Silent Hall

by NS Dolkart

  “Out,” said Criton. “If Bandu had an argument with Psander, she’d leave here quick as she could.”

  “Right,” said Hunter.

  They had to pause when they reached the courtyard, to give Phaedra time to recover from their frantic pace. As they stood there, puffing, Narky finally took some notice of the village that had sprung up within the courtyard. It was strange, perhaps, how little he had bothered to think about the people whose food he ate each time he came here, but the fact was that he had taken them completely for granted. The villagers had done their best to ignore the islanders ever since their association with the Gallant Ones, and it had been so easy for Narky to return the favor.

  They were thriving here, he now realized. They had erected permanent houses to replace the tents, and their sties, pens and chicken coops nearly filled the courtyard. He wondered where they had gotten the lumber, out here on the plains. Perhaps Psander had summoned it for them, just as she seemed to have conjured the rest of Silent Hall out of nothing. The houses had mostly been built around the well near the far wall; the tower and gate of Silent Hall had been left unencroached upon. Perhaps none of the villagers dared live quite that near to Psander.

  When they stepped out through the gate, Bandu was nowhere to be seen. It was the first clear day in weeks, and the plain stretched out for miles before them. But though they could see many a flock and shepherd, none of the figures in front of them resembled Bandu in any way.

  “She can’t have traveled more than a few miles,” said Hunter. “She hasn’t been gone that long.”

  “I don’t see her, though,” Narky said.

  “Let’s circle the wall and check the other side,” Phaedra suggested.

  They did just that, tromping through the tall grasses that abutted Psander’s fortress. Progress was slower than Narky had imagined it would be, since they had to step gingerly around some thorny caper bushes that seemed to reach out for their legs at every opportunity. About halfway around the wall, it dawned on Narky that the thorns really were reaching out for them. Even when the breeze died completely, still these dreadful plants swayed toward every limb that drew too near.

  “The thorns–” he said.

  “I think they’re capers,” Phaedra pointed out. “Ouch!”

  “I know what they are, Phaedra,” Narky said. “They’re going for us on purpose.”

  Hunter drew his sword. “I’ll clear a path.”

  The caper bushes tried to avoid their fates by pulling away from the sword, but that only further convinced Hunter of the need to eliminate them. Something about those shivering plants horrified Narky. What kind of a plant could express fear like that?

  The possessed thorn bushes grew thicker the further they went, until finally the islanders came upon a vast thicket of them, in the middle of which sat Bandu. She looked up as they approached, tears in her eyes.

  “Bandu!” Criton cried, “Are you all right? Stay there.”

  Hunter hacked a path toward her as quickly as he could, but the plants seemed to change strategy now. They curled around his blade after every swipe, until he could barely yank it back for another stroke. In the meantime the bushes on either side of the beaten path drew their thorny limbs nearer and nearer, and belatedly Narky realized that he and the others were in danger of being flayed alive.

  “Stop,” said Bandu, lifting her hands.

  Hunter obeyed, and so did the thorns. “I make them,” Bandu shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know how.”

  She whispered something to the thorn bush next to her, and a wave of rustling sticks and leaves rippled outward through the thicket. The bushes between Bandu and the others splayed their limbs outward, clearing a narrow path.

  “Since when have you been able to do this?” Phaedra asked in wonder.

  “Since now.”

  Criton reached Bandu first, and drew her into a hug. “I was afraid Psander had kidnapped you,” he said.

  Bandu shook her head and drew away. “She want me, but I run here. She is afraid to go outside, so I am safe.”

  “If you’re so safe,” said Narky, “then why all the thorns?”

  “She doesn’t feel safe,” said Phaedra empathetically, and Bandu nodded.

  “She wants to watch me,” Bandu said, and shuddered. “I don’t go back inside.”

  “Bandu,” said Criton, “you can’t just stay out here for nine months. Psander has experience with this sort of thing; maybe we should trust her this time?”

  The thorns thrashed in anger, and Bandu shook her head. “Psander is wicked,” she said.

  “I think we should go to Gateway,” said Hunter, finally joining in the conversation.

  They all turned to him in surprise. “What?” Narky asked.

  “Gateway,” Hunter said. “Where the wizards used to study fairy magic. Bandu’s magic is getting stronger, and even Psander doesn’t know what’ll happen. She just wants to watch and find out. But she said earlier that there used to be a whole community of wizards researching fairy magic at Gateway. Even if it’s in ruins, at least those ruins weren’t dedicated to any Gods.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Phaedra. “But where is Gateway? Psander never said.”

  “No,” said Hunter, “but I found it on one of her maps. It’s southwest of Parakas and the dragon tower, in some kind of a forest where the trees were drawn differently. It’s not on the coast, so we can stay away from Mayar’s territory.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” said Narky. He would go anywhere if it meant they could avoid angering more Gods.

  They looked to Bandu, who nodded. “All right,” said Phaedra, “Gateway it is. But we have to get our things from inside before we go. And we should bring plenty of food with us this time, in case nobody wants to sell us any.”

  They packed as quickly as they could, leaving Bandu by the gate outside. They could have used her help, but she refused to go inside under any circumstances.

  “I never go back to her,” she said. The horses whinnied and tried to back away from her, perhaps sensing some angry ripple of magic.

  Hunter reached for the reins of the nearest horse. “Psander won’t hurt you,” he said, simply but forcefully. “If she did you any harm, she’d regret it.”

  “Besides,” said Phaedra, trying to sound equally certain, “she wouldn’t experiment on you without your consent.”

  Bandu looked skeptical. “I stay outside,” she said, and the horses calmed down just as suddenly as they had been spooked.

  They were already a few miles down the road when Criton said, “Damn. I meant to ask her about the spear.”

  “The spear?” repeated Narky, confused. “What spear?”

  “Bestillos’ spear. He threw it at me, and I could have sworn I saw Bandu knock it down. Phaedra said it was just the wind, though. I thought Psander might help me make sense of that.”

  “I do have a theory,” Phaedra said. “You have the wizard’s sight, and I don’t. If Bandu were to do something very suddenly and forcefully with her magic, do you think your eyes might literally see her hand in it?”

  Criton’s eyes widened. “Huh,” he said.

  “But can you really control the wind?” Narky asked Bandu.

  The girl shook her head. “Control is bad word. I not control. I listen to wind. For years, I listen to wind. Now it listen to me.”

  Narky gulped, while Criton looked pleased. Pleased! Had the thorn bushes taught him nothing? Bandu couldn’t control her magic anymore! The more power she had, the more dangerous she was to them all. If the wind had to obey someone’s orders, Narky would have rather it obeyed anyone other than the crazy girl with the erratic powers and the poor grammar. The very thought of it chilled him to the bone.

  Or was that just the wind?

  32

  Hunter

  The weather barely improved as they traveled away from Silent Hall. They camped under the spitting sky and awoke to an overcast morning, drizzling and gray. And yet, traveling felt very
different this time. The others deferred to Hunter now, as the one who had studied Psander’s maps most closely. Leading his companions across the countryside, he felt for the first time as if they looked to him for more than just his skill in battle. It was a good feeling.

  Phaedra had lapsed into moody silence. Hunter hoped she wasn’t torturing herself, thinking about her crippled leg. In many ways, her situation was much like his. She had had a bright future back in Tarphae. Now she was being forced to rethink her life.

  He had to cheer her up somehow, but he didn’t know how to begin. What could he say that could possibly distract her from her troubles?

  “Can you tell me more about the Gods?” he said.

  Phaedra blinked at him. “I don’t… I don’t know. I have more questions than answers right now.”

  Hunter pressed on. “What kind of questions?”

  “Well, who weakened the mesh during the War of the Heavens? How? Did the Gods create the mesh, or is it primordial? Is there another mesh between the fairy world and the world of the Gods?”

  Hunter nodded. He wished he could think of something to say, but he was out of his depth. Luckily, Phaedra had not run out of questions.

  “Is the fairy world the ‘first world’ I read about in that annotated Second Cycle? If so, what really happened to make the Gods decide to create another world?”

  “I don’t know,” said Narky, “but I’m starting to think they shouldn’t have. This world is ugly.”

  “Only because there are no more dragons,” Criton said. “If there are no more dragons. I don’t believe they were all killed.”

  “Why not?” asked Narky. “Everybody says they’re gone, even Psander. Besides, how could any dragon have survived the war with the Gods?”

  “I don’t know,” said Criton. “I just feel it.”

  The pitying look Phaedra gave Criton made it clear what she thought of his intuition. Still, Hunter thought, it was good for Phaedra to pity someone other than herself.

  “What I don’t see,” said Narky, “is how the Gods could go and kill all the dragons, and then fail to kill God Most High. Weren’t those dragons the equivalent of all His fingers? I mean, compared to the dragons, the Dragon Touched couldn’t have been more than a pinky’s worth. If the dragons’ God really is dormant the way Psander said He might be, why did the other Gods let Him live?”

  “Because God Most High isn’t just any God,” said Criton, with heartfelt certainty. “He’s more powerful than all the others; otherwise, He wouldn’t really be God Most High. If losing the dragons could put Him in real danger, He would have fought for them. I think the dragons angered Him somehow, so He let them get themselves killed in a war without even worrying about the danger to Himself. He must be vastly more powerful than the other Gods.”

  Phaedra’s pitying expression had never left her face. “Or,” she said gently, “Psander’s mentor could have been wrong. Psander did say that his was a minority opinion.”

  Criton shook his head. “No. God Most High is alive. He just needs to see that His worshippers are still faithful to Him. Then He’ll awaken, and the other Gods will be in trouble.”

  Phaedra shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, trying to be kind.

  Hunter led them southward across the plains, veering west at one point to avoid the forest before drifting back eastward. They stopped to eat every time Bandu became hungry or nauseous, which was often. Hunger and nausea seemed to go hand in hand for Bandu. The worst part was when she insisted that the smell of salted meat made her sick, and that Criton would have to find her something fresh to eat.

  “We haven’t passed a town in days!” Criton complained. “Where am I supposed to get you fresh meat?”

  “Hunt,” she told him. “I eat sheep or goat or cow or bird or rat or anything, but not old and salty!”

  Criton came back almost two hours later with a single charred rabbit, blackened on the outside and raw on the inside. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he presented it. “I’ve never hunted before.”

  Bandu ignored him completely until she had gnawed every last piece of meat off the rabbit’s bones, and her hands and face were smeared with blood. “Ooh,” she said, burping and sitting down on the ground. “Next time I wait for you to cook.”

  A few days later they came to a place where the plains ended and a forest of tall broad-leafed trees stretched all the way to the mountains. Here Hunter turned them eastward. They would travel this way for a day or two, he decided, before journeying south again. On second thought, considering how long it had taken them to go this far, perhaps two days of eastward travel would not be enough. Should they go east for a third day, or a fourth? He wished he could have brought the map with him.

  After two days of further travel, Hunter decided that three would not do. They were stopping too often, mostly to satisfy Bandu’s heightened need for both food and rest. Narky muttered in irritation at the girl’s frequent demands, but Hunter did not mind Bandu’s presence. She was better than he at finding good, sweet water here in the forest. Considering the length of their journey, he doubted they would have been able to manage it without her help. By his estimation, their travels would last well over a month, and there were simply not enough towns in their path for the islanders to avoid foraging.

  After the fourth day they turned southward again, and their pace slowed even further. The trees and undergrowth grew thicker the farther south they went, and the rain escalated from drizzle to downpour. Far from providing protection, the leafy boughs above only served to convert all rain into oversized drops, which splashed startlingly on the islanders’ heads at every third step.

  Bandu’s magic began to govern their movements. When she was hungry or tired, the trees and bushes conspired to block their path. Her hunger radiated from her little body and spooked every animal within miles, so the islanders took to hunting only in those few moments when Bandu was not hungry. At last, after nearly two months of travel, Hunter deemed that Gateway must be near. The trees here were taller and broader than before, with enormous leaves that seemed designed to catch the rain. Bandu grew even more unsettled, but that struck Hunter as a good sign.

  “We’re in the right area,” he told the others. “Now all we have to do is find the ruins themselves.”

  “And that ought to be easy!” Narky said sarcastically.

  Criton sniffed the air. “Bandu, do you smell something? You’re better at this than I am.”

  Bandu shook her head emphatically, tears suddenly pouring from her eyes. “I only smell mushrooms!” she wailed.

  “Are you hungry again?”

  She nodded sadly. “A little.”

  “Well then,” sighed Criton, “I guess I’ll have to learn how to follow the magic myself.”

  He took a deep breath, and pointed. “This way,” he said.

  After three days of following Criton’s nose, even Hunter had to admit that he had doubts about his friend’s tracking abilities. Then, to his surprise, Phaedra stopped them short.

  “It’s here,” she said.

  “I don’t know,” said Criton. “I don’t feel anything different here.”

  “It’s here,” Phaedra repeated. “The trees here are younger, and the only older ones I see, there and there, have burn marks on them.”

  Hunter followed her gaze. “You’re right,” he said. “What should we do? Dig?”

  “Let’s see,” said Narky, and he began crashing through the undergrowth toward one of the burned trees. He tripped and fell partway there. “There’s a stone here!” he shouted.

  Criton and Bandu followed him, inspecting the grounds while Hunter helped Phaedra down from her horse.

  “This is really strange,” Phaedra said. “I expected far more ruins. These stones look like they must be part of the foundation.”

  “This one’s a corner stone,” Narky called, standing some way ahead.

  “If this is the foundation,” said Criton, “what happened to the rest of the tower?”


  Phaedra shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  A sudden fear struck Hunter. “How do we know these are really the ruins of Gateway? This could be anything.”

  “Bad here,” said Bandu. “Very bad here.”

  “I think that means we’re in the right place,” said Narky. “Let’s dig a little and see if anything useful got buried.”

  They had brought no shovel, but did their best with their hands, tearing away at the moss and trying to break through the tree roots using shards of broken rock.

  “Nothing,” Bandu kept repeating. “Nothing here. This is a wicked place.”

  Phaedra looked at her curiously. “What are you feeling? Is it the God magic that destroyed the tower, or the wizard and fairy magic that used to be here?”

  But Bandu just shook her head and insisted that this place was wicked.

  The rain, thankfully, had stopped for now. They excavated some more, but found little besides rocks, bugs, and tree roots. “There’s something useful around here somewhere,” said Phaedra. “I can feel it.”

  “I sure hope so,” Narky replied. “Because if this is it, we’ll never learn anything besides what Psander wants to tell us. Can you imagine if we’d risked our lives going to that dragon tower Criton wanted us to go to, and all we found was this?”

  Criton did not look pleased at the suggestion. “There’s plenty to be found at the dragon tower. Nobody would place guards over a useless pile of rocks.”

  “Oh,” said Narky, “well, at least that explains why there are no guards here.”

  “Shut up, you two,” Phaedra snapped. “We’ve spent all this time getting here; we’re not going anywhere until we’ve looked under every last stone. There must be something around here that can teach us about Bandu’s magic, or the fairies, or something. As long as we have food and fresh water, we’re staying.”

  “We’d better put up the tents while there’s still light out,” Hunter said.

  They followed his suggestion, and soon all three tents were standing apart from each other among the ruins, wherever the islanders could find level ground. The new tents, which Narky had been wise enough to commission from Psander’s villagers during their stay at Silent Hall, were of greatly inferior quality. The villagers had made them out of oiled goats’ wool, and they stank. During their travels, the near-constant rain had been interrupted by a brief dry spell, and this had been enough to partially felt the wool such that the tents had shrunk considerably since Criton had bought them. They were also extremely heavy.