Fionnghuala shivered again, pulling her cloak close around her as the horses splashed through the marshy ground, the hills of the Snout Range on their right. Of course, it could just have been a family of travellers lost in the snow. There may have been no more complicated reason than that. And yet, deep down, she knew it had not been a real baby. The cry had changed direction too many times for it to have come from one source. Bearrach was right – nothing could have survived outside in those temperatures for long, let alone a defenceless baby. It had not been the cry of an earthly child.
So what was it? The ghost of a baby who had died? Or the flicker of a moment in time, a memory, playing back on the wind?
She shook her head as if she could shake the memory out of her ears. She didn’t want to think about it any more.
Luckily, the town of Fintaire was just visible in the distance, so she had other things to distract her. This was where Bearrach and Ruadh would leave them, so it was nearly time to say goodbye.
She had mixed feelings about this. The memory of flying into his arms the night before when she was so frightened left a bittersweet flavour in her mouth. His body had been warm, his firm grip reassuring, and she had welcomed his commanding manner as he led her back to the lodge, and the way he had settled her beside the fire, and wrapped her in blankets. He had been so comforting, and comfort was not an emotion that occurred often in Fionnghuala’s life.
Still, she knew comfort was like fire – beautiful and yet dangerous and, like a moth to a flame, she would be drawn to it until she burned. She could not allow herself to fall in love with him. Love was dangerous and secret and, like a rose, full of thorns. That was why she had not mentioned the incident again, and had not told him how she felt when he held her in his arms.
As they got closer to Fintaire, the roadside gradually became dotted with cottages and traffic increased. Fionnghuala felt so relieved to be back in her homeland. Going to Heartwood had been an experience she had been looking forward to and had generally enjoyed, and there had been so much going on she had not had time to feel homesick. But the journey through Wulfengar had been long and irksome, with its dull, flat plains and pitted hills, and she had been eager to leave it. Now she looked on the high wooded hills of the Snout Range with tired relief, glad to be amongst her own people.
She had been to Fintaire many times and knew it almost as well as she knew her home town of Salentaire. It was a large town that had begun as a trading post on the main route from Hanaire to Wulfengar, and gradually developed into a settlement in its own right, its roads created in a haphazard fashion that lent the place a cosy rabbit-warren feel, with elegant buildings and a close-knit community. They wound their way through the streets to the large villa on the northern edge belonging to Bearrach. The Hanaireans had little need to fortify their dwellings, as theirs was a peaceful nation, and so far they had suffered few raiders from either the south or east, so Bearrach’s home was surrounded only by a low wall, the amber stone of the sprawling villa clear to see.
“You must come and stay the night,” Bearrach told them all, and as it was nearly dark and they were tired, Fionnghuala agreed, trying to ignore the little warning voice inside her that told her she should not stop, but carry on and find an inn. But she was tired and, truth to tell, she did want to see Bearrach for a little longer.
They left their horses with the stable lads at the side of the house, and went inside. The place was light and airy, with fresh rushes on the floors that smelled of lavender, large, open rooms and a wonderful smell of baking bread. Servants led them through to the guest rooms, and before long Fionnghuala found herself soaking away the day’s aches in a hot bath.
Afterwards, she joined the others in the main dining room for a wonderful evening meal. After their meagre fare for the past few days, it was lovely to have hot food served to them, and the mood around the table was quite jovial. Fionnghuala had a taste of all the dishes brought out – the vegetable stew, freshly baked bread, cooked meats and cheeses, and a wonderful pie made with seasonal fruit. Bearrach also served wine instead of ale in the Hanairean way, and Fionnghuala drank freely, relieved to not have to drink the loathsome beer.
The result was that by the end of the evening, she felt deliciously full and slightly drunk, though she had taken plenty of water with her wine. The company had been good, with Audax in fine form and Lalage keeping the conversation bubbling, and Fionnghuala found she had no wish to go to bed. Neither had anyone else, it seemed, and so the party stayed up for several hours, discussing all manner of things from the Darkwater Lords to the Nodes and their likelihood of success.
Eventually, however, eyelids drooped and it was time to retire, and so Fionnghuala stood to leave the room. Glancing over at Bearrach, she caught his eye unintentionally, and gave a little smile before looking away. It had been a good evening, but she must not get sidetracked. She still had a long journey ahead of her, and she must remain focussed.
She went to her room and changed for bed, slid under the furs and curled up on her side. Through the small windows at the top of the wall, she could see the stars, and she traced the Horseshoe constellation with her finger, the sign of luck. She could do with a bit of that now, she thought, aware she was on the last leg of her journey, and before long would be facing the Portal and attempting to activate it. As yet, she had no idea what was required of her and was plagued by doubts.
Why had she offered to be the Quest Leader? Why had she assumed she was suitable for this role above all others? Suddenly, the task seemed impossible. They had spoken all evening about the importance of the Nodes, and what would happen to Anguis if they failed at their Quest, and now, lying in the dark, hugging the blankets to her chest, Fionnghuala felt weighted down by the pressure of her responsibilities. True, the others were members of the party and had agreed to help, but she felt the activation of the Node was something she had to achieve alone, and as yet she had no idea how to go about it.
She felt a sudden surge of homesickness for Salentaire and wished she were at home in her own bed. She had lived there all her life, knew every inch of every street, and the name of nearly every person living there. As High Councillor, she was responsible for the welfare of a great many people, and she wore that responsibility well, like a comfortable cloak, not afraid to immerse herself in it.
But the responsibility of the Quest was something different. She was certain the activation of the Node was not something that could be dealt with by mediation, or planning, or even by battle. It required something else – something she didn’t even know about yet, talents she wasn’t even sure she had. She was a person who coped by being organised, and how could you organise something so unknown?
Her stomach churned, and suddenly she wished she had not eaten or drunk so much. She sat up in bed, thinking maybe of taking a walk to let her stomach settle, and then felt her heart leap as she saw someone standing in the doorway.
“I am sorry,” he said, coming forward into the light of the candle that had nearly burned down to its wick. It was Bearrach. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“Well, you did,” she said breathlessly, clutching the covers to her. “What do you want?”
He came over and sat on the side of her bed. He shrugged. “Just to be near you. I missed you.”
She shook her head. “I have a long journey still to do. I do not want to be distracted from my purpose.”
He tipped his head, studying her. “What are you so afraid of? What has happened in your past to make you so wary of men?”
It was her turn to shrug. “I am High Councillor. I cannot afford to get embroiled in a relationship. I love my job and I do not want to lose it.”
He smiled. “There is nothing in the rules that says we cannot be friends.”
“Friends?” Her eyes misted over suddenly. “You want to just be friends?”
He laughed. “Of course I would like more! But I am in the same position as you – as High Councillor I do not want to lose my job any more than you d
o. But I like you; I want to be with you, spend time with you. Is that such a bad thing?”
A tear ran down her face. In her job, it was difficult to have friends. She had colleagues, and acquaintances, and she was not short of a social life. But time spent dining with others members of the Council or visiting dignitaries or members of the various Guilds around the town was not the same as walking or talking with someone just because you liked them.
“I feel lost,” she said suddenly. “I have this important job to do, and I feel like I am standing at the edge of a maze, and the path ahead of me twists and turns, and I do not know which branch to take. I am usually so in control of my life, and yet now I am not sure what to do or where to go. I do not like the feeling.”
He smiled again. “Then let me be there to walk with you. I would like to continue on with you, to the Portal. And once we are there, perhaps we can work it out together.”
Emotion rushed through her, and tears began to pour down her cheeks. Shushing her softly, Bearrach took her in his arms, and together they lay on the bed until she quieted, as he stroked her hair and back with light fingers. Eventually she fell asleep, curled around him, safe and secure in his warm arms.
But Bearrach lay awake for a long time, listening to the sound of a baby crying in the distance, and wondering why it haunted the woman he loved.
IV
Gavius was awoken from his dream by Hodie’s firm hand shaking his shoulder.
“Wake up,” Hodie urged in a low voice. “You are having a bad dream, Gavius, wake up!”
Gavius came to as if climbing out of the bottom of a deep well. His heart was pounding, and he felt light-headed with panic. Gradually, however, as he realised it had just been a dream, his breathing slowed and he lay back on the ground in relief.
“That must have been some nightmare,” said Hodie, sitting beside him. It was still dark, and the only light came from the embers of their fire, barely enough to illuminate the knight’s face, which was creased with concern.
“It was,” said Gavius. Already the fear and panic that had engulfed him were dying down, but he could still remember the disbelief and utter horror he had felt when his brother had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. What did it mean? Did he fear deep down that Gravis was going to turn on him, or was it just a nightmare brought on by the pressures and tribulations of the Quest?
“What was it about?” asked Hodie.
Gavius remembered the broken walls of the place he loved more than anything in the world. “Heartwood,” he said, his voice catching. “I dreamed we were too late. The Darkwater Lords had won. Heartwood had fallen and the Arbor was… gone.”
Hodie shook his head. “I think the same thought is in all our minds. But we can only do our best. We cannot save the world alone, Gavius; we have to trust everyone else is doing their part. And just maybe we can all pull together to save Heartwood.”
Gavius gave a wry smile. “Bit of a long shot, though, is it not?”
Hodie just shrugged.
Gavius sighed. “Look, I might as well take over the watch now. Why don’t you get some sleep? There are a couple more hours yet before sun-up.”
Hodie nodded and rolled himself up in his blanket, his face to the fire, catching the last tiny bit of warmth. Gavius took out another blanket from his pack and wrapped it around him. They were always the coldest hours, the ones before dawn.
Lost in his thoughts, his eyes continually searching the darkness for signs of the Komis, he barely noticed the time passing, and before long the horizon had turned milky and the others were rousing, packing their bags and preparing for the day’s ride. Their mood was buoyant, as they knew they would reach the Green Giant that day. Mounting their horses, they set off, leaving behind them little trace of their presence and, Gavius hoped, his bad dreams.
Within a couple of hours, they were clear of the woods and emerged onto a hilly landscape scattered with sheep. Clearly, although the Komis lived in the woods, they also kept sheep either for meat or fleeces, although there was no sign of crop cultivation. But the hills were mostly clear of trees, and even from several miles away, the figure of the Green Giant that was cut into the chalky hillside stood out against the green of the grass.
The party stopped and stared at the figure. It must have been a couple of hundred feet high, thought Gavius in surprise, and depicted a naked figure – obviously male – who held a longbow in one hand and an arrow in the other.
“Arbor’s leaves,” exclaimed Brevis. “He is huge!”
“You can say that again,” said Niveus in an impressed voice, and they all laughed.
“Come on,” said Gavius. “Let us get going. We have still got a few miles to cross before we get there.”
The ground, although slightly marshy in the valleys from the continual rain, gradually grew higher, and by the time they reached the foot of the Giant’s hill, the horses were sweating. It was only as the group looked around, however, that they saw what a great view it was, in spite of the misty rain. They could see over the hills and down onto the forests in the distance; no doubt the Green Giant would be visible from the top of the tree houses the Komis built, watching over them all as they lived their lives in the forest.
Gavius dismounted and walked up to the Giant’s foot. Of course, from this close, it wasn’t easy to make out its shape, but he knew he was at the base of the figure, and he knelt down to touch the chalk with his fingers. He was surprised to feel a tremor in his fingertips as they touched the soil – a tremor which quickly disappeared. Had he imagined it? He was sure he had not. The Node was there, he knew it, ready for him to activate. He felt suddenly alive, elated, buzzing with energy. He was ready to do it, but he knew instinctively he was not in the right place.
“Well?” asked Hodie as Gavius stood up. “How do you feel?”
Gavius grinned. “Ready to go! Let us make camp at the bottom of the hill and go up on foot.”
At the base of the hill was a small copse of trees with a river running through it. They took off their packs, tied the horses up loosely, rubbed them down and left them to feed on the lush grass around the water’s edge. They had a quick meal, then, rejuvenated, they began to make their way up the hill.
Instinctively, the other four kept a few feet behind Gavius, who walked with his head down and his brow furrowed in concentration. He knew they had realised he could sense something, and they wanted to give him room and time to read the ground as best he could.
Gavius walked steadily, unable to explain to the others what he was feeling. He felt so alive, literally buzzing with energy. It coursed through him, beginning at his toes, which tingled as if he had been sitting on his legs for too long, and moved up through his calves and thighs and body.
Still, he knew he was not at the right place. He walked up the hill, following the line of the Giant’s right leg. Behind him, he could hear the others talking in quiet voices, and he heard Niveus joking that the Node was almost certainly going to be beneath the Giant’s erection. But although he smiled, Gavius knew she was wrong. Instinctively, he knew where the centre was.
Passing over the Giant’s groin and walking more quickly now, he went up the torso until he met the ribs. He felt a rising sense of euphoria. This was it. He walked until he was over the place where the Giant’s heart would be.
Then he stopped.
The ground trembled under his feet. Gavius looked around. The rain was still falling steadily, but he did not feel it. He sank to the floor and sat cross-legged upon the earth. Around him, the others fell quiet and sat in a ring around him. He was hardly aware they were there. His head buzzed.
He put his hands on the ground, clutching the grass with his fingers. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Around him, the others shifted, murmuring to each other. His fingers tingled where they clutched the earth, and his limbs trembled, but he wondered in his head: is this it? How would he know if
it had worked? Would there be some noticeable change?
He forced himself to concentrate on the ground beneath him. In his head, he thought of the daisy he had held back in Heartwood, and the way he had made the flower grow. Love, he thought, it was all about love. He had let love flow through his body, his heart, into the tiny weed. Now, he fixed his inner attention on his heart, imagining it burgeoning, swelling with love. He thought about all those in his life he had loved – his mother, father, his first Dean, Dulcis, Valens, Procella, Beata, Hodie, Gravis.
Gravis.
As soon as he thought of his brother, something changed. Something flooded through him – energy? Or was it his own blood rushing in his ears? Pain spiked his nerve endings and he opened his mouth to cry, but nothing came out. He tried to call to the others to help but his voice would not speak. He felt a rush, as if he were falling from a great height, and he clutched the earth to steady himself, his breath coming in a sudden gasp. Then, just as suddenly, everything stopped.
For a second he panted, his eyes closed, trying to steady himself. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.
He was still sitting in the middle of the Green Giant. But everything had changed. For a start, it wasn’t raining. The sun shone hot and high in the middle of a bright blue sky, and the grass was emerald-green and lush. The hill on which the Giant was carved seem higher than it had previously; he felt he could see for miles around over Komis, or was it just that the day was clear and there was no rain to fog his vision? He was alone; the other members of his party had vanished.
He was not surprised, however. This was not the same hill as the one on which he and the Militis had arrived. The change in the weather; the way he seemed higher than he had before; were factors that told him he was somehow in a different place – a dreamworld, perhaps, a world between worlds.
And therefore he was not really surprised, either, when he stood and turned around and saw Gravis standing before him. Or was it Gravis? Yet again, as in his dream in the woods and the vision at the Knife’s Edge, he felt the disjointed uncertainty of not knowing whether he was looking at his own reflection or at his twin brother. They were dressed in the same mail armour, the same brown breeches and leather boots; their hair had the same ruffled curls, the same fringe flopping over their forehead; there was the same amount of stubble on their chins. As Gavius raised his left hand, the one with the tattoo, so the other raised his right. And yet when he spoke, the other did not, but waited his turn.
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