Читать книгу Circles of Stone - Ian Johnstone - Страница 18

“Twelve priests bound by duty to their king, and to each of them, three indentured Magrumen. This is all it took to bring the world to ruin.”

FILIMAYA’S EYES SPARKLED LIKE jewels of the forest.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.

Naeo climbed the bank and stepped up to Filimaya’s side. Below, scores of little streams and rivulets wove their way across the forest floor, twisting and turning, rolling and leaping. At the base of the slope they joined the still waters of the lake amidst a great muddle of bubbles and spray, which sent a pleasant mist back up the bank and laced everything in a glistening dew.

“This is what we tried to recreate at the Meander Mill,” said Filimaya. “Did you hear of our Water Gardens?”

Naeo shook her head. They sounded familiar, but she had no idea why.

“Ah well,” said Filimaya, “they’re gone now, like so much else. And so this is it: our last retreat, our patch of things.”

“There are still plenty of us in the slums,” said Naeo, picking up a stick and poking at the bank. “And in the Dirgheon.”

“Yes, there are, but that’s no way to live,” said Filimaya with a sigh. “It sometimes feels as though we are clinging on to this world, doesn’t it? As if we might lose our place in it altogether.”

“Well, that’s just what he wants, isn’t it?” muttered Naeo, swiping the tip of the stick into the nearest stream.

“Yes. Indeed,” said Filimaya wistfully.

She stepped over the torrent and began making her way across the labyrinth of rivulets. After a few steps she stopped and looked back at Naeo. “But that’s part of what makes Sylas so exciting, so hopeful, isn’t it? Like the Bringers before him, he brings us a promise of a world without Thoth, without the Undoing, without all the suffering our people have endured.”

Naeo stepped out to follow. She sensed where this conversation was heading. “I suppose, but that still doesn’t make me want to go to his world.”

“Really? You’re not the least bit curious? A world without Thoth, where you’re entirely free? Like everyone else?”

Naeo shrugged.

“A place without Essenfayle or the Three Ways, where summer is winter and night is day? Where people drive carriages without horses and light torches without flames; where they fly—”

“No! I’m not interested!” snapped Naeo, drawing up sharply. “I don’t care about any of that! My father is still here! And – and worse than that – he’s in the Dirgheon, probably half dead or … or worse.” She paused, her heart thumping and her eyes burning. “And it’s my fault!”

It was a huge relief to say it. She had thought about little else since her escape.

It was her fault. Her fault.

The memories came in flashes: stark and clear. There he was, chained to a stone table, covered in sweat and blood, arching with pain whenever his tormentor drew near, screaming until his voice trailed away. She remembered the few quiet moments, those precious moments of reprieve when Thoth would write, or take up his cello, or even leave the room, when her father would turn to her with those large green eyes.

How she loved those eyes.

And in that generous gaze she had felt him saying it would all be all right, felt his strength, his warmth. But she had seen the tears trickling on to the stone. And she had known their meaning. She had seen the despair in those tears.

And what had she done? She had left him behind, she had taken flight, rising on the magical winds above the pyramid. She had seen him there, on the pinnacle. Her beautiful, strong father, raising his bloodied hand to wave them away. And above him, that murderous figure in crimson robes, that empty, merciless face.

Then she had turned in the night sky, and fled.

She pressed her eyes closed and tried to hold that final moment in her mind. When it became too much, a sob escaped her lips.

An arm curled around her shoulders and drew her close. She pushed away at first: she didn’t want to give in to it – she had to be strong. And she didn’t deserve comfort – where was her father’s comfort? But there was something about Filimaya’s presence that caught her off guard, that made her feel safe. It was almost as though, in some small way, Filimaya brought her father closer.

So she didn’t fight any more.

They stood for some time surrounded by the streams, neither of them speaking: Filimaya holding her, Naeo with her arms at her sides.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” said Filimaya, finally.

Naeo shook her head. “Thoth wouldn’t even care about my father if it wasn’t for me. I should be trying to find him.” She pulled away and looked up at Filimaya. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, not to anyone else. I mean, Espasian and I brought Sylas here so that we could change things, so that he and I might do something important. But the thing is –” her voice broke but she forced herself to finish – “the thing is, whenever I pictured a better world, a world after the Undoing – a world without Thoth – I always pictured seeing it with my dad. I think I did some of this – all of it, maybe – for him. To be with him – safe and free.”

Filimaya drew some strands of blonde hair from Naeo’s face. “I do understand,” she said. “We often say that we would move mountains for those we love. In your case, you have the chance to do exactly that: you have the chance to change the world.” She held out her hand to lead Naeo across the next stream. “Tell me, what do you know about Sylas and his mother?”

Naeo shrugged. “I know she’s in hospital – a place run by the Merisi. And I know that she has something to do with this world.”

“That’s all true,” said Filimaya, stepping on a stone in the middle of a stream. “But you are talking about Sylas’s mother. My question is, what do you know of her and Sylas?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do you know that Sylas thought her dead for many years, just as your father thought he had lost you?”

Naeo shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Did you know that she suffered the most appalling dreams and nightmares, so that people thought she was mad? That Sylas had to watch her suffering, and that finally he saw her drugged and taken away?”

Naeo winced and slowed her step. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Did you know that the last time I saw your anguish, the last time I saw that kind of devotion, was when Sylas told me about his mother? When he told me that the only thing that mattered to him was finding her?”

Naeo shifted uncomfortably. “No, I didn’t,” she said. “What are you trying to say?”

Filimaya turned and looked earnestly into her eyes. “I’m trying to say that his love for his mother is your love for your father, that his search is your search, that your lives are the same life.” She took both of Naeo’s hands in hers. “I’m saying, Naeo, that if you find Sylas’s mother, he will find her; and if Sylas—”

“… if Sylas finds my father, I’ll find him too,” said Naeo, shaking her head. “But how? I’ll be in the Other and my father will be here!”

Filimaya placed a hand on Naeo’s cheek and smiled sympathetically. “I don’t quite know, Naeo. These are the things the Glimmer Myth doesn’t tell us.” She paused, considering her words. “What I do know is that you are both one wonderful whole. Your lives are entwined, and if it is not safe for you to go to your father – as it is not – then Sylas may go in your place.”

Naeo looked deep into her eyes. She wanted to argue, to say that she owed it to her father whatever the risks, and that no one, not even Sylas, could take her place in this. But as she opened her mouth to speak the words failed her. Any way she tried to say it, it just sounded hollow and selfish.

Just then she saw a movement ahead. She peered beyond Filimaya and saw Ash’s lithe figure sprawled on the grassy bank on the far side of the waterways. He grinned at her and waved.

“Do you know,” he shouted, getting to his feet, “it’s taken you two longer to cross this dribble than it took Moses to part the seas!”

Filimaya laughed. “Well, we had the saving of worlds to talk about.” She set out over the last of the streams, drawing Naeo alongside her.

“Funny you should say that,” said Ash, rummaging uneasily in his crop of curls, “because I have something I want to talk to you about. Both of you.”

Filimaya narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

Ash beamed. “Really. I just wondered if you had decided who’s going to go with Naeo? Into the Other, I mean?”

“I don’t need anyone to come with me,” said Naeo sharply. “I’ll be fine alone.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you both,” said Filimaya, “because—”

“Uh-uh! I’m going. And that’s final!” cried Ash, wagging his finger in protest. “Naeo, where you’re going, you’ll need someone with … resources, someone who knows their way aroun—”

“But you don’t know your way around, Ash,” said Naeo. “You’ve never even been to the Other, have you?”

“Well, no,” said Ash, grinning and crossing his arms, “but where my kind of cunning is concerned, one world is quite the same as another. And anyway, Filimaya, haven’t I shown myself a worthy travelling companion? Didn’t I get Sylas safely across the Barrens? And I know him – and Naeo – better than anyone else here. Yes,” he said, with a finality that suggested the decision was his own, “if anyone’s going to go to the Other, it has to be me!”

Filimaya sighed and looked down at Naeo, who shook her head imploringly.

Ash leaned between them. “If you coop me up here, Filimaya, I’ll make an unbearable nuisance of myself. I’m already planning to set up a pub on the Windrush. ‘Two Sheets to the Wind’ I’ll call it. And that’s just—”

Filimaya raised her hands in surrender. “OK, OK, Ash,” she said. “I’ll talk to Paiscion. Not because of your bluster or because I owe it to you, but because,” she turned and looked at Naeo earnestly, “you really do need some help, and Ash has proven himself a very useful companion to Sylas.”

Naeo groaned, then glared at Ash. “Well, he’d better not get in my way! I’m used to being on my own!”

“Yes, we can all tell that,” said Ash out of the side of his mouth.

“Really?” she said, defiantly.

“Yes, really.”

Filimaya gazed out over the tranquil waterways and sighed. “What have I done?”

“So you see,” said Paiscion, leaning forward and gesturing out of the window, “your journeys are not separate. As you seek Bowe, you must know that Naeo will be in search of your mother – your efforts are her efforts – your travels are entwined.”

The Magruman stood, leaving Sylas staring over the forest to the dark horizon, trying to make sense of his emotions.

“But there is one thing that will set your journeys apart,” said Paiscion, returning to his seat.

“You mean, other than that we’ll be in different worlds?”

“Well, yes, there’s that,” said the Magruman with a shrug. “But there’s also this.” He held out the wooden box that Sylas had seen on the table. “Take it. It’s a gift.”

Sylas glanced up at the Magruman, then reached out and took it. “Thank you,” he said. “What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

Sylas turned the box between his fingers. It was made of driftwood so worn by its watery travels that all of its surfaces were perfectly smooth and its corners rounded, making it pleasant to the touch. The lid had been beautifully crafted so that at first Sylas could not see the join, but after a few attempts, he managed to position his thumb in the right place and prise it up. It came away with a slight hiss of air and revealed a cushion covered with rumpled green satin.

There, in the centre of the fabric, was a single white feather.

“Do you recognise it?” asked Paiscion, peering keenly through his thick glasses.

Sylas laughed in surprise and delight. “Is it … is it the feather from the Windrush? The one we made dance when you were teaching me Essenfayle?”

The Magruman smiled warmly. “It is,” he said. “But it’s not quite the same as it was. Go on, pick it up!”

Sylas reached into the box and took the feather between two fingers. As he lifted it, he saw a small glass pot of thick black fluid, sealed with a cork stopper. He took a closer look at the shaft of the feather and saw that it had been shortened and cut, so that it looked like the nib of a pen.

He raised his eyes to Paiscion. “You’ve made it into a quill!”

“You have a story to tell and you need the right tools to tell it!” said Paiscion. “I assume you still have the Samarok?”

Sylas nodded and then his eyes widened. “I should write in it?”

Paiscion looked astonished. “Of course you should write in it, Sylas, you are the last of the Bringers! It is you who must write the final chapter of their chronicles.”

“But what would I write?”

“What is to come. You have read the beginning, now you must write the end.” The Magruman frowned. “Oh my, that sounds rather like the inscription on your bracelet, doesn’t it? How strange … it must be on my mind.”

The smile faded from Sylas’s face and his eyes dropped to his wrist. In the short time since the Say-So he had almost forgotten about the inscription. In fact, the gathering had never even discussed it in their excitement about the song in the Samarok.

In blood it began, in blood it must end.

“What do you think it means?” asked Sylas. “‘In blood it must end?’”

Paiscion shook his head solemnly. “I can’t be sure, Sylas, but the song speaks of a war still to come. Wars are never waged without the loss of blood.”

Sylas frowned at the band, trying to see the inscription, only to find that it had vanished. “But why pick those lines in particular?” he asked. “I mean why are they so—”

He was interrupted by the sharp snap of a twig somewhere below the window.

Paiscion launched himself out of his seat and pulled Sylas back into the hideaway, then he whirled about and stood in front of the window. They heard another sharp crack, then a hiss like someone cursing under their breath, and finally a hand appeared on the bottom edge of the window. To the sound of another loud curse a mop of red hair rose into view, followed by a small, weather-worn face.

“Simsi!” cried Sylas, rushing past Paiscion to offer her his hand. “What are you doing?”

Simia glared up at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m here …” she paused to brush twigs and leaves from her hair, “I’m here to say don’t you dare hatch any plans to go without me!”

Sylas gaped at her for a moment and then he laughed out loud. He walked to the window and reached down to haul her up. “Simsi, you got me into this! Do you really think I’m going anywhere without dragging you with me?”

Simia’s pouting lips grew into a wide grin.