The Prophet of Panamindorah, Book One Fauns and Filinians (3 page)

* * * *

The Tembrils did not require housework on
Sundays. Lately, Corry had been packing a lunch and leaving for
most of the day. One Sunday as he grabbed his backpack and books,
Mrs. Tembril surprised him by saying, “Corry I wish you wouldn’t
spend all day outside, especially after dark. We’re playing card
games this evening. I think you should join us.”

“Alright.”

Mrs. Tembril kept looking at him. “What do
you do all day outside, Corry?”

He met her eyes. “I walk.”

“I saw you walking in the orange grove the
other day. We told you to stay out of there.”

“I forgot.”

“Perhaps you need a day indoors to help you
remember.”

Corry hated to beg, but he hated missing an
opportunity even more. “Mrs. Tembril, I’m not doing anything wrong.
I’m sorry I disobeyed you. Please let me go out.” He tried to hit
the right note of contrition, but the lie stuck in his throat.

“Be back by three. If not, you’ll be grounded
for a week. Do you understand, Corry?”

Corry nodded and was out the door before she
could say more. He went to the lake, because that was the best way
to get into the grove without being seen from the house. A stiff
wind was whipping off the water, blowing his hair into a dark
tangle as he entered the trees. Three o’clock. He’d wanted the
whole day. He felt angry and sad and frustrated.

Corry tramped some distance into the trees,
then crawled beneath an old, gnarled canopy of branches and made
himself comfortable. The sugar sand drank sound as rapaciously as
it drank water. The deep silence calmed him. He read for a while
and ate his lunch, then played a bit on the flute. He thought he
had the song almost right, but nothing interesting happened.

Corry opened his book again. The day was hot,
and his meal began to make him sleepy. He never quite knew when he
dropped the book on his knees and nodded off.

* * * *

Corry’s eyes snapped open.
How long have I
been asleep?
The light had weakened, and long shadows stretched
beneath the tree. Corry looked at his watch.
Four
thirty?

He nearly panicked.
Mrs. Tembril will
never let me out the door again. She might even send me back to the
orphanage!

Formulating excuses furiously, Corry hefted
his pack, clambered from under the tree, and started towards the
house at a run. Sloshing through the sand, Corry counted the rows.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… How far did I go?
He stopped.
This can't be right. I should have reached the house
by now.

T-thump. T-thump.
With only the
briefest of warnings, three deer raced out of the trees, all brown,
all bearing riders. Corry stumbled back as they jumped over him.
The riders were fauns. The foremost wore a wide-brimmed hat with a
long, green plume bobbing over the back.

Heart thumping, Corry stared after them. Then
he heard another sound. Corry turned. Not five feet in front of him
crouched an enormous gray spotted cat.

It was, of all things, a snow leopard. The
cat didn’t seem to see Corry, who jumped out of its path just in
time as it bounded after the deer. Corry hardly had a chance to
feel relief before a number of black leopards charged out of the
trees after the snow leopard.

Corry didn’t hesitate. He turned to follow
them.

Chapter 3.
Laven-lay

Walking the streets of Laven-lay, one finds
it difficult to imagine that this city has been embroiled in so
many wars. It is a national capitol that looks more like a garden,
sleeping in the sunshine, asking only to be left alone.

—Lasa,
Tour the Endless Wood

Corry had not been following the smeared
footprints for five minutes before he noticed something odd
happening to the grove. The rows were becoming more crooked, the
trees wilder. Corry rubbed his eyes. The world felt cluttered,
overlapping. His ears rang with a sound on the edge of hearing,
like wind in a door. He thought he saw things out of the corners of
his eyes—taller trees, ferns and rocks, a whole forest. But when he
turned, they were gone.

He knew he was coming to a wood. He knew it
long before the rows vanished, before the sand became soil, before
the last of the wild orange trees disappeared among taller, darker
furs. Around dusk he lost the trail of the cats and deer, but he
kept moving. Unfamiliar birds sang in the twilight. The noise in
his ears had ebbed away. He caught the scent of the warm earth,
perfused occasionally with the delicate scent of flowers.

Darkness fell and a mist rose. Corry found it
difficult to see any distance. He thought uneasily of leopards. His
shoes were full of sand, and he took them off to empty them. He sat
still, letting the sweat dry on his body and listening to the
strange birds and insects.

The moon was rising above the trees. Corry
stared at it. The disc was blood red and about three times the size
of the moon should have been. On the opposite side of the sky he
saw another moon. This one was yellow and smaller than Earth’s. It
shone in a golden sickle above the trees. Something deep inside
Corry stirred. “Runner,” he said aloud. He did not say it in
English. He looked at the full red moon for a while and finally
said, “The Dragon.”

* * * *

“Rise slowly. No sudden movements.”

Corry opened his eyes. Early morning sunlight
dazzled off a cluster of swords pointed in his general direction.
Front and center stood the faun with the green-plumed hat. The faun
was shorter than Corry, slim and dressed in a dark green tunic and
black belt. He had a scar across his right cheek and several more
running up his left arm.

“Who are you and where do you come from? Be
quick.”

Corry sat up, wincing at stiff muscles. The
faun with the hat poked him. “Answer me.”

Corry scowled. He didn’t trust his command of
the language and wasn’t sure what to say in any case. “My name is
Corry.”

One of the fauns behind him snickered. He
heard someone whisper, “Half-wit.”

The lead faun spoke again, slowly, as if to a
small child. “What kind of
shelt
are you? Why are you
here
?”

“Perhaps he’s drunk,” offered someone, but
the lead faun only snorted.

Still speaking to Corry, he said, “Why do you
wear shoes and such outlandish clothing? Are you a wolfling? Where
is your sword…or are you a female?”

Corry’s head was throbbing with fragmented
memories, brought suddenly to life by the fauns and the language
they spoke. He wanted to tell them to be quiet and let him
think.

The lead faun poked him again with his sword.
“Come, little filly, tell us whose mother sent you to the market,
and perhaps we’ll let you go.”

This time Corry’s hand flew to the sword and
closed around it. Blood welled between his fingers. “Beware you
touch me again!”

The faun jump back as though at a snake.

Corry blinked and looked down at his own
blood.

The faun darted forward, caught one of
Corry’s shoes, and wrenched it free.

Gasps of horror. “It’s a wizard!” whispered
someone.

But their leader shook his head. “A
weak-blooded iteration, spying for the cats. If it had powers, it
would have used them by now. Its threats are empty. Tie it.”

Fauns swarmed forward and bound Corry, who
did not resist. He felt stupid and sluggish.
Why did I provoke
them? Why do they care about my feet?

“Shall we hang him here, Syrill?”

Corry looked up sharply. Too late, he
realized exactly how much trouble he was in.

Syrill shook his head.

“We take him back to Laven-lay. He will tell
us what he knows, even if we have to torture it from him.”

* * * *

They traveled all morning. If not for his
predicament, Corry might have enjoyed the ride. The deer were
larger than Earth deer, flying over the forest floor like
shadows.

About noon, they stepped from the trees into
a clearing in front of iron-banded gates in a white stone wall. The
gates were closed and guarded, but they opened at Syrill’s
hail.

Beyond the wall, Corry saw grassy turf,
dotted by clumps of trees and tiny pools fed by twinkling brooks.
Deer grazed everywhere, and the faun soldiers turned their own
mounts lose to join the others. Syrill took charge of Corry as they
started up the road on foot. “Welcome to Laven-lay. Enjoy the
sunlight while you can.”

Corry wondered again how to explain himself
in a way that made sense. The more he thought, the more panicky he
felt. The grassy deer park gave way to dirt streets. The houses
were predominantly wood with stone trimming. A canopy of trees,
vines, and flowering plants covered everything. Fauns moved around
him. Often they wore only shirts or vests. Their naked skin ended
at their waists, and even though they wore no pants, their dense
fur seemed to clothe them. Many of the fauns bowed to Syrill or
touched their hats and made way for him. Youngsters playing in the
streets stopped to stare at Corry.

At last his escort reached the city center.
They crossed a paved drill yard and stopped before the steps of a
sprawling castle. Syrill turned around, and Corry saw that all but
three of the soldiers had peeled off. “Take him to the dungeons.
I’ll be there shortly.”

The fauns took Corry inside and along several
corridors as fast as he could trot. Then his guards halted briefly
while one fumbled with the keys for another door. Whereas the
previous passages had been dingy, they were now standing on white
marble in a hallway bright with sunlight. The air wafting from the
windows smelled of flowers. The guard finally found the right key,
and the door swung back with a leaden groan to reveal a windowless
passage, leading downward. One of the soldiers took a torch from a
bracket in the wall and lit it. Another took Corry’s arm and
propelled him forward.

If I let this go any further, I’m
lost.
“I’m not a spy!” Corry braced his feet. “I’m a guest in
your kingdom! I refuse to be imprisoned without speaking to your
king.”

The fauns seemed surprised. From the forest
until now, he had come unresisting. “You may speak to General
Syrill about that,” said one. “His orders—”

All three fauns let go of Corry so abruptly
that he fell backwards out of the doorway and landed on his rump. A
faun said something quickly that Corry did not understand. Then one
of the fauns said, “Your highness, we are sorry, but the passage to
the dungeons requires that we enter the castle at some point—”

“Who is the prisoner?”

Corry was still facing the mouth of the
passage, but he went taut at the voice.

“An iteration of diluted blood, your
highness. Syrill caught him in the wood and suspects him of spying
for the Filinian army. Syrill intends to—”

“Turn him around.”

“Of course, your highness.” The soldier
pulled Corry to his feet, spun him around, and pushed his head into
an awkward bow. “Give proper respect to the regent and Princess,
Capricia Sor.”

It was the fauness! Corry felt weak with
relief. She was dressed differently—a coat of pale blue over
frilly, white silk, snug around her slender waist. Corry could see
why the sight of her had startled the guards. She looked ready to
devour someone. With a visible effort at control, she said to the
guards, “I know this person. Release him.”

“But, your highness, Syrill said—”

“Syrill was misinformed. Release the prisoner
to me, and go about your business.” With a scowl at Corry, the
guards cut the rope from his hands and withdrew.

The fauness rounded on him. “Where is it?”
she hissed.

“What do you mean?” Corry had been on the
verge of thanking her.

“The thing I threw into the lake in your
world!”

“Oh, the flute?” Corry reached into his
pocket, but Capricia waved her hands.

“Put it away! You— You—! Why—? How—?” Her
face turned a shade of lavender that did not match her dress. She
seemed to be choking on something.

“Are you alright?” asked Corry.

“No!” she exploded. “You dare—? You had no
right to take it!”

“You
did
throw it away,” said Corry.
“You nearly brained me with it.”

She was still speaking. “How did you leave
your world?”

“The same way you left it, I suppose. And
anyway, it’s not my world. Didn’t you say yourself that I spoke
your language? I came from this world, only…I seem to have lost my
memory.” He watched her jaw working. “What’s so important about the
flute?”

“Silence!” Capricia drew a deep breath. “The
hall is no place to speak of this.” She took his arm as though she
meant to have it off at the elbow and led him at an uncomfortably
speed along a maze of corridors.

At last they started up the winding steps of
a tower. Corry was panting by the time they reached the top. He saw
a little room, lined on three sides with bookshelves. In the
remaining wall, a large window gave an open-air view of the city.
Before the window stood a desk, piled with books and serviced with
a comfortable looking chair.

“Whose library is this?” asked Corry.

“Mine.” Capricia closed the door behind her
and clicked the bolt into place. “Now tell me everything!”

Chapter
4. A
Conflict of Interests

Of all the shocks in my life, only one could
match that of finding Corry in Laven-lay. The second jolt was yet
to come, so I believed I had experienced the worst.

—Capricia Sor,
Prelude to War

“There’s not much to tell.” Corry stopped.
“There’s not much I can explain,” he corrected.

“Begin to try,” growled Capricia. Her tufted
ears were flat back against her head. They looked to Corry like
little horns.

“I didn’t belong where you found me,” said
Corry. “I belong here, in this world—Panamindorah.” He had not
known the word when he started, but it came to him as he spoke.