Heat. And soul-scourging light.
Chapter 10
Respect those you kill in battle for we are all brothers in the eyes of Shorth.
Takaar couldn’t control the nausea. He twisted out of his hammock, flopped onto the ground four feet below and vomited. Green and brown flecked with red. His head pounded and his stomach twisted. He vomited again, helpless as the constriction in his gut intensified. He hauled himself up onto his hands and knees, his whole body convulsing.
He was aware of a roaring sound. He assumed it was the blood rushing around his head but it was more distant than that. As his body calmed a little, and the breaths he gasped ceased to bring more convulsions, he found he could focus outside himself.
The roaring and growling was a panther. More than one. The guttural sounds echoed his own pain and were a mirror for the confusion he was beginning to experience. He rolled away from the stinking pool and lay on his back, grabbing air in grateful gulps. The rainforest was quiet. Unnaturally so.
Takaar sat up. He plucked a leech from his right arm and walked a little shakily to the edge of his bivouac, where he rested against the bole of a fig tree. He took a few deep breaths and tried to replay the instants before he was sick. He didn’t like what his body told him.
You’re scared. Should be a familiar feeling but you seem to believe otherwise.
‘These are unusual times.’ Takaar refused to turn to his tormentor, who sat behind him underneath the shelter. ‘They are unpicking everything I have ever lived for.’
All the more reason to jump when I tell you to.
Takaar shook his head and walked away from the shelter. He had experienced a trio of events. Events? It seemed the only way to describe them. Far more complex than any emotion and far more overwhelming than mere feelings. They dipped into the core of him, of his race, and toyed with it.
It had begun with a sickness that was way beyond physical. And, in quick succession, two revolting grabs at the souls of the forest, the gods and every elf. They were what had caused him to vomit. And now he was left with an ache in his head not unlike the aftermath of the taipan venom.
What scared him was that he knew from where each of these events emanated. The grabbing of his soul had been triggered from Aryndeneth and Ysundeneth while the sickness came from everywhere. It would unsettle every elf, though many would barely register it. But he, Takaar, champion of the harmony, the ula who once walked with gods, felt it for all of them.
He’d been feeling the unsettling nausea on and off for some time. The events at Aryndeneth and Ysundeneth were something altogether more violent, brutal. Sudden and brief assaults that had fed back through the energy lines that latticed the world.
He’d assumed the power they represented to be benign, latent. Yet the suddenness of his sickness and its violence told of a rippling in those energy lines and a filling of the air with something new that he could neither taste nor touch but could sense with his body and mind.
The energy was not something he could use. Not yet. But it was reminiscent of that he had felt on Hausolis, way back before the beginning of the harmony, when he had discovered the gateway and managed, somehow, to link himself to it. What had awakened the earth? And what did it have to do with the harmony and the anxiety of the elves?
He shouldn’t care. Couldn’t afford to.
Didn’t.
Yes, best you take another edulis leaf, nicely boiled down with a little simarou and crushed beetle wing. Forget it. Forget it.
Takaar nodded. It was not often his tormentor adopted a sympathetic tone. Even rarer that he was right. Takaar returned to his shelter. A movement in the brush to his left caught his eye. He had faced every danger the rainforest could throw at a lone ula. There was nothing within it that could unnerve him now.
He stopped and stared hard into the undergrowth. A sleek form eased from within it, moving towards him. And it was not alone. He counted three. He should have been scared. He was easy prey. But they were not interested in his flesh.
Takaar crouched and held out a hand. One of them came forward. He felt the panther nuzzle his hand. Her tongue explored his palm and the head withdrew.
‘What is it?’ asked Takaar. ‘What is it that we feel?’
His tears stung the burns on his face. He moved forward on his belly, every excruciating moment punctuated by the feeling of his clothes dragging where they were fused to his body. The skin had blackened on his hands and raw flesh was all that remained of the soles of his feet. Yniss had spared him. Spared his eyes. He did not know why. The last thing he wanted was to live and see what filled his gaze.
He dragged himself the last yard. The stench of burned flesh filled his seared nose. In front of him lay the smoking corpses of Lorius and Jarinn. Olmaat’s tears were for them, for the fact he had failed them.
Where the men had gone he had no idea. Olmaat had been forced to suck in his agony, reach down within himself to still his shrieking body. Play dead while they made sure the enemy had killed their targets. They and Hithuur had left then. The cascarg and the blink-lives. The poison at the centre of faith.
Killed. That was the word they used. This was not a mere killing. This was destruction visited upon great elves. Inflicted with a hatred that defied understanding and using a power terrifying and incomprehensible. One that had left Olmaat with a lingering taste in his mouth he could not identify. More than that though, whatever it was the men had done, Olmaat had felt through his body.
Even when he had dived across Jarinn, trying to shield him, and been cast aside like a doll by the power of the fire column, he had felt a moment that he could only describe as elevating. Now the pain in every fibre made that a confusing memory.
Olmaat raised himself up on his blistered hands. His palms weren’t too awful but the backs were beginning to weep and blackened skin hung off in uneven strips. He gasped, the air over his mouth and down his throat like dragging flesh over broken glass.
What remained of the two bodies was melted together. Neither was recognisable. Parts of limbs had simply been obliterated. One skull had been crushed. No flesh whatever remained. No clothing and no distinguishing marks. It was like some bastard creation, immolated at birth. Something hideous and pitiful, one mouth open in final agony, praying for the end.
And at least that end had been swift. Olmaat prayed to Shorth to comfort the souls of both elves. He prayed to Tual to keep him alive until he warned Katyett and found those responsible. He prayed to Yniss to help him seek them, face them and kill them.
‘Olmaat?’
Relief took the strength from Olmaat and he collapsed back onto his stomach.
‘Help me, Pakiir.’
Olmaat heard a gasp and the choking back of a sudden sob.
‘Tell me that is not our Jarinn.’
‘I cannot. All that remains now is reparation and retribution.’
‘Yniss preserve us, is there no honour left?’ Pakiir knelt in Olmaat’s eye line and touched the charred hulk of Jarinn and Lorius to whisper a halting prayer. ‘What must I do, Olmaat?’
‘Find a temple healer. Find Katyett. The TaiGethen can trust no one. Our own people have turned against us. We must hunt and she must know what men have brought with them.’ Olmaat coughed. ‘No one else should see this place like it is.’
Olmaat felt a hand on his back. He sucked in the comfort of touch.
‘Rest if you can. Don’t try and move any more. I’ll bring people to you. You’ll be all right.’
‘How did you escape it?’
‘I am shamed, Olmaat. I ran back outside and hid until they were gone.’
Olmaat would have smiled but his lips were too charred for that. ‘No shame in common sense. Yniss guides your mind, Pakiir. Go.’
Pakiir’s footsteps faded quickly. Olmaat tried to lie absolutely still. The adrenaline was draining from him and the pain was becoming ever more intense. But he lifted his head one more time.
‘I am sorry, my priests, I have failed y
ou. I have failed Yniss.’
Nausea swept through him and he surrendered himself to the blissful dark.
It was a rerun of the scene in the Gardaryn though the stakes were immeasurably higher.
‘Soak the walls!’ roared an Al-Arynaar at the temple workers who had run out when the first torch and oil had struck the timbers. ‘Douse the flames and soak the walls. Do it!’
‘Weapons!’ ordered Katyett.
Twelve TaiGethen and forty Al-Arynaar drew their blades. They advanced a single pace. Each Tai cell formed into its three. Pelyn checked her ranks.
‘Double line. Advance on my order. Push them back.’
There were weapons in the crowd. Torches flew. Oil flasks shattered over the steps, over the walls and over the defenders. TaiGethen cells moved to the flanks. Katyett, Grafyrre and Merrat remained central. The mob had reacted to the first torch, howling in pleasure as flames ate briefly at a mural of Yniss giving life to the land. Al-Arynaar had dropped back to organise the temple workers.
‘Target the agitators,’ called Katyett.
Pelyn’s heart raced in her chest. She wiped oil from her face. How close they stood to the brink.
‘Move in,’ said Pelyn.
She was at their head. The Al-Arynaar marched forward, swords held low but ready. The crowd backed off, but from all parts was being exhorted to hold.
‘Remember who you really are,’ said Pelyn. ‘Ordinary people. You have children, you have lives to lead. Go back to them.’
They moved closer: Al-Arynaar and citizen could almost touch. The rain was coming down harder now but torches bathed in pitch would burn and the oil was resistant enough to do real damage. A torch was thrust through the front rank of the crowd and into the midriff of an Al-Arynaar.
Already covered in oil, she staggered back, flame shooting up her armour, across her hands and into her face. She screamed, pain and fear mingling. Three of her brothers dropped their swords and threw themselves on her, bearing her to the ground. And out of the crowd stormed six ulas with more torch-bearers behind.
They rushed the break in the line. Knives and swords rose. Helpless Al-Arynaar were going to be injured or killed. Pelyn had no time to think. She blocked a downward strike with her blade, heaved the ula’s arm back across his body and whipped her blade across his chest, a battle cry escaping her lips as she did so.
Blood sprayed into the air to mix with the rain. The ula was flung back, stumbling, dropping his knife and grabbing at his body. Pelyn saw it all through a haze. The mouths of elves dropping open. The fingers being raised to point. And the collapse of any semblance of order.
Screams rang out through the crowd. Panicked people ran left, right and back. ula and iad pushed each other down and aside to escape. More elves threw themselves at the Al-Arynaar. Fists struck down at the burning warrior and her protectors. Fingers raked across faces. Al-Arynaar barrelled into the attackers, sweeping them away.
TaiGethen attacked from left and right. Katyett hurdled the Al-Arynaar line with Grafyrre and Merrat. She bounced on one leg, rose and kicked out flat, driving the blade and arm of her target hard back into his gut. He fell back, sword arm flying out in a futile attempt at balance. The blade struck the face of another standing next to him, taking out an eye.
Pelyn faced a furious knot of elves.
‘Murderer! Ynissul slave.’
She could still see the ula she had struck moving behind them, stumbling as he tried to escape.
‘Go back to your homes. No more need be hurt. You’ve burned my people and the temple of Yniss. Your shame will live with you in the eyes of Shorth.’ Pelyn brought her sword to the ready and moved towards them. ‘Any of you want to disagree?’
Four rushed her. Al-Arynaar were either side of her. It was an uncoordinated attack. Two were ahead. One brought an old rusting short sword overhead. She swayed left and it rushed harmlessly past her shoulder. The second flailed out with long fingernails. Pelyn took her blade two-handed and blocked the strike aside with her wrists, leaning in with her right shoulder to connect with her attacker’s chest. The elf was spun round and hit the ground hard.
The third found his way blocked by one of her warriors. The fourth made to throw his knife. His wrist was cocked. A hand clamped to it and held him hard. His feet brought him forward and he was dumped on his back. Katyett dropped a knee into his gut and put a blade to his eye.
‘Stop this attack or you will be the first to explain yourself to Shorth.’
Pelyn had her blade at the throat of the elf she’d put down. Her other attackers were covered by warriors needing little more goading to push their blades home. On the face of the one staring up at Katyett there was fear and fury.
‘It has already been a trying day,’ said Katyett. ‘And my sword hand aches.’
‘Let me up,’ he hissed at her.
‘I don’t think so. I remember you from the chamber. And it was the torch in your hand that has burned my Al-Arynaar sister. You’re going nowhere. It’s more a question of whether you choose to die now or rot in the Lanyon. Call off the attack.’
The attack was already over. The speed of the TaiGethen and the intent of the Al-Arynaar had scattered the body and will of the crowd. Anyone dragged along by nothing more than inflamed passion had already run. Those with weapons were backing away. Pelyn waved her warriors to move up slowly, pushing the remains of the crowd further from the temple.
The rain began to pound down so hard it stung the unprotected head. Pelyn turned to check on the condition of her burned Al-Arynaar but her eye was caught by a lone TaiGethen running towards the temple having entered the piazza from the east. His body was fluid and in control but Pelyn could see anguish on his face. It was a moment before she recognised Pakiir. Her heart went cold.
Katyett had seen him too and was running to intercept him. The few remaining in the crowd caught a change in the mood. Pelyn watched Katyett. Saw her arms come out to slow Pakiir and grip his shoulders, trying to calm him. Katyett stiffened, kissed Pakiir’s forehead and brought him into a brief embrace. When she released him, Pakiir ran into the temple and Katyett turned back. Her face was grey. The rain pouring down it serving only to intensify an expression which would have stolen the thunder from the sky.
‘Methian, keep the crowd moving out of the piazza,’ Pelyn said to her captain. ‘Muster back at the temple when you’re done.’
She walked towards Katyett, who had called her Tais to her. As they joined her, they crouched, hands to the earth and heads bowed. Pelyn could hear quiet prayers of melancholy and knew already the magnitude of what had happened.
‘Katyett?’ she asked quietly
Katyett had tears on her face. Pelyn could see them despite the rain.
‘Yniss and Tual have surely turned from us,’ she whispered. ‘Feel Gyal’s tears, feel the anger within them.’
Pelyn was shaking, her breathing fast and her vision tunnelling. ‘What has happened? Please.’
Katyett shook her head. ‘Jarinn and Lorius. Both dead. Murdered by men and traitors. Burned beyond recognition by something the men brought with them, Pelyn.’
Pelyn’s legs had given way and she’d sat down hard, her sword tumbling from her grip to clatter on the stone apron. She put her hands on her face, covering her mouth, eyes and nose. Nausea raged through her. She turned up to the heavens, letting Gyal’s tears drum on the backs of her hands.
She was aware Katyett had knelt by her and of the mourning dirge the TaiGethen were beginning to chant.
‘We cannot keep this news quiet. We have to be ready for what is to come,’ said Katyett. ‘You must warn the Al-Arynaar.’
‘Who are the traitors?’ Pelyn took her hands from her face and looked into Katyett’s eyes.
‘This is not the time.’
‘What will I tell my warriors?’ pushed Pelyn.
‘Men killed our priests. Men backed by an Ynissul,’ said Katyett, the words hard for her to speak.
‘Ynissul killed Lor
ius,’ said Pelyn, the sickness deep in her gut and a flash of hate for the temple in front of her impossible to ignore. ‘You know how this will play out.’
‘Ynissul killed Jarinn too.’
‘You and I both know that won’t matter,’ said Pelyn. ‘And Ynissul have brought strangers to these shores.’
‘I know,’ said Katyett. ‘Pelyn, this is a pivotal moment. How the Al-Arynaar react is key. You do understand me?’
Pelyn nodded. Emotions clashed within her. ‘It is difficult.’
‘Then remember what you’re fighting for. What we’ve fought for. You and I have stood shoulder to shoulder. On the walls of Tul-Kenerit we have faced the Garonin. All because we believe in what Takaar gave us. That has not changed. Criminal elements are taking advantage of the denouncement. We have to stand firm and we have to root out and kill those who would murder our most beloved to bring disorder down on the elves. We will hunt down the rogue Ynissul. Starting now.’
‘I want to believe that,’ said Pelyn.
Katyett bridled. ‘I am TaiGethen.’
‘I have warriors who will be seriously conflicted. Tual knows I understand why.’
‘You cannot crack. You cannot falter. Flinch and perish, Pelyn. Remember that. But it won’t just be your death, it’ll be the death of our entire way of life. The waste of a thousand years of effort.’
Pelyn nodded again. ‘What will you do?’
Katyett glanced behind her. Pakiir and a group of healers were running out of the piazza.
‘I must see to Olmaat. He’s still alive and what he has seen is crucial to us. I don’t know what’s next, Pelyn, I really don’t. But no Ynissul will be safe. I am debating taking every Ynissul in Ysundeneth out of the city.’
‘You know the message that will send.’
‘Do I have another choice?’
Pelyn shrugged and climbed to her feet. Her heart was pained and melancholy ached throughout her whole body. The TaiGethen had completed their dirge and had moved to stand behind Katyett. She was helped up.
Elves: Once Walked With Gods Page 10
