The Lord of the Plains (39 page)

Messenger was enjoying this tray.

In front of them was a raised stage made out
of that familiar dark wood. Streamers hung from the frame of the
stage. On the stage elaborately painted and costumed Vachi acted
out… something. Messenger didn’t enjoy the plays much. They were
always silent. They made him nostalgic for the Children’s Theatre
of Astar. There, he could understand what was going on. But the
singing, he loved the singing.

In the background someone was playing a
heavy drum. The deep, sonorous beats only seemed to make the time
go slower.

The Speaker, still dressed predominantly in
sky blue, though he had of course changed his clothes and
jewellery, smiled over at Mr Briggs.

Mr Briggs nodded politely back, his lips
pressed into a thin smile.

The night went on for hours.

Mr Briggs frustration finally eased as he
accepted the fact they were going to be there a long time. The
trays of food blurred into one another and Messenger felt himself
becoming full. He was beginning to get tired, though he hid it
well.

Finally it was done. Messenger was too tired
to be relieved when he noticed Mr Briggs following his lead. The
goodbyes and goodnights felt like they took a very long time before
finally they were back in their rooms.

Chapter 30

The next day they were given a tour of
Cavachi. Mr Briggs was not impressed. Messenger was not surprised
but he had hoped…

But he could also understand. Cavachi and
Astar were as different as night and day. For an Astarian, the
elegance and jewels and unnecessary accoutrements of life displayed
so proudly in Cavachi were mind-blowing. Messenger thought they
added something, something Astar would be better for having.

Something even he had trouble understanding
and Mr Briggs had no patience with was the Vachi’s curious beliefs
about their dead. Their knowledge of history fascinated Messenger.
In Astar it wasn’t thought important, but the Vachi knew all kinds
of things about their past. But their habit of recording family
trees and leaving offerings for their dead… he couldn’t get his
head around it. Mr Briggs thought an awful lot of what the Vachi
did was an obscene waste of resources and time. His mood had
darkened as the tour continued.

At the moment Messenger thought he might be
about to have a heart attack. They were standing on a wooden
walkway that wound its way through a dark forest of carvings. The
carvings rose from the floor, which they could only make out by the
light of the torches below, to hundreds of meters in height. The
height did not bother Messenger. He had been in this place
before.

What bothered him was that these poles were
the history of the families. Each Master of the House added another
segment to the top of his family’s pole. The bottom segments were
the oldest; the ancestors supported all that came after.

Somewhere ahead in the darkness the Speaker
was talking, as he had been since they entered this place. Recha
was translating. It was the history of the Speaker’s family.
Messenger thought it must sound very strange to Mr Briggs, hearing
the Speakers rich but incomprehensible voice bouncing around in the
darkness and then Recha’s quieter voice underneath.

This was one of the most sacred places of
the Vachi and it was a great honour to be here. If Mr Briggs made
any
comment, if he gave one of those poles a sour look, it
was all over.

It was very dark. The walkways spun across
the vastness from side to side. Stairs were carved in the round
walls of the chamber, which was lit only near the poles.

Far below, Messenger, could see the
beginnings of the poles in those vivid and frightening animal
carvings. And up and up throughout the blackness, the carvings
appeared and disappeared into shadow. That was all that was
visible.

When it was over and they were back outside
the huge doors, which were flanked by not so ceremonial guards, the
Speaker looked over at Messenger and Mr Briggs with a smile.

Messenger thought he probably looked like
he’d been visited by the ancestors while in the vault and was still
recovering from the terror. Messenger couldn’t bring himself to
look at Mr Briggs face.

After that it was onto a ground worm. Mr
Briggs actually looked interested as they waited in a section of
the tunnel separated from where the rest of the populace waited.
They heard the ground worm before they saw it. A roar of wind.
Loud, fast mechanical clicking. They saw the nose of the worm
appear and then it was past. Messenger discreetly held onto Mr
Briggs as the white body roared past, then slowed and finally
stopped.

A door slid open and they entered.

Comfortable padded seats sat along the
curved walls of the worm. There were no windows as there was
nothing to see outside but rock. In their section there was an
attendant, though there wouldn’t be one in the other sections. The
travellers in the other sections would make do with a map on the
wall.

The doors slid closed.

A soft humming started up. That was the only
sign the worm had begun moving. Mr Briggs looked around, his quick
eyes noting everything.

‘Do these things go all through the city?’
He asked Messenger.

‘Yes, sir. There are stations throughout the
city.’

‘Do they take long?’

‘It depends where you’re going, but they’re
much faster than walking.’

‘Do they transport goods on these
worms?’

‘I believe so, though not on the same ones
people travel on.’

‘And if the mountain is attacked? Will these
tunnels collapse?’

‘The Vachi believe they’re quite safe.’

‘Hmm… and what does it take to run one of
these things?’

And so on for the rest of the trip, though
it lasted only about five minutes.

‘We’re getting off here, sir.’ Messenger
interrupted quickly as lights flashed along the sides of the
worm.

They exited onto a platform much like the
one they had entered from.

When they exited the station they found
themselves in a huge cavern. They were near the top, looking down
onto the buildings and roads and people below.

A railing ran along the edge of the path. Mr
Briggs leant on this as he looked down at the glittering city
below.

‘What’s down there?’ he asked.

‘That’s the lower city, sir, most of the
residents of Cavachi live down there.’

‘Lower city?’

‘Uh….’ Messenger swallowed. This would be
difficult to explain. It was still strange for him.

The Speaker for the Master of the House of
Corchanus was not an ordinary Vachi, he was an important man. So
was Mr Briggs. But whereas the Speaker dressed in the finest
clothes and lived in an underground palace with private baths as
big as some of the public baths, Mr Briggs lived pretty much like
anyone else in Astar.

Recha, a translator for an important man,
lived in a small, though lovely home with his young wife. It was
only one cave, one small cave, separated into three sections by
screens that Recha’s wife had decorated herself.

Mr Briggs was a member of the Council of
Astar, he was one of the most powerful men in Astar, but his home
would not have been much different to Messengers’. It was perhaps
slightly larger, and closer to the centre of Astar, but the
furnishings, decoration, all would have been the same. It was
perhaps the same size as Recha’s home.

Recha’s dress was completely different to
the Speaker’s. You needed merely to look at him to know his place
in society. In Astar, no one wore jewellery and everyone wore
clothes of a similar quality and style. With the gemengs being a
constant threat wasting resources on jewels was unthinkable.

‘Um, most people live in much smaller houses
than the Speaker.’

‘Why?’ Mr Briggs eyes were on the city
below, mapping out the roads, eyeing the buildings to determine
their durability.

‘The Speaker is very important.’

Mr Briggs frowned at Messenger. It was
something that would take time to understand. Messenger hadn’t
really grasped the difference between the classes until he’d spent
time in the lower city. He still didn’t really understand the
reason,
however.

Mr Briggs turned to the Speaker, who had
been watching.

He began speaking, and Recha translated.

‘The Speaker for the Master of the House of
Corchanus apologizes for the view, you need not worry yourself, we
will not be going down there. If you will follow me, we will take
this path to our lunching area.’

Mr Briggs turned to follow. They began to
walk up the path that wound along the wall of the cavern. High
above the glittering city below, it was like walking into the
night, above the stars.

Messenger smiled.

‘Who is that man?’ Mr Briggs suddenly
demanded. Messenger turned. Mr Briggs was pointing at a pile of
rags hovering near the station. Thin, bony arms extended from the
rags. Then Messenger noticed a beard, and two little eyes peering
out.

The Speaker made a sound of disgust and
Recha translated. ‘A beggar, a parasite in our glorious city,
please, avert your eyes. The guards will deal with him.’

Mr Briggs turned to Messenger. ‘A beggar.’
His grey eyes flashed.

‘Y-yes, sir.’

‘They leave their fellow humans out in the
streets in this condition.’

‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

Mr Briggs stiffened, his mouth twisted. He
said nothing. He could say nothing that would not be dangerously
offensive with their hosts listening.

Messenger cringed. He hadn’t put this in the
report. He’d hoped they wouldn’t see any. He hadn’t for such a long
time. Not that he’d been looking.

Astar didn’t have beggars.

‘I understand your disgust,’ Recha was
translating again. ‘He will be removed at once. Come, let us move
on from this place.’ One of the Speaker’s attendants had already
scurried off, probably to fetch the guards.

Mr Briggs turned and silently followed,
Messenger falling in behind.

They followed the path up to a dark opening
in the wall. Inside there was darkness for a brief moment before
the path turned a corner and opened up onto the ‘park’.

A waterfall on the opposite side of the
cavern led down into a wide river that crossed the cave. Three
bridges spanned the river. It was on the banks of this river that
the Speaker’s servants set up their rugs, pillows and food. The
park was made up of spires of stone and crystal. Precious metals
and stones gleamed from the uncut rock. And yet it was not all
stone and rock. Giant mushrooms that gave off a faint glow grew in
abundance. Cave mould of varying colours clung to the walls.

It was a strange and magical place.

They sat and ate. Messenger enjoyed the
quiet, the sound of water on stone, the soft sound of laughter and
the rustle of robes.

The silence didn’t last long. Recha was
translating for the Speaker again.

‘Now we have some peace. Let us hear your
family story.’

The Speaker was settled back onto his
cushion as if he would be there for a long time. His own story had
taken near three hours to tell in the Vaults of the Ancestors. It
had, Messenger knew, been a condensed version. A proper telling
would involve music and actors and would go on for days.

‘My mother and father were in the military.’
Mr Briggs said, his voice toneless. Messenger suspected he was
wondering why anyone would waste time talking about such a
thing.

Messenger glanced over at Recha before he
translated; ‘His father was in the military.’

‘Can he not share his story?’ Recha asked
softly.

Messenger squeezed his hands together
tightly. It was more like he didn’t know it. Messenger nodded,
finally.

To the Speaker Recha said in Ravki, ‘he is
not a Teller for the House of Briggs, he may not share more than
this, for it would dishonour his ancestors.’

The Speaker nodded knowingly.

As far as Messenger knew, many men within a
family could be Tellers. All that meant was that they had been
properly trained in the story of their House so they could tell it
to people. Messenger had had some trouble unravelling the
difference between the Master of the House and the Speaker. He’d
thought the Master would have some important role, and he did, but
not in a way Astarians would consider important. The Speaker,
usually also a Teller, spoke on the behalf of the Master regarding
everyday matters. The Master did not often leave the House and
dealt with more important matters, such as honouring the ancestors.
For all intents and purposes, that Astarians would understand
anyway, the Speaker was in the charge of the House. The Vachi
considered the Master’s role far more important; he was the moral
and spiritual guide of the House.