Hallsfoot's Battle (25 page)

“Why would the Spirit request such a thing of
you? Eating the leaves of this mystical tree will fulfil what the
Spirit requires of you. It will give you wisdom such as you have
never known. More than that, it will prevent the death that hangs
like a dark stormcloud over you and your beloved. Come now, I will
show you.”

The wolf leaves Sloth and lopes over towards
the tree that is forbidden. Sloth tastes the bile in his throat,
thinks to warn the creature that what he is doing is madness but
does not have the strength to speak. Still, he cannot stop staring
at the animal. He does not know what will happen next nor what
punishments the Spirit will bring upon the wolf’s boldness.

While Sloth watches, the wolf pads to the
gnarled tree and gazes into its long branches, as if greeting an
old friend. Then the animal stretches upwards, resting its paws on
the bark and takes a sprig of the needle-shaped leaves into its
mouth. Sloth gasps, expects to see the wolf struck down or at least
injured.

Nothing like that happens.

Instead the wolf chews and swallows the
leaves, pads back to Sloth and sits down in front of him. The
animal smiles. “Learn from this. When I eat from the mind-cypress,
there is neither the death nor punishment you so wrongly fear. No.
The wisdom that resides in the tree expands my thoughts and makes
me stronger, as the Gathandrian Spirit desires, and as it wants you
to learn to do, also. See how I am changed for the good.”

Indeed, the green and golden fire of the
wolf’s eyes has already softened to a sandy glow and Sloth sees a
shimmering light resting around its head. There is something here
that he has never experienced before and that he wants. In spite of
his satisfaction with the way things have always been, he wonders
for the first time whether there can, in fact, be more, with the
Spirit’s approval. And the wolf surely has that as it still
lives.

One thing holds him back. “What about my
sister?”

“Do not fret,” soothes the wolf. “When you
eat of the leaves, the wisdom you gain from the Spirit will allow
you to take some to her, also. Believe me and it will be so.”

The animal opens its jaws wider and breathes
on Sloth. The air is perfumed with lemons and spices. The scent of
it enters his mind and a path of golden happiness opens up before
him.

“Yes,” he says. “I will eat and grow
wise.”

Sloth rises. The sun glistens the cypress
leaves and the tree is calling him. He walks towards the mind-tree,
leaving the wolf behind, and he can hear music that pulsates to the
beat of his heart. It is coming from the tree. Notes drift out from
the leaves—yellow, blue, gold—and touch his skin. It is the most
beautiful thing he has ever seen. He is standing at the tree now.
Unable to help himself, he finds he is laughing. Fingers reach up
to pluck long, green leaves and the juice of them melts over his
palm. He can smell their bright, grassy scent. Without pausing to
think, or even wanting to, he puts the first of the leaves on his
tongue. It tastes like the best broth Prudence had ever made, the
earliest gleanings of the corn harvest and the first bite of the
honeycomb from the bees behind the house. All these memories spring
to his mind, but the taste is more than the sum of them, more than
he can describe.

He finds himself lying on his back staring up
at the sun. All the trees are singing. Laughter continues to bubble
up in his throat as he chews and swallows the mind-medicine. He
will know all things after this, he thinks. He will be able to
please the Gathandrian Spirit, and fulfilment of life and happiness
will more truly be his.

As he swallows the last bite, he hears the
wolf behind him, laughing. But the animal’s laughter is neither
open nor free. It is full of mystery, holding at its centre the
knowledge of all the world. When he opens his eyes, Sloth
understands that the whole sky and earth are rich with wisdom and
it can be his for the taking. The decision as to how he should live
his life is his, and his alone. The Spirit of Gathandria is not the
master of either his mind or his destiny.

He sits up. Seeing the wolf is near, he hugs
the animal whilst filling his mouth with the remaining leaves.
There are so many things he wants to do—run through the cypress
woods, plunge into the stream that flows through the path between
the house and the meadow, cry out his exultation to the sun. But
there is one act more important than all of these, and he must do
it now before his heart leaps out of his flesh.

“I must tell these things to my sister,” he
pants, words tumbling over themselves in their haste to be out of
his mouth. “Prudence must taste the wisdom of the leaves. I cannot
keep these joys from her.”

The wolf laughs again, and the sound of it is
like the promise of rain on a dry summer-cycle day. “Come then, we
will go to her and she, too, will know what you now understand. The
two of you will be like the gods and stars, and the Spirit of
Gathandria will not be able to stand against you.”

Before Sloth can object, the wolf rears up on
its hind legs once more and the two of them are flung into another
breathless journey through the air. When he is next able to
recognise his surroundings, Sloth knows he is back in his bed-area,
the wolf at his side.

Prudence is calling at his curtain. “My
brother, wake up. It is time for us to greet the day.”

Heart beating fast and his throat filled with
all the words he longs to tell her, he leaps over the wolf and
flings aside the heavy red velvet she made for his privacy. Hugging
her slight form to him, he feels more than ever that he has indeed
come home.

Prudence smiles. He can sense the movement
even though he cannot see her face. Her confusion is also evident.
He does not usually greet her appearance at his bedside in the
morning with such enthusiasm. This thought makes him smile,
too.

He holds her a little away from himself. “I
have great and marvellous news.”

“And what might that be, brother of mine?
Oh!...”

The exclamation is the result of her first
sighting of the wolf as the animal lopes into her vision. She steps
back, pulling Sloth with her. “What is that creature? Has it hurt
you?”

“No, no, not at all. Calm your fears, my
beloved sister. The wolf has been good to me. See, I will show
you.”

Gently, Sloth releases himself from
Prudence’s protective grip and hunkers down, stretching his arms
towards the animal. The wolf pads across and nuzzles his hand,
licking the fingers where they are still holding the remains of the
leaves. However, the animal does not touch them.

Sloth smiles. “See, there is no need to be
frightened.”

Prudence still frowns, but asks, “What has
this creature done that you should be so trusting?”

Sloth tells her the tale, what he has seen
and what he has done. His sister listens with all her familiar
intensity. She likes to weigh words as if they were bread before
she speaks her thoughts. It is a gift he has come to rely on.

When he is finished, he steps back from her
and waits. The wolf sits up, ears pricked and head to one side.
Sloth wonders if it will speak again but it does not. Perhaps it
understands that further conversation will not sway Prudence’s
decision.

“What proof do you have that the Gathandrian
Spirit wished you to eat the leaves of the forbidden tree?” she
asks him. “If the Spirit wanted us to know we were not living the
life it desired for us, why not simply show us that?”

Sloth doesn’t know what to say to this, but
it does not matter as, at last, his strange companion speaks.

“It is a test,” says the wolf, “and because
of your caution and need for comfort and familiarity, you have not
faced it. Because of this, I have come to you to give you the life
you should be leading. Eat, Prudence, eat of the leaves your
brother brings you and be thankful. For then you will know all
things and your wisdom will be complete. Indeed, you and your
brother will converse with the Gathandrian Spirit as equals and you
will be like all the gods and stars themselves. But if you do not
do what I say, you will die. Go into the fields and see the storm
of death is already approaching.”

Prudence’s face pales as if lit by too much
sun. Then, in the next heartbeat, the sky outside turns dark and
the sound of thunder fills the house.

The wolf leaps to the window.

“Already, it is too late,” it cries. “Come,
eat and live.”

Sloth finds that the wolf’s muzzle nudges his
hand and he is stretching out his fingers towards his sister. The
leaves glow green and gold even in the darkness or, perhaps, that
is the animal’s eyes as he cannot tell where his own body ends and
the all-encompassing dark begins.

Above the noise of thunder, Prudence screams.
Tearing himself away from the wolf, he stumbles to her side. Her
skin feels cold and she is trembling. A few leaves are still in his
hand. As the storm and darkness and terror wrap their strange anger
round the house, he doesn’t know what to do.

There is only one thing worth the doing. A
clarity he has not known before seizes his heart. He reaches his
free hand towards Prudence’s hair, where he imagines her hair will
be, and he’s right. Some instinct is guiding him in the dark.
There’s something strange and powerful inside his mind that he
thinks the cypress leaves have put there. It makes him feel
alive.

In his head, Sloth hears the wolf’s voice.
The sound is triumphant. At the same time, he is raising his hand
with its gift of leaves to his sister’s mouth.

“Eat,” he whispers in her ear, knowing she
can hear him in her thoughts and all the storms in the land cannot
stop this happening. “Eat and live.”

A flash of white in the dark and her fingers
take the leaves from him. He thinks she is crying, but he cannot
tell why. Too many other thoughts and impressions fill his mind for
him to be sure—the freedom of the sky, the way his hand felt on the
trunk of the cypress tree, and the green taste of leaves on his
tongue.

Just as the storm reaches its height,
Prudence eats the gift he has brought her from the wood.

Everything falls silent. The darkness clears
as if it has never been real and the day is itself again, although
he is sure the air has a richer colour to it. His sister stands
before him, her fingers pressed against her mouth.

“It tastes bitter,” she says. “Like a herb
you should not eat.”

Sloth shakes his head. “It tasted sweet when
I ate it. But no matter, what you have done has saved us both.
Look, the storm is gone and the morning is clear once more. We are
ourselves as the Spirit wished us to be.”

Next to him, and before his sister can reply,
the wolf howls. The sound of it pierces his mind, dividing thought
from imagination, bone from flesh. It is a grey noise, driving out
the hope he has been dwelling in. Within it lie sparks of flame
that scald his skin. Prudence screams again and tumbles to the
floor. Hands over his ears, Sloth falls across her, the instinct to
protect pushing her as far away from the wolf’s wild calling as he
can.

It can never be far enough.

For the wolf is upon them, tearing at their
bodies, drawing blood. Now its teeth glow white and its eyes are
red. Sloth cries out, hears his sister’s sobs, knows the wolf’s
meaning in his mind—you have turned away from the Spirit who would
protect you and now you are lost.

“Please. Please, have mercy,” he begs, but
his words are unheeded.

This is the true death, he thinks. I have
been deceived, and my sister and I will die.

He hugs her to him in what must be their last
moments together and reaches for her thoughts. He finds the same
torment spilling through his own, branding him a fool and a
murderer.

But as his mind begins to collapse, he senses
something else in his sister, too, something he does not have,
which is protecting him when he thought he was trying to protect
her. He senses innate strength and the willingness to fight.

She whispers, “I did not eat all the leaves,
brother. Some remain.”

She is speaking to him, and the wolf does not
hear. Perhaps it is too intent on its destruction of their bodies
and pays no attention to the link between the siblings or, perhaps,
it is this clear sanctuary in Prudence’s voice that keeps their
mind-whispers unheard by anyone but themselves. He does not
know.

“What can we do?” he breathes. “I am sorry,
I…”

“Hush, no matter. You tried to help me,
brother. Now let me help you. I have long thought that the day of
temptation would come. Now that it is here, we must use the weapons
left to us, whether they are those we have or those we have been
given.”

With that, she takes the cypress leaves
remaining in the hand as yet untorn by the wolf, gazes at Sloth
with such a look of love and acceptance that it splits him open and
then plunges her fingers and the leaves into the animal’s
mouth.

Sloth cries out as sharp teeth cut through
his sister’s flesh. He tries to pull her free, but she shakes him
off as if he is mere water. The wolf continues to tear at her hand,
saliva dripping from its mouth. There is a smell of blood and
flesh, acrid and dark. Then the animal howls. Once only. Within its
mouth, the cypress leaves are pulsating, becoming tiny green
daggers ripping into the wolf’s tongue and cheek. Its eyes glow
crimson. It breaks off its attack, staggers away.

Paying the animal no attention, Sloth turns
to his sister. Blood flows from her body and he knows the brunt of
the injuries is hers. He can barely feel the pain of his own
wounds.

She is dying.

He does not know what that means, but he
understands her mind is weakening and he cannot save it. She is
dying. Without her, he does not know what to do, how to be himself.
Without her, he is nothing.