‘As I said,’ the old man intervened, ‘there’s a lot to be explained. And I’ve been expecting someone to come, looking for answers.’
‘You have?’ Serrah said. ‘Why?’
‘For the last couple of years there have been disturbances in the essence powering the Clepsydra, and in the device itself. In recent months it’s grown much stronger. Something had to happen.’
‘Is there someplace we can discuss this?’ she asked. ‘Somewhere out of these tunnels?’
‘Of course.’ He addressed the girl. ‘It’s all right, Wendah.’ His hand unerringly found the blade she held, and gently turned it aside. ‘We must offer our guests such hospitality as we can.’ After a second’s hesitation, she put the knife away. To them all, the old man said, ‘Come. It’s not far.’
He set out, lightly clasping the girl’s shoulder. She glanced back, scowling at them, and it seemed to Kutch that she paid particular attention to him.
The procession negotiated a series of tunnels, with attendant sets of perplexing bends and twists, then they entered a low-roofed grotto. Within, a large, cleverly placed flat stone concealed the entrance to a hollow. They squeezed inside.
The cave was ample in size and lit by wax and oil. Sufficiently so that Caldason, Serrah and Kutch disabled their glamour orbs. What the light showed was an ordered jumble. Mismatched bedding, and crates used as furniture. Crab shells for dishes, and chipped pots. A crudely made bow, propped in one corner, along with a bundle of coarse arrows. Driftwood and cast-offs, adapted to the necessities of survival.
‘Our abode,’ the old man announced, ‘such as it is. Try to make yourselves comfortable.’
‘You live here?’ Kutch exclaimed.
‘If you can call it living.’ The old man seemed breathless. He put a hand to his brow and looked pained.
Serrah was concerned. ‘What’s wrong? Can we do anything?’
‘Thank you, no. I’m constantly…in discomfort.’
The girl, still eyeing their visitors suspiciously, helped him to a chunk of rock vaguely resembling a throne. He sank onto the makeshift seat with a relieved sigh.
She took a cracked cup and fetched some water from a nearby cask. Then she squatted beside him, watchful.
‘Do take your ease,’ the old man repeated. He drank, his hands trembling slightly.
Kutch and Serrah perched amongst the clutter. Caldason sat on a barrel.
The old man said, ‘I never thought to-’ He stopped himself, smiling thinly. ‘I was about to say I never thought I’d see you again, Reeth. Not in this world. It seems I was right about that.’ A fleeting reverie occupied his face. ‘I’m a poor host,’ he decided. ‘You must think me ignorant for not even asking your friends’ names.’
‘No,’ Caldason replied. ‘Nobody’s slighted. This is Serrah Ardacris; and our friend, Kutch Pirathon.’
The ‘our’ told the old man all he needed to know about Reeth and Serrah’s relationship. ‘Wendah,’ he introduced, squeezing the girl’s arm, ‘friend and dependable companion. She acts as my eyes, in a very real way. Been with me here since she was a child.’
‘How did that come about?’ Serrah wondered.
‘She was the sole survivor of a shipwreck. Most vessels avoid this place; many of those that don’t, come to grief. Everything you see here was salvaged from wrecks.
‘Do you remember my name, Reeth?’ he asked abruptly.
The Qalochian was caught off-balance. He shook his head, discomfited.
‘Praltor Mahaganis,’ the old man supplied. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No. Or rather…perhaps. I don’t know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it now. It’ll come.’
‘How do you survive in this place?’ Serrah said.
‘We have rainfall for drinking water, much of the surface vegetation’s edible, if bland, and we catch fish. Occasionally we dine on fowl. Wendah’s pretty handy with bow and slingshot, though not in your league, Reeth. And there’s flotsam and jetsam to pick over. But tell me about yourselves. How do you come to be here?’
‘The Source,’ she told him.
‘Ah.’ If the answer surprised him in any way, there was no sign. ‘Why do you seek it?’
‘It’s possibly our only hope. How much do you know about what’s happening in the outside world?’
‘Very little. We’ve been here a long time.’
‘The Resistance has given up inciting revolution against the empires,’ she recapped, ‘and tried to establish a dissident state. But the scheme was betrayed and it’s near to collapsing.’
‘There’s an organised resistance?’
‘Exactly how long have you been here?’
‘Most of Reeth’s adult life.’
‘How did you come to this?’ Caldason asked, indicating their squalid surroundings.
‘You don’t know what you are, do you?’ the old man countered. ‘Of course you don’t; we’d all be aware of it if you did.’
Caldason was baffled. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The old man waved the question aside. ‘What do you remember? Of your days with me, that is.’
‘It’s not so much memories as…dreams of that time. You were training me in the martial and mental skills I’d need. Equipping me to survive. I owe you my life.’
‘It was the least I could do.’
‘How so?’
‘I’m in your debt.’
‘You’ve got it wrong. I’m in yours.’
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t feel that way if you knew the truth.’
‘What truth?’ Serrah interrupted tetchily. ‘You hint at revelations, but-’
‘Reeth’s people were massacred by mine,’ Mahaganis declared bluntly. ‘I think that qualifies as a debt, don’t you?’
No one spoke, until Caldason recovered his disbelieving tongue. ‘You’ve been stuck here too long,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s given you delusions.’
‘It’s not a fantasy, Reeth, and there’s no pleasant way of putting it: my blood tried to exterminate yours. I would have told you long since, except events tore us apart.’
The colour in Caldason’s face was sapped. ‘If what you say is true, that means you’re…’
‘A paladin,’ Serrah finished for him.
Mahaganis nodded. ‘I was born to the clans. And into their leadership ranks, moreover.’
Caldason was on his feet, his hand going to his sword hilt. Wendah put herself between him and the old man, whipping out her knife. Then Serrah was there, clutching Caldason’s wrist and trying to calm him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.
He looked through her, and she feared he was about to go into a berserk-in which case none of them stood a chance.
Kutch joined in and did his best to placate the Qalochian. Slowly, they got through.
‘The Reeth I know doesn’t pick fights with blind men,’ Serrah reminded him, ‘or with girls.’ She eyed Wendah, who maintained her defensive stance.
‘All right,’ Caldason said, pulling himself together. ‘It’s all right.’
They steered him back to his seat on the barrel. The girl backed off.
‘I don’t blame you, Reeth,’ Mahaganis told him. ‘I deserve your wrath, on behalf of my kin.’
Caldason raised his head. ‘None of this makes sense.’
‘I know,’ the old man replied, not unkindly. ‘So consider the facts.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Hard as it is to believe these days, the clans were once honourable. They prided themselves on defending the weak against the rapacious. But like so many others in this world, they fell into corrupt ways.’
‘And you didn’t.’
‘I stood against their growing treachery, their cruelty. My own people, mind you. My own people.’ Bitterness rose like bile, and as quickly abated. ‘What they did to your tribe, and what they wanted to do to you, was the last straw. I felt morally bound to help you escape that fate. In return, they put me here.’
‘This was your punishment? Exile?’
