The Nightwhisper had drawn level with the Waterdancer, and everyone fell silent as the two ships passed. The crew of the battered mercenary vessel looked weatherbeaten and stared across at them without expression. Colwyn and his crew averted their eyes. On the platform Glynn caught sight of an enormous black-bearded man, gazing out to the horizon.
‘I wonder what Sharayde has been up to on Fomhika,’ Bayard murmured.
24
Soulweaving, Lanalor entered the Void. At once he was amazed
by the multitude of possible futures. In some, he saw Shenavyre
aged and smiling on him. In others, he saw her dying young
and fair.
In the void were all the glittering stuffs of creation,
all that might ever come to pass or not,
and Lanalor was entranced …
LEGENDSONG OF THE UNYKORN
Before they disembarked, Colwyn warned them that the Waterdancer would depart before dusk the following day. Since the tides dictated his schedule, he would wait for no one who was late.
Climbing down a small gangway, Glynn was momentarily disoriented by a wave of intoxicating perfume from the foliage massed over the timber struts and rails of the pier. She stumbled and Bayard, below, warned to her to be careful.
‘You will have time to recover your balance – and your appetite – before we return to the ship,’ she said, when Glynn stood on the pier beside her.
Glynn realised the older woman assumed she was suffering motion sickness.
‘It will be a late night,’ another draakira observed. ‘The ceremony of dedication cannot take place until Draakar has risen above the horizon.’
‘Draakar will rise near to dawn by my reckoning,’ Bayard said.
Draakar was one of the seven planets in orbit around Kalinda. The name Draakar was so close to Draaka that Glynn wondered if the woman had taken her title from it and, if so, why. She knew about the planets because they were supposed to have properties which could be invoked, and people in the minescrape had often called upon one or the other. The planet Dar was named by anyone wanting revenge, while Zorik, known also as ‘the bright’, was called upon by those desiring mental stimulation. Aenid, the flame, was invoked as an aid to passion, and then there was something called ‘fractured Gard’ to which people who felt themselves betrayed appealed.
The ships they passed as they made their way along the pier to shore were all smaller than the Waterdancer. From the number of woven boxes and bales being loaded and unloaded from their crowded decks, Glynn decided they must be predominantly freight carriers. The hand winches and pulleys used to shift larger pieces of freight were being operated by tanned, well-built men and women sweating in the heat. By their extreme blondness and size, she took them for Fomhikans and saw at once that she could easily pass for a native. They were quite different in appearance from the small, swarthy Vespians, and the high-cheeked, almond-eyed Acanthans.
The Vespians regarded her entourage without expression, but Fomhikans either scowled openly or smiled. This suggested there was no middle ground on Fomhika as far as the Draaka was concerned. It also recalled Nema’s remarks about the cult being the cause of civil unrest on Fomhika, though there was no sign of it in the languid afternoon. Even those who frowned on them seemed more disapproving than actively angry.
Noticing a river mouth some distance away, Glynn wondered if this could be the Nivian. It looked as if the river flowed down and across the face of the hill upon which the town was built, yet she could see no gap between the houses to indicate its path. Perhaps it went underground.
Glynn could not help regretting that she had been stranded on Acantha rather than on this gleaming tropical paradise. But then she remembered something she had read in one of the scrolls Bayard had lent her – each thing has its song to sing. She did not know about the singing part, since changing worlds had not altered her inability to hear music as music. But she liked the saying because it seemed to suggest that even little things that happened did so for a reason. It would be wonderful to think there might be a reason for her being on Keltor. But that vague sweet thought died a swift death, for her presence here was surely as unexpected an accident as her birth, and had as little meaning in the larger scheme of things.
If you were the spear-carrier destined to be killed in the first reel of a movie, wishing would not make you the star of the show, any more than wanting life to have a higher purpose would make it so. She suspected that kind of wish had haunted Wind to death. The only purposes in life were self-imposed. Hers was to find a way home to Ember. Being on Keltor was an accident, pure and simple, though a rather bizarre one.
The sacks she was carrying were awkward and as they walked she struggled to rearrange them. She suspected Bayard had commanded the scrolls in them be brought ashore not because she expected to work, but because she could not bear to leave them behind.
Suddenly Glynn realised something important.
Bayard had said the scholars were using all the scrolls that referred to Lanalor’s portal as reference material. It was possible and even probable, that the scrolls now weighing her down were the very ones they had been composing – in which case they would contain information about Lanalor’s portal. It would be propagandised, but it might still give her some clue as to the whereabouts of the portal. The possibility of speaking to a soulweaver did not preclude her using other means to get the information she needed and she cursed her stupidity at having failed to examine the scrolls before now. Fortunately, they had yet to travel to Ramidan and, presumably, the Draaka and her retinue would resume their beds and their drugged sleep when they crossed from Fomhika to Ramidan island.
The sacks began to slip again and Glynn wished that the similarities between Keltor and her own world had extended to the use of books to record words instead of the unwieldy scrolls.
The pier was extraordinarily long – more than a kilometre – because the water in the bay was very shallow, and ships could come no closer. But they were now approaching the land end of it. There were a few people casting nets along the edge of the gleaming white sand in the shadow of the pier and the sound of their voices rose above the swish of waves unrolling like aqua silk on the shore. Glynn assumed they were singing.
There was another group sitting cross-legged and weaving what looked to be a flat, round vessel. Glynn observed it with interest, guessing this to be a river-casting coracle of the sort that was supposed to have carried her out to sea.
A man detached himself from one of the numerous carts clustered along the firmly packed road like so many taxis waiting for people or cargo from the ships. But this man looked nothing like a taxi-driver. Pale gold hair fell in sleek, loose waves to his shoulders, except for two small tight plaits falling either side of his face. Woven through the plaits were tiny threads of gold that glinted as he bowed to the Draaka with a swish of gilt-edged cloth. Glynn noted that his eyes were the vivid green-blue of the water.
‘You are Gedron?’ the Draaka asked.
‘I am, my Lady. I have transport waiting,’ he answered.
Glynn had the queerest notion that she had seen him somewhere before, though he was a complete stranger to her.
‘It is good to meet you at last,’ the Draaka purred. ‘You demonstrate initiative fitting for a Prime.’
‘Can I do less when you honour Fomhika by coming to dedicate our haven to the Void guardian? And to conduct in person the ceremonies that will enable those of us who are followers to call ourselves draakira. I am deeply honoured to be able to serve you in any way I can, and to have been accepted by you as Prime of Fomhika haven.’
‘We both serve the Void guardian,’ the Draaka said. ‘But let us go.’
Gedron bowed his head as if she had offered a benediction, then handed her into an ornate, open carriage. A big, white-furred animal stood between the stocks and it was all Glynn could do not to gape at it. A combination of horse, antelope and llama, it had gentle, enormous eyes and a placi
d air. It sniffed slightly and turned its head towards Bayard as she approached, perhaps scenting the sleeping feinna coiled around her neck.
Gedron settled the Draaka, before turning to direct the rest of them somewhat imperiously to four plain carriages parked some distance to the rear. These were less ornate than Gedron’s and each had a driver; all of them were blond, tea-coloured older men with wonderful physiques and the same serene air as their beasts.
Glynn took her seat next to Bayard awkwardly because of the sack of scrolls, and their bags.
In the lead carriage Gedron swung himself into the seat alongside the Draaka and took up the reins. He twitched them lightly, and his head inclined towards his passenger as they set off up the sandy road. The other carriages followed, making a little convoy.
The view of the town from the ship deck had not given a true indication of the extreme steepness of the incline upon which it was built. Glynn could not imagine why anyone would go to the trouble of building a town in such a difficult place for, unlike the gentle surrounding slopes, this one was densely covered in foliage, which suggested an immense amount of clearing would have been necessary to secure enough space to build, and constant vigilance and pruning to retain what had been carved from the wilderness. Of course the grade meant that every dwelling would have a magnificent view, but surely the decision to site a town would not be made on such a frivolous basis.
The dwellings were seldom more than a single level – but the steepness of the slope meant that they often appeared to be several storeys high. Other than being flat-roofed and constructed of pale adobe, no two buildings were alike. Each blended so harmoniously with the wilderness that their shapes were unique and seemed entirely dictated by their location. Walls were curved to go around enormous trees, roofs wavered to allow for growth of branches. The houses in each strip running between the zig and zag of the road were knitted together with a rampant creeper that sprouted dark waxy leaves and long, slender, drooping pods that could be flowers or fruit.
No wonder it was nicknamed the green isle!
But as their convoy moved up through the settlement, Glynn decided that she had been wrong in imagining a constant battle to keep the plant growth in check. For all its luxuriance, the foliage did not cover any window or feature wall, and there was no sign of shaping by pruning. Work experience in a nursery had given her an eye for such things.
It came to her that since Fomhikans could use song as a force on plants, they had somehow arranged for the creeper to grow as it did. Plantsinging was, after all, about song affecting the growth of plants. Perhaps the flora here had been sung into marrying the buildings to the land, because the more she saw of the settlement, the more clear it was to her that the harmonising of human dwellings and natural growth must be deliberate. If so, it was quite possible that the town was built on the steep hill because of the spectacular view it afforded of the sea. The town was so beautifully integrated with nature that it seemed to her the people who had designed it must value beauty very highly.
No animal could have drawn a cart straight up the slope, hence the slow zigzagging grade of the road, but there were steps more directly between one part of the road and another. She did not see anyone using them, however, and wondered at the silence. They had passed perhaps twenty people in all since leaving the shore, but there must be thousands in a town this size. Where were they?
One of the draakira commented on the lack of people to the driver.
‘Now is the time when we bid the day farewell,’ he said, looking sleepily amused. ‘Anyone who is able, positions themselves to watch Kalinda fall into the great water. In the moment of death, she is her most beautiful.’
Glynn shivered, for talk of death and beauty reminded her inevitably of Ember. Her sister was beautiful by any standards and Glynn wondered morbidly if part of Ember’s beauty did not indeed arise from the fact that death had its hand on her. Even Solen, within hours of his death, had seemed stronger and prouder than at any other time since she had known him. And, on that last night with Wind, his performance of the kata had been sublime. He had lifted her to a height she had not matched before or since.
Without warning, the feinna stirred from its slumber and raised its head. From its position on Bayard’s shoulders, it stared about until it located Glynn, then it reached out a paw to her shoulder, bridging the distance between them. For a split second she saw the He-feinna dead in the trap, and felt an immense wash of grief. Maybe the sadness of Glynn’s memories had evoked the feinna’s own sorrow, and now it offered its sorrow to her as a gift.
She stroked its paw, and the animal sighed and withdrew, curling back to sleep. Bayard smiled over it at Glynn, who was confused by the warmth of her emotions, not only towards the animal but towards the draakira. She reckoned this must be another side-effect of their linking with the feinna.
She cringed as a terrible racket shattered the stillness, but Bayard’s rapt expression forced her to modify her response.
‘Who sings so sweetly?’ the old draakira asked the driver.
He nodded towards a house where an old man sat on his stoop, surrounded by children of varying ages. They were gilt by the rays of Kalinda setting and, absorbed in their song, they did not notice the convoy of carriages passing.
Glynn glanced back to see what they were seeing, and almost gasped at the spectacle of the Keltan sun half-sunk into the water, a bronze disc surrounded by fantastic indigo and rose-gold whorls of cloud reflected by the mirror-still sea. The closest Glynn had ever come to such a vibrant sunset in her own world had been after a volcano erupted, shedding debris into the atmosphere. No wonder the locals sang to the sun, and stopped work to watch it set.
Bayard asked Glynn, ‘What is Poverin like?’
Her heart almost stopped. ‘Uh. I lived on an aspi-breeding farm. It is a long way from …’
‘I do not expect you to be personally acquainted with the chieftain of Fomhika, you foolish girl,’ the draakira said impatiently, which saved Glynn, who had been about to claim exactly that. ‘I want to know how he is regarded as a chieftain.’
Glynn raked her mind frantically for some bit of minescrape gossip about Poverin that might be embroidered into an anecdote, and fell upon something Nema had said. ‘He is very interested in discussion and philosophy. He believes in freedom of expression.’ She kept her fingers crossed that the phrase was not too much of her world to be acceptable here.
Bayard nodded equably. ‘Yes, I have heard that. I might have known it, since we were permitted to build a haven here despite Poverin’s support for Darkfall. Possibly Gedron spoke to his father in our favour. It is useful to have a Prime that is also the son of a chieftain.’
So, Glynn mused, Gedron was Poverin’s son. That explained his sleek arrogance. On Acantha the Draaka had the chieftain in her pocket, so why not the son of the chieftain on Fomhika? Obviously it was a winning formula, for when Poverin stepped aside or died, Gedron would be chieftain. It seemed unlikely that Gedron would be both chieftain and Holder some day. So there must be more than one son. The draakira would certainly have mentioned it if Gedron was to become Holder of Keltor.
‘For all his open mind,’ observed the draakira who had spoken to the driver, ‘Poverin still supports Darkfall. That does not speak highly of his wisdom.’
‘Rest assured that Poverin’s support of Darkfall is entirely self-serving,’ another draakira sneered. ‘The chieftain of Fomhika is no idealist. With his own son destined to become the next Holder of Keltor by Darkfall Decree, why should he not support the misty isle?’
‘I have heard that Poverin petitioned Darkfall to ask if Tarsin might not be inspired to retire,’ a draakira said suggestively.
They all laughed at that.
‘Darkfall refused, of course,’ Bayard said. ‘Perhaps that is the reason for Poverin’s agreement to allow the establishment of a haven.’
‘Possibly that is why the soulweaver Alandria was sent back to the misty isle.’
&nbs
p; ‘It is a great pity that Gedron was not named mermod instead of his brother. He would be a fitting Holder of Keltor.’
‘It is as much of a pity that he is second-in-line for succession to the chieftainship. Only imagine if something were to befall Bleyd. Gedron would be chieftain of Fomhika,’ a small, dark-eyed draakira said eagerly.
Glynn was confused. If Gedron was only second-in-line to be chieftain, there must be two other sons: one who would inherit the role of chieftain, and a younger brother who was to be Holder.
‘If Bleyd were to die …’ Bayard began.
One of the others made a hissing noise and nodded at the driver, but he appeared entirely uninterested in their conversation. Possibly he could not hear very well. Nevertheless they fell silent.
The carriages passed a great wall of flowers from beyond which issued singing and laughter and the smell of food. The clink of glass and tantalising scents reminded Glynn she had not eaten anything but bread and cheese since boarding the ship, and little enough of that. Food was not much bothered with because few had the stomach for it.
Gedron directed the leading carriage through a drive which ran between tall poles of pale, carved stone. Both were covered in a profusion of greenery that seemed to swirl upward and reach out at the tip to coil together in a glorious display of blossoms. As their carriage went through the arch, Glynn looked up and tried again to discern exactly what it was about the growth that stopped it looking as if it were natural. There was no obvious pattern or shape. Perhaps it was simply that it was too perfectly formed. That was what prevented it from being really beautiful. To her mind, real beauty had to have a wildness in it; a touch of chaos.
The drive brought them right to the front of a rambling establishment. A multitude of paths and small footbridges led to various outbuildings. Everything was overgrown with greenery but it looked to Glynn as if the main building had been constructed first and everything else added on later – except that, despite the apparent random growth of the dwelling, there was again an overall sense of harmony.
Darkfall Page 40
