by Steven Poore
That the merchants listened at all was enough to raise her spirits, but when they applauded, she thought her heart might burst. She dared to begin thinking ahead to Elbithrar.
Elbithrar, the merchants told her, was joyous and vibrant. A welcoming city of fountains and temples, where the market sold trinkets and rugs from faraway Galliarca, mats of dried and woven grasses from Berdella, and even precious stones from the foreign lands of the far West. She had seen some of these things before, in other markets and other towns, but she marvelled to think of them all in one place.
“And storytellers?” she asked one of the seasoned travellers as he warmed a kettle of wine over the fire late one evening. “Are there storytellers in Elbithrar?”
The merchant’s coat had once been splendid, with scarlet ribbons hanging from the sleeves. It was faded and patched now, like the man himself, but Cassia noticed that when he removed it he seemed to cast off a great proportion of his authority and personality. Like my father, she thought, surprising herself with the connection.
“Storytellers,” the merchant rumbled. He rubbed his expanding paunch, then fiddled with the lid of the kettle, as though he might make it heat faster by doing so. “Real storytellers? In Elbithrar? Oh a few, I dare say a few. Maybe more than a few, eh? You want to go and listen to them, my girl?”
He’d misunderstood, Cassia thought. But it was a simple enough mistake. “No sir, I’d like to join them.”
The merchant blinked and stared at her from the other side of the fire. “Join them, eh? A noble ambition, my girl. A noble ambition indeed.”
She had the impression he thought there was something wrong with what she had said, so she explained further. “You said last night, sir, that my telling of the lay of Anomae and Dardin plucked your heart to tears. I would like to move an entire crowd of people in the same way.”
The merchant nodded solemnly. “May both Movalli and Ceresel smile upon you then, my girl,” he said. “For the story was indeed beautifully told.”
Elbithrar sat at the bottom of a wide vale. The town’s walls were whitewashed and clear, and the patchwork of fields surrounding them were well-tended and busy. The last of the autumn’s harvest was being gathered in even as she watched. Gaps in the busy patterns of rooftops showed where the town’s squares lay, with the largest of them just off-centre, next to an imposingly pillared temple.
But here, to her dismay, was where Baum decided to leave the caravan behind. “We have delayed long enough,” he told her. “The season is turning. We must reach Hellea inside the next week, or else the trail we follow may go cold again.”
“I don’t understand why the rush,” she said, “when you’ve trailed him for so many centuries.” She knew she sounded petulant. But this is my chance! Such a perfect opportunity to show how much better I am than my father! Why shouldn’t we stop here?
Baum loomed over her, and despite herself she shrank back a little. “And if I allow my course to be dictated to me by the daughter of a storyteller, how many more centuries will I have to spend following the damned warlock?” His anger was more controlled than it had been in the wilds of Karistea, but that only made it worse. Back there he had only threatened to leave her behind; this time there was a much keener edge to his fury.
It subsided and passed as quickly as it had risen. Baum regarded her for a moment as though he could read the broad spread of her emotions. “I have studied him, you know. His habits, his customs. He is as bound to the seasons as a sparrow. If he is still in Hellea, he will not winter there. He will fly to the southern lands before the first snows.”
Cassia nodded her understanding mutely.
“And besides,” Baum continued, in a more kindly tone, “you will be set up to fail in Elbithrar.”
“What do you mean?”
He nodded to the road, where the wagons rolled down into the valley. The story-loving merchant was visible at the head of the convoy. “That man is no friend of yours. If you were to pitch up in the markets and call for an audience, he would be at the head of it, certainly, but only to laugh at you and rubbish your talents. As soon as he reaches town he will be spreading his own tales of a storytelling girl – A girl! A girl! She thinks she is a man! – and you will be laughed from the square.” He shrugged. “I have seen it happen before.”
“But I would have been disguised as a boy,” Cassia pointed out. “That was never a problem when I collected for my father.”
“That was in the North,” Baum said. “In some ways we are more civilised, more tolerant, than the rest of Hellea. Elbithrar would not welcome you.”
I’ll fight them! Any man who says I’m not fit to tell my stories, I’ll take my staff to them and leave them on their backs in the dust, waving their limbs in the air like stranded beetles . . .
No. That would solve nothing. Cassia thought back to her conversations with the merchants, examining their words, the pauses, the sly glances. Everything Baum had said made sense. She stared at the wagons again, then across the fields to the town itself. Suddenly her new life had been pulled away from her, dragged out of reach, and she was an outsider once more.
“Where, then?” she asked.
“Hellea has its faults,” Baum said. “Too many to list, sometimes, but the city has always looked overseas to steal its traditions. When I was last there the Galliarcan passion for storytelling was popular again. The idiots may be too blind to realise what lies on their own doorstep, but if they have not been fickle enough to change their opinions every time the wind changes, then you should have a better time there. At least you will be able to take a pitch without that buffoon over there waiting with a handful of rotten fruit.”
Cassia turned to her packs with a sigh, checking the straps to make sure nothing was loose.
“To the river,” Baum said. “If we are all to meet our destinies in Hellea, we shall at least arrive there in some style.”
q
“You might wish to see this,” Baum said, from the hatch above Cassia’s head. The sun was high in the sky and sat behind him, giving the effect of a haloed god in a sacred manuscript. Cassia shielded her eyes and squinted up at him. It wasn’t such an unlikely simile, she decided. After all, Baum was in the service of one of the oldest gods. Perhaps this was how he had looked when Pyraete chose him to do his bidding.
“What is it, sir?” She dropped her practice sword and climbed up to the barge’s deck.
They had passed countless shrines and temples as they pressed deeper into the heartlands of the Empire, and Baum had pointed them all out to her, naming each one and talking about the deities they were sacred to, in tones that were gossipy at best and plain blasphemous at worst. Cassia did not know whether to laugh or be offended when he spoke of Althea, the goddess of the eastern winds, as a wizened strumpet. Or of Periandir, the great giver of grain, as a vainglorious, dithering clot. One large shrine looked familiar to her, but when she asked about it all Baum would say was that it was another of Malessar’s monstrosities. That was the only time the old man had been less than good company.
Sometimes the winding course of the great river met with that of the Western Road, and there would be a ford, or bridges held aloft by tall spans of meticulously worked stone. There would always be a town, either nearby or on the very banks of the river. The barges drew up at each one, whether or not the town looked prosperous, and the merchants and sail-rats haggled loudly over bolts of cloth, jewels and ores – and, once, even a weathered stone that an old soldier claimed had come from the long-fallen walls of Stromondor. Baum had laughed at that, but he said nothing more, and Cassia was none the wiser as to whether the relic was genuine.
As the river widened, there were fewer bridges and no fords at all. The towns became larger, their walls extending down to the banks of the river, the jetties busy with traders. Cassia was reluctant to go ashore in these larger towns, and if Meredith was not aboard then she kept her own company. For most of the journey she had been content just to watch the Hellean heartlands pass by
. Vast estates sat on the low hills above the fields; the ancestral homes of great families, shaded by groves of lemon trees and set back in lush gardens. The first time Cassia saw one of these estates she had been astounded by the extravagance and the waste of space. In Keskor that land would have been used for more crops, or for grazing animals during winter. But it seemed each bend in the river had brought another, larger estate, and they soon lost their novelty.
Baum moved away from the hatch and the sun blinded her as she climbed up. She had to rub her eyes to clear away the bright spots, careful not to move until she was sure of her footing. There were too many obstacles ready to trip and spill her into the river.
“Here we are,” Baum said. He gestured to the open horizon before them.
Beyond the weathered figurehead that decorated the barge’s prow, the river opened out into a lake, the far shores visible only as a darkened line on the horizon. The water was becoming choppier, waves licking at the hull and rocking the flat-bottomed barge from side to side.
“Is this the sea?” Cassia asked, knowing even as she spoke that it could not be. This looked nothing like the endless expanses she remembered from the cliffs overlooking the coastal towns of the North.
Baum laughed. “Of course not. This is the Castaria, girl. This is the heart of the Empire.”
The barge rocked its way out onto the great lake and Cassia gained a better perspective. The Castaria was the inspiration for scores, even hundreds, of songs and stories. Nearly all of them involved fishermen battling sly demons against great odds, or young women skipping along the lake’s fair shores to meet with gods who promised them the world. The estates that overlooked these waters belonged to the richest, most powerful men in the Empire. When Cassia looked north or east, she saw lands that must have sprung fully-formed from the Emperor’s commands. The southern shores could only be guessed at, so great was the distance to them, and to the famed waters of the River Meteon.
But to her right, on the western shores, was the ancient city that had spawned an Empire.
Stone piers reached proudly into the Castaria, surrounded by a forest of masts, rocking as the ships berthed there were caught by the light breeze and the rolling tides. The clatter of masts and hawsers reminded Cassia of the coastal towns of the North. Beyond the piers stood row upon row of tenements and workshops, the air above hazed with smoke and dust. The three hills on which Hellea stood sloped away from the shore, and Cassia could see temples and other colonnaded buildings, allowed room to breathe by the wider streets and the squares that Baum told her commemorated the heroes of old battles as well as the gods who once walked this land.
Even from here she could discern the low hubbub of the streets. It reverberated through her stomach, adding to the queasiness she felt from the barge’s motion. She wrapped her arms across her body to still her rebellious guts, and wished she had the skill to put all of this into words.
“Hellea,” Baum mused, beside her. “A village overgrown with pride and arrogance, wheezing with every bloated breath.” It was as though he had read her thoughts.
The barge turned slowly toward the shore. Cassia wedged herself tight against the rail; she had learned to stay out of the way when the crew were battling against the barge’s stubborn refusal to answer the helm.
“It looks so big,” she said, casting a quick glance over one shoulder to make sure nobody else could hear her. “How will we find the warlock?”
“Through patience and cunning,” Baum replied. His gaze was so intent upon the shore that Cassia thought he must be memorising every building on the waterfront. “He does not know we seek him, remember? He will not hide his presence well. And I know his ways, and his likeness. We will let him reveal himself to us.”
He made it sound so simple, but Cassia looked at the scale of the city and wondered how long this search would take. To find one man amongst the thousands who lived here . . . it was a search worthy of a storyteller’s drama. And that was why she was here, she reminded herself. She could do this.
The jetties of Hellea grew closer, and the waters of the Castaria were thronged with smaller fishing boats that picked through the detritus cast aside by the thousands of men and women who lived at the centre of the Empire. Fishermen waved, or shouted for attention, holding their catches aloft. The sail-rats used their long river poles to fend away any who got too close or who tried to board the wallowing barges. Baum went below to see to the horses, but Cassia remained on deck staring at the city, even though she took none of it in. Now she was here she realised her heart beat more in trepidation than excitement.
This is where I wanted to be.
It was not going to be as easy as she had dreamed.
q
People streamed chaotically through the streets, elbowing their way past each other. Anyone who lost their footing would surely be crushed underfoot. Safe in the saddle and clinging to the reins for dear life, at least Cassia could see where they were going, and the fear and panic bubbling at the back of her mind did not completely take over.
People tried to get out of their path, although there were several occasions when one of the horses must have trampled on somebody’s foot. Her shoulders were tight, braced against the possibility of having things thrown at her, but nothing came. Instead she heard wolf whistles, and leering calls, words that made her blush. Were they intended for her? She ducked her head and urged the horse onward, following her companions.
They left the docks and their attendant markets, and Baum guided them up a long avenue of tenements that leaned into each other for support, the buildings merged together under the pressure of years. Everywhere she looked she saw men and women filtering away down alleyways and narrow side-streets. Children gathered in small mobs outside the tenements, gangs parading and protecting their territory. Not so different from other towns then. Perhaps it was all just a matter of scale.
The first shrine they came upon reinforced that thought. It was set back from the street at the top of five great stone steps, and the building’s roof stretched out to encompass a pillared colonnade on all four sides, making it look much larger than it really was. Two priests stood at the top of the steps, welcoming – and vetting – worshippers. If she squinted, she could make out the dedication carved into the lintel behind one of the priests. A temple to Periandir, a god who was worshipped if harvests were full. If minor deities could command such respect and devotion here, what would Ceresel’s temple look like? Or Movalli’s?
“Keep up, girl!” Meredith shouted to her, and she realised she had fallen behind. She heeled the horse ahead, but within a few yards her attention was drawn again by half a dozen men, their tunics covered by hardened leather jerkins, who stood at a corner, watching the thronging crowds intently. Even if they had not worn those jerkins, the short swords at their sides would have given them away as legionaries. Cassia ducked her head quickly, fearing Vescar Almoul had sent messages on to the Imperial capital, appending her description and those of Baum and Meredith so they would be arrested.
They’re looking at me. I know they are. They know who we are. We’ll be followed through the city until we reach some darkened corner, and then they’ll surround us and –
She shook her head to rid herself of the thought. Look at all these people, she told herself. Nobody knows who we are. Nobody. She glanced over her shoulder at the soldiers once she had passed them, but they had not moved at all, and none of them looked in her direction.
It’s only me.
Baum turned off the main avenue as it began to rise into the hills that sheltered the Castaria from the south-westerly winds. Now the thoroughfares were less crowded, but more cramped, and even Meredith could not bully his way through. Their pace slowed to a crawl. Cassia felt conspicuous in the saddle, knowing that people were openly watching her, their faces a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Who was this slip of a girl who rode a soldier’s horse behind a young lord and a hardened old man?
She knew little about the fami
lies who owned the lands surrounding the Castaria, but she imagined the ordinary people of Hellea might think she belonged to such a family. That brought a smile to her face – me, a lady? – but she suppressed it and tried to maintain an air of dignified hauteur, such as a young noblewoman might possess.
“Do you have a house here, sir?” she asked Baum when the first opportunity arose. They were waiting for a heavily laden cart, one wheel broken by a deep hole in the road, to be pulled aside by a mixed team of tradesmen and urchins. Baum leaned over the pommel of his saddle with his usual sardonic smile, watching the disorganised comedy of errors descend into frustrated shouts and curses. He had not offered to help, even though their well-fed horses would make light work of the job, and although one or two of the tradesmen cast glances in their direction, it seemed Meredith’s intimidating presence had warned them away from asking.
Baum shook his head. “No. I never saw the use in that.”
“You would not need to pay for rooms all the time,” Cassia said. It was something she had always envied in her father’s distant relatives. They were rooted in comfort in one place, with a roof over their heads and a door to close against the cold of winter. She dreamed sometimes of having such a house, being able to light a fire with dry wood even in the stormiest weather.
“But I would never have seen any such place as home,” Baum said. “My home is lost behind the warlock’s curse wards. There is also the problem of the geas Pyraete laid upon me.”
“How would that be a problem, sir?”
Baum leaned in and lowered his voice until his words were almost lost amid the uproar of the tradesmen. The cart was almost clear now, a new wheel wedged hastily into place. “It is one thing to spend a mortal life in one place,” he said. “It would be another – and not a good thing – to spend an immortal life tied to one place. Think how it would appear to townsfolk to have the same neighbour for scores of years: never ageing, never changing. Think how suspicion and mistrust would build. I would not have been welcome for long, even in the largest, most cosmopolitan cities.”
