Hallsfoot's Battle (11 page)

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not sure I can
really answer your question, Simon. Where does anger and
unhappiness come from? Why are there wars? All the books and
legends in the whole of our world won’t ever answer that, but
perhaps the beginnings of understanding lie in the way we were
made. When the light from the Spirit’s hand broke into a thousand
pieces, perhaps some of those pieces missed the source of their
being so much that the good within them was lost or damaged.
Perhaps, returning is what we all long for, and what we fight for
is a desire which can never, in fact, be satisfied in this
life.”

In the silence that filled the spaces and the
meditation between them after she’d finished speaking, Annyeke
blinked. She’d sounded wiser than she’d realised and couldn’t help
but smile to herself. She doubted it would happen again, at least
not in this day-cycle, so she’d better make the most of it while it
lasted.

It was Simon who spoke first.

“And while we wait for the answers,” he said,
“why not continue with the legend? Tell me, Annyeke, where conflict
began.”

“All right.” She closed her eyes and took
herself into that space in her mind that allowed her to speak and
feel at the same time.

“Conflict began in the New Lands, a place
where people are most skilled in planting and bringing crops to
fruition—or were, before these Wars. Back in the times when legends
were not yet written, a man came to the notice of the leaders of
the New Landers, but not in a good way. He was the sort of man who
wanted more than he would ever achieve, who muttered darkly about
the success of others and who desired the highest positions in the
land.”

“What was his name?” Simon whispered, and
Annyeke could sense the full focus of his attention on her.

“His name was Javagathlon,” she said, “or
rather that was what his name became. In the language of the
ancient New Landers, it means Lust. His true name is lost to us now
but, in any case, it no longer matters. In our world, people become
the qualities they most cling to. Lust he became and Lust he will
always be. For him, the legends tell us, his obsession started with
looking at the power and privilege held by the leaders of his
people and desiring it most of all. From that, the colours of his
mind changed from those he was born with and became red and purple,
the colours of violence.”

“Colours of the mind?” Simon interrupted
again, the confusion evident in his tone. She had no need to look
at him, fixed as she was on the inner and outer ramifications of
her story.

“Yes,” she replied. “Here in Gathandria, we
are able to sense who people are and the shape of their inner
worlds by the colours they carry inside. You are most like blue and
I am green. At least, those are our base colours, although they
change with the days and the moods.”

“Why can’t I see that, then?”

She smiled, opened her eyes briefly and saw
the frown on his face. “You can. You just don’t fully acknowledge
it yet. But, please, may I continue?”

He blushed. “Of course, forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. In the New
Lands, Javagathlon looked and looked at the leaders, and hatred
grew in his breast for all they had that he did not, although, in
our terms, that was little enough. At the same time, the colours of
Lust, red, purple and black, also grew in him. And when colours are
strong enough in tone or when their arrival in a character fights
against what that character truly should be, they soon become out
of control, influencing, for either good or bad, both the people in
which they dwell and those around them.

“Only a moon-cycle or two passed before
Javagathlon drew others to himself, in whom the colours of Lust
most easily flourished. They met secretly, in the richest part of
the night when neither of their moons was full, or just before dawn
when all their people slept. At first, their Lust was unstructured
and all their meetings were filled with nothing but talk, when
hatred and envy ran free. This only satisfied them for a while.
Soon, Javagathlon stood before them and made his first speech
inciting rebellion.

“The sky was filled with strange noises on
that night when they met in a copse near Javagathlon’s largest
cornfield. Birds shrieked and field wolves howled, even when not on
the hunt, though no danger approached that small group of men
destined to change all. Perhaps danger itself was wary.

“Why must we suffer the way things have
always been, the rebel leader said, when we can fight the so-called
leaders and take what should be ours? They have houses and fields
and crops enough, whereas we stand helplessly by, tilling our poor
soil and producing barely enough to keep us alive. The New Lands
have had their fill of injustice; the time is right for real
leaders to fight back. They are weak and unprepared, but we are
strong and ready for the justice of victory. Here and now, while
the mood is on us and the season is right, we must make our
stand.

“Javagathlon was not a tall or noble-looking
man, but his words held power—as do all words indeed, whether
spoken or thought—and his followers had soon fallen in with his
plans. Lust finds many playmates, whatever the desired object may
be. It took, so the books tell us, only two seven-day-cycles for
the rebellion to be fully ready. Any longer and Javagathlon feared
that the onset of winter in the New Lands might put his plans in
jeopardy. For now, the people were busy with the harvest, but their
hard labour would soon end. It might have been this industry that
prevented the leaders from discovering what plans were laid against
them.

“On the darkest night of the New Lander
year-cycle and at the coldest hour, the rebels struck. They stormed
the huts of the three main leaders in the largest of their
villages, killed several women and children who had no means of
defending themselves, drove out the menfolk and set the unharvested
fields on fire. It is a mystery why men do these things. I imagine
that the riches and size of the leaders’ fields were what
Javagathlon and the followers of Lust desired, but nevertheless
this is what the legends recount. Afterwards, they rejoiced and
drank in the homes they had plundered and used the treasures they
had stolen in whatever way they wished. Those around them were
terrified at what had happened in their midst, as such an attack
and the reasons behind it had no precedent in their history. They
did not dare to question it, and so Javagathlon became their leader
in the place of those who had been driven away, and Lust had its
way amongst the New Lander people.”

In the pause she left at the end of this
section of the tale, Annyeke could hear Simon’s rapid
breathing.

“What happened then?” he asked her, his voice
unsteady. “Surely, that is not the end of the tale you wished to
tell me? For if it is, then nothing can be learned apart from the
things I already know of the world, that everything ends in
darkness and evil desires. By the gods and stars, tell me it is not
so.”

She nodded, eyes remaining closed. “Nothing
is truly over until the world itself ends, or so those wiser than I
am say. But for every evil act, there is an opposite ranged against
it. That is what the Spirit says and I believe it to be true. Yes,
there is more to this story.”

“Then tell me,” he breathed.

“I will,” she smiled. “For the people of the
New Lands had not chosen their leaders entirely unwisely. Amongst
those who were forced to flee when the rebellion first rose against
them was a man named Kadron. That, in their ancient language, means
Fortitude and, once again, his original name is lost to us, but
Kadron he remains. He was as opposite to Javagathlon as the
day-cycle is to the night. The lustful man was small and dark, and
the man of fortitude tall and fair, an imposing presence amongst
any nation. The colours of his mind were gold and cream, and all
the evil in the world could not overcome them.

“For a while, Kadron and the leaders and
people who gathered to him lay low in the wood’s secret places and
healed the wounds, both of the body and of the mind that they bore.
Worst of all these was the murder of Kadron’s wife and only child,
a daughter, in the battle. Many day-cycles found him weeping with
the dawn and crying with the stars. But men of courage are not laid
in the dust forever and soon, as the winter truly commenced, Kadron
knew he could not abandon his people.

“So he gathered them together into what men
and women later called the Cave of Determination, and spoke to them
in this way:

“We in the New Lands are a peaceful people.
At least, that is what we were. But, when we did not expect it,
evil men have risen up from amongst us and murdered our loved ones,
snatched away our livelihoods and driven us from our homes. I
cannot tell you how such an event has come to pass, but you know
how much it has taken from me personally and I regret the laxity in
my and my fellow leaders’ counsel that evil has had its way. But,
for the sake of my people, I cannot let wickedness go unpunished.
Although we are not trained in war, I believe it is time to learn,
time to fight back and time to recover what is rightfully ours.
Have fortitude, my people and, by the gods and stars around us,
surely good will prevail.

“These words fired up the New Landers, and
Kadron and his people fought the rebels at the Battle of Long Corn
Meadow. This was the first battle noted down in the legends of
Gathandria and all our neighbours. The weapons they used were
sticks, stones and harvest tools. They used no subterfuge and no
New Lander has ever possessed mind-powers. They simply attacked
Javagathlon and the rebels at dawn in the heart of the village as
the snows started, and the fighting continued, bloody and cruel,
until midday.

“Because the villagers had not had any
warning of what would occur, there was no true understanding of
what was happening, and many died needlessly. Some who wished to
fight for Kadron were unable to reach him before being cut down,
whereas others who had opted to fight on the side of Lust could not
reach Javagathlon and caused mayhem in the ranks of those who had
chosen Fortitude. Whilst the initial numbers of those fighting were
men, and few at that, soon others, women and children, too, joined
them from the village and its surrounding hamlets, from the fields
and from the woods. They came because they did not know the reasons
for such an uproar and, once there, it was impossible to escape as
the crush was so great.

“Not only that, but fields and houses were
set on fire during the battle, and this brought those who saw the
smoke but who were too far away to hear the sound of the dying.

“The fighting continued until—and surely from
the beginning it was inevitable—at last Kadron and Javagathlon came
face to face with each other. When that occurred, the sound of the
battle gradually faded away. The soil was black with blood and even
the birds and dogs were silent, most of the latter perhaps already
dead. I do not know. The books do not tell us that.

“When Kadron, Man of Fortitude, gazed at his
heart’s enemy, compassion for the weaker man filled his mind. In
spite of all that had happened, the slaughter of his family and the
day-cycle’s terrible battle, he saw the lust that had twisted the
character of a New Lander he had once known to an unrecognisable
madness, and wondered, even then, if some good thing could be
wrought in the midst of so much pain.

“So he dropped the strong staff he was
holding to the ground and stretched out his hand, part in mercy,
part in judgement, to Javagathlon. And these are the words Kadron
spoke, words that echoed through the silent air to the ears of all
who remained alive:

“What we do here is wrong and you know it.
Why did you start such a terrible series of events? Why do you long
for what you cannot have? It is madness to destroy the peace we
once possessed and to bring us to the cruel shedding of blood in
this way. You will not win, Javagathlon. Your lust and overpowering
desires cannot conquer forever the fortitude of those who have
right on their side. Come, we can stop this now, the two of us.
Surrender to me and my people and let the good harvest of the New
Lands flourish again. Yes, there will be punishment for what you
have done here on this day-cycle, but you can know that your
surrender brought respite to us all.

“With that, Kadron rested his hand on his
enemy’s shoulder, hoping by that gesture to bring about the
resolution he and his people so desperately needed. Javagathlon
lifted up his left hand to take hold of the Man of Fortitude’s
fingers. And, with his right, still clutching a weeding knife, he
cut off Kadron’s hand.

“Kadron cried out and the sky above echoed
the pain. Even the unseen stars from which all things were made
twisted in agony at such a betrayal. And the blood flowed free, so
free that none could stop it.

“Javagathlon laughed as his opponent began to
die. But that laughter was his undoing also. With his final
breaths, Kadron snatched the weeding knife with his remaining hand
and plunged it into the Man of Lust’s throat. The two men were
dead. Lust and Fortitude breathed no more.

“For a long time then, silence reigned
supreme over the battle, although no more fighting took place. With
the death of both leaders, the spirit of conflict left the people
and the only emotion remaining was grief and, on the part of the
Followers of Lust, fear too. Javagathlon’s men fled, but were
captured or cut down as they ran. Soon, only a few remained. In the
end, Fortitude triumphed over Lust, but the cost for both was high.
It took many generation-cycles for peace to have its full way in
their land and, even now, the tale of Fortitude and Lust is told to
all New Landers when they are old enough to hear its message. And,
of course, it is the basis of all Gathandrian tales.”