The Harvest Tide Project

by Oisin McGann

  Hilspeth hesitated, glancing at Taya, who was standing up and looking disappointed.

  ‘All right, but you take good care of Shessil. This may all be his doing, but he’s a good man. Don’t you harm a hair on his head, or I’ll make you sorry you were born.’

  ‘Agreed,’ the Parsinor said with a nod.

  They all stood staring at one another, not saying a word. They stayed that way until Lorkrin burst through the foliage of the willow and skidded to a stop. He looked around warily.

  ‘Why have you all gone so quiet?’ he whispered.

  15 LYING LOW AT THE LUSH OASIS

  From where the column of vehicles had stopped to look at a fake raspidam footprint, Emos had tracked some soldiers to the clearing by the esh where they had caught up with Lorkrin and Taya. There was a new set of tracks, and Emos deduced that his niece and nephew had managed to rescue the man from the house in Hortenz, the botanist. At the same time, he had discovered Draegar’s footprints and could tell by the Parsinor’s footwork among the Noranians’ boot marks that he had tackled some of the soldiers and won. The marks in the ground had been spoiled by the rain, but it told him enough. Lorkrin had fallen into the esh. Draegar and the botanist had followed and somehow got him out.

  Draegar’s prints were deeper when they left – he was carrying something … and Lorkrin was not walking with them. Taya was limping, but seemed to be all right. The woman with the strange collection of smells was with them too. Having given up his search from the air, knowing Draegar would keep them under cover, the Myunan was tracking them by following the trail of scent, crushed grass and broken twigs. Along the way, he discovered another, fresher set of tracks on top of those that he was following. Noranian trackers were after them now.

  Whoever this gardener or botanist was, he was important to the Noranians, and Emos was becoming more and more convinced that he possessed something the Noranians were desperate to have. He came across the mill where the fugitives had slept, and noted the sludge of rotten crumble cones. He was relieved to find that Lorkrin was walking once more.

  The Noranians were closing in on them. The odd group had stopped amid the signs of destruction of a Gabbit village, devastation that could only mean a visit by soldiers. He came across a party of Gabbits further along the trail, out scavenging for materials to build their new settlement. They chattered mournfully when they saw Emos, eager to tell their tale of woe. He stopped to make some conversation and find out what he could. They had not seen his niece and nephew, but soldiers had been mobilised all over the region to search for them, and particularly for the man they had kidnapped from a Noranian convoy. The Prime Ministrate himself had ordered their arrest. After sitting down with them to a simple meal of bread and mushroom soup, Emos thanked them and left to continue his search with a growing sense of unease.

  At a wide stream, Draegar had led the others in and along it and Emos lost the trail. He could see the Noranians had too. But he had noticed what they had not. The group had been picking berries to eat as they went and he searched up and down the stream’s course until he found a freshly picked blackberry bush. From there he was able to take up their trail again. They were making their way south. Draegar would probably head for Brodfan, where the Noranians were not popular.

  Passing a grove of nocha trees, he saw a swarm of people, nearly fifty of them, working under the canopy of the branches. They were gathering crumble cones and heaping them into sacks. Noranian Groupmasters were watching over them as they loaded the sacks into the back of a wagon. Emos kept out of sight, observing this unusual harvest. Crumble cones were not normally the kind of thing people collected. When the truck was full, it was driven off and another took its place. The labourers kept working.

  Emos stopped again when he reached a weeping willow. They had rested here. Lorkrin had gone to get water, and Draegar had argued with the gardener, holding him against the trunk of the tree. He walked on and it was growing dark when he came on the hedge where their trails parted. Draegar and the other man had turned north, the others south.

  Emos sat down to think. What was the Parsinor doing? What could possibly make him leave the children? It disturbed the Myunan – it would have taken something serious for Draegar to shirk what he saw as his responsibility … It would take a matter of life and death. Had he learned something about the Noranians’ plans for war?

  Emos was faced with the choice of turning after the Parsinor and the gardener and getting some answers, or continuing the search for Lorkrin and Taya. He sat down to rest and leaned back wearily against the trunk of the tree. Rak Ek Namen was famous for his cunning. His forces had never lost a battle under his leadership; it was said he never started a war he could not win. It would not be enough that Braskhia and the Kartharic Peaks went to war – Namen had to be sure that he would end up crushing both countries. And he was putting all his efforts into gardening and the esh. Emos shook his head and hauled himself to his feet. It was too much of a puzzle. His first concern was finding Taya and Lorkrin.

  Knowing he would have to give up following the trail when it got dark, he got up and started south after his niece and nephew. They were making for Brodfan, and he was close now. A look back across the fields stopped him dead. Just this side of the woods, someone had lit a lantern. Three lanterns. Those were not farmers; the Noranians had found the trail again.

  Moving quickly, he removed what signs he could of the tracks. Then reshaping his own feet to imitate each of the different types of footprint in turn, he left a false trail leading away from the road, away from Brodfan. Let the Noranians ponder that for a while. Wrapping up his tools, he slung his bag onto his back and set out south again.

  Hilspeth, Taya and Lorkrin had left Draegar and Groach near the road, and had been walking south since sunset. The two Myunans had been arguing with the scentonomist ever since.

  ‘But we could help,’ Lorkrin was protesting. ‘We can sneak into places they can’t get to … we can disguise ourselves and hide better than they can.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with you any more. I’m taking you back to your uncle’s and that’s the end of it,’ Hilspeth said firmly.

  ‘You want to go too; you can’t fool us,’ Taya told her. ‘You’re worried about Shessil.’

  ‘I said I wasn’t going to argue any more and I mean it. Now, pipe down.’

  ‘You’re just scared of Draegar. He’s not as mean as he seems to be, you know,’ said Taya. ‘Well, he is pretty mean. But he’s got a nice side.’

  ‘On the far side of the nasty bit,’ added Lorkrin.

  ‘Sort of hidden behind it …’ continued Taya.

  ‘Well hidden,’ Lorkrin finished.

  ‘I’m not scared of Draegar. This is just not the kind of thing children should be involved in.’

  ‘We’re already involved!’ Taya pleaded.

  ‘Who are you calling children?’ Lorkrin scowled. ‘I’m thirteen and a half.’

  Hilspeth shook her head and walked on. It was a dark, overcast night, and they could barely see the road in the gloom. Everything below the horizon was a solid black mass. They were having to follow the dim light reflecting off the puddles on each side of the road to prevent themselves from walking into hedges and ditches. Hilspeth was making her two charges walk ahead of her, and still they were difficult to see. She was convinced they were becoming darker themselves as if they were trying to disappear into the night.

  The lanterns on the front of a vehicle appeared over the crest of a hill not far ahead, and the noise of its spluttering engine reached their ears.

  ‘Quick, hide!’ she cried, and they plunged into the hedges. The wagon bore down on them and Hilspeth could see it was a tractor, its iron wheels grinding the surface of the road, and pistons protruding from the massive engine to drive the six wheels. It was loud and slow. As it passed, the torches cast a yellow light over the area, and Hilspeth looked to see if Taya and Lorkrin were visible. They were nowhere to be seen. When it was far enough away, she
came out of hiding and called to them. There was no answer. She searched around, wishing she dared use the light of the tinderbox, but it was useless. Instead she stood still and listened. There wasn’t a sound. The Myunans were concealed in the shadows of the bushes and were not coming out.

  ‘Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it,’ she said out loud. ‘I can wait. I know you can hide, but if you move, I’ll hear you. So, we’ll just wait until daylight, waste all that time … maybe even get caught, so that you two can make believe that you are going to Noran.’

  She sat down and listened to the dark. She was not so sure she would be able to find them even in daylight. That was a Myunan’s talent. If they didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t be. How did you search for a person who could change their colour, even their shape at will? And they could do this every time she took her eyes off them. Even if she caught them this time, they would have plenty of other opportunities to escape her along the way. They were telling her they would go to Noran without her if they couldn’t go with her. Hilspeth blew air through her gritted teeth with a hissing sound.

  ‘All right, we’ll go after them,’ she sighed.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ she heard Taya say, as she stood up right beside the scentonomist, the young Myunan’s skin colour perfectly matched to the pattern of the long grass.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Hilspeth groaned.

  But at least she would be there to help if … no, when they ran into trouble.

  Groach and Draegar had followed the road for most of the night and now, ahead of them, were the lights of a village. Groach expected the Parsinor to veer off the road and take to the fields as they had done twice already that night, but instead Draegar strode straight down the roadway towards the village.

  ‘There is a storyhouse here where we can get food and stay out of the Noranians’ way for the day,’ the Parsinor told him. ‘They are no friends of the soldiers and will hide us if needs be.’

  ‘Thank the gods,’ Groach moaned. His feet were killing him and he was exhausted.

  They approached a slightly tilting building that looked as if it had seen one storm too many. A sign hanging above the door read ‘The Lush Oasis’. Tiles were missing from the steep roof, the ragged remains of birds’ nests hung from the eaves and most of the plaster had crumbled from its sandstone walls. The green-painted frames of the windows and doors did not seem to fit properly, and tied to railings in the yard on one side were all manner of mounts, from horses to donkeys, oxen to elmadons, tremadites to grunchegs. Three wagons and a tractor were parked on the weed-ridden gravel on the other side of the building.

  ‘Men come here at all hours of the day and night,’ Draegar said as they studied the storyhouse. ‘Not every trade works during the day. This is a rough place. Don’t get into any arguments and don’t get in anyone’s way. Places like this attract some evil types, but they won’t ask questions and that’s what counts for us now.’

  They walked up to the door and Draegar pushed it open. Some faces in the large group of men turned their way, but most ignored them. The room was not very big, packed with benches and tables made of rough-hewn wood. The walls and ceilings were stained a greasy, brownish yellow from years of smoke, and the thick beams holding up the ceiling were hung with tankards, jugs, ladles and other serving implements. The heads of every kind of animal worth hunting stood out on plaques along the walls. There were tails, furs, skulls and bones, even the whole skeleton of a large animal Groach did not recognise adorning the stained plaster and smoke-darkened beams. Over the odour of pipes and drink, there was a faint, but pervasive stink of old embalming fluid.

  Groach noticed with surprise that there was a Parsinor couple behind the bar. They were much older than Draegar, and the man was nearly a head shorter, bent deeply as if the weight of his shell were almost too much for him. His wife was taller. She wore a wig and as much jewellery as her frame could physically carry, which was quite a bit. He observed that she wore a gaily coloured dress, even though he knew Parsinors had no need to wear clothes. The couple signalled Draegar to join them at the bar.

  ‘Draegar,’ the woman purred. ‘It’s been too long. We haven’t seen you in over a season.’

  ‘Still wandering, Draegar?’ the man enquired. ‘It’s time you found yourself a wife!’

  ‘Temina, Cholsch.’ The map-maker touched foreheads with each of the others in the traditional Parsinor greeting. Then Draegar handed over his weapons; clearly none were allowed to be carried in the storyhouse. Groach watched with amusement as his companion placed the collection on the bar. His battleaxe, sword and sling were joined by three knives, a small hammer, a short blowpipe, and a set of metal fangs that obviously fit in his mouth. Cholsch, the man, swept them up in his arms and placed them in a box under the counter.

  ‘I must have your weapons as well, sir,’ he said to Groach.

  ‘I don’t have any,’ the botanist replied.

  The storyhouse owner raised his bushy eyebrows at Draegar, who shrugged.

  ‘He is a gardener,’ he grunted. Then, leaning closer: ‘The Noranians are on the lookout for him. I would appreciate it if you would tell no one about him.’

  ‘Aye,’ Cholsch said simply.

  ‘Welcome to our home.’ Temina took Groach’s head in both hands and touched her forehead to his for slightly longer than he thought necessary. ‘May your stay be comfortable and happy.’

  ‘Ah … thank you, madam,’ he gave a shallow bow.

  ‘Been harassing the Nogs again, have you?’ Cholsch asked in a conspiratorial tone, looking sideways at the map-maker.

  ‘They have been harassing friends of mine,’ Draegar rumbled. ‘It seemed only fair to return the gesture.’

  ‘We look forward to hearing about it,’ Cholsch said, laughing. ‘But first, have a seat. Entertain our customers while we knock you and your friend up something to eat.’

  ‘I will sit with you,’ Temina said, coming through the gap in the counter to take Draegar’s arm.

  She led them to the centre of the room, and unceremoniously pushed two men off a bench to make room for herself and her guests. Groach and Draegar sat either side of her.

  ‘Pay attention, you louts!’ she roared and the room went silent. ‘This is a dear friend of mine and weary from travel. Some of you will know him; most of you will not. But you will all discover that he is a man to admire and envy, that he is a man with stories to tell!’

  Benches scraped along the floor as men came closer to the centre table to hear what Draegar had to say. The map-maker did not disappoint them. He raised his hands, palms up:

  ‘I have travelled a long way since I was last here. I have seen rain and snow and burning sun in three lands in this last season. But it is of the witching time in the Gluegrove Swamps I must tell you now, so give me your ears and let me tell you the tale of the conjoined hags who make soup bowls from the skulls of unwary travellers!’

  Against her better judgement, Hilspeth had let the Myunans talk her into hitching a lift with a delivery man on his way to Noran. He had passed them late that morning, and Taya had jumped out of hiding and waved him down, asking him to take them as far as he could. He had been happy to help. Hilspeth had thought the better of making a scene, and had got in with the two shape-shifters. She consoled herself with the thought that the soldiers might not think to check vehicles heading towards Noran for fugitives who would be getting as far away as possible if they had any sense. The wagon was old, but big, with two rows of seats in the cab and a large flatbed with its cargo covered in tarpaulin.

  ‘What are you carrying?’ Taya called to the driver over the roar of the bule engine.

  ‘Crumble cones,’ he shouted back. ‘Not my normal cargo, mind. I carry supplies for the army mostly. Got one job where I carry big tanks of esh up to Noran. Pick them up at the coast. Very secret, that.’

  Hilspeth sat in the back seat with Lorkrin, and wished Taya were less keen to make conversation. T
he more the driver talked, the more he would expect them to talk back.

  ‘So, what are the crumble cones for?’ Taya asked.

  ‘Not supposed to talk about it,’ he bellowed over a particularly loud belch from the motor. ‘Takin’ ’em to Noran. Some kind of secret plan, run by the Prime Ministrate himself. No one knows much about it. They’re storing these right in the centre of the city. Very heavily guarded. They’re shipping these ruddy cones in from all over the empire. I was supposed to have an armed escort myself but they couldn’t spare the men.’

  Taya turned and gave Hilspeth a meaningful look. The Prime Ministrate had discovered Shessil’s secret, and was wasting no time in putting his plan into action. But what did he intend to do?

  ‘Where are the cones going after you deliver them?’ Hilspeth enquired at the top of her voice.

  ‘Not sure,’ the driver shouted. ‘Though a drinking mate of mine says his esh-boat has been held back in the port, and is due to be sent down south with a special cargo. He couldn’t tell me what the cargo was, said it was top secret, but he was asking me to hurry up with my deliveries as it was people like me that was holding his ship up.’

  The driver informed them that he was under orders to drive all night. His cargo was to reach Noran by noon of the following day at all costs, and they were welcome to travel all the way with him. They could help keep him awake. He said he had a habit of falling asleep on long hauls. He added that with a bit of luck, they might pick up a military escort that evening if one of the other delivery wagons caught up with them. It was handy to have troops around you, even if they did travel a bit fast. The roads just weren’t safe these days.

  16 GHOSTS ARE LONELY CREATURES