Briefly, in the light of flame, she saw Karne and Wardyke locked in battle, both using the long daggers the Spear-lords had introduced into the country.
Olan was on the ground with Hawk-Eagle’s spear through his stomach.
She looked no more, but ran, her heart breaking.
* * * *
In Fern’s abandoned house, the roof on fire, Kyra gave the last push that brought her baby into life.
Guiron and Isar entered and it was Guiron who seized the child and ran with her to safety.
Khu-ren lifted his unconscious wife.
Isar seized a cudgel that he used for practice fighting and ran wildly towards the battle, his eyes ablaze.
‘Wardyke!’ he screamed, seeing Wardyke about to drive his dagger through Karne’s fallen body.
Wardyke looked up and saw his son, his ancient friend, with cudgel raised in hate and anger against him.
‘My King!’ he cried.
‘No!’ Isar shouted. ‘That was another time. Another place. Now Wardyke ... now is the time to live!’
And he stood so fiercely strange, this boy who was at once a boy and yet a king, that Wardyke fumbled with his dagger and dropped it, and stood staring, not knowing what to do.
And in that moment one of the fire arrows loosed from the bow of one of Hawk-Eagle’s own men passed through his heart and he fell in death.
‘No!’ cried Isar. And in tears, a boy again, he flung himself upon Wardyke’s body, but there was no way he could bring him back to life.
Karne, wounded, staggered to his feet in time to see Hawk-Eagle raise his dagger against Isar, and with a cry of rage he stepped between them, plunging his own dagger into Hawk-Eagle’s body.
Hawk-Eagle fell, never to rise again.
15
The New Spear-lord
Many days and nights passed before Kyra regained consciousness, but when she did she was amazed to find herself still alive.
Ashen and pale and thin she was, but still very much alive.
She looked around her room savouring each familiar thing.
‘I did not die!’ she whispered to herself with joy. ‘I did not die!’
And then she remembered her baby, and her head turned with anxiety to look for her.
‘Yes,’ Fern said gently, sitting beside her. ‘Your baby is safe too.’
Kyra smiled with great joy.
‘A girl?’
‘A girl,’ Fern confirmed.
‘I will call her Deva. It means ‘shining one’ in a language I once heard in a dream.’
‘You and your dreams!’ teased Fern. ‘I thought you said you dreamed you were going to die?’
Kyra was too weak to say any more, but she smiled a very little ashamed smile.
Fern kissed her.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know your next question. He has been with you day and night all the time. He will be back in a few moments.’
Kyra shut her eyes, this time to sleep in peace.
When she awoke again, the Lord Khu-ren was beside her.
When Kyra was a little stronger they had a simple ceremony to bless and name the baby in the room where she lay, as she was still too weak to move.
Karne was there, bound with bandages but in reasonable health, and Fern with their children. Isar stood separately like a man in his own right looking with very shining and loving eyes on the new baby. There was no conscious memory of that ancient life when he had been king and Deva his much loved queen, raped and murdered by the man who now, as Lord Guiron, High Priest of the Temple of the Sun, performed the ceremony of blessing with such humility and contrition.
There seemed to be no shadows present, except perhaps for Panora who watched from the background with a peculiar brooding look in her eyes, unnoticed by the others.
Deva smiled when she was named.
Indeed a shining one!
‘Is she not beautiful?’ Kyra whispered to Khu-ren.
‘You are both beautiful,’ he said with a smile, and put his arms around the two of them.
‘Come,’ Fern said firmly to the others, ‘we must leave Kyra to rest now. She is very weak and if Deva is anything like my children she will need a great deal of looking after.’
Kyra was too weak for a long time to take care of Deva properly. Fern stayed with her, glad of the temporary home for her small family since their own had been burned to the ground.
* * * *
When Karne and Isar returned to the village the day after the birth of Deva they found a desolation worse than they had expected. There were very few houses still standing, but fortunately there were fewer dead in either village than Karne would have thought possible in such a fierce battle. The survivors who had fled in the night had returned to wander aimlessly among the ruins of their homes, uncertain of what to do next.
Isar slipped away from Karne and sought out the body of Wardyke. It was lying where it had fallen, so burnt and charred it was almost unrecognisable.
The boy squatted beside it and wept, his heart almost breaking, ancient memories beginning to stir. There had been so much of Time and Mystery, love and treachery and pain in their relationship, and now Isar knew in a way he could not have explained that his path and Wardyke’s would not cross again.
In the moment he had denied the past, he had broken free of Wardyke’s spell, a spell that had been upon him since before he left their home in the land of the long river and the desert that flowered after every flood. It was his friendship for this man, now called Wardyke, that had made them flee across the sea in those ancient days and come to this strange and barbarous land.
It was Wardyke’s idea that he should set himself up as king and Wardyke who organized the ignorant wandering tribes to pay tribute to him and build his palace and supply him with his wealth. Wardyke who sniffed out gold like a dog sniffed excrement. Wardyke who destroyed his enemies, manoeuvred his friends, while he and his beautiful queen lived in love and joy, thoughtless of anything that could harm them or change their earthly paradise.
When a certain chieftain had come to their court, joined the feasting and the hunting, it was Wardyke who had warned that he was not to be trusted. But thinking that it was jealousy because this man was the first he had loved beside Wardyke himself, Isar had taken no notice.
For the first time he had not taken Wardyke’s counsel and it was his undoing.
Many times since then the three of them had been reborn in other lands, in other worlds. The old score had at last been settled and he had been at peace upon a world in another galaxy, a world of many suns where light was danger and they had lived in darkness underground, seeing with their minds, peaceful amongst themselves.
The ache of longing for his queen who had never been reborn, but had clung tenaciously to the place where she had died, had at last healed. He lived with no memory of this ancient wound.
And then, in the darkness that was not darkness to him, he had suddenly felt a shaft of pain through his heart and his friends mourned his death.
In that instant he was conceived in the womb of Fern, called thither by Wardyke’s relentless spirit.
The stirrings of these memories had been with him since his birth, like dark shadows at the corner of his eye which, when he turned his head, he could not see.
In dreams, images haunted him from the past, but he only partially recognized them, and the soft arms of his mother had dispelled many of the dark traces from his mind.
Standing on top of that ancient hill, surveying the lake, he had remembered, fleetingly, and again on his one-time throne ... but in each case the memory had slipped like a dream slips, like an adder slips under rocks, to lie in darkness biding its time, but out of reach of the conscious mind.
It was only at the moment when he faced Wardyke in battle and saw his weapon raised to kill Karne whom he loved, the moment that Wardyke called him king, that the whole memory had come flooding back and he knew he had to make a choice.
The choice was made in an instant
from deep inside himself and there was no going back.
But now, beside the body of his friend, his heart ached and he wished life’s justice was not so long and so inexorable.
He felt a hand upon his shoulder and looked up to find Karne beside him, looking on him with great tenderness and understanding.
He stood up.
‘We have to attend to the burials and the rebuilding,’ Karne said quietly. ‘No one else seems to know what to do.’
He looked at Isar deeply.
‘I need your help,’ he said with humility.
Isar looked from Wardyke’s body to the living warmth of love in Karne’s eyes.
‘You have it,’ he said with dignity.
Karne bowed his head slightly and the two began the task of making order out of chaos.
* * * *
As soon as someone took the initiative the helpless villagers were willing enough to work. They had been used to a Spear-lord and an ordered routine and they seemed to need someone to tell them what to do. Without meaning to take over Olan’s place, Karne found himself issuing orders.
In the bustle of work Isar’s painful memories faded and he found comfort as a boy again, running messages for Karne, organizing the clearing away of the old burnt wood and advising where new timber suitable for building could be found.
Karne noticed that many of Hawk-Eagle’s villagers were wandering among his own, with as much despair upon their faces, and with expressions that showed they were equally at a loss to know what now to do with their lives. Suspecting that the villagers themselves had not had much to say in the attack but had just been doing what they had been told to do by their Spear-lord, he gathered them together and made a great and moving speech suggesting they all forget the past and join together to rebuild the future. There were not many dissenters. Quite a few of the villagers had sons or daughters who had married into the other village, and relatives and friends had been involved in the fighting, caught up by Hawk-Eagle and Wardyke in a war that was not really their war.
Isar stood beside Karne on this, and Hawk-Eagle’s people, recognizing him as Wardyke’s son and hearing him join with Karne to plead for peace, agreed.
* * * *
Sadly not only Olan had been killed in the fighting, but his beautiful daughter as well, and Mar, Olan’s widow was now alone.
The bodies of the dead of both sides were gathered and a great funeral pyre was built.
But those of Olan and his daughter and of Hawk-Eagle were kept separate for they were of the tribe that had separate burial mounds.
That night there was great sorrow and mourning.
Priests from the Temple arrived and the High Priest, Lord Guiron, said words of comfort and prayer to the bereaved from his own heart, as well as the ritual words that were expected of him.
Karne watched him very closely, wondering what he was thinking and if he remembered anything of his old connection with Wardyke and the young boy who stood beside him, mourning.
But if he did, he gave no sign.
The words were simple, moving and sincere.
When, the following dawn, the ashes were gathered and placed in pottery urns for burial, Panora slipped forward and placed a garland of flowers around Wardyke’s urn. Karne could see that she was weeping, and as she turned to leave he caught a look in her eye towards the Lord Guiron and the boy Isar that chilled his blood.
The old score was not settled as far as she was concerned and she would not let it rest.
But Isar did not see it. He carried Wardyke’s ashes to the burial place and laid them down with the others killed in battle, Panora’s flowers still upon the urn.
That day passed in raising the burial mounds; the next in clearing the ground for rebuilding. And the third day they started serious work on reconstruction.
* * * *
While Khu-ren was with Kyra, and Fern was temporarily released from her duties as nurse, she returned to see what she could salvage of her old home.
Olan’s widow found her there sad among the trampled ruins of her garden, thinking of Wardyke and how years ago he had destroyed with fire her beautiful living wood. She sat on the ground and lifted broken fronds and branches gently, seeing how much she would have to cut away to let the new growth through, speaking words of comfort and tenderness to them.
Mar watched her for a while and then moved closer to her.
‘Have you words of comfort for me too?’ she said with pain. ‘Olan and my daughter have no roots hidden in the earth to send up leaves again in Spring.’
Fern looked up at her and opened her arms. The proud, tall woman, the warrior Spear-lord’s wife, sat upon the earth and buried her face in the peasant girl’s breast.
Fern kissed her and stroked her hair.
‘I have no words,’ she said softly. ‘The words are in your own heart. Listen to them.’
The older woman’s tears fell upon the young woman’s arm.
‘Sssh,’ Fern whispered. ‘Listen to them.’
Gradually Mar quietened and she lay listening to the beat of Fern’s heart, puzzling a little about what Fern meant, wondering what she was supposed to hear.
She began to feel drowsy and at peace. Sleep had not come her way since that terrible night. Fern rocked her gently and whether she was asleep or not she did not know, but she felt a calmness come over her, a calmness which seemed to shade into a feeling, first as though there were a glimmering of hope, and then growing into the strength of a conviction.
Wherever she looked in nature there were correspondences that ran through the lives of everything, a cyclical pattern, a constant ending and beginning, destroying and renewing, and wherever she looked she saw no waste. Everything that existed continued, even if in another form. She thought about the caterpillar and the butterfly. She thought about the fallen dead leaves in a forest, nourishing the new and living tree. If such things were without exception in nature, man, the most complicated and subtle creature of all, the most difficult to bring to maturity, would hardly be the only one to be denied renewal, the only one to be wasted. The slow and painful struggle he had to reach complex consciousness must be for some continuing purpose.
Mar opened her eyes and there were now no tears in them.
She looked at Fern and Fern knew she had heard the words in her own heart.
‘You see!’ she said gently, releasing her from her embrace.
‘I see,’ the woman said.
* * * *
With Karne’s supervision and energetic work the stricken homes began to rise again, but almost without anyone realizing it the two villages that had been so separate and so different began to merge into one large straggling village with a great deal more open space between the houses than there had been before. Not everyone rebuilt their homes in exactly the same place, relatives in one village moved nearer to relatives in the other, some chose new land but some stayed with the old.
Also, without anyone realizing it, Karne was increasingly consulted on every decision that had to be made. At first he turned always to Olan’s widow for the final permission for any move, but she knew as well as he did that the decision was always his, and she agreed almost without thinking to whatever he proposed.
At last she said he need not consult her any more but do as he thought fit.
Hawk-Eagle had no wife, nor heir, and so his people tended to turn to Karne too.
On the day the last house was rebuilt the villages decided to hold a celebration.
Kyra was still too weak to attend, but Fern and her whole family were there and all the people from both villages gathered round one central fire and drank strong ale and feasted well into the night.
At the height of the festivities, Olan’s widow called for silence and was placed high upon a rough platform of wooden beams.
The tall woman stood beautiful and elegant in the firelight and the villagers gradually became silent, all faces turned to her.
‘It is not easy for me to speak without my husband a
t my side,’ Mar said, ‘but what I have to say I say with his authority behind me.
‘Before he died,’ and here her voice broke slightly, but she resumed in clear and ringing tones within moments, ‘his most trusted friend and confidant was Karne whom I think you all know.’ She turned and pointed to Karne who was standing near the platform with his arm around Fern and his latest baby on his shoulder.
A cheer went up that rang so loud the very sky seemed to receive it!
Fern flushed with pride and turned her face into her husband’s shoulder.
He looked embarrassed.
‘With your permission,’ and Mar looked around smiling at the happy, friendly faces around her, ‘I would like to ask Karne to be Spear-lord of this fine new village in the place of both Hawk-Eagle and Olan.’
Another cheer went up.
She held up her hand for silence as the cheering seemed to be getting out of hand.
‘You will know it is not the custom for one of the local people to be the Spear-lord of a village. In asking this I am breaking with long years of history and there are many people who might object most strongly to this move.’
Cries of ‘No! No!’ came from the crowd.
‘Other Spear-lords in other communities,’ she reminded them, and the crowd grew silent to think about this. This could be dangerous.
It was indeed a break with custom and with history.
Karne thought about it too and knew that it was honour beyond his dreams, but responsibility and challenge as well.
He looked at Fern.
‘It must be your decision,’ she said softly but firmly.
He looked around at the faces of the villagers. He knew they wanted him. He knew he was capable of the task. But ... Hawk-Eagle was not the only member of the Spear-lord race who wished to keep their ancient privileges to himself.
‘What do you say, Karne?’ Mar looked at him straight and steadily. ‘My husband believed your people were ready for responsibility and this made him many enemies. What do you say?’
Karne took a deep breath and stepped up to join her on the platform.
The Temple of the Sun Page 20
