Farlander

CHAPTER NINE

Wilderness of Mind 'What is it?'

'A bush.'

'I can see that, but what's so special about it?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, why are we just standing here staring at it?'

They were, too – just standing there staring down at a small green bush beside the gurgling of a mountain stream. It was early morning, the sun overly bright in their eyes. Nico had a horrible pounding in his head from the night before.

'Have you ever seen a bush like this before, Nico?'

'I'm not sure.'

'Then look closer. Look at its berries.'

Nico looked closer. The berries were small, oily black. They were patterned with curious white markings that looked a little like skulls. 'No, I don't think so.'

'No, you have not. There are only a few of these bushes on the entire island of Cheem. They were brought here from Zanzahar, and there all the way from the Isles of Sky.'

Nico listened without much patience. His stomach was dangerously afloat this morning, and he wanted only to lie down and curl up for the rest of the day. If this was how Cheem Fire felt the morning after, then he vowed never to drink the foul stuff again.

'My memory, Nico,' said Ash, as he dropped to his knees before the shrub. He plucked two berries from the same branch and dropped them into his battered tin cup. Nico watched him, in expectation of more. The old man sighed, paused in what he was doing.

'When we first came here to Cheem to found our order,' he began, 'we did so because there were many older sects already established in these mountains. Religious orders in remote places, where seekers would come to retreat from the world of men. Few other people live here. It is a wilderness, where it is easy to lose oneself.

'But that was not enough to hide our order from notice. We feared that if a Rshun were ever caught, he might betray the whereabouts of our monastery, and put us all at risk. So our own memories of its location were… altered. Buried deep. The Seer at Sato knows the techniques for achieving that.' Ash began to pulp the berries with a broken twig, carefully and slowly, paying full attention to the task.

'When I use the juice of this berry, it will unlock the memories that have been hidden from me. It will show me the way.'

Ash spat into the tin cup, then held it out to Nico for him to do the same. Nico frowned, then leaned forward and spat into the cup. Ash stirred the pulped mess some more. 'If I fail to prepare it correctly,' he confessed cheerily, 'it can be fatal.'

He motioned for Nico to kneel at his side. At first Nico hesitated, wondering what the old man was getting him into now. He knelt anyway. The end of the twig emerged from the cup, and Ash lifted it towards Nico's forehead, whereupon he pulled back sharply.

'Stay fast, boy.'

'Why must I take it?'

'So you will not remember the way.'

Ash dabbed the concoction against Nico's forehead, humming something beneath his breath. He then applied the same ointment to his own skin.

'Now what?' asked Nico, as the old man was washing out his cup. Already, the blue stain on his forehead had dried to red.

'Relax. Take it easy. It comes on slow.'

So Nico relaxed. In fact, he curled up into a ball and promptly fell asleep.

*

The dreams came upon him like black tar oozing up through the ground. They enveloped him, slowly but inevitably, squeezing into his pores and up into his head until his mind was oozing like tar as well.

In these dreams he seemed to be fully awake, at times. It was twilight, his master leading them, seated on the mules, as they plodded through silvery forests where even the breeze could stir no sound or motion. The sky looked grey and washed-out above their heads, and it seemed lower than normal, almost crushing them. Clouds chased across it, tinged blue by the sister moons which swung across the sky much higher and faster than they should have done. Nico watched them for a time, the moons behind the clouds, one white and one blue, as some element of time pulsed through him, infinite and endless and circular, and before he realized it, the clouds and the moons were gone and it was daylight, though a watery-thin daylight in which the night still hovered. They were walking their mules across a steep rocky valley, Ash singing something simple and foreign at the top of his lungs, the echoes of it bounding off the slopes of shale and coming back at them, creating a harmony like no other he had heard before.

Nico was crying, for some reason, as they huddled around a tiny fire of pitiful twigs in a cave that smelled of bat droppings and algae. Ash was crying too, sobbing about the family he had lost so many years before, his beloved wife and his young son; and at the sight of it Nico couldn't help himself, his own sobs turning suddenly to laughter, and Ash was growing angry at him, shouting in that alien tongue again, more like growling than words – but that only made Nico worse, and he was pointing at the old farlander's increasing wrath and shouting, 'All is lost! All is lost!' at the old man, until Ash made a grab for him, but tipped forward instead and fell and rolled across the fire – so the flames were smothered dead – and did not get up.

But no, that wasn't right, for it was raining, and they were slipping in mud as they hauled the mules up a slope running with streams of icy water, and the clouds were so low and dark it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, and there ahead of them roared a great waterfall wreathed in mist, and they were soaked to the bone by the fine spray of it, drawing closer and closer to that crashing cascade of water by way of a terrible path that wound along a thousand-foot ravine. They walked straight through the falls, and emerged into a tunnel glowing eerily green with lichen furring its walls, the old man shouting something reassuring amid all the noise, though too loud to hear him, the constant crash of water shaking his stomach loose, and his mind, even.

And then he was dreaming for sure, for he was no longer in the mountains of Cheem at all, but on a great rolling grassland that seemed to go on forever beneath a sun that arched overhead shallow and pale. A solitary bird wheeled in the sky. Flies hovered in clouds just above the grasses, but no animals could be seen on the land, no sounds of life could be heard. In a blink night fell. The twin moons shone overhead. He was looking down upon a man curled up beneath a scrubby tree, wrapped in animal skins, sound asleep. The man wasn't alone. Shapes were moving silently towards him. What little Nico could see of them, they were shapes made from nightmares, for they looked like insects, spiders or ants perhaps – though huge in size. Each seemed the size of a mule, and scuttled rather than ran.

It was a dream, Nico realized, but unlike any he had ever experienced. He did not seem to be within this dream – rather, he was hovering in some disembodied form, witnessing the nightmare of another. Something else was strange about it, too, for he seemed to know this man, even though he could barely make out his face in the darkness.

Suddenly Nico was yelling at the familiar stranger to wake up, to gather his weapons and defend himself; but without effect, for no sound would come from his mouth. He yelled even louder, began screaming even, as the shadows converged on the sleeping shape. But the only thing to stir was a slight breeze, the rustling of a few leaves on the tree under which he slept.

A seed pod detached itself from an otherwise bare branch. Possibly it was the very last seed on the tree. Its wings caught the air and it spun slowly earthwards, before, it settled right on the sleeping man's cheek.

In an instant the man was up, and fighting for his life.

*

'Boy!'

Nico came awake with a start, gasping for air.

Ash was shaking him lightly, holding out a cup of steaming chee. Nico blinked at him dumbly. For some seconds he was unable to move; then, with an effort, he sat up.

He turned his head to see where they were. Yet another high valley, it seemed.

'Easy, boy,' said the old farlander, fixing Nico's hand around the mug. There was a wildness in his eyes this morning.

'Are we there yet?' Nico asked.

'Almost. How do you feel?'

Nico groaned in response. He felt particularly delicate, and a dull pain throbbed behind his eyes. His clothes were in a fine mess, too, torn and smeared with dirt and leaves. Ash looked no better, his robe in tatters, his face grubby and sprouting the beginnings of a grey beard. 'How long…?' Nico began, not sure how to phrase the rest of his question.

'Five days, I think – maybe more. You did well. You held it together.'

Nico sipped the hot chee, though he could barely taste it. He badly needed to scrub his teeth. He studied his surroundings more closely now that his eyes had cleared of sleep. A high valley divided down its length by a broad stream that meandered calmly past their camp on the far side of the two mules grazing a few yards away.

His gaze followed the stream upwards, past the rushes that massed along its curving banks, towards the yellow grassland that spread beyond them across the whole of the valley floor, all of it rippling in a morning breeze that carried the scents of hot keesh and frying garlic, and occasionally a hint of distant laughter. At the very head of the valley sat a large building of red brick, with a tower rising at one corner. Around it huddled a small forest of low, gold-coloured trees.

They took their time striking camp that morning. Nico sat quietly and let the chee soothe his empty belly, idly observing the view as their small campfire kept the grassflies at bay. Ash shaved and washed himself in the stream, standing waist-deep and naked, occasionally whooping at the shock of the cold water. Nico pieced together what little he could recall of the previous five days… mere fragments of memory, vivid scenes framed by nothingness and, even more out of place, a strange dream of a man he had somehow known… None of it made sense to him.

He eventually decided that he really did need to wash himself and scrub his teeth. He cast away these futile recollections along with his clothes, drew from his pack a bar of soap and the little covestick, and went to join Ash in the slow, frigid flow of the mountain water. It was deep enough to swim in some parts, and he passed much of the morning like that, swimming or floating on his back, the sunrays bouncing down on him from high overhead, the occasional shy rainbow trout making dashes around his toes. His stiff, overstretched muscles gradually loosened in relaxation. His many cuts and grazes stung with the welcome freshness of the chilly current.

As Nico dried himself with his tunic, shivering in the cool breeze, he found himself staring down upon a small bush growing by the side of the stream. It was the same species that had sent them on their strange journey through the mountains for the last four or five days, with its oily black berries and white markings. Nico drew Ash's attention to it.

'Yes, we make use of its berries again when we leave,' explained the old man. 'Don't worry,' he said, on noticing Nico's obvious concern, 'we will be here for many moons yet.'

*

They were being watched, Nico sensed, as they began their ascent from the valley floor on muleback. Ash noticed his searching gaze, as he scanned nearby rises of rock. 'You waste your time,' was all Ash had to say, before spurring his own mule onwards.

It took longer than Nico had expected to work their way up to the monastery. Smoke rose lazily from the building's many chimneys, and the shutters of glassless windows stood open to the day. As they got closer to the small forest that surrounded it, they began passing walled gardens tended by figures in black robes; men of many races, sweating in the hot mountain sun, some laughing or chatting as they worked, others solitary and focused only on their tasks.

Many hailed Ash as he passed by, raising their fists in salute. Others bowed with palms pressed together in the traditional greeting of the Way, the sami, their mouths turning into soft smiles.

'Ash!' cried an old farlander, who flashed a gap-toothed smile as he pranced towards them on bare feet, his hands clutching the filthy hem of his robe. Of a similar age to Ash, he possessed the same unusual features, though stockier in size and sporting a top-knot of black and silver hair. 'By Dao, I thought you dead and buried in the ice by now,' panted the Rshun.

'How are you, old friend?' inquired Ash.

'Better, now that you have returned to us safely. And not alone, I see.'

'This is my apprentice.' Ash jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards Nico. 'Nico, greet this old fool, who goes by the name of Kosh.'

The man's eyes widened ever further as Nico offered him a weak smile. 'A quiet one,' observed Kosh with good humour.

'Hardly. He only speaks when it is least called for.'

'Well,' said Kosh, 'I will leave you both to get settled. But we must have a drink tonight, and some tales of your journey.' The man slapped the rear of Ash's mule to send it on its way. Nico followed, turning in his saddle to see the Rshun pull himself erect and bow respectfully towards the departing back of Ash, while they moved on.

'These trees…' Nico began, as the mules crunched along a gravel path leading through the forest. Small trees, covered in a golden brown bark, with canopies of copper leaves and reddish blossoms shaped like stars. He had never seen their like before.

'Mali trees. They come from the Isles, too. From them we gain the seals.'

'From their seeds?'

'Yes.'

'The seeds grow into the seals?'

Ash sighed. 'The seeds are the seals, Nico. Although these particular trees you see around you… they are all barren, and they will bear no fruit themselves.' The old man tugged at the dead seal he still wore around his neck. 'I will find a suitable spot at the edge of the forest, and bury this one. In a short time, shorter than you might believe, it will grow into one of these same trees but, like the rest of them, it will yield no others, for it will have sprouted from a seal that no longer breathed.'

'So this forest… all of these trees…' Nico stared open-mouthed at the forest all around him, which was cast into silence by a momentary lull in the wind. 'They were all grown from seals of the dead?'

'Yes – every one of them.'

*

Men were practising archery in the open area in front of the monastery, on a wide swathe of grass kept short by a few wandering hill goats who seemed wholly unperturbed by the arrows flying through the air right above their heads.

Nico watched as the oldest of the archers, the only farlander amongst them, stepped up to take his turn. He might have been smiling, though it was difficult to be certain – for his skin was so ancient, and his back so stooped, that his face hung about itself as though in the process of falling off. The other men quietened as the farlander notched his bow. Without looking up, he inhaled deeply and held his breath. As he exhaled, he straightened his spine, before he drew the string and let loose the arrow in one single fluid motion, not moving from this final position until his arrow dropped out of the sky and struck the very centre of the distant target.

'Hah,' exclaimed Ash approvingly, as the mules carried them onwards.

They clopped through a narrow entrance to one side, and entered a square of dusty earth bordered on all four sides by the monastery building. At the centre of this courtyard stood another stand of mali trees, seven of them in all, surrounded by a picket fence painted white. A strange silence hung in this confined space. It centred on a dozen robed figures sitting cross-legged on the ground, each with his back to a tree. The men were deep in meditation, and paid no heed to the new arrivals, save for one, a bearded Alhazii dressed in a sleeveless cazok. He yawned at the sight of them, and stood and strode towards them through the morning light.

'You're back,' said the big man, as they dismounted from their mules.

'Baracha,' acknowledged Ash, by way of greeting, and the Alhazii bowed his head slightly.

'You look well for a man supposedly dead.'

The mule yanked the reins in Ash's hand, impatiently. 'It was close,' he confessed, hushing the restless animal. 'What news here since I have been gone?'

'Nothing much of interest.' Baracha shrugged his massive shoulders. 'We've all been praying for your safe return, of course.' He placed a hand on the nose of Ash's mule, as he spoke, and stared straight into the animal's eyes until it stiffened and became still.

'Who is this?' he asked, drawing Nico's attention back from the meditating Rshun in the middle of the courtyard. This close, he could clearly see the many tattoos scrawled across the man's dark skin, tiny flowing Alhazii script, covering him entirely, even his bearded face. Holy verses, no doubt, as he'd heard these desert men liked to sport. The dark eyes slid carefully across Nico, before returning to Ash.

'My apprentice,' explained Ash, and Nico noticed the subtle change in Baracha's expression, his facial muscles tightening in surprise for the merest instant.

Baracha smiled as he again fixed his gaze on Nico. 'He has much to live up to, then.'

He smiles falsely, thought Nico, and decided this man was laughing at him. A spark of anger flared inside. It made him want to prove himself in some way.

Nico pointed to the stand of mali trees in the centre. 'Why do they stand alone like that?'

'Alone?' replied Baracha, turning to look.

'Master Ash told me earlier how you plant your lifeless seals in the forest outside. I was wondering why these seven grow here.'

'Can you not guess?' tested the Alhazii.

But Nico already had, and that was why he had asked. 'I would guess, then, that these trees were grown from seals that still… breathed. That means they bear seeds themselves.'

Baracha tilted his head sideways. 'I can't place your accent boy, Where are you from?'

'Bar-Khos,' Nico informed him, surprised by the pride he heard in his own voice.

'A Mercian? I might have known, from one so small and malnourished.' Again the Alhazii smiled, as if laughing at him.

'We Mercians have done well enough,' retorted Nico, 'in keeping the Mannians at bay these past ten years.'

'True,' Baracha acknowledged, placing a hand on the neck of Nico's mule. The animal flinched. 'But you should guard against talk like that while you are here. Perhaps your master has forgotten to explain these things to you. We include people here from every corner of the Miders. We do not speak of politics.'

'Then I suggest you do not provoke such talk,' said Ash softly.

The Alhazii stared at the old farlander. Ash stared back.

Baracha snorted, then turned and strode off without another word.

'A hard man,' muttered Nico, watching Baracha walk away.

'The deep desert breeds hard men,' replied Ash. 'And its great emptiness gifts them with much imagination. I would caution you to provoke no one while you are here, Nico, especially that one. Now come. We have much to do before we may eat.'

*

They ate keesh and stew left over from lunch, since they had missed the noonday meal by the time they had rubbed down their mules and acquired fresh garments for themselves. Once they finished eating, Ash showed Nico to the door of the wardroom where he would be living with the other apprentices, and left him there to settle in.

Nico felt at a sudden loss, standing there alone in the corridor outside, after the old man so quickly departed. His new black robe hung stiff and heavy from his shoulders, smelling faintly of pine needles. He centred himself for a few moments, as the old man had been training him, then pushed open the door.

It was a large room with a stone floor and a roof of varnished wooden beams. A row of windows faced out on to the courtyard, with the bunks arranged along the opposite side. The room was empty save for two apprentices sitting on their beds. One of them was at work sewing a tear in his robe, his face screwed up in concentration. He seemed no more than fifteen years old, his white undergarments hanging loosely about his slight frame. The other apprentice, of a similar age to Nico, lay on his back reading a book, his long hair shining like straw in the light pouring through the windows. Both of them looked up as Nico stepped quietly into the room.

Nico nodded in their general direction, then looked around for a bunk not in use. He stopped at one with an empty chest standing at its foot.

'Hello,' said the young straw-haired man, as he put down his book and rose to his feet to amble across the room. When he offered his hand, Nico stared at it for several seconds before he took it and shook.

'You must be Master Ash's apprentice,' the young man said in a drawl, then caught Nico's puzzled expression. 'Word gets around rather fast here. Your arrival was the talk of the order during dinner.'

'I see,' said Nico.

'I am Aleas, and that is Flores over there. He is not rude. He simply has no tongue.'

The boy Flores opened his mouth wide to show them his vacant mouth. Nico smiled awkwardly and looked away, somewhat too quickly.

'Nico,' he told them both, as he transferred the few possessions of his pack into the chest.

'We know,' said Aleas. 'I have been warned by my master to keep away from you.'

'Your master?' Nico glanced up.

'Yes, Baracha. I understand you already met.'

'Your master judges others quickly, it seems.'

'He supposes we will likely fight, you being a Mercian and I being an Imperial,' explained Aleas, observing him with lazy, intelligent eyes. As Nico forced himself to return the young man's confident gaze, he found himself thinking: An Imperial? I'm actually standing here face-to-face with the enemy. Strange that he does not seem so terrible.

'So,' said the other, 'how does it feel?

'I'm sorry?'

'Standing here, conversing with a foul Mannian?'

Nico considered the question. 'It feels fine,' he said at last. 'Though in truth I'm somewhat hungover just now, so it may be hard to discern any true discomfort.'

Aleas's smile was genuine. 'Then well met,' he said.