Heartwood

by Freya Robertson

  V

  Gavius was in a world of light and shadows. He lay down, his body suspended by some unseen hand, light as a leaf caught on an Awakening breeze. He was quite happy to be there, and felt no panic or distress, even though he couldn’t put his finger on exactly where he was. Gradually, however, he became aware he wasn’t floating in air; he was in water. He was deep in a pool of thick, dark water, and above him a hand was reaching in, trying to pull him to the surface. He fought the hand, but it would not let go, and gradually he got nearer and nearer to the light…

  He opened his eyes with a gasp. He was not in water, he realised, but merely unconscious, and the hand that had been trying to bring him back to consciousness belonged to the Komis leader, Aukaneck.

  “You shall not sleep!” Aukaneck snarled, slapping him sharply on the cheek. Gavius’s head snapped back, then fell forward, his muscles too tired to hold him upright. Through his beaten, pulpy face he looked at his body, but could not make out any skin – he was too covered in blood. He felt as if he were on fire. The many cuts Aukaneck had made on his skin stung as his sweat dripped into them.

  One of the Komis raised Gavius’s chin with his hand and poured water over his face. Gavius gasped, taking in some of the water and swallowing it thankfully, spluttering a little and trying to turn his head to let the liquid clear his face, which he could feel was also covered in blood.

  When he was done, he looked across at the figure slumped on the ground opposite him. Thankfully, Brevis was dead, although his screams still rang in Gavius’s ears, like a bell whose echo goes on long after it has been struck. Having no luck with torturing Gavius, Aukaneck had turned to Brevis. Although the knight had no idea where the secret entrance to Heartwood was, Aukaneck hoped the torture of his friend would lead Gavius to reveal its whereabouts.

  The Komis leader had not counted on the knights’ loyalty to Heartwood, however. Greater even than their loyalty to each other – which was very strong – their need to defend the Temple and the tree it guarded inside it was overwhelming, and though it nearly killed him in the process, Gavius said nothing as Brevis was sliced and stuck like a pig, until eventually the shock killed him.

  To his surprise, they had not brought in Niveus. Surely she would have been a more obvious candidate to get him to talk? The Komis would have thought this anyway; women had particularly low standing in their society and men saw it as their role to protect them. Such was not the case in Heartwood; there men and women were treated equally and he would not have thought to give a woman preferential treatment. He could just imagine Procella’s face if he had suggested he carry something for her! The thought made him smile, in spite of his cracked lips.

  Aukaneck saw the smile and snarled, bringing the back of his hand across Gavius’s face with a crack. “Do you find something funny?” he snapped.

  Gavius said nothing, but hung his head and watched the blood drop down onto the floor. His thoughts, however, were on Niveus. Why hadn’t they brought her to him? Had they already killed her? Surely if that was the case, they would have taunted him with her death? Aukaneck certainly knew every trick there was and would not have turned down an opportunity to lower his confidence and spirits by telling him his last companion had died. Was it possible, therefore, she had managed to escape?

  Hope surged within him like the wash caused on a river by a fast boat. Of course, it might be a ridiculous thought, and it was possible she was at that moment either dead or waiting outside to be brought in and tortured, but something in Gavius told him he was right.

  He pondered on that as Aukaneck and the guards discussed something among themselves. His certainty that Niveus had escaped was not the only odd feeling he had had since he opened the Node. Something had happened to him there, something profound, he knew, that had changed him – and not just in a mental or emotional sense. He felt something within him had metamorphosed the way water changes to steam when heated. He was still the same person, but he felt different, and things were happening to him he could not explain. Only the day before, he had had a vision of a person with dark-hair and distinctive Komis eyes, but he had only realised it was not one of the Komis who had taken him hostage when, behind him, the distinct visage of Beata swam into view. Immediately, he realised this must be the Virimage Beata had been sent to find. Gavius froze, thinking, “Follow her!” But before he could say anything, the vision had faded and he was back in Brant.

  Other things had occurred since then; he had had other visions, flashes of people and places, some of whom he knew, some he didn’t, and he couldn’t always make sense of them, as he had not been allowed to sleep and tiredness had made his brain fuzzy.

  Now, he accepted he just knew for a fact that Niveus was free, and that cheered him more than anything else could do, except maybe being told he was free himself.

  Which wasn’t going to happen, he thought wryly as the Komis, who had been talking in lowered tones to each other, now broke up and walked menacingly towards him.

  Aukaneck, the leader, his dark brown skin slick with sweat and his eyes harder than the metal they reflected, sat before him. Nodding to one of the guards, he waited as they untied Gavius’s left hand and pulled it round towards their king. His arms had been tied so tightly that Gavius groaned as the blood rushed through it. Aukaneck smiled as the guard put the prisoner’s hand on the table. The king brandished a pair of pliers.

  “Now then, where were we?” he said, lowering the pliers until they gripped the edge of one of Gavius’s fingernails.

  Gavius closed his eyes. “Animus, protect me,” he prayed.

  Something touched his foot.

  He looked down and saw a long, green vine curled around his boot. He had not noticed it before. His eyes followed the vine along the floor of the hut. It vanished into the darkness of the corner where he could not see. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes. The vine was moving. He looked down again to see it crawling up his leg, curling in a helix around his calf, then up his thigh. He shuddered and tried to kick it off, but he could not move.

  He looked up at Aukaneck to see the king’s attention focussed on his hand, and he was shocked to see one of his fingernails had already been extracted. He had not felt a thing. Blood flowed over his hand, but he could not relate the injury to his own body as he felt not a twinge of pain.

  No longer trying to fight it, Gavius watched the vine crawl up him. It surrounded his midriff, curled around his shoulders and finally slid through his hair and over his head.

  Feeling as if he was slipping into a dark chasm, he closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, he was standing before a pair of huge wooden doors. He recognised them instantly; he was in Heartwood, standing at the entrance to the Temple. Valens was there, talking to some of the Militis, the huge Imperator striking a commanding figure as he directed the knights where to strengthen the fortifications. Gavius looked around, his heart swelling at being back in the place he loved more than anywhere else in the world. Though it was still raining, the Temple seemed to shine in the darkness, like a beacon on a rocky coast, radiating warmth and light and keeping everyone safe.

  Nobody reacted to his appearance, and Gavius guessed they could not see him. He was there in spirit, not in body, as insubstantial as the breeze blowing across the Baillium. Did that mean his body was still in Brant? He suspected so, remembering his hand covered in blood but pain-free. Something had called him out of his body, and for the moment, he wasn’t unhappy with that.

  He walked up to the oak doors, wondering how to open them if he had no form, but as he approached them they swung open silently, and so he walked forwards into the Temple.

  He waited for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Gradually, the interior of the Temple became clear. The rows of seating had been removed so the outer circle was bare, presumably in preparation for a possible invasion. He walked forwards slowly, past the occasional Militis, over the bridge crossing the river channel, and then across the Sepulchrum an
d into the inner circle.

  The Arbor stood before him, and Gavius walked up and ducked to stand under its branches. He could see the enormous cleft in its trunk where the Darkwater Lords had opened it up to steal its Pectoris. The tree was, quite clearly, dying. Its branches drooped so much they draped on the floor, and to his shock most of the leaves had already fallen, the last few hanging brown and curled on the twigs, ready to drop at any moment. Still, the tree rustled as he neared, and he caught his breath. Was the Arbor aware of his presence?

  He walked up to the trunk and, putting his arms around it, pressed his cheek to the bark. The tree felt solid, rough beneath his skin. If he was spirit, he thought, then so was the Arbor. Beneath the bark, he could still feel a slow but steady pulse, in spite of the fact that its heart had gone. It was not yet dead, he consoled himself. It wasn’t far off, clearly, but it wasn’t yet completely gone.

  The branches and twigs rustled above his head and touched his hair. He remembered the way the energy had surged through him on the Green Giant, and how he had felt when the Node finally opened. That had been the Arbor, he realised now – Animus reaching out to him through the beloved tree. They were all one and the same: one energy, complete and connected, whole even when they were apart.

  Understanding now, he closed his eyes. Summoning his strength, he sent a surge of energy, a bolt of his love, through the tree and down its roots into Anguis, to all the Quest leaders. In his mind’s eye he saw them all; Fionnghuala, lonely and forlorn by the Portal; Grimbeald, lost in the Tumulus; Beata, heartbroken but determined to hunt down the Virimage; Procella and Chonrad, frightened in spite of their warriors’ hearts. To them all he sent his love and his courage, which he didn’t need any more, his final gift to them all.

  And finally he saw Gravis, his twin brother, the person he knew better than anyone else in the world, seated in the middle of the Henge, swirled in a thick mist, which Gavius in his spiritual state could sense was both physical and emotional. He moved forward until it was as if he stood before his twin, and he looked down and between them he could see a thin silvery line, like a cord binding them both together. And suddenly, he understood.

  He closed his eyes, the realisation of what he had done to Gravis more painful than the torture his physical body was undergoing. I am sorry, he whispered, bending down to look straight into Gravis’s face. I am sorry; I did not understand what I was doing. All this time, he had not understood. But at least now he could make up for it.

  He put out his hand and placed it on top of Gravis’s head. Concentrating, he felt his strength flow out of him and into his brother. As he did so, before him, the image of Gravis gradually began to fade.

  As the last piece of energy flowed out of him, Gavius opened his eyes and looked into Aukaneck’s. The Komis leader was smiling and Gavius wondered if he had spoken the secret in his dreamlike state. But it was of no matter, he thought. He had done all he could and his time was done.

  “You will not succeed,” he said. “Long live the Arbor.”

  Void of energy, of life, very quietly, Gavius died.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I

  Nitesco dismounted from his horse and tied the reins around the nearest tree. They had no servants with them; only the Quest party was there, in an attempt to keep their plan as quiet as possible.

  Nitesco sat himself on the sand and watched the other members of his party as they rode along the beach, dismounting as they neared him and seeing to their horses. Each of them, he knew, was battling with his or her fears and worries.

  Chonrad, the mighty lord of Barle, had been his usual practical self that morning, seeing it as his role as host to keep everyone’s spirits up, to get them rested and fed, and to organise them for their ride down to the beach. Nitesco knew something had gone on between him and Procella that night; he had seen them leave the Hall together, and their smiles to each other that morning. He had also seen Chonrad watch the Dux when he thought no one was looking. It was clear the lord was enamoured with her.

  Nitesco wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Procella was his Dux, the leader of the Exercitus army, and should have known better than to involve herself with a knight, especially during a time when they needed to be completely focussed. And as much as he liked Chonrad – and it was impossible really not to like him – Nitesco wasn’t sure about his motives. Clearly, the Laxonian held some sort of grudge against Heartwood, and Nitesco had seen the look on his face during the Veriditas. Chonrad quite obviously had issues with Animus and the Arbor. Whether he was suitable for such an important Quest was a matter open for discussion.

  Still, Nitesco thought wryly as Chonrad dismounted near him and busied himself with his horse, there was no denying the fellow was an amazing knight; tall and strong and fearless, his skill and power had surprised Nitesco when the raiders attacked them in the barn. And perhaps his feelings for Procella were no bad thing; at least, it might mean he would make an extra effort to keep her safe.

  Not that she needed a bodyguard, Nitesco thought wryly as he watched her dismount. Tall, lithe, athletic and fearless, she would not be pleased to think she needed looking after! Nitesco had always found the Dux a little daunting. He knew she was not overly impressed with him, either; only military prowess won her admiration, and he was hardly endowed with that. He also knew she didn’t think he could truly turn her into a water elemental. But Nitesco couldn’t blame her, really. He wasn’t completely sure he could do it himself.

  Dolosus was particularly sullen. Never good friends with the knight, Nitesco had kept well out of his way since the incident at the fort, when Chonrad had saved Dolosus’s life. Since then, the dour Dean had been resentful and moody, clearly struggling with the fact that he had nearly been bested. Privately, Nitesco thought sending the knight on such an important Quest was ridiculous. When so much was at stake, the last thing they needed was someone so obviously unstable.

  However, everyone seemed on edge now the moment of truth was approaching. Fulco, of course, never spoke, although even he seemed more reluctant to communicate than usual. And the other three knights were equally as subdued. Hora, the female Laxonian, was pale as a ghost and paced the sand nervously, desperate to begin, waiting being the one thing she clearly had trouble with. Terreo, the huge male Wulfian, constantly checked his weapons and armour, which Nitesco knew was pointless, as he would not be able to use them after the transformation. Solum, the male Laxonian, was the only relatively calm one and sat cross-legged on the beach sharpening his dagger, more from a need of something to do, Nitesco thought, than because he thought he would need it.

  He sighed. It was no good putting it off any longer. It was time he readied for the ritual and got it over and done with, and then at least if it didn’t work, they could go back to Heartwood and get on with defending the temple.

  Nitesco caught himself mid-thought. Already he was thinking in terms of failure, and that was no good during such an important ritual. At times of crisis, one needed to rely on one’s confidence. How good would Procella or Chonrad be in battle if they went in thinking they were going to die?

  Casting aside his doubts, he ignored the others and busied himself with the preparations. He lowered the boxes that had weighed down his packhorse and, unpacking them, laid the contents on the sand. Most important was the cauldron where the ritual itself would be carried out. He took it to just a few feet from the sea’s edge, along with the metal stand, placing that firmly in the sand where it could not fall over and putting the cauldron on top. Underneath he put some dry driftwood, and proceeded to light a fire.

  Then he brought down the other implements that would aid him in the ritual. Herbs, bowls, knives and cloths were all laid out on the sand. He carefully pushed some poles into the ground around the tools and fashioned a makeshift tent over it, to keep the rain off. And then he sat down underneath, beckoning the others to join him.

  The seven knights sat cross-legged, forming a circle around him. From inside his tunic,
he carefully pulled out the most important piece of equipment – the document he had found in the Cavus telling him how to transform a person into a water elemental.

  He could see the knights casting nervous glances at each other, and Hora even giggled a little, but he ignored them. The ritual would demand his utmost concentration, and he was not going to let himself be distracted by the others just because they did not believe he could do it.

  Passing a bowl to Solum, who was nearest the water’s edge, Nitesco instructed him to fill it with water, which he then poured into the cauldron. Reading the text carefully, he then added the items listed there: rosemary, for concentration; frankincense, to mystify the mind; a piece of gold, to symbolise the transformation of solid to liquid; a bottle, to show that water can be contained; a handful of salt, which dissolved as the water began to warm. Other objects went in, each to show or symbolise something about the transformation that was about to take place. Eventually, he was ready.

  “I am now going to begin the incantation,” he told the others. “The first part is to separate the water spirits from the liquid; the second part is to transplant them into your bodies. Now, remember what I told you at Heartwood. The earth elemental will still be there inside you, imprisoned in the water elemental, but you will still be in control. This control will, however, weaken with time. Eventually, the water spirit will become strong enough to overpower you. Obviously try to return before this happens!”

  “Can you estimate how long it will take?” asked Chonrad.

  Nitesco shook his head. “More than a week, less than a month; I cannot be sure. But you should feel it beginning to happen; you will probably feel listless and tired, and sense the water spirit trying to overpower you. If that happens, you must return, whether you have found the Pectoris or not, or you will lose all sense of self, and the earth elemental inside of you will disappear forever…”