Leda

Chapter Forty-Five: Tipping the Balance

This bloodsucking leech of a world which just seemed to keep taking until Hal had no more left to give...it had finally thrown something back. Leda was the break of sun through storm clouds; she was flower petals mingling with the sand and heat of the desert. She had returned.

Hal held Leda at arm's length, unable to speak, taking in the girl's outlandish clothes ˗ the shirt and trousers twice her size, besmirched with mud and torn to rags. Her ill-fitting boots and the heavy sheepskin draped over her shoulders. Her wild curls were plastered to her face with rain and sweat and dirt. She was thin: half-starved, Hal guessed, and pale with exhaustion. And somehow aged, as if in weeks she'd witnessed years. Unwilling to let the girl go again, Hal drew her closer, squeezing her so hard that Leda yelped.

"Where have you been?"

"If I told you, Hal, you might not believe me. I'll write you another book some day. It all seems more like a story than the truth."

Hal read the suffering in Leda's face, the lines of worry etched into her skin. "A tale to frighten children with?"

Leda looked away. "Something like that." She gnawed on her lower lip and shivered. "My saviour, Oræl," she said.

Drawing from Hal's embrace, she threw an arm around the shoulders of her companion: auburn haired and golden eyed, strong and long of limb, her face freckled, weather-worn and honest. Hal warmed to her immediately."Is it true?" she asked. "Did you save her?"

"We saved each other," Oræl said. Hal detected a crofter's accent, thick and melodic. She observed, too, how Oræl leaned towards Leda, as if drawn to her on an invisible thread.

There was a snapping of undergrowth, a pummelling of the ground, as Roc's army marched outwards and onto the moors. Leda gripped Oræl's hand in fear.

"Don't worry, Leda. That's the rest of us. Magda is here and Jools, and..."

"Mother?" Leda asked, the breath catching in her throat.

Hal shook her head, guilt and loss stealing up on her in equal measure. "Leda, your mother is Josen's prisoner."

"What?"

"It was my fault. We argued and..."

"Well, well, well...the moors do deliver up their treasures!" Jools jumped down from her horse, her voice sharp with surprise. Hal closed her eyes in frustration.

"Leda, from which well of hope did you spring?" Jools grinned, swinging Leda around. "Sometimes it's like all your birthdays rolled into one, ain't it, Hal?" She caught Hal's eye and winked. "Well cheer up for the spirits' sakes! Something good's happened for a change.

"She doesn't know yet," said Hal.

"What doesn't she know?"

Hal hissed with irritation. "Leda," she began gently.

"We've already heard, Hal. We passed through Lake End and they told us everything. We were headed for Hannac, but..." her voice trailed away, her eyes deepening with sorrow. "Now Dal Reniac needs us. I'll talk to Castor, I'll do anything to stop him."

"Well, what do you know?" Jools said, elbowing Hal in the ribs. "That's exactly where we're headed too, isn't it, Hal?"

Hal winced. "My dead are at Hannac."

"But it's the living in Dal Reniac who need us now, Hal." Magda, pushed her way through the throngs of soldiers. Word of Leda's return was greeted with cheers and shouts as the news carried through the ranks. Magda embraced Leda warmly, kissing her on her forehead.

"Hal, you can't help Hannac now. I know how desperately you must want to get back there," Leda said. "I want that too, believe me. But we have a duty to the city. And to Edæc."