Heartwood (58 page)

“Let us do it.”

Chonrad grasped his hand quickly, resting his left hand on Valens's wrist, and Valens did the same. Then the Laxonian turned to Procella. Valens watched something unseen pass between them, although they did not speak or touch. Then Chonrad marched off to find his horse.

Valens smiled at his companions, walking to the front line and taking his place beside his Dux and his foster-son.

He looked up at the wall in front of them. For a moment he did not understand what he was seeing, and then he realised. A shimmer of water ran along the top edge of the wall, silver in the light of the rising Light Moon.

 

III

After the majority of the knights had left, inside the Temple there was a flurry of commotion as everyone prepared to make the Temple ready for the last stand.

Fionnghuala and Bearrach and the few remaining Hanaireans headed the organisation, ferrying around large pieces of wood and stone ready for when they had to barricade themselves in. Meanwhile, Silva cleared an area behind the Arbor and began spreading out bedding, while Niveus brought medicinal supplies and bowls of clean water ready to bathe wounds.

Teague sat sullenly to one side, Beata propped up in a chair nearby, and watched the commotion. He felt no compulsion to take part. This was not his battle, after all, he reminded himself. If there had not been a whole army of Komis outside, and a whole army of mysterious underwater warriors, he would have disguised himself and made a run for it. But he had a feeling he wouldn't make it more than a few yards from Heartwood.

He thought about the way the knight they called Dolosus had suddenly appeared beside him in the moat. He had been struggling to get Beata to the surface, and then Dolosus was there, a shadowy shape in the water, with a tail instead of legs and a silver shimmer to his face. Teague had never seen anything like it in his life. Now, for the first time, he wondered exactly who these Darkwater Lords were, and why they were attacking Heartwood.

Clearly, they wished for the downfall of the tree, he thought. He did not understand his gift with the Greening, did not want it, but he did know he was connected with the earth, and obviously the Darkwater Lords had an affinity with water.

He looked across at Beata to find her watching him. She said nothing, but her eyes were hurt, accusing. He looked away.

He could not put into words why he did not want to help her. He didn't even know himself. He just knew he was frightened.

He cast a quick glance over at the tree. He had been shocked when he first came into the Temple. Beata had spoken to him of the wonder of the Arbor, of their glorious tree. And of course, he knew all about the stories of Animus from his childhood. But he could hardly believe this was the same tree as that of the golden myth.

How could anyone revere such a decrepit specimen of nature? Teague was repulsed, disgusted and – he had to admit – disappointed by it. Holy tree? He had seen better, greater oaks in the forest. He could not ever imagine worshipping this drooping, torn example.

He looked away. The two Hanaireans were beginning to make headway with their preparations. There were piles of wood and stone on either side of the doors, ready to barricade the army in when the time came. All furniture and precious objects had been stowed, moved or hidden, although lit candles still circled the room, as it was now almost completely dark outside, except for the Moon, which kept peeping out behind the rainclouds. The Temple sat in a complex pattern of light and shadows, cast by the eerie glow from the Moon.

Teague could feel Beata's eyes on him, as if they were two red-hot irons branding the back of his neck. He ignored her for the moment, however, as he was gradually becoming aware of the sound of crying. It was very soft and in the distance, and he couldn't tell if it was male or female, but although it was subdued as if someone was trying to hide their misery, nevertheless there was such unhappiness in the sobbing it wrenched at his heart.

He looked around the Temple. Everyone seemed busy. He could not see anyone huddled in a corner. There did appear to be individual cells in the outer ring, so maybe the noise was coming from there, he thought. He stood, intending to walk over there, but immediately as he did so, he realised the sound was coming from the centre of the Temple, not the outside.

He was at that moment in the outer ring, close to the fence that usually kept out visitors to the inner part of the Temple. He started walking around the fence, searching for some sign of the distraught soul. The inner circle was deserted, however; on the western side, near the Domus, Silva was setting up the Infirmaria, but she was busy in the outer circle.

Teague walked all the way around, then came to a stop not far from where he had started. The crying was, if anything, louder, and laden with such misery it almost made him want to cry himself. His hands gripped the top of the fence. Surely, it couldn't be… His eyes flicked around the room, looking for another source of the sound. But there was no other, and suddenly he realised the truth.

The tree was crying.

Teague froze to the spot, feelings as if his hands were stuck to the fence. In all his years exploring the Greening, his contact had always been through touch and the sixth sense of “feeling” nature around him. He had never heard any plants or trees speak to him, and he had certainly never heard any of them crying.

He stared at the Arbor, his heart pounding. Why was the tree crying? Because it was hurt? Or because it was so upset at what was happening to Heartwood? He looked frantically around the room. Could nobody else hear it? But it was so loud!

He started as someone touched him on the arm, and he spun around, but it was just Beata. Her face was as pale as the moonlight on the flagstones, but she seemed steady on her feet, and her eyes were clear. “What is the matter?” she asked, eyes narrowed as she stared searchingly into his own.

Teague swallowed. He was not about to admit to her he could hear the tree crying, or she would assume the connection meant he could help it. Instead, he just shrugged. “How are you feeling?”

“I will live.” She glanced over at the Arbor, then looked back at him. “I did not drag you from one end of Anguis to the other for nothing, you know.”

He glared at her. His golden eyes usually unsettled people, and he waited for her to look away, but this time she didn't, meeting his gaze directly and firmly. “You cannot make me do anything,” he said.

She smiled. “Oh, I think we both know that is not true.”

“You think you can still best me one-handed?” he scoffed.

She raised an eyebrow. “I do not think so; I
know
so.”

Teague knew he had to raise his game. She was clearly going to try to use force to make him go closer to the tree, and he had to do everything he could to stop her doing that. If he could just distract her until the invasion started, maybe then she would leave him alone, and he would somehow be able to disguise himself and slip away.

He took a step closer to her. He knew how to get under her skin. “You seem to think you are the one in control,” he said softly. “If that is so, then you must bear full responsibility for what happened between us that evening. Can you do that, Beata? Can you accept you were as responsible as I for the seduction that occurred?”

“I…” For the first time she faltered. Two bright spots of pink appeared on her cheekbones, the only colour on her pale face apart from her blue eyes. She took a step backwards, clearly unnerved at his proximity. “Do not come any closer,” she warned.

Teague ignored her. He continued to walk forwards, and she continued to back away until she bumped into the cells and could retreat no further.

He fixed her there with his golden eyes, moving closer until their bodies touched. She could easily have pushed him away with her good arm, but she seemed unable to move, although her chest rose and fell quickly with her rapid breathing. She seemed entranced by his eyes, and indeed, that was what he had intended. He knew others found them beguiling, but this time, there was more to Beata's inability to move than fascination with the colour of his eyes. Like him, she was remembering what had transpired between them.

His gaze fell to her lips. He remembered the feel of them beneath his own, their softness as he had pressed his mouth onto hers. Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her more than anything in the world. The urge was irresistible. If he had been clearer in his thoughts, he may have realised something magical was at work, but his senses had overridden his mental processes, and all he could think about was Beata and the touch and taste of her.

He placed one hand on either side of the cell behind her and leaned forward.

Their lips touched. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the kiss.

He had forgotten about distracting her, about the tree, about anything except the feel of her in his arms and the memory of their lovemaking. Carefully avoiding her wounded shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to him, his left hand threading through her hair, cupping the back of her head. He could feel her heart pounding against his own ribs. She softened in his arms, leaning into the kiss, her good arm moving around his waist, and he felt her sigh, although whether from bliss or resignation he couldn't tell. All thoughts of distraction fled from his mind. There was just Beata, and her beautiful, soft lips.

It was only when something fell on his cheek that he blinked and opened his eyes, then lifted his head. Like people awaking from a dream, they looked around in surprise. Soft rose petals were falling from the sky. The ceiling of the Temple was still intact; the petals were materialising out of thin air, falling throughout the room, landing on the heads and shoulders of those standing around, who, Teague suddenly noticed, were all staring at the couple caught up in their embrace.

Teague looked down at Beata and felt a sudden stab of fear at the look on her face. Rage, white and hot, burned in her eyes, and she pushed him with her good arm in the chest so hard, he stumbled. “You would try to seduce me here, of all places!” she hissed. Before he could say anything, before he could move, she drew her arm back and suddenly her fist met his chin with a loud crack, and then he was his back on the floor.

“It was not me,” he said truthfully, turning as she aimed a kick at his groin, and she missed and hit his thigh. She ignored him and tried again, but he curled into a ball, yelling as she whacked his shinbone. “Beata!” How could he explain he hadn't been responsible for the petals?

“Beata!” This time the voice came from Beata's side. He waited until the kicks had stopped and then unfurled slightly to see who it was. Fear clenched his stomach. It was Silva.

Beata glared at the Custos of the Arbor, her fury making her more beautiful than ever. “He… he…” She seemed unable to put her anger into words.

“I know,” said Silva calmly. “I saw. He tells the truth, Beata; it was not him. He has a connection to the Arbor; I could feel it. It was the tree who wanted him to kiss you. It was the tree that sent the petals.”

“It was the Arbor?” gasped Beata, puzzled.

Silva's golden eyes were unreadable. “It read what was in your hearts and interpreted it in the only way it knows: the natural world.”

Beata reddened. “If it could read my heart, it would send thunder and lightning, not rose petals.”

Silva's gaze was unrelenting. “That is what you want to feel, not what you truly feel. You can deny it to yourself, Beata, but you cannot deny your true feelings to the Arbor. It sees all.”

Beata turned. Clearly, Silva's words had not made her feel better. “I have had enough,” she spat. “It is time. Let us take him to the tree.”

“No!” Teague yelled, and turned onto his knees, intending to make a run for it, but he wasn't quick enough, and Beata's foot came down on his backside, forcing him forward onto his face. He turned and felt her firm hand on his arm, dragging him to his feet. He twisted, trying to wrench himself from her grip, but she was so strong it surprised him, and then Silva too had his arm, and although he struggled, he could not shake them off.

Half-dragging him, half-carrying him, they brought him through the gate in the fence and across the channel to the inner circle. Beata threw him down in front of the tree so he sprawled on the ground amongst its roots. She towered over him, still furious, although whether it was just with him or also with herself he wasn't really sure.

“No!” he yelled, then, more pleadingly, “Please, do not make me do this.”

For a moment she didn't speak. Then, more softly, she said, “I have no choice. We all have a destiny to fulfil Teague, and this is yours.”

Then she stepped back, and let the tree loom over him.

 

IV

Chonrad sat quietly on his horse at the head of the Equitas and watched the water slowly seep through the parapets of Heartwood's outer walls. He shivered. It was a terrifying sight. It was so unnatural, seeing water at that height. His grandfather, who also came from Vichton, had once seen a tidal wave during a great storm. Although only six feet high, it had swept in from the ocean and destroyed most of the town, killing several thousand people. His grandfather must have felt what he was feeling now, thought Chonrad, watching the first splashes reach the grass in the Baillium. Part of the terror came from the unfamiliar, from not knowing how to react or what to do in that situation.

He looked over his shoulder, checking everyone was ready. The Heartwood Equitas, or cavalry, had its own commander, a sturdy rider called Aquila, whose horse now stood beside Chonrad, chomping impatiently at the bit, but he had been glad of Chonrad's offer of help. Chonrad's own battle steed pawed the ground, and he patted its side, speaking to it softly. No doubt it was picking up on his tension: horses could always sense the battle to come, almost as if they could see into the future, he often thought.

He looked across at the front line, the knights of which were facing the walls, waiting for the first onslaught of Darkwater warriors. He could not see Procella and Valens from where he was, but he could see the faces of some of the knights. They showed the same mix of emotions he had seen the whole of his life on Isenbard's Wall: nervousness at the thought of their lives coming to an end that day, determination to prove themselves worthy knights and eagerness to engage the enemy and end the waiting.