Heartwood (37 page)

The meal was pleasant enough, but seemed to go on forever. Course followed course, and she was soon too full to eat any more. The plates of fish, meat, vegetables, bread and fruit passed her by, making her wonder if the people in the town had anything to eat at all – weren't they on the cusp of a famine? She wished desperately she had a bedchamber she could retire to. As a guest, however, and not a very well-known one at that, she would be sleeping in the Hall that night on the floor, and although she was not bothered by the discomfort, it did mean she would have to wait until the tables were cleared and everyone else was ready for bed. She began to wish again she had not listened to Peritus's advice and had decided to return to Heartwood. But then the Arbor would be lost, she thought sadly, and what would happen to them all?

“Virimage! It is time for some entertainment,” called the lord, waving a half-eaten toffee apple in the air. “What will you sing for us tonight?”

“Whatever my generous lord desires,” said Teague, coming forwards into the space in front of the lord's table and giving him a bow. “Would you like a tale you have heard before? Or something new?”

“Something new, something new!” chanted the diners.

Teague nodded. “I have been working on a new tale. It is about a fair princess who has been locked in a tower in a castle, and a brave and handsome knight who has to rescue her. Would you like to hear that?”

The crowd cried that they would. Teague laughed and took a small lute that had been leaning against the table, and began to strum a tune.

The story was not a particularly innovative one; how many tales have been sung about fair princesses and handsome knights? But nevertheless, Beata sat entranced. She would not have guessed the idiot who had discoursed with her so drunkenly earlier that day could be the same person who was singing now. His voice was not deep, but it was rich and mellow, and sent shivers down her spine.

However, it was not his voice that made her catch her breath and watch too scared to blink in case she missed something. It was the magic he performed with his hands.

He illustrated his tale with clever movements and tricks which he carried out in between strums of the lute. When he sang of the beauty of the princess's golden hair, he waved his hand palm down over the ground and up rose a tall sheaf of yellow corn that seemed to sway in the wind as if it was still in the field. When he told of the storm the knight had to ride through to get to the castle, he swirled his hand gently in the air and tiny silver petals fluttered down on the crowd to their cries of delight. As the knight reached a dark and dangerous forest, the crowd screamed to find green vines climbing up their legs and lacing themselves around the table. And when he spoke of the joy the knight felt when finally seeing the maiden lying in her chamber, blue and yellow flowers bloomed in front of all the ladies, causing several to swoon.

Walking among the guests, he finished his song with a verse about the knight singing to the princess about how much he had longed to be with her, and how glad he was that he had found her. The knight produced a rose for his beautiful lady, which he gave to her as he kissed her.

Teague was standing almost directly behind Beata as he sang the last words. She had to turn slightly in her chair to see him, but was close enough to him to see that, as he produced the rose in his hands, there was nothing up his sleeve, and no secret hiding place for him to produce it. The flower grew from his palm, as if an invisible hand had quickly drawn it there with red and green ink. He looked at her, and she felt a shock go through her at the warmth in his beautiful golden eyes. “I am sorry,” he mouthed, and then before she could react, bent forward and pressed his lips briefly to hers.

The crowd cheered. Teague turned away, strumming his lute and laughing as they all cheered for him to play more, but waved his hand, complaining his throat was dry and he needed a drink.

Beata sat still as a rock, her cheeks scorching, her fingers resting on her mouth where he had kissed her. Had he apologised for being rude to her earlier? Or had he apologised for the fact that he was about to kiss her? She looked over at Peritus, who just raised an eyebrow, and she looked away again, her head spinning. Why had Teague chosen her as his princess? And why had he kissed her?

She glanced up, looking around the room for him, but to her surprise, he had vanished. And for the rest of the evening, he did not appear. Eventually, the tables were cleared and pushed back against the walls, the blankets and pillows were brought down into the Hall, everyone began to prepare for bed, and still he did not appear. Beata found a place not far from the door and curled up on her little pallet, wondering about where he had gone, and what he was doing.

She thought about the tricks he had done there that evening, and knew in her heart he had some form of the Veriditas within him, some ability to control nature that maybe existed in all of them, but he clearly knew how to use his. And eventually she fell asleep, thinking about him, and remembering the soft touch of his lips on hers.

When she opened her eyes in the morning, at first she thought she was still dreaming, because the first thing she saw was those golden eyes fixed on her, watching her. Then she blinked and realised it really was Teague, and he was sitting beside her, cross-legged on the floor, waiting for her to wake up.

She sat up, the knight's natural ability to wake immediately springing into life. “You!” she said, half-alarmed, half-intrigued.

“Me,” he replied, amused. He studied her carefully. “Who are you?”

She said nothing for a moment but was aware she would eventually have to tell him if she wanted him to go to Heartwood, but for the moment decided she would keep things simple. “My name is Beata,” was all she said. “Why?”

He frowned at her name and she realised she should have given herself a Laxonian pseudonym, but he did not comment on it. Instead he said, “Because I had a very strange dream about you last night.”

“You did?” Now it was her turn to be amused. “Dare I ask?”

He did not smile but continued to frown. “It was actually about a Heartwood knight. I saw his tattoo. He had light brown hair that curled on his forehead, like this.” He drew the shape above his eyebrows.

“Oh?” She kept her voice neutral, but inside her heart was beating quickly. It sounded like one of the twins. “What happened?”

He blinked, his unnerving gold eyes fixed on her. “He was being tortured. I saw a knife carving patterns on his skin. But he did not cry out. Instead he looked up at me and said, ‘Follow her'. And then I saw you.”

His words made her heart miss a beat. Was it Gravis or Gavius he had seen? And was it actually a vision of something that was happening, or just a glimpse of a possible future? “Which arm was his tattoo on?” she asked.

Teague tipped his head, studying her curiously. His eyes looked above her as he pictured the knight in his head, trying to remember. “His left, since you ask. Why should that matter?”

Beata said nothing. So it was Gavius. What was happening to him? Was he really being tortured? “Did he say anything else?” she whispered. She fought back the tears at the image of poor young Gavius being cut with a knife.

“No. I woke up.”

“Do you get these visions often?”

He watched her, suddenly wary. “Maybe.”

She realised he was afraid of acknowledging his true gift. He had obviously spent so long marketing his magic as tricks that he was reluctant to admit he really could control nature. “I know what you can do,” she said simply. “The Veriditas. The Greening.”

He went still at those words. His gold eyes looked suddenly beyond her again, as if he was seeing something in another time. Eventually, however, they dropped back to her. “Sometimes Anguis speaks to me,” he said. “She sends me glimpses of things that have happened, or are yet to pass.”

She nodded. For a moment, they were both quiet.

Eventually, however, Teague spoke. “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Beata smiled at him. “How would you like to come with me and save the world?”

 

III

The baby was crying again.

The high, painful wail followed Fionnghuala across the Snout Range, all the way to the Portal. It wasn't always there; when they were riding, she didn't hear it, and it was more obvious during the night than the day. But – and here was the strangest thing – she and Bearrach were the only ones aware of it; the others didn't seem to hear it at all.

That fact puzzled her more than the actual noise itself. She still wasn't sure why she was hearing the noise – well, she knew
why
, it was more the
how
she was confused about. And, if it was indeed a slip through time or a message from the otherworld, she understood why the others couldn't hear it. But that didn't explain why Bearrach could. But she knew he was aware of it. At night, when she covered herself with blankets and lay in the half-dark, and the crying began, she would look over at him and he would be watching her, his green eyes dark with pity, and she knew he could hear it, too.

There was no point in looking for the baby; she had established that fact quickly enough. No, the baby was definitely not of this world, and when its crying increased as they crossed the Snout Range, she knew it was something to do with the Portal.

Her Quest now began to press in on her as they traversed the last of the hills. The weight of the world seemed to be on her shoulders. The weather probably wasn't helping; it was raining particularly hard that morning, and although her cloak had been treated to make it waterproof, it still felt sodden, and her face was continually cold and wet. The rivers had continued to rise, and she noticed as she looked down into the valley they were inches from breaking their banks. Every flower they passed, every leaf and every blade of grass bowed beneath the pressure of the rain. The whole of Anguis seemed to be depressed by the imminent arrival of the Darkwater Lords.

They started to crest the hill, and Fionnghuala held her breath as they topped the rise and brought the horses to a halt. There in front of them, halfway up the crest of the next hill, with a splendid view over the lowlands of north Hanaire, was the Portal. A huge trilithon consisting of two standing stones topped by a third, the Portal looked like a magical gateway to another place, although she had been there several times and walked through it, and had never found herself anywhere but on the other side.

They began to make their way down the hill. Bearrach manoeuvred his horse until it was beside hers but didn't say anything, and she realised he felt she needed moral support. She smiled to think he had read her thoughts and had felt her growing hesitation.

How strange it was to have lived so close to him for so long and never to have known him better. She had known him since she was young; he had been there at her first speech in the Council, and she remembered seeing him watching her as she spoke. But until now, he had never pushed a relationship with her; she wasn't sure why. Perhaps he had realised how important her role in the Council was to her and understood she didn't want to have to make the choice between family and her job.

And now? Now he had realised she was struggling, and had realised she needed a friend.

She was saved further contemplation by their arrival. They dismounted at the bottom of the hill, where there was a small copse of trees with a large pool. They tied up their horses and let them graze before walking up the hill to the Portal. The stones stood about halfway up on a flat shelf, looking rather like a giant figure that stood imposingly watching over the land, hands on hips. Fionnghuala walked up to them. They looked much the same as the last time she had come; pitted and weathered, but strong and solid and clearly not going anywhere any time soon.

She watched the others admiring them, especially the Militis, who had not been there before, and she saw them wandering through the gap between the stones to the other side without a second thought.

For a moment, however, she could not follow them through. The thought of her Quest and what she had been sent there to do was suddenly so prominent that she felt if she walked through the Portal, a door might open to another place – a place she did not want to be, or from where she could not return. Her feet felt frozen to the floor and she stood, petrified, her heart pounding.

“Have you seen the flowers over there?” asked Bearrach gently, taking her hand. He indicated a small cluster of wilting blooms that lay on the hill, visible through the Portal. “Come and look at them with me.”

Initially, she baulked – why could they not walk round the Portal to look at the flowers? Why did they have to walk through? But she knew he was trying to get her to go through with him, and so eventually, she let him lead her into the shadow of the stones, and under them, and her heart hammered, and her mouth was dry as sun-bleached rock. They reared above her head, and then suddenly she was through, and Bearrach was still holding her hand, and nothing had happened. She could have cried with relief, but instead she just smiled at him shakily, and he squeezed her hand and wandered off to talk to the others. Clearly, the Node was not ready to talk to her, she thought. The day of reckoning had not yet arrived.

They spent the rest of the day making camp. There was no real shelter anywhere near the Portal, and so eventually, they decided to erect a tent-like structure under the copse of trees at the base of the hill. They had several waterproof sheets with them, which they strung around the trunks so one made a large, sloping roof to let the rain run off, and two others formed walls to keep out the worst of the rain that drove in from the east. They quickly made a fire, and Audax, Mundus and Lalage went off to catch them some tea, returning after an hour or so with several rabbits, a pheasant and a bowl of berries and edible plants. They had brought one fairly large cooking pot with them and made a stew, eating it sitting under the shelter on their blankets, watching the rain and talking quietly about the Portal and what it was they were expected to do.