Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered

by Orullian, Peter

  He had his own set of sins, he knew. But they were long in the past, and more than atoned for, to his mind.

  No, something fundamental had to change.

  The weathered man picked up the lad’s still body and gently placed him in the wagon, covering him with one of the blankets he’d just purchased. He should not have brought his ward. The dangers of traveling with the outcast were more than ordinary. He knew it too well. Alone, he could have killed all three contenders. Instead, the hopeful life of this stripling lad had been snuffed out before his bright contributions to the world could be made. The man hung his head over the boy’s body. His every breath became a painful, conscious act of grief.

  The dark irony in it all came when he realized that even this purest of human emotions added to the rest of the stains on his life and made his heart stonier.

  Then he ascended the few steps to the store again. He stepped up to the counter and looked across at the shopkeep, to whom this time he would have to speak his order. The thought in his mind was heresy. But he had reached a final outpost in the land of his heart, and he might be the only one, given such a vantage, to consider such impossibilities.

  For what he contemplated might well be impossible.

  But the act alone would ease his troubled mind.

  “Parchment,” the weathered man said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Emblems

  Wendra slept restlessly in the presence of Jastail and his comrades. She had been unwilling to sing at her fire after their conversation ended, and so was left without the calming benefit it might have brought her. But it was less her own circumstances than those of Penit and Tahn that caused her to struggle with sleep. Though one was much younger than the other, neither had grown past the age of melura, and both were fatherless and now lost to her. She tried to focus on memories of Balatin, and on the vision of the elderly gentleman in the white robe who had visited her the night before in her fever. But she could hold none of them in her mind. The soft whir of crickets and the stream nearby did nothing to improve her mood. She lay silently until dawn, hoping her unspoken pact with Jastail would not prove foolish.

  The two other men left after endfast and returned with three horses evidently tethered close by. Jastail helped her onto his own horse and they followed the stream northeast all day. Toward nightfall, it turned southeast through a series of steep hills, where rills out of several small canyons joined the stream, enlargening it. They soon came through a pass, and unexpectedly, in the valley below, the stream merged with a large river that flowed south from the other side of one low mountain. The river stretched nearly a hundred strides wide.

  Several hours into the night, as they followed the river, they came in sight of a huge wooden dock. Jastail moved them into the cover of nearby trees where, for a time, they waited and watched. Resting on pilings that rose like dark columns from the water, thick, uneven cross timbers formed the landing on the riverbank. Wendra looked out over the flow, noting for the first time its beauty, a thousand ripples shining with moonlight, and the low musical hum of the vast passage of water.

  Jastail gestured, and the first man rode to the dock’s end and lit a torch fastened to the last piling. The torchlight bounced harshly on the water, unable to completely dispel the darkness from the black timber of the dock. The first rider returned, and together from the cloak of the trees, they again watched the river and dock, now with the torch burning its lone flame from the end of the pier.

  Distantly, a sound like geese honking floated across the water. Jastail looked north. Soon a large riverboat, multiple torches flaming from its runners, rounded a bend in the river. The sound of laughter came more clearly now, still sounding something like geese, and the boat angled toward the torch on the dock. The parting of water around its hull whispered with the clamor of voices. Wendra looked on in amazement at the sheer size of the watercraft. Several buildings rose from the deck, with second and third stories. At the rear, a team of oxen had been yoked to a thick crossbar fastened to a revolving post. As the animals walked a never-ending circle, the slow-spinning post turned a set of large wooden gears that powered the rear paddle wheel.

  Men appeared on deck with ropes in hand, some guiding the vessel to a deft stop beside the dock. The sailors, six men in all, then brandished long knives. One extinguished the torch. Jastail seemed to take this as a signal. He spurred his horse from the cover of the trees and led them all to the pier’s end.

  The clop of hooves on the wooden planks drowned out the sound of the river, but not the jollity streaming from the brightly lit middle deck of the boat. The incessant chatter reminded Wendra of Northsun Festival back home: animated laughter, punctuated shouts, and an occasional remonstration.

  Jastail brought them to a stop before the men who’d lashed the riverboat to the dock. He lifted his hand in greeting, but folded one finger down.

  “Name it,” said the deckhand who had doused the torch.

  “Defiera,” Jastail said, and the men relaxed the angle of their daggers.

  “What is wanted?” the other asked.

  “Passage downriver to Pelan,” Jastail said. “We’ve business there.” His head turned slightly, and Wendra had the impression Jastail was indicating her.

  The sailor, his face lost behind a protuberant nose, shifted and peered around Jastail at Wendra. He nodded appreciatively, then sized up the two men who kept them company.

  “And these?” the sailor added.

  “Hirelings,” Jastail replied. “Honest enough if they’re paid. Sullen enough on an empty gullet.”

  At that the sailor laughed, joined by a number of the other deckhands.

  “Three horses, three men, one woman”—the sailor leered at Wendra—“a handcoin, no less, and a stem for each man here so that their lips are occupied when asked about the business our new fares have in a place such as Pelan. Putting in there is hazard enough. You’ll not want the captain poking into your merchandise.”

  Raucous laughter fell hard upon the wooden dock.

  Jastail did not join them, but reached inside his cloak and pulled out a handful of coins. The sailor came forward and greedily reached for them. Jastail pulled back his fistful of money. “I’ve ridden your vessel before, Sireh, and find that I tend to … lose things. I will pay you for boarding, but the rest I will give when we are safely upon the dock near Pelan. If I am complete at that time, twice your price will you have. If I am not, then all the money will I give to but one of you without a word to the others. You may then share the money as you see fit.”

  The sailor glowered at Jastail, who dropped a single silver coin. The man snatched it from the air with a quick hand and walked away muttering under his breath.

  “Why do you spar with them?” Wendra asked. “They outnumber you, and you’ve no place to hide on the boat.”

  “Ah, lady, it is good that we paired together in this enterprise,” Jastail said as the other sailors stood aside to let them pass. “Unwise is the buyer who pays his fee in advance. And with rivermen there are precautions to be taken. I have made this deal for your safety. These men are without consideration of what belongs to another man, let alone the proper treatment of a woman. They may well take us to Pelan, and hold their tongues about our particular transactions. But it is the time between then and now that I have purchased, the safety and assurance of our property and well-being. They will think three times before stealing what is ours, because I would then give all the tongue-money to one man among them. The distrust and danger created when each believes the other is holding money that belongs to him will insure us against pilfering while we travel. Rivermen are as greedy as the river is cold. The one I would pay would never share it with the others. The result would be that each of them becomes a target for the daggers of the others while he sleeps. They are as predictable as the rise of the sun.”

  They boarded the great ship and passed into a building used for stabling horses. There they dismounted, unsaddled their horses, and w
alked through a door into the glare of the middle deck.

  * * *

  Wendra followed Jastail around odd tables that held sunken pits bottomed with slate. Between those standing around the tables, she caught glimpses of grids drawn across the slate with different numbers marked in soapstone in each square. Men and women moved colored markers in a flurry of hands until a man in a bright yellow shirt cast several triangular rods into the recessed area of the table. He then quickly counted the numbers scrawled on the stained surfaces of the rods.

  Jastail pulled Wendra along. The two hirelings they’d been traveling with quickly found room at tables and tossed coin onto the slate to enter the games. On the left, a handful of large men stood stoically overlooking the whole of the room. They wore swords menacingly on their backs, the handles protruding in bold advertisement of their function. A black and white patch had been sewn to the left breast of their tunics. Next to them, a very small man, perhaps only three and a half feet tall, stood on a raised platform serving bitter and wine. He waddled in a strained gait, having to throw his left shoulder up to lift his right leg, and his right shoulder up to move the left. His pants were held in place with strange belts looped over his shoulders and fastened to both the front and back of his trousers. He looked terribly uncomfortable, but he smiled constantly, apparently happy in his work.

  They wound past the long counters near the entrance and found men seated at short square tables, a man in the same yellow shirt standing as in mediation next to those who were seated. Intense eyes met over a series of square wooden placards that appeared blank. Each man took turns overturning a placard. Disgusted looks rose in their faces until one took up a placard whose underside was graven with the image of a bird. The mediator handed him a fistful of coins.

  At still another of the small tables, two men sat engaged in simpler contests. Wendra watched as one of the gamekeepers placed a wooden block in the center of the table, asking the players to put their hands in their laps. The mediator then stood back and waited an indeterminate amount of time before quickly saying, “Take.” The contestants then both anxiously grabbed for the block. The man who took it won the prize.

  As they meandered past various games, a general hilarity swirled around them. Wendra noticed that many of those gambling were dressed in unrefined wool, a few even in pelts; these men and women bet more meager amounts than those better dressed, but they drank more deeply, loosing bawdy laughter from wet lips. Beside them were players adorned in silk and twilled cotton, linens of extravagant color and design. Their wagers often flashed of gold, sometimes several coins high. And their cups were just as full as the rest.

  The participants seemed to share a familiarity. It was common, Wendra saw, for a man here to put his hand on a woman’s breast, or she to cup another man’s loins. Even men and women who appeared to be here together seemed to feel free to lay hands on others. The gestures fetched bouts of laughter and calls for more bitter. Sweet-leaf tobaccom stems flared and puffed like small cloud makers, filling the room with a pungent haze. The revelry never abated, but fed upon itself as the boat moved down the river.

  Jastail took hold of Wendra’s hand to guide her more surely through the throng. Toward the back of the great room, a few round tables sat partitioned off from the rest by a low wall. One of the swordsmen stood at the passageway into the area. Upon seeing Jastail, he stood aside and let them pass. Only a few men sat at the tables, most of the seats empty. Jastail led Wendra to the last table, where just one man sat with a stack of thin wooden placards like the ones Wendra had seen moments before. He wore a smartly tailored russet tunic with golden piping and a double column of silvery buttons down the front. A ring on each forefinger bore a weighty, elegant gem. And his beard had been frosted to match his buttons. The fellow did not rise, did not take note, but sat shuffling the placards over and over. Jastail’s tall shadow fell across the table; the man surely knew they were there. But he refused to immediately acknowledge them. Jastail waited, holding Wendra by the wrist.

  The seated man took a tobaccom pipe from the lining of his jacket and tamped fresh weed into its bowl. He pulled a straw from a wooden canister beside the table lamp and lit one end in the lamp’s flame. With deliberation, he applied the flame to his bowl and puffed his pipe to life. With his head wreathed in the sweet smell of perfumed tobaccom, he looked up with smiling eyes and greeted Jastail.

  “Hello, my friend,” he cooed. “Come again to test your luck, have you?”

  Jastail flashed his standard smile. “You are a temptation to me, Gynedo. How can I resist the game?”

  “And you play well for such a young man,” Gynedo said. “But young men should not be so willing to pay the price of the game, I think. Old men as I haven’t the … concern for reputation or consequence that young men should. How say you to that?” One brow rose in expectation of a response.

  Jastail motioned to the chair opposite Gynedo.

  “Please,” the older man said, puffing at his pipe.

  Jastail sat, pulling Wendra to the tableside where he could see her, and let go of her wrist. “In any other time, Gynedo, I would say you are right. But these days we live in are filled with rumors. This is not a time for a man to lay stores by in the hope of surviving the winter. I—”

  The old man pointed his crooked finger at Jastail, arresting his answer mid-word.

  “You’re a philosopher, my young man,” Gynedo said, his eyes narrowing, “but leave the rhymes and riddles for those you intend to betray. Tell me why you come to game here.” The old man tapped the table with his finger, seeming to indicate not the boat, or even the room, but the very table at which he sat.

  Jastail’s smile failed him. Wendra liked the look of his face plain, absent the attempt to distract or deceive. He appeared to earnestly consider the question, his eyes thoughtful and directed despite the confusion of noise from the outer room. “Because it thrills me,” he said finally. “It is a base logic. Fah, no logic at all. I play because no other trade makes me feel alive, no other contest or wager speeds my heart.” His voice grew quieter, but somehow cut through the din. “I come, Gynedo, because I am a young man, younger than you, and I have learned already the intoxication of where you are willing to go. I can no longer do less.”

  Gynedo sat appraising Jastail, considering his answer. Finally, he nodded. “A pity for you, I think, Jastail. Your trade in human flesh has dulled your senses.” The old man looked at Wendra.

  Jastail said nothing

  “But it is a thrill.” And the old man’s eyes lit with excitement and energy. “None greater that I know, no paltry thing as what the herds come to partake.” He motioned in disgust at the outer room. “They with their pittance upon the slate, their heads dulled with watered bitter, their wanton hands betraying their animal nature. I need my wall.” He gave a wan smile. “But yes, it is a thrill, one that I will enjoy until my flesh is gone to dust. But you, friend, you may live to tire of even this game, and then what is left to you?”

  “I will never tire of it,” Jastail said in a convincing voice.

  “No?” Gynedo remarked, his voice rising with incredulity. “Well, I will hope you are right, because I have seen what is next, and it were better that you should perish now than live to know such stakes.”

  Jastail had no reply.

  “Then let us make our accountings,” the old man said and stood up, leading Jastail into a small anteroom.

  “Stay here,” the highwayman said to Wendra. She sat, glad to finally rest her feet.

  But she watched through the open doorway as the old man, Jastail, a woman she could not see well, and a few others took turns holding up various items, pointing and touching them as they seemed to describe what they were. Wendra couldn’t hear what was said, but solemn faces and appreciative nods followed the presentation of each item. Assessing value, she imagined. It seemed clear that the various articles they discussed would be what the players would wager in their game. For the moment, the highwayman
was embroiled in something that didn’t involve her. It gave Wendra a much needed respite, and she relaxed ever so slightly, realizing how weary she was.

  What Gynedo called the accounting took an hour, and Wendra had nearly nodded off when the group came out of the anteroom.

  Gynedo sat, as did Jastail. The two men stared at one another for some time before Gynedo divided the placards and pushed one pile toward Jastail. “Pick them up, my young friend, and let us see where the chances take us this night.”

  Jastail picked up the thin wooden placards and fanned them out, studying each with great interest. Wendra could see a number of designs on the placards, but could not understand what they meant or what game they might indicate. As the two began to play, the other players who’d taken part in the accounting gathered around them. Three were men, all elderly like Gynedo, and all puffing pipes as though in imitation of the man. One was the woman, younger and wearing a beautiful satin dress. Her hair had been tied up above her head, exposing the delicate, white flesh of a neck that had never been exposed to the workaday sun. Gold earrings dangled delicately against her skin, and on each thumb she wore a gold ring with a large white stone. But she did not watch the men: she turned her attention immediately to Wendra, looking closely at her hair, her lips, her bosom, and her legs.

  “Set three ways,” she said, speaking to Gynedo and Jastail, but looking still at Wendra as if with some prescient knowledge.

  The men stopped their analysis of the thin woods in their hands and looked at the new player. Gynedo sat deliberating, smoking his pipe, savoring the sweet blend of the weed and the power he had to make others wait. He looked at Jastail, who nodded his agreement.

  “Just so, Ariana,” the old man said. “Take a chair and three will play.” He looked up at the other men. “But no more.”

  Wendra thought she could feel peering eyes, and looked over her shoulder to find a number of gamers and gamblers watching the development of the contest. She hoped Gynedo or Jastail would send them away, but the men were busy reshuffling the placards to divide them into three piles. None of this was getting her any closer to Penit, or to Tahn, and her frustration mounted. A stirring of song came darkly to her mind and fought for release, but she held herself still and thought of Balatin and his words concerning patience: Fortune serves he who is long-suffering. She turned her attention to the game, trying to understand how it was played.