Darksong

by Isobelle Carmody

  ‘… the announcement …’ Glynn heard one say.

  ‘… Tarsin cares nothing for form and the mermod is ill and keeps to his chamber …’

  Glynn edged around them.

  ‘… that Tarsin wears a black sceptre band to mark his mourning at the loss of the visionweaver …’

  Glynn paid scant attention to the snippets she was hearing, for the crowd had now loosened and was breaking up into smaller chattering clots. Her whole mind was focused on getting out of the hall.

  ‘… have heard that Acantha will send no more callstones to the misty isle, despite the fact that all of Keltor suffers from the shortage.’ The speaker was a woman wearing red and gold and Glynn wondered absently if she was Ramidani.

  Her companion, a man, clad in red and silver, answered her in the same quiet serious manner. ‘Officially all of Keltor suffers the shortage, but the wealthy will always have coin enough to buy what they need, and there are still plenty of stones circulating on the shadow market. Yet sooner or later the supply of shadow-market stones will end and that will be disastrous for merchants and trade and for all of Keltan society. It is time that Tarsin stepped in to demand that raw callstones be sold to the Holder at a set rate. He could then negotiate a tuning contract with Darkfall and set up an independent body to sell the stones to all of Keltor. That would be far wiser than having such a valuable resource controlled by one sept.’

  ‘Yes, but look what that approach has meant with medications,’ another man with them said softly. ‘The olfactors make fewer and fewer medicaments because they can no longer sell direct and charge exorbitant prices. Instead they produce more and more pleasure drugs, which they can distribute as they choose. Therefore half of Keltor manufactures its own shadow-market medicaments and the other half suffers the lack.’

  ‘The problem is that Jurass will never agree to have his minescrapes …’

  A rotund, sweating man with filthy hair clad in a rich grey robe pushed rudely through the centre of the group, then brushed past Glynn. Her feinna-enhanced sense of smell reeled at the fecal stench of him.

  ‘… poor Asa …’ one of the woman murmured, glancing after him.

  ‘I suppose his head injury has altered his manners …’

  ‘I would never have said that he possessed manners, though he could ape them if he chose. But I think it more likely that he was damaged during his interrogation. Kalide performed it …’

  Glynn shuddered at yet another mention of Kalide’s interrogation methods, but then she noticed that a line of servitors bearing soiled glasses and dishes had formed at the gate and the legionnaires were opening it to allow them to file out. Grabbing some glasses from the nearest table, Glynn joined the queue and, in a few moments, she was outside on the path.

  ‘You again?’

  It was the over cook, but despite his brusque voice, Glynn’s feinna instincts told her that his predominant emotion was curiosity. Of course he was wondering why he had been questioned about her. Fortunately another man entered the kitchens and began shouting at him and he waved Glynn away to the storeroom before starting a bellowed argument. Glynn had to ask twice before she found the storeroom and the small wicker cage containing the pelflyt. It was too dark to see what it looked like, but she could hear its rustling movements as she took up the cage and carried it out. She had refused to let herself think of this moment, but now she knew that she could not possibly bring the poor pelflyt to the Draaka, even knowing its fate would otherwise have been the cooking pot. She could not deliver the poor animal up for sacrifice, and now, both her feinna self and human self were utterly in accord. It seemed that the closer melding of feinna and human in her during her ordeal in the draakan audience chamber had altered the feinna part of herself as well.

  Glynn spotted Opel stirring a sauce and her spirits rose to see that she had not been whisked away for questioning. That surely meant that the agent assigned to follow Glynn before had not been at the hall. She told herself that Kalide’s spying on her was probably just his standard treatment of guests.

  She was part way up the cracked steps to the garden level when her senses tingled, informing her that someone was touching the feinna. Heart pounding, she closed her eyes and sought out the feinna but, being deeply unconscious, it could not respond. Without thinking how it might be done, or even if it was possible, Glynn found herself exerting the strange new ability of her mind to reach out and into the feinna. She only meant to find out how it was but, to her amazement, despite being unconscious, the feinna began to do exactly what it did when they were physically in contact: it began drawing comfort and something like energy from her. Startled, Glynn realised that, in this way, she could also provide the vital closeness required by the birth bond, which she had thought could only come from physical proximity. This meant that she and the feinna could survive a physical separation if it proved necessary.

  Glynn opened her eyes, and gasped to find that she was lying awkwardly on the audience room floor again, looking up into the monstrously huge face of a man with a round red nose from which sprouted tufts of stiff greyish hairs! She would have screamed but she seemed to be paralysed.

  The enormous man began very carefully to dribble something over her head. Incredibly, Glynn became aware of a hairline crack running along the base of her skull. The feinna link corrected the thought in its pedantic way. The fracture was not to her skull, but to the feinna’s.

  All at once Glynn understood. She was inside the feinna’s body, just as she had been inside Solen’s. The only reason she was able to see was because the feinna slept with its eyes slightly open. The man must be some sort of white cloak.

  ‘Will it live?’ Glynn heard the Draaka ask, confirming her guess.

  She strained the feinna’s peripheral vision to find that the Draaka was standing by her with several other draakira.

  ‘If it is not moved, it could linger in this state for a good many days, and the longer it lives the more likely it is to go on living. That mixture I gave it will help the brain fluids to thicken slightly. But if you really want it to live, you need an animal healer.’

  ‘Arrange for one to come,’ the Draaka said and waved the man away. He left, almost tripping over his robes in his eagerness to obey. Only after she heard the sound of the door closing behind him, did anyone speak.

  ‘Surely if the master foresaw this girl revealing the Unraveller to us, it will come to pass regardless of whether this creature lives or dies.’ That was Mingus, and Glynn’s skin crawled at the hatred in the draakira’s voice radiating towards the feinna.

  ‘The probability of the girl doing as we wish is very very high. But still all futures remain uncertain until they come to pass. Perhaps the death of this animal would alter what I saw in the Void. Hence the creature must be kept alive. But rest assured that a time will come soon enough when you may revenge yourself on both the girl and the beast, Mingus. Now enough of this. Set up a seat for Kalide. Drape it and make it fine. I will receive him here when he comes this evening. His seat should be raised but not to the height of my own chair.’

  ‘Draaka, perhaps it would be wise to order some clothes for your audience with Kalide,’ said another of the draakira diffidently. ‘Even the finest garments from Acantha will appear shabby and dull to these people. So much importance is placed on appearances here. Look how he was dressed just to bring us from the ship.’

  ‘I am sure there is plenty of time for the most ornate clothes and exquisitely subtle masks to be made, since Tarsin seems in no hurry to greet us,’ Mingus snarled. Glynn thought his voice sounded slurred and guessed that his jaw had swollen where she had struck it. She dreaded having to face the senior draakira again, knowing that only fear of his mistress would keep him from punishing her for what had happened with the feinna.

  The Draaka answered him coolly. ‘Coralyn did not invite us to Ramidan to be spurned by her son. The matter is in her hands and I have no doubt that it will be dealt with, if not by her, then by our maste
r. As for Kalide, let him see me plainly clad. His mother will understand what this means, even if he does not.’

  There was the sound of a door slamming open and the Draaka ceased speaking and turned. Again Glynn strained the feinna’s peripheral vision until she could see the approach of one of the draakira who had seen stationed at the front doors to the apartment. ‘Gifts have come, Draaka, and maps of Ramidan,’ she said. ‘They are from chieftain Coralyn. There is also a chit with them that welcomes us lavishly and bids us choose the site for our Ramidan haven. Also Aluade had been waiting without for some time.’

  The Draaka smiled wolfishly. ‘See the hidden hand of our master? Let me look at the maps. And have Aluade enter.’

  Glynn’s shoulder tingled and she felt herself withdrawing from the feinna and spiralling away, back to her own body.

  18

  My brother went many times to the Void as he laboured to create the

  portal he had imagined. Once he brought back a beast … Some said it

  was an abomination … I do not know why my brother brought it nor

  from whence he brought it. But I know this. Nothing my brother ever did

  was without reason …

  THE ALYDA SCROLLS

  Glynn felt her body about her as a sudden weight but, to her dismay, she could not move. It felt like her will had not completely returned to her flesh and the thought of being a disembodied mind forever frightened her badly. The fear gave her the mental strength to reclaim her body, and she struggled to open her eyes. She was horrified to discover that she was lying slumped halfway down the steep stone steps between the garden and the kitchen levels of the palace. Clearly sending her will into the feinna had left her own body without any control and it was sheer luck that she had not fallen headlong and broken her neck.

  A hand shook her shoulder and Glynn realised that this was what had drawn her back.

  She turned her head and found herself looking into the earnest brown eyes of the Vespian, Kerd. Despite everything, if she had been able to smile, she would have done so at the sight of his kind, plain face, pale with concern.

  ‘Are you all right, my friend?’ his voice was gentle. Glynn tried to speak but he shook his head. ‘Wait. I will help you to a seat and we can talk when you have recovered yourself. Are you in pain?’ She managed to shake her head, and he hauled her to her feet then clasped his arm about her waist and half dragged her to the top of the stairs.

  Only then did she remember the pelflyt. She turned in alarm. ‘There was a cage …’

  ‘It fell a few steps down and is cracked, but the pelflyt in it will be no more than shaken. I will go back in a moment and get it.’

  ‘Please, now?’ Glynn begged.

  Kerd gave her a searching look then left her clinging to a post as he hurried back to get the cage. Returning, he took her elbow in his free hand and they went in this way a few steps along the path to a small lane she had not even noticed, which seemed to run between two gardens. To her surprise, when it turned, she saw ahead a very small garden entrance. ‘This is a back way to a garden which is now closed,’ Kerd murmured as they approached the gate.

  They both froze at the sound of a man coughing, then after a moment they realised that the speakers were in the garden adjoining the one they were approaching.

  ‘… what it can mean that we were not invited to this hall?’ a man muttered worriedly and so audibly that Glynn thought they must be right alongside the wall. ‘The rumour is that some important announcement is being made by the Vespians.’

  Glynn saw from Kerd’s expression that he had recognised the voice.

  ‘I do not care about the purpose of the hall,’ a deeper male voice pronounced, and now it was Glynn’s turn to start because she had heard this voice before, though she could not for the moment place it. ‘To neglect to invite Poverin’s son is virtually to accuse our father of aiding Bleyd in his supposed assassination plot and then arranging to have him freed when it failed. I will not sit by and let them insult Fomhika in this way. I must meet this matter with deadly disapproval.’

  ‘I suppose anyone might asssume you would feel exactly like that …’ a third voice murmured; a girl, or perhaps a soft-voiced lad.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Only that if Tarsin meant to accuse father, the accusation would have been made openly and through official channels. This insult is vague, and what can be its intent other than to provoke you? It reeks of Coralyn. All know of the swiftness of her legionnaires to defend her honour; their fanaticism and ready violence. Who would blame her if you are cut a little too hard or too high when you rush in ranting and demanding satisfaction …’

  ‘The officials …’

  ‘Are irrelevant, brother. Coralyn will say only that someone in her staff did not realise we had arrived, for we came so late last night.’

  ‘Coralyn’s spies tell her every time a flyt breaks wind and all know it!’ the third man scoffed.

  ‘All may know it, but no one speaks officially of those spies for fear of finding themselves sampling some new and unpleasant Iridomi poison. Coralyn will pretend to be dreadfully sorry for the oversight and she will issue a contrite statement condemning the zealotry of her legionnaires. She might even have them executed, and the officials will agree that it was a very unfortunate incident but that there is no blame to be laid at Coralyn’s door. And think, Donard … your death or serious wounding would force our father to do the very thing he must not do. He will have to come to Ramidan.’

  Glynn was startled to realise that the speaker with the deeper voice was Donard, whom she had met upon Acantha and then again upon Fomhika. The softer voice, which seemed more girlish, must then belong to Rilka, his younger sister. Glynn had no idea who the third speaker was. A friend, perhaps, but certainly another Fomhikan.

  ‘You are right. The thing now is to decide which course is best.’ Donard’s words were rhetorical, but his sister answered them as if they had been a question.

  ‘We know what to do. We have to speak with Anyi to learn what has become of Bleyd,’ she said firmly. ‘To gain access to him we must go to this hall, and present ourselves as merely wounded because our invitations were overlooked. Calmly and quietly annoyed. Nothing that can be used as an excuse to demand a duel. No matter what answer is made to our complaints, nor how sharp its edge, we must mildly ignore it and seek out Anyi.’

  ‘I have had little practice at mildness,’ Donard grumbled, but it was clear that he accepted his younger sister’s authority. There was a rustling of clothes as if the speakers had been seated and now stood. ‘If only we could have gained entrance to the mermod’s chamber last night. I do not like the way he is being guarded. It is almost as if he were a prisoner …’

  ‘If only Alene had been within the palace we could have spoken to her …’ the unidentified man murmured.

  ‘Come,’ said Rilka, ‘the occasion will be fully underway now. We will make our entrance …’

  Their voices faded.

  Kerd touched Glynn’s arm and said gently, ‘I must go and let them know that the mermod is ill and will not attend this hall. Go into the garden. Sit and rest and I will return very soon.’

  Kerd set down the cage and went back the way they had come. Glynn took it up and made her way through the narrow gate, thinking that the overheard conversation was a good argument in favour of their brother’s innocence, though of course he might have acted without telling them his plans. She drew in a breath of pleasure at the sight of the tiny, exquisitely laid-out garden that she had entered. There were trees and bushes hiding the walls, as seemed usual on Ramidan, and a smooth lawn of lush blue-green grass broken only by vivid clumps of flowers. A stream ran swiftly through the garden, chattering its way over tiger-striped pebbles and under a little wooden bridge leading to a huge spreading veswood tree which dappled the light that fell delicately on a bench seat overlooking the stream.

  Making her way to the little bridge, Glynn crossed over to the
seat, deciding that the garden was the perfect place to release the pelflyt. She had intended to release it since collecting it from the kitchen storeroom, but the cracked cage and her near fall had given her the idea of telling the Draaka that she had fallen, cracking the cage so that the pelflyt had escaped. It could even have happened that way if the crack had been wider. She doubted anyone would care that she did not bring the pelflyt, so long as her excuse sounded reasonable. The errand had been, at worst, make-work to occupy her, and at best, an excuse to allow her to roam about the palace and spy.

  She grimaced, thinking she had just heard enough from Donard and his sister to please the Draaka, except that she had no intention of reporting their words. The thought of spying repelled her.

  Kneeling down she unlatched the tiny cage and propped it open. Nothing happened and she got down on her hands and knees to look inside. The pelflyt resembled a fat little peacock, except that, like all Keltan flyts, it’s breast was covered in the very fluffy fur that Keltan birds had developed, rather than down. It even bore an absurd little tuft of gold fur atop its head like a crown. It blinked its red-flecked eyes at her.

  Her feinna senses told her that it was not afraid of her and Glynn sat back on her heels, marvelling at how much of her humanness had been transformed by the grafted feinna instincts. More and more, the feinna abilities were becoming merely part of her repertoire of responses, instead of being consciously invoked. In a sense it might be said that she had been possessed by the feinna, except that if it was a possession, then it was benign. Though maybe she felt this way only because her growing feinna abilities had allowed her to see her own race with such jaded clarity.

  She peered into the cage again, but still the pelflyt did not move. It was old, she thought. Her feinna senses concurred with her human observation, adding that the bird was aware that it would soon die, and waited as wearily as one might wait for a late bus.

  Her heart twisted with pity for all of the caged things in this world and her own, bred and used by another species as if they had no other reason for existence. ‘Come out and be free, at least for a little time, bright one,’ she whispered. She stopped speaking then, for her feinna senses warned her that the pelflyt disliked human voices. No wonder! She tried to send mental assurances, just as she would to the feinna, and to her surprise, the animal was soothed, though still it made no move to come out.