49

Harn worked hard.

The first circular pit around the village was almost finished and they had used the spoil from it to make a slope on the far side of the pit, vicious stakes sticking out from it. One of the reborn, the one he had named for his sister, stood on the top of the small spoil ramp before the walls, watching the work. At least that was what he presumed she was doing. She was so still she could have been a statue, placed there at the beginning of the world when Iftal walked and the Osere had not yet fallen. Bridges of split tree trunks had been placed across the pit to allow access to the village, the gates he had destroyed had been replaced and Woodedge around Harn had been cut back by another five paces from where it had been when they left. The air rang with the sound of axes.

As they approached Harn the work stopped, the people stared at him. It made him uncomfortable. Not the stare itself, he was used to them staring. It was that it was not resentful. That he was clanless was forgotten, the armour he wore and instructions he had left had changed him in their eyes. He would almost have preferred that they looked at him with the old resentment, they should resent him. He had destroyed their lives, not on purpose, but had he not been here they would not be forced into making their village a fort. Forced into fighting, and more than likely dying.

He had brought this here.

“Cahan!” Leoric Furin walked through the Tiltgate. Her white make-up once more perfect. “We have been hard at work.” As she walked past the reborn the warrior came to life, following the Leoric to meet him, Venn and Udinny halfway between village and forest. “Did you find Dyon, was he safe?” Cahan nodded.

“A little tangle with the Forestals, but I had hoped for that.” She cocked her head, puzzled. “They have said they will notify us when the Rai approach, so make sure everyone knows Forestals will be coming, and that they are not a threat.” The Leoric nodded.

“We have done well,” she gestured towards the village.

“You have,” he said. “The pit will be hard for them to get over now.” Behind her the bright eyes of the reborn watched him from behind her visor, and he wondered what she thought. She must know how hopeless this was. The walls of Harn were weak, in places they had been removed entirely. Furin saw him staring.

“The wood of the walls was rotten. The warrior,” she turned and nodded to Nahac, “said it was better to cut new wood, and that the new wood was harder to burn when the Rai started sending in fireballs.” She stepped closer to him. “You must ask them not to talk so plainly in front of the villagers, they fear fire.” He nodded. “We will start on the second ring pit shortly.”

“You have not asked the reborn to talk less?”

“They are good at giving orders, less so at listening to others.”

“Nahac,” he said, “you have done nothing but war for generations, you must remember that if you frighten these people they will be of no use.”

“They will be of no—” began the reborn but he cut her off.

“We will make them of use. You know as well as I that a battle is lost in the mind before it is lost in the field.” She stared at him. “Not everyone’s greatest wish is to die.” The reborn did not move at first, then gave a slow and stately nod.

“True,” she said. “I will keep this in mind.” He turned to Venn and Udinny. The monk still had Segur draped around her shoulders. Venn was pulling on the bundle of sticks and muttering under their breath at it.

“What is this gift you bring us,” said Furin, pointing at the wood Venn towed behind them. “It does not look sturdy enough to help us rebuild the walls.”

“It is not,” he said, “it is crownwood staffs and crossticks.”

“What for?” said Furin.

“Better I tell everyone at once.” He did not think the villagers would like what he intended, better to face them all at the same time.

“I will gather them.” Furin began to walk back towards the village shouting for her people to meet in the square. The reborn stayed with him.

“Look after her,” he said.

“We serve you,” she replied. Her voice as dead as she was.

“You serve me, and want something from me,” he said. “I want to protect this village, and I need her to do that. They will never trust me the way they trust her.” The reborn stared at him from behind the serene face carved onto her visor. “So keep her safe, to help me.”

“I had forgotten how complex it is, dealing with the living.”

“Get used to it,” he said.

“And you will gift us death.”

“If it is possible. Yes.” The reborn remained still for a count, then nodded, and turned to follow Furin. He in turn followed her. Cahan slowed to let Udinny pass.

“Not coming, Cahan?” she said.

“A moment, is all, Udinny,” he said. “Go with Furin to gather the villagers, bless them if it helps.” The monk nodded and as she placed her first foot on the log bridge over the pit Segur leapt from her shoulders and ran for Woodedge. “For such a fierce hunter,” said Udinny, “that garaur can be very cowardly.”

“It avoids people,” said Furin, “maybe it is wise?” Udinny laughed to herself.

“Perhaps,” she said, and skipped over the wood bridge. The stakes sticking out of the other side looked new. Cahan glanced down. The villagers had not wasted the old stakes. They had been set in the bottom of the pit. Though he walked slowly, he did not hear Venn’s footsteps following across the bridge behind him. The trion was standing on the other side of the pit. They were staring at him, the blue line across their face no longer bright, their shaven head fuzzy with dark hair. As he watched they dropped the tether on the wood, leaving it to bob above the ground.

“What are you doing, Venn?” he said. “Harn needs what you have there.”

“But not me,” said Venn. “It does not need me.”

“It needs everyone, Venn.” They shook their head.

“No, I have been thinking about what you said, to the Forestals.” They looked away, rubbed their fuzzy head with one hand. “How they came for me, the Rai. They are coming for me. These people,” they pointed at Harn, “they need you to fight for them.” Venn looked back at Woodedge. “They do not need me. I will not fight, I am just the reason the Rai come here.” He felt confusion. Wondered why the trion thought such a thing.

“Venn,” he said, and walked over, put a hand on their shoulder. “I am the reason the Rai are coming here. I am the reason they want to wipe out this village. We both know what I am, the new Cowl-Rai cannot allow even the hint of competition.”

“But that is not what you said to the Forestals,” they looked away, to hide tears he thought. Had he been this worried when he was young, this ready to find fault in himself? He did not remember, but his youth had hardly been normal. Though he did not think Venn’s had either from what little he knew.

“The Forestals, Venn, hate the Rai. You know that.” They shrugged. “Had I told them what I was, they would have killed us there and then, never even listened to what I had to say.” He turned the trion’s head back towards him; tears had tracked blue lines down their face. “The Rai are here for us both, true. But I brought them here.” He searched for some comfort in his words, but it was a long time since he had offered comfort to any and he found himself wanting. “If you wish to leave, I will not make you stay.” He looked back over his shoulder and spoke quietly. “The truth is, it is unlikely anyone walks away from here.” The trion stared at Harn. “You know how Rai work, Venn,” he said. “You know that everyone in the village will die.”

“But not me.” They looked haunted. “They will not kill me.”

“I would not be so sure, Venn. You have betrayed them.” The trion looked away. Looked at the floor. Then let out a long breath.

“They will not hurt me, Cowl-Rai needs me.” The words came out in a rush. “The world cannot tilt without me.” Cahan blinked. Being the child of the High Leoric meant Venn was important, but what the trion said made them important in a different way. “When the war is won the Rai will gather at Tilt, with sacrifices, lives to take. They feed the power they take into the taffistones before the great stone at Tiltspire.” Such misery in their voice. “All those deaths simply because I exist.” They looked away. “The power is too much even for the Cowl-Rai. A trion with a cowl must stand between them and the great taffistone. That is how the world is tilted, how warmth is brought to the north.” They looked at him, words coming by rote now, learned and repeated many times. “I am the conduit. I am the pivot and the Cowl-Rai is the lever.” A sob escaped them.

“No tilt without you,” said Cahan, barely a whisper.

“They will never stop,” said Venn, “as long as I am here.” Cahan licked his lips, thought for a moment. “They will never stop.”

“And you, Venn,” he said, “do you survive such power?” They wrapped their arms around themselves.

“No one will tell me.” Venn looked into Cahan’s face. “I should run, they will follow. I am only one life. I could save the whole village.” Cahan stood in the warming air of Least not knowing what to say. Then he put a hand on Venn’s shoulder.

“Harn is doomed whether you are here or not, and that is because of me. No matter what you think.” His mind racing. Thought after thought. And in among those thoughts, hope, only a little, but that was all that was needed sometimes. “But if you stay, Venn, you may really save this place.”

“How?”

“We only need to hold the Rai, Venn, for one day. Then they will pull back and build siege machinery to bombard the village. If they have a couple of really powerful Rai, they will not even need the machinery. But while they prepare, the villagers will realise defending Harn is impossible, and we will escape to the forest with them.” Venn looked at him, wondering what this could have to do with them. “But you, Venn, are too valuable for them to drop fire or rocks on us. I spoke truth to the Forestal, though I did not know it. They need you, and they will have to get close to take you alive, they cannot even throw spears at us, never mind fireballs. You give us a chance, Venn. If any of these people survive, it will be because of you.” The trion stared at him. “So stand straight and bring the wood. It is more important than ever.” He turned back to Harn. Looking over the wall at them was Ont, the butcher. Cahan felt sure he was too far away to hear what they had said, but then again, the woods were strange and sound could carry.

The butcher turned away.

“Come, Venn,” said Cahan. “We have much to do.”

With that they walked into Harn, and despite the holes in the wall and that, maybe on second inspection, the pit was not quite as deep as he would have liked, he felt better about defending this place than he had before.

The people of Harn had gathered before the shrine of Tarl-an-Gig where Udinny spoke to them. They wore bright colours, stood together in twos and threes watching the monk. It was odd, but from a distance Udinny appeared slightly taller than he remembered, longer of leg. Some trick of being raised above them on the shrine no doubt. He also thought they were cleverer than he gave them credit for. In Udinny’s place he would have torn down the shrine of Tarl-an-Gig, shown that Ranya had power here now. Udinny had not, she recognised the people were scared and that they needed familiarity to cling onto. So she stood before them and told them one of the old stories, about Iftal, and how much they loved the people, enough to break themselves apart for them.

“… and remember,” shouted Udinny, “when the cowls first came, the people thought them more a curse than a blessing. They were frightened, because the Osere had forbidden them. But they had forbidden them because they feared them.” Cahan smiled to himself, thinking on how she prepared them for what he brought. “Now, I see our protectors are here,” Udinny pointed at him and Venn. “We should hear them, and we should remember not to be afraid.”

Cahan was grateful for their words, but knew, no matter how Udinny tried to prepare these people, fear was coming. Fear like they had never known.