Doven and Linnith pull us apart, risking their own balance on the smooth rock. We don’t all fit on the steps.
“Let me go!” Vannis twists in Doven’s grasp, treats me to one last glare, and then disappears down the cliff, back stiff.
“Are you all right, Remeny?” Linnith is checking me out. She looks worried.
I feel abashed. I mumble something.
“What? What was that?”
“It was partly my fault.” She has no idea what those words cost me, but I really can’t blame all of it on Vannis. “I kicked him.”
“I expect he deserved it though. He usually does.”
I am so surprised that I begin to giggle. She bursts out laughing too. “I have often wanted to kick him.”
Doven is grinning now as well. “He asks for it. Don’t feel too bad.”
Kalyka has caught up. She stares around at the three of us, all smiling. She has no idea what is going on, but she smiles back. That makes us all laugh more. I pick her up and cuddle her. She hugs me back; it makes me realize how much I need some physical contact.
Furian catches up. He indicates the path down, with the steps hewn into the vitrified wood. “Let’s get down there. I, for one, want to take a look at that vortex. I have no idea what it is, but a lot of people have died so that we can get here to see it.”
Now we are all chastened. My mind flips over those people as if they were cards in a box. They stopped existing. I am emptier without them, yet the world doesn’t seem to have blinked. I am numb. I wonder if I am lacking some basic feeling. Empathy, perhaps?
We make our way down the rest of the steps.
From above, the tree which traverses the chasm seemed small, fragile almost. It isn’t. Now we are down to this level, it proves to be around thirty yards wide. You could build three cobbs on it, side by side.
There is a small cave-like shelter, formed by a gap in the wall where the roots of this gigantic tree must once have lived. I notice it as I negotiate the last step down, but ignore it. All of us do. We walk as quickly as we can toward the center of this huge vertical fault which has somehow ripped through the South Pole of Hethor. Even though we can’t detect anything, it must be connected to the surface, because we are able to breathe easily. So there might even be a way out ... if you are a bird, perhaps, and can fly. We can’t. Since the roof of the rift is invisible to us, so high above that our eyes can’t make it out, then I don’t think our chances are good. I can’t see us getting more than a few feet up those completely smooth walls.
As we walk to where the vortex crosses behind the vitrified tree we are standing on, the sound increases. It is becoming so loud that it is actually disturbing. We don’t talk; we couldn’t hear ourselves.
The whirlpool, which is still a silvery white color, is shaped like two joined funnels. One comes down from above, where it meets with the second funnel, this time inverted, which disappears down into the nether regions of the planet. An hourglass shape. The thinnest part is where it passes behind the tree bridge. It is only around one length away from the actual trunk at this point.
We make our way automatically to this place. When I realize what the vortex is made of, I can’t help shivering. Ammeline gasps and takes a step back. Vannis does the same. The rest of us stand our ground. But we stare.
The vortex is really a cloud of diminutive animals.
There must be hundreds of billions of them.
They are floating in the rift, swirling, gently moving up and around each other. A few have fallen or been pushed out of the formation. These are lying scattered on the surface of the tree by our feet.
I bend down. They are small animals, about half the size of my smallest fingernail. They can’t be insects; they don’t seem to have any legs. They have a large oval body, shaped rather like big drop of water. They have a small head and there is a sweeping translucent triangular wing which wraps over their face – if that is what it is – and gathers on one side to a point. This makes them look as though they have a horn. The wing is golden. It shimmers, so that each one appears like a tiny sun. I can see that they are invertebrates of some kind, but they look for all the world like tiny bears wrapped in pewter capes and topped with gold.
I pick one up on my finger, holding it close to my face so I can examine it really well. It is quite dry to the touch, and the covering skin is a little like paper. Only the clear wing and horn are different. These feel slightly pliant, rather more supple.
As I peer down at the tiny animal, something happens. Where there was one, I now see two. Where two, there are four; suddenly there must be nearly a hundred of the beings on the palm of my hand.
I give a quick cry and drop them. They flutter down toward my feet, but nearly all of them flicker out of existence before they reach the ground. They don’t seem to move themselves by flying. They just vanish.
I turn to Furian. “Did you see that?”
He nods. “They twinkled into existence on your palm. As if they were as interested in examining you as you were in examining them!”
“Yes!” That is exactly how it seemed. “What are they?”
He pulls at his chin. “Nothing I have ever heard of. I have never seen anything that can appear and disappear like that. And ...” his eyes scan the width and breadth of the vortex, “... there must be billions of the things here. Billions of billions! Whatever can they be?”
Linnith tugs at my arm. “They clearly have something to do with this orthomancer thing. Come away for now. We all need to eat something and rest a little.” Her eyes gradually trace the vortex upward. “It looks as if this will still be waiting for us when we have rested a little.”
Furian nods. He ushers me back to the small cave which is hidden under the crystallized tree root. We are the last to walk into the darker area it heralds.
I expect a bare floor and the usual vitrified walls, so what greets us is quite a surprise.
Someone - many, many years in the past – has spent time carving the fossilized tree. The twisted roots in the ceiling, each one the diameter of a man’s body, have been transformed into images. They flow around the roof, making the whole thing appear fluid and in motion. The images seem to represent hands and arms, all linked together, all forming a canopy above our heads. Fingers touch others, arms link to hold up the roof.
When we look down to the floor, there are many more carvings. These rise out of the ground and have been hewn from solid blocks of the fossilized wood we saw so much of in the Forest of Flame. Some of the blocks are small – the size of the ones we used for stools. Some are taller than me. One, in particular, is perhaps twice my height.
This one seems to represent our planet. The sphere is bisected by two large gashes. These are easy to identify as the Abaloss Rift and the Great Chasm. The South Pole is visible and is pockmarked with holes, peppered with tunnels just like the ones we had to make our way through.
The sphere which is meant to be Hethor is surrounded by smaller spheres which have been placed on plinths some distance away. We walk over to them. They appear to represent other worlds. Certainly Maraz, our neighbor and the Rath home planet, is there. What is strange is that it is represented in great detail. We can see its mountains, its valleys and its plains. All has been carved meticulously into the stone. There is a message engraved underneath. It says: ‘Gravibus Mundi’. ‘The Heavy World’, I suppose.
I move to a further plinth. This holds a planet which is small. It is untouched by violent eruptions, for the surface is only gently undulating. There are no volcanoes, no rifts, no abysses. Even in this depiction, I can tell that it is peaceful.
I move on. There are ten planets represented in all. Some are larger, some smaller. Some have marked geographical features, some don’t. All have been lovingly chiseled into the vivid stone. All look fascinating.
All the plinths are carved in the same way. They represent the figure of a person, arms held above their heads to support the world they are carrying. Each figure is blurr
ed. No features are visible. I peer more closely, but the shapes are tenuous – indistinguishable because of the finish they have been given. The stone which represents their skin has been chiseled into a rough, flaky texture, which makes them appear to be covered in scales. I frown. It seems at odds with the smooth depiction of the worlds, which have been polished and finished so that they shine.
On a wall, there is a small flat sculpture of one of the tiny invertebrates we have just met. It has been painstakingly hand carved, and underneath is one word, in the same ancient tongue. Most of us are unable to read it, but Linnith steps forward. She follows the shape of the letters with one finger. “‘Lituus igniis’” she reads out loud. At our expressions, she translates. “‘Horn of fire’ or ‘firehorn’, I suppose.”
It is my turn to trace out the engraving of the small being. “Firehorn,” I murmur. “It is a good name for them.”
“They are clearly very important,” Doven points out. “Look, there are statues of them all along the walls. Every knob and burr has been carved into one or more of them. See?”
We wander around, exclaiming, touching the walls and the sculptures.
Vannis stops in front of a large sphere, nearly at the end of the cave. “Here!”
We crown around. Sure enough, this planet shows a great area of water, large mountains and extensive grasslands. He points to an inscription.
“‘Praedium posterium’,” reads Linnith. “‘The Land of the Future’. It looks nice.”
Little goosebumps rise all along my arms. “This may be where they went.”
Kalyka tugs at my arm. “Where who went, Remeny?”
“The rest of the Inmuri. The ones who escaped. The ones who never came back.”
Kally wrinkles her nose. “Perhaps they couldn’t come back?”
Linnith is still reading. She has moved on to the next sphere. “‘Concameratio praeter pelagius.’ Hmm.”
I nudge her out of her absorption. She stumbles, then turns to me. “What? Oh, sorry. I think that means something like ‘The Arch across the water’. If you look carefully, each of the plinths holds a world, and each has a message. We need to find out what the messages mean.”
I nod. She and I walk back to the first world, the flat, quiet one. “‘Planitiem statarius’,” she reads. “‘The peaceful flatlands’.”
Furian is already copying down the rest of the texts. He has discovered something else. “There is a number, a picture and a name for each world. Here, on the other side. Look! This one actually says ‘9. Sitis.’ Perhaps it is some kind of ranking!”
Linnith hurries over. “‘Sitis’ means ‘dry’ in the old tongue. That would fit in. It wouldn’t be a suitable world to choose as an alternative to Hethor.” She points to the one marked land of the future. “What does that one say on the back?”
Furian walks quickly over. “1. Dapsil.” He looks up.
“That would fit. ‘Dapsillis’ would mean ‘bountiful’.”
Furian jots that down as well.
Doven nods. “Then it seems as though our ancestors might have gone there.”
We look at each other. This is huge. But there is one more carving on the wall that we haven’t examined yet. I make my way across to it.
It depicts a person standing in front of the vortex. The figure is holding its arms out, feet together, resembling one of the crude crosses we use to mark Inmuri graves. The head is bowed, and the figure is standing on its toes. Even I know what the text underneath says. ‘Orthomansus abante’. ‘Orthomancer before.’ Before what? I know what the words say; I simply don’t know what they mean. I feel frustrated. Tired.
I sit down, my back against one of the plinths. Furian passes me some sand tuber and water. Eating helps. My anxiety drops to a more reasonable level. He smiles at me. I sense that he knows how much pressure I am under. I have never been more alone.
He gives me a sympathetic look. “We will sleep. We are all exhausted. Tomorrow is another day. The mysteries will keep for a few more hours.”
I nod, grateful to him. My head is fuzzy with fatigue and with the stress of trying to find an answer. He is right. Some sleep will help.
I lie down and try to switch my mind off. Kalyka curls up on my left and Zivan stretches out on my right. She sleeps with her hand wrapped around her knife. I smile. I think the threat of being found by the Scoriats is minimal. There are other dangers facing us now. Ones we could never have dreamed of.
16.
Sleep is refreshing. When I wake the doubts of the previous night have turned into excitement about what we might find today. I think about how far we have come from Astakarth, and nothing seems impossible. Then I think about all the people who have already died, and it shames me. The bubble of elation vanishes.
Ammeline and Doven are awake too. They are arguing with each other in hard low voices. I move slightly closer to listen in.
“If Remeny can’t step up, we will die here.”
Doven replies to her calmly. “Then we will die.”
Her eyes snap. “It’s all right for you. You haven’t got someone waiting for you outside!”
I suck in my breath at that one. So does Doven, who needs a few seconds to reply. “You may believe my life is worth less than yours, but in the end, we both depend on Remeny.”
Ammeline’s voice is sulky. “I didn’t say that!” Her tone changes. “Come on, Doven, don’t get angry with me.” She touches her tunic, pulling it down slightly over her breasts. She licks her lips. “That’s not fair.”
Doven doesn’t move his gaze away from her eyes. He is regarding her coldly. “Those silly tricks won’t work on me any longer. And they aren’t going to work on Koban, either. You should stop using them.”
Ammeline pouts. “I don’t know what you mean!”
“Yes, you do. Linnith is worth six of you. And Koban ... whichever side he turns out to be on ... is going to want more than a selfish little girl who can only think of her own wants and needs.”
There is real pain in Ammeline’s eyes. “You can’t like Linnith more than me!”
“I don’t like you very much at all. Never have, really.”
“You were all over me!”
Doven looks slightly sick. “Yes. I was, wasn’t I?” His eyes slide to me. He knows I am listening. “I was ... younger.”
She gives a snort. “A week!”
Doven nods slowly. “Sometimes a week can be a long time.” He grins at me. “Good morning, Remeny.”
Ammeline tosses her head and moves away. I am thinking that maybe it doesn’t matter if my breasts don’t grow so much. I have to tell Linnith what he has just said. That makes me more cheerful.
“This is your day.” Doven looks worried.
“I suppose so.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“Will I?” I bite my lip. “I am not so sure.”
“I am. This is the end of the Inmuri slavery. I’m not certain how, but we are the ones who are going to bring freedom to Hethor.”
I look at him. He is gentle and dependable and nice. Ok, he slipped a bit with his obsession over Ammeline, but he seems over that now. He deserves to be a hero. He is a hero. But nobody will ever find out unless I can do my bit in this enterprise. I realize that he should be recognized. So should Torch, saving us with his skulks. So should every single one of those who started the journey, even Ballen. It is not about me; it is about all of them.
This has the effect of making me feel stronger. I fit into a group; I no longer stand out as the spearhead. So I shall do whatever I can. I shall, if necessary, risk my own life. That is no more than they have done. Each and every one of them. Even Kalyka, swinging down on top of a fully grown Scoriat on her pendulum.
My spirit lightens. I go across to the sculpture of the orthomancer. He is dressed normally. The only thing which is clear is that he is standing on his toes, arms held out sideways. I run my fingers over the carved figure. This is the only clue that they left me. This and the maps of t
he worlds. I have to assume that those worlds are accessible. They must be. I pick up the list which Furian had written the night before. I take it with me as I revisit all the globes sculpted in this chamber. I study each one, memorizing the messages. I may need them.
Kalyka, who is now awake, follows me. “Do you understand what they mean?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“I know. I believe in you. So did Grandfather.”
“Did he? Is that why you came?”
“Of course. He said that thousands of years of useless passivity was about to end. He firmly believed that you would be the one to lead us out of slavery.”
“But he died.”
“He didn’t care about that.” Tears stand out in her eyes. “He said the only thing that mattered was that I should survive.”
“Did he?”
“He said he was old. Too old to make a difference.”
Now I am crying. “He was wrong. He made a huge difference.”
Kalyka nods. “He just couldn’t see it. He meant more to me than my parents.”
“He didn’t like the timeworn.”
“He was angry with them. He blamed them. Yet he died holding Quondam Azrial’s hand.”
“That must have been hard for him.”
“I don’t think so. He looked happy. They fell together. They weren’t scared.” She swallows. “At least they didn’t die alone. And they were both Inmuri when all is said and done.”
“He wanted change. I can understand that.”
“He said that change had already come. He said he had been ready all his life to recognize it. And he said that you were the ... cata ... catal ...”
“Catalyst. Did he?”
“He did. He said right away that we had to come with you. He told me that the lines of many lives had come together. That you were the focus. That you had no idea, but that you would need us.”
“And I did. Do.”
Kalyka looks smug. “He knew. He said that if we didn’t go with you, then you wouldn’t be successful. He said that it is never about one person, it is always about many links in a chain.”
Kelfor- the Orthomancers Page 26