‘And reason must show you the truth,’ the Draaka broke in eagerly. ‘Does not the Darkfall sisterhood cling to the power and tithe bestowed on them by mad Lanalor? And why should it not? Without it, what are they but a clutch of powerless and freakish women?’
‘What of Lanalor’s portal?’ Maeve demanded.
Glynn felt herself tense.
The Draaka shrugged. ‘It was a dangerous passage opened to the Void by Lanalor in his madness, and it has since been sealed by the Void guardian. The proof of this is the fact that no more smaller demons, which Darkfall calls strangers, have come through it. You might well ask what happened to those that came before the way was closed. They were all brought to Darkfall and killed because Darkfall could not afford the world to learn they were demons. But I would ask you a question of your beliefs, if it is permitted.’
Maeve nodded stiffly.
‘Darkfall speaks of a saviour who will come to free the Unykorn. I say there is no Unykorn to be unbound, and if there were, why could not a Keltan free it? Why some mythical stranger from beyond the mists?’
‘You know quite well that the Legendsong says no one of the Songborn can unbind the Unykorn,’ Maeve snarled. ‘For this reason did Lanalor bargain with the Chaos spirit to open a portal to draw one not born of the Song to Keltor.’
‘Ah,’ the Draaka smiled. ‘An interesting paradox. The Chaos spirit is supposed to have tricked Lanalor into binding the Unykorn – no one ever said why exactly, but having gone to all that effort, it then helps Lanalor find a way to unbind it again.’
‘Lanalor offered his soul for the making of the portal,’ Maeve said. ‘The Chaos spirit could not resist such a bargain.’
‘What would the guardian of Chaos want with one soul when all souls come to it when flesh dies? Is not Chaos the very stuff from which souls are made and to which they return?’
For the first time Maeve seemed at a loss.
‘I do not believe demons come through Lanalor’s portal,’ said Poverin’s young daughter, Rilka, in a clear piping voice. ‘I believe in the promised Unraveller and in the Firstmade of the Song.’
Gedron laughed nastily. ‘Rilka, you are a child and you would believe any foolery. You thought you were saved from drowning by a Vespari demon last season!’
There was a ripple of amusement from the crowd and the girl flushed bright red. ‘It was not a man, but it was not a demon either who saved me,’ she said.
There was more laughter from the crowd.
‘I saw a Vespari once,’ a man shouted. ‘He came to me after three canters of red cirul.’
The laughter swelled.
Maeve rose abruptly, her face grim. She took hold of her daughter’s hand. ‘I will not sit and listen to blasphemy as if it were no more than polite meal chatter.’ She turned and, with her daughter in tow, swept past the two guards.
‘Make way,’ one of the legionnaires cried, and the crowd opened a path. There was silence while the older woman and her daughter were handed into a carriage, and then borne away.
‘Your Maeve is quick to anger,’ the Draaka said, smiling tightly and reseating herself.
The older woman had got under her skin, Glynn thought.
Poverin sat and drained his mug calmly. ‘Maeve has a mind of her own. If I had wanted less, I would have handfasted an aspi.’
‘Do not misunderstand me. I admire her loyalty,’ the Draaka said quickly. ‘I regret only that it is wasted on the memory of a madman. There are many who think as I do, and soon the day of Lanalor’s Charter and the Darkfall Decree will be over.’
‘It will not be over until the prophecy is fulfilled,’ Poverin said. ‘Mark me, I do not claim to believe a man will come out of the sky to unchain the Unykorn any more than I believe the Unraveller is an evil demon. As you say, these are images from a child’s story. I believe the Unykorn is a poetic image, and maybe the Unraveller as well. It is possible that the sisterhood has misunderstood some of the words Lanalor left, for it is said he seldom told his plans directly and openly to anyone, even to Alyda. But one will arise from us, who will unravel the words and the riddle, and bring us to the light. Now I have had enough of talk.’
He turned and made a gesture to the musicians, and a balladeer stepped forward. The Draaka’s eyes sparkled with anger at the barely civil dismissal.
‘Since it has been spoken of,’ the balladeer announced, ‘I should like to sing the story of a Vespari who was not evil but only a lost spirit. It tells that the Vespari loved a woman but had never dared show himself to her, for he lacked a soul. As such, he was bound to the Void. Only when she died, and her soul returned to the Void, did the Vespari dare to declare his love to her.’
He bowed and then he began to sing, and though the music was nothing to Glynn, the words were beautiful.
‘I have waited an age of pain, filled up with the bitter winds of loneliness, for the soul of my heart to return,’ the balladeer sang. ‘You are my soulsaver, my heartflame, come to fill the void in me, come to complete me, come to return my soul to me …’
Glynn lost the sense of the words when she noticed a tendril of vine with tiny silvery white flowers begin to grow out of the lawn at an impossible speed, winding itself up the balladeer’s leg, around his waist, and into his outstretched palm. There it coiled and flowered and twisted until it had taken the shape of a star.
So this was plantsinging!
There was tumultuous applause for the performer and a rain of coin when he had concluded his song, then Poverin raised his goblet in tribute. ‘Let it be seen that on Fomhika we are strong enough in our beliefs to be tolerant.’
Everyone lifted goblets or hands, the gong clanged and the crowd drained away. The musicians began to play again and people formed couples to dance within the square.
Unexpectedly, Bayard turned to Glynn. ‘You need not come with me now. I am quite amenable to your wandering as you please for the evening. I have promised the Draaka caution where you are concerned but there is no possibility of your going far with the feinna locked in the room. You may take it as a sign that I am pleased you have made no attempt to cause a fuss, that I give you the freedom to do as you wish this evening.’
Glynn suspected Bayard was afraid that she might speak to the chieftain of her drugging and enslavement. She had no intention of telling anyone anything, but the elderly draakira did not know that. Glynn nodded humbly and was elated at the thought of even this limited freedom, though with the feinna locked away for surety, she was being offered little more than a larger cage; but beggars could not be choosers.
Bayard gave her a quacoin. ‘The public tables will be emptied of food by now, so buy yourself something from the stalls and make sure you have returned to the nightshelter before the green moon sets.’
25
But in delving in the Void,
Lanalor opened himself to the spirit of Chaos that dwelt therein.
LEGENDSONG OF THE UNYKORN
Glynn returned to the stalls she had noticed set up along the road a little way from the dancing square. Braziers were erected to cook slabs of meat and skewered fruit and vegetables as well as other delicacies. As she came closer, Glynn could also see a stall piled high with loaves of bread and what looked like some sort of cake. Another sold mugs of alcohol.
She bought a vegetable skewer. She was a vegetarian at home and had no intention of eating meat just because she was in another world. The stallholder’s attention was on the music as he wrapped the vegetables in a flat bread and withdrew the skewer before adding a glistening sauce. Glynn offered the quacoin and received two smaller coins as change and her supper wrapped in a leaf.
Nodding her thanks she turned back to the dancers as she ate. She was so hungry she was almost finished before registering how delicious it was. She bought another, and the stallholder grinned at her. This time, she ate slowly, savouring the taste. Replete, she approached the drink stall.
‘Let milk or cirul?’ the woman behind it asked.
/> Glynn had no idea what a let was, so she decided to have cirul, but remembering the strength of the brew she had consumed with Lev, she sipped very tentatively. She could taste the alcohol, but this cirul had a light sweetness and a flowery bouquet. It was delicious and she drank the entire mug in one long thirsty draught.
She turned to watch the dancers just as the musicians began to play something with a strong compelling beat. People cried out in delight and flocked to the square. Glynn tuned out the music through long practice and tapped her foot to the beat, liking it. People began to swing and leap about in a dance that resembled an Irish reel – vigorous and full of hand-slapping and toe-tapping. It was markedly different from the more formal Acanthan dancing.
‘Will you honour me?’
Glynn turned slightly to see who was talking to whom, and was startled to discover a tall plump man with a merry grin looking at her and holding his hand out.
‘Ah … I don’t think …’
He only laughed merrily and whisked her mug away to a table. Taking her hand he pulled her into his grasp, whirling her into the dance in one flowing motion. Fortunately the beat was simple and Glynn was swift-footed, so she managed to follow the Fomhikan’s exuberant lead. When she stumbled once, he good-naturedly whispered instructions into her ear. Against all odds, she began to enjoy herself. It was not the kata, but there was joy in using her body like this. What, she wondered for the first time ever, would it be like to dance and hear the music?
‘I am Roori Loorendi Colron and you are a fine dancer,’ the man shouted. ‘What is your name?’
Glynn’s steps faltered. ‘I am Glynn Roseberry … uh … Flandryfire.’ On impulse she decided to see if she could pass for a Fomhikan.
The man nodded equably. ‘From down Fyfen way, then?’
She swallowed and decided to plunge all the way. ‘I … my father is … was a breeder of aspi.’
‘Ahh,’ the man nodded. ‘You come from Riversong Leeuwald, then? That is a long way from here. I suppose you have come for the trade fair tomorrow. I hear it is a good pasture up your way because of the rains.’
‘Do you … have you been to … to Riversong Leeuwald, Roori?’ Glynn asked, hardly able to believe her good fortune. In a matter of seconds, she had become Glynn Roseberry Flandryfire from Riversong Leeuwald up Fyfen way, where the crops had been good because of the rain.
‘Aye, I was up there when I was a young lad. My father’s family came from Samron Torkfalt, which is near enough. My father always did want to live higher though, closer to Leeuwald. He likes the high mountains and he always did say plantsinging from the heights brought a man closer to the Song. But my mother had a yen for the open water and the waves, her family being from hereabouts. So here am I. But maybe I will visit the heights again soon …’ He gave her a cheeky grin before letting her go suddenly.
Glynn found herself whirled into the arms of another man, learning thereby that this was a progressive dance. Her next partner was incredibly clumsy but enthusiastic. Though her toes ached by the time he relinquished her, Glynn had learned that the best aspi-breeding was not far from Leeuwald, in Newbliss, and that most breeders went there to buy from Severin, a cousin of Poverin’s, whose son was next in the line to the chieftainship after Poverin’s offspring.
Her third partner was a stout grandfather with no teeth and an infectious laugh that had her giggling when she whirled away from him, for the moment forgetting her quest for information in the pleasure of the dance. Still laughing, she spun into the arms of her next partner.
She gasped, feeling as if someone had punched her in the stomach, for it was Donard, the blond man who had visited Solen’s fell on Acantha. She ought to have known from the plaits that he was Fomhikan since all of the men wore their hair in this fashion.
His green eyes were grave in his handsome face. ‘I had a feeling we would meet again,’ he said. ‘Why did you not give Solen my message?’
Glynn tried to pull free, but Donard was too strong and he kept a firm hold on her, moving them out of the line of progressive dance so he would not have to relinquish her.
‘You have not answered my question. Can it be guilt that stops your tongue? You are certainly an accomplished liar and therefore a fit companion for my father’s guest. I saw you with that draakira, just now.’
Glynn gaped and saw suddenly why Gedron had seemed so familiar. He looked like Donard. ‘You are one of Poverin’s sons!’
‘I am, and I would have been by my father tonight when he spoke, if the Wavewing had made better time. Strange, is it not, that you, supposedly a Fomhikan, did not recognise the name of the second-in-line to the chieftainship when I told it to you on Acantha? That was what made me suspect you were a spy for the Draaka, although I must say I am at a loss to understand how you rigged your apparent near-drowning. It was a risky game you played. What if no one had seen you? What if Solen had not rescued you? Or had you planned to seduce him to ensure he brought you with him? You are fair enough for that. Or perhaps your affinity with the Draaka came after your rescue when you discovered she would pay for information?’
‘You must be mad. I’m not a spy,’ Glynn said indignantly. ‘I didn’t have the chance to pass on your message because Solen died.’ To her astonishment, Glynn’s eyes filled up with tears.
Donard stopped dancing and searched her face. ‘Do you weep for Solen of Acantha?’
There was no answer to that. All at once Glynn was desperate to get away from him and the milling crowds of people and the screeching that was music to all ears but her own. But Donard still held her arms tightly. Recalling Wind’s advice about using an opponent’s weight against them, she feinted a step that caused the Fomhikan to shift his balance, then shoved him as hard as she could in the chest.
He stumbled backwards into the dancers behind him, taking them all down in a tangle of flailing limbs, and Glynn fled into the darkness.
She ran to the nearest steps and climbed them two at a time, then, back on the road, she ran and cut into a lane. She stopped and leaned against a wall, panting and wondering why she was so upset.
There was no sign of pursuit. If Donard had tried to follow, she had managed to throw him off. She did not know what to think of his accusations. She was certain she would have seen him if he had been dancing before she had been drawn into the circle. He had said he had just arrived off a ship. Putting this together with his lack of surprise at finding her in his arms, and the fact that he had seen her with Bayard, Glynn guessed Donard had deliberately entered the dance. But to what end? Why had he not simply denounced her as an impostor, if that was what he thought?
Then an infinitely worse thought occurred to Glynn. What if Donard went to the Draaka now, and revealed that she, Glynn, was not Fomhikan? She convinced herself this was unlikely since he would expect that the Draaka knew this.
‘Do you weep for Solen of Acantha?’ he had persisted.
She did, that was the thing. It no longer seemed enough to tell herself it was because Solen resembled someone she had once loved, who was also dead. Perhaps it was simply that she had endured enough of death; and in a way, wasn’t it true that each death carried all the griefs that had preceded it?
She took stock of her surroundings. By her reckoning, she was quite close to the nightshelter, but she had no desire to return there yet, nor was there any need. Both moons had now risen, but they were far from setting. She had hours before she was supposed to return.
She began to walk upward.
Reaching the edge of the city two hours later, she turned to face the sea far below, breathing hard. She could just make out the square of light and a vague movement that suggested the dancing had not ended. Further down, the shore and the piers looked like children’s toys. The dual moons rode high, shedding a silvery-aqua light over the bone-pale buildings where they showed under their plumage of greenery. It was light enough for everything to cast twin moon shadows, though from time to time trailing skeins of cloud veiled one or t
he other of the moons, plunging everything into green or blue and occasionally into inky darkness when they were simultaneously obscured.
Glynn sniffed a dampness in the air, and debated if it was going to rain. She ought to go back down because the steps would be treacherously slippery if it did. But she was reluctant. It was so peaceful here, and seemingly removed from all the strife of both worlds. Sighing, she turned her back on the ocean and looked out to where fields rippled in the breeze, whispering to her. Far away, she saw a vast jagged shadow barely distinguishable from the dark sky; mountains, one of which was named Leeuwald. She smiled a little and wished she could climb that mountain. She stepped forward onto the soft turf without any particular intent, and stopped at a sharp pain in her stomach.
The feinna.
She stepped back and at once the pain abated. She was amazed at the absolute demarcation line between too-far and not-too-far away from the little animal, and began to retrace her steps down the hill. It was not so late, but if the feinna had awakened alone, it might be afraid. She descended quickly, telling herself that the compelling link must surely dissolve after the birth of the feinna’s younglings.
Entering a lane that she calculated would bring her to yet another set of steps, she decided she had over-reacted to Donard. She should have calmly explained to him what had happened on Acantha, and asked him to contact Hella for her. Or she should have insisted she was Fomhikan and reminded him that her inability to recognise him was the result of swallowing the bittermute algae. The trouble was, his unexpected appearance and his accusations had put her completely off-balance. But he had looked genuinely concerned when he asked why she grieved for Solen.
Why hadn’t he grieved? she might have asked him.
It grew pitch dark as a solid body of cloud blocked the moons. Glynn followed the lane around a slight bend, and was startled to find herself at a dead end. She must have branched unknowingly away from the main lane. If she had not been so busy with her thoughts, she would have realised she was no longer walking straight down the hill, but along its face and parallel to the road.