“I’d appreciate a four course meal, too, if you could manage it.” Alondo ventured.
“Well, I’ll buy you both the finest meal in Pinnar, how’s that?” Lyall’s expression became pensive. “Of course the place is pretty small, so that may not be saying much.”
Shann didn’t care. Right now she was starving, and the talk of food only made her juices run in anticipation. After so many days of living rough in the hills, with the Prophet’s men chasing them, she was looking forward to being able to relax at last with a good meal, a bath and a warm bed. She could smell that steak already.
Up ahead, the squat stone built dwellings of the tiny rural settlement were clearly visible. To either side of them, a patchwork of fields stretched away. Sounds of animals, wild and domestic, played in her ears and the scent of growing things filled her nostrils. People clothed in rough browns and reds could be seen, bent over and absorbed in their labours. Without warning, one of them pointed at their small caravan and hollered something. His voice was echoed by others, who dropped their implements and began running towards the village. The sound of the repeated shouts carried over the open field to reach Shann’s ears as a single word. Keltar.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Keris riding around from the rear to join them in the front. The tall woman was wearing the distinctive black flying cloak. As she drew level with them, Shann let fly at her. “Look what you did. You scared them off.”
Keris’ face was impassive. “So it would seem. Their reaction is quite puzzling.”
“Puzzling? You’re dressed as a Keltar. People are terrified of them,” Shann blustered.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, child. People normally come and do obeisance rather than run away. Ignoring a Keltar can bring about their wrath.”
“Nevertheless,” Lyall interposed, “we do not want to give the impression that we are in the service of the Prophet.”
“It seemed a good way to get their attention.” Keris was watching the fleeing villagers.
“I would rather begin any encounter with honesty.” Lyall was insistent.
Keris turned to look at him. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”
Lyall turned his mount and faced her squarely. “We will not gain allies by beginning with deception or by posing as our enemies.” His voice softened. “Let’s see if we can talk to these people, shall we?”
The party rode on into the village of Pinnar and came to a halt in the midst of an open area, ringed by low stone cottages with roofs of rough thatch. Gundir barked at their approach. A flock of black birds with red tipped wings lifted from the gables, flapping against the thick air. There were no other signs of life. Lyall looked around and behind him. “Where is everybody?”
“Hiding,” Shann scowled, “from her.” Keris did not react.
“What’s going on?” Alondo called from his seat on the wagon.
“We’re not sure,” Lyall returned. “Just stay where you are for now.”
“The graylesh need water and feed,” Alondo reminded him.
“I know, thank you.” Lyall dismounted, Shann and Keris following his lead. He surveyed the empty village once again. Raising a hand to his mouth, he called out. “Hello, is anyone there? We would like to trade. Hello?” Nothing stirred. The doors of the various crofts remained stubbornly closed. “So how far is the next village?” Lyall enquired.
“Too far.” Keris’ face was dark. Shann snorted in disgust.
“Perhaps if we wait for long enough and appear non-threatening, they will come out eventually?” Lyall speculated. As he was speaking, Keris started forward. She was striding towards the nearest dwelling, the ends of her flying cloak fluttering in the light breeze. “What are you doing?” Lyall shouted at her back.
Keris did not look back. Her tone was menacing. “Getting you your supplies.”
Shann’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she watched Keris pause before the entrance, lift her right boot and kick the door viciously. What the?
“Keris–Keris, stop… Keris.” Lyall called out, but the tall dark-haired woman was not listening. She seemed to be in a private trance, as if she were taking out days of agony and frustration on the doorway. Her face contorted as she lifted her boot once more–crack. Splinters of wood flew from the impact of her boot heel–crack. Shann could hear the groaning of tortured cross members–crack. The door finally gave way, flying open on its hinges and banging against the opposite wall. Keris marched inside.
Moments later she reappeared at the entrance. She had two elderly villagers, a man and a woman, by the scruffs of their necks. Keris half dragged them to the open centre of the hamlet and pitched them forward, so that they fell headlong to the hard-packed ground. “Please, Lady–please spare us,” Shann heard the old man whimper.
Keris ignored him, turning instead to address the shut up stone dwellings. “Get out here–now.” As Shann watched, doors opened slowly, and dejected villagers approached their caravan, heads bowed. Frightened children could be seen hiding behind the legs of their parents. Probably scarred for life, thanks to Keris.
Lyall stepped in front of Keris, both hands raised. “We mean you no harm. We are not Keltar, despite our appearance. We wish to trade with you. However, if you wish us to leave, we will leave peacefully and not return. And …we will be happy to pay for a new door.” Keris looked at him sharply, but said nothing. Shann knelt beside the elderly couple. “It’s all right,” she soothed, helping them to their feet. Their expressions were confused, but they accepted her assistance gratefully.
A man with long, straight black hair and a weathered face stepped forward. He wore a simple brown tunic and black breeches. His tail twitched in agitation and his eyes narrowed. “You say you are not Keltar. Yet this one bears the cloak and carries the staff.” His eyes flicked over Keris. “How can this be?”
Lyall raised his voice to address the assembled crowd. “She was Keltar, but no longer. We do not serve the Prophet. We are…working against his interests.”
“Last turn of the season Keltar came to this village with their soldiers.” The weathered-faced man declared. “They acted much as your Keltar there. Then they took all that we had and put five of our men folk to death. Their widows and orphans are here before you.”
Shann caught the eye of one little boy, no more than six turns old. She smiled at him. He turned away and buried his head in his mother’s skirts.
“I’m deeply sorry for your loss,” Lyall spoke up.
The dark haired man continued, “You said that if we asked, you would leave and not return.”
“Yes,” Lyall affirmed.
“Then we would ask that you leave and not return.” From the wagon behind her, she heard Alondo curse under his breath.
Lyall gave a slight bow, then turned on his heel, leading his graylesh back the way they had come.
“What is that?” It was a woman’s voice from the crowd. With their eyes fixed on the exchange between the two men, no-one had noticed the Chandara hop down from the back of the wagon and scamper over. The creature stood erect on its rear hind legs, its head cocked to one side. “I Am Boxx.”
Some in the gathering started to back away. A young girl screamed. Keris interposed herself between Boxx and the milling crowd, staff at the ready. “Wait.” The hubbub subsided before a commanding voice. A small older man stepped forward. He was well dressed by village standards, with a faded green jacket and matching cap. Shann was vaguely reminded of an older version of Alondo.
The older man’s face was filled with wonder. “You are Chandara.”
“You Are Kelanni,” Boxx responded. The man in the green jacket laughed infectiously. Shann could sense the assembly relaxing. Keris returned her staff to the sleeve at the back of her tunic.
“It certainly is Chandara.” The older man’s gaze was fixed on the little creature. “But it is a very long way from its forest. It is travelling with you?”
“Yes,” Lyall confirmed.
>
“Incredible. Tell me,” the older man addressed Boxx directly, “these you are travelling with, are they servants of the Prophet?”
Boxx replied in its thin high tone. “They Do Not Serve The Prophet. They Seek To Destroy His Device. For All Kelanni.”
“These people are not servants of the Prophet,” the older man declared.
The man with the long dark hair scowled. “You would take the word of this…this thing?”
“Forgive us,” the man in the green jacket addressed Lyall. “Grief and loss can cause people to give way to fear and suspicion.” He made eye contact with the dark haired man. “Whatever you may think of them, Mevan, Chandara do not lie. Nor do they serve the Prophet.” He turned back to Lyall. “I am Ernan, Headman of Pinnar. Our village is humble, but you are welcome here for as long as you wish.”
“I thank you, Ernan. I am Lyall. This is Shann and our former Keltar is called Keris. The fine fellow driving our wagon is Alondo.” Alondo doffed his cap and grinned. “I appreciate you may have little to spare, but I would like to discuss securing the provisions we need to continue our journey. We are prepared to compensate you fully.”
Ernan nodded thoughtfully. “We do not have an inn here in Pinnar, but I have a comfortable home. If you and your party would consent to stay with me, I will see what we can do to assist you. I would also enjoy a conversation with your Chandara.”
Shann chuckled. “You’re the first person I know who’s ever said that.”
The crowd began to disperse, murmuring to one another as they did so. The party followed Ernan as he led them in the direction of his house. Lyall hung back and buttonholed Keris, addressing her in low tones. Shann pricked up her ears to listen in. “What you did back there–well done.” Keris looked at him strangely. “But if you ever do anything like that again, you will no longer be a part of this group.”
~
Ernan’s home was comfortable indeed. The hearth was not lit this deep into summer, but the atmosphere was warm and homely, with delightful smells wafting from the kitchen. Shann realised that this was the first time since the farmhouse near Lind that she had actually stayed in a house. The hut at the compound didn’t really count. Memories of the compound made her wonder how Roanol and the others were doing. I haven’t forgotten you.
The main living space was set with an assortment of stools. Alondo sat opposite her, making adjustments to his curious instrument. He had offered to play for them later that evening. He looked up and smiled at her every so often. Boxx lay with its head on the wooden floor. Keris sat on her own three stools over. Her hands lay in her lap and she seemed unnaturally subdued after her earlier violent outburst. What is going on in your head?
Lyall was engaged in discussions with Ernan. The negotiations seemed protracted, but Ernan’s wife and only daughter kept them supplied with cool drinks. The daughter kept stealing glances at Alondo; he seemed to have that effect on women. Maybe it was something to do with being a musician.
At length, Lyall emerged with Ernan. He was smiling, which she interpreted as good news. “I think I have secured most of what we need. Replacing the door wasn’t cheap.” He meant it as a joke, but Keris’ face was as impassive as ever. It was almost as if… she were in mourning. But for what? For whom?
Ernan flopped onto a stool across from Shann and Alondo and gave a genial smile. “Hungry?”
“Yes, please,” Shann replied a little too eagerly, evoking a ripple of laughter from the others. Her eyes fell to the floor.
“Good–that’s good,” Ernan spread his hands. “Evening meal will be ready soon. Our fare is simple, but good enough to satisfy our young friend here, I think.” He winked at Shann and she perked up. Then his mood seemed to shift. His wide mouth straightened, his blue eyes narrowed, and his forehead took on a slight frown. “Lyall tells me you are bound for Sakara and that you intend to travel through the Fire Pits?”
“That is correct,” Keris answered from her place across the room.
The older man leaned forward and put his hand to his mouth but said nothing.
“Anything you can tell us about them might be helpful,” Lyall prompted.
There was a pause. Then Ernan spoke, his eyes unfocussed as if he were speaking to himself rather than to a room full of people. “Nobody travels through the pits and with good reason. There are too many ways to die. The fumes can choke and the ground is unstable in places. The there are pools of boiling mud and scalding water. And then there is the Serpent.”
Alondo looked up. “You mean the Kharthrun Serpent? I thought that was a story told to frighten young children.”
“Oh, the Serpent is real,” Ernan’ eyes focussed on the musician, who let his instrument slip to the floor. “Although it isn’t just a single creature, of course; there must be a number of them.”
“Have you ever seen one?” Shann asked.
“No. But Mevan, the man you spoke to before, has; as a young man, he ventured into the Pits with three others, one of whom was his brother. The Serpent attacked them. He was the only one to survive.”
There was a shocked silence. Finally, Lyall spoke up. “Did he say anything about the beast?”
Ernan shook his head. “Only that it stalks his nightmares to this day…I do not mean to interfere. We have a saying here in the Distrada: ‘A mylar determines its flight and a man his path.’ However, I would be less than a host if I did not acquaint you with the dangers that lie ahead of you.”
A silence descended once again. It was Alondo who verbalised their thoughts. “Maybe we should reconsider taking the route through this place?”
“Nonsense,” Keris countered. “If we take the road north, east and then south we will lose at least ten days. We have lost too much time already owing to our failure at the tower. The journey across Kharthrun will only take a few days. Then it will only be a short distance to the coast and the port of Sakara. There is nothing that lies within Kharthrun that we cannot deal with. Do not let yourself be swayed by these…fables.
Shann shot a glance at Ernan, but he merely shrugged slightly. Once again it was Lyall who stepped in to smooth over any ruffled feathers. “I thank you for your counsel, Master Ernan. However, the urgency of our mission demands that we take the swifter route, even if it is at some risk to ourselves.”
Ernan exhaled, whether through resignation or disappointment, Shann could not tell. “Then I will do what I can to aid you. You will have whatever supplies we can muster and I will arrange for an escort to conduct you safely to the rim. I cannot ask them to descend into Kharthrun itself–I’m sure you understand.”
Lyall gave a short bow. “Your offer is most generous, Ernan. We would like to get underway as soon as possible tomorrow.”
A tinkling sound came from the direction of the kitchen. Ernan stood up. “Well, I believe evening meal is about ready, after which I will make the arrangements for your departure tomorrow. At least I have this evening to talk to your Chandara friend.
Boxx raised its head at the mention of its name. “Chandara Friend,” it agreed. Shann wondered if she ought to warn Ernan that he was liable to end up with a splitting headache, but decided that it was probably best to allow him to make that particular voyage of discovery on his own.
Ernan was leading the way towards the kitchen while conversing with Lyall. “So, what does your Chandara eat…?” Shann and Alondo got up and fell in behind them, followed by Keris and Boxx. However, she found that she was no longer listening to the conversation. Her physical hunger had been replaced by a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Fire Pits…the Kharthrun Serpent…the very stuff of nightmares.
<><><><><>
Chapter 21
Down. The way to the Fire Pits lay open before them. A slim path, a tiny fault of broken rock, led the way down the immense canyon wall before disappearing beneath clouds of vapour, beckoning them towards the dangers that lay hidden below.
The headman had been as good as his word. He and a group of half a
dozen villagers rode with them to the rim of the immense depression. On the way, Ernan told them The Legend of Kharthrun. According to the tale, the Pits had been formed long ago, when the people of the Distrada had displeased The Three. The Suns had fashioned a fireball and hurled it from the heavens to serve as a sign of their wrath. The fireball gouged out a vast burning pit. Then it engulfed a forgar worm, feeding it until it grew into the Serpent. Shann thought the story outrageous and even a little blasphemous, but she listened politely and held her tongue.
At the rim, they halted and looked out across the fear-inspiring vista. Beneath the steam clouds Shann glimpsed twisted features amid dark volcanic rocks. The immense bowl stretched as far as the eye could see, looking for all the world as if it had been scooped out by a gigantic hand. She began to wonder whether there might be some truth to the legend after all.
Ernan could not hide his concern, as she and the others offered their thanks and expressed their goodbyes. Lyall made a formal gift of the wagon and the graylesh to Ernan, and they bowed gravely to one another before the older man conducted them personally to the point at the lip of the cliff face where the path began.
Lyall produced a long length of rope. “Tie the rope around your waist like this.” He knotted the rope around his middle and handed the end to Shann. She tied it in the same way and passed it to Alondo. “We stay roped together till we reach the canyon floor, in case of any mishaps.”
“What about Boxx?” Shann enquired.
Lyall shook his head. “I think the rope would only hamper its movements. More importantly, it’s much lighter than any of us, so if we were to stumble or fall, we would just drag it down with us. No, I think the Chandara is better off as it is.” He addressed the little creature directly. “Boxx, be careful as we descend. Do you understand?”
Boxx raised itself erect on its hind limbs as if coming to attention. “I Will Be With Keris,” it declared happily. Keris looked away, but said nothing.
The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) Page 22