A Secret Atlas (59 page)

at the very least, with thousands of symbols inscribed in it. He recognized them all as

Amentzutl script, though he had no clue how to begin to make sense of them.

But any desire to do so faded as a woman detached herself from the shadows of a stone

throne and approached. Tall and very slender, with long raven hair that fell to the tops of

her breasts and half hid the gold pectoral she wore, she looked at him with large eyes

harboring more sadness than reverence or curiosity. The loincloth she wore was entirely

black, though woven with a raised pattern and decorated with gold buttons.

After several steps forward, she stopped and looked him up and down. Her gaze lingered

on his green robe, where dragons were embroidered in gold over the breasts. Her dark

eyes tightened for a moment, then an expression of resolution came over her face.

“It is as you foretold. It is
centenco
. You have returned.” She bowed her head. “Tell me, Lord
Tetcomchoa,
how do we save the world this time?”

2nd day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Opaslynoti, Dolosan

As he pulled on the protective clothing he’d been given, Keles Anturasi wondered if there

was something truly wrong with him. Storm season had broken hard in Ixyll. The wild

magic had begun to build to the west, raising huge walls of grey dust shot through with

purple and black lightning. Even with the storms fifty miles off, the thunder cracks sent a

shiver through his chest. Pressure built, and bits of rock and
thaumston
began to glow.

Opaslynoti became a hive of activity rivaling the Anturasi workshop when Qiro was in a

rage. Half the people took to securing their homes and property against the oncoming

storm. Canvas tarpaulins covered every door and window, fastened as tightly as possible.

Each of them had the same mottled mushroom-grey-and-brown pattern that marked the

clothing Keles had on—though only his outer layers were made of that same stiff fabric.

Anything loose was taken inside or lashed down. While the young worked feverishly, older

citizens with eyes that glowed to mirror the coming storm would chuckle and note that this

“blow” would be the worst they’d ever seen.

The rest of the population—both workers from below and prospectors, traders, and free-

miners—rushed around setting up traps. These consisted of almost anything, from funnels

and old lobster pots restrung with wire, to tall poles hung with metal cable across the

presumed path of the storm. Each device was guaranteed to harvest as much of the

magic as possible and charge up a supply of
thaumston
. Eventually the storm would

sweep past them and refill the Well, but those who didn’t want to pay for having

their
thaumston
dipped took this chance at getting their samples in place.

The only difficulty with traps was that they needed to be tended. If one left samples out too

early and didn’t watch them, someone else might appropriate them. Getting out after the

storm had passed and claiming one’s samples quickly was a good idea as well. But both

were fraught with danger, as the storms could come on too quickly or double back and

catch the unwary in the open. While the protective clothing did help—or so he had been

assured—it would be as effective as a wet nightshirt in a blizzard if caught in a storm.

Up until the storms had started, fierce headaches had prostrated Keles. His body had

been wracked with pain, and while plenty of folks offered opinions as to why that was—the

most imaginative being that a southern wind from Irusviruk had blown the stink of the

Viruk over him—nothing anyone tried had managed to alleviate his condition. Almost with

the first ripple of distant thunder, however, the shooting pains in his head ceased, and he

felt better than he had since Rekarafi had carved his back up.

But the advent of storms seemed to have nearly the opposite effect on everyone else. For

the citizens of Opaslynoti, he assumed it was because they were suddenly so busy. Those

who erected traps were also preparing to venture into Ixyll as soon as the storm passed,

so the anticipation of the race also heightened tension.

Some people who had been warped by the wild magic reported pains—and more sinister

complaints. One man whose body was covered in tiger fur sprouted claws and had to be

caged. A pregnant woman gave birth to a crystal egg—although her child seemed to be

doing fine inside it. An old dray horse shed its skin like a snake, which made for quite a

mess, but old-timers put all the unusual stuff down to the natural cycles of the storms. The

last time storms had raged this strongly, Qiro Anturasi had been born—and

thaumstoneers reported that the cycle had been building for a while.

Moraven and Ciras seemed the most affected among Keles’ group. Both of them grew a

bit more distracted and cross, as if the storms were affecting their ability to concentrate.

Borosan likewise became snappish, because the fluctuations in background energy made

all of his little devices function oddly. He was disassembling them all rather quickly—at

least the ones that could move on their own—and feeling frustrated because the new

ideas he came up with could not be tested until well after the storms had passed.

Tyressa and Rekarafi were weathering things the best, but that still did not make them

good company. The Viruk kept mostly to himself, refusing repeated efforts by the arena

owners to fight another
gyanrigot
. They offered fortunes in gold and
thaumston,
and he rejected them all. While none of the men trying to employ him could understand, Keles

had an inkling of how Rekarafi felt. After all, they were the offspring of slaves who wished

to visit upon him the final indignity: fighting against toys for the amusement of people he

would have whipped for such insolence millennia ago.

Tyressa, however, baffled him. While the others had gone to the arena to watch

Borosan’s
thanaton
fight, she had stayed with Keles and cared for him. She had applied

cool cloths to his fevered brow and sung soothing songs. It made her hardly seem Keru at

all. He’d found himself feeling utterly lost when she went away for even as long as it took

to refill the water basin, and her voice admonishing him to sleep was the only thing that

eased his pain.

Once he’d recovered, though, she’d vanished. He expected she was sleeping, but when

he looked around to thank her for his care—and to offer anything he could to repay her—

he could not find her. Only that morning he’d learned that she’d wandered Opaslynoti

and—though she would say nothing of it to him—had located the bandits.

When the others came to visit him, they tried to be cheerful, but all seemed somewhat

anxious that he be able to continue with their mission. Though Moraven Tolo had not been

as adamant about his mission in the Wastes as Ciras had, Keles had noticed the

swordmaster had not forgotten it. Throughout the journey, Moraven had paid attention to

sites that were rumored to be old battlegrounds and possible burial sites. Deathbreathers

were an anathema to everyone. Any cache of weapons that had been used in battles long

ago would be a threat to the Nine.

In Ixyll they would find what Moraven sought, and quite likely have to battle Desei agents

to secure the weapons. Keles still intended to do survey work in Ixyll, but realized that

Moraven’s quest had become more important.
I will do what I can to help him.

Still, the advent of the storms revitalized Keles and emptied his head of the throbbing

pains that had plagued him throughout the journey. He couldn’t hazard a guess as to why

that was, though he did suppose that the wild magic might have somehow reignited the

Viruk magic and completed his healing. He moved more easily, and was able to think

more clearly.

He wasn’t certain why being in proximity to the wild magic should make him feel better. It

clearly had the opposite effect on Moraven—though Keles figured that was because he

was a Mystic. The whole concept of someone reaching that level of skill was easy to

understand when it came to something as obvious as sword fighting or archery, but what

would it mean in other pursuits? What would someone who was that gifted at math be

able to do? Could they do things more quickly, or perhaps do more complex things?

Singers, writers, artists—even cooks and farmers and courtesans—were easy to figure

out. What of mapmakers, however? Could they become that good, and what would it

mean?

He and his brother had spent some time wondering what that would be like, but they had

always focused on other aspects of their art. Keles had always wanted to be very exact,

which was why the Gold River survey had been perfect for him. Jorim liked discovering

things. For him, what the land contained defined it better than any measurements.

Perhaps it was not possible for a mapmaker to know
jaedunto,
but that prospect did not daunt him. In some ways it was a relief, since the obvious candidate for
jaedunto
would be Qiro. While he did not wish his grandfather dead, the idea that magic might extend the

man’s life so Keles’ sons and grandsons and great-grandsons might also labor under him

was a bit terrifying.

Of course, I need to survive this survey and return to Moriande before it will be possible

for me to worry about my children and theirs.

The protective clothing he’d been given for venturing into Ixyll was interesting, and

explained some of the changes he’d seen in prospectors and free miners. It came in two

layers, inner and outer. The inner layer often was of silk or cotton, while the outer was

heavy canvas and sometimes quilted. All of the fabric had been boiled in
thaumston
mud

until the grey dust impregnated the fabric. This made it stiff and chafing, so often folks

wore a third layer of untreated material against the skin, and Keles gladly followed their

lead.

The inner layer consisted of stockings, trousers, and a shirt with long sleeves that had

flaps covering the backs of the hands. Some people took to wearing silken gloves over

that. A silken coif went over the head, covering everything from collarbones up, save for a

narrow strip around the eyes. Breathing through that fabric brought an earthy smell with a

sour tinge, as if urine were used in the dyeing. Most people wore normal leather boots to

complete the inner layer.

The outer layer started with stiff canvas boots laced tightly over whatever footgear had

been donned. Heavy canvas trousers, which came up to the low ribs and were held up by

suspenders, tucked into the overboots. Another canvas coif covered the silken one, again

leaving the eyes clear. A heavy robe went over that and belted in tightly, then mittens

were pulled on and tied down at midforearm. Keles’ mittens had a bilateral split in them,

allowing two fingers to a sleeve, so he could nock and draw an arrow. Moraven and

Tyressa just wore full mittens since it would not hamper their sword work.

The eyes, of course, were difficult to protect, and that explained why so many folks first

reflected changes in that region. To safeguard the eyes, everyone wore a gauzy material

slightly more dense than insect netting. It allowed a fair amount of vision, but reportedly

became very hot in the summers. Many went without it, and the residual magic worked on

them over the years.

In some ways, wearing the outfits was deemed unnecessary by many who saw the survey

party getting ready—and Rekarafi seemed to set great store by these opinions. He chose

to wear nothing more than the inner layer, and probably would not have worn that save for

a certain amount of protection against the winter’s cold. The experts in Ixyll noted that for

a quick survey they’d not need the protection, and that if they were caught in a magic

storm, all the protection in the world would not help them. Those who agreed with that

latter point were often lumpen creatures, which made Keles gear himself up all the more

completely.

While others sought the safety of deep caves, levels, and rooms as the first storm came

in, Keles ventured to the surface and watched it arrive. He did not do so alone, for plenty

of free miners waited until the last minute to make sure their traps were left untouched.

Rekarafi joined him as well, which he had not expected; but he took some comfort in the

Viruk’s presence.

The storm chose to break out of Ixyll and flow down into the canyon just before sunset.

The sun’s illumination backlit the towering clouds of dust it stirred up, adding purple-and-

red tones to a tableau shot through with black lightning. Keles wanted to liken it to a

normal thunderstorm, but the lighting shot horizontally as well as vertically. And while it

sometimes resembled the standard jagged fork pattern, it also sometimes swirled through

and around dust columns, wreathing them with fire. The discharges of energy built,

thunder cracks echoing sharply as the storm approached the curtain, then the curtain

evaporated and the storm poured into the valley.