Rise of the TaiGethen

Chapter 9

Yniss blessed the blackened earth and from it sprang the glory of the forest. Beeth’s eyes were the widest in wonder and so Yniss bestowed upon Beeth the honour of being guardian of all root and branch. Beeth breathed in his new life, reached down and caressed the canopy. ‘You are long-lived,’ said Yniss. ‘But no tree is immortal. So shall it be for your children.’

The Aryn Hiil

The city of Katura nestled in the palm of Yniss. It was without question the most beautiful place in the rainforest. Towards the southern perimeter of the forest, from which it was three days’ run before the glory of the canopy gave way to the baking-hot plains, it was set within a spectacular landscape of cliffs, lakes, valleys and mountains.

The elves called it the playground of Tual, and for centuries it had been a reserve where Tual’s denizens could run unchallenged. No two-legged hunters confused the chain of life and death here. No vegetation was used for food, shelter or fire. Untouched, glorious, virgin rainforest; until man came and elves were not safe even in their own temples.

Rainforest lore said that all Tual’s creatures spilled from the palm of Yniss and so it was the right place, the only place, for the battered elven race to find sanctuary — back at the heart of life. A place where they could tend to their wounds, gather their strength and learn to live again. If anywhere could provide a balm for the soul, it was here.

The palm of Yniss was a great horseshoe-shaped basin nestling at the base of sheer cliffs backed by tree-covered mountains. Waterfalls roared and ran over the edge of the cliffs in five places, gathering into a food-rich lake whose northern outflow was a distant tributary to the River Ix. Both lake and river were named Carenthan, like the mountain range behind them, while the falls were called Katura.

A vast plain of grass and low trees grew on the sheltered lands bordering the lake and along the banks of the river. It was a perfect place to settle, farm and glory in life, and had it not been forbidden elves would have settled there many generations ago.

But the palm had not just been chosen for its beauty and mythology. It was a hidden land, surrounded by mists and low cloud that periodically swept off the mountains and down the thousand-foot cliffs. To stand on the cliffs and look down on the plain was the culmination of a journey up cleft, over mountain peak and through deep forest where the panthers were still masters of the land.

The only way to reach it was along the base of the sharp-sided valley through which the Carenthan River flowed. The river was wide and the paths alongside it were narrow and treacherous, climbing steadily towards the plain. The sides of the valley were part crag, part balsa woodland, rife with vines and ivies and largely impenetrable.

To walk the valleys, find new paths and glimpse fresh views of the vastness of the forest, where the sun seemed to engender new life wherever it kissed the green leaves, was a joy for any who made the effort. So Methian forced his aching, ageing body up the final incline and joined Boltha at the top.

Two old elves, one Gyalan, one Apposan, gazed across the miles of unbroken forest canopy and down on the city that nestled in the palm of Yniss. Smoke smudged the sky, and even this far distant the echoes of elven prayers were carried on the prevailing wind, along with the clang of hammer on metal and the rasp of saw against wood.

Boltha spat on the ground.

‘We are a stain on perfection,’ he said. ‘A slime that is oozing its way into the bedrock and corrupting the very place that should have inspired us back to greatness. We do not deserve saving.’

Methian tore his eyes from the ungainly sprawl of the city. Katura had become the elves’ greatest shame. Work which had begun with such energy had become lack-lustre and lazy. There was not a single building they could be proud of. And within the city limits, enmity grew by the day.

‘How long since you set foot in there?’

Boltha’s watery eyes squinted back at Methian. His close sight was poor, indeed he feared it was fading altogether.

‘More than fifteen years. Ever since we took the Apposans to the Haliath Vale. We couldn’t bear to stay another moment. No wonder you retired.’

‘I didn’t retire,’ said Methian, and he could not keep the bitterness from his voice. ‘It is an enduring sadness that I was made unwelcome by the very people I was sworn to help.’

‘You can’t blame yourself. Edulis is a drug that removes reason, sense and any familial feeling. She dismissed you because she no longer knew you.’

Methian sighed. ‘I could have stopped her becoming an addict. I should have seen her falling.’

‘Addicts are clever right up until the moment they lose their minds. She’s still alive, is she?’

‘Dead addicts don’t make any money. Dead governors don’t pass handy new laws. The suppliers are careful. After all, the birth rates are so low now that they have a practically stagnant population. They can’t afford to start killing them.’

Boltha barked out a laugh. ‘We should torch the place.’

‘I hear you, old friend, but not everyone there has sunk so low. Some still work and there are many people still praying for redemption in Katura.’

‘Which god will hear them?’ Boltha’s tone was harsh. ‘It’s a cesspit, nothing more.’

‘And you did nothing to help when you took your thread away.’

Methian hadn’t meant it quite the way it came out and he saw Boltha’s face pinch in sudden anger.

‘We did nothing that Auum didn’t do when he took the Ynissul from Katura almost before a tree was felled to build the damn place.’

‘He had to,’ snapped Methian. ‘He had to develop the new TaiGethen and provide adepts for the Il-Aryn, and the Ynissul birth rate is so low that every new Ynissul child is cause for a celebration as if the gods were walking the forest once more. What excuse did you have? You whose hands helped to build what you now despise.’

‘We relied on the Al-Arynaar. Your leader’s spectacular failure is the seed of all that Katura has become. I only removed my thread when the reports began to say innocent elves were being forced into addiction. And what riches are the harvesters and dealers making for themselves, I wonder?’

‘Land,’ said Methian. ‘What else? Pelyn was given the power to grant each elf land in the forest and on the plain. Much of it is in the hands of the Tuali and Beethan drug gangs now. They are strong. They own Katura.’

Boltha raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Has anyone told Auum?’

‘Auum hasn’t been here in over fifty years. No TaiGethen come here.’ Methian sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I do not mean to bait you.’

Boltha smiled. ‘You and I will always clash, as our threads dictate. So why did you invite me on this hike with you? Not to recreate our journeys of past years, I’m sure.’

‘No, indeed,’ said Methian. ‘Come, let’s sit. I’ve got some rather good spirit and some bread, tapir and dried fruit too.’

‘I knew I could rely on you,’ said Boltha.

The old Apposan, still strong of arm, chopped some scrub and vines away from a fallen log and the two old friends sat. Methian reached into his backpack and passed Boltha a clay jug stoppered with a wood plug.

‘Sip it,’ he said. ‘Strong stuff.’

Boltha took a swallow. He breathed in slowly and Methian smiled as he imagined the liquid burning its way down his throat.

‘Where does that come from?’ said Boltha. ‘Tastes a bit like yams.’

‘Yes, but we’ve distilled it with guarana. Makes you drunk but you don’t want to sleep. Helps with the headache next day, too.’

Boltha took another sip and passed the jug back to Methian.

‘At least you haven’t wasted your whole life.’

Methian sniffed the jug before wetting his lips with the spirit and then letting a long trickle run down his throat.

‘I’m old, Boltha,’ he said once he’d stoppered the jug and fished in his pack for the bread and meat. ‘But I’ve only just begun feeling it. I was a warrior of the Al-Arynaar for over three hundred years and I am as proud of that as I am of being Gyalan.

‘I’ve seen the very best of the elven spirit and believed that we were genuinely entering a golden age of harmony and progress. But the last years have been relentless decline and conflict and I find I cannot accept that as the epitaph of my life in service.’

‘Why do you think I took my leave? Katura is a cancer.’

‘Yes!’ said Methian, and he felt the spirit coursing round his blood energising him. ‘And it must be excised.’

‘So talk to your erstwhile leader, if she ever returns to lucidity. How many Al-Arynaar still wear the cloak?’

‘Who knows? We probably have fewer warriors than the TaiGethen for the first time in elven history. Not even enough to police a city of twenty thousand.’

‘And growing fewer every day…’ said Boltha.

‘It has to stop, and though there is desire in the city to see it cleaned up, there is no strength.’

Boltha held up his hands. ‘I know where this is going.’

‘You are strong,’ said Methian, leaning forward and offering him dried mango which Boltha took and ate. ‘Your thread is pure. You are the thread of the axe. Others fear you, even the Tuali. Come back. Help me cleanse the city. Help me return Katura to purity. To harmony.’

‘The only way to do that is to burn the place to the ground.’

Methian shrugged. ‘If that’s what it takes.’

‘Why should I risk my people for those who cared so little for us?’

‘Because if you do not it will render everything we did when Ysundeneth fell a waste. It will render your faith a sham. And I know you, Boltha. You believe in the harmony. Help me and we can start again, to make Katura great before we die.’ Methian smiled as rain began to fall. ‘And Gyal knows neither of us has terribly long left.’

A primeval, guttural sound grew from the north. It echoed among the trees and fed up the valleys. Even beyond Katura, panthers took up the cry. Methian shuddered.

‘What is that?’

‘It’s the ClawBound. They’re calling the TaiGethen to muster.’

‘Are you sure?’

Boltha nodded and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I need to get back to Haliath.’

‘I understand,’ said Methian. ‘Think on what I’ve said. Help me. Help us all.’

The calls faded away.

‘Do you have a plan for this rebellion of yours, or whatever you call it?’

‘I know where we have to strike, if that’s what you mean.’

‘And do your enemies know you’re plotting against them?’

Methian chuckled. ‘I’m an old Gyalan. I don’t even carry a weapon any more. No one suspects me of anything barring being a grumpy old loudmouth.’

‘Well we can all agree on that.’ Boltha took Methian’s shoulders. ‘These are dangerous people you’re facing. Don’t assume you are not seen as a threat. Will the Al-Arynaar back you?’

‘I have to hope so.’

‘Good enough. Then come back with me — you’ll be safe with the Apposans until it’s time to strike.’

‘You’re with me?’

‘I can hardly let some arthritic old Gyalan get all the glory, now can I? Anyway, I don’t think I have much option.’

‘Why?’

Boltha gestured north.

‘I can only think of one reason for the ClawBound to call the TaiGethen to muster and that scares me. We need Katura to be strong, to be the sanctuary it was designed to be. If it isn’t, I fear for us. I fear we will not survive.’

Ystormun looked sick. Sicker. It was normally hard to tell, but today there was a greyness to his skin that left him looking closer to death than Sildaan had ever seen him; and she saw him every day. Such was her misfortune. Like Garan, she fervently wished for death each night when she was allowed to rest. And like Garan, Ystormun seemed to take perverse delight in keeping her alive.

Sildaan stood before the great wooden desk, awaiting questions from her human lord and master. She had resisted admitting that’s what he had become to her, but she could not escape it. She was an Ynissul who dreamed of a return to ultimate power over the elves, one who could reach out and touch it yet was an impossible distance from ever achieving it.

Punishment indeed, and Llyron should have been standing here to suffer with her, yet the former high priestess of Shorth would never do so. She had found her way to death and that had made Sildaan’s task all the harder.

So Sildaan took the brunt of his evil. She looked to her left and out into the Calaian night sky. The lantern light playing on the windows showed her a reflection of herself, and she shrank inwardly at the sight of her thinning hair, gaunt face, sunken eyes and bloodless lips. Her ears, so delicate, were bent at the tips like an elf a thousand years her elder. She still remembered the strength of her arms and the power in her heart and mind. Proud Ynissul, now laid so low. Such was the price of her god casting her aside. Sildaan could not contain the whimper that escaped her lips. She turned away from the window.

In front of her, Ystormun dragged in a shuddering breath. He was in pain. His hands shook and there was sweat on his brow. Veins pulsed at his temples. He opened his eyes. Sildaan gasped. They were white. No pupil whatsoever. Yet he could see her and the man who stood by her. He examined them while he weighed up his first words. Something moved beneath the milky whiteness and Sildaan thought she might be sick.

‘Times move ever faster,’ said Ystormun. ‘So there are things I must know.’

Ystormun’s voice was altered, discordant as if he was speaking with multiple tongues, all of which moved in fractionally different ways to form the same words.

‘What must you know, Lord Ystormun?’ asked the man, who was profoundly lucky to be alive and standing in his presence.

‘Ah. Jeral. Reprieved by the mercy of an animal, were you not? I would ask how is it that with the strength of mages and warriors you had under your command you were unable to defeat weaponless elves and their feline pets. But I am sure I would hear useless talk of speed and stealth and the forest shadows. Instead, I will ask you about the only point of interest in your entire report.’

Ystormun wafted a hand at a single roll of paper.

‘It is an honest report.’

‘Yes, detailing incompetence, slack management and ignorance of the first rule of handling Sharps in the field. Always keep a mage in the air. Now tell me, Jeral, your report mentions that the elves and their panthers worked in harmony. ‘‘Like they were of one mind’’ were your exact words. Explain.’

‘Thank you, lord, for the opportunity.’

‘It won’t necessarily save your life.’

Jeral’s words caught in his throat. He stammered and coughed.

‘The attack was fast and it was impossible to defend against because each elf worked with a panther and they needed no words to effect their plan. I saw their leader, I think he was their leader, look into the eyes of his animal once and, beyond that, they attacked our mages as one before turning their attention to the warriors.

‘They were just animals but they knew exactly who to take out first. You cannot train that into a beast. And I know we have spells that achieve much the same thing, but the elves have no magic like this. I was standing beside Nuin and he didn’t sense any magic being used. That was right before he had his throat ripped out by a panther while I was left wholly untouched.’

‘A shame,’ said Ystormun. ‘But something worthy of further investigation. Sildaan, you’re looking well. You bear your responsibilities with more grace every day.’

‘Only by accident,’ said Sildaan.

Ystormun began to chuckle, but it became a hacking cough and his expression hardened.

‘Do you recognise this skill in your people?’

‘There was no such link the last time I was in the rainforest.’

‘So Jeral is lying. I’m uncomfortable with liars.’

Jeral whimpered a desperate ‘No.’

‘I can’t say that with any certainty,’ said Sildaan quickly, feeling a bizarre kinship with Jeral. ‘But I can postulate.’

Ystormun picked up the roll of paper and shook it open.

‘Yes, please do. The ClawBound, Jeral called them. What are they?’

‘There have always been stories about elves forging closer and closer ties to Tual’s denizens. Elves whom no snake would bite, no insect sting, no predator hunt. It has long been held that the Silent Priests were actively seeking a true bond to every creature in the rainforest to greater understand the workings of Tual and, through him, of Yniss.

‘I have read Jeral’s report and there is no doubt that the elves he describes, though much changed, are Silent Priests. It is possible that they have spent their time working with panthers but I can give you no explanation how they might have forged a mental link with these beasts. I can only tell you that it is possible, because Yniss and Tual have the power to bestow such gifts.’

‘Your faith can explain anything it chooses, Sildaan, and you know I have little time for religion. The question is, would you reckon your life on it being possible?’

Sildaan did not have to think. ‘Yes.’

Ystormun nodded. ‘We thought as much. Very well. Jeral you are dismissed. Get some rest. You and your cohorts will have need of it.’

Jeral left the room with ungracious haste and Sildaan felt abandoned. Ystormun sank further into his chair, muttered and closed his eyes. He shook violently and words in a human language Sildaan had never heard before forced themselves from his lips. His entire body tensed and then relaxed. He opened his eyes and Sildaan saw they were his more usual dark colour, with bloodshot whites.

‘What are they doing, these ClawBound?’ he asked.

‘They are cleansing the forest,’ said Sildaan. ‘The Silent Priests always promised they would.’

‘So I have already been told. And they will not stop?’

Sildaan smiled. ‘No. Not until all humans within its boundaries are dead. You can consider the forest closed to you.’

‘Now that is a shame,’ said Ystormun. ‘Because at this time, this pivotal, crucial time, I cannot afford that.’

Sildaan quailed under his gaze, which was utterly bleak and murderous. ‘Please. Do not make the innocents suffer. This does not break any unspoken agreement you have with the TaiGethen. This is a calling of elves acting alone, I’m certain of it.’

‘You think me so stupid,’ said Ystormun. ‘Certainly stupid enough to slaughter my workforce in retaliation. I concede I was tempted. Eviscerating Sharps is always tempting, but not this time. This time even I have orders. We may not be ready but our hands have been forced by events in my country as well as the actions of your kin.

‘And so we shall take the rainforest and in doing so shall end the resistance — the existence, I should say — of the elven race. Do you want to watch the extinction of your race? I can offer you a prime seat.’

‘You cannot possibly believe you can defeat the TaiGethen in their own forest. Human blood will run in our rivers and you will never find our hidden city. Not even I know where it is.’

‘It’s called Katura and I am sure you know exactly where it is, Sildaan, but don’t worry, I won’t torture you in an attempt to find out. I don’t need to. I have someone who will lead us straight there.’

Sildaan had to steady herself against the side of the desk.

‘No elf would betray our people in such a way.’

‘No? Well, I suppose you are well placed to make such a judgement. And as it happens, you still retain your exalted position as betrayer-in-chief. This elf has no knowledge of the damage he is going to do his people. And the really pleasing thing is that he is one of your most fervent, most spectacularly faithful, people. He is possessed of talents not even he can fathom and is determined to use anything he can to the benefit of the elves.

‘Unfortunately he doesn’t realise that the focus of mana within his body is stronger than the scent of blood in the River Ix. He reeks of it, exudes it and can do nothing to hide it. And we, my dear Sildaan, could use it to follow him through the very bowels of the earth.

‘You really ought to come along and watch the show.’