Graven forces himself to swallow. These Scoriats are only good to eat when fresh; they stick in the gullet if not. Still, food is food. Calories must be administered. And the Plains of Teygar are not well-stocked for the hunt. There are few animals, and those that do eke out an existence here are mostly cold-blooded.
Even while he is eating, Graven is using his sense of smell to find traces of her. The remnants of molecules are so few and far between that he almost has to intuit where she has passed. He is on the right track, but the passing of time fades her scent to little less than a faint temptation which hints of better things to come. He must find her. He must smell her again. He has a bond with her now. A bond forced onto him by the Raths, impossible to break. This, he knows, is what they intended. To make him an implacable killer. They have succeeded beyond their wildest expectations.
Graven dips his massive head to the carcass again. This Scoriat was young. Even after some time dead, it is still tender. The razor-sharp teeth rip into the strong muscles that make the dead soldier such a good source of meat. As Graven chews he looks out to the horizon with those clouded eyes of his. There is a promise of death in them.
9.
The water supply has nearly run out three days later. We have limited sleep to four hours each night since Jethran and Kalyka caught up with us. We are approaching the Rift of the Timeworn. Linnith and Karith are already scouting ahead. We must be close; they are both excited.
Now we are reaching the South Pole of Hethor the landscape has changed again. The sands of the desert have given way, first to compacted granules and later to rock. What was simply an infinite vista of nothingness that made my eyes ache has become littered gradually with more and more rocks, and today there are so many that we are actually having to walk between two escarpments. Strange shapes of eroded stone are appearing. Crags of softly molded rock, almost like melted candle wax, surround us. Weather-beaten pillars, similar to those surrounding the Abaloss Rift, rear up from the land, their flattened tops making them look like arrowheads in flight.
I am awed. There are even egg-shaped boulders covered in swirling enameled patterns which meld into each other. It is as if some huge ancient animal might have deposited them here hundreds of centuries ago, hoping they would hatch.
Linnith and Karith both ignore all of this. They are searching the outcrops as they walk, their gait getting more and more stiff-legged as they fail to find whatever sign they are looking for.
Kalyka dashes up to the nearest egg-like stone and runs her hand over the smooth surface. “What is this, Remeny?”
As if I know all the answers. I have to shrug. I can’t answer. It looks like something from another planet.
The whole landscape is eerie, jagged. The rocks themselves give a serrated skyline, but it is more than that. All around us are surreal columns and chimney stacks of natural stone. Each stack is topped off by a flat rock, for all as though our ancestors had clambered on top and gently covered each one of them. The tops are smooth, whittled down over thousands and thousands of years by the sharp winds for which the South Pole is famous.
It is not only the sights we are seeing. The wind, gentle today, is funneling through the area where we are walking and it whistles as it circles around the stacks of stone. The sound is low pitched, continuous. A humming that seems to provoke an answering call within my own body. I vibrate as I walk.
Occasionally there are thin vents in the ground. None big enough to take a person, mere slits hinting at passageways beneath our feet. They will lead to Kelfor, if we can ever discover the entrance. I wonder what it is exactly that the two speakers of the land are searching for.
Whatever it is, they cannot find it. We walk for the whole day until it is too dark to see anything much at all. Then we sling our carricks between suitable chimneys. So far south in this season it is daylight nearly all the time. We have only a few hours to pass and rest before the new sunrise.
I rock in my carrick, watching the stars. Here, near the Rift of the Timeworn, they shine much more brightly. They glitter as if they could cut our eyes if we stared at them for very long. I end up closing my lids against the glare. As soon as I do that I fall into an uneasy sleep. Full of starts and scares, my dreams are vivid and uncomfortable.
I wake up to a large hand which is shaking my shoulder. “You were twitching.” It is Doven.
“I was not. I was ... shifting position.” I am not going to tell anybody about the nightmares I have been having since I watched my mother fall to her death. It is my business. Nobody else’s.
“Day is breaking.”
I clamber out of my carrick, smiling at Doven as he helps me dismantle the ropes holding it above the ground. “Maybe today we will find the entrance to the rift?”
He pulls a face. “Maybe. I hope so. The Scoriats won’t be that far behind us.”
“Do you regret coming?”
Doven examines the land out beyond us. He shakes his head. “No.”
“You don’t mind about Ammeline?”
His expression darkens. “Ammeline is a fool.”
“You still like her though?”
He grins. “You are too young to understand.”
“I am not! Only I don’t see how you can still like her when she treats you so badly.”
“You see? You are too young.”
I bristle, but he smiles again, softening the criticism. “You can’t simply switch love off and on because it would be better. It doesn’t work like that.”
I didn’t know. “Why not? How can you still like somebody who laughs at you?”
“Good question.” He considers. “Look, I know that I should love Linnith. I want to. She is the girl who would make me happy. It is just ... just that every time Ammeline looks at me my whole body responds. As if ... as if something inside me aligns with her. I can’t look anywhere else.”
“Do you think that will change? One day?”
His mouth tightens. “I hope so.” He tucks the cordings into the carrick and helps me shoulder the whole thing. “I hate how weak she makes me.”
I blink. “Weak?”
He gives a harsh laugh. “She undermines who I want to be. Because I allow her to manipulate me, she takes advantage. I don’t like Ammeline ... not one jot ... but I am in love with her.”
I try to imagine what it would be like if I fell in love with Vannis. I shiver. How horrid. Like being tempted to throw yourself off a cliff. Is that what love is about? I want nothing to do with it. What an utter waste of time.
“I don’t understand why you can’t simply stop loving her.”
“No,” he says sadly. “Neither can I.”
It is hot by around ten in the morning. The long sunrise shadows have given way to shorter ones. The rocks have stopped looking mysterious in the early mist. Now they loom harshly out in front of us.
We walk past a fire-colored tree, trapped horizontally into the rock. I run up to stare at it. My eyes can hardly believe what they are seeing. A tree! A huge, thick tree trunk. There haven’t been trees on Hethor for thousands and thousands of years. Not since the climate changed. And this tree is sparkling ruby red and bright orange!
I scramble up to the prone trunk. It is immense and feels cold to the touch. This tree is not alive. It has not been alive for many centuries.
“Petrified.” Furian has come up behind us.
I perch Kalyka on top of the only part of the trunk which protrudes from the rock. She loves it. Her little face lights up. “What does that mean, Furian?”
“I heard about it once. The tree falls, and for some reason it becomes like stone instead of rotting away.” He strokes it with his hand. “This must be one of the sacred trees. One of the fallen ones. Our ancestors idolized these trees. Kelfor is supposed to be full of them. Look how this one is trapped inside the rock. Amazing. Quite, quite beautiful.” He puts both hands on the petrified bark and mutters a short prayer.
I pull Kalyka off the tree trunk. Perhaps she shouldn’t
be riding something sacred. Furian smiles and shakes his head. He doesn’t mind, but I can’t help wondering if Azrial and Thurifer would have.
I touch the rough bark admiringly. “Why is it this color? Flecked with bright orange and ochre and red?”
“The scripts called these colors ruby, merigold, honey and fire. The timeworn thought them signs of the Gods. I don’t know what the scientific explanation might be, but after all my experience in Rath mines I would imagine mineral deposits in the water have something to do with it.”
The bark of the fallen tree really does look as if it is on fire, it is so vivid. Magical. No wonder my ancestors worshipped them.
We are allowed to admire the petrified tree for ten minutes before we go on. Kalyka can’t stop staring at it. She says it is the prettiest thing she has ever seen. I spot a bright green fluorescent lizard highlighted against the red fire of the petrified tree. It pretends to be dead for a few seconds before diving out of sight down a large crack in the fossil. I am dazzled. I have never seen such a vivid contrast. In dry terrain like this it is totally unexpected.
The chimney stacks of stone are growing. Whereas yesterday they were only the height of one or two people, today we must crick our necks to stare up at the tallest of the structures. They are way above our heads. Perhaps ten or fifteen lengths.
Suddenly the speakers of the land stop. They sign to us to form a semicircle around them. Surprised, we do this.
“The Scoriat may go no further. We are close.” Karith nods in Koban’s direction.
Ammeline gives a gasp. She holds tightly to the thick arm next to her. “Where I go, he goes!”
“I’m afraid not. He is not a true Inmuri. He may not enter the Rift of the Timeworn.”
“Then I shall stay here too!”
But Koban bends his head down, his lips whispering in her ear. She shakes her head at first. He persists, and eventually she gives a reluctant nod, stepping away from him.
“Very well.” Her voice is petulant. “But I don’t see why he can’t come. He is one of us now.”
Furian sighs. “He will never be one of us. And if the speaker of the land says that he may go no further, then he will go no further. The problem is ... one of us at least will need to stay with him.”
Jethran steps forward. He has always been suspicious of the Scoriat. “I will stay with him if you give me the gun.”
Furian lets his eyes run over the rest of the group. He is uncertain. I try to think. Who would I leave to watch over Koban?
We both come to the same conclusion at the same time. Jethran or Furian must stay. And Furian is now our de facto leader. He should be one of the ones to enter the Rift of the Timeworn. He has promised his mother to take me to Kelfor. And Kelfor is somewhere inside the rift.
Furian unslings the blaster ... our last ... and hands it to Jethran. Then he gives the tall man some of the little food and water that remains, winding all the rope around his own lean body. “You will be outside in the sun and the heat. You may need it to survive.”
Jethran nods. “Don’t worry. One of us had to stay in any case. If the Scoriats come, I shall attempt to lead them away from here. In fact, we will backtrack to where we camped yesterday. No point staying anywhere near the entrance to the rift.”
“Agreed. Walk with the stars, Jethran.”
Jethran’s eyes go to his wife. Her mouth turns down, but she gives a brief nod of acceptance all the same. They stare at each other for some moments before he looks away again, his jaw set. “Come on, Koban. We are heading back to the campsite.”
The Scoriat leans to kiss Ammeline on the top of her head. His eyes look over her hair toward Doven. “I shall miss you,” he tells her. I think he is telling Doven something, too, but I don’t know what.
The two men pick up the supplies.
Karith steps forward. “Take all of the carricks.”
Her husband is confused. “All of them?”
“Yes. If the Scoriats do come, they could give away the position of the rift.”
He nods. “Of course.”
Koban is unhappy having to shoulder four carricks. He does so, but his demeanor clearly tells us that he does not consider himself to be a pack horse. Ammeline puts her hand to her mouth. She doesn’t like to see him like this either.
Jethran himself loads the remaining five carricks and all the rest of the supplies. He gestures to the east, telling Koban to start making his way back along the trail. The two men slowly walk away from us.
Karith watches until they are out of sight. She turns to Ammeline. “You must hold the entrance to the rift secret. You must swear.”
Ammeline raises her chin. “Why should I? I am timeworn.” She waves a hand at Zivan. “Make her swear. She is an outcast. Nobody in their right mind would trust one of them.”
Zivan takes a step toward Ammeline. Ammeline takes a step back. “See? Furian! Furian, she is threatening me!”
Zivan looks amused. “You would know if I were threatening you, timeworn!” The emphasis she puts of the word ‘timeworn’ makes it an insult.
Ammeline grabs at Furian’s arm. “Make her swear! She is the one who can’t be trusted.”
Furian shakes her off. He considers for a moment before pulling out his knife. “We will all swear. Every single person who is going to go into the rift. We will swear a binding oath never to reveal the entry point.” He flicks at the knife with one finger, making it quiver. “A blood oath. A sacred covenant. Breaking the covenant would invoke the retribution of Niyafora and Kianara.”
Ammeline relaxes. “If we all swear, I have no objections.”
Karith hesitates. She and Linnith are still regarding Ammeline with doubt.
Ammeline straightens up to more than her full height. “What? Just because I speak to Scoriats you think I would break a blood oath?”
Karith gnaws at her lip. “No. I suppose not. It is true that you are timeworn. We must trust you.”
Ammeline’s eyes flash with triumph. “Good. In that case, let’s get on with this!”
I am wary as Furian comes up to me. Zivan has let him cut into the palm of her hand without even flinching, but I am doubtful about this.
“It will only hurt for a second.”
He is right. I close my eyes as he draws my blood, then repeat the oath after him. He presses a small piece of powdered everberry leaf against the cut. “This will heal it more quickly.”
Kalyka is regarding him with wide eyes. I bend down to pick her up. “You don’t have to swear, Kalyka. You are too little.”
She struggles in my arms. “If everybody else is going to swear, so am I! Let me down!”
I obey and to my surprise she holds out her hand in front of her, chin well up. “Do it!”
Furian smiles. “Certainly.” He cuts lightly into her tiny hand, and she recites the oath in a firm little voice. We all stare. She is growing up so fast. I feel guilty again. She should still be in Astakarth, still be relatively safe. Out here ... who knows what will happen to her?
The others swear easily. Only Vannis and Ammeline bother me. I know the others would never consider betraying the timeworn. But Vannis ... Vannis and Ammeline are in a class of their own. Yet Ammeline is the granddaughter of Azrial and Vannis the grandson of Praetor Thurifer. How could we even think of excluding our most important timeworn? We cannot, I realize. They will come with us.
Vannis is looking around him. Fixing the position in his mind? His dark eyes flash. A funny feeling of worry pierces me. Did we just make a terrible mistake?
Karith and Linnith have been very cautious. We are not as near the entrance as we all assumed. They will not tell us the signs, but apparently, we were close only to the first of many. They lead us up the ridge to our right, toward the crest of the escarpment.
Doven helps Ammeline up the slope. He sees me watching him and shrugs ruefully.
She gives one of her tinkling laughs. He almost stops breathing as he looks at her.
Behind me
Linnith is struggling. She sees Vannis approaching her, and pauses, clearly expecting him to help her in the same way. Vannis walks straight past her. She flushes.
Furian gives Linnith his arm. He leaves me to assist Kalyka up the slope. It is easier for us; we are still young. Our bones are springier, our energy greater.
Zivan neither needs nor expects help. She stalks up the side of the escarpment in long strides.
Karith is out of breath. She is a large woman and doesn’t seem to find it as easy as Zivan. I suppose she is doing more work transporting her own weight. She certainly looks as if she is; she is sweating and her face is bright red. Still, she makes it up to the top of the ridge.
Once there, she and Linnith go into another huddle.
We are now standing amongst rocks. All around us are the columns of stone with their flat caps.
They make up their minds, and we wend our way across the abrupt terrain for another hour, perhaps for another mile or more. It is hard work. Impossible to travel in a straight line. We twist and curve around pillars of stone, duck under the overhanging slabs. Sheets of waxy rock curve around and below us as we go.
It takes a long, long time. Just when I am sure that I will faint if we have to continue for very much longer, Linnith runs up to her mother. She whispers to her. Karith slowly turns through three hundred and sixty degrees until she sees whatever it was Linnith was pointing out. She nods. They both break out in huge, relieved smiles. “We are here. We have found the way into the Rift of the Timeworn.”
It seems similar to all the other places we have stumbled through for the last few hours. I do as Karith has done, turn a full three hundred and sixty degrees.
Which is when I see something I hadn’t noticed before. To my left, slightly behind us, is a small column. The topping slab on this column has slipped to one side, so that the whole thing is tipping in our direction. And the surface of the slab has faults in it. From where I am standing, it looks just like a face. I see eyes, nose and a turned-down mouth.
Kelfor- the Orthomancers Page 17