Orion: The Council of Beasts

by Darius Hinks

  Naieth glanced at him. ‘I saw more than I would have liked.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘My earliest memory,’ laughed Alhena, ‘is of a nightmare. I suppose that says a lot.’

  Her eyes were dry but she was rigid with grief. The other wardancers were sitting around her, high in the boughs of a stately old poplar, their heads bowed. The tree stood alone, several miles north of the Crowfoot Falls, at the centre of a wide, grassy plateau that had so far resisted the plague. Night had fallen, edging the landscape with silver, but it could not hide the brutality of the scene. The horizon was contorted and ugly, swollen by humps of fungus and the hunched backs of monsters. Even the sounds of the forest had been replaced with something more sinister. The night rattled with the sound of creeping, whirring death.

  Finavar, Sibaris and Caorann watched as Alhena dredged up her painful past.

  ‘I remember shifting lights. At first I thought it was one of my mother’s games. She used to entertain me with magic lanterns that she’d conjured from the air. She’d paint the most beautiful scenes with no more than her fingertips. But my mother never came. Pain came instead – an awful heat that spread over my skin. It sent me scrambling to the corners of my bedchamber. I remember screams and running feet, but I was sure my mother would come if I waited long enough. She had told me, for as long as I could remember, that we were destined for greatness – that the forest’s future lay in our hands. She told me I would be a powerful ruler one day. I knew that my fate was not to burn in some pathetic accident. I knew she would come for me.

  ‘I reached out to save my playthings but smoke poured from their eyes and that terrified me more than anything. They had become monsters. It was like they were the ones trying to hurt me.

  ‘The smoke spread and I began to choke, but I still thought my mother would come. Even when the walls of my bedchamber cracked, spitting flames and twisting my playthings into horrible shapes. I tried to calm myself with a lullaby. It was the one my mother used to sing to me when I was afraid of the dark. The one about sleeping in new green leaves.’

  Alhena paused, staring through her friends, looking deep into her pain. The memory of the lullaby seemed on the verge of overwhelming her. When she continued, her voice was unsteady and Finavar noticed that she was flicking imaginary objects from her skin, as though even now she could feel embers settling on her arms and face.

  ‘The lullaby did not help. And, as my robes started to shrivel and smoke, I realised the truth. My mother had forgotten me. In fact, it was worse than that: she had abandoned me.’

  Alhena’s face was like stone. Her limbs were still for a change, but pain was written so clearly across her features that Finavar found it hard to look at her. Since Thuralin first brought her to him, on the borders of Locrimere, she had always seemed taut to the point of breaking but now, with her father’s death still in her eyes, Finavar wondered if she might finally snap.

  ‘I started to scream.’ Her voice was so soft that the others had to lean closer to hear. ‘It wasn’t the pain, it was the betrayal.’ He eyes widened. ‘How could she have left me? My own mother?’

  ‘But you escaped,’ said Sibaris, leaning towards her, his features knotted with concern.

  Alhena’s gaze remained fixed in the middle distance, but she nodded. ‘I thought at first that one of my playthings had decided to finally kill me. I thought one of my dolls had grown and become a huge daemon. Then I realised that the door to my chamber had been smashed and the daemon had come in from the outside. It was covered in fire. Its clothes were made of fire. And it was making such a terrible sound – choking and roaring. I thought it had come to finish the job the fire had started, so I tried to run. The daemon threw something over me – a piece of material, heavy with water. Then it picked me up and ran from the chamber.

  ‘As we ran, I looked at the daemon through the weave of the cloth. It was terrifying. It was melting and screaming and making such a dreadful noise. I felt as though I would give anything to just not hear that sound anymore.’

  Alhena focussed back on the present, looking at the faces of her friends. ‘It was my father, of course. It was Thuralin. He destroyed his body so that mine could survive.’

  ‘And then what?’ asked Sibaris, placing his hand on her forearm.

  Alhena flinched at his touch, but did not remove his hand. ‘And then he trained me to kill.’ A cold smile spread across her face. ‘He taught me that I could rely on nobody, not even him. He taught me that nature is cruel and the forest is crueller. He taught me that I must be brutal. More than brutal.’ She clutched the handle of one of her swords. ‘He taught me how to survive.’

  Alhena turned to face Finavar. ‘And now he is dead.’

  Finavar felt the weight of her stare but he did not look away. ‘He died as he lived – a devoted guardian of the forest.’

  Alhena continued staring at him.

  Finavar met her gaze with equal passion. ‘If we had not braved Hallos we would all be dead. The entire army would have been drowned.’ He stood up, flexing his fingers, suddenly eager to leave. ‘Your father knew that, Alhena. He knew we had to do something. Whatever he may have thought of me, he knew that my foolishness was the only hope.’

  He stepped closer to Alhena and the moonlight turned his eyes into silver discs. ‘And it worked. The army has survived. Now we must stop the traitor who led us to this point, so that Prince Haldus can lead our kindreds to victory.’ He glanced around and saw two pairs of eyes watching them from the branches overhead. ‘My guides know the traitor well. They will find a way. They will lead us to her and I will reveal her treachery to everyone.’

  ‘How?’ Sibaris’s voice was hesitant. ‘How will you convince people that she is the traitor? What proof do you have?’

  Finavar had not considered this, but as soon as Sibaris asked him an image flashed into his mind – three small circles; dark and menacing on smooth white skin. ‘She has been transformed,’ he said, with no trace of doubt. ‘The mark of the Dark Gods is on her flesh. I will simply demand that she uncover her shoulder and, if she refuses, her guilt will be obvious.’

  ‘Who is she?’ Caorann had a look of wonder on his face. ‘And how do you know all this?’

  Finavar avoided Alhena’s gaze as he answered. ‘Our own Lady Ordaana is the traitor. She told me so herself after the Battle of Drúne Fell, as I was grieving the loss of my brother. Later, when I had my chance to speak against her, in the halls of Prince Elatior, I…’ he hesitated, shaking his head. ‘I was too confused by grief to see clearly. I was not myself. And Ordaana had confused me even more with her lies. I failed to speak against her when I could have and then, to ensure I could never accuse her, she poisoned Elatior against me, convincing him that I was the traitor.’

  Caorann and Sibaris both looked amazed, but Alhena flinched as though she had been slapped.

  ‘I knew you were not a traitor,’ said Sibaris, flushing with shame and anger. ‘And so did Mälloch. But there was nothing we could do.’

  Finavar shook his head. ‘It was fate that took me into the Wildwood, Sibaris, not you. I can see that now and I bear you no ill will. If I had not travelled those dark ways, I would never have been healed.’ He placed a hand against his ridged flesh and realised he had come to cherish its strangeness. ‘I would not have become what I am.’

  Caorann looked from Sibaris to Alhena then back at Finavar. ‘From the moment I jumped into those falls, protected by your bony elbow and a bit of leaf, I gave up doubting you, Fin. If you say that Lady Ordaana is the root of all this, I believe you. It explains a lot of her actions. Gods alone know how we will get near her if she sees you coming, but we’ve faced bigger challenges this past year.’ He looked at the other two, waiting to hear their response.

  Sibaris nodded eagerly in agreement, but Alhena was still looking dazed.

  ‘I believe in you, Finavar,’ she said, sounding awkward, ‘because I know my father did. He was no fool and, whatever he may have
said in the past, he knew that you weren’t either. He would not have braved Hallos without knowing the risks. I can see that now.’ She lowered her voice. ‘But there is something else you need to say.’ She gave Finavar an odd look. ‘You promised me the truth about my past. Who is my mother, Finavar?’

  Finavar hesitated and a tense silence fell over the group. He knew that everything hinged on her response.

  ‘Your mother is our prey, Alhena. Ordaana is your mother.’

  He tensed, ready for outrage, or disbelief, but to his amazement she simply nodded. Then she closed her eyes, still nodding.

  A single tear ran down her tattooed cheek.

  ‘I’ve waited my whole life,’ she said, with her eyes still closed, ‘hoping that I was wrong and knowing I was not.’

  ‘You knew?’

  She opened her eyes and wiped away the tear. ‘Of course.’ Her voice was flat. ‘My father never had an untroubled night in his life. Sometimes he cursed her in his sleep, sometimes he prayed for her, but he always spoke of her. I guessed the truth when I was still a child. He kept me from the heart of Locrimere, afraid that Lady Ordaana would recognise me. Afraid that she would realise I was still alive. And I played along. It would have terrified him to think that I knew the truth.’ She glanced at Sibaris, looking oddly guilty. ‘But I could not be sure. I always hoped I was wrong.’

  ‘She is the traitor,’ said Finavar, conscious that Alhena was still clutching the hilts of her swords. ‘We must stop her.’

  Alhena gave him a rigid, awful smile. ‘Good. She left me to die, Finavar. I never dreamt she was behind…’ she looked at the contorted shapes that surrounded the moonlit glade. ‘I never dreamt she was responsible for this, but she has long been my enemy. Our paths are aligned, Finavar. You will only kill her if I fail to kill her first.’

  Dawn crept into view, peering at the world through a smudge of yellow and brown. When Finavar awoke, he felt as though he were hanging in a blanket of fumes and mist. His skin was clammy. His cloak was damp. The forest smelled of rotting meat. He smelled of rotting meat. He grimaced, wiped his face and looked around the treetop. The other three were still asleep, so he left them for a while and climbed down alone into the little meadow. The plateau was still mostly untainted, but as Finavar walked away from the tree he noticed that the soil was rippling and pregnant with life, giving it an odd, liquid quality. He drew one of his swords and scratched the tip across the ground. An arc of yellow liquid sprayed up at him and he had to jump back to avoid it covering his legs.

  He saw hundreds of tiny shapes in the pus – miniature versions of the one-eyed monsters that had been marching across the forest.

  He stamped the soil back into place and hurried on. As he reached the edge of the plateau his heart sank. The morning light was murky and unwholesome, but it was enough to reveal that there were only a few patches of green left on the horizon. The plateau was surrounded by an ocean of yellow fog and clouds of flies. He felt like the survivor of a shipwreck, drifting in a nauseating, mustard-coloured sea.

  He shook his head and turned back to the tree. They needed to find Ordaana as quickly as possible. Whatever daemonic power was behind the plague owed its success to her.

  Before Finavar had taken a few steps something made him halt. Besides the ever-present humming of flies, there was another sound echoing through the fumes. He frowned, wondering why it sounded so familiar. He listened harder. It was a low, mournful cry, coming from the south, but the fumes made everything so ghostly and indistinct, he could not place it. Was it some kind of animal?

  He turned and walked back to the edge of the plateau. The sound rang out again, still muffled by the thick yellow clouds. Then he heard another identical call, coming from the east. Then another from the north. More rang out and Finavar realised they were coming from every direction at once.

  ‘The hunt,’ muttered Finavar. It was hard to be sure, but the sounds were suspiciously like hunting horns – the horns of the Wild Hunt. He felt an odd mixture of emotions. As much as he despised the riders that took Jokleel’s life, it comforted him to know the priests of Kurnous still survived. Then another thought hit him. Had the highborn learned of his escape from the Wildwood? Perhaps the riders had been sent to dispatch judgement?

  Finavar’s dread grew. That must be it, he thought, edging back towards the poplar tree. How could he have expected to escape his sentence so easily? How could he have expected to simply leave his Wildwood prison and re-enter the forest? They were coming for him. Orion’s priests had tracked him down.

  The horns rang out again and he realised that the fumes had deceived him. The sounds were much closer than he had originally thought.

  He pulled his black cloak tighter, feeling suddenly cold. ‘Wake up, he said, but his voice was no more than a hoarse croak. ‘Wake up!’ he repeated, raising his voice to a yell as he reached the foot of the tree.

  Caorann and the others looked sleepily at him from the branches and the two polecats emerged to stare at him.

  ‘The riders’ he said, staring up at his friends.

  They looked blankly at him, uncomprehending, then the horns rang out again and their eyes widened in shock.

  ‘The highborn have sent their huntsmen. They’ve come to track me down!’

  The other wardancers dropped from the branches, drawing their weapons.

  ‘We need to leave,’ gasped Finavar.

  He looked at the two polecats, still watching from the branches overhead. ‘Quickly.’

  They stared back at him for a moment, unmoving, then they slipped down the tree trunk and raced away through the grass.

  ‘No time to waste!’ cried Finavar running after the polecats and waving for the others to follow.

  ‘But Fin,’ cried Caorann, ‘how can you know?’ He peered into the yellow haze, trying to make out a sign of the riders. ‘They might be here to help us. They may have no idea of what happened to you.’

  Finavar only vaguely recognised Caorann’s words. He was sure that the riders had come to kill him. As he ran down the far side of the hill, he glanced from left to right, staring into the murk; sure that danger was only moments away.

  The others shrugged and jogged after him, fastening belts and cloaks as they went.

  Mormo and Mauro led them beneath the arch of a stooped, broken oak tree and back into the forest. They found a looping, muddy path that seemed to avoid the worst of the infestations but, as soon as they passed beneath the rotten boughs, Finavar gagged on the vile stench that hung in the air. Beneath the canopy the smell was unbearable. It was more than the stink of decay – it was the smell of eager, unnatural life.

  Finavar pulled up his hood and clenched it in front of his face, trying to block out the smell.

  He heard the others groaning and cursing as they followed him, but all his attention was locked on the polecats darting ahead of him. Why had he agreed to sleep? There was so little time. Now he was in danger of being executed or returned to the Wildwood before he could reach Ordaana. At the thought of the Wildwood a gruesome memory filled his thoughts: bodies, dangling from the branches, all of them screaming in pain.

  He shook his head and ran faster.

  A horn rang out from the trees up ahead and Finavar cried out in alarm, staggering to a halt.

  The other wardancers caught up with him and looked around.

  ‘Where are your guides?’ gasped Sibaris.

  ‘There!’ cried Alhena, pointing south through the trees.

  Finavar saw the two little shapes vanishing into the shadows down another, narrower path. He nodded and started after them; then stumbled to a halt as a shape emerged from the trees, blocking his way.

  It was a broad, powerful stag, with wide, gleaming antlers and a hide that shimmered as though lit from within. Sitting on its back was a powerful, towering figure – a warrior wearing a cloak of metal leaves and a helmet that almost covered his face. Vines and shoots spiralled up from beneath his skin, merging with his hair and entw
ining his wide horns. There were two points of green light flickering inside the helmet where his eyes should have been.

  As the stag trotted closer, Finavar froze, overwhelmed for a moment. Knowing that a Rider of Kurnous was approaching was not the same as actually seeing one. He backed away, holding one of his swords out in a silent warning.

  He had only taken a few steps when he bumped into his friends. He turned to see that they had their weapons raised too, looking warily at a second rider, coming slowly down the path in the other direction.

  Finavar saw the fear in his friends’ eyes and, somehow, it steadied his nerves.

  ‘There’s no option,’ he said calmly. ‘One of us has to reach Ordaana.’

  The others looked back at him with confused expressions as the two riders continued steering the stags towards them.

  As the riders came nearer, roots and branches rippled away to let them pass, moving like curtains opened by the breeze.

  ‘And your plan is what, exactly?’ asked Caorann.

  Finavar grinned. ‘We scatter. They can’t catch all of us, and I think it’s only me they’re after.’

  ‘But, your scouts.’ Sibaris was staring at the riders in horror. ‘How will we find Ordaana without them?’

  Finavar hesitated, and before he could think what to say, the riders charged.

  The wardancers flipped and cartwheeled from the path, vanishing into the trees, seconds before the riders reached them. They did as Finavar advised, racing in different directions, but the riders only had one target in mind – they rode after Finavar, lowering their spears and driving their stags through the mud.

  As Finavar sprinted through the gloom, the forest tried to block his way – branches lashed out at his legs, attempting to trip him as he ran and leaves flew up to greet him, plastering themselves across his face. Finavar felt a growing sense of fury as he sliced and hacked his way through the trees.