Whisper of Leaves

by Unknown

  Shardos? thought Kira. Was it the name of the mountain? And what did he mean by shedding its skin? Her Onespeak was unpractised, so perhaps she hadn’t understood.

  The stranger moved ahead slowly now, testing the ground with a stick and gesturing to Kira to place her feet where he placed his. The trees thinned as they picked their way forward; those that remained were gnarled with splayed roots that gripped the ground like hands. There was little undergrowth, as if only the deeper-rooted trees could survive. Even in the darkness, Kira was horribly aware of the drop that had opened beside them.

  The stranger edged round a series of large broken boulders that seemed to hang in space and Kira stopped. Her pack felt as if it had doubled in weight.

  ‘Come,’ he said, his voice gentle.

  Kira willed her feet to move, but nothing happened.

  ‘Not far now,’ he said, reaching out his hand.

  Kira crept forward. She’d only gone a few paces when a grinding noise sounded and she felt the stone under her feet move. For a single heartbeat nothing happened, then it tilted and began to slide.

  The stranger’s hand clamped around Kira’s wrist, arresting her fall. Over the sound of the rock crashing away through the trees, his voice came to her again, calm and strong. ‘Turn . . . now.’

  Numbly, Kira obeyed.

  ‘Hand on tor . . . now right foot there . . . slowly, slowly.’

  Step by step, Kira followed the path he spoke for her, terror clouding her sight and roaring in her ears. But she was held by his hand and his mind, and he coaxed her safely to his side. Then her legs lost all rigidity and she clung to him, his warmth and closeness like food and rest, the sweet spice scent of him comforting.

  ‘I thank you,’ she said, when she had breath enough.

  ‘I should thank you, for you saved my life, yet I don’t know your name,’ he replied.

  Kira hesitated, suddenly wary.

  ‘Perhaps the debt dictates I introduce myself first,’ he said. ‘I am Caledon e Saridon e Talliel.’

  ‘Caledon e Saridon e Talliel,’ echoed Kira.

  ‘In these lands, I’m called Caledon.’

  ‘I’m Kira.’

  ‘The Saridon are honoured,’ he said, and bowed.

  Kira though it odd that he referred to himself so formally, unless she’d misunderstood him, which was possible. If only she knew more Onespeak!

  ‘It’s past the mid point of the night but we’re close to a place where we can rest. Can you go on?’ he said.

  ‘Does the path continue like this?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t journeyed here for five years and Shardos might have sent stone from above or eaten the path from below, but the ground’s more solid after the sida groves,’ he said, pointing to dark shapes ahead.

  ‘We should go then,’ said Kira.

  The unstable stone gradually gave way to the firmness of grass and stands of small shapely trees.

  The sida looked like ashaels close up, but their scent was different. Black insects buzzed in their branches though Kira could see nothing to attract them: no blooms or seeds or other small creatures they might feed off.

  ‘Night-hovers,’ said Caledon, noting her gaze on the insects. ‘They pierce the stems and feed on the sap. You can too, if you’re thirsty.’

  Startled, she looked at him.

  ‘You have to be very thirsty. Not far now,’ he said, smiling, then starting off again.

  Kira took three sips from her waterskin, a habit she’d developed to save water and sate hunger, and forced her trembling legs on. Kest had told her to eat one and a half handfuls of nutmeat every day to maintain her strength, but to do so would have meant carrying nutmeat at the expense of herbs. She had hoped to gather on the Dendora, but there had been nothing there – she’d never seen such barren land. As a result, she’d had to eat very little to make her food last the eight days it had taken her to cross the plain. Her breeches were already loose no matter how much she tightened them, and her shirt flapped.

  The night-hovers bounced off her face and tangled in her hair, and Kira beat at them, repelled by their nearness. Caledon slowed, then veered upwards through the sidas, and all but disappeared. Kira struggled after him through the thick leaf-fall. Why couldn’t their shelter be down the slope instead of up?

  Caledon was making his way up slabs of stone that looked like huge steps, but Kira came to a stop before the last as her weary legs protested.

  ‘Here,’ said Caledon, offering his hand and hauling her up. He winced as he deposited her beside him.

  ‘I thank you,’ said Kira.

  He nodded and led her into the deeper darkness ahead, a cave, dry and fragrant, the back of it filled with river sand. Caledon slipped off his pack and rolled his shoulders.

  ‘The Tain call this Aurantia, for the colour of the stone,’ he said. ‘At dawn you’ll see why.’

  There was a clear flow of water tinkling down one side of the cave that pooled briefly before it disappeared between rocks.

  Caledon went to the pool and scrubbed at his face and hands, then drank deeply. Afterwards he took a square of cloth from his pack and dried himself.

  ‘The sand makes a good place to sleep, softer and warmer than the ground,’ he said.

  Kira’s fear of the Shargh had wiped away fear of him, but now it flooded back and she tightened her grip on her pack.

  As if sensing her sudden unease, Caledon made his voice gentle. ‘Come. You need to wash the blood from your hands, Kira, then drink.’

  Kira remained where she was, suspicion fighting with her wish to trust him.

  He settled on the sand. ‘I’ve told you my name is Caledon e Saridon e Talliel. Saridon is my family name, and I’m called that in the north. Talliel is the port city where I live. It’s west of the Silvercades, the great mountains of the north. Do you know the north, Kira?’

  ‘No,’ she said, moving slowly towards the pool.

  ‘Talliel is a beautiful place, and a peaceful one. It’s many years since there was fighting. You don’t need to fear me,’ he went on, ‘but I understand if you do. I’ll sleep under the sidas if you wish and we can go on together at dawn. Or you can go on alone.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Kira, feeling shamed. ‘But perhaps we should go on. The Shargh might be close,’ she said, thinking of the Writings in the Warens that described the Shargh’s ability to quickly cover long distances on foot. It was a skill that had added to the brutal fighting triggering the Sundering.

  ‘I was attacked by the Cashgar Shargh,’ said Caledon. ‘Like their brothers the Soushargh, Weshargh and Ashmiri, they believe their gods live in the sky. Climbing mountains insults their gods by drawing too near their god’s domain. The Shargh stay on the plains.’

  Caledon had spoken slowly but Kira struggled to understand the Onespeak words.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ he said, pulling close-wrapped packages out of his pack. ‘I’ve got malede, cheese, biscuit, dried figs and tachil.’

  ‘I thank you but I have food,’ said Kira.

  ‘Eat my supper and I’ll eat your breakfast,’ he replied.

  Her hunger proved too powerful. Kira washed, then sat opposite him on the soft sand. The food was arranged on its wrappings but it was too dark to see it clearly.

  ‘I don’t know your food,’ she said.

  ‘Cheese is made from goat’s milk, biscuit from maize, figs are a fruit, malede is spiced smoked meat and tachil is a ground-nut,’ he said, pointing to each in turn.

  Kira took a fig, some tachil and a piece of the biscuit, eating slowly and relishing every mouthful. The fig was sweeter than any fruit she’d ever tasted and the tachil had an earthy taste, nothing like red- or blacknuts. The biscuit was strange but tasty. Maize, Caledon had called it, whatever that was.

  ‘So you know the north well?’ she asked as they ate.

  ‘Very well,’ said Caledon. ‘My father trades brocades and spices, and as a boy I used to travel with him all around the north.’ />
  For a little Kira ate in silence. ‘What about the Terak lands? Did you visit those?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. They stretch from the southern Silvercades most of the way across the Sarsalin Plain,’ replied Caledon, rewrapping the remains of the food and packing it away.

  Kira wanted to know more about the Terak lands, and their inhabitants, but Caledon yawned noisily. Besides, if she questioned him, he was more likely to question her.

  ‘Kashclan thanks–’ she started, then stopped herself. ‘I thank you for the food,’ she said instead, but what she really wanted to thank him for was his kindness.

  ‘Sleep now,’ said Caledon. ‘We need go on at first light.’

  Caledon found it difficult to follow his own advice. He loved to see the birth of a new day, but on this occasion the pain in his shoulder forced him from his ciraq at dawn.

  He rose and went to the cave’s entrance, worrying about the last few days. Was it a coincidence that he had been caught by the Cashgar Shargh twice in five days? Only Weshargh herders wandered the Dendora, and yet four groups of warriors had been there, two of which had seen him and attacked. He sensed that their sudden movement didn’t augur well – and nor did the pain in his shoulder.

  It was likely the wound was poisoning. It was two more days to the Pass, and three after that to Maraschin – maybe three days too far. He searched the sky for stars but the coming day had robbed them of light. He turned to consider another problem – his new companion.

  The girl still slept, wrapped in what appeared to be a basic ciraq. One of her hands lay palm upward on the sand, the fingers fine like her face, but with no rings or adornment. Her hair was cut in a choppy line at jaw level and was brown, though probably fairer clean. Her shirt was brown, her jerkin a soft green. The pack under her head was rustic, with woven laces and wooden buckles. Everything he could see was coloured with plant dyes, with no leather and no metal, apart from her sword, which was of good though plain workmanship. But she was no fighter – her attack on the Shargh warrior successful only because of its suddenness.

  The first rays of sunlight reached the cave and the silvery notes of an ilala sounded. Then another joined it, until the valley rang, reminding him of the bells that welcomed the sailing traders home to port.

  Kira stirred and her eyes opened.

  By the stars! thought Caledon. Her eyes were gold!

  Kira coloured at his gaze and Caledon quickly looked back to the valley. ‘You see why this place is called Aurantia now?’ he said as she came to the cave’s entrance.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Aurantia is the Tain word for flame.’

  ‘Who are the Tain?’ asked Kira.

  ‘Peoples of the northern Azurcades. Once we start our descent, we’ll be in their lands.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, tensing.

  ‘I have friends in their city – we have nothing to fear from the Tain.’

  Her cuff slid down and exposed her bony wrist as she pushed the hair from her eyes. She’d disciplined herself to eat very little, if the meal last night was anything to go by, and that meant she’d journeyed long enough to have to ration her food. But where had she journeyed from? He knew of nothing further south but Shargh.

  Her Onespeak was poor and she didn’t trust him with anything else, not that he could think what anything else could be. She looked pure Kessomi – except for the eyes – but then why would she be so far south?

  ‘You haven’t slept,’ she said, her eyes pulsing between their earlier metallic sheen and honey.

  ‘Do I look so grim?’

  ‘Is it a Shargh wound?’ she asked.

  He nodded, surprised.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Three days,’ he replied. Her directness was disconcerting after her earlier reticence.

  ‘It must be salved. Undo your shirt,’ she said.

  He hesitated, then shrugged out of his jerkin and unbuttoned his shirt as Kira pulled wooden pots and bulging pouches from her pack, a range akin to the physick stores in the Sea-Farer’s Way.

  ‘I’ve salved it already,’ said Caledon.

  She peeled back the bandage he’d managed to apply with his left hand, releasing a stench so putrid Caledon expected her to recoil in disgust. But she leaned closer, looking at the wound, before calmly reaching for a pot of pinkish paste.

  ‘You’ve slowed the rot,’ she said, scooping on the cool mixture. ‘What did you salve it with?’

  ‘Kalix.’

  ‘Is that a herb?’ she asked, taking a bandage from her pack and bringing it up and over his shoulder.

  ‘It’s a mixture of . . . herbs,’ he said, wincing at the sudden severity of the pain.

  ‘You can show me later,’ said Kira, tying off the bandage. ‘Burning yet?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, gulping down air as sweat started beading on his face. ‘What have you done?’ The fire in his shoulder and back ran like boiling water into his belly and hips, and he doubled over in an effort not to cry out. Kira supported him, her hand flat against his chest and, inexplicably, the run of pain reversed. It was like a plug being pulled out of a bath, the pain draining away under her hand.

  He looked up in amazement. ‘How –’ he started, then saw she was ashen, her eyes the colour of sida, her expression blank. She sat down heavily. She had taken his pain, he was sure of it, and it had cost her dearly.

  ‘I am in your debt. Again,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no debt,’ she replied. ‘Healing is given.’