Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘We are not homeless novices any more,’ she replied. ‘We have no need to hide from the world. We’ve rebuilt over the centuries, recovered from the war that started all of this. We are Wielders of Naris and we’ve a duty of care to the people of this world. It’s high time we remembered it.’

  It had gone downhill from there.

  Now, as she strode along, her mind full of Veeta and Gend’s arguments, Brégenne wondered why they found it so difficult to accept how desperately change was needed. She rubbed her temples in anticipation of the headache that was sure to return. Not so long ago, you’d have made those same arguments, she thought, grimacing at the truth of it. But Kyndra had not only altered their world, she’d altered Brégenne too. She affected all those she met. Perhaps that was an ability peculiar to Starborn, or simply Kyndra herself. Brégenne missed her.

  And she missed Nediah. He was always in her thoughts. His face was as familiar to her as her own, but these new eyes, the eyes he had given her, saw everything differently. When she’d first looked at him under a sun she hadn’t seen for decades, she’d noticed all the things the moon couldn’t possibly show her: the slight tan to his skin, the flush in his cheeks, the way his dark hair curled chestnut in places. But most vividly she recalled how very green his eyes were, like a forest at midday.

  Stop it, she told herself. It wouldn’t do for the whole of Naris to see her pining like a lovesick girl. She walked faster, as if she could leave the memory of his face behind. The constant ache of missing him would not go away, but she had plenty of problems to pile atop it.

  There was one thing she, Veeta and Gend agreed on: the need to train all Wielders to fight. Only a few had learned to harness Solar or Lunar energy as a weapon and they needed to share their skills with their fellow masters – and novices too. Naris was woefully underprepared to face the potential threat of Acre.

  A commotion pulled Brégenne from her thoughts. She’d just stepped through the doors to the atrium when a shining creature began trotting towards her. It was a wolf, its Solar paws turning the polished floor to gold. Some novices gasped delightedly and there were a few startled exclamations from the nearest Wielders.

  Brégenne crouched down and the envoi put its front paws on her knees. She could feel the heat of it through her robes, as if a heart were beating inside it. She knew the wolf – its likeness stood on her dresser, a gift from Nediah. They looked at each other. The wolf’s eyes were large and liquid, Solar-white, and Brégenne felt a lump in her throat.

  Only a moment and then its shape dissolved. When she pulled her hands from its fur, words covered them, written in the careless script she knew so well:

  We are just about to cross the red valley. No sign of anyone yet, but Medavle says the region to the west is called Baior and that we should expect to find settlements there. Will be in touch when we learn more.

  It wasn’t the perfunctory tone that caused her eyes to prickle. She could feel the warmth in the message, the emotion he’d imprinted there. Though she berated herself for it, Brégenne couldn’t stop her heart from pounding as the words faded, taking the sense of him away.

  She stood up quickly, hoping that nothing showed on her face.

  ‘From Nediah, I presume.’

  Alandred pronounced Nediah’s name with none of his usual scorn. In fact, his recent behaviour had been notably different. Gone was the boorish, arrogant Wielder who had once tried to force his attentions on her. Brégenne thought she could trace the change back to the Long Night, the eve of the Breaking. The Madness and the Nerian rebellion had claimed many lives, undoubtedly the greatest upheaval since the fall of Solinaris.

  Now, to her astonishment, Brégenne found that she didn’t actively dislike the new Alandred. ‘Just an update,’ she said. ‘They haven’t encountered anyone yet, but that will change once they cross the valley.’

  Alandred sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have let the novices go.’

  ‘They’re both adults, Alandred. You did as much as you could. The decision was theirs in the end.’

  He blinked. ‘You’re not concerned for them?’

  ‘As much as I can afford to be,’ Brégenne said evenly. ‘But who’s to say Naris is safer? The empire nearly wiped us out once before because we grew complacent. I don’t intend to make the same mistake.’

  Alandred seemed to find it difficult to look her in the eye, but finally he met her gaze. ‘You’re planning something.’

  ‘Someone has to.’

  ‘What about Veeta and Gend?’

  ‘They’re reluctant to act.’ Brégenne regarded him closely. ‘I could use your help, Alandred.’

  ‘You have it.’ The pitch of his voice dropped with his gaze. ‘You’ve always had it.’

  ‘I have to leave the citadel,’ she said and held up a hand before he could interrupt. ‘The Wielders can’t sit at the edge of things any more. That time is past. We’re part of this world and now that Acre is back – possibly the empire too – we need to show people we’re first and foremost Wielders of Mariar. We can’t afford to be seen as a threat when there’s a far greater one on our doorstep.

  ‘If it comes to war, Mariar isn’t ready. We’ve been at peace for five hundred years. Our best hope is to do what we do best – make alliances. But that means talking to the Trade Assembly, most of whose members are daft, rich old fools who’ve never faced anything worse than a ruined cargo.’ Brégenne let go an angry breath. ‘Unless Kyndra brokers a truce, we could well be dealing with an imperial army trained to conquer. Not only our freedom, but our lives are at stake and Veeta and Gend can’t see it.’

  Alandred was staring at her, at the flush in her cheeks. How long had it been since she’d felt this much passion, Brégenne wondered?

  ‘So you see,’ she finished, ‘I have to go. Like Kyndra, I have a responsibility. If there’s to be a truce between our lands, I must work towards it here in Mariar. Right now, our lack of information on Acre is our greatest weakness, but I’m relying on Kyndra to correct that.’ Brégenne caught sight of a sullen young man standing with a hand in the pocket of his robes. ‘And Market Primus isn’t my only destination. I’ve another journey planned, one I won’t be making alone.’

  ‘Look,’ Gareth said, ‘I’m not sure how much help I can be to you. Master Hanser took me away from home when I was this high.’ He waved his gloved hand at the floor. ‘I’m effectively an outcast.’

  ‘You want to take another of my novices, Brégenne?’ Alandred sounded exasperated. ‘Surely a full master would be more appropriate. I mean,’ he hesitated, ‘I could go with you.’

  ‘And I don’t even sound like I’m from the north any more,’ Gareth continued obliviously. ‘Been around Shika too long.’

  Brégenne had borne their arguments in silence, but now she said irritably, ‘It has to be Gareth – no one else here comes from Ümvast. If I’m to walk into a place famous for its hostility to foreigners, I’d prefer to do it with a local at my side.’

  Gareth huffed. ‘As far as they’re concerned, I’m just as much of a foreigner as you are.’

  ‘But you were born there. You must have family.’

  A shadow passed over Gareth’s face. ‘Yes,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘Your parents—’

  ‘Sorry for saying so, Lady Brégenne, but you know nothing about Ümvast.’

  That gave her pause, but only for a moment. ‘They’ll recognize you at the very least.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Gareth said with a humourless smile. ‘My father’s dead and the last thing my mother said to me was: “Rot, then, you ungrateful bastard. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.” I was eight.’

  Brégenne was temporarily speechless. There were stories about Ümvast – the one place in Mariar that was almost as much of a mystery as Acre. The grim folk were content to ignore the rest of the world. Not only did they refuse to trade, but they rarely strayed beyond their borders. No one knew anything about them save that they called the Great North
ern Forest home – a forest as unchartable as it was inhospitable. She wondered how Master Hanser had managed to find and extract Gareth.

  But there were stories. Where the rest of Mariar had grown soft-bellied and slow, it was rumoured that Ümvast alone maintained the skills of war. Brégenne had need of those skills. It could well be that the northerners were Mariar’s only real military defence against Acre should diplomacy fail. She couldn’t rely solely on her fellow Wielders. Not only were they too few, but many had little to no experience of fighting.

  ‘I need to see Ümvast himself,’ she said decisively, ignoring Gareth’s splutter. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Know him?’ Gareth looked at her in disbelief. ‘When I was a child, he was like a legend to us.’ His eyes grew distant. ‘I saw him once. He was tall – taller than I am now – and he wore a great cloak across his shoulders that clattered when he moved, as if it were made of bones …’ He shook his head. ‘But that was years ago. There might be a new one now.’

  Alandred frowned. ‘You mean to say Ümvast is a title as well as the name of your land?’

  Gareth nodded. ‘The word means “chieftain”.’

  ‘How are new chieftains chosen?’ Brégenne asked, interested.

  ‘We have a kind of caste system. Families of old blood are referred to as Kul, but you can also earn the Kul through performing an important feat or service to the people.’ Gareth shifted – uneasily, Brégenne thought. ‘When the time comes to choose a new chieftain, they hold a great Melee. If you’re entitled to bear the Kul, you can enter – there’s no restriction on gender or even age. The last one standing is declared Ümvast.’

  ‘Is this a fight to the death?’ Alandred asked disapprovingly.

  ‘Sometimes.’ Gareth shrugged. ‘It’s not necessary, though. Most combatants leave with a few broken bones.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Shika would say it’s uncivilized.’

  Brégenne nodded to herself. Gareth’s ties to his home were stronger than he liked to admit. ‘So that’s settled, then,’ she said. ‘Gareth will come with me.’ When the young man began to protest, she added, ‘He might find the experience quite freeing.’

  Gareth shut his mouth and clutched his right arm guiltily. Brégenne was the only one in Naris who knew what lay beneath the glove he wore. There was something disturbing about the black gauntlet – beyond the fact that it wouldn’t come loose.

  The gauntlet might be a relic of Acre, but she was convinced that it would yield up its secrets with study. She just wasn’t comfortable conducting that study right under Hebrin’s nose. If he discovered Gareth’s theft, the archivist would punish the novice severely and not even a Council member could overrule Hebrin in a matter concerning the archives.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, Gareth looked at her, a silent question in his eyes.

  Don’t worry, she answered him just as silently. We’ll find a way.

  By the evening of the second day, she’d put her plans for the journey in place.

  Brégenne had no intention of informing her fellow Council members of her scheme. Veeta and Gend had made their positions clear and the atmosphere in Naris was tense enough without an acrimonious confrontation between its leaders.

  Everyone could see that the citadel’s fragile peace hung by a thread. The Nerian were resentful and unaccustomed to taking orders and the rest of the Wielders did not appreciate sharing their space with fanatics. It was a poor situation in which to leave Naris, but Mariar had bigger problems, bigger than the holes Kyndra had torn in the citadel. Brégenne needed to be out in the world, amongst its people; she needed to see first-hand the damage that the Breaking had wrought in its last days.

  The fervour that drove these thoughts died a hearty death when it met the reality of packing. To her great irritation, Brégenne discovered that crafting a sensible inventory was not one of her skills. The first pack she made for herself was too heavy to lift off the table. The second was just as bad. Swearing under her breath, she threw almost everything out so that the third looked more like a bag she’d take on a jaunt to Murta.

  In a fit of pique, Brégenne flung it across the room and collapsed in a chair. Why was this so hard? How many times had she travelled across Mariar with Nediah?

  But that was it, of course. Nediah had always assumed this duty and she had gladly let him. Brégenne cursed her past self. She should have made time to learn these things – what was necessary and what was not and how much of it was needed. The thought of how heavily she’d relied on Nediah made her uncomfortable.

  Well, there was nothing for it. She’d shelve her pride and ask for Gareth’s help.

  She sent a messenger for him and then decided that at least she could get changed while she waited. Brégenne ran a hand down her council robes, feeling the smoothness of the silk, the heavy fall of silver. Colour was still so rich and strange, its vibrancy almost frightening. She stared at herself in the mirror, at the slashes of blood red and the long sleeves that fell impractically over her hands. Once, she had dreamed of wearing these robes. Once, power and influence was all she had thought she wanted.

  Slowly, she began to strip the silken layers away from her body until she stood in her underclothes. Then she folded up the robes and laid them carefully on her pillow. Turning her back to the mirror, she reached for the garments she’d bought earlier in Murta and pulled them on instead.

  When the knock came, Brégenne was dressed and she opened the door to find not only Gareth but Alandred too. ‘I hope you don’t mind me –’ Alandred’s words ended in strangled silence. His eyes were wide and Gareth was trying hard not to stare.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘You look … different, Lady Brégenne.’ Gareth coughed and stepped into the room, looking about with interest. Brégenne guessed he’d never seen inside a council apartment.

  ‘Are you coming in?’ she asked Alandred, who hovered in the doorway.

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ He shook his head, scooted inside and then returned to staring at her outfit.

  Brégenne shut the door. ‘All right, what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Alandred said and she was horrified to see he was blushing.

  ‘I can’t wear robes outside Naris,’ she explained, a bit embarrassed, ‘and my other clothes aren’t fit to travel in.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, finally moving his eyes to her face. ‘It suits you.’

  Brégenne glanced down at herself defensively. Her trousers were of soft brown leather and hugged her legs. A fitted tunic covered her shirt and her feet were snug in knee-high boots. She’d bound her hair into a loose plait that hung over her shoulder and a snide little voice in the back of her head told her she’d spent a bit too long looking at Kait. Brégenne ignored it.

  Gareth grinned at her. ‘You look like a bandit, Lady Brégenne.’

  She glared. ‘Would you have spoken to Lady Helira that way?’

  ‘She wouldn’t have dressed in leather.’

  Brégenne smiled wryly at the thought, but sobered when she remembered how Helira had died.

  ‘I could use your help,’ she said to Gareth, gesturing at the pack on the polished table. ‘I’m not sure how long we’ll be away for and I need advice about what we should be taking.’

  Gareth put his hands in his pockets in a gesture that reminded her painfully of Nediah. ‘Of course,’ he said.

  Alandred sighed. ‘You’re set on this, aren’t you?’ When she nodded, he switched his gaze to Gareth. ‘If you’re going to rely on a half-trained novice as backup, Brégenne, you two should at least be Attuned.’

  ‘We can’t be,’ Brégenne said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m Attuned to Janus and he’s still in a critical condition – Nediah couldn’t bring him out of the coma. There’s a chance that his link to me is keeping him alive. Breaking it could kill him.’

  ‘This is not ideal,’ Alandred said, clearly unhappy. ‘And how are we supposed to keep in touch with you?’ />
  ‘I can send you regular envois,’ Brégenne said. ‘If and when Janus wakes up, he’ll be able to talk to me directly.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you going alone, even with Gareth. Revealing the existence of Naris won’t be without its consequences – you have no idea how people will react.’ He paused. ‘And have you considered what Veeta and Gend will do when they realize you’re gone? They’ll be furious. They may even send a group to bring you back.’

  ‘They can try,’ Brégenne corrected grimly. She moved to stand right before Alandred, forcing him to look at her. ‘I don’t expect you to lie for me, but if there’s any way you can hide my absence at least until I’m beyond the Murtan plain, I’d be grateful.’

  He held her gaze. ‘I’ll do what I can, Brégenne.’

  ‘Thank you.’ After a moment, she extended a hand. ‘We’ll be leaving as soon as we’re packed,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Alandred.’

  Alandred looked at the hand and then at her and seemed to be steeling himself. In the next moment, he hugged her and, reminded uncomfortably of that night in her quarters when he’d carried his intentions a little too far, Brégenne suffered it in stiff silence. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Alandred murmured as he let her go.

  ‘He didn’t hug me,’ Gareth said when Alandred had gone. ‘But I enjoyed his “you’d better look after her” glare.’ He grimaced and added hastily, ‘I mean, as if you needed looking after, Lady Brégenne.’

  ‘Just Brégenne from now on,’ she said and beckoned him over. ‘Can I look at the gauntlet?’

  Clearly reluctant, Gareth pulled off the glove he’d taken to wearing to hide it and pushed up his sleeve. ‘Does it feel any different?’ she asked, peering closely at the black metal, careful not to touch it. It was a dark thing, more a bracer than a gauntlet, as it stopped short of Gareth’s fingers. Spikes studded the knuckles and the part which covered his hand was embossed with a sigil or letters. Brégenne couldn’t make them out. It encased Gareth’s forearm almost to the elbow and she felt that chill again, as if the metal were solid ice.

  ‘A bit tighter,’ Gareth admitted. ‘When I first put it on, it was too big. Now it fits.’