Glynn shook her hair back quickly, and was vastly relieved when they landed on a small rocky platform jutting out from the very edge of the island. A mound of pale boulders obscured the rest of the surface of the island.
Uncoupling them, Solen said dryly, ‘I take it you have not windwalked before.’
Glynn shook her head, then shrugged. I don’t know. A coldness ran over her skin where they had been pressed together, and she shivered.
Solen divested himself efficiently of his wings and turned them back into a parcel, freeing a strap that let him carry the whole thing like a quiver of arrows across his back. He slung the bags he had taken up earlier over a shoulder and Glynn caught at his arm to indicate that she could carry something. He shook his head and strode up the small rise, leaving her to follow. She glanced back over the edge of the cliff, uneasy at the thought that she would have to repeat the flight when the time came to leave the island. The momentary exhilaration in the air might never have occurred.
Ten minutes later they crested the little knoll of boulders. Glynn staggered at the force of the wind blowing in her face. Her eyes watered furiously and she blinked against the wind and a dazzling blaze of whiteness.
Her initial, startled thought was that the island was covered in snow. Then she realised the whiteness was some sort of pale, nearly luminous moss with feathery fronds. It was dense enough to carpet terrain that was virtually flat aside from occasional rocky stubble protruding through the vegetation. It reminded her of the flat barren Aran Islands off the coast of Ireland. The wind blew her hair back like a flag, deriving its strength from the lack of anything to divert or block it. The only notable feature rising above the flatness was a high, dark mountain at the far end of the island.
There was no sign of human habitation. The only indication that people had been there at all was a small track worn into the white vegetation, running along the edge of the cliffs towards the distant mountain range, and that could just as easily have been made by animals.
Glynn became aware of a subtly familiar perfume, and she sniffed, trying to identify it. Wisteria or maybe violets?
‘Sether,’ Solen said, half shouting over the howl of the wind. He was pointing to the white moss.
Glynn mouthed the word, liking the feel of it on her lips. She stumbled slightly and Solen reached out to steady her. ‘Are you tired?’
A little, she mimed.
He nodded. ‘Then rest. A moment’s more delay will make no difference now.’ He stretched himself out on the moss behind a few boulders and, after a while, she sat down cross-legged beside him. The rocks were a welcome barrier against the rough wind.
‘That is the Black Tower,’ Solen said, indicating the biggest of the mountains. ‘Sether grows blue and purple there – sky sether. Its scent is much stronger than the white. Some say it grew first in the place where the Firstmade saw Shenavyre and fell in love with her. Here, lovers who seek to life bond gift it to their partners to signify that they do not want a mere year-end love. No doubt you have seen visioncloths of blue sky sether.’ He caught the bewilderment on her face and became serious. ‘It is unfortunate that the algae has affected your memory so severely. It will make things difficult.’
His eyes went to the distant mountain he had named the Black Tower. The Acanthan settlement must be on the other side of the range. If they were going to have to walk all the way to the end of the island, they had at least a full day’s trek ahead of them. She wondered why they had not landed around the other side of the island, but supposed it was something to do with the wind or sea currents. Maybe the platform was the only place where one could land safely.
Solen stretched one of his legs out in front of him and kneaded the muscles of his ankle. ‘It is weaker than the other because I broke it last season,’ he explained. He gave her a swift look. ‘I will have to call you something other than girl. Apart from anything else, it sounds churlish. Do you remember your name?’
Glynn nodded and mouthed her name.
‘Lin? Win?’
She shook her head and tried again.
‘Nin?’
He shrugged at her disappointment. ‘Never mind. You will be able to tell me soon enough and maybe there will be some clue in it to help us discover where you came from. The sooner you quit Acantha, the better.’ A shadow crossed his face and his eyes went again to the mountain range.
Glynn mimed a question, but Solen rose and pulled her to her feet, saying it was time they left. The wind had abated slightly, and they walked for about an hour. Glynn felt oddly at peace, despite everything. The red-rimmed sun was warm on her bare head and the air was filled with scents of sea and sether. A faint chittering sound came from either birds or some sort of insect concealed in the moss.
When Solen stopped again, Glynn thought he meant to suggest another rest and signalled that she was not tired, but he said, ‘We are nearly there.’
She looked around. There was still no sign of human dwellings. She turned back in time to see Solen walk to the cliff and calmly step off – without putting on the hang-gliding wings!
After a shocked second she judged that there must be a cave in the cliff wall. Going to the edge, she leaned over, trying to spot the opening. She could only see the waves churning on the jagged rocks far below. Dizziness forced her to retreat. She sat on a rock protruding from the sether, her heart beating rather fast. Solen would return, she told herself firmly. But then what?
She had no money and her resemblance to these myrmidons was sure to cause trouble. Would she be stared at or stoned or just shunned? Would Solen walk away and leave her? If he did, how could she explain to people that she had lost her memory when she could not speak?
It was some time before Solen reappeared, alighting on the sether. He handed her a small bundle and she opened it to find it was a dark-green, velvety body suit and some boots. ‘I borrowed them,’ he drawled, reverting momentarily to his languid shipboard manner. ‘It is not in the latest style of things, but it might help you blend in.’ He turned his back and stood staring out to sea.
Glynn saw that he was waiting for her to change. Hurriedly she stripped off the clothes he had given her on the ship and wriggled herself into the close-fitting body suit. It had been made for someone shorter than her, though perhaps no wider, and the boots were far too big, but everything did up and tucked in and she was surprisingly warm, considering the thinness of the cloth. She touched Solen’s shoulder when she was done, and he turned to survey her.
‘Your hair. In that state it gives you an unfortunate myrmidonish look.’ To her astonishment, he began to comb his fingers roughly through the matted strands, separating them.
‘It will have to do for the moment,’ he said. He took her discarded clothes and sandals and pushed them into one of the bags, then reached for one of the straps hanging from her waist. Glynn warded him away. She pointed over the cliff, miming a demand to know what was going to happen next.
‘We are going to my fell,’ Solen said, seeming all at once cold and irritated. ‘I am afraid it is not accustomed to visitors – sober ones anyway. But we will just have to make the best of a bad situation.’
Glynn felt suddenly furious with herself for wanting to burst into tears. What had she expected, after all? A warm welcome? When he stepped forward again, she stood passive as he fastened the harness around her, and schooled herself not to hold onto him as they dropped over the edge. It was ridiculous to feel hurt by his offhand manner, but he made it so clear she was an unwanted problem and she had felt like that too often in her life. She told herself that she ought to be glad he had not simply deserted her, given his admission that he was no hero, but it did not help.
As they touched down she opened her eyes and all thought was driven from her mind but simple awe.
The opening in the rock face was as big as the doorway of a hangar and the red stone cavern they were now standing in was so huge it could comfortably have held several planes. Glynn felt like an ant in the Grand
Canyon! But it was not just the size of the place that excited her wonder. Afternoon light slanted into it, illuminating the openings of dozens of tunnels leading off in various directions from the cavern, highlighting a spectacular roof of variegated stalactites. The rock was red-hued and reflected a bloody glow over hundreds of people hurrying busily to and fro, apparently fearless under lethal red daggers of stone suspended overhead. Most were clad in grey body suits, and carried or wore harnesses or full wing sets. A few were sitting down mending or adjusting them. Over one side, smaller groups of people were flying around without the leather wings, going through various kinds of military-looking drill formations.
All of this movement raised a fine haze of red dust that diffused the sunlight, giving the activity a surreal quality. This was enhanced by the wind which, as it passed over the entrance to the settlement, gave off a constant ululating wail.
A woman with a long, horsy face hurried up to them. Rather than tensing at her approach, Solen seemed to droop, his lips curling into a sneering smile.
‘Nema asked for you some days past.’ The woman’s voice was sharp with reproof.
Solen made a low, flamboyantly fluid bow. ‘Greetings, my dear Scala. As always it is a pleasure. I did not get Nema’s message but I will come to her this evening. Right now I am dreadfully fatigued.’
He had reverted to his exaggerated shipboard manner and the contrast was so marked between that and his behaviour since they had left the ship, that Glynn could only stare at him.
The woman flushed angrily at his words. ‘Nema is not one of these fool women who hang on your whim, wing leader. She has gone on pilgrimage to the haven and will not return for some days. No doubt she will send for you when she comes back.’
‘Nema has been converted?’ Solen’s voice was slightly bored, but Glynn felt his arm tense involuntarily where it rested against hers.
‘She said she was developing an interest in the Draaka’s philosophy. Perhaps it is time you did the same.’
His lips curved into a deliberate, insolent smile. ‘No doubt you are right, worthy Scala. But all of that concentrating on the past can be so tiresome when there are so many other pleasures which do not require it of one.’
The woman’s eyes flickered at Glynn, who blushed. She drew herself up in disgust. ‘I see your attitude has improved no more than your self-control,’ she said huffily, flouncing away.
‘Come,’ Solen said, as soon as the woman was out of hearing. He took Glynn by the elbow and steered her towards one of the outsized tunnels. ‘I must assume you know nothing of Acantha.’
Glynn was confused. Being with Solen was like seeing one of those trick pictures that altered depending on the angle you looked from. One minute he was posturing and pouting and being sarcastic, and the next he was serious and purposeful.
‘These tunnels are called races,’ he explained. ‘Each race in the settlement leads from the song cavern we have just left, to one of the cavesites or to another race. Cavesites are large communal areas surrounded by small home and stall fells. The song cavern is actually below the cavesite system, which is why this tunnel is sloped up slightly. It will bring us to the cavesite level. All of the cavesites fan out from the great cave where Jurass holds court and where the wing ceremonies take place. This race will bring us directly to Porm cavesite, where I live. Beyond is Etienn cavesite. Only the Draaka haven lies outside the cave system.’
He said this last grimly and Glynn mimed a question. Why?
‘It suits the Draaka to develop her cult away from prying eyes and ears.’
Why?
Solen gave her a look filled with irritation and something else she could not decipher. ‘For someone who cannot speak, you ask a wearisome lot of questions. In any case, the Draaka is no subject for casual conversation.’
The race opened out to a large cave, lit by what appeared to be spotlights of natural daylight. In the shadowed areas, wavering motes of light were playing off the stone. Glynn stopped open-mouthed with appreciation.
‘Porm is one of the outer cavesites, but it has a particular appeal,’ Solen said, smiling slightly. ‘There are over a hundred cavesites in all.’
Glynn was puzzled about the nature of the light until she made up her mind that it was natural, falling from openings in the roof which must be the bottom ends of rock chimneys running to the surface of the island. There were quite a lot of openings that were dark, and she guessed they penetrated the rock at different angles. Sunlight would not come through any of the chimneys except when Kalinda was directly over them. She wondered if the cavesites and chimneys had been deliberately constructed, or were natural formations.
Beneath each chimney was a cenote which obviously caught water when it rained. People were swimming or sitting around those few pools where the afternoon sunlight fell. The water in them was so clear and reflected the light so radiantly that they looked almost as if they were repositories of liquid light, rather than of water. It was these pools that threw off the myriad glimmers and shifting darts of light Glynn had noticed in the shadows.
Except for the pools and the thick fragrant patches of the sether moss rimming them, the cavesite was a dusty bowl about the size of a small football field. All around the perimeter were holes. Those above the bottom level were reached by ramps, and those higher up opened onto thin ledges joined by a network of ladders reaching from one level to the next. There were some higher still with no visible means of getting to them other than levitation. But levitation was not as common as all that, else there would be no ladders at all, she reasoned.
She hoped that Solen’s fell was at ground level or was at least accessible by ladder.
They gave a wide berth to a small, open-air trading market with trestle tables and benches set up between the two largest cenotes. As they came closer to the wall of the cavesite, Glynn saw that most of the caves at the bottom level had open frontages. They were clearly shops. Solen brought them to a cave from whose mouth billowed lurid purple steam.
‘A dye fell,’ he said, seeing her expression. ‘I live above it.’
He led the way up a ramp to a cave opening covered by a stiffened flap of leather. Unfastening thongs to release the flap, he drew it aside. The interior was dark and smelled as rank to Glynn as an animal’s lair.
‘Faugh. It has not been opened in a while. Wait, I will light a lamp.’
Glynn turned to look down at the market bustle. It reminded her of a scene out of a movie; Conan the Barbarian maybe, or Thunderdome; primitive and barbaric, but organised. People were going about their business peacefully, buying and selling, talking to one another.
Solen moved around in the dark fell, soundless as a cat. There was a scratching and, as Glynn entered, the small cave was bathed in soft light from a circular brazier hanging from the roof by a short length of chain. Solen tied open the flap behind her, letting a much-needed draught into the fetid cave.
Glynn stared around, appalled.
‘I did warn you I was not accustomed to visitors,’ Solen remarked brusquely, almost as if he were ashamed.
As well he might be, Glynn thought.
The fell was little more than a shallow cave whose rough stone walls were hung with a series of patterned tapestries. Oddly, all of these were unfinished to some degree or another. Several thick, matted, brown rugs were spread over the stone floor, and piles of rumpled, rather grubby cushions rested along the walls. Everywhere were unwashed plates with the congealed remnants of old meals. A small fireplace with a blackened hearth was so full of ash that it had overflowed onto the floor, while a low-hewn block of wood, set in the middle of the room as a table, was covered in all manner of clutter, including a jug of something dark with a scum of mould floating on the top, and a pair of boots!
There were two openings within the fell, both covered by leather flaps, and Glynn wondered if the rooms beyond them could possibly be as disgusting as this one.
Solen said in a remote voice, ‘Make yourself comfortable.
I must go out for a time. It will be better if you do not go wandering about.’
When he had gone, Glynn gazed around, depressed. She had no intention of going anywhere but she could not bear to sit in the midst of such squalor. Solen had said to make herself comfortable and that meant at least disposing of everything that smelled bad. After that she would make a fire on the hearth if she could find wood and work the flints. That would make things a bit cheerier.
Then she would sit down and try to figure out how on earth she was going to get home.
5
You ask if the Legendsong is truth – I ask you, what is truth?
The Legendsong was scribed by my order from scrolls and notes
left by my brother who bade us remember all that had
passed … Many of the scrolls were destroyed … but what
remained, my order sisters wove into a song that is both truth and
more than truth, as are all histories; ever do human folk weave
upon weavings, adapting tales with each telling …
THE ALYDA SCROLLS
When Solen returned some hours later, Glynn was sitting curled by the fire in a pile of cushions whose covers she had removed. He lifted his brows half mockingly at the neatness of the fell.
‘You have been busy.’ There was a brittle note to his voice that sneered at Glynn’s efforts and her small sense of satisfaction dissolved. He laid several cloth-wrapped packages on the block of wood which had been cleared. ‘It is the custom on Acantha, particularly in outer cavesites like Porm, to purchase food and eat it at communal benches by the fire-pits. But eating in here will avoid a lot of tiresome questions.’
Hugging her knees, Glynn miserably watched him set out the makeshift meal.
Aboard Carick’s ship, her decision to keep her own counsel had been all very well, but this world was way past complex. The walk through the Acanthan settlement had shaken her belief that she could find a way home alone. The trouble was, her only possible confidant was Solen. Though he had saved her life, he was an unknown quantity. His elusive and only occasional resemblance to Wind confused Glynn, but no less than his ambiguous manner.
Darkfall Page 5