Once walked with Gods

Chapter 13

Show your enemy his entrails. It is the only negotiation he will understand. Auum travelled quickly, heading east when he left Serrin. He felt the absence of his mentor and friend more strongly than he had imagined he would. He followed a tributary to the River Shorth and turned north, tracking the great force from just inside the canopy.

He had with him the clothes in which he stood, his twin swords in their back scabbards, three short knives on his belt and his camouflage paints in a pouch next to that which carried six jaqrui throwing crescents. His boots were soft and comfortable, allowing him to feel everything beneath his feet. He would have run barefoot like so often on Hausolis, but so much danger lurked on the forest floor and he could not afford an accident.

Beyond the falls at Shorth’s Teeth he had found a small boat with oars, mast and a tattered but serviceable sail. He’d have promised payment to the owner but the village was deserted, bearing the signs of a hasty evacuation. Sildaan’s message was already out here.

There was no wind to fill his sail but Gyal was ever present. Rain thundered on the boat, forcing him to stop rowing every time a deluge struck to bail out water. It was a frustrating journey, only tempered by the flow of the river taking him in the direction he wanted to go.

Auum travelled the Shorth for three days. Out here in the middle of the rainforest, he could feel the harm being done to the land and its people. Yniss seemed powerless, or unwilling, to act. Auum rowed or sailed gently past river settlements whose inhabitants stared out at him with suspicion and even betrayal in their faces. He cursed Sildaan for the evil she perpetrated.

Between the deluges and the snatched hours of sleep, Auum thought. Perhaps too much. Out there ahead of him was Takaar. He wondered if there would be anything left of the ula he had known only briefly. The hero of the elven race. He who once walked with gods.

Auum wondered what he would say to Takaar. He imagined their conversations, dreamed about them sometimes, and always found his heart beating fast when he awoke. Takaar might not want to be found. He might ignore all Auum’s entreaties. He might, of course, be dead.

That was not a thought on which Auum dwelt. Darker moments were banished by a prayer to Yniss or just by lying back and gazing at the glory that was Calaius. The Shorth wound its course through staggering changes of land. Beyond the waterfalls of Shorth’s Teeth the banks of the river closed in with swamps making landing all but impossible.

Beyond the swamps hills swept away, covered by trees and scaling high towards cloud and Gyal. A further day’s sail north and the land changed abruptly. The river ran between mud walls over a hundred feet high and home to flocks of water birds and a myriad reptile species. The walls were topped by the canopy, and only when the sun was directly overhead was the light anything other than gloomy. And finally, with the Verendii Tual close, rose the great cliffs of the delta. Hundreds of feet up, pocked with caves and crawling with life.

The cliffs ended dramatically, sweeping down to the outflow of the delta’s mouth and into the Sea of Gyaam. Auum stowed his boat before he met the brackish waters and difficult tidal flow out there, hoping, praying that Takaar had done the sensible thing and chosen to live high above.

Down here, at the river’s edge, Auum felt the full majesty of the cliffs of the Verendii. He had travelled here many times before and never ceased to wonder at the power and strength echoing from every face of stone. Here he could drink in the glory of Yniss’s creation like nowhere else and so he sat with his feet in the waters of the western bank and stared up.

Rain was falling, splashing down into the river and painting the rock face dark. At his back the climb was not so steep as opposite. Soon he would head into the forest and leave his mark and direction at the way stones and Yniss shrine. Serrin knew Auum’s likely landfall at the Verendii Tual. He would come to the shrine before beginning his search.

Auum looked at his climb. Takaar would be up there on the eastern cliffs, he was sure of it. They boasted unparalleled views of the forest to the west towards Deneth Barine and Ysundeneth; giving early warning of anything coming into the delta or dropping anchor in the inlet beyond. And, of course, they offered the barrier of the River Shorth between him and most of elven civilisation.

A place where an elf born to the forest could see pretty much everything coming at him and choose whether to be found, to leave or to hide. A place where surprise was the weapon of choice.

Auum could see no sign of habitation up there and did not expect to. So he trotted back into the forest, left his mark at the shrine and rowed across to the opposite bank. There was an easier path up the cliffs a quarter of a mile to the south but he fancied a sheer climb. He found his first handholds, jammed his feet into small cracks up at waist height and began his ascent. Ysundeneth, dawn, and a shocked quiet hung over the city amidst the palls of smoke and the sounds of grief that echoed from every quarter. Whether it was the crime committed by ordinary elves who by day might open a shop and sell you a loaf of bread, or whether it was news of the extraordinary violence of the TaiGethen response was impossible to tell.

Pelyn stood on the roof of the Hausolis Playhouse and could at least see the sense of Katyett’s decision to station herself there. But that was all the sense she could make of this morning. Poor Olmaat was gone from below her, stretchered away in the dead of the night when the rioters had quietened and the streets were the safest they’d been for a day.

Gone to the muster of the warrior elite in the huge bowl of the Ultan, just to the east of the city. Gone to take part in whatever decisions the TaiGethen reached. The Al-Arynaar had helped in the main. Ynissul had been woken from broken sleep, coaxed from hiding places or guarded closely as they strode proudly from their scarred houses to make their way to where their escorts into the rainforest awaited them.

All done swiftly and without error. The TaiGethen way. Pelyn envied them. Not their speed, their strength and their extraordinary skills. But their clarity of vision. The uncluttered nature of their beliefs. You could call it simplistic but there was no confusion for them. No grey in between the black and white.

The growing light, muted beneath lowering clouds, brought with it a feeling of frustrated sadness to the Al-Arynaar clustered on the playhouse roof. Pelyn heard muttering around her. The maps had been wiped of rain so that all the damage could be marked.

Down at the harbour, blackened timbers still bled smoke into the sky and the occasional blaze still burned. The destruction was widespread. Masts jutted from the water. Debris was strewn across the docks. More than half the warehousing was gone and much of the wealth of Ysundeneth with it.

In the wake of the TaiGethen escape from the playhouse last night, the crowd meaning to surround them had returned to the spice market and smashed every frontage. A huge fire had been laid in the centre of the cobbled square and it burned on.

They had reports of three hundred separate houses being attacked and set alight. Timber stores across the city had proved easy targets. Government buildings deemed Ynissul bastions had been assaulted, including the courts and the palace of the priests. This latter was more of a museum now but chambers were maintained for travelling members of the priesthood from any thread. Hazy memory and rumour labelled it a place where pressure was applied to lesser threads and power was brokered beyond the gaze of the public and the Gardaryn.

Pelyn dared not look up towards the temple piazza. Everyone knew what had happened there. Latest word was that some had been to recover bodies, others to just stand and stare. Of the Yniss temple itself and those immolated within, nothing was left but ash, smoulder and a deepening sense of hate and shame.

Since the news of the murders of Jarinn and Lorius had broken, she had seen hide nor hair of any senior member of the government. Helias’s house was empty and none of his staff could offer any hint of his whereabouts. The high priests of the rainforest temples had presumably all rushed back to their sanctuaries, and those whose authority covered Ysundeneth were, like Helias, nowhere to be found.

The Gardaryn was due to meet in session this morning. Clearly that would not happen, but priests, administrators and officials should report for their duties. With a feeling of great discomfort and anxiety, Pelyn realised that if they did not, it left her effectively in charge. But in charge of what?

‘Pelyn?’

She turned, grateful to be dragged from her thoughts for a moment. A clay mug brimming with a warm infusion of guarana and sweet leaf was thrust into her hand. She breathed in the invigorating aroma and took a long sip, feeling the liquid fire down her throat.

‘Bless you, Methian.’

The ageing Gyalan loyalist smiled at her. He’d been her rock for two hundred years. What she’d do without him, she had no idea.

‘You look awful,’ said Methian.

Pelyn felt like bursting into tears. Instead she nodded.

‘Well, it hasn’t been among my better times. Even fighting the Garonin was easier. At least you knew what was coming with them.’

‘Had any sleep recently?’

‘Guess. And you’re not bringing me good news, are you?’

Methian shook his head. ‘People are beginning to gather again. Gardaryn this time. The mood isn’t ugly like yesterday yet, but then these aren’t yesterday’s rioters. These are elves wanting answers from their appointed representatives.’

Pelyn rubbed at her face and took another sip of her drink. ‘I suppose we had to expect that, but I’d be surprised if any administrators even turned up. This is going to get worse, isn’t it?’

Methian raised his eyebrows. ‘If there is no law, people will be quick enough to create their own systems of justice.’

‘But without the Ynissul in the city, surely tempers will cool.’

‘You and I both know that is a vain hope. Lorius may have wanted to maintain the harmony when he denounced Takaar, but he was deceived by those who put him up to it, wasn’t he? This isn’t about all threads against the Ynissul. They were just the first target. This is about a re-establishment of the old system. Not something with which I’m familiar.’ Methian chuckled. ‘Not that long-lived, we Gyalans.’

‘You think Tualis are behind this?’

Methian shrugged. ‘Some, probably. But not all, or you wouldn’t be standing here. But it’s confused, isn’t it? We know an Ynissul murdered your high priest and his. I don’t get what that was supposed to achieve. If there’s one thread that cannot afford conflict, it is the Ynissul. There just aren’t enough of them, not even with the TaiGethen.’

‘And why would he kill Jarinn?’

‘I expect Jarinn would have got in his way…’

‘We should head to the Gardaryn, see what’s going on. Keep the peace if we can,’ said Pelyn.

‘So we should,’ said Methian, then he paused, conflicting emotions on his face. ‘Can I speak honestly?’

‘Only if I’m going to like what I hear.’

‘Then I shall remain silent.’

Pelyn smiled, though it felt a little grim. ‘Go on.’

‘We have something in the region of four hundred Al-Arynaar in Ysundeneth. And the city has a population of, what, sixty-five thousand or thereabouts with the Ynissul survivors gone? You’ve seen it only takes a handful to whip up a mob so it doesn’t matter if ninety-five per cent of the population have no wish for violence. Now the Ynissul are gone, the threads have nothing to focus on as one so they’ll turn on each other.’

‘Why?’

‘There doesn’t have to be a reason unless it is anger without direction.’ Methian shook his head. ‘Just look at what happened in the market yesterday. So much hate, buried for so long. Yet you and I stand together as friends for two hundred years. The point is that we will no longer know who is enemy and who is friend to us. Four hundred Al-Arynaar will be nowhere near enough and…’

Methian trailed off and sighed.

‘You’ve started and so far I’m no more scared than I was before.’

‘They won’t all stand with you, Pelyn,’ he whispered. ‘They won’t all trust you because you are Tuali, and many of them will see the Tuali as the real aggressors despite what Hithuur did.’

Pelyn was stunned. She’d felt it when she told Katyett she didn’t know who to trust but had prayed it wouldn’t spread to her warriors. The truth shattered what remained of her confidence.

‘So how do we stop this getting out of control?’

Methian leant on the wall beside her and gazed out over the city and the ocean. ‘Build a fence round the city and wait in the forest until it’s over.’

‘That isn’t funny.’

‘Sorry. I don’t really know. Starting at the Gardaryn is as good as anything. But if I was you I’d do what the TaiGethen did and muster your people. You have to know who is with you, Pelyn, or you’re going to cause more trouble than you stop.’

‘If I do that I remove my people from the streets and therefore all deterrent against trouble.’

‘I know.’ Methian straightened suddenly. ‘That’s a whole lot of sails.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Take a look. Heading this way from the west. Ten. Twelve perhaps. Not merchants. Not elven.’

Pelyn followed Methian’s gaze and felt her whole body sag.

‘This isn’t getting any better, is it?’