Grendul Rising, Chapter Two: A Metal Horn and a Smooth Cube
Chapter Two
Morning
on Horn Hill
She banged open the front door, rattling it on its
rusty hinges. She stumbled through the small doorway out into the rosy light of
the pre-sunrise. She frowned. Not that there was anything to complain about.
This was said to be one of the most beautiful places in Tond, but on this
particular morning she couldn’t feel anything about beauty. Her vision swam for
a minute. She leaned against the hut, steadying herself. The cold of the air
slapped her awake somewhat more. She reached back into the hut. There, beside
the shelf of cups, bowls and that mysterious cube, was a hook with her white órokáii
(Kaii-style) robe. She pulled the robe down. She draped its floppy hood over
her head and tugged the rest of it down over her other clothes, fastening its
belt at her waist (grown fat and soft in the last few years, from Nanta’s
already plump frame). Lobes of vertically quilted, loose fabric billowed from
either side of the robe. She slipped her arms into these giant pockets and then
fastened the front of the robe closed with the inside buttons. She thought
again how this was an absurd garment because it effectively prevented her from
using her hands for the moment (and made her feel like a big stuffed chicken);
but it was warm in the biting morning air atop the Hill. Thus encumbered, she
waddled forward to the cliff, and sat for a moment on the bench beside the
Horn.
The Horn had been there, overlooking the cliff, for
times upon times. It came from before there were ages, when the Gleph had ruled
this part of Tond, or whatever forgotten peoples had been before them. It was
said to have been a gift from the Taennishman Nammar. There had been a Nánta
Kennáekikabérika ever since; a Nanta of Horn Hill or more simply Nanta
Hornblower. The Council that appointed her had said that she was the
three-hundred and twenty-seventh in the succession, but that number was
debated: since a Nanta Hornblower was appointed roughly every fifteen to twenty
years, it would have meant that the council had kept accurate records for at
least four thousand years. Not likely, she mused. Could the Horn itself even
have survived that long? (The title Nánta, however, was of such antiquity that
its meaning – and even its language – was long forgotten.)
Her headache had calmed slightly as she rested on the
bench, and she took a deep breath of the chill air. Now it was time for her to
move again. She stood and attempted to stretch. Her joints creaked and popped.
The pain shot into her head again and her vision blurred; she stumbled for a
second but regained her balance. She stood there for a minute, then ambled
forward to the Horn and the cliff.
She paused at the edge of the drop-off. The edge was
as sharp as if it had been cut with a giant sword — as if the Sword of Law had
been used for landscaping! — the gray stone of the Hill simply vanished at a
precipice and there was nothing else but air. A carpet of varying hues of green
spread out from the bottom of the hill; the forests of Kaii. Through the
middle, among tall redwood and fir trees, ran the meandering line of the Kaii
River, and here and there, a spider-web of thin straight lines – roads –
connected the circular clearings of towns. In several of them, Nanta could make
out (though very tiny from this distance) fantastical spheres, arches, domes,
tubes, mushrooms, rings, flowers, starbursts, and gigantic sculptures of
animals and humans: the famed Kayantii monumental buildings. She knew that in a
couple of minutes, many of these would gleam with miraculous stars of light;
the sunlight glinting off of the glass. But that would be after she sounded the
Horn. The air atop the hill already shimmered with light, but the sunrise would
show here before it could be seen in the valley.
She slapped her hand once on the hard bronze of the
Horn. It rang like a gong. Then she backed up, over to the bellows, musing that
this was called the Horn but in truth it was something of that northern Tondish
specialty, the keyed bagpipe. Its sound was far too loud, and it carried too
far on the wind, to be produced by human lungs. The bellows were made of animal
hides and replaced whenever they started to grow ragged. Nanta pulled her arms
out of the órokáii robe and began to
pump the bellows up and down. A huffing noise issued from them. The bag began
to inflate.
She paused. There was another sound reaching her ears:
the repetitive clip-clop of a horse. Someone was approaching on the stone road
winding up the back of the Hill, but could not be seen yet. Nanta resumed
working the bellows.
The bag, also made of animal hides and sewed very
tightly with unbreakable tuleiká
vines, began to take on its domed shape. Huff, huff, went the bellows. Nanta’s
headache began to throb with the exertion. The bag was about half as high as
she was tall. She paused as wiped her forehead. The approaching horse was
growing louder. Nanta went back to work – she would see in a minute who the
horse rider was, and the Horn would not sound on a half-full bag.
There. Now the bag was as tall as her, and nearly
spherical. She waited. There was a sound of a horse nickering and Nanta’s
chickens clucking and scattering. The rider had appeared over the edge of the
Hill. Nanta glanced in that direction to see who it was, but at that second the
first flash of the rising sun appeared over the horizon. Nanta’s duty would
come first.
She went to the Horn, released the latch, placed her
fingers on the keys. The first two ascending notes of the invariable horn-call
sounded; deep, low, profound resonances like the voice of Tándáalis, the earth itself. She paused for the echo from the
mountains to the west. Then the next five notes: the same two descending then
ascending again, and two higher. The voice of Lórnáalis, the air. These she could play at any speed; today the
air was still, so she played them slowly. The next part was made-up on the
spot; she had to change it every time because it was the voice of Kewándii, water, and it flowed in
unexpected directions. The pain in her head and belly prevented her from
playing anything particularly fanciful this morning. Then finally, the
ascending notes of Kullándu, fire,
light, and the sun – and that loudest, highest of notes that glorified Teilyándal’, the Creator of the previous
Four. (It was said that some older Hornblowers had found a way to play that
last note as a chord, but she did not know how they had done it.) She listened
as the echoes died away, and, satisfied, opened the flap on the bag. The
remaining air puffed out. Her arms were covered with goose-bumps, and she
folded them back into the warmth of the órokáii
quilting.
Now, who was riding the horse? She turned to that
direction and saw a brown horse. Next to it stood a pretty woman, a Fyorian
with a light brown face and fluffy sandy-colored hair. She wore an ordinary
Fyorian-style robe. A quiver of arrows was strapped across her back. Nanta
recognized her old friend immediately. “Tazzie! What brings you here this early
in the morning?” They embraced, awkwardly because Nanta’s arms were bound in
the folds of the órokáii.
“What brought me? Starmane brought me,” Tazzie said,
meaning the horse.
“Ah, Tazzie, always the joker,” laughed Nanta. Her
chuckle was cut short with a stab of pain in her temples. She grimaced, but
said, “Really, though, it’s good to see you again. How are Rendar and Keely?”
“Good to see you too, Nanta. Rindar,” she emphasized the correct vowel in the first syllable,
“is a full-fledged ahíinor now, a loremaster in the lower order. I’d say
he takes after his dad, but it was my
dad who was the loremaster.” She tied Starmane to the wooden post on the grassy
patch next to Nanta’s own roan horse. “Keely is six now and taking an interest
in the mechanas too, though we’re keeping her away from the more
dangerous ones. She’s also a young champion at ten-ball. They’re both back at
the bottom of the hill,” She motioned at the path down the hill. She gazed at
Nanta for a moment, and added, “I guess it was true. You did go down
into town last night. You don’t look so well.”
Nanta sighed and rubbed her forehead.
“Well,” said Tazzie, “I believe I have something that
might help. Let’s get a fire going.”
Tazzie set her quiver of arrows beside one of the
other two benches by the fire pit a few yards away from the Horn. A stack of
sticks and logs sat beside the bench and a pot of water was suspended over the
pit from a metal frame. They took some of the sticks and placed them in the
pit. Nanta produced a lens from the folds of her robe, focused the sunlight on
one of the sticks until it began to smoke. They added bigger sticks, and soon a
fire was flickering. All the while Tazzie talked about her life in the towns of
Kaii, with her loremaster husband and her little girl Keely; Nanta said that
her life had been pretty much the same every day since she’d been appointed
Hornblower eight years ago. Lines of a frown began to form around Tazzie’s
mouth and eyes. She seemed irritated. Finally, she interrupted, indicating the
pot, “May I use this water?” The answer was affirmative. “Go get some mugs,”
said Tazzie.
Nanta ignored Tazzie’s change of expression, and
fumbled around inside of her hut, on the shelf beside that cube she’d had for
years. She selected two of the fine black kayantii-ware mugs and brought them
out.
Tazzie was staring at her. She seemed to stifle a
laugh. “Why, Kua?” she asked
abruptly, using the short form of Nanta’s actual name. “Why?”
Nanta shot her a scowl. “Why what?” she queried,
handing Tazzie one of the mugs.
“Why all this?”
Tazzie waved her other arm around. “The Horn. Every morning at sunrise,
regardless of how you feel. Rain or wind or sun. Regardless of what you did the
night before. Staying here in that tiny hut when you could have a house, and a family, or you could travel.
That, that ridiculous robe. It’s like
something they put prisoners in, to keep them from moving around. You can’t
even use your hands! And where do you get water up here on the hill? Why do you
do this?”
Nanta glared. “The robe is warm and there are rain
barrels,” she snapped. Then she stood, went over to the cliff by the Horn. She
waved for Tazzie to follow, “Look.”
The forest below them was now bedecked with a myriad
star-points; glittering lights where the sunlight reflected off of windows in
the villages. The Milky Way seemed to glisten in the trees below them. “This is why I do it,” Nanta said.
Tazzie inhaled, exhaled, admiring the view. She turned
to Nanta, and her eyes were wet. “It’s like Aila’s Garden in Tebani,” she
mumbled; then, “Ah, Nanta, I’m sorry. I was just remembering how we used to
have so much fun, and how you must
get lonely up here…”
“Thus, I go down into town from time to time,” stated
Nanta.
Bubbling sounds issued from the pot. Tazzie walked
back over to the benches, leaned over, and threw something into the boiling
water. Nanta joined her, “What was that?”
“Némurath tea from Laki,
with dried raspberries. I traded some wild apples I’d picked on the way.”
Nanta gave a radiant smile. “My favorite! You always
remember.” The harsh words from a moment ago were forgotten.
Némurath tea was often said to be a cure for both foul
moods and for hangovers, and it proved to work well this morning. The two old
friends sipped and laughed, telling tales from their childhood, and sharing
dried fruit and jerky that Tazzie had brought. Nanta’s headache diminished and
finally disappeared. At some point around noon, though, Tazzie seemed to grow
nervous again, and she kept glancing at the Horn and Nanta’s hut. During a
break in the conversation, she asked, “It is in there?”
“Is what in where?”
“The cube. Is it in your hut?”
Nanta’s eyes narrowed. She made no reply at first. Had
Tazzie come to ask her about that, besides judging her choice of being the
Hornblower?
“I would like to see it again,” Tazzie continued as if
there had been no pause.
“Why?”
Tazzie sighed, “If, um, I told you that it might be
something valuable, could you keep a secret?”
Nanta snapped again, “Well, if it’s something
valuable, I don’t think it’s nice for you to suddenly show up like this and try
to take it.”
Tazzie gave a laugh, and a smile — apparently sincere.
“Ah, no, Nanta, it’s not like that at all. If it is valuable, then we have to find out about it. I don’t
expect you to give it to me.”
Nanta regarded the other woman for what seemed a full
minute. At least Tazzie’s expression did not appear unfriendly or covetous.
Finally, Nanta asked, “Why do you think it might be valuable? I don’t remember
that either of us even knows what it is…?”
Tazzie said, “I asked if you could keep a secret.”
The two friends gazed at each other. Some of the words
spoken had been harsh, but now there appeared to be nothing held back between
them. “Okay,” Nanta said at last. “I will keep a secret.”
“Double promise?”
“Double promise; may I turn into dog feathers and blow
away if I blab.”
“You might have to blab sometime in the future, but
that’s fine for now. So I’ll tell you my story,” Tazzie leaned back and took
another sip of tea. “I’ll begin with what happened at the river four nights
ago.” She appeared to have been rehearsing this speech. “I couldn’t sleep well
that night, I don’t really know why, so I got up and went down by the river.
You know our house is by the river, right? Anyway, I like to go down there
because the sound of the water is relaxing. Rindar and Keely were asleep. So I
sat there on one of the big rocks. Then I saw a swan, gliding towards me on the
river. At first I thought I could see it because the moonlight was reflecting
off of its white feathers. But then I thought, that’s odd, because I didn’t see
Maellorn that night. And furthermore, it’s late spring, and usually swans are
seen around here in the winter. As it drew nearer, I could see that it was very
large for a swan — maybe twice the size of the others I’ve seen — and it didn’t
look exactly right. Something about the shape of its head was, well, off, if you understand, but it did not
appear to be threatening. It swam up to the riverbank right in front of me, and
— this is where the story gets weird — it looked right at me, and I heard a
voice. It said to keep Nanta’s cube safe; Grendul will be looking for it. Then
I woke up in my bed, so I assumed that I’d dreamed the whole thing.”
“Well, obviously. You think your dream told you
something about my cube?”
“That’s just it. It wasn’t a dream. Rindar woke up a
couple of minutes later and asked me if I’d seen the swan. Then Keely asked the
same thing in the morning. We all saw it at different times. Also, there were
three sets of footprints from the house down to the river. They matched the
sizes of our shoes.”
“So you all saw a talking swan. I can see why you
don’t want to tell anyone…”
“Was that sarcastic?”
“Possibly. What do you think it was?”
“I suspect it was one of the Shindo-Layon.”
Nanta wasn’t sure if her own laugh was hearty or
derisive. “You’ve been fascinated with that Sherványa legend since you were a
baby, I think, and now you think you’ve actually seen one? Either you’ve gone
mad, or…”
“Or it really was one,” they both said together.
Tazzie said, “But you don’t seem really convinced.”
“I have to say, I’m not. But it makes a good story.”
Tazzie continued, “Well, here’s what I know. This
swan, if it was a swan, apparently could talk, though, as in the legend, I
didn’t see its mouth move. I just heard the voice. And second, nobody except
the two of us knows about the cube. And third, who, or what, is Grendul?”
“Well, it’s a Fyorian-sounding name.”
“Yes. Like a loremaster, perhaps.”
“Are you sure that’s the name you heard?”
“I remember it clearly. A lot more clearly than most
dreams. But here’s what I’m talking about — Grendul would not be friendly. The
swan said, (you know, it sounds really strange saying that; a swan shouldn’t be
saying anything) — the swan said to keep the cube safe because Grendul
would be looking for it. To me, the implication is to keep it safe from Grendul. Rindar and I discussed it;
we decided that we needed to consult another loremaster about this. There
aren’t any living close to here, though. My father is staying over in Tebani
now; we’re heading there to talk to him.”
“Ah yes — Rolan Ras-Erkéltis, Last Wielder of the
Sword of Law, Great Hero in the War of Mechanas, slayer of the monster
Gashug-Tairánda.” Nanta rattled off the titles as if they were part of his
name. “Certainly he would know something about it — but couldn’t Rindar contact
him some other way? Don’t the loremasters have ways to communicate over a
distance?”
“Yes, of course — but messages sent that way can be
heard by all the loremasters, including this Grendul, whoever he is.”
Nanta was silent for a moment. She’d heard of the
four-pointed stars and the fiery eye, ways that loremasters could send
messages. She decided to trust Tazzie on this, since Tazzie’s father was such a
well-known loremaster. “Okay,” she said, “So the cube might be valuable.
Someone we don’t know might want it, and that someone might be dangerous. So
what do we do?”
“Well,” Tazzie began, “Rindar and I discussed it, and
we thought I should let you know about it and ask if you’d like to go with us
to meet with my father. So, would you like to come?”
“I couldn’t just leave my duty as Hornblower…”
“Of course not. We’d have to make other arrangements
with the Council.” Tazzie paused. Then, “Let’s take a look at the cube, first,
before deciding anything.”
They ducked under the small opening into the hut.
Tazzie choked upon entering, made a comment that Nanta should at least air it
out from time to time. “How?” Nanta asked. There was only the one small door.
“Anyway, here’s the cube.” She handed the curious object to Tazzie.
Tazzie inspected it; its smooth, gray, slightly glossy
surface, the script of looping Fyorian letters on each of its six sides in
green but not raised or indented. It was a perfectly symmetrical cube that fit
neatly into Tazzie’s palm.
“Just as I remember,” commented Tazzie. “All the mechanas
are disguised as ordinary objects, but this one is not.”
“So you think it is
a mechana?”
“I would assume so. The writing, though…”
“Remember,” said Nanta, “I can’t read Fyorian.” She
motioned for Tazzie to notice her obvious greyish skin and ruddy hair; Kayanti
features. “Remind me what it says.”
“Well, that’s just it — I don’t really know. The
letters are Fyorian, but the language is Karjannic, from the Imperium. My
mother speaks a little of that language, and she’s taught me some, but it’s
difficult. At least I can sound it out. Tahlitsoshk’th
dzinka el kmajgachl dzo’om. Tahlits
means ‘protection’ or ‘to protect’. I don’t know what the rest of the word is. Dzinka might be the plural of tsinka, small things, usually things
that are too small to see. I don’t know what ‘el’ is here; it has several meanings in the language. Kmajgachl could be ‘change things’ or
‘change ideas’ or even ‘he or it changes one’s things or ideas’. I don’t know
what kind of things or ideas it means. And dzo’om
are ideas, again. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Nanta was not listening closely. Her mind was tracing
back, years ago, how she and Tazzie had first acquired the cube. There had been
nothing particularly unusual about that day; they were children, playing near
the river while their parents went about their grown-up business. Nanta had
found the cube nestled between two rocks, in the shallow clear water at the
edge of the riverbank. She’d shown it to Tazzie, and then slipped it into her
child’s side-satchel (a Drenn custom that her parents seemed to like) and
forgotten about it until later that evening. She’d shown it to her mother at
dinnertime, but nothing much had been said about it at the time. She and Tazzie
had played with it, tossing it around, or tying a straw head, arms and legs to
it and calling it a doll, or imagining it was a brick in a toy house. Years
later she’d taken it with her and put it in the hut with her the few
possessions she’d kept while taking the position as Hornblower. She didn’t
really know why she’d kept it.
Tazzie was saying, “It’s odd that I never asked my
parents about it. They might have known at the time whether or not it was a mechana.”
Nanta said, “Well, if you think it’s valuable, why
don’t you take it to them now? …After you apologize for saying my job and my
robe are ridiculous, of course.”
Tazzie laughed. “Ah, Kua, I’m sorry about that. I
really am. I hope you can believe me. And of course, like I said, I’m not going
to just take this. You found it
originally, so it’s yours. I can bring Rindar here tomorrow to see what he
thinks. He should have come today but he wanted Keely to see some other things
in the town. She wouldn’t have liked the Hill much — she’s very afraid of high
places.”
Upon exiting the hut, Tazzie stiffened. “Something’s
wrong,” she almost whispered.
Nanta scanned the scene. The sun was still near its
zenith; it reflected as a bright gleam off of the Horn. The benches were still
as they were. The fire had gone down a little but the pot of tea was still
boiling. Nanta’s chickens were pecking at the grass on the ground, and the two
horses were tethered to the post, also nibbling the grass. “What’s the matter?”
Nanta asked.
“I had my arrows. They aren’t here.” Tazzie indicated
the nearest bench; Nanta remembered that she’d seen Tazzie set the quiver on
the ground next to their bench but didn’t notice it after that.
Nanta pushed past her. She glanced around, but saw no
sign of the arrows. A vague, diffuse cloud hung over the bench, maybe smoke
from the fire. Tazzie followed her. “Someone followed me up the Hill?” Even as
she posed the question, a sense of danger grabbed both of them. Tazzie said,
“Grendul!” and she jumped back into the hut and then bolted out again, carrying
the cube with her. “Meet me, later!” she yelled to Nanta, “He’ll follow me now.
I’ll shake him off.” She untied Starmane and prepared to mount.
From somewhere over by the Horn, a male voice boomed,
“You would be wise not to flee.”
Tazzie froze. The two women stared. The nebulous dark
fog condensed and solidified, resolving into a human form. A Fyorian loremaster
now sat on the bench, holding Tazzie’s quiver of arrows. His hair and beard
gleamed blinding white in the sun, as did his robe. He carried a crooked
walking-staff of black wood.
Nanta planted her feet on the ground and her hands on
her hips, visible even in the folds of her oversized robe. “And just who are you, and how did you get here?”
The loremaster gave off a chuckle, “Wow, such spirit.
No wonder the Council charged you with the task of waking everyone up in the
morning.” He looped the straps of the quiver around his robe and stood, leaning
on his staff. “I don’t think it is necessary to answer your questions,
Hornblower. Your friend here already knows.”
Tazzie’s voice mumbled, “Grendul. Hiding crystal.
Smoke and mist — makes one invisible.”
“Ah, as always,” glowered the loremaster, “Giving out
the secrets of the ahíinor. Well, no matter. You know why I came, too.”
He walked over to Tazzie and her horse as if he had not previously needed to
lean on the staff. He held out his hand as if to receive a gift. “The cube, or
it will not go well for you and your family.”
Before Tazzie could respond, Nanta snarled, “She will
give you nothing until we know your purpose. And give her back her arrows.”
The loremaster laughed again. “You should let others
speak their mind, Hornblower. Again, no matter. You see, both of you will do
exactly what I say. And you will do it gladly.” He waved his staff.
The next events happened so quickly that Nanta was
never sure later exactly in what order they had occurred. There was a flash of
light from the staff. A dark cloud (Nanta could never later be sure how big it
was), appeared next to the loremaster. Tazzie yelped something about a mechana
being used, and told Nanta to duck. Another blinding light, multicolored, this
time apparently from Tazzie’s direction. Starmane neighed and reared up. The
loremaster backed away as if struck, and vanished into a mist again.
Tazzie was quieting Starmane. Nanta glanced at her own
horse, who was still grazing and seemed to have not even noticed the exchange.
Nanta said, “Before you leave, Grendul, the arrows, please. Or it will not go
well for you and your family.”
“The arrows go with me,” the loremaster’s voice came
from inside the mist, and then the mist dissipated.
For the moment Tazzie ignored Nanta’s questioning
eyes. Tazzie had taken a star-shaped device from inside a hidden pocket in her
robe, and was waving it around. She sighed, “Well, he got the arrows, but at
least he’s really gone.”
Nanta remained standing in the same place, and now she
glared at Tazzie. “Gone? Where? How could he… just… go that quickly?” Despite
her caustic voice a minute earlier, she was trembling.
Tazzie replaced the star-shaped object into her robe.
“The ahíinor have several ways to travel quickly. I’ve never seen any of
them, though; and I couldn’t say which one this might be because of the mist.
Hiding crystal. Scatters light. Impossible to see clearly. The four-pointed
star didn’t pick it up either.” She went over to Nanta, gave her a hug. “Let’s
get you settled down, and see if we can figure out what happened.” She led the
Hornblower back to the bench.
Comments
Post a Comment