Sitting around waiting for news, and imagining, was one of the hardest things Sarnd had ever done.
The sun had now risen, prompting Elian to give their courtyard a major clean. She refused Sarnd’s and Betharad’s offer of help, insisting she was quite capable of moving the furniture and heavy pots to get at every corner and crevice.
Betharad sat across the kitchen table from him, a heavy book before her with ornate binding and a convoluted title about Council bye-laws. Sarnd would have hated reading such a tome, and judging from her frequent glances towards the door Betharad was making very little progress.
Drawing and sleeping both proved to be impossible. Other than pulling apart and reassembling every puzzle he owned, he had little to fill his time, or his mind. He kept wondering if the searchers had found anything. It chafed that he was unable to help, but all the same he was well aware of his own limitations. He would probably end up getting himself lost, too.
“Come to me.”
He looked at Betharad. He was right there in front of her, but her eyes were on her book. The strain was playing on his nerves, making him hallucinate. That’s perfect. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping to avoid another of those vision-blurring headaches.
The bang of the front door against the wall, and Elian’s cry of “Jessa!”, ripped him from his stupor and pulled him to his feet. He arrived at the door moments before Betharad, but stopped short behind his grandmother, uncertain in an unexpected way. While his sisters embraced, he peered at Jessa.
Red marks encircled both wrists and dirty grazes marked her knuckles. Small cuts and scratches marked her ankles, while a rip ran across one leg of her light trousers. Her feet and sandals were covered in dust, and a few twigs and leaves stuck in the weave of her shawl. Her dark curls, as untameable as his at the best of times, were more unruly than usual, giving her a slightly wild appearance. A hot, tight anger lodged itself in Sarnd’s chest, and the strength of the emotion paralysed him.
Jessa looked at him. “Why are you standing there like an idiot?”
He could breathe again. She was still the Jessa he knew, and needed.
“Well, you took your time,” he said. Their hug was fierce and brief.
“You really should have a bath and a rest, my dear!” Elian exclaimed, patting Jessa’s shoulder. Her voice was chirpy, but her face was still creased with worry. Perhaps, being a woman, their grandmother could see signs Sarnd was unable to detect. Fear welled up in him again.
“Not yet,” Jessa protested, though with only a fraction of her usual determination. “I need to tell you what happened first.”
Jessa was leaning on Betharad, and his own legs were shaking, so they all agreed when their grandmother sighed and said, “Very well. You all go through and sit down while I make some tea.”
Betharad nodded. “Sarnd, can you please get a message to Kavilas?”
How could he have forgotten the marshal and his protectors had been out all night searching?
Once they were all sipping tea and a measure of serenity had begun to creep back, Betharad took Jessa’s hand in her own. “We’ve been worried since we heard the news, and we’re all so happy you’re safe. But we can wait to hear what happened to you, if you’re not ready yet.”
Some colour was returning to Jessa’s face, and soon she was telling them about her astounding experiences during the night.
The name Urzed, so long a dark shadow across their family history, sent a jolt of shock through Sarnd. It should be impossible he was alive, and suggested Sarnd and his sisters had grown up as orphans for nothing.
“How do we know it’s the same one? Urzed is a popular name around here,” he asked, attempting to keep his voice light, though without success.
“Sadly, I think it’s him,” said Elian. She was the only one not wearing a look of surprise following Jessa’s revelation. “He didn’t have scars then, but that would make sense, now. And it’s hard to forget his ambitious arrogance, and his eyes... Yes, it sounds very much like Urzed.”
“You know him?”
Their grandmother gave them a rueful smile. “I saw him only once, and I never spoke to him. But he’s not an easy person to forget.”
Sarnd felt he was seeing her for the first time. She had shared a few of her memories of their parents over the years, but very little about her experiences when Naerun was set upon by the Enjeb. It had never crossed his mind to ask.
Seeing they were all eager for more, Elian continued in a reluctant voice. “Your grandfather and I came here when your father sent us an urgent message saying you were all in terrible danger. I witnessed the Enjeb attacking once, and the poor townspeople were so badly outmatched it was heartbreaking. But Urzed stood out from the rest, and was far more brutal in the way he fought than any of his followers. I wanted to look away from him, but I couldn’t. It was a relief when we thought he was dead—although I’d lost my son, too.” An old sorrow came into her eyes and she looked up at the ceiling.
“And then you stayed here, after the... end,” Betharad said.
“Well, it was Tormas’s duty to go where he was assigned as a custodian. But of course, Naerun needed a new custodian and we were given permission to stay here and look after you.”
She was still holding something back—perhaps regret about the life that had passed her by while raising her grandchildren. Sarnd’s expression must have given his thoughts away, for Elian added, “Not that it was a chore at all, believe me. You were all so small and alone, and it was the least we could do.”
The sharpness in Jessa’s voice made him wince. “Did you think it might be Urzed who was behind what happened on the day of the ceremony?”
“I suspected it could have been the work of the Enjeb. Urzed made no secret of his ability to do terrible things with his powers, and seemed to take great pleasure in setting things alight. And the timing of it, of course... But it was only a gut feeling with no evidence to back it up. And like everyone, I believed your father had killed him. We’ve never seen or heard of them in all the years since.” She screwed up her face. “The idea they were back seemed a bit irrational, even for me. But I did try to get a message to the Academy to ask their advice. Of course, Mirul refused to help me.”
“You know someone from the Academy?” Sarnd blurted out. The Academy was the renowned university that specialised in taking people who were Gifted and training them to use their powers. As far as he knew, it was where their parents had met. If Elian had a contact there, the answer to all their problems could be closer at hand than he expected.
“Yes, of sorts. He visited shortly after the Enjeb came last time. Not a very pleasant man, but we don’t have a lot of options.”
He was about to suggest they despatch a messenger without any delay, when Betharad held up a hand and said, “Eli, has Kavilas spoken to you about Mirul?”
“Ah, I thought our custodian might take the matter further. Well, you can tell Kavilas what Mirul says is probably true, though knowing Mirul it’s more than a little exaggerated. Really, the man is most obnoxious.”
Jessa was looking from one woman to the other as she narrowed her eyes and asked, “What’s true?”
Elian hesitated, then with a shrug explained. “I have a small token that’s meant to help me communicate with the Academy—that’s how I tried to send the message. But it failed to work—it’s probably been faulty for years, but I haven’t tried using it for a long time. The only thing I could think of was to ask Mirul if he could repair it, or help me send a message in some other way.” Her eyes blazed. “He refused, which is no surprise—we all know he and I can’t stand each other. And I wanted to avoid having to explain why I needed his help, but I got annoyed with him anyway. Betha, I am sorry if I caused you any difficulties on the Council.”
“That’s not important anymore,” said Betharad. “But Eli, you should tell us what you know about the last time Naerun faced the Enjeb. Anything could help us. There are too many gaps in our understanding of what happened, in particular how the Enjeb were stopped from destroying the town long enough for our parents to act.”
Betharad’s tone was gentle, but Elian flushed slightly as she poured herself another cup of tea. “I’ll help you as much as I can, of course, but I’m not sure I know much more than you do.”
“Aren’t we going to wait for Kavilas?” interrupted Jessa. “I need to tell him what I saw, and he’ll be very interested in what Eli has to say as well.”
“Not to mention, he can stop all his investigating now,” Sarnd added.
Betharad shook her head. “He could be anywhere now, and it might take him a long time to get here. Let’s listen to Eli first, and I’ll brief Kavilas along with the rest of the Council, if I have to.”
“Very well,” said their grandmother, with a quizzical glance at Betharad. “I didn’t see with my own eyes all that went on back then, and it was such a turbulent time I’m not sure what I’m telling you is right. A lot of what I know is second hand, from Tormas and your father. What they shared was little enough—I think they were trying to spare me the worst of the details.”
“Go on,” said Betharad.
“As I said, I thought Urzed was dead. It seems incredible he survived that. But if anyone could, it would be him. He’s the most driven person I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Why did he bring the Enjeb here in the first place?” Sarnd asked, giving voice to a question that had mystified him for years. “I doubt they came to shop at the market.” Back then, the town had been small and not worth plundering. All their current prosperity was built up after the Enjeb attack.
“Last time,” said Elian, an odd catch in her voice, “I was told the Enjeb were drawn here by the Serpentstone. ”
The Serpentstone!
A new dread bloomed at the thought it might be nearby. They had all heard the fantastic tales about its wickedness and corrupting power, but most of them sounded so exaggerated, whispered in the dark by children and adults alike to frighten each other. In fact, for years he’d wondered if the Serpentstone itself was real.
That is, until the history lessons he had taken as part of his training to become a teacher. He learned the Serpentstone not only existed, but also was considered to be both sentient and malicious. It had caused much tragedy and ruin in the centuries since it had been discovered. It had played a part in giving them the common saying ‘mad as a king of Cathrubas’; the people of that unfortunate city had first unearthed the Serpentstone while mining under the mountains, and their monarch and all his heirs had lost their sanity after taking possession of it. Cathrubas was little more than a ruin now, its once renowned civilisation disintegrated.
“That’s it!” Jessa exclaimed, half-rising from her chair. “Urzed mentioned a name, I knew it sounded familiar, but I had no time to think about it. The Orufasu—am I right in thinking that’s another name for the Serpentstone?” She sat down again, her look of triumph fading.
As well it might. The Orufasu was indeed the official name for the Serpentstone. If Urzed had it, or knew where it was, they were all in far more danger than anyone had realised. Sarnd tried not to succumb to the crushing fear that rolled over him.
“Did you see it?” he asked Jessa.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’m sure Urzed would have bragged about it if he had it.”
That was a small comfort, he supposed.
“I believe the Enjeb were using the power of the Serpentstone when they attacked last time,” Betharad said. “But nobody says what happened to it after that. Where did it go?”
“I really don’t know, my dear,” said Elian. “Tormas told me nobody could find it after the Enjeb were defeated. It’s said... well, it sounds ridiculous, but he said it has the ability to disappear, and then reappear years later, all by itself. But it’s not wise to believe everything you hear.”
That’s wonderful. Perhaps we should invite it round for tea.
His temples tightened; his headache was threatening to rise up again, and he did his best to ignore it. He was determined not to miss a single word of this conversation.
“So the Serpentstone can communicate with the Enjeb?” asked Jessa, sounding impatient.
“Perhaps. Tormas told me they have a link with the Stone stretching back quite a long time. He never explained why, or how it works.”
“What about this Karrti he mentioned?”
“I—I’m not sure what that is,” Elian replied, with a shake of her head.
But despite his headache, the name lit up a memory hiding in the recesses of Sarnd’s brain. “I think I’ve heard of Karrti,” he said as he struggled to recall it. “As far as I remember, it’s a sort of demon creature that... umh... eats people.” A shiver ran down his back. “But I’ve never heard of it in connection with the Enjeb.”
“It may be unrelated,” Betharad reassured them.
“Yes, we’re getting side-tracked by Urzed’s mad delusions,” said Jessa as she clenched her jaw. Sarnd knew the expression well; his sister was both annoyed and worried. “We have more important things to worry about—such as how to defend ourselves if the Enjeb decide to attack.”
Sarnd hoped she was correct. Having to fight off the Enjeb again was spine-chilling enough, without having to contend with the Serpentstone as well.
“I agree with you,” said Betharad. “This matter warrants an urgent meeting of the Council, where I’ll ask them to approve a gathering of the whole town so we can make sure everyone is prepared.”
“Can’t we have the gathering today?” said Jessa, half-sitting up in her chair. “It’s been hours since I escaped, and I think Urzed is not the sort of person who likes waiting around.”
Betharad shook her head. “I can’t call it without Council approval. And anyway, it will take time to get the word out. No, the earliest we can possibly hold it is tomorrow.” She paused and took a breath. “Also—it would be good if you were able to tell them what happened to you. A first-hand account should help people focus on what needs to be done, rather than argue over what may or may not have happened. Do you feel you could do that?”
“Of course I can,” Jessa replied, though she was not quite as confident as she made out. It was more than a twin’s intuition, because Betharad raised her eyebrow.
“I have some ointment for those cuts and scrapes,” their grandmother said. “And you really should rest as much as you can. I’ll give you a draft to help you sleep.”
“In the meantime,” said Betharad, “I’ll ask Kavilas to look at what can be done to prepare our defences.”
“He should start with the town walls,” Jessa said. “They wouldn’t stop a desert beetle.”
The walls were no more than lengths of wood nailed to wooden posts, and Sarnd could think of several places where they’d fallen apart and never been fixed. The town had grown so much over the twenty years since their construction, and a number of houses had been built outside the nominal protection they offered.
But Sarnd’s focus was not on walls. His head was filled with the shape of a clue hovering just out of view, one that would cast light on the full picture when it revealed itself.
This had the feel of one of his puzzles, except instead of pieces of warm wood, the clues made him feel icy cold—names from half-forgotten legends of death and madness. The Serpentstone. Karrti. Urzed. How did they all fit together?
Did they all fit together? Part of him hoped not.
He might teach history to his pupils, but until now he had never truly appreciated the extent to which the past was a jumble of facts and assumptions that only seemed to fit together. Like an old wall that had always been there, looking solid and immutable, until someone leaned against it and discovered how it cracked and crumbled under the slightest weight.
“It’s astounding how many gaps we have in our knowledge, far more than I ever thought before,” he began, still uncertain whether he should mention what was going through his head. As the others turned and looked at him in surprise, he added, “Sorry, pay no attention to my ramblings.”
Betharad nodded her encouragement. “I know that look, Sarnd. What are you thinking?”
He shook his head. “I think I know where to start looking for clues.” His heart sunk as he saw their eager faces and realised they would agree to his idea. The last thing he wanted was to get caught up in hours of research, but he ploughed on regardless. “There are lots of forgotten documents in the Council Archive we could look through.”
“Of course,” said Betharad. “I can ask Marico to check—he’s a master of the filing system.”
“That might help, but there’s more,” said Sarnd. “When I worked there, I was sent down to a section at the back, behind the big shelves, with lots of old books and documents I don’t think have been officially filed.” He had hated the job, but at least he discovered one useful fact. “It was a long time ago, so maybe it’s been tidied up.”
“While you do that, I probably should talk to Mirul,” Jessa went on with forced cheer. “He might be able to tell me what happened. Unless you have another way of sending a message to the Academy?” she added with an eager look at their grandmother.
Elian shook her head and said, “So you can find out if you’re Gifted?” She looked worried once more.
Sarnd had forgotten that part of his twin’s tale. It seemed more hopeful than practical, but if she was right, maybe they were not defenceless after all.
But then, even if they discovered, by some amazing twist of fate, that any of them did possess the ability to wield the Lifespring after all, they had no idea how to use it. He already knew Custodian Mirul would be as unhelpful as possible, and the Academy was many days’ journey away, in the coastal city of Eisilath.
No, it was foolish to place hope in the preposterous idea any of them were Gifted. It would only lead to tragedy.