‘We could sing them gone,’ growled Terascouros. ‘We could summon those same ones which came to Murgin.’ She fell silent under the cold, golden eyes of the raven.
‘Magister says no. Magister says that for a time Gahlians alive are better than Gahlians dead. Gather to me, now, you people, and listen to what the Magister says!’
The raven flew to Thewson’s shoulder from which he stared down at them all, gathering their, eyes with little gestures of his beak, silent until he was sure he had all their attention focused upon himself.
‘The Magister says this: “Remember the people of Widon the Golden and those of D’Zunalor!” The Magister says, “Remember Orena.” The Magister says, “Remember the quest book of Ephraim the Archivist.” So says Magister Omburan. So I, Kelner, his messenger, have spoken.’ He flew down from Thewson’s shoulder, blinked two or three times rapidly as though to shed the mantle of authority, tossed himself a grain of corn, and began to ignore them ostentatiously as he hummed and cast covert glances at them from under one wing or the other.
After a silence, Medlo spoke. ‘Who could protect us from those coming from Zales? Zales is not far away. Three or four days’ ride. Eight days’ walk perhaps. What will the Gahlians find here? Many children. Many young women. Singers. Many of them old, certainly not warriors.’
Thewson agreed. There are few warriors here, Grandmother. Not enough, I think.’
‘No,’ Old Aunt mused, biting her lips. ‘Not enough. We have never relied upon force, but upon being hidden and quiet. We have defences which are not generally known. The Hill can be sealed, parts of it hidden, to make it virtually impregnable. And there is reason for some of us to stay here.’ She peered at Terascouros who nodded, shrugging. ‘But the children, the young women, the scouts, the younger men – it would be a prison for them, and they could not really help us.’
‘Are we sure that Sybil does not know of our secret strongholds?’ queried Terascouros in anger. ‘If she has sold us to the Gahlians, she will bring them to every door, no matter how well hidden. And why did Magister remind us of Widon the Golden? Why remind us of the D’Zunalor? They, too, went to the north. Why remind us of that now?’
‘Because,’ rumbled Thewson, ‘those people were warrior people. Yes? If the god sends the message that help against these Gahlians will come, then help must come from warriors. Many men. Men with swords and spears and axes. Wa’osu, those were axe people, those D’Zunalor. Besides, they have the Crown of Wisdom, and I wish to find it.’
‘Oh, Thewson, why do you dare? The Lion Courts are gone. What difference does it make?’ Jasmine clung to him, full of sudden tears at the thought of the children of the Hill, at the thought of Hu’ao out there somewhere with all the world ‘closed.’ ‘We are driven away yet again. I want to find Hu’ao.’
He cradled her in his arms.
Old Aunt pressed her head between her hands. ‘Shhh. I can’t think. It seems … it seems that the Magister directs someone to go north. Though to think the people of Widon still might be there seems monstrous folly. Still, they were sworn to Taniel once, to the Thiene. Would they come for that? To a summons from us?’
‘Don’t forget the children,’ cried Jasmine. They must be sent to safety. They must not fall into the hands of those … who did what they did to Jaer.’
Jaer, remembering precisely that, lost herself among the multitudes in her head, stood sweating and cold, astray in tumult.
‘The Magister reminds us of Orena,’ said Old Aunt. ‘A place unconquered since it was established, a place to which the children could be sent for safety. It would be a perilous journey.’
‘All journeys are perilous,’ said Leona. ‘I will go with them, to guide them and guard them. We must go soon, to cross the Del while the weather holds cold. Early spring will bring it to flood and will trap us on this side.’
‘Yes,’ Old Aunt agreed. ‘Thewson could go north, seeking the people of Widon. The others of you, south to Orena, and the children with you.’
‘Not I,’ said Jasmine, firmly. ‘I go with Thewson. Hu’ao is in the northlands somewhere.’
‘Nor I,’ said Jaer, struggling out of the tumult into her own persona, dry-mouthed and fearful. ‘I… I am still Jaer! Jaer said she would go east. The raven reminds us of the quest book, Jaer’s quest book, which I had from Ephraim and Nathan. Jaer goes east as Jaer said. As I said and do say.’ Shuddering, she repeated herself. Within her, the multitude was, for the moment, silent.
‘I go with you,’ said Medlo, as though making an announcement.
‘Yes. I would have guessed so.’
‘You object to that?’
‘Do I object to the moon, Medlo? I know well enough what brings it ‘round. I know well enough what brings you – or someone within me knows, better than you do who have not a thousand pair of eyes or ears to see and hear you doing and saying things you, yourself, do not understand.’
Terascouros was watching them. ‘And I,’ she said, ‘will go with you.’
Jaer laughed in honest humour. ‘You, I couldn’t stop if I would, Grandmother. You will or die. Perhaps you will and die, you know that?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters to me. I do not like my old ones dying. I have had enough of that. But how could I stop you? Come, if you are determined to.’
‘Come where?’
‘East, where Jaer said Jaer would go. Where Jaer alone would have gone. Into the Concealment, perhaps. Past it!’
‘Stubbornness!’
‘Ah, Teras, I am no more stubborn than you are. It may be stubbornness, or wonder. If anything is “meant” by all of this, then going east is part
