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| "The roof had become a bonfire, smoke pouring upwards from the blazing thatch." |
Balor ducked as the dull explosion ripped through the air; a fraction of a second later a blast of heat singed his face. He glanced out from the doorway where he was hiding. Everything was in chaos: people were running backwards and forwards through a billowing cloud of black smoke, shouting, crying, bleeding.
He looked around, trying to find Mother’s face in the confusion. He had lost hold of her as soon as the men had stormed up the beach and the soldiers guarding them had fled in the face of the attack. The women had scattered in panic, coming between Mother and him and wrenching his hand from hers. He had cried out for her and stumbled around desperately, hoping she would come back for him, but then the fighting had come upon him and he had run away, looking for shelter from the noise and violence. He had come upon the doorway and crouched there, his eyes tightly closed and his hands clamped over his ears, until the blast shook the door-posts and he looked out to see what had happened.
He could not make out much. The air was filling fast with black smoke, and the people dashing about were already little more than silhouettes. A gust of wind came in off the sea, clearing the air for a moment, and in that second he caught a glimpse of his house. He gasped. The roof had become a bonfire, smoke pouring upwards from the blazing thatch. The men and women were trying desperately to put it out, all thoughts of battle forgotten. Already the flames were reaching out to neighbouring houses: even as he watched another roof caught alight, and a fresh blast of heat rolled over him as cries of despair rose from the villagers.
He could not see any of the soldiers. He guessed they had gone, their work finished. But where was Mother? Where was Banac, and Father? The last thing he had seen before the battle was Father being taken away and Banac with a glinting knife held to his throat — where had they gone?
Alone and scared, crouching in the doorway, he looked for a familiar face, for someone to comfort him; but there was no-one.
Then, as he searched the chaos, there was a movement in the smog out of the corner of his eye: a familiar form, hunched over and scurrying away from the fire. It was only visible for a second before it vanished in the thick darkness, but there was no mistaking it.
“Banac!” he called. But the figure was already gone, and Balor’s voice was drowned by the shouts of panic from nearby. He rose to his feet and set off in pursuit. The smoke was thicker than ever, and it stung his throat when he breathed. Coughing and gagging he staggered through the twilight, his eyes watering.
“Banac!” he called again. No reply came. He tripped on an unseen obstacle and almost fell, but even as he pitched forward he stumbled out of the black pall and into clearer air.
Banac was there, striding away from him purposefully. A bag was slung over his shoulder, and a short sword in a leather scabbard bumped against his legs.
“Banac!”
Banac stopped and turned, startled at Balor’s voice. Balor had expected a greeting, or at least a smile, but instead Banac frowned, and he turned and started walking away.
“Go away!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t follow me!”
For a moment Balor was stunned. “What do you mean?” he said, running after his brother. “Where are you going?”
He caught up with Banac and reached out to grab his arm, but Banac shook him off roughly.
“It’s not your business,” he said, turning to face Balor. His jaw was set, and there was a strange look in his eyes, as if he was contemplating murder. “Just go home. Go and help Mother. Help with the fire — that’s where they need you.”
He started to walk away again, but Balor would not let him go. This time he caught a fistful of Banac’s smock and hung on, forcing him to swing round. Banac tried to push away and couldn’t, and they staggered awkwardly apart, facing each other.
“What are you doing?” Banac snapped. “Why are you following me? Go home, Balor!” He shoved him, and Balor stumbled back, bewildered.
“What’s going on?” he said. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going after them,” Banac said. “I’m going to get Father back. And you can’t come with me.”
“But—”
“But nothing! Go on! Get out of here!” Banac waved a hand and made as if to hit him, and when Balor flinched he snorted in disgust and turned on his heel.
As Balor watched him go he felt his eyes smart with tears. His chest grew tight, and the breath caught in his throat as an emptiness welled up inside him, overwhelming him. Father was gone, taken by those horrible men, and now Banac was leaving and he did not know why. Without realising it he started to cry, great sobs shaking his small form until he could not stand and he slumped to the ground, sitting in the dirt with the tears streming down his cheeks, wondering why all these bad things had to happen.
Someone touched him, a hand on his arm. He looked up through red-rimmed eyes to see Banac standing over him, looking down at him. He expected more harsh words, or a slap to send him running; but to his surprise Banac crouched down and folded him in a hug, and grasped him tightly, like Father or Mother would have done.
Banac held him until the sobs had subsided, then released him and held him at arm’s length, a very grown-up expression on his face.
“I have to go,” Banac explained softly. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I have to. I have to find Father and bring him back. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I know I have to, somehow, because ...” He hesitated struggling with the truth, then shrugged. “Because, in a way, I suppose it’s my fault. I found the torc. I found the beremer. I brought him here. I started this. If anyone’s going to fix this it should be me. Do you understand?”
Balor nodded. “So why can’t I come with you?”
“Because it could be dangerous. In fact, it will be dangerous. I can’t have you trailing round after me, do you understand? I can’t be watching out for you all the time.”
“But I want to come. I want to help Father.”
Banac smiled, not unkindly. “And what could you do to help?”
“I don’t know. But he’s my Father too, and I want to help him." Balor saw Banac's smile widen, and sudden anger flared up inside him. "And if you don’t let me come," he said, "I’ll tell everyone where you’ve gone, and they’ll come after you and bring you back.”
The smile died, and Banac’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a toad, you know that?”
“Let me come.”
“It’ll be dangerous.”
“I know.”
“It might take a long time.”
“I don’t care.”
“We might be hungry, cold, tired.”
“I just want to help.”
Banac fell silent. Then he sighed and stood up. “Come on then,” he said. “If you must. But don’t expect me to baby you. Adventures aren’t easy, you know.”
*
They made their way through the deserted houses to the hill behind the village, leaving the noise and smoke behind. As they began to climb the hill Balor had a thought:
“What about Mother? Won’t she worry?”
Banac shook his head. “I left her a note,” he said. “In the long-hall. I told her everything. I told her not to worry about me.” He smiled grimly at the irony, for it was the Scholar who had taught him his letters years before, the same Scholar who today had come to take Father away. He said nothing more to Balor, but in his heart he made himself a vow that after he had found Father he would go to find the Scholar as well, and he would make that smug old man feel sorry for what he had done that day. The sword bumped against his legs, its weight comforting. He shifted it in his belt and carried on climbing.
When they reached the first rise they stopped and looked back. From their vantage point over the village they could see that the fire had already spread to other houses; the burning pitch was churning out more of the dense black smoke, almost obscuring their view. Over the sounds of the Sea they could hear desperate cries and calls as the villagers struggled to douse the flames, but it was clear their best efforts would make little difference. Many more homes would be turned to smoking wrecks before that fire burned out.
Banac felt badly for them; but more than this he felt excited, anticipating his great adventure. Finally he had managed to break away from the monotony of village life, the endless rounds of school and work. Finally he was setting off into the wide world. True, the adventure wasn’t quite the one he had planned; but they never were, were they?
He turned away, full of confidence for the road that lay ahead. He could see Balor’s lip quivering again, so he reached out his arm and pulled him close. “It’s all right,” he said. “No-one’s going to get hurt. We pulled Grandfather out, me and Elred, before I went back for the torc. No-one else was inside.”
Balor nodded, sniffing. “I know,” he said. “It’s just ...” He struggled, lacking the words to express what he felt. In the end he gave up, and hugged Banac tight. Banac returned the hug, feeling manly and grown-up. He was in charge now. He would be the one to whom Balor would look for help. He would not fail him. He hugged him a little while longer, then they turned away and continued their climb.
At the top of the ridge they were met by the dying fires of the sun as she set in the west, shining full in their faces. They looked back again, one last time. The black smoke rose from the burning thatch in a great pillar, tinged by the sun and given the illusion of solid form, and beyond the pillar lay the wide open Sea, wave-tops sparkling as they leapt and danced before the breeze. In the east the sky was darkening into dusk; the brightest stars already glinted above the far horizon.
For the first time he felt twinge of doubt. Was this really the right thing to be doing? But then he shook his head, putting all questions and doubt to the back of his mind. He did not have time for them any more. Already Balor had started down the far slope, heading towards the line of trees below. Somewhere out there, beyond the wood, out in the wide land that sprawled before them under the setting sun, Father was waiting. He was waiting for rescue, waiting for Cafan to give an answer to his prayers; and at that thought Banac’s heart lifted. He was the rescue. He was Cafan’s answer. He was the one Father waited for, though he did not know it yet. How could he doubt, or be afraid?
Yes, the adventure was different to the one he had imagined. But he was on it now, and there could be no going back. Idly he fingered the torc. It was cold against his skin, an ever-present reminder of the task he had set himself; he was glad for it.
He started down the slope, following his brother, turning his back on the dark pillar rising in the sky. He was determined not to look that way again, not until Father was rescued. He would keep his eyes ahead of him, following the road that lay before them, even if the journey took them to the gates of Padascel itself.
* * *
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