Map’s Edge

by David Hair

Raythe strolled over and nudged the flap. ‘Hey, Tami, you in?’ No one answered and he poked his head in, but she wasn’t there and her pack lay untouched. Odd . . .

  ‘Have you seen Tami?’ he called to Zar, who was pulling on her own pack.

  ‘Nope.’

  It was possible last night’s celebration had turned amorous for her, but even so, she should’ve been back by now. ‘Zar, could you please pack up her gear? She’s not back and I need to coordinate the vanguard.’

  His daughter gave him an offhand salute, while he peered around, expecting at any moment to see his former lover sauntering back, that crooked grin on her face, but she failed to materialise, and duty called.

  ‘See you later,’ he told his daughter, then he mounted up, collected Jesco and went looking for Vidar.

  They found the bearskin briefing the scouts. ‘You still wanting us patrolling our back trail?’ Vidar asked, as he came to meet him.

  ‘Fair question. What do you reckon?’

  ‘If we were the military, there’d be no question. But the lads are tired, they’re certain no one’s back there – and these poumahi give them the creeps.’ The Pelarian chuckled. ‘You should hear these kids whine.’

  ‘That settles it then – send ’em out,’ Jesco put in. ‘Can’t have the poor darlings going soft.’

  Raythe laughed. ‘Fair enough – full perimeter cover: back, front and both flanks. I don’t think there’s anyone here, but let’s keep our discipline.’

  ‘Aye,’ Vidar agreed. ‘Finding the istariol might be the easiest part. The empire’s bound to send more men as soon as they realise what’s happening, so best we maintain a war footing.’

  ‘If you can see to that, I’ll travel alongside the gorge again. Maybe today I can follow the istariol to its source.’ He turned to go, then asked, ‘Have you seen Tami?’

  ‘No, but I seldom do.’

  ‘She does come and go,’ Raythe agreed. ‘But she usually tells me what she’s up to.’ He frowned, then put the matter aside. ‘She’ll show up. She always does.’

  Vidar looked around. ‘Hey, these are new lands. What’re we going to call them?’

  ‘I’ve not given it a thought.’

  Jesco grinned. ‘That settles it then: I dub them Jesland.’

  ‘Ha! I don’t think so,’ Raythe laughed, then suggested, ‘Zareldia? Or would it go to her head?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  ‘Then let’s hold off. Anyway, we’re not planning to stay, so who cares?’

  By midmorning, they were ascending into uplands, still loosely following the river, which was confined in a deep gorge, pouring through twisting rapids and pounding over waterfalls. Twice Raythe clambered down the cliffs to test the churning water, and both times it still contained istariol.

  But at midday, Raythe and Vidar reached a cliff-top and stood there flummoxed, for a hundred yards below, the river emerged from the earth in a great torrent that sent clouds of spray a hundred feet into the air. They had found the headwaters.

  ‘Is this it?’ Vidar asked.

  Raythe winced, not wanting to even contemplate the difficulties of mining such a site. ‘It appears so,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll need to climb down and do another test.’

  Dear Gerda, we couldn’t even send a boat into those caves, not with waters that swift.

  Then a voice called out, ‘Raythe, is that you?’ and Cal Foaley rode out of the mist. ‘There you are. Come and see what I’ve found.’

  ‘Unless it’s a way down into those caves, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Yeah, you really do.’

  They followed the hunter up a short rise, walking right out of the fogbank that gripped the lower slopes and stepping into unexpectedly cool, clear sunshine. The vista made him stop and stare.

  They were at the southern end of a high plain several miles in length. The hills that closed in on either side were clear of snow, and brilliant blue skies stretched away to the far north, where distant ranges glittered white. It was a breath-taking panorama, enough to make the heart soar – even without the hill at the north end of the plain, some three miles away. It wasn’t tall, but the colour suggested it was almost bare of vegetation. Even at this distance they could see it rose in tiers, at least three concentric circles, which couldn’t possibly be natural.

  ‘What is it?’ Raythe asked.

  Foaley grinned. ‘It’s some kind of old-time fort. Each of those rings has a fence of wooden staves, twice the height of a man. It’s mostly broken down, but it offers shelter and I reckon it could even be fortified again, given time.’

  ‘I suppose, but the istariol’s down there,’ Raythe told him, pointing at the ground.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Foaley gave him a broken-toothed grin. ‘I ain’t showed you the best bit yet. That outflow down below? That ain’t the river’s source. There’s another canyon on the other side of that hill-fort where two rivers meet, right before they plunge underground, presumably emerging down below us. And I ain’t got the words to describe what’s on the other side of that canyon, so best you just come and see.’

  Jesco pulled a face. ‘I hate mysteries. Just tell me.’

  ‘You just hate waiting,’ Raythe retorted. ‘Vidar, send a runner to fetch Mater Varahana and Rhamp, then we’ll all press on and see this marvellous sight Cal’s promised us.’

  They waited twenty minutes, studying the distant hill-fort and probing Foaley for more information, but he remained tight-lipped. Finally, when Mater Varahana trotted up on a borrowed mount, uncomfortably silent alongside Rhamp on his warhorse, they set off, eager to see what lay ahead. The wind rose as they went, blowing cold in their faces as they crossed the small plain, until they found themselves before another of the poumahi arched gates. This one was sun-bleached to a desiccated silvery-grey, as were the wooden posts that wound in layers about the hill. Within, they saw tumbledown huts, a few intact but most lying open and engulfed by vines and brush. Nesting birds, thankfully the small, winged variety, rose angrily, squawking at the intrusion. The hill fort had clearly been abandoned long ago.

  ‘Mater Varahana, what do you think?’ Raythe asked the priestess.

  ‘This must have been a village of a tribe that served the Aldar,’ she replied. ‘It’s too primitive to be an abandoned Aldar rath. They must’ve died in the Mizra Wars, like their masters.’ She slid from her horse’s back, wincing as she rubbed her bottom, and gazed about. ‘There were many human tribes under the Aldar tyranny, but they all perished when the Mizra Wars precipitated the Ice Age. This is an incredible find.’

  Foaley chuckled. ‘With respect, Mater, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Come with me.’

  Instead of taking them up into the hill-fort, he led them around the hill. The perimeter fence was surprisingly intact, given the enormous passage of time, and they wondered aloud if this tribe had managed somehow to hang on for a while after the Ice Age began. Then they reached a vantage point looking north, and all words died in their mouths.

  As Foaley had reported, the plain ended in another massive canyon behind the hill-fort. Beneath a clearly manmade platform of stone, two rivers converged from the northeast and northwest, meeting in a swirling maelstrom that plunged beneath the ground, almost certainly forming the same river they’d followed upstream to get here. But even that mighty sight was as nothing to what lay across the ravine.

  Two hundred yards across that gulf rose a mountain, its lower slopes covered in stone buildings many times higher than even the tallest spires of Reka-Dovoi, the Bolgravian capital. It wasn’t just the height that made their eyes widen, but their alien beauty: curves and spirals, strange angles and spindle towers apparently wrought of copper and glass. The lower reaches were tangled up with lush vines that caressed the buildings, prised them open, devoured them and buried their bones.

  But the upper levels were clear of the reclaiming tendrils of nature – because, but for massive chains at each point of the compass, the upper reaches, crested by the walls and
towers of a mighty fortress like the crown on a tyrant’s head, floated several hundred yards above the city.

  A floating rock tethered to the earth: a throne from which an Aldar emperor might rule.

  ‘Holy Gerda,’ Mater Varahana croaked. ‘Deo on High.’

  ‘It’s the rath of the last Aldar King,’ Jesco blurted. ‘It’s Rath Argentium, the castle of Vashtariel himself.’

  Jesco may actually be right, Raythe thought wildly, then, There’s no need to test which of those rivers is carrying the istariol: it comes from right over there.

  For a long while, they stood there, speechless, just staring.

  ‘Look at it,’ Raythe said, eventually. ‘We couldn’t have asked for more. We won’t need to make camp: we’ve got a ready-made city to live in, and there’ll be already established mines. This is the answer to all our prayers.’

  *

  Kemara’s cart rolled to a halt in the midst of a celebrating camp. Norrin and Jesco were making music, and those not cooking or putting up tents were clapping their hands and singing along. Mater Varahana was leading her flock in prayer, and everyone was bringing out what little special food they’d hoarded for this moment.

  She was last to arrive, as usual; she’d been treating one of Rhamp’s men, who’d slipped beside the river and broken a leg. Moss Trimble was in his now customary place in the driver’s seat while she rode with the mercenary, a veteran named Miki Brond. He was in severe pain, every bump on the way racking him, so she’d used a lot of her sedating herbs on him.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ she wondered.

  The new camp was in front of a strange hill ringed with ancient wooden palisades and a lot of the poumahi carvings. It looked very like a primitive fort. She chose a campsite beside Lynd Borger, the burly blacksmith, and called ‘What’s happened? Have we found the istariol?’

  ‘Aye, praise Gerda! On t’other side of the hill. Vyre’s been sending for you. He’ll be round there.’ Then he shook his head and added, ‘You won’t believe yer eyes, Healer.’

  She glanced at Moss. ‘Can you see to Miki?’ Her new patient was fully unconscious now, his leg splinted and bound.

  Borger peered into the cart and grunted in amused sympathy. ‘What’d that fool do to hisself?’

  ‘Tried to dance a hornpipe on a slippery rock,’ Moss remarked, gazing about.

  ‘Let me help you get him to ground, then you two go and see,’ Borger offered. ‘T’is only fair, the rest of us’s already seen it. You’ll find half the camp round there; if you see my wife, tell ’er the meal wants cooking.’

  After getting the mercenary into a bedroll and unpacking the basics, now a well-practised routine, Kemara and Trimble walked around the hill, studying it curiously – but when they rounded the final outcropping and saw the ravine, and the ancient and alien city on the far side, they both stopped dead and stared.

  After a moment, Kemara realised that Moss had taken her hand and she’d not even noticed. Nor did she pull away, because she needed someone to hold onto as she took in the towers and spires glinting in the afternoon sun, the thunder of the confluence and the massive, jaw-dropping sight of a whole mountain-top floating above it all, bound by chains with links as big as houses.

  ‘Shansa mor,’ she blurted. ‘It can’t be real.’

  ‘It’s the city of Vashtariel,’ a boy shrieked, as he tore past. ‘I’m King of the Aldar! Rrrr!’

  Kemara looked at Moss’ face, caught in a rare moment of stunned openness. Horror warred with wonder, as if his world couldn’t encompass such a place.

  That was fine – neither could hers. But her heart was thumping and she wanted to see it all, to stand at the summit of the highest tower, right now.

  But it was over there, and she was here – and she was holding hands with a man and she didn’t do that. Firmly, she withdrew her fingers and took a deep breath to steady herself.

  A young girl edged up shyly. ‘Mistress Kemara,’ she said in a worshipful, scared voice, ‘Lord Vyre wishes you to join him at the edge.’ She looked at Kemara and then Moss and giggled, spun and fled.

  Kemara had to suppress an urge to dance. ‘Come on, then, let’s find out what’s happening,’ she said, and made her way, Moss close at her heels, through the amazed travellers, her eyes so fixed on the mountain of buildings opposite that she twice stumbled for not placing her feet securely. At the edge she found a ledge, fenced from the drop by still-intact wooden stakes. Vyre was standing on an elevated mound above and behind the ledge, with Elgus Rhamp, Jesco Duretto, Mater Varahana, Cal Foaley and Vidar Vidarsson already there. She climbed up, Moss with her.

  ‘This is a leaders’ meeting,’ Raythe told her, frowning.

  ‘I trust Moss.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ He fixed Moss with his cool gaze and added, ‘She won’t be long.’

  The sailor’s face went stony, but he tugged his forelock and said, ‘Milord,’ and went back down.

  ‘This isn’t the bloody empire,’ Kemara snapped.

  ‘It’s nothing personal,’ Raythe replied, ‘but this group was selected for specific skills and influence. If he has something we need, I’ll invite him myself.’

  ‘He seems a solid man,’ Sir Elgus commented. ‘Don’t wait for Banno – I’ve got him in charge of setting up camp on the south side. He’s got your daughter helping him. Quite the team, those two.’ He snorted in amusement when Raythe frowned, then asked, ‘Where’s Tami?’

  ‘Haven’t seen her all day,’ Jesco put in. ‘Not since the celebration of the Morfitts’ baby.’

  ‘She’s a law unto herself,’ Varahana said. ‘Perhaps she’s off looking for a way across?’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ Raythe said, making a grand gesture, ‘behold.’ He pointed away to the west.

  They all squinted in the same direction and their elevated position revealed a thin arch catching the light of the afternoon sun and gleaming like the planetary rings.

  ‘Dear Gerda,’ Kemara breathed, ‘is that a bridge?’

  ‘We think so,’ Raythe said, ‘but it’s too late today to find out. Tomorrow, I’ll go there myself.’ They all started to talk and he raised his hand. ‘Remember, this place is centuries old: if it is a bridge, it mightn’t be fully intact – or it might collapse the moment we step onto it.’

  ‘The Aldar built to last,’ Varahana replied, with an almost maternal pride.

  ‘They didn’t last themselves, though, did they?’ Kemara noted, more to burst Raythe’s bubble than in genuine pessimism. In truth, she felt utterly exhilarated. After all she’d been through, this impossible dream might be about to come true.

  ‘You’re right,’ Raythe replied, ‘but I think we’re all glad they’re gone: who’d want a mizra-wielding witch-queen in our path, after all?’ he added, fixing her with a ‘let’s play nicely’ look.

  Oh, to be a mizra-wielding witch-queen, she thought.

  ‘For now, we’ll camp where we are,’ Vyre went on, ‘and tomorrow we’ll investigate the bridge. And everyone? Congratulations! We’ve been through a lot, but we’ve arrived.’

  He made a point of shaking hands with them all, leaving Kemara to last and murmuring, ‘A word before you go.’

  While she waited, she gazed at the extraordinary vista, wondering how many people once dwelt there. Did they see the end coming? Did they all perish at once, or slowly die out? Were their bodies still lying there, old bones locked in the past? What ghosts stalked the ruins?

  Momentarily, she opened up to Buramanaka, and was stricken by a wave of grief and fury that was so devastating that she shut the link back down instantly. But it was enough to confirm that this was indeed Rath Argentium, the legendary centre of Aldar power.

  Finally, they were alone, though Moss still waited below, out of earshot.

  ‘Kemara,’ Vyre said, ‘now we’re here, you and I have to start practising that meld, as agreed. We’ve not managed a single session’ – he held up a placatory hand to cut off her retort – ‘and that
’s as much my fault as yours. But we’re here now, and it’s a priority.’

  It was fair. ‘Of course,’ she conceded.

  ‘Do you have your familiar under control?’

  The honest answer was that she wasn’t sure. Her first mizra familiar had been a challenge, but Buramanaka was another thing altogether, a prince of his kind. But she didn’t want to admit her fears. ‘I’m not going to go mad and kill us all, though some days it’s tempting.’

  Raythe gave her a ‘don’t joke about it’ look. ‘I’m trusting in that meld we shared. I firmly believe we’re going to need that kind of power again when we re-emerge into the world.’

  ‘So while I’m useful to you, you’ll suspend judgement? Am I supposed to feel grateful?’

  ‘That’s entirely up to you. But it’s a secret, you hear? You guard it with your life. Not even Zarelda can know.’ He glanced down at the waiting Moss Trimble. ‘And no pillow-talk.’

  ‘There’s nothing—’ She coloured. ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘It’s not even Mater Varahana’s business – you’re still a Novate, remember.’

  ‘I think we both know I’ll never take full vows: I can hardly become a full Sister now, can I?’

  ‘Then you should formalise that,’ Raythe told her.

  He was right again, damn him. ‘I guess I should.’ Her days of needing Church shelter were over anyway. Everyone knew her as a sorceress now.

  ‘I’m sure Varahana will understand,’ he said in a surprisingly conciliatory voice. ‘Come, let’s get back round to the camp, so I can address everyone and tell them what’s what.’

  *

  Banno and Zar were just about the last to see this fabled sight across the canyon. His father had left him in charge of the Rhamp camping site and the tasks were endless – siting the tents and feed-troughs, setting out cooking fires and ablution trenches and myriad lesser decisions – and all the while he had to listen to everyone else marvelling at what they’d seen. Zar helped him, but it still took for ever.

  Finally, though, his father returned and took pity on him. ‘Off you go, lad,’ he said with gruff good humour, waving for his chief henchmen, Crowfoot and Bloody Thom, to join him for another conference. ‘Take Vyre’s daughter and go and see it for yourself.’