The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  “But why would the plains be different?”

  “An excellent question! One which our best scholars cannot answer, but this was the epicentre of the Catastrophe, so perhaps it is the result of the changes then. The plains are different in many ways. The rocks are fused a little way beneath the surface, so we have swamps everywhere and it is impossible to dig more than a few feet down. Perhaps the magic was affected, too. But it is something to think on, is it not? Any one of us may have an aptitude for magic, a connection, deep inside us and not recognise it. Even you, Most High.”

  He beamed at her, and she wondered whether he was teasing her.

  While Danzor went back to his work, and Gantor tidied away plates and goblets, and went to fetch fresh supplies, Mia wandered around the room. She randomly removed books to examine, but most were too difficult for her to understand. Some had pictures, though; images of how the world might have been before the Catastrophe, with many smaller landmasses scattered about the oceans and many moons in the sky. It was bewildering.

  “You don’t like these books, Most High?” Danzor asked, as she replaced another volume on its hook with a sigh.

  “I find them… difficult. But at least there are plenty of them here. Most Learned…” She lowered her voice, although there was no one else in the room. “I should like to know where all the books have gone.”

  “Ah.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “What makes you ask such a question?”

  “Because I was up on the fourth floor recently, and there are hardly any books left up there and I know there used to be lots. I remember them.”

  “It is an interesting question.” He leaned forward, elbows on table, fingertips touching. Then he too lowered his voice. “It is one to which I too would like an answer.”

  Mia’s eyes widened.

  “Let me tell you about my great grandfather,” he said in his normal voice, leaning back in his chair. “My great grandfather, Hekkamor illa Gruntild - they had proper names in those days, good solid names you could roll round your mouth - anyway, he was born in the year forty-six of the Word of the Gods. There were no sky ships then and travel was difficult, so people rarely came to the Ring – Kashinor, as it was. But he made the journey, to attend the great university that was here then.”

  She pulled over a chair and sat down opposite him. “University?”

  “Hmm. Like a scholars’ hall, only – more so. He stayed here for five years and he kept a journal – a record, if you like – of his time here, so that all his kin and his heirs, in time, would know what he had seen and done. One of the things he described in great detail was this very building. Seven floors, all filled with books on every subject under the sun and moon, and probably a few more besides. In the basement were machines for making more books. The scholars didn’t tell you any of this, I imagine?”

  She shook her head.

  “And this was not the only library in Kashinor,” he went on. “The university had its own, all the different crafts and professions had their own; the builders, the lawyers, the weavers, the glass makers and all the rest of them. Everybody read books in those days. And they made new ones. When did you last see a newly made book, eh? Never, I daresay. I’ve seen a few. The research scholars produce a few every year, but here? I doubt the library has seen any new books for a generation or more. Yet in my great grandfather’s day, books were everywhere.”

  “But why? And where have they all gone? Even if there are no new books, where are the old ones?”

  “Some of the oldest crumble to dust, no doubt. Or people take them away and never bring them back. Personally…” He lowered his voice again. “I suspect the Slaves. They come here, and they leave with a book or two, and do they ever arrive with books under their arm? Not that I’ve noticed.”

  “But why?” she asked again.

  “Ah, well, Most High, that is a question indeed,” Danzor said. “Why do the Slaves do anything, hmm?”

  She was silent. The obvious answer was that the Slaves were only following orders from the Voices, and the Voices were following orders from Those who Served the Gods, and the Servants were following orders direct from the Nine. But that was a fruitless train of thought, for the will of the Gods could not be questioned. Even so, she could not conceive of a reason why they would wish to remove large quantities of books from the library. The Gods could be arbitrary, but that was particularly odd.

  ~~~

  After that, Mia went quite often to see Danzor. She would sit reading in a corner while he worked, or listening when he held impromptu lectures for scholars who sought him out, although most of the discussion was too difficult for her to follow. Gantor was often there too, and various of his relatives who lived at the Ring. Just as Hurst met his kin at the training grounds or at the tournament, so Gantor met his in the library.

  From time to time, Hurst would accompany Mia on her visits to the library, although he had little interest in the books. He would pick up one or two battle histories from the second floor, and then meekly follow her wherever she went, admiring her discoveries or quietly reading his own books if she became engrossed.

  But one day was different. They had managed to evade a couple of hovering Slaves and had found an unoccupied room on the third floor.

  “I have been talking to Jonnor,” he said in conversational tones, looking up from his book.

  “Hmm? Oh.”

  “He feels bad about what happened between you back at the Karninghold.”

  “Oh!” She stiffened, wondering a little why Jonnor couldn’t tell her that himself. She tried to be nonchalant. “Poor dear! Tell him not to worry about it.”

  “Well, he has been worrying about it. He finds it quite difficult to… to adjust to someone else after Tella.”

  “Of course, that’s perfectly natural, isn’t it? Tell him I understand.”

  But it seemed there was more to be said, for Hurst ploughed on, so she set her book down and gave him her full attention.

  “He was used to Tella’s ways,” he said, head tipped to one side, watching her, “and obviously you’re quite different from her.” She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, so she kept silent. “He feels it would be… helpful, perhaps, if you learned a few techniques, the sort of things that Tella knew. It would make it easier for him.”

  “What sort of things? Oh, you mean sex games? I’ve read about those…”

  He smiled then. “It’s one thing to read it in a book, and quite another to put it into practice, in my experience. Like swordwork, there’s no substitute for actually doing it.”

  “Oh. But…?” She struggled to see where this was leading.

  “Jonnor suggested that I might teach you a few tricks. Since I’ve had a bit more experience than either of you two. If you want me to, of course.”

  “Oh. You mean…?”

  “Yes.” He still had his eyes fixed on her.

  “Oh.” Again she wondered why Jonnor left such a conversation to Hurst. “So you will both…? You will be sharing me?”

  She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She’d thought things were settled between the three of them, but clearly the men had been talking things over. A tremor of disappointment shook her that Jonnor found her so deficient. At least they’d worked out a way to help her improve. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? She could learn how to please Jonnor as he deserved.

  “Only if you want to,” Hurst went on. “That goes without saying. I would never do anything you didn’t want.” He spoke with surprising vehemence.

  “Oh, but I don’t mind.” She smiled at him, and patted his hand. “I don’t mind at all.”

  His face lit up like a candle, and then he looked away and started fiddling with his book as if embarrassed. She was puzzled for a moment, but then she guessed that he had perhaps not had sex at all since Tersia died. Of course it would be an attraction for him, being able to share her with Jonnor. All men loved sex, didn’t they?

  “Well, that’s settled th
en,” he said after a long pause. “I’m scheduled to go back first after the quiet, then you, and then Jonnor three days later, so we will have a few days to… experiment.”

  “And then I can surprise him when he gets home,” she said happily. “I can never replace Tella, but I hope I can learn to be… more satisfactory.”

  He looked quickly up at her, but his face was unreadable now. “Of course. Have you found any books you wish to take home? It’s past noon, and I think we should be on our way.”

  12: Three Days (Hurst)

  The tournament was well under way, and Hurst spent long hours with his father, Tanist, watching the contests, comparing the strategies and discussing the finer points of swordsmanship. Although Hurst no longer entered himself, he acted as advisor for his younger kinsmen.

  “You’re surprisingly relaxed,” Tanist remarked as Hurst shrugged off a tournament defeat for his younger brother Roonast. “You’re supposed to have trained him up, you should be mortified to see him thrashed like that.”

  Roonast grinned sheepishly beside them, as his co-husbands Klemmast and Jallinast punched him playfully.

  “Not my fault if he takes no notice of my excellent advice,” Hurst said, laughing. “He’s just distracted now he’s married.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to see you in such good spirits.”

  “Course he’s in good spirits,” put in Klemmast, “he’s upstairs now. He’s got his hands on Mia, hasn’t he?”

  Jallinast and Roonast sniggered. Hurst’s younger brothers were of an age and temperament to think sex solved all problems, and there were days when he would not disagree with them. He just smiled and let the comment pass, but Tanist raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh? Is that how it is, then?”

  “It is. We’re going to share her.”

  “And she’s happy with that? Of course she is, when did Mia ever make a fuss about anything? She’s a placid little thing. And you’ll still get a free hand in the skirmishes?”

  Hurst nodded.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure that’s such a great idea, myself, sharing. Remember that cousin – oh, what was his name? Ended badly, anyway. With daggers, if I remember correctly.”

  “Hurst wouldn’t do anything like that,” said Roonast. “Swords, more like…”

  The three brothers snorted with laughter, and Hurst laughed too, shaking his head. He liked all three of them, and he envied them that intimacy, something he had never shared with Jonnor. Klemmast and Jallinast had always been inseparable, and now Roonast had been absorbed into their marriage without any effort.

  Klemmast was the most like him, the same solid jaw and over heavy nose, but smoothed to a more favourable look by the soft curls framing his face. He had been caught by the same evil spirit as Hurst as a boy, but where Hurst had suffered months of agony and a permanently misshapen leg, Klemmast, being so much younger, had bounced back without any ill effect. The Nine smiled on him, that was certain, and his early marriage was fortunate, but Hurst knew the success of the marriage owed everything to Klemmast’s skill and good management.

  He should be jealous of them, by rights, but whatever resentment he had once felt had fuelled his determination on the training grounds and in the skirmishes, and he had long since left it behind.

  Even so, their casual attitude to marriage and the easy way they hopped from one wife to another made Hurst uneasy, and he knew his father disapproved. Sooner or later, it was bound to lead to trouble. Hurst’s own situation was much more stable.

  “Well, sharing can be tricky, but you know your own business best, I daresay,” Tanist told Hurst. “Just remember, you have the blue arrows option for three years.”

  ~~~

  The rituals and celebrations of winter came and went. The final interview was always an easier one for Hurst since it was usually about the skirmishes. Mia seemed a little quiet as the time for their return to their Karning drew near, but he understood that. Her one experience with a man had been traumatic, and of course she must be nervous.

  Hurst himself could barely contain his impatience. He had not felt such eager anticipation since he was a child, counting down the hours until midsummer night, perhaps, or the day he was allowed his first proper sword. His happiness made him mellow, and Gantor grumbled that his mind was not on the game when they played crowns.

  Finally the day came when he and his three Companions were squeezed into a sky ship again for the journey home. Trimon, who had done well in his tournaments, talked incessantly. Walst, who had not, was subdued. Gantor was his usual inscrutable self. Hurst was restless, and found the confinements of travel even more trying than usual. He gazed in silence out of the window, answering monosyllabically when anyone spoke to him. Later he remembered that this was the first quiet when Walst had no Tenya to return to. Then he felt guilty and selfish, to be so absorbed in his own happiness that he had forgotten his friend’s grief.

  From time to time they passed a sky ship station with a group waiting for a sky ship heading the other way, towards the Ring. One group drew Hurst’s attention. A small boy, dressed in ceremonial robes, all in gold, with a grey-clad Slave on either side.

  He shivered.

  “I hate to see it, too,” Gantor said. “Five is too young to be committed to anything for life, least of all the Silent Guard.”

  Hurst thought of Tersia’s second son – perhaps his own – who was just that age, and wondered how any parents could send away so young a child to be trained to silence and ferocious discipline.

  “The temples have to be guarded,” he said uneasily. “And families think it’s an honour to give a child to them. Although why they have to be so secretive…”

  “Exactly! Secret organisations are never good. They even have some bizarre religion.”

  “Don’t they follow the Word of the Nine?”

  “Oh yes, but they had some prophet, centuries ago, who made all these predictions about them. Or prophecies, maybe.”

  Walst’s head came up. “I’ve heard about that. Someone’s going to come and turn them into dragons, or something.”

  “Isn’t that if they die in battle?” Trimon said.

  “That’s a Vahsi belief,” Gantor said. “I don’t think there are dragons in the Silent Guards’ prophecies. They base themselves on the plains lions. It’s more to do with freeing them from the temples. Everyone wants to be free, don’t they? Basic human nature.”

  “Look, deer!” Trimon shouted, pointing out of the window. “Now if only I had my bow…”

  “You couldn’t hit it from here!” Walst said.

  “Course I could! I’ve hit targets much further away than that.”

  “Not moving, though.”

  The argument lasted all the way to their sky ship station.

  It was good to be back at the Karninghold. All the servants and guards turned out to greet them, and although there was the proper formality, there were smiles of pleasure on both sides. Gantor, Trimon and Walst went off in a big crowd to the guards’ quarters to catch up with the Skirmishers’ gossip, but Hurst went to the high tower and shut himself away. Although everything was clean, all the lower rooms felt neglected and abandoned, and he wandered here and there, touching this or picking up that, in random and distracted movements, like a bee on a field of clover. At last, he went upstairs, as he realised he had always intended, and into Mia’s room. But there was nothing of her there, and when he overcame his nerves to open a wardrobe, he found only Tella’s clothes inside.

  ~~~

  Mia arrived early the next afternoon, and Hurst was waiting in the receiving courtyard almost before the echoes of the alarm had died away, before any of the servants or guards had lined up and long before the wagons rolled through the gate. Mia looked pale, he thought, as he helped her down from the wagon, but that might just be the exhaustion of the journey. She gave him a little smile before greeting everyone else, then walked beside him in the procession through the endless halls and eventually up the stairs to the high tower
.

  He had lit all the burners in Mia’s water room so that she could bathe in private if she wished, and set out wine and fruit and some of the dainty little sweetmeats that she liked, and he had made sure there were fires blazing in every room. She sat on a chair pulled close to the hearth on the living floor while he fussed around her and fetched her this and that. Was it too much? He thought it probably was, but what of it? If she saw that he was nervous, or too solicitous, or even if she saw his love shining as he gazed at her, there was no longer any harm in that, was there?

  “Well, this is very nice, Hurst,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “You are so kind to me! It is very pleasant after travelling for days to have an attentive husband to greet me.” She smiled at him, and he read affection in her eyes. And then she skipped upstairs to soak in the bath, and left him to ponder her words and try to divine something more than simple friendliness in them.

  He had arranged their meat with the same care, ordering her favourite dishes from the kitchen, although the fish and game of the Ring gave way here to less interesting domesticated flesh and fowl. His forethought ensured that she need do nothing but relax and enjoy the evening. She seemed happy enough, chattering away as she always did and protesting when he waited on her, but he thought she liked it. Afterwards, they played a long game of crowns, which was quite evenly balanced for most of its duration, but in the end her defence collapsed and he scored a rare victory.

  “Well, shall we go up?” he said casually as they packed away the counters, and suddenly her face changed. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, frozen like a moundrat in the gaze of a predator.

  “Oh. Oh, yes, of course.” But he heard the dismay in her voice, saw the fear in her expression.

  He caught her hand, and pulled it to his chest. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know.”

  “Oh, no! I do want to,” she said at once, gazing up at him. “I want to learn. For Jonnor.” Of course, he thought. Naturally she wants to do this, because it is what Jonnor wishes.