by Kim Falconer
She’d never seen redwoods so big. ‘They must be hundreds of years old.’
‘Thousands, I’ll wager.’
It would take a chain of twenty people to surround some of the larger trunks standing sentinel in front of the main gates. Their pointed tops, like arrows, thrust skyward, challenging the distant mountains.
The buildings around the central plaza were of a sophisticated design, more ornate than anything she had seen in Dumarka or Lividica. They were mostly two storey, and many had rounded turrets or domed roofs. They sported long, brightly decorated flags of many colours, flying like kites over the temple square.
Wide stairs flowed down from every entrance, a cascade of steps leading to a massive weeping willow in the midst of the main courtyard. There, statues stood at each corner of the plaza—guardians of the four directions.
She couldn’t see all of them clearly, but she got chills from the ones she could. The east corner held a winged lion with a long tail and sharp claws, crouched to pounce, or perhaps take flight. The statue to the north was like a sea lion, laid out in a playful, luxuriant recline, as if nothing could be of any threat. It was rotund, jovial, with pups in tow. The statue to the west was a Draconian, a winged dragon rising from an angry sea. She couldn’t make out the south, blocked by the feathery branches of the willow.
On the opposite side of the oval, she saw a long wooden building with rows of metal-strapped kegs, some stacked high against the wall and others in unhitched wagons. Past them were acres of dormant fruit trees with bare branches, braced for winter. Treeon was famous for its apple cider. She remembered tasting it in Lividica and she could certainly smell it now.
There’ll be rabbits in those fields, Drayco’s thoughts cut through her own. Can you hurry?
They caught up with him at the gate. Most of the valley was obscured from view now, disappearing behind the stand of redwoods and the high arch that framed the massive wrought-iron entrance. Only the peaks of the Prieta Mountains could be seen in the distance.
‘Stick close, Dray. I don’t want bedlam on our first day.’
‘Save it for at least the second or third,’ Clay spoke out of the side of his mouth.
‘Shush.’ She slapped his thigh.
They were met at the entrance by two gatekeepers—a woman and a man, both tall and muscular. They had swords at their sides and were dressed for fighting, in black leathers and body-hugging shirts, with small shields slung across their backs.
‘Halt and present your letters.’ The woman spoke formally, but her smile was sunny and warm. This was a time of peace and little could threaten Treeon in any case.
Rosette dismounted, followed by Clay. Drayco stood between them as they fished in their packs for their invitations.
‘I’m Clay Cassarillo.’ He handed over an envelope bearing the Treeon seal.
‘Rosette de Santo and Drayco of the Dumarkian Woods,’ Rosette said, offering hers.
The woman nodded to them briefly, resting her eyes on Drayco for a moment before turning to Clay. ‘Take the horse to the orchard stables. There’s a stall and paddock reserved for him.’ She pointed towards the smoothly paved road to the left. ‘The stable crew will show you what to do.’
‘If there are any still lingering about,’ the man added. ‘You’d best hurry or they’ll all be at the top field.’
‘Where do I go?’ Clay gazed out into a network of intersecting avenues and buildings, his brow wrinkled.
‘Straight ahead. Make no turns. That’ll take you right to the draught barn.’ The man stretched his long bronzed arm to its full length, pointing the way. His biceps sported a serpent-and-tree tattoo similar to Nell’s, the emblem of Treeon Temple. ‘The welcome gathering is about to start.’
Clay and Rosette didn’t budge.
The woman clapped her hands together. ‘Let’s move! You’ll need to get to the training grounds, Rosette, through the main courtyard, past those low buildings and beyond the dorm-rooms.’ She indicated the way as she spoke.
Rosette and Clay nodded but still didn’t budge. It was like they were rooted to the ground.
‘Go, you two!’ the man urged, smiling. ‘You won’t want to miss the demonstrations.’
Rosette snapped out of her daze and tugged at Clay’s arm. ‘Come on, Clay. I’ll walk you to the stables and we can go together.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s all right. I’ll catch up.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. Give me your backpack.’ He grasped the straps, slipped it off her shoulders and slung it up over the saddle before she could respond. ‘You can pick it up after. No sense lugging it when you don’t have to.’
He gave her a shove in the right direction and led Dozer towards the stables. The animal lifted his head high and crested his neck like a warhorse, ears pricked forward. His white mane flowed in rippling waves over his taut shoulder as he trumpeted a challenge.
Rosette blinked. For a moment, the animal completely transformed. Clay stroked his neck when he started to whinny again, his whole body vibrating with the sound as he started to prance on the spot.
Rosette frowned and looked again. She wondered if she had imagined it, because now his head was drooping, his ears floppy, and his walk languid, back toes dragging over the cobbles as he barely lifted his feet. Clay continued stroking his shoulder, saying something she couldn’t quite catch.
She was puzzled, but turned away to head for the demonstration grounds. ‘Come on, Dray. Let’s go.’
There’re many people here.
‘I know, my lovely. It’ll be all right. Just stick close to me.’
Clay led Dozer to the stables, cursing under his breath. The horse’s head had lifted again as they got closer, his ears tense, nostrils whiffing in the scents. The beast’s languid act was over. When he pulled back on the bridle Dozer broke into a piaffe, an exaggerated slowmotion trot. Clay quickly moved his feet as the hooves thundered down. He couldn’t keep him subdued any longer.
Dozer knew the way. They both did. The hesitation in front of the guards, the drowsy draughthorse routine—it was all a performance. Clay restrained the stallion as best he could, his right arm raised, holding the reins tight against Dozer’s shoulder, pressing his elbow into him for leverage. He had to jog to keep up. The cue to wilt like a worn-out mule was no longer working. The warhorse was too close to home.
Never mind. Clay had accomplished his task. He had Rosette’s confidence and her worldly possessions, all in one pleasant morning’s work. The temple cat seemed quite tame and controllable too. He’d be okay as long as Rosette didn’t suspect anything, and clearly she didn’t. The only problem now was his conscience.
Before he’d met Rosette, it had sounded like an easy task for a hard-up bard—a simple way to make some quick coin. All they’d wanted him to do was meet the girl, gain her trust and get her to hand over her pack. Demons, he’d come close to getting a good romp with her on the side. She might have been keen, if there’d been more time. Unfortunately there hadn’t, and now he wanted to get away. Quickly.
Even if they asked him to stay on, offered him more gold, he would refuse. It surprised him, but he didn’t want to continue deceiving her. She’d given him nothing but kindness and good company, and in return he fed her lies. It made him sick. If they asked, he’d say no, wouldn’t he? He bit his lower lip.
Honestly? I’d grit my teeth and do it.
Clay reined the massive horse back when he surged ahead. ‘Steady, boy. You did well.’
His mind was spinning. He needed the gold, and surely they wouldn’t harm her. That hadn’t seemed their intention. He wasn’t really certain why they wanted her watched, or planned to go through her things. She was a witch of Treeon now. Why would they be suspicious of their own? Of course, Clay wasn’t sure who they were or how many were involved. This morning, when he’d awoken in a clean bed with a spectacular breakfast of fruit, bread, eggs and ham awaiting him, he hadn’t cared. Now that he had met Roset
te, he did.
She had a revitalising effect on him. She made him want to write new songs, travel to new regions, work harder at his craft. He even felt the hankering to train again with the sword and improve his equestrian skills. His left hand twitched at the thought, a familiar ache.
‘You cut that close,’ a man called out, striding towards him from the stables. ‘What took you so long?’
‘We stopped for lunch,’ Clay said, handing over Dozer’s reins. ‘And this beast of yours was slow as winter honey. Quite lethargic, the perfect draught horse until we came within sight of his stall.’
‘Did she notice?’
‘Nah. You’ve trained him well.’
‘I train them all well,’ he said, slapping Dozer’s neck and giving a light tug to his mane.
Sure enough, in the hands of his master, Dozer stopped pulling to get ahead. He walked along, animated but contained. Clay wasn’t going to argue with the man. He seemed to be in command all right. Confident didn’t begin to describe Sword Master Rowan An’ Lawrence. His walk alone portrayed it. He moved like a lion patrolling his turf, a man who knew his destiny and strode out to meet it. He flicked away doubt as easily as a child shoos a fly.
Bared to the waist, his muscles rippled in the light that filtered through the lattice-bordered walkway. He had a shaved head, agate green eyes and smooth bronzed skin. Tattooed serpents entwined up his arms and rested their heads on his broad shoulders. A winged bird of prey tipped with red feathers—the thunder eagle—stood guard at the back of his neck. On his right arm was a thick scar running the length of his biceps. It didn’t seem that old.
‘Did you get her pack?’
Clay nodded, patting the leather bag hanging from the saddle.
The sunlight vanished as they passed under the arch into the deserted horse barn. Everyone was up at the training grounds, or making their way there. Clay sighed, fidgeting with the hem of his threadbare shirt.
They stopped in front of Dozer’s stall and Clay reached to untie Rosette’s pack, dropping it to the ground. He grabbed his own things and faced his employer.
‘I believe my job’s done, Sword Master.’ He’d made his decision. He was out of here.
‘Not quite.’ The Sword Master didn’t look at him as he unsaddled the horse. ‘Did she mention anyone, a Nellion Paree perhaps?’
‘You didn’t tell me to listen for names.’
‘Do you recall it, though?’
‘She said she’d trained with her for the last five years, if that’s what you mean. She told me the story of how she bonded with the temple cat too.’
‘How?’
‘Rescued him as a kitten, lost in the woods.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘What?’
‘Temple cats don’t lose their cubs.’ He stopped, turning to face Clay. ‘What else did she say?’
‘Only that Nell is a phenomenal star-watcher and has taught her the craft. She mentioned something about the bow, gathering Snow Root, and sword practice with an islander. That’s about all.’
‘Did the girl say if Nellion would soon travel?’
‘She spoke only of her past.’
‘Growing up in Lividica?’
‘Sort of. She said she ran away because she didn’t want to be married off.’
An’ Lawrence went back to unbuckling the girth. ‘Did she say why she chose Treeon?’
‘That one’s easy,’ Clay grinned.
‘How so?’
‘She came to train with you.’
An’ Lawrence stopped for a moment before lugging the saddle off. Steam rose from Dozer’s wet back. ‘Thank you, Clay. You did well.’
The bard looked around, unsure of what to say next. Had he been dismissed? He cleared his throat. ‘My payment?’
‘It’s in a bag under your bunk.’
Clay nodded. ‘I’ll be off now.’
The Sword Master reached out to Clay’s arm, stopping the young man in his tracks. ‘We would like you to stay.’
Clay whispered before turning around, ‘Stay?’
They made eye contact for the first time. Clay couldn’t hold the exchange for long and An’ Lawrence went back to grooming the horse, methodically picking up each of Dozer’s dinner plate-sized hooves, checking them for stones. He grabbed a currycomb from a bucket of brushes and started to groom the dappled coat in small, vigorous circles.
‘Yes. Stay.’
Perhaps years of training, or battles and adventures that Clay couldn’t imagine, gave him such authority. Whatever it was, Clay knew he would obey the Sword Master. He couldn’t think how to say, ‘No thank you, I have other plans’.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Keep up the front of apprentice bard. Train for a while—for the winter at least.’ An’ Lawrence paused. ‘It means staying in a comfortable dorm with a warm bed and good company, eating well, playing music, and continuing your friendship with Rosette.’
‘My friendship?’
‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Then stay.’
‘What do I get for it?’
‘You get a sack of gold coins and a safe haven for the winter, not forgetting the food, drink, song and sweet company. What more does a bard seek?’
Clay watched a line of ants marching from the base of an old feed bucket to the middle slat of the gate. Something in the back of his mind told him to get out, and fast, but the Sword Master’s words were like a spell, lulling him into agreement. His other option—to make his way on foot back to the plains of Corsanon where he could sing for his keep in dingy pubs and brothels—had a lot less appeal.
‘All you have to do is build on your relationship with Rosette and report to me when I contact you.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Hopefully, you’ll work with the fourth-year students on composition. You’ve a knack for that, I’ve heard.’
Is there anything you haven’t heard?
It wouldn’t hurt to train with his peers, even though he was already a journeyman. He liked the idea of teaching, and there were tunes floating around the music halls that he’d never heard before. It would be great to expand his repertoire.
‘I don’t have to remind you of the consequences if you should reveal our agreement to the girl, or anyone else, do I?’ The Sword Master’s voice had a deep finality to it, jolting Clay from his musings.
‘No, you don’t.’ Clay looked out through the doorway, taking in the expanse framed like a picture on a wall. The breeze touched his face with the scent of apple pulp and freshly stacked hay. He rubbed his cheek on his shoulder and turned back to An’ Lawrence. ‘When do I start?’
The Sword Master gave a half smile as he unbridled Dozer and flipped open his stall door. The horse nickered, heading straight for the manger filled with oats and alfalfa hay.
‘Right now. Find Rosette and make sure you accompany her back for her things. I want to know if she suspects this pack has been searched.’
‘She wouldn’t, would she?’
‘You don’t know her very well yet, do you?’
‘Do you?’
The Sword Master didn’t answer right away. ‘She’s an initiate of Nellion Paree. Best not underestimate her.’ He started going through the contents of Rosette’s pack. It seemed he was looking for something very specific as he set out each item, one by one. He glanced at Clay. ‘You’d better hurry. I want you to get as close to her as you can. Do you understand?’
Clay hesitated for an imperceptible moment then lifted his head. ‘Sure thing.’ He winked at the Sword Master then dashed out of the barn.
‘Coming through,’ a woman in a dark blue robe called out. She nearly bumped into Rosette as she shouldered past. ‘Oh, geebeeza! What in the underworld is that?’ She didn’t wait for an answer but swerved, giving Drayco a wide berth before breaking into a run.
Rosette felt herself being sucked into a stream of people, all intent on one destinati
on. After years of living with Nell and only the occasional visitor to fill the small cottage with a foreign voice, Rosette felt overwhelmed. As the intensity of Treeon swirled around her, she faltered.
Maudi? What’s wrong? The temple cat seemed unperturbed by the energy of the place.
‘I can’t breathe.’
More robed figures veered past like a river around rocks. Rosette wavered in the middle of the thoroughfare, Drayco at her side. She could hear the gasps and exclamations of those startled by the temple cat and it made her feel even more out of place. Her chest was tight. She couldn’t take a proper breath. Moving out of the traffic, she stopped in front of the plaza’s southern statue.
‘I really can’t breathe,’ she gasped.
Sit. Head down. Look away from the crowd.
Rosette slid to the foot of the statue. It was a huge winged deity, recognisable now. Looking skyward, she identified the head of a falcon, the body of a lion, the wings of a sea eagle and the tail of a snake. It bore many names, most she couldn’t pronounce. Nell called it Werefey, the goddess of transformation who presided over birth and death. Fitting. Rosette felt like she was about to die.
Take a deep breath.
Rosette closed her eyes and drew in as much air as she could, then spilled it out in front of her.
And another. Keep going.
After a few more inhalations, her dizziness settled. She rested her eyes on Drayco, mindful of her breathing, slow and steady, in and out, in and out. When she started to relax, she looked again at Were-fey.
The statue fascinated her. It was carved from a sea-green stone, smooth as glass and cool to the touch. The sculptor portrayed the beast in a contemplative pose, perched on an outcropping of boulders, serpent tail wrapped tight around a lower rock, partly submerged by a placid lake. The raptor eyes, for a moment, seemed to query Rosette, as if it had come to life. When she blinked, the statue looked blank, only a carved rock after all.
Feel better?
‘A bit.’
Too many people?
Rosette sighed. ‘Maybe we should wait for Clay.’
You have to get used to them at some point. Drayco sat, resting his head in her lap. We are meant to be here for a fair while.
