Drogoya: Book 3 Circles of Light series, page 42
Before Kera could think of an answer to that, Jal’s third Guard Officer marched smartly down the ramp from the upper levels, escorting a tall thin figure. Kera gaped, leaping to her feet.
‘Doochay! How marvellous to see you. Is all well in Gaharn? We were distressed at the news of Ryla but -’
‘Oh do stop Kera. I would appreciate a drink, tea if you must, but preferably something a little more fortifying.’
Bikram produced a leather flask from a pocket and Sava peered out briefly to survey the stranger.
‘This is Bikram. He is an excellent gardener and a friend of Lorak’s.’ Kera clamped her lips shut before she could burble any more nonsense.
Doochay took a considerable gulp from the proffered flask. Her eyes watered and she was a trifle breathless but her tone was respectful as she returned the flask. ‘Amazing. Most amazing. Sorry about my sharpness Kera, but I did not enjoy the experience of being hurtled through those circles.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder if anyone’s ever worked out exactly how they function.’
Doochay stared around the immense hall, empty at this time of day, then looked at Sava who stared unblinkingly back.
‘What a handsome owl. Did you raise him yourself Bikram?’
‘Oh no Lady. He belongs to Observer Chakar but he doesn’t like the Plavats so he moved in with Lorak and now he’s with me.’
As though on cue, there was a screech from outside the gateway which sent Sava burrowing inside Bikram’s jacket. Doochay stared in appalled fascination as the giant Plavat stilted into the hall. Cocking his head from side to side and raising and lowering his neck feathers, he eventually concluded Chakar was absent.
‘I have not seen Chakar for many days.’ His mind tone was definitely peevish.
‘May I give her a message Baryet?’ asked Kera politely.
‘I suppose so.’ His chest swelled. ‘Syecha has ten eggs,’ he announced.
‘Oh dear. I mean, how perfectly marvellous for you both. I’ll surely tell Chakar your news.’
A yellow rimmed eye glared at her over the lethal black bill and the Plavat stilted from the hall.
‘Thank the stars there was no one else here – ten eggs!’ Kera sounded quite faint.
‘That was a Plavat?’ asked Doochay.
‘Mmm. Very little intelligence, over blessed with conceit, and unbelievably ghastly,’ Kera explained.
‘They came here with Observer Chakar, who has been closeted with the Dragon Lord for nine days?’
‘Is that why you’ve come here?’
‘Partly.’ Doochay grinned. ‘As I am now the eldest Discipline Senior, Emla and I thought I outrank anyone – anyone – here.’
Kera snorted disrespectfully. ‘That won’t work with Chakar.’
‘We’ll see.’
Doochay seemed in no hurry to confront Chakar so Kera gave her a brief tour of the Stronghold’s growing areas – copied from the Delver system in the Domain. Doochay was most impressed with their ingenious methods. She met workers tending a long bed of medicinal herbs in one section of the lower caves. They became involved in complicated botanical discussion and it was nearing midday as they joined labourers and Guards heading back to the hall for a meal.
Voron had returned from the Domain and was delighted to meet Senior Doochay. Kera was listening in amazement while Doochay related the most scurrilous gossip to a highly amused Nesh, when she realised the chatter in the hall was gradually quieting. She noticed Ashta and three Snow Dragons had come into the hall, reclining in Fenj’s favoured spot. Their eyes were all whirring rapidly and they were focused on the ramp.
Chakar and Jal appeared first, Jal serious as befitted a Captain of Guards, Chakar with a beaming smile. When they reached the bottom of the ramp they stood to one side, looking back. And there stood Mim. Kera heard Doochay’s intake of breath as she had her first sight of the Nagum boy.
Gold scales glittered on his chest, arms and face. He wore trousers and soft boots. A long knife hung from his belt. On a gold chain hung an egg shaped pendant, backed in red gold and its amber front pulsing with light. He stepped forward, looking down at all in the hall. Kera squinted. What did he have on his back – an old fashioned shield of some kind? Two more steps forward and Ashta called aloud, rearing erect, as did the Snow Dragons.
And then Mim gave his sweet smile, holding himself straight and proud while the huge gold feathered wings unfurled, newborn from his back. Effortlessly, he lifted from the rock floor and with three beats of his magnificent wings, he landed before his soul bond. Truly, a Dragon Lord.
Thryssa and Kwanzi remained in Talvo with Lashek and Pachela. The young student with the silvered eyes woke much calmer the day following Thryssa’s arrival. She adamantly insisted that she must stay in Talvo and Thryssa felt she should remain with her.
Only small amounts of rain had fallen here despite Zloy’s manipulation of the weather systems, but it had been enough for the plants to grow even more luxuriantly. Lashek had occupied himself with Lorak’s nursery bed – weeding and tidying diligently. Thryssa managed to persuade Pachela to join her in looking for more of the tiny flowering plants beloved by Lorak, but the girl became anxious if they were out of sight of Gremara’s ledge for too long.
Pajar mind spoke the High Speaker at dawn and dusk, relaying information to her. He reported that guards had accompanied representatives of Segra, Parima and Kedara Circles into Fira, where they found a chaotic situation indeed. They had been shocked at the numbers of dead within Fira – and by the fact that the corpses had been left to lie where they fell. Pajar estimated that the population of Fira was reduced from two and a half thousand to less than seven hundred. And many of those seven hundred were too shocked to know where to start putting their lives back in order. He asked for volunteers to help clear the bodies and try to restore some normality.
He felt proud, he told Thryssa, that so many had instantly answered his request for volunteers. People from all the other Circles had not hesitated or shown reluctance to help. Water levels were down, still overly high in places but no longer presenting any danger. Pajar had also informed them of Discipline Senior Ryla’s death in Gaharn which grieved Thryssa enormously. In the evening of that day, the three who had known the ancient lady spoke of her to Pachela, remembering her to help her journey Beyond.
Even Kwanzi had given up trying to reach the minds of the two Dragons. One of them always lay beneath Gremara’s ledge. Around them and around the bodies of Gremara and Lorak was a form of shielding none of them had ever encountered. Lula still slept on Fenj’s head, or against his massive chest. She still pounced on his feet or his tail when he moved. And she did speak with the Vagrantians. But she told them absolutely nothing more than they could observe for themselves.
On the ninth evening since Zloy’s destruction, the four sat round their small fire. Fenj had gone to hunt and Jeela lay watchful against the rock face.
‘How long can this go on I wonder?’ Thryssa mused, a question asked repeatedly by one or other of them every evening.
Kwanzi poked at the fire with a stick. ‘I have no idea what is happening, but the fact that Fenj and Jeela are so calm, makes me think it is not a final thing. Even Lula.’ He smiled at the tiny Kephi who sprawled, fast asleep, across Lashek’s ample lap.
‘How can it not be final? You’ve seen how burnt Gremara was. Perhaps Lorak is in some kind of coma – it happens in some cases of illness, particularly in older people,’ objected Pachela.
‘There just isn’t a sense of finality here. More than that I cannot explain.’
They woke the next morning simultaneously and sat yawning.
‘Just look at that sunrise,’ Lashek murmured.
They watched as a flare of pink quivered along Talvo’s rim, the sky above slowly flushing a darker pink smudged with a buttery gold. Fenj suddenly rattled his wings against his body and the four Vagrantians turned to look at him. He was standing, staring up at the ledge, his black scales gleaming in the early light.
‘Dear stars,’ breathed Lashek.
Something moved on the ledge, stilled, then moved again. Thryssa got to her feet, Pachela clinging to her. Kwanzi moved forward, stopping at once when Fenj’s wing stretched warningly to bar him from coming closer. The light grew in the eastern sky and they saw Lorak struggling to push himself to his hands and knees.
Several times he nearly succeeded only to slump forward again.
‘For the love of the stars, and the love I know you hold for Lorak, let one of us help him,’ Kwanzi pleaded.
Lula, sitting between Fenj and Jeela looked over her shoulder, blue eyes shining. ‘He must do this alone.’
They could only watch therefore as the pink glow faded from the early sky and the blue deepened above Talvo, and Lorak struggled on. The sun was overhead when he made it to his knees, sitting upright on his heels. His head was bowed with weariness and he remained thus for some moments. Then he stirred again, fumbling in his old coat and they saw him withdraw his pruning knife.
Shuffling round on his knees, his back to the watchers, he raised his hand. Light flashed off the blade as it plunged down into the husk that had been Gremara. The four Vagrantians gasped. Lorak somehow hauled himself to his feet, standing astride the blackened figure of the Silver One. He bent, working his knife down, shuffling backwards until her reached the end of her body. His breath came in gasps and he seemed to be muttering. He staggered back to what had been Gremara’s head and fell to his knees again.
Now he put his knife tip in the slit he’d made, working it back and forth. Pachela and Kwanzi both flinched when the black shell split with a sharp crack. It gaped open now about a handspan and Lorak rested. He straightened his shoulders and began wrenching the two halves apart, working up and down the whole length until the gap was perhaps eight handspans wide. Only then did Lorak turn to look down from the ledge.
His face was tired, more lined than before if that was possible, but he gave the familiar gap toothed smile, above which his now silver eyes glittered. ‘Well then Lady Thryssa,’ he croaked. ‘Welcome the Lady Gremara.’
He reached down and another hand reached up out of the black casing to grip his. He tugged gently and a silver scaled arm and shoulder came clear. Fenj and Jeela reared erect trumpeting greeting when, with Lorak’s assistance a naked silver scaled, silver eyed girl stepped clear of her cocoon.
A tight cap of silver hair curled close round her face. She swayed, clinging to Lorak’s arm, her talons clear against his dark coat. Still holding on to him she looked at Fenj, Jeela and the four Vagrantians. Smiling, she moved away from Lorak and a great fan of feathered wings flared around her – silver wings tipped with gold. And Gremara glided from the ledge to land before Thryssa.
A man sat on a broad window sill, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. The breeze blowing in carried a multitude of scents from the walled garden below, the orchards beyond, all underlined by the sharp tang of the sea. The man was of average height and build, looking fit and healthy although his white hair suggested considerable age. One hand rested on the white stone framing the window, the other held two small pebbles. His fingers caressed the pebbles, turning them constantly in his palm while he gazed over the ocean which stretched leagues to the horizon.
He tilted his head suddenly, as if he’d heard someone call him. He got to his feet, hurrying from the room, down a spiral stair of white stone. Several doors stood open in the lower hall and he went through one to his right, coming out on a plateau of short rough grass. Out of sight of the house, a narrow path wound round the cliffside. He climbed upwards, until he was far above his house. The breeze was stronger here and he paused, again appearing to listen. Sea birds were screaming high overhead when the man reached a niche worn in the cliff. He sat, his back fitting snugly against the rock, his bare feet stretched in front of him.
Bright blue eyes framed in silver stared out again at the water, but he no longer saw that view. His senses sank into the rock, expanded into the air, became the breeze. He felt the grains of soil grating against each other where a worm burrowed through; he was the leaves of a forest a thousand leagues away. Namolos felt the touch of the other minds and smiled. He moved on, sweeping across the great land mass where his plans were creeping to their fruition.
He was constantly aware of the darkness growing on the other side of the world, of the pain of the burning trees and grasses, the horror of the people hiding wherever they could find a secret place. He was also conscious of a pale beacon of light glowing steadily in a remote northern corner of Drogoya. He dared not approach closer yet for fear of alerting Cho Petak too soon. It had been torment for Namolos to bide his time. So many failed attempts to manipulate events in this land, presently called Sapphrea, had come to nothing; but now, finally, his protégées had proved strong enough.
He found he had reached the city built by the newcomers, the Asatarians. He tightened his focus and saw a tiny ancient woman nestled among quilts and pillows, a young Kephi curled snoring on her lap. Namolos’s mind brushed the gnarled and swollen hands which rested on the Kephi’s back and slipped into the old woman’s dream.
‘Such a people we asked to be Caretakers!’ he whispered. ‘Verily, we chose well my sweet one.’
He dared not linger, remembering his body growing chill on a high cliff leagues away. He had told no one of his travelling and though it was unlikely anyone on that path would dare try to rouse him, he had taken a risk. He allowed himself no more dawdling but raced north where the brilliance of the transformed Nagum boy drew him like a magnet.
The Stronghold slept as Namolos’s thought spun through its rock. He found the boy in his room, asleep on his narrow bed. One wing was furled tidily against his back, the other half extended, trailing to the floor.
‘So much still to ask of you precious child, but how well you have so far succeeded!’
Namolos grew more sharply aware of the dangerous cold his body was experiencing and moved his mind instantly to the five conjoined craters in the south east. He had watched that place so often through the millennia, his heart bleeding for the growing insanity of the Silver One. When he was notified of her successful battle to recover her mind, he had wept, then caused a great feast of rejoicing to be celebrated throughout the string of islands he had made his home.
She was waiting for him, had somehow known he would visit her. She stood on the very rim of Talvo Circle, her wings slightly extended, helping her balance against a gusting wind.
‘Beloved! We are so proud of you – I am so proud!’
‘I remember,’ Gremara replied to his mind. ‘I remember it all and I am ready for whatever comes next.’
He made a last effort to increase his focus and saw her beautiful smile. She felt the faintest impress of his lips against her forehead and heard his words.
‘Soon we will be reunited at last, most precious daughter.’ And he was gone.
Namolos sat, his back against the cliffs, his body shuddering with both cold and exhilarated joy. He closed his eyes against the queasiness brought on by a too extended, and unprepared for, travelling, and breathed deeply. He would tell the others when they gathered for supper at dusk, but first he would go to Star Dancer. She would know already of course, but she would appreciate a visit from him. He stood up and shook dust and pieces of grass from the long robe he wore – the usual clothing of most islanders.
He retraced his steps to the house and made his way first to his own quarters. He stripped off his robe and showered quickly in the tiny bathroom, the needles of hot water removing the last of the chill that had permeated to his very bones. He towelled himself dry and went to the tall cupboard opposite his bed. He hesitated, then pulled out a dark blue shirt and matching trousers. He looked at the boots, wriggled his bare toes and decided against footwear. The shirt bore an insignia on the left breast: a circle of stars around a stylised flower.
He padded back down to the lower hall and opened the only closed door in that place. At every second turn of the spiral, Namolos touched a glow stone which burgeoned to life. Eighteen stones were lit behind him when he reached the lowest level. The muffled sound of the sea came from ahead of him. At times of great storms, sea water had breached this area. Stepping from the last stair, the cavern flooded with a soft light.
His ship lay there in front of him, repaired as far as they’d been able to do so, but still scarred and battered. Her main door slid open as Namolos approached. A soft feminine voice spoke.
‘Greetings Captain.’
‘Greetings Dancer.’ Namolos entered the ship, turning left to get to the navigation unit at the upper front level. He sat in his captain’s chair and laid the palm of his hand flat against the skin of the ship wall. The ship thrummed with pleasure.
‘I know your news Captain, but I’m glad you see fit to visit me.’
‘Events may be going our way at last.’
‘I saw Gremara through my siblings’ minds. She is beautiful once more Captain.’
‘Dancer, we still aren’t sure we can restore all your functions.’
‘You never promised us we would fly again Captain. We knew there would be doubts about that from our arrival here. We also know in which particular ways each of us is damaged. We have repaired many synapses, many circuits. When you name the time, we will know our chances.’
Namolos bent forward, leaning his head against the ship wall next to his hand.
‘You have always inspired my hope Star Dancer.’
The ship laughed. ‘And flattery cannot make me do more than I can Namolos. Just remember: we are Survivors.’
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Now read 'Survivors', the fourth book in the 'Circles Of Light' series.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/147300
Circles Of Light series available at smashwords.com
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