JESSAN -- A TALE OF WIZARDRY Chapter 9
Copyright 2006 Trewin Greenaway All Rights Reserved
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Chapter 9
ONE DAY, as I was sitting in Grysta's workroom, studying one of the volumes she kept there, a soft knock sounded on the outside door. I was startled, but not frightened. There had been no concerted hunt for me in Gedd, in the sense of soldiers being sent from door to door.
Instead, the Lord of the Fort had waited for the Summoner to recover and then had set him to that task. For some time now, I had been aware of his castings moving in the inner space around me. But I was aware of them long before they had a chance to become cognizant of me. I simply wrapped a shroud of silence about my mind and let them pass me by.
Even so, my first instinct was to withdraw and let Onna deal with the visitor, as she or Grysta had always done before, when someone had come seeking the wise woman's ministrations. But today the house was silent; for once I was there alone. So, when the knock sounded again, this time a little louder, curiosity overcame caution - - all the more so because my studies had already made me innocently confident of my skills and I was growing more and more desirous to put these to the test. After all, no one had specifically ordered me not to greet callers, so I went to see who was there.
Cautiously, I cracked the door and peered out. Before me stood nothing more threatening than a tired old man wrapped in a soiled robe and carrying a staff. We looked at each other for a bit until I remembered my courtesy. I opened the door fully and bowed my head. "You stand at the doorstep of Grysta the Wise," I said. "However, she isn't here. Might I be of assistance in some way?"
"Indeed, you could," the old man replied, "if you know anything of poultices and such, for my feet pain me greatly. I've come a long way from over the mountains, and I'm too old to bear such traveling easily."
"Enter, then," I said, "for I can help you."
I brought him into the kitchen and sat him in a chair. I fetched a basin, poured in some hot water from the kettle that sat in the embers in the fireplace, which I tempered with some cool water from the drinking pitcher.
I brought this to where he sat, placed this on the floor, and sat down beside it. Removing his sandals, I took each of his feet in my hand and ran my fingers down the bottom of it. Despite the hardness of the skin and the thickness of its calluses, I could sense the heat from the inflammation that was causing the tenderness and pain.
I gently set the old man's feet into the basin, got up, and went into Grysta's workroom. There I assembled a few simple herbs and a fistful of certain berries which have the power to sooth muscles with a penetrating warmth. I crushed these in a mortar, then pounded the result and the simples into a powder. Finally, I worked in enough fragrant nut oil to produce a salve. This I put into a small clay bowl and brought it back into the kitchen.
Again I squatted down, this time lifting out the feet and carefully drying them with a cloth. I drew over a stool so that as I rubbed the salve into each foot, I could rest it there off the floor. This was soon done. I took the basin, emptied it into the slop hole in the yard outside. When I returned, I drew up another stool companionably and sat down.
"We will need to let your feet rest a bit," I said, "while the salve does its work."
The old man regarded me with sharp but not unfriendly eyes. "My name is Orien," he said, "and I'm most grateful for your considerate and, I do think," and here he wriggled his toes, "efficacious attention."
I flushed slightly with pleasure, both because of the compliment and the apparent success of my first healing attempt. "Ours is calling as well as a craft," I answered modestly. "No herbalist would do anything less."
"Maybe so," he answered, "but that doesn't lessen my thanks." He paused and shook his head. "My memory constantly fails me. I seem to have already forgotten your name."
I met his gaze. "My name is Jessan," I said. "I'm an apprentice of Alfrund the herbalist."
"Ah," he said, "I've heard high praise of your master, all the more unusual because he is so young. If, of course, we're talking of the same Alfrund."
"Most likely," I answered, smiling at this notion. "Do you think there are many?"
He cocked his head to one side and met my smile with a slight one of his own. "Not that I know. But you went about your business so expertly that at first I took you for Alfrund, yourself. But then I thought, he can't be that young."
"So, you expected to meet him here?" I asked, this time visibly flushing from the compliment.
"I was told I would find him here, yes," he answered. "But I have other business in Gedd. Did I mention that I'm a pilgrim?"
"No," I replied, "only that you came from over the mountains."
"And over the mountains beyond those, as well," he said. "I've come to visit what remains of Sondaram, once a great temple by the sea. A certain number of us do this, spacing our visits over time, for we believe our worshipping there sustains its consecration, even though its walls have long been torn down and its ruins plundered."
He lifted his feet from the stool and tentatively pressed them against the floor. "I think I'm healed enough to make it there; it's only a league or so away. Why not come with me? I can tell you've never been there, and it's something you should see at least once in your life."
I hesitated. "I shouldn't leave the house unattended," I said.
"Oh!" Orien replied, misunderstanding me, "are you the house servant here?"
"No," I said. "Onna is that." I decided not to explain that it was I who needed the attending. Instead, after a moment's hesitation, I continued, "On second thought, I think I shall accept your invitation, if this place truly is close by." I still hadn't been outside once since I'd come here, which was now almost a month. This excursion seemed harmless enough, since it would take us away from Gedd, not into it.
"Well," said Orien, "don't expect me to trot. But even at my stately pace we will be back in, at most, a few hours. You will find, if you're the right person, that even as a ruin, Sondaram is a hard place to leave."
DESPITE HIS WORDS, Orien moved with long strides, assisted with a staff, which I hadn't previously noticed, since he had left it inside the door when he had come in the house. It was a finer thing even than Alfrund's, decorated with intricate carving and inlaid with a silvery metal that looked not unlike untarnished silver.
Orien caught me glancing at it. "An old man must have his staff, and since mine is always with me, I decided it should be a fine one."
He passed it over to me. It was surprisingly light for its size and had an odd balance which I might not have noticed had I not taken hold of it in the middle. Ridges were carved there that seemed especially designed to provide a sure grip. Holding it firmly, I swung the staff first to the left and then to the right. It moved so quickly that it hummed, and with such force that I almost lost control, barely avoiding giving Orien a glancing blow on his side.
He reached out a hand and took it from me. "I think I'd better take that back," he said. But when, somewhat shamefacedly, I opened my mouth to apologize, Orien waved the words away.
"There's no blame meant for you," he said. "I forgot that when my staff finds itself in younger hands, it can get rather frisky. I fear the poor thing has become rather bored with me."
"It's a weapon then," I said.
Orien shrugged. "Over time, it has shown itself to have many purposes. And, yes, one of them is the ability to protect an old man from the occasional scoundrel or footpad. As you saw, it has quite a bit of strength all by itself, necessary when you grow as feeble as I."
"You don't look in the least feeble to me," I said. "In fact, the more I look at you, the less old you seem, too." And this was so. Orien was thin and craggy of feature, with a slight stubble of beard. But he was more wiry than skinny, and there was none of the flaccidity about him that is the inescapable mark of the truly elderly.
"Old I surely am," Orien replied, although obviously not in the least put out by my observation. "As to my strength, I meant mostly compared to what I once was. I can still give a villain a good knock when I need to, staff or no."
We walked on for a bit. The way we had been following had already left the last house behind and now had turned up sharply through a grove of trees. When we left it behind us, I saw we were on a small ridge, but high enough to reveal all of Gedd spread out before our feet.
When Alfrund had called Gedd a town, I'd imagined something like our village, only say, four times as large. But to my innocent eyes, Gedd seemed enormous. It contained a mass of houses and other buildings, leading down to the sea, where there were docks and warehouses and ships at anchor. And, over to one side, on a small peninsula that jutted out into the water, the stone walls of the fort. Even at this distance it looked foreboding, with its high stone walls.
I stared at all this and then asked Orien, "Why did Alfrund call Gedd a town when it's so very large? Do I misunderstand the word?"
"Not really," Orien answered. "Gedd might, by some, be called a city - - most probably by those who live here. After all, it's a prosperous seaport and a major producer of salt, one of the kingdom's most desired necessities. If you look over to the left, you will see the salt works spread out beside the sea."
I looked to where he pointed, but saw nothing but what seemed to be a series of large puddles, glistening in the sunlight. I asked Orien if he meant these.
"Yes," he said. "Those 'puddles' are actually vast shallow pools, carved out of rock. They are filled with sea water, which is then evaporated by the sun, leaving behind the coarse grains of salt, which are swept up into piles and shoveled into sacks.
"In fact, that's the reason for the fort. The soldiers are not here to protect us but to keep us from the salt, which is a monopoly of the king's. The profits from its sale, everywhere in the kingdom, go directly to his treasury. Great effort is expended to keep others from secretly harvesting salt, smuggling it over the mountains, or stealing it from the great mule trains that carry it over them to the kingdom proper."
"However, to get back to your question. Size isn't all that distinguishes a city from a town. Gedd has no scholars, few priests, and fewer temples. There is no palace here, no monuments, no scriptoriam, no high academy, indeed, not one morsel of grandeur or beauty."
He shot a glance at me. "In short, it is considered a negligible and inferior appendage to our great kingdom...and that, it has turned out, is a very lucky thing for you."
My mouth fell open in surprise. But before I could form the words to ask him what he meant, he seized hold of my shoulder and directed my attention to the sight that had now appeared directly before us. "Behold," he said, "the ruins of Sondaram!"
We had crested the ridge and Gedd, even as Orien was dismissing it, had fallen out of sight behind us. On this, the far side, the sea came much further in, forming a steep-sided bay, with sheer cliffs falling down to the water. At their edge, just below us, on a great ledge of rock, was the place at which Orien now pointed with his staff.
From his description, I'd expected nothing but a jumble of rocks. But though the place was in ruins, it was not without majesty. A flight of stone steps led up to what had once been a great portico; beyond this, among the tumbled walls, were the remnants of a great hall, its vast floor of colored tile glittering brightly in the sun. And beyond that, at the side closest to the sea, enough remained of a great tower for the sight of it to still take your breath away.
Orien setting the pace, we hastened down to it, along a way that, I saw, was still paved with stone. When we came to the place itself, Orien laid his hand on my arm and bade me stop. "What you are about to see me do," he said, "is my obligation, not yours. Don't attempt to imitate me. Once we're inside, I'll explain everything."
He then took a few steps to what must have been the entrance, fell to his knees, and prostrated himself. He remained there silent for several minutes and then rose again to his feet.
He then lifted his staff above his head and spoke an incantation made up of words I didn't understand. But their effect was immediate. The spirit of the place made itself known. There was no visible manifestation of this, but it felt as though a great beast had been awakened and had lifted its head. The air was charged with an alert presence that I could feel was focused entirely on me.
Orien then turned to me and gestured that I should precede him up the stairs. When I hesitated, wanting him to go first, he said simply, "Sondaram is aware of your arrival, as you yourself have probably sensed. It will now let no one enter unless by your leave. Go ahead of me and give your assent."
So I went to this invisible doorway and passed through. As Orien approached behind me, I felt a glancing query, as light as a feather, pass over my mind. It sought not so much to get my assent as to align its awareness of the mage with my own. From now on, at any given moment, it would treat Orien as I would wish it to.
With each step I took, my awareness of the force around me deepened. Here, the place that I had entered to struggle against the Summoner was no longer just inside me, but all around me as well. This time, my eyes were open, I could see the world as it was outside Sondaram's boundaries. But I was also in a state of heightened consciousness, aware of a world beyond the physical swirling around me.
The flash of fear that had come to me at the thought of the Summoner ebbed away as quickly as it had come. The force thickened about me with each step I took, the way water feels when you dive deeply into the sea. In fact, like the sea, the force began to enfold me, take hold of me, and lift me up. I lifted my arms over my head and I rose gently into the air, up and up, so high that even in my exhilaration, some part of me began to lose its nerve. Instinctively, I lowered my arms until they reached out horizontally from my shoulders, my hands pointing outwards, my palms down.
As I did so, the upward movement stopped. Now, instead, the great current passed through me, pulsing through my entire body, cleansing it, strengthening it, and opening my mind. I had no visions and heard no voices. Instead, I felt as I'd awakened from a dream, and what before had been murky was now clear, what before had been weak was now shown the way to become strong.
Eventually, I drew my arms in and crossed them on my breast. The flow stopped and I floated where I was and drank in a great stillness, not an emptiness but a fullness that held me steady and safe. It was far deeper than any lover could provide, except that there was no heart beating next to mine, which is, in the end, the most precious thing there is.
I had no sense of passing time but, mindful of what had happened before, I lowered my arms and pointed to the ground below me. Slowly I sank until my toes touched the cold stone. My legs, however, were not strong enough to hold me up, and I came to rest crosslegged on the floor. I raised my hands, palms up, and the force drifted away, although I knew that it merely waited for me to summon it again.
As I sat there weakly, I saw that I was in some sort of circle, demarcated from the rest of the floor by a surface of translucent, softly shimmering blue stones. I lifted my eyes and saw Orien standing just beyond the boundary. He reached out a hand to me, and I realized that he couldn't - - or wouldn't - - enter this circle to help me up. So, rather ignominiously, I crawled to its edge on my hands and knees. When I crossed over the border onto the rubble-strewn floor, the force immediately began to flow again behind me. I could actually see it, a fountain of visible air, tinted the lightest possible blue, flowing upwards in a state of continual flux.