Chapter 3 - Frontiers

One day’s journey west of Ssirt, the road to Tsachenchak took off southwards from the Imperial Highway . Here the four travellers left the bulk of traffic behind them. At the fork Harriet paused and gazed towards the south west as if, despite its great distance, she might be able to see the distant city of Sorikclip on the coast of the Southern Ocean. “Are you coming with us or not?” Jacabo asked gruffly, and she trotted to catch up.

The countryside became more sparsely populated; it was noticeable that woodland was advancing across the landscape, spreading patchily into fields which until quite recently had been farmed. Here and there in the growing interludes between living communities, they often passed some reminder of rebellion or raid: a thoroughly razed settlement or a handful of tall crosses by the roadside.

Tsachenchak was six days good march from Ssirt and there was a hostel only for the first night. For the next four nights they camped. Although the days were hot, the nights of the early summer were still cool; Jacabo would light a fire and the travellers would sit and eat together; look up at the stars, and sometimes talk a little about the journey ahead. Occasionally the forester allowed himself to be drawn into an explanation of some animal noise, or of a rich scent carried on the night-time breeze. Each night the three soldiers took turns at standing watch until the glow of the dawn began to brighten the eastern sky.

On the evening of the day before they hoped to arrive in Tsachenchak, just as dusk was demanding that they find a place to camp, they came to a crossroads. Here the well paved military highway met a hollow and muddy local track; next to the junction there was a small fire, and by it there, wrapped in a heavy cloak, squatted a young man rubbing his hands and warming himself against the deepening chill of the southern evening.

The solitary man calmly looked over his shoulder and with a nod acknowledged the new arrivals at the crossroads. Apparently reluctant to move far from the blaze, only once they had come very close to him did he stand; as he did so he tucked a pendant into his tunic and looked them over in the fading light. “Hello fellow travellers” he finally ventured, “I am Gabid.”

Gabid had an accent that neither Harriet nor any of the soldiers recognised; in his ears he wore metal rings, and there were deep blue or black markings on the skin of his neck; the patterns seemed to continue under the collar of his tunic. He smiled a broad smile as he waited for an answer and gave no hint that he had noticed the suspicion he had immediately provoked.

“Hello” Harriet said. She sensed that Jacabo and Bilteg were in restive mood behind her. “Are you travelling alone?” she added quickly.

“Unfortunately I am” Gabid replied still smiling. As he spoke he held Harriet’s eyes with his own. “You are all more than welcome to share my fire, although since it seems that we are in for a cold night, I have been thinking of seeing if I could ask for shelter in a local village. Perhaps we could go together and ask the farmers for hospitality.”

“Is there a settlement nearby?” Harriet asked. “We have passed precious few this afternoon.” She found this odd looking man quite compelling.

“There is one only a little way south of here” Gabid said turning to point down the highway, “I daresay we could see the lights of their fires from the top of that rise.”

Although Jacabo was less than enthusiastic about staying in a farming settlement, he found himself in a minority of one. Bilteg and Caitlet endured camping but would always prefer four walls to a tent; Harriet had really enjoyed the last few nights but found herself, somewhat against her better judgement, wanting to know more about Gabid. At a quick pace to make the most of the half light after sunset, they were soon following Gabid southwards.

There were stars against an inky blue sky from horizon to horizon by the time the group of five came to a collection of houses; barely a village. They had been spotted by a young boy who had been closing up the sturdy communal timber barn and soon around a dozen adults gathered to see them into the precincts of the settlement. Bilteg eyed the farmers with his usual mix of pity and incomprehension and noticed much to his surprise that some of these country folk carried simple weapons.

Gabid allowed Harriet to introduce herself and to ask for a place to stay for them all. He did not say a word. They were taken into the largest roundhouse and there given a warm if simple welcome. Gabid still remained quiet. He ate what was offered; took with a smile the wooden mug of the local barley beer that he was given, but stayed a little way back from the central fire; half in the shadows.

“What leads you all down the highway to here?” asked a friendly older woman who some of the villagers had called Grandmother.

Harriet said “The four of us are travelling to Tsachenchak for our Master.” As she spoke she pointed in turn to herself and then to each of the soldiers. “We only met Gabid this evening on the road.”

Gabid leaned forward a little and said just above a whisper “I also travel for my Master.”

The barley beer was strong and the fire was warm. The farmers eagerly took the rare opportunity to be hospitable; talked a little and even sang a song or two. Caitlet had always had a very sociable nature and even Jacabo and Bilteg began to relax. Harriet let the beer ease her aching legs and just listened to fragments of conversation from all around the fire, enjoying enormously the company of these plain people.

It was quite late when Gabid found his way to where Harriet was sitting and began to talk more freely than he had since they had first met. He asked her where she came from and what she did; he listened intently as she told him about Cropansil and then he asked her what she knew of these frontier lands.

She began to talk a little about maps and history until Gabid interrupted her: “Some people have travelled beyond the frontier” he said and looked into her eyes. He lowered his voice a little “The rebellion was fought for a great cause” he said; he put his hand on her hand and leaned towards the scribe, “the cause of freedom.”

At the unusual word Harriet suddenly sat up and pulled her hand away. “Why are you saying this?” she demanded, but only loud enough for a couple of nearby villagers to hear.

“Because it is true,” Gabid said calmly. “Have you never dreamed of what it might be like to be without your Master? In Khor there is a land where people rule; the land of the High King Boltiss where there are no black temples and no Duty.” As he spoke Harriet had watched his face, aghast at what he was saying but still recognising his power and charm. He had by now attracted the attention of a handful of villagers and they too were listening although they knew well the danger of his words.

The word king rose above the level of his rhetoric and like an arrow made its way through the assembled company to Bilteg. His back straightened and he reached behind him for his sword. Knowing him so well, Caitlet was galvanised by this rapid change in his posture; the farmers next to them too were shaken by the startling jump. Jacabo, who by then was lying flat on his back, raised his head from the floor and tried to force his eyes into focus.

“But you said that you too travelled for your Master” said Harriet more loudly now.

“I do, but not the kind of Master that you have. I am no slave.” Seeing the danger from the stirring warriors, Gabid rose to his feet. In the firelight the broad swirls of his tattoos were clear and he cut an imposing and alien figure. Nevertheless he was apparently unarmed. He stuck out his jaw and now began to address the whole room: “It is time for you all to choose a life of freedom over the life that you have known. The rebellion may be beaten but you can still cross the frontier; many others have done so and now live without the Masters.”

Now Bilteg’s sword rang as it left its scabbard and the soldier of the Empire stepped decisively towards this strange orator. Caitlet was quickly alongside him and Gabid raised both of his hands as if in surrender. All eyes were on the three of them; they stood in the golden firelight, two sword lengths apart.

“Wait soldiers” Gabid said. There was a confidence in his stance and his unflinching half smile that gave even Bilteg pause for thought. “I am not your enemy. I am bringing you news of a better way to live in another land.”

“You are a rebel” Bilteg shouted. “The sheeneks will pluck your eyes from their sockets as you hang on the cross.” The soldier took another half step forward, cautious because this unarmed man as yet showed no fear.

Gabid’s hands now moved very swiftly, but he did not move to draw some hidden weapon from his cloak. His open palms circled and he uttered a word that the soldiers did not understand. Harriet, who was still sitting on the floor, shuddered; she both heard and felt the utterance; it had some weird resonance for her. She did not understand it, but she did recognise it for what it was.

Bilteg and Caitlet stood at once ready to attack and yet uncertain how to react to the odd behaviour of the rebel. The moment lingered; time grew fat and reluctant. The soldiers could see every detail of Gabid’s face; the lines on the palms of his spinning hands and the sheen of sweat on the surface of his tattoos. There were cries of horror from some of the villagers as a thick fog began quickly to form between the antagonists in their midst; it rose from the earthen floor like a serpent; spread in a heart beat to completely hide Gabid and then to engulf the soldiers themselves.

“Remember” called Gabid from somewhere in the fog, “King Boltiss awaits those who would be free.” He was moving towards the door of the roundhouse.

Bilteg spun at the sound of the voice but it came now from beyond where Caitlet had been standing next to him; he could not strike for fear of hitting her. Caitlet also turned and she ventured a thrust in the rebel’s direction. Fighting blind and not a little scared, she did not find her target.

Harriet watched the scene in awe. The fog that swirled around her came in thin ribbons and she could still see the terrified villagers who were closest to her. As Gabid left the densest cover she saw him near the door. “He is at the door” she shouted and immediately Jacabo was there trying to catch the stranger.

Gabid turned and side-stepped, easily evading Jacabo’s hurried lunge. As the forester stumbled past, Gabid extended his right arm and put a flat palm out to within a span of Jacabo’s back. Harriet saw him mouth a word; his arm straightened with a jolt and, before he could even recover his footing, the forester’s body was convulsed; wracked by some unseen force. He fell to the floor and lay there, still. Gabid looked back across the roundhouse as he went through the door; amidst the confusion he saw that Harriet was watching him. As their eyes met, the briefest and coldest of smiles played across his face and then he disappeared into the night.

Within minutes the fog so rapidly called had dissipated. By the time Harriet reached Jacabo’s side he was already stirring; his eyes bloodshot and narrow; around him the slight smell of burned hair. Bilteg and Caitlet went to the door and tried to see if they could spot Gabid crossing the starlit fields. He was nowhere to be seen. The villagers silently watched their guests; the jollity of the early evening obliterated by the eldritch and inexplicable battle that had been brought to their very hearth.

In the light of early morning the travellers quietly left the roundhouse where they had slept. As yet they had hardly talked about what had happened the night before. Each of them felt some shame for having brought Gabid into the village and their embarrassment stilled their tongues. The soldiers had waited for Harriet to mention the strange things they had all experienced at Gabid’s hands but for reasons of her own she remained the most reticent of them all.

“Harriet” Caitlet said finally, as they rejoined the highway and the village receded into the background of scrubby woodland and small fields, “have you ever seen anything like what happened last night before?”

The scribe looked at Caitlet and just said “No Caitlet I have not.”

She hoped that that would be the end of the discussion but Caitlet persisted: “What did you think of the things that Gabid was saying? What does king mean and what is freedom?” Bilteg cast a glance of definite disapproval over his shoulder at them; neither of them had talked to Harriet or indeed to anyone else about what the rebel Tomas had said to them and he felt that such matters were best left well alone.

“Caitlet,” Harriet started with an exasperated breath, “Gabid was quite obviously as mad as all the other rebels. By King he seemed to mean some different kind of Master; I do not know exactly what he meant by freedom but he was probably just trying to describe life without our Masters. It was nonsense; except for the degenerate Peons, the histories do not talk of any life without the Masters. Does that help?” Harriet asked, certain that it would not.

Caitlet nodded slowly for a few moments and then said “What is a slave Harriet?”

The scribe looked at the young warrior again and this time she smiled. There was no denying that Caitlet was keen to learn. She had heard and remembered the words that Gabid had used as well as Harriet had, and, unlike Bilteg and Jacabo, she wanted to find the meaning in them. It did not matter to her if it the knowledge might prove troubling or even dangerous; Caitlet wanted to know; Harriet knew that sentiment very well. “A slave Caitlet is what you are and what I am; we are all slaves. It is a very old word and appears in some ancient texts, it is really no different from saying people.” Harriet watched Caitlet’s face for some reaction and when the soldier’s brow quickly furrowed she added “Do you see? I told you that Gabid was mad; of course he was a person.”

Bilteg pretended to ignore the conversation that was going on behind him but much to his annoyance he could not stop his mind dwelling on recent events. Years earlier he had seen men who looked like Gabid; in the ranks of the Peons in battles in the coastal margins of the Pearl Sea ; he had seen banks of thick fog roll in over the slaying fields and he had seen men die in agony without ever being struck by a sword or spear. He briefly looked at Jacabo and thought how lucky he had been; took the hunter by surprise by slapping him on the back, and resolved that he needed to tell a Master in Tsachenchak that he had discovered a Peon, a man of power, and not on a battlefield but at the fireside of farmers.

* * * * * * * * * *

Tsachenchak was at the very edge of imperial territory; the last border outpost of Ssirt province. Harriet had read that in years gone by the Masters had sent expeditions beyond the Great Barrier Forest , but such adventures had long since ceased. Places like Tsachenchak constituted the hard shell that had formed over long centuries around the body of the Empire; from the moment of the travellers’ first sight of its imposing walls and commanding towers they could clearly tell that it was more of a fortress than a city.

They arrived at midday and the great black iron-bound gates were open. At the entrance to the gatehouse they were stopped by a Master of the warrior caste. At first they were the only humans in sight but after a few moments a wiry looking young woman appeared from a door in the gatehouse; the Master had summoned a vocaliser.

“Do you have written orders and a permission to travel to Tsachenchak?” she asked in a powerful but nasal voice. She had cold blue eyes and showed no emotion as she voiced the question of the Master. Harriet produced papers and handed them to the tall warrior; Caitlet watched with fascination as the long chitinous fingers manipulated the scroll; they all waited in silence as he read.

It was the silence, or at least the absence of voices, that disturbed Bilteg the most. He looked at Jacabo but the woodsman was inscrutable; then he watched the open plaza beyond the gatehouse for signs of life. All of the buildings looked like modest versions of the Masters’ houses in other cities; Bilteg could see nothing that looked like a human dwelling. Masters walked here and there; there were some people as well, but they went on their way without talking. Only the sounds of footfalls reached his ears. This fortress was evidently home to only a few humans and they seemingly observed, except where vitally necessary, the habits of the Masters.

“These papers are in order” the vocaliser said even before the Master had reached the end of the scroll, “you travel under the auspices of the Imperial Ministry of Intelligence” she added, stumbling a little over apparently unfamiliar terminology, “and you will be given everything you need to complete your Duty.” Another warrior approached, huge even for a Master; clad in partial plate armour and carrying two swords and two heavy axes at the waist. “This warrior will escort you to Collins the mapmaker.”

Without giving it any thought, the travellers spoke not at all on their way through the grid of narrow alleyways that described the heart of Tsachenchak. High above them in a pale sky, birds called; the sound of a servant brushing clean the cobbles outside of his Master’s house carried crystal clear to their ears and every footstep echoed against the perfect angles of the walls. They marched to keep close behind the warrior; the warrior did not once look back to make sure that they were there.

Eventually they arrived at what looked very much like a storehouse. It was a long low building tucked underneath the west wall; it had one high window and a set of double doors. The warrior opened one of the doors and went in; the travellers followed. The room inside was dark and had the smell of dust and lamp oil; Harriet could smell paper and ink, to her this storehouse felt immediately like a little used scriptorium.

As their eyes adjusted to the dim conditions the humans realised that there was an internal wall with a small door; the warrior finally turned and looked at them, seemed satisfied that his charges had all arrived, and pointed at the door. Then, with the brisk manner so common to the Masters, he made straight for the door and was gone.

Moments later the little inner door swung open and in the doorway stood a slightly hunched and unprepossessing man of late middle years. A broad smile crossed his gently creased face and he broke the silence: “Hello, my name is Collins. What business brings me so many visitors on this fine spring day?”

All four were relieved to see a friendly face. Harriet stepped forward; introduced herself and the others, before passing Collins the letter that would explain their presence in the building that served both as his home and workshop. As he read Collins’s face beamed; once he had finished he looked up and said excitedly “Well my friends we had best start on the work at hand. Come. Come with me, I will show you the charts.”

He turned and led them through into his cluttered sanctuary. “This is where I have lived and worked these past twenty five years” the mapmaker said with a smile and a nod. The four of them looked around and saw nothing but a shambles in paper; there were at least half a dozen desks concealed under layered rolls of maps; odd stone and wooden artefacts held down edges desperate to curl; there was a tiny bed and that too served as a storage area for Collins’s work. Against the walls there were shelves showing the ends of hundreds if not thousands more charts. From the high window a broad beam of sunlight lanced through the dust and illuminated the desk that seemed most used; “this is my most recent study he said with pride.”

Harriet was keen to see some of Collins’s work and she went to have a close look at the chart he was pointing at. The draughtsmanship was of a staggering technical proficiency; the annotation in a beautiful hand that would have been the envy of many of Cropansil’s finest scribes. Harriet drew a sharp breath and bent to take a closer look. Meanwhile Collins’s was again studying the letter she had given him and, as he did so he scurried around the walls apparently searching for useful charts. The soldiers hardly dared to move; here they stood in an ocean of paper; every step threatened to bring an avalanche of delicate charts, pens and pots of ink down around their booted feet.

In the first instance Harriet had been dazzled by the craft of the map in front of her; then she had taken in the subject matter. This was a chart of great detail and all around it lay the other charts from which elements of it had been drawn; there were books open nearby as well, the secondary sources for Collins’s rendering in ink, but it was a map of a tiny section of coastline and marsh. Harriet was somewhat used to maps of great territories, the broad canvas of history; this chart of a piece of uninhabited salt marsh, which must have represented hundreds of hours of work, made her gasp with surprise; she straightened up; looked at the back of the mapmaker’s head as he frantically rifled shelves, and then at her companions with an expression between doubt and fear. They looked back at her, uncomprehending, like fish lying on the bank.

Eventually Collins gave a satisfied sigh and pulled out a long rolled chart from a shelf at his head height. “I do believe” he confessed to no-one in particular, “that there has been no call for any of my maps in nearly two decades”. Turning around brandishing his prize he added “it is so good to think that one of them will come in useful now.” He came back to the desk at which Harriet was standing and added the map in his hands as another layer of paper on top of the salt marsh series.

“When first I came here there were quite a number of small expeditions eastwards which made use of many of my charts; I even accompanied some of them myself,” he seemed to have found his appetite for conversation now, and continued “to check their accuracy in the field you know. Yes, there is nothing like first hand experience for the mapmaker.” Harriet was paying polite attention to Collins but behind her Jacabo was becoming impatient.

Collins drew breath and looked as if he was going to say something else, but he was interrupted. “Let’s have a look at this chart of yours then scribe” Jacabo said and walked with a purpose over to the desk.

When they finally came out of Collins’s building the afternoon was well advanced. Outside, standing in the shadows, was a young servant girl who had been sent to wait for them. She took them to a dormitory building where they were to stay. This one building concentrated within it all of the elements considered by the Masters to be essential for human life in the cities: a bath-house; a simple kitchen; clean and comfortable beds under a good roof. It was reserved, the girl told them in a whisper, for the few people who came and stayed here temporarily. She had always lived here and seemed to be incapable of much more than hushed conversation. Even once inside the dormitory she whispered, and then only to introduce them to the servant who would look after their needs there. Then she was gone.

* * * * * * * * * *

Once he was twenty paces outside of the southern gate of Tsachenchak Bilteg stopped and took a deep deep breath. Caitlet looked at him and laughed. “I take it that Tsachenchak was not to your liking Bil” she said. Bilteg looked a little embarrassed and started walking again, but he could not rid his face of the smile that being out of that fortress of quiet had given him that morning.

All of them had found Tsachenchak odd and their discomfort had been heightened by anticipation of actually crossing the Imperial frontier. Now they were on their way however, they were more relaxed. They had all had a look at Collins’s map and a copy of it was safely in a scroll case in Harriet’s pack; they had rations for a good couple of weeks, and Jacabo had gone to the head of the party with the enthusiasm of a true woodsman for a new trail in unknown country.

Ahead of them lay the Great Barrier Forest ; Collins’s had said that on some ancient maps it was called the Forest of Chorif . They were to go south and into the forest itself, before heading east and following the northernmost forest edge along the coastal margins of the Goblechii Sound. According to Collins’s map they would eventually enter some hilly country and find a river at the mouth of which would be a ruined tower and the start of a road that would take them inland. After another day or two they would come to the ruin that was their destination, find the object that Thackpliss wanted and come back as swiftly as they could carry it.

As Collins had run an inky finger over the browned paper, the route had sounded straightforward enough. He had not had to dwell on the dangers that they would face; they all knew well the significance of nearing the coastline: nowhere along the blighted shore, five thousand Imperial Extents on Collins’s charts, did any city or fortress come within a day’s march of the sea; it had always been a restless and embattled borderland; held against the Empire by the Peons and the mysteries of the Pearl Sea beyond.

Bilteg and Caitlet were both wondering if they would catch up with any of the farmers who had tried to flee this way after the rebellion; gone looking for their king in the woods. Jacabo was all alertness and grace, back in his element; from time to time he turned and looked back if one of his companions trod clumsily or spoke loudly. For the woodsman seeing these city folk through the wilderness seemed at this stage to promise more problems than the wilderness itself.

Harriet tried not to think too much about the journey ahead. She could feel the fear as a tight knot in the bottom of her belly; it had kept her from eating much breakfast. She knew very well that there were good reasons why the Imperial frontier extended no further than the Great Barrier Forest ; there were great woodlands within the Empire, this one was no barrier in itself, and the histories alluded to dangers far greater than even the fiercest wildlife. She took confidence though, in the knowledge that she had gained a little steel since she had left Cropansil the year before; she had also acquired an unexpected purpose in life, one that drove her on. For now she would enjoy the company of the three soldiers she was beginning to see as her friends, take comfort in their confidence and try to pay no heed to her darker anxieties.