Magesong

by James R. Sanford

  "Sure I can."

  "Good. We have to go quickly now because the sun will be up again in only a few hours."

  She blew out the candle on the table, and they went out into the moonless night, their footfalls heavy under the load they bore.

  The gate leading to the narrow lane between the farms creaked louder than it ever had, and their neighbor's dogs, which had never once barked at Syliva, growled and yipped at them as they passed. Then, at the same time that Jonn said, "I have to get a new grip on this barrel," and set it down to do so, Syliva saw a thin figure in the lane walking straight at them.

  They had been seen already and now there was nothing for it. Her lying and her ruses had caught up with her, and now it would be so much worse. No one would ever again believe anything she said or take any kind of cure from her. The truth would look like a clever lie to cover their crimes, and Taila and her cronies could now do what they wanted — punish Jonn and Aksel and even Syliva herself with a public whipping, or burn down their house and banish them from the valley, or worse. Kurnt and all the others would feel so betrayed that they would let them do it. And then, because it had been her — one they had trusted with their very lives — they would lock their doors and turn against one another anyway, and when winter came there would be thefts and killings. All because she thought she could restore trust with a white lie.

  "Syliva?" A woman's voice.

  She threw open one of the shutters on her lantern and saw who stood before her.

  "Kestrin! What are you doing here?"

  "My father can't sleep. He's having a little pain and I've run out of . . . what have you got there? Hey, that's our cheese barrel under Jonn's arm."

  Syliva snapped shut the lantern cover. "Shhh, quiet," she whispered. "Here, take this sack and come with us. I'll explain on the way."

  "Are these Plinna's turnips? What does this mean?"

  "It means that everyone who had food stolen is getting it back. Now hurry along. You'll see when we get to the campsite."

  They walked in darkness toward a thick part of the west woods. When Syliva told her about Aksel and the fenwolf fever, Kestrin said, "It's just like you always described it to me; it hides itself well until the last. Good thing you caught it before he turned violent." Syliva looked at Jonn and said nothing about the raving and the attack. The disease had already taken too much of her husband's dignity.

  And when they reached the campsite and Syliva opened the lantern fully to show Kestrin the ruse, she said to her young protégé, "Do not blame me too much for this. I regret starting this deception, but now I must go through with it to avoid making it worse."

  Kestrin looked at her wide-eyed. "Blame you? If you had told me sooner, I would have helped."

  "What you must think about me when I am the one who stood at that meeting yesterday and called for us all to trust. You see, I lied to everyone because I did not trust them."

  "You lied to everyone because you did not trust a few, the few who were not behaving like valley folk,"

  Syliva breathed out heavily. "I still feel like I owed them the truth."

  Kestrin's eyebrows came closer together as she straightened. "You don't owe these folk anything, Syliva. Most of them are good and deserving, but it is they that owe you."

  Syliva smiled and patted her on the shoulder. Kestrin meant well with her words, born from the fire and ignorance of her youth as well as love and pride for her teacher. But Syliva could not let herself think that way.

  "Hopefully, in the morning," she said, "all debts will be paid."

  It was almost noon, actually, before Kestrin and Syliva could assemble Kurnt, Taila, Celvake, Plinna, and Yothan, and lead them deep into a thick woods of pine and aspen northwest of the village. When they got to the campsite they simply stared for a long minute.

  "I told you there was a thief," Taila said.

  Kurnt looked at the mound of earth, then to Syliva and Kestrin. "The two of you buried him all by yourselves?"

  Syliva calmly looked into his eyes. "We would have cremated him on the spot if the forest wasn't so dry, since he had died with all the signs of a bad fenwolf fever. He couldn't have been dead for more than a day, but I didn't want to risk his filth getting into the air around here." They all nodded in approval. "So we did what we had to do."

  "You should have come and got me to do it," Kurnt said.

  "Well, when Kestrin and I came across him, I figured we had already been exposed to the fever and there was no sense in anyone else being here until we got him under the ground."

  Yothan squatted at the fire pit in the middle of the camp. "From the amount of ash in here, I'd say he's been here two or three weeks."

  Celvake crawled into the crude lean-to. "I wonder why he built this out of old dead sticks instead pine branches?"

  Because you would notice that they were freshly cut, thought Syliva.

  "He forgot to steal a hatchet," Kurnt said.

  "Who knows?" Kestrin added. "No doubt he was crazy with fenwolf fever."

  "Crazy enough to steal our food and live at ease in our forest," Taila said. "It was lucky for him that he died. What did he look like? A Southerner I'll bet."

  "That's right," Syliva said. "I think they're all Southerners in those mines up north. He must have come from there. His hair and beard were long and tangled, and his shoes had holes in the bottoms."

  Plinna pointed to the far side of the clearing. "What's under all those rocks?"

  "I don't know," Syliva said.

  Looking like they expected to find something grim underneath, Kurnt and Yothan cleared the stones away.

  “There's some thick, fairly straight tree branches," Kurnt said.

  "They're covering a pit," Yothan said. "Now I see. It's almost a little cellar. Hey, all the stolen fish, and a lot of other things too. I think all the stolen food is in here."

  They all crowed around the pit and hauled up the kegs and sacks and baskets.

  "I think you're right," Kurnt said. "Everything seems to be here. Could it all be full of fenwolf fever?"

  "It looks untouched to me," Syliva said. "And the fever doesn't spread like that anyway. I wonder why he didn't eat any of it."

  "He was probably too sick," Kestrin said.

  Celvake shook his head. "Poor bastard."

  "What do you mean?" Taila said. "Don't you think he deserved what he got? He could have been a murderer as well as a thief."

  "Maybe so," Celvake said. "Poor bastard."

  They then gathered up what belonged to them, and each one returned to his home, and family cares, and worries about famine, and laughter with friends. And the yeggman stayed buried in the forest.

  CHAPTER 15: The Sound of the Depths

  Reyin lay in soft sand when he awoke, the morning already bright and warm. He took a swig from his waterskin, stood, and saw the full breadth of the place where they had at last slept. In front of him lay a wide beach of fine white sand, and all around him towered the ruins of a once-great ancient city. Massive obelisks covered with indecipherable glyphs rose from the center of collapsed pavilions. Strange elephant gods looked down from their altars in abandoned temples. Roofless halls, marked only by their surrounding stone columns, lined avenues long buried by shifting sands. Huge archways stood crumbling at the entrances of the silent rubble-littered squares. And above them all loomed the gigantic pyramids, their jagged sides cut with steps twice the height of a man. He tried to think of what could have destroyed such a place.

  Farlo sat up and blinked. "I don't remember seeing any of this last night. How did you come to lead us here?"

  "I'm not really sure. I guess I just knew that there were no city walls facing the ruins. I wonder if the watch comes out this far?"

  "Naw. Everything valuable has already been looted. Got anything for breakfast?"

  Reyin shook his head. "We could dig for clams along the beach."

  Farlo emptied the sand from his shoes then jumped up and patted his belly. "No fruits of t
he sea for this old salt. I need a heavy gut-sticking meal after yesterday." He thought for a moment, then said most innocently, "I think I'll go fill the waterskins. There must be a well on this side of town."

  "What about the watch? Don't you think they'll be looking for us?"

  "Not really. But the one with the lantern got a good look at you, so we'd better not take a chance. You stay here."

  When Farlo had gone, Reyin began quietly wandering through the ruined city, picking his way around hills of rubble that had once been houses, baths, or monasteries. The weird came upon him then. Something nearby . . . just . . . a feeling. He followed the sensation through a maze of square columns, and it led him to a half-ruined mosaic floor in the center of a circle of dunes. He could see enough of what was inlaid there to recognize it. The symbol of the dragon, the sign of the Unknowable Forces.

  He swept the floor clean with his hand and sat in the middle to begin the meditation. There was no time; there was only eternity. There was no space, only infinity.

  Then he stood on a rocky mass surrounded by a dark, raging ocean. The dragon looked down on him, its scales shining like thousands of silver mirrors, its sapphire eyes burning with a cold and inhuman fire.

  "I seek insight," Reyin said.

  The dragon lifted its wings. "Time is long, and time is short."

  "What must I do to gain the return of the great elemental?"

  The dragon was silent. Far away, lightning struck the spirit sea.

  I know that my will matters not to the Unknowable, Reyin thought, but it is my time to be answered. Weary to the point of anger, he held back nothing as he spoke the Essian Tongue with all his art.

  "Now shall be revealed to me by sight and word all knowledge of the imprisoned Aevir."

  The dragon belched fire then held forth the crystal orb, and Reyin saw reflected therein a large round chamber lined in white masonry. The windowless room lay barren except for six tall altars standing in a circle. Atop each of five altars sat a strangely-shaped object, one carved of gemstone, another made of bronze, another of clay, each one singular, each an artisan's masterwork. The empty pedestal of the sixth altar was inscribed with a four-point star.

  Yes, Reyin thought, they were all still imprisoned. Why did the dragon show him this? He must have mistakenly used a form that called for a vision of them all.

  "What place is that?" he asked.

  "The shine inmost of those who would forge a new Essa."

  Reyin nodded. "Those who call themselves The Supplicants of the Final Grammarie." Then it struck him. "They have found five of the six elementals? They hold them now in that tower of theirs? All but the one I seek?"

  The dragon breathed smoke from its nostrils, and Reyin felt heat and power wash over him.

  "Why do you not show me the last Aevir?"

  The dragon showed him its fangs. "E'alaisenne, it is named. And a true magician shall find it."

  "A true magician — that is what I seek to be. But what is the way to the Essa. How can I atone with it?"

  The dragon leaped into the sky and thundered away. "Listen to the deepness," it called in a voice that echoed fire.

  Farlo returned to find him standing at the edge of the water, staring at the breaking waves.

  "It makes a sound," Reyin said, still looking out over the water.

  Farlo nodded cautiously. "Sure. It makes a sound alright."

  "It says a word."

  "It does? What word is that?"

  "The ocean speaks the sound, Essa, the word we give to the life force of magic itself."

  "Look at this," Farlo said with a nervous smile, "I've brought some food."

  Reyin turned and noticed for the first time that his companion held a small crate. Farlo threw back the dirty piece of covering cloth. A large brown pie, enough for five hungry sailors, lay in the bottom next to a pair of roasted chickens.

  "I hope you didn't steal it all in one place."

  Farlo tore off a chicken leg. "Not from anyone who'll go hungry for it," he said, taking half the leg in one bite. He pointed at the pastry, saying while he chewed, "Potato pie, a Jakavian specialty. Really good — ever have it before? No? Just wait till you bite into this."

  "No. I'll not be eating for the next few days."

  "Because I nicked a pie?"

  "No."

  "Look, even the folk we left behind in the valley have something to eat, at least for now. And we agreed to keep our strength up."

  "Farlo," Reyin said, looking directly at him. "I know what I'm doing and I'll not speak of it again." And before Farlo could answer him, he turned and sat cross-legged in the sand, facing the sea.

  He sat there all that day. He still sat there when the fierce winds that arose at night drove Farlo to find shelter in the ruins, and he still sat there when another day dawned.

  In the heat of noon, Farlo took him some water and told him, "If you don't put on a hat, your head will bake like a ham in this climate."

  He drank the water and declined the hat.

  On the third day Farlo went out to him and said quietly, "What are you doing?"

  "Listening."

  Reyin had not looked at him.

  "Do you know what day it is?"

  "Today is Fireday."

  "Tonight is the night, my friend, and you are sun and wind burned, and weak from hunger. Are you really going to be fit to do this."

  "More than I have ever been."

  Farlo sighed. "Well it's about time to go and pick up your new clothes. All the shops close at noon on Fireday."

  Reyin finally looked at him. "You go and get them. I will stay here."

  "But what if it doesn't fit right? There won't be enough time to go back for a last minute re-fit."

  "If it is, then it will be," Reyin said, turning back to the ocean swells.

  Farlo didn't return to the ruins until early afternoon. Reyin still sat at the edge of the sea.

  "I'm back," Farlo said coming up behind him. "The tailor was quite put out that you hadn't come to try the suit. I think he changed color when I told him to tie it into a bundle. Do you want to see it?"

  "Not yet."

  Farlo tossed the bundle down. "Well there it is whenever you want it. And by the way, do you even know when this social affair starts? Maybe you should get up and go now in case it begins early."

  Reyin sat silent for the length of three long heartbeats, and when he spoke it was at a distance. "I will know the moment."

  Mumbling something unintelligible, Farlo stomped back across the beach to sit on a granite block in the shade of a fallen monument. He took out his knife and whetstone and began sharpening — those two things he had not offered to the pawnbroker. He worked slowly and meticulously, honing the blade to a razor edge and stropping it. Reyin at last rose to his feet.

  The ocean was at low tide, revealing a wet shingle littered with bright seashells and kelp. Tiny crabs skittered out of his way as Reyin walked down to the water. There he removed his clothes and waded into the breaking surf, stopping when he was knee-deep to scoop up handfuls of sand. He scrubbed himself with the fine white sand in a ritual way, then went out into the deeper water to let the dying waves rinse him clean.

  Farlo stood waiting for him when he came up from the sea, his new clothing laid out on a glyph-covered slab of obsidian. He sat and let Farlo help him with the padded and embroidered hose, then the light woolen leggings. They hadn't had enough money for new boots, so Reyin stepped into his old worn pair and stood. They would have to do. Farlo handed him the white linen shirt and tied the cuffs for him. The sleeveless doublet of wine-colored velvet came last, Reyin fastening the silver buttons while Farlo laced it to his hose with silk ribbons.

  "I want you to stay here," Reyin said. "I'm only going for a look, so there's no point in you waiting outside the estate. And if the night watch came across you, you know what that would mean."

  Farlo nodded thoughtfully. "I agree."

  "What, no argument? I'm surprised."
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  "No. You're right this time."

  "Alright," Reyin said, picking up his mandolin case, "it might be midnight before I return. I'm not going to try anything tonight, so just lay low till then and don't worry."

  A lone guard stood at the garden gate of Airen Libac's town house, a garland of flowers around his neck. The signs were clear to one who knew the secret ways of looking and listening that this place at this moment was crossed with many lines of destiny. Reyin approached hesitantly, expecting Jasso Correnan to leap out and tell him that it was all a mistake and to go away. But he saw no one other than household servants darting busily from house to garden arranging the last details of the gala event. When Reyin showed him the pass, the guard let him in without a word.

  The garden was large for a town house and not at all what Reyin had expected. Instead of the usual statues and fountains connected by wide cobbled walkways leading past flower beds, the Libac garden was truly a garden. There was an open area next to the house where a long table set for dining rested under a red and white canopy, but beyond that lay a maze of exotic plants, tropical flowers, and unfamiliar trees bearing strange fruits. Behind a low hedge carved into the shape of a castle, a wooden platform provided a stage for two jugglers.

  Libac's guests began drifting out of the main house to wander in the garden, and Reyin hurried to introduce himself to a thin man with a high forehead, apparently the director, who was telling some acrobats where to place their equipment. Turo turned red in the face when Reyin explained that Jasso had asked him to play in his stead.

  "I suppose you're here now," the director said, "and you are properly dressed. What are you going to play?"

  "Twilight on the Sea of Heaven."

  "And after that?"

  "That's all I will play."

  Turo frowned. "You'd better know a dozen variations."

  "I think I can play for an hour without repeating myself."

  "Very well," Turo said, seeing that the acrobats stood ready, "Sit here until they serve dinner, then stand . . . hmm."

  A plain-looking fellow in a dark suit walked past them.