by Matthew Ward
Disappointingly, the remaining three panels in the room were in a similar state of disrepair, if not worse. Here and there were gaps in the plastering, showing the bare stone beneath. In other places the images seemed to have been scraped away. I found it odd that the serathi, who otherwise seemed to maintain a fastidiously pristine city, would allow such crudity in what was a room of incredible beauty.
I looked up again at the ceiling's disc of polished glass, and realised that the sky was beginning to lighten. It was time to leave. Taking one last lingering look around the room, I retraced my steps to the gaol and the open air beyond.
Seven
Jamar woke me shortly after daybreak. After I told him what I'd seen a few hours earlier – cat and all – we checked on Calda's progress. Or rather, her lack thereof. Calda had grown feverish. Her brow was clammy with sweat, her sleep was restless and full of delusional murmurings.
"I am sorry, but there is only so much I can achieve," said Irina. I didn't care for the look in the serathi's eye. It contained nothing of hope.
I took Calda's hand in mine, and offered a quiet prayer to Ashana. Would she even hear my pleas while I was on Skyhaven? Would she be offended that I dallied with her sister's servants?
The chamber door opened to admit Myrzanna – the dark serathi who'd borne Calda to this place. "She's no better. I..."
Myrzanna swept my words aside with a wave of her hand. "I did not come to discuss your companion's health."
"Indeed?" I frowned, taken aback by her rudeness. "Then what can we do for you?"
"Torvald Korag told us you were captured at a settlement known as Salkard. The serathiel wishes to know if this is true." Myrzanna spoke flatly, and without warmth. It was plain she considered this a pointless errand. However, the implication that Scarface was still alive, and was furthermore being interrogated, was interesting.
I exchanged glances with Jamar, who shrugged.
"We were indeed, but I'm afraid we don't know where we were held." I decided to make another attempt at being allowed to talk to my erstwhile murderer. "Perhaps if I were permitted to speak to him..."
Myrzanna cut me off. "Thank you for your assistance." And with that, she turned and left as quickly as she'd arrived.
"There was more we could have told her," Jamar said, clearly confounded by the serathi's behaviour.
I nodded. "Myrzanna doesn't appear to like us very much."
Irina's lip twitched into what might have been a smile. "Do not be offended. It is simply her nature. Her mind wanders particular paths."
"Ah, is that what just happened?" I asked.
"Not entirely." Irina shrugged. "She is not overly fond of mortals."
Jamar stirred from his position at the bedside. "Isn't that somewhat at odds with your goal of helping us survive the Reckoning?"
Irina shook her head. "Not really. Myrzanna is the Speaker of Retribution. I anticipate she will have opportunity to expend her anger."
Jamar leaned closer. "Against mortals?"
"I did not mean to give that impression."
"That wasn't a denial," I said.
Irina shook her head. "And nor was it intended to be. The Reckoning will make no distinction between mortal and immortal beings, and nor shall we."
Interesting. A serathi would give direct answers after all, at least if pressed. "And what will be your role when the Reckoning comes?"
"I will go where my spirit calls me. I will tend the wounded. I expect my gifts will be tested just as sorely as Myrzanna's. Though I am the Speaker of Compassion no longer, my nature is unchanged."
"Why are you no longer the Speaker of Compassion?" I asked, frowning. Irina went deathly still, her expression so stricken that I felt guilty for having asked the question. "It doesn't matter."
Irina walked to the bedside and rested her slender fingers on Calda's sweat-beaded forehead. "Alyndra – who you have yet to meet – is now our Speaker of Compassion. Were she here instead of me, she would doubtless judge that the most appropriate action would be to end your friend's suffering as quickly and cleanly as possible."
Alarmed, I glanced at Jamar and saw my own concern reflected.
The serathi instantly picked up on our concern. "My apologies." She withdrew her hand from Calda's brow. "I did not seek to alarm you, only make the point that the application of compassion is far from uniform. Alyndra would say that compassion is as cruel as often as it is kind. I choose to disagree."
I frowned, conflicted. Irina had done little to ease my worries. "Is Calda in danger?"
Irina left an uncomfortable pause before replying. "Not from me."
"But she is in danger?" Jamar rumbled. Apparently the evasive answer was as little to his taste as it was to mine.
Irina sighed. "Please understand, your friend is terribly weak. If she gives no sign of recovery, others might choose mercy over true compassion. I am sorry."
I felt hollow inside. Irina had spoken kindly enough, but her words had possessed the finality of tombstones. "Can we do anything to help?"
Irina considered, then lent forward and spoke in a low whisper. "There is one thing, but it will not be easy to..."
The door to the chamber opened again. Koschai entered. Startled, Irina broke off and turned away. Koschai came to a halt less than a pace into the room, his face knotted in what appeared to be genuine concern. "Did I interrupt something?"
"Nothing that won't wait," I assured him, wondering if I was correct.
He turned his attention to Calda. "There's no improvement?"
"Not enough. What can we do for you?"
"Nothing important, in the grand scheme." He winced an apology. "As I failed in my promise to show you a little of Skyhaven last night, I thought I'd offer to make good on it now."
Given what Irina had already told me, and the lingering mystery of what she'd nearly said, the last thing I wanted to do was wander Skyhaven with Koschai. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that Irina would open up if he insisted on keeping me company at Calda's bedside. "I'd like that. If you'll bear with me for a moment?"
"Of course, my boy, of course."
Leaving Koschai by the door, I leaned close to Jamar.
"I'm going with Koschai," I said. "Our absence might create a suitable opportunity for the two of you to talk."
I hated to speak so obliquely when Calda's life hung in the balance, but I wasn't sure how much Koschai could hear from the doorway.
Jamar gave a slight nod. "Enjoy yourself. No-one here is going anywhere." He understood.
Irina's eyes kept flicking warily to Koschai, but she gave her assent nonetheless. "Go, and thank you."
There'd been something about how the serathi had spoken those words which made me think I'd missed something important. I couldn't work out what it was, and lingering to unpick it would only make Koschai suspicious. With a last glance at Calda's pale face, I rejoined Koschai.
"It seems I've been set loose."
"Excellent," he replied, a puzzled look vanishing from his face. "If you'll please follow me."
*******
It was the first time I'd seen Skyhaven up close and in the light of day. It didn't disappoint. The buildings were as glorious close to as from afar; even more so, perhaps. From a distance, I'd never have seen the elegant arches and wave-like carvings. Nor would I have noted that the mosaics decorating so many of the walls and roadways were formed not of coloured glass, but of gems. An enterprising thief could have abandoned his trade and lived a life of luxury, had he only first come to Skyhaven with a hammer, a chisel and an enterprising attitude.
Even surrounded by such beauty, I couldn't tear my mind away from Calda's predicament. I spoke very little to my guide, at least at first, but it didn't matter. Koschai was talkative enough for both of us, and with almost every step produced some nugget of information about our surroundings, or found a way to compare life on Skyhaven to the one he had known in Tressia, before asking me, with an interest that went far beyond mere politenes
s, how it compared to my experiences of life in the Hadari Empire.
As we passed through an elegantly-wrought arch he'd ask me if I'd seen how the style perfectly completed the windows above, or stood at contrast to the overall sweep of the street; and had I noticed how the style of the carving echoed similar features in the older districts of Tressia?
On those instances when we passed serathi in the streets, Koschai would stop and introduce me to them, always as 'Ambassador Saran' and always with relish. It seemed he knew the names of all the serathi, or almost all. By contrast, after the first few introductions, I'd given up all hope of keeping the tally of names and faces straight in my memory. The reactions of the serathi ranged from friendliness, to curiosity, to polite disinterest. Not a one displayed the same brusqueness as Myrzanna had earlier that day.
The only serathi which Koschai made no attempt to approach were the graces who occasionally stalked the streets. Even in the daylight, they were as silent and imposing as those I'd had encountered on my way to meet with Azyra. I wasn't at all sad when Koschai made no attempt introduce me. It seemed that even he, after all those years living amongst the serathi, still found them intimidating.
"I must confess," I said after another flurry of introductions, "Skyhaven seems empty. Given the scale of the place, I'd expected there to be hundreds of serathi, but I can't have seen more than a few dozen."
Koschai smiled. "There are hundreds, my boy. It just so happens that most have gone afield looking for the Radiant."
"They're not leaving her return to prophecy then?"
"The serathi are not much inclined to leave anything to guesswork, and prophecy is merely guesswork with gravitas. I suppose it's understandable from their point of view – after centuries without her they want to give destiny whatever helping hand that they can."
"It certainly has the ring of prudence," I agreed. "If the Radiant is so vital to the outcome of the Reckoning, who knows how many lives might be saved if she returned even a day early."
"Or how much harm might be done through delay." Koschai's brow furrowed. "The serathiel told you of the Reckoning?"
"I'm not sure I'd go that far," I said carefully. Had I broken a confidence? Certainly the serathiel hadn't forbidden me from speaking of it, but she might have thought such a caution unnecessary. "I know it's supposed to begin after the Radiant's return, but little more than that."
Koschai seemed to sense my discomfort, for he patted me on the shoulder. "Then you've done exceedingly well. I was here for at least a year before they even mentioned it to me. They must want your help very badly, or at least more than they did mine. But you can leave Skyhaven. I can't."
In another man, I'd have expected bitterness in those last words, or a note of jealousy, but Koschai's voice was burdened by neither. I was starting to like this man. He seemed at peace with his lot, and never once had been less than friendly. I would have found it unbearable to be confined to a single city, even one so beautiful as Skyhaven, but then perhaps Koschai had simply mellowed with age. More likely, he had embraced his new home as a refuge from those who had hounded him for his bloodline. Certainly the serathi wouldn't have cared about Sidara, or about her legacy. In either event, his only other choice had been to throw himself willingly into death, and such a despairing act would have been wholly at odds with the man's nature.
All in all, I was starting to feel guilty about not having been so honest with Koschai as he had with me, but I could see no sense in clearing the air now. Besides, it was still possible that he wasn't who he said he was. But even as I formed that thought, I knew I no longer believed it.
After a time, Koschai led me away from the cluster of palaces and temples that made up the centre of the island, and down to one of the riverside gardens. The gardens of Skyhaven were an impossible mix of orchard, vineyard and pleasure garden, where fruit ripened on the bough alongside glorious blossoms, autumnal leaves and the vibrant blooms of summertime.
"Skyhaven stands apart from the seasons," Koschai explained, as he led me along a flagstoned pathway. "Anything can grow at any time of year. I don't know how they manage it. Magic, I suppose."
"Do the serathi tend these gardens?"
"A few, but for the most part they consider such menial work beneath them. I suppose they're like any ruling class. They like to focus on the finer things in life, such as sculpture, art and so on. But they don't see beauty quite as we do. I've heard a serathi give a rendition of a song that moved me to tears, and she never understood why it had done so. It's sad, really."
"What do you mean by 'ruling class'?" I ducked low under an out-flung branch. "Are there other creatures here as well?"
"Why yes, though they're very different to the serathi. I'd quite forgotten that you'd not encountered any. The drudges don't often make it up into the city proper, unless directly called upon to do. I don't think that the serathi like having them around, though I can't imagine why. They're quite pleasant."
"What do these drudges look like?" I asked, thinking of the distant glimpses I'd had of greyish-white figures moving through the trees the previous day.
"I can better than describe them to you." He looked back over his shoulder. "There's one on the path behind us."
Following Koschai's gaze, I saw a figure approaching. The drudge, as he'd called it, was certainly a stark contrast to the serathi. For a start, its face and form were obviously male. His hair and eyes were both of an opalescent white. His flesh, if it could truly be described as such, was pale grey and looked to be as hard as stone. No, that wasn't quite right. I knew that it was stone, just as the tunic and trews he wore were not cloth, but sculpted onto his form. I'd encountered such creatures as he before. This drudge, as Koschai had called it, was what I knew as a sentinel, just like Zorya.
I became aware, too late, that I beheld the drudge with a mixture of suspicion and alarm that was entirely too obvious. I felt sure my thoughts were written plainly on my face.
For a wonder, Koschai completely misread my expression. "You've not seen one before, then?" he asked with palpable amusement.
"He is something of a surprise," I replied, proving the serathi weren't the only ones who could avoid giving a straight answer. "At least, I presume he's a 'he'?"
"Indeed he is. Are you not?"
The drudge eased to a halt. [[Yes, Master Trelan.]]
If I'd had any lingering doubts about the drudge's kinship to Zorya, they were dispelled instantly upon hearing him speak. His words carried the same sing-song hollowness as hers, and a polite tone that nonetheless suggested impertinence was never far distant.
"I must confess, Edric," said Koschai, "you're taking this in your stride."
"I'm on a floating island, surrounded by beings of legend. Under those circumstances, a living statue is hardly a cue to collapse into drivelling insanity."
"True." The Tressian rubbed his chin.
Did he suspect I was holding back? "You had a different reaction? When you first saw one of these 'drudges', I mean."
"As it happens, no. But then I'd seen one before I came to Skyhaven. Several, in fact."
At his side, the drudge stirred. [[Will that be all, Master Trelan?]]
"I think so, yes. Thank you. Be about your duties."
[[Yes, Master Trelan.]] Offering a slight bow, the drudge continued briskly past us to wherever he was bound. I watched him go for a moment, then followed Koschai along the path.
"You said you'd seen something like that before. Where exactly?"
"Tressia, of course," Koschai said with no small amusement. "You recall the servant in whose care I left my daughter? Well, she was a drudge. Well, I say that she was a drudge, I always referred to her as a sentinel. She was far too noble a creature for such a..." He looked around briefly and lowered his voice. "...for such a demeaning title."
"How did you meet her?"
"This might sound a little peculiar, but I found her sleeping in the basement of my ancestral home." He broke off, and chuckled qu
ietly to himself. "I'm sorry, that conjures up the image of some intrusive destitute, which doesn't do the situation justice at all. You have to remember that I come from a very old family, a very old family indeed, and until I reclaimed the Tower of Stars, I don't think anyone had used some of the rooms for hundreds of years. By chance, I found a secret basement hidden in amongst the foundations. That's where I found Zorya, as well as several others of her kind. I think they'd slept peacefully, for centuries."
"And that was the start of your acquaintance?"
"Not quite. I'd no idea what they were at first. I just saw a room full of statues and went to take a look around. I'm sure you can imagine what it must have been like. One moment you're walking through what seems to be a sculptor's forgotten storeroom. You're tired, the only light is that from the lantern that you're carrying, there are cobwebs wider than you are tall, and you've never been overly fond of the dark. Then the statues begin to move..."
"It must have been quite an experience."
"It was all that," Koschai agreed. "And it got better. In my panic to reach the door I managed to smash my lantern. I think I'd have run screaming into the night had Zorya not reached the door before me. I nearly went mad with terror when I found that I couldn't escape, but when the drudges made no move to attack me, I calmed, little by little."
We passed beneath a vine-woven arch. I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun. "An offer of employment is an odd reaction to terror. I shall try that some time."
"Oh, it wasn't my idea. Zorya offered me her services in exchange for agreeing to keep the rest of her kind hidden. She became my seneschal, the keeper of my household. I had the better of that bargain, I can tell you. I'd always been something of a recluse, so there was no danger of accidental discovery. Only my family knew, and the Trelans are long practiced at keeping secrets. We've had to be."
"I've heard a few things about the Trelan family," I admitted.
"I'm sure you have." Koschai looked at me curiously. "A god-like ancestor and a legacy of magic don't make for the easiest of lives."
I wasn't sure I believed that Sidara was a divine as some said, but then it didn't matter what I thought – thousands of Tressians believed it, and believed it desperately. I knew from Arianwyn of the pressure that had been placed on Sidara's descendants. I also knew, though Koschai hadn't said as much, those expectations had driven him away.