World Gate: A Kethem Novel

by Dave Dickie

  Chapter Twenty Six

  They approached Nol carefully. Stegar was back in form, two weeks of easy travel and abundant food (since Nyjha was back in familiar territory) having given him time to recover from his wounds and rebuild his strength. He had insisted on a evening approach, where they would have the opportunity to scout out a location before people saw them. Nyjha had said with exasperation, “Look, see…” and pointed to a long pole with a white cloth draped over it, blue lines running in long stripes down the cloth. “The peace sign. No Ibisi would violate it. Those that come here are not to use weapons.” And, in fact, Nyjha had bound their swords into their scabbards with long strands of thin white rope that had been conveniently spooled at the foot of the pole, something he called a peace binding. Gyeong had grumbled a bit but finally gave in. Later, Stegar had been amused to see Gyeong trying to pull his sword out despite the peace binding, apparently having given in because he assumed he would be able to muscle through it if he needed to. But Stegar had touched the rope and it had the feel of magicked material.

  “So, Ibisi will abide by this pact. What about Kethemers?” said Stegar.

  “Kethemers that violate the peace, if they survived, would never be allowed back to trade again,” said Nyjha.

  “Hit them where it counts, in their coin stash,” said Grim. But Stegar had been firm about waiting until the evening, So they approached slowly just after dusk.

  Nol was a giant campground made mostly of tents. They were colorful and adorned with stylized pictures of different animals that could be found on the plains of Tawhiem in abstract, thickly painted black lines, a common style for the Ibisi nomads. Stegar could see that there were gaps between groups of tents, which he assumed indicated the camping areas for the different tribes. Some of the tents were as large as a house and tied down with thick rope, clearly intended to be semi-permanent. Here and there, one-story utilitarian wooden post-and-beam buildings with the small, square windows common in northern Kethem stood, each with signposts denoting their function. On the far side of the encampment, along the shore, were larger, two story buildings and docks. There were spotty glow disks here and there, enough to keep from tripping over a tent pole but not much else.

  “Ships?” Stegar asked Daesal quietly, knowing she would be able to penetrate the dark and see farther out on the water than they could.

  She nodded. “Many.”

  Stegar breathed a sigh of relief. Nyjha had explained that the docks were in constant use and that there would certainly be a ship there bound for Kethem that they could buy passage on, but it was nice to have confirmation.

  Nyjha nodded toward one gap between tents. “This way.” It looked no different than any other part of the sprawling tent city, but Stegar and the group followed without comment. There was, according to Nyjha, one large single story inn in Nol, built and maintained by Kethemers, mostly to serve the crews from the merchant ships that were looking for a day off the boat. Occasional expeditions to Tawhiem’s cities or the far northern reaches would typically start here as well, although the teams were careful to hide evidence of it until they were actually ready to head out. Ibisi did not visit the old cities, and shunned those that did.

  Nyjha had offered to broker with Ibisi from his tribe, the Nhi, to rent them space in a tent, a tenth the cost of the inn and probably more comfortable, but the inn had something Stegar wanted and wanted badly. That was the common room that served beer, food, and gossip, and for the first time in many years, it wasn’t the beer Stegar was after.

  They passed a few Ibisi while Nyjha led them through the maze of tents. None of the Ibisi took any interest in them. “Most Ibisi will stay in their tents after dark,” explained Nyjha, without telling them why that was the case. Daesal was looking around, eyes wide, drinking in the sights and, Stegar suspected, queueing up enough questions for Nyjha to last the evening. His nose told Stegar they had reached the inn before his eyes did, the smell of roasting meat and tabbac a universal signal that made his mouth water. A sudden, intense desire for a large mug of cold ale hit him. He fought it down. Maybe after they had rooms and were settled in for the evening he could relax and have one. Just one.

  By the light of the glow disks around the entrance, Stegar could see the signpost out front adorned with the stylized walking man with a staff that was the common symbol for an inn in Kethem. ‘The Fount’ was written on a board under that in common. He could hear muffled music and the sounds of people talking drifting out of the front doorway. He motioned for everyone to hang back in the dark and walked around the building at a distance. When he’d gone full circle he rejoined them. “Looks normal,” he said.

  “And why would it not be?” asked Daesal, one eyebrow raised.

  Stegar sighed. Getting Daesal to take security seriously was going to be an issue. “It is prudent and cost us little,” said Stegar. “When you are in the center of a storm, you check to make sure the building you are entering for shelter is solid before you go in, because it is only a matter of time before the winds hit again.”

  Daesal laughed. “As you say, my wise friend, as you say. And is this building solid enough to withstand the winds of our entrance?”

  Stegar nodded. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep a low profile. We will enter the inn, we will sit and eat and observe. Then, if nothing seems amiss, I will secure rooms for us all.”

  Daesal had a little smile on her face and Grim was rolling his eyes, but they moved as a group and did their best to be subdued and uninteresting. The door opened to a wide hallway done in white plaster with a few poor-quality framed paintings of ships along the wall. One end was open to the common room, set down a few wide steps. The other side ended in a small room with a desk, presumably where you would ask for a night’s lodging. Stegar nodded toward the common room and they moved as a group into the dim interior. It was like the common room you would find in most inns in Kethem, sturdy wooden tables and chairs, a bar with a rather sorry assortment of bottles behind a bartender, maids running tankards of ale and food to customers. A chalkboard sat on the wall behind the bar with the options for food and drink.

  Stegar looked around. The room was fairly full. Most of the patrons were Kethemers; Stegar could only see two Ibisi in the crowd. Most of the smaller tables were taken, but there was an empty table large enough for the entire group in the far corner. He made for it, others following, and indicated towards it with his chin to a passing barmaid. She smiled at him and said, “Anywhere you want, any open table.”

  The table was near a crackling fireplace, as it was with inns in Kethem as well. Like those inns, it was two-sided, the far side in the kitchen, with a large spit with meat rotating in the blaze of the fire. It served as a giant barbeque pit while allowing the smell of the cooking meat to waft into the room full of patrons.

  A middle-aged barmaid, dressed in a white blouse and coarse brown wool dress with a slightly grease-stained apron over it, approached the table. “And what will it be, folks?” she asked with a smile. They ordered food, pleased to have options after the filling but rather monotonous fare Nyjha had provided on the road. “Drinks?” she asked.

  Stegar looked around. No one indicated a desire for a round of drinks, to his disappointment. “Just water, please,” he said, turning back to her.

  “Tea, servant,” said Gyeong. Daesal winced a bit.

  “Sure, sure,” said the barmaid said, apparently recognizing Gyeong as a Stangri and not taking his comment personally. She moved toward the kitchen, stopping at another table to take orders on the way.

  Stegar had moved to the far side of the table so he could watch over the room. Daesal was sitting next next to him. “Nyjha, you seem uncomfortable,” she said. To Stegar’s eyes, the taciturn Ibisi didn’t look any different that he had during the entire trip, but he knew Daesal’s nose could ferret out things invisible to the eye.

  Nyjha shrugged. “Buildings. Ibisi do not like them.”

  “The purification,” said Daesal,
nodding.

  “What is this purification?” asked Gyeong.

  “During the fall, before the founding of the Stangri nation in Kanday, the empire had split into two warring factions,” said Daesal. “Leaders in Tawhiem and Pranan both claimed the mantle of the Lanotalis empire. What started as an argument turned into outright warfare. Fortunately, with the Evael forest between them, neither had a direct border, and it remained mostly naval engagements. Tawhiem and the trolls were at war, and while there were many costly engagements in the paths of blood, there was no decisive victory for either. Then something happened.”

  “The unclean were cursed,” said Nyjha.

  “There are almost no written records of the events collectively called the purge or the purification,” continued Daesal. “What is known comes by way of oral accounts told by the Ibisi. Something happened in the cities, in the dense population centers. Most Kethem scholars think it was a plague, but if so, it was unusually virulent, because the collapse of Tawhiem happened over a matter of a few weeks, and estimates put casualties in the ninety to ninety-five percent range. Those that survived banded together, moved constantly, and stayed away from population centers, eventually becoming the nomadic tribesmen that roam the area today.”

  Nyjha nodded. “And even then, we survived only because of the elves. Why they helped us, I cannot say. Perhaps they knew they could ask a high price in return. Perhaps the elves of that time were more friendly. But even with their help, only the few that were far from the cities survived. Since then, we avoid the cities. We live simpler lives. Harder, purer.”

  Daesal spoke up again. “The Ibisi have come to associate what we would call civilization with the purification, and to think of those that partake of the benefits as soft.”

  “Unclean,” said Nyjha.

  Daesal smiled. “Unclean. And yet you, my friend, travelled to Kethem. I have rarely seen an Ibisi that would.”

  Nyjha looked uncomfortable. “There is a time for tradition. There is a time for change. I do not know which this is.”

  Grim said, “So you are trying to find out.”

  Nyjha nodded. “Yes. It is time to at least question the old ways. We are little more than cattle to the elves, breeders for their servants, those that become salsenahain. It is time we broke free of that yoke. To do that, we must learn. The elves do not teach, but much that the elves can do, you can do in Kethem. So I thought to start there.”

  Daesal could smell something from the Ibisi, something furtive but determined. “You think you have something to help with that. Something you found during our journey,” she said.

  Nyjha paused, then said “Yes. The map in the troll cave. It was a map of Tawhiem. The symbols on it… I believe it showed the location where the elves take Ibisi to become salsenahain.”

  The waitress came by with water in mugs and an empty mug and pot of tea for Gyeong, set them down, and moved off again.

  “Kethemers are soft,” said Gyeong, who had lost the thread of the conversation. “You are right to question their ways. They prize material goods over honor.”

  Daesal smiled. “Tea is one of the things that are considered part of civilization, and are therefore suspect,” she said.

  Gyeong almost spit out his tea “What?” he sputtered. Nyjha nodded in agreement. “Barbaric!’ said Gyeong, looking angry.

  “Many think so,” said Nyjha. “Many of the old rules do not make sense now, if they ever did. Tea may not grow in Tawhiem, but it is as natural as yaupon leaves.”

  “Yaupon leaves?” asked Gyeong.

  “A plant that has tea-like properties,” explained Daesal. “It tastes a little different but is brewed the same way. Regular tea is considered unclean because it is processed and shipped from places outside Tawhiem.”

  Nyjha spoke up again. “And yet, in my travels, I did not find yaupon to taste different in Kethem. And tea grown in Kanday did not taste differently there than it did here. If it is unclean after it has been shipped, it is a subtle difference.”

  “Or no difference at all,” said Daesal.

  Nyjha nodded. “Or none at all.”

  Daesal sat in silence for a few minutes, torn between loyalties, remembering Beldaer’s sacrifices. Beldaer had said how important the salsenahain were to the elves, and if Nyjha had found something in their travels that might threaten that, she felt like she should do something to prevent it. But the Ibisi had been as pivotal in saving their lives as the elf, and she finally sighed. “Well, perhaps it is time for change. I will not try to dissuade you from doing whatever you mean to do with what you have found. But I beg you to be both careful and open-minded. You may find things are not as you think with the elves.”

  Nyjha nodded slowly. “I have watched, I have learned. From all of you. I will weigh things on even scales.”

  The conversation was interrupted when the waitress returned with a large tray full of food and expertly offloaded each meal to the person who had ordered it. “Anything else?” There were shakes of the head around the table and she moved on.

  Things were quiet for a bit other than the clink of cutlery as people dug into the first meal that hadn’t been scavenged on the trail over three weeks. Stegar was thoroughly enjoying his shepherd's pie, but his eyes continued to scan the room. As a result, he was the first one to see two men moving toward them, one on the far side of middle-aged, one ancient.

  In one of those perfectly-timed moments that come around at rare intervals, Daesal sighed, wiped her lips with her napkin, and said “So, Stegar, are you satisfied no one is here looking for us?”

  Stegar glanced at her and grinned. “No.” He stood up as the two men reached the table. One he knew quite well, the other he did not recognize, but could venture a reasonable guess as to who it was. “Good evening to you, Padan. And to you, Archimandrite Burse.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  “Please, call me Jedia,” said the old man with a disarming grin. Archimandite was a generic honorific for the head of a temple. Each had its own specific title, but Stegar didn’t know what it was for a priest of Hasamelis. Jedia’s answer was enough to confirm that Stegar’s guess had been correct, that this was the man who had financed their expedition to Tawhiem. Daesal and the others were attempting to avoid choking on their food. Padan nodded a greeting. Stegar noted he had a new hat that looked almost exactly the same as the one he’d lost in the cave. Gyeong was struggling to pull out his sword, forgetting about the peace binding Nyjha had applied. Daesal put a hand on his arm and he stopped, but he still looked ready to spit blood.

  Padan said, “I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am to see you all alive.”

  Grim shook his head, frowning. “Wish we could say the same.”

  Gyeong was more blunt. “You have no honor. I should strike you down where you stand.” But he did not move to draw his sword, Daesal’s hand still holding his arm.

  Padan sighed. “I am sorry. When the roof was coming down, I panicked. The teleport was instinctual. I will do my best to make it up to you.”

  Jedia nodded. “The temple has many resources, and we will compensate you well for your troubles. It was not Padan’s fault. If anyone’s, it was mine.”

  Stegar said, “I expect it is. This mission did not ring true from the beginning. You Hasamelis types travel alone or in small groups of your brethren. Why did you hire all of us to accompany Padan? I know the story: to protect Padan if we ran into trolls or other trouble on the way. But you could have used any number of well-trained mercenaries for that. You did not need to round up what stragglers you could find on the docks.”

  Jedia looked sorrowful. “Very true,” he said, “and I will explain, but perhaps we could find a quieter spot with enough chairs for us all. There is a Hasamelis temple here. I can offer food, drink and lodging there.”

  Stegar shook his head. “Neutral ground.”

  Daesal put her hand on Stegar’s arm, as she had done with Gyeong. “There is no need to be suspicious. Whatever the mis
sion was, it ended with the dragon.” She looked at Padan. “In fact, if I am not mistaken, the only reason these two are here is because Padan felt guilty for leaving us trapped. There seems little reason for them to be here otherwise.” That, and she could smell Padan’s contriteness. Jedia was a different story. He smelled sharp, like the first cut from a fresh apple, with something more earthy underneath. He was curious, and observant, and he wanted something, but Daesal could not detect anything malicious in him. Which did not mean he was acting in their best interests. Better to see what Jedia wanted, then judge his true intent.

  Padan nodded. “This is the truth. I came to try to find and free you, as slim as the chances of accomplishing that might be.”

  Stegar looked at Padan with hard eyes. “And yet, I do not see you on your way to the cave we were trapped in. I see you here, in Nol, where there would be little chance of finding us even if you managed to arrive at the exact right time to overlap our one-night stay here.”

  Padan gestured toward Hantlin, who was holding Padan’s old staff. “That speaks to me. I knew when we arrived you were not where I left you. You were so far away that I could only hear the slightest glimmer of its speech, too far away to even have a direction to point. Then you were a little closer, then much closer. I have felt you coming from there for the last few weeks. We could have ridden out to meet you, but it seemed best to wait for you to come to us once we knew your destination was Nol.”

  Hantlin’s cheeks turned red. “I am sorry. I did not know, or I would not have kept it.” He nodded to Padan. “However, since I have, I am pleased to return it to its rightful owner.” He handed the staff to Padan, who took it gently and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Thank you. It is an old friend and I would be regretful if I had lost it.”

  Stegar was still angry and annoyed, but Daesal squeezed his arm gently. He sighed. There was no reason to think that Padan meant them harm, regardless of whatever secrets he and Jedia had been hiding from the group. “Fine. We are done with dinner. You can start making it up to us by paying for it.” Jedia nodded and laid down several hundred rimii coins on the table, probably twice what the meal actually cost. Such an extravagant gesture made Stegar suspicious again, but then, he had to admit, almost everything did.