Heartwood (3 page)

The blue Wulfengar banners waved in the early morning breeze like a flock of small birds hovering above the ground. Chonrad wondered if Procella felt disturbed by the close proximity of all the Laxony and Wulfengar lords. The invitation had specified they were not to bring large armies with them, but each lord had come accompanied by a small contingent of armed men. Having so many knights in such a small area was, he felt, inherently dangerous. He glanced across at Fulco, who pointed his thumb towards the ground with a grimace.

“Did you manage to get a look in the Castellum when you arrived last night?” Procella gestured at the building.

“No.” He fell into step beside her, dodging the swishing tail of a horse as the rider headed for the Porta. “It was dark and my knights were tired after the long journey. We set up the tent and went straight to sleep.” He did not tell her the main reason he had not visited the Temple – that part of him did not want to go in there, did not want to see the Arbor.

Procella gestured for him to follow her. “Come, I shall show you around the Temple.” As she spoke, the sound of a bell rang around the Baillium. Its chime was not harsh on the ears, but it resonated throughout him, deep in his chest.

 

IV

“Is that the Veriditas beginning?” he asked.

For a moment she looked startled. Then she laughed. “It is odd but I have heard that bell for so many years that now I hardly hear it at all. No, it is not time for the ceremony quite yet. That will start with the Tertius Campana – the third bell.”

“Are you missing anything at the moment?” He was aware each bell marked a specific item in the day's agenda.

“No.” She turned her face up to the sunshine as they walked. “Usually it would mark the Light Service, but all Services are postponed today for the Congressus.”

The Baillium bustled, filled with knights from the three countries and the Militis, but in spite of the commotion Chonrad found he could not draw his gaze away from the Castellum that reared above them, casting a shadow across a large portion of the grounds. He remembered seeing it so many years ago, this tall honey-coloured building, and he could also remember the fluttering in his stomach then, the excitement and anticipation of being chosen at the Allectus. He had been so certain they would choose him.

He could also recall walking away from the Temple after the ceremony and casting a glance back. He remembered the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the burning sensation behind his eyelids. Heartwood hadn't wanted him then; could it really have changed in all those years?

“I cannot take you inside the western part, of course,” said Procella. If she was aware his mood had darkened, she didn't mention it. “That is for the Militis only. But I can show you around the Temple.”

He did not reply. Instead, he slowed his walk as the path went over a small bridge, and he leaned over the railings and looked down at the river that splashed merrily beneath. “This is not natural, is it?”

“No.” She leaned over next to him. “The channel was dug many years ago to divert water from the Flumen that runs from the mountains, just north of Isenbard's Wall to the sea. Water is diverted here to feed the Arbor and for the use of the Militis. It runs right through the Castellum, out through the Temple and then down here and under the wall to the east of the Porta.”

The water shimmered on the stones at the bottom of the channel, momentarily blinding him. He blinked, and for a second thought he saw a shadow in the water, like a face next to his, staring up at him. He blinked again, however, and it vanished. Looking up, he saw a cloud covering the face of the sun and realised it must have been the reflection of this he had seen. More clouds lay hunched on the horizon, dark grey and ominous, and he wondered whether they were going to get rain before the day was out.

They continued walking up the road, picking their way through the piles left by the horses, to where the road met the Quad in front of the main entrance to the Castellum. The Quad was a large square of flagstones, used in pleasant weather for some meetings. But it was too small to hold the Congressus, which was going to take place in the more formal meeting place of the Curia, a large and circular ring of oak trees to one side of the Baillium. The Quad was currently full of people waiting for the start of the Veriditas. Procella pushed through them, heading for the large oak doors. At one point, Chonrad felt her warm, strong grip on his hand, as she made sure he followed.

The doors were closed while they prepared the Temple for the ceremony. But nobody closed the doors to the Dux.

“Come on.” She slipped through the gap as one of the Custodes opened the door for her.

“Are you sure?” He looked over his shoulder at the colours of many Wulfengar lords. “Does everyone get a personal tour such as this?”

“No. Only the really important people,” she said. “Well, and you, obviously.”

His retort vanished as he moved through the crack in the doors, which closed behind him, unfortunately leaving Fulco outside. Instantly, he felt as if he had stepped into another world.

The Temple was vast, much bigger than he remembered. With walls constructed from the amber mountain stone, the Temple had a high ceiling that soared above his head in a huge dome. He craned his neck to look up at the roof. The dome was inlaid with thousands of tiny panes of coloured glass that cast sunlight onto the floor in coloured shapes, as if someone had spilled a basket of jewels across the flagstones.

The Temple floor was divided into a series of concentric rings. The outer ring, the one closest to the thick stone walls, was fronted by a wooden screen with shutters, some of which were open to reveal small cubicles, each with a seat, a prayer cushion and a small table. The whole outer ring was formed from a series of these cubicles, presumably, he guessed, where the Militis spent time between the services if they wish to take private prayer or study.

At the moment, however, access to the cubicles was blocked because in the next ring, the widest one, a series of temporary wooden tiers had been erected to form a circle of seats for the ceremony, like an amphitheatre. Usually, he realised, the Temple must seem even bigger without the seating, and he vaguely remembered the wide-open space from the Allectus. This ring was for visitors, and a low wooden fence at waist height hemmed the inner edge of it, to discourage people from going into the central layers.

He followed Procella across the floor to the fence. The small gate that usually stopped visitors from going any farther lay open, so he followed her through it. The next ring was filled with water, and he realised this was the same stream he had crossed outside. The water was obviously fed into the Temple, where it circled the centre and then continued in a small channel outside.

Procella smiled at him and led him across the bridge.

The second-to-last ring was usually for Militis only. It was obviously much smaller than the huge outer circle and littered with cushions, to save the sore knees of those who came to pray. And the object of their prayers stood in the centre circle, lit by the light of the rising sun.

Chonrad stopped, letting Procella walk forward on her own. She touched her fingers to her heart, lips and forehead in a gesture of veneration. His heart pounded. It had been thirty-five years since he had last set foot in the Temple. But immediately he was taken back to the moment he had stood before the Arbor, and the wonder that had filled him then.

The Arbor was an oak tree,
the
oak tree: the one tree whose roots reached to the centre of the world, and which fed the land with its energy. It was formed, he knew, from the tears of the god Animus, who had cried when he realised he was alone in the universe, and his tears had fallen onto the land and hardened, and formed the Pectoris – the heart of all creation. And the Pectoris had fed the land with Animus's love, and around the Pectoris grew the Arbor. And since time had begun, the Arbor had protected the land, and because the land and the people were one, the Arbor and the people were one.

He could remember his mother telling the story in front of the fire in the cold winter evenings before he went to the Allectus. He remembered lying on his front, listening to his mother's soft voice, and he would stare into the flames and imagine what this wonderful tree was like.

Someone touched his arm, and a soft voice said, “What do you think?”

He cleared his throat. “It is smaller than I remember.” He turned and only then realised it wasn't Procella standing next to him but a smaller knight, with long black hair, brown skin and disturbing eyes the colour of beaten gold.

“This is Silva,” Procella said, indicating the dark-haired knight. “She is the Keeper of the Arbor. Silva, this is Chonrad of Vichton, Lord of Barle.”

“A pleasure,” Silva said, although she didn't smile, and her golden eyes glinted.

“I apologise if I insulted the Arbor.” He hoped he hadn't caused an international incident. “I was merely… I mean I remember… The last time I came, it seemed bigger… But then I was a child…”

“Calm yourself,” Silva said in her strange sing-song voice. “There is no offence taken. In fact you are correct – the Arbor would have been bigger when you were a child, you are not mistaken.”

“Is that right? Why?”

Silva arched an eyebrow. “That Question requires a very long and complicated answer.”

Procella looked up into its branches. She'd wrapped her arms around her body in a strangely defensive gesture, looking for all the world, he thought, as if she were frightened, although he couldn't imagine the brave Dux ever feeling that emotion.

“From what we understand,” Silva said, “the Arbor has been shrinking steadily over the past thousand years. Oculus's records state the height of the tree as being a good third taller than it is now.” She sighed heavily. “We think it is because of our disconnection with the land.”

“Disconnection?”

“We are taught the land and the Arbor are one, and therefore the people and the Arbor are one, are we not? Well, over the past few hundred years, we have hardly been at one with each other. There has been war after war, followed by floods and famines, and we think this has resulted in a lack of understanding of how to connect with the land, and therefore how to connect to the Arbor.”

Chonrad studied the tree as he thought about her words. Oculus, the writer of the Militis's Rule and the founder of the stone Temple that eventually became the Castellum, explained in his writings that three hundred years before his birth – over thirteen hundred years before Chonrad was born – there had been a great earthquake, which had caused the old Temple to collapse. He had written in his
Memoria
that oral tradition stated that early literature had been hidden beneath the rubble, and that maybe important information about how to look after the Arbor had been lost. Oculus had tried to find it, but had not been successful. Was it possible the truth had been buried along with the ancient writings?

He looked over at the two knights who watched him patiently but attentively. “Is that why you called the Congressus?” he asked. “You think the Arbor will continue to shrink unless we finally have peace?”

Procella shrugged. “We do not know. But it is worth a try, do you not think?”

“Are you going to explain your theory at the Congressus?”

“Do you think we should?” Silva asked.

It was Chonrad's turn to shrug. “It might help the Twelve Lands come to a peaceful decision. Without the impetus of this goal…” He did not finish his sentence, but the serious look on their faces meant they had understood:
it might not come to pass
.
 

He looked once more at Silva, with her dark hair and gold eyes. Recognition suddenly struck him. “You are from Komis!” he blurted before he could stop himself.

 

V

Silva surveyed him coolly, then nodded. “You are correct. I came to Heartwood at the age of fifteen.”

“She is the only person from Komis to have joined the Militis for twenty years,” said Procella.

Chonrad nodded with interest. His life in Laxony had led him to have very few dealings with the people of Komis, but he knew them to have a varied and colourful past. Before the time of Oculus, the Komis had been a strong, arrogant race. The King of Komis at the time had been powerful and greedy, and his desire for land had led him to mount an invasion on the eastern lands shortly after the Great Quake. In spite of his vast wealth and power amongst his people, however, he was a bad tactician. When, in a bid to show the strength of his forces, he moved his whole army into the Knife's Edge intending a secret invasion, he met a combined army of eastern knights who swiftly obliterated his troops, leaving barely a person alive. Komis suffered greatly; with nearly all their men of a certain age dead, the population declined swiftly, and the spread of the Pestilence did not help matters. Crop failure in the west was particularly bad during the cold winters of those years, and many also died from hunger. The kingdom shattered, and those who were left withdrew into the great forests to find food and shelter. And there they stayed until the present day, a race of tree-dwellers and guerrilla warriors, as alien to the easterners as a bird underground.

From what he understood, however, the people of Komis had developed a keen understanding of nature through their many generations of living in the forests. He supposed that explained why Silva was Keeper of the Arbor.

Chonrad turned his attention back once more to the Arbor. He felt strangely disappointed. He could not put his finger on it: he wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that the tree was smaller, or if it was something else… Over the years, since the Allectus, he supposed he had built up the Arbor in his mind to be something magnificent and awe-inspiring, something that would make him gasp and instinctively make the traditional sign of reverence Procella had done.