Heartwood

by Freya Robertson

  Silva turned to face Valens. “His power is far greater than mine. I just forced him to channel it. But you can see what he is capable of. We must make him do it!”

  At that moment, however, there was a commotion from the oak doors at the front of the Temple. Everyone turned as Solum rushed in. He came straight up to Valens. “Imperator,” he gasped, face white with shock. “You must come with us. The water… It is rising up the walls!”

  II

  Valens’s breathing quickened at the panic on Solum’s face. The knight quickly explained to everyone the river had now risen so much it was starting to creep up the sides of Heartwood.

  “So is the water level rising all over Anguis?” asked Valens, confused, picturing the whole land ten feet under water.

  “No. There seems to be an invisible wall on the other side of the moat. The water is only rising on this side of it. It is the most peculiar thing I ever saw.” Solum’s eyes conveyed his fear, although his voice was calm.

  Valens looked across at Dolosus and Chonrad, who stood side by side. They met his eyes with the same look of resignation. Valens nodded. It was time. There was nothing else to be done.

  Turning, he leapt as nimbly as his leg would allow onto a nearby upturned box. “My friends!” he called out, waiting until everyone had quietened. “My friends,” he began again, hoping his tone implied he truthfully considered those in the Temple to be in that category. “There is no more time. The Darkwater Lords are here. We have done everything we could possibly do, and I am amazed at what we have achieved.

  “Dolosus travelled to the depths of the ocean to retrieve our precious Pectoris, which might yet prove to be the deciding factor in our war with Darkwater.” Dolosus met Valens’s eyes. The Imperator thought of his dream and wondered just what had happened to the knight when he vanished into the sea.

  “Not only did Beata traverse the whole of Laxony for the Virimage, but she found him and brought him here, although the cost to her may have been great and his usefulness unknown.” His eyes lingered on the wounded Militis. She had pushed herself up to a sitting position, and at his words her eyes flicked to Teague, who still sat by her side. Teague looked away. Valens smiled to himself; from that look, he knew her business with Teague had not yet finished. Between her and Silva, there was still hope they could get him to help the Arbor.

  He continued, “Four brave knights and their companions have travelled the length and breadth of the four countries in Anguis. Their task was to activate the four Nodes. I do not think any of us anticipated just how difficult that would be. We thought it would be a physical act – we did not realise it would be an emotional one, too. Each knight has, in his or her own way, had to deal with a personal crisis, and each has shown his or her inner strength by dealing with that crisis, and coming through the other side.

  “Gravis, for maybe the first time in his life, travelled without his twin to the Node at the Henge in Laxony, and confronted his own inner fears to activate it.” He looked down at Gravis, who had returned only days before, tired, exhausted, but triumphant at his success. Gravis nodded his head in response, giving a small smile, although his gaunt face was an echo of the horrors he had faced on the journey. He had told Valens everything that happened to him on his travels, and although Valens knew Gravis’s problems stemmed from his close relationship with his brother, nevertheless he knew learning of Gavius’s death had been a great shock to him, and it would not be something from which he would recover easily.

  “Grimbeald gathered his courage to descend into the Tumulus in Wulfengar and fought old terrors to open his Node.” The Wulfian warrior raised a hand in recognition. He had spoken little since his return, spending all his time tending to Tenera, who was still suffering from an unidentifiable sickness. Valens had in fact been surprised to see him come back; he had thought he might stay in Wulfengar to defend his own lands. But he was pleased to see the gruff Wulfian return; Grimbeald had shown his courage and his worth, and Valens knew he would defend the Arbor to the death.

  “Fionnghuala faced her past and opened the Node in Hanaire.” The Hanaireans had been the last to return, only days before. Valens did not know the full extent of what Fionnghuala had had to undergo to open her Node; the Hanaireans were a private people, and he had not wanted to force her to tell him. But he could see from the way Bearrach touched her hand gently, the two of them had grown close, and clearly, he had supported her throughout the ordeal she had had to undergo.

  “And Gavius triumphantly opened his Node in Komis before his life was so abruptly taken from him.” Gavius, of course, was not there to explain what had happened on his journey. Only Niveus had returned out of his party, and she now met Valens’s eyes, her own filled with tears at the memory of what she had endured.

  Valens paused. His eyes took in all the people in the room. There were his own Militis, both those who lived in Heartwood and those in the Exercitus who had returned to try and save the Arbor; the Laxonians and Hanaireans, who remained because they felt such a powerful need to defend the tree; and perhaps most especially the Wulfians, who had braved the antagonism and resentment from everyone because of their loyalty to the tree they loved.

  Everyone who mattered to him was there: Procella, his courageous and faithful Dux, who would stand by his side until one or both of them fell; Dolosus, who he thought of as his son, and who had undergone who knew what horrors to retrieve the Pectoris; Beata, whom he had a soft spot for, although he would never admit it to anyone; and Chonrad, the knight who had been rejected by Heartwood so long ago, and yet remained to defend it, proving himself a loyal and noble companion.

  They all looked weary, some of them were wounded, and although none of them would admit to being scared, he knew the thought of the Darkwater Lords pounding on the doors of Heartwood would strike fear into any heart.

  “It is time,” he said firmly. “Time to make a stand. Time to show Darkwater we are not just going to step aside and let them take Heartwood. We have done everything we could to try to protect ourselves against this invasion. There is nothing more to do. It is time.”

  He indicated Beata, who was now struggling to sit up. “There will be many more injured by the end of the day. We shall clear an area behind the Arbor, and this will serve as our Infirmaria. All wounded are to be brought here and treated. Silva, perhaps you could organise bedding and medicines in preparation for our first arrivals.” Silva nodded.

  “Fionnghuala and Bearrach, I would be grateful if you could please organise the materials ready for barricading the oak doors.” They nodded, faces pale. “We will make the Temple our last stand. Our last breath, the last stroke of our swords, must be spent defending the Arbor.” He drew his own sword. “I do not know what the end of the night will bring. Many of us, if not all of us, will die. But we are holy knights – we live to defend the Arbor. And defend it we will, though it may cost us our lives.”

  Chonrad drew his sword. “To the death.”

  “To the death.” Dolosus drew his.

  “To the death.” Procella, Gravis, Grimbeald, all the knights who had accompanied them on their missions, and all those who had remained at Heartwood, drew their weapons.

  It was only then Valens became aware they were all bathed in an icy white light. He looked around, puzzled, but it was only when Silva said, “Look!” and pointed upwards that he, and everyone else, looked up.

  The clouds had parted. And right above the Temple was the High Moon, white as snow, cold as ice.

  Valens stared at it. It had been raining for so long that for a moment he almost felt confused to see the sky. He looked at the Moon, felt its pinky-white light like cool water on his skin. He supposed it should be fear he was feeling; after all, the High Moon marked the highest point of the tides and was the moment the Darkwater Lords would be strongest. No doubt they had made it appear to strike fear into their hearts.

  But strangely, he did not feel fear, but instead a seed of hope planted itself within him. He looked
across at the Arbor. Was it his imagination, or was the tree moving in the white light, as if it were reaching up to soak the light into its branches?

  “The tree is alive!” He whispered the words, and yet as one, everyone turned to the Arbor and gasped. It was true; the branches were moving, only gently, but it proved to them the Arbor was not yet dead, and that was the final thing they needed to send them into battle.

  Valens smiled. “Let us do it.”

  Outside, it was still raining, and as they stood in the Quad and looked up, the clouds were heavy and grey, showing no signs of abating. They were used to the wet now, though, and hardly gave it a thought as they made their way across the Baillium to the walls.

  Valens had spent weeks strengthening the fortifications, and there was little more they could do now. Procella and Chonrad behind him, he climbed as quickly as he could up the Porta and looked over the parapet. Solum was right; the water level was rising rapidly and was now almost two thirds of the way up Heartwood’s walls. It was as if there were an invisible wall on the other side of the moat. Beyond this, he could see the Komis army milling about uneasily. The Flumen was still rising, and it wouldn’t be long before the landscape in front of Heartwood was completely covered in water.

  He looked at the shadows stirring in the rising water. They were going to come right over the top, he thought suddenly. He looked down into the murky depths of the water. Hundreds of shadows moved inside: the Darkwater army, preparing to invade.

  “We must withdraw,” he decided suddenly. He turned to Procella. “They are going to come right over the wall. We cannot fight them until they become corporeal, so it is pointless having people stationed here. This is no ordinary siege. Our high walls give us no advantage. We must form a front line halfway between the walls and the Temple. We will defend as far as we can, then withdraw into the Temple.”

  Procella nodded. Immediately, she started ordering the Custodes away from the walls. Chonrad turned to him, however. “Are you sure about this?” he said, eyes narrowed. “We will have no advantage just waiting for them to come at us.”

  “There is nothing I can do about that. It will be suicide to just wait up here.”

  “Is it worth us setting up a line of pikes at the top, ready for when they cross?”

  Valens thought about it. “My guess is they will wait to transform until the water is pouring down the other side of the wall. I do not think any of our defences will work now.” He thought Chonrad was going to argue with him, but the Laxonian just nodded, and together they headed back down the stairs.

  In the Baillium, Procella was already organising the Exercitus into lines, facing Heartwood’s outer walls, halfway between the walls and the Temple. Her archers flanked either side of the central army, formed from Exercitus, Laxonians, Hanaireans and the few Wulfians that were left. She turned as Valens and Chonrad walked up to her. “Lord Barle,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “I wondered whether you would like to lead a cavalry charge. I thought maybe you could take a group of cavalry around the Barracks and come around the back of the Darkwater army once battle has engaged.”

  Chonrad nodded. He felt a pang of disappointment at not being at her side in battle, but his horse skills were unparalleled, and he knew he was the person to do this.

  Valens held up a hand as Procella started to tell him to stay at the rear. “My place is beside yours,” he told her firmly. “I cannot stand aside while Heartwood itself is under attack, and I know you understand this. The time has gone, my dear Dux, for playing games. This is war, and we shall all stand together.” He looked across at Dolosus, who stood to one side. Dolosus nodded back.

  “Let us do it.”

  Chonrad grasped his hand quickly, resting his left hand on Valens’s wrist, and Valens did the same. Then the Laxonian turned to Procella. Valens watched something unseen pass between them, although they did not speak or touch. Then Chonrad marched off to find his horse.

  Valens smiled at his companions, walking to the front line and taking his place beside his Dux and his foster-son.

  He looked up at the wall in front of them. For a moment he did not understand what he was seeing, and then he realised. A shimmer of water ran along the top edge of the wall, silver in the light of the rising Light Moon.

  III

  After the majority of the knights had left, inside the Temple there was a flurry of commotion as everyone prepared to make the Temple ready for the last stand.

  Fionnghuala and Bearrach and the few remaining Hanaireans headed the organisation, ferrying around large pieces of wood and stone ready for when they had to barricade themselves in. Meanwhile, Silva cleared an area behind the Arbor and began spreading out bedding, while Niveus brought medicinal supplies and bowls of clean water ready to bathe wounds.

  Teague sat sullenly to one side, Beata propped up in a chair nearby, and watched the commotion. He felt no compulsion to take part. This was not his battle, after all, he reminded himself. If there had not been a whole army of Komis outside, and a whole army of mysterious underwater warriors, he would have disguised himself and made a run for it. But he had a feeling he wouldn’t make it more than a few yards from Heartwood.

  He thought about the way the knight they called Dolosus had suddenly appeared beside him in the moat. He had been struggling to get Beata to the surface, and then Dolosus was there, a shadowy shape in the water, with a tail instead of legs and a silver shimmer to his face. Teague had never seen anything like it in his life. Now, for the first time, he wondered exactly who these Darkwater Lords were, and why they were attacking Heartwood.

  Clearly, they wished for the downfall of the tree, he thought. He did not understand his gift with the Greening, did not want it, but he did know he was connected with the earth, and obviously the Darkwater Lords had an affinity with water.

  He looked across at Beata to find her watching him. She said nothing, but her eyes were hurt, accusing. He looked away.

  He could not put into words why he did not want to help her. He didn’t even know himself. He just knew he was frightened.

  He cast a quick glance over at the tree. He had been shocked when he first came into the Temple. Beata had spoken to him of the wonder of the Arbor, of their glorious tree. And of course, he knew all about the stories of Animus from his childhood. But he could hardly believe this was the same tree as that of the golden myth.

  How could anyone revere such a decrepit specimen of nature? Teague was repulsed, disgusted and – he had to admit – disappointed by it. Holy tree? He had seen better, greater oaks in the forest. He could not ever imagine worshipping this drooping, torn example.

  He looked away. The two Hanaireans were beginning to make headway with their preparations. There were piles of wood and stone on either side of the doors, ready to barricade the army in when the time came. All furniture and precious objects had been stowed, moved or hidden, although lit candles still circled the room, as it was now almost completely dark outside, except for the Moon, which kept peeping out behind the rainclouds. The Temple sat in a complex pattern of light and shadows, cast by the eerie glow from the Moon.

  Teague could feel Beata’s eyes on him, as if they were two red-hot irons branding the back of his neck. He ignored her for the moment, however, as he was gradually becoming aware of the sound of crying. It was very soft and in the distance, and he couldn’t tell if it was male or female, but although it was subdued as if someone was trying to hide their misery, nevertheless there was such unhappiness in the sobbing it wrenched at his heart.

  He looked around the Temple. Everyone seemed busy. He could not see anyone huddled in a corner. There did appear to be individual cells in the outer ring, so maybe the noise was coming from there, he thought. He stood, intending to walk over there, but immediately as he did so, he realised the sound was coming from the centre of the Temple, not the outside.

  He was at that moment in the outer ring, close to the fence that usually kept out visitors to the inner part of the Te
mple. He started walking around the fence, searching for some sign of the distraught soul. The inner circle was deserted, however; on the western side, near the Domus, Silva was setting up the Infirmaria, but she was busy in the outer circle.

  Teague walked all the way around, then came to a stop not far from where he had started. The crying was, if anything, louder, and laden with such misery it almost made him want to cry himself. His hands gripped the top of the fence. Surely, it couldn’t be… His eyes flicked around the room, looking for another source of the sound. But there was no other, and suddenly he realised the truth.

  The tree was crying.

  Teague froze to the spot, feelings as if his hands were stuck to the fence. In all his years exploring the Greening, his contact had always been through touch and the sixth sense of “feeling” nature around him. He had never heard any plants or trees speak to him, and he had certainly never heard any of them crying.

  He stared at the Arbor, his heart pounding. Why was the tree crying? Because it was hurt? Or because it was so upset at what was happening to Heartwood? He looked frantically around the room. Could nobody else hear it? But it was so loud!

  He started as someone touched him on the arm, and he spun around, but it was just Beata. Her face was as pale as the moonlight on the flagstones, but she seemed steady on her feet, and her eyes were clear. “What is the matter?” she asked, eyes narrowed as she stared searchingly into his own.

  Teague swallowed. He was not about to admit to her he could hear the tree crying, or she would assume the connection meant he could help it. Instead, he just shrugged. “How are you feeling?”

  “I will live.” She glanced over at the Arbor, then looked back at him. “I did not drag you from one end of Anguis to the other for nothing, you know.”

  He glared at her. His golden eyes usually unsettled people, and he waited for her to look away, but this time she didn’t, meeting his gaze directly and firmly. “You cannot make me do anything,” he said.