“Not long now,” the old man croaked. “I feel them battering at our hatches like never before.”
“What about the storm? If it’s too rough to travel--”
“They’ll be here. Don’t worry about that. You can say what you like about them, but they always keep their appointments.” The old man smiled. “By the way, there’s a privy in that alcove.” A finger emerged from under the covers and pointed. Sal could have kicked himself for going outside when he didn’t need to.
Shilly stirred with a groan on the other side of the room. “It’s too early for talking, you two.”
“No.” Lodo sat up with a grunt. “It’s too late, if anything.”
“Exactly my point. What difference will it make what time we get up?”
Lodo ignored her and got out of bed. He slept mostly clothed and only removed his tunic to wash from a copper bowl. Sal kept his eyes averted, but the old man didn’t seem to mind if anyone watched or not. There were tattoos on his back that Sal hadn’t noticed before: thick, angular patterns reflected on either side of his spine. He hummed tunelessly as he freshened up, then offered Sal the bowl.
Any self-consciousness Sal had experienced before was nothing compared to what he felt when it was his turn to wash. Shilly’s eyes were on him all the while, peering darkly from under a flap of her covers.
“The first thing to do,” Lodo said, busying himself at a workbench, “is to adjust the way you look.” He came over to Sal, holding a selection of charms and pastes in his hands. Before Sal could dress, the old man applied them one at a time to odd places on Sal’s body. “Skin. Your hair’s about right, so we’ll leave that. Eyes. Build.” The thong Lodo wrapped around Sal’s chest was tight, but not painfully so. Next came a dab of ochre on forehead, chin and each cheek. “Face. We’ll keep the charm on your ankle for the time being. It won’t hurt.” Lodo eyed Sal critically. “Now, put your top back on.” Sal did so. “Not bad. Here, look.”
Lodo indicated a silver mirror and Sal stepped forward to see. It was startling--and off-putting. At first sight he saw a thin, tall boy with brown hair, skin and eyes. But a second look showed the real him beneath. The two appearances seemed to flicker in and out, as though fighting for dominance. When he looked down at his hands, they appeared normal.
“From a distance, you’ll pass. Maybe even close up, if no one looks too carefully. In a crowd you should be okay. Just be sure not to wander off alone or draw attention to yourself.” Lodo nodded in satisfaction. “Now for the tricky part.” He produced two bracelets and wound them around Sal’s wrists.
Sal felt as though his hands had been dipped in icy water--a feeling which rapidly spread up his arms and through the rest of his body.
“Don’t take these off, whatever you do,” Lodo warned. “Unless I say so--or unless you desperately need to use the Change, I suppose. But as the whole point is to hide the fact that you have the Change, and given that you’ve hardly had time to learn how to use it, stick with the first rule. These bracelets do not come off. Got it?”
Sal nodded, although his skin seemed to be covered with invisible ants.
“Right. Now, try the Mandala.”
Sal concentrated on bringing up the spinning circles and holding them in his mind’s eye.
“Good.” Lodo nodded slowly. “Good. Well done. Can you feel him, Shilly?”
“No,” she yawned, rolling clumsily out of bed and heading for the privy alcove.
Sal felt his ears turn red at the thought that it would be her turn to strip and wash when she returned. He cleared his throat and desperately tried to find somewhere else to look.
Lodo’s smile was perceptive and amused. “Whatever lies ahead of you two,” he said, “I hope I’m there to see it.”
When they were ready, the three of them left the workshop in waterproofed skins and walked through the rain into town. Shilly hadn’t wanted to come, but Lodo insisted. There was a chance he and Sal might become separated, and she would need to keep an eye on the charms. She saw the sense in it, but didn’t like it. The wind was coming off the southern ocean, bringing with it sheets of water barely less dense than the sea itself. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but it did chill. The constant barrage penetrated even the deepest reserves of warmth and dryness.
Surprisingly, there were a lot of people about in Fundelry. Small crowds had gathered along the main route to the square, more than Sal had expected; he supposed that some of them had come from neighboring towns. Decorative ropes crisscrossed the street, snapping overhead. The main bell was tolling erratically, as if allowed to swing in the wind. Lodo’s globes still burned, although the light they shed didn’t go far through the rain. There were a lot of children, waving sodden bunches of blue and white ribbons or playing in the water.
Sal remembered that this was a special occasion for those in this area of the Strand. The Selectors only came by once a year, offering the town’s hopefuls a chance to high jump out of the backwaters and into the prestigious circles of the Haunted City. Some might be destined to become administrators under the Alcaide, others representatives of the law acting with the authority of the Syndic. A select few might even graduate to become Sky Wardens, the Strand’s rulers and caretakers, remote and blue and cold as ice.
It was odd, in the middle of a crowd with a lot to gain, to be the only one with everything to lose. His stomach churned from nerves.
Lodo found a position halfway along the route. Sheltered by a tall shed, the crowd was large enough to blend into. There they waited. Sal kept wanting to step back behind the onlookers, but Lodo wouldn’t let him.
“Act like everyone else,” the old man hissed. “Remember, you’re supposed to be one of them.”
But Sal noted Lodo breaking his own rule. He seemed anxious and unsettled. Although the crowd kept their gaze expectantly on the route out of town, the old man’s attention wandered back toward the square.
“Is something wrong?” Sal whispered to him after enduring it for half an hour.
“I don’t know. I just have a feeling …”
But he didn’t get any further than that, for a growing buzz up the road drew the attention of the people around them. A clamor of bells and rattles had started up and wasn’t easing. Cheering, joining in with the racket, the crowd craned forward to see what was coming down the road towards them.
Sal couldn’t help but do likewise. Even Shilly didn’t fight it. The mood of the crowd was infectious.
And it wasn’t disappointed.
Through the bobbing of heads, they saw a group of men and women, some on horseback and some in a cart, coming slowly through the streets. Maybe twenty in all, they wore a mixture of uniforms, from the black of the Syndic to the gray of the Alcaide. They seemed to be the source of most of the ringing, tolling away on bells small and large to announce their arrival. Even the horses had bells on their harnesses.
At the front rode a man and a woman, both dressed in blue slicks stained dark from water. The woman was older, in her fifties, but still firm in the saddle, while the man looked to be around thirty years old. Through gaps in their cloaks Sal could see glistening crystal around their throats: insignia of the Sky Wardens.
His heart skipped a beat. He fully expected them to stand up on the cart and point at him, their eyes and fingers burning him to a cinder where he stood. But they didn’t. They looked like ordinary people. The man’s skin was rich and dark, while the woman’s was paler, more exotic. Both were smiling and waving at the people who had gathered to welcome them. Behind the smiles, both were definitely scanning the crowd, but they hadn’t seen him. They weren’t the all-seeing giants he had always imagined them to be.
Sal fought the instinct to hide, even so, and forced himself to wave along with the others while concentrating on the Mandala. So intent was he on acting naturally that he didn’t notice the pair who led the progression on foot until they were a
lmost past.
Walking slowly at the head was a young man of about seventeen years dressed in blue and gray, with narrow, handsome features and a dense mat of black hair. He was beaming and smiling as much as anyone. Beside him, holding his hand and looking up at him as though unable to believe what his eyes showed him, was a younger boy with ears that stuck out.
He nudged Shilly without thinking. “That’s Tom, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And to forestall your next question, that’s his brother, Tait. As cute as ever.”
Sal watched in amazement as the pair strode past. Tom’s dream had come true, more or less: his brother had returned in the midst of a storm accompanied by the sound of bells, and he had been there to greet him.
Then the rest of the parade was passing. He felt the gaze of the Sky Wardens glance over him, and keep going. He hadn’t been aware of Lodo’s hand on his shoulder until then, but he was glad it had been there. Otherwise he might have fainted with relief.
The ordeal wasn’t over yet. As one, the crowd around them moved onto the road to join the other locals following in the wake of the carts. Everyone was shouting over the noise of rain. Some people danced in the mud and puddles. Sal tried to join in the merriment--or to pretend to--but he was aware of a certain distance maintained by the crowd around them. Despite the charms, they still seemed wary of him, as if they could feel the truth lurking beneath his new face.
Also, he could hardly take his eyes off the backs of the people they were following deeper into town. He had seen his first Sky Wardens--and survived! It hadn’t gone anything like he had imagined. The two on the cart looked strong and handsome, not frightening and shadowy, as he had expected. And these were the people who had come to take him away.
It all depends on who they send, Lodo had said. The man in blue wasn’t old enough to be Highson Sparre--his mother’s jilted husband who had personally hunted the fleeing lovers, and whom Sal had been half-dreading all day.
“Do you know who they are?” he asked Lodo.
“The younger of the two I don’t know,” the old man replied, “but the older is Amele Centofanti, senior Selector of this region. She isn’t powerful, being more an administrator than an inquisitor. We have nothing to fear from her.”
Sal knew better than to be relieved at that news. Lodo certainly wasn’t looking relaxed. “What about Tait? Is he a Warden too?”
“No, just a journeyman, according to his insignia.”
Someone jostled Sal from behind. He turned, saw the person who had bumped into him look puzzled for a second, then return to dancing a one-person jig on the road as though nothing untoward had happened. “Where do they stay when they’re in town?”
“The Mayor puts them up,” Lodo said. “If things go the same as they always do, there’ll be an official welcome in the square followed by a tour of the town. Then the Selectors will meet the candidates for examination and hear any grievances held over for them to judge. Tonight is usually reserved for the Alders’ Feast, open to anyone and paid for by the town. Tomorrow, the real business gets done: the lucky are chosen from the applicants and the unlucky are judged and sentenced. There’s another short party, if there’s time, then the Selectors move out before nightfall. They don’t waste any time, if they can help it.”
Sal absorbed this with a sinking feeling. The Sky Wardens would hear the local grievances--including the one involving his father--that afternoon. It could be all over as soon as that.
But Lodo had more to say. “I usually meet them about the same time as the candidates.”
“You do? I thought you’d stay well clear of them.”
“Not at all. We’re on fairly cordial terms, despite our differences. They’re practical people out here, for the most part, and they want what’s best for their constituents. They listen to what I have to say about the candidates. Whether they act on what I say, though, I don’t know.”
The parade turned the last corner and reached the square. The carts jangled to a halt in a semi-circle facing the sea while the crowd spread out and around the square, rapidly filling it. On a small, covered podium erected in the center of the square, covering the pump, stood the Mayor and her Alders, all wearing their ceremonial robes, and Euan Holkenhill, round and cheerful despite the weather. The clouds over the sea were black and ominous. The rain still fell, thick and heavy. As everyone settled into position, some under umbrellas or tarpaulins but many simply accepting the weather and letting it batter them, Sal caught sight of one white face amid the dark throng: Kemp was watching from the sidelines, looking nervous.
Sal continued to keep a low profile, despite what Lodo had said and his own awareness that Kemp probably had much more important things on his mind. The bully was hoping to be Selected, Sal remembered. That meant more than getting even with the new kid in town.
A bolt of lightning struck nearby, followed by a crack of thunder that was frighteningly loud. Mayor Iphigenia stepped to the front of the podium. She spoke loudly and clearly, but Sal could only snatch the occasional word from the wind. She seemed to be promising to keep things brief and welcoming the visitors at the same time. The two Sky Wardens climbed down from their horses and, to much cheering and clanging, ascended the steps to the podium. They shook out their slicks, splashing the Alders, then made a big show of apologizing and shaking hands. Holkenhill embraced Centofanti with a broad smile.
“The young one’s name is Shom Behenna,” Lodo shouted over the storm. Rain had plastered his hair flat. Heavy droplets lay on his cheeks and forehead, occasionally joining forces to trickle down his weathered, tattooed skin. “Or something like that. It’s hard to read lips from this far.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Shilly shouted back.
“Neither have I. I wonder--”
Another lightning bolt split the sky and thunder boomed. The lead Sky Warden, Amele Centofanti, raised her hands to address the crowd, but her words were almost inaudible. She frowned and shook her head, and her younger companion put his hand on her shoulder.
Instantly, a warm, female voice was heard throughout the assembly.
“Our thanks to you, people of Fundelry, for your kind welcome. Your hospitality warms us, especially on such short notice. As always, we are glad to be here.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. Centofanti paused to acknowledge it before continuing.
“We are particularly delighted to bring one of your children home with us. Tait has traveled well with us as a journeyman, and we commit him to you as Selector’s assistant this coming year. His return gives us as much pleasure as it does him, and we are sure it will lead him to greater things in times to come.”
This time the cheer was louder and more prolonged. Tait, though, seemed uncomfortable with the praise; he shrugged off attempts to shake his hand and the embraces of two older people Sal assumed were his and Tom’s parents.
“Lastly,” Centofanti went on when she could, “there is something I must tell you. I’m sorry to keep you out here any longer than is necessary, but I know you’ll be as delighted as I am when you hear the news. This visit was put forward to coincide with an exciting development in this particular region of the Strand. Never before have I heard of anything like it, and I am proud to be part of it here, today. We are--”
Another bolt of lightning crashed down, seeming to crack the sky in two. It struck a nearby building, provoking a gasp from the crowd. The bolt was earthed safely, but it made Lodo frown. He stared at the building, as though its survival bothered him.
“We are not the only--”
A second bolt of lightning struck the building and Lodo gripped Sal’s shoulder as though he had just realized something.
“Look!” he hissed, pointing.
Sal squinted through the rain. The top of the building glinted in the dim light. He vaguely recognized it as the School building, the gleam on its roof coming from the weatherv
ane. It was this, clearly, that attracted the lightning.
But that wasn’t what Lodo meant.
The weathervane was pointing south--over the heads of the crowd and out to sea.
“We are not the only visitors you can expect to see today!” boomed Centofanti’s voice over the storm, even as Lodo tugged Sal and Shilly through the crowd, around the podium and toward the seaward edge of the square. The sky was rapidly becoming a constant sizzle of lightning, and the rumble of thunder continued far beyond what Sal thought was possible. But still the voice persisted. “We are just the vanguard, the welcoming party sent to make sure everything is in order! My friends, we are honored to--”
A barrage of electricity descended from the sky, along with a torrent of water and gale-force winds. Centofanti gave up and waved for the Mayor to dispel the crowd, just as the podium’s cloth roof tore away and vanished into the sky. The crowd began to disperse on its own, alarm over the power of the storm outweighing any patriotic fervor that might have remained. People scattered in all directions.
Lodo alone moved into the wind, dragging Sal and Shilly with him. He pushed them under cover behind a low wall, from which vantage point they watched the Alders getting drenched and the Sky Wardens’ horses whinnying in fear. The Sky Wardens themselves didn’t seem worried, though. The two blue-clad figures calmed the horses and led them out of the square, along the road leading to the beach, past the place where Lodo, Sal and Shilly were hiding. Holkenhill, the Alders and the Mayor followed them, looking as puzzled as Sal felt.
Lodo, Shilly and Sal stayed out of sight behind the wall until the group had passed. Then the three of them emerged and followed, keeping off the road and using the low dunes as cover. As carefully as they could, they peered to see what the Sky Wardens were doing.
They were heading for the sea. The storm had whipped the water into a feral rage unlike anything Sal had imagined in his wildest nightmares. But that wasn’t what first caught Sal’s eye as he turned his gaze further southward.
The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Page 23