Heartwood

by Freya Robertson

  “Get back!” yelled Valens, and turned to see only a handful of knights remained in the Quad, surrounded on all sides by the Darkwater army.

  Chonrad stumbled on a fallen knight and could not regain his balance; he fell backwards, landing heavily in the water. Cursing, he rolled onto his knees, expecting any moment to feel a blade cut into his spine, but suddenly, Procella was there, heaving him to his feet with one hand under his arm, and she pushed him through the doors, which were already closing as the last knight filtered through.

  “Procella!” he yelled as Bearrach put his weight on one side and Fionnghuala leaned on the other, and the doors slammed shut. “She is still out there!”

  Valens strode to the door. Bearrach pulled it open a crack, and Valens stuck his arm through, grabbed Procella’s mail hood and yanked her back. She landed inside the Temple, sprawled on the floor, and then the doors were shut and the two Hanaireans placed huge oak beams across, barricading them in, piling stones and wood against them.

  V

  Chonrad walked over to Procella where she lay sprawled on the floor and extended his hand. For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse it and get angry with him as she had on the way back from Vichton. Then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing.

  “What is so funny?” he asked, bemused and amused at the same time.

  “I am sorry.” She wiped her face. “That was a close one.” She accepted his hand, and he pulled her onto her feet. They both looked over at the doors as a thundering sound echoed from the wood.

  “How long will they last?” asked Chonrad warily, expecting Darkwater to come crashing through at any moment.

  Bearrach put a last piece of stone on top of the pile in front of the doors and said, “Should be a while. There is not even any water coming through yet.”

  It was true, Chonrad noted; there was not even a trickle of water through a crack in the door. Clearly though, it was just a matter of time before they found a way in.

  “How many made it in?” he asked Valens as the Imperator scanned the crowd inside the Temple.

  Valens counted silently, then looked at him. “Maybe three hundred.”

  “Three hundred? Out of three thousand!”

  “I know.” Valens beckoned to Procella. “We need to get any wounded who managed to get in over to Silva. Then organise the remaining knights into groups, one on the Temple doors, one over by the Domus, one by the Arbor. Make sure there is food and drink for everyone. Try to get them to rest, if only for a few minutes. Darkwater will break through, and they need to be ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” Without further bidding, Procella went off. Chonrad watched her go, thinking how marvellous she was; she had just nearly died out there, and yet there had been no dramatics, no regaling of stories on how she had been brave and heroic; she had merely put her mind to the next task and continued on as if nothing had happened. She was amazing.

  Looking round, he saw Valens watching him, a small smile on his face. Chonrad felt embarrassed. “Do not get the wrong idea,” he warned, cleaning his sword on a piece of cloth; “I was only admiring her talents as a general; that is all.”

  “Of course,” said Valens in a tone that suggested he wasn’t convinced. “She is a fine knight. A noble heir.” He sighed. “Of course, I had hoped Dolosus would take over from me one day, but that idea faded like a rainbow when he lost his arm.”

  Chonrad suddenly realised he hadn’t seen the Militis since he came in. “Is he… Did he make it?”

  “Oh, yes. Even with his disability, he is a powerful knight.” Valens nodded over to the Arbor, and Chonrad saw Dolosus there, talking to Beata.

  “I cannot believe he went all the way down to Darkwater and brought back the Pectoris,” he commented. “That was truly a great achievement.”

  Valens nodded. “For all the good it did.” He frowned, looking at Beata and seeing Teague on the floor in front of her. “What is going on there?”

  Together, they walked over to the Arbor, which remained unchanged as far as Chonrad could see. The Komis lay among the roots of the tree and Beata was standing over him, kicking him occasionally.

  “What is happening here?” Valens demanded.

  “He can help us,” Beata snapped, “but he refuses. He is an idiot.”

  “He is not an idiot,” said Chonrad, frowning as he looked at Teague’s white face. “He is scared.”

  “Scared?” Beata stared at him. “Of course he is scared. We are all scared!”

  “Not scared of Darkwater. Scared of the Arbor.”

  Beata and Valens’s gazes were blank. “Scared of the Arbor? That does not make sense.”

  “You have grown up with it since you were a child,” Chonrad tried to explain. “To you, watching the tree is as normal as riding a horse, or swinging a sword. But to those of us who do not belong in Heartwood, the Arbor is mysterious and not a little terrifying.”

  He looked at Valens. “Let me talk to him,” he pleaded. After all, he thought, I know what he’s feeling.

  Valens nodded, ignoring Beata’s startled outburst of indignation. “We have things to do,” he told the Dean, taking her good arm and leading her away. “And you need to rest. Come, you have not yet told me about your journey.”

  Chonrad watched them go and then turned back to the Komis, who lay watching him sullenly. He held out his hand to help him up, but Teague ignored it and pushed himself to his feet.

  “Come and sit over here,” Chonrad suggested, leading him over to one of the cells. He sat on a bench, and Teague joined him. Chonrad left the door open, but it was quieter in the cell, and he felt more relaxed. He had the strange feeling it was because the Arbor couldn’t see him.

  He stretched out his legs and rubbed the thigh muscle. It had not yet healed from the wound he received on the way back from Vichton, and it was aching now. His face was stinging, too.

  “You are hurt,” said Teague.

  Chonrad sighed. “It is nothing.” He eyed the Komis thoughtfully. “How are you feeling?”

  “I am fine,” Teague grunted. He was still wet through from his swim, though, and shivering a little. Chonrad went out and fetched him a blanket. He brought it back and handed it to the shivering Komis. Teague stared at it, then reached out and took it, wrapping it around him.

  “Thank you,” he said, somewhat grudgingly.

  Chonrad nodded, wondering what he could say that would convince Teague to help the Arbor. He could not think of anything. It was not really his place, he thought, to tell Teague what to do. He understood Teague’s reticence about the tree. Instead, he decided to ask him a Question.

  “Why are you frightened?”

  Teague pulled the blanket tight around his neck, shivering, although whether from the cold or his fear, Chonrad couldn’t tell. Teague gave a sigh. “The tree… I can feel it. I can hear it. It is so powerful.”

  Chonrad frowned. “What do you mean, hear it?”

  “I can hear it crying. And it whispers to me.” Teague looked up at him. He frowned. “It is telling me you are the key. What does it mean by that?”

  A shiver ran from the nape of Chonrad’s neck down his back, as if someone had poured icy water down his spine. He remembered Fulco’s last gesture, the turning motion of a key. “I do not know, but you are not the first to tell me that.”

  Teague shrugged. His golden eyes rested on Chonrad’s cut cheek. Sighing again, he said, “Come here.” As Chonrad moved closer, frowning, the Komis took his face in his hands. He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then suddenly, his hands stared to grow warm.

  The warmth spread right through him, from the top of his head to his toes. He grew suddenly sleepy and closed his eyes. He felt as if he were melting into the ground. His legs seemed to sink into the earth, as if he were putting down roots and becoming part of the natural world around him.

  Then all of a sudden, Teague lifted his hands. Chonrad opened his eyes. The ache in his leg had disappeared. When he touched
his face, the cut had vanished.

  “You can heal,” Chonrad said, astonished. “Why did you not heal Beata?”

  “She was too busy kicking me.”

  Chonrad shrugged. “I can understand that. But my thanks, anyway.” He rubbed his leg, amazed the deep wound had healed. Teague’s gaze had drifted off into the distance, and Chonrad turned to see the Komis staring at Beata, who was talking to Valens. “You have feelings for her,” he stated.

  Teague snorted. “Yes: irritation, annoyance and vexation.”

  “They are three things that mean the same.”

  Teague stared at him and then smiled a little. “Yes, I suppose they do.” He ran his hands through his wet, black hair. “She is the most annoying and yet most beautiful person I have ever met. I cannot stop thinking about her – and the Arbor can see that. It knows what I am feeling.”

  Chonrad looked out at the tree, wondering if it could also see his feelings for Procella. Would it be angry, because the Militis were denied relationships? Or would it understand?

  Teague sighed. “Are you not going to give me a lecture on why I should help Heartwood? Is that not why you brought me here?”

  “No,” said Chonrad. “I thought you were being treated unfairly and you should be given a chance to think about it.”

  Teague’s eyebrows rose, making his golden eyes seem even bigger than ever. “You are an honourable knight,” he observed. “Which is more than I can say for some of these warriors.” He cast a glance out of the door.

  Chonrad sighed. “The whole world is at stake. If the Arbor falls, Anguis will fall. That is how I understand it, anyway.”

  Teague looked sulky. “No pressure or anything.”

  Chonrad smiled. “You must make your own mind up about what you should do. I think we are very similar, young Komis. We are both here, even though we wish to be at opposite ends of the world. I have young children back in Vichton.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Truly? I have no idea.” They both looked over at the oak doors as something crashed against the outside of them, but the doors continued to hold.

  Teague rolled his eyes. Then he continued. “How do you have children if you are a Militis? I did not think they were allowed to have relationships.”

  “I am not from Heartwood,” said Chonrad.

  Teague looked confused. “But the Arbor…” his voice tailed off.

  “What?”

  Teague sighed. “The Arbor implied you belonged to it. That you served it. I could not distinguish between its feelings for you and its feelings for Beata, for example.”

  Chonrad’s heart missed a beat. “I do not understand.”

  “Neither do I.” Teague leaned forward, putting his hands over his eyes. “I can still hear it crying. Why will it not stop crying?”

  Chonrad stood and looked outside, marvelling at the lack of pain in his leg. He looked over at the Arbor, which still sagged forlornly. “Well, that must hurt.”

  Teague shook his head. “It is more than that. But I cannot see…”

  “Why do you not come over and speak to it?” Chonrad said gently. “It will answer all your Questions, and I am sure you will be able to hear it, too.”

  Teague looked up then, fear plain on his face. “I cannot. Please, do not make me do it!”

  “I will not,” said Chonrad, partly understanding, “but Beata might.” He had seen the Dean striding across the Temple towards them, a face like thunder. “I am sorry,” he finished before she could reach them. “I do not think you should be forced to help, but I do think you should offer it.” And with that, he slipped out of the cell.

  He stopped Beata just outside by catching her good arm. She had pinned up her hair again and someone had helped her back into some mail, and a sword was on her hip. Her arm was still bandaged to her chest, though. She was beautiful, he thought, more beautiful than Procella, but she was like the moons, cold and forbidding, whereas Procella was like the sun, warm and fiery. He knew which Militis he preferred.

  Beata looked up at him, her blue eyes sharp as knives. He released her arm but stood in the door of the cell so she could not pass. “Slow down,” he said.

  “Get out of my way.” She stepped forward, clearly intending to push him to one side.

  He held up his hands. “I will move. Just listen to what I have to say.”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh but stepped back. He lowered his hands. “I understand why you feel the need to force him,” he said gently. “But he is deeply scared. Something about the Arbor is frightening him. He is not doing it to spite you, Beata. He has true feelings for you. I do understand some of his worries about the tree. I… feel them too, to a lesser extent, I think. Just try to put yourself in his shoes; that is all I am asking.”

  Beata stared up at him. Then she frowned. “Five minutes ago, your cheek was pouring blood. What happened?”

  Chonrad stepped aside. “I think you should ask him about that.” And then he left her to it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I

  Chonrad left Beata and Teague, too tired and exhausted to deal with their argument. He walked over to the outer ring, where someone had placed a supply of food and drink, and helped himself to a piece of bread and cheese, and a cup of water. He found himself standing next to Gravis, who was limping slightly but appeared otherwise unscathed.

  Chonrad nodded to him, enjoying the food and drink and feeling it rejuvenate him. Suddenly, though, he had a thought and stared at the piece of bread in his hand. “Should we be rationing the food?” he asked, wondering how much they had stored in the Temple.

  Gravis shrugged. “I think they have kept some back, just in case. But somehow I do not think Darkwater’s plan is to starve us out.” As if to confirm his thoughts, there came a massive crash on the oak doors. The two of them spun around, but there was plenty of stone and timber barricading the doors, and they did not move. As if the Darkwater Lords had realised this, it fell silent outside.

  The two knights’ gazes met. “I suppose they are going to try and think of another way in,” said Chonrad.

  “Where do you think they will try next?”

  Chonrad looked around. The door to the Domus was also very soundly reinforced. He found his eyes drawn upwards, to where the High Moon shone her peaceful light through the beautiful coloured glass. “I wonder whether they will try and come through that way.”

  “How?” asked Gravis, puzzled. “The dome is not just that shape for aesthetic purposes; it is sloped purposefully so invaders could not climb onto it with ladders.”

  It was Chonrad’s turn to shrug. “I did not think the water level would rise to the top of the Porta either, but it did.”

  Gravis blinked. “You think they will cause the water level to rise up to the top of the Castellum?”

  “I am beginning to think anything is possible now.”

  They fell silent, eating their small meal as they watched everyone scurrying about the Temple. Gradually, the knights seemed to be settling down as they realised it was going to take a little while for Darkwater to find a way into the Castellum. Chonrad used the moment’s peace to look around, realising the Temple was more like a keep than he had previously thought. The walls were clearly several feet thick, and the doors were easily reinforced. Though the dome was beautiful, the glass was only fitted in the highest part, meaning it would be very difficult to climb and break in that way. And although the Temple could be accessed via the Domus, it was clearly designed so it could be isolated, as if the builders had known one day Heartwood would be invaded.

  Chonrad looked at the Arbor, for the first time thinking how strange it was to have a tree growing inside a building. He knew the history of Heartwood and understood how the Castellum had grown around the Arbor in order to protect it, but when you thought about it, it was quite unnatural; the tree had no access to the wind and rain, and the only sunshine it received was that which came through the small panes of glass in the dome.
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  After he had eaten, Chonrad clapped Gravis on the back and wished him luck, then wandered over to where Procella and Valens were talking to several other Militis, Grimbeald, Fionnghuala and Bearrach. As he came up, they turned, and he realised they had been talking about him.

  “Did you have any luck with Teague?” Valens asked.

  Chonrad shrugged. “I think I gave him something to think about.” Or more likely the other way around, he thought wryly, but he didn’t say the words.

  Valens nodded. “We must do our best to get him to help the Arbor. It is incredible that we have achieved so much. Retrieving the Pectoris, finding the Virimage, activating four of the Nodes… I feel we are so close to solving the problem, and yet the final pieces of the will not fall into place.”

  “Speaking of Nodes,” said Procella, “how is Nitesco?”

  Valens stared at her, stricken. “Nitesco! By the Arbor, I had forgotten him completely. We have barricaded the door and left him in the Domus.”

  Fionnghuala and Bearrach exchanged a glance and then said, “Please let us go and see if we can find him, Imperator. We should be able to open the doors enough to slip out, and you can barricade them immediately behind us.”

  Valens looked over at Procella. She gave him a small smile. “We cannot leave him out there. He is so young.”

  Valens did not reply, but Chonrad could sense what he was thinking: that they would probably all be dead before sunup whether they were inside the Temple or not. But he didn’t say so. Instead, he sighed and nodded. “I would be most grateful, thank you.”

  They all went around the outer circle and through the temporary Infirmaria where Silva was tending to some of the wounded, to the doors leading to the Domus. They had been well sealed and were at that moment heavily guarded. Everyone prepared themselves in case the Darkwater Lords were waiting outside. But when the doors were opened a crack, there was nothing there.

  “When you return, give three long knocks, two short and three long,” said Valens. “That will be the code to let you in.”