7
Over the next couple of hours, Mythrd alternated between clearing away the dirt from the monoliths and swinging the axe. If truth be told, he preferred cleaning the monoliths. With each wipe of the clumps of grass, it opened up more and more of the carvings and each one became a fascinating series of lines and circles that he prayed that he could read.
He also prayed that he could see the effects of the Aura. At least once more. That feeling that had erupted within him as he watched the colours and ribbons of light, that had appeared to emanate and radiate from everything, had caught his imagination like nothing before. He had felt a strength, a power within that light. He had also felt a peace and a feeling of welcome. Of belonging.
It wasn't something he could really describe, though he had tried to tell Gythryn. She had listened, asked questions, frowned at some parts, shook her head at others. To tell her that he had seen, and felt, the life in everything, even the stones and the soil beneath their feet, felt like the kind of nonsense story they would tell each other as children.
After telling her about the Aura, she had shrugged, returning to her practice with the sword. Mythrd didn't like that sword. Of all the things that had sent out the rainbow ribbons of the Aura, that sword had shown nothing. A pit of darkness among such beautiful light. Not that it felt evil, or anything dark and fearful like that, it only felt ... empty. As though the world had abandoned that one piece of it.
A sudden thought took him and he stopped cleaning the last monolith. Taking the axe from his belt, he raised it to take a closer look. The axe, like the sword, had belonged to a Gaeradine. Agarang, a Gaeradine himself, had had the Aura emanating from him, so it was not the invaders, themselves, that were devoid of the Aura. Could it, he pondered, have something to do with how objects are then used?
A sword, and a battle axe, were only made to take life. To remove the life from people and creatures. Did the Aura reject life-taking? A thing that ended the life of other things, a sword did not contribute to life, it only took life. If nothing else, Mythrd felt certain that the Aura was life, or, perhaps, existence. People and animals existed. Trees and stones and soil existed.
Even attempting to work through these ideas made his head pound. He had never had any schooling, other than a few written words in the Common Tongue. Gythryn had had a far greater education than him, part and parcel of living in the Monastery. She had had little choice in the matter. Yet, he had always wanted to learn. He didn't know what he wanted to learn, only that he knew there were a great many things that he could never understand. He had never learned how to think things through.
"So, this is where you've been hiding." Dragged from his thoughts, Mythrd snapped around to find Abbot Llwnthrn stood at the edge of the middle ring of standing stones. She tapped her cane against her leg, scowling. "Still playing games when danger is abroad. Fools and idiots, the both of you."
Her piercing grey eyes travelled from Mythrd to Gythryn and then fell upon the resting form of Agarang. Those eyes narrowed as she lifted her ochre robes, striding towards the Gaeradine. Crouching down, she gripped the man's jaw in her hand, turning his face one way and then the other before releasing him. She turned to Gythryn, first, fury upon her face.
"We can explain!" Sliding the axe back into his belt, Mythrd almost ran to stand between the Abbot and Gythryn. "He's badly injured. Don't the Patrons say we should help those who need it?"
"They also say not to suffer your enemies to live." Rising to her feet, the Abbot reached for the battle axe in Mythrd's belt, taking it out and shaking it before his face. "And you carry their weapons? If the Constable saw this, she'd arrest you as traitors!"
"There were Traal about. We needed weapons." Gythryn stepped to Mythrd's side. She had that look in her eyes that usually preceded an argument. Though Mythrd had never seen her use that look with Abbot Llwnthrn before. "And we couldn't just leave an injured man for the Traal or wolves to tear apart. That would be evil."
The Abbot tossed Mythrd's axe to the ground and reached for the sword in Gythryn's hand. Gythryn moved it away, keeping it from the Abbot's reach, which only caused the Abbot to swat Gythryn's hand with her cane, the sound of the stick striking flesh rebounding from the faces of the monoliths. The Abbot held out her hand, glaring at Gythryn.
Mythrd couldn't believe his eyes as Gythryn continued to defy the Abbot, setting her jaw and placing her body between the sword and Abbot Llwnthrn. The air almost felt as thick as honey between the two women and he felt himself become ready to jump in and stop any violence. But, then, Gythryn blinked. Hesitating, she gave the Abbot the sword, continuing to glare at the grey haired woman.
The Abbot held up the sword between her fingers, as though the merest touch could defile her. Grimacing, she dropped it to the ground beside Mythrd's axe and turned back towards Agarang. Laying her cane to the side, the Abbot kneeled beside the man. She opened Agarang's jacket and then placed her hands on either side of his torso, pressing with her fingers, causing Agarang to moan and turn his head.
"Broken ribs, several of them. Though not bad breaks. They'll not pierce his lungs." The Abbot's hands moved up and down Agarang's body, squeezing, pressing fingers into bruised flesh. All the while, she continued to scowl. "Arms and legs seem fine. Broken finger on the left hand. Bruising of the head. And dislocated right shoulder. That, we can deal with."
Grabbing Agarang's arm, the Abbot pressed her hand against his shoulder. Then, without warning, she yanked down on the arm, pushing her other hand down onto the shoulder. The injured Gaeradine gave a pained whimper, but still did not wake. The Abbot closed his jacket and laid Agarang's arm at his side before picking up her cane and standing again.
"We were only going to look after him until he could be moved." Mythrd felt as though he were begging for his own life, so severe did the Abbot glare at him. "We think he's some kind of deserter. The other Gaeradine were looking for him. They wanted him because he has important information. About the attack."
"Then why didn't you say this morning? Stupid boy!" The cane whipped out, striking Mythrd on the top of his head. He could understand why Gythryn had stood up to the Abbot, he had already had enough of that cane. "A rider has already gone to Patron's Hold."
"Because he didn't know this morning!" Now Gythryn stepped in, placing herself between him and the Abbot, protecting him as she always had. "Until Mythrd came back, we only thought Agarang was an enemy soldier. We thought the army would kill him, or torture him. If a soldier has to die, it should be in battle. Fair battle."
Over a foot taller than Gythryn, the Abbot glared down at her, her eyes moving this way and that, examining Gythryn as close as she could. Then the Abbot sighed, shaking her head. She turned to the weapons on the ground and began moving them around with the tip of her cane before looking back at Gythryn. She almost had a look of sympathy for Mythrd's best friend.
"There is no 'fair' in war, child. Only in fairy tales and exaggerated legends." The cane tapped against the handle of the sword. "There is only victory or defeat and no-one cares how it comes about. Fairness doesn't come into it. Not for the Gaeradine, not for our own army. Kill or be killed. That's the way of war. There's no romance to standing in a field knee-deep in blood, your comrades dying beside you, calling for their mothers."
This was a side of the Abbot that Mythrd had never seen before and, with a glance, he could see that it was a new sensation for Gythryn, too. The Abbot spoke with a profound sadness, as though the words she said, the images she talked of, were from her own memories. Mythrd had only ever known the Abbot as the Abbot. He had never even considered she had a life before the Monastery.
"There should be fairness! Without it, what's the point? Someone has to be better." Gythryn looked confused. She dropped her eyes to her sword. "Someone has to be the good side. Don't they?"
"That depends on the someone." Everyone's eyes turned to Kaninzir. Mythrd hadn't even seen him return and, from the looks from Gythryn and the Abbot, neither had they. He leaned on his staff, his eyes upon Gythryn. "Wars can be won if someone is fair. Their reason to fight need only be greater than their opponent's. Hello, Llwnthrn. Still angry at everything?"
For the first time in his life, Mythrd saw Abbot Llwnthrn lost for words. Her mouth opened and closed several times, her fingers flexing and tightening around the shaft of her cane. Mythrd was not alone in seeing the Abbot's reaction to the old man. Gythryn took great delight in seeing her nemesis in disarray.
-+-
Chuckling, Kaninzir moved across to Agarang. Once again, he crouched, supporting himself with his staff, and placed his hand on the man's forehead. Nodding to himself, he stood up again. In the meantime, Abbot Llwnthrn regained her composure, striding after the old man, tapping him on the shoulder with her cane. He turned and looked at her as though he had only this second seen her.
"I might have known you had something to do with this." She towered over the man, grey eyes locking with green. Mythrd could almost swear he saw the animosity crackling between them. "You and your meddling 'Guardians'. Corrupting the minds of children. Sticking your nose in where it's not wanted."
"I corrupted no-one, Llwnthrn." Kaninzir waved a vague hand in the direction of Mythrd and Gythryn. "These children sought sanctuary and the Father of the Green gave it to them. I only happened to return to the stones as they were here. Good thing I did, too. The Traal were quite ravenous last night."
"That! That is your corruption, old man!" As Kaninzir tried to move around the Abbot, she stepped in front of him again, pointing her cane into his chest. "Your 'Guardians' no longer hold sway on this island. Only love and worship of the Patrons can save anyone. The power of the 'Guardians' is pitiful compared to that of the Patrons."
Shaking his head, Kaninzir made to step aside again. Abbot Llwnthrn moved to intercept and the old man skipped the other way, leaving the Abbot standing as he returned to Mythrd and Gythryn. He smiled at them both, patting each on the forearm, before turning to one of the monoliths. Looking up at the weather beaten stone, he ran his fingers over the revealed carvings.
"You didn't get the top part." Turning his balding head, Kaninzir gave a sad shake of the head. He held his staff almost parallel to the ground and moved the tip up and down. "You could have attached grass to a stick. Cleaned the stone like so."
He waggled his staff again, then raised a hand, waving it in defeat. Sighing, he planted the staff on the ground and turned in time to see Abbot Llwnthrn catch up to him. He raised bushy eyebrows as the Abbot prodded him in the chest, with a finger, this time.
"You cannot have these children! They are not for you and your ancient religion." The Abbot's voice raised, in volume and tone, as she loomed over the old man, who seemed to find her amusing. "The girl is promised to the Monastery, to become a novice and devote her life to the Patrons. The boy to the army, to protect his homeland with honour."
"And do they not have a choice in the matter?" Having to debate the Abbot seemed a wearisome prospect for the old man. He gave another sigh, deeper, longer, and made the chewing action with his jaw. "Really, Llwnthrn. If I did not know any better, I'd think you resented me and the Guardians for you making the wrong choice so long ago."
"No! They do not have a choice!" The Abbot realised, now, that she had started to almost scream at the old man. "And I made the right choice. The only choice. Giving myself in service to the Patrons is my greatest accomplishment."
Kaninzir gave a dismissive snort, before moving around the Abbot once more. He reached the weapons upon the ground, picked each up, in turn, and placed them in the hands of Mythrd and Gythryn. He closed their fingers around the handle of their weapons, looking each of them in the eye and nodding.
Mythrd felt uneasy, seeing the look of pure venom on the Abbot's face. He held the axe a little way from his body, uncertain what to do with it. Gythryn had a smug look of satisfaction upon her face as she tucked the sword into her belt, resting her hand upon the pommel, daring the Abbot to take it from her. She ignored the seething expression of the Abbot and Mythrd almost cringed at the thought of the punishments Abbot Llwnthrn would concoct for his friend.
"You see, Llwnthrn, this is where the Guardians and the Patrons diverge." Done with giving Mythrd and Gythryn their weapons back, Kaninzir turned back to the Abbot. "The Guardians demand nothing, while your Patrons do nothing but demand. Demand worship. Demand obedience. Demand pudding."
He laughed at the last one and even Mythrd understood it for the joke it was. He tried to stifle his own laugh, but the Abbot heard, snapping her head towards him and glaring at him. He ducked his head, staring at the axe in his hands. He still didn't know if he should slide it into his belt. Gythryn had turned away, looking to the north, frowning.
"They deserve our worship and our obedience." Once again, the Abbot squared up to Kaninzir. This time he did not move. Did not turn away. Leaning upon his staff with both hands, he matched glares with Llwnthrn. "It is their right to demand! They hold the fate of Ch'ack and all upon the face of the world in their hands. You and your 'Guardians' would do well to remember that!"
"And yet, Iibar has remained untouched by the cataclysms of the Upheavals, while the lands beyond have suffered under the petty, fickle hands of the Patrons." Kaninzir made one step forward, forcing the Abbot backwards. "Thousands, millions die when the Patrons go to war. Not here. Never here. The Guardians protect while asking for nothing in return. Worship, or don't worship. Love, or don't love. The Guardians care little for such things. They give love, not demand it. You shared in that love. Once."
That revelation shook the Abbot. She took another, involuntary, step backwards. Her face a picture of indecision. She looked towards Mythrd and she could tell he had heard Kaninzir's words. Pursing her lips, she seemed to dare Mythrd to say something. This time, he did not lower his head. If he had heard correctly, the Abbot, herself, had once had a connection, of some kind, with the Guardians. It made Mythrd curious what that connection was.
"Come. Come! We will stay here no longer." With one, last, withering look at Kaninzir, the Abbot turned away, moving to Mythrd. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and began to pull him away. "Gythryn. Girl! You will leave this place. Come along."
"No." As the Abbot moved to push Gythryn along, Gythryn shrugged away her hand. She stepped away. "I'm staying. I'm staying to look after Agarang and I'm staying because I'm not going back to that Monastery."
For only a second time, but in the space of only a few moments, Mythrd saw Abbot Llwnthrn lost for words. Mythrd didn't understand all this talk of demanding worship and obedience. He didn't understand the connections, or lack of them, between the Patrons and the Guardians. What he knew, who he knew, was Gythryn. He knew his friend better than anyone and he had seen this rebellion brewing for a long time.
The Abbot released his collar and then made deliberate steps towards Gythryn. Without warning, the Abbot cracked her cane across Gythryn's shoulders. Mythrd winced. He knew how much the whip of that cane could hurt. Even now, he could see the red welt on Gythryn's hand from where the Abbot had hit her before. She hit Gythryn a second time. Harder.
Mythrd wanted to dash forward, to take the brunt of the Abbot's strikes, but Gythryn saw him preparing to move and shook her head. She had to do this herself. She had to suffer the punishment that the Abbot rained down upon her if she wanted to prove her determination. Even so, Mythrd would take every hit, suffer every welt in Gythryn's place if she would only allow it.
"You defy me? You defy your lords, the Patrons?" Another strike against Gythryn's shoulders and still Gythryn did not move. She did not even flinch as the Abbot struck her again. "I'll beat this wickedness from you, girl, if I have to. You will return to the Monastery. You will fall to your knees before the altar and beg the Patrons for forgiveness. You will obey me!"
With each demand, the Abbot whipped Gythryn. She stepped around with every strike, hitting a new, fresh part of Gythryn's body. All the while, the only sign that Gythryn felt anything was the almost imperceptible tightening of her fingers against the grip of her sword. Mythrd could not understand how Gythryn still stood. Were it him, he doubted he could have suffered half as many blows before collapsing in pain.
"I don't defy the Patrons, because it's not the Patrons that demand of me, it's you! I defy you! Yes!" As the cane whistled through the air towards Gythryn once more, she caught it in her hand. "I've paid for the 'kindness' of the Monastery every day of my life since my family died. I've scrubbed floors, lifted and carried everything you told me to. I've slept on a filthy mattress. Woken up at dawn to perform my duties. No more! I've paid for it! I will not continue to pay for the rest of my life."
Gythryn released the cane and Mythrd could see the red welt already risen in her palm. She turned her back upon the Abbot and walked away, back towards Agarang.
"You see, Llwnthrn?" The old man had stood, watching everything. He no longer grinned, or chuckled. He only looked at the Abbot with great pity. "Demand and demand and demand. All it ever brings is resentment and anger."