by CJ Arroway
Then, as quickly as his life had lost its purpose, it was seemingly found again. One morning he returned to the lodging with his outstanding rent and left with a small backpack and his family sword – the only thing his father had allowed him, and the one thing he had that could earn him his keep. He sought enlistment with the King’s Men and the City Guard of Wyrra, but no army in The Wyrran or The Home felt one man was worth the disapproval of Rachlaw’s father. So he took his sword to wherever there was silver for swinging it. For the best part of a year he fought for the Myrians – they were at peace with The Home, and The Sea People raided their northern ports each spring and summer.
Rachlaw tasted battle for the first time on the beach at Takkin – 40 Sea People raiders caught coming ashore by 100 Myrian regulars. At the end of an hour, the tide rolled in a red foam. Rachlaw stood alongside 14 comrades and surveyed the wreckage of all others. He knew then that he had been born for this.
After the fighting season, he returned to the Wyrran port again, but not to his old lodgings. He now had silver enough for a room of his own, and he spent the long winter and following spring back in his homeland.
But soon the silver ran dry again and he looked for further paymasters. The Sea People were quiet this year – they had suffered in Myria, and Rachlaw had heard they had troubles enough in their homeland at this time.
So he turned his sights to the Borders. The lords there – when they weren’t fighting each other – were always pointing their spears either one way at The Home or the other at the Cyl.
His people may not have welcomed him into their ranks but he was no traitor, so he went looking for a lord – or, as many of them called themselves to Rachlaw’s amusement, king – who needed a strong sword-arm against the wildmen of the hills.
His first mission was to go with a raiding party that was to assault a small Cyl fort on the very eastern edge of their mountain lands. The Cyl had been using this fort as a base for raids on Borderer farms along the Usha river. Rachlaw’s new paymaster, King Brulan (whose ‘kingdom’, Rachlaw observed, was little bigger than the hunting grounds of his family home), wanted revenge.
‘We will teach them a lesson they will never forget,’ the king had told them as he addressed his men before their surprise attack. And lessons were learned: by King Brulan, that it is hard to surprise the Cyl on their own ground. By Rachlaw, that the Cyl were every bit as fierce fighters as the Sea People he had faced before.
Most of the captives were put to death – their throats cut and the blood sent to the Earth Spirit. King Brulan’s brother paid what was requested for his return, though it did him little good. His personal guard later took their own blood price when they found the ransom money was to come from their pay.
Rachlaw, however, was a prize.
‘This crest,’ Nan Tabyn told the cheering warriors gathered in the hall as she held up Rachlaw’s sword to display it’s polished hilt, ‘this crest means gold for all of you – and, best of all, gold picked from the pocket of one of the worst scum of all The People.
‘Lord Hakla will pay a heavy weight of gold for the life of his son, and that gold will buy us the weapons that we will use to butcher his soldiers if they ever dare set their filthy feet on our beautiful mountainside again.’
Rachlaw, beaten and bound as he was, almost felt a laugh rise at this mad woman’s prediction. He thought to tell her that his father would be more likely to thank her for using the sword to remove his head. But he thought better of it, under the circumstances.
Nan sent word to Lord Hakla that he had six months to send gold or his son would die. Five months into her wait, with still no reply, Rachlaw told her that he was ready for death and it would save both of them the tedium of waiting if she just knew that his father would not pay a single penny for an outcast son.
Rachlaw asked that she might send his body back to be buried near his home, but Nan refused. He was to be sacrificed to the Earth Spirit at sundown the next day.
But the spirits, it seemed, did not want him. That night Brya was attacked by Duvran raiders – magic kin from the dark hills to the north that even the Cyl thought too barren for their homes.
Perhaps they thought he was one of their men who had been captured – his rags and bruises would have rendered him unrecognisable even to his own brothers. Or they may simply have meant to take him as a slave. Either way, two Duvran men cut his bindings and, as they pulled him to his feet, his hand reached the blade at one of the men’s sides and they both fell so that their bodies hit the ground at the exact same time.
Outside the hut the Cyl had risen from their beds to confront their attackers, and the confusion offered Rachlaw his chance to escape. He backed away from the area around the Great Hall where most of the fighting was taking place, and slipped into one of the huts at the fringes of the settlement. From there he could assess the route out unseen.
As he closed the door behind him he heard a muffled scream and turned around. Two Duvran men had pinned down a small Cyl girl – she could barely be old enough to have an adult’s tooth in the mouth they had covered. One of the men was holding her down while the other struggled with his breeches.
In all his battles with the Sea People, Rachlaw had never hated his enemy – he had killed as a professional doing his job and had done so with no emotion save natural fear for his own life.
Now he killed with rage.
Nan said later that when the Cyl men came to investigate the noise he was still hacking at the torso of one of the Duvrans – even though their scattered parts were so many that at first they thought he’d killed four men.
Rachlaw was free to go, but to Nan’s astonishment he asked instead to stay. ‘I have nowhere to go to – nothing to return for. If you wish, I will stay and fight for you.’
And she did wish, and he stayed for two more years.
One day, when Rachlaw was helping the cowherds to bring in a particularly troublesome bullock from the lower paddock, four horsemen approached Brya carrying the black poplar branch that signalled treaty. In the Great Hall of Brya, they told him there had been a power struggle in The Home and that Lord Quist was now king.
His father and brothers had chosen the wrong side and paid with their lives. If he would now swear allegiance to Quist, the family lands and title would be returned to him and the ransom paid.
And so Lord Rachlaw rode out of Brya with a kiss from Nan Tabyn – and she kept his sword in return.
Hold onto it, Nan,’ he called, as he turned to ride away. ‘I’ll be back for it one day.’
The Contest
‘A Cyl army fighting for The Home? This is the most ridiculous thing I have heard in all my years. And you Nan – you of all of us? Fighting for The People? The Evil Eye must have taken your mind.’
The Great Hall was full of the sounds of confusion, anger and dissent. Rachlaw kept his seat at Nan’s side, surveying the room for any sign that some of the village leaders might be turning his way.
But the floor was now held by Bryndl – elder of the Cyl and the closest thing these mountain people had to a leader who could stand alongside Nan. If he could not be persuaded, the Cyl would not be persuaded.
‘You are asking Cyl’s warriors – the very people whose spears keep our sacred hills safe from the spreading filth of The Home; whose blood binds the stones that circle our fortresses – to join arms with…’
‘With The People, yes,’ Nan spoke.
‘Nan – you know the bounds of the Assembly, you cannot speak until Bryndl relinquishes the rod.’ Hanna, the high priest who guided the Assembly, threw her a look that told how she should know better. Nan nodded contritely.
When Rachlaw first witnessed the Cyl Assembly he thought it wild and primitive. The leaders of all the Cyl villages would gather to shout and scream abuse at each other, even throw furniture if things got particularly heated. If weapons were not relinquished at the door, he was sure they would be used.
But it soon became clear there was a
strange kind of order here. Any elder could address the Assembly, but only one could hold the birch rod at one time, and the others must hold their tongue until it was relinquished.
In the end the Assembly must choose a voice to follow, and all Cyl were bound to the decision.
These days, he thought, this system was preferable to the carefully choreographed, elegant dance of the Royal Court that had left his country in the charge of a vain and greedy fool concerned only with his own survival.
‘I cannot ask our people to go against their hearts, against their instincts, against our tradition, and side with an enemy that has sent so many of our ancestors – so many of our children – to the Plains of the Dead. It cannot be.’
Bryndl threw the rod to the ground and took his seat. The room erupted into shouting and a scuffle of pushing and kicking.
‘Nan has the rod!’ Hanna shouted, as some order returned to the room.
Nan stood and looked around the room, making sure she showed her face to all who were assembled. She paused for just long enough that there was anticipation when she spoke.
‘I know what is asked seems hard. For me to be asking it seems as strange to me as it does to you.’ She looked around to measure the nodding and shaking of heads. ‘So I will not ask it of you.’
The room now broke into more noise and confusion, as Nan waited for the sound to settle.
‘Instead I will give the rod to my chosen voice in this turn – Rachlaw.’
The room was now pandemonium and the furniture had started to fly. Hanna stood on the stones of the central hearth to raise herself above the crowd and howl for silence.
‘This is allowed! Be still and listen. You all know the rules and you must all abide or you will be removed.’ Hanna signalled to the guards at the doors who moved their positions just enough to bring a sudden quiet to the room. Rachlaw took the floor, smiling cautiously as he took the rod from her.
‘My friends. Nan has asked me to speak to you because she hopes I can persuade you – as I persuaded her – that what I am asking for I ask, not as a lord of The Home, but as a warrior of the Cyl.
‘I see in this room many men I have fought alongside. Inla,’ Rachlaw gestured to one of the younger leaders, a taut-faced man whose hair was just showing the first flecks of grey. ‘I remember your great courage at Cran Trega.’ Inla bowed his head as murmurs of approval rippled through the Assembly.
‘Others of you, I have fought with your sons, your brothers, your kin. And you all know I gave everything I had, and more, to defend your homeland. And I did this because it is my homeland too.
‘But I know that for most of you, you do not see The People as you see me, and any love you may have for me does not go further into The Home than the bounds of my body. I know why, and I understand why.’
The pushing and shoving in the crowd had started up again and Rachlaw raised his voice to continue. ‘But I am not asking you to fight for The Home. I’m not even asking you to fight for me. I am asking you to fight the most important battle of your lives, the greatest battle in your history. I am asking you to fight for yourselves, for the Cyl – because I am asking you to fight for your survival.’
‘The Home has raided you, it has taken your lands, it covets them still. But do they not also trade with you? Aren’t there many Cyl living and working in The Home even now? Yes they – we – may not treat you as you should be treated, but we live with you, we respect your right to live.
‘The Sea People despise magic kin with all their hearts. They are defined by that hatred. They are here because there are no magic kin in their land – long ago they were butchered to the last child. And now they come not just to take our land – in the Home and here in the mountains – but to take your lives. All your lives.’
Around the room the only sound now was a few stilted murmurs and the shuffling of feet.
‘They will not stop at your borders like The People. If we do not face them – if they take The Home and build their power base – they will come and they will kill you all, and it will be too late to stop them. We must put aside ancient enmity to face a greater enemy together, because apart we will certainly perish. Together we may hope to live.’
Rachlaw handed the rod to Hanna and bowed his head. The room was now a buzz of voices as Hanna turned to the two elders. ‘Nan, Bryndl – you have spoken. Go to your people and ask what they wish of you.’
Nan stood first, and around the hall dozens of the assembled Cyl stood for her. Bryndl then took his stand and his supporters followed suit.
Hanna looked around and stood in silent thought for a moment.
‘There is no loud voice – no one has spoken so that enough hearts heard it. We must continue or we must invoke the spirits.’
There were groans and the tipping of chairs. On matters of war, the debate must continue until one voice was loud enough to carry the day decisively.
‘We will assemble here tomorrow at dawn. Any further speakers–’
‘I invoke the spirits.’ Rachlaw stood and his powerful voice cut Hanna short. There was utter silence in the room for a second, and then a full-scale riot.
* * *
‘The Spirit World is not a place to enter lightly. There is great truth there, but there is also great danger.’
Nan was in her library and around her were books, scrolls and charts that she was carefully but hurriedly looking through. Evie was perched on a tall stool, her elbows propped on the table as she tipped it forward onto its front legs and rested her face in her hands. She was studying the beautiful drawing of a star-shaped yellow flower on the chart that Nan was reading. Luda was picking nervously at the splinters on the table edge.
‘In the dream world your thoughts are clear – you can see through the fog of words and understand their true meaning. No one can hide their words’ meaning from you there.
‘But it is also a place in which it is easy to get lost. You can wander off the paths and into its darker places, and these can confuse and torture your mind. For those who wander too far and lose their way, there is no way back.’
‘So you and Bryndl are going to continue the debate in the… ’
’Spirit World,’ Nan finished for Evie. ‘Yes – that is the tradition, but it is not one that is much used. For the reasons I mentioned.’
‘So Rachlaw has dropped you in it then?’ Luda asked, then winced as Evie’s sharp elbow poked his ribs.
Nan smiled weakly. ‘Well, you might say that. But it’s my own doing – I made him my chosen voice and he thinks this is our best chance. I dare say he is desperate.’
Nan rolled up the chart she had been studying in a manner that suggested she had found what she was looking for, or at least stopped searching.
‘But as I have told you, Evie, I believe his coming – your coming – is the will of Fate. And if that is the case, then so is this. So I will face what Fate has in store for me and I will embrace it.’
* * *
The Invoking of the Spirits ends all debates. Once the call is made to enter the Spirit World, discussions no longer take place and the Great Hall is emptied.
The Visitors – those who are to talk in the domain of the spirits – had been bathed with the sap of the birch tree, marked with ochre then dressed in the Spirit Robes. The beacon was now lit in the green circle of the inner fort and the Visitors were ready to take The Road, as the Cyl gathered to watch, and to play the music that would help them find their way.
‘What is The Road Nan was talking about?’ Luda asked Evie, who shook her head. Rachlaw, who was sat on an upturned tree stump in front of them, turned his head to them and whispered: ‘In that cup, there’s a drink made from a preparation of herbs that they take – that’s The Road. It leads their minds off to the Spirit World. So they say.’
‘Do they actually go to the Spirit World, Rachlaw?’ Evie asked. ‘What do they see?’
Rachlaw shrugged. ‘I don’t know Evie. They believe so and it may be true. As for what they
see; it seems they often find what they were looking for – although I think they sometimes see only what other people are willing to show them.’
‘What actually happens in the debate in the Spirit World that can’t happen down here?’ Luda was feeling frustrated that all this great ceremony seemed to be leading to was two strangely dressed people having a drink. ‘I mean we won’t even hear what they are saying, so how are we supposed to know what’s going on?’
Rachlaw had turned fully round now. ‘In the Spirit World, each is meant to be able to completely understand the meaning and truth of what the other says, to truly understand their words and motivations. They will come to an agreement in there and then, if they both return, they will have decided on one solution and it will be binding.’
‘What do you mean if they both return?’ Luda’s expression had changed from confusion to concern.
Rachlaw’s face betrayed a flicker of what Evie thought might be guilt. ‘If they can’t agree, even when they have both seen the truth, sometimes it can become a battle. If that happens, one of them – possibly both of them – may be lost in the Spirit World and not return.’
‘Nan could die?’ Concern was now disbelief, as Luda sat sharply back in his seat, folding his arms and looking away from Rachlaw.
‘It’s very rare,’ Rachlaw said, but now he turned back as the music had started and the ceremony was about to begin.
Nan and Bryndl knelt, facing each other, and bowed, one to the other. In front of them, on a large flat stone, patterned with ochre, was a small wooden beaker. Nan held out her hand and Bryndl drank before handing the cup to her.
Nan took her draught and they both stayed kneeling as the music began. Drums of wood and cowhide beat a steady, rising rhythm while huge horns, carved with the mouths of fierce animals, blew bursts of a sound that made Evie think of the cries she had heard from the Gadd farm when it came time to slaughter an old sow.
