Finally Raf appeared in the doorway. “We’re off,” he said. “Sorry to hold you up. Skender’s so excited he completely forgot to pack. Are you ready?”
Shilly let him take her bag. It was much lighter than usual, containing only what she thought she might need for an overnight stay. She hadn’t had much to start with, having left Fundelry with little more than what she was wearing at the time. Sal carried his, and she could tell from the way he lifted it that he had brought everything. She could understand that, even if it stung a little. There was always a chance that he might not come back.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad thing, then, she thought, if his grandmother turned out to be no different to the Syndic.
Raf took them to meet the Mage Van Haasteren, not down at the bridge where they had arrived, but at the highest point of the cliff face town. There, at the top of a long series of stairways—difficult to negotiate with her crutches—and on a shelf of rock wide enough to create the impression that there wasn’t a yawning gulf below, were two statues facing each other, similar in appearance to the guardians below but smaller and less weathered. Between them was an iron door, shut, with a keyhole in its exact centre. Waiting with the mage were Skender, Chema and another student called Amahl. Thin with a yellowish complexion, he was only a couple of years older than Shilly, and looked more nervous than Sal. Skender was uncharacteristically restrained, as though saving his energy for the outside world.
“Good,” said the mage, studying them all sternly. “We’re all here. We’ll leave in a moment. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that, even though we’re no longer at the Keep, the normal rules still apply. You will be sure to represent me in a suitable fashion, no matter where we go. I have high expectations of you all only because I know that you are capable of meeting those expectations. That is why I have chosen you to come with me.” He directed proportionately more of his warning at Skender, who nodded quite seriously.
“I think,” Raf said, “that I speak for us all when I say that I won’t let you down. I want to go next time, after all.” He shot Skender a quick wink. “We’ll be good, I promise.”
Satisfied, the mage turned to the doors. Walking forward between the statues, both of which bowed slightly in acknowledgement, he produced a key. It fitted into the keyhole and turned smoothly. A mechanism clunked deep inside the door and the mage pushed it open, revealing a ramp sloping upward into the cliff. Then he reached up and touched a brass switch on the ceiling, awakening a series of glow stones to guide their way.
The statues didn’t move as the students filed through behind him, one after the other, but Shilly could tell that she was being studied very closely. She assumed they would remember when she returned, with or without Sal. That she would return, she had no doubt, if the mage would have her.
Then she was through and standing with the others on the far side. Raf came last. The mage closed and locked the door behind him, then led the way up the slope. It was steep but flattened out after a hundred metres and widened into a large chamber with pillars supporting a high, vaulted ceiling. The stonework was elegant and very old, a faint tracery all that remained of what might once have been elegant frescoes on every surface. The walls were arched, and each archway led to another tunnel identical to the one through which they had entered.
Looking around, Shilly quickly became disoriented. The archway to the Keep was the third from the right on the wall behind her—or was it the wall to her left? She couldn’t be sure. The glow stones in the tunnel had died, and the walls looked the same on every side.
The mage unhesitatingly led the students across the room, through the forest of pillars, and to an archway on the far side. There he reached up again and brought another line of glow stones to life. This tunnel led downward at as steep a pitch as they had gone up before and became wide, shallow stairs at about the same time as it began to turn in a lazy spiral. Shilly tried to count how many times the passageway completed an entire circle. It might have been four when the way—or Way—ended in another door.
The mage produced another key, opened the door, and waved them through.
The smell of humanity and its refuse hit her first. The stench was undiminished since she had last experienced it, thick and cloying after the thin, clear air of the mountains. Sound came next. People were all around her—walking, talking, shouting, running, hammering—and their animals were with them. She could distinguish chickens, camels and desert dogs easily, with hints of emu and alpaca. It sounded like they were in the middle of a vast animal pen.
The second-hand daylight was dim and gloomy. She didn’t realise how quickly she had become used to the serene clarity of the Keep until dunked back into the mess of humanity that was Ulum. The realisation surprised her. She longed to be back on her balcony, reading by natural sunlight again. The sooner they left, the better.
The doorway had opened in a cul de sac lined with blank walls and sheltered from view by an overhang above. A narrow metal gate sealed the cul de sac from the street outside. When they were through that last doorway, they stood in a group together on the sidewalk and waited to be told where to go next.
It was hotter than she remembered. Her new clothes were stiff and heavy against her skin, and she longed for a refreshing breeze, or just a moment to sit down. But the mage was relentless. He led them along the street to the nearest corner, looked around to get his bearings, then nodded.
“Right on time,” he said as two four-seater cabs pulled up in front of them. Raf, Chema and Amahl took one; the mage travelled with the three younger members of the party in the other. He exchanged a few words with the driver that Shilly didn’t quite catch, then they were off through the busy streets, ducking and weaving among numerous other vehicles and bicycles mainly travelling in the opposite direction.
Skender barely took his eyes off the scenery as they passed. There were shops, multi-storey residences, animal pens, administrative buildings, food and water stores, entertainment halls…He soaked it up with rapt interest. Black-uniformed police officers, looking very much like officers of the Syndic, coordinated the traffic flow with whistles and emphatic hand signals, intervening to restore order after occasional, inevitable altercations.
It was too much for Shilly. She stared upward at the roof of the cab and wondered what time it was in the outside world. She had completely lost track during the brief journey. It was inconceivable that they had travelled so far during their walk along the Way, but instead of letting it get to her, she resolved to learn how it was done—if only in the hope that it would help her find a way back into Lodo’s workshop. All she had to do was get through this day, and the next morning, and her position at the Keep would be permanent. The rest was up to her.
Endure, the Mage Erentaite had said. You will find your place…
She clung to the elderly woman’s words as tightly as she clung to the edge of her seat while the cab negotiated its way through the city.
After what felt like a small eternity, they pulled up outside a large, stone building in a relatively sedate suburb. There were miniature trees on the corner of each block and gas lamps at the entrance to each yard. The Mage Van Haasteren got out first and brushed down his robes. He looked around with a mildly suspicious air, then waved the others out. Shilly brushed away Sal and Skender’s helping hands, and bit her lip when she stumbled on her injured leg. The crutches fitted into their familiar places under her armpits, where her blisters had turned to calluses, and she took a few paces to stretch her good leg.
“Is this where we’re staying?” asked Raf, bringing the others up to join them.
“Apparently,” said the mage.
“Very fancy. You’ll have to mind your manners, Skender.”
The boy rolled his eyes. The building was a giant cube, with narrow windows on three storeys. There was little ornamentation to be seen anywhere upon it, but that spareness was part of its elegance. Shilly thought it looked like the sort of house an architect would build for t
heir own home—simple, efficient, and well made—or one owned by a very wealthy person, with no need to be ostentatious.
The mage led them along a narrow path through a gravel garden to the door. Sal’s hand brushed hers, and she was reminded of the time she had taken him to the beach at Fundelry so he could see the sea for the first time in his life. He had held her hand then, and she had been glad for the comfort it had given him. Now, even if he wanted such comfort again, she couldn’t have given it to him. She needed both hands just to walk—and she wasn’t sure she had enough strength to spare any more.
A stone sign above the door announced that it belonged to Gourlay House. The mage knocked three times then stepped back. They heard footsteps from within, coming closer, then the lock clicked and the door swung back to reveal a woman dressed in formal attire. Her gaze swept across the small group standing at the step, and Shilly felt Sal stiffen expectantly beside her.
“Hello,” said the woman in an imperious tone. “You must be Mage Van Haasteren.”
“I am.”
“Come in, please. All of you. I am Melantha, the steward of this house.”
Some of the tension left Sal when he realised—along with Shilly—that the woman was a servant, not his grandmother. The woman held the door open until the seven of them were standing in the entrance hall. It was as spacious and austere as the outside. The walls were plastered white and the wood was dark-stained. The air smelled of roses.
The steward took a second to look them all over. “Which one of you is Sal?”
“I—” His voice broke, and Shilly felt embarrassed on his behalf. “I mean, I am.”
“You’re here in good time.” She nodded approvingly, then turned to the others. “I have prepared a small meal for the rest of you in here.” She opened a door to their right and showed them a large sitting room in which a table had been laden with food. “If you require anything, please ring the bell and I will attend you. Sal will rejoin you after dinner.”
She gestured that Sal was to accompany her and he stepped forward as though pulled by strings.
“I will go with him,” said the Mage Van Haasteren firmly, putting his hand on Sal’s shoulder.
“And I’m coming too,” said Shilly, crutching up on the other side, surprising herself in the process. “I don’t want to miss this.”
Sal looked gratefully at both of them. “Is that okay?” he asked the steward.
She smiled. “Of course. If you wish them there, they may come. Your grandmother anticipated as much. She is waiting for you through here.”
She took them along the hallway and to a door set deeper in the house. The smell of roses grew more pronounced as they walked. Shilly was acutely conscious of the sound her crutches made every time she stepped forward, clunking ungracefully on the polished floorboards, but there was nothing she could do to silence them. With a deep breath to calm herself, she plunged after Sal through the door.
The room was as sparsely elegant as the rest of the house, lined with bookcases filled with ornaments and trophies. What little wall space remained was crammed with maps and sketches of plants. Three high-backed chairs stood in a half-circle on a thick, red rug, and in one of those chairs sat Sal’s grandmother.
Radi Mierlo was a woman in her late fifties with long white hair held back by a silver clasp. She wore a graceful blue robe that matched the jewel in a ring on the third finger of her right hand. Her posture was straight and her skin pale. Like the Mage Van Haasteren, she appeared to have no tattoos that Shilly could see.
The first thing that struck her about Radi Mierlo, though, was how much she reminded her of Sal. It wasn’t in her bone structure or hair, nor was it in the way she spoke. It took Shilly a while to realise that it was her eyes: they were the same blue flecked with white, like a summer sky, and possessed the same depthless quality.
A tall, thin man with long brown hair and a drooping nose stood in one corner with hands folded in front of him. He barely glanced at them as they entered the room.
Radi Mierlo stood with a rustle of silk.
“At last,” she said, her voice soft and low-pitched. Her eyes scanned them, one by one, then fixed on Sal. “It is a great pleasure to meet you.”
Sal opened his mouth, but nothing came out. There was an awkward silence until the Mage Van Haasteren came to his rescue
“Good evening, Mrs Mierlo,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
“And you, Mage Van Haasteren. You are very welcome.”
“Your generosity in putting us up tonight is exceptional. The Keep maintains accommodations for our visits to Ulum, but this is infinitely more comfortable.”
She clucked her tongue. “I wouldn’t dream of seeing you stay anywhere else. It would be impolite of me after the lengths you have gone to to see my family reunited.”
“I did only what Sal requested.”
Radi Mierlo took a step closer and studied Sal with an appraising eye. “Yes,” she said, “you are my daughter’s son. You could only have our blood flowing through your veins. Even if I had any doubts, this would convince me.” She reached out to touch the ward in his ear. “It used to belong to your mother, you know. Sahen, her father, made it for her when she was half your age. She inherited his natural talent, although it bloomed late. He loved her very much.”
Sal nodded but still hadn’t found his voice. His grandmother smiled, and turned her charm on Shilly.
“You must be Shilly, Sal’s friend.” The force of Radi Mierlo’s stare was more powerful than Shilly had expected—even more disconcerting than the elaborate pleasantries. She was also the source of the rose scent; it poured off her in waves. “I’m pleased to meet you, too. You will always be welcome in my house.”
“Th-thanks,” Shilly stammered, not knowing what else to say in response.
“It’s the least I can do, dear.” Sal’s grandmother turned in a graceful manoeuvre to cross the room. “When I heard you were here, I could barely contain my excitement. I would have come to the Keep immediately, if I’d been allowed to. I’m so happy to meet you, and so proud of everything you’ve done. You are remarkable young people. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Sal remembered how to talk at that moment.
“Thank you, um, grandmother,” he said, hesitating over the title but continuing when she nodded encouragement. He sounded very young again. “I’ve been wanting to meet you too, since I learned about you.”
“When did you learn? Did Seirian tell you about me?”
“I never knew my mother. She was taken from me when I was very young, and she died before my father and I could find her again.”
“You’re in touch with your father?” she asked, her tone sharpening. “Highson has never mentioned this to me.”
“Not him,” Sal corrected her. “I don’t consider him my father.”
A look of confusion passed across her face, then suddenly cleared. “Of course. No, you wouldn’t. You have no reason to, as yet. You mean Dafis Hrvati, the man your mother eloped with.”
“My father,” he repeated.
“Yes.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “What happened to him?”
“He is dead.” The family resemblance was stronger than ever, Shilly thought, when Sal was keeping a lid on his emotions. She wondered if Radi Mierlo was hiding something too, and if so what it was.
Sal’s grandmother was the first to look away. She turned gracefully and indicated the man standing in the corner, who had yet to utter a sound.
“Forgive my rudeness,” she said. “I haven’t completed my introductions. This is Manton Gourlay, our host for the evening. He is the sole surviving heir of the great explorer, Jack Gourlay. This lovely abode belongs to him. He allows me to use it when business brings me to town. Come forward and say hello, Manton.”
The slender giant stepped out of the corner and offered a very large hand to the mage. Then he bowed briefly to Sal and Shilly. “Welcome to my house,” he said in a voice so
ft and tremulous. Shilly had never heard of any “great explorer” called Jack Gourlay, but understood now the significance of the trinkets and the maps on the walls.
“Manton lives here alone,” Sal’s grandmother said, reaching up to adjust their host’s lapel as one would for a child. “He enjoys the company. Don’t you, my dear? He would be offended if we stayed elsewhere, and accepting the gift honours the giver, as they say.”
Manton Gourlay nodded patiently, apparently deaf to the patronising tone that put Shilly’s teeth on edge. Shilly wondered if he had missed out on some of the traits that had made his ancestor great. Or maybe he just liked being told what to do when he was off duty. She had seen couples like that in Fundelry—fishermen who could haul a shark onto a boat with their bare hands but barely spoke up at home.
“Nobody is so generous as those with nothing to give,” said the Mage Van Haasteren.
Radi Mierlo chuckled. “Indeed. But I am a great believer in generosity. Generosity and family. There is no bond greater than blood, and no gift greater than forgiveness. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Sal?” Her full attention was back on him, and her voice had a subtly commanding edge that Shilly suspected could turn to steel if required. “No matter what your mother did—no matter how much she damaged her family’s ascendance and hurt me—I would forgive her now, if she were here before me. As she is not, and I will never have the opportunity to welcome her back into our family, I can only welcome you, instead, and say that you will always be forgiven, no matter what you do. The Mierlos are your blood, and we are yours. No person can change that. It is written in the stone that is the symbol of our Clan. The Earth itself is witness to the bond between us—a bond that I have no desire to break, now that it has been acknowledged. Now that I have seen you with my own eyes.” A smile softened her features, and her eyes gleamed as though filled with tears. “My daughter’s son. My grandson.”
The Sky Warden and the Sun Page 25