by Aderyn Wood
“Go on, daughter.” Her father prompted. “What else?”
“There were some little changes. The landscape looked vastly different. The trees were oddly coloured.” So pretty. “But, more importantly, I saw my brothers.” Her eyes found her father’s. “Hadanash has been successful. He has found the western people.”
A blend of satisfaction and relief bloomed on her father’s face.
“But there is something about Sargan—”
“Sargan? Is he safe?” Father frowned.
Heduanna shook her head. She tried to conjure the images regarding her little brother, but a wave of dizziness flooded her and she put her head on her hands.
“Daughter, perhaps this is too soon.”
She took a breath. “No, let me finish and then I shall return to my bed.”
“Are you certain?”
Heduanna nodded, clenching her eyes tight. “Sargan is safe, but he will not be returning to us. He will stay with the foreigners and in his stead, they will send one of their own.” She opened her eyes wide. “It is a diplomatic exchange!”
Her father looked at her with his typical neutral expression, not one wrinkle of surprise on his face.
“You knew. You planned it. Father, how could you do this to Sargan? He’s not Hadanash. He’ll never survive.”
“Daughter, you are straining yourself—”
“He has no one to protect him. What have you done?” Heduanna gritted her teeth.
“The goddess has shown us he is safe. Sargan needs this. He needs strengthening. He is like the green flax when young and fragile, but this will age and cure him and he will become as strong as rope.”
Heduanna shook her head. “But what of his calling? He is supposed to be in the temple now.”
“Sargan’s path is a complex one, and he has only just set foot upon it. As for his role in the temple, that has changed. It seems he is no longer destined to become a priest.”
Heduanna’s mouth fell open. The shock of her father’s words made her heart thump in her chest. She took quick breaths in an attempt to quell rising sickness in her stomach and spinning in her head.
“Daughter, do not think too much on this now. You’ve paled. You must return to your bed. We shall discuss this matter further when you are well.”
A bell was tolling. The temple bell out in the city. Not the bell to signify the hour, it was a different bell. It chimed continuously. Dong-ding, dong-ding, dong. Its echoes flew over the city and into the palace, over and over again. Someone is dead. Heduanna put her head in her hands and summoned deep breaths once more. “Who has died?” she said with a weakened voice.
“Guards,” her father shouted and footsteps came quickly. “My daughter needs rest, please take her to her bed.”
“Yes, Exalted.”
Dong-ding, dong-ding, dong-ding.
Heduanna felt herself lifted in strong arms and her head fell back, the dizziness growing. “Who has died?” she whispered.
“And Addu,” the king said.
Addu turned.
“Once my daughter is safely in her bed, leave. Do not stay under any circumstances, even if she requests it of you. Especially if she requests it.”
“Yes, Exalted.”
Part IX
Estr Varg
Leaf-Fall
Fifth year of Khanassa Ashrael’s reign
5,847 years ago…
Rayna
The groan of the heavy cellar trapdoor woke her and Rayna bolted upright in a bed of straw. Someone bearing a torch approached. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Me, with the fat boy.” It was Ulrich, who was fatter than Sargan by half. Ullrich, ever loyal to Krasto, always undertook prison duty, probably to access the cellar and its store of mead. “He’ll be sharing your cell till the morrow.”
“You mean Sargan?”
“Don’t know his name. Don’t care for it neither,” Ulrich said as he slid the bar back and opened the ancient bone gate to the cell.
Rayna peered up and Sargan’s rotund and slouched silhouette came into view as he stepped through with a whimper. She raised a hand against the glow of the torch. “What’s happening up there, Ulrich? What are Krasto’s intentions? And what’s he told Ana? Does she know the oaf’s imprisoned me?”
Ulrich didn’t answer for the longest time, and Rayna clenched her teeth as she waited impatiently for her prison guard to do his chores. Ulrich was incapable of doing and talking at the same time. The big oaf lit the torch along the wall and the cell was further illuminated. He picked up the bucket filled with Rayna’s piss and replaced it with another from outside the cell, then he closed and barred the gate. “I dunno nothing,” he said, finally. “‘Cept he’ll bring you up for the mote on t’morrow. Least you’ll get a hearing, Rayna. Be thankful o’ that.”
“Humph.” Rayna pressed her lips together.
“I’ll be back in t’morn with some porridge. Try to get some sleep.”
Rayna waited till Ulrich had barred the cell and ascended the steps, closing the trapdoor, before she cast her gaze over Sargan, slumped against the stone wall.
“You all right?” she asked in the old tongue.
Sargan’s mouth turned down at the corners and his shoulders shuddered.
“Bloody Hador,” Rayna said in Drakian, her eyebrows arching. “Don’t let ‘em see you cry, lad.”
But that only seemed to make the tears flush like a blooming waterfall. Sargan’s knees gave way and he slid his back along the wall, crumpling on the floor like an old leather satchel.
Rayna’s heart crumpled with him. “Now, listen here, lad.” She reverted to mountain speech as she got to her knees and crawled over the straw to place a hand on his shoulder. “No harm will come t’you here. I give my word. Now, look at me.”
Sargan sniffed and wiped his nose with a forearm, making a long snotty line on his cheek. He took a breath and looked Rayna in the eye.
The old woman smiled. Lovely eyes they be too. Like fire. She wound a thread of her essence as though she wove a length of wool and sent it to him, to build his courage. Just a little wouldn’t harm him, or Rayna. The lad needed to be strong. “That’s it. You’re not alone.” She smiled again. “Better?”
Sargan frowned, but nodded.
“Well done. Now, tell me somewhat ‒ your brother, the prince, he’s left with Danael, yes?”
Sargan’s eyes filled with tears again.
“Shhh, no more tears. Time to be a man about it. Sargan, look at me.”
Sargan returned his focus and took another deep breath. “Yes, my brother, Hadanash. Left with Danael.”
“Well now, we knew it would happen. And I knew you’d be thrown in here with me the instant your lot left on the high seas.” Rayna brushed straw from her feather cloak and stood with a grunt. “But don’t worry, young Sargan. You do as I say and you’ll be right as a mountain stream. Now, hungry?”
Sargan tilted his head like a wolf-pup.
“Hungry?” Rayna asked, miming the action of eating by bringing imaginary food with her fingers to her mouth.
Sargan’s mouth opened and he nodded, pointing to his stomach. “Yes.”
Rayna smirked as she crouched and began pulling straw back. “Just so happens this cell is in the khanassa’s cellars.” Rayna brushed an area of straw all the way back, revealing the dry stones beneath, then began feeling around the edges of one stone ‒ it had a circle shape, larger than the others.
“They use this as a prison, though I’m beginning to think I be the only one they throw in here. It’s out there, the cellar.” She nodded with her head through the bone gate. “The Khanassa’s cellar is a famous one, packed with the finest mead and meats in all of Drakia. She’s renowned for her feasts. ‘Course, it’s because of her husband. He’s as tight as a squirrel’s arse, that one. Won’t give away a pine nut without getting somewhat in return. Ah, there it is.” Rayna found the gap she’d been looking for, stuck her fingers round the stone and pulled with a grun
t. The stone came up easily. Rayna gave Sargan a grin.
His tears had stopped and he was watching Rayna with the curiosity of a child listening to a sagast spin a tale.
Rayna pulled out the piece of willow wood from the crevice beneath the stone. It was the length of her arm, and had been shaped into a hook – an old herding stick. She got to her feet and stepped to the gate. Placing the hook through the bars she looped the willow wood over the bar and lifted. The gate opened with a groan.
Sargan’s mouth fell open. “Escape?”
Rayna shook her head. “We could if we wanted to. There’s tunnels over there. They come out on t’other side of the mountains. But we’re not going to escape, my boy. We’re just going to have a nice little meal you and I. If we escaped, they’d learn about this.” She waved the willow wood hook before him. “And I can’t have that.”
Sargan looked at her with grave concentration. He was finding it difficult to understand her words.
“Nevermind, come on, lad.” She stuck a hand out and helped Sargan to stand. “My, you’re taller than I thought. Let’s go eat, and you can try some mead. I’m sure you’ve never had it where you’re from. We’ll have a banquet for two then return to our fine accommodation to talk more of the world and where you’re from. And we best start teaching you some Drakian too.”
It was early morning when Ulrich returned with milky oats for the two of them. Rayna wolfed hers down, but Sargan pulled a face when he tried a small mouthful.
“Not your usual breakfast, lad?” Rayna asked.
Sargan looked at her and shrugged. His eyes were puffy and glistened with moisture.
Rayna sighed. He’d better harden up soon, or he’d die from his own despair.
Ulrich returned to lead them up to the hall. It was already filled with half the clan and more people kept filing through the double doors that opened and closed, revealing a grey day outside.
Ana and Yana also arrived. Rayna gave her granddaughters a smile, but the worry in their eyes made her look away more quickly than she should.
Finally the khanax appeared and sat on the seat of rule. Snivelling Sidmon sat beside him. Krasto looked ashen, with dark rings under his eyes. Despite the fact he was a weak and arrogant man, Rayna couldn’t deny him a thread of sympathy. He’d lost his son, and whether Danael returned to them or not remained to be seen.
“This mote will be for hearing one dispute only,” the khanax said in a rumbling voice that bespoke a lack of sleep. “The treachery of Rayna ilt Corva.”
Rayna blinked. So that was how he was going to play it. Yes, if he could blame Rayna for everything it would make things easier on him. No doubt it provided him with a golden opportunity to rid the clan of Rayna once and for all.
“It is my wish,” Krasto continued with an angry slant of mouth. “That she be herewith ostracized in full, never allowed to return to Estr Varg.”
A low mumbling spread like a sea breeze throughout the hall. Rayna glanced at her granddaughters. Ana was shaking her head and talking to Yana. No doubt comforting the child. Bloody Krasto and his damned vengeance. It all sprang from the day long ago, when Krasto, barely a day into manhood, came to her and asked a boon that she’d never allow. Not for all the silver in the mountain tunnels. Rayna had laughed so hard she’d nearly pissed herself, and she told him he’d never get his heart’s desire, not while she lived. He’d not forgiven her that slight, and he never would. He nursed his vengeance well, so that now it had grown into something ugly and out of his control.
“Such a rule requires the vote of the entire clan, Krasto.” It was old Hesna who spoke and Rayna could have hugged her in front of everyone. Hesna stood, her slivery hair a beacon in the dim hall. A muted silence filled the room. “The last time the clan ostracised a member, I was barely a woman grown. I remember the rules, the whole clan must vote. Many of our people are still away warring. I don’t think we can make such a ruling today, Khanax. The full clan must be present. I remember.”
Rayna smirked but quickly straightened her face. Krasto looked furious.
The khanax whispered to Sidmon who nodded and they spoke quietly before Krasto faced the hall once more. “Today we shall ask questions to help inform us further. My son, a khanal of our clan has been taken from us.” He leveled his gaze at Hesna. “I’m sure you wouldn’t protest about gaining some answers sooner rather than later.”
Hesna bowed her head and sat.
Krasto then turned his attention to Rayna. “How is it you know their tongue?”
“I know many languages. A result of my travels. I speak Halkan too, does that make me a traitor?”
Krasto’s mouth slanted further. “I know Halkan. Many of us do. But none of us know anything of this foreign enemy. No one but you. So, I ask again. How is it you know their tongue?”
Rayna drew a long patient breath as she gestured at Sargan. “The language I was speaking to this young man is a very ancient one. Sargan is one of the few of their kind who can speak it. He tells me he learned it from a man where he’s from. A tribal man.”
“And you? How did you learn it?”
Rayna shook her head. What could she tell them? She had no wish for them to learn of the mountain-folk. The little people needed protecting as much as possible. And to reveal it now like this… She glanced at Yana. Rayna had wanted to reveal it a different way. A better way. “I was born with an understanding of the speech. I cannot explain it. It is the same language Yana has.”
Gasps and renewed murmurings filled the hall and Rayna risked another glance Yana’s way. Her granddaughter’s eyes were large, her mouth open. A sense of betrayal wafted from her. Rayna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Aye, I should have told you earlier, child. You speak an old language because you bear the gift.
The khanax was talking quietly with Sidmon again and anger bubbled in Rayna’s blood. She had her own history with the seer. He wouldn’t be offering any favourable advice on her behalf.
Krasto turned from Sidmon to face Rayna once again. “This language, how do we know it is not the tongue of the Dark Ones. The secret language used by those sent from Hador by Daemona to wreak havoc in the world? Perhaps they seek you out to be an operative? I understand there is a raven often seen when you’re around. Ravens are among Daemona’s Dark Ones. It seems a likely conclusion that you and the lass,” he nodded Yana’s way, “could be in the dark Goddess’s sights.”
The murmurs raised a notch more and nervous glances were cast her way. Some of the clan had even crossed their wrists over their chests as a sign of loyalty to Prijna, the Mother. A gesture to any Dark Ones to fear the Mother’s wrath. Cowards. And fools all of them.
Rayna straightened her shoulders. “I serve the old gods. The gods our ancestors served when we still travelled the world, following t’seasons, rather than settling and building little stone prisons and knocking down the trees to plant oats. My gods also use ravens, but for a very different purpose. I am no messenger of doom, quite the opposite.” Rayna turned to face the clan. “I am no traitor, though treachery is coming and more, it won’t come from me. Your Dark Ones are already lose in the world, and another force more sinister and powerful. You will need me. And you will need my granddaughter in the dark days to come—”
“Enough!” Krasto was on his feet and the hall fell silent. “When the Khanassa returns you shall face a dual hearing of treachery and witchery both. But for now, you shall talk to this boy, so that we may understand more of our new enemy.”
Rayna raised an eyebrow. “My skills are useful suddenly.”
Krasto gritted his teeth. “If you don’t then I shall command your granddaughter to do it for us. If what you say is true and it is the tongue she speaks.”
Yana frowned, then getting to her feet, she ran out the hall, the door booming shut behind her.
Rayna glared at the khanax. “No one will order my granddaughter to do anything. I’ll happily translate. What is your first question?”
Krasto sat wit
h a glance at Sidmon then faced Rayna once more. “Where is he from?”
“I don’t have to ask as he told me last night when we shared your luxurious accommodations. He is from a faraway land called Zraemia.” Rayna told them all she had learned about the large village, Sargan called a city, named Azzuri. About his father, a khanax who they called ‘King Amar-Sin’ and how his mother was called queen, but she’d died during childbirth when Sargan was just four summers old, as did the babe. She also told of his father’s belief that a great war was coming, and that one king would rule all Zraemia. Sargan believed his father would be that king.
“So why did they come here? Why, if they have a great war to attend to and all this power, why come over the sea and take my son?”
“Because their goddess told them too.”
“They have direct dialogue with their deities?”
Rayna glanced at Sidmon, his sneering black features grew more hideous. “Sargan’s sister is a seer, she communes with their goddess.”
Sidmon leaned forward and whispered more words in the khanax’s ear, but Krasto put a hand up to stall him. “What has their goddess told them about us?”
Rayna lowered her chin. “It seems She has learned of our warring ways. She told them to make use of us. When they return, they will demand an army from the Drakian people.”
Uproar ensued. People were on their feet yelling and punching fists toward Sargan who slouched his shoulders as though wishing the ground would open and swallow him whole.
“Hador take them.”
“We won’t fight.”
“Their goddess can tup herself in the arse!”
“Silence!” Krasto roared. He faced Sargan. “Ask him how they will treat my son.”
Rayna looked at Sargan, still hunched over. There were stains on his tunic and fear in his eyes. “They want to know how Danael will be treated by your people.”
Sargan seemed to battle with an internal worry, then he looked at Rayna and spoke, “Father will treat well. Like prince.”
