The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  Nor had I any idea what reception we might receive. For all I knew, we could be arrested and thrown into the Holding Tower while the Keeper sorted out what to do with us. Would she send me back to Caxangur? Would she hand Xando and Renni over to the Tre’annatha authorities? I didn’t even know what punishment they might incur. The Tre’annatha were reputed to be harsh on transgressors, although they were not a violent people.

  And then there was Zak. The Keeper was his mother, yet she, of all people, had to uphold the law. Perhaps he was still the property of the Tre’annatha Program, and she would have no choice but to hand him back. If they would even want him back. Yet Zak was not afraid. His mind churned with a certain anxiety mingled with excitement, but I detected no fear in him. He’d agreed to come with me readily, which he would surely not have done if he thought the Keeper would be hostile to any of us.

  So we moved through the hours pretending nothing was wrong. We cooked and ate and cleaned, we tended the horse, we watched the fields go by, the workers in their conical hats waving as we passed. We read, and played dragon stones, and drank the wine thoughtfully provided by the receiving house captain. And we slept.

  At least, the others slept. Xando and I still had the bedroom, where he delighted in exploring the strange new world which had opened up to him. He was gentle and loving and considerate, asking me repeatedly was this all right? Did I mind that? I smiled and told him it was fine, and truly, I was thrilled for him, discovering the pleasures of sex in such a way, without haste, in the comfort of a bed. I wish I had started out that way.

  But deep down, I wanted to cry. Xando had gained so much, but I had lost far more. My heart ached for Zak. Every night I spent with Xando made it worse. I lay beside Xando, pretending I was happy and fulfilled, when the man I loved was only a few paces away, close enough to hear us. How could I possibly relax and enjoy my time with Xando, when all my senses were attuned to another man? I could close my eyes and open my mind to Zak, even while Xando was whispering his love into my ear. It was unbearable.

  The biggest problem was that my mind connection had not returned to its original state since the last dose of hassalma. In many ways that was wonderful, freeing me from the constant intrusion. I could still open my mind when I wanted to, but the default state now was closed. The trouble was, I couldn’t see into Xando’s mind at all, even when I touched him. Whatever had changed, it now shut him out completely. I could no longer curl up next to him, feeling his love wrapped around me like a cloak. He just wasn’t there. When he made love to me, I was cut off from his desire. I had never in my life before had sex without being able to feel my partner’s desire, and use it to fuel my own. I had no idea how to deal with that.

  The only consolation, I suppose, was that he couldn’t see into my mind, either. He had no idea how miserable I was, or how much I longed to be free of him. Not that I could get rid of him, no matter how much I wanted to. It would hurt him too much. Besides, in a very short time, I would be married to another man entirely. We would both of us have to get used to that.

  The first night on the canal to Mesanthia, Xando fell asleep quite quickly, but I lay wakeful and restless. Eventually, I slid out of bed, tossed on a shirt, and crept through the cabin and out onto the deck. Zak had taken to leaving the hammock outside, and spending the nights there, presumably to give Renni the cabin bed and more privacy. He was curled up into a ball, breathing slowly, as I tiptoed past and stepped onto the towpath. I was so sure he was asleep, I didn’t even peek into his mind.

  The slabs were dusty under my bare feet, and a few dried up leaves from the shade trees fringing the canal crunched as I walked. There was just a hint of aromatic smoke in the air, drifting from the fires of Mesanthia still more than a day away. A stone bench was set beside the hedge, so I sat, staring at the water glimmering under the stars, trying to escape my gloom. Trying not to cry.

  The hammock swung as Zak jumped lightly down. Wordlessly, he came and sat beside me. He wore only his undertrousers, and his bare chest, gleaming in the starlight, did nothing for my state of mind.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” I said quickly, hoping my voice wasn’t too wobbly.

  “I wasn’t asleep. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”

  “No. No, I’m fine.”

  “I don’t think you are.” He said it so matter-of-factly, but I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. “Shhh. Don’t cry.”

  If he had put his arms around me, or even touched me, I would have fallen on him in desperation, but instead he sat just out of my reach, making soothing noises until I had myself under better control. That just made it worse, of course. He was so self-contained, so restrained, and I was right on the edge of hurling myself at him. I wanted him so badly, and his indifference pierced my heart like a dagger.

  I heaved a great breath, half sigh and half sob. “Don’t you care about me at all?” I burst out. “Not even a tiny bit?”

  He didn’t answer straight away. Then slowly he said, “What do you want of me, Allandra?”

  My head jerked up to stare at him. How could he not know? I jumped up, too agitated to sit still. My flickers wailed in sympathetic distress. “Demons, Zak, what do you think I want? He’s fast asleep and I’m prowling about in the dark. It’s not because I want to admire the stars. I need you!”

  His face was a mask, and even though I wanted to know what he was feeling, I couldn’t get my swirling mind to focus for long enough to read him.

  “Allandra,” he said at last. Again, he was irritatingly calm. “Sit. Please.”

  I paced a couple of times, but he waited and I saw the sense in it. Deflated, I sat.

  “Allandra, has anyone ever told you no?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you were a child, were you ever denied anything? A favourite food, a toy, a new gown?”

  I shook my head, bewildered and angry. What was the matter with him? What kind of questions were these? But he waited patiently for me to answer. I shrugged irritably. “My father wanted me to be happy, naturally. He could afford whatever I asked for. What would be the point of refusing me?”

  “To teach you the value of waiting. So that you could learn self-control.”

  I jumped up again, and strode about, too angry to listen to him. But nothing rattled him. He sat there, arms folded, watching me impassively, self-control personified. It was intensely annoying. “How dare you!” I hissed.

  “I dare because someone needs to. This is a lesson you should have learned years ago, but it’s not too late to learn it now. You cannot always have exactly what you want, when you want it. And the best things, the things worth having – those are the things you have to wait patiently for, and quietly work towards.”

  “I don’t believe this!” I retorted. “You’re lecturing me about working towards an objective, when you know precisely what I’m working towards. Demons and sprites, why must you make this something it isn’t? All I want is a little of your attention, it would be nothing to you, but you make such a fuss about it. It’s only sex, Zak. It’s not anything important.”

  “Well, it is to me.” He uncoiled himself, and stood up. “It is to Xando, too. He loves you. You should be telling him all this, not me. You have a man in your bed already, you shouldn’t be turning to me. Isn’t your life complicated enough as it is? Explain to him what you need, show him how to please you. It will take time, but he’ll learn, and you’ll realise—”

  He stopped, chewing his lip. “I’ve said enough. I’m going to sleep now.”

  I grabbed his arm and spun him round. “Oh no, you don’t! Tell me what I’ll realise, o wise one! For obviously you know everything.”

  “You’ll realise that you love him and not me at all.”

  And he slid out of my grasp and strode back to the barge, leaving me hissing with rage.

  ~~~~~

  Once I’d calmed down, a process which took me most of the following day, I worked out that Zak was manipulating me. Again.
He could have pretended to be asleep in his hammock, leaving me to work out my tangled emotions myself. Instead, he had chosen to sit beside me, working me into a lather of hatred against him.

  I saw what he was up to. He wanted me to cool my passion for him and fall into Xando’s willing arms. He had it all neatly arranged, the arrogant, sneaky sprite. Well, it wasn’t going to happen. What right did he have to decide who I should love? Or that I was better off with Xando than with him?

  But it helped me see what I’d never understood before. I couldn’t win Zak by my feminine charms or with sex or by playing on his sympathies. I certainly couldn’t make him jealous. He was too tightly wound up for that. So I had to find some other way to unravel him.

  I walked beside the horse all afternoon, lost in thought, planning and scheming. Eventually, it came to me. He was so self-controlled himself, he would only respect me if I displayed the same degree of self-control. Well, I could do that. No more weeping or chasing after him. No more outbursts towards Renni.

  And if he believed I couldn’t be patient, he had very much misjudged me. The time would come when Xando and Renni were gone, and Zak and I were alone in Hurk Hranda… Well, not quite alone. I would be married to someone else. But that was a minor detail. That would be my opportunity.

  So that night I went meekly to bed with Xando, and when he fell asleep, I stayed beside him. Zak would imagine I was following his advice, of course, but that was all right. He would see in time that he was wrong about that. And if he thought I couldn’t be patient, and slowly work for what I wanted, well, he would find out he was mistaken about that, too. In time. Oh yes, I could be patient. I was not a dragon stones’ champion for nothing. I smiled.

  ~~~~~

  We glided into Mesanthia’s docks before noon the following day, under tow from a small oared vessel. To our left, the canal opened up into neat bays of wharves for goods barges, with cranes swinging, wagons lined up waiting, a restrained bustle of orderly activity. To our right, a line of docks for private vessels. But we were directed straight ahead, through the Imperial Arch, the massive carved wooden gates slowly swinging open to admit us, then closing softly behind, so cleverly constructed that the water was barely disturbed by their movement.

  In the old days, we could have made our way from here directly to the Keeper’s Isle through the city’s canals, but they were all dry now. So we disembarked, leaving our little home for at least a few days of proper baths and less cramped accommodation.

  Stepping ashore, I quivered with excitement. I was home at last! For more than ten years I had been in exile, but I had dreamed of this moment every day. I could hardly wait to see the heart of the city, and soak in the harmony of its architecture, its gardens, its lively streets.

  We were received, to my astonishment, by the Third Protector, formally attired in mail and wearing a formidable array of sharp weaponry. At his back, a full troop of Keeper’s Guards.

  My stomach lurched at the sight, and my mouth was dry. Surely this meant we were to be imprisoned, or worse? But he was perfectly affable, greeting us all by name, the two Tre’annatha first, as was correct, then Zak and finally me. We made the imperial bow, but he released us at once. “No need for that, not here.”

  He smiled, eyes twinkling. He was a pleasant-faced man, not yet fifty, I guessed, although it was hard to tell under the helmet.

  Then he called forward a young man and woman who had been standing in the shadows. “May I present to you… the First Son, and the Third Daughter.”

  Again we dropped to our knees, but smoothly they lifted us up again, smiling.

  I was too astonished to speak. Two of the Children of the Spirit! I couldn’t imagine why we four renegades were so honoured.

  “Those are your bags?” The Third Protector flicked a finger and several guards stepped forward to act as baggage carriers. “Come. We have carriages waiting.”

  We walked through a high tunnel lit by many lamps shining behind small windows. I wondered whether the lamps burned day and night, just in case they were needed, or whether some hapless junior lamplighter had been scurrying round breathlessly all morning just for us. They knew we were coming, that was certain. Our letter to the Keeper, or perhaps some word from the captain at the receiving house, had reached here, for our names and ranks were known.

  We emerged into an enormous courtyard surrounded by many-storied buildings of glowing honey-coloured stone, brilliant with sunshine. There were guards everywhere, drilling or marching or just walking about in twos and threes, their cream uniforms gleaming. So this was a part of the Imperial Barracks, hidden from most of the world. It had some other official name now, but everyone called it the Imperial Barracks and the soldiers within were still at heart the Imperial Guard, a small but significant part of the Imperial Army.

  Two carriages stood waiting, with the Keeper’s sigil on the polished wood.

  The Protector turned to Xando and Renni, their eyes wide at the vast scale of the place. “If it please you, Honoured Saviours, we have arranged suites for you at the Imperial Tower. The First Son and Third Daughter will be pleased to accompany you there, and ensure you have everything you require for your comfort.”

  Renni nodded briskly, and stepped forward eagerly to the nearest carriage. Xando threw me a questioning look, but I shook my head slightly. It would be impossibly rude to refuse. He got in beside Renni, the two Children followed him and the pullers took the strain on the tow-ropes.

  The Protector turned to Zak and me. “I trust that the Keeper’s Tower is acceptable to you both?”

  Zak frowned. “For me, certainly, Revered One, but the Lady Flethyssanya has a family tower of her own.”

  “Ah. Well, indeed, but there is some… confusion about that.”

  “Confusion?”

  I laughed. “I expect I have been declared dead.”

  The Protector’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Indeed so. Rather prematurely, it would appear. May I assist you, Gracious Lady?” He offered me his arm into the carriage, where a blank-faced junior had been holding the door open for some time.

  “Thank you, Revered Protector.”

  “Oh, please, call me Draydon.”

  Draydon. So that was the way of it. We were to be on familiar terms with the Protectors and, presumably, the Keeper. And the two Tre’annatha had been neatly incised from our side. My mind swirled with speculation.

  The carriage rocked slightly as we entered. I settled against the cream silk upholstery, feeling unbearably scruffy after so long on the barge. I hoped I could get hold of some decent clothes – or clean, at least – before we were summoned to see the Keeper.

  Draydon sat facing us, still smiling in a strange way. Did we amuse him, or was he just enjoying the peculiar circumstances? I peeked quickly into his mind, feeling rather guilty, to find him far less calm than he appeared. He was excited! That was interesting. And Zak was nervous, also interesting.

  The carriage moved smoothly off across the courtyard, and under the massive arch at the far side, built to commemorate the first centenary of the Empire, and out onto the streets of Mesanthia.

  Ah, Mesanthia! The golden city. The heart of the greatest Empire the world has ever known. Well, the greatest we have ever known, anyway. Who could imagine what empires rose and fell and were swept into oblivion by the Catastrophe?

  We had not yet been swept into oblivion. Pushed aside, perhaps, but yet we clung by our well-manicured fingernails to the remnants of power. The streets were still wide enough to sail the Imperial fleet down, as the saying was, the buildings still awe-inspiring, the fountains and statuary and neat topiary still elegantly imposing.

  Fashions were paler than ever, I noticed. Even when I was a child there were occasional flashes of vibrant colour harking back to older, more robust times. Now I saw nothing but faded pastels, like a rug left lying for too long in the sun. The only colours were the flashes of gemstones at throat or ankle. That was different, too, to see Mesanthians, both Akk’a
shara and Dresshtian alike, displaying so much wealth on the streets.

  But some things hadn’t yet changed. The streets still meandered here and there, as if not in a hurry to be anywhere in particular. Not for Mesanthia the chaotic wildness of Hurk Hranda, or the regimented squares of Caxangur. Here all was softly curvacious, following the example of the river winding sinuously this way and that. A street opened into a rounded plaza, a roofline blended seamlessly from balcony to dome to twisting spire, around every corner was a new vista, a new delight. I drank it all in, enchanted.

  Our carriage turned this way and that, passing under walkways and over canals, and crossing and recrossing the river. All dry, of course, and coated with a fine layer of sand blown in from the desert. I was pleased to see a team of sweepers at work, engaged in the endless task of cleaning away the debris, ready for ‘when the river runs’.

  Almost before I knew it, we were crossing the final bridge to the Keeper’s Isle. High metal gates clanged shut behind us, and we were home.

  37: The Keeper

  It was still green. All my fears evaporated, for clearly the present Keeper had managed to abide by the old ways. Perhaps that would change next year, when a new Keeper would be chosen, but for now I smiled with pleasure at the sight of so much verdant growth. Even now, in the driest days of summer’s end, it was green and refreshing to the eye.

  Lining the roads, slender palm trees stretched towards the sky, thick bushes flowered exuberantly and every building was clothed in trailing vines. Vividly coloured birds flashed above our heads, screeching harshly. I laughed for joy at the sights and sounds, the half-forgotten memories of childhood.

  Draydon laughed in sympathy, and pointed out various family towers, tucked away unobtrusively amongst the greenery. Although they were called towers, and some were fanciful enough to justify the name, many were simple villas, seldom more than two or three stories in height. Only the decorated spires and domes and arched walkways suggested the rank of the occupants.