ARC: Sunstone (31 page)

III

Geve clenched his fists, anger rising within him and making it difficult for him to hold back from knocking Josse flat on his back.

“We are not leaving her!” he yelled.

Josse glared at him. “Sarra’s overactive imagination has led us away from our home to this terrible place. It is her fault we are here. We do not even know if we can get back to the Embers yet. We could be lost here forever!”

“Then what is wrong with spending another day to persuade her to come with us?” Geve snapped.

“Why should we? She clearly does not want to come with us. She wants to be alone. So let us leave her alone!”

Geve opened his mouth to retaliate, but Comminor cut him off.

“We stay together,” the Chief Select said flatly, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “There is nothing else to say.”

For once, however, the usually obedient Josse stood his ground. “This is foolishness.” He gestured out at the scorched landscape. They had all watched the firebird swoop across the barren land, and Geve’s heart had risen in his throat as he’d seen it pass so close to Sarra that he was sure he saw her hair glow scarlet. Josse’s face now reflected his fear. “Why should I risk my life for her?”

Geve looked down at the scene. They could just see Sarra in the distance. She had stopped walking and appeared to be lying on the ground. Geve wasn’t sure if she was injured or just tired, but his heart went out to her to think of her in pain and alone.

He wanted to beg the others to help her, but deep down he could understand why they felt like that. She hadn’t lied – she had led them to the Surface. But what was the point of it all when the world was dead? Why had they been led to this place? What was the point?

Still, a tiny part of him believed in her. There was something about her, something special that he couldn’t define. Yes, he loved her, but it wasn’t just that. Comminor could see it, and he thought the other members of the Veris could too. They had followed her unquestioningly, as if an inner instinct had convinced them she was telling the truth. And he couldn’t just stop now, even though despair kept threatening to overwhelm him whenever he looked out and saw burnt rock instead of grass.

“Well I am going down there,” he said, picking up his bag. “I understand if you do not wish to follow. But on the small chance that it is not all over yet, I am willing to give her one last try.”

He turned and walked over to the lip of the room, climbed over, and began to descend the mountain.

A moment later, Comminor slid down beside him, and the two of them began walking together.

When he looked over his shoulder, his throat tightened at the sight of everyone else following not far behind.

They slipped and skidded down the steep slope on the loose stones, and before long his skin became streaked with ash and dirt. He glanced across at Comminor, silent and solid beside him, and smiled wryly at the sight of the older man’s face streaked with black. He wanted to hate Comminor, but in truth he was just thankful he’d backed him up. Although Geve was jealous of the other man’s relationship with Sarra, at that moment he just wanted her safe, and the more people who could help with that, the better.

It took them a long time to reach her, and by then the sun had obviously risen, even though all it did was lighten the red fog that hung in the air. Geve eyes – used to a lifetime of semi-darkness in the Embers – watered continuously, and when he looked around at the others, he saw their soot-marked faces also streaked with tears. Everyone looked exhausted, but they all pressed on, presumably filled with the same sense of determination he himself felt.

The slope began to level out, and he and Comminor picked up speed and almost ran the final mile or so, eager to get to the prone form of Sarra ahead of them. They ran up to her, chests heaving, and dropped to her side, and Geve lifted her limp body into his arms. Her hair stuck to her damp skin, and he tried to smooth it away from her forehead, although all he succeeded in doing was smearing the black on her face even more.

“Sarra?” He patted her cheek lightly, panic filling him as she didn’t stir. “Sarra?”

She jerked then, and her eyes opened and she looked up at him. She blinked a few times, and then her mouth curved. “Geve?”

“It is me.”

She looked around, saw Comminor on the other side of her, then tried to look past him. “Where is he?”

“Who, my darling?”

Her eyes came back to him. “Help me up.”

He lifted her to a sitting position, watching as she looked around for someone. But all she said was, “It does not matter.”

The others arrived, dropping to the ground around her.

“Are you all right?” Amabil asked, resting a hand on Sarra’s swollen stomach.

“I think it has begun,” Sarra said. “The pains are regular and close together now.”

Geve exchanged a glance with Comminor. If she were in labour, that changed everything. Now they had to get her to safety.

“Listen, we are going to try to think of a way to get you back to the Broken Room,” he said. He looked around. “Maybe if we scavenge for wood or anything else that could be used as a stretcher, we could–”

“I am not going,” Sarra said.

Comminor took her hand in his. “You cannot have your baby here, Sarra. It is too dangerous. The firebird might come back, and other Incendi could appear at any moment.” As if illustrating his words, a spurt of flame erupted from the ground not far away from them, making them all jump and filling the air with an even more intense heat.

“I am not going,” she said again. She would have added more words, but at that moment another contraction began, and she gripped Geve’s hand hard as she rode out the pain.

Panic filled him. He knew nothing about childbirth at the best of times, but even he knew this was not the place to bring a baby into the world. “Sarra, please. I will carry you…”

The contraction released its grip on her, and she lay back, exhausted. But still she shook her head. “I have to stay. I do not expect you to stay with me, though.”

“I cannot leave you,” he said, near to tears. It had been such a long journey, both literally and metaphorically, from meeting Nele, to forming the Veris, to finding out Sarra was also having the dreams, to leaving the Embers. He could not bring himself to abandon her, but equally the thought of staying out in the burnt wilderness terrified him.

Next to him, however, the women were already getting organised.

“Take out all your blankets,” Amabil instructed, “and we’ll make a bed for her.”

Betune lifted the strap of her bag over her head and extracted her blanket, gathered the blankets from the others as they unpacked, and with Paronel began to lay them out in a rectangle to soften the ground. Comminor and Nele formed clothing wrapped in a blanket into a makeshift pillow, and then they moved her onto the ‘bed’. Josse and Viel took all the food and began to discuss how much they should ration and how long it could last.

Choked at the fact that in spite of their misgivings and their own fear, everyone had decided they were going to support Sarra, Geve sat cross-legged beside her and took her hand. “We are all here for you,” he said. “I will not leave you. I promise.”

She bit her lip and her eyes glistened as she glanced around at them all. “I am so sorry. But I cannot explain. I have to…” Her words faded out as another contraction overtook her.

Geve saw the women exchange glances and knew it meant things were speeding up. It wasn’t really surprising considering the speed with which her pregnancy had developed. Her hand crushed his, but he bore the discomfort and spoke soothing words as he encouraged her to ride it out. Betune moistened a cloth with a tiny amount of their precious water, and he used it to wipe her face and cool her brow.

She sank back, breathing more regularly as the pain eased. A tear rolled down her face. “I do not think I can do this.”

“Of course you can. We will all help you.”

“You are right – he should not be born here.” She looked around at the blackened landscape. “This is a place of death.”

“Not anymore,” he said firmly.

“This was meant to be,” Comminor said. He stood a few feet away, looking out across the broken rocks and scorched earth. “We have been led here, and all we can do is take our places on the stage and watch the events unfold.”

He turned back to face them, and Geve saw that the man’s eyes were lit with a strange excitement. “Can you not feel it?” he said. “Can you not see it?”

Geve frowned, puzzled, but as he opened his mouth to ask what Comminor meant, a sudden glimmer of the air around them made him stop. “What was that?” he whispered.

“It is beginning,” Comminor said.

Sarra’s hand tightened on Geve’s again and she cried out. Amabil moved quickly to her side, and they held her as the next contraction began. Amabil raised Sarra’s dress, and the men politely averted their eyes as she inspected the mother-to-be.

An exclamation from Amabil caused Geve to look back, however, and he saw the blanket between Sarra’s pale thighs soaked with liquid.

“Her waters have broken,” Amabil clarified. “It will not be too long now.”

They waited for her contraction to stop and then removed the sodden blanket. Nele took a fresh one and went to replace it.

And then he stopped and stared at the ground.

Comminor frowned. “What is it?” He looked, and his eyes widened too. Everyone crowded round, following their gaze.

Geve’s jaw dropped.

A tiny green shoot protruded from out of the blackened earth.

For a long time, none of them said anything.

Then Nele bent closer and touched the shoot with the tips of his fingers. “It is alive,” he said, his voice filled with wonder.

Betune cried out, her hand moving to her breastbone as Geve had seen it do regularly on their journey. She searched for the bag that hung around her neck, but couldn’t find it. She moved another blanket and found the bag there, its strap broken. “It must have snapped when I removed my backpack.” She picked up the tiny bag – its neck had loosened. She tipped it up.

It was empty.

“The acorn,” Viel said breathlessly.

Geve’s heart pounded. “But why…”

“The birthing fluid,” Amabil cried out. “It soaked into the earth, right over the acorn.”

Comminor instructed them to move Sarra a little to the side so she did not have to worry about damaging the new shoot. Geve continued to hold her hand, watching as the Chief Select and Nele bent to examine the shoot again.

“Is it growing?” Josse asked.

“I am not sure.”

Geve’s head spun. Sarra’s hand tightened on his, and he turned to her, thinking she was having another contraction, but he found her gaze fixed on him, her eyes alight.

“The Arbor,” she whispered. “It is a new Arbor!”

His heart thundered. “I do not know… It could be…”

Her eyes drifted past him, and then fear lit her face. “We must protect it,” she said fiercely. Her hand clenched as a new pain started. “Geve…”

“Do not think about it,” he told her. “You must concentrate on the baby now – that is all that matters.”

“No, you do not understand!” She clenched her teeth and tried to gesture past him. “Look!”

He turned his head. And his heart seemed to shudder to a stop.

Because in the distance, the horizon blazed with flame as the firebird swooped down towards them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I

Orsin knelt before Pyra, the Incendi king.

The firebird hovered in the air before him, dripping golden lava, the heat scorching his face.

“Can you do it?” Pyra asked.

Orsin swallowed. “Can you not send your elementals in to kill them all?”

“We cannot yet leave the mountain. Small fires are all we have been able to conjure. But it is imperative that we do our best to create chaos during the Apex. You
must
do this for me.”

Orsin shook. “Of course, my king.”

“You must go back into the world of the earth elementals, and destroy what must be destroyed. You will not fail me again?” The firebird’s hot breath scorched Orsin’s skin.

“No! No, of course not.”

“Your reward will be great. Everything you desire!”

Orsin thought of the joy of the past few days. He had existed in a haze of wine, rich food and women, everything he had ever desired brought to him with no effort on his part at all. He would never have to worry about anything ever again. “Yes, please. I would like that.”

“You think you can do this? You can fight against your family? Your countrymen?”

The firebird’s words engendered a surge of indignation and anger in Orsin. Along with providing pleasurable ways for Orsin to pass the time, the firebird had spent the past few days encouraging Orsin to remember how his family had made him suffer over the years. Memories had floated past his eyes like puppets in a show – times when Julen had mocked him, when his mother had sneered at him and called him a coward, when his sister had been exasperated at his refusal to talk seriously with her. None of them had thought he would amount to anything, and he owed them nothing. He wanted to see them suffer as he had suffered, to know the loneliness that dwelt deep inside him.

“I can do it,” he said, meaning it.

“Then open yourself to me.” The firebird breathed out.

Like flaming snakes, fire licked up Orsin’s body, crawled across his torso, slid into his mouth and burned down inside him. It ran through his veins and blazed in his eyes, shot from his fingertips and wrapped scarlet fingers around his heart. The pain was excruciating, but equally he had never felt such pleasure, and his body twisted and shuddered, his mouth emitting screams and moans of desire in turn.

How long it lasted, he could not tell. He wanted it to stop – but he also wanted it to go on forever.

Eventually, however, the pleasure/pain died away and left only darkness.

Orsin opened his eyes. His head ached, and he felt as if he stared at the world through a piece of fogged up stained glass. Days of overindulging himself with wine and women had numbed his senses, and it took a while for everything to come into focus.

Gradually, his confusion subsided. He sat up, more than a little shocked to find himself in the middle of a forest. Slowly, still slightly dizzy, he pushed himself to his feet and looked around. Behind him, he could just see the sheer side of the mountain through the trees.

He scrubbed his eyes then dropped his hands, wondering how he had got to the forest. Had it all been a dream? Had he invented everything, from the dancing women to the wine and food to the presence of the mighty King of the Incendi?

As he thought of the firebird, a sudden burst of heat rushed through him. He raised a hand and stared at it in shock. For a brief moment, fire danced from the tips of his fingers.

He squealed and immediately the fire vanished.

His heart pounding, he held his hands up before his face. Again, he thought of Pyra. And again heat rushed through him, and his hands leapt with flames.

His lips curved in a slow smile. And now he knew what he had to do.

Turning away from the mountain, he began to walk north.

He walked all day, most of the night, and then most of the following day as well. But by the time the light started to fade, the buildings of the new town of Heartwood lay in the distance.

The road into the town was lined with stalls and newly built houses that had not been there the last time he visited Heartwood several years before. Most of the traders had closed for the night, but a couple were still touting their wares. He bought a hot meat pie and a tankard of weak ale, and ate and drank as he covered the final distance to the centre of the town.

The lights from the tavern beckoned him closer, but he reluctantly ignored them and headed for the stone buildings to one side of the wall, which he noted with surprise and not a little pleasure was being dismantled. Did they really think they did not need defences anymore? He could not believe they were being so foolish. It was his father’s fault – he had stuffed their heads full of nonsense about the Arbor being able to take care of itself. That hadn’t helped against the Darkwater Lords, had it? And even with all its Nodes operational, he couldn’t see how the Arbor could defend itself against an army of fire elementals when they were eventually able to leave the mountain.

His anger growing at the arrogance of those who thought themselves strong enough to stand up to the Incendi king, he stormed up to the complex Julen had told him they were calling the Nest. To his amazement, there were no guards, no defensive doors, and no sentries looking out for possible intruders. He walked straight into the courtyard and looked around him, bewildered and laughing at their idiocy. What was to stop him using the power Pyra had given him and razing the whole place to the ground? The whole city? Exultancy flooded him, and as he thought of the King, heat roared through his veins. He would do this in the blink of an eye, without a moment of opposition – he would turn the place to ash and they would never be able to sneer at him again.

He raised his hands, and lava poured from his fingertips and flames leapt from his fingers.

And then something smashed into the back of his head with a crack louder than thunder. Pain shot through him, and he fell to the ground.

When he came to, he was sitting in a chair, his hands bound tightly behind him, head bowed.

“He is awake,” someone said, and he saw the feet of someone walk towards him. The man dropped to his haunches so he could look up into Orsin’s face.

It was Julen.

Orsin let saliva pool in his mouth and spat at his brother. Julen recoiled, then gave a humourless laugh as he wiped the spittle from his cheek.

“I should have let Pyra kill you in the caves,” Orsin snarled.

“And I should have drowned you at birth.” His mother’s voice sounded from beside him, bitter and hard.

He turned his head to look at her, pain exploding at the base of his skull. “Was it you who whacked me?”

“Unfortunately not.” Her eyes were icy. “I would have enjoyed that.”

He looked around the room, realising as his vision cleared that it was filled with people. He recognised some of the faces – the Peacemaker, the Imperator and Nitesco the scholar. His sister stood to one side, her expression guarded.

Dolosus came forward. “Why are you here?”

Orsin just laughed.

Dolosus struck him across the face, and Orsin shook his head, tasting blood.

He tested his lip with his tongue gingerly as he eyed the Imperator. “I thought you had put violence behind you.”

Dolosus’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I never said that. I ask you again. What are you doing here? Does your coming herald an Incendi invasion?”

“No,” Orsin said.

The people in the room exchanged glances. “We cannot believe anything he says,” Dolosus announced in disgust. “This is pointless.”

“I am not lying,” Orsin said. “I have no need to lie. The Incendi have no plans to invade Anguis now.”

“But they will in the future,” Nitesco stated.

Orsin shrugged.

“You are here to try and stop the Apex,” Julen stated. “How did you plan to do that?”

Orsin tested his lip again, but remained silent.

“This is pointless,” Dolosus said again. “It is a needless distraction. We should move on.”

Julen stayed where he was, though, his eyes blazing. “He is here for a reason – we need to find out what that reason is.”

Horada came forward at that point and bent to look in his eyes. “Help us, Orsin,” she said softly. “Now you are here, join with us to defeat Pyra.”

Indignation shot through him. “Why should I? What do you have to offer me that I should do as you say?”

“What do we have to offer?” Procella looked aghast. “You are my son! You are Chonrad’s son!”

“So?”

Procella looked lost for words, and the room fell silent. Eventually, Horada whispered, “It is your duty.”

“My duty?” He spat a mouthful of blood-stained spittle onto the floor. “You all treat me like an idiot, as if I had nothing to offer, as if I were something you scraped off your shoe.” He couldn’t help it – hurt rose within him at the scornful look on his mother’s face. “You have never thought me worthy of anything – even Father sent me away because he did not wish to be around me.”

“He sent you away to keep you safe,” Horada said, but Orsin shook his head.

“It was just an excuse.” He looked at his mother. “And you did not try to stop him. You despise me – you look at me as if I am lower than an insect crawling on the ground.”

Procella’s expression hardened. “You cannot demand respect in this world. You have to earn it. And what have you done to earn my respect? Drunk and whored your way through life.”

“You never loved me!” he yelled.

“Because you took me away from what I loved most!” she yelled back. “Do you think I wanted to give up being Dux of Heartwood’s Exercitus for a life wiping arses and playing at being a wife? I am a soldier. But you took me away from all that!”

“It was not my fault you finally opened your legs and let yourself be mounted like a mare!”

A sharp crack sounded in the room as her fist met his jaw. She stood over him, grabbed his face in one hand and bent until her nose was only inches from his. “I have killed men for saying less than that to me,” she whispered, her fingers pinching his cheeks.

Ice slid down inside him – at that moment he had no trouble believing she had led a whole army into battle.

“It is not my fault,” he whispered back, and to his shame, a tear slid down his cheek.

She looked deep into his eyes. Then, abruptly, she turned and walked out of the room.

Orsin dropped his head. His chest heaved as he struggled to rein in his emotion. Around him, voices murmured and people gradually left the room. He heard Dolosus order a couple of men to stand guard before leaving.

Eventually, only his brother remained.

Julen sat on the table at the other side of the room and folded his arms. “I am sorry,” he said.

Orsin glared at him. “Do not feel pity for me.”

“She is a soldier, Orsin. She did not find it easy to adjust to a civilian’s life. She loved our father, but I think she always blamed him, too, for taking her away from Heartwood.”

“The Militis was disbanded,” Orsin said hoarsely. “It was not Father’s fault either.”

“I know. But she never saw it that way. She is not a scholar – she does not have the ability to reason and weigh the arguments around a subject. She works on instinct.”

Frustration surged through Orsin. “You should not make excuses for her. She is my mother, and yet do you know that I can never remember her giving me a hug or a kiss? I can never remember her showing me affection.” Heat ran through his veins, but he kept a tight hold on it. “I swear she will regret it, Julen. I will make her pay for what she did to me.”

Julen pushed himself off the table. “Be a man, Orsin. Take responsibility for your own life and stop blaming your failures on someone else.”

Orsin’s gaze dropped to the pendant lying on Julen’s chest. In the middle, the sunstone glowed briefly in response to the fire in his veins, but his brother didn’t notice.

“Go fuck yourself,” Orsin said.

Julen said nothing. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

II

Tahir stood at the window of his room in the Nest and thought that really there should be a tremendous storm – there should be thunder and lightning and tremendous gales and sheets of rain to mark the fact that, today, he was going to die. People should be weeping and wailing, and everyone should be dressed in white to mark his passing. But instead, the sun shone brightly, and even through the small window, he could hear that outside the party had already begun.

He turned as footsteps sounded outside and saw Catena in the doorway. She looked solemn, dressed surprisingly conservatively considering today was the Veriditas, a day when most people brought out their finest clothes. Although the previous day for the procession she had borrowed an outfit from the Nox Aves, today she wore her usual plain brown breeches and a leather jerkin over a plain green tunic.

“No shiny clothes today?” He made his voice light.

“Why?” she said. “I am not celebrating.”

He smiled. “I will miss you.”

She met his gaze, then looked away and changed the subject. “Here, boy.” She shooed Atavus into the room, who sat at the end of the bed, looking sheepish. “I found him having his wicked way with one of the bitches that happened to be in heat. Honestly.”

Tahir giggled. “I think he has been with Demitto too long.”

Catena’s lips curved, but as she went to reply, the emissary appeared behind her in the door.

“What is the joke?” Demitto asked as they both started laughing.

“Nothing.” Catena kissed him on the cheek.

Tahir smiled at them both as the emissary whispered something in her ear. He had thought that when he feigned sleep the night before, they would both remove themselves and head off together to their own room. To his surprise, instead they had stayed by his side all night, talking into the early hours of the morning before they had finally dozed off. Tahir had listened with a racing heart as Demitto told the Chief of Guard what he knew about the events that were to unfold that day. He found it difficult to believe that everything was going to change so much, and that he would play such a big role. But ultimately there was nothing he could do about it either way now. He had to let events unfold and do the best he could.

The two of them stopped talking, and turned to face him, their smiles fading and hesitancy replacing the humour.

“It is time?” he asked.

Demitto nodded.

Tahir took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned to Atavus. One of the Nox Aves was bringing the dog along, but he would not be allowed to stay at the Prince’s side. He had spent a good portion of the night holding the dog, which had crept up from his place at the bottom of the bed to huddle by his side. Now, he bent and buried his face in the dog’s fur, kissed his ears and snout, and whispered goodbye. He did it quickly, knowing that if he stayed, he would never be able to let him go.

Finally, holding back tears, he straightened his white tunic embroidered in silver with an oak tree and fingered the silver pendant of the Selected around his neck. He was as ready as he would ever be. “Then let us go.”

He left a whimpering Atavus behind in the room, and did not look back.

Accompanied by a dozen members of the Nox Aves, including Manifred, all dressed in white, they rode through the streets accompanied by the cheers of the people. Some of the women cried as he passed, and he felt that they at least understood his sacrifice.

They entered the busy market square, and from there rode past the palace and onto the street fronting the large wooden fence surrounding the Arbor. There they reined in their horses, and the Nox Aves formed two lines leading to the large doors in the centre of the wooden fence.

Today, the doors stood open. Inside, Tahir could see that what looked like temporary wooden stands had been set up in a mock-amphitheatre style to house hundreds of privileged spectators at the Veriditas ceremony. Music blared, and the sound of everyone talking at once was deafening.

He dismounted and stood in a daze as people moved around him, preparing for his grand entrance to the arena. Closing his eyes, he tried to ground himself. He had to focus, or he wasn’t going to make it through this.

He concentrated on his breathing, and as he did, so the noise around him seemed to fade away until all he could hear was the beating of his heart in his ears.

He stilled, aware that something was happening. Beneath his feet, the ground seemed to vibrate with his heartbeat, but that couldn’t possibly be happening, could it? He could feel it though, a rhythmic pulse that sent a shiver up his legs and spine to the roots of his hair. It couldn’t be his own heart. Was it the pounding of feet from the crowd? No, it was too regular. But it was coming from inside the arena…

He opened his eyes and raised his gaze to the skies. Crows wheeled above his head like black threads weaving the clouds together. Far above Heartwood, the mountain coughed up a plume of steam and a shower of ash rained down like snow. Nobody seemed to notice, however. He frowned, feeling his heart thud under his ribs, matching the beat beneath his feet. Something was happening…

“Tahir.”

He snapped to attention to see Demitto standing on his right, looking down at him, concerned.

“Are you ready?” Demitto asked, raising his voice above the noise of the crowd.

Tahir felt a pressure on his left and realised Catena stood the other side of him. In front, the Nox Aves waited expectantly, Manifred at the end, his gaze steady.

Tahir nodded. “I am ready.”

“I will be at your side the entire time,” Demitto said as they walked forward.

“As will I,” said Catena. “My prince. I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Tahir whispered, his throat tight.

They passed between the two lines formed by the Nox Aves. As he felt their respectful gazes on him, Tahir’s final fears fell away. He straightened and lifted his chin.

They approached Manifred who stood in the doorway. Manifred nodded across the arena, and somebody must have signalled something inside because the crowd suddenly hushed. A deep bell sounded from the Nest’s tower, and at the same time, trumpets rang out across the town.

Demitto on his right, Catena on his left, Manifred in front carrying a white flag embroidered with a silver oak tree, Tahir walked forward.

The trumpets continued as he walked along the white carpet. To his left and right, he was aware of the stands rising in tiers, filled with hundreds of people who watched him, silent as the solemnity of the occasion finally reached them. To his right, King Varin and his queen sat on a raised dais at the front of the stands. Somewhere in the stands was Atavus, although he could not see him.

All eyes were on him, and for the first time in his life, he became the focus of everyone’s attention. But he hardly noticed as his gaze fell on the reason for his visit to the city.

Towards the back, the Arbor watched him approach.

Tahir had not known what to expect of the tree. There were oaks all over Anguis, of course, including a large one in Harlton, and he had lain under it many times, staring up into its branches as he pondered on whether the Arbor looked anything like it.

Now, he realised that had been like wondering whether a cupful of water looked like the ocean.

The tree reared above him – above them all – its trunk so wide that five men linking their arms around it would not be able to make their hands meet. Its branches arched across the span of the arena, filled with glossy green leaves in spite of the fact that they were just coming out of The Sleep.

But its size was not the only thing that made him hold his breath in awe. As he slowed and came to a halt where the carpet came to an end in the centre of the arena, the tree shivered, and once again he became aware of the slow, steady beat in the ground through his feet.

It is the Pectoris
, he realised with shock. The beat he could feel was from the Arbor’s own heart.

The trumpets fell silent, and Manifred walked forward to a podium in front of the tree and turned to address the audience.

“My friends,” he called, his voice ringing out across the lawn to the tiers, reaching the ears of those listening, enthralled. “We come here today to pay homage to the Arbor, and to offer it this year’s Selected as a token of our gratitude for its care and protection of Anguis and its people. We give thanks to Tahir, Prince of Harlton, for graciously giving up his life for us, and we recognise the solemn sacrifice he is making for the good of the land.”

He continued on talking about King Varin’s graciousness in allowing them all to witness the ceremony, and then he opened the large book that lay on the podium, which Tahir realised was the
Quercetum
– the book that held the history of the last few thousand years of Anguis. He started to read out the names of all those Selected recorded in the pages.

As Tahir listened to the names, once again the hushed whispers around the arena disappeared and even Manifred’s voice faded. At the same time, Tahir’s senses seemed to turn crystal sharp. He could feel Demitto on his right, Catena on his left, their combined presence giving him strength and courage. He could feel the light brush of flakes of ash on his skin as they floated down from the mountain. The ground rumbled, disturbing the steady heartbeat for a moment, but then it returned, stronger than ever, drowning out every other sound in the arena. Could nobody else hear it? He glanced around, but everyone seemed to be listening to Manifred, and Tahir knew he was the only one aware of it.

His attention came back into focus again as he became aware that Manifred was concluding his speech. “…And Tahir, Prince of Harlton,” he read from the
Quercetum
, finishing off the list of Selecteds. He closed the book and rested a hand on it for a moment.

This time, when the ground rumbled, everyone seemed to hear it. Demitto stiffened beside Tahir, and Catena muttered something beneath her breath. Tahir looked up at the emissary and saw his pulse beating rapidly in his throat. He remembered what Demitto had told Catena the previous night, about the arrival of the Apex, and his own heartbeat quickened.

Manifred looked across at Demitto, and Tahir felt the emissary’s hand come to rest in the small of his back. The Nox Aves moved forward once again to form a walkway to the Arbor’s trunk. Demitto, Catena and Tahir walked between them towards the tree.

Music spiralled around the arena, a haunting melody of
a cappella
voices, male and female. Tahir’s breath caught in his throat at their beauty, and he glanced around but could not see the source.

“Who is singing?” he whispered to Demitto, his feet carrying him ever forward to the tree.

Demitto bent closer and whispered in his ear. “It is the Arbor. It is calling you home, young prince.”

His breathing quickened, and as he came to the end of the line of Nox Aves, he looked up and realised he stood beneath the Arbor’s branches.

The Nox Aves withdrew. Demitto and Catena remained, as they had promised, a pace or two away.

What was he supposed to do? He stood there, uncertain, waiting to be told. The voices rose around him, heart-rendingly beautiful.

Something touched his shoulder. He looked, thinking it was Demitto’s hand, but to his shock saw it was a tree branch. It had dipped, and the leaves now brushed his upper arm affectionately.

Breathless, he watched as the branch dipped lower and the leaves stroked his arm, gentle and persuasive at the same time.

Something touched his foot, and he looked down to see that one of the tree roots had snaked across the ground and now curled around his ankle. The singing intensified, and as he looked up at Catena, he saw tears pouring down her face at the beauty of it.

The tree tugged gently, and he walked forward, up to the trunk, and placed his hands on the bark. It felt rough beneath his fingers, but to his amazement it was warm. Beneath his fingertips beat the steady pulse of the Pectoris, in time with his own heart.

Whispers echoed around the arena – or was it the rustle of the leaves above his head? He closed his eyes, feeling the roots wrap around him, pulling him close. He put his arms around the trunk and rested his cheek against the bark. The tree tightened its grip, and its sharp edges bit into his soft skin.

Beside him, Demitto swore loudly, the curse ringing out across the quiet arena.

Tahir opened his eyes, a small part of him wanting to laugh at the emissary’s irreverence. But the laughter faded at the sight of the sunstone in the pendant around Demitto’s neck glowing scarlet.

Behind him, the King’s expression grew incensed at his ambassador’s disrespect. But at the same time, the crowd began to mutter and voices rose. Tahir followed their gazes and pointing fingers, craning his neck. He could just see, way up above them, a column of flame erupting from the peak of the mountain.

The Arbor wrapped its roots tighter around him, and Tahir closed his eyes again.

It begins,
the Arbor whispered.