Flight To Exile Page 4

  Not once since arriving on Thali had he sensed anyone working with chi’ro, if only covertly. Descendants were difficult to perceive on this moon; even Aletha’s gifts were barely discernible. Either they had found the means to hide their talents or they were so afraid of them that the potential of using chi’ro to make their lives easier was left unexplored. Clearly, any reminders of once powerful adepts had been suppressed into superstition and fairy tale and their descendants hunted close to extinction. Galen wondered why this would be so, although he suspected fear and jealousy at the root of the Angry God legend.

  He was able to use the rare resource when he found it, careful to use it for nothing more spectacular than to improve locks and dry rain-soaked clothing. He was increasingly aware that he, not having been born on this chi’ro-starved moon, was incomplete without it. He felt weakened and hungry and often had to go in search of a riser, no matter how insubstantial. How the original settlers must have suffered as they tried to adjust to this new place! It was beyond him to understand why they would have chosen to settle here at all.

  * * *

  “When I was very small, Minh told me that I came here from Chenoweth,” Aletha told the twins. “I think she was trying to make me feel better for being so different. She called me her Gift From The Gods. She’d be surprised to hear that I really came from the planet!”

  They were on the porch of one of the many waterfront inns, sharing a leisurely midday meal. The twins were becoming used to the eating arrangements here, which at times included sharing the communal supper platter with complete strangers. More importantly, they were overcoming their squeamishness about some of the ingredients. Just now the otherwise well-prepared rice and vegetables had included not only pieces of broiled water fowl but also something with tentacles that appeared to be moving, a generous heap of bitter sea weed, and things looking suspiciously like eyeballs. Galen hoped they had been fish eggs of some sort; at least those he’d gotten used to by now. None of this seemed peculiar to Aletha, who ate with evident enjoyment. Chor had finished and now reclined in a hammock from where he gazed silently beyond the streams of water curtaining the frond-covered porch.

  Galen hitched a hip onto the porch railing. “Why did you leave her? Where is she now?”

  Aletha pointed seaward. “Back there, in the outer islands to the west. The ones on the other side of the Great Strait. You can’t see them from here. She is a Descendant but she prefers to hide. Among the people of the forest she can use her gifts and no one really thinks anything odd about it. She sent me to the mainland to learn things. There isn't much to do out there. Phrar is much more interesting.” She waited while a servant brought another jug of ale and moved out of earshot again. “Even having to sneak around the emissaries is worth the trouble when there are so many things to see here. I’ve even been inland a few times. There’s nothing east of the mountains but a few rivers. Other than that, just fields for farming. Rice paddies. Couple of towns. I got dizzy with all that open land around.”

  “You might have to get used to that. There’s a lot of farmland on the Homeworld.” He reached for the jug to refill their cups. “You need grains to make ale like this. But if all goes well we can find some jungle for you, I’m sure.” He swiveled to look into the direction of Chor’s gaze, his attention caught by something among the islands not far offshore.

  The tide was out and the islands rose to the height of ten men above the water on a column of rock pockmarked by small caves and outcroppings. Some people were busily lowering a complicated network of ropes over the side of the escarpment. A few of them began to rappel down, carrying with them baskets and sacks. “What are they doing?”

  “Hunting,” she said, squinting into the distance. “You have good eyes. When the tide goes out lots of sea creatures get stranded in the rocks. Shellfish, shrimp, eels, brae, things like that. Seagrass, sponges, and roe, too. They only have to haul it up in their baskets.”

  “Seems like a good way to make a living.”

  “Dangerous work. When the tide moves out everything goes with it. Even you couldn’t beat the currents.”

  He nodded. On his trip south to Phrar he had seen how rapidly the tide moved away from the continent, rushing away through the rising islands like water let out of a basin. Anything in its path was sucked along and, in narrower channels, the rushing flood turned into churning whitewater raging along sharp-edged rocks not yet eroded by currents or waves. Whirlpools were commonplace and the undertow deceptive. Without a doubt, anyone falling from their ropes at low tide would be lost to the ceaseless motion of Thali's oceans.

  He had also seen this same motion used for navigation. Small, flat-bottomed boats were floated into the outgoing tide, to be sucked through the maze of towering chasms and into the calmer strait beyond. These boats had steady keels and shallow rudders, and all sides were thickly padded against the inevitable collision with exposed rock. Their captains were skilled pilots of unwavering courage, hired by those who had more wealth than time on their hands. For the most part, the low tides were waited out and ocean traffic was scheduled for calmer waters, plied by caravans of wooden vessels.

  “Idea!” Aletha suddenly announced. She poked Galen’s knee for emphasis, startling him. “You said we had to travel toward the mountains in the north. Why don't we go by sea? It's much faster than riding along the coast.”

  Galen hesitated while his eyes returned to the jagged rocks and the people who challenged them. “It'll be safer by land, don't you think?”

  “The road north is steep in places and unless you want to hire a company of guards we’ll always have to look out for bandits. On the water you can see them coming. I grew up in boats. I can handle any sea.”

  “We don't have a boat.”

  “I have a friend who sells them. He'll give us a good price. Perhaps he'll even lend me one, as long as we leave it where he can get it back. He’s got a house up there.” She gestured east toward Topside, the section of Phrar rising above the sprawling downtown on a ridge of hills. Elevated above the floods and built of solid stone, the mansions housed the town’s elite of merchants and administrators. “He’s wealthy and doesn’t mind sharing with us wharf rats. We'll just need a small boat, anyway, because we’d go through the North Islands, rather than go the long way around in open water. It’ll be fun!”

  “I'm not convinced of that.”

  “Hey, Chor!” Aletha said to the dozing twin. “What do you think?”

  Chor turned his head. After a moment he gestured toward his brother. “What he said.”

  “Don't you two ever disagree?”

  Galen grinned. “No, we don't,” he said. “All right, we'll go your way.”

  “You’ll like it out there. We’ll travel through the islands and then sail up along the Great Strait, just out of sight from the open water. There’s always a lot of traffic along that way and it’s not likely that we’ll run into pirates. We’ll be able to leave just as soon as I’ve gotten a few things together. We’ll need to get provisions and a tent and—” She cocked her head and scrutinized the twins with narrowed eyes. “Hmm, this won’t do.”

  “What won’t?”

  She pointed at Chor. “Do you dress like that on the Homeworld?” He was reclining comfortably, long legs encased in well-worn leather and solid boots, a dagger lashed to his thigh. A lightly armored leather vest gaped to reveal a pullover shirt likely designed to display his torso to good advantage. She turned to examine Galen who was outfitted in similar fashion.

  The twins scrutinized each other. “No,” Galen said. “We got these things from some people in the mountains. Cold up there.”

  “Mercenaries, from the looks of it. Well, we’ll have to get you some proper traveling gear. Things that can stand getting a little wet.” Snatching up her broad rain hat, she was out of her chair and halfway to the street before he was able to express his opinion about being damp. “Come on, let’s get some gear together! We’ll go see my friend. He’ll look af
ter us.”

  “Aletha…” he called after her.

  She came back into the shelter of the veranda, curious about his thoughtful expression.

  “It might be wise if you didn’t tell people where we are going, or why.”

  “Oh,” she said, startled. “I hadn’t even thought of what to tell people. I’ll have to tell them something.”

  “Your friends know you live in fear of the emissaries. Tell them you’re going to hide away for a while, after what happened to you with the slaver. Perhaps you hired us as guards. I don't think it's a good idea to tell people about the trouble between the Homeworld and Chenoweth or your part in it. Chenoweth is their paradise. Don't take it away from them.”

  “You are very kind, Galen,” she said softly. He had placed his hand on the porch railing and she covered it with her own. “And you are right – we’ll tell them nothing. Maybe I will return some day when I understand it all better.”

  Galen returned her gaze, but then had to drop his eyes. He pulled his hand away, loathing his deception. He doubted that Aletha would ever be allowed to return to Thali. “Let’s go see your friend,” he said curtly.

  “Come, it isn’t far.” She hurried ahead into the soggy street. In deference to the twins’ peculiar aversion to being rained upon, she chose paths that offered awnings and covered sidewalks to keep pedestrians dry, their quality and availability increasing as they made their way uphill toward the wealthier part of town.

  “I want to stop here for something,” she said when they had reached about halfway along the incline toward Topside. “We can wait until the rain lets up a bit.”

  “As if that’s likely,” Galen scoffed. “What is this place?” He followed her through a rusted metal gate into a small courtyard. The house to which it belonged seemed long abandoned and Aletha passed it by to hurry across the weedy expanse of cracked flagstone and ancient rubble. There were signs of squatters: an old fire pit, a broken crock, a few discarded rags. The damp air smelled of decay and the blooms of some vine that had gone rampant in here to cover most of the crumbling stone wall that surrounded the yard. Aletha found a break in the wall and slipped out of sight.

  When Galen and Chor followed her the smell of earth closed around them as though they had stepped into a tomb and they felt an instant longing for the overcast sky they had left behind. With the encouragement of a vague source of light ahead of them, the twins managed to squeeze through the short tunnel that had swallowed Aletha. When they were able to stand upright again, they found that the tunnel had widened into a long cave extending into some smaller alcoves to the left and right. The floor and walls were smooth stone and, although the frequent comings and goings of people had worn paths into the dust, there was no hint of permanent occupation.

  From somewhere a faint draft kept the air moving and Galen hoped for a second exit – claustrophobia began to nag him when he thought how easily they could be trapped in this tunnel both by earthquakes and a posse of emissaries. In the dark recess of one of the alcoves a group of people was gathered in a circle, drawn together in murmured conversation. One of them looked up and waved, but neither he nor Aletha chose to exchange further pleasantries.

  “This is one of our sanctuaries,” Aletha explained. “For me and my fellow demons,” she added with a grin. “Don’t be using your magic in here or you’ll give us away. There’ll be questions you don’t want to answer.”

  Interested, Galen cast about himself, searching through the space, feeling its moods, tasting its ambient chi’ro, and softly touching the people at the far side of the chamber. At his cautious prodding, one of them shrugged his shoulders as if to loosen a knotted muscle. Another looked up and around the room as if a sound in the distance had drawn her attention. Galen was well trained in covert investigation and none of them felt themselves scanned and measured. No true adepts, he concluded. Minor talents, all of them; their gifts would be unremarkable on the Homeworld.

  “Galen? Chor?”

  Galen turned. “Huh?”

  Aletha was holding some dry rags out to him. “I said I’ll be just a moment. See if you can dry off a bit.” She gave another towel to Chor. “You know, you’d be less bothered by the rain if you cut your hair short. Most men here do.”

  Chor stared at her, the cloth raised halfway to his head. “Are you mad?” he said before catching her mischievous grin. Rolling his eyes, he turned away to shake out his hair. “I’d rather run naked through town square,” he mumbled.

  Aletha considered the prospect. “Well…”

  “What are we doing here, anyway?” Galen interrupted her musings.

  “Huh? Oh. We have a long journey ahead of us. I’ll feel better about leaving this place if I can take a little while to pray to the Goddess.”

  “Pray? Now?”

  She grinned. “It’s good insurance. All sailors stop at the harbor temple before heading out. It seems sensible to do the same, even if our patron is an unlawful one.”

  “What do you mean?” Curious, he followed her across the open central space to the far wall of the chamber. There were some cushions and mats strewn on the floor but he saw no type of altar or whatever else people here used for their worship. Aletha bent to pick up a long rod, which on its end had a small bucket and a long, thin rope. After filling the bucket with water from a nearby urn, she raised the pole over her head. Then, deftly handling the rod and rope, she tipped the bucket to let a trickle of water spill over the rock face before them.

  Galen and Chor gasped in unison and took a step backward, away from the wall. The water had darkened the stone to reveal thin lines etched onto its surface. The lines glinted faintly in the light of the torches, some running together to form a pattern, others revealing words. The main theme that emerged was a tall likeness, towering high above those who came to worship in this cave, of a woman sheathed in long flowing robes and a cascade of white hair.

  “Is something wrong?” Aletha asked.

  Galen continued to take in the inexplicable drawing, deaf to Aletha’s question. The woman on the wall was delicate and well formed with wide-set eyes in a narrow face. Her full lips were curved in a benevolent smile and her hand was raised in a blessing. He recognized the tilt of her head, the set of her shoulders, even the way she had of standing with one foot slightly askew. Although depicted in the rich robes of royalty she never wore, in all ways this was the La’il, ruler of the Home Planet, rising high over his head to mock him with flat silver eyes that seemed to follow his every move. Galen reached out to touch the glittering veins embedded in the rock, but stopped his hand before he made contact. “La’il” he whispered.

  “You know of her?”

  He ran a hand over his face and into his hair. “I do. What is she to you?”

  Aletha shrugged. “La'il is La'il. Her altars and shrines are everywhere here, hidden from the emissaries. She opposed the other gods when they exiled Thali. There were thunderous battles and because of her intervention the other gods finally left Thali before they succeeded in destroying all the mortal magic users. She became our goddess, the patron of the Descendants left behind here. In the end she went away, too, and now we pray to her to lead us to Chenoweth. We pray in secret, of course, because to openly appeal to the La’il would bring the emissary upon us.”

  Galen shook his head in disbelief, his lips stretched into a shape neither grin nor grimace. Was it possible that the La’il was over three hundred years old? Had she actually been a part of some terrible upheaval that resulted in the severing of the conduits? He looked up at the glistening wall, strangely amused by La'il's evolution into a goddess. He wondered if she would be pleased to hear about this and whether it would appeal to her already considerable vanity. When it occurred to him that she might be aware of her status on this moon his grim smile faded.

  “Do you worship the La'il, too?” Aletha wanted to know.

  “In a way.”

  “You’re not so different from us, then, Homeworlder.” She pointed
over her shoulder. “There are some stories about her written on that wall.” Galen watched her settle comfortably on the ground, her arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. She sank into a serene silence, her eyes on the deity.

  Rubbing his hair with the rags she had given him, Galen withdrew to put some distance between himself and the etching. When La’il had sent them on this journey to find and return Aletha, why had she not mentioned her part in Thali’s history? Obviously, she had been here and had enough impact on these people to be revered for something. Then again, thought Galen, she rarely explained herself to anyone, certainly not to her servants.

  Wandering about the chamber, taking care not to disturb the people gathered here, he came upon more drawings on the wall, visible without the offering of water. He peered closely at the murals, barely making out a mix of words and pictograms etched into the stone. They were of some mythical significance, something about the afterlife and the doorway to heaven. A crude drawing showed the solar system with the Homeworld and her two moons exaggerated in relation to the sun. Bemused and with some difficulty, he read that Chenoweth, the larger of the moons, was considered home of the gods to which all pious folk should aspire. He followed the writings along the wall, at times rubbing at the soot to discover their meanings.

  He came to a symbol that could only represent La’il. She stood with arms outstretched, powerful, rising above those who bowed to her. Galen’s gaze moved toward the far wall, where his leader’s likeness was beginning to fade back into the drying rock. “What are you doing here?” he pondered.

  * * *

  “Letha, my Aletha!”

  A slim, blond-haired man hurried across the vaulted entrance hall of the mansion, both arms stretched out in greeting. He embraced her and swung her off her feet to twirl her about. “Where have you been? I've been mad with fear for you. Yala came by but she would tell me absolutely nothing useful! We heard about Jora and Owl and I've been so worried—” he halted abruptly when he saw Galen and Chor in the doorway to his home. “Uh, hello.”