Helias retreated, beckoning to both Jarinn and Lorius. Neither priest moved, though Jarinn glanced back at the tapestries hung on the walls, the symbols of Takaar’s heroism and the law that had governed the elves for so long.
All around her, Katyett felt the eyes of the TaiGethen on her. She shrugged and nodded.
‘Tais, we move.’
Elite elven warriors hung down from the rafters and dropped seventy feet to the stage, their landings soft and sure. They rose as one, two cells moving in front of the lecterns, the other three moving quickly back to begin clearing the seats. Katyett stood in the centre of the stage. Down on the floor, the line of Al-Arynaar braced.
‘No weapons,’ she shouted. ‘Disarm and disable.’
The roaring of the crowd was extraordinary. Her voice could not possibly carry to all who needed to hear it. She spun around. Helias was still backing away.
‘Helias. Order the gongs. We have to clear the floor.’ But Helias wasn’t listening; he was leaving. ‘Damn you.’
Katyett touched Grafyrre’s shoulder. The TaiGethen turned half round.
‘They’ll try and take the flanks,’ he said. ‘We can’t let the treasures be destroyed.’
‘Split the Tais. Have the Al-Arynaar hold the centre.’
Katyett scanned the floor. The density in front of the stage was growing again, having dispersed a little when the TaiGethen dropped down. Agitators were galvanising a chant, a demand that the Takaar tapestries be destroyed, and all the words in the ancient language too. Malevolent. Foreboding.
She swung back to the lecterns and saw behind them the seats emptying quickly. Dignitaries were heading into the antechambers, kitchens and offices behind the stage towards the three sets of doors usually used by caterers and staff. She walked onto the bloodstain at centre stage.
‘My Lord Jarinn, you need to leave. One cell will guard you. Head straight back to Aryndeneth. The city is going to be ugly for a while. High Priest Lorius, you too. I’ll detail a cell to take you to a place of safety.’
‘I have no need of your help, TaiGethen.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Katyett. ‘But we are clearing this building. I suggest you go in safety while you still can.’
‘Lorius, don’t be stupid,’ said Jarinn. ‘I’ll see to it, Katyett. You’re needed elsewhere.’
‘Thank you, Jarinn. Olmaat! Your Tai to guard the priests.’
Olmaat nodded his acceptance of the honour. He was a superb warrior. The fastest of the TaiGethen. Katyett turned back to the front of the stage. The noise was growing steadily. A distinct divide had grown between those facing the stage, chanting and taunting, and those behind, waiting and watching. Katyett headed left to join her Tai.
‘Altogether too organised,’ said Merrat.
‘Watch the torch carriers. We—’
An order was barked from down on the floor. A volley of missiles arced overhead. Clay broke against the stone walls behind the tapestries and liquid spilled on stone, seat and wool. Katyett sniffed the air.
‘Oil.’ She knew what was coming next. ‘Tai, with me.’
Katyett leapt out over the Al-Arynaar in front of the stage and crashed into the crowd feet first. Elves scattered from around her. Merrat and Grafyrre landed close by, both moving towards targets to the left. Screams erupted. Katyett rose fluidly. A Tuali ula stood no more than three yards from her, torch in hand, cocked to throw.
‘Don’t do it,’ she warned.
‘Keep her from me,’ shouted the agitator. ‘She’s only one.’
In the roar of the crowd down here on the public floor, Katyett let her senses take over. One with nature, Yniss at her side, she focused, her mind clear of encumbrance and distraction. Most continued backing away from her. One came in from her left, swinging an unlit torch towards her head. Katyett moved a pace forward and blocked up and out with her left forearm. The torch broke over her wrist.
In front of her, the agitator caught her gaze. When he threw the torch she had already plotted its trajectory, was already in the air as it left his hand. She snatched it from its path, landed and kept moving. The agitator had no chance to escape. Katyett dropped the torch, crushed the flame underfoot, took another pace and snapped out her right fist, catching him square on the chin. His head rolled back and he crumpled.
Katyett stood over his prone form. She was standing in open space. No one was within five yards of her. But this was not victory. To the right, torches spun end over end to strike the stage, its seating and walls. And in the centre of the press the crowd had bunched and, as she watched, they rushed the stage.
Pelyn ran in from the back offices, eight Al-Arynaar behind her, the sounds of violence sending a shiver through her back. Her mind was still aflame at the memory of her treatment at the hands of the public and the smirking contempt of Helias. Making sure he was safe had taken a significant effort of will.
She saw the crowd run right through her thin line of Al-Arynaar guard and onto the stage. She saw torches strike tapestry and wood, and sheets of flame leap up where the oil she could smell had splashed. There were TaiGethen powering in from left and right but of Katyett she could see no sign.
‘Get those fires out,’ she shouted, waving a hand to her right. ‘Keep people away from the tapestries. I want this stage clear.’
Two Al-Arynaar moved right, taking cushions from the chairs to act as beaters. Two more came with them, moving to head off those intent on seeing the fires consume a national treasure. Pelyn headed directly for the centre of the stage, where the first of the public were closing on the lecterns. She saw knives in hands, faces contorted with righteous rage. But no direction. Nowhere to truly vent the anger that had eclipsed the joy of their victory.
Pelyn and the four with her were a woefully inadequate number. She ran forward, throwing her arms out.
‘Back. Get back. Get off the stage.’
But her voice was lost. Pelyn led her Al-Arynaar across the lectern space. Below, at the front of the stage, her warriors were still trying to keep as many from the stage as they could. Right in front of her, an ula hefted a hand axe, clearly intent on taking it to the lectern carvings. He was Tuali like her, and his face was full of contempt. From behind him, sudden movement. Katyett and her Tai leapt over the crowd, executing tuck and roll before stretching out to land softly and turn, backing her up. To the right, Al-Arynaar pressed elves back, allowing the two with beaters to attack the flames.
Pelyn’s warriors moved to her sides. The ula with the axe stepped up, backed by others.
‘Out of my way.’ His voice was a snarl, his face ugly in his fury. ‘Takaar is denounced. We will remove his image.’
‘Stand down. Sheathe the axe.’
The Tuali laughed. ‘You no longer have the authority to stop me.’
Pelyn pushed her face right into his.
‘Don’t make me embarrass you,’ she said. ‘You are Tuali. Act like it.’
‘Run back to your Ynissul friends,’ he said. ‘You are no more Tuali to me than a dog. Efra.’
The ula spat on her, the saliva spattering over her nose and right eye. Pelyn felt her control give. She smashed a fist in his gut. He doubled over. Pelyn stepped aside and cracked her elbow into the side of his head. He went down, rolling onto his back. Pelyn took a knife from her belt sheath, dropped to her knee and raised her hand to strike into his heart.
A hand grabbed her wrist. A strong hand.
‘No.’ Katyett. ‘Don’t give them what they want.’
Pelyn was aware of silence sweeping out over the chamber. Her mind was clouded and she couldn’t shift the fury.
‘He—’
‘Pelyn. Listen to me.’
Pelyn jerked her arm, but Katyett’s grip merely hardened and all she succeeded in doing was dropping the knife.
‘They want a fight,’ said Pelyn.
‘They want a martyr,’ said Katyett. ‘Please, Pelyn. Not by your hand.’
Pelyn nodded. ‘All right. I’m all rig
ht.’
Katyett let go her wrist. Pelyn turned back to the ula. He displayed no fear. Instead a half smile played on his lips.
‘See?’ he said. ‘You are still their slave.’
Pelyn balled her fist and cracked it into the ula’s nose. Knocking him out cold against the stone stage.
‘Get him out of here,’ she said.
She stood up and straightened her clothes. Dozens more Al-Arynaar were entering the chamber from front and rear. Pelyn faced the subdued crowd.
‘The next one of you that calls me efra will be the martyr you so crave. Clear the chamber.’
Katyett put a hand on her shoulder.
‘You and I need to talk. Now.’
Chapter 8
Politicians seek victory to taste further glory. Soldiers seek victory to taste further life.
‘You cannot let them goad you like that,’ said Katyett, the moment the door to the records office was closed behind her and Pelyn.
Outside, the Gardaryn was being forcibly cleared by Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen. The aggression had dissipated, water through a cracked jug, and Katyett had left behind her a sullen cowed mob. No doubt they would find more targets for their frustration outside.
‘You heard what he called me. You saw what he did.’
‘Yes, and you nearly gave him what he was looking for.’
‘He deserved nothing less.’
Pelyn had her back to Katyett. She was wringing her hands and her whole body was shaking. Her rage clung on, giving way slowly to shock. Katyett took a pace and went to reach out. She stopped herself midway.
‘Pelyn, look at me.’ There was a slight turn of the head, nothing more. ‘Pelyn, please.’
Pelyn turned. There were tears on her young face, smearing the dust and dirt that had filled the air of the chamber when the riot began. There was power within her, great charisma too. Yet in this moment she was the frail iad in whom Takaar had seen such potential when he was building the Al-Arynaar to back the Tai-Gethen’s elite skills. Pelyn stared at Katyett with all the old pain in her face.
Katyett’s heart fell.
‘He cannot have known what he was saying,’ she said.
‘He knew exactly what he was saying.’
‘No, I mean, he knew the word he used, sure, but not what . . . happened to you on Hausolis. No one, almost no one, knows about that.’
Pelyn covered her face with her hands and drew them down to the point of her jaw.
‘Plenty know and enough of them escaped through the gate. You think I’m being naive but you’re as bad. Takaar’s denouncement didn’t just happen today. It’s been happening for a decade. And if you think there aren’t those in Ysundeneth capable of using every bit of information about those . . . those closest to him, against them, then you need to understand a little more about the nature of the embittered elven mind.’
‘But what Takaar did, he did for you. You know that, don’t you?’
Pelyn’s fury returned and she advanced on Katyett.
‘What I know is that he rejected me three times. In the prime of my fertility he looked in another direction. Rendered me worthless. Unworthy of carrying his child. And even back then, before the Garonin came, people called me efra.
‘And I know that despite what he did to me, despite the humiliation, I still loved him. I still love him today.’
Katyett sighed. ‘He never stopped loving you, either.’
‘Really?’ Pelyn’s tone was bitter-edged. ‘He believed in my ability on the battlefield but that is hardly the same thing.’
‘It was exactly the same thing to Takaar. He saw greatness in you and he brought it to the fore. Showed everyone what you could do.’
‘Out of guilt, I expect.’
‘Don’t be so stupid, Pelyn. You think he rejected you because he didn’t care? Wouldn’t have been proud to father a child with you; a Tuali-Ynissul union? He did it because he could see a better destiny.’
‘What could be better than being the mother of Takaar’s child!’ Pelyn cried. ‘Do you think I’m stupid, Katyett? Do you really? I know why he rejected me. It had nothing to do with my skills as a general. Having a baby wouldn’t change that, would it? It’s because he had eyes elsewhere. Didn’t he? Didn’t he!’
Pelyn’s hand came round, open-palmed. Katyett caught her wrist and held it like she held Pelyn’s gaze.
‘Yes, he did. And you know what happened? Nothing. I bore him nothing. My love for him was as desperate as yours. Yniss knows it still is and ever will be. But I could not give him what he wanted. All that time I was away from the TaiGethen, when people suspected I was pregnant, I was hiding my shame, trying every method, herbal and mystic, to make myself more fertile. And I failed. I failed, Pelyn, and he and I both know he should have chosen you.’
Pelyn had relaxed completely and Katyett let go her wrist. Pelyn rubbed it and then took Katyett’s hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I wish I was termed efra,’ said Katyett, believing it too. ‘At least that way I could hold my head up and say I might have been the mother.’
‘You don’t wish that. Trust me.’
Both iads smiled. They embraced.
‘Takaar has no heir,’ said Katyett, breaking away but not letting go.
Pelyn bit her lip. ‘And you. Will you enter fertility again?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Katyett. ‘But I have to live through all this first. And find Takaar and persuade him he needs a child. Yniss preserve us, he’s probably dead.’
‘Despite all that he has caused, to have no child would be terrible,’ said Pelyn.
‘There are precious few out there who would agree with you. How old are you?’
‘Three hundred and seven,’ said Pelyn.
‘Still fertile?’
Pelyn shrugged. ‘Yes, but my prime has passed by twenty years. And I only get one season, long though it feels sometimes.’
Katyett nodded. ‘We really could do without this war, if it comes to it.’
‘I hear you. We’d be right back to the days of pressure to conceive.’
‘Funny isn’t it that Takaar effectively gave the iads choice of partner and then demonstrated how easy it is to get it wrong.’
‘Oh, Katyett, he didn’t get it wrong. Wanting you to mother his child was the least surprising decision he ever made.’
Katyett burst into tears and hugged Pelyn close.
‘Yours is the most generous of souls,’ she whispered.
‘And yours the strongest,’ said Pelyn. ‘We cannot fall back into war.’
‘Then let’s stop pining after lost love for a moment and go and sort the rabble out.’
Pelyn laughed and pulled away.
‘Thank you, Katyett,’ she said. ‘I nearly lost myself.’
‘Want to know another truth? Anyone else calls you efra and you’ll need to beat me to the killing blow.’
‘I’ll take the challenge.’
The door to the office opened.
‘Katyett. Trouble at the temple piazza,’ said Grafyrre.
Katyett sighed. ‘Looks like it might be a long old day. Come on.’
It was a heartbreaking run through the city. So much bile, stored up for so long. Katyett had been spat at by people she knew. People she might have called friend. Today, as if some delicate strand had been torn to shreds, she was Ynissul, they were anything else but. Damned because they were loyal to an ula who had failed after saving so many of their brothers and sisters.
They ran past the Lanyon Jail, its gates standing open. Nothing like a random assortment of bitter criminals to stoke the fires. They moved quickly along the Path of Yniss towards the temple piazza, which rested on higher ground bordering the rainforest to the north-east. Everywhere, elves had formed into gangs.
Katyett shook her head. Most of them were single-thread gangs only. While the Ynissul were the principal targets of the, presumably Tuali-backed, aggression at the moment, history
told them the flimsy unification of other threads would not last. No group that they passed offered anything more than verbal abuse to the TaiGethen cells and the thirty Al-Arynaar. Hardly surprising.
There was a fire burning up at the piazza. Tall flames licked up and smoke billowed, black and oily. Katyett increased her pace, breaking into a sprint as she ran into the piazza and saw the crowd building there. She glanced at the sky, hoping for the rain to return, praying to Yniss to nudge the elbow of Gyal and set her tears to fall.
The temple piazza was a place of beauty and tranquillity. Or rather it used to be. A circular open space a quarter of a mile across, centred around lawns and gardens, bordered by the city temples. Structures built with the passion of faith, reflecting the best qualities of elven dedication and flamboyance. From the stunning carved helical spires of the temple of Beeth, god of Root and Branch; to the spectacular entrance and mural-covered vestibule of the temple of Cefu, god of the Canopy; and the dominating temple of Shorth carved as a prone body, the piazza was testament to elven creativity.
All of it at risk now but none more so than the relatively modest temple of Yniss. The temple was a circular structure with a low green-painted dome and a thirty-foot spire at each corner. It had timber steps leading up to brightly painted wooden doors. Upwards of two hundred elves surrounded the entrance. Many carried torches and their intentions for the temple were clear enough.
A thin line of Al-Arynaar stood on the edge of the apron leading to the steps and more blocked access down the sides and to the rear. A few others stood on the steps, bows ready, but Katyett could see there was no desire to shoot.
‘Let’s get through this crowd, Pelyn. We need to hold them off until the rain comes.’
‘I’ll skirt left,’ said Pelyn, already motioning her warriors to move with her.
Katyett headed straight through the centre of the crowd.
‘Tais, make a path. No weapons. We move.’
Those at the rear of the crowd had sensed them coming and most were quick to move aside. Further in, attention was entirely on the temple. Katyett used her arms to ease people aside.
Elves: Once Walked With Gods Page 8
