Circles of Stone

“Blood …” he murmured under his breath, “blood … blood …”

Finally he stopped and furrowed his brow in concentration, apparently allowing the Ravel Runes to work their magic. Sylas saw the writing on the page writhe and shift again and again and again until finally, Paiscion nodded. His eyes snapped up to Sylas’s.

“Here,” he said, handing the Samarok back, open at the page. Then to Sylas’s surprise, he turned on his heel and walked off beneath the boughs of the Living Tree, heading directly for Naeo.

“Important, you see!” grinned Simia, poking a finger in his side.

Sylas was too busy looking at the Samarok to reply. His eyes passed quickly over a page that seemed to be written almost entirely in verse, but before the Ravel Runes had time to reveal their meaning, he heard Paiscion speak.

The Magruman was now beneath the tree, talking to Naeo. There was a quick exchange and then, in some confusion, Naeo raised her wrist. She and Paiscion stared at the other half of the Merisi Band, still glowing faintly in the sunlight. For a moment they were motionless, then Paisicon’s face filled with a knowing smile. Naeo was plainly bewildered. They exchanged a few more words and then the Magruman left her side and walked back out into the centre of the gardens.

By this point the Say-So had reached a high pitch of excitement, so that when Paiscion raised his hands he had to wait for silence.

“Sisters and brothers!” he shouted. “Sisters and brothers! Young Simia here has spotted something that may be very important to these proceedings.” Attention shifted to Simia, who seemed fit to burst with pride. “As you may or may not have heard, when Sylas and Naeo first met, the Merisi Band split in two, forming a new bracelet for each of them. It seems that when Sylas and Naeo drew near one another just now, these two bracelets revealed a message, also in two parts.” Paiscion opened his hands and grinned admiringly. “It is a message intended to reveal the way ahead. It speaks to us in this very moment!”

The Say-So erupted once again in excited murmurings and whisperings, followed by scores of hushes and calls for quiet. Everyone wanted to hear what Paiscion would say next.

“The inscription,” he continued, “is simply this …”

He cleared his throat.

“In blood it began. In blood it must end.”

The gathering was silent long enough for Paiscion’s words to echo from the cliffs and then the whispers began again – whispers filled with fear. Worried looks were exchanged, faces paled, heads were shaken in foreboding.

But the frightened murmurings fell away almost as soon as they had begun.

The Magruman was smiling.

He was standing with his arms crossed, waiting, with a broad grin on his face.

“Forgive me, Paiscion,” protested Kaspertak, “but what is there to smile about? What can this be but a terrible prophecy?”

“It is a clue!” cried Paiscion. “A clue written by Merisu himself, for who but he forged the Merisi Band? And if it is a clue written by Merisu, where should it lead us but to the book he himself began all those centuries ago.” He pointed across the gardens. “It leads us to the Samarok!”

Suddenly the entire Say-So was focused eagerly on Sylas and the book he held before him.

“I have just looked through the Samarok myself,” continued Paiscion. “Using the Ravel Runes, I have searched for that same phrase. References to blood lead to many entries, but blood and beginnings lead to only one. An entry deep in the ancient histories – an entry I have never seen before. Sisters and brothers, it contains the exact message we have found on the Merisi Band!” He paused to allow more excited chatter to die away. “Now, Sylas, as the rightful bearer of the Samarok, perhaps you could read the whole entry to us?”

Sylas closed his eyes to overcome his nerves and to clear his mind. Finally he opened them and focused on the runes at the top of the page. Instantly they started to work their magic, changing from a nonsensical scrawl into intricate Ravel Runes, revealing their true meaning.

He read the first words: “The Song of Isia.”

“Speak up, please!” shouted someone high on the cliff.

Sylas cleared his throat. “It’s a song!” he shouted. “The Song of Isia!”

There was a new surge of excitement, with animated chatter, knowing nods and cries of, “Isia, of course!”

“Quiet, everyone!” shouted Filimaya, clapping her hands. “Let Sylas finish!”

Sylas turned his eyes back to the page, mastered his thoughts and read on:

“She sings from the skies,

Through earth and the sea;

She sings through the lies

To both parts of me.

She tells of old lore,

Of dark and the light;

She tells of a war

Two children must fight.”

Suddenly the gardens were filled with more excited whispers. Sylas waited for them to calm before continuing.

“She sings of two lands,

Though one we can see;

She tells of twin bands,

To set us all free.

She sings of the lines

Of glove and the hand,

She tells of a time

For one final stand.

But this time of sun

Will end all too soon.

Our hope quickly won,

Will die in one moon.

She sings from the skies,

Through bare root and tree;

She sings through the lies

To both parts of me.

In this her sad song

A message she sends:

In blood it began,

In blood it must end.”

He felt a slight shiver as he read the final lines, then looked up from the page to see hundreds of faces staring back. Paiscion was the only one who moved. He nodded quietly to himself, a smile growing on his lips.

“And so there it is,” he said, almost to himself, his eyes bright behind his glasses, “our past, our present and our future!”

There were murmurings from the crowd, then someone cried out: “But I don’t understand!”

Paiscion threw his arms wide. “The song tells us all we need to know!” he cried. “That all is coming to pass just as the great Merisu foretold! That Sylas and Naeo, these two children wearing twin bands, are destined to fight a great war for freedom! A battle to vanquish the lies that have divided our two worlds! Our two selves!”

“You see!” shouted someone by the river. “They are here to fight for us!”

Paiscion shook his head. “Not to fight for the Suhl,” he corrected, “but for all humankind. For the freedom of all. For our right to be whole! The Suhl may be part of this war, but it will not be fought for us.”

There were some whispers, but when no one spoke up, Paiscion turned back to the gathering.

“But the song tells us more than that. It tells us that there is no time to lose, that hope will die in one moon, which can only mean the moon that brought Sylas to us.”

“But it’s only just over two weeks before the new moon!” cried Glubitch, shaking his red locks. “It’s full tomorrow. Surely there’s no time for—”

“It seems that’s all the time we have,” said Paiscion firmly. “We will just have to use it well. Which brings us to the true purpose of the song: to tell us what must be done next.”

“But I didn’t hear any such thing,” grumbled Kaspertak. “It’s the usual Samarok gobbledygook!”

“And yet it was there, in the very title!” cried Paiscion. “Sisters and brothers, this is Isia’s song! Can anyone doubt that she is at the centre of everything? That she was there at the beginning and that she knows the end? And is it really a surprise that she – the Seer of Souls and the one power that Thoth does not control – that she holds the key to this prophecy?”

There were many nods of agreement and for the first time the congregation seemed to be one, muttering their assent.

Sylas listened to all this with growing astonishment and unease – fighting battles for all of humankind? Making the worlds whole? People whole? And in twenty days? It seemed ludicrous. But there was something else: a knot was forming in his stomach – a knot of frustration. The only people not being consulted on what should happen next were he and Naeo. What if they didn’t want to do all this together? What if they just couldn’t? They could hardly bear to be in the same gardens! And in truth, no matter how important all this sounded, he could not – must not – forget that his mother was still alive, languishing in some hospital somewhere in his own world.

“You are of course right,” said an elderly woman near the Living Tree. “Sylas and Naeo should go back to the city and consult with Isia straight away.”

Suddenly Naeo stepped forward. “But what if we don’t want to travel together any more?” she asked abruptly. “What if we can’t? You’ve seen what happens when we’re too close! And it’s getting worse all the time!”

The elderly woman wavered and sat down.

Ash stood and stepped forward. “In any case, I’d say it’s not a great idea for them to move around together,” he said. “Surely that’s just what Thoth will be expecting? He’ll have every Scryer he has looking out for them travelling together.”

“But their power lies in being together!” said Kaspertak. “I thought that was the whole point!”

“Yes!” shouted someone else. “Wasn’t that why Naeo summoned Sylas in the first place? So that they could be together? Change things together?”

“It’s not as though anyone has done this before!” replied Naeo sharply. “How was I to know it’d feel like this? And anyway, who says we have to be together all the time? Why not just when it matters?”

The Say-So grew quiet. Paiscion took off his glasses and rubbed them on his handkerchief, deep in thought. Finally he placed them back on his nose.

“A conundrum,” he said, wagging his finger as though finding his way through his thoughts. “But if Sylas and Naeo cannot do everything together – if they can only be together when it most matters – then perhaps only one of them can go to Isia after all. And if that is the case, I wonder if the other can use their time just as profitably …” He nodded and wagged his finger more vigorously. “I wonder if they can find a way to be together without harm … yes … or apart and together at the same time …”

“Paiscion, but you’re making no sense!” grumbled Glubitch.

“I’m talking about the Merisi,” said Paiscion, excited once again. “After all, the reason the Merisi created the Merisi Band was to keep the wearer from meeting their own Glimmer. And they created the Glimmer Glass – the mirrors that allow them to see their Glimmer!” He looked searchingly around the gardens. “Bringing Glimmers together and keeping them apart! If anyone understands the forces that draw us to and repel us from our Glimmer, it is the Merisi. And if anybody will know how Sylas and Naeo can make use of their gift without needing to be together, it is the Merisi!”

“Those Merisi inventions are mere trinkets,” protested Kaspertak. “Cobbled-together mongrels of Essenfayle and science.”

“How can you say that when you have seen what the Merisi Band can do?” retorted Filimaya. “And there’s so much more! We spoke earlier about the Otherly Guild – they spent years studying the Merisi’s Things. They found them to have extraordinary power!”

Paiscion nodded. “As many of you know, I led the Otherly Guild and yes, among other things, we sought to understand the inventions of the Merisi – their miraculous and wonderful Things. They are more in number and greatness than we were ever able to understand.”

Sylas had been listening to all this with growing realisation. “Things?” he repeated. “You mean the Things that Mr Zhi had when I met him? The ones in the Shop of Things?”

Paiscion grinned. “The very same.”

Sylas’s eyes grew wide. “So … you think if I went back to the Shop of Things, Mr Zhi might know … what? How we can be together while we’re apart?”

“Quite possibly. Mr Zhi is the foremost authority on Things of all kinds, shapes and sizes,” said Paiscion. Then he frowned. “Only I’m not sure that it is a good idea that you should go, Sylas. You are known in the Other and Thoth may expect you to return. In these perilous times, I think we need to do everything to defeat Thoth’s expectations whenever we—”

“But when do we get to say what we want to do?” blurted Sylas, his frustration finally spilling over, his tone harsher than he had intended.

Paiscion blinked at him through his glasses, then he glanced at Filimaya. She simply nodded and crossed her arms.

“Young Sylas, I apologise,” said the Magruman. He looked at Naeo. “Both of you, I’m sorry: this is of course your decision. We certainly don’t mean to take away your freedom to choose your own course.” He looked from one to the other. “So … what is it that you would like to do?”

Sylas hesitated for a moment, still a little surprised by his own outburst. And then something extraordinary happened. As Sylas opened his mouth to speak, so did Naeo.

“Find my mother,” said Sylas.

“Find my father,” said Naeo.

The congregation gasped and looked in wonder at the two children. Though the few words they had uttered were in unison, their two voices had not clashed: they had become one. And what they said was the same, but opposite. The effect was electric.

Perhaps the only people who did not seem surprised were Sylas and Naeo themselves. It was as though they had only heard their own voice.

Paiscion eyed them both with renewed fascination. “Of course!” he said. “Of course your parents are your priority and it is quite natural that you should want to find them.” He frowned in concentration. “Perhaps there is a way that all of these objectives might be combined.”

“I’m not saying that we can’t do these other things as well,” said Sylas quickly, starting to feel rather selfish. “I know it’s important to talk to Mr Zhi – and to see Isia – but I can’t just forget about my mother.”

“And I can’t leave my father in the Dirgheon!” said Naeo.

“Of course you must look for your parents,” reassured Filimaya. “It adds to the challenge, but that is no reason not to try.”

“Really?” said Ash. He walked to the centre of the hollow and looked at Naeo and Sylas. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. If you do this – if you set out to find the very people you’re closest to, you’re far more likely to be seen by Thoth’s spies. It was hard enough to get into the Dirgheon last time, and I’d wager my grandmother that he’ll be more prepared now. Added to which, all the Dirgheon guards know what Naeo looks like.”

Sylas and Naeo tensed and prepared for a fight. They knew that Ash was right but this wasn’t rational, it was personal: how were they supposed to discard all the family they had left?

For a moment the meeting seemed to have reached another dead end. Many looked to Paiscion, hoping that their long-lost Magruman would know what to do. But it was not Paiscion who spoke next. Quietly and without anyone noticing, Simia stood up. She glanced anxiously at Sylas and then lifted her head to the great assembly.

“I have an idea,” she said.

“In the Suhl, we have found allies and friends with whom we might change the nature of the world.”

THE THREE PRESSED ON, tracing the fringes of the great lake, heading back towards Sylva. The young Scryer was soon striding out in front, but this time he had not drawn far ahead: Sylas was with him, his face set with determination and his arms pumping furiously at his sides. It was Simia who was lagging behind. She was scuttling on as best she could, but she was no match for the Scryer, nor for Sylas in this mood.

“Oh, come on,” she groaned, drawing to a halt, “slow down!”

Triste hesitated and eased his pace, but Sylas gritted his teeth and stomped on. Then he stopped and turned back.

“I just can’t believe you suggested it!” he bellowed. “I mean, you, of all people! You know how much I want to find my mum. And now instead I have to go back to the city to find Bowe! I thought you were on my side?”

Simia flicked her fiery hair over her shoulders. “I am on your side. And Naeo’s, actually. But you’ve both got a death wish!”

“No, we haven’t. We can look after ourselves!”

“Well, sure, when you’re together! But isn’t that the whole idea? We don’t know what you’ll be like when you’re apart – in different worlds!” She stared at him steadily. “And anyway, the Say-So was never going to agree to you going after your mum – you could see that!”

“We’ll do it anyway. I’m going after my mum and Naeo’s going after Bowe, no matter what the Say-So decided.”

“Then you’re fools,” said the Scryer.

Sylas rounded on him. “Oh really? You think so?” he yelled, his eyes burning.

Triste looked at him calmly, as though considering the question. He pulled the pipe from behind his ear.

He knocked it on the heel of his hand. “The Say-So is right – Thoth will be expecting you to look for your mother, and Naeo her father. He’ll see you coming. And if he doesn’t, his Scryers will.”

“Thoth has his own Scryers?” said Simia incredulously.

Triste shook his head and pushed what looked like green moss into his pipe. “The ones he’s captured and turned.”

“Some of our Scryers are working for Thoth? How could they?”

Triste regarded her coolly with his weary, sunken eyes. “If you’d seen what we’ve seen,” he said, “if you’d seen the Reckoning as we saw it, you might have despaired too.” He puffed at his pipe. “For Scryers, more than any other, wars are a living hell. Too much pain. Too much loss.” He took the pipe from his mouth and inspected the bowl, prodding at the strange tobacco inside. “Anyway, the point is, now that Thoth’s Scryers know what to look for, they’ll see everything I see.”

“And what’s that, exactly?” asked Sylas, still struggling to cool his temper.

Triste winced as his pipe sent up a new pall of orange smoke. “If Naeo nears her father, or if you near your mother, you’ll stand out like a bushfire on a dark night.”

Sylas looked into the Scryer’s large, shadowy eyes, then shot an angry look at Simia. He turned and walked to the water’s edge, staring out across the lake. The mist had burned away now and the Valley of Outs was lit by the morning rays, but he hardly saw the beautiful waters or the majestic forests. He did not even see the small flotilla of boats on the lake, carrying the Suhl back to their homes. His thoughts were far away, with his mother, in another world. He knew that Simia was right – that the Say-So had been right – but that was irrelevant. For a few moments, when Paiscion had talked about going back to Mr Zhi, she had felt so close. Now she felt as far away as ever.

Simia walked up behind him. “I was just worried about you …” she said, quietly. “And I thought, in a way, if Naeo finds your mum – and you find Bowe – isn’t that almost the same thing?”

“No, it’s not,” said Sylas, walking away. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But you see, that’s the problem,” Simia called after him. “No one knows what it’s like to be you. No one knows—”

She felt Triste’s hand on her shoulder. The Scryer leaned down to her ear. “It’s no good, not while he feels like this. Give him time.”

“But I thought I was doing the right thing,” she whispered, her eyes following Sylas. “I really did.”

“Well, you were being a friend,” said the Scryer. “And that isn’t always easy.”

She turned and looked at him. Her eyes explored his face and then, just for an instant, she looked surprised and confused, as though she had seen something unexpected. She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it and instead she wheeled about and set off alone.

The Scryer watched her go, tilting his head to one side as though trying to make sense of an impossible puzzle.

Then his brow knitted in a frown.

“How inconvenient,” he muttered.

“… there, above her beloved valley, she surveyed all the hope and despair of the world.”

SYLAS WAS UNSURE HOW long he had been walking. For some time he had trailed along the shoreline, following in the footsteps of Triste and Simia. Occasionally he saw them climbing a headland or tracing the edge of the woods, but he made no attempt to catch up. Eventually he left their path altogether, walking into the shade of the forest. He meandered between the trees in the general direction of Sylva, but he was in no rush to get there. He needed to think.

Sure, Simia’s idea made some sense: it would be the opposite of what anyone would expect and the Scryers were much less likely to see any connection – whatever that really meant. But what did all that matter, compared to finding his mother? Being with her, after all this time? Yes, Naeo might go in his place, but that wasn’t the same as finding her himself. In fact if it wasn’t him, would she really be found at all?

No, this wasn’t even a good second best. They didn’t understand.

He sighed. In truth, neither did he.

And these were the thoughts that dogged him as he ambled across the dried leaves on the forest floor and wound between the ancient trunks of the forest: his life … his mother … himself … what did those things even mean when he knew that Naeo was there, just through the forest. Another part of himself? How crazy did that sound!

He was still very far from understanding Naeo. His experience of her was sensation and emotion rather than anything real or tangible. He didn’t even feel like he’d met her, not really. He remembered the feeling of warmth and joy when he had first seen her – of comfort and completeness when he had held her hand. Then the surge of energy – raw power, even – when she had stood at his side, when they had fought their way out of the Dirgheon. But since then, when she drew too near – as she had in the Garden of Havens – there was that awful pain, beginning in his wrist and becoming unbearable. Not like a wound, but more like an ache and the oddest sense that everything inside him was shifting out of place.

And although he had felt these things, these immense forces and feelings, for some reason he had thought very little of her. It was almost as if he didn’t need to think of her, or perhaps his thoughts couldn’t quite grasp her. She was still very much a separate person, and now it was that person, not him, who was going back to the Other.

He picked up a stick and swiped it against a tree trunk. It snapped in half and the crack echoed through the forest.

“What did that tree ever do to you?” asked a voice.

Sylas whirled about, his eyes searching the forest. But he already knew who it was.

The Magruman stepped out from behind a line of bushes. His eyebrows appeared above his spectacles.

“Sorry,” said Sylas.

“Well, don’t apologise to me! You didn’t hit me!”

“Oh … no …” said Sylas. He turned back towards the tree, wondering if he was really supposed to say sorry to the trunk.

Paiscion let out a peel of laughter. “I’m only joking, Sylas!” he said, walking up and holding his hand out in greeting. “I’m sure that old giant can handle a tap on the backside!”