The Three Sisters. Rebecca Locksley
Читать онлайн книгу.
the right way? As the day went on Arak became more and more certain that action was needed.
So it was that a few days later, after consulting with other elders of the Shamanic Brotherhood, Arak found himself travelling toward Ermora, the holy land of the Tari.
Three groups of people had traditionally shared the island of Yarmar: on the western side were the Seagani, who were herders and farmers; on the eastern side in the great forest were the Mori, who lived as hunters and gatherers; in the centre of the island, as they had once been at the centre of Yarmarian life, lived the Tari. Their hidden land, Ermora, lay high up in the Gen Mountains. The mountains were so tall that clouds were often caught on the peaks and shrouded them from view.
Arak travelled toward the centre of Yarmar until he left the borders of Eastern Seagani. Here, among the tumbled foothills of the Gen Mountains, lived the Red Seagani: shy, secretive sheep herders who had had little to do with the Mirayans. They were not a dangerous people, but they were odd and it took all Arak's courage to deal with the way they would come and peer into his face while he was sleeping, and yet run and hide from him during the day. Some of their faces showed signs of Tari blood - the dark green, almond-shaped eyes, and the pale skin and hair. Perhaps this was what made them so fey.
As Arak approached the foothills and Gen Gateway, a large cluster of roughly hewn wooden and thatch buildings scattered among the mysterious ruins of much larger stone buildings, he could see how truly sheer and craggy the Gen Mountains were.
Here the Red Seagani were not so shy. Arak found lodgings and hired a guide. That evening two shamans of the village came to sup with him and to ask him of his business with the Tari. He told them of the captive Tari woman and of the Mirayan brutality toward her. It seemed wise to be honest in this place.
The following morning Arak and his guide set out to climb the mountains. They were not far out of the village when a hawk with rich, red-brown plumage flew past them and up the mountain.
'Is it a messenger?' Arak asked of his guide, but the lad, whose red manhood tattoos were so new on his cheeks that they were still raised, merely grunted.
For three long days they climbed the mountains. Just as Arak was beginning to think the hard climb would never end, they suddenly topped a rise and found themselves on a lushly forested plateau.
'Penterong,' the guide grunted, pointing to a path that led away into the forest. He left the path and sat down on soft green grass beneath the trees. Arak understood that he meant to go no farther.
The Tari were regarded as a gentle, kindly race by ordinary people, and Arak himself was old enough to have fond memories of their travelling folk. Yet he could not help remembering how easily they had thrown the city of Olbia into the sea. A wise man always approaches the powerful warily, he thought. Yet as he walked through the forest of Penterong that fear left him. His sight gorged on the beauty of the forest as a hungry man gorges on food. Its beauty satisfied and delighted him as nothing had ever done before. He felt young and free again: full of energy and twice as strong as he had ever been.
Though he sensed that there were watchers among the trees, he was not afraid. He felt completely a part of this landscape, as if he were a piece of a perfect pattern that included rocks, trees and sky; or as if he were a dancer in a complicated dance, performing his part while all around him the world sang in joyous harmony. The world was him and moved through him and he belonged to it. At the same time he saw how tiny his part was and how much more there was to understand. The world was a mystery of richness and beauty which could never be entirely known and would never sour.
Arak had not had such feelings since the day he had taken the sacred passage to shamanhood. Unlike that day, when the feeling had been brought on by drugs and his senses had been dazed, here he saw everything with great clarity. A part of him, the part that had assessed the effect of the Tari woman on the Mirayans so coldly, saw with a fearful wariness that he was falling into a religious ecstasy, but even that did not really trouble him.
At last Arak came into view of the great rose-covered rock wall that was the healing hall of Penterong. As he stood open-mouthed and staring, there was a rustling in the trees nearby. A great cloud of small birds burst through the foliage and flew past him, twittering brightly. Suddenly a woman stood before him. She was dressed in grey, and her pale gold hair was interwoven with red feathers. She reminded him of the tall, stately herons that lived on the margins of the sea. Perched on her arm was the hawk he had seen earlier. She stroked it with her finger and regarded him out of the corner of her eye.
'You are the one with the message for the Tari?' she asked. Her eyes seemed as wild and predatory as those of the hawk.
'I am, lady,' the shaman said, beginning to feel afraid again.
'Then come with me,' she said and led him away into the forest.
In a clearing sat two Tari: a man and a woman. They were tall and fair as Tari always are, but there was a coldness about them that Arak did not remember from the Tari he had met as a child. The woman wore the clean white robes of a healer and her hair was gracefully braided with gold thread and green beads, but her dark eyes were full of cool mockery. The shaman thought he would have had to be at the very door of death before he would have asked her for healing.
Neither of them gave their names, though the woman called the man Jagamar. He gave her a severe look when she did so, however, and she hardly spoke after that.
The man was handsome, with a fine-boned face and smooth, elegant silver hair. His eyes were not cold but fiery and, as Arak spoke, they became increasingly full of excitement.
Arak told them of the battle for the Mori stronghold of Fleurforet, emphasising the Mirayans' guilt as much and as subtly as he could. This was easy, for the Tari was far more interested in the Mirayans than in the Seagani.
Jagamar called the Mirayans the people of the dragon and asked the shaman much of how they did things and what they believed in. He asked particularly about High Chief Scarvan and Duke Wolf. He did not seem to have any special fondness for the Mori, but he asked a great many questions about Elena Starchild.
After a long period of questions and answers, the Tari man thanked the shaman. It was only when Arak was on his way home that it occurred to him that it was almost as if the Tari man had never seen Elena Starchild. It puzzled him, though he could make nothing of it.
'You have done well and shown us great friendship in coming here,' the Tari man said.
'It is an honour to serve the Tari,' Arak said. 'Their presence is much missed in the lands of the archipelago.'
'Yes, yes,' the man said dismissively. 'We thank you. If you wish to continue to serve us, you will not speak of this matter too widely. Now one of the attendants will return you to your guide.'
Arak found the bird lady at his side and followed her without further ado. He was disappointed that he was not going to see more of Penterong but somehow relieved to be going. The Tari were more frightening than he remembered them to be.
Chapter 2
Lamartaine
The ship was slowing. Its timbers creaked as it changed direction. The calls of the sailors echoed from above. In the dimly lit cabin, a figure sat on the side of the bunk with its face in its hands.
A little girl came charging into the cabin. 'He told me to stop the breeze. Says we should go into port more conventionally. Attract less notice.'
'Seems wise,' the figure on the bunk said quietly.
The little girl looked at the figure through narrowed eyes. She took in her quiet voice and the slight droop of her usually strong shoulders. 'What's wrong with you, Yani?'
'Nothing,' Yani said softly
'You're thinking about what we saw at Fleurforet, aren't you?' She bustled to the other end of the cabin and flung open the shutter. Light filled the cabin. 'You've done nothing but mope since we left. It's hopeless. We're coming into Lamartaine and you have to pay attention.'
'I am paying