mouth to complain again, the foliage began to roll back around them opening up a pathway to the base of the tree.
Quedras pushed two men out of the way, strode along the newly created path and stopped at the tree. Querilla followed close on his heels. The rest of their band gathered in a clump behind them, glad of a rest. 'Look - er, tree - Quequere said we should ask for your help getting through these woods.
We're going to the Twelve Claims to help Herra fight against Those of the Serpent.'
As he finished speaking there was a creaking sound above his head and a branch as thick as a youth's waist began to bend down towards them. Most people moved back instinctively, but Quedras and Querilla held their ground.
As the side branches moved into place to form steps, Quedras shot a grin over his shoulder at his companions. 'Nice little ladder, eh?' and ran lightly up it, followed by Querilla. To people bred among rocky hills it was an easy climb, but the group from Rakmar's holding went much more slowly and seemed afraid of the height.
Following a criss-cross path formed by tree branch meeting tree branch, they walked in single file through the tree tops. Leaves swished around them, dappled sunlight flickered on nervous sweaty faces and small insects hummed to and fro. But they saw no birds or small animals.
'Pretty, eh?' Querilla commented.
'Not bad,' said Quedras. To both of them such lush foliage was a new thing, but they weren't going to show that to those they led.
Within an hour dusk fell and night overcame them.
'We'd better sit down,' Quedras shouted back to the line of people. 'Don't want anyone falling off in the darkness.'
'How can it be night already?' someone shouted. 'It was early morning when we left and we can't
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have been walking for more than an hour.'
'Who knows?' Quedras called back. 'But we'll sit firm here till daylight.'
Within another hour or so, dawn broke and they marched on.
'I don't like this,' one of the men from Rakmar's holding muttered. 'I'm not sure we did the right thing leaving home.'