The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  However reconciled she was to the deaths of Tella and Jonnor, Mia was still troubled by unanswered questions. To be sure, some mysteries had been resolved. She felt sure now that Tella had taken her own life to avoid a catastrophic inquiry by the Voices into her behaviour, and perhaps that was the best outcome. No good could come of asking who had sired little Jinnia, the man with white-blond hair and a name beginning with an ‘I’. That was one mystery best left unanswered.

  But there was still the question of the people seen in the funeral tower, and the tunnels beneath them. If the Companions had been saved, where had they gone? And most of all, why? She could hardly believe they could really be alive. Yet now that the idea had wormed its way into her mind, she found herself unable to forget it.

  Mia was determined to set these matters to rest. With a baby on the way, she wanted to put such unanswerable questions behind her once and for all. She would take them to one who had the power to reassure her, and then perhaps she could forget about them. So she went to see the Karninghold Slave.

  She told him what she had seen in the funeral tower after Tella’s death, and she told him all she had learned, which was not much, about the tunnels. He listened gravely to it all, but said nothing, simply allowing her to talk.

  When she had finally run out of words, he said, “You did quite right to bring all this to me, Most High. This has been troubling you for some time, it is better to unburden yourself. And Most High Hurst had the same impression?”

  “Impression? He saw people in the tower too. Are you saying we were both mistaken?”

  “There is an effect – an illusion, if you like –that can arise at certain times. It is purely a congruence of the sun combined with the mystical lights in the tower, it is not real, Most High. It creates shadows that look to the untrained eye exactly like people, but of course it is not so. It cannot be so, as I’m sure you will realise when you consider the matter in the correct light. For at the time you saw this – illusion, there were no living people in the tower.”

  “Oh. We saw something, then, but it was not real?”

  “That is so.”

  “Of course. And the tunnels?”

  “There are no tunnels of that type. Your scholar friends are quite deluded in thinking there might be. Perhaps they are confused about the drainage pipes? I’m afraid they have rather misled you, Most High.”

  Mia was not quite as satisfied with this explanation as she would have hoped.

  Of course she trusted the Slave implicitly, for was he not charged with revealing the will of the Gods? He would hardly lie. And yet his expertise was in spiritual matters. How was it that he knew enough of building practices to say so definitively that there were no tunnels? Tunnels were affairs of men, not Gods.

  Drantior had been quite adamant that they existed – or had, at one time – and his research was into historical buildings and techniques. Then there were the pipes carrying the vapour to the funeral towers, which certainly had tunnels for maintenance. And despite the talk of illusions and tricks of the light, Mia knew that she had seen people moving about in the tower. It was most unsettling. If the Slave had simply shrugged and said he knew nothing about these matters, she would have let them drop, but his authoritative denial made her wonder even more.

  So when he stopped her as she was leaving the temple one day, and asked if her mind had been fully set at rest now, she said, “No, I am more confused than ever, Most Humble. My scholar friends are quite sure there are – or were – tunnels, and they suspected that the Godstowers are air vents for them. Yet you are sure there is no such thing. So I thought I might ride out to one of the Godstowers to have a look round – settle the matter once and for all, you know.”

  The Slave paled. “Most High, I am shocked! I have given you your answer – why do you question the Word of the Gods?”

  “I don’t, Most Humble. But I don’t know why my friends would believe there to be tunnels if there are none. One of them has seen maps of them, long ago. Were those illusions, Most Humble?”

  “They are mistaken, Most High.” He spoke rapidly and emphatically, all his usual urbane smoothness swept away. “They are fallible, like all humans. That is why the Gods came to us, to keep us from error by disseminating their Word explicitly, and I am their humble mouthpiece. You must not do this, Most High!”

  Mia was astonished and unsettled by his agitation. There was nothing more to be said, however, so she meekly bowed her head, touching her hand to her forehead.

  “I obey the Word of the Gods in this, as in all things.”

  The Slave smiled and nodded his approval at her, but his eyes glittered and she felt somehow that the matter was not closed.

  She had not seriously thought of going to a Godstower herself, for it was well known that they had no doors, and she had no mind to scale walls or dig into foundations. She wondered if it might be an amusing project for Hurst when he next returned. He was due back in a few days, and she determined to discuss it with him and see if he had an explanation for the Slave’s odd behaviour.

  A day or two later, she and Henissa had the morning free and decided to ride out. Henissa was a nervous rider still, and liked to have Mia’s company, and her pregnancy meant that Mia would not be able to ride much longer, so they had to take every opportunity. They were gathering in the stable yard, Mia and Henissa, two or three of the Companions, and a group of guards, when the Karninghold Slave came rushing across and drew Mia to one side.

  “I have good news, Most High!” he whispered in an urgent tone. “The matter that so concerns you – I have found someone who can enlighten you.”

  “Oh – about the tunnels?”

  “Shh! Keep your voice low, Most High, for you must understand that all this is – most secret. But it has been decided – to let you know something of it. If you go now, you will learn about it.”

  “Now? Where is this person?”

  “North of here, about half an hour’s ride, there is a small village and beyond that an open field where sheep graze. On the edge of the field, just in the woods there, is a dead oak tree. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, yes I do. I will tell the others we are going north, then.”

  “No, no, Most High, you must go alone!”

  “Alone? I may take some guards with me, surely?”

  “No, no! Completely alone! It is very secret, no one else may know, that is very important.”

  Mia was surprised, and for an instant she hesitated, wondering whether perhaps it might be better to know nothing of such secret matters. There must be a reason for the secrecy, after all. But clearly the Slave had gone to some trouble to arrange this, to set her mind at rest, and it would be rude to refuse after she had asked for his help in the first place. So she smiled.

  “Very well. Thank you. You are very kind.”

  For a moment the Slave looked nonplussed, and there was a flash of something else – was it pity? But then his urbane mask was restored and he bowed, and disappeared.

  Mia explained to the others that something urgent had come up, and she had to deal with it at once. They accepted her account without question, which was natural since they had seen her talking to the Slave. They mounted up and clattered out of the yard, heading to the southern road and their usual route for exercising the horses.

  The stable-hand holding her own horse stood watching her, his face impassive. He was one of the most senior, a grizzled man of late middle age, once a Skirmisher and now reduced to sweeping horse droppings and holding bridles for flighty Karningholders who changed their plans at the last minute. She smiled at him and stroked the horse’s nose.

  “He looks well, Hemmond. You take good care of him.”

  “Thank you, Most High. Shall I send for an escort for you?”

  “No, I’m not going far. I shall go alone.”

  He looked shocked. “Alone, Most High? Is that wise? What if you should have a problem? And just at present—?” He looked down at her stomach, the slight swe
ll visible even under her riding coat.

  “I’ll be on the road, Hemmond, and I’ll keep to a very gentle pace. I’ll be back by noon.”

  She mounted up, and Hemmond stood aside, but she could see the disapproval in his face.

  She disapproved herself, if it came to that. She had never in her life ridden alone, there were always guards with her and other women, a group. But Tella had liked to ride alone, she reminded herself, she did it for years until…

  Yes, and look how that ended, she thought. But she was not a galloper, like Tella, she rode steadily rather than fast, and it was not far. The stable-hand saluted as she trotted her horse out of the yard, watched from the shadows by the Karninghold Slave.

  Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the ride. It was pleasantly warm, for one thing, a rare enough event so far south, the skies clear with no threat of rain. There was the wind, of course, but there was always wind on the plains, she hardly noticed it. She was not nervous.

  In some of her stories, there were brigands and outlaws hiding in bushes at the side of the road, and hapless travellers were robbed, or worse. But the inner Karnings were free of such risks. The nearer you were to the border, the more chance of encountering deserters from the battles or even the occasional Vahsi barbarian, brutal, savage men who would rape and kill without a second thought. Here, the greatest risk was from an escaped pig or an overturned hay wagon.

  She passed the village, and one or two of the villagers working in their fields waved to her, recognising her horse. She rode on, and the further she went from the Karninghold, the more unprotected she felt. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever been on her own away from home before, not once, and it made her feel vulnerable.

  She felt almost as she had when Jonnor first came to her room and asked her to remove her nightgown – naked and exposed. She chided herself for her foolishness, and reminded herself again that Tella often rode alone like this, and she never came to harm, not until…

  She was glad when the field the Slave had described came into view. It belonged to the village back down the road, and it was not really a field, being unfenced, but it and the woods behind were assigned for grazing animals and pigs. There were only a couple of goats visible today, tethered forlornly to stakes amidst the rough grass and clumps of bog reeds. Across the field the woods began, and she could see the outline of the dead oak tree towering above its neighbours. Beyond that she could make out the narrow pillar of a Godstower. She had never noticed it before, but then she had always ridden straight past this place in the past. Still, it seemed appropriate, given the nature of her journey.

  She walked her horse carefully across the field, mindful of the uneven ground, and dismounted at the edge of the woods, loosely tethering him to a bush. Then she walked on through the trees. They were mostly scrubby bushes and spindly saplings here, and the ground was churned by pigs, muddy in places. She soon came into a stand of taller trees, and there across a small clearing was the oak tree, dead and leafless, one great branch sagging to the ground. Beneath it sat a man.

  Whatever expectation Mia had formed of who she was to meet, this man was nothing like it. She had supposed it would be a Slave, or perhaps a builder. Instead she saw a nondescript man in crumpled weather-stained travelling clothes, like a journeyman craftsman. He was sitting, his back resting against the tree, so she couldn’t gauge his height, but he was slim, with a mass of dark curls and a mischievous smile. He couldn’t have been much older than her. He had no horse, and wore shoes rather than boots, and was gloved despite the warmth of the day. He was alone.

  Something – some prickle of fear, perhaps – made her stop in the middle of the clearing. She was suddenly very aware that they were out of sight of the road here. And yet – the Slave had sent her to meet this man, so there could be no harm in it, could there?

  The man smiled more broadly. “Come closer,” he said. “I will not bite.”

  She took a few steps forward, then stopped again. “The Karninghold Slave said you had some information for me.”

  “Is that what he said? Then it must be so. Come a bit nearer, so we can talk.”

  Another two steps. “Do you know anything about the tunnels?”

  He laughed outright then. “Oh, a little. A very little. Do you want to see them? I can arrange that.”

  She was silent. There was something very wrong here.

  Suddenly she was afraid. She half turned to leave. “I don’t think…”

  “Stop!” he said, and his voice was so authoritative that she did. “Do you know who I am?”

  He stood and began to walk towards her. The smile had vanished, but there was no anger on his face, rather he seemed filled with sadness.

  “I – no, I don’t.”

  “I am Cristo,” he said, and to her horror he began, finger by finger, to remove his gloves. She knew at once what she would see. He held his hands to her, palm outwards, displaying the intricate tattoos that marked him as one of Those who Serve the Gods.

  “No!” she cried in terror, backing slowly away, but he matched her steps.

  “You are honoured, Mia,” he said. “The Gods have chosen you.”

  More than anything else, the use of her name without the honorific brought the reality home to her.

  “No,” she said, more quietly now, although the blood was rushing in her head, and her legs felt weak. She tried not to panic, for surely this could not be happening. “I’m not ready to die. It’s not my time yet. You’ve made a mistake.”

  “Would you defy the will of the Gods, Mia?”

  “Why me? Why now? Why take me when I’m pregnant?”

  “Pregnant?”

  He frowned a little, and she felt a sudden surge of hope. It must be a mistake! Surely they would give her child a chance to live?

  But it was dashed at once. “Well, that is a pity, but it cannot be helped. Now Mia, you have two choices here. You can be sensible and drink from this little vial here, and you will fall asleep and know nothing about it. Or…” And he grinned again, as if taunting her. “Or you can be difficult and I will have to deal with the matter myself, which is less pleasant for both of us. So which is it to be?”

  He removed the stopper and held out the vial to her, and automatically she took it. For a frozen moment they stood an arm’s length apart, both waiting. He folded his arms and smiled again, one eyebrow raised in query.

  Then she hurled the vial at him and ran.

  She had only to get to her horse before he could catch her. Just a few seconds would see her mounted and free, and she would be away from him. She hadn’t thought beyond that, driven only by the burning need to get herself and her child away from this man who would smile as he watched her die.

  So she ran.

  She saw everything around her with astonishing clarity. She avoided the thorns of brambles that would catch at her clothes and slow her down. She swerved around the muddy patches that would suck at her feet and send her crashing to the ground. She leapt over fallen trees and ducked under low hanging branches. She ignored the crashing noises behind her. She came out into the open and raced for her horse. She grabbed the reins up and almost got one foot into the stirrup.

  Almost.

  Then he caught her and pulled her to the ground. She fought, of course. She fought as all mothers do for their child, fought with flailing arms and kicking legs, fought with astonishing strength for her life. But it was no use. Eventually he got her on the ground, straddled her and slapped her, hard. Then she felt his hand on her neck, something cold against her skin, a sharp stinging and the world went dark.

  22: Godstower (Hurst)

  Hurst had no inkling of trouble. He and Bernast, with their Companions and a Hundred of Skirmishers, rode into the receiving courtyard in a big, noisy, relaxed group and dismounted without haste. Mia was not there to greet him, but perhaps she was away to one of the villages. It was only when Henissa and her Companions, all in tears, rushed across to him that he
felt the first stab of fear.

  His first thought was the baby – she had lost the baby, perhaps. Maybe an illness. But he could not in his wildest imaginings have anticipated the news he received that day. Mia was gone, dead and burned already, while he was riding home at his leisure. He couldn’t take it in. Walst had to grab his arm to support him before he collapsed.

  The Karninghold Slave was there with his smooth words of comfort. Mia had been chosen by the Gods. Such an honour. So few taken that way, and now three in the same family. Such a very great honour. Hurst barely heard him. It was only when the Slave murmured, “Such a mistake, riding alone in her condition…” that Hurst suddenly paid attention.

  “Riding alone? What was she doing riding alone?”

  “Her own choice, Most High. She could have gone south with Most High Henissa and the others, but she chose to ride north on her own.”

  “Mia? No, she would never ride alone, what nonsense is this?”

  “Nevertheless, on this occasion she did, Most High, with tragic consequences.”

  “Henissa, did she tell you why?”

  “No, no, she didn’t. Just that something had come up that she had to deal with.” She glanced quickly at the Slave, and then added, “We were all preparing to ride out together, but then she talked to the Most Humble and after that, she changed her mind.”

  “What did you say to her?” Hurst said. They were much of a height, but the Slave seemed to shrink back a little, so it seemed as if Hurst were looming over him.

  “Nothing of importance, I assure you, Most High. She had been – a little troubled lately, and I asked her if she felt more herself, that’s all. Ladies get – somewhat fanciful when they are in a delicate condition, Most High.”

  “Mia was the least fanciful person I ever met,” he said shortly. Then he burst into tears.