Reit secretly thought the tales were laughable. Having long since become disillusioned with such superstitions, he found them interesting at best, distracting at worst. But it was that very superstition that he hoped to employ. If the Crafter willed it, the Earthen Rank might find Caravan’s proximity to the cursed forest distasteful enough to leech the urgency out of their chase.
To the east, a raven cawed, and flapped its way across Reit’s field of vision, its black body silhouetted against the white of the snowcaps in the distance.
A raven. A omen of good portents in some cultures, evil in others. Reit followed its flight until it disappeared into the trees again, and he couldn’t help but wonder. If he had been a superstitious man, how would he view the flight of the raven?
***
The day passed slowly for Nestor. Every hour a new trail would be discovered, and his granites would chase the trail like bloodhounds on a scent, only to be disappointed when the trail inevitably doubled back on itself and returned to the camp. Each disappointment chiseled at the dyke of Chief General’s confidence, weakening it against the torrent of doubt it held back.
Though he could not see the day darkening, he could feel the chill creeping into the air, and saw the pale blue circle of the moon rising through the white sky above the treetops. Night was coming, and fast.
When he couldn’t justify putting it off any longer, he called the Granite Guard to camp. The stony eyed mages reluctantly left off the chase for the time being and made their evening preparations. Nestor’s magical sight took in the scene as the troop began building their invisible fires, and suddenly he was overtaken with the desire to see the fires as normal men did, the red and orange flames flickering chaotically, throwing back the shadows of the coming night. He found his hand creeping, almost of its own volition, toward the pendant that hung from his neck, and he jerked his arm back smartly.
“Stress?” asked the voice behind him sweetly. It was Jaeda. “My joints do that sometimes, when I’m stressed. I can’t tell you how many times I had to pop my knees and elbows in the Spire, just before a big test.”
“Wouldn’t you be stressed?” he answered none too pleasantly as he turned to face her. “I’ve got the very Vicar of the Crafter demanding that I, personally, bring him the head of the rebellion, and all I have to show for my efforts thus far is an empty meadow with a veritable rabbit warren of auric trails that lead nowhere.”
She cast her eyes slightly downward and nodded. “Yes, he is quite demanding at that. He desires the near impossible, and expects that we lowly granites can deliver.”
“My dear, that borders on blasphemy,” Nestor murmured, taken aback, though he couldn’t tell whether it was because of the young woman’s nerve, or that her concerns mirrored his own.
“Absolutely not, Chief General,” she said, unruffled. “I’m simply stating that the Vicar of the Crafter will, in his wisdom, see that if we produce nothing from this most righteous charge, then the Crafter Himself willed that there was nothing to produce.”
Nestor stared at her for a long moment, taking her in. He’d imagined her many times, what she would look like through eyes of flesh. He could see the tight yellow curls of her hair as pitch black, her yellow-accented cheekbones instead hidden beneath her creamy brown skin, her full orange lips as painted ruby red, according to the fashion of unmarried Mandiblean women. He could also see her strength, her self-possession, though he needed no natural eyes for that. It was in her stance, in her words. Though many women resisted the granite malaise, Jaeda did it with such determination, such courage, that it could be easy to imagine her standing against even the Highest. So strong, that woman, so full of life. And so dangerously clever...
“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement, Lieutenant,” he said carefully, emphasizing her rank to bring a note of formality on the conversation. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish with that, whether to stem her growing tendency toward insubordination, or to insinuate that her suggestion would be kept in confidence, as among professionals. Either way, it seemed right to him, if only to let her know just how uncomfortable such conversation made him. “But I will not give up the chase so quickly.”
“Of course not, Chief General,” Jaeda said just as formally, though Nestor caught the sneaky hint of a twinkle in her blue-black gemstone eyes.
***
Jaeda yawned as she stretched her back, working out kinks that only fourth watch could deliver. She could see her watch partners on the far side of the encampment, slumping in various stages of catatonia. None were asleep, per se, but they definitely fell short of being fully alert.
So much the better.
Taking a cue from her compatriots, she leaned back against the thick trunk of a bitterbark tree, and slumped in apparent relaxation. Looking up, she picked out one of the fist sized bitterbark fruits that hung above her head. Focusing on the fruit’s stem, she wielded. The stem turned to ash instantly and the fruit dropped to the ground beside her, its thin rind cracking almost all the way around. She picked up the fruit, pried the fruit open, and pinched out a bit of the melon-like innards, letting its sweet tang work its way over her tongue as she cast one more glance at the other watchmen. Satisfied that she was unobserved, she placed her bare hand on the ground and wielded, her hand melting into the earth.
She was careful to shield her probes, lest any of the nearby granites feel her use of mana and grow curious. She felt nothing, same as when she tried to locate Gaelen earlier in the day for Chief General Nestor. She wouldn’t have told the puppet of the Highest if she had found Gaelen, but it was disappointing all the same.
Well, maybe “puppet” was a bit unfair. Misled, perhaps. The man was clever, more so than most granites. She’d expect that from any man who was more than twice her father’s age, but almost never from a granite regardless of how many seasons they’d seen. But clever though he might be, Nestor was oblivious to the “wrongness”, for lack of a better word, of the Highest’s rule. She had always felt in her heart, even before she’d been cursed with granite magic, that no one man should rule the world. No one man had that much love in his heart, save perhaps the promised messac’el. A man long ago prophesied, the Heart of the Crafter was said to be loving, kind, longsuffering but just, merciful, and of good humor, having come once before Ysra tuk'sheol, and promised to return. Of course, the Way of el contradicted the Highest’s claim to be the Vicar of the Crafter, so he’d outlawed the practice of the religion and put a bounty on the head of every priest of the Way. It had been the Crafter’s own hand that had saved the scant few that remained, and even now the outlawed faith thrived in secret.
A familiar twinge broke her from her musings. A tingle, quite faint, beckoned her from the northeast, just on the near side of the Icebreaks if she was any judge. She reached out to that tingle with her mind, and wielded.
The aura she sensed winked out for a moment, then blinked twice before returning steadily. She smiled.
Are you alright? she said, her magic pulsing out a code that very few people knew.
Yeah, just exhausted, came Gaelen’s tapped reply. Why don’t you call the dogs off, huh? I’m getting tired of carrying wagons and cattle and people over miles of open air.
I can’t suggest that kind of thing to the Chief General yet, but I’m working on it. Have you spoken to el’Yatza?
No. Been too busy. I’ll see if I can get an audience with him in the morning before the lift.
Good. And tell him thank you in advance for keeping my confidence.
Of course. A pause. You know, Keth—
She sighed, and wielded a jolt that cut her brother off. She could almost see him jump in surprise as the ground suddenly heaved under his hand. Served him right for trying to play matchmaker. For the last time, no! How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t need to be romantically involved right now? I can do just fine on my own, thank you! And besides, I am a granite, which means he might try to question me. He has to learn how to w
ield Granite on his own. Anything I tell him might slow his progress, and frankly I find the things he’s discovered to be quite fascinating. This Sal person must have really been a good influence on him.
Well, he was something, that’s for sure. I never actually talked to him, but for some reason he occupies my mind quite a lot. Almost as if I’m drawn to him.
Gaelen, that’s sick.
No! Not like that!
I’m kidding, you flea-ridden minta’hk.
Oh. Right. Anyway, I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about him, a kind of pull that all the mages here feel but don’t really notice. Only reason I did is because I started thinking about him as often as I do Hali.
The tailor’s daughter? Seems I remember you mentioning her once or twice...
Yes. My betrothed. So glad you remembered her.
So the stranger reminds you of your betrothed, does he? This conversation just keeps getting worse...
Anyway… he tapped pointedly, giving Jaeda the amusing impression that he was not amused. That’s why most of us in Caravan don’t believe that he’s dead, because the pull is still there.
Well, whatever the man does, if he can inspire a new granite who’s bent on murder to embrace his “curse” the way Keth has, he can’t be all bad.
Sure you don’t want to discuss this with Keth personally?
Yes, I’m sure. Ask me again, and I swear by the Crafter Himself that I’ll bring you before the Tribunal of the Sands for Malicious Acts against a Granite Guard.
You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. The Tribunal supports arranged marriages.
Right! And I’m the older sibling here, am I not? My petition to have YOU married off would be more widely respected than any you could bring. And since your betrothed is currently unavailable, I could always fix you up with one of my old friends from the wharf. I’m sure Hali won’t mind. Marriage of necessity, and all that. Perhaps that nice sapphire that was training as a shol’tuk adherent? She always seemed to have her eye on you...
You wouldn’t dare!
Wouldn’t I? Greta knows our tap code as well as you do. It wouldn’t be too much trouble for me to—
Alright, alright. No to Keth.
Thanks. By the way, where are you headed tomorrow?
East, to Aedenlee. We’re trying to reach the River Rhu’sai, a river that flows out of the mountains on the western edge of Aeden’s Lost Garden. Reit says that we can ride the Rhu’sai all the way to Bastion.
Jaeda gasped in sudden inspiration. A thought, wholly unbidden, formed in her mind. It was vague at first, but crystallized faster than she could pulse. Gaelen, pay close attention. This is what I want you to tell Reit tomorrow...
***
Reit stumbled, half asleep, from the wagon he and Delana had called home for so long. Again, she had disappeared with the dawn, leaving only his breakfast warming by the fire to let him know she had even slept there the night before. He was just waking up enough to miss her when she came around the corner.
“Oh good, your awake, love.”
“Barely. Nice to actually see you once in a while,” he said, his grin belying the bite of his words.
“Absence fertilizes the soil of the heart,” she said, quoting Unending Seasons, the sacred writings that formed the basis of her native Plainsfolk philosophy. She pushed gently past him and scooped up his bowl from beside the breakfast kettle. “Sorry to rush you, but there is somebody you have to see. Besides me,” she added, cheerful but firm, in answer to his suggestive look.
“What’s it about?” he asked, his mirth evaporating as crumbled eggs and bacon floated on invisible hands from the kettle into his bowl. She didn’t generally rush him into anything, so if she was so intent on getting him to see this fellow promptly, he thought it wise to go along.
“You’ll see when you meet him. You know... on second thought,” she added, pausing long enough to dump the contents of Reit’s bowl into a hastily produced linen handkerchief, “maybe you should eat on the way.”
***
Reit congratulated himself on making it all the way across the village without spilling crumbled eggs down the front of his jerkin. He was just scooping the last crumbs into his mouth when they reached a small tent, somewhat tattered by the abuse of the last few days. A young Mandiblean amethyst sat at the entrance, stirring the ashes of last night’s fire.
“ el’Yatza,” the young man breathed as he and Delana approached. He hastily dropped the stick and stood, brushing his hands over the more dusty parts of his leather breeches. It didn’t help much.
“Please, we’re alone,” Reit said, shaking out the linen square of his breakfast ‘plate’ and stuffing it into a pocket. “Just call me Reit. My wife said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, el-ahhh, Reit,” he stammered before righting himself. “My name is Gaelen o’Tobin.”
“I know the Tobins. Fine people. Distantly related to Senosh’s tribe, as I recall.”
“Very distant, sir. About five generations back, I believe. My lord—”
“Reit,” he reminded gently.
“Reit,” the young man corrected, “I need to talk to you about my sister, Jaeda. She’s a Granite Guard. No, wait, it’s not like that,” Gaelen said, palms up in pleading as Reit started.
Reit looked in disbelief at his wife. “You knew about this?”
“Just hear him out, love,” Delana insisted.
Reit stared at her a moment longer before finally taking a seat across from Gaelen. “Alright. If it’s not like that, what is it like?” he asked cautiously.
The young man licked his lips nervously, then followed Reit’s lead and sat down, Delana joining them to the side.
“Perhaps I should tell you a little about myself first. My sister and I were orphaned very young. I don’t even remember how it happened. We were found by Tribe Tobin, and they adopted us.
“The elders of Tribe Tobin are faithful followers of the Way of el, and the tribe awaits the Heart to this day. We felt the call of el on our lives as well, so much so that I joined the priesthood. I was a Minister and well on my way to Low Deacon before I left to join you.
“Jaeda felt the call too, but she ascended to the Granite Tile before she could enter the sistry. She tried to reject the magic, but quickly found out that nothing short of death would come between her and Granite. She would have preferred death, too, had it not been for the precepts of el concerning suicide.” Gaelen’s face grew pale with the telling, and his voice faltered as he added, “The Highest’s men were quite... persuasive. She left for the Granite Spire the following morning.”
The young amethyst fell silent for a moment as he struggled with the memory a moment, then cleared his throat and went on. “She would write to me from the Spire. They have this special ink that they use so that their writing is more visible to granite eyes. To me, it looked like liquid silver. I thought it was so beautiful.” He smiled at the reminiscence, his gemstone eyes taking on a far-away glaze. “We eventually worked out a code so that we could talk to one another without having to wait on letter carriers. It was a variation of the drum code.”
“A code?” Reit asked, his interest piqued.
“Yes. The drum code is one that the tribes use to communicate over great distances. The number and duration of beats spell out words, almost like script.”
Reit nodded impatiently. He’d long known the drum code, and had even entertained the notion using it himself, but the forests of the Vale had proven too thick to allow the beats to carry more than a few miles.
Gaelen pressed on. “Well, in one of her letters, she wrote, ‘Sometimes, I miss you so much that I can almost feel your presence, my brother. Touch the ground each sunset if you feel the same.’ Now, I had no clue what she meant by that, but that was nothing new, as she often wrote cryptic messages in her letters, to hide her true meaning from prying eyes.
“I was out hunting spiral-horn deer in the greenlands just outside of Deitrich that next eveni
ng. I was crawling through the tall grasses, hunting with my spear instead of magic, as Tobin custom demands. I spied a beautiful three-foot spiral buck, and was just about to spring when I felt a... ‘nudge’ is the only way I can explain it. It was as if the ground under me pushed back.
“I panicked and stood up, prodding the dirt with my spear. But there was nothing in the dirt to prod! I stood their for a moment, then crouched low again, pressing my palm back to the ground.
“I felt another nudge—quite insistently, I must say. Then I remembered what Jaeda had written in her letter, and for lack of any better ideas, I tapped the ground twice, as the elders would a drum, the replaced my hand.
“She was so overjoyed that her idea worked. I was too, once the initial shock wore off. We’ve talked nearly every day after that, using the old drum code to tap out messages to each other.”
Reit latched onto this with the ferocity of a starving man. “The drum code... can anyone use it?”
“No. Only mages, and one of them has to be a granite.”
“Good enough, good enough. Delana, will you go tell Keth that I—”
“Oh, no, el’Ya—errr, Reit! Please don’t. Jaeda would just as soon you keep this in the strictest confidence, for Keth’s sake. She’s afraid that any help she gives him in his mastery of Granite would ultimately hurt his ability to teach himself. If you wish, you can teach him the code itself, but Jaeda asks that you do not suggest to him how he might use it. Let him figure that out on his own.”
Reit swore an oath that made Delana perk her eyebrows up, but he bit back any stinging comments he might have directed at the young Mandiblean. He could see the wisdom in Jaeda’s logic. Even Jaren and Menkal, the resident experts in all things arcane, were surprised with Keth’s growing skill. Who knew what kind of effect a single suggestion from another granite might have on his studies?
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