‘Then why do I feel this way?’
It is merely your guilt come to remind you of your crimes. Accept it. The leap to your salvation is near.
Takaar shook his head.
‘No. Not me. Messages. Messages through the ground and through the air. Calling to me.’
Listen to yourself. Messages coming to you through the ground? Absolutely. And monkeys dress you every morning.
‘Get away from me, get away from me!’
Takaar got up and ran. Branches, leaves and thorns caught at his face and arms. He ducked his head and put his arms ahead of him, crashing through the undergrowth. The heat within him was unbearable. The sick pain and intense grief and fury overwhelming. His heart was thrashing. He couldn’t drag in a breath deep enough to satisfy him.
He burst through the last of the brush and slid to a desperate stop on the edge of the cliffs down to the roaring River Shorth. He was gasping, shaking and crying, unable to control his emotion. Such a crime, but he didn’t know what or where it had happened. His senses were completely deluged, drowning his directional ability.
‘What are they doing, what are they doing?’
Takaar clutched at his knees and rocked back and forth, pleading for the heat and sorrow to ease.
A familiar pose. Roll a bit further forward, why don’t you? It’s merely the entire elven race reminding you of the scale of your betrayal. They will rip themselves apart. Destroy each other. Leave nothing to remember them by. All because of you. All because you ran. All because you are a coward.
Takaar sobbed hard, taking in shuddering breaths and dripping snot from his nose. He knew it was true. And he knew he was helpless to do anything about it.
Run. Run. It is all you have left.
Takaar stared into the forest, tempted to do exactly what his tormentor suggested.
‘Shouldn’t I just kill myself, as you desire?’
No point now. Too late.
Takaar caught his reflection in a pool of water sitting in a shallow dip in a rock. He laughed and recalled the reflection in his beloved mirror. How could an elf become two such different people? A beard crudely hacked but still long and black, full of lice and insects, dead leaves and pieces of food. Hair he dealt with similarly but that defied his attempts to tame it. It sprang from his head so fast he felt the gods pulling it themselves, just to taunt him. A mass of tangled knots, thick and hot around his skull.
Takaar frowned. He had never thought to try and shave it. He looked at his hands. They shook like they always had on and off since he had arrived here ten years ago. Ah, yes.
‘Is that me?’
Yes. Shameful, isn’t it?
And it was. Takaar tore his eyes away from his reflection. Still the pain was in his heart but the heat had lessened, giving him some small relief. He stood up and stared away along the glory of the Verendii Tual, where the delta flowed into the ocean.
He had knives that needed sharpening. Aryndeneth was quiet but for the uncomfortable sounds of men readying for departure. Their smiles of relief did not disguise the ugly promises of violence they uttered. Sildaan had closed the temple doors on the blood that still stained the stone before the statue and pool and on the memory of the expression on Auum’s face.
Sildaan walked around to the rear of the temple, ignoring the men stowing the last of their gear into backpacks, sharpening swords and inevitably scratching at their heads and bodies. None of them looked healthy despite the poultices, infusions and balms she had given them.
She carried on into the forest and knelt to pray to Yniss at the Hallows of Reclamation, blessed ground where the dead were laid out to be retaken by the forest. In front of her, already partially hidden by the voracious vegetation and feasted on by Tual’s denizens, were her faithful priests and her dear friend Leeth. Nearby lay nine TaiGethen. Flesh blackened by the sick force of human magic and lying on a carpet of bones picked clean and washed white.
‘Yniss, hear me. Shorth, hear me. Protect the souls of these recent dead and use them to further your work, your glory. Make them see as I pray you make the living see. Your armies must stand with me. Elves cannot live as one. The threads cannot be compromised, cannot be muddied or mixed. Order must be restored. Order under your glory.
‘The lineage of the gods must be reflected in your people. We Ynissul, merciful and kind, will rule the elves again. Peace will be ours. Forgive my actions. I live only to do your work and to see your people flourish in your land. The blood that is spilled will feed the prosperity of the future.
‘Your temple will be cleansed. All trace of man will be expunged. All that I do, every choice that I make, I make for you. Bless my hands, bless my eyes and guide me. My soul is yours to take. Hear me.’
Sildaan stayed kneeling for a while, one hand in the earth, the other upturned to the sky. The buzzing of flies around the bodies and the crawling of the undergrowth comforted her. Renewal, revitalisation, reclamation. She bowed her head to the Ynissul dead and rose smoothly to her feet.
Garan was waiting for her and she fell into step beside him as he walked back into the temple village.
‘I need to tell you something about your erstwhile TaiGethen friend and his priest. They are travelling in separate and interesting directions.’
Sildaan raised her eyebrows. ‘We don’t need them muddying our plans any more than they have already. Track them. Kill them if you can. Your men up to that task?’
‘I have men particularly expert in that field.’
‘Good.’ Sildaan cast an eye over her shoulder, back to the recent dead at the Hallows. ‘Good.’
‘Guilt getting the better of you, is it?’ he asked.
‘I have no guilt. Only regret that these fine elves could not open their eyes and see the truth.’
‘And you call men brutal.’ Garan paused in the centre of the clearing. To the right, near the temple’s rear doors, stood the group of twenty-five warriors and mages. Garan gestured left. ‘And what about these? Wouldn’t death be kinder for them?’
Sildaan sighed. A handful of terrified temple workers and three priests who tended them. Priests who believed in Sildaan’s way and had not had the misfortune to encounter Sikaant.
‘They have committed no crime. They are Yniss’s people. There is no suffering and my priests will see to their welfare.’
Garan shook his head. ‘Your choice but if it’s any help-’
‘It isn’t. These are my people. Am I not paying you enough to keep your opinions on my business to yourself?’
Garan chuckled. ‘You could never pay us enough to fight with you in this hellhole. But that is our negotiation mistake, not yours, eh? Just don’t be late with the wages.’
‘Oh yes. Alone I may be, but without me you aren’t just lost in the rainforest, you’re lost and unpaid. Fight well, Garan. Earn your pay. Reassure me we will meet the balance of your force where and when we must?’
Garan began walking towards his men. Their muttering ceased and they looked to him, expectant.
‘Shoulder up. We’re leaving. I hear Ysundeneth and the coast are blessed with cooler breezes and a glorious lack of biting insects and leeches. Just three days from here too. Are you with me?’
His men cheered, laughed and shrugged packs onto their shoulders, secured weapons belts and tied shoelaces. A few dabbed at sores, blisters and boils.
‘You may only have birds, runners and boats to get your messages through this ridiculous country; we have magic. My mages can speak to our ships as if they were standing on deck themselves. Communion we call it, and you will find it a keystone in your precious victory.’
Sildaan raised her eyebrows. ‘You can really do this?’
‘Care for a demonstration?’
Sildaan stared into Garan’s face. There was no hint of malice in his eyes. No hint of a lie. For the first time in days, she felt able to relax a little.