Once walked with Gods

Chapter 11

If you pause to regret a killing blow, you will be explaining your regret to Shorth. Sildaan watched Garan kneel by Haleth and then each mage in turn. She could have told him he was wasting his time. Auum would not have left any of them breathing unless their wounds were mortal. The one he had left alive had lapsed into unconsciousness and was moments from death.

The front of the dome floor was covered in human blood. Ice melted and dripped from the walls and fell like rain from the statue of Yniss. The casting did not appear to have done any damage. Nothing physical. But the effect on the forces which would range against her would be far-reaching.

Sildaan sighed. ‘Perhaps you’ll listen to my advice next time. I will deal with the TaiGethen.’

‘This is dealing with them, is it?’

‘You intervened with your magic. You caused this. You do not know what you have antagonised.’

Garan jerked to his feet. ‘I think you’ll find I know pretty bloody well. That one bastard and his ghost priest killed nineteen of my men. And now he’s slaughtered my second in command and four of my mages before the ice has melted from his hair. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t feel like hearing “I told you so” right now.’

‘You’ve no idea what you’ve done, have you?’ said Sildaan.

‘But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

Sildaan walked towards him. ‘Right now, Auum will be organising a muster of the whole TaiGethen order. And their sole focus will be on ripping out your still-beating heart.’

‘Well it isn’t as if there are that many of them,’ said Garan.

‘Considering just one has managed to kill twenty-four of your finest, there don’t have to be many of them, do there?’ Sildaan wondered if she’d slipped her knife into the wrong ally. ‘And he’s not even the best of them. He’s young and his skills aren’t complete. Think about it.’

‘I’m thinking the rest of the temple Tais did not present too much of a problem.’

‘Indeed, but killing the rest with a single casting won’t be so easy, will it?’

‘My mages will deal with them. Don’t worry about it.’

Sildaan gestured at the bodies around the pool. ‘I do not share your confidence. What is it that’s stopping you understanding just how dangerous the TaiGethen are?’

‘I think I’ve outlined how aware I am.’

‘Then you aren’t listening to your own words. There are TaiGethen cells across the rainforest. A few in each major city too. You don’t see them unless they want to be seen. Your damn mages can’t cast on something they can’t see, can they? Any TaiGethen has the authority to kill any stranger they find in the forest. They are not required to ask you questions.

‘They kill without error and without mercy. They are quick and they are silent. They are utterly loyal to Takaar and the harmony of the elves. He is their father as much as Yniss is their god. Not one will waver one iota. That makes them our mortal enemies. And you, Garan, have managed to unite them into a single force with a common goal. Now that may not worry you but, in your language, it scares the shit out of me.’

Garan looked a little uncertain for the first time. ‘How many of them are there?’

‘It’s hard to say at any one time,’ said Sildaan, blowing out her cheeks. ‘If we assume all are alive barring those we know to be dead, probably around ninety.’

‘Ninety?’

‘Now you’re getting it.’

‘You’ve been less than clear about this so far, that’s what I’m getting. We need more men. Particularly if your Al-Arynaar side with them too.’

‘The Al-Arynaar will be split. We’ve seen to that. And we don’t need more men. We need smarter men, don’t you think?’

Garan took on that arrogant air that Sildaan was learning to hate in men.

‘You’ve put me in charge of the muscle and mayhem. And I say we need more men.’

‘You’ve got all you’re going to get on the payroll of the new Ynissul, Garan. You need to manage your losses better. You forget that any reinforcements are on Balaia. That’s a lot of days of delay. Thirty at least.’

‘And you forget that having managed to get rid of your every elven warrior, you’re very much alone right now.’ Garan’s smile was unpleasant. ‘Aren’t you?’ ‘It’s like the tidal wave that hit Tolt Anoor. You can feel it. You might even be able to hear it. Building and building. And there’s nothing you can do about it. The sea has been sucked away from your feet and the wall is about to crash down. That moment of peace and silence. That’s now, isn’t it?’

Katyett raised her eyebrows. Merrat had put her finger on it. The bizarre atmosphere of peace in Ysundeneth. It had descended after the break-up of the mob at the temple piazza and had left the nighttime streets deserted. Haunted only by chanting and shouting.

The news of the deaths of Lorius and Jarinn had spread to every quarter of the city. Messenger birds had been thick in the sky. Dawn had brought crowds to the Gardaryn, the temple piazza and the Hausolis Playhouse. People wanting answers or a place to pour out their grief or anger. Al-Arynaar, the three hundred or so who had turned up for duty, were guarding the key establishments and patrolling as heavily as numbers allowed. Pelyn was visiting those whose consciences troubled them and more would join the ranks as the day progressed.

What struck Katyett was the veneer of normality. The fishing fleets had sailed. Ships were loading and unloading. All the markets were open and visited by members of every thread without apparent animosity. But behind the smiles the eyes gave away the truth.

‘Just keep watching,’ said Katyett. ‘Somewhere, it’ll happen. We need to be ready to move.’ Trade was feverish. Gerial should have been happy, but every time he looked down at his credit sheets and coin purse he wondered if it was all about to be rendered pointless. Beneath his stall stacked with fresh fruits and vegetables was his machete. He couldn’t raise any shame about bringing it out today.

The central market was heaving. A hundred stalls carrying every type of produce available in Ysundeneth. Two hours into the morning session and some were already running short of stock. It was curious. He didn’t see anyone actually panicking but everyone he served from regulars to the occasional was buying that bit more. Preparing for tomorrow, whatever it looked like.

‘Father?’

Gerial turned. Nillis and his idiot friend Ulakan were breasting though the crowd, shouting, bargaining, arm-waving and pointing. Tall proud Tualis, the pair of them, but Ulakan was trouble. Never happy with his lot. Jealous of the Ynissul grasp on immortality. He’d been at the temples yesterday. Nillis, thankfully, had stayed away. The difference in their expressions this morning could not have been more stark.

Nillis, anxious but hopeful. Ulakan, angry and disdainful. Gerial watched him push others aside as he came, Gyalans and Beethans shoved from his path. Gerial hadn’t seen an Ynissul in the market bar a cell of TaiGethen a little earlier on. He cleared his throat.

‘Ulakan, those people are my customers,’ said Gerial.

‘You shouldn’t be serving them,’ muttered Ulakan.

Gerial felt his face flush. ‘Really? Fancy a mango?’

Gerial held out a fruit. Ulakan reached out his hand, a smirk on his face.

‘Tuali food for-’ he began.

‘Tended by Gyalans, harvested by Apposans and set on this stall by Ixii,’ said Gerial. ‘Still want it? You’re an idiot. Get away from my stall. Nillis, I need you. What did you want anyway?’

Nillis looked briefly at Ulakan, who was staring at Gerial like a slighted child.

‘You’re being undercut by Heol and old Jasif. You should see the crowds at their stalls.’

‘Then they’re as stupid as your friend, aren’t they? Why would you cut your prices on a day as packed as this?’

‘They can feel what’s coming,’ said Ulakan. ‘So they want to sell and get out. Perhaps it’s you that’s being stupid.’

Gerial shook his head. ‘Take your mouth and get away from my stall. You’re no longer welcome here or in my home.’

‘But-’ began Ulakan, gesturing at Nillis.

‘Then use your brain before you open your mouth. We don’t need your views. Tualis moved on a long time ago. About time you caught up.’

Ulakan made to say something else but thought better of it. Gerial watched him turn. An ula looking in another direction collided with him, bouncing off his strong frame.

‘Sorry, my friend.’

‘I’m not your friend, little-life,’ snapped Ulakan, shoving him hard in the chest.

The Gyalan stumbled back off balance and half fell into the back of a group of others buying at a fresh meat stall. Gerial shouted a warning, but in the bustling crowd no one could hear him. One of the buyers sprawled into the display of meat. Trays clattered and fell. The stall shook and a leg cracked. Meat slithered onto the ground.

The group of buyers turned. The stallholder – Kithal, a big, burly Apposan farmer – ran around to try and save his produce. Ulakan was laughing. The Gyalan straightened. The buyers around him grabbed him but he shook them off. He ran straight at Ulakan and threw a punch. Ulakan dodged it and slammed his own fist into the ula’s stomach, another into his face.

‘Gyalan scum!’

Elves turned. Gerial ran from behind his stall.

‘Calm down,’ he said, gesturing with his hands. ‘Ulakan, shut your stupid mouth.’

Gerial stooped to help the Gyalan up. The ula nodded his thanks.

‘What are you doing?’ Ulakan was beginning to shout, losing his temper. ‘He’s not one of us.’

Gerial turned on him. ‘It’s you who isn’t one of us. Nillis, get him out of here.’

A fist struck out, taking Nillis on the side of the head. Gerial swore and spun round again. There were people everywhere closing in, or so it seemed. Nillis was sprawled on the ground. Ulakan was bending to help him.

‘What did he do?’ shouted Gerial. ‘Stop this. Now.’

One of the buyers at Kithal’s stall pushed Gerial back.

‘No one laughs at me,’ he said.

‘No one was. One idiot child,’ said Gerial. ‘Calm yourself.’

‘Ordering me, are you? Tuali orders Beethan, is that it?’

The Beethan cocked a fist only to have his wrist grabbed by Kithal.

‘That ula is my friend,’ said Kithal. ‘As are you.’

‘Get your hand off me.’

The Beethan’s friends jumped on Kithal, bearing him to the ground. Gerial shouted for them to stop. The Beethan punched Gerial’s face. Gerial’s head spun and he fell to his knees. He felt hands around him.

‘Gerial, are you all right?’ Ulakan. Gerial nodded. ‘You may hate me but I’ll fight for you. For all Tualis.’

‘No,’ managed Gerial, spitting out a mouthful of blood. ‘Leave it.’

But Ulakan was already gone. There was a knife in his hands. Gerial watched him, his heart aching. He felt groggy. Nillis was by his side.

‘I’m all right,’ said Gerial. ‘Stop him. Ulakan.’

Ulakan jumped on the back of the Gyalan ula. Gerial saw the knife flash. The Gyalan collapsed. Blood pooled on the cobbles. Kithal’s stall was upturned. The farmer roared fury. His fists flew in a flurry. Gerial saw a head snap back. A Beethan slammed a meat tray into the back of Kithal’s head. The farmer slumped forward.

Gerial saw red. Katyett watched the riot spread across the marketplace like a rainstorm across the harbour. She watched the Al-Arynaar try and fail to restore order. She saw murder, looting and destruction. She saw her people begin to split and bunch. Ordinary elves this time. She saw her race begin to fracture.

‘The wall has fallen,’ she said. ‘Come on. Time to act.’ Night in Ysundeneth and the city was on fire.

Katyett had set up a makeshift centre of operations on the roof of the Hausolis Playhouse. It gave her views to all corners of the compass. It was also one of the few flat roofs in the city. It had a gentle camber to channel away rain without upsetting the acoustics of the auditorium.

Riots had blitzed the docks as the sun set. Several coastal merchant ships had been burned at their moorings. Dockside businesses had been wrecked, warehousing looted or destroyed. Ynissul ships, businesses and warehouses. Elves had been chased from their homes moments before the oil and torches fell. Ynissul elves. There had been no killing but it was only a matter of time.

Katyett had put out the word to the TaiGethen remaining in the city of where she was stationed. Tables had been set up and pinned to them were hastily drawn sketches of the city. On each were placed stones representing known flashpoints and the current positions of Al-Arynaar forces, and charcoal marks where any significant destruction had taken place.

‘Grafyrre, what’s the-’ In quick succession, three TaiGethen vaulted onto the roof. ‘Yniss preserve us, it doesn’t get any quieter, does it? What have you got for me?’

‘Significant move towards the spice market. They might be heading here,’ said one.

‘How many?’

Katyett trotted to the south edge and could see bobbing torches.

‘Two hundred at least.’

Grafyrre blew out his cheeks. Katyett looked at the other two.

‘What have you got?’

‘There’s a very big blaze about to be set in the Takaar Gardens. Predictable but it stinks of a diversion to me.’

‘All right. Well, it keeps them away from the buildings, I suppose. Al-Arynaar watching them?’

‘A good number. Not doing a lot to stop them, mind you.’

‘Damn it, Pelyn, where are you?’ Katyett rubbed a hand over her face. ‘And you?’

The third TaiGethen spread his hands. ‘It’s more a feeling than fact. A general movement back towards the temple piazza. Small groups here and there.’

‘Trying not to attract attention? Tual’s balls, who is orchestrating this?’ Katyett looked again at the crowd approaching the spice market. They were moving quickly and there were others joining them, the whole spreading out. ‘Graf, what’s happening your side?’

‘Got a lot of torches. Heading this way, I think.’

‘They mean to surround us,’ said Katyett. ‘Something’s going to happen at the temples. Who’s up there?’

‘A good number of Al-Arynaar, a lot of Ynissul inside our temple. I presume the priests and healers have all stayed put except the ones tending Olmaat downstairs,’ said Grafyrre. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know. It just feels bad. We need to get the TaiGethen to the piazza. All of them.’ Katyett stared at her hands. They were trembling very slightly. She shuddered and circled her shoulders, trying to relieve sudden tension. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

The faces of eight TaiGethen were turned to her.

‘You want us to leave the command post?’ asked Merrat. ‘What about Olmaat and the healers?’

‘When we’re done at the temple I want us to leave the city altogether. Olmaat is safe enough. They will not enter the playhouse. They fear what happened here. Tais, we move.’

Katyett led them. She headed for a corner of the roof, swung out and climbed down to the arch above the doorway faster than most could descend a ladder. With a quick glance towards the approaching torches, she jumped the last twenty feet, landing silently and running away towards the piazza, meaning to enter it at the northern end by the temple of Shorth.

Down at street level, Katyett felt blind. She had the eight with her and there were three other cells in the city monitoring trouble. A young TaiGethen came up to her left shoulder.

‘I’ve got the best route to the piazza,’ she said. ‘We can avoid the mobs and come in between Shorth and Gyal, up the stairs by the western sunken gardens.’

‘Thank you, Faleen, lead on. Merrat, Graf, I need you to trace the other cells. Bring them to the piazza as soon as you can.’

‘Consider it done.’

Katyett’s cell split left and right, sprinting away into the night. She followed Faleen, who darted down a tight alleyway that led south and east between houses and the walls of the Gardens of Appos. She felt more comfortable here. Temporarily, the noise of violence was muted and the high walls leaned in like a blessing from Cefu.

The alley led out onto a quiet street, cobbled and with small businesses and low, domed housing on either side. There were a few lights but most places were dark and silent. Ordinary elves were hiding indoors, frightened and anxious about what was happening in their city, to their way of life.

Here in streets like this was where the anger at what had consumed the city settled most deeply on Katyett. Ula and iad, young and old, parent and child. Every thread would be represented behind the closed doors and shuttered windows. Scant hours before, they had been going about their normal lives. Secure in the knowledge that Yniss blessed their every step and the harmony was with them, unbreakable. The silent, invisible security blanket that wrapped them all.

And then the denouncement had happened, and those who had determined it to be the moment the world of the elves returned to the days before the War of Bloods held sway in the city. Those who had organised the murder of Jarinn and Lorius had ensured the blood of all threads would be spilled.

Katyett had no idea if there was a way out for the innocents she passed by with her brothers and sisters. She had no idea if the harmony would survive this onslaught, and she couldn’t understand why any elf would want to rip it apart. Katyett could recall all too clearly the atrocities of the War of Bloods. They were at the root of her nervousness now. She could still feel the tears.

A TaiGethen warrior ran into the street from the left, sprinting hard, sliding to a stop when he saw them.

‘Yniss bless us, we may just be in time,’ he said.

‘Pakiir. Run with us,’ said Katyett. ‘Tell me.’

‘They’re coming from all over. Crowding the temple piazza. Al-Arynaar are trying to hold them but they are too few. They mean to burn the temple of Yniss.’

Katyett’s body went cold.

‘Not again,’ she whispered. ‘Tais, run. Run hard.’

The sky towards the piazza was glowing with torchlight. Katyett ran alongside Faleen. The nearer they got the worse Katyett felt. They could hear the noise of the mob. She could almost taste the intent. A chant started. A line of the ancient tongue.

Chilmatta nun kerene.

Immortals die screaming.

She swore and pushed yet harder, forging ahead of Faleen. Still two hundred yards and more, and she could hear fighting. The clash of weapons. Screams of pain above the roar of the mob. An intensification of the mood. Blood was flowing. Elves were dying.

‘Up to the roof of Shorth,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘Let’s see what we’re up against.’

Pakiir was going to be proved wrong. They were not going to get there in time. Katyett heard a roar of triumph that could only mean the defence was broken. Immediately after, there was a whooshing sound and the stink of burning oil filled the air. The roar intensified.

Katyett tore around the back of Shorth’s Temple, pounded through the sunken garden with the yelling of the mob all around her, above her and ahead of her. She led the TaiGethen up the side of the temple, using the thick liana that grew there. She ran along the arm and down the body, pulling up at the temple’s edge and looking down on mass murder.

Rioters surrounded Yniss. Doorways and windows had been blocked by heavy drums and upturned wagons. Oil rained down on the building and torches were flicking into the fuel in their hundreds. The temple had caught with a ferocity that surprised even the rioters. Katyett could see those within the temple trying to beat their way out but the barricading was horribly effective. It rocked but did not fall.

Hundreds would be inside, believing themselves safe. But thousands were outside. Thousands.

‘We’ve got to get down there,’ she said. ‘Get those doors open.’

‘We’ll be overrun,’ said Pakiir. ‘Look at them. Look at their faces.’

Ugly, twisted fury. Some of them upturned to the TaiGethen. Fingers pointed up while dozens of others added more fuel to the fire, which had already set the roof alight. Paint was blistering. There was screaming from inside. The piazza was choked with elves, safe in their numbers, taunting the TaiGethen. Yelling their hate of the Ynissul.

Down at the edges of the apron a few Al-Arynaar still fought, trying to keep the rioters away. Three broke from the crowd, racing to the barricades to try to pull them away from the main doors. Forty elves engulfed them. She saw fists and feet fly in and the flash of a blade.

A bloodied Al-Arynaar body was lifted aloft and thrown onto the flames. A second was raised, still struggling. Katyett snarled. Pelyn. Fighting hard. The rioters dropped her. More fists and raking fingers went in.

‘Yniss save us. Tais, we move.’

Katyett backed up two paces, ran to the temple edge and jumped, her blades in her hands and the will to use them in her heart. Her leap carried her out over the narrow path between Shorth and the Yniss apron, over the heads of the rioters. She wouldn’t clear them all, that leap would have been prodigious even for a TaiGethen. She just hoped her arrival would be enough to cause a measure of disruption.

Katyett was coming down from a height of around forty feet. She yelled for space and saw elves begin to scatter. The heat down here was already intense. The screaming and yelling was an assault on the ears. The sheer violence of the atmosphere was a physical shock.

Katyett drew her arms across her chest in an X, her blades resting against her cheeks. She hit the ground immediately behind an ula who was pushing forward, desperate to gain himself some space. Katyett absorbed the impact throughout her body, crouching low then standing and bringing her blades back across her body to ready by her sides.

She ran forward while others landed behind her, shouting for space that none wanted to cede. Katyett found her way blocked almost immediately. She lashed out with a foot, catching an ula behind the knee. He pitched forward. Katyett ran up his body. She slammed the hilt of one blade into the back of an iad’s neck. She dropped unconscious. Katyett hurdled the body, feeling her feet on the temple apron.

The atmosphere was clogged with ash and smoke. The heat was incredible. She’d broken through the main rioter line. Directly ahead was the group of elves fighting the remaining Al-Arynaar. Pelyn struggled on. A big ula, a Beethan, had wrapped his arms around her midriff. She struck at him again and again with the back of her head while her feet lashed out, catching another square in the face.

Katyett ran straight into the melee, shoulder-charging an iad from in front of Pelyn. TaiGethen ran to either side, heading for the barricades, casting around for something with which to drag them aside.

‘Drop her right now,’ called Katyett.

The ula turned his bloodied face to Katyett. A contemptuous smile twisted his face. He turned instead towards the fire. Pelyn screamed, knowing his intent. So did Katyett. She took a single pace and thrashed a blade through the back of the man’s hamstrings. Simultaneously, Pakiir darted across in front of him, snatching Pelyn from his grasp as he opened his mouth to scream. He fell forward, head catching the burning barricade a glancing blow. His hair smoked, caught fire.

Katyett moved left to defend Pakiir. Pelyn was shouting to be let go. Pakiir complied. Pelyn hit the ground and was already turning back to the burning temple. Katyett saw the aching pain in her face, the singeing of her brows and hair. The smudges across her armour. Pelyn ran towards the front doors. TaiGethen who had been trying to break through the flaming obstacle bore her backwards with them as they came, beaten back by the sheer heat.

Rioters on the apron had begun to fall back. A TaiGethen foot whipped out, catching one in the gut, sending him sprawling. A jaqrui whispered away, catching another in the upper arm, forcing her to drop her blade. Al-Arynaar bodies littered the ground. Twenty of them. Katyett blinked away the stinging tears of smoke.

Out in the piazza, the fury was undimmed. Missiles were being hurled towards them and the temple. The building itself and all within it were lost. The roof had begun to collapse and the doors were burned in. Any screaming from within had ceased. TaiGethen still tried to breach the inferno.

Katyett felt tears on her face. The scene took on an echoing, unreal quality for her. Shouts sounded distant. Everything in her vision appeared to slow. She turned her head to see the flames towering into the night sky, pushing clouds of thick black smoke before them. Inside, three hundred and more Ynissul. Innocent elves. Bakers, potters, coopers, priests, healers. Children. Burned to death.

The Arch of the TaiGethen turned back to the crowd, letting the sight of her desecrated temple settle in her memory. She was aware of others joining her – Grafyrre and Merrat with those they had sought elsewhere in the city. Pakiir. Faleen. Standing in a line to stare at those for whom they protected the rainforest, for whom they had sworn to keep the elven people safe.

Wind was getting up. Picking at the clothing of the fallen. Fanning the flames in advance of Gyal’s arrival. Her tears would be bitter when they came. The gods would turn from the elves. Angry, betrayed. Their faith insulted, their mercy ignored. The elves would walk alone now. And the path would run with their blood.

A rumbling crack filled the night. Katyett swung round. The front of the temple of Yniss collapsed inwards on a carpet of sparks and threw up clawed hands of fire chasing a wreath of smoke. The symbol of the harmony in Ysundeneth, destroyed by malign hand.

This time when Katyett returned her gaze to the mob, seeing it confused, not knowing what to do next, she felt it. The emotion she reserved for heretics. For thieves and, of course, for murderers. Hate.

And the TaiGethen existed to cleanse Yniss’s land of such vermin.

‘Tais,’ she said. ‘We strike.’