halfway up honeycomb hill, Nyctasia demanded a rest and collapsed on a stone ledge, panting and exhausted. She prided herself on her stamina, but she had never tried to ascend such a steep slope on foot before.
’Deisha offered her a drink from the water skin at her waist, and Raphe brought her some of the golden grapes to refresh her. The entire hillside was terraced with his grafted vines.
Corson grinned down at her. “Shall I carry you the rest of the way, milady?”
“We can’t all be muscle-bound monstrosities,” Nyctasia said serenely.
“Oh, like ’Deisha here?”
“I’ve climbed these hills all my life!” ’Deisha flared. “Nyc’s a scholar, she-”
But both Corson and Nyctasia were laughing now. “Don’t mind Corson, love,”
Nyctasia chuckled. “She just likes to put me in my place. And furthermore, she’s right, though I hate to encourage her effrontery by saying so.” Nyctasia’s tone became more serious. “I ought to be able to climb this hill as well as you can-it’s a violation of the Balance-”
“Oh no,” said Corson, “I’ve started her off. I should have known better.”
“-between the Dwelling and the Indwelling,” Nyctasia continued. “That I should be so weak shows that I haven’t done my duty to this Dwelling.” As she spoke, she made the Vahnite sign for the body, touching both hands quickly to her heart and crossing them on her breast. “Look at those people, some of them twice my age and more, and no whit wearied by this climb. It shames me!” She pointed to a group of vine-workers who’d walked straight from their encampment at the foot of the hill to the top rows of vines without pausing, only waving a greeting as they passed. The harvesters camped near the crops at this season, pruning and weeding and keeping off the birds, but mainly waiting to be at hand, ready for the crush.
One of the overseers approached to confer with Raphe, and they drew aside to talk undisturbed. ’Deisha, meanwhile, attempted to apologize to Corson for her sharpness, but Corson only laughed. “Nyc may be weak, but she needs no champion in an argument,” she assured ’Deisha. “Her tongue’s as able as anyone’s.”
Corson was in a fine humor that morning. She’d made an excellent breakfast in good company, the prospect of a treasure-hunt was still before her, and Raphe’s continued attentions were a source of satisfaction to her as well. He was a rich man, after all, and if not titled himself, he was at least brother to a future Jhaice. She’d show Steifann that she was welcome under other roofs than his!
When she returned to Chiastelm she’d let him know that she found favor with the gentry-even Rhaicimes pursued her…
Raphe returned, and they began their climb again, only halting now and then as he pointed out to the workers where the trellis-cords needed tightening or where bushy new shoots near the ground should be trimmed.
“Ansen says there have been more thefts,” he reported to ’Deisha. “A hen is missing now, and some coils of rope.” He sounded worried. “And of course they say it’s the ghosts’ doing.”
“Is she sure it was someone from outside the camp?”
“Well, so she says, and we’ve always found her honest.”
’Deisha sighed. “Very well, I’ll send them a hen-and a good watchdog to guard the encampment. That should put a stop to this business.”
“Thanks, that would be best, I think. We daren’t take chances, so close to crush.” He turned to Corson and Nyctasia, explaining.
“We must keep these people satisfied, you see. It’s hard to find harvesters enough to work this hill-most folk won’t venture so near to those cursed ruins.
I’m glad you suggested this expedition, Corson. It may give them confidence to see us going there.”
“But we needn’t worry about ghosts and demons while Nyc is with us,” Corson said wickedly. “She knows all about such things.”
Nyctasia winced. Not only was she secretive, from force of habit, but it was not always wise to let it be known that one was familiar with spellcraft. There were many lands where all magicians were regarded with distrust. “I have made a study of thaumaturgy,” she conceded stiffly, “but I’ve also made a study of philosophy, astronomy, history and botany, Corson makes a point of it because she has a superstitious dislike of magic.”
“Ha!” Corson snorted, “she got us both thrown out of an inn in Hlasven because she threatened to raise a demon. Take care she doesn’t change you both to-”
“Don’t let folk hear you talk like that, even in jest,” Raphe cautioned, looking about uneasily. “Not here.”
“Well, she did,” Corson said, in a lowered tone.
“Corson, I would gladly turn you into a wild ass, if some other wizard had not been beforehand at it.”
“Ah, mind what you say, Nyc. You’ve convinced your kin here that you’ve a sweet temper. It won’t do to let them see what an evil-tongued shrew you really are.”
“The gentlest nature would lose patience with your insupportable insolence!”
“Enlighten me, I beg you,” Raphe interrupted. “However did the pair of you travel all the way from the coast together without murdering one another?”
“Through the grace of the vahn,” said Nyctasia.
“By luck,” said Corson, at the same time.
They sat on the remaining stones of a fallen wall and ate the grapes they’d brought with them, enjoying the cool breezes on the heights. From the summit of the hill they could see most of the valley, the vine-covered slopes, the neat golden squares that were fields of grain, the pale, light green stretches of cornfields and the dark black-green masses of woodland. Through this varied landscape wound the Southern Trade Road, and glimpses of the lakes shone a clear blue between the hills, reflecting the sky.
Nyctasia leaned back to look up at the great bell-tower looming over them. Most of the doors and lower windows had been boarded over. “Is the bell ever rung?”
Raphe shook his head. “Never since the fire. I expect the rope’s rotted through by now. The whole structure’s none too steady-a high wind rocks it.”
Nyctasia was surprised. “But the walls are so thick. Look.” She pointed to one of the high windows. “It ought to be sturdy enough. We couldn’t climb it, I suppose?”
“No,” said the twins together, and ’Deisha continued, “Mother ’Charis says she climbed it as a child, and saw all the way from the mountains to the river. But it’s said to be far too dangerous now.”
Corson, who hated heights, quickly changed the subject. “How much of this land belonged to the Circle?”
Raphe pointed down the hillside and across the intervening fields. “Those were their living quarters and kitchens, down there, across the way. There’s not much left to see of them, just some tumbledown halls and an old well. There were cornfields and wheatfields in between-they were torched-and greengardens. And this was the temple, of course. There’s an open courtyard inside that must have been beautiful once.”
“Where was the library?” Nyctasia asked. “Here, or near the living-quarters?”
“Library? I don’t know-do you, ’Deisha?”
“I’ve never heard tell of one.”
“There must have been a library of some sort, if they were scholars and teachers,” Nyctasia said, disappointed. The neglected and fragmentary library of the Edonaris household was yet another thing that made her feel out of place there. Her newfound family had little leisure or inclination for study.
“Wherever it was, it’s sure to have been burned.”
“Of course,” sighed Nyctasia.
“Those orchards were theirs as well,” Raphe continued, “I mean to have those trees looked after, next year, if I can find the time. I want to try to press some of the fruit for wine, or blend the juices with grape. The family think the idea’s an outrage, of course, but I can’t see why other fruits besides grapes shouldn’t make a good wine-apples, say, or pears.”
“Peaches,” said Nyctasia. “They grew peach trees here somewhere.”
“Yes, but how did you know that?”
“We spent a night in those ruins on the way here,” Corson explained, “and helped ourselves to some of your fruit for our breakfast.”
“Why, of course-that’s where we must have been,” said Nyctasia. “But I was thinking of this.” She took out the worn paper and read aloud:
“Wholesome is my fruit and sweet,
Fit for nourishment at need,
But within the savory meat
Ever hides the deadly seed.
“What could that be but a peach? You can brew a mortal poison from the pith of a peach-stone.”
“You would know a thing like that,” said Corson.
’Deisha was studying the paper now, with Raphe looking over her shoulder. “Do you think this might really have to do with the Cymvelans, then?” she asked in surprise.
“There’s a riddle about the bell-tower too,” Corson pointed out.
Raphe remained doubtful. “What of this one? It’s senseless, listen-
“Builder, brewer, confectioner, chanter, chandler, Ever-armed guardian of garden’s golden guerdon, Envy of alchemy, apothecary, artisan and architect.
“Now what does that mean, I ask you?”
Corson glanced at the riddle. “The answer’s in plain sight, for anyone who can read,” she gloated, in a creditable imitation of Nyctasia. “It’s about bees.”
Nyctasia gave her a withering look, and explained the key to the riddle to Raphe and ’Deisha.
“‘Ever-armed’ I see,” mused Raphe, “but why ‘chandler’?”
“Beeswax candles,” suggested ’Deisha.
“And ‘apothecary’?”
“Honey’s used in the preparation of certain medicaments,” Nyctasia offered.
“‘Brewer’?”
“Mead,” said Corson promptly.
“And I suppose ‘envy of alchemy’ means that bees create gold from baser elements, if we allow honey to be gold? Rather farfetched, if you ask me.”
“It’s not particularly profound, I agree,” said Nyctasia. “In fact, it’s a poor effort altogether-I suspect that it’s more an exercise in composition than a true attempt at verse.”
“Because it doesn’t rhyme properly?” ’Deisha hazarded.
“No, actually it follows a highly complex pattern of consonance. You see, the vowels have alliterative value as well as-”
Corson recognized the absorbed, pensive tone of voice that always foretold one of Nyctasia’s learned discourses. Privately, she thought of these as ‘fits.’
“It’s one of her fits coming on,” she said gloomily. “Don’t pay her any mind or she’ll go nattering on like that for hours. What I want to know is, did they keep bees here or didn’t they?”
“I’ve no idea,” said ’Deisha, but Raphe nodded. “There are hives at the far edge of the orchard. I saw them once when I was looking over the fruit trees.”
“And were there, by any chance, wind-harps in any of the trees?”
Raphe stared at her, then looked back at the page. “Harp…!” he breathed, “and the well’s here, too. ’Deisha, look at this-‘Within four walls and yet beneath the sky’!”
“Why of course!” cried ’Deisha.
“What is it?” asked Corson and Nyctasia together.
’Deisha was already on her feet. “The inner courtyard, this way!”
Raphe grabbed her. “Not so hasty-the floor’s liable to give way in there, you know. Mind where you walk.”
The two led the way through a gap in the wall, where there had once been a doorway. The room beyond might have served well enough as answer to the riddle, for the wooden roof had completely burned and fallen in. They picked their way cautiously over beams and around the building-stones that littered the tessellated floor. Where the pattern of tiles was intact, it showed parts of the sign of the Cymvela, the interlaced circular design here set into a great four-pointed star that reached to the four corners of the room. “Only step where the tiles are whole,” Raphe cautioned.
Nyctasia stopped and looked closely at the tiles. “The pattern is scuffed. I think they must have danced here.” Mesmerized, she began to walk around the design, trying to find the path through the maze. “A right, then another, then
… no, wait…” she murmured. “Did I turn this way yet? Left
…”
Corson watched her uneasily, trying to imagine the room filled with people, dancing and singing. What had they been like? Probably no better, or no worse, than the rest of us, she decided, for whatever that’s worth. And no more deserving of such a cruel end than anyone else. Hlann preserve us from the fate we deserve. Surprised at her own thoughts, she shrugged them off and bent to peer through a hole in the floor. “Have the cellars been searched?” she asked.
“Time and again,” said ’Deisha, passing through an archway to an inner chamber, and beckoning for the others to follow.
The next room was smaller and narrower, also roofless, but with more of its walls standing, still displaying bright mural-work on their cracked and blistered plastering. Some of the paintings had been scarred by fire, but their colors were still rich and unfaded, and the figures seemed to leap out at the viewer, alive and vivid. Astonished, Corson and Nyctasia walked all around the room, stopping first at one scene, then at another.
One that held them both depicted a dance of sorts. Men and women had joined hands in a ring, and they circled around a great tree burdened with golden fruit. Their wide, uplifted eyes gazed at the branches, which were intertwined to form the mark of the Cymvelan Circle. The roots were also drawn clearly, gnarled and twisted, but they did not seem to form any pattern. The dancers who faced outward were all drawn alike, and their expression was solemn and severe.
Many of the drawings were renderings of the maze, drawn in all sorts of fanciful ways. One that Corson especially liked showed a flock of long-tailed birds wheeling in the sky. Standing back from it a bit, she saw plainly that their flight traced out the labyrinth.
“Mazes are a common sign of the devious paths we follow in our search for experience,” Nyctasia pondered. “Many peoples have used them to represent the difficulties and confusions that beset wayfarers on the perilous journey we all make-”
Raphe winked at Corson, who snickered lustily.
“The spiritual journey,” Nyctasia amended, “that some of us make, from ignorance to knowledge.” She crossed the room to examine the painting on the opposite wall.
Nyctasia stood long before this last picture. The others had awed her with their beauty, but this one was different, and disturbing. It seemed to be an older drawing than the others, more crudely drawn, its colors duller-but it was not the less arresting for that. It too depicted a dance, but instead of the stately figures portrayed in the first painting, this one showed creatures half-human, half-bestial, shambling around the body of a slain animal.
The naked dancers were men and women below the waist, but their hands were taloned like hawks’ feet, and their mouths were long, cruel snouts. Nyctasia paced back and forth between the two paintings, silently comparing them. What has gone before will return again… she thought, frowning to herself. It is so. We do not live only in the present.
There were doorways on all four sides of the room, and ’Deisha pointed out the one across from the entrance. “The courtyard is through there,” she said impatiently. “You can look at these moldering paintings another time.” She had pulled Nyctasia away from the grim scene and toward the door, when Corson stopped her and motioned the others to wait.
“Listen-” she whispered, “music. There’s someone in there.”