jayestory1P

ASHE

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Chapter Seventeen

She woke early. Beneath the wildly disordered sheets and blankets - what in the name of the Goddess did they all do all night? - Calliope and Betany slept on. Ashe felt for an instant the touch of Calliope’s breath against her shoulder. Betany had used Ashe’s arm as a pillow. Ashe lay as still as she could. If this was the last time she was ever going to share a bed – a life, even – with the two of them, she wanted to prolong the sensation of warmth and infinite comfort. But as she tried to commit to memory every nuance and sensation, Ashe heard the sound of voices outside, as Betany’s soldiers came to usher in the new day, and bring the latest news to their leader.

The other two woke. Ashe felt the fabric of their sleep tear as loudly as the knocking at the door. Betany rolled one way, Calliope the other. Ashe felt the space they both left, and wondered if an amputation would supply the same ghost of hurt. In solitary possession of the bed, she sat up.

The bleeding had not begun again, but the wound still needed a fresh dressing. Alexis was bemused. “I feel better. Not healed but better. Something bad must have happened to her. It must have done.”

Calypso didn’t care about the niceties. “Something bad is going to happen to her,” she remarked. “Today. Today probably. I can almost taste my victory over her. The thought of my sword going into that little –

Alexis shook her head. “No. What I said before still stands. Calypso, if you go after Ashe, I die.”

“For the sake of all the Gods!” Calypso’s temper lashed out like a cornered rat. “There must be something I can do. She isn’t invulnerable. Surely this time someone can take her on without it endangering you.”

“When may we expect the first casualties?” Laure heard the question and did her best to frame a response, but it was hard work. When would the first broken bodies be dragged across the country to lie groaning within the Lascan hospital?

Laure surveyed the hospital ward. Someone had paid attention to neatness, as well as to everything else. Pillows were squared off, blankets were folded. There were basins of fresh water arranged on the long tables that divided the vast room into two equal parts. What was the idea, Laure wondered: Mercians on one side and Lammorans on the other? Not that it mattered. She sat down on the edge of one of the tables and looked at the floor. More and more she was becoming aware of a gap between her and the rest of the world. She was no longer the young woman who had finally told Calypso what was going to happen when the war was over. What had she said? When you come back, if you come back, and Alexis is recovered, I want you to send her back to Mercia. I don’t want her here in the palace. She goes back with a deputation of my people. And it’ll be a joint rule there as here. Alright? Oh, she’d meant what she’d said, but already the conversation seemed to have belonged to a time long dead.

She walked the Lascan streets with a reduced escort: that seemed only fair; Calypso had already diminished the population with her demand for an unarguable conscription, and many of those left had decided – for one reason or other – to go visit friends or relations elsewhere. Those who remained nodded their respects to their leader as Laure passed, while the slaves passing by only looked down at the ground beneath their feet. Their numbers had not been reduced; Calypso was reluctant to use slaves in war: she argued that they would not be as motivated as true Lammorans. Laure wasn’t sure if the thought made good sense or not.

The sand-coloured walls that marked out the design of the city looked warm and attractive in the spring sunlight. Laure walked toward the now well-defended gate and glanced up at Rhea’s tower. She wondered if the wise woman was there. Ardan seemed like a nice girl. What a shame it was that she would have to spend the rest of her life brewing up potions, assessing the clouds for forthcoming drama, and looking after Rhea. It had never occurred to Laure that Ardan thought her new life promotion of the very finest kind. Born in a village not far from Lascar, Ardan had never fitted into the trammelled lifestyle with which her parents and siblings seemed content. Working for Rhea was like having a door opening into a new world: Ardan wouldn’t have changed her new life for anything.

While Laure stood, looking up at Rhea’s tower, Ardan opened the door and stepped outside. The apprentice wore a new tunic, one embroidered with suns and moons, with the odd shooting star thrown in for good measure: Rhea had told Ardan to help herself to new clothing from the deep cupboard in the corner of the main room. The tunic was not in itself new, but the patches where the years had worn the fabric smooth and soft as silk added to the charm for Ardan. Seeing Laure at the foot of the tower, Ardan made a small bow. Laure nodded to her. Laure was wondering how Ardan could bear to live a life made up of fantasy, magic, and the old woman’s stories. Ardan looked down on Laure and wondered how she could not.

Ashe thought she had listened when Betany had set out the plans for battle, but being too caught up in the realisation that a battle really was coming, it was only when the time had come to employ those plans that Ashe realised she had failed to pay attention in class. Fortunately, everyone else had taken notes. Betany said, smiling at her, “Ashe, you can’t wear that shirt. It’s far too conspicuous. You might as well have strapped a target to your back.”

Ashe surveyed her new shirt and sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t take it off. I love it. Besides,” with sudden inspiration, “I call it my lucky battle shirt.”

She’d won her point. Besides, Betany was just happy that her first proper present to Ashe had been so well received. The others were more soberly dressed. Few of Betany’s army wore the heavy leather armour that Arkana employed. Ashe didn’t mind: she hated the sense of being constrained or restricted, and the armour did both. She helped Calliope to adjust her quiver so that the arrows were most easily accessible. The water spirit wore a broad-bladed knife strapped to her side. Ashe had a similar knife and her sword. Across her back was her quiver, and in her right hand, her bow. She drew her sword and tested again the weapon’s cutting edge. It was clearly not a Lammoran sword. How odd that such a minor part of her past was inaccessible.

Calliope had been so angry with Arkana that , recovering from her faint, Ashe had had to throw herself into the situation with far more enthusiasm and gentleness than she felt. She had not felt resentful of Arkana’s work: she needed to understand, after all, but more and more she thought of herself as a happy animal, content to move from day to day without the need for any startling revelations. She would have been happy to have simply gone on with Betany and Calliope, watching Sam and Gowdie become the best of friends, and Arkana curbing her tendency to inflict the truth on everyone. Ashe knew that Arkana would learn: already the ease of Betany’s manner and that of her people was beginning to relax the wind spirit. The only bad thing, the only subject that Ashe wanted to avoid, was the knowledge that one day Calliope would have to go back to the river. But that day might be months or years away. As she thought this, Calliope glanced up at Ashe and smiled at her with such sweetness that it almost hurt. Ashe smiled back. “You still sure I can’t persuade you to stay out of this?” she asked.

Calliope shook her head. Ashe sighed. Sam came toward them, dressed like them, and like them armed with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. The first thing Sam said was, “Ashe, your shirt!”

Calliope surveyed Ashe and shook her head. “I told her you wouldn’t change.”

“When everyone else is worrying about weapons and warfare, you two are worried about fashion?” Sam smiled. Calliope did not.

“Remember…” Betany had come up to them. “If you want to wait here in the castle no-one will – ” But she never got to finish. She took in Sam’s shocked expression and Calliope’s resentment and shook her head. “Alright, alright. The Gods know, I’d rather have you guys around.”

“To be honest,” said Ashe, “I’d rather there was no war at all. Betany, you haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?” This last point had been debated hotly the day before. Betany’s captains thought that Ashe was deranged but well-intentioned, to which Ashe had replied that being considered well-intentioned was probably one of the worst things you could ever accuse anyone of being.

“It would be better if you were on a horse. You don’t have to be on it for very long. Just until we reach the other side. Ashe, will you?”

Ashe shrugged her shoulders again, and then sighed. “Alright. Just, please… Make it a big, patient horse that couldn’t bolt if it wanted to.”

“What’s the idea?” Calliope and Arkana stood with Sam while the others went off to find a horse for Ashe.

“Ashe wants to ask Calypso not to fight. Or that if she must fight, won’t she be satisfied with Ashe as her opponent.” Calliope looked solemn. “I think that everyone knows it won’t work, but she insists.”

“I take it this is a not wanting to fight with everyone going back home and back to their ordinary lives, right?”

“Oh, well.” Arkana looked at her hands. “I guess we can’t stop her from trying.”

Laure returned to the palace and stood for a while looking at the beauty of the place. If Calypso lost the battle and the other forces came on to Lascar, it wouldn’t be the hardest thing to knock down the city walls and destroy everything standing. It was so long since there had last been a war; the people of Lascar had forgotten the devastation and the pain that invariably followed. Even in the times of victory, there were always deaths. Laure had no way of knowing that Leanna had worried over the same issue.

She looked at the wonderful tiles that illustrated the many flowers that bloomed in the Lammoran countryside. She touched the tall and steady pillars that supported the seven floors of the palace, and wondered how much force it would take to topple them. She looked at the freshly-swept walkways and saw – only for a moment – impressed over them the marks of bloody feet. Then she blinked and the illusion was gone. Rhea, Laure thought, would have had a field day with that particular image.

She went up to the place from which Jura had stepped out into the air and wondered how it must have felt when there was nothing beneath her feet but air. Had she been frightened? Had she felt anything? Had grief so enveloped her that nothing else mattered with the queen gone? Laure sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees, squeezing herself into a shape so small and unaggressive that death might possibly miss her as it passed by.

When she had walked through Lascar, earlier in the day, it had struck Laure that the city seemed oddly dead. True, there were fewer people in the streets, and many of the little shops were boarded up, but it was more than that. It was as if Lascar had become – rather than continuing as a centre of civilisation and culture – nothing more than the husk of a city. Dust rose in little puffs from the ground; the sky overhead was oddly dull, despite the sunlight. Laure shivered.

The night before, Calliope took Arkana aside. The fury Calliope had felt was receding, but Arkana still eyed her warily. The water spirit said, “I need to know the rest of the story. Will you tell me, please?”

“Oh. About the guardians? I suppose it would be better to tell you now. But I want you to say nothing about this to anyone else. Alright?”

Calliope didn’t understand the necessity of making a simple story a secret, but she nodded assent all the same. “I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to.”

“Right.” They had taken up residence on a low bench. “At any time there will be at least four of the guardians moving about in our world. None of them know what they are – ever. I don’t think it’s within their remit to know.” She drew a breath and looked at Calliope.

“I believe that Ashe is one of the three guardians of the seas and the rivers. They live, die, and return, over and over again. But Ashe knows nothing of what she is. What I’m telling you is mostly guesswork. But it explains a lot. It explains what happened when Ashe fell off the mountain.”

After the conversation the two of them exchanged goodnight messages, and Calliope went back to find Ashe. Now when she looked at Ashe, and saw Ashe smile back at her, she knew that she felt almost afraid. She would do what Arkana asked, and never tell a soul what she had learned. But she would never see Ashe in the same way. How could she? The world had its twelve guardians, who endlessly inhabited the four elements, young and middle-aged and finally old. What if Ashe really was one of them? She would grow older, grow old and then resurface yet again in a new form. Arkana’s last words stuck with Calliope most of all, because they were the ones that offered her the greatest hope.

“We all die and then return. You have met Ashe in this life, and love her in one life, so why not in another? It’s blatantly obvious how very much she cares for you. I think you’ll find one another again. Even if she dies in the battle – eventually she will come back.”

Arkana stopped her. “No, Calliope. You’ll know Ashe again. I think I can promise you that. It’s an old saying: you will return at the same time, and you shall love them again, and you shall know.”

Ashe rode out across the soft green grass. Beside her, Calliope looked very small and vulnerable. Sam and Gowdie were on Ashe’s right as the party made its way toward the battlefield. Ashe’s stomach was slowly turning over and over and her mouth was dry. She looked across the valley to where their enemy was assembling. Apparently some unspoken and unwritten rule of fighting meant that no-one was going to rush forward alone. She saw Calypso’s army on the left, recognising it by the banners they flew. So on the right must be the force Betany had spoken of, the people of Rath Bel. Ashe narrowed her eyes as she sought to focus on their leader. That had to be her – a tall, fine-featured woman, who looked far too smart to have been caught up in Calypso’s machinations. Her face looked oddly familiar. Ashe scowled, trying to remember.

The two armies moved forward toward a meeting point. Ashe glanced to where Betany had gone on ahead, Gowdie walked steadily just ahead of Ashe, with Sam beside her, Sam who was determined to stand with her friend at all costs. Ashe felt as though she was sleep-walking. The whole thing seemed so utterly insane, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Calypso rode forward to meet Betany.

The woman from Rath Bel was talking with Calypso. Ashe and Calliope waited. Ashe bent down and said to Calliope, “I need you to stay with Arkana. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I have to try to stop this.” And she was gone, the crowd moving aside to let her through.

How strange to see Calypso again. Ashe took in the beauty of Calypso’s rather inhuman features and found herself unmoved. She thought about Alexis’s words on the subject of her leader. What had it been? “I’m afraid that your little rebellion earlier today may have just made you a potential fuck in Calypso’s book.” Ashe grinned. The day she climbed into Calypso’s bed would be around the time that the dead came back to life and the deserts flooded. Mind you, Calypso looked very fine, seated on her horse, all leather armour and silvered trimmings. Ashe had heard that Laure had stayed behind in Lascar, for which grace she was grateful: that was one reunion she would be happy to avoid for ever. She pushed up her sleeves so that the purple leather of her shirt showed. If she died that day, as she might well do, at least she’d be wearing her favourite shirt.

Ashe opened her mouth and was about to speak the first words of her appeal for peace when she glanced again at the leader of Rath Bel, who stared back at her with a fixed and rather unnerving stare. Events got immediately out of hand.

“Ashe!” The word burst forth from Calypso’s mouth, and it sounded like the worst kind of oath. The word echoed around the valley. Ashe could not have missed hearing it. Nor did Calliope and Arkana, some distance back. Everyone heard it. Everyone including the leader of the army of Rath Bel, who spun around, saw Ashe and stared.

Oh, no... Ashe realised that she was the object of the order. She urged her horse forward over the wide strip of ground that separated the forces. She saw Betany’s hand settle on the hilt of her sword. She saw by the stiffening of Gowdie’s shoulders that it wouldn’t be long before the karg was loosed onto the opposition.

“Ashe. The little wandering freak. I hoped I’d have the pleasure of seeing you and killing you.” Calypso’s grin was savage and ironic both. Ashe grinned back at her.

“Calypso.” Ashe made a neat ironic bow. She could almost hear Calypso’s control straining. “Betany.” Another, much deeper bow, and a loving smile. Then she looked up at the woman from Rath Bel and said, “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.” Polite as ever. Betany grinned at Ashe’s formality, which even impending death could not dent. “What can I do for you?”

There was the shortest space of time in which Ashe lost all sense of the present. The sensation of travelling back through the past weeks was so acute it nearly knocked her out of the saddle. She was back on the mountainside building the cairn. Carrying rocks backwards and forwards, trying to make the cairn as secure as possible, wondering how the dead had died. Thinking that the girl they had tried so hard to save had been very lovely. Ashe blinked away the past and looked up into an older version of that dead face. Teinne dismounted and walked toward Ashe. Ashe slid down from her own horse and onto ground that felt uneasy and twisting. When they were only feet apart, Teinne said, “You found them.”

No question, no need for further detail. Ashe knew exactly what they were talking about. She nodded. “Do you know what happened to them?” Ashe shook her head.

“Whoever they were, they had died trying to save one of their number.” Teinne looked distraught and satisfied, if such a blend of expression was possible: Ashe thought that it might be.

“You built a cairn to protect their spirits.” Another nod. “And then you…” Ashe didn’t want to hear the words again. She glanced down at the fresh green grass and wondered if by the end of the day she’d be standing on it, or lying on it. “You honoured the memory of my sister.” She gestured toward her captains. “Tell all our people, this battle is not ours. Calypso, I cannot help you. We are going home.”

Ashe heard an excited murmur run through the crowd. She could almost hear the shock in Calypso’s mind. It was not the time to talk of peace. She looked up again and saw that Calypso too had dismounted. She was coming up fast on Teinne, so fast, indeed, that some of Teinne’s force stepped forward to protect their leader from whatever they imagined Calypso was about to do. Calypso’s face had gone not red but white, so white that her mouth looked like a wound, and her eyes like holes in her skull. “ASHE!” If Teinne’s voice had cut through the crowd, Calypso’s bent the grass stalks. Betany dropped from her horse and stood at Ashe’s shoulder. She put out a hand and rested it on the hilt of her sword.

“Why the fuck is it always you?” Calypso’s control had not simply snapped; it had broken free and was running about the valley, biting passers-by. “What is it with you?” She shouted at Teinne, “What in the name of all that’s on this earth are you talking about? You’re our fucking ally.”

Teinne seemed to separate herself from Calypso by a single movement. Her expression was composed and her voice was perfectly steady. She said, “You may remember that my sister disappeared, crossing the mountains.”

“She and her companions died there. Their bodies would have been thrown to the four corners of the world had they not been honoured and properly preserved.”

“So?” Calypso was losing her grip. “So what if Ashe did that? You’re still our ally.”

Teinne nodded to her captain and immediately the forces of Rath Bel began to back away. She looked at Ashe. “I’m sorry that we have to meet like this.” Ashe blinked. “I wish that I had known before who you were and what you had done.” She smiled gently. “None of my country will ever lift their hand against you or yours, and you will always find a welcome in Rath Bel.” She bowed to Ashe, mounted her horse and began to move away from the site.

Calypso threw herself from her horse onto the ground in front of Ashe. Her face was still livid and her eyes were mad. “You!” Her hand went to the hilt of her sword. “You’re dead, Ashe. Dead.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Arkana had reached them, and her glance was furious and fixed. Calliope, too. Betany had never shifted.

Ashe smiled at her. “Alright,” she said, her eyes fixed on Calypso. “I’m dead. So why am I still standing?”

Calypso raised her sword-arm and with that movement the battle commenced. It had not been planned to start in such a messy and emotionally driven manner, but it was too late to bemoan warring niceties. Calypso swung out at Ashe only to find herself forced back by Betany’s soldiers. Ashe felt hands on her – Arkana’s and Calliope’s, possibly Betany’s, too - all of them determined to remove Ashe away from Calypso’s madness. Suddenly everyone was fighting.

The news reached Alexis’s tent, and she was immediately desperate to reach the fighting. The night before had done her a lot of good, even if she was still too weak to stand for any length of time. The knowledge that Ashe was out there and accessible, too, forced her to her feet. Calypso’s staff tried to calm her, tried to hold her back, and only succeeded in stopping her when Alexis’s legs gave out beneath her. They carried her back to her tent, her body writhing, her fury so intense it blurred her vision. Alone in the tent, she racked her brains for a plan, and suddenly, staring at the basin of water in a corner of her tent, she knew. Alexis’s magic was making a comeback.

Calypso could still see them going: the famous troops of Rath Bel, with their close-fighting and archery skills. It was all she could do not to send an arrow after them to pierce Teinne’s skull. Those around Calypso who knew her tempers did their best to channel her fury back into the new fighting, but it took some little time, and a knock to her arm that would later need stitches, to calm her down.

She buffeted someone hard and was about to bring her fist down on the head of the figure before her when she heard a noise like thunder and looked into the bright and changing eyes of Gowdie. When Calypso had knocked Sam to the ground it had taken away the last of Gowdie’s control. With a sound that spread across the entire field, like a auditory and visual nightmare, all those of Betany’s forces who were not shaped in purely human form, transformed.

Where a line of women had stood, a line of kargs now faced the opposition. Calypso’s mouth dropped open. Gowdie leapt at her.

Ashe heard the roar – how could she miss it? – and felt the hairs at the back of her head stand on end. She heard Betany’s triumphant shout and cheered wildly. After that, it was all noise and confusion.

Ashe had never fought before – not fought an army – and she had had no idea of what to expect. What she found was a mass of almost frantic activity from which every sane and rational thought had been taken. It was no time for arrows: this was close work. She fought with her sword, with the knife she wore tucked into her belt. She saw Calliope to her left stumble and trip, only to be rescued by Betany. And at a little distance, Ashe could see Calypso. Calypso looked up and saw Ashe, and she growled and pushed forward.

Ashe had never expected the two of them to fight, but she should have known what was on Calypso’s agenda. They both forged a path through the masses, glances fixed. Ashe used her sword only in passing as they came to a meeting. Calypso spat onto the ground and swung her sword at Ashe. Ashe twisted and turned her own blade so that Calypso’s sword struck the softening ground.

Their swords met again and again in a series of dull and painful collisions. Calypso’s eyes were wholly mad: it would have been impossible to communicate with her even if Ashe had wanted to. The swords met, beat one another down, and clashed again. Ashe felt the vibration of each blow shiver through the muscles of her arms until they burned with a cold fire. She held on to her temper, and thus some vestige of control. Calypso’s control was long-gone; all that she wanted to do was to beat Ashe into the ground, and stamp Ashe’s skull beneath her boots.

There was a kind of beauty in the conflict: Betany caught snatches of the fight going on between Ashe and Calypso, and it stunned her. She was busy enough on her own account, but with Calliope near her and Arkana at her back, she was steadily cutting a path through the enemy forces.

Ashe and Calypso went on fighting. The hatred that Calypso felt for Ashe had been multiplied by Teinne’s refusal to fight. Killing Ashe was the only thing that mattered to Calypso. She knocked Ashe to the ground and was about to bring her blade swinging down through Ashe’s spine, when an arrow cut through the air and took Calypso in the left arm, pinning it to her side.

The pain was momentous. Calypso roared and sprang forward to take the next arrow in her hand even as the small archer was fitting it to the bow-string. She snapped the arrow, bending it backwards and into the chest of the archer.

Ashe heard the shock of contact before she heard the sound of air escaping from the injured lung. She hurled herself up and across Calypso’s back, smashing her to the ground. She heard the woman’s nose break and she kept a foot on the back of Calypso’s neck until Betany could reach them and haul Calliope up from the ground.

“Please get her out of this,” said Ashe. But the words were not necessary: a train of eager hands reached out for the limp body of the water spirit, and in what seemed like no time at all, Calliope had been received into the hands of the servants at the hospital tents. As the ranks closed up again after the bleeding figure had been taken out, and the simple horror of Calliope’s being hurt hit Ashe, she went slightly mad. With more strength than she knew she had, Ashe grabbed Calypso by her leather armour and literally threw her through the crowd. And when Calypso struck the ground again, Ashe was there to gather her up again. Arkana saw the struggle for a split second, and it seemed to her that a kind of blue fire burned around Ashe. A wash of tears flooded her eyes – she had no idea why – and she had time to blink them away before she heard the shouts coming from the Mercian troops, and the one-word order: withdraw. Withdraw from the field. Half a dozen soldiers fought for possession of Calypso’s injured body, dragging it away from Ashe, at the same time that Betany and Arkana grabbed Ashe, and pulled her away from the fighting.

Calypso was bathed in blood, her eyes were rolling and her breath was coming in fits and bursts, but on the other side of the struggle, Alexis was ready. Her magic had returned to her as her health had done, in limited but noticeable quantities. When Calypso was brought to her, she could run her hands over Calypso’s body, muttering incantations that had never been heard before by Mercians or Lammorans. Even Rhea would have been surprised by the power and complexity of some of them. In a little time Calypso gave a soft moan and slipped into a healing sleep. Alexis looked at her own arms, where she had pushed up her sleeves to keep them free of blood, and at the magical signs that cost her so much pain, and which were now earning their price.

“They’re withdrawing.” Arkana’s voice was full of wonder. Betany smiled rather grimly. “Gods! I don’t believe it. Betany, we seem to have won.”

“It’s the anticlimax. Later you’ll feel wonderful. Light-headed, dizzy with delight.” Arkana stopped clowning. “Let’s go and see how the others are.”

Ashe paid no attention to the conversations around her. She didn’t know if the fighting was over for good or just the remainder of the day, and she didn’t really care. She had searched out the karg only to find Gowdie back again, her arm bleeding, her eyes bright. Ashe said, “Sam?”

“She’s alright.” One of Betany’s captains had reached Ashe, knowing what she would want to know. “A bit cut and bruised but alright. The karg changed at exactly the right time.”

Ashe gave Gowdie a hug that she truly meant. As hugs go, it was nearly desperate, and Gowdie grunted at the force, her ribs creaking. Ashe said, “Calliope?”

“She… She’s in one of the hospital tents in the castle grounds. She wants you.”

Rhea looked up into the still, mild air. It was early evening and the light was beginning to fade. Her one-time servant, now her new apprentice, asked her, “Should I describe what I see, Mistress?” This had become one of Rhea’s regular requests, and one that Ardan was ready to comply with.

“Yes. Look to the north and tell me what you see there.” Rhea was almost happy. Ardan had come to her more or less by chance and already she was showing signs of being more insightful than the whole population of Lascar put together. Rhea waited patiently: it was necessary to let the new seer have freedom to examine and translate the skies.

“To the north I see dark clouds. They are not like rain clouds, and they seem to hold no threat of a storm. They begin to eat up the whole of the sky. They look a great wolf coming forward with open mouth.” Rhea smiled to herself: Ardan would do well, once she’d managed to curb her imagination a little.

“The sky there is fine and bright. I see a bird. I see an eagle. It flies from the south toward the west.”

Here Ardan hesitated. At last she said, “I see little gleams of new colour in the skies to east and west. It is like the colours we sometimes see in the winter, when the nights are full of snow.” Rhea sighed. “Do you want me to tell you more, Mistress?”

Rhea shook her head. She had heard enough, and she was tired, and she was worried. Already the news had reached them – through magical as well as non-magical means - that the soldiers of Rath Bel had joined the struggle only to turn around and deny Calypso the extra power she had so badly needed and had relied upon. It would hurt Calypso to have such an undermining of her own strength. But Calypso hurt would be Calypso more dangerous than ever.

Laure joined them. She felt tired and sick. She had not slept well, the night before, although the sense of being alone had been a heady and relieving experience. She knew about Rath Bel, and puzzled over what possible reason there could have been for Teinne to reject Calypso’s request for support. She had walked through the hospital and had ensured that everything was in order. After that she had paced about the palace, hour after hour, backwards and forwards. Now she had given up on her pacing and had committed herself to simple waiting. She stepped out of the palace and looked up at the sky. The strange cloud that Ardan had witnessed, slowly eating up the sky from the north, was a powerful image, and as such it made itself felt. A mighty storm was on its way across the plain to Lammor, and Rhea wondered if it would leave anything in its wake.

Ashe ran all the way from the battlefield. The walls of the castle rose up protectively around her as passed the guard and headed for the hospital tents that had been set up – for ease of access – inside the castle grounds. Lamps were burning inside the tents, softening the colour of blood, dimming the pain on the faces of the injured. Just outside the hospital she saw Cairo, who was staggering to her feet. Ashe crashed to a halt beside her. “Are you alright?”

Cairo looked surprisingly cheerful. Her face was filthy, the knuckles of both her hands were marked with cuts – Ashe guessed that they’d hurt like hell once Cairo became aware of them, and came down from her adrenaline high. “I’m… Apparently still alive. Don’t know how.” Then she frowned at Ashe. “What’s the problem?”

“The little water spirit. Calliope. Calypso caught her earlier: stuck an arrow into a lung.” Cairo winced.

“Poor little sod.” She thought of the picture of the three of them entwined and felt a jolt of sympathy that wasn’t far from envy. “I’ll come with you; see if there’s anything I can do.”

Ashe dropped to her knees beside the pallet bed that cradled Calliope. The water spirit’s face was almost without colour. Gently Ashe pulled back the top sheet to see the reddened dressing that covered the torn lung. Calliope’s breath was ragged and painful and entirely audible; each breath came as a separate onslaught on her slight frame. Cairo saw the pallid face, the crimson dressing and caught the aching breaths. She looked up at Ashe.

Across from Calliope, Sam was being bandaged. Sam too was pale, and her breathing sounded harsh, but she was alright. She would live. It looked as if Calliope wasn’t going to. No-one had confided such information to Ashe: no-one had dared. But Ashe wasn’t blind: she could see for herself. A pain had started in her heart, and it was running up and down her ribcage, denying her breath, making her arms ache and the muscles within them burn.

Staring at the dying water spirit, Ashe had a moment of revelation. Without speech or thought she grabbed up a spare blanket, wrapped Calliope up in it and began to carry her out. A soldier standing at the mouth of the tent tried to stop Ashe’s progress, but nothing was going to slow her down. She shouldered the unfortunate soldier aside and broke out of the protection of the castle grounds. Cairo ran, with Ashe, oddly happy. It wasn’t quite like being back in Lammor and sitting on the palace roof, but it was close. As they ran, she only called out the one question. The answer didn’t matter, she’d have gone with Ashe whatever the motivation that powered her, but she asked it all the same.

Ashe tried to keep breathing, thinking and running at the same time. “To the river. She’ll live if I can get her to the water.” She didn’t know how the knowledge had reached her, just that it had. Perhaps it was nothing but common sense shining through the darkness. Calliope knew, but she was too far from consciousness to tell Ashe so. Arkana knew, but she was on the other side of the field.

They skirted the battlefield, moving as fast as they could. The fighting was over in almost every respect. All over the valley there were soldiers searching out those who would still respond to treatment, or taking prisoners where they happened upon any of the Mercian force. Ashe simply fixed her mind on the river, half a mile off, and kept moving. There was no real reason why she should have been worried about an attack: the day belonged to Caer Arianrhod, but Ashe was still uneasy.

They reached a point where two or three trees grew. Ashe could see the river just up ahead and ran toward the trees – the route was that much shorter – rather than sticking to the clear land. Cairo skidded to a halt behind Ashe as four of the Mercian army stepped grinning from cover. The battle might have been lost, but they didn’t care. Calypso had put a bounty on Ashe’s head, even a quarter of which would have made each of them rich for life. Ashe was almost dizzy with disappointment and exhaustion. She clutched Calliope to her, freeing her right arm, feeling for her sword.

The first to die was the soldier who sought to hit out at Calliope, seeing at once that this was Ashe’s real point of weakness. Ashe swung around, and her sword swung with her. She ducked as low as she could without falling over and Cairo stepped in behind, putting out a hand to save Ashe, thrusting her own sword forward. All day she had fought, almost – Gods help her – enjoying herself. Who would have thought it? All those years of practising her battle skills had finally paid off. And she’d thought for so long that as a Lammoran she’d never see a real war. Well, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Although of course, she was no longer a Lammoran. Oh, well…All day Cairo had thrown herself into battle with howls of triumph and fury. She hadn’t understood what had happened with the troops for Rath Bel, but it was clear to see that their leader’s decision had thrown Calypso badly.

Now, back-to-back with Ashe, in the same stance that they had once practised together, Cairo fought hand-to-hand, her movements brisk and relentless. She had taken out two of the enemy and was working on her third, who had just lashed out at Ashe, almost knocking her down. Ashe stumbled, keeping her hold on Calliope, when Cairo saw the face of her opponent suddenly marked with arterial blood. Her own sword was still in the act of rising but her strength was no longer there. The blood on her opponent’s face was Cairo’s own. The pain came crashing into her a second after the knife that cut through her ribs and heart, and it only lasted for the time it took Cairo to say, “Ashe, I’m dead,” before she was. She slumped face-down onto the muddied ground.

The remaining soldier took one look at Ashe and was dropped to the ground even as she was registering the fact that Ashe had wrong-footed her. Ashe bent down, touched Cairo’s face, still handsome in death. She gently closed Cairo’s eyes, then began crossing the last yards of ground that lay between her and the river. The tears that were running down her face almost blinded her, but she could not contain them.

Her feet were clumsy, and her legs unsteady, but she kept whispering Calliope’s name, as if that verbal contact might maintain Calliope’s tenuous hold on life. Sweat was running down Ashe’s forehead and she could not see properly. Calliope’s weight was nothing, but Ashe’s own exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. The path to the river seeming never-ending. Ashe’s arms burned and her head ached. But she kept her hold on Calliope: her love for the little water spirit was all that Ashe’s world was made of right then. She had eyes for nothing else; later she would mourn Cairo properly.

Ashe was within feet of her objective when the arrow flew through the air. She heard the sound of its approach a fraction of a second before it struck home, embedding itself deep in the flesh of her shoulder. Ashe fell face-first into the river.

“What do you mean?” Betany’s poise had gone entirely. She stared at the exhausted face of the young soldier, then took her by the collar of her jacket and shook her. “She took her? Took her where?!”

Arkana burst into the tent. The news of Calliope’s disappearance had just reached her. “I can’t find Ashe.”

“This…” but Betany could not finish the sentence. Instead she released the soldier. “This is crazy: Ashe has taken Calliope and gone.”

“They’ll be going to the river.” Gowdie had just reached the tent. Her arm was bandaged and she wore it in a sling across her chest. They had given her a clean shirt – her own had been soaked with blood – and she looked tired but still strong. “Sam’s just told me: Ashe would have to get Calliope back to the water to save her.”

“Cairo went with them.” Sam appeared at that moment. The day had taken its toll: she looked almost as worn as Gowdie, whose side she’d never left. “They’d have headed for the closest patch of river.”

Ashe struck the water, the pain from the arrow burning like a brand. The water was unexpectedly deep: it took Calliope easily from Ashe’s flailing arms. Calliope had a split-second view of Ashe’s anguished, blood-stained face before reed-like hands reached up and took her away from the fighting and from Ashe, drawing her into the depths of the river. Ashe saw her, too, for the instant that was left to them. Then Calliope was gone and Ashe was floundering about in the water.

Had it not been for the adrenaline still rushing round her system, and the knowledge of all the things not done, Ashe thought that she would happily have drowned. But it was the wrong time for death, and so she fought her way out of the water, her left arm almost useless, the arrow biting. She fell onto her right side on the muddy grass and with a violent, unrehearsed motion that made her gag, ripped out the arrow. Her head spun and her stomach churned and she was gasping and retching when she heard the one voice she had not expected to hear again. When had they last met? Deep in the dungeons. Gods… “Ashe. It’s so good to see you again.”