The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  It was odd, though, the way it came and went like that. It was only when I touched Xando that I had some experience of the sudden switch from one state to another. Usually it was just there.

  Tentatively, I reached out with my consciousness. Yes! There he was, amused but also irritated. That must be because of Renni. I could hear her discontented rumble even from here. Could I see her mind? A deluge of bitterness and roiling anger swamped me. I closed it off at once.

  Wait – I could control it? I tried again. Renni. Then gone. Zak. Gone. Not Xando – he had always been able to hide from me. But the others were open to me whenever I wanted. My spirits bubbled up. My connection to minds was back, and now I had full control over it. Even if that didn’t last, I would enjoy it for a while.

  35: Mesanthia

  I had barely calmed down in the few hours it took to reach the Coastway, the great canal linking all the major coastal cities. The scale of it left me breathless. Built at the height of the Empire, it had taken Mesanthian vision, Tre’annatha engineering skills and innumerable slaves to construct, and here it still was, a thousand years later and two hundred years after the Empire was betrayed. As wide as fifty barges, it was dark with craft moving this way and that. Both banks here were lined with wharves and warehouses and cranes, and a vast bustle of wagons and horses and people scurried about, like an anthill kicked over.

  Yet even here, with the power of the coastal cities laid out before us, there were signs of neglect. The island opposite our tiny branch canal, designed for barges to tie up overnight or while waiting for a berth at a wharf, was crumbling, the stone piers disintegrating. A warehouse nearby, no more than a black skeleton where a fire had claimed it, was green with weeds, with no sign of rebuilding going on. And on the nearest wharf, children skittered about amongst passengers as they boarded a ferry, begging or perhaps picking pockets. It was a depressing place, a reminder of the power of the Empire and at the same time another symbol of how far the northern plains had decayed without it.

  Normally, such a busy and chaotic place would have been torture to me, my mind assaulted from all sides by violent emotions, with no respite day or night. But now, my mind was peacefully empty. Occasionally I would reach out to this one or that, opening my mind briefly to their turbulent feelings before shutting them out again. Only rarely was I interested in what I found. Mostly it was pure delight simply to be able to do it, to keep all these strangers from invading my head. It was a pleasure to watch and drink in all the activity going on with no distractions.

  Zak had been here before, and zigzagged the barge across the bewildering streams of vessels with practised ease. It took an hour, and an astonishing amount of coin, to arrange to join a sailed convoy heading east. Another hour saw the horse sold for a more modest number of coins. We traded them almost at once for decent rice and seafood and fresh spices, filling the cabin with pungent aromas. Before nightfall, we were securely roped into the middle of our convoy, devouring baked seafood and rice, washed down with a fruity wine bought from the next barge down. When we woke the next morning, we were already under way.

  Xando quickly forgave my outburst – “You were overwrought,” he said. “I understand.” – but Renni didn’t speak to me at all, which was an unexpected benefit. I’d have exploded sooner if I’d known it would have that effect.

  It was a strange thing, but now that I could shut out Renni’s roiling misery whenever I wanted, I found her far easier to bear. Without her mental turmoil, I noticed her face more. She was still angry, especially when she looked at me, her eyes narrowing and mouth compressing to a tight line, but whenever Xando spoke to her, her face lit up with pleasure. But then, when he spoke to me, her head would droop, and there was nothing but abject misery in her expression.

  Poor Renni. I knew what it was like to love a man who wasn’t interested.

  One day, I found myself alone in the cabin with her. We were chopping vegetables for the soup, while the two men fished. She was grumbling in her relentless way, but her face was full of sadness. Impulsively, I set down my knife and reached across the table for her hand. She jumped, lifting angry eyes to me.

  “Renni…”

  “What?” she spat.

  “I’m not your enemy, despite what you may think. Nor am I trying to take Xando away. You can have him with my goodwill, because he’ll get nothing but grief from me, I know that.”

  She looked at me, startled. “So I have told him, but he never listens to me.”

  “He doesn’t listen to me, either. Look… give him time. Once I have married the prince, he will need a friend.”

  “But you changed him,” she said quietly. “He’s not Xando anymore.”

  I had no answer to that.

  This part of the journey was fast, but very dull. We had nothing to do but lounge around, watching the repetition of city and farms, city and farms swish past us along the banks of the canal. The lead vessel, with its great sails billowing, flew tirelessly along. At each city, we would stop briefly for barges to be dropped off or added on, then the sails would fill with air again and onwards we went.

  Xando and Renni kept mostly to the cabin, but Zak and I preferred to be outside. He brought the hammock up from below, and dozed away the days, while I sat on the cabin roof watching the world pass by and admiring the skill of the sail-masters.

  “It’s astonishing how they keep the convoy so neat,” I said to Zak one morning. He was stretched out in the hammock, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.

  He opened one eye. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve stopped moving to add those two big barges to the front. I’d expect the convoy to start to drift out of line and get a bit wobbly. But it doesn’t.”

  “Ah!” He laughed. “Astute observation. Yes, they pretend it’s all skill, but there’s no training for being a sail-master or a convoy-master. Either you can do it or you can’t.”

  “Really? But how—?”

  He grinned at me. “The Tre’annatha don’t get everyone, you know. I could be a convoy-master, if I wanted.”

  “Oh – you mean, a connection? To water?”

  “And to wind, for the sail-masters, yes. Those connections are very rare, but enough pop up to keep the convoys going.”

  “I’m surprised the Tre’annatha don’t test here.”

  “I’m sure they’d love to, if they could.” Yes, it was only Mesanthia where they had enough of a stranglehold to test every child for such capabilities.

  ~~~~~

  Our convoy sailed on. The only delay was in crossing the Asharim Larn, or the Ashalar River in the corrupted local parlance. Being navigable for its full length, it was even busier than the canal, so we had to wait for the river traffic to stop to allow our long convoy to pass. After that we proceeded smoothly all the way to Graendar. There the convoy was broken, reformed and set off westwards for the return journey within the hour. The canals and rivers never rested.

  It always made me cross to be in Graendar. The Lesser Allussina House in Mesanthia, where I had lived until I was nine, had a magnificent painting on one wall depicting Graendar in its Imperial heyday, with its wide, clean streets, elegant buildings and the rows of gannyssarim trees, whose delicate golden leaves shaded the roads. There were fountains and statues, distant spires and great towers and gleaming domes, everything pale except for the vibrant costumes of the people walking, or sitting with their books. Musicians played, and actors, singers and dancers performed at every corner, not for money but for the joy of their art.

  Mesanthia had built four such outposts as gateways to the heart of the Empire, but two were long since lost to the ever-hungry sands of the desert, and the remaining two had gone their own way. The Port thrived, largely unchanged, but Graendar now was a dreary place, drab and brown. The shining towers had all gone, pulled down or fallen with neglect, replaced with low, mud-coloured buildings, and the wide streets were filled with ramshackle hovels or markets, ankle-deep in filth. It was the only part of the whole r
iver and canal system where no one would dare to swim or drink the water.

  However, we had to pass through it. There was a canal from here to Mesanthia, but it was gated and the Graendari guarded the gates fiercely.

  “We can get a passenger barge from here,” Xando pointed out. “We have no need to take our own barge.”

  “I’m not leaving it here,” Zak said firmly. “It will be stripped to the bare hull if I do. And no, I’m not planning to stay behind myself. We will just have to get the proper permit to pass through the gates.”

  Usually, this was easier said than done. Graendari officialdom worked mysteriously, when it worked at all. It was all hearsay and rumour. There were administrative fees to be paid at one office, it was said. A stamp might be obtained by payment of a tax at another. An official might suggest that a donation to the Moon Temple would expedite matters, and she could handle it for us, to save us trouble. If you mentioned bribery, everyone would look at you in horror: “There is nothing of that sort here, Mistress.” Still, a lot of money changed hands and a lot of days were spent trudging round dismal little offices with crowds of others, and waiting, and arguing with officials hidden behind huge beards, and then more waiting. Usually.

  But we had three throwers in the party, and within hours we had all the necessary papers and permits and stamps and seals. It still cost a lot of coin, but we were hastened to the front of every queue. Before the end of the day the canal gates were opened for us, and we were on the last stretch of our journey to Mesanthia.

  Zak towed us at first, since we had no horse. I offered to help, but he insisted the barge was light enough to be easy work. Even so, I walked alongside him, if only to admire his muscular arms. He seemed relaxed enough. Occasionally, I opened my mind to his, to check that he wasn’t getting crotchety, but he was as good-humoured as ever. I loved his light-heartedness. It always cheered me up whenever I started thinking about what I might have to do in Hurk Hranda, and getting gloomy about it.

  After five marks or so, we passed two slender stone pillars, one on either bank, which marked the limit of Mesanthian control. The muddy and overgrown towpath vanished, replaced by smooth gravel and neatly clipped hedges. A little further on was the receiving house.

  Here at last was the first true sign of Mesanthian civilisation. The receiving house was a villa of pale golden stone, three stories high, four wings arranged in a square around a courtyard. As we pulled up at the wharf, made of the same stone, a group of Guards wearing the Keeper’s symbols emerged in formation and marched out to greet us. They were a fine sight, their uniforms crisply pressed, cream jackets gleaming in the sun. Their beardless faces were a pleasant change after the dishevelled Graendari.

  The captain made the intermediate bow of welcome, addressing Zak. “Greetings to you, and all aboard your vessel. We are pleased to welcome you to the Free City of Mesanthia.” He spoke in Low Mesanthian, the common form understood just about everywhere, before repeating his words in High Mesanthian.

  Then he must have caught sight of my ear tattoos, for he shifted at once to face me and dropped into the bow of full deference, his juniors copying him a heartbeat later. “Greetings, Gracious Lady,” he murmured. “Welcome home. Will it please you to step into the receiving house for a moment, or should you prefer to deal with the formalities here?”

  I checked Zak’s reaction, but he was amused, as always. Everything amused him, yet he wasn’t a frivolous man at heart.

  “It would please me very much to step into the house,” I said at once. “But we have three throwers in our party.”

  “All are welcome to Mesanthia, Gracious Lady. So long as the throwers wear their coats…”

  “I shall fetch mine, then.” His eyebrows rose fractionally before he mastered his expression. He wasn’t used to Akk’ashara throwers. Well, no one was. Maybe I was unique in that respect.

  I emerged from the cabin with Xando and Renni just behind me, wearing their coats, too.

  The captain’s face shifted almost imperceptibly, from the open welcome he’d shown me to a polite blankness. He made the bow of full deference again. “Greetings to you both, Honoured Saviours.”

  Saviours. The word always rankled with me. Of course, they truly had saved us, for Mesanthia could not have survived without Tre’annatha engineering skills, building aquaducts and bringing water to us. Our own builders had known what needed to be done, but hadn’t the expertise to accomplish it. But here we were two hundred years after we had been saved, still demonstrating our abject gratitude on a daily basis.

  Xando nodded at the captain, chewing his lip, and Renni said nothing. Zak and I took our places behind them, the captain led the way and we walked in stately procession into the house. Two juniors took up position alongside the barge, ensuring that no one boarded in our absence.

  Inside the receiving room, water was pumped into a large brass basin for us to wash in, and a boy bearing a tray offered us mango juice and plump dates. Then we sat around in low chairs while the captain knelt before each in turn, checking our proofs and writing the details in his book.

  After Xando and Renni, he dealt with me, and then came to Zak last. Naturally he assumed that Zak was nobody, just a barger, for he still wore the voluminous scarves that concealed his ear tattoos. When he read Zak’s proof, and saw the family name engraved on it, he gasped in shock, jumping to his feet to make the full deference again.

  “Gracious Lord, I must apologise—”

  “Nonsense!” Zak waved his hand in airy tolerance. “How could you have known?”

  “But I—”

  “It is my fault for wearing this get-up. Please, continue.”

  “You are too generous, Gracious Lord.” He knelt again, and scratched away in his book. “There, I have all the details now. Is there anything I can do for you? For any of you? Any supplies you need?”

  My only thought was to visit the bathing rooms. I hadn’t bathed properly since Brinmar, and not at all during our passage through Graendar, and I was desperate to be clean again.

  The captain apologised profusely. “The water will not be hot until this evening, Gracious Lady. I am so terribly sorry at our failure to meet your requirements.”

  “There we are then,” Zak said briskly. “We will be well on our way again by then. You will have to bathe in the canal.”

  “No, we will still be too close to Graendar. That water is filthy. I would come out of it dirtier than I went in. Captain, I am sure you have roof pools.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “That is where the servants bathe!” Xando said, shocked.

  “The water will be clean, and warm enough for comfort,” I said firmly, “and I am sure the servants will not mind.”

  Nor did they. We were attended by a swarm of giggling girls and young men, who thought it very funny that we, high-ranking as we were, should wish to use the sun-warmed pools on the roof. They brought sweet-smelling soap, and soft drying cloths, and arranged wooden screens around the pools for privacy. But each one was still open to the noon sun, and we could talk to each other while we soaked away the grime of Graendar.

  When we emerged, clean and dressed in the least grubby clothes we could manage after so long afloat, the captain had ordered a light meal for us: flaked roasted moonfish on tangy leaves, with fresh fruit and oiled seedbread, and a green wine, cool from the cellars. We sat in the shade at one side of the courtyard, savouring the flavours of home, enjoying our return where all was as it should be.

  Or almost so. There in the centre of the courtyard stood a magnificent marble fountain, many times the height of a man, carved into the shapes of plunging horses in water, cleverly designed so that their manes merged into the roiling foam. Yet it was dry. Even though this place must have been built long after the Betrayal, long after water had become an impossibly scarce resource, still the architect had deemed it necessary to have a fountain.

  It was the unspoken rule of Mesanthia that fountains were essential to civilised
city life, for the provision of water as well as the uplifting of the spirits. The city of fountains: so it was called, in its days of glory. The fountains were still there, silent now, but carefully maintained ready for the day when they would be connected to a water supply again. ‘When the fountains play’, people said. Or: ‘When the river runs again’. No one dared to say: ‘When the Empire is restored’, but that was what they meant.

  It was a way to keep the spirits up, to believe that, if Mesanthia was important once, it would be so again, or at least something more than this faded remnant, still dreaming of past glories. So even a new house would have its water basins and its many bathing pools and its fountains, no matter that they were never used, and we paid an enormous price for the little water we could get.

  We would never admit that the days of Empire were over, that Mesanthia was just another insignificant speck of struggling humanity on the northern plains. One day, every fountain would overflow with water again, as it should.

  And if my plan worked, that day would be very soon

  36: The Protector

  Clean and refreshed, we reclaimed our barge from the patient guards and set off once more on the canal, with a horse provided by the helpful captain.

  We were still two days away from the city. It was not even a smudge on the horizon yet, but at least we were close. Almost home. Our return to Mesanthia should have been a time of rejoicing, but we were all subdued, even the irrepressible Zak.

  But then we had no reason to celebrate. Zak had escaped from the Tre’annatha Program when he was twelve, and had been a fugitive ever since. I had left hastily at the age of nine, and had been pursued by scandal and tragedy for more than ten years. Xando had grown up here, but he had never been properly registered with his own people and was essentially in hiding. And Renni – I didn’t know her full story, but she was an outsider, too, like Xando.