Birlerion gritted his teeth and stared ahead over his horse’s ears. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed and he began speaking, his voice low, and both Jerrol and Jennery listened.
“Vespers was more compact than it is today. Narrow twisty streets that led down to the harbour, which wasn’t much more than a beach and a jetty, with a few barns behind it, nothing like your warehouses. Leyandrii’s palace was closer to the city than the King’s is, closer to her people. Her temple was newly built. She was always present, part of daily life.
“Guerlaire was her Captain. He was an intense and practical man.” Birlerion grimaced. “Stubborn too; once he made a decision, he wouldn’t budge. Very clever. He built Leyandrii the most breathtaking bridge, connecting her palace to the Chapterhouse, a sparkling edifice that amazed everyone, even his harshest critics. You had to see it to believe it; it was breathtaking.” He paused a moment, remembering, a slight smile on his face.
His voice softened as he continued. “She watched over everyone, and you could feel her presence. Her roses grew everywhere; the scent was relaxing at times, and at others uplifting, but always comforting.” His lips quirked. “Depended on what she thought you needed, I suppose.”
“So you were based at the palace with Leyandrii?” Jerrol asked.
“Yes, with a few others.”
“How did you become a Sentinal?” Jennery asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “Did she have a recruiting effort going?”
Birlerion’s lips tightened, but he answered. “She asked very nicely.”
Jennery snorted. “That was it? She just asked?”
“That was all that was needed,” Birlerion replied.
“And you dropped everything? What were you before you were a sentinal?”
“A ranger.”
“And they just let you go?” Jennery asked, the disbelief evident in his voice.
Birlerion cast him a withering glance. “It was different then. The rangers were hers, too. The Lady was part of our daily lives. It was an honour to serve her, as it still is.”
“No one would just walk away from the rangers. Not after the effort it takes to get in in the first place.”
Birlerion shrugged. “If the Lady asked you, and you heard her voice, I doubt you would be able to refuse her.”
“Alright then, where were you at the end? What happened?”
There was a short silence before Birlerion replied. “A lot of things happened. Considering Vespers was destroyed, I’m surprised you have to ask.”
“That’s no answer. Where were you? What did you do? How did you end up in the tree?”
Birlerion’s horse came to a halt as he clenched the reins and Jennery turned, eyebrows raised. He swallowed at the sight of the Sentinal’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” His voice trailed off.
The Sentinal was so rigid he could have been carved from stone, except for his eyes; they were full of pain and loss before he looked away and hid his emotions behind his considerable wall of reserve. But not before Jennery saw a flash of fear – was it? Or remorse?
“Enough, Jennery,” Jerrol said. “No more.”
Birlerion slowly relaxed his grip, and his horse began to move again.
They rode on in silence.
The sun was setting as they finally reached the Black Hen. The evening sky was burnished bronze and gold with fiery red tints flashing across the horizon. The Black Hen was a sprawling inn that showed recent signs of expansion. Lighter-coloured brick walls extended further back than Jerrol remembered, and the frames of another building stood blackly silhouetted in the burning sunset.
In the distance, dwellings were set back on either side of the track as it curved around the bend. The Grove boasted a simple temple dedicated to the Lady, as well as a meeting hall, a smithy connected to a hostelry near the sentinals and a thriving market-place.
Jerrol swung his leg over and dismounted with a tired grunt. He handed the reins up to Jennery as he unstrapped his saddlebags. “Jennery, take the horses down to the hostelry and Birlerion and I will sort out the rooms. It may make sense to get them checked over while we are here; it’s been some time since we’ve been near a smithy.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jennery said as he led Zin’talia and Birlerion’s hack down the road and round the bend out of sight. Jerrol peered at the swinging sign of a somewhat faded, grubby-looking bird. It did look more duck-like, he thought with a grin. He strolled into the cool dimness of the taproom, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of the glare of the blazing sunset.
“Evening.” He inclined his head towards the tall man standing behind the bar, polishing a glass. The taproom was empty, and the tables and chairs all tidily arranged in rows awaiting the evening crowd.
“After rooms?” the barkeep asked, with a quirk of his bushy grey eyebrows. “And maybe a bath?” he added, observing Jerrol’s grimy appearance and Birlerion’s mud-splashed travelling cloak.
“Both would be welcome,” Jerrol said. “It’s been a long week.”
“Just you?” asked the man as he reached for a numbered tag hanging on the wall behind him.
“There’s three of us. We can share a room if you have one handy.”
The ’keep tossed a tag on the bar and selected another off its hook. “One’s got two beds, the other is a single,” he said as he pulled long draughts of ale, which he plonked on the bar in front of Jerrol and then Birlerion in turn. “Gets rid of the dust,” he said. “We’re quiet tonight so you can have as many rooms as you like,” he continued. “Be busy later, though, as one of the old’uns passed; they’re all up at the landing saying their goodbyes.”
Jerrol gulped his ale. It was dark and intense, pungent enough to clear the road grime from his throat. Birlerion sniffed it suspiciously before taking a sip.
“Where you from then, travelling a week? Been up north?” the ’keep asked. He had knowing blue eyes that assessed them quickly.
“Just passing through. A bit of comfort makes a change; the ground gets harder this time of year.”
The ’keep snorted in agreement. “Dinner’s served in an hour. You can have the bathhouse to yourselves tonight, so I recommend you make the most of it. The girls can sort your clothes if you want. They’ll have them ready for you in the morning if you leave them out.”
Jerrol stared at him. “Bathhouse?” he repeated.
The ’keep grinned and pointed out the window towards the strange silhouette. “Bathhouse, hot water and all for an extra copper. Wife’s idea,” he added with a satisfied smile.
Birlerion straightened up in interest.
Jerrol finished his drink and made to place a copper on the bar, but the ’keep shooed him off. “First ones are on the house. I’ll let the girls know to start the fire. Yer room’s on the second floor, at the top of the stairs.”
Jerrol led Birlerion up the stairs to drop his bags. The first key opened the door to the twin. The room was small and narrow with most of the space taken up by two single beds, but it was clean and bright with whitewashed walls. He handed the other key to Birlerion and entered the room.
The linen smelt fresh and clean, and a small reed rug separated the beds. He grinned; they’d better not both be trying to get out of bed at the same time. A small window let the evening air in to blow away any mustiness. The inviting bed was tempting, but the bath won. He dropped his cloak on the bed and dug out clean britches, a shirt and his last piece of soap. Note to self, he thought: get soap. Heading down the stairs, he met Jennery stumping up.
Jennery squeezed past, sliding his saddlebag off his shoulder. “Well, and where are you off to?”
“The same place as you, I expect,” Jerrol grinned. Eyes alight, he waved the piece of soap under Jennery’s nose. “Bathhouse,” he gloated and sped off down the stairs.
“What?” Jennery spun to watch a rather energetic Jerrol disappear down the stairs. “Bathhouse?” He dropped his bags on the floor next to the unoccupied bed and was soon fo
llowing Jerrol out towards the wondrous structure which provided hot water on tap. “Lady be blessed,” he murmured as he watched Jerrol ease himself into the steaming water with an immense sigh of relief. The clean clothes he had piled on the bench; the travel-stained were dropped in a heap on the floor.
Jennery shucked his clothes off as quick as he could. He sluiced off the worst of the dirt under the shower, shuddering as the cold water rinsed him down, and soon he was groaning in pleasure as he slid under the warm water. “Bliss,” he said as he submerged up to his neck. “Whoever came up with this idea has to be raking it in,” he said as he relaxed bonelessly in the warm embrace.
Jerrol opened an eye when a young lad bobbed into the room. “Sir, I’m here for the washing.”
Jerrol waved a lazy arm over towards the bench. “Take it,” he said and closed his eyes again.
Time passed peacefully. The water steamed, making the air hazy until Jerrol stirred. “Time for food,” he said as his tummy grumbled. He ducked his head under the water one last time. Lady, when was the last time he had felt this clean? He reached for his towel and levered himself out of the tub. He rubbed himself down, grinning at Jennery, who had relaxed even further into the water, supine, drifting. It wasn’t often Jennery let his guard down. They both needed a recharge.
Jerrol dressed, and on leaving the shelter, he quartered the yard, alert once more as he rubbed his hair dry. He needed to get it cut. “Thank you, my Lady, for this moment,” he murmured as he caught sight of the nearly full moon beginning its ascent. His hand automatically spread over his heart and touched the smooth green stone hanging around his neck. He felt the weight of her presence; she was almost at full strength. Time was passing, and things were not going well.
He glanced back at Jennery still supine in the tub and wondered where Birlerion had got to. “Bet I finish the first ale before you,” he teased.
Jennery opened one eye. “Yeah?” he drawled. “Then you better have one on the bar for me when you do.”
Jerrol waved an airy hand and left.
The sentinals trees had been standing tall and proud since the cracking of the Bloodstone nearly three thousand years ago. So now he knew the myth was true! The Sentinals were the Lady’s personal guard, unable to follow her across the Veil which had descended around Remargaren. There were men and women inside the sentinals who stood guard over the Lady’s sacred groves, preserving her people’s place of worship. He knew where he would find Birlerion, and the question he would ask.
Chapter 7
The Grove, Greenswatch
Jerrol walked along the avenue of beech trees that led up to the Lady’s temple. The towering sentinals dwarfed them, and Jerrol’s blood stirred as he approached. He reached out to touch one, and his stomach fluttered.
The sentinals guarded her altar – a stone table on which burnt-out candles sat in each of the four corners. Here families lived under the watchful gaze of the Lady, celebrating life and the passing of the seasons, marking the passage of time in rituals handed down from mother to daughter.
Jerrol leant against the tallest sentinal and breathed in the fresh greenness of the bark. As he inhaled deeply, the clean scent zinged through his body, vibrating through his bones and settling as a gentle hum at the back of his mind. If he flung his arms around the tree, he would not embrace even a quarter of the girth. These trees were immense.
How could people not believe when all they had to do was reach out and touch. Yet that was what was happening: people turning away from the Lady, challenging age-old beliefs. The stories and rumours were gathering strength and beginning to spread, taking root and growing like weeds. Jerrol wondered sourly who was sponsoring such an effective spread of blasphemy and how he was supposed to stop it.
He mused for a moment. The Ascendants had been banished when the Lady had cracked the Bloodstone. The destruction of the stone had been her last defence against the wild magic of the Ascendants. She had pulled down a veil through which magic couldn’t penetrate and so protected her people from the world destruction the Ascendants threatened. Since then, there had been no sign of magic in the Four Kingdoms. The Lady, her guards and the Ascendants had all disappeared, leaving the world in peace and without magic.
And yet, the sentinals were magical. How could people doubt, when the trees stood as proof before them, the tall silvery trunks smooth and silky to the touch, unviolated. No child could scamper up these trunks.
Jerrol peered up into the canopy high overhead where the branches sprouted, festooned with large pointy leaves that blocked the setting sun. A deep, deep green filtered the sunlight into a cool silvery-green glow. A broad canopy that protected from storms and brutal sun alike, the colour of the Lady’s eyes, so the storytellers said, and to which Jerrol could now attest.
As he embraced the sentinal, breathing in the green life, breathing out doubt, he felt comforted, invigorated, revitalised. The presence of the Lady resonated within him, binding his belief, rooted in his core and unshakeable. He heard the echo of a voice; a question lingered on the air.
Reluctantly, he broke the link with the tree and took a deep breath as the thrum hummed through his veins. Turning, he walked through the grove. The evening sun pierced the canopy with shafts of brilliant light illuminating the trail that led to the circle. The path was straight, edged by sparse clumps of grass and shade-loving fronds of feathering ferns, mimicking the pointy leaves above.
The blaze of the evening sun made him blink, orange skies bleeding to a deeper red nearer the horizon. His eyes teared against the brilliant glare, and he ducked behind the monolith that marked the beginning of the circle and rubbed his eyes. The granite stone was rough to his touch, covered by moss and lichens softening the sharp edges to a resplendent orange in the evening glow.
Birlerion knelt before the altar and prayed. He prayed for the Lady to forgive him as he prayed every day. But she hadn’t returned, and he was adrift in a strange world that he was supposed to know but didn’t recognise.
His gut twisted and his heart fluttered somewhere about the base of his throat as memories flooded him. He had failed her. He was supposed to be her protector, and she was gone, lost with Guerlaire. The memory of Leyandrii’s final moments cut through him, and only his need for forgiveness kept him rooted to the spot. He didn’t deserve to wear her uniform.
The only comfort was the fact she hadn’t forsaken him: she had asked him to protect her Captain. He clung to the command; once he knew how to do that, maybe he could redeem himself in her eyes if he was successful.
A soft voice intruded on his thoughts, and he opened his eyes and saw a young woman kneeling over one of the stone fragments. Her fingers were busy exploring the stonework. She had masses of brown hair clouding around her face.
“Which one are you?” she asked, raising her face.
Birlerion lurched to his feet, disorientated. “What?”
The woman smiled as she rose, her fingers questing for the stone altar. “There were four recorded here: four children of Greens, all Lady’s Guards. Which one are you?”
“Birlerion.”
“Ah, the youngest. Much missed, but never forgotten. Greens waits for you.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a scholar. By name, Taelia.”
“Where did you come from? Did you find the Waystone?”
“Waystone? I know nothing of Waystones. I am here at the Lady’s bidding.” She considered him for a moment, and Birlerion felt flensed by turquoise eyes that looked straight through him; she might not see the surface, but in that moment she saw more than any outer shell. “I don’t believe the Lady is wroth with you; you did all she asked of you and more.”
Birlerion inhaled. “I failed her. I couldn’t protect her. She is lost to this world.”
Taelia’s skirts swirled as she took a step towards him. “You’re wrong. The Lady is not lost to those who believe.”
“Where is she, then?”
Taelia tutted as she appr
oached him, her hand questing in the air; Birlerion grasped it. “Inside, of course. I can see her; she is rooted deep in you, isn’t she? She said you needed reassurance, but I don’t think you do. You won’t falter. You won’t be alone for long, Birlerion. Jerrol will wake the others from their protective sleep.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the Lady told me. Her sentinals truly are amazing, aren’t they?” She tilted her head back, staring up at the canopies as if she could see them. “She protected you well. What are they like inside?”
Birlerion’s tension eased at her eager interest. “It would be an honour, my lady, to introduce you to my sentinal on my return to Vespers.”
“I’ll hold you to that. We scholars never pass up a chance to learn.” Her face grew pensive. “You must warn Jerrol that Prince Kharel has placed a bounty on his head. He must be careful.”
“He makes his way here. You could tell him yourself,” Birlerion said, glancing towards the path.
Taelia grimaced. “I’m not sure he’s ready for this. You can tell him for me, and anyway, the Lady brought me to you, not him.” She rested her hand against his chest, as if in benediction. “We’ll meet again, Birlerion. Look after him for me.” She gave him a brilliant smile and she was gone.
Jerrol gazed around the unbroken circle. Another four monoliths completed the circuit, surrounding the stone table in the centre. Broken fragments of stone poked through the grass, the exposed faces covered in lichen nearly hidden from view.
The faintest of markings were visible on the surface. Taelia ought to visit and see what she could make of it all. She was the expert on engravings, her sensitive fingers teasing out the most worn remnants. Birlerion knelt before the altar, his dark head bent. His clothes glowed in the evening light.
“They still sleep,” Birlerion said, not turning around.
“When will they wake?”
“When you tell them to.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“You woke me.”
Jerrol wrinkled his nose. “That was the Lady, not me.”
“You said it was time, and I stepped out of my tree. I didn’t expect to come out next to the temple.”
Sentinals Awaken: Book One of the Sentinals Series Page 5
