The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  There was food and drink laid out on a side table, so he fortified himself with a glass of wine, then went across to the two of them. Even so, he couldn’t quite manage a greeting, so he just nodded at Jonnor and tried to smile. He wasn’t sure it came out quite right, but Jonnor seemed not to notice.

  “Ah, Hurst, there you are! Mia was just telling me that your interview went well. I’m glad of it.”

  It was rather gratifying that they were talking about him, and Jonnor seemed… self-conscious, somehow. His urbane manner was rather forced, Hurst thought, or was that just his imagination?

  “Yes, it was fine,” he said, and then stopped, unsure what else he could say. He could hardly talk about the blue arrows, and mentioning Tella would be tactless. And the subject most on his mind, Jonnor’s treatment of Mia, was certainly out of bounds.

  Fortunately, Mia stepped in to talk about some trivial detail that had happened in Morsha’s interview, and the moment passed. He wondered how long it would last, this phase when they were tiptoeing round one subject or another, not quite sure what could safely be mentioned and what must be left unsaid. Eventually they would have to discuss these things, he supposed, but not yet, not here, not with Slaves walking about the room. It was odd how he distrusted them, these followers of the Nine, but he did. He always felt as if they were pretending, somehow.

  ~~~

  Once all of Hurst’s brothers and cousins arrived, life got busier. Mornings were taken up with training, and although he was not entered in any tournaments himself, he was coaching Jonnor, several younger brothers and a cousin. The stillness and the gathering after it passed in cosy conversations with one or other of his kin, comparing skirmish results or discussing battle strategy with those lucky enough to be out at the border. And then there were the evenings, when sometimes he had the pleasure of a game of crowns with Mia, and sometimes he had to put up with Gantor beating him instead. Once a week, he skipped training to visit the library with Mia, leisurely mornings supposedly choosing books but secretly admiring her smooth skin and gentle brown eyes.

  Hurst suspected that Jonnor was avoiding him, although he was pleasant enough when they were thrown together. On the training grounds he listened to Hurst’s advice and practised assiduously. Jonnor always seemed more settled at the Ring, less moody. He was attentive towards Mia too. After his interview, Hurst thought he detected a more serious note to his conversation, less flippant, and after a couple of weeks Jonnor drew Hurst aside one evening.

  “I… I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice low. “Privately.”

  “Of course,” Hurst said. “Come to my room. Trimon and Walst train every morning, and I can get rid of Gantor…”

  “No, my room is better. My three all train, so no need to trouble Gantor. Tomorrow? Two hours before noon?”

  When he arrived the next day, Jonnor was pacing the room, but he waved Hurst to the only chair and continued striding about restlessly. The room was so small that only a few paces brought him to the wall, where he turned and began pacing in the opposite direction.

  Hurst said nothing, watching him with something close to envy. He had long since stopped thinking overmuch about his looks or his limp. He could do nothing about either of them, after all. But looking at Jonnor’s perfect form – the lithe and toned body, the beautiful face with its cloud of curls – he envied him that. It brought him Mia’s unquestioning adoration, and he couldn’t help his twist of jealousy. He was only human.

  At length, Jonnor turned to face him, and leaned against a dresser.

  “I thought we ought to talk,” he said sombrely, no trace of his usual lightness. “There should be no secrets between us, brother.”

  “I agree,” Hurst said, making no comment on the sudden transition to correct form. They had been brothers officially since their marriage, but Jonnor had never bothered to address him properly before.

  “Mia…” Jonnor stopped, embarrassment written on his face. Or was it shame? Hurst again said nothing. “I did what had to be done,” Jonnor blurted, “but it wasn’t… it didn’t go off as I’d hoped. It was… difficult.”

  “Don’t you find her desirable?” Hurst asked, trying very hard to keep his voice level.

  Jonnor looked sideways at him under his lashes. Such long lashes he had. “Well, actually… no, not really. Nothing against her, you understand, it’s just the way she is, but… so skinny, and… and… The trouble is, she’s nothing like Tella.”

  “True.” Hurst could feel his temper rising, and had to breathe deeply to stay calm.

  “Tella was so… so…”

  “Voluptuous?” Hurst hazarded, beginning to see the problem.

  “Yes, that, but also… You see, the trouble was, really, Mia just… well, she just stood there. I mean, it was bad enough when she was wearing the nightgown, and it just hung off her, nothing at all there to fill it, but then when she took it off… she just stood there. That’s so… off-putting. It was lucky I’d looked at your books, because otherwise…” He shrugged, hands spread.

  “Gods, Jonnor,” Hurst hissed, “What did you expect her to do? Dance for you? Seduce you? She was an innocent, by the Gods!”

  Jonnor’s eyes widened. “There’s no need to take that tone. Look, I’m trying to explain here, I’m being honest with you, don’t get all huffy about it.”

  “That’s all well and good, but really…” He took a deep breath. “No, sorry, sorry. I’m listening.”

  Jonnor hurled himself down on one of the beds, which creaked a little. His face was clouded, but he made the effort to master himself, and after a moment he turned to Hurst again.

  “I just found it difficult, all right? It wasn’t what I expected.” The echo of Mia’s own words took Hurst’s breath away, but Jonnor rattled on. “I thought… I mean I assumed she would be like Tella. That she would behave like Tella. That she would… you know…”

  “Ah.” And Hurst did know, all of a sudden. Tella had had a certain reputation, before she married. In fact, she had probably been all the way through the stables and back, as the saying was. He could imagine it, Jonnor the young innocent and Tella the experienced lover; naturally she had made all the moves. And Jonnor had expected Mia, poor Mia, to do the same. “But you’ve been married for ten years, you must have picked up a few ideas, surely?”

  Jonnor flushed. “I… not exactly. It’s not as simple as that.” He twisted his hands, one over the other.

  Hurst took a deep breath. He uncurled his balled fists and rested them on his knees. Getting angry wouldn’t help, he had to be calm, for Mia’s sake. “Well, what’s happened has happened, so let’s not agonise over it. We need to look at the future, that’s the important thing, wouldn’t you say? The question is, what to do about Mia? Have you any thoughts?”

  Jonnor stood up and began pacing again. Once or twice he seemed about to speak, but nothing came of it.

  “Let’s look at the options.” Hurst could hear the tension in his own voice, could feel himself shaking. He could hardly believe he was sitting here talking when all he wanted to do was mash Jonnor’s handsome face to pulp. He took another calming breath. “You’ve done what is legally necessary, so now it’s up to you… or the three of us, I suppose. You could just… not bother any more. That’s one possibility. Although the Voices would start asking awkward questions if there’s no child. Or you and Mia could reach an understanding, you could learn the moves together, if you want to. Or I could take over.”

  He spoke the last hesitantly, fearing an outburst, but to his surprise Jonnor sat down and looked eagerly at him.

  “You’ve had a lot of experience, haven’t you? With women, I mean? And they were not all like Tella, were they? Not all… passionate, like she was…”

  “I suppose…”

  “So maybe you could – you know – teach her?”

  “Teach her?”

  “Yes. Teach Mia, show her how to do things.”

  For a moment Hurst boiled with rage. Show her how
to do things? Turn her into some kind of lecherous whore? She deserved better than that! But then a sudden burst of joy.

  “You mean… you want me to sleep with her?”

  “Yes! Yes, show her the way to… you know, please me.”

  He could share her! Now that was a different matter, he could cope with that. Teach her a few tricks to keep Jonnor happy, while having his own time with her. That would be something! After all these years, he could have her in his arms at last. Yes, he could do that.

  “I could.” He tried not to let his happiness show. “If she wanted that, of course.”

  “Well, of course, but why wouldn’t she? She must want to learn, surely. She wants me to be happy, doesn’t she?”

  Hurst could hardly deny the truth of it. And even as he wondered why she was required to make Jonnor happy, while he apparently felt no obligation to make her happy in return, the thought bubbled up in him – I will make her happy! I’ll treat her as she should be treated, cherish her, love her… maybe then she will see me clearly. Maybe she will even learn to love me.

  He kept his head lowered so that Jonnor wouldn’t see the exultation in his face.

  “So you’ll talk to her then?” Jonnor said, rising. “Good. Shall we go down to the training grounds?”

  11: Catastrophe Theory (Mia)

  “Rondanar rode like the wind, the grasses bending under the hooves of his tireless stallion. As the fiery sun slipped behind the Sky Mountains, the klava finally came into view. He circled once, twice, and the third time the skin flap of the klava lifted and there she was, his magnificent Dranninia, her mane of hair flowing free in the breeze. He leapt from his steed and swept her into his arms.

  “‘Oh, Rondanar!’ she cried, a tear escaping one eye. ‘How I feared for you!’

  “‘Did I not tell you I would always return to you, my beloved? The Sun God has smiled on my endeavours. The great dragon is no more, the keelarim sent crawling back to their dens, so that our people may live in peace once more.’

  “She folded into his embrace and he bent his head to hers, hungrily pressing his lips against the soft warmth of her mouth. Then they turned and, as one, moved into the klava. He reached ardently for the fastening on her gown and…”

  Mia sighed, and folded the book away with a snap. She knew what followed this touching encounter, and she had no desire to read it again. The impossibly perfect union of heroes in the story bore no comparison with her own unpleasant experience.

  Besides, it was hard to concentrate with a Slave sitting just across the table. She’d never seen a Slave reading in the library before. Sometimes they would pass through, books under their arms, on temple business, but not actually reading. It was strange, but this year there were more Slaves about than ever before.

  She fastened the book and rehung it, then moved to another section of the library to find something more to her taste. To her annoyance, the Slave got up and shadowed her. Every time Mia turned a corner, there she was.

  Mia stopped and turned round, so that the Slave almost ran into her. “Are you following me, Most Humble?” Mia said sweetly.

  The Slave looked at the floor. “No, no, Most High,” she croaked. “Not at all. I… I just happened to be going this way.”

  “Then I beg your pardon for delaying you. The work of the Nine is of the utmost importance. Do please go ahead of me.”

  The Slave bowed, eyes downcast, and scuttled past.

  Mia was just about to set off in the opposite direction when a blond head appeared from behind a wall of books.

  “Are the Slaves bothering you?”

  “Gantor! I didn’t see you there. They’re not bothering me, exactly, but…” She lowered her voice. “They do seem to be underfoot a lot. They make me nervous, for some reason. I don’t know why there are so many of them here.”

  “Hmm. The Slaves always make me nervous, like I’m a boy again, caught out in some misdemeanour.”

  She frowned. “It’s more than that. Sometimes I feel it before I even see them. I know there’s a Slave nearby because I suddenly feel anxious. Afraid, almost. That’s odd, isn’t it? And a few days ago, I was walking towards the room of one of my sisters, to ask about her daughter who was sick. I started crying, without warning. One moment I was fine, and the next I was just – terribly upset. When I went in, the room was full of women, all crying – the child had died.”

  “Some people are just very sensitive to the emotions of others,” Gantor said. “I daresay you’re better at picking up subtle clues than most of us.”

  “Maybe, but it only happens to me at the Ring, never at the Karninghold and never before in the library. That’s why it’s so disturbing to keep bumping into Slaves.”

  “They’re following all of us just now, I think,” Gantor said. “Keeping an eye on how we’re coping after Tella’s death. Do you want a safe place to hide from them? Why don’t you come and meet my grandfather?”

  She smiled, pleased with the distraction. “Is he here, in the library?”

  “Yes. He’s a scholar, retired now, but he spends most of his days here, reading, researching, perfecting his theories. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Gantor led her by a circuitous route to a deserted corner of the library. She was still jumpy about the Slaves, but although she checked many times, none seemed to be following her. They stopped in front of a nondescript wall of books.

  “The back stairs,” Gantor said with a grin, pulling open a section of wall. Beyond was a gloomy spiral staircase lit by narrow windows, filthy with age and neglect. “Up you go. It’s quite safe.”

  “I had no idea this existed.”

  “Ah, a librarians’ secret. In the days when there were still librarians here all the time, this is how they used to come and go between floors. There are several stairs like this.”

  They went up two levels. Their steps echoed off the stone walls, but many footprints on the dusty stairs suggested they were well used. Another hidden door released them into a corridor. They walked a short distance, then Gantor threw open a heavy wooden door labelled ‘Catastrophe Theory’, and Mia walked through.

  The room they entered was large, perhaps the size of the middle hall at the Karning, and lined from floor to ceiling with books. Down the centre were rows of tables, most of them empty. One at the far end was not, however. Surrounded by piles of books, many of them open, a white-haired old man scratched with intensity at a paper, occasionally looking at one or other book before returning to furious scribbling. Several discarded goblets sat amongst the heaps, together with platters of half-eaten fruit and bowls of bread. As they walked across the room, Gantor’s boots clumping on the wooden floor, the old man looked up, startled, and then his face creased into a broad grin.

  “Gantor! How lovely!” He pushed himself to his feet. “And this must be Most High Mia di l’Amontis, unless I’m mistaken. I am Danzor. Welcome to my place of work.” He sketched a bow.

  “Most Learned,” she said politely, waving him back to his seat, for it seemed that the slightest effort would tip him over. “But why do you work in here?”

  “Because my speciality is the Catastrophe, and this is where I conduct my research.”

  “I thought the Catastrophe was well understood,” Mia said. “Is there much still to learn?”

  Gantor snorted and Danzor’s eyebrows rose. Then he smiled again. “Tell me, Most High, what have you been told about the Catastrophe?”

  “That it was a time when the Gods devastated the world because people were so evil and corrupt. So the Slaves said. Although…” She frowned. “The scholars who taught me as a child said it was an unfortunate series of natural disasters, but perhaps the Gods had caused it, who can tell?”

  Gantor laughed. “Very diplomatic. Danzor has a different theory. He thinks the world was reshaped by magic.” He lifted an eyebrow sardonically.

  “Now, now,” Danzor said, his bushy eyebrows snapping together. “Just because you don’t believe in magic… What
about you, Most High Mia? Do you believe in magic?”

  She shook her head, smiling at his earnestness.

  “And why is that?”

  “There is no evidence of it, Most Learned. If I cannot see it, or at least see the effects of it, how can I know it exists?”

  “You cannot see the Nine,” he replied, “but you believe in them, don’t you?”

  “Well, of course!”

  “And the Life Beyond Death, which none of us still amongst the living have ever seen? You believe in that.”

  “I do, because the knowledge of it has come to us by the Word of the Gods, spoken directly to Those who Serve the Gods. What other proof is needed? Whereas magic – show me magic in action, and I will believe, Most Learned.”

  “A good answer, Most High. But would you – would any of us – even recognise magic if we saw it? Magic is not necessarily fire and storm, some kinds of magic are quiet and secretive.”

  She smiled at his earnestness. Some kinds of magic! So not only was he claiming that magic existed, but it came in more than one form. She had nothing to say to such credulousness.

  “Ah, I see that amuses you,” he went on, his eyes twinkling. “Nevertheless, it is so. We have many records of such magic. Connections, they are called. Every one of us has a connection of some sort, but with most it is no more than an aptness, shall we say. A man may have a special way with horses, or with the growing of grains, or with forging metal implements.”

  “That is just skill, surely, not magic.”

  “Perhaps we choose to account for it that way. But some have a much stronger connection. It is rarely seen here on the plains, but elsewhere there are many with connections. We are not so isolated here that we know nothing of the world beyond, Most High.”