by Katy Winter
She waited quietly while the landlord listened to the mage order for her. Mine host's eyes took in the three strangers with frank inquisitiveness, his attitude and looks reminding Autoc vividly of the genial Josh in Ortok. He felt a wave of grief touch him and dismissed it abruptly when the man withdrew to fill the order. The mage lounged back, his eyes roving round the room. Anyone who met his glance looked down hastily, because no one wished to cause offence by staring.
When the landlord brought out full dishes, bread and brimming tankards, he set them down, saying affably, "You're a long way from home, aren't you?" Jaim looked up surprised.
"No," he replied, pulling over a dish and sniffing appreciatively.
"Nay, not you," grinned the landlord. "You two," he added, gesturing at the mage and Chlorien.
"Yes," agreed Autoc amiably, "we are."
"Where are you from then, stranger?"
"A long way southeast of here, from a place called Samar," Autoc answered, beginning to eat with relish.
"The boy's got unusual looks, hasn't he?"
"Have you, son?" asked Autoc, with a note of mirth in his deep voice. Chlorien looked reprovingly at him, though there was a twinkle in her eyes.
"Yes, Father, so everyone says," she agreed.
"Ah, your lad, is he?" The question was directed at the mage.
"Yes," replied Autoc, with his mouth full. "And no, he looks like his mam, and yes, he'll probably be as tall as me at full growth." The landlord was unabashed.
"We just don't see many travellers these days," he mumbled, still grinning, "so a lad so different stands out. His mam, as you call her, stranger, must be an uncommon beautiful woman."
"Aye, she is," agreed Autoc mendaciously, taking another mouthful and aware of Jaim's reprehensibly shaking shoulders. He noticed Chlorien had her lower lip firmly gripped between her teeth.
"Are you planning on a stay, stranger?" Autoc glanced up with a smile.
"Call me Schol, my son's Lorien and his uncle by marriage is Jaim." As the landlord gave a little bow, the mage's eyes briefly met the Gnosti's. Jaim hadn't missed his sudden change of familial status and neither, he thought, had Chlorien, who stared fixedly at Autoc before she resumed eating. Jaim thought the change eminently sensible in an area well known to the Gnosti. He heard the mage add, "Yes, we'd like to rest awhile, if you have spare rooms." The landlord's grin grew.
"I'm Jesh," he announced, "and aye, Schol, we can give you rooms for as long as you like."
"It'll be a very long stay," muttered Jaim, looking up from his plate, "if you keep feeding us fare like this, man. It's excellent."
"Fairly good, ain't it?" agreed Jesh. "My daughter does the cooking."
With that the landlord took himself off to serve another customer. The mage grinned affectionately at Chlorien and she smiled ruefully back. She wasn't tense he noticed. Jaim concentrated on his food.
~~~
Their stay was tranquil and pleasant. Autoc took Chlorien fishing where, more often than not, they translated, travelling long distances in all directions and then returning to hastily catch fish Jesh could have cooked for them. Jaim entertained himself carving. For him it was a relaxing pursuit. He could carve in any medium, the mage and Chlorien returning to find him seated quietly on the verandah, pipe in mouth, and hands skilfully working a knife that whittled and chipped at fascinating speed.
Sometimes Chlorien squatted beside him, silently watching as he took a piece of wood, or marble, and slowly changed its shape. One afternoon, he gave her a delightful wooden dragon that he had fashioned as a brooch. She was wordless with pleasure and always wore it next to the brooch the scholar gave her so long ago in Ortok. She never removed either one. They were small but delicate pieces she treasured.
Mine host was considerate and unremittingly cheerful and obliging. He fed them well and didn't intrude. The local people in this sleepy hamlet grew used to seeing the dark-haired boy wander around and ceased to remark on his appearance. Jesh's daughter, Kesli, took a very strong fancy to Chlorien which caused her some uneasy moments.
Kesli was a short, stocky lass with a head of thick copper hair, hazel eyes, a decidedly kissable mouth, and a reputation for never having her advances refused. Her favours had been well distributed throughout the neighbourhood, so her determined pursuit of Chlorien came as no surprise to anyone. It merely caused amused comment.
She began to waylay Chlorien with excuses that became less and less plausible. Chlorien found herself in a fix. She knew she couldn't be totally indifferent because that wouldn't appear normal in a youth her age. She decided on flirtation, followed by nonchalant disinterest, all of which had the opposite effect from that desired, because it brought a sparkle to Kesli's eyes and was interpreted as a challenge. Her father noticed the by-play and gave his advice.
"He has no serious intentions that one, girl. He's scarcely beyond boyhood. You'd best put him from your mind." Kesli's response was a toss of the head.
Autoc and Jaim noticed as well, the former belatedly and the latter giving a timely warning.
"That's no inexperienced lefi you're taking on there, lad. Watch she hasn't got you pinned to a bed in a very short time. You're no match for Kesli, lad, believe me." Autoc looked at Chlorien with raised eyebrows.
"What are you doing, little one?"
"Well," began Chlorien, "I can't act as if I'm not interested, can I, because boys my age are, aren't they?"
"Are what?"
"Interested - in girls, like Kesli."
"Yes, yes, lad, they are." As he spoke the mage looked ruefully at Jaim and then thoughtfully at his boots. "Perhaps it's time we moved on," he added. "We don't want you to be seen as a girl and we don't want a silly girl losing her heart to you either."
"She won't," responded Jaim with a tight smile. "Not that one."
Things continued the same for the next ten days. Autoc forgot the presence of Kesli and Jaim was preoccupied in carving pieces for folk who asked him to do work for them. Chlorien maintained her distance from the inn girl and all was peaceful, until one evening.
Chlorien retired early, because she was tired from a long distance travelled with the mage and her head was crammed with what he'd taught her. She'd barely lain on the bed before there was a discreet knock on the door. Chlorien stiffened, knowing full well it wasn't Jaim or Autoc, neither of whom would knock, and wondered who'd possibly come at this hour of the night. The inn had been quiet for some time. Apart from removing her boots, she hadn't undressed and still wore her knife-belt. As she waited, her hand drew the knife: she lay tensed and ready.
When the door opened slowly, Chlorien saw, to her horror, that it was Kesli who advanced into the room. Before Chlorien could move, Kesli launched herself at the bed, Chlorien only barely throwing the knife onto the floor out of harm's way.
"Gods," she gasped.
Kesli's experience showed in the way she pinned Chlorien to the bed. Her legs curled round Chlorien's, her hands ran expertly over the young body and she clamped her mouth to Chlorien's, as hands began to unbuckle belts. When they began to move lower, Chlorien gripped Kesli's wrists hard in a way that made the inn girl flinch.
At that moment, Autoc strode into the room. It made Kesli turn her head, her expression one of ludicrous chagrin and irritation. When Autoc reached the bed, he was hard put to it not to laugh and as he looked down at Chlorien his lips twitched.
"Go to bed, Kesli," he suggested quietly, only the faintest tremor in his voice. "My son really isn't old enough for a woman like you."
He heard Chlorien's intake of breath and the irrepressible smile came to his eyes as Autoc calmly escorted Kesli to the door, without speaking, and closed it very firmly behind her. He came back to the bed, chortling at Chlorien.
"Seducing innocent maidens, lad. What next?" he asked.
He got an impudent snort from a girl struggling to sit. She looked up at her mentor, read the unholy amusement in his face and joined him in giving way to hilarity. Finally,
Chlorien wiped her eyes with her cuff.
"You didn't bargain on this as I got older, did you, Father?" she asked, in an unsteady voice.
"No," agreed Autoc. His shoulders still shook. "Little one, what moments of mirth you give me. You're a joy!"
Kesli served them early meal with smouldering looks of resentment cast at the mage who ignored them. She was sweet and attentive to Chlorien, even going so far as to whisper in her ear and fondle her curls in passing.
"What was that about?" enquired Autoc, lifting his tankard.
"Just a suggestion about where we could meet later, Father," answered Chlorien, starting hungrily on her food.
"It's a good thing then, isn't it child, we're moving on after we've eaten?" asked the mage, his eyes brimful of laughter.
"What a shame for you, lad," teased Jaim. Chlorien made a face at him.
Jesh was sorry to see them go, because they were quiet guests and paid him generously. Kesli's stares at Autoc were murderous. Riding from the hamlet, the threesome moved further westward to the home of the Gnosti. The weather was warm and sultry.
~~~
It was a long ride to reach the land of the Gnosti. The seasons passed in quick succession. In a winter that was long and hard, they often had to live out in harsh winds and snow if they hadn't reached shelter. Travel was difficult and at times thoroughly unpleasant. Jaim, however, became increasingly animated. He drew closer to his people from outlying villages and bigger towns they passed more frequently. Though the Gnosti were courteous, Chlorien noticed they were reserved.
It was only when they drew nearer to larger settlements that she found they were more prepared to be overtly friendly: though they were peaceable folk, they'd known their share of wars and hardship. Peace was hard won, the lessons learned well and never forgotten. It brought tranquillity to the Gnosti for a very long time - despite this, they could be tough fighters who were fierce and extremely formidable when roused and they had a standing army in readiness.
The Gnosti they met were much like the fey folk from the deep southwest of Ambros, people the warlord decimated cycles before. Though physically the races had no similarities, mentally they most definitely did. Like the Yazd, the Gnosti were highly intuitive people who often acted on instinct. They had depths of wisdom now unknown in the deepest south of Ambros. They studied the intellect, were deeply spiritual and reasoned with a talent for instant judgement. They were frighteningly skilled at assessing other races whom they didn't easily welcome. Strangers found them mystics, mysteriously enigmatic and even, at times, baffling. Few ever come away feeling they knew the Gnosti, though many left knowing they'd been understood only too well.
Autoc wasn't unknown to the Gnosti, though his dealings with them didn't compare with Bene's. He'd always been drawn to Jaim and extended that respect and affection to all the Gnosti he met, unreservedly and without judgement or exception. Chlorien's trust in Jaim was absolute, her liking apparent to observers. The Gnosti sensed these responses in the visitors who rode beside Jaim and they responded accordingly. Chlorien would have accepted any of his race automatically. They were offered shelter had they wanted it, food that was gratefully received, and supplies were unstintingly and quietly provided.
It became obvious, too, that the closer they came to the source of Gnosti power and control at Ostika, that Jaim was very well known and profoundly respected. He was spoken to by name and always deferred to. Chlorien wondered what his status was in Gnosti society - Autoc already knew.
In the east, south and central states of Ambros, Gnosti were forgotten beings. If they were remembered at all, it was in myth, when it was thought they lived long ago. Then, life was simple - waters ran clear across all of Ambros and forests covered much of the land, even where deserts now stood. They were thought of as among those who were guardians of the spiritual well-being of Ambros, but only scholars ever touched on them, and most of them were scorned to silence long since when they'd tried to suggest that there were powerful little people westward.
Apart from electing a king every few hundred cycles or so, they were a classless society. There'd only been elections four times, because the last elected king handed his crown to his son, this tradition appealing to the Gnosti and continued with their approval. It wasn't always the eldest son. It went to the man thought to be the most competent. There were no rich, nor poor, little disease, and it never occurred to anyone that they might be inferior to anybody else. In the First Age of Ambros they enslaved neighbours, but that was long since and was relegated to ancient history.
Except boys, all men had beards - this was usual in all Ambrosian societies, except the Elbans. They were considered a sign of maturity and merited respect. These were as luxuriant and as long as Jaim's, Chlorien noticed, awed by the length of them because Autoc now kept his beard vaguely trimmed. Chlorien sometimes took the scissors from his grasp and cut straggly hairs.
The Gnosti were fair-skinned, with hair colour ranging from copper to deeper bronze, or even occasionally blond. Their eyes were uniformly hazel or tawny. Gnosti had serious expressions, but had highly developed senses of humour. Their eyes could be disconcerting because they were so penetrating, some people who knew them saying Gnosti eyes looked beyond the physical and straight into the inner essence of the person. Others said the Gnosti could tell what you really were before they came close to you and that, to them, your colour spoke for you, as did your eyes.
Physically, the Gnosti were very powerful and surprisingly very much stronger than the strongest Churchik warrior. Chlorien was quite startled by their stamina and at how fast they could run, admiring their agility and energy. Sometimes she got tired just watching them and recalled that not once had she seen Jaim yawn or show exhaustion. She pondered that at her leisure.
As a people, they were totally attuned to nature, in the way of the people of the deserts and those of the Shadowlands and the steppes. Gnosti had an uncanny knack of knowing where they were and knew almost to the minute what time of day it was, their sense of direction perfect. They were always learning. They believed that the day you could no longer learn, life was fruitless and you should welcome death. Nor did death hold any fears for them. They were of the ground and were content to return to it. They accepted death as a normal part of the cycle of being. Chlorien digested that thoughtfully.
All these things Chlorien gleaned from Jaim as she walked or rode beside him, day after day. Now that she knew she was to meet more people like him, she knew a sense of pleasurable anticipation. From the outskirts of Gnosti territory, it took them three weeks to reach Ostika. Even with what she'd seen previously of Gnosti life, nothing prepared Chlorien for Ostika.
Ostika was built many hundreds of cycles before, in a huge and deep, spreading bowl that flattened out beyond where the eye could see. It was surrounded by ten hills, each of which was topped by massive defensive outposts; between each ran a very wide, high wall that made a strong protective barrier to what lay behind.
Jaim led them up towards the nearest gate, a huge, ornately wrought and carved wooden and metal gate, mounted on enormous well-oiled hinges. Before they reached it, Jaim stopped so the mage could show Chlorien the strength of the wall. It made her draw in her breath.
"Who do your people fear, Jaim?" she asked. Jaim shook his head, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"No one especially, youngster. These walls were built so long ago in ancient times of turbulence, I don't think many know who constructed them."
Chlorien digested that, while Jaim turned his small horse and led them at a slow walk towards the gate. Here, Jaim received deep obeisance from the Gnosti on duty.
"Welcome home, Elected," came several bass, booming voices.
When Jaim nodded in a friendly way and rode through the gate, Chlorien glanced at him, puzzled by the mode of address he was greeted with. She noticed Jaim looked preoccupied so didn't bother to ask him about it. Once through the gate, she drew up her horse astonished.
"Oh, Jaim!" she exclaimed. "It's so pretty. How could you ever want to leave it?" Jaim began to laugh, glancing at the mage who reined in his horse as well. "Isn't it, Father?"
"Aye," responded Autoc with a slow smile. "Aye, little one, it is."
~~~
They looked down on a charming city that spread for miles in all directions, mostly terraced, where Chlorien could see huge sprawling trees and myriad tended gardens. Lush growth was everywhere - climbing vines with large orange flowers grasped the thick black tree trunks and mingled with the canopies. There were fountains and waterfalls in abundance, with Gnosti of all ages active along the terraces. The sound of children's laughter, floating up to the travellers, made Chlorien feel a tug of sadness when she thought of herself and her brothers whose childhood was so brutally curtailed. She thought of gentle, gifted Bethel who probably died at the warlord's hands. Her eyes filled with uncharacteristic tears. Nearly seven cycles ago came back in a wave that hurt.
"Gently, little one," came to her mind. "I, too, feel as you do. Let the pain ease, lad."
When Chlorien blinked rapidly, she became aware their horses trod a road laid out in a lazy s-pattern, that wound down through the terraces until the land levelled out to a gentle incline. From this point on, Chlorien saw intensive farming that she studied curiously as they rode past. When they came to the flat land, the road they followed widened abruptly and became walled on either side. The walls were not so high that they couldn't see over them, though Jaim could barely stretch enough to do so. Chlorien could see grape vines stretch into the distance on either side of the road, but, again, interspersed with old gnarled black-trunked trees.
After riding for some considerable distance, they approached the city itself and Chlorien was frankly enchanted, her eyes lighting with surprised delight. Houses clustered close together, some almost on top of one another. They had steeply pitched gables, tiled peaked roofs and all were painted with murals. There were very few windows visible. All houses were approached by flights of shallow steps used only by visitors. Gnosti were informal people and always used an entrance round the back of a house. The colours used on the houses were bright and cheerful but created a bewildering and vivid kaleidoscope. Chlorien blinked. No house had land attached, as she'd known, growing up in Ortok. Here the houses were so close to one another, entrance-ways became confused. Like her own Samar tradition, there were welcome mats at the bottom of each flight of steps and polished doorsteps and knockers - just like home, she thought wistfully.
