The Dragonstone (49 page)

*   *   *

In the nave, priestesses of Ilsitt gathered together ’round the circle set in the floor to sing sunrise matins, their sweet songs drifting throughout the corridors and chambers of the convent and across the red basin as well, as the women sang praises to Ilsitt, to Elwydd, to Shailene, to Megami, to the Lady, whatever her name. And they pled for good harvest, for contentment, for peace.

*   *   *

And out on the scarlet flat, Aiko slow-stepped Burel through a deadly dance of the sword.

*   *   *

It was nearly midmorn when they gathered together to break their fast. “Abbess Mayam is in the far field, but she said she would join you at the noon meal,” said Jasmine as she served tea and spooned a small portion of oatmeal into bowls to stave off their hunger till then.

Side by side, Egil and Arin eagerly dug into their porridge, as if they relished the day. Alos, though, seemed yet weary,
and he stirred the contents of his bowl as if too exhausted to eat, though he drank his tea well enough. Delon took seat next to Ferret, the bard smiling somewhat shyly, which she returned in like kind. Burel and Aiko, their hair plastered down with sweat, commandeered one end of the table, the two yet in deep discussion about the particular ways of fending as well as means of getting through, their tea and oatmeal ignored. Finally, Aiko looked across at him and said, “Eat up, and when we are done, I will show you just what I mean.” Burel, eager to learn, spooned in great mouthfuls of the boiled meal, for the sooner finished, the sooner he and Aiko could resume. But Aiko ate slowly and carefully, as if the rite of taking in food was as important as aught else.

Looking at her porridge in dismay, Ferret said, “Well, Dara, if Burel, here, turns out to be the cursed keeper of faith in the maze, then it’s time to go after the treasure.”

Burel, his full spoon halfway to his mouth, paused and looked at her. “Treasure?”

“The green stone.”

“Ah.”

“It should be worth a fortune, you know. —To the right buyer, that is.”

Arin said, “Ferai, I think it no treasure, but a thing we must give over to the Mages—in Black Mountain or in the college at Rwn.”

Without replying, Ferret returned to her oatmeal, but Burel said, “What is it again that the rede named it?”

Arin sighed. “The Jaded Soul.”

Delon began tapping the table with his spoon, and as he did so he chanted:

Burel nodded, then leaned back. “And what do you think the rede means when it calls the green stone a ‘Jaded Soul’?”

Arin shrugged, but Alos said, “Huah, Burel, I would have thought you’d know.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I mean, given that you’re here in the temple and all, you should know about souls.”

Burel smiled and shrugged.

Aiko said, “If some of the priests of Ryodo are to be believed, perhaps it is a soul in waiting. They hold that the souls of the departed are reborn right here in this world.”

Ferret looked at the Ryodoan. “Reborn?”

“Not that I deem it to be true,” said Aiko.

“Say on,” urged Burel.

Aiko sighed. “They believe every living thing has a soul, be it a lowly worm or a butterfly or a fish, an eagle, or person, or—”

“What about plants?” asked Ferret.

Aiko shook her head. “I think not.”

Egil glanced at Arin. “Not even the eldwood trees?”

Aiko shrugged. “I cannot say. It is not my credo and so I have not studied it closely.”

Burel leaned forward in his chair. “Go on, Lady Aiko. I would hear what you
do
have to say. What happens to these souls?”

Aiko graced him with one of her rare smiles. “A given soul, let us say, your soul—with each death and rebirth—will progress into higher and higher forms, until it reaches personhood. Then, no matter how mean your status, if you live an honorable life, you will come back in a higher state. But if you live in dishonor, your status will be lower upon rebirth. Why, given enough dishonor you may even come back as a worm…or worse.”

“Oh, my,” sissed Delon. “I’d better watch out.”

But Burel looked at Aiko intently. “What if a person, what if
I
live in great honor upon each rebirth and never fall back?”

“Then you will ultimately be raised to Paradise. I am told it is the last elevation, that the cycle is complete.
They say this is the true purpose in life: to learn, to grow, to evolve throughout the cycle of many lifetimes to ultimately attain Paradise.”

“And many believe this?”

She nodded. “In Ryodo, yes. As for me, I do not believe in souls and an afterlife.”

They ate in silence for a while, and then Delon said, “Tell me, Aiko, if dead is dead and there is nothing after, then what does it matter what we do in this life. Why not just grab all we can get no matter what it does to others? I mean, if nothing comes after we die—no rewards, no punishments, no rebirths into higher or lower states—then why not simply do as we will?”

Ferret looked at Delon. “You mean…?”

“I mean rape, steal, rob, take what we want. It doesn’t matter in the long run.”

Ferret looked away, as if unable to meet his gaze, but Aiko said, “There is no honor in what you suggest.”

“I realize that,” replied Delon, “but so what? I mean, why not be dishonorable? Seize whatever we covet? Do as we will? If dead is dead, then in the long run it won’t matter.”

“Aye, in the long run it may not,” said Aiko. “But in the short run it does. Honorable people may at times fear the acts of the dishonorable. Dishonorable people not only fear the acts of their own kind, but they also fear just retribution. If we all lived in dishonor, then we would all live in fear. But if all would live in honor and respect one another then all could live together in comfort, free from fear.”

Delon raised a finger. “Isn’t that true for the most part? I mean, we all live fairly free from fear and in reasonable comfort under the justice of the king.”

“Ha!” barked Ferret. “I have no love for the king’s justice.”

Delon looked at her.

“I was innocent,” she declared.

“Mistakes are made, luv. What I meant to say is that for the most part is it not so that people live free from fear and in comfort under the rule of kings?”

Arin set down her cup and said, “No, Delon, it is not
so: remember Gudrun: was her justice free from fear? Did all live in reasonable comfort? If so, what of the thralls? Recall, she sanctions slavery, as do many monarchs. Indeed, I am afraid that much injustice exists in the world, kings or no. Yet that does not excuse acts of wanton selfishness. Aiko is right: we could all live in comfort and free from fear if all peoples would respect the rights of individuals, not only in the short run but in the long run as well.”

“The long run?”

“Indeed, Delon. Recall, I am a Dylvana—an Elf—and age has no hold o’er me and my kind. Barring death by accident, war, disease, poison, malice, or ill fortune, eternity lies before us. And so, no matter how many seasons pass, we will always be at the beginning of our lives. Hence, looking at things in the long run is our natural bent.”

“Oh, my,” exclaimed Burel.

All eyes turned to him.

He shrugged. “It’s just that I was thinking, if what Aiko told us of souls and rebirth is true, and if Elves live forever—barring accidents, or death from disease, or poison, or combat and such—then death and rebirth is beyond your grasp. How will you ever reach Paradise?”

Arin smiled. “Indeed, Burel, if it is true what the Ryodoan priests claim, then Elvenkind will simply have to evolve into higher states without the benefit of death.”

Egil took Arin by the hand and kissed her fingers. “The evolution has already begun, love.”

“Indeed it has, but how did you know?”

“It was you, love, who spoke of one who began lifting Elvenkind out of madness simply by saying, ‘Let it begin with me.’”

Now Arin raised his hand to her lips and returned the kiss.

Delon sighed and looked at Aiko. “Perhaps these countrymen of yours are right, Aiko; perhaps how we live our current life will affect in what form we are reborn. If so, then I’ve a lot to do ere I go to my grave. —Oh, not that I’ve done anything truly bad, but neither have I done anything truly good.”

Delon looked across at Ferret and smiled, but she did not meet his gaze.

*   *   *

After breakfast, while Burel and Aiko returned to their swordplay, Jasmine took the rest on a tour of the sheer-walled basin, where most of the land which wasn’t rock was given over to fields and gardens—over to the growing of crops—the soil irrigated by sweet well water and enriched by worked-in dung.

“So this is why you wanted our camel droppings,” said Alos. “Manure for your soil.”

“Oh, did they tell you that?” asked Jasmine. “Regardless, it is true, though most of the dung we provide ourselves.”

“My, my,” said Delon. “Food grown in priestess droppings. Skat of the gods, I would say.”

Ferret shot him a look of disgust, but smiled behind her hand.

“What do you do for meat?” asked Egil.

“We rarely have it,” said Jasmine. “Over there is a pen containing fowl, mostly for their eggs, but occasionally for their meat. Wheels of cheese are more to our taste, brought in by the adherents from outside.”

“I don’t think I could live this way,” hissed Delon to Ferret as they followed Jasmine toward the living quarters carved in the walls of stone. “I mean, I need a good roast joint now and again—a haunch of venison or beef—and a jack of rich foaming ale. And sweetmeats, oh, my, yes, sweetmeats especially. And gravies, we can’t leave out the gravies. Breads, oh, yes. And…”

With Delon waxing rhapsodic about delectable foods, they walked through sparse chambers and brief corridors carved in the red rock.

“I wonder if the Drimma made this?” said Arin, as Jasmine led her and her companions sidling past cooks and helpers through a kitchen of red stone as they prepared the noon board, the largest meal of the day.

Jasmine cocked her head to one side. “Drimma?”

“Dwarves,” replied the Dara.

“I think not,” said Egil. “It seems sized to fit humans, not Dwarves.”

“Perhaps they fashioned it to order,” said Alos. “Hired by someone long past.”

Jasmine shrugged and led them onward through chambers carved by unknown hands in the scarlet stone.

*   *   *

“Who set the charm upon the way?”

Mayam looked at Arin, puzzlement in her eyes. “Charm?”

Arin nodded. “At the Island in the Sky the start of the pathway leading here is hidden by a charm. Too, the path itself seems enspelled; with my I could dimly make it out.”

Mayam laid down her knife and spoon. “I did not know.”

Egil glanced up from his food. “If you did not know, then how is it that the Order of Ilsitt found the temple in the first place?”

The abbess turned up her hands. “Again, I do not know. Some say those fleeing were guided by the Lady Herself.” Mayam tapped forefingers to thumbs, as did Burel.

“Then how does anyone else find this place?” asked Ferret. “Those who bring you supplies, for instance.”

Mayam glanced at Burel, then said, “They follow the secret signs.”

Now Arin looked at the abbess in puzzlement. “Secret signs?”

“Yes. Marking the way here.”

“We did not see them,” said Arin.

“It seems we have both learned something today,” replied Mayam.

They ate in silence for long moments. But then Aiko, freshly bathed after her sword drill, said, “It is well and good to speak of these things, but we came here to find a cursed keeper of faith in a maze. If Burel is indeed such, then I would hear why you believe it to be true.”

Mayam turned to Burel. The big man, also freshly bathed, swabbed a chunk of bread ’round his trencher and popped it into his mouth. He chewed a moment and then swallowed. As an acolyte replenished his cup of tea, he said, “This is the tale my mother told:

“My father was a knight in the service of the High
King. As always, the realm was beset by trouble and my father had much to do. Yet in the summer season of IE9216, some thirty-seven years past, it seemed those troubles increased tenfold. Many were sent out to discover why, my father among them. Alone and in secret he went to the Isle of Kistan, his skin stained with oil of walnut—”

“What about his eyes?” asked Egil.

“His eyes?”

“Were they blue like yours? Ice-blue?”

Burel turned to Mayam. She nodded and said, “As I recall, they were indeed blue.”

“Then didn’t it look somewhat suspicious that someone claiming to be a Kistanian had eyes of blue?”

Delon shook his head. “No, Egil. The Rovers often take captives, women among them, whom they rape and who bear their children. Among these half-breeds, there are many Kistanians with light skin or blue eyes or both.”

“Half-breed,” murmured Arin. “That seems an ugly term.”

“Indeed,” said Burel, glowering at Delon. “I am, as you say, a half-breed myself: my dam, Eruth, was Sarainese; my sire, Sir Ulry, a Gelender.”

“I meant no offense,” said Delon. “I merely wished to explain that your father would easily pass as a Kistanian, regardless of his eye color.”

Ferret said, “That may be true, Delon, yet in Pendwyr the Rovers in the cells next to mine were all dark eyed.”

Mayam rapped the table. “It is of no moment to Burel’s tale.” She turned to the big man. “Please go on.”

“Some two years after reaching Kistan, by happenstance my father became a crewman on a powerful Wizard’s ship. The ship came to Aban, where the Mage hurried ashore to confer with the high priest of the Fists of Rakka.

“While they were in conference, my father discovered in the Wizard’s quarters a chest containing scrolls. Ordinarily this chest was locked, but on this day it had been left unlatched, overlooked by the Mage in his haste. From those scrolls my sire could read he discovered why the Rovers were raiding more frequently: it was to finance a
campaign of terror that was to come. Among these scrolls, however, there was one which told of the secreting away of a powerful talisman—a jadelike green stone hidden in a chest of silver. But before my father could read more than a line or two, the Mage returned and my father just barely escaped detection. Even so, he had learned enough to tell the High King what was afoot, and that eve, bearing only his sword and helm and breastplate, he slipped over the side and fled.