The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  The Lesser Allussina tower was not one of those we passed. It was one of the smallest, squeezed into a corner between two bigger neighbours on the eastern river bank, exposed to the full blast of the desert winds. My branch of the family was neither wealthy nor politically important.

  The Keeper’s Isle was not a true island, merely a peninsula, with the river making an almost complete circle around it. In the centre of the isle were two low hills, side by side. On one, the Imperial Tower was an exquisite complex of domes and spires and gleaming gold, its thousand windows blinding us with reflected sunlight.

  On the other stood a single square tower, with a lone flag drooping on the roof, the only building in Mesanthia constructed with black stone. Nor was it the sort of stone that sparkled in sun or rain; rather the blackness was so deep, it seemed to suck all the light into itself, sitting brooding on its hill like a giant toad.

  As our carriage wheeled round in front of the massive wooden doors, also black, I glanced across to the Imperial Tower, and wondered how Xando and Renni were settling in. I didn’t envy them the overpowering formality of the guest apartments. There wasn’t a single comfortable chair in the building, so it was said.

  I wondered when we would see them again. I was in no hurry. I’d spent almost three quarter moons confined to a cabin with them, and I was already relishing their absence. Xando had become far too clingy lately, and I needed time away from him to breathe freely and clear my head. Besides, I had full control over my mind power now, so I had no need of him in that way. We would not be here long, I hoped, but a day or two alone with Zak would be pleasant.

  A troop of servants materialised from side doors to receive us and our possessions. A single burly man could have hefted both our bags without effort, but there were two small carts, with five or six servants to each, to retrieve them. Then four more pulling wheeled steps to the carriage door, two to hold the door open, and perhaps twenty more, lined up either side to bow to the appropriate level as we passed by. Their uniforms were practical rather than decorative, long-sleeved full tunics over loose trousers, caught with ties at wrist and ankle, and aprons almost to the ground on top, all in a creamy brown. Most were pale-faced Dresshtians, not Akk’ashara. Family servants, rather than ceremonial flunkies, for the Keeper’s Tower was a family home more than an official building. I had passed by a thousand times, but this was the first time I would cross the threshold.

  Beyond the great doors we entered a marble-floored entrance hall, with another line of servants offering cool drinks and fruit and scented wet cloths to wipe our hands and faces. We sat as two young men, more Dresshtians, removed our travel-stained boots, washed our feet and gave us soft embroidered slippers.

  Then, at some unseen signal, all the servants vanished, and we were alone with Draydon. “The Keeper will see you whenever you are ready,” he said, with his easy smile. “She is very interested to hear your story. But perhaps you wish to rest first?”

  “A bath first,” I said firmly. “And some clothes. I have nothing appropriate.”

  He made a little bow. “Of course. Your rooms are on the third floor. This way, if you please.”

  ~~~~~

  It was strange to be wearing decent clothes again after so long. The formal style of dress for an Akk’ashara consisted of tight trousers, a matching bodice for women and a long length of material wrapped around. The exact manner of wrapping varied with the seasons. Silk scarves were wound around the head, the ends trailing. I had no jewels to wear, which made me feel almost naked. It hardly mattered, though, for I had to wear my thrower’s coat on top of the whole ensemble, which completely spoiled the effect. However, that was the law.

  Zak looked magnificent. His hair, released from the confines of the barger’s scarf, fell right down his back, braided with strips of silk, and his muscular arms and broad chest were accentuated by the body wrapping. I remembered my self-control, however, and merely nodded neutrally at his changed appearance and turned my gaze away.

  “Oh – that suits you, Allandra,” he said with his wide smile.

  “Thank you.” My heart was fluttering, but I was determined not to respond excitedly.

  “Although the coat is a little out of place.” He laughed, and I allowed myself to smile just a little.

  Draydon had waited while we bathed and changed, supervising the servants and ensuring we had everything we needed. Then he led us down into the bowels of the tower to the Keeper’s Room. My mind churned over the reasons for such unprecedented attention. Even to meet one of the Protectors was a great honour, but to have one waiting on us like a slave was extraordinary.

  And now we were to meet the Keeper at once. I had never heard of such a thing. The letter we had sent was so bland it bordered on meaningless. Yet it was almost as if the Keeper already knew what we planned, and understood the importance of the enterprise for Mesanthia. Perhaps she did; it was said she had unusual powers given by the Spirit, and that she and the Protectors and Children could communicate at a distance.

  Even so, I didn’t understand how she could be aware of what I intended to do. No one beyond Zak’s barge could possibly know. I looked sideways at him, wondering. Had he told anyone? Written a letter, perhaps? Would he do such a thing? My answer was immediate: he was perfectly capable of it, if he thought it the right thing to do. He was working towards his own ends, I knew that. For now, they coincided with mine, and I would know if that ever changed. I put the thought out of my mind.

  The approach to the Keeper’s Room was a long pillared room, windowless since it was underground, but filled with light from many lamps, perfuming the air with aromatic oils. There were no petitioners today, but a few servants waited for orders, bowing as we passed, then returning to their benches. Several guards, fully armed, protected the carved wooden doors at the far end, but they were opened for us without challenge. We were expected.

  The Keeper’s Room itself was not imposing. It was perfectly round, with plain, white walls and a single waist-high pillar of polished black marble in the centre of the room. There was no furniture, no decoration, nothing of note, except for the matching door on the far side. Yet there was a heaviness about it that was palpable, bearing down on me oppressively. The weight of history, my father had called it, and now that I felt it for myself, I understood what he meant.

  The Keeper stood in front of the pillar. If you met her in the fish market with a basket on her arm, you would not have looked twice at her. A small, round, middle-aged woman of undistinguished appearance, her clothes expensive but not especially stylish, wearing no jewels except one. But then she needed no other. The Keeper’s Box was a small crystal cube on a silver chain, which contained all the knowledge and wisdom of the Spirit. The Spirit of Mesanthia, it was called now, but once it had been proudly known as the Spirit of the Empire.

  The Keeper’s face was alight with joy, even before we were properly in the room. “Zakkarvyn! How wonderful to see you again!” And she rushed forward to hurl herself into Zak’s arms. She was so small, her face was buried in his chest.

  “Mother,” he murmured, into her scarves, hugging her back. It was such a domestic scene that I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Ah, it has been too long, far too long. Why do you never come home to see us, Zakkarvyn?”

  “Perhaps because I am still trying to evade the Program, Mother.”

  She laughed delightedly at this, as if he’d made some clever joke, then broke away from him and turned to me. “Lady Flethyssanya – this is a surprise indeed. Oh, do stand up straight, child! No need for such formality. I am so glad to see you safe and well. We quite believed you to be dead after that terrible fire in Caxangur.”

  “I managed to escape, Revered One.”

  “So it appears!” Another merry laugh. She was not at all like Zak in looks, but the obvious pleasure in life reminded me of him. The only difference was that Zak kept his merriment inside him, out of sight; with the Keeper it bubbled constantly to the surface, like a
spring. “We sent people to find out what happened, of course, but there was nothing left but ashes. Well now, and here you are! How wonderful!”

  She bustled across to the far door. “Come along, come along. Let us be comfortable, shall we?”

  Opening the door without ceremony, she led the way into her private apartments. The Third Protector followed, his sword loops jingling with each step. He closed the door behind him, and we were free of the Keeper’s Room and its strange atmosphere. My spirits lifted at once.

  The first room we entered was formally arranged, with rich furnishings and the subdued gleam of gold and marble. A place to greet the highest dignitaries. Kings and princes, perhaps. Diplomats and ambassadors. High-ranking Mesanthians. My father had attended the dusk ceremony with the Keeper, more than once.

  A man waited there, standing in a relaxed pose in the centre of the room. One of the Keeper’s personal guards, by his uniform. Zak made a strangled noise from behind me, and I didn’t need to see into his mind to feel the surge of joy that passed through him. He was pleased to see his mother, but this man… this man who looked so much like him. They were very alike, father and son.

  Zak shot past me, and the two men embraced with equal fervour, breaking apart to babble excitedly to each other, then another, longer embrace. The Keeper, smiling, moved to their side, laying a hand on each man’s arm. The guard – Zak’s father – lifted his head and returned her smile with such warmth that it felt intrusive to watch.

  I don’t know why it was so surprising, but I was taken aback. I’d assumed that Zak was the result of a quick affair, a momentary lapse by the Keeper, something shameful. She had five Protectors, after all, who sired the Children of the Spirit. What need had she for another lover? Yet there he was, still a part of her life. The very heart of her life, to judge by their faces and the joy in their minds. And with Zak there, the family was complete.

  My head drooped, filled with grief for my own family: my father and my husband. I wanted someone to hold me, too. Someone whose face would light up when I walked into a room, someone to lie beside me at night, to smile at me that way, to greet me with delight when I returned home. I wanted someone to love me, someone I could love in equal measure. I was happy for Zak that he was united with his family, but in that moment I was also supremely lonely.

  Yet I was determined not to give way to sorrow, not now, when I had so much to do. It was essential to keep my wits sharp. As I straightened my back and lifted my chin, I caught the eye of the Third Protector, standing patiently to one side, a part of the Keeper’s life but, clearly, not such an important part. He gave me a wry smile, one eyebrow raised.

  As if she felt this exchange behind her, the Keeper spun round to face me, and chuckled at my expression. “Ah, child, you are not the first to be shocked. I have five husbands already, after all, it is greedy to want more. But you see – Third has no objection. Do you, my dear?” She reached up and patted the Third Protector on the cheek. He laughed at her, quite unconcerned.

  “Come, let us go through,” the Keeper said, and we trooped out of the room in her wake.

  A corridor led to less imposing quarters. The Keeper ushered us into a small room with the panels of one wall folded away to admit the outside air. Servants bowed low as we entered. Beyond, the garden beckoned with lush greenery and fountains playing. I walked, mesmerised, past the Keeper, onto the terrace and down the steps to the start of a winding path through fronds towering over my head. Far above, great palms swayed. A red and yellow bird flew, squawking, from a densely-flowered bush and shot into the sky.

  I laughed for joy. Hail and glory, how I’d missed Mesanthia! The colours, the noises, the perfumes of the vine flowers and the tempting aromas of the street wagons with their fried fish and fruit juices. And the life that flowed less conspicuously, in the libraries and academies, the art galleries, theatres and music houses. It was my home, my blood, the air in my lungs.

  The Keeper was at my side. “Does it please you? I see that it does. The Keeper’s Garden, you know – the entire world in one place. Shall we walk?”

  “Don’t you feel… confined?” I asked her. “No matter how beautiful this place is, it is not the entire world. It is only a garden, and you are trapped here.”

  “Trapped…” She tilted her head to one side, bird-like. “I do not feel trapped, no. I can be part of the world and here at the same time. It is one of the benefits.” She tapped the crystal cube where it hung at her throat. “Now, would it amuse you to take refreshment in the desert, or the hill country, or—”

  “Here. Right here. Under the palms of Mesanthia.”

  She laughed merrily, and clapped her hands. At once, a cloud of servants materialised from behind every bush, bearing tables, stools, cloths and plates. Tubs of plants were whisked away to reveal a tiny paved area. It was swept and covered with silk rugs, the table laid, the stools positioned and we were urged to sit. Then platters of fruit, jugs of wine and water, and an array of cakes sticky with honey, and tiny pastries filled with seafood. As soon as everything was set out, the servants vanished as quickly as they had arrived. Only the occasional guard moving about behind the trees or crunching on the paths reminded me that I sat opposite the most powerful person in all Mesanthia.

  We sat, the five of us, eating and drinking and chatting, as all high-ranking Mesanthians did in the afternoons. A fountain cooled the air, but there was no breeze, the air wrapping us in stifling warmth. Sweat trickled between my breasts and down my back. Zak and his father did most of the talking, while I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the heat. I confess, I looked into all their minds, but I saw nothing untoward, no hostility or deceit, only pleasure and odd little bursts of excitement whenever I was mentioned.

  “So, child,” the Keeper said, when the conversation began to flag. “Will you tell us your story? Why you went to Hurk Hranda, and then Caxangur? And how in the grace of the One you came to be in one of the mines at Asharim?”

  I told them everything. She was the Keeper, after all, and in an earlier age she would have been the Empress. I could not refuse her.

  So I told them how I had evaded the Program by allowing someone else to take the test in my place. How my connection to fire had manifested as a small child, but my ability to feel the emotions of others only blossomed later. How I’d had to leave the Academia at the age of nine when I reflected a boy’s anger and nearly killed him. How we’d fled to Hurk Hranda, to the peace of the foreign quarter, but my unfortunate susceptibility for lust had drawn the attentions of Prince Kru Karn. Another flight, to Caxangur, and marriage to one of my tutors, an old friend of my father. Then discovery and the Prince’s uncontrolled anger. Then the fire. And how I had fled to the mine in a last desperate attempt to find a safe place to hide. Then the final flight to the canals, and Brinmar.

  I would have gone on, but she stopped me. “Later, child. Before we come to that, there is something else I would know.”

  “Of course, Revered One.”

  Her face hardened. “I would know what under all the moons and stars possessed you to take a Tre’annatha lover.”

  38: Eyes

  I stared at her. The tone was imperious, her face full of disdain, yet her mind showed no more than alert curiosity, as well as the strange excitement they all felt. How to answer? I’d already explained how I’d met Xando, and how he turned me into a thrower. But she wanted something more. This was an intrusive personal question, which in anyone else would be impertinent. She was the Keeper, though, so I chose not to take offence.

  “He is… something of a nuisance.”

  “Ah! Go on.” But there was no surprise in her. She already knew how things were.

  Well, I could play games, too. “Is there any reason I should not have a Tre’annatha lover, should I wish to?”

  A half smile. “But why would you wish to?”

  I sighed. She was not to be deterred, so I tried a different strategy. “When I went to Twisted Rock, I was in a desperate p
osition. My father, my husband, my home – all of them gone. I had barely escaped myself. The armies of two cities were on my tail, both wanting me dead. I had two uncontrollable connections. What I needed more than anything was a refuge, somewhere safe to hide until I could emerge with a new name, a new life. Well, Twisted Rock was not quite the refuge I needed, but Xando was. He helped me manage my connections, he protected me from those who hated me—”

  “Who hated you? And why? You were a stranger there.” She was a persistent woman, and my sad tale brought me no sympathy. I should have expected that from someone who had been at the heart of government for thirty years.

  “Indeed. But I am Akk’ashara, a symbol of the Empire. There are many in the Two Rivers Basin who still resent what they see as our ill-treatment of them. And, because of my abilities, the superstitious saw me as a witch.”

  “Of course. And this Tre’annatha, he protected you?”

  “He did, and I protected him, in a way. He shared my bed to avoid the attentions of the other women. I had no objection, since he was not awakened then.” The Protector looked puzzled, but the Keeper nodded knowledgeably. “We were both Mesanthian, and he treated me with great respect, so we became friends, if no more than that on my side. But later, hassalma caused an awakening in him, and so… things changed. It was no wish of mine, I assure you. I have some affection for him, as a friend, but not love.”

  Zak’s face was impassive, and I didn’t look at him as I spoke, but the Keeper cast a quick glance in his direction. That was interesting. Clearly she was aware of my feelings for him, yet how could that be? Maybe she had a connection of her own?

  “This awakening—” the Protector began, but the Keeper waved her hand to silence him.

  “They are odd, the Tre’annatha, it seems, but we will speak of that later. Tell me, child, do you trust him, this Tre’annatha?”