by Julia Gray
Ysatel rose to her feet to embrace Kerin. He smelled, as always, of the river, and he was cold. He kissed her and smiled wearily, then sat down to warm himself by the fire.
'Won't you join us, Farazin?' Ysatel offered. 'There's more than enough.'
'Thank you,' the sky-watcher replied, accepting the invitation as his due. He too sat down, wincing slightly as his old joints protested.
'Is there any change in the boy?' Kerin asked.
'He took a little more soup today,' Ysatel replied, as she went back to stirring the cauldron. 'And he's not been sick. But the fever's still in his eyes.'
Although the stranger had seemed to be on his way to recovery after he'd been brought to Fenduca, he had then
suffered a relapse, and had been sliding in and out of consciousness ever since. It had seemed to Ysatel that the boy was suffering from more than just his physical ailments — although they were bad enough — and she suspected too that he felt lost and without hope. He often appeared happier and more animated when he was dreaming than when he was awake, but he'd occasionally had nightmares too. Some had obviously been terrifying, judging from the unearthly noises he made - noises that had awoken the entire household.
'His dreams have no way of release,' Farazin opined, 'so they turn inwards as fever.'
That seemed too simplistic an explanation to Ysatel, but she was not prepared to argue the point.
'He will be well eventually,' Kerin said. 'He's in good hands.' He smiled at his wife. 'Then we'll learn the truth.' 'Has he said anything else of interest?' Farazin asked. Ysatel shook her head. 'Nothing I can make sense of.'
In the past, some of what the invalid had said had sounded like the wanderers'
tongue, but as Farazin was the only villager reasonably fluent in that ancient language, the others had only been able to guess at occasional words. When the sky-watcher had tried speaking to the boy, using the archaic form of address, there had seemed to be a few sparks of recognition in his face, but neither had been able to make the other understand what they were saying.
'Is he sleeping now?' Ysatel nodded.
'Then I will wait and see if he wakes up after we have eaten,' Farazin decided.
Ysatel turned to her husband, wanting to change the subject.
'Did you have any luck today?'
'A few pebbles,' he replied dismissively. 'Nothing of real interest.' It was his usual answer. Good days were increasingly rare now.
'Will the boys be home soon?'
'They're on their way.'
Even as he spoke, Ysatel caught sight of her stepsons. Aylen, apparently oblivious to the danger, was skipping over some wet boulders towards the path.
He led a charmed life - his due-name of Chute had been earned during a childhood escapade, when he'd survived a fall into one of the most precipitous parts of the river — but his antics still left Ysatel breathless with worry sometimes. Olandis, as always, followed in more sedate fashion, a steady carthorse to his brother's unruly colt. The curious thing was that their mental characteristics were the opposite way round. Aylen was the brighter of the two, but his opinions were stronger and more cautious. For his part, Olandis often acted on instinct, using his heart rather than his brain, and Ysatel loved him all the more for it. The fact that it had been Olandis who had wanted to rescue the foreigner, and that it had been Aylen who had worked out a way to do it without breaking the dictates of moon-lore, was typical of the brothers' relationship. They were very different, but their skills and temperaments complemented each other — and they were inseparable.
The very fact that they had retrieved the boy from forbidden territory had been one of the things that had made the dispute about him so vehement. Some of the villagers thought he should have been left to fend for himself, to face the consequences of his foolish actions, but Kerin had steadfastly defended his sons' actions, arguing that to abandon anyone in such circumstances would have been an act of inhumanity. Nonetheless, as time dragged on and Terel - if that really was his name - failed to recover his health, doubts had begun to grow in his mind too. His faith in his wife's nursing abilities had not wavered, but he had begun to wonder if the boy was truly beyond help. However, he was not about to express such thoughts openly - especially when people like Cutter might get wind of his change of heart and start making trouble again.
'Will the Red Moon be full tonight?' Kerin asked, changing the subject himself this time. Ordinarily it would have been a statement rather than a question -
like every other Maculian, Kerin was aware of and respected the movements of the heavens - but a few of Farazin's recent declarations had raised some doubts.
'It will,' the sky-watcher replied firmly. 'It is only the Dark Moon that's behaving oddly.'
'Why is that?' Ysatel asked. 'What do you think it means?' 'Observation and prayer will answer that in due course,' Farazin replied. His condescending tone made it clear that he thought that Ysatel - a mere woman - should not be concerned with such matters. She was about to respond, wishing that for once he could simply have said 'I don't know', when she caught the warning look from her husband and remained silent.
'So flags will be set at the shrine as usual?' Kerin said. 'At first light tomorrow,' Farazin confirmed. 'They are already prepared.'
'Did you include any pleas on behalf of the stranger?' Aylen asked. He had caught the tail end of the conversation as he joined the group. As he spoke he threw himself down by the fire, leaving Olandis to go into the house and store their tools.
'The Red Moon is not appropriate for healing,' Farazin said.
'You think love can't heal?' Ysatel asked before she could stop herself.
The sky-watcher gave her a measuring glance.
'In itself, no,' he said.
'Is he still asleep?' Aylen asked as his brother emerged from the cabin.
'Like a baby.'
'Not dreaming then?'
'Not as far as I can tell.'
'Let's eat,' Ysatel said, grateful to her stepsons for diverting attention from her provocative comment.
As she began ladling out the fish stew and passing the bowls around, she became aware of another man approaching and wondered, with a sinking heart, what Cutter might want. One thing was certain; with these extra guests there was little chance of a quiet and pleasant family meal.
Mitus Levien, known to the villagers as Cutter, was of average height, but his broad shoulders, thick neck and large hands gave the impression of size as well as strength. His face appeared to be made of slabs of granite, from which his close-set eyes glared out in a permanent scowl. The impression of menace was reinforced by the dog that loped at his side, a squat, ill-tempered beast called Scar.
The newcomer nodded to Kerin and Farazin in greeting, all but ignoring Ysatel and the younger men, but he did not speak at first.
'Will you join us, Cutter?' Ysatel asked. The invitation was a formality. The community's survival depended upon a degree of cooperation, and sharing food when it was plentiful was an expected form of hospitality. However, Mitus prided himself on his independence — some said he thought himself above mere screenhandlers — and Ysatel did not think he would accept her offer.
'No,' he replied, as expected. 'Thank you.' The civil response sounded like an afterthought. 'Are you sure? There's—'
'You have enough visitors already,' Cutter said pointedly.
The ensuing silence dragged on. 'We've found nothing worthy of your services today,' Kerin said eventually, glancing at his sons for confirmation. 'A few pebbles, nothing more.'
Cutter nodded, absently patting the jewel-pouch that hung from a strap over his shoulder.
'Then I wish you better fortune tomorrow,' he said. Scar had sat down at his master's feet, and neither man nor dog showed any sign of moving in spite of Kerin's hints.
'Have you news for us?' Farazin asked.
'The Nemenz girl's come down with a fever.'
'I will visit her.'
'Some people are sayi
ng she caught it from the foreigner,' Cutter added.
Ysatel wondered just who 'some people' were, but kept her own council and allowed her husband to answer.
'I doubt that,' Kerin commented mildly. 'He's hardly been out of our cabin, and certainly nowhere near her house.'
'Contagion follows its own paths,' Cutter responded.
'Then why have none of us been affected?' Kerin countered. 'All such paths must begin here, so surely we are the more likely targets.'
'His fever comes from being too long without water,' Ysatel added, unable to stay quiet any longer. 'That can't be the case with Liliana, can it?' She had spoken in a reasonable tone, but Kerin could hear the anger beneath her words and reached out to put his hand over hers.
'Evil spreads in strange ways,' Cutter said, glaring at Ysatel, then turning his attention to Farazin. 'Don't you think we should bring the matter before a gathering?'
'Again?' Ysatel exclaimed, but fell silent at the warning pressure from Kerin's hand.
'I will examine the boy once more tonight,' the sky-watcher replied. 'I'll decide what is necessary then.'
Mitus seemed about to say something more, but evidently thought better of it.
He turned abruptly and strode away, and Scar jumped up to follow his master.
'That man's an idiot,' Olandis remarked when Cutter was well out of earshot.
'Hardly that,' Kerin replied. 'I don't like him any more than you do, but at least he has the courage to say to our faces what others may be saying behind our backs.'
'But it's nonsense!' Ysatel cried.
'Of course. But not everyone is as observant or as clever as you, my love. And you know what this place is like for rumours.'
'And like it or not,' Aylen put in, 'Cutter's word carries a lot of weight with some people.'
'Don't worry, Ysy,' Olandis added, 'we won't let them do anything stupid.'
Kerin and his sons were the only ones Ysatel allowed to use the familiar shortened version of her name, and the boys did so often now, as a way of showing their affection for her. Between them, her three men — as she often thought of them — had managed to placate her a little, but the fifth member of the party saw no reason even to try.
'We don't want unrest,' Farazin muttered. 'Perhaps another gathering would clear the air.'
'You really think that's necessary?' Kerin asked, before his wife could say anything.
'Would you rather men like Cutter spread their ideas by stealth?'
Farazin had a point, and for the rest of the meal no one tried to dissuade him from the path he had chosen.
When they had all eaten their fill, the sky-watcher rose stiffly and went into the cabin. Ysatel wanted to follow, but knew better than to do so. He would want to examine the patient alone. She contented herself with leaning against Kerin, sharing his warmth as the fire burnt down to embers and his sons cleared up after the meal. The sound of Farazin's voice drifted softly from inside their home.
The stranger was sleeping and, although Farazin would never have admitted it to anyone, he was glad not to have to look into those peculiar eyes. The boy was breathing slowly and evenly, and gave no sign of dreaming. He was still painfully thin, but his earlier pallor was gone and his face no longer bore the lines of constant pain.
'Well, young man, there's not much you can tell me in that state, is there.'
In spite of his words, the sky-watcher made no move to wake the foreigner, unwilling to disturb his apparently peaceful rest.
'So what am I supposed to say to the gathering, eh?' Farazin went on quietly.
'You don't look much of a danger to anyone, but Mitus was right about one thing. Evil can spread in mysterious ways. So what is it that you are? A sick child? An outcast? Or a demon? The moons tell me nothing.'
The old man turned his eyes upwards, as if he could look through the roof to the stars above, and did not notice the stranger's eyelids flicker as he awoke.
'Are you a sharakan?' Farazin asked, speaking as much to himself as to the boy on the bed.
"Enda va'an sharakan?'
The words sounded indistinct to Terrel, so that at first he was unable to decide if they had been part of a dream or not. As he struggled towards wakefulness, he saw the outline of a figure standing over him, and recognized the stooped shoulders and the mane of grey hair. This was the one whose speech was sometimes different from the others. Terrel could not understand why this should be $o, and what he heard still made no sense, but some of the old man's words seemed vaguely familiar - as if their meaning was just out of reach.
On this occasion, Terrel had no idea what he was talking about, but one of his rescuers had said something similar soon after they had pulled him from the lagoon, and it had been repeated several times since. It was frustrating that he had no way of answering what they clearly regarded as an important question. He wanted to try to communicate, but his voice would not come — and before he was able to attract the old man's attention, he turned and shuffled from the room, leaving Terrel alone with his thoughts once more.
In some ways his visitor reminded him of Shahan, and he wondered whether he might be a seer — and then he wondered if he would ever see the ghosts again.
This was a dangerous line of thought, and he pushed it aside hurriedly and deliberately began to think about the other people he'd come to recognize during his enforced idleness.
There was Ysatel, of course. His two rescuers, Aylemirana and the other one.
And an older man, who might be their father. He had seen several other faces too, but none of them often, so he'd had no chance to work out who they were or how they fitted into the household. Even with those people he'd seen frequently, he was often confused. As soon as he thought he'd begun to sort them out, he found they'd apparently been called by quite different names. In the end he had given up any attempt to learn their names - except for Ysatel, his most constant companion — and had decided to let fate decide what he learnt of the others.
He heard movement then as preparations for the night were made, but darkness was falling quickly and he recognized none of the shadowy figures. Giving up his fruitless attempts to get his voice to work, he allowed himself to slide back into the oblivion of sleep.
That night Terrel dreamt of Tindaya, where he had witnessed his own death and, for the first time, he laughed
in response. What chance was there that he would ever be able to return to Vadanis, let alone to the sacred mountain? His exile meant that he would cheat fate.
He awoke the next morning to the sound of voices. That in itself was not unusual. He had often been aware of people around him, both inside his room and further away. Sometimes their conversations had sounded reasoned and respectful, while others had been fierce arguments — and this had often made him feel very uncomfortable because he wondered if he was the cause of the disagreements. However, this time there seemed to be a large number of people
- many of whom were talking or shouting over each other — and it was clear, even without understanding a word that was being said, that tempers were running high.
Terrel was beginning to feel afraid when another sensation, one that came from deep inside his own being, banished all other considerations from his mind.
The trembling impulse drove him to throw off his blanket and lurch from the pallet. It was the first time he had risen without help since his arrival, and the movement set his head spinning, but he was obstinately fixed upon his purpose, and desperation lent him strength. Staggering on uncertain legs, he made his way, unseeing, towards the light.
A sudden silence fell as he released his hold on the doorframe and stumbled out into the sunshine, and he looked up to see a great crowd of people all staring at him.
'There's going to be an earthquake!' he cried hoarsely, waving his arms. 'An earthquake!'
His audience seemed frozen as they stared back at him, a mixture of surprise and incomprehension in their eyes.
'Please, you've got to—'
/> The desperate certainty that had overridden Terrel's infirmity crumbled into dust then as his strength gave out altogether, and he fell to the ground in a heap. He was unconscious even as the first tremor hit.
Chapter Five
The impact of the earthquake was too sudden and too disorientating for the villagers to react with anything other than panic. Screams filled the air, and there were ominous noises from the earth itself as soil and rock shifted beneath their feet. Many people were thrown to the ground, unbalanced as much by shock as by the vibrations. Some looked up at the black mountain, afraid of an avalanche that might destroy the entire village, but although there were several landslides they were all relatively minor. Even so, the crashing of rock as it disintegrated and fell was terrifying, more immediately threatening than the growl that came from deep underground as Nydus shrugged and rearranged its surface once again. The river spat and boiled, with spouts of water leaping into the air at impossible angles. The wooden structures of the village's homes creaked and groaned, and a few of the huts began to sway violently as they were caught in the reverberations of the tremor, until their timbers distorted beyond endurance
and collapsed or flew apart. Caught in the grip of forces they recognized well enough but had no hope of controlling, the people of Fenduca could only tremble and pray and wait for it to end. It seemed to them that, far away and pale in the morning sky, the Amber Moon was shaking too.
In all, the quake lasted only a few moments, but its repercussions were to last much longer. Even after the land had stopped moving, the river still ran erratically, with sudden surges flowing down from above for no apparent reason, and streams forging new courses.
Such tremors were common enough in most regions of Macul, but there was usually some warning. Almost all were triggered - or at least influenced - by lunar configurations, so the sky-watchers were able to predict when they were most likely to occur. In addition, the villagers in Fenduca kept a small number of wolf-fish in one of the rock pools, and observed them closely at regular intervals - especially when the moons were aligned unfavourably. For several hours before an earthquake, these fish became abnormally agitated, and when this happened the villagers took what precautions they could. Fenduca's position beneath the precipitous slopes of the mountain, and so close to the inherently unstable river bed, made it particularly vulnerable to the impact of tremors. Nevertheless, the villagers accepted the risks as an integral part of their way of life and, when they were given some idea of what was coming, they were accustomed to dealing with such disruptions. On this occasion, however, the onslaught had come out of the blue, leaving them unprepared and doubly disorientated.
