Heartwood (40 page)

“No,” she said truthfully. But she appreciated his gesture. “Why do you not live with your own people?”

He turned to look at her, the circles of his eyes like gold torches in the night. He shrugged. “In Komis I am just ordinary. In the Twelve Lands, I am a curiosity. I like that.”

She smiled. “I know that is not why you left.”

He looked away. “No. But I would rather not talk about that.”

“Okay. But can we talk about your gift?”

“I would rather not.”

She sighed with frustration. “I do not understand your reluctance. It is such an amazing gift. I wish I could do it!”

He smiled. “Actually, I believe anyone can; it is just a matter of knowing how.”

“That is what Silva says; she tried to get us all to grow this daisy before we left for the Quests, but I could not manage anything.”

“But it is so easy,” he protested.

“Show me,” she asked breathlessly.

For a moment, she thought he would refuse. His eyes dropped to the ground. But then he leaned forward and picked up a seed lying on the path. He lifted his hand, palm upward, and held it out towards her, the seed in the middle. He closed his eyes. She watched the seed, holding her breath, feeling a jolt inside her as it sprouted green shoots and swiftly grew into a seedling, then a plant, and finally flowered into a beautiful yellow bloom, which he handed to her with a smile.

“How do you do it?” she asked wondrously, turning the flower around in her hands.

“Our energy and Anguis's is the same,” he shrugged. “I cannot explain it. It is just a natural thing to me. Anyway,” – he made a flicking movement with his hand – “I am bored with talking about myself. Tell me about Heartwood.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I know nearly nothing about it. What it is like?”

So for a while, she talked about Heartwood and her life as a Militis. She talked enthusiastically, and it was only when she saw him smiling that she realised she must have been talking too long. “I am sorry,” she said, “I have said too much.”

“Not at all. I am just so impressed with your passion. You make it sound very attractive.”

“Are you tempted?” she teased.

“Not in the least,” he said vehemently. “I do not think I could be celibate all my life.”

She shrugged. “I am so busy, there is little time to think about copulating.”

He grinned. “That very description shows how little you know about it. You make it sound so bland and functional.”

“Sex is required for the making of children, is it not? That seems pretty functional to me.” She knew she was goading him but could not help herself.

He just smiled, his gold eyes studying her. “You are so beautiful. I cannot believe you remove yourself from this world. It is a sin to deny us all your beauty.”

She laughed. “Now I know you are teasing me.”

His smile gradually faded and his hand came up to touch her face gently. “You really do not know how beautiful you are, do you?” he whispered.

“I…” She was suddenly speechless.

Teague's face was not far from hers, and those golden eyes were like magnets, so attractive she could not move her own gaze away. He leaned even closer, and suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to feel his lips on hers. He hesitated for a second, just millimetres away from touching her, and before she could think twice about it, she moved the final distance and they were kissing.

It was the first time she had ever kissed anyone, and Beata's face flamed and her heart thudded. The world spun, and she didn't know if it was from the kiss or the ale or whether there was an earthquake.

She melted into his embrace and did not protest when he lowered her gently onto the seat so she was underneath him. There was a small part of her that knew she would probably regret this in the morning, and which counselled her to stop now before she went any further, but there was a greater part of her that was curious about love, and its voice was so strong it drowned out the rest.

He unlaced her dress and began to kiss her skin, and all thoughts went out of her mind. She forgot about Heartwood, forgot about Peritus hiding somewhere in the gardens, forgot about her vows. The only thing in the world was Teague and his soft lips and tongue, and as his kiss traced down over her stomach, and then lower, she even forgot about breathing.

He made love to her slowly, thoughtfully, blissfully, and afterwards Beata fell asleep in his arms, content and without a care in the world.

 

When she awoke, some hours later, it was completely dark, the only light from the small lantern they had brought to guide their way, the candle burned almost to the base. She pushed herself to a sitting position awkwardly. She was stiff, cold and sore and had a throbbing headache. Instantly, the memory of what she had done rang in her head like a bell and she groaned. She was still in the garden, lying on the seat, but she was alone. Teague had gone.

As she got to her feet, a spark of anger flared in her chest at the realisation her lover had abandoned her. What on Anguis had possessed her to give herself to a complete stranger, and such an important one at that? She should have known she couldn't trust him!

He had left his cloak, however. She wrapped it around her and began to walk slowly back through the gardens. Why on earth hadn't he woken her? Clearly, he had used the opportunity to sleep with her as a ruse, maybe to show her he wasn't to be told what to do, and to give him the opportunity to get away while she slept.

What was she going to say to him when she got back to the castle? Well, she was certainly going to give him a piece of her mind. If he was still there. She went cold at the thought that he might have fled the town to get away from her. Obviously, he was not to be trusted; he enjoyed his freedom and his lifestyle and had made it plain he wanted nothing to do with her Quest. How could she have been so stupid?

And then she saw the figure lying face down on the ground in the flowerbeds. Beata gasped. She recognised instantly by his clothing it was Peritus. She ran up to him and, gathering him in her arms, turned him over. Immediately, she could see he was dead. His eyes were open, unseeing, and there was a deep knife wound in his chest. His tunic was soaked in blood.

How had Teague – a musician and magician with no fighting skills whatsoever – managed to best a Heartwood Militis? He must have taken Peritus by surprise, she realised numbly. The knight must have stayed in the gardens, close but far enough away to give them some privacy, expecting a threat to come from the castle, not from behind him. She wondered if he had managed to wound Teague and, before she could stop, felt a stab of hope that her lover had escaped unharmed. Then guilt washed over her, and with it came a large measure of anger.

Her lover had taken her, and then abandoned her, in the process killing the last colleague and friend she had with her. With her foolish act, she had done what every knight was taught not to do – surrender to her emotions, and with that act, she had sacrificed the last chance to mend the Arbor. Heartwood was lost.

Horrified, broken, Beata sat there with Peritus in her arms and wept.

 

II

Grimbeald hunched himself into his blankets, huddling beneath the makeshift tent the Militis had erected to keep off the worst of the rain. He had refused to stay underground in the Tumulus, finding it too unsettling after the event of the night before, when the ghost of his father had appeared on the top of the mound.

Now he looked over at Tenera, and found her eyes on him, the deep blue orbs warm, a hint of a smile hiding with them. She had not been as frightened as he on seeing the figure on the Tumulus. In fact, she had comforted him when – startled as a deer – he had fled the mound, shaken to his core at seeing the apparition.

He gave her a half-hearted smile and turned over, somewhat unnerved by her steady gaze. Unfortunately, however, it meant he was facing the Tumulus, and his stomach clenched as he saw through the gap in the tent the shadow of the mound rising before him.

Why was he so afraid? Grimbeald could not understand his fear. He was not a coward, and in spite of the fact that he did not consider himself a natural warrior, he had proven himself fearless in battle, and did not dread handling a sword. Just one glimpse of that ephemeral figure, however, outlined against the darkness on the top of the mound, struck terror into his heart.

His eyes wandered to where the figure had appeared and his breath froze in his throat as, in the midst of the gloom, a dark shape materialised. His heart seemed to stop. It was his father; he knew it, even though he could not see its face or its dress clearly. But something inside him just knew it was him.

Grimbeald gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to flee. It was ridiculous! He was a grown man, and his father had been in the earth these past ten years. Maegenheard, the once-lord of the Highlands, no longer had a hold over him; he was lord in his own right, and no longer subject to the whims and wishes of his father.

But as the thought entered his head, he knew it was untrue. Even now, from the grave, Maegenheard still had control over him, like an animal that has clamped its jaws around a victim and refuses to let go, even after death.

Anger rose within him like a tide, sweeping through his veins. He wanted to be free of his father's unyielding grip. Turning, he looked over his shoulder at Tenera. Her eyes had finally shut, and she seemed to be sleeping. Quietly, with a warrior's stealth, he pushed back his cover and got to his feet.

He ducked under the tent flap and went out into the cool night. The rain fell lightly, fresh on his face. He looked up at the ghostly figure. It stood arms akimbo, and although he couldn't see its face, he felt it was glaring at him. He tightened his grip on his axe, even though the metal blade would be useless against the insubstantial spirit. Still, he felt comforted by the feel of the wooden shaft in his hand, its weight almost a part of him.

Carrying a lantern in his left hand, he stepped forward, walking towards the Tumulus. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth was dry, but he walked forwards. Some small part of him knew the only way to rid himself of the spectre that haunted him was to confront it, even though to do so caused his insides to melt with terror.

As he neared the mound, however, the figure disappeared. Grimbeald stopped, breathing heavily. He looked to the right, to the entrance of the mound. The figure now stood there, flickering in the dim light from his lantern as if it were a candle guttering in the wind. It seemed to want him to go down into the mound. Grimbeald shivered, his feet frozen to the spot. He did not want to go into the Tumulus again. The thought of all those bones… He shuddered. But still, he knew he had to go. The figure drew him there as surely as if it had called out his name.

He walked forwards to the entrance. As he drew nearer, the figure disappeared again. Grimbeald paused at the doorway. Rectangular in shape, supported by huge wooden beams that held up the weight of the earth mound atop it, the doorway led down several steps to the sunken burial chamber. He paused on the top step, feeling as if he were about to descend into the belly of some giant beast. The wind soughed through the Tumulus, and for a moment it seemed as if the mound groaned – or was it himself? His palms were clammy, his hair damp with sweat and rain.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped down into the burial chamber.

Immediately, his lantern went out, whether from a rush of air or something more sinister, he couldn't tell. He stopped on the bottom step, his heart hammering. His brain screamed at him to turn and run, but with iron willpower he kept his feet still, drawing from his inner depths of courage, waiting for whatever was in there to make itself known.

Gradually, he became aware the room was lightening.

Eventually, he saw the light was emanating from a small sphere that seemed to hover above the floor of the chamber. It must have been something similar to this that Tenera had seen above him, which had brought him back to life. He gasped, entranced by the glowing object. What was it, he wondered? Was it the Node?

The light illuminated the white bones lying on the shelves, and it was only as his eyes were drawn to them that he saw the figure standing to one side of the room. He could not help but give a small exclamation, which he stifled swiftly as he brought his axe up protectively across his chest.

“That will not do you much good down here,” sneered the figure, coming forward into the light. “Not that it ever did you much good on the battlefield, either.”

Grimbeald's hands tightened on the wooden shaft as the face of his father loomed in the light. “Is that all you are here for?” he returned. “To mock me from beyond the grave?”

Maegenheard shrugged. “No. It is an added bonus.”

Grimbeald clenched his jaw, the familiar flush of hurt rising within him. He said nothing, however. Clearly, this was some sort of test, and he wanted to see how the game was played before he reacted. “What do you want?” he asked, watching the ghostly figure walk around the glowing light to stand a few feet in front of him. Maegenheard's form was almost transparent, and he could see through his body to the shelves and bones behind him.

“For ten years I have watched you sit in my seat, in the Highlands,” said Maegenheard. “I have observed you as you carried out your lordly duties, hoping beyond hope you would show yourself to be the son I had always prayed you would be. But time and again, you have failed me. And now I use the power from this ancient site to manifest and to beg you to remove yourself from the land, so a better Highlander may take your place.”

Grimbeald digested this news with an ache in his gut. He had hoped his father's appearance was a test, part of the process of opening the Node, but his heart began to sink as he realised that was not the case. Clearly, the energy in the Tumulus allowed Maegenheard to materialise, and he had merely seized the opportunity to do so. It was no test, no answer to his problems. It was just his father being his usual angry self, trying to control everything he said and did.