The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

soon become out of control, influencing, for either good or bad, both the people in which they dwell and those around them.
    “Only a moon-cycle or two passed before Javagathlon drew others to himself, in whom the colours of Lust most easily flourished. They met secretly, in the richest part of the night when neither of their moons was full, or just before dawn when all their people slept. At first, their Lust was unstructured and all their meetings were filled with nothing but talk, when hatred and envy ran free. This only satisfied them for a while. Soon, Javagathlon stood before them and made his first speech inciting rebellion.
    “The sky was filled with strange noises on that night when they met in a copse near Javagathlon’s largest cornfield. Birds shrieked and field wolves howled, even when not on the hunt, though no danger approached that small group of men destined to change all. Perhaps danger itself was wary.
    “ Why must we suffer the way things have always been , the rebel leader said, when we can fight the so-called leaders and take what should be ours? They have houses and fields and crops enough, whereas we stand helplessly by, tilling our poor soil and producing barely enough to keep us alive. The New Lands have had their fill of injustice; the time is right for real leaders to fight back. They are weak and unprepared, but we are strong and ready for the justice of victory. Here and now, while the mood is on us and the season is right, we must make our stand.
    “Javagathlon was not a tall or noble-looking man, but his words held power—as do all words indeed, whether spoken or thought—and his followers had soon fallen in with his plans. Lust finds many playmates, whatever the desired object may be. It took, so the books tell us, only two seven-day-cycles for the rebellion to be fully ready. Any longer and Javagathlon feared that the onset of winter in the New Lands might put his plans in jeopardy. For now, the people were busy with the harvest, but their hard labour would soon end. It might have been this industry that prevented the leaders from discovering what plans were laid against them.
    “On the darkest night of the New Lander year-cycle and at the coldest hour, the rebels struck. They stormed the huts of the three main leaders in the largest of their villages, killed several women and children who had no means of defending themselves, drove out the menfolk and set the unharvested fields on fire. It is a mystery why men do these things. I imagine that the riches and size of the leaders’ fields were what Javagathlon and the followers of Lust desired, but nevertheless this is what the legends recount. Afterwards, they rejoiced and drank in the homes they had plundered and used the treasures they had stolen in whatever way they wished. Those around them were terrified at what had happened in their midst, as such an attack and the reasons behind it had no precedent in their history. They did not dare to question it, and so Javagathlon became their leader in the place of those who had been driven away, and Lust had its way amongst the New Lander people.”
    In the pause she left at the end of this section of the tale, Annyeke could hear Simon’s rapid breathing.
    “What happened then?” he asked her, his voice unsteady. “Surely, that is not the end of the tale you wished to tell me? For if it is, then nothing can be learned apart from the things I already know of the world, that everything ends in darkness and evil desires. By the gods and stars, tell me it is not so.”
    She nodded, eyes remaining closed. “Nothing is truly over until the world itself ends, or so those wiser than I am say. But for every evil act, there is an opposite ranged against it. That is what the Spirit says and I believe it to be true. Yes, there is more to this story.”
    “Then tell me,” he breathed.
    “I will,” she smiled. “For the people of the New Lands had not chosen their leaders entirely unwisely. Amongst those who were forced to flee when the rebellion first rose against them was a man named Kadron. That, in their ancient language, means Fortitude and, once again, his original name is lost to us, but Kadron he remains. He was as opposite to Javagathlon as the day-cycle is to the night. The lustful man was small and dark, and the man of fortitude tall and fair, an imposing presence amongst any nation. The colours of his mind were gold and cream, and all the evil in the world could not