ARC: Sunstone (27 page)

Tahir didn’t believe him. The emissary didn’t appear to have a conscience. Plus, as the days went by, he seemed to be adopting a reckless profligacy that Tahir, in his youth, found both exciting and disturbing. It could have been due to the thrill of escaping from the Incendi, Tahir thought, or maybe from the knowledge that they were approaching Heartwood and knowing what was to come, but Demitto rode and drank hard, got into fights just because he felt like it, made love to Catena every night and carried within him a wild excitement that began to be infectious.

Tahir felt he’d crossed a bridge and put his fears behind him. He had undergone a terrifying trial, had been captured, starved, beaten and restrained, but he had escaped and gone on to live another day. Even though his death was now imminent, it was the right death, not an accident over which he would have no control. The event that he had been groomed for was looming, and for maybe the first time in his life he saw it as a good thing.

Early in the morning, while they rode and Catena and Demitto talked, and Atavus trotted alongside sniffing at trees and chasing rabbits, Tahir spent his time looking around at the changing countryside. They had left the jungle behind a while after Lornberg, and the land stretched out to his right in a patchwork of fields, hills and forests. He knew from his tutor’s history lessons that, once upon a time, the dominant colour would have been green, with maybe yellow from the growing corn and a deep red-brown from ploughed fields. But now everything was a dull grey-brown, parched and scorched from the growing heat. In spite of the fact that they had only just entered The Stirring, the land was clearly confused by the changing seasons. Although some trees had shed their leaves, many were budding and some even had glossy leaves, although they were not evergreens. Crops sprouted in all stages of growth, growing half the size they would have done several hundred years before, and drooped miserably in the hot and humid weather. As they passed close by to a field of wheat, Tahir could see the blight growing on the new sheaves, cultivated by the hot, damp conditions. The country was suffering, and Demitto had told him that it would not be long before food would start to become scarce and the poor would begin to starve.

They had passed little traffic really from Harlton all the way up to Cherton, the number of carts and horses increasing as they approached towns and then dwindling as they left for the open countryside. Now, the gradual growth of people riding or walking told Tahir that they couldn’t be far from Heartwood. The roadside became peppered with stalls, with merchants selling fruit and vegetables, baked goods and small wares, and offering various entertainments.

The other sign that they must be nearing the great city was the sight of the mountain rising to the left in the distance. Once it had been snow-topped, according to Tahir’s tutor. Now, all snow had vanished and a plume of smoke spiralled from the top. Every now and again, a deep rumble shook the earth, although nobody around them seem to take any notice of it.

Tahir’s heart rate began to increase and his mouth went dry. “How long before we get to the palace?” he asked the emissary, who sat straight in the saddle, eyes alight with an emotion Tahir could not decipher.

Demitto looked at him then. His expression softened. “We will not go straight to the palace,” he said.

“Why?”

“My young prince, as a Selected, your entry to the city demands great pomp and ceremony. Nobody would believe any of us is anything special at the moment! We are going to visit the Nest, that is the Nox Aves’s buildings, have a bath, change into more suitable clothing, rest, and then give you the entrance you deserve.”

Tahir’s pounding heart slowed a little, and he took a few deep breaths. Almost as if his execution had been delayed, he thought wryly. Which was pretty much the case, when he thought about it.

The traffic intensified, and their horses had to weave between the carts filled with loaves of bread, barrels of salted pork and beef, fish from the coast, finely woven cloths, and all manner of merchants carrying their wares into the big city.

At one point, everyone had to move off the road to let pass a huge cavalcade of riders in the midst of which rode what could only be a king, Tahir thought, dressed in a fashionable long overtunic in fine green wool embroidered with gold threads, the circlet on his brow studded with gems that winked in the sunlight. The crowd cheered as he passed. The King barely gave them a second look, his face showing his boredom.

“Who was that?” Tahir asked as the last of his retinue passed and the guards allowed them back onto the road.

“The King of Dorle,” Demitto said. “An ignorant oaf. I do not think his oak tree has many acorns growing on it.”

Tahir giggled at his irreverence, while Catena’s lips curved wryly.

“Demitto,” she scolded. “Honestly.”

He stuck his tongue out at her and they all laughed. A bubble of excitement rose inside Tahir and burst from him in a childhood song. Catena joined in with it and eventually so did Demitto, and when Atavus barked it seemed as if he too, wanted to sing along.

As they neared the city walls, however, the tune faded from Tahir’s lips. The walls rose high and intimidating, built from grey stone from the north. They looked formidable, but to Tahir’s surprise there was no moat or drawbridge and the gates remained wide open.

“It is mainly for show,” Demitto said in response to the look on Tahir’s face. “The King does not truly believe anyone would ever attack Heartwood.”

“But have the Nox Aves not told him about the Incendi threat?” Catena asked incredulously.

“Yes. The King did not believe them.”

They both stared at him in silence.

“Does he know about the Apex?” Tahir asked. “That the Arbor is under threat?”

Demitto shrugged. “The King sees the religious significance of the tree as completely separate to his governance of the city. The Arbor is almost an irritation, although he likes the way it draws visitors to Heartwood.”

“You do not think very highly of him,” Catena remarked.

“I will let you make your own minds up when you meet him,” Demitto said.

Tahir said nothing, his attention drawn by the looming gate and the throng of people. Atavus stayed close to his horse’s legs, skilled at weaving without being kicked. Tahir’s heart raced as they passed beneath the gate into the city proper, and he had a sudden sense of foreboding, his previous burst of happiness dimming like a cloud passing over the sun.

Demitto took the main road into the heart of the city, and Tahir trailed along behind him, silently looking around at the buildings and people. Stalls lined the road filled with every kind of goods he could have imagined, and the noise was deafening, merchants yelling their wares, children screaming, dogs barking, people talking.

Tahir had been often into Harlton, including on market day, but he had never seen anything like this. Harlton had wide, open streets and a huge market place, and the smell of the sea wafted across with the cry of seagulls. Here, the only smell that arose from the rubbish-infested gutters was foul, and it felt as if all his senses were under attack: his ears ringing and his nose stinging from the awful stench.

The buildings towered high on either side, mostly lodgings above shops, the balconies strung with limp washing that dried crisp within minutes from the overbearing heat. Red-faced women poured liquid from buckets over the side of the balconies occasionally, and it seemed pot luck as to whether a person would get hit below.

Ahead, the road widened out into the main market place, and further on from that Tahir could see the spires and battlements of the palace rearing above the houses on higher ground, but Demitto turned off on a road to the left, leaving the raucous bustle behind and heading down the narrower street.

Tahir let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “It is so busy!” he exclaimed, glancing back over his shoulder. “Is it always like this?”

“Yes, although at the moment it does seem worse than usual.”

“Why?”

Demitto smiled. “Because of you, young prince. Everyone has come to watch the Veriditas.”

Tahir stared, mouth open. “For me?”

“The Veriditas is the King’s excuse to hold a huge party. Nobles are invited from all over the land to come and watch the event. Of course the ceremony is just a pretext for the King to get everyone here to make negotiations and discuss trade and other matters.” He winced as Catena kicked out at him from the saddle, glanced at her, then looked back at Tahir. “Although the King is very much in the minority. Most people take the ceremony very seriously.”

Tahir’s lips curved. “You are a terrible liar.”

Demitto smiled wryly and slowed his horse to ride beside Tahir’s. “Actually, I speak the truth. At the moment of the sacrifice, there will not be a dry eye in the house. The Veriditas speaks to our own Pectoris – the part inside us that belongs to Animus alone. It may be that ten minutes later everyone will try to forget what they have seen because they do not want to feel they are bound by their religion in the way it was in the old days. But in that moment when you become one with the Arbor, nobody will be able to look away.”

Tahir swallowed and nodded. His heart rate began to speed up again. It was nearly time, he thought. Only a few days and he would no longer be living and breathing fresh Anguis air.

Not that it was very fresh at that moment. He couldn’t believe how much the place stank. Human and animal excrement littered the streets, along with rubbish thrown out by shops and houses, fish heads, meat bones, and the rotting tops of vegetables. Dogs snarled and snapped at one another as they picked out the best pieces. Atavus carefully avoided them as if they were beneath him, but he stopped frequently to investigate the smells that must have been overwhelming to his sensitive nose.

As they neared the end of the road and turned left again into a narrower cobbled street, it grew quieter, and the houses looked neater and more cared for, the roads less littered. Demitto led them through a maze of roads, announcing that this was called the Scholars’ District. This was where those people who had travelled specifically to see the Arbor and to find out more about their religion came to stay.

They rounded the corner and Tahir’s eyebrows rose at the sight of the tall, elegant stone wall with its wide arched doorway, the top engraved with a beautiful carving of an oak tree.

“This is the Nest, the headquarters of the Nox Aves.” Demitto dismounted and reached up a hand to help the Prince. Catena jumped down beside them too, and they led their horses beneath the archway.

“This is the nearest thing in Anguis you will find to Heartwood as it used to be,” Demitto said. He gestured around, taking in the square open yard flanked by well-kept cells, and the building at the end with its domed roof, which reminded Tahir of the pictures in his history books of the ancient Temple that had been destroyed after the invasion of the Darkwater Lords.

A young stable lad came out to take their horses. The boy looked curiously at Tahir with his black hair and golden eyes, but didn’t say anything and led the horses away.

Demitto crossed the yard to an open doorway on the far side and stuck his head in. Tahir heard a male voice call with delight, “Demitto!” and the emissary smiled and went inside.

Tahir hovered outside with Catena, his hand buried in Atavus’s fur. He felt shy, nervous, excited and panicky all at once. These were the men and women who understood the Veriditas, who knew about the Apex and were trying to ensure everything happened when it should. What if they took one look at him and realised he wasn’t up to the job?

He glanced at Catena, who gave a small smile. She had been very quiet since they had left the mountains, and although she had obviously found pleasure in Demitto’s attentions at night, during the day she kept herself to herself. Tahir often found her watching him. He knew she had doubted him back in Harlton – that although she had a certain fondness for him because she had known him for so long and felt sorry for him, she hadn’t been sure he would make a good Selected. Did she feel the same way now?

“I am scared,” he said, surprising himself. He had not meant to voice his thoughts. But now he couldn’t stop. “What if they do not think I am good enough?”

Catena’s gaze slipped over his shoulder for a moment, and then came back to him. Her smile widened.

He turned and stared. The man to whom Demitto had been talking had come out of the building, along with half a dozen others, who now fanned out to either side, staring at him.

“He is here!” called one of the men, and more men and women came out of other cells, stopping as soon as they saw him.

Tahir’s mouth went dry. What was he supposed to do? Were they all sizing him up? Would they burst into laughter? Yell at Demitto scornfully for bringing him there?

The man next to Demitto came forward to stand before him. He stared solemnly into Tahir’s golden eyes. And then he dropped to one knee before him.

As one, every other member of the Nox Aves did the same, bowing to the new Selected.

Tahir’s eyes filled with tears.

III

Geve’s stomach was rumbling. He did his best to ignore it, although he was so hungry he was pretty sure they’d be able to hear it all the way down in the Embers. But it was useless to think about it. Their food supply was alarmingly low, and they had to save what they had until they figured out what they were going to do.

“Cannot sleep?”

He turned, surprised to see Comminor awake. The others, including Sarra, all slept, exhausted by their long journey, worn out with emotion.

“No.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position and ran his hands through his hair. “I am tired and my body aches. But sleep will not come.”

Comminor, too, pushed himself up, and the two men stared at the dying remains of their small fire.

Geve’s gaze crept over to the older man. He had hated him for so long it was difficult to feel any other emotion. In the Embers, fear of the Select kept everyone in their rightful place, and he suspected Comminor encouraged that fear, maybe even spreading rumours about himself and his followers to keep rebellions to a minimum.

In truth, although Geve had succumbed to that fear and hatred, deep down he had understood the reasons behind some of the Chief Select’s decisions. The strict control of births had been unpleasant, but he knew it was necessary to keep control of the birth rate because of their limited resources. That wasn’t necessarily what had bothered Geve – it was more the manner in which the elite few who lived in the palace had privileges that men and women in his own situation could never hope to achieve. But then what was the answer to that? He did not think he himself could have governed a whole city. Hard decisions would have to be made, and he did not have the toughness required for that.

He glanced out at the landscape. As long as he could remember, he had dreamed of rolling green hills and blue skies, birds floating endlessly on the currents, and the oak trees swaying gently in a morning breeze. He could not match the visions with the view before him. What was it he had dreamed of? The past? The future? Or had it all been a figment of his imagination?

But if that was the case, how come Nele and Kytte and Amabil and Betune, and of course Comminor, and probably countless others who had kept it to themselves, had dreamed about it too? They had no histories, no stories to tell of days of old. Life as they knew it had begun in the caves, and everything else had gradually faded into myth and then into oblivion. So why had they all dreamed of the green world? Was it some sort of collective memory? Or had the Arbor been trying to send them a message?

“If you were in my position, would you have done things differently?” Comminor asked softly.

Geve raised his eyebrows, surprised by the Chief Select’s willingness to accept there could have been a different way to do things. “What sort of things?”

“Telling the people of the Embers the truth about their past and their future.”

Geve hesitated. “I do not know. I understand your reasoning for keeping it to yourself. If everyone had known there had been a world outside the one we existed in, a better world, there would definitely have been more dissatisfaction, a desire to find a way out. But then if you suspected what we would find is this,” and he gestured to the barren countryside, “what would be the point? I do not like being kept in the dark, metaphorically or literally, but I do not know any other way it could have been done.” He said the words regretfully, not wanting to agree with the man who had tried to capture Sarra’s heart, but he could not lie.

Comminor nodded. “It has weighed heavy on my mind since the moment I first read the
Quercetum
and discovered the truth. I ruled under the instruction of all the Nox Aves who had gone before me. My predecessor made me swear to abide by the Nox Aves’s rules. As you say, I still do not see how I could have done things differently. But still, doubts plague me.”

He looked up at Geve then, and said, “Does she love you?”

Geve met his gaze. The Chief Select’s golden eyes unnerved him. He wanted to say yes, to make the man think he had no chance with her, to prove that the history he himself had with Sarra was worth more than the moments Comminor had snatched from her. But once again, he could not bring himself to lie.

“No.”

Comminor stared at him for a moment. And then he blew out his breath in a low, slow exhalation. “It is of no consequence. We cannot return to the Embers, and if we stay here it will mean certain death. Love and a future is not a possibility anymore.”

Geve’s heart seemed to shudder to a stop. “What do you mean, we cannot return to the Embers?”

“Can you think of a way back up the waterfall?”

Geve honestly hadn’t thought about it. “No… I… well, there must be another way.”

“I know of no other.”

“We have to look!”

Comminor’s expression reflected his impatience. “Do you think we will have the strength to search the labyrinth of caves beneath us to find ways back in? We have a few scraps of meat and half a dozen cakes left!”

“We have to try,” Geve said earnestly. An idea came to him. “How did the people who originally formed the Embers get into the caves?”

Comminor frowned. “Why?”

“Can we not find that entrance?”

“It was completely blocked. They tried for years to remove the debris but it appears half the mountain collapsed and blocked the way out. That is not an option.”

Geve’s mouth had gone dry. “You cannot just sit here and admit defeat. You are supposed to be our leader.”

“And as leader, it is sometimes my job to state the truth, even when it is not what everyone wants to hear.” Comminor turned his back. “Go to sleep.”

Do not tell me what to do!
Geve wanted to yell the words, but he knew he was being childish. Instead, he lay back and tried to get comfortable. The blanket he had carried in his bag was a little damp still, but actually it felt nice under his back, cooling his warm skin. He rested his head on his bag and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep almost immediately. And then he began to dream.

He stood beneath the Arbor, the huge tree’s branches rearing above his head, the glossy green leaves shivering in the morning breeze. Reaching out, he rested a hand upon the trunk, his fingers running over the rough bark. Slowly, he moved forward and wrapped his arms around it, resting his cheek against the wood. As if a drum played softly inside, the tree’s heart beat rhythmically, regular and reassuring.

He moved back, uplifted by the experience, to find there were others standing on the grass around the tree. He recognised some of them. Sarra was there, and Comminor, and Betune, in fact all of them who at that moment lay in the warmth of the Broken Room. And also the faces of those with whom they had connected down in the ceremonial room – the young boy who bore Comminor’s golden eyes. The tall, lean man with the scruffy dark hair who had stood by the boy protectively. The dark-haired woman whose hand had rested on the pommel of her sword, clearly a soldier. The blonde-haired young woman, who looked so like the man standing by her side that Geve knew they must have been related.

And there were others – a tall man with brown hair and a beard, and gentle, friendly eyes. Another golden-eyed man, holding the hand of a beautiful woman who rested her head on his shoulder. A young man with curly hair, a lock falling across his forehead even though he pushed it away impatiently. A thickset, muscular older man with grey hair whose face reflected his obvious position of authority.

They and many more stood in a ring around the Arbor and, as Geve watched, they all stretched out their arms and everyone held hands.

He had always been a loner, which was unusual in the Embers. The mayors in each sub-district organised many events and people found comfort in being together and sharing their lives. But he had never been that way. Maybe because he was a bard and he had always been conscious of there being a hidden world that only he seemed to know about. Maybe because he spent most of his time watching Sarra instead of talking to others. Or maybe he was just destined to be alone.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Geve felt he belonged. He was linked to all these people through his love for the Arbor, and he could feel its love for him radiating out with each slow heartbeat, washing over him like a wave. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the hands of those next to him, feeling this new connection running from person to person, energising them all.

When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see a man standing in front of the Arbor, in the middle of the ring of people. He wore a long grey cloak with the hood raised and his head was bowed. Leather straps crossed his body and bracers covered his arms. He held out his hands, and Geve felt himself lift into the air.

He rose above the land and looked down with awe to see the radiant green grass and the Arbor growing smaller beneath him. The higher he went, the more of Anguis he could see. Hills and valleys sprinkled with grazing sheep and cows. Thick, lush forests crowding the edge of the mountains, which reared up with their shining grey slopes and snow-topped peaks. Villages and towns and cities, filled with people living their lives, every one precious to the Arbor.

Higher he went, and higher still. He saw the sea, a deep, glittering blue, maybe the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Waves crashed on the golden shores, and in the deep, white horses rode atop the swells. Fish leapt out, dolphins played near boats, and the flukes of whales rose gracefully before sliding back into the ocean.

And he rose higher still. The sky was an even more brilliant blue than the sea. Birds flew past him, and the warm sun shone down on his hands and face, filling him with a joy he had never experienced in his life. He passed through the clouds, the nebulous white threads wrapping around him like spiders’ webs, and then he was through and climbing higher still.

The blue faded, darkened to black, and then he was amongst the stars. A million, million sparkles of white, like the glitter of minerals in a rockface, all trying to outdo each other with their brilliantness.

He encompassed all of this and more, he was Anguis and the sea and the sky and everything in it that walked or crawled or flew. He was the universe, and he was loved.