A Time of Courage

by John Gwynne

  He had been sitting there, the whole time, just staring at Bleda. He looked so old now. An old man, withered and frail, some kind of spark gone from him.

  Bleda was his spark. His reason for living.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked him, her voice halting.

  ‘I . . . don’t know,’ Ellac said. ‘We fought, here, with Jin and her kin. Bleda slew Jin. Yul was wounded and Bleda sent me to find a healer.’ He gestured at Yul’s corpse, lying close to Bleda. ‘When I came back, he was . . .’ Ellac swallowed, and tears rolled down his cheeks. They were not the first, judging by the lines on his face through the blood and grime.

  ‘There was no one else here?’ Riv asked him.

  Ellac looked to the far side of the glade, Riv following his eyes, to where a Kadoshim’s corpse lay, its head half-severed.

  ‘Kol was here,’ Ellac said. ‘Bleda saved him from that Kadoshim.’

  ‘Kol,’ Riv said.

  ‘Aye, but he was gone when I returned,’ Ellac said.

  Riv looked up at Faelan.

  ‘Find him, bring him here,’ she said.

  Faelan nodded and took to the sky, some of his kin following him.

  Drem and Cullen came and sat down beside her, said no words. Fen the wolven-hound loped into the glade, up to Drem, licked his face and then curled down around him.

  Riv sat there with them, waiting. More tears came, her grief an ocean inside her.

  The sound of wings and Faelan was spiralling down into the glade, his kin with him. Kol flew amongst them, a score of Ben-Elim about him. He alighted before Riv, looking down at her and Bleda. He was covered in cuts and bruises, his face still raw from the injuries he’d sustained at Ripa.

  He bent over Riv, peering at Bleda.

  ‘Ah, that is a shame,’ he said. He looked at Riv, shook his head. ‘War is a terrible thing.’

  ‘Ellac says you were here with Bleda, alone,’ Riv said. She lay Bleda’s head gently on the ground and stood, Cullen and Drem helping her. Ellac rose, too, with the help of his spear.

  ‘Aye, that is true,’ Kol said. ‘I fought a Kadoshim.’ He gestured to the creature’s corpse. ‘Bleda helped me. He ordered Ellac to fetch a healer for his oathman. I stayed, thanked him for his assistance with the Kadoshim—’

  ‘Assistance!’ Ellac muttered. ‘You’d be a dead man if Bleda hadn’t stepped in.’

  ‘Aye, maybe.’ Kol shrugged. ‘I thanked him, and then left, rejoined the battle.’

  ‘How did he die?’ Riv asked him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kol said, his face flat. He looked at Bleda’s corpse. At the wound in his throat, and the arrow in his thigh. He pointed at the arrow. ‘The Cheren, I’m guessing,’ he said. ‘The battle was spread all through the eaves of the forest and the Cheren were everywhere.’

  Riv looked at Bleda’s wounds. She had not been able to bring herself to do so, until now. But something was whispering to her.

  Ellac frowned.

  ‘That is a Sirak arrow,’ he said, crouching to look at it, using his spear for balance.

  Kol shrugged again. ‘I don’t know what happened, but that’s my educated guess. I’m going to go now. My body hurts, and there is much to do. I have a kingdom to rebuild.’

  ‘Kol does know what happened,’ a voice squawked.

  Riv looked around the glade, searching for the owner of the voice.

  A branch swayed above them, leaves rustling, shifting to reveal an old crow, pink skin visible where his feathers had fallen out.

  ‘Craf,’ Alcyon said.

  Kol spread his wings.

  ‘Wait,’ Riv said to him.

  ‘You don’t tell me what to do,’ Kol said.

  ‘Craf, what did you say about Kol?’ Meical asked the crow.

  Craf hopped from one leg to the next, looking at Kol with dark, intelligent eyes.

  ‘Kol BAD MAN!’ Craf squawked. ‘Kol stab Bleda.’

  Riv blinked, a roaring in her ears. She stared at Craf, then looked at Kol.

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ Kol said. ‘Of course I didn’t. We are on the same side, for goodness’ sake. Why would I do that?’

  ‘Cairn of murdered babies,’ Craf squawked, ‘that’s what Bleda said. Then Kol stab Bleda with spear.’

  Kol took a few quick steps towards Craf, his fingers twitching to his sword.

  Cullen moved in front of Kol, his sword in his fist, his face dark. ‘I’d not do that, if you want to keep your head,’ Cullen growled. Ben-Elim moved, hands on weapons.

  Meical stepped between them, holding a hand up.

  ‘Kol is to stand before the Assembly for other accusations,’ Meical said. ‘This can be dealt with there.’

  ‘Yes, if you like,’ Kol said, a sneer on his face. ‘But I hardly think the Ben-Elim will credit the testimony of a crow. Let alone one that is bald and senile.’

  ‘Rude,’ Craf muttered. ‘Kol murderer.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Kol snapped.

  ‘You killed Bleda,’ Riv said, staring at Kol.

  ‘Pfah,’ Kol spat. ‘I’m not staying here to listen to this gibberish. Make your claim at the Assembly, and see how that fares for you.’

  Riv’s hand dropped to the pommel of her short-sword. The ocean of grief in her belly had changed, quick as thought. It was rage now, a storm inside her. A red mist filled her vision, her head, a tingling in her veins. Muscles twitched in her jaw.

  ‘Don’t,’ Kol said.

  ‘You killed Bleda,’ Riv repeated. She lunged forwards, reaching for her short-sword.

  Shouts, people grabbing at her, hands and arms snatching at her. But she was too quick. Kol hadn’t even had time to react before her sword was out and resting against his throat.

  A heavy, breath-held silence.

  ‘You should put that away,’ Kol said, staring into Riv’s eyes. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Do you want to start another war?’

  She stared back at him, and he saw the hatred in her eyes. Saw that she didn’t care.

  ‘I am your father, you cannot kill me,’ he hissed.

  Riv heard murmurs amongst the Ben-Elim behind Kol, but she didn’t take her eyes from his.

  He killed Bleda. My Bleda. After we had come through so much, for it to end like this. The red wave inside her turned into a black one, rising high as a wall, a dark sorrow overwhelming her. In one moment life had drained of all meaning, of all colour.

  And you took it from me.

  Her body tensed for the killing thrust.

  An arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her back. She turned her dark glare upon him, saw that it was Ellac.

  ‘You don’t want his death on your soul,’ Ellac said, looking deep into her eyes. ‘It would change you, leave a stain on your heart. He is your father, your kin.’

  Riv’s lips twisted, tears of anger and grief mingled.

  ‘My thanks,’ Kol said to Ellac.

  Ellac took his eyes from Riv’s and looked at Kol. Then he stabbed his spear forwards, adder-fast, the blade piercing Kol’s throat. Whipped it back out, blood jetting.

  A stunned moment, everyone staring.

  ‘Bleda was as a son to me,’ Ellac snarled, his voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘I would slay you a thousand times and risk a thousand wars for him.’

  Kol staggered back, hands reaching to his throat, blood pulsing over them. He swayed, dropped to his knees.

  Ben-Elim shouted, drew their swords.

  Three hundred Sirak bows were bent.

  ‘Loose,’ Ellac said.

  As one, the Sirak released their bowstrings, their arrows hammering into Kol, hurling him to the ground. His blood soaked into the forest floor.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY

  FRITHA

  Fritha stared at the sky. It was empty of wings now, of Kadoshim and Ben-Elim, though crows were starting to replace them.

  They will come for me soon, Fritha thought. I hope I am dead when they do. I have seen what they eat first. Eyes, and lips. The softest pa
rts.

  ‘Fola, croí, a bheith mall, beo, beagán níos faide,’ she whispered, the same words she had been breathing since Drem had ripped his seax from her and she had collapsed to the ground. She knew the words of power she was uttering would not save her, would only keep her alive a little longer.

  In truth, she was not sure why she was clinging on to life so desperately.

  For my baby. Because she knew, when she died, so would the child growing inside her. But it was inevitable – there was no coming back from Drem’s blow.

  The blood pulsing from the wound in her belly was leaking sluggishly. She felt her heartbeat beginning to fade, becoming weaker, the gaps between each beat longer, the same with her breaths. Her baby kicked within her, an act of panic. That upset her. She did not want her child to feel fear.

  She turned her head, saw the place where Asroth had fallen. She’d watched his fall, was still surprised by it, by Drem and the rest. Asroth’s body was gone now, carried away by Balur and his giants. The battleground was empty, still and silent, apart from the squawking of crows, the wet slap of beaks tearing flesh. Nearby she heard the snort of a horse, heard it chewing at a clump of untrampled grass.

  A memory of Asroth flashed through her mind, in Drassil’s Great Hall, of her dressing him in his war gear. He had seemed invincible, like a god to her.

  I thought you would have saved me. Saved your unborn child.

  She had said that to him, when he had landed beside her. He had bent down to her, and she had asked him to save her, and her baby.

  He had shrugged. ‘There are more bellies in this world that I can plant my seed in,’ he had said, then stood and strode away.

  She had wept then, knowing that her baby would die.

  A sound, a scratching on the ground. She tried to move, but she had no strength, her limbs numb, her body an immovable weight. She twisted her head, saw something crawling towards her.

  Arn. Blood pulsed from the stump of his wrist. He was dragging himself through the dirt with his remaining hand, looking at her.

  She smiled at him.

  He reached her, lay his head upon her.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said to her.

  ‘For what? You gave all. Everything,’ she breathed.

  ‘I swore to protect your child.’

  A silence, thoughts taking too long to wind their way through the fog growing in Fritha’s mind.

  ‘You still can,’ she said.

  ‘How?’ Arn asked. He pushed himself upright, looked at her. She could see some of his strength returning.

  ‘Take my sword, cut my baby free and save her. Take her somewhere far away and raise her.’

  Arn pulled away.

  ‘I cannot do that,’ he said.

  ‘You swore,’ she said, a flash of fierce passion in her voice. ‘I am done, my body broken, my life-blood soaking the earth. But she still lives within me. I can feel her.’ She looked into Arn’s eyes, saw his tears, felt tears of her own.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered.

  He stared at her, emotions rippling across his face. Then he stroked her forehead, kissed her cheek and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the short-sword at her belt, its blade black as night.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE

  RIV

  The Year 1 of the Age of Courage, Eagle’s Moon

  Riv swooped down into a bank of cloud, all becoming white mist for a dozen heartbeats, and then she was bursting through it, moisture coating her like a cobweb. Dun Seren spread below her, glowing in the morning sun.

  Faintly, she could hear a bell ringing.

  She shifted a wing and began the long spiralling descent.

  Dun Seren grew larger, other winged figures flying over the fortress, all of them descending, like Riv, towards the weapons-field.

  It felt good to be back, like coming home, and the knowledge that her friends were down there made her heart smile a little. But there was still something, a cloud within her, that kept her distant. She had spent so long with grief wrapped around her heart that sometimes she thought it had seeped into her bones, into her soul.

  Oh, Bleda, Mam, how I miss you both.

  She sucked in a deep breath and tried to focus on what was about to happen.

  People were gathered upon the weapons-field, as small as ants from Riv’s great height, others walking through wide streets, making their way to the same place. A section towards the rear of the field, where a new building was under way. A stone dais stood upon a flagstoned floor, wider than Dun Seren’s keep. It had been built by Balur and many giants. On the field around it pegs and markers were hammered into earth, trenches being dug, the foundations for a new building. Balur was there, Ukran, Alcyon and Raina, a hundred other giants, all masters of stonework. Scattered around the new foundations were a handful of old oaks, their trunks wide, the bark thick and knotted. Crows sat upon the branches, watching. Riv spied Rab amongst them.

  People were upon the dais; Riv was low enough now to recognize faces. Byrne was there, sitting in her chair, which had poles slipped through iron brackets so that it could be carried about. Furs were draped across her lap. Craf was perched on the chair’s back, Tain and Kill either side. Meical was standing with them, his white wings gleaming in the spring’s sunlight. He was leaning down and talking to Byrne. Or to Craf.

  Probably both.

  To one side of the dais Riv saw a mass of white-feathered wings. Ben-Elim, standing silently, looking up at the newly risen sun.

  The sound of wings and a voice called to Riv: Faelan, sweeping through the air towards her. She raised a hand in greeting and together they spiralled down to the dais, alighting on the grass before it, landing beside her friends.

  Drem and Cullen were there, both in wool tunics, grey cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. Riv was not used to seeing them out of a coat of mail, though they still wore their weapons-belts. She was wearing her coat of mail, rolled her shoulders to shift the weight.

  Cullen grinned to see her, Drem smiling, too, and she strode over to them, pulling her wings tight.

  ‘Glad you could join us.’ Cullen winked at her.

  ‘This is not something I’d miss,’ Riv said. ‘Even if Byrne hadn’t ordered me to be here.’

  An arm wrapped around her shoulder and she turned to see Jost smiling at her.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said to her. ‘How are you?’

  Riv had flown to Arcona, to meet with Ellac and the remnants of the Sirak. A great cairn had been raised over Bleda’s body when they had returned to their homeland, and Riv found herself visiting there often, just to stand before Bleda’s cairn and talk to him. Life was calmer in the Banished Lands since the Day of Courage, but grief still darkened Riv’s mind. She knew Bleda was gone, and nothing could bring him back, but standing close to his burial mound, knowing there was something of him within, somehow seemed to ease her pain.

  ‘Fine,’ she said with a shrug.

  Jost looked at her as if he didn’t believe her.

  He wore the grey cloak of the Order, bore the four-pointed star upon his shoulder. There were no White-Wings anymore. The world had changed so much, the White-Wings disbanded. Ert, Jost and the surviving White-Wings had joined the Order the day after the battle on Balara’s fields.

  A horn blew, Tain on the dais.

  ‘It is time,’ he called out, when the ringing faded.

  Cullen looked at Drem and Riv, and together they stepped forwards; others were stepping out of the crowd, climbing up onto the dais. A mixture of warriors of the Order, Faelan amongst them. Riv stood beside Byrne. She looked up at Riv and smiled at her.

  Giants appeared, Balur, Alcyon, Raina and Ukran, carrying a chest threaded with poles between them. They approached the dais, climbed broad steps and walked to its centre, then stopped.

  Balur and the others saw Riv and she dipped her head to them.

  Raina opened the chest and the four giants tipped out its contents.

  A long black-bladed axe, a
helm, a coat of mail, a gauntlet, a spear, a sword, a second, smaller axe and a knife. The remnants of a whip, and a short-sword.

  Balur and the others took the chest away.

  Then Byrne took a knife from her belt and opened a red line across her palm.

  ‘Cumhacht i mo chuid fola, oscail doras,’ she said, and let it drip into a pewter cup. She passed the cup to Riv, who cut her hand and held her fist over it.

  ‘Cumhacht i mo chuid fola, oscail doras,’ Riv breathed, as her blood dripped into the cup, focusing hard on the words. Early on the journey back to Dun Seren from Ripa, Byrne had called a number of warriors to her tent: Riv, Cullen, Drem, Faelan, a few others.

  ‘So many of our number have fallen,’ Byrne said, ‘the secrets of the Order could have been wiped out forever. That cannot happen, so I will teach a new generation the earth power. It is a great responsibility, so guard it with your lives, and use it wisely.’ And as simply as that, Byrne had begun to teach them the power of the earth. The journey back to Dun Seren had taken five moons, so a lot had been learned. Having to focus on something so intensely had probably saved Riv’s life. Up until that point she had been falling deeper and deeper into a black abyss of grief.

  Riv passed the cup on to Drem.

  All on the dais performed the same act, and when they were done Balur One-Eye came and collected the cup. He took it to the pile of black metal in the middle of the dais and poured the blood over the weapons.

  ‘Iarann dubh, réalta cloiche, a bheith nua,’ Byrne recited, and together they echoed her. The black metal on the dais began to shimmer, a heat haze rippling off it, and then, before their eyes, it began to melt, rippling and pooling.

  ‘Bíodh doras agat, idir fuil agus cnámh agus biotáille,’ Byrne said.

  ‘Bíodh doras agat, idir fuil agus cnámh agus biotáille,’ they echoed, all of them repeating the words, again and again. Riv felt the tingle in her blood, had learned to recognize that as a sign that the world was changing, reacting to her.

  The black iron melted into a dark pool on the stone dais, and then it began to move, to shift and change its shape, rising into the air, slowly becoming something new.

  ‘Bíodh doras agat, idir fuil agus cnámh agus biotáille,’ they continued to chant, until the black substance stopped moving, seemed to cool with a hiss, steam rising from it, as if suddenly doused with water.