“What makes you think I’d be practical enough to build a city?” Jon asked.
The Emperor smiled.
“You underestimate yourself, Jon. You could probably do anything you set your mind to—and I’m not saying that to flatter. You must see I’ve come to rely on you. I’d be a fool not to. And when things return to normal, there’ll be a place for you in one of the Imperial Ministries. An emperor needs men like you to make a success of his reign.”
This praise made Jon uncomfortable. For was it praise or an effort to manipulate him?
“I can dream up plans,” he said. “But I’m not good at making decisions.”
“Nothing’s odd about that,” the Emperor said. “Planning’s always easier than deciding which plan to follow. Father agonized over decisions. He once told me that only fools decide quickly. ‘Distrust your gut feelings,’ he told me. ‘First impulses are usually wrong.’ And now, you see, I’m the one who has to be the decider. But deciders need dreamers, because they can’t imagine every possibility on their own. Your life has been nothing like mine, and that makes you an asset.
“Of course there’s no need to decide today where you’d like to build your city. We’re still in the planning stages, aren’t we? But it’s stimulating to imagine what you might do, given the means. I’m a bit of a dreamer myself, you see. I know what it’s like.”
Jon felt even less inclined to take the offer seriously, but he felt obligated to respond.
“It wouldn’t be either of the places you describe—they’re too big. From the pass where I first caught sight of this land you could see two islands. The closer was small, but the other was at least large enough for a settlement. If you make me a gift, let it be the larger of those two islands. That’s what I’d like—a home surrounded by the sea.”
The Emperor laughed. “You are welcome to both—the large island as well as the small—and any other islands you find in the vicinity. From this day forth, I declare you Grand Duke of the Islands. I only hope that someday you’ll be able to claim them as your right.”
The Emperor put his arm over Jon’s shoulder and held him close. He was thanking him for something, Jon knew, and he genuinely meant whatever he was trying to express, but Jon couldn’t be sure what the message was.
“You know,” the Emperor explained, “you and Zoë have become my most treasured subjects—along with Falco, of course. Having granted you your two islands, I must devise a comparable gift for her. But that won’t be easy. I can imagine gifts, but are they what she wants? I have little experience with women, yet I’d do anything to make her happy. Two brothers dead and the last . . . we don’t know, do we? There must be some way . . .”
Some way what? Jon wondered.
▲
They’d been following a narrow beach, with scrub on their left, giving way to cedars and short-bristled pines bent east by the prevailing winds. But this forest gradually thinned and then disappeared, and they found themselves at the end of a long spit of sand, with the sea to their right and a wide estuary to their left. At least two miles of open water separated them from the continuation of the beach to the South, and the ripples of cross current suggested it might be difficult to make it there by raft.
“We’ll have to backtrack and go ‘round,” Zoë announced. “And a good distance, from the way it looks.”
The river that formed the estuary originated well north of where they stood, for after making its way from the mountain it paralleled the coast for a good distance. They’d have to journey miles upstream before they could cross in safety. By now, they’d grown used to such delays and no one complained, though it was well into the next day when they found a place where the river was shallow enough to ford. At least they didn’t have to build rafts. Reaching the east bank, where a stretch of gently sloping land lay between the water and the mountains, the Emperor observed that the site would be great for a city, with its harbor and fresh water.
“All you’d need would be a weir upstream to prevent the salt water from entering at high tide. I’ve seen such things—near Tarnak—with a channel dug to send the water into a reservoir. It wouldn’t be difficult—not at all difficult. Perhaps you should think again, Jon,” he said. “Wouldn’t this be a better place than your islands? Those trees look almost like an orchard.”
They did look like an orchard, Jon thought. Many were dead and trees of different species had grown up among them, but what remained followed an obvious grid. It didn’t take a genius to realize they’d been planted intentionally.
Normally they’d have traveled a few hours further, but Jon suggested they halt for the night, and the Emperor raised no objection.
“Good idea,” he said. “We’ve made progress enough today, and this is a good spot to camp. A better one than we’ve seen for days. I’d wager Falco’s men will spear more than a few fish for our supper. Besides, we’ve been going hard. A rest will do us good.”
Did that mean the Emperor had seen what Jon had seen? He couldn’t be sure.
While the others made camp or searched for food, Jon investigated the old orchard. Yellow egg-shaped fruit hung on long stems from some of the trees. He picked one and peeled its rind. Inside, red flesh fell into three segments, each holding a seed the size of a fingertip. The seeds were hard, but why would anyone plant trees like this unless they produced something edible? Jon touched the flesh with his tongue. Sweet, it seemed, like the candy Alice’s mother had given them—a haunting sweetness layered with flavors of spice—only with a hint of sour that kept it from being cloying. He ate the flesh and spit out the seed. What a wonderful thing it was, he thought. He’d gather a few and take them to Falco, but that could wait. Now he wanted to see what lay beyond this orchard. If humans had planted these trees, then they’d had lived nearby.
It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: stone slabs running down to the water. Some were covered by sand, and others had been dislodged by a prickly bush with white flowers, but the ancient road was plain to see.
Following it downhill, Jon found two men and a woman talking excitedly.
“I’ve found a road,” Jon called out.
“And we’ve found a city,” the woman replied. “We came looking for clams, and look what we discovered!”
To call it a city was an exaggeration, but they’d stumbled on the foundations of a dozen or more buildings in concentric semicircles by the waterside.
“The rest must have been wood,” she explained, when Jon joined them. “There are no fallen blocks—only these stone floors. But see—along the edges, holes where columns were set into the foundation. They must have been tree trunks of the just the right size—not too heavy to drag from the forest but strong enough to bear a roof.”
“I think you’re right,” Jon said.
“What have you found?” Alf asked, running down to see what they were looking at.
“A town,” Jon told him. “Or perhaps a village.”
Alf looked around carefully.
“A town or a village—but how old?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
▲
“The evidence is overwhelming. It’s clear men once lived here—just as you told us, Jon,” the Emperor said. “You were right and I was wrong—but that’s no surprise. You’re been on this side of the mountains before. Who could doubt your account of the land? But the desertion of this ruin supports my point that today the region is empty.”
“But who were they?” Alf asked. “Could they have been responsible for the buildings where we hid the library? The stonework has the same precision.”
Everyone looked at the Emperor for an answer, but he shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you think they might be the Rand?” Jon asked.
The Emperor looked at Jon in confusion. The word obviously meant nothing to him.
“The Rand? What do you mean?”
“A kind of beings who inhabit the southern forest. Zoë knows about them. She and the other
Foresters.”
“Jon, I only know what I’ve told you,” she said. “We don’t even know what they call themselves. ‘Rand’ is a name some Forester invented.”
“Tell me about these creatures of your forest, Zoë,” the Emperor asked. “You never said anything about them before. If they live in your valley, they’re my subjects, but I’ve never heard of them.”
“David could have told you more than anyone else,” Zoë replied. “He’s seen them up close. But so has Jon—and so have Klei and Alf, if they were Rand who helped us the night Jon escaped the Brotherhood. Someone carried Jon up the hill, but we couldn’t see them. It was dark, and they were utterly quiet, like shadows moving through the forest. Only Jon has ever had physical contact with one, although he was unconscious at the time.”
“I wasn’t unconscious,” Jon said quietly.
“Then what was it like?” the Emperor asked.
“Yes, Jon, tell us,” Zoë added. “You’ve never really described them.”
Jon took a deep breath. He’d always evaded this question, but he had to answer it now, and so he described the sensation of their delicate hands bearing him up the hillside. It was almost like floating. Indeed, he’d never realized how odd it had felt until this moment.
“But Zoë was right,” he said. “I was half unconscious. My memory of those hours is little more than a blur.”
In fact, it wasn’t a blur. He remembered every detail. But he’d said more about it than he wanted, and so he went on to what David had told him about his encounters with the creatures.
Klei, however, wasn’t content with this evasion. For the first time in weeks he asked Jon a direct question.
“You say it was like floating?”
Jon looked him in the face for a moment before answering. He never wanted to tell another lie to Klei.
“They were strong, but gentle. When they lifted me I sensed no strain in their muscles—it was as I were a feather. And when they touched me I seemed to hear their voices.”
“But they were silent,” Alf reminded him. “Zoë and Klei and I were there, and none of us heard them speak. Isn’t that true, Klei? You were next to me.”
“It was very strange,” Klei added, speaking to Jon not Alf. “I knew they were friends and that they’d come to help, but I don’t know why I was certain of that. And Alf is right—they didn’t make a sound. And they ignored us entirely. They weren’t concerned with us; they were there to help you, Jon.”
“I know,” Jon said. “But I was exhausted. The voices were probably a sound in my head. What else could they have been—especially since no one else heard them? They carried me up the hill—that’s for certain—but I was out of it, really out of it.”
He hoped that explanation would end the discussion. But the voices had been no illusion—he was sure of that. He’d heard them the same way he sensed feelings when people near him were excited. And he’d said nothing about how his wounds had healed more quickly than David thought possible.
“Could they have been the creatures who lived here before the Empire came into being?” Alf asked. “From what you say, the Rand belong to the forest, and at one time all the land in the Empire was forest, just as the Valley of Women was when the first women arrived. They still talk about how many trees their ancestors hand to cut down.”
He’d addressed this question to Jon, but Jon remained silent. However, the Emperor had an answer.
“If people lived here before the Emperors they’re likely the same who live here now. The first Emperors were kings who’d managed to unite the region surrounding Kar. As the Empire grew, territories were annexed, but no one was driven away. It was their presence that gave the land value, so they still plowed the fields their parents had plowed and picked fruit from the trees their parents had planted—only now ownership was protected by law.”
“But before the men and women who farmed and built cities—what then?” Alf asked. “Human beings don’t spring from the soil like weeds.”
The Emperor laughed.
“You’re right, Alf. But whenever people settle, they convince themselves either that they were the first there or that they were invited, and beyond history there’s myth. The old books tell of cities founded by men from the East who fought demons to establish themselves. I think such legends record a wave of migration that encountered men they demonized to justify their invasion. Could those be the Rand? There’s no way to know. It’s all speculation.”
“But if the earlier people were the Rand, then it’s reasonable to assume they built the ruins here and elsewhere,” Jon said. “For someone must have constructed them.”
“But, Jon,” Zoë pointed out. “The Rand don’t make cities—or plant trees. They’re little better than animals. How could they have constructed what we found today?”
Jon shrugged his shoulders.
“Just a thought.”
But if not the Rand, who?
▲
Beyond the ruins. the river followed the edge of a massive lava flow. Scouts discovered that the lava had split when it reached the sea, creating a maze of jagged basalt that would be difficult to pass even at low tide. Yet passing over it would be nearly as dangerous, for much was sharp as glass. However, there was no other way, and, traveling methodically, this upper route would be passable.
Their journey over the lava—as the crow flies, little more than a few miles—took the better part of a day, but eventually they descended its edge and returned to the sea. Here, strikingly, the sand was black, but as they traveled further south it lightened in color and soon the coast resembled the shoreline where Jon had first seen the ocean—a beach bordered by dunes that gave way to grassland and clumps of low-growing trees. They must have been nearing where they’d have to turn east, and the place wouldn’t be hard to identify, because beyond it lay only high cliffs. But first they’d have to cross the river that curved like an S.
But did Jon really want to turn east? This sliver of land along the Western Ocean was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen. Nothing had been like those first two days, with creatures of every color you could imagine in that forest of red-blossoming trees. Yet even the more mundane terrain that followed had been wonderful. He loved this western land the first time he’d set eyes on it, and now, for different reasons, he loved it still. Moreover, he wasn’t the only one who’d taken joy in their trek along the shore.
“This is too much to leave,” Alf said, turning back from a low hill to take in the full landscape. “Why can’t we just stay here and create a new empire, far from the Chosen and the Brotherhood and all the other pests? We have an emperor. There are enough of us, men and women, to establish a colony. If we needed, we could send a messenger to Bent Lake to invite people to join us. But, on second thought, to hell with the Bent-Lakers! They’d only bring complications.”
Jon was surprised to hear Alf speak with such fervor.
“It would be nice, but are we really enough?” Jon asked. “Even if we could build a house or two, how would we live? The rabbits won’t last forever. We’d have to grow crops, but we have no seeds and no tools to work the soil. And we’d have no one to trade with. There’s no road across the mountains, and if we did the impossible and constructed one, there’d be a stream of settlers and that would mean the end of our private universe.”
Alf laughed.
“You’re sounding like me, Jon. I’m supposed to be the practical one, remember. Anyway, Zoë wants to get back to her mother—I heard her say that this morning—and the Emperor has begun to worry about the fate of Bent Lake. He knows it’s all he has left of his empire.”
“Still, staying here wasn’t a bad idea.”
“If you like dreams.”
“I’m the dreamer, remember.”
“Yes, I remember when the Emperor said that, Jon. But you’re also a practical man, even though you don’t like to admit it.”
“Practical?”
“Yes. Your problem isn’t being impractica
l. It’s connecting the two parts of your nature—Dreamer Jon and Practical Jon.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Months had passed, the seasons had changed, and they had yet to reach the S-curving river that Jon had observed from the mountain. Late summer meant the days had grown shorter; on the landward side of the dunes, low bushes were covered with wine-red berries so delicious it was hard to stop eating them. The birds liked them, too; Falco’s hunters were able to bring down dozens, which they roasted over the glowing embers. Forcing him to make do with what came to hand, the journey had brought out the best of his skills.
“Food is better here than in the palace,” Falco once confided to Jon. “I love the wild herbs, and the open air makes tastes more intense. Moreover, what might have seemed crude on porcelain seems right by the sea. Still, I wonder what it’s like here in winter. Wind and rain, I suspect. Soon we’ll probably wish we were back in the palace and eating off porcelain.”
But the weather held up, and Jon relished the gentle nights even more than the brilliant days. He’d lie awake, watching the stars and listening to the waves breaking. Little seemed to bother him anymore. Klei was spending less time with Marekko, and the others had taken a lesson from Alf in respecting Jon’s desire to be left alone.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 39
