In the Earth Abides the Flame (39 page)

He was pleased when the riding order continued to see him separated from his older brother.

Night came and eventually the party turned aside from the road. Wiusago led them to a small keep, occupied by a company of soldiers, and there they made their bed for the night. Leith thought he detected some animosity in the eyes of the soldiers, some hard looks directed at the strangers, particularly at Te Tuahangata, but eventually dismissed the thought from his mind.

They were pleasant enough, the food was plain but wholesome, and the straw mattresses comfortable. Soon everything else was forgotten as sleep settled upon him.

The next day was a little brighter. The clouds lifted, though they had not disappeared, and on occasion they parted to let the warm sun shine down on them. The countryside was rolling now, the coastal plains having been left behind, and they drew near to green foothills that swept up to bush-clad mountains. Above and around the heights before them a deep mist hung like a hundred veils, shrouding their summits in mystery.

In the early afternoon Te Tuahangata reined in his horse and spoke to them. 'Here we cross the border, leaving Deruys behind and entering the land of the Children. Anyone who harbours evil towards the Children will do well to leave it here, on this side of the border, for we are swift to reward faithfulness, swift to avenge treachery. I am your leader now; you will do as I say. This is a dangerous land.'

Leith thought his speech abrupt and his tone peremptory, even arrogant, but Prince Wiusago merely nodded his head and reined in behind Te Tuahangata.

'There is something going on between those two,' Kurr whispered to the Haufuth.

'Or something going on between Deruys and the misty place,' the headman replied.

Now the road narrowed to a walking track, winding up through steep, rocky fields that supported few crops. No people were visible tilling the fields, and many had obviously been abandoned, as they had begun to revert to their natural state.

Te Tuahangata waved his arm to the left and to the right. 'See with what generosity Deruys grants us choice land in which to dwell!' he cried. Leith happened to be looking at Wiusago when this was said. The Deruvian prince winced, but made no reply.

'This is our land!' the dark-skinned Child of the Mist cried out in a loud voice, addressing someone or something other than the party with which he rode. 'From the sea to the desert; from the plain to the mountain; from the soil to the sky. This is our land!' And with that uncontested assertion, he continued up the narrow track.

Perhaps half a mile below the forest Prince Wiusago pulled his horse to the left, and ascended a small green-turfed mound. The others did not follow, but waited as he dismounted, knelt for a moment on the crest of the mound, then, leading his horse, he rejoined them.

'What was that about?' Leith asked Phemanderac; but the philosopher did not know.

'We will leave our mounts here,' Te Tuahangata announced. 'They will be of no further use on our road.' The Deruvian servants gathered the horses and, after a word of thanks from Wiusago, set out on the journey home to Brunhaven.

Now they drew close to the eaves of the forest, and Leith saw it was wholly different from the forests of Firanes. The trees here were not tall and slender, but shorter, squatter, older; gnarled, closely packed, a single, many-tendrilled organism rather than a collection of stately individuals as one would find in the Great North Wood. Hanging from the branches were a profusion of sodden mosses and lichens, their sombre shades like beards, adding to the feeling of great age. Above Leith the forest spread back up the slopes and into the mist, which inched long grey fingers down into the forested valleys. Here and there mist rose from folds in the hills, as though someone had set fire to the trees; and occasionally some great tree giant raised its head above the forest canopy, a silent sentinel standing starkly on guard, or an adult supervising a landscape of children. The forest floor was dark, much richer than the northern woods, and everywhere green ferns grew, many twice their height or more, raised on great stalks, while others spread wide and low across the ground. From everywhere came the sound of running water, and waterfalls could be glimpsed in the distance. Leith took a last look back out over the rolling hills and plains of Deruys, and in the distance the sea sparkled in the light of the sun. Then he turned to the forest.

In the Forest of the Mist Leith soon lost track of space and time. They could have been going north or south, east or west, and he would have been none the wiser. The narrow path went up and down, left and right, widened and narrowed, did everything in fact except go straight. It felt like late afternoon, but Leith could not be sure. He was not enjoying the forest. It seemed to him blacker even than his mood.

That night they made shelter in a grove of large, brown-trunked trees. In deference to the forest no fire was set: Te Tuahangata explained to them fire was only to be set in the hearth of their villages. 'The nearest is still a day's ride away. Our people no longer dwell this close to the edge of the wood.' Again the tension, again the pained look on the prince's face.

The land of Mist was almost wholly mountainous, though the peaks were not lofty enough to attract snow this far south except on the rarest occasions. The Children of the Mist lived in long, narrow valleys between steep, high ridges, each valley connected to the next by a network of walking tracks so complex that any stranger to the land would become lost if not apprehended by the inhabitants. The forest was everywhere, even up to the shoulders of the highest peaks.

In from the Khersos, the Deep Desert, came the hot, dry wind. Above the mountains it met the cooler sea breezes which sprang from the cold offshore currents, and incessant mist and rain were the children of the union. The sun did shine on the land, but mainly in winter when the cold wind was in the ascendancy, and at the height of summer when the dry desert wind scorched the trees. In spring and autumn, when the balance was more equal, the sun might not be seen for weeks at a time.

This hardship had not bred a bitter people; far from it. The Children loved the blanket above them, as for centuries it had kept them hidden from those who would dispossess them. Even before other people came to Faltha, and the Children were alone with the land, they had seen the mist as the arbiter of their fate, their protection from the naked wrath and capriciousness of their gods. The Children were - or had been - a passionate people, given to fullness of love and of hate; and many of their people were yet of that disposition. Things changed, however, when the First Men came.

The First Men brought with them a desire for dominion, a mandate from their god some interpreted as justifying many things. And, what was perhaps even more dangerous, a number of good people who regarded it as their duty to incorporate the Children into the society of the First Men.

These good people taught the Children that land was a commodity which could be carved up, then bought and sold, imparting the dubious gift of ownership to a people whose society was based on shared land use rights, not individual ownership. Then other people, not so good, came to buy the land, or take it if it was not for sale. Behind them came the army of Deruys, ever ready to protect its citizens. And with all these people, both good and bad, walked misunderstanding and sorrow.

Wars were fought in succeeding generations, and sorrow multiplied. Again and again the hot passion came down from the mountains, to be met by the coolly calculating armies of the coast. Where they met tears fell as young men died well or died badly, and nothing was resolved. The Children of the Mist and the First Men of Deruys became mortal enemies.

But now love offered them all a chance of reconciliation.

Not many years ago the elder prince of Deruys, leading a punitive expedition into the land of the Children, fought his way to the edge of the forest. Villages had been fired, and a number of his men, nursing their own hurts for family lost in the old conflicts, had done disgraceful things to the villagers who surrendered, shaming the prince. In order that some lives might be saved from the villages, he ordered the remaining captives be taken to Brunhaven, where they would be at least afforded some protection. This was done, though with great reluctance on the part of his soldiers, who sought the deaths of all their prisoners.

In Brunhaven it was discovered one of the young women taken captive was the daughter of the paramount chief of the Children. When the King of Deruys learned this he became greatly afraid, for he knew the paramount chief would come to rescue his daughter, and the bloodshed would be of a scale not seen even in this most bitter of conflicts. Well he knew the hidden forces in the land of Mist, for as a young man he had spied out the land and was aware the paramount chief held many forces in reserve. They were quite capable of laying siege to Brunhaven itself if they chose to put forth all their strength. For this reason he was greatly displeased with his elder son.

'It would have been better if the men had been allowed their way with these wretches,' he told his son, 'for now we are all in mortal danger.' His elder son was then banished from the king's presence in disgrace, and the monarch retired to his rooms to think on his dilemma.

While the throne was so occupied, the younger prince of Deruys acted. He had seen the daughter of the paramount chief, and for the love of Brunhaven, weariness of the incessant warring and respect for her beauty and lineage, decided to take her back to her father. He could not, however, free her from the guard placed upon her without shedding blood, so decided upon a more risky plan. At night he departed from Brunhaven alone, and took the old paths to the Mist. There he was apprehended and at that moment nearly lost his life, for the Children were wrathful over the loss of their princess. Though he was not slain, he suffered many indig-nities, then was bound and taken to the dwelling of the paramount chief.

There the young prince explained what had happened – how the captives had been taken to Brunhaven to save their lives -and there repented of the dishonour done to the paramount chief and his daughter. The prince offered himself then as surety for the safety of the captives, and suggested the exchange of prisoners would solve the problem without any loss of honour or need for vengeance. The son of the paramount chief, however, sought his death, and all but persuaded his father. After much thought letters were sent, the exchange agreed to and the vehement objections of the paramount chief's son ignored if not silenced.

On a low knoll at the edge of the forest the exchange took place, all parties weaponless as an expression of good faith. The young prince and the daughter of the paramount chief looked upon each other that day and a bond formed between them, one which flourished in the months and years that followed as, alone of all the men of Deruys, the prince was given freedom to visit the land of the Mist. For a time, therefore, peace came to the lands between the desert and the sea, and the King of Deruys learned much from the wisdom and courage of his younger son.

But now pressure was being applied by settlers looking for land, and a number of border skirmishes blighted the fragile peace. Worse, the elder prince of Deruys had lost his life less than a year ago. Whether this had been by accident or by foul play could not be proved, the only sign of his passing being a riderless horse returned to Brunhaven.

And now the younger - the only - prince of Deruys rode again into the Mist, accompanied by the son of the paramount chief and a company of strangers from the north, on a journey so important it stood apart even from the old enmity.

It took the party a week to cross the deeply folded land. At night they stayed in the villages, and twice were welcomed with intricate ceremony on to sacred land where issues concerning the Children of the Mist were debated in and around houses adorned by intricate carvings.

There their story was told, always to an attentive hearing. It appeared the Children reserved their mistrust, and in some cases hatred, for their neighbours the Deruvians, rather than for the First Men in general; also, they seemed to know something about the Bhrudwans. Wiusago explained to the northerners the mighty Bhrudwan army of a thousand years ago had penetrated this far south, and in these hills many atrocities occurred. 'There is a sympathy here to our cause,' he explained, 'which is the main reason they tolerate our presence, I suppose.'

On the sacred ground conversation was shared, feasts held (including an astonishing meal cooked by hot stones and no flame in earthen pits) and stories were told. Such stories! Stories of the younger days of the world, of the exploits of great heroes and of the travels of explorers; each one, it seemed to Leith, told with emphasis upon the extent and importance of their territory. It was as though the stories established some sort of right to the land. Songs were sung, strange songs which pulsed with a rhythm fiercer and hotter than the cool, lilting tunes of the north; and one memorable evening a contingent of warriors, clad only in flaxen skirts, performed a war dance. Spears flashed, thrusting high then dipping to bite imaginary enemies, choreographed perfectly with deep-throated shouts, foot-stamping and grotesque poking out of tongues. To the northerners these were the most frightening warriors they had seen on their journey: without the hidden menace of the Bhrudwan killing machines, perhaps, but much more physically imposing than the Instruian Guard. Leith wondered what manner of men the Deruvians were to have held out against them.

During the day Leith saw very few people, for the paths took them along the ridges and quickly across the valleys. He was able in this shrouded land to forget for a while the threat to Faltha and what he might be expected to do in her defence. Silence by day, merriment and wonder by night. For the first time in months Leith found himself able to relax.

One morning the Arkhimm worked their way up a narrow, rock-strewn track beside a bright, youthful river. Ever afterwards Leith would associate his time in the land of Mist with an image of that swift-flowing stream. White-foaming shallows, placid blue-green depths, soft sandy beaches, rounded boulders larger than houses, water purer than light, colder than ice; all overhung by the dappled, fern-filled forest rearing up on both sides, framed by mist-cloaked hills.