Beyond the Pool of Stars

by Howard Andrew Jones

  “There you go, the Kaava Lands. More than four hundred miles of dense jungle. It’s said everything living inside there wants to kill you or eat you. Probably both. And that goes for any people, apart from the Ijo. That’s your destination. Still interested?”

  “I thought this was a salvage dive.”

  “It is. The Karshnaar lizardfolk mean to march in to their ancestral ground near some place called the Pool of Stars to retrieve lost chronicles of their people.”

  Mirian had never heard of the Pool of Stars or the Karshnaar clan. The only lizardfolk in the Kaava Lands she’d heard of lived along the Little Vanji River and were known as the Vanizhar. She’d spoken with a Pathfinder who’d interviewed one of their elders at length.

  “Why do the Karshnaar need salvagers?” Mirian asked.

  “The clan’s very small and needs assistance if they’re to get in and out of the Kaava alive. And they came to your father because they’d heard he could dive. The old Karshnaar city is built into cenotes. Blue holes.”

  Mirian had heard both terms, natural clear-water sinkholes that formed in limestone. She’d dived in one south of Kalabuto. “Are these lizardfolk aquatic?”

  “No, but the city is linked up with a cavern system. To navigate through the city, you have to hold your breath for as long as the Karshnaar, which is a good long time, I’m told. Or be a salvager.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the Karshnaar.” Mirian was a little surprised. Usually her mother kept apart from her father’s clients.

  “I met them,” Odonya said. “One was a female named Kalina. I quite liked her.”

  “Alderra said they promised gemstones in return.”

  “Baskets of them. They were certain the majority of the gems lay hidden in secret chambers.”

  “And why aren’t the Karshnaar clan still on their ancestral land?”

  “You sound like your father. He asked them the same question.”

  “And they said?”

  “Some other clan drove them out.”

  “The Vanizhar?”

  “It may be. I don’t recall. Whoever they were long since abandoned the city.”

  “If it’s such an excellent site, there may be something else living there.”

  “Of course there is. The jungle never stops growing, and you can guarantee that some things have crawled into such a fine set of hidey-holes for protection, and that other things have crawled in after to hunt them. If you go there, you’ll be in the middle of the food chain.”

  Her mother could be blunt when she meant to drive home a point.

  “And what is this Pool of Stars?”

  Odonya shook her head. “That I can’t answer. A landmark the Karshnaar need to reach before they find their city.”

  “Do you know where the city is?”

  “No. The lizardfolk trusted your father, but not that far.”

  “Where are the Karshnaar now?”

  Her mother pointed to the top of one of the glass-fronted cupboards, lifting the lantern so Mirian could see the warped end of a harpoon propped beside a frowning wooden mask and a cracked, cobalt-blue planter.

  “They’re hiding on the cabinet?” Mirian joked.

  Her mother’s lips turned down in irritation. “Look there, at that mask. Kalina noted it.”

  She considered the mask and its drooping eyelids, its exaggerated mouth.

  “The Karshnaar lands are in the Laughing Jungles, west of the Undaru River.” Odonya pointed at the face. “Near the edge of their territory, right outside the jungle, is a huge boulder with that face. You find that, you’ll find their hunting land. And likely a whole mess of trouble.”

  Mirian didn’t tell her mother she was used to trouble. “It looks like I have a long ride in the morning.”

  “By yourself?”

  “I’ll take Rendak and Gombe.”

  “You’ll not stay longer?”

  Mirian shook her head. “We’re short on time.”

  “You’re just like Leo.”

  Mirian didn’t think that was true, but she held her tongue as she hugged her mother.

  The older woman insisted she take the lantern. “I don’t think there are any candles in your bedroom. The sheets should be fresh. I had Venta change them.”

  She bade her mother a good sleep as Odonya was locking the door to her father’s study.

  “Be careful,” her mother called after, then added hastily, “I know you will, but it’s a mother’s duty to say such things. And you find time to pay respects to your father. He did love you.”

  Mirian bore the lantern’s pool of light away. For the briefest instant, she remembered what it had been like as a young girl, to hear the swish of her mother’s skirt, the creak of her sandal, as she slipped away after singing her a Bas’o lullaby each night.

  And then her mother walked away, and Mirian was once more in the present, standing before the door of a room in which she hadn’t slept in almost seven years. Somewhere, out back of the wall, her father lay at his final rest. As she put her hand to the doorknob, Mirian wondered whether she would have the strength to visit his grave come morning.

  She would have to see. In many ways, she preferred the thought of a long journey into the brush searching for lizardfolk.

  5

  The Way through Darkness

  Sylena

  “I love this place, but I do tire of the heat.” Sylena looked away from her own image in the mirror to meet the reflected gaze of the man who’d entered her bedchamber. She paused with the kohl pencil beneath her left eye. “If I had my way, I would go naked most of the day.”

  “I’m sure the folk of Sargava would be both delighted and scandalized,” Atok replied.

  She smiled at him in satisfaction, shifted forward on the mirrored dressing table, and returned to her work. With her perfect complexion, huge black eyes, and sharp features, Sylena knew she was a beauty, but she never tired of compliments. She wore only a black, shoulderless, thigh-length slip that hugged her petite curves. She understood the effect it could have upon a man, and planned to use it shortly.

  Night always fell fast in Sargava, and this evening it had come faster because of the mist. She’d had to cast a light spell on the mirror to finish touching up her appearance, for the candlelight was sucked up by the dark woodwork of the ancient inn’s “noble’s suite.” What she wouldn’t give for one of the lovely houses of the aristocrats, with their fine, wide courtyards and shady trees. Instead, she must play the part of a merchant’s daughter and live in this moldering room.

  “What news?” Sylena asked. She knew Atok would not have returned so swiftly without good reason.

  “The ‘news,’ mistress, is unlikely to please you.”

  She’d been watching from her room’s private balcony when the Daughter of the Mist sailed back in to the harbor. “I’m already displeased, Atok. I want specifics. Clearly Edrek and his privateers missed them. Did the salvagers recover anything valuable?”

  “They don’t seem to have recovered anything at all,” Atok said. The gillman’s eyebrows were severely arched, leaving him with a perpetual look of amused disdain. Sylena didn’t typically find the bald attractive, and the flaps along the gillman’s thick neck that enabled him to breathe underwater should have disgusted her, but there had always been something strangely magnetic about her bodyguard. He frowned minutely. “Edrek has been slain.”

  She sighed. Edrek had been a useful operative.

  “Kellic’s sister killed him with a magic wand.”

  She paused in her work and turned in her chair. “Kellic’s sister? No one told me she was on the salvage ship.”

  “She wasn’t supposed to be. Apparently she was on her way home to pay respects to her dear father, saw the salvage ship under attack, and dove off to fight them. She surprised Edrek mid-ambush, then she and Lady Galanor led the counterattack that drove the pirates back to their ship. There was some talk that she’d sabotaged the ship from below before she attacked above.�
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  Sylena eyed Atok carefully, trying to decide whether he were developing a sense of humor. The account verged on the preposterous.

  “Either Edrek chose his pirates poorly,” she said finally, “or Kellic’s sister is quite formidable.”

  “Both, I think. I’m sure the stories passing through the tavern are exaggerated, but she’s said to have thrown herself into the fray with a wand in one hand and a cutlass in the other.”

  “And Alderra Galanor survived.”

  “Yes.”

  Her frown deepened. “Is there any word about what Lady Galanor plans next?”

  “I’m afraid I heard nothing but talk of the adventure itself. All else is wild speculation.”

  “Such as?” she growled.

  “Forgive me, mistress. I didn’t wish to report speculation without indicating—”

  “What,” she said sharply, “did you hear?”

  “That Mirian Raas will take over the salvaging operation and use her powers to find riches. They say she spent years mastering the tribal magics of her mother’s people and is now a sorceress of great repute.”

  “Is it true?”

  “It’s well known that Mirian Raas is a scholar affiliated with the Pathfinder Society. Apparently she used a wand, probably identical to the one Leovan used. That may be all this talk of magic is.”

  “But you cannot say for sure that she is not a practitioner?”

  “No, mistress.”

  “Then go find out.”

  “As you will.” He bowed his head.

  She returned to contemplating the mirror, noticing that crow’s feet showed near her eyes when she frowned. She was painstaking about the measures she took to preserve the appearance of youth. Sargava’s sun was a constant threat to her skin, but she had found, more and more, that the place’s climate agreed with her, at least in the mornings and evenings.

  Atok hesitated at the door. “You are expecting company, mistress. Do you need me in attendance?”

  “Kellic Raas is no danger to me.” In fact, the youth was one of her limited pleasures. She had the protections afforded by both her necklace and her ring, should she ever require them.

  “Don’t you think he’ll have all the answers you require?”

  “Do you grow lazy, Atok?”

  “No, mistress.”

  “Perhaps you need a little nap,” she said with mock sympathy.

  “No, mistress.”

  “The boy is credulous. He’ll repeat whatever he’s been told by his sister and the salvagers, but he won’t know much else. Seek the truth from other sources.”

  Atok bowed formally. “It is kind of you to clarify. I will do my best.”

  “See that you do better than Edrek.”

  “Of that,” he said curtly, “you can rest assured.”

  He shut the door behind him. She heard his footsteps receding through the outer room.

  She hadn’t expected the assignment to drag on for as long as it had. Kellic was a pretty boy, and she’d turned him into a fine lover, but she was long past her patience for the backward Sargavan culture. To many, the only reason to reconquer Sargava was to punish the nation for its insubordination. Her sister, she knew, hoped the place would be abandoned to die of rot. But then, Rajana wasn’t a people person.

  Sylena understood the land’s potential. When Cheliax reconquered the country, preference would be given to those who had worked hard to reclaim it. And there would naturally be some Sargavans who would welcome the return of Chelish rule. Lately she had begun to toy with certain ideas about her own position in that future.

  She worked on her appearance for another twenty minutes before opening the balcony doors. Now, at last, the air was cool. The view of the stars over the ocean was stunning, for the mist had ebbed.

  Unfortunately, she had no time to take it in. The late dinner she’d ordered would arrive in an hour, along with Kellic, and she had studying to do.

  While schooled in magic, Sylena had little interest in the careful work required to master its complexities. Unlike her sister, she labored only a little now and then to keep up a handful of spells. Even the time spent with them was onerous. She dragged out a heavy leather tome and spent a boring quarter hour poring over pronunciation charts. If you put a syllable in the wrong place in the midst of a spell, you might just end up burning your hand off.

  She was delighted when the inn servants announced themselves in the outer room, giving her an excuse to put the book aside. While they arranged the meal, she dressed in an off-the-shoulder red dress with a plunging neckline and a skirt slit to the upper thigh—the kind of thing Kellic likely never saw in Sargava.

  He arrived punctually at half past eight, carrying a box of expensive candied nuts and a huge bouquet of tropical flowers. Sylena dismissed the hovering servants and allowed Kellic to pull the chair out for her.

  The outer room of the suite was lit by a candle-heavy chandelier. She knew her age was better disguised by dimmer light, and that the candles gave her skin a golden glow.

  They didn’t do badly for Kellic, either—but then, he was a good-looking man, even when dressed in the high-necked collars and cravats of a century ago. Sargavan styles were so backward.

  His were a lovely blend of the best features of two peoples. A proud nose, but not long or severe. His lips were full and sensual, his hair black but as straight as hers. Unfortunately, he must recently have downed one of his potions, for his skin was not the natural light brown that she so admired, but more of a Sargavan olive. He’d explained to her that even though everyone in Sargava knew his heritage, his changed appearance smoothed the waters when he managed business affairs. The potions were expensive, however, and he claimed to use them sparingly.

  When she had suggested they meet for dinner tonight, she’d expected to be consoling him over the loss of his ship. Now she was determined to find out not just what had happened, but what his family planned.

  There was only a token difficulty in getting him to talk, owing to typical tight-lipped Sargavan social niceties. Kellic, though, was too incensed to remain silent long. By the time they’d reached the dessert course he’d opened up completely.

  “I just don’t understand how she made such a good impression on Lady Galanor.” Kellic pushed away the half-finished torte. “You should have seen what Mirian was wearing.”

  “Perhaps you underestimate your sister’s charms.”

  “I’m not saying that Mirian’s unattractive. I’m just saying that she lacks social grace.”

  Sylena smiled as though she understood. Privately, she thought the Sargavans had rather too much social grace; perhaps Alderra Galanor approved of Mirian because she was more direct. But then she knew how much Kellic idolized the Chelish nobility. In their ranks, his true skin color would be no hindrance to social mobility.

  Sylena poured another glass of the strong Chelish wine she’d brought with her and handed it across the table. “It doesn’t seem a situation where social grace was paramount. If Lady Galanor felt grateful to her for helping, she might have wished to overlook Mirian’s manner. You say that they came to some accord?”

  “I believe so.” He shook his head in anger. “She means to take over from me. She says she doesn’t, but she won’t even tell me where the new salvage drop’s going to be.”

  Interesting, and likely problematic. “Did she say why not?”

  “She says Lady Galanor’s sworn her to secrecy. Yet I’m the one who’s been running things, not her! I don’t even know when she intends to leave!”

  Worse and worse. Sylena had thought that eliminating Leovan Raas had removed all competency from the family. Then Kellic had blathered on that his team was sure to find a famous wreck today, so she’d sent Edrek with those pirates. That had proved an expensive failure, one she’d be taken to task for by her sister. To make matters worse, Alderra Galanor was once more allied with someone who knew what they were doing.

  It was vital she learn more about Mirian Ra
as. “Is your sister a sorcerer, Kellic?”

  “I don’t think so. I suppose she might be. She’s been gone a long time. Why? Do you think she tricked Lady Galanor with magic?”

  He was obsessed with his perceived loss of status in front of the Galanors. “I was just curious. You said she wielded a wand against the pirates.”

  “A family heirloom. Like the one my father had.”

  “Oh?” She knew that wand well. Atok had recovered both it and a magical ring from the arm his shark had torn off Kellic’s father.

  “There were two sets, and father gave the other to Mirian, even though she was leaving.” It was obvious from his tone whom he thought they should have gone to.

  “But you wouldn’t have wanted them, would you? You’re a landholder, not a laborer.”

  Sylena studied him while he frowned, trying to decide her best course of action. It was crucial she find out what Mirian Raas planned, and that she stop her. But the best way to do that might result in the sacrifice of one of her favorite pieces. It would be a shame to have to lose Kellic. It would take a lot of work to establish herself with another nobleman, and he might not be as easily controlled.

  Still, she had her orders. She smiled sadly. “Do you wish advice?”

  Kellic shook his head. “Oh. No.”

  “I’m a businesswoman.” She broadened her smile. “And we’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, of course we are. My dearest friend.” He gave her his best smile.

  “Then, while I know it’s not completely proper, allow me to offer a suggestion.” She put a hand over his own. “I hope you don’t think me too forward.”

  “I would naturally be grateful for any advice, Sylena, though I don’t wish to impose.”

  “Of course not. You must learn what Mirian plans and what sort of arrangement she made with Lady Galanor. And when she leaves for that salvage trip, be sure you accompany her.”

  She might as well have told him to stick his hand into a sack of snakes, judging by his reaction. She had long since suspected Kellic was a coward. She didn’t mind. It made him more malleable.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “a gentleman must take risks. A woman likes a man who does that.”