At first Sal was completely lost. Feel the cloud? Thrown off-balance, he could barely feel himself. The darkness was suffocatingly warm; his hands were clasped tight by Lodo and Shilly. All he could see was a blotchy after-image. All he could feel with his mind was the background potential, chaotic and confusing. When he tried to sense the cloud, he received nothing in return.
But then he did feel something. Out of nowhere, he was nudged by someone else’s will. It tapped him gently, then darted away. He tried to follow it, caught a fringe of it as it fled, and was bumped by another, this time more firmly.
He smiled to himself, recognizing the second touch as Shilly’s. It was blunter, less refined than the first--which could only have been Lodo’s. They were trying to draw him out.
Gradually he learned how to follow them. It was like trying to catch flies with his eyes closed, but he did get better. And gradually, out of the darkness, he began to feel the cloud as a whole. Its presence hung before him, vague in outline but definitely there. How he knew, he couldn’t exactly say. He just knew. If he clutched that knowledge too tightly, it slipped away and the cloud was gone. He simply had to accept that it was there, and move on.
Moving on, in the context of the game, meant trying to touch Shilly or Lodo back. Or so he supposed. But he wanted to surprise them with what he had learned, so he waited until the touch belonging to Shilly darted closer to poke him, and then he pounced.
His will sent the cloud ringing like a bell. Vibrations rippled through its surface and sent echoes deep into its core. Sal staggered back, alarmed by the strength of the cloud’s reaction but gratified by two things: the sudden, startled squeeze of Shilly’s fingers, and the fact that her mental touch in the cloud was gone.
Lodo laughed, and the light returned.
“Good work, both of you. I don’t mind you competing as long as you both learn something in the process.”
Sal blinked, blinded. He could still feel the cloud before him, even through the light, but less clearly than before, as though the light were getting in the way of a new form of sight opening to him.
Lodo brought his hands in and linked Sal and Shilly together, alone. The cloud shrank and flickered, but didn’t vanish.
“I have to activate the town lights,” he said. “You two keep practicing. Sal, quick thinking will get you further in Blind than brute strength. Shilly, don’t be afraid to dig deep. I think our new friend needs to be reminded that his talent has limits. I’ll be back before long.”
Lodo picked up a long, wool coat and draped it over his shoulders. Various implements, some very peculiar-looking, peeked out of pockets on the inside. Nodding at both of them, he went to the tunnel leading to the surface.
“But remember,” he said, turning on the threshold. “No mucking around. I’ll be watching.”
Then he was gone.
“What did he mean?” asked Sal. “How could he see us?”
“I don’t know.” Shilly shrugged. “But he can. I only ever tried to go behind his back once. It didn’t work. He can see everything in here, no matter where he is.”
“How?” Sal asked again.
“You ask him. He won’t tell me.”
Sal looked around the workshop. There was only the one door, and no windows.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Shilly said. “I’ve looked for ways he could spy on me. There are no ways in or out of this place except the tunnel, and up there.”
She nodded her head to indicate the ceiling. Directly above them in the stone was an inverted funnel, leading into a chimney. Sal craned to look up it, but saw no light at the top. Yet he doubted that the chimney was closed; the air in the workshop didn’t smell at all stale.
“How far underground are we?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It can’t be far, I guess. The tunnel doesn’t drop for long before it levels out. The chimney must have a kink in it.”
“I’ll bet we’re further down than you think,” Shilly said. “When Lodo took me in, we lived in another town. The entrance to his workshop was in a cave visible only at low tide. We moved here three years ago, when the market picked up--but I’ll swear this is the same workshop. Only the entrance has changed.”
Sal studied her face. She didn’t seem to be joking. “That’s impossible.”
“How would I know what’s impossible and what isn’t?” she shot back. “You can do lots of things with the Change.”
If Sal disbelieved her, then the proof was right before him, within his outstretched arms. But still he couldn’t tell if she was having him on. He simply couldn’t credit the idea of a moving workshop, or short tunnels that actually covered great distances. And was Lodo really able to spy through walls of solid rock? If he could, it would be an incredible ability to have--but if he couldn’t, there was no reason not to experiment. Lodo might have been lying simply to make Shilly think twice.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try something different?” Sal asked Shilly. “I mean, you must be bored with this game and know plenty of other tricks--”
“For now,” she interrupted him, “we do only as we’re told.”
She looked cautiously around her, and that convinced him. Under any other circumstance he doubted she would be so obedient. It seemed they didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
But when her gaze returned to his, there was a look in her eyes that clearly said: Later.
Chapter 10. “Night and its Secrets”
It was late at night when Sal finished his third lesson with Lodo. He had been in the workshop since midday, patiently listening to everything the old man said and doing everything he was told. There was no moon, but he thought it might be after midnight. He was exhausted and long overdue for sleep. Even Shilly had fallen asleep in a corner before Lodo had finished with him.
He had learned the way to and from Lodo’s workshop well enough to travel it in the dark with or without the light visible from the town square. He could feel the door buzzing softly in the dunes behind him, even through the dampening effects of the anklet. Had he been lost in a storm this night, he could easily have found his way back to Lodo’s. And he now knew how to open the door. Shilly had told him the day before.
“When you know you are in front of it, within two paces, find it with your mind and give it a push. The sand opens up, and there it is.”
“That’s how you do it?”
“Well, no … unless I’m channeling the Change through Lodo. If I’m on my own, I have to touch two particular rocks together under the bush behind it. That works too.”
“How does it know you’re you?” he had asked. “What if you were someone trying to break in?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt if it would open. I can’t imagine Lodo making it so easy.”
Privately, Sal agreed. The old man wasn’t the sort to leave much to chance in anything. Sal hadn’t tried to open the door; he didn’t know what it would mean if it rejected him.
On the way back to the village, he reviewed everything he had been told to remember for his next lesson. He had some mental exercises to perform--visualization and meditation, mostly. What the odd shapes and symbols he had been asked to concentrate on meant, he didn’t know yet, but he assumed they would turn out to be important. There were a couple of exercises requiring the Change, but he was under strict instructions not to try them in or near Fundelry, unless he was in the controlled environment of the workshop, or the Ruins. He was hoping to get to the latter the next morning. He hadn’t been able to make a carved stone glow in the workshop, but he was sure he could do it given time to practice on his own.
Some of what Lodo said was starting to make sense to him. As well as improving his skills at Blind, he was beginning to grasp how a person with the Change could detect another from a distance. When Lodo let down his guard, Sal could feel his mind nearby, fi
rm and strong like an anchor. The old man said that this recognition of minds could be used to allow communication between--and, in some extreme cases, influence and control over--Change-workers, but Sal hadn’t been taught anything about that. Much of his training had been simply to educate him on how vulnerable he was. The anklet could protect him from distant minds, but if those minds came closer, or if he exposed himself by using the Change out in the open, then the charm would be about as useful as hiding behind a tree in a bushfire.
So far, Sal’s lessons had served mainly to make him nervous. He had learned little of any use, except that his father had good reason to be afraid that he would be discovered. It was only a matter of time before he slipped up, or bumped into a Sky Warden. Indeed, the Selector’s gathering was only eleven days away. That was no time at all to fool someone adept in the Change that he was no one worth looking twice at. Although Sal’s father let him go about his lessons without interference, Sal could tell that he was concerned, and as nervous as Sal was. They were caught between the threat of the Sky Wardens and the abilities of Lodo. Sal hoped they would cancel each other out.
And he couldn’t forget the eye searching for him in the storm and in the sea, and the voice calling for him …
On the way back into town he stayed strictly to inland roads and avoided those that ran parallel to the coast. As he wound his way through the narrow streets in the dark, moonless night, he heard the sound of footsteps ahead. Not wanting to be caught out, he slowed to a halt and listened closely. The footfalls were faint and stealthy, and coming nearer. He looked around, saw a dark alcove under a nearby verandah, and ducked for cover before the owner of the feet could stumble across him.
Hunkering down in the shadows, he held his breath and waited. It surely couldn’t be Tom; the night wasn’t stormy. The only person Sal could think of was the thief. There had been other thefts, because he had overheard people talking about them. If he was quiet, he might be able to see who was behind them. Knowing who the real thief was would go a long way to clearing his and his father’s names of any suspicion. With the culprit caught, even Alder Sproule would have to leave them alone, no matter how much he disliked the color of their skin.
But as the person slowly came into view, moving surprisingly lightly and rapidly along the street in spite of his size, Sal knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.
It was Kemp.
When the big bully had passed, Sal eased out of the alcove and followed, keeping carefully to shadows and treading as lightly as he could. He avoided the gravelly road surface, following the sandy verge instead. Kemp didn’t look back. He seemed to be concentrating on where he was going rather than what lay behind him. He gave Sal the distinct impression that he was returning rather than heading out.
Sal followed Kemp toward the sea, swallowing his reservations. He hadn’t gone down to the beach since the day he had nearly drowned. That one visit had almost given him away to the Sky Wardens, and he wasn’t about to try again. The only good thing was that the steady booming of the waves was likely to cover any sound he might make.
The quality of the houses and streets improved as the two of them went through the night. At the end of the last road Kemp took, a cul de sac overlooking the sea, a gas lantern shone yellow against the darkness.
Sal stayed back as Kemp approached the pool of light. The big albino seemed to glow as he passed it and turned into the driveway of a relatively large house. Stone-built, like Von’s hostel, it squatted on a high point of the coast, exposed but sturdy enough to withstand rough weather. When Kemp went around the house and in through a back door, Sal knew that it had to be the Sproule household. Kemp had come home.
But where had he been? Just because he had been out at midnight didn’t necessarily make him the thief. He was old enough to be sneaking off with a girlfriend. Or he could have been out with his gang, getting up to a different form of mischief. There was more than one possible explanation.
Sal waited, but no light that he could see came on inside the house. Kemp’s parents probably didn’t know he had gone out, then.
As Sal retraced his footsteps back into town, he pondered what he should do. He would have to check with Shilly to make sure the house had been the Sproule household. If it was--and even if Kemp wasn’t the thief--Sal now had something to blackmail Kemp with. But Sal doubted he would ever be able to use his knowledge. Who would believe him? Not Alder Sproule, that was for sure.
And if Kemp was the thief …?
Sal didn’t know what it would take to bring the boy to justice, but he swore that he would do it if he had to. He didn’t want to take the blame for someone else’s crimes. If some of the people in Fundelry believed that the color of a person’s skin was a good indicator of guilt, then he thought it was about time they took a look much closer to home.
He slept poorly, and woke feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all. He blamed that partly on his father, who had stirred when he’d slipped into their room and called out an unfamiliar name in his sleep: “Seirian! Seirian, don’t!”
The name haunted Sal in his dreams, in many different guises. She was the queen of a far-off land with jet-black hair and skin like gold. She stood, face hidden behind a blood-drenched helmet, over a field of bodies. She ran, clad only in a shift, along the bank of a river, hairless and pale, crying in despair. She stared stubbornly back at him with features as black and broad as those of a Strand native. He never once heard her speak.
Who was she? She might have been anyone, but the more he thought the more convinced he became that the name belonged to his mother--that mysterious member of the Earth Clan who had given birth to him, then disappeared. If, as Lodo suspected, she was a potent Change-worker, maybe even a Stone Mage in her own right, then it was her legacy that had brought his father to Fundelry. Her talent, passed on to Sal, was the reason his father had searched for Lodo, and why Sal was dreaming of her now, even though he didn’t know what she looked like.
But he still couldn’t understand why his father was so afraid. What did the Sky Wardens want so badly? Why should Sal hide from them? Why had his father never told him anything of his past before?
The lack of understanding only reinforced Sal’s trepidation. Not knowing, he imagined the worst, even though he knew it was irrational. He couldn’t help being swept up by his father’s fear and carried along with it, wherever it was taking them.
He tried some of the visualizations that Lodo had given him in the hope they might put him to sleep again. The complex shapes--triangles upon triangles, circles overlapping and multiplying, squares within stars within other angular shapes--did little to ease his mind, although at some point he must have succumbed to exhaustion. Dawn came all too soon, glaring through the window and waking him.
His father said nothing about a nightmare in the morning. But the day soon went from bad to worse. Von watched Sal balefully over breakfast, as hostile as a glowing coal. Sal’s father didn’t notice anything because she replied to his questions in her usual gruff manner and saved the daggers for Sal. Sal didn’t know what he had done to incur her wrath. Maybe he had woken her other guest coming home the previous night, and he had complained. But why, then, wouldn’t Von deal with the problem head-on? There was no reason that he could see for her to keep it a secret.
When, finally, breakfast was over, Sal escaped outside. The day was already warm and promised to be very hot. There was a baked, dusty smell to the air, as though it had traveled a long way from deep inland. It gusted powerfully through the streets, kicking up sand and stinging Sal’s unprotected face and eyes. The sky to the north was a dirty brown color. The small town huddled around itself like a snake in its burrow. The weathervane on top of the school building hadn’t moved.
He saw Mrs Milka on the other side of the square rounding up a couple of young children and bringing them in out of the sun. She saw Sal, but looked away. Sal wondered if his lack of attenda
nce had offended her. But she hadn’t said anything to his father that he knew of, and she didn’t seem the sort to give up on a student so readily. There must have been more to it.
But he had more important things to worry about, such as Kemp and what to do about what he had seen. Sitting in the shade of the hostel’s verandah, he could feel the small of his back tingling, as though he was being watched. Part of him wanted to reach out with his mind and see if it was someone he recognized. He didn’t, but not just because Lodo had warned him against using the Change. He already knew who it was.
“Waiting for something?” Shilly asked from behind him.
“Not any more.” He smiled, wondering what she would think of his sixth sense concerning her proximity. Why it happened, he didn’t know--maybe it had something to do with studying the Change together--but he doubted it had anything to do with them being “destined.”
She looked refreshed and well-rested, and smelled again of rosemary.
“What are you doing this morning?” he asked.
“As little as I can.”
“Fancy a trip to the Ruins, then?”
“When?”
“How about now?”
“Sure.”
Sal stood up. “Thanks. I need to practice.”
“You sure do.” She sounded as ungracious as always, but Sal was sure she was glad he had asked. “This time we’d better not stay too long, or Lodo will kill us.”
They walked together across the square. Sal caught another odd look from Mrs Milka, hurriedly bustling her students ahead of her into a classroom as though afraid that Sal might try to join them.
“Did you see that?” he asked Shilly.
“Mistress Em? Don’t worry about her. She’s mad.”
“It’s not just her. Everyone’s acting like I’ve done something wrong.”
“Have you?”
“I don’t think so, unless hanging around you and Lodo counts.”
“In some people’s eyes it might.” She shrugged. “But they don’t matter. I don’t care what people think about me. I know what I’m doing, and that’s what counts.”
The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Page 15
