Tanalee was stood on the battlements long before dawn. She watched as the first fingers of light clawed into the blackness. Over on the beaches innumerable fires burnt where the Veldt had been camped these last days and had celebrated all night long.
Down within the fortress people milled about waiting nervously, not wanting to go, not wanting to stay. She saw Kalain, the colours of his uniform standing out against the plain clothes of the remaining civilians. He was embracing a young woman: she carried an infant in her arm. Tanalee could not see her face, but she knew the girl's heart was broken. She turned away; she could not look anymore at what all this had come to. Grief, pain, hurt, they had wanted none, but had more than they could bear.
She stared out to the shoreline; over the hills, across the lands she loved and had lost. “Why have you done this to us,” she wept. “Why did you turn your love away?” She would never know, not unless she was prepared to submit to his will; but she could not do that, too much of her fathers blood flowed in her veins. Too long had the lands of Loc-Sie rang with freedom to be chained; as now they would be.
The great gates of the city were swinging open. She saw the orderly surge of people as they left the safety of the walls to uncertain and unknown futures; but they would live.
She caught sight of the young girl; bundle in her arms, her head bowed, nestled against an older man, his right arm around her shoulder, his left held the hand of a young boy.
Tanalee looked back down into the courtyard. Kalain stood with the others of the guard. She wished she had commanded that he go, rather than given him and the others release from their oaths. They were free to leave the fortress as civilians, but to a man, had refused.
A tear came to the corner of her eye as she remembered what Kalain had said. ‘My Lady a soldier knows that one day he may be separated from the ones that he comes to love; and though you have released me from my oath and given me leave to be with them, I have another, almost greater love; Loc-Sie. Its soil is ingrained into each crease of my flesh, it has nurtured each mouthful I have eaten, and has been swallowed in every sip of water I have taken from its rivers. Its trees have shaded me from the sun and kept me warm in cold winters. I became a man on its soft grass, and its flowers decked the alter of my wedding…’ His voice had faded momentarily. ‘If I now walk away from the one, what then is the other worth; other than I shall end my days a shadow of the man my love betrothed. I cannot do that to her, my son, or myself. I beg your forgiveness my Lady, but no one person, not even a princess can release me from the love that I feel for them, or the love I have for Loc-Sie.’
Down below he was putting on his light battle armour of the kind used for hand-to-hand combat. There were about seventy men with him, all proudly wore their finest equipment. They looked more as if they were about to go on parade than wage war. They were joking and laughing between themselves, but she knew enough about men to know it was mostly bravado. Outside there were hundreds of Veldt, probably far more than she could see. Tanalee knew, as the men below did, that they had no chance at all.
She hoped she could meet her last moments in the spirit they faced theirs. For an instant she regretted that she was not a man like Kalain. He would pass from this world to the next with his sword in his hand, with men he bonded with about him. She was a Royal born daughter and for that she would be alone. But she had done something none of those brave men could do; she had already sown the seed of rebirth. It was gone; it was safe; the Royal House of Loc-Sie would be like the swamp lily. It would disappear under the dark water, deep into the mud and slime that would sweep over the lands; but one day, when a new sun shone, when a new summer sprang from the winter that now closed upon them, that seed would break out and thrust its head high. The bud would bloom, the flower would open and the sweet smell of freedom would spread over the land. One day; a day that she would never see, but her... Her mind came back to the scene below. There was shouting in the courtyard. She looked down. The guard were rowdily toasting each other's courage and friendship. The time was close.
She looked out again towards the spit. The last of the bedraggled citizens of Tanyil were passing the forming ranks of Veldt where the Kaar-Khankcks men were hurrying them past into the darkness of the tree line.
There amongst them was the young girl: Kalian’s bride. She was stood next to her father and the boy, and was looking back longingly. In her arms was the baby. “The future is now yours”, whispered Tanalee. “Guard my secret. Nurture; teach; love for me…” For a moment she thought their eyes caught, but it was too far to be sure; then the girl was gone.
All was quiet now. The civilians were clear of the beach and in the forest. Kaar-Khankck had kept his word, though his conditions had not been entirely met. The gates to the fortress were still open, and would remain open, but it would not be surrendered.
Now the Veldt became restless on the beach, it was becoming clear to them that no more would come out, and they began to reluctantly form into a battle line. There was confusion; due to the width of the spit, the ranks were restricted, and it appeared there was some considerable argument over who should occupy these first; the most exposed and dangerous positions. Their officers ran about shouting, and using the short whips they carried. With threats and coercion they began to come forward
They were quiet at first, but by midway they had raised some enthusiasm, though that fell away at the front as they approached the gates and were reduced down to eight abreast. But by then the sheer weight of men behind pushed the leaders reluctantly forward.
The soldiers of Loc-Sie had started up a chant. They were banging their shields with the handles of their swords and calling out in unison. “Loc-Sie, Loc-Sie, Loc-Sie...”
The threatening mantra reached the ears of the Veldt and there was ripple of hesitation before they came through the gateway in a rush. Screaming and shouting: their short stabbing swords waving in the air.
The guard remained almost unconcerned; almost at ease, until their enemy entered the courtyard. Here the advance and room to swing a sword was restricted even more and the guard fell upon them. At the first strike of sword the dieing began and it was clear that the Veldt had little stomach for the fight. Immediately the first row fell; then the second. The guard were slashing and cutting their way into the third, climbing over the fallen bodies to get to a new victim. The Veldt were fighting back wildly now; it was either that or death.
Tanalee watched in morbid fascination. She had seen soldiers fight before but this seemed different. This was not a battle this was a maniacal slaughter, as if each man needed to claim as many other lives as he could. She knew as they did, that their only chance was to drive the Veldt back out of the castle. But it could not last, and within minutes the tide had turned and sheer number instead drove the guard back into the courtyard.
It was bloody and violent; and Tanalee felt sick at the carnage: not only for her own men, but also for the Veldt. There would be mothers, daughters, and wives of all races who would grieve and mourn tonight. It was all such a waste, but she was still a princess of Loc-Sie, and no matter how sickened she felt; these men were dying because of her. She would be with them until the end.
The end was not long in coming. Within ten minutes of the assault on the gate, the final pockets of resistance had collected around the steps up to the battlements. There the final guard, one by one fell.
Tanalee took up the ornate box and opened it. From the felt cushion she took up the dagger. It had always been a fond possession: its handle bejeweled and cast in precious white metal. Many times she had taken it out before and wondered at the ancient craftsman who had sculptured such a beautiful thing. Never before had she realized it would be with this... They were well up the stair now. The Veldt could see her, but they would never take her.
Kalain was emerging from the top of the steps. He called out over his shoulder to her in a fatigued breath. “My Lady; I can hold them only little longer.”
“I am ready...” Strangely she was;
like her soldiers she was prepared to face whatever was to come. “Thank you Kalain, I could have asked for none better to see me through these last days.”
“It has been an honor to serve...” He called back, his voice becoming more strained as his sword flashed forward into the shoulder of a Veldt. Then as he withdrew the blade from the man’s body. “And it will be… a privilege… to die for Loc Sie… my lady.”
Tanalee put down the box and climbed onto the parapet. She looked out across the water towards the rainforest-covered lands and towards the Kaar-Khankcks camp. “Whatever is to happen to these mortal remains I shall never stop loving you,” she wept. “After all you have done, there would have been no other; but the price of Loc-Sie is not mine to give.” She looked down at the blade in her hand. It glinted in the rays of the rising sun, as she clasped it in her left fist. She lifted the point to her breast, above her heart, and put her right palm over her other hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kalain stumble to his knee. Several Veldt had got past him, and were running to her.
“For the past, and for the future; for there is no present.” She cried out as she drew the sharp point into her chest. Immediately she felt it penetrate to her heart. The muscle convulsed and collapsed as her lifeblood spurted out of the wound in a growing stain over the front of her silk dress. She felt her world grow quickly dark; her legs gave way, and she stumbled forward. Grubby fingers grasped at the flowing white gown as it streamed out behind.
Many eyes saw her fall into the crashing surf, at the base of the fortress walls, and when it ebbed away she was gone.
The reign of the Protector had begun.
Ellk was no larger: nor smaller than the eighty or so other villages that dotted the valleys of the Western tablelands. Indeed it was quite unremarkable in almost any way, other than this is where Lipst had brought his family, or what remained of it after the purges.
There had been hardship; it was the way of life, but the passing years had still been kind to them, and they had prospered due to how the old man turned his passed down skills in weapon making, to creating kitchen utensils.
He learned, as many had before him, that one adapts, and as a proclamation restricting weapons was strictly enforced, he could not teach his grandson the arts of warrior’s swordplay, but the boy had developed a remarkably well-practiced arm with a pointed stick.
The years had passed and Illian was nineteen now, and an imitation wooden sword had long paled into insignificance against the girls of the village. ‘So be it’, the old man would sigh, and think that if only the boy was more like Harriet, his four years younger sibling.
The female child had always been different, and seemed to have little in common with other girls of her age; who thought her bossy and unladylike. It was only partly true what they said; bossy could also be seen as strong willed, and her idea of a woman’s position was far from the submissive norm. In fact in many ways she was more like a boy; but boys too rejected her; after all no youths wanted a girl to fence in their mock battles, especially one who could beat them in a fair contest. Feeling belittled some resorted to brute strength with slashing blows that made fencing skill irrelevant; they had won, but bloodied and bruised she had refused them an easy victory.
It hurt Lipst to see her harmed, he didn’t particularly want her playing boy’s rough games, but determined to prove herself she wouldn’t stop. Reluctantly he settled on the idea of making her a longbow: bar a sheath knife it was the only weapon a commoner could own, and then it was restricted to hunting.
He had wandered to the edge of the forest thinking only of the selfish reason of pacifying the child, but once he began searching for a sapling that would suffice, generations of skill seemed to flow back into his fingers. If he was going to do a job then he should do it as it should be done. Searching his memory he had wandered deeper into the thickest undergrowth. Every bow in the village was made from arc wood, so called for its suppleness; eventually he found a superb piece, but instead of being satisfied at his find, he went deeper still until he found the ideal piece of bean, and yet deeper to secure one of bloodwood. Timbers that his distant memory demanded he use.
When he returned he had been gone almost a day and he spent the next two paring down and laminating. Arc as the core: Bean on one face, bloodwood to the other. It was a conspicuous and potent mix, the deep red of the bloodwood, the white of the arc and the almost black of the bean. It gave the bow a unique look and together they combined tension and compression into suppleness, strength and spring.
From the first day she had found the heart of the target, and before she turned thirteen she had become a valued member of the small hunting parties that supplemented the produce of the home fields. Though to the annoyance of her fellow hunters she adamantly refused to kill any other creature once the communal larder was restocked.
It was on one these trips she had come to know Tabot, son of the smithy. It pleased Lipst that one day their two shops could become one. He paused for a moment to look out of the open front of his workshop. They: brother and sister were walking down to the village green; it was the custom in the evening for all the young folk to gather there. He went back to his work contentedly.
It was long before dawn when there was a soft but firm banging at the shuttered window. It partly roused Harriet from her slumber, and in the half-world between waking and sleep she could hear the outside door opening, and then muffled voices. She drifted off again until she heard the voices once more, this time closer by: in Illian’s room. She could hear the boy arguing with their father. Quickly she got out of bed and pulled a wrap around her.
Grandfather, their mother and Pillers: Tabot's father, were stood just inside Illian’s bedroom. “What's happening mother?” she said sleepily.
“Go back to bed child.” The woman said in distress, her eyes full of tears.
“What's happening?” Harriet insisted.
“Illian is going away,” said the woman, her voice on the verge of breaking.
“Away. Why?”
“All the boys are going.”
Shock cut through Harriet’s drowsiness. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
“All the boy's. Tabot, is he going?”
Her grandfather put his arm around her shoulder. “Come Harriet, Tabot is outside with the others.” He led her away through the kitchen
“Grandfather what is happening. Why are the boys going away?” She said in fear and bewilderment.
“Word has come that the Veldt are searching the villages. They are seeking a young man. It will be wise for Illian and Tabot to wait in the hills until they have gone.”
“Why, what have they done?”
“Nothing.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“The Veldt do not know who they are looking for. So they spread a wide net and take all the boys. They believe the one they seek will be among them.”
Her voice was wavering, and she had begun to cry. “That’s stupid.”
“It is.” agreed the old man sadly. “But we must do what is necessary to protect the them. Come you have a little time to say goodbye to Tabot. Then come walk with me. I want to see the sun rise over the deserts.”
“I want to stay here with them.” She sobbed.
“Will you deny an old man his request?” He looked into her eyes, and saw the firmness dissolve. “Quickly now: go see Tabot.”
The young girl went outside passing her mother as she began to rekindle the fire that smoldered in the kitchen grate. There would be no more sleep tonight.
The boy's left with Pillers. Hurriedly walking off into the darkness. Harriet wanted to stay and comfort her mother, but her grandfather insisted that they leave the house. “There are too many tears here child”. He said. “No one can comfort your mother. We must meet the sun's rising and pray for their safe return”.
Harriet could not leave the tears behind. Her brother and her future husband seemed to be walking out of her life
too.
It was still dark, but the path to Tiennea hill was well known by them both. Normally the stroll would have been an opportunity for constant chatter, but this morning they were silent all of the way. Harriet didn't want to talk and her grandfather refused to elaborate when she had tried, saying only. “I will tell you when the time is right”.
The pathway wound gently around the hill, rather than straight up, as many of the old folk came to its summit for solace. So it was that they mounted the crest by way of the rear. As the came over the top they turned away from blackness of night, and faced towards its melting. Before them, dotted randomly in the semi darkness were tiny flickering glows.
“What are they Grandpa? Are they bonfires? Are they some signal?”
“I don't know child.” he lied.
They were rugged against it, but it seemed that it got colder as dawn finally broke into day, but still he refused to go, insisting the time was not right.
In the first true rays of light, Harriet at last made the connection. The glow of fire was not random over the landscape. Each glow marked the position of one or another village and as it grew lighter her fears proved right. The glow dimmed, but clouds of thick black, or brown smoke billowed from village after village.
“Please grandpa. We must go back”, she sobbed, begging him to return to Ellk. But still he refused, and when she said she would go alone, he grabbed her wrist holding her more tightly than he had ever before. “You’re hurting me Grandpa”, she wept, more in frustration than in pain. He said nothing, but tears flowed over his cheeks.
It was shortly after dawn that smoke sprang up from Ellk. Harriet watched in horror as it spread through the buildings. In fifteen minutes it was over and a band of mounted Veldt could be seen streaming out in the direction of the adjacent hamlet. Silit was quietly awaking from the night, and waiting its turn.
Only then did the old man allow her to drag him back. She left him at the outskirts, running alone deep into the almost deserted village.
When he finally arrived at their dwelling, or the smoking ruin that remained of it. Harriet was inside sadly searching through the rooms.
He could see her shoes smoking from the heat, though she seemed not to notice. He stood watching her, his own heart broken, unable to move or speak.
A woman came up behind him. “Lipst.” she said softly. “She has been taken to the temple.”
They hurriedly made their way to the only building that still seemed intact.
Most of the village people had congregated here. Some to pray, some to help, either way many were moving dejectedly in and out. Inside stretchers had been improvised by bridging the gaps between the pews with timber planks, and boards torn from ruined houses.
In the first group, towards the door, people congregated tending to the wounds or needs of the injured. Deeper inside the building, close to the altar other stretchers bore the shapes of people. None were being tendered to, other than by the priest.
Harriet desperately went from one bloody or burnt victim another until she had seen all in the first group. Then she looked down the temple: then at her grandfather. He went to her and put his hand on her shoulder pulling her close, but she tore away and almost ran down the aisle to the second group. After looking at three prone figures, she fell to the ground alongside the fourth. Lipst did not want to see what she had found.
Harriet mourned for only a brief time. Then she rose, saying nothing to Lipst before she threw herself in aiding the injured.
It was dark again when two other village women brought her exhausted, back to his side. One of the women Dora, Lipst’s lifelong friend sat with her, her arms circling the girl.
Harriet had not rested or ate since the evening mean the night before. She sat silently, her head bowed. “You knew”. She said, quietly and firmly, but without looking up.
Dora looked despondently at Lipst. He looked back expressionless.
“I'm sorry”, his voice choked on the words.
“Sorry... Is that it?” Harriet snapped.
The words hurt him more than he could ever have believed. He wanted to say that, that was not just your mother lying there; it was my child, my daughter. He wanted to say that his loss was as great as hers, but he did not. She had to purge her mind of the feeling of helplessness that she felt. She needed to hate somebody, and if she was to hate anyone, then it should be one who loved her enough to forgive and understand.
Now she raised her head. “You knew. Didn't you?” She said again, a little louder and more accusingly.
“I did not know that this...”
“I could have helped. I should have been here; when I was needed…” She broke down sobbing, and Dora held the shaking child closer to her breast and looked pitifully at him.
Lipst sat there, until Harriet’s weeping eased and she composed herself. She stood, breaking abruptly away from the woman and walked back to the temple, saying not a word.
Dora made room for Lipst, while Harriet stayed with another woman in the days after, and as they prepared for the burials.
Lipst desperately needed the child with him, but she had cut him from her life. He looked upon these as his darkest days, especially when some of the boys returned, but not Illian and Tabot. There were rumours of more purges, and both had gone far into the mountains to join the rebels.
Stood at the graveside as they scattered earth together, at last the girl’s grief broke and she fell at Lipst’s feet. He quickly knelt beside her, and together on the soft grass they wept at what they had lost, and for what they had regained.
They left Ellk. Nothing remained for them except bad memories. Harriet wanted to seek out Illian and Tabot, but had no idea where they had gone, so they set out for a new land and a new life.
More Quone-Loc-Sie, and other novels and stories by John Stevenson can be found by visiting
www.caelin-day.com
www.Australianstoryteller.com
www.Australianstorywriter.com
Harriet – The End of Peace Page 2
