one day allow her to comprehend it.
The lohig he was riding ambled along with a steady,
padding gait even as the track grew uneven and steep.
The sun was high enough to be midday in a mainly cloud-
less sky, sending bright spears down through the layers of
foliage. Insects buzzed and spun in the warm forest air,
feathered hizio trilled in the high branches, and ubakil
hooted mournfully to each other off in the distance. He
smiled to hear these mingled sounds, the patchwork
melody of the forest's denizens, while off at its edge he
detected a calm, persevering voice, faint but unmistak-
able, the voice of Ibsenskog, Segrana's daughter-forest.
His guide, Giseru, said little as they wound their way
through bushy undergrowth, ascending a trail that ran
alongside a small stream. The trickling sounds of water
over stones were a restful whisper merging with the
susurrus of the wooded hills but the voice of the daugh-
ter-forest was strengthening with each passing moment.
After a while Chel heard a hissing, splashing sound and
before long the trail came out on a grassy bank near the
foot of a waterfall. Narrow but smoothly made steps led
up the sheer rock face, which the lohig managed without
difficulty. Insects wove patterns in the warm air, and at
the top a bushy slope led into a tree-shaded gully that
tapered to a fissure full of the sound of rushing waters.
But logs and shaped pieces of stone had been put in
place as a rudimentary but solid walkway. It was dark in
the fissure, its rough walls bearded with moss, beaded
and glistening in a mist of water droplets descending
from above. Then a notch appeared on the right and up
they climbed, roughly hewn steps curving round to
emerge on a grassy knoll with a large boulder at their
backs. To one side, the ground dropped away to the
rocky gully, the waterfall and the wooded hills, while on
the other it dipped gently into a small, flowery dell
beyond which lay Ibsenskog.
Segrana's daughter-forest stretched almost the entire
length of a high mountain valley. Fifty years after the re-
seeding, Ibsenskog and the others had become the
lushest, most flourishing places on Umara yet were still
only comparable to the sparser regions of Segrana, tracts
where the medleys of living things were less numerous.
Chel paused for a moment or two, letting the lifesong of
the daughter-forest sink into him, feeding ears, taste and
smell with its sweet richness, even as he knew it to be
only an echo of Segrana's enfolding, never-ending song
of celebration. Eyes closed for a moment, he smiled.
'Listener Faldri awaits us, Scholar,' came Giseru's
voice.
In surprise he opened his eyes and saw the tall,
cowled form of a Listener standing at the edge of the
forest, near the path that led into its green embrace.
I knew that the Benevolent Uvovo were the wardens
of Ibsenskog, he thought. But I did not know that Faldri
would be here.
Giseru was already steering her lohig down into the
dell, so Chel urged his mount into motion, his eagerness
to enter the forest now tempered by reluctance.
The Listener was leaning on a long stave of red
markwood and seemed not to acknowledge their arrival,
even as they dismounted and tied the lohigs to a notched
pole. Only when Giseru led Chel over to bow to his
right side did the Listener respond - by turning away
and striding unhurriedly towards the forest shade.
'Underscholars will attend to the creatures,' he said.
'Come.'
Giseru looked faintly embarrassed but Chel just
smiled patiently and followed.
Faldri is testing me, he thought. Whether he intends
to or not.
Curtains of fine-tendrilled gumaus hung from
branches to either side, supporting a variety of other
dependent plants and blooms from which fragrance
drifted. As they walked, packs of small red-furred igissa
scampered and leaped from tree to tree, making masses
of foliage sway and rustle. Squeaks and drones, whistles
and clatters, the exuberant sounds of Ibsenskog's
wildlings over which the lifesong of the forest itself
flowed, spilling through his thoughts. He was about to
ask Giseru about the local water pattern but Faldri dis-
missed her, then wordlessly beckoned Chel to continue
to follow. He thought that Faldri intended to avoid con -
versing with him entirely until, a short while later as
they climbed a curve of bark steps, he spoke.
'You have made significant progress since attaining
your scholarhood,' he said. 'Despite choosing to serve in
the Warrior Uvovo.'
The Listener had pulled back a little and now the
two walked side by side. Faldri had been Chel's teacher
and their relationship had not been an amiable one.
'I chose to serve Segrana and the Great Purpose,
Listener,' Chel said. 'I merely judged the Warrior clade
to be more amenable to my temperament than the
Benevolents.'
He was trying to sound conciliatory by downplaying
his preference for the Warrior Uvovo. But instead
comments seemed to provoke anger.
'Judged}' the Listener said, slowing to look directly at
him for the first time. Chel was taken aback by the
changes wrought in his old teacher by the Listener husk-
ing: the lengthened features, the sunken eyes, the paring
away of excess. 'Judgement is for Listeners, not
Scholars!'
Then he was moving ahead, striding up to the top of
the rise. 'Hurry - no dawdling! It will soon be time for
the zinsilu.'
With his longer legs, Faldri was over the crest ahead
of Chel, who had to break into a run to catch up. On
the other side the path led down into a great dark mass
of leafy undergrowth, bushes and small trees inter-
twined with climbing plants and borrower-weeds. Faldri
ducked into a dark opening and Chel followed. A lumpy
path wound down through mossy trees and came out at
last in a clearing dominated by three big vaskin trees
standing around a still pool. Listener Faldri was kneel-
ing between two of the trees, eyes closed, wide,
thin-lipped mouth murmuring, long-fingered hands held
· out, palms up. From some high opening in the canopy
light filtered down and as he drew near Chel could see a
fine mist of droplets falling between the three smooth,
straight trunks.
Chel felt a growing quiver of uncertainty. This was
utterly unlike his previous zinsilu, which had been fasci-
nating discussions between himself and senior scholars
on the direction of his learning, held in comfortable sur-
roundings. This place reminded him of the few times he
had taken the vudron vigil, except that the presence here
was stern and brooding rather than tranquil and contem-
plative.
The fur on his scalp and neck prickled as he
<
br /> advanced. Faldri remained as he was, hands extended,
lips muttering, his features just visible beneath the cowl.
Chel halted at the edge of the pool, which he saw was
not entirely still, its surface trembling very slightly now
and then. Looking up he could see the falling mist and a
shifting silvery radiance from above. Chel stood in
silence for several moments before deciding to speak,
but Faldri, eyes still closed, forestalled him with a fluid
gesture. Wait.
Long moments passed. Chel inhaled and exhaled in a
slow rhythm, calming himself, smelling and tasting the
odours of wet wood and green leaves. Then Faldri
ceased murmuring and drew an audible deep breath.
'The gate is now open, Great Elder. Your servants
await.'
The Listener's voice seemed to resonate in Chel's ears.
His senses hummed to the lifesong of the daughter-forest
which gathered in strength, climbing up his body like a
slow fountain of energy, rising through his limbs, his
veins, his spine. And suddenly he knew that he was in
the presence of sacred Segrana . . . and another. There,
in the radiant mist above the pool, was a hulking,
stooped form draped in long folds, an indistinct image.
Chel stared in awe and panic. Faldri had called out to
the 'Great Elder', and Chel suddenly realised that he
was looking at one of the legendary Pathmasters.
But the histories say that the last of them died after
the War of the Long Night, he thought. How could one
still be alive after thousands of years}
'There is no death,' came a sighing voice. 'Only a
change in how the universe dreams about us . . .'
In reflex, Chel bowed his head, his thoughts in a
whirl. The long-lived Pathmasters were the third husk-
ings of the Uvovo, which only the wisest, most
enlightened of Listeners could achieve. But the War of
the Long Night had decimated the Uvovo and destroyed
much of the ancient strength of Segrana, without which
the third huskings could not be carried out. The surviv-
ing Uvovo had been confined to the forest moon, their
history fraying and fading into legend after the
Pathmasters were gone, their knowledge shrivelling into
litany, their customs into ritual, until the Humans came.
'Dreams persist,' the Pathmaster sighed. 'The
stronger the dreamer, the more resilient the dream. Some
dream outward dreams, seeking unity with the eternal;
others dream inwardly, dreams of hunger and conquest,
of pain and the escape from pain. Some do not dream at
all. Cheluvahar, do you dream?'
'Great Elder, I . . .' Panic seized him, mind suddenly
blank. 'I have dreamed lately but the details escape me
for now.'
'I know, I see them.' The voice faded to a whisper as
the floating image of the Pathmaster tilted its hooded
head to look upward, revealing a face far removed from
Uvovo appearance, a cluster of bony ridges and two
dark pits that might be eyes. Then the voice came back,
stronger and sharper. 'A ship is coming to these worlds,
a ship from the Humans' home stars. It bears a great
evil, the eyes of a new breed of Dreamless who hunger
for power and dominion as their abominable like did in
the past.'
The Dreamless. The word sat in Chel's mind like a
piece of ice, melting dread into his thoughts while his
heart thudded in his chest.
'Great Elder,' he said. 'Will the War of the Long
Night return?'
'No. This peril is more similar to the cause that led to
the original Great Purpose, which is far more than that
which you have been taught. Just as the Segrana you
know is not the Segrana that once was. Nor do these
Dreamless possess the shattering might of their long-
vanished kin, yet it will be more than enough to turn the
night sky into a vista of desolation. They secretly rule a
vast empire and are as relentless as they are cruel and
cunning.'
The peace of the tree-guarded pool and the ricli
lifesong that enlivened Chel's senses seemed in stark
contrast to all that the Pathmaster was saying. Yet his
thoughts circled back to why he was here, why he was
being told these things . . .
'This is your zinsilu, Scholar,' said the Pathmaster, as
if Chel's inner thoughts were clear as written words. 'A
zinsilu such as has not been seen for a thousand genera-
tions. Scholar Cheluvahar - are you ready to serve the
Great Purpose with all that is body and all that is mind?
Are you ready to place your trust in a convoking of the
Listeners and to obey their edicts?'
Chel felt swept up by the gravity of the Pathmaster"s
demand, but he breathed in deep, steadying himself.
'I am, Great Elder.'
'Good - I am pleased not to be disappointed. When
we are done here, you will return to your work at
Waonwir, which the Humans call Giant's Shoulder - do
not concern yourself with events subsequent to the
arrival of the Human ship. In two or three days you
will be asked to leave for the daughter-forest to the
north, where a secret husking chamber is being pre-
pared . . .'
Suddenly he stopped, hooded head swinging towards
Faldri. 'Ah, so you are shocked, Listener, outraged at
our plan.'
Faldri stared up at the misty form. 'Only anxious for
all our fates, Great Elder. This Scholar shows talent and
promise, yet he is young and lacking in the experience
required of a Listener . . .'
'This is not about husking forth more Listeners,
Faldri,' the Pathmaster said. 'We are planning the cre-
ation of a new clade, the Artificer Uvovo. Once the
Warriors and the Benevolents had artisans aplenty
among their ranks, before the War of the Long Night
took them all. The arrival of the Humans has led to a
regeneration of such skills amongst the younger schol-
ars, skills that will prove crucial in the times ahead.
Those who might be considered Artificer Uvovo already
exist, scattered around the Human towns and working
in the daughter-forests and . . . other places. When
Cheluvahar husks forth, it will be as a Listener of the
Artificer Uvovo, nor will he be alone, since other schol-
ars are undergoing similar examinations today'
'I was not aware of this plan, Great Elder,' the
Listener said, bowing his head. 'But I am confused as to
the uses of such a new clade.'
A good question, Chel thought. Are we expected to
use Human weapons in battle}
'There are a number of constructions on Umara, built
in the time of our earliest forebears, built to merge with
the powers of the ancient, greater Segrana and protect
these worlds. It will be the task of the Artificer Uvovo to
study them and bring them back to life in preparation
for whatever we may face.'
'Are the Humans to be made aware of this approach-
ing e
nemy, Great Elder?' said Faldri. 'Are we tc
cooperate with them?'
'There have been exchanges with their leadership,'
the Pathmaster said. 'They already know about the
Dreamless and are making their own arrangements.
Cooperation may become inevitable, should events turn
unfortunate.'
'Forgive me, Great Elder,' Chel said, 'but what is it
that draws the Dreamless here? What do they want?'
The Pathmaster sighed. 'For long ages we guarded it,
serving the Great Purpose, thinking that finally all
knowledge and memory of it had passed irretrievably
beyond the veil of the past. But some dreams persist
longer than the lives of the stars and lurk and wait in
hidden places for their time to come round again.' Dark
eyeless hollows regarded him. 'The edifice atop that
prow of rock, Waonwir, is not some old Uvovo temple
of devotion as the Humans have surmised. Beneath its
walls and foundations lies a gateway to the framework
of the universe, a source of power once used to defeat
the first enemy, the cause of the Great Purpose, a terrible
adversary now long vanquished. If the Dreamless were
to gain control of it, all thought in this galaxy and
beyond would become enslaved to their will and life
would have no song.'
He paused a moment. 'Now you know what you are
meant to know. Go - return to Giant's Shoulder and
wait for the command to travel northward.'
As the Pathmaster fell silent, his image blurred and
dissolved into the pale, falling mist. With his vanishing,
the light in the clearing dwindled suddenly, like a door
closing, leaving Chel feeling adrift and burdened with
portents.
War is coming, he thought, and J am to become a
Listener even though I have been a Scholar for only four
hem-seasons . . .
'I am not ready,' he muttered.
'On that I can only agree,' said Faldri, brushing off
his long garments as he got to his feet. 'But higher coun-
sel has determined the course of your doings - now we
must wait to see if the meeting of fate and dream aids or
hinders you.' He took his stave from where it leaned
against one of the vaskin trees, and started up the slope.
'Come, Artificer, let me see you safely back to your
lohig.'
5
CATRIONA
On the moon Nivyesta, beneath the lush, living canopy
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 5