Fourteen
“Yosset, I don’t care about that at
all. You know what we have to do, but
you’re always so afraid of upsetting anyone.”
The portly Guildmaster sat across
from his wife, feeling harassed, looking everywhere but at her.
“By the Prophet,
Yosset! Are you listening to me?”
“Of course I am,” he said, staring
down at his hands. He sniffed, tasting
the scent of ozone in the air. More storms. More
storms coming.
“Well, pay attention to me. I will not have him coming here trying to
disturb our plans.”
Yosset sighed and finally looked up
at her. “But this used to be his place,”
he said simply.
“It used to be one of his places,” she snapped.
“He gave up the rights to most of his holdings when he passed the title
to Roge. He hasn’t personally lived in this house for years. He hasn’t lived in any of our holdings
for years. You tell me where he’s
been. Tell me. Either at that little
farmstead out in the middle of nowhere, or at the Principate itself. Not here.
Not at the place up at Yarik. Not
anywhere. For all those years, he could
have had virtually anything he wanted, but could he have cared less? No, not in the slightest. No, I don’t want him here. I don’t want him at any of our
residences. And, I might add, it’s
because of him that we don’t have enough room to deal with him and his cursed
entourage.” She sliced her hand through
the air with finality.
Yosset sighed again. For all her wit, for all her intelligence,
for all the support she gave him, sometimes his lovely wife just made him feel
tired.
“But he’s your father, Karin,” he
said pleadingly.
“I don’t care if he’s the Prophet
himself. He is not staying here.” She spun back to face him. “Do you understand me?”
He nodded mutely.
“And as for you, get this through
your fat round head,” she said turning away and starting to pace again. “Leannis Men Darnak is no longer Principal. You do not
have to cower and fawn at his every breath.
Remember who your position depends on now, Yosset, and remember it
well. It is certainly not my father. Who controls the Guilds now, my dear, sweet
husband?”
He rubbed
his lips one over the other, moistening them.
“Why no one controls the — ”
She cut him off with another impatient wave of her
hand. “Who is Principal?”
He hated it when she got like this, speaking to him
like a child, no, rather speaking at
him — he was not her idiot brother — but he kept his mouth shut.
“Well?”
“You know as
well as I do.”
“Fine. And who owns Roge?”
He stared at her for several seconds. She actually believed that...
Finally, he buckled under the intensity of her
stare, the confidence in her stance, and he looked away. She was right. Just in the same way that she owned their
landholding, that she owned her husband and she owned their servants, she also
owned her brother. And through him, she
now owned the Principate. Yosset turned
back to face her, and slowly he smiled.
By the Prophet, he loved this woman.
What had he ever done to deserve her?
“Karin, I still think you are worrying
unnecessarily,” he said. “We have no
guarantee that your father will turn up here.
Last time we saw him, he was off to the mines, and that was before we
did the move. He could go anywhere from
there.”
She rolled her eyes and paced behind the
chairs. “Whose holdings are
closest? Do you think he doesn’t know
that we’re here? Use that fat head of
yours for once, Yosset.”
“I cannot see why it is such a problem.”
She sat opposite him again. “Because I don’t want him
here. Because
he will only get in the way. I
don’t want his presence confusing anything else.”
He nodded, reconciled to playing along. “My love, what do you think we should do?”
“Go and talk to the staff. Make sure that it’s clear he isn’t
welcome. Let them behave
accordingly. And if he asks for me, or
you, we’re nowhere to be found. That’s
it. I have too much to think about
without having to deal with him face to face again.”
“Karin, I don’t see what — ”
“I don’t care what you see or don’t see,
Yosset. Just do as I tell you.”
He bit off any further reply, and pushing his chair
back, stood to do exactly that. He
looked at her sitting there for a few moments, but she was off in her own
thoughts again. Such
determination, such focus, such innate power. There was just so much to admire in her.
#
Images of the skeletal ship rode
with Sandon for days after they’d left the crash site. He spent lengthy periods musing about how their
history had shaped them, shaped the structure of their society and the
existence of others, such as the Atavists themselves. The Atavist family used the ship as a
reminder. All of their people used it as
a reminder. Were they right? He glanced across at Alise riding beside
him. She believed it. He knew there was no point questioning her
about it. Every time their conversation
strayed to areas of belief, she fell back on her standard phrases and
responses. Could she be right, and he be so wrong? He
fingered the burgeoning beard on his chin and turned back to watch the passing
landscape. As much as he wanted to test
her beliefs, he knew there was little to be gained from the exercise. Perhaps some day, but not
now. Not for a long time. There were other things he might like to test
too, while he was about it… He turned to
look at her again, but she was off in her own place.
Three weeks they’d been traveling now. Three weeks of interminable hours on a hard
wooden seat on the front of the wagon, and gathered in temporary campsites at
night. The time had given him many
opportunities to watch and learn. He was
at last really starting to understand the Atavist way of life, their routines,
their ways of interacting with each other.
Alise was always ready to explain when he had questions, and she did so
without preconception, allowing his explorations, but yet never stepping over
her own personal line. Over the days, he
had learned where her boundaries lay, and knew where and when to avoid them.
The wagon train took its time getting down from the
high Yarik plateau. After moving on from
the crash site, they wound inland and then tracked a wide arc before heading
down a rugged track that led down to the plains in a desolate unpopulated area
with scant sign that any had even ventured that way. The only thing that told Sandon otherwise was
the well-traveled path itself, barely marked by the instability of the area, or
encroaching brush. As they creaked and
rumbled their way down the mountainside, Sandon wondered how much else he
didn’t know. The Atavist community
seemed to survive conveniently unobserved by the rest of the world.
The surroundings had changed over the last few
hours. They’d passed through farmland,
through open undeveloped countryside and through forested areas, deep with ajura
trees, broad-based and shiny with their armored bark. Every few days, they’d seen one or two small
groups of Atavists passing in other directions, but no party as large as their
own. They exchanged brief greetings, and
then went their own ways. If anything,
their interactions had seemed almost perfunctory. What it was that held these people together? It had to be more than faith, didn’t it? All these questions were accumulating in the
back of his head. He needed to
understand, to put it in a place where he could appreciate what made it
work. One day, when he had the space, it
would make sense, and then he’d be far better equipped to do what he needed to
do. For now, he just needed to
understand enough to be able to carry out the start of his formative plan.
Small squat plants dotted the surrounding fields,
their broad, flat, fleshy leaves spread out from a central spine. Between the plants, dead grasses made a
browning carpet, starting to rot and blacken with the ever-present moisture and
soaking rain. He knew this landscape;
they were nearing the mines, and somewhere close by sat a large Atavist
community, a permanent community, from what he had been led to believe. It was a good base to start from, but
then? The problem was,
he had no idea how he was going to link up with Men Darnak and his party. If he even believed in the Prophet, he might
consider some benevolent guiding hand.
No, if there was going to be a guiding hand, it was the guiding hand of
Sandon Yl Aris.
“Alise, are we getting close?”
She turned and gave him a half smile. “How did you know that?”
“Well, when I spoke to Badrae, he said we were
headed for somewhere close to the mines.
I recognize this area. If I’m not
wrong, that’s where we are, or close to it.”
“Yes, there is not far to travel. But what then, Sandon? What will you do?”
“What will I do?
That’s the question all right.”
She looked vaguely disappointed. “You are leaving us, aren’t you?”
He gave a short half laugh. “If the Prophet wills it.” He caught himself and responded to her
frown. “I’m sorry,” he said, lifting one
hand. “I don’t mean to mock. The truth is, I really don’t know. All I know is that I have to find the
Principal and his party. There is
something that doesn’t sit right, and for some reason, I have a duty to see if
I can do something about it. I don’t
expect you to understand.”
Instead of protesting, she nodded. “I will be sorry to see you go.”
He met her gaze, and was surprised to see that she
really meant it.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully. “I really will be sorry to leave. I do enjoy spending time with you.”
She held his gaze, searching his face. “With me, or with us,
Sandon?”
“With you, with all of you, I suppose. But particularly with you.”
“I am glad,” she said. She turned her face away again, but her
slight half smile didn’t escape his notice.
An hour later, the marks of settlement appeared
ahead. Traces of smoke rose to haze the
sky, and the road upon which they traveled became rutted and grooved with the
passage of many wagons. Proper buildings
huddled together across gently rolling fields.
A large barn dominated, and beside it, another barn-like building. For a few moments, Sandon couldn’t tell what
it was that felt wrong about the structures in front of him, and then he
realized. They were all made of a kind
of mud brick, rather than the characteristic stone he was used to seeing, all
except for the barn-like structures, which were built from wood. What advantage could they have from building
out of such materials? It must be far
more vulnerable to the vagaries of the shifting landscape. A profusion of wagons and carts sat between
and beside the buildings, and between it all, in and out walked people, all
decked in the traditional Atavist garb.
He looked down at his own homespun.
He could be at home here, just as much as any of them, except for a few
fundamental problems that would be easily dealt with in time. He pushed the thought aside; he couldn’t
allow himself to forget why it was he was here.
The wagons fanned out, finding places out of the
central roadway and the family members dismounted, moving to see to their
animals and their equipment. Sandon sat
where he was, watching, observing the greetings and keeping an eye out for
Badrae and the other elders. They seemed
to have moved to another area of the town, or they had pulled in somewhere that
Sandon couldn’t see. Alise disappeared
into the wagon itself. He heard her
moving about inside.
“What now, Alise?” he said back behind his shoulder.
“Well, we make ready. There will be a service, and then we will all
get together for the evening meal.”
“Uh-huh. And
what can I do?”
“That depends what you want to do, Sandon.”
“Hmm. I don’t know.
I’d really like to find Badrae, or at least someone who can give me some
directions.”
“But you said you were familiar with the area.” She poked her head outside again.
“Yes, generally. But I don’t know where we are now.”
She shook her head and sighed. “Sometimes you are like a small child,
Sandon.”
She lowered herself from the front of the wagon, and
then reached up a hand to him. “Come
down. Come with me. We will find you what you need.”
He looked at her blankly. “But...?”
“But what? You need directions, and no doubt some mode
of transport. If you are determined to
leave us here, there is very little I can do but help you in whatever way I am
able. So, come.”
He clambered down and stood before her as she pursed
her lips, looking at him. Now she really
was making him feel like a child.
“This way,” she said.
Sandon tagged along behind her as she walked quickly
in and out of parked carts and wagons, and between buildings. He barely had time to take in his
surroundings as she led him to the front of a small mud brick cottage and
knocked.
The door opened, and a grizzled old man stepped out.
“Alise, welcome,” he said. “May the Prophet be with you.”
“And with you, Manais. This is Sandon. He is in need of our help.”
The old man looked at him appraisingly. “So, Sandon, if the Prophet wills it, I might
be able to help you. What is it you
need?”
“Um,” Sandon said, not really prepared for this
unexpected turn of events. Again, he was
struck by the openness, the unquestioning acceptance. Alise had spoken, and the old man had simply
accepted.
The old man, Manias, tilted his head to one side,
waiting.
“I need to know how to get to Bortruz,” Sandon said
finally.
Manias looked at him speculatively, and Sandon
instantly knew why. Somehow, what he had
said had marked him as an outsider.
After a pause, Manias scratched his head, then
peered about himself. “Bortruz,
eh? That is not difficult. It lies in, oh, that direction.” He pointed off to his right. “It’s about five days by foot. Less by padder.”
“That is the other thing,” said Alise. “Would you have an animal he could use?”
The old man looked from one to the other. “Yes, of course. I have one stabled in the community
barn. If you wait a moment, we can go
and fetch it.” He disappeared back
inside the cottage.
“Alise. I cannot
ask that,” said Sandon.
“You have not asked,” said Alise flatly. “But you will receive.”
Manais reappeared before Sandon had the opportunity
to say anything else. The old man
beckoned them to follow. A few minutes
later, and they were standing inside the larger of the two wooden structures
Sandon had seen from the road, Manais walking down between a line
of stalls. The building’s vast interior
seemed to serve many purposes. Piles of
wood lined one wall. Feed lay stacked in
bales in an upper platform, and there were sacks and barrels spread throughout
the building’s length. The air was thick
with the smell of animals, and dust and hay.
The tang of wood undercut it all, overlaid by the damp smell of wet
earth. A couple of other Atavists
attended to their business within the barn, but paid the newcomers little mind.
After a while, Manais returned, leading an animal
behind him. The padder had seen better
days, but was still trailworthy, or so Sandon thought.
“Beware,” said Manais. “He is a stubborn beast, but he will get you
to where you need to go, if the Prophet wills it.”
Sandon took the proffered harness, and thanked him.
“Come back to the house. You will need some supplies for your trip.”
“But — ” Sandon
started. Alise raised two fingers to her
lips to still his protest. He followed
mutely as they led the way back to the cottage.
Outside the barn, Sandon beckoned Alise closer and
leaned in to speak in a low voice.
“Alise, I don’t know how I can accept all this ...
this generosity. You’ve already done far
too much for me.”
She gave him a slightly reproving look. “It is what we must do. The Prophet dictates it. Do you not know that already?”
The padder pulled against him, and he stumbled. Grunting, he pulled on the harness to bring
the animal under control. “I know,” he
said. “But I don’t expect it. When I talked about leaving, I didn’t mean
immediately. I ... well, everything is
just so sudden.”
“You need to follow what path you must, Sandon. I am just trying to help you on your road.”
He sighed. “I
know that, and believe me, I’m grateful.”
She looked at his face for a few moments before
speaking again. “You are a strange man,
Sandon.”
They reached the small dwelling and Manais
disappeared inside, bidding them wait while he got a few things together. Sandon, left outside with Alise, the activity
of the Atavist settlement all around them, suddenly felt awkward.
He reached up and stroked his chin, absent-mindedly
toying with the beard while he watched her, suddenly realizing that he really
was going to miss this woman. Somehow,
she had taken the decision of his departure completely out of his hands, as she
had seemed to be able to take many decisions out of his hands over the past few
weeks. How was it
that he had unconsciously allowed her such control? To break the awkward silence, he sought for
something to ask her.
“Alise, so who is Manais?”
“Manais lives here.
He is one of our family.”
“Yes, of course.
But why him?
You came straight here.”
She nodded.
“Yes. It is hard to explain. Among your own people, I suppose you would
call Manais my father. He is still my
father, but all the elders are our parents, in the same way that the Prophet is
our ultimate father.”
He lapsed into silence. Her father? Yet she called him by name. There was so much still he did not
understand.
Manais interrupted any opportunity for further
questions by reappearing with a bundle in his hands. He strapped it firmly to the rear of Sandon’s
beast. Meanwhile, Sandon looked from
father to daughter, searching for similarities.
“So, Sandon, remember what I said. Go that way,” said Manais, pointing. “The road is not clearly marked, and what
little there is may have been disturbed, but it is that general direction. You will either reach Bortruz, or the mines. Both lie that way. If your reach the
Sandon nodded, thanked him once more, then turned to Alise.
“Again, thank you for everything you’ve done,
Alise. And give my thanks to Badrae
too. If it wasn’t for him...”
She said nothing, merely fixed him with that steady
gaze. Feeling even more awkward, he
stepped forward and reached for her hand.
“I hope to see you again soon,” he said.
She gave his hand a slight squeeze and returned his
look with a gentle smile. “Oh, I am sure
you will, Sandon…if the Prophet wills it.
Now go. Do what you have to do.”
Just before mounting, he turned back to Manais. “But what about the
padder?”
“What about it?” said the old man. “It is yours.”
He glanced over at Alise, but she shooed him
on. Without another word, he mounted and
headed the padder out of the Atavist settlement and away in the direction
Manais had given him.
#
Ideally, Sandon would have liked to spend more time
getting to know the Atavist community, how it operated, to understand the way they
worked together. Alise was right,
though, he had things to do. He thought
on this as the padder rocked beneath him across the dull ground, picking
between the tall spines of the Storm Season plants. The animal grunted and snorted, flicking its
tail back and forth, though there were few insects to trouble it. He looked back over his shoulder, but already
the details of the Atavist township were becoming
indistinct.
“Do what you have to do,” she had told him. So, what exactly was it that he had to do? Though he had the skeleton of a plan, he had
no details. More than three weeks had
passed since Men Darnak had dismissed him from service, and in that time, he
had no idea what had happened to the Principal and his party. He looked the part of an Atavist now, he
could almost be an Atavist, but that didn’t really get him closer to the
Principal. For a start, he had no idea
where Men Darnak might be. Heading
toward Bortruz was merely the first logical step. There was a small office of the Principate there,
and he could use that to find...
But no, he couldn’t.
In his current guise, he could barely gain access to Principate
buildings, let alone access any information.
None of the Principate functionaries in residence was likely to give him
the time of day. In fact, most of the
population was just as likely to shun him as an outsider. Wonderful. His perfect disguise was going to be the
perfect barrier to letting him accomplish what he needed. He shook his head. What precisely had he been thinking?
Up ahead, two figures were heading toward him. Both were men, Atavists. One carried a pack, and the other had a
staff. Sandon watched them as they
neared. They barely glanced at him as he
passed. One of them, the one bearing the
staff, looked up as they came alongside and gave him a brief nod, then they continued on their way in silence. Sandon returned the nod and looked back over
his shoulder to watch them. As far as he
could tell, not a word passed between them as they headed on down the poorly
marked track into the distance. Sandon
felt a sense of relief. Clearly, they
had taken him for another of their own number.
So that much was good — at least he looked the part. Alise’s constant words rang inside his
head. “If the Prophet
wills it.” But it wasn’t some
long-dead Prophet that was going to make this happen for him. If the stellar alignment
was right, if the heavenly influences were in his favor, then perhaps... No, this was nothing to do with planetary
positioning. What he really needed now
was a healthy dose of luck.