For the rest of that day the high-council—the five Great Lords and the eighteen Grand Masters—sat in special session to decide what should be done.

While they were meeting, rumors swept the great city in the cavern. Many concerned the nature of the intruder, speculating upon what manner of creature had been taken by the Maintainers. While most agreed that it was humanoid in form, some claimed it was a cross between a bear and an ape. Other rumors were wilder yet. One such tale had it that a whole tribe of outsiders—heavily armed savages, intent on trouble—had come far down the tunnels, trying to force entry into D’ni, and that it had taken the whole garrison of Maintainers, backed up by the City Guard, to fight them off.

Such “news,” Aitrus was certain, was completely unfounded, yet in the absence of hard fact even he found himself caught up in the games of speculation—so much so, that as evening fell and the lake waters dimmed, he left his rooms and set out through the narrow alleyways of the upper town, intending to visit the Hall of the Guild of Writers where his friend Veovis dwelt.

If anyone outside that central group of Lords and Masters knew what was happening, Veovis would.

Arriving at the gate of the ancient hall, Aitrus waited in the tiny courtyard before the main doors while a steward was sent to notify Veovis of his presence.

Several minutes passed, and then the steward returned.

Aitrus followed him through, between high, fluted pillars and along a broad mosaic path that bisected Ri’Neref’s Hall, the first of five great halls named after the greatest of the guild’s sons. Like most of the ancient Guild Halls, the Hall of the Guild of Writers was not a single building but a complex of interlinked buildings and rooms, some of them cut deep into the face of the great cavern. As Aitrus ventured farther into the complex, he climbed up narrow flights of ancient steps, the stone of which seemed almost to have been melted over time, like wax, eroded by the passage of countless feet over the six millennia of D’ni’s existence.

Here, in this great sprawl of ancient stone, two thousand guildsmen lived and ate and slept. Here they were educated, here went about the simple daily business of the guild. Here also were the book rooms and great libraries of the guild, the like of which could be found nowhere else in D’ni.

Walking through its ancient hallways, Aitrus felt the huge weight of history that lay behind the Writers Guild. Though the Writers claimed no special privileges, nor had a greater voice than any other on the Council, it was held to be the most prestigious of the Eighteen, and its members had a sense of that.

To be a Writer, that was the dream of many a D’ni boy.

The steward slowed, then stopped before a door. Turning to Aitrus, he bowed again. “We are here, Master.”

Aitrus waited while the steward knocked.

A voice, Veovis’s, called from within. “Enter!”

The steward pushed the door open a little and looked inside. “Forgive me, Guild Master, but it is Master Aitrus, from the Guild of Surveyors.”

“Show him in.”

As the steward pushed the door back, Aitrus stepped forward. Veovis was in his chair on the far side of the big, low-ceilinged study. Books filled the walls on every side. A portrait of Rakeri, Veovis’s father, hung on the wall behind a huge oak-topped desk. In tall-backed chairs close by sat two other men—one old, one young. The elder Aitrus recognized as Lianis, Veovis’s tutor and chief adviser, the younger was Suahrnir, Veovis’s Maintainer friend.

“Ah, Aitrus,” Veovis said, getting up, a broad smile lighting his features. “Welcome, dear friend.”

Aitrus heard the door close quietly behind him. “Forgive me for intruding, Veovis, but I wondered if you had any news.”

Veovis came over and took his hands, then, stepping back, gestured toward the chair beside his own. “It is curious that you should arrive just at this moment. Suahrnir has just come from the Guild House. It seems the High Council has finished deliberating. A notice is to be posted throughout the city within the hour.”

“So what is the news?”

Veovis sat. The smile had gone from his face. “There are to be special Hearings, before the Council.”

Aitrus sat, looking to his friend. “Hearings? What kind of Hearings?”

Veovis sat. The smile had gone from his face. “There are to be special Hearings, before the Council.”

Aitrus sat, looking to his friend. “Hearings? What kind of Hearings?”

Veovis shrugged. “All I know so far is that the outsider is to be interrogated, and that we, as Council members, will be allowed to witness the interrogation. My assumption is that the questions will have to do with the nature of life on the surface.”

“He speaks D’ni?”

“Not a word. And it is not a he, Aitrus. The outsider is a female.”

Aitrus blinked with surprise. “A woman?”

“A girl. A young girl, so I am told, barely out of infancy.”

Aitrus shook his head. It was difficult to believe that anyone, let alone a young girl, could have made her way down from the surface. He frowned. “But if she speaks no D’ni, then how are we to question her?”

“Who can say?” Veovis answered, the slightest hint of irony in his voice. “But it appears she is to be handed over to the Guild of Linguists. They are to try to make sense of her strange utterances. That is the idea, anyway. Personally, I would be surprised if she does more than grunt for her food when she wants it.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I am quite certain of it, Aitrus. Word is that she is a rather large-boned animal, and totally covered in hair.”

“In hair?”

Veovis nodded. “But I guess that, too, is to be expected, no? After all, one would need some kind of special covering to protect the body against the elements, wouldn’t one?”

“I suppose so.”

“And besides, some creatures find that attractive , or so I am told.”

There was laughter, but Aitrus was silent, wondering just what circumstances would force a young girl—whatever her species—to venture down the tunnels. It was not, after all, what one would expect.

“Is there any way I could see her?” Aitrus asked.

“I doubt it,” Veovis answered. “Word is she is being kept on an island in the cavern of Irrat. The Linguists will have her locked away for months, no doubt. You know how thorough they are!”

“Besides,” Veovis went on, “it is unlikely any of us will get a glimpse of her before the Hearings. If what Suahrnir says is true, almost half of the High Council were in favor of shipping her out to a Prison Age straight away, and having done with the matter. Only Lord Eneah’s personal intervention prevented such a course.”

“But she’s only a girl.”

“Sentiment, Aitrus,” Suahrnir chipped in. “Pure sentiment. A girl she may be, but she is not D’ni. We cannot attribute her with the same intelligence or sensitivity we D’ni possess. And as for her being only a girl, you cannot argue that. Her mere existence here in D’ni has thrown the people into turmoil. They talk of nothing else. Nor will they until this matter is resolved. No. Her arrival here is a bad thing. It will unsettle the common people.”

Aitrus was amazed by Suahrnir’s vehemence. “Do you really think so, Suahrnir?”

“Suahrnir is right, Aitrus,” Veovis said quietly. “We might joke about it, but this issue is a serious one, and had my own opinion been sought, I, too, would have advocated placing her somewhere where she can trouble the public imagination as little as possible.”

Aitrus sighed. “I hear what you are saying. Maybe it will unsettle people. Yet it would be a great shame, surely, if we did not attempt to discover all we can about conditions up there on the surface?”

“We know now that it is inhabited. Is that not enough?”

Aitrus looked down. He did not want to be drawn into an argument with his friend over this issue.

“Still,” Veovis added, when he did not answer, “the matter is out of our hands, eh, old friend? The High Council have decreed that there shall be Hearings and so there shall, whether I will it or no. Let us pray, then, that the Linguists—good men though they are—fail to make sense of the creature this one time.”

Aitrus glanced up and saw that Veovis was smiling teasingly. Slowly that smile faded. “Nothing but trouble can come of this, Aitrus, I warrant you. Nothing but trouble.”

 

 

§

 

 

Guild Master Haemis locked the door to the cell, then turned, facing his pupil. She sat there behind the narrow desk, quiet and attentive, the light blue robe they had put her in making her seem more like a young acolyte than a prisoner.

“And how are you, this morning, Ah-na?”

“I am well, Master Haemis,” she answered, the slight harshness in her pronunciation still there, but much less noticeable than it had been.

“Thoe Kenem, Nava,” she said. How are you, Master?

Haemis smiled, pleased with her. They had begun by trying simply to translate her native speech, to find D’ni equivalents for everyday objects and simple actions, but to his surprise she had begun to turn the tables on them, pointing to objects and, by means of facial gesture, coaxing him to name them. The quickness of her mind had astonished them all. By the eighth week she had been speaking basic D’ni phrases. It was baby-talk, true, but still quite remarkable, considering where she came from.

Twenty weeks on and she was almost fluent. Each day she extended her vocabulary, pushing them to teach her all they knew.

“Is it just you today, Master Haemis?”

Haemis sat, facing her. “Grand Master Gihran will be joining us later, Ah-na. But for the first hour it is just you and I.” He smiled. “So? What shall we do today?”

Her eyes, their dark pupils still disturbingly strange after all this time, stared back at him. “The book you mentioned…the Rehevkor …Might I see a copy of it?”

The question disconcerted him. He had not meant to tell her about the D’ni lexicon. It was their brief to tell her as little as possible about D’ni ways. But she was such a good pupil that he had relaxed his guard.

“That will not be easy, Ah-na. I would have to get permission from the Council for such a step.”

“Permission?”

Haemis looked down, embarrassed. “I should not, perhaps, tell you this, but…I should not have mentioned the existence of the Rehevkor to you. It was a slip. If my fellow Masters should discover it…”

“You would be in trouble?”

He nodded, then looked up. Anna was watching him earnestly.

“Then I will say nothing more, Master Haemis.”

“Thank you, Ah-na.”

“Not at all,” she said softly. “You have been very kind to me.”

He gave a little nod, embarrassed once more, not knowing quite what to say, but she broke the silence.

“Will you answer me one thing, Master Haemis?”

“If I can.”

“What do they think of me? Your fellow Masters, I mean. What do they really think of me?”

It was a strange and unexpected question. He had not thought it would have bothered her.

“To be honest, most of them saw you at first as some kind of grinning primitive animal.”

Haemis glanced at her and saw how she digested that fact; saw how thoughtful it made her look.

“And you, Master Haemis? What did you think?”

He could not look at her. Even so, there was something about her that compelled his honesty. “I thought no differently.”

She was quiet a moment, then. “Thank you, Master Haemis.”

Haemis swallowed, then, finding the courage to look at her again, said quietly, “I do not think so now.”

“I know.”

“I…I will speak for you at the Hearings, if you wish.”

Anna smiled. “Once more, your kindness does you great credit, Master Haemis. But I must speak for myself when the time comes. Else they, too, will think me but an animal, no?”

Haemis nodded, impressed by her bearing, by the strength that seemed to underlie every aspect of her nature.

“I shall ask,” he said quietly.

“Ask?” She stared at him, not understanding.

“About the Rehevkor .”

“But you said…”

“It does not matter,” Haemis said, realizing that for once it mattered very little beside her good opinion of him. “Besides, we cannot have you going unprepared before the Council, can we, Ah-na?”

 

 

§

 

 

Anna stood by the window of her cell, looking out across the cavern she had been told was called Irrat. The bleakness of the view did little to raise her spirits. The sill into which the great iron bars were set was four feet thick, the view itself of rock and yet more rock, only one small, rust red pool creating a focal point of contrast in that iron gray landscape.

Master Haemis had been kind to her today, and she sensed that maybe he was even her friend, yet he was only one among many. For all his small kindnesses, she was still alone here, still a prisoner in this strange, twilight world where the days were thirty hours long and the seasons unchanging.

Anna sighed, a rare despondency descending upon her. She had tried her best to learn their language and find out something that might help her—she had even enjoyed that task—yet where she was or who these people were she still did not know.

She turned, looking across at the door. Like all else here it was made of stone. Her bed was a stone pallet, cut into the rock of the wall. Likewise, a small shelf-table had been cut from the stone. On the bed was a thin blanket, folded into squares, and a pillow; on the table was a jug of water and a bowl.

Anna walked across and sat on the edge of the stone pallet, her hands clenched together between her knees. For a time she sat there, staring blankly at the floor, then she looked up.

The door had opened silently, unnoticed by her. An elderly man now stood there; tall, dignified, in a long dark cloak edged with the same shade of burgundy the guards who had captured her had worn.

His eyes, like theirs, were pale. His face, like theirs, was tautly fleshed, the bone structure extremely fine, as if made of the most delicate porcelain. His long, gray-white hair, like theirs, was brushed back neatly from a high, pale brow.

But he was old. Far older than any of those she had so far seen. She could see the centuries piled up behind that thin-lipped mouth, those pale, cold eyes.

She waited, expecting him to talk, but he merely looked at her, then, as if he had seen enough, glanced around he cell. Behind him, in the half shadows of the passageway, stood Master Haemis and one of the guards. He took a step toward the door. As he did, Anna stood, finding her voice.

“Forgive me, sir, but might I draw you?”

He turned back, a look of surprise in those pale, clear eyes.

“My sketch pad,” she said. “It was in my knapsack, together with my charcoal sticks. It would help me pass the time if I had them.”

There was the slightest narrowing of his eyes, then he turned and left the cell. The door swung silently shut.

Anna sat again, feeling more depressed than ever. She had seen the unfeeling coldness in the old man’s face and sensed that her fate had been sealed in that brief moment when he had looked at her.

“So what now?”

She spoke the words quietly, as if afraid they would be overheard, yet she had little more to fear now. She let her head fall, for an instant or two sinking down into a kind of stupor where she did not need to think. But then the image of the old man’s face returned to her.

She recalled his surprise, that narrowing of the eyes, and wondered if she had somehow made a brief connection with him.

“Miss?”

Anna looked up, surprised to be spoken to after so lengthy a silence. Again there had been no warning of the woman’s presence before she had spoken.

“Here,” the woman said, stepping across and placing a tray onto the table at Anna’s side. The smell of hot soup and fresh-baked bread wafted across to Anna, making her mouth water.

As the woman stepped back, Anna stood, surprised to see that instead of the usual sparse fare, this time the tray was filled with all manner of foods; a tumbler of bright red drink, another of milk, a small granary loaf. And more.

Anna turned to thank the woman, but she was gone. A guard now stood there in the doorway, expressionless, holding something out to her. It was her sketch pad and her charcoals.

Astonished, she took them from him, nodding her head in thanks. She had asked a hundred times, but no one had listened to her. Until now.

The door closed behind the woman.

Anna put her things down, then, taking the tray onto her lap, began to eat.

He listened, yes, but what does that mean?

Was this simply the courtesy they extended to every prisoner? And was this to be her life henceforth, incarcerated in this bleak stone cell?

And if so, could she endure that?

At least she had the sketch pad now. She could use the back of it, perhaps, to write down all her thoughts and observations, something she had sorely missed these past six months. And then there were always the sessions with Master Haemis to look forward to—her struggles with that strange, delightful language.

For a moment she sat there, perfectly still, the food in her mouth unchewed. That face—the old man’s face. If she could draw that , then maybe she would begin to understand just who he was and what he wanted of her. For the secret was there, in the features of a man, or so her mother had once said.

Stone-faced, he’d seemed. Yet if she could chip the surface stone away and see what lay behind.

Anna set the tray back on the table, then yawned, feeling suddenly tired, in need of sleep.

She would make the sketch later, when she woke.

Unfolding the blanket, Anna stretched out on the pallet and lay it over her, closing her eyes. In a moment she was asleep.

 

 

§

 

 

The captain paused a moment, studying the sketch, impressed despite himself that she had captured the old man’s face so perfectly. Then, closing the sketch pad, he turned and handed it to her, before pointing toward the open doorway.

“Come. It’s time to go.”

Gathering up her charcoals, Anna tucked them into her pocket, then looked across at him. “Where are you taking me?”

He did not answer, merely gestured toward the door.

Anna stepped outside, letting the guards fall in, two to the front of her, two just behind. This time, however, no one bound her hands.

As the captain emerged, they came smartly to attention, then set off at a march, Anna in their midst, hurrying to keep pace.

A long stairway led down through solid rock, ending in a massive gateway, the stone door of which had been raised into a broad black slit in the ceiling overhead. They passed beneath it and out onto a great slab of rock, still within the cavern yet outside the stone keep in which Anna had been kept. She looked back at it, surprised by the brutality of its construction.

They slowed. Just ahead, the rock fell away almost vertically into a chasm on three sides, a chain bridge spanning that massive gap, linking the fortress to a circular archway carved into the far wall of the cavern. Stepping out onto the bridge, Anna looked down, noting the huge machines that seemed to squat like black-limbed fishermen beside dark fissures in the earth. Machines, no doubt, like those she had found up near the surface. There were buildings down there, too, and chimneys and huge piles of excavated rock, like a giant’s building blocks, all far below the narrow, swaying bridge. She was not afraid of heights, nor of falling, but even if she had, the guards would have paid no heed. They moved on relentlessly, nudging her when she was not quick enough.

The arch in the far wall proved to be ornamental. Just beyond the great carved hoop of stone lay a wall of solid rock; black marble, polished smooth. She thought perhaps they would stop, but the captain marched on, as if he would walk straight through the rock itself.

As they passed beneath the arch, however, he turned abruptly to the right, into deep shadow. More steps led down. At the foot of them was a door. As he unlocked it, Anna looked to the captain, wanting to ask him where they were taking her and what would happen there, but he was like a machine, distant and impersonal, programmed to carry out his tasks efficiently and silently, his men mute copies of himself, each face expressionless.

She understood. They did not like her. Nor did they wish to take the chance of liking her.

Beyond the door the passage zigzagged through the rock, small cresset lamps set into the stone. And then they were “outside” again, in another cavern.

Anna stepped out, looking about her. A great bluff of rock lay to her right, obscuring the view. To her left, just below her and about a hundred yards or so away, a broad coil of water cut its way through a steep-sided chasm. It was not as dark here as in the first cavern. She did not understand that at first. Then, to her surprise, she saw how the water gave off a steady glow that underlit everything.

They went down the bare, rocky slope, then along a path that led to a stone jetty. There, at the foot of a flight of steep, black basalt steps, a long, dark, elegant boat was anchored, the chasm walls towering above it. Four burgundy-cloaked oarsmen waited patiently on their bench seats, their oars shipped. A burgundy-colored banner hung limply from the stern of the boat, beside the ornamental cabin, a strangely intricate symbol emblazoned in gold in its center. Anna stared at it as she clambered aboard, intrigued by its complexity.

“Where are we?” she asked.

The captain turned to her, giving her a cold, hard look, his eyes suspicious of her. For a moment she thought he would not answer her, then, curtly, he said:

“We are in D’ni. This is the main cavern.”

“Ah…” But it did not enlighten her. Duh-nee . That was what it had sounded like. But where was Duh-nee? Deep in the earth? No, that simply wasn’t possible. People didn’t live deep in the earth, under the rock. Or did they? Wasn’t that, after all, what she had been staring at every day for these past six months? Rock, and yet more rock.

The securing rope was cast off, the oarsmen to her left pushed away from the side. Suddenly they were gliding down the channel, the huge walls slipping past her as the oars dug deep in unison.

Anna turned, looking back, her eyes going up to the great carved circle of the arch that had been cut into the massive stone wall of the cave; a counterpart, no doubt, to the arch on the far side. The wall itself went up and up and up. She craned her neck, trying to see where it ended, but the top of it was in shadow.

She sniffed the air. Cool, clean air, like the air of the northern mountains of her home.

Outside. They had to be outside. Yet the captain had said quite clearly that this was a cavern.

She shook her head in disbelief. No cavern she had ever heard of was this big. It had to be … miles across. Turning, she looked to the captain. He was standing at the prow, staring directly ahead. Beyond him, where the channel turned to the right, a bridge had come into view—a pale, lacelike thing of stone, spanning the chasm, the carving on its three, high-arched spans as delicate as that on a lady’s ivory fan.

Passing under the bridge the channel broadened, the steep sides of the chasm giving way to the gentler, more rounded slope of hills, the gray and black of rock giving way to a mosslike green. Ahead of them lay a lake of some kind, the jagged shapes of islands visible in the distance, strangely dark amid that huge expanse of glowing water.

 

At first Anna did not realize what she was looking at; then, with a start, she saw that what she had thought were strange outcrops of rock were, in fact, buildings; strangely shaped buildings that mimicked the flowing forms of molten rock. Buildings that had no roofs.

That last made a strange and sudden sense to her. So they were inside. And the water. Of course…Something must be in the water to make it glow like that.

As the boat glided out onto the lake itself, Anna took in for the first time the sheer scale of the cavern.

“It’s magnificent,” she said quietly, awed by it.

The captain turned, glancing at her, surprised by her words. Then, as if conceding something to her, he pointed to his right.

“There. That is where we are headed. See? Just beyond the bluff. It will come into sight in a moment.”

There was a pillar of some kind—a lighthouse maybe, or a monument—just beyond the great heap of rock that lay directly to their right, the top of it jutting up above the bluff. Yet as they rounded the headland, she saw, with astonishment, that the pillar was not as close as she had presumed. Indeed, it lay a good two or three miles distant.

“But it’s…”

“Over three hundred and fifty spans high.”

Anna stared at the great column of twisted rock that lay at the center of the glowing lake. Three hundred and fifty spans! That was over a mile by her own measure! Somehow it didn’t seem natural. The rock looked as if it had been shaped by some giant hand. Looking at it, she wasn’t sure whether it was hideous or beautiful; her eyes were not trained to appreciate so alien an aesthetic.

“What is it called?”

“The ancients called it Ae’Gura,” he answered. “but we simply call it The Island. The city is beyond it, to its right.”

“The city?”

But it was clear that he felt he had said too much already. He looked away, falling silent once again, only the swish of the oars in the water and the creak of the boat as it moved across the lake breaking the eerie silence.

 

 

§

 

 

Veovis sat in the corridor outside Lord Eneah’s study, waiting, while, beyond the door, the elders finished their discussion.

He had been summoned at a moment’s notice, brought here in the Great Lord’s own sedan. That alone said much. Something must have happened—something that the elders wished urgently to consult him about.

Veovis smiled. He had known these men since childhood. He had seen them often with his father, in both formal and informal settings. They ate little and spoke only when a matter of some importance needed uttering. Most of what was “said” between them was a matter of eye contact and bodily gesture, for they had known each other now two centuries and more, and there was little they did not know of each other. He, on the other hand, represented a more youthful, vigorous strain of D’ni thinking. He was, as they put it, “in touch” with the living pulse of D’ni culture.

Veovis knew that and accepted it. indeed, he saw it as his role to act as a bridge between the Five and the younger members of the Council, to reconcile their oft-differing opinions and come up with solutions that were satisfactory to all. Like many of his class, Veovis did not like, nor welcome, conflict, for conflict meant change and change was anathema to him. The Five had long recognized that and had often called on him to help defuse potentially difficult situations before push came to shove.

And so now, unless he was mistaken.

As the door eased open, Veovis got to his feet. Lord Eneah himself stood there, framed in the brightly lit doorway, looking out at him.

“Veovis. Come.”

He bowed, his respect genuine. “Lord Eneah.”

Stepping into the room, he looked about him, bowing to each of the Great Lords in turn, his own father last of all. It was exactly as he had expected; only the Five were here. All others were excluded from this conversation.

As Eneah sat again, in the big chair behind his desk, Veovis stood, feet slightly apart, waiting.

“It is about the intruder,” Eneah said without preamble.

“It seems she is ready,” Lord Nehir of the Stone-Masons, seated to Veovis’s right, added.

“Ready, my Lords?”

“Yes, Veovis,” Eneah said, his eyes glancing from one to another of his fellows, as if checking that what he was about to say had their full approval. “Far more ready, in fact, than we had anticipated.”

“How so, my Lord?”

“She speaks D’ni,” Lord R’hira of the Maintainers answered.

Veovis felt a shock wave pass through him. “I beg your pardon, Lord R’hira?”

But R’hira merely stared at him. “Think of it, Veovis. Think what that means.”

But Veovis could not think. The very idea was impossible. It had to be some kind of joke. A test of him, perhaps. Why, his father had said nothing to him of this!

“I…”

“Grand Master Gihran of the Guild of Linguists visited us earlier today,” Lord Eneah said, leaning forward slightly. “His report makes quite remarkable reading. We were aware, of course, that some progress was being made, but just how much took us all by surprise. It would appear that our guest is ready to face a Hearing.”

Veovis frowned. “I do not understand…”

“It is very simple,” Lord Nehir said, his soft voice breaking in. “We must decide what is to be done. Whether we should allow the young woman to speak openly before the whole Council, or whether she should be heard behind closed doors, by those who might be trusted to keep what is heard to themselves.”

“The High Council?”

His father, Lord Rakeri, laughed gruffly. “No, Veovis. We mean the Five.”

Veovis went to speak then stopped, understanding suddenly what they wanted of him.

Lord Eneah, watching his face closely, nodded. “That is right, Veovis. We want you to make soundings for us. This is a delicate matter, after all. It might, of course, be safe to let the girl speak openly. On the other hand, who knows what she might say? As the custodians of D’ni, it is our duty to assess the risk.”

Veovis nodded, then, “Might I suggest something, my Lords?”

Eneah looked about him. “Go on.”

“Might we not float the idea of two separate Hearings? The first before the Five, and then a second—possibly—once you have had the opportunity to judge things for yourselves?”

“You mean, promise something that we might not ultimately grant?”

“The second Hearing would be dependent on the success of the first. That way you have safeguards. And if things go wrong…”

Eneah was smiling now, a wintry smile. “Excellent,” he said. “Then we shall leave it to you, Veovis. Report back to us within three days. If all is well, we shall see the girl a week from now.”

Veovis bowed low. “As you wish, my Lords.”

He was about to turn and leave, when his father, Rakeri, called him back. “Veovis?”

“Yes, father?”

“Your friend, Aitrus.”

“What of him, father?”

“Recruit him if you can. He’s a useful fellow, and well liked among the new members. With him on your side things should prove much easier.”

Veovis smiled, then bowed again. “As you wish, father.” Then, with a final nod to each of them in turn, he left.

 

 

§

 

 

Eneah sat at his desk long after they had gone, staring at the open sketch pad and the charcoal image of his face. It was some time since he had stared at himself so long or seen himself so clearly, and the thought of what he had become, of the way that time and event had carved his once familiar features, troubled him.

He was, by nature, a thoughtful man; even so, his thoughts were normally directed outward, at that tiny, social world embedded in the rock about him. Seldom did he stop to consider the greater world within himself. But the girl’s drawing had reminded him. He could see now how hope and loss, ambition and disappointment, idealism and the longer, more abiding pressures of responsibility, had marked his flesh. He had thought his face a kind of mask, a stone lid upon the years, but he had been wrong: It was all there, engraved in the pale stone of his skin, as on a tablet, for all who wished to read.

If she is typical…

The uncompleted thought, like the drawing, disturbed him deeply. When he had agreed to the Hearings, he had thought, as they had all thought, that the matter was a straightforward one. The savage would be brought before them, and questioned, and afterward disposed of—humanely, to a Prison Age—and then, in time, forgotten. But the girl was not a simple savage.

Eneah closed the sketch pad, then sighed wearily.

“If she is typical…”

 

 

§

 

 

“Veovis?”

Veovis looked up, no sign of his normal cheeriness in his face. He looked tired, as if he had not slept.

“Ah, Aitrus. I’m glad you’ve come.”

Veovis gestured to the chair facing him. They were in the great Common Room in the Writers Guild Hall. The huge, square room was filled with big, tall-backed armchairs. It was a favorite place for guildsmen to come and talk, but few of the chairs were filled at this early hour of the day.

Veovis smiled faintly, then looked at him. “Lord Eneah summoned me last night.”

“And?”

Veovis lowered his voice. “And they want me to help them.”

“In what way?”

“They want to cancel the Hearings.”

Aitrus sat forward. “But Lord Eneah announced the Hearings before the full Council. He cannot simply cancel them!”

“Exactly. And that is why he hopes I can persuade individual members to let the matter drop.”

“Is that why I am here? To be persuaded?”

“No, old friend. You will decide as you decide. But my father wanted me to speak to you, and so here you are.”

“I don’t follow you, Veovis.”

“He wants you to help me. He thinks you might.”

“And what did you say to him?”

“I said I would speak to you. No more.”

Aitrus laughed. “Come now. No games. Do you want my help or don’t you?”

Veovis smiled. “I’d welcome it. If you’d give it.”

“Then you had better tell me everything.”

 

 

§

 

 

That evening Aitrus did not return to his rooms in the Guild Hall, but went back to the family home in the Jaren District, which was in the upper northeast of the city, overlooking the Park of the Ages. His mother was delighted to see him, but it was his father, Kahlis, he had come to see.

Stepping back from her embrace, Aitrus looked toward the polished stone stairway that led up to the second floor.

“Is Father in his study?”

“He is, but he is very busy, Aitrus. He has a report to finish for the morning.”

Kahlis looked up as Aitrus entered the big, book-lined room, and smiled wearily at him from behind a great stack of papers he was working on. “Ah, Aitrus. How are you?”

“Can I speak with you, Father?”

Kahlis glanced at the paper before him, then, setting his pen back in the inkstand, sat back.

“It is important, I take it?”

Aitrus stepped across and took a seat, facing him. “This matter with the intruder bothers me.”

“How so?”

“I went to see Veovis early this morning. He asked me to call on him at his Guild Hall. His mood was…strange. I asked him what it was, and he said he had been asked to undertake a task, on behalf of the Five, and that he needed my help.”

“And you promised you would help him?”

“Yes.”

“So what exactly is the problem?”

“I do not like what I am doing, Father. I gave my word before I understood what was involved.”

“That is most unlike you, Aitrus.”

“Perhaps. But Veovis is my friend. To refuse him would have been difficult.”

“I understand. But what exactly is it that you find so difficult about the ‘task’ the Five have given you?”

Aitrus stared at his father. “You have heard nothing, then?”

“What ought I to have heard?”

“That the girl now speaks fluent D’ni.”

Kahlis laughed. “You jest with me, Aitrus. Word was she could barely grunt her own name!”

“Then word was wrong.”

Kahlis took that in, his expression sober suddenly. “I see. Then the Hearings will be soon, I take it.”

“That is just it,” Aitrus said. “The Five no longer want to hold such hearings—not before the full Council, anyway. They want the sessions to be held in private, with only themselves in attendance. And they have charged Veovis and myself with the job of persuading members of the Council to that viewpoint.”

Kahlis stared at him. “I am glad you came to me, Aitrus, before any damage could be done. Lord Eneah made a promise to the full Council, and that promise must be upheld.”

Kahlis stood and came around his desk. Aitrus also stood, turning to face his father. “So what will you do?”

“I will go and see Lord Eneah, now, before this matter goes any further. I will tell him that I have heard rumors and that I want his confirmation that they are untrue.”

“Then you will say nothing of my part in this?”

“Of course.” Kahlis held his son’s arms briefly. “Do not worry, Aitrus. I understand the delicacy of your predicament. If Veovis thinks you came to me, he will blame you for whatever trouble follows. But I shall make sure that Lord Eneah does not get that impression.”

“Yet he might guess…”

Kahlis smiled. “Between guessing and knowing is a long dark tunnel. I know it is not in your nature to deceive, Aitrus, but it might be kinder on your friend—yes, and on yourself—if you kept this meeting with me to yourself.”

Aitrus bowed. “I had best go, then.”

“Yes. And Aitrus, thank you. You did the right thing.”

 

 

§

 

 

Lord Eneah was already in bed when his servant knocked on the door.

“Yes, Jedur, what is it?”

A face only a degree or two less ancient than his own poked around the door and stared at him.

“It is Grand Master Kahlis, my Lord. He knows the hour is late, but he begs a meeting. He says it is of the gravest importance.”

Eneah sighed, then slowly sat up. “Ask Master Kahlis to allow me a moment to refresh myself, then I shall come and speak with him.”

“My Lord.” The wizened face disappeared.

Eneah slid his legs around and, throwing back the single cotton cover, put his feet down on the cold stone of the floor. There had been a time when he had enjoyed the luxuries his post had brought him, but nowadays he embraced simplicity in everything.

He walked across to the washstand in the corner of his spartanly-furnished bedroom and, pouring water from a jug into a bowl, washed his face and hands, drying himself with a small cloth.

His cloak of office hung on a peg behind the door. He took it down and pulled it on, buttoning it to the neck.

“There!” he said, smoothing one hand over what remained of his ash white hair, staring at his face in the small mirror he had had placed on the wall only two days ago. “Now let us see what Master Kahlis wants.”

Kahlis was waiting in the study. As Lord Eneah entered the room, he stood hastily, bowing low.

“Forgive me, Lord Eneah…”

Eheah waved the apology away. “What is it, Kahlis? Has it to do with the plans for the new cavern?”

He knew it wasn’t. Kahlis would hardly have got him from his bed for such a matter. No. He knew already what it was. In fact, he had half expected one or other of them to come to see him. The only surprise was that it was so soon.

As Eneah sat, Kahlis stepped forward, standing at the edge of his desk.

“No, my Lord, it has nothing to do with the plans for the new cavern. Rather, it is to do with certain rumors that have been circulating throughout the day.”

“Rumors?” For a moment longer he played innocent, staring back at Kahlis hawkishly. “You wake me to talk of rumors , Master Kahlis?”

“I would not have bothered you with such, Lord Eneah, were they not concerned with a matter of the gravest importance.”

“And what matter would this be?”

“The matter of the hearings.” Kahlis hesitated, then. “Word is that the Five wish to hold the hearings in secret, behind locked doors. Is that so, my Lord?”

For the first time, Eneah smiled. “It is so.”

Kahlis, who had clearly steeled himself for a denial, blinked. Then, “Might I ask why, my Lord?”

Eneah gestured to a chair. “Take a seat, Master Kahlis, and I shall try to explain. It might indeed help us were you to understand our thinking on this matter.”

 

 

§

 

 

Aitrus was seated at his desk in the corner of his study, trying to catch up on his work before he left for the Guild House, when there was a sharp rapping on his door. He stood, then went across and opened it. It was Veovis. Brushing past him, Veovis stormed across and threw himself down on the padded bench, his face dark with suppressed anger.

“Have you heard?”

“Heard? Heard what?”

“The Hearings. They are to go ahead, after all. The Five have changed their minds. They will take place a week from now.”

“Before full Council?”

Veovis nodded, but he was not looking at Aitrus; he was staring straight ahead of him, as if recalling the meeting he had just come from. “It is a mistake. I told Lord Eneah it was a mistake. And they will rue it. But he was adamant. A promise is a promise, he said. Well, I would not argue with that, yet circumstances change.”

“You think it might be dangerous, then, to let the girl speak?”

Veovis glanced at him. “Is there any doubt? No, the more I think of it, the more certain I am. The girl has a natural cunning. It is that, more than anything, that has allowed her to master our tongue.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know it. And I fear that she will use that same native cunning to try to manipulate the Council. Why, I have heard that she has beguiled several of those who were sent to study her, weedling information from them when they least suspected it. And her audacity!”

Aitrus sat, facing Veovis. “Go on.”

Veovis sat forward, staring down at his hands where they were clenched in his lap. “It seems one of the Linguists, thrown off-guard by her act of youthful innocence, mistakenly mentioned the existence of the Rehevkor to her. She, it seems, elicited from him a promise to show her a copy of it.”

“But that is not allowed.”

“Precisely. Which is why a certain Guild Master Haemis has been removed from the study team.”

“Why did you not mention this to me before now?”

“Because I did not know until this morning.”

Aitrus sighed, then shook his head. “You must feel…let down.”

Veovis looked up at him, then nodded.

“So what will you do now?”

“Do?” There was a bitterness now in Veovis’s face that had not been there before. “I can do nothing. I must act the perfect son and sit upon my hands and bite my tongue.”

“Has your father instructed you so?”

“Not in so many words. But how else am I to interpret this?” He shook his head. “But they will rue it, I guarantee you, Aitrus. The girl is cunning.”

“You have seen her?”

“No. And yet I know her by her work. She is a savage, after all, and savages have no morality, only cunning. Her words, I fear, will poison many ears, persuading them to courses they would otherwise have shunned.”

“Then you must set your voice against hers.”

Veovis stared at Aitrus a moment; then, smiling, he nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. It must be so. My voice against hers. Truth against trickery.” And now he grinned. “As ever, you are wisdom itself, Aitrus, yes, and a pillar to me in my despair!”

Veovis stood and came across, and embraced Aitrus. “Here, let me hug you, old friend. I came here despondent and you have filled me with new hope. It shall be as you said. I shall be the voice of reason, a fierce, strong light shining in the darkness.”

Veovis stood back, smiling into Aitrus’s face. “And you, my friend? Will you speak out with me?”

“I shall speak the truth as I see it,” Aitrus said. “I can promise you no more.”

“Then let that be enough. For you will see, Aitrus, I promise you. Do not be blinded by her seeming innocence; think rather of the cunning that lies behind that mask. And as you see, so speak.”

“I shall.”

“Then good. I’ll leave you to your work. And Aitrus?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. You are the very best of friends.”

 

 

§

 

 

The narrow alleyways of the lower city were crowded with onlookers as the procession made its way up that great slope of fashioned rock toward the Great Hall of the Guilds. A small troupe of the City Guard forced a way through, keeping the more curious from the huge palanquin that eight young guildsmen—Maintainers all—carried between two long poles.

From within the partly curtained palanquin, Anna sat in her chair, looking out at the sea of faces that had gathered to see the so-called outsider taken to the Hearings. Some called out to her in their strange tongue that she had yet to fully master, yet few of them seemed hostile. It was more as if she were a curio, an exotic beast captured in some foreign clime and brought back to be displayed before the court.

Anna looked about her, at the men, women, and children that had gathered simply to stare. There were thousands of them, yet every face had that same strange elongation of the features, that almost-human fineness to the bones that she had slowly grown accustomed to these past six months. Indeed, looking in a mirror last night, it had been her own face she had found strange, and looking now she wondered how they saw her. Did they find her nose and mouth too thick and coarse, her cheekbones much too heavy, too pronounced , in her face?

Beyond the gate the crowds thinned out. This was a richer district, the citizens who stood outside their doors dressed opulently now, their curiosity if anything much fiercer than the people of the lower city. And the path, too, was suddenly much broader. A marble path, worn by a million feet to a melted smoothness, winding its way between huge roofless houses that were as different from one another as the houses of the lower city were similar.

Anna noted those differences and nodded inwardly. So it was with societies. For the poor uniformity, of dress and housing, for the rich…well, anything . So her father had pointed out to her years ago when she was still a child, his disillusionment with empires at its darkest ebb.

And today she would face the might of this small empire head on. It was a daunting thought, yet the days alone in her cell on the island had prepared her well for this. They could do their worst and she would still be herself, unbroken and unrepentant. For what should she repent, except that she lost her way? No, it was as her father had always taught her: If she believed in herself then it did not matter what the greater world thought of her. If she could square her conscience with herself then all was well.

And, thinking that, she heard his voice clearly for the first time in long months, encouraging her; saying what he had always said to her:

Be brave, Anna, but before all, be true to yourself.

She would not flinch away from what lay ahead. Whatever was said, whatever they decided, she would bear herself with pride, no matter what.

A welcoming party of senior guild officials waited before the next gate, a massive pile of stone with flanking guard towers and huge, twenty-foot doors.

Anna recognized few of them, but the three who stood at the front of the party were well known to her by now.

“Step down, Ah-na,” Lord Eneah said, approaching the palanquin and putting out a hand to her courteously, “you must walk from here on.”

She let herself be helped down, then stepped between the elderly Gihran and his fellow guildsman, Jimel. Now that she had to trust to her own legs she felt suddenly less confident. Her pulse had noticeably quickened; her heart fluttered briefly in her chest. They were almost there now. She sensed it.

Beyond the gate the street opened out into a square, the ground tilted steeply, as everywhere here in D’ni. Anna looked about her, realizing that she had seen this open space from her cell window many times but never understood its significance—until now.

The Guild House lay ahead of her now, a massive building fronted by huge, six-sided basalt pillars, its massive, tiered roof reaching up toward the ceiling of the great cavern. Standing before it she did not need to be told what it was, for the shields of the different guilds betrayed its function. Guildsmen crowded the covered paths surrounding the great square, young and old, all of them wearing the various-colored cloaks—burgundy, yellow, turquoise, crimson, emerald green, black, pale cream, and royal blue—of the guilds.

As Lord Eneah came alongside, she glanced at the old man, noting how hard and expressionless his face was. Yet she knew him now to be fair if not kind. If anyone would save her, it was he. Master Gihran, she knew, did not like her, and Master Jimel had as good as told her that he thought she should be locked away for good. Only Master Haemis had been kind, and he had been replaced.

At a gesture from Lord Eneah, the party walked on, Anna in their midst.

At least they have not shackled me again.

But then, why should they? What would she have done? Run away? No. For there was nowhere to run to. She stood out, like a goat in a sheep pen.

As they came to the great marble steps that led up into the hall, Gihran leaned close and whispered to her:

“You must keep absolutely silent, unless you are directly requested to speak, you understand, Ah-na? If you speak out of turn, Lord Eneah will order you gagged.”

Anna turned, astonished, to look at him, but the old man merely nodded.

“Our codes of behavior must not be flouted,” he continued, his words almost inaudible as they began to climb the steps. “You must do precisely what you are told, and you must answer every question as it is put. All right?”

Anna nodded, but she suddenly felt anything but all right. The tension that had been in her stomach all the while now threatened to unnerve her. She fought against it; fought against the instinct to let her knees buckle and her head go down.

Her throat was dry now. Her hands trembled.

She stopped dead, straightening her head and clenched her fists into tight balls, controlling the nervous spasm. It was only a hearing, after all, not a trial. She would speak clearly and answer every point, exactly as Master Gihran said. And maybe they would see that she was telling them the truth. For why should she lie?

The Great hall was huge, much bigger than she would have guessed from the outside of the building. A series of steps followed the contours of the walls, at the top of which was a broad marble plinth. On the plinth was a line of massive basalt thrones. Cloaked guildsmen, more than a hundred in number, sat in those great chairs, thick golden chains of office hung about their necks.

There were only two breaks in that great square of thrones: the entrance she had come through and a second door set deep into the rock on the far side of the hall. Lord Eneah led the party on, across that great mosaic floor, then stopped, turning to face Anna.

“You will stand there, Ah’na,” he said commandingly.

She nodded, then watched the old man walk across and take his place on the great throne facing her. Tense now, she looked about her. Most of the seated guildsmen were old—graybeards like Lord Eneah, if not as ancient—but one or two seemed young by D’ni standards. Two in particular caught her eye. They sat side by side, just to the left of Lord Eneah, the first’s black cloak trimmed in bright red, the second’s in a pale blue.

She glanced at their faces, expecting to see there the same indifference that was on Lord Eneah’s features, then looked again, surprised to see how intently each of them looked at her: one curious and one with clear hostility.

Seeing that look, Anna shivered, her blood suddenly cold. There was no mistaking it; whoever he was, the young guildsman clearly hated her.

But why?

“Ah-na!” Lord Eneah said, his voice booming in that great space between the pillars.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You know why you are here?”

She spoke out clearly, letting her voice fill with a confidence she did not entirely feel. “To answer questions, Lord Eneah.”

“Good. But you will keep to the point. You will not stray from the question you are asked. You understand?”

“I understand, my Lord.”

“Good. Then let us begin. We have many questions to get through before we have finished here today.”

 

 

§

 

 

As she climbed up into the sedan and pulled the curtain across, Anna felt a great weariness descend on her. For almost five hours she had stood there, without a break, answering their questions.

She sat down heavily in the cushioned seat, remembering.

Who was she? Where was she born? Who were her parents? What did her father do? To whom did he make his reports? What was Tadjinar like? What form of government did it have? Were there wars where she came from? Did they have machines? What power sources did they use? Were the men of her race honest?

Some of the questions were easy to answer. Others, like the last, were far more difficult. Were men honest? Some, like her father, were. But what of the traders in Jaarnindu Market? What of the inspectors and middlemen who worked for Lord Amanjira? She could hardly claim that they were honest. But the guildsman seemed to want a single answer to the question.

It was the young Guild Master, the one who had glared at her at the outset, who had been so insistent on this matter.

“Well, girl? Are all men honest?”

“No, my Lord. Not all men are honest.”

“Then men are dishonest by nature?”

“Not all men.”

“Come. You cannot have it both ways. Either they are—by nature—or they are not. Which is it?”

“Are all men in D’ni honest by nature, my Lord?”

There had been a sudden tension in the chamber. Lord Eneah stood, seeming suddenly a figure of great power.

“You are here to answer questions, not pose them.”

She had bowed her head, and Lord Eneah, glaring at her, had signaled to his fellow Lords, ending the session. But there was to be another, tomorrow, and a further one if necessary—until she was bled dry of answers.

Anna slumped back against the cushion and closed her eyes as the sedan lifted and began its gentle rocking motion.

With her eyes closed she could see the young man vividly. Veovis, his name had been. He was a handsome, princely man, yet she had noted just how closely he had watched her throughout, the light of suspicion in his eyes at all times.

The other, who sat beside him, had often leaned toward Veovis, to catch a whispered word and sometimes nod. He seemed an ally of Veovis’s, yet his eyes had never once held even the smallest hint of criticism of her. Nor had he asked a single question.

How strange , she thought, seeing his face clearly. A long, severe-looking face; not unattractive, yet not as obviously handsome as Veovis’s. He seemed a studious type. But then, weren’t all the D’ni studious?

The movement of the carriage lulled her. For a moment she dozed, then woke again, not knowing for an instant where she was.

Remembering, she found herself for the first time wondering just what use they would make of the answers she had given. She had seen the tunnels to the surface, and knew they were interested in what went on up there, but she could not make out just what they planned to do with the information she had given them. Some things seemed to have interested them more than others. For instance, they had seemed extremely interested in her answer as to whether her people were warlike or not. Did that mean they planned, perhaps, to invade the surface? Was that why the tunnels were there?

More to the point, did she really care? Lord Amanjira aside, she did not feel close to anyone in Tadjinar—no, nor in the entire empire. Those she had loved were dead. So did it matter?

Of course it matters, the voice inside her answered. The weight of your words could determine the fate of empires. Besides, war of any kind is bad. Think of the suffering, Anna.

The thought of it troubled her. Ought she, perhaps, to refuse to say anything more? Or had she said too much already?

The trouble was, she knew so little about these people. Whereas she had answered every question, they had taken great care to keep as much as possible from her. As if she were a spy.

Anna let out a long, sighing breath. Was that what they thought? That she had come to spy on them?

Were it not so serious a matter, she might have laughed. A spy! Why, the idea of it!

Yet even as she thought of it, she recalled the hostility in the young guildsman’s face and wondered whether that might not be the cause.

They think I threaten them.

The thought was sobering. And suddenly, for the first time since those early days on Irrat, Anna began to wonder if her life was not possibly in danger.

 

 

§

 

 

“Well?” Lord Eneah asked later that evening when the Five were finally alone together. “Do you still think she is a threat, Nehir?”

Nehir, who had just taken a seat on the far side of the desk to Eneah, looked up, his pale eyes challenging.

“Not her, Eneah, but what she says. Personally, I think we have heard enough.”

“I agree,” Rakeri said, leaning forward in his chair. “What she is in herself does not concern us here; it is the threat that contact with her people might entail.”

“You feel there is a genuine threat, then?”

Rakeri met Eneah’s eyes and gave a single nod. “As you know, I did not agree with Veovis at first, but I feel my son’s views have been fully vindicated. If what the girl says is true—and I believe it is—then the surface-dwellers are a backward, warlike, immoral race, whose every action is motivated by greed.”

“You read that much into her words?”

“I did indeed. Why, her every utterance spoke of a deep corruption in their natures!”

“I agree,” R’hira said quietly, speaking from his seat in the corner of the room. “I think we need hear no more. It would be folly even to think of establishing contact with the outsiders.”

“And you, Sajka?”

Sajka, the most recently appointed of the Five, simply nodded.

“Then, so we shall propose.” Eneah looked about him. “I shall summon the full Council to session tomorrow at tenth bell. There is, however, one small matter that still needs to be settled, and that is what to do with the girl.”

“Send her back,” Rakeri suggested.

“Far too risky,” R’hira countered. “It is unlikely, I admit, but someone might believe her tale and come looking for us.”

“Then maybe we should place her on a Prison Age,” Nehir said. “It need not be a harsh one. Somewhere pleasant, possibly. We could even make a new one for her, if need be.”

“Pleasant or otherwise, do you think that would be just reward for her honesty with us, Nehir?” Eneah’s eyes went from one to another of their faces, silently questioning each in turn, then he nodded.

“So it is. The girl will stay here, in D’ni. We shall find a home for her, temporarily, until it is decided fully. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

Sajka, who had not spoken until then, looked about him, a wintry smile on his thin lips, and nodded. “Agreed.”

 

 

§

 

 

Veovis was ecstatic. That evening he threw a celebratory party at an inn down by the harbor. Aitrus, who had never found time to visit such places, tried hard to make his excuses, but Veovis would have none of it.

And so Aitrus found himself wedged into a corner of a huge dining room packed with busy tables, while all about him a dozen young guildsmen—some familiar to him, others only “faces”—dipped their goblets into the great central vat that rested at the table’s center and drank to the young Lord’s success.

“It was that final question that did it,” Suahrnir said, his face glowing with excitement. “After that, it was a mere formality.”

“Maybe so,” Veovis said, standing up and looking to Aitrus across the table, “but let me say one thing that has not been said. I was wrong about he girl.”

“Wrong?” several voices said as one.

Veovis raised his hands, palms out. “Hear me out, gentlemen! Before the hearing I was quite clear in my mind what kind of creature she would prove to be, and if you recall I was not hesitant in saying so!”

There was laughter at that and a great deal of nodding.

“However,” Veovis went on, “I was wrong, and I am not too proud to admit it. Whatever the merits or otherwise of her race, the girl spoke well. Yes, and honestly, I warrant. I think we all sensed that.”

There was a murmur of agreement and more nodding of heads.

“Word is,” Veovis continued, “that she is to stay in D’ni. Now, whether that is for the common good or not remains to be seen, but so our Masters have decided, and I feel we should, this once, wait and see. That said, we must remain vigilant.”

“What do you mean?” Veovis’s constant companion, Lianis, asked from where he sat to the left of the young Lord.

“I mean we ought not to let the girl become a focus for any movement to reverse today’s decision. No contact ought to mean exactly that. No contact.”

“And if she proves such a focus, Veovis?” Suhrnir asked.

Veovis smiled and looked about him confidently. “Then we should act to have her removed from D’ni to some more suitable place.”

Aitrus, who had been listening closely, frowned. A Prison Age, that was what Veovis meant. Yet he could not deny that his friend was being as fair as he could be, considering his views.

Aitrus reached out and took his goblet, cradling it to his chest. He was pleased that Veovis was so happy, yet he could not share their jubilation at today’s decision. Perhaps it was as Veovis said, that he was letting sentiment cloud his better judgment, but part of him was still back there in the rock, making his way up to the surface, with Master Telanis and Jerahl and all the others who had gone on that youthful venture. Whatever he had become these past thirty years, he could not shed that earlier self.

Watching the girl speak, it had finally crystallized in him. He knew now that he wanted contact: wanted, more than anything, to stand up there and see, with his own eyes, what the surface was like.

But how could he say that to Veovis and remain his friend? For to Veovis the very idea of it was anathema.

“Guild Master Aitrus?”

The voice cut through the general babble of voices at the table. Aitrus looked up, expecting it to be one of the young guildsmen, then saw, just behind Lianis, a cloaked guildsman from the Guild of Messengers.

Silence fell around the table, Aitrus set down his goblet, then stood. “What is it?” he asked.

“An urgent message, Master,” the Messenger answered, drawing off one of his gloves, then taking a sealed letter from his tunic pocket. “I was told to ensure that you act upon its contents immediately.”

With a smile, Veovis put out a hand. “Here. I’ll hand it to my friend.”

The Messenger looked to Aitrus, who nodded. With a small bow to Veovis, he handed the letter to him, then stood back, pulling on his glove again.

Veovis turned back, then handed the letter across. “Urgent business, eh, old friend? That looks like Lord Eneah’s seal.”

Aitrus stared at the envelope a moment. Veovis was right. It was Lord Eneah’s seal. But when he opened it, the note was not from Lord Eneah, but from his father.

He looked up. “Forgive me, Veovis, but I must leave at once.”

“Is there trouble?” Veovis asked, genuinely concerned.

Aitrus swallowed. “It does not say.”

“Then go,” Veovis said, signaling to the others about the table to make way. “Go at once. But let me know, all right? If there is anything I can do…”

Aitrus, squeezing past his fellow guildsmen, gave a distracted nod. Then he was gone.

Veovis sat, staring across the crowded room, his face briefly clouded. Then, looking back at the others about the table, he smiled and raised his goblet. “To D’ni!” he exclaimed.

A dozen voices answered him robustly. “To D’ni!”

 

 

§

 

 

Kahlis stood in the entrance hall, pacing up and down, awaiting his son. It was midnight and the city bell was sounding across the lake.

As the last chime echoed into silence, he heard the outer gate creak back and hurried footsteps on the stone flags outside. A shadow fell across the colored glass of the door panels.

Kahlis stepped across and drew the bolt, pulling the door open.

Aitrus stood there, wide-eyed and breathless. From the look of him he had run the last half mile.

“What’s happened?” he said, looking past his father.

Kahlis closed the door. “Come upstairs, Aitrus.”

They went up, into his study. Closing the door quietly, Kahlis turned to him.

“I have been asked to look after the outsider for a time. Lord Eneah summoned me this evening and asked me if I would take the girl, Ah-na, into my household, as a temporary measure. Until better arrangements can be made. He asked me because he understood my concern for the young woman.”

“And you want me to agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“Then I agree.”

Kahlis went to speak again, then realized what his son had said. “You agree?”

“I take it Mother has agreed. And you must have, else you would not be asking me.”

In answer Kahlis went over to the door and opened it, then called down the steps. “Tasera!”

His mother’s head and shoulders appeared at the foot of the stairs.

“Tasera,” Kahlis said, “bring the young lady. I wish to introduce her to our son.”

 

 

§

 

 

As she stepped into the book-filled study, Anna looked about her warily.

“Aitrus,” Kahlis said, “this is Ah-na. She is to be our house guest for a time.”

Aitrus bowed his head respectfully. “I am glad you will be staying with us.”

“Thank you,” she said, their eyes meeting briefly as he lifted his head again. “I am grateful for your kindness in letting me stay.”

“You are welcome,” Tasera interrupted, coming across to take Anna’s arm. “Now if you would excuse us, I must see Anna to her room.”

The brevity of the welcome surprised her; yet she turned and followed the woman out and down the corridor.

“Here,” Tasera said, opening a door and putting out an arm. “This will be your room.”

Anna stepped inside, surprised. Compared to the Lodge, it was luxurious. Anna turned and bowed her head.

“You are too kind, Tasera. Much too kind.”

 

 

§

 

 

Aitrus was walking across the open space between the main Guild House and the Great Library when Veovis stepped from a group of guildsmen and made to intercept him. It was more than a week since they had last met, in the inn beside the harbor.

“Aitrus! Did you get my note?”

Aitrus stopped. “Your note…Ah, yes. I have been busy.”

Veovis smiled, putting out his hands to Aitrus who took them in a firm grip.

“So what is she like?”

“She seems…polite. Well mannered.”

“Seems?”

Aitrus found himself oddly defensive. “It’s my impression.”

“Then you think she is genuine?”

“Didn’t you? I thought you said as much?”

Veovis smiled, defusing the situation. “That was my impression, I grant you. But then, I am not living with her—day in, day out. If there are any cracks in that mask of hers, you would see them, no?”

“If there were.”

“Oh, I am not saying that there are . It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Just that we ought to be totally certain, don’t you think?”

For some reason the idea of checking up on the girl offended Aitrus.

“She seems…unsettled,” he said, after a moment, wanting to give Veovis something.

“Unsettled? How?”

“Maybe it is just the strangeness of everything here. It must be hard to adapt to D’ni after living under an open sky.”

“Does she miss her home?”

“I am not sure. To be honest, I have not asked her.”

Veovis laughed. “What you really mean is that you have not spoken to her yet.”

“As I said, I have been busy. Helping my father, mainly.”

Veovis stared at Aitrus a moment, then reached out and held his arm. “You should take a break some time, Aitrus. And when you do, come and visit me, on K’veer. And bring the girl.”

“That would be nice.”

“Soon, then,” Veovis said, and without another word, he turned and walked away.

Aitrus watched Veovis a moment—saw him return to the group he had left earlier, greeting them again, at ease among them—then smiled to himself as he walked away. To be honest, he had dreaded meeting Veovis again, knowing how Veovis felt about the “outsider.” He had thought, perhaps, that his friend would be angry that the girl was staying with his family, but his fears, it seemed, had been illusory.

His smile broadened as he hastened his pace, knowing he was late now for his meeting.

K’veer. It would be nice to take the girl to see K’veer.

 

 

§

 

 

The room was a workroom or lab of some kind. Anna hesitated, looking behind her at the empty corridor, then slipped inside, pulling the door closed.

You should not be in here, Anna, she told herself, yet that old familiar compulsion to explore was on her. Besides, she would not stay long, and she would not disturb anything.

There was a long, stone-topped bench along the left-hand side of the room, a big low table in the middle, complete with sinks and gas taps. On the far wall a number of small shelves held all manner of jars and bottles. To the right of the room, in the far corner, was a desk and a chair, and on the wall above a set of shelves on which were many notebooks.

She put her hand out, touching the cool, hard surface of the bench. It had been scrubbed clean and when she lifted her hand, she could smell a strange scent to it. What was that? Coal tar? Iodine?

Slowly she walked about the room, picking things up then placing them back. Most of the equipment was familiar, yet there were one or two things that were strange to her. One in particular caught her attention. It was a small bronze jar with eight lips, beneath each of which was a tiny bowl. A bronze ball sat on a tiny stand at the very center of the jar, balanced above all else.

Anna crouched down onto its level, staring at it for a time, then walked on, over to the far corner of the room.

Only two things were on the surface of the desk; an elaborately decorated inkstand made of fine blue jade and, just beside the stand, a pair of glasses.

Anna picked them up and studied them. The lenses were thick and seemed to be constructed of several very fine layers that acted as light filters of some kind. About each of the lenses was a tight band of expandable material which, in turn, was surrounded by a thick leather band, studded with tiny metal controls. She adjusted them, noting how they changed the opacity of the lenses, and smiled to herself. Then, on a whim, she tried them on. Strange. They were very tight. Airtight, probably, on the person for whom they were designed. And, wearing them, it became very dark.

Again she adjusted the controls, varying the light.

Taking them off, she set them down again, wondering what precisely they were used for. Mining? To protect the eyes against chips of rock? But if so, then why the varying opacity?

Anna half-turned toward the door, listening for a moment, then, turning back to face the shelves, she reached up and took one of the journals down. Inside the pages were filled with strange writing, totally unlike any script she had ever seen before. Flicking through a few pages she stopped, staring in admiration at a diagram on the right-hand page. There were more farther on, all of them intricately drawn, the lines fine yet dark, the shading subtle. They spoke of a highly organized mind.

She closed the journal and set it back in its place, then, with a final look about her, hurried from the room.

It was no good. She would have to do something or she would die of boredom.

Distracted, she almost bowled into Aitrus.

“Come,” he said quietly. “We need to speak.”

Anna followed him, surprised. He had barely said a word to her all week. She was even more surprised when he led her along the corridor and into the workroom she had been exploring.

Did he know? Was that what this was about?

Inside, Aitrus closed the door, then gestured for her to take the chair beside the desk. He seemed awkward.

“Here,” he said, turning to reach up and take down one of the books that were on the topmost shelf. He offered it to her. “That is a history of D’ni. It is a child’s book, of course, but…”

Aitrus stopped. She was staring at the pages blankly.

“What is it?”

She looked up at him, then, closing the book, handed it back to him. “I cannot read this.”

“But I thought…” He shook his head, then, “You mean, you learned to speak D’ni, but not to read it?”

Anna nodded.

Aitrus stared at the book a moment, then set it down and turned, searching among the bottom shelves until he found something. It was a big, square-covered book with a dark amber leather cover. He pulled it out from among the other books; turning, he offered it to Anna.

“Here. This is the key to all.”

Anna took it, studying the beautifully tooled leather cover a moment before opening it. Inside, on heavy vellum pages, were set out columns of beautifully intricate figures—more like designs than letters.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Is this what I think it is? Is this the D’ni lexicon?”

“The Rehevkor ,” he said, nodding.

She looked back at the page, smiling sadly now. “But I do not know what they mean.”

“Then I shall teach you,” Aitrus said, his pale eyes watching her seriously.

“Are you sure that is allowed?”

“No,” he answered, “but I will teach you anyway.”

 

 

§

 

 

Anna sat at the prow of the boat as it approached the island, Aitrus just behind her, standing, his right hand resting lightly on the rail.

“So that is K’veer,” she said quietly. “I saw it once before, when they brought me from Irrat.”

Aitrus nodded. “It has been their family home for many years.”

“I remember thinking how strange it was. Like a great drill bit poking up from the bottom of the lake.”

He smiled at that.

“So who is this Veovis?”

“He is the son of Lord Rakeri, Grand Master of the Guild of Miners.”

“And he, too, in a Miner?”

“No. Veovis is a Master of the Guild of Writers.”

“You have a Guild of Writers? Are they important?”

“Oh, very much so. Perhaps the most important of all our guilds.”

“Writers?”

He did not answer her.

She looked back at him surprised. Slowly the island grew, dominating the view ahead of them.

“Has Veovis many brothers and sisters?”

“None. He is an only child.”

“Then why so huge a mansion?”

“Lord Rakeri often entertains guests. Or did before his illness.”

Anna was quiet for a time as they drifted slowly toward the island. There was a small harbor directly ahead of them now, and beneath a long, stone jetty, a dark, rectangular opening.

“Does your friend Veovis dislike me?”

The question surprised Aitrus. “Why do you ask?”

“I ask because he stared at me throughout the hearing.”

“Is that so unusual? I stared.”

“Yes, but not as he did. He seemed hostile toward me. And his questions…”

“What of his questions?”

She shrugged, then, “Did he ask you to bring me?”

“He invited you specifically.”

“I see.”

Yet she seemed strangely distant, and Aitrus, watching her, wondered what was going on in her head. He wanted Veovis and her to be friends. It would be so easy if they were friends, but as it was he felt awkward.

“Veovis can be outspoken sometimes.”

“Outspoken?”

“I thought I ought to warn you that’s all. He can be a little blunt, even insensitive at times, but he is well meaning. You should not be afraid of him.”

Anna gave a little laugh. “I am not afraid, Aitrus. Not of Veovis, anyway.”

 

 

§

 

 

They spent hours, it seemed, just going from room to room in the great mansion that was built into the rock of K’veer, Veovis delighting in showing Anna every nook and cranny.

At first Anna had been wary, but as time went on she seemed to succumb to the young Lord’s natural charm, and Aitrus, looking on, found himself relaxing.

As they climbed the final flight of steps that led onto the veranda at the top of the island, Aitrus found himself wondering how he could ever have worried about these two not getting along.

“The stone seemed fused,” Anna was saying, as they came out through the low arch and into the open again. “It is almost as if it has been melted and then molded.”

“That is precisely what has happened,” Veovis answered her with an unfeigned enthusiasm. “It is a special D’ni process, the secret of which is known only to the guilds concerned.”

They stepped out, into the center of the veranda. There was a tiled roof overhead, but the view was open now on all four sides. All about them the lake stretched away, while in the distance they could see the great twisted rock of Ae’Gura and, to its right, the city.

They were high up here, but the great walls of the cavern stretched up far above them, while overhead there were faint clouds, like feathered cirrus. Anna laughed.

“What is it?” Veovis asked.

“It’s just that I keep thinking I am outside. Oh, the light is very different, but…well, it’s just so big.”

Veovis looked to Aitrus and smiled, then gestured toward a group of lounging chairs that rested at one end of the veranda.

“Shall we sit here for a while? I can have the servants bring us something.”

“That would be nice,” Anna said, looking to Aitrus and smiling.

As Veovis went to arrange refreshments, Anna and Aitrus sat.

“He’s very pleasant,” she said quietly. “I can understand why he is your friend.”

“So you’ve forgiven him?”

“Forgiven him?”

“For scowling at you.”

“Ah…” Anna laughed. “Long ago.”

Aitrus smiled. “I’m glad, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I wanted you to be friends. It would have been hard otherwise.”

Anna frowned. “I didn’t know.”

“I…”

He fell silent. Veovis had returned. The young Lord came across and, taking the chair between them, looked from one to another.

His eyes settled on Anna. “Can I be honest with you, Ah-na?”

Anna looked up. “Honest? In what way?”

Veovus grinned. “We are alike, you and I. We are both straightforward people.” He looked pointedly at Aitrus. “ Blunt , some call it. But let me say this. I was not disposed to like you. Indeed, I was prepared to actively dislike you. But I must speak as I find, and I find that I like you very much.”

She gave the smallest little nod. “Why, thank you, Lord Veovis.”

“Oh, do not thank me, Ah’na. I did not choose to like you. But like you I do. And so we can be friends. But I must make one or two things clear. I am D’ni. And I am jealous of all things D’ni. We are a great and proud people. Remember that, Ah’na. Remember that at all times.”

Anna stared at him a moment, surprised by that strange and sudden coldness in him, then answered him.

“And I, my Lord, am human, and proud of being so. Remember that ,” she smiled pointedly, “at all times.”

Veovis sat back, his eyes studying Anna thoughtfully. Then, more cheerfully than before, he smiled and slapped his knees. “Well…let us forget such somber stuff. Aitrus…how go the plans for the new cavern?”

 

 

§

 

 

On the journey home Anna was silent, locked in private thoughts. Aitrus, sitting across from her, felt more than ever how alien their worlds were. What, after all, did they really know about each other?

“Ah-na?”

She looked up, a deep melancholy in her eyes. “Yes?”

“What would you like to do?”

Anna turned her head, staring out across the lake. “I’d like to understand it all, that’s what. To know where all the food comes from. It mystifies me. It’s like something’s missing and I can’t see what it is.”

“And you want me to tell you what it is?”

She looked to him. “Yes, I do. I want to know what the secret is.”

He smiled. “This evening,” he said mysteriously, sitting back and folding his arms. “I’ll take you there this evening.”

 

 

§

 

 

Aitrus unlocked the door, then stood back.

“You want me to go inside?”

He nodded.

Anna shrugged. She had noticed the door before now. It had always been locked, and she had assumed it was a store cupboard of some kind. But inside it was a normal room, except that in the middle of the floor was a marble plinth, and on the plinth was an open book—a huge, leather-bound book.

Anna looked to Aitrus. “What is this room?”

Aitrus locked the door then turned to her again. “This is the Book Room.”

“But there is only one book.”

He nodded, then, with a seriousness she had not expected, said, “You must tell no one that you came here. Not even my mother and father. Do you understand?”

“Are we doing something wrong?”

“No. Yet it may be forbidden.”

“Then perhaps…”

“No, Anna. If you are to live here, you must understand. You have too simple a view of who we are. It… disfigures your understanding of us.”

Disfigures . It was a strange word to use. Anna stared at him, then shook her head. “You frighten me, Aitrus.”

Aitrus stepped up to the plinth and stared down at the book fondly.

Anna stepped alongside him, looking down at the open pages. The left-hand page was blank, but on the right…

Anna gasped. “It’s like a window.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Now give me your hand.”

 

 

§

 

 

Anna felt the surface of her palm tingle, then, with a sudden, sickening lurch, she felt herself drawn into the page. It grew even as she shrank, sucking her into the softly glowing image.

For a moment it was as if she were melting, fusing with the ink and paper, and then, with a suddenness that was shocking, she was herself again, in her own body.

Only she was no longer in the room.

The air was fresh and heavy with pollen. A faint breeze blew from the shelf of rock just in front of her. And beyond it…

Beyond it was a vividly blue sky.

Her mouth fell open in astonishment, even as Aitrus shimmered into solidity beside her.

He put his hand out, holding her arm as a wave of giddiness swept over her. She would have fallen but for him. Then it passed and she looked at him again, her words an awed whisper.

“Where are we?”

“Ko’ah,” he said. “This is my family’s Age.”

 

 

§

 

 

Anna stood on the top of the escarpment, looking out over a rich, verdant landscape that took her breath away, it was so beautiful. Flat, rolling pasture was broken here and there by tiny coppices, while close by the foot of the hill on which she stood, a broad, slow-moving river wound its way out across the plain, small grassy moundlike islands embedded like soft green jewels in its sunlit surface.

To her right a line of mountains marched into the distance, birds circling in the clear blue sky above them.

Sunlight beat down on her neck and shoulders; not the fierce, destructive heat of the desert but a far softer, more pleasant warmth.

“Well?” Aitrus asked, from where he sat, just behind her, staring out through the strange, heavy glasses that he now wore. “What do you think of Ko’ah?”

Anna turned, looking back at him. “I think you have enchanted me. Either that or I am still in bed and dreaming.”

Aitrus reached out and plucked a nearby flower, then handed it to her. She took the pale blue bud and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its rich, perfumed scent.

“Are your dreams as real as this?”

She laughed. “No.” Then, more seriously, “You said you would explain.”

Reaching into his pocket, Aitrus took out a small, leather-bound book. He stared at it a moment, then handed it to her.

“Is this another of those books?” she asked, opening it and seeing that it contained D’ni writing.

“It is. But different from the one we used to come here. This book links back to D’ni. It is kept here, in the small cave we went to.

“The words in that book describe the place to which we link back—the study in my family’s mansion in D’ni. It was written there. Without it we would be trapped here.”

“I see,” she said, staring at the thin volume with new respect. “But where exactly are we? Are we in the pages of a book, or are we actually somewhere?”

His smile was for her quickness. “There is, perhaps, some way of calculating precisely where we are—by the night-time stars, maybe—but all that can be said for certain is that we are elsewhere. In all likelihood, we are on the other side of the universe from D’ni.”

“Impossible.”

“You could say that. But look about you, Anna. This world is the Age that is described in the book back in the room in D’ni. It conforms precisely to the details in that book. In an infinite universe, all things are possible—within physical limits, that is—and any book that can be written does physically exist. Somewhere. The book is the bridge between the words and the physical actuality. Word and world are linked by the special properties of the book.”

“It sounds to me like magic.”

Aitrus smiled. “Maybe. But we have long since stopped thinking of it as such. Writing such books is a difficult task. One cannot simply write whatever comes into one’s head. There are strict rules and guidelines, and the learning of those rules is a long and arduous business.”

“Ah,” she said. “I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“What you said about Writers. I thought…” Anna laughed. “You know, Aitrus, I would never have guessed. Never in a thousand years. I thought you D’ni were a dour, inward-looking people. But this…well…you are true visionaries!”

Aitrus laughed.

“Why, the great cavern in D’ni is like a giant skull, filled with busy thoughts, and these books—well, they are like the dreams and visions that come from such intense mental activity!”

Aitrus stared at her a moment, then shook his head. “You are amazing, Ah-na. Why, I have lived in D’ni more than fifty years and never once have I thought of such a thing!”

“Different eyes,” she said, looking pointedly at him, “that’s all it is. Sometimes it takes a total stranger to see the obvious.”

“Perhaps so.”

“But tell me, Aitrus. You spoke of the book’s special properties. What exactly did you mean?”

He looked away. “Forgive me, Ah-na, but perhaps I have already said too much. Such things are great secrets. Grave and greatly guarded secrets, known to only the Guilds.”

“Like the Guild of Ink-Makers?”

Aitrus glanced at her, then smiled. “Yes, and the Guild of Books who manufacture the paper…and, of course, the Guild of Writers.”

“And the writing in the books…is it different from the writing you have been teaching me?”

“Yes.”

For a moment Anna stared at the book in her hands; then, closing it up, she handed it back to him.

She turned, looking about her once again, savoring the feel of the cool and gentle breeze on her arms and neck. Her hand went to her neck, drawing back the fine silk of her long, lustrously dark hair.

“It must have been cruel for you,” Aitrus said, watching her, a strange expression coming to his eyes, “being locked up.”

“It was.” She glanced around at him, then smiled—a bright smile, full of the day’s sunlight. “But let’s forget that now. Come, Aitrus. Let us go down to the river.”

 

 

§

 

 

That evening neither Aitrus nor Anna spoke a word about their visit to Ko’ah. But later, in her room, the impossibility of it struck Anna forcibly. She sat on the edge of the bed, her mouth open in astonished recollection.

In that instant after she had “linked,” she had never felt more scared. No, nor more exhilarated. And the world itself. Ko’ah . Sitting there, she could scarcely believe that she had really been there. It had seemed so strange and dreamlike. Yet in a small glass vase on the table at her side was the pale blue flower Aitrus had given her.

Anna leaned close, inhaling its scent.

It had been real. As real as this. The very existence of the flower was proof of it. But how could that be? How could simple words link to other places?

On their return from Ko’ah, Aitrus had shown her the Book, patiently taking her through page after page, and showing her how such an Age was “made.” She had seen at once the differences between this archaic form and the ordinary written speech of D’ni, noting how it was not merely more elaborate but more specific: a language of precise yet subtle descriptive power. Yet seeing was one thing, believing another. Given all the evidence, her rational mind still fought against accepting it.

Beside the Book itself, Aitrus had gone on to show her the books of commentary—three in all, the last containing barely a dozen entries. All Books, he said, were accompanied by such commentaries, which were notes and observations on the Ages. Some of the more ancient Ages—like Nidur Gemat—had hundreds of books of commentary.

She had asked about it.

“Nidur Gemat?”

“It is one of six worlds belonging to Veovis’s family.”

“Ah, I see. And do all the D’ni own such Ages?”

“No. Only the older families own such Ages. The rest—the common people of D’ni—use the Book Rooms.”

“You mean, there are common worlds, that everyone can visit?”

“Yes. In fact, until my father became Grand Master of our guild, we did not have our own Age. Ko’ah was written for my father twenty years ago.”

“And before that?”

“We would visit the Guild Ages. Or Ages owned by friends.”

Anna had smiled at that. “That is some incentive.”

“Incentive?”

“To work hard and make one’s way in the guild. Is there no resentment among the common people?”

Aitrus had shrugged. “Not that I know of. The Common Ages are free to everyone. It is not as if they are denied.”

“No, but…” She had let the matter drop, returning her attention to the first of the books of commentary. “What is this?” she had asked after a moment, looking up at him, again.

There had been a stamped impression on the page, beneath a paragraph of small, neat writing in a bright green ink.

“That is an inspection. By the Guild of Maintainers. They ensure that all Ages are maintained according to Guild laws.”

“And if they are not?”

“Then the Book can be confiscated and the owner punished.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Not often. All know the penalty for misdemeanors. To own an Age is an immense responsibility. Few are trusted.”

“And yet you took me there.”

He had hesitated, then looking at her directly, he had nodded. “Yes, I did,” he said.

 

 

§

 

 

Anna slept well that night, and if she dreamed she did not recall it when she woke. Refreshed, she sat up, looking across at the delicate blue flower in its vase beside her bed, her mind at once filled with the wonder of what she had witnessed the day before.

Aitrus was not at breakfast, and at first she thought that maybe he had left early to go to the Guild Hall, but then, at the last moment, as she was finishing her meal, he rushed into the room in a state of immense excitement.

“Anna! Wonderful news! Veovis is to be given a Korfah V’ja!”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

He laughed. “I’m sorry. The Korfah V’ja is a special ceremony to mark the Guild’s acceptance of his Book—his first Master work, that is. It is a momentous event. Few guildsmen are ever given one, and Veovis is immensely young to have been granted such an honor!”

“And Veovis…he wrote this Book? Like the Age we went to?”

Aitrus nodded. “Only much better. Incomparably better.”

The thought of that made her reassess Lord Veovis. She had thought him merely a rich man’s son, a politician. She had not even considered that he was also a “creator,” let alone a great one.

“Then it will be a great occasion, no?”

“The greatest for many a year. All of D’ni society will be there. And you must come with us, Anna!”

She looked down. Usually she hated social occasions, but the thought of seeing all of D’ni society—and of meeting Lord Veovis once again—filled her with a strange excitement.

“When is it to be?” she asked, looking back at Aitrus.

“A week from now,” he answered. “On the anniversary of Kerath’s homecoming.”

 

 

§

 

 

It was a small ceremony. The six assistant grand masters and the Grand Master, Lord Sajka himself, stood in a half circle on the great platform, while the celebrant, Veovis, stood before them, his Book, the work of sixteen long years, on the podium before him.

The day was bright and springlike, the blue sky dotted with clouds. In the distance, snow-capped mountains marched toward the south and the great ocean. Below them the great plains stretched away to east and west and south, while to the north the ancient settlement of Derisa was tucked into a fold of hills.

This was the oldest of the guild’s many Ages—the Age of Yakul, made by the first great Writer of the Guild, Ar-tenen, and here, traditionally, the first official ceremony took place.

There would be a second, more public, ceremony later, on Veovis’s own world of Ader Jamat, at which this moment would be reenacted for all to see, but this seemingly low-key event was by far the more important.

Each of the seven senior members of the guild had read the great work that was today accepted into the guild’s own canon, and each had given their separate approval for this ultimate recognition of the young Guild Master’s talent. It was 187 years since the last Korfah V’ja and it would be many years before another. Only ninety-three Books had been accepted into the canon in the whole of the long history of the guild—among them the Five Great Classics of D’ni—and only four guildsmen had ever received this honor younger than the man who now stood before them. Among those four was the legendary Ri’Neref.

A faint breeze gusted across the open space, rustling their cloaks, as Lord Sajka, Grand Master of the Guild of Writers, stepped forward and, in a tongue as distinct from the common speech of D’ni as that of the surface-dwellers, pronounced the Words of Binding.

And then it was done. As Veovis bowed his head to his peers, Lord Sajka smiled and, in the common speech, said:

“Well done, Veovis. We are all immensely proud of you.”

Veovis looked up and smiled, conscious of the great honor being accorded him.

“My Lord, Guild Masters…I hope to prove worthy of your approval. It is a great privilege to be a member of the Guild of Writers, and I count myself blessed the day I chose to enter it.”

And so it was done.

As, one by one, the elders linked back to D’ni, Veovis turned and looked about him at the ancient world of Yakul, and wondered if, one day, several thousand years hence, some other guildsman would stand on an Age he had written and wonder, as he now wondered, what kind of man it was whose imagination had wrought the connections to such a world as this.

He turned and walked over to the linking book. It was time to return to D’ni, to pause and reflect before beginning the next chapter in his life. For his next work would be something other, he was determined on it; not just a great work but a classic.

But before all, celebration. For today was his day. Today he became a great man, honored before all D’ni.

Veovis placed his hand against the glowing panel and linked, a smile appearing on his lips even as his figure shimmered and then faded into the air.

 

 

§

 

 

On the boat across to K’veer, Anna began to have second thoughts about meeting so many strangers at the ceremony.

With Aitrus it was fine, for it was only the two of them, as it had been with her father, but with all others, even with Aitrus’s parents, she felt ill at ease. She was not by any means a social creature. How she should act and what she should say, these things were a complete mystery to her.

It does not matter, Aitrus had said to her. They do not expect you to behave as they behave.

Now, as the island grew nearer and she could see the great host of boats queuing to enter the tiny harbor, she felt her nervousness return.

Last night, before her conversation with Aitrus, there had been a strange little scene in Kahlis’s study. Knowing that his father knew nothing of their ventures into Ko’ah, Aitrus had had his father “explain” about Books to Anna, and she, schooled by Aitrus in what to say and how to react, had pretended that it was all completely new to her.

Kahlis had clearly been concerned; not only at Anna’s possible reaction but by the problem of just how much to tell her. Aitrus, however, had convinced him that had Lord Eneah not meant her to know, then he would have given explicit instructions to that effect. Kahlis would, indeed, have gone to see Lord Eneah had the great man not taken to his bed again with a recurrence of his illness.

And so Kahlis had “prepared” her, telling her that she must expect a great surprise, and that she was not to be afraid, for all that she would experience was quite normal. And she, prompted by Aitrus, had feigned that she understood, even though she would barely have recognized the process of “linking” from the description Aitrus’s father had given her. It had been vague almost to the point of willfulness.

As their boat joined the great queue of boats, Anna could see, on the decks, endless guildsmen and their wives and sons and daughters, all of them dressed in their best finery. Looking at them, Anna felt her spirits sink again. She should never have come. Then her father’s voice sounded clearly in her head.

Don’t worry, Anna. Just be yourself.

 

 

§

 

 

It was almost an hour before their boat drew up alongside the stone jetty and they climbed the dark granite steps, up onto the marble-flagged forecourt. Facing them was the carved stone gate that surrounded the massive doorway.

Anna had seen K’veer by day and it had seemed a strange yet pleasant edifice, but at night it seemed a wholly forbidding place. As they approached the doorway, Aitrus came alongside her.

“Forgive me, Ah-na,” he said quietly, “but we must conform to certain formalities. When we are inside, you will draw back and wait a moment while my father and I are greeted. Then it will be your turn.”

Inside the great atrium, Anna did as she was told, holding back beside Tasera as Aitrus and his father stepped forward and were presented by the Chief Steward to Rakeri and his son.

Anna saw once more that curious taking of both hands that was the D’ni way of greeting, the fingers linked; witnessed the smiles, the easy banter between the two sets of men, and knew that this was a world she would never enter, book or no book.

As Kahlis turned, Tasera nudged her gently. “Ah-na.”

Veovis was smiling pleasantly, his attention half on what was being said, half on greeting the next guests. As he looked across and his eyes met hers, the smile faded. There was a moment’s consideration and then he turned to Kahlis.

“Forgive me, Master Kahlis, but might I have a word with you, in private?”

Kahlis looked to his son, then shrugged. “Of course, Veovis.”

Veovis turned and bowed to Rakeri. “If you would forgive us a moment, Father? I shall not be long.”

Tasera and Anna had stopped, yards distant of Lord Rakeri. As Veovis and Kahlis walked away, Aitrus stared after them, perturbed. Rakeri himself was simply mystified.

There was an embarrassed silence. Rakeri looked to Tasera and smiled weakly. Aitrus simply stared at the door through which Veovis and his father had passed. A moment later the two men returned, his father clearly embarrassed by something. Coming over to Aitrus, he drew him aside.

“It seems there has been a misunderstanding,” he began. “I took the invitation to include our house guest, Ah-na, but it was not meant so.”

Aitrus, who had been listening to his father’s words, glanced over at Veovis, who stood beside his father, wearing a determined look.

“A misunderstanding?” Aitrus tried to keep calm, tried not to let his anger show.

“Yes,” Kahlis said. “Ah-na can stay here, in the house. Veovis has promised that his servants will make sure she has everything she wants. But she cannot go through into Ader Jamat.”

“Why not?”

Kahlis raised a hand, bidding him be silent. “Because she is not D’ni.”

Aitrus felt the anger boil up inside him. Keeping his voice low, he leaned close to Kahlis. “This is not right, Father.”

“Maybe,” Kahlis conceded, “but it is Lord Veovis’s decision who enters his Age, not ours, and we must respect that.”

“I see.”

“I’m glad you do. Now will you tell her, Aitrus?”

Aitrus stared back at him a moment, then looked down. “You must forgive me, Father. I respect you deeply, and love you, but in this I must disobey you. This is wrong.”

“Aitrus…”

But Aitrus turned and walked across to where Rakeri and Veovis stood. “Forgive me, Lord Rakeri, but I have been suffering from an illness these past few weeks. It has left me feeling rather weak…light-headed.” He glanced at Veovis, who was watching him hawkishly now. “I feel it coming on now, and beg you to excuse me.”

Rakeri, who had no idea what was going on, gave a tiny bow of his head. “I commiserate, Aitrus, but maybe my house surgeon could help?”

“That is kind of you, my Lord, but I really ought to go home.”

Rakeri shook his head, a look of disappointment in his eyes. “I am sorry about that. I had hoped to talk with you.”

Aitrus bowed low, then turned to Veovis. “And may good fortune shine down on you, Veovis. I am sorry that I cannot be there for the celebration of your Korfah V’ja.”

There was a black anger now behind Veovis’s eyes, yet if he felt like saying something, he kept it well in check. He nodded curtly.

Aitrus stood there a moment longer, wondering whether something more ought to be said; then, knowing that the situation was irreparable, he turned on his heel and walked across to where Anna stood beside his mother.

“Aitrus,” Tasera said, her curiosity almost overwhelming her by now, “what is going on?”

“Ah-na and I are leaving,” he said, making no attempt to explain how things were. “Ask Father.”

Anna was staring at him now, bemused. “Aitrus? What’s happening?”

“Later,” he said, then took her arm and turned her, leading her out through the gathered ranks of guildsmen and their families, heading back toward the boat.

 

 

§

 

 

Aitrus was standing at the stern of the boat, chewing on a thumbnail and staring back at the great rock of K’veer as it slid into the darkened distance.

“You do not want to know.”

Anna, sitting just below him, let out an exasperated sigh. “I am not blind, Aitrus. I saw how Veovis looked at you.”

“There was a misunderstanding.”

Anna waited, conscious of how pained he was by all this. After a moment he spoke again.

“He said you were not invited.”

“Ah…I see.”

“He said it was because you were not D’ni.”

“That much is undeniable.”

Aitrus was silent a moment, then, “It was an impossible situation, Ah-na. He made me choose.”

“And you chose me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he was not right to make me choose.”

 

 

§

 

 

Anna was dressing the next morning when there was a hammering on the door downstairs. It was still very early and it was unusual for anyone to call at this hour. Going over to her door, she opened it a crack, listening.

There was a murmured exchange between Kahlis and his steward. Then:

“Here? Are you sure?”

There was silence for a moment, then:

“Lord Veovis! Welcome! To what do we owe this most pleasant surprise?”

“I have come to see your son, Master Kahlis. Is he at home?”

“He is. I shall go and see if he has risen. If you would take a seat, meanwhile. I’ll not be long.”

A hand briefly brushed her arm. She turned, her heart thumping, and found herself staring into Aitrus’s face.

“Aitrus!”

“Will you come down with me, Ah-na?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “This is between you two.”

“No. This is about you , Ah-na. You ought to be there.”

 

 

§

 

 

Veovis stood as they stepped into the room.

“Aitrus,” he said, coming across the room, both hands extended. “Will you forgive me?”

Aitrus took his hands, tentatively at first, then with a greater firmness.

“That depends.”

“I understand. I handled things badly. I know that, and I am sorry for it.” He looked past Aitrus to where Anna stood. “And you, Ah-na. I owe you an apology, too.”

“You do, indeed,” Aitrus said sternly.

Veovis nodded, accepting the rebuke. “Yes. And that is why I have brought you a present. To try to make amends.”

He turned and, going back across, picked up a box and brought it back, handing it to Anna. It was a small, square box with tiny airholes in one side of it.

She stared at it a moment, then untied the bright red ribbon and lifted the lid…and then looked up at Veovis, laughing.

“Why, it’s beautiful! What is it?”

Carefully, cupping it in one hand, she lifted out a tiny creature—a veritable fur ball, its long silky coat the dark, brown-black of rich loam. Its large, cobalt-colored eyes stared up at her.

“It is a reekoo,” Veovis said. “It comes from Ader Jamat.”

Aitrus, who had turned to look, now smiled. “Thank you. It was a kind thought.”

Veovis sighed, then, somberly, “I am sorry you were not there last night, Aitrus.”

“And I. Yet we must resolve this matter, no?”

Anna, who was stroking the rippled, leathery neck of the tiny creature, looked up, glancing from one to the other. So it was not settled, even now.

Veovis took a long breath, then nodded. “Tonight,” he said. “Come to my rooms. We’ll talk about it then.”

 

 

§

 

 

It was very late when he came back that night. Anna waited up, listening as his footsteps came up the stairs. As he made to pass her room, she opened her door and stepped out.

“Aitrus?” she whispered.

Aitrus turned. He looked weary.

“Is everything all right now?”

He stared at her, then, “You had better come to my study, Ah-na. We need to talk.”

The words seemed ominous. Anna nodded, then followed him down the long corridor and into his room.

“Well?” she asked, as she took a chair, facing him.

Aitrus shrugged. “I am afraid Veovis is intractable.”

“Intractable? In what way? You are friends again, are you not?”

“Perhaps. But he will not bend on one important matter.”

“And that is?”

Aitrus looked down glumly. “He says that as you are not D’ni, he will not countenance you going into an Age, no, nor of learning anything about D’ni books. He claims it is not right.”

“Then you said nothing of our visit to Ko’ah?”

Aitrus hesitated, then shook his head.

“Can I ask why? It is unlike you to be so indirect.”

“Maybe. But I had no will to fight Veovis a second time.”

“So did you promise him anything?”

“No. I said only that I would consider what he said.”

“And was that enough for him?”

“For now.”

She stared at him a moment, then, “So what have you decided?”

His eyes met hers again. “Can I hide nothing from you, Ah-na?”

“No. But then you have had little practice in hiding what you feel from people, Aitrus.”

Aitrus stared at her for a long time, then sighed. “So you think I should abandon my plan?”

“Your plan?”

In answer, he opened the top right-hand drawer of his desk and took out a big, leather-bound book. It was a book —a D’ni book—she could see that at a glance. But when he opened it, there was no box on the front right-hand page, and the inside pages were blank.

She stared at it. “What is it?”

“It is a Kortee-nea ,” he said. “A blank book, waiting to be written.”

Anna looked up, her mouth falling open slightly.

“I have had it for a year now,” he answered. “I have been making notes toward an Age. One I myself am writing. And I thought…well, I thought that perhaps you might like to help me. But now…”

She saw what he meant. There was a choice. Defy Veovis and lie about what they were doing, or go along with Veovis’s wishes and deny themselves this.

“And what do you want, Aitrus?” she asked quietly, her dark eyes probing his. “What do you really want?”

“I want to teach you everything,” he said. “Everything I know.”

 

 

§

 

 

In the months that followed, the relationship between Aitrus and Veovis was strained. As if both sensed that all was not well between them, they kept much to themselves. It was a situation that could not last long, however, and a chance remark to Veovis by a young man from the Guild of Maintainers brought things to a head once more.

Aitrus was in his rooms at the guild Hall, when Veovis burst in upon him unannounced.

“Is it true?” Veovis demanded, leaning across the desk.

Aitrus stared at his old friend in amazement. Veovis’s face was suffused with anger. The muscles stood out at his neck.

“Is what true?”

“The girl…the outsider…are you teaching her to Write? How could you, Aitrus! After all you promised!”

“I promised nothing, I said only that I would consider your words.”

”That’s pure sophistry, and you know it! You lied to me, Aitrus. You lied and deceived me. And not only me, but D’ni itself!”

“Now come,” Aitrus said, standing.

“You are a traitor, Aitrus! And you can be sure I shall be taking this matter before the Council!”

And with that Veovis turned and stormed from the room. Aitrus stood there a moment, half in shock, staring at the open doorway. Since the Maintainers inspection two weeks back he had feared this moment. Veovis wouldn’t go to the Council, surely? But he knew Veovis. His friend was not one to make idle threats.

 

 

§

 

 

Anna sat in the window of her room, the tiny reekoo asleep in her lap as she gazed out over the ancient city and the harbor far below.

They had come that morning—six uniformed guards from the Guild of Maintainers and the great Lord R’hira himself. Kahlis and Aitrus had greeted them at the door, then stood back as Guild Master Sijarun walked through and opened the door to the Book Room, removing both the Book of Ko’ah and the new, uncompleted book that had no name.

The decision of the Council had been unanimous—Kahlis and his son were given no voice in the matter. It had been ruled that there had been a serious breach of protocol. In future, no one who was not of D’ni blood would be allowed to see a Book or visit an Age. It was, Veovis had argued, important that they set a precedent. And so they had.

Anna sighed. It was all her fault. And now Aitrus was in despair. Even now he sat in his study, wrestling with the question of whether to resign his seat on the Council.

She had seen Kahlis’s face, and Tasera’s. To lose a Book, Aitrus had once told her, was a matter of the gravest importance, but to have one taken forcibly, by order of the Council, was far, far worse. And she had brought that upon them. She groaned softly.

There was no way she might make amends. No way, unless…

 

 

§

 

 

The old man looked across at Anna, staring at her through half-lidded eyes, then, pulling his cloak about him, he answered her.

“I do not know,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I really do not know. Even if we find something…”

“They will listen. They have to listen.”

Kedri, Master of the Guild of Legislators, lifted his shoulders in a shrug. Then, with a sad smile, “All right. I shall try my best, young Ah-na. For you, and for my dear friend Aitrus.”

He sat there for a long time after she had gone, staring straight ahead, as if in a trance. It was thus that his assistant, Haran, found him.

“Master? Are you all right?”

Kedri slowly lifted his head, his eyes focusing on the young man. “What? Oh, forgive me, Haran. I was far away. Remembering.”

Haran smiled and bowed his head. “I just came to say that the new intake of cadets is here. A dozen keen young students, fresh from the academy. What shall I do with them?”

Normally, Kedri would have found them some anodyne assignment—an exercise in dust-dry law, overseen by some bored assistant or other—but the arrival of this new intake coincided perfectly with his need.

If he was to search back through the records, he would need help—and what better help than a dozen keen young men, anxious to impress him? At the same time, he needed to be discreet. If word of his activities got back to the Council, who knew what fuss might ensue, particularly if young Lord Veovis got wind of it? By assigning these cadets to the Guild Age of Gadar—to search among the legal records stored in the Great Library there—he could split two rocks with a single blow, as the old saying went.

“Take them to the Book Room,” he said. “I’ll address them there. I have a task for them.”

Haran stared back at him a moment, surprised, then, recollecting himself, he bowed low and quickly hurried away.

It was strange that the girl, Ah-na, had come to him this morning, for only the evening before he had dreamt of the time he had spent with the Surveyors thirty years ago. It was then that he had first come to know young Aitrus. Aitrus had been assigned to him—to show him how things worked and answer his every query. They had got on well from the start and had been friends ever since.

As far as Ah-na was concerned, he had met her only once before, when Aitrus brought her to his house, but he had liked her instantly, and saw at once why Aitrus was fascinated by her. She had a sharp intelligence and an inquisitive mind that were the match of any guildsman. It had crossed his mind at once that, had she been D’ni, she would have made young Aitrus the perfect bride.

Even so, it surprised him still that she had come and not Aitrus, for he had half-expected Aitrus to pay him a call.

Kedri sat back, stretching his neck muscles and then turning his head from side to side, trying to relieve the tension he was feeling.

What he had agreed to do would not make him a popular man in certain circles, yet it had been a simple choice: to help his young friend Aitrus or abandon him.

Kedri sighed heavily. The Great Library of legislation on Gadar contained a mass of information stretching back over six thousand years—the handwritten minutes of countless Council meetings and hearings, of guild committees and tribunals, not to speak of the endless shelves of private communications between Guild Masters. It would be like digging for one specific tiny crystal in the middle of a mountain.

And he had two weeks and a dozen keen young men to do it.

 

 

§

 

 

Lord Eneah sat at his desk. Aitrus’s cloak of office lay folded on the desk before him. It had come that morning, along with that of Aitrus’s father, Kahlis. Eneah had dealt with Kahlis, sending the cloak back to the Grand Master of the Surveyors. Whatever the rights or wrongs of the issue, Kahlis was clearly not to blame. But Aitrus’s conduct was a different matter entirely.

It was fairly simple, really. Either he accepted Aitrus’s resignation now and ended the rumors and speculation, or her left matters to the Guild of Surveyors, who, so he understood, had already instigated investigations into the conduct of their representative.

Whatever happened now, the damage was already done. The vote in Council had betrayed the mood of the guilds. In teaching the outsider D’ni, and in showing her an Age, Aitrus had not merely exceeded his brief, but had shown poor judgment. Some even claimed that he had been bewitched by the young girl and had lost his senses, but Eneah doubted that. Those who said that did not know Aitrus.

Yet Aitrus had been injudicious.

Eneah straightened slightly. He had not slept at all last night and every joint ached as if it had been dipped in hot oil, but that was not unusual. These days he lived in constant pain.

With a small, regretful sigh, he drew a sheet of paper to him and, taking a quill pen from the inkstand, quickly wrote an acceptance letter then signed his name. Once the remaining Lords had set their names to it, the letter would be sealed and incorporated into the public record. In the meantime, a notice would be posted throughout D’ni, advising the citizens of this news.

And so ended a promising career.

Eneah reached across and rang his summons bell. At once a secretary appeared at the door.

“Take this to Lord R’hira at once.

 

 

§

 

 

Anna stood before the three of them.

“So you wish to leave?” Kahlis asked.

“No,” she answered. “You have all been kind to me. Yet I feel I ought to. I have brought so much trouble to this household.”

“The choice was mine,” Aitrus said. “If anyone should leave, it should be me.”

“That would be wrong,” Anna said. “Besides, I shall be comfortable enough at Lord Eneah’s mansion.”

“Nonsense!” Tasera said, speaking for the first time since Anna had summoned them to this meeting. “I will not hear of it! Lord Eneah is an old man! No. You will stay here!”

Anna stared at Tasera, astonished. She had thought Tasera most of all would have wanted her gone. Since the Council’s meeting she had been practically ostracized. Yet Tasera seemed by far the most indignant of the three.

“Then it is settled,” Kahlis said, smiling proudly at his wife, “Ah-na stays here, as family.”

 

 

§

 

 

It was an ancient book, great whorls of faded color dotting the pale gray of its musty leather cover like dusty jewels. Looking down at it, Guild Master Kedri found himself smiling. Until yesterday it had remained unread upon its shelf for close on nineteen hundred years.

Kedri looked up at Anna, who sat to one side of the desk, then addressed the young man. “Forgive me, Guildsman, but how exactly did you find this? It is not as if this lay directly on the path of our main search.”

The young man bowed his head nervously, then spoke. “It was something you said, Master Kedri. Last night, at supper. You know, about trying to identify possible factors in the search.”

“Go on.”

“It got me thinking, Master, asking myself just what kind of person might be granted access to an Age. That is, what kind of non-D’ni person, naturally.”

“And?”

“Well…my first thought was that such a person would have to have the ear of someone important—someone very important, indeed, perhaps even one of the Five. And so I went to the list of clerks…”

“Clerks?”

“To the Five.”

“Ah…and what did that give you?”

The young man smiled. “Six names.”

Already Kedri was ahead of him. “Names that were not D’ni, I presume.”

“Yes, Master. There was a time when some of the more talented natives—from Guild Ages and the like—were permitted to come here, into D’ni itself.”

Kedri raised an eyebrow. “Now that I did not know.”

“No, Master, for it was a very long time ago, very shortly after the Council was first set up in its present form, not long after the Age of Kings.”

“I see. And these clerks…were they restricted to D’ni, or were they granted access to other Ages?”

The guildsman nodded at the book before Kedri. “I have marked the relevant passages, Master. I am sure there are further entries in the other books.”

There was a small pile of books on the floor behind the young guildsman.

Anna felt a tingle of excitement pass through her. She stood and, crouching, lifted one of the books and opened it, sniffing in the scent of great age as it wafted up to her off the page.

It was an old script, different in several ways from its modern counterpart, yet easily decipherable. In several places the ink had faded almost to nothing, yet the meaning of the text was quite clear.

Anna looked across at Kedri and nodded, a feeling of deep satisfaction flooding her at that moment.

“It is not too old then, Master?” the young guildsman asked. “I thought, perhaps, that its age might possibly invalidate it.”

“A precedent is a precedent,” Kedri said, looking to Anna, then reading the passage once again. “We shall find further sources to verify this, no doubt—and further instances, I warrant.”

He closed the book, then nodded. “You have done well, guildsman.”

“Thank you, Master,” the young man answered, bowing low, a great beam of a smile on his face.

“Thank you , Guildsman…”

“Neferus, Master. Guildsman Neferus.”

 

 

§

 

 

What had taken the full vote of the Council to decide, took but a single signature to revoke.

As Lord Eneah pushed the document away, he felt a great weight slip from him. He was glad Master Kedri had found what he had found, for he had never felt quite at ease with the decision, yet looking up, he saw in his mind the closed face of Lord Rakeri, and knew that all the Five were not as pleased as he.

The Books would be returned to Master Kahlis, and Ah-na would be free to travel in them. Yet all was not quite as it had been. Aitrus still refused to take up his vacated role as representative of the Guild of Surveyors. He said he had had enough of votes and meetings, and maybe he was right. And as for Veovis…

Eneah dropped the pen back into the inkstand and leaned back, weary now that it was all over.

Young Veovis had called on him earlier that day, determined to have his say. He had not been rude, nor had he challenged in any way the validity of Master Kedri’s discoveries, yet it was clear that he resented the Legislator’s intrusion in Council matters, and was dead set against allowing Ah-na entry into any D’ni Age. He had ended by begging Lord Eneah to set the ancient precedent aside and endorse the Council’s decision, but Eneah had told him he could not do that.

He law was the law, after all. Precedent was precedent. It was the D’ni way and had been for a thousand generations.

And so Veovis had left, under a cloud, angry and resentful, and who knew what trouble would come of that?

But so it is, Eneah thought, looking about him at the empty study. No single man, however great or powerful, is more important than D’ni.

He smiled, knowing that soon he would be little more than a name, another statue in the Great Hall of the Lords.

“So it is,” he said quietly. “And so it must be. Until the end of time.”

And with that he stood, walked across the room and out, moving slowly, silently, like a shadow on the rock.