The Keeping Place Page 15

  “You didn’t dream, then?” I persisted.

  “Well, I did,” she admitted with the faintest irritation. She turned to her guildmistress, who nodded. I felt a pang of alarm and wished suddenly that I had not been so insistent. “I dreamed of you, ElspethInnle. I saw you walking with a great horde of animals into the deepest Blacklands.”

  I could not think of a thing to say.

  “It is clear to Dell an’ I, at least, that yer truly th’ Innle th’ beasts tell of in their stories,” Maryon said with a certainty that was all the more devastating because it was so casually put. “Ye need nowt fear we will speak of it, nor question ye about it, fer there is a deep and needful silence laid about this matter.”

  I made myself sip the choca, though I was too rattled to taste it. The silence between us lengthened, and I cast about for a change of subject. “Have any of your guild seen whether Dragon will wake?” I had never dared ask this before so bluntly.

  Instead of speaking, Maryon reached under the table and withdrew a rolled cloth. She opened it to reveal an elaborate dreamscape and pointed to a small, irregular blue shape. “This represents the sum of dreams within which Dragon wakes, but in every one of them, th’ dreamer has nowt been able to say how th’ child is when she wakens.”

  “You’re saying she will definitely wake, but you don’t know if she’ll be defective….”

  “Nor how long before she wakens,” Dell elaborated. “But you might be pleased to know that a lot of our people have been seeing Matthew as they delve.”

  “Futuretellings?” I asked.

  “Most of the seein’s of Matthew were memory dreams,” the Futuretell guildmistress said. “Th’ rest might be true seein’. They correspond in detail. Yer welcome to read our dream journal if you wish. But what Dell has nowt told ye is that in almost all the dreams where Matthew appeared, Dragon—or rather her dragon beast self—swoops an’ tears Matthew to pieces. Of course, it’s a dream manikin she destroys, but it shows all too vividly that he rouses in her th’ same violent rage as ye do.

  “Th’ other thing to consider is that none of us dreamed of th’ lad until Dragon fell into her coma. This suggests she is somehow responsible fer th’ dreams, or for somehow openin’ a connection between us an’ him.”

  “I should like to read your dream journal. May I take it now?” I asked eagerly, wondering if it would be possible to deliberately reach Matthew using the dreamtrails.

  “You could not carry it alone,” Dell said. “I will have two of our lads bring it to your chamber when the skies clear.”

  As I departed, I glanced over at the window, where rain continued to fall hard. The drumming roar of it seemed constant, for all Dell’s certainty that it would abate.

  12

  “IT IS BEAUTIFUL here,” Straaka said, turning in his saddle to look back at the mountains through a gap in the trees. Wan afternoon sunlight poked through the tattered edges of fraying storm clouds, giving the Sadorian’s skin the gleam of old wood polished to blue-black with beeswax. His eyes had a rich amber glow within the brown and were fringed by very long lashes.

  I was aware for the first time that Miryum’s suitor was an attractive man measured by any standard. Miryum must have felt this, and I thought again of her hesitation before she had announced her decision to reject him.

  “It rains so cursed much, my mount is hard-pressed to keep her footing,” Jakoby growled from behind. “Never would I have thought to hear myself complain about rain, but by the Earth goddess, this is a sodden land!”

  “I think you would like it even less in the wintertime, when the ground is hard as stone under layers of snow,” I said, slowing Gahltha to let her draw alongside. “This soft, wet land has its harsh face, too.”

  The tribeswoman grinned at me. “Like its people?”

  I smiled and transferred my gaze to the sky, willing the clouds to depart entirely rather than massing again before morning. It was not so much the wet ground that troubled me as the thought of the moon fair being washed out.

  Without warning, Gahltha moved into a slow trot, and I adjusted my seat to the motion. He and the Sadorians had been ready and waiting to go when I arrived on the farms, which meant we would be able to reach the Teknoguild cave network in daylight. It was a rare occasion, the guild opting for a formal meal in honor of the Sadorian guests—usually they stopped working only long enough to have a hasty bit of this or that.

  But, in fact, research was on my mind at least. Fian was my best hope for translating Kasanda’s writing from gadi. Hoping to avoid awkward questions about what exactly I’d based a rubbing on, I’d transcribed the text, making a careful copy by hand.

  We passed into a dip containing a thicker belt of trees. Their leaves were still small and pale enough to let the sun through, and it seemed to give a shimmer to every wet leaf. I thought for the thousandth time how much I loved the mountain valley that had become my home and refuge. As always after rain, the world seemed fresh and sharp-edged. Rushton loved the forest after rain, too, and we had taken many wandering walks together when we could steal the time.

  Bruna urged her mount forward to speak in a low voice to her mother. I found myself pondering her passion for Bodera’s son, Dardelan. Could such a violent desire become real love and affection? It was as if a lamb were loved by a wolf. But perhaps she was not all wolf, nor Dardelan all lamb, despite his gentleness.

  Straaka’s horse floundered slightly in yet another boggy patch on the trail, and the other horses fell back to give it room to find its feet. As we waited for the others to catch up, I asked Jakoby’s horse Calcasuus how he liked the Land.

  “Green/wet lands seek the sky, ElspethInnle,” he responded.

  “Slippery/high/climbing lands lead to the freerunning barud,” Straaka’s horse suggested as he joined us.

  “Our barud is the freerunning land,” sent Bruna’s fiery, high-stepping mare, Domina. I thought in this case that mount and rider were certainly matched in temperament.

  “Funaga dwell in our barud and in this barud. The freerunning-barud-ha will not be ruled by them,” Calcasuus sent, his long-fringed eyes mild. Ha was an obscure thoughtsymbol that suggested reverence for the subject to which it was attached.

  “It is good that the drylands are free, for not all beasts will follow Innle to the barud-ha,” Gahltha observed.

  “Some beasts will remain. All roads lead to different barud,” Calcasuus agreed.

  “But only one path will lead to the barud-ha,” Gahltha sent softly.

  Chilled by their certainty of my future course, I was glad when we reached a straight, firm stretch of the path, and Bruna announced that Domina desired to canter. I thought it unwise for the desert-bred equines to go so fast over unfamiliar ground, but despite some close calls and wild skids, no horse fell or lost its rider. The sun was nigh to setting when we came to the fold in the low granite hills swelling out of the earth that marked the Teknoguild caves. There was a new mosaic around the entrance we were approaching, glinting with pieces of mirror and green and blue glass. I was somewhat surprised, for teknoguilders were inclined to the functional.

  As we dismounted, Fian emerged to welcome us. With him were two young teknoguilder boys with beastspeaking abilities, both eager to tend the horses. I stroked Gahltha’s flank fondly, noting the devotion with which the Sadorians examined the hooves of their horses for stones. Once they were done, I suggested we go inside and leave the Teknoguild lads to feed the horses. The others agreed, but Bruna would let no one else attend Domina. She bade us go in, saying that she would come along when she was finished.

  We were not many steps into the tunnel before daylight faded, and our way was lit by bottled bulbs of glowing insects hung from potmetal hooks imbedded in the walls. When Jakoby expressed her curiosity about them, Fian explained that the Teknoguilden Jak had smeared the inside of the bulbs with a substance that attracted the insects. The creatures were quite free to escape, but there was no reason for them to do so. They h
ad very short lives—a few brief months to make the journey from larvae to death. Not wanting to disrupt their life cycle, the teknoguilders had elected not to plug the dribbles of slimy water in any of the tunnels connecting various parts of the cave network, for the dampness was an essential part of the insects’ habitat.

  Fian was obviously well at ease with the tribesfolk, and conversation flowed easily between them. The Sadorians were more formal with me, though that might simply have been because of my position as temporary leader of the Misfits. When the tunnel narrowed, Straaka fell in beside me. A split second before he spoke, I caught a flow of subconscious thought that told me he wanted to ask about Miryum.

  “May I ask you a question, lady?” he asked.

  I decided to slice straight to the heart of things, for subtlety was no gift of mine. “You wish to speak of the Coercer guilden, Miryum.”

  He nodded gravely. “She was well when you parted?”

  “She was, but I must tell you that she is troubled about the oath between you, because it crosses another oath she made.”

  Straaka frowned. “She had promised herself to another man?”

  “Not to a man, but to Obernewtyn.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Miryum leads the coercer-knights, and they are vital to our safety here. She fears that leaving would constitute a betrayal of her oath to Obernewtyn.”

  “In accepting my gift, she agreed to wive with me.”

  “In our Land, such a gift is only a step toward bonding. When she took your betrothal gift, Miryum did not realize that things were done differently in Sador. She did not imagine that her promise to you would take anything from her oath to Obernewtyn. She assumed one oath would be fulfilled and then, in time, another.”

  Straaka nodded. “I see. What was the nature of her oath to Obernewtyn?”

  “You must ask that of her,” I said gently, deciding I had said enough to lay the groundwork for my plan.

  Fian brought us from the tunnel into a newly excavated part of the cave network, and I looked about with interest as he pointed out a section of Beforetime wall that had been exposed. A mass of twisted, silver metal poles and wires poking up from a heap of dirt and rubble drew all of us near, and Fian explained that this had been a moving stair. Harad asked incredulously where such steps could have led and was told that the caves, and indeed the whole untidy tumble of granite about us had once been an imposing Beforetime building that had climbed twelve levels above us into the air, as well as many levels below. During the upheavals of the Great White, the building had collapsed. I gazed around the enormous half cave with its rocky walls and earthen floor sprouting mushrooms in the damp crannies and corners. The remnant of the wall and stair looked utterly misplaced in the midst of it, yet the entire network was a combination of rough present and lost past.

  Fian ushered us all through a short hall into the main cavern, and the Sadorians gaped at the immortal glowing sphere that lit the entire cavern, with its silvery floor and walls and row upon row of laden bookshelves. There were also numerous mismatched tables and chairs piled high with notes and scholarly paraphernalia. Above hung thick stalactites, dry now, for the cavern was kept heated to preserve the precious Beforetime books. Several teknoguilders were seated at the tables, while others pored over the bookshelves, but Fian made no attempt to interrupt them.

  Bruna appeared with one of the lads who had tended the horses, and stared at the globe of light in fright. “That is not natural,” she hissed at her mother.

  “It is not, indeed,” Jak said, coming out from between two high bookshelves to introduce himself. “In my master’s absence I welcome you to our hall.”

  Bruna eyed him suspiciously. “I do not like the earth around me and over my head. It is like being buried.”

  “Having heard Fian talk of your deserts, I do not wonder that you would feel that way,” he said.

  “I like the mountains and the trees and the streams of this Land. Even the stone dwelling you call Obernewtyn has its beauty,” Jakoby observed. “But I must say I agree with my daughter that there is something about this place that creeps the flesh.”

  “If you think it gloomy now, you should have seen it in the beginning,” Jak said cheerfully. “Slime running down the walls, stinking mold everywhere, and any time we dug, we had to carry out by hand twisted metals and masses of rotten stuff. It is a good deal more pleasant now, and I hope that by the time you have taken a meal with us, you will feel less oppressed.” He glanced at Fian. “Why don’t you have the meal laid out, and I’ll take our visitors on a tour of my museum.”

  Fian hastened away, leaving Jak to lead us through another door. I was astounded at how much the teknoguilders had extended their network and asked how they had managed to shift such masses of earth as must have filled the new caverns.

  “Oh, the rooms that were intact were not packed full of earth. Only their entrances were blocked. The hardest work has been in constructing the tunnels to link the rooms, but again some of them were passageways in the Beforetime, so the earth was not hard packed in them either.”

  We entered a small cavern. Rock walls were hung with tapestries at regular intervals, depicting simple mountain scenes. Window-like, they made the cave less claustrophobic than the other parts of the network, and the Sadorians visibly relaxed.

  Tables had been placed around the walls of the cavern, their surfaces slanted down slightly at the front so you could better see what was on them: stone pillars and metal poles, a figurine of a woman, half-melted flat square plates stamped with numbers and letters; and all manner of unknown gadgets. Jak took up one of the plates and explained that it had been taken from a Beforetimers’ metal vessel on the submerged roads of Tor.

  On another table, a number of badly damaged books lay under a glass plate. I recognized one as the diary of the man who had built our Obernewtyn, Lukas Seraphim.

  Beside me, Jakoby took up a small brown tube with a bowl at one end and studied it with interest.

  “We think that was a device to encourage a new-lit fire,” Jak said, coming to join us. “There are traces of smoke in the bowl and in the pipe.”

  Jakoby looked amused. “We have a similar implement that is used during certain vision dances. We press a sort of spice into the end and then light it, inhaling the smoke through this end of the tube. The smoke enhances the ability to meditate before ritual battles.”

  Jak looked intrigued and began to question her while the rest of the group drifted away. I had seen much of the display before, though not laid out so accessibly. I complimented Jak on his museum, but he shrugged off my praise, saying that what lay in the room was in a sense the Teknoguild’s least important discoveries. “This is a collection of mere curiosities and incomprehensible gadgets. It sometimes even depresses me. The more we learn of the Beforetime, the more I can see that it is a lost civilization and we will never regain it. To me, this place is a graveyard as much as anything else.”

  “We of the desert believe humans worry too much about remembering their past,” Jakoby said equably. “What does it matter that many of these things are unknown to you now?”

  “If all that we learn is forgotten, each generation must relearn the same things over,” Jak said. “You must build upon what is known in order to reach up to what is unknown.”

  “I do not say things ought not to be remembered. Some things. Some knowledge. In Sador, our remembering lies in music and poetry. What is not remembered in these ways ceases to exist. In our experience, people remember what they need and forget that which is no doubt better forgotten.”

  Jak looked inclined to argue, but I caught his eye and shook my head firmly. He shrugged and said he would like to hear one of the tribal memory songs. Jakoby grinned and said she could manage it if they had a bit of Grufyyd’s ale to wet her tongue.

  Jak smiled, too. “We do at that.” He suggested we move on to the guild’s dining room, and we made our way back through the main cavern and along an old
er tunnel to a small, dry cave. To my surprise, the room was full and the tables covered in snowy cloths upon which lay a veritable feast—flat vegetable pies and dishes of runny cheese sauce and spicy chutney to accompany them, fragrant baskets of fresh baked bread, pots of butter and honey, and platters of dried fruits and slabs of cheese. At the center of each table, a cream pie concocted with choca had a place of honor. Teknoguilders usually subsisted on bread and cheese and apples between visits to the big house, so the food must have been brought in for the occasion.

  We took our seats, and Fian poured mugs of ale or cordial, then made a speech welcoming the Sadorians. We drank a toast to them; then we ate.

  In between mouthfuls, the teknoguilders questioned one another about their projects. Harad and Bruna asked Fian many questions about Teknoguild expeditions and about the guild’s slow work in trying to gain access to the older chambers upon which the caves rested. Jakoby and Jak talked to one another, their voices raised in argument from time to time as they disagreed over the concept of remembering and the importance of knowledge, but there was no open row, because the Teknoguilden sat beside me, and I prodded him with a hard toe whenever things became too fiery. Straaka sat between Bruna and me and was chiefly silent. I did not need to read his mind to know that he was thinking of Miryum.

  After we consumed the last sweet crumbs of pie, Jak requested the promised song from Jakoby. The tribeswoman laughed and withdrew a small flat rectangle of very pale fine-grained wood from her shirt pocket. Three taut strings ran from end to end, passing over a raised ridge. Jakoby plucked three surprisingly somber notes before settling herself and beginning to sing. I had heard the tribes sing in Sador, but that had been a far more formal rendering of music. Now, her strong deep voice swelled in a less lofty way.

  When she was finished, I asked her if she had sung in gadi. She nodded, explaining the song told of a man sitting in the desert night and pondering the battle he must fight the following day. I asked if she could read something written in gadi for me, but she gave me a peculiar look and said that she could not read the language.