Leona thought of changing, of going up into the high air above the mountains to see exactly what was before them, to spy out the way. Something warned her against it. Whenever her thoughts turned that way, some better part of wisdom councelled patience. She had to breathe deeply to fight the urge to find out. But no, she would not take up talons against whatever pursued them or the wings of the gryphon to lift her from this earthbound caravan. There might have been a danger aloft which she could not see but which something innermost warned her against. She had lived her whole life with these inner omens, too long to disregard them now, but they angered her and she chafed against them.
Day by day went by, until the month of sowing had come and nine days of it past when they emerged from a narrow passage betvtfeen two hills to find themselves at the beginning of a hard-surfaced road. The road simply began where they were, marked only by a wayside shrine to the Powers and a tall pole which carried the quartite bannerette, green, blue, red, and white. In the shrine stood a bell, green with age, and a leatherbound striker hung on chains. It was Eriden who struck it to send the soft, clamorous echoes booming away down the valley only to return once more augmented by wild trumpet sounds and a gentle thunder as of distant drums.
‘We have come to Orena, haven’t we, Lady?’ Bombaroba looked at her with renewed hope. ‘Some of the little ones should be washed so that people won’t think we are savages.’ He was off about his self-imposed duties in that moment. Leona merely sat upon her horse staring away down the road to the place where it plunged into and through the distant cliff beside glittering gates. There was no menace there, the menace was behind them, and yet…. If all had fled here and there were no way out except the way they had come…. Smiling ruefully she rodeon.
The road led south, straight as a hawk’s stoop, to the glittering gates. On either side the cliffs drew in, crowned with battlements and a sparkle of armour. The gates, barely wider than the wagons, went through tunnels which opened above into spaces full of engines of defense and a scurry of purposeful activity. There were three sets of tunnels and gates, a seemingly endless series of barriers before they came at last into the late sunlight of the valley escorted by a troop of guards who had met them upon the road.
These men and women had ridden up and down the train, examining each wagon, exchanging a few bantering words with the children, otherwise laconic. Their leader stayed at the head of the column, saluting Leona as from one warrior to another while begging her indulgence in following him. To her questions he replied with noncommittal words, inconsequential niceties. When they came through the final barrier, he dismounted and offered his hand, a courtesy which she disdained.
‘You were not surprised at our arrival,’ she said. ‘Were we expected?’
He gestured toward the pinnacles to the north, high above the valley. ‘You were seen many days ago, Lady. Those of the Sisterhoods already within the stronghold have told us who you are and whence you come. Your train is the last.’
‘The way behind us is closed?’
‘To any train like yours, so we believe. Would it were closed to all others as well.’
‘Then we are shut in.’
‘Surrounded, Lady. Orena is very old, very strong, hidden among its precipices. It has never been conquered. Neither has it ever been surrounded, until now.’
‘What forces are gathered against us?’
‘We will show you presently, Lady. My name is Hazliah, and I give you the welcome of the city. A place has been made ready for you, and the Sisters and children will be welcomed by their kindred.’
He mounted again, courteously, to accompany them, waiting patiently while the children were gathered together, counted, and placed in the wagons. The stony way through which they had come opened out into the greater valley, a day’s hard march wide, four days’ march ong, surrounded by cliffs two hundred man heights high or more. Before them it shone in spring green, fields on fields of emerald and early gold with a far shadow of blue flaxflower reflecting the sky against the cliffs. Rivers ran through the valley and away to the west where, Hazliah told them, they ran out through a water fortress and away to the southern seas. Beside the largest of the rivers, away to the west, stood Orena, white as alabaster, flushed pink in the evening glow, flags snapping from every tower and light flashing from many domes.
Where the stone-floored crevasse in which they stood opened into the valley, a wooden bridge crossed a chasm. Hazliah urged them forward. ‘The bridge will be raised at the evening bells, Lady. If we do not wish sparse rations and a cold bed, let us ride.’
They crossed the bridge, hollow clopping and creak of wagon, a distant ringing of bells sweet in the west, the bridge rising behind them to stand like a huge gravemarker upon the road. Leona shivered. ‘A wide grave, and lovely,’ she said to herself. ‘But if one may not get out, a grave nonetheless.’ She gestured Bombaroba forward to ride with her, needing the feel of something familiar beside her. ‘Even thou, Leona,’ she thought of this need. ‘Even thou.’
‘Do you see they all wear beads, Lady?’ the boy asked. ‘The soldiers say all their life can be read in their beads. The one in the middle of their belt is a birth-bead, in five parts, one for each parent. How may they have five parents, Lady? I have been told there are only two. The red beads are for learning, and they must have three of those, Lady, or they may not be allowed to be adults.’
‘You have learned a lot in such a short ride.’
‘I ask a lot of questions,’ he said comfortably. ‘I always do. The soldier teased me – I think. He said that since I do not have any red beads, they will not let me go about the city. Is that true?’
‘We will find out. I do not have red beads either, you see.’
‘Oh, of course. None of us do. Perhaps they will keep us all locked up in one place.’ He sounded unworried about this, and Leona smiled.
There were many small dwellings and hamlets in the valley, walled and protected as though each might be a minor fortress. In the city walls the gates were accommodating, though strongly guarded, with a welcoming host of Sisters just inside to babble welcomes and lead the newcomers away to long barracks which smelled of cooking. Soon there were only three of them left, Leona leaning against her horse with Bombaroba shifting impatiently at her side, and Hazliah politely still. Bombaroba was very hungry. She patted him, gesturing him away toward the food smells. She did not want to go into the lighted buildings, did not want to chat and greet and learn the names and habits of a thousand more people, a hundred more, even ten more. Above her the sky began to pimple with stars. Hazliah still waited.
‘Will you come with me, Lady? There is a small room in the near tower where you will find wine, food, a fire.’
‘Maps,’ she said abstractedly. ‘Charts of this region …’
‘If you like.’
She assented without speaking. Yes. A small room in which one might be very still for a time, a time without speaking or making any decision. Hazliah guided her with small gestures, a finger movement, a glance. Suddenly she was aware that he was anticipating her every move.
‘You can read my mind!’ she accused.
‘No. Only your feelings, Lady. Because we are kindred, you and I.’ He did not explain, and she did not really wonder at that remark until later. Then it gave her something to think about in the long night hours as she lay upon her narrow bed, watching the circling of the stars, listening to the dogs’ breathing and her own.
Hazliah returned in the morning, bringing with him a woman who introduced herself as Systrys, daughter of Ephraim the Archivist.
‘I am told you travelled with one who knew Ephraim,’ she said. ‘One who knew Nathan, sent long ago to bring Ephraim home. I have come to learn what I can of them, for Ephraim was a parent to me and Nathan was a friend.’
They breakfasted while Leona tried to recall all Jaer had said about Ephraim and Nathan. Closely questioned, she tried to remember bits and pieces from Jaer’s book, confessing at last, �
�I heard Jaer read from it; Medlo mock it; Terascouros question it; but I paid little attention.’ When she had said all she could, Systrys wiped tears from her cheeks and put her notebook away.
‘Something of what you say about this book strikes memory, Leona of Anisfale. I think it is the reference to the Girdle of Binding. I remember that; remember Ephraim saying something to me about it, years – oh, how many years ago. I will seek in the archives for it. If I find it, I will bring it to you. Until then, thank you for your words about my parent. I will set a light in the Temple in his memory, and one for Nathan as well.’
When she had gone, Hazliah said, ‘She is a fine archivist, she was a fine student. Ephraim taught her for many years before he left Orena, and she mourns him. As we may all be mourned if we do not see to our defences.’
Leona tried to look neither startled nor amazed when Hazliah took her to the cliffs in a little wagon which moved itself, which clicked and hummed through a long, lighted tunnel; which Hazliah called a car. ‘Very old,’ he said. ‘Built by the builders of the city itself in the time of the wizards.’
On the cliff he showed her still other devices of the ancients, machines which peered through fog or darkness, machines which heard what was said at great distances, weapons which spat darts of light. Peering through these devices they could see how the stony hummocks had invaded all the canyon floors and level lands to the north. Above, on the more precipitous slopes, the devices showed bulky shadows which seemed to bleed from one shape to another as they stumbled toward the heights. And on the heights, not far from the ramparts in which they stood, clots of Gahlians in company with rearing monstrosities moved toward the walls. These creatures flung themselves upward to show endless pairs of pincer feet beneath nightmare jaws, voracious and deadly.
‘They do not attack the black robes who have brought them,’ said Hazliah. ‘We do not know why.’
All along the ramparts were these horrors, hummocks, shadows, monsters, hemming them in, pressing closer to the walls with every hour.
‘So,’ said Leona, ‘we are shut in. So soon. Can these creatures come down the cliffs?’
Hazliah shook his head. ‘Not the Tharnel worms, Lady. Not the black minions of Gahl, not alive.’
‘The black robes are easy to kill.’
‘So we know, Lady. But what remains when we have killed them can come over our cliffs like water falling into a pool.’ He turned the device to look south, and she saw mists roiling in the valleys, washing almost to the foot of the ramparts in menacing coils, sluggishly alive. ‘The Sisters tell us this is the result of killing Gahlians. Is this so?’
Leona was suddenly angered. It was the gryphon who had killed the Gahlians, the gryphon and Terascouros. ‘It is a result of one kind of killing. Who knows if it is the only result? There may be some here who would know.’
‘Some might know. The Remnant, perhaps.’
She drew her brows together in frustration. ‘Well, we must find out what we can, Hazliah. I must speak to those in authority, to your Remnant. Are they in authority here?’
‘The questions cannot be answered, Lady. I will take you to them. You can ask them, if you will.’
‘I do not understnad your calm!’ she burst out. ‘To the north are these things you have shown me. To the south, the mists. To the east, the Concealment hems this valley. To the west?’
‘The mists again, Lady, and more Gahlians.’
‘Then where is your hope? Where is your defence?’
‘The Choirs, those of Gerenhodh, of the valley of T’tumek Paddom, and of the plains.’
‘Young women. Almost children.’
‘No, Lady. From Gerenhodh it is true, only the youngest were sent. We do not know why the older Sisters stayed behind. From the other Choirs, even the oldest came.’
‘So, with all your wisdom, with these devices salvaged from the ages, with these fortifications and weapons, with all this, you depend upon the songs of the Sisters of Taniel?’
Hazliah bowed deferentially and did not answer. After a long, silent moment, Leona stiffly apologized. ‘Forgive me, Hazliah. It is unbecoming for me to harangue you.’
‘Let me take you to the Temple of the Remnant, Lady. Then you may ask me again, or harangue me, as you choose.’
Raging within, Leona consented. ‘Menaced from all sides,’ she told herself. ‘Shut in like an animal in a trap. I twist in fury, longing to rise up, fly, fight. They walk calmly among their maps and pictures. By all that is yet holy, yes, I will go to their Temple. I may get answers there.’
The Temple coiled like a great shell upon the highest hill of the city. To reach it, they went through Orena, beside fountains which sparkled in the sunlight, beneath flags which whipped and snapped above them in silken parentheses. Groups of children in their red baby-shirts, only the five parent-beads around their necks, rushed by in babbling coveys herded by patient teachers. Old citizens, their beads of status woven into belts around their tunics, sat in the plazas in quiet conversation. Brown-clad archivists bustled to and from the windowless buildings in which all the world’s history was kept. All was purpose, calm, business. ‘Madness,’ whispered Leona. ‘Madness.’
Eyes followed her as she strode down the boulevards. She was dressed as she had been when she had first met Jaer, in white, pale hair drawn high through the silver circlet set with dark stones. She had left the great hounds with Bombaroba, and her hands twitched from time to time as though she felt for them beside her. On her belt was the flask Jasmine had given her. She glared at the citizens with the eyes of a falcon seeking its prey, and yet hardly saw them at all.
They entered the eastern segment of the Temple, passing through an arching portal beside still pools in which lilies bloomed. The colours of the Lady of the Waters were blue and silver, argent and pale amethyst, sea green and foam grey. From the inner wall of the Temple, water fell in a veil around the image. The air was warm and heavy, sounding of the distant surf mixed with the music of flutes and harps. The people scattered throughout the Temple moved quietly, or stood in meditative silence. Hazliah bowed before the image, leading their way around the curve of the Temple into the court of the south, the shrine of Earthsoul.
Here the rising walls were hidden by tree and vine. Flowers burst in pannicles from high boughs over the paths leading between plots of waving grasses, heavy grain, fruit-laden vines. The colours of Earthsoul were green in all its shades and hues, brown of stone and soil, gold of leaf and grain. The image of Earthsoul reached mighty, gnarled hands toward those who entered the precincts, smiled from beneath the hood of a carven robe which hid eyes and body. Here the perfumes were of warm leafmold, the pungency of resin and new wood, and the sounds were of strings bowed and plucked, reeds blown, the clash of cymbals. Again Hazliah bowed, and they passed to the right around the curve of the Temple into the Sanctuary of the Lord of Fire.
The roof curved higher, almost lost to sight among the smokes of the altar fires. The image of the Lord was lit from below, so that His eyes were in shadow. In one hand He held a hammer, in the other a sword. Around them were walls and half walls of iron and stones, of steel and basalt. The colours of the Lord were red, scarlet, orange and black, and His sounds were of trumpets and drums and the clang of hammers on anvils. The smell was of smoke and pungent incense and hot metal. Here few worshippers were found, and those present lay upon the fire-splashed pave as though stricken down. Hazliah knelt and bowed his head to the floor before leading her around the great curve once more into the northern segment, the place of the Spirit of Air.
The roof of the Temple vaulted away into invisible heights, blue and white into cool mists of driven cloud. Air moved around them from the far, empty spaces of the Temple of Air toward the image of the Spirit, a form impossibly tall, robed as though in mist, only a glittering hint of eyes beneath the hood saying that this Spirit might take form if it chose. The colours here were only hinted at, pale to transparency, uncoloured grey, the white of snow, the light blue
to deeper blue of summer skies. Without knowing why or how, Leona found herself kneeling before the image, hearing the soft sounds of wind-struck bells and of air blown across stone jars to produce organ tones. After a time, Hazliah touched her shoulder, drew her up to lead her still further around the circle to its centre, the base of a tower spiraling above them to vertiginous height.
Here the shell form was drawn up into a coiled pinnacle, and they stood within the nacreous walls, lost in the tower’s immensity. Hazliah struck a silver bell which stood nearby, the sound rising around them to reverberate among the walls. Far, far above echoed an answering sound, a muted whine showing itself as a descending light. In the centre of the towering space was a transparent tube containing a little car similar in kind to that they had ridden to the cliffs. They rose within it into chill silence and emerged upon a shining floor surrounded by a low parapet, walled and roofed by the blue arch of the sky. She looked across the valley, over the tops of the circling cliffs to the dim horizons beyond the mountains. Below them the city lay, a bright garment, too remote and tiny to be believed as a habitation, to be thought of as real.
Upon the shining floor stood a few persons. They were slender, she realized, dressed in simple white garments. They spoke to her, and a red haze moved before her eyes as though she had been beaten. They spoke, scarcely breaking the stillness of the place, the rarified silence of that height. She tried to count them in growing panic, could not; tried to answer them, could not. There might have been one or two, or a hundred. They lit the air around them with anguish, with a cold perfection of sorrow. She cried out, ‘Stop.’ She staggered, would have fallen had not Hazliah caught her. They did not misunderstand her, but went away, their sorrow colder and more absolute than it had been before.
She was sitting beside Hazliah, gasping, staring uncom-prehendingly at the woman who was offering her water, a haggard woman who had been beautiful, with dark hair and a tender mouth. The woman knelt before Leona.
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