The Black Dream

by Col Buchanan

  A place of memories, this cave in the side of the sea cliff. So Meer the fake hedgemonk had told him. Its curious flute of singing stone was said to stir the past into life again.

  In the cool air of the cave, the column of white rock behind him rose from the flattened floor into the jagged roof overhead, glittering with the same mineral deposits that sparkled across the walls. There were small holes along the height of the Terravana, like nostrils on the undersides and uppersides of carved knobs of rock. The deep growling sound was coming from these openings; a panting, wavering, never-ending force of air gusting up and down within the hollow column itself, a growl accompanied by the distant booms of crashing waves far below.

  The first holy men of the Hermitage had carved and refined what they’d found in this cave until they had achieved what they believed were perfect notes of harmony. For fourteen hundred years the same sonorous tones had been echoing in this space without interruption, longer than the Oreos of Lagos had been standing, older even than the city states of Markesh; and now they rode through Ash too, physically vibrating the fibres of his being.

  The hermit shamans were gone now, their community of Istafari having faded into obscurity. Now all that remained was the ancient sea-cliff Hermitage itself and its empty spaces running through the solid rock, echoing with old ghosts.

  Ash blinked, staring at the candle flame as it flickered in a sudden draught. He glimpsed a bonfire on the sandy floor of an arena, Nico’s face smothered by the rising flames before a crossbow bolt shot into the boy’s forehead, one that Ash had shot himself from the heights of the Shay-Madi, hoping to end his misery.

  I had to do it, he told the trace of the boy that still lingered on. There was no other way, or I would have taken it.

  Silence, save for the wavering tones of the Terravana.

  Perhaps the sudden pain in his head was an answer. Ash winced and chewed on the bundle of leaves in his mouth all the harder. How long was left to him now, he wondered . . . A few months perhaps. A few weeks even.

  There was a time when such reflections would have spurred him to seize the moment for all that it was worth, to make the most of his time while he still could. But now the knowledge of his nearing demise seemed only to lessen the long weariness of his soul. In a way Ash would be glad to lay down the struggle, glad to rest his bones in peace.

  Only one last thing left to do, if he still had the time.

  Ash stared at the urn of Nico’s ashes and wondered once more if it was possible, this desperate plan of his.

  Chasing miracles, my boy. What more can I do than that?

  *

  ‘Ash, my man. I’ve been looking for you all over.’

  Ash turned his head to see a crooked figure standing in the tunnel that led out to the steps carved on the side of the sea cliff, blocking what little daylight made it this far. It was Coya, leaning on his walking cane as he stepped closer into the dim glow of the candle.

  ‘And now you have found me.’

  ‘Thanks to Meer. He suggested you might be hiding down here.’

  The old farlander exhaled softly and regarded Coya with his hooded gaze, this man who had flown the Rōshun from their destroyed monastery in Cheem to here, the deserted island Hermitage that was their new sanctuary in the Free Ports. Coya stood hunched over his cane by the burdens of his contorted body, though his young face looked serene within its frame of lustrous blond hair.

  High on the hazii weed again, as so many of these people in the Free Ports seemed to be, where the growing of the weed approached a form of artful worship, and where the herb itself was used for all kinds of ailments of both body and mind, including the aching joints of Coya.

  ‘How goes the unpacking?’

  ‘Noise and dust everywhere. Though your people seem in good spirits. I think they’re satisfied with their new home.’

  He referred to the surviving Rōshun, many of them apprentices, up above in the empty chambers and passages of the Hermitage carved by its community of shamans now long gone.

  ‘Aye, you did well to bring us here,’ Ash consented.

  Coya Zeziké, Delegate for the League of Free Ports and member of that secret network known as the Few, lowered his head by way of acknowledgement. ‘You seemed lost in thought when I entered,’ he remarked. ‘Thinking of the past, by any chance?’

  ‘A little. Meer warned me this place can bring memories to life. Something about the sound that it makes.’

  He said nothing more, for he had come here to be alone and the desire still persisted. Coya cleared his throat, perhaps sensing as much. Still, he did not leave, instead favouring Ash with his striking gaze, this fellow in his mid-twenties whose stoop and walking cane gave him the appearance of a withered old man.

  Here was a person who made the most of his appearance as best he could, as witnessed by his oiled blond curls and his manicured nails and his elaborate, splendid robe of cream silk; a vanity that seemed incongruous to the rest of his modest ways, though not, Ash supposed, for the direct descendant of the spiritual rebel Zeziké, philosopher of the democras.

  ‘Thirty years in exile living as Rōshun,’ Coya murmured. ‘You farlanders have come a long way since your cause was broken all that time ago.’

  He spoke of the old country, Honshu, and the failed people’s revolution there, and of the three old farlanders still alive within the order.

  ‘Our cause was never broken,’ grumbled Ash. ‘Only betrayed.’

  Coya eyed him standing there with his sword leaning against the wall within easy reach. ‘I’m told you’re still something of a revolutionary, in your own way. You like to take on tyrants when you can.’

  ‘I hear glamour in your voice, Coya. Careful you do not make a romance of things from afar.’

  ‘Afar,’ Coya chuckled dryly. ‘Revolution is my business, Ash, or hadn’t you gathered that yet? I’ve been studying our uprising here in the Free Ports ever since I was a youth, the good and the bad of it. Even now, more than a century later, that same revolution carries on thanks to people like myself, people who help this experiment of the democras to survive.’

  He was speaking of the Few, Ash knew. That invisible web of individuals scattered throughout the Free Ports and perhaps further, chosen how or why he didn’t know, but working for the benefit of the democras, otherwise known as the Mercian Free Ports.

  The network was still mostly a mystery to Ash save for what little Coya and Meer had so far offered him, just enough to know that they could be trusted, perhaps, and that the equally secretive Rōshun could work with them, for they shared a common enemy after all, and they were both followers of the Way with its emphasis on Balance In All Things. How long the Few had been around and how powerful they really were seemed a matter best left unspoken. He suspected they had been here since the very beginning, working through shadow-play and cunning as they did even now.

  ‘You were lucky here in the Free Ports,’ said Ash at last. ‘Your revolution turned out well for you and is yet to be subverted. You have nurtured a respect for the land and the spirit here. The people have a voice that is heard, a say in their daily lives free of masters.

  ‘In Honshu though, even before we were betrayed, we did not know if we were fighting for a different set of rulers to replace the old. And in imperial Q’os, their own revolution spawned the Empire of Mann, and their sham representation of those they govern. A revolution that is also ongoing even now.’

  ‘Bah,’ said Coya with a scowl. ‘Theirs was a coup without the support of the people. Besides, madness always lay at the heart of the Mannian cult. What can you expect from a people who worship their own selves and believe that everything is to be exploited? No wonder they spawned an empire of oppression. No wonder they hate the Free Ports so explicitly, and try in the blackest of ways to undermine us, and conquer us.’

  Coya lightly rapped the tip of his cane. ‘But regardless, it’s good that you are here, taking a side at last.’

  Yes, here they were, th
e remnants of the Rōshun order, preparing to take the war to the Empire despite their beliefs in neutrality; bent on revenge, on seeking justice for all those who had been lost back in Cheem at the hands of the Empire.

  ‘The Rōshun. You will resume your vendetta trade from here, do you think?’

  Ash ignored the subtle inflection of judgement in the man’s voice, directed at the Rōshun trade of violent retribution. Instead he looked off to one side, where the boxes of seals had been stored under canvas for the time being in the driest part of the cave; all of them rescued from the Watching House beneath the monastery ruins in Cheem.

  A faint rustling could be heard from the boxes of Rōshun seals. The hundreds of living leathery things inhaling and exhaling in their straw padding.

  Another memory flashed through his mind with the startling whiteness of snow. His very first solo vendetta as Rōshun. Following the footprints of pilgrims for a hundred laqs through the passes of the High Pash, leading him to a windy shrine to a god with no name, where he had found the man he had tracked all that way to kill.

  Yet his target had seemed to have only redemption in mind, not escape. The fellow had swayed on the lip of a rocky precipice not far from the shrine, readying himself to jump; a murderer unable to live with the shame of having slain his older lover. Ash had sensed her just then, the slain woman, for he wore a seal on a thong about his neck which was the twin of the seal she had worn herself for protection, and even though it was dead now, like its twin, it still contained a trace of her.

  Wait – she forgives you! Ash had called out to the man through the buffets of wind, but he was too late, for even as he spoke the fellow stepped forward off the rocks, and disappeared over the edge.

  Ash had shaken his head in wonder. His first lone vendetta, completed without drawing blood.

  ‘We still hold protection contracts with many people,’ he informed Coya now in the cave of the Terravana. ‘And the gold they paid us for that protection. Yes, we Rōshun will restore our numbers, and we will resume our work once we are done with this war against the Empire.’

  ‘Assuming it’s over soon.’

  ‘Yes. And that the Free Ports win. It would be a shame to have to move again if they do not.’

  ‘Oh, it would be shame in many ways. The difficulties of the Rōshun order is certainly amongst them.’

  Ash frowned at his own insensitivity. He knew well enough what the people of the Free Ports were facing, surrounded by the Empire’s blockade. Most of all the besieged people of Bar-Khos, clinging by their fingertips on the brink.

  ‘Forgive my levity. A habit of mine when dealing with the horrors of this world.’

  In response, Coya’s smile was replaced by a sudden seriousness; as though his relaxed spirit rode above a deep well of anger. Something from his youth no doubt, a crippled boy who always had to prove himself, a boy in constant pain.

  ‘If you knew the imperial forces now approaching the Shield, you would be truly horrified. A host of mercenaries from all over the world led by the previous Archgeneral, Mokabi. I head to Bar-Khos when I’m done here to see for myself. Which reminds me, I have some good news for you. A skyship is on its way to pick you up.’

  ‘At last.’

  ‘Hush now, you’ve only been waiting a day. You might be pleased to know the Falcon was available as requested. A good choice, I’m told. The fastest flyer in all the Free Ports.’

  It was good news indeed.

  ‘The Falcon and her crew once carried me to the southern ice and back. I would like that kind of expertise again.’

  ‘Well you shall have it, though the captain needed some persuasion. He tells me the crew are ragged from lack of shore leave. You will need to go easy on them, Ash.’

  ‘Easy? We fly over the Broken Spine of the World during winter and from there into the Great Hush. Then we must search out the Isles of Sky. There is nothing easy about this venture. You are certain they volunteered for this?’

  ‘They know the risks, Ash. And yes, they volunteered . . . after I explained the importance of this voyage you wish to undertake.’

  ‘Important to me. Hardly to these men.’

  ‘Important because we live up to our promises. You helped to bring the Rōshun order to the Free Ports. They will be a great boon to our struggle against the Empire right now.’

  Ash clenched his fists by his side, feeling the momentum of his actions accelerating now even as his heart beat faster. Once more, he wondered if he was justified in seeing this through to the end, in risking the lives of an entire crew for the sake of a single boy, for the crazy notion that somehow – in the legendary Isles of Sky where the people were said to live forever – he might bring his apprentice back to life.

  He didn’t even know if the feat was possible, for all that Meer the hedgemonk assured him so. Yet it had been the price of his bargain with the Few, his price for agreeing to bring the Rōshun here.

  ‘If we make it back, the crew must be rewarded well. Their families too, if they do not survive. I consider this part of our bargain.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll see to it personally. And in return, you must remember your promise to me.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Ash, please.’

  ‘You mean, do not get caught.’

  ‘Do not get caught by the Alhazii. We rely upon the Caliphate for all our vital trade. Most of all for black powder. If you are unfortunate enough to be caught by them anywhere near the Isles of Sky, they must know that this is to be a private venture by the Rōshun and nothing more. Hence why your contract with the captain will be in writing. And why the Falcon has been registered falsely with a bondsman in Cheem using a forged port pass. The Free Ports cannot be implicated in any way with this endeavour of yours.’

  ‘Relax. I have no intention of starting a dispute with the only trading partners you have left.’

  ‘We are agreed then,’ said Coya Zeziké, nodding in satisfaction.

  Ash inclined his head to one side and studied the man closely. He knew that Coya was holding something back here, and had suspected as much from the very beginning of their arrangement.

  The young fellow had every right to be concerned though. They spoke of the most dangerous secret in the known world here, the location of the Isles of Sky. For centuries, the Alhazii Caliphate’s monopoly on exotics – those materials obtained from the mysterious Isles of Sky and nowhere else, most of all black powder – had been based solely on the jealously guarded knowledge of how to find those secret islands. Their monopoly had allowed them to garner riches in long-lasting peace while kingdoms rose and fell around them, using embargoes to cripple those nations who dared seek the location of the Isles for themselves.

  Only with the promised guidance of the fake hedgemonk, Meer, did Ash hope to find the Isles too. Meer, another member of the Few, claimed to have once visited the Isles as a hidden stowaway on an Alhazii trading ship, seeing just enough to discern their general location – somewhere along the eastern coast of the Great Hush.

  In a flash it came to Ash, his suspicions fully formed.

  ‘You want the location of the Isles for yourselves. That is why you have loaned me this skyship for my own task.’

  Coya glanced back at the entrance to the tunnel. ‘Be careful what you speak aloud, Ash,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Even here.’

  ‘You do not deny it.’

  Coya frowned and gripped the head of his cane tightly.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’ And Coya picked up the candle from the alcove and led the way across the uneven floor of the cave towards a low far wall.

  There was another tunnel back there leading downwards, dark as pitch. Coya’s head barely cleared it as he ventured inside, the small flickering candle flame lighting his way.

  ‘Come,’ he said again, drawing Ash after him.

  *

  They stood in a cave larger than the one above containing the Terravana, and silent as a grave.

  Slowly C
oya searched the walls with the guttering flame until he came to a stop, holding up the candle to a flat expanse of rock.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Just where I remember them to be.’

  Ash followed his gaze. On the wall were a series of faded paintings, ancient designs much older than the Hermitage itself, pictures of zels and bison on the run, men with spears loping after them. A time before the rise of civilizations.

  In the first painting, green pine trees rose above a herd of strangely shaped, four-legged creatures peacefully grazing. In the second painting the scene was the same, save for a striking object descending from a sky filled with starry crosses, its descent marked by symbols like arrowheads or the tracks of a bird. A third image portrayed the vessel settled on the ground, with the shapes of tears falling from its body and scattering around it, where new plants were sprouting upwards. The last showed the squat object buried in a hill, and around it the original herd replaced by creatures familiar to the eye, most of all naked humans, women and men and babes.

  They were depictions of the creation myth of the Sky Tribes. Ash had seen similar pictures in the desert of western Honshu, painted on the sides of an outcropping where the shadows would have made it comfortable to sketch. They were said to be found throughout the world.

  Once again he wondered if the myths of the Sky Tribes were true, these seed ships landing from the stars.

  Why not? They had to come from somewhere?

  Now that they were further from daylight and deeper in the darkness, Coya set the candle on the floor and turned to face Ash squarely.

  ‘The skyship is yours because of our deal, Ash. You may have use of the Falcon for as long as it takes. But yes, of course, there are more hopes pinned on this voyage than your own. Some people believe that with our backs to the wall it is time to take this chance at last. With Meer’s guidance you may well find the Isles of Sky for yourselves. If you do, he will return to us detailed charts of how to get there and back.’