Heartwood

by Freya Robertson

  He sighed. He supposed he would have to wait until she confided in him. And that would probably be quite a while, he thought. He looked at her where she sat in the saddle, lost in daydreams: a tall, proud figure, her hair still loose down her back as it had been when she was young. She was not one to open up easily to others. But then, he was in no hurry, either, he supposed.

  The journey to Salentaire was uneventful; they stopped one night at an inn in a small village that catered regularly for travellers to and from the towns. Bearrach lay awake for several hours waiting for the baby to cry, but this time he heard nothing, and eventually slept soundly in his bed.

  They arrived at Fionnghuala’s home town late on the second day. They sun had set and they were cast in a grim world of mist and shadow as they rode through the town gates. Salentaire was laid out in a similar fashion to Fintaire: created haphazardly, roads criss-crossing each other like strings in a spider’s web, the houses displaying a wide range of styles. Fionnghuala took them to her home – an elegant stone-built house in the very centre of town, quite different from his quiet villa in Fintaire. Her house was on the edge of the central town square, opposite the Council chambers; it was several storeys high and very homely, he thought, filled with knick-knacks and treasures she had gathered from her travels, with embroidered cushions and wall hangings and even a few books, carefully treasured.

  She showed them all to their rooms, and he placed his bag beside his bed, but although she had told them they had an hour or so before dinner, he did not feel the need to lie down. He was not a moody man, and was usually even-tempered and calm, but that evening he felt restless, even a touch irritable, although he could not put his finger on why.

  He went down the stairs to the ground floor. He could hear Fionnghuala talking to the servants in the kitchen about dinner, but for once, it was not her he wished to see. He walked by the door, then along the hallway, and let himself quietly out of the front door.

  Outside, it was cool and quiet, the rain pattering gently on the grass lawn in the centre of the square. The shops had shut for the night; it was nearly dark and the square was empty of all save a few going to the tavern for the evening. Bearrach walked along the edge of the square. Although he had only been to Salentaire half a dozen times, he knew the location of the Temple, and besides, its domed roof was visible above the low houses on the south side of the square.

  When he got there, the evening service had just ended. He sat on a bench by a little fountain and waited patiently for the place to empty and the priest to finish tidying up the chairs. When the priest left, Bearrach made his way inside.

  The Temple was cool, quiet and dark. Through the glass roof he could see only blackness, the stars covered by the rainclouds refusing to depart. The only light came from the stand of candles in the centre by the oak tree, whose spindly branches cast spidery shadows on the floor. He saw with dismay the oak had dropped its leaves – a sure sign the energy problem caused by the Arbor was spreading.

  He picked up a candle and began to walk around the Temple.

  He knew Fionnghuala’s family would have an area devoted to family inscriptions somewhere. There were no such things as tombs, of course; the dead were taken by the tree. But all families had inscriptions; it was just a matter of searching until he found them.

  It did not take him long. The small cluster of plaques was on the east wall, in shadow, only highlighted when he held up his candle.

  He read them swiftly. There were dedications to people long gone, as well as more recent family members that had died. He passed over most of them, his eye going for the elaborately carved ones that illustrated a child’s death. He read them all. There was nothing that indicated a child Fionnghuala had lost.

  Then, however, his eyes went to a very small plaque, almost at floor level. It had the intricate carving that spoke of the death of a child. It did not have any detail of whom the child belonged to, or any details about the child itself, or even a date. However, instinctively, Bearrach knew it was Fionnghuala’s. Something inside him just knew.

  It held just one word.

  Buairt. Sorrow.

  V

  The Henge of stone loomed forbiddingly on the high hill where Thancred and Gravis were climbing. As they walked up, Thancred told Gravis what the Guardians knew of the stones.

  “They were built several thousands of years ago, before even the first Heartwood temple,” he said, walking easily up the steep path to the top, though Gravis found himself puffing. “We do not know a huge amount about the builders. They lived off the land, as we do, and they studied the sky and were very knowledgeable about the stars and the seasons. I will show you more about that in a minute. I think they were simple people, but by that I do not mean simple-minded; I mean they lived simply, with little complication to their lives.”

  “And you try to emulate them,” stated Gravis, recognising the description as almost being that of the Guardians’ little village.

  Thancred smiled. “Yes.”

  About a hundred feet or so before the summit, there was a small hut, with a wooden bench covered by a sloping roof. Not yet ready to enter the Node, Gravis took a seat out of the pattering rain and Thancred joined him. They sat there for a moment looking down over the Laxonian countryside. Gravis glanced across to the coast and wondered how Beata was faring at Henton. Had she found the Virimage? And Gavius, how was he doing? Had he reached the Green Giant yet?

  With no answers forthcoming, Gravis turned to look at Thancred. “Did you know what had happened in Heartwood? Have you been able to tell from the Henge?”

  Thancred seemed suddenly hesitant, even embarrassed. “There have been Guardians here for a very long time. We have old knowledge, back beyond the Great Quake and the founding of Heartwood. But there are gaps in what we know. Though we understand the Henge is a great centre of energy, we do not know how to activate it. We can feel the energy flowing – or not, as the case may be – but we cannot affect it. We have been able to do little more than keep the Henge tidy and protect it from raiders.” He looked very sad. “We know something has happened to the Arbor – we can feel it in the energy flow. But we have been unable to help.”

  Gravis reached out and touched his arm. “From what I understand, the upkeep of the physical site is as important as keeping the energy flowing. I was worried the stones may have fallen – for how would we be able to erect them again?”

  He went on to tell the Guardian more about what had happened at Heartwood. When he explained about the Darkwater Lords, Thancred’s brow creased, but the Guardian did not interrupt as the Heartwood knight told him how they had risen from the water and returned to it afterwards. He explained about the Quercetum and what Nitesco had found out. And he explained he was there to activate the Node. When he had finished, he asked – like a small child – “Do you believe me?”

  Thancred nodded, looking out over the hills and valleys. “We have many stories about the elementals, and I think we have all come to the independent realisation that our physical presence on this earth is not everything there is. What you have described makes perfect sense to me.” He turned and gave Gravis his full attention. “And so here you are to undertake your Quest. Are you ready?”

  Gravis shivered and looked away. “You saw in the reflection of the window there is something wrong with me,” he said quietly. “I do not know what it is.”

  “When did you start feeling it?”

  Gravis thought about it. “I started feeling strange before I left Heartwood, but I put down to the nerves about the journey. It was after I parted from Gavius that I really began to feel odd.”

  “Gavius?”

  “My twin. He is on his own Quest, to activate the Green Giant Node in Komis.”

  “Ah.” Thancred nodded.

  “Do you know why I have been casting no reflection, and no shadow? Is it something to do with him?”

  “Maybe,” said Thancred. “We will talk more about that later. Now, I think we can pu
t it off no longer. It is time to see the Henge.”

  Gravis’s heart thumped. Together they rose and climbed the last hundred yards to the summit.

  It was still raining, but he tipped back the hood from his cloak as they crested the rise. There, they stood and surveyed the site.

  The top of the hill was flat and about a hundred feet across. In the middle stood the henge, about half that distance from side to side. It consisted of a horseshoe shape of five trilithons – each trilithon made from two standing stones with a third resting on the top. The stones were massive, at least twenty feet tall. Gravis stared up, and up, and up at them, speechless with awe.

  “Impressive, are they not?” said Thancred, somewhat smugly. “They go at least eight feet below the ground, too, you know.”

  “How on earth were they erected?” Gravis could not conceive of how something so big and so heavy could ever be hauled up the hill and turned upright.

  “We think maybe a pulley system was used – they would use slaves and/or animals to get one stone up, then lower it carefully down the hill again, using its weight to lever the next up, and so on. But we do not really know. It would be a hugely difficult task today, let alone two thousand years ago when they did not have the building technology that we have.”

  “Can I walk through them?”

  “Of course. Visitors are free to do as they wish while they are here, as long as it does not mean defacing or damaging the stones.”

  Gravis walked towards them. His fingers tingled. The air was thick and oppressive, as if a storm were coming. Suddenly, it felt difficult to breathe. He tried to ignore the feeling and began to walk around the stones. He could not explain to either Thancred or himself how imposing the stones were. It was as if they had more than a mere physical presence; as if somehow his subconscious were aware of a brooding aura they exuded. Such thoughts did not come easily to his mind and even as they entered his head, his conscious no-nonsense brain wanted to discount them.

  But he made himself think about them as he walked around the site. Things were different now; he knew he was not a mere physical being, and there was a world beneath the physical. He could not discount theories just because he did not understand them, or because they did not fit in with his straightforward thinking. He must learn to consider other possibilities; only then would he find a way to activate the Node.

  He thought about the effect different people had on a room when they walked into it. Some people could enter – could even sit there for an hour – and you would never know they had come in, and would look at them in surprise when you finally realised they were there. Others, however, made the room glow as soon as they walked in. It was not necessarily because they were noisy, or extrovert; some people just had an inner quality that made others turn and look at them. Gavius was one such person; when he smiled, he shone, and others shone too as a mere reflection of his glow. Chonrad, too, had a personality that exuded warmth and friendship, and Beata would have been beautiful even if she hadn’t had the face of an angel.

  Other people, however, could darken a room by their mere presence. He had found Dolosus to be one of these; the knight emitted an aura of doom and darkness, even on a sunny day.

  And somehow, Gravis knew the stones to be like this. They had a presence in addition to the physical one – he could feel it as surely as he could feel the cold stone under his fingertips. He sensed them watching him, glowering, frowning. They did not approve of him being there. They thought him insufficient, inadequate, weak. They wanted to be activated, and were certain he couldn’t do it.

  “Are you all right?” Thancred came to stand next to him, and Gravis was suddenly aware he had been motionless for several minutes, his hands on one of the massive standing stones.

  “They do not want me here,” he whispered hoarsely, his heart pounding. “They know I cannot do it.”

  “You can hear them?”

  “I can feel them…”

  Thancred took Gravis’s hands and turned the knight to face him. “If you can feel them, then you are the one, my friend. Only those connected to the stones can feel their desires. But they do not see you as a failure; they only sense your indecision and your feelings of inadequacy.”

  “I do not know how to change that,” said Gravis hoarsely. “I want very much to be different, but I know I cannot…”

  Thancred led him to the centre of the circle. There was a stone slab on the ground there and, in spite of the rain, he spread out his cloak and pulled Gravis down to sit cross-legged opposite him.

  “I have a theory,” he said. “Life is all about energy. Our relationships are about the exchange of energy. Energy flows, like water, in everything; in channels underneath the ground, and between each other. Sometimes, when we are feeling particularly emotional and vulnerable, it can happen that the energy exchange can be unequal. Someone takes more than they should, and because you are feeling weak you are unable to stop that exchange. I think this is what has happened to you.”

  Gravis hardly felt the rain falling on his face; all his attention was focussed on the Guardian who sat before him. “You think Gavius did this?”

  “I do not think it was a conscious act. But yes, I think he has ‘stolen’ something from you. If you cannot think of it as energy, then think of it as something more visible. Your shadow perhaps – your reflection, for that is how you are projecting the loss.”

  A sense of relief flowed over Gravis, as if someone had emptied a bucket of water over his head. “So this is not my fault?”

  Thancred shrugged. “It is useless trying to working out who is responsible. It happened. We need to deal with the consequences rather than waste time apportioning blame.”

  “What can we do?”

  “It may take a few days, but I think we can build up your energy levels again. But for now, let us try and see if we can make that connection with your brother. Maybe if we achieve that, he will release the energy he holds.”

  He took Gravis’s hands. “Close your eyes,” he said.

  Gravis did so. Even though he could see nothing, he immediately felt the presence of the stones around him, towering over him, forbidding, resentful. He tried to shut the image out and concentrate on what Thancred was doing.

  The Guardian did not speak, and for a while nothing happened. Gravis tried to relax. He could hear the rain pattering on the ground and feel the cold and hardness of the stone beneath him through the blanket. He tried to stop thinking of the stones as his enemy. If they wanted to be activated, then he was their friend. He tried to send out feelings of love towards them, but it was like trying to show love to a harsh and violent teacher; it just didn’t feel right. Still, he persevered.

  And then something happened.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Gavius. Excitement and happiness surged through him, quickly followed by a frisson of shock. His twin sat on a horse, riding through a forest, which wasn’t in itself a surprise. What was shocking, however, was the fact that his brother’s hands were bound behind his back, and there was a cloth tied across his mouth.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I

  Gavius watched the blood drip from his bruised mouth onto the wooden platform. He had to look through his right eye, as his left was swollen until it was almost shut. His touched his teeth tenderly with his tongue; one was loose. His whole body hurt.

  He raised his head slowly. He could see from the limp figures around the platform that the others had fared little better than he. Hodie wasn’t there – he was currently in a hut with the Komis leader, suffering Animus knew what horrors. His cries occasionally cut through the darkness, like sharp knives slicing through silk. Brevis was on his front and looked unconscious; at least Gavius hoped he was – that way he wouldn’t feel any pain from his arm, which was quite clearly broken and lay at an odd angle. He looked across at Mellis and Niveus. Uncharacteristically, his eyes filled with tears. Mellis was curled in a ball, and although he couldn’t hear her, he knew she was crying. Nive
us sat upright, her back against a tree trunk, her whole body rigid with anger. Her face, too, was bloodied and swollen where she had fought her assailants. Her mouth was set in a firm line, as if gritting her teeth. She met his gaze briefly, then looked away.

  He thought it had been harder for the two women. Pain was always easier to bear than shame, he thought. Although they had experienced a great deal of pain, too. Fury rose inside him again as he thought of what had happened to them, but he clamped it down, knowing it would do him no good. He had already rubbed his wrists raw trying to get out of the shackles; he was bound too tightly to wriggle free. He had the impression the Komis were quite skilled in the art of keeping captives.

  It was nearly dark. He looked across the wooden platform at the treetop houses and saw minor movements, and he knew Komis were there, watching him. He thought that was the worst thing about what they had all undergone so far; not only had they been beaten and, in the women’s case, sexually abused, but mostly it had all been carried out publicly, in the middle of a large platform elevated in the trees in the centre of Brant.

  He had to admit the treetop settlement was an amazingly innovative construction. Long walkways had been laced from tree to tree, connecting all parts of the town. Houses hung like apples from the branches, and he now knew the Komis had been hiding there when they passed through on the way to the Green Giant.

  He looked across at the hut where they had taken Hodie. Firstly, they had tried to extract information by beating them. All three Heartwood men were made of stern stuff and had refused to cave. However, when the leader took Hodie off into the hut, Gavius knew they probably had a more refined torture in store for him, and his stomach began to turn to jelly inside him.

  The screaming started again, and Gavius broke out in a sweat. The cries were cut off suddenly, as if someone had put a hand over Hodie’s mouth. A few moments of silence followed, and then suddenly the cloth over the doorway moved and out came one of the Komis guards, dragging Hodie by his shackles. He dumped him some yards from Gavius and went back into the hut.