He would have gone on, but the woman's eyes snapped open and a pair of green eyes, the brightest the boys had ever seen, went round the group and settled on Kirpar. After a moment he simply nodded. The Teller turned and taking Tariska's hands in hers, right in left and left in right, murmured words to her so low the others could not hear. The girl closed her eyes and sat relaxed, knee to knee, hand in hand. The Teller's eyes closed also and a long silence began. It went on and on, until the boys felt they could hardly breathe.
The Teller's eyes opened again and in a commanding voice she said "There is one here who hinders me." Her piercing gaze sent a ripple around her audience as it ranged slowly from face to face. Berin felt himself shrink in fear as it settled on him. It moved on and rested on Caldar.
"Send the boy out."
Caldar felt the dismissal as if spoken directly in his mind; he turned and went before the others could react. Outside in the garden he walked blindly round a corner and collapsed to sit with his back to the house wall in the cool dark. Shock and weariness made him feel quite shaky, while his emotional turmoil was increasing every second. Coming on top of his earlier sharp loneliness he felt the hurt of being singled out and sent away like a wound. Caldar knew about fighting lonely battles, he had spent much of life building his inner defences; today they had been breached for the first time in many a long year. He wanted to cry and he wanted to shout with anger. In the end he did neither: tugged uncontrollably this way and that by waves of emotion, he went to sleep.
In the house Hamdrim put a large hand on Berin's shoulder to stop him from following his friend and then went quietly out himself. By the time he came across the small figure slumped in a dark corner, Caldar was asleep: Hamdrim sighed and settled down to wait. The Telling would have started by now and he would cause another disturbance by going back in. He had wanted to hear it, but Kirpar could tell him later.
In the room the red-haired woman closed her eyes again after Caldar had gone. She had never moved. The silence was very long this time. Then both pairs of eyes opened together and the same powerful voice spoke.
"You will travel far ……. far beyond the lands of your people."
Silence.
"Hardship and great danger await you and those near to you ……….. danger from many sources ………. yet the greatest of all you will bring to pass yourself."
Another silence. The Teller's face remained serene.
"The place of your power will be in a land of shadows and the place of your utmost fear at the edge of the world ……. your eyes will turn to the darkness before your light can burn bright for all to see."
Silence. Very long this time.
"When you imprison what you love the most, remember that this cage can only be opened from the inside.”
Silence again and then.
“They will seek to spend your blessing ….. but you will ….be …."
The speaker's face was unchanged, but her breast was labouring now and the words would hardly come. Then her eyes closed, and on a great intake of breath, she shuddered and spoke as if in pain, "Oh, my little one". She released Tariska's hands and lowered her head for a long moment. So long that her audience began to wonder if it was all over. But not one of them dared to move.
At last, still looking down, the Teller said quietly "In a true Telling I am required to speak of all things I see except death. With that I can choose to speak or not at my will. But there are things more powerful than death." She raised her head again to look into Tariska's eyes, her own green eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I will tell you. You will have choices to make deeper than life or death. Sorrows beyond comprehension. Love that has power beyond the grave. When all seems lost, hold fast to what you love, for it is your destiny to give life to the limitless future." Then she smiled, a little sadly; "Freedom can be a cruel master, little one."
With that, she stood up abruptly, looked about her and said in a bright voice "Where is the boy? Bring him to me"
As Berin went off to find Caldar the family broke up into little groups, each talking among themselves with growing animation.
"What an extraordinary Telling!"
"I've never heard the like!"
"They shouldn't have these seances any more: it's all superstition and it upsets everyone."
"Makes it sound as though Tikka will really be somebody important, doesn't it?"
"All that about danger, it sounded awful to me: why didn’t she say something useful, like how many children she’s going to have."
And so on. They had all been disturbed by the Telling and talking was the best way to get back to normal.
Kirpar walked slowly up behind the girl who sat with her head bowed as if exhausted. When he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder she leaned her head against his arm without looking up and said in a small voice, "Oh Father, what shall I do?"
Kneeling down Kirpar enfolded her in his arms, saying quietly "There is nothing for you to do in that way, my love. Live your life without fear. I have great trust in you. Now come." He drew her to her feet, "You won't make anything clearer by brooding. Let's walk in the garden."
The Teller had been watching the pair of them, her eyes warm. As Kirpar walked past her he paused for a moment and with a grave inclination of his head said "Thank you, Jedorje". An unspoken question seemed to pass between them and then he went on, apparently satisfied with her small nod. Tariska never raised her eyes as they passed.
Berin and Hamdrim appeared in the doorway moments later and behind them came Caldar, his face set and wary. He slowed down at the sight of the Teller, but came closer when she beckoned.
She studied him for an instant, and then laughed out loud, joyous and vibrant. "Well, well! Two bright birds in one tree. Whatever next. Don't be frightened of Jedorje, my lad. I'm only a humble Teller, whatever stories you might hear."
She winked as if sharing a huge joke. Her laughter and her voice reached in and touched Caldar’s guarded heart, washing away both his hurt and his defences like sand. He found himself grinning in response, and even Hamdrim's thoughtful expression was overlaid with a half-smile.
"I'm sorry, but I had no choice in sending you away. Sometimes there are things which make the Telling impossible. But don't worry, it's nothing sinister, it's my fault. Now I'll give you a couple of valuable predictions for free to make amends."
The nearest members of the family pricked up their ears at the word 'predictions' and strained to eavesdrop more intently. The Teller closed her eyes and looked serious.
"I see you going on a journey up and up into the mountains, where you’ll find a huge number of four-legged horned beasts whose dung fills the valleys and whose farts make the mountains tremble." Her sparkling eyes opened, and smiling at his expression, she went on, "I foretell that you’re going to have a wonderful time up at the Rails and that you’ll do the opposite of what you're told on several occasions. Yes, I think I'm fairly safe with both of those." She took the boys by one hand each, bent quickly forward and kissed each cheek in turn. "Remember Jedorje. We’ll meet again." Then she turned them around and gave them a little push towards the garden.
Caldar and Berin emerged to a starry sky, feeling cheerful. The mood stayed with them, even when Hamdrim made them help in carrying away tables and benches from the garden where a number of guests still sat around, the hardy survivors who looked as though they were settling down to a night of serious drinking. Eventually excitement gave way to tiredness and they slowed down more and more, until Hamdrim announced that they had better go to bed before they came to a dead stop. Again Caldar got into his blankets with his head buzzing with the day's events; but this time it was he who fell asleep instantly and Berin who stayed awake.
Berin was an intelligent boy. The evening’s events had roused his protective instincts towards his friend and sleep would not come. After a while he could lie still no longer. He dressed quickly, checked Caldar's sleeping form, and stole out to find Hamdrim. He was not among the few reveller
s left in the garden, so Berin went up to the lighted windows of the house to see if he was inside. Sure enough, Hamdrim's familiar tones came from the nearest open casement. Berin turned towards the doorway, but he stopped at the next words he heard and went slowly back into the darkness by the window.
"It was a lucky chance sent you this way, Hamdrim.” It was Jedorje's voice. “I can’t even guess who this man Kulkin is, but now that I’ve seen the boy I can tell you there’s certainly something unusual there. Take care of him. I fear he may attract danger, before he has the strength to defend himself."
"Defend himself against what, Jedorje? It's impossible to be on guard against the whole world.” Hamdrim sounded bewildered. “And why would anyone want to harm him? He’s just an ordinary lad."
"Maybe he is," the Teller replied. "Maybe my concern’s unnecessary. But I’ve learned well enough in my own life that those with a gift have good reason to be wary: it can draw unwanted attention. What kind of gift? Well, we’ll see. Anyway he should be safe enough at the Rails, and from what you say, his life at Taccen's is a quiet one. Tariska too, Kirpar. It sounds foolish to say ‘protect your daughter’ when you already do your best; but keep her safe as long as you can. If I’ve seen it right, her life will be full of danger soon enough.”
There was a silence. Then Kirpar's deep voice spoke from just inside the window. "You think Taccen and Lazalis are too protective of the lad, don’t you, Ham?”
The quick answer was too low for Berin to hear.
Then Kirpar continued. “Well, you’ve heard Jedorje’s opinion already and I agree with her. I know the Easterleng’s peaceful enough. But we’ve talked this over before and you know as well as I do that things have been changing these last few years. We haven’t had a real war in Esparan for centuries. Now we've got the next best thing going on just over the mountains, with the Borogoi pushing up to the edge of the Grasslands and raiding beyond Graxi. Who’s first in line if those devils come through the mountains again? We are, right here at East End. And no one knows if the Hamna would help us this time. I mean no criticism of your people, Jedorje, it’s just that we never see them.”
“The clans would come.” Hamdrim’s response was immediate.
“I don’t doubt it for a minute, Ham. You’d have those long swords down off the walls at the first hint of trouble. But as a peace-loving Espar, I have to say I hope it never happens. Anyway I thought Tariska would be safer away from here at Law School in Suntoren for a few years. Now I’m not even sure of that any more. South Lake always was full of foreigners, but I really don't like some of the stories coming out of Suntoren now. People can sense there’s a storm coming and down there they’re feeling the first ripples already. I hear the last Grand Caravan westbound was nearly two months late in Sand City. Neither side’s openly broken the Highway Treaty yet, but for how much longer, eh?
All I’m saying, Ham, is that these aren’t normal times. Even if you’re right and we’re talking about ordinary children here, we can’t take their safety for granted the way we always have. The world’s a more dangerous place than ever it was in my childhood. Or yours.”
“Come on, Kirpar.” Hamdrim sounded almost amused. “This war’s been brewing for years: it may never happen and we’re not involved anyway. Meantime you’re reading a lot into a bunch of rumours. No offence, Jedorje: I didn’t mean the Telling. But the rest of it sounds like tavern talk.”
There was a short pause. It was Kirpar who spoke first.
“I know danger’s always been meat and drink to the clans, Ham. But not this kind, it’s got a bad feel. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not really the war. But take this Kulkin. What sort of people would want to get their hands on a gifted child and use him? And for what? We’ve no idea."
Footsteps sounded inside the room. Berin shrank back further into the shadow as a hand reached out and abruptly pulled the window shut. After a minute or two of fright, he edged back near the glass; but he could hear no more words, just the murmur of voices. Frustrated, he put his ear as near the window as he dared. Still nothing clear. In the end he had to give up, and went slowly to bed.
Chapter 3
The Terrechar name has long carried that certain glamour acquired by ancient horrors which men can safely assume to be gone, never to return. What used to be utterly terrifying is in the process of becoming a comfortable part of the folklore of the western world, and in time will turn into pure legend and children’s fables.
Santiggi the Elder. Origins and history of The Empire
Empire: Belugor Province
The smoking rushlights raised a dull gleam from the wet flags, but left much of the tavern in darkness. Just the place he’d expect a criminal to choose, Rezzawa thought, his nose wrinkling at the pervasive reek of sweat and cheap drink. At one time he would have felt completely at home here, but that was a long way behind him now and he took no pleasure in revisiting his past. The two huge ruffians getting raucously drunk near the stairs were his own men and there were others outside. As someone who dealt in death the Belugi knew the risks and had no intention of ending up with his throat cut in a cheap alehouse.
One of the giants gave the secret signal for ‘all safe’ and Rezzawa went slowly up the stairs. Tchalit was waiting in the passage above with a proper lantern to guide him into the windowless meeting room, occupied only by Birost, his other bodyguard. Without a word Birost moved past them to stand outside the open door.
“The stairs are the only access. Three other rooms on this passage. Whore next to us - I told her to spend the night elsewhere. And two bedrooms opposite, empty, I paid the landlord for them. The lads will bring the mark up when he comes and guard the stairs.”
An excellent precise planner, Tchalit, who made his master feel very secure. Brawn was easy to come by: even skilled bladesmen like Birost were cheap. Tchalit was deadly with a knife too, but it was his brain which was so valuable.
Rezzawa walked round the table and eased his bulk into the largest chair, wondering for the tenth time why on earth he had insisted on meeting this man face-to-face. Curiosity? He was certainly curious about these resurrected Terrechar, everyone was. And it was an unbelievable amount of money to be handing over on a blind contract: when it came to the point, he just couldn’t do it. The main reason of course was anger. He could feel it now, barely held in check by his professional training, but right there waiting to boil out.
He was being dismissed as second-rate. Thirty years in the trade, from street thief to debt collector and on to Patron of the largest Friendly Company in the Empire, and they thought him inadequate. In what way? Body count? He’d lost tally of the number of removals his Company had carried out, some of them as far away as Dendria and Tarkus, several of them on behalf of this same client, and all without a whisper of complaint.
Did they think he couldn’t take on such high-ranking targets? Hah, if they only knew! He’d named one of his most prominent victims to the Quezma agent, but the po-faced bastard hadn’t even blinked. Just gone right on saying he’d pay Rezzawa his full normal death fee for just setting up each contract, but it had to be Terrechar who carried them out.
It had been a waste of time telling him the real Terrechar didn’t exist any more, the old legend was being exploited by a band of clever killers, Rezzawa would do a better job himself for a quarter of the money. The man didn’t even listen. Just said, “Shall I find someone else to set it up? There are eleven names on this list.” Eleven death fees was a lot of money and the Patron had swallowed his indignation.
Outside the door Birost turned his head, trying to catch again the tiny sound that had touched the limit of his hearing. He stared along the short shadowed passage-way, holding his breath in the intensity of his concentration. There it was again. Somewhere along there. The two doorways on the other side showed as dark spaces in the gloom. He slowly drew his long stabbing knife, signalling to Tchalit to stay back and wait. This was his gift, dealing with sudden violence, and he revelled in i
t. He catfooted the short distance to the first door, then waited, all his attention in his ears.
Nothing. Then something moved. Scratch..scratch..so faint he could hardly hear it over the beating of his own heart. Not this room. The next one. He took a firm grip on the razor-sharp knife and waved Tchalit to come up behind him with the lantern. It was a move they had made so often nothing needed to be said. Even as the shuttered lantern threw the light ahead of him into the mean little room, Birost slid in past the door frame, every sense taut for instant action. In the centre of the floor the mouse stared, hypnotized by the light, then darted off as the bladesman laughed.
Rezzawa was reassured to hear a low chuckle from Tchalit who was bringing the lantern back along the passage. Then he started in alarm. As the light flowed back into the meeting room, a sinister black mask swam out of the darkness in front of him. A moment later, to his enormous relief, Tchalit was at his side, with Birost bulking large in the doorway.
Even in the lantern light Tchalit could make out little of the seated figure. A black cloak, a mask of some material so dark it seemed to soak up the light, and a body as relaxed and alert as any cat. He could sense Birost tensing at the overt challenge and signalled to him to stay back. This man had already outwitted them, Tchalit had no idea how, and he was impressed. Now it was time to regain the initiative. Unfortunately he had reckoned without his employer.
Rezzawa’s fear had quickly been replaced by anger, fuelled by the amusement he imagined he saw in the dark eyes regarding him across the table. With an effort he held it down. There would be time later to teach this charlatan not to play games. First to business. He spoke before Tchalit had a chance to intervene.
“You have identification?”
“No.” The mask and the eyes never moved.
“You expect me to hand over ten thousand Imperials without proof of who I’m dealing with.”
The Tears of Sisme Page 6
