Hallsfoot's Battle

by Anne Brooke

  In the darkness of the mind, it takes more than a story’s beginning to open his eyes. When he does, all he can see is crimson. It must be his own blood, or the blood of his deepest thoughts, torn open. Impossible to tell which. Still, his shoulder throbs and slowly, slowly, Ralph follows the faint outline of his arm, elbow and hand in red. At the end of his fingers, where the rough wall presses against his skin, something green is glowing.

  He should know what this is, but he cannot gather together his memories to form a conclusion. The mountain dogs have taken that ability away. Soon, he will be lost to his past entirely.

  Grasp what you see.

  The voice is familiar. A man he ought to know, someone who means something to him, but he cannot tell what that might have been, cannot tell, also, whether the voice is to be trusted.

  Believe it. Take it, or you will die.

  Ralph’s mind is almost gone. He doesn’t know what to think, how to think—or what to do. Then, from a memory he’d forgotten he’d kept—his father’s voice, telling him that in battle a soldier must fight to the end and never give up. I don’t want to die.

  Of their own volition, his fingers curl around the green glow he can see but faintly. It brightens and sends a shaft of colour upwards over his arm, then across his face and down over his whole body. Suddenly, he hears his own voice and the word he is chanting, although he doesn’t know how long he’s been chanting it.

  No. No. No. Then: Not yet, you terrors of the earth.

  As Ralph screams out these brave and meaningless words, the glowing transforms itself into something hard and round in his hand, the rough surface he has been pushing at gives way and he tumbles headlong into a passageway that’s hard and cold against his face. He breathes in dust and mustiness just as a heavy thump behind tells him that a doorway has swung shut.

  The howling of the dogs disappears from his thoughts and becomes something heard by the ear alone, but behind the wooden panelling and not with him. That’s the important thing. They are no longer tearing him to pieces. The gods or the stars have been merciful. Ralph catches his breath, blinks, and the crimson darkness drifts into what he would expect for where he finds himself.

  He’s in the passageway from the bedroom to the courtyard. It’s familiar. The danger from the dogs has passed, only the gods know how. He’s not entirely unharmed, however, as his mind lies in pieces and he is unsure how to bind thoughts together again. His body, too, has taken its share of punishment once more. His legs and arms ache where the mountain dogs have mauled them and he can feel the warm slither of blood on his skin.

  Something hard, insistent, still lies in his hand. When Ralph opens his fingers, the soft glint of one green emerald greets him.

  “How did you get there?” he asks it. “And how have you saved me?”

  No answer, or at least none that he can hear. As he struggles to his feet, leaning against the stone walls for balance, it strikes him that the mind-executioner has still not shown himself. Truly, in Ralph’s desperate attempt to find him, and during the damage his dogs have caused, Gelahn would have revealed himself to the Overlord by now. And if the executioner had indeed taken the Tregannon emeralds, then why would he allow one of them to help Ralph as it has? Yes, Gelahn wants him for the military training and prowess the soldiers can provide, but not enough to spare any punishment.

  The emeralds are not yet the mind executioner’s, then, and his enemy’s whereabouts are still unknown. No matter. Shaking off the misplaced hope rising in his breast, Ralph stumbles towards the hiding place where he told the boy to leave the jewels. He has to know if they are there or not.

  It takes a while for his hands to follow his bidding, but at last the book tumbles to the stone floor and he is scrabbling inside the alcove for the only treasures he has.

  The pouch is there and, in it, the remaining six emeralds nestle. A sob rises unbidden to Ralph’s throat and he wipes his free hand over his face. Shaming for a Tregannon to yield to tears, but he cannot help himself. After the dogs, he is not as he once was. Trying to control the shake in his body, Ralph rolls the emerald he thinks has saved him back to where it belongs before folding the bag secure and tucking it inside his belt.

  Best to find another sanctuary for it, then. But where?

  Chapter Six: The battle begins

  Annyeke

  “By all the stars above, what is it with these men?”

  Nobody answered her. The snow-raven and the mind-cane had followed Simon when he’d left and Annyeke had pushed the door shut to avoid the icy air taking over her domain. Besides, it was an impossible question and it had always been so. Men of any lands were not to be reasoned with.

  She marched round her kitchen, muttering under her breath, clearing away leftover herbs and the remains of the broth, and slamming down plates and beakers. This wasn’t proving to be a good day, and it didn’t seem set to get any better.

  Having been convinced Simon needed time on his own and to explore the legends more fully, Annyeke found that her thoughts now held more than a frisson of doubt. Was it the right thing to do? Should she have let him go at all? A great deal appeared to be resting on her mind alone and, not for the first time, she wondered if the elders had been right about entrusting her with this task, no matter what wrongdoings they had committed.

  Maybe she should have been more careful. The Lost One needed to face many more mind-exercises before he could be truly ready for the war to come. If only they had the time and the space to do this, but the fact remained they did not. It would make sense for Gelahn to fight them just as the winter season came upon them in force. Indeed, the chill in the air as Simon had left told her in no uncertain terms that the first of the snows would surely fall tonight.

  The battle would be fought in ice and frost when bodies and minds were least able to fight at all.

  Annyeke paused in the middle of her frantic and unnecessary tidying and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window. The leaves in the garden had ceased to grow, she noticed. Since the land was now split from the people’s thoughts, she had no idea whether this was because of winter, the coming war or something they had not yet heard of. Knowing the day she was having, no doubt it was the latter.

  She gave a hiccupping laugh, unsure what the foremost emotion in her mind should be, and sighed at her own ignorance. How could she be seen as the acting Elder of Gathandria when she barely knew herself? She shook her head. No, this was not the time to give in to her fears. In fact, it didn’t matter if she was afraid or not, she would do something to stop the darkness coming upon them, or fight her way through it if it had to come. She’d be damned by the gods if she simply turned over and gave up.

  The leaves in Gathandria would grow again, or she’d die in the attempt to nourish them.

  Shaking her head free of all unhelpful thoughts, she took three quick steps, almost at a run, towards the sleeping-area where the legends she’d taken from the Library were kept. While she waited for Simon to return, she would prepare herself for nurturing what he might have learned there so they could all use it, and she’d never found a better way of easing that journey than focusing on the stories they told, the lives from the past that they lived again. Besides, she needed to clarify her mind.

  Afterwards, she remembered the feeling of possibility that had followed her and the way the future had seemed more open than before.

  In the sleeping-area, she gasped and staggered backwards as a torrent of jagged air sprang towards her. It was shaped like a carving dagger. The kind the Glass-Makers used. Just before she leapt to one side and covered her face with her arms, she gained an impression of red and black. It carried with it despair such as she had never known. Lethargy, too. What was the purpose of it all? Before that thought had fully ransacked her mind, she had spun a net to protect herself from this unforeseen enemy. As she landed on the floor, she gave in to the darkness and silence, and lay like a child, whimpering.

  A moment or so later, her native s
ense told her she was alone once again. She opened her eyes. The room was its usual colour and everything was in its customary place—her bed linen, her jug and basin of water, and her clothes. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

  Had she imagined what had just taken place? No, she wasn’t a fool or a dreamer. The mind-knife had been there, glowing as if on fire. Even now, the despair it had made her feel clung to her like the vestiges of night. She could think of no one who could do this but the mind-executioner. But such an act was impossible, as he no longer possessed the mind-cane.

  There was something else, too—in the room. She’d been wrong to assume nothing had changed. Something had. Getting to her feet, she spun round, trying to understand what her mind was telling her.

  Then she saw it—the book of the Legend of the Lost One at the end of the shelf. Where once it had been pristine and glowing with colour, now it was blackened and burnt. How could that be so? The other manuscripts she owned were untouched. She reached out and picked it up. It crumbled in her hands and the smell of charred parchment assaulted her.

  Gagging and struggling for breath, she dropped the book to the floor. At the same time, her outside door opened and footsteps rushed in.

  “Annyeke? Are you here?”

  It was Talus and, with him, Johan. The one man in Gathandria she most longed to see, and also the one she did not. She had never been so grateful that, for whatever reason, they had not stayed long at their battle preparation.

  She glanced up to see Johan lifting the curtain at the far end of the kitchen. “What’s wrong, Annyeke? What happened?”

  As he spoke, leaning over her, she caught a picture of what had taken place at the park. A jumbled series of images—five of the best men and women from the five main districts of Gathandria, together with a handful of followers they trusted most, the theatricals, the glass-makers, the field-tillers, the stone-cutters and the tradesfolk. Johan had tried to inspire them, she could tell, using her words—a fact that made her smile. He’d set up a series of wooden tables turned sideways against the elms to serve as targets, securing them with rope. Annyeke could see in his memory the weapons he’d tried to gather, too—staffs, broken-off branches, table legs. Then, as best he could, Johan had placed the would-be weapons in the people’s hands, showing them how to hold them upright in order to bring them plunging down on an enemy. He had arranged them in a line facing the makeshift targets and had prepared to charge. It had not gone well. Best she didn’t enquire too deeply then; Gathandrian men could be sensitive to failure.

  Talus slipped out from behind Johan and burrowed his way into Annyeke’s arms. Johan made a move to pull the boy away, but Annyeke shook her head.

  “No, please, he’s fine,” she said.

  “What happened?” Johan said again, this time more quietly.

  “I don’t know,” she answered him. “I came into the sleeping-area and there was a wave of such despair and terror, as if a knife made of fire was leaping towards me. I saw it, I swear by all the stars. Then it was gone, and all I was left with was this.”

  Still hugging Talus to herself, Annyeke pointed at the book where it lay on her floor. Johan picked it up. Now some of the pages were moulded together, the parchment fused into one.

  “The fire you saw? It did this?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “It must be the executioner,” he said. “He used mind-knives to try to prevent our journey to the Lammas Lands. I didn’t think he could do that without the mind-cane.”

  “He shouldn’t be able to, I know it.” Annyeke gently lifted Talus to one side. “So the burning of the book of legends must be something to do with Simon. He’s gone to the Library by himself and…”

  “He’s done what?”

  Annyeke clenched her fists and glared up at him. Now was most definitely not the time for him to be angry with her, and she was pleased to see him step back.

  “Yes,” she all but spat at him. “Yes, I know what you’ll say. I shouldn’t have let him go on his own, it’s too dangerous. You would have gone with him. I didn’t, therefore what’s happened here has to be my fault. Well, that’s all very well, Johan, but we don’t have time for prudence, so I had to take a risk. My decision. My responsibility. But, don’t worry, because as soon as we find Simon, we can…”

  All the way through her words, Johan was trying to interrupt her, but she refused to let him. When she paused for breath, and he opened his mouth, a loud explosion shattered the calm of the night outside her home and rattled the walls around them.

  Johan flung himself on top of her, grabbing the boy as they tumbled to the floor. A spate of terrible noise passed through the air and kept on reverberating. Annyeke’s mind closed in, burying itself deep within her like a wood-fox protecting itself in winter. From somewhere outside her consciousness, she heard Talus scream. From instinct, her fingers pressed the side of Johan’s head. They’d never touched like this before, not in the middle of only the gods knew what kind of danger. Their joining had only been for the purposes of meditation training and with the proper safeguards. This felt different, more desperate and more liberating. More desirable.

  She knew at once that he felt it, too. But he didn’t know how to respond.

  It didn’t matter. At their next breath, Annyeke had reached the reasoning element of Johan’s thoughts, knitted them together, and was building a link they could use to fight against the unknown assailant—a link wide enough to include Talus, too. A moment later her young companion stopped screaming and Annyeke could sense only the sound of the explosion as it continued, over and over until the rhythm seeped into her skin, her blood, her heart. She focused on the colour of the mind-ribbon attaching the three of them, gold, green, ivory. She couldn’t remember any of these colours when she and Johan had meditated together in the past. Why was it different now?

  No time to ponder. The net widened to take on the room and finally the house. Annyeke breathed again, sensed Johan and Talus reaching a plateau. The three of them were no longer gripped by fear, but able to manage it through the ribbon and the net they had created together. Still that elusive something in Johan’s mind though but when, without thinking, she reached for it, she could no longer sense it at all. Gradually she realised the echoes of the explosion, which had been so overwhelming for such a long time, were diminishing; the air beyond the net no longer shook with forces beyond their understanding.

  Johan? she said.

  Yes? he answered at once.

  Whatever that was, it’s more bearable now. I think we can lower the net. We need to find out what’s happening.

  He nodded and the net around Annyeke lightened and she could see her room, the books, the pile of her clothes. Johan was still lying on top of her. Heart beating fast, she felt herself blush before he struggled to his feet, saw his face redden, too.

  I’m sorry, I…he began.

  Please. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.

  Ignoring his outstretched hand, she got up, brushed down her skirt and turned to Talus.

  “Stay here,” she said, speaking aloud for the first time since the strange explosion had shattered the atmosphere. “Johan and I are going to find out what just attacked us. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  “But, Annyeke…” the boy began to protest.

  “No arguments, Talus.”

  “The boy might be useful,” Johan said. “Let him come. Please?”

  She hesitated for a moment before giving in.

  “All right,” she said. “As you wish.”

  “Yes.” Talus’ shout of triumph did little to support Johan’s opinion of his usefulness, but the decision was made and Annyeke knew it. She allowed herself a brief smile before swallowing it away.

  “We will go out together, but quietly,” Annyeke said, trying to ensure the calmness in her voice and thoughts filled the room. “And you do what I say. Understood?”

  They both nodded, though she’d meant the command on
ly for Talus. Johan must have picked up on this as he pretended to be examining something on his hand while Talus beamed his thanks up at him.

  At the door, Johan reached to open it and step out first, but Annyeke laid her fingers on his arm.

  It was not his place to be in front here. She was the leader. He would not only have to acknowledge that, but act on the acknowledgement also. After the briefest of hesitations, he took a pace back, waved her before him.

  Annyeke took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and opened the door.

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all. Outside, the air was dripping with crimson, and flames skittered past them, a mixture of reality and thought. She ducked down, pulling Talus with her and flinging a warning to Johan.

  He caught it at once, grabbing her hand to strengthen the mind-net still shielding them.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” Talus’ questions remained unanswered as she glanced from side to side, looking for danger and trying to see where it had come from.

  The next moment she knew, the knowledge drawing a long gasp from the depths of her mind.

  The Library. It’s the Library.

  Unable to move or even respond, Annyeke stared in the direction of the great Gathandrian Library, the place where Simon had gone, the place where she had allowed him to go. The partially destroyed building, already shattered in the Wars, was swallowed up by fire. Not simply one section of it, but a great wall of flame covered every stone and window. Surely nothing, and nobody, could survive in that. Simon, the snow-raven, even the mind-cane must be trapped there, if that was where they had gone. And, if so, perhaps the scribe was already dead?

  Around them in the street, people were running, hiding, screaming out if the deadly fire touched them. A man she didn’t know grabbed her arm and she saw that flames were licking at his hair. Before she could do anything, fire engulfed him and he fell writhing to the ground. With a scream, she reached out to try to help in some way, but Johan dragged her backwards, saying words she struggled to accept but already knew were true.