Takaar turned from the stone on which his tormentor had chosen to sit, unable to stare the truth in the face any longer. Takaar watched the rushing waters of the River Shorth hundreds of feet below. Beguiling, even from such a height. The waters swirled and thrashed across and around the exposed rocks.
Behind him, the immensity of the rainforest taunted him. Every creature that lived, breathed and died in the service of their god, Tual, set up a cacophony that rang through his head, muddying his reason.
He raised his eyes to the sky, imploring Gyal to give him answers. And so she did, the god of rain unleashing a storm that drowned the calls of the forest and drummed on his head, cleansing and purifying. Calling forth his memories. Red light grew behind the mist. The song died away. The mist dispersed as if brushed aside by the hand of Yniss himself, displaying the enemy ranged against them. Along the parapet, warriors tensed. Takaar stared, aware of the current sweeping across the defending forces. He breathed deep, trying to calm his heart, which tolled hard in his chest.
Takaar blinked. This wasn’t right. A generation of fighting couldn’t result in this. The forest floor was covered in Garonin foot soldiers. Dense like ants. Moving forward slowly. Thousand upon thousand. Behind them, driving straight over trees, never deviating, the machines. Hundreds of them.
Takaar crouched, hugging his knees to his chest. He rocked gently back and forth, his bare toes gripping the edge of the cliff. As he rocked he let his gaze travel up the opposite cliff and into the rainforest beyond. His vision fogged and his tears rolled down his cheeks. Today, like every day, he knew the truth.
‘I am a coward. Innocent blood stains my soul,’ he whispered.
Good, good.
Takaar stood. The thrashing waters boomed loud, mingling with the drum of the rain on the exposed rock and rippling through the canopy. His mind was blank. Not even the memories plagued him. The void inside was worse than the visions.
You can stop it. Step forward. So simple. So final.
Takaar edged his feet forward, feeling the crumbling mud beneath his arches. He straightened and breathed in the pure air of the rainforest. The glorious home, blessed by Yniss and tainted by the blood of so many who never had the chance to feel its earth beneath their feet. Trapped in the old world and surely dead.
And all his fault.
‘I do not deserve to breathe this air or witness the beauty of this dawn.’
No.
Takaar stared down to the rocks on which his body would break and to the foaming spitting rapids that would flush away his blood and flesh. And his shame, his humiliation and his cowardice. He would be consumed by the rainforest and returned to Yniss. Purified. Forgiven.
‘But I do not deserve forgiveness.’
We all deserve forgiveness.
‘My death is not justice for those I caused.’
Do not confuse justice with forgiveness. There can never be justice. Only vengeance. Do to yourself what the victims of your cowardice would wish done to you. And within, forgiveness will be yours. Yniss loves you still.
‘I do not deserve the love of Yniss. Any god.’
Mercy and forgiveness go hand in hand. But only when accompanied by sacrifice. Do what you must.
Takaar bowed his head. Above him, the rain intensified. Gyal’s tears fell, lamenting the final act of a fallen hero. Thunder clattered across the heavens. Lightning sheeted inside the thunderheads. Takaar wiped a hand across his skull. He found it hot and wet with sweat despite the cool of the dawn. But he felt cold. Deep down in his soul. He watched them advance. The defence mustered perhaps three thousand. Without, ten times that number and the promise of more in the gloom behind the machines.
‘Takaar?’
Takaar flinched. He snapped his head round and almost lost his balance.
‘Pelyn.’ He swallowed. ‘What is it?’
Pelyn frowned and upturned her palms. ‘Orders.’
Takaar nodded. ‘Yes. Orders.’
He looked out over the massive force ranged against them and now less than two hundred yards from them, close to the killing zone. The barrels of the machines were rotating around and angling up. He could hear the cranks of heavy bows. The sounds echoed in his head, fogging his mind.
Takaar could feel the burning heat that clutched his heart as if it were happening again this instant. The narrowing of his vision, the trembling of his hands and the weakening of his legs. Breath came hard. Gasping. His body shuddered and his eyes twitched.
You judged them.
Takaar’s hands shook and when he took them from his face, the wetness was from more than rain.
You judged them. And most you found unworthy. Another excuse for your craven acts. Pushing aside the old and the sick to save your filthy life.
‘I did the only thing left to do. And some were saved.’
Takaar’s voice set birds to flight in the lessening rain. He spun round to face his tormentor but the rock was empty. Empty as it always had been.
You are alone. And you lie only to yourself.
How often had these words played in his head. He knew what came next. He had heard it countless times before. His mouth moved in unison.
‘With courage so lacking you cannot even take your own life.’ ‘Are we standing or going out to meet them?’
It was Pelyn again but from somewhere more distant.
‘All these lives,’ said Takaar, shaking his head and rubbing the backs of his hands across his eyes. ‘Is the evacuation complete?’
‘Complete?’ It was Katyett this time. Or he thought it was. His ears weren’t right. They were ringing and muted. ‘Pelyn told you. Ten more days to get them all through. We have to hold. Takaar. Decide.’
‘Decide what?’ he said. ‘Which way to die? Out there or in here. No way out. Yniss has deserted us.’
Takaar smiled at Pelyn. She was staring at him. Confused.
‘You said…’
‘It’s too late.’ Takaar was shaking his head again. ‘It’s too late. I’m sorry. So sorry.’
Takaar took a backward step. The rain had stopped. Gyal’s tears had ceased to flow. She turned her face from him once more and he deserved nothing less. Takaar glanced at the cliff top and the worn patch where he had stood, knowing he would be back. Knowing he had no choice.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow will be different.’
He took his lies and ducked back under the dripping rainforest canopy. At Sildaan’s assurance that they were safe, Leeth led the temple priests out onto the apron. From the depths of the temple they had heard so little but the sense of wrong had pervaded every stone. When the cold had swept in, the priests had begun to pray. Leeth had felt sorry for them then and so he did now that they were outside their sanctuary and facing the first day of a new world. Or, more accurately, a return to the old one.
Taking his first step out into the light and seeing the bodies of the TaiGethen on the ground and the frost still clinging to the shadowed crevices of the temple, Leeth realised he was not ready. The ugly shapes of men haunted the periphery of the apron. One stood with Sildaan. The leader, Garan.
Behind Leeth, the five priests muttered and cursed. More prayers were uttered. Accompanying their anger was confusion. There stood Sildaan. One of their number. Standing with enemies amongst the mutilated bodies of Yniss’s finest warriors. The air smelled wrong. Tainted. That would be the magic Sildaan had spoken of, and on which she pinned such hope.
‘Wait here,’ said Leeth. He walked towards Sildaan. ‘What have you done?’
‘This is a fight for survival, Leeth,’ said Sildaan. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t realise that.’
‘And we win this fight by killing our own, do we?’
‘There will inevitably be sacrifice.’
‘Is that what you call it?’
‘The TaiGethen will never join us. Ynissul or not, they are an impediment. We’ve discussed this. It is the only way.’
