He looked at his feet and took a couple of deep breaths, calming himself. Then he bent and picked up the lantern. “We shall have to go and rescue him.”
She stared at him. Then she walked forward and slid her arms around him.
Still holding the lantern, he put his arms around her and hugged her. “We will find him, do not worry.”
She said nothing, briefly overwhelmed with emotion, mainly with relief that he wanted to rescue their brother, although she could not suppress a shiver of fear at the thought of going back into the heart of the place.
“You can stay here if you wish,” he said, reading her mind.
She shook her head. Her heart pounded, but she said, “No. It is better if we stay together.”
Their minds made up, they moved into the heart of the Incendi caves. Repeatedly they saw the corridors ahead blaze with the presence of fiery elemental forms, but each time Julen pulled them aside into empty cells, warned by the warmth of the pendant he held in his hand.
To Horada – already lost in the vast network of caves – Julen’s turns left and right could have been guesses as far as she knew, and she followed him blindly, holding on to his arm, hoping he wasn’t imagining the way the Arbor led him through the tunnels.
It felt like hours passed, but ultimately they found Orsin quicker than she had expected. Julen pressed her back against the wall of a corridor, gestured to the right and whispered, “He is just down there.”
They waited, and she could see in the light of the flame the way the pulse beat rapidly in his throat. He remained calm, however, showing no signs of the panic she herself felt. He had done this often, she thought, acted in tense situations, and he was used to thinking on his feet. He had led such a different life to her, and she envied him for his freedom and the excitement that he must have experienced in his adventures.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“Some kind of antechamber. He is surrounded by elementals.”
Her heart pounded. “How will we get close to him?”
He clasped the pendant around his neck, closed his eyes and murmured something beneath his breath. She remembered the way he had done the same in the chamber where she had been imprisoned, how light had radiated from him, turning the room to ice. Somehow, he had connected to the Arbor, had forged a link and the holy tree had helped him. Would he do it again?
“Now,” he whispered, and together they stepped into the chamber.
The stone under Horada’s feet vibrated – not like in the grand ceremonial chamber where Julen had rescued her and the barrier between the times had been opened – it was much more subtle than that. It was like a cart rumbling along the ground towards them, and she felt it pass under her, then fan out into the room. She opened her mouth to ask what it was, then saw the sunstone in Julen’s pendant glowing and remembered what he had told her about energy travelling through the Arbor’s roots. Was that what was happening here?
The room was similar to the ceremonial one, slightly smaller but still ringed with a channel of slowly moving magma that swirled into a large central pit. To one side a large chair stood filled with plump cushions and beside it a table stacked with a plate of luxurious food and flasks of ale and wine. In the chair sat Orsin, slightly slumped, and in front of him two young semi-naked women were dancing in a rather lewd manner, Horada still managed to think through the fear.
Around the room, half a dozen elementals stood watching the scene before them. Horada could not make out their faces, but she sensed somehow that the emotion they exuded was disdain.
As she and Julen moved into the room, the elementals saw them and emitted a loud crackling sound. The magma pit stirred, and to Horada’s horror the magma rose, took shape and formed the firebird king, who had obviously been relaxing in the pit as he watched Orsin be tantalised and teased.
Orsin glanced over and sat up hurriedly, food falling from his lap onto the floor. Pyra turned towards them and hissed, breathing a long column of flame that shot in their direction. Julen passed his hand from left to right across his chest in front of the pendant, and the air filled with a glittering dust.
Horada had backed up against the wall and could feel the onset of panic at the realisation that the Incendi king was in the room, but even as a terrified scream rose in her throat, she saw that the elementals and the girls stood like statues, and the stream of flame that emitted from Pyra was moving at a fingernail’s distance at a time. So slowed, then, not stopped.
“What..?” she began, but Julen interrupted her.
“We do not have long.” He strode towards his brother. “What in Arbor’s name do you think you are doing?”
Orsin pushed aside the plate on his lap and stood. “Do not use that tone of voice with me.”
Julen stepped up onto the small dais and faced his brother. Orsin was taller and broader than Julen, but somehow Julen managed to hold his own as he stared up at Orsin with barely held back contempt. “Oh, you think you deserve respect, sitting here indulging your earthly pleasures with our enemies?”
“Your enemies,” Orsin corrected. “Not mine.”
“By the Arbor, you are the biggest coward I have ever met.” Julen stepped closer to him. His eyes filled with menace, and Horada caught her breath. Those eyes had clearly observed death and pain, had been made to watch things other young men of his age were lucky they never got to see. Her hand crept up to cover her mouth. Maybe she should not envy Julen so much after all.
Julen had always had a way of sliding beneath Orsin’s defences to annoy him, and Horada expected her eldest brother to react as he usually did, by exploding with anger, and for the confrontation to quickly turn physical.
Instead, however, Orsin just smiled, which unnerved her far more than anything else could have done.
“Say what you will, little brother.” He pointed at the pendant. “That will not last forever, and then when its magic runs out, Pyra will turn you to flame and reduce your skinny little frame to ash and bone.”
Julen hesitated, and Horada could see their brother’s answer had thrown him. Orsin did not look as if he were under some kind of spell, or as if the Incendi king were controlling him, as she had thought. His eyes were clear, and she had the sudden, horrible notion that all Pyra had done was appeal to the decadent side of Orsin’s nature that craved gluttonous pleasures. That was all it had taken.
Seeing Julen apparently lost for words, she moved forward to stand before them. “Orsin,” she whispered, “please, come with us. I cannot believe Pyra has promised you so much that you will betray us all.”
For the first time, he looked at her, his eyes travelling slowly as if he were reluctant to look at her. His gaze rested on her for a moment, and then dropped. “You should go,” he said, “before the magic wears off and Pyra awakes.”
“You cannot mean to stay.” Her throat tightened and tears pricked her eyes. “Please, Orsin. What would Father say if he knew what you have done? What is Mother going to say?”
His head lifted, and his expression turned to rage. “Father would not give a pig’s spit for what happens to me, and Mother does not care whether I live or die!”
“That is not true,” Horada protested, but he slashed his hand in the air as if he could cut off her words.
“It is true. She despises me. Father despised me – he thought me of little use as an heir and parcelled me off to someone as soon as I was old enough to sit on a horse.”
“Orsin!” She was openly sobbing now.
“Oh, Horada, grow up,” he said impatiently. “I am under no illusion that they didn’t both favour Julen – he is the golden boy, the acorn of Father’s eye. I came to terms with that years ago.”
“This very conversation proves you did not,” she snapped, dashing away her tears.
He glared at them both. “I am of no consequence to them or to anyone else in Anguis. I am worthless and have nothing to offer, according to the rest of the world.”
“That is not true,�
� said Julen at last, but Orsin ignored him.
“Our father may have been the key to helping the Arbor, but I do not have his strength or his goodness. I am like a copper ring tossed in the sea – tarnished with verdigris, unused, unwanted. But Pyra sees something within me that is useful to him. For once, I am needed, I am wanted. So tell me why I should turn my back on him.”
Horada stared at him, appalled. “Because it is wrong.”
“Horada!” Julen snapped, shocking her. “Do not be so damned naïve.” He turned back to Orsin. “Life is what we make it, brother, and we do not need others to tell us our usefulness. It might be true that our parents did not see much of worth in you. It might be true that you have not proved yourself indispensable to others. But it is your task to show us what your strengths are and to prove your worth – that task does not belong to others.”
Orsin studied him, his jaw working. For a brief moment, Horada thought they had reached him. But then his gaze slid to the beautiful dancing girls, to the flagons of ale and the rich pastries, and all emotion disappeared from his eyes.
“Go,” he said. “Before it is too late for you to leave.”
And he turned back to the chair, slumped down in it, picked up a goblet and drained its contents.
Julen stared at him for a moment. Then he turned and marched past Horada back to the doorway, catching her wrist and dragging her with him.
“Wait!” she screamed, resisting and stopping him. “We cannot leave him here!”
“He has made his choice,” Julen snapped. “What do you suggest we do, carry him out?”
“I do not know… the pendant…”
“Has done its work.” In the chamber, the scene flickered, the glittering dust fading. “We have to go,” he said to his sister, his grey eyes like steel. “Are you coming or do I have to put you over my shoulder? Because I will.”
She glanced back once more at Orsin, sitting on the chair, staring mutely at the dancing statues. The scene flickered again, the statues moving briefly. Orsin did not look over at her.
“No. Let us go.” Tears pouring down her face, she followed Julen out. As they ran down the corridor, behind them she heard Pyra bellow.
And she knew her hollowed heart would never be whole again.
II
They walked to Hicton, and there, at night, Demitto stole some horses, promising Tahir he would send money back for them once they arrived at Heartwood.
Tahir didn’t believe him. The emissary didn’t appear to have a conscience. Plus, as the days went by, he seemed to be adopting a reckless profligacy that Tahir, in his youth, found both exciting and disturbing. It could have been due to the thrill of escaping from the Incendi, Tahir thought, or maybe from the knowledge that they were approaching Heartwood and knowing what was to come, but Demitto rode and drank hard, got into fights just because he felt like it, made love to Catena every night and carried within him a wild excitement that began to be infectious.
Tahir felt he’d crossed a bridge and put his fears behind him. He had undergone a terrifying trial, had been captured, starved, beaten and restrained, but he had escaped and gone on to live another day. Even though his death was now imminent, it was the right death, not an accident over which he would have no control. The event that he had been groomed for was looming, and for maybe the first time in his life he saw it as a good thing.
Early in the morning, while they rode and Catena and Demitto talked, and Atavus trotted alongside sniffing at trees and chasing rabbits, Tahir spent his time looking around at the changing countryside. They had left the jungle behind a while after Lornberg, and the land stretched out to his right in a patchwork of fields, hills and forests. He knew from his tutor’s history lessons that, once upon a time, the dominant colour would have been green, with maybe yellow from the growing corn and a deep red-brown from ploughed fields. But now everything was a dull grey-brown, parched and scorched from the growing heat. In spite of the fact that they had only just entered The Stirring, the land was clearly confused by the changing seasons. Although some trees had shed their leaves, many were budding and some even had glossy leaves, although they were not evergreens. Crops sprouted in all stages of growth, growing half the size they would have done several hundred years before, and drooped miserably in the hot and humid weather. As they passed close by to a field of wheat, Tahir could see the blight growing on the new sheaves, cultivated by the hot, damp conditions. The country was suffering, and Demitto had told him that it would not be long before food would start to become scarce and the poor would begin to starve.
They had passed little traffic really from Harlton all the way up to Cherton, the number of carts and horses increasing as they approached towns and then dwindling as they left for the open countryside. Now, the gradual growth of people riding or walking told Tahir that they couldn’t be far from Heartwood. The roadside became peppered with stalls, with merchants selling fruit and vegetables, baked goods and small wares, and offering various entertainments.
The other sign that they must be nearing the great city was the sight of the mountain rising to the left in the distance. Once it had been snow-topped, according to Tahir’s tutor. Now, all snow had vanished and a plume of smoke spiralled from the top. Every now and again, a deep rumble shook the earth, although nobody around them seem to take any notice of it.
Tahir’s heart rate began to increase and his mouth went dry. “How long before we get to the palace?” he asked the emissary, who sat straight in the saddle, eyes alight with an emotion Tahir could not decipher.
Demitto looked at him then. His expression softened. “We will not go straight to the palace,” he said.
“Why?”
“My young prince, as a Selected, your entry to the city demands great pomp and ceremony. Nobody would believe any of us is anything special at the moment! We are going to visit the Nest, that is the Nox Aves’s buildings, have a bath, change into more suitable clothing, rest, and then give you the entrance you deserve.”
Tahir’s pounding heart slowed a little, and he took a few deep breaths. Almost as if his execution had been delayed, he thought wryly. Which was pretty much the case, when he thought about it.
The traffic intensified, and their horses had to weave between the carts filled with loaves of bread, barrels of salted pork and beef, fish from the coast, finely woven cloths, and all manner of merchants carrying their wares into the big city.
At one point, everyone had to move off the road to let pass a huge cavalcade of riders in the midst of which rode what could only be a king, Tahir thought, dressed in a fashionable long overtunic in fine green wool embroidered with gold threads, the circlet on his brow studded with gems that winked in the sunlight. The crowd cheered as he passed. The King barely gave them a second look, his face showing his boredom.
“Who was that?” Tahir asked as the last of his retinue passed and the guards allowed them back onto the road.
“The King of Dorle,” Demitto said. “An ignorant oaf. I do not think his oak tree has many acorns growing on it.”
Tahir giggled at his irreverence, while Catena’s lips curved wryly.
“Demitto,” she scolded. “Honestly.”
He stuck his tongue out at her and they all laughed. A bubble of excitement rose inside Tahir and burst from him in a childhood song. Catena joined in with it and eventually so did Demitto, and when Atavus barked it seemed as if he too, wanted to sing along.
As they neared the city walls, however, the tune faded from Tahir’s lips. The walls rose high and intimidating, built from grey stone from the north. They looked formidable, but to Tahir’s surprise there was no moat or drawbridge and the gates remained wide open.
“It is mainly for show,” Demitto said in response to the look on Tahir’s face. “The King does not truly believe anyone would ever attack Heartwood.”
“But have the Nox Aves not told him about the Incendi threat?” Catena asked incredulously.
“Yes. The King did not believe t
hem.”
They both stared at him in silence.
“Does he know about the Apex?” Tahir asked. “That the Arbor is under threat?”
Demitto shrugged. “The King sees the religious significance of the tree as completely separate to his governance of the city. The Arbor is almost an irritation, although he likes the way it draws visitors to Heartwood.”
“You do not think very highly of him,” Catena remarked.
“I will let you make your own minds up when you meet him,” Demitto said.
Tahir said nothing, his attention drawn by the looming gate and the throng of people. Atavus stayed close to his horse’s legs, skilled at weaving without being kicked. Tahir’s heart raced as they passed beneath the gate into the city proper, and he had a sudden sense of foreboding, his previous burst of happiness dimming like a cloud passing over the sun.
Demitto took the main road into the heart of the city, and Tahir trailed along behind him, silently looking around at the buildings and people. Stalls lined the road filled with every kind of goods he could have imagined, and the noise was deafening, merchants yelling their wares, children screaming, dogs barking, people talking.
Tahir had been often into Harlton, including on market day, but he had never seen anything like this. Harlton had wide, open streets and a huge market place, and the smell of the sea wafted across with the cry of seagulls. Here, the only smell that arose from the rubbish-infested gutters was foul, and it felt as if all his senses were under attack: his ears ringing and his nose stinging from the awful stench.
The buildings towered high on either side, mostly lodgings above shops, the balconies strung with limp washing that dried crisp within minutes from the overbearing heat. Red-faced women poured liquid from buckets over the side of the balconies occasionally, and it seemed pot luck as to whether a person would get hit below.
Ahead, the road widened out into the main market place, and further on from that Tahir could see the spires and battlements of the palace rearing above the houses on higher ground, but Demitto turned off on a road to the left, leaving the raucous bustle behind and heading down the narrower street.
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