The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  He pictured the silver door that led to the white stairway and closed his own eyes. Again there was a violent jolt. Kerish felt as if his body had spread out like a net and the world was passing through him. Then a finger of mist chilled his forehead.

  "We're here now. You can both let go."

  Kerish ordered the Forgite to wait at the head of the stairs and Gidjabolgo squatted down on the top step. He knocked on the silver door and it swung open. The black room had changed; it was lit now by hundreds of stars glowing on the dark ceiling.

  Forollkin forgot his nervousness at the sight of a lovely woman seated on a throne of ice, with a green marsh cat curled at her feet. Kerish bowed.

  "Lady Sendaaka, may I present my brother, the Lord Forollkin."

  "Welcome," murmured Sendaaka.

  Awkward in his silken robe, Forollkin also bowed and haltingly thanked the sorceress for her kindness. While he spoke, Kerish's eyes were fixed on a small golden casket, which now stood in front of one of the barred windows.

  Shaken by Sendaaka's cool gaze, Forollkin was floundering. "We never expected such help . . . not that we had heard any evil of you . . ."

  "Lady," interposed Keris,. “have you considered my offer?"

  "I have watched the stars dance," answered Sendaaka. "The light of hope is very faint but it still shines. Its reflection glimmers in your faces. I will lend you my key. Before you thank me, hear the conditions.

  You must journey to Tir-Tonar, the citadel of Saroc. If you reach the sorcerer, ask him to renounce his key and come north to Tir-Zulmar. " She laid her finger like a breath of frost on Kerish's lips. "Saroc must not know that you have my key. Speak one word of it and your tongue will freeze in your mouth. If Saroc will not give up his key, you must return mine to Tir-Zulmar or die in the attempt. You will be worse than dead if you try to break your word."

  "I will keep my word for its own sake, not in fear of your threats," said Kerish.

  The sorceress almost smiled. "Your anger is the warmest thing in my citadel. Open the casket!"

  Kerish turned the second key in the golden lock and took out a third key set with a clear white gem. Then he knelt to kiss Sendaaka's hand.

  "We will send you the spring."

  She turned to Forollkin. "Sit beside me now; unless you are still afraid of the sorceress of Tir-Zulmar."

  "Who could fear such beauty?" said Forollkin, with clumsy gallantry.

  "What is more dangerous than beauty?" asked Sendaaka. "But do not be ashamed of your fear. The Prince has the gift of true sight, the heritage of the Godborn. You have a different kind of sight and a different kind of courage. Both will be needed to penetrate Tir-Tonar. For my sake, I must speed you on your way. Tomorrow your possessions shall be returned to you, together with provisions for a long journey and horses to carry them."

  "Horses!" exclaimed Forollkin. "But surely the way is too steep . . ."

  "My citadel has many gates," said Sendaaka. "One of them opens on to the plains. You must cross Western Erandachu and travel through the Gap of Lamoth into Seld. Ask there for directions to Tir-Tonar."

  "How long will this journey take?" asked Forollkin.

  Sendaaka reached down to stroke the marsh cat and her silver hair half-hid her face.

  "That will depend on who you meet. The plains are not empty and it would be strange if you escaped the vigilance of the Children of the Wind."

  "Would these plainsmen harm us?"

  "Most tribes kill every stranger they meet," answered Sendaaka. "But they will not harm you, Kerish-lo-Taan." The Prince did not ask her why, but the sorceress went on, "Centuries ago, I pitied the darkness in which the Erandachi lived so I walked among the tribes, appearing to certain women to teach them a more gentle wisdom. I turned their hair as silver as mine as a sign that they were truly inspired. The descendants of those women are still priestesses of their tribes and the consorts of chieftains. From time to time, men are born with silver in their hair and they are honoured as prophets of the Mountain Goddess. Even now, when the tribes are turning to the old ways again, they will honour your silver hairs."

  "My mother had silver hair," said Kerish softly

  Sendaaka answered his unspoken question. "I watched her grow into beauty and courage. Taana was worthy of her fate."

  "She was a slave and died young," protested Kerish.

  "She was a queen and died loved," said Sendaaka. "Remember that. But now, there is a third traveller waiting at my door. Fetch him in, Forollkin."

  The sorceress showed neither surprise or distaste at Gidjabolgo's appearance and greeted him courteously.

  "Welcome, Gidjabolgo of Forgin. I am glad that you find my citadel beautiful. What is it that you desire of me?"

  The Forgite made a clumsy bow and rose with scowling face.

  "Ah, perhaps you do not care to speak in front of the others," suggested Sendaaka. "It cannot be a very fierce desire."

  "I will slave for you or kill for you. Name your fee," growled Gidjabolgo. "You know what I want."

  "Yes, I do," agreed the sorceress placidly. "My fee is small; simply unbar that window."

  She pointed to a window, opposite the silver door and set deep into the rock. Gidjabolgo almost ran to it, but before his plump fingers touched the bars Sendaaka said, "Understand me, if you open that window you will see what no human has ever seen before. You alone will know what lies beyond the Ultimate Mountains; beyond the world's end. What will you see? Strange stars? A new world? The dark pit of infinity? Open the window if you dare and learn how frail a thing our Zindar is!"

  Gidjabolgo fumbled at the bars, he had only to push the shutters back to gain his heart's desire. Forollkin looked away as the Forgite raised one shaking hand.

  "Come," whispered Sendaaka. "Open the window!"

  Still Gidjabolgo did not move the shutter.

  "Do you hesitate?" demanded the sorceress. "Then you shall never have your wish from me."

  "No, I will open it," shouted Gidjabolgo but in a movement quicker than sight Sendaaka stood between the Forgite and the window.

  "You shall never have it from me; ask again of Saroc. Go now, all of you, but when my lamp is lit I shall summon you to a feast and we shall drink the cup of parting."

  When she was alone the Lady of Tir-Zulmar opened the silver shutters and gazed out for a while. Then she knelt and, burying her face in Lilahnee's soft fur, wept her frozen tears.

  The two Galkians walked quickly down the spiral stairway. Gidjabolgo followed with dragging steps. Kerish stopped for a moment to study a pattern of ice crystals and was suddenly struck from behind by the Forgite's full weight. He fell headlong but Forollkin was only a few steps below. He caught Kerish and stumbled back to sit down abruptly with his brother in his lap and the breath knocked out of him.

  When Forollkin could speak again, he yelled at Gidjabolgo, "What in Zeldin's name do you think you're doing?"

  "In Zeldin's name - nothing," said Gidjabolgo sulkily. "My foot slipped."

  Trembling with shock, but quite unharmed, Kerish soothed his brother and they found their way back to their rooms.

  *****

  The rest of the day was spent in listening to Forollkin's plans for the journey. Kerish was bored and Gidjabolgo sat watching them both, saying nothing. At nightfall the ice turned black but gradually the walls were pierced by points of starlight. Moonrise dissolved the last of the blackness and the travellers suddenly found themselves standing in a vast cavern that seemed to be formed of glittering snowflakes. Kerish marvelled at the intricate patterns while the others noticed a dais and four white thrones.

  On one of the thrones sat Sendaaka, dressed in the pale, pleated robes of a Princess of Gannoth.

  "Welcome again. Sit down and I will try to entertain you as you deserve."

  When the travellers were seated, Lilahnee slid out from under the table and affectionately dug her claws into Kerish's calf. The table was spread with jewelled goblets and gold and silver dishes, but all of them
were empty.

  "Want bloats a belly more than having," muttered Gidjabolgo.

  "When men are hungry, they think only of food," said the sorceress, "and imagine their favourite dishes spread before them. Look again, Gidjabolgo."

  Sendaaka waved her hand and in front of the Forgite was a dish of tender, young thawgs, the tastiest fish in the Dirian Sea, served in a cream and wine sauce.

  "And for you, Forollkin?" asked the sorceress, but before he could answer he was staring at a plump dorf, stuffed and roasted and awash with rich sauces. While his brother was still blinking in astonishment, Kerish thought up a dish of Ellerinionn fruit and a cup of nectar. Sendaaka herself only drank water from a crystal goblet as she watched her guests eat.

  As Kerish picked up a glossy maroon fruit he remembered the question Forollkin had intended to ask their next sorcerer.

  "Lady Sendaaka, who built the city beyond the Forbidden Hill?"

  "Zindar is old and humankind is young, " said the sorceress, setting down her crystal cup and staring into the clear liquid as if she could see an answer there. "There were five such cities once; now three are desolate. If you reach Gannoth, my own country, ask its Prince where the first ships sailed from and what they found in Zindar."

  "But the men who built these cities. . ." began Forollkin.

  "They were not men," said Sendaaka, "but creatures far more ancient and rich in power and knowledge. Yet they must have lacked wisdom, for they destroyed each other. Grief and hatred overshadow the ruins of their cities and the ancient guardians of their useless treasures keep their deadly trust."

  "So that poor wretch we found must have tried to steal the treasure and was killed by its guardians," murmured Forollkin, "while the city keeps its secrets."

  "Alas, it does not."

  Kerish flinched at the pain in Sendaaka's voice.

  "The Guardians were defeated once," said the sorceress, "by one who holds the Power of the Key; the Sorcerer King of Roac. Everything between the Forbidden Hill and the Ultimate Mountains lies within my territory, so Shubeyash came to me and humbly asked if he might study the ruined city from a safe distance. I should have listened to Elmandis' warnings but, foolishly, I believed that I could see into the King of Roac's heart. I let him wander freely in my lands.

  Shubeyash entered the city, discovered the worst of its secrets and then tried to make himself the greatest of the seven sorcerers. He failed; his body was destroyed and his kingdom devastated." Sendaaka shuddered. "Yet because his key still lies in its casket in dark Tir-Roac, the spirit of Shubeyash is still chained to Zindar."

  "Must we go to Roac?" asked Forollkin.

  The sorceress nodded, white jewels glinting in her silver hair.

  "The key of Saroc unlocks the casket of Shubeyash; but we should not talk about your task tonight. This must be a joyful feast."

  Sendaaka clapped her hands and in the same instant created a different illusion for each of her guests. Kerish's favourite stories of the Poet Emperor were acted out before him, Forollkin watched the whirling sword-dancers of Viroc and Gidjabolgo smiled at his private vision. Sendaaka could not enchant her own eyes so she stared at ice and emptiness for as long as she could bear them. Then she clapped her hands again and the illusory performers vanished.

  "Tomorrow you begin your journey. The horses I will lend you know their path across the plains. Look back each night towards the mountains, and you will see my lantern shining to remind you of Tir-Zulmar."

  Kerish would have knelt to kiss her hand, but with a melancholy smile and a shimmer of frost, Sendaaka faded from their sight. The snowy walls crumbled and they were back in their own rooms. As they lay down to sleep, Kerish wondered where they would wake.

  *****

  Forollkin was roused by the clatter of hooves on ice. He sat up and shook Kerish and Gidjabolgo. They lay on the floor of a small cave beside a pile of luggage that included sacks of food and new clothes made from grey fur and brightly dyed leather.

  When they had dressed, the travellers explored a short tunnel that led to a second, much larger, cave. Three sturdy dappled ponies and two white horses, with silver bells jangling on their purple harness, were galloping to and fro, their hot breath clouding the frosty air. Kerish smiled rapturously at the beautiful creatures, while Forollkin wondered how they were ever going to catch their mounts.

  The Prince held out his hands and the stallions came to him, completely docile. They did not even flinch when the marsh cat paced around them, sniffing suspiciously at their legs. The ponies surrounded Gidjabolgo, almost knocking him down with their friendly nudges. He protested vigorously against mounting one of them until Forollkin asked if the Forgite wanted to find his own way back down the mountain and through the marshes.

  Their luggage was soon strapped to the broad backs of the remaining ponies and Kerish and Forollkin each chose a stallion. They trotted towards a tunnel of translucent ice that led southwards out of the cave. Gidjabolgo dug his fingers into the pony's mane, closed his eyes and kicked.

  After an hour, ice turned to rock and the tunnel was lit by torches that burned with steady blue-green flames. After three hours riding they came to a silver door that opened before them and swung shut behind them. Blinking in the sunlight and buffeted by the north wind, they looked out on a vast expanse of grass and nodding flowers. Their journey across the plains of Erandachu had begun.

  Chapter 6

  The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows

  Much may be learned from the contact of two peoples, and more may be unlearned.

  The great plains of Erandachu were white with windflowers. The limpid skies were darkened only by hovering birds, solitary hunters in the vastness of the grasslands. The three riders struggled against the west wind and a growing consciousness of solitude.

  For the hundredth time that morning, Forollkin brushed back the brown hair that whipped across his face, and then pointed to something.

  "Kerish can you make out what that is?"

  The second rider stood in his stirrups for a moment.

  "Just a mound, I think, crowned with a stone."

  "We'll make for it then," said Forollkin. "We should get a good view from the top."

  "What of?" snorted the third rider. "Windflowers?"

  "Why, Gidjabolgo," murmured Kerish, "don't tell me that you actually want to see other people again. I thought you despised us all."

  "So I do," answered the Forgite calmly, "but I'm bored with your vices. I'd welcome something new to hate."

  Kerish was learning to laugh at such remarks and did so.

  "Well, I fear you may find it a change for the worse. The Erandachi have unpleasant ways of dealing with sharp-tongued travellers."

  "What Erandachi?" demanded Gidjabolgo. "If they exist, where are they?"

  "Just beyond every horizon," said Kerish.

  It was over a month since they had left the Mountain gate and in all that time they had met no-one. Once, they had come to a place where the grass was cropped as if it had been grazed by some huge herd. Once, Kerish thought he saw a rider on a horned beast, far in the distance. They had met no other signs of men's existence.

  After a gentle canter they reached the mound. Harried by Lilahnee, the pack ponies trotted after them. Forollkin and Kerish dismounted; Gidjabolgo stayed hunched warily in the saddle. Someone had kept the mound free from grass, tearing it out by the roots, leaving the red earth bare. Forollkin knelt to examine the soil.

  "Look Kerish, men have been here, and recently too."

  The Prince had run up the mound to study the rock at its summit. A long time ago, to judge from the weathering, someone had scratched the crude images of a man with a spear catching hold of a woman with stars in her hair.

  "What's this, an Erandachi temple?" asked Forollkin, striding up to join his half-brother.

  "A holy place, certainly," answered Kerish.

  "But with no priests and no worshippers," said Forollkin, "perhaps Gidjabolgo is right; the Erandachi d
on't exist."

  "If they don't, then neither should I, " murmured the Prince, fingering the silver-streak in his dark hair.

  "Kerish, if you want to pause and search for your mother's people . . ."

  "No.” Kerish didn't look into his brother's worried grey eyes. He gestured at the pack ponies. "Shall we stay here to eat, or are we not allowed a noonday meal anymore?"

  Their supplies would soon be finished and they would have to rely on what Forollkin could shoot.

  "Not after today, unless we care to eat Lilahnee's leavings."