Finally, the list was done and the petitions themselves began. Instead of one voice speaking, there were several, and the discussions sometimes became quite animated. The hope that these might be entertaining soon faded. The topics were unfamiliar to her, and she rarely had time to work one out before it was over and the next had begun. Sometimes people moved forward from the crowd to address the Synod as a whole — one of them a man with dark skin, like hers — but, again, she didn’t know anything about the issues so she couldn’t follow the arguments. As far as she could tell, it was mostly about property settlements, mining rights, joint ventures and so on.
The Stone Mages didn’t seem to find the process boring, though. They stood or sat through the whole thing with a patient intensity Shilly envied. The whole process felt increasingly unreal to her, until she almost believed that it was just a game, an act. It wasn’t happening. They wouldn’t really send her back because this was all make-believe. They were just going through the motions to unsettle her, or to lead Warden Behenna on. They would make their decision regardless of what happened here. Her presence was just a formality — or, worse, an irrelevance.
Still, the bench was real, and it became increasingly uncomfortable no matter how she squirmed. Eventually, she gave up and lay full-length upon it, rejecting Tait’s offer to use his pack as a pillow. The voices in her head and the slow rising of the moon — which seemed to be taking much longer than usual, as though time itself had slowed — together conspired to lull her to sleep. She welcomed it, preferring rest after the day’s journey to an impatient wait for her turn to come.
The last thing she saw was the sole Sky Warden in the crowd watching the proceedings with a silent, brooding intensity, as though daring the Synod to deny him what he desired.
When she awoke it was to a hand shaking her shoulder and a feeling that an enormous amount of time had passed. The night was cold and soundless. The moon was no longer before her, but above and slightly behind. A subtle breeze wound its way into her clothes, making her shiver.
She looked around her, still dazed but gradually regaining her senses. The hand stopped shaking her, satisfied that she was awake.
A face appeared before her, the Mage Van Haasteren. His long features looked even more serious than usual. For a moment she was reminded of Lodo, although she couldn’t work out why.
“It’s time,” he said.
She sat up with his help. The Synod was unmoving and silent. She could feel its attention on her and those around her as though she was at the centre of a frozen whirlpool. The light was no longer warm and yellow, but icily blue, chilling. The air smelt like the Broken Lands, raw and primal, full of potential.
Tait gave her the crutches. Grateful that she could walk with some dignity, she followed the members of the party through the Synod and to the heart of the bowl. Othniel led the way forward, closely followed by Warden Behenna and Radi Mierlo. Tait and Shilly came next, with the Mage Van Haasteren and Skender bringing up the rear. Aron, Mawson, and Skender’s mother, Abi, remained behind.
The subtle charm that had prevented her from seeing the centre of the bowl appeared to have lifted. As she approached, the ruins of the city rose around her like a multitude of skeletal limbs reaching for the sky. The nine stars hanging in their entangled fingers burned steadily, pinning her under their dispassionate stare. She felt the combined attention of all the Stone Mages upon her as Othniel guided them past one of the tall, twisted shapes — nothing more than granite, she noted; a giant stone splinter stuck into the ground — and beyond, to where the Judges waited.
There were nine of them, too, standing in a rough circle at the lowest point of the bowl. Three were male, five female. Four were old and dressed in black; four were young and clad only in pale shifts. The remaining judge was a man’kin: a tall, scowling, winged figure carved entirely out of marble, holding a downturned sword in both hands as though leaning on it. Its face was old and young, male and female, happy and sad all at the same time. Its expression, like the others, was stern. Two folded ice-white wings towered high above its head.
Sal was there, too, Shilly discovered when she tore her eyes off the statue. He was on the far side of the open space at the centre of the bowl, standing near a young woman with brown hair tied back in a plait. He looked very small and nervous.
Othniel led them to a point right at the heart of the bowl. Shilly felt the circle of Judges close in around her and the others, even though none came within three paces of them. Every word and every gesture was magnified, as though they were at the heart of the world. The attention of the Synod made the air feel thick and heavy.
She wanted to turn and run, but knew she couldn’t back out. It was far too late for that.
“Warden Behenna,” said the voice that had opened the Synod, “state your request as clearly and succinctly as possible.”
The warden turned to face the man’kin — who, Shilly realised, was the one who had spoken — and took a deep breath.
“I request permission to return these two children —” He indicated Sal and Shilly. “— to their homes in the Strand.”
“That is all?”
“You asked for ‘clearly and succinctly’ didn’t you? Yes, that’s all.”
“Does anyone wish to testify against this request?”
The Mage Van Haasteren stepped forward. “I do.”
“For what reason?”
“Returning Sal and Shilly to the Strand would not be in their best interests.”
“Very well.” The winged man’kin shifted position, emitting a sound like stone grinding against stone. “We will begin the examination.”
“Thank you,” said Warden Behenna with a slight bow. “I am confident that —”
“Do not speak,” interrupted the man’kin sternly, “unless you are asked a direct question. You will be addressed in due course.”
Behenna’s skin grew a shade darker in the icy moonlight. In reluctant deference to the Judges’ wishes, he shut his mouth and backed one step away.
“This is not an easy decision,” said the young woman standing next to Sal to the gathering as a whole. “It is not one I would make, given the choice. Both children have recently lost their guardians; both came here of their own free will from the very depths of the Strand, and that is no small feat for anyone; both thought they had good reason to travel so far, fleeing what they perceived as a threat and hoping to find help here, from us. They have been through a lot and are yet to find their feet. Who are we to put Shilly and Sal through more?”
Shilly agreed wholeheartedly with the woman’s final words, even though it was hard to remember how it had felt at the beginning of her flight with Sal from Fundelry. It felt like years ago.
“That is what we are here to discuss, Mage Erentaite,” said a thin, white-bearded man on the far side of the ring of Judges. A shock of surprise went through Shilly. Mage Erentaite? The elderly woman had said that she would be there, watching over them, but how was this possible? “Tell us, child, why you came here.”
The Judge was addressing Shilly, not Sal, and she fought to control her surprise in order to speak clearly. Othniel had been more than he had seemed. Why not the young woman before her, too?
“We, uh, well, we came here to find Mage Van Haasteren. Not this Mage Van Haasteren. His father. He was my first teacher’s teacher, and I thought he might be able to help us.”
“Help you how?” asked a woman in full robes like the bearded man. Her hair was pure black in the moonlight.
“By teaching us. Or just me. I don’t know. Sal had family here, and I had no one. That was all I had to hope for: to learn.”
“What happened to your first teacher?”
“He —” She stopped. “I thought he’d died helping us escape. We learned on the way here that he hasn’t died at all, but become a golem. He’s in the Haunted City now.” His body is, she
amended to herself. I’ve no idea where he is.
“Are we talking about Payat Misseri here?” asked a young, white-clad man to Shilly’s left.
“Yes,” said the woman near Sal — the one referred to as the Mage Erentaite.
“How ironic.”
“We aren’t here to discuss his case.” The bearded man frowned at his colleague, then turned back to Shilly. “Forgive us if we ask you a lot of difficult questions, child. Although we already know some of your recent history, there is much we need to clarify in order to make our decision properly. You came here seeking teaching, you said.”
“Yes.”
“Even though you possess no talent of your own?”
“Of my own, no, but —”
“She is an Irregular,” said the Mage Van Haasteren, “with residual predilection for the higher techniques.”
“She’s great with patterns,” piped up Skender. “You should see her. She —”
“Not you.” The man’kin silenced the boy with a gesture. “Your turn will come. Go on, Mage Van Haasteren.”
“The truth is that, if she had the Change, she would be a powerful talent. That she does not is a tragedy, for she desires it greatly.”
“Could you teach her?” asked the black-haired woman.
“Yes.”
“Does her head and heart agree?”
“She...” The mage glanced at Shilly. “No, they do not,” he admitted regretfully. “I can train her, but not fully.”
“You took her in, anyway. Did you do so to gain access to the boy?”
“In part, yes. He I am able to train, and he needs it, badly. But I took them both in because they are suited. They complement each other almost perfectly. It seemed simpler to keep them together until I worked out what they needed as individuals.” The mage took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not being as clear as I’d like to be. And in truth this insight doesn’t belong wholly to me. Part of it has come to me second-hand from the girl’s first teacher, who recognised that the two of them are linked.”
“Payat again,” snorted the white-clad man.
“Yes, him. He haunts us all, apparently.”
Warden Behenna raised a hand. “May I speak now?”
“No.”
“But I have something to —”
“You brought this matter before us,” said the man’kin. “You therefore speak last.”
The warden subsided again, reluctantly. Shilly could feel the urgency radiating off him like heat.
“The boy will not speak for himself. I find this strange and unhelpful. Why has he made this decision?”
“As a protest against this proceeding,” said the woman standing at Sal’s side. “He will not willingly return to the Strand under any circumstances.”
“Perhaps understandably,” said another of the Judges, “given the effort he expended to get away from it. He has family here and he is best trained here. Why would we even consider making him leave?”
The question was directed to no one in particular, but it was Radi Mierlo who answered it.
“His father — his real father — is in the Strand,” she said, her voice slow and dignified. “His great-aunt, Syndic Nu Zanshin, spent several years trying to find him while he was on the run with his de facto father. It was this man, Dafis Hrvati, who raised him to despise and fear the Sky Wardens, in ignorance of his heritage and potential.”
“No training at all?”
“None.”
“That explains his wild talent.”
“Such ignorance was, perhaps, justified,” said the Mage Van Haasteren. “Sal explained why when he arrived at the Keep. The reasons are complex and beyond the scope of this hearing. I ask you to note that Sal has retained his adoptive father’s name, Hrvati, despite everything he has learned in recent weeks. He has taken neither his mother’s name nor his true father’s, nor their married name.”
“What else did Sal tell you?” asked the Judge with black hair. “Is there anything else we should know?”
“That I have little faith in those who say they would care for him.” The mage prowled around the centre of the circle, pointing as he went. “His grandmother, for starters, seeks nothing but personal advancement from him.”
“Nonsense,” said Radi Mierlo. “I would freely abandon my holdings here to protect him if he has to return to the Strand.”
“Exactly. And we all know how well the Mierlos have been received here since they returned from the Strand, ten years ago.” The mage moved on to Tait. “This one betrayed his own brother’s confidence to reveal that Sal had not left Fundelry — also in order to advance his own interests.”
The journeyman shifted his feet awkwardly at Shilly’s side. “I was doing my duty.”
“Like any good warden.” The mage came to Behenna. “Yes. A good Sky Warden knows where to draw the line. He doesn’t abandon his constituents in order to go off on a half-baked quest to bring back one errant boy unless there’s a very good reason. It’s a big risk to take. Who knows what it might cost? But that’s duty. Yes, indeed.”
The Judges as one stared at Behenna as though he was something repugnant, and Shilly was reminded of the frill-necked lizard hissing at him. She didn’t know what the Mage Van Haasteren was implying, but the Sky Warden glared right back at him, his lips a tight line. There was a hunted look in his eye that hadn’t been there before, as though he was keeping his response carefully in check, for fear of what he might do.
“If these people truly have Sal and Shilly’s best interests at heart,” the Mage Van Haasteren concluded, “then I am not my father’s son.”
Shilly wondered what his case had to do with her, since most of it revolved around Sal. But she kept her mouth shut.
“That is your argument, then?” asked the man’kin, its wings shifting position with the sound of rock crunching underfoot. “That the children will be improperly cared for if they return to the Strand?”
“Primarily, yes.” The mage nodded and backed down. “I see little need to jeopardise their wellbeing when we can give them all they need here, at least until they are old enough to choose for themselves.”
“Is there any extemporal information regarding these two that we might consult? Dreams? Prophecies?”
“I, ah, suspect,” said the thin, white-bearded man, “that these children might be of significance to certain concerns, both here and in the Strand.”
The man’kin stared at him with its blank, marble eyes.
“I would prefer not to be more specific,” he added.
The young woman next to Sal stirred. “Some desire Sal and Shilly in order to gain strength for their Line or Clan. This is likely to be true in Radi Mierlo’s case. Others have a similar interest in their fate.”
“Would you care to name these people?” asked the man’kin, turning heavily to face her.
“They know who they are.”
The young woman looked around the circle of Judges. Shilly was reminded of the Weavers, and the warning the Mage Erentaite had given Van Haasteren at their first meeting. They are everywhere, yet nowhere. Their work is of vital importance to both our lands, yet is conducted in absolute secrecy. They destroy as often as they create, and they are not to be crossed. Were they, she wondered, the ones who were being hinted at here? Was one of them present, and did that explain why everyone was being so cautious?
What on Earth did the Stone Mage Synod have to be frightened of?
“I fail to understand,” the man’kin said. “Do these mysterious third parties wish them here or in the Strand?”
“That I don’t know.”
“If neither their intentions nor their identities are clear, I do not see how we can be expected to take them into account.”
No one said anything for a long minute. Shilly noted that some of the Judges were unsettled
by the topic. Others kept their faces completely blank, as though nothing of any significance was being discussed. One, a square-faced woman of middle years, seemed bored, and it was she who broke the silence.
“Can we move on?” she asked. “Hints and rumours will get us nowhere. The interests of the children are all that should concern us.”
“I agree,” said the Mage Van Haasteren. “We can only base our decision on the facts, not speculation, and our time is not unlimited.”
Shilly looked up at the moon. It hung frozen in the sky.
“What else needs to be said in favour of keeping the children here?” asked the man’kin, looking around the small group before it, one by one. “Is that argument complete?”
“You just can’t send them back,” said Skender. “That’d be crazy.”
“Why so?”
“Because...” The boy looked surprised that he suddenly had the man’kin’s permission to speak. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair. They want to be here, so why shouldn’t they be allowed to stay?”
“It’s not that simple. There are many things to take into account apart from their desires.”
“Such as?” Skender took on the role of questioner with all the reckless confidence of a small dog barking at a very large man. “Who are you to decide what’s best for them? How can you hope to know everything about them in just one sitting — especially when Sal won’t even talk to you? What gives you the right to take over someone’s life and change it in a way they don’t want? They’re not criminals. They’re not refugees. They came here to learn from us, and you’re actually thinking of turning them away. That’s why I think it’s crazy!”
The Sky Warden & the Sun (Books of the Change) Page 37