As the horse plodded along, he found himself thinking about his brother, and wondered how he was faring on his Quest. Had he reached the Henge yet? He made a quick calculation in his head. Probably not. They would most likely reach their destinations at around the same time.
He wondered if Gravis was feeling as strange as he was, being apart. He thought about what had happened up at the Knife’s Edge. Had that merely been a reflection of himself he had seen, or was it truly some image of Gravis? And if the latter was the case, had his brother saved his life by appearing at the edge of the abyss, or had he been leading him to his death?
Surely it must be the first option? For why would Gravis want to harm him? Gavius loved his brother deeply. Gravis and Gavius. Which is which? It doesn’t matter! To him that witticism was more than a joke. They were one person, divided into two. Which made it all the more difficult to be apart.
And yet… He had discussed this with no one, but lately he felt as if part of his brother was with him, inside him. He had first noticed the sensation up at the Knife’s Edge, and he could feel it now too. He held his hand up a little way in front of him and moved it from side to side. It was still there – that silvery-grey shadow, moving a little after his hand in a blur. He could not explain it. And although he felt it was something to do with his twin, whom he loved, it sent a shiver down his spine.
The light was beginning to fail, and so they called camp, deciding the next day they would make it their target to reach the hills. They cleared a spot in a ring of oaks and rubbed their horses down, tying them loosely and letting them graze on the grass around the copse. They spread their blankets, made a fire and ate some of the food from their packs. Then, as it grew gradually darker, they curled up in their blankets and dozed, Brevis keeping first watch.
Gavius had no trouble in getting to sleep. The days were long and he was unused to riding such long distances; his muscles still ached and he felt weary after the day. He lapsed into sleep, for many hours being unaware of anything, too deep into slumber to dream.
But gradually, as the hours went by, the dreams began to come. Gavius was not a fanciful knight; he could rarely remember his dreams and never had nightmares. But that night he twitched and tossed as his dream came for him like an animal on the prowl.
He was back at Heartwood. Only this was not his Heartwood – it was a Heartwood of the future, where the Darkwater Lords had returned to smash through their defences and kill all the knights within.
All except himself. He was standing in the middle of the Baillium, facing the Porta, or what used to be the Porta. It was now just a collection of crumbling blocks, the magnificent gatehouse reduced to a pile of rubble. Turning, his heart in his mouth, he looked at the Castellum.
Even in his sleep, he felt the pain in his heart as he looked on what had been in his eyes the most beautiful building in the whole of Anguis. The Castellum was in ruins. There were great holes in the sides of its walls, and the top floor of the Domus had gone completely. Birds nested in the nooks and crevices of the broken walls, and grass grew in the cracks. The building was like a mighty warrior who had been bested in battle, and now sat there broken and forlorn, with no further energy to fight.
Slowly, he began to walk towards the Temple. The domed roof had gone, and the walls were haphazard, some still standing tall and proud, others just blocks of chipped stone. One of the large doors had gone completely; the other sagged on its hinges, the beautiful oak clawed and split.
He stood in the doorway and stared at the scene within. Without its roof the Temple looked smaller. Its interior was a shambles. It looked similar to how it had after the invasion of the Darkwater Lords, only this time the chairs and candles had been smashed to pieces and littered the ground in a carpet of splinters and wax. The windows were gone, the beautiful paintings and embroideries hanging in tatters.
It was all heartbreaking. But what he could not take his eyes off was the Arbor.
Or what was left of it. In the middle of the Temple, where once the beautiful oak had stood tall and proud, was just a dead stump, ending about a foot high off the ground. He walked over to it with horror in his heart. The stump was slightly hollow, and he sensed here, in the middle, was where the Pectoris had resided. But the tree’s heart was long gone, its energy depleted, the only thing left a shell of broken wood.
Inside him, something clicked. A phrase repeated itself in its brain. Heartwood. The dead wood of the tree. For a moment he felt a swell of understanding, a clearing of his mind, as if the sun had suddenly come out after all the days of rain. But then something happened and he forgot about his revelation.
From the middle of the tree, smoke began to curl upwards, rising like a snake, coiling towards the open sky. And in the smoke a figure began to form. Gavius stood and watched, finding that his feet would not move in either direction. He seemed frozen, his gaze fixed on the tree. He watched the figure harden like molten iron setting in the mould, and before long he could see who it was. It was Gravis.
Or was it himself? Once again, as on the Knife’s Edge, he felt the confusion of being confronted with a figure that looked so like him, and yet he was sure was not him. The oak leaf tattoo was on the right hand, like Gravis’s. He stared at his twin, and suddenly he could feel his heart, his own Pectoris, thudding in his chest. Gravis’s gaze dropped until it rested on Gavius’s ribcage. Then, slowly, he reached out a hand.
Gavius watched the ghostly hand come towards him, stop at his ribs, and then pass into him. Exruciating pain filled him, but still he could not move. He felt the hand close around his heart, then slowly begin to extricate it from its rightful place behind his ribs. In horror, he watched his brother pull it out of his body until he stood there with it in his hand, blood dripping onto his floor. Gavius looked down at his chest, seeing the gaping, ragged hole in the middle. And then he looked up to see his brother start to laugh as, gradually, Gavius sank to his knees and collapsed onto the floor.
II
After the incident in the Temple in Realberg, Gravis and Aranea hardly exchanged two words. This was not necessarily her fault, although there was no doubt she had been extremely shocked by what she had seen. She had attempted – as he had at first – to try and explain the absence of his shadow with logical reasoning – it was a trick of the light, or something to do with the angle of the setting sun, or tiredness, or a hundred other reasons that eventually petered out as she came to terms with the fact that she knew there was no logical explanation for it – he had had no shadow, it was clear and obvious to see, and she could not explain it away.
Gravis had walked out of the Temple and back to the inn, not stopping to see if she followed him. On reaching the inn, he had gone straight to the bedchamber and lay down to sleep, turning on his side away from the door so when they entered, the others assumed he was sleeping and did not try and disturb him. And the next morning, he arose and pretended nothing had happened, and after a few failed attempts to engage him in conversation, Aranea joined in with the pretence.
He could tell she was thinking about it, from the way she kept glancing over to him as they rode, and the thoughtful expression on her face. But he did not want to hear her ponderings on what the reasons were for these strange occurrences. Truth to tell, he was frightened, and the foolish, illogical part of him that resides in us all hoped that by ignoring it, it would go away.
But of course it didn’t. In fact, it only seemed to be getting worse. Several times on the last leg of the journey to the Henge, he found himself glancing into the still surface of ponds, or watching the ground as he stood in the light of a lantern, only to see the absence of a reflection or shadow, sometimes briefly, sometimes for half a minute or more before it flickered back to life like a lit candle. But in those thirty seconds, his heart seemed to stop, and he knew something was seriously wrong.
As if sensing his increasing weakness, Fortis began to ride next to Gravis, forsaking his usual place at the rear, and although he did not say much,
and his very visage was somewhat intimidating, Gravis did find some comfort in the older man’s calm presence, as if he provided the aura of self-confidence Gravis himself was lacking.
As they journeyed across the ridges and dales of the Seven Hills, with villages growing sparser and the Highlands bleaker, dotted only with sheep, Gravis sometimes thought they were never going to reach their destination.
But the miles were eaten away, and the sun rose and set through the gloom of the persistent rain, and one day they topped a hill and suddenly, in the distance, they could see the Henge on the skyline, propped up like a child’s pile of blocks, silhouetted against the darkening sky.
“You made it,” said Fortis with an uncharacteristic smile. Gravis returned it falteringly, noting the choice of “you” instead of “we”, confirming his original thoughts that the veteran had chosen to come with him because he thought Gravis needed extra support. And don’t I, he thought miserably, surprised by the lack of enthusiasm inside him as his destination neared? Indeed, a feeling of dread enveloped him, as if he had been dropped into a barrel of honey and were sinking slowly to the bottom.
They camped that night in an old barn and Gravis dreamed about the Henge, feeling its presence as if it were an animal stalking him, waiting in the shadows for a sign of weakness before it pounced. Strangely, though, in his dreams it was daylight, the sun shone, and he felt brave and held his head high, a reversal of the usual situation, where dreams carry the shadows and things in the dark, which disappear when you open your eyes.
The next day dawned with rain continuing to fall steadily, turning the ground to mush. In the Quest party, however, there was a rising sense of excitement as they all breakfasted and dressed ready for the day’s journey. They knew they would be at their destination before the day was out and that was cause enough for celebration. But they also felt a sense of destiny, a feeling they were playing their part in the rescue of Anguis.
Gravis, however, just felt an impending sense of doom. Part of him felt exasperated at his continuing depression, as if he were watching himself from above, confused by this gloom weighing him down as if he were smothered in a heavy blanket. But he could not fight it off, and it only grew heavier and heavier as he neared the Henge, and they began the slow climb up the hillside towards the monument.
The path curled around the hill, and it was only as they began to go around the east side they found something surprising. There was a village there.
They reined in and stared at the array of houses in surprise. It wasn’t really a village, more of a hamlet, just a row of five or six little cottages, and a tiny wooden temple around a solitary oak.
As they watched, a figure came out of one of the cottages. He was tall and thin, and dressed in a long green woollen tunic with thick brown leggings. He had a heavy, shaggy brown beard and piercing blue eyes. He stared up at the travellers, then turned and called over his shoulder. Immediately, the doors of the other cottages opened and another five people came out – two men and three women.
If it were possible, Gravis’s heart sank even further. Was he going to have to fight his way to the top? He didn’t think he had the stomach for a battle, especially against unarmoured peasants. However, the people wore broad smiles and came up to the Heartwood party, with no sign of weapons.
“Welcome, weary travellers,” said the first villager. “My name is Thancred. We are the Guardians of the Henge, and we welcome you to this holy place.”
Gravis dismounted and the others joined him. He walked up to the smiling Thancred and laid his hand across his chest, so his Heartwood tattoo was evident. “Greetings,” he said. “As you can see, we are from Heartwood. We have journeyed a long way to be here today.”
The Guardians’ eyes widened as they realised where the travellers had come from.
“We are honoured to have Militis come to visit us,” said Thancred sincerely. “It is the first time in… well, a long time!”
Gravis looked up at their little settlement, then back at the small group standing before him. “I did not realise the Henge had Guardians.” He wondered what they did. They were obviously not like the guardians of the Arbor – they appeared to have no military background.
“The holy site has always had keepers, since it was created,” said Thancred. “Come. If you will join us, I will be glad to tell you more of our history.” He gestured towards their horses. “We do not allow horses up onto the Henge, but you are welcome to keep them in our stables. There is plentiful hay and water available.” He gestured around the back of the cottages.
Gravis let a Guardian lead away his horse. He noticed Fortis’s reluctance to relinquish his horse and wondered if he was foolish to trust these people, but his instincts told him they were safe, and somehow he knew they would not bring him trouble. He followed Thancred and the other three Guardians through one of the doors of the cottages.
It was only as he entered that he realised the dwellings were not in fact individual cottages, but actually one long house divided at the front into small bedrooms, while the back was one large area with several tables, a kitchen area and looms for them to make their own clothing. At one end, he saw a door through to the Temple beyond – to allow easy access, he thought, for prayers and rituals. It all looked very comfortable and welcoming, and he felt immediately at home.
“We have several spare bedrooms for guests,” said Thancred, “so you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.”
“Do you have many visitors?” Fortis asked, taking a seat with the others at one of the tables.
“The occasional pilgrim, but they are few and far between now.” Thancred joined them while the other Guardians busied themselves pouring drinks and bringing food for the visitors. “The secret of the Henge has gradually been forgotten by all except the Guardians.” He fixed his bright blue gaze on Gravis. “But more of that later. Why do you not start by telling me why you are here?”
“It is rather an incredible story,” Gravis began, not wanting to go into detail about Nitesco’s ideas on elementals. But then he thought about Thancred’s words: the secret of the Henge has gradually been forgotten… Perhaps these Guardians knew about the Nodes and could help him to activate this one. He sighed and began telling them all the story of how they had come to be there, so far from home. He told them about the Darkwater attack on Heartwood, and about Nitesco’s discovery in the Cavus, of the Quercetum and its story. He explained how they had all undertaken to go on the Quests and reactivate the Nodes. “Only, I am not sure how to,” he finished lamely. “I do not think I have much of the power of the Veriditas. Actually, I was beginning to wonder if one of the others should not take on the role of Leader.”
He said the words almost before he thought them and saw the astonished looks of the members of his party around the table. But of course, it made perfect sense; why had he not thought of it before? There was bound to be someone else there who would be better at it than he. The responsibility would be lifted.
But even as his hopes began to rise, Thancred shook his head and dashed them back down. “Once it is set in motion, we cannot change the course of Fate. We are bound by its laws, and have to see our tasks through to completion. The Quest is yours and yours alone to complete, my friend. But do not worry. Though we cannot carry the burden for you, we may be able to make its weight a bit more bearable.” He smiled and gestured to the table, where the Guardians had laid a loaf of bread, a bowl of butter, sliced meat and jugs of ale. “Please, help yourself. It is not much, but you are welcome to it. Once you have eaten, we will make you hot baths to rest your bones. And then,” he said to Gravis, “we will take you up to the Henge.”
The others started eating, tucking into the hearty fare and chatting to the other Guardians as they did so. Gravis, however, had no appetite and arose from the table, walked out of the cottage and stood looking up the hill at the Henge, which towered over them majestically on the summit. The stones looked cold and haughty, forbidding as ghostly sentri
es preventing him from reaching the precious Node.
Beside him, he felt a presence, and turned to see Thancred standing there, also looking up at the Henge. “I know it looks daunting,” the Guardian said. “But the Henge is there to help you, Gravis.”
“I do not know if anyone can help me.”
Thancred turned his bright blue eyes on him. Then his gaze moved across to the window. Gravis followed it, and his breath caught in his throat. Thancred’s reflection stood alone in the window, staring back at them both.
Gravis’s mouth went dry. Now the Guardian would see him for what he truly was. He would step back in horror, shout to the others they had a coward on their hands. They would not let them go up to the Henge. He had failed.
But Thancred did none of those things. He stared thoughtfully at the window, then turned his gaze back on Gravis. His blue eyes were like stars in his face, burning white-hot.
“Ah,” he said meaningfully. “I see.”
III
It was a long ride from their last camp in the Neck Pass to Fintaire, but Fionnghuala pressed the others to move on, eager to reach a Hanaire town and leave the drama of the snow-filled night behind her. It was well into the Stirring now, and almost the Bud Moon, and the lowlands around Bearrach’s home town were showing signs of emerging from their long sleep. The continual rain meant the ground underfoot was soft and marshy in places, but still she preferred it to the hard white surface of the mountain pass.
She had not spoken again to Bearrach about what had happened the previous night, and nobody else had noticed her absence, so she was left to ponder on the baby’s cry – and Bearrach’s strange choice of words – alone. That is not the cry of an earthly child, he had said. She had known what he meant; how on earth could any young thing survive out in that weather? But still, the memory of his words sent fingers of ice running up her spine.
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