The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

terror, she kept the sense of an injustice done buried deeply within her thoughts. Not that she could have explained it then, or why she allowed her anger to grow and burn inside as it did, but that was the truth of it.
    The worst of all her memories took place when she was six summers old. It was the resting day and the family were together in the garden as was their custom when the sun was kind. Her mother was altering one of her father’s over-tunics, her father himself was clearing the herb area of weeds, and her grandmother was basking in the sun. Annyeke was concentrating on being as quiet as possible and ignoring the constant hum of the birds.
    A sudden clash of small claws and feathers above her, near the flowering limes, made her gasp and peer upwards, pressing her nails into the palms of her hands in order to keep still. She would do anything to avoid Yeke noticing her.
    It was too late.
    “Little one, for the stars’ sakes, they are only birds!” her grandmother snorted. “When will you learn to be sensible?”
    Her father tut-tutted at Yeke’s casual blasphemy but said no more, instead turning back to his weeding and ignoring the developing family drama.
    “Don’t worry, Annyeke,” her mother frowned, intent on her sewing. “They won’t hurt you.”
    Annyeke didn’t reply to that. Meanwhile, the two birds above her, an apple sparrow resplendent in its green summer plumage, and a dull brown woodlark, continued their furious battle. As Annyeke began to tremble, two feathers, one green and one brown, floated down to rest on the ground next to her feet. More than anything she wanted to run but couldn’t begin to think where she could go that might be safe. The city was full of birds.
    When she blinked at her grandmother, she could see Yeke’s hard green eyes piercing a way through her, body and soul. Yeke’s dark red hair gleamed brighter in the sun, almost the colour of blood. It made the strange crimson net in Annyeke’s mind twist and she gasped again.
    One last wild shriek from the woodlark, and the sparrow tumbled down to earth. Annyeke’s hands gripped the sides of the gardenseat, forcing herself not to move. She would not run, she would not. Because if she did, she could not begin to imagine what Yeke would do to ensure she would never run again.
    The dying bird fluttered around on the grass as the woodlark flew to the lime tree, perching halfway up and declaring its victory in liquid song. Annyeke didn’t care about that. Her attentions were focused simply on the sparrow. Its death dance brought it nearer to her seat and she found she couldn’t look away. If she looked away, she wouldn’t know what it was doing. It might come nearer. Touch her even. She couldn’t bear the thought of that. Every sense she possessed cowered away.
    “ By the gods. ”
    Yeke’s voice split the woodlark’s song and the bird flew away from the tree. Her father’s trowel clanged down in the soil, striking stone. At the same time, her grandmother pushed herself up from her sitting position and strode with unknown purpose to stand in front of Annyeke. For the length of a heartbeat, the bulk of her obscured the sun, then she hunkered down. Her hair glowed brighter again when she turned to Annyeke, but her expression was lost in darkness.
    “Women of our blood should never show fear,” she said.
    Before Annyeke could understand what was happening, Yeke scooped up the dying bird, took two steps forward and placed the tiny body on her granddaughter’s lap.
    Annyeke couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. The sparrow convulsed, its flesh warm against her leg, opened its eye and seemed to stare up at her. One green speckled wing lay at an angle downwards and she could see that some of the feathers had been ripped out. Blood spattered across the body from a rip in the throat the woodlark had made.
    She opened her mouth and screamed. The sound made her mother jump to her feet and her father gave a short, sharp cry. The scream continued. On and on, so that she thought she might be swallowed up by it entirely. Her mind felt as if a great black flood of fear was sweeping through and out of her and would carry her away, a flood of past and present terrors. All things only half expressed to her family until now launched themselves into the air within the scream’s strange power—her deep-seated horror of feather, talon and beak, her unacknowledged rage at Yeke and the injustice of the dying