Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘They are our spiritual leaders. They are able to speak to the Mother.’

  ‘It is unwise to disobey them,’ added Myshka. ‘They do not like strangers. It is best you leave our lands quickly.’

  ‘We have no wish to stay where we are not welcome. We only wish to find the Dreaming Pools,’ said Urbek. ‘Ko-yamacha land is on the other side.’

  ‘We will take you to our village and seek guidance from Padra,’ Myshka suggested. ‘She has travelled much and may know the way.’

  The ko-venteela were curious about everything. They fingered Zastra’s clothes, running their hands over her leather jerkin as if they had never seen such material before. Their own feet were covered in a black moulded skin that came halfway up their calves. Urbek explained the material was called lastic, and it came from rubber trees that grew in the Makhana Forest. ‘We are trading it for ko-venteela metalwork,’ he explained. In the metal canisters Zastra had mistaken for quivers, the ko-venteela carried everything they needed to travel. As night drew in and it grew colder, they twisted off the caps and pulled out tunics made of a densely woven material.

  ‘It is best to wear little when fire dancing,’ Myshka explained. ‘Cloth burns easily.’

  As they left the Outlands, the landscape began to change, and the tar-like ground became dotted with patches of green that grew up around water springs. Towards evening, they reached a large spring that had formed a pool of cloudy blue water, around which plants were laid out in neat rings. One of the outer rings consisted of plants whose broad yellowish leaves cascaded out from a thick stem. Each of these plants had a metal tube inserted at a downward angle, from which a pale liquid glooped into a metal pail.

  ‘These are being rubberwoods,’ Urbek said, in surprise. ‘The soil here cannot suit them. Ours in the Makhana Forest are being much larger. These are being ridiculous.’

  At the edge of the plantation rose a six-sided tent. Outside, a boy and a girl played in the light of a brazier, attempting to balance on miniature pilu. The girl caught sight of them and fell off her pole.

  ‘Myshka! Xhoyal!’ She flung herself at Myshka, eyeing the rest of them with unashamed interest. The boy disappeared into the tent and dragged forth a tall woman wearing a long-sleeved tunic. Xhoyal and Myshka dipped their pilu in greeting.

  ‘May none disturb the Mother’s rest,’ said Myshka.

  ‘May She sleep forever,’ the woman returned, eyeing her visitors. ‘I am Shuyal.’

  Another woman and a man emerged from the tent. ‘This my wife, Rebanna, and my husband, Xhakan. These are our children. Travellers are welcome in our home.’

  ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ Zastra said, in halting Aliterran. The bemused look she received in response was becoming all too familiar.

  ‘What did I say?’ she asked with a sigh. Ithgol coughed.

  ‘It wasn’t clear. You may have proposed marriage.’

  ‘Who to?’

  ‘Possibly all of them.’

  ‘If we were allowed to use our talents, we could avoid such unfortunate misunderstandings,’ said Morvain. ‘I’m not sure these people are to be trusted. They have some very strange customs.’

  Zenarbia nudged Gwylla. ‘A husband and a wife? How does that work?’

  Gwylla giggled. ‘I bet Xhakan gets outvoted. A lot!’

  ‘Our hosts have no reason to wish us harm, unless we give them one,’ Zastra snapped. ‘We will not invade their privacy, nor will we openly laugh at them.’

  Zenarbia and Gwylla were subdued into silence. Morvain pressed his lips together but said nothing further. The children were entranced by the visitors, particularly Ithgol. They fingered his long, flax-like hair and ran their hands over his flat, red-hued face. He snarled at them and they screamed, running away only to return moments later, giggling.

  ‘Perhaps Ithgol will gain employment as a child-minder when this is all over,’ Polina remarked as the Kyrg swung the young girl over his head. She screamed in delight. He had barely put her down before she begged him to do it again.

  ‘Yet another of Ithgol’s impressive talents,’ remarked Morvain with a smile. He had recovered his composure. Even though he had not troubled himself to try and learn Aliterran, he began to dominate the conversation, asking Urbek to translate his questions and compliments. Their hosts provided a hearty but simple meal – a hot soup topped with savoury dumplings, followed by a dish of crunchy vegetables in a spicy sauce. Urbek related all that had happened on their journey. When they came to the bit about dancing the fires, the little boy crawled over to Zastra and tugged off one of her boots. He examined the soles, running his fingers over the bobbles of rock before looking at her in awe.

  ‘Where will you go?’ asked Shuyal.

  ‘Makhana Forest,’ said Urbek. ‘We must warn my people of their danger.’

  ‘I hope this whiteskin Thorlberd will not try and take our lands,’ Rebanna said.

  ‘The Mother and the druin-ji will protect us,’ said Xhakan stoutly. Shuyal snorted.

  ‘Pah! The druin-ji are thieves and charlatans. Look what they did!’ She lifted her sleeves. The insides of both arms were branded with the ko-venteela symbol, repeated all the way up to her elbows.

  ‘I asked too many questions when I was a girl.’

  ‘They did that to a child?’ Urbek exclaimed in horror.

  ‘They do that, and worse.’ Shuyal glanced at Xhoyal and Myshka. Xhoyal’s head dropped.

  ‘We had an older sister,’ Myshka explained. ‘She took care of us when our parents died in the fires of the Second Born. One year, our sister refused to pay the druin-ji the tribute they demanded. She said it was too much, that we would starve. Pacifa growled that night and the druin-ji blamed my sister. She was made sacrifice.

  ‘Sacrifice?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘The druin-ji teach that the Mother and her children can only be appeased by human flesh. Our sister was cast into the firepit.’ Myshka broke off as Shuyal reached out to squeeze her hand.

  ‘When we had our own children, we left the valleys to live here,’ she said. ‘It is harder, but the druin-ji don’t bother us. We even try to grow our own rubberwoods, so we do not have to run begging to the druin-ji. They control all trade with the ko-yamacha.’

  ‘They are fine specimens,’ said Urbek quickly. ‘I was saying as much when I saw them.’

  After the meal, Xhakan washed the pots while Rebanna put the children to bed. Smaller sections of the tent served as sleeping quarters for the family. Shuyal invited Zastra and the others to camp down in the largest section, apologising for the lack of mattresses. Zastra asked Urbek to thank them, rather than risk yet another mistake. They wrapped themselves in their blankets and tried to sleep as the ground trembled, echoing the distant roars of the First Born.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The next morning, they bade their hosts farewell and continued onwards, reaching a fertile valley formed by a pale blue river that meandered between two mountains. Smoke drifted lazily from the summit of the mountain to their left.

  ‘Should we be worried?’ Urbek asked. Xhoyal looked amused.

  ‘Such little smoke is nothing to fear. Pacifa will not harm us today.’

  Zastra walked between the ko-venteela, speaking only Aliterran, eager to improve the way she spoke the language. With their patient help she started to feel more confident. Fields stepped up the sides of the valley, covered in plants and berry-laden bushes. Ko-venteela worked the fields or washed clothes in the river, stopping to stare at the strangers but making no move to greet them. Unlike Myshka and Xhoyal, they seemed wary and fearful. In the mid-afternoon, they reached a large settlement that spread up Pacifa’s lower slopes. It was made up entirely of tents, covered in brightly-coloured paintings of fires, or mountains with strangely human aspects, and almost all carried the ko-venteela symbol. Some tents were nearly as large as the great hall on Uden’s Teeth, others were much smaller. Here and there, pools of steaming water broke through the ground. Ko-venteela chil
dren splashed in them, their mottled legs bare, giggling with pleasure. Myshka led them through the settlement via well-worn track that zig-zagged upwards until they left the tents behind and approached the entrance to a tunnel. Outside, squares of cloth were laid out, covered in intricately worked jewellery. Zastra recognised a pair of pendants like those worn by Myshka and Xhoyal. An open circle of metal, inside which strands of bronze, gold and silver had been melded together to give the impression of fire. It was astonishing craftmanship. Behind the jewellery were pilu of various sizes as well as household items such as buckets and knives and forks. Even these ordinary objects had pleasing lines and decorative touches. An old man with no teeth sat by the cloth and thrust a bracelet hopefully towards Gwylla. The young mindweaver declined reluctantly.

  ‘Padra-ji?’ Myshka asked. The man jerked his head towards the tunnel and threw down the bracelet in disgust. Myshka led them down a narrow passage that grew distinctly warmer as they descended, and they began to hear clinking and hissing as the passageway opened out into a vast cave. A large hole in the roof let in the sunlight and the air shimmered above an open pit in the floor. Around its edge, men and women wearing little besides lastic aprons and padded gloves worked with glowing metal. Zastra peered into the pit. A river of molten rock flowed beneath her, blasting heat upwards. One of the aproned workers used a pilu to dangle a ceramic pot above the lava, her forehead beaded with sweat. She retrieved the pot and poured molten metal into an intricate mould. The metal sizzled as it hit the cool clay. Only then did she turn to greet the visitors.

  ‘Greetings, Padra-ji. May none disturb the Mother’s rest,’ Myshka said politely.

  ‘May she sleep forever,’ the woman returned. She frowned at Zastra and the others. ‘It is unwise to bring strangers here. The cries of the First Born have roused the druin-ji. They have been seen further up the valley.’

  ‘We do not wish to bring you trouble,’ Urbek said. ‘I wish only to return home.’

  Xhoyal quickly recounted what had happened. Padra eyed Zastra thoughtfully.

  ‘If what you say is true, this whiteskin must give thanks to the First Born for his mercy,’ she said. ‘But we must perform the ceremony quickly. They must be gone before the druin-ji arrive.’ She set aside her work and began barking orders.

  ‘What did she mean?’ Zastra asked. ‘How am I supposed to give thanks to a mountain?’

  ‘Come,’ said Xhoyal. He and Myshka took them back outside where the air felt pleasantly cool after the intense heat of the cave. They were led to a tent covered in lurid flames.

  ‘Welcome to our home,’ said Myshka. ‘Please, refresh yourselves.’ Xhoyal disappeared outside with an empty bucket. When he returned it was full of steaming water.

  ‘Why do they live in tents?’ Morvain asked. Urbek translated both his question and the response.

  ‘The mountains are not being silent for always,’ he explained. ‘They are needing to be ready to move speedy.’

  ‘What an odd life,’ Gwylla remarked. ‘Knowing that any moment everything you’ve built could be swept away.’

  The ko-venteela left them to wash and change. When they returned, Myshka brought a pair of thin black shoes and offered them to Ithgol. Ithgol turned them over suspiciously and then handed them back.

  ‘You will not take the gift?’ Myshka looked offended.

  ‘Let me look at those,’ said Lorzan, taking the shoes. He removed his boots and pulled them on.

  ‘It’s like being barefoot,’ he exclaimed as he strode back and forth. ‘And such grip! I could climb anything in these.’

  He offered to give Ithgol his boots to replace his damaged ones. By good fortune, they were both of a similar size. The ko-venteela were delighted that their gift had been accepted.

  ‘And all this time I’ve been thinking Sendorans don’t know anything about diplomacy,’ Zastra remarked with a smile.

  ‘We are learning much about each other on this trip, Lady Zastra,’ Lorzan responded. ‘I would never have taken you for a dancer.’

  ‘I enjoyed it very much when I was a girl, although I prefer a solid floor and a lower chance of imminent death.’

  ‘We must prepare,’ Xhoyal said, inviting her to another section of the tent. He thrust a pilu into her hands. ‘Follow my lead.’

  He began to leap and twist around the chamber in a kind of frenzied dance, stepping from one foot to the other. It reminded Zastra of how she had crossed the lava lake, except the steps were rhythmic and more stylised.

  ‘I can’t possibly do that!’

  Xhoyal gave her the same look Myshka had given Ithgol when he refused the lastic boots.

  ‘Fine, I will try,’ she said, removing her jerkin and attempting to copy his moves.

  ‘No, like this!’ Xhoyal whirled into another dance. He went more slowly this time and she repeated the steps until she had the dance memorised.

  ‘I think I’ve got it,’ said Zastra with relief.

  ‘It is just the beginning!’ Xhoyal began whirling around the tent once more, adding more intricate moves and swirling the pilu over his head and around his body. Zastra tried to follow but ended up tangling the pilu between her legs and falling over.

  ‘Come. Padra is ready,’ said Myshka, popping her head between two flaps of canvas.

  ‘But Zastra is not! We haven’t practised jumping the firepit,’ protested Xhoyal.

  ‘I’m supposed to do what?’ Zastra exclaimed. Myshka gave her a pair of fingerless gloves made of the same material as Lorzan’s new shoes. They stretched around Zastra’s hand like a second skin.

  ‘You will be fine. You are a fire-dancer, remember?’

  ‘Keeping on saying it doesn’t make it true,’ Zastra muttered as they re-joined the others.

  ‘Zastra, are you sure about this?’ Polina said with a worried frown.

  ‘I’m only sure that I have to try.’ Zastra sensed the ceremony was important to their hosts and there was no way to tell how they would react if she refused to take part. When they returned to the cave, the firepit looked a lot wider than she remembered. Hundreds of ko-venteela poured into the cave and her heart began to pound so hard she was sure everyone must be able to hear it. Padra raised her pilu and silence descended. She had removed her apron and wore nothing but a loin cloth and a wrapper around her breasts. Her body was all sinew and muscle. Zastra felt uncomfortably hot in her shirt and leggings, but there was no way she was going to prance around nearly naked in front of Morvain and the others. Padra opened her mouth and her throat quivered, emitting the same warbling cry that Xhoyal and Myshka had made on the slopes of the First Born. The cry was taken up by the rest of the ko-venteela.

  ‘Follow Padra-ji. Do what she does,’ Xhoyal whispered as Padra began to circle the firepit.

  ‘Come on Lady Zastra, show us what you’re made of.’ Morvain grinned and clapped his hands in time with the chanting. He’s enjoying this. Probably hoping I’ll embarrass myself. Padra beckoned her. She could only try her best. Hopefully the ko-venteela would appreciate effort as much as actual skill. She began with the steps Xhoyal had taught her. The ululations increased in volume. After circling once around the pit, Zastra’s shirt was already heavy with sweat. Only the fingerless lastic gloves prevented her pilu slipping from her slippery palms. The chanting intensified, echoing around the cave. It was intoxicating stuff and Zastra found herself caught up in the rhythm and the beauty of the dance. She began to anticipate Padra’s steps as they leapt and twirled, fast and faster, right up to the lip of the pit. The ululations rose to a crescendo but then died as Padra drew to an abrupt halt. Zastra stopped next to her. They were both breathing heavily.

  ‘Who bears witness?’ cried Padra. Myshka and Xhoyal stepped forward.

  ‘I witness that Zastra Whiteskin danced the fire,’ Myshka said.

  ‘I too, witness that Zastra Whiteskin danced the fires,’ added Xhoyal.

  ‘Zastra Whiteskin, receive the token of the fire dancers.’

  Padra lo
wered a pendant over Zastra’s head. The circle of metal felt cool against her skin.

  ‘Let the new fire-dancer demonstrate her skill.’ Padra stepped back and gestured across the firepit. Zastra gulped. They really expected her to jump over the molten river. Gwylla went white and even Morvain was no longer grinning. The chanting began again as she backed away from the edge, trying to recall what she had done on the First Born. There was nothing for it but to commit fully. She charged towards the pit, planted her pilu and heaved herself upwards. The heat coming from the firepit seared her skin as she hung above it, but she was over in an instant, relieved to feel solid ground beneath her feet. She even managed a flourish as she retrieved her pilu.

  There was a sudden disturbance near the cave entrance. The chanting died instantly as uneasy whispers swept through the ko-venteela. The crowd parted to reveal the figure of a woman clothed head to toe in a flowing grey robe. No skin was visible; the figure’s hands were encased in gloves and an engraved steel helmet covered her head and neck. A dense oval mesh across the front of the helmet gave the figure a blank, faceless appearance.

  ‘Druin-ji!’ gasped Padra. Silence settled over the cave with a hiss, like water thrown over a campfire.

  ‘What heresy is this?’ The druin-ji’s voice reverberated around the cave. She carried a silver pilu, decorated with red and yellow ribbons. Instead of a point, it was topped by an open circle with a triangle above three wavy lines outlined inside it. The ko-venteela sign. Behind her marched five men and five women in grey uniforms bearing the same insignia. The two at the back carried a smoking brazier, suspended from a metal pole that rested between their shoulders.

  ‘May the Mother rest in peace,’ intoned Padra, kneeling.

  ‘How can she sleep when you commit such sacrilege?’ the druin-ji snapped.

  ‘This is no sacrilege,’ said Padra defensively. ‘We honour the First Born for permitting this whiteskin to dance his fires.’ The druin-ji turned towards Zastra. Looking into a blank, faceless mesh instead of a face was disconcerting.