Keys of Awakening

NARGAL ( U N D O I N G )

The First Power of the Arcanum

Nargal is an Active power.

This is the process of unlearning, of dismantling the assumptions we have accepted about our nature and about the nature of reality. As we remove learning from our experience, we begin to see things as they truly are.

Application: Nargal is also applicable to external events.

Those who practice this power have the ability to tamper with the very fabric of time and space.

Depending on the level of proficiency in this, one can ‘undo’ events to lesser or greater degrees.

A practitioner of this power is known as an Unraveller.

From The Arcanum of Wisdom – Introduction for the Initiate

Kassargan came for them early the next day and led them to the edge of the Pentangle, to a free-standing building where the meals that fed everyone in the Keep were prepared.

Argolan stopped at the entrance.

“Before we do anything else, we need to send a message to Menphan Tarn.”

“Is this about my brother’s message about the fires in the Mendrond region?” asked Elan.

“Yes, and even more importantly, about what is happening to the Wards posted there.”

The priestess nodded.

“I must send one to Jalon, too. May I come with you?”

“Of course, but you must come right now.”

The pair of them left and the rest of the party followed Kassargan into the dining hall.

Here, low wooden rectangular tables and cushions were arranged in long rows, with many already seated, awaiting their meals. Servers worked the rows in groups of three. One ladled generous amounts of some sort of fine grain, a second topped it with a dollop of thick stew and the third server added a square of flatbread to each plate.

The food servers were followed by others bearing pitchers of milk to fill the horn cups being proffered. For some reason this caused a few of the Riders to silently exchange meaningful looks. Tarmel caught Illiom watching them.

“It is not ale,” he explained with a smirk.

As no utensils were being provided they all watched as Kassargan started to eat with her fingers. Soon they were clumsily emulating her.

After just a number of mouthfuls, Illiom’s lips and tongue began to burn. The fare was delicious, but never had she eaten food as intensely spicy as this. Soon even the Riders were not disdainful of the milk they had been given and Kassargan’s mischievous grin revealed that the descrier was not oblivious to their plight.

“Kassargan, does this food come about as a direct result of living on top of a volcano?” Scald asked, fanning his mouth with his hand.

“Only if the insipid mush that passes for food in Albradan comes from living far from one,” was the descrier’s response. “My palate almost died of boredom in your realm!”

A large group of people entered the hall to claim their seats. The din of conversation grew proportionately louder.

Illiom found that people in Calestor were harder to categorise than they had been in Kuon for there were no uniforms or any distinctive dress code that separated one class of person from another. Everyone dressed, not in adherence to any code, but according to the dictates of personal whim. She decided that she liked this better.

Argolan and Mist rejoined the group and took the seats that the others had set aside for them.

Each time the main doors opened to let someone in or out, a lone female singing voice was heard. Unaccompanied, the woman sang a tale in the Iolan tongue and, although Illiom did not understand the words, she felt both yearning and sadness in the song’s melody.

So engrossed was she in listening to the singing and in watching the parade of people passing by, that she did not realise Draca Provan had joined them until he spoke.

“I had not intended to see you so soon, but last night I had a dream,” he said, seating himself in their midst.

“And since it concerns you, I have come to tell you about it.”

“A dream?” Scald asked.

“There is one who wishes to meet with you, one who is known in these parts as the Firebrand. You must understand that this is quite an honour, for very few have been invited into her presence since her arrival here more than three hundred years ago.”

Sereth made a strangled noise.

“Three hundred years? Who is she, a sixth Draca that we have never heard about?”

Provan turned towards him with a smile.

“No, she is not a Draca; she is an Awoken. If you are asking about her identity, she would probably tell you that she is no one. The Awoken do not place much import on names or titles. In former times she was rather well known, especially in your own lands, for her name then was Salanamun, Queen Salanamun. She ruled Albradan towards the end of the Seventh Century. Truth be told, she was never terribly interested in either the position or the title, for she had other, more important concerns that required her attention. However, the call of duty came her way and she was not one to deny any call, however distasteful it appeared. So she served, but abdicated at the first opportunity and found her way here. She has lived nearby ever since.”

“Why does she want to see us?” Azulya asked.

“She did not tell me and I did not ask,” the Draca said. “But when the Firebrand comes like that in a dream, it pays to heed the call.”

“So she came to you, and asked to see us … in this dream; and you think we should act upon this dream of yours?” Scald’s tone was a study of disbelief.

Draca Provan nodded.

“But if she wanted us to go and see her, why did she not come into our dreams?”

Provan gave a light shrug.

“Perhaps because you would not have known who she was? And, even if you did, do you often act upon information that comes to you in dreams? I would wager that you do not.”

“It does not matter,” the Draca said, forestalling Scald’s budding protest. “The why of anything is never of any great importance; it is only how we respond to something that truly matters.”

“You speak of the Awoken as if they are many,” Elan observed. “Who are they?”

Provan turned his head towards her.

“No, they are not many, but they are more than one. They are the ones who have awoken from the Great Dream, whilst still retaining their bodies. They are the unshackled, having gained the ultimate freedom, while choosing to remain here in Âtras. For what purpose …?” Provan’s eyebrows arched questioningly. “ … Only they may answer that question.”

Undina swallowed a mouthful of food and then asked a question of her own.

“Draca be also Awoken?”

Provan smiled, and fine webs of wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.

“We are not; we merely serve.”

“And yet you also live very long lives,” took up Sereth. “Much longer than three hundred years, in fact.”

“It is our service that sustains us, a pledge that we took, long ago … but no, we are not immortal – as you must have realised from Sconder’s demise. In a sense nothing is truly immortal, for everything that is born must die; which simply means that everything that comes into the Garden must at some point leave it and return to whence it came. In another sense, of course, everything is immortal …”

“So where do we find her, this Firebrand?” interrupted Scald impatiently.

Provan produced a childlike chuckle and pointed to the ground.

“In there.”

An exchange of confused glances followed this gesture.

“She lives inside Mount Shantan,” the Draca elaborated.

Scald’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open.

“Are you saying that she lives within the volcano?”

It was the first time that Illiom had seen Scald blanch; the blood drained from his face and he looked terrified. When the Draca nodded in response, Scald turned to his companions.

“Well, you lot can certainly go there if you wish; I will be waiting up here for you.”

“Oh, for Iod’s sake, Scald!” Malco snapped. “If she has lived there for three hundred years it cannot be that dangerous …”

“Do I look like I care?” Scald’s eyes flashed at the Blade with a fire of their own. “I am not going inside this or any other volcano; just you try and make me!”

Malco shrugged and shook his head as he turned away.

Scald’s fear had turned him into a terrified child; the antagonistic man seemed to have disappeared.

Illiom reached out to him hesitantly.

“Scald, what is the matter …?”

Instead of answering, Scald brushed her hand aside and leapt to his feet.

“You are all mad, you know that? I knew from the start that I should not go along with any of this insanity! Do what the Hel you want, but from now on, do me a favour and leave me out of it!”

And with that, he stormed away.

Wind, halfway through her breakfast, stood up, wiped her mouth unceremoniously with her sleeve, and after a resigned glance in Argolan’s direction, hurried off after her Chosen.

“It would seem that Scald is terrified of fire,” Provan commented mildly, “and with good cause, I am sure. And yet you must find a way to convince him to go with you. If the Firebrand wants to see you she will want to see all of you: if even one of you fails to appear before her it will be to everyone’s detriment, not just Scald’s …”

“Why?” Malco asked. “Why does he have to be there? Could this Firebrand not just tell us what he needs to know and we could later pass it on to him …”

The Blade’s words floundered as the Draca raised a hand.

“Perhaps you will understand better when you come before her; for now you will have to trust my judgement on this.”

Azulya nodded, her brow creased in thought.

“I will speak with him …”

“Speak with him?!” Malco huffed. “For all the good that will do…”

“I will speak with him,” Azulya repeated, with conviction. “If only

to find out why he reacted so strongly to this invitation.”

The Draca stood up.

“When you are ready, make your way to Sudra’s Temple, for the entrance into the mountain lies within the temple compound.” Provan turned to Elan. “Access to the Firebrand is through the same network of tunnels that leads to the Seventy Third Fragment. I am sure that you, at least, must have heard of that.”

“Indeed we have!” the priestess confirmed. “In fact it was our intention to go and view the Fragment while we are here in Calestor.”

“All the better, then you will not need to go far out of your way. I am certain that you will find a visit to both highly instructive. But first you will need to secure a guide, for it is not wise to wander around the innards of Mount Shantan without one. One of the Daughters at the temple should be able to fulfil that role.”

“What about you, Kassargan?” Illiom asked, nodding in the direction of the descrier. “Will you be coming with us?”

Draca Provan shook his head before the descrier could answer.

“She was not in the dream.”

They lingered, picking listlessly at the remains of their fiery breakfast. Not one of them seemed in a hurry to leave the table.

Azulya released a sigh.

“Well, Draca Provan wants us to attend this Trial of Mastery, so perhaps we do not need to rush things. In truth, I am still feeling quite exhausted. I would welcome a few days rest …“

“When is Trial?” Undina asked.

“In three days’ time,” Kassargan answered.

“I could easily sleep the whole three days, “muttered Sereth.

“We will need to visit the Awoken and view the Seventy Third Fragment before the Trial,” said Elan, crossing her arms.

“There is still no reason why we should do anything at all today,” objected Azulya. “Why not enjoy at least one day of peace before we get swept once more into frenzied activity? Personally, I would enjoy nothing more than to simply wander around the city and not worry about anything else. If you like we could go to Sudra’s Temple in the morning and fulfil both tasks: visit this Firebrand as well as view the Fragment.”

Malco’s look was one of disapproval.

“Never leave something for the morrow if it can be done today,” he pontificated. “We have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps if we get this done now, we will have two full days of rest before this Trial begins …”

The chorus of groans that followed showed clearly in which direction most of their group leaned.

Malco shrugged indifference.

“Fine, we will do whatever the majority wants then.”

“I will look for Scald,” Azulya announced, standing up.

Yet before she could leave, Scald and Wind re-entered the building and made for the table. The difficult Chosen looked somewhat downcast and his bellicose nature seemed quelled.

“I apologise for my outburst,” he said, as he rejoined them. He looked sheepishly at their expectant expressions. “Wind here has suggested that I … may have over-reacted when Provan told us about the Firebrand.”

He pressed the heel of his hand against his brow, as if to soothe a painful throbbing.

“When I was five, our house caught fire. My father and mother both died there that night and I almost went with them; that is how I received these,” he waved a hand down the left side of his face and body. “An uncle pulled me from the building before it collapsed …” Scald hung his head and shook it a few times. “I cannot abide fire: it terrifies me. Just the idea of walking into a volcano …”

He shuddered visibly.

Elan leaned towards him and touched his scarred hand.

“And despite all that, you are now here …”

Several of the others nodded and added their small comments. Scald’s embarrassment at their response was palpable, yet for once he did not shy away.

He looked towards his Rider.

“Thank Wind, not me. She is the one who talked sense into me and pointed out the uselessness of my reaction.”

Looking at Wind, Scald allowed a smile to soften his expression.

It was small, but the smile completely transformed his face.

Scald was more than agreeable to the suggestion that they take this day to wander the streets of the capital.

Undina was keen to first visit her descrier friend who she had stayed with on her previous time in Calestor.

The party resolved this by opting to split into two groups and, having reached this decision, could not move quickly enough to get underway. Illiom found herself cast into the larger group with Sereth, Scald and Undina, and their respective Riders.

Together they recrossed the bridge they had used on the way in and continued along until they reached a junction where three streets met. Here they separated after assuring Argolan that they would return to the Keep by dusk.

Undina took the lead.

“We go here, this way,” she informed them, pointing along a road which led to a nearby cluster of hills.

The road was lined with buildings half-hidden by Calestor’s riotous jungle. Further up, beyond the hills, the ridge of Mount Shantan’s crater rose to surround the entire luxuriant bowl with its wall of black basalt.

The road soon began to climb and after a while gave way to a gentle flight of stone steps. The buildings all had their doors thrown wide open to admit the light of day; none were locked or barred, a fact that soon prompted a remark from Scald.

“If this was Kuon, these houses would be picked clean in a matter of minutes.”

At the top of the hill, the stairs spilled them onto a narrower road that tunnelled through dense greenery. Monkeys ambled leisurely out of their way and sat at the edge of the forest, watching the group file past.

Undina eventually slipped into a subsidiary walkway that descended steeply at first and then rose again, making for what looked like a deeper tangle of wilderness at the top of a rise.

“Are we leaving the city proper?” Sereth asked.

Undina shook her head.

“No, this is burning grounds. City continue on other side …”

“Burning grounds?” asked Scald, with a suspicious frown.

“Where bodies of dead burn. Descrier Altesia live near there.”

When they reached the overgrown compound that was the burning grounds, the path veered sharply to the north before descending again. A group of youths walking in the opposite direction gawked at them with undisguised curiosity.

Finally, Undina slipped into an opening between two buildings and descended a steep, narrow flight of stairs, emerging into an enclosure that had one side completely open to the weather.

She rang the bell that hung from a long chain in the centre of the space, and upon the third toll a woman with dark skin and long, braided white hair appeared.

“Altesia!” Undina squealed, and ran straight into the woman’s open arms.

“Ah, sweetness, what a lovely surprise! I am so glad to see you!” She pushed the girl away from her and held her at arm’s length for an extended scrutiny, beaming brightly. “Look at you! It has been far too long!”

She then pulled the tribal girl into a second, longer embrace.

Undina eventually disentangled herself and then introduced the rest of them. Altesia greeted each warmly and invited them all to share a cup of capha with her. Sereth tried to gracefully decline but the descrier would not be refused.

She led the way up a flight of stairs, and ushered them into a room whose main feature was a small fire dancing merrily upon a hearth stone placed in the room’s exact centre.

The fire was eerie to watch. It appeared to emerge from the stone slab itself, not from wood, coals, or any other fuel that Illiom could see. Nothing marred the smooth cleanliness of the hearth: no ash, no soot, and the flickering flames produced no smoke.

The old descrier ladled some water from an urn into a metal kettle, hooked it to an iron arm, and swung the whole contraption over the flames.

“Dear sweetness, you have changed so much since last you were here. How long ago? Two years?”

“Three,” Undina corrected, “since last time here. Much change in this three years. But you tell how you are … you look good, Altesia. You happy?”

The descrier nodded slowly, pensively.

“I am that. Things … change, but slowly at my age, Undina. I am happy. My leg still troubles me, the sun still shines during the day, and it rains at night, same as always.”

“Maybe change slow in Calestor, but not for rest of Common Weal...” said the Pelonui girl and then, remembering herself, she cast a quick glance at her companions. But the older woman appeared not to notice Undina’s inadvertent reference to nefarious happenings.

Soon the water in the kettle was boiling and the Iolan added a handful of dark powder, swirled the liquid around a few times and then placed it down upon the cold stone to steep.

She talked mainly to Undina, making light conversation about small things and about the people they both knew.

“Talluin still asks after you, you know,” she mentioned casually as she began to pour the brew into small delicate cups, which she offered around to the rest of them. When Altesia gave Undina her cup, she looked intently at the girl, perhaps to gauge her response. Illiom noticed the heat rise in the tribal’s face. As usual, this seemed to make her pattern of tattoos more defined.

Despite this, Undina made no comment, but instead made a show of closing her eyes and sniffing at the contents of her cup.

Illiom did likewise and was rewarded with a rich smell, reminiscent of roasted chestnuts and cloves. She sipped at it tentatively and was surprised by a sweet spiciness that left her whole mouth tingling.

Scald gave an elaborate demonstration of his inimitable disregard for social niceties by sniffing loudly into his cup, dipping a finger into it, sucking it, and then pulling a sequence of faces that conveyed a whole spectrum of doubt regarding the drink’s compatibility with his palate.

If Altesia noticed any of his antics she gave no outward sign.

To Illiom, one thing was noticeably absent. Altesia never asked Undina or any of the others what had brought them to Calestor. Was she not curious? Was she disinterested? This seemed odd in someone who, unlike Scald, seemed quite conversant with the protocol of social graces. It was almost as if the woman was purposefully avoiding the topic.

The descrier and the Pelonui girl had much to talk about and none of it had anything to do with the rest of them; so, when they finished their drinks the three Chosen and their Riders stood up, thanked Altesia for her hospitality and, after reaching an agreement with Undina to return for her before sundown, took their leave. Angar rose to leave with the rest, allowing Undina private time with her friend.

“If you need me for anything, I will be in the other room,” he informed her as he followed the others outside.

“What will you do while those two are catching up?” Pell asked as they went down the stairs.

Angar shrugged.

“Whittle something, I expect,” he said resignedly. He gestured towards the room they had just left. “I cannot come with you and leave her here by herself. I am sure that we are safer here in Calestor than we could possibly be anywhere else, but I do not want to take unnecessary chances. What about you, where will you be going?”

The six of them exchanged uncertain glances.

“No particular destination,” Illiom voiced for all of them.

Tarmel corroborated her words with a decisive nod.

“We will follow our whim until it is time to come and fetch you. So, be sure not to indulge in anything too exciting.”

The other turned away with a snort of disgust and waved them off with the flick of his hand.

Not wishing to retrace their steps, they returned to a more central part of the city by following a different route. Tarmel, Wind, and Pell discussed landmarks and how best to mark the location of Altesia’s abode so that they would find it again with ease when the time came.

This freed up Illiom, Sereth, and Scald, and the three walked ahead of their Riders. They soon descended a broad stairway flanked by tall tree-ferns and dense shrubs.

They passed a large dog that was busy barking at a group of monkeys perched along the top of a wall. The monkeys in turn looked down at the noisy creature with bored indifference.

Even as Illiom watched, one of the monkeys dropped silently to the ground behind the obsessing canine and slapped the poor animal on the rump before leaping quickly out of harm’s way.

“They are wicked!” she laughed. “Did you see that?”

“They are like us in more than just looks,” Sereth remarked.

There were few people about in this part of town, but the ones they passed offered friendly greetings.

After a few such encounters, Illiom identified the words ‘vian lestrel’ as being a salutation of some kind. She did not know its meaning but nevertheless tried it out on the following encounters, and was rewarded with prompt smiles and similar responses.

After a time the stairs levelled out into a busy avenue and they found themselves swept along by the flow of traffic into the very heart of the Iolan capital.

Illiom had found most of Kuon – with the exception of The Squat – to be remarkably clean given its size and the bulk of its population. But if Kuon had been clean, Calestor was spotless. The stones that paved her streets shone with a lustre unmarred by dust or sand. No weeds pushed their way between the pavers and nothing soiled the city’s roads, despite the dense traffic that criss-crossed her byways and intersections.

It occurred to Illiom how truly odd this was. This was a city accommodating abundant trees and vegetation, yet there was no leaf litter, no broken or dry twigs, and no decay. Not even any droppings - despite all the dogs, monkeys, goats, and chickens that crossed their path.

They reached a major intersection and stopped, looking to the left and then right, trying to determine the merits of one direction over the other. Before they could make up their minds, a voice addressed their indecision.

“We looking for something?”

The question could only have been addressed to them for it was delivered not in Common, but in flawless Albradani.

“What is it we want?”

Illiom turned to face the man who had spoken. In a land populated by tall people she aimed her gaze high, and then had to adjust it to accommodate the diminutive figure who stood before her.

“We want something, we come to Dreel. Dreel finds what we want. That’s what Dreel does. That’s what Dreel’s good at!”

The dwarf had a long nose, a large protruding forehead, and long, unkempt brown hair tied in a rough tail. His eyes were bright blue, and shone with intelligence or cunning, or possibly both. He wore a faded jacket that had probably once been the same colour as his eyes.

The six stared back at him.

“What makes you think we want anything?” Sereth asked.

The dwarf flicked his fingers at him.

“Who comes to Calestor without a reason?” The dwarf arched his eyebrows suggestively. “We wants something! Dreel knows this. Dreel is the man for the job!”

He emphasized his cleverness by tapping at his temple.

“How does Dreel know that we haven’t found what we’re looking for?” He grinned in a wide display of yellowed teeth. “Because we’re still here! If we’d found it, we’d be gone!”

“Well, there may be some things that we could be after,” Scald pushed in before anyone else could speak. “But whether we do business with you or not will depend on whether your price is any good.”

“Of course, of course,” the dwarf waved his hands about dismissively. “We say what we wants and Dreel gives excellent service for excellent price.”

As he spoke, Dreel removed a silver pin from the lapel of his worn jacket and rubbed the pale blue stone it encased against his sleeve. He then held it up towards the light, seemingly indifferent to their presence.

Scald turned to his companions.

“Does anyone remember the name of that moss that Vardail used to disguise himself?”

Illiom did not, but before she could respond, Dreel turned to Scald.

“You’re talking ’bout Arukala?” he asked, his eyes widening in surprise. “Tch, tch! Not easy to come by, no, no. Not at all.”

“Now why am I not surprised that you should say that?” Scald commented. He turned away in disdain.

Dreel reacted with a volley of words completely different to his previous affectations.

“You are not talking about some concoction that any two-bit street alchemist can put together, you know! Arukala is not like any other moss that can be scraped off the north side of a tree or boulder. Do you have even the slightest idea of what’s involved in harvesting it?”

The dwarf brimmed with indignation.

“It has to be gathered from the crevices of the crater’s main well, just beneath where the waters of a spring cascade directly down into the lava flow far below. That’s the only place where the moss grows: where the constant moisture, combined with the heat of the lava, allows the Arukala to thrive and where the power of the Kubera imbues the moss with its proper …”

They all gaped at the dwarf, momentarily silenced by his new-found eloquence. Scald was the first to recover.

“I do not care if it grows only on the northern side of Krodh’s horns,” Scald snapped. “Just tell me how much you want or you can go and pester somebody else.”

“Twelve silver per portion,” the dwarf said quietly and with finality.

“How big is a portion and how long does it last?”

Dreel’s brow creased in thought.

“It is small, no bigger than a candle wick and its effectiveness varies, depending on who takes it, but usually it will last for at least a day.”

“Just one day? Day as from dawn to dusk, or day as from dawn to dawn?” Scald sneered.

“Day as from dawn to dawn,” the dwarf growled straight back.

Scald frowned as he made some calculations. While he was busy doing so, Sereth placed a companionable hand on Dreel’s shoulder.

“Do you know if there are any ill effects from taking the moss?” he asked softly.

The dwarf bared his teeth again, this time in a downcast and pained expression.

“Ah, let me see … no, no ill-effects at all. There is a small matter that happens after you stop taking it, but … nothing during,” he fumbled.

“And what might this trifle be?”

“Well, I have never taken any myself, you see, but I hear from those who have that when the effects wear off, one’s appearance can waver, for a while …”

“Waver?”

Dreel nodded.

“Yes, as in alternate between one’s normal appearance and the assumed one,” his hand flicked at the air dismissively. “Not a permanent state of affairs, no! Nothing of the sort! The wavering usually continues for a time roughly equal to that spent under the influence of the moss.”

Dreel concluded with a firm nod, satisfied with the summary he had just delivered.

“That is some drawback!” Sereth countered.

“It is what it is,” Dreel snapped, apparently offended. After a moment, he donned an indifferent expression and held up his hands in a parody of resignation. “If one wants to use the moss …”

Scald, emerging from his calculations, looked at them as though he had no idea what they were talking about.

“I will give you twenty gold for two hundred portions,” he said, his face completely blank of expression.

Dreel stared at him intently for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“Because you are a stranger and must be forgiven your abysmal ignorance, and because of the size of your order, I will let you have that many for a measly one hundred florins, and not a gelt less.”

His emphasis sounded uncompromising.

“Wait,” Illiom cut in. “Scald, why do we need so much?”

“Well, think about it: fifteen of us for, say, half a moon. That is pretty much the amount we are going to need. Hopefully our business will be dispensed with quicker than that and we will not need all of it, but I would rather have some spare moss than be suddenly caught out changing back into an Albradani smack in the middle of Lodeh!”

“Fourteen, not fifteen,” Sereth amended.

Simultaneously, an exclamation escaped the dwarf’s lips.

“Lodeh?!”

Scald’s look wavered between the two, finally settling on Sereth.

“What are you talking about?”

“Azulya, she will not need a disguise in Kroen. She is a Kroeni …”

“Fine! That will give the rest of us one more day.”

“Did you say Lodeh?” Dreel repeated.

They all turned to focus on the dwarf.

“He did,” Illiom said. “What of it?”

“Hmm, and may I ask why you would want to go there?” Dreel asked, ignoring Illiom’s question.

The three Chosen exchanged glances.

“Not your concern,” Scald snapped.

“Then you should not have mentioned it in the first place,” Illiom snapped right back at him. “Dreel, we cannot speak of it, but I want to know why you ask? What is your interest in where we go?”

That the mention of Kroen had stirred something up in the dwarf was obvious. His expression wavered as though he was trying on different faces and finally settled on one that was both calculating and hopeful.

He moistened his lips.

“Well, yes … there are some things that can only be got from that land and, if you were agreeable to source them for me, I might even be able to reduce the fee for the Arukala … quite significantly.”

“Dwarf! If we do go to that Iod-forsaken place it will definitely not be to trade on your behalf!” Scald’s retort brimmed with indignation.

Dreel raised both hands to pacify.

“I meant nothing by it, but what manner of a merchant would I be if I didn’t seize on an opportunity like that when it presented itself? No matter, we can always talk about it later, after you’ve had a chance to speak with the rest of your group about it …”

Illiom could not believe how much they had disclosed to Dreel during this brief exchange. It was clear that the dwarf did not miss a trick.

They managed to conclude their business with him without giving away anything further. They arranged to meet up again at noon, two days’ hence, on the eve of the Iolan Varagan Draal ... he with the Arukala, they with the agreed-upon sum in payment.

The remainder of the day passed without any further incidents or encounters. They wandered the streets of Calestor, slowly meandering from one end of the capital to the other. They stopped from time to time to examine wares, to watch the odd street performer, and to succumb to the delicious aroma of freshly cooked pies sold from a street corner stall. These turned out to be so spicy they made Illiom’s eyes water.

At one point, they paused to stare at a splendid parade: a group of people, with strange, identical hats perched upon their heads, filed past, chanting a sound more akin to a drone than an actual song. Everyone gave way to them and waited until they were well past before resuming their normal activities.

Tarmel questioned an Iolan onlooker.

“They are the Kubera,” the man responded in Common, “off to make their votive offerings to Shantan. Theirs is the most important work here in Calestor.”

“And what work is that?” Sereth queried.

“They are the ones who control and direct the fire elementals through the Ravana – it is they who make it possible for all of us to live here. If not for them, Calestor would be nothing but a sulphurous wasteland.”

They continued their exploration, but halfway through the afternoon, Scald began to complain that he had had enough of walking the streets, so they turned around and began to retrace their steps slowly back towards Altesia’s abode.

When they reached it they found that Undina, Angar and the old descrier had acquired a fourth companion: a tall, wiry youth who sat with them around the hearth. The four of them were laughing with abandon when the others entered. Plates, cleaned of food, lay discarded upon the marble of the hearth, which was now flameless and cold. The four turned as the others filed in, and then made room to accommodate them.

Each cradled a mug of some liquid and Illiom wondered if that went some way towards explaining their mirth.

She noticed straight away that a change had come over Undina. The shy Pelonui girl was positively aglow. Her eyes shone like dew in the sunrise and Illiom did not have to look far to see that the cause for this transformation was other than the wine.

“This is Talluin,” Altesia introduced the youth, who beamed at them with his dark, handsome eyes. “You could say that he was the reason for Undina’s very first visit to our city.”

“Altesia!” Undina protested, blushing.

“Well, my dear,” the old descrier teased her with a smile. “The truth is the truth and as plain for anyone to see as the sky itself …”

Sereth seated himself next to the youth and turned towards him.

“So Talluin, was your visit here today coincidence or calculation?”

The youth shook his head.

“Neither. I had heard that Undina was back so I came looking for her …” Talluin’s voice was deep and resonant, and Illiom saw plenty of reasons why Undina might have fallen for him.

“That is a fast-spreading rumour for a bunch of nobodies!” Scald remarked, making it all about himself. “I did not realise that we were so famous – and we only arrived yesterday.”

Altesia answered before Talluin could.

“Maybe that is because Undina became well-known and also well-loved from her previous stay here. The story of the tribal girl who came to us from the sea, to be with the one she loved, inspired much interest amongst our people. Besides, she stands out … her tiny stature and her beautiful facial adornments make her entirely unique, even in a land filled with unique people such as ours.”

“Several people marked her passage yesterday when your party first arrived,” Talluin elaborated. “First thing this morning I made my way to the Keep but when I found she was not there, well, I came directly here …”

Scald leaned towards the descrier.

“What did you mean by ‘came from the sea’?” he asked Altesia.

The descrier looked at him and then glanced at the rest of them, her eyes finally coming to rest on the Pelonui.

“Undina,” she said, half playful, half chiding. “You did not tell them …”

“Tell them what?” asked Angar, leaning forward.

“Please, Altesia …”

But the descrier did not look in the girl’s direction.

“That she came to Calestor in a sea-canoe, alone, and all the way from her tribal lands.”

They all stared at the young tribal but, instead of continuing to squirm, Undina lifted her chin and now looked back at them with defiance in her eyes. She made no attempt to elaborate or refute the claim; instead she just faced them, openly and disarmingly. It was the first time that Illiom had a glimpse of the girl’s mettle, normally hidden beneath her mask of shyness.

“Well, you might have told me,” Angar complained, his downturned mouth a study in mock disappointment.

The Pelonui girl did not smile in response.

Illiom was more than amused. Somehow, seeing this quality in Undina comforted her and gave her more confidence in the Chosen as a group.

She looked to see how Talluin was dealing with the exchange. The lad had eyes only for Undina; he was gazing at her now with something akin to a hunger.

Just then Scald rose to his feet.

“Well, we had best get back if we are to keep our agreement with Argolan,” he said, and the others also made ready to depart.

Illiom overheard Undina.

“Talluin? Will you walk me?”

The lad nodded in prompt response and they left the descrier’s house soon afterwards.

Altesia came with them till they reached the road. Here she stopped and waved farewell as they continued on down the hill.

Undina walked a little way ahead of the group, her arm entwined around Talluin’s. Angar, her Rider, walked a discreet distance behind the pair.

Illiom looked at them, at their linked arms.

Feeling suddenly buoyant, she turned to Tarmel who strode alongside her. But the lightness quickly turned heavy. More than anything else she wanted to walk arm-in-arm with him, just like the two up ahead; but she could not bring herself to do it.

How could she indulge a momentary whim like that and then expect him to keep his distance. If only she could be clear about what she really wanted. Instead they walked side by side, without touching, all the way back to the Keep.

Dusk lanced the sky with purple shards that were mirrored in the waters of the lake that surrounded Maularahad’s Keep.

Talluin stopped before setting foot on the bridge. Undina looked down at the ground between them.

“I must go back now,” he said.

She nodded a few times before meeting his eyes.

Illiom and Tarmel walked past them and Illiom did not hear Undina’s response. When they were halfway across the bridge she turned just once to look back, and saw the pair wrapped in each other’s embrace.

She turned away and swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

They came together again as a group and reconnected in the dining hall; to eat, exchange stories, experiences and laughter. Azulya spoke of all the marvellous things she had seen but did not buy. Sereth was in awe of the way Calestor and the jungle co-inhabited Shantan’s crater, Malco ate quietly and did not say much at all. Elan contributed now and then, but seemed satisfied with just listening, smiling and occasionally laughing at a jest.

Eventually Azulya turned to Undina.

“So, how was it seeing your old friend?”

The tribal girl had been quite sullen since returning to the Keep. Now she nodded to Azulya, with an entirely unconvincing smile.

“Is good see her again, she good woman.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Oh, we talk about Queen sickness, the gathering, the Triune, Menalor, everything that happen …” she said, casually.

Illiom looked up sharply, as did the others. However, Undina’s teasing tone gave her pause. Scald, on the other hand, swallowed the bait whole.

“What is the matter with you?” he snapped loudly, his voice sharp with incredulity. “Have we not said more times than I can remember that we must not talk about any ...?”

He stopped himself when Angar chuckled softly.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Altesia already knew everything that had happened in Kuon,” the Rider said. “She is a descrier! She knew it all because she had been scrying Undina on a regular basis. It was she who told us, not the other way around. We did not have to say anything.”

Scald glared at Angar for a few moments and then dropped his gaze. He shook his head silently as he broke off a thick slab of bread and proceeded to dunk it in the gravy that pooled in his platter.

“Is there anyone in the whole damn Common Weal who does not already know about us?” he muttered, not directing his question at anyone in particular.

They continued their meal in silence.

Outside, in the Pentangle, a lone voice was singing again. This time the voice was male. Illiom became aware of it only as silence settled over the group.

She realised then that she loved Calestor: its beauty, its people, and especially its sense of freedom. Even the fact that there was always music and song to be heard somewhere within the Keep made her feel that here, at last, her spirit felt nourished and fed in a way that she had never experienced elsewhere.

I could live here, she thought. I could make this my home.

As could I.

Who’s sending startled her.

With a sudden pang of guilt, she realised that she had not spared a single thought for her owl since arriving.

It must be easy enough to do when you have no need of me.

Who! She chided. Stop that! I feel bad enough as it is.

Owls do not smile or laugh, of course, but over time Illiom had learnt to recognise occasionally something akin to humour in the quality of the owl’s sending. She had no doubt that he had just baited her and was laughing silently even now.

Just because I do not think of you every minute of every day …

She glanced at Tarmel and caught him staring at her intently. She realised that her expression must have given away something of her interaction with her owl. She quickly checked the others but they were all so engrossed in their own exchanges that none of them showed any sign of having noticed anything.

I will never understand you humans, the owl continued. Every simple thing that happens, you reshape with complication. Where there are no problems you create them, where there is no cause for pain, you nevertheless suffer …

Illiom could think of nothing useful to say in response, but she recognised the truth in the owl’s musings.

For reasons that are unclear to me, I am bonded to you, he continued. At times I feel that my task is to watch over you, and to steer you away from the abyss that your mind insists on pushing you towards; to spare you from the insanity that nothing but your own thinking creates …

Suddenly she felt his awareness move away from her and turn towards the far more interesting matter of sating the growling of his stomach. Prey had apparently come into view, and that took precedence over everything else, including her.

Just like that, the link between them was severed.

He was right, everything was so simple for him. There were no complications. The needs of his body dictated his actions and he responded to those as they arose and dismissed them from his awareness when they were satisfied. It was an extraordinary thing that he bothered with her at all.

The others were busy arguing about something so she leaned towards Tarmel.

“It was Who,” she whispered. “He can become intrusive and downright irritating at times,” she softened her words with a fond smile.

Her Rider frowned.

“You can talk to him even when he is not here?”

“Well, yes,” she nodded. “But it is not really talk, is it? I hear him, but only in here.”

She tapped her forehead.

“Do you know? He was the one who warned me that you were coming … back in the mountains, before all this began ...”

“Warned you of what?” asked Sereth, leaning towards her curiously.

Illiom jerked her head around to look at her fellow Chosen. Clumsily she made a vague and dismissive comment and stood up, feigned a yawn and addressed her Rider.

“I need to go and lie down.”

She left the hall and Tarmel followed her outside.

Along the way they passed by the singer. The man was strumming an instrument that lay flat upon his lap. His eyes were closed and his focus was entirely upon his song. He sang without shaping words, but rather by letting the rounded sound of his voice rise and flower, fall and drop away, as though his melody pursued something ethereal and elusive, just beyond reach.

As they entered the Keep and made for their chambers, the voice faded behind them but did not vanish completely. Illiom kept silent, straining to listen to the quieting song as she made her way to her sleeping pallet.

They had been allocated a cluster of five rooms that opened up much like petals around a circular common room with each petal containing four spacious beds and a score of cushions. Illiom and Tarmel had an entire room to themselves, something that had at once thrilled and terrified her.

The common room was lit, but the five bedrooms were not. The light that came from the room at the hub faded to darkness when Illiom laid herself down. Yet the moment she raised her head from her pillow, it rekindled gradually until she was able to see her surroundings once more.

Even from here the singing could be heard and the singer’s deep voice lulled Illiom to sleep.

She offered the emptiness no resistance at all.

Illiom awoke to the sound of whispering voices.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, looked around, and saw immediately that Tarmel’s bed was empty. She threw off the covers and made her way groggily towards the common room. It too was empty, but she followed the urgent murmur towards the short hallway that led to the outside.

It was here that she found Argolan, Malco, and all of the Riders.

Tarmel saw her and moved towards her.

“What has happened?” she asked, rubbing sleep from one eye with the heel of her hand.

“It is Undina,” he said. “She is nowhere to be found.”