Orlind

by Charlotte E. English

  She turned. Ana stood in the middle of the room. She’d used the Map to bypass the door, of course.

  In one of her hands she held, far too tightly, a screaming Rikbeek.

  Chapter Eight

  Llandry felt strange, being in the Library without Eva and Tren. Or Devary. She was alone with a great many strangers, some of whom looked to her for guidance.

  Well. Alone except for Pensould, who sometimes disturbed her much more than any stranger could.

  True, the Lokants largely left them alone, which she appreciated. Not that she supposed they did so for her benefit; rather, any stray humans (or human-draykoni) wandering the Library were irrelevant to their lives and doings. At least Limbane was in a good mood. When he’d seen Orillin and realised who he was, his face had reflected all the deep relief Llandry herself had felt when she’d found her mother awake. Though Limbane’s relief doubtless had entirely different causes.

  She hadn’t yet told him that Orillin would be leaving again soon.

  On her return, Llan had left the disgustingly cheerful boy in Limbane’s care, locked herself in her room and endeavoured, with only moderate success, to catch up on her sleep. That would be in short supply as soon as she returned to Waeverleyne.

  Anxiety wouldn’t let her rest, however. Her sleep was uneasy and frequently broken; when she was asleep she dreamed of the destruction of Glinnery in horrifyingly vivid detail.

  So she gave up, and went in search of Pensould.

  ‘Hi,’ she said a little nervously when he opened his door. He smiled readily enough, though the expression lacked the degree of warmth and delight that he used to turn on her.

  ‘Hello, Llandry,’ he said. ‘Come in.’

  Something about this greeting bothered her. It took her a moment to work out what it was.

  ‘You used my name.’

  Pensould shut the door behind her. ‘Don’t I usually?’

  ‘Never. You’ve always called me “Minchu”.’ The word meant “mate”, or so he’d told her. Pensould had used it to refer to her ever since he’d re-awoken.

  He shrugged. ‘I am learning your human ways. If you do not wish to be Minchu, I must call you something else.’

  He was doing a reasonably good job of pretending he didn’t care, but Llan knew him better than that. For the first time in their acquaintance, he was honestly hurt. It showed in the way he wouldn’t quite look at her.

  That struck her far more forcibly than anything else had done.

  She remembered the way he’d looked when she had first revived from her self-enforced slumber. Haggard, weary, worn down by worry. Why had he felt that way? Had he feared that, as a human born and bred, she might die more permanently than draykoni usually did? Or had he been afraid that she might simply choose the Long Sleep instead of him?

  For the first time it occurred to her to question how much of his own life-energy he’d used up trying to help her. Not just her but her mother, too, for her sake. He was odd, very odd by human standards. Towards her he had begun by being pushy, presuming and controlling, all traits no self-respecting human girl would accept in a lover. But he was showing that he could learn. Already he had stopped trying to control her.

  Perhaps more importantly, he was willing to learn. And in the short time she’d known him, he had shown her as much unconditional love and support as her own parents.

  And she’d summarily dismissed him, as though he was worth nothing to her. That wasn’t true.

  ‘Pensould,’ she began, and waited until he met her eye. ‘Umm... I should explain some things.’

  He didn’t look interested, but at least he was listening.

  ‘I’ve... never been good with people. They frighten me. For almost my whole life, there’s only really been me and Ma and Pa, and that was it. I wouldn’t let anyone else near me. But you... you didn’t wait for an invitation. No one’s ever been so, um, determined.’ She ran out of words and stopped, hoping he might understand.

  He didn’t. He just watched her, expressionless.

  Llan took a deep breath. ‘It’s taking a while for me to get used to you, that’s all. And you... scared me more than anyone, at first.’

  He rubbed one large hand through his already dishevelled black hair, and sighed. ‘I am sorry for that. It has taken me some time to get used to you also.’

  She nodded, disappointed. Nothing she’d said had brought back the unreserved warmth he’d previously shown to her. And despite her dismay, she still wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

  She was certain, however, that Pensould deserved better than she’d given him.

  ‘Why are you afraid of your own kind?’ Pensould asked suddenly.

  Surprised, she considered this question. ‘I don’t understand them,’ she said. ‘They have expectations that I can’t meet. And...’ It was painful to admit this next part, but the question merited an honest answer. ‘I’ve always felt superfluous next to Mamma.’

  ‘Why?’

  Llandry shifted, uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. ‘Everyone in Glinnery knows her. She’s part of the government, in the papers all the time... she’s good at practically everything, and she’s beautiful. Much more so than me. Everyone who’s seen us together has been surprised at how much less... everything I am.’

  ‘And you resent her for that?’

  ‘No!’ Llandry said hotly. ‘She’s my Mamma. And besides, they’re right about her. She is magnificent.’

  At long last, Pensould gave her a smile. It was only a small one, but it was something. ‘You didn’t notice, then, that I have been thinking you much more everything than everybody else.’

  ‘Because why? You decided that before you even knew me.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Someday, Miss Llandry, I will cure you of the habit of relying on those pitiful human senses of yours. You may not be able to tell character at a glance, but I can. Well, not at a glance. You feel right, Minchu.’

  She thought, suddenly, of her dream and the presence that had stood guard over her slumber. Pensould. He’d felt familiar and safe. Was that what he meant?

  He was still smiling. ‘I have never known anyone so unaware of their own character. There is much more to you than you think, is there not? This past moon alone you have been brave, and loyal, and unselfish. You can be self-absorbed, but I think that is because you are used to being almost the only person in your own life. You are capable of better. You will be better, and so will I.’

  Llan couldn’t think of anything to say to that. She just stood, enjoying the little warm glow that Pensould’s words evoked, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

  ‘Now, why did you come? Was it to tell me these things, or are we to begin our work with Master Orillin and Miss Avane?’

  ‘Um. Yes, we must do that soon. But I really came because... well, I think it was because... I had bad dreams.’

  His brows went up. ‘And you wanted me?’

  She nodded, feeling desperately uncomfortable. It sounded so pathetic when spoken aloud. But it was significant. Somewhere along the way, Pensould had replaced even her mother as the person she went to when she needed to feel safe. Perhaps it was a product of his long vigil over her sleep.

  Pensould’s smile broadened, and the horrible distance in his manner vanished at last. He opened his arms.

  ‘Well, Miss Llandry, let us make you comfortable again. Then we may see about the others.’

  A mere moment’s hesitation, and Llandry was wrapped up in his arms. For the first time since she’d been pulled from her dream, she felt safe and warm and completely at home.

  Finding Orillin might be a problem, she realised, as she and Pensould set off in the direction of Avane’s room. He hadn’t been seen since Limbane had taken charge of him.

  In the end, though, it was easy, for Orillin had found Avane first. Llan entered her room to find the Darklands woman occupying herself with a pair of knitting needles and an enormous ball of wool, some half-completed garment dangling from t
he needles. Orillin had evidently rediscovered the joys of childhood, for he was on the floor, playing a game with Avane’s two-year-old son, Lyerd. Llandry couldn’t figure out what Orillin’s totally unselfconscious antics meant, but the child was shrieking with glee.

  Avane smiled when she saw them, and put her knitting away. ‘Hush, Ly,’ she said, picking up her son. To Llandry’s relief he did quieten; those shrieks were ear-splitting.

  Avane was more familiar to Llandry than Orillin, so Llandry rested her attention on her. The sorceress was more than ten years older than Llandry, but so mild-mannered and easy-going that she’d proved easy to get along with, even for Llan.

  Not that there’d been much time to get to know her yet. That would change now.

  ‘It’s time,’ Llandry said, smiling as Lyerd fastened his chubby arms around his mother’s neck and clung.

  Avane winced. ‘Just a moment, then. Yora offered to babysit.’

  The name wasn’t familiar to Llandry, but it didn’t seem to be something she needed to know about, so she didn’t ask. ‘Do you know where the chart room is?’

  Avane nodded on her way past, her dark curls bobbing. ‘Limbane showed me.’

  ‘Could you meet us there? It’s the only place big enough for four draykoni.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Avane said. ‘Ten minutes.’ She collected up a selection of Lyerd’s toys, then disappeared out the door.

  Orillin picked himself up off the floor, dusting down his clothes. ‘What’s the chart room?’

  ‘Oh,’ Llan said, surprised. ‘I thought Limbane would show you.’

  ‘He said he didn’t have time for a full tour.’

  ‘I could explain, but it’d be better to just go straight there and have a look at it.’

  ‘Very well, milady,’ Orillin said with a bow. ‘Lead on!’

  Llandry opened her mouth to object - she was no lady! - but she shut it again. Orillin’s manner was teasing, though not in a cruel way. He probably hadn’t meant it seriously.

  Keeping her fingers linked through Pensould’s, she led the way to the chart room.

  The sheer size of it always took her aback, even though she’d been here many times before. The ceiling rose and rose, so far above her head she could barely see the domed shape that it took at its very top. The width and length of the room were immeasurable, or so it seemed. The walls were actually screens, covered in names; once in a while the lists updated themselves with new entries, or existing entries developed colour.

  ‘It’s a genealogy tracking system,’ Llandry explained as Orillin began wandering the walls. ‘Draykon and Lokant blood. We’ll find you on here, somewhere.’

  ‘Amazing!’ Orillin enthused. ‘And the colours mean?’

  ‘Blue for summoners, purple for sorcs. Silver means Lokant heritage, gold is draykoni.’

  Orillin thought about that. ‘So my name would be...’

  ‘Gold and blue, mostly. Like mine.’

  He whirled to face her, beaming. ‘That’s true! I forgot we were related. Cousins of some sort, I suppose, a few times removed?’ He trotted back to her, his hand out. ‘Well-met, Cousin!’ He shook her hand with an enthusiasm she couldn’t quite match. His eagerness was a little disconcerting.

  ‘I’ve never had a cousin before,’ she offered.

  ‘Oh, I have a few,’ Orillin said. ‘Didn’t like most of them, though. Stuck up people. You aren’t stuck up, I hope?’

  Llan blinked. ‘Um. I hope not.’

  He looked at her narrowly. ‘Just shy, I think. That’ll soon pass. We’re bound to be friends, and I’m relying on you to make sense out of this craziness.’

  She laughed a bit. ‘As soon as I can make sense of it myself, I’ll be happy to. But I’m not sure how long that will take. As far as I can tell, the Lokants delight in refusing to make sense.’

  He grinned. ‘Limbane’s a tricky one, that’s for certain. And that other one, the woman? Andraly? Scary!’

  Orillin’s manner was interesting. He didn’t try to put her at ease or to make her comfortable. He didn’t try to be kind at all. He merely treated her as if they were already the best of friends.

  To her surprise, it was working pretty well. Already her discomfort was fading.

  ‘I can’t call you Cousin forever,’ Orillin was saying. ‘Do you prefer Llandry, or something else?’

  ‘Llan,’ she said. ‘That’s what people usually call me.’ Not many people - only her parents and Devary - but she supposed it still qualified as a nickname.

  ‘Llan,’ he repeated, then pointed at himself. ‘Ori. My parents called me Lin for a while, but it sounded girly so I asked them to stop.’

  She grinned. ‘When was that?’

  ‘I was five.’

  She chuckled. He could be strong-minded, then, in spite of his cheeriness of temper.

  Avane arrived as Ori and Pensould were acquainting themselves with one another. She’d detected a touch of suspicion in Pensould’s manner when Ori was around, recognising it as jealousy waiting to erupt. Hopefully Ori’s completely unthreatening personality would put his mind at rest. Her cousin wanted her for a friend, nothing more.

  ‘Let’s sit down for a minute,’ she said, and waited while the other three collected themselves around her. She looked at Ori, then at Avane. ‘How much has anyone told you about the situation in Glinnery?’

  ‘Bits and pieces,’ Avane said.

  ‘Almost nothing,’ said Ori.

  ‘Well, let’s start there.’ She recounted the whole story, starting with the draykon - Isand - that she and Pensould had woken, and everything the enraged creature had said. No one interrupted as she explained the ensuing series of events, right up until the meeting in Rheas’s house.

  Finally, she looked at Avane, who came from the Darklands. ‘Isand spoke of Glour, or Everum as she calls it. They want it, but as far as I know they’ve focused on Glinnery first. Hopefully we can stop them before they turn on the other realms.’

  Avane nodded, her dark eyes wide. ‘I’m willing to help. Whatever I can do.’

  ‘Me as well,’ Ori said, all traces of fun gone from his manner. ‘How are the defences holding in Waeverleyne?’

  ‘I don’t know. We have a voice-box connection to my father, but it’s either broken or he’s too busy to answer.’ Or dead, a dark voice insisted on whispering at the back of her mind. She stepped on it. ‘Our task is to train you two. Once you’ve mastered draykon-shape, we’ll be going to Waeverleyne to do... whatever it is we can.’

  ‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ said Ori, springing to his feet.

  ‘Will Limbane allow it?’ Avane said, rising somewhat more decorously.

  ‘Probably not,’ Llandry admitted. He was adamant that all of them must stay in the Library, where he could protect them from Krays. But they had their own homes to protect. ‘Eva will be coming for us. She’ll talk him around.’

  Pensould was moving away from the group. When he’d covered a reasonable distance, he Changed. His human shape - tall, strongly-built and handsome - disappeared and in his place stood an enormous draykon, scaled in blue and green.

  Ori stared. So did Avane. Neither of them had actually seen a draykon yet, she realised; they’d only heard tales. What must it be like to be told you had it in you to become such a magnificent - and terrifying - beast? Her own Change had come upon her without warning; she’d had to get used to it after the fact.

  ‘Okay,’ Ori said slowly. ‘I think I see how it’s done.’

  That seemed doubtful, but she didn’t object as he jogged off into an open space and stopped, his eyes shut. Llan watched him absently, thinking. The fact that the two of them needed training was obvious enough, but the question of how exactly was a difficult one. She’d taught Pensould to take human shape, but he’d started out with a draykon’s instincts for the state of flux that reigned in the Off-Worlds. How to explain all this to a pair of humans?

  Her train of thought was interrupted when something like a soundless
explosion erupted in front of her, energy streaming through the chart room like a cyclone, taking her breath. Ori was on the ground, contorted with pain. A scream tore from his throat.

  Then he was gone. The draykon that took his place was shimmering white and gold, smaller than Pensould but bigger than Llan in her draykon form. She watched, flabbergasted, as the new draykon stretched out his wings and roared.

  Wow, said Ori’s silent voice in her mind. This is fun.

  Llandry blinked. He’d mastered the Change and the silent speech in a matter of minutes?

  How inadequate did she feel.

  Good work, she replied, keeping her faint feelings of resentment hidden. He’d had a lot of summoner training, while she hadn’t; perhaps that was what made the difference.

  Or maybe he was just that much more brilliant than she was.

  Ah well.

  ‘Avane?’

  The older woman was staring at Ori-the-draykon too, her face a mixture of awe and trepidation.

  ‘I don’t think I can do that,’ she whispered.

  That bloody hurt, Ori said in her head. Does it always hurt?

  Only the first time, she replied.

  Okay, great! Pensould, man, teach me to fly!

  She shook her head, torn between amusement and exasperation. Turning her back on Ori and Pensould, she took Avane away to the other end of the room. ‘You can do it,’ she said. ‘Most of it is instinctive, and those instincts are born in all of us, even if they’re buried at the moment. You’ll get it.’

  Avane looked paler than ever. ‘It hurt him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Llan said bluntly. ‘It does hurt at first, a lot. But that fades.’

  Avane took a breath. She’d had a child, of course. Pain wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Llan said, trying to be reassuring. ‘We have time. The Library gives us that, at least. We’ll keep at it until you’re comfortable with it.’

  Avane bit her lip. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it a try.’

  Chapter Nine