Sandun felt his heart drop. To be sure there were many different argots and dialects spoken in the Archipelago: Kelten, Melnehlanian, the Imperial tongue of Akia, the provincialisms of Falsten and Sastras. But he had been taught that everyone in Serica spoke the same tongue. “Does anyone speak the Serice the way you taught me?”
“Silly man-goose, of course. I was taught the right way to speak.” Ashala seemed certain, but Sandun harbored doubts.
Another two days brought them out of the tea hills and onto the great rolling plains of Serica. The change was remarkably abrupt: the hills just ended and to the east, there was nothing to be seen but the sky and low hills on the horizon. Great white clouds floated high above the land.
Nowhere in Kelten could you stand and not see hills. As the expedition left the Tiralas and walked onto the vast and unfamiliar plains of Serica, a nervous fear took hold in Sandun’s mind. They were a small band of foreigners traveling into a great land filled with unknown dangers and an uncertain political situation. The temptation to turn back and head for home was strong. But curiosity and a deep desire to actually see Serica’s great cities were stronger.
Now that they were in Serica proper, the threat of bandits was real. In response, the merchants tried to force the Keltens to go first. Sir Ako refused, instead insisting the scouts not out patrolling stay in the center of the pack train. Then the merchants argued over who would be first; no one wanted to be at the head of the column, but then again, no one wanted to be at the rear either. Eventually, the merchants agreed that they would switch positions on a daily basis. Rogge and his brother managed the negotiations, though Sandun observed that either Rogge or his brother was usually somewhere near the front every day.
Although they avoided the main road, crossing over farm fields was nearly impossible for the merchants with their heavily laden ponies and mules. The scouts were usually able to pick their way following small paths, but often they had to come back to the main road, so there were breaks in their knowledge of the land ahead.
Along the way, they met people, mostly farmers or travelers going from one small village to another. When they saw the Kelten men in the main group, most people expressed surprise. Despite their hats and their cloaks, the Keltens’ faces were unusual for Serica, with larger noses and narrower faces, and whenever they talked together, it was obvious that they were strangers from a very distant land.
In turn, the people of Serica that the expedition met wore a distinctive style of dress, more like a robe than the usual shirt and pants. The clothing was usually brown or gray, much less colorful than the robes worn by the people of Gipu. Sometimes in the small villages, a few women would be seen wearing bright colors such as orange or yellow. White robes, common attire in Kelten for men and women affiliated with the temple, were conspicuous in their absence from the dress of the Serice.
As the days passed, the peaks of the Tiralas gradually sank toward the horizon until finally they disappeared entirely. It was spring here in Serica, and the fields were freshly plowed or covered with tiny shoots of green crops, mostly wheat or some other grain. The air felt thick and rich, dense with dust and moisture. Ashala complained about the air, but everyone else in the expedition enjoyed the change from the thin dry air of the mountains.
Another week of travel, and now the wagon track they followed was complemented by a small but happy river that grew as other streams joined in. Ranch houses could be seen on the tops of the gently rolling hills where the soil was not as good. The Keltens saw shaggy cows and goats, and occasionally sheep grazing in the pastures.
“I’ve come to realize that farms are the same no matter where you go,” Sir Ako said one afternoon. It was hot, not much breeze. The farm they were walking past was being worked by a large group of men, women, and children, pulling weeds and turning earth. Part of one field was covered with water, with young green stalks of rice already waving in the air.
“This does look very like the farmland around Opomos. To think we came all this way, just to end up in Kelten’s great valley,” Sandun replied.
“More trees,” said Basil, “and fewer large animals. Not the same as Kelten.”
The merchants called out their goods for sale: “Copper pots! Fine rugs! Woolen cloaks!” The farmers waved them off and kept working, though a few curious children had to be corralled by their older siblings. Digging out weeds was a job Sandun knew something of, from the vegetable garden in the backyard of his parents’ house. He was happy to let other people plant crops; it was a common enough occupation, and there was plenty of work for everyone who wanted it.
The next village they arrived at was protected with freshly cut wooden poles buried partway in the ground. Ten armed men stood guard at the gate, while in the distance there was the sound of construction: hammers echoed in the midday air. This was the town of Hazeny, the largest they had seen thus far in Serica. The guards talked to Rogge for some time before allowing them in. There was suspicion in the way the guards held their spears, in their narrowed eyes, in their tight mouths. Inside the town was a hum of activity with women carrying covered baskets of food and men and younger children digging pits beside the houses. No one talked to the merchants, no one asked them what they had for sale. Sandun thought these were the preparations for war.
At the center of the town was a tea house. Here the merchants were able to stable their animals, and then they went inside for food and drink. The tea house, a large, two-story building was next to a temple and another building surrounded by walls six feet high. Two big men in armor stood beside an open gate. Next to the door wardens, Sandun saw a large metal fish hanging between two posts. It looked comical with its gaping mouth and faintly surprised expression. At first he had no idea what purpose the fish served, but then he noticed a wooden mallet dangling from a rope beside it. He guessed it was a sort of bell.
In the tea house, the people talked in hushed voices. The merchants were in a group and, unlike in the other villages they had passed, no one came over to talk to them or sought to buy something.
Sandun asked Ashala to see what she could learn. She took some dirty clothes and disappeared for an hour. When she returned and hung up the clothes to dry in the back of the tea house, she told him that there was fighting to the east.
“The women say that a village called Wheat Town, about ten miles away, was captured and ravaged. Some say the men of Hazeny should have gone to help, others that the town should keep to its own. The men all go out armed every day, and fields farther out have been left unplowed. Also, building the wall, which we saw on the way here.”
“Do they know who attacked the village?” Sandun asked.
“Those who lived fled when they saw the attackers in the distance. Some said they were Sogands, others said they were Red Swords from the south.”
After dinner, Sandun was sipping hot tea, a drink that was gradually becoming more palatable to him. As he logged the expenses of the day, a Serice gentleman came up. With his rounded face, he looked somewhat like the tea farmers of the hills, but his eyes were bright, and there was a palpable sense of being in the presence of a man who was used to command. His clothing was simple to the point of being devoid of interest. Unusually, he had both a beard and a mustache, which marked him as one of the educated elite. Standing behind him was a much younger man who said very little but smiled frequently.
“This humble person begs leave to introduce himself. I am Valo Peli, a traveler. This man hears from the merchants over at the other table that you are emissaries from distant Kelten?”
“We are. We have traveled more than a year to reach Serica, and we have farther to go,” Sandun replied.
“This man asks, where you are going?”
Sandun eyed the man; he seemed guileless, but Sandun detected a subtle mind. “We are traveling to Tokolas with those merchants.”
“And this man asks, are you not going farther? There ar
e several capital cities where ambassadors such as yourself could visit, though which one represents the true government is difficult to say.”
Sandun was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Who are you?”
Valo Peli paused and then motioned toward a table where he had a pot of tea. Sandun followed him, and they sat down together.
“This man seeks also to travel to Tokolas, and the road ahead seems quite dangerous for the two of us.” Valo Peli waved at his companion, who came over and sat down at the table.
Sandun told him, “We have not seen many travelers on the road so far. You might be the first. I’d like to know why you wish to go to Tokolas? You aren’t a merchant. Do you have family there?”
“No, my family is to the west of here. My clan has grown tea in the hills for many generations, but I do not.” Valo Peli put his hands together as though indicating that picking tea leaves was not his role in life.
Sandun tried a different tack. “Does your friend speak? Does he have family in Tokolas?”
“My oblas can speak, but he is not from Tokolas either.”
“I don’t understand that word you used. Oblas?”
“Ah. Oblas—one who follows as I teach—you know the word ‘student’?”
Sandun nodded.
“Your knowledge of Serice is very good, though judging from your accent, you learned it from one of the mountain towns in the high hills.”
“We stayed the winter in Gipu.”
“Just so. You will consider my request? Though it may seem unlikely, I have some ability in archery. And my, ah, student, is not completely devoid of talent.”
At this, the young man smiled broadly. Valo Peli glanced at him, and the young man bowed and withdrew.
Sandun excused himself and went to find the others.
“What did he want?” Sir Ako asked.
“He said he wants to join us on our trip to Tokolas. But he would not say why he wanted to go, only that he was a traveler. Clearly he is concealing something, but I have no idea what.”
“Well, we can hardly block the road. If he wishes to follow us, I don’t think we can stop him.” Basil pointed out the simple truth.
“He did say that he was good with a bow. As for the younger man, there is something in how he moves,” Sandun replied, somehow justifying in his mind the idea of taking Valo Peli up on his offer.
Sir Ako said, “I can’t see any reason not to trust him. Who are we? We don’t represent a threat to anyone here. Even in the middle of the civil war, Kelten always treated ambassadors from other nations in the Archipelago with courtesy.”
Kagne, sounding reluctant, said, “I don’t mean to be the voice of gloom, but speaking as a man who has run into complex situations that resulted in imprisonment—my imprisonment, to be specific—we don’t know what we are walking into. Perhaps there are reasons why one group in Serica would regard us as a threat.”
“I can have Ashala ask around. She seems to be good at ferreting out local gossip. When are we leaving?” Sandun put this question to all of them.
Sir Ako pulled at his new beard which he had started growing around the start of the new year. “This talk about a recently destroyed village up the road worries me. The people here look like they are preparing for a battle. I don’t relish the idea of staying just to be caught in the middle of a siege, nor do I like the idea of running into a military formation of unknown size on the road. On balance, I think we should go soon. Tomorrow or the next day. Trust that Sho’Ash will see us through.”
Sandun went to talk to the merchants. With no one in the town interested in their wares, they were eager to leave. So the decision was made to leave around noon the next day. That night, Sandun explained to Ashala the strange offer Valo Peli had made. She said she would ask about him the next morning.
“I am very useful to you, yes?” Ashala snuggled up next to Sandun in their bed.
“Yes, my Ashala.” Sandun stroked her long black hair.
The next day, Ashala went out early. She was back in an hour.
“I could not find much for you. Valo Peli is a stranger to this town. He walked into the inn about eight days ago. He does not talk much. But he did say when he first arrived that he was going east to Tokolas. Also, the women are convinced that he is a…” Here Ashala trailed off as she tried to think of a translation. “He is, or could be, a demelzo, a graduate of the best school. I didn’t know there were any such men left alive. I thought the best school was destroyed when the Sogands captured Naduva years and years ago. But that is what they say. Serice women can tell these things.”
Ashala had an expression that Sandun had seen before. If asked to explain, she would go off on a five-minute story that would reveal nothing he could understand. Now he knew better than to ask, so he thanked her and went to find Sir Ako and the others in the courtyard.
“I’m going to ask the Valo Peli fellow to join us,” he told Sir Ako. “His story has been the same since when he arrived. He wants to go to Tokolas. Also, he may be a Serice scholar.”
“I see. Well, his servant is over there. He has been watching us for the last half hour.”
Valo Peli’s student was standing at ease under the sloping tiled roof of the first-floor entrance. He seemed to be perfectly happy to be there, and he smiled when Sandun approached.
“I’d like to speak to your teacher, Valo Peli, if you know where he is?”
The young man answered, “Certainly. My master is having his morning tea. Please follow me.”
Sandun was escorted up the stairs and into a small room where Valo Peli sat on a low stool, sipping from a tiny cup of tea whose aroma filled the room. Valo Peli finished the cup and stood up, facing Sandun. Sandun resisted the temptation to bow to him.
Valo Peli said, “Tea. There are many poems written about it. Every time I drink it, I am reminded of my childhood and smell of the tea cakes stacked inside my family’s house, ready to be sold to the merchants going east to the great cities. We are heading east together, yes?”
Sandun said, “Yes. I accept your offer to join us on the trip to Tokolas. We intend to leave around noon. Can you be ready?”
Valo Peli nodded and then put out his hand to shake Sandun’s, a gesture common in Kelten but unusual in Serica. “Thank you. I believe this will prove to be a good decision for all of us. Now I must make ready. I will see you at noon.”
Sandun went back down the wooden stairs and told Basil and Kagne about his decision.
“Another scholar, Sandun? You may find yourself out of your depth. Aren’t the scholars of Serica famous for their erudition? Hope he doesn’t turn out to be just like your Master Eulogo.” Basil said this with a smile on his face.
Kagne said, “A mysterious scholar who just happens to be waiting here for us to turn up so he can join our caravan to this Tokolas place. You can’t make this up. Though I must say, his servant seems like a very handy fellow. Do you notice all the maids here eyeing him?”
Sandun hadn’t noticed, but now that Kagne pointed it out, it was clear that Valo Peli’s student did attract quite a few admiring looks from the women working at the tea house. Sandun resolved to find out the young man’s name, so he went over to him. “I’m Sandun Eiger,” he said, and he put out his hand.
The young man shook his hand as though he had long practiced the greeting. “This humble student is named Lathe, of the family Rupp. My homeland is west of here, near the town of Segvarket. I am grateful that you allow us to travel with you. My master was anxious to leave Hazeny.”
Lathe continued, pointing at the packs loaded onto two mules that he had brought out from the stables. “We are bringing delicate objects with us. Please avoid rough handling of them.”
“To be sure,” Sandun told him. “We will let you handle your own goods.”
About an hour after noon, they were ready to go.
Everyone was standing around, eating fried balls of wheat stuffed with cooked pork. The tea house owner came out and passed around small cups of tea. He seemed unusually cheery—perhaps relieved that the guests were leaving.
Sandun attempted to settle the account for their stay, but the owner waved his money away. “Master Valo Peli has already paid your bill. Farewell. When times are more settled, please come again.”
Valo Peli and Sandun exchanged looks. Sandun said nothing. Instead, the enlarged expedition headed out of Hazeny, east toward the great river and Tokolas beyond.
Sir Ako said they should head toward the destroyed village, as it would make no sense for whoever destroyed it to come back. So they headed down the road that the villagers pointed out to them, accompanying their directions with comments suggesting the expedition were foolish or insane for wanting to head to a place that had recently had such terrible luck.
They were approaching the destroyed village as the sun was going down. Shortly before they prepared to stop for the night, the main group came across the remains of a wagon partially off the road. The two scouts in front had been off to the south, making their way through a wheat field, and had not noticed it.
Kagne was at the front with Padan when he gave a shout of dismay. “There are bodies here. Two…no, three. No, four. All dead.”
The rest of the main group approached gingerly. Sandun wrapped a scarf around his face, while Ashala stayed back with the Piksie rams. The bodies appeared to be the remains of a family fleeing from the village: a man, a woman, two small children. Sandun couldn’t recall ever seeing children killed in war, though he had seen many dead children in Kelten, especially in the half year he and Kagne spent living under the docks of Seopolis. In the capital city of Kelten, children died of disease, starvation, and abuse. Hardly a week went by without a small body being found, stranded like bleached sea shells at the high tide line. Here though, the cruelty of the killings was obvious from the wounds. None of the Keltens were unaffected by the terrible sight.
The Burning Tower Page 19