Day by day went by, until the month of sowing had come and nine days of it past when they emerged from a narrow passage betvtfeen two hills to find themselves at the beginning of a hard-surfaced road. The road simply began where they were, marked only by a wayside shrine to the Powers and a tall pole which carried the quartite bannerette, green, blue, red, and white. In the shrine stood a bell, green with age, and a leatherbound striker hung on chains. It was Eriden who struck it to send the soft, clamorous echoes booming away down the valley only to return once more augmented by wild trumpet sounds and a gentle thunder as of distant drums.
‘We have come to Orena, haven’t we, Lady?’ Bombaroba looked at her with renewed hope. ‘Some of the little ones should be washed so that people won’t think we are savages.’ He was off about his self-imposed duties in that moment. Leona merely sat upon her horse staring away down the road to the place where it plunged into and through the distant cliff beside glittering gates. There was no menace there, the menace was behind them, and yet…. If all had fled here and there were no way out except the way they had come…. Smiling ruefully she rodeon.
The road led south, straight as a hawk’s stoop, to the glittering gates. On either side the cliffs drew in, crowned with battlements and a sparkle of armour. The gates, barely wider than the wagons, went through tunnels which opened above into spaces full of engines of defense and a scurry of purposeful activity. There were three sets of tunnels and gates, a seemingly endless series of barriers before they came at last into the late sunlight of the valley escorted by a troop of guards who had met them upon the road.
These men and women had ridden up and down the train, examining each wagon, exchanging a few bantering words with the children, otherwise laconic. Their leader stayed at the head of the column, saluting Leona as from one warrior to another while begging her indulgence in following him. To her questions he replied with noncommittal words, inconsequential niceties. When they came through the final barrier, he dismounted and offered his hand, a courtesy which she disdained.
‘You were not surprised at our arrival,’ she said. ‘Were we expected?’
He gestured toward the pinnacles to the north, high above the valley. ‘You were seen many days ago, Lady. Those of the Sisterhoods already within the stronghold have told us who you are and whence you come. Your train is the last.’
‘The way behind us is closed?’
‘To any train like yours, so we believe. Would it were closed to all others as well.’
‘Then we are shut in.’
‘Surrounded, Lady. Orena is very old, very strong, hidden among its precipices. It has never been conquered. Neither has it ever been surrounded, until now.’
‘What forces are gathered against us?’
‘We will show you presently, Lady. My name is Hazliah, and I give you the welcome of the city. A place has been made ready for you, and the Sisters and children will be welcomed by their kindred.’
He mounted again, courteously, to accompany them, waiting patiently while the children were gathered together, counted, and placed in the wagons. The stony way through which they had come opened out into the greater valley, a day’s hard march wide, four days’ march ong, surrounded by cliffs two hundred man heights high or more. Before them it shone in spring green, fields on fields of emerald and early gold with a far shadow of blue flaxflower reflecting the sky against the cliffs. Rivers ran through the valley and away to the west where, Hazliah told them, they ran out through a water fortress and away to the southern seas. Beside the largest of the rivers, away to the west, stood Orena, white as alabaster, flushed pink in the evening glow, flags snapping from every tower and light flashing from many domes.
Where the stone-floored crevasse in which they stood opened into the valley, a wooden bridge crossed a chasm. Hazliah urged them forward. ‘The bridge will be raised at the evening bells, Lady. If we do not wish sparse rations and a cold bed, let us ride.’
They crossed the bridge, hollow clopping and creak of wagon, a distant ringing of bells sweet in the west, the bridge rising behind them to stand like a huge gravemarker upon the road. Leona shivered. ‘A wide grave, and lovely,’ she said to herself. ‘But if one may not get out, a grave nonetheless.’ She gestured Bombaroba forward to ride with her, needing the feel of something familiar beside her. ‘Even thou, Leona,’ she thought of this need. ‘Even thou.’
‘Do you see they all wear beads, Lady?’ the boy asked. ‘The soldiers say all their life can be read in their beads. The one in the middle of their belt is a birth-bead, in five parts, one for each parent. How may they have five parents, Lady? I have been told there are only two. The red beads are for learning, and they must have three of those, Lady, or they may not be allowed to be adults.’
‘You have learned a lot in such a short ride.’
‘I ask a lot of questions,’ he said comfortably. ‘I always do. The soldier teased me – I think. He said that since I do not have any red beads, they will not let me go about the city. Is that true?’
‘We will find out. I do not have red beads either, you see.’
‘Oh, of course. None of us do. Perhaps they will keep us all locked up in one place.’ He sounded unworried about this, and
