Heartwood (29 page)

He could tell she was thinking about it, from the way she kept glancing over to him as they rode, and the thoughtful expression on her face. But he did not want to hear her ponderings on what the reasons were for these strange occurrences. Truth to tell, he was frightened, and the foolish, illogical part of him that resides in us all hoped that by ignoring it, it would go away.

But of course it didn't. In fact, it only seemed to be getting worse. Several times on the last leg of the journey to the Henge, he found himself glancing into the still surface of ponds, or watching the ground as he stood in the light of a lantern, only to see the absence of a reflection or shadow, sometimes briefly, sometimes for half a minute or more before it flickered back to life like a lit candle. But in those thirty seconds, his heart seemed to stop, and he knew something was seriously wrong.

As if sensing his increasing weakness, Fortis began to ride next to Gravis, forsaking his usual place at the rear, and although he did not say much, and his very visage was somewhat intimidating, Gravis did find some comfort in the older man's calm presence, as if he provided the aura of self-confidence Gravis himself was lacking.

As they journeyed across the ridges and dales of the Seven Hills, with villages growing sparser and the Highlands bleaker, dotted only with sheep, Gravis sometimes thought they were never going to reach their destination.

But the miles were eaten away, and the sun rose and set through the gloom of the persistent rain, and one day they topped a hill and suddenly, in the distance, they could see the Henge on the skyline, propped up like a child's pile of blocks, silhouetted against the darkening sky.

“You made it,” said Fortis with an uncharacteristic smile. Gravis returned it falteringly, noting the choice of “you” instead of “we”, confirming his original thoughts that the veteran had chosen to come with him because he thought Gravis needed extra support. And don't I, he thought miserably, surprised by the lack of enthusiasm inside him as his destination neared? Indeed, a feeling of dread enveloped him, as if he had been dropped into a barrel of honey and were sinking slowly to the bottom.

They camped that night in an old barn and Gravis dreamed about the Henge, feeling its presence as if it were an animal stalking him, waiting in the shadows for a sign of weakness before it pounced. Strangely, though, in his dreams it was daylight, the sun shone, and he felt brave and held his head high, a reversal of the usual situation, where dreams carry the shadows and things in the dark, which disappear when you open your eyes.

The next day dawned with rain continuing to fall steadily, turning the ground to mush. In the Quest party, however, there was a rising sense of excitement as they all breakfasted and dressed ready for the day's journey. They knew they would be at their destination before the day was out and that was cause enough for celebration. But they also felt a sense of destiny, a feeling they were playing their part in the rescue of Anguis.

Gravis, however, just felt an impending sense of doom. Part of him felt exasperated at his continuing depression, as if he were watching himself from above, confused by this gloom weighing him down as if he were smothered in a heavy blanket. But he could not fight it off, and it only grew heavier and heavier as he neared the Henge, and they began the slow climb up the hillside towards the monument.

The path curled around the hill, and it was only as they began to go around the east side they found something surprising. There was a village there.

They reined in and stared at the array of houses in surprise. It wasn't really a village, more of a hamlet, just a row of five or six little cottages, and a tiny wooden temple around a solitary oak.

As they watched, a figure came out of one of the cottages. He was tall and thin, and dressed in a long green woollen tunic with thick brown leggings. He had a heavy, shaggy brown beard and piercing blue eyes. He stared up at the travellers, then turned and called over his shoulder. Immediately, the doors of the other cottages opened and another five people came out – two men and three women.

If it were possible, Gravis's heart sank even further. Was he going to have to fight his way to the top? He didn't think he had the stomach for a battle, especially against unarmoured peasants. However, the people wore broad smiles and came up to the Heartwood party, with no sign of weapons.

“Welcome, weary travellers,” said the first villager. “My name is Thancred. We are the Guardians of the Henge, and we welcome you to this holy place.”

Gravis dismounted and the others joined him. He walked up to the smiling Thancred and laid his hand across his chest, so his Heartwood tattoo was evident. “Greetings,” he said. “As you can see, we are from Heartwood. We have journeyed a long way to be here today.”

The Guardians' eyes widened as they realised where the travellers had come from.

“We are honoured to have Militis come to visit us,” said Thancred sincerely. “It is the first time in… well, a long time!”

Gravis looked up at their little settlement, then back at the small group standing before him. “I did not realise the Henge had Guardians.” He wondered what they did. They were obviously not like the guardians of the Arbor – they appeared to have no military background.

“The holy site has always had keepers, since it was created,” said Thancred. “Come. If you will join us, I will be glad to tell you more of our history.” He gestured towards their horses. “We do not allow horses up onto the Henge, but you are welcome to keep them in our stables. There is plentiful hay and water available.” He gestured around the back of the cottages.

Gravis let a Guardian lead away his horse. He noticed Fortis's reluctance to relinquish his horse and wondered if he was foolish to trust these people, but his instincts told him they were safe, and somehow he knew they would not bring him trouble. He followed Thancred and the other three Guardians through one of the doors of the cottages.

It was only as he entered that he realised the dwellings were not in fact individual cottages, but actually one long house divided at the front into small bedrooms, while the back was one large area with several tables, a kitchen area and looms for them to make their own clothing. At one end, he saw a door through to the Temple beyond – to allow easy access, he thought, for prayers and rituals. It all looked very comfortable and welcoming, and he felt immediately at home.

“We have several spare bedrooms for guests,” said Thancred, “so you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

“Do you have many visitors?” Fortis asked, taking a seat with the others at one of the tables.

“The occasional pilgrim, but they are few and far between now.” Thancred joined them while the other Guardians busied themselves pouring drinks and bringing food for the visitors. “The secret of the Henge has gradually been forgotten by all except the Guardians.” He fixed his bright blue gaze on Gravis. “But more of that later. Why do you not start by telling me why you are here?”

“It is rather an incredible story,” Gravis began, not wanting to go into detail about Nitesco's ideas on elementals. But then he thought about Thancred's words:
the secret of the Henge has gradually been forgotten
… Perhaps these Guardians knew about the Nodes and could help him to activate this one. He sighed and began telling them all the story of how they had come to be there, so far from home. He told them about the Darkwater attack on Heartwood, and about Nitesco's discovery in the Cavus, of the
Quercetum
and its story. He explained how they had all undertaken to go on the Quests and reactivate the Nodes. “Only, I am not sure how to,” he finished lamely. “I do not think I have much of the power of the Veriditas. Actually, I was beginning to wonder if one of the others should not take on the role of Leader.”

He said the words almost before he thought them and saw the astonished looks of the members of his party around the table. But of course, it made perfect sense; why had he not thought of it before? There was bound to be someone else there who would be better at it than he. The responsibility would be lifted.

But even as his hopes began to rise, Thancred shook his head and dashed them back down. “Once it is set in motion, we cannot change the course of Fate. We are bound by its laws, and have to see our tasks through to completion. The Quest is yours and yours alone to complete, my friend. But do not worry. Though we cannot carry the burden for you, we may be able to make its weight a bit more bearable.” He smiled and gestured to the table, where the Guardians had laid a loaf of bread, a bowl of butter, sliced meat and jugs of ale. “Please, help yourself. It is not much, but you are welcome to it. Once you have eaten, we will make you hot baths to rest your bones. And then,” he said to Gravis, “we will take you up to the Henge.”

The others started eating, tucking into the hearty fare and chatting to the other Guardians as they did so. Gravis, however, had no appetite and arose from the table, walked out of the cottage and stood looking up the hill at the Henge, which towered over them majestically on the summit. The stones looked cold and haughty, forbidding as ghostly sentries preventing him from reaching the precious Node.

Beside him, he felt a presence, and turned to see Thancred standing there, also looking up at the Henge. “I know it looks daunting,” the Guardian said. “But the Henge is there to help you, Gravis.”

“I do not know if anyone can help me.”

Thancred turned his bright blue eyes on him. Then his gaze moved across to the window. Gravis followed it, and his breath caught in his throat. Thancred's reflection stood alone in the window, staring back at them both.

Gravis's mouth went dry. Now the Guardian would see him for what he truly was. He would step back in horror, shout to the others they had a coward on their hands. They would not let them go up to the Henge. He had failed.

But Thancred did none of those things. He stared thoughtfully at the window, then turned his gaze back on Gravis. His blue eyes were like stars in his face, burning white-hot.

“Ah,” he said meaningfully. “I see.”

 

III

It was a long ride from their last camp in the Neck Pass to Fintaire, but Fionnghuala pressed the others to move on, eager to reach a Hanaire town and leave the drama of the snow-filled night behind her. It was well into the Stirring now, and almost the Bud Moon, and the lowlands around Bearrach's home town were showing signs of emerging from their long sleep. The continual rain meant the ground underfoot was soft and marshy in places, but still she preferred it to the hard white surface of the mountain pass.

She had not spoken again to Bearrach about what had happened the previous night, and nobody else had noticed her absence, so she was left to ponder on the baby's cry – and Bearrach's strange choice of words – alone.
That is not the cry of an earthly child
, he had said. She had known what he meant; how on earth could any young thing survive out in that weather? But still, the memory of his words sent fingers of ice running up her spine.

Fionnghuala shivered again, pulling her cloak close around her as the horses splashed through the marshy ground, the hills of the Snout Range on their right. Of course, it could just have been a family of travellers lost in the snow. There may have been no more complicated reason than that. And yet, deep down, she knew it had not been a real baby. The cry had changed direction too many times for it to have come from one source. Bearrach was right – nothing could have survived outside in those temperatures for long, let alone a defenceless baby. It had not been the cry of an earthly child.

So what was it? The ghost of a baby who had died? Or the flicker of a moment in time, a memory, playing back on the wind?

She shook her head as if she could shake the memory out of her ears. She didn't want to think about it any more.

Luckily, the town of Fintaire was just visible in the distance, so she had other things to distract her. This was where Bearrach and Ruadh would leave them, so it was nearly time to say goodbye.

She had mixed feelings about this. The memory of flying into his arms the night before when she was so frightened left a bittersweet flavour in her mouth. His body had been warm, his firm grip reassuring, and she had welcomed his commanding manner as he led her back to the lodge, and the way he had settled her beside the fire, and wrapped her in blankets. He had been so comforting, and comfort was not an emotion that occurred often in Fionnghuala's life.

Still, she knew comfort was like fire – beautiful and yet dangerous and, like a moth to a flame, she would be drawn to it until she burned. She could not allow herself to fall in love with him. Love was dangerous and secret and, like a rose, full of thorns. That was why she had not mentioned the incident again, and had not told him how she felt when he held her in his arms.

As they got closer to Fintaire, the roadside gradually became dotted with cottages and traffic increased. Fionnghuala felt so relieved to be back in her homeland. Going to Heartwood had been an experience she had been looking forward to and had generally enjoyed, and there had been so much going on she had not had time to feel homesick. But the journey through Wulfengar had been long and irksome, with its dull, flat plains and pitted hills, and she had been eager to leave it. Now she looked on the high wooded hills of the Snout Range with tired relief, glad to be amongst her own people.

She had been to Fintaire many times and knew it almost as well as she knew her home town of Salentaire. It was a large town that had begun as a trading post on the main route from Hanaire to Wulfengar, and gradually developed into a settlement in its own right, its roads created in a haphazard fashion that lent the place a cosy rabbit-warren feel, with elegant buildings and a close-knit community. They wound their way through the streets to the large villa on the northern edge belonging to Bearrach. The Hanaireans had little need to fortify their dwellings, as theirs was a peaceful nation, and so far they had suffered few raiders from either the south or east, so Bearrach's home was surrounded only by a low wall, the amber stone of the sprawling villa clear to see.