I had left one city and come to another, just as grand, upon the shores of the summer sea. The last city was Gallia, Ramla told me, and this one was Ksadaja, which those from the north called the city of the dead. Indeed, its greatest edifices were tombs, built above and below the ground in towering structures and mazes of tunnels, none of which I would ever be permitted to see. Only the people of Ksadaja could walk the halls of the temples, and only their priests could venture below, where the bodies of the esteemed dead awaited the call of their gods, who at the end of an age of calamity, would bring them once again to life and place them as rulers over the transformed world. Towering obelisks, carved with prayers to the same gods in an ancient language, stood like sentries between the temples and greeted us as Ramla’s ship made its way into the harbor.
Beneath the temples and among the tombs, the people of Ksadaja went about the business of the living, smiling and laughing as though death did not haunt their every footstep. They dressed in vibrant colors and intricate patterns, the fabric wound around their tall, lithe forms and draped over one arm to stir in the breeze from the ocean. One woman carried a basket atop her head, her back as straight as the shaft of a spear, and her small child clung to her garment, watching me disembark with huge, dark eyes until his mother pulled him away toward the market.
I led Bran down from the ship and onto the dock. His hooves struck the salt-stained boards, and he took off ahead of me at a trot. I ran to catch up, worried he’d startle the folk in the market and draw more eyes to me than I wanted.
The presence of a steppe horse, however, lifted only a few eyes from the market stalls. Two more horses came into view, pulling a heavy cart on four wooden wheels. These were great beasts, their shoulders as high as my head, their coats mottled in the colors of sand and clay. Bran’s only notable feature was his diminuitive size.
I bade farewell to Ramla, and thanked him for all that he had told me of his home.
The market glittered with golden jewelry, and the heavy smell of mingled spices hung in the air like a fog. It spread out from the harbor well into the city. The temples and the trees beyond cast a twilight shadow onto the farthest shops even at midday.
I purchased a little more food for the road, and some grain to feed Bran while we walked under the trees in the places where no light reached the ground. I had every intention to make this errand a swift one. I had to find a way into the trees, and someone who knew the name of Maponos the Ever-living, and then the location of the Sage’s Mirror.
It sounded easy enough.
A cacophony of different tongues filled the marketplace. I listened as I walked, searching for something I might recognize.
“Traveler!” a man called out. “What brings you to this fair city?”
He stood under a striped tent, and it cast blue and red shadows over his robe. He had tied the door flaps open with two lengths of rope. Unlike the other merchants, he was dressed all in white, from the cloth protecting his head from the heat to the hem dragging on the ground. His billowing sleeves covered his hands. Dust stained his clothing, and a strange smell like vinegar and dried herbs emanated from the open door.
“I’m only passing through,” I said. “I seek the kingdom above, in the trees. Do you know of it? Do you know how I can get there?”
He beckoned me inside. I followed, placing both hands on Bran’s halter and leading him into the shelter.
It was much larger inside than I had expected. The tent concealed a cavernous doorway carved out of a stone wall. Other people, dressed in the same long, white robes, milled about in the windowless darkness. A great cauldron stood in the center of the interior room. The sharp aroma emanated from the dark surface of the liquid inside as a pair of women stirred it with long, wooden poles. Several oil lamps sputtered on the walls.
“It’s a long road,” the man said. “It winds through the forest floor and spirals up the trunks of the trees. Why would you want to travel there, when there are so many marvels here upon the ground?”
I bowed, apologetic. “I mean no disrespect to this fair city. Had I the time to spend, I would remain here a long while, and see everything it has to offer. For now, I am on an errand, and my employer bade me to make haste and return quickly.”
“Ah, to be in such a hurry in the city of the dead,” the man said. “Why serve a living master in the short time before you enter the service of the old gods?”
When Ramla had described the gods of Ksadaja, he had made no mention of eternal service after death. Those who slept in the grand tombs would rule, yes, but what became of the rest of us? Would our bones work endlessly to prop up their gods’ blessed kingdom?
“I do not know your gods,” I said. “When I meet my death, others will lay claim to me.” Whether it would be the gods of my people, or Nashurru of the deep, or Torr who had taken Khalim from me, I could not say, and I would not waste this man’s limited hours by debating the point with him.
He nodded, slowly, inclining a chin covered in black stubble as though he understood the depth and breadth of the dilemma I had not shared with him. “I suppose that is a kind of freedom, isn’t it? To choose how one will die?”
“Better to choose how one might live,” I said.
He smiled, teeth shining white against his dark face. “And you’ve chosen to perform tasks for the wealthy and powerful?”
“For now,” I said. “If you can help me, I would be grateful. If not, I will take my leave.”
The man held up a hand. “Wait, young man. Tell me, first, why you seek the great heights. My friends and I might be able to help you.”
Despite his offer, I considered leaving. The smell from the cauldron made my head ache, and the heat pouring from beneath it chased away any relief the shade had brought from the climbing sun. This man’s smile crinkled his eyes, but there was an edge behind it, and I could not say if that edge was intended for me. The others paid me little attention, absorbed as they were in their tasks in the darkened room.
If he could tell me the way to the Sage’s Mirror, though, my journey could be all the shorter. If he could not, what was the harm in telling him of my errand? I was alone, save for my horse, and could move much faster over land than he and his companions could. The other possibility that I could imagine, that he would warn the people of the treetops that I was on my way, did not seem so dire. Let them know of my approach; I would deal with them honestly.
“I seek a relic,” I said, “that once belonged to a sorcerer named Maponos the Ever-living. My employer asked not to be named, but he believes it to reside in the kingdom above.”
“The ever-living,” the man repeated.
He clapped his hands, loud enough to give Bran and the people working behind him a start. With a gesture, he beckoned me into the dark room, showing me a low chair against one wall.
Bran watched, turning his head to follow my movements with one eye and then the other. When the man went to close the flaps of the tent, Bran tossed his head, rattling his harness, but he remained where he was.
I sat down. The chair was a wooden cross-frame with a faded cloth stretched across it, and a patch had been stitched into the center. One of the women at the cauldron picked up a small cup of hammered copper and dipped it into the mixture. The smell of it stung my nose and made my eyes water.
“Drink,” she said. “It’s good for you.”
I took the cup out of politeness. Heat pricked at my fingers.
The man pulled another chair from the wall and sat across from me. He, too, took a cup from the cauldron, and he drank half of it at once. “My name is Kural, son of Irreni,” he said. “These are my brothers and sisters, not by birth but by faith. While the people of Ksadaja offer their lives up to the gods of the tombs with little thought, we have chosen a different path. You are a wanderer—I can tell by the look of your face and the clothing you wear. Ours is a path that might interest you.”
I shook my head. “I have met enough gods, and men who would be gods, and beasts great enough to be equal to gods. I have no use for another.”
“But you do have use for the Mirror of Wisdom, do you not?”
Kural laughed at my look of surprise. “We know well the name of Maponos,” he continued, “and we know where his relic has been hidden. A great sage of the upper kingdom has kept it for a hundred years or more, among the other artifacts he has collected from the far corners of the world.”
He gestured for me to drink, and I did, the liquid biting my tongue. The flickering lamps danced at the corners of my visions, encircled in smoky halos.
“I don’t suppose he’d be willing to part with one relic for a reasonable fee,” I said.
“Almost certainly not,” Kural said with another laugh. “But there is always an honored place in the halls above for an outlander with a tale to tell, and there are ways into the vaults that even the guards do not know.”
I regarded him with suspicion. “And yet, all these relics remain in the trees, while you stay here on the ground. Clearly, it isn’t conscience or the rule of law that prevents you from claiming them for yourself.”
“Alas, my face is known among the sages of the upper kingdom,” he said. “Yours, however, is not.”
I took a second drink from the cup. The sharpness lessened, and a slight taste that might have been honey came through as I swallowed. “I must return the mirror to my employer. What benefit is there in this arrangement for you?”
“The man who holds your mirror is a powerful magic-worker,” said Kural, “and an old enemy of those who seek freedom from the tomb-gods. Any blow to his power is a boon to us. And should he meet his death in a struggle, then…” He let the thought die, unfinished, with a vague wave of his hand.
“No.” I stood, setting the cup aside. “I’m not your assassin. If you wish the man dead, then do it yourself. I am here for the mirror, and nothing else.”
He raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Of course not. I would not ask such a thing of you. You seek the mirror, and you shall have it. With our help, you’ll find a way into his stronghold, and a way out with the relic, and this knowledge will benefit us more than you can know.”
I took a step back toward Bran. “I should find my own way into the trees,” I said.
“Let us guide you, at least,” Kural said, getting to his feet and reaching out to touch my shoulder. “You’ll be lost as soon as you pass out of reach of the sun.”
I looked to my horse. If I had to, I could run, abandoning my guide if he proved untrustworthy. “Very well. Show me the way.”
Back to Chapter XLVI: The Summer Sea
Forward to Chapter XLVIII: Under the Trees
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