Heights of the Depths Page 15

  Pavan nearly jumped high into the air as a result of the very loud and unexpected interruption. The boisterous voice, and Pavan’s reaction to it, was sufficient to generate loud and raucous laughter from the onlooking Serabim.

  The chieftain of the Serabim was standing over him, and he gripped Pavan firmly by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. He took his official title of “Sera” from the first part of their race’s name, and his surname was affixed to it. Thus was he Seramali, and he was laughing loudly as a disoriented Pavan was brought to standing next to him. Seramali was nearly a head shorter than Pavan, and yet he seemed much larger somehow, his boisterousness capable of filling the largest of rooms. “Just how well,” he said with mock sternness, “are you getting to know my daughter?” Then he gestured for the others to howl their amusement, which the Serabim obediently did.

  “We were just talking,” said Pavan defensively.

  “It seemed to these old eyes that you were just talking and she was interested in far more.”

  “Father!” said Demali in horror, although it might well have been faking her being appalled. Pavan was not well schooled in the ways of females and found it hard to be sure.

  Pavan wanted to confront Seramali right there, right in front of everyone. He wanted to shout in his face,What are you up to? To what end are you manipulating your daughter? Would you try to use my interest in her to seize control of the Zeffers?

  On the other hand, what if he were imagining it? How would that come across to the rest of the Serabim, showing such disrespect for, and anger with, their leader?

  Besides, it was impossible for Seramali to take over the Zeffers from the Keeper in any event. That was just the way it was, and always would be. Having influence over the Keeper didn’t even necessarily translate to having influence over the Zeffers. The Riders had the Zeffers, but the Zeffers had the Keepers, and such was the way in which balance was maintained.

  Seramali was laughing loudly at his daughter’s expression of mortification. The other Serabim were joining in. There were not that many Serabim in this particular tribe, less than a hundred. There had been enough cold, mountainous regions for the Serabim to spread out, and the different tribes preferred it that way. The white furred males disliked the prospect of mixing with the brown furred males, and the browns with the blacks, and so on. Akasha tended to rant about it at length, claiming that it was a dangerous position for the Serabim to take because it left them vulnerable. Seramali and the other Serabim routinely laughed off such concerns. Pavan likewise didn’t think they had much foundation, but out of respect to his mentor, he tended to keep his doubts on that score to himself.

  “I believe I have embarrassed my daughter enough,” said Seramali. He stretched out a clawed hand and automatically someone thrust a mug of yond into it. “Today we celebrate the nineteenth cycle around the sun of Pavan, our great Keeper in waiting. Akasha speaks very highly of you, Pavan.”

  “Well,” and Pavan gave a half smile, “he tries to keep it to himself.”

  This prompted yet more spirited laughter from the collected Serabim. One had had so much yond that he toppled off the upper railing he was sitting on and hit the floor hard. His mug of yond spattered everywhere.

  “In two more cycles,” Seramali went on when the laughter subsided, “Pavan will be ready to undertake the responsibilities of the Keeper. On Pavan will rest the needs of the Zeffers, and personally I do not think their needs could be in better hands.”

  “With all respect, Seramali, they are already in firm and capable hands, and I am not ready to—”

  “Do not,” Seramali ordered him, “attempt any false modesty, Pavan. You are a valued part of the great circle.”

  “Oh, here he goes again,” muttered Demali, except her voice carried more than she expected and so everyone heard. She clapped her hands over her mouth in mortification even as her stray comment prompted laughter from everyone within the lodge.

  Fortunately her father was laughing loudest of all. “My daughter knows me all too well. She knows that I will say that you, Pavan, are part of the vast circle in which all life exists. Those residing in the heights will be brought down to the depths, and those dwelling in the depths will be raised on high. That is simply the way of things, and you should not try to dismiss or diminish your place in that vast cycle.”

  “I was not attempting to do either one. I was just—”

  Seramali cut him off with a swift gesture. “You’re about to defend Akasha again, aren’t you.”

  “I do not think for a moment the Keeper requires defending. I just—”

  The main door to the lodge banged open and a dark figure entered in a burst of swirling snow. “I believe I heard the name ‘Keeper’ mentioned just now. I would meet this Keeper. I suggest you tell me where he is and give him no more thought.”

  All eyes turned to the speaker, who had a deep, gravelly voice that was not remotely akin to the more sonorous tones common to the Serabim.

  It was a Mandraque.

  Pavan had no idea how in gods’ name a Mandraque had managed to gain access to the Lodge. Mandraques’ hides were typically durable, and yet this Mandraque was wrapped in furs from head to toe. It made sense; Mandraques were warm-blooded and didn’t do especially well in cold weather, which made the presence of one in the Lodge remarkable.

  Even more remarkable was that he was wielding a sword. Vastly outnumbered, he looked as if he was actually intending to pose some manner of threat. The main door to the Lodge was hanging half open, the stiff wind trying to push it open further. With a snap of his broad tail he slammed the door shut.

  Seramali stepped forward, moving protectively so that he was between Demali and the intruder. He carried no weapon because this was a time of celebration and therefore no combat had been anticipated. Not that Serabim necessarily needed weapons, although they were known to carry them if the situation warranted it. Still, they were massively built, incredibly strong, with thick layers of fur that protected them from attacks ranging from harsh gusts to fearsome blows, not to mention fingers and toes that ended in curved black claws. Serabim were living arsenals of combat. So much so, in fact, that between their physical prowess and their choice of habitat, they were never in positions where they had to battle foes or defend themselves.

  For the most part, Pavan was sure that this was not going to be one of those times. Still, mental warning bells chimed within his head. Mandraques did nothing in half measures, and if a Mandraque had shown up in the Lodge acting as if he had nothing to fear from the inhabitants, then the chances were that he really did have nothing to fear. That fact alone should have been sufficient to cause concern for all the Serabim in the Lodge.

  Unfortunately Pavan seemed to be the only one who was worried about it.

  Several of the Serabim were swaggering toward the Mandraque, who never lowered his sword or acted in any way as if he were in the slightest amount of trouble. Seramali approached as well, although he remained toward the outer edge of the advancing circle.

  “Who are you and what do you think you’re doing here?” said Seramali, raising his voice so that the whole of the Lodge could hear him. Some of the Serabim were not in the main lobby but instead had retired to other rooms further away to engage in individualized entertainment. Seramali’s voice would doubtless carry and alert them to return because a potential threat had presented itself and all Serabim should be around to deal with it.

  The Mandraque bowed slightly. It was obvious from his smirk that he was doing so out of a sense of irony rather than any genuine respect for those whom he was facing. “I am Thulsa Odomo. Leader of the Odomo Clan, foremost of the Five Clans.”

  “I do not know that there is such a thing as a foremost clan when it comes to Mandraques,” Seramali said drily. “To those on the outside, all you Mandraques are identical in your belligerence and bellicosity. What matter to us which clan you belong to? All that matters is that you do not belong here. However,” and he returned the
bow in as ironic a manner as Thulsa had initiated it, “you are a guest in our Lodge, however uninvited you may be. As long as you abide by the rules of hospitality, no harm shall come to you.”

  “No harm?”

  “Shall come to you, yes.”

  Pavan would have expected Thulsa Odomo to be pleased upon learning that. A guarantee of safety from the head of their Serabim tribe? What could be more desirable?

  Instead the Mandraque tossed back his head and bellowed laughter. This drew angry glares from the Serabim, who were unaccustomed to company of any sort, much less company that displayed such open disdain for their chieftain.

  “What,” said Seramali with a dangerous edge to his voice, “do you believe to be so amusing? Especially considering the gratitude with which you should be—”

  Before Seramali could complete the sentence, Thulsa Odomo’s free hand move with such speed that it was little more than a blur. One moment it was right there, easily visible, and the next it was extracting a blade from behind his back and then the blade was whistling through the air. Thrown with incredible accuracy, it sped across the Lodge and embedded itself deep in Seramali’s leg. Seramali went down, howling, grabbing at the still quivering blade.

  A collective roar of fury went up from the Serabim. They started to converge on Thulsa, who swept his blade around in a vicious arc, keeping them at bay. He had positioned himself so that his back was against the wall, ensuring that none of them could come up behind him. On the other hand, there was no means of retreat available. And there was only so long that he was going to be able to stave off a concerted attack by the enraged Serabim.

  Demali was crouched over her father, her hand fluttering above the embedded knife, shouting for a healer. Seramali was clutching the leg, shoving Demali away, seemingly more concerned about his daughter seeing him in a wounded state than the actual injury. “You Mandraque bastard!” he shouted. “You’ll die by inches for this!”

  “And if your death was my goal, then you would be a large furry rug right now,” the Mandraque taunted him. “I know that with your thick hides, the placement of my blade will provide, at most, a minor pain. I could have targeted your eye if I were of a mind to kill you.”

  “Then what do you want?” Demali cried out.

  “Shut up, Demali!” said Seramali sharply. “This is not your concern!”

  “My father was attacked! How is this not my concern?”

  “I shall tell you what I want,” said Thulsa, and he pointed his sword directly at Pavan. “I want him. Your Keeper.”

  “Me?” Pavan’s legs trembled and he prayed no one noticed.

  “Your crest betrays you.” Thulsa gave him a curious look. “I thought you were older.”

  He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know me from Akasha. To him, one Serabim looks more or less like another, save for the fur that distinguishes me. Pavan drew himself up, willing his legs not to betray him. “I am older than I look,” he said defiantly. “And if you think I am simply going to surrender myself to you, cooperate with—”

  “I do not seek either your surrender or your cooperation. You will come with me because it is strategically important that you do. Only by having you in our possession can we attain our true goal.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Time enough to discuss that after you are in our hands.”

  Seramali clenched his teeth and spoke with deliberate effort. “He will never be in your hands. You will never leave this Lodge. You will die where you stand.”

  “You could not be more wrong.”

  Thulsa raised his free hand over his head and clenched his fist. Pavan couldn’t help but think that it looked very much like a signal of some sort.

  Every window in the Lodge shattered.

  A barrage of arrows hurtled in, and the heads of the arrows were blazing. They thudded into various parts of the Lodge and, as the harsh winds blasted in through the newly created openings, the fires were immediately fanned into a full blown inferno. Within seconds the entirety of the Lodge was ablaze. It was filled with smoke and screams of Serabim who suddenly found themselves unable to see or even breathe.

  Pavan tried to get to Demali, but he couldn’t find her. He could scarcely see his own hands in front of himself. He drew his arm across his mouth and nose, trying to find a way out. He had lived in the Lodge his entire life and would have sworn that he could navigate the place blindfolded. Instead Pavan was now discovering that he was dead wrong. He tried to shout Demali’s name but started coughing violently and quickly closed his mouth. He stumbled, fell, tried to stand and instead fell again. Then something grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him to his feet.

  “Thank you!” he started to say, and then he looked up and saw the face of the Mandraque sneering down at him.

  Pavan lashed out, but he was never much of a fighter, and Thulsa brushed the desperate blow aside. Then the Mandraque slammed Pavan in the face. Pavan heard something crack, a bone. Immediately his face began to swell and his blood was pouring down over his lower jaw.

  Before he could make another move—not that it would have done him much good even if he’d managed it—a canvas bag was yanked over his head and his arms were pulled behind him and lashed at the wrists. But he’d been looking directly at Thulsa when it happened, which meant that someone else had done it. “Let’s go,” said another gravelly Mandraque voice from behind him.

  The next thing he knew his feet were lifted clear of the ground and he was being hustled forward. Thulsa was chortling softly in his ear, “Smoke and fire don’t bother us, Keeper. We were born for it. We thrive on it. We are equally dangerous no matter where we are, and that’s why Mandraques will always triumph!”

  “Oh? Tell that to the Sirene!” Pavan said defiantly, and was rewarded with a sharp punch to the gut. His feet had been tied together as well, so aside from trying to twist his body away from his captors—a useless proposition—he was effectively helpless. The only thing he could take any consolation in was the fact that he had managed to annoy one of the Mandraques enough to warrant being struck. His only hope was that he might somehow be able to exploit that, although his aching side didn’t seem to readily suggest any way in which he might do so.

  Then he was out, out in the cold night air, and the wind howled around him in a way that usually brought him comfort. Now, though, all it did was seem to be howling mournfully for him, as if regretting what was happening to him and asking him why, why had this transpired. He had no answer for that. He had no clue why in the gods’ name the Mandraques would be interested in him. What could they possibly hope to accomplish? What did he have that they could want?

  That was when he realized. It was so obvious. Obvious and terrifying, for Akasha had taught him many things about the world, and particularly about the Mandraques and their hopes and dreams and desires for conquest.

  For the first time in his life, Pavan truly felt cold.

  the vastly waters

  I.

  It was becoming more and more obvious to Jepp that the Travelers were doing their best to keep their distance from her.

  That one Traveler who had come down to her cabin and awakened her continued to hover, but he was obviously trying not to get too close to her. This gave her a strange feeling of empowerment that only added to her growing confidence.

  She would walk around on the deck of the ship and watch her personal Traveler (as she had come to think of him) drift within range of her. At one point, just to see what would happen, she placed one foot on the bow as if she were preparing to throw herself in, making good on her earlier threats.

  The Traveler simply stood there a distance away, making not the slightest effort to stop her.

  She lowered her foot back to the deck and said nothing. He said nothing in return.

  Jepp endeavored to engage him in conversation. It didn’t work. He would constantly turn away from her, reinforcing to her the notion that for whatever reason, the Travelers were actually afra
id of her. She didn’t know why, though, and the fact that she didn’t know was extremely frustrating to her.

  She would have loved to talk it over with someone, but unfortunately the only ones around with whom she could converse were the very ones who were frustrating her.

  “You feel vulnerable around me, don’t you,” said Jepp. “If Karsen and the others could see this now. The way they trembled at the mere mention of your names, and here I am, talking to you, being openly defiant, and you just hide in your cloaks and make vague threats and yet here I am, still talking. You need me for something, and sooner or later, I’m going to find out what it is. And I have this funny feeling that you’re not sure whether my finding out would be a good thing or a bad thing.” She paused and then approached him. “Does it have something to do with my dreams? Is that it?”

  He turned away from her and to her own surprise as much as his, Jepp grabbed at his cloak. “Stop!” she ordered. “I said—”

  His gloved hand lashed out and grabbed her around the throat. He lifted her off her feet with no effort at all, and for the first time in days, Jepp truly did know fear once again as it occurred to her that maybe she had pushed the Traveler further than would have been wise.

  She had as much as challenged the Traveler to kill her, and now he seemed more than prepared to do so. Her air was closing off, and the world was becoming a hazes of dots floating before her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper, “I’m sorry…”

  And then another Traveler was at the first one’s side, putting a hand firmly on his friend’s arm, slowly shaking his head. Again came that same eerie whispering that she had heard before. The Traveler who was holding her aloft was actually trembling with suppressed rage, and suddenly Jepp was falling. She thudded to the deck and slumped over, clutching at her throat, coughing and fighting to get air back into her lungs. She looked up at the Traveler who loomed over her, and then she managed to gasp out, “Okay…I was afraid of you. Is that better? Does that make your world just…just all right somehow?”