Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1

by Seeds of Earth

one day allow her to comprehend it.

  The lohig he was riding ambled along with a steady,

  padding gait even as the track grew uneven and steep.

  The sun was high enough to be midday in a mainly cloud-

  less sky, sending bright spears down through the layers of

  foliage. Insects buzzed and spun in the warm forest air,

  feathered hizio trilled in the high branches, and ubakil

  hooted mournfully to each other off in the distance. He

  smiled to hear these mingled sounds, the patchwork

  melody of the forest's denizens, while off at its edge he

  detected a calm, persevering voice, faint but unmistak-

  able, the voice of Ibsenskog, Segrana's daughter-forest.

  His guide, Giseru, said little as they wound their way

  through bushy undergrowth, ascending a trail that ran

  alongside a small stream. The trickling sounds of water

  over stones were a restful whisper merging with the

  susurrus of the wooded hills but the voice of the daugh-

  ter-forest was strengthening with each passing moment.

  After a while Chel heard a hissing, splashing sound and

  before long the trail came out on a grassy bank near the

  foot of a waterfall. Narrow but smoothly made steps led

  up the sheer rock face, which the lohig managed without

  difficulty. Insects wove patterns in the warm air, and at

  the top a bushy slope led into a tree-shaded gully that

  tapered to a fissure full of the sound of rushing waters.

  But logs and shaped pieces of stone had been put in

  place as a rudimentary but solid walkway. It was dark in

  the fissure, its rough walls bearded with moss, beaded

  and glistening in a mist of water droplets descending

  from above. Then a notch appeared on the right and up

  they climbed, roughly hewn steps curving round to

  emerge on a grassy knoll with a large boulder at their

  backs. To one side, the ground dropped away to the

  rocky gully, the waterfall and the wooded hills, while on

  the other it dipped gently into a small, flowery dell

  beyond which lay Ibsenskog.

  Segrana's daughter-forest stretched almost the entire

  length of a high mountain valley. Fifty years after the re-

  seeding, Ibsenskog and the others had become the

  lushest, most flourishing places on Umara yet were still

  only comparable to the sparser regions of Segrana, tracts

  where the medleys of living things were less numerous.

  Chel paused for a moment or two, letting the lifesong of

  the daughter-forest sink into him, feeding ears, taste and

  smell with its sweet richness, even as he knew it to be

  only an echo of Segrana's enfolding, never-ending song

  of celebration. Eyes closed for a moment, he smiled.

  'Listener Faldri awaits us, Scholar,' came Giseru's

  voice.

  In surprise he opened his eyes and saw the tall,

  cowled form of a Listener standing at the edge of the

  forest, near the path that led into its green embrace.

  I knew that the Benevolent Uvovo were the wardens

  of Ibsenskog, he thought. But I did not know that Faldri

  would be here.

  Giseru was already steering her lohig down into the

  dell, so Chel urged his mount into motion, his eagerness

  to enter the forest now tempered by reluctance.

  The Listener was leaning on a long stave of red

  markwood and seemed not to acknowledge their arrival,

  even as they dismounted and tied the lohigs to a notched

  pole. Only when Giseru led Chel over to bow to his

  right side did the Listener respond - by turning away

  and striding unhurriedly towards the forest shade.

  'Underscholars will attend to the creatures,' he said.

  'Come.'

  Giseru looked faintly embarrassed but Chel just

  smiled patiently and followed.

  Faldri is testing me, he thought. Whether he intends

  to or not.

  Curtains of fine-tendrilled gumaus hung from

  branches to either side, supporting a variety of other

  dependent plants and blooms from which fragrance

  drifted. As they walked, packs of small red-furred igissa

  scampered and leaped from tree to tree, making masses

  of foliage sway and rustle. Squeaks and drones, whistles

  and clatters, the exuberant sounds of Ibsenskog's

  wildlings over which the lifesong of the forest itself

  flowed, spilling through his thoughts. He was about to

  ask Giseru about the local water pattern but Faldri dis-

  missed her, then wordlessly beckoned Chel to continue

  to follow. He thought that Faldri intended to avoid con -

  versing with him entirely until, a short while later as

  they climbed a curve of bark steps, he spoke.

  'You have made significant progress since attaining

  your scholarhood,' he said. 'Despite choosing to serve in

  the Warrior Uvovo.'

  The Listener had pulled back a little and now the

  two walked side by side. Faldri had been Chel's teacher

  and their relationship had not been an amiable one.

  'I chose to serve Segrana and the Great Purpose,

  Listener,' Chel said. 'I merely judged the Warrior clade

  to be more amenable to my temperament than the

  Benevolents.'

  He was trying to sound conciliatory by downplaying

  his preference for the Warrior Uvovo. But instead

  comments seemed to provoke anger.

  'Judged}' the Listener said, slowing to look directly at

  him for the first time. Chel was taken aback by the

  changes wrought in his old teacher by the Listener husk-

  ing: the lengthened features, the sunken eyes, the paring

  away of excess. 'Judgement is for Listeners, not

  Scholars!'

  Then he was moving ahead, striding up to the top of

  the rise. 'Hurry - no dawdling! It will soon be time for

  the zinsilu.'

  With his longer legs, Faldri was over the crest ahead

  of Chel, who had to break into a run to catch up. On

  the other side the path led down into a great dark mass

  of leafy undergrowth, bushes and small trees inter-

  twined with climbing plants and borrower-weeds. Faldri

  ducked into a dark opening and Chel followed. A lumpy

  path wound down through mossy trees and came out at

  last in a clearing dominated by three big vaskin trees

  standing around a still pool. Listener Faldri was kneel-

  ing between two of the trees, eyes closed, wide,

  thin-lipped mouth murmuring, long-fingered hands held

  · out, palms up. From some high opening in the canopy

  light filtered down and as he drew near Chel could see a

  fine mist of droplets falling between the three smooth,

  straight trunks.

  Chel felt a growing quiver of uncertainty. This was

  utterly unlike his previous zinsilu, which had been fasci-

  nating discussions between himself and senior scholars

  on the direction of his learning, held in comfortable sur-

  roundings. This place reminded him of the few times he

  had taken the vudron vigil, except that the presence here

  was stern and brooding rather than tranquil and contem-

  plative.

  The fur on his scalp and neck prickled as he
<
br />   advanced. Faldri remained as he was, hands extended,

  lips muttering, his features just visible beneath the cowl.

  Chel halted at the edge of the pool, which he saw was

  not entirely still, its surface trembling very slightly now

  and then. Looking up he could see the falling mist and a

  shifting silvery radiance from above. Chel stood in

  silence for several moments before deciding to speak,

  but Faldri, eyes still closed, forestalled him with a fluid

  gesture. Wait.

  Long moments passed. Chel inhaled and exhaled in a

  slow rhythm, calming himself, smelling and tasting the

  odours of wet wood and green leaves. Then Faldri

  ceased murmuring and drew an audible deep breath.

  'The gate is now open, Great Elder. Your servants

  await.'

  The Listener's voice seemed to resonate in Chel's ears.

  His senses hummed to the lifesong of the daughter-forest

  which gathered in strength, climbing up his body like a

  slow fountain of energy, rising through his limbs, his

  veins, his spine. And suddenly he knew that he was in

  the presence of sacred Segrana . . . and another. There,

  in the radiant mist above the pool, was a hulking,

  stooped form draped in long folds, an indistinct image.

  Chel stared in awe and panic. Faldri had called out to

  the 'Great Elder', and Chel suddenly realised that he

  was looking at one of the legendary Pathmasters.

  But the histories say that the last of them died after

  the War of the Long Night, he thought. How could one

  still be alive after thousands of years}

  'There is no death,' came a sighing voice. 'Only a

  change in how the universe dreams about us . . .'

  In reflex, Chel bowed his head, his thoughts in a

  whirl. The long-lived Pathmasters were the third husk-

  ings of the Uvovo, which only the wisest, most

  enlightened of Listeners could achieve. But the War of

  the Long Night had decimated the Uvovo and destroyed

  much of the ancient strength of Segrana, without which

  the third huskings could not be carried out. The surviv-

  ing Uvovo had been confined to the forest moon, their

  history fraying and fading into legend after the

  Pathmasters were gone, their knowledge shrivelling into

  litany, their customs into ritual, until the Humans came.

  'Dreams persist,' the Pathmaster sighed. 'The

  stronger the dreamer, the more resilient the dream. Some

  dream outward dreams, seeking unity with the eternal;

  others dream inwardly, dreams of hunger and conquest,

  of pain and the escape from pain. Some do not dream at

  all. Cheluvahar, do you dream?'

  'Great Elder, I . . .' Panic seized him, mind suddenly

  blank. 'I have dreamed lately but the details escape me

  for now.'

  'I know, I see them.' The voice faded to a whisper as

  the floating image of the Pathmaster tilted its hooded

  head to look upward, revealing a face far removed from

  Uvovo appearance, a cluster of bony ridges and two

  dark pits that might be eyes. Then the voice came back,

  stronger and sharper. 'A ship is coming to these worlds,

  a ship from the Humans' home stars. It bears a great

  evil, the eyes of a new breed of Dreamless who hunger

  for power and dominion as their abominable like did in

  the past.'

  The Dreamless. The word sat in Chel's mind like a

  piece of ice, melting dread into his thoughts while his

  heart thudded in his chest.

  'Great Elder,' he said. 'Will the War of the Long

  Night return?'

  'No. This peril is more similar to the cause that led to

  the original Great Purpose, which is far more than that

  which you have been taught. Just as the Segrana you

  know is not the Segrana that once was. Nor do these

  Dreamless possess the shattering might of their long-

  vanished kin, yet it will be more than enough to turn the

  night sky into a vista of desolation. They secretly rule a

  vast empire and are as relentless as they are cruel and

  cunning.'

  The peace of the tree-guarded pool and the ricli

  lifesong that enlivened Chel's senses seemed in stark

  contrast to all that the Pathmaster was saying. Yet his

  thoughts circled back to why he was here, why he was

  being told these things . . .

  'This is your zinsilu, Scholar,' said the Pathmaster, as

  if Chel's inner thoughts were clear as written words. 'A

  zinsilu such as has not been seen for a thousand genera-

  tions. Scholar Cheluvahar - are you ready to serve the

  Great Purpose with all that is body and all that is mind?

  Are you ready to place your trust in a convoking of the

  Listeners and to obey their edicts?'

  Chel felt swept up by the gravity of the Pathmaster"s

  demand, but he breathed in deep, steadying himself.

  'I am, Great Elder.'

  'Good - I am pleased not to be disappointed. When

  we are done here, you will return to your work at

  Waonwir, which the Humans call Giant's Shoulder - do

  not concern yourself with events subsequent to the

  arrival of the Human ship. In two or three days you

  will be asked to leave for the daughter-forest to the

  north, where a secret husking chamber is being pre-

  pared . . .'

  Suddenly he stopped, hooded head swinging towards

  Faldri. 'Ah, so you are shocked, Listener, outraged at

  our plan.'

  Faldri stared up at the misty form. 'Only anxious for

  all our fates, Great Elder. This Scholar shows talent and

  promise, yet he is young and lacking in the experience

  required of a Listener . . .'

  'This is not about husking forth more Listeners,

  Faldri,' the Pathmaster said. 'We are planning the cre-

  ation of a new clade, the Artificer Uvovo. Once the

  Warriors and the Benevolents had artisans aplenty

  among their ranks, before the War of the Long Night

  took them all. The arrival of the Humans has led to a

  regeneration of such skills amongst the younger schol-

  ars, skills that will prove crucial in the times ahead.

  Those who might be considered Artificer Uvovo already

  exist, scattered around the Human towns and working

  in the daughter-forests and . . . other places. When

  Cheluvahar husks forth, it will be as a Listener of the

  Artificer Uvovo, nor will he be alone, since other schol-

  ars are undergoing similar examinations today'

  'I was not aware of this plan, Great Elder,' the

  Listener said, bowing his head. 'But I am confused as to

  the uses of such a new clade.'

  A good question, Chel thought. Are we expected to

  use Human weapons in battle}

  'There are a number of constructions on Umara, built

  in the time of our earliest forebears, built to merge with

  the powers of the ancient, greater Segrana and protect

  these worlds. It will be the task of the Artificer Uvovo to

  study them and bring them back to life in preparation

  for whatever we may face.'

  'Are the Humans to be made aware of this approach-

  ing e
nemy, Great Elder?' said Faldri. 'Are we tc

  cooperate with them?'

  'There have been exchanges with their leadership,'

  the Pathmaster said. 'They already know about the

  Dreamless and are making their own arrangements.

  Cooperation may become inevitable, should events turn

  unfortunate.'

  'Forgive me, Great Elder,' Chel said, 'but what is it

  that draws the Dreamless here? What do they want?'

  The Pathmaster sighed. 'For long ages we guarded it,

  serving the Great Purpose, thinking that finally all

  knowledge and memory of it had passed irretrievably

  beyond the veil of the past. But some dreams persist

  longer than the lives of the stars and lurk and wait in

  hidden places for their time to come round again.' Dark

  eyeless hollows regarded him. 'The edifice atop that

  prow of rock, Waonwir, is not some old Uvovo temple

  of devotion as the Humans have surmised. Beneath its

  walls and foundations lies a gateway to the framework

  of the universe, a source of power once used to defeat

  the first enemy, the cause of the Great Purpose, a terrible

  adversary now long vanquished. If the Dreamless were

  to gain control of it, all thought in this galaxy and

  beyond would become enslaved to their will and life

  would have no song.'

  He paused a moment. 'Now you know what you are

  meant to know. Go - return to Giant's Shoulder and

  wait for the command to travel northward.'

  As the Pathmaster fell silent, his image blurred and

  dissolved into the pale, falling mist. With his vanishing,

  the light in the clearing dwindled suddenly, like a door

  closing, leaving Chel feeling adrift and burdened with

  portents.

  War is coming, he thought, and J am to become a

  Listener even though I have been a Scholar for only four

  hem-seasons . . .

  'I am not ready,' he muttered.

  'On that I can only agree,' said Faldri, brushing off

  his long garments as he got to his feet. 'But higher coun-

  sel has determined the course of your doings - now we

  must wait to see if the meeting of fate and dream aids or

  hinders you.' He took his stave from where it leaned

  against one of the vaskin trees, and started up the slope.

  'Come, Artificer, let me see you safely back to your

  lohig.'

  5

  CATRIONA

  On the moon Nivyesta, beneath the lush, living canopy