by Ron Root
Goodricke rolled his eyes. “I hope this is just that sense of humor Master Lavan warned me about,” he said, watching the stick vanish from view. “Besides, rare is the sailor who doesn’t swim.”
“Good. Let’s hope swimming skills aren’t required. During this spell we need to maintain physical contact throughout.” He offered Goodricke his hand. “Hold tight, and whatever you do, don’t let go.”
He spied a spruce on the far bank, its leaves dipping into the stream. He chose it as his target. Imagining the two of them standing there, he rehashed his incantation. Neither too much aether, nor too little. Most importantly, maintain his concentration throughout.
Jarek cast the spell, and was dimly aware of his feet leaving the ground. He felt as he were floating. He pushed that physical awareness from his mind to focus solely on the spell. They rose, drifting forward. Reaching the arc’s zenith, they began to descend. The shift in direction disrupted Jarek’s concentration. His control wavered, then fell apart.
Down they plummeted, splashing into the frigid torrent. A mass of bubbles shot up his nose, making his eyes throb. He coughed, desperate to rid his lungs of water. The icy current grabbed him, tugging him downstream.
Pain overcame panic when something suddenly wrenched his shoulder, halting him. Blinking, he cleared his eyes. There, beside him, was the blurry visage of Goodricke, clinging to a tree branch. He pulled Jarek toward him, “Grab on!”
Jarek’s grasp found nothing but twigs, which snapped and broke, but he finally grabbed the limb, first with one hand, then a second. Raging water poured over the branch, pummeling his face, blinding him.
“Let’s make our way to shore,” Goodricke hollered over the din.
Walking hand-over-hand, Jarek worked his way along the slippery bark, the chilly water sapping his strength. A hand slipped! His grip failed! The water had him again. Once again, a rescuing hand gripped the back of his tunic, catching him. “I have you!”
Goodricke’s arm encircled his waist, dragged him up the bank, and plopped him down on hardened ground. Goodricke stood over him, smirking. “And here I thought it another of your jests when you asked if I could swim.”
Jarek inhaled, catching his breath. “The trip was getting boring. I did this to rid us of that boredom.” A cough spewed water. “Besides, do you realize how long it’s been since you’ve bathed? Although risky, I deemed our swim a necessary task.”
Goodricke cackled. “I was thinking much the same of you, milord.”
While Jarek lay wondering if his arms would ever stop quivering, Goodricke poured the water out of their packs and hung them on a limb to drain. “Our gear’s drenched, but everything seems to be here.”
“It’s been wet before.”
Jarek finally felt strong enough to walk, and they shouldered their wet gear and renewed their trek. They’d just rounded the first bend when Goodricke stopped. “Look!”
Barring their path not fifty paces in front of them, stood three figures, a thin, fit-looking fellow, a second older man with fizzled gray hair, and Caitlyn.
The older fellow said something to the younger one, who ran off. Caitlyn and the other fellow came forward, meeting Jarek and Goodricke halfway. The stern-faced older fellow said something in a foreign tongue. Caitlyn nodded and looked at Jarek. “The Lore Master is unsure if he should berate you for entering our lands uninvited, or praise you for a most clever arrival. He says your lore is strong.”
Jarek bowed, trying to appear composed, despite his sopped clothing and clinging hair. “I thank him for his praise, but fear he must not have been watching too closely. Also, Lady, tell him we beg forgiveness for our rude entry into your lands. Had we known how to properly ask we would have done so.”
Caitlyn translated. The fellow chuckled and answered.
“The Lore Master agrees you had no way to announce your arrival. He says you’re the first Outlanders to breech A’ryth’s borders, something he fears will not sit well with the other Elders.”
“Other Elders?”
“Our rulers. Lore Master Dalbhach sent Mendore to tell them of your swim. His tale will cause much discussion.”
“How did you know we were here?”
“Our scouts have been watching you the entire day.” She gestured toward her companion. “Magus Verity, Goodricke Loddvar, please meet Lore Master Dalbhach, one of our Elders.”
Jarek looked around, “Are we in A’ryth now?”
“Very nearly. The river marks our boundary, but the city is some distance yet.” She giggled. “Also, when we come here, we do not swim, we use the bridge.”
Even the austere Lore Master cackled at her translation.
Goodricke looked around. “Bridge?”
She led them back to the water and stepped onto—nothing. Their bridge was invisible. She walked across, turned, and rejoined them, grinning.
However, the best means for getting here was of secondary importance to Jarek. “Have you warned your Elders of Zakarah; that he may be present at the upcoming Nexus—which incidentally will happen very near your city?”
“I have. The Lore Masters spent much of last night discussing that very matter. They are sure what you call the ‘Nexus’ is Ama de Cumhacht, the Time of Power. The Council of Elders debate the matter now.”
She gave Goodricke’s damp clothing the once- over. “You are a strong swimmer, Goodricke Loddvar,” she said, winking at a puzzled Goodricke.
Jarek laughed. “Do not befuddle the poor man, Caitlyn.”
“I do not know this word ‘beefuddel,’ but still, I think you are right.” She turned. “Come,” she said, motioning them to follow. “Lore Master Dalbhach says the Council will want to speak with you. The place you seek is sacred, so do not hope so much.”
Dalbhach whispered something to Caitlyn, and she nodded. “Be aware. Now that you are here, the Elders will be deciding what to do with you.”
They followed their reluctant hosts through a wooded area, past an open field to another archway, a twin of the one they’d entered earlier.
“Arches protect all entrances to our city,” Caitlyn explained, “and ward off evil.”
They passed through the tunnel. Jarek had no idea what to expect of a city hidden in the hinterlands, but whatever those expectations might have been, they would have been woefully wrong. What he now beheld was a wonder beyond anything he could have imagined.
They stood on a ledge overlooking a deep valley. Gold-tinged brown and white rock walls surrounded it; the array of colors breathtaking. Spiraling up from the valley floor, stretching toward the sky, was a score of stone pillars with houses carved upon their tops. To call these majestic columns ‘carved’ didn’t do them justice, however. Sculpted would be more accurate. The bases of these homes jutted far wider than their supporting columns, making them seem precarious, but a closer look revealed each was solidly attached to its base. All were decorated with intricately designed terraces and obelisks.
Equally elaborate homes jutted from the cliff walls, each adorned with columned terraces and tall pilasters. Cabled archways connected the spirals to the homes on the walls, forming a complex web of pathways, all leading to a trail that wove down to the valley floor. More houses were below, equally eloquent in design, and artfully blended with their dazzling neighbors above. The place was a wonder.
Caitlyn beamed with obvious pride. “What do you think, Outlanders?”
Goodricke stood, taking it all in. “Such beauty, hidden here in wilderness. It’s a marvel.”
Jarek was no less awed. “Yes Caitlyn, it’s marvelous. Your people used the arts to build it, didn’t they?”
She looked confused. “Of course.”
Jarek studied their handiwork. “It would take the lifetime of every magus in the Outland to build cities such as yours.”
Her brow wrinkled. “What is meant when you say every Lore Master?”
“We are few in number and have many cities.”
/>
“Do you mean you have few lore masters?”
Now it was he who was confused. “Yes. Most people are mundane; very few are born with the Gift.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying most Outlanders are gan draíocht?”
“If that’s your term for those lacking the Gift, yes.”
Her eyes went wide. “That is hard to believe. It is rare that one in A’ryth is born so.”
It was Jarek’s turn to disbelieve. “You’re all gifted?”
“Sometimes a child is born gan draíocht—with no magic, but not often. I felt sadness for Goodricke Loddvar when first I met him because his draíocht seemed weak. But to be without draíocht at all…” she shook her head, “such a terrible thing I cannot imagine. I am glad not to be an Outlander,” she said, giving Goodricke a pitying glance.
It took a while to wend their way to the valley floor. Curious onlookers stared at them as they passed. One brave little girl ran up to Goodricke. Giggling, she reached as high as she could and said something in their strange language. Caitlyn laughed. “She asks if you are a giant.”
Goodricke smiled at the girl and held his hand very low. “Please ask if she’s a pixie.” When Caitlyn did so, the girl shook her head, giggled, and ran away.
They were taken to a lavishly decorated building styled in the fashion of those above. It was centered in a courtyard, surrounded by plants and colorful flowers, the likes of which he’d never seen. To either side of its entrance were a pair of pillars carved in the image of warriors. The combination seemed tranquil—yet intimidating.
A dignified-looking white-haired man stood waiting for them. Caitlyn ran over and embraced him, and waved them over.
“Magus Verity; Goodricke Loddvar; meet Bardán, my grandsire.”
Bardán bowed. “My pleasure, I’m sure,” he replied in crisp Common.
“The pleasure is undoubtedly ours,” Jarek said, matching his bow. “And I compliment you on your command of our language.”
“That is most gracious, but having lived much of my youth in the Outlands. I’ve as much practice as could be hoped for.”
Caitlyn stroked Bardán’s arm, beaming with pride. “Grandsire was once a Seeker. It is he who taught me to speak with your tongue,” she said, her verbiage making Bardán wince.
“It is my granddaughter’s desire to become a Seeker too, but there is much to learn besides learning to speak Common. Outlanders have many customs and courtesies to understand; and religions, and she must know how to use the travelways, then return from the Outlands. She is near to earning her key.”
“Key?”
Caitlyn answered for him. “Each Seeker is given a key for use in the travelways. About that, I can speak no more. Come, the council awaits us. Grandsire and I are to translate.”
“Lady, could you tell us more of this Council?” Jarek asked before they went inside.
“They are our Elders, or as you Outlanders would say—the most powerful of our magi—wisest in the ways of draíocht.”
“The arts,” Bardán clarified. His smile faded. “Before we go inside, it is only fair to warn you that the Elders were quite angered by the news of your having breeched our city’s defenses.”
Jarek and he exchanged worried glances. Was his companion feeling as ill at ease as his was?
Bardán escorted them inside. The serene setting seemed in sharp contrast with the peevish looks of the men sitting before him. Six stern-faced men sat waiting, sitting on one side a long table. Lore Master Dalbhach was one of them. Their dour expressions made their displeasure with the Outlander’s presence clear. Four empty chairs sat empty opposite them. Bardán and Caitlyn sat in the outer two and signaled for Goodricke and Jarek to take the remaining two. Goodricke couldn’t shake the sense they were on trial. If they were, what consequence might they face?
Bardán introduced them, and the inquisition began. The Elders demanded to know how and why they’d come here. Jarek told Malg’s tale, that it was how he knew of A’ryth. With Bardán and Caitlyn translating, the process was excruciating slow. On more than one occasion arguments broke out amongst the Elders. Bardán chose not to translate those conversations.
Finally, Odhran, the Elder in charge, asked Jarek to explain how he’d gotten them over the stream. His relating of his feather spell evoked puzzled looks.
Eventually the all-important question of why they’d dared to enter A’ryth arose. Jarek gave a recounting of the tragedy of the first Nexus, and said that two more would follow; the first very near to A’ryth. He described his encounter with Zakarah. When he spoke of Lavan’s abduction, the Elders glowering expressions turned to ones of concern. Whispered side conversations ensued.
This hadn’t lasted long before Odhran called Bardán over. After a whispered comment, he returned. “Odhran says the Elders have much to consider. They offer you shelter for the night; but one night only.”
“What is it they’re trying to decide?” Goodricke asked.
Bardán looked grim. “When abominations breech our sacred borders, we put them to death. The Elders ponder whether or not the same should be done with you. You are to learn your fates in the morning.”
Stunned, he and Jarek stared at one another.
The Travelways
The audacity of the answer Rayna had given the golem stunned Gresham. He was even more astounded when it answered. “Yes, seeker.”
The golem shambled past him, veering toward the river, the weight of its strides vibrating the ground. The normally timid Rayna chased after it. “Anyone wanting to go, come with me.” The others followed, albeit with far less fervor.
The golem shuffled to a nearby wall, reached for an overhead shelf, and grabbed a log raft four times a man’s length and several ells wide. It was more barge than raft. Despite its obvious weight, the golem lifted it high above its head.
Sully watched, bug-eyed. “That thing be strong!”
Hagley put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, golem strength is legendary.”
Holding the boat aloft, the brute carried it to the river and dropped it. Water sloshed everywhere, but before the current could steal it away, the golem stepped off the bank, sinking waist deep in the water in front of it, and pinned the barge against the bank. It turned to Rayna. “Seeker ride.”
“It seems to think I’m this Seeker person, whoever that is? In case it leaves when I board, you three get on before me.”
Sully hopped in first. Hagley followed. Tripping over his robes, he very nearly tumbled overboard. This wasn’t the first time Gresham had seen him stumble. What was making him so suddenly clumsy? Gresham stepped onto the boat and helped Rayna board.
“A’ryth,” the golem rumbled. It took hold of two ropes tied to the raft’s front. The craft lurched as the ropes went taut and they were underway. The golem started slowly, but quickly had them moving so fast that Gresham had to sit to avoid falling.
Awed, they sat watching the creature trudge forward. The tunnel walls gave off an eerie blue light that shown so brightly that globes weren’t necessary. Whoever built the raft had given careful thought to its design, including a knee-high rail that enclosed a two-benched seating area.
Rayna turned to him. “Ready to see A’ryth, Soldier Boy?”
“You keep calling me Soldier Boy. When did my name change?”
She laughed. “When I heard Shay call you that. I thought it fitting.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’ve waited your whole life to meet your mother. It’ll happen soon. Have you thought about what you’ll say to her?”
“I have. I worry over it constantly, yet nothing I come up with seems quite right. I suppose I’ll decide that when I see her. Part of me is angry with her for deserting me. But another part weeps for her suffering at losing both husband and babe. If it were you, what would you do?”
“I think my need to see her would win out over any anger.”
“It will likely be so with me to
o” She sighed. “I’ll know soon enough.”
Their tunnel resembled the one they’d used escaping the marsh, save that these walls were perfectly formed. Gresham wondered if they’d been created from the same magic as the golem.
After a bit the golem stopped. A huge gate blocked their path. It pushed the gate open, pulled the barge beyond it, and closed the gate behind them. It pulled a lever and the water began to lower, taking them with it. Gresham looked over the side. The golem was standing on a slowly descending plank. Rayna and he exchanged nervous glances as the walls beside and behind them grew higher. A second gate appeared below them, with the river continuing beyond it. Once they reached it, their descent stopped. The golem opened the second gate, pulled their raft beyond it, closed the gate, and started walking again.
The same process repeated itself whenever time they encountered a new gate. At one point the pattern reversed, and instead of going deeper, it began rising, as did every gate after that.
Aside from these endless locks, the scenery never changed. Eventually, even the locks vanished. The trip grew boring. So much so, that when they spotted daylight in front of them, everyone cheered.
As they drew nearer however, they grew quiet. What lay ahead of them? Was it good or bad, or even worse, dangerous? Their collective gaze stayed riveted on the approaching light. As they slowly approached it, they were finally were able to make out a few details. Unlike the cave they’d started in, natural sunlight shimmered in this tunnel’s end. A dock came into view. Rayna squeezed Gresham’s hand, her nails digging so deeply they hurt.
They emerged from the tunnel to find perhaps twenty or so people standing on the shore, watching their approach. Their arrival had been anticipated.
“Seeker home.” The golem said. It halted, and its blue glow vanished.
The people on the dock stood gawking—mostly at Rayna. She turned to her travel companions. “Is it just my imagination, or are they staring at me?” She was equally surprised to find her companions doing the same thing. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”
