‘We’re stopped for the night. Only a madman would risk the channels to Herendeneth in darkness. We’re hidden from the ocean and few could follow us even this far. You have no wish to know how close our hull came to the reef and it will be no better at first light.’
Erienne accepted the tea and watched a while as Lyanna cupped her hands around her mug, breathing in the fresh herb fragrance.
‘But surely you’ve sailed this stretch before?’ she asked eventually.
Ren’erei nodded. ‘But sand shifts and reefs grow. Eventually the course of channels change. You can’t be too careful and there must always be passage. Our charts change almost with every voyage. Never by much, but enough to keep us alert.’
‘Will we make land tomorrow?’ asked Erienne.
‘I want to walk on the sand!’ announced Lyanna abruptly, taking a sip of her tea. The young elf smiled and shook her head.
‘No sand where we are going, my princess,’ she said. ‘Not tomorrow. But one day, I’ll take you to the sand, I promise.’
Erienne saw the warmth in Ren’erei’s eyes.
‘Do you have children?’ Erienne smoothed Lyanna’s hair. The child pulled away slightly, concentrating on her drink. It was easy to forget the depth to which her mind already ran and the power that was harboured there.
‘No,’ said Ren’erei. ‘Though I’d love to. My duties take me away from the attentions of males, but it won’t be forever.’
‘You’ll make a fine parent,’ said Erienne.
‘For now I can only hope so,’ said the elf. ‘But thank you.’
The night passed quietly, the crew savouring whatever rest they could get, acutely aware of the rigours dawn would bring. The Ocean Elm set sail again in the cool of early sunrise and Erienne had woken to the feel of the ship underway, albeit slowly, and the curious quiet that held sway as they moved through the narrow channel that led inexorably to Herendeneth and the voices that had urged them to their journey.
Washing and dressing quickly in a pair of pale brown breeches, a wool shirt and leather jerkin supplied by Ren’erei, Erienne had taken to the deck, pausing to frown at her daughter’s slumbering form. Normally a bundle of energy that rose with the dawn, Lyanna had slept more and more every day of their voyage and Erienne couldn’t help but feel that it was sleep not entirely under her control. But on the other hand, she was refreshed and bright when she awoke, and her calm acceptance of the uprooting of everything she had known was pure blessing.
Up on deck, Erienne returned to her position of yesterday, soaking up a watery sun that shone through a thickening cloud bank. The wind was brisk but even and the Ocean Elm made slow and steady progress through the archipelago.
Throughout an anxious day, they crawled between islands. An idyllic lagoon setting would give way to a scatter of lifeless rock fists or a sweeping volcanic atoll, its ridges obscured by cloud. Up in the rigging, the crew stood waiting as they had yesterday, ready to reef or unfurl sail on barked command, and the jib was slackened any time the wind picked up pace.
The threat beneath the waves removed the romance of this final leg of the voyage, and though Erienne never ceased to marvel at the sheer scale and beauty of Ornouth, she couldn’t help but feel they were somehow unwelcome. A paradise of tranquillity it might be but, lurking close by, a sense of malevolence. The Ocean Elm was here under sufferance and failure to show respect would be met with the dread sound of reef ripping through timber.
In the middle of the afternoon, with the cloud blowing away to leave a blanket of blue sky, the temperature rose as the wind dropped. Lyanna, who had joined Erienne late in the morning, scrambled to her feet, using Erienne’s back to steady her as she peered forward intently.
‘What is it, sweet?’ asked Erienne.
‘We’re here,’ said Lyanna, her voice soft and almost inaudible above the creaking of spars and the gentle bow wave that ran past the ship. Erienne looked too. The captain had been holding the Ocean Elm on a starboard tack, taking the ship past a sweeping sandy beach at the back of which cliffs soared hundreds of feet into the air, giving a home to thousands of sea birds whose calls surrounded them.
Skirting the edge of the island, the ship turned slowly to run down a channel barely more than three ship’s widths across. Bleaker cliffs towered above them on both sides now, closing in above their heads, the shrill cries of gulls echoing down to them from where they circled high above or sat on precariously sited nests.
But it was at the end of the channel that Lyanna stared, because closing with every passing heartbeat was Herendeneth. Like the cliffs by which they passed, the island was dominated by a sheer rock face that scaled many hundreds of feet into the afternoon sky. And slowly revealed was a shore from which spears of stone protruded and cliffs tumbled down to the sea, the scattering of huge boulders evidence of ancient tumultuous movement.
Moving steadily down the widening channel, the Ocean Elm was silent once more. Herendeneth reached out with an aura that demanded reverence and quiet contemplation. Any sailor not tending sails or wheel, dropped briefly to one knee with bowed head, touching the centre of his forehead with his right index finger.
‘You are here, Lyanna,’ said Ren’erei. Erienne started; she hadn’t heard the elf approach. ‘Soon you will be standing with the Al-Drechar. ’
The name sent shivers down Erienne’s spine. Al-Drechar was a name written in legend and ancient texts. They were the holders of the faith, the guardians of true magic. They were the Keepers of the One. There had never been any doubt that a substantial sect had survived the Sundering, the cataclysmic battles that had seen four Colleges emerge from the ruins of the one that had previously dominated Balaian magic. But that had been over two thousand years before and they were assumed to have died out as time passed and peace returned to Balaia. All that was heard were rumours, explained away by the clashing of charged mana or the unpredictability of nature.
Yet the idea that descendants of the One had survived had never been conclusively disproved and through the centuries, enough mages had been strong enough to state their beliefs and perpetuate what had appeared at best a myth.
Now, Erienne knew different. She knew. And in a while, she would physically meet with those who many dreamed still lived, but more prayed were dead.
‘How many are there?’ she asked.
‘Only four remain,’ replied Ren’erei. ‘Your daughter truly represents the last hope for furtherance of our cause.’ She placed a hand on Lyanna’s head who looked up and smiled, though a frown chased it quickly away.
‘Are they dying then?’ Erienne asked.
‘They are very old,’ replied the elf. ‘And they’ve been waiting for you a long time. They couldn’t have waited too much longer.’
Erienne noticed tears standing in Ren’erei’s eyes.
‘What will we find there?’ she mused, not really expecting an answer.
‘Peace, goodness, purity. Age.’ She looked into Erienne’s eyes and the mage saw desperation burning in those of the elf. ‘They can’t be allowed to fade uselessly. I and the Guild, we’ve watched them grow steadily weaker over the years. She must be the one.’
‘She is,’ said Erienne, Ren’erei’s fervour unsettling her. Lyanna felt it too and had leant against her mother. She was gazing again at the island that would be her home for the Gods only knew how long.
‘Tell me, Ren’erei, how many of you serve them? The Al-Drechar, that is.’
‘We are few. Forty-three in all, but our sons and daughters will carry on the work until we are not needed any more, one way or another. We’ve served them for generations, ever since the Sundering, but the honour is undiminished.’ She stood tall, pride on her face. ‘We are the Guild of Drech and we will not falter until our service is fulfilled. All else is secondary.’ She turned from Erienne and looked towards Herendeneth, touching index finger to forehead as she bowed.