Waking Olympus (The Singers of the Dark Book 1) (8 page)

“Do you mean Raytans?”

“Thaytan. Yes. I have estimated the distance I travelled by ship to Bethor, so by measuring the change in the background stars I should be able to determine the distance to Raytans, as you call it. After I correct for the latitude and longitude, change in the angular position due to parallax, and factor in motion of the background as part of the astronomical year of course. Then I can confirm our estimates.” He said, slipping now into his normal thinking even in this strange place.

“The
Raymond Tans
is in geostationary orbit. It isn’t that far away, as those things are measured. I presume that is what you mean by 'estimates', but we only have the hard figures not the calculation. It is about 34,000 kilometers above us.”

He said nothing for a moment. What was going on here? He knew about geostationary orbits. It was secret knowledge. But not only did she know about them she also knew the computed distance to Thaytan, and she seemed to know things that the Center itself did not know.

“The ‘Raymond Tans’?”

“The
Raymond Tans
is a starship. Your Master Wizard knows this. He also knows what a starship is and should have told you. I can tell you no more. Go to sleep young Wizard.”

“I’m not a Wizard,” he said softly and rather pathetically.

“Oh yes you are. Now I know why they sent you. I’m sure you’ll figure it out yourself.” She gave a wry laugh then rolled over.

Seven other Traders would accompany Tei with the caravan. The usual pattern was for each Trader to take charge of a ‘file’ of camels. There would be eight files this time and each file would be a linked line of twelve to fifteen camels. Mikel and the Traders would be riding horses as far as the Eastern Caravanserai. There instead of a chaotic mix of tents there would be a defensible fort with space for many camels, places to sleep, feed, bathe, buy necessities and do some bartering. There could be no true Western Caravanserai because Bethor would not tolerate any permanent structure that challenged their cultural authority, Tei knew because the Traders had been continually trying to get permits to build. The most they could ever get was the open piece of land as long as there were no permanent structures, not even in wood. So it had become a tent city, even the stadium was regularly dismantled, it was after all just a series of elevated platforms, it looked more imposing when full but when deserted the pretense was obvious.

The trade goods had been arranged previously and boxed by her team while she had been ‘wasting’ her time with Mikel. Though now the whelp was starting to become interesting. Annoyingly inept, but interesting. He must have clearly stood out within the Center, perhaps the Traders could use his talents and naivety to their advantage.

The caravan would head out across the relatively lush regions of western Arva. Some rivers from the mountains to the north and south of Bethor flowed inland forming a network of smaller rivers that ended in a large lake. The whole area was a fertile food basket for the known world and produced many highly tradable items. Beyond the lake the country went rapidly from lush grassland to semi-arid and then to desert. They would then be in true camel country. Then the Trader’s renowned skills would dominate.

Normally, a caravan would visit as many of the Cities of the Plains as possible but recently there was a sense of trouble brewing. No one knew exactly what was coming but if Bethor seemed crazy at the moment it was nothing compared to the Cities. Even if they headed east as directly as possible they would come dangerously close to Lindin on the northern shore of Lake Baikal. They would have to divert further north. The added revenue from visiting the Cities was just not worth the very high risk. But she was curious.

He was dreaming of a gentler time, soothing voices, bright sun and waves gently rushing up over the damp sand to sweep around his ankles. There were voices behind him, calling to him but he started running away. Soon he stopped and turned around but there was nothing behind him, there was no way back to the soothing voices.

He woke with a start. A dark hooded figure against the pre-dawn sky was shaking his arm.

A woman's voice. "Come on Mikel. Time to get up and get packed. Dawn will be here soon."

He didn't remember what he had been dreaming about, just that it somehow left him with a feeling of incompleteness, like giving up on a puzzle you couldn't solve.

The camels were quickly loaded. Everything had been prepared the previous day so this morning was just a matter of putting everything together. It seemed like they were ready to go. The reality was somewhat different, some of the camels were more than reluctant, while many seemed good tempered others were nasty and loud; he was warned that they could bite. Everyone else took this in their stride, even joked about it as if this was just good natured banter by the animals before the journey.
 

Finally, he would have to ride a horse. The day before one of the older Traders, Tarvis, had led him around on a horse like a child giving him a very quick introduction to riding.

Tarvis was a man in his mid forties, he was resourceful, smart, an excellent scout, his graying plaited blond hair against his sun-browned skin made Mikel think of a wise guru or hermit, and he had beads to match. He was no hermit but he did keep to himself a bit. He was leery of outsiders but trusted Tei implicitly.

Mikel blocked out the laughs when he was on the horse, but noticed that none of them came from his own caravan. He felt like a fool out of his depth. He didn't have the physical attributes, knowledge, or skills. This was going to be a nightmare, but as they say, when you jump off the end of the pier you either remember your swimming lessons or you drown. He would have to do a lot of learning and remembering. If he survived this was going to be the most incredible adventure. He caught his breath, reached into the bag on his left hip, his journal and writing tools were still there; he must record all of this later.

By midday there was no city in sight, only trees, a few clouds in the sky, the grass in the surrounding hills and farms so intensely green it seemed like a chemical stain. The sound of rustling leaves as the light easterly breeze fanned the roadside poplars, their leaves shimmering and rustling, birds calling, the buzz of insects some droning close. It was day 12 of the month of Regin; the second month of Spring, just after the month of Greening, second month of the year 635. The islands were always lush so there wasn't the eruption of life that Spring produced on the mainland. Now he could appreciate why some still worshipped this season.

To the north and south rose the Cantas, the mountain range running roughly north-south into the distance with dazzling snow capped peaks giving the view a crystal-like clarity. He had first seen them when entering the Bay of Pennit, but the closer he got the more amazing they became, there was no sense of familiarity.

He was attached to Tarvis' file. He explained the general dynamics of the caravan.

"You see a Trader has to be independent, that is the most important thing. When we join a caravan it is for mutual protection and also for mutual gain. Tei runs this caravan so makes quite a large profit, we also get payment for our duties. But we get to include some of our own camels in our file, so we also make a much greater profit on those. Because there is an acknowledgement that we assist each other, young Traders are often loaned a camel or two by the caravan leader, but aren't paid for their services. The extra camel or two is much greater value."

"Services?"

"The Plains can be dangerous. We need to be able to defend ourselves, everyone helps. Everyone also helps to get the caravan to the Caravanserai in the East."

"Is there no Caravanserai on the Plains?"

"That would offend the Cities," he said. "And they show their displeasure by arriving in the middle of the night and burning your buildings and confiscating your goods. Worse, if you aren't lucky."

"Really?"

"We had two caravanserais on the Plains once. You can't even tell where the buildings stood now, and that was in my lifetime. We have very good reason to be wary of the Cities."

"What are the Cities like?"

"Ruined cities of the Ancients. Not all of them survived, some were obliterated in the forgotten times, marked now only by odd glass in the dirt. Most survived, after a fashion, only to fall to Bethor a few centuries ago. Barbarian invasion, but don't ever, ever say that in front of any Bethorese."

"Don't worry, I won't
unintentionally
insult anyone from Bethor."

Tarvis then spent the next hour lecturing Mikel on Duty, which seemed completely at odds with the talk on being independent. He had to admit that even if it appeared contradictory it all seemed to work. This seemed deep, perhaps a little too deep because he still didn't understand it all.

The route was now taking them to the beginning of the Great Plains. Even 80 kilometers east of Bethor the countryside had changed remarkably. There were no more wooded areas or patches of swamp from ox-bow lakes. All of it was dominated by the meanders of the Inda River, the outflow of Lake Baikal. The road cut across and around the obstacles. Mikel pitied the builders of the road and bridges; off the road it might look pretty but would be a nightmare to cross.
 

Increasingly, the road now wound through low undulating country covered with grass. They were entering the Plains on the northern side of the Inda River; soon to become the Great Plains. A place of legend and history. Even in Lind and through the Islands it was told how once the Cities had been great centers of learning and knowledge, how much of what he learned came originally from those places. This journey for a Wizard was almost like a pilgrimage. The Master Wizards didn't speak much about where such knowledge came from, they just insisted that the student master it and how they should all test it and challenge it, do experiments and publish, always question, and seek to improve or exceed; a relentless quest.

The Cantas still towered to the north and south as they proceeded through the Gap, clouds forming on their upper snow-covered, eastern flanks. This would be their camp before entering the Plains. The air had a lush humidity, complementing the vibrant green hills and trees, not many farms here. He expected there to be more people. Bethor had been hit by the plague a dozen years ago but the Center histories described its effect as much milder than previous years.

In the morning, just before sunrise, Mikel grabbed something to eat while the camp was being struck. The first morning sunlight was starting to light up the horizon and the air was full of birdsong. He walked to the top of a nearby hillock with his piece of bread and unidentified meat and stood on a small mound maybe three meters above the camp. It was enough. He saw the horizon clear, unhazed. The sun, Mellis, was not in sight but was lighting up the few clouds with violets and pinks. There in the distance was the food-bowl of the known world, the Great Plains of Arva. Once it had been the center of a great civilization before Bethor; he hoped he would have a chance to find out more about it. Mikel heard footsteps behind him crunching the gravel.

“The Great Plains,” Tei said with a smile. “We will not be visiting the main towns. It is too risky. Even for us. They have no kindness for strangers, even Traders.”

“Why?” Mikel was puzzled. The Traders delivered a valuable service, did not involve themselves in local politics (as far as anyone could tell) and were an important source of information.

“Since the fall of the Cities of the Terrans the area has been troubled by rebellions and hatred. The Bethorese conquered the Cities over three centuries ago and so much was lost in the destruction.” She paused, the smile gone replaced now by a look of resignation.
 

“Most of the people in the towns now are descended from Bethorese immigrants whereas the farmers are Terrans. As I said we will be avoiding the towns. Lately they have become very dangerous. The Caravanserai lies on the other side of Lake Baikal at the end of the Plains. We will pass to the north of the lake avoiding the more populated regions.”

Tei was quiet. Not finished but also not talking. Then she said, almost whispered, “Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”

“I beg your pardon?” He had no idea what was meant though he was surprised that she had spoken in the language that preceded the Ancients, he knew a little of it, it was enough like Ancient to be understood though not the same.

“An old poet of the Terrans, and us all, named Tennyson. You know, things change, even good things pass away and that isn’t necessarily bad because sometimes there has to be renewal.”

Still looking to the East she continued, this time louder so he could hear.

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

 
And God fulfills Himself in many ways,

 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”

He still did not understand what she was talking about but figured this was a time to suspend curiosity and just go along. They looked at the sunrise, silent for minutes, the cool living breeze in their faces, the sound of green grass rustling all about, the fading dawn chorus. Finally, he spoke gently. “When do we head out?”

Tei snapped out of whatever state she was in, perhaps embarrassed, and looked at him hard, she was blushing, “We move NOW Wizard. Get ready, fast!”

He rushed down the hill to gather his things gulping down the last mouthful of food. He quickly looked back. Tei still stood on the hill looking to the east as if there was something out there that she had lost.

They had been in the Plains for two days. Mikel was incredibly sore from the horse riding and trying to do his part to help manage the new ‘file’ he was part of. Rijart, who managed the file, was an endlessly friendly older man, when he should have become annoyed at the questions he simply got funnier. He was a renowned negotiator about forty years old, reddish hair and short beard. Mikel had learned a great deal of useful information from him about maintaining the horses and camels, writing the details dutifully into his notebook, Rijart sometimes critically examining what he wrote and correcting him. Mikel was sure Rijart had saved his life by warning him about the less friendly behavior of the camels. He knew all of his camels by name but they still deserved respect and caution.