Beyond the Pool of Stars Page 14

  “Of course.”

  “I hope that you haven’t grown too fond of that Raas boy. I know how emotionally involved you can be.”

  Sylena cleared her throat. “I’m not ‘emotionally involved.’ I just don’t know that we should kill Kellic. I may yet have a use for him.”

  Rajana sighed. “Use him however you want, so long as you kill him before he returns to Sargava.

  “Of course.”

  Rajana frowned. “Report to me as soon as you have news.”

  “Yes, Rajana.”

  Her sister swept a hand across the distant mirror so that the image cleared, and Sylena confronted her own face. Only then did she flip it the tines, something she would never dare while Rajana watched.

  The scrying ring was of Rajana’s own design, and both sisters could use its magic to watch what its wearer did. But Rajana had little patience for listening to people talk, and it appeared that she must not have been eavesdropping when Kellic told Mirian Raas he would propose marriage to Sylena.

  It was all working out so very nicely. In a half day or so, Sylena would drift up to offer assistance, then anchor offshore until she had proof Alderra Galanor and Mirian Raas were dead, or else had seen to that part herself and taken their treasure. Then she would have the gratitude of her superiors and a marriage proposal from someone who would be an important player in the new regime, as well as Sylena’s pretty puppet.

  14

  The City and the Stars

  Mirian

  Over the next few days, Mirian saw Ivrian handling himself with more and more confidence. Apart from crossing the stream, he’d made few newcomer blunders. She found it difficult to believe that an aristocrat—a pampered artist, for Desna’s sake—could be so honestly eager to please a bunch of common folk the typical Sargavan blue blood wouldn’t have been caught dead with. A few days in his company, though, assured her he wasn’t acting.

  She tried not to reflect too much on the difference between Ivrian and her own brother. Both were inexperienced and city-bred. Like Ivrian, Kellic had attended the finest fencing academies in Eleder. Yet it was Ivrian, not Kellic, who’d thrown himself into the fray when the Daughter had come under attack. Her brother couldn’t even be bothered to sail on his own ship. What, she wondered, was the difference? Upbringing? Natural affinity?

  That the well-mannered aesthete had more guts than her own brother, raised around salvagers, disappointed Mirian more than she wanted to admit, though it engendered no animosity toward Ivrian. Instead, she found herself thinking about her father’s drunken tirades about the other colonial nobles. Was her brother a natural coward, or would he have grown into the man she thought she’d seen in her little brother if Leovan had been less focused on the other colonials, a little less lost in his own problems?

  Maybe the difference was Alderra Galanor. With her for a role model, it was no wonder that Ivrian had turned out well. Alderra never complained or shirked duty, even when given the opportunity due to her age or alleged lack of experience. The latter was obviously a cover, as Mirian had quickly realized that Alderra was no stranger to the jungle, or privation. Mirian figured Alderra for a well-preserved mid-fifties, but she might have been older. She was fit enough that she had no trouble keeping pace, and she certainly showed no lack of energy in the evenings, when she would regale them with tales of her journeys to far courts.

  As the days marched on, the group began to function more and more cohesively, its members growing accustomed to depending upon one another and becoming familiar with each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Even Jekka changed a little. He could hardly be described as warm, but he seemed comfortable with some of his human companions. Mirian came to prefer walking point with him even over Kalina, whose attention was a little too easily distracted.

  Mirian was on point with Jekka on the morning of their fourth day of travel when he pulled up short and crouched, slim tongue extended. This, she’d learned, was how lizardfolk smelled. She sank to one knee, watching him

  The branches overhead stirred in the wind, and creatures far above hooted to one another. Jekka turned his head right and left, then dropped to advance in a rapid, scuttling crawl.

  He vanished into the undergrowth, popping up again next to the trunk of a great tree. He rose slowly with his back to it. It was only then that he looked back to Mirian and gave a sharp nod.

  She followed, head low. Her machete was sheathed at her left hip, her cutlass slung at her right. She loosed both as she came forward.

  She reached the bole, wide enough for three people to link arms around. Jekka met her eyes once more and started around on the left, gray staff lifted.

  Mirian circled on the right. They arrived together to find a deserted campsite and a fly-encrusted head impaled upon a sharpened stake. They crept about the site looking for spoor and sign. The tracks were not dissimilar to those made by Jekka himself, though the foot that made it was broader and the impression of the toes slimmer.

  The desiccated head was human, possibly an Ijo tribesman, though it was so decayed it was hard to tell. Other, older stakes were thrust into the ground nearby, a single skull impaled upon each. Most were human, others human-sized but oddly proportioned. The collection resembled a grisly fence.

  When the rest of the party came up, Ivrian pointed to the human head, his handsome face a little green. “Was he the scream we heard a few nights back?”

  “Might be,” Mirian said.

  “Possibly.” Jekka leaned closer and flicked out his tongue. Mirian couldn’t help her mouth from twisting in disgust. The lizard man didn’t quite touch the fly-encrusted face; the tongue quivered an inch or two away from the head, then got sucked back into Jekka’s mouth. “Probably. He’s about four days dead.” He looked to Mirian. “This is a boggard tribe making territorial claim.”

  “Boggards.” Gombe pronounced the name like a curse.

  Heltan sounded genuinely troubled. “These should not be boggard lands.”

  Alderra strode up to Mirian’s side, almost brushing against her. “Are we off course?”

  “I don’t think so. Keep your eyes open. If the frog-people are here, it means we’re coming up on swampland, and they like to leave vicious little surprises in ankle-deep water.”

  They found the swamp a half hour on, as well as the most recent victim, his head impaled upon another spike in a line of seven. This time the others realized to their horror that the nearby fire pit was for roasting the rest of the victim. The boggards didn’t let the material left over from the fence go to waste.

  “Who was he?” Ivrian asked.

  “No way to know,” Mirian said.

  Alderra answered him. “Some poor tribesman, probably. Or some unlucky chap out looking for treasure. There’s said to be lost cities and pirate gold and magical fountains hidden in the jungle.”

  Tokello was looking more and more dour. She wiped more salve across her high forehead. “Does this mean the boggards have a big territory?”

  “Boggards claim a lot more land than they can defend,” Mirian said. “Because they’re cowards. A tribe will put up a fence like this and refresh it every few months, hoping no one will come into their lands and hunt them.”

  “Somebody should,” Jekka said with frightening intensity.

  She understood his feeling. “Much as I’d like to take a few more boggards out of the world, I’d just as soon keep us out of trouble. I think we can steer a little out of the way and swing back toward the Pool of Stars. We’ll veer west for about an hour, then due north, and we ought to arrive about noon.”

  Unfortunately, on her course they ended up in lowland after only a quarter hour and had to venture north, right past another death fence. There was no helping it: they had to cross into the lands of the boggard tribe.

  Still, there was no sign of the hated things either within or without their territory, and just after noon they finally arrived at the banks of the Oubinga once more.

  The Oubinga was the largest
river in the whole of the Kaava Lands, its source deep in the jungle highlands, three days east of the legendary Mbaiki ruins. From records she’d studied in Eleder’s Pathfinder lodge, Mirian knew it began as a stream, but here it was more than a quarter mile of muddy water flowing swift enough that they could see the current.

  Mirian looked up from the river to the ribbon of blue sky unobstructed by the canopy. After so many days beneath the leaves, open sky seemed incongruously bright.

  Heltan relaxed upon sighting the stretch of water. They moved quickly along its southern banks, ever on the alert for both the crocodiles that sunned on the riverside and boggards that might well be watching them from the jungle.

  In another half hour they arrived at the Pool of Stars.

  It was not at all what Mirian had expected. Heltan had described what she’d imagined as an inlet. What she found instead was a huge rim along either side of the river, so perfectly circular on either side that it might as well have been carved. The currents slid past the curving banks, allowing moss and detritus to collect and scum the surface.

  Alderra, beside her once more, pointed to another skull fence facing the river from a few feet into the jungle. “It seems we have boggards here as well.”

  “At least it’s the end of their territory,” Gombe said.

  Heltan exchanged a few words in his own language with Jekka, who seemed to start, then hissed violently. Heltan turned from his brother and knelt just short of the river’s edge. He closed his eyes.

  Mirian sidled over to Kalina. “Is this something I should be worried about?”

  “Heltan asked Jekka if he wished to pray and give thanks. He used to be the god-speaker of our clan.”

  “But he’s not now?”

  “No,” Jekka said, with an air of finality. “My brother wastes breath and delays us near a border with our enemies.”

  Heltan rose. “Gozreh has not abandoned us, Brother. She has helped guide us here.”

  Jekka growled and turned away.

  Heltan caught Mirian’s eyes and gestured to the river. “The Old Ones witnessed a trail of stars through the sky one evening. The stars burned as they fell, but one touched down at the river, so hot it burned through both earth and water, and left this mark. Behold the Pool of Stars!”

  Mirian put Kalina and Rendak on sentry duty while the rest set to raft-building. Many eyes watched them from the trees: the ever-present birds with bright plumage and monkeys of varied sizes, but Mirian was sure she felt other things as well. Would boggards dare attack a large, capable party outside their territory? Their natural instincts were cowardly, but if a leader meant to prove himself, or if there were a boggard war party large enough, they’d attack with no hesitation.

  The more obvious threats were sunning themselves on a sandbar twenty-five yards off. If Mirian hadn’t known better, she’d have assumed crocodiles were simply lazy and uninterested. As the expedition worked along the shore, a few nosed in closer to watch, though none ventured within striking range.

  Building a raft in the wilderness required climbs into the canopy to chop larger limbs, trimming and shaping them into similar lengths and sizes, and finally tying them with rope and vines.

  Although she trusted the sharp-eyed Karshnaar to keep watch, Mirian remained alert for the distinctive shush of spears through the air, or the slap of bare amphibian feet through the mud. But the boggards never showed. Maybe they were rounding farther east through their territory, planting more stakes.

  The only bad moment was when Gombe’s hand was bitten by a venomous blue tree snake. Mirian was fortunately close at hand with a dose of anti-venom. Noting how he eyed the trees nervously after that, she tasked Gombe with making spears from some of the trimmings. “In case the crocodiles get too close,” she told him, which was true, but she also wanted to keep his mind focused on something other than snakes.

  All in all the process took three weary hours, but she was pleased enough with the raft that she could imagine her father nodding in respect.

  After all that labor, the crossing of the Oubinga proved almost anticlimactic. The most dangerous thing they encountered was a curious bull crocodile who trailed a few feet aft. About two-thirds of the way over he decided they were too big to challenge or not worth his trouble and drifted back to the sandbar.

  They dragged the raft into some bushes and started north in what immediately proved hillier territory. The Karshnaar talked among themselves, then picked up the pace. Mirian knew from their previous conversations that they were now only a few hours from the ruins of their old city.

  She halted the group for a quick reminder. “Now’s no time to let down our guard. We’re close, but that just means we’re nearer the lands of enemies.” She looked at Heltan. “Anything you can tell us about the lizardfolk tribe that drove you out?”

  “The Vanizhar are less sophisticated, but more numerous. But as I told you, we’ve heard that they were driven out as well.”

  “I remember,” Mirian replied. “But not everything you hear should be believed.”

  Jekka sounded sanguine as he responded. “We are used to being surrounded by enemies, Mirian. We are vigilant.”

  The air felt less humid as they climbed into rockier terrain. Even though they were among trees, they could look down upon the tops of the giants below and even make out the distant river. Mirian understood now how ancient lizardfolk might have observed falling meteorites.

  Evening drew a dark blue mantle over the forest. Just as Mirian was readying to call a halt, they arrived suddenly at a decaying tower intricately fashioned from perfectly fitted stones, each carved with tiny lizard figures. It was stunning work: she longed to pull out her sketchbook and record the details while she still had light. But there’d be no time, for as expedition leader she had to secure the area.

  Beyond the first watchtower was a vast clearing scattered with more, some completely crumbled into ruin. Every few hundred feet were wide pools filled with clear water. The place was still but for the croaking of frogs in the lush grass.

  As they ventured deeper inside, a flock of parrots flew skyward with a beat of red and blue wings and startled cries.

  Mirian was so busy looking for dangers that she didn’t realize there were stones hidden by the layer of dirt and detritus and weeds until she was well into the plaza’s middle. As she bent down to examine one, Ivrian halted beside her.

  His voice was heavy with awe. “This place must be at least three miles wide. I had no idea it would be so large.”

  “And our lizardfolk guides say most of it lies underground.” She brushed more dirt away to see that it wasn’t just a path but an entire run of triangular stones, carefully set one beside the other, each carved with glyphs. Words? Letters? Or merely decorations? She’d have to ask Heltan. “I think the entire space is paved.”

  She wished they had time for a proper investigation. She’d have to report this site to the Pathfinder Society. It was clearly of greater import to the history of the continent than the simple cave complex she’d been exploring. Somehow, she’d steal time to sketch some of these images. All she’d managed to draw so far on the expedition were a few doodles in the dying light each evening, mostly of the Karshnaar or interesting-looking leaves and bugs near her hammock.

  The lizardfolk moved swiftly through the ruins, reminding her of scurrying geckos as they advanced from place to place. Something caught Jekka’s attention, and he summoned Kalina, who motioned to Mirian. She hurried over.

  It was easy to see what had them worried. There were boggard tracks in the mud beside one of the wide pools.

  “These are several days old,” Jekka told her. “And look here.” He paced to a path worn by the passage of many feet. Mirian followed it, flanked by Jekka and Kalina, all the way to the edge of the trees that formed the city’s northern border.

  Alderra joined her as Mirian stood frowning at the dark mass of jungle.

  “A different boggard tribe,” Jekka decided.

 
; “There are no skull fences,” the aristocrat pointed out. “Do you think there are boggards living in the pools or towers?”

  Jekka sampled the air with his tongue. “No. We would have smelled them. They come to that pool only.”

  Mirian led them back to investigate as twilight swept in. A stream of bats passed overhead, wakened to hunt the nighttime insects.

  By shining her glow stone into the pool, Mirian could look a good long way into the cenote, enough to tell that its sides had been carved into a perfect circle. A round side-tunnel intersected the vertical tunnel some ten feet below the surface, and a faint green glow came from somewhere deeper. “What’s that light?” she asked.

  Heltan had joined their group. He said, “Our people cultivated a phosphorescent fungus so there would be light beneath the water. Is it too late to dive, this night?”

  “We should rest,” Jekka told him.

  Mirian agreed. “We have to set up camp. We’ll approach it fresh in the morning.” They’d pushed hard today, and it would be foolish to risk a dive right now.

  She tasked Gombe and Rendak with looking over the nearest tower for a defensible sleeping arrangement. Tokello plopped herself onto bare flagstone with a weary sigh and took a pull from one of her waterskins—one that Mirian had long guessed actually contained wine, for Tokello always seemed a little happier come evenings, and Mirian was fairly sure it wasn’t just because they’d stopped.

  Jekka was still prowling about the site, as if on the hunt. Mirian asked Kalina to keep watch and went after him. Ivrian trailed a few feet behind.

  She caught up to the lizard man. “What’s wrong, Jekka?”

  The warrior halted in his examination of the same boggard trail. He turned and waited for them. His voice was low. “I am puzzled, Mirian.”

  “Why?”

  “This is good ground. There is fresh, clear water. Even a boggard is not so stupid as to miss the advantage. Yet they come only to this pit, and then they depart.”

  She nodded. “What’s your conclusion?”