Grakk beamed. ‘You are certainly the observant boy still, it gladdens me to see.’
They reached the more level ground of the plain, and were soon passing close enough to the crop-growing pit for Brann to be further astounded at the scale, far greater even than it had appeared from afar. Farmworkers – men and women alike wearing simple tunics decorated in wide angular bands of bright colours over bodies stocky and strong, and with broad hats shading universally black hair and equally dark eyes – toiled in unhurried silence and regarded the small party with glances that were as brief as they were indifferent, as did the occasional carter who passed them on the widening and well-tended road formed from precisely carved stone blocks. The mules and the sights around them, while unremarkable in both cases, still managed to eat up the distance to the edge of the plain.
Movement caught the edge of Brann’s vision and he noticed carts moving along other routes, each as undeviating as the one they travelled and all converging on one point where the land began to rise to the ridges.
‘From the other farming pits?’ he said in Grakk’s direction, receiving a nod in reply.
They entered the foothills on a road wide enough for more than four carts abreast; the route cutting through the landscape with the clear aim of ease of passage rather than winding and climbing through the hard rock. Bridges with clever struts or sturdy arches took them over slight dips and dizzying caverns alike, and where nature provided a barrier, it had been cut through as cleanly as if the gods themselves had carved the gap; in some sections, the rock too high above to remove completely, short tunnels continued their direct passage. Occasionally they saw habitation and the occupants close to it, but these were dwellings cut into the rock face or perhaps using natural caves, with building facades seeming to cling to the cliff face itself and ledges or cut steps linking the homes. Nothing sat at the edge of the road, however: nothing, it seemed, would be allowed to interfere in even the slightest respect with the clear passage.
Konall spoke from behind, his voice echoing as the mules trudged through the gloom of a tunnel. ‘They do not seem to consider problems, only solutions.’
‘Precisely, young lord,’ Grakk said. ‘As should we all.’
Konall looked at the smooth walls above and around them. ‘They seem particularly skilled at executing those solutions. If Loku is in league with some of their greater minds…’
Brann grunted. ‘He may be; he may not be. We will have to find out. And if he is—’
‘We kill them also,’ Gerens said flatly.
Brann made to speak, but realised there was little argument to the contrary. Some things were best explained through Gerens’s simple outlook, as much a solution-seeking approach as the feats of engineering around them.
They emerged from the tunnel to see a valley open before them. They stopped.
Any wonder they had felt at the stepped farm in the mountains seemed as nothing now. The valley floor, a short distance lower than them, extended into the distance, where stood the smoking mountain. On each side, nature had stopped or angled the ridges to form steep walls of rock, dotted with more of the cliff-homes they had seen before. But it was what filled the valley itself that stopped their breath.
A mass of low buildings filled the floor of the valley like a carpet of white stone, similar in single-storey simplistic style to the structures of the lost city of the ancients, ul-Detina, the City of Ghosts on the border where the desert Deadlands north of Sagia met the rock of the lifeless Blacklands. The city where Grakk had taken them through a hidden portal to the secrets of his homeland, and a city of ordered beauty, of breathtaking creations whose construction was beyond understanding. But where the buildings of ul-Detina were laid out in a precision that spoke of flowing beauty in itself, those of Tucumala were a jumble, no road lasting more than a hundred paces, many of them less, before it was turned by a blocking structure, creating a haphazard maze of bewildering complexity. And where ul-Detina held statues of a size and crafting beyond comprehension in temple caverns of divine magnitude, Tucumala had pyramids.
And what pyramids! Five great structures that dwarfed the largest buildings of the Empire’s capital or the greatest temples of Durden, they stood in a line from one end of the valley to the other, at varying angles and distances, erupting from the mass of habitation like…
‘Like mountains,’ Brann breathed.
‘Indeed,’ Grakk said quietly, reverently. ‘Those I spoke to in other cities of this land spoke of this place, but their words were unable to do it justice. The Tucumalan people believe the mountains give homes to the gods, and so those mountains are forbidden to the feet of man. If they are to honour those gods and let their worship being them close in spirit to them, they must create their own homage to the mountains.’
Gerens stared with his dark eyes. ‘So the king of these lands lives here.’
Grakk shook his head. ‘They have no king. All the people of these lands share one culture, the same gods, the same traditions, the same technology, and a similar outlook on life. But each city holds its own fate, has an identity according to its surroundings: a home of the gods, a port, a provider of timber and so on. One people, ruled separately in a dozen cities.’
Konall’s eyes narrowed and he lifted a finger of each hand, peering past them and changing their angles. ‘That last pyramid, the furthest one: it is the biggest, just as the closest mountain, the smoking one, is the largest peak. The next pyramid is at the same angle as the next mountain, and the next pyramid to the next mountain, and so on, until the pyramid closest to us is a representation of the furthest mountain. They are as a mirror to the mountains, albeit smaller, of course.’
Brann studied them. It was true, what Konall said. What was more, the pyramids were built in great circular steps to give the same conical form as the mountains and, in further imitation, their tops were flat, forming huge platforms open to the sky, the smallest larger than the area covered by the great Arena of Sagia. In contrast to the mountains, however, these were most certainly open to the feet of the devout. Great ramps angled to the summits, with buildings their entire length, their purpose at this distance unknown. Movement teemed on the ramps, heading for and from peaks too lofty to reveal their secrets, but busy enough to suggest much was happening on top, and perhaps within, the edifices.
‘If they are temples, they are busy ones,’ Brann said.
Grakk shrugged. ‘I told you before, they are devout.’ He nodded at the smoking mountain. ‘At times like these, even more so.’
‘That also is mimicked.’ Marlo pointed at the pyramid closest to the mountain. A haze of smoke, too indistinct to have caught their attention initially, drifted at the temple’s top.
Grakk produced his oculens. He gasped. ‘They have burnt the buildings on the top, I believe. That smoke is the remnants of a great fire, and only a conflagration on the scale of all that sat atop that pyramid could generate a lingering cloud of that magnitude.’
Brann frowned in confusion. ‘Why would they destroy one of their holy places?’
Grakk looked at him, stowing his far-seeing tube. ‘Their most holy place, young Brann. That temple, as master Konall surmised, relates to the largest and nearest mountain. It is where the father of their gods resides, and is the spirit of this city.’ He stared back at the temple. ‘Why indeed?’
‘Something else I wonder,’ Brann said, drawing four questioning looks. ‘For a people with such organised minds and skills in construction, why the mess of a layout? It is out of character with everything else we have seen. It is chaos.’
‘It is organised chaos,’ Grakk said.
‘Of course,’ said Gerens. ‘There are no walls. Yet the captain indicated that these can be a savagely violent people when brought to anger, and so they must be wary of attack. In streets like those, an outsider could become lost or misled, cornered or tricked, and all the while attacked from all and any sides by those intimate with the layout. The city is itself its defence.’
>
Brann and Konall looked at each other, eyes wide. ‘Like the towns in Halveka,’ Konall said in astonishment.
Brann grabbed him by the arm. ‘And the keep. Your home. Look!’ He pointed at the nearest pyramid.
‘Of course,’ the Northern boy gasped. ‘Conical, entered close to the top, probably levels within. These are bigger, I grant you, but…’ He looked back and forth between the pyramids and the jumbled streets, shaking his head in disbelief. All eyes turned to Grakk.
The tribesman shrugged. ‘One thing I have learnt in my travels is that there are buildings, or gods, or words, or customs that can be found in places separated by half the world, populated by peoples who are not even aware that the other exists. There is much from the days before our history begins that we may never know.’
‘Then,’ said Brann, ‘let us find out what we can know. The Messenger cannot be far ahead.’ He kicked his mule into an amble, and the others followed.
The path switched back on itself in three long stretches to reach the level of the city, and the brief stretch to the edge of the buildings prompted them to dismount and ease their legs. On entering the first street they came to, however, they realised a problem. Marlo put it into words. ‘Where do we go? Everywhere else has a central square to head to, or a main road lined with establishments. This is just a maze of houses.’
Grakk shrugged. ‘First rule of travelling: when in doubt, ask a local.’
A man in a long white tunic above bare legs and looking much more appropriately dressed for the heat than they were with their heavier tunics, breeches, and boots, sat before one of a row of identical dwellings, freshly coated in white, with narrow windows empty of glass. He looked up from mending a leather strap at Grakk’s approach, an open smile upon his face.
‘Good day, my friend,’ Grakk said, returning the smile. ‘Could you perhaps direct us to an inn?’
A frown of confusion coloured the smile. ‘An inn?’
Grakk nodded. ‘A hostelry? A guesthouse?’
‘A taverna?’ Marlo offered.
The man shook his head. ‘My apologies, I wish I could help you, but…’
Konall was astounded. ‘You don’t know where the nearest inn is?’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know what an inn is. If you could perhaps be more descriptive?’
Grakk pointed to his mule. ‘We seek a place where we can rest, refresh ourselves, eat and have our animals tended.’
‘Ah,’ the man beamed. ‘You seek a temple!’
Gerens, to Brann’s accustomed ear, was barely controlling his patience. ‘Praying was not on the list.’
‘Indeed,’ the man said. ‘But those requirements that were on your list can all be accommodated at the largesse of the great god.’ He stood, gold at his wrists and throat clinking as he moved and catching the eyes of all in Brann’s party. ‘Allow me to guide you.’
Without another word, he led them around a remarkable number of corners for the relatively short distance to their destination. The door lay open to a building slightly larger than the rest but otherwise alike, and the man gestured towards it.
‘You are very kind,’ Grakk smiled. ‘How much do we owe you for your assistance?’
‘How much of what?’
‘Coin? Payment?’
The man shook his head again. ‘I can only apologise again at my further confusion at your foreign terms. I merely told you of something I knew and you did not. If that is all you require…?’
Grakk nodded and patted him encouragingly on the arm. ‘Thank you. You have been most helpful.’
‘Helpful, maybe, but I feel most is somewhat an exaggeration. Still, I am glad that you have found what you sought. Good day.’ He ambled back around a corner and was gone.
‘There are some places we travel to,’ said Brann, ‘where things are new but just a different form of what we know. Here, however…’
‘It is perhaps my fault,’ Grakk said. ‘I had forgotten that the peoples of these parts have no concept of money. Food and livestock are communal, and the products of each are freely distributed in exchange for the labour provided in service of the gods, most of which involves building and maintaining pyramids and houses. Their gold has only decorative value to them but they are acutely aware of its desirability in other cultures and trade very shrewdly and successfully in it – a fact that causes them no end of amusement at the joke they feel they play on the rest of the world.’
They stabled their mules and stowed their cloaks and larger weapons with the assistance of a priestess as accommodating as their impromptu guide had been, receiving simple food and something similar to goat’s milk, accompanied by an attitude that suggested that the gods would not look kindly on those who neglected to distribute aught that was available and was needed. Indeed, with most of the population at work, she was grateful for the opportunity to perform a service at this routinely empty part of the day, she said with a slight bow, the rainbow feathers in her hair and forming the short cape around her shoulders waving softly as she did so. Nothing they offered in return was of any use to the priestess, so was politely declined. Feeling awkward, they thanked the woman profusely and left at the first opportunity.
‘This seems an idyll,’ Brann said as they were struck once more by the heat.
They stood before the unexceptional temple in a small square, no more than the size of a courtyard between buildings, and with a burbling fountain in the centre, where the few local people they saw stopped to water both themselves and their animals as they passed quietly by, acknowledging the strangers with a respectful nod.
‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ Konall said. ‘We have a job to do and still a fair amount of the afternoon to do it in.’
‘Indeed,’ said Grakk. ‘Finding the Messenger might not be easy in this warren.’
Brann nodded. ‘No point in all of us searching the same areas, asking questions of the same people. We should split up, and meet back at this temple at sundown. It should be the easiest place to find as we can just head back to this end of the valley. The house of the man who showed us the way is easily seen on the edge of the city, and this is the closest temple to that – anyone should be able to direct us if we forget the way.’
They nodded. Grakk cleared his throat. ‘As we are five in number, I am at ease with allowing you four to be two pairs. In matters of gathering information in unfamiliar places, I am more accustomed to working alone.’
Gerens shrugged and moved towards Brann, but Marlo piped up. ‘I would be happy to pair with Brann.’
Gerens looked at Brann, questioningly, his protective urge clear on his face, but Brann realised that Marlo, who had never in all of his years left the city of Sagia until he accompanied this party, had done so purely because of the friendship that had grown between the two of them in Cassian’s school of gladiators. ‘That’s fine,’ he said to Marlo but nodding at Gerens. ‘You and Konall pair up and Marlo can come with me.’
Gerens almost looked as unhappy as he had at leaving Sophaya at the docks of Durden, but again merely shrugged, accepting Brann’s word without question. Not for the first time, Brann wondered at the regard the boy held for him, but he suspected he may never find the reason. Certainly, now was not the time to investigate it.
‘Let’s use the temples,’ he suggested. ‘We can spread as far from each other as we can and request a drink of water at any we find. If these are the places most communal in this city, then someone, somewhere, may have heard of another foreigner arriving recently.’
The urgency felt by all was reflected in the quick agreement and the speed of their departure. Marlo led the way, bouncing ahead like an excited puppy, turning every few steps with his infectious grin. ‘This is a place of wonder,’ he enthused, walking backwards and sweeping his arm to encompass the surroundings. ‘We are having such an adventure.’
It took only two corners before the city became far less idyllic.
A burly man, with the same features of the others
they had met and the same white tunic, but none of the friendliness, stepped from a doorway into Marlo’s path, the boy’s back bumping into his unyielding chest.
Marlo whirled in surprise, already apologising for not watching where he was walking, only to find hard eyes staring into his and a broad blade at his throat, its edge already drawing a trickle of blood.
Brann’s fingers snatched at the hilt of his long knife, the quickest weapon to draw, but a strong hand closed about his from behind, arresting the movement, and his own throat felt the touch of sharp metal. He tensed, automatically starting the movement that would free his neck and hand alike and turn the threat instead on the man behind, but the one ahead had already turned Marlo to him, pressing the blade more firmly up under the boy’s chin and cocking his head enquiringly at Brann.
Brann froze. He knew he could free himself, but he was equally aware that Marlo would be dead before he had completed the move. He let go of his knife.
He heard footsteps behind and, while the blade was held against his throat and his head was pulled back by the hair, a third man yanked his arms behind him and bound his wrists with quick and blood-stopping efficiency. Once he had been secured, the man moved to Marlo and lashed together his wrists similarly.
The Messenger stepped from the same doorway that had held the first man. He ignored Marlo, staring at Brann in curiosity rather than animosity, much like a cat with a mouse pinned by its claws. ‘Your naivety,’ he said in an emotionless monotone, ‘is astonishing.’
He nodded at the men, and a thick bag was pulled over Brann’s head. His breathing became loud and laboured in his ears, and his mind jumped back to a hillside above his village, when he had first been abducted. Then, his brother had died. Now, he would do anything to prevent the same fate for Marlo.
A hand grasped his wrists and pulled him to stumble backwards at a pace where all his attention was on staying upright. He still tumbled in a painful heap several times, and heard Marlo do the same several times more. On each occasion, he was roughly dragged back upright before he could even have a thought of how to use the fall to his advantage. His entire mind became consumed with the process of lifting and moving his feet effectively as he was moved in a haphazard zig-zag, preventing him from ever settling into a rhythm of motion and keeping his thoughts from straying.
Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3) Page 30
