Rise of the TaiGethen

Chapter 13

Yniss walked the glory of the forest and marvelled at the colours and the sounds and the scents. He looked above him and saw the purity of the sky above and knew his tasks were not yet done. Yniss laid a hand to his right and it rested upon the head of Gyal, the most beautiful, the most effervescent and the most expressive of his kin. And Gyal’s tears began to fall, and where they struck the ground, life surged and blossomed. ‘I could give this gift to no other,’ said Yniss.

The Aryn Hiil

Auum awoke. The forest was peaceful and the temple was cool. He was lying in a priest’s chamber. The bed was comfortable. He lay quietly, listening to the ambient sounds outside and the movement of elves within Aryndeneth. Memories started to filter into his mind. The run from the fight was vague. And he didn’t remember getting here at all, certainly not into this chamber.

Auum sat up. Pain jabbed at his leg and his shoulder throbbed. He dragged the thin blanket from his body and looked down. He was wearing a clean loincloth. His ankle was strapped, the dressing was clean. His shoulder showed a mass of bruising but it was a couple of days old at least. His stomach was tender to the touch and when he stopped to think for a moment, his whole body ached.

Auum swung his legs out of the bed and stood on his left foot, using a bedpost for support and hopping towards the door. He swayed when the blood rushed from his head, sitting back down heavily until the nausea passed. He looked around the room and chuckled. Someone knew him well: a walking stick had been left by the open door. He levered himself up and made for it as a figure appeared in the doorway. The beautiful face and warm, welcoming eyes were wonderfully familiar and totally unexpected.

‘Good to see you up and about,’ said Lysael, holding out the walking stick.

‘Thank you,’ said Auum.

He took the stick and tested his weight on it. It looked old. It was carved from dark pine and had a pommel moulded to a polished ball by the caress of countless hands. Auum’s fingers closed on it, feeling a roughness at his fingertips which was all that remained of the carvings of birds and trees that had once adorned the pommel but were now confined to the neck.

‘Come with me,’ said Lysael. ‘Onelle and the TaiGethen are outside. It’s the Feast of Renewal today. Are you hungry?’

Auum paused in mid-stride. ‘That’s not possible. The feast is three days away.’

Lysael laughed. ‘There are some things that I’m good at, as High Priestess of Yniss. One of them is knowing the dates of all my god’s festivals. Trust me on this.’

Auum’s heart began beating faster.

‘I can’t have been unconscious that long,’ he whispered.

Lysael didn’t respond. The pair of them walked beneath the temple dome. Auum’s stick gave a hollow clack against the stone which echoed into the ceiling high above. With each step he tested his injured ankle a little more. The strapping was effective, stalling any lateral movement, but whether he used heel or toe he could feel the weakness and tenderness in the joint, musculature and ligaments.

The smell of cooking fires was wafting into the dome. Auum’s stomach growled and he began salivating. Tapir, jao deer and hare were on the spit. Vegetable and herb stews were steaming away. Fruit soups added a glorious sweetness to the mix and the scent of fresh-baked bread completed the image of the feast. Auum hurried on as best he could, and out into bright sunlight. Gyal had blessed this feast day; it looked as if the rain would hold off for some hours.

The apron was busy, not least with TaiGethen warriors seated on cushions surrounding a host of plates of food. The cook fires were all away to the right at the edge of the stone. Temple workers buzzed and flitted around them carrying ingredients, cutting meat and serving.

Auum moved towards his people, counting them as he came. Forty-four had joined the feast. Including him, he had fifteen cells at his disposal, leaving only three cells out in the field. Merrat and Grafyrre’s cells were both tracking the Ysundeneth army, and the fact that he couldn’t see Corsaar probably meant the veteran cell leader was collecting information about other human forces in the forest.

Ulysan saw Auum approach and stood, motioning them all to do the same. The TaiGethen held their cups out to Auum and bowed their heads in the traditional greeting, awaiting his permission to sup.

‘Gyal fills our rivers and the forest provides our roots. The skills Yniss bestowed on the elves brings the joy of taste to our mouths and freedom for our minds. Drink, lest Ix steal your spirit.’

‘For Auum. For the Arch. For the TaiGethen. For the forest.’

The salute given, they drank and retook their seats. Auum sat with Lysael in a space made between Ulysan and Onelle. He chose water rather than spirits and filled his plate with jao dressed with fruit soup. It looked lovely but he couldn’t eat, not just yet.

‘What happened, Ulysan?’

Ulysan set down his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘You finally lost consciousness as we reached the temple, though in truth you were incoherent for the last half of the run here. We thought you’d simply lost more blood than we’d thought but we couldn’t find any wound deep enough. It was Onelle who actually saved your life.’

Onelle was blushing before his gaze was upon her.

‘I am for ever indebted to you.’

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ said Onelle. ‘After all, if I said that after every time a TaiGethen saved my life, I’d still be catching up now. You do killing; I do fixing. All for the same god.’

‘Using the Il-Aryn?’

Onelle smiled and gave a small shrug. ‘It is a pity to ignore a skill when it can genuinely help. And you needed help, Auum. The impact that dislocated your shoulder broke a rib, and that rib pierced you inside. You were slowly bleeding to death. I could stem that bleeding and straighten the rib.

‘The Il-Aryn saved your life.’

Auum didn’t know why but the knowledge made him intensely uncomfortable. He scratched at his ribcage up by his shoulder as if doing so could dislodge the magic Onelle had used.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Onelle.

‘Yniss blessed you with an ability that has allowed you to prolong my work here on Calaius.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ said Onelle. ‘But don’t let it worry you. You’ll get used to the idea one day. You all will.’

Auum inclined his head and returned his attention to Ulysan while Lysael and Onelle fell into a conversation of their own. He gestured for Ulysan to speak.

‘I’m sorry, Auum. There didn’t seem to be another choice.’

‘I will address it in my prayers,’ said Auum. ‘What of the enemy?’

Ulysan searched Auum’s face for blame but he didn’t find any.

‘They continue to advance along the river. They are ignoring this temple, and make no search for Loshaaren or the Ynissul. There is a certainty in their route and I fear they know something.’

Auum saw his train of thought and it was bleak indeed.

‘They cannot know the way, can they?’

‘All reason says not, and Onelle will tell you that no mage could possibly have the range to fly over Katura Falls…’

‘Yet they’ve surely received some information. Why else would they ignore Aryndeneth?’

‘We have found no other answer that makes sense.’

‘Katura is in no state to defend herself against such an army,’ said Auum.

‘Katura’s people are in no state to feed and clothe themselves, let alone fight,’ said Lysael. ‘How long since you’ve been there?’

Auum shrugged. ‘Fifty years at least. There seemed no reason to go back once the last of the Ynissul had been persuaded to leave. Pelyn was in control, growing the Al-Arynaar. I know things have been more difficult of late but-’

‘You have neglected them for far too long,’ said Lysael. ‘Nothing is left of the place and the people you remember, not even hope.’

‘I cannot be everywhere,’ said Auum quietly. ‘I must trust others. I trusted Pelyn. Was I mistaken?’

Lysael let her gaze drop to her plate. ‘When we are alone and our prayers are not answered, we may all fall prey to temptation.’

‘Where are the watchers? Why did no one tell me?’

‘Because there are those within Katura who have no wish for the TaiGethen to know what is going on,’ said Lysael.

She couldn’t look at him and that scared Auum more than anything else he had seen or heard since the humans had invaded the rainforest.

‘But you could have,’ said Auum gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘You and I speak whenever we are here or Loshaaren. We have no secrets.’

When Lysael turned her face back to him there were tears running down her cheeks. Auum was aware that conversation around the feast had quietened.

‘I have failed in my duties.’ Lysael’s voice was a cracked whisper. ‘The temple to Ynissul lies dormant. No priest resides there now. I have not been back for almost ten years.’

‘Why not?’ asked Auum, unsure how to feel about her revelation.

‘Because the last time I was there, I feared for my life.’

Silence bled out from the TaiGethen and enveloped the cooks and servants. Auum swallowed hard. He took his hand from Lysael’s shoulder lest his fury caused his fingers to tighten. Here, on the apron of the elves’ most sacred place, where Yniss gazed down unfailingly and his embrace kept all from harm, his high priestess had been forced to reveal such a fear.

Auum dared a glance around his Tais. All they awaited was his word.

‘Were you threatened?’ asked Auum. ‘Did an elf actually threaten your life?’

Lysael stared at Auum, her lips pressed together against a sob. Then she nodded.

Uproar exploded among the TaiGethen. All of them were on their feet yelling for justice and revenge. Only Auum remained seated. He held out his hands and the TaiGethen fell silent.

‘Keep your anger for man,’ he said. ‘Direct your fire at those who would rape our forest and see us exterminated. Trust me. No criminal will escape justice. A particular state of pain and torment awaits those who dared look into the eyes of our beloved Lysael and thought to end her life.

‘Now return to the feast. Do not dishonour our ceremony. Rest well. Tomorrow, we move.’

Jeral watched Hynd while the mage communed with Ystormun. Hynd was pale and shaking. Sweat covered his brow and his lips were ragged and bleeding where his teeth tore at them. His eyes moved erratically behind closed lids, and when he appeared close to losing his balance, Jeral reached out a hand to steady him where he sat cross-legged near the river’s edge.

Dusk was approaching. It was the time of day Jeral feared most. Before the campfires, torches and lanterns lent a facade of security to the perimeter, and well after the time that any of them could see into the eaves of the forest to any degree.

Jeral itched at the deep scratches the ClawBound elf had given him around his throat and lower jaw. They would scar. Jeral was certain that had been the intent. He shuddered every time the memory of that face appeared in his mind, so very close to his. He could still feel the elf’s breath on his face, smelling of blood. He could still hear the words too, and he did fear them.

Dusk was the ClawBound’s time, and the only question he had no answer to was why they hadn’t attacked the army after so many days. They were so vulnerable in the forest despite the wards the mages laid every night. Almost four thousand men were strung out over miles of logged river bank. Organised into soldier and mage units, each was connected to the units on either side, and each was responsible for the safety of all three and also for a team of Sharps, who were tethered before being ignored for the night.

Guards stood at the perimeter with shielded lanterns throwing light as far into the forest as possible. More guards patrolled the entire length of the camp. Groups of mages were positioned between the camp and the perimeter, acting as quick-response teams. It all sounded great, but Jeral knew that should an attack come they would still pay dearly for every elf they killed.

Jeral glanced out over the river at the barges floating at anchor in midstream.

‘Lucky bastards.’

Hynd sighed. Jeral looked back at him, once again glad that he wasn’t one of Ystormun’s mages. Hynd’s body sagged and he blew out his cheeks. His eyes opened and he squinted at Jeral, who had squatted right in front of him, holding his shoulders.

‘Are you…?’ Jeral began.

Hynd’s face was grey and sick-looking even in the half-light.

‘Oh God,’ he mumbled.

Hynd turned his head and vomited. The puke poured across Jeral’s arm and spattered on the ground, and the acrid reek brought tears to Jeral’s eyes.

‘Fantastic.’

‘Sorry,’ said Hynd, spitting out the remnants.

‘Here.’ Jeral passed him his water skin. ‘Don’t dribble your sick into it either. I don’t want to taste your vomit next time I’m thirsty.’

‘Thanks.’ Hynd took a long swallow, flushed his mouth and spat once more. ‘Bloody hell, he’s a bastard.’

‘Oh, you’ve noticed, have you? Well done.’

Jeral walked to the river’s edge and washed his arm. He sniffed the sleeve of his light leather coat and wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t the kind of odour that was going to fade in a hurry.

‘No. I mean, yes,’ said Hynd. ‘I mean, I’ve got to report to the generals.’

The army commanders were spread throughout the column. They’d spent one night in their ridiculous tent and by morning some wags had painted a target on it in mud. Others had marked the path to the doors with arrows. It had been an effective piece of vandalism.

‘Loreb is a few units downstream. I think Pindock and Killith are up near the head. Take your pick: the drunk, the coward or the total fuckwit.’

Hynd shook his head and lowered his voice. ‘I don’t think our boys need to hear that, Captain Jeral.’

‘Anyone who decides to march the bulk of the army through this continent-sized mantrap deserves nothing but my scorn and the scorn of us all. Just ask your boss.’

‘You had a better idea, did you?’

Jeral gave a short laugh. ‘Yeah. Build. More. Barges.’

‘But think of the time that would take,’ said Hynd.

‘Think of the people who won’t be dead if we did,’ said Jeral. ‘Think of the final condition of those who actually make it to this mythical place, wherever the hell it is.’

‘Ystormun wants to send a message to the Sharps. Marching through their land is the best way to do it.’

‘No. Ystormun wants to wipe them out. There’s no point making a statement if the goal is to leave no one alive to take it on board. Waiting fifty days and using those massive stockpiles of timber to build troop transports would send a much better message. One that reads: we’re coming to slaughter the fucking lot of you and there’s nothing you can do about it. The way we’re going about it now, the message is: help yourself to rich human pickings because this column is totally indefensible.’

Hynd flapped his hands dismissively and stood up.

‘We are where we are,’ he said. ‘And I have a message to take to the people who are actually in charge.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Jeral. ‘What did he say anyway?’

Hynd smiled. ‘Well, among all the things I can tell you, there is one you’ll really enjoy. He said we aren’t making enough progress. We have to march faster and longer each day.’

Jeral felt his mouth hang open. ‘You have absolutely got to be joking.’

‘I never joke, Captain; you know that.’

Out in the forest, downstream somewhere, a man screamed. The sound carried clear above the hubbub of the camp. Alarm wards were triggered, sending sheets of light out into the forest. A heartbeat of silence along the column was broken by a concerted move to make ready for action. Weapons were drawn, mages began to prepare.

Jeral shot to his feet and ran down the river bank with Hynd right behind him.

‘Stand your ground!’ he yelled. ‘Stand!’

Jeral flew down the lines. The wards were going off in an arc about a hundred yards downstream and fifty yards into the forest, right in the middle of his section of the line.

‘Stay out of the forest. Remember your training.’

Jeral cursed under his breath and scratched at his face. He could feel his fear growing and the memories taunting him. Light flickered through the trees and sound wards blared out their flat tones, setting sleeping birds to flight and driving animals deeper into burrows or higher into the trees.

Jeral wished the wards were quieter. He wanted to know if they were up against TaiGethen or ClawBound. He ducked into the forest as a spell was cast ahead of him. A cold wave surged away into the trees, ice rattling against wood with a sound like breaking glass.

He could hear orders being barked. Someone was still screaming. And finally he heard the roar of a panther. Jeral’s legs wobbled and he stumbled. His stomach churned, his face felt hot and his hand sweated on his sword hilt. He could see lanterns and guard fires just ahead, shot through with the shadows of men and ClawBound.

Jeral pounded on, driving himself forward, refusing to give in to the fear. He raced around a banyan trunk and was struck by two hundred pounds of solid muscle. The wind was knocked from him and he was hurled back to sprawl through the leaf litter, fetching up face down in a slew of muddy sludge.

Jeral rolled over quickly, getting his sword in front of him, but all he could see was Hynd standing stock still, his back to a tree, staring towards the river. Jeral surged to his feet, gasping a breath into a bruised chest. The panther had not broken stride and was streaking towards the water’s edge. Jeral could see elves too, and other panthers, all taking the attack to the main column.

The screaming behind him hadn’t stopped. Guards ran past, chasing the ClawBound. The sound of the last alarm ward died away and Jeral looked to the screaming. Bodies lay around a fire. One man still stood, a mage by his clothes. He was rigid, his hands clenched by his sides.

Down towards the river, orders were hollered out. Jeral heard men come to ready. He heard the roar of many panthers and realised he didn’t have a choice. Not really.

‘Shit,’ he muttered. ‘Hynd, see to him.’

Jeral turned and ran back towards the river, where he saw it all. ClawBound pairs exploded from the forest, hammering into his men. Panthers leapt. Jaws and claws ripped and raked, sowing confusion and panic. He saw a mage spin about and fall into the river, his face torn open. A warrior sliced the empty air with his sword as a panther leapt above it and clamped jaws about his skull, bearing him down.

But the elves weren’t with them. They were attacking to the left and right of the targeted units. This was no random attack to scare and kill. This had a defined purpose.

‘Target the elves! Stop them!’

Jeral leapt over a root, ran through some brush and burst from the forest. The body of a mage slapped into the ground in front of him. The panther snapped its jaws through his neck and turned to roar at Jeral.

Jeral slashed at it with his sword, simultaneously trying to slither backwards. His blade clipped an ear, slicing off the tip, and the panther howled, unaccustomed to a fight, and leapt away. Jeral tracked its path straight to an elf who had broken from the fighting to clamp a hand over his own ear.

In the midst of the fight, Jeral stared open-mouthed, just for a few moments. Swords flashed all around them. Men and ClawBound engaged in ferocious fighting. The army was closing in on both sides, and in the midst of it all the elf knelt by his panther and covered her wound with his hand. The pair of them touched heads then turned to stare straight at him. Then they moved, fast.

‘Oh no.’ Jeral cast about him. He was surrounded by fighting but there was no one close enough to help. ‘To me! I have incoming!’

Jeral couldn’t back away except into the forest, which offered nothing but a lonely death. The ClawBound pair streaked towards him. To his left, a mage cast. The invisible mana cone caught up two elves and hurled them back into the forest. The next instant, a panther roared as if in mortal pain. She pounced on the mage, her claws slashing great rents in his chest and her jaws ripping flesh from his shoulder.

The ClawBound pair was on him. Jeral held his sword in front of him, determined not to die a whimpering coward. But they did not attack. They moved apart and slowed, forcing him back. The elf barked like a wild dog and the elves and panthers pushed away in their attacking arc, forming a defensive line into which enslaved Sharps ran.

‘Cast!’ shouted Jeral. ‘One of you ca-’

The elf in front of him stepped in and cracked a punch against his chin. Jeral didn’t even see it coming until he was falling. He hit the ground and all he could hear was running feet. Belatedly a spell howled away, and he heard the death cry of a single elf and the agonised roars of panthers.

Jeral tried to get up. His head was swimming. Rough hands helped him back to his feet and someone pushed his sword into his hands. Men were running into the forest and Jeral went with them, groggy at first but then with increasing sureness. He ran towards the guard fires, coming to a stop by Hynd and calling to his men to end the pursuit. They were already chasing shadows.

‘Hynd,’ he said.

Hynd was with the stricken mage, who was still standing in the same position, staring at the forest. Men were filtering back past them. Some saw the mage and their eyes widened as they hurried past. Hynd gestured Jeral to him.

Jeral could see the blood before he saw the wounds, and when he looked at the poor mage could feel nothing but pity for him. Around the fire, the quickly slaughtered guards and other mages lay mercifully blind. Jeral understood the violence of their deaths, but he could not comprehend the cruelty that had been visited upon the sole survivor.

Jeral thought he recognised him as Pirian but could easily have been mistaken. The cuts, inflicted by panther and elf, began on his forehead. A long wound ran from temple to temple, described with clinical precision. Blood ran down into his eyebrows and over his face. His nose had been sliced along its length and the cut continued down and through his top lip.

Pirian’s cheeks each carried four ragged tears that ran from the sides of his nose all the way to his ears, both of which had been bitten half away. And finally, his neck had been sliced from the tip of his chin all the way to the top of his shirt. No single cut was deep enough to be fatal but every single one was designed to scar. Jeral touched his own facial wounds and blessed his relative good fortune.

Pirian himself was lost to shock. His eyes were seeking an end to his nightmare and his face was shrouded in his blood. But while his face and mind were wrecked, the rest of his body was wholly undamaged.

‘Can we move him?’ asked Jeral. ‘Have you tried?’

‘He’s totally rigid. I think we’ll have to carry him,’ said Hynd, his voice quiet. ‘Why have they done this? Why not just kill him?’

Jeral sighed, and another small door into the elven psyche opened for him. His fear and respect for them grew in equal measure.

‘It’s a message,’ he said. ‘By morning, everyone will know what has happened to him. Sooner or later, everyone will see him. The elves know we can’t kill him, or leave him behind, and so every day he will be there, the most chilling reminder of what is waiting for us out here.’

‘They came all this way just to do that? Deliver that message?’

‘Oh no,’ said Jeral. ‘This was just a sideshow. They’ve just freed about seventy Sharps. Didn’t bother killing as many of us as they could have, either. But they’ve weakened us nonetheless.’

‘What can we do about it?’

‘Build. More. Barges.’