The islands offer a marvelous variety, dark forests and grassy plains quilted with ordered avenues of crops, and evenings alive with multicolored fireflies. White-glare sunlight splashes in shards off the endless sea by day, and silver nights glow on cascades down low mountains, flowing into calm shores along the smooth sweep of the sea.
Humans—mostly Ancient Sartorans, fleeing the cataclysm known as the Fall—are latecomers to this much-populated world, calling it the World of Floating Islands.
Many of these islands, it transpires, truly do float, bolstered beneath by an endless tangle of growth that supports soil and rock, hill and tumbling water, but the rest are true islands, connected to vast elongated continental shelves in constant motion. The undersea beings cared nothing for constant quakes; it was the mysterious former surface-dwellers who bound the floating islands, tamed the quakes to gentle rocking, and left here and there monuments whose design united forests, sea, sunset, and air into a conspiracy of beauty.
On the largest island of a complicated archipelago sits the largest and oldest city in the world, Isul Demarzal. Here, walled within the city walls, is Charlotte’s Palace, a ramble of a low building, patchworked with gardens, housing all the human world’s archives and a library, a center of magic and learning, until recently well-protected against Norsunder.
Down the centuries there was little contact between the two worlds revolving opposite one another, until relatively recently, as Sartorias-deles recovered enough magic for world transfers. Geth’s mages, descendants of Sartor but now with their own customs and disciplines of study, fashioned their own methods of transfer.
It was this magic that Norsunder was after.
* * *
—
Liere didn’t know that.
She didn’t know anything about Geth-deles, except that Siamis was there, and, as frequently happened when shocked or grieved, she heard her father’s bitter, scornful voice ranting in memory that she was selfish, stupid, clumsy, and that whatever happened was surely her fault.
So it was time to stop being weak. It was time to be like Senrid, and do something about it. When the memorial was over, and Tsauderei returned to his cottage, she overheard him reading just-arrived messages to Atan and Hibern: Siamis was already back in Geth.
Clarity soothed Liere’s jangling nerves. Erai-Yanya, who was Keeper of the Dyr, was on Geth-deles. Siamis was on Geth-deles. Liere knew how to break Siamis’s spell by using the dyr. Therefore she ought to stop being weak and selfish, hiding in the Valley while the world’s mages struggled to vanquish Siamis’s spell, go to Geth-deles, get Erai-Yanya to pull the dyr out of its magical hiding place, give it to her, and then . . .
Well, then she would either win or die.
She considered telling Senrid, but sensed the darkness of his mood. Besides, he’d find all kinds of reasons for her to stay, and really, what they amounted to was that she was weak. And useless. Just as her father said.
But she’d prove them all wrong. Yes. That was the way to think.
She knew that Hibern and Arthur both had the world transfer spell in their books. All she needed was a Destination. She understood that much. So, while the others talked, or consoled the grief-stricken Sarendans, she slipped into Tsauderei’s cottage and went through Arthur’s books until she found what she sought: the world transfer spell. And in another book, a description of the Gate of Isul Demarzal.
Everything was happening at Isul Demarzal, so that was the place to go.
She fixed the Destination firmly in mind, spoke the spell, and magic seized her.
* * *
Atan went to sleep feeling tense and headachy from hiding her reaction to Derek’s death. Which had been . . . no reaction. To be truthful, even a little relief, but acknowledging that increased that sick inner sense because she knew that was wrong. So she’d made herself attend the memorial, staring dry-eyed down at Derek’s still profile while surrounded by the genuine grief of people she liked, and while she hid her own lack of emotion, she hoped some of their grief would enter her heart and clean out the residual anger.
Hibern spent a sleepless night, her mind insisting on seeing that horrible scene over and over again, beginning with Lilah’s crazy-eyed swipe with the knife, and her own futile, stupid leaping forward. And then those hands grabbing her from behind.
She knew that Siamis, and not she, was to blame for Derek’s death, but the overwhelming grief and anger sparked a deep conviction of guilt. When a bleak dawn at last lightened the cottage, it was a relief to get up.
She and Atan bundled into their coats. The flying magic kept them from getting drenched and frozen, but the chill gripped them the moment their feet touched the ground, and they hurried into Tsauderei’s cottage.
The old mage and Arthur were not alone. The study group stood around feeling, and looking, awkward, and Senrid was there, grim-faced, as Lilah tearfully argued with Tsauderei, “Oh please. Just Peitar. Why would it hurt to rescue just one person? Why do you have to wait?”
Tsauderei said, “It’s best for the kingdom, for the world, because there is a larger plan.”
“But it’s horrible!” Lilah sobbed. “That Kessler, he tied me in a chair for days, and there was never any dark so I could sleep—”
Tsauderei said, “Lilah, Kessler’s Norsundrians were only in Miraleste a day at most before they set sail.”
“And you’ve got no rope burns,” Senrid pointed out, indicating Lilah’s freckled wrists; the movement slid his shirt cuff back slightly, revealing the white scars of his own rope burns. “What you’re remembering is distortion because of the enchantment.”
Lilah turned on him. “But don’t you see?” Another sob shook her. “Don’t you see, it felt like days and days, so what are they doing to my brother? Right now? It could feel like years and years of telling him over and over to do horrid things.”
Tsauderei said, “I’m sorry, Lilah. If it helps at least a little, neither Kessler nor Siamis is in Sarendan. So it is doubtful that Peitar is being told anything.”
Lilah’s chest heaved and her breath shuddered as tears bounced down her face. “You should have gotten him out first.”
She didn’t sound angry, she sounded broken, and no one had the heart to say that her rescue was at Derek’s insistence.
Atan and Hibern both backed to the door. Arthur followed them, his customary vague expression brow-furrowed with question. “Did either of you move my books?” he whispered.
“Didn’t touch them,” Jilo said, at his shoulder. “Wouldn’t.”
“Me either,” Clair said softly.
“Nor I, without permission,” Atan said.
Hibern said, “Is something missing?”
“No, but my new study book, the one I copied all Erai-Yanya’s notes about Geth into, it was moved, and so was my spell book.”
Lilah headed for the door, beyond which they stood. She gave another heart-wrenching sob, freckled fingers covering her face. The study group moved aside. Lilah’s desolation was reflected in their averted gazes, Arthur absently wiping his inky fingers on the sides of his already-ink-stained trousers. The girls exited, and Arthur withdrew to his pile of books.
Atan and Hibern hunched into their coats, the bitter wind fitting the bleak mood. “I think this might be a day to spend by the fireside reading,” Atan said.
As they lifted into the air, a short blond figure chased after them through the sheeting of rain, and Senrid caught up, his yellow hair blowing straight back off his tense forehead. “Have you seen Liere?”
Atan and Hibern looked at one another. “Isn’t she with the other girls?” Hibern asked. “She didn’t come back with us last night.”
“She wasn’t at Tsauderei’s, either,” Senrid said. “If you see her, pass the word that the Mearsiean girls want to have breakfast with her, will you?” He left abruptly.
Hiber
n and Atan retreated to the hermit’s cottage, closing the door hastily to keep the warmth inside. As Atan sliced the last of the previous day’s bread, she said slowly, “That does seem a bit odd. That no one can find Liere. But if Senrid, who seems to have appointed himself Liere’s big brother, is not worried, then—well, good.”
Hibern looked up from glancing at and neatly stacking all the books on the table. “Senrid loathes fuss. Don’t assume anything from his demeanor. I think I’m going to take a quiet look around after I finish my toast. I just won’t say anything to anyone.”
“I’ll join you,” said Atan, bringing the toasting fork to the fire. “Four eyes being better than two.”
As Hibern sliced cheese to bring to the toast now that the underside was done, she thought back through the previous evening, and then exclaimed, “Atan, I haven’t seen Liere since the memorial.”
Atan looked up from the golden cheese just beginning to bubble. “Nor have I, now that I think about it.”
Hibern went on, remembering what Arthur had said, and hating the possible conclusion. “Further, I think Senrid knows that. In fact, I think he knows where she went, but he’s being extra careful to make sure.”
Atan looked startled. “Where? Back to Bereth Ferian?” She set the fork down, and the two poked the hot bread to their plates.
Hibern reluctantly spoke the words, as if saying them aloud would make it true. “Geth-deles.”
“What?” Atan’s expression of surprise turned to skepticism. “Liere? That poor little thing is frightened by her own shadow. And she knows no magic.”
“She can be very determined, when it comes to what she thinks of as her duty.”
Atan drew in a breath. “But still, she doesn’t know any magic.”
“Yes and no,” Hibern said. “She has a perfect memory. I guess because of that Dena Yeresbeth. She successfully used a very complicated spell to bring the dyr out from timelessness, where it had been hidden behind years of protective wards. And she did it by herself. Without knowing how to read. When she was ten.”
Atan hastily swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “Would she do something crazy like transfer to Geth? Why?”
A tight voice spoke from behind: “If she thought it was her duty.”
Hibern and Atan whipped around to find Senrid standing in the open door. He added, “When I first met her, she thought it was her duty to climb on the back of a horse made out of lightning and go around the world flashing that dyr while half Norsunder was howling after her blood. And yesterday, I’m very sure she managed to convince herself that Derek’s death was her fault, and therefore it was her duty to go after Siamis herself because she’d failed the entire world.”
The sharp precision of Senrid’s consonants revealed how angry he was.
Senrid pointed at the door. “You left it open.” He shut it. “Arthur just told me that Tsauderei reported a transfer out of the Valley. He thinks it was one of us on another errand.”
“We’ve got to tell him what happened,” Atan exclaimed.
Senrid’s teeth showed as he lifted a piece of cheese-topped bread from the plate. “After I’m gone.”
“But—”
Senrid cut in. “You know—” He paused, jerking around when the door he’d shut behind him banged open. But when he saw that it was only CJ, not Tsauderei, he continued on, “You know what we’ll hear, a lot of horseshit about how children can’t do anything, and—”
“And planning, and waiting, and let the adults think it through,” CJ said, coming around the side of the battered old couch. “While they take another million years to get around to doing anything. We think Sartora’s gone to Geth to chase Siamis. And we’re going to help!”
“What can you possibly do?” Senrid poked his half-eaten bread at her.
“What we did in Bereth Ferian when Siamis attacked with that enchantment the first time. It was your plan,” CJ retorted, crossing her arms, as the Mearsiean girls crowded in behind her, Clair looking troubled. “We can search, or lure Siamis out, or—”
“My stupid plan that nearly got us all killed?” Senrid shot back. “You still don’t see that, do you? The only reason why Siamis didn’t kill the lot of us was because Oalthoreh and the northern lighters were also decoying him, so Evend could walk into that rift and die closing it.”
“But we aren’t dead,” CJ said, spreading her hands. “Sartora’s alone. We need to find her. And help her. The more we have to search, the better, right? And then we can also break Siamis’s spell, if he’s spreading it around there.”
“Stay here,” Senrid said. “There’s nothing you can do—”
“Who,” she said loudly, “was just blabbing about children can’t do anything?”
“You’re useless,” Senrid said. “Except in making things worse.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Too-big-for-your-britches? I’ve been in as many adventures as you have. More! And I never tried to—”
Senrid’s temper ignited. “If you try to fling my uncle’s penchant for executions in my teeth—”
“You’ll do what, execute me?” CJ cut in, and waved a hand. “Save it for Siamis. In fact, if you want to execute him, I’ll hold the arrows. I already hated him before he did that to Derek, and now I hate him even more.”
She and Senrid glared at each other, both fighting guilt and regret. CJ harbored a secret terror that she might be responsible for Sartora going off like that to another world. She wasn’t quite sure why or how. It was just those nasty looks Atan had been shooting at her.
Senrid endured the goad of guilt because he’d known very well that Derek’s insistence on rescuing Lilah had been needless, but he’d agreed mostly out of restlessness and boredom. Because the other rescues had been easy—though Tsauderei had warned them more than once that there were probably extra traps waiting.
Clair nodded at Hibern. “Right before the memorial yesterday, Liere was asking me about signs, and how to pronounce certain words, but I thought she was just asking to know. Not that she was going to do anything.”
“We’ve waited around long enough.” Senrid pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Arthur taught me the world transfer spell.”
By then all the alliance had arrived, and everyone looked at Atan.
She looked back, knowing what they expected—caution, threats to tell Tsauderei, her tutor and first guardian. But all she could think was, Julian.
If Liere had gone after Siamis, who had taken Julian . . .
She said to Senrid, “When do we start?”
Senrid gazed back, surprised.
Hibern looked from one to the other, knowing she was missing something, but more important than that, it looked as if a whole lot of people were about to go haring off separately to Geth.
She braced herself, remembering what Erai-Yanya had said about the future, and her place in it. And she raised her voice. “I won’t go straight to Tsauderei if you all promise to just find Liere, and bring her back. No chasing after Siamis or trying to end his spells. Geth-deles is not our world. We know nobody there, or how they do things.”
CJ looked belligerent, but when Senrid stated, “I agree completely. I don’t know why Liere suddenly thinks she has to go rescue Geth-deles, but she can explain it all to us once we get her back.”
“Yes,” Clair said. “That’s the best plan.”
CJ sighed. “I’d love to boot the stinkard Siamis right out of the world.”
“As long as he gets booted,” Senrid said. “Who cares who does it?”
At the back of the crowd, Bren whispered to Lilah, “Sooner they get rid of Siamis, sooner we can free Peitar.”
“Then let’s go with them,” Lilah whispered fiercely. “I can’t stay here. Everything is memories. Let’s go, too. And I am going to pretend that Peitar is with us.”
Innon said soberly, “We all will.
”
Bren jerked his head in a nod, rubbing his red, swollen eyes. “Yes. We’ll talk to him like he’s with us. And we’ll even say what he says back. And then when we get back and he’s free, we’ll tell him all about the good things he said and did.”
As several voiced agreement, Hibern looked at the faces that had been so grief-stricken, now firm with resolve. She knew they were going to go anyway, so the best thing would be to keep everyone together. And maybe two world transfers in a day would land everybody in bed for a week, so they wouldn’t try any more stupid ideas.
She raised her voice. “I’ll agree, and not tell Tsauderei, if you also agree to take notecases, in case the magic somehow separates us. So get whatever you want to take. We’ll find Sartora. And everyone transfers straight back. Agreed?”
Everybody spoke or signaled their agreement. Then the door banged open, and people streamed out.
Hibern said to Senrid, “I mean it about the notecases.”
His lip curled, but he patted the pocket in his black uniform trousers. “I’ve got mine here.”
Hibern knew she was right, that she’d caught him before he was about to hare off alone after Liere. “I still think we ought to tell Tsauderei that we’re going.”
“Why?” Senrid retorted. “We let Tsauderei dictate the plan for rescuing Lilah, and look where that got us.”
Hibern flashed back, “That is not true, or fair. He didn’t want anyone to go. He wanted us to wait. But when he saw that Derek meant to go anyway, he added those extra cautions.”
Senrid jerked a shoulder up. “Then tell me how having Jilo staying here, watching in the book for Siamis transferring and alerting us, was wrong?”
“Book?” Glenn asked.
Senrid’s face blanched, and Hibern suspected he hadn’t slept at all, or he would never have made a slip like that.
She turned to Glenn. “Magic book.” And saw Glenn’s complete lack of interest—he was only interested in swords and battles.
A Sword Named Truth Page 70
