by K S Nikakis
The Clancouncil was brief and finished by midday, Caledon relieved but not surprised by the number of young men who’d volunteered. Despite the Tremen being a closed community with strong bonds holding the young to their longhouses, they shared the same restless urge to see what lay beyond their boundaries as other young men he’d encountered.
He pondered these things as he made his way to the Warens for a meeting with Kest and Miken, and passed through the charred ground in the centre of the Arborean. It seemed a potent symbol of what Kira had left to save.
Caledon and Kest’s meeting was surprisingly harmonious given how prickly their earlier meetings had been, and if there were any antagonism present, it came from Miken because of his concern for Tresen. Kest and Caledon discussed the volunteers’ training, how they were to cross the Dendora and the Azurcades and be supplied with food, and what they could expect when they reached Maraschin. Pekrash was to lead the force. How the injured were to be cared for was discussed at length, Caledon keen for a healing place to be established near Allogrenia’s northern boundary.
‘As close to as can be defended,’ said Caledon, ‘and I think it would be worth considering a more formal training process for your Healers. The Tain have major physicks – Healers – who deal with the most serious injuries and illnesses, but they also have lesser physicks, who bathe wounds, change dressings and watch the ill.’
‘Our Healers don’t differentiate between greater and lesser healing,’ said Miken. ‘Even after the Bough was destroyed, when the wounded were many, Kira and Tresen did all these things, with Arlen, Paterek and Werem learning from them. Kasheron didn’t establish Allogrenia for healing to be doled out by the less skilled.’
‘I think the idea has merit,’ said Kest.
‘That’s because you command the Warens and not the Bough,’ said Miken tartly.
‘It may be, but I remember Kira taking a herb that could have killed her, so that she might keep healing when she was exhausted,’ said Kest.
Miken made no reply.
‘Kira’s gone, and Tresen’s to follow, which leaves us with Brem, Werem, Arlen and Paterek, and one of them may yet choose to go with Tresen,’ continued Kest. ‘In the past, we could afford to let those with healing interests drift to Kashclan or the Bough, acquiring their skills over many seasons. We no longer have enough Healers, or enough time, for that to happen. With respect, Clanleader, to remain strong, healing might have to look to the methods of the Warens.’
‘What mean you?’ demanded Miken.
‘Call in all those who have any interest, or skill in healing: the women who assist in childbirth, those who sit by the old in their last days, those who cared for wounded after they’d left the Warens but before they were hale again. Bring them to Kashclan, or the Warens, or wherever a Haelen is to be established. Train them, day after day, from dawn to dusk. Hone their skills in gathering and herbal preparations, in stitching and salving.’
‘Knowledge of gathering – the location and harvest of herbs – is not like a sword skill that can be taught over a few nights. Healers spend most of their growing learning such things,’ said Miken. ‘But you’re right, Commander,’ he went on. ‘Things have changed, and so must we if we are to save anything that Kasheron gave his life to establish.’
Caledon felt an enormous sense of relief. The Tremen existence had been built on a rejection of the ways outside, of the north, and they’d lived in isolation for uncounted seasons, yet unlike King Beris they carried the seeds of what had made the north powerful: a willingness to face and deal with adversity. Despite their Healer ways, the Tremen had a lot in common with their Terak kin.
‘With your permission, I’ll remain in Allogrenia for another moon quarter, to build my strength,’ said Caledon. ‘I have knowing of the ways of both the Tain, and the Terak Kirillian, as well as of the Shargh. This knowing I can give you. When I do leave, I should be well enough to journey quickly, and if the stars smile upon me will reach the Tain city of Maraschin within eighteen days. I’ll send guides back then, to aid your men’s crossing of the Azurcades.’
‘And prepare Kira for the fact that her people have taken up the ways of the Terak,’ added Miken.
‘If my understanding is correct, Commander Kest and his men have already killed to save your people,’ said Caledon evenly.
‘And so the sword is to be proven mightier than healing,’ said Miken.
‘If things go well, the sword will preserve healing,’ said Caledon, rising. ‘Isn’t that why Kira left?’
‘I’ve asked for the volunteers to meet in the second training room,’ Kest said quickly. ‘We may as well begin their preparation now.’
‘By all means,’ said Caledon.
As their footsteps echoed away, Miken remained. What Caledon said was true, but no more palatable for its veracity. The terrible fact remained that there would be a lot of death in the saving of healing.
The days passed and the time of training drew to an end, with Caledon pleasantly surprised at the skill level of the Protectors. As the day of his departure grew closer, he asked Miken to show him more of the Tremen Writings. The store Miken took him to proved to be a testament to the tradition of meticulous record-keeping Caledon had observed in Sarnia. Here, Kasheron’s followers had even developed a new sort of paper to continue the legacy.
‘Commander Kest tells me the Protectors have learned much from your tutelage,’ said Miken as they left the store.
‘My task hasn’t been hard,’ replied Caledon.
‘Do you still plan to set out in three days?’
‘Yes. My leg’s well mended, and my arm no longer pains me, thanks to Tresen. If all goes well, I’ll be back in Maraschin five days after the new moon. I’ll alert Prince Adris to the imminent arrival of Commander Pekrash and the volunteers, and he will send men to guide and guard their journey over the Azurcades.’
They walked for a time in silence, Caledon’s thoughts going to Kira again. By the time he returned to Maraschin, it would be almost a whole moon later than he’d promised her. His heart hoped she was still in Maraschin, but his head told him that Adris would have sent her north with an escort by now.
‘What think you of Pekrash?’ asked Miken.
‘He’s very able,’ said Caledon, bringing his attention back to Miken. ‘It was fortunate he volunteered, and the Healer Arlen. They will help ensure the safety of those who leave.’
‘If such a thing is possible,’ said Miken.
27
‘Chief Arkendrin!’
The downward stroke of Arkendrin’s dagger halted abruptly and he jerked round.
‘If there’s no proof its eyes are gold, the Chief-mother might say it still lives,’ said Irdodun, his voice anxious. ‘She might argue we’ve brought some other treeman back to the Grounds.’
‘My word’s proof!’ said Arkendrin, raising the dagger above the loathsome creature again.
‘But if our people see the unnaturalness of the thing you’ve captured, they’ll understand more fully your gift to them. Their gratitude, and loyalty, will be greater,’ said Irdodun.
Arkendrin’s knuckles whitened on the dagger. ‘It’s seen too many sunsets, spread its poisons too far. It’ll see no more!’
‘Blindfold it,’ said Irdodun, still nervous. ‘Take it to the Grounds blindfolded and then reveal it to our people, in all its filth, the bane the Last Teller foresaw. Then destroy it in front of them!’
Arkendrin considered Irdodun’s words awhile, then he released the hated creature’s hair, letting its head loll forward. ‘Bind its eyes, and its mouth and hands. We go now, as swiftly as the horses will take us.’
‘The quickest route is straight over the Braghans on foot,’ put in Orfedren. ‘The Ashmiri are agreeable to us loosing their horses when we have no more need of them. Chief Uthlin says Ashmiri horses seek out their own and will return.’
‘Shargh don’t enter the Sky Chief’s realm except by death,’ growled Arkendrin, sheathing his da
gger and heaving on his pack. ‘We return the way we came.’
‘It was a journey of many days, Chief Arkendrin,’ said Orfedren, aghast. ‘It will be longer if the horses must bear the creature as well. There’ll be risk of attack. You’ve told us the creature’s important, and we know it’s dwelt with the Tain. They’ll seek it.’
‘I don’t fear the Tain, even if the Weshargh do!’ Arkendrin shouted, hands on hips. ‘Those that don’t cower in the grass run like fanchon.’
‘Not the blue-capes,’ said the second Weshargh.
Arkendrin glared at him and Irdodun took a careful step back. ‘Weshargh might run before goatherds, but not Shargh! I’m the Shargh Chief! It’s my veins that carry the blood of the Mouth of the Last Teller, and the words gifted him by the Sky Chiefs. I’ll not besmirch the Sky Chiefs’ lands to save my skin!’
The second Weshargh started forward but Orfedren raised a warning hand, his gaze fixed on Arkendrin.
‘We’ve followed different ways since the cursed Northeners robbed us of our lands, but soon Shargh, Weshargh and Sou shargh will fight as one. Until then, I wish you a safe journey to your Grounds, Chief Arkendrin,’ said Orfedren, palming his forehead. Then, nodding to Irdodun, Orthaken and Ermashin waiting in silence, he and the second Weshargh moved swiftly away into the trees.
*
Palansa stood outside her sorcha, too troubled to rest. Rumour held that the Weshargh Chief was returning and that Irdodun’s blood-ties prepared a feast in his honour. If it were true, Arkendrin must be close too. The braggings of those on the lower slope said that he intended to meet with the Weshargh Chief and the Soushargh he’d bring with him, to plan how to retake the north.
Since Arkendrin had gone, Palansa had been free to wander along the Thanawah to collect reeds for baskets, and to let Ersalan and Orsron swat at each other among the slitweed while she relaxed with Sansula. But as the days passed, anxiety had edged back.
There was movement beyond the stone-trees and Palansa stiffened as warriors emerged from the mist. Then the grass crunched behind her and she whirled, to see Ormadon, his eyes fixed on the same point.
‘Six leave and two return,’ he said.
‘Do you think –’ began Palansa, hopefully.
‘Arkendrin has a gift for losing the lives of those around him, not his own.’
Time seemed to crawl by, the sun edging higher, Shargh emerging from the sorchas on the lower slope, yawning and stretching.
‘They’re the Weshargh who left with Arkendrin,’ said Ormadon, still staring over the Grounds.
‘But why have they come back alone?’ asked Palansa, shading her eyes. Perhaps they were the only survivors of an attack beyond the Braghans; perhaps Arkendrin was even now marwing-pickings …
‘Stay here Chief-wife,’ said Ormadon, then strode off.
Ersalan grizzled, and Palansa went into the sorcha, lifted him from his sling, and brought him outside to suckle. Usually Ersalan pummelled her breast, but he was quiet and intent now, as if he knew her thoughts. The notion of Arkendrin returning made her ill.
‘He’ll not have you, or me!’ said Palansa fiercely. But even as she said it, hopelessness broke over her again. The Weshargh or Soushargh wouldn’t shelter her, nor would the Ashmiri. To the south-west lay the forest people whose leaders Erboran had slain, and beyond the Braghans were others the Weshargh harried and killed. Hatred closed in about her like a ring, and those within it were more dangerous than those outside.
The sorcha flap stirred and Tarkenda came out. She’d slept badly, her dreams plagued by images akin to visions.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, noting Palansa’s face.
‘The Weshargh have come back.’
‘Without Arkendrin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ormadon knows?’
‘He seeks news of him,’ said Palansa.
Tarkenda looked old, the lines on her face deeply etched, but her uncompromising mouth, and those sturdy hands planted on her hips, brought Palansa comfort.
Ormadon appeared on the slope below and hurried up towards them, his agitation plain. ‘Arkendrin’s captured the gold-eyed creature,’ he panted. ‘He’s bringing her back to kill.’
Although it neared evening, Tarkenda watched as Palansa continued to pace up and down the sorcha.
‘You’ll lose your milk if you keep this up,’ warned Tarkenda.
‘What difference will it make? He’ll kill the creature, then he’ll kill Ersalan.’
‘I’ve not seen that happen,’ said Tarkenda.
‘You’ve had more visions?’ asked Palansa.
‘I’ve had dreams.’
‘And?’ demanded Palansa.
‘I’ve seen the gold-eyed creature here, and I’ve seen death. But whose death is hidden from me.’
‘Arkendrin will have to kill me first if he’s to injure Ersalan, and I’ll spill his blood along with mine,’ said Palansa, gripping the dagger under her dress.
‘You’re a fool if you believe that,’ said Tarkenda, seizing Palansa’s arm to still her pacing. ‘If we are to survive this, to survive him, it won’t be with his weapons! How many times have you thrust a flatsword through a man’s heart, Palansa? Cut his throat? Wanted to kill?’
‘Then what are we to do?’ cried Palansa. ‘There’s nowhere I can go! Nowhere I can hide! Nothing I can do to save Ersalan!’
‘Erboran would be shamed to hear you speak so!’ hissed Tarkenda. ‘Erboran joined with you because you were worthy of the highest sorcha, to bear his son, to fight for his son!’
‘But you said we can’t use flatswords …’
‘We use women’s weapons, women’s ways! The Sky Chiefs have granted us time and we must honour the gift.’
‘But how long do we have?’ cried Palansa.
‘The Weshargh say Arkendrin brings the creature round the Braghans. The Weshargh came over the mountains, a shorter route. We have, I guess, four or five more days.’
‘And then?’
‘From what the lower slope tells, the Weshargh Chief isn’t interested in the creature. He’s only interested in taking our warriors north.’
‘Arkendrin will kill Ersalan before he goes,’ said Palansa, slumping onto a stool.
‘To kill a babe requires neither courage nor strength. Even killing the creature is no test of a true Chief. If Arkendrin is to be the first second-born Chief of the Shargh, he must prove his worth by taking back the northern lands.’
‘Arkendrin journeys in the lands of those the Weshargh have killed. Perhaps he’ll be attacked,’ said Palansa hopefully.
‘Neither dreams nor visions show me anything of it. We must plan for Arkendrin’s arrival with the gold-eyed creature, and all that follows,’ said Tarkenda.
‘But we can still offer shillyflower and squaziseed to the Sky Chiefs?’ asked Palansa. ‘We can still beg for their favour?’
‘Yes,’ said Tarkenda. ‘We can still do that.’
28
For a long time Kira was blind, her mind empty of thought and feeling. Then the movement of the horse drew her back, making her conscious of its odour of dust and sweat. She became aware that the Shargh went in silence, and of the gag. Abruptly the only thing that mattered was getting more air. Kira worked her jaws up and down with single-minded ferocity, until the cloth slid between her lips. Then she sucked in air around the edges, the dullness in her head replaced with terror.
How long before they killed her? Part of her argued that if they wanted to kill her, they wouldn’t have bothered blindfolding, gagging and putting her on a horse, but another part insisted that at any moment they’d begin their grisly task. Time went on and the terror ebbed enough for her to think more clearly. They were obviously taking her somewhere, whether to imprison or kill her, Kira didn’t know.
She knew from Caledon that the Shargh didn’t cross mountains, so they must be taking her round the western flank of the Azurcades. If so, they would pass The Westlans, and possibly Tain watch-walks.
It was probably why she’d been gagged. Hope flared, then guttered. The Tain fought off Shargh attacks, they didn’t instigate them, nor did they have any interest in her return. Only Adris would search for her, because of his friendship with Caledon. But Adris didn’t know she was gone.
The Shargh went without pause and Kira’s hunger and thirst grew. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since mid-morning of the previous day. There was food and water in her pack, which was still on her back, but unreachable.
Kira didn’t know how far horses could travel without rest. On the first gathering expedition, Ather had insisted the horses drink at the spring and be rested while the men ate, but the Shargh didn’t stop to rest and water the horses, instead refreshing themselves noisily as they rode. Kira became obsessed with the thought of water: the feel of it on her lips, the coolness in her mouth, the slide of it down her throat. Her craving grew until it filled every sense, even obliterating her fear of knife-death.
Overcome with weariness, she slumped forward, but then a searing blow caught her. Her scream was silenced by the gag as she jerked, then a second blow sounded and the horse lurched forward. The Shargh beat her to keep her wakeful, and the horses to keep them moving.
Her back throbbed from the blow, and then, blessedly, they came to a halt. Kira’s thoughts swung to water again, but what followed was a violent argument. Kira cringed. She had no idea which of the four Shargh spoke first, but the one who’d held the knife to her eyes spoke last, and there was no mistaking the threat of his words, nor the tingling tension that followed.
They started off again, and Kira smelt the grasses of the plain, then heard the sound of beating. The horses broke into a trot, then a gallop, Kira so exhausted that she could scarcely stay mounted. Desperately she groped around behind her, her bound hands finding the saddle-strap. Then a shout sounded from afar, as if the Shargh had separated. An urgent exchange broke out between her captors, then another shout sounded, closer this time. There was a torrent of beating and the horses picked up pace. Kira gripped as best she could, the sound of a different rhythm of hoofbeats clear above the staccato of the Ashmiri horses.
