Havenstar

by Glenda Larke

  —Later writings of Meldor the Blind

  Keris’s parting with Chantor Portron had not been a happy one. He was mulishly hurt by her refusal to accompany him to the Eighth even after he assured her, with more optimism than evidence, that her maimed hand would not be sufficient reason for her to be excluded. She’d then informed him that she no longer trusted Chantry to be fair, and was no longer interested in living under the Rule anyway. ‘Maylie,’ he had cried, ‘how can you say that!’ He appeared unaware that he’d called her by the wrong name, and for a moment she’d been sure there were tears in his eyes. Then his resolution hardened; he made a remark about it being the duty of all chantors to see that the Maker’s servants were dutiful, a comment she did not like the sound of at all. His final goodbye was cold.

  ‘I’m afraid he might do something foolish,’ she said to Davron as the chantor rode over to Martryn’s camp, flicking his fly switch in agitation as he went. ‘Has Meldor coerced him to make sure he doesn’t ride straight to Chantry with news of what you are up to?’

  Davron shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but you can be sure Meldor has thought of every contingency. The Magraf,’ he added, ‘does not tell me everything.’ He flashed her a fleeting smile. ‘Perhaps because he knows I wouldn’t approve. Or—’ The smile was gone. ‘Perhaps because he knows he can’t trust me.’

  She didn’t know what to say, and he glanced at her apologetically. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that. It was pointless. D’you know, sometimes I wonder if this whole thing is not some sort of divine retribution, the Maker’s little joke on me because I was once such a sanctimonious peacock, stuffed up with pride, certain I would never do anything to be ashamed of, not me. And now I have to live with the shame of being Carasma’s bondsman. Ley-life, Keris, I hate him so much—’ He threw up his hands with a laugh. ‘There I go again, wallowing in it. Kick me when I get like this.’

  ‘Were you really such an awful high-nose?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Horrible. So sure I was right. So sure that I knew it all. Now I don’t seem to know anything. I can’t even work out why I am loved by a certain wench who has as many freckles as a wyvern has scales—’

  ~~~~~~~

  Halfway across to the other camp, Portron looked back and stood stock still. Keris was chasing Davron, threatening to hit his rump with her blackwood staff, as if they were a couple of children on a picnic. Neither of them noticed him.

  ~~~~~~~

  They rode for a further five days without seeing anyone, heading away from all the pilgrimage and trade routes. The direction they took went nowhere but Havenstar. They saw no one until the fifth day, when they stopped for a break at midday. As usual, it was Meldor who sensed company before the others had seen or heard anything at all; it was Meldor, too, who first recognised the newcomers as Haveners.

  ‘Favellis and Dita,’ he said as soon as the riders came into sight accompanied by a pack of dogs, and turned back to his midday meal. ‘I’d know the sound of those undisciplined hounds of theirs anywhere.’

  ‘They work for Meldor,’ Scow said by way of explanation to Keris and Quirk. Corrian had long since dozed off in the shade of a nearby rock, and was now gently snoring. ‘They live in Havenstar. Ley-lit excluded, both of them. I wonder what the Chaos they are doing out here?’

  ‘Women?’ Quirk asked, impressed by the idea that two women would venture into the Unstable alone. ‘They must be a formidable pair.’

  ‘They are,’ Davron agreed, grinning. He walked out a little way to greet them and Keris could not control the stab of irrational jealousy she felt when the two slid off their horses and hugged him with enthusiasm, hugs he returned whole-heartedly, albeit carefully. The dogs milled around sniffing and wagging tails.

  Introductions were made and news was swapped back and forth, mostly about people and places unknown to her, so she spent the time assessing the two women. They were both attractive, in their thirties she guessed, browned by days in the sun, and both muscular and fit enough to suggest they had lived active lives. Favellis was talkative and bright; Dita more serious, slower to think things through and slower to see implications. She allowed Favellis to do most of the talking, only inserting the occasional question, usually about something that had been under discussion a few minutes before. Keris would have thought her a little simple except that the questions were astute, if belated. Both had a good rapport with Davron, and after observing how easy he was with them Keris suspected that they knew of his bonding to Carasma. She tried not to feel jealous.

  He’s had a whole life before you came along, she thought. Other people to share his troubles, to care about him…

  ‘—so, when we heard there were fixed features cropping up like spring mushrooms, and Zeferil asked for someone to go and check it out, we volunteered,’ Favellis was saying. ‘You know us; can’t keep our noses out of trouble.’

  ‘We know you,’ Davron said to her, and shared a smile with Dita. ‘Anyway, what did you find out?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing, really. From what Meldor just said, you’ve heard pretty much all there was to hear from Rossel when he caught up with you at Pickle’s Halt.’

  ‘What has happened to the fixed features since then?’ Meldor asked, pushing away a dog that was trying to lay its head on his knee. It trotted off to sniff at the still-sleeping Corrian instead.

  ‘That’s what we’ve just been doing, going back to have a look. Some of them are a little tatty about the edges, as if the Unstable is sort of gnawing away at them, but they are still stable. Green, too. Trees sprouting, even. Ley-life, Margraf, if we could only work out how they were made, we’d could change the face of the Unstable forever!’

  ‘How many have you found?’ Meldor asked.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Rossel said there were seven.’

  ‘Yes. That’s a funny thing. The first seven were all found at more or less the same time, and they are in a fairly straight line between Havenstar and the Eighth. As if someone was travelling that way and changing sections of the route as he went.’ She paused to accept the mug of char Scow had just prepared for her before continuing. ‘The eighth is along the Writhe. You see, on Zeferil’s instructions, we have been looking to see if we could find any more of the fixed features anywhere else, but we never did, until about four weeks back. That’s when we came across the eighth one.’

  ‘The Writhe disappeared there,’ Dita said. ‘This char of yours is as good as ever, Sammy.’

  ‘Huh?’ Davron asked blankly.

  Favellis took up the story once more. ‘Yes, it’s true. About six weeks back we were in that same area and everything was as usual. Then, when we were returning the same way two weeks later, part of the Writhe was missing. Gone. In its place was a fixed feature. Same size as the other seven, with edges as straight as a ruled line. The ley line started to back up at one end and then flowed around it on both sides. The rectangular bit in the middle, the stable part, resists its encroachment–like a tortoise with its head pulled in.’

  ‘Weird,’ said Scow. ‘And we’re no closer to knowing just what it was that occurred within that time frame to make it happen?’

  Dita and Favellis shrugged in unison. Keris gave a strangled sound that brought all eyes to her. ‘You—you don’t know—’ she stammered, struggling with a concept almost too large for her to handle. ‘Would you possibly know the name of the place?’

  ‘I don’t imagine it has a name,’ Favellis said, and frowned as if she was trying to work out just who Keris was.

  ‘Yes it does,’ Dita contradicted. ‘It’s Draggle Flats West.’

  ‘Oh, Maker.’ She felt colour flood her face, and then drain away. She suspected she was as white as the chalk in her paintbox.

  Davron was quick with his concern. ‘Keris, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, Maker, don’t you see? Straight lines, rectangular— Deverli’s map! Davron, the map I had was of Draggle Flats West.’

  ‘But we ruled out he possibili
ty you could stabilise something by drawing it into a trompleri map,’ Scow protested.

  She said, impatient, ‘Yes, but what happens if you burn a trompleri map?’

  ~~~~~~~

  What Keris said transfixed them all, and they lingered around the fire, reluctant to move on until they’d sifted through the ramifications. It did not seem possible, and yet they all finally came to believe it. Everything she told them fitted. The stabilisation of Draggle Flats West had happened, as far as they could calculate, around the time she’d fed the corner of Deverli’s map to her candle flame.

  She was more appalled than delighted. ‘What if I killed someone?’ she whispered. ‘Maker help me, what if someone was there, at the time?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Favellis. ‘It’s hardly a well-populated spot.’

  ‘And the other seven patches of stability? I guess we know now what happened to Deverli’s missing trompleri maps,’ Davron said. ‘That area is where he was doing a lot of his mapping, of course. Somebody must have destroyed seven of the maps he had made, either when he was killed—or later, more probably.’

  ‘What’s to say anyone who was on the spot at the time would have died anyway?’ Dita said, following her own line of thought. ‘Just because the map was burned doesn’t say the land and everything in it did too. We didn’t see any signs of scorching, did we, Favellis?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. The terrain around the rectangle is much like it is here. No trees, just a bit of spine grass and the odd prickle bush, and lots of the silver knobs the horses eat. Mostly it’s just cracked rocky ground with the whirlwinds and dust-storms. Typical unmade sort of place, you know. Inside the rectangle it’s quite different, now at least. Green grasses, flowers, a stream where the ley line was, a couple of tree saplings starting. Nice place.’

  ‘I’m not sure I know what a trompleri map is, but whatever it is, do you think you could do it again?’ Quirk asked Keris. ‘Why, with this you might be able to banish the Unstable forever! Imagine—’

  She interrupted. ‘You’re brain’s tainted! It’s far too dangerous. Imagine if there’d been anyone there. Even if he hadn’t been rissoled by the upheaval or barbecued by a fire, he or she would have suddenly found himself in the midst of a stability. They might have gone mad!’

  ‘There’s another possibility,’ Meldor said slowly. ‘Burning a trompleri map apparently made a ley line disappear and stability appear in its place. If my theories are right, this means the ley was restored to its rightful place in the land and everything became normal again. But just suppose there’d been one of the Unbound at Draggle Flats West. Maybe he would have been cured, not killed or driven mad, but healed as the land was healed. Maybe he would have ridden out of there a normal man.’

  ‘Now there’s a thought,’ Davron said with subdued excitement. ‘And I wonder what would happen to a Minion? Or to—me?’

  Keris swallowed back the mixture of horror and hope that surged up from somewhere near her stomach. Davron freed of his sigil.

  Davron …consumed by a blinding white flash of ley, Davron obliterated—

  ‘You can’t risk it, ‘ she said flatly. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Keris, my love, just living is too dangerous for me. You once agreed on that, remember?’

  Quirk blinked, not understanding. Favellis, catching the endearment Davron had used, gave her an interested look.

  Scow said, ‘It’s an exciting thought, though, isn’t it? Someone will have to volunteer to be—er—fired, so to speak.’

  Keris shook her head. ‘Fried, more like.’

  ‘I’ve just this minute become very attached to my Chameleon characteristics,’ Quirk said in a hurry. ‘I suddenly don’t care if I’m never normal. Don’t anyone dare go burning the land around me, thank you.’

  ‘We could start with a Minion’s pet,’ Davron suggested.

  ‘Perhaps the first experiment we should do,’ Keris said in dry tones, ‘is to find out whether we really can stabilise the land. We must make and burn another map, after making absolutely sure no one is there…’

  Davron was almost glowing. ‘Ah, ley-life! This is the most exciting development we’ve ever had. I can hardly believe it.’ He grinned, and she thought for a moment he was going to hug her.

  Meldor smiled and brought everyone back to the present. ‘Keris can’t make a proper map out here,’ he pointed out, ‘so the sooner we get to Havenstar the better. Then we can start investigating all the possibilities. Quirk, go and wake Corrian. Dita, I’d like you two back in Shield too.’

  She nodded. ‘We’ll have to go back and break camp first, so we’ll be a bit behind you.’ She stood up, calling to the dogs. Favellis followed suit, casually reaching out to brush some dirt from the back of Dita’s clothing. Dita turned and gave her friend a fond smile of thanks.

  The touch that lingered longer than was needed and the depth of the returned smile momentarily stilled Keris. Her initial reaction, born of her upbringing, was one of shock, but this soon dissolved into an intrigued interest. As she considered what she’d seen, she felt a moment’s compassion for Baraine. That is what it should be like, she thought as they rode away. No guilt, no Rule. No having to hide what is.

  ‘That’s why they were excluded,’ Davron said, reading her thoughts again. ‘Excluded for loving each other. They deserved better.’

  ~~~~~~~

  The next day they reached the Riven. They topped a rise and for the first time Keris saw the Knuckle, the confluence of the Riven and the Writhe. The Knuckle was a knotted weaving of the two ley lines. Entwined, they twisted upwards one around the other until they splintered into a shower of colour and fell back into the ley in shivering fingers of light. Brooding treachery and scintillating witchery, glowering malice and eldritch charm, the rank nastiness of the Riven and the fey sprightliness of the Writhe, in a double spiral.

  Once again Keris felt the draw of ley, and feared.

  ‘Power,’ Meldor said quietly at her elbow, as if he sensed her emotions. ‘Just power. A vast force, free and wild, mixed with the fickleness of a lesser energy. Both unpredictable. Think of lightning. It can strike a man dead, or it can just knock him off his feet with all his hair standing on end. Ley’s like that too, sometimes. I suspect one reason we’ve been so successful in Havenstar is because we have two such different forms of ley to work with: the truly potent and the charmingly fey.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘And downright scary when you can’t see a damn thing,’ Quirk muttered in a disgruntled way, but his irritation didn’t last. ‘Hey, Keris,’ he said, ‘what do I look like now?’ He placed himself so that she saw him against the background of churning ley.

  She had to return his grin. He was transformed into a twist of colours as he blended into the background of the Knuckle. ‘Idiot,’ she said fondly. ‘You look like a kaleidoscopic sugar-twist covered in fireflies.’

  Then she glanced past him and blanched at what she saw coming.

  ‘No,’ Davron said in reassurance, before she could call a warning. ‘Not Minions. Just Havenguards. Our Defenders, if you like. See? They have colours tied to their pikes. White and gold, the colours of Sunstream, a Havenstar village. And their collars are all tagged green. That denotes a Havenguard.’

  ‘But those aren’t normal dogs that ride with them. They’re pets!’ No normal dog had a prehensile nose, and no dog moved with the sort of prancing grace these creatures had.

  ‘There’s nothing to say we can’t tame the Wild too,’ Davron said. His gravel voice was uncharacteristically soothing as he recognised the hint of panic in her tone.

  ‘That’s against the Rule!’ she protested, aware immediately the words were out that what she said was inane. All of Havenstar was against the Rule.

  He laughed at her, and the love in his eyes sent her heart galloping towards places she knew it could never wholly reach.

  He said, ‘Pets are only e
vil because Minions train them to attack humans and, of course, they usually choose the nastiest animals in the first place. These here are Wildish, certainly, but they are ours. We call them sniffers and their job is to home in on strangers in the area. I suppose they might attack if ordered to do so, but it’s not their purpose.’

  She digested that, trying to discard her preconceived prejudices.

  ‘I want to talk to that Havenguard patrol,’ Meldor said.

  Scow grunted. ‘They’re sending someone across now. Two men. It’s Brecon the Sunstream blacksmith, I think, and his son.’

  Meldor nodded. ‘I remember them. We recruited them five years ago, just out of the Third Stab. The son had become an Unstabler to search for his father who’d been tainted twenty years earlier. A fine young man, and a story that had a happy ending when they found one another.’

  ‘How goes it?’ Davron asked as the scouts reined in a moment later.

  ‘It goes, with the Maker’s grace,’ came the not very encouraging reply.

  ‘With the Maker’s grace, Brecon,’ Meldor returned. ‘Good to hear that eastern twang of yours again. But tell me, why aren’t you further out? We saw no patrols on the way in.’ His voice was carefully neutral, as if he did not want to scold until he knew if the scouts had a reason for not being where he had thought to find them.

  The blacksmith was deferential, but not obsequious. ‘Margraf, welcome home.’ He was a muscled man riding a tainted six-legged animal. He had purple skin and ears that flopped to his shoulders. His non-tainted son, although he wore the dun-coloured clothes of the unencoloured, also wore an ostentatious ring of gold set with a large rough-cut red stone. He inclined his head even though Meldor could not see him.