Julia Gray - Guardian 05 - Alyssa's Ring

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Guardian Cycle 5 - Alyssa's Ring by Julia Gray
Prologue
It was a night when mountains ground their teeth, when islands moved like
ships and the oceans boiled.
The people of Senden knew nothing of the ways of the sea or the fate of
islands, but they heard the distant mountains growl and felt the ground shake
beneath their feet. This was the night they had been waiting for, and they
watched in awe and terror, the words of the Zealot echoing in their ears, as
events unfolded in the sky above. The time of fire and darkness was upon them,
the time when the moons would fall and the world would end - the time when all
their sins would have to be accounted for. It was time to die.
As the four moons moved slowly and inexorably towards their fatal convergence,
the Family gathered together for the last time. They abandoned the huts that
had cost them so much time and effort to build out there in the wilderness,
and left behind their few belongings, knowing that they no longer had any need
of personal possessions. They made their way to the open space at the centre
of the village - the heart of Senden - where the shape of the dark,
five-pointed star had been marked upon the hard, stony ground, each of its
points extended in tapering wavy lines that reached out like tentacles to the
edges of the arena.
When they were all in place there were more than a hundred people present, two
thirds of them women, and
they all sat facing inwards, turning their backs on the rest of Nydus,
rejecting it. There was a feverish joy on some of their faces, naked fear on
others. The youngest of them, infants who could not understand what was going
on, could only trust in the adults around them - their parents, the Zealot's
servitors - and, most of all, in the Zealot himself. He moved among the group,
his voice ringing out in ecstatic promises or whispering words of
encouragement to the less brave among his flock.
Nomar Veress sat on the ground beside his mother. She was crying softly and,
although he didn't know the reason for her sorrow, her tears distressed him.
He knew that something was going to happen this night - something important -
but although the prospect had been exciting at first, he wasn't used to being
awake so late and he was finding it hard to stay alert. His mother's sadness
was the only thing that remained clear to him, and he tried to comfort her,
slipping his small hand into hers. But she didn't even seem to notice that he
was there, and her red-rimmed eyes stared up at the night sky.
Nomar followed the line of her gaze just in time to see a shooting star streak
across the heavens. A collective murmur rose from the Family, and the boy felt
his mother grow tense. In the past he had always thought shooting stars were
wonderful - so bright and so fast - but recently, since the mountains had
begun to shake, everyone seemed to regard any unusual sight in the sky as a
possible cause for alarm. His mother mumbled something he couldn't hear, but
he knew she wasn't talking to him and so he didn't ask her what it was.
'Don't cry,' he whispered instead, but she gave no sign of having heard him.
'Nomar is right, Lia. You should not be crying.' The Zealot had appeared
before them as if by magic, his feet making no sound on the hard-packed earth.
Now, as he squatted before them, his silver-grey eyes shone in the diminishing
moonlight and the dark tattoos that marked his face and forearms seemed like
living creatures upon his skin.
Lia nodded, wiped her eyes and tried to smile, but Nomar knew that her sadness
had not gone away.
'This is our day of release, of our salvation,' the Zealot said. 'You know
that, don't you?'
Lia nodded again.
'Then rejoice with the rest of our Family,' he told her earnestly. 'There
should be no fear, no unhappiness, in such company.' He paused, then added,
'Paradise is coming.'
That was something he said quite often. For a long time Nomar had waited for a
person called Paradise to arrive at the village, but that misunderstanding was
behind him now. He still wasn't completely sure what Paradise was, but he knew
it was good, and he hoped he and his mother would enjoy it.
Lia glanced around at those nearby, receiving a few encouraging smiles in
return, but Nomar could tell that there was still something wrong. There was a
kind of emptiness in her eyes now, as if she was looking for something she
could not see. He longed to be able to find it for her.
'I wish . ..' she began, then faltered as her gaze returned to the Zealot's
face.
'I know what you wish, child,' he said kindly, taking her free hand in his
own. Then his voice became a little sterner. 'The Family is like a tree. Each
branch, even the smallest twig, is strong because it is part of the whole,
linked to the great trunk and the roots that hold it firmly in place. But it
can only remain healthy if dead wood, those rotten parts that could spread
weakness and disease to the rest, are cut away from time to time. Do you
understand me?'
For a few moments Lia's face remained expressionless, but then she nodded, her
eyes downcast - and Nomar found that he too knew what she had been wishing
for. The boy had not really understood the story about the tree, but he knew
it had something to do with his father. His mother had not been looking in
vain for something, but for someone.
'You have all that you need around you here,' the Zealot went on.
There had been times when Nomar, like all the children of the Family, had been
encouraged to think of the Zealot as his father. His real father was a shadowy
figure he couldn't even remember properly, and they never talked about him
now. When Nomar had first been old enough to notice that their small family
was not like most others, he had asked and been told that his father had 'gone
away'. He could still remember the funny way the words had been said. At the
time he'd asked, 'When is he coming back?' 'Soon,' his mother had replied. But
he never had. And not long after that, Lia had announced that their stay with
the Family was to become permanent. 'Did you bring your cup?' the Zealot
asked. Lia nodded again. They had all brought them, and she held hers up now.
'And Nomar's?'
She turned to the boy at last, and squeezed her son's hand. Obediently he took
out the small wooden bowl he had helped to make soon after they had come to
Senden. The crooked black star painted on the side had been his main
contribution. He had always known that the cup was special, but he had never
been allowed to use it until now.
'Good boy,' the Zealot said approvingly. He picked up a jug that one of the
servitors had set down beside him and poured a little liquid into the cup.
Nomar thought it looked like watery milk, but the smell was wrong.
'It's for the toast,' the Zealot explained. 'When the moons come together.' He
poured a slightly larger portion into Lia's bowl. 'It won't be long now.'
Nomar glanced up at the sky, following the gaze of the adults around him. As
he did so, some of the grey liquid spilled from his cup on to his leg. He
moved quickly to hide his clumsiness and, much to his relief, no one seemed to
notice. When he looked up again - more carefully this time - he saw that the
four moons were almost in line now, the Red, Amber and White shrinking to
crescents as each was hidden by the one in front of it, while the closest of
all, the invisible Dark Moon, slid across, swallowing their light. Soon, when
the confluence was complete, the sky-shadow would obliterate them all.
Such a precise alignment of full moons was very rare, happening only once
every seventy-five years, and everyone - even someone as young as Nomar - knew
that such moments were significant. On Nydus, the aspects of the moons always
meant something.
The Zealot had left them now, returning to the centre of the gathering to
stand at the midpoint of the dark star. The servitors had all completed their
tasks and were sitting with the rest, watching the sky above. The night seemed
hushed, unnaturally quiet, and when their leader spoke his voice rang out like
a sonorous, deep-toned bell.
'My name is Araguz!' he declared, his arms spread wide.
There were gasps of surprise all around. The Zealot had never told any of them
his real name, and the fact that he had chosen to do so now only deepened the
significance of the moment.
'The invisible forces of earth and fire, of wind and sky, flow through me. The
moons move within the tides of my blood.'
Above them, the lunar crescents grew thinner.
'Rejoice now!' Araguz cried. 'Only after the black night of the darkest star
will we all find peace. Welcome to the only true light.'
The moment was upon them. At the exact moment of conjunction, the last
vestiges of the moons disappeared. As the sky became a deeper black, the
distant stars shone brighter, their dominion for once unchallenged. The whole
world seemed to hold its breath, even as the ground beneath them trembled
slightly.
'Drink now,' the Zealot intoned. 'Paradise is here.'
The Family obeyed. And darkness claimed them all.
Nomar woke, feeling sick. The sour taste of the liquid was still in his mouth,
and every muscle in his body felt as if it had been battered by rocks. When he
opened his eyes, the pain that sliced through his head almost made him faint,
and when he tried to move, his stomach rebelled and he vomited a thin stream
of horrible green bile. He knew that he was more ill than he had ever been in
his short life, but he also knew there was no one there to help him. When he
was finally able to get his eyes to stay open, and to focus, he saw his mother
sprawled on the ground, and reached out to touch her. She was cold, and her
skin was pale and hard. He knew that she was dead.
They were all dead, except him. As terror and guilt engulfed him, he curled
into a ball of misery and self-loathing, waiting - and wanting - to die.
When he next awoke, nothing around him had changed, but the thoughts ringing
inside his head had. He still felt awful, and a raging thirst had now been
added to his torments, but as the reality of what had happened became a little
clearer, he experienced the first intimations of amazement, then a reluctant
curiosity.
The world had not ended. The sun had risen as it always did, and the daylight
was warm, but there was no all-consuming fire, no smothering darkness of smoke
and dust.
Nomar didn't understand what had happened, but when he heard the faint sound
of a nearby stream, his body reacted instinctively. Slowly, agonizingly, he
began to crawl towards the water.
After several torturous hours, he reached his goal. The clear liquid was cool
and wonderfully refreshing, and he drank eagerly. It was not the Paradise he
had expected, but it would do for now.
PART ONE
KENDA
Chapter One
The last thing Terrel saw before the darkness found him again was the White
Moon falling from the sky. Even as the bright disc filled his dream,
threatening to crush him beneath the weight of destiny, he saw the moon in all
its guises. It hung over the tower of a hilltop fortress, was mirrored by a
circle of pale stones in the sand, and floated like a perfect icy sphere above
a mist-enshrouded island. Terrel had changed during his years of exile, and
his dreams had changed with him, but some things never changed. The eternal
moon vanished, extinguished without a trace.
Terrel braced himself for what he knew was coming next. Pain reached out with
red fingers . . . but grasped at nothing. The crimson tide ebbed away as the
dream ended prematurely, and Terrel struggled to make sense of what was
happening. Fingers - real, human fingers - gripped his good arm, shaking it
gently but with purpose.
'What is it?' Terrel mumbled, fighting to shake off the cobwebs of sleep.
'My father has one of his headaches,' Taryn replied. 'A bad one.' The boy's
voice trembled as he spoke. Although he was only six years old, he was an
unusually mature and resilient child, and seemed more than capable of dealing
with most of the difficulties that presented themselves during his erratic
journey through life. But when his father was in the grip of one of his
periodic attacks, Taryn
reverted to a helpless, fearful infancy. These were the only times Terrel ever
saw him cry.
'I'll go to him,' the healer said, untangling himself from the blanket that
was twisted round his legs.
Taryn nodded, and the look on his face made the need for haste all too clear.
The damp chill of the night air wrapped itself around Terrel like a cloak as
he stumbled past the dying embers of their campfire, and he was uncomfortably
aware that autumn had begun its gradual decline into winter. Sleeping in the
open would soon no longer be an option, and the journey ahead of them would
become more hazardous as the weather closed in. But those problems lay in the
future. Just now, Terrel had more immediate concerns.
With Taryn at his heels, he hurried across to the small, leaf-strewn hollow
where the boy's father had chosen to lay their bedrolls. Their fellow
travellers were also awake now, obviously aware of the disturbance, but no one
spoke, knowing that Terrel needed to concentrate. Above them, as serene as
ever, the full White Moon rode across the heavens, looking down on the
feverish activity of humankind with a certain disdain. Even as he knelt beside
his patient, Terrel couldn't help wondering briefly if the moon's influence
had coloured his own dream - or helped to precipitate Nomar's illness.
The man Terrel had come to regard as a friend was a few years older than the
healer. His slender build and gaunt face disguised a sinewy strength of both
body and mind, and he was normally in excellent health. The only exceptions to
this were the vicious headaches that afflicted him every so often, striking
without warning and with devastating affect. Apart from the crushing pain that
made Nomar claw at his cheeks and temples, the attacks induced a kind of
delirium in which he obviously saw and heard things that were imperceptible to
anyone else. He muttered and gasped in response, occasionally shouting
something aloud, and all the time his face betrayed horror and despair. Terrel
believed that it was as if Nomar were trapped in a tortured form of sleep from
which it was impossible to wake, a nightmare that could only end when it had
run its course. Occasionally Nomar said something intelligible, but neither
his son nor the healer had ever been able to make sense of these disjointed
utterances - and in the exhausted calm after the storm of pain, Nomar either
could not or would not explain his words.
Even as he clasped his friend's hot trembling hand, Terrel knew that his
healing efforts would be defeated, just as they had been on every previous
occasion. Although he could help Nomar deal with the physical torment of his
ailment - Terrel had always understood pain and the ways of controlling it -
he could never locate the source of the illness, let alone attempt to heal it.
It was too deeply ingrained, hidden within the shifting planes and surfaces of
Nomar's waking dream. Terrel could follow its trail only so far, retracing its
passage through that ravaged inner world, but he always came to a dead end, or
found himself trapped in an endless loop, unable to progress. His healer's
instincts made him want to persevere, obstinately hunting for a solution to a
problem that, in his heart, he knew to be insoluble. But in the end, all he
could do was accompany his friend throughout the ordeal, protecting him where
he could, and hoping that in the process he did nothing to prolong the agony.
If he could not find a cure, he could at least offer comfort.
'We were never going to use it,' Nomar declared, his eyes glittering as they
stared sightlessly up at the night sky. 'I thought . . .' The rest of his
words were lost as his voice became an inarticulate mumble, his lips working
rapidly but without purpose. A trickle of saliva ran from his mouth, and his
tortured body writhed.
'Easy now,' Terrel said softly. 'I'm here.' He had no need to speak aloud - on
some level, Nomar was already aware of his presence - but the words seemed to
have a soothing effect nonetheless. His patient's limbs grew quieter, the
muscles relaxing slowly, and his face lost a little of its terror.
'Will he be all right?' Taryn asked anxiously. 'Eventually,' Terrel whispered.
'We just have to ride this out. Like before.' The pain was still gouging at
Nomar's skull, but that was something the healer could deal with. The
underlying nightmare went on, shadows within shadows. 'I've never seen him
this bad before,' Taryn said. 'He'll be all right,' Terrel reassured the boy.
'Let me concentrate now.'
'Leave the healer to his task.'
The commanding voice came out of the darkness as Terrel closed his eyes, and
he knew that Faulk would stay with Taryn for as long as necessary. In the
meantime, he had work to do. He let himself sink deeper into the other man's
world, arid- tried to make sense of the chaos around him. He fought a hundred
minor battles, pushing back darkness and unnatural pain, restoring equilibrium
where he could, though he knew that his strategy was merely defensive. This
was a war he could not win.
'Don't cry,' Nomar breathed, his distress obvious. 'I wish . . .'
Terrel tried to follow the patterns of thought, of memory, but failed, as so
often before. Although there were different voices here, each linked to a
separate Set of emotions, they were all intertwined and he couldn't untangle
them, no matter how hard he tried.
'It's for the toast,' Nomar stated clearly, then screamed, the harrowing sound
changing slowly into a mirthless laughter that was even more chilling. Terrel
caught glimpses of love and hatred, fear and hope, guilt and revulsion; brief
flashes of colour, of sounds and smells; a face; drops of liquid sticky on his
skin; a dark labyrinth; the sudden shock of cold water. This was the signal
that the end was in sight, that the worst was over. Terrel had no idea how
much time had passed, but his own legs -especially the one that had been
twisted from the time of his birth - were cramped and numb. He opened his eyes
to see the first glimpses of dawn along the eastern horizon.
'Paradise,' Nomar mumbled, then added something that Terrel couldn't hear.
'Is it over?'
Terrel looked up to see Faulk's imposing bulk looming over him.
'It's over. He's sleeping now. Is Taryn all right?'
'He fell asleep about an hour ago. Shall I wake him?'
'No. Let him rest a while longer. We're not in any fit state to set off just
now.'
Faulk nodded, and offered Terrel his hand. The healer took it and allowed
himself to be pulled to his feet, grimacing as needles of pain spiked through
his bones and the blood began to flow back into his legs. Faulk eyed him
thoughtfully but made no comment. He was not one to use words unnecessarily.
'We'll wait for sunrise at least.' Even as Terrel spoke, he was groaning
inwardly at the prospect of starting to walk again. And yet he knew he would.
He had no choice. A tiny sliver of hope remained in his heart, and until this
was extinguished completely, he would go on.
Terrel had been travelling for so long now that he could scarcely remember a
time when he had stayed in any one place for more than a few days. Havenmoon,
the madhouse in which he'd spent the first fourteen years of his life, seemed
to belong in another realm. More than a decade had passed since he had left
the only home he had ever known. During that time he had seen and experienced
more than he could ever have imagined when as a child he had sat in his secret
library and dreamt of the world outside the asylum's walls. But now his
journey was coming full circle. Regardless of whatever else fate had in store
for him, Terrel had sworn to return to Havenmoon. The reason for his
determination was simple. Whether she was dead or alive, that was where Alyssa
was.
'Do you have any brothers or sisters?' Taryn asked.
Terrel hesitated before answering, then nodded. One of the few things he knew
about the boy was that he was an only child - and a lonely one.
'I have a twin brother.'
'Really?' Taryn said enviously.
'But I've never met him.'
The boy looked confused.
'Then how do you know .. .'
'I've been told about him,' Terrel said. 'And I dream about him sometimes.'
And that's only part of it, he added to himself. The whole story was far too
complicated to tell now.
'Does he look like you?'
'No,' Terrel replied, then changed the subject. 'How's your father doing?'
'All right. He's asleep.'
Terrel had called an early halt to their journeying that day. Even though they
hadn't gone as far as he would have liked, Nomar had obviously been close to
collapse. The healer had been exhausted too after his night's work, and so
when they had found a suitable campsite - at the foot of a steep and stony
path that led up into the hills - he had decided to leave the climb until the
next day.
More from habit than necessity, Faulk had scouted the surrounding area, fixing
the lie of the land in his mind and identifying ways to defend their camp from
any threat. Lawren had taken advantage of the last of the daylight to do a
little hunting, and Roskin had collected the wood for the fire beside which
Terrel and the boy now sat.
'Thank you for stopping when you did,' Taryn said quietly. 'I don't think my
father could have gone on much longer - and he hates it when we slow you
down.'
'I was glad to stop myself,' Terrel replied truthfully, wondering once again
at the formal way Taryn referred to Nomar. He always spoke of 'my father',
never 'papa' or 'dad'.
'He's scared that one day you'll go on without him,' the boy added softly.
'I'll only do that if I have no choice,' Terrel said, deciding that he
deserved an honest answer. 'I'd much rather have the two of you with me.'
'Really?' Taryn exclaimed, looking pleased.
'Really,' Terrel replied.
In the past, Terrel had always resisted travelling in company when his bargain
with fate forced him to move on. He had made friends and accepted hospitality
in the various places to which he'd been drawn - in Macul, Misrah and on the
island of Myvatan - but in between times, since he'd become a seasoned
traveller, he had preferred to journey alone, beholden to no one, fearing that
other people would slow his progress or interfere with his mission. However,
recent events had changed his attitude.
The closer he came to his own homeland - and although he did not know the
distances involved, every instinct told him that he must be near now - the
more trouble he saw all around him. An atmosphere of uncertainty and suspicion
seemed to pervade the whole planet, brought about by the continuing oddities
in the sky - the inexplicable changes in the orbits of the moons, the strange
coloured lights and clusters of shooting stars - combined with the more
immediate problems of frequent earthquakes and unusually violent weather. In
such circumstances, the arrival of a stranger, especially one whose appearance
was as peculiar as Terrel's, was bound to cause unease, and the fact that he
was now part of a group - even such a disreputable-looking, disparate company
- meant that he had not been singled out for unwanted attention. Moreover, his
fellow travellers provided him with a degree of protection, practical help and
companionship. Although Terrel was grateful for all that, in truth he was not
entirely comfortable with any of them, and it was impossible for him to trust
them completely. He found it hard to accept their sometimes glib explanations
as to why they had chosen to go with him - and the suspicion that each of them
had obscure reasons of their own for making the journey was inescapable.
The four men and the boy had been with Terrel for some time now, but in spite
of this the healer didn't know a great deal about any of them. Each, for his
own reasons, had been reticent about their past. Terrel was closest to Nomar,
but he knew little of his history, not even what had happened to Taryn's
mother. Any questions regarding her - or any other family connections - had
either been ignored or deflected in a manner that made clear Nomar's need to
keep his secrets. Terrel could respect that. He had a few secrets of his own.
Although the healer was younger than all but one of the adults in the party,
there had never been any doubt about his leadership. From the outset, Terrel
had made it abundantly clear that he would not allow them to divert him
from his purpose. They could travel at his pace or not at all. And they'd go
where he decided. They had all accepted these conditions readily enough and,
while Terrel had been glad to take their advice on occasions, no one - not
even Faulk, who was clearly a man more used to giving orders than obeying them
- had ever disagreed with any of the healer's decisions. There were times when
Terrel thought of them as his followers, as if he were the leader of some
strange pilgrimage - and this was something he found distinctly embarrassing.
The greatest test for each of his companions had come when the healer had
chosen to reveal his eventual destination. Here, in the divided land known as
Kenda, there were several legends about the Floating Islands - just as there
had been in Macul. Most of the tales revolved around the idea that normal life
was impossible on land that moved, endlessly traversing the great Movaghassi
Ocean. Some said that no one could possibly live under such conditions, others
that only barbarians could survive that way, while a few claimed that existing
in such an inherently unstable environment must render its inhabitants insane.
Terrel knew that all these claims were untrue, but he couldn't prove it - and
knew better than to try. Although at one time he'd made no secret of his
destination, he had learned to be more circumspect with strangers. The varying
degrees of surprise shown by his companions had faded as he'd told them
something of his homeland and now, while they were still curious, no one
questioned the wisdom of his plans.
In spite of his weariness, Terrel lay awake for some time that evening. The
air felt damp on his skin, but to his relief the weather remained mild. The
night sky was completely blanketed in cloud, so that the darkness was almost
total. The passage of the moons was invisible, but Terrel still sensed their
presence. He was acutely aware of them constantly now, more than he had ever
been before. It was as though something inside him - some internal sensor -was
able to detect their phases and relative strengths, 'seeing' their shapes,
from crescent to circle, without the need of his eyes. He saw their varying
influences not only in the world around him, but also in his own reactions and
emotions. And in his dreams.
This was partly why he was finding it hard to fall asleep. The closer he got
to Vadanis, and to the completion of his circular voyage, the stranger and
more intense his dreams became. And amid all the other bizarre imagery, he
constantly found himself trapped within the thunderous swell of the crimson
sea, the ocean in which he swam but which he had never seen. Those dreams took
him back to a time of terror, when he had first learnt the ways of pain, a
time even before his birth. Ordinarily, his only escape from these nightmares
was to draw in upon himself, becoming smaller and smaller until he was
invisible and then ceased to exist. Taryn's intervention had saved Terrel from
that ordeal the night before, but to sleep was to be alone again - and prey to
a thousand fears. And yet he desperately needed to rest. If only Alyssa was
here, he thought. She'd be able to explain my dreams. Nomar's too, probably.
But Alyssa was not there, and Terrel knew she was not likely to come any time
soon. The last time he had seen her, she had been in the borrowed shape of a
gyrfalcon, and the bird's plight had made it clear that she was terribly ill.
Her parting words to him - I can't help you any more - still lay like a
malignant shadow within his mind, and the memory of her distress always
plunged him into despair. That fateful encounter had taken place almost two
years ago, and in all that time he had not heard from her at all.
Chapter Two
'It's a fish,' Taryn said, stating the obvious when none of his elders seemed
willing to do so.
'Up here?' Nomar queried.
'Perhaps it's a flying fish,' Roskin said with a grin.
'Someone must have carved it into the stone,' Nomar said. 'It can't be real.'
'No one carved that,' Lawren responded. 'Look at the detail.'
'And why would anyone want to carve anything up here?' Roskin asked. 'We're in
the middle of nowhere.'
'This part of the rock face, was only exposed quite recently,' Faulk said,
indicating^ the jumble of boulders that had blocked their path and forced them
to clamber to the ledge where they were standing now.
'He's right,' Lawren said. 'This would have been underground not so long ago.'
'Not too many sculptors work underground,' Roskin commented.
'But fish don't swim in rock!' Nomar objected. 'It can't be real.'
'It's real,' Terrel said, entering the debate for the first time. 'Or it was
once.' As he stared at the delicate outlines of scales and bones, he was
remembering the other occasion when he'd seen remnants of an ancient life
transformed into stone.
'But we're halfway up a mountain,' Nomar persisted. 'There aren't any rivers
or lakes within miles of this place. There might be a few streams in winter,
but nothing big enough for a fish that size.'
The creature was the length of a man's arm, its fins splayed out and its tail
flicked up - as though it had been frozen in the act of swimming away from
some invisible foe. It was a strangely beautiful and - to Terrel, at least -a
rather melancholy sight.
'I've come across something like this before,' he told the others. 'There were
some ancient bones and a few huge lizard eggs that had turned into stone. When
my friends broke one of the eggs in two, you could see the remains of the tiny
bones inside, just like this.' He'd been blind at the time, but had traced the
skeletal contours with his fingers - and had been granted a vision of the
ancient past through the eyes of the long-dead creature. 'Sometimes there are
memories embedded in the stone.'
'Memories?' Roskin queried, his interest quickening. 'Don't get him started,'
Lawren groaned. Roskin ignored the comment. 'How do you find the memories?' he
asked. 'Touch it,' Terrel suggested. 'See what happens.' The younger man
hesitated, then stretched out a hand and gently ran his fingers over the
surface of the rock. He closed his eyes as he did so, a look of the utmost
concentration on his face.
'This still doesn't explain-' Nomar began, but broke off when his son put a
hand on his arm, distracting him. Eventually Roskin stepped back and opened
his eyes. 'Anything?' Terrel asked. Roskin shook his head, obviously
disappointed. 'Are you going to try?' he asked. 'No. It's the future that
concerns me, not the past.'
'But how did it get here?' Nomar burst out. 'You'll be telling me next that
there are birds at the bottom of the ocean.'
'Maybe this was the bottom of the ocean once,' Terrel replied. As he spoke, he
realized that his decision not to explore the relic for memories had been
based not on indifference but on fear. The sort of upheaval necessary to
transform the planet's surface to such an extent would have to have been
unimaginably violent, and he shuddered inwardly at the idea.
'Now that is hard to believe,' Lawren remarked.
'So it remains a mystery,' Faulk concluded with a shrug.
'It's just a fish,' Roskin agreed. 'It's pot important.'
'It would have been if you'd felt something through those mystic fingers of
yours,' Lawren needled.
'Mock all you like,' Roskin retorted. 'One day I'll get to see your future,
and you won't be so flippant then, will you?'
'When that day dawns, there will be birds at the bottom of the ocean,' the
hunter replied.
'We should be moving on,' Faulk stated. 'I'd rather be on the other side of
the ridge before that arrives.' He nodded in the direction of an approaching
mass of dark cloud.
The company of travellers set off without further ado, but Terrel glanced
round and noticed that one of their number had hung back for a few moments.
Before he ran to catch up with his father, Taryn reached out a small hand and
laid a tentative fingertip on the fish. For a brief instant the boy smiled,
then saw Terrel looking at him and quickly moved away.
They crossed the ridge and found shelter just in time. As the first gusts of
rain slashed through the air, the travellers wedged themselves into a series
of crevices below an overhang of rock. Soon afterwards the sky turned an angry
shade of purple, and hail was mixed in with the now torrential rain. Thunder
rolled across the hills and valleys, a new peal beginning as the previous one
faded. Dozens of small waterfalls cascaded down over the jagged outcrop, but
because they were on its leeward side, Terrel and his companions remained
reasonably dry and comfortable.
The healer was sharing a cramped space with Lawren Bir. As they had settled
in, Lawren had put his fingers to his lips and emitted a shrill whistle.
Within moments the hunter's trained falcon had swooped down out of the
gathering gloom, alighting on its master's gauntleted wrist and then edging up
along his arm to perch on his leather-patched shoulder. It was still there
now, keeping quite still, its unblinking black eyes staring into the storm.
The bird's name was Kephra. According to Lawren, this meant 'beautiful one' -
a singularly apt description - but the falcon could be deadly too, and had
proved its worth to the company many times.
'I was told once that the longer a hawk's tail feathers, the better flyer she
is,' Terrel said. 'Is that true?'
'It's true,' the hunter replied. 'But Kephra is a tercel -a male.'
'I don't know enough to tell the difference,' the healer admitted. To him the
bird looked very like the one he'd seen in Misrah, but Isptar had been female.
'It's enough to know that other falcons can,' Lawren said with a grin.
The hunter, together with his avian partner, had been the second to last to
join the group. He was apparently making his way to the coast, where an
important falconry tournament was to be held in the spring, and travelling in
company would make the rigours of the journey easier to
bear. Terrel believed there was more to it than that, but Lawren and his bird
had been a welcome addition to the party - not only because their expertise
provided a supply of fresh meat, but also because Kephra's constant presence
meant that Alyssa would have a suitable host if she were ever able to come to
Terrel again. When her spirit wandered, re-entering the world in the shape of
an animal, Alyssa would often choose a bird if she had the chance, finding
their relatively uncomplicated and uncluttered minds the most amenable to her
purpose. Terrel had long since given up any expectation that she would come,
but a forlorn hope was better than none.
Beyond their refuge, the storm raged on.
'How long do you think this will last?' Terrel asked, raising his voice above
the noise of the storm.
'An hour, no more,' Lawren replied, then reconsidered. 'Who knows these days?
The weather's gone mad the last few months. I'm just glad Faulk got us here in
time. If it had been up to the Great Londolozi, we'd still have been out there
discussing stone fishes and being battered to bits by hailstones.'
Londolozi was the grandiose name Roskin had used when he'd first introduced
himself to the company, and Lawren's contemptuous tone made it plain just what
he thought of such pretension. At the time he and Nomar had just smiled, while
Faulk, stony-faced, had simply asked the newcomer what his real name was.
Eventually he had admitted that it was the rather more prosaic Roskin Steyer.
'You shouldn't be too hard on him,' Terrel said.
'He's no more a seer than I am,' the hunter replied. 'And he never will be.'
'You can't be sure of that.' The healer was thinking of others he had known
who, against all expectation, had
shown talent of that sort. Neither Mlicki nor Kjolur had looked like prophets.
'The man's a complete charlatan,' Lawren persisted. 'My guess is he's sticking
close to you because if he's with someone with a real gift, he's more likely
to be taken seriously himself. By the gullible, at least.'
'But he might genuinely want to learn.'
'I don't think your talent's going to rub off on him. In any case, he doesn't
want to be a healer, he wants to be an oracle. Which is all nonsense,
whichever way you look at it.'
Terrel chose not to argue the point.
'I don't know why you let him tag along,' Lawren added. 'What help is he to
you?'
'None of you are here because of me,' Terrel replied. 'You're all free to come
or go as you choose.'
The hunter shrugged, unconvinced.
'Nomar I can understand. With a bit of luck, you might be able to teach him to
be a half-decent healer. He's shown us all enough to think that. But Roskin's
another story. You surely don't need disciples that badly.'
'I don't need any of you,' Terrel snapped, stung by his companion's choice of
words. 'Not even a hunter.'
Lawren glanced at him, then looked away again.
'Sorry,' he said. 'Point taken. You've every right to travel with anyone you
choose.'
'I do,' Terrel agreed. 'We all do.'
As originally predicted, the storm passed within the hour, and the travellers
were able to set off again. Faulk led them down a narrow trail, heading
towards a wooded area that promised at least some shelter for the night ahead.
Once they were inside the trees, the others soon realized that their guide
must have been to the area before when he led them straight to an old
woodcutter's hut. Although the cabin was obviously no longer in use, the
structure was still sound, and the prospect of having a roof over their heads
ought to have cheered the company. As it was, their mood as they went about
their regular evening tasks was surprisingly sombre.
Three days had passed since Nomar's attack, and most of the after-effects were
fading now. His eyesight had returned to normal, and the numbness that had
affected the left side of his face was retreating, but he was still nauseous
occasionally and very tired all the time. He slept at every opportunity, and
even when he was awake - especially towards the end of the day - he often
seemed not to be fully alert, and the others frequently had to repeat anything
they said to him before they got a response. In the circumstances it was
remarkable that he'd been able to keep up with his companions. After all his
earlier protestations, Terrel could not afford to play favourites and slow the
pace for him. Nomar's determination drove him on, but he was paying a heavy
price for his efforts. And so was Taryn. The boy's natural concern for his
father had made him push himself beyond the boundaries of his own resources,
arid so he too was exhausted at the end of each day. Terrel did what he could
for them both, but there were limits to his powers of restoration.
Of the others, Faulk was his usual undemonstrative self, and even Roskin and
Lawren were subdued that night. For all their supposed mutual disdain, these
two were the most likely to provoke conversation or laughter among their
fellows, but on this occasion, as they worked together to build a fire and
prepare a meal, both were unusually quiet, responding to each other with curt
monosyllables and impatient gestures. Terrel watched them uneasily, hoping
that the tension would not spill over into outright animosity. He didn't need
any of these people, but if they were to remain together, the last thing he
wanted was any internal dissension within the group.
The healer couldn't help wondering whether Roskin might have overheard any of
Lawren's comments during the storm. That seemed unlikely, but it might explain
the would-be seer's current sullenness. On the other hand, the two men were so
different from each other that it was hardly surprising there was friction
between them. Unlike the hunter, who was tall and lean with a matted thatch of
coarse black hair and a thick beard, Roskin was short and stocky with long,
wispy blond hair that he was forever having to push back out of his eyes. He
was about twenty-one years old, but looked much younger, his chin covered in
only a fine down. However, the contrast was not only physical. Lawren was a
摘要：

GuardianCycle5-Alyssa'sRingbyJuliaGrayPrologueItwasanightwhenmountainsgroundtheirteeth,whenislandsmovedlikeshipsandtheoceansboiled.ThepeopleofSendenknewnothingofthewaysoftheseaorthefateofislands,buttheyheardthedistantmountainsgrowlandfeltthegroundshakebeneaththeirfeet.Thiswasthenighttheyhadbeenwaiti...

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