Warrior of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘How far away from the druin-ji do you need to be to get your powers back?’ she asked Polina.

  ‘I didn’t feel anything until the crowd parted. I think if we could get outside the cave, we’d be out of her range. But the ko-venteela would surely come after us. We cannot control so many.’

  ‘It is being strange. Many are being branded,’ said Urbek. ‘They cannot love these druin-ji. Are they being thought-stealers, to control them thusly?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Morvain. ‘I sense nothing controlling the ko-venteela minds.’

  ‘Fear keeps them obedient,’ said Zastra. ‘So let’s show them something more frightening than the druin-ji. Morvain, could you rouse the Mother from her slumbers?’

  Morvain raised an eyebrow. ‘You are suggesting a projection? It’s possible, if we can get far enough away from that woman. But we’d need a line of sight.’

  Zastra looked up at the open top of the cave. She had the beginnings of an idea. But they would need help. And someone would have to be the sacrifice.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ko-venteela filtered into the cave, gathering as they had for the dancing ceremony, only this time their expressions were sombre. As they spread out around the firepit, Zastra looked for Myshka and Xhoyal. The cave was almost full before she saw them circle round the edge of the cave towards them. Myshka’s forearm was wrapped in a bandage. Zastra felt a pang of guilt. The woman had already suffered for their sake, and she was about to ask her to risk the druin-ji’s wrath once more.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Xhoyal, crouching down beside them. ‘We should never have brought you here.’

  ‘Will you help us?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘Willingly, but what can we do? No one has ever escaped the sacrifice.’

  ‘I need you to steal my crossbow. It is with our belongings, behind the druin-ji.’

  ‘You cannot shoot the druin-ji,’ Myshka exclaimed. ‘Our people would cast you all into the pit for such sacrilege.’

  Zastra jerked her head towards the hole in the roof.

  ‘Is there a way to get up there?’

  ‘There is a path outside.’

  ‘Meet us by the entrance and bring a lamp.’

  ‘But you are chained up!’

  ‘Let us worry about that. Please, hurry. And thank you.’

  Myshka and Xhoyal shrank away as the druin-ji approached once more.

  ‘We haven’t much time,’ Zastra whispered to the others. ‘Justyn, you’re in charge. Xhoyal will meet you at the entrance with my crossbow. You know what to do.’

  ‘You can’t think of offering yourself as the sacrifice?’ Justyn protested. ‘If something goes wrong or we are too slow…’

  ‘You have your orders,’ Zastra hissed.

  ‘It is time,’ said the druin-ji. ‘Have you chosen?’

  ‘Take me,’ Hylaz said firmly. Zastra turned her head in shock. He had spoken in Golmeiran, but his meaning was clear enough. He did not resist as the foot-soldiers separated him from Lorzan.

  ‘Hylaz, don’t be a fool,’ Lorzan said, with a frown. ‘You do not owe these Golmeirans any allegiance.’ Hylaz locked eyes with Zastra.

  ‘I have my own orders. Lady Kylen bid me keep you alive. Besides, I have faith that you will save me.’

  Zastra’s head spun as the big Sendoran was dragged away. She had been prepared to act the sacrifice, even die if needs be. After all, she was responsible for the lives of her companions. What was Hylaz trying to prove? She felt her chains slacken. Justyn had used her key to free them both. Hylaz began to struggle and the other foot-soldiers rushed to help their comrades. He’s creating a diversion. Buying us time. Nobody paid them any attention as they circled towards the entrance. Six foot-soldiers eventually managed to pin the giant Sendoran down. They started to secure him to the metal frame. The druin-ji placed the tip of her pilu in the fiery brazier.

  ‘The sacrifice will be marked so the Mother knows from whence he came.’

  Lorzan pulled a lamp from the wall and thrust it into Zastra’s hand.

  ‘I will stay,’ he said. ‘Help Hylaz if I can. He’s a fool, but a brave one.’

  Zastra nodded. ‘Ithgol, stay with Lorzan. If you see a chance to get Hylaz out of here, take it.’

  Xhoyal and Myshka were waiting outside. An anguished bellow from inside the mountain turned Zastra’s blood to ice.

  ‘We haven’t much time,’ she said. ‘Morvain, Pol are you ready?’

  ‘We can but try. The drain on my powers is much less out here. Let us hope we will prevail.’

  ‘You must do better than hope. Hylaz is depending on us.’

  They followed Myshka up a narrow path. A faint orange glow guided them to the opening above the cave. Beneath them, Hylaz was lashed to the iron frame. His shirt was open and a livid brand scarred his left pectoral muscle. Zastra felt a flush of anger as hot as the lava in the firepit. The druin-ji shook her pilu and her foot-soldiers lifted the frame so that Hylaz hung over the edge of the firepit.

  ‘Mother, accept our gift! Forgive us for allowing defilers to enter your lands,’ intoned the druin-ji.

  ‘Now!’ Zastra urged. Morvain linked hands with Polina and the other mindweavers. From the firepit loomed an awful creature. Her eyes were burning cinders, her hair aflame. She dwarfed the ko-venteela, exuding power and dread. Zastra knew it to be only a spectre, conjured up by the mindweavers. Her own mental blocks were in place but the ko-venteela had no such protection. They cowered before the awful vision. Screams of terror rang around the cave. The creature brandished a pilu of fresh forged metal that glowed and hissed. The druin-ji looked around in confusion.

  ‘Laykhina, Laykhina,’ the ko-venteela wailed.

  ‘I see nothing!’ cried the druin-ji. ‘Nobody is here.’ But the ko-venteela did not listen as they knelt before the apparition. Zastra took her crossbow, tied a wad of oil-soaked cloth to the bolt in the chamber and dipped it into the lamp.

  ‘Throw him in!’ the druin-ji screamed, desperate to reassert control. ‘The sacrifice must be made!’

  But the foot-soldiers trembled as the Mother’s enraged face cracked, revealing hot lava beneath her blackened skin. She pointed her flaming pilu at the druin-ji’s chest. Zastra sighted along the line of the spectre’s arm and fired. Her fiery bolt plunged into the druin-ji’s chest, as if launched from the Mother’s pilu.

  ‘Laykhina! Laykhina!’ chanted the ko-venteela. The foot-soldiers joined their countrymen in kneeling before the false vision. Lorzan and Ithgol used the opportunity to free Hylaz from his chains. As they passed by, Ithgol bent over the fallen druin-ji and ripped off her helmet. A pale white face was revealed, eyes open in death.

  ‘Whiteskin!’ cried Padra. ‘She was a whiteskin. The Mother has saved us.’ No one tried to stop Hylaz and the others as they grabbed their packs and made for the entrance.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Zastra. ‘Time for the Mother to go back to bed.’ The creature sank back into the firepit from whence she had come.

  ‘The Mother rose from the fires of Pacifa and killed the druin-ji,’ said Myshka in awe. ‘I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘I hope you now appreciate the value of my services,’ said Morvain smugly.

  ‘It was Gwylla’s imagination,’ Polina remarked. ‘The rest of us merely assisted with the projection.’

  ‘Yet without all our powers—’ Morvain protested.

  ‘I’m grateful to all of you,’ said Zastra. ‘Now, let’s get out of here.’

  Ithgol and the Sendorans were waiting outside the cave.

  ‘Are you all right, Hylaz?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘I’ll live,’ he returned with the hint of a smile. Zastra turned to the ko-venteela.

  ‘Will you come with us?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to see the Dreaming Pools,’ said Myshka. ‘I will gather some things and meet you outside the village.

  ‘I too will come,’ Xhoyal said with a smile. ‘Travelling with you is most in
teresting.’

  ‘That’s one word for it,’ Urbek said with a shudder. ‘I can think of others.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Kylen chewed her lip in annoyance. She had called an emergency council meeting and temporarily evicted all those living in the great hall. Those roused from their sleep had not been happy, but they had eventually departed, muttering and cursing, leaving the hall to Kylen. It was still empty. None of the council had turned up.

  ‘I see now the value of a Sendoran in charge,’ said Beregan sarcastically. ‘Our soldiers get the great honour of breaking rocks whilst everyone else lies abed or finds excuses not to help.’

  Kylen bit back a retort, although she shared Beregan’s frustration. Little progress had been made on the fortress. Yelina, after many delays, had released twenty of her people. When Kylen asked about the rest, Yelina claimed they were ill. Yet this mysterious illness that ravaged only the Far islanders did not prevent their fishing fleet leaving port each morning. Nerika’s Golmeirans were even worse. They were all working hard, but not where Kylen wanted them. Most continued to tend their fields, or work in the iron mine. The smithies were busy, but instead of weapons and pickaxes they were turning out domestic supplies such as buckets and pipes, or hoops for water barrels. None of which would be any use if Thorlberd attacked. It was ironic that only the mindweavers, who she generally distrusted, had done as she had asked. The trainees now had lessons morning and evening and Dobery gave her regular reports on their progress.

  The door at the far end opened and Dobery struggled across the threshold. His robe hung off his shoulder and he leaned on a staff of bent driftwood. He advanced slowly across the wooden floor towards them. Kylen clasped her hands together to hold in her impatience.

  ‘I do not need my skills to sense your mood,’ he remarked.

  ‘I said dawn. We do not have time to waste.’

  ‘Apologies for my tardiness. These days, even dressing is a tortuous undertaking. However, I felt it would be improper to turn up in my nightgown.’

  ‘The others have no such excuse. If Thorlberd finds Uden’s Teeth, he will kill Golmeirans and Far Islanders just has happily as Sendorans. Yet no one does as they are told.’

  ‘It is hard for Golmeirans to obey a Sendoran. The opposite is also true. You should know that.’

  Kylen felt a pang of guilt, repenting every challenge she had made and recalling all the times she had prevaricated or questioned Zastra’s decisions. She was beginning to suspect that Zastra had handed her the leadership as a punishment. What had she said? You’re mistaken if you think it’s a reward.

  ‘Nevertheless, I am their leader. They should do as I command.’

  ‘And yet they do not. Why do you think that is?’ He looked as though he already knew the answer. Kylen bridled.

  ‘They don’t need to like me. They just need to obey.’

  ‘That sounds like something Thorlberd would say.’

  Beregan put her hand on the hilt of her sword.

  ‘People have died for such insults, old man.’

  Dobery raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And you wonder why you aren’t popular.’

  Kylen signalled to Beregan to stand down. Zastra had suggested she talk to Dobery. Although she doubted the usefulness of an old man who could barely dress himself.

  ‘Well, Dobery, what would you advise?’

  ‘It is tough work, breaking stones and building walls, yet you expect everyone to jump to it, simply because you command it.’

  ‘What should I do? Beg?’

  ‘People have different motivations. Some prefer to be asked nicely, others will help only if they see the benefit to themselves.’

  ‘If they can’t see the benefit of being able to defend themselves against Thorlberd—’

  The door opened again and Nerika strode in, all pinched lips and sharp elbows. Yelina followed, her eyes flicking from side to side as if expecting an ambush.

  ‘About time,’ Kylen remarked.

  ‘I do not appreciate being summoned before dawn,’ Nerika returned.

  ‘And I do not appreciate the lack of progress on our fortifications. My soldiers have been turning out piles of rock from the quarry but neither of you have delivered your end of the bargain.’

  ‘I recall no bargain,’ Nerika said tartly. ‘Only you, making demands.’

  ‘We Sendorans cannot do everything.’

  ‘You cannot expect men and women to prioritise your vanity project over building a home for their families. Or feeding them, for that matter.’

  ‘Vanity project?’ Kylen almost choked in disbelief. ‘I have seen what Thorlberd and his Kyrginite armies do to unprotected homes and farms. I won’t let it happen here.’

  ‘How typical of the nobility – always wanting to build more castles. Thorlberd has turned his eyes on Aliterra. He doesn’t have the resources to strike here as well, even if he knew Uden’s Teeth existed.’

  ‘Too many people know about Uden’s Teeth for it to remain secret forever. It only needs one unprotected mind to be scanned by a black raven and the game is up. Why do you refuse to see that?’

  ‘Perhaps we can find a way to encourage everyone to work together?’ Dobery suggested.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ remarked Nerika. ‘Sendorans refuse to work with my people and Far Islanders do barely half the work of others. That’s if you can get them to do anything at all.’

  Yelina swelled up.

  ‘That’s a vile slander. My people are as diligent as any. They just do not recognise this Sendoran’s authority.’ Kylen was suddenly unable to restrain a grin.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’ Dobery asked.

  ‘I think I’ve figured out how to motivate everyone. Seeing as we seem to be unable to work together, maybe it’s time for a bit of friendly competition.’

  Kylen ordered Beregan to gather every Sendoran at the foundations of the fortress. She spread word that there was a prize to be won, for those prepared to earn it. When Golmeirans and Far Islanders saw hordes of Sendorans heading towards the southern landing site, they dropped what they were doing and followed, overcome by curiosity. When everyone was assembled, Kylen addressed the crowd.

  ‘It is said that Golmeirans and Far Islanders cannot build as well or as fast as Sendorans,’ she cried. Her claim was met with cat-calls and whistles.

  ‘Far Islanders couldn’t build a wall if they had mindmovers to help them!’ a Sendoran cried.

  ‘Sendorans are too busy fighting among themselves to build anything,’ protested a Golmeiran woman.

  ‘Let us see who is best,’ cried Kylen. ‘We Sendorans will build the tower, the Golmeirans the left-hand wall, and the Far islanders the wall to the right. Whoever finishes first gets bragging rights as well as the first pick of the new houses on Mendoraz once they are built.’

  She grabbed a chunk of rock and added it to the low wall that was to become the central tower.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Kastara looked at her embroidery square in dismay. The half-finished shape was supposed to be a flower, but instead it looked like someone had sneezed bright strands of silk all over the white linen. Somehow her thread had got itself knotted again. She tugged at her needle to force the knot through the linen rather than having to cut it out and start over, but she only tore a hole in the fabric.

  ‘This is a waste of time!’ she exclaimed, throwing her work down in disgust.

  ‘Iced buns,’ said Podara with a smug grin. The freckly girl was Kastara’s partner for this exercise. It was hardly fair. She was two years older and had much more practice at mindweaving. She was bound to be better at it. Kastara scowled at her. Gildarn came to a stop next to them.

  ‘I take it Podara is correct – your favourite cake is iced buns?’

  Kastara grunted in acknowledgment.

  ‘You must not allow yourself to get frustrated. Emotions are a distraction.’

  ‘C
an’t we at least be doing something useful as a task?’ asked Kastara. ‘Like sword fighting or archery?’

  Gildarn raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You think I should set you loose on deadly weapons when you can’t even control a needle? The point of the exercise is to protect your mind whilst concentrating on something else. Sewing requires skill and concentration. Well done, Podara.’

  Podara’s embroidery was a perfect representation of a butterfly. Gildarn handed Kastara a fresh square of linen.

  ‘Perhaps if the secret you are trying to conceal is something more personal, you might be more motivated,’ he said. ‘Is there anyone in the class that you find good-looking?’

  Kastara flushed to the tips of her ears and snapped up her mental defences. She wasn’t attracted to anybody in the class, but she had developed something of a crush on Torvin, Mata’s eighteen-year old son. It would be too embarrassing if Podara found out. Before Zastra had left, Torvin had often stopped by the cabin, bringing messages from Mata. She could see him now, in her mind’s eye, tanned and bare-chested. He had a shy smile, and Kastara dared to think he liked her, although he had barely spoken three words. Determined to keep her secret, Kastara went on the attack, digging into Podara’s mind. A thick blanket stifled her attempt. She felt Podara’s snake-like probe wriggle through a gap in her mental barriers. She tried to repel it, but too late. Torvin’s toned torso burned the back of her eyelids.

  ‘He’s too old for you,’ Podara said with a pious shake of her head. ‘You should stick to someone your own age.’ She continued to worm deeper into Kastara’s head, eager to unearth more secrets.

  ‘Stop it!’ cried Kastara. A solid ball formed in her chest. It expanded outwards, bursting through her skin and brushing aside everything in its path. The legs of Podara’s stool scraped across the floor, carrying its occupant with it, still clutching her embroidery as her mouth gaped in shock.

  ‘Pani-berry pie!’ Kastara exclaimed in triumph, as Podara’s mental blanket dissolved.