Drogoya: Book 3 Circles of Light series (27 page)

Mena’s expression was
innocent when she turned her face up to his. ‘Is that its name?’
she asked him. ‘It is very hard to tell how big to make these
things.’

She pushed some other
drawings towards the Sacrifice. He picked them up, smiling faintly.
She had drawn an owl as large as the tree beside which it stood, a
cow was the size of a rabbit against the square block of a house.
Cho increasingly thought it unlikely that Mena could in fact read:
these simple drawings proved that she had not read the descriptions
of the various creatures.

‘A Plavat is a great
sea bird, as large as the Dragons of your land,’ he told the child
in an avuncular fashion.

‘Do people ride on
them?’ Her violet eyes seemed huge against the silver
scaling.

Cho’s smile broadened.
‘Oh no. They are foul tempered birds. See this hooked bill? They
use it to tear flesh.’

Mena shivered
involuntarily. ‘But what is the sea?’

Cho’s smile vanished
and he studied the child carefully. ‘You came over the sea on the
back of a Dragon child. The sea is an immense body of
water.’

Mena shook her head in
apology. ‘I remember little except making the Dragon do what I
wanted it to.’ She frowned. ‘I think perhaps there was a lot of
water.’

Cho stood silently
watching her, then his faint smile returned. He inclined his
head.

‘I will visit again at
dusk. Perhaps you will have more drawings to show me.’

He moved to one of the
bookshelves and opened a drawer. He rummaged among its contents
then opened another. Cho brought out a box and walked slowly back
to Mena.

‘There are coloured
inks if you wish.’

Mena opened the box,
exclaiming at the rows of tiny pots arranged inside, and the pens
and brushes held in its lid. Cho Petak nodded benignly and went to
the door.

‘Sir?’

He paused.

‘May I go
outside?’

Cho frowned again. Mena
forced herself to keep utterly still while Cho Petak considered her
request. Finally he nodded.

‘There are three
secluded gardens that you may use. Krolik – the creature who serves
you – will show you where they are.’

The fire in his eyes
flickered and danced as he stared into Mena’s.

‘You will go only in
full daylight to these gardens. There are certain - dangers – to
you should you venture there in darkness, or even
twilight.’

He turned back to the
door. ‘I will instruct Krolik to take you there later.’

When the door closed
behind him, Mena did not leap from her chair and jump with delight
as she very much wanted to: she kept her head bent over the book
and her hands occupied with the box of coloured inks. She did not
think that she was constantly watched, but she knew that Cho Petak
could overlook her with his mind whenever he chose. Which is why
she took such pains to conceal her reading.

She sat, controlling
her impatience, until at last Krolik opened the door. He merely
stood there, waiting for her to join him. As soon as she got to her
feet, he walked out of the door and she ran to catch up with him.
Along a wide corridor and down a broad flight of stairs, Krolik
keeping to the sides while Mena trotted in the middle of both
corridor and stairs. There were scorch marks everywhere and Mena
sensed the echoes of agony burnt into each mark.

Krolik suddenly turned
down a much narrower way, then down seemingly endless stairs dimly
lit by windows high above. Finally Krolik unbolted a heavy door and
swung it open. Mena shot past him to stand just outside, feeling
the sun warm on her head and fresh air filling her lungs. Slowly
she stepped forward, looking about her. Fruit trees marched in
rigid lines, pruned and shaped into tight uniformity.

Glancing over her
shoulder, she saw that the door was still open but that Krolik had
gone. Mena walked all around this oblong garden of trees, following
the black stone path. Tiny buds were beginning to show on the grey
twigs but she found little to interest her here. High hedges of
some sort of evergreen surrounded the garden but then she
discovered a gate tunnelling through the hedge. She peered over the
top but the hedge was as thick as she was tall and she could see
little.

Mena went through the
gate and blinked. Sunlight flashed from a series of pools in this
garden and she followed the path towards the first. A fish jumped a
little way above the water, vanishing again amidst expanding
ripples. There were pale leaves lying flat on the water and Mena
knelt for a while, watching fish dart in and out between the
wavering white stems. She walked all around this garden and found
no gate other than the one through which she had entered. Closing
it carefully behind her, she walked on along the rows of
trees.

Another gate appeared
when she turned the last corner and could see the door into the
Menedula, still open, ahead of her. Unlatching the gate, Mena
walked through the towering hedge and found herself in a familiar
sort of garden at last. They grew herbs and medicinal plants in
sheltered courts in Return and she had spent many hours in one such
with Mayla. Insects buzzed and droned in the sun, which felt almost
hot to Mena.

The cold season had
barely ended at home, yet it felt much warmer here. A butterfly
whisked past Mena’s nose and she sighed. There was a feeling of
peace and safety in this enclosed garden which, she now noticed,
was quite circular. The plants did not seem to grow in precise rows
in here, but haphazardly: a group of tall plants sheltering more
delicate, smaller plants.

She wandered slowly
along a sanded path, stooping to brush her fingers over some leaves
that seemed kin to those she knew in Sapphrea. She came to a small
wooden structure, like a tiny house, and eased open its door. The
pungent smell of earth came out to meet her and she saw rakes, and
hoes, and spades, neatly ranged along one wall. Without stopping to
think, Mena picked a small hand fork and turned back to the
garden.

She sat on the warm
ground and began gently loosening the soil around the nearest
plants, teasing out the weeds. There was lavender, just like at
home, sage, mint, and lemon balm. She worked contentedly until the
sun was high overhead.

‘I do not know how long
I am permitted to remain outside,’ she told a young rosemary bush.
‘Perhaps I should go in again for a while. But I promise I will be
back tomorrow for sure.’

She stroked the thin
aromatic spines, admiring the tiny blue flowers shyly emerging,
then got to her feet. She cleaned the little fork she had used and
replaced it in the wooden building, closing the door
carefully.

Mena slept the
afternoon away, due no doubt to the fresh air and sunshine after
days shut up in the Menedula. Through the open door of her bed
chamber, she saw Krolik putting a tray of tea on the small table by
the window where she always sat to eat. He left without a word as
usual and Mena yawned, rolling off the bed. She washed her hands
and face at the strange basin affixed to the wall and went into the
other room.

Krolik always brought
her tea and flat biscuits in the late afternoon. She surmised that
the biscuits had been made before the cooks disappeared: they were
harder each day. She poured a bowl of tea and sipped it. It was
different from tea she was accustomed to in Sapphrea, milder and
with a fruity tang to it. Mena tapped one of the biscuits against
the table, grimaced, and dunked it in her tea in an attempt to
soften it a little at least. She realised she was hungry for much
more than these horrid biscuits. But as she had no idea where
Krolik prepared the food, and no inclination to wander around the
vast, near empty building, she ate the biscuits and ignored the
rumblings of her stomach.

Mena climbed onto the
chair by the large table and looked at the drawings she had done.
She opened one of the books beside her elbow and found the place
she had been reading before. She held the page upright, ready to
let it fall should Cho Petak appear. If he did, and came to see
what she had been looking at, he would find the book open to a
picture of something very similar to what she knew as a
konina.

Meanwhile, Mena read of
the Order of Sedka with a growing irritation. If this was truly
what Sedka had believed and taught, then Mena concluded that he was
not a very pleasant or intelligent person. Why did he want
everything in Orders? She let the page fall closed and considered
the herb garden she had found today. It was not ordered at all: was
that permitted, in spite of Sedka’s explicit instructions to the
contrary?

She lifted one of the
pens from the lid of the box Cho had given her, and chose a bottle
of dark green ink. Concentrating closely, she began to draw the
little rosemary bush she had seen in the garden. In spite of his
noiseless entry, Mena was instantly aware of Cho’s presence in the
room. She looked up and forced a smile.

‘Thank you for allowing
me to go in the gardens. I enjoyed it very much Sir.’

Cho nodded, approaching
the table. He stopped abruptly, his nose wrinkling in
distaste.

‘What is that foul
smell child?’

Mena stared at him. ‘I
smell nothing Sir.’

‘Have you been touching
any of the plants?’

‘Well, yes Sir. They
needed weeding and I - ’

‘Wash yourself
thoroughly if you do so again. The smell is most offensive to
me.’

Mena sniffed her washed
hands and could smell nothing. Cho was already retreating to the
door.

‘I cannot bear this
taint,’ he told her. ‘Make sure it does not happen
again.’

When Krolik brought her
supper, Mena ate every scrap and could have managed the same again.
She went to bed and lay watching the stars through the unshuttered
window. She yawned and turned onto her side, thinking of the herb
garden. In her heart, she heard peals of laughter.

Chapter
Seventeen

In the days that
followed the Vagrantians departure from the Stronghold, Chakar
found Babach unaccountably elusive. She never managed to encounter
him on his own and her suspicions grew. He was jovial at supper
times, chatting and laughing with all, but became somewhat vacant
if she tried to question him.

Chakar’s owl, Sava, was
seen more often in the hall since Baryet had elected to move in
with his wife, and he seemed a little happier, even venturing into
the growing areas in search of Lorak a few times. No information
had been discovered, pertaining to Babach’s written requests to
both Vagrantia and Gaharn as yet, but the Observer did not appear
overly concerned.

Chakar finally cornered
Babach in the great hall. All the Dragons were absent, Guards were
busy in the lower levels, and Babach was dozing by the fire. Chakar
planted herself squarely in front of him.

‘You do not move from
here until you tell me what is going on old man. You have been
avoiding me,’ she accused him. ‘And your wide eyed innocence does
not fool me a jot.’

Babach surveyed the
small stocky figure, then he grinned.

‘Make yourself
comfortable then. What exactly did you wish to know?’

Chakar was taken aback
by this instant capitulation. Eyeing him suspiciously, she hooked a
stool closer and sat by Babach’s knee.

‘One, you changed the
subject appallingly obviously the other evening when we spoke of
the Orders in Drogoya. Two, you closet yourself with Mim for hours
on end, yet make no comment at all on anything you may have
discussed.’ Chakar gave him a glare of frustration. ‘You cannot
have been talking secrets all the time, for light’s sake
Babach.’

Babach chuckled to
himself for a moment while Chakar continued to glare. He stretched
out his left hand and lightly touched the pendant she wore beneath
her shirt, his right hand resting on his own.

‘Have you noticed –
differences – since Mim gave you that?’

‘What kind of
differences?’ Chakar sounded wary.

‘Do you hear anything
odd, smell anything, feel anything unusual?’

Chakar was fully aware
that despite Babach’s relaxed expression and almost casual tone, he
was concentrating his attention on her very closely. She clasped
her hands round her knees and tried to think what he might mean. A
vision of Kadi popped into her head. That early dawn, when
starlight had seemed to dance over the great Dragon’s damaged body.
Chakar met Babach’s faded blue and silver eyes.

‘When Kadi first woke,’
she began, speaking softly although they were quite
alone.

‘Yes?’ he encouraged
her.

‘I thought I heard
singing, but I am sure it was because I was so very
tired.’

She studied Babach’s
smile. ‘It was not my imagination?’

‘No, I think not my
dear Chakar. Mim also hears singing, whereas I smell
mint.’

Chakar looked
baffled.

‘I have not yet decided
what the singing might imply – nothing harmful – of that I am
convinced. But the smell of mint.’ He stopped, waiting for Chakar
to deduce his meaning.