‘We have much to discuss, Reeth. There’s a great deal to be explained, and your friends, these people with you, they must be confused.’
‘You bet,’ Serrah assured him. ‘This particular friend wants to know what the hell you two are talking about. Starting with where do you and Reeth know each other from?’
‘From my dreams,’ Caldason told her.
‘Your what?’
Kutch and the girl looked no less taken aback.
‘As I said,’ the old man intervened, ‘there’s a lot to be explained. And I’ve been expecting someone to come, looking for answers.’
‘You have?’ Serrah said. ‘Why?’
‘For the last couple of years there have been disturbances in the essence powering the Clepsydra, and in the device itself. In recent months it’s grown much stronger. Something had to happen.’
‘Is there someplace we can discuss this?’ she asked. ‘Somewhere out of these tunnels?’
‘Of course.’ He addressed the girl. ‘It’s all right, Wendah.’ His hand unerringly found the blade she held, and gently turned it aside. ‘We must offer our guests such hospitality as we can.’ After a second’s hesitation, she put the knife away. To them all, the old man said, ‘Come. It’s not far.’
He set out, lightly clasping the girl’s shoulder. She glanced back, scowling at them, and it seemed to Kutch that she paid particular attention to him.
The procession negotiated a series of tunnels, with attendant sets of perplexing bends and twists, then they entered a low-roofed grotto. Within, a large, cleverly placed flat stone concealed the entrance to a hollow. They squeezed inside.
The cave was ample in size and lit by wax and oil. Sufficiently so that Caldason, Serrah and Kutch disabled their glamour orbs. What the light showed was an ordered jumble. Mismatched bedding, and crates used as furniture. Crab shells for dishes, and chipped pots. A crudely made bow, propped in one corner, along with a bundle of coarse arrows. Driftwood and cast-offs, adapted to the necessities of survival.
‘Our abode,’ the old man announced, ‘such as it is. Try to make yourselves comfortable.’
‘You live here?’ Kutch exclaimed.
‘If you can call it living.’ The old man seemed breathless. He put a hand to his brow and looked pained.
Serrah was concerned. ‘What’s wrong? Can we do anything?’
‘Thank you, no. I’m constantly…in discomfort.’
The girl, still eyeing their visitors suspiciously, helped him to a chunk of rock vaguely resembling a throne. He sank onto the makeshift seat with a relieved sigh.
She took a cracked cup and fetched some water from a nearby cask. Then she squatted beside him, watchful.
‘Do take your ease,’ the old man repeated. He drank, his hands trembling slightly.
Kutch and Serrah perched amongst the clutter. Caldason sat on a barrel.
The old man said, ‘I never thought to–’ He stopped himself, smiling thinly. ‘I was about to say I never thought I’d see you again, Reeth. Not in this world. It seems I was right about that.’ A fleeting reverie occupied his face. ‘I’m a poor host,’ he decided. ‘You must think me ignorant for not even asking your friends’ names.’
‘No,’ Caldason replied. ‘Nobody’s slighted. This is Serrah Ardacris; and our friend, Kutch Pirathon.’
The ‘our’ told the old man all he needed to know about Reeth and Serrah’s relationship. ‘Wendah,’ he introduced, squeezing the girl’s arm, ‘friend and dependable companion. She acts as my eyes, in a very real way. Been with me here since she was a child.’
‘How did that come about?’ Serrah wondered.
‘She was the sole survivor of a shipwreck. Most vessels avoid this place; many of those that don’t, come to grief. Everything you see here was salvaged from wrecks.
‘Do you remember my name, Reeth?’ he asked abruptly.
The Qalochian was caught off-balance. He shook his head, discomfited.
‘Praltor Mahaganis,’ the old man supplied. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No. Or rather…perhaps. I don’t know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it now. It’ll come.’
‘How do you survive in this place?’ Serrah said.
‘We have rainfall for drinking water, much of the surface vegetation’s edible, if bland, and we catch fish. Occasionally we dine on fowl. Wendah’s pretty handy with bow and slingshot, though not in your league, Reeth. And there’s flotsam and jetsam to pick over. But tell me about yourselves. How do you come to be here?’
‘The Source,’ she told him.
‘Ah.’ If the answer surprised him in any way, there was no sign. ‘Why do you seek it?’
‘It’s possibly our only hope. How much do you know about what’s happening in the outside world?’
‘Very little. We’ve been here a long time.’
‘The Resistance has given up inciting revolution against the empires,’ she recapped, ‘and tried to establish a dissident state. But the scheme was betrayed and it’s near to collapsing.’
‘There’s an organised resistance?’
‘Exactly how long have you been here?’
‘Most of Reeth’s adult life.’
‘How did you come to this?’ Caldason asked, indicating their squalid surroundings.
‘You don’t know what you are, do you?’ the old man countered. ‘Of course you don’t; we’d all be aware of it if you did.’
Caldason was baffled. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The old man waved the question aside. ‘What do you remember? Of your days with me, that is.’
‘It’s not so much memories as…dreams of that time. You were training me in the martial and mental skills I’d need. Equipping me to survive. I owe you my life.’
‘It was the least I could do.’
‘How so?’
‘I’m in your debt.’
‘You’ve got it wrong. I’m in yours.’
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t feel that way if you knew the truth.’
‘What truth?’ Serrah interrupted tetchily. ‘You hint at revelations, but–’
‘Reeth’s people were massacred by mine,’ Mahaganis declared bluntly. ‘I think that qualifies as a debt, don’t you?’
No one spoke, until Caldason recovered his disbelieving tongue. ‘You’ve been stuck here too long,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s given you delusions.’
‘It’s not a fantasy, Reeth, and there’s no pleasant way of putting it: my blood tried to exterminate yours. I would have told you long since, except events tore us apart.’
The colour in Caldason’s face was sapped. ‘If what you say is true, that means you’re…’
‘A paladin,’ Serrah finished for him.
Mahaganis nodded. ‘I was born to the clans. And into their leadership ranks, moreover.’
Caldason was on his feet, his hand going to his sword hilt. Wendah put herself between him and the old man, whipping out her knife. Then Serrah was there, clutching Caldason’s wrist and trying to calm him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.
He looked through her, and she feared he was about to go into a berserk–in which case none of them stood a chance.
Kutch joined in and did his best to placate the Qalochian. Slowly, they got through.
‘The Reeth I know doesn’t pick fights with blind men,’ Serrah reminded him, ‘or with girls.’ She eyed Wendah, who maintained her defensive stance.
‘All right,’ Caldason said, pulling himself together. ‘It’s all right.’
They steered him back to his seat on the barrel. The girl backed off.
‘I don’t blame you, Reeth,’ Mahaganis told him. ‘I deserve your wrath, on behalf of my kin.’
Caldason raised his head. ‘None of this makes sense.’
‘I know,’ the old man replied, not unkindly. ‘So consider the facts.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Hard as it is to believe these days, the clan
s were once honourable. They prided themselves on defending the weak against the rapacious. But like so many others in this world, they fell into corrupt ways.’
‘And you didn’t.’
‘I stood against their growing treachery, their cruelty. My own people, mind you. My own people.’ Bitterness rose like bile, and as quickly abated. ‘What they did to your tribe, and what they wanted to do to you, was the last straw. I felt morally bound to help you escape that fate. In return, they put me here.’
‘This was your punishment? Exile?’
‘Did you think I came to this island willingly?’
‘Why didn’t they just kill you?’ Kutch asked, agog.
‘To make me suffer the more for my defiance. That and a certain awe for my rank. The clans tend to dote on their leadership.’
‘Things have changed a bit in that respect,’ Serrah dryly informed him.
‘No amount of depravity on their part would surprise me,’ Mahaganis stated soberly. ‘Anyhow, I was dislodged, my faction purged. After I aided Reeth, they finally caught up with me, which is how I came to be here, nurse-maiding an orphaned child and the Source.’
‘So it does exist.’
He wore a pained expression. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Where is it?’ Caldason demanded, rising again. ‘What is it?’
The old man lifted a mollifying hand. ‘Your patience still needs work, Reeth. It was always a virtue that eluded you.’
‘The Source could be decisive in what’s going on out there, Praltor. It could be the salvation of a lot of people, me included.’
‘It could also be your damnation.’
‘At least don’t deny us that choice.’
‘But it doesn’t just affect you, does it? The repercussions could be enormous. Its power is…beyond words. Just being near it can be destructive.’
‘Neither of you seem to have suffered too much by it.’
‘Really? All right then, Reeth; if you want it so badly, take it.’
‘Where is it?’ Serrah asked. ‘How do we find it?’
Kutch had been watching silently. He said, ‘I know.’
‘You do?’
‘I can feel it.’ He nodded at the old man. ‘It’s him.’
Caldason stared. ‘What?’
‘The boy’s very perceptive,’ Mahaganis noted approvingly.
‘Are you all going to start talking gibberish again?’ Serrah wanted to know. ‘Because if you are…’
‘Kutch here asked why my enemies in the clans didn’t simply kill me and have done with it,’ Mahaganis reminded them. ‘It was partly because of my station, but that paints far too benevolent a picture of them. They actually spared my life in order to torment me further.’
‘What have your sufferings to do with the Source?’
‘What do you suppose the Source to be, Reeth? A store of knowledge, yes; but what about its form? A grimoire, perhaps? A whole library? Hoards of papyrus, or clay tablets? Over the eons since its accumulation by the Founders it may well have been all those things. But it’s something much more nebulous than that. Essentially, the Source is an occult system, a concept. And I’ve come to believe it’s something much more than that.’
‘Such as?’
‘The Source is some kind of embodiment of magic. I think it’s…sentient.’
‘That’s a hell of a conclusion to draw,’ Serrah responded. ‘What’s your evidence?’
‘Tell them what they did to you,’ Wendah blurted out.
Everyone was thrown for a second by the usually silent girl’s sudden outburst. Then Mahaganis spoke.
‘As punishment for aiding Reeth,’ he said, ‘and for turning my back on the paladins, they infused the Source here.’ He laid a finger against his temple. ‘In my mind.’
‘And they put out his eyes with fire,’ Wendah added, ‘to make his torment worse.’
‘That was a masterful touch of sadism,’ the old man remarked, almost admiringly. ‘It left me with nowhere to look but inward. So all I glimpse, permanently, is the quintessence of Founder evil; and the squirming, putrid life force in which it’s suspended. You ask me for evidence. I have the testimony of my own, unblinking inner eye. For all practical purposes I am the Source.’
Another silence, broken this time by Serrah. ‘We have people back on the island who can help you,’ she promised. ‘Magicians, scholars–’
He shook his head. ‘The clans couldn’t master it, for all their resources, and they would dearly have loved to. Respect to your sorcerers, but what chance would they have?’
‘If it’s so powerful,’ Kutch asked, ‘why did the Founders leave the Source to be discovered? Why didn’t they destroy it, or at least hide it better?’
‘Perhaps whatever catastrophe overtook them was too swift. But I suspect the real reason is because even the Founders couldn’t better it. My feeling is that it can’t be understood and, as long as magic fuels it, it can’t be destroyed.’
‘That’s a cheerful prospect,’ Serrah returned mordantly.
‘There’s nothing joyous about any of it,’ Mahaganis informed her. ‘Unless you count the fact that the magic locked in my head has kept me going far beyond my natural lifespan. But that can be a mixed blessing, can’t it, Reeth?’
Caldason ignored that, and posed a question of his own. You still haven’t told me why the clans targeted my tribe for butchery.’
‘Your kin were irrelevant, except insofar as they might have protected you. Or at least they were of no consequence to the client who commissioned the slaughter. You were the only real target.’
‘Why? And who–’
‘There are some things you’re ready to hear, others not.’ He was massaging his forehead. ‘We’ve spoken enough about all this for the moment.’
‘Have we? Have we really? I’m not a child anymore, Mahaganis. I don’t need to be sheltered and lied to.’
‘Not now, Reeth. I don’t feel too good.’
‘To hell with that. Answer me.’
‘Leave him alone!’ Wendah demanded. ‘Can’t you see he’s ill?’
‘Would it hurt him that much to tell me?’ Caldason’s temper was rising.
Serrah caught his arm. ‘What are you going to do, Reeth, beat it out of him?’
Caldason sighed. He regarded the frail old man and the emaciated girl at his side.
‘No,’ he said. ‘What we’re going to do is get you two out of here.’
25
While not especially built for speed, the Daughters of Mercy hospital ship was compact and sleek, and capable of a good rate of knots. Fortunately so, for no sooner had the island been sighted than trouble struck.
An insipid sun at their backs, a brace of privateers bore down on the disguised rebel craft. Shortly, a second pair arrived, the other edge of an intended pincer.
The Mercy ship put on speed. From port and starboard, further pirate galleons closed in, canvas swelling, prows carving the chill water. On board the infirmary craft the order went up to jettison all surplus cargo, and crates, chests and casks tumbled overboard. Lightened, the quarry surged.
A race ensued, the hospital ship trying to reach friendly climes before the pirates blocked its path. It was a close run. The hunted vessel beat the tightening blockade by a nose, and now it was a chase, the loner battling to outpace a small fleet even more determined to prevent it making shore.
Then a new set of ballooning sails was spotted, moving out from the island itself. A flotilla hove into view, equal in number to that which the pirates had mustered. And though ramshackle and makeshift, it put them to flight.
So it was that Dulian Karr and the dregs of the Resistance came to the Diamond Isle.
For Karr and Goyter, Quinn Disgleirio and a few hundred others, it was a time of joyous reunions.
For Tanalvah Lahn it was an experience of quite a different order.
In the shadow of their great tiered fortress, the islanders allowed themselves a brief period of rejoicing, for all that
their situation looked hopeless. There were celebrations, some revelry, and cups raised to fallen comrades. But Tan was insensible to all that and had no part in it. In any event, Karr arranged for her to be taken to Kinsel without delay, while Goyter cared for an exhausted Teg and Lirrin.
Tanalvah was put into a carriage bound for the central redoubt and made as comfortable as possible, given her condition. She endured the short, bumpy journey in a mixture of anticipation, confusion and fear, and too soon found herself delivered to the island’s grim-walled fastness of last resort.
A small, wood-panelled chamber, sparsely furnished, was hastily made available. Its windows had been boarded for defence, so it was lit by candles and a lantern, despite the daylight outside. Tan was installed on the only decent chair, and her beaming well-wishers withdrew.
She was grateful for the room’s half light. Its shadows gave her haven, a veil to hide her shame. The silence was less welcome. It meant she had only her thoughts for companionship, and she was loathe to be in that company.
On the voyage over she had determined to be rid of her intolerable burden once and for all, and to confess, but only to Kinsel. There were many whose forgiveness she craved, but none as greatly as his. So, much as she longed to see him, she dreaded the prospect in equal measure.
Alone with her dark reflections, time dragged interminably. Perhaps a minute passed, perhaps an hour, before there were sounds in the passageway outside. Footfalls. A loose board creaking. The soft rattle of the door handle.
Tanalvah got up, awkwardly, meaning to move to the opening door, but she could do no more than stare at it, blood pounding in her ears.
Then he was there, outlined by the frame.
She was shocked by his appearance. He’d lost weight and looked haggard. He was hollow-eyed and his complexion was pallid. Kinsel was equally as shaken at seeing her, and by how heavy with child she was.
They stood numbly, taking in their respective states, until, as though at an unspoken command, and as one, they flowed into each other.
They hugged, caressed, sobbed. Finding their voices at last, their tearful outpourings would have seemed nonsensical to an eavesdropper. When some kind of coherence came, they mouthed endearments and devotions, and spilt their fears.
The Diamond Isle Page 25
