by Pearl North
The real trouble began at the start of the lowlands, where the land leveled out and became most fertile. But not here. Ruins choked the riverway, turning what should have been perfect farmland into a swamp. Po examined the ruins more closely and found countless versions of the same structure, each resembling the temple at the top of the mountain, but flawed in some way. They were all slowly sinking into the mud of the swamp, but some had been built more recently than others. One was so recent that it still stood tall and proud, nearly perfect but for one crooked pillar. This gave Po an idea.
He focused his attention on Thela’s perception center, which corresponded to the foothills of Ilysies. There on a promontory he found a glittering golden object—an axe with a heavy flat head that could also be used for hammering. On the other end of its handle was a knife blade, the surface on one side hashed for sanding. This tool could do almost anything, and it was made of the same shining gold as the temple. This was how Thela perceived the pen, as the perfect tool that would finally enable her to create perfection in the real world.
Unless he managed to alter that perception. Could he do that? She had written that he would only do what made her happy. She would not choose to think of the pen in a different way, but the change could make her happy. There was one sure way to find out. If the act violated what she’d written, he’d simply be unable to do it.
But he might not be able to do it for another reason. This was an entirely new application of kinesiology. If he did this, he’d be willfully altering one of Thela’s thought-forms. He was pretty sure that was a misuse of his ability, if it was even possible.
At the same time, if he did nothing…He thought of the chorus down in the courtyard right now, of everyone back at the Libyrinth, and of the people in the villages of the plain. All of them would be at Queen Thela’s mercy, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t have any.
He was beyond exhausted. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d even survive attempting this, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. Po breathed deeply and concentrated all of his kinesthetic awareness. He became a hawk soaring high above the land. He swooped and snatched the tool from its resting place and flew with it to the swamp, where he sought out Thela’s most recent effort at replicating the golden temple of perfection.
When he was directly over it, Po dropped the tool. He waited, forcing himself to keep breathing as the tool tumbled, end over end, through the air. At last, it struck the roof of the newly built temple and shattered it with a sound like breaking glass.
The sound broke him out of his trance and he slumped to the ground.
“Po!” exclaimed Thela, staring down at him. “What did you do?”
Terrified, all he could do was stare up at her and shake his head.
“I don’t feel any different, and look at you.”
Thank the Mother. “I’m sorry. I tried really hard, but I couldn’t get anything to work. I must be tired.” That was an understatement—he could barely move.
She shook her head. “I never should have let you work on me in your depleted condition.” She climbed down off the couch and sat by him, lifting his head to pillow it in her lap. “You can kill yourself, you know, pushing too hard in a kinesthetic trance.”
He knew that, but he said, “I can?”
She nodded.
Even speech was an effort, but he forced himself. “I’m sorry, Thela. I tried, but I am not very good.”
“You’re better than you think, but Ymin herself would be hard-pressed to heal a hangnail in the condition you’re in. I see that now.”
“I wanted to…”
“I know, and that’s why I let you try. But enough—it’s time we went home, Po. I need time to study the pen, consider what is to be done with it, and strategize my next move. I’ve been away from Ilysies for too long. It does not do to conquer the world but lose your home.” She looked up to where Mab stood looking out the window. “The pen,” she said.
Po stiffened, then realized he probably should have stifled that response. But Thela only smiled at him. “I know. The pen is dangerous, very dangerous. And it is fortunate that I have it, and not someone who would wield it irresponsibly. Can you imagine what Selene would have done with it? We’d all be running around with three heads or something. To be honest, I’m not even entirely sure it should be used at all. Certainly not before it is fully understood. And yet, at the moment it is our only way home. And I want to go home, don’t you?”
All Po wanted to do was get back to his friends in the courtyard, but that could not be. Even if he wasn’t incapacitated, even if there was a door to this room, the change he had wrought in Thela’s mind and body was not of a permanent nature. It would need regular reinforcing. “Of course,” he said.
Mab handed Thela the pen and she wrote, “Thela, Po, and Mab are instantaneously transported to Thela’s bower in the Palace of Ilysies.”
The words glowed in midair. As they dissipated, Po had the strangest sensation, as if he were stretching in several impossible directions at once, and then the walls surrounding them were white, not gray. Tapestries of songlines became gauzy draperies over sun-drenched windows. There was a bed shrouded by veils, a pool for bathing, and couches and low tables for eating. He tried to stand, but found he could not.
Thela drew him close. “There now,” she said. “Rest easy. Didn’t I tell you I’d make you my consort one day? And now here we are. Welcome home, Po.”
28
Harvest
Distributing the food among the citizens and preparing the rest to be transported to the villages took the rest of the day and most of the night, and all of Ayma’s concentration and effort. “Roger, will you take these and add them to the cart that you just loaded?” she asked, handing a man nearly twice her size two sacks of seed barley. “And do you know when Loren is returning with more wagons? We can’t do much more until she does.”
It struck her that this time she did not hesitate to give an order or ask a direct question. She’d done both so many times this night, she supposed she had to get used to it some time. She thought of how she’d been when the chorus had first come to town, of how her life had consisted of wiping down the bar and furtive scavenging for food. How small she’d been, how afraid.
She’d never before experienced anything like this past day, this ceaseless stretching of her abilities and sense of who she was. It was as if she walked on the periphery of her former life and beyond it, until she was shocked to still find ground beneath her feet.
The sky was turning gray and most of the people had either gone home or departed with the wagons destined for the villages of the plain. It just remained now to pack up the rest for the people of the Libyrinth.
She climbed up on a barrel of dried beets and sat down, feeling for the first time the full ache of her tired feet. Siblea, who seemed to have gotten stronger as the night wore on, finished tying off a rope and sat down beside her. He handed her a flask of water, and she drank.
She surveyed the courtyard, dread seeping up through her newfound confidence like a muddy river overflowing its banks. In spite of every effort, Po, Mab, and the pen had not been found. “They’re still searching?” she asked Siblea.
He nodded. “But we went through the whole place, with people stationed at the exits, before nightfall. If we didn’t find them then…”
As if summoned, Selene, Baris, Jan, and Hilloa came out of the temple and crossed the courtyard, exhaustion and grief drawn in every frown, every slumped shoulder.
“Nothing,” said Selene.
“It’s as if they vanished into thin air,” said Jan.
“Do you think Mab used the pen to spirit them both away somewhere?” asked Ayma.
“What?” said Selene, her tired eyes sharpening their focus.
“I said do you think she used the pen?” She could be more patient with Selene now, she found.
“No. The name. You said—”
“Mab? Oh yes. She was notorious. An Ilysian by bi
rth, I believe, she taught twenty-five people to read before they—”
Selene slapped her forehead. “I’m an idiot! Mab! Of course that was Mab!”
Ayma was relieved to see the others also looking at Selene as if she’d lost her mind. So it wasn’t just her.
Selene saw their looks. “My mother’s spy. I heard her mention the name once. Mab is my mother’s woman.”
“The queen of Ilysies,” said Hilloa.
Selene was a princess? Ayma pushed that revelation aside and tried to focus her tired brain. “So she’s been working for Ilysies, all this time.”
“And she took the pen,” said Jan, “which means…”
Selene looked ill. “That the pen is now, or very soon will be, in my mother’s hands.”
Silence fell over the little group. “And what about Po?”
They all shrugged.
“We’ll search again,” said Jan. “Maybe somehow, we missed—”
“We missed nothing, Jan,” said Siblea. “They’re gone.”
“We’ll still take you back with us,” said Baris. “We’ll honor Po’s promise.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m going to stay here and help rebuild things.”
“As am I,” Siblea announced.
“You’re going to rebuild the Singer priesthood?” asked Selene with some suspicion.
“No,” he said. “The temple will become a university. We have the Lit King’s library and I’m hoping we can borrow some books from the Libyrinth.” He looked to Hilloa. “And some scholars.”
Hilloa raised her brows. “I don’t know.” She looked back at the temple, as if hoping to see Po come walking out the door. “I don’t…I’ll think about it. After we get this food home.”
Haly couldn’t put it off another day. They wouldn’t make it until tomorrow without some protein. Of course, with no elephant they could not cultivate as much land, but it didn’t matter how much acreage they could plow if they were too dead to do it. She went into the kitchen and fetched Hepsebah’s largest knife.
“You’re—” said the former hearthmistress, breaking broom bristles into a pot of boiling water to make straw soup.
Haly nodded.
“Want me to do it?”
“No,” said Haly. “It should be me.”
There had been much heated debate over Zam. At least, as heated as they had energy for anymore. Many had called for her slaughter weeks ago, while others pointed out that it would cripple their long-term efforts at agriculture. Others, and she knew she was one of them, argued against it because they liked Zam.
Entering the now near-empty stable, Haly thought of Po. He’d been Zam’s favorite. She was glad he wasn’t here for this.
Poor Zam. She raised her trunk feebly. They turned her out daily to forage for silverleaf, but it was barely enough to sustain her. Her skin hung in loose flaps on her skeletal form. This was a kindness, when all was said and done.
Gyneth and Hepsebah followed her with a large brass bowl to catch the blood. They positioned it beneath Zam’s neck. Nothing must be wasted. Haly raised the knife. She locked eyes with the elephant. That great dark eye regarded her gently and blinked. She knew.
Haly tightened her grip on the blade.
“Wait!” It was Peliac, running down the central aisle of the stables. “Stop! They’re coming!”
Haly dropped the knife and it fell into the brass bowl with a loud clang. “I saw them, they’re almost here,” said Peliac, panting.
They all hurried out of the stableyard and through the settlement to the first of the low hills surrounding the Libyrinth. From there, a procession of wagons was clearly visible, making its way toward them. Her heart soared, up and up. Haly forgot about everything else, and started to run.
She only made it as far as the foot of the hill before her legs collapsed beneath her and she fell. The others stumbled to a halt as well. Behind them, she heard voices as more and more people came out to see what was happening.
When it arrived, the wagon train, led by the Chorus of the Word, was more abundant that she ever could have hoped for. It contained cartloads and cartloads of grain, dried fruits, and vegetables. There were also goats and cows and chickens, and her heart lurched when she saw the great gray beast bringing up the rear. It was an elephant—a bull elephant. The people at the head of the wagon train ran toward them, their faces impossibly bright. Haly searched them. Some were unknown to her. And then Selene leaned over her, the strangest expression on her face. “Seven Tales,” she muttered, lifting Haly up into her arms as if she weighed no more than a child.
“We almost slaughtered Zam,” said Haly. She must be out of her mind. Why was she going on about that now? “The bull…”
“Yes,” said Selene, carrying her to one of the wagons and placing her on top of a bale of hay.
The person driving the wagon turned. It was Hilloa, looking older and more beautiful than Haly remembered. “Redeemer, everyone has been so generous. Every village we passed through on the way home showered gifts upon us. They’re going to help us.”
The wagon listed to one side and there was Baris, climbing up, and Jan after him. Each hugged her in turn. They were all so strong and full of life. “Because of what Po and Ayma did,” said Baris. “You won’t believe it all when we tell you what happened.”
“Ayma?”
“We’ll tell you all about her, and everything,” said Selene, hoisting Gyneth up beside Haly. “When we get everyone fed.”
Tor Books by Pearl North
Libyrinth
The Boy from Ilysies
Libyrinth 3
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank everyone who supported, aided, and abetted me in the creation of The Boy from Ilysies. In particular, my friends and family kept my spirits up and my fingers typing. Thank you, Steve, Kathe, Rick, Betsy, Sharon, Paulette, Jane, Marisa, Michael, Esther, Kris, Laura, and, of course, the whole Seton Hill crew.
About the Author
The Boy from Ilysies is Pearl North’s second young adult novel. She has published various works for adults under another name. She makes her home outside Detroit, Michigan, and is currently working on the final book of the Libyrinth trilogy.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE BOY FROM ILYSIES
Copyright © 2010 by Pearl North
All rights reserved.
Edited by James Frenkel
A Tor® Teen Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
ISBN: 978-0-7653-2097-1