‘No. You sound
more sensible than the devotions-chantor back in Kibbleberry. You
should have heard the things he worried about. Who was sleeping
with whom, or how much money the congregation was dropping into the
collection. And whether people wore regulation clothes.’
‘Most people
are appreciating such guidance, lass,’ he chided, knowing this last
was directed at him. ‘We must do our best to keep the Rule,
otherwise Lord Carasma will destroy all we have, surely.’
She shot him a
sceptical glance. She had heard it all before, but no one had ever
proved it to her satisfaction.
He caught the
look. ‘Keris, the Maker made this world according to certain
universal laws. Within a Stability, if I am falling off my
horse—Maker forbid—I’ll always be falling down. Not up. Within a
stability, life ends in death. Water freezes when it’s cold enough,
becomes steam when it’s hot enough. All these things are constant.
They are the rules by which things exist—or did, until the Unmaker
came. As we ride out into the Unstable, you’ll see that those sort
of laws are no longer always applying.’
She was
impatient. ‘Yes, yes, I know all that. But what proof is there that
it’s the Rule which keeps instability, the unmaking of the world,
at bay?’
He waggled a
jewelled hand at her. ‘Ah, proof, proof. Why is it the young are
always wanting proof? It’s faith you should be having, child! No
one can offer you proof of the kind you mean, as well you know, but
perhaps you should consider this: Minions sell themselves to the
Unmaker in exchange for immortality, which is an unnatural state.
Yet if a Minion enters too far into a stability, he dies. He cannot
survive where there is Order, because Order will not tolerate what
is unnatural, and therefore chaotic. That too is why the tainted
die if they live in a stab. Some people think it is the Maker that
destroys them, but it’s not so. It’s simply that their innate
unnaturalness cannot exist in an ordered world operating according
to the laws of Nature and Creation. To unbind a man, to taint him,
to make him untouchable, is to introduce an element of Chaos. Death
is an integral part of being alive; to put an end to Death is also
to introduce that element of Chaos into the world. True Chaos can
only exist in the Unstable. In a stab, we emphasise the opposite of
Chaos, sameness, day after day, year after year. This is Order. It
discourages unnaturalness, it kills Minions or the tainted. And it
is the Rule that maintains it.’
‘Why the
kinesis chain, then?’ she asked, persistent. ‘It shouldn’t be
necessary. Order should be enough.’
‘No one I know
is willing to take that risk,’ he said dryly. ‘Kinesis reinforces
Order. I can’t be offering you proof, but it’s what I believe.’ He
dug into his saddle bag and drew out his feather switch with the
jewelled handle and used it to brush away the insect-like flyers
that were beginning to bother them. ‘Here in the Unstable the
Unmaker has shattered the natural order and that’s the beginning of
the ultimate disintegration of the world, perhaps even of the
Universe. Look around you as we ride, Keris; you will see the
beginnings of the end… The Unmaker rejoices with every blade of
crushed grass that springs back to life. All such “miracles” are
manifestations of Chaos. And there, ahead of us, is another such if
I am not mistaken.’
He pointed
with his switch. ‘That must be Scow, Davron’s Unbound assistant, I
suppose. And by the look of it, he rides a tainted beast as well.
Most of them do. Untainted horses don’t like the touch of the
tainted anymore than we ley-lit do. Probably that beast was his
horse once.’
It was hard to
believe. The animal the tainted man was riding was huge; its body
had the shape and the size and solidity of one of the old stone
tombs of Drumlin Chantry House, and its legs were as thick around
as shrine pillars. Its face was more aquiline than equine—it was
definitely beaked—but its head had two wide-curved horns with ends
that pointed forward. Its dimpled hide was a deep, rich brown.
‘Sweet
Creation,’ Quirk muttered from behind her. He pulled nervously at
the hair in front of his ear. ‘Do we have to ride with that?’ He
sounded more frightened than contemptuous.
She hardly
blamed him. Not only was the beast frightening, but the rider’s
appearance was not reassuring either. As with all tainted humans,
he still had a basic human form, but in his case the proportions
had changed. His head was built on a grand scale, perhaps twice
normal size, and his outsized face was circled by an animal’s mane.
The hair—fur?—of it cascaded down on to his shoulders, hiding his
neck. His hands and feet were huge. The rest of him was normal, if
large.
‘Poor fellow,’
Portron said softly. ‘A great evil has been done to him.’
Davron Storre
was the first to come to the waiting figure. He reached out and
brushed his knuckles against the back of the man’s hand, a strange
form of greeting she had never seen before. The Unbound man smiled
and nodded.
‘This is
Scow,’ Davron said as they rode up, and then introduced them,
adding a few succinct words of information he apparently thought
his assistant should know. ‘Corrian,’ he said. ‘Never been in the
Unstable. Says she can gut a man with a knife, no trouble, and
doesn’t think the odd Wild is much different. Graval Hurg,
merchant. Has been on a short one-way pilgrimage ten years ago. Not
a good rider and not ley-lit. Not armed. Young muscles here is
Baraine. Tells me he knows how to use those arms he carries. The
girl is Keris. Says she can down a flying pigeon with an arrow. She
seems to be able to manage that crossings-horse of hers.’
Patronising
sod.
‘The other
youngster is Quirk,’ he continued. ‘Unarmed. Ley-unlit. He has been
in the Unstable as a child. The plump gentleman is a rule-chantor,
Portron Bittle; experienced and ley-lit, and armed only with
kinesis, of course. That’s it for this trip, Scow.’
The large
mouth parted in what could have been a grin, and Keris was
horrified to see that the tongue inside was catlike: pink, rough
and long. ‘Guess we’ll manage,’ he said. The words were guttural,
as if the enlarged mouth and throat had problems with human speech.
It was the first time Keris had ever come face to face with one of
the Unbound, and she was a little ashamed of her interest, and her
revulsion. She tried to focus her curiosity elsewhere, to wonder
why Davron had not introduced Scow to the blind man.
~~~~~~~
The morning
was relatively uneventful. They traversed a wide meadow, then rode
through a patch of woodland. They saw nothing to scare them,
although much of the plant life seemed alien. The only obstacle
they met was a swift-flowing stream that would have presented few
problems if Graval’s horse had not slipped and crashed into
Meldor’s mount, unseating the latter. Fortunately the blind man
controlled his fall and suffered no more than wet feet.
When they
stopped for a break on the other side of the stream, Keris was
amused to see Davron consulting a map—her own; Thirl, she was glad
to note, had indeed sold him one of the few maps she’d had time to
colour. She felt a moment’s smug pleasure, but said nothing.
While Davron
was deciding what route to take through the forest ahead and Scow
was bringing water to the boil over a small fire, Graval Hurg sat
disconsolately beside Meldor and apologised at length for his
ineptitude on horseback. ‘Clumsy me,’ he moaned. ‘Wherever I go,
things go wrong. I bring bad luck. Calamity.’
‘I doubt it,’
Meldor said, emptying water out of his boots. ‘And I hardly think
being tipped off my horse into a stream on a pleasantly warm day is
a calamity.’ His voice, Keris decided, was one of the most amazing
she had ever heard. It was deep, yet sonorous. He never raised it,
yet it seemed to carry.
It soaks into one’s bones
… When
Meldor spoke, everyone else was silent, just to listen.
‘You know,’
Quirk said into her ear, ‘if the Maker came to walk among us like a
human, I think He would look just like Meldor. Tall, imposing,
regal, calm, possessing a sort of mature self-restraint—’
‘Blind?’
‘Maybe. I’d
like to think He’s blind, then—’ he looked down at himself with a
self-deprecatory grin ‘—then He wouldn’t be influenced by outward
appearances. Otherwise Baraine might be headed for Heaven’s
Ordering, while I’m damned to the Disorder of Hell.’
She smiled,
liking him.
‘Your drink,’
Scow said and handed Meldor a mug of hot char. Meldor, she noted,
took the mug without hesitation or fumbling.
‘How do you do
that?’ she blurted.
His mouth
smiled at her, although his eyes could not. ‘Smell, the feel of air
movement against my skin. Tiny sounds, the rustle of clothes, a
stone underfoot. Nothing you would even notice.’
He moved away
and Portron muttered under his breath so that only she could hear,
‘I keep on thinking I’ve seen him somewhere before. I just wish I
could remember where.’
Scow had
brewed enough char for them all, and she was glad of it. She had no
idea what it was made of, but it seemed to make her less tired.
Graval managed to spill much of the contents of his mug all over
Corrian; fortunately she was wearing too many layers of clothing to
be scalded, but her invective was rich anyway. Most of it Keris
simply did not understand, but Graval certainly did. He went
several shades darker.
‘The man’s a
menace,’ Baraine growled at Keris’s side. ‘He tripped over me a
moment ago. Got me right in the instep with his boot. I’ll feel it
for days.’
We are a
happy little group
, she thought.
Later, when
they stopped for lunch, the fellowship broke up into small
gatherings. Portron and Keris sat together and shared their food.
Meldor the blind joined Scow and Davron Storre, while Quirk
Quinling, Corrian, Graval Hurg and Baraine of Valmair initially sat
down together, although it wasn’t long before Baraine went off
alone and Quirk wandered over diffidently to join Portron and Keris
with his piece of cheese and dried fruit.
‘Ah, do you
mind, er, if I sit with you?’ he asked. ‘That awful woman keeps on
making, um—begging you pardon—indecent suggestions to me.’ He gave
Portron a horrified look. ‘How can she do that? She must be sixty
if she’s a day, and she said she could teach me more in an hour
than er—ah, perhaps I’d better not say the rest. It’s disgusting.
She’s
disgusting.’
‘I hope,’
Portron said mildly, ‘that you’re not thinking what she says is
disgusting simply on account of her age. Youth is not after having
a monopoly on the joys obtainable between the sheets, you know.
However, I grant you that Mistress Corrian is somewhat forward with
her suggestions, and I would be guessing she gives scant thought to
the Rule when it comes to putting them in to practice. Nonetheless,
just remember before you’re too rude to her that you have a long
way to ride with her at your side.’
Keris blinked
and tried to hide her surprise. Portron often did not talk the way
she thought a rule-chantor would, or indeed, should.
His face was a
picture of fatherly benevolence as he regarded Quirk. ‘Why did you
choose to take such a long pilgrimage, lad?’
Quinling’s
shoulders slumped and he laid his plate aside. He began to pick
absently at a hangnail. ‘I guess because I’m stupid,’ he said at
last. ‘I wanted to prove something to my father.’ He looked up at
them both miserably. ‘He’s a courier. You may have heard of
him.’
Keris stared.
‘Quinling—Camper Quinling is your father?’
He nodded.
She went blank
with surprise. Camper was one of the best couriers in the Unstable.
He was fast, reliable and renowned for making one of the most
astonishing crossings of all time. Chased by a horde of the Wild,
injured by a Minion arrow in his back and a ley cut across his
thigh, he had ridden into one of the worst ley storms in history,
only to emerge several days later, almost skinned alive, and still
carrying the letters entrusted to him.
‘He has a
reputation,’ Portron said.
‘Exactly.’
Quirk looked increasingly unhappy. ‘And I was expected to follow in
his footsteps. When I was ten, he took me into the Unstable, just
to make sure I was ley-lit. Well, I wasn’t, so that was the end of
any idea of my being a courier, and you know what? I was
glad.
I hated the Unstable. It scared me silly. We were
attacked by some half-wolves and we met this awful tainted fellow
who was quite, quite mad… I was terrified. My father was disgusted
with me. He said I was a coward, and he’s been saying it ever
since.’
‘That’s
awful,’ she said.
‘Well, it
stopped mattering after a while. It is true, after all. I am
frightened. I always have been, of just about anything you like to
name. The dark, loud noises, girls who smile at me. Awful old women
like that witch over there, Tricians like Baraine, they all scare
me, and they’re nothing compared to what’s out there.’ He waved a
hand at their surroundings. ‘I was weaned on stories of my father’s
adventures, and I know the sorts of things that can happen to you.
I’m petrified that…that I shall be tainted…’ His voice had trailed
away to a whisper. He looked down at his finger. He had made his
hangnail bleed and he put his hand behind him in embarrassment.
‘So why in the
name of all Creation did you choose to go all the way to the Eighth
Stab?’ she asked.
‘To prove
something, I suppose. Stupid, eh?’ He gave a smile that contained
considerable charm and whimsy. ‘I just had to show my father for
once in my life that I could do something brave.’
She struggled
to understand. She, who had so little fear of the Unstable, who’d
wanted to make the journey with her father ever since she was old
enough to understand where it was he went, found it hard to
comprehend the depth of Quirk’s fear.