Heights of the Depths (16 page)

She throws back her head and laughs, and Clarinda let out a loud and terrified scream.

Clarinda sat up violently awake and realized that all eyes were upon her. The Ocular were sitting up in various states of confusion. Other Ocular who had been sleeping under the platform (since there had been insufficient room for everyone within the house) were shouting, demanding to know what was happening since the sun had not yet set and so they were effectively blind.

“It’s nothing!” Clarinda called out, her voice carrying. Her breath was still ragged in her chest. She felt disoriented and not a little frightened. “Everything is fine!”

“How in the name of the gods is everything fine?” said Turkin challengingly, his single great orb affixed upon her.

“It was just a dream. A bad dream.”

Berola took both of Clarinda’s hands in one of hers, and they seemed to disappear into the Ocular’s grasp. “Are you sure it was just a dream?”

No. I’m not sure at all. In fact, I’m almost positive it was anything but.

“Yes,” said Clarinda firmly. “That’s all it was. And dreams can’t hurt you.”

upper reaches of suislan

The lodge was alive with
 laughter and music and celebration. The only member of the Serabim who was not feeling especially merry was Pavan. Unfortunately, he was the one for whom the festivities were being held.

Serabim musicians were sitting in the rafters of the vast wooden structure which hugged one of the lower peaks in the Upper Reaches. One of them was steadily banging away on a drum, while two more on either side were blowing into curved rams horns of varying sizes. The result was more cacophony than symphony, and the general belief was that Serabim music was capable of sending even Mandraques running. But the Serabim liked it, and of course that was all that mattered.

The dancing that ensued through the lodge mostly consisted of the Serabim thudding against each other chest to chest. Every so often one of them would shout, “Pavan!” and the rest would bellow, “Pavan!” in response. Pavan would wave to them, and be handed another flask of yond to drink. He would obediently toss back the yond, and it would dribble around his mouth and down his fur because he wasn’t really much of a yond drinker. But it didn’t make any difference because the Serabim would cheer just as loudly as ever.

Eventually Pavan drifted away from the main body of the partying and found himself staring out one of the large windows which opened out onto the magnificent view of the Upper Reaches. It was dark out and he could see the wind blowing drifts of snow off the mountain tops. Thanks to their thick coats of fur, the Serabim were generally immune from the ravages of the Upper Reaches even when the winds and chill were at their most devastating.

A hand rested gently upon his shoulder. He did not even have to look up to know who it was. “Shouldn’t you be at the party before your father notices your absence?” he said.

Demali dropped down next to him and pressed her body against him. Her soft, golden fur smelled the way it always did, and Pavan found it as intoxicating as it ever was. “My father,” she said, and yond wafted from her breath, “my father knows nothing about nothing.”

“Your father is our chief and I don’t think he’d appreciate your describing him that way.”

She grinned widely, displaying her teeth. She was extremely proud of them, particularly their healthy yellow sheen. “I think I will describe him in any way I wish. He doesn’t much like Akasha, you know.”

“Nobody likes Akasha,” said Pavan, but he was starting to get rather uncomfortable. “He is an independent thinker. Like you,” he added teasingly.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, come now, Demali. Do you think I don’t know about your wanting to be a rider?”

She shushed him hurriedly, looking around as if concerned that her father was eavesdropping. “A meaningless fantasy. I have never shown any aptitude for being able to control a Zeffer.”

“When have you even tried?”

“Only the biggest and strongest of us can control them. You know that.”

“So maybe you could control a smaller Zeffer.”

“Stop speaking of such things. It’s a waste of time. To be daughter of the chief is sufficient responsibility for one lifetime. I’ll leave more important concerns to you and to Akasha. He is the Keeper, after all. He knows what he means to our people. My father doesn’t like that he can’t control Akasha. That is why,” and she encircled her arm around his, “he is very much looking forward to the day when you become Keeper.”

“That’s very kind of you to…wait, what?”

Instead of replying with anything that he was expecting, Demali pressed her face forward against his and nuzzled the base of his neck. Pavan’s concerns over what she had said quickly vanished in a wave of warmth from the touch of her lips and the delightful sensation of her teeth nipping at him. In the past, his relationship with Demali had always been more of mutual teasing than anything. Now, though, there was nothing teasing in what she was doing. Instead she was moving her hands with very clear intent, far more deliberately than anything she had ever done in the past.

Pavan pushed her away, as surprised at his own actions as she clearly was. “What’s the matter? Aren’t I doing it right?” she said.

“That’s not the problem. The problem is—”

“And what goes on here?”

Pavan nearly jumped high into the air as a result of the very loud and unexpected interruption. The boisterous voice, and Pavan’s reaction to it, was sufficient to generate loud and raucous laughter from the onlooking Serabim.

The chieftain of the Serabim was standing over him, and he gripped Pavan firmly by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. He took his official title of “Sera” from the first part of their race’s name, and his surname was affixed to it. Thus was he Seramali, and he was laughing loudly as a disoriented Pavan was brought to standing next to him. Seramali was nearly a head shorter than Pavan, and yet he seemed much larger somehow, his boisterousness capable of filling the largest of rooms. “Just how well,” he said with mock sternness, “are you getting to know my daughter?” Then he gestured for the others to howl their amusement, which the Serabim obediently did.

“We were just talking,” said Pavan defensively.

“It seemed to these old eyes that you were just talking and she was interested in far more.”

“Father!” said Demali in horror, although it might well have been faking her being appalled. Pavan was not well schooled in the ways of females and found it hard to be sure.

Pavan wanted to confront Seramali right there, right in front of everyone. He wanted to shout in his face,
What are you up to? To what end are you manipulating your daughter? Would you try to use my interest in her to seize control of the Zeffers?

On the other hand, what if he were imagining it? How would that come across to the rest of the Serabim, showing such disrespect for, and anger with, their leader?

Besides, it was impossible for Seramali to take over the Zeffers from the Keeper in any event. That was just the way it was, and always would be. Having influence over the Keeper didn’t even necessarily translate to having influence over the Zeffers. The Riders had the Zeffers, but the Zeffers had the Keepers, and such was the way in which balance was maintained.

Seramali was laughing loudly at his daughter’s expression of mortification. The other Serabim were joining in. There were not that many Serabim in this particular tribe, less than a hundred. There had been enough cold, mountainous regions for the Serabim to spread out, and the different tribes preferred it that way. The white furred males disliked the prospect of mixing with the brown furred males, and the browns with the blacks, and so on. Akasha tended to rant about it at length, claiming that it was a dangerous position for the Serabim to take because it left them vulnerable. Seramali and the other Serabim routinely laughed off such concerns. Pavan likewise didn’t think they had much foundation, but out of respect to his mentor, he tended to keep his doubts on that score to himself.

“I believe I have embarrassed my daughter enough,” said Seramali. He stretched out a clawed hand and automatically someone thrust a mug of yond into it. “Today we celebrate the nineteenth cycle around the sun of Pavan, our great Keeper in waiting. Akasha speaks very highly of you, Pavan.”

“Well,” and Pavan gave a half smile, “he tries to keep it to himself.”

This prompted yet more spirited laughter from the collected Serabim. One had had so much yond that he toppled off the upper railing he was sitting on and hit the floor hard. His mug of yond spattered everywhere.

“In two more cycles,” Seramali went on when the laughter subsided, “Pavan will be ready to undertake the responsibilities of the Keeper. On Pavan will rest the needs of the Zeffers, and personally I do not think their needs could be in better hands.”

“With all respect, Seramali, they are already in firm and capable hands, and I am not ready to—”

“Do not,” Seramali ordered him, “attempt any false modesty, Pavan. You are a valued part of the great circle.”

“Oh, here he goes again,” muttered Demali, except her voice carried more than she expected and so everyone heard. She clapped her hands over her mouth in mortification even as her stray comment prompted laughter from everyone within the lodge.

Fortunately her father was laughing loudest of all. “My daughter knows me all too well. She knows that I will say that you, Pavan, are part of the vast circle in which all life exists. Those residing in the heights will be brought down to the depths, and those dwelling in the depths will be raised on high. That is simply the way of things, and you should not try to dismiss or diminish your place in that vast cycle.”

“I was not attempting to do either one. I was just—”

Seramali cut him off with a swift gesture. “You’re about to defend Akasha again, aren’t you.”

“I do not think for a moment the Keeper requires defending. I just—”

The main door to the lodge banged open and a dark figure entered in a burst of swirling snow. “I believe I heard the name ‘Keeper’ mentioned just now. I would meet this Keeper. I suggest you tell me where he is and give him no more thought.”

All eyes turned to the speaker, who had a deep, gravelly voice that was not remotely akin to the more sonorous tones common to the Serabim.

It was a Mandraque.

Pavan had no idea how in gods’ name a Mandraque had managed to gain access to the Lodge. Mandraques’ hides were typically durable, and yet this Mandraque was wrapped in furs from head to toe. It made sense; Mandraques were warm-blooded and didn’t do especially well in cold weather, which made the presence of one in the Lodge remarkable.

Even more remarkable was that he was wielding a sword. Vastly outnumbered, he looked as if he was actually intending to pose some manner of threat. The main door to the Lodge was hanging half open, the stiff wind trying to push it open further. With a snap of his broad tail he slammed the door shut.

Seramali stepped forward, moving protectively so that he was between Demali and the intruder. He carried no weapon because this was a time of celebration and therefore no combat had been anticipated. Not that Serabim necessarily needed weapons, although they were known to carry them if the situation warranted it. Still, they were massively built, incredibly strong, with thick layers of fur that protected them from attacks ranging from harsh gusts to fearsome blows, not to mention fingers and toes that ended in curved black claws. Serabim were living arsenals of combat. So much so, in fact, that between their physical prowess and their choice of habitat, they were never in positions where they had to battle foes or defend themselves.

For the most part, Pavan was sure that this was not going to be one of those times. Still, mental warning bells chimed within his head. Mandraques did nothing in half measures, and if a Mandraque had shown up in the Lodge acting as if he had nothing to fear from the inhabitants, then the chances were that he really did have nothing to fear. That fact alone should have been sufficient to cause concern for all the Serabim in the Lodge.

Unfortunately Pavan seemed to be the only one who was worried about it.

Several of the Serabim were swaggering toward the Mandraque, who never lowered his sword or acted in any way as if he were in the slightest amount of trouble. Seramali approached as well, although he remained toward the outer edge of the advancing circle.

“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing here?” said Seramali, raising his voice so that the whole of the Lodge could hear him. Some of the Serabim were not in the main lobby but instead had retired to other rooms further away to engage in individualized entertainment. Seramali’s voice would doubtless carry and alert them to return because a potential threat had presented itself and all Serabim should be around to deal with it.

The Mandraque bowed slightly. It was obvious from his smirk that he was doing so out of a sense of irony rather than any genuine respect for those whom he was facing. “I am Thulsa Odomo. Leader of the Odomo Clan, foremost of the Five Clans.”

“I do not know that there is such a thing as a foremost clan when it comes to Mandraques,” Seramali said drily. “To those on the outside, all you Mandraques are identical in your belligerence and bellicosity. What matter to us which clan you belong to? All that matters is that you do not belong here. However,” and he returned the bow in as ironic a manner as Thulsa had initiated it, “you are a guest in our Lodge, however uninvited you may be. As long as you abide by the rules of hospitality, no harm shall come to you.”

“No harm?”

“Shall come to you, yes.”

Pavan would have expected Thulsa Odomo to be pleased upon learning that. A guarantee of safety from the head of their Serabim tribe? What could be more desirable?

Instead the Mandraque tossed back his head and bellowed laughter. This drew angry glares from the Serabim, who were unaccustomed to company of any sort, much less company that displayed such open disdain for their chieftain.

“What,” said Seramali with a dangerous edge to his voice, “do you believe to be so amusing? Especially considering the gratitude with which you should be—”

Before Seramali could complete the sentence, Thulsa Odomo’s free hand move with such speed that it was little more than a blur. One moment it was right there, easily visible, and the next it was extracting a blade from behind his back and then the blade was whistling through the air. Thrown with incredible accuracy, it sped across the Lodge and embedded itself deep in Seramali’s leg. Seramali went down, howling, grabbing at the still quivering blade.

A collective roar of fury went up from the Serabim. They started to converge on Thulsa, who swept his blade around in a vicious arc, keeping them at bay. He had positioned himself so that his back was against the wall, ensuring that none of them could come up behind him. On the other hand, there was no means of retreat available. And there was only so long that he was going to be able to stave off a concerted attack by the enraged Serabim.

Demali was crouched over her father, her hand fluttering above the embedded knife, shouting for a healer. Seramali was clutching the leg, shoving Demali away, seemingly more concerned about his daughter seeing him in a wounded state than the actual injury. “You Mandraque bastard!” he shouted. “You’ll die by inches for this!”