Thirty-Three

The shout came from behind one of the sandy hills of mine leavings and Sandon swung about to see what was happening. Slowly, in a seemingly unordered fashion, the first padders and wagons appeared, making their way around the edges of the humped piles of discarded earth and rock. Despite the stupidity of it, Sandon felt his heart lift. He had only spent a mere few weeks with these people, but he continued to feel a closeness to them all the same. And he was still dressed like one of them – Tchardo the Atavist. It was almost like his family was coming home.

Not wanting to be too obvious about it, he searched for sign of a particular wagon. At last, he was rewarded. A neatly painted vehicle appeared around the bend. He watched it out of the corner of his eye as he walked across to one of the Kallathik groups to see how preparations were going. He didn’t want to appear too eager, did he?

The group had been here for three days now, just outside of Darthan, near another cluster of mines and another Kallathik settlement. People, Kallathik, mineworkers had been streaming in from nearby areas to join them. Not an hour before, Fran had returned, bringing news of Tarlain. He sought among the assembled humans for the boy’s face, trying to locate him by his hair. Finally spotting the boy, he headed across to meet him. Fran was standing with a group of the other Men Darnak retainers, but of the old man, there was no sign. A quick look about gave Sandon no hint as to where the Principal might be.

“Fran,” he called as he approached the group.

The boy quickly looked around as he heard his name, and making his apologies, stepped back from the others. There was a half smile on the boy’s open face as he neared.

“Tchardo,” he said. “It’s good to finally get a chance to talk to you.”

Sandon placed a hand on his shoulder and drew him out of earshot.

“Yes, sorry it’s taken so long. With the preparations the way they are, things are a bit hectic. So, you managed to talk to Tarlain?”

Fran nodded. “He wasn’t very happy.”

“No, I expect he wasn’t. So, what’s the news?”

“Oh, he’s coming. He cursed his sister, his brother, after he had gotten over the shock. The news hurt him bad. He vowed to make amends for what they had done. He would have come straight away, but said that the work had to be done first.”

“So, was there any trouble finding him?”

Fran shook his head. “Not really. Once I was in Bortruz, it was easy from there. He’d been talking to people, making speeches. They all knew him, knew where he’d gone. The whole place was buzzing with it. He’d really stirred them up.”

Sandon nodded thoughtfully. “So, it appears that young Tarlain has inherited something of his father’s spirit. I wonder what happened to bring that out.”

Fran shrugged. “I don’t really know anything about that,” he said.

“No, no. But that’s fine. You’ve done well, Fran,” he said, clapping the boy on the back. “Thank you. Now, we should get back and see what we can do about helping the preparations. You go back and join your companions, but listen, make sure not to let on about whom I really am. It’s not time yet.”

Fran nodded seriously, and then grinned. “It’s good to see you, Tchardo.” Sandon returned the grin easily.

He watched as Fran headed to rejoin the other Men Darnak retainers, and then turned about to search again for the familiar wagon, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He was a little nervous about seeing Alise again. No matter that everything had been so easy between them from the start. Events were taking over now, and he couldn’t afford for it to become complicated. Not yet.

So, Tarlain was on his way here. That much was good. He scanned the camp, at the same time still looking for any sign of Men Darnak. The old man had shown little improvement, and the burden of that knowledge stayed with Sandon constantly. The Atavist party had drawn up together to one side. They were in the process of tethering their animals and lining up the wagons, but still no sign of the Principal. In the old man’s current state, that was not good. The old man had already said he would not see any of his children, particularly not Tarlain. In one of his more lucid moments, he’d even said that he was ashamed of what he was, of what he’d done. Sandon rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. Somehow, some way, he held a certain responsibility. If he’d not been so quick to follow what he believed was his duty to the old man, things might have turned out very differently. And now? Leannis Men Darnak needed his youngest son. He had nothing else to hold on to. Not even the fragile shards of his own mind.

Sandon looked back up at the Atavist grouping. They’d swelled in numbers since the time he’d been with them. There seemed to be almost twice the amount of wagons, all lined up in their brightly painted but simple hues. Already their encampment was starting to look well established. Tables set up, beasts tethered in even lines, the children doing what the Atavist children did, there was little to say that this was not their natural place. He paused, but knew within that he had no choice; he had to go and see them.

It was months ago now that he’d spent the time among these people. So much had happened in between, and yet there was something here, something that touched him with a feeling of comfort. One or two of the Atavists passed him and gave the characteristic brief nod of recognition. Sandon almost smiled at that. It was strange, that they could be so passive, and yet at the same time, he knew they were here to fight, to take up arms against the Guildsmen. Somewhere, he’d have to find the reference in The Book of Words that allowed them to do this. But that was later. He noticed Witness Kovaar scurrying away from the opposite end of the camp. Whatever he’d been up to, it would lead to no good. There were more pressing things to attend to now.

He paused in front of a passing Atavist, and without waiting for the man to stop, he asked. “I am seeking Alise. Do you know where she is?”

The Atavist paused, looking confused for a moment, and then tilted his head to one side. “Alise?”

“Yes, Alise. The healer. Do you know her?”

The Atavist shook his head and pursed his lips. “I know no Alise,” he said. “If you seek a healer, go to the blue-painted wagon fourth from the end. You will find one there.”

“Thank you,” said Sandon, and the Atavist went on about his business, but not before giving Sandon a slightly puzzled look.

Peering along the line of wagons, Sandon located the one the man had indicated. It was his turn to frown. Perhaps all healer’s wagons looked the same. He stood at the back steps, hesitating. What if it wasn’t the one he was looking for? Then he would ask his questions and leave.

“Sandon!”

Alise’s face was poking out of the back of the wagon, beaming down at him.

Sandon quickly glanced around, but there was no one nearby to overhear. “Hello, Alise,” he said. “And remember, it’s Tchardo.”

She looked troubled for an instant, and then the look was quickly replaced by a smile. “Yes, of course. Tchardo. It’s good to see you again. Have you changed your mind and come to join us?”

“No,” he said, slowly. “But it’s good to see you too. I was hoping you’d be here.”

“And so the Prophet Wills,” she said, stepping out of the wagon and climbing down to sit on the bottom step. She looked at him carefully. “You have lost weight,” she said. “And your beard is longer.”

Sandon smiled. “And you look just the same,” he said. “There is nothing that should change.”

She looked down, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.

“So, what has been happening to you? Tell me about it,” she continued, quickly changing the subject.

“Can I join you?” he asked. She nodded and he sat on the step next to her.

“Well, since I left, I have been traveling most of the time. I found who I was looking for, but I fear he was not who I expected to find.” He glanced around again, making doubly sure that there was nobody who could hear what he was about to say. “There is something wrong with Principal Men Darnak,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m here now. His condition, his behavior has deteriorated. It’s as if something has been draining away his capacity to think rationally. I’ve come to you because, well, I don’t know. You heal people, Alise. I wanted to know if you thought there was anything you could do.”

She looked at him seriously, waiting for him to continue. When he said nothing else, she spoke. “You should know better than that, Tchardo. How much time did we spend together? How am I expected to know the answer if you don’t give me what I need? I’m afraid you will have to tell me a little more than that.”

Feeling chastened, Sandon looked out over the camp, watching the Atavists finish their preparations for the evening as he recounted carefully everything he could remember about the old man’s quick deterioration. Once or twice, Alise interrupted him, asking brief, pointed questions. He told her as much as he could, and when he was finished, he waited for her to answer, keeping his attention on a group of Atavist children playing between the wagons further down the line.

Finally, Alise lifted a hand and placed it on his arm. The touch sent a quick rush through his stomach, but he pushed the feeling away. She left the hand gently resting where it was as she answered.

“I know of preparations that can do that to a person, but I cannot be sure. It takes careful dosing over and extended period. Gradually the medicine poisons the mind, rotting away at the brain. I’m sorry. Stress, conflict, all of these things increase the effect, bring the onset of deterioration more quickly. If it is the case, then the best thing for him is rest. Somewhere quiet. At least that would slow the progress.”

“Is there nothing?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry. The victim can recover if the Prophet wills it, but in normal circumstances, there is little hope.”

“Damn it!” he said, and caught himself at Alise’s sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry, Alise. I just have to find some way to help him.”

She gave his arm a brief squeeze. “And if the Prophet wills it, you shall.”

“So, who is this?” A tall Atavist was striding toward them, his step confident, his bearded face inquisitive, but open. “Alise, will you introduce me to your friend?”

Sandon looked from Alise back to the approaching figure.

“Yes, of course, Lothan,” said Alise. “This is Tchardo. I told you about him.”

“Ah, yes,” said the newcomer. “So this is the one.”

Alise stood, and Sandon followed suit. “Tchardo, this is Lothan, my husband. We serve the healing needs of our family together.”

Confusion was replaced by disbelief by confusion again in Sandon’s mind. Her husband? He stammered out a reply, and then making some quick excuse, took his leave.

“Will we see you later?” asked Alise as he walked away.

“As the Prophet wills,” said Sandon. He could think of nothing else to say.

#

It was over two days later that Tarlain Men Darnak arrived at the encampment. The first people to appear was a ragged group of human mine workers. Sandon stood to one side and watched as they filed in. Following them came Kallathik, line after line of the creatures, all headed up by Tarlain himself, still wearing his Guild livery. Sandon noted the confidence in his step, the pride in his carriage. There was almost something of his father’s old bearing in the way he carried himself.

Sandon chewed at the inside of his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure whether he should approach Tarlain now, or wait. Alise’s revelation was still smarting, and he was suddenly unsure of his own ability to make the right choice. He glanced over to the Atavist site, and as if thinking about her had drawn her forth, he saw her heading toward him. She stepped warily around the end of the column still filing into the camp, holding her skirts up from the mud their passage had churned up. Just for a moment, he thought about heading in the opposite direction, but he stayed where he was. She’d already seen him, and there was no point avoiding it any longer. She picked her way across the muddy trail, and giving him a smile of greeting, came to stand beside him to watch the new arrivals.

“There are so many of them,” she said, after a few moments silence.

“Yes,” he replied. “More than I would have expected.”

“More than we could have hoped for,” she said.

Sandon nodded, watching her out of the corner of one eye, avoiding meeting her gaze directly. There was nothing to suggest there was anything different about her. Nothing.

“Tchardo?” she said.

“Hmm?” he responded, only half paying attention.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m sorry, Alise,” he said. “It will have to wait until later.”

Tarlain was crossing the camp toward the main cluster of Men Darnak retainers. Half because he wanted to avoid the awkwardness he was feeling, half because now was as good a time as any, Sandon headed over to try and intercept the young man. Alise hurried after him. He pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything.

When he was a few paces away, he called out. “Tarlain Men Darnak.”

Tarlain stopped and lifted one arm to stop the small group of men that were walking with him.

“Yes?” he said, standing and waiting for Sandon to reach them. “Do I know you?” There was even authority in the young man’s voice.

Sandon waited until he was right up close before he said anything.

“I need to talk to you,” he said quietly, suddenly remembering having said almost exactly the same words to Leannis Men Darnak so many months ago.

Tarlain peered at him, frowned. His eyes narrowed, then quickly widened. “You!”

Sandon nodded, lifting a placating hand. “Please, can we talk?”

Tarlain gestured to his companions. “Wait here,” he said.

Sandon quickly drew him out of earshot. “Fran found you,” he said when they were far enough away. “He delivered my message.”

“Yes,” said Tarlain with a sigh. “I could barely believe what he told me. Roge. Is it true?”

“I’m afraid it is.” Sandon glanced warily across at the others who were watching curiously.

“My father?” said Tarlain.

“Not good. I don’t know where he is right now. He keeps wandering off on half-imagined quests. With the preparations, sometimes it’s hard to keep an eye on him all the time. The priest does little enough to help, apart from filling his head with more nonsense.”

Tarlain nodded grimly. “We’ll send someone to find him. The man you sent — Fran is it? He gave me some idea of how bad it was. Has anyone done anything?”

Sandon ran a finger through his hair. It was his turn to sigh. “Alise — that’s her over there — she’s one of the Atavist healers. She’s not very optimistic.”

“Damn,” spat Tarlain. “That’s not good enough.” He glanced across to where Alise was standing, watching.

“Believe me,” countered Sandon. “She has no reason to play with the truth.”

Tarlain planted his fists on his hips. “Why should I believe you, Yl Aris? In the Prophet’s name, why should I?”

“If you think about it,” said Sandon slowly, “you’ll realize why. In all the years that you’ve known me, Tarlain, whom have I served? For whom have I worked? Is it my own interest? And before you say anything, you know the real answer. You have to know that’s true.” Despite wanting to appear as calm and rational as he could, he could feel the emotion pouring out of his own words. His eyes were threatening with moisture, and he quickly looked away.

Tarlain looked at him for a long time. “You know, as much as I dislike you, Yl Aris, as much as I don’t like admitting it, I think you’re telling the truth.”

“Well, then, I urge you. Find your father. Make sure he’s taken care of. Forget what he’s done, what he’s said.”

“Why should I, Sandon?”

“He was not himself. You have to believe that. By the Prophet, you must.”

Tarlain gave a deep sigh. “All right. Get the Atavist woman to help you find him. Look after him. He’s still my father, after all. In some ways, what is done, is done, but I owe that to him.”

Sandon nodded, found himself halfway back to Alise before he realized that he’d just been commanded. There was no other word for it. He stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned to look at the youngest Men Darnak.

Tarlain stood watching him, waiting. After a moment, he spoke, almost as an afterthought. “And clean yourself up, man. Shave that ridiculous beard off and get some proper clothes. There’s no reason for keeping up this stupid pretence any longer.”

Sandon blinked. As he turned to rejoin Alise and go in search of the boy’s father, he realized the young man was right.

Chapter Thirty-Four