Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  Chapter Fifty-one

  The Krygs funnelled out and headed towards a hollowed-out piece of ground beyond the buckthorn plantation where, according to Lungrid, the challenge would take place. A fight until either Jelgar or Tholgrad yielded or was killed. Outsiders were not permitted and so Zastra and the others stayed behind. Lungrid remained with them and sent some of her attendants to fetch food and drink. Two warriors stayed to guard Ithgol, who remained bound hand and foot.

  ‘That was bravely done, Zastra,’ said Anara. Zastra’s stomach lurched.

  ‘Not sure if it was brave or simply stupid.’ She hurried out of the rondavel and sucked in the freezing air, hoping to quell her nausea. A soft touch between her shoulder blades made her skin tingle.

  ‘Zastra, dearest, come back inside. This cold can be deathly before you realise.’

  ‘I should never have brought the twins. Everything’s spinning out of control.’

  ‘I cannot share your regret. It is a wonderful gift to see my babies grown up so strong, so beautiful. And you, Zastra. Oh, if only I had known…’

  ‘You were alive.’ Zastra swallowed. ‘All this time, you were alive?’

  Anara reached tentatively towards her, but she stepped out of her mother’s reach. Things were too delicately poised for her to lose focus. The last of the Kyrgs disappeared into the dip.

  ‘You’re right of course,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘It is cold.’ Zastra stepped around Anara and headed back into the rondavel.

  ‘So, it’s true,’ Lungrid said as they re-entered. ‘All this time we’ve been had for fools. I once asked Jelgar why he pledged his warriors to a war that never seemed to end, but he reminded me that I was still young for a chief guthene and had much to learn. To my shame, I raised no questions.’

  ‘It is difficult to break tradition,’ said Anara, her voice strained. ‘Especially for someone recently elected to power.’

  ‘Who do you think will win?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘Jelgar is among the best warriors we’ve ever had, but he is no longer young.’

  Either way, Zastra worried that they were in trouble. She had publicly shamed Jelgar, which would hardly dispose him to think well of her, but when she recalled Tholgrad and his whispered threats, her skin crawled. She turned to Findar.

  ‘If this goes badly…’ she began. Her brother held up his hand to stop her.

  ‘Don’t worry about us. We have our special powers, remember. Kastara’s are pretty awesome, though don’t tell her I said so.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what?’ asked Kastara, that moment returned from helping the Kyrgs secure Brutila.

  ‘Nothing,’ Findar said. He and Zastra shared a smile.

  ‘What have they done with Brutila?’ asked Anara.

  ‘She’s safely stowed at the bottom of an old well,’ Kastara reported. ‘I instructed the Kyrgs to stay out of mindweaving range.’

  ‘Poor Brutila. She suffers so from the cold.’

  Zastra frowned. ‘If you knew what Brutila tried to do to me and to Findar, you would have less sympathy.’

  ‘Brutila is a damaged soul,’ said Anara, ‘but I believe there is good in her.’

  ‘If so, it is buried deep and well hidden.’

  ‘Zastra, my love, you used to have an open, loving heart. I hope that has not changed.’

  ‘Much has happened since we last saw each other,’ Zastra said stiffly. ‘I’m no longer the girl you knew.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Anara’s eyes glistened and Zastra was grateful for the distraction of the food arriving, even though it was basic fare. Roots and bitter berries had been ground together in a thick soup. The Kyrg who served her was missing two fingers on one hand. Both attendants kept their heads bowed, unwilling to make eye contact. Zastra wondered at their behaviour, so different from the proud bearing of the warriors and hunters. Anara had barely dipped her spoon in her bowl before Findar and Kastara bombarded her with questions.

  ‘Let our mother eat in peace,’ Zastra said.

  ‘I don’t mind.’ Anara set aside her bowl. ‘I know you must have many questions, as do I.’

  She told them that days after Thorlberd’s ascension, she had been smuggled away to Bractaris Castle.

  ‘I remember little of that time. Thorlberd made me watch Leodra’s execution and told me you were all dead too. It was many months before I even knew where I was.’

  ‘Why did he let you live?’ Kastara asked. ‘Didn’t you try to escape?’

  Anara tapped her fingers fretfully against the side of her bowl.

  ‘I hadn’t the strength to do anything but survive. Besides, what was the point of escape when everyone I loved had been killed? Perhaps if I had known you were alive… But Thorlberd was very convincing.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Something I could never give.’

  Anara’s finger tapping grew faster. She has been my one weakness.

  ‘He loved you,’ Zastra said, in shocked disbelief.

  ‘In his own way.’ Anara flushed. ‘He offered me… many things, all of which I refused. When he finally realised I was not to be moved, he sent me here. ‘

  ‘He couldn’t bring himself to kill you.’

  Kastara shuddered. ‘Sending you to this place was punishment enough.’

  ‘Perhaps it was meant as such, but it gave me something to live for. A purpose. Now, what about all of you? How did you survive? What have you been doing?’

  Findar told her about living with Zastra and Dalbric in the mountains until Zastra had been conscripted into Thorlberd’s fleet. Then, years later, how Brutila had captured him and tried to convince him to change sides. Kastara told her mother about growing up in the bakery, not knowing who she really was until Zastra and Kylen had found her and brought her back to Uden’s Teeth. Together they told her about the community there and of the recent battle, falling over each other in their eagerness to talk. Anara listened with the same fond patience that Zastra remembered from her childhood, although her honey-coloured hair was now traced through with grey and there were lines on her face that hadn’t been there before. Kastara and Findar clung to her, revelling in the miracle of her presence. Zastra envied them their happiness. They were yet to learn that such joy always led to pain. She didn’t realise she had been staring until Anara roused her with a question.

  ‘So Thorlberd is really dead?’ she asked. Zastra nodded.

  ‘We were not informed of this,’ Lungrid said with a frown. The canvas door was drawn back and Jelgar limped in, bringing a blast of icy wind with him. His left eye was closed to a slit, the skin around it swollen and purple like an overripe pani-fruit. Yet he moved with purpose.

  ‘Hail, Chief Guthan Jelgar,’ said Lungrid, formally. ‘I would not have enjoyed dealing with Tholgrad. Did he survive?’

  ‘He lives,’ said Jelgar, rubbing his hands together. It was a different Jelgar to the one who they had first met. He was relaxed, almost happy. ‘But he should be glad we do not have a culling ceremony this year.’

  His eyes searched out Zastra.

  ‘Now we talk,’ he said.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Everyone was sent away, except Ithgol and Lungrid. Jelgar grabbed a bowl of lukewarm stew, tilted his head back and gulped it down.

  ‘What happened to discussing everything in the open?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘Kyrgs don’t make the same mistake twice.’ Jelgar burped and thumped his chest.

  ‘I am sorry if I embarrassed you, but you deserved to know the truth.’

  ‘The truth serves you as much as it does me, I think.’

  Zastra dipped her forehead in acknowledgement.

  ‘So, what do you want?’

  ‘Two things,’ Zastra said. ‘First, I ask that you pardon Ithgol. He chose love of his sister over his own life. Does he really deserve to die for it?’

  ‘Our laws are clear.’ Jelgar clenched his jaw. ‘The Culling is our most ancient
and important ceremony.’

  ‘Yet perhaps we may dream of a future without such dark traditions,’ said Lungrid. ‘Now that Lady Anara has taught us to cultivate our own crops.’

  ‘Your own family did not flinch to make sacrifice when it was needed. Your mother accepted her fate with courage. Would she want this man pardoned?’

  ‘Would that I could ask her,’ Lungrid said quietly.

  ‘It is true that he violated your laws of obedience,’ said Zastra. ‘But Thorlberd used those laws against you. Perhaps they need looking at.’

  ‘You mentioned two requests,’ said Jelgar. Zastra explained her plan to retake Sendor and Golmeira. He snorted.

  ‘You also wish Kyrgs to die for you?’

  ‘Unlike Thorlberd, I offer you something valuable in return. A gift of land.’

  ‘Pah!’ exclaimed Lungrid. ‘She is like the thief who brings back pilfered goods to sell back to those she robbed. Do you offer to return the lands that Fostran stole?’

  Zastra hesitated.

  ‘I cannot give back the Helgarths. Our people have been settled there for generations. To force them to move would be unfair and only create new conflict. We have discovered land just as fertile to the west of Aliterra.’

  Jelgar’s fists began to clench again. ‘You want to trick us into abandoning what little we have left? Never!’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty, Jelgar,’ said Lungrid. ‘There are many of us who would prefer not to have to murder our own to survive. Zastra, you say this land is fertile?’

  ‘Yes. Some of the forest will need to be cleared for crops but the soil is good, and the climate is better than here.’

  ‘She speaks truth,’ said Ithgol. ‘I have seen it myself.’

  ‘You have no right to speak, Mordaka,’ Jelgar snarled. Zastra rose to her feet.

  ‘My offer only stands if Ithgol is set free. Otherwise, we are done.’

  ‘You would place such value on the life of a Kyrginite?’ Lungrid was unable to hide her surprise.

  ‘He is my friend,’ Zastra said. ‘And you should be grateful to him. He brought me here so we could release Jelgar’s mindlock even knowing his fate.’

  ‘I will consider your offer,’ said Jelgar.

  ‘As will I,’ Lungrid added. ‘You lead the warriors, Jelgar, but this decision will affect all our people.’

  Zastra returned to Anara’s rondavel as snow began to fall, slowly at first, but then heavier, leaving a white dusting across the valley. She hoped it would not last. She couldn’t afford winter to come early. Not when things looked as if they might finally be going her way.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Zastra’s optimism turned out to have been as misplaced as a Kyrginite at a dinner party. The Kyrgs debated her offer for two days with no sign of a decision. Meanwhile, Ithgol remained a prisoner. Findar and Kastara spent every moment they could with their mother, gathering buckthorn and even offering to accompany her when she visited Brutila. Zastra could not fathom why her mother wasted time on someone like Brutila, but every day, without fail, Anara took food and drink to the prisoner.

  At last the summons came. Once more, Jelgar’s rondavel was filled with Kyrgs. Tholgrad leered at her as she went past, one arm in a splint, his thick neck circled in a purple bruise. He seemed pleased about something. Jelgar, as usual, wasted no time in small talk.

  ‘My people are distrustful of Golmeirans,’ he began.

  ‘After what has happened, you cannot blame us,’ added Lungrid.

  ‘For Zastra to lead us in battle, she must prove herself worthy. She must seek the wisdom of the Warrior Mountain.’

  ‘You cannot ask this,’ Ithgol protested. ‘Not with winter coming.’

  ‘The fires are not yet lit. It will be a month before the pass closes.’

  Anara had gone deathly pale. ‘I beg you, do not ask this of my daughter,’ she said.

  ‘The warriors and hunters are agreed,’ Lungrid insisted. ‘This journey will show Zastra what it means to be Kyrginite. After such a lesson, she will not betray us.’

  ‘It’s hard to betray anyone when you are dead,’ Ithgol said bluntly. ‘Or worse.’

  He shot a glance towards Jelgar’s attendants, cowering in the background. They failed, Zastra realised.

  ‘No Kyrg should be willing to serve a leader who cannot face the Warrior,’ Jelgar said. ‘Let her fate determine yours. If she succeeds, you will no longer be Mordaka.’

  ‘I accept,’ said Zastra quickly, as Ithgol looked about to protest.

  ‘Time is short,’ said Lungrid. ‘You begin the journey tomorrow. Tonight, you will meditate.

  Zastra was taken to a tiny rondavel, set aside from the others. It had no windows and a fur-lined curtain hung inside the canvas door, blocking out the light. Voghal brought a bundle and a candle that gave off a faint scent of fruit and placed it in yet another empty fireplace. An attendant brought a tray of food.

  ‘Thank you,’ Zastra said, ‘but I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Eat,’ said Voghal. ‘You may take nothing with you. A Kyrginite must live off the land.’

  Zastra took a dry biscuit and began to nibble at it.

  ‘You are a hunter,’ she said. ‘You’ve been up the Warrior Mountain. What is it like? And what is this wisdom I am supposed to find?’

  ‘I am permitted only to give you this.’

  She presented Zastra with the bundle, which contained clothes, all fur-lined, even the boots. Zastra tried them on. They were slightly too large. Voghal helped her adjust the straps on her coat so it clung to her body and found an extra pair of socks so her feet fitted snugly into the boots.

  ‘What’s this?’ Zastra pulled out a strip of soft, densely woven material. Voghal showed her how to wrap it round her face and neck, leaving only a narrow slit for her eyes.

  ‘To protect your skin,’ she said. ‘If you make it to the top of the Warrior Mountain, you will find an object. You will bring it back. In its place, you must leave something that is precious to you.’

  She presented Zastra with a spear.

  ‘This will be your only weapon. You are allowed no other.’

  Zastra’s confidence was fading rapidly. She could take no food, and how would she hunt without her trusty crossbow?

  ‘I will leave you to meditate on the path that lies ahead.’ Voghal retreated, leaving her alone.

  Great, thought Zastra. All night to worry about everything that can go wrong. She forced herself to eat everything on the tray as it could well be her last square meal for some time. She was about to try to catch some sleep when Lungrid and Ithgol entered. Ithgol seemed determined not to meet her eye.

  ‘Have you chosen your object?’ asked Lungrid. It took Zastra a moment to realise what she meant. She reached into the pocket of her discarded leggings and took out a fragment of a firering. It had been her talisman when she and Findar had been parted. He had a matching piece. Ithgol thrust something into her hands.

  ‘Here,’ he grunted, still not looking at her. The parcel contained dried meat and nuts, hard biscuits and a can of syrup. Enough food for several days. Maybe enough to see her to the top of the Warrior Mountain.

  ‘I thought I wasn’t supposed to take any food?’

  ‘Nobody needs to know about this.’

  It was tempting. Much rested on her succeeding in this quest, and Ithgol’s gift would make it more likely she would survive. With a pang of regret, Zastra returned the parcel to him.

  ‘I cannot accept. The purpose of this quest is to prove I can live like a Kyrginite. It would be wrong to accept special treatment.’

  Ithgol turned to Lungrid.

  ‘I told you she was worthy of our trust.’

  ‘That was a test?’ Zastra’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Ithgol, I didn’t think you were capable of such deviousness.’

  Ithgol flushed.

  ‘The test is part of our ritual,’ said Lungrid. ‘Those without honour are not permitted to sully the slopes of the Warrior.’

&nbs
p; ‘Are you allowed to give advice?’ Zastra asked. ‘Directions, or things to be wary of?’

  ‘As for directions, go upwards,’ said Lungrid bluntly. ‘And be wary of everything. There are a hundred ways to die on the slopes of the Warrior.’

  Chapter Fifty-four

  The driving rain hadn’t let up since they had left Finistron. Even though she was soaked to the skin, Kylen completed her inspection of the encampment, heartened to see pride once more in the faces of her fellow Sendorans. Her army was pitifully small in comparison to the twenty thousand or more that Ixendred could command, but Kylen had no doubts about what they were doing. It felt right, striking back against the forces that had occupied her lands for so long.

  Her first move had been to liberate Finistron. General Alboraz, who had served her father, led the defenders. He had held it for nearly four years, ever since Kylen and Zastra had helped him recapture it. Alboraz seemed pleased to see her.

  ‘We were running low on food,’ he said. ‘This last month, we’ve been eating scrittals.’

  Kylen explained Zastra’s plan.

  ‘You expect us to help resolve a Golmeiran squabble?’

  ‘The fates of our countries lie together. This fight is ours as much as Zastra’s. Besides, isn’t it better to die in battle than live by eating scrittals?’

  Alboraz had been unable to disagree with that and they had left a skeleton force to defend Finistron and marched north, seizing control of any towns and villages in their path. They skirted round the larger fortresses. They hadn’t the time or the numbers to lay sieges, even as their ranks swelled with those they freed from Golmeiran working parties. Kylen began to wonder how she would feed everyone. She commandeered any Golmeiran stores they found, and villagers offered what little they could spare, but even so, she had to put everyone on half rations. It was a concern. A hungry army was weak and easily divided. Beregan suggested they turn south and head for the richer farmlands and cities on the coast. It was where Ixendred was based after all, and Sendor would never be free until his army was defeated. Kylen insisted they stick to Zastra’s plan.