Eagle's Path

5. Ahote Village

5. Ahote Village“Now, we can say we’ve made it,” said Tristan, putting an arm around Branwyn’s shoulders.

They walked through a pair of standing stones, taller than Tristan, their edges rough, but each face carved with intricate incised lines. Ahead, the trees opened out into a wide clearing scattered with buildings of various sizes, all circular, wood- built, and topped with a cone of thatch. In many cases, the thatch came so low it all but obscured the walls and melded into the grassy ground below. At the centre of the clearing stood one roundhouse that was much larger than all the others, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance. The wood was covered with more of the complex interwoven lines, the faces and bodies of animals hidden within the patterns.

Tristan followed the throng of Torelians and refugees through the scattering of roundhouses. As they went by, the Fae stopped in their tasks and came to watch the ragged procession, staring with their pale, pale eyes. A Fae woman carrying a small child emerged from one house, gazing boldly at them. Tristan watched the crowd warily. He could not decide if it was the unwavering stares or the paleness of their eyes that bothered him the most. All the old stories warned of the tricksy and unpredictable ways of the Fae. He shivered once, as if trying to rid himself of a chill.

Beyond the main cluster of roundhouses, a stream cut across the clearing. The Fae led them across the steadily trickling waters via a series of flat stepping stones. There were a few small wooden buildings on the far side, but most of the space between the riverbank and the forest’s edge had been filled with tents. Tristan guessed there were almost a hundred, but even as the Torelians approached, a pair of Fae were constructing another, throwing heavy animal skins over a framework of bent saplings and withies.

“So, this is the Ahote village,” said Branwyn, her voice resigned. She barely glanced at the roundhouses and tents before twisting out of Tristan’s arm to gaze back the way they had come.

Tristan frowned. She still looked for Andor at every moment, even though it had been three days since his disappearance. Every day they had trailed at the back, lagging much further behind than he was comfortable with, but there had been no sign. And no matter who they asked, no one knew what had happened to Andor.

As Branwyn looked behind once more, silent and sorrowful, guilt stabbed at Tristan again. He had been so focused on making sure that Branwyn was safe, he had neglected Andor. Branwyn was the one who could not fight, who could not use runes, who needed his protection. He had thought, assumed, that Andor could take care of himself, but he should never have made that assumption. He had promised Aiden he would look after them both. What would he tell Aiden when he returned? And until then, how did he look after Branwyn? He knew how to guard against physical enemies, but Branwyn’s challenges were more than simply physical.

Tristan tugged Branwyn’s arm, steering her over the stepping stones in the stream and towards the tents. Once all the Torelians were gathered in the centre, a hush fell over the crowd. One of the Fae stepped forward. He was tall, and although dressed like a woodsman, the ruff of silver fur around his neck seemed to mark him above the others.

“I am Hotah Ahote, chief of the Ahote Clan,” said the Fae, confirming Tristan’s first impressions. “The Eagles brought us news of your plight, and while I know in the past our peoples have been at war, you are welcome here while we share a common enemy.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows slightly. Did that mean the minute the fight with the Brathadair was over the Fae would change their allegiance?

The Chief continued. “Tents have been made ready for you. I will send my healers to assist any who have been injured. Rest now and we shall prepare a feast tonight in honour of the fallen.” A murmur of assent passed through the crowd. “Finally, I ask that you do not stray beyond the ring of protective stones that surrounds this village. No threat will be made against you within its circle, but I cannot speak for the rest of the creatures who live in the forest beyond.”

With a nod of his head, Hotah Ahote turned and crossed back over the stream, disappearing into the great central roundhouse. A contingent of the woodsmen warriors followed their chief, but others remained with the Torelians. A tall woman took the place where the chief had been standing.

“The tents will take four or five people each. I suggest you split yourselves into groups accordingly and we will assign you a tent.” The Fae woman’s manner was brisk and Tristan wondered if all would be as welcoming as their chief.

Tristan took Branwyn by the hand. “Come on. Let’s find Rook and Signy.”

He pushed his way through the crowd until he saw the tall, red-bearded figure of Rook. The big man stood with his arm around Signy’s waist, keeping the injured Feather Guard on her feet.

One of the Fae led them to a tent and lifted the entrance flap to reveal a dim, woody-smelling interior. Fresh rushes had been laid over the ground and a few blankets and furs had been left around the edges. A wooden bucket of water and a pile of cloth rags sat by the door. Gratefully Tristan unbuckled the heavy leather armour he had been wearing for the last few days, trying to decide whether a nap on a soft fur blanket or a wash in clear cold water appealed to him more.

“At long last,” said Signy, sinking to her knees. “A real bed.” With a smile she lay down on a pile of furs, scraping her blonde hair behind her head.

“I wouldn’t call this a real bed,” said Rook, throwing off his own sword and armour and lying down across from her. He laced his fingers comfortably behind his head. “But it will do. I’m ready to sleep for the next week.”

“Good,” said Signy. “I can have your food at the feast tonight.”

“Eh, now wait a minute,” said Rook, propping himself up on one elbow. “I made no mention of sleeping through the feast.”

“Always thinking of your stomach, Rook,” said Tristan with a chuckle, as he lifted the hard leather breastplate over his head and threw it into the corner next to Rook’s.

Branwyn sat down by the tent door and folded her arms.“You are remembering it’s a feast for the fallen?” she said, a little sharpness in her voice.

“Of course,” said Signy. She sat up stiffly and reached a hand out to Branwyn. “But it’s a feast of celebration. Celebration of their lives and our escape. It’s not a time for sadness.”

Branwyn huffed. “Well, I don’t want to feast until I know what’s happened to Andor.”

Tristan frowned. In a way she was right, but he did not know what he could do. They had searched for Andor to no avail. Even the Fae with their keen eyesight and knowledge of the forest had not come across him. But how could he tell Branwyn they may never see her cousin again?

Rook spoke the words they were all thinking. “You know, Branwyn, it’s a big forest and we’ve come a long way. You have to prepare yourself, we might not ever find out what happened to him.”

Branwyn scowled and stood, her fists clenched. “I refuse to believe that.” Giving them all a fierce glare, she lifted the tent flap and walked out.

Tristan sighed. Her pain and frustration echoed his own. His father was missing too, and he knew he would never stop hoping for his return. Yet both he and Branwyn had to be prepared for the worst. No matter how much he wanted to protect her, some things were out of his control.

“Are you going to go after her?” said Signy.

Tristan nodded. “Though I don’t know what I can say to make it better.”

Signy shook her head. “I don’t think you need to say anything. Just show her she’s not alone.”

Tristan gave a slight nod and followed Branwyn out of the tent. She had already crossed to the far side of the clearing. Tristan jogged after her, feeling the ache in his muscles as he moved, his old injury from the poisoned arrow twinging in his leg. He reached Branwyn, slowing to a walk beside her. She did not stop.

They walked side by side in silence for another few minutes until they were back amidst the trees. Eventually Branwyn stopped and faced him.

“Are you here to make sure I don’t go beyond the ring of stones? To make sure I don’t disappear into the forest looking for Andor?” she said, her eyes accusatory.

Tristan shook his head slowly. “No.” Tristan sighed. “Branwyn, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect him. I’m sorry I couldn’t find him. I’m sorry we had to keep going and leave him behind.”

Branwyn swallowed and Tristan wondered how close to tears she was. She tilted her head to the side. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for any of this. It just feels like everyone’s given up,” she said, sniffing. “I can’t give up on him. He’s the only one I have left.”

“Branwyn, you’re not alone,” said Tristan, taking both of her hands in his.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes watery. “No? My parents are gone, Aiden is gone, and now Andor.”

“I’m not gone,” said Tristan, squeezing her hands. “And I’ve not given up.”

Branwyn bit her lip. “Then what do we do? How do we find him?”

Tristan looked at the ground. He did not know. He did not know how to face the weight of everything that had happened. So much death and loss. No training could have ever prepared him for the grim reality of battle.

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat behind him. “Tristan Arthursson?”

Tristan turned around slowly. Whoever it was had better have a good reason for interrupting. A member of the Torelian Guard stood a few feet away. Tristan stared at him, wishing he would leave, but the messenger relayed his news, undaunted.

“Captain Allan is looking for you. Your presence is required at the war council.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” said Tristan, continuing to stare at the messenger until he went away. Tristan turned to Branwyn. “I have to go. We’ll talk more later.”

She nodded, but said nothing, a sad expression on her face. Tristan wiped a tear from her cheek and leaned in to give her a quick kiss. She gently pushed him away.

“Go. You don’t want to be late for the war council.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he said, reluctant to leave her.

She gave him a false smile. “I’ll be alright.”

Tristan walked back to the main camp and made his way through the tents to where a group of people were congregating around Allan’s tent. Some of the Torelian Guard had formed a protective circle around them, but they let Tristan through. Most of the others had already arrived. Maddok and Ester, elders of Faraig and Darrogie were sat on stools next to Allan. Odmund, the swordmaster, stood speaking with Bradan of the Palace Guard and Dorcas of the City Guard. The twin wizards Freya and Anya stood a little to one side, watching the proceedings with calculating eyes. Tristan sidled past them to join the Princess’ bodyguards, Marsaili and Niamh.

Marsaili was wrapping a bandage around her arm, but she looked up as he approached. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Always happy to see me,” said Tristan.

Marsaili grinned and tucked away the end of the bandage.

“You alright?” said Tristan, nodding towards her arm.

“Oh, it’s just another battle scar,” she said.

Tristan raised an eyebrow.

Niamh stepped towards him and leaned an elbow on his shoulder. “She collects them, you know,” she whispered in his ear. Tristan pushed her off his shoulder.

“Hey! That was comfy.”

Marsaili laughed. “He’s worried his new girlfriend will disapprove.”

Tristan gaped. How did they even know about him and Branwyn?

Niamh leaned in again. “Don’t worry. I think she’s more likely to disapprove of your attire than me leaning on your shoulder.”

Tristan glanced down at himself and realised that he was still wearing the filthy shirt from underneath his armour. It was stained with blood and mud and probably stunk too. He had barely noticed it over the days of their journey, but now he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. For a moment, the sight of the blood made him gag. He swallowed it down, along with the rest of his confused emotions. It was the only shirt he owned now.

A sudden gust of wind announced the arrival of the two Eagles, Tahke and Skarandar. The conversations around the group ceased, and once the Eagles had settled, everyone drew closer, all attention on the Captain of the Torelian Guard.

“Thank you all for coming,”said Allan.“I know you would all rather be resting.”

“I’m sure we would,” said Niamh bluntly.

“Unless you have something useful to say, hold your tongue,” said Odmund sharply.

Niamh folded her arms but remained silent.

Allan continued, pointedly ignoring her. “As you all know, Torelia is lost and with it our safety, much of our weapons and supplies and...” Allan paused, taking a short sharp breath. “And many of our friends and comrades.”

A few in the circle shifted uncomfortably. Bradan clenched his fists together. Ester gave a quiet sniff. Tristan rubbed his chin and kept his eyes down. He was lucky that all the people close to him had survived. Except Andor, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

“We need a new strategy for what comes next,” said Allan, breaking everyone from their reveries.

“We need to fight back!” said Bradan loudly.

“Agreed,” said Dorcas. “But before we can start fighting we need at least some semblance of an army. What we have now is merely a rabble of survivors.”

Odmund raised a hand to placate her. “A rabble of survivors maybe, but mostly trained soldiers merely in need of a bit of order. We can start reforming the patrols as soon as tomorrow. After that, it will not take long to feel like an army once more.”

From his seat on the stool, Maddok nodded. “I don’t think we need to worry about our army coming together,” he said. “For now, the more pressing concern is whether or not we can trust the Fae. No one has had dealings with them for years and all the old stories paint them as devious and tricky creatures.”

“I think it’s good that we are here and the Fae are willing to help us,” Ester said.

“I don’t trust them,” said Allan with a snort. “You may not have had dealings with them nearer the City, but in Torelia we’ve encountered them over the years. They’re not outright bad, but with them everything comes at a price.”

“Maybe they just want to help us so we can get rid of Sorcier and the Brathadair for them,” said Tristan.

“Maybe,” said Allan reluctantly, “but we should be wary nonetheless.”

“We have had dealings with Fae in the past,” said one of the twin wizards. “The Chief has given us his word of protection for now. As long as we follow his rules, I don’t think any harm will come to us.”

“It all depends on what his rules are,” said Bradan.

“The Fae will honour their agreement,” said Tahke. “Or they shall incur the anger of the Eagles.”

Tristan looked at the two Eagles, wondering what sort of agreement they had made with the Fae to convince them to help a people who had once been their enemy.

“Until we have the chance to speak with their Chief, there is little we can decide now, other than to make every decision with due consideration,” said Odmund.

“We really ought to wait until the Princess returns before speaking with any of the Fae in official terms,” said Marsaili, speaking up for the first time in the meeting.

“And did she tell you when she would return?” said Allan. “We can’t wait around forever.”

“She’ll be coming,” said Niamh.

Tristan took a step back, a sudden wave of icy dread flooding him from head to toe.

“What?” said Niamh, turning and frowning at him.

Tristan shook his head. “You might want to hope she’s not coming.”

Marsaili looked like she was about to argue, then her face went white as she grasped the meaning of Tristan’s words.

“Will someone please explain?” said Dorcas.

Tristan addressed the group. “The Princess might be coming back, along with Falkor and hopefully all the Eagle Riders. But they’re not coming here...”

“They’re going to Torelia,” Marsaili said.

“Right into the heart of the Brathadair forces,” Niamh added, though by that point the horror-stricken expressions on everyone’s faces showed that they had already made the connection.