Hallsfoot's Battle (7 page)

“It’s dying,” Johan said.

“He,” was the Scribe’s hissed response.
“Their leader is a he.”

“I can’t sense anything,” Johan turned to
Simon, raising one eyebrow. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“I know. It’s the raven leader, and he’s not
dead.”

Time to intervene, Annyeke thought. Even
though she hated birds, she didn’t particularly want a dead one in
her home. A dead bird would somehow be even more horrific than a
living one, legend or no legend. And the men were, once again,
doing nothing to stop this possibility.

She steeled herself for compassionate action.
“Talus, take the largest jug and fetch water from the street well.
Simon, give me your tunic. Johan? Can you put the bird on the
table? It will be…”

“He,” Simon said again.

“…he will be easier to tend to there.”

A small storm of activity ensued as her
companions hurried to obey her commands. In spite of everything, it
felt good to be doing something at last, however unsuccessful it
might be, because she was tired of doing nothing.

In a matter of moments, the bird was on the
table and Annyeke, heart skittering a staccato rhythm, was dipping
a piece of Simon’s tunic, torn into strips, into clear water,
almost as if this was an everyday occurrence.

As she began to clear up the blood, at arms’
length and with her face half turned away, she distracted herself
from the fact that she was all but touching the bird directly by
concentrating on Simon.

“How do you know he’s not dead?” she asked,
praying that whatever happened, the still raven under her hands
would not suddenly stir or open its eye at her. If it did, she was
sure she’d scream and flee. Not a good plan for the Elders’ chosen
leader.

“I can hear him,” the Scribe answered simply.
“In my head.”

Unable to stop herself, Annyeke made a quick
pass through the top level of Simon’s thoughts. She couldn’t sense
anything out of place there. Whatever he was experiencing must be
somewhere deeper or it was hidden by the mind-cane. She didn’t
think he was lying.

“I’m sorry,” Johan said. “I can’t sense any
life at all.”

“No.” As the scribe spoke, Annyeke felt a
sudden jab in her mind, as if someone had slapped her. At the same
time, Simon pushed past her and put his hand on the raven’s snowy
back. Johan began to speak, his voice low, reaching out towards the
scribe, but she never got to hear what he might have wanted to
say.

Simon

He knew the raven wasn’t dead. The bird
couldn’t be dead. Thoughts and images, a jumble of sea and sky,
feather, mountain and desert, were filling his mind. Simon’s heart
beat fast and he could feel the muscles in his shoulders begin to
ache. If the snow-raven was dead, where were the pictures coming
from?

Nor did he want the raven to be alive. The
memory of his strange encounter with the bird, the questions Simon
had had to answer to save his life, the attack and the agonising
healing of the scar on his face, made him shiver.

Still, when Annyeke asked him, he took off
his tunic, trying to ignore the sudden chill against his skin, and
tore it into strips for her. But it was Johan’s refusal to believe
the truths that throbbed in his head which drove him to action.
Pushing between the woman and the table, he put his hand on the
bird. An instinctive gesture only, he hadn’t thought what it might
do.

It woke the raven.

The bird reared up, its massive beak only a
hair’s breadth from Simon’s eye. Wings came up also, spattering
blood onto wood and stone. A raucous shriek filled the air. The
bird launched itself at him and the scribe ducked. In spite of
this, solid claws slammed into his shoulder and he fell, scrabbling
at the floor. All the images and strange words in his head
disappeared. He could no longer hear the raven within him at
all.

Johan flung himself after the bird, though
Simon had no idea what his friend might do if he caught the raven.
He missed. At the same time, Annyeke grabbed Talus and pushed him
roughly through the door. He wondered whether they should all do
the same, though, knowing Gathandrians, that probably wasn’t an
option. Meanwhile the raven flew, still shrieking, between walls
and ceiling and floor. The table was overturned, jugs and pots fell
with a clatter, some smashing to pieces, and an acrid smell of
herbs filled the room, almost overpowering the scent of blood.

Do something then.

The words were Johan’s.

How? Simon answered, astonished he could
still create a mind-link, however small and tenuous.

You brought the raven to life. Now you need
to calm it again. Soon.

Breaking the mind-link and wishing he’d never
got out of bed since it seemed to have brought nothing but danger
and noise upon the whole household, Simon cursed aloud and hauled
himself to his feet. In mid flight, the raven all but knocked him
down again.

Simon.

The link hadn’t been broken then. All
right.

As Annyeke tried to save the rest of her
household crockery, Johan sprang after the destroyer of houses once
more. His efforts knocked the bird off balance, and the raven fell
back towards Simon.

Heart beating far too much out of control,
the scribe stretched out his arms, wrapped them in vain round the
great boulder of white feathered power, and man and bird tumbled
together to the floor.

He understood several different things at
once. First, the boy, Talus, had gone beyond any sense of fear and
was starting, from his relatively safe position outside the door
peering in, to enjoy the whole adventure. Simon wasn’t sure how
this might help, but at the very least it meant less sense of
jaggedness to fight against. And his mind needed all the respite it
could seize. Secondly, he realised how much Annyeke hated birds,
though he couldn’t fathom why. Thirdly, he found that he, like
Talus, was enjoying having something other than himself and the
likely fate of Gathandria to focus on. And, finally, he realised
exactly how blank and unstable his own mind was.

As the scribe tumbled down with the enraged
bird, he could see Annyeke holding Johan back despite his
stature.

Wait, Simon heard in his mind, a thought
shared only between the two of them but which somehow he also could
hear.

At the same time, the bird’s shrieks stopped.
Instead of the raucous thought piercing sound, he heard only
silence.

From where he lay on the floor, the raven
overpowering him, the scribe saw Johan reach out, take Annyeke’s
hand where it rested on his arm and pat it once before letting go.
Then Johan took the two strides necessary to reach him and hunkered
down.

The raven twisted where he lay in Simon’s
grip and stared at Johan. The black eye blinked, and it felt as if
a spate of dark water had tumbled through the scribe’s mind and he
gasped. Johan, too, almost fell except Simon grabbed him, keeping
him safe.

The raven flapped free, then hopped up onto
the table, opened his beak noiselessly and gazed for a moment or
two at them all. When her turn came, Annyeke stepped back and Simon
could sense her fear once more.

Finally, the raven stretched out the wing
nearest the scribe and brushed his shoulder with it. The mind-cane,
all but forgotten in the corner, quivered, hummed for a heartbeat
before it, too, fell silent.

It was Annyeke who spoke first, with more
than a slight tremor in her voice.

“I-I think you’ve found another companion,
Simon,” she said.

Chapter Four: A
kind of preparation

Annyeke

It was the first thing that came out of her
mouth. And in her years on Gathandrian soil, she’d learned that
sometimes it was best to trust what you said. Anything was better
than thinking things through too much and trying to be logical.
Unlike Johan, Annyeke liked to work from her instincts.

“Some companion,” Johan snorted. “He all but
killed us.”

“No, he didn’t,” Talus interrupted, as he
sidled in from the door. “The bird was frightened, that was
all.”

“How do you know that?” Annyeke asked,
sensing the growing calm and curiosity of the boy’s mind.

He gazed up at her.

“Birds are always frightened indoors,” he
said.

She nodded, thinking they weren’t the only
ones.

“He’s not frightened now,” Simon said
quietly. “You’re right. He’s come to be with me.”

When she looked across the table at him,
Annyeke could see how pale the scribe’s face was. All the time, the
snow-raven continued to stare at the four of them, his wing still
resting on Simon’s shoulder.

It came to her that it was time to take up
the cloak of leadership the Elders had bequeathed to her. She was
no longer protecting a sick man and waiting for an absent one. She
was in charge of a small band looking to her for guidance. However,
before squaring her shoulders and opening her mouth, Annyeke
couldn’t help glancing at Johan. He smiled briefly at her, but his
eyes were bleak.

She turned away.

“What I think we should do is this,” she said
and then, before she fully understood it, everything became clear.
“We need to prepare for the battle Gelahn will bring upon us. That
much is obvious. To do that, we need strength, both mental and
physical. Because, without the mind-cane, Gelahn’s mental power
will be weaker, and he must compensate for that elsewhere. The only
action he can take—the action I’d take—is to fight with a
combination of both. He’ll do anything to get his power back. Here,
in Gathandria, he spent so long without it.”

“In the Elders’ prison, you mean?” Johan
interrupted, a frown on his handsome face.

She nodded. The knowledge of the cage in the
Underground Library, the books and all she had discovered from them
swept over her once more—Gelahn’s attempt at power, his
imprisonment, the Elders’ cruelty and how they had allowed him to
escape. And why. There in her home she opened her mind to them and
finally told the full story of what she had found and what it had
meant to them all, even Talus, though for her young charge she
threaded her mind-words with comfort. The harshness of some acts
should only be truly felt by the adult world.

When she’d finished, the mind-cane began to
hum and the raven hopped elegantly off the table, its wounds even
now beginning to vanish, and half flew to stand next to the cane,
though not too near. The humming faded to nothing.

“I hadn’t known the depths and depravity of
it,” Johan whispered, and she could hear the shock and grief in his
voice, the same feelings she had experienced at first seeing
Gelahn’s prison.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she replied, once again
laying her fingers on his arm for a moment or two. The touch of him
warmed her and she let him go before he could realise it.

Simon gave her a sharp glance and a brief
smile before speaking. “So he’s more like me than we thought?”

“How so?” This from Johan as he took two or
three paces towards the scribe. Annyeke winced as he stepped onto
one of her already broken dishes. It cracked into unsalvageable
pieces. “You are nothing like the mind-executioner. Nothing at
all!”

The raven unfurled his wings and hissed at
Johan. The mind-cane began to tremble.

The scribe moved quickly to put himself
between them and Johan. “You think so? Well, perhaps the fact I’m
only half Gathandrian gives me a different point of view. Your
Elders release Gelahn in order to bring things to a conclusion.
Unfortunately, what they get is a ruined city, destroyed
neighbours…and me. And I’ve done nobody any good so far, so all I
can think is they must have been wrong in their assumptions about
us both. Not only that but, as far as I can see, the
mind-executioner has been driven by pain to take up the course of
life he’s chosen. When I was with Ralph Tregannon, was I really
that different? And, if so, how exactly?”

The two men glared at each other. Annyeke had
never experienced such waves of anger as those crackling in the air
between them.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she interrupted
before the chaos in her eating area that the raven had instigated
began again. “However, unlike the background, what matters is what
you’ve done with it, and what matters more than anything is the
current time. Yes, I know you’ve brought about bad things, Simon,
but not to the degree Gelahn has. And you’re trying to help now,
aren’t you?”

Both men muttered something Annyeke decided
against interpreting. The ways of Gathandrian men, however diluted
the blood, were beyond her. It was best to take a female approach
to the situation.

“That being the case,” she continued, “what I
suggest is this. Simon needs to have a thorough grounding of what
our country is and tries to achieve. He also needs to develop his
mind-skills enough to use the mind-cane’s power in our battle. I
will help him with that. The snow-raven might be able to help, too,
though you will understand more of that side of the matter,
Simon.”

Annyeke hoped he did, as she didn’t have a
single good idea about that bird at all. But she smiled confidently
at the scribe anyway and his expression cleared. So far so good
then, in her new role as battle preparation supervisor.

“So,” Johan said, folding his arms, “what
role shall I play, Annyeke?”

By the gods and stars, she knew even before
he’d finished his question that it would have been wiser, perhaps,
to give him the role of mind-counsellor. But no, she still felt she
was right to be the scribe’s teacher. Besides, after the journey
Simon had had to endure to get here, he would need another mind to
work with. Familiarity with a mentor could be a curse—one of the
first truths Johan had taught her. She wished he’d remembered it,
too.