“Not against him!” I blurted out, pointing at the giant, who had removed his helmet to release a mane of blond hair, and was running round the arena acknowledging the adulation of the spectators.
Zak roared with laughter. “No, definitely not. But you can try me. I have a little height on you, but we are much of a weight.”
The giant stopped just below us, and made a respectful bow to Zak, as all the winners did. But when he lifted his yellow head, he was smiling with something more than just respect. Zak smiled too, and waved to him, and the giant bounded off into the shadows, as the watching crowds began to depart.
“He’s one of your friends, then?” I said casually.
Zak gave a bark of laughter. “You could say that. He’s my husband.”
“He’s your…? Oh. I see.”
He chuckled at my bewilderment. “I’m sure you have such couples where you come from, Garrett.”
“Yes, but… they don’t get married. And I thought you were married to the Keeper.”
“Ah, not exactly. The Protectors are only required to sire the Children of the Spirit. Apart from that, everyone is free to do as they wish. So in the Karningplain, the only kind of marriage is man and woman?”
“Well, not quite. There can be more than one couple… some marriages have twelve people.”
“Twelve!” His eyes widened, but almost at once he laughed again. “That must be complicated.”
“I suppose.” It wasn’t something I’d thought about much. “It was only the Karningholders, though – the ruling class. Or some rich merchants or craftsfolk do it, to hand on the business. But it wasn’t for the likes of me. I could never afford a wife, even if I’d wanted one. I’m not sure why people even do it, really – get married, I mean. It seems a bit too permanent to me.”
Zak nodded in understanding. “And you don’t wish to be tied down. You want the freedom to move on, to travel, to go your own way, without restraint.”
“Yes. Something like that.” I’d never quite put it into words, but it was a good description of how I’d lived my life, always moving somewhere, always looking for the next thing.
There was sympathy in Zak’s eyes. “There is much to be said for that way of life. I was like that, too, for a while. Hytharn was gone and I believed he was dead. For seven years I grieved for him, and nothing mattered much, so I wandered, and took risks, and did foolish things. But when the One gave him back to me, and I also found myself First Protector, I didn’t want the man I loved to be some shadowy, hidden part of my life, while I stood openly beside the Keeper. I wanted everyone to know how much he means to me. If I could ask the One for a blessing, it would be to give everyone such a love, at least once in their lives.”
I made some non-committal noise, but I couldn’t really imagine loving anyone that much. There’d been a few women, but none I regretted giving up. Not even Tella. I’d been under her spell, but I wouldn’t call it love. She was a very physical woman, who drew men to her like bees to nectar. If I could blend Drusinaar’s intelligence with Tella’s passion – that would be someone worth loving. But I’d never met anyone like that.
There’d been a woman in Bennamore, a cook to some great lord or other. She was pretty and fun and had the lightest hand imaginable with pastry. When we left, I’d have taken her with me, and looked after her, and loved her as much as she could want. But she’d had a child by the great man some years before, in a peculiar Bennamorian arrangement which gave the great man all the rights to the child. As a cook, she got to see her boy sometimes, watching him grow into a lord like his father, and that was enough for her. But if she left, she’d never see him again, and nothing I said could make her do it. That’s the strongest kind of love in the world, a mother’s love for her child.
Or a father’s. Maybe if I’d had a child… and at once I remembered the boy with the dragon’s eggs. My son. There was someone I could have loved well, perhaps, if the bones had fallen that way.
Zak was watching me intently, although I wasn’t sure why. It struck me then how odd it was that he, the most important man in Mesanthia, should be talking of such intimate matters with me, a nobody who ought, by rights, to be a slave by now. As soon as I had the thought, his face changed.
“Ah, now you’re suspicious of me,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “My apologies. I have always liked to prod people, and having access to my new ability to read emotions makes me go too far sometimes.”
“So you were just prodding me?” I said. “To see how I’d react?”
“More or less, yes. But you interest me, too. More than your friends, to be honest. You remind me of myself. As soon as I suggested coming out this evening, you wanted to come, even without knowing what was being offered. Zarin would have refused, and Hanni would have wanted to know why. But you were excited by the idea.”
I shrugged. “I’m a gambler.”
“As I am, too. Or was, perhaps. I’ve changed.”
“People don’t change,” I said, remembering my conversation with Mikah on that subject. “I’m the same person I always was.”
“Are you?” was all he said.
~~~~~
Drusinaar and I were taken to see the Keeper formally the following afternoon. This was no meeting in a dark little side-room, but an official petition for us to be admitted to the Wisdom of the Spirit, whatever that was. We had to wear our best clothes, and Xando brought a carriage for us to ride in, and an escort of Keeper’s Guards, although whether that was an honour or to stop us causing mischief I couldn’t say.
Zarin was still in disgrace and couldn’t go. More surprisingly, Hanni wasn’t invited either. She argued long and hard about it, but Xando took no notice.
“It is not personal,” he said, with his pleasant smile. “No Tre’annatha are allowed into the Keeper’s Room where the Spirit shows its Wisdom, that is the law.”
She made a disapproving noise. “Well, it is most unsatisfactory. Garrett, you must tell me everything that happens, you hear?”
“I hear.”
The Keeper’s Tower was a gloomy place, all dull black stone and straight lines. Considering how curvy and light every other structure was, it seemed oppressively heavy. Inside, we were taken through a series of formal ante-chambers, empty of furnishings or any degree of comfort, and peopled only by motionless guards every few paces. It reminded me of the waiting room at the Western Keep, which was equally bare and uncomfortable. Here, too, we passed straight through, then down broad carpetless stairs. Our boots had been removed at the entrance by kneeling servants and replaced with soft slippers, so we stepped silently downwards, Drusinaar’s hand firmly clutching mine.
More empty chambers, but then we were led aside to a small room furnished for greater comfort. Servants brought dishes of sweet things and nuts and dates, as well as fruit juice and water. A couple of guards stood either side of the door. We ate and drank and visited the water room while Xando went off to get himself rigged out with his mail and sword. He had to look the part of Protector on formal occasions.
No one else came into the room. I wondered whether that meant we were the only people waiting, or maybe there were lots of these little rooms with their silk-covered chairs and silently efficient servants.
Eventually, a servant in a rather grand uniform with a train of minions came to fetch us. She led us into a large many-pillared chamber, rather smoky, but just as sparsely furnished as the other formal rooms. This one, however, was filled with people, and not just servants and the ever-present guards. They were a motley collection, with rich clothes and skin and jewels and hair of every colour. None had the yellow hair of Zak’s champion, but there was black and red and every shade of brown. They all turned to stare at us as we were led the full length of the room. I had no idea what they were there for.
At the far end, the Keeper sat on a raised chair, with Zak in his mail to one side of her, and Xando on the other. The chair was large, making her look small and fragile in her delicate silks,
almost child-like, far too young to be the leader of a great city like this. Yet up until a couple of centuries ago, she’d have ruled an entire Empire, this bit of a girl.
She was talking to a group just ahead of us, so we waited, but they were soon dealt with. Then it was our turn. The fancy servant gave out our names. She gave Drusinaar her full name, with her Holding and Kyle, as it should be. Since I didn’t have a proper name, it had been agreed to call me Master Garrett of the city of Kashinor in the Karningplain. It was close enough.
Xando had taught me what to say, all the polite greetings, and the responses. And then, the petition.
“On behalf of my friend, Drusinaar, I, Garrett, do humbly beseech the Revered One to permit access to the Wisdom of the Spirit, so that my friend may receive comfort and enlightenment and healing of the mind, for no human can aid her.”
And that was true enough. How many people had looked at Drusinaar and poked and prodded and tested, and no one had found any way to make her normal. She was broken, and I didn’t think this Wisdom of the Spirit, whatever kind of religious ritual it was, was going to be the least use to her.
“Have the physicians examined the subject?”
“They have, Revered One.”
“And they have effected no improvement?”
“No, Revered One.”
“In that case, I shall consult the Spirit for guidance in the matter.”
Xando had warned me about this part of the process. The Keeper rose, and everyone bowed deeply. Then she disappeared through wooden doors behind her chair with Zak. We all waited, trying not to shuffle about too much. I glanced at Drusinaar, but she was, for once, not looking around much. Her face was unusually serious.
The Keeper returned. “By the Guidance of the Spirit, you may enter.”
And that was all it took. The servant in the fancy uniform ushered us round the chair and through the doors, with the Keeper and Zak following, leaving the murmuring crowd behind. The doors snicked shut and silence fell.
It was a strangely unimpressive place, the Keeper’s Room. Small and round, with white painted walls, black marble floor and ceiling, and a single marble pedestal in the centre. Nothing else, apart from another pair of doors at the far side. But there was an atmosphere in the room, something gnawing at me, although I couldn’t say what. It reminded me a little of my crossbow, with its polished black wood, supposedly steeped in magic. There was magic in the room.
“Many people have seen this room,” the Keeper said, in her strong voice, a ruler’s voice. “Few have seen what I am about to show you, and it is very secret. You must swear on the Spirit of Mesanthia that you will tell no one of what you see here. It is not an oath to take lightly, for you will be bound by it for the rest of your life. Will you swear?”
“I will,” I said.
“Drusinaar?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The Spirit will bind you to that oath for the rest of your lives. Now—”
“Wait,” I said. “No words? No ‘I do solemnly swear’ business? No hand on heart? No kneeling?”
She smiled gently. “Nothing like that. I am sorry if our lack of ceremony disappoints you, but it is not necessary. So long as you have the sincere intent, anywhere within this building, the oath is in effect. Now I shall show you the Spirit of Mesanthia.”
Around her neck she wore a silver chain with a small glass cube attached to it, the only jewelry adorning her. She detached the crystal cube, shook it vigorously, and inserted it into a square indentation in the top of the pedestal. The room darkened, then almost at once was filled with light, and the white walls shone as bright as the moon.
The walls were filled with writing, in a score of different scripts, and more languages than I could guess at. Hardly any of it was intelligible to me, and where it did make some sense, it was all in fragments, pieces of sentences and even words chopped in half. It was bizarre, and such a ridiculous thing to treat with such reverence that I almost laughed.
But Drusinaar wasn’t laughing. She howled like a dog, spinning round and round to see every little bit of writing, her face a picture of horror.
“It’s broken!” she shrieked. “You broke it! You broke all the words!”
28: Crenton Port (Garrett)
The Keeper and Zak were disconcerted. Clearly, no one had ever had that reaction before.
“I did not break anything,” the Keeper said coldly. “This is how it is, how it has been for centuries – for millennia.”
“No!” Drusinaar wailed. “No! It was whole. You broke it.”
“You mean you’ve seen this before?” Zak said, his tone sharp.
Drusinaar subsided into bewilderment. “I… don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Zak wasn’t much taller than Drusinaar, but in his mail and fired by anger, he seemed to loom over her.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was stronger. “I can’t remember.”
The Keeper placed a restraining hand on Zak’s arm. “You told me you remembered nothing from your time in the egg, Drusinaar. No memories until the egg was broken. Was that true?”
“Yes. But sometimes… I know things. I feel things.”
“What does that mean?” Zak began again, frowning, but the Keeper hushed him.
I remembered then the language Drusinaar had understood, back in the Lady’s Room. More than understood, she’d actually said some words, like poetry.
“I think she does have memories,” I said. “They’re just buried so deep she can’t get them out. But sometimes things pop out. She can speak some old language – the language that drusin aar comes from – without anyone teaching her.”
“She speaks hoshain dorssht?” the Keeper said, eyebrows lifted.
“Brann afor,” Drusinaar said. The Keeper answered in the same language, and the two of them rattled away to each other.
“By the One!” Zak said. “Where did she get that from? The old language is taught only to Akk’ashara, and there are no books describing it.”
“But it was the language of the mages, and universal amongst the educated before the Catastrophe,” the Keeper said. “I think Garrett is right, Drusinaar has memories and learning and a language from long ago, but they are locked inside her, and only appear at moments of stress. How to unlock them, though – that is the question. Drusinaar, does the Spirit’s writing mean anything special to you? Can you read it?”
Drusinaar gave the walls a cursory glance. “I can read it. It’s all book things. Battles, taxes, rulers and slaves. Some new names – this one is about a place called Carasshtaar. I haven’t heard of that one.”
“The green sea?” Zak said.
“Carassht is more like jade – the sea of jade,” the Keeper said. “That sounds beautiful. I have not heard of it either, but probably it predates the Catastrophe. So many beautiful places lost. Well…” She sighed heavily. “It does not seem that the Wisdom of the Spirit is of any help to you. You need a Keeper, but the old Keepers are long gone, and I do not have the knowledge to advise you.” She shrugged helplessly.
“So is that it?” I said. “Isn’t there anything more we can try? What about this Academia place – surely there’s a record somewhere there of egg-people like Drusinaar?”
“The Academia holds all the knowledge of the Empire, and more besides,” the Keeper said with a wry smile. “It is a lifetime’s work, however, to find a single clue amidst all that weight of history. The Ninth Empress set up a project to discover why all the dragon callers disappeared, and it has yet to complete its report, after almost a thousand years. No, the Academia will not help us. But there is one more possibility to try.”
“What’s that?” I said.
“I know where more eggs like Drusinaar’s may be found, hidden in the mountains. Perhaps the answer she seeks is there.”
~~~~~
I stared at the map, as Xando explained the route. “Gods! I need only travel a little further south and I’ll be right back at the Kar
ningplain, where I started.”
He gave me his gentle smile. “I do not advise that. The Karningplain is a strange place these days, by all accounts. Very unsettled. Better to keep to the northern plains. The canals make travel easy, and I will escort you as far as Crenton Port. Allandra – the Keeper – is preparing letters for the Mine Office there requesting admittance for you as researchers. You will have to ride after that, however.” He pulled a face. “I do not envy you that part of the journey, but it cannot be avoided on those mountain paths.”
“Can’t you come all the way with us to this mine?” I said. “You’ve been before, you know the way these places work.”
He looked uncertain for once. “Yes, I have been there once before, but I left…” He sighed gustily. “Allandra and I… we left the mine in haste, with an army on our tail. Two armies! I would certainly be recognised, and there is no knowing what reaction that might bring. But the Mine Office will see me only as the Second Protector of Mesanthia, bearing letters from the Keeper. You will have to make your way into the mountains alone, I fear, but we will give you all the information you need to get to the egg-chamber.”
Zarin was not allowed to leave Mesanthia. As punishment for his misbehaviour, he’d been given a menial job at the Academia, which he grumbled about although secretly he was thrilled, I’m sure. He’d always wanted to work there and now he had his wish. I thought it showed a surprising gentleness by the Keeper, to give him such a light penalty. It was a relief, though. He’d suffered on the journey along the coast, and a long trek into the heart of the Sky Mountains would finish him off.
Hanni wheedled her way into the party, though. She was still cross at being excluded from the Wisdom of the Spirit business, and even crosser when we wouldn’t tell her what we’d seen. I’d hoped she’d flounce back to her friends in a huff, but no, she insisted on coming with us.
“I accepted responsibility for Drusinaar when she crossed my path at Drakk’alona,” she said, with a smug smile. “I will not abandon her now.”
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