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RAZE – 031 – Raze’s Destination

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Askuwheteau ascended the steps and I followed, placing my feet in the smooth-worn depressions. Ahead and behind, the conversations became murmurs, discussions in a tongue I did not know, and for a moment my mind sailed back to my youth, to the mountains of Kalughnor and other places. The confusion made a pleasant impression, in fact: even for my age, for all my learning, my experience, my deeds, even for all of that, still I had more to learn. The world, despite the injustices I had suffered and the worse that others had; despite the blood and hatred; the world, with its magnificent spirits and new friends and the woman in raven feathers glowering at my back, with the folk I’d killed and those who would kill me given half a moment of my own failure, was still beautiful. New. There was more to learn, and in that I saw the only glory that matters.

We reached the top and I had the impression of entering the citadel of gods. Sheets of mist, thinner than sight, wrapped about us, and through it loomed the shadows of the green mountains that surrounded us, the black earth and trees bigger than sight. At the apex of the great step pyramid was a council chamber. Beneath a vine-draped, timber roof, three great stone steps surrounded a central speaking floor.Violet flowers floated in basins of water. Attendants poured wine into the emissaries’ clay cups. A bright, cool breeze carried through the open construction and many attendants waited outside on steps of the pyramid. Within, emissaries sat and swayed with eyes closed while others reclined, wrapped in their fine patterned draping robes, while still others stood with their arms folded and skin bared to the cool mist. Black and cloudy gems glinted on leather strings or on worked wires of copper. One seat stood empty but for bunches of flowers, feathers, pots and cloth-wrapped bundles and a glowing stick of resinous incense. 

Conversation at the top ceased, then resumed, as the Council of Emissaries inspected me and Askuwheteau made due speech and introduced us.

The woman in the raven cloak entered behind us and took her seat beside the unoccupied place laden with gifts, where she continued to stare at me. The others raised their hands in greeting or made dismissive moves or spoke a few words. Askuwheteau gestured to me and we sat beside the entryway.

The emissaries took turns at speaking. Their business took some time, and Askuwheteau whispered to me a little while I observed them.

“You’ve been welcomed for today, to this meeting.”

“A meeting! Thrilling!”

“You joke, my friend, but it’s honor enough here that you weren’t turned back into the sea.”

“I hope there will be voting.”

“I’m willing to guess there will be.” He nodded back to the stairway. “I told them we were almost ambushed.”

“And?”

“They took some issue with the fact that we did not see anyone or actually experience an attack.”

“Did you explain,” I asked, “that you and I had displayed the ultimate height of martial ability by wary observance, identification of a threat, and avoidance of conflict?”

“I’m afraid that some of the nuance may have been lost.”

“A pity.”

“Also, you should know that while most of our people speak no language beyond Rowatokon or Hutek, or the customary tongues of their villages, most of the emissaries understand Ularan pretty well.”

“Ah. Dammit.” I nodded and grinned at the nearest old man, who met my eyes and gave me a sour smile and a knowing, curt nod. “I should have thought that.”

“Probably.”

Seconds later, one of the Rowatokon spoke and then her speech turned to Ularan. “We welcome Story-breather Askuwheteau to speak, and we welcome his guest.” We came forward and a few of the emissaries hissed, but the rest batted their hands in the air and called, I guess, for civility. Behind me, a general rustle of movement indicated the observers and courtiers on the steps outside the chamber were trying to gain a little better view. Most of the emissaries sat or stood up. They inspected me while Askuwheteau spoke in Ularan.

“Honored emissaries, my thanks for admitting me to speak before this wise and learned council.”

“Our Story-Breathers’ words are always needed here.” The emissary who spoke was a young man with straight black hair to his waist. “As are the opinions of our only Crade.”

Askuwheteau bowed briefly while the others murmured agreement. “Speaking of the Crade, I bring before you one who should speak for himself. You, I would guess, have heard of him before.” With that, he stepped back and made a sign that I should advance.

I stepped forward and cast my gaze around the wall-less room. The old woman in the raven cloak still stared. Others watched and waited. I noticed Puwotok, standing with the others outside the chamber. The youth who had spoken smiled at me and I was struck by his age, far younger than any other emissary present. Then, as I watched, his black eyes flashed strangely, turning almost silver. The flash was gone, though, a trick of the light, or so I thought.

“My name is Raze,” I said, “although I have been known by many others. It is a long road that has brought me to you, and although I arrived by chance, I have come to Rowatokon with a specific need, a need of knowledge and Rowatokon skill. My task is one that has taken years already, and will take many more ahead. For all I have done and learned and seen, this, this request I make of you, will be part of the greatest journey, the greatest achievement, the life’s purpose, on which I unknowingly began many years ago. There are none but I who know the end of my intent in being here, but if you will aid me, I offer anything that is in my power to give in return.”

The old woman in the raven cloak raised her voice. “What could you provide us that we would want for?”

“I wouldn’t presume, Emissary. You’ll have to ask for what you feel is fair, and I will provide as I am able.”

She stood, half-facing me, mostly facing her fellow emissaries. “And yet you presume to believe that there is something we need from you.” This was met by some amount of hissing and, again, the batting of the air and calls for quiet. I began to see two camps delineated in the council chamber. She went on. “Emissaries, we can gain nothing but pain by allowing this man to remain among us. As we all well know, outsiders always bring ignorance and harm to us, as they always have. We must protect our people.”

I protested. “I’ve no interest in bringing others here, or in telling of what I see.”

“Kiche.” The old woman addressed the young emissary who’d spoken before. “What do you say? What do you see?”

Several of the emissaries pressed closer to him, touched his arms. They spoke and repeated her question and a sound of reverence came over them, but Kiche smiled a thin smile. “I don’t know this man. The legends overshadow the real. My Sight is of no help in this matter.”

So, my eyes had not deceived me earlier, when I saw his eyes flash with light. He was a Sight-Sorcerer. One gifted with the blood of the the Forsaken, the Gods Who Left. A blessing, or a curse, or a stolen power, depending on who you asked. I called such folk dangerous foes and more dangerous allies.

I smiled. With a step forward, I held out my hand. “If your Sight would be aided by touch,” I said, “I offer it. What I claim is true.” It was a calculated risk, but I had some experience.

The others encouraged him to take my arm, to See. His smile remained, but his demeanor shifted, like a blade turning in the light. He did not move. “A simple touch won’t change anything.”

So he was a liar.

His eyes did not stray from mine, but my heart thrilled with battle. I had won. I shrugged, knowing I was poisoning the well, and lowered my hand.

Kiche spoke again to the assembly. “Nevertheless, I agree with Guagom. We do not allow outsiders. It could be a danger, and it has been in the past. With respect to our guest, he should given passage by boat back to Ulara in the morning.”

Askuwheteau stepped forward before I could speak again. “This is the measure of the Rowatokon? That the council will turn away those a Story-breather has brought, despite custom? That we ignore the requests of outsiders based on old fears?”

“We haven’t heard his request,” one old man called from an upper seat. “I want to know why he came here.”

Kiche nodded. Guagom sat, and Askuwheteau nodded to me, and so I told them. “I need a boat that can move without sound.”

“What else?” a woman in a wolfskin asked. “That is not reason to come here. You said that you needed Rowatokon knowledge and skill. For what?”

“It must be piloted by one, but must carry two,” I said. They waited, and I breathed. Here was the turn. “And,” I said, “it must be able to travel down the Last River and into the Gray.”

 

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. For as little as $1/month you can help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

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The post RAZE – 031 – Raze’s Destination appeared first on D. Thourson Palmer.

RAZE – 031

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

Askuwheteau ascended the steps and I followed, placing my feet in the smooth-worn depressions. Ahead and behind, the conversations became murmurs, discussions in a tongue I did not know, and for a moment my mind sailed back to my youth, to the mountains of Kalughnor and other places. The confusion made a pleasant impression, in fact: even for my age, for all my learning, my experience, my deeds, even for all of that, still I had more to learn. The world, despite the injustices I had suffered and the worse that others had; despite the blood and hatred; the world, with its magnificent spirits and new friends and the woman in raven feathers glowering at my back, with the folk I’d killed and those who would kill me given half a moment of my own failure, was still beautiful. New. There was more to learn, and in that I saw the only glory that matters.

We reached the top and I had the impression of entering the citadel of gods. Sheets of mist, thinner than sight, wrapped about us, and through it loomed the shadows of the green mountains that surrounded us, the black earth and trees bigger than sight. At the apex of the great step pyramid was a council chamber. Beneath a vine-draped, timber roof, three great stone steps surrounded a central speaking floor.Violet flowers floated in basins of water. Attendants poured wine into the emissaries’ clay cups. A bright, cool breeze carried through the open construction and many attendants waited outside on steps of the pyramid. Within, emissaries sat and swayed with eyes closed while others reclined, wrapped in their fine patterned draping robes, while still others stood with their arms folded and skin bared to the cool mist. Black and cloudy gems glinted on leather strings or on worked wires of copper. One seat stood empty but for bunches of flowers, feathers, pots and cloth-wrapped bundles and a glowing stick of resinous incense. 

Conversation at the top ceased, then resumed, as the Council of Emissaries inspected me and Askuwheteau made due speech and introduced us.

The woman in the raven cloak entered behind us and took her seat beside the unoccupied place laden with gifts, where she continued to stare at me. The others raised their hands in greeting or made dismissive moves or spoke a few words. Askuwheteau gestured to me and we sat beside the entryway.

The emissaries took turns at speaking. Their business took some time, and Askuwheteau whispered to me a little while I observed them.

“You’ve been welcomed for today, to this meeting.”

“A meeting! Thrilling!”

“You joke, my friend, but it’s honor enough here that you weren’t turned back into the sea.”

“I hope there will be voting.”

“I’m willing to guess there will be.” He nodded back to the stairway. “I told them we were almost ambushed.”

“And?”

“They took some issue with the fact that we did not see anyone or actually experience an attack.”

“Did you explain,” I asked, “that you and I had displayed the ultimate height of martial ability by wary observance, identification of a threat, and avoidance of conflict?”

“I’m afraid that some of the nuance may have been lost.”

“A pity.”

“Also, you should know that while most of our people speak no language beyond Rowatokon or Hutek, or the customary tongues of their villages, most of the emissaries understand Ularan pretty well.”

“Ah. Dammit.” I nodded and grinned at the nearest old man, who met my eyes and gave me a sour smile and a knowing, curt nod. “I should have thought that.”

“Probably.”

Seconds later, one of the Rowatokon spoke and then her speech turned to Ularan. “We welcome Story-breather Askuwheteau to speak, and we welcome his guest.” We came forward and a few of the emissaries hissed, but the rest batted their hands in the air and called, I guess, for civility. Behind me, a general rustle of movement indicated the observers and courtiers on the steps outside the chamber were trying to gain a little better view. Most of the emissaries sat or stood up. They inspected me while Askuwheteau spoke in Ularan.

“Honored emissaries, my thanks for admitting me to speak before this wise and learned council.”

“Our Story-Breathers’ words are always needed here.” The emissary who spoke was a young man with straight black hair to his waist. “As are the opinions of our only Crade.”

Askuwheteau bowed briefly while the others murmured agreement. “Speaking of the Crade, I bring before you one who should speak for himself. You, I would guess, have heard of him before.” With that, he stepped back and made a sign that I should advance.

I stepped forward and cast my gaze around the wall-less room. The old woman in the raven cloak still stared. Others watched and waited. I noticed Puwotok, standing with the others outside the chamber. The youth who had spoken smiled at me and I was struck by his age, far younger than any other emissary present. Then, as I watched, his black eyes flashed strangely, turning almost silver. The flash was gone, though, a trick of the light, or so I thought.

“My name is Raze,” I said, “although I have been known by many others. It is a long road that has brought me to you, and although I arrived by chance, I have come to Rowatokon with a specific need, a need of knowledge and Rowatokon skill. My task is one that has taken years already, and will take many more ahead. For all I have done and learned and seen, this, this request I make of you, will be part of the greatest journey, the greatest achievement, the life’s purpose, on which I unknowingly began many years ago. There are none but I who know the end of my intent in being here, but if you will aid me, I offer anything that is in my power to give in return.”

The old woman in the raven cloak raised her voice. “What could you provide us that we would want for?”

“I wouldn’t presume, Emissary. You’ll have to ask for what you feel is fair, and I will provide as I am able.”

She stood, half-facing me, mostly facing her fellow emissaries. “And yet you presume to believe that there is something we need from you.” This was met by some amount of hissing and, again, the batting of the air and calls for quiet. I began to see two camps delineated in the council chamber. She went on. “Emissaries, we can gain nothing but pain by allowing this man to remain among us. As we all well know, outsiders always bring ignorance and harm to us, as they always have. We must protect our people.”

I protested. “I’ve no interest in bringing others here, or in telling of what I see.”

“Kiche.” The old woman addressed the young emissary who’d spoken before. “What do you say? What do you see?”

Several of the emissaries pressed closer to him, touched his arms. They spoke and repeated her question and a sound of reverence came over them, but Kiche smiled a thin smile. “I don’t know this man. The legends overshadow the real. My Sight is of no help in this matter.”

So, my eyes had not deceived me earlier, when I saw his eyes flash with light. He was a Sight-Sorcerer. One gifted with the blood of the the Forsaken, the Gods Who Left. A blessing, or a curse, or a stolen power, depending on who you asked. I called such folk dangerous foes and more dangerous allies.

I smiled. With a step forward, I held out my hand. “If your Sight would be aided by touch,” I said, “I offer it. What I claim is true.” It was a calculated risk, but I had some experience.

The others encouraged him to take my arm, to See. His smile remained, but his demeanor shifted, like a blade turning in the light. He did not move. “A simple touch won’t change anything.”

So he was a liar.

His eyes did not stray from mine, but my heart thrilled with battle. I had won. I shrugged, knowing I was poisoning the well, and lowered my hand.

Kiche spoke again to the assembly. “Nevertheless, I agree with Guagom. We do not allow outsiders. It could be a danger, and it has been in the past. With respect to our guest, he should given passage by boat back to Ulara in the morning.”

Askuwheteau stepped forward before I could speak again. “This is the measure of the Rowatokon? That the council will turn away those a Story-breather has brought, despite custom? That we ignore the requests of outsiders based on old fears?”

“We haven’t heard his request,” one old man called from an upper seat. “I want to know why he came here.”

Kiche nodded. Guagom sat, and Askuwheteau nodded to me, and so I told them. “I need a boat that can move without sound.”

“What else?” a woman in a wolfskin asked. “That is not reason to come here. You said that you needed Rowatokon knowledge and skill. For what?”

“It must be piloted by one, but must carry two,” I said. They waited, and I breathed. Here was the turn. “And,” I said, “it must be able to travel down the Last River and into the Gray.”

 

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. For as little as $1/month you can help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

Get weekly updates about new RAZE posts and other announcements by entering your email *

 

The post RAZE – 031 appeared first on D. Thourson Palmer.

RAZE – 030 – Darker Intent

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

In the end, the guardians of the City Before the World stood aside and let me pass along with Askuwheteau. Our steps were halted mere paces into the city gates, however.

It was a broad stone street, bordered by green plants and short, pruned trees. Surrounding these were the smaller homes, and narrow columns of smoke rose from them. I smelled cooking oil, fish, potatoes frying. People worked at stalls and the gardens and bought and sold, but many conversations slowed so that the speakers could watch the outsider pass.

Askuwheteau and I started down the broad way, with he pointing ahead to the step pyramid, explaining about the Council of Emissaries whom I would meet, their Skertah wizards who lived beyond the walls in the heart of the forest. I heard the pride in his voice when he told me about the crypts beneath the city, the stores of knowledge, the vaults and shelves upon shelves of scrolls and older things, graven tablets and pressings in brown clay.

We neared the base of the pyramid and turned onto one of the many streets that surrounded it, went alongside it between dark timber buildings with carved wooden heads of beasts and men and spirits, inscrutable combinations of features beyond imagining, beaks and brows and terrible eyes. And there, while we walked, Askuwheteau went on about the house where he had secured a room for me and I half-listened.

The street had emptied. No one shook out blankets or hammered at woodwork or chiseled at art. No children. Not even the shaggy dogs I had seen before. In his pride, Askuwheteau spoke on, unheeding. It was not his fault. He had much to learn.

While we walked, I observed. I sniffed and my ears sought. Even, the stories will say, the hairs of my beard quivered in changes on breeze, and informed me.

Footprints, all the freshest ones pointed away, into doors or between the houses and stone structures. Careful conversations, constructed, designed, behind doors or in upper windows. No songbirds, of which I had heard many. No crows. I caught the scent I sought – clay, smoke, wafting on the air.

I paused and Askuwheteau looked sidelong at me, then ahead. He took in a deep breath. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Who?” I asked.

“No one.”

He moved behind me, his back to me so he could watch the path we’d taken along the street. His club rose to lay ready across his shoulders while I let my stick rest in my hand, its point out away from me on the stones of the roadway.

There we stood. No sounds came, nor any foes. We waited.

After a few breaths, we glanced at each other. I laughed, but Askuwheteau only scowled. “We shouldn’t have let them know we’d noticed them.”

I clapped him on the back and maneuvered him back to our path. “We’ve beaten them without raising a hand. How is that for following the Way?”

“I would’ve liked to have found out who was stalking us.”

“Does it matter?”

“It may,” he said. “There are some who wouldn’t have you in our midst at all. You’ll meet them presently.” He peered between the buildings and into garden plots as we passed.

“Presently,” I said. “You mean now?” He nodded, now observing the rooftops. I touched the rags hanging from my shoulders, my once-fine blue Serehvan cloth, now stained and frayed from weeks at sea, a shipwreck, and, most recently, a few days living in the forest. I smelled. It had been some days since I’d washed or combed. My beard was a nest, my hair a formless mass beneath the deep cerulean wraps upon my head. “I am filthy,” I said.

“You are you. As you are. They’re prepared now.”

“I wouldn’t go before a garbage-sifter dressed like this, let alone your Council of Emissaries.”

“You won’t offend them.”

“It offends me.”

“Too bad.” Askuwheteau grinned and guided us around another corner, then down a long street that ended at the base of the east side of the pyramid. A small group of people lounged or spoke on the steps, some of them seated on blankets, others standing, talking near the base. Most of them were dressed in draping robes or leggings and wrapped skirts, but some of them more stranger items; fur hats, unusual, iridescent cloaks. We stopped a little distance away.

“Raze,” he said. “We were stalked just now. Perhaps only to listen as we approached, perhaps only as a test, to see how observant we were, and perhaps with darker intent. Few of the emissaries will be friendly. Fewer still will agree to help you. I’ve made a few preparations, but…”

I rested a hand on his arm. “No, it’s alright. My task is my own. Sometimes one must fence with words rather than steel, and I’ve had a little practice.”

“You’ll find strong warriors here, if those are the weapons.” He faced the pyramid and, once again, the look of pride came over his face. “The men and women on these steps, and in the Listening Room, have led our people through many trials.”

“Through the greatest trials,” I agreed. I, too, faced the steps, and I adjusted my torn garments as best I could and thrust the stick through my belt. “How do I look?”

“Like a half-drowned seadog.”

“At least you’re honest with me.”

“I should lead us. A formality.” Askuwheteau went ahead and I followed two steps behind along the stone road between the earth and rock houses. They grew higher, with roofs of green moss. The stone was gray and veined, the earth dark. Ahead, some of those around the pyramid preceded us up the steps, having noticed our approach, while others stood back and watched. I wondered, as I passed, if any of them had stalked us in the street minutes before. None of them breathed heavy. No sheen of sweat shone on any brow. No fear did I see. They covered their emotions well.

Some of these were important folk, perhaps these emissaries, with entourages of warriors in leather harness and wolf or bearskins, their own style of formal battle-clothes. I had never had much use for dress uniforms or ceremonial armor. They watched me and polished steel glinted at their belts, their sides, and the teeth and horns and antlers of the beasts they wore shone white and gleaming. At the base of the pyramid, a group stood apart from the rest. They were dressed in dark cloth and armor and wore black paint on their arms. They glared as intensely as any others. First among them was an old woman, with gray hair in loops and coils, and a cloak of iridescent black feathers. She met my gaze as I neared, and though I held it and poured in my will, she stared back.

 

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

Get weekly updates about new RAZE posts and other announcements by entering your email *

 

The post RAZE – 030 – Darker Intent appeared first on D. Thourson Palmer.

RAZE – 030

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

In the end, the guardians of the City Before the World stood aside and let me pass along with Askuwheteau. Our steps were halted mere paces into the city gates, however.

It was a broad stone street, bordered by green plants and short, pruned trees. Surrounding these were the smaller homes, and narrow columns of smoke rose from them. I smelled cooking oil, fish, potatoes frying. People worked at stalls and the gardens and bought and sold, but many conversations slowed so that the speakers could watch the outsider pass.

Askuwheteau and I started down the broad way, with he pointing ahead to the step pyramid, explaining about the Council of Emissaries whom I would meet, their Skertah wizards who lived beyond the walls in the heart of the forest. I heard the pride in his voice when he told me about the crypts beneath the city, the stores of knowledge, the vaults and shelves upon shelves of scrolls and older things, graven tablets and pressings in brown clay.

We neared the base of the pyramid and turned onto one of the many streets that surrounded it, went alongside it between dark timber buildings with carved wooden heads of beasts and men and spirits, inscrutable combinations of features beyond imagining, beaks and brows and terrible eyes. And there, while we walked, Askuwheteau went on about the house where he had secured a room for me and I half-listened.

The street had emptied. No one shook out blankets or hammered at woodwork or chiseled at art. No children. Not even the shaggy dogs I had seen before. In his pride, Askuwheteau spoke on, unheeding. It was not his fault. He had much to learn.

While we walked, I observed. I sniffed and my ears sought. Even, the stories will say, the hairs of my beard quivered in changes on breeze, and informed me.

Footprints, all the freshest ones pointed away, into doors or between the houses and stone structures. Careful conversations, constructed, designed, behind doors or in upper windows. No songbirds, of which I had heard many. No crows. I caught the scent I sought – clay, smoke, wafting on the air.

I paused and Askuwheteau looked sidelong at me, then ahead. He took in a deep breath. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Who?” I asked.

“No one.”

He moved behind me, his back to me so he could watch the path we’d taken along the street. His club rose to lay ready across his shoulders while I let my stick rest in my hand, its point out away from me on the stones of the roadway.

There we stood. No sounds came, nor any foes. We waited.

After a few breaths, we glanced at each other. I laughed, but Askuwheteau only scowled. “We shouldn’t have let them know we’d noticed them.”

I clapped him on the back and maneuvered him back to our path. “We’ve beaten them without raising a hand. How is that for following the Way?”

“I would’ve liked to have found out who was stalking us.”

“Does it matter?”

“It may,” he said. “There are some who wouldn’t have you in our midst at all. You’ll meet them presently.” He peered between the buildings and into garden plots as we passed.

“Presently,” I said. “You mean now?” He nodded, now observing the rooftops. I touched the rags hanging from my shoulders, my once-fine blue Serehvan cloth, now stained and frayed from weeks at sea, a shipwreck, and, most recently, a few days living in the forest. I smelled. It had been some days since I’d washed or combed. My beard was a nest, my hair a formless mass beneath the deep cerulean wraps upon my head. “I am filthy,” I said.

“You are you. As you are. They’re prepared now.”

“I wouldn’t go before a garbage-sifter dressed like this, let alone your Council of Emissaries.”

“You won’t offend them.”

“It offends me.”

“Too bad.” Askuwheteau grinned and guided us around another corner, then down a long street that ended at the base of the east side of the pyramid. A small group of people lounged or spoke on the steps, some of them seated on blankets, others standing, talking near the base. Most of them were dressed in draping robes or leggings and wrapped skirts, but some of them more stranger items; fur hats, unusual, iridescent cloaks. We stopped a little distance away.

“Raze,” he said. “We were stalked just down. Perhaps only to listen as we approached, perhaps only as a test, to see how observant we were, and perhaps with darker intent. Few of the emissaries will be friendly. Fewer still will agree to help you. I’ve made a few preparations, but…”

I rested a hand on his arm. “No, it’s alright. My task is my own. Sometimes one must fence with words rather than steel, and I’ve had a little practice.”

“You’ll find strong warriors here, if those are the weapons.” He faced the pyramid and, once again, the look of pride came over his face. “The men and women on these steps, and in the Listening Room, have led our people through many trials.”

“Through the greatest trials,” I agreed. I, too, faced the steps, and I adjusted my torn garments as best I could and thrust the stick through my belt. “How do I look?”

“Like a half-drowned seadog.”

“At least you’re honest with me.”

“I should lead us. A formality.” Askuwheteau went ahead and I followed two steps behind along the stone road between the earth and rock houses. They grew higher, with roofs of green moss. The stone was gray and veined, the earth dark. Ahead, some of those around the pyramid preceded us up the steps, having noticed our approach, while others stood back and watched. I wondered, as I passed, if any of them had stalked us in the street minutes before. None of them breathed heavy. No sheen of sweat shone on any brow. No fear did I see. They covered their emotions well.

Some of these were important folk, perhaps these emissaries, with entourages of warriors in leather harness and wolf or bearskins, their own style of formal battle-clothes. I had never had much use for dress uniforms or ceremonial armor. They watched me and polished steel glinted at their belts, their sides, and the teeth and horns and antlers of the beasts they wore shone white and gleaming. At the base of the pyramid, a group stood apart from the rest. They were dressed in dark cloth and armor and wore black paint on their arms. They glared as intensely as any others. First among them was an old woman, with gray hair in loops and coils, and a cloak of iridescent black feathers. She met my gaze as I neared, and though I held it and poured in my will, she stared back.

 

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RAZE – 029 – Muspuahtche, The City Before the World

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We went in silence for a short time, winding between flat boulders high as my chest and covered with cedar needles and blankets of emerald moss. Above us, the mist hung in sheets between the broad, flat boughs of the trees, and a pale sun filtered from the overcast sky. I breathed deep, taking in the moss and dirt, the damp, cool air. If I listened, I could hear the ebb and flow of the ocean waves over the wind as it sighed through the trees. There was something else as well, a murmur, a distant humming.

My companion drew a breath. “Puwotok said that you spoke a little.”

“A very little. Do many of your people know Ularan? Or some other language than your own?”

“No.”

We walked uphill. The hum grew nearer.

“I’m taking a risk in bringing you to Muspuahtche. There are many of us who do not think we should invite any outsiders.”

“I understand, given what the Rowatokon have been through. What they remember.”

“But you’re a walker of the Open Path. A warrior of the Crade. You and I share a bond.”

This, I wasn’t certain of. I hadn’t been for some time. “Do you know what became of the Crade? Have you heard?”

“Only whispers. It’s some years since I traveled outside Rowatokon. If Old Masters of the Crade have fallen, though, it’s all the more important that you’re here.”

I didn’t want to think on that any longer, nor invite too many questions. As a follower, he should know about the Crade, and the Old Masters, but, I felt, he needn’t know everything. “Askuwheteau,” I said. “I saw Haruk-Wei.”

He didn’t pause or miss a step. “That is good fortune.”

I laughed a bit. “It didn’t feel like it was.”

“You were below the cliff. It revealed itself to you. The spirit does not show itself to just anyone.”

So it was a spirit. My feelings were confirmed. The forest around us grew denser, the ferns taller. The boulders now stood high above our heads and we moved along well-trod, soft dirt paths below them.

“So you do not speak in the southern forest out of deference?”

“Something like that.”

I grinned at his back. “I suspect it’s more than just the spirit admonishing you for loud noise.”  He looked over his shoulder and mirrored my grin. “So what about the north coast?” I asked. “Another spirit?”

Askuwheteau paused. His humor dissipated. “That is another matter. It’s ours, and ours alone. I wouldn’t bring you into it, and I strongly suggest you don’t mention it in Muspuahtche.” He held up a hand to forestall my reply, then moved a few paces ahead, where we came up out of the boulders. I could see the end of the land through the trees; the earth ended and there was only overcast sky beyond. Askuwheteau went ahead of me to this edge and I followed, and at his gestured looked.

Below us was a valley, and situated within it, a city. The mist obscured it, like a dream, but I saw deep gray timber and tall, pale stone pyramids of many steps. Earthen walls surrounded the place and high mounds, crowned with stone, or bare of all but grass, rose up at points throughout the city. The described a geometry which I couldn’t quite ascertain.

Below all this, people drew hand-carts, dogs ran to and fro, calls echoed against the pyramids and the shorter wood and bark and thatch houses. Children played, sellers hocked, and laborers hammered.

We descended the cliff by a narrow, hidden way. Guardians with slings and arrows hid off the path and I pretended not to notice their hideaways, the glint of their steel. Below we entered an orchard with long ditches between the cherry trees and apples and berry plants. The grass was soft between plots of shade crops, leeks and potatoes and other leafy things. Folk stopped their work amongst the plants and stood at my approach. One or two of them spoke to Askuwheteau. When we passed, I looked back and still they stood, watching after me, unmoving, unabashed, black eyes and drawn faces.

At the city walls, the high mounds, Askuwheteau stopped. Watchers called out to him, pointed at me with their arrows. He spoke to them and then went ahead and talked in a low voice with a group of guardians who stood before the main entrance, a break in the mounded wall bordered by massive plates of stone. I waited while my host gestured and whispered and cajoled, and meanwhile the guards’ voices rose and the pointed and spat.

They did not know, could not know, that I would be entering their city one way or another. Though I had arrived by chance, a long, careful design had led me there.

 

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RAZE – 029

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We went in silence for a short time, winding between flat boulders high as my chest and covered with cedar needles and blankets of emerald moss. Above us, the mist hung in sheets between the broad, flat boughs of the trees, and a pale sun filtered from the overcast sky. I breathed deep, taking in the moss and dirt, the damp, cool air. If I listened, I could hear the ebb and flow of the ocean waves over the wind as it sighed through the trees. There was something else as well, a murmur, a distant humming.

My companion drew a breath. “Puwotok said that you spoke a little.”

“A very little. Do many of your people know Ularan? Or some other language than your own?”

“No.”

We walked uphill. The hum grew nearer.

“I’m taking a risk in bringing you to Muspuahtche. There are many of us who do not think we should invite any outsiders.”

“I understand, given what the Rowatokon have been through. What they remember.”

“But you’re a walker of the Open Path. A warrior of the Crade. You and I share a bond.”

This, I wasn’t certain of. I hadn’t been for some time. “Do you know what became of the Crade? Have you heard?”

“Only whispers. It’s some years since I traveled outside Rowatokon. If Old Masters of the Crade have fallen, though, it’s all the more important that you’re here.”

I didn’t want to think on that any longer, nor invite too many questions. As a follower, he should know about the Crade, and the Old Masters, but, I felt, he needn’t know everything. “Askuwheteau,” I said. “I saw Haruk-Wei.”

He didn’t pause or miss a step. “That is good fortune.”

I laughed a bit. “It didn’t feel like it was.”

“You were below the cliff. It revealed itself to you. The spirit does not show itself to just anyone.”

So it was a spirit. My feelings were confirmed. The forest around us grew denser, the ferns taller. The boulders now stood high above our heads and we moved along well-trod, soft dirt paths below them.

“So you do not speak in the southern forest out of deference?”

“Something like that.”

I grinned at his back. “I suspect it’s more than just the spirit admonishing you for loud noise.”  He looked over his shoulder and mirrored my grin. “So what about the north coast?” I asked. “Another spirit?”

Askuwheteau paused. His humor dissipated. “That is another matter. It’s ours, and ours alone. I wouldn’t bring you into it, and I strongly suggest you don’t mention it in Muspuahtche.” He held up a hand to forestall my reply, then moved a few paces ahead, where we came up out of the boulders. I could see the end of the land through the trees; the earth ended and there was only overcast sky beyond. Askuwheteau went ahead of me to this edge and I followed, and at his gestured looked.

Below us was a valley, and situated within it, a city. The mist obscured it, like a dream, but I saw deep gray timber and tall, pale stone pyramids of many steps. Earthen walls surrounded the place and high mounds, crowned with stone, or bare of all but grass, rose up at points throughout the city. The described a geometry which I couldn’t quite ascertain.

Below all this, people drew hand-carts, dogs ran to and fro, calls echoed against the pyramids and the shorter wood and bark and thatch houses. Children played, sellers hocked, and laborers hammered.

We descended the cliff by a narrow, hidden way. Guardians with slings and arrows hid off the path and I pretended not to notice their hideaways, the glint of their steel. Below we entered an orchard with long ditches between the cherry trees and apples and berry plants. The grass was soft between plots of shade crops, leeks and potatoes and other leafy things. Folk stopped their work amongst the plants and stood at my approach. One or two of them spoke to Askuwheteau. When we passed, I looked back and still they stood, watching after me, unmoving, unabashed, black eyes and drawn faces.

At the city walls, the high mounds, Askuwheteau stopped. Watchers called out to him, pointed at me with their arrows. He spoke to them and then went ahead and talked in a low voice with a group of guardians who stood before the main entrance, a break in the mounded wall bordered by massive plates of stone. I waited while my host gestured and whispered and cajoled, and meanwhile the guards’ voices rose and the pointed and spat.

They did not know, could not know, that I would be entering their city one way or another. Though I had arrived by chance, a long, careful design had led me there.

 

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RAZE – 028 – Fear and Understanding

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Atop the cliff the being known as Haruk-Wei moved, not in silence, but in something more than silence. My heartbeat grew fainter in its presence. My breath went quiet. Sound bowed. The trees bent toward it. Its form was four-legged, with a curl-horned head, greater than a stone, greater than a storm. Though it appeared as nought but shadow, but a hole in the world, it was more solid, more true, than any being that I have ever witnessed.

It turned its great head toward me, down, and its eyes burned like two suns.

It was gone. I stood, gasping, shivering in the cold. The moon shadows had moved. How long had I stood? I went back to my lean-to and shivered beneath my elk-skin and thought and lay awake.

Until sundown the next day, no one came. I was alone. I was as still as I had ever been and the weight of what I had seen, the power of the being I had witnessed, impressed itself on me. My task, the one I had set out on years, decades before, and which, as I write this memory, nears its final positionings, had grown in magnitude to an order I had not anticipated.

I am not ashamed to say I lost hope. My aim seemed greater than I could achieve. Just a glimpse of Haruk-Wei had shown me much that I had not known before.

In the evening, the three returned with food and water and wine. Again I greeted them, and again they were taciturn at first. The two turned to go but the woman lingered and stared, and finally she said, in a halting voice, “Who are you?”

She spoke Ularan, a language of a nearby country, and one I knew well. At first I thought I imagined it. I looked up at her inquisitive face and squinted. “Excuse me?”

“Who are you?” She repeated the words, their cadence jumbled, the sounds clearly unfamiliar. But, as they echoed in my mind, I understood. I understood several things.

I arose and bowed, and reached for her hand. She took my wrist, and we stared into each other’s eyes and then I leaned down to touch my forehead to hers. “I,” I said, “am Raze.”

The being on the cliff at night had shaken me. Its power was obvious. Immeasurable. It had shaken me because the guardian of my final goal is a greater spirit than Haruk-Wei, a greater creature than any other. That glimpse of Haruk-Wei was a warning, my first sight of something so awful. How could I challenge something mightier than Haruk-Wei? Something I knew to be more, to be of a might beyond reckoning, beyond approach?

This guardian which I prepared to face has a secret name, but I knew it then and I know it now, and even to write it, I call and challenge. The guardian is called Behhallan. That name, in our shared native tongue, means “The Unbreakable.”

The woman asked my name, and I understood how anyone could challenge such a spirit. “I am Raze.” I breathed deep and my doubt was gone.

My foe, my greatest test, would be Behhallan. Even now, to write the name, I burn with anticipation.It will be my greatest test. The moment I have striven for. It will be a battle, worthy.

Behhallan.

But I am Raze.

While all of this went through my mind, she watched in some confusion. “Who are you?” I asked her.

She tapped her middle, just below the ribs. “Puwotok.” She hesitated, squinting at me. “I. Am. Puwotok.”

Again, I touched my forehead to hers. “Pleased to meet you, Puwotok.”

She smiled, pleased, but knew no other words in any tongue I understood. I motioned for her to join me with the food and drink and she sat, silent but grinning, and we ate and drank together. She asked questions which I did not understand, and I spoke of whatever was on my mind and she watched in puzzlement. We made a fire. She showed me her people’s methods and their alchemy, their fire-starting pouches and powders, so different from all the other alchemies I had seen and yet so familiar. I avoided mention of Haruk-Wei, and not once did she glance to the top of the cliff. She kept her voice low.

We drank the bitter wine and Puwotok brought out a small pot of honey she had brought with the supplies. It improved the wine immensely. As the sky darkened, we drank and laughed at our inability to speak. She moved closer to me. She inspected my blue cloth and, I think, spoke highly of it, and she touched my turban and seemed to ask about my hair, which I indicated I had much of. Then, she touched my beard and tried to kiss me, and I gently held her back. I explained, though she couldn’t know my words. I told her about Green Skive and tried to smile, but she was saddened.

She stood and said a few words, and said my name amongst them, and then she left, and again I was alone.

That night, Haruk-Wei did not come, and so I slept well enough.

The next day, around midday, Askuwheteau returned. He said nothing, but appeared through the trees and motioned for me to follow.

 

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RAZE – 028

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Atop the cliff the being known as Haruk-Wei moved, not in silence, but in something more than silence. My heartbeat grew fainter in its presence. My breath went quiet. Sound bowed. The trees bent toward it. Its form was four-legged, with a curl-horned head, greater than a stone, greater than a storm. Though it appeared as nought but shadow, but a hole in the world, it was more solid, more true, than any being that I have ever witnessed.

It turned its great head toward me, down, and its eyes burned like two suns.

It was gone. I stood, gasping, shivering in the cold. The moon shadows had moved. How long had I stood? I went back to my lean-to and shivered beneath my elk-skin and thought and lay awake.

Until sundown the next day, no one came. I was alone. I was as still as I had ever been and the weight of what I had seen, the power of the being I had witnessed, impressed itself on me. My task, the one I had set out on years, decades before, and which, as I write this memory, nears its final positionings, had grown in magnitude to an order I had not anticipated.

I am not ashamed to say I lost hope. My aim seemed greater than I could achieve. Just a glimpse of Haruk-Wei had shown me much that I had not known before.

In the evening, the three returned with food and water and wine. Again I greeted them, and again they were taciturn at first. The two turned to go but the woman lingered and stared, and finally she said, in a halting voice, “Who are you?”

She spoke Ularan, a language of a nearby country, and one I knew well. At first I thought I imagined it. I looked up at her inquisitive face and squinted. “Excuse me?”

“Who are you?” She repeated the words, their cadence jumbled, the sounds clearly unfamiliar. But, as they echoed in my mind, I understood. I understood several things.

I arose and bowed, and reached for her hand. She took my wrist, and we stared into each other’s eyes and then I leaned down to touch my forehead to hers. “I,” I said, “am Raze.”

The being on the cliff at night had shaken me. Its power was obvious. Immeasurable. It had shaken me because the guardian of my final goal is a greater spirit than Haruk-Wei, a greater creature than any other. That glimpse of Haruk-Wei was a warning, my first sight of something so awful. How could I challenge something mightier than Haruk-Wei? Something I knew to be more, to be of a might beyond reckoning, beyond approach?

This guardian which I prepared to face has a secret name, but I knew it then and I know it now, and even to write it, I call and challenge. The guardian is called Behhallan. That name, in our shared native tongue, means “The Unbreakable.”

The woman asked my name, and I understood how anyone could challenge such a spirit. “I am Raze.” I breathed deep and my doubt was gone.

My foe, my greatest test, would be Behhallan. Even now, to write the name, I burn with anticipation.It will be my greatest test. The moment I have striven for. It will be a battle, worthy.

Behhallan.

But I am Raze.

While all of this went through my mind, she watched in some confusion. “Who are you?” I asked her.

She tapped her middle, just below the ribs. “Puwotok.” She hesitated, squinting at me. “I. Am. Puwotok.”

Again, I touched my forehead to hers. “Pleased to meet you, Puwotok.”

She smiled, pleased, but knew no other words in any tongue I understood. I motioned for her to join me with the food and drink and she sat, silent but grinning, and we ate and drank together. She asked questions which I did not understand, and I spoke of whatever was on my mind and she watched in puzzlement. We made a fire. She showed me her people’s methods and their alchemy, their fire-starting pouches and powders, so different from all the other alchemies I had seen and yet so familiar. I avoided mention of Haruk-Wei, and not once did she glance to the top of the cliff. She kept her voice low.

We drank the bitter wine and Puwotok brought out a small pot of honey she had brought with the supplies. It improved the wine immensely. As the sky darkened, we drank and laughed at our inability to speak. She moved closer to me. She inspected my blue cloth and, I think, spoke highly of it, and she touched my turban and seemed to ask about my hair, which I indicated I had much of. Then, she touched my beard and tried to kiss me, and I gently held her back. I explained, though she couldn’t know my words. I told her about Green Skive and tried to smile, but she was saddened.

She stood and said a few words, and said my name amongst them, and then she left, and again I was alone.

That night, Haruk-Wei did not come, and so I slept well enough.

The next day, around midday, Askuwheteau returned. He said nothing, but appeared through the trees and motioned for me to follow.

 

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RAZE – 027 – The Forest of Haruk-Wei

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My guide turned without waiting for a response and started away. I stood for a breath, watching after him, and then called “Do you think to test me in some way?”

He looked over his shoulder without slowing, with a finger to his lips. “I said it’s alright to speak here, but let’s have less shouting, perhaps.” He jerked his head toward the top of the cliff. I glanced up, then to my stick, then back to him. He had moved further off. Trees and ferns had already stolen all sound of him and his Sunshadow warriors. I opened my mouth, shut it, threw up my hands. “Something dangerous is up there?” Again, he looked back at me and put a finger to his lips, and then he was gone.

For that day I was alone. Even when the sun was high, I found myself slapping my arms for warmth. I found a nice place against the base of the cliff and moved away the branches and rocks. I took cedar boughs and mounded needles and made a bed and a shelter of deadfall and spreading black boughs. It was like my time in Kalughnor. Laying boughs across the frame of my little lean-to, I remembered the snowy land I had called home for so long. I remembered my castle there, the one I defended from Vasily Avosha Brobov. The one I promised, and never delivered, to Ivanyaska. As I placed the boughs, I remembered Estevo, as he was, and how we had laughed and drank our last together in Kalughnor.

I cleared a space and dug a small pit for a fire, knowing I’d need it. I spent some time finding three smooth stones, about heart-sized. I took my time in choosing, for there is peace in such an act. I found many candidate stones and discarded them one after the other. Some had sharp corners. Others were porous, volcanic or perhaps oceanic, and would not do. Others, well, I simply did not like their color. One, which I remember, was deep gray at a glance, but on inspection was blue and turquoise, like deep water, with strands of white too fine to notice coursing between the grains. It was smooth, egg-shaped. In the right light, held just so, sparks flashed within it, flakes of quartz that sang for an instant in the sun.

Gray.

Around that time, three of Askuwheteau’s people came through the forest. The two women and the man arrived in silence, but not so quiet I didn’t hear them coming. They brought an elk skin, a few items of food, a stoppered skin of water, and a smaller one of wine. They peered at me, pretending not to. They stared and when I noticed they flushed and looked away, their mouths thin lines, their eyes black. They nodded in half-bows.

“Good afternoon,” I said, in the custom of Ulara. They responded in their own tongue, and so I didn’t know what they said. A middle aged woman, handsome, with many braids and a scar on her nose and cheek, spoke for the three. She used a hushed voice and said something of the food and skins and repeated herself a few times. She patted the wineskin and tapped her own body, at the top of the belly just below the ribs, then grinned. She seemed proud. I nodded and tried to give the impression that I understood.

I raised a hand and then indicated the top of the cliff. I tried Ularan, then Narsal, without success. “What is up there? Why don’t you speak in the southern forest?” Again I pointed to the top, and this chilled their moods. The curiosity that had become amusement returned to tight-lipped seriousness. The woman lowered her voice further. She pointed, seemed to remember herself, and made a sign over her middle, a sign the other two repeated. She spoke again, no longer pointing, voice grave. She said what sounded like “Haruk-wei,” said it again, and again the three made the same sign over their middles.

“Yes, up there. Haruk-wei.” I pointed to the top of the cliff. “Haruk-wei, what is in Haruk-wei?”

“Haruk-wei,” she repeated. Once more, the three made their sign of observance or homage over their middles. She cautioned me. I understood so much. They left.

I sat down for a time and contemplated their sacred forest above me. I had been in many places of silence before. Monasteries. Palace halls. Back home in Serehvan, no one speaks in the room set aside for a dead person, and there is a vigil for one day without speech. This is so that no spirits are confused when they come to take the dead to the Docks, to set off down the Last River. Speech might distract the guiding spirits and strand the dead as a ghost. Had they held such a vigil for me, along with Punam, when first the Lonireilans took me?

So they didn’t want shouting near their forest of Haruk-wei, I thought. Fair enough. The signs they had made over their bellies made me fairly certain I was near a place of religious import.

I made a small fire, they way I had been taught in Toji: with a string to make a sort of bow, with which to spin a  stick, within a mound of pine needles. I placed my three smooth stones near the fire and drank most of the water and ate. Flat, nutty bread. Mushrooms, soaked and cooked already in some kind of rich, mouth-watering fat. Salty ocean fish on skewers, and a yellow lump of rock-sugar I am certain was brought from Ulara.

I tried the wine. It was clear, a little bitter, with a taste of juniper, but sweet on the back of the tongue and in memory. The cold wine cleansed my throat and sang in my stomach, a little fire of my own inside.

When it was dark, I stared up at stars that I knew, but not from this place. My childhood constellations were so far south I couldn’t see all of them. I remembered so much. I remembered Green Skive. Sitting alone, with nothing, what else can one do but travel within?

Weariness came to me and when I tried, and failed, to stand, I recalled that I had been shipwrecked that morning and chuckled to myself. So much for a rest after Red Kharcos, as I had promised myself. So much for plans. My bones would appreciate the sleep.

I retreated to my lean-to with my stones and covered myself with the elk skin. One stone I tucked beside my feet. Another by my ribs. The third, the blue and turquoise with the white webs, I held wrapped in a bit of my ragged blue cloth in my hands. I gave mental thanks to Prella for her teachings, imagined her sarcastic response, smiled, and I slept, and I was very warm indeed.

*   *   *

 

My eyes opened. I could see everything despite the moon-dappled dark, but more importantly, I could hear nothing.

The ashes of my fire were dead out. My stones had cooled, and so I knew it had been some hours. The wind was dead. No night creatures stirred.

I slipped from my lean-to, despite the chill I would be taking on, and crept a few paces from the cliff. Even using all my craft, the sound of my feet on cedar needles and soft earth was deafening, and so I went still. In that silence, my heartbeat became thunder, my breath rushing waves.

It was in the silence that I felt, more than anything, a greater quiet. It was not silence. It was an emptiness of sound, a taking in of it. It was silence made elemental. This void was above and behind, and so I turned and looked to the rim of the cliff and, for the first time, looked upon Haruk-wei.

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RAZE – 027

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My guide turned without waiting for a response and started away. I stood for a breath, watching after him, and then called “Do you think to test me in some way?”

He looked over his shoulder without slowing, with a finger to his lips. “I said it’s alright to speak here, but let’s have less shouting, perhaps.” He jerked his head toward the top of the cliff. I glanced up, then to my stick, then back to him. He had moved further off. Trees and ferns had already stolen all sound of him and his Sunshadow warriors. I opened my mouth, shut it, threw up my hands. “Something dangerous is up there?” Again, he looked back at me and put a finger to his lips, and then he was gone.

For that day I was alone. Even when the sun was high, I found myself slapping my arms for warmth. I found a nice place against the base of the cliff and moved away the branches and rocks. I took cedar boughs and mounded needles and made a bed and a shelter of deadfall and spreading, black boughs. It was like my time in Kalughnor. Laying boughs across the frame of my little lean-to, I remembered the snowy land I had called home for so long. I remembered my castle there, the one I defended from Vasily Avosha Brobov. The one I promised, and never delivered, to Ivanyaska. As I placed the boughs, I remembered Estevo, as he was, and how we had laughed and drank our last together in Kalughnor.

I cleared a space and dug a small pit for a fire, knowing I’d need it. I spent some time finding three smooth stones, about heart-sized. I took my time in choosing, for there is peace in such an act. I found many candidate stones and discarded them one after the other. Some had sharp corners. Others were porous, volcanic or perhaps oceanic, and would not do. Others, well, I simply did not like their color. One, which I remember, was deep gray at a glance, but on inspection was blue and turquoise, like deep water, with strands of white too fine to notice coursing between the grains. It was smooth, egg-shaped. In the right light, held just so, sparks flashed within it, flakes of quartz that sang for an instant in the sun.

Gray.

Around that time, three of Askuwheteau’s people came through the forest. The two women and the man arrived in silence, but not so quiet I didn’t hear them coming. They brought an elk skin, a few items of food, a stoppered skin of water, and a smaller one of wine. They peered at me, pretending not to. They stared and when I noticed they flushed and looked away, their mouths thin lines, their eyes black. They nodded in half-bows.

“Good afternoon,” I said, in the custom of Ulara. They responded in their own tongue, and so I didn’t know what they said. A middle aged woman, handsome, with many braids and a scar on her nose and cheek, spoke for the three. She used a hushed voice and said something of the food and skins and repeated herself a few times. She patted the wineskin and tapped her own body, at the top of the belly just below the ribs, then grinned. She seemed proud. I nodded and tried to give the impression that I understood.

I raised a hand and then indicated the top of the cliff. I tried Ularan, then Narsal, without success. “What is up there? Why don’t you speak in the southern forest?” Again I pointed to the top, and this chilled their moods. The curiosity that had become amusement returned to tight-lipped seriousness. The woman lowered her voice further. She pointed, seemed to remember herself, and made a sign over her middle, a sign the other two repeated. She spoke again, no longer pointing, voice grave. She said what sounded like “Haruk-wei,” said it again, and again the three made the same sign over their middles.

“Yes, up there. Haruk-wei.” I pointed to the top of the cliff. “Haruk-wei, what is in Haruk-wei?”

“Haruk-wei,” she repeated. Once more, the three made their sign of observance or homage over their middles. She cautioned me. I understood so much. They left.

I sat down for a time and contemplated their sacred forest above me. I had been in many places of silence before. Monasteries. Palace halls. Back home in Serehvan, no one speaks in the room set aside for a dead person, and there is a vigil for one day without speech. This is so that no spirits are confused when they come to take the dead to the Docks, to set off down the Last River. Speech might distract the guiding spirits and strand the dead as a ghost. Had they held such a vigil for me, along with Punam, when first the Lonireilans took me?

So they didn’t want shouting near their forest of Haruk-wei, I thought. Fair enough. The signs they had made over their bellies made me fairly certain I was near a place of religious import.

I made a small fire, they way I had been taught in Toji: with a string to make a sort of bow, with which to spin a  stick, within a mound of pine needles. I placed my three smooth stones near the fire and drank most of the water and ate. Flat, nutty bread. Mushrooms, soaked and cooked already in some kind of rich, mouth-watering fat. Salty ocean fish on skewers, and a yellow lump of rock-sugar I am certain was brought from Ulara.

I tried the wine. It was clear, a little bitter, with a taste of juniper, but sweet on the back of the tongue and in memory. The cold wine cleansed my throat and sang in my stomach, a little fire of my own inside.

When it was dark, I stared up at stars that I knew, but not from this place. My childhood constellations were so far south I couldn’t see all of them. I remembered so much. I remembered Green Skive. Sitting alone, with nothing, what else can one do but travel within?

Weariness came to me and when I tried, and failed, to stand, I recalled that I had been shipwrecked that morning and chuckled to myself. So much for a rest after Red Kharcos, as I had promised myself. So much for plans. My bones would appreciate the sleep.

I retreated to my lean-to with my stones and covered myself with the elk skin. One stone I tucked beside my feet. Another by my ribs. The third, the blue and turquoise with the white webs, I held wrapped in a bit of my ragged blue cloth in my hands. I gave mental thanks to Prella for her teachings, imagined her sarcastic response, smiled, and I slept, and I was very warm indeed.

*   *   *

 

My eyes opened. I could see everything despite the moon-dappled dark, but more importantly, I could hear nothing.

The ashes of my fire were dead out. My stones had cooled, and so I knew it had been some hours. The wind was dead. No night creatures stirred.

I slipped from my lean-to, despite the chill I would be taking on, and crept a few paces from the cliff. Even using all my craft, the sound of my feet on cedar needles and soft earth was deafening, and so I went still. In that silence, my heartbeat became thunder, my breath rushing waves.

It was in the silence that I felt, more than anything, a greater quiet. It was not silence. It was an emptiness of sound, a taking in of it. It was silence made elemental. This void was above and behind, and so I turned and looked to the rim of the cliff and, for the first time, looked upon Haruk-wei.

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