Hallsfoot's Battle (12 page)

*****

When Annyeke finished the First Legend of
Gathandria, her hair was damp with sweat and she could taste the
salt of tears on her tongue. The First Legend had always brought
tears to her mind, but never in such quantities before. She was
even shaking. What did this mean? As she opened her eyes, she could
see the scribe stepping past the mind-cane on the floor and
striding towards the water jug. She could sense many emotions in
him, the chief of which was concern for her.

“And what lesson must I take from this?”
Simon whispered, as if talking only to himself. “Such a bloody war
and the victory, such as it was, scarcely won. What wisdom is there
here?”

She tried to reply but could not. The room
around her, so familiar and so safe, suddenly appeared to be
somewhere she’d never seen, filled with unknown dangers. To her
right, there was a flurry of white movement and she half gasped,
half screamed as the snow-raven plunged towards her. As she dived
under the safety of her work desk, one white feather touched her
neck and fire seared her skin. This time she screamed for real, but
the bird swooped on, heading for Simon.

The Lost One turned, the glass beaker he was
filling with water sparkling in the light. Beaker and water jug
tumbled to the stone floor and his hand flew to his face as he took
a step back. The bird’s beak closed round Simon’s wrist, forcing
him across towards the table where the raven slammed his hand down
on the mind-cane, itself vertical and trembling now as if poised
for action.

Simon cried out and a tongue of fire rose
from the ebony cane, licking its way over the scribe’s fingers.
Careless of the strange fire searing her own mind, and despite the
presence of the bird, Annyeke flung herself out from beneath the
table and towards him. She had no idea what she would do when she
got there but she couldn’t crouch helpless and do nothing.

The bird let go. The mind-cane sizzled and
sang. Simon reared backwards, his hand burning, and swept the cane
away from him. His eyes were wide with fear. As he turned, surely
to run, his fingers touched Annyeke’s face. Touched and clung, as
if melded to her flesh.

A bright river of blue filled her head. The
fire in her thoughts groaned and vanished. From her mouth, a spark
of red appeared and dropped to the floor. A heartbeat later, a
spark of purple followed. The sparks solidified and became small
jewels of colour on the floor. They trembled twice and were still.
The heat on Annyeke’s face eased and she knew she was herself
again.

She could hear Simon’s uneven breath, feel
his panic continuing to rise, the sensation made fifty times more
powerful by his touch. If she didn’t do something to calm him soon,
he would be out of control.

“Simon,” she whispered, but only aloud. She
understood that further shocks would be more than unwelcome right
now. She hoped her voice alone would be enough to steady him.

“Y-Yes?” His eyes turned to hers, wide and
glittering.

“I-I think it’s over. I th-think we’re safe.”
She couldn’t stop the stammer, flowing as it was from his mind to
hers, but her tone was low, unlike his.

As she spoke, she hoped she was telling the
truth. Glancing round, the mind-cane was motionless again, and the
shape of the snow-raven filled the window once more. The mysterious
flames in her thoughts and on Simon’s skin had gone, too, almost as
if none of it had happened at all. But she knew it had and, may the
gods save them both, she knew what it meant, also.

With a gasp, Simon removed his fingers and
broke the link between them. He was trembling. Skittering away from
her, he stared at the cane and raven before hugging his arms to
himself, as if trying to contain his fear.

“What was it?” he said. “What happened?”

Simon

It had only been a story. Just a story,
though a tragic one, and one he couldn’t find his way through.
Fortitude and Lust. What was Annyeke trying to tell him and how
could this help him to meditate? Should he have agreed to the
mind-link narration? No, he still believed persuading her to tell
him vocally had been the wisest course of action.

But then, after she’d finished speaking and
he’d still been puzzling over the meaning of what he’d heard, the
mind-fire had started and that was when the snow-raven assaulted
him.

He could still feel the tingle of the
mind-cane’s power on his flesh. The cane lay quietly enough now and
for that he was thankful. Annyeke, too, seemed to be herself again.
Fearing to insult her in some fashion, he snatched his hand away
from her face where it seemed to have been fused for a few
desperate heartbeats of time. Instead, he withdrew to a safe
distance, trying to make contact with nothing and no one.

“What was it? What happened?” he asked
her.

She shook her head, and her eyes, when they
turned to his, were full of sorrow.

“It’s my fault,” she said, her tone as dull
as winter dusk. “I should have protected us, but I didn’t. The
story I told has worked its way with me as I told it and has laid
hold on the lust I carry in my own heart. Look, those are the
consequences.”

With that, Annyeke gestured towards the small
stones that had somehow fallen from her mouth while the mind-fire
raged between them.

“What do you mean?” Simon reached
instinctively towards the red and purple orbs but Annyeke grabbed
his arm to stop him.

“No! Don’t touch them. Not yet. They might
still be dangerous.”

“In what way? They’re not burning now, are
they?”

“But they could still infect you, Simon. Let
them cool further. I need to think about this.”

His companion looked so down at heart that he
tried to think of what best to say to comfort her. This was when he
needed the help of the cane and the snow-raven but both remained
silent. It was up to him.

“You say these stones are symbols of your
desires?” he began, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not my desires,” Annyeke whispered, her eyes
still shining with unshed tears. “You soften the fact. They are a
sign of the lust I bear in my heart. My lust for things I want and
cannot have, the sparks of evil which can build into a fire so
consuming that it can destroy a character, or a people.”

The scribe swallowed. Did all Gathandrians
think in such all or nothing terms? No matter. If the only way to
victory and survival was through Annyeke’s care, then he must make
sure his Mentor didn’t falter, at least, not so soon in this
mysterious training programme.

“Annyeke?”

“Yes?”

“I…I don’t think everything is always as
clear cut as you say. If I’ve learned anything from the life I’ve
led so far, it has to be that. Besides, in my experience, none of
us is perfect. We all carry within us the seeds of both good and
bad. It is the circumstances we meet which causes one or the other,
or, more likely, both to flourish. In any case, you should count
yourself proud that when the story you have just told me burrows
into your store of lust, all it can produce are these tiny objects.
If it had burrowed into my supply of lust, no doubt the results
would have been far greater.”

Annyeke gazed at him quizzically and then the
two of them started laughing. A laughter born of terror and relief
and which neither of them could stop for at least the length of a
story’s beginning. While they laughed, the snow-raven stepped back
and spread out his wings, but made no sound. The mind-cane, too,
was silent. Even though he was sure that somehow the actions of
both bird and cane had saved them, Simon was glad they didn’t
interfere now. In spite of this, he nodded once in the direction of
the bird who cocked his head on one side and folded up his
wings.

When he and Annyeke had recovered themselves,
Simon rose and gathered up the shards of broken glass from the
beaker he had dropped. Annyeke indicated that he should place them
on one side of her work table.

“I think it’s beyond saving,” he mused. “I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. And, on the
contrary, our glass-workers—the few we have left—are sometimes able
to salvage what we do not think possible. If we succeed, no, when
we succeed in defeating Gelahn, we’ll need their skills in
rebuilding our city again.”

“True,” he smiled, only hoping that her
confidence would be fulfilled, knowing she could sense that doubt
in him, too, but would have the grace to say nothing, unlike Johan,
who would have had to say something if he had been here. “Would you
like another beaker of water now?”

When Annyeke nodded, Simon poured the drink
for her. Together the two of them sat back on the floor, leaning
against the work table. The scribe allowed the quietness to settle
between them. The future seemed heavy with possibilities and dread;
he needed to hold to the present as long as he could, if he could.
Closing his eyes, he could see the journey he’d taken to get here.
The way through the mountains, his gradual acceptance of his fellow
travellers, one of whom had proved to be so very treacherous. Then
the terrifying entry to the Kingdom of the Air and the scribe’s
violent encounter with the snow-raven, the same bird who had come
to him now. Why? He couldn’t begin to answer his own question.
After that, the long hot trudge through the desert kingdom and the
excruciating loss of Carthen, his young apprentice and friend, the
apparent death of Isabella, too, and its effect on Johan. The slow
beginnings of a friendship he had no intention of letting go.

Finally, the voyage over the waters and the
entry to Gathandria, the battle with Gelahn and the real death of
Isabella. Not forgetting the presence—always in his heart but only
in truth at the end of their great travels—of Ralph Tregannon, the
Overlord of the Lammas Lands. Gone now, a fact he had no power to
change.

Simon opened his eyes. The snow-raven
regarded him with an expression he would have called quizzical if
the bird had been a man. He had lived through more than he reckoned
on then. He had survived it somehow, and was at least here for what
that was worth both to himself and these Gathandrians. Still, it
was something.

He sighed. “Annyeke?”

“Yes?”

“If I dare ask what I wanted to before, what
do you think is the meaning of the legend you have told me? For me,
I mean, and for us all?”

She smiled and he sensed the gentle
withdrawal of her mind from the outskirts of his. He hadn’t even
known she was there.

“The meaning is fortitude,” she said. “No
matter the wildness of lust, fortitude is there to encounter and
control it, whatever may arise.”

He thought she would say more, but she was
silent. Her words didn’t appear to help him very much, not in ways
he could see. Typically Gathandrian then, if Johan was anything to
go by.

Next to him, the mind-cane began to hum. As
if driven by instinct and in spite of his fear, Simon reached out
and brushed the silver carving at the top with his fingers before
pulling away. A moment of inner shock, the feeling of something
turning, clicking into place, and then all was as it should be
again.

Annyeke’s eyes were wide and he saw her
swallow.

“So then,” he said, unaware that he’d been
intending to speak at all. “So then, when lust appears as it has
done today, the fortitude of one who has travelled much must
somehow stand against it.”

He shut his mouth, heart beating fast.
Annyeke blinked at him. Not that he could blame her for that. He
had no idea why he’d said what he had. Where had it come from?

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I’m tired and I
don’t make any sense. Perhaps we should try again another
time?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It makes sense, in
a fashion. You touched the cane, Simon, and you spoke.”

“I know. I don’t understand why…”

“Hush, it’s all right. The cane didn’t hurt
you, did it?”

He half laughed, though his thoughts were
anything but laughter. “No, not this time. I’ve been lucky.”

“Or perhaps the cane helped clarify the First
Legend of Gathandria by giving you a glimpse of its meaning? My
solidified lust against the fortitude you have gained from your
travels.”

Now the scribe did laugh. “I have little
enough of that, believe me. Anything I do is achieved despite my
own reluctance and more by the help of others than by any strength
of my own. Surely, my story tells you that.”

But she continued to insist, despite his
objections. “There is more than one interpretation to any life. You
must be open to other truths and not narrow your own character
so.”

In the end, they agreed to differ. However,
before the meditation ended and while Annyeke gathered up the small
jewels that had arisen from her, another thought occurred to him,
one that really should have occurred earlier.

“You speak of other interpretations,” he
said, “but if the story brought out the sparks of lust in you and
solidified them, why didn’t it do the same for the fortitude I know
you surely have?”

“Good question,” Annyeke said with a frown.
“The truth is I don’t know. Right now that’s only one of the many
things that are worrying me.”

Third Lammas Lands
Chronicle

JUSTICE AND ANGER

Duncan Gelahn

Failure is not the end. He should have
learned that lesson, having been imprisoned for so long and so
cruelly by the Elders of Gathandria. The recent despair he has been
mired in was harsh but brief, and now Gelahn’s plans are sharp and
clear once more. He has swept through Tregannon’s mind, breaching
what little defences he had, and found nothing but fear, hatred and
a hard-won respect. More than all, however, at the centre of his
thoughts, the Lammas Land’s Overseer is still convinced that
obedience to the mind-executioner is the best way of saving his
people.