by Kamilla Reid
Root returned her survey to the rest of the interior where towering pillars seemed to dwell in random plots. From them were draped exquisite fabrics in colors she’d never seen before. Unearthly colors. Angel colors. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished in long, elegant benches gilded and plushed in gold. White furs lay across the floor. Root took a long, deep breath. Sweet scents of rose fell into her lungs. And then she noticed the true soul and breath of this place. From every corner of the eye, the passion and fury of the old woman was proclaimed in paintings. Glorious dripping, thick, aching, endless paintings. On walls, in corners, rolled or otherwise. Assembled along the floor and in the arms of easels. Hundreds of incredible works of art.
Near an enormous ivory fireplace, carved masterfully of roses the Sage Mother sat upon a humble pile of jeweled pillows. She smiled and with a ring-laden hand gestured Root closer.
“Oomwee” she said and Fawn repeated. “Welcome.”
A plump cushion, seamed in sapphires and emeralds was provided for their guest while Fawn fetched tea. Root and the Sage Mother were left with silent, nodding smiles and a chasm of unfamiliar words.
In stolen moments, Root couldn’t help but stare for the Sage Mother was a marvel to be sure. Her hair twinkled in powdery pinks and blues as it came to rest on the parquet floor. She was draped in shimmering mother of pearl shades and this was trimmed in deeper toned jewels of ruby and jade. Diamonds seemed to have been sprinkled over her head and now glittered from the folds of hair as she moved. He face was beautifully aged with millions of happy moments etched into the lines. And though her eyes spoke endlessly, her voice was silent. And so Root fumbled a bit and tried to smile and pressed her pajamas as neat as she could until eventually all she could do was say “These paintings. They’re amazing. Where’d you get them all?”
“They are the work of the Sage Mother. They are her visions.” Fawn had reappeared and kneeled beside the old woman.
“Her visions? You mean like she paints what she…like, the…”
“The future, yes. And as you can see, she knew you were coming.” Fawn pointed to a painting behind Root. Root turned and started at the sight of herself in its centre.”
“You need not fear. It is a vision is all. You’ll find no danger.”
“She did all of these?”
“Yes.”
“Woah.” Root craned around and stared, her mouth hinged open.
“Ah…varlay sulest!” The Sage Mother laughed in a deep, chesty escape.
Fawn repeated. “She says you are most lovely.”
Root blushed. “Thank you. She is, too”
Fawn interpreted Root’s words to the Sage Mother.
And so it went happily on until at last they came to the reason of Root’s invitation. Root couldn’t even fathom what she was of interest to this great mystic. And the answer was most unexpected.
“The Sage Mother is most pleased by your dress. It is a material she has never known before and she would like to know from where you got it.”
“What? These? My pajamas?” Root stood, pinching them out from her in disbelief. Fashion tips? She’d been brought here for fashion tips? And then she swelled with pride. “Well, actually I made them myself!” She beamed.
On Fawn’s interpretation the Sage Mother’s eyes widened. “Uma?”
How?
“Well, it’s a bit complicated. You see I designed it but it was my friend’s mum who actually made it…but we didn’t use normal material. We just kinda imagined it.”
The more Root tried to explain the Hemostylus the more confusing it seemed to be. And yet now both the Sage Mother and Fawn’s eyes were wide with curiosity. Root decided it’d be best to show them than try to explain it. It was a risk, she knew but there was something about the old woman that she trusted. She pulled out the long, ebony reed, which by sheer good fortune she’d managed to snag when Lian cleaned out the travel pack.
“Koowarden?”
“It looks to be an instrument of writing.” Fawn replied to the old woman.
Root was confused. Could not the old woman see that for herself?
“She is blind.” Fawn said after Root’s expression.
“Blind? But how can she paint?”
“She can See you she just can’t see you. It is more sensory.”
“But all these paintings…”
“Yes, amazing isn’t it?”
“And yet, my Hemostylus, she can’t see…?”
“It’s of a frequency her Sight is not familiar with. She will adjust momentarily. You may continue.”
“Do you have paper?” Root asked
Fawn led them to a large marble desk from which she retrieved a loose stack of parchment. The old woman knew her desk well. She took to its matching chair and slid with years of habit into a welcome rut of function.
Standing beside her, Root flattened the parchment and poised the pen. “I’m a lousy drawer but could probably manage a scarf.”
But the old woman reached out her hand.
And found the Hemostylus.
19
THE OCULUS eye
Lian gasped.
Bling everywhere. Umpteen scads of Bling. Umpteen scads of Bling squared.
“Wo…oa…oah”
How could it even be described? There’s the ocean. And then there’s the ocean filled to utter capacity with treasure. An undulating amassment of glittering, sparkling gold with rubies, emeralds, diamonds, vases, goblets, rings and necklaces riding its waves.
Lian’s knees were itching to fall, like the pirate who finds his booty at last. And as his eyes adjusted, the impulse doubled. They were in some sort of colossal rotunda lit by orbs that aimlessly floated about flickering in the faces of golden cups and jeweled ornamentals. And in the proud eyes of the Ekladian leader himself. Festa put his finger to his mouth and gestured behind his young guest. There, Lian saw two people, a young woman and an old man sitting at what looked to be potter’s wheels. But it was not clay they were spinning. It was gold. Gold that forged expertly in their hands, taking on their visions with wizard ease. A third goldsmith sat on the floor nestled in a hill of Topaz. His eyes were deeply concentrated on a design half etched into a gleaming object of white gold. Beside him a mass of uncut amethyst lay in conceptual waiting.
“You like what you see?” Festa shone.
“Like? Like is hardly the word. This is…this is nifty and a half!” Lian cried.
“And yet, your eyes are seeking, boy. What is it you are wanting?”
Festa’s intuition and skill for reading others earned him the obvious. He was right, of course. Though a part of Lian, a largely fiscal part was quite satisfied in ogling the magnificent Ekladian creations of beauty, he’d come for the things that stirred his blood, the legendary Ekladian feats of nature.
Festa grabbed two orbs and handed one to Lian. “Come.”
He led them back to the door where once again a whispered password prompted the blue blades to unlace.
The fresh morning light was a blinding contrast to the end car’s interior but it was not long before Festa was whispering at the doorway of another caravan car, another world.
“Festa the Bright!”
Shshshstiiiiiing. The Brine Demon’s validation.
Festa gestured and followed his guest in.
Here Lian’s eyes saucered. After the dim glow of the Ekladian treasure car, he was now amazed to find himself in a huge, bright chamber of clean, bleached wood with a massive cubical ceiling of diffused light. Here a handful of men and women worked tirelessly over the objects of their obsession. Lian knew immediately that this was where great inventing took place and he felt a slight pang. Skubblenob would have loved this, he thought. Indeed, with the sparks and pings and quiet rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrings of tiny engines and gadgets and strange tools, this was more than true. Skubblenob would have surely given up the ghost for a mere foot through the door.
Festa led Lian to a man with thick goggles and wispy grey hair. He
seemed to be trying to catch his latest invention, a collection of dolls in a glowing block of light. There were five dolls in total, all males with radically colored hair, leather outfits and platform shoes. They looked mean, the lot of them and yet vaguely familiar to Lian. They were close to escape when Festa snatched them with one hand and returned them to the goggled, wispy haired man.
“Ah, Festa, thank you, my friend. They are becoming a bit too independent.” The man carefully took his dolls and placed them kicking and screaming into a round silver box with a glass lid.
“A tress-mite if you don’t mind, Festa.”
“Not at all.” Festa grabbed a long, corkscrew like utensil from the man’s table and handed it to him.
“Much obliged!” the man said and began an intricate procedure on the box.
“Grangen is working on what he calls a Muse-ical.” Festa explained to Lian.
“Aha! Gotcha!” Grangen held up the now empty box in victory. Festa nodded to the inventor who was all too eager to enlighten the curious young boy at his side.
“The Muse-ical is, in short, your very own traveling band, packaged for easy mobility.”
Lian lit up. Traveling band! That was it! Those dolls weren’t dolls, they were The Vermin Minstrels! Or at least replicas of the Vermin Minstrels. Pretty good replicas… rotten attitude and all.
On Lian’s wide-eyed expression Grangen took an excited breath and turned over the silver box. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Um …well, I really liked your music last night.” Lian offered excitedly.
“Excellent!” The man pulled a handful of long, square glass sticks from his pocket. “Ah, here we are…Ekladian…” He put the rest of the glass sticks on the table and, holding the silver box in his other hand, found a square hole along its side. He slipped the Ekladian stick in and set the whole thing down…keeping his fingers crossed.
The silver box flickered and made a few zapping noises before emitting a wide shaft of red light from its glass roof. The inventor, preserved in his childlike smile and expectant eyes raised his crossed fingers as if to say ‘this is it…get ready…isn’t this so exciting…any second now!’
His surety paid off, for moments later the beam of light warped and swerved and things began to take shape within it…heads, legs…instruments. When a complete miniature of musicians was achieved, the red light faded into to a soft golden beam, shot out from the box and landed a few feet away. There it pulsated a bit and jostled around with a few awkward blackouts until eventually what stood before them was an entire full sized troupe of Ekladian musicians.
“Requests?” the Bandleader said.
“Green are the Hills!” shouted a delighted Festa. At once the musicians kicked in. It was all-out hall party loud and Grangen had to adjust the volume on the box before anyone could talk. Lian was floored. This was amazing! Oh how he wished his friends could see this! Especially Dwyn. Dwyn would die for one of these!
Aside from a few wrinkles and the occasional offbeat of the drummer here and there, Grangen was pleased. Around them the other inventors stopped to enjoy the music with clapping and dancing. But before anyone could get too carried away, and to Lian’s great relief, before the over eager lady in the corner could reach him for a do si do, the Muse-ical began to stress. The Vermin Minstrels returned, flashing in and out and not enjoying it one bit. And then the Ekladians were put off by the intrusion and a fight almost broke out. It was here that Grangen pulled the glass stick, sending the animated light, musicians and all back into its silver box.
“Just a few wrinkles. Won’t be long.” He smiled.
Festa was pleased. He spent the interim proudly introducing Lian to the rest of the inventing team before steering him away with an affectionate pat on the back. “Come.” He said and soon they were facing the door of another caravan car.
Inside this one they were met with the banging and hammering of carpenters. And again they were working in complete opposition to the car’s actual size. Indeed these workers were actually outside while they were inside and, fully advantaged by fresh air and ample space, they were building another caravan car altogether! It boggled Lian’s mind.
And yet with this, the third car of the Ekladian caravan being still the tip of the iceberg, they moved on.
From here a pyramidal chamber full of the finest textiles Lian had ever seen, all placed upon a complex treadmill of shelving that spiraled the room like a rollercoaster. In a distant corner Lian spied the very same Wesh fibre that had become their magical cloaks. All this was lit by a grand tier of crystal chandeliers, each one larger than the other as they cascaded from the ceiling toward them. The white marbled floor, strewn with loose cuttings and fabrics and nests of thread positively hummed of magical seamsters. From these would come the garmentry of royalty and other such wondrous creations ordered from every corner of DréAmm.
Oh but then…jackpot! The Green car! The luscious, luscious green car! Carpeted in flowering vines, fresh and heavy with dew, the green car was the pith of the ‘berg, most definitely. At least according to Lian who thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
Festa had led from the door of this smallest car into the most incredible paradise Lian could have ever fathomed. To his right, a sun-loved parade of orchards spangled in blushed fruits and heavy, oil rich nuts. Beside these, rows and rows and rows of vegetables with roots plunged in a delicious, lusty earth sprung forth with sprays and tufts and fronds and stalks of purple, green, red, white and on and on.
To Lian’s left…holy kamoly! There it was. The mother lode. The Natruid Nursery. A veritable smorgasbord of invention!
Lian lifted his head and closed his eyes. His ears went golden in the sound. Pffft and mmmmmm and squirm and tick. Nature. Growing. Aaaaaaahhhh…Heaven had just met earth.
And when he opened his eyes he saw that the delightful buddings and shoots moved as well. Some grew to enormous size and shrunk into tiny squares. Some throbbed. Some whimpered in heaps, some blasted out all means of gas and some craned to see him better. All of nature’s latest, most of which had yet to find names.
Lian’s heart ached in joy. And yet there was even more! From here the Sanctorum. Oh, the Sanctorum! Shelved and piled with all things Lian. He took to its offerings as a toddler let loose upon the playground. His eyes darted from one novelty to another and when Festa gave permission for him to touch he looked like he might pee in excitement.
He trembled as he lifted what looked to be a giant russet colored ball of rubber. Its skin was lumpy and moist, like it had a serious case of acne.
“Oculus.” Festa stated. “Allows one the ability to watch over things while away. It’s made from Inklapo…”
“Inklapodis, of course.” Lian interrupted as he recognized the texture. “Which gives it Spy properties.”
“Very good” Festa was impressed. “One of our greatest ancestors, my grandmother’s grandmother spent most of her life on this one master creation. Behold...”
Festa scooped the large ball from Lian’s hands. “Grava!” he said and at once it peeled open into five wide petals. Fat, like tongues. The petals were dimpled all over with great white bumps. A smaller dimplier ball rested in the centre. This ball had a wide hole on top, indicating that it was hollow.
“We use it often when we are working inside the cars to keep an eye on what approaches the caravan.” Festa held up the Oculus. “Surveillance!”
Lian watched the small lumpy globe in the centre twitch. Its dark hollow changed to sky blue and then a film of light crossed the opening and he saw the whole of the caravan, at least fifty cars. People were coming and going and the livestock hadn’t seemed to move an inch from where last left. The Oculus’ vision floated along surrounding trees and waters, taking in anything of interest.
“Wow! That is amazing!” Lian said.
“That’s nothing…” Festa’s eyes twinkled.
Soon he was taking Lian on a magical safari through ages of nature and creation, loadin
g him up with wares, each one surpassing the other in wonder. By the time they reached the end, Lian had practically doubled his size and weight in the collection of goodies. He positively beamed with lottery winning eyes.
Festa gave him another fatherly pat on the back. “One more stop.” He said and a few minutes later Lian was facing the door to the tribe leader’s very own car.
It was of the same frame as all the others, but by now Lian had come to expect otherwise. He was not disappointed. From the moment they passed its threshold they were swept into the extraordinary renown of the tribe leader’s grand hall. Here they turned left and, passing by two Ekladian guards entered Festa’s personal chamber. It was an enormous room, exalted in furs and tapestries, brightly lit by a windowed wall that opened onto a magnificent vista of ocean and white cliffs. The whole of the room was furnished in oversized slabs of Blackwood. Even the fireplace was an ebony, larger-than-life beast. And it smelled of salt water and earth and sweat all mixed together. It was a man’s den.
It made Lian feel very not-quite-manly-enough. Conspicuously unwhiskered and soapy.
“Sit.” Festa said. He gestured to a chair and sat opposite.
Lian set his goods down and tried to fill the masculine seat but it was like placing a doll on a giant’s knee. His feet were left dangling. He felt like a little kid in the hot seat.
Thankfully Festa didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he was very good at hiding his amusement. As a matter of fact he looked rather serious just now as he eyed Lian. “And now,” he said dryly, “tell me. What treasures have you to do business with?”
Lian suddenly felt very, very panicked. His throat went chalky dry while his hands went humiliatingly damp. He tried to think of what measly things he could offer of the few things he’d grabbed from the camp, but there was nothing in league with the Ekladian standard.
At last he hauled in some breath. “Please forgive me, sir. I see now I was deluded in thinking I had anything worthy with which to trade. The Ekladian masters have humbled me. I…I am not deserving of your time.”
