by NS Dolkart
How could he repent for all the harm he had done, for all the potential he had wasted so completely? Yet there was even more to repent for – there must be more to repent for! He repented for the dove that he had sacrificed without any meaning, and for being so useless both times that the others had fought for him. He repented for his inability to heal Four-foot, and for his suggestion of burning a wound that would never heal. He repented for his greed, and for his theft back in Atuna, and for… oh Gods! The necklace in his shoe! Narky fell to the ground and pulled his shoe off, and there it was: the silver bird symbol, upon which he had been stepping for some three weeks, all the way from Atuna. Stepping on it! It was not just any bird. It was a raven.
O Ravennis, he thought, as the crows engulfed him. I’m sorry!
12
Phaedra
After the ravens swept over them, Phaedra and her companions looked around in confusion. They were all unharmed, except for the one that was missing.
“Where’s Narky?” Hunter asked.
The ravens had done such damage to the undergrowth as they flew through the forest that any trail Narky might have left by catching on brambles or pressing down on the moss was completely covered over.
“Birds,” said Bandu. “Everything smells like birds.”
When they finally found Narky, he was lying unconscious in a pool of clotted blood, breathing very faintly. His face was bruised, and his skin lacerated. By the looks of it, he had nearly bled out. Clutched in his hand was a silver necklace, adorned with a symbol of Ravennis. Phaedra took her spare traveling clothes out of her new pack, and she and Bandu did their best to bind Narky’s wounds with them. In the meantime, Criton monitored Narky’s breathing, and Hunter just stood and watched.
“How foolish,” Hunter said, out loud but clearly to himself. “I trained so hard for war and never thought to learn how to care for wounds.”
“Narky knows this better,” Bandu said sadly. “He helped the leaf man, on the water.”
Phaedra gave her a pat on her shoulder. “Nonsense, Bandu, you’re a natural.”
They had to cut him out of his shirt to get at his chest lacerations, and there they found something very strange indeed. Amid the clotted blood and loose skin, a symbol had been burned onto Narky’s chest, identical to the one on the necklace.
As they did their best to wrap one of Phaedra’s longer skirts around his body, Narky moaned. He did not open his eyes.
“I think we’d better stay here tonight,” Phaedra said, “and let him wake up on his own. He’s lost so much blood.”
“It’s a good thing it’s still dry,” Hunter reflected. “We have no tents and no shelter.”
“He needs to drink,” Bandu stated. “He needs more for blood.”
They coaxed some water down Narky’s throat and then settled down around his body, as if by sitting on all sides of him they could protect him from further harm.
“What do you think happened?” Criton asked.
“I guess it was Narky Ravennis was after,” Phaedra said. “He must have repented for whatever it was he did. Ravennis wouldn’t have let him live otherwise.”
Hunter looked down at Narky curiously. “Where did he get that necklace, I wonder?”
Narky woke up once during the night, while Phaedra was taking watch. He was mumbling deliriously, and seemed to be under the impression that he had died. He whispered that he wished he could have been their friend, and apologized repeatedly for something that he could not quite explain. If his eyes had not been open, she would have thought him to be dreaming.
The next day, they decided that it would be safe to move him. With Hunter on one side and Criton on the other, Narky staggered along until they came out of the forest at a small village on the edge of a plain. There were only some forty villagers in total, but they were kind and hospitable, and they let the islanders stay with them a whole two weeks while Narky recovered.
Phaedra was beginning to question whether she would ever become a weaver in Atuna. They had all been on the verge of parting ways when the ravens had changed their plans – could the timing really be a coincidence? She had the uneasy feeling that the Gods were watching all five of them a little more closely than They ought to be. Ravennis had clearly taken an interest in Narky for some reason, and His oracle was responsible for saving Hunter. When the fishing boat had been delayed over and over again, Phaedra had felt as if the Gods were conspiring to make her wait. Now she wondered if they really had been.
The Gods must still have been watching over Narky, because he recovered quite nicely, without any trace of infection. When he could once more walk independently, he recruited the others’ help in building an altar.
Phaedra was going to offer to buy a goat from the villagers, but rather than sacrificing an animal, Narky placed his crossbow and his quiver of bolts upon the altar and set them ablaze. “Let my cowardice burn,” he said, and placed the silver symbol of Ravennis around his neck.
Toward the end of Narky’s recovery, the villagers became noticeably nervous. The few elders seemed to be sadly shaking their heads every time Phaedra looked at them, and the
younger villagers whispered urgently to each other and looked often at their children. Phaedra asked one of the grandmothers about it, as the woman came to inspect Narky’s final set of bindings. She was in her forties, her hair just starting to gray. Like the others of her generation, she shook her head sadly.
“The young ones want us to leave the village, before the Gallant Ones come back.”
“The Gallant Ones?”
The woman nodded. “You can ask old Garan about them, she knows all ’bout history and them things.”
Garan was the oldest woman in the village, a crone of seventy-some years who walked with a stick. When Phaedra found her, she was rendering a small pot of chicken fat.
“The Gallant Ones?” she repeated. “Eh, I can tell you ’bout them.”
She stirred her pot contemplatively. “Started in Atuna, some forty years ago. They had a king there once, just like the Ardismen did before they rose up and gave themselves a war council instead. Well, in Atuna the king was no good, the way kings is, and their people up and killed him and put a council in his place, like they have now. But there was a princeling got away with some half the king’s hearthmen, and they been waging war ever since. They’ve got no chance against Atuna, of course, it being a walled city and all, and them being only thirty strong or so, but so long as the Atunaeans don’t send out an army to find ’em, they keep riding round and making trouble.”
Phaedra had found a stool next to Garan’s, and she now sat with her knees by her chin, her hands clasped around her ankles. “And these people have been here?” she asked.
“Well, the princeling was only fifteen at the time, but he’s a reglar old bandit now, some forty years on. They come here ’bout a year ago, took our money and ate our lambs and said they’d be back next year. The young ones say we oughta leave and take up with that wizard fellow, but we older folks don’t like the thought of saying goodbye to our village.”
Phaedra was not sure she had heard her right. “Did you say a wizard?”
“You heard me right. Psander, he calls himself, come here some two or three months ago, said he was settling in the area and wanted to offer us permanent shelter in his fortress. Said we could live in his walls and feed our livestock on the plains, and all he wanted was to share our food and maybe get some help ’round the house now and then.”
The old woman looked at her sharply, noting her excitement. “Oh sure, the others love that idea when there’s Gallant Ones about, but it sounds far too good to be true to us as has brains.”
Phaedra did her best to look as though she agreed. She didn’t mean to be rude, but an actual wizard! Living nearby! It was fair to worry about moving to live with him permanently, but for the curious traveler, it was almost too good to be true. Wizards were supposed to have knowledge and power beyond the realms of men – they were also s
upposed to be secretive and aloof. Here was one who actually invited visitors!
“I’m sure you’re right,” Phaedra said soothingly. “I’ve heard that wizards are dangerous. But can you afford to feed the Gallant Ones next time they come?”
Garan shook her head. “We’re lucky it’s been a good year; no one starved this time. If they’d stayed longer…”
“If this Psander is offering protection –”
“I didn’t say I liked going hungry, but won’t no good come of trusting a wizard.”
When Phaedra told the others about her conversation with Garan, Criton became just as excited as she was. Narky did not. “Wizards are supposed to be evil.”
“You’re just basing that on stories,” Phaedra said. “Doesn’t finding out the truth interest you at all?”
“Not really.”
“If all the townspeople leave,” Hunter pointed out, “we won’t be able to stay here anyway. Did she say when they were planning to make up their minds?”
“They’re deciding what to do tomorrow. Hopefully they’ll go, and we’ll be able to tag along with them.”
The islanders were not invited to the next day’s town meeting, but the final decision was hardly kept a secret: the younger townsfolk had won the day. The next few days were spent packing up everything but the houses themselves, preparing for the journey. Narky put up some resistance, but after his experience in the woods, he was too afraid of being left alone. Phaedra told him that they were all going, and that was that.
Nobody knew exactly where Psander’s fortress was, but it was supposed to be somewhere upon the plain, and the wizard had apparently told the townspeople that those who sought him in peace could not fail to find it. At last they set off, driving animals in front of them and lugging their pots and pans, pushing barrows and pulling little children along beside them. Laden as they were, they had barely gone ten miles before the sun dipped below the horizon.
But as the sky grew dark, a path lit up before them. There was a new moon that night, and the stars were hidden behind clouds, yet ahead of them stood a moonlit path. The younger townspeople proclaimed it a miracle, but even through her excitement, Phaedra had to admit that the magic gave her an ominous feeling. It felt like a challenge to the Gods and a rebellion against nature.
They traveled another hour down the eerie path, while the young villagers slowly succumbed to their elders’ anxiety. Their initial cheers were soon forgotten, and they plodded onward in silence. After a time, the clouds drifted on, and the stars could be seen above. Then the path abruptly ended.
Everyone stopped and looked around, but in the dark, this field was indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape. Each traveler looked to the others, weary and frightened, for answers. Criton was peering ahead into the darkness, as if staring intently enough could make a fortress appear. Narky shuddered, and put a hand on his chest where the burn was hiding underneath his shirt. Bandu only sniffed the air and kept walking, past the villagers and past the end of the path.
“Bandu!” cried Phaedra, chasing after the girl, afraid of losing her. She heard the clank of Hunter’s armor as the rest of the islanders joined her, following Bandu into the darkness. Bandu hadn’t gone far, but she did not stop walking until Phaedra caught hold of her arm. “What in the Gods’ names do you think you’re doing?”
Bandu looked at her silently and made a gesture with her other hand, palm upward. Phaedra followed her motion and stopped, gaping. A huge fortress stood in front of them where there had been none before, rising to the sky, blocking out the stars.
BOOK II
Silent Hall
13
Criton
For a moment, they all just looked at each other. Hunter, one hand on his sword hilt, stepped forward and knocked on the gate. His first raps were quiet and timid, his next few loud and aggressive, as if he was trying to quickly compensate for a weak first impression. At length, a voice called down to them from above.
“Who are you, and what business do you have with me?”
It was Phaedra who answered the voice. “We’re here with the people of a village, who heard that there were safe lodgings to be had with you here.”
“I see. And who are you? Where do you come from and what Gods do you worship?”
“We five are from Tarphae, where Karassa is worshipped.”
There was a brief pause. “Tarphae?” the voice repeated. “Fascinating. You’d better come in. But first tell the others that they may not bring their mules here. Other livestock may enter, but they must set their mules free.”
A strange request, Criton thought, but Phaedra passed the message back, as the first villagers caught up with them. This set off a brief debate, as the owners of the mules naturally objected to the wizard’s conditions. But they had come this far and had little choice but to comply in the end. As soon as they did, the gates opened of their own accord.
Hunter was slow to move, so Criton led the way. As he stepped over the threshold, a fire sprang up ahead. They walked between long walls of stone in order to reach it, and soon after found themselves in a huge courtyard.
Behind a blazing fire pit stood a middle-aged woman in what appeared to be a nightgown. She did not speak, but waited until the villagers joined them. The geese, sheep and goats came first, plodding wearily through the gates and then, once their drivers were no longer concerned with them, standing in everybody’s way. Yet for all that, they made very little noise. Something about this place was cowing them into silence.
At last, the woman spoke. “I am Psander,” she said. “Welcome to my home.”
Criton looked around incredulously, but he found the crowd in awe. In awe of a woman in a night robe! Were they seeing what he was seeing?
“O Great Wizard,” one of the villagers said. “We have heard that you accept guests, or tenants, if you will. For those who would serve you.”
The woman smiled. “You are all welcome here, though you will have to obey my rules so long as you live within my walls. I will not impose many of them.”
The villagers all nodded nervously. A baby cried.
“Settle yourselves,” the woman said. “It is late, and you have traveled far.”
The villagers accepted this without audible complaint, and several more fires sprang up around them, lighting the courtyard and revealing a number of large tents all clustered around a single well. It seemed that Psander was well prepared for their arrival.
The woman beckoned to the islanders and walked past them to one side of the gate, villagers bowing out of her way. The height of the fortress was in the tower above the gate, which rose imposingly for several stories before vanishing into the night sky. A door in one side, through which Psander led them, opened on an austere entry hall.
“Survivors from Tarphae,” she said, shaking her head in some wonder. “Remarkable.”
“You know about the plague?” Narky asked suspiciously. “How?”
The woman shrugged. She had mousy brown hair above a narrow face, with light-colored skin even paler than the villagers. But her eyes were lively, and despite her age, she did not look as if she had ever known physical hardship.
“These things are known,” she said. “Let us leave that for later. Stay for a few days, and there will be plenty of time to talk. But first, I must know about you.” She pointed at Bandu. “I haven’t seen your kind of magic in a long time.”
Bandu shook her head. “I don’t know magic.”
Psander made a bemused expression and turned to Narky. “What do you see, when you look at me?”
Narky looked as if he was being asked a trick question. “A wizard,” he said. “I’ve never seen one before, but you look like one. Tall, long beard, coat of sigils and all that. Regular wizard, I suppose. I’m sorry, I’m not a very polite person. You should ask someone else…”
“No,” said Psander. “I think that will do just fine. The reason I ask is that what your two companions see is this.”
She did nothing, made no motion, and yet suddenly Phaedra snorted – Phaedra, of all people! – Narky took a step back, and Hunter just stood in place, blinking.
“You’re not a wizard,” Phaedra said, “you’re a–”
“I am a wizard,” the woman said sternly. “I believe you have never met one before?”
Phaedra had nothing to say to that, but she still looked at Psander incredulously.
“Pardon me for not dressing better,” Psander said drily, “but those without the Wizard’s Sight can’t see what I’m wearing anyway. I wasn’t expecting to find two sighted people traveling with a town’s worth of goatherds. Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”
They all did so, a little stiffly. But before they could ask her any questions, Psander said, “Let us adjourn until tomorrow morning. I’m sure your stories will be fascinating, and I hope you do not plan on leaving very soon. The townspeople will make their beds in the courtyard, but I do have spare rooms indoors, if you like.”
After their night of traveling, everybody but Bandu seemed happy with this idea. In the end even she consented to stay in, perhaps because none of the others were willing to sleep outside with her. Psander led them up a staircase by the light of a ghostly candle that appeared and hovered above her palm. She showed them to a set of rooms on the second floor. The boys each chose a room, but Phaedra and Bandu stayed together. They had grown close since Four-foot’s death.
Criton dreamt that Psander was asking him all about his childhood, and that he was telling her about dragon hunting instead. At first it was sort of a funny dream, because she seemed to grow comically frustrated at each answer, but then she began to ask him more about dragons, and when he did not know the answers to her questions, he found himself telling her about his childhood after all. It was a pleasant dream, and until he awoke, it did not trouble him at all.