The Shadow Isle

At last in the distance they saw the roofs of Mandra. All around the town the wild grass still waved, a common ground for milk cows at most times, but the townsfolk had put up a temporary enclosure to keep the royal alar’s herds and flocks from wandering too close to the cliff edge. Herdsmen were waiting to help turn the stock inside the rough walls, thrown together out of driftwood and stones, broken planks and branches. At the sight of the prince, the herdsmen rode out, cheering. Dar waved and smiled.

Everything seemed to be going splendidly, in fact, until the town herdsmen began to help round up the flocks and herds following the procession. Up near the front as she was, Dallandra heard angry shouts, yells, cries of fear and alarm, but she could see nothing. Everyone halted except for the dogs, who rushed back and forth, barking. The archers and swordsmen in the middle of the line of march began to turn their horses to ride back. The entire line broke apart as riders drifted into the meadows lining the road.

‘Ye gods!’ Pir said. ‘Those shouts – some of them be Gel da’Thae.’

Too late Dallandra remembered just how many Gel da’Thae rode with the alar – the men Pir had brought with him, the remnant of Grallezar’s bodyguard, and Grallezar herself. Over the winter they’d become loyal friends to the other members of the alar, but in the eyes of the refugees who’d settled Mandra, they’d be Meradan, demons, and little else. Swearing under his breath, Calonderiel turned his horse out of line and galloped back. As he passed the squads of swordsmen, he called to them to follow.

Dallandra’s dappled grey mare danced nervously in the road and pulled at the reins. Pir laid a hand on the horse’s neck, up under her mane, and she quieted.

‘My thanks,’ Dallandra said. ‘Can you see what’s happening back there?’

‘I can’t,’ Pir said. ‘But the shouting’s died down.’

Calonderiel returned shortly after with Grallezar riding beside him. Grallezar guided her stolid chestnut gelding up to Dallandra and leaned over to speak to her while Calonderiel went on to confer with Dar.

‘We Gel da’Thae,’ Grallezar said, ‘had best avoid strife. I did tell the banadar that we be willing to camp elsewhere, up the north-running road a fair piece, say. Then when you all leave Mandra, we shall rejoin you as you pass by.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Dallandra said, ‘I should have thought –’

‘Nah, nah, nah, we all should have thought! Be not so apologetic, my friend.’ Grallezar smiled, revealing her pointed teeth. ‘It be no great difficulty for us to all turn out of line. Sidro, though, I would leave with you. She does look much like a Deverry woman, and she does take good care of you.’

‘True, and Vek had best stay with her in case he has another seizure.’

‘Just so.’ Grallezar turned to Pir. ‘The mare that the Wise One rides, will she be calm enough now?’

‘I’d best walk beside her into town,’ Pir said. ‘When she dismounts, then will I head north to join you. None will notice a mere one of us.’

‘True enough,’ Grallezar said. ‘What is that they say in Deverry? Done, then!’

Daralanteriel rode back along the line of march to reassure the townsfolk while Calonderiel restored order to the alar itself. The Gel da’Thae contingent sorted out their pack horses and tents, then headed north under the grim eyes of the local herdsmen.

When Daralanteriel rode back to his place at the head of the line, his face showed no trace of emotion, a sure sign that he was hiding some strong feeling – worry, Dalla assumed. No one had ever taught him how to rule even a small territory, since no one had ever guessed that some day he would have actual subjects in an actual town. As the procession moved forward again, Carra, his wife, urged her horse up next to his and took over the job of acknowledging his admirers. His children followed, aping their mother’s smiles and waves. Judging from the cheers, the townspeople and farmfolk lining the road were well pleased.

At the edge of town Valandario waited. Beside her stood a tall pale-haired man, dressed in a long tunic clasped with a distinctive broad belt, beaded in a pattern of blue circles and triangles. Valandario introduced him to the prince as the town mayor. When Daralanteriel dismounted, the mayor knelt to him.

‘Please get up,’ Dar said. ‘There’s no use in you kneeling in cold mud.’

The mayor laughed, then rose and launched into a speech of welcome. Other townsfolk came running to usher the prince’s retinue inside with speeches of their own. In the resulting confusion, Dallandra managed to slip away and join Valandario.

‘Let’s go to my chamber,’ Val said. ‘It’ll be quiet there.’

As they walked through the muddy streets, Dallandra marvelled at the town around them. Out in the grass few trees grew. Traders had hauled in some timber in return for the salt that the townsfolk harvested from the sea. The farmers had dug stones from their new fields and collected driftwood from the beaches to build a strange collection of squat, thatch-roofed cottages. Most of the walls stood at odd angles; some bristled with assemblages of random driftwood. Smoke from the hearths and lime from the sea birds stained roofs and walls. Behind most houses cows and chickens lived in shelters built of blocks of cut sod. A whiff of sewage hung in the air. Still, the men and women who lived in those houses weren’t Roundears, a marvel in itself. They’re my people, Dallandra thought, but they know things we’ve forgotten for a thousand years.

‘It’s still small,’ Valandario said, ‘but we’re expecting several boatloads of new settlers by the autumn.’

‘We?’ Dallandra said, smiling.

‘I’ve become part of the town, yes, at least for the winters.’

‘I’m going to need you to come with us when we leave.’

‘And I’m ready to ride, or at least, I will be once I finish packing up my things. Don’t worry about that.’ Val paused for a glance around. ‘But I’m hoping to come back in the autumn.’

The house in which Valandario was staying was a grander affair than most, two storeys high, the lower of stone, the upper of timber planks, with proper wooden shutters at every window and a slate roof. Inside the fenced yard chickens pecked and squawked in the spring greenery. Although she couldn’t see it, Dallandra could smell a cow as well.

‘Your hosts must be prosperous people,’ Dallandra said.

‘Yes, they’re the town potters,’ Valandario said. ‘The kiln’s round back, and their shop’s on the ground floor. And Jin’s teaching some apprentices how to make pabrus, too, as well as how to throw pots.’ She pointed to the side of the house. ‘We’ll go up the side stairs here.’

The creaky wooden stairs led to an off-kilter door of planks laced together with rope. Val opened it and ushered Dallandra inside to the kitchen, a big room with a brick hearth at one end, a long table in the middle, and crates and barrels along a side wall. Doorways led to various rooms, including the Wise One’s. Just like her old tent, Valandario’s chamber gleamed with bright colours on the walls and on the floor. Blankets and a pile of cushions lay on the narrow bed jammed against one wall.

‘Do sit down.’ Valandario waved at the bed. ‘You look like you could use a rest. Is the baby due soon?’

‘A pair of months.’ Dallandra sat down with a sigh of gratitude. ‘About. I’m not sure when exactly. Probably she’ll come at the most inconvenient moment.’

‘Babies seem to, yes. I know this is practically treason to our kind, but I’m glad I never had one.’

‘Well, I’m hoping that things work out better for this soul that they did the last time he was born. I won’t abandon him this time, for one thing.’

Valandario stared at her with abruptly cold eyes. ‘Are you saying that it’s Loddlaen?’ Her voice dwindled to a whisper on the name.

Too late Dallandra remembered who had murdered Valandario’s only lover. Val stood so still that it seemed she’d stopped breathing, waiting for the answer. From outside came the noise of the inhabitants returning to their town after greeting the prince – laughter, chatter, snatches of song, the barking of dogs and the high-pitched shrieks of children.

‘I won’t lie to you,’ Dallandra said at last. ‘Yes, it is, but she – and notice that I said she – she’ll wear a different personality this time around.’

‘Of course.’ Val turned away and walked over to the window. ‘Forgive me!’ She paused again, while the everyday noises from outside seemed to mock old griefs. ‘It would be a terrible thing to carry grudges from life to life,’ Val said at last. ‘Maybe that’s one reason we don’t remember lives, so we can let old hatreds die.’ Again a long pause, until the laughter and shouting had moved on. ‘I won’t revive mine, I promise you. The news just took me by surprise, that’s all.’

‘I’m sorry I let it slip like that. I should have prepared you –’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Yet Valandario continued staring out of the window. ‘You were gone when the murder happened. I can’t expect you to remember the particulars.’ Her voice nearly broke on the word ‘particulars’. ‘It’s just that all sorts of little things have happened, just lately, to remind me of Jav.’ She turned around at last. Her eyes glistened with tears. ‘And I still miss him. Elven lives are so long, no one stays together forever, but for us, everything ended too soon.’

‘Very much too soon, yes.’

Val went back to her work table. For a moment she stood, letting her fingers trail across the tooled leather cover of a volume lying there; then with a sigh she sat down in one of the two chairs standing behind it.

‘I’ve put together some interesting information about crystals.’ Val’s voice was steady again. ‘I’ve compiled a set of notes for you. Grallezar brought us some immensely valuable books.’

For some hours they discussed Valandario’s findings. When the light in the chamber faded, Val lit candles. Sidro came and went, bringing food and news. With warm bread came the information that Branna had gone with Grallezar and the Gel da’Thae. Chunks of roast lamb accompanied the welcome bulletin that thanks to a speech that Devaberiel had composed, Prince Daralanteriel had impressed everyone at the banquet. Along with a flask of Bardek wine for Val, Sidro reported that Calonderiel was discussing the town’s defence with the mayor and the leader of its ill-armed militia.

Dallandra was resting on the bed in Valandario’s chamber when Sidro came in for the last time, carrying a pottery cup of boiled milk with honey for her to drink. At her table Valandario had spread out her scrying cloths. Sidro noticed them and lingered for a moment.

‘I did want to ask you, Wise One,’ Sidro said to Val, ‘if there be aught I may do to help you find Laz. I know but a little dweomer, though it would gladden my heart to learn more, but what I have I’ll happily use if it would give you any aid.’

‘Thank you,’ Val said, ‘but I don’t know –’

‘Val,’ Dallandra interrupted in Elvish, ‘did you know that Sidro can read and write?’

‘I didn’t, no,’ Val answered in the same. ‘That might be useful.’

‘It’s time to record your gem scrying.’ Dallandra gave her a stern look over the rim of the cup. ‘The lore’s too valuable to risk losing.’

‘Oh.’ Valandario looked surprised, then nodded. ‘Sidro,’ she said in Deverrian, ‘there’s indeed somewhat you can do for me. How would you like to learn how to use these cloths and gems to search for omens?’

‘That would gladden my heart indeed.’

‘Good. I’d like you to write down what I teach you, too. Could you do that?’

‘I can, though the only letters I know be Horsekin ones.’

‘It won’t take you long to learn the Deverrian letters,’ Dallandra said. ‘I can teach you. There’s only thirty of them.’

‘Oh, well then!’ Sidro smiled at her. ‘It be easy, truly.’

‘Splendid!’ Valandario said. ‘We’ll start on the morrow, but for now, why don’t you just sit down and watch, to get an idea of the process, I mean.’

Sidro pulled a chair up to the table and sat down while Valandario went to a hanging tent bag and brought out a leather pouch of gems. Dallandra meant to watch the lesson, but the hot milk combined with her weariness from travelling, and she felt asleep with the empty cup clasped in her hands.

Valandario took the cup from Dallandra without waking her, set it down outside the door, then seated herself at the table next to an eager Sidro. She poured out her pouch of gems, then chose twenty for a simple reading. In the candlelight they glittered, a chaotic rainbow. A crowd of sprites appeared to dart among the glints of coloured light. One settled briefly on Sidro’s hair, then darted away again.

‘We want four each of the five colours,’ Val told her new apprentice. ‘They represent the elements and the Aethyr, of course.’ She put the rest of the gems away. ‘Now, if we were considering an important matter, we’d add other colours, but this will do for now.’

Valandario spread out the scrying cloth, a patchwork of Bardek silks, some squares embroidered with symbols, others plain. Sidro listened carefully as Val explained each symbol.

‘I’ll repeat this on the morrow,’ Val said, ‘so you can write it down. At the simplest level, a gem that falls upon its own colour represents what most people would call good fortune. It’s all based on the compatibility or incompatibility of the elements.’

‘I see.’ Sidro leaned a little closer to study the cloth. ‘So if a blue stone, it do fall upon a fire square, then that be a dangerous sign?’

‘Exactly. Very good!’

Valandario shook the gems in her cupped hands like elven dice, then strewed them out with a careful motion of her wrist. For a moment she studied the pattern formed.

‘What do you think this means?’ Val said. ‘I know you don’t know all of the system yet. Just give me an impression.’

Sidro frowned, tilting her head this way and that as she studied the layout from different angles. ‘Forgive me,’ she said at last, ‘but I can see naught in it.’

‘Then you’re going to do well at this.’ Val grinned at her. ‘I can’t, either. This is the most confused reading I’ve ever seen, probably because we’re doing it just as a lesson.’ She let the grin fade. ‘I hope, anyway.’

‘What would it mean if you were asking it about the future? Aught?’

‘I’d have to say that it signified some sort of standoff, a balance of forces that were locked together like this.’ Val held up her hands, hooked her fingers together, and made a pulling motion. ‘I couldn’t say between what or whom, since we never focused our minds on a particular question.’ She felt a sudden irritation, as if a stinging insect were flying around and around her head. The feeling was so strong that she lifted a hand to brush it away but found nothing. ‘Let’s put these back in their pouch. I must be more tired than I thought.’

‘It were a long day, truly,’ Sidro said. ‘I’ll fetch the banadar so he can carry his lady to their tent.’

That night Valandario dreamt about Jav and the black crystal pyramid. They stood together on a sea cliff and looked down at a heap of stones on the beach below. He was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of the waves. Finally she woke to a sudden understanding.

‘The place where he found the crystal. That’s what he was trying to show me.’

The grey light of dawn filled the room. Valandario got up and dressed while she considered the meaning of the dream. Could there be another crystal at the tower? But Aderyn had told her, all those years ago, that Evandar must have found the black stone elsewhere and merely placed it in the ruin. She left the house on the chance that walking along the cliffs might clear her mind and allow her to delve further into what the dream-cliffs had signified.

To her surprise, she found Prince Daralanteriel there ahead of her. He was standing and looking out to sea with his arms folded across his chest. As she walked up to him, her footsteps crunched on the sand among the beach grasses, and he turned to greet her with a wave of one hand.

‘Dar?’ Valandario said. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No, not really,’ Dar said. ‘Just thinking about the road ahead.’

‘Will we be going to the trading grounds?’

‘No, we’ll be travelling north along the Cantariel. There’s a Roundear lord – Samyc’s his name – who’s my vassal now. We should make sure that he’s safe. I’m thinking of asking for volunteer archers to spend the summer in his dun, just in case Horsekin raiders come his way.’

‘Do you think the Horsekin will dare?’

‘No, but I’d rather not be proved wrong. And then we need to cut east to visit Tieryn Cadryc.’

‘That’s a long ride away.’

‘Yes, it certainly is.’ Dar got a harried look about the eyes. ‘I’m thinking that I need to build a winter residence up north. Not exactly a palace, though I suppose it amounts to one. The gods only know where I’ll get the stone to build it or the craftsmen, either. And then there’s Lord Gerran. I owe him a new dun as well.’ Dar paused to look miserably away. ‘I never wanted to be tied down to a town. Everything’s changing, Val. I don’t know what to do!’

‘That’s why you have us. Wise Ones, I mean. When Gavantar comes back from the Southern Isles he’ll bring new settlers with him, and they know all about building towns. Look at Mandra.’

‘Just so.’ He smiled, sunny again. ‘We’ll have one last summer of freedom, anyway.’

Is that what this is? Val thought. Our last summer as wandering Westfolk? Their lives would pass into legend, she supposed, a time wrapped in wistful mist that hid the mud and chill of winter, the black flies of summer, the constant search for wood or the collecting of dried dung from their horses and sheep for meagre fires, the endless striking of tents only to raise them again. She turned and looked out over the farmland around Mandra. In some of the fields the winter wheat stood a couple of feet high, bowing and rising like ocean waves under the south wind. No one would have to trade with Deverry men for the bread and porridge it represented.

‘To be honest, Dar,’ Valandario said. ‘I for one won’t miss the wandering.’

‘Carra said the same thing. So have a lot of the other women.’

‘But the men agree with you? Will they miss it?’

‘Mostly, yes. Well, maybe in the summers, those who love to wander can take the herds out, while the rest stay behind in wherever it is, town, farms, whatever we eventually have.’ He shook himself like a wet dog, then repeated himself. ‘We’ll have our last summer of freedom, anyway.’

‘So we will. Are we leaving today?’

‘On the morrow. It’s time for the Day of Remembrance, and I thought we should hold it here with the townsfolk.’

‘Yes, that’s an excellent idea. The more you can do to remind the townsfolk you’re their prince, the better.’

‘So Devaberiel said, too. He’s composing a special poem for the occasion. I’m not sure where to hold the gathering, though. There isn’t any town square or the like.’

‘I know!’ Val smiled at her own idea. ‘About a mile to the west there’s a ruined tower. Some Deverry lord built a dun out here, back when Calonderiel was a young man, I think it was. I wasn’t born yet, of course. Anyway, the People drove him out again. The ruin would be an interesting reminder in itself.’

‘Splendid! We’ll do that. I’ll just go tell the mayor.’

Some hours before sunset, the townsfolk and the alar, minus a few herdsmen who’d volunteered to watch over the herds and flocks, gathered at the ruined dun. Over the past few years, the People in Mandra had pulled down much of the outer wall to use the stone for their town, but the tower still stood inside the fragment of arc left. Brambles, ivy, weeds grew thick inside what had once been the ward. The wooden doors and outbuildings had long since rotted away, as had the floors inside the broch tower itself, or so Calonderiel told her.

‘We had a couple of stiff fights at this dun,’ the banadar said. ‘The first one was when we cleaned out the rats that had infested it.’

‘I take it you mean the Deverry lord and his men,’ Val said.

‘Just that.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘And then – not long ago, really, maybe ninety summers ago or suchlike – another Deverry lord had the gall to try to kill Aderyn here. That was because of –’ He stopped in mid-sentence.

‘Loddlaen. I know. I heard the tale from Aderyn.’

‘Um, well, my apologies anyway. Here, I’d better go help the mayor.’

Wrapped in embarrassment like a cloak, Calonderiel hurried off. Valandario watched him go and thought about Aderyn, dead for so many years now. He’d had the courage to kill his own son, something that made her shake her head in wonder. And now that son was about to be reborn – no! she told herself. Not Loddlaen. Someone new, and a girl child at that!

A few big blocks of stone stood at one edge of the remains of wall. Devaberiel climbed onto the highest of them. When he raised his arms into the air, the murmuring crown quieted. Mothers collared children and made them sit down in a little chorus of ‘hush, now, hush’. Devaberiel called out with the ancient words of the ritual.

‘We are here to remember.’

‘To remember,’ the crowd chanted, ‘to remember the West.’

‘We are here to remember the cities,’ Devaberiel continued, ‘Rinbaladelan of the Fair Towers, Tanbalapalim of the Wide River, Bravelmelim of the Rainbow Bridges, yea! all of the cities, and the towns, and the marvels of the Far West.’ He paused, smiling at the assembly in front of him. ‘But while we mourn what we have lost, let us remember new marvels. Mandra rises amid fertile fields. Ranadar’s heir lives and walks among us.’

The listeners cheered, a sound like the roar of a high sea breaking on the gravelled beach. Some clapped, some stood, all called out. When Devaberiel raised his arms again, the crowd quieted, but slowly.

‘The cities of the Far West lie in ruins,’ the bard went on, ‘but Mandra grows and prospers. I see what comes to us on the wings of destiny. Some day the West will be ours again.’

More cheers, more clapping, and despite all her careful self-control, despite her dweomer and her power, Valandario realized that she hovered on the edge of tears.

Since Devaberiel was the only bard in attendance, the ceremony that day was a short one. He retold the ancient tale of the Hordes, riding out of the north to destroy the elven civilization of the mountains, but he’d shortened the story, Val noticed. All of the adults among the listeners sat politely, attentively, making the ancient responses when the ritual demanded, yet it seemed to her that few truly mourned. The children fussed and fidgeted, un-entranced by the telling.

Once Devaberiel had finished, however, and the music and the feasting got underway, everyone grew lively again. Valandario walked through the celebration, nodding and smiling, since it was impossible to hear what anyone said or for them to have heard her answer had she given one. At last she found Daralanteriel, standing in the midst of admirers. When he waved her over, the townsfolk all stepped back to allow the Wise One access to the Prince.

‘It went very well, I thought,’ Val said.

‘So did I,’ Dar said. ‘Dev is a marvel in his own way.’

‘Just so. Is Dalla still here?’

‘No, Cal insisted on taking her back to the tents to rest. You look like you’re ready to leave, too.’

‘I am. I need to pack if we’re leaving on the morrow.’

‘And we are – early.’ Dar sighed and looked away, perhaps considering that last summer of freedom. ‘It’s time we got on the road.’

Rather than risk them on the road, Valandario left the books in the care of Lara and Jin. The only exception was the book that had belonged to Laz, which Sidro wanted back. She packed up her personal possessions, putting them and the scrying cloths and gems into tent bags and leather sacks. Some of the alar’s young men were waiting to carry them over to the camp for her. They all trooped upstairs to collect them, while Lara and Val stood to one side to watch.