Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

  “No!” His mother was suddenly there with him, yelling at him, and even in his dream he knew her pain. Her fear. It was the same pain he had known when he had thought they were lost to him. And yet there was no choice. There never had been.

  “Yes.” He tried to be as gentle as he could, but he could not give in to her. “This was always what had to be. I just didn't know it until now.”

  “The Lady's right. The world's ending. Every generation is less than the one before. And this is the first chance we've had to change that in three thousand years. We can't lose it.” And more than that, they had to protect the chance. They had to make certain that the lake did refill. He didn't know how he could be so certain. But he knew that this was what had to be done without a shred of doubt.

  But he also knew this was something his mother would never understand. It was cruel. Unfortunately if there was one thing his time in Lampton Heights had taught him, it was that sometimes life was cruel. And the one thing he had learned from his years in the wastes and more recently as a soldier, was that sometimes you had to fight that cruelty.

  He would fight.

  Chapter Thirty Seven.

  “Sena child, it is good to be with you again.”

  Sena started as she heard the Lady Sylfene's voice in her thoughts. Mainly because she hadn't realised that she'd fallen asleep. She hadn't planned on it. She'd simply been sitting on the roof of the fort reading some of Dorn's books of verse in the sunshine while the others worked. But if she could hear the Lady then she was dreaming. It was simply the way of the dream walker. And while the Lady was a dream walker with far greater ability than most as she was able to send her words across great distances, she still could not speak directly to someone who was awake.

  “Lady.”

  “Things are well at the shrine?”

  “Yes Lady. The priests are making good progress in restoring the shrine to its proper state, and the masons and stonewrights have arrived and are working on the rest of the fort. Within a month or two it will be as strong as it ever was.”

  “Good. Already I can feel the connection with the Mother growing stronger even from here.”

  And that Sena knew was the purpose of relighting the path. The stronger that connection became the more Xeria's influence would be over the land. Over the people. As would be the influence of the other gods and goddesses. And the weaker would be the influence of Talos and Dica. Hopefully.

  “Is there any word of Dorn?” Sena felt the need to ask. She was certain that the Lady was in contact with Dorn though she hadn't asked. Lady Sylfene seemed to have taken a liking to the man no matter how troublesome he was. And Sena too was beginning to understand that there was more to him than just a bitter and frightened wildling. When she'd started exploring his home she'd understood that.

  There was beauty in his soul as well as violence. It showed in his collection of poetry. In the way that he'd arranged his garden. Perhaps even in his choice of home. Maybe there was even artistry. Certainly he was a craftsman. His shack as he called it was far more civilised than she'd expected. The stone walls had been mortared together neatly, glass had been set in the windows and the door and the window sills were brightly coloured. He had built himself a home here, not a shack. Was he truly a follower of Xeria? Sena didn't know. But sitting in his chairs, reading his books and looking out over the forests as she was certain he did every day, Sena was beginning to understand that he was a man who dreamed of more from life than just war.

  “He's with his family, bringing them to Balen Rale.”

  “Good.” Anything that brought him back to the temple had to be good. He was a wildling and in the end he belonged with his people no matter how angry he might be.

  “And not so good. He's had a revelation. He has solved a three thousand year old mystery. And naturally he's managed to create more havoc doing it. Some days I just don't know about him. Some days I think he's guided. But by whom is the question. Xeria? He lives in my Mother's home after all. But she tells me nothing of him. Warreth the White? He shows flashes of insight that I do not understand. But he doesn't understand them either. Lue? I do wonder that there may be destiny in his path. But for good or ill is another matter. Or Heiros? This could all be some terrible jest though it seems horribly real.”

  “You know that he spends his days reading verse Lady? A lot of them epic poems. And in one of them I found the white wrath weapon described.” Which had surprised her but also explained where much of his strategy was coming from.

  “A poet and a would be warrior?” The Lady sounded disbelieving. “Could there be any clearer sign of the jester than a poet warrior?”

  Sena didn't answer her because she had no idea what to say. And in any case Lady Sylfene was not expecting an answer. She was simply sharing a little of her frustration.

  “In any case young Dorn has found himself a new battle to fight. Or an ancient one. And he has asked for our aid to bring his family to Balen Rale so he can fight it. Given that if he is right this is one battle we cannot afford to lose, I believe we should do as he asks. All of the eleven are in agreement. I need you and your brother back here at the temple as quickly as you can come.”

  “Lady?” That couldn't be right – could it? That now not only weren't they upset with him for fighting a war, they were actually helping him? It was madness.

  “You heard me young one. You are required.” With that the Lady was gone and Sena woke with a start as if she had been shaken. And she had been. Her entire world was being shaken. But she knew that there was nothing to be done but do as the Lady asked. No matter how crazy.

  Chapter Thirty Eight.

  “You ready?” Eris asked the question as he stood beside the wagon, the last of the bags and boxes already loaded. He was in a hurry to get away Sena guessed. That was normal for him. Maybe it went with being a traveller. Having the gift of foreshortening distance. She hadn't considered it before, but when she'd been at the Mother's shrine near Little Rock and read some of Dorn's books, she'd read of other travellers in the millennia past. Other great explorers. They were all the same. Born with a need to explore.

  Gifts went with souls as they said. Eris had the gift of travelling and he had the desire to explore. They matched. She wondered what it was about her soul that matched her gift. Why did she play with light?

  “Yes.” Sena answered him as he expected and climbed on to the wagon. She even made herself comfortable on the bench seat as she waited for him. Which wasn't very comfortable in truth. Though they'd upholstered it, it was still too hard and after a day on it her backside would be aching. She wasn't really ready though, and it had nothing to do with the seat. In truth she might not ever be ready. Not this time. It wasn't the journey that bothered her. It wasn't particularly far and the dangers they might encounter on the way were few and minor. They could handle them. It wasn't the people they were to meet and bring back to the temple. She was happy to do that. It was their cargo that bothered her. Not even what they were carrying so much as why they were carrying it.

  Fifty pounds of white wrath had all been wrapped up in little bags of oiled paper to keep it fresh. But it wasn't to use against a Dican temple and teach a few black priests a lesson in fear. It was to go to war with. To destroy an army. The two hundred finest steel arrow heads weren't for target practice either. They were to kill people. Soldiers in armour.

  In carrying the weapons they were crossing a line she knew. They were helping to start a war. She hated that. Even if the Lady had informed them all that this was necessary and others were being similarly equipped and sent out. And in carrying the weapons to Dorn they were sending him into battle. They might well be sending him to his death. She hardly knew him, but she knew she didn't want him to die.

  “You look ill sister.”

  Eris raised an eyebrow in question and she knew he was worried for her. He always was. It had something to do with being an older brother. He felt he was responsible for looking after her. And his being
a priest just made his need to look after her more powerful.

  “I'm fine. I just don't like the task we've been given. It's …” She hunted for the word. “Wrong.”

  “The Lady says otherwise. She says we have to do this. That if we don't all will be lost. We aren't doing anything wrong. We're defending ourselves. Defending our world. All of the eleven say the same.” He sounded confident but she knew that he too had to have doubts. Eris was just trying to encourage her.

  “But this is … war. We're starting a war. People will be killed.”

  “No. We're ending one. One that began three thousand years ago. One that very nearly killed us all. And if we don't fight everyone will be killed. You know that. You feel it too, now that the way is being relit and the presence of the Mother is all around again. Faint as it may be still.”

  “Besides, ...” He smiled cheekily at her as he climbed onto the seat beside her and gathered the reins up. “Are you more upset that people may be killed or that one person in particular may be killed?”

  “That's -.”

  “True.” Eris finished her sentence for her but not the way she intended. “You like Dorn.”

  Sena coloured a little but she didn't answer him because she didn't know what to say. In any case there was no denial she could give him that he would believe. Not when he thought he was right. And especially not when he might be. Dorn was annoying and crude. He didn't bathe as often as he should, though that was a common enough problem in the wastes. He refused to follow instructions, even the ones of the Lady Sylfene, and he sometimes yelled at her. But there was still something about him that appealed. Maybe because she felt a little of his pain. And that appeal had only grown when she'd discovered his small library. He was better educated than he pretended to be. And what he read showed an artist's soul.

  “I wouldn't worry Sena. Not for Dorn. He's tough and smart. And I think Eldas walks with him. He seems to have the Fortunate God always on his side. Maybe the Mother and Lue walk with him as well.”

  “He's a soldier and soldiers die!”

  “He's not a soldier. He takes no coin, marches in no company and wears no uniform. He serves no master either. Only a cause. He's a warrior and I think he may be guided. A sacred warrior. And I think that Lady Sylfene thinks that too. It's why she's relaxed her judgement of him and said that there will be a new one. He walks the path of the thirteen.”

  “There are no more sacred warriors. Not in three thousand years.”

  She was sure of that at least. Or was that hopeful? Sacred warriors were only a distant legend, which in her view was a good thing. Once they had been terrifying warriors. Powered by their faith, given gifts that made them terrifying in battle, and guided by whichever of the thirteen they served. It was written that they had been all but invincible on the field of battle. That when they acted the blood flowed in rivers.

  “Really? Like there are no more priests in the world? That there are no more of faith? Yet there are priests, and there are faithful. Even when the signs of the gods are too faint for most to recognise. And in the same way there are those who will stand and fight for their belief without question. I think that many if not most of those who are stepping forward to stand with Dorn are the same as him. Weakened by the loss of the gods from the world so that they must rely only upon their own gifts. The knowledge of their nature likely hidden from even them so that they may not even believe. The words of their gods almost unheard by their ears so that they do not even know who they serve. But still warriors of the sacred.”

  “The reflexes remain even when everything else is gone. The impulse to act in certain ways without needing to think about it are still there. The intuition that requires no reason and no knowledge tells them who to fight and when. And as the path is slowly relit, their calling returns to them. Their connection to their gods returns.”

  “Or their anger.”

  Sometimes she thought her brother was too generous in his view of others, and this was one of those times. Those who had stepped forward, shifters one and all of them since they were the only ones who could do what was asked of them, were all angry. They had reason to be angry. Many had suffered greatly at the hands of the Dicans. But that did not make their motives any more noble.

  “In part perhaps. But not all. When we first came across Dorn we angered him. We angered him by telling him of the Lady's offer of clemency. He accepted the Lady's punishment without question or complaint. But he would not accept her forgiveness? Did that not strike you as odd?”

  He was right of course Sena knew. They had discussed it many times on their way back to the temple. Because they had not understood his fury. It seemed so nonsensical. Save of course for the fact that he believed he had committed no crime. But what was the point of her brother's question? She waited patiently for the explanation.

  “He could accept the punishment because it was done to him by another and he can accept that others can be wrong. But the thought of clemency requires that he accept that he did wrong and he cannot do that. It is not for pride that he cannot do it. It is because the moral impulse within him must always be inviolate. He cannot question it. And the anger flows from his fear that it can be questioned.”

  “He was not angry at the Lady for her offer. But at himself for not truly knowing if what he did was right. And he must always do what is right. What his very being tells him is right.”

  “He is a warrior of the sacred. He acts as he must based on what his very bones tell him to do. His every fibre and sinew. But he does it without the comfort of hearing his god's words in his soul. He is a blind high wire walker forced to walk. His feet know the path, his body knows to balance. But he cannot see the ground to confirm that they are right, and he fears the fall if they are wrong.”

  Eris could be right Sena realised. He often was when it came to people, and he did seem to be describing Dorn well. But even if he was, there was still one more question that needed an answer. “Who does he serve?”

  “Xeria of course. When you think of Dorn's path, everything he has done he has done for family. For home and hearth. In their defence he flies as straight as an arrow. He follows Xeria in his heart and soul even if he doesn't yet hear her voice. He even lives in her house and defends it without question.”

  “Never! He's a killer! The Mother would never countenance his acts.”

  “He's a defender of home and hearth. He kills when he has to. But not for coin or pleasure. Not out of anger or hatred. Not for revenge or justice. Not even for fear. He does it for need only. The need to protect home and hearth. His family and his people.”

  “He has been attacking Dicans remorselessly. And not only when they are attacking others.”

  “Of course. They have attacked his family. His people. They have most foully murdered thousands. And he knows they will do worse to many others. They are truly the enemy of Xeria. Of home and hearth. But he is confused. He cannot hear the Mother's voice clearly enough to bring him comfort. And there are surely many other voices that he does hear. The pain, rage and fear in his heart. It becomes hard for him to know if he does what he does because it is right or out of anger. But he still knows what he has to do. And this he has to do.”

  Eris gave the reins a gentle flick and immediately their mare started walking, pulling the wagon slowly up the gentle slope leading them out of the valley and away from the temple once more. She was a well trained horse and needed little guidance. She knew the path. Unfortunately as her hooves thudded steadily on the grass Sena wasn't so sure that she knew half as much.

  Maybe her brother was right. Maybe Dorn was what passed for a sacred warrior three thousand years after the fall. But still this was war they were talking about. People died in wars. Especially those who were the first to rush in to battle. And that was what Dorn was doing.

  He and the others would lead the charge. They would clear the path through the Eteris Ranges and then through the central wastes for the others to follow. And if they had to they
would hold back whatever army the Dicans had managed to amass from reaching the lake until the others could reach them. And however many that was the one thing she was sure of was that it would be far more than them.

  He was marching into death.

  Chapter Thirty Nine.

  The White Plains were everything that Dorn had expected them to be, and more. League after league of flat grasslands with only the occasional gently rolling hill for contrast. A sea of green. Huge herds of grazing beasts, deer and plains bison especially, spread out for leagues and through which they had to make their way. And strangest of all the clover. It wasn't the season for it all to bloom, spring had long since passed, but still there was enough of it remaining to see why the land had been given its name. When the season was truly upon them the plains turned completely white with the thick pollen. And when the wind blew it was said to form clouds in the sky.

  His only regret was that as they'd made their way across the plains, they hadn't really encountered any of the people of the land, the horsemen. Wherever they were, whichever herds they were following, it didn't seem to be near them. It was a shame because he'd so wanted to meet some of the horsemen. His books of poetry were filled with epic verse of their great hunts. Of their heroic battles as young men fought the plains bison in one on one duels to achieve their manhood. And of their contests of arms, events that involved thousands of horsemen and their spears and lasted for weeks.

  In his thoughts the horsemen had always been heroic figures, simple honest men who didn't waste their days in the pursuit of coin like others. People of honour and integrity. So unlike the people that had called Lampton Heights home. Or at least the city.