It was late afternoon, almost twenty-four hours since the escape from the Hegemony envoy’s fortified villa and more than twenty since their arrival at Glenkrylov, a daughter-forest situated in a shallow valley a few miles south of Waonwir. It had been Cheluvahar’s idea to bring Greg here in the hope that the root-scholars might find a way to draw out the enslaving dust of the Dreamless. The scholars persevered for many hours, testing a variety of bush and vine filter roots in different combinations until Chel, with his singular perceptions, was able to confirm that they had arrived at a safe and effective arrangement. After Greg had been sedated with ortha root extract, Chel settled down to keep watch with all his eyes, studying the diminishing presence of those baleful motes.
At the same time he was coping with a steady stream of visitors, Uvovo who were arriving at the forest in twos and threes or more, fleeing the towns and especially Hammergard, where squads of Brolturan troops were detaining all Uvovo ‘on suspicion of collusion with terrorist agitators’. It seemed that the new Unity government had quickly brought in repressive measures in exchange for Brolturan aid in securing law and order. Paradoxically, one of these measures had been the disbanding and disarming of the Darien Volunteer Corps, as well as the reorganisation of local law enforcement and the arming of certain police units.
So these escaped Uvovo had to be provided with food and shelter (and healing in some cases), then formed into small bands and dispatched to those secret Burrows and other refuges off in the western hinterlands. Then there was his role as Seer, which carried the previously unsuspected burden of providing reassurance as well as arbitration in disputes between Listeners. After some eleven hours of this he could feel his mind crumbling under the strain, his perceptions gnawed at by weariness. So, covering his eyes, he left Greg in the care of the healer Najuk, and went to climb a nearby beholder tree, seeking relaxation and a change of perspective.
Beholder trees were chosen for their height and sturdiness, which meant that they were usually rakins, on both Umara and the moon. Also, their bark had many knots and wrinkles which provided plentiful hand- and footholds. As he climbed, Chel could feel the kinks and aches beginning to ease, and his torpidity dissolve as the exercise stirred his essential forces. He breathed deep as he moved higher, enjoying the odours and sensation of replenishment that percolated through him.
About a third of the way to the canopy, voices came to him through the leaves, Human voices, and he slowed to seek out the source. Then clambered up onto a thick limb and saw them seated and sprawled on a matted platform fixed to the forked branch of a nearby tree. Seeing Rory and one of the Firmanov brothers among them he waved and Rory waved back.
‘How’s that patient o’ yours, Chel?’
‘Much better,’ Chel called across. ‘He improves by the hour.’
‘Any chance he’ll be back on his feet in a coupla hours?’
Chel shook his head. ‘Not before tomorrow, I think, Rory. When he wakes he will be weak and will need food and rest. Are you planning to leave the forest?’
‘Aye… well, mebbe, when we’ve figured out how tae go lookin’ for the Major.’
‘Will you be going soon?’
‘In a few hours, I reckon – we’ll drop in and say our g’byes before we scarper.’
Chel nodded and they exchanged waves again as he resumed his climb.
A short while later he reached one of the cloudsteps, the highest and narrowest of the beholder trees’ platforms. A cold and steady breeze stirred the surrounding foliage, bringing fleeting fragrant whiffs, and he could feel the entire trunk sway very slightly. All around were masses of rustling leaves, of shifting treetops over which insects darted and buzzed, tempting birds to swoop and snatch in midflight. Occasional afternoon sunshine broke through the clouds yet it was dry and warm, the air so clear that he could look eastward across the grey expanse of Loch Morwen to the small islands clustered near the mouth of the Gangradur River.
More important, however, was the northerly prospect, the cliffs that rose to meet the lower slopes of ridges, and the mountain spur whose eastern extremity was Waonwir. Chel had heard a variety of rumours about the temple site from arriving Uvovo: the Brolturans were going to use it as a prison for dissidents, or they were going to demolish it, or they were going to build a fortress on it. Whatever the truth, they were definitely doing something up there – last night one of the forest scholars had been up in one of the other beholders and had seen a harsh white glow emanating from the top of the promontory. Now, as he peered at that distant, dark grey mass, there was no sign of such illumination but he could see a small dark speck take off and race towards Hammergard.
He recalled the prescient words of the spectral Pathmaster – the Hegemony will shortly control Umara… soon they will be walking in this very chamber… The words had been shocking but he could never have guessed that they would come true so soon. Such a possibility had not occurred to him when he stole aboard the zeplin that transported Greg down to the city, and now the fate of Listener Weynl and the others, both Uvovo and Human, was a mystery. The same was true of other Listeners like Faldri, Eshlo Shikellik and Murnil, and until now Chel had not realised how much they had come to rely on the Humans’ communication devices to knit their far-flung communities together.
The temptation to wait here in Glenkrylov for further news was strong, yet he knew that he and the forest scholars must lay plans for a swift retreat. He was sure that if Greg had spilled all that he knew, then the Hegemony envoy Kuros must now suspect something of the Uvovo connection with the temple and the well chamber, not to mention the ancient covenant with Segrana that went back to the oldest times. As well as the tales of detentions and beatings, Chel had heard an unconfirmed rumour that Buchanskog, the daughter-forest east of Hammergard, had been invaded by Brolturan troops who destroyed the meditation retreats, the vodrun and the scholar abodes before carrying off every Uvovo they could seize. If the offworlders were ready to raid one of the daughter-forests so soon, it was only a matter of time before they moved against the others.
With one last glance at Waonwir, now growing dark as the sun dipped towards the horizon, Chel began the descent, keen to check on Greg’s progress but also impatient to plan for the worst outcome. At least that way anything less dire would feel like a reprieve, or even an opportunity!