He offered Kalas a clipped nod, then put on a smile as the pair joined their peers.
5.
“Oh, that’s right,” said Vàyana, and disappeared within the Sanctuary. After a minute or two, she reappeared with Tàran’s belongings. Without a word, she offered them to Kalas, who hesitated just a moment before accepting his father’s pack.
“Uh, thank you, shâu,” he said, somewhat numb.
He allowed himself a moment, then, remembering the translucent object within, rifled through tanned skins and stale rations until he found it. Kalas held it up to the suns, let their light filter through it, and studied the symbols scribed upon its surface. Here, under the open sky, the item consumed rather than reflected the suns’ rays just as it had back in his grandfather’s study: this time, however, as its internal filaments pulsed with absorbed solar energy, some of the symbols shifted or disappeared, revealing a separate arrangement of markings in between either side of the leaf.
“Did you see that!” he shouted as he turned the sheet over, examined its other side.
“See what?” said Zhalera.
“Look! Look!”
He held it out for everyone to examine. Zhalera studied it, squinted, tried to discern the source of Kalas’ excitement but couldn’t.
“It looks like it did before. I think. Mostly. Doesn’t it?”
“It changed! These pictures—markings, glyphs, whatever—they changed!”
“Did they? I guess I don’t remember what it looked like.”
No one else present had seen Kalas’ not-paper before, though Falthwën took an interest. Tzharak glanced at his breast pocket, then somewhere—anywhere—else.
“That’s what you and Tàran discovered in Wodram’s study? I believe you mentioned it. May I see it?”
Kalas handed the object to the cleric, who ran his eyes across its surfaces, held it up to the light and tilted it much like Kalas had. He furrowed his brow, closed his eyes and poked and prodded. His lips moved, but he made no sound.
“Interesting,” he said at last, having opened his eyes. He handed the item back to Kalas.
“Do you know what it is? what it says?” he asked.
For a moment, Falthwën said nothing. Though his eyes remained opened, flashed a brilliant green in the waning suns-light, Kalas sensed he was somewhere else—maybe somewhen else.
“The writing—I’m pretty sure it’s writing—is familiar, somehow, but I can’t read it. Not now, at least. Maybe I could have, once, before…but no more.”
“Doesn’t it look like those symbols on…uh…yeah, never mind…” Kalas blurted before catching himself. He felt his cheeks burn. Falthwën only chuckled.
“Yes, it does—they do. I had the same sense then, too. In a way, it’s maddening, feeling like something’s right on the cusp of your conscious perception, only to have it slip away without resolution. I spoke to you of privilege before. Of restrictions. My inability to understand these words (if they are words) is, I believe, one such restriction, and, maddening as it is, I trust there’s a reason for it. A good reason.
“But come, let’s discuss what happens here while the rest of us are away.”
On their way to the chamber deep beneath the Sanctuary—the Temple, Kalas remembered—most everyone said nothing, although Rül couldn’t refrain from expressing his surprise:
“What is this place? It’s always been here? What’s this Randa pïni Sharumilël?”
Kalas and the others did what they could to bring him up to speed.
“That’s…that’s a lot to take in! Sounds like a story my grandfather might’ve told! Who else knows about this place? This…Order? How come no one talks about this stuff any more? I mean, if this Sharuyan character can really help with crops, I’d bet even my father would make the trip—living on a farm and all, I know I would!”
“Just because the Lohwàlarrinme might have forgotten him doesn’t necessarily mean he’s forgotten them,” suggested Falthwën as they reached the last of the spiraled steps.
Invisible lights, tinted with subtle green coronae, whooshed into existence along the cavernous room’s perimeter as the old cleric ushered them inside.
“What was that?!” shouted Rül, his voice echoing throughout the almost empty space.
“Long story,” said Zhalera with a grin.
Shosafin disappeared into the flickering shadows, though he remained within earshot as Falthwën outlined his intentions.
“Tomorrow, before the second sun breaches the horizon, the five of us will begin the journey to Ïsriba, the four of us in the cart.
“Ilbardhën, though you’re free to move as you will, it’s my hope that you and Breaker will range the land around us and keep us informed of anything untoward you might discover.
“It will take us weeks should nothing unexpected happen; still, we should reach Ïsriba just as the leaves begin to fall.
“Vàyana, you’ll resume your administrative duties. Be mindful of anything out of the ordinary, as I know you will be. It appears the Fire managed to spare Lohwàlar the worser parts of Kësharan’s fate, and for that, I’m grateful! Its people are rebounding with astounding resilience.
“Tzharak, my son: Sàrush has been made aware of your bravery when the wolves fell, that it was you who summoned Sharuyan’s Fire. He’s been made aware of your command of Polohwàlar history as well. Become a mentor to him: you’ll find he’s dispensed with most of his former arrogance.
“Listen to The Song: let it guide you where it will. Learn from its rhythms; divine from its structure, its prosodies and counterpoints the signs and portents; and bear witness. Though I’m loath to admit it, there’s a dread woven within its melodies: subtle, but present.
“That’s enough, I think. Children, return to Zhalera’s place. Eat. Sleep. And expect me in the morning, when Nalënahwu sunders the darkness.”
Part II.
Chapter XI.
Away from Lohwàlar
L
ohwàlar disappeared in a rose-colored cloud of dust, the shape of its ancient temple glinting in the slant rays of the first sun’s rising light. South of Lohwàlar, the earth descended many feet toward the rim of the Empty Sea. Returning to town had always been an uphill climb—a minor one, but a climb nonetheless—and home had always been a constant. The road to Ïsriba brought them farther north than Kalas had ever ventured from his hometown, and seeing it shrink into the distance behind and beneath the road’s gentle slope punctuated his acute and overwhelming sensation of insignificance.
My world has been so small.
True to his word, Falthwën had arrived at Zhalera’s home within moments of Nalënahwu creeping into view. In silence, the four of them had wolfed down a quick breakfast, found their places in the cart, and—finally! thought Kalas—started for Ïsriba. Though for the most part Shosafin kept himself hidden, from time to time he steered Breaker across the cart’s path, let the party ken his presence, then dissolved into the surrounding dunes and scrub. He and Falthwën had shared a whispered conversation just before departing, but Kalas hadn’t been able to hear what they’d been discussing.
“He wasn’t wrong,” Rül remarked with a shake of his head. “Breaker is Mother’s best horse, meaning so long as she’s the one holding the reins, he’s the strongest, fastest creature on the farm. Sometimes—on good days!—I can get him to obey, but not like Mother. I’ll be honest: I’m more than a little jealous that he’s taken so quickly to Shosafin!
“It’s all right, though: Runner and Dancer make a great pair. Don’t you, fellas? You’ll get us to Ïsriba, won’t you?”
Runner and Dancer snorted, and Kalas laughed to hear the begrudging acknowledgment in their reply.
Though the skies were clear, the suns vibrant, the accumulation of hills and valleys eventually obscured Lohwàlar from view. As the leagues piled up behind them, the desert sands gave way to firmer, rockier ground: what had been mostly scrub grew into an occasional squat tree that dotted the landscape
here and there. After a few more hours passed in relative silence, the trees grew thicker, taller: more akin to the forest at the bottom of the Empty Sea, thought Kalas, who said as much.
“This is so different from home!” Zhalera agreed.
“Even out there, I always knew I’d be home in a day or two,” Kalas continued. “Part of what makes this so different is not knowing when we’ll be home…although I guess there’s not much of a home to return to now…”
The woods through which they traveled became denser still as shorter undergrowth thinned out beneath the spreading limbs of ancient, twisted oaks and maples, sprinkled here and there with pines and firs. Kalas looked up at the last rays of the first sun piercing the lofty canopy with faint, silvery light. A breath of cold air slithered across his skin. He shivered.
“Mister Falthwën?” said Rül as he reined in his horses. In front of them stood an immense ash, perhaps seven feet in diameter. The road split at its base. Long ago, perhaps, the faded sign tacked to it would have been legible; now, it seemed as though the tree had grown around the sign, swallowed portions of it within its ever-expanding trunk.
“To the right, Master Rül,” said Falthwën without hesitation.
“Couple days to the left will take you to Serular,” added Shosafin as he and Breaker appeared without warning. “Nasty place. Now, anyway.”
“Serular? What’s so nasty about it?” wondered Kalas, but Shosafin had already disappeared.
“That guy,” he muttered. Zhalera laughed.
“He’s not wrong,” noted Falthwën. “Anyway, what little light remains is burning fast. Perhaps an hour more—maybe less—and we’ll camp for the night. I don’t anticipate much company—probably no more than we’ve had all day—”
“We haven’t seen anyone—oh!” said Kalas as he realized the old cleric’s joke. Falthwën smiled and continued: “Still, I’d prefer to be…prepared, should the need arise. Off the main road a ways. Less visible.” He cast a glance in Shosafin’s approximate direction. “It sounds like you’re expecting trouble. Are we safe out here?” said Zhalera, her eyebrow raised.
“I’m not expecting trouble, Firebird, but one never knows. And ‘are we safe?’ No, my child, we are not.”
2.
At Falthwën’s direction, Rül drove his team down an almost invisible trail, forgotten over long years by all appearances. Roughly a mile from the main thoroughfare, he and Kalas set up camp. When they’d finished with the tent, the cleric informed Rül about a nearby stream. The farm boy nodded, grabbed a bucket, and disappeared into the woods.
Kalas’ eyes had adjusted to the weak light, but the weight in the air still unnerved him. In the desert, every variation in temperature conjured some suggestion of wind, whether a breath or a breeze; here, however, between these massive trunks and beneath this almost impenetrable shroud, the air seemed to hang, immobile, suffocating any noise and pressing against his ears. The forest at the bottom of the Empty Sea—the only forest he’d ever known until today—felt nothing like this.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” said Zhalera. Kalas jumped: he hadn’t heard her approach through the blanket of pine needles and leaves piled high atop the forest floor.
“The air,” she continued as though he should have known she was referring to his own unspoken thoughts. “It’s weird. Heavy, almost. Makes me miss the desert.”
“Falthwën,” she said, turning toward the old man, “have you been here before? I mean, how did you know where to turn? where to find water?”
“Not too long ago, in fact,” he nodded. “And you get used to the atmosphere. Eventually.”
Kalas dug a small pit and created a small fire at its bottom. With every turn of his spade, he remembered the joy in Gandhan’s face as he’d handed it to him. Sharp as a knife, its blade made short work of the thinner roots just beneath the ground. He tossed a few more sticks on the pyre when Rül stepped into the circle of light, his full bucket at his side.
“I thought I heard voices!” he hissed at Falthwën. “Somewhere down the stream, maybe. I don’t know—sound is weird in here.”
“Voices, you say?” said the cleric with an arched eyebrow.
“Yeah! Well, that is, maybe. I don’t know, really. Could’ve been voices, could’ve been the stream, I guess. Like I said: sound is weird in here.”
“That it is, my child. That it is. Still, it wouldn’t be bad form to keep alert. I suspect Shosafin is evaluating our perimeter, but Kalas: let’s keep the fire low tonight, yes? Now, the three of you: eat, and get some sleep. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Wake me when it’s my turn,” said Kalas as he spread the smoldering elements of his fire. Falthwën nodded, his eyes twinkling from within—or maybe from the still-flickering fire light.
After a quick meal, Rül, Zhalera, and Kalas retreated beneath the shelter of their tent.
It’s amazing how tired I am when all I did was sit all day! acknowledged Kalas as an unexpected fatigue swept over him. He blinked, looked over at Zhalera (who had already fallen asleep); at Rül, whose shoulders heaved with slow rhythm in time to his subtle snoring; and, through the flap that served as a door, at Falthwën’s back. The old cleric had seated himself a few yards from their tent, his staff across his lap.
Something like a rising prickle against his senses gave him pause just moments before Shosafin, sword drawn, stepped into the dying fire’s feeble glow. As he turned to address Falthwën, Kalas thought he caught a glimpse of something red (or maybe black) along the length of the warrior’s blade. He turned, however, and obscured Kalas’ view.
“The ‘voices’?” Falthwën whispered with a nod toward Shosafin, who said nothing, only wiped his blade with a handful of pine needles before returning it to its sheath.
“It would appear, then, that you were right. At least now we know.”
3.
“Kalas!” Zhalera whispered as she gave him a gentle shake. “Kalas! Wake up!”
“What? Where—Oh! Right! I’m awake, I’m awake!” he insisted as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Here, eat while Rül and I pack up. Falthwën says we need to get back on the road soon.”
She thrust a handful of golfras bread toward him, then disappeared. Kalas chewed with mechanical indifference as he recollected his thoughts from the night before. Having finished his breakfast, he exited the tent and looked around, wondered if—there! His eyes locked with Shosafin’s, and Kalas found himself wholly unsurprised that the grizzled warrior seemed to be waiting for him.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to no one as he approached the man.
“Master Kalas,” he nodded.
Kalas said nothing, just held Shosafin’s inscrutable gaze.
“No questions, then?” the soldier said at last.
“Maybe one,” confessed Kalas as his eyes flicked toward Shosafin’s sheathed sword. The first sun had almost crested the horizon: precious few of its rays pierced the depths of the forest; some, however, glinted red from the steel poking out of Shosafin’s scabbard.
“That’s more like it!” he smiled.
“Did you…whose voices did Rül hear?”
“The other day I told you all I was something of a misfit in queen-regent Ësfàyami’s court. ‘Misfit’ might not have been the most appropriate epithet. In simpler terms, I don’t belong there. Not anymore.”
“What?! Why not? From what I’ve seen, you’re the best—”
“Oh, I belong in King Rufàran’s court. Not Ësfàyami’s.”
Kalas said nothing. After a while, Shosafin laughed and continued: “There’s a peculiar strength in you, lad! You have new questions—or perhaps you’ve reached a point where you’re willing to ask other questions you’ve been harboring for some time now. Let me give you a brief history of Ïsriba, see if that answers at least some of them!
“Sevens ago, before Queen Helëstal died in childbirth with Ësfàyami, Ïsriba’s sole heir, I joined King Rufàran’s servic
e as a soldier, as was…expected of me…
“I was young and inexperienced, but I quickly learned the ins and outs of service, and within a few years, I’d distinguished myself as someone who followed through, who got things done. Most officers—certain nobles, mostly, appointed by other nobles—didn’t like the sight of a low-born cur rising so swiftly through the ranks, and I knew it. Yet every task they assigned, every trial they put me through only strengthened my resolve to demonstrate my worth.
“It must have worked, because King Rufàran himself took notice of me when I wasn’t much older than you. I think it was because the other commanders were so put out with how well things appeared to be going for me—hence the nickname. The king assigned me to his personal security detachment; within two Sevens, he appointed me his chief bodyguard. Helëstal, his bride, had died three years prior, and her unexpected death broke something inside of him. In his grief, he gradually ceded more and more authority to his counselors—not all of whom, I realized too late, had the kingdom’s best interests at heart.
“One of their shrewder machinations was to replace the child princess’ caregivers and instructors with people who shared their aspirations. It was a long game, to be sure, but they played it so well, so flawlessly…
“In time, the king sought to shrug off his grief and requested I and a handful of others join him on a hunt. One of his lords had heard tales of huge wolves in the nearby forests, and perhaps now you’ve understood what drew me to Lohwàlar. Still, there’s more to tell.
“Ësfàyami had reached her first Seven. In hindsight, her handlers had already hooked her with their claws, but again, I didn’t realize it at the time. Though young, she had already become a favorite of the court by her own merits, and her people loved her. I can still remember her expression as the king and his detail departed the courtyard: then, I thought her eyes were cold because her father was going somewhere without her. Maybe that was it, in part, but there was more, too.
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