56

The morning dawned bright and cold. Cahan’s stomach hurt, it felt like the small amount he had eaten might come back up.

The villagers stood in two groups before the Tiltgate, one larger than the other. In among the larger group Cahan saw Ont, his great size making him hard to miss. Furin led the other. They both held spears and shields and wore their brightly coloured, boiled sap armour. The bows were nowhere to be seen. The two reborn women stood between them, so still that they appeared to not really be a part of this world, and they would remain that way until that moment they were called upon. The whole scene was wreathed in early morning mist, the light above piercing it in shafts that made him squint and cover his eyes.

Sometimes it took the harshest of lights for someone to see clearly.

That light had shone upon him. He had come through the darkness of the night and seen the truth of himself.

He had run all his life from what he was, what he could be.

And sometimes you must stop running. Realise it was not what you were, but who you could be.

“Stay there, Clanless, do not climb the wall,” that from Ont, staring out over the crowd of villagers around him. “We do not want the first face the Rai see to be yours, and for them to think we did all this for you.” He gestured towards the walls with a huge hand.

“You did do it for him,” Udinny from behind him, walking up with Venn to join Cahan. The look Ont gave her was not the one of a man with good intentions.

“A Rai is approaching!”

A pause in the day. A stillness born of fear.

“Leoric! Come speak with me, Leoric of Harn!” The double wall stopped anyone seeing inside the village, but blocked Cahan’s view. He moved so he could see out through a gap between the Tiltgates. The speaker’s armour was decorated with the signs and awards of many battles, the carving on it ornate. They had their visor down, the face on it of a grimacing, bearded man. It made him think of Saradis, the Skua-Rai who had taken him from here so many years before. When they lifted the visor he could not tell if the Rai was man, woman or trion, but he knew they were old. Far older than was natural, which meant they were a Rai of some power.

They did not speak again, not at first. Only stared at the wall while they waited for Furin to appear. Behind them, at the skirts of Woodedge, waited their army. Soldiers putting up tents, starting cooking fires from which pillars of smoke were climbing into the air. Poles were being raised to string garlands of small flags in the blue of Tarl-an-Gig and the primary colours of the soldiers’ homes. Cahan saw yellows and reds but no green, which meant they had brought no soldiers from Harn county. He wondered if Sorha was out there, or if she had paid the ultimate price for her failure.

He knew what he thought most likely.

“Iftal’s blessings to you, Rai,” shouted Furin as she stood on the ledge, looking over wall, “welcome to our village.” The Rai stared at her. Let their hearts begin to beat faster with worry before he spoke.

“I am Rai Galderin Mat-Brumar,” the Rai shouted back, “and I am saddened that you do not open your gates for us, Leoric. We come in the name of the Cowl-Rai and Tarl-an-Gig.” The Rai’s brow furrowed. “We do not understand why you have fortified your village against us, when you also sent me your envoys. It is an odd thing to do.” They were trying to sound jovial, but their voice was like the scratching of one tree branch against another. A grating that gradually wore away the bark to create a scar. A wound upon the air.

“My apologies, Rai Galderin,” said Furin, and her voice did not waver or show any fear. “But our last experience of the Rai was a poor one, and it frightened my people. Then with the news of the treefall in the forest we have become worried about Forestals as well. Why, only yesterday they were at our gates.” Cahan heard a hollow laugh, and looked over to see Ania and her archers, crouched before one of the roundhouses, sharing some dried meat.

“Sensible, then,” said the Rai, “to fortify your village.” The Rai paused, looking back at their soldiers. “We bring troops to protect you, we bring food, we bring engineers who will build for you. Rai Sorha, who came before, she had been through an ordeal at the hands of the man you know as Cahan Du-Nahere. He is a criminal and a dangerous one. But she overstepped her bounds, hurt your people.” These sweet words, like sap oozing from the Rai’s mouth, were meant to entice Furin and the villagers, to pull them in the way sap pulled in tiny flyers. But like the sweet tree sap, once they were pulled in they would be trapped and they would be consumed. From the way the villagers were gathering round Ont, and from the way he was smiling Cahan knew they did not understand the danger, they heard only the sweet drip of his words. “I am not here to hurt you or your people, Leoric. I am here to help you. To bring what you need to administer the treefall, together we will bring plenty to Harn. I also wish to apologise for Rai Sorha, who acted badly towards you.” Then the false bonhomie fell away, the thorn below the sap revealed. “Now open your gates, and hand over Cahan Du-Nahere and the trion called Venn.”

“What if we do not have those people?” shouted Furin, her voice sounded small and thin when compared to that of the Rai, who amplified theirs with the help of their cowl. The Rai did not answer straightaway. Ont said something to those about him and Cahan watched them spread into formation, as he had trained them to when readying for a fight. They did not lower their spears, but they held them ready.

The two reborn now no longer still as statues, they felt the threat in the air. Their spears slid down and they held them across their bodies. A small action but an obvious threat.

“If you do not have them?” said the Rai. “If you have let them go? Then I doubt anyone here will be the sort the Cowl-Rai needs to oversee treefall. In fact, the Cowl-Rai will be very disappointed, and I have little use for those who disappoint the Cowl-Rai.” The spears of those gathered around Ont came down. They pointed them at Cahan, Venn and Udinny. Ont smiled at the forester. The voice of the Rai was cold now, cold as deepest Harsh. “You, Leoric Furin, I am afraid will no longer rule here no matter what happens. Accept that with grace.”

“Why?” said Furin, and Cahan knew then that she was as strong as any cloudtree, her voice did not waver.

“You have made poor decisions. What sort of Leoric sends away their village’s monk of Tarl-an-Gig? Fortunately for Harn, we found him. He told us you cast him aside in favour of some strange wanderer who follows a weak and useless god. You doom your people to an afterlife with the Osere! Deny them the Star Path!” He let the ring of his words in the clearing die out before speaking again. “I have heard the name Ont, from your monk. Let me speak to him. He will be Leoric now.” Ont smiled at Cahan. The forester wanted to wipe the grin from his face with his axes.

“He is here, Rai! The man you want,” shouted Ont. “We will send him to you!”

The reborn moved like wind. One moment they were by the gate, the next before Cahan. Spears lowered, visors down. Ont’s smile fell away, for though he might not have seen them fight he had heard of their prowess. “You promised, Clanless,” Ont pointed at him, “that if the village wanted it you would give yourself up.” He looked around; not all the villagers had joined him but there were enough, they were shuffling to flank him, spears out. They were scared, and for good reason. If they continued to advance on the reborn it would be a bloodbath. “So is your word good or not?” said Ont.

Anger within Cahan.

The fire growing. The burning within.

The reborn, and him, together? These villagers could not hold them. He would walk over them as if they were not there.

By the roundhouse the Forestals stood, forestbows strung, arrows in their hands. Cahan wondered if they would help him or the villagers, or simply stand and watch. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“This is where we are meant to be,” said Venn. The fire cooled a little and in that space, between the fire and the cooling of it, Cahan found himself lost. There were no good choices here.

“Where is Dyon?” that from Udinny. Shouted at the villagers. “Why make Ont Leoric if he has Dyon? Why not simply bring Dyon forward and have him tell us it is safe and he is to rule?” A pause. Ont’s group of villagers stopped shuffling forward. Then one of them called out, Cahan was sure it was Aislinn, the one-eyed gate guard.

“Aye, where is Dyon,” she said it loudly and clearly from the front row of the wall of spears and shields. As she spoke she lowered her weapon. “And where are the rest of them that went with him?” The villagers of the shield wall looked to one another, questions were exchanged. Ont’s smile fell away.

“Dyon will return with the Rai,” he said.

“My firstwife, Grilas, went with them,” said a woman among Ont’s people. “I want to see her afore we trust the Rai.”

“Well?” shouted the Rai from outside the village, “where is Cahan Du-Nahere? Do you have him or not?” Furin looked down on them, on her people, and Cahan wondered what she made of this, of how changeable they were, of how little she could rely on them. Then he saw her nod, and the smallest nod came back to her from Aislinn. It was a grim thing, no joy in it, but he knew then she understood her people far better than he had given her credit for. She knew their fears, their hopes, and how the Rai could manipulate them. She had planned for it as best she could. He turned to Udinny.

“Furin told you to ask of Dyon?”

“She is very wise,” said Udinny.

“Rai!” shouted Furin from her place on the wall. “We will gladly hand over who you seek. But there are those here whose loved ones journeyed far to see you. Farther than most in Harn have ever been, and they are worried about them. They would like to see Dyon and his party.”

“They will come in with me,” said Rai Galderin. “And what you want no longer matters.”

“But you know what simple people are like, Rai,” said Furin, “suspicious, frightened. It costs you nothing to send Dyon and our envoys back. To calm the people of Harn and ease your way.”

“It is poor of them, not to trust me, Leoric,” shouted Galderin into the stillness. “I am sent by their Cowl-Rai.”

“Cahan,” whispered Venn, “why does he not send Dyon and the others back?”

“Could be he does not want to lose face,” said Udinny.

“It could be,” Cahan lowered his voice so the villagers around him could not hear, “but it is more likely that they tortured and killed them all to find out what they knew. They do not bring Dyon because they cannot bring Dyon.” The Rai was staring up at Furin, they slipped their visor back down.

“Very well,” said the Rai, “you want this Dyon? I will bring Dyon.” He turned and waved a hand, some pre-arranged signal with his troops. Soldiers came forward, walking Dyon with them, his head bowed and his hands bound. The Rai took him from the soldiers, marched him to the edge of the deepest pit that surrounded the village.

“Where are the rest?” said Furin.

“Dead,” said the Rai. “It was a dangerous journey.” No inflection or life in their voice. “This man, this Dyon. He will teach you a lesson that clearly needs to be learned.” He angled his carved visor up at Furin. “That people like you should know their place.” The Rai put a hand on Dyon’s shoulder, and only now Cahan saw they had gagged him with a filthy strip of material. “There is a punishment for those who do not know their place, my friend Vanhu taught it to me,” the Rai was shouting now, making sure the entire village could hear. “It is a trick of the cowl, he called it ‘The Ember’, because it burns slowly. Starts at the feet and fingers and moves inwards. It only burns the skin.” For the first time, there was real joy in the Rai’s voice. “Those inflicted die eventually, but it takes days.” Dyon was shaking his head, struggling to escape, but he was no match for the Rai holding him. “This Dyon of yours, I will send him back to you with The Ember upon him. You can watch him dying, decide if that is how you also want to die.” Cahan felt a heat, the drawing of power, and his cowl squirmed beneath his skin. Venn’s mouth fell open and the trion looked like they were about to vomit. An agonised noise filled the air. Dyon, trying to scream through his gag as he writhed in the Rai’s grasp.

“There is a price for defiance,” said the Rai, and he let go of Dyon. The man dropped to writhe in the mud before Harn. “Your village will pay that price. Many of you are going to die now, Leoric, because of your choice here. The people must know their place. So you must decide,” the Rai looked down at Dyon, “how steep the price your people pay will be.” They kicked Dyon. “I will let you come and get this man, you can consider him until the light is at its highest. Think about whether you wish to die like him. I have heard Tarl-an-Gig welcomes no traveller on the path to his star if they come to him screaming.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Dyon behind. Cahan felt a weight, all eyes on him.

“Reborn,” he said. “Bring the man in.” Ont stared at him. He had expected hate from him, but what he saw was shock. Fear.

“Can we really fight them, Clanless?” he said.

“We have no choice,” that from the wall. Furin watching as the reborn brought in her second, her friend, in the first agonising throes of a long death.