Revenge (32 page)

Gidyon left the roadside and, with caution, made his way slowly around some tiny dilapidated outbuildings towards the barn. When he finally reached it, his hands were clammy with tension and he was sure anyone nearby could hear his heart thumping.

There was no sound from inside.

Looking around, he established there was only one door. No opportunity for a surprise entry then.
He would just have to take his chances. Carefully checking that no one was watching him from the street, he tiptoed to the entrance, took a deep breath, firmly pulled open the door and stepped inside.

His eyes had to accustom themselves swiftly to the dimness inside the barn. Only a tiny window at the back afforded some muted light. He quickly took in the scene. A young man, older than him but not by much, leaped to his feet. On the floor lay another much older, shorter man, presumably Figgis.

‘Figgis,’ he said aloud. ‘I’m Gidyon.’

‘Hairy devils! Who are you?’ asked the younger man.

‘Oh sorry, I thought I just mentioned that. Gidyon Gynt. This is my friend and he’s coming with me,’ Gidyon said.

His sarcasm was lost on the sullen oaf, but Gidyon’s victory was short-lived. He saw the oaf’s eyes move from his face to behind him and turned swiftly to see three men approaching, all carrying weapons. One, probably Scargyl, was pounding a mean-looking hammer into his huge palm.

‘Another stranger. Well, you’ll do,’ he said and they rushed Gidyon.

Groggy, he opened his eyes to the sound of soft weeping. He blinked and turned his head. To one side, he saw Figgis, curled up and prone on the
ground. He turned the other way and his stomach twisted to see Yseul, her face beaten and bleeding. She was sitting up but was bound to a post. Nearby was Gwerys. He looked dead.

‘Yseul!’ Gidyon whispered.

She turned slowly. Her eyes were red.

‘No more crying,’ he said. ‘Remember, you’re the one who doesn’t give them that satisfaction.’

‘And you’re the liar I trusted.’

That hurt.

‘Is Gwerys all right?’ he asked, not really wanting to hear the bad news.

‘He sleeps.’

Relief swept through him.

‘And Figgis?’

‘They hung him up and beat him senseless. He is unconscious for all I know and care. Leave me alone, liar.’

‘Yseul, you have to help me. Is it nightfall yet?’

‘Twilight. Not long till we die, Gidyon.’

At least he had progressed to being called by his name again and not ‘liar’. He would save them. He just had to think.

‘Figgis!’ he called. ‘Figgis, wake up!’

No response.

‘There is nothing to do but await our death, Gidyon. Be still.’

‘That’s it? That’s your best effort?’ he yelled at her. ‘You’re going to allow them to bleed you, kill your brother, roast Figgis and do who knows what to me?’

‘Well, unless you have some magical powers that can get us out of here, Gidyon Gynt, I have no other choice but to wait.’

Her remark hit home.

Lauryn had said they possessed magical powers, hadn’t she? How could he find them…tap into them? He had listened with awe to Sorrel’s tales about his empowered father. Surely he had something of that in him?

He felt helpless. Without Figgis to press for more information, or Lauryn to speak to, he felt lost. Where was Lauryn? Why had she not linked with him? Damn his inability to open a link himself!

Yseul had looked away with disgust and was silent. They sat in the quiet for what felt like an eternity.

‘Why you, Yseul?’ he said eventually.

It was as if she had expected the question. ‘My eyes,’ she replied. ‘I was picked out from a young age. I live a long way from here but Scargyl happened to pass through my village one day. He was a travelling smith then. Gwerys was still in a cradle. It was rare to see a child born with these strange, light eyes; it meant something to him. Back in the ancient times, when this village first began sacrificing people, the virgin they chose had very light, almost yellow eyes. It was prophetic for the thick-skulled Scargyl. He took me, just like that. One day I was living happily with my parents; the next I was a slave to the ox and his wife.’

‘Why did he take Gwerys?’

‘As a precaution. They needed the “calf”, but I don’t think that was the reason initially. Scargyl knew I loved my brother so, by keeping him, he was able to keep me prisoner in Duntaryn. I would never have left without Gwerys. Now it looks as though we can both leave this life together.’

‘No, Yseul. It won’t happen.’

‘Stop it, Gidyon! You make my head hurt with your refusal to believe in the facts. In less than an hour, they will come and get us. We shall be dead within the following hour. Accept it and let me have my peace to say my prayers for my brother and myself. Just leave me alone.’

They came for them at nightfall, as promised. Tied as they were, struggling was useless, but still Gidyon fought as best he could. Gwerys woke and began crying immediately. Yseul refused to cry. In her silence she had found strength but there was little doubt her heart had already broken for her brother. She begged them to spare him. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Figgis remained unconscious but the captors cared little for this fact.

As they were dragged outside into the dark, Gidyon saw a crowd of people had gathered. They were all draped in what looked like red sheets, with slits opened for the eyes. He could smell liquor and followed the scent to a pot simmering over a fire. The gathered were swaying and chanting words he did not understand. They were intoxicated.

He kicked the man pushing him. Strong hands propelled him forwards, almost into the fire. ‘Do that again and I’ll just open your throat here and now.’ It was Scargyl, also clad in red.

Figgis, his arms and legs trussed with twine, was attached to a sturdy piece of timber lying on the ground. They left him there, cooling in the chill of the springtime eve. His shivering brought him awake. He immediately opened the link.

I am sorry, my child. I have failed you.
The link was weak.

Hush, Figgis. Save your strength for our escape.

It seemed a ludicrous thing to say but Figgis appeared to accept it.

Gidyon looked around wildly for any clues. They were in a wood, but standing in a large clearing. Small bonfires burned in a rough circle; probably to keep the wolves away, he figured. He could hear them howling in the distance. Gwerys began to scream as they tied him to a stone table. His would be the most ritualistic of the killings.

‘Gwerys!’ Gidyon shouted. The boy turned his head, terrified, towards him. ‘It’s just a game, Gwerys. Look at me—this is fun, isn’t it? In a moment, it will all change and we get to tie the others up.’

The tiny boy’s screams died away as this information sank in. One of the men punched Gidyon in the stomach and he doubled up.

‘Shut up, stranger.’ It was the oaf from the barn. ‘We want him scared.’

‘I shall enjoy killing you,’ Gidyon growled through the pain. He could not believe he had uttered those words. He had never killed anything in his life.

Yseul’s voice could be heard above the chanting as she heaped curse after curse on the people around her. Her hair was matted and she looked demonic herself in her rage. Gidyon was glad her strength had surfaced. She would join him in the fight to survive, not accept death meekly.

The oaf slapped her hard. ‘Wish you’d fucked me now, don’t you, witch?’

Yseul stopped her tirade, turned her attention to the idiot in front of her and spat directly into his fleshy face. ‘You’ll wish you hadn’t been born when he finishes with you,’ she sneered at him.

‘Who, him? The stranger?’ the oaf said, wiping his face. ‘Oh, I’m really scared.’

‘You should be. He is the Gatherer of Souls.’

Those who heard this fell silent. Gidyon watched as the chanting stopped and a new murmuring began. It was hesitation, uncertainty. Yseul was preying on their superstitions. She was clever.

‘Yes!’ He took up the tale. ‘I have come amongst you, hungry for new souls. What better time than the spring solstice, when Duntaryn does its worst? Are you ready to come with me?’ He bared his teeth and looked at the oaf, who suddenly seemed a little less assured.

‘Don’t listen to them!’ Scargyl’s voice rang out. ‘This is nonsense they speak. Proceed!’ he commanded.

Gidyon watched, his moment of ferocity lost, as the log Figgis was attached to was placed on a specially constructed frame. He now hung horizontally, facing downwards towards the kindling to which they would soon touch a lighted taper.

Scargyl nodded. A roll of velvet was placed in his hands and the chant was taken up again, this time with real fervour.

Gidyon did not want to see what was contained in that bag. He held his breath as Scargyl unwound the silk which kept it tied, then unrolled the velvet to reveal an array of gleaming, vicious-looking implements, among them a shiny blade. Scargyl lifted it and held it aloft, then addressed Yseul.

‘This is for you, my dear. It has been washed in purified water. You came to life pure and will go to your death pure and we shall drink your blood and be purified in turn.’

‘Burn in hell, Scargyl!’ she spat at him and then began her cursing again. She would not allow them to frighten her into submission. She would die fighting and cursing them.

Now Scargyl held up an even nastier implement, sharpened on both sides to a sinister point. He looked first at Yseul and then at the trembling Gwerys, who was silent now but for the odd whimper.

‘And this is for you, child. We know you are pure. Your death will be swift, painless. It is the sacrifice we are required to make.’

Gwerys smiled nervously and looked over at Gidyon. ‘Is it our turn yet?’ He was trying to be brave.

Gidyon felt the world spinning. He had to do something. Rage built inside him as he looked at Gwerys’s trusting face. He could hear Yseul spewing her anger over the gathered and he admired her courage. Then he sensed a myriad of Colours rising up within him.

The link was open. Perhaps Figgis felt some of his rage, for he spoke to Gidyon.
Find your power now, boy. It is within you. Reach to it…for it reaches to you.

Gidyon did not understand the dwarf’s words. He thought he might faint as terror, tension and fury mingled into one. He saw the taper being lit; they would roast Figgis alive now. He saw the double-edged blade held over Gwerys’s heart and saw the little boy still had his eyes firmly fixed on Gidyon, trusting him to save them. He turned and briefly glimpsed Yseul, her lips moving as she prayed for deliverance from this horror.

And then in a great gush the rainbow-hued rage spilled out of him.
Father!
he yelled and a monstrously powerful link opened to carry the word to its target.

Tor and Saxon decided to press on through the night. Both knew they should be exhausted from their pace, yet they could not sleep. Cloot flew above, looking ahead. The moon was full and illuminated the road they marched along in silence.

Pain hit Tor so hard, he fell to his knees. The link hurt his mind and rainbow-coloured light blazed through him.
Father!
it screamed. And, through someone else’s eyes he could see a terrifying scene: a child bound to an altar about to be slaughtered; a man tied to a roasting spit. That was no ordinary man.

‘Figgis!’ Tor yelled aloud into the moonlit night.

Saxon was already down at his side, confused by his friend’s behaviour. Cloot swooped down in a rapid dive.

Across the link, Tor felt an enormous surge of power thundering from him, through him. He could
not tell where it began and he ended, or where it was going.

And then it was gone. He was left prone on the floor, gasping as though taking his last breath of this life. His friends could only watch in complete bewilderment.

Scargyl raised the double-edged blade above his head and joined in with the chanting of the village folk around him; the sound built to a frenzy.

Those watching the stranger saw him suddenly arch his back in some sort of silent agony; his mouth was wide open and stretched back over his teeth but no sound came out.

Just a second or so later, as Scargyl prepared to plunge the blade into the heart of the little boy, his robes exploded into strange white flames. He was burning; screaming and burning. Then everyone around him erupted into flames; each red robe igniting the one next to it, passing on the white flame with ease and speed. The clearing was filled with screams.

Figgis felt like he was in a trance, but although he could not see well, he could see enough to know what was happening.
Finish it!
he commanded Gidyon.

And Gidyon did, unleashing the pure white power all around, reserving the greatest bolt of it for the oaf, who had so far escaped burning. He began to run but he could not outrun the white flames which gave chase and licked at his flying robes. His cries turned
to a scream as he burned, spreading the tongues of fire beyond the circle.

Now the trees surrounding the clearing began to burn. The white flames, which were not repelled by cold or wind or damp, spread with fury, moving through the village of Duntaryn with such ferocity it was levelled.

The only people left alive that terrible night were Gidyon, Yseul, Figgis and Gwerys. In a stupor, they managed to untie one another. Gidyon picked up Figgis tenderly and the dwarf touched his face.

It was necessary, child,
he said, when he saw Gidyon was trembling.

Weeping silently, Gidyon carried Figgis in his arms and, followed by Yseul who cradled Gwerys, the small group walked until they had left the burning village far behind.

Tor took deep, steadying breaths. He felt as though all the wind had been knocked out of him.

‘What in the blazing Light was that all about?’ Saxon asked, crouched next to him.

Are you all right?
The falcon’s concern was genuine.

I think so,
Tor replied, cautiously. ‘I witnessed the most terrible sight. I believe it was Gidyon,’ he continued, with wonder in his voice. ‘I heard him call me Father. He opened this powerful link and then it was as if our powers combined. Did…did you see it?’

Saxon shook his head. ‘I saw nothing. One moment we were walking; the next you were on all fours and groaning as if the very breath was being sucked from you. Did Cloot see or feel anything?’

No, I didn’t either,
Cloot said.
I happened to glance down and saw you lying on the ground.

Tor looked at Saxon and shook his head. ‘No. Same as you. But what about that amazing white light?’

‘Nothing but moonlight was falling on us, Tor. This was obviously a private experience.’

‘Saxon!’ Tor grabbed his friend’s arm in sudden excitement. ‘This whole journey I’ve been expecting to see my children as five or six year olds. The person who called to me, called me father—my son—he is a young man!’

‘You’re imagining it, Tor. All that sudden activity, the terror. What you saw—well, you still haven’t explained it, but it obviously frightened you. The fear distorted things.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’ Tor was back on his feet and pacing circles in the moonlight. ‘It was a man’s voice. My son is grown up.’

‘Listen to yourself. How can that be? The baby…Wait a minute, what do you mean children? There is only your son, surely?’

Oh dear,
Cloot said quietly.

Tor looked at Saxon. He suddenly felt guilty that he had not yet told the whole story.

‘Let’s take a break from our walk, Saxon. I have something to tell you.’

They sat at the roadside and shared some bread and cheese they carried. Neither was particularly hungry but the food gave them an excuse to busy their hands and mouths whilst Tor searched for the right words.

Cloot left to hunt, taking the precious spare time to feed on the small creatures which came out at night. He had not thought he would get a chance tonight and clicked his beak in delicious anticipation. He left Tor to the difficult tale.

Tor swallowed. There was no point in waiting any longer.

‘Sax…you remember how when Gidyon was born, we were all weeping when the Heartwood’s creatures were suddenly startled by a sound?’

‘Yes. I remember I told you to wait. I went in search of Goth to head him away from Alyssa and yourself.’

Tor nodded. ‘That’s right. And whilst you were gone, I helped Sorrel to deliver a baby girl…a sister to Gidyon.’

Shock wrought its way across the Kloek’s face. He spat out the bread he was chewing. ‘And Alyssa doesn’t know, does she?’

Tor shook his head sadly. He kept his eyes firmly on Saxon’s.

‘You bastard,’ Saxon said. He stood. It was his turn to pace. ‘You not only told her that the son who still breathes is dead, but she knows nothing of her daughter. You are a heartless man, Gynt.’

Tor allowed him to spend his anger. He had expected as much.

‘Saxon, just be calm and listen. Please. Alyssa was
dying at the time. The only way I could save my family was to support the lie. Sorrel disappeared with both children. She insisted that I should not tell Alyssa. It all made sense at the time—she promised me it was the only way to save the lives of the three people I suddenly loved more than anything.’

Saxon grunted. He was not convinced. ‘And?’

‘I went back…a day or so later. I could not live with myself: leaving Alyssa behind like that, half dead; letting my newborn children go off in the care of someone else.’

Tor could feel all the old distress and guilt rising in this throat. He took a breath.

‘Anyway, I went back to the Heartwood. There was no sign of anyone. I don’t just mean of Alyssa or the children, Sax, I mean of anyone having ever lived there. All trace of us had been wiped clean by the forest. Darmud Coril’s influence, I suspect.

‘Then I was captured. I was stunned to see Alyssa in Goth’s hands. She didn’t say a word to me from the moment she clapped eyes on me again. We travelled to Tal with a heavy silence between us, though in truth I was not allowed to even ride near her. In the city, as you know, I was thrown in a dungeon and she was cared for at the Queen’s discretion. She was not permitted to visit. No words passed between us. No link. I was totally cut off from Alyssa. Even at the trial, all I could do was look at her. Then…well, you know the rest.

‘Saxon…are you listening, man? Even if I had wanted to tell her, I have never had the chance. What do you think this is all about? I have called the
children back to Tallinor. It is time they knew of their parents; met me, met their mother…They must play their role, if they have one to play.’

Tor held his head. The guilt was heavy in his heart.

Cloot arrived back and began to clean the gore from his beak.

It was Saxon who broke the difficult silence. ‘Good feed, Cloot?’

Delicious!
Cloot said and flapped his wings for Saxon’s benefit.

Is all well?
he asked Tor.

He knows the whole story now,
Tor replied.

It is right that he does. He will help when the time comes,
Cloot said matter of factly.

Saxon rounded on Tor. ‘So where the hell have the children been all of this time? You can’t expect me to believe you don’t know?’

‘That’s the truth, Sax. Sorrel took them and she disappeared. I have never seen nor heard of them since that day of their birth in the Heartwood.’

Saxon continued to pace. ‘And you thought they had stayed in the realm?’

Tor stood and dusted the breadcrumbs from his cloak. The food felt sour in his belly now. ‘Initially I did. Later, as the years drew on, I figured Sorrel must have taken them from our Kingdom to another; which is obviously what she did do.’

‘But then how do you explain your son being grown? A young man, you said.’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Tor replied, totally confused.

‘Well, then it couldn’t have been Gidyon, Tor,’ Saxon said gently. ‘Otherwise he would be around five or six summers; no more. Time does not pass differently in other Kingdoms.’

Of course, you are both assuming the children remained in this Land,
Cloot said, eyeing Tor, no longer interested in his ablutions.

Tor looked at his falcon and Saxon noticed the sharp change in his body language.

‘What did Cloot say?’ he asked.

‘He said we’re just presuming that Sorrel kept them in this Land.’

Saxon snorted. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

Tor looked again at the falcon.
What are you saying, Cloot?

Just that there is every possibility she took them beyond our world, to another world, where time perhaps moves differently…It’s just a notion.

Tor clapped his hands. ‘Of course! Cloot is saying that Sorrel could have disappeared to another world altogether, where time maybe moves differently.’

Saxon shook his head. ‘I think we’re reaching here.’

‘It makes all the sense in the world, Saxon. Open your mind! I left Sorrel with a dying woman, two newborn babies and the god of the forest. I have no idea of the extent of Darmud Coril’s powers, but if he became involved, he could have sent them anywhere. It is plausible. Think about it.’

Saxon finally shrugged. ‘Vaguely possible, I suppose.’

‘Come on,’ Tor said, a new vigour in his step. ‘We must hurry now to the Heartwood; no time to waste.’

Once they had travelled a safe enough distance from the burning village and it was only a faint glow on the horizon, Gidyon made everyone rest. He held Figgis in his arms all night and listened to the dwarf’s ragged breathing.

As the sun began to rise Figgis spoke to him.
Thank you,
he whispered.

It was frightening, Figgis. What have I done?

What you had to do. That village needed to be cleansed. You saved our lives.

I took dozens though.

All ready to meet their gods, I fear,
Figgis reassured him.
It was an evil place, Gidyon. Please forgive yourself.

I called to my father. I think I opened a link to him in my fear and my anger. I drew on his power, or something released mine…I’m not sure.

I met your father once.

You did?

Yes, not long ago. We were in a place called Cipres. You look so like him, you could pass for him.

Really?
Gidyon felt uplifted to hear this.

We spoke only briefly. Two strangers, passing the time of day. I knew who he was but he did not know me.

I have so much to learn about.

That is why I am here. I shall teach you and I shall watch over you. You will never have to save me again.

So you are going to live?
Gidyon said, relieved.

It takes more than a few broken bones to kill a Rock Dweller, my boy. Get me to the Heartwood and all shall be well.

He smiled a wonderful smile that made Gidyon feel safe and loved. He bent and kissed the little man on the forehead.
Thank you for being here for me.

Always,
Figgis said and drifted back into a painful doze.

Gidyon placed him tenderly on the soft grass where they had slept all night and covered him with his own jerkin. He hoped the rest would help to heal his friend. He would leave him quiet for a little longer.

Yseul was stirring. Gwerys still slept.

‘Yseul,’ Gidyon whispered, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

She opened her strange, sand-coloured eyes. ‘We’re safe, aren’t we?’

He nodded gently. ‘I promise.’

Yseul sat up and put her arms around him. ‘Forgive me for all those terrible things I said to you. I owe you so much, Gidyon. I don’t understand anything of what happened back there but—’

He hushed her words and stroked her hair. ‘I always keep my promises,’ he whispered.

She pulled back. ‘Who are you?’

‘The Gatherer of Souls, apparently.’ He grinned.

‘Don’t mock, it was all I could think of. Oh, I was so frightened.’

‘You were sensational. I drew courage from you, Yseul. You made me look weak by comparison.’

‘Not in the end though,’ she said, fixing him with her odd eyes.

He held her gaze. ‘Would you believe me if I told you I hardly understand it either?’

She searched his face, as she had done once before in the barn. ‘I do believe you. Strange events happen all the time. I trusted you the minute I saw you…I trust you now.’

‘Thank you,’ he said and meant it, because he really did not have an explanation which would stand much scrutiny.

She looked over at Figgis. ‘What about him, your friend?’

‘I shall carry him to where I am going. We will get help there.’

She nodded. ‘Where
are
you going?’