Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 20

  Narune said nothing more as they approached one of the gates where a pair of foreign sentinels stood watch from beneath an awning. They wore sleeveless cloth on their chests and the sturdy yet very uncomfortable-looking breizo, which fell down all the way to their ankles, that their warriors favored.

  Both of them held poleaxes upright, but only their gazes moved at Colibrí’s approach, and lazily at that.

  Colibrí bowed in greeting. “Sea and soil.”

  “What can we do for you, señrosa?” one asked after yawning. The woman spoke their tongue well, if formally; she sounded like a sage.

  Colibrí had already considered her options before coming here. They’d included various lies and even attempting to convince Yabisi into meeting with the foreigners herself, but in the end, she decided it was best to say something that would have them bring her straight to whoever commanded them.

  “Have you been warned about the increased appearances of halja and corruption?” Colibrí asked, tail waving behind her.

  “Uh, yes? We were also told not to worry, because your cacica was sending more warriors into the forest. What does this have to do with us?”

  Colibrí cleared her throat. “You’re being formally accused of action against the Islandborn, spread of Stillness, and support of halja. I’ve come to offer you a chance to speak informally in your defense before the cacica takes action.”

  The two guards blinked, then exchanged a look. “Who are you two?” the woman demanded.

  She gestured at herself. “I am Kayuya Colibrí.” It wasn’t exactly true since she was exiled, but kayuya—which more or less meant ‘everyone’—was the name you used when you didn’t know what tribe someone hailed from.

  Today Colibrí wore her best sarong, colored after the sea in blues and teals and decorated with seashells that matched her earrings, necklace, and bracelet. The sarong was meant for the most formal or festive of occasions, sleeveless but reaching up to her neck instead of her hips.

  They had left their spears at the edge of the forest, so she wore no weapon other than her knife. That chaffed at her, but then it probably wouldn’t have done her any good if the foreigners turned on them. Sanemoro knew where they had gone, at least, and honor might push Yabisi into action if they vanished.

  Colibrí hoped she wouldn’t need to find out.

  “And this is a representative from the Spiritseer Circle.” She gestured at Narune and he straightened, tail lifting along with his ears.

  “Is he?” The foreigner narrowed her eyes. “He seems pretty young, and looks more like your son than anything else.”

  “He’s both,” Colibrí said with a shrug. “So?”

  Narune was dressed in his war garb, unlike her; the best they could do without a proper spiritseer poncho. He, too, had left his spear behind, but carried his Flowing Blade with him, hidden in the nest of shadow feathers at his hip. They were far enough away from the village to avoid notice and she doubted the foreigners would remark on a young spiritseer; what mattered, she hoped, was their worry over what he might bring back to his ‘superiors.’

  He drew his Blade and awakened it, the sliver of oily black just visible in the dying storm’s gloom.

  The two foreigners said nothing for a moment, then they spoke to each other in their strangely musical language. She couldn’t understand them, but their bodies said enough; there was some kind of disagreement between them and neither of them was willing to budge.

  Eventually, one of them scowled and waved a hand; the first sentinel. She turned to Colibrí and frowned. “This is an issue for the high magus, but I warn you, he does not take well to interruptions. He will not be happy to see you.”

  Colibrí shrugged, then followed after the sentinel when she moved through an opening in the wall.

  The little village was tidy in the most unnerving way. The ground had been flattened somehow, then the foreigners had laid stone slabs over it. The slabs were slick from rain and water trickled toward channels along the walls. Hexagonal buildings filled the village, each a perfect clone of the other, except for the one at the center.

  This was a tower of white stone—it looked like white basalt, but who knew—that was as faceted and hard-edged as everything else. They were led toward the tower, and after a brief discussion with the sentinels in front of it, they entered.

  Colibrí glanced around before going inside, frowning at the silence in the camp. It gave the impression of being extravagant, though she knew the foreigners built this way because they liked to separate themselves from the land whenever possible. She thought it odd for a people who adored the soil so much; they seemed to use stone for everything.

  The inside of the tower was far livelier, with several youths chatting around tables. They looked up curiously as Narune and her entered, and the conversation quickly shifted around them.

  “I will go have a word with the high magus’ aides,” the sentinel said, then she began stomping up a set of ornate stairs.

  Colibrí touched her son’s arm. Stay here and speak with these youths. Be friendly, but leave them in awe. I want them to try and impress you.

  I can do that, but why? Narune asked, his gentle smile betraying nothing as he glanced across the room.

  See if they’ll spill anything. I think I’m going to speak with one of their leaders and he’ll measure what he tells me. Maybe the youths won’t, and who knows what they’ve heard?

  If that’s what you want, her son said, seeming displeased with the task.

  She gave him a reassuring squeeze. They don’t know of the story in our blood, Narune. To them, being Halfborn is just a curiosity. Here’s your chance to tell it your way, and taste what it might be like with the Trueborn someday. Just don’t forget to trade questions instead of just gifting answers.

  This seemed to comfort him, and he moved over to one of the groups when she released him. Colibrí watched him hesitantly introduce himself to the anxious youths, then listened to their stumbling reply as they struggled to speak the Islandborn tongue.

  She frowned, but the sentinel returned with haste, face flushed, and waved at her urgently. Colibrí glanced up at her and blinked.

  “Kayuya Colibrí, if you would please join me. The high magus will see you immediately.”

  Well, that was definitely quick. She smiled, then ascended, her decorative sandals clapping on the stone. They went all the way to the top of the tower were a bulbous chamber awaited them. A shiver ran down her spine as she entered; the Flows suddenly became deep and there was a crispness that left the air chilly and free of scent.

  She raised an eyebrow as she looked around. The chamber was cluttered and messy, and the walls were hidden behind boxes filled with what the foreigners called ‘books,’ as Yabisi had explained so long ago. Tables stood before them in a circle, littered with papers, inkstone, and more books. Coral lanterns hung everywhere, the color a dreary gray; foreigners hungered for the lanterns, supposedly, and traded well for them.

  At the center of it all was a massive wooden table, as cluttered as the rest of the chamber, and behind it was a chair that was more wastefully ornate than even the formal seat of the cacica. In it was an angry man, old and wrinkled, his face framed by gray hair braided with golden loops. The braids of hair ran down all the way to his waist.

  A beard and mustache, Colibrí recalled; The Islandborn—may their days remain stormless—weren’t cursed with hair on the wrong side of their heads. What scant few hairs did appear were easy enough to pluck free, and quickly were.

  Colibrí shook her head. Maybe it’s best that they live in soft lands; I’m sure their days are stormy enough with such frail and poorly shaped bodies.

  “Kayuya Colibrí,” the sentinel announced, then bowed and left, shutting the door behind her.

  Colibrí glanced around and realized they were alone. She stepped forward and halted a short distance before the desk. She then cleared her throat, ears flattening.

  “Sea and soil,” she said politely.
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  “Yes, sea and soil,” the man spat back as if it had been an insult. His command of the Islandborn tongue was impressively flawless. The man wiped hands across his eyes. “I am Jerrico Ferrer Agustín, high magus and technocrat of Casteón, and lord of this research expedition.” He rose suddenly from his seat and slammed his palms against his desk, filling the silence with the thud. “And you are—”

  —Colibrí opened her mouth to answer—

  “—a fucking problem.”

  Colibrí closed her mouth, frowned, and then rested a hand on her hip.

  “Which is fine. Just fine!” Jerrico said as he threw his arms up. “I love solving problems. Very skilled at it, in fact. It’s the entire reason the Guiding Council sent me here. So, let’s do some solving, señrosa.” He thrust a finger at her. “Your accusations are so ridiculous I normally wouldn’t even have acknowledged them, but our projects are finally producing results and that’s all that’s keeping my expedition funded and my charter in good standing. The last thing I need right now is to lose the support of you primitive idiots, and I really don’t have the time or energy to waste on Saint-damned politics!”

  Colibrí raised her eyebrows as he finished with a breathless huff, red-faced, and then watched the magus move around his desk. The man folded his arms behind his back and seemed to regain some of his composure, then began pacing. Colibrí paced with him, and they walked opposite each other in a circle around the chamber.

  “We’ve come only to speak. We mean no disrespect,” Colibrí said, deciding that she had already plunged the spear deep enough. She paused to smooth her hair down the length of its braid, then shook her hands. Water scattered everywhere, and the magus’ eyes practically bulged. Colibrí smiled sheepishly. “Uh, sorry.”

  “You meant no disrespect?” Jerrico said, mirroring her tone. He laughed, and then gestured at her ears with a snort. “Of course you didn’t. No more than a hound shitting on the floor means disrespect. Ah, and that’s the truth of the matter, isn’t it? My dear señrosa, scholars such as myself value reason and logic exactly because they’re the gifts that place humanity above mere beasts. But what do your people know about those? About proper civility? You, who all strut around naked yet dare to come accusing us of aiding abominations?”

  Colibrí shrugged. “I’m not naked now.”

  He glared at her for a moment as if she had somehow said something ridiculous, then rubbed his forehead and sighed. “What proof have you of our supposed malice? Hmm?”

  Colibrí crossed her arms. There was no proof, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. It would be enough to unroll a mat and then see what he placed on it. “There is a master of the Unseen Flow lurking in the forest. He has been using sorcery to disguise corrupted gardens and to cage halja, and we’re almost certain it’s not a spiritseer; the spells of our mystic warriors are temporary, and requires them to be nearby for them to work.”

  “I know that,” Jerrico snapped. He turned and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I see now why you suspect us. Maintaining illusions near Stillness would require true talent; something more refined than your ridiculous sword-spells.” He glanced over at her. “But it could be anyone. All the greater powers in the world understand the Flows of Creation. So do many of the more primitive peoples, like your own.”

  Colibrí ignored his nip and patiently told him what she knew about Peacemaker. The magus was frowning deeply, and all the lines on his face had creased by the time she finished.

  “I see.” He looked intrigued and his brow remained bunched. “This is all interesting, but I promise you we’ve nothing to do with this ‘Peacemaker’ character. What’s the best way to get that through your head?”

  “Well,” Colibrí said. “Helping us deal with him would prove your innocence, wouldn’t it?”

  Jerrico glanced skyward for a moment. “You said you could sense some of his spells? The ones made to cloak the arrows, but not the illusions placed over the halja and Stillness?”

  She nodded.

  “Come,” he said without explanation. He then hopped over to the side where a thick staff of painted wood stood in a holder. He plucked it free, glanced at it for a moment, then rushed over by Colibrí and to the stairs without so much as a glance at her. Bemused, Colibrí followed, struggling to keep up with the surprisingly spry old man.

  Narune looked over at her as they descended, but she motioned for him to remain, and continued after the magus.

  They hurried outside to where the sky was still gray and cloudy. Droplets began to fall again, but they strangely veered away from the magus, leaving him dry.

  He came to a stop in a clearing at the far side of their village, a square space between the buildings were several youths stood listening to an older woman. They looked startled to see Jerrico, but he waved them away and then paid them no more attention.

  The magus raised his staff without explanation and suddenly the Flows of Creation deepened. She glanced over at him, alarmed, and struggled to suppress the screams—the Jurakán—which also grew in strength.

  “Anything?” he asked with a glance, his voice strained.

  She hesitated. “I sense the Flows becoming deeper, but nothing specific.”

  He nodded, then closed his eyes.

  This time Colibrí gasped—the Jurakán swirled even more strongly around her and threads of violet color appeared out of thin air, then they swirled around the magus. It felt exactly like when Peacemaker had used his arrows.

  Jerrico grunted and lowered his staff. He looked exhausted and sweat beaded on his brow. He glanced over her with huff. “Well, is that similar to what you felt?”

  “Yes!” she said. “That exactly, almost.”

  “What color was it?”

  “Uh, violet. Isn’t it supposed to be?”

  The magus was quiet for a long time, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Yes, but it’s rare for someone to be able to ‘see’ Flow without unusual sensitivity or decades of training, and I probably didn’t even Draw enough for that. You must be especially sensitive.”

  She decided against going into the specifics, and nodded. “Yes, my son and I both.”

  Jerrico snorted. “Well, using this much Flow is like using a bucket when you only need brush strokes; a common novice mistake. But then, a novice couldn’t craft spells like the ones you described, so my guess would be that this Peacemaker simply can’t, or is unwilling to use the Flows directly.” Jerrico let out a long breath. “If so, overusing Flow would be a likely side effect. That’s why you sensed it when he hastily cloaked his arrows in illusion; there’s no finesse, just crude globs of Flow.

  “The spells hiding Stillness, on the other hand, would need to be crafted slowly and carefully. Saints forgive, but if your Peacemaker really can’t use Flow directly, then it’d be like using a spoon to carve a stone statue while blind.”

  Colibrí thought over this for a moment. “I don’t think this helps much, magus. If he can’t use sorcery directly, then, how does he?”

  “That… is an excellent question.” Jerrico’s eyebrows raised and he raised a hand. “Let’s assume this villain of yours shares some kind of bond with Stillness, as you rightfully suspect. Flow would be toxic to him. That means Channeling like one of your spiritseers is out of the question, because it would quite literally flood his body with Flow. Drawing should be out of the question too, as it would surround him in concentrated Flow before he could use any of it. That means there has to be another source of Flow he could pull from…” Jerrico snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it!”

  “Eh?”

  Jerrico grinned, then stroked his beard before finally talking to her instead of at her. “Your archipelago already teems with more Flow than anywhere else I’ve ever seen. Peacemaker might simply be siphoning Flow from the land somehow, crafting his gardens along the currents of Flow like villages along a river. I still don’t know how, but it doesn’t matter; we know what rivers.”

  Colibrí brightened and
her tail waggled behind her. “Do you think we could follow them to find his nests?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Señrosa, all the Flows run deeply through your archipelago. Telling them apart would be difficult, if not impossible. That’s why we name them collectively so often, and why most spellcrafters instead Draw or Channel a specific Flow away from its natural path. If I could make an artifact that magnified nearby Flow, then it’s possible that you and your son could pick out the Unseen Flow and follow it.”

  “Could you make something like that?” Colibrí asked.

  “Would you put in a good word with your cacica if I tried?” he asked, then glanced over at her with an appraising eye.

  “Eh, maybe.”

  “All right, all right.” The magus scowled. “I’ll do my best for the sake of the love and good will between our people.”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “Oh? Have we ascended above beasts in your mind?”

  “Says the woman with a wolf’s tail and ears?”

  “Island coyote,” she corrected, then crossed her arms.

  This might finally give her a solution to bring to the Guardian. After all, if she and Narune could pick out the Unseen Flow with the foreigner’s artifact, then surely the Guardian could too. And then, instead of stumbling around or waiting for the forest to guide her, they could direct the entire wrath of the Islandborn from vile garden to garden in a single sweep; a victory at long last. Colibrí couldn’t help but feel a little bit of excitement and eagerness, and her tail wagged in show of it.

  She nodded at Jerrico. “The cacica will be waiting for news.” A small lie, but she knew Yabisi would swallow her irritation and accept the gift thrown onto her lap.

  “Of course.” The man bowed while using his staff to support himself. “To our mutually beneficial future.”

  Chapter 20

  Narune crouched on the beach, twig in hand, and drew warden-marks on the ground. He mouthed them to himself as he wrote, forming deeper and increasingly complex meanings by grouping them together in different ways. Fatigue itched at his mind and his muscles ached.