Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘It is poor quality sandstone. Unsuitable for building, although it would take a nice filigree – I remember the façade of Marl Julan’s hall – such lovely decoration…’

  ‘I doubt our enemies will worry about the prettiness of the rocks raining down on their heads.’

  Kastara coughed loudly to remind them she was still there.

  ‘If Myka captained the relief boat with me and Findar as his crew, it would free up three more people help you.’

  ‘Three won’t get us very far,’ Vingrod snorted.

  ‘How about twenty?’ Kastara offered.

  ‘If you can summon up twenty more workers from nowhere, I’ll let you do whatever you want,’ Kylen said with a laugh.

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘Sure.’ Kylen turned back to Pitwyn. For once Kastara didn’t mind being dismissed. She had an idea.

  ‘What now?’ Gildarn was in his nightshirt and was not happy to find Kastara at his door for the second time that evening. Even in the twilight, its bold design of yellow and green swirls made Kastara’s eyes hurt.

  ‘I’ve thought of a way I can come back to class safely,’ she said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I overheard Kylen saying she needs some trenches dug in front of the fortress. It would be more useful as a distraction than embroidery. Build physical strength as well as mental. Besides, everyone moans that we mindweavers never pull our weight.’

  ‘Is that right?

  Kastara nodded, tight-lipped, hoping he wouldn’t try and read her mind. Although it was quite probable that someone on the island had said something along those lines. For some reason, mindweavers were not universally popular. Gildarn tilted his head.

  ‘I suppose a bit of healthy exercise wouldn’t do any harm.’

  Myka was just about to clear away the supper plates when Kastara got home.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asked as she grabbed the plate of lukewarm fish and rice that he was about to discard.

  ‘Are your mindweaver friends still being super competitive?’ she asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘They’re not my friends. That preening fool Wricken spent the whole day conjuring up images of flowers to impress the girls. I wouldn’t have minded, but he’s terrible at projecting smells. His pink roses stank like rotting fish. I nearly threw up.’

  ‘How about we play a little trick on him?’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Kastara’s scheme worked to perfection. When the class assembled outside his cabin the next morning, Gildarn led them along the beach and through the channel to the southern landing site. Nine of the recently graduated mindweavers were already there, shovels in hands. Two of the young men had already removed their shirts and were stretching in a way that was clearly meant to impress anyone watching. One of them was Wricken, a mindweaver with a particularly high opinion of himself. At Kastara’s instigation, Myka had spread a rumour that the trainees were making fun of the older mindweavers, saying they sat around all day because they were too feeble for physical work. Wricken and his friends were determined to prove them wrong.

  ‘Stop staring.’ Findar nudged Kastara. She nudged back.

  ‘I will if you will.’

  ‘What’s all this?’ Vingrod strode out from the building works to see what they were doing. Kastara explained that they had come to help with the trenches. Vingrod looked surprised but grabbed a piece of driftwood and drew a line across the beach roughly halfway between the fortress and the sea. She drew a second, parallel line fifty paces closer to the fortress.

  ‘There you go. I need two trenches, as deep as you can.’

  Wricken and the older mindweavers began digging furiously. Sand flew up from their trench. Myka had been right about their competitive spirit. They wanted to beat the trainees and prove to each other who was the strongest. The trainees’ trench soon lagged behind.

  ‘Whose stupid idea was this?’ Podara protested as she hefted yet another shovelful of sand. Kastara tried to look innocent. Findar wiped his brow and left a trail of damp sand across his forehead.

  ‘If only I could mindmove sand,’ he said.

  ‘Come on, we are being put to shame,’ Gildarn chided. ‘We are twice as many as them.’ By the end of the day, both trenches ran halfway across the gap. The trainees were still marginally behind.

  ‘That’s enough for today,’ said Gildarn. ‘Well done everyone. We can finish it tomorrow.’

  The class clambered wearily out of the trench. Kastara felt a small pang of guilt. She had no intention of being there tomorrow. She had more than delivered on her promise. It was time for Kylen to keep her end of the bargain.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘Try some of this gobi-nut paste. It really is delicious,’ Bedrun said, but Zastra waved it away. It had been three days since she had been poisoned, but still she was unable to keep down anything other than sweetwater. Her tongue felt like a strip of tree bark and her stomach churned at the sight of the hearty breakfast laid out before them. Her companions had no such qualms and tucked in with a will. As the breakfast cloth was being cleared away, a large shadow flew across the doorway to the kabana. Zastra and the others emerged to see a vulyx and rider land on a nearby branch, a second following close behind.

  ‘Ahk! Ahk!’ croaked the bird, urgently. The first rider was Urbek’s daughter. Her legs wobbled as she dismounted from Kiri.

  ‘Where’s my father?’ she cried, her eyes gleaming with tears.

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ asked Bedrun. The second rider was a boy even younger than Bekka.

  ‘The g-gemlyx clan are under attack,’ he stammered. ‘Whiteskins.’

  Rafadal and Urbek emerged from the kabana, drawn by the cries of the vulyx. Bekka buried her head in her father’s chest.

  ‘It was awful. Those horrid creatures – the ones you told us about. They’re tearing the forest apart.’

  ‘What of the gemlyx?’ asked Urbek. ‘Do they fight back?’

  The young lad couldn’t look them in the eyes.

  ‘They all just jumped into the swamp. Like they were too afraid to fight.’

  ‘Hurmek, surely you are mistaken,’ exclaimed Rafadal. ‘Jump into the swamp? The water would tear off their skins. Why would the gemlyx do that?’

  ‘Thought-stealers,’ said Urbek grimly.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Morvain asked, unable to follow the conversation. Zastra translated for the rest of the group.

  ‘It was so awful, we just fled,’ sobbed Bekka.

  Rafadal grasped her shoulder. ‘You did right to come and warn us. Urbek, gather our best hunters. If we leave now, we may reach gemlyx land before the rains.’

  Urbek kissed his daughter on the top of her head before hurrying down the yamacha.

  ‘We will join you,’ said Xhoyal. He and Myshka had already retrieved their pilu.

  ‘As will we,’ Zastra added. ‘You will need our help against the mindweavers.’ Rafadal chewed his lip as the truth of Zastra’s words landed.

  ‘What can we do,’ he asked, switching to Golmeiran.

  ‘We must disable the black ravens. It’s the only way to free your people from their control.’

  ‘Black ravens?’

  ‘It’s what we call Thorlberd’s mindweavers. Because of their robes.’

  ‘It is an insult to ravens to name them so. How do we fight them?’

  ‘We have Morvain and the others, although I suspect they will be outnumbered. Myself and the Sendorans can resist their control. That gives us a chance, although a small one.’

  Urbek returned with a handful of men and women, all armed with slings and knives. Zastra’s heart sank. They looked fit and agile, but such weapons would be little use against migaradons.

  ‘We will show you the way,’ said Bekka. Her tears had tracked furrows through the yellowsap on her cheeks. Urbek tenderly reapplied yellow paste to her face.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be resting?’ said Polina in a low voice, but Zastra wa
ved her protests away.

  ‘I can rest later.’ They bid goodbye to Bedrun, who cradled her protruding stomach as she pecked Rafadal on the cheek.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said, taking Zastra’s hand in hers. ‘All of you.’

  They swung through the lastic network, following Kiri’s croaks as she flew above the canopy. At one yamacha tree, Zastra was forced to wait with Hylaz and Lorzan as Urbek retrieved sufficient vines for them the make the next traverse.

  ‘There’s something I should tell you,’ Lorzan said, with an uneasy glance at Hylaz. ‘I am not true-blooded Sendoran.’

  ‘I don’t care if you are half Kyrginite…’ Zastra began, but then she realised what he was saying. Only pure-blooded Sendorans were resistant to mindweaving.

  ‘I can block the black ravens for a few moments, no more than that.’

  ‘Sounds like you have some natural resistance,’ remarked Morvain, who had joined them on the lastic mat. ‘Like yours, Lady Zastra, only Lorzan has never strengthened his ability.’

  ‘Funnily enough, no Golmeiran mindfogger ever offered to teach me,’ Lorzan said sourly.

  ‘I wonder if Zastra has some Sendoran blood?’ Hylaz suggested. ‘It would explain her resistance.’

  ‘It would also explain a lot about her character,’ Morvain added.

  ‘We need to deal with the black ravens quickly,’ said Zastra. ‘Any ideas, Morvain?’

  ‘Are you actually asking my opinion?’

  ‘You usually have plenty to offer.’

  The Southlander considered for a moment.

  ‘I fear we will be outnumbered and they will be more experienced. We cannot beat them one on one.’

  Urbek returned with the vines and they traversed to the next yamacha tree, where again they had to wait for vines to be collected.

  ‘We could shield some of the others. Fighters, like Ithgol and Justyn,’ Morvain suggested.

  ‘That would help. How many could you protect?’

  ‘We are not supposed to discuss such things with non-mindweavers,’ he began. Zastra gave him an icy glare. ‘Very well. Needs must, I suppose. It depends on the strength of the mindweavers we are up against. A good mindweaver can hold off two or three mediocre ones and protect those close to him.’

  ‘How strong are you and the others?’ It was a blunt question, but Zastra needed to understand their chances.

  ‘Polina is exceptional and Gwylla shows much promise. I have been told I am above average.’

  ‘What about Waylin and Zenarbia?’

  ‘Middling at best,’ he said. ‘Zenarbia may actually be more use with those knives she carries.’

  ‘What about Strinverl and the other two council members? We must assume they have joined up with the invading forces.’

  Morvain looked as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of poisonweed. ‘If Strinverl is with them, then we have a problem.’

  Rafadal landed so heavily that the lastic platform dipped and rose beneath their feet like a ship’s deck in a heavy swell.

  ‘It is taking too long,’ he said. ‘The yamalchika are not used to so many travelling at once and they are short of vines on this side.’

  ‘We should split up and use different trees,’ Urbek suggested. His plan was quickly agreed to. Zastra formed a group with Urbek, Rafadal and one of the hunters, a woman called Dilshar. The separate groups moved quickly through the forest, but since Morvain was in a different group, Zastra was left wondering what he had meant. Why was Strinverl such a problem?

  Chapter Thirty-two

  They reached the edge of vulyx territory just as the rains came and took shelter in the kabana of a yamalchika named Shirifa. The main chamber was extremely crowded. Shirifa introduced them to her daughter, Eskela, and a vulyx called Hoxha, who belonged to their family. Hoxha danced around Kiri, puffing out his chest feathers, but Kiri took no notice, concentrating on re-aligning her wing feathers with her beak while Humek’s vulyx tore into a pile of chopped tree rat.

  ‘Is there no way to travel through the rains?’ Zastra asked, afraid that if they stopped now she would fall asleep. She was still weak from the effects of the poison and had struggled to keep up with the others. Not eating for three days probably didn’t help.

  ‘It would be extremely unwise,’ Rafadal replied. ‘We can walk up and down the yamacha trunk where it is sheltered, but using the network would be foolish. We must wait until the rains stop and the yamacha have absorbed the rainwater.’

  ‘At least Thorlberd’s invaders will also be forced to take shelter,’ said Justyn. ‘The gemlyx should be safe for now.’

  Eskela brought a bowl filled with fruit and nuts. Zastra sucked on a slice of a watery purple fruit knowing she needed to rebuild her strength. Swallowing was difficult, as if her body had forgotten how to eat, and the temptation to lay down was great, but she sought out Morvain instead.

  ‘Tell me about Strinverl,’ she said. The Southlander’s shoulders sagged.

  ‘To explain, you need to know some of my history.’

  ‘We have time,’ Zastra remarked. Thunder rolled and the patter of rain on the canopy turned into a roar. Everyone went quiet as Morvain began.

  ‘Strinverl and I took part in the invasion of the Far Isles.’

  ‘You were working for Thorlberd?’

  ‘Of course.’ He met her eye. ‘As a mindweaver in Golmeira there is no other choice. However, I was happy enough with my position. I was the chief mindweaver to Marl Roshyar, one of the Southland marls. She had long been a supporter of Thorlberd’s and was rewarded with an invitation to join the expedition. She had four children and saw an opportunity to claim a fresh marldom for one of the younger ones. Nobody had any doubt the mission would be a success. The Far Isles had few mindweavers and no fortifications to speak of.’

  ‘We are being similar,’ Urbek said despondently. ‘Only we are having no thought-stealers at all.’

  ‘The triumvirate of equals surrendered as soon as we’d taken Mynganard. It would have been a relatively bloodless affair if people like Strinverl and Lord Rastran hadn’t been involved.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me about Rastran,’ Zastra said bitterly. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We took possession of the Grand Palace of Mynganard. Have you ever seen it?’

  ‘Only from a distance, when I was serving in Thorlberd’s fleet. Conscripts were never allowed on shore.’

  ‘It’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen. Only the amphitheatre of Golgannan came close, in my opinion.’ This was said with a nod to Hylaz and Lorzan. Golgannan had been the capital of Sendor, famed for its architecture and music. Thorlberd had razed it to the ground to punish Sendor for its resistance.

  ‘Thorlberd did not destroy the palace. The Far Islanders hadn’t made the mistake of resisting. Intoxicated by our triumph, we raided the palace, taking its treasures as trophies. Thorlberd set sail for the other islands in the archipelago to reinforce his victory, leaving Rastran in charge. Rastran ordered a feast, and it amused him to force the richest Far Isles merchants and their families to serve him. Being unused to such tasks, they did it badly, so he had them whipped.’

  ‘What about Strinverl?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘I had no appetite for such pleasures. I stole a couple of bottles of wine from the palace cellars and was about to return to my ship, when Strinverl made a grab for one of the merchant girls. She was young; too young to be a plaything for such a man. I urged him to restrain himself. I’m not sure what possessed me to challenge the highmaster. Perhaps the ease of our victory had made me arrogant.’

  ‘Or perhaps you are just a good man,’ suggested Zastra. Morvain closed his eyes briefly.

  ‘I was used to getting what I wanted, but not this time. Strinverl was stronger than me by far.’

  Zastra could tell the admission came hard to Morvain. Having made it, he sat up straighter.

  ‘He bested me and forced me to admit to all sorts of things, some true, some not. Since he was one of Rastran’s
favourites he was believed. I was clapped in irons and returned to the dungeons of Golmer Castle. Strinverl insisted on leading what he called my re-education. It was not pleasant and I doubt I would have survived had your friend Kylen not released me. Having realised the truth behind Thorlberd’s rule, I chose to join the rebels.’

  ‘How strong is Strinverl?’

  ‘When it comes to controlling the actions of others, he’s better than anyone I’ve ever met.’

  The rains were still pounding against the canopy when Zastra, looking out of the door of the kabana, saw something move below.

  ‘What is it being?’ Urbek exclaimed. ‘Nothing is moving in the rains, surely?’

  They risked stepping outside the doorway to get a better view. Urbek held his cloak above their heads to protect them from the rain. Further down the tree, a ko-yamacha dropped onto a lastic mat. Only a few smears of yellowsap remained of his protective layer and his arms were blistered and raw. He slipped on the wet mat and dropped to his knees, his shins bright red as he rose. Heedless of the acid burning through his skin, he grabbed the next vine and swung further into vulyx clan land. More gemlyx followed, careless of the burning rain. Green-feathered birds the size of small eagles flew with them, emitting high-pitched whistles. Rafadal ran down the trunk and gestured them to stop but none heeded his warnings.

  ‘They’re terrified,’ Zastra remarked.

  ‘The gemlyx are the bravest of us,’ Urbek said with a shudder. ‘It is why they are living on the edge of the forest. They do not fear what is beyond. Until now.’ He reached for a pot of yellowsap and slapped it on his skin, even though he already had a thick coating. The rain started to ease. Rafadal returned with a young ko-yamacha woman, who was carrying a screaming toddler beneath her cloak. The child was unhurt, save for a bald patch on her head that was turning an angry red. Urbek doused the wound in sweetwater, before applying yellowsap. The child continued to cry lustily.

  ‘The madness is coming,’ cried the woman. ‘It takes everyone.’

  ‘It is not madness,’ Rafadal said, but the woman would not listen. As soon as Urbek had returned her child, she hurried down to the lastic platform. There was one vine left and she took it. When she reached the next tree, she was so panicked she let the vine fall back to hang uselessly between the trees.