The Bell Between Worlds
Page 17
“Can I say something?” he asked Filimaya, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room.
Filimaya nodded. “Of course,” she said, looking pleasantly surprised. “That might be very helpful.”
Sylas cleared his throat and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.
“It sounds as though something terrible has happened to you,” he began, “something that has made you hide, and meet like this in secret, and fear what you can’t explain – even me. Well, I can understand that, I really can. Until two days ago I was living a normal life with my uncle. But that’s all changed now. I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t even know where here is, and it’s definitely not where I want to be – I should be looking for my mother somewhere in my own world. I’ve been hunted and nearly killed, and now I’m as far from home as I’ve ever been. I think I have as much reason to be doubtful and scared as anyone. But the thing is, I haven’t got a choice – I’m here now, and whatever is going to happen will happen.”
He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, suddenly aware that the great chamber was deathly quiet.
“I said before that Mr Zhi hadn’t given me a message – anything to tell you. Well, maybe I was wrong.”
Many in the congregation leaned in, intrigued.
“Before I left him, he said one thing: that I must not fear what I do not understand. Maybe that message was as much for you as it was for me.”
He heard his final words echoing about the hall and set his teeth, waiting for cries of “Impudent boy!” or “Insolence!” or some other phrase that his uncle liked to use. But nobody spoke. Some turned and looked at one another enquiringly, but none seemed to know what to say.
A very elderly man rose unsteadily from his seat, bracing himself on the shoulder of the man next to him. He had flowing locks of white hair and a long moustache of the same colour, and it was clear from his beautifully decorated robes that he was senior in some way. The congregation turned to look at him.
“It’s Fathray!” whispered someone in the first row. “He’s going to speak!”
The old gentleman peered at Sylas from beneath tangled grey eyebrows. “Thank you, Sylas.” His voice was dry, but full of authority. He formed his words very slowly and precisely, seeming to choose each one with great care. “I think your comments – and those apposite utterings of Mr Zhi – were just what we needed to hear.”
He gave a slight bow of his head and then turned to the crowd, sweeping his fading eyes across the whole congregation.
“Sisters and brothers, I think we have heard enough. Any more prittle-prattle and tittle-tattle and we would quite deserve to be thrown to the Ghor. I for one am convinced that Sylas is on a portentous path that may be exigent…”
“Fathray,” interrupted Filimaya with a broad smile. “As ever, we value your wise words greatly, but it is always helpful to understand them. Could you please use plainer language?”
Fathray blinked at Filimaya in astonishment, as though he thought his words to be quite plain enough already, but then he chortled good-naturedly.
“Ah yes…” he said. “Quite so. I should have said I believe his path to be important to us. It seems evident that this is why our old friends the Merisi have tried to help him and the Ghor have tried to hinder him. But, whether or not he can help us, he is in great danger and he has entered our house. He is our responsibility, and we must not fail him. To my mind, the only question is, how do we help him?”
The crowd mumbled agreeably. Fathray paused, as if reluctant to continue. “In my view, there are only two options open to us. The first is to hide him – to protect him and hope that somehow his purpose here will become clear. But that is the fearful way, the way of which Mr Zhi would certainly not approve. The second–” he hesitated again– “the second is to take him to the Magruman.”
The room was suddenly filled with loud chatter and excitement, and it seemed to Sylas that everyone started speaking at once, some with expressions of excitement, others alarm. Salvo rose from his seat with a flushed face.
“That could be the end of us all! We would be leading him to the last real power that we have!”
“And what alternative do we have?” interjected Ash, sweeping back stray locks of blond hair in frustration. “Should we wait until the Ghor find him and kill him as surely they shall? I’m sick of simpering and hiding. This may be our very last hope! Mr Zhi was right – we mustn’t be frightened just because we can’t see the end of this. We’re better than that!”
This stirred the hearts of many, for there was a rumble of support and some took to their feet to shout their approval.
“We are the last of the Suhl!” cried Ash.
There was a crescendo of applause.
“That’s right!” shouted Bayleon, raising his bulky figure from his seat and punching the air.
Filimaya raised her arms and called for quiet. The Say-So quickly came back to order.
“Friends, it seems we are coming to an agreement: that Sylas should be taken to the Magruman.”
“No! There is no agreement!” cried Salvo, throwing his arms in the air. “And Filimaya, you of all people should want to keep Paiscion from harm!”
A complete hush fell over the room as though Salvo had said something unthinkable. Filimaya seemed taken aback and her cheeks coloured a little. She turned slowly to look at him.
“Salvo, whatever I may wish for myself or for Paiscion is quite irrelevant.” Her voice trembled a little with emotion and she paused before continuing. “It is the majority that we must consider, and the majority that must decide – that is the purpose of a Say-So.”
She held Salvo’s stare until he lowered his eyes.
Ash rose from his seat. “Sylas should travel to the Magruman. I say it is so!”
A moment later Grayvel too rose from his seat. “I say it is so,” he said. Fathray then stood and spoke the same words, followed by those around him. Soon the entire congregation were taking to their feet in support of the motion.
“I say it is so!”
Finally, begrudgingly, even Salvo rose and mumbled the words.
“Then it is decided,” said Filimaya with a smile of relief.
“But if this is our course we must consider another matter,” said Grayvel, turning to the congregation. “Sylas cannot be taken to the Magruman by road: it is controlled by Thoth and his spies. There is only one route that is passable, and that is across the Barrens.” There was a murmur of concern and an exchange of worried looks. “As we all know, this is not to be attempted—”
“I will take the boy,” said Bayleon, rising to his feet. He touched his fist to his armoured chest. “He’ll need a tracker. He’ll need a Spoorrunner.”
“And if Bayleon is going,” said Ash, standing and grinning at his friend, “so am I.”
The congregation voiced its approval.
“Me too!”
This final voice was rather insubstantial and it took some moments for the congregation to realise who had spoken. Finally their eyes fell on the small red-headed girl now clambering up on to the stage.
“I’m going too,” repeated Simia proudly. “Sylas needs me.”
There was a loud chuckle somewhere in the back row and then slowly, amiably, everyone began to laugh.
Simia put her hands on her hips and glared.
17
The Water Gardens
“How can a people thus steeped in the joys and perfections
of Nature fall at the hands of those She so detests?”
“I SAID WAKE UP!”
Sylas flinched and his breath quickened. He must have dozed off in his room.
He forced his eyes open. Simia was standing at the end of the bed, her hair fiery in a shaft of sunshine, her tanned face wearing a broad grin. He hadn’t just dozed off; it was the next day.
“Come on!” she said. “I don’t know what people get up to in your world, but in mine sleeping in the afternoon is just plain lazy. And boring. Anyway, Filimaya w
ants to see you in the gardens.”
Sylas pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted at the criss-crossed beams of light. “What time is it?”
“Late! You’d better get a move on. They want you to leave tonight to go to the Magruman, just to be safe.”
“About that,” said Sylas, “what exactly is a Magruman and what—”
“Not for me to tell you,” said Simia smartly. “They don’t even think I should come along.”
She glanced around only to see that Sylas was still in bed.
“Are you going to lie about all day?” she asked in a matronly tone. “Get up! Filimaya’s waiting!”
Sylas groaned and slid his stiff limbs out of bed. He saw that there were fresh clothes lying on the sofa and he walked over to inspect them. They were very coarse and crudely dyed in browns and greys like Simia’s, but they seemed to be the right size. He dressed as quickly as he could, finishing with a simple but warm coat, then tapped Simia on the shoulder. She turned around and inspected him.
“Big improvement,” she said, cocking her head on one side. “But then that wasn’t difficult.”
“You can talk!” retorted Sylas, pointing mockingly at her giant coat, which still swamped her tiny frame. “Why do you always wear that thing? It’s way too big.”
Simia looked down and smoothed some of the folds with her hands. He saw that she was a little lost for words, and he immediately regretted saying anything.
“I like it,” she said with a trace of hurt in her eyes. “It was my father’s.”
He winced. “Oh,” he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“We have to go,” she said briskly, throwing her head back. She pointed over to the Samarok on his bedside table. “Don’t forget your precious book.”
He walked sheepishly over to the book, put his hands round the leather cover and tucked it under his arm, enjoying the velvety sensation on his palms.
Simia led him out of his room and round the gallery to the staircase. As they walked, he noticed that many of the large wooden doors leading off the landing now stood slightly ajar and occasionally he thought he heard someone moving inside. Simia saw him trying to peer into one of the rooms.
“Lots of them stayed last night,” she said still a little tetchily. “Longest Say-So I’ve ever seen. A lot more ‘Say’ than ‘So’ if you ask me,” she added, rolling her eyes.
They clambered down the steps into the great hall, which showed little sign of the meeting the previous evening. The vast shoals of fish were once again twisting and turning through the dark green water of the Aquium, disappearing here only to reappear there a few seconds later. Sylas slowed to watch them swimming, yearning to reach out to the glass as he had done the previous day.
Simia turned and tutted. “Come ON!” she insisted.
He took a last look at the glorious maelstrom of silvery bodies, then with a sigh of frustration followed her down the steps to the platform.
As they stepped on to the circular stage, she reached down and pulled a wooden lever concealed in its rim and he heard the familiar clunk and grating of gears somewhere below, and then it started to move, lowering them slowly into the darkness. The doors were soon drawing closed above their heads and they were plunged into the gloom of the shaft.
“Filimaya’s going to teach me to control them,” said Simia as the platform continued to descend.
“Control what?”
“The fish,” she pronounced proudly.
Sylas bit his lip, remembering how they had seemed to react to his hand. “Really?” he murmured. “That’d be great.”
Moments later the great platform shuddered and, with a deafening clank, it halted in front of a dimly lit opening.
“This way,” said Simia, stepping off. She took a few paces forward, then descended a long staircase towards a glimmer of daylight somewhere below. Sylas edged forward through the darkness and followed. There were no railings and he had to trail a hand over one of the slimy walls to keep his balance. After a while they stepped into a short passage and then emerged into bright sunlight. He shielded his eyes and gazed out at the astonishing scene before him.
“Wow,” he whispered.
They were looking out across the gardens of Meander Mill. Immediately in front of him was a shower of bright red and yellow leaves that formed a perfect frame to the beautiful display beyond. Through them he saw vast eruptions of life and colour: here, a giant plant with dark, finger-like leaves and huge tubular flowers made of a single white petal spiralling round a deep blue stamen; there, a mountain of grass-green leaves arranged into great fans, rocking and tilting in the breeze; to one side, a display of fine drapes made from the tendrils of a weeping willow that bowed down to a mossy bank; and nearby, a patchwork of amber, scarlet and gold formed by great swathes of dappled leaves. All this despite the chill of winter. But what made the sight truly breathtaking was the constant motion of silver-white water frothing over pebble-strewn waterways, bubbling down mossy banks and cascading down rocky channels. The entire garden glistened and shimmered, making the sun’s rays dance among the leaves.
“Are you coming?” called Simia impatiently.
She was standing on a bank of moss and grass at the bottom of another short flight of steps. Sylas bounded down to join her, landing with a pleasant thump on soft, spongy moss. They set off along a faint path that led round the base of a tree towards the nearest of the waterways. As he walked, he became aware of the strong aromas rising from the plants around him, some fresh and green like new-cut grass, others rich and fragrant like fine perfume. They were like none he had ever smelt before: somehow purer and more intense.
“It’s so beautiful,” he said, raising his voice so that Simia would hear him.
“Hmm,” she grunted, without turning.
He stopped. “Listen,” he said. “About the coat – I’m really sorry. It was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t know it was your father’s – it just didn’t occur to me.”
“It’s fine,” she retorted sharply.
“I... I guess it didn’t occur to me that you had a father.”
She whirled about. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter,” she protested, hands on hips. “Everyone’s got a father – why shouldn’t I have one?”
“Well, I don’t,” he said flatly.
She frowned. “Of course you have.”
“No, I don’t. He died before I can remember. Never met him. So no father, not really.”
She looked at him long and hard and her face softened. “Oh,” she said.
“It’s OK. You didn’t know,” he said meaningfully, but with a smile. “I’m a bit of a lost cause really – I don’t know where my mum is either. She could be here for all I know.”
Simia lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry I snapped,” she said, sounding ashamed. “You didn’t know about my coat. Or about my father. It’s just that... he died too.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sylas softly.
There was a moment’s silence. “Call me Simsi,” she said, looking away.
He drew a deep breath. “I will. And let’s start today again, shall we?”
She raised her eyes and smiled. “Good idea.”
“So where’s Filimaya, Simsi?”
“Not far now.”
They walked in silence through veils of leaves and over carpets of thick, luxuriant grass, and soon reached the edge of the stream. They crossed a series of stepping stones, and at the other side Sylas stopped to take a better look at the tumbling water, curious to see where it was coming from.
To his surprise, he saw a great cascade falling from a carefully crafted opening halfway up the garden wall. The torrent crashed down on to rocks below, then muddled between them and formed a stream over the grassy bank.
“It all comes from the great wheel.”
It was Filimaya’s voice.
He turned around to see her standin
g next to him, dressed in a long white gown with a beautiful silver feather stitched high on the breast. She had appeared without making a sound and was now looking up at the waterfall as he had been, admiring its beauty.
“It’s not an ordinary waterwheel,” she continued. “It lifts water almost to its very top and sends it into channels within the walls of the mill house, which then flow down to the Aquium, then inside the garden wall and out into the garden. The waterways are some of our finest creations.”
“So is the garden!” exclaimed Sylas.
“Well, that is our finest creation,” she replied lightly, “although of course we must share the credit with Nature. We must always remember Her role in things.” She took a deep breath of the scented air and looked over at Simia. “Thank you, Simia, you can leave us now. Please go and help Grayvel with the preparations. He’s expecting you on the top floor.”
Simia pushed out her lower lip and seemed about to protest, but Filimaya frowned, which silenced her before she had even begun.
She looked over at Sylas. “See you later,” she said. “And don’t do anything exciting without me!”
“I won’t,” he said, but he wondered if he would be able to keep that promise.
She turned and, with a surly glance towards Filimaya, stomped off over the stepping stones, her voluminous coat flapping about her. When she reached the other side, she skipped off through the trees, humming a tune and twirling a finger through her hair.
Filimaya watched her go, smiling quietly to herself. “Such a spirited child,” she said, almost under her breath. “And such a comfort to us...” She drew a breath. “Did you sleep well?”
He nodded. “Strange dreams, but yes, thanks.”
“All this is like a strange dream, is it not?” she asked, with a smile.
“The strangest.”
“Well, I hope I can help you to make more sense of it. I’m very grateful to you for speaking so honestly yesterday, particularly about your mother – I know those things were not easy to talk about. I’m just very sorry that I wasn’t able to tell you anything about her. At least the Say-So reached a conclusion, though: we will take you to Paiscion, the Magruman.”