BACK FROM CHAOS
Book One of
EARTH’S PENDULUM
Yvonne Hertzberger
Copyright 2011-2014 by Yvonne Hertzberger
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The moral right of the authors has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN is 978-0-9878260-4-6
Cover Design by Neil Jackson.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This endeavour would not have been possible without the support and assistance from a number of special people. I would like to thank each of them.
During the writing process I relied heavily on support and feedback from my spouse, Mark, and friend Thomas. They believed in me when my confidence flagged.
My readers also deserve special thanks: Angie, Grace, Janet, Kathleen, Lyrra, Noah, Pretty, Ruth and Tish. You are all the best.
This edition was made possible with the help of Neil Jackson, cover design and programming support.
LIST OF CHARACTERS
LIST OF CHARACTERS:
EARTH: source of all life, sentient
CATANIA (cat-an-yah):
Cataniast (cat-an-yast), defeated lord
Marja (mar-yah), only surviving member of his line
Brensa (bren-sah), her lady in waiting
Nellis (nell-is), second lady in waiting, expecting first child soon
Mikost (mee-kost), Nellis' husband, stable hand
Keisha (kay-shah), Marja’s mare
Wilnor (wil-nor), aristocrat, plotter
BARGIA (Bar-geeah):
Gaelen (gay-len), second son of Lord Bargest, now lord of both Catania and Bargia
Lionn (lee-on), Gaelen’s elder brother, now dead
Klast (klast), trusted spy for Bargia (also uses name Mirral when under cover)
Argost (ar-gost), advisor to Gaelen
Janest (ja-nest), advisor to Gaelen
Sinnath (sinn-ath), advisor to Gaelen
Grenth (grenth), advisor to Gaelen, head of military
Marlis (mar-liss), Sinnath’s wife
Wendan (wen-dun), Janest’s wife
Naila (nay-lah), Grenth’s wife
Messalia (mess-al-yah), schemer, believed to be seer
Liethis (lee-thiss), true seer
Kerrissa (cair-iss-ah), Sinnath’s mistress
Grinth (grinth), justice
Gorn (gorn), spy
Rellin (rell-in), mercenary, ringleader
Gurth (gurth), Farl (farl), Rellin’s men
Lotha (loath-ah), midwife
Simna (sim-nah), prostitute and friend to Klast
Ornan (or-nan), traitor
Norlain (nor-lain), innkeeper’s wife
Haslin (haz-lin), innkeeper
Liannis (lee-an-iss), unborn seer
LIETH (leeth), Demesne to west
Wernost (wer-nost), lord of Lieth
Merlost (mer-lost), his son and heir
GHARN (garn), Demesne to east of Catania and north of Bargia
Rand (rand), Klast’s abuser as a boy
~1~
VICTORY AND CAPTURE
Marja clutched her small jewelled dagger with white-knuckled fingers. She crouched in the corner, pressed tightly behind the door of the privy, willing herself invisible. The rough wood at her back pricked her through the light linen of her gown, and the muscles in her legs threatened to cramp from holding herself rigid. Her heart raced with terror. She knew if they found her she was dead, or even worse. She had heard what soldiers did to women, especially young, comely ones. Her beauty would not serve her now, nor would her rank as daughter of the ruling house. She gripped the dagger tighter. They will not take me. I will not suffer that. I cannot.
She suppressed the impulse to gag from the reek of burnt buildings and charred flesh. Even the usual stench of the privy was preferable to this. She tried in vain to blink away the smoke that filled every space and burned her eyes. Her nose tickled, and she fought the urge to sneeze or cough. Any noise might give her away.
Mercifully, she no longer heard the screams of the women and children. The last span or so had gone quiet except for the muffled sounds of men putting out fires. She could make out only the occasional shouted order from a soldier. She hoped to Earth that meant it was over. Perhaps she would escape after all … if she could stay hidden until dark. She knew a back way out but could not safely get to it. They might see her crossing the hall if she left her hiding place now. Too many enemy soldiers still moved about. Keep still. Do not give yourself away. Wait, she repeated to herself, over and over, like a hypnotic chant.
Marja’s body jerked in a spasmodic shudder as she recalled again the chaos that had wakened her at dawn. The Bargian army was welltrained and well armed. They had successfully taken her father’s army by surprise, by hiding in the forest only half a day’s ride away and slipping close under cover of darkness. Had her father not scorned the advice of his advisors to guard the city more vigilantly, his people might not now be paying the price of his madness. The thought filled Marja with a moment of fury. Why had he not listened?
Marja wondered how Cataniast’s informants had convinced him that the rumours of a planned invasion were false. Somehow they had persuaded the suspicious autocrat that the Bargians wanted to finish spring planting before coming to take Catania. Who had managed this clever misdirection? Had the Bargians bought off her father’s informants?
Marja knew that many in Catania would be pleased to see the House of Cataniast fall. A pall of fear, suspicion, and secrecy had hung over his court for years. She had watched many merchants and shopkeepers flee Catania, and she could not blame them. Some had gone to Bargia, the enemy who now bore responsibility for their defeat.
Only spans earlier, a servant had come running to Marja, crying, “Flee, my Lady. We must go now!” Marja had refused. At the girl’s tearful request for permission to go, Marja had given it freely. She saw no purpose in keeping the terrified maid with her.
How could things have come to this so quickly? She had heard Northgate fall before midday. The sounds of clashing swords, the shouting of soldiers, and the cries of men dying had reached her even where she hid deep within the castle.
Marja knew that her father had fought at Northgate and had heard from the frantic shouts of the retreating men that he had been slain. After that, the invaders soon breached Eastgate and Southgate and overran the city. Those who had not been killed had fled. Now she waited alone for the death that surely awaited her.
When she could remain still no longer, Marja decided to venture into the main hall. If she could make her way to the hidden passage across the balcony it could lead her to freedom. She had just emerged from her hiding place when she heard the trudge of boots on stone and froze again.
“Looks clear. Klast, you take that side. I will check this one.”
The words drifted up to where Marja stood rooted to the floor. Heart pounding, she found her feet and quickly shrank back into her corner. Here they come, she thought. I waited too long.
Marja made herself as small as she could as she listened to the man climb the stairs and check the room beside hers. Then his steps became louder as he entered her chamber. She held her breath as the steps went s
ilent for a moment, then resumed in the direction of her privy. Her eyes went to the dagger still clenched in white-knuckled fingers. She could not have pried her hand open even if she had wanted to. Her fingers seemed welded shut. Do I have the courage to do it? I must! I will not let them use me. I cannot.
Suddenly, the door swung out and he stood before her.
Marja froze and caught a look of surprise crossing the soldier’s face as he halted. She took in his air of authority, his broad shoulders and the wavy, straw-coloured hair, now lank with sweat and tied out of the way. He wore well-cut breeches, a tunic in the blue and yellow of Bargia, now stained with blood, and he carried a fine sword. Marja recognized her assailant. Here stood the son of Lord Bargest, the spawn of the enemy who had brought this upon them.
He raised his sword for the killing blow. It felt like she watched from a distance, the motion slow and dreamlike, as if time had stopped. He halted, arm in midair, seeming to assess the woman before him.
What did he see, she wondered? Could he see her determination, her terror? Could he see past the dirt and smoke to her expensive clothing, the heavy gold chain still about her throat, the jewelled earrings and the hands unused to rough work? Would he understand that she was someone of rank? Would her russet hair tell him he beheld someone from Cataniast’s family? Would it make any difference?
Slowly, he lowered his sword’s point to the ground. Time resumed its normal pace. His face showed no signs of battle frenzy, but his eyes remained alert, and she knew he would not hesitate to use the sword if he needed to. Marja remained crouched, unwavering, dagger ready, defiance now faltering as confusion pierced her mental armour.
“I am Lord Gaelen of Bargia.” He spoke formally, but she did not miss the weariness in his face and tone. “There is no point in resisting. My army has defeated you, and this demesne is now mine. Give me the knife. I will offer you my protection, at least until I decide how to proceed with the governance of this land. You will not be harmed. Surrender your weapon. Enough have died today.”
This could not be true. He could not let her live. Marja smelled deception. “A daughter of the House of Cataniast will not be allowed to live!” she spat back. “You cannot take that risk. My people will rally behind me and continue to fight.” Marja remained where she stood, knife just below her left breast, poised for the killing thrust. “I will not be taken to be used as a gaming piece and disposed of later.”
She watched Gaelen raise one eyebrow slightly at her declaration. Then he rubbed his free hand across his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lady, you mistake me for someone without honour. I have given my word that you will not be harmed, and I am a man of my word. Surrender your weapon.” He hesitated. “I cannot assure you will not be injured if you force me to take it from you. But I have seen enough blood today and have no wish to spill yours. We will speak later on your fate. Unlike your lord father, I am not a man who acts in haste.”
Marja did not miss the fleeting expression of anger at his mention of her father.
When she did not move, he added, “I gain nothing from spilling more blood. I swear, you and your people will be treated justly. Now give me the knife.”
Something in his weary tone and the unwavering stance, feet planted apart, broke through Marja’s defiance. What had he said? Honour? Justice? Her people? Could she trust him even so far? Could she yet effect some good for her people? A small flicker of hope ignited. With it, the iron will that had sustained her crumbled. Her arm lowered, and the dagger fell out of her hand to the floor.
Just as her knees buckled, he caught and steadied her, kicking the knife away in the same fluid motion.
Her legs responded woodenly as she let herself be led through the castle, his hand firmly holding her arm. His grip told her escape was out of the question. Marja’s mind ran in useless circles, no longer able to hold a coherent thought.
As they emerged from the castle, she waited numbly in his grasp. Some part of her heard him hail one of his men.
“Argost, secure that dwelling to use as headquarters. And find two men you trust and have them report to me immediately.” Marja felt more than saw him jerk his head in her direction. “We have a hostage, Cataniast’s daughter. She must be closely guarded. She speaks with no one. No one must be told we have her. Have the guards find a defendable room upstairs out of sight. Take her there, and find her something to eat and drink. Find Sinnath and Janest. Set up a table and chairs in the front room. We will meet as soon as everyone can get there. Order must be established here without delay.”
Later, she would remember and wonder at the ease with which Gaelen assumed the role of lord. It appeared as though he had been born to it, though she knew his older brother, Lionn, should have inherited. Gaelen was the second son.
Marja listened with only one ear. Then she remembered who she was and that her people were watching her. She forced her head proudly erect, squared her shoulders and took in the destruction around her. Anything made of wood looked burned or charred. Only stone remained unmarred, though it, too, had been blackened by soot. Windows stared empty-eyed, their glass and oiled skins broken or burned. Doors swung from broken hinges. Torn rags and broken crockery littered the near-empty square.
Struck by the devastation, her resolve faltered. She stumbled, momentarily overcome, when he marched her past a large group of women, children and old men standing silent. They waited, packed shoulder to shoulder like sheep, guarded by soldiers who held swords ready. She recognized defeat, fear and despair in the bowed heads and slumped shoulders. Eyes stared at her with the blankness of those who had seen more horror than they could comprehend.
Her people, or what was left of them. Earth, what would happen to them now? And what of her family? Her brother, sister-in-law and their three little ones? Had any survived? The questions screamed in her head, but her tongue remained silent. Now was not the time. She must assess her situation, must think carefully about her next move. Everything depended on it. Everything!
Marja put up no resistance. She let them march her into the mansion, up the stairs and usher her into a small bedroom. Though she saw signs of scorching, the furniture here had not burned. She took in the sliced featherbed, empty of linens. No doubt they had been stolen. But a chair still sat intact, and with the last shred of dignity she could muster, she allowed herself to be lowered into it.
She watched dully as the guards checked the window and privy, determining that escape was impossible. They stationed themselves, one outside the door, the other inside, to watch her. In spite of their weariness, they appeared alert and ready to act. Neither spoke a word to her before or after the door closed. She eyed the guard who remained inside. He avoided her gaze, and she concluded that information from that quarter was unlikely.
After some time, a young soldier with a bandaged arm entered and set a tray on the small table beside her. Marja stared absently at the tray of stale bread and cheese and ewer of water, knowing she should at least drink, but could not find the energy to reach for the mug.
The sound of voices raised in anger seeped through the door, and she realized she ought to try to make out what they were saying. That, too, was too much effort. It occurred to her that she ought to be forming a strategy to deal with her captors, seeking a way to escape. Those thoughts warred with the desire to know what had become of her family, what the future would hold for her people.
Finally thirst won out. She put aside suspicions of poison and made herself drink. The water tasted fresh and cool and revived her somewhat. She forced herself to gnaw at some bread and cheese and take another swallow of water.
The enormity of her situation threatened to overwhelm her, but she knew her survival depended on staying focused. She recalled how she had recognized Gaelen. Just over a year ago an offer had come from his father, the now late Lord Bargest. He had sent a proposal of alliance. Part of the bargain had been a request for Marja to be joined with his second son, Gaelen. Gaelen himse
lf had delivered the offer, and she had watched him from a curtained balcony. Her father had ordered her to stay out of sight, so Gaelen had not been aware of her scrutiny. Marja felt a moment of anger as she remembered that Cataniast had refused the offer. He had regarded it as a ploy, a way for Bargia to gain a foothold in Catania and subvert his authority. It had cost him his life and his demesne. A wave of rage washed over her, then as quickly ebbed. She had not the energy to sustain it.
Marja wondered if that information could be used to her benefit. So far, Gaelen had kept his word. She remained unharmed and relatively comfortable. What plans could he have for her? Now that he had successfully taken Catania, would he see any advantage in keeping her alive? How could she convince him it would be prudent to court her goodwill? Could that be parlayed into concessions for her people? She knew letting her live would fly in the face of traditional thinking, which called for the deaths of all members of conquered ruling families. How would her position be affected if other members of her family still lived? If so, what difference would it make if they were still at large, or if they too had been taken prisoner? So many questions. So little information.
The spans passed, and eventually her exhaustion, coupled with the rise and fall of the voices below, lulled her into a fitful doze. Her chin dropped to her chest, her hands fell lax in her lap.
~2~
LIETHIS
Far away, Liethis, true seer to the court of Bargia, most powerful seer on the One Isle, bent double in pain. She sensed Earth’s sending, and in her trance understood that Her essential Balance had been disrupted, that Earth was in pain. She sank to the ground and rocked back and forth, moaning, her hands clasped tightly over her temples, eyes squeezed shut.
Earth’s sending filled Liethis with a deep foreboding. She could not block the pain from the fire and blood searing Earth’s crust. She understood that all the peoples on the One Isle would face hardships until those wounds healed; until Her people had atoned for Her wounds.
Back From Chaos Page 1
