Keles had quelled any dispute by simply noting that Rekarafi had been sent to see to his safety. Such a thing was unprecedented and gave the scroungers something else to talk about. This they did in mumbles and cant that made Keles wish for his brother’s facility with languages.
The path to Opaslynoti led them to the western corner of Dolosan, to the base of the uplift that marked the edge of the Ixyll plateau. As they grew closer and night fell, it was easy to see the magic curtain that shimmered along the heights, though the purples and deep blues did not shine that brightly. Mostly it obscured stars and colored the moons as they sailed through it, but sight of it sent a thrill through Keles anyway. To enter Ixyll, they would have to slip through that curtain and the gods alone knew what lay beyond.
One evening he’d stood apart, on a small hill, watching the curtain lights shift as if teased by night breezes. How long he watched he didn’t know, but he suddenly realized he was shivering. Yet even as he made that discovery, his rolled blanket hit him across the small of his back.
He turned and saw the Viruk crouched behind him, downwind. That sent a different shiver through him. “How long have you been there?”
Rekarafi, little more than a silhouette, shrugged. “Long enough to know you would be cold.”
“Were you watching me?”
“You mean was I stalking you? I noticed you begin to shiver. I fetched your blanket.” He reached out and pointed toward Ixyll. “I was watching that. Tavam eyzar.”
Keles untied the leather strips holding his bedroll closed, then wrapped himself in the woolen blanket. “Tavam is magic. Eyzar I do not know.”
“Veil in your tongue, but more than garment. A veil obscures.” He lowered his hand to his knee. “This veil has died quickly. You reckon things by nine, for your gods, and we reckon by ten.”
“You have ten gods?” Keles looked to the sky to pick out a tenth constellation.
“No. Our slaves had ten fingers. We did not want them confused when they were counting.” The Viruk came forward, still keeping himself downwind. “Seventy decades ago, the battle that hung this tavam eyzar was fought. In those days, it could be seen in the sunlight. It outshone the sun—for there was little sunlight in the Time of Black Ice. In your Principalities you could not see it, but it lit Irusviruk so brightly we had no night. Reds and yellows, gold, silver, green and blue, the light would roil and boil, then magic would pour from the heights and wreak havoc.”
The Viruk’s shoulders rose in a hunch. “You are incapable of understanding what that was like, Keles. What you have seen so far has been incredible—so many things, all different. When the magic flowed out it dissolved everything, but also made everything. All the places you have seen, and more than you could imagine, all existed here at the same time. Past and future merged, realities merged, plants and animals merged, everything that was not somehow protected was remade.”
The cartographer closed his eyes and tried to make sense of his words. “You’re right, I can’t imagine.”
“Think of a pool, Keles, and what you can see when the water is still. That was the world. Then think of the water churned to a froth. What you see changes. Here, where the water was magic, reality was distorted. All things existed at the same time, but none persisted, for the magic was too wild.”
“It kept churning.”
“Yes, and could only be contained by a tavam eyzar.”
Opening his eyes again, Keles crouched. Though the Viruk had drawn close, his headache did not build. He expected it would, but did not mind. Rekarafi had maintained distance throughout the journey, and while Keles did fear him, the Viruk’s attempt at bridging that distance prompted him to honor it.
“You refer to this veil in a way that makes me think there was another.”
Rekarafi’s head swiveled toward him and cold pinpoints of reflected starlight glistened in his dark eyes. “Virukadeen was consumed in a conflagration of magic you could not comprehend. Your Cataclysm changed land and boiled an inland sea. Virukadeen’s death devoured land.
“Where your Dark Sea sits today, Keles, was once a range of mountains that caught at the stars. We lived there, and no matter how far we traveled from our home, we could still see it. The tallest peak should have always been buried in snow, for it existed above the clouds, but tavamazari bent the winds to their will and tamed the sun. Our home was as lush as Ummummorar, as warm as Miromil. It was paradise.”
Keles shook his head. “How could they destroy it?”
The Viruk make a crackling sound in his throat that sounded as if he were gargling bones. “We sit in a place your people destroyed and you can ask this? Do motives matter after three thousand years? Those who had power wanted more and jealously guarded what they had. Those who had none wanted some and would stoop at nothing to get it. Hardly noble or lofty, though each side crafted stories to cast their actions as both.
“As things unfolded, there were those who saw the result. They gathered tavamazari who remained outside the conflagration and raised a tavam eyzar to contain it. Virukadeen sank, and the Black Pearl rose into the heavens.”
The cartographer looked up. Gol’dun, the second largest moon, hung in the sky: a black ball with a silver-grey sheen to it. “Gol’dun is the treasure of the gods. It passes slowly among them because they cannot bear its being taken from them.”
Again the rattling sounded from the Viruk’s throat. “I could tell you of the true origin of your gods, Keles Anturasi. You would refuse to believe me. The Black Pearl did not float through the sky in my youth. Your name for it is a bastardization of ours. We call it ghoal nuan. The nearest translation for you would be soulstone. As with ’veil,’ it does not contain the nuances.”
“Tell me, please.”
Rekarafi slowly closed his eyes. “It will not help you to map your world.”
“But it will help me understand the world I am mapping.”
The Viruk remained still, his eyes closed, then he lifted his chin. Keles wondered what Rekarafi was thinking. He almost allowed himself to believe the Viruk was listening to ghosts and seeking their counsel before speaking. Perhaps he speaks with the ambassador as I do my grandfather.
Finally, he opened his eyes again. “It is our belief that upon death we are judged. Every evil we commit creates a black stone in our soul, a ghoal nuan. Every kindness creates a white stone, a ghoal saam. The judge collects these stones and weighs them. More black than white, a soul enters eternal torment. If the reverse, the soul passes to paradise.”
“If there is a balance?”
Rekarafi nodded. “The ghoal are discarded and the soul returns to the world anew.”
“So you believe—” Keles stopped as the Viruk’s hand rose and talons flashed. The faint scent of venom made him dizzy and he fell back. “What is it?”
“I tell you this for two reasons, Keles. The first is that we might find Viruk graves and if they are opened, you will see white stones and black. When a body is buried, often friends or enemies will throw stones into the grave to tip the balance. This lets you understand.”
Keles nodded silently, but hoped they would find a grave so he could see evidence of what Rekarafi had described.
“The second reason is that when I struck you, I created a ghoal nuan for myself. I came to balance it by serving you. I may do many things, like the slaying of the etharsaal, which grant me ghoal saam, but my service shall not end until you grant me ghoal saam.”
Keles frowned. “I think I understand. Thank you.”
“It is my duty to serve and protect you.” The Viruk cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps it will not be onerous.”
They left the hill and returned to the camp, guided by the glow of a blue thaumston lantern. Keles crawled into his tent considering all that the Viruk had said. There was much there he understood, and a great deal he did not. Paramount among them was exactly why Rekarafi had chosen to speak to him. Pondering that conundrum carried him into sleep.
The next morn
ing came early and with it a headache as usual, but Keles worked around it. The travelers broke camp quickly and made their way across a flat plain whose thin coat of black snow kept the dust buried. Everyone in the group took the snow’s color as a bad omen, and the thaumstoners urged them on as quickly as possible. When Keles’ mapping efforts slowed them too much, the scroungers left them behind.
Following the tracks in the snow, the six of them moved into a canyon which, while much wider than the one with the pool, still reminded them of it. The glassy sheen of the striated walls suggested to Keles that a river of magic had carved the canyon, and that periodic floods kept the stones well polished. He even saw himself reflected in their surface, but as he rode he caught different images. Most often he appeared as a child, but an unhappy one, and a few times he saw himself bowed and beaten like his uncle Ulan.
Worst of all there were times his eyes stared back at him out of his grandfather’s face. Even the reflection of a skeleton wearing his clothes and riding a skeletal horse did not make him feel as uncomfortable as seeing himself as his grandfather. Past and future may no longer coexist, but these reflections show them.
No one else made any comment, but their pace did slow as they all studied the reflections. Keles only saw the others as they were now, but the expressions they wore, shifting from horror to delight, suggested they saw themselves as changed as he did. Only Rekarafi viewed it with disdain, though he did claw furrows across one flat surface.
They followed the twisting canyon down into a valley that spread out north and south as well as further west to Ixyll. Signs of human habitation began to appear, mostly in the form of discarded rubbish. Here and there pickaxes had chipped rock and shovels had turned soil. At one point Keles caught the reflection of someone digging, but in the real world all that existed was an old hole and the broken haft of the shovel.
Finally, cresting a small rise, they saw Opaslynoti. Borosan rested both hands on his saddle horn and smiled. “It’s grown.”
The last vestige of romance died in Keles’ heart. Opaslynoti was a city, but unlike any city he’d ever seen before. Nothing even hinted at its Viruk roots. He wondered what Rekarafi was seeing. Were Moriande reduced to this, I would wish to die.
Opaslynoti most closely resembled a trash midden, with people wriggling through it like maggots. Nestled there at an intersection of canyons two miles wide, it had been built against the southwest wall. In the days of its Viruk glory it would have occupied land at the conjunction of two rivers. Keles could easily imagine ships sailing down them and towers soaring, but then the truth of Opaslynoti reasserted itself.
When human settlement was small, the rock outcropping likely would have provided some safety against magic storms. Were water to run through the canyon, its location would contain nothing more than a gentle eddy. From there it had grown downward. The earth removed had been piled to the north, extending the outcropping to create a dike. The way sunlight reflected from parts of the midden revealed it had weathered some magic storms, but the fact that the downstream side also had been polished suggested the magic had slopped over, and the sunken pit of Opaslynoti would have been a perfect catch basin for it.
A closer approach did not make Keles feel any better. The diggings had been organized into terraces, so dwellings sank back into the stone. Up around the perimeter of the pit, looking like the caps of countless toadstools, domed buildings large and small provided shelter. Camels and horses stood in paddocks around some of the larger domes, and he assumed the animals would be driven inside to protect them from storms.
The odd thing about the domes was that they all had clearly been constructed of mud and straw, but had flat grey stone plates set over them. “Borosan, what are the stones for?”
The gyanridin rested his hands on his saddlehorn. “The stones are dug from deeper in the pits. They contain some thaumston and will absorb magic. After a storm, people take the dome shields down and sell the thaumston, but it is very low grade and not terribly useful.”
He gave his horse a touch of spur. “Come on. I have friends in the lower reaches. We will stable our mounts and they will take us in.”
Moraven cleared his throat. “Down is best?”
Borosan nodded. “Storms will whip around the edges, but seldom fill the Well to overflowing. As long as we avoid the falls during a storm, deep is best. Opaslynoti, despite what you might think, is not a place where we will get into trouble.”
Ciras, who had guided his horse off to the right to examine a separate set of tracks leading in toward the city, shook his head. “I do not think that will be necessarily true this time, Master Gryst.”
Moraven frowned. “What is it?”
“These tracks run to the largest dome. I know them.” Ciras dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword. “Somehow the raiders are here before us.”
Chapter Forty-eight
27th day, Month of the Tiger, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Tocayan, Caxyan
Jorim was able to convince the warrior in the jet, jade, and gold mask to wait while they sent a boat back for Captain Gryst. The man seemed to understand the word Captain. Jorim dispatched Lieutenant Linor to the Stormwolf. The rest of the landing party took up a defensive position near the Moondragon and eyed the woods with suspicion.
Jorim crouched high up on the beach with the giant. Though he had rendered the greeting perfectly, his grasp of the Naleni tongue was spotty. He introduced himself as Tzihua and, at Jorim’s request, began naming common items in his tongue. In short order, the cartographer learned that Tzihua’s people called themselves the Amentzutl, their nation Caxyan, and that he was from a southern outpost called Tocayan. The Moondragon’s crew had been taken there for their protection since the Mozoyan—an enemy people—had scouts moving throughout the area.
Jorim began to pick up little bits and pieces of the language. The suffix “–yan,” for example, denoted a place. The Mozoyan were from outside that place, which meant they were as much outsiders as the Turasynd were for the Empire. It pleased Jorim that the Amentzutl tongue had an orderly nature to it, since that made it so much easier for him to learn.
Within an hour Captain Gryst came ashore, bringing with her Iesol and Shimik, as well as the fleet’s botanical scholar. Tzihua greeted her and was content to leave the fleet’s people at the beach while he conducted a small party inland to the outpost. He communicated to Jorim that they should have little fear of the Mozoyan with such fine troops in evidence. He waved a hand and summoned a half dozen young men and women from the forest depths and left them behind to “help,” but both sides knew they were hostages against the safety of those accompanying him.
Tzihua eyed Shimik carefully, but when the Fennych held his arms up and Iesol hefted him like a child, his concern lessened appreciably. He led Iesol, Anaeda, and Jorim into the forest, and within a half dozen paces the beach had disappeared in green gloom. Not much further on, other warriors joined them on the narrow trail that wound around past the boles of large trees. Golden monkeys and their smaller cousins screamed at them from the thick canopies above, rushing down, screeching, then darting away again to chatter with fellows.
Jorim and Anaeda said almost nothing, but Jorim was thinking what Iesol kept muttering. “Oh, my, oh, my,” fell from his lips so often that Shimik started chanting “Omaiamaia.” The Fenn wove into that some of the haunting, hooting tones of the monkeys and became loud enough that their arboreal stalkers would pause and cock their heads when Shimik returned their calls.
Jorim found the jungle to be a wondrous place, full of plants and animals the like of which he’d never seen. He was fairly certain he could spend a year or more and not even begin to dent the surface of all he could discover. Already he’d seen a dozen different varieties of brilliantly colored blossoms that were produced by plants growing on tree limbs, their r
oots hanging free in the air. The monkeys, as well as tracks of small deer and similar creatures on the trail, suggested there must be some larger predators around, but he saw nothing of them. This sent a trickle of fear through him, though he took heart that neither Tzihua nor his men appeared to be overly concerned with things lurking beyond the green walls that hemmed them in.
The trail moved parallel to the river. Jorim estimated that they traveled due east for three miles before the river curved south around a hill. The jungle made it impossible to see how tall the hill was, but the path broadened slightly as they climbed. Other paths fed into it, and suddenly the trail leveled out. They emerged from the jungle onto a broad green plain roughly five miles in diameter. The outer ring consisted of cleared fields up to the jungle edge. While Jorim did not recognize the crops being cultivated, other patches remained overgrown.
They practice crop rotation. He made that observation, realizing it set them apart from the people of Ethgi. The Amentzutl had enough science to realize that purposely letting fields rest one in five or seven seasons would mean it would never be played out. That observation occurred in a flash, suggesting to him a level of sophistication despite Tzihua’s lack of steel weaponry. In the next moment, as Jorim’s eyes focused beyond the fields and he realized that what he had taken for bare hills in the distance were not natural formations, his estimate of their sophistication expanded exponentially.
Tzihua had used the Naleni word “outpost” to describe Tocayan, but the word failed to encompass adequately what Tocayan truly was. In the distance he saw four stepped pyramids rising from the heart of the plain. It seemed quite obvious that the stones had been quarried from the nearby mountains, but that meant they’d been transported a minimum of three miles to where the pyramids were built. Moreover, the trail, which had become a full-fledged road, showed no signs of ruts made by wagon wheels. Nor did Jorim see any horses, though people working the fields did have with them beasts that looked like very small camels with no discernible humps.