Keesha looked pleased by this answer. After a moment, he continued. “Coden and his party rejoined the ferryshaft who’d gone with Pathar. They fled over the cliffs, along the beach, and back to their caves on the southern plains. The war went poorly for them after that. Coden’s mate was killed—a thing that must have broken him; he loved her so much.
“Coden died one night in fall—the night of that famous hunter’s moon. The rains had come again. The rivers had risen, and I believe he was trying to reach Kuwee Island to see whether it might be used once more as a sanctuary for the desperate ferryshaft. The creasia had all-but trapped them in their caves. They were starving.
“Coden never reached Kuwee. The story goes that Arcove chased him and killed all of his companions. Coden fled and hid for three days before the creasia caught him. I dared to send a telshee pup into the rivers of Leeshwood, just to see if we could do anything. My spy did catch a glimpse of Coden crossing a river. He had the Shable with him at that time, which is why I’m surprised that you found it in Groth.
“Coden and Arcove fought on Turis—a high rock on the cliffs above Leeshwood that overhangs the sea. I’m told it was an impressive fight, but the outcome was certain. Shortly before that fight, Arcove killed Lirsy—Coden’s only surviving foal—as Charder was trying to bring her to me for protection.”
“Charder,” muttered Storm. He’d made himself comfortable in the loop of Keesha’s body. “He’s the one who surrendered to Arcove…and agreed to his terms?”
“Yes,” said Keesha. “Charder didn’t have many choices by then. I don’t think he can be blamed for what happened.”
“You haven’t seen those raids,” muttered Storm.
“Tell him what happened after Roup talked to you,” prompted Shaw. “Tell him about your…singing.” She grinned.
So Storm told Keesha about his flight from Roup on the beach. He told him about his telshee song, which met with great amusement. He even told them how he ultimately escaped—a thing which he’d told no one else. He talked about his friends, his sister, his mother. He talked about that terrible evening when Arcove and all his officers had appeared and chased Storm out onto the plain—how he’d run all night through the dark and rain and had ultimately been trapped against Groth.
“It’s often called the Ghost Wood,” said Shaw quietly.
“Pathar took me there once when I was little,” said Storm. “He said that those who drink from the plants dream the future, but that’s not what I dreamed. I dreamed of a meadow and a wood where the dead played. And I saw Coden. He asked me whether I wanted to stay, and I said no, and then…somehow I followed him out into the real world. Everything hurt, and half the time I was seeing double. I couldn’t walk straight. All I wanted to do was crawl back into one of those plants and go to sleep. But he kept calling me, and I followed him…and he led me to this old, withered plant with the Shable in it. Then the ely-ary grabbed me.”
Keesha and Shaw looked at each other. Storm glanced between them. “Do you think he was real?”
Keesha didn’t answer.
“Well, you found the Shable, didn’t you?” offered Shaw. “I still wonder how it ended up there.”
“Did he say…anything else?” asked Keesha.
Storm was tempted to invent something comforting, but couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Not much. I can’t remember very well. It’s all jumbled together in my head.”
“That’s the Ghost Wood,” said Shaw, “trying to make a ghost of you.”
Storm looked at Keesha. “That’s all I’ve known, Syra-lay. All winter—just running and hiding and trying to understand.” He laughed. “And everyone trying to make a ghost of me. Even my own herd.”
Shaw snorted. “If you can baffle Arcove, a few ferryshaft elders won’t stand much of a chance.”
“I didn’t exactly baffle him,” said Storm. “I would have died if you hadn’t sent the ely-ary.”
“Perhaps you would have been better off,” muttered Keesha.
Shaw looked at him sharply. “Keesha!”
Keesha sighed. “Forgive me. At my age, one has seen history repeat itself too many times. But not always. Sometimes something new happens.” He shook himself. “Shaw will show you the cave of histories. That might be of interest to you. You’re welcome to live in Syriot if you like, but I’ve never been able to interest ferryshaft in that proposition before…not even to save their lives.”
Storm shivered. The idea of living in this chilly, damp, shadowy place was not appealing. Already, he missed the sun intensely.
“You are welcome to anything I have,” said Keesha. “In time, I will be able to help you a great deal. But not yet. For now, you must let me sleep.” He straightened the loop of his body, and Storm slid back into the water.
Shaw raised her head. “The lishties have been aggressive these last few years. We could really use your assistance.”
Keesha shut his eyes. “I told you: I am composing a song.”
Shaw’s voice grew exasperated. “Telshees are dying…”
Keesha’s eyes snapped open. “And they died under my leadership fifteen years ago.”
Shaw’s head drooped.
“I think rather more died than if you had been in charge,” Keesha continued.
Shaw looked dejected. “Are you punishing yourself or the rest of us?”
Keesha shut his eyes again. “I’m not punishing anyone. I am composing a song. It is almost finished. Then I will come and help you. I am not ready to sleep the final sleep, no matter what the rest of Syriot thinks. In the meantime, you are more than capable of doing whatever can be done about the lishties.”
“I have never heard of a song that required fifteen years for composition,” muttered Shaw under her breath.
Keesha didn’t answer.
Chapter 11. Death and the Cave of Histories
Shaw spoke very little as they made the long trek back up to the more populous caves above. Storm, too, was lost in thought. He did miss the sun. He wondered, for the first time, how Sauny must have taken his death. He hoped she had not done anything foolish. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. Is it still spring? Summer? Surely I can’t have been down here all the way into winter! But it felt like an age since he’d smelled fresh wind or tasted grass.
“Shaw, you’ve been more than kind, but I think I need to go home now. Did I…did I do what you needed me to do?”
Shaw shook herself. “Yes, Storm, you helped. The things Keesha told you…he’s never spoken of them since the war. I know this is difficult for you to understand, but, for Keesha, the war was not so long ago. He’s been asleep for most of those fifteen years. The friends he lost, the enemies he made…that all seems quite recent to him.”
“Will he wake again?” asked Storm.
“I think so. I wasn’t sure for a while, but after listening to the way he spoke to you…yes, I think he will. He’s planning something. I don’t know what, but if you can stay alive until he’s finished, I think you’ll find you have a powerful ally.”
Storm smiled. “I think I already do.”
“You mean me?” Shaw snorted. “I’ll try, Storm. It’s been all I can do lately to keep our eggs and pups safe and to continue our training rituals. Speaking of which…I agree that you should visit the Cave of Histories. It might interest you or at least give you a reason to return. Afterward, I or one of the drove will gladly show you the way to the surface.”
Storm did see the Histories, but only after he’d had a rest and a fish and a drink of fresh water. Shaw provided him with these things in what was clearly her sleeping cave. Telshees at home were not solitary creatures. Storm dozed between two pups, who couldn’t have weighed much more than himself. The gentle, melodic hum of contented telshees filled the labyrinth of tunnels. When Storm woke, Ulya was there with orders to show him around.
She took him through a baffling series of winding passages. Once, they had to ford an underground stream with a ceiling so low
that Storm could barely keep his nose above the water. When they arrived at last, Storm was not surprised to find himself in an enormous cave with walls covered in writing. He was not even surprised to find it partially flooded with sea water that moved like the ocean. He was a little surprised to find it flooded with daylight, as well.
“We’re near the surface,” Ulya explained. “This cave is a deep column. At the top, you would find an opening in the cliff face of the Garu Vell. The water won’t reach the top, though, even at high tide, and only sheep could reach it from the outside.”
Storm clambered onto one of the many rocks that jutted out of the water. The soft sunlight showed more colors than the acriss glow to which he’d become accustomed. The rippled walls of the cave were surprisingly beautiful with bands of umber, red, yellow, and pink stone. The stick-lines of telshee words covered them. Storm squinted. Beneath the lines of writing, he could see things buried in the stone itself—shapes of ancient bones and sea creatures.
“This cave already contained a history,” said Ulya softly, “even before we chose to write here. Some of the bones in the walls look like nothing that has swum the seas in living memory.”
Storm focused on the writing—thousands of words, running up and up the walls. “How…?” he began.
“In the beginning,” said Ulya, as though she were reciting a lesson, “telshees wrote in the sand with their bodies—short messages, washed away by the tide. Later, they left pebbles in the shapes of words, and this was better, but still temporary. Finally, they discovered that some rocks left marks on other rocks. They studied such things until they identified the best materials for leaving lasting marks.
“Here, in the cave of histories, we go a little further. Upon reaching ten years of age, each telshee must trace each word in this cave. She takes a stone in her mouth and traces the lines. In this way, she learns the history of her people, and she makes the marks a little deeper. We have done so years without number until the old marks are very deep. Most telshees perform this ritual again on their first returning to Lidian. If they leave and return three times, they are permitted to add their own words to the histories, and pups will trace them for ages to come. It is difficult to write in stone, so we choose our words carefully.”
Storm turned in a slow circle. The undulating walls of the cave, covered in undulating lines, were mesmerizing. He could see that the marks near the bottom were worn deeply into the water-polished rock, whereas the marks became fainter farther up. Ulya followed his gaze. “We started at the bottom,” she explained. “One can only reach the upper levels at high tide. There are a couple of other caves where we write as well, but this is the oldest.”
“Is everything you know written in this cave?” asked Storm, a little awed.
Ulya laughed. “Not everything! That would take too many words. It would be too difficult. We sing to each other, and that is how we learn. But these are the Histories—the things that happened to us and to Lidian. Some of the Histories are difficult to understand—just a few lines from a single telshee to account for all the deeds of her long life. Some of the words at the bottom have become confused, and we’re not sure what they mean anymore. But we keep tracing them in case, one day, we need those words.”
Storm felt small in the presence of so much wisdom. “Shaw said that ferryshaft used to write, but I don’t think we ever wrote like this.”
“Maybe not like this,” said Ulya, “but you had caves for writing. Shaw told me that the ferryshaft used to collect a stone that made marks on the rock of the Red Cliffs. They kept their words in cool, dry caves to the south. She said that the creasia filled in the caves after the war and scattered the rocks for writing.”
Storm gave a bitter sigh. “I suppose that makes sense. They don’t want us to remember anything.”
Ulya watched him. “What has been done to your people, Storm…it has never been done to an intelligent species…not in all the histories written here on these walls. It can’t last. The creasia will suffer for it.”
“I hope so.”
“You can stay here as long as you like. If you need me to explain anything, I will do my best.” She’d become less shy on their journey, and she seemed immensely proud of the cave.
“How old are you, Ulya?” asked Storm. “Have you traced these words yet?”
“I traced them last year.” The little telshee was practically preening. “That’s why Shaw wanted me to show you. It is a great honor to trace the Histories. It means that I can leave if I wish, but I am not ready. I do not know enough songs.”
Storm smiled back at her. You’re more than twice my age, but you’re more of a foal than I am. Telshees live at a different pace, I suppose.
“Can I come back another time, Ulya? I miss my herd…and I have forgotten what it feels like to be dry.”
Ulya laughed. “I hope to never be dry. Of course, you can come back. You can come and stay if you want. Shaw said that ferryshaft won’t live in Syriot, but I don’t understand why.”
“We’re creatures of the sun and wind and plains,” Storm tried to explain. “It would be hard for us…in the dark and wet.” He thought for a moment. “Do we have to come out in the Garu Vell?” For the first time, Storm felt apprehensive about his return to the mainland. “That’s in creasia territory.”
“Oh, no,” said Ulya, “Shaw said to bring you back to her before you left, and I think she’ll send you out onto the northern plains. The Garu Vell has several entrances to Syriot. It’s not really creasia territory, but it’s right against the Southern Forests, so I understand why you wouldn’t want to leave that way.”
We’ve got a long way to travel, thought Storm. He was beginning to feel impatient. I’m alright, Sauny…Mother, Tollee, Valla, Tracer, Leep… Even Kelsy! I hope you haven’t done anything stupid in my absence.
By the time they reached Shaw’s sleeping cave again, Storm had almost changed his mind about being deposited in the Garu Vell. “Just send me to the surface,” he told Shaw. “No one will be looking for me. No one will know I’m alive. The herd will be down by the lake, so I’ve got a long run ahead of me no matter where you send me out.”
Shaw frowned. “I didn’t save your life only to send you carelessly into harm’s way, Storm. Let us at least put you out of our caves somewhere far from Leeshwood.”
So, they started north with ten other telshees. They slept and woke and slept again. Shaw seemed in no great hurry. She asked Storm more questions about his herd and the current state of life among the ferryshaft. Storm tried to answer patiently, but he did not feel patient. Let me go, Shaw. I’ve done what you asked. Now let me go.
Storm thought of what he would do when he left the caves. He felt fit enough. All the walking and swimming had restored the tone of his muscles. Even his fur had grown back. I’m more than three years old, he thought. In less than a year, I could even take a mate...
He was so intent upon plans for his return that he wasn’t paying much attention to the behavior of the telshees. Consequently, Storm could not have said when they stopped talking and the tone of their humming changed. He did notice when the acriss dimmed. Suddenly, the tunnel—half filled with water—grew much darker. Several of the telshees hissed. Shaw stopped abruptly and whipped a loop of her body around Storm. It caught him off guard, and he almost panicked, half smothered in white fur. There was a cry and a confused sound of thrashing from the front of the party.
Shaw’s coil tightened. Storm thought it was involuntary and gave her a kick to remind her of his presence. “Shaw, what’s happening?”
She didn’t answer, but scooped him up abruptly in her mouth. Storm gasped. He didn’t dare move amid her teeth. Shaw shot forward faster than he would have believed possible. Storm got a glimpse of a side passage surrounded by telshees struggling furiously, but he couldn’t tell what they were fighting.
Then something shot out of the water right in front of him. Storm thought at first that he was looking at a small telshee. It was
long and pale and somewhat like a seal. It did have white fur, although patches were missing. The skin beneath was almost translucent. The eyes that focused on him were green…green and slitted and slightly filmy. Storm was so terrified that he couldn’t breathe. The creature looked dead. It even smelled faintly of death.
The dead thing opened its mouth, pale lips peeling back from bloodless gums. Storm saw that it had another set of needle-sharp teeth behind its incisors. He got a very good view, as he was on eye-level with the creature, due to his position in Shaw’s mouth. The lishty hissed.
Shaw dodged backwards with blinding speed, and Storm felt his neck snap painfully forward and back. The lishty’s strike missed. Shaw brought a loop of her body around the side of the creature even as her head dodged back. She caught the lishty behind its own head, pressing it down into the water. Her coils closed in an instant, and the water roiled as the animal thrashed beneath. Storm heard its back break.
Then they were racing on up the passage so fast that Storm felt wind on his face. Shaw did not slow down or set Storm on his feet until they’d left the water behind and zigzagged up a dry tunnel. Storm knew they must be near the surface. They went up steeply for a time, and then, at last, he saw a shaft of sunlight ahead.
Shaw stopped. She placed Storm gently on his feet and then leaned against the rock, panting. He knew she was exhausted, because she didn’t even hum. Storm himself was shaken. “Shaw?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you alright?”
She squinted at him. “Better than that lishty.”
Storm shuddered. “Was it even…alive?”
Shaw’s lip curled in an expression of disgust. “That’s a topic of debate. They can talk, although they don’t do it often. They don’t sing. They are very difficult to kill. I’m not even sure that I killed the one in the tunnel, although it will probably die of its wounds eventually.”
“Its wounds…?” repeated Storm. “You broke its back!”
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