‘What spot?’
‘The Island of Noom,’ she whispered.
Uncharacteristically, he shivered. ‘Rhymes with doom, Tiaan, and for good reason. You are not a true geomancer yet; I fear what you have just told the world about yourself.’
She followed him across the room. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You are going back to bed.’
‘And you?’
‘I wanted to talk to you, which is why I went to your room, but discovered you gone. However, that must wait. You’ve left me with much to do tonight. I hope I can cover your tracks.’
‘What did you want to talk about?’
‘There’s no time to discuss it now.’
‘Did you discover anything about me, from your scrying?’
‘I did, though I don’t know what it means. No time for that either.’ He saw her into her bed and hurried away.
While she’d been downstairs the weather had changed. Gusts of cold wind had replaced the warm breeze, and the moon was obscured by churning black clouds. Thunder echoed back and forth across the crater, like drumrolls. Hail rattled on the roof, followed by a brief patter of heavy drops.
Tiaan still could not sleep. She pushed herself up in bed, expecting a ferocious thunderstorm like those she had been used to at the manufactory. Lightning lit up the boiling clouds and gave her a show for hours, but there was no more rain. She was sorry about that. It had not rained here since she’d arrived.
The following morning was cool with a heavy overcast hanging low over the mountain, at times descending to the rim and becoming a gentle fog.
‘Can I go outside today?’ she said to Gilhaelith as they took breakfast together in her room. Tiaan tried not to look at the slugs foaming on his platter. ‘I feel so confined.’
‘I suppose so. There’s little chance of anyone seeing you in this weather, but put on your hat and scarf just in case.’
He helped Tiaan into her walker and they set out along the rim of the crater. Tiaan had to be careful of her footing on the rock-littered ground. Several times, when changing direction too quickly, she went close to tipping the walker over.
She was wrestling with her own dilemma. Dare she take the risk of sticking with Gilhaelith, who might betray her, or should she betray him first and flee in the thapter? If she had alerted something to her existence last night, it was now urgent.
‘You’re very quiet, Tiaan.’
She felt guilty. ‘Just thinking.’
‘What about?’
‘What I did last night.’
‘Let’s not talk about that now.’
‘This weather reminds me of home,’ she said with a little sigh. ‘It’s always raining or foggy at the manufactory. My clothes used to go mouldy in their chest. I never thought I’d miss the place.’
‘Home gets into our bones,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘Nyriandiol has been mine for most of my adult life, but I still feel nostalgic for my homeland.’
‘Where was that?’ she asked.
‘Oh, over on Meldorin Island.’ He waved a hand towards the west.
‘The name makes it seem like a little place,’ she said, trying to envision a map of that part of the world. For once, it would not come. ‘It’s not though, is it?’
‘Meldorin is enormous. A good three hundred leagues from south to north, and a hundred west to east.’
‘Whereabouts did you live?’
‘Oh, you know!’ He waved his long hand again, then fell silent.
A third of the way around the circuit of the crater, Tiaan stopped the walker.
‘Something the matter?’ Gilhaelith enquired.
‘The crutch strap is chafing. I’m not used to such rough ground.’
‘Do you want to go back?’
‘No. It’s lovely out here.’
They picked their way across the stony rim. Billows of mist drifted around them. Tiaan could feel droplets condensing on her eyelashes. The scarf over her face was dripping.
‘Gilhaelith?’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’
He leaned on an elbow-high boulder, staring into the invisible crater. He seemed reluctant to speak.
‘Gilhaelith?’
‘This is a great gamble, Tiaan. A prodigious gamble, so don’t get your hopes up.’ Another extended pause. ‘I’ve come across something about broken backs. There is –’ His head whipped around. ‘What was that? Did you hear it?’
‘It sounded like a sheet flapping in the wind.’
‘But there’s just the gentlest of breezes.’
The mist broke and re-formed. He ran to the outside edge, peering down toward the forest.
‘Can you see anything?’ she called.
‘No. Sometimes you hear funny noises up here,’ he said doubtfully. ‘I think we should head home, Tiaan.’
She adjusted the chafing strap, rotated the walker and they set off. ‘What about my back?’
He was slow to reply. Before they had gone twenty steps she heard that crack again. Gilhaelith went still, his head cocked to one side.
‘I think I know what it is.’ One hand slid inside his coat.
‘What, Gilhaelith?’ She turned the walker one way and then the other, but could not see anything.
Before he could answer, a winged shape appeared in the fog right behind him. Another thumped into the ground between him and her, and then two more, one on either side.
Gilhaelith whipped out a stubby rod but the rear lyrinx dropped a rope over his head and jerked it tight around Gilhaelith’s chest. The one to the left struck the rod from his hand.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried.
They did not answer. Other ropes bound his arms to his chest. He tried to say something, perhaps a geomantic word of power, for a rock exploded into fragments, gashing one of the lyrinx’s calves. It ignored the minor wound.
Tiaan hurled the walker forward, recklessly attacking the nearest lyrinx with her fist. It pulled back its arm to deliver a blow that would have torn her head from her shoulders. She skittered sideways, careering towards the second lyrinx.
Gilhaelith shouted something she did not catch. Before he could utter another word, the first lyrinx pulled a hood tight over Gilhaelith’s face. She caught a whiff of tar.
Tiaan threw herself at the nearest enemy, who simply put his great clawed hand across her face and pushed. The walker went backwards and toppled. As she crashed down the slope, the last thing Tiaan saw was the four lyrinx lifting off, in perfect formation, carrying Gilhaelith between them.
‘Tia –’ he yelled.
All further sounds were drowned out by the rush of shattered rock down the slope.
FORTY-FOUR
The scrutator had set up camp in a cave below the steep top of the twin pinnacles at Minnien. Irisis and her team had been working for days, mapping the wisps of field as it strengthened and trying to work out what had happened to it. At the same time, they built a device to read the aura of the node, and hopefully its history. It was a contraption of gold and silver leaf, platinum wire and crystals of various kinds. Jewel-like in its delicacy, it vaguely resembled a dragonfly. It could have had a variety of forms but Irisis had taken her frustrations out by making it as extravagant, and as beautiful, as she could with the materials she had. The work was painstaking, and blindness made it more so, but she would make no concessions to her disability.
They had not seen the lyrinx again, though Irisis felt sure that its visit had something to do with the reappearance of the field, which was clearer and stronger each day.
‘It’s nearly strong enough to drive a clanker,’ she said to Flydd on the fourth morning.
He sat up nakedly in his sleeping pouch. ‘Our first piece of luck.’ He scratched his scarred, hairless chest. ‘How is your aura reader going?’
‘Almost finished. The thing that puzzles me, Xervish, is why the Council did not do this a long time ago.’
‘Too blinkered,’ he said. ‘We scrutators think of mancing as the very pinnacle of the Secret Art, and no doubt it is, in terms of sheer power. But it is not a subtle Art, the way we use it, and we do not have the artisan’s ability to see the field. We draw on it intuitively; almost blindly. So, when our Art failed to penetrate the node, we did not consider that lesser abilities might succeed.’