From Laxony, as well as himself, there were Kenweard of Frennon, Malgara of Dorle and Ogier of Hannon. All three came in and took their places on the stone seats.
Valens and Procella came in together, and then Dolosus with Beata. Chonrad was then surprised to see Silva enter. She had had her wound patched up and, though pale, she was obviously determined to take part in the discussions.
A few other surviving Militis he had not yet met filed in behind her and took their seats. There was a much more informal feeling to this meeting, Chonrad thought. The peoples of the three countries had been brought together by their misfortune. They made quite a sorry bunch; many had bandages around limbs and everyone looked tired, having been up all night. But they were all eager to hear what Nitesco had to say.
Fulco stood quietly beside him. Chonrad had sent him to the Hospitium to get his leg fixed and the bodyguard now had a large bandage around his thigh. He was still limping, but Chonrad knew there was nothing he could do to stop Fulco staying at his side now.
The young Libraris stood in the doorway, clutching the Quercetum to his chest. His eyes were wide and he looked nervous but calm, his eyes flicking around the room as he waited for everyone to seat themselves and quieten.
Seeing him standing there, Valens got to his feet and turned to address the room. “My friends,” he said, his hand taking in everyone present. “We experienced a terrible tragedy here yesterday. Many of our colleagues and family were killed and, as we know, Heartwood’s Arbor has suffered the great loss of its Pectoris, taken by the warriors who attacked us.” He sighed. “I have no answers for you – I am as confused and alarmed by what happened here as the rest of you. But I understand Nitesco has uncovered something that might answer some of our Questions and I would now like to ask him to come forward and speak.” He turned and beckoned to the waiting Libraris.
Nitesco came forward to the podium at one side of the room and mounted the step. He laid the book he was carrying on the lectern and left it there for a moment, pages shut, his hands resting on top of the leather cover.
“My friends,” he began, then stopped as he obviously realised his voice was too soft. He cleared his throat and started again, his voice louder. “My friends. Like you, I was told the story of the Creation as a child. We all know this story because Oculus recorded it in his Memoria – his great work on Animus and the Arbor, which contains the stories he gathered through oral tradition after the Great Quake. The Memoria is the foundation of our religion – it is on this we base our rituals and our beliefs, and it is because of different interpretations of this that Wulfengar and Laxony have been bitter enemies for so long.
“However, yesterday the flood revealed a secret beneath Heartwood – the Cavus, a hidden room below the Armorium.” There were gasps from around the Capitulum from those who had not yet heard the news. Nitesco nodded. “The Cavus belonged to the time before the Castellum was built – to the first Temple created around the Arbor. I did not know of its existence and neither, I think, did Caecus. I believe it was buried in the Great Quake, and I do not think – from his writings – that Oculus knew of it either.” He shrugged. “Of course there has been speculation for centuries that old documents and artefacts lay hidden beneath the Castellum, but it has never been proven.”
“What is down there?” someone asked. “Treasures?”
Nitesco smiled. “For me, at least. There are mainly old books and documents.” His smile disappeared. “But they are so much more than that.”
He lifted the book lying on the lectern in front of him. “This is the Quercetum. It is not complete – it has suffered some damage, but there is enough left to answer many of our Questions about what happened during the attack yesterday. It predates Oculus, predates the first Temple, in fact. And it holds the truth of who we are and where we come from. I must warn you: the information it contains will shock many of you; it will change much of what we think about the Arbor, and Animus, and Oculus, and that will not be easy for us to accept.”
A general air of unease settled on the room. Chonrad was intrigued by what Nitesco had found out. What could possibly be in the book that was going to cause such an upset?
“I will read to you,” Nitesco said, “and I shall let the words speak for themselves.” He opened the front cover of the Quercetum, the leather cover creaking softly, the pages crackling as he smoothed them out. “The language is quite different from modern Heartwood,” he said, “and I shall have to translate, so please forgive me if I struggle at times with the meaning.
“‘The Chronicles of the Veriditas,’” he read. “‘Once, there were only the elements. Earth, fire, air and water they were, and together they made up the universe. At first, they only consisted of their purest structure, each as intangible as the other, existing in a nameless void of confusion.
“‘Slowly, however, the elements began to take form. They became the elementals: shadowy, ethereal beings that still bore the characteristics of their elements, creatures of the dirt, the wind, the heat and the wet. And, after an age spent in the Void, they were filled with hate for each other.
“‘For thousands of millennia the Great War raged, and gradually over time some of the elementals became stronger than the others. Fire and air were weakest, and before long their subjugation was complete. They were forced to remain in their purest form, existing only as the breeze in the sky and the flames of the fire that warmed.
“‘The battle between earth and water continued for much longer. Eventually, however, earth won.
“‘The earth elementals bonded, took shape. They became the rocks and the trees and the things that walked upon them – they formed the beasts of the earth and the flora they ate.’”
Nitesco looked up for a moment and glanced around the room. Chonrad took the opportunity to look around too. Everyone’s face showed the same emotions he himself was experiencing: fascination, confusion, denial.
Nitesco swallowed before he continued reading. “‘Most of the earth elementals in these lands have forgotten they were spirits at all. And maybe that is not a bad thing, for the time spent in the Void was a time of misery, but our time in Anguis is a time of happiness. And so we live our lives without the knowledge of the Great Wars, and of our greatest enemies, the water elementals. They are forced to remain bound by the constraints we earth elementals imposed upon them. They churn and seethe at the edges of our existence… But they do not forget. And we must not forget either that they are always planning to take over us earthly beings and condemn the universe to be made of only a single element: water.’”
Nitesco stopped and looked up at the room. For a moment there was deathly silence. Then, everyone started speaking at once.
“What is he suggesting; we are these earth elementals?”
“I have not heard anything like this before, have you?”
“Time in the Void? The Great Wars? It is just a story to frighten children...!”
“And yet it does make a certain sense,” murmured Chonrad to himself. He watched the others around the room. Tempers were flaring – the Militis were angry that Nitesco was suggesting Oculus was wrong; he knew they were frightened there was some truth in his words. The Libraris said nothing but merely stood there, resting his hands on the pages; still, his face showed his alarm. He had anticipated this reaction, but it was one thing to imagine people’s anger and another to actually experience it.
Chonrad stood and held up his hands. People gradually quieted as they saw him about to speak. “My friends,” he said, catching the eye of those he knew and smiling at those he did not. “I understand why this story sounds so incredible. It is like a tale we tell our children, of fearsome creatures that come out of the sea at night to take you away if you are bad. But we must not let our beliefs and our prejudices cloud the truth.” He gestured towards the Quercetum. “I do not know if this is but a story, or if it is true. All I do know is I saw something amazing yesterday, something I cannot explain, and Nitesco here is offering
me an explanation. As incredible as it is, I believe we should at least consider it – because we have nothing else to go on.”
He looked across at Procella. Her cheek muscles were pronounced and he sensed she was clenching her teeth. Her back was rigidly straight and she emanated disapproval and anger at the blasphemy that one of her own had uttered. She looked over at him and met his gaze and, as she looked into his eyes, her posture softened and her antagonism melted a little. He smiled. He could sense her fear that everything she knew, everything her life had been based on, was a lie, and felt sorry her faith was being tested in this way. But still, wasn’t the truth more important than any one religious teaching?
Around the room, people were gradually starting to agree with him. The anger had dampened after he had said they had little else to go on. He could hear their comments: “Well, how else do you explain the water warriors…?”, “It is incredible but nobody else is offering a solution…”, “I wonder what else the book says?”
Beata was one of the few Militis who didn’t seem angry at the revelation. “As most of you know, I came upon one of the water warriors in the Domus,” she announced to the room. “I was able to inspect him. It was clear to me he was not like us – his form was different, and his eyes burned like green fire in their sockets. It is obvious these are supernatural creatures. We all saw them disappear into the water. We have to accept the explanation for their presence is not going to seem logical.”
To Chonrad’s surprise, it was Grimbeald, the only Wulfian lord in the room, who nodded agreement and stood up to speak. “I would like to say something,” he said in faltering Laxonian.
III
Grimbeald stood in front of the people in the Capitulum. It was a brave thing to do, thought Chonrad; he knew he wasn’t among friends and yet he was still prepared to voice his opinions and make himself heard. The Wulfian lord drew himself up to his full height – some several inches shorter than Chonrad – and lifted his head proudly, shaking his mane of thick brown hair.
“As you know, I am from Wulfengar,” he began. “I have been a follower of Exerceo Animism all my life. I was brought up to worship the Arbor, and I have been sound in my faith all these years.
“However, I have also attended the University of Ornestan, at which the learned people of our land discuss our religion and contemplate the most basic Questions of existence – who is Animus, what is the purpose of the Arbor, and how and why are we here?”
There were subtle murmurings around the room, which Chonrad listened to with amusement. Obviously there were many people who had not thought the Wulfian lord to be educated.
“I sat through the lectures and discussions on my faith,” continued Grimbeald, “and I learned I must keep my mind open, for religion is but a matter of interpretation of the facts, and if we do not have the correct facts then our interpretation will also be wrong. Therefore I would like to hear more of what your young Libraris has to say, and after I have heard all, I will then make my judgement.”
Most people were nodding around the room, the newfound admiration for Grimbeald clear on their faces.
Valens stood and approached the Wulfian lord. “You speak wise words, my friend. It is difficult for us here at Heartwood to remain objective about Animus and the Arbor because it is such a great part of our lives. I think I speak for all the Militis when I say I feel uncomfortable hearing stories that contradict what I have spent my whole life believing and fighting for. But I like to think my heart is large enough to admit I might have been wrong, and to be open to new ideas. What happened here yesterday cannot be swept under the rug; we cannot ignore such a challenge to our fundamental ideas about our religion. If we do we are foolish and it makes a mockery of our faith. So I, too, would like Nitesco to continue. And after he has finished, I suppose we will all have made up our minds.”
Nitesco nodded, taking a deep, relieved breath as Valens and Grimbeald sat down. “I think the lords speak wisely,” he said. “I believe there is information in here that will help us understand what has been happening, both yesterday with the water warriors, and in general with the failing of our land. I will carry on reading from the Quercetum.”
He turned the page over, the crackle of the parchment loud in the silence of the room. “This chapter is called ‘The Darkwater Lords’,” he explained. “This appears to be the name given to the beings that attacked us yesterday.”
Nitesco continued to read. “‘The Darkwater Lords are spirits who exist in the watery realms out in the oceans. Nobody has ever been able to visit these realms, but it is thought vast cities and whole civilisations exist beneath the waves.
“‘As such the Darkwater Lords have no form, but long, long ago, when the Great War had only just ended and the world as we know it was only just forming, there is a story that a group of water spirits forced some earth spirits to give them shape, and they were able to come onto the land and walk upon the ground. They were banished once the Arbor took root, but it must be noted that should the Veriditas fail and the energies cease to flow, it is conceivable that once again the Darkwater Lords may learn to walk among us.’”
Nitesco paused and looked up at the room. A chill went through Chonrad. The Libraris’s words implied this was what had occurred – the Veriditas had failed. Somehow, the energy the ceremony raised in the Arbor was not being relayed to the rest of the land, and that must be why, he thought, they were experiencing so many problems with famines and pestilence.
Nitesco cleared his throat, turned the page and continued to read. “‘The importance of the flow of energy throughout the lands cannot be overemphasised. The health and strength of the land and its people are directly related to the energy flow from the Arbor.’” Nitesco was becoming more animated, and he waved his hand at the group now as he said, “Now listen to this. ‘The Arbor is the conduit through which the love of Animus passes, drawn through the Pectoris, which is our connection to the Creator, at the centre of the tree. The Arbor directs the energy to all four corners of the lands by channelling it down through its roots and along the energy channels which run beneath the earth. However it must be made clear the Arbor is not solely responsible for the flow – the major arteries from the Arbor run to the five Nodes, which continue to conduct the energy through smaller veins so it reaches all parts of the land.’”
He turned the page over, his eyes flicking briefly around the room before continuing. “‘The maintenance of the Nodes is of paramount importance – this cannot be stressed enough. The Nodes must be cleansed on a regular basis to remove any residual dark energy and allow the light energy to continue to flow. Failure to do this will result in failure of the land.’” Nitesco’s final sentence rang around the Capitulum like a warning bell.
There were gasps from around the room. Everywhere people were shocked into standing, wanting to express their confused emotions.
“Can this be true?” asked Valens, his hands on his hips. “It sounds like lunacy.”
Procella was laughing. “What and where are these five Nodes? We could go searching for them for months and find out it has all been a figment of someone’s imagination.”
Another Militis gestured towards the Quercetum on the lectern. “We should burn the book and turn our attention to facts, not fiction.”
Grimbeald stood then and bellowed, “And what answers do you have for what happened to us yesterday? How can you explain these mysterious Darkwater Lords except by using the information we have just been given?” The other voices gradually fell silent. Procella set her jaw stubbornly but had no reply. Valens just frowned.
Grimbeald turned to face the room. “I have heard rumours about these ‘arteries’ of energy running beneath the land. There are supposed to be places throughout Anguis where natural energies can be felt, if you are sensitive to such things.”
“So now you believe in mystics and wizards?” laughed Kenweard of Frennon, his dislike of the Wulfian lord evident. Chonrad’s eyes narrowed – it was not a good time
to be pouring scorn on each other.
But Grimbeald did not rise to the bait. “I believe there are many things I do not know,” he said calmly. “And I am willing to listen to other people’s opinions. Can you make such a statement?”
Chonrad stood as Kenweard opened his mouth to retort. “I think what you say is wise, Lord of the Highlands,” he said, stepping in front of Kenweard.
The Lord of Frennon, however, was not going to stand back so easily. “You are not High Lord of Laxony yet,” he snapped, reaching out to grasp Chonrad’s upper arm.
Chonrad stopped and let his gaze slide down to the fingers clutching hold of his mail. He kept his eyes there until Kenweard reluctantly withdrew his hold. “This is neither the time nor the place to debate the succession,” he said quietly, “but I should remind you I was Hariman’s second in command, and though that does not make me natural successor, I believe in a situation such as this I retain the authority to speak for Laxony until the next High Lord is appointed.”
He turned away from Kenweard, trying to hide his anger, and smiled briefly at Grimbeald. “Do you know the locations of any of these Nodes?”
Grimbeald shrugged. “There is one place in Wulfengar that has the reputation of being a place of mystic energy. Couples fornicate there if they are struggling to conceive.” There was light laughter around the room. He grinned sheepishly. “It is actually a tomb in the Highlands; an old burial mound covered with grass and sheep. But supposedly it has an ‘energy’ to it.”
Fionnghuala of Hanaire stood, her face alight. “There is a place, too, in Hanaire that has a similar reputation. It is called the Portal – an ancient stone trilithon, built the other side of the Snout Range. It is miles from anywhere and tends to be forgotten about, but it has always had the reputation of being a mystical place.”
Valens turned to Chonrad. “What of Laxony? Do you have anything similar there?”
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