The Third Scroll (21 page)

I forced my spirit into the limp body on the bed. And in my limbs, I felt a quickening, and after some time, I could open my body’s eyes. No real improvement was this, for I knew that people about to die often regained some strength and appeared to feel better just before death claimed them. I had often thought the short reprieve a gift of the spirits, allowing the dying to say their last farewells and prayers. I could feel strange coldness in my bones—death coming.

I gathered the strength to sit, and my hand slipped from Leena’s. She stirred but did not wake. I stood, none too steady, and little by little shuffled from the chamber.

The corridors stood empty; I did not have to be so careful there. The farther I walked, the more hopeful I became. I dragged myself to the kitchen, my legs shaking all the way. I prayed to the spirits that I would find the kitchen empty, and in their mercy, they answered my prayers. The room stood in darkness, only a few embers glowing in the hearth in the middle of the night.

I moved to the empty flour jars on the small wagon and leaned against one. Then nearly cried. As weakly as my heart beat, I knew I would not survive to climb out in the morning.

Yet I craved freedom with a desperation that gave me a last little boost of strength. I cast my gaze upon the door that led to the street, secured only with a lock. No guard now, not when the mist covered the city. They knew nobody would be moving outside. I lifted a fork from a sideboard and shuffled to the door, pried the lock open and walked out into the mist.

Weak and confused, I saw little now that I was looking with my body’s eyes. I kept shuffling forward, stopping often, a few times nearly collapsing. Then I walked into a stone wall. I somehow ended up behind the palace at the sheer cliff from which the back of the building had been carved.

I had been aiming for the city gate, in the opposite direction.

I leaned against the rock and squeezed my eyes shut, not having enough strength to cry. But as my hand slid down the rock, my fingers caught on a small crevice.
A crevice that could be a foothold.
My mind had gone beyond reasonable thought. I thought of the numaba trees and began to climb.

Many times I had to stop to rest; many times I nearly slipped. But my body remembered climbing, and my limbs moved of their own accord, working from memory, each muscle knowing what it needed to do.

Sharp edges cut my hands, bruised my knees, but I barely noticed. I lost sense of time. I thought I might have somehow crossed over to the afterlife. But at last I ran out of rock and reached the top of the cliff. I pulled up with the last of my strength and collapsed on the ground, tears spilling from my eyes.

I was once again a free woman.

The mist swirled thinner up here, and I could see before me the edge of a vast woods, with tall trees and good earth upon which to die. I had to reach just that; then I could leave my body behind and let my spirit go to find my mother’s.

A long moment passed before I realized I wasn’t alone.

Something moved in the mist.

~~~***~~~

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

(The Forgotten City)

Shadows separated from the swaying landscape that swam before my eyes. As I tried to blink away my confusion, the three monoliths drew closer.

No, not rocks were they, but…
men
.

The bitter taste of disappointment filled my mouth. I had no more strength to run, could do nothing but watch as they approached. They walked in a solemn procession, their long, white beards cascading over brown robes that remained unmoved by the breeze.

They surrounded me, standing at the points of a perfect triangle, with me in the middle. I could issue forth no sound. Nor would I have begged for my life if I could. I was happy to part with it and the pain.

They spoke, not with their lips, but with their spirits straight to mine. Their three spirits mingled and twisted together and entered my body with a great strength. They talked to me of healing as they fought the poison. They told my spirit to gain strength and soothed my mind.

* * *

I woke in a long cave, lying on a pile of pelts, the rock wall reflecting the dancing flames of the fire. The three old men sat around me cross-legged on the stone, one on each side and the third at my feet.

The one on my left spoke, if the gurgling, bubbling sounds coming forth from his mouth, like water pouring from a narrow-necked bottle, could be called speech. He stopped when he realized I was listening.

“The Guardians welcome you, Tera of the Shahala,” the one to my right said in the language of the Kadar. His beard spread over his round middle.

I sat up slowly, surprised that I had the strength, and drew back.

His lips stretched into a grandfatherly smile. “Do not be alarmed, child. I am the Guardian of the Sacred Cave.”

I gaped.

“I am the Guardian of the Sacred Scrolls.” The one at the foot of my furs watched me, moonlight reflecting off his bald head. The wrinkles on his face were etched into a permanent scowl, making him look the oldest of the three, although they all seemed as old as time itself.

“I am the Guardian of the Sacred Gate,” said the third, a great carved stick lying across his lap, then added, “We have been waiting for you for a long time.”

So I had died. I wanted to ask to see my mother. Then I moved and pain sliced through my body, enough of it to convince me that I had life inside.

But if I lived, how could I be among Guardians? Their kind had been gone for hundreds of years, if ever they were more than a legend.

The Guardian of the Cave stood and strode to the dark opening, indicating with a hand that I should follow. I rose, the dizziness brought on by the movement passing quickly, and walked to him, gasping at the sight.

Below the cave spread a valley, a small jewel of a city in the middle, illuminated by the double moons. Ancient houses lined the twisting streets, the buildings huddled together. Some of the roofs were pointed, some round, painted in a myriad of colors. The building that drew my eyes and stole my breath stood tall and proud in the middle of the city, its round golden dome glowing in the moonlight.

The Forum
.

Despite the cold of the early spring, the trees bore leaves, and bushes too, making the place seem out of time even more.

“The Forgotten City.” The words stumbled from my stunned lips.

The Guardian of the Cave nodded as he turned back into the cave. “Let us eat. You must regain your full strength.”

I followed him to the fire where the others now gathered, and sat on the ground among them. I waited for them to take from the cheese and dried fruit before I reached for any, as was our Shahala custom when eating with one’s elders. They did not speak as they ate and drank.

My stomach growled. I had missed my evening meal at the palace. I wondered if the Guardians always ate this late, then remembered that one of them had said they had been waiting for me. Had I kept them from their dinner?

“How did you know I was coming?” I did not think anyone could have seen me in the thick mist and forewarned them.

“From our fathers,” the Guardian of the Gate said. “And they were told by their fathers before them. We have waited for five hundred years.”

Blood rushed to my head, and I closed my eyes for a moment against the sudden dizziness.

“You are overwhelming her. Let her catch her breath. She only just awakened,” the Guardian of the Scrolls barked at the other two and yanked his gnarled beard out of the way when it nearly dangled into the fire.

“I would rather know.” I struggled to catch my breath.

The Guardian of the Cave nodded. “We will let the Guardian of the Scrolls tell you. He knew your mother the best. You could take a walk, if you feel somewhat recovered.”

A full-grown manyinga could not have held me back.

The Guardian of the Scrolls grumbled something about old achy bones but stood and grabbed a large fur from one of the sleeping places to wrap around his shoulders. When he handed me another, I did the same and followed him out of the cave without trouble. The food had returned some of my strength.

The Guardian limped ahead of me on the path.

“Grandfather,” I said, talking with the utmost respect, “may I try to ease your pain?”

He stopped to look at me, anger on his face and impatience. “Fresh from death’s door. Have you not learned anything?” He snorted with derision. “Do you not think I could take my own pain if I cared to bother? Young people. They think everything that could be fixed ought to be. Maybe sometimes an old man just wants to be left to die.”

He continued down the narrow steps cut into the rock, mumbling as he went.

I caught only a word here and there, missing most of what he was saying, only catching that he wished I had not come until he had died and his son had taken over, and that he surely hoped at least he would die before the rest of the trouble arrived. Then he fell silent as we reached the bottom of the steps and walked the starlit road toward the city in the valley.

Soon we passed by the strangest flowering bush covered in round flowers. The petals reminded me of the purest alabaster, white to the point of translucence and silky by the looks of them, although I did not dare to reach out and touch a thing of such beauty. The flowers’ sweet, spicy scent filled me with a giddy pleasure.

“Is it magic?”

The Guardian stopped and turned back, mumbled something under his breath. “A rose. Hot springs crisscross the valley under the surface.” He moved on without giving the amazing plant a second look.

I kept turning back, until I stumbled over some rocks. After that I kept my attention forward and on the path.
Hot springs.
That explained why I saw no snow in the valley, why a flower could bloom in the middle of winter while the fields around Karamur lay barren.

He shuffled on, lost in his own thoughts, looking neither left nor right but walking straight toward the strange city in the hollow of the valley. Even as we reached the first houses, he said nothing.

“Grandfather, did you know my mother?” I asked after some time, thinking he had forgotten about me.

He walked awhile before he spoke, his voice somewhat softened. “Now there was one worth the bother.”

Hope leaped. “Do you know where I could find her grave?”

He turned toward a round clearing among the houses, the ground covered in grass, a silver tree in the middle. He strode to the tree, and I followed, then stopped when he stopped at a crystal rock that reached to my knees. The rock sparkled in the moonlight, the exact color of the petals of the moonflower that grew in our Shahala hills.

I could scarcely breathe.

I fell to my knees and hugged that rock, not sure if I could ever let go. Some time passed before my tears dried.

“Did she have the Last Blessing?”

The Guardian looked at me as if I was a senseless child. “She certainly did.”

A small, empty corner of my heart filled with peace. I sat back on my heels and noticed a faint inscription on the rock.
Spirit, be strong. Heart, be brave.
I ran my fingers over the letters. Strong and brave were Kadar values.

“It should say
Spirit, be kind. Heart, be true
,” I whispered.
That
had been my mother.

But the Guardian shook his head. “Her last words they were.”

I looked at the inscription for some time, trying to make sense of it. Maybe she had so encouraged herself at the end because she knew she was dying.

“Did you meet her when she healed the High Lord Barmorid?”

The Guardian lowered himself next to me, his joints creaking. He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees. “I first met her long before that. When she injured him.”

“Had she come to Karamur twice?” I only remembered the one journey.

He drew a labored breath, as if preparing for the effort of speaking. “When your mother, Chalee, first came into her healing powers, they were so extraordinary that her fame spread far and wide on the island.”

The streets slept, no other human being in sight but the two of us. Unlike Karamur, the Forgotten City had no walls and no guards to stand watch at night.

“Barmorid—a young warrior then—had suffered a grave injury in battle, and when your grandfather heard, he came to help, bringing Chalee with him. Your people and the Kadar were closer back then, the old favors each had done the other not so well forgotten.”

I knew the favors well, how the Kadar kept us safe and how without them we could not have had our precious peace to practice our lives the way we believed it and to hone our healing skills generation after generation. My mother had reminded me of that often enough, so I sought to head off the lecture I felt coming. “Did my mother give back Barmorid his health?”

“She did.” The Guardian nodded. “But took something a lot more precious.”

“My mother would never take something not freely given and refused payment half the time,” I retorted, quick to defend her.

“Given or not, she took a piece of the High Lord’s heart when she left. And something else.”

“Barmorid fell in love with her?” I had never known of any man in my mother’s life but Jarim.

“And she with him.”

“What else did she take?” I asked, still stunned by the first revelation.

“Can you not guess?”

I could, from the way he looked at me now, but so shocked was I, I could not speak of it for a long stretch of time.

“Why did Barmorid never claim me?” I asked finally, when I could form coherent thoughts once again. I was half Kadar? Oh, it could not be. It simply could not!

“He never knew. No matter how much I tried to convince her, Chalee would not hear of telling him. She wanted to return to her people, even if in disgrace, preferring that to the prison of the High Lord’s Pleasure Hall, for she knew he would never let her leave.”

I stared, but not without some understanding. I had run away from Pleasure Hall’s gilded prison even with my last breath.