The Plains of Kallanash (11 page)

“Well, of course, but why wouldn’t she? She must want to learn, surely. She wants me to be happy, doesn’t she?”

Hurst could hardly deny the truth of it. And even as he wondered why she was required to make Jonnor happy, while he apparently felt no obligation to make her happy in return, the thought bubbled up in him
–
I
will make her happy! I’ll treat her as she should be treated, cherish her, love her… maybe then she will see me clearly. Maybe she will even learn to love me.

He kept his head lowered so that Jonnor wouldn’t see the exultation in his face.

“So you’ll talk to her then?” Jonnor said, rising. “Good. Shall we go down to the training grounds?”

“Rondanar rode like the wind, the grasses bending under the hooves of his tireless stallion. As the fiery sun slipped behind the Sky Mountains, the klava finally came into view. He circled once, twice, and the third time the skin flap of the klava lifted and there she was, his magnificent Dranninia, her mane of hair flowing free in the breeze. He leapt from his steed and swept her into his arms.

“
‘Oh, Rondanar!’ she cried, a tear escaping one eye. ‘How I feared for you!’

“
‘Did I not tell you I would always return to you, my beloved? The Sun God has smiled on my endeavours. The great dragon is no more, the keelarim sent crawling back to their dens, so that our people may live in peace once more.’

“
She folded into his embrace and he bent his head to hers, hungrily pressing his lips against the soft warmth of her mouth. Then they turned and, as one, moved into the klava. He reached ardently for the fastening on her gown and…”

Mia sighed, and folded the book away with a snap. She knew what followed this touching encounter, and she had no desire to read it again. The impossibly perfect union of heroes in the story bore no comparison with her own unpleasant experience.

Besides, it was hard to concentrate with a Slave sitting just across the table. She’d never seen a Slave reading in the library before. Sometimes they would pass through, books under their arms, on temple business, but not actually reading. It was strange, but this year there were more Slaves about than ever before.

She fastened the book and rehung it, then moved to another section of the library to find something more to her taste. To her annoyance, the Slave got up and shadowed her. Every time Mia turned a corner, there she was.

Mia stopped and turned round, so that the Slave almost ran into her. “Are you following me, Most Humble?” Mia said sweetly.

The Slave looked at the floor. “No, no, Most High,” she croaked. “Not at all. I… I just happened to be going this way.”

“Then I beg your pardon for delaying you. The work of the Nine is of the utmost importance. Do please go ahead of me.”

The Slave bowed, eyes downcast, and scuttled past.

Mia was just about to set off in the opposite direction when a blond head appeared from behind a wall of books.

“Are the Slaves bothering you?”

“Gantor! I didn’t see you there. They’re not bothering me, exactly, but…” She lowered her voice. “They do seem to be underfoot a lot. They make me nervous, for some reason. I don’t know why there are so many of them here.”

“Hmm. The Slaves always make me nervous, like I’m a boy again, caught out in some misdemeanour.”

She frowned. “It’s more than that. Sometimes I feel it before I even see them. I know there’s a Slave nearby because I suddenly feel anxious. Afraid, almost. That’s odd, isn’t it? And a few days ago, I was walking towards the room of one of my sisters, to ask about her daughter who was sick. I started crying, without warning. One moment I was fine, and the next I was just – terribly upset. When I went in, the room was full of women, all crying – the child had died.”

“Some people are just very sensitive to the emotions of others,” Gantor said. “I daresay you’re better at picking up subtle clues than most of us.”

“Maybe, but it only happens to me at the Ring, never at the Karninghold and never before in the library. That’s why it’s so disturbing to keep bumping into Slaves.”

“They’re following all of us just now, I think,” Gantor said. “Keeping an eye on how we’re coping after Tella’s death. Do you want a safe place to hide from them? Why don’t you come and meet my grandfather?”

She smiled, pleased with the distraction. “Is he here, in the library?”

“Yes. He’s a scholar, retired now, but he spends most of his days here, reading, researching, perfecting his theories. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Gantor led her by a circuitous route to a deserted corner of the library. She was still jumpy about the Slaves, but although she checked many times, none seemed to be following her. They stopped in front of a nondescript wall of books.

“The back stairs,” Gantor said with a grin, pulling open a section of wall. Beyond was a gloomy spiral staircase lit by narrow windows, filthy with age and neglect. “Up you go. It’s quite safe.”

“I had no idea this existed.”

“Ah, a librarians’ secret. In the days when there were still librarians here all the time, this is how they used to come and go between floors. There are several stairs like this.”

They went up two levels. Their steps echoed off the stone walls, but many footprints on the dusty stairs suggested they were well used. Another hidden door released them into a corridor. They walked a short distance, then Gantor threw open a heavy wooden door labelled ‘Catastrophe Theory’, and Mia walked through.

The room they entered was large, perhaps the size of the middle hall at the Karning, and lined from floor to ceiling with books. Down the centre were rows of tables, most of them empty. One at the far end was not, however. Surrounded by piles of books, many of them open, a white-haired old man scratched with intensity at a paper, occasionally looking at one or other book before returning to furious scribbling. Several discarded goblets sat amongst the heaps, together with platters of half-eaten fruit and bowls of bread. As they walked across the room, Gantor’s boots clumping on the wooden floor, the old man looked up, startled, and then his face creased into a broad grin.

“Gantor! How lovely!” He pushed himself to his feet. “And this must be Most High Mia di l’Amontis, unless I’m mistaken. I am Danzor. Welcome to my place of work.” He sketched a bow.

“Most Learned,” she said politely, waving him back to his seat, for it seemed that the slightest effort would tip him over. “But why do you work in here?”

“Because my speciality is the Catastrophe, and this is where I conduct my research.”

“I thought the Catastrophe was well understood,” Mia said. “Is there much still to learn?”

Gantor snorted and Danzor’s eyebrows rose. Then he smiled again. “Tell me, Most High, what have you been told about the Catastrophe?”

“That it was a time when the Gods devastated the world because people were so evil and corrupt. So the Slaves said. Although…” She frowned. “The scholars who taught me as a child said it was an unfortunate series of natural disasters, but perhaps the Gods had caused it, who can tell?”

Gantor laughed. “Very diplomatic. Danzor has a different theory. He thinks the world was reshaped by magic.” He lifted an eyebrow sardonically.

“Now, now,” Danzor said, his bushy eyebrows snapping together. “Just because
you
don’t believe in magic… What about you, Most High Mia? Do you believe in magic?”

She shook her head, smiling at his earnestness.

“And why is that?”

“There is no evidence of it, Most Learned. If I cannot see it, or at least see the effects of it, how can I know it exists?”

“You cannot see the Nine,” he replied, “but you believe in them, don’t you?”

“Well, of course!”

“And the Life Beyond Death, which none of us still amongst the living have ever seen? You believe in that.”

“I do, because the knowledge of it has come to us by the Word of the Gods, spoken directly to Those who Serve the Gods. What other proof is needed? Whereas magic
– show me magic in action, and I will believe, Most Learned.”

“A good answer, Most High. But would you
– would any of us – even recognise magic if we saw it? Magic is not necessarily fire and storm, some kinds of magic are quiet and secretive.”

She smiled at his earnestness. Some kinds of magic! So not only was he claiming that magic existed, but it came in more than one form. She had nothing to say to such credulousness.

“Ah, I see that amuses you,” he went on, his eyes twinkling. “Nevertheless, it is so. We have many records of such magic. Connections, they are called. Every one of us has a connection of some sort, but with most it is no more than an aptness, shall we say. A man may have a special way with horses, or with the growing of grains, or with forging metal implements.”

“That is just skill, surely, not magic.”

“Perhaps we choose to account for it that way. But some have a much stronger connection. It is rarely seen here on the plains, but elsewhere there are many with connections. We are not so isolated here that we know nothing of the world beyond, Most High.”

“But why would the plains be different?”

“An excellent question! One which our best scholars cannot answer, but this was the epicentre of the Catastrophe, so perhaps it is the result of the changes then. The plains are different in many ways. The rocks are fused a little way beneath the surface, so we have swamps everywhere and it is impossible to dig more than a few feet down. Perhaps the magic was affected, too. But it is something to think on, is it not? Any one of us may have an aptitude for magic, a connection, deep inside us and not recognise it. Even you, Most High.”

He beamed at her, and she wondered whether he was teasing her.

While Danzor went back to his work, and Gantor tidied away plates and goblets, and went to fetch fresh supplies, Mia wandered around the room. She randomly removed books to examine, but most were too difficult for her to understand. Some had pictures, though; images of how the world might have been before the Catastrophe, with many smaller landmasses scattered about the oceans and many moons in the sky. It was bewildering.

“You don’t like these books, Most High?” Danzor asked, as she replaced another volume on its hook with a sigh.

“I find them… difficult. But at least there are plenty of them here. Most Learned…” She lowered her voice, although there was no one else in the room. “I should like to know where all the books have gone.”

“Ah.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “What makes you ask such a question?”

“Because I was up on the fourth floor recently, and there are hardly any books left up there and I know there used to be lots. I remember them.”

“It is an interesting question.” He leaned forward, elbows on table, fingertips touching. Then he too lowered his voice. “It is one to which I too would like an answer.”

Mia’s eyes widened.

“Let me tell you about my great grandfather,” he said in his normal voice, leaning back in his chair. “My great grandfather, Hekkamor illa Gruntild - they had proper names in those days, good solid names you could roll round your mouth - anyway, he was born in the year forty
-six of the Word of the Gods. There were no sky ships then and travel was difficult, so people rarely came to the Ring – Kashinor, as it was. But he made the journey, to attend the great university that was here then.”

She pulled over a chair and sat down opposite him. “University?”

“Hmm. Like a scholars’ hall, only – more so. He stayed here for five years and he kept a journal – a record, if you like – of his time here, so that all his kin and his heirs, in time, would know what he had seen and done. One of the things he described in great detail was this very building. Seven floors, all filled with books on every subject under the sun and moon, and probably a few more besides. In the basement were machines for making more books. The scholars didn’t tell you any of this, I imagine?”

She shook her head.

“And this was not the only library in Kashinor,” he went on. “The university had its own, all the different crafts and professions had their own; the builders, the lawyers, the weavers, the glass makers and all the rest of them. Everybody read books in those days. And they made new ones. When did you last see a newly made book, eh? Never, I daresay. I’ve seen a few. The research scholars produce a few every year, but here? I doubt the library has seen any new books for a generation or more. Yet in my great grandfather’s day, books were everywhere.”

“But why? And where have they all gone? Even if there are no new books, where are the old ones?”

“Some of the oldest crumble to dust, no doubt. Or people take them away and never bring them back. Personally…” He lowered his voice again. “I suspect the Slaves. They come here, and they leave with a book or two, and do they ever arrive with books under their arm? Not that I’ve noticed.”

“But why?” she asked again.

“Ah, well, Most High, that is a question indeed,” Danzor said. “Why do the Slaves do anything, hmm?”

She was silent. The obvious answer was that the Slaves were only following orders from the Voices, and the Voices were following orders from Those who Served the Gods, and the Servants were following orders direct from the Nine. But that was a fruitless train of thought, for the will of the Gods could not be questioned. Even so, she could not conceive of a reason why they would wish to remove large quantities of books from the library. The Gods could be arbitrary, but that was particularly odd.

~~~

After that, Mia went quite often to see Danzor. She would sit reading in a corner while he worked, or listening when he held impromptu lectures for scholars who sought him out, although most of the discussion was too difficult for her to follow. Gantor was often there too, and various of his relatives who lived at the Ring. Just as Hurst met his kin at the training grounds or at the tournament, so Gantor met his in the library.