Circling Birds of Prey

by Katy Winter

  His face strained, Setoni came to them. He spoke with an effort, his voice heavy with emotion and they followed him, Soji's footsteps unwilling and faltering. They found camp set as it usually was, food set out and ready for them, though neither Soji nor Leontok had an appetite. Unable to settle, Soji sought out Indariol. He had his back turned and his eyes swept far into the distance. When Soji spoke, he half-turned his head.

  "If I've brought this upon you and your people I wish we'd died before we did so," she whispered. Soji saw a look in Indariol's eyes that shook her to her essence. He looked transparent.

  "You're not the cause, girl. Let that comfort you. Go and eat. We must move immediately and in haste. There'll be little rest for you, but we'll keep watch over you." When Soji gave a small, despairing sob, Indariol turned right round to face her. "Let be, child. Soji, you were brought to us for a reason. Nothing alters that. Your grief for our loss touches us, but now you must do as I bid."

  Soji couldn't look up again. She thought she'd seen grief until she met the Shadowlander's eyes - she knew they'd haunt her till the day she died. With a shiver she went back to Leontok and sat, passively eating whatever he handed her.

  Indariol didn't linger. He led slightly south to skirt the ravaged land that lay like a blister in the middle of the forest. Just as they came parallel with Halcyon, the travellers paused to listen to an eerie and chilling ululation from those with them, that seemed to hang frozen in the air.

  It was here that Setoni rode forward to briefly speak with Indariol. The Shadowlander glanced briefly at the healer and half-shrugged as he watched Setoni urge his horse towards Halcyon. The healer only rode for a short distance before the others saw him draw up his mount, raise his arms, and call out with a strength of voice Soji hadn't known this gentle, older man possessed. It was powerful and quelling. He called on the Mishtok and the Adepts and also the Watchers.

  He sat as if carved, for quite some time, the others watching him until finally he lowered his arms and called out again. This time, as if in answer, there was a rippling in the air that seemed to sweep across the land about the healer ruffling his hair. It was only then the healer turned his horse and rode back to the small waiting group, his face white and drawn as if everything he was had been drained away. He drew his horse alongside Soji's. He touched her cheek gently before they rode forward in silence, the Shadowlanders running tirelessly ahead of them.

  Back at Floronderiel a tall, green-eyed man stood silently, his face a mask. When he raised a hand the remains of the city, and its dead inhabitants, very slowly began to disintegrate as cold fire swept across it taking everything in its path. Still the man stood motionless. When he uttered a few words, what was once Floronderiel shimmered in a glow of luminous light. When it dimmed, the man was gone. Where the city once stood was emptiness.

  ~~~

  Not many days later a swandrah alighted a little clumsily, down on one wing, something grasped in its beak, before it disappeared and the Archmage of Yarilo stood in its place. His expression was indescribably bleak as he looked at where his home had stood.

  With an effort he walked painfully to where the city centre once was and there, kneeling with difficulty, he pulled a small spade from his pocket and began laboriously to dig. Finished, he carefully lifted what he'd carried as a swandrah, and he pushed the young tree into the soil with what strength he had, tamping it firmly before he clambered to his feet. He stamped round the small sapling. Lastly, he spoke with a powerfully carrying voice, his arms raised. Then he translated and was gone.

  ~~~

  With the passing days Soji noticed the Shadowlanders weren't melancholic or outwardly depressed. Instead she felt they'd gone inwards, every one of them implacably withdrawn, solemn, but not dejected. It was as if they travelled with real shadows indeed. They were grave and joyless. Where they danced of an evening, now they didn't. There was neither music nor singing. Sombrely they set and broke camp, then ran or mostly rode, day after day.

  As they sat of an evening, seven days after the discovery of Halcyon, there was mostly silence except for the crackling of the fire, the Shadowlanders within themselves and remote. Jonqi clambered to her feet and wandered purposefully over to Indariol. Though she touched him, he didn't seem to see or feel her. She hesitated. Then, quite deliberately, she curled up at his feet and broke into a childish rendition of a most haunting tune he'd taught her.

  Soji went to protest but a sudden upraised hand from Indariol stopped her. His eyes had opened wide and were fixed on the small dark head. Softly, he began to sing with Jonqi, the little girl lifting her head until black eyes met limpid grey. Still singing, she clambered into his lap where he held her very close, his arms wrapped round her.

  Then the other Shadowlanders, reluctantly, but one by one, began to sing quietly at first and then more forcefully until the glade rang with sound. Once the voices stilled, there was softness to the quietness. Indariol bent his head to Jonqi, murmuring words meant only for her.

  From that night life became easier. Soji, though, was never again at ease, restless, her face wearing a haunted expression, anxiety in her eyes, and her whole demeanour one of someone enduring considerable stress. She knew as well as anyone the southern mage was now in the north and was probably not far from her. Terrified for Jonqi, the blue eyes roved in the little girl's direction then flickered imploringly to Setoni. The healer tried to reassure Soji, to no avail.

  She had no way of knowing about the very strong protective blanket placed around both she and her daughter by the Conclave of Adepts and Yarilo some time before - one so strong indeed that Malekim may have suspected where they might be, although he hoped Soji was dead, but he couldn't easily penetrate the veil to assure himself of Jonqi's existence. Soji was so wrapped up in her own fears, she was quite unaware how unconcerned and happy Jonqi was, the placid child content to travel with either Indariol or Leontok.

  ~~~

  Chlorien's return to Ambros was directly to the west, close to Gnosti lands that were assaulted and ravaged by the Churchik under the leadership of Esok. To begin with the battles were sporadic fights hopelessly weighted in the Churchik favour. But once news of the Churchik attacks reached Ostika, Disah, unsurprised but thoroughly outraged, sent for his incensed son to organise the Gnosti as he himself had done so very long ago.

  Now Jaim and a fearsome army were gathered well east of Ostika, where they still engaged in skirmishing with the southerners who tried somewhat awkwardly to retreat from lands that weren't easy targets and weren't part of the warlord's conquests. Esok was managing to swing his troops, somewhat reduced in number and certainly lacking in effrontery and confidence, to the north, so he could follow the warlord's instructions regarding the Shadowlands.

  Esok was well aware how angry Lodestok would be at how wrong were the reports of the west he'd received cycles before. These small people were terrifying when roused. The haskar was as chastened as his men and was trying to hasten from inhospitable lands and people while he still could. It was just that the Gnosti weren't inclined to let them go.

  It was to this situation that Chlorien returned to Ambros. She and Nikos translated to Ambrosian form, Nikos advising her to ride out alone to find Jaim while he prepared a camp to be ready on her return. Glancing affectionately at her mate, Chlorien obeyed.

  Her reunion with Jaim was a touching one. When she reached the sprawling Gnosti encampment she reined in the horse, her dark sombre eyes seeking out any dwelling bigger than another, then, with an inward grin, she realised she'd have to ask for Jaim's direction. There'd be nothing for her to see that would single him out.

  She didn't have far to go. It was as if Jaim knew she was coming and patiently waited. She saw him quite suddenly, his tawny eyes critically appraising her as she rode down between a line of shelters. Quickly she stilled her horse, slipped from its back and dropped the reins at the instant her feet touched the ground. The horse made no move, its head bent to lip at the grass. Chlorien stood h
esitantly, aware of the Gnosti's scrutiny. Then she saw the smile light his eyes and the flicker of doubt in hers died.

  Her hands out, she whispered huskily, "Jaim! Jaim!"

  When he approached she ran to him, stooped to clasp him, then fell to her knees so he could hold her, his hand running over her hair and caressing her cheek.

  "Child," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers. He kissed her on the forehead. "Child, how you've grown. You're not a girl, you're a young woman!"

  "I'm still Chlorien," she assured him, a sad little smile curling her mouth.

  "Yes," agreed Jaim, still staring at her. "You're still Chlorien. And you have a son and a daughter, haven't you?" Chlorien nodded, taking one of the strong Gnosti hands in hers.

  "I have a Rox mate." She knew that wasn't news to Jaim, but she saw the odd expression come to his eyes and asked, "What are you thinking, Jaim?"

  Jaim just shook his head, his thoughts back with the mage who loved this young woman so very deeply. He almost sighed at the cruelty of fate.

  He just asked instead, "And are you ready for what comes, child?" He saw the trouble in the violet eyes that were still large and velvety.

  "I seek my greatsire, Jaim. He'll add to my knowledge and I know what I must do with him beside me." The big eyes darkened. "I hope I'm ready, Jaim, because there's little time left now, is there?" Jaim shook his head.

  "No, child, there's little time left for the Ambros we inhabit. That's true. Are you fully in balance, Chlorien?"

  Chlorien stood, her skirt falling about her ankles in graceful folds and barely covering her bare feet. Jaim noticed her hair was plaited exactly as Cynthas' used to be. She was much taller than her greatdame, but the face shape, the colouring and the expressions were identical. All Chlorien had of her greatsire was his violet eyes. Of her father, Malekim, Jaim saw nothing other than height and that could easily have come from Bene. Had the steppefolk seen Chlorien now they'd have seen an older Jonqi. The similarity was striking. Only one had the black eyes of her slave father. Chlorien glanced down at the Gnosti, her expression reflective.

  "I'm in balance, Jaim."

  "And have you remembered all we taught you?"

  "As well as all I've learned since," was the quiet reply.

  "And what's that?"

  Jaim began to walk so the tall, slender figure walked beside him, an arm on the Gnosti's shoulder as she talked. She paused after a while, then went on.

  "I know my origins, Jaim, and I know what I'm to do. I'm complete now, though what the future brings frightens me."

  "It can be frightening for us all," said Jaim soberly. "And now?"

  "And now, Jaim, I must apply all I am and all I've learned in a contest with Malekim. It's what I was born to do and is why trouble was taken to ensure my survival above others, isn't it?"

  "That, child," responded Jaim, very gently, "I have no way of knowing."

  "I think," said Chlorien softly, "that Father knew it was so." Startled, Jaim looked up into the young face, the violet eyes meeting and holding his surprisingly compelling.

  "I haven't seen Autoc since you left us, little one," he replied, unconsciously using the mage's affectionate diminutive for Chlorien. The eye contact broke.

  "Neither have I, Jaim," she whispered. "He's still very much a part of me, so much so that I constantly see him in my mind."

  "Even though you're happily mated?"

  "Father transcends even that," admitted Chlorien. "I don't understand how that can be, but it is."

  "And Nikos?" asked Jaim curiously. "Does he know this?" Chlorien nodded down at the Gnosti.

  "He's all of me, too," she said calmly. "He knows and is everything I am. They merge in me."

  Carefully Jaim turned the topic from Autoc, telling her instead of the Churchik invasion and of the devastation and havoc they'd wreaked. It made her think of Ortok. After he discussed things of Ambros, Jaim encouraged her to talk again, hearing her grief over Halcyon that to her was a refuge now stripped from all Shadowlanders. She spoke of her anguish and anger over what Malekim had done to Luton and sensed the sad resignation in her acknowledgment that indeed Luton may well betray her. Jaim let her talk of Bethel. He noted the awful pain that filled her eyes as she did.

  While Jaim walked and listened he lit his pipe, his eyes alternately amused then sombre. When he asked if she'd been back to the Shadowlands, Chlorien shook her head, merely saying she believed she'd be there again soon. It was a remark that puzzled Jaim because he sensed the young woman spoke prophetically, yet clearly she was unaware what she said or how she spoke the words. By the time they arrived back at her horse, both were silent and pensive. Chlorien once more went to her knees.

  "Take care in battle," she urged Jaim. His hand went to her curls.

  "I will, child. I'm a seasoned fighter." Chlorien's voice went very quiet, almost inaudible.

  "You once told me never to forget those who love me, Jaim."

  "Aye, child, I did."

  "With what's to come -." Chlorien broke off, then resumed. "If you see Father -." Her voice quavered and cracked and she was unable to continue. Jaim patted her cheek.

  "Aye, little one, I'll tell him," he reassured her very, very gently.

  "I've not forgotten, Jaim," she whispered.

  Chlorien hugged the Gnosti as if she couldn't bear to let him go. He responded likewise, kissing her cheek when her grip finally lessened. She stood looking down at the Gnosti for a long moment, her hand in his, before she mounted and swung round her horse. As she kneed the mount forward, she heard Jaim's voice and turned her head.

  "The gods be with you as you meet your destiny, child. Remember, always, those who love you."

  The Gnosti stood thoughtfully stroking his beard as he watched the slight figure recede into the distance. His tawny eyes were full of tears. He felt as if a dark shadow crossed over him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At the time Chlorien met Jaim in the west battle was well and truly drawn between the southern army and the northern army, neither winning an outright battle. The carnage was appalling on both sides. It was on the second evening of this first battle that saw Sarehl stand in silence while Kasan lay quietly asleep, Kalbeth beside her and the newborn child in a cradle close by. Sarehl was aware of the dreadful irony that saw a birth come in the midst of the awful and tragic loss of life he'd witnessed today. The little girl was not quite two days old though she'd been named seasons ago. She'd answer to Chloris.

  Earlier this evening the Chamah blessed the child, declaring calmly after he'd done so that she was his heir apparent. Sarehl was profoundly startled and would've uttered a sharp protest had Kasan's hand, pressing down hard on his, not quietened him as did her deeply entreating eyes.

  It came as a shock to the Strategos to learn that a Chamah went randomly from one generation to the next, never from a brother or sister to another sibling, nor necessarily to their offspring. Sarehl looked at the Chamah later, a wry twist to his lips.

  "You knew what our child would be, didn't you?"

  Ensore was studying the ground but he glanced up at that with his tolerant smile.

  "Yes, my friend, I knew, though it was my choice to make."

  "Ensore," began Sarehl helplessly, "a future Chamah should be of full royal stock." Ensore's smile grew.

  "Why?" he asked quite reasonably. Sarehl floundered.

  "Hasn't it always been so?" Ensore nodded. "Well?"

  "My friend, times have changed and in many ways for the better, especially where my land's concerned. Had I stayed in Dahkilah not learning about other societies, I may well have insisted on Kasan marrying a royal prince since I decided cycles ago it would be her line that would follow me. But now that's become irrelevant. She chose for herself and chose wisely. I'm more than happy for her eldest child to be Chamah-elect."

  "The Curule will never allow it," challenged Sarehl.

  "The oath's taken and witnessed," replied Ensore mildly. "Such traditionalists as the Curule wou
ld never denounce a Chamah's oath."

  "You'll mate," objected Sarehl, floored on one argument so trying another tack instead.

  "Possibly," agreed the Chamah, maddeningly amused.

  "What of your children?"

  "They wouldn't have been chosen," said Ensore firmly. He shrugged good-humouredly, his grey eyes meeting the troubled, dark ones. "Let's just take one day at a time, shall we?" he suggested quietly. "And let be, Sarehl. Kasan's happy and I'm deeply contented to have Chloris as my heir. It's meant to be an honour, my friend." Sarehl caught at Ensore's hand and gripped it extremely hard before he turned away, standing still.

  "She hasn't even got a Dahkilan name," he whispered.

  "I know," said Ensore, on a chuckle. "Oddly enough, that pleases me." He was thoughtful a moment then asked, "How does Kalbeth take it?" Sarehl swung round, his face lit up and a reluctant laugh was dragged from him.

  "He's as besotted over Chloris as I was over Bethel. He keeps holding her and won't go far - nor does Lian. Kasan won't lack support and company. You'd think Lian was the father!" Ensore started to laugh.

  "I wonder," he gurgled, "whether Chloris will keep her chestnut mop or whether she'll darken and bear no resemblance whatsoever to a Dahkilan?"

  ~~~

  Four days after Chloris was born to Sarehl and Kasan in the northern camp, Sven, eldest son of Alleghy, rode into the southern camp. He was one of the last acedars to arrive north and sought his father immediately to pay his respects and homage. He came from Alleghy's pavilion pensive and unaccountably disturbed at how offhand his father was about the southern mage's apprentice. The name Luton elicited nothing other than a snort of contempt before the haskar spoke of other things. Knowing his father's burning hatred of Luton that barely rivalled his own, Sven would puzzle that at his leisure. Sven hadn't recovered from the shame of a sister degraded by a slave and, so oblivious to Churchik honour, she'd even shame her chosen warrior then escape from just retribution. Sven couldn't stomach the familial disgrace.