CHAPTER 18
When they rode into Drake, the northernmost village in all of Ashhur’s Paradise, Roland couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. The place was so different from anywhere else he’d ever been. The village butted up against the river on one side; a small mountain range bordered its other side, the space between filled with complex structures. Coming from Safeway as he did, he was used to people living in tiny, one-room hovels and tents, or camped out beneath the wide southern sky. Even in Mordeina, the only building of substance was the Manor of House DuTaureau; otherwise, everyone slept in simple shelters of wood, stone, or canvas.
But here…here there were great dwellings of crisscrossing logs and edifices of squared and stacked granite blocks. Complex geometry, beautiful despite the unnatural look of the constructions. Everything appeared solid and enduring, with an aura of grandness that rivaled the Sanctuary itself. Adding to his sense of wonder, at least forty poles lined the road that passed through the village center, each topped with a reflective substance that magnified the sun’s rays.
“Yes, it’s impressive,” said Jacob, nudging him. “Those quartz reflectors atop the poles catch the moonlight at night. If the sky is clear enough, the road is as bright as it is right now. A remarkable feat, really. I’m sure Turock is the one who came up with that idea.”
“Who’s Turock?” Roland asked.
Jacob chuckled.
“What magic do you know of, Roland?” he asked.
“Same as everyone else,” he replied. “How to spur a seed into a plant, how to channel Ashhur’s healing magic. Is there a need to know anything more?”
“Well,” said Jacob with a laugh, “Turock Escheton is a peculiar man who asked himself that question at a very young age and found the answer to be yes. He grew up in Mordeina, but when he was eight, he journeyed east to Dezerea to find the legendary elven mage and teacher Errdroth Plentos. The elf was very old when Turock found him, supposedly close to six hundred. As the story goes, Master Plentos was so intrigued by the boy’s idiosyncrasies that he took him on as his last pupil. Turock trained for ten years before the elf passed on, but he learned much during that time and grew to be quite powerful…or as powerful as any human could be in this day of waning magics. Powerful enough to sway the heart of one of Isabel’s DuTaureau’s children, anyway.” He patted his rucksack. “In fact, many of the transcriptions in here were told to me by Turock. He is the only man in the west who has studied the mystical arts-other than myself, of course-which makes him the oddity he desires to be.”
Impressive as it was and as much awe as he felt, what made Roland happiest about arriving in Drake was the knowledge that he would be sleeping in a warm bed that night. He hugged himself tight, even though the sun still shone above them. The trip from Durham, a journey that should have lasted a day at most, had ended up taking ten. They’d spent ten long days trying to keep warm with their meager clothing and blankets, the temperature plummeting each time the sun fell. Eight of those days had been spent waiting for Jacob to return from an unexpected distraction. A bird had arrived from Mordeina, beckoning Ashhur’s most trusted to a meeting with Isabel DuTaureau. No one in the group knew the nature of the meeting, for Isabel had demanded total secrecy. Roland didn’t understand what sort of circumstances could warrant such concealment, but he knew it wasn’t his place to question. Jacob was the First Man, and Isabel the matriarch of a First Family. He was but a steward. If there were something they needed to discuss, it would be part of their divine duties to meet and do just that.
The quartet rode their horses onward, and all of a sudden Roland’s warm and enticing feelings of expectation began to wane. The streets of Drake were deserted, even though it was midday and the sun was bright in a cloudless sky. There should have been children running about or at least a group of elders commencing their afternoon prayers. But there was none of that. When Azariah called out, it was only his own voice that answered him.
“This is odd,” said Brienna, visibly shuddering in her saddle.
“It is,” replied Jacob. The First Man glanced left to right, peering into the open windows of every empty domicile they passed. “What do you make of it, steward?”
Roland cleared his throat and thought of the day he had come home to find his parents missing. It had been the Sharing Fair that day, but he’d been busy tending to Jacob’s cottage and had forgotten all about it. His terror had been so real, yet afterward, when he’d discovered his parents among the fair goers, he’d laughed it off as nothing.
“Is there a clearing beyond the town border on the other side?” he asked. “Perhaps they’re having a festival of some sort.”
“A festival?” Jacob tilted his head. “Strange. If that’s the case, the festivities must be taking place a long way away from here. I hear nothing but wind and leaves.”
“It was just an idea,” replied Roland, feeling embarrassed.
“A fine idea,” said Azariah. “One I still hope is correct.”
“Keep riding,” Brienna said, urging her own horse along. “Perhaps we’ll find them gathered further into the city, doing something silly and pointless like you humans love to do.”
The group voyaged from one end of Drake to the other, where the grand constructions ended and the Gods’ Road came to an abrupt halt in front of a field of short, frost-tipped grass, in which grazed a cluster of giant grayhorns. Though his concern was unabated, Roland still gazed on the foraging beasts with wonder. He had never seen a real, live grayhorn before, with its horned nose, enormous tusked snouts, and massive, gray-rippled hide. Each one was the size of his hut back in Safeway; the grayhorns were truly beautiful, yet also frightening.
“So what do we do now?” asked Brienna.
“We push on through,” answered Jacob. “There might be some clue up ahead as to what happened.”
“But there’s no road,” Roland said.
“Since when does mankind travel only by roads?”
To Roland’s surprise, the grayhorns didn’t react at all as their horses trotted by. The beasts kept their noses to the ground, tugging up tufts of grass. Jacob explained that the animals were trying to get as many nutrients from the soil as they could, for when the snows came in a month, food would be scarce, and they would need to survive a long time without eating. It amazed Roland that these massive creatures could go for weeks without nourishment. He was famished if he missed a single meal.
The land started to undulate once they passed the grazing field, becoming more rocky and hazardous. To stay out of the more dangerous terrain, they moved closer to the river. The rushing water hemmed them in on the right; the mountains pushed in closer on their left. Strange sounds-to Roland it sounded like wolves grunting-started to fill the air. Azariah pointed out horse tracks in the soft ground between stone retaining walls, and Jacob found a trench that looked like the impression of something being dragged. They were signs of life, which helped calm Roland’s worry, but only a little.
Azariah’s horse reared back suddenly, forcing the tall Warden to clamp his hands down on the stag’s mane and hold on for dear life.
“Whoa, Thunderclap,” he said, his voice unusually shaky. The horse did not calm himself until Brienna steered her mare in front of him and began gently stroking the side of his neck.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” replied Azariah, trying to keep his horse calm.
“Perhaps that has something to do with it,” Jacob surmised.
Roland noticed that the First Man’s eyes were glued to the horizon. He squinted, trying to see what his master was seeing. All he saw up ahead was what looked like a skinny mountain that had been cut in half.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” replied Jacob. Roland found the expression on Jacob’s face disturbing. He looked beyond worried, as if there were something about that skinny mountain that could mean the end of them all. Roland began to feel that way too.