Shan was aghast. ‘You are not allowed in there! What are you really up to?’
A muffled grunt came from behind an adjacent clump of shrubs.
‘Don’t you three move,’ Shan ordered, and went to investigate the shrubs.
Curses began to drift to them until Shan dragged forth the dishevelled figure of Grib, Lorak’s second in command.
‘They Dragons pushed me in there,’ he complained bitterly. ‘Asked me for a drop of old Lorak’s beverage they did. I told ’em no, and I’m stuck in they bushes for ’alf a morning!’
Soran had arrived in time to hear Grib’s words. With an admirably blank expression, he turned to the three Dragons who were now fidgeting guiltily from foot to foot.
‘It is a serious matter that you assault our gardener,’ he began. ‘It is also a serious matter that you ask him for something quite unsuitable for you, and which he quite correctly, refused to give you. You will return to the guest pavilion and your mother this instant. You will tell her what you have done, and I,’ he fixed each with a firm look, ‘will shortly visit Hani to be sure you have told her all.’ He folded his arms. ‘You will apologise to Grib before you go.’
Apologies made, the Dragons made their reluctant way back to Hani.
‘They don’t mean no real ’arm,’ said Grib, watching Ikram’s tail sideswipe a small bush. ‘They be so full of energy and it do turn to mischief too easy.’
‘I know Grib,’ Soran smiled. ‘But they must not get into the habit of pushing people into shrubberies.’
Grib crammed a misshapen article onto his bald head and stumped off, muttering to himself.
‘And I fear I will have to move with caution for the next few days,’ said Soran ruefully. ‘They have ways of causing no end of minor “accidents” we have discovered, to our cost!’
As the four walked on, Soran added: ‘Another scroll came through the circle. From the Stronghold. Lady Ryla has already asked a Merig to relay a message to Lady Tika in Sapphrea.’
‘Not bad news?’ Shan asked.
Soran shrugged. ‘The Dragon Lord insists that Lady Tika keeps away from Lord Rhaki for the time being. That was only the first message though – there seemed to be a great many papers in the tube but the Wise One and Lady Ryla did not say anything to me about them. No doubt they will tell you later,’ he smiled at Jilla and Bagri.
‘Would it be possible for me to see how your Guards train, Soran?’ Bagri asked.
‘Of course. We can go now if you wish.’ Soran looked questioningly at Jilla who shook her head.
‘I’d prefer to stay out in these gardens,’ she said.
‘You go,’ said Shan. ‘We will meet later for the midday meal.’
‘You cannot imagine how amazing this is,’ Jilla said softly, turning right round on the spot.
‘What is?’
‘Our Circles are large: we have farms and woodland and open spaces. But always, in whichever direction you look, there is the high rim of the craters encircling us. Here, I can see so very far and there is no wall to block my view.’
‘But the walls have kept you safe?’
Jilla sighed. ‘They have indeed. Generations of us. But now, with this affliction among us, I had begun to wonder if the walls had not turned into a trap.’
Chapter Thirty
It was with enormous relief that Ren caught his first glimpse of Oblaka in the distance. Oblaka was both the name of the Order’s House, which straggled across the high clifftops, and the name of the small town sheltering behind those cliffs. He and Voron rode into the town just after midday.
For the first time in six days, they had ridden past small fields, some already showing the green stitches of sprouting plants. The fields were bounded by sturdy hedges to keep the northern winds from blasting tender new shoots. They saw children tending small flocks of sheep and goats while their parents repaired damage to roofs and fences caused by winter storms.
Nearing the town, they found chickens scratching alongside the trail until the trail became a stone paved roadway at the town’s edge. Oxen swayed past, heading out to the fields, and donkeys tip tapped inwards with bundles of firewood strapped to their backs. The people in this town were markedly different from those Ren and Voron had seen in Valoon. Women shook rugs and blankets from their doorways or upper windows, and smiled if they caught the eye of either of the travellers. Men passing in the street nodded and murmured a greeting.
‘Why so different from Valoon?’ Voron asked in puzzlement.
‘Because of the Order’s presence here, I would think,’ Ren replied.
They reached a square open area in the centre of the town and Ren led them down one of several side streets. They soon found themselves beyond the last houses, winding up a switchback route towards the clifftop. Climbing the final gradient, they saw a low, one storey building ahead with many further buildings apparently tacked on as had become necessary.
Three white robed Observers walked across the front of the first building as Ren and Voron reached the summit. A narrow door in the centre of the building opened and Babach strode towards them, his hands outstretched in welcome.
‘I am most relieved to see you both,’ he exclaimed while they dismounted. ‘Let us take the horses to the stables and then you can have a meal.’ His braided beard twisted in the strengthening wind off the sea as he showed them the way.
The Oblaka was an unusual place: buildings seemed to be joined to each other, then passages and gaps suddenly appeared between them, completely separating different blocks of the structure. Babach swerved down one of these narrow ways, turned right, then left, and they were in a stableyard. A half grown girl came running when Babach raised a hand.
‘Care for these as well as I know you can.’ Babach smiled at her.
She returned his smile and, after Ren and Voron had removed their packs from the horses, she led the animals off across the yard.
Babach plunged them once more into the labyrinth of open passages and covered ways, eventually opening a door to reveal a general dining hall. Voron and Ren sat at a table close to a window while Babach vanished into what they hoped were the kitchens. While they awaited his return, they looked out of the window.
‘I could have sworn we were at the back of the house,’ Voron said in surprise, staring at the vast expanse of sea.
‘So could I,’ Ren agreed. ‘I wonder if they give maps to visitors?’
Babach reappeared and sat between them.
‘A meal will be here in a moment,’ he said. ‘Keep that shield around you a little longer Ren. There are unwelcome eyes and ears here, I have discovered.’
Ren’s stomach lurched at the reminder of just why he and Voron were here.
‘We think someone tried to reach us the night before last,’ he told Babach.
The old man nodded. ‘When you have eaten, I will take you to one of the more distant cottages. An old friend – I think I may have mentioned her to you Ren – has offered to accommodate you two as well.’
A man came through from the kitchens wearing an enormous apron and bearing a loaded tray. Babach watched Ren and Voron reach eagerly for the food.
‘Would either of you happen to be able to cook?’ he asked.
Ren waved his fork at Voron. ‘He is really quite good. Anything I try is a total disaster.’
‘Aah,’ Babach smiled benignly on Voron. ‘You will be a great asset in our little cottage then, as neither I nor Chakar can cook a single thing.’
Ren found he was not as hungry as he had thought. He was nervously anticipating what Babach might have to tell them. Babach patted his arm.
‘Do not go searching for worries Ren, they will find you quite well in their own good time.’
Ren did not find that a very comforting remark but he did his best to switch his thoughts to their surroundings.
‘I have never been here before Babach. I have visited three others of our Houses, but to the east and the south.’
Babach tugged
his beard. ‘I grew up in Oblaka. My mother was an Observer here.’
Ren and Voron stared at each other, finding it difficult to imagine a young Babach, with a mother. The same thought struck them both at the same moment and they turned to Babach.
He chuckled. ‘You are thinking how could an old Observer become a mother? Well, my mother was made Offering when she was younger than either of you. She had shall we say, a strong difference of opinion with the Sacrifice. She decided to resign her position rather than be retired from it and came here to live, far removed from the Menedula. I was born a few years later.’
Ren began to feel queasy. ‘Who was Sacrifice at that time Babach?’
Babach’s silver eyes with their faded blue pupils gazed at Ren steadily. ‘Cho Petak of course. Ren, you were supposed to be concentrating on the history of the Order: you must have worked out just how long Cho has been our Sacred One?’
There was a most unusual hint of bitterness in Babach’s last words. Then he dropped the subject to speak instead of Oblaka.
‘Legend has it that Dalena, Sedka’s wife, was born somewhere around here. That even as a small child she had a great affinity with the land. Stories are still told, here at least, of birds and animals coming to her quite fearlessly. Tales of her healing powers, which she freely used for any who asked. She bred different strains of corn and a hardier form of bean, called by her name to this day. She left here to seek new plants, and it was on those travels that she met Sedka. They had a daughter, born in Sedka’s Meadow, whom they named Myata. When Myata was old enough, Dalena sent her back here where, so it is believed, she began the building of this House.’
Babach watched Voron take the final chunk of bread from the tray.
‘If you spend much time here among the Observers and students, you may notice that they call on Dalena and Myata more frequently than on Sedka.’
‘Students? Here?’ Voron’s question was somewhat muffled.
Babach smiled. ‘Yes, there are students here. Students who have never, and will never, set foot within the Menedula.’
He stood up. ‘If you have eaten enough, shall we go?’
Ren hoisted his saddle bags over his shoulder and followed Babach. The old Observer’s words had not calmed him in the slightest, quite the opposite in fact.
Once more Babach dived into the maze of outer passages and inner corridors until they found themselves right outside the complex of buildings that was the Oblaka. The sea was to their left as they followed a narrow path along the cliff, pushed and buffeted by the sea wind. A sharp turn to their right and a steep downward flight of stone steps brought them to a sheltered hollow eerily quiet as the roar of the wind in their ears suddenly ceased.
A tiny cottage squatted at the bottom of the steps: built of the same dark stone as the Oblaka and with a slate roof. A short central chimney sent up a neat line of smoke until it reached the height of the clifftop and the wind tore it to shreds. Babach led them to the cottage and they saw that the hollow opened out further to their right, revealing a vegetable plot and a pen holding two black goats. A hen scrambled under the old man’s feet as he opened the door for Ren and Voron.
Both younger men noted the thickness of the stone wall as they went through the door. It was apparent at once that most of the single storey dwelling was taken up by this first room. A fire glowed in the hearth, a kettle hung above it and a small oven was set into the side of the chimney. Papers, books and scrolls littered a table while a large frying pan occupied a chair.
Along the windowsill sat a row of pots. Several held pale leafed plants which had put forth minute delicate blue and white flowers. Although so small, their heady scent filled the room. Shelves stretched across the wall separating the main living room from what Ren assumed would be their host’s bedroom. Jars and boxes were crammed on the shelves with odd pieces of rock, shells, dried flowers, and a stuffed owl.
Babach crouched by the fire, poking at it until it began to blaze. Voron and Ren exchanged glances. It seemed a trifle cramped if four people were to be living here for any length of time. Ren shrugged and put his bags on the end of a long bench beside the door. Voron was doing the same with his saddlebags when the inner door opened.
A tiny woman stood there. Her hair was white as frost but hung in a still-thick braid over the front of her shoulder. Her eyes were silvered with pupils of darkest green. Unlike Babach’s white robe, she wore trousers and jerkin like Ren and Voron.
‘Voron can cook,’ Babach announced at once, clapping Voron on the back.
‘Well that’s a relief,’ the woman said drily. ‘I am Chakar, and as you are Voron-who-can-cook, you must be Offering Ren Salar?’
Ren bowed to the woman.
‘I thank you for extending your hospitality to us, Observer Chakar,’ he began. He stopped, mouth open, as the stuffed owl dropped onto Chakar’s shoulder and nibbled her ear. Huge eyes blinked alternately at Ren.
A smile tugged at the corner of Chakar’s lips. ‘This is Sava. He fell from his nest when only a few days hatched, so I became his parent.’ She moved toward the table and picked up a book while Sava extended his wings hurriedly to maintain his balance. ‘It has its drawbacks,’ she continued. ‘He refuses to go away and be a proper owl. I suggest you bring your bags and we will show you where you will be staying. Then you can allow your shielding to lapse Ren.’
Ren and Voron retrieved their packs in some confusion but followed Chakar to the inner door. As Ren had surmised, there was a narrow bed in the much smaller room, yet more shelves overflowing with odd relics and papers, and a faded rug covered the stone floor at the bedside. Babach squeezed in behind Voron and closed the door, grinning at the expressions on their faces.
Chakar touched a smaller stone, set slightly aslant in the wall, and a floor slab silently dropped a fraction then slid sideways out of sight. Chakar smiled at her new guests and, with Sava still on her shoulder, climbed down a ladder and vanished below the floor. Babach waved at Voron to follow, then Ren.
The space below was even more cramped than the room above and the fading daylight filtering down revealed they were in a small cellar. Judging by the smells, various root vegetables and fruit preserves were stored here. Ren and Voron could just see Chakar again touch a stone in the wall and a row of shelves swung away from them. At the same time, the slab closed smoothly over their heads. As it did so, Ren felt a tingling pass over and through him.
Following Chakar, he saw with disbelief, that he was in a large room – far bigger and cosier than the rooms above. The room was lit by oil lamps and a fire. Chakar met his eyes.
‘The fire here is connected to the one above – as you guess. And your shielding is not needed now. Mine is permanent in here. So, welcome to my home.’
Emla was inconsolable for some time after she heard of Alya’s dying words. She had known that her brother had committed despicable and loathsome acts while he was the Guardian of the North. But she had not truly believed, in her innermost heart, that he was irretrievably flawed and her brother no longer. Now she did. She was grateful for the wordless sympathy offered by Maressa and Kallema. They also gave her the strength to put aside her grief and fury to concentrate on how her knowledge of Rhaki might possibly be of use.
When she finally felt able to function calmly once more, she requested that she be permitted to send word to Gaharn and the Stronghold, outlining her conviction of Rhaki’s involvement in the affliction besetting the Vagrantians. It was three days after Alya’s death that a scroll appeared from Kera in the North.
Now Thryssa sat with the Speakers and councillors while they discussed the import of this latest message. Emla sat beside Thryssa as guest of the High Speaker. Alya’s chair remained empty. Emla was careful to keep her thoughts hidden when she saw Thryssa for the first time since Alya had died. The High Speaker’s dark red hair seemed more liberally speckled with white, and black shadows ringed the hazel eyes.
Kera’s news of the arrival of a giant bird from a la
nd on the opposite side of this world was amazing enough. The information Babach sent concerning the large numbers of his people who suffered the same symptoms as the Vagrantians, was terrifying. Babach was as mystified as they were by its appearance and growing prevalence in his land of Drogoya.
The papers from Kera had been copied by Cordivan scribes and now lay spread across the council table.
‘Dessi seems adamant that there must be some cause, or source, in Drogoya. Kera says she will not be moved from this opinion. And Dessi herself writes,’ Emla paused to scuffle through the many papers until she found the one she wanted. ‘Dessi writes that she thinks something like Gremara’s screams for her Dragon Lord could have come from Drogoya, triggering this illness in both lands. She says she thinks Rhaki’s mind may have amplified, relayed, or distorted the mind scream from Drogoya.’
Emla looked up from the paper and around at the faces turned to her.
‘I have told you of the deaths and damage caused among the people of the Domain, Gaharn, and even Sapphrea, when Gremara had her last outburst. I believe Dessi is on the right track, but someone has to trace the source in Drogoya. So far, Kera has not sent a reply to this Babach. I suggest you, we, compose a letter, setting forth Dessi’s ideas, and while we try to deal with Rhaki here, Babach takes action in Drogoya.’
Orsim of Kedara, Jilla’s father, stirred. ‘Is there no way of approaching Rhaki, and asking his forbearance?’
Lashek answered before Emla could speak. ‘Some are born, as we must surely remember, who have no morality or forbearance within them.’
The earth mage appeared unusually sombre, but Emla knew that five cases had been reported from Segra Circle this morning. All of them with red eyes.
Orsim sighed. ‘You are right of course Lashek. From what Lady Emla has told us of Rhaki, there would be little point in trying to appeal to a better nature which blatantly does not exist.’
‘What of this child of whom you have spoken, Emla?’ Kallema murmured the question. ‘Tika was her name I believe. You say she joined minds with a Great Dragon. Is she not able to do something about Rhaki? She is close to where he is living at this moment is she not?’
Vagrants: Book 2 Circles of Light series Page 32