by Alison Baird
“I will go to Mera first,” he said at last. “The Valei will see me, but only after I have proven myself as Avatar—a conqueror come to claim his realm.” The figures bowed and vanished from sight, leaving Mandrake to ponder all that had been said. For now they and he shared a goal, but what would happen when Ailia and her forces were vanquished and he turned to pursue his own course? They must be destroyed, whatever manner of creature they might be.
He was not yet so far gone that he did not feel some unease at the speed with which this solution came to his mind. A warrior he had been for centuries, but not a ruthless or casual killer—a trait he considered primitive, and despised in others. No, his killings were always necessary, done in his own defense. For the meantime he had no choice but to accept the aid of his mysterious allies, although he would not go to Ombar—at least not yet. He would avail himself of the armies and flying fleets they had given him, the goblins and firedrakes as well as his own Loänei protectors, and go to Mera. That should be enough to aid his victory, without any recourse to the unknown and possibly perilous “power” in Valdur’s ancient throne world. Once Ailia was a threat to him no longer, he would seek out the fugitive Emperor and take the throne of Talmirennia from him. But before he embarked on the task of ordering his stellar realm, he would at last make the journey to Ombar—to rid himself of these allies, who could all too easily turn into rivals once their mutual foe was destroyed.
“OUR ARMY HAS COME AT LAST from Arainia. The Nemerei sent them through the desert portal,” said Lorelyn as she and Jomar descended the grand central stair of Yanuvan. “They will protect the people here when Mandrake’s followers come. This time there are more of them, and some have had experience of battle. That will make all the difference, I think.”
“Good. I’ll leave the Arainian commander in charge, and you and I can go search for Ailia.” Jomar replied.
“We must take the Star Stone with us. Have you got it?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve been carrying the thing with me everywhere. Someone would be sure to steal it otherwise: to the Zimbourans it’s nothing but a gem.” He reached into an inner pocket of his red silk vest and drew out a little cloth bag.
“It’s in there?” Lorelyn asked, awed. “You just walk about with—it on your person, like that?”
“Why not? I haven’t touched it—I’ve no wish to have visions, or whatever it is the Stone does to people.” He opened the drawstring of the bag and they both peered in at the Star Stone. The radiant light that filled it in Ailia’s presence was gone: it might have been no more than a large cut diamond, though an exceptionally clear and flawless one.
“She oughtn’t to have left it behind,” said Lorelyn. “Things go terribly wrong for her when she doesn’t keep it close.”
Feeling uneasy, Jomar closed the bag and returned it to his vest pocket. “Don’t say that! She probably just didn’t want to risk losing it, or have it fall into the wrong hands. Is there a dragon free to take us to Maurainia, or are they all fighting?” he added, changing the subject.
“I’ve asked them to send us some help. It worries me that the enemy probably knows about Ailia leaving, too. What if they track her down? I know she’s got her magic, but as the Nemerei say, even a sorcerer must sleep—and she’s all alone with no one to guard her.” They walked out of the cool halls of the fortress into the glare of the vast open plaza. Kiran, who was standing a few paces away from the entrance with Wakunga at his side, gave Jomar a mischievous grin.
“Hail Jomar! The Zayim, it appears, is a great magician as well as a warrior. You can conjure whole armies out of empty air.” He bowed deeply.
Jomar gave him a weary look. “What are you babbling about now? You know I can’t do anything like that.”
“Ah, but you already have. An army has been seen appearing out of the old stone gate in the desert: the one shaped like two winged stone beasts. One moment there was nothing, the witnesses say: then a whole host of fighting men came marching through the gateposts—out of nowhere. There were witnesses to this miracle, and the soldiers’ tracks are still plain to be seen in the sand on one side of the gateway—but on the other side, nothing.”
Jomar groaned. “The army didn’t—oh, blast it, I can’t explain. But I didn’t conjure anything!”
“Of course not. It is the fulfillment of the prophecy. The army of Heaven follows the arrival on earth of the Morning Star’s daughter,” said Wakunga. He too looked amused. “The Bird of Heaven has come also,” he added.
“The what?”
The shaman pointed. An excited crowd had gathered around a clump of stately date palms at the edge of the plaza. In the crown of the tallest tree, nestling among its luxuriant fronds, perched a large bird whose plumage shone with all the colors of flame. “It flew through the gateway not long after the army appeared,” said Wakunga. “They say it is a sign from Heaven.”
“It’s Taleera! She’s come back!” Lorelyn cried, recognizing Ailia’s protector and friend. She ran to the base of the tree and called up to the firebird. “Taleera—hie! Down here!”
Taleera was plainly enjoying the attention of the onlookers: as they gazed up at her she literally preened, fanning out her brilliant wing coverts and dabbing at them with her beak. She answered Lorelyn’s hail with a long trill, a lovely liquid sound like water bubbling from a spring.
“What did it—she say?” asked Jomar, wishing the T’kiri would take her human form and speak in plain Elensi.
“She says she heard about Ailia, and has come to help. And Auron is here too.” Lorelyn looked about her, then called out again at the sight of a short, portly man standing in the crowd. He appeared to be of Kaanish descent and elderly, with a balding head and long white beard. But it was a mere disguise. This was Auron, an Imperial Loänan and trusted servant of the Celestial Emperor. He wasted no words when he saw them approach, but met them halfway, making urgent gestures with both arms.
“Come,” he said. “Falaar told me what happened. He remained in the battle, where he is sorely needed, but Taleera and I will help you to find the Tryna Lia.”
“Right. Just let us get our weapons and some food, and change our clothing,” Jomar said.
“We will await you here.”
Jomar and Lorelyn began to walk back toward the fortress, Kiran following. The ambassador from Maurainia met them in the main hall.
“If I may trouble you, my lord—” he began, addressing his words to Jomar. The latter kept on walking.
“I’m leaving,” he said over his shoulder. “You will have to talk to someone else while I’m gone.”
“Leaving? But you cannot leave! You are the ruler here.” Ambassador Jevon stared at him, incredulous. “Where are you going?”
“To look for my friend.” Jomar turned to Kiran. “Here, you! Take over for me. Since you think it’s so amusing to be a leader, you can just try it while I’m gone.” He marched on without a backward glance.
“I? A king?” Kiran laughed. “Whatever is Zimboura coming to? Well, I must work on my royal swagger.” He headed for the throne room, walking with an exaggerated rolling gait.
The ambassador, left to himself in the hall, stood shaking his head and muttering to himself the words that he would later repeat to his sovereign: “These people are mad. Utterly mad!”
AILIA’S STRENGTH SLOWLY RETURNED AS the evening deepened. Assisted by Nella and her Aunt Betta, she managed to sit up in bed without feeling faint. But the gap in her memory remained, sharply dividing her present from her past. It seemed to her that she stood on the brink of a black yawning chasm, gazing at its remote and inaccessible far side. The bridge that had once spanned it, and by which she had come to this side, had fallen and been lost to its depths.
“We never gave up hoping you would come back to us,” said Jemma. “I used to dream about it. Some folks said you were dead, lost forever. But deep down, I kept telling myself you were alive still, and would return from wherever it was you had gone to. I wish you cou
ld say where you’ve been!”
“So do I. It’s very strange,” said Ailia, “to be missing a great piece out of your life. And rather frightening.”
“You really remember nothing?” Jaimon asked.
Ailia closed her eyes and thought hard. “Nothing after our arrival here in Raimar.”
“That was four years ago,” he said. “I’ve heard of such things—people losing their memories after illness, or a bump on the head. But usually they forget everything. You’ve not forgotten us, or the Island.”
“Yes—it’s as if part of me doesn’t wish to remember something, for some reason. I believe I have read about such things: soldiers and other people who suffer or see terrible sights, and then lose all memory of them, though they can still recall the rest of their past. It’s as if their minds blot out that one thing in particular, to save their sanity.” Ailia sat quietly, her eyes still shut, trying to summon up that lost fragment of her life. She was surprised that she did not feel more afraid. What could have happened that was so dreadful her mind did not choose to recall it? But whatever it might have been, she was whole and unhurt, and healthy again: and it was comforting to be with her family, even if they were not in their proper home. “Supposing you told me what you know—I understand there isn’t much, but we might piece something together. Or it might jog my memory,” she suggested. But she did not speak with any urgency.
Jaimon cleared his throat. “Well, as we said, you were taken by the authorities—so we were told—on charges of witchcraft.”
“But I wasn’t, was I? It doesn’t sound like me.” She gave him a little smile, which he returned.
“Of course not! We all knew that part was nonsense.” He approached her bedside and stood gazing down at her. “The other people who came to us wouldn’t say where you were either—they just went all mysterious when we asked.”
“Other people?”
“They were an odd lot—beggars and villagers mostly, but they all claimed to know what had been done with you. They said you didn’t run away at all, that Zimbourans had carried you off. But they insisted you got away from the Zimbourans, and you were safe somewhere. Old Ana said the same.”
Ailia gasped. “Ana—”
“What is it?”
“When you said that name, I saw—a face. An old woman—”
“Yes—the wise woman from the mountains. Most people here have heard of her, though she doesn’t come into the city much. But she came to us a few months ago. She told us she’d seen you and said you were all right. But she wouldn’t say where. We didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Do you remember now? Anything?”
“I—I’m not sure.” Places, people flowed before her eyes in a bewildering torrent. She could not fit names to most of them.
Aunt Betta intervened. “Don’t pepper her with questions, Jaim. Let her get her strength back first.”
“Tell me,” Ailia said. “What has been happening here? Have you stayed in Maurainia all this time? I expect I was dreadfully worried about you too—wherever I was.”
“Dannor and your Uncle Nedman came over to join us, when things got rough,” Nella explained. “And Jemma’s husband came later. The men are all working down on the wharves, except Jaimon. He’s signed on to sail with the Royal Navy, and will be leaving in a few days.”
“Not that the navy is much use anymore, with the enemy coming by air,” said Jaimon. Betta made a motion with her hand to hush her son, but it was too late. Ailia stared at them.
“By air?” she repeated. “You mean—flying ships?”
“Yes. The Zimbourans’ new weapon against us.”
“But this reminds me . . . I remember something about them—”
The others exchanged sharp glances. “What do you remember?” Nella queried. There was an odd, intent look in her eye as she leaned forward.
“A word.” Ailia struggled to grasp the elusive images. “Ornithopters. Ships that fly on wings like birds . . . I think—I think the Elei made them.”
Jaimon nodded. “You used to tell us old tales of the Elei and their flying ships when you were a little girl. That’s what you are remembering, I expect. But these ones aren’t faerie tales: they’re real. We see them flying overhead all the time now. People scream and run at the sight. No one knows how the Zimbourans learned to make them: some old-timers out in the countryside say it must be done with black magic, but most say they’ve simply learned the trick of flight from watching birds. Magisters at the Royal Academy have been trying to do that for years. One nearly succeeded, but the wings of his air-craft kept breaking off—”
Ailia said, “Zimbourans may be flying in them, but others devised those ships, a very long time ago. The tales I told you were true.”
“How do you know that?” he asked, puzzled.
“I—just know.”
“There now—that’s enough,” said Nella, turning suddenly brusque. “Let her rest. Her memory is quite likely to come back on its own if she takes her ease, and isn’t too troubled.”
She shooed them all out of the room, then followed, closing the door gently behind her. Jemma retreated to her own room, while Jaimon went into the kitchen to join the two older women.
“You must tell her, Nell,” he overheard Betta say in a low voice.
“Tell her what? That I and Dannor have lied to her all these years?”
Jaimon stepped forward, and they both swung about to face him. “Look here, if you know something about all this, you must tell the rest of us. What do you mean by ‘lying all these years’? Has it anything to do with Ailia being taken away from us? Is she in any sort of danger? Tell me!”
Betta turned to her sister-in-law. “He’s right. The time for secrecy’s long past! Those people in the flying ships may well be looking for her. What if she’s in danger? She has to know the truth!”
“But now, Betta?” Nella remonstrated. “When she’s been ill, and is so weak? Why frighten her? We can hide her, and keep her safe.”
“And if they aren’t her enemies? What if they want to help her? We’d have no right to keep her hidden then. We must tell her, and let her decide what she wants to do.”
“In any case,” Jaimon added, “you can at least tell me this secret, whatever it is. I don’t like being kept in the dark. Do you mean to say you know where Ailia has been all this time—and what happened to her?”
“No,” Betta said. “We don’t know, Jaim.” Her eyes went to Nella again. “But we can guess. If you won’t tell him, Nell, I will.”
Nella stood for a moment with eyes downcast. Then she said, “Come outside, so Ailia won’t overhear. And fetch Jemma: she ought to hear as well.”
She led them into the hens’ yard, where they all faced her: Betta stern, the two younger ones confused and uneasy. For a long time Nella said nothing, but stood twisting her apron in her work-coarsened hands. Then she spoke, almost blurting the words: “There was a shipwreck, many years ago. On the south shore of Great Island.”
“Yes, of course we’ve heard of it,” Jaimon replied. “I used to pester you to tell me more about it when I was a little boy, remember? You older folk were terribly close-mouthed about it.”
“I’m not surprised: for the wreck, you see, was all covered in gold. At least we think it was gold: hundreds and hundreds of yellow plates were stuck all over the hull, like fishes’ scales. They are probably still lying in cellars and smugglers’ caves all over Great Island. Oh, yes: we never told you young ones the whole truth of it. Very strange it was—a wreck like any other, we all thought at first. But the pieces of the ship that washed ashore were all golden. They must have been wondrous rich folk went down with that ship—and yet no ever came looking for them, which was odd. And old Jeb that lived down on the shore, he alone saw the ship before she sank. He swore up and down that he saw that ship sailing through the sky, like a ghost-ship out of the old tales, before it was struck by a thunderbolt and fell down, into the sea. He wouldn’t have anything to do with the wreck
age, gold or not. Said it was unlucky. Many came to believe him, and they hid or buried what they’d salvaged, and never spoke of it again.”
“Jeb! Wasn’t he the town drunkard?” said Jaimon.
“He wasn’t drunk that night. No doubt that ship was sailing the sky—for it must have been the same as these flying vessels we’ve seen since. Though I still don’t know why no one ever came to claim its wreckage—or the babe.”
“The babe!” cried Jemma.
“We found her on the shore with the wreckage. Just a tiny child she was then, barely old enough to talk and toddle. But her little dress was all embroidered with stars in thread of gold. We kept that dress for years, in case her kin ever came to claim her, and then finally we threw it away. You see, we’d begun to think of her as ours, and we didn’t want Ailia herself to think otherwise. I couldn’t have babes of my own, so for me she was like an answer to a prayer. If she’d found that dress, she might have started asking questions we didn’t want to answer. What was the use of it? All her folk must be dead, or they would have come looking for her.”