Ian Johnstone - Circles of Stone

Naeo looked puzzled and awkward, but she returned the embrace.

“Take care of yourself,” said Filimaya, stepping back. “And remember what I told you. Try not to worry about your father. I know that Sylas will do all you would do.”

Naeo looked unconvinced. “I hope so,” she said.

Paiscion wandered over and took both her hands in his.

“Now remember what I said about the Circle of Salsimaine. Get there as quickly as you can – don’t give Thoth any more time than you have to. And when you’re through, remember to look for—”

“You think I’ll just … know what to do?” said Naeo.

“At the Circle?”

She nodded dubiously.

“You’ll know,” he said dismissively. “You summoned the Passing Bell! The Circle of Salsimaine will be no challenge at all. When you’re through, remember to look for our friends – if you don’t find them, they’ll find you. And whatever happens on the other side, remember this: we are in a race against a dying moon. Keep to our plan and do not delay. Is that understood?”

He lifted his glasses and eyed her closely until she nodded.

“Then you’re ready. Filimaya, perhaps you could guide Naeo and Ash out of the valley?”

Filimaya nodded and turned to leave, but Naeo stood rooted to the spot. She was looking across the clearing, searching for Sylas. The impulse confused her. It did not come from a thought, nor a feeling: it was a need – a powerful, consuming need.

Sylas was already looking at her.

It was a peculiar moment, a moment when as individuals they were unsure what to do, but something beyond them, something between them, left no doubt at all.

They each turned and walked towards the other.

Everyone fell silent, transfixed by what they saw. Paiscion opened his mouth to call them away, but stopped himself. The people in the trees craned their necks and leaned over branches to get a better view. Children ceased their chatter and adults held their breath. They, like Paiscion, could see that this was not like the Say-So. There was something different in their manner, in the way they held each other’s gaze. They were single-minded, confident, fearless.

As they drew close they slowed, extending their hand to the other.

Their fingers touched, their palms met and they held on.

The instant they came together the bands of silver and gold around their wrists morphed, losing lustre and form. The edges became blurred as though they were no longer solid but shifting vapour. Then, sure enough, the band around Naeo’s wrist issued a wisp of silver, curling up into the air like a trail of smoke, and in that moment Sylas’s did the same, sending forth a twisting tendril of gold. It was as if the two parts of the Merisi Band were reaching out, trying to become one.

The forest fell absolutely silent. Not a normal quiet – the kind of quiet that consumed the forest at night, this silence was complete: birds ceased their singing; animals stopped their foraging; the breeze fell away. Nothing shifted or called or breathed.

And while the world fell still, in Sylas and Naeo, there was a storm. A violent, ravaging storm like before, when they had met in the Dirgheon. They felt sick to their stomachs and winced from the pain in their wrists, but at the same time something else grew within them, something greater than their physical selves, something that caught them up and consumed them.

It was the knowledge that each was the other. It was a pact – a certainty that one would do for the other whatever they wished for themselves.

But it was also something else.

It was the joy of being whole.

“The great Leo Tsu warned us that the way is shadowy and indistinct, that it is dim and dark. But within, he said, is the essence.”

THIS WAS A NEW kind of forest. It was lower, thicker and darker than the majestic woods in the Valley of Outs and it pressed in on all sides, smothering sound and clawing at clothes. Naeo and Ash pushed on through the dense undergrowth, panting from the exertion. To make matters worse, their route took them across a range of hills: it was only midday and already, this was the fifth they had climbed.

“I’m not saying that Essenfayle isn’t the best of the bunch,” said Ash, pausing for breath and pulling a stray leaf out of his hair, “I’m just saying that the Three Ways have their place too. And together, you have to admit that the Three Ways are more than a match for Essenfayle. The Reckoning proved that.”

Naeo turned to him. “And I’m just saying that you’re very sure of yourself.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I’m sure of myself too. And you’re wrong.”

“Ouch,” said Ash with a grin. “Feisty one, aren’t you?”

Naeo shrugged and carried on climbing.

“I’ve been wondering,” persisted Ash, setting out after her, “how come you’re so pushy? I mean, Sylas is confident in his own way, but—”

Naeo wheeled about. “Did you ask to come because you were short of someone to talk to?”

Ash looked at her blankly and shook his head.

“So stop talking ,” snapped Naeo. With that she turned and continued her climb.

Ash pulled a face. “This is going to be such fun,” he murmured.

They climbed for what seemed an age: clambering over tree roots and boulders; squeezing through bush and thicket, scrambling up banks thick with leaves. The forest hummed and squabbled and squawked around them, the air humid and close. This was the highest hill so far, but with ravines and steep slopes on either side, they had no choice but to carry on, no matter how hard the going. At one point they stopped and ate some lunch, but Ash again found his attempts at conversation futile. Naeo ate quickly, then gazed off into the forest, weaving the bootlace between her fingers, crafting her cat’s cradle until he was ready.

As they resumed their climb, Naeo felt a familiar ache inching upwards from her lower back, following the contours of the black scar. The pain was never far away, but it had become more persistent in the past days, and had only worsened with the effort of the climb and the constant rubbing of her pack. She adjusted it so that it hung from her front, but even then, the pat, pat, pat of her loose hair grew unbearable and she soon had to ask Ash to stop. She foraged around in the undergrowth and found two suitable twigs, then coiled her hair behind her head and slid them through it to hold it fast.

“Lovely,” said Ash, sarcastically. “Are we expecting company? Making a public appearance perhaps?” He made a show of looking around.

Naeo gave him a steady look. “Just a sore back,” she said, setting out again.

“Well, of course,” he said, shaking his head in bewilderment. “The wrong hairdo can be a devil for your back.”

It was well into the afternoon before the ground finally started to level off and they allowed themselves to believe that they were nearing the top. They noticed the forest begin to lighten and then, to their relief, they saw a break in the branches and twigs and the grey glow of the open sky. Within moments they were dragging their weary limbs into a clearing and hauling their packs gratefully from their shoulders.

They looked out on a dismal view. Gone was the winter sun and the bronzes and reds of a forest clinging to autumn. In their place they saw a brooding, melancholy scene: a blank wall of grey sky descending to a granite horizon; the rolling, featureless terrain of minor foothills sprawling out on to an empty dust-swept plain as far as the eye could see.