by Dave Duncan
He grinned slyly. "I have something important to tell you, something you should be aware of!"
"That's welcome news! What?"
"It will wait. Now, where is our noble Renewer?"
"If you mean me," Bulion growled in the background, "then I'll knock your teeth down your throat."
Tibal beamed, adjusting his hat to a rakish angle. "You won't!"
The old man thrust out his beard aggressively. "Don't count on it! I can rearrange your future and your face at the same time." He winked at Gwin.
As they trotted out of the yard, the Shoolscath rode on Gwin's left, chattering cheerfully. Soon his familiarity came dangerously close to flirting. She hoped Bulion did not mind—she was enjoying Tibal's attentions almost as much as her fresh clothes and the pleasant surroundings. She felt like a woman again, instead of a scarecrow. At their backs, the rest of the party laughed and bantered as they had not done since leaving home.
The sun shone in a sky speckled with artistic little white clouds. Raragash was beautiful, the air warm and soporific. The scenery had been breathtaking during the descent yesterday. Now trees and flowering shrubs pressed in close on either hand, but they wafted rich scents at the passersby. Although cracked by earth tremors in a few places, the paved imperial road presented no problems and was obviously being maintained. The contrast with yesterday's bleak terrain was winter to summer. It lulled, banishing thoughts of lurking danger. Novelty and Tibal's banter passed the time so readily that the road seemed barely to have reached the crater floor before it divided and Tibal reined in.
"Wraxal Saj! This is your turn-off. The Muolscaths' village lies that way. They haven't sent anyone to welcome you, but that's only to be expected."
The soldier glanced with no apparent interest at the smaller road winding off into the trees. "How far?"
"About an hour's walk."
Wraxal pulled his feet from the stirrups.
"You don't need to walk!" Bulion roared. "Take the horse with my thanks. We are more than grateful to you for all your help."
"Help? I did nothing for you." Wraxal looked at Tibal. "Will I have any need for a horse here?"
"None that I can think of."
"How far to the Jaulscaths?"
Tibal grinned. "Not very far at all."
"Then keep your horse, Bulion Tharn." The Muolscath dropped nimbly to the ground, handed the reins to Zanion, who was nearest, and walked away without another word. He had not even bothered to loosen the saddle girths, and Zanion dismounted to do so.
"Isn't he just the sweetest man?" said a juvenile voice.
Gwin jumped, for it had sounded like Polion's. It came from Tigon, the young Ogoalscath. The Tharns muttered agreement, exchanging angry glances.
"He can't help it!" Tibal said cheerfully. "If you're looking for a fun evening, don't try visiting the Muolscaths. Their idea of a good time is to stare at a blank wall. Come along, children!"
As they moved off again, in much the same order as before, Gwin said, "I hadn't realized you kept the groups so separate."
Tibal chuckled. "It's a zoo here, you mean? Well, it is! There's no law, just custom. The Cursed prefer their own kind, naturally. Who would want a stone-faced Muolscath around? They themselves find other people unbearably chattery and irrational. Jaulscaths aren't welcome anywhere and keep to themselves by choice, too. How would you like to live in a world where everyone went around shouting his innermost thoughts at the top of his voice?"
Put in those terms, segregation made sense, she supposed, but it still left her uneasy. "What exactly goes on between people like Wraxal and Jojo?"
"You mean you can't guess? Muolscaths wither into despair without emotion. They can raise passion in other people, but not in themselves, nor in other Muolscaths. They can absorb it from Jaulscaths, though."
"Yes, but what does the Jaulscath get out of this?"
He rolled his eyes. "Well, it's always nice to feel wanted."
"Ahem!" said Bulion. "I asked Wraxal that. Crass of me, I admit."
"And what did he say?"
"Guaranteed success every time."
Tibal laughed. "Well, there you are! Instant frenzy! I knew there had to be some reason."
Bulion frowned. "I thought you could help Cursed here in Raragash."
"Some we can. Not Muolscaths. All we can do for them is pair them up with Jaulscaths, and Wraxal has already found Jojo, thanks to Gwin's lucky inspiration." Tibal's eyes twinkled as if that remark meant more than it said. "Jaulscaths, yes. An untrained Jaulscath hears your thoughts and then shouts them back at you, right? You hear your own secrets, and his, and snatches from whoever else is around. They can learn to control that, especially the shouting back part."
Gwin and Bulion exchanged thoughtful looks.
"You mean they just hear?" she said. "You don't know they're listening?"
Tibal smiled through her in his disconcerting way. "Absolutely correct, Gwinim Tharn. Ordur has explained the advisors to you? King Hexzion Garab, for example, employs a tame Jaulscath to tell him who's plotting treason. Probably nobody else in his court knows what Han a'Lith is up to. Healers are in big demand, too. Where do you think all the money comes from to run this place?"
"What about you, then? I thought Shoolscaths were frightened of mind readers stealing their secrets?"
Tibal's gaunt face tightened. "That's why our enclave is as far from theirs as possible."
"But what about this council you mentioned? You're a member."
He nodded grimly. "It's a risk for me. Fortunately, the council meets very rarely and only respected, responsible people are elected to it. The Jaulscath on council takes an oath never to read the Shoolscath's mind, never to reveal anything he learns from it if he does, not to act on the information, and so on. I'm not looking forward to the next meeting, though."
"If the Jaulscath is going to betray your confidence, can't you foresee that?"
"No I can't! It would be me changing my future. By definition, I can never foresee that." His angular features brightened again as another turnoff came into view. He reined in at the junction. "Awailscaths to the left! Jasbur, it's been nice knowing you. Introduce yourself again sometime."
Jasbur scowled at his shout, or at the uncomfortable laughs from the audience. "I want Ordur! Where is he?"
"He's busy, and you can sheath your claws, because he's had no time to go romancing other beauties. Vaslar?"
The former soldier rode forward, his ugly face twisted with emotion. "At least I know how to give thanks. Bulion Saj I owe you my life. You, Gwin Saj, gave me back my sanity. I shall never forget your kindness."
His voice was close to a whine, his eyes glistened. Too much gratitude could be almost worse than none. Bulion became very gruff, contending that Vaslar had more than paid his fare on the journey, and insisting that he keep the horse. The Awailscath said goodbye to everyone individually, becoming more and more emotional until he was openly weeping. He had been a lot less demonstrative when he was a woman. Although the progressive whittling away of the company was beginning to seem almost sinister, everyone sighed with relief when he eventually rode off along the forest road, with Jasbur riding close at his side. She seemed to be trying to flirt with him again, although Gwin could not imagine why any woman would want to.
She dragged her mind back to the looming problem of dealing with Labranza Lamith, the uncrowned queen of this realm. Ordur had managed to escape the questions she would now be free to ask him—which, if her suspicions were correct, he would be unable to avoid answering. To force answers from Tibal Frainith might be close to murder. Surely, though, he could discuss the present situation in general terms? While she was framing suitable queries in her mind, he pointed out remains of marble pillars among the trees. More earthquake damage, he said.
"Looks like a palace!" Bulion remarked.
"Some of them were close to palaces."
"But Raragash was a prison!"
"Officially. And in the old days, t
he very old days, that's exactly what it was. The Cursed were herded in here and left to fend for themselves, with nothing. No tools or spare clothes, nothing! They degenerated to mere brutes. Life here was nasty indeed. Then a promising lad by the name of Losso came along."
"The emperor?"
"The future emperor." The Shoolscath turned an amused glance on Gwin. "I'll read all this in a book one day—in case you're wondering how I know it. Losso escaped, which probably wasn't too rare, because there are ways up the cliffs. He was a very distant relative of the imperial family, and only by marriage, but he raised a rebellion and won the throne. Then he set out to improve conditions in Raragash. He founded the Academy."
"We could use another like him in Kuolia now."
"But where shall we look for one?" Tibal asked cryptically.
The trees ended, the road emerged into farmland. The Tharns stared around with professional interest and made envious remarks about the fertility of the soil. The town was in view ahead. It had no name. It was just, "the town."
How many inhabitants, Bulion wanted to know.
A couple of thousand or more in the town itself, Tibal said, and several hundred more Blessed in outlying farms. With about five hundred Cursed, the crater's total population was well over three thousand.
"Where did they all come from?" Gwin asked.
He answered with his boyish smirk. "The usual place of course! Cursed are fertile, my lady! Awailscaths never make mothers, but even they can be fathers."
Bulion laughed and she turned her face away to hide her sudden blush. She wondered why Tibal had this strange ability to make her blush. Other men did not.
"We import Cursed and export their children," he added. "But many stay. It must have been much more crowded in the old days. The Academy was big; all these grand homes would have held a lot of people. The empire stripped it of young men to fight the Zarda. After that it was pretty much abandoned for a while."
She faced him again. "Did the Academy meddle in politics in the days of the empire?"
"That's why you..." If that was a slip, Tibal recovered quickly. "That's why I'll be reading that book. I don't precall that I ever do find the answer. It would have been a well-kept secret, no question. There was certainly great wealth in Raragash then, and I'll conclude that there was at least some fatalist healing going on at the hospital. The Shoolscath turnoff is coming up, but I'll take you on to the Hall. Labranza and I have a knockdown, tooth-and-nail donnybrook scheduled. She may not know it, but I do."
"Who wins?"
"She does of course." Tibal sighed. "That's not a prophecy, that's an inevitability."
Gwin laughed. "Then you'd better tell us your news now, before she gets to work on you!"
"Hm? What news?"
"You said you had something important to tell us."
He stared at her blankly. "I did? I don't remember. I must have told you already."
"Perhaps you did, but you've told us lots of things. Which one was important?"
"How should I know? I don't remember any of them."
47
It was late afternoon before the Tharns trotted their weary mounts up the long paved avenue to the Hall of the Academy. Beyond wide lawns of close-cropped grass, angular blue-tiled roofs loomed over a thin screen of trees. Glimpses of marble façade were already visible. However reluctantly, Bulion was impressed.
At his side, Tibal Frainith put his thoughts into words a mere farmer could never have found:
"Look at it! Many great edifices still stand in Daling, Gwin, but they are crowded and hemmed in by an attendant city, correct? This one rules alone. Look at that backdrop!" He gestured at the spectacular green-cloaked cliffs towering unbelievably high. "See how it enhances, rather than diminishes, the grandeur? What long-dead genius captured the thought and then had the audacity to make it real? What arrogance!—deliberate contrast between mortal artistry and natural splendor! On a human scale the Hall is gigantic. In this setting, it is tiny. The mind reels between the two impressions, and the aesthetic conflict induces awe and reverence."
Gwin laughed. "Why, Tibal! I didn't know you were an art critic!"
"Oh, I'll read that all somewhere. It is impressive, though, isn't it? Ogoal has rattled it around it often enough, but so far it has withstood his—her, I mean—efforts."
Only the Tharns and the Shoolscath were left now. They had shed their companions in ones and twos during the day. Tigon and Shard had ridden off to join the other Ogoalscaths. Niad and Mandasil had been delivered into the care of a motherly Ivielscath. That had been the hardest parting of all, with Gwin promising over and over that she would come to see Niad soon, would not leave without saying goodbye. Bulion had promised also, and assured the girl that she would be very welcome to return to the valley. She bore his name and she had saved his life. She might even carry his great-grandchild.
Now he was tired, hungry, out of sorts. He had to make a conscious effort to be civil to Tibal, who continued to sparkle at Gwin. She obviously enjoyed his company. They seemed as fresh as when they set out. Bulion reflected glumly that he was ten years older than the two of them together. He had little time left to cherish his bride, and when he had gone she would find another man, a man about Tibal Frainith's age—slim, merry, cultured.
He was a jealous old fool.
Yes, he was jealous! He envied the younger man the years he held in store. Never mind that Bulion himself had already been granted those years and had spent them—on what, he could barely remember. They were gone for ever. The fates never rolled back the sundial. Shool might Curse by reversing a man's memory, but Tibal would grow old like anyone else. Poul gave life and death to all, one of each to everyone. Even an Ivielscath could not cure age.
The secret was to enjoy each day as it came. Past and future were impostors.
He knew he was not the only grouch in the group. Gwin was presently distracted by Tibal, but the rest of the group rode in gloomy silence. The Curseds' departure had reminded the Tharns of another absence. One who had set out with them would not be returning to the valley. It was small consolation that the man in question might no longer care. He had been older than the usual recruit and would have found the conversion harder, but it would be complete by now. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, if he still lived, Polion Tharn had become a killer in the Faceless. His comrades were all his family; he would have no further interest in his blood relatives.
They reined in at the base of a hillside of marble stairs, leading up to monumental pillars. The scale was overpowering and oppressive. There was not a living soul in sight, only a monstrous bronze statue on a plinth, pointing one corroded arm at the far side of the crater. A pigeon stood on his hand and another on his head. Obviously their ancestors had stood there for generations.
"That's old Losso." Tibal sprang nimbly from his saddle as if he had not been in it all day. "Whether he really had muscles like that is debatable. The scroll signifies knowledge, and the chain the freedom he gave to the Cursed. Relative freedom, that is."
"Ugly coot," said Gwin, as he helped her dismount. "Was he really that green color? And still no formal address of welcome?"
"There should be people around. There usually will be. Are, I mean. Labranza is playing games." He turned his frown to Bulion. "You'll want to leave someone to walk the horses? There's no immediate danger."
Bulion designated Jukion and Ulpion and set off up the stairs with Gwin at his side. Fates, but he was stiff! Tibal was setting a fierce pace. Just like that visit to the governor in Daling—nothing like stairs to separate the old men from the boys.
"Oof!" Gwin said. "Slow down, you long-legged freak! I feel as if I've been carrying that cursed horse all day, not the other way round." She stopped and turned. "Look, Bull! You can see the whole crater from here. Incredible, isn't it? A secret city, a lost realm of magic! How did we ever get ourselves into this?"
More to the point, though, how were they going to get out of it?
"Just lucky," Bulion said. "Love that air!" he added, breathing deeply. Love you, too.
#
The entrance hall would have held most of Tharn Valley, trees and all. Archways on every hand revealed vistas of courtyards and colonnades receding into the distance. The sheer scale of it was astonishing, and yet a second glance registered empty plinths, cracked walls, uneven pavement.
Gwin peered up at the roof and squeaked. "Do you ever get clouds passing through here? And what happened to the rest of the cornices?"
"Ask rather what happened to the people standing underneath," Tibal said cheerfully. "I expect they felt rather crushed. Good afternoon, Ordur Saj."
"The flags said you were about due." The Awailscath had risen from a marble bench and strolled forward. He was the only person present. His smock and breeches looked as if he had slept in them, but with hair awry, eyes bloodshot, and handsome face glinting golden stubble, he had probably not slept at all. Gwin looked him over with obvious distrust.
"Jasbur suspects you of terrible misconduct."
"I should have been so lucky." Ordur glanced around. Satisfied that the rest of Tharns were engaged in gawking at the architecture, he edged closer, excluding them, including Bulion and Tibal. "I've been talking with people. I spent most of the day in the library. I have not seen Labranza. Ask your questions, Gwin."
His directness made her blink. "Is there such a thing as a Poulscath?"
He nodded and ran fingers through his hair. "Apparently. There are records of a few persons with fatalist powers that did not match any of the other six Curses. It's very, very rare—and I can't locate the books!"
"Labranza's work?"
"I hope not. Probably just lost. I haven't found anyone who remembers what's in them. It's like people with eyes of different colors—it can happen, but who cares? I wish I could be more helpful."