Sandun, making use of his lessons from Valo Peli, responded in kind to the formal language Master Donath used.
“No visitors from Kelten have ever come to this place before, but long ago, a man named Hepaston from the distant west visited our former temple at Lake Histel. That was five hundred years ago.” Master Donath gestured with his long fingers to the room around. “This is our library. Some would call this the heart of our temple.”
Sandun looked around in surprise at two walls filled with books. All of the bookstores in Tokolas had more books for sale than this.
Master Donath smiled, guessing at Sandun’s thoughts. “The bulk of our collection is below us. Indeed, the library’s passages and rooms lie under most of the buildings that you see. Come, let me show you.”
Sandun followed Master Donath through a door and down a stairwell to a room with a large wooden table and cabinets. Oil lamps hung ready for use, along with several jars of oil for refilling them.
The next several hours sped by as Sandun followed Master Donath around the vast library, examining books of antiquity and hearing the man describe a few of the stories behind the books. One book in particular—a huge, flat beast so large it was stored under a reading table—held maps of all the provinces of Serica in astonishing detail, followed by pages of notes on every town and city listed.
“Commissioned early in the reign of the Water Kingdom, it was completed after a decade of work by fifteen cartographers and scholars.” Master Donath turned the large pages with both hands as he talked. “The next king had an even larger map book created and thus, this one was rendered obsolete, which is why it was given to us. Sadly, the greater map book was lost and likely destroyed when the Palahey captured Kemeklos.”
Another prize of the collection was found in a spacious room with several desks and chairs. “These are the histories of the Fire Kingdom and the Gold Kingdom.” Master Donath gestured to shelves of books, each the same height and numbered sequentially. Each history ran for hundreds of volumes. “We have been working on the history of the Water Kingdom, but we lack many important documents, so our labors remain incomplete. We have asked the scholars in Dombovar for assistance, but they have been somewhat uncooperative.”
Sandun’s years spent working with the Royal Archives left him well suited to assess the library. It dwarfed any private collection in Kelten and was at least as large as the Royal Archives. “How do you have so many documents and books?”
Master Donath stopped short and looked at him searchingly. “That is a complicated question to answer. The short and not very informative answer is that this is a place of refuge, not just for scholars and books but for ideas. Plans were laid centuries ago and work was started long before it was needed, against the time of troubles, which was predicted based on the repeating cycles of our history. My ancestors planned for the years of tribulation just as we now expect the current era to end and a new time of peace and flourishing to come.”
He stopped and brushed his fingers against the first volumes of the Fire Kingdom’s history. “We are not mystics who claim to see spirits in smoke—at least most of us do not. We have made predictions in the past that proved wrong. I may be wrong now, but I am taking a calculated chance. I, and several others, are going to Tokolas. More will follow.”
Sandun was puzzled. The Great Sage Temple seemed more similar to the colleges in Tebispoli than a religious institution. “This isn’t really a temple at all.”
Master Donath smiled. “There are many layers of understanding. Some people come here to worship the Great Sage. This we allow because to truly worship the Great Sage, one must eventually follow his teachings, and that involves deep study and learning. Some men come because they seek the best knowledge. This we honor, for true knowing is the foundation of all that is good. There is another layer that I will not speak of. Is this a temple? What is the true meaning of the word? This place has had many names. In the early years, it was called the South Mountain Book Storage. My grandfather called it the Cloud Surpassing Home of Learning. Others call this place a temple. We do not mind, but it does not encompass who we are and what we do.”
Master Donath and Sandun emerged from the library into the late-afternoon sun. Around the karst, towering clouds shifted and grew, suffused with yellow light. Faint peals of thunder could be heard, and the air seemed alive with energy.
“It is very beautiful up here—exciting! I could sit here for days just watching the clouds,” Sandun said.
Just then, Basil found them. He was dressed for travel. Without a word, he looked at Sandun. His expression told all: he was rested and ready to depart down the mountain. Sandun felt very reluctant to leave. Yes, he cared about Ashala and his friends, but their fate was now out of his hands. Further, he liked this place. There was so much more to see and learn, and who knew when—if ever—he would be able to return.
Sandun pointed at the sky. “It may rain again this evening. I think we have run out of time today.”
Basil shook his head. “We still have several hours before night.”
“I have a suggestion,” said Master Donath. “Early tomorrow, a group of us will descend the path to our boat and row downriver to Omot, where I believe your horses are waiting. We usually continue on boat to Anessa, where we rent horses when we are traveling to the west—to Hutinin, for example. If you leave now, since you have neither a boat nor horses, you cannot get to Omot faster than we will tomorrow. Why not stay the night and travel with us, at least as far as Omot? Since I am going to Tokolas, does it not make sense to travel together?”
“Yes, it does,” said Sandun.
Basil thought about it for a few seconds, and he had to agree. Very politely he said to Master Donath, “Your offer is kind, and I am—we are—thankful. What time did the fast boat leave this morning?”
“Our lookout saw your boat depart three hours after dawn. Vellen sped down the karst trail, which is to be expected as he has made the journey often.”
For dinner, they were given a feast, held inside a large hall near the crane. Windows faced east, but this evening they were closed against the rain. After dinner, there were poems read in a language that was completely incomprehensible to Sandun and Basil, and music of the same odd, atonal nature as was played before the knighthood ceremony seven weeks earlier in Tokolas. Sandun still found the formal music of Serica off-putting and lacking any discernable melody or rhythm.
With dinner ended and the musical instruments, mercifully, put away, Master Donath sat with Basil and Sandun for several hours, talking about their journey over the Tiralas. Two scribes sat silently at his side, writing down the conversation. Basil promised Master Donath that a detailed map awaited him back in Tokolas.
At the end of the conversation, Master Donath seemed cheerful and said he looked forward to the coming journey as they would have more time to talk.
Sandun and Basil returned to their rooms. As on the previous night, the tops of the clouds had descended below them, and the stars were glittering in the crystal-clear sky. Sandun fell asleep to the sound of distant thunder echoing through the canyons.
That night, he dreamed a vivid dream that stayed with him for many days. He was again climbing the rocky path up the karst. Again, the rain was pouring down, and he could barely see shadowy figures ahead of him. A sudden surge of water from the high cliffs above caused him to lose his balance, the force of the water pushed him over the edge, and, horribly, he was falling. At first, blinding fear gripped him, but as he held his arms and legs out like a flying squirrel, he seemed to be falling slower. Gradually the air cleared, and it grew lighter. All at once, it was day, and he was now flying over the river valley, still high above the ground. In the distance, he could see the town of Omot, where they had left Zaval and the horses. As is the way of dreams, Ashala was next to him, in front of him, holding his hands in hers. She smiled and said, “Silly man-goose—you can fly
!” For a short time, he was blissfully happy. Then he woke to see the morning sunlight had filled his room, promising clear weather for the coming journey.
After a breakfast of eggs in soup and rice flavored with lemon, they walked down to the gate. Master Donath bade farewell to the men and women who were staying for the present. Doctor Tomi and two junior scholars were also coming with them on their journey to Tokolas. Six guardsmen would row the boat down to Omot and Anessa, two would guard the master for the rest of his trip, and the other four guards would have to row back upstream to the temple’s karst.
When they reached the plank path, Sandun could now see what a sheer cliff the planks traversed: perhaps a thousand feet of naked rock, nearly straight down. Looking south, the view was breathtaking. Master Donath pointed out a karst several miles southeast as the location of the Rulon Mors temple. Sandun could see three or four buildings and courtyards resting on the top of that karst.
The Great Sage Temple guards crossed the planks—recklessly, to Sandun’s mind. The shaking of the chains and the scraping of the wood against the cliff face seemed to be matters of no import to those men. They were soon out of sight while Basil and Sandun were still tentatively edging their way along the first section. Master Donath walked ahead of them, but he treated the path with respect, almost gliding along, hardly disturbing the chains.
At the end, Basil said, “That is easier when it’s not wet and there is light.” Sandun nodded. Even so, he didn’t know if he could be convinced to take that path again. The rest of the trail down was slippery at times, and in places so steep that Sandun felt forced to go backward down the footpath. It was embarrassing, but he just didn’t feel he could descend any other way.
They arrived at the bottom of the trail, hot and with aching knees. The guards were doing group exercises like the boatmen of Omot. The Great Sage Temple’s boat was already prepared for travel. Basil and Sandun found their bags stowed on board. This boat was a conventional river cargo boat designed to carry supplies to the temple. There was plenty of space for them to walk about and sit in the shade of the sail as Master Donath continued to ply the two Keltens with questions.
He was very well informed about the general nature of the Archipelago, the political divisions, and the structure of the Temple of Sho’Ash leadership. Master Donath was unsurprised to learn of the lengthy civil war that had torn Kelten into bloody shreds a decade ago.
“Kelten is reported to us as a land in constant war, which is one reason why it is thought you opmi are so skilled,” Master Donath said very matter-of-factly. “I’m confident you both fought in many battles before you were selected for your mission to Serica.”
Sandun stretched out on the deck of the boat and laughed until his sides ached. Even Basil allowed himself a chuckle before he walked away and stood by the rail, looking at the water.
Master Donath sat calmly, waiting for Sandun or Basil to explain. Sandun spent an hour trying to convince him that Kelten’s history was not one of constant warfare and that he and Basil were not hardened warriors. But under Master Donath’s incisive questions, he had to admit—at least to himself—that there hadn’t been any peaceful kings that he could think of. And, in truth, both he and Basil had been involved in a several battles even before the trip to Serica. However, Sandun thought to himself, he could not possibly be compared to a real knight like Sir Ako.
The two junior scribes sat silently near the master, writing swiftly. They both had satchels filled with blank notebooks. Sandun was hoping to learn something from Master Donath, but it became clear that he was intent on gathering knowledge from Sandun. He deflected the questions Sandun directed at him with polite but lifeless answers and then returned to his previous line of inquiry. Finally, Sandun had to beg off further questioning by saying his throat was sore.
As he watched the boatmen pulling at their oars, he considered how differently Valo Peli behaved from Master Donath. He noted that Valo Peli had spent much of his life running military campaigns, dealing with soldiers and ordinary people for decades. Also, Valo Peli had a creative mind, alive with inventions and plans. Master Donath’s knowledge was vast, but Sandun thought there was something missing; there was an artificial element to his questions. I wonder what Lord Vaina will make of him? he wondered.
They stayed the night in Omot. Basil and Sandun returned to Filpa’s family home. Zaval looked much better and proclaimed he was ready to ride back with them to the message station in Nikawsa. If one of his ribs was broken, he was a good actor. Filpa’s father proudly presented the two Keltens with new and very fine leather boots. He refused to take any payment, but Sandun left two silver cats with Filpa’s mother the next morning. She smiled as she hid them away in a bag at her waist.
The three debated the merits of going on to Anessa in Master Donath’s boat, which clearly had room enough for their four horses. Sandun was willing to spend another day under Master Donath’s questioning because he was worried about the guards at Anessa arresting them for the brawl with the Telihold Tanul monks.
Basil thought an all-day trip by boat would take too long when they could ride to Anessa in just four or five hours. Zaval was contemptuous of the Anessa guards and told Sandun that if they paid the toll, they would be allowed to cross the town without trouble. He also assured them the toll would be lower—people traveling west towards Kunhalvar were poorer than the pilgrims traveling east to the Pillars of Heaven. Sandun didn’t know what sense that made, but he believed Zaval.
So they left on horseback early the next morning, detailing Filpa’s brother to take a message to Master Donath explaining their decision. Zaval was proved right in all dimensions: the guards asked for but a half cat in payment and waved them on without any further interest when the money was produced.
With only one spare horse between them, their return trip was much slower. They spent the night in a tumbledown shack a quarter of a mile off the trail, which Zaval guided them to. They finally crossed the border into Kunhalvar the next morning, about an hour before noon. The border commander told them that Filpa and one other man had crossed the border with haste before midnight, two days ago.
At the very first message station, they found Filpa playing a wooden flute as he sat beside a mug half filled with the local liquor. Filpa greeted them with his usual merry smile, looking none the worse for wear. He told them that he and Scribe Vellen had placed the medicine in a sealed pouch and sent it off by courier an hour after they arrived. At the crack of dawn, Vellen had departed for Tokolas with another courier as escort. Filpa’s job was done, so he stayed behind, on break for the next two or three days.
With thanks and a promise from the two scouts that they would come see the Keltens if a message ever brought them to Tokolas, Sandun and Basil continued their journey, retracing the path they had taken days before. The rest of the trip was in stages; the couriers that escorted them were so eager for speed that the two Keltens spent far more time galloping than Sandun would have liked. They spent the night in Chotos, a small farming village thirty miles from Hutinin. They rode into Hutinin near noontime of the following day. There they learned the medicine had arrived almost exactly two days earlier and should have reached Tokolas more than twenty-four hours ago.
The stationmaster offered them the use of his fast boat to Teketavaska and from there on to Tokolas. As they were both sore and the difference in time was but an hour or two, Basil agreed, and so the rest of the trip was physically easy for the two Keltens as they slept on the boat or watched the banks of the river go by. They reached the boat transfer station at Teketavaska as the last light of day faded from the western horizon.
An unfamiliar crew took them the rest of the way down the river, into the deep night, made darker still by the mist coming off the river.
Sandun’s thoughts were increasingly on Ashala and his friends in Tokolas. Had he and Basil failed? Had the medicine come too late? He knew Basil was thinking
the same thing, but neither ever broached the subject. They said little, each wrapped his own thoughts. Sandun slept fitfully in the early evening, and every time he woke, nothing seemed to have changed: the men rowed, the water gurgled, all else was silent.
When they joined the Mur River, there was noticeable change. The banks faded from view, and there were small waves that the boat cut down and then up.
The last hours of the trip were like waiting for the reports about a distant earthquake, one that shook your home but caused little damage. He remembered a big quake when he first arrived at Tebispoli as a new apprentice at the Archives. Everyone went outside and stood about, speculating on the direction of the quake and damage that it might have caused. Messengers rode north and south to the nearby towns to see if they had news or if help was needed. People looked across the estuary in the direction of Seopolis to see if it was damaged. It was an anxious time till the good news came back: some buildings had collapsed, but only a few people had died.
They pulled into the harbor of Tokolas as dawn was breaking. It was peaceful. A few men were sitting around the docks; the silent fishermen were rowing out into the main channel of the Mur to fish, as they did every day. To the north, a dark bank of clouds loomed; only at the edges did the rosy fingers of the dawn bring flashes of color.
Sandun was oddly reluctant to take a horse and ride, but Basil did not hesitate, and Sandun could not let Basil go by himself. So the two Keltens rode along the main road, past the arsenal where the warships captured from Vasvar were being repaired, past the ruined houses and the splintered remains of the massive ballista bolts, through the main gates at the top of the ridge, which were now almost completely rebuilt. They were waved into the city by the guards; Sandun thought this would be their last use of the courier token.
The Fire Sword Page 9