‘Word was that the Devised had been out for sport yesterday; that some slipped out of their camp.’
The overseer shook his head and his fingers massaged his temples. He looked at the faces around the table and he saw how few were looking back.
‘What would she have me do? What would each of you have me do? Of course, she’s right. We all want them to go. I see in your faces how little you think of me and rightly so, but I am only empowered to echo instructions to my friends as though I am making decisions and giving orders. How am I to remove the Creatures of the Devising except by force? That would be tantamount to rebellion in Awgren’s eyes. If he fears loss of control in the Hinterland, he may end the alliance and destroy us,’ he said, unaware of Awgren’s defeat in the south.
Garrick, perhaps the most respected of the Hinterland councillors, spoke up.
‘I for one would rather face death or exile than watch our daughters be raped and killed one by one. Yes, our lands will be forfeit and many of us will fall, but such is the price of war. The Hinterland should have declared for Cathryn years ago.’
The words had no time to hang in the air before another of the councillors spoke.
‘And what of our sons and brothers? What of those who have gone to war on Awgren’s behalf?’
This time there was indeed a silence. All there knew the answer.
‘I believe our sons and brothers would understand our need here. They have already chosen to fight and die for their families – many of them likely have died for their families. This Rowan - she may not be swayed by the opinions of old folk and,’ he motioned around the table with his hand, ‘a gaggle of collaborators such as us,” replied Garrick.
The overseer made no outward sign of reacting and Garrick continued.
‘Rowan may speak loudest, but she is not the only one who speaks. She gives voice to a common desire across the Hinterland and we all know it, those of us who still trouble ourselves to talk to our people.’
Garrick’s words may have been forthright, but he could not bring himself to make eye contact with the overseer who, to his credit, was attending to the older man, seeking to meet his gaze. He gave up and took his turn to speak.
‘If she rises up, alone or aided, I will have to act. I would urge each of you to use whatever influence you have to dissuade rash action here. It is my role to oversee the Hinterland in Awgren’s stead, but let me reiterate that I do not control the horde penned in that camp. Their captains may imply they are here for our protection, but make no mistake, they are an occupying force. They will not listen to me. Though you may think me a collaborator, make no mistake that Awgren grants me no real authority as his chosen overseer.’
He reached for his goblet and drank of his wine before continuing.
‘I see the way you all look at me, as though I have betrayed our people, but somebody needed to stand forward to represent us. I live in constant fear that Awgren will perceive some slight in my actions and unleash the Devised upon us. I have no more love for him than do any of you, but I am all too aware of how we will fare if we stand against him before we are ready.’
‘What would you suggest we do then?’ asked Acorna, the only female councillor.
‘We can do nothing to stop a rebellion from gathering support unless we truly collaborate and root out the perpetrators,’ Garrick said, cutting off the overseer’s response.
Councillor Cedarick, who had been conscripted himself many years before, had remained quiet and listened, but now he interjected.
‘I for one think the time has come for the Hinterland to be rallied and for us to declare against Awgren. The rebellion has been taken to his door, and the queen, with the Lord of the Isles, does battle there. We should be providing what aid we can to the rest of our kind, not sitting on our hands. We should meet with Rowan and plan for war. As a descendant of the thegns, her words carry weight in the Hinterland.’
A light snow fell, and Rowan pulled her cloak about her as she walked. A crowd had gathered outside the main lodge, but she had barged through, ignoring their questions and for the most part they let her go without attempting to waylay her. Her friend, Lara, followed on behind, but Rowan did not mind; they had known each other since childhood, and Lara knew how to handle Rowan’s temper. She knew that the flame could not be put out and must be allowed to falter. When she was certain Rowan had calmed, Lara would make her tentative approach.
As Rowan pounded through the village towards home, she was bombarded by memories of Morrick. He had overseen the construction of many of the lodges around her; drawing up plans, felling the trees and joining the toil. He had carved the more ornate adornments, and their shapes summoned his face to mind. She fought hard to dismiss his image, knowing it would lead only to tears and despair that she could not afford.
She turned north as she reached the eastern edge of the village and walked upstream along the Whiteflow towards the forest edge and their homestead. Morrick had, of course, built it himself. Every log was felled by him. Every detail carved into the wood was him. She growled at herself, and looked back over her shoulder southward to where the Devised encampment fouled the river by its mere proximity. She pitied the fish there. If she was one of them, she’d nip at their foul toes if they dared to enter her waters, and if she could do naught else, she would dash herself against some boulder amidst the rapids until her tiny fish brain was addled and useless.
But that’s not true is it? They foul your home by their mere proximity in this, the last of the usable lands in a continent razed by Awgren; this beautiful country. Do you fight them? No, you get on with your damn days as best you can and raise hell if they cross the line. Morrick would be ashamed to see how the Devised’s behaviour had been allowed to escalate unchecked.
But was Morrick any better? Her husband, strong as he might be, was weak of heart just like every other man and woman of the Hinterland who did not fight all day, every day to overthrow Awgren. Off he went to fight like a good little underling rather than stand his ground.
The tears came, and she checked her pace in an instant. Clasping her mouth and sobbing in shame at how she was thinking of him when he was far from home, force marched into great danger. The polished cherrywood of her wedding band was cold against her lips.
Lara’s arm encircled her waist. Rowan shouldered her away and continued charging up the narrow path towards her home, still sobbing as she went. Lara paused, swallowed her hurt and followed on.
She kept pace behind.
The path left the riverside and turned towards the forest. The outer fence came into view and, as always, Rowan was relieved to see her land devoid of Devised. Livestock roamed within the bounds of the fence and crops grew on the forest side of the lodge. The homestead had once been heaving with men seeing to the cattle and tending the crops, while others toiled in Morrick’s workshop, but now they had all gone off to fight. Angry as she was and determined not to settle back into routine, Rowan had much work to do while she made her plans. She waited at the gate for Lara, and the two women entered together.
The lodge’s shutters were open and secured back against the walls. She frowned and knocked on the door.
‘It’s Rowan,’ she called.
From the other side of the door came the sound of beams being shifted, and before too long, she was granted entry.
‘I asked you not to open the shutters while I was away, Mother,’ she scolded. ‘A Devised can enter through a window as easily as a door.’
‘And yet you are happy to allow the boys out to work.’ Her mother, Bramble, dismissed her concerns then returned to the baby’s cot. Rowan followed and stroked her sleeping daughter’s cheek. Bracken stirred and cooed, but did not wake.
‘Are the boys working now?’ she asked.
Bramble nodded, not turning to look as she shuffled towards the door.
‘Aye, I’ll head along to see how they’re faring.’
The two younger women were left in peace.
Lara to
ok a seat by the empty fireplace and waited for the inevitable. She folded her hands in her lap and watched as Rowan paced the lodge. Minutes passed.
‘Eight dead in as many weeks,’ she said.
Rowan dropped into her chair, fuming. Lara pulled a fur throw about her against the chill in the air and waited patiently while her friend merely scowled at her in silence for some minutes.
Finally, Rowan spoke.
‘Something has to be done.’
Lara nodded and maintained eye contact. She swept a strand of hair back behind her ear and waited.
‘Those bastard things need to be eradicated,’ said Rowan.
Both women could see many things hanging before them; the faces of their menfolk, the names of their children and the consequences of rebelling, bloody consequences, no doubt.
Finally, Lara leant one cheek against her balled fist, crossed her legs and spoke.
‘Out with it then, what are you thinking?’ her voice sounded soft and cautious.
Rowan’s scowl intensified. She looked away momentarily, but when their eyes met again, her features had softened.
‘I think that if we make a move people will die, but that I would rather take that risk than live like this.’
‘Under the sway of evil,’ said Lara.
‘More than that! We facilitate, we collaborate, we reinforce and we tolerate! We, by our inactions are weak, but if that isn’t bad enough, we’re out there making things worse for those who do have the courage to stand and fight against Awgren,’ Rowan shouted.
‘I am not going to wait for the day when I find my children’s bodies in the fields because some foul thing has got bored and sought fun amongst my own. You want to wait? For that?’
Lara raised an eyebrow.
‘I don’t want anyone else to die, I know that. But I cannot see a way to avoid death for some of us, one way or the other. If we hunker down and wait for the rebellion to be crushed, we may yet expel the Devised by appealing directly to Awgren through the overseer. Our men may come home and life can go on as it has done. That wouldn’t be so bad.’
Lara was about to continue, but Rowan was shaking her head, her eyes fixed intently on Lara’s boot. She scratched at the back of her hand with her fingernails.
‘I don’t think I can live like this anymore. Looking on - It’s all we ever do,’ Rowan said, quieter now and thoughtful. She looked up and into Lara’s eyes. ‘Are you good? A good woman?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure what that means. I do right by my own. My family are healthy. I work hard. I never wrong anyone if I can help it. Do you not think I am?’ said Lara.
‘I’m not sure of the answer,’ Rowan paused, ‘for you or for me. Does a good woman look to her own needs while crimes are perpetrated all around her? Does a good man fight on the wrong side because he fears the consequences?’
‘Sometimes a clever woman does. A clever man might,’ said Lara.
‘If breathing was all that mattered to them,’ said Rowan. ‘I want my children to become good men, men who toil hard and in good conscience.’
Lara rubbed at one eye. She did not reply.
Rowan leant forward in her chair.
‘Cathryn and her people could do as we have done, but they fight and they die because they believe it is right to do so. They could have saved their lands by accepting Awgren centuries ago, as our people did. They could do that now still and carve out a life not filled with war and death.’
Lara smiled.
‘I can’t give you the answer that you want, Rowan. I like being alive and so do my children. If I could get rid of him and guarantee their safety, I would.’ She stood and moved to the cot. She reached in and lifted out the baby. Rowan jumped to her feet and moved to stop her friend, but Lara handed over the child.
‘Here. You can have peace, but all I ask is that you dash her head against a rock. Would you do it?’
Rowan cradled the baby in one arm and with the other hand, slapped Lara hard across the face. Her friend fell back and steadied herself against the cot.
‘You take my point.’
Rowan breathed heavily and set the baby back in the cot to sleep.
‘I’ll leave.’ said Lara and walked towards the door. Though her cheek throbbed, she made no attempt to cradle her face and through her anger, Rowan began to regret her outburst.
‘You don’t have to go,’ she said.
Lara continued walking.
’You think we should do nothing then?’ Rowan asked, making an effort to sound conciliatory.
Lara did not check her pace nor turn as she replied.
‘I think we should stay alive.’
She left.
Rowan looked at the closed door for some time, thinking on how she might have handled things differently, but the day was passing quickly; animals needed feeding and crops needing tending. She went out to find her mother to watch the baby so that she could join Callum and Declan.
Rowan’s path crossed the shadow of the barn and she could scarce believe that it was still before noon. She tightened her hair back in its bun and set off to find her sons. Her mother was leaning on a wooden fence, watching the boys work.
Rowan padded forward and came to a standstill on the head of her mother’s shadow. She ran her eyes over Bramble’s form. Neither woman moved for some time whilst the daughter evaluated the mother with a cold regard.
How does she live with herself? Does knowing that I am alive and strong, that I bore her strong grandchildren make life seem worth living as whatever it is we are? Does gentle, hard-working and kind equal good?
Her mind supplied no ready answer and she sighed. Hearing her, Bramble pushed herself up from the fence. She turned, and the spite in Rowan’s mind lessened somewhat when she looked upon the familiar features.
‘Is she all right?’
‘Lara or Bracken?’ said Rowan, not really concentrating. Her eyes flitted across the yard to locate Callum and Declan.
‘The baby.’
‘She’s sleeping.’
Bramble nodded.
‘That’s something. When I heard the shouting, I was sure you’d wake her.’
The criticisms were only implied, but Rowan heard them nonetheless. She said nothing and turned back towards the corral once more. Callum was shoring up the fence on the far side while Declan, the younger of the two, dragged bales of fresh hay towards the stables. Bramble started back towards the house.
‘Mother,’ the old woman turned, wearing a tired but patient expression, ‘what should I do about the dead girls?’
Bramble sighed and shook her head.
‘Bide your time and act only when calm. None of us enjoy this, but the generations that came before you stomached it. I stomached it and stomach it still. One day the Hinterland will be free again, and we will unite again with those who fight Awgren now.’
Bramble shrugged and folded her arms tightly across her chest, pulling her shawl taut.
‘I’ll see to the baby,’ she said.
Later on when the moon was up and the air grew ever more chill, Rowan wrapped a fur stole around her shoulders and, carrying a basket, left her mother and children sleeping in the lodge to make her way down to the banks of the Whiteflow. She could hear only her breath and her footsteps on the walk. Even the forest was quiet. The cold air and the hush of early night brought clarity not only to thought, but to sensation. She felt fresh and alive as she hurried with small steps towards the river, ever watchful and listening out for the sound of approaching danger. Before long her feet sank into the sand of the riverbank. Her ankle flexed awkwardly as she made her way to the water’s edge, and she cried out. She halted when the bank behind her ran high, offering a little shelter from those who might approach from the south. The land struck out into the straight river there and the water pooled, swirling in the deep crook that had been worn into the earth upstream of the headland. She clambered up the white sand of the incline and peered over to look back towards the Devised encampmen
t though it lay some distance out of sight. She saw nothing and satisfied, she slipped back down to the water and began to step out of her clothes. The water was too cold, but the air was no better and so she braced, breathed steadily and slipped smooth and swift into the Whiteflow. She paused only once the water reached her hips then ducked down to cover her chest and head. Rowan came up shuddering, the cold seeming like a white, dull ache throughout her; so cold she almost felt warmed by the intensity. She floated on her back, looking up at the moon for a time and then returned to the bank, quickly drying herself with blankets from the basket. These she set back inside atop her knife as she dressed. She knew she should hurry back to the lodge, but she was hearing the call of freedom and allowed herself the knowing delusion that she could go wherever she wanted and do as she pleased. Where would she go if she was at leisure to do so? Away, certainly. To Morrick?
She repacked the blankets a little tidier as she thought of him, wishing she could feel his rough hands on her skin; his hot breath on the nape of her neck as he reached round and fondled her breasts – raked his fingers across her stomach. She smiled, thinking of how much that touch conveyed, usually the forerunner of the playful growls at her ear. She thought of the hungry look in his eye as he looked upon her nakedness and then sighed deep, wondering if she’d ever see him again.
Her daydreaming dispelled upon hearing a snort. She started and, crouched prone, she listened. Again she heard the snort and recognised it as that of a horse coming from the direction of the encampment. Hidden from view by the bank, Rowan set down her basket and reached under the blankets for her knife, fearing a Devised rider was concealed from her. She slunk back against the incline and began to inch towards the crest.
She gasped at what she saw; something right out of her memories that she had dismissed as a dream or childhood fantasy. Her eyes could make out the outline of a horse with a foaming white mane that emanated a blue tinge. It stood in the shallows beyond the bluff. The hem of its curtain of hair danced across the surface of the water as it leant forward to drink. Surely it was a trick of the light, but its body seemed translucent, just as it had done when she had seen it before as a child. Rowan relaxed a little and looked around for a rider, reassured somewhat by the lack of saddle upon the animal. There was nobody in sight.
Dark Oak Page 2
