by Unknown
Her knees felt shaky and she sat down, keeping her eyes on the table.
‘It’s enough for me,’ said Kemrick gravely. ‘Is it enough for my fellow councillors?’
There must have been nods for Kemrick’s voice sounded again. ‘Bring the ring of rulership.’
Kira forced her head up in time to see a small wooden box being passed from hand to hand, finally coming to rest in front of her.
‘The Leader must take up her duties willingly,’ prompted Kemrick.
The box was honey-coloured and heavily carved – alwaysgreen, still smelling of spice despite its age. Kira slid the lid open and froze. The last time she’d seen this ring was on her father’s hand, the moment before the blow, and it rested now in a bed of brilliant red cloth. No dye in Allogrenia could make such colour. The box, like the ring, had come from the north. The cloth was as repellent as the ring, but the council was waiting and she reluctantly lifted the ring out. The metal was heavy and cold, and she had to resist the impulse to hurl it away.
‘The ring can be worn around your neck if it’s too large for your hand,’ said Kemrick. ‘I’ve read that Leader Feailner Sinarki and Leader Feailner Tesrina wore it so.’
Slowly Kira undid the thong Kest had given her, and slid the ring on, the ring coming to rest on the mira kiraon, the lacy wooden wings keeping the chill metal off her flesh. Then chairs grated as the councillors stood.
‘The clans welcome Leader Feailner Kiraon.’
Kira stood too, scarcely believing that she’d passed up the opportunity to escape the leadership.
‘I thank the clans for their welcome,’ she said.
33
Kira had thought the councillors would want to spend the meeting discussing the Shargh attacks and strategies for keeping the longhouses and gatherers safe, but they seemed content to speak of more mundane matters. Perhaps they were waiting for Kest. She was tempted to ask when, or indeed whether he was going to join them, but was prevented by the thought that as Leader she should probably already know.
As it happened, Kest didn’t appear until the shutters had been pulled closed against the evening dew, the day having passed in the discussion of things such as the trading of black-, brown- and bitternuts between the octads, the state of the withyweed harvest, and the fish stocks in the Drinkwater and Everflow. Kira had said little, for the talk had been surprisingly amiable, and there had been no need for divisions. She’d learned much.
In the past, provisions had arrived at the Bough without thought or effort: food being brought in from the octads, as well as cloth, which Sendra and the other helpers dyed and fashioned into tunics or breeches, or which Lern soaked in weatherall for boots. The Bough was the heart of healing, those dwelling there not spending their strength in gathering, or weaving cloth. Although Kira had sometimes helped Mikini weave, it was only now that she became fully aware of how much effort was involved in the longhouses supplying their own needs, as well as provisioning the Bough.
They had broken off their discussions for a time and were refreshing themselves with berries and thornyflower tea when Kest arrived. Kira was speaking with Tenedren, remembering to avoid Miken and Marren, and happened to be facing the door as it opened. Despite his clean clothing and gleaming hair, Kest looked grim and almost as tired as the last time she’d seen him. The Clanleaders turned and his grimness was swiftly replaced with careful neutrality as he exchanged greetings with those present, moving through the assembly until he was at her side.
‘Congratulations, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon,’ he said with a small bow.
‘Thank you Commander Kest,’ she said loudly, knowing her voice carried to the rest of the gathering. ‘I congratulate you also on your promotion and ask that you simply call me Tremen Leader Kiraon, like the council. After all, the Tremen know I am a woman – I hope.’
There was a polite titter but the lines round Kest’s mouth deepened. Kira bit her lip. She’d intended it as a light-hearted remark but it sounded like point-scoring and that was the last thing she’d wanted to do. She touched his arm briefly.
‘Come, Commander. I will get you some tea, and then we must resume the council.’
They moved away to the cooking place, where the pot had been set back on the coals, and Kira filled a cup and handed it to him.
‘There’s sweetfish and nutbread too,’ she said. ‘You should eat.’
Kest shook his head and sipped his tea, Kira watching him.
‘Tell me what’s happened,’ she said.
‘What makes you think something’s happened?’
‘Your face when you arrived.’
‘It seems I’ll have to be more careful when I’m around you, Tremen Leader Kiraon.’
‘I’d rather you were honest.’
‘I’ve always been that with you,’ he said, his intense blue eyes boring into hers.
Kira’s face warmed. ‘I know. You’ve often told me how stubborn and irresponsible I am.’
Kest’s face remained set and Kira sobered. ‘Please tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Dakresh’s son is missing.’
‘Sener? But he was here before.’
Kest moved impatiently. ‘Not him. His younger son, Bern.’
Kira’s breath caught in her throat. Bern had pledged her he’d return to his longhouse in two days . . . and it was long past that now.
‘Dakresh thought he was visiting friends at Kenclan,’ Kest was saying, ‘but he never arrived. Either there’s been an accident or else . . .’
‘You’ve been searching for him?’
Kest rubbed his face wearily. ‘I’ve mainly been fighting Dakresh. The old fool’s all for storming off to the Sentinels on his own. It’s understandable I suppose; Sener and Bern are all he has left from three bondings. Both his first bondmate and Sener’s mother died of fever, and Bern’s mother died in childbirth.’
‘Where’s Dakresh now?’ Kira forced herself to ask.
‘He’s agreed to stay at the Kenclan longhouse in return for me sending a patrol beyond the Kenclan Second Eight.’
Kira stared at the empty seat at the table. She should have insisted Bern go back immediately, she should have told Kest she’d seen him, she should have checked that he’d arrived home safely.
Kest’s hand closed over hers. ‘It might yet turn out well, Kira. Bern’s only thirteen seasons. Boys of that age –’
‘I saw him.’
‘What?’
‘When I was looking for the fireweed, I saw him.’
‘Stinking heart-rot! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I don’t know. I . . . he said he was going to Sarnia Cave. He said he’d been there before. He was excited . . . about the cave, about seeing new things in the octad . . .’ Kira’s words trailed off under Kest’s furious gaze.
‘I told you how dangerous it was. Do my words mean nothing to you?’
‘He pledged me to return home in two days. I didn’t see the harm . . .’ said Kira miserably.
Kest’s cup slammed down and Kira was aware of the sudden silence of the Clanleaders. Kest must have been too, for his voice dropped to a hiss.
‘He’s probably dead!’
There was a polite cough and Kira turned to see Miken at her elbow, his gaze flicking between them. ‘The council’s ready to resume,’ he said.
Kira made her way numbly back to her seat. How could she possibly have accepted the leadership? She must have been mad! She had no sense of responsibility, no ability to think ahead, to see the consequences of her actions, to plan, to lead! She closed her eyes. Bern! Surely he couldn’t have been taken? He was only thirteen, the same age as . . .
Kest was speaking and she opened her eyes again; thankful that the councillors were focused on him – all except Miken, whose questioning gaze was firmly on her. She unclenched her hands from the table’s edge and struggled to compose herself.
‘. . . made up of members of each clan,’ Kest was saying. ‘And so, the Renclan longhouse will be guar
ded by Protectors drawn from Renclansmen, and the Sherclan longhouse by Sherclan Protectors and so on. This will increase the speed of foraging expeditions, because clans know their own octads best. And the quicker they can forage, the less risk there will be of attack. Foraging times must also be considered. Both attacks we’ve suffered have been at the full moon and it makes sense for outsiders unfamiliar with Allogrenia. I suggest each longhouse stops foraging at the waxing half-moon and doesn’t resume until after the waning half-moon. As a result, Clanleaders might have to consider extra storage at their respective longhouses. Protectors will also patrol the lands circled by the Second Eight. These patrols will be made up of men drawn from all the clans, and will be concentrated in the north-east octads of Kenclan and Barclan, which are nearest the Shargh lands.’
‘What of healing?’ asked Kemrick. ‘Is that to continue in the Warens?’
‘Yes. The Warens are easiest to guard and it will take some time to rebuild the Bough, if it is to be rebuilt.’
There was a stunned silence, Kemrick being the first to recover. ‘But surely, Commander, the Bough must be rebuilt.’
‘That, of course, is ultimately for the council to decide,’ conceded Kest. ‘But remember that we have no knowing of how long the Shargh attacks will last, or indeed why they’ve begun. The Shargh have occupied the lands to the north-east since Kasheron’s time, but there are no records of attacks within Allogrenia until now. Why have they begun? We don’t know. What’s their purpose? That’s also unclear.
‘To burn the Bough, they passed the Kenclan and Barclan longhouses, both unguarded. If their intention were simply to kill it would’ve been easy to achieve. If their intentions were to kill healing, to kill our leadership, they have all but succeeded, but again we don’t know why they would want to do so.’
Kira concentrated on sucking in air, Kest’s words having torn away the fragile images of falzon bandages binding wounds. If their intentions were to kill healing, to kill our leadership, they have all but succeeded. Kemrick quietly passed her a cup of water, which she clutched with both hands, her eyes fixed sightlessly on its patterning.
‘If healing must be hidden away, they’ve won anyway,’ said Miken.
‘They haven’t “won” if healing survives,’ broke in Sanden. ‘Everything Commander Kest’s said makes sense. What’s the point of spending our strength in rebuilding the Bough if the cost of protecting it leaves the longhouses vulnerable? We’ve already lost many Tremen and if the attacks continue season after season, and we lose men each time, there’ll be too few of us to protect the longhouses, and they too will fall. It will be the ending of Allogrenia.’
Kira’s head filled with the memory of the Bough burning. It would be cold ash now and bereft of life, like the dead. The darkness rose again, as choking as the smoke, and she drove her nails into the table, using pain to keep it at bay. The council had degenerated into a series of noisy debates, competing voices ringing from the rafters: Miken was gesticulating at Sanden; Kemrick and Berendash were leaning across the table to better hear Marren; Ketten and Tenedren had their heads together.
Only Kest was silent, his gaze on her, her turmoil no doubt adding to his poor opinion. If only this meeting were done with and she was away from here, leaves under her feet, the cry of the mira kiraon in her ears. But there would be none of that if Kest had his way. Instead she’d be spending her time in the Warens, eating and sleeping in its dankness until the Shargh got bored with their killing and went away. And if they never got bored?
Why had they come? To kill healing? Or to kill the leadership? It was the same thing anyway. And Sanden was right. If they continued to lose men, then in the end, Allogrenia would be no more. Feseren and Sanaken dead in the first attack, twenty-three in the fires of the Bough, five more before the fireweed had cleansed the rot and twenty still lying wounded in the Warens, some who’d take another season to recover, some who’d never fully recover. With fewer than a thousand Tremen in the forest, it wouldn’t take many more attacks before Allogrenia became indefensible. Kest had a plan, but it wasn’t a solution, just an eking out of existence in an ever-tightening circle round each longhouse, while healing remained buried in the Warens. Nausea surged again, and she rose, desperate to stop the storming of bleakness.
‘Councillors!’
Her voice was drowned by the hubbub. ‘Councillors!’ she bawled, surprising even herself as every face turned to her. ‘Kindly resume your seats so I can hear from you in a more orderly fashion.’ By the ’green! She was sounding like her father.
She waited for the last chair to grate back into place. ‘I’ve heard Commander Kest’s suggestions on how we should proceed from here; now I would like to hear yours. Clanleader Sanden, have you anything to add to what you’ve already said?’
Sanden shook his head. She turned to Kemrick. ‘Then perhaps Clanleader Kemrick can share his thoughts, followed by the Leaders on his right, until all present have spoken.’
Kira resumed her seat and the attention of the gathering swung to Kemrick. Most of the Clanleaders were in agreement with Kest’s plans, although some took a long time to say so and Kira had to suppress a sigh on several occasions. Kemrick, Miken and Marren seemed to be the only ones who had thought beyond the here and now, Kemrick expressing their views the most eloquently: To live behind a ring of swords will be to live like those in the north. Was this to be the price of their survival, and if so, were they prepared to pay it? Many of the leaders were dismissive of such a bleak picture, but it resonated deeply within Kira.
‘I thank you all for your views,’ she said after the last speaker had fallen silent, ‘and for your patience in allowing each other to speak.’ So far, so good. ‘And I thank Commander Kest for giving us so much to think about.’ What next? The thought of the Shargh terrified her, but she was not prepared to spend the rest of her life underground.
‘I think Commander Kest’s plan is a good one . . . for the present. I will remain in the Warens until the last of the wounded are well enough to be moved to their longhouses to complete their recovery. I expect this to be in three or four moons, unless we receive more wounded. During this time I will record my Healer knowing, with the help of the other Healers. There will not be just one Herbal Sheaf made but several, and these will be stowed in different places in Allogrenia. There must never again come a day when all of what Kasheron bequeathed us is held by just one person.’
There were nods and murmurings of agreement.
‘But,’ she continued, ‘I think Commander Kest’s plan of Protectors guarding their own longhouses is a poor one, and I would ask Commander Kest to reconsider it.’
Kest’s sympathetic expression vanished. ‘On what basis? Do you disagree that foraging will be more effective if aided by Protectors familiar with their own octad?’
‘No.’
Kest’s eyebrows rose in exasperation. ‘Then what?’
‘Because of what the forests offer, the longhouses are almost a half-day’s walk from each other,’ said Kira.
‘You tell us nothing new, Leader Kiraon,’ broke in Ketten.
‘You’re saying we’re already isolated from each other?’ prompted Kemrick.
Kira nodded. ‘Assigning Protectors to their own octads will increase this isolation. We will no longer be Tremen, we will be Barclansmen and Barclanswomen, or Renclansmen and Renclans-women.’
‘That hasn’t happened so far,’ pointed out Kest, ‘and I see no reason why it should happen in the future. The longhouses have always been separated.’
‘Yes, but there’s been mixing. Protector training brings young men of all clans together, seeding friendships and visitations that continue long after training has finished. They meet the sisters of their friends, and acquaintances are renewed at the Feasts of Turning and Thanking, opportunities for mingling that will largely cease.’
‘I can’t agree with you, Tremen Leader Kiraon,’ said Kest. ‘There will still be opportunities for people to forage in each
other’s octads as they’ve always done, under protection of course.’
‘If the Shargh attacks continue, people might be reluctant to take the risk,’ pointed out Miken.
‘Surely this is a small thing,’ interrupted Ketten, ‘if it keeps us safe.’
Kira drew a steadying breath. ‘Clanleader Kemrick raised the question earlier of what it is to be Tremen. I think that’s an important question. What are we prepared to do to survive? What are we prepared to change, to trade off, to give up?’
There were mutterings and a scrape of chairs as people moved restlessly. The councillors were weary of the debate, Kira realised, and wanted to vote now simply to end the council and start the journey back to their own longhouses. The sun was sinking. At the other end of the hall, a young Sherclanswoman was quietly lighting the lamps.
‘It must be time for the division,’ said Ketten, his eyes on the lamp-lighter.
‘It doesn’t need to be one thing or the other,’ said Kemrick suddenly.
Ketten peered at him irritably. ‘What mean you?’
‘As long as there were Protectors from their own octad guarding, and some from other octads, both Commander Kest’s and Tremen Leader Kiraon’s concerns would be met. Would they not?’ He looked at Kest and Kira in turn.
Kira and Kest nodded.
‘Praise the ’green,’ muttered Ketten.
‘Are we agreed, then, that for the next few moons, Protectors will be deployed as outlined by Commander Kest, but with mixed groups assigned to each longhouse, and that I will ensure that our healing-knowing is recorded once more?’ asked Kira.
There was a chorus of assent.
‘Then there is no need of a division?’ added Kira, her eyes on Ketten.
‘No division, Leader, please, no division,’ said Ketten with a broad smile.
34
The world in the Warens was like a fractured version of the world above, rearranged in the wrong order. Night and day blended into an even grey, heat and cold became clammy warmth, sounds from nearby caverns were muffled while those from further away amplified.
