Of Truth And Beasts Part 24

Sau'ilahk lowered and thrust his incorporeal hands through the road. He sank his arms nearly to his shoulders, feeling in the earth for any drop of animate life.

Be it a worm, a burrowing beetle, or a gra.s.s grub, when he touched something, that small spark of life vanished into him. They were no more than that drop of water in a dune. But he persisted, sweeping his arms slowly through earth. He worked his way into the field at the road's side, blades of tall gra.s.s pa.s.sing through him. And once he touched something else.

A sting of cold rushed through Sau'ilahk.

He jerked his hands out of the earth, still aching and burning from whatever his fingers had pa.s.sed through. What was buried down there that caused him this discomfort? Even if he sank his cowl into the ground, he would not see it, and he had too little energy to solidify a hand with which to dig. But it had felt like . . .

That cold burning that had torn at him from within whenever his hand had pa.s.sed through Chane Andraso.

This made no sense, and he returned to foraging carefully for more tiny lives. He reached deep this time, and worked his way farther into the field. He swept his way along through the gra.s.s, its blades not even bending in his pa.s.sage, until . . .

Sau'ilahk's shoulder swept through a dome of flowers, and his shriek became a wind that tore the gra.s.s around him. In retreat, he nearly pa.s.sed through another cl.u.s.ter of blooms before he lurched the other way. He burned inside, the sensation like shudders and dizziness, though he had no flesh.

He stared down at white velvet petals, shaped like leaves, as they began to darken, turning dull yellow at first. They withered to an ashen tan and died, crumpling to the earth and blowing away to catch in blades of gra.s.s.

Sau'ilahk slowly turned as he scanned the plain in all directions. What was this place with such hidden blights that could hurt him?

It was somehow familiar. Not as if he had been here, but perhaps something he had heard of once. As eternal as he was, his mind was no more immune to forgetfulness than that of any living being. Over a thousand years, no one continued to remember everything that they once had. Memories faded, particularly ones that seldom came to use.

Still starving, Sau'ilahk slipped carefully back to the road, avoiding any domes of flowers. There was no time left to ponder them, or what he had felt under the earth. Dawn was near, and with what little life he had gained, he still had to find the caravan. Once he had fed properly, he would have little trouble remembering this place to reawaken here after the next dusk.

He would lure and enslave a more natural servant-something that could move within the Lhoin'na lands. If he could not find the one life of Wynn from afar, the one unlife of Chane Andraso might more easily bring the sage back under his scrutiny.

Sau'ilahk fled up the dirt road like roiling streams of black vapors in the dark.

CHAPTER 12.

Wynn opened her eyes at the sound of a nearby whine, and then she flinched to see a bark-covered wall a hand's length from her nose. She lurched upright and away, nearly falling off the bed shelf she lay on. She spun about, wrestling out of the blanket.

For an instant, she thought she'd awakened in an an'Cran tree home. Shade sat fidgeting on her haunches as she whined, but Wynn was still lost for a moment.

The bed wasn't a raw sheot'a cloth mattress stuffed with straw and wild gra.s.s. It was fitted with heavy linen. She was in a room at the guild branch of the Lhoin'na. As she swung her legs over the bed ledge, her head filled with a rush of memories.

She saw the guild keep's rear grove, the forests on the way to Dhredze Seatt, and the wild woods they'd encountered on their present journey. More and more wild places popped up in Wynn's own perspective, showing Shade scurrying off into the brush.

"Yes, yes," she said. "Just . . . give me a moment."

Poor Shade needed to go out quite badly. But the next rush of memories showed a variety of meals.

First was the guild hall, then her room, complete with all the smells that didn't fit well together. A late breakfast of dried salt fish at the temple of Feather-Tongue mixed with a greasy sausage bought in a dwarven market.

-outside . . . food . . . outside, outside- Wynn grabbed her head. "Shade, stop it. I'm coming, already."

A large umber-glazed washbasin sat beside the room's teardrop-shaped door. She'd set it there last night for Shade, filling it from its matching water pitcher. The basin was completely empty.

"Did you drink that whole bowl?"

Shade spun off her b.u.t.t, and scurried to the door.

-outside, outside, outside- With a groan, Wynn hauled herself up. A heavy gray curtain covered the room's small window, though a little light filtered around its edge. She wasn't certain of the time of day. At the room's far side, Chane lay stretched out on another bed ledge, completely covered, a blanket pulled up over his head.

Barefoot in only her shift, Wynn hastily wrapped herself in her robe and tiptoed to the other inner door. She cracked it open and found Ore-Locks snoring away in the adjoining room. He'd stretched out on the floor, likely unable to get his bulk onto a bed ledge. He'd been living on Chane's schedule since their caravan trip began and would likely sleep half the day.

Wynn quietly shut the door, and Shade's whine shifted to a discontented rumble.

"Hold on," she whispered as she reached for her clothes draped over the travel trunk.

She'd been too exhausted last night to do anything but crawl into bed, but now she took clearer notice of the room. Stacks of books, loose paper, and leather satchels were scattered about haphazardly. Mujahid wasn't particularly orderly for a sage. Two unlit, half-burned candles sat on the small table, along with a crucible and a mortar and pestle.

Wynn picked up one book. Its flaked, gilded t.i.tle, written in exaggerated elven script, read The Wells of the Elements, by Premin Glhasle crj Jhiarajua Avcshu. She vaguely recognized the name.

Premin "Gray Light" or "Dusk Light" had been one of a few metaologers to become a high premin-and the only such among the Lhoin'na. About three hundred years ago, he'd been criticized and suspected by his peers for his manic interest in the arcane. He'd died in bed at only seventy-two, after eating a plate of mushrooms. It was recorded that he'd gathered them himself, so theories of foul play were dismissed.

Wynn lifted a finely crafted parchment from the desk and scanned its Elvish writing. It was a conservative treatise on the hazards of thaumaturgical practices involving elemental Spirit. What, exactly, was Mujahid researching here?

Suddenly, Shade growled, bit down on Wynn's robe, and jerked, making her stumble back. Wynn dropped the book and page on the table. Shade's urgency also left her feeling a bit too nosy. Whatever Mujahid's reasons, he'd been generous with his rooms, and she shouldn't take advantage.

She pulled on her formal, full-length robe and retrieved the sealed message entrusted to her. Then she paused to scavenge a sc.r.a.p of paper and a small charcoal stick. She scrawled a quick noted in Belaskian for Chane, telling him she'd try to be back at dusk.

"All right, come on," she said softly.

Wynn barely opened the outer door when Shade squirmed through and bolted out in a ruckus of scrabbling claws. Wynn rolled her eyes and followed, not bothering to call after the dog.

The narrow pa.s.sage didn't exactly resemble a hallway-more like a strange, bark-covered, organic tunnel. Taller than it was wide, it burrowed through the place in a gradual curve ahead. Tall, teardrop-shaped doors, no two ever alike, were s.p.a.ced sporadically along both sides. Wynn finished the arcing downward slope, reached the flowing stairs, and followed them downward.

When she reached the chamber where she'd met Mujahid, Shade already stood wriggling before the door to the courtyard. The instant Wynn opened it, Shade shot out, and Wynn followed more slowly.

The day was cold and clear outside, though the walls of the redwood citadel cast the courtyard in dusk as she waited on Shade. Hopefully, Shade wouldn't desecrate some labor-intensive shrubbery.

Wynn craned her head back, looking straight up. By the light of the circle of sky above, she guessed it was early afternoon. Perhaps lunch was still being served. If so, and if she could find the meal hall, she might find a.s.sistance with directions, as well.

Shade came back at a leisurely trot, looking much relieved, and Wynn opened the door.

Upon stepping back in, Wynn heard voices echoing from the next inner chamber. She shooed Shade ahead and followed the sound into a pa.s.sage much wider than the one outside the guest quarters. She'd lost track of how far around the redwood ring they might have gone when she stepped into a cavernous chamber of flowing bark walls.

Light filled the busy place from crystal-paned windows that went up and up along the inner wall. Though the tree ring had to be quite broad, it wasn't as deep as the hall of Wynn's guild branch. Instead of spreading out, it spiraled upward.

A central, bark-covered pillar as big as a single redwood rose out of the shale-tiled floor into the heights. Anch.o.r.ed between it and the chamber's walls were at least five partial levels that she could see. Stairs of bare wood sprouted from the walls, leading from one level to the next. Sages and even others in plain elven clothing sat at tables on each level and chatted away in their lyrical tongue.

And, as usual, too many eyes looked Wynn's way, or, rather, at Shade.

Apparently, the sight of a majay-h was almost as bizarre among the Lhoin'na as in Calm Seatt. More so, since such creatures were known to be real to these people-and this one kept company with a human. Many present stared openly, but not even the closest queried Wynn as Shade pressed against her leg.

Remnants of lunch were still spread on tables as young elven initiates busily cleared plates and bowls. Wynn tried to see where the food was being served from, but she noted two things instead.

First, while nearly all the occupants were elves, a small group of Suman sages-including Mujahid-were gathered around one table. He bowed his head politely to her, and Wynn nodded back. His cowl was down, and Wynn was a little surprised at his curly black hair hanging almost to his shoulders. Gha.s.san il'Snke, whom she still counted as a friend, kept his quite short, like the few other Suman males she'd met.

She couldn't help noticing he was the only metaologer in his group. The others were robed in cerulean and teal, the orders of Sentiology and Conamology.

Second, there wasn't a single white-robed sage in the place, though she hadn't expected such. If Chuillyon belonged to some legitimate but unknown order, it had to be a small one, and that was a big if.

Ignoring quizzical glances amid sudden silences, Wynn hoped everyone would just go back to their conversations. Between her and the Suman contingent, one elderly male elf in a gray robe sat sipping a cup of broth. He had a serene countenance, and he wasn't staring at her or Shade.

"Pardon," Wynn said in Elvish, approaching him. "I have a message from the Calm Seatt branch for your high premin. Could you direct me?"

He glanced at Shade before looking up at her.

"Our high premin is on a mission of mercy," he said. "She is a.s.sisting other healers in combating the fever at a human settlement."

He said "the fever" as if she knew what he meant, though she didn't.

"Premin Gyr of Metaology can take your message for now," he continued. "He is handling basic affairs in her absence."

Wynn hesitated. A high premin off grounds was unexpected; leaving the head of Metaology in charge was unprecedented. In a high premin's absence, the premin of Cathology usually stood in, if the two weren't one and the same. After that, the premin of Sentiology was typically next in line.

All Wynn wanted was to get rid of the message, and perhaps if she didn't treat it as urgent, it might be held unopened until the high premin returned. This might gain her a bit of time and willing a.s.sistance, if needed, should this message have a similar effect to the one she'd delivered in Chathburh.

"Where can I find Premin Gyr?" she asked.

"I am heading that way myself," someone said. "I will take you."

Wynn turned at the thick accent, and Mujahid stood up among his companions. Sitting so close, he couldn't have missed her conversation. Something about his eager manner put her on guard again.

The elderly elven cathologer nodded, as if relieved of a burden, and Wynn couldn't refuse Mujahid's offer. He gathered up his short pile of books and gestured toward the hall's back and its courtyard door. Lips pursed, Wynn had started to follow Mujahid when a loud growl halted her.

Shade hadn't budged. She eyed Wynn and then a nearby table where people were still eating. Shade shook her large head wildly and sniffed the air with great drama.

"We'll eat soon enough. Now come," Wynn urged. "First things first."

Then she noticed the room had gone too quiet.

Even Mujahid stared at the human casually talking to a majay-h, as if it were normal.

About to speak again, Wynn swallowed hard and cringed under all that scrutiny. She whispered through her teeth, "Come on."

Shade curled a jowl and slunk toward the door that Mujahid still held open. All three of them ventured outside into the courtyard's cool air, where there were far fewer eyes.

"Most premins and domins keep offices in the west side," Mujahid said matter-of-factly. "Metaologers prefer the south."

"I'd guess by your order that you know Domin il'Snke," she said. "Have you studied with him?"

"Certainly," he answered. "All of my guild branch knows the domin."

That was puzzling. Metaologers were a reclusive lot and mixed sparingly with all of a guild branch.

"He helped me during his stay in Calm Seatt," Wynn added. "When you see him again, please give him my best."

Mujahid returned a deep nod. "Most certainly," he said, a phrase he used too frequently.

Wynn fell silent as they walked an outer path. The courtyard was even lovelier in its dusky daylight. She wondered how all of this growth thrived here, considering that direct light would enter only when the sun was at its highest point of the day.

Glistening ivy climbed the guild's bark walls. A few birds flew from tree to tree, peeping and rustling among the leaves. The entire courtyard was filled with life, and she couldn't count the varieties of flowers she saw. A large squirrel bolted across the path, into the shrubberies on the far side.

Shade's ears stood on end.

"No," Wynn said quickly, though Shade hadn't taken pursuit.

As Mujahid neared another door, Wynn again tilted her head back, staring upward. High overhead, the structure's upper reaches were not even. Marked with remaining branches and foliage, the ancient redwoods' tops had melded together in five places that rose well above the rest of the structure.

Wynn lowered her head to find Mujahid holding the door. As she stepped in, she genuinely wished he would stop being so helpful.

"The premin's office is higher up, at midpoint," he said.

This entry chamber was smaller than the one where she'd first met him. He led her through a rear archway into a vast, open chamber. Elves favored light, s.p.a.ce, and organic order, but none of those things existed here.

Dimly lit, the place was filled with a confusing array of colored gla.s.s tubes; mortars and pestles; small, shielded burners and tin plates; and bowls of all sizes on tables variously made from stone that was resistant to dangerous substances. Rather than benches, she saw light stools, much easier to move from place to place. Aging books and a mult.i.tude of wood, ceramic, and metal containers lined floor-to-ceiling shelves along the walls. Only one person occupied the chamber.

Dressed in midnight blue, he stood hunched over a book on a table at the far side. He raised his head, half turned it, and looked toward them. Mujahid stopped abruptly, forcing Wynn to do the same, and she thought she heard him swallow quickly.

"Forgive the intrusion, Premin," he said in fluent Elvish. "I thought to find you in your office above."

The dark-robed elf straightened, and Wynn squinted into the dim light.

Premin Gyr was nearly seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular build-or at least for one of his people. His hair was more brown than gold.

"Journeyor Mujahid, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes, Premin. Again, forgive the intrusion."

"Do not concern yourself," Gyr a.s.sured, waving them in.

Mujahid took a step back. "You have a messenger from Calm Seatt. I was merely showing a newcomer the way."

He bowed respectfully to the premin, adding a quicker nod to Wynn, and turned immediately to leave.

"We'll be out of your rooms by dinner," she called after him.

If Mujahid heard, he didn't answer as he stepped out. To her shame, Wynn found herself wishing that he'd stayed.

Premin Gyr didn't come to meet her. He stood silently by the table, taking in the sight of Shade and then Wynn's gray robes. Finally, he looked her directly in the eyes, waiting.