Chapter 40: No Visiting Hours
Dorian woke with sunlight across his face and a final plan.
He opened one eye, found the gap between the tent flaps responsible, and considered ignoring the morning for another few minutes. Then he sat up and rubbed his face. His mouth was dry, but his head was clear. More importantly, he had slept properly. After two sleepless nights, a few uninterrupted hours felt almost luxurious.
Outside, Tavra Sol was unusually quiet. The chanting had finally stopped sometime during the night. No gongs. No prayers. Only distant voices and the occasional movement between tents.
Dorian reached for his clothes.
Yesterday he had wanted to speak to Toren. The impulse had come almost immediately after the bonding ceremony. By then, Dorian had finished rearranging half his life in his head. His plan was hardly elegant, but neither was most of his life.
He had assumed there would be time for a talk after the ceremony.
There was not.
The daughter remained between Liana and Toren, pressed against Liana’s side. Her trunk curled around Toren’s scarred wrist. Then the First Elder struck her staff against the ground.
“The daughter has chosen. The sacred bond must deepen. Nobody will disturb the daughter or her Caretakers.”
Liana accepted the instruction without argument. Toren followed her and the daughter towards the protected tent. Just before they reached it, Toren looked over his shoulder. That smile stayed with Dorian. Small. Helpless. Still not entirely certain whether he had just been honoured or sentenced to something.
Dorian nearly followed him.
Instead, warriors, healers and protectors formed several circles around the tent. Apparently, sacred bonding included no visiting hours.
Nobody seemed to know how long it would take.
In retrospect, that was probably useful. Yesterday, Dorian might have said something careless. A night’s sleep had helped considerably. He had a plan now. He had even rehearsed what he intended to say to Toren. Twice. Several sentences had sounded suspiciously emotional. He had removed them.
Dorian finished dressing, fastened his brass cuff and checked himself once. Fresh. Rested. Entirely under control.
Good.
Now he only needed the Loteri to give Toren back. At least for long enough to talk.
The two young Loteri were waiting outside with breakfast. One smoked sacred bud while the other lazily chased flies from the tray.
Both jumped up when Dorian appeared and bowed deeply. “Witness of the Pact.”
Their gazes went immediately to his face. Dorian’s eyes were blue-grey again. Entirely ordinary. They looked impressed anyway. Dorian sighed privately.
“Breakfast, Witness,” one said.
“The Circle also summons you,” the other added.
Dorian looked at the food tray. Then towards the centre of Tavra Sol.
“Circle first.”
A decision his stomach regretted almost immediately.
The Elders were already assembled when Dorian arrived. Several objects had been arranged on woven cloth before them.
Dorian bowed. “Elders. Elder Mother.”
“Witness.” Elasya returned the greeting and indicated the place before the Circle. “Sit.”
Dorian obeyed.
One of the older Elders leaned forward. “Liana told us you opened a sealed mirror to Acalith.”
“I did.”
“And sealed it again afterwards?”
“Yes.”
The broad-shouldered Elder with the scar across his face spoke next. “Could another Mirrorwalker have opened it?”
“With a Council licence, certainly. Without one, illegally.”
“But possible?”
Dorian smiled faintly. “With sufficient skill and knowledge. Breaking an old seal is difficult. Sealing it properly afterwards is harder.”
Elasya rested both hands on her staff. “And the Acalith mirror? How long had it been sealed?”
“Decades, perhaps longer. I could not determine its exact age.”
“Could someone have opened it recently, before you arrived?”
Dorian shook his head. “I doubt it. The seal appeared undisturbed. No signs of recent opening or resealing.”
The Elders exchanged looks.
Elasya nodded slowly. “Thank you, Witness.”
Dorian inclined his head. “My pleasure. It is not often people ask about mirrors without also expecting me to bleed into one.”
Elasya gestured towards the objects on the woven cloth. “The Steppe remembers service. You carried our words to the Mother, witnessed the renewal of the Pact and brought her to Tavra Sol. These are given to you by the Circle.”
Dorian looked over the collection. “I was not aware being useful came with this many accessories.”
Elasya ignored him professionally. A silver-haired man stepped forward from behind the Circle. Dorian recognised him immediately. The man who had been waiting to bathe him after their return to Tavra Sol.
“You recovered,” the man said.
“Eventually.” Dorian grinned.
“A pity. We had prepared everything.”
“I remember.” Dorian looked him over. “Rather well, actually.”
Elasya cleared her throat. Dorian turned towards her with perfect innocence.
“He is our Relic Guardian,” she said. “He will present the gifts.”
“An excellent choice, Elder Mother.”
The Relic Guardian knelt beside the collection. “Shall we begin, Witness?”
“By all means. You have my complete attention.”
The Relic Guardian presented dried herbs, protective charms, ritual tools and sealed jars, explaining their uses with admirable patience.
“These mark you as a protected guest of the Steppe,” he said, holding up the carved charms. “Carry one if you enter a commune where nobody knows your face.”
“That seems increasingly unlikely.”
“It may save you from having to explain all your names.”
Dorian glanced at Elasya. “I like him.”
“I had noticed,” she said.
The remaining gifts were mostly ceremonial. Dorian listened politely, accepting that he would remember perhaps half their purposes.
Then the Relic Guardian drew a long leather case towards him and opened it. Dorian leaned forward. Inside lay old maps. Not copies. Originals. Their treated-hide surfaces had darkened with age. Faded routes, vanished settlements and old life-water paths covered them. Several mirrors were marked where modern Council charts showed nothing at all.
Dorian touched one line. It moved. He withdrew his finger. The line shifted again and settled several inches farther east.
“Useful,” he murmured.
“Especially for Walkers,” Elasya said.
The Relic Guardian watched Dorian studying them. “You approve?”
“I may forgive the missed bath.”
“Only may?”
Dorian looked up at him. “Do not become greedy.”
The Relic Guardian chuckled.
Three scrolls followed. All three were written in languages Dorian did not recognise. One carried an image of the Mother. Another showed an archaic network of mirrors across the Loteri Lands. The third showed broken mirrors. Their individual fragments were marked with symbols and notes.
Dorian picked up the second scroll. “How old?”
“Nobody knows,” Elasya said. “We believe they were found during the time of the Silence.”
“That predates the Great Council.” He studied the unknown writing again. “Nobody can read them?”
“Not here. You may find someone during your travels who can.”
Dorian set the scroll down with considerably more respect.
Next came a small mirror framed in blackened silver. Its surface was so dark that Dorian could barely see himself. He turned it towards the light. Nothing happened.
“What does it do?”
The Relic Guardian folded his arms. “We do not know.”
Dorian looked at him. Then at the Circle. “That is remarkably reassuring.”
“Sometimes the surface clears,” Elasya said. “We do not know why, nor can we predict when.”
Dorian examined the mirror again. “Now I definitely want it.”
The Relic Guardian began arranging the gifts inside the leather cases.
Dorian watched his hands for a moment. “Loteri hospitality continues to improve.”
The Relic Guardian looked up. “You are staying long enough to enjoy it this time?”
“Regrettably, no.”
“Regrettably?” He paused while closing the first case.
“Do not make me repeat compliments. I have a reputation.”
Dorian rose and bowed to the Circle. Years of Steamhollow noble education had not been entirely wasted.
“My sincere thanks to the Circle. I will keep them well.”
There was no irony in it. For once, ceremony had produced something better than a title.
The meeting ended soon after. Dorian stayed behind to pack the remaining gifts while the Elders rose and drifted away in small groups.
The Relic Guardian carried Dorian’s case to the entrance. “I assume you can manage from here, Witness.”
“I am a professional.”
“So I heard.” The Relic Guardian bowed and left.
Elasya was about to follow the others.
“Elder Mother.”
She stopped and looked back.
“Would you please stay a moment?”
Elasya gave a small nod and waited while the last of the Circle moved out of easy hearing distance.
Dorian closed the case. “When can I see Toren?”
Elasya studied his face before answering. “Not for at least a week. More likely longer.”
Dorian glanced towards the protected ground. “I thought the bonding ceremony was finished.”
“The ceremony was. The bond is not. The daughter needs her Caretakers close while it settles. She will decide when she no longer needs them all the time.”
Of course she would.
Dorian looked towards the tent for a moment, then reached into his coat for his notebook. He tore out a page and wrote one line. His Steamhollow address. Nothing else.
He folded the paper once and held it out to Elasya. “Could you please give this to Toren when you are able?”
She took it and glanced at the folded page. “Only an address?”
“He already knows my answer.”
Elasya looked at him for another moment, then tucked the paper carefully into her robe. “I will give it to him.”
“Thank you.” Dorian picked up the case.
Waiting in Tavra Sol would change nothing. The daughter needed Toren now, and Dorian had work waiting at the Mirrors’ College. He would return when he could.
Toren knew his answer. Now he had Dorian’s address to find him when he could.
Dorian secured the case behind Lucky’s seat. He left Tavra Sol before he found another reason to stay. The protected ground remained visible as Lucky climbed. He looked towards it once, then turned south.
The Steppe widened beneath him. For a while there was only grass, scattered herds and thin tracks between communes. Dorian let Lucky fly itself and tried not to think about Toren.
That lasted badly.
Then the land below changed. Long green blocks appeared across the Steppe, divided by irrigation channels. Workers moved through the rows while smoke rose from drying shelters farther ahead.
Dorian slowed Lucky.
Sacred bud. Fields of it. Beyond them stood warehouses, loading yards and caravans waiting beside stacks of packed bundles. Sacred bud was not merely tradition. It was business. A very large business.
The sacred bud fields thinned behind him until cultivation gave up entirely. Grass became scrub. Scrub became hard ochre ground. Then the Desert took over.
By mid-afternoon, Lucky was struggling with the heat. The engine temperature climbed steadily. The cooling system refused to keep up. Dorian loosened his collar and checked the readings again.
“Wonderful.”
He reduced speed, searching for somewhere to land. Something dark interrupted the sand ahead. At first he took it for a ridge. Then the ridge developed corners.
Dorian leaned forward. Lucky dropped lower.
The ruins unfolded beneath him. Broken fortress walls rose from the dunes. Dry channels crossed the ground in deliberate lines, some wide enough to have carried rivers. Stone gates stood open onto nothing. Farther in, collapsed structures surrounded great empty basins filled with sand.
Dorian stopped thinking about Toren. That alone was impressive.
He knew this place. Not personally. Fortunately. At the Pain Monastery, he had seen drawings of these enormous waterworks in an old Loteri account. A nameless ruler had dammed the rivers and sold water back to his people. When gold and possessions were no longer enough, he demanded children. The Great Sun had burned his fortress. The land had never recovered.
Dorian had assumed the story was exaggerated. Apparently not enough.
A warning flashed across Lucky’s control panel.
ENGINE TEMPERATURE CRITICAL
“Yes, I noticed.”
In the distance, the Mirrors’ College flashed brightly in the sun. Too far to reach with the engine in this condition. Dorian looked down at the ruins.
“Later.”
He brought Lucky down beside a broken stone wall. The remains of a tower offered some shade. The engine hissed as he shut it off. Beyond the wall lay the dry channels and empty basins of the fortress. He had spent weeks travelling because of the Drommala Pact. Now he had landed where the need for it began.
