"Silverdun!" he gasped.
"I know you're always eager to display your manliness," said Silverdun, "but pinning yourself under a yacht seems excessive, even for you."
Ironfoot stood, shakily, and stumbled. Beneath him was not solid ground, but something soft and springy, like a feather mattress, only infinitely more pliable. Silverdun reached down and pulled him up onto ... something.
In the dark it was difficult to comprehend what he was seeing. There was very little light other than witchlight, which illuminated Silverdun's relieved expression. There were a number of robed figures standing nearby. Next to him, a black hulk, was the fore half of the yacht. It registered that he had briefly lifted the entire thing on his own. They were surrounded on all sides by strange shapes, and the place smelled faintly of garbage.
Something slapped against Ironfoot's hip as he took a step toward Silverdun. It was Timha's satchel. Somehow he'd managed to hold on to it.
Sela was behind Silverdun. She had a huge gash on the side of her head, and blood streaming down her dress, but she seemed not much the worse for wear. Silverdun was a bit rumpled, but otherwise seemed fine. Timha was stumbling toward them as well, his breathing ragged and hitching with what might have been sobs.
All else was darkness. No, not quite; on the horizon he could see silver wheat swaying in the moonlight.
"What happened?" he said.
"More to the point, what did not happen?" said Silverdun. "What didn't happen was that we didn't get crushed to bits after falling a thousand feet in a burning yacht."
"And how did that not happen, exactly?" asked Ironfoot, baffled. The last thing he remembered was being on board the yacht, flames hissing through the air. After that it was all a little fuzzy.
"Because of them," said Silverdun. He gestured toward the robed figures standing nearby. Ironfoot noticed that most of them were carrying bulging sacks; two of them were carrying a large item between them. A table?
One of them stepped forward. All that Ironfoot could see of him was that he was lean and tall and his head was shaved clean. "Hello," he said. "I am Je Wen. Welcome to the ground." He spoke Common haltingly, in a thick, strange accent.
"You saved us?" said Ironfoot. "How?"
"We did not save you," said Je Wen. "You fell into our net."
A chaotic groaning sound issued from all around, and the ground swayed beneath their feet, as though they were on a ship on the sea. Ironfoot, Sela, and Silverdun toppled over, but the robed figures remained on their feet.
"We're standing on a sheet of Motion," said Silverdun, shakily rising to his feet. "A massive one. Incredibly soft and flexible; like a great fluffy pillow."
Je Wen looked back at his fellow. "Let us take what we need and be gone," he said. He turned to Silverdun. "We would like for you to come with us."
"Who are you people?" said Ironfoot.
"They're Arami," said Timha. "And if they saved us, they'll want something for it."
"I thought you didn't interact with the Fae of the cities," said Ironfoot.
"Only that one," said Je Wen, pointing at Timha, "is of the cities. You are not."
"How-?" Ironfoot began, but the sea of objects around them groaned again, and the swaying grew in fierceness.
"We must go," said Je Wen. It would be wise for the four of you to accompany us."
Ironfoot looked at Silverdun, and Silverdun shrugged. "Unless you have something better to do?"
"You can't trust these people," said Timha. "I'm telling you."
"You've been overruled," said Silverdun. "Let's go."
Sela nodded as well. Ironfoot followed Je Wen and his fellows toward the silver light on the horizon. In the back of his mind were two similar patterns, twirling in his thoughts, but they were indistinct now, and he put them out of his mind.
Ironfoot tried to keep up with Je Wen, but it was difficult. The ground continued to sway beneath him, and the terrain was uneven and sometimes slippery. "What am I walking on?" he asked.
Je Wen smiled. "Our net collects what those above discard. All that they do not want they simply throw onto the ground."
"So we're walking on their refuse," said Ironfoot.
"Indeed. Castoff furniture, uneaten food, animal scraps, feces. If they do not want it, we catch it in our net."
Feces.
"Why?"
"Because the Arami are scavengers, who make nothing of their own," said Timha, straggling along behind.
Je Wen smiled. "Because they are wasteful, and we are not."
After a few minutes of slow travel across the strange sea of refuse, they began to near the edge, and the debris began to thin until Ironfoot found himself standing on a flat surface that gave beneath his feet, cushioning his steps.
"This is soft," said Ironfoot. "But I don't see how it kept us all from being smashed to bits."
"It is a very clever net."
They reached the edge, which was a perfectly straight line, and Je Wen hopped off onto the ground, a few feet below, which seemed to be moving beneath them. It was lighter here, and now Ironfoot could see Je Wen's face. It was strong and lined, there was a bit of light stubble on his head, and he had a neatly trimmed beard that glowed white in the moonlight. His eyes were clear and light, though it was difficult to tell whether they were blue or gray in the monochrome world of night.
Ironfoot looked back into a sea of darkness.
"Come along," said Je Wen. Ironfoot noticed that Silverdun and Sela had already jumped from the edge of the blackness, and that the other Arami were handing their collected loot off to their comrades. They were moving slowly away from him. A little way away, wide carts pulled by long lines of the tiniest horses Ironfoot had ever seen were stopping nearby.
He jumped off and stumbled again on the moving ground. He turned and realized that, of course, it was not the ground that was moving, but the "net," which followed along beneath the city.
"Does it track the city wherever it goes?" asked Silverdun.
Je Wen shook his head. "Only at night, and only when they pass nearby. We know their paths and follow them as need requires."
Ironfoot watched the umbra recede. He looked up at the underbelly of the city. From beneath, Preyia was an eyesore. Its hull was discolored and uneven, dark. A fine mist fell from it.
"All that," said Ironfoot, pointing, "is one night's worth of garbage?"
"As I said," said Je Wen, "they are a wasteful people."
Timha was the last one off the net. He scowled at Je Wen, but came anyway.
They walked to the carts as a group. Sela pointed out that it would be polite to offer to help carry what the Arami had collected. Ironfoot took a sack from one of the robed figures, who nodded in thanks, but did not speak. As Ironfoot carried it to the carts, he peeked inside: a half-eaten loaf of bread, a cabbage, a belt, a bolt of cloth, a cheese, and other items that he couldn't identify in the darkness.
They reached the carts, and Ironfoot realized with surprise that the creatures pulling the wagons were not horses, but goats. Tall, short-horned goats that made quiet guttural sounds as they stood impatiently in their harness. The carts were low and wide, and their wheels huge.
"Come along," said Je Wen, motioning for Ironfoot, Silverdun, and Sela to climb aboard the carts. "A large quake will come to this place in a few minutes."
Presently the carts were all loaded with both goods and passengers. The loot was carefully tied down in the backs of the carts. Ironfoot, Silverdun, Timha, and Sela sat in the front cart with Je Wen. The goats hopped along, pulling the cart faster than Ironfoot would have suspected, their heads popping up comically out of the tall wild grain that the carts now passed through.
The ground suddenly shook, and the cart jerked to the left. Ironfoot realized why it was built so wide; the wheels on the right side of the cart leapt off the ground for a moment, but there was no danger of the thing tipping. The goats barely seemed to notice. Their hopping gait continued as if nothing had happened.
/> "Look," said Je Wen, pointing. The city and its shadow were receding across the uneven plain. The Arami net, seen from the side, was a large irregular black disk that floated a few feet off the ground. A loud crack like thunder pealed in the night, and the earth beneath the city cracked open in a shower of dust. The net crumpled and fell in on itself, and its contents spilled haphazardly. Much of it fell into the new ravine that had been created by the quake.
"Lovely, isn't it?" said Je Wen. "Everything returns eventually to its source."
"Lovely" wasn't the first word that sprang to Ironfoot's mind, but it was certainly impressive. He watched Preyia drift like a cloud across the sky, and was glad to see it go.
The carts reached the end of the tall grain stalks, jostling along through aftershocks of the quake that lessened over time and distance. They came to an uneven, rocky plain peppered with tiny thornbushes and joined a rutted track that cut across it toward a tiny valley. In places the track vanished only to reappear a few yards on, and in other places the ruts zigzagged haphazardly, as if the ground beneath them had been torn apart and inexpertly replaced. In the distance they heard the cries of wolves, which spooked the goats, but they never saw them.
The track descended into the valley, where tents and cooking fires were arranged in a circle with a large bonfire in the center. More goats were penned nearby. Children came out of the tents and ran toward the carts as they approached. They were dressed in a chaotic assortment of Unseelie clothing, wilted finery and rough-hewn commoners' tunics. They shouted out in a strange, staccato language that Ironfoot didn't recognize. When they saw Ironfoot, Timha, Sela, and Silverdun, however, the children stopped and looked to Je Wen.
Je Wen spoke to the children in the same rapid tongue, and they con tinned onto the carts, taking the bags of loot and the larger items. The children remained wary of the newcomers, however, and gave them a wide berth.
A very tall, very slender woman came out of one of the tents and looked at the carts. She was dressed in a gentleman's silk blouse and a housemaid's dress. A necklace of wooden beads was around her neck. All of the Arami stopped what they were doing and watched as she approached. Clearly, she was someone to be reckoned with. She stopped in front of Je Wen's cart and looked at Silverdun, then Sela, then Ironfoot, and finally Timha without speaking. The entire camp had gone silent. Up close, Ironfoot saw that she was in early middle age, perhaps forty, with a few streaks of gray in her long, wavy black hair.
Finally she scratched her head and said in unaccented Common, "I was wondering when you four were going to show up."
The woman's name was Lin Vo, and she was the clan's leader. She ushered them into her tent, which was no different from any of the others. A bit smaller than most, in fact. The interior of her tent was decorated simply, in the same random assortment of styles as her clothing. Nothing matched, and some of the furniture seemed ludicrously unsuited to a nomadic lifestyle. There was an expensive oil lamp atop an antique side table. The bed was a wide mahogany four-poster complete with a gauze hanging atop it; the frame had been broken, but had been efficiently nailed back together. The sheets were silk, but stained with wine.
"Can I get you tea?" said Lin Vo, once they'd all been seated on comfortable cushions that were strewn on the mat-covered ground.
"Tea would be lovely, thank you," said Sela. Sela had a strange knack for understanding what it was that people wanted to hear, so Ironfoot went along with her and accepted as well.
Lin Vo went outside to her cooking fire and came back inside with a battered kettle filled with hot water. She measured some tea into an earthenware teapot and emptied the kettle into it. Then she placed the pot and five chipped porcelain cups on a silver tray and set it down in the midst of her guests. She did all of this without speaking.
"You pour," she said to Sela. She watched carefully as Sela lifted the kettle.
"Might I ask-?" began Silverdun, but Lin Vo cut him off with a harsh look.
"Don't talk while someone's pouring tea," she said.
Once the tea was poured, Lin Vo took a cup and raised it to them. "The Arami welcome you," she said.
"Now," she said, cutting off Silverdun, who was about to speak again. "We can skip the formal introductions and back and forth. I know who all of you are, and I know why you're here, and how you ended up here."
"You have the Gift of Premonition," said Silverdun.
Lin Vo scoffed. "You people and your Gifts. You always have to have everything in nice neat rows. Twelve Gifts, twelve months in a year, twelve constellations looking down over you. Have you ever seen a Chthonic cynosure? Big dodecahedron. They'll go on for hours about all the lines and facets and vertices on it and what they mean."
"What do you want from us?" asked Timha. He'd been silent since they'd arrived at the Arami camp, and was clearly scared out of his wits.
Lin Vo laughed. "Oh, Journeyer Timha. You're frightened, and I can see why. But that's no excuse to be rude. Besides, it's not about what I want from you, which is nothing, and all about what you need from me."
"And what is it that we need from you?" asked Silverdun.
"Well, it seems to me that you need a couple of things. You need to get back to where you came from with our friend Timha in tow, and in order for that to happen, you're going to need Je Wen to lead you down to the border. Because if you try to make it on your own, you'll be dead in two days."
"A premonition?" asked Ironfoot.
"Merely stating the obvious," said Lin Vo. "Folks from up in the sky who find their way down here have a tendency to wander into quakes or get eaten by wolves."
"This is nonsense," said Timha. "Premonitive or not, this woman is lying. We're most likely going to be held for ransom, and this tale is simply to keep us docile in the meantime."
"I can see you're not going to let me get any work done," said Lin Vo to Timha. "So let's get this over with now. Here's what you think is going to happen. You think you're going to waggle your fingers under your robe and do something nasty and I'm going to fall over dead and you and your friends are going to fight your way out of here."
Timha glared at her but said nothing.
"What's really going to happen is that you're going to try that and fail, and then you're going to sit there and listen, and then when we're done you're all going to say `Thank you very much, Lin Vo,' and then I'm going to send you off with Je Wen at first light."
Timha still said nothing. Lin Vo looked at Ironfoot and said, "Watch closely, Ironfoot. You're going to like this."
While her head was turned, Timha lifted his hands and drew a sigil of unbinding in the air. This was the call to some spell that he'd memorized previously and kept fully formed in his mind with a binding around it to keep it contained. The sigil was meaningless to Ironfoot, but when the re started condensing around him, he recognized immediately what Timha was doing. He was creating a space of Motion around Lin Vo, stopping the vibration of all matter in a sphere around her. This sphere would not only immobilize her, but it would also render her body and the air around her solid and freezing to the touch, killing her. Lin Vo sat looking at Timha, doing nothing, looking disappointed.
Ironfoot watched closely, his re sense having become heightened along with his strength and his other senses. What had Jedron done to him back on Whitemount? He could almost see the flow of essence from Timha, channeled as Motion, enveloping Lin Vo. She was going to die.
"Timha!" shouted Silverdun, who was probably seeing this as well as Ironfoot was. "Stop!"
Ironfoot moved to rush Timha, but before he could get up, something strange happened. Lin Vo didn't move, but a warm pulse of re shot from her, filling the room. But it was like no re Ironfoot had ever seen. Somehow Lin Vo had used re without channeling it through one of the Gifts. It made no sense. It was like a colorless color, or an animal that wasn't of any species, or a sung note with no pitch. It was the reitic equivalent of division by zero. It was simply not possible.
But there it was. Iron
foot watched, enthralled, as Lin Vo's re encompassed Timha's Motion. It wasn't like a duel between battle mages; there was no confrontation, no conflict. The two essences combined, and where Timha's Motion had been, suddenly there was Elements, and the Elements swirled back toward Timha, and the air around him turned to water.
Suddenly soaking wet, Timha flinched backward, staring at Lin Vo in astonishment.
Lin Vo looked at Ironfoot. Only a second or two had passed since she'd last spoken. "See what I mean? You liked it, didn't you?"
Ironfoot nodded, stymied. What he had just seen wasn't just impossible, it was ... paradoxical.
Lin Vo took a deep breath and settled herself on her cushion. "There's a towel behind you," she told Timha. "I had a feeling something like this might happen."
There was indeed a towel. It was monogrammed. Timha rubbed his hair with it, looking haunted. Lin Vo's display had not been lost on him, either.
"What did you just do?" asked Ironfoot.
"Me?" said Lin Vo. "That was nothing. I just changed things around a bit."
"You have the Thirteenth Gift," said Silverdun. "Change Magic."
"There you go with your Gifts again," said Lin Vo. "Everything's a Gift with you people."
She sighed. "Now if we're done with the histrionics, I'd like to get the conversation going, because it's going to be light in a few hours, and that's when you need to leave."
Silverdun rolled his eyes and said, "Please tell me you're not going to launch into a rambling, vague prophecy of some kind, telling us our fate."
"No," said Lin Vo. "And I don't like that word `fate.' There's no such thing as fate. There's only the river."
"What river is that?" asked Sela.
"Time is the river, Sela, and we're all floating down it. It's a strong current and it carries us. We can paddle this way and that and we can try to swim upstream for a while or make ourselves go faster, but we're headed down that river one way or another.
"What you call Premonition is just the ability to sit up a little bit and look downstream. Sometimes you can see rocks ahead; sometimes you can see that we're all about to go over a waterfall."
The Office of Shadow Page 28