I knew I should force myself to make the descent, but a wise voice in my ear counselled caution. I should rest first.
I moved away from the opening and approached the far wall. Once again my legs trembled in fear, for now I could see another hole in the floor – a long and narrow pit running the whole length of that wall.
I peered over, but could see only darkness; however, I sensed, hidden within it, something looking up at me. I quickly pulled back.
My eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom and, for the first time, I saw a shallow recess in the wall to my left. Inside was a pallet with a single blanket so, feeling utterly weary and suddenly indifferent to the dangers that might be lurking below, I lay down and covered myself with the blanket.
I lay there thinking of Garrett. Then my thoughts turned to home and Kwin, and I remembered the last hours we had spent together. I tried to visualize her face: I could see the 13 tattooed on her forehead; the hair, shorter on one side; and her scar. But her face seemed to shimmer and, as I drifted closer to sleep, for some reason it changed into the face of the cruel woman who had pointed her finger at me, causing me to fall unconscious.
Eventually, overcome by weariness, I fell asleep.
I awoke slowly, aware of the need to relieve my bladder. However, I was warm and comfortable, so I kept drifting in and out of sleep, until at last I pulled off the blanket and opened my eyes.
Instantly I came to my feet.
The chamber had been transformed: torches were suspended from the metal rings, and it now blazed with a yellow, flickering light. A small table covered with a green cloth had been set by the circular hole in the floor. Upon it lay dishes of meat and fruit, along with a bronze decanter filled with liquid; beside it stood two crystal goblets and a number of smaller, ornate pewter cups decorated with representations of birds.
I was hungry, but first I needed to urinate: I looked around, quickly deciding that the narrow passage leading to the door was the furthest point from my bed and the table. It was then that I saw a second recess in the opposite wall and went to investigate.
It contained a small circular hole in the floor to the left and a larger oblong depression to the right. I urinated into the hole, and then quickly returned to the table and picked up a plate of some pale meat. I sniffed it suspiciously, but it smelled fine.
Anyway, why should my captors bother to poison me? I reflected. Had they wanted me dead, they would surely have slain me before now.
I ate quickly; the meat was delicious – peppery and pungent so that it was difficult to identify the type of creature it came from. Next I tried a round orange fruit and found this to be sweet and juicy, but also alien to anything I’d ever tasted before.
Then, as I was about to pour myself a drink, I heard a sound from below – the echo of distant footsteps growing steadily louder. They had a hard edge, as if metal was rhythmically striking stone.
I took three rapid steps back, away from the table, but not before grabbing the bronze vessel. It had a thick, heavy base, and could serve as a crude weapon. As I moved away, some of the purple liquid splashed down onto the stone floor.
To my surprise, a girl’s head rose into view as she climbed the spiral staircase – the face, beautiful and serene, the black hair braided with green stones, the neck long and graceful, then a narrow waist and very long legs. I suddenly noticed the silver tree-fern tattoo on her forehead.
She wore a black dress that was little more than a shift. It was as if someone had simply cut three functional holes for her arms and head, for there was no evidence of stitching. The dress was tied at the waist with a white sash, and very short, revealing a long expanse of thigh. Her feet were clad in silver shoes which seemed to be made of something metallic but flexed as she walked.
She halted at the top of the circular stairwell. Very slowly I moved round the table towards her. Then, to my amazement, she spoke to me in my own language.
‘You’re spilling the wine,’ she said softly.
I was so astonished that I immediately spilled some more: the words might have been spoken by a woman from Gindeen. The girl’s manner was soft and welcoming, and her voice held no trace of rebuke or hostility.
I studied her face. It was soft and feminine, but with a fierce radiance blazing from the brown eyes. Her skin was brown too, far darker than that of the Genthai, contrasting with the pale-skinned, yellow-haired people I’d stayed with. Nor was there any hint of the unnatural green that tinged the flesh of the woman who rode the beast.
I carefully replaced the vessel on the table. No sooner had I done so than the girl came up and bent her head forward until her nose was close to my chest.
Suddenly, for the first time since her appearance, I was aware that I was naked. She touched my chest.
‘You’re sticky. You need to wash,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Don’t you wash before you eat?’
I shrugged. ‘I’d be happy to wash, but where’s the water?’
She seized me by the wrist, her grip gentle but firm, and led me towards the recess in the wall where I’d urinated, pointing at the oblong depression in the stone floor.
Obediently I stepped in, and she pressed a small area of darker stone: instantly, water fell in a heavy shower from the ceiling. It was cold, and I shuddered and gasped. But then, wasting no time, I began to sluice the water under my arms.
The girl left me to it, and for a few moments I simply enjoyed the feel of the water on my skin.
At last I was done and, copying the girl, I placed my fingers to the dark stone and smiled as the water slowed and then trickled away to nothing. As I started to brush the water off myself, the girl reappeared holding out a green towel.
For a few moments she stood there watching me dry myself, but then disappeared again. I wrapped myself in the towel and headed back towards the table.
There were two stools there now, one on either side of the table, and the girl was holding out a black shift like the one she wore. I accepted it, let the towel fall to the ground and pulled it on over my head. She offered me a white sash, which I tied loosely about my waist, and then gestured towards the nearest of the wooden stools.
I nodded, smiled and sat down, whereupon the girl filled a crystal goblet from the bronze decanter and held it out to me. I waited until she’d filled her own before drinking thirstily. It was wine – and far superior to that produced by the vineyards north of Gindeen. I smiled and was about to tell her as much when she spoke.
‘Why are you here in our land?’ she asked. ‘What is your purpose? My lady wishes to know.’
I smiled. ‘I’m here to explore new lands and learn the wisdom of their peoples,’ I lied. ‘I’m a scholar who seeks knowledge and new cultures.’
‘A scholar with a sword?’ she asked, lifting the wine to her lips and taking a sip.
‘A scholar must arm himself against the dangers he encounters. But tell your lady that I come in peace.’
The girl took another sip of wine. ‘You fought like a warrior. Many of my lady’s vassals died at your hands – you and your companion – but she will soon judge you. In the meantime we have work to do. I have been allowed seven days in which to teach you as much of our language as you can absorb.’
‘Why do I need to learn it,’ I asked, ‘when you speak mine so beautifully?’
She frowned. ‘It would not be proper for my lady to speak your tongue. It is you who are the stranger, and the law decrees that you must either speak our tongue or remain unheard. And if you cannot be heard, you are no better than a beast of the field, only fit for slaughter.’
The situation was clear. I had no choice. ‘Then let the first lesson begin,’ I invited her.
‘Finish your glass of wine so that it may lubricate your memory,’ she commanded.
I smiled, thinking that she was joking, but I drained my glass.
‘Firstly I will teach you the names of things; then the names of actions; finally I will show you how to link these in such a way
that others may understand you. In seven days, unless you prove stupid, you will meet with the minimum demands of the law. Either that or you will die.’
‘What’s the name of the creature your lady rides?’ I asked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. And are there no horses here? Do you know what a horse is?’
‘My lady rides a rasire,’ the girl replied. ‘Only those of high rank are permitted such mounts. They are sometimes armoured and used in battle.’
I had heard the word rasire before. They were the squat humanoid figures who served the Trader. They had carried the heavy cylinder containing the shatek that Ada had bought to create Thrym, a sentient lac. This creature looked very different.
‘A horse is called an agnwan,’ the girl continued, ‘but agnwana are only ridden by barbarians such as you. If you survive, you will soon see many agnwana. Perhaps you miss the mounts you and your seven companions rode when you entered our land from your homeland, which we call Kisetorian Dutred. Every stage of your journey has been observed.’
‘Kisetorian Dutred?’ I said aloud, trying out the words on my tongue. ‘Do the words have a meaning?’
‘No, the meaning has been lost, but there are other names for your homeland – a forbidden place that none may visit. Some refer to it as Danur, which means the Place of the Beast, for ancient legend tells of a ferocious beast imprisoned there behind the cloud, and warns that we must be careful lest it awake and devour the whole world. Of course, it is just a story, and we are strong and fear nothing that breathes.’
‘What do you call this building?’ I asked, gesturing towards the walls.
‘This is a krie-kore, which is a way station or fortress that belongs to my lady. We will remain here until she has passed judgement on you.’
‘Then I must prepare myself,’ I said. ‘Please teach me all the words I must know.’
I then did a very odd thing. There was something about this girl that pushed aside all my inhibitions.
‘What do you call these?’ I asked, reaching across the table and touching her lips with my forefinger.
Rather than flinch away or feign outrage, she smiled warmly. ‘Lips are called eileas, and this is called an itlea,’ she said, holding her tongue. ‘We will begin with parts of the body and move outwards to explore the world. But first let us deal with our names. Your name is Leif. May I use your name when speaking to you?’
‘Of course,’ I answered.
‘Then you may use my name also. I am called Peri.’
This was puzzling. How did she know my name? I wondered. Had I called it out in my sleep? And how did she speak my language so perfectly? However, I kept such questions to myself and concentrated on learning as many words as possible.
Peri spoke quickly, rarely repeating a word more than twice, but my memory was sharp, and no sooner had a word been spoken than it was fixed in my head. Whether it was anything to do with the wine, as she’d seemed to suggest, I couldn’t say; if so, it had the opposite effect to any wine I’d drunk before.
The lesson seemed to last for hours, but my concentration didn’t flag. At last, very suddenly, a great weariness came upon me and I felt my eyes closing and my head growing heavy.
‘We have done enough for today,’ Peri declared. ‘Sleep now so that what you have learned will be fixed in your mind.’
I was only too glad to obey, so I went over to the recess and lay down upon the pallet. Within moments I was sound asleep.
The moment I awoke I was aware that something had changed. The air was cooler and the torchlight was weak, so that there were areas of shadow in the chamber.
I got to my feet and approached the table. The dishes were now empty, and the wine and the goblets had been removed, replaced by a small glass vessel containing a clear liquid. My mouth was dry, so I poured some into a glass and sipped it carefully.
It was fresh-tasting water, and I drank two glasses before my thirst was satisfied. It was then that I heard a faint noise from the pit by the far wall.
It sounded like something sharp scratching against stone.
Warily I went to investigate and, as I drew closer, I heard it again. When I’d peered into it the first night, I’d seen nothing but blackness. Now the dim torchlight would illuminate anything that lay below.
I knelt by the edge of the pit, peered down – and saw a face looking up at me. My heart missed a beat, and I almost recoiled in surprise, for the face was female.
It was Peri, the girl who had been teaching me her language.
I was about to call out her name, but then the face moved away into a dark tunnel beneath the floor.
With a sense of shock and horror, I now saw the legs and body upon which that head was mounted, and my stomach turned over.
The body glistened black, as if oiled, and there were multi-jointed legs – six at least – that mercifully carried the creature away out of sight.
The creature was more insect than human; more monster than animal. It was a shatek.
I crouched by the edge of the pit, desperately trying to regain my composure.
I’d assumed that I was dealing with humans; strange humans with a technology I’d never encountered before – I remembered the purple sparks emerging from the woman’s finger that had caused me to fall unconscious.
I’d been wrong. This was a multiple entity, a creature similar to Hob, with many selves, given birth to by a shatek. The warriors with their strange armour of blue rings were also part of the entity. Its selves varied, but there was a high mind that peered through every one of its eyes. Ada had called that consciousness the gorestad.
When I talked to Peri, I was in communication with the total entity.
There was no doubt about it: I was the prisoner of a djinni.
THE MUSEUM OF LIGHTS
Human cities were once bathed in light that obscured the stars.
That shall be so again.
But darkness always returns.
Amabramdata: the Genthai Book of Prophecy
KWIN
At the second party I was more careful and drank just one small glass of punch.
I danced with Goodwin, and we talked a little, but judging by the glances he gave me whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t getting the same responses from me: instead of giggling at his jokes I just smiled politely.
The evening dragged on, but at last my father and I were able to go home. I sighed with relief. Just one more party and it would finally be over.
As my father had explained, the third one was to be on neutral territory. Goodwin’s family suggested a venue and offered to pay for everything. They wanted to throw a really big party. After much discussion, my father agreed. It was to be held in a function room in a wing of the Protector’s palace.
That caught my attention. I was eager to visit the palace. The east wing was occupied by the Genthai and the west by the City Directorate; my father went there for meetings, but I never got to accompany him. There were all sorts of rumours about what was inside. One part was supposed to be a museum, with artefacts from Earth’s distant past, dating from a time long before humans were defeated by the djinn.
My father told me that all the old wealthy families would be at the party. I suppose extravagance and huge guest lists matched the mood in the city. Confidence had returned. The retribution from beyond the Barrier hadn’t happened and Hob remained in his citadel. People were starting to enjoy themselves again.
The function room proved to be disappointing. It was rather small and no different to the staid drawing rooms of the wealthier homes in the city.
I was wearing my third new dress. It was another long, lacy thing with the hem trailing on the floor and the sleeves getting in the way. It took all my will power to stop myself hitching them up.
Hidden underneath that dress I was wearing the red Trig boots Leif had bought me, and up my left sleeve was the blade I always carried around Gindeen.
It made me feel better; I smiled to myself w
hen I thought how easily I could put paid to my betrothal simply by raising the hem of my dress and showing them who I really was.
But although I began the evening in a wintry mood, it gradually thawed. After all, I was seeing Goodwin for the last time, so I decided to make the best of things. Perhaps my smile was warmer this time; perhaps, without realizing it, I was more encouraging; whatever the reason, he paused at the end of a dance, smiled warmly and made a suggestion.
‘I’d like to show you more of the palace – something special. It’s on the floor below this. My father has been given special permission for us to have access to it.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, my curiosity beginning to stir.
‘Come with me and find out!’ he challenged.
Intrigued, I followed him out of the function room and down a flight of steps to an oaken door. Goodwin produced a key, unlocked it and led the way into a vast room, lit by flickering torches showing large glass cases and sturdy chests of drawers.
‘It’s a museum of natural history!’ I cried.
The glass cases were mostly filled with stuffed birds. There were no mammals, I realized as I studied the exhibits.
‘Are the mammals kept elsewhere?’ I asked.
Goodwin shook his head. ‘This was an island of birds. There were dogs, cats and farm animals such as sheep and cattle, but hardly any wild mammals until the djinn introduced them.’
‘We’re on an island?’
‘That’s what my father believes. There’s evidence here to suggest it. If the maps we’ve found are genuine, they confirm that. We seem to be on an island, and there’s another one, roughly equal in size, just to the south.’
As well as being joint owner of a large gambling house, Goodwin’s father was the head of Gindeen’s Historical Society – a group of passionate amateur historians who delved into the past, attempting to tease out its secrets.
‘Hey, would you like to see something really ugly?’ Goodwin asked. ‘Even uglier than my mug?’
I smiled and gave the required response: ‘You’re not ugly,’ I told him. ‘Far from it.’
The Warrior Page 8