Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) (5 page)

Chasa reached behind his neck to tighten the thong holding his pale, shoulder-length hair back from his face. He wasn
’
t happy about having to deal with an unhappy Pirse. Sea monsters were easier to face. Safer.

The ship shuddered once as its keel touched sand. One sailor threw the anchor overboard while another put the coracle over the side. Chasa waved his thanks and clambered in; a few strokes of his paddle sent the light-weight shell skimming across the last few yards of water that separated him from the shoreline.

He grounded the flat-bottomed coracle far enough up the beach to enable him to step directly onto dry sand. Pirse
’
s horse nervously tossed its head.

“
You
’
re a long way from home,
”
Pirse called across to him.

Chasa drew his boat entirely out of the water before crossing the beach to the other prince.
“
Ivey told me you were killing dragons. I thought you might like some help.
”

Pirse smiled, managing to look charming despite the state of his clothes and the dirt smudged across his face.
“
You
’
d sail across three kingdoms on the word of a self-admitted storyteller?
”

“
The stories Ivey tells are true. Besides, it was only two countries. I met him in Rhenlan. Cross Cove.
”

Pirse grew instantly serious.
“
The Rhenlaners haven
’
t been fool enough to start trouble with your father, have they?
”

“
There is no official quarrel between Rhenlan and Sitrine,
”
Chasa said.
“
In fact, some of the Rhenlan Keepers sent out their fishing boats to help us snare a sea monster that ate two of our merchant ships last winter. That
’
s what brought me to Cross Cove.
”

“
One monster wasn
’
t enough for you, is that it?
”
Pirse asked.

“
I like to make myself useful.
”

Pirse beckoned him closer, then stood aside to give Chasa his first clear view of what was lashed behind the horse
’
s saddle. Not one, but two sets of dragon ears lay dull and leathery across the horse
’
s rump.
“
You wasted your voyage, my friend.
”

“
I hope not,
”
Chasa said.

Pirse looked at him sharply.

“
I wasn
’
t exactly planning on helping you,
”
Chasa continued.
“
I was planning on replacing you. You
’
re needed at home.
”

Pirse tensed.
“
What
’
s happened?
”

“
Hion
’
s set his greedy eyes on one of your mother
’
s southeastern forests. Word has it they might come to battle over it.
”

“
What? That
’
s madness!
”

“
I
’
m just telling you what I heard.
”
Chasa kept his voice steady, not that it would help. Pirse
’
s stormy reaction would get worse no matter how reasonable Chasa tried to be. With good cause, this time.

“
So now I
’
m expected to go back and negotiate to keep our lawful lands?
”

“
Your mother already sent a negotiator.
”

The Shapers of Dherrica had been mountain dwellers for more generations of Dreamers than anyone could remember. The cool heights, shrouded in mists or clouds for much of the year, bred the lightest complexioned people of all the Children of the Rock. Pirse
’
s naturally pale face drained to the color of the hot white sand beneath their feet and his fist slammed down on his saddle. The horse backed a step, but Pirse held it still.

“
She couldn
’
t, not Emlie!
”

“
Ivey thought you
’
d want to know.
”

“
I
’
ve got to get back!
”
Pirse eyed his horse, then the ship that bobbed placidly on the water, visibly trying to calm himself.
“
How long would it take you to get me to Bronle?
”

“
Against the wind? Twelve days if we
’
re lucky. Twenty if we run into a storm. You know how changeable the coastal currents are.
”

“
I
’
ll ride.
”
Pirse turned to his saddle and began unlashing bundles.

Chasa watched his friend worriedly.
“
You
’
ll need supplies.
”

“
I
’
ll take the relay trail, travel light. I can eat when I stop to change horses.
”
He lifted the dragon ears and dumped them unceremoniously in Chasa
’
s arms.
“
Do me a favor and look after these. Gods willing, I
’
ll meet you on the quay at Bronle and take them off your hands again.
”

Chasa awkwardly hefted the dragon ears to one shoulder. Pirse tightened the girth of the now nearly empty saddle, then flung himself up onto his mount
’
s back. Only his sword in its scabbard and a small bag of food added their negligible weight to the load the horse carried.

“
Be careful,
”
Chasa said.

Pirse stood briefly in his stirrups.
“
Corporal Chelam is in the forest, hunting. Tell him I
’
ll see him at home.
”

He leaned forward and the horse sprang away, galloping eastward along the stretch of hard sand between the foliage and the water
’
s edge. After a hundred yards horse and rider veered into an opening in the wall of trees and disappeared from view.

Chasa trudged back to the shore. He dumped the dragon ears into the bottom of the coracle, then returned to wait for the corporal.

It wasn
’
t much, but it was the least he could do to help the prince of Dherrica.

Aage drew in a lung-full of warm, humid air and gazed up the hill. No matter how often h
e came here, the sub
tropical forest of northern Dherrica always took some getting used to. He shrugged off his robe, which had been comfortable attire in the early morning chill in Sitrine, and folded it over his ar
m. Wearing only his light under
tunic and boots, he began to climb.

Near the top of the hill, an old man sat on a rock, holding the universe at bay. The wizard Morb didn
’
t look particularly old, but Aage knew he had been born in the generation of Dreamers before his own, hundreds of Shaper and Keeper years ago. The people in the nearest village probably thought of him as a middle-aged hermit, one of their own kind who chose to live up here above the roof of the jungle. They would never guess how he spent his days. If they did guess, they wouldn
’
t understand it.
Rock and Pool
, Aage thought,
I hardly understand it, and I can do it myself
.

Aage reached a ledge twenty feet below the wizard
’
s perch. The rock where Morb sat was a round-topped boulder jutting out from the side of the hill, its surface so smooth and hard that not even the tenacious sucker-vines had been able to find a root hold. The hill was the highest point on this side of the valley, part of a modest range that ran between the Great River and the true mountains to the west. Those peaks rose sheer from the waters of the sea and marched southward without pause, to vanish into the endless ice and snow at the bottom of the world. In Morb
’
s youth, a kingdom of fisher-folk had lived to the west of the mountains. Only the sea, and a few icy passes
,
had connected them with the rest of the world, but they had been self-sufficient people, served by a wizard and Greenmother of their own.

The plague had finished all that. Now, in all the world only two Greenmothers with their life-giving magic still survived. There were fewer Mothers of the other colors, too, but fewer were needed since death had claimed so many of the Children of the Rock.

Morb shifted his grip on the power, and Aage hurried up the path toward him. The older wizard remained seated, legs folded, hands palm upward in his lap, cradling a largish bowl of water, in the center of which rested a round stone. Morb
’
s open eyes were fixed on his miniature rock and pool, his expression placid. All this registered on Aage
’
s outward senses, but his inner sense, his Dreamer
’
s sense, his sense of the power of the gods which filled the world and interlaced itself through most of its creatures, detected more. Morb was putting aside his task of holding the universe at bay.

As Aage came level with Morb
’
s boulder, the wizard
’
s cave came into view. From the outside it was merely a black, semi-circular opening in the side of the hill framed with orchids, its precise outline blurred by trailing leaves and creepers. Inside were the bare necessities of physical life; a bed, a fire pit, and a little rivulet of water that emerged from the back recesses of the cave, formed a pool in a stony basin conveniently near to Morb
’
s hearth, then vanished down a crack between wall and floor.

The lines of power that focused on the seated Dreamer shifted yet again, causing Aage to flinch. Morb
’
s gift sometimes awed him with its intensity. The Keepers in the nearby village would laugh at the thought of anyone being awed by Morb. They had no idea that a great slayer of monsters, dedicated to the protection of the Children of the Rock, lived a half-day
’
s walk from their doors. Keepers and Shapers judged by the evidence of their senses. They believed in the ship-eating monsters of the sea, the dragons of the north, the phantom cats of the plains, the once-deadly fire bears of the highlands, and the wind demons that swept out of the eastern desert.

The monsters Morb fought did not share the same world with the Children of the Rock. Only benders of power
—
the Dreamers and, presumably, the gods who had begun it all
—
could sense the threat from Outside. Not monsters who devoured children or blew down entire villages or ravaged herds. Gray-haired, bandy-legged, round-faced Morb fought off the sort of monsters that could rip the world to pieces.

Just an old man
, Aage thought, his throat dry.
Sitting on a rock, holding the universe at bay. Who, when he needs a nineday or two of rest, calls on me to take his place
.

The sensation of imminent threat receded somewhat as Morb completed his disengagement. The wizard lifted his eyes and smiled at Aage.
“
There you are.
”
He plucked his stone out of the bowl and drank off most of the water. Then he got to his feet. His crooked legs and short torso made him a good head shorter than Aage, but he jumped agilely enough from the top of the boulder to the path.
“
Well, what news of the world?
”

“
Gavea died.
”
Aage unslung his pack from his shoulder and set it on the ground beside the boulder. He pulled out his handsomely carved cherrywood bowl and dug in an inner pocket for his favorite stone.

“
I felt her go. She was so very old. Saw four generations of Dreamers,
”
Morb said.
“
Five generations, if we count the youngsters growing up in your king
’
s country.
”

Aage found his stone, a water-smoothed ovoid liberally speckled with reds and oranges.
“
We can
’
t count either of them. We
’
ll see no hint of their gifts for years yet.
”

“
Four generations then. It
’
s still a long time. Gavea deserves her rest.
”