James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

The Silent Priest stood and gestured Katyett to him. He took her by an elbow and led her away from the ears of others. Katyett felt nervous. There were things Serrin did not know. Terrible things. And she feared the inevitable question. He seemed to sense her anxiety.

‘Is Auum still alive?’ she asked, hoping to deflect him for a moment.

Serrin released her elbow and instead put an arm about her shoulders.

‘It is very difficult to kill Auum. More difficult with each passing day.’ He paused. ‘Jarinn is dead, is he not? I can see no way in which he could be allowed to live.’

Katyett felt stunned. She stopped and looked briefly away to Ysundeneth, where fresh smoke was rising into the darkening sky

‘How can you know that?’ she asked. ‘He was murdered by men acting for an Ynissul cascarg. Hithuur. Olmaat was burned trying to save him.’

Serrin sucked in his lip. ‘Hithuur? The betrayal goes high. What I have seen. Katyett… Auum was forced to spill the blood of men on the floor of Aryndeneth. They unleashed their magic in the temple. Sildaan has betrayed us too and seeks a return of the Ynissul to dominance over the elves. Throughout the rainforest, villages fear a new War of Bloods. Hope is dying out there.’

Katyett wiped a hand across her mouth. ‘Sildaan. Not a name I would have associated with this.’

‘I presume Takaar was denounced?’

‘And that denouncement unleashed a tide of hatred across Ysundeneth. The temple of Yniss has been burned and hundreds died inside. Ynissul are being targeted for slaughter by every other thread. I had to bring them here or risk more lives. Is Sildaan really the architect of this? It makes no sense. She wants dominance yet it is Ynissul who are dying in their hundreds. There will be too few left. She’s just handing power to the Tualis.’

Serrin shook his head. ‘It goes higher than Sildaan. It must do. Into the higher echelon of the priesthood. Lorius may have set the denouncement in motion but he would not have wished for this, I’m certain.’

‘Indeed not. He died alongside Jarinn.’

Serrin gasped. ‘Lorius too? That is a heavy blow. The Tualis are without reason now. Who survived?’

‘Lorius and Jarinn are the only two we know have died. We believe the rest of the government is safe but we know little of their whereabouts or plans.’

‘Some will be living in fear. Some will be tending to their people. Some will be plotting. We need names. This may not be simply an Ynissul betrayal.’

‘What can we do?’ asked Katyett. ‘Realistically. The TaiGethen numbered just a hundred and seventeen before the trouble began. We are few and this magic seems massively powerful. The Al-Arynaar are struggling to keep themselves cohesive let alone maintain order in Ysundeneth. If the threads truly separate we’ll be powerless to stop whoever it is from taking control.’

‘There is always hope, Katyett. Save the Ynissul gathered here. Have faith that the harmony is strong in the souls of elves and that it can never truly be broken, only hidden. We can return to peace. But only if we believe.’

Katyett studied Serrin’s face. Something was missing from Serrin’s plan.

‘Where is Auum, my priest?’

‘Auum has gone to find Takaar.’ Harbourside seethed. Seven different threads were represented by the time Pelyn reached the harbour master’s warehouse. Some carried makeshift arms – boathooks, chains and shovels. Most relied on the weapons with which they were born.

She saw them trade insults across decreasing space. The knots of elves were closing slowly on the thin line of Al-Arynaar ranged across the front of the warehouse. Several hundred Tualis and Beethans had taken central positions. Gyalans, Cefans and Orrans were there too in smaller numbers. Ixii and Apposans, in tight knots of twenty or so, looked for opportunity on the flanks.

The Al-Arynaar had withdrawn to secure the building. Pelyn was disappointed to see that they had arranged themselves to minimise the chance of fighting one of their own thread. She shouldn’t blame them, but the move, conscious or not, spoke much about the state of mind of her warriors.

So far, the threads had not come to concerted blows amongst themselves, managing to maintain their distance from each other. But the gaps were closing. Each wanted first access to the warehouse. The Al-Arynaar were an impediment. Pelyn’s appearance took a little of the boldness from them and she was quick to bolster the confidence of the forty or so of her warriors who stood in crumbling defiance.

‘Al-Arynaar, I am proud of each of you. Wear your cloak with pride and remember the reason you took it. We stand to defend the harmony for all elves. I stand with you. I will not desert you. I know what you fear. You fear striking down one of your own. I am Tuali. Tualis stand before us. I will strike them down if I must. A Tuali who attacks me has betrayed both thread and harmony. We all know the sentence for such crimes.’

Pelyn swung round to face the approaching mob. Her voice would not reach them all over the shouting, stamping and clashing, and the chanting of ages-old songs that had no place outside a lesson in the history of the bleakest days.

‘I am Pelyn, Arch of the Al-Arynaar. I and my warriors, drawn from every thread, are tasked by Yniss to defend our people, cities, buildings and streets. We defend every cobblestone, every pane of glass and every timber. We will not flinch from our duty. We cannot. Come no further. Return to your homes. Return to peace. The supplies in this warehouse are the property of the city and will be dispensed on the basis of need.’

They paid her no heed. She knew they wouldn’t.

‘We will strike any who seek to harm us. You are so warned. Al-Arynaar. To ready.’

The swords of the Al-Arynaar, held low until now, were all brought up and forward. Each warrior took a pace to the front to the ready stance. Those with shields moved them into defensive position. Pelyn walked along the thin single line, some fifty yards long. At every pace she spoke for their ears only.

‘None of these can fight. Remember your training. Fight for your brothers and sisters. No one before you can beat you.’

‘And if they fight among themselves?’ asked one.

‘Then let them. Those who remove themselves are doing the rest of us a favour. Any of you want any of these to bring up the next generation of elves? Think on it and temper your sympathy.’

The space in front of the Al-Arynaar was disappearing quickly. In the centre the Beethans and Tualis closed on each other, both groups pressing forward into the inadequate space. There was no clear leadership and the formation was chaotic. The inevitable happened. Right at the back the two sides came together. Fighting broke out. Fists and feet. Pushing and shoving. For now.

‘Steady,’ called Pelyn. ‘Hold your positions.’

The advance was immediately distracted. Heads turned. People began to move back. Elves stepped out of line. They collided with their foes. The two threads surged at each other.

‘Hold!’ shouted Pelyn. ‘Hold!’

Bodies were hitting the ground. With a massed roar, Tuali and Beethan let fly at each other. Pelyn saw a boathook buried in the top of a skull and blood fountain into the air. The wielder was engulfed in furious Tualis. Chains whirled and crashed down. Feet stamped on bodies that lay in the dirt of the cobblestones. Fingers raked across faces. Fists ripped out clumps of hair. Knives flashed in the fading light as the rains closed in.

Behind the warring factions another group was on the move. They headed left around the conflict. Running hard. And from the right, others moved to mirror them.

‘Flanks, brace for attack. Centre, hold your ground. Facing forward. Jakyn, with me,’ said Pelyn.