“Big improvement,” she said, cocking her head on one side. “But then that wasn’t difficult.”
“You can talk!” retorted Sylas, pointing mockingly at her giant coat, which still swamped her tiny frame. “Why do you always wear that thing? It’s way too big.”
Simia looked down and smoothed some of the folds with her hands. He saw that she was a little lost for words, and he immediately regretted saying anything.
“I like it,” she said with a trace of hurt in her eyes. “It was my father’s.”
He winced. “Oh,” he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“We have to go,” she said briskly, throwing her head back. She pointed over to the Samarok on his bedside table. “Don’t forget your precious book.”
He walked sheepishly over to the book, put his hands round the leather cover and tucked it under his arm, enjoying the velvety sensation on his palms.
Simia led him out of his room and round the gallery to the staircase. As they walked, he noticed that many of the large wooden doors leading off the landing now stood slightly ajar and occasionally he thought he heard someone moving inside. Simia saw him trying to peer into one of the rooms.
“Lots of them stayed last night,” she said still a little tetchily. “Longest Say-So I’ve ever seen. A lot more ‘Say’ than ‘So’ if you ask me,” she added, rolling her eyes.
They clambered down the steps into the great hall, which showed little sign of the meeting the previous evening. The vast shoals of fish were once again twisting and turning through the dark green water of the Aquium, disappearing here only to reappear there a few seconds later. Sylas slowed to watch them swimming, yearning to reach out to the glass as he had done the previous day.
Simia turned and tutted. “Come ON!” she insisted.
He took a last look at the glorious maelstrom of silvery bodies, then with a sigh of frustration followed her down the steps to the platform.
As they stepped on to the circular stage, she reached down and pulled a wooden lever concealed in its rim and he heard the familiar clunk and grating of gears somewhere below, and then it started to move, lowering them slowly into the darkness. The doors were soon drawing closed above their heads and they were plunged into the gloom of the shaft.
“Filimaya’s going to teach me to control them,” said Simia as the platform continued to descend.
“Control what?”
“The fish,” she pronounced proudly.
Sylas bit his lip, remembering how they had seemed to react to his hand. “Really?” he murmured. “That’d be great.”
Moments later the great platform shuddered and, with a deafening clank, it halted in front of a dimly lit opening.
“This way,” said Simia, stepping off. She took a few paces forward, then descended a long staircase towards a glimmer of daylight somewhere below. Sylas edged forward through the darkness and followed. There were no railings and he had to trail a hand over one of the slimy walls to keep his balance. After a while they stepped into a short passage and then emerged into bright sunlight. He shielded his eyes and gazed out at the astonishing scene before him.
“Wow,” he whispered.
They were looking out across the gardens of Meander Mill. Immediately in front of him was a shower of bright red and yellow leaves that formed a perfect frame to the beautiful display beyond. Through them he saw vast eruptions of life and colour: here, a giant plant with dark, finger-like leaves and huge tubular flowers made of a single white petal spiralling round a deep blue stamen; there, a mountain of grass-green leaves arranged into great fans, rocking and tilting in the breeze; to one side, a display of fine drapes made from the tendrils of a weeping willow that bowed down to a mossy bank; and nearby, a patchwork of amber, scarlet and gold formed by great swathes of dappled leaves. All this despite the chill of winter. But what made the sight truly breathtaking was the constant motion of silver-white water frothing over pebble-strewn waterways, bubbling down mossy banks and cascading down rocky channels. The entire garden glistened and shimmered, making the sun’s rays dance among the leaves.
“Are you coming?” called Simia impatiently.
She was standing on a bank of moss and grass at the bottom of another short flight of steps. Sylas bounded down to join her, landing with a pleasant thump on soft, spongy moss. They set off along a faint path that led round the base of a tree towards the nearest of the waterways. As he walked, he became aware of the strong aromas rising from the plants around him, some fresh and green like new-cut grass, others rich and fragrant like fine perfume. They were like none he had ever smelt before: somehow purer and more intense.
“It’s so beautiful,” he said, raising his voice so that Simia would hear him.
“Hmm,” she grunted, without turning.
He stopped. “Listen,” he said. “About the coat – I’m really sorry. It was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t know it was your father’s – it just didn’t occur to me.”
“It’s fine,” she retorted sharply.
“I... I guess it didn’t occur to me that you
had
a father.”
She whirled about. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter,” she protested, hands on hips. “Everyone’s got a father – why shouldn’t I have one?”
“Well, I don’t,” he said flatly.
She frowned. “Of course you have.”
“No, I don’t. He died before I can remember. Never met him. So no father, not really.”
She looked at him long and hard and her face softened. “Oh,” she said.
“It’s OK. You didn’t know,” he said meaningfully, but with a smile. “I’m a bit of a lost cause really – I don’t know where my mum is either. She could be here for all I know.”
Simia lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry I snapped,” she said, sounding ashamed. “You didn’t know about my coat. Or about my father. It’s just that... he died too.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sylas softly.
There was a moment’s silence. “Call me Simsi,” she said, looking away.
He drew a deep breath. “I will. And let’s start today again, shall we?”
She raised her eyes and smiled. “Good idea.”
“So where’s Filimaya, Simsi?”
“Not far now.”
They walked in silence through veils of leaves and over carpets of thick, luxuriant grass, and soon reached the edge of the stream. They crossed a series of stepping stones, and at the other side Sylas stopped to take a better look at the tumbling water, curious to see where it was coming from.
To his surprise, he saw a great cascade falling from a carefully crafted opening halfway up the garden wall. The torrent crashed down on to rocks below, then muddled between them and formed a stream over the grassy bank.
“It all comes from the great wheel.”
It was Filimaya’s voice.
He turned around to see her standing next to him, dressed in a long white gown with a beautiful silver feather stitched high on the breast. She had appeared without making a sound and was now looking up at the waterfall as he had been, admiring its beauty.
“It’s not an ordinary waterwheel,” she continued. “It lifts water almost to its very top and sends it into channels within the walls of the mill house, which then flow down to the Aquium, then inside the garden wall and out into the garden. The waterways are some of our finest creations.”
“So is the garden!” exclaimed Sylas.
“Well, that
is
our finest creation,” she replied lightly, “although of course we must share the credit with Nature. We must always remember Her role in things.” She took a deep breath of the scented air and looked over at Simia. “Thank you, Simia, you can leave us now. Please go and help Grayvel with the preparations. He’s expecting you on the top floor.”
Simia pushed out her lower lip and seemed about to protest, but Filimaya frowned, which silenced her before she had even begun.
She looked over at Sylas. “See you later,” she said. “And don’t do anything exciting without me!”
“I won’t,” he said, but he wondered if he would be able to keep that promise.
She turned and, with a surly glance towards Filimaya, stomped off over the stepping stones, her voluminous coat flapping about her. When she reached the other side, she skipped off through the trees, humming a tune and twirling a finger through her hair.
Filimaya watched her go, smiling quietly to herself. “Such a spirited child,” she said, almost under her breath. “And such a comfort to us...” She drew a breath. “Did you sleep well?”
He nodded. “Strange dreams, but yes, thanks.”
“All this is like a strange dream, is it not?” she asked, with a smile.
“The strangest.”
“Well, I hope I can help you to make more sense of it. I’m very grateful to you for speaking so honestly yesterday, particularly about your mother – I know those things were not easy to talk about. I’m just very sorry that I wasn’t able to tell you anything about her. At least the Say-So reached a conclusion, though: we will take you to Paiscion, the Magruman.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, though… I don’t really know what that means.”
“Of course! I apologise. Paiscion, the Magruman, is the most powerful and the wisest among us. If there’s anyone who can help you – help
us
to understand why you’re here, who you really are – then it’s Paiscion.”
Sylas nodded. Powerful and wise sounded good.
“But that’s not to say that we can’t use your time here well,” continued Filimaya. “You and I should try to improve our understanding in a different way. I would like to spend a little time telling you something of ourselves, and there is no better place to do that than here, in the Water Gardens. They’ll help to explain both who we are and what we believe in, because working with Nature is something of a talent of ours – a very particular talent. We call our talent Essenfayle.”
“Simia said something about that,” said Sylas excitedly. “She said it’s the ‘Fourth Way’.”
Filimaya nodded. “Indeed it is. It’s
our way
– the way of the Suhl. Most people are taught that there are only three ways, or to use the languages of your world, three kinds of magic. They are Urgolvane, the way of force; Druindil, the way of communing; and Kimiyya, the way of transformation. But although each of those kinds of magic seems very different, they have one thing very much in common: they change the natural order of things. They change what things are made of or how things behave. They leave the world a different place, and normally not in a good way. Essenfayle is not like that. It changes nothing. Instead it works with the natural connections between things: connections like the rain and the stream that carries it away, the roots and the earth that feeds them, the sun and the leaves that bask in it. A garden is woven together by millions of these connections, and when you know how to work with them, you can make a garden like this.”
“Even in winter,” said Sylas, looking around him in wonder. “So is this what Essenfayle is for? For making things grow – that kind of thing?”
Filimaya laughed. It was a bright, beautiful laugh.
“Well, yes, in part. But there are many other things one can do with Essenfayle, such as light a dark building with a single beam of sunlight.” She gestured towards the mill house. “You have already seen that. But it’s most powerful in the outdoors – here, where we’re surrounded by Nature. Here we can do so many things, like connect with other living things…”
As she was speaking, she turned and waved her hand out over the stream. At first nothing happened: the dancing water continued to flow as before. But then, to Sylas’s astonishment, the surface broke in one place and then two, then three and four, until soon it began to boil with froth and foam. Moments later it erupted as dozens of tiny fish launched themselves out of the water towards Filimaya’s hand, flapping in the air for a moment before splashing back down into the stream. As the moments passed, more and more fish joined the display, leaping out of the water only to fall into it again a few paces further upstream, then drift with the current and launch themselves upwards again, forming a silvery arc beneath her hand.
She gave him a brief smile, then raised her other hand. “… Or change the way the wind catches the leaves...”
He looked excitedly across the stream and saw a large bronzecoloured bush swaying as Filimaya spoke, its beautiful leaves leaping and twisting under a new breeze. Filimaya moved her hand slightly and several fallen leaves flew up into the air high above the bush and then fluttered downwards, where they were caught up by another gust. She shifted her hand again and they began moving slowly around the garden, all the while rising and falling on currents of air. They drifted around Sylas so that he could feel the gentle wind against his neck, and then they moved back to the bush where they were joined by others, until he and Filimaya were entirely encircled by fluttering leaves, dancing on an invisible wind.
“… Or change the way light plays between the clouds,” said Filimaya, lifting her eyes to the sky.
At that moment the light in the garden altered as though a patch of cloud had moved away, and suddenly they were bathed in warm winter sunshine. The bronze leaves glowed more brightly as they continued their dance. The flurry of leaping fish glistened as they flew through the air, the droplets of water about them sparkling like diamonds. Sylas wanted to cry out with excitement, but he found himself speechless, so beautiful was the great circus of light and colour around him. In that moment, with her arms tracing invisible lines through the air and her face brightened by her creation, Filimaya looked like a great conductress, directing a symphony of leaves and light beams.
All at once, she lowered her arms and everything altered. The leaves were no longer carried on the breeze and they drifted down to the ground. One by one the fish stopped jumping, and soon the stream babbled its way towards the river as it had before. Finally the light changed as a cloud moved overhead, casting a new shadow across the garden.
“Now do you see?” asked Filimaya expectantly.
Sylas looked up and grinned. “I see...” he said, taking a very deep breath. He thought for a moment. “But you said that Essenfayle doesn’t change natural things – surely that’s what you just did? Change things.”