The Cry of the Marwing

by Unknown

  Kira brushed past him, slid through the gap and set off towards the Drinkwater, glumly contemplating that she’d probably alienated Kest now. She certainly hadn’t intended to; all she wanted was to be free for a moment from the demands and expectations of others. In fact, all she wanted was sleep, and the Kashclan longhouse was too far away.

  Turning south-east, she forced her way through shelterbushes and sour-ripe vines until her aching legs brought her to a terra-wood, then she hauled herself up – dismayed at how clumsy she felt – fastened her sleeping-sling to the branches and clambered in. It was the first time she’d used the sling without Tresen or Kandor, but she didn’t feel alone, the leaves whispering around her comfortingly. Not as lovely as ashaels, she thought vaguely, as the deliciousness of sleep stole over her.

  Some time, Kira had told Tenerini, but she’d been gone for six days and Miken found it hard to do anything other than loiter in the cooking place and wait for her return. But when someone finally did emerge from the trees, it was Tresen. Miken went to the door to welcome his son.

  ‘Is there something amiss?’ asked Tresen, regarding Miken closely.

  ‘I don’t think so. Kira went to the Warens and I thought she’d be back by now. Is she at the Bough?’

  ‘No,’ said Tresen, easing himself onto a nearby seat. ‘That’s why I came here. I haven’t had a chance to speak with her at all. It’s not possible that she might have lost her way in the tunnels, is it?’

  ‘Kira knows the Warens well,’ said Miken, settling beside his son. ‘She’s probably reacquainting herself with the forest. She’s been away from it for a long time.’ He managed a smile. ‘And how’s my beautiful bond-daughter? No more sickness?’

  ‘No, not for the last moon. She’s very well now, and just about settled. I think she would be totally settled, if only her brother would trouble himself to visit.’

  ‘I don’t know much about him at all. What sort of man is Tierken?’ asked Miken.

  ‘One used to having his own way.’

  ‘Do you think that’s why Kira left him?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask her that,’ said Tresen.

  ‘You must have some thoughts,’ persisted Miken.

  Tresen winced as he raised his arm to pour himself a cup of honeyed water, the pain in his wounded back never far away. ‘Laryia believes it’s because Kira never truly loved him, but I think it’s the reverse,’ he said, gulping the liquid down. ‘Kira bonded with him despite having to wait for him to deign to acknowledge us as kin, and he also took a long time to accept healing into Sarnia. She learned to be patient – a big task for Kira. But all things have a limit. On one thing she wouldn’t buckle, and for that he wouldn’t forgive her.’

  ‘Marriage?’ asked Miken.

  ‘Yes. Laryia doesn’t understand why, but then Laryia never knew Maxen – thank the ’green.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Have you confirmed the timing of the Clancouncil with the Clanleaders?’ asked Tresen. ‘Or will the feathergrass tuber harvest delay it until after the full moon?’

  ‘I wanted to give Kira time to get used to being back,’ admitted Miken.

  ‘And has she? Or are you anxious about something else?’

  ‘Did Laryia tell you that Kira healed a sick Shargh child on the way here?’

  ‘No,’ said Tresen, frowning. ‘She said only that Kira and the Lord Caledon had seen Shargh close to the forest.’ Tresen searched his father’s face. ‘You’re worried that Kira will take it into her head to go and heal other Shargh, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In fact, you fear she’s gone now!’ he exclaimed in alarm, scrambling up. ‘Is she using my old room?’ he asked, already halfway to the passage.

  ‘Yes, but there’s no need –’ said Miken, hastening after him.

  Tresen flung open the door and strode in. ‘No pack, but plenty of herbs,’ he said, staring up at the drying bunches. ‘It seems Kira’s been busy making her own Herbery, rather than relying on the Bough’s.’

  ‘Annin, cindra, blacknuts, winterbloom,’ listed Miken. ‘I wonder why –’

  There was a sound behind him and Miken turned to see Kira hesitating in the doorway.

  ‘Excellent timing, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ said Tresen. ‘Now you can explain in person why you intend to betray everything the Tremen have suffered and died for.’

  47

  Kira slipped off her pack, thoughts whirring.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Tresen.

  ‘I’m not intending to betray the Tremen,’ said Kira, more calmly than she felt.

  ‘But you are intending to go off to the Shargh to tend their sick?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tresen and Miken stared at her in horror.

  ‘Are you mad?’ demanded Tresen. ‘They’ll use you against us, and the Tain, and the Terak. Tierken will bend his knee to them rather than see you die. Is that what you seek? Some sort of revenge against the arrogant northern Feailner?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘What is it that you seek?’ asked Miken.

  ‘An end to the fighting.’

  ‘It’s already ended,’ broke in Tresen. ‘All you’ll do is turn victory into defeat!’

  Miken raised his hand. ‘Peace, Tresen,’ he said.

  ‘Peace?’ stormed Tresen. ‘There’ll be no peace, just more bloodshed.’ He wrenched off his shirt and swung round. ‘Does this mean nothing to you?’

  Miken gasped, not having seen the shocking wound to his son’s back before.

  ‘I went into death to bring you back,’ whispered Kira.

  ‘Yes, and that’s where you want to go again, isn’t it?’ said Tresen. ‘This is about joining Kandor, not about healing. But I’ll not have my suffering cast aside, nor risk Laryia and our babe, because you lack the courage to live on without Kandor.’

  Kira shook her head, and Tresen’s voice hardened again.

  ‘He’s dead, Kira, and if you go to the Shargh, he would have died for nothing. You might as well go to Wessogren and spit on its roots!’

  ‘Tresen!’ exclaimed Miken.

  ‘Kira’s ill, father, mind-sick, not thinking like someone hale. For her own sake, and ours, she must be kept here until she’s well.’

  ‘You sound just like Maxen,’ said Kira bitterly. ‘And if you lock me up you’ll risk the Tremen exactly as he did.’

  ‘You talk nonsense,’ said Tresen contemptuously.

  ‘The only reason I live now, and others do, is because your father, Marren and Kest defied Maxen – their Leader – by sending armed men to Turning,’ said Kira. ‘And even if half the Tremen believe I’m mind-sick, the other half will believe it’s a ploy by you to hold onto your position in the Bough. Would-be Tremen Leader Tresen has got comfortable with his new status, and then, inconveniently, the actual Leader turns up. The schism would be as bitter as that of the Sundering.’

  ‘Then we’ll let the Clancouncil decide whether your going to the Shargh is a good idea,’ said Tresen. ‘But I want your pledge that you won’t go before then.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought the pledge of a mind-sick person would be trustworthy,’ said Kira.

  ‘Pledge me, Kira,’ insisted Tresen.

  ‘I pledge not to flee through the trees to the Shargh before the Clancouncil,’ returned Kira sarcastically.

  Tresen’s eyes bored into hers, then he strode from the room, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

  ‘Tresen carries a lot of pain,’ muttered Kira.

  ‘So do you.’

  Kira contemplated the man whose love had sustained her through the misery of her childhood. ‘Do you think I’m mind-sick, Miken?’

  ‘I’d like you to share your thoughts with me,’ he said, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside him.

  Kira came to him and his warm hand closed over hers. ‘Tell me everything,’ he said.

  Despite being weary, Kira didn’t take to her bed after Miken had gone. Her ti
me spent in discussion with him, and her confrontation with Tresen, had served to crystallise her belief that if she hid in Allogrenia, the fighting would simply return. She spent the rest of the night in preparation and left a little after dawn, her pack full of herbs, nuts and everest leaves sewn into the neck of her shirt. If her hands were bound, she could duck her chin and extract one with her teeth.

  She’d even practised the technique, laughing in horror at what she intended. The Shargh would be fools not to use her against their enemies – before they killed her. Everest would allow her to thwart their plans, and give her a death as pleasant as dozing in the ashaels. It would be like drifting off to sleep, she reassured herself.

  Tenerini had appeared just as Kira was setting out, and Kira had led her to believe that she was going to Morclan to visit Caledon, hinting even that she intended to bond with him.

  There’s a place for you in the Kashclan longhouse, but if you choose to go with the Lord Caledon, that place will live on in our hearts, Tenerini had said, and the memory of her tender words shamed Kira every time she recalled them.

  She stared about as she walked, greedy to gather up every small sight, sound and scent to carry away with her. The dew-beaded web of a stickspider, the translucent wings of a moon moth, the bright tang of silvermint in the air. The forest had never been more beautiful.

  ‘I’m doing this for you,’ she breathed. ‘So that blood won’t stain your earth, so that babes won’t grow without their fathers, so that nights won’t be filled with fear.’

  Even so, repugnance at what she intended dragged at her steps. All she could do was cling to the memory of a springleslip chick she’d once seen hatch. A hole the size of a thorn prick had appeared as the hatchling had pecked, rested and pecked again, until finally the shell had given way, leaving the chick free. If she could just make the tiniest chink in the shell of hatred, then someone, some day, might enlarge it.

  There would never be love between the Shargh and those they’d warred with – but treaty, honour and perhaps, in seasons to come, respect, would keep the spears and swords from each other’s breasts.

  The thing she most feared was that Tierken would wreak bloody revenge, seeing the death of the Tremen Feailner as an attack on the Terak Feailner. And all she could do – in her capacity as Tremen Feailner – was forbid it, and hope Tresen’s revulsion for bloodshed would somehow uphold the prohibition.

  To make her intent clear, Kira had written a short message to Kest, as she must, as the departing Leader. And as Kest wasn’t due back at the Warens till after she’d be well gone, he’d be unable to stop her. In the message she’d told Kest that if she hadn’t returned by the next full moon after this, her death was to be assumed, and that she forbade any response to it other than the appointment of a new Leader. Kira had written little else to explain or justify her actions, knowing that Miken could at least do the former.

  Tell me everything, he’d said, and she had, confessing things she’d never admitted to herself, not even in her darkest, loneliest moments. The telling of it was a final act of weakness – an attempt to justify the treacherous path she’d chosen. And in return, Miken had gifted her with the strength of his sheltering arms, and the non-judgemental silence of his unconditional love.

  As Kira walked, she began to wonder why she bothered to go north-west instead of directly to the Warens or, indeed, straight north-east to the Shargh lands. Her reasoning had been that if she were seen, she’d be heading towards Morclan, not fleeing through the trees to the Shargh. In reality, she would be fleeing to them through the Warens. But these were just new lies resting as light as stickspider webs on older, graver ones – that I choose Tierken as bondmate and Shelter, until leaf-fall and branch-fall shall end all my days.

  It was night by the time she came to where the Drink-water bubbled through Morclan Octad, and she tossed down her pack and filled her waterskin. Then, as there were no terrawoods nearby, she set her sling in an ancient castella, sleeping solidly, before rising in the predawn darkness to continue her trek, reaching the Warens mid-morning. The training rooms were empty, so she went on to the first storage cavern. The Protectors were busy here stacking the excess harvests of brown, black and bitternuts.

  Kira paused in the entranceway, remembering how the storing and ordering of food had been the Protectors’ main activity under Sarkash’s command, before the coming of the Shargh.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon?’ asked a tall, fair Protector, eerily like Kest. He even used the same long-winded title Kest insisted on.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Protector Leader Lis,’ he said with a bow.

  Of Morclan, Kira added silently, but said aloud, ‘I understand Protector Commander Kest isn’t in the Warens at present.’

  ‘That is correct, Tremen Leader. The Commander is at our – the Morclan longhouse, but will be here near the full moon. Do you wish me to send message to him?’

  ‘The matter isn’t urgent, Protector Leader,’ said Kira, slipping out her missive and folding it once more. ‘It’s just a routine concern about Allogrenia’s administration the Protector Commander needs to be aware of. Kindly ensure this is passed on to him on his return,’ said Kira.

  ‘By all means,’ said Lis, placing it in his pocket.

  Kira nodded and he bowed again, and then she went on down the tunnel, hastening her footsteps as soon as she’d left the early caverns behind. But she was forced to slow again once the lamps had finished, and to think more carefully of the way. She reached the Storage Cavern and groped around until she found the lamp she’d left there, and after numerous attempts and much cursing, managed to light it.

  Topping up the lamp oil, and reluctantly dismissing the idea of a rest, she set off once more, occupying herself with memories of the previous journey she’d made with Kest. There were two openings into Kenclan and she’d exited through the first, but it had taken a long time to reach it – and the map hadn’t been accurate, she recalled apprehensively, wondering whether the present one was.

  After what seemed like days, she saw that the tunnel twinned. Setting down the lamp, Kira checked the map she carried, finding the junction marked a short way before the first fissure. Offering up thanks for Kest’s thoroughness in correcting the earlier version of the map, she went on. Then, blessedly, the lamplight picked up the ending of the tunnel. Kira stopped and stared at it, dismayed to recall only now that the opening to the forest outside was set high off the ground.

  When she’d come here before with Kest, she’d used his linked hands as a step to reach the fissure. But she was alone now, and too weary to find another way out.

  48

  Caledon watched the drift of leaves to the surface of the Drink-water, their autumnal colours reminding him just how long he’d been gone from Talliel. Yet as he looked about him at the pockets of sunlight and shadow, and at the light dimming to emerald as the boles stretched away on every side, he realised that he could be happy under the trees. Given how different the forest was to the openness of Talliel, the revelation was both surprising and comforting, for it meant that if Kira chose to stay, he could make a life with her here.

  Kest had offered to take Caledon to some of his favourite haunts and Caledon had enjoyed the last few days in the Protector Commander’s company, rambling through the forest.

  ‘All Tremen carted their water from here originally,’ said Kest beside him. ‘And a long and tedious process it was, until the longhouse roofs grew large enough to collect sufficient quantities of water. Even so, we prefer the taste of the Drinkwater to our water barrels. Taste it for yourself, Caledon.’

  Caledon crouched down and scooped a handful to his mouth. ‘It tastes of . . . ?’

  ‘Cinna,’ supplied Kest. ‘Given that it flows through many herbs, no one knows why it carries the taste of cinna in particular.’

  ‘There’s a river in the north called the Breshlin that tastes of trees common to the Silvercade Mou
ntains where the river has its birth.’

  ‘Your tales make me curious to see such places,’ said Kest, as they wandered on.

  ‘With the rejoining of your peoples, and the opening of Sarnia to you, you may well do so,’ said Caledon.

  ‘I might indeed,’ said Kest, thinking not of journeying but of the complexities of the unification.

  The Terak patrols in Allogrenia already posed problems, obedient to his command only because the Terak Feailner had ordered they be. But what troubled Kest more was their demeanour. They were not only used to killing, but to the expectation of killing – they were fighters, in other words, not Protectors. And to make matters worse, his sister Kesilini had taken a liking to one – a certain Terak patrolman named Anvorn.

  Movement through the trees made him draw his sword, but it was only a very young Protector, and one obviously disconcerted to see them. Therin of Sarclan, Kest recalled, a member of Lis’s patrol, and in his first season of Protector training.

  ‘Protector Commander Kest,’ said Therin, bowing hastily, then bowing to Caledon.

  ‘Where’s your Leader?’ demanded Kest.

  ‘A little to the north. He gave me permission to delay.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Kest, wondering if he must reprimand Lis for letting men lag behind. The danger of Shargh attack might be small, but it still existed.

  ‘I . . . I ate a few too many bitternuts,’ said Therin, redness rising in his cheeks.

  ‘Ah,’ said Kest, relieved that Lis had been considerate rather than incompetent. ‘Bitternuts are notorious for scouring the bowels,’ he explained to Caledon. ‘Especially if eaten in quantity.’

  He turned back to the Protector. ‘How long have you been out from the Warens?’

  ‘Two days, Protector Commander.’

  ‘And all’s well?’

  It was a standard question from any Protector who’d been absent from them.

  ‘Yes, Protector Commander. The stores are complete until the next surplus arrives, Protector Leader Metheren’s patrol has returned, and the Tremen Leader has visited.’