“What’s this?” cried Marick in mock indignation. “A mere Black Sash asking questions? Learn your place, underling!” Further comment was forestalled by Dorict’s hand giving the little Bane a sharp push between the shoulders.
“There’s no better place to stop along this stretch,” Dorict told him. “We’ll stay at the old temple tonight.” He shouldered a load of pots and food. “Too bad we can’t take the cart any closer.” He puffed as he clambered over a curb of stones on the north side of the road and pushed his way through a bramble of low bushes.
Garet picked up the remaining stores and followed him through the waist-high brush. A screen of encroaching brambles had long ago reduced a lane of paved stones to a tumbled miniature of the rapids they had just passed. He heard Dorict ahead of him cursing softly as he maneuvered around flipped cobbles and out-thrust roots. Now the brambles were replaced by a grove of hoary old oak trees that made a green tunnel over the path. Any flat area was thick with rotted acorns and dry leaves.
Suddenly, the grove ended. In front of them a moat was crossed by a graceful arch of stone that sprang out from beneath the shadow of the oaks. The water circled the green mound of an island. Mandarack and Salick, leading the horses, were already on the island, and the three others hurried to join them.
The island was as round as a cart wheel and rose gently to form a low hill. The grass was still green and lower than in the lands they had passed through, but the honking of the geese swimming in the moat told Garet what had been cropping it short. On the crest of the hill stood an astonishing structure, a square building fashioned of many white pillars instead of walls. Its domed roof was a startling shade of blue, a shade that seemed to have captured the colour of the twilight sky a minute before it turns to black. The beauty of that solitary, elegant building caught in Garet’s throat for a moment, and he could only stare at it, his shoulders draped with bags and bundles.
Responding to Marick’s impatient call, he shifted his load and walked up the hill to a small, paved plaza in front of the building. As he neared the top, the ruins of a crumbled wall appeared to the north over the ring of trees. The remains of many campfires showed that this was a favourite stop for travellers. Garet saw that none of the fire-rings were made of the white and blue stones of the structure. Instead, someone had carried stones from the road to line the blackened circles. He understood their labour. No one who saw this temple, for it could be nothing else, would want to tear it apart. He saw that Mandarack and Salick were already inside, and the other two Banes were sitting on the top of the low steps, wrestling with their boots. He sat beside them, feeling foolish, and took off his own. Barefoot, he stood up. Dorict smiled at his confusion and led him between the pillars and beneath the dome.
The white stones of the floor were smooth and cold on his feet. The marble had been polished to reflect the sunlight up onto the curved ceiling. Garet gasped as he looked above his head. The ceiling was covered with patterns of bright crystals. At first it was too overwhelming to make sense of, but soon he caught one familiar shape, and then another. These were the stars! Sure now, he looked for the Southern Swan and the Winter River, but could not find them. This was a high-summer sky. The Ploughman chased his running Ox, and the Dragon circled the North Star. If he wanted confirmation, he could look outside in a few hours and see them in the real sky.
“Have you been in a Temple before, Garet?” Mandarack asked him.
Caught slack-jawed and staring, Garet had to tear his eyes from the beautiful ceiling to answer him. “No, Master, I have never been in a place like this. At Three Roads they had a tent with a blue roof for the festivals, but this…” his voice trailed off as he turned slowly, looking back up at the dark, deep blue of the re-created sky.
Mandarack looked up as well. “Heaven is always above us, Garet. It guides us, comforts us, and gives us its beauty.” With his shadow of a smile, he looked down at Garet’s bare feet and said, “That is why we stand this way, our feet touching the earth as we look up to the beauty above us. They seem so separate, but it is we who join the two by being of the Earth but yearning for the Sky.”
Garet turned and turned to view every constellation. Mandarack’s words, the soft sound of his feet, his very breath echoed down from the dome. He felt dizzy and overwhelmed by a sense of awe that he had never felt before.
“Does Heaven judge us?” he asked in a low voice. Garet had known men at Three Roads, drinking companions of his father, who would curse their luck at dice and then, glancing up at the smoke-stained tavern roof, softly call on Heaven to forgive their sins.
“Yes,” Salick answered from the shadows. She was standing between the pillars, hand resting lightly on one fluted surface.
“Many believe so,” Mandarack said, “but, Garet, we are all judged by what we bring to our lives: courage or cowardice, intelligence or stupidity, kindness or cruelty. In the end, we are known, and judged by what we do.” He raised his good hand to the dome and then slowly knelt to touch the floor. “And Heaven always sends us opportunities to show others our true selves.” He glanced over at Salick and stiffened, then quickly rose to his feet. She was staring in horror at her hand, for the shadowed pillar had been painted with blood.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DEMONS AND THE DEAD
Dorict and Marick came at Garet’s call. Mandarack was examining the blood on the pillar.
“It’s very fresh,” he said. The Banemaster scanned the surrounding trees. “Get your weapons. We’ll scout the area.”
The party quickly put on their boots and armed themselves. Salick pressed the hatchet into Garet’s hands. “Unless you’d prefer a stone,” she said sarcastically, but Garet could see how shaken she was. Although he knew little of the faith of the South, he could imagine how wrong it must feel to find proof of violence on holy ground.
Mandarack split them into two groups. He would take the two Blues and the horses back to the cart and scout along the road. Salick and Garet were to circle the ring of oaks and meet the others at the cart. The old Bane settled the shield on his good arm and led them back through the trees. Dorict and Marick pulled at the horses’ reins, keeping as close as possible to the others.
After they separated, Salick was as silent as the trees, moving slowly along the outside of the grove, her head constantly swivelling and her trident held ready. The brambles caught at their tunics, and they froze at each twig’s snap when they pulled their clothes free. The hatchet felt awkward and useless in his hand. He trembled a bit with anticipation, yet there was none of the dread that Garet had experienced in previous encounters with demons, and he was not surprised when they circled the woods without encountering anything. Remembering the odd behaviour of the birds at the ruined farmstead, he paused for a moment and listened. Salick tugged at his sleeve, but he stayed motionless. There were birds moving on the forest floor and in the trees. Now and then a tentative trill sang out over their heads. Salick, at last understanding why he had stopped, listened as well. She shrugged her shoulders and motioned to him to finish their patrol and return to the road. The others were waiting by the cart.
Mandarack was grim. “Come with us.” Dorict and Marick also followed, both clearly shaken.
Salick and Garet knew better than to ask and fell in with the shivering Blues behind the Banemaster. A trail, smashed through the berry bushes a hundred paces from where they had stopped, led from the road towards a copse of greyish-green poplars.
Garet knelt down and touched a dark stain on the dirt. His finger came away red. The old man looked grimly at the stain and led them through the smashed bushes, his shield held clear of the thorns. Before he followed and despite Salick’s jibe, Garet picked up a good-sized stone to put in his tunic pocket. He had little faith in his ability to use the hatchet against any of the demons listed in the Moret’s book, but at least he was sure of his skill with a rock. Fifty more paces brought them to the dusty island of trees. A body lay hidden in the brambles just in front of the popl
ars. It was a young man, a few years older than Salick, dressed in a blue tunic. His throat was cut in three precise parallel curves from just under one ear to the other. Too precise and knife-like for a bear, Garet thought, and too big to be any other natural beast. There was no doubt in his mind as to what had done this. The man’s eyes were wide and staring, as if he still felt a horror of the demon that killed him.
Garet’s stomach twisted, and he savagely fought to control himself. Salick’s lips were pressed and her cheeks pale. Mandarack waved them into the poplars and stood in the centre of the small grove, his shield braced against a tree and his eyes looking down at a second corpse, this one clad in the clawed remnants of a black tunic and a shredded gold sash.
“Cassant!” Salick cried. She sobbed and stabbed her trident into the ground. “Oh, Cassant! Master, how could this be? Cassant was a Gold. How could he be killed?”
Mandarack’s voice was harsh. “Any Bane can die beneath a demon’s claws, Salick, even a Gold, even a Master, but something else disturbs me even more than the death of someone from our Hall.” He slid the shield off his arm and kneeling, gently turned the corpse over. “See here, the back is where the killing blows landed. There are little but scratches on the front of his body.” He slipped the shield on again and said quietly, perhaps to himself, “Why did he not face the beast?”
Could the demon have crept up on him? But before Garet could ask Mandarack, he remembered the gut-wrenching effect of a demon’s approach. The Gold would have felt the demon long before he saw it. How could it have attacked him secretly from behind?
“Garet,” Mandarack’s sudden call brought his attention back to the Banemaster. “I think you have some skill in tracking animals. Check the trail and tell me what you see.”
Garet followed the smashed passage through the bushes carefully, but most of the tracks belonged to him and his companions. Only one or two stretches showed the running strides of other feet. While casting along the sides of the trail he spotted a glint of metal beneath the bushes. It was a long spear. A hook of bright metal swept back from where the point joined the shaft, the Bane’s weapon perhaps. He carried it back to the others.
“Master,” he said when he rejoined Mandarack by the entrance to the poplars, “two people ran quickly down the trail.”
“Ran?” asked the Bane, his eyes holding Garet’s and demanding confirmation.
Salick stared at him, mouth open.
Garet nodded. “Yes, sir, and quickly too. The prints are far apart and the dirt is thrown back for a good distance at each step.” He paused to slow his breath. “I saw a scuffed track behind them; something clawed the ground, but what it was isn’t clear.” He held out the spear to the old man. “And there was this.”
Salick leaned close to Mandarack’s ear and whispered urgently.
“No,” he replied clearly. “I do not know why a Bane would run, Salick, or drop his weapon. But we must find out.” He turned to Garet. “Keep the spear for now, lad. You might need it before we can leave this place.” Garet handed his hatchet to Marick and gripped the unfamiliar weapon tightly in both hands.
The five Banes half carried, half dragged the corpses of the two men to the road and laid them in the back of the cart. The horses shied away from the smell of the blood, making the cart jitter and sway.
Mandarack closed the eyes of the young man and slipped his hand into the shield again. “Dorict, Marick, stay here with the cart,” he instructed. “Do not try to fight anything that might appear. If you are attacked, cut the horses loose. They might draw off the demon and allow you to escape. Make your way back to Old Torrick if we are separated. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Master,” cried Marick, his face white, “but what will you and Salick and Garet be doing?”
“We hunt,” the old Bane replied shortly. Before he led Salick and Garet back down the trail, he turned and told Dorict, “If we do not return by evening, light the lanterns and start back to Torrick. Ask Hallmaster Corix to send as much help as she can.”
Dorict nodded nervously and clutched at the reins to quiet the shifting horses.
The three Banes, Mandarack in the lead and Salick bringing up the rear, quickly retraced their steps to the poplar trees. The brambles caught at the shaft of the spear in Garet’s hand, until Salick’s whispered, “Hold it up, you fool!” He blushed and raised the weapon above his head.
At Mandarack’s direction, Garet and Salick circled the grove looking for clues as to where the demon had gone. Salick found some blood on a patch of dry moss, and Garet was able to make out enough scrapes and scuffs to lead them to the north end of the grove.
The tracks went lightly through the brambles, though here and there, the soft earth showed a full print.
“Master,” Garet called softly, “come and look at this.” He was crouched between the bushes above a set of prints. A nearby spring had seeped into the soil and softened it to the consistency of porridge. Two sets of tracks were clearly pressed into the earth. Both were of long, narrow feet whose claws cut thin lines in the dirt at each step.
Mandarack lowered himself carefully and examined the tracks. Salick hovered nervously.
“Master,” she asked, “did the demon pass here twice?”
Mandarack scanned the trail. “No,” he said. The point of his shield hovered over the marks. “See there where the larger tracks cover the smaller set, while here it’s the smaller set on top.” He pushed himself up, using the shield as a support. “There were two demons, Shriekers I believe, on this trail, travelling together.” He tapped the shield lightly against his boot to knock the dirt from its tip.
Salick stared at him, open-mouthed. After a moment she swallowed and tightened her grip on the trident.
Garet scanned ahead. “Master,” he said, “why can’t we feel them? Are they too far away?”
“I don’t know,” Mandarack replied softly, turning his head this way and that as he had on the night he had detected the Basher. “It’s almost as if…” His voice trailed off.
No noise broke the silence for a long minute, then Mandarack spoke again, “Salick, what do you feel from the direction of the setting sun?”
The shadows of leaves made crisscross patterns on her face as she swivelled towards the low sun and closed her eyes.
“Nothing, Master.” A pause, then: “But it feels…dead!” “That is what I sense. Not a feeling, but the absence of all feeling.”
Garet had been trying to sense anything in the same direction and came to the same conclusion. It was like closing your eyes and turning from sunlight to shade. Something was missing, although he had no clear idea of what it was.
He opened his eyes. The trail led west to the ruins he had seen beyond the temple. Mandarack followed his glance.
“That is the old temple market. It was never dismantled, but is mostly in ruins now. Stay close to me.” He moved carefully towards the jumble of walls and collapsed buildings. Salick and Garet exchanged quick glances and followed.
The market had once been a large walled compound which, like the market of Old Torrick, was ringed with stalls and buildings. The wall itself had been breached by weather and time in several places, and few of the shops had more than two walls left upright. The three Banes crouched just inside the market wall, behind a half-collapsed tea house and listened. Now no bird sang, no animal called. But still there was no sense of fear. The only sound was the brush of branches from the overgrown, ornamental trees against the walls. At the Master’s signal they slipped between the shops and looked out into the compound.
The remains of buildings and galleries crusted the inner walls, leaving only narrow alleys between them. What walls were left were covered with faded paintings and deep carvings of the constellations. That’s why these buildings weren’t torn down to help build the road, Garet thought; they were too holy to be disturbed by anything but time. A substantial building, boasting a complete front wall, but no roof, dominated the north end of the compound.
Between it and the ruined gate to the south lay nothing but cracked flagstones and a dry fountain.
“That would be the Market Master’s building,” breathed Mandarack, pointing with his chin to the north. “The blank feeling lies in that direction.” Now, Garet could easily feel the wrongness of that dead area.
Salick must have felt it as well, for she wrinkled her nose at the large building as if it held something foul.
Mandarack turned to face them. “If the demons are both here,” he said slowly, “they might seek such a shelter for a lair.”
“You’re not sure, Master?” This burst out of Garet without thought. But a panic filled him at Mandarack’s uncertainty. If the Banemaster was not sure, what chance did they have?
Salick’s hand clawed at his shoulder, and her voice whispered harshly in his ear, “Keep quiet, idiot! No Bane has ever faced two demons before. Not even the greatest. Demons never appear together!”
They moved inside, hugging the shop wall and keeping low to take advantage of the piles of stones and the long shadows cast by the wall. The overhanging trees shaded the inside of the Market Master’s ruined mansion. Each remaining window was a blind eye staring out into the still-bright square. As they crept along, Garet could feel the dread growing in him. The dead feeling was gone. Even with his new techniques of self-control, he could barely force himself forward. Was this the effect of the demons or of his loss of faith in Mandarack’s limitless knowledge? He looked across at Salick. Her skin was pale and beads of sweat dotted her upper lip and forehead.
At least I’m no worse off than she is, thought Garet, and the thought calmed him enough so that he could push the fear down and hold it in his belly. The ease with which he accomplished this told him that it was mainly his own doubts he fought. They were at the last tumbled shop before their goal now. At least twelve running paces separated them from the nearest window. Something clicked on the stones to their left. The old Bane waved them up to crouch beside him. He whispered his instructions, his voice so low that Garet had to read some words from the movement of his lips to get the entire message.
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