Heartwood (34 page)

“I am sorry if I hurt you, brother,” he said. “I never meant to.” He turned his face up to the sun. Suddenly, he thought the weather was all wrong; though he had missed the sun, he wished it was raining again, echoing his mood.

“We never mean to step on ants,” said Gravis, “but we do it all the time.”

Gavius knew he spoke the truth. He had never given much thought to Gravis's feelings. But he had never wished him harm. He had always striven to protect him, and although perhaps he was at fault for thinking himself superior to his twin, he had done everything out of love.

“You do not love me,” sneered Gravis, reading his mind. “You love nobody but yourself.”

Gavius frowned. He again doubted this was his brother. Though Gravis may have had suspicions about his brother's feelings of superiority, he would have known Gavius loved him. That could not be contested. That was fact.

“I do not think you are my brother,” he said quietly.

“Who am I, then?” jeered the figure.

“I do not know. But I think this is a test. Maybe you are just a projection of myself, a fabrication to force me to confront my deepest fears.” Suddenly, he knew he was on the right track. “Yes, that is it. The Node has forced me to examine myself and my motivations for coming on this Quest.”

“Very clever,” said the figure. But he no longer sneered. “So tell me, what answer do you have to the accusation of your superiority over your brother?”

“I acknowledge its truth,” said Gavius. “I have always assumed I was chosen first, and I am still not sure it was the other way around – if you are a projection of my fears, then you are merely expressing my deepest worries. But even if that were the case, I do not feel it actually changes anything. I have served Heartwood well; I am a good knight, and I have never broken my vows. I pledged to defend the Arbor until my death, and that is why I am here, on this Quest. I do not feel I could have done more with my life. I do not feel any guilt. I love my brother and I have tried to care for him and do my best for him. And I honestly felt sending him on his own Quest might make him realise he can cope without me, and stretch his wings.”

The figure nodded, then suddenly smiled. “You are correct – I am not your brother. But I must tell you – you do carry a piece of him inside you. A piece he needs back if he is to complete his Quest.”

“What… how…”

The figure held up his hand. “But for now, your Quest is done.” He dropped his hand.

Gavius stepped forward. “Do you mean that…?” But he stopped as the figure stepped forward too. He raised his own hand; the figure raised his. The image in front of him truly was a reflection of himself.

The ground began to tremble beneath him. As it did so, his reflection vanished. He looked around, startled to see the whole landscape flickering, as if clouds were passing rapidly over the sun. He saw the scene he had left come into focus – the other Militis seated around him, now staring at him with wide eyes – then it flicked back to the sunny hillside. What was happening? He planted his feet more firmly as the ground trembled again, threatening to throw him to the floor. Was it an earthquake? He had heard of such things in other lands, although he had never experienced one himself.

But it was only as he looked up the hillside he realised exactly what was causing the tremors in the ground.

The Green Giant was literally ripping himself out of the grass and rising up above him.

He stepped back, fear firing arrows into his stomach as he looked up at the enormous figure. The Giant tore himself out of the hillside, clods of earth flying around him as he sat up, towering over the tiny knight who trembled in the grass. Gavius slid down the Giant's chest as he rose up, and he rolled down the bank and fell off to the side as the monster heaved himself upright. Gradually, the figure pushed himself up to his knees, and then to his feet, until he was standing upright, tall as a mountain, blocking out the sun.

And then he spoke.

“Who has awakened me?” he bellowed, his voice rolling like thunder around the countryside.

Gavius had never known such fear, but he stood his ground and called, “I am the one.”

The Giant looked down. His eyes were vast hollows in his grassy face, his nose a ridge of hills, his mouth a chasm of ripped grass and torn earth. “Why are you here?”

Gavius swallowed and said, “I have come to activate the Node. We are under attack from the water elementals and the Arbor is dying. We need to get energy flowing through Anguis again.”

The Giant let out a deep, booming laugh. “At last!” he said, his hands on the peaks of his hips. “I have slept long enough.”

He raised his arms up to the sky. His deep voice began calling in words Gavius could not understand. The clouds in the sky roiled and churned, like great fists bunching and clenching, and thunder echoed in his ears. Then the Giant did something that completely took him by surprise; he bent down and placed his gigantic hand over the top of Gavius's head. Clods of earth rained down on him, and he cowered beneath the vast shadow, but he was not crushed. Instead, he began to feel a heat emanating from the Giant's hand. Gavius stood once again, realising he was not going to be flattened like a fly, and turned his face up to the energy.

Around him the scenery was flickering again. He could feel the energy rushing through him. The Node was activating! He felt it open up beneath him like an enormous whirlpool, spinning beneath the earth. He tipped back his head and opened himself up to it. Light flooded through him, and he knew he was shining like a beacon. But it did not hurt – instead he felt exultant, as light as a snowflake, radiant as the sun.

And then, just as suddenly, everything vanished. The Giant, the heat, the light, the thunder, the rumbling in the ground. He fell to his knees, exhausted.

For a moment, he could do nothing but sit there, gasping, too tired to even open his eyes. But gradually, as he realised the others had not spoken to him or come up to him, he opened his eyes, hoping his friends hadn't been hurt in the activation process.

They had not.

They had, however, been captured.

Gavius stared in astonishment at the group of Komis warriors who stood in a circle around him and the Militis, spears pointed at their throats. One of them, presumably their leader, stepped forward to stand in front of him. He was tall, slim, long of limb; his skin was the colour of polished oak, his hair black and elaborately braided. He wore a tunic and breeches in a dark green and brown, which would camouflage him perfectly in the forest. His eyes were the colour of molten gold. And when he spoke, he spoke in perfect Heartwood.

“Hmm,” he said, eyeing Gavius curiously. “Very interesting.”

 

IV

Bearrach awoke to find Fionnghuala's bed empty. At some point he had dozed off, although it had taken him quite a while; the sound of the crying baby had lasted long into the night. She had already been asleep by then, but he had heard it clearly, and had lain awake staring at the stars, wondering what ghostly child this was who had followed them all the way from the Neck Pass.

That morning, he could hear nothing except the sounds of people getting ready for breakfast, however, and so he arose and went to his own bedroom, washed and dressed, putting on his light jerkin only, deciding to leave his mail behind. Now he was in Hanaire he should have little need of it, and it was a relief to get rid of the weight.

He was not used to wearing mail on a regular basis and found himself walking with a lighter step than he had for the past few weeks. As Head of the Council in Fintaire, his day was filled with meetings and audiences rather than battles, and although he travelled widely and always dressed cautiously when he went into the Twelve Lands, most of the time he left his battle armour at home.

He walked through to the dining room, which had been cleared of the meal from the night before, and the tables were now laid for breakfast. Bread, butter, steaming bowls of porridge and a variety of fruit lay on the table, along with jugs of cold water from the well. Audax, Lalage and Mundus were already there, and so were Fionnguala's companion Kinaed and his own compatriot Ruadh, who had left with him from Fintaire. Fionnghuala herself, however, was not.

“Where is she?” he asked, helping himself to a large bowl of porridge and ladling strawberries into it. They were early strawberries, from his hothouse at the back of his villa, but they were soft and sweet.

“She went out for a walk,” said Kinaed in his quiet voice. “She said she needed some air.”

Taking his bowl with him, Bearrach walked out into his gardens. The place was quiet and peaceful, being some way from town. He walked through the gardens under a covered walkway that protected him from the worst of the rain still falling, and saw with sadness the lawns had been flooded in several places, and the flowerbeds pooled with water. It would be difficult to get things to grow if the rain did not stop soon.

At the end of the garden, still under the covered walkway but looking out onto the marsh meadow, he finally saw her. She was dressed and wore her mail coat, but still she looked small and delicate, like a white flower, easily crushed beneath one's boot. He wandered over to her, eating his breakfast.

“No sign of it easing,” he said as he approached, trying not to make her jump.

She turned, looked at him and smiled, and then glanced up at the heavy clouds. “I cannot believe it has rained for so long,” she said. “I feel that there is something supernatural about this continual weather. And that makes me fear even more for Anguis, should we not be successful.”

Bearrach nodded. He looked at his bowl, suddenly losing his appetite. “Are you coming in?” he asked, shivering a little in the early-morning coolness. “You ought to eat before we leave.”

“We?” she repeated. “Are you still sure you want to go with me? This is my Quest, and I know I am the only one who can complete it. I feel it. I cannot explain how.”

He shrugged. “I am not looking for glory. I just want to go with you.”

“To protect me?” Her eyes twinkled.

He laughed. “I just think… you could do with the company.”

She smiled then, raising a hand to touch his cheek softly. “I cannot believe there is a person in this world as genuine as you, Bearrach.”

He sighed. “Aye. I am a hero.”

She laughed and joined him as he began to walk back to the villa. For a while she said nothing, and he sensed she was thinking, so he remained quiet, content to just be in her company.

Eventually, however, she said, “Can I ask you a Question?”

“Of course.”

“Why have you never married?” She looked around the gardens. “I understand you are committed to the Council – no one could understand better than I. And yet… you have a lot of love in your heart. I find it strange you have remained alone for so long.”

Bearrach thought about the time he had first seen her, many years ago, on a visit to Salentaire when he was a young Councillor. She, too, had been young, and he had walked into the town's Council Chambers to see her giving a speech on the rights of women to inherit a Guildship if their husband died, as under the law at that time the Guild passed to other male kin such as a brother. She had been outspoken, brilliant, beautiful, her long blonde hair hanging down her back like a waterfall, her eyes blazing with passion, and he had fallen in love with her at first sight.

It was only afterwards he had learned she was completely committed to her position in the Council, and had stated she would never marry. But by then his heart was captured, and he knew he would never get it back.

“I suppose I have just never met the right person,” he said with a smile, opening the door to the villa and standing back to let her through. “Or she has been… otherwise engaged.”

She stopped to look up at him. She was barely inches away, her beautiful green eyes wide and dark with concern, her mouth looking so soft he longed to kiss it.

“Do not fall for me, Bearrach,” she said in a low voice. “I do not want to break your heart.”

Too late, he thought. Outwardly, however, he just smiled. “I understand. Now, we had better prepare for our journey.”

Later, back on the road and heading towards Fionnghuala's home town of Salentaire, Bearrach turned to thinking about the phantom baby, crying into the night. He wondered why they kept hearing it. She had clearly not heard it before the night on the Knife's Edge. Why had it started then? Was it something to do with the Quest?

He mused on the reasons behind it as his horse picked its way along the muddy road. To their right ran the Snout Range, a ridge of mountains eventually petering out into high hills, which they had to cross to reach the Portal. From Salentaire, there was a pass through to Crossnaire, which lay in the Lakes: still technically part of Hanaire, but with a vastly different landscape from that through which they were travelling now.

Had she lost a child when young? It seemed to be the most plausible explanation, although he was sure he would have found out about such a devastating event by now. Children were revered in Hanaire and a child's death was a phenomenal event, prompting elaborate funerals and weeks of mourning.

Nor had he ever heard her name connected with anyone else. At some point in a Councillor's life, there was a choice to make – Council or family? And someone always came along to make that choice more difficult. But he had never heard of her having a love affair, and he was certain she had never been married. It was one reason for her rising so high in the Council: her complete commitment to her town and its people.

Of course, that didn't mean she had never fallen in love. Maybe she had had a child secretly, and it had died. But it was very difficult in Hanaire to do anything secretly, and he was sure he would have heard if she had left Salentaire to go away – a long absence would have been most conspicuous.