After the first few turns Warkannan had the leisure to look around him. Alternating stripes of dark dirt and pale stone streaked the Rift walls; little plants grew in the occasional crevice. At each turn he looked out at the vast stretch of the Rift, fading into mist far beyond the reach of his sight. By about half-way down he could see the canyon bottom clearly. The orange mass proved to be fern trees, a veritable forest of them, growing out of murky water. After a few more turns of the road, the noise rose to meet them: the chirr and whine of insects, the croaking of frogs, the sharp calls of lizards. Farther down still, the air turned moist and heavy with decay. Warkannan realized that they were descending into a swamp like the sea-coast marshes far to the south.
‘Soutan?’ Warkannan called out. ‘Is there a road through this swamp?’
‘Of course!’ Soutan called back. ‘How else would the Tribes get their horses across? Think, for God’s sake!’
At the bottom of the switchbacks the road levelled out onto rocky ground, bare except for a reddish-brown moss, gently furred with spore stalks. Only the middle of the canyon would get enough sunlight for trees, Warkannan supposed. The forest cover overhead threw shadows over the oozing water and the dark red horsetails that grew along its edge. Crusted with pale orange algae, water lapped onto stone. Now and again a russet fish leapt from the murk and caught one of the iridescent needlebuhs hovering over the surface.
They had just got the last horse to level ground when Warkannan heard the sound – a thrumming or boom, so deep in pitch that he felt it as much as heard it. The frogs and lizards fell silent, as if in fear.
‘Do you hear that?’ Warkannan said to Soutan. ‘What is it?’
‘Just the wind blowing up in the high canyon,’ Soutan said. ‘There are some peculiar rock formations a few miles in.’
‘They must be pretty odd, all right. It almost sounds like drums.’
‘Are you sure it’s wind?’ Arkazo put in. ‘I don’t see how rocks could make that sound.’
Soutan smiled vacantly and looked away. In a few seconds the thrum stopped, and the frogs picked up their chorus again.
Warkannan gathered his men and horses on the edge of the brimming swamp and let the horses rest. The horses pulled on their reins and lead ropes, reaching towards the water, then snorted and tossed their heads in disgust.
‘It’s brackish,’ Soutan said. ‘There’s sweet water on the other side. Some underground springs surface there.’
‘Good.’ Warkannan could see, among the scaly stalks of the fern trees, some flat grey thing running along the ground. He pointed. ‘What is –’
‘The approach to the bridge,’ Soutan said. ‘It rises some three feet above the swamp in most places, a little higher in others.’
‘All right. Let’s get moving. The horses need water more than they need rest.’
Soutan led the way onto the grey surfacing of the road, which was wide enough for at least four horsemen to ride abreast. Underfoot the road felt slightly spongy but solid enough that the horses stepped right onto it. Through the trees Warkannan could see that after some hundred yards the roadbed rose free of the ground on dark grey pylons, driven into the water. Thick clots of brownish river weed grew around them and spread lazily on the slow current.
Warkannan had just led his men onto the rise of the bridge when stinging rebbuhs swarmed to the attack. The horses stamped and swished their tails, tossed their manes and stamped some more, a strategy that seemed to convince the rebbuhs to attack the men instead. Warkannan slapped at the swarm, killed a few, and slapped and swore at the rest. Arkazo was frantically trying to wave them away with his riding hat.
‘That won’t work,’ Soutan drawled. ‘Wait a moment.’ He tossed his horse’s reins to Warkannan, then went round to rummage through the saddlebags. ‘Here we are.’
Soutan drew out a cylinder about eight inches long and an inch in diameter, then intoned one of his nonsense words. Immediately the rebbuhs began to fly away, rushing off in clumps as thick as mist. Warkannan could see the big drones zig-zagging through the air as if they were drunk.
‘What is that?’ Warkannan said. ‘Some kind of poison vapour?’
‘No.’ Soutan bared his teeth in a smile. ‘It’s magic, of course.’
‘Wait a minute!’ Arkazo said. ‘It’s vibrating, isn’t it? What’s it doing, making some kind of high-pitched noise?’
‘Exactly right.’ Soutan handed him the cylinder. ‘You have better eyes than your uncle.’
Arkazo examined the cylinder, found some sort of button, and pressed it a couple of times with one finger.
‘That turns it on and off,’ Soutan said.
‘Yes, I could feel it stop vibrating, then start again. You don’t need to say one of those commands?’
‘No.’ Soutan glanced Warkannan’s way and seemed to be suppressing a smile. ‘That’s only for magical objects.’
Warkannan snorted like one of the horses and tossed Soutan’s reins back to him.
‘Let’s go,’ Warkannan said. ‘I don’t want to breathe this filthy air for a minute longer than I have to.’
Towards sunset Ammadin scanned and found that the male ChaMeech had seemingly disappeared – worrisome, since they might be hiding deep in the Rift, lying in ambush for the trading party and its tasty horses. The Kazraks she found easily; they’d crossed the Rift and were making camp some miles east. There remained Water Woman. Ammadin had given up hope of hearing from her again, but out of habit she opened Long Voice and sent out its call note. A familiar voice answered immediately.
Ammadin. You have-power-now to hear me? Ammadin. You speak-soon to me?
‘Yes, I’m here. Water Woman, is that you?’
I be she who bear that name. I speak-again-now. You tell-then me the Riders. I know-then these not.
‘In the sky –’
Yes, I know-now. I know-then not. I be-then confused. We call them Deathbringers.
‘Deathbringers? Why?’
They come-then with Canton people. They bring-then death.
‘I don’t understand. Can you tell me more?’
Much more when they fly-next. Silence needs be mine now. I needs-be hide.
‘From whom?’
Others, some of our men, but not my spear servants, other men. They be near, I know-not them, but I have-now many many suspicions.
‘Who do you – wait! You’re ChaMeech, aren’t you, Water Woman?’
Ammadin heard a sharp hiss; silence followed. She wondered if she’d been too blunt, but at the same time, she felt triumph like keese in her blood. She had guessed right, she was sure of it, and in a few moments, Water Woman confirmed it.
I be true Chiri Michi. I lie-not. Hate-not me. Fear-not me. I beg you.
‘I neither hate nor fear you.’
I give-now you thanks. I mean-not you harm.
‘Then we can bargain. You don’t harm me, I won’t harm you.’
A bargain, yes. I agree.
‘Tell me – your males, they who hunt, the warband. Are they in the Rift? Are they waiting for my people?’
They be in the Rift. I know-not if they wait to attack you. Her voice paused. Another spoke distantly in her own language, as if another ChaMeech hovered near to listen to her crystal. They wait-maybe. We know-not.
‘You’re not alone there.’
No, I have two servants to walk with me. I be true Chiri Michi. I walk-not alone.
For a moment Ammadin could say nothing, wondering why this simple idea, that Water Woman had servants, struck her as so amazing. She had always seen the ChaMeech as animals, she supposed, somewhere deep in her mind. Even though she had known that they had a language of their own and could learn others, she had fallen into the common trap of thinking them wild, roaming like beasts at the edges of the plains. But those servants – their existence spoke of a world of laws and customs.
Ammadin, Water Woman said. You hear-still me?
‘I hear you. Tell me – why ask me for help? Somethi
ng made you look for a spirit rider.’
Yes. The Sibyl tell-then us, go into the grass and search for a witchwoman.
‘The Sibyl?’
You know-not her? She teach-then us your talk.
‘No, I don’t know her. Is she a ChaMeech woman or a H’mai woman?’
Woman like you but not like you. She be H’mai, but a stone woman. She live-then-now-next-soon.
‘I don’t understand. Do you mean she’s old?’
Very old, yes. Live-always.
‘You mean she’s a god?’
No no, god be-not she, but stone H’mai. Sibyl say-often, if there be gods, then they be-not what we think, no big people in Silverlands. We all fear, our people, that our gods be dead.
‘What? Why?’
Troubles fall upon us. Everything change-now. We all pray-then-many-times. They help-never us. Sibyl say, if there be gods, they have-not ears to listen with.
‘And you believe Sibyl?’
I know-not if I do or not. She be wise, but she be-maybe wrong, too. I go-soon now. They be too close, the males. Maybe they hunt-only, maybe they spy. I promise you this. I try-soon to learn if they attack not attack. I tell you-next-soon I know. This be a treaty gift between you and me.
‘Thank you. I’d be grateful for a gift like that.’
I go-now.
She had not merely stopped speaking; she had taken her voice away. In the bone behind her left ear Ammadin heard only the illusory sea, tumbling waves over its gravelled shore.
For some long while she knelt, watching the sunset light fall golden upon the purple grass, listening to the familiar sounds of the camp behind her. So: the ChaMeech divided themselves into servants on the one hand and on the other, true Chiri Michi, whatever Water Woman may have meant by that. The phrase reminded Ammadin of the Kazraks and their true-oak and true-hawks and all the rest of it. What startled her the most, however, was that the ChaMeech could use crystals. And who was this Sibyl, the stone woman? She must live somewhere in the ChaMeech lands, deep in the east. Ammadin felt her previously small interest in the ChaMeech and the east both beginning to grow.
That evening Apanador called the men to a council round his fire to discuss the possibility of ChaMeech lurking in the Rift. All night they stood guard over the herd. Each time that Sentry pealed, Ammadin woke; she’d go to the tent flap and look out to see the dark shapes of the men coming and going as the watch changed. Yet never did she hear a shout of alarm, and she decided that if the ChaMeech were going to attack, they would most likely do so down in the Rift itself. At length she slept, only to dream of a huge stone statue of a woman, rising from the purple grass to speak like thunder: ‘There are no gods’.
Sentry’s chimes woke her one last time at the morning. She dressed and went yawning to the tent flap. At the western horizon, silver dawn broke among high clouds. All around her tent the members of the comnee lay asleep, wrapped in their blankets. Ammadin fetched her saddlebags and walked out into the grass.
When she opened Long Voice, Water Woman was waiting.
Ammadin, Ammadin, I know-now. They walk-now in the Rift, they hunt-now, yes, but they most likely harm-not you.
‘Thank you! That’s very good news.’
The men walk-then up ways Rift. I send-then speech to them. I say: I am true Chiri Michi. I say: harm-not the horsefolk.
They be outlaws, but I be true Chiri Michi. They tell-then me they go uprift, go-next home. They say-then: we harm-not horsefolk.
‘You mean, there’s another way through the Rift than the Riftgate?’
Yes. We have a secret way, but it be no good for horses. You ask not more, please.
‘All right. As for the hunters, thank you for the information. If I can ask, why were you so afraid of them yesterday?’
I be afraid-then-not of them, precisely. I know-then not who they be, but I know-now, and so there be-not a reason to fear.
‘It might have been some other group of males?’
Yes. If so, trouble. These – they be outcasts and weak. Sibyl tell-once me a grand word. Despicable. They be that.
Ammadin decided that prying further would be rude if nothing else. ‘We’ll see if they attack or not.’
Yes, we see-soon-next. Now, there be need for me to ask you again. You help us not help us?
‘What do you want me to do?’
Stop Yarl Soutan, the sorcerer. He bring-then trouble already when he come poking around our lands. He bring-next-soon more trouble.
‘Soutan the sorcerer? Do you mean the man with grey hair who’s been following my comnee?’
Yes. He chase-now you and travel-now with two Karshak men. In my sky spheres I see-then that he follow you. I figure-then that you be-might the witchwoman help-maybe us – She paused briefly. If Soutan chase-now you, then Soutan be your enemy.
‘Wait. You call them Karshak. Do you mean the Kazraks?’
Long back-then, we call them Karshaki. When they come-first to our lands.
‘I see, yes. The sorcerer’s my enemy, all right. Stop him from doing what?’
There be a need that we meet. There be a need that we talk for a long time. We all cross-soon the Rift. I talk-next you when we leave the Rift.
Ammadin heard the hiss of that peculiar crystal sea; Water Woman had gone. Could she trust the ChaMeech and her talk of a treaty gift? Soon enough she’d know. She ran back to camp to find everyone up and busy: eating breakfast, tending the horses, packing up their gear, preparing generally for the difficult ride across the Rift. She hurried into her tent and knelt down in front of the god figures. After the proper salutations she began to pack them into their carrying bag.
‘Ammadin?’ Apanador’s voice called from outside. ‘Are you in there?’
‘I am,’ she called back. ‘Come in, will you?’
The chief ducked under the tent flap. ‘Did you spot the ChaMeech?’ he said.
‘No. That doesn’t mean they’re not there, hiding under the bridge or in one of the caves.’
‘That’s true. Well, if they want trouble, that’s what they’ll get.’
Apanador hurried off again. Once she’d packed the god figures, Ammadin went looking for Zayn.
When he woke, Zayn had got right to work, watering Ammadin’s horses. He stripped down the tent, but when he went to look for the wagon, he found Dallador and some of the other men unloading it.
‘Everything’s going down on horseback,’ Dallador said. ‘You can’t drive a wagon down the Riftgate.’
Zayn helped stow the contents of the wagon in the pack saddles, then watched as the others took apart the wagon itself. He understood, finally, why the Tribes made their wagons of flimsy bamboid. The sides and the tailgates came off and were roped to big pack frames along with the wheels; the wagon bed would be slung between two horses. With the heavy work done, the men discussed the possible ChaMeech attack while the women examined every inch of every piece of lead rope and repaired even the tiniest flaw.
‘Zayn, remember,’ Apanador told him, ‘the horses carrying the wagon are your responsibility. Don’t go running off to join the fight if there is one. You don’t have any armour, and that’s that.’
‘No one’s going to consider you a coward,’ Dallador put in. ‘After this trading trip is over, we’ll have to get you started on making some.’
‘I could still use a bow –’ Zayn began.
‘A waste of arrows,’ Apanador said, and firmly. ‘ChaMeech hide is too thick. You don’t shoot well enough to put an arrow into an eye or throat.’
There was no arguing with the chief, but Zayn felt decidedly envious when he watched the other men putting on their long shirts of armour, made of mottled red and white grassar hide and studded with metal beads in a diamond pattern. They would turn a sabre blade, he supposed, most of the time, or stop anything but a full-force slash from a ChaMeech obsidian blade.
‘Zayn!’ Ammadin’s voice, and he turned to see Ammadin herself, standing some yards away with her saddlebags slun
g over one shoulder. ‘Zayn, come over here, will you?’
‘I’m on my way.’
She turned and began walking away, gesturing for him to follow. They’d gone well out of earshot of the other men before she stopped and turned to face him.
‘I have some information for you,’ Ammadin said. ‘That sorcerer’s name is Soutan. Does that mean anything to you?’
Lying, Zayn decided, was a waste of time. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but didn’t you tell me that he was middle-aged and had grey hair?’
‘That’s what he looks like, yes.’
‘The Soutan I know is young and blond.’
‘A father and son, maybe?’
Zayn shrugged and turned his hands palms upward. ‘I honestly don’t know –’ he began.
‘Oh, I believe you.’ She smiled, briefly. ‘This other Soutan, the one you know. Is he a sorcerer, too?’
‘I’ve been told he is.’
‘Ah. Two sorcerers from the Cantons, but don’t you know them both?’
‘I told you, no.’ He glanced around, searching for some way out of her questioning.
‘Look at me! I’m sick as I can be of the way you nibble the edges of the truth.’
Zayn swallowed his burst of fury and looked. She’s a spirit rider, he reminded himself. You don’t dare argue with her, not in front of the comnee. Ammadin had her arms crossed over her chest, and her silver eyes were as cold as rain clouds. ‘I don’t know who the older sorcerer is.’ Zayn forced his voice level. ‘The Soutan that I know about, the young man with blond hair, he’s a business acquaintance of Warkannan’s. I heard that they’re prospecting for blackstone.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Something that probably doesn’t exist. It’s a black substance as hard as a rock, but it’s supposed to burn, and burn really hot, at that. That’s probably why they’re out on the plains. I guess. I don’t know. All the old stories about blackstone say you find it in the mountains.’
‘I’ve certainly never heard of it. But they’re trying to kill you, not find this blackstone.’
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