Orlind

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Pensould had finally learned the art of knocking on doors. He still did it with unbecoming force; the moment the pounding began Llandry ran to rescue the door before he could knock it out of its frame altogether. He grinned sheepishly at her as she wrenched it open, and she realised she was probably scowling at him.

‘Good morning, Minchu,’ he said. ‘Or whatever time of day it is out here. I don’t think we are on a world, so can there be times of day?’

‘An intriguing philosophical point,’ she said, ushering him inside. ‘But I can’t at all be bothered to think about it just now.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ Pensould agreed. ‘There are much more pressing matters at hand.’

She assumed he was referring to her mother’s state, or perhaps the impending (or on-going) attacks on Glinnery, but he didn’t pursue those topics either. Instead he swung a small rucksack off his shoulder and sat cross-legged right there on the floor to open it up. Out came a range of fruits: she didn’t recognise most of them but their plump shapes, shiny skins and rich colours suggested that they would taste wonderful. The last item to come out of the sack was something she did recognise: a soft pink nara fruit from Glinnery itself. Pensould retrieved a wooden bowl from the bottom of his bag and amused himself arranging the fruits in an intricate and colour-coordinated pile, then flashed her a dazzling smile.

Llandry sat opposite, smiling back a touch uncertainly. Doubtless she hadn’t been eating properly of late, having been unconscious for a time. It was kind of him to bring all these.

‘Where did you get the nara?’ she enquired.

‘Bune gave all these to me. He didn’t tell me where they came from.’

‘Can I have it? The pink one.’

He handed it over and watched with satisfaction as she bit into it. It was a perfect fruit, well ripened and sweet. Pensould scrutinised her closely as she ate it, his expression expectant.

‘Thank you,’ she said when she’d finished. He smiled, but she had the impression this wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting.

‘Umm. Sigwide might like that blue one,’ she offered. Immediately he produced a knife from somewhere and sliced it up into small pieces, which the orting investigated and then ate with gusto.

‘There; you have pleased us both,’ she smiled.

That statement apparently pleased Pensould too, inordinately so, for his grin became maniacal.

‘Excellent!’ he enthused. ‘And how are you feeling, Minchu? Recovered?’

‘I think so.’ She did feel much better, having benefited from some proper sleep and Bune’s excellent food. Impatience gnawed at her ceaselessly, however, making it difficult for her to relax. ‘I want to ask Lady Eva to take me to Mamma,’ she added. ‘Maybe today.’

Pensould didn’t reply. She could feel him checking her over with his draykon-senses, a sensation that felt mildly invasive. She shivered, but he was still beaming.

‘You are stronger than I thought, Minchu,’ he said, rousing her indignation. Did he think her so frail? ‘Perhaps we should go today, indeed,’ he added, as if he was granting his permission.

‘Fine,’ she said stiffly, and his face fell.

‘Are you displeased?’

‘No…’ she began. ‘Not exactly.’

He waited.

‘I’m grateful for your care,’ she said. ‘Truly.’ And it was true. She’d heard about Pensould’s dedicated attendance while she was ill, and she knew that he may well have saved her life by replacing her exhausted energy with his own. But still. ‘You’re smothering me, a little.’

He frowned. ‘Smothering?’

‘You’re almost as bad as Mamma,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘Watching over me every minute of the day, wrapping me in cotton in case I hurt myself. I’d like some time to myself once in a while.’

Pensould mulled that over. ‘You don’t want me to come with you?’ he concluded at last. He looked so crestfallen that she instantly felt guilty, but she hardened her heart. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, and she hadn’t been cruel about it. She nodded.

‘Oh,’ he said, sounding a little lost. He frowned, but then summoned a smile for her. ‘Very well. You can find me if you need me, I’m sure.’ He stood up, leaving the bowl of curious fruits where it was. With a gentle pat of farewell on Sigwide’s head, he left.

Llandry took a deep breath. She was used to solitude; in fact, she revelled in it. It was a lifestyle that would drive some people mad, but it suited her. Since the events of a few moons ago, however, when the istore had been discovered by the world, she had rarely been alone; and when she had, she’d been in circumstances of peril. It felt good to just relax for a few moments in an empty room, just her and Sigwide.

But it couldn’t last. There was work to be done. Rising to her feet, she scooped up Sigwide and went in search of Lady Eva Glostrum.

Her ladyship was with Tren, as expected. The two of them were comfortably ensconced in Eva’s chambers. They were both holding books, but neither one appeared to be reading when Llandry arrived at the door.

‘Come in,’ Eva smiled in answer to Llandry’s knock. Llan obeyed, feeling detestably unsure of herself. She ought to be getting used to these people by now.

‘Lady Glostrum,’ she began, but she was interrupted.

‘Eva,’ said her ladyship firmly. ‘You can’t go on calling me by my title after all that’s happened.’

‘Well… I could,’ Llandry protested. She noticed Tren grinning and felt even more uncomfortable.

‘I can’t get used to it either,’ Tren offered, perhaps noticing her discomfort. ‘But she’s beaten me into doing it, so don’t expect to be let off.’

‘Umm, all right,’ she muttered. ‘I was wondering if you might be willing to take me to my grandfather’s house? I’d like to see Mamma.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Eva replied. ‘I’d heard that your mother was in the Uppers. I’d like to see her myself. Shall we go at once?’

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, with her usual diffidence. She knew by now that some of Eva’s aura of brilliance came from her heritage as a Lokant: she possessed unusual powers of the will, and could influence the way people perceived her. Limbane had said she’d picked up that ability without training, and had done it unconsciously until he taught her to control it. But it didn’t matter that she knew this; she still found Eva intimidating, regardless of her kindness.

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Eva said, rising from her chair. She looked at Tren, and her face softened into an affectionate smile. ‘Are you coming along?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said with alacrity, jumping up. He seemed well; in fact he had more energy than she did, despite the gravity of the injuries he’d taken. But that had always been the case. He didn’t have wretched anxiety and self-doubt sapping his strength.

She’d wondered before where these traits had come from. Everyone had expected her to be much more like her serene, confident mother, whom she resembled in physical appearance. But somehow that hadn’t happened. Timid from birth, she’d responded to those expectations by shrinking away from the people who expressed surprise at her shyness, or who wondered too loudly at her being so much less pretty than her Mamma, in spite of their similarity of feature. It had all simply grown worse from there, she supposed. When Tren looked at her, she couldn’t help assuming he was reflecting on the defects in her appearance or character.

‘Is Pensould coming with us?’ Eva enquired.

Llandry shook her head. ‘I sent him away for a bit. I’d like to do this alone, if that’s all right.’

Eva exchanged a quick look with Tren, her expression indecipherable to Llandry. She gave a minute shrug, then crossed to a cupboard that stood in one corner of the room. From its shelves she extracted two sets of glasses, handing one to Tren. Llandry frowned a little on seeing them: the constructs were faintly familiar, though she was fairly sure she hadn’t seen these before.

Eva smiled at her expression. ‘Your mother gave me a set of these not long ago, when I visited her in Waeverleyne. Your father’s work, I believe. These particular sets are Limbane’s: he’s had time to refine them a little, as I gather your father intends to do. These aren’t so heavy or cumbersome. Nor so odd-looking, which is good for my dignity.’

‘Oh?’ Tren put in. ‘Shame. I think I would have enjoyed seeing you wear something undignified.’

To Llandry’s surprise, Eva stuck her tongue out at him. Then she donned the headwear. They were like spectacles, but the lenses completely enclosed her eyes so that no light could get around them. The glass was darkened. Llandry wasn’t surprised at this precaution: Eva and Tren were from the realm of Glour, where sorcery kept the land in permanent darkness, lit only by the moon. The light levels in Eva’s rooms were always low to Llandry’s eyes, but she knew that the light of the Uppers would be blinding to the virtually nocturnal vision of Eva and Tren.

‘Ready?’ Eva asked Tren.

‘Totally,’ he replied, his own glasses firmly in place.

‘Then let’s depart,’ Eva said, turning back to Llandry. She took hold of Llan’s wrist with one hand, and took Tren’s hand with the other. Llandry had only an instant to brace herself, which she did with due haste: she had no idea how Eva achieved these impossible leaps across space and time, but she knew that most of the process would be indiscernible to her and that it would happen fast.

Sure enough, in less than a minute the walls of Eva’s chambers faded away. For a brief instant the three of them hung somewhere entirely other, and Llan had the weird sensation that they were, strictly speaking, nowhere at all. Then solidity rushed back and she recognised her grandfather’s comfortable stone-built house just ahead of them. They were standing in the Upper Realm, part of Llan’s own “cluster” of worlds as Limbane termed it. The light never faded up here, the multiple suns ensuring that no native of this realm of Iskyr ever knew night. Only one sun currently shone in the sky, however, and the air was faintly chilly. Smoke rose from the chimney of Rheas’s house, suggesting the welcome presence of a fire.

Eva was looking at her. ‘I can’t leave, or you’ll have no way to get back to us at the Library. Assuming that you wish to go back. But I imagine you’ll want to see your mother alone?’

Llandry nodded, grateful for her ladyship’s discernment. She doubted she would have had the courage to dismiss her the way she had dismissed Pensould.

‘Very well. We will explore a little. I’ve always wanted to see more of this realm. I will come back for you in, say, an hour?’

‘Perfect,’ Llandry said. ‘Thank you, m’la… um, Eva.’

She was rewarded with a beautiful smile, then Eva took Tren’s hand again and gently led him away. Llandry turned back to the little stone house. It looked so inviting and homely; shame that the atmosphere inside probably wouldn’t be anything like that.

She made it to the doorstep before she paused again. Pensould’s account of events after her own collapse had set her thinking, and a horrible theory had occurred to her about her mother’s failure to wake. She had poured most of her own life energy into Mamma in an attempt to heal her, and Pensould said she had succeeded: Ynara’s wounds had disappeared. He had shared some of his own energy with Ynara, too, and even diverted some of her father’s. With that much energy bolstering her own flagging strength, Ynara should have woken long ago. Why hadn’t she?

Llandry’s beautiful dream had featured her mother very prominently. Thinking back on it, it occurred to her that Ynara’s image had been much more vivid than that of Llandry’s father, Aysun. Mamma seemed brighter, more real in some indefinable way, and Llan had a very bad feeling about that.

She was still learning her way around her draykon abilities, and some of her capabilities still took her by surprise. Had she in some way gathered her mother’s consciousness into her own dream, and held it there? Was she the reason Ynara hadn’t woken up?

If that was the case, it should be possible to wake her now, if she wasn’t already alert. Llan hoped fervently that this was the case, but she didn’t know how she’d face Ynara if she really was the cause of her elongated spell of insensibility. Mamma probably wouldn’t even be angry with her, which would only make it worse.

She took a breath, steeled herself, and knocked on the door. Mags answered it, her lined face lighting up with a smile.

‘Hello, Mags,’ Llandry said, smiling at the woman who so unaccountably chose to live with her grandfather. ‘Is Mamma still here?’

‘Yes, lovie,’ said Mags, still beaming. ‘No improvement yet, I’m afraid, but it’s a joy to see you on your feet again! Your grandfather will be so happy. Come in, come in.’

Llandry doubted that last statement. As far as she could tell, nothing made her grandfather happy. She found him sitting in his usual rocking chair, placed near the fire that warmed the large, open room that made up the ground floor of his house. He didn’t smile as she entered, but she didn’t expect him to.

‘So you’re awake,’ he said blandly. ‘About time.’

She sighed. Just once, it might be nice for Rheas to say something pleasant. Just once.

‘I’ve come to wake Mamma,’ she said. It was odd. When it came to people like Eva and Tren, she was largely tongue-tied; their very kindness made her feel smaller. But when it came to a nasty old man like her grandfather, she had no problem meeting his hard gaze. He annoyed the shyness out of her.

‘Please do,’ he muttered, going back to his book. ‘If I get one more lovesick i***t hanging around her, there won’t be room to move in here.’

Llandry blinked. Lovesick i***t? Who could he possibly mean? Not her father, surely. He was supposed to be in Waeverleyne, and she doubted he’d leave it just now, not even for her mother. He couldn’t; he was needed.

She thought about asking Rheas to elaborate, but abandoned the idea. Ignoring him, she crossed to the stairs and climbed to the first floor. A process of trial and error soon identified the room in which Mamma lay, and she stepped inside.

And stopped in astonishment. Sitting in a chair on the far side of the room was her mother’s friend and fellow sorceress Nyra, which was not unexpected. But sitting next to her mother’s pillow, out of sight of the doorway, was Devary Kant, well-dressed as always and with his dark hair tied back. He was holding Mamma’s hand.

For an instant, she was frozen in astonishment. Last time she had seen Devary, she had found him wandering in Iskyr. Soon afterwards the white-haired Lokant, Krays, had followed Devary’s tracer and tried to abduct Llandry. Pensould had preserved her from that fate, but Dev had said he had to stay away from her after that. And so he had; she’d heard nothing more from him in some time. How had he ended up here?

‘Dev,’ she said, and he looked up to regard her with similar astonishment.

‘Llandry!’ he said in glad tones, standing up and coming towards her. ‘I’d heard you were unwell; how wonderful to see you on your feet again.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘But Dev, your tracer! How can you be here?’

He made a face. ‘That thing. Limbane removed it.’

‘You know Limbane?’

Devary nodded quickly. ‘He dragged me out of Krays’s prison cells not long ago, and took out the tracer. So I’m safe. I saw you were well attended, so of course I came here. But look, Llan,’ and he turned her back towards her mother’s bed and pushed her forward. ‘I don’t know how you managed that timing; she woke only a few minutes ago.’

Mamma’s grey eyes were open and she was looking right at Llandry. Her eyes were hazy with confusion, but she was awake. With a cry of relief, Llandry hurled herself at the bed and wrapped her arms around her mother.

Part of her relief was knowing that she probably hadn’t been responsible for Ynara’s long sleep, but then she reconsidered. She had woken days ago, or that’s what it felt like, and so the dream had ended days ago. But time didn’t work the same way in Limbane’s Library. It was held almost in stasis, he had told her; nothing aged much within its confines, and years might pass there and only feel like days in her world.

In that case, weeks might pass and feel like seconds here. In which case, her mother’s waking might well have been the result of Llandry’s own emergence from her vivid dream.

She hid her face in the blanket. ‘I’m sorry, Mamma,’ she said softly.

‘Llan?’ said Ynara, her voice a little slurred. Her answering hug was weak, but it was enough to reassure Llandry that her mother’s alertness was improving.

‘Why are you apologising?’ Devary asked from behind her. ‘It is not your fault.’

Llandry didn’t bother trying to explain. It was bad enough that she knew — or firmly suspected — the cause of Ynara’s inability to wake; she didn’t particularly want to admit it to Devary.

Or to Nyra, who as usual sat silently in the corner and observed them all with a faint look of amusement on her face.

Llan allowed herself to forget all her other concerns for a while, as she and Devary restored Mamma to comfort. Ynara, always strong-willed, pulled herself back to full consciousness faster than Llandry had done, and she revived quicker once she’d eaten.

Happy and relieved, it didn’t occur to Llandry until much later to recall Rheas’s sarcastic words. Lovesick i***t, he’d said, and the only possible person he could have meant was Devary. That was an implication she didn’t like at all.

So involved was she in reflecting on this unwelcome idea, and observing Devary’s behaviour to her mother (and vice versa), that it was some time before she noticed that an hour had long since gone by and Eva had not come back.