Full Circle (8 page)

Acton flipped it in the air and caught it again by the blade, a boy’s trick, then tucked it into the sheath on his belt.

“We didn’t bring you back to fight,” Bramble said, as angry as she had ever been at any warlord. Why was fighting the first
thing he always thought of? She knew the answer to that — had lived through battle after battle with him — but he had
died
. Hadn’t that changed anything in him?

Acton looked at her, and his surprise turned into that intense gaze that he used when something important was happening. Bramble
wondered what was in her face to make him look like that, but it didn’t matter. She had to explain, and she had to do it well.
She couldn’t let Acton leave these caves thinking that another fight would solve things.

“We brought you back because we have need of you. A thousand years have passed, and the land you invaded is now known as the
Eleven Domains.” His language was easy for her, it had become part of her mind, part of her heart, as familiar as her mother’s
voice. “Asgarn set up the warlord system that he described to you, using your name to justify it. The original inhabitants
of this land were massacred and dispossessed…”

He listened intently, the commander taking a briefing from an officer, assessing everything she said, looking occasionally
to Baluch for a confirming nod. He was not looking at her as a young woman any more, which was a different kind of grief,
and one she had not expected.

As they followed Baluch through dark and echoing caverns, across pools and over cracks that pierced the heart of the earth,
while water dripped like a reminder of time passing, she painted a history of blood and division and oppression, painted it
as vividly as she could, so that he would understand what he had done, what he had allowed to happen. So that he would want
to help.

She knew exactly what to say, because she knew his weaknesses, knew his strengths, his dreams and his nightmares. It felt
a little like betraying him, to use her knowledge of him this way. But it would have been a greater betrayal — of him, as
well as Maryrose — not to.

“So we need your help,” she said at last, stopping for a moment to stare him right in the eyes. Not a follower, not an enemy.
An ally, perhaps.

“You will have it,” he said. The echoes took his voice and amplified it, so that it became a god’s voice, Swith’s voice, booming
from the walls and the roof, high above.

She couldn’t avoid suspecting that he said it mostly to please Baluch; he had been fascinated by the story of the Domains
but not shocked by her tales of endless battles. That had been his life, after all — death didn’t change who he had been,
who he was.

“Whatever I can do,” he went on, “I will do.” The echoes answered, “I will do, will do, will do…” and she knew he would
stand by that oath.

“Then the next task,” Bramble said, “is to find Saker.”

W
ATCHING ROWAN
try to ride was even funnier than watching Ash. At least Ash was fit and strong — Rowan was wiry with the endurance built
up by decades of walking the Road, but he had very little strength in his shoulders or arms. When Mud decided to go one way
and Rowan wanted him to go differently, the man had no chance.

Flax grabbed the reins from him. “I’ll lead you,” he said, pushing down his amusement.

Rowan dropped his head, his face reddening. “Not so good at this, am I?”

“You’d not expect me to play the flute right first try, would you?” Flax said cheerfully. “Riding’s just as complicated.”

Rowan’s eyebrows lifted and he settled back more comfortably in his saddle while he thought it through. That reassured Mud,
and he followed Flax and Cam willingly enough as they made their way along the flat-bottomed valley that led back to Gabriston.

The other singers and musicians had left before them, one by one, slipping off into the darkness with a simple, “Wind at your
back” — the Travellers’ ’bye.

The horses needed light to pick their way out along the rocky defiles that surrounded the Deep, so he and Rowan had waited
until dawn, Rowan sitting on a rock playing the flute while Flax had curried and groomed both horses and made sure they were
fit to travel. Each to his own trade, he supposed, and all of a part with this strange time in the Deep, where he had been
very much the apprentice. A youngling, just learning the first notes of a new song, that’s what he had been.

He shivered as he saw the canyon opening up before them and the long slit of daylight widen to show the valley beyond. He
had to put away all thoughts of the Deep, now, all the memories of the River, her water flowing over his skin like silk and
blood, all thoughts of the fires in the caverns where the demons had taught him mysteries. A surge of excitement went through
him and he felt tinglingly alive. He was truly becoming a man! He had been Zel’s little brer for so long, following along
after her, doing what he was told. But this was beyond her, forbidden to her, and no matter what she said, he was coming here
again next year, to learn more. To become a man like Ash. A man who had no fear, not even of warlords and their men.

He turned in the saddle to smile at Ash’s father, who had skills of a different sort to teach him. He was excited — to think
that Ash’s mother was the legendary Swallow! He had heard about her so often, from other musicians on the Road: her voice,
her skill, her dedication. If anyone could teach him what he still needed to know about singing, it was her.

“When we get to Gabriston,” he said to Rowan, “we’ll have to earn some silver.”

Rowan shook his head. “No, not so close. Never that close to the Deep, coming or going. Swallow’s at Baluchston. We’ll head
straight there.”

“The canyons change,” he added. “Every year is different. I just follow the sun.”

Following the sun, they found their way to a path up the cliff, which would skirt around Gabriston and take them on a secondary
road to Baluchston.

“Now we are back to country I know,” Rowan said, climbing down from Mud with difficulty. He would be sore the next day.

“Make sure you stretch your legs t’night,” Flax said. “Or you won’t be walking tomorrow.”

Rowan grimaced and stared up the cliff, looking at Mud with doubt.

“I’ll lead,” Flax said, grinning. Cam was happy to be led, Mud was happy to follow Cam.

The climb was stiff but Flax found himself oddly happy. He had always wanted his life to be exciting, and since meeting Ash,
it had been. Great things at stake — life and death, the future of the world. He began to sing without even thinking about
it, as he often did, a wedding song from the South Domain.

A new day, a new day

Seed and fruit
,

Fruit and seed

A new life, a new life

Tree and root

Root and tree
.

Growing, growing, growing
…

Rowan smiled. “Thinking of settling down?”

Flax laughed, too pleased with himself to even be embarrassed, and they climbed in companionable silence.

The road was deserted all afternoon. In the fields, the grapes were untended. They were not ripe, but there should have been
workers out, checking for bugs and weeds. It was odd. Unchancy. As the day went on they both became increasingly nervous.
The horses picked up on their anxiety and began to sidle and shy at blown leaves. Rowan had no hope of controlling Mud, so
they dismounted and began walking along the empty track.

“Usually like this?” Flax asked.

Rowan shook his head. “No. No. There are usually Travellers, farmers, workers. There’s a village up ahead. Let’s go quietly,
eh?”

“Let’s mount up,” Flax said. Rowan looked at him and Flax shrugged. “Just in case.”

The village was busy, at least. This was where everyone had gone — they were barricading their houses and the inn, nailing
shutters closed, dragging barrels of water indoors, carrying food from sheds and barns into the houses. They had clearly heard
news of the enchanter and his ghosts.

No one paid them any attention at first, beyond a quick look to make sure it wasn’t the warlord’s men. Then one of the women,
a skinny red-head with big hands, who was rolling a barrel towards one of the cottages, looked at them more closely.

“Traveller!” she shouted. All over the village heads swivelled, and the hands that were nailing and sawing hefted their tools.

“Go!” Flax said, kicking Cam into a trot and looking back to make sure Rowan had heard.

Rowan wasn’t quick enough. A burly man in a butcher’s leather apron had grabbed Mud’s bridle and was trying to pull Rowan
out of the saddle. Rowan kicked at his head, and the man fell back a moment, but came on again. Mud was spooked and lashing
out with his back hooves. Flax reined Cam in, unsure of what to do.

The other villagers were gathering, staying away from Mud’s hooves but preparing to rush in. Some of them ran towards Flax
and for a moment he was gripped by the desire to run — to urge Cam into a gallop and race away, as he and Ash had raced from
the warlord’s man in Golden Valley. He could hear Zel’s voice in his head, screaming,
Get out of there!

But Rowan…

Ash would never leave Rowan behind, even if Rowan were a stranger. Look how he’d rushed to save Bramble. Ash would
act
, even if it meant risking his own life.

Flax pulled Cam’s head around and kicked her back towards the struggling group. They almost had Rowan out of the saddle, and
then there would be no chance for him if they did. Flax noticed a boy with a hoe watching, dancing from foot to foot with
excitement. He leant down and grabbed it, then used it to beat aside two women who were screeching and grabbing at Mud’s head.

Cam didn’t like it. Her ears were flat on her head and the whites of her eyes were showing. She wanted to shy away, but he
used every bit of skill he had to force her ahead, towards Rowan. “Come on, girl, come on, take the bastards down!” he called,
and the sound of his voice steadied her.

He put a foot in the face of the butcher and poked the hoe into the stomach of another man, who wrenched it out of his hands.
Just as well, he thought — time to clear a path out of here. He whistled the signal Gorham taught all his horses that meant
“Run! Follow me!” — praying to all the gods that Bramble had taught her horses the same way.

He whirled Cam and set her straight at the woman who had called out. She didn’t believe he would ride her down at first, standing
there grinning and waving a knife — a carving knife, big enough to disembowel Cam if she got in the right blow. Flax yelled,
screamed as he picked up pace, no words, just anger and hate making a sound to raise the dead. The woman’s face changed as
he came towards her. He knew he was moving fast, but to him everything seemed to move slowly. She’ll be dead if she don’t
move, he thought, screaming, and the red-head jumped out of the way just in time.

Mud followed immediately. They left the village at a gallop, with a thrown axe whistling past Rowan’s ear, clattering on the
ground under Cam’s heels. She kicked backwards and kept going, Flax urging her on. He had stopped screaming, his throat raw.
He wouldn’t be able to sing for a while.

“Dark-haired bastards!” the red-head yelled after them. “Don’t bother running! We’ll get the shagging lot of you!”

As though they understood her words, the horses increased their pace, Mud coming up level with Cam. They rode at a good pace
for another half mile, until they were sure no one in the village had a horse to follow them on, then slowed.

“Walk them,” Flax said. “Let them cool down and catch their breath. We may need them again later.”

“Gods of field and stream!” Rowan gasped. “They would have killed us.”

“Reckon they know the enchanter are a Traveller,” Flax said grimly. “Have you got a hat?”

Rowan bit his lip; Flax could see he didn’t like the idea of pretending to be one of Acton’s people. But he wasn’t a fool.
He fished a knitted cap out of his backpack and slid it on, covering his hair and ears. Odd in full summer, but by the time
someone started to wonder about that they would be gone.

Flax wished it were winter: the long summer twilight seemed to make them more conspicuous. So much for his cheerful mood of
the morning.

“I know another way,” Rowan said. “It’s longer, but it avoids most of the towns between here and Baluchston.”

“You’ve convinced me!” Flax said, trying to sound encouraging. Ash was depending on him to look after Rowan, but it was more
of a responsibility than he had realised. The older man looked very tired, and he squirmed in the saddle, making Mud roll
his eyes back and flatten his ears. Flax clucked reassuringly at him and he settled down.

“We should travel at night,” Rowan said.

“Certain sure. And find a place to spell the horses.”

It was a long time before they came to the small path that led off to the left, towards Baluchston. The track was rocky under
the horses’ hooves, and Cam picked up a stone. Flax noticed almost immediately and dug it out, but she still went lame for
a while, slowing them to the point where Flax wanted to scream — in his highest register — in frustration.

They stopped to rest themselves and the horses at a tiny clearing where deer were drinking from a rill. The hinds startled
away, bounding off into the shadows.

Flax realised with satisfaction that it was almost dark. “An hour,” he said, loosening Cam’s girth and motioning Rowan to
do the same for Mud. “We’ll give them an hour.”

“I could use more than that,” Rowan said, sitting on a flat rock at the water’s edge. He looked up at Flax seriously. “Thank
you, lad. I’d have been hacked to pieces if you hadn’t come back for me.”

Flax grinned at him, feeling buoyed up and as strong as an ox. All right, they were in the wilderness with everyone’s hand
raised against them, but it was still better than trailing around behind Zel from inn to inn, singing to clods who wouldn’t
know a true note from a pig’s fart. And he had taken action when danger threatened. Like Ash.