Tucked against a spur of the mountain at the end of the single lane that wound through the town, the Chamber was the only building in Tishaara that could be remotely considered architecture. It had originally been designed as a gathering place for the entire population. But the Tishaarans had prospered in terms of survival, if not in material. On this evening, they stuffed the building beyond its capacity. Bleachers packed with spectators rose steeply to the rafters along three heavily varnished pine walls of the great hall. If anyone had taken a deep breath, those on the ends would have toppled from their perches like lemmings dropping into the sea.
Delaney and Roland sat wedged near the middle of the center stand. Berch had declined to attend the proceedings, which would have made the prospects for the evening enjoyable for Roland were it not for Delaney’s strange behavior. An hour ago, she had first learned of the young Tishaaran guard’s death at the Gaterock. For some reason, she had been furious with Roland for shielding her from news. She accused him of being dishonest and manipulative and treating her like a baby. He had tried to point out that she herself told him not to bring up anything negative on the night of Vyarlis, but she would not listen. Warily, he sat next to her, trying to gauge the depth and duration of her anger. Not that he had a clue what he was looking for; Delaney’s moods spoke in a language to which he did not even know the alphabet.
As the bleachers swayed beneath the weight of the Tishaarans, Delaney was working herself into a stew. “I don't trust these bleachers. They're about as sturdy as a pile of cardboard boxes. This whole village seems like everyone shops at a discount store."
“The problem is they don’t have much decent lumber up here,” Roland pointed out. When she didn’t bite his head off, he ventured to add, “Have you seen any trees thicker than your wrist since we arrived in Tishaara?”
“So can’t they trade with the Lumberjacks? They’ve got fat trees up the wazzoo.”
“Shhh,” whispered Digtry, sitting behind them. Roland had seen nothing of him since their arrival in Tishaara. There were so many questions Roland was dying to ask him, particularly about the flames on the island. But the little man had simply disappeared for days and now had suddenly shown up in the stands with barely an acknowledgment of their presence. He peered over their shoulders with his pointy chin resting on clasped hands.
A hush fell over the room as five Tishaarans, clad in ceremonial sky blue cloaks, squeezed through the anxious overflow crowd into the hall. The five, the Chamber wards of Tishaara, solemnly processed to a table in front of a fireplace along the hall’s only unbleachered wall.
An old woman entered last. She glided across the floor, carrying herself with the elegance of an ancient willow whose branches flowed in a breeze. She cradled in her hands a piece of wood, elaborately carved in the shape of a heron.
“What’s with the wood carving?” Roland asked Digtry.
“They call it a talking stick. Whoever holds it speaks, and none may interrupt for any reason.”
The silver-haired woman took her seat and called out, “By the will of the Tishaaran people, the chamber is now open.” Holding her hands out as if in blessing, she chanted these words,
“As we debate our concerns,
May the Creator cool our passions in the waters of wisdom,
And temper our wisdom with the power of mercy.”
“Glenleaf, the president,” whispered Digtry.
Glenleaf dispensed with any further preliminaries. “Today there are several concerns that weigh heavily upon us,” she declared, as she arranged a thin sheaf of papers on the table. “First, we call upon Windglow to report on his journey from the Second Realm.”
Windglow arose from his first-row seat. In his cleaned and pressed clothes, with his black hair combed in a flowing wave, he initially presented a striking figure. But his poise deserted him almost immediately.
As Glenleaf gestured to the lectern that faced the stands from behind the table, he walked stiffly and haltingly across the room. Upon reaching the lectern, he gripped it tights, as though it were a life preserver in a storm. His eyes darted across the room and his nose twitched like a rabbit’s as he accepted the stick from Glenleaf and cleared his throat before the Chamber-elect.
Struggling to control his voice, he spoke of the nameless conspiracy that Roland had unwittingly crossed on a Second Realm island, a secret alliance that had hunted them across realm bounds. He told of the Raxxar hordes that had stirred from their southern lairs and pursued them through the August Mountains to the edge of Cloudmire.
Even though the Tishaarans had whispered rumors of these events for the past two weeks, the hall rumbled with the harmony of low voices. But they stiffened into edgy silence when Windglow began to speak of the wolf.
“One morning,” he reported, trying to hold himself together, “I shamefully abandoned my friends from the Outrealm on the high plains of August. I--I went off to scout a nearby gully to see if it might offer a sheltered way down from the exposed mesa. I neglected to inform my compatriots, who were asleep at the time, of my plans.”
“Poor Windglow,” said Delaney, biting her lip. “And poor Berch.”
Windglow squirmed behind the podium. “Mr. Berch, acting in what he believed to be self-defense, fought off an approaching wolf by hurling stones.” His voice trailed off to almost a whisper. The Tishaaran spectators, almost as one, leaned forward in the bleachers.
“I know this sounds strange to us, but I assure you that Berch was blameless in this matter. He is not of the realmlands and had it in his mind that wolves were dangerous enemies. Truly, he had no way of knowing what he was doing. He fought the wolf. With stones. His aim was true, thus injuring the wolf so that it was . . .”
Windglow’s tongue caught in his throat. The darting eyes congealed into a glassy stare. “ . . . hindered in its efforts to escape an attack by wild dogs." With that he placed the heron stick upon the table, indicating his report was finished.
"Could you tell if--" Glenleaf began, gently.
"There can be no doubt that the wolf who was . . . killed by those dogs . . . was of the Fourth Realm,” Windglow said, despondently.
Several Tishaaran gasped, as though Windglow had uttered a profane word in the midst of a sacred ceremony. There were even a few stifled sobs. All waited anxiously as the Elect of the Chamber groped for a response.
At last a heavyset, clean-shaven man with a narrow fringe of hair lapping his bald head held out his hand for the stick. When Windglow complied, he pushed back his chair and stood. “Begging your pardon,” he began.
Still trying to restore himself to Delaney’s good graces, Roland quipped, “I’ll bet Tishaaran babies are born begging forgiveness for the trouble they caused in labor.”
“Shut up!” snapped Delaney.
The somber Tishaaran spoke in a thick, deliberate voice, hands behind his back like a schoolchild reciting a poem. “The appearance in our realm of the most loyal friends Tishaara has ever known is a matter of urgent concern. It is no small matter for a Fourth Realm beast to forfeit its gift of communication by dropping into a lower realm.
“We now hear that at such a time, when most exposed to the perils of an unfamiliar realm, the wolf sought an audience, with a Tishaaran camp. Eagerly has Tishaara awaited a chance to repay a portion of its debt to our allies. Before it could reveal its purpose, however, the wolf was rejected and turned away to its death.”
He shook his head sadly. “I cannot imagine any action that would bring more dishonor to the people of Tishaara. It deserves the harshest of punishments.”
Delaney could bear it no longer. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Roland started to put his arm around her shoulder, then hesitated. Unsure of his relationship with her at this point, he thought it safer to let her be. For himself, he was bleeding sympathy in many directions: for the wolf, for Windglow, and for Delaney, and not a small portion for himself. He still could not drum up much in the way of pity for Berch, although he certainly would not want to trade places with him at this moment.
Glenleaf accepted the stick and placed in on the table. She arose and steadied herself by gripping the desk with her free hand. “Windglow, please. How do you respond to Alanwyck’s words?”
Delaney sniffled and lifted her red-rimmed eyes as she braced for yet another tragic consequence of that ill-fated meeting on the high plain. Roland, too, sat in dread. How severe was Tishaaran justice? These appeared to be exceptionally gentle folk, yet their code of conduct seemed terribly strict. Was Windglow in for it? After their narrow brushes with death, was his life on the line yet again?
Windglow accepted the stick and in a clear but wavering voice, said, “The facts are clear. The wolf’s blood is upon me.”
“No! You can’t be so hard on yourself,” Delaney protested, loudly enough to raise several Tishaaran eyebrows. “He did the best he could, and he got us out of the Second Realm! He was just trying to help! How can they jump all over him for that?”
The attention she attracted embarrassed Roland. “This is a legal proceeding, Delaney,” he whispered. “They’re tying to look at it from an objective angle--”
From the glare Delaney shot at him, Roland realized he had chosen a poor time to endorse the objective angle. “I’m not saying anything against Windglow,” he insisted. “But you have to try to look at this from the Tishaarans’ point of view. This is a court of law. They have their own system for dealing with stuff like this and we have to respect that.”
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Delaney’s face hardened into a wet mask of pure contempt.
“Thank you, Windglow,” said Glenleaf, again controlling the stick. “You have spoken as befits a Tishaaran. We detect no malice. No crimes. Mistakes, yes. Grievous mistakes. Yet none sprang from willful intent. Mistakes are signs to be read and heeded, not chains to be dragged around for the rest of one’s life. We do better to bear the consequences they bring and correct them for the future than punish them for what is past.”
Glenleaf summoned Windglow to stand before her. She touched his shoulder and spoke words that none in the bleachers could hear. Releasing him with an elegant gesture of her hand, she turned to those beside her.
“While we do not punish mistakes made in the absence of intent, justice demands repayment for the harm they cause. It is beyond our power to make good our wrong to this wolf. We can only make restitution of an inadequate sort to its kin.
“Beyond that, I am concerned with the purpose of the wolf’s visit. We do not know whether the wolves came with news or warning, or a plea for help. Never within the span of our friendship have they sought us out for any reason but to inquire after our safety. If at long last they have sent an emissary to beseech our aid, Tishaara’s honor would forever be forfeit if we did not respond with all speed and all our resources to their request. Therefore, we must seek out the wolves, to inform them of the fate that befell their kinsman and to learn the purpose of their visit.”
With nods of approval rather than a vote, the Elect of the Chamber endorsed the proposal. Windglow was dismissed.
“Huh! Windglow got off easier than I,” Roland noted. He meant it as an expression of relief as well as surprise, but Delaney took it as a criticism of the judgment.
“I hate you!” she hissed.
“That matter being concluded,” said Glenleaf, studying her notes, “we move to a related issue: this pursuit of Roland Stewart. I call upon Karpellet to shed light on that.”
The captain stiffly presented himself to the Chamber. Standing at the podium, he gripped the stick tightly, looking neither to the left nor right, he recounted his conversation with Roland about the signs of the realms. When Karpellet told of Roland’s claim that he believed himself to have seen Cold Flames on the Second Realm island, the Tishaarans gasped. The fear and pain shining in those curiously green eyes surrounding him unnerved Roland. He wished he had some clue as to why the Cold Flame business had taken an entire community’s breath away.
“I’m sitting right here,” he said, miffed at having his own testimony plagiarized. “Why don’t they ask me what I saw? Give me the stick.”
“Tishaarans do not question visitors in public,” Digtry whispered. “Impolite. They accept testimony only if volunteered.”
“I would have volunteered if anyone had asked."
“So volunteer.”
Roland looked over the sea of earnest Tishaarans seated around him and decided he did not want to be the center of attention at this intimidating ceremony. Embarrassed that Digtry had called his bluff, he frowned and folded his arms across his chest. This evening was not turning out to be as much fun as he had expected.
As Karpellet returned to his seat, Glenleaf met the gaze of each Chamber member in turn. Finally, she settled on one who was shorter than most Tishaarans, with high, reddish cheeks and a rather lumpy forehead. She held out the talking stick to him, but held on as he grasped the other end.
“That means they’re going to dialogue,” noted Digtry.
Glenleaf adjusted her chair so that she could look this ward, named Vestmark, squarely in the eye. “Some cite the pursuit of Roland as proof of a conspiracy between forces of the Second and Third Realms. Specifically, Rushbrook and the Raxxars. What are your thoughts?”
Vestmark returned her intense gaze, with neither challenge nor discomfort. This was no contest or test of wills. For although they held different views on the subject, it struck Roland that each appeared to be trying to enter the mind of the other, to explore, not exploit what they found. They reminded Roland of a team of draft horses pulling together, each from its own side, on a ponderous load. “I say that the Raxxars have not the wits, nor the Brookings the audacity or the power to form such an alliance,” said Vestmark. “The Raxxars understand nothing of speech. How then could they form any alliance?”
“Yet both in succession hunted Roland in deadly earnest, even the Raxxars, who had no previous dealings with him,” said Glenleaf. “Indeed, they had never seen nor heard of him, yet they pursued him relentlessly. Furthermore, we have reports that a Fifth Realm being was seen on this sequestered island. You know as well as I that those of the spirit realm have the power to communicate with every living creature, whether it utters speech or no.“
“But a Fifth Realmer can make no contact with a lower realm being without forfeiting the protection of his realm. We all know the rules of the realm bounds. Fifth Realmers are immortal. The instant they leave the protection of their realm, they lose their shield of immortality along with virtually all of their powers. Who among them would dare to do this? It would be madness!”
“But such a thing has happened,” said Glenleaf. “Did not the Creator risk everything, even mortality, at the forging of the realm bonds at Vyarlis?”
“With boundless and inexpressible love as the motive, yes. And if such love be the guiding force behind these events, we have naught to fear and much to celebrate. But the tale we have heard of murder on an island and a deadly pursuit by Second Realmers in league with the Raxxars hardly points in this direction. Can you imagine any cause in the lower realms aside from noble sacrifice for which an immortal would take such a risk?”
“I confess I cannot,” said Glenleaf, and the room sighed with relief. “Nor can I fashion any theory that fits the facts. But that does not mean the facts can be ignored. What do you make of the sighting of Cold Flames on the Second Realm island?”
“I confess I am flummoxed,” said Vestmark. “What experience have we in the lower realms with the flames that do not burn? All agree that such phenomena are exclusively of the Fifth Realm. Powers of the high realms can no more occur in the lower realms than mountains can float on air. If what Roland saw in the Second Realm were indeed Cold Flames, he witnessed a phenomenon that would astound all the realms. What such a thing could mean, I cannot imagine.”
“Suppose, for argument’s sake, that Roland’s sighting of Cold Flames is what provoked the manhunt. A plausible premise, would you agree?”
Vestmark nodded.
“My question, then, is why would anyone be so desperate to keep news of the Cold Flames from reaching us who, of all peoples in the realms, pose no threat to anyone?”
Vestmark thought a long time and then replied, “The wrath of this conspiracy, if it exists, is aimed at Roland, not at Tishaara. The aim cannot be to keep the secret from us, specifically, but to keep it from anyone.”
Glenleaf ground her bottom lip. “Who is this one called Devil Throat? Has anyone heard of him?”
For the first time since beginning their dialogue, the two appeared to remember there were others in the room. Both turned the question to the rest of the council, and then to the gathering at large. There was a general shaking of heads.
“We seem to have made no progress on this issue,” admitted Glenmark. Sadly, as if drained of the energy with which she had strode into the room, she laid the stick on the table.
Vestmark took it up at once. “Loathe as I am to test the Chamber’s patience or resolve, there is another matter I must bring up. I am given to understand that the wrath of the Lumberjacks, our only Third Realm neighbor whom we can call friend, has also been kindled against us by Windglow's ill-fated expedition. I am afraid I should like to summon him back before the Chamber for questions on that matter.”
Digtry immediately stood up. “You’re stick is out of my reach,” he called. “May I breach the rules, and say something here?”
All eyes in the room turned to him, and then swiveled back to Glenleaf.
She smiled and gestured to him with an open hand. “As a guest in our land, you are not bound by Tishaaran code or protocol. Please speak, Digtry.”
“No inquiry is necessary on the matter of the Lumberjacks. That was me. I fully confess to provoking their wrath, over Windglow’s strenuous objection.”
“I see,” said Glenleaf, holding his gaze. “May I ask what you hoped to accomplish by inciting them so?”
“You may, but I’ll save time by answering before you do so. What it accomplished Cold was keeping us alive. Which is not as craven a goal as it may first appear. I suspect the fate of all the realms depended on us getting to Tishaara, and I present that not as boasting but as fact. In this case, the aims of self-preservation and altruism coincided.”
“I see,” said Glenleaf, with a hesitance that belied that statement. Roland noted, with some relief that it was not only he who found Digtry frustratingly enigmatic. “Nevertheless, we in Tishaara can hardly afford to be on poor terms with the Lumberjacks. They are a powerful neighbor and valued ally whose help we may desperately need before this is all over. Would you be willing to advise a diplomatic mission to Big Timber to mend fences with them?”
“If you want my advice,” said Digtry, “it would be to avoid them at all costs until their wrath cools. You have defenses; stay behind them. Don’t go near the Lumberjacks.”
“Pardon our imposition,” said Vestmark, face red with outrage, “but since, as you admit, the dangerous rift with the Lumberjacks is your fault, do you not feel some obligation to make amends on this score?”
“I do. But you are going to have to put that on my tab for now. The forces that sought to kill Roland have failed. If their goal, as we suspect, was to prevent news of the Cold Flame from spreading, they are now aware that Roland has contacted Tishaarans, Lumberjacks, and who knows who else. They can no longer assumed their secret to be safe. That means they must act precipitously. Whatever plans they have made will be pressed forward in haste. I fear we do not have much time.”
"To do what?"asked Vestmark, with a heavy sigh of frustration. “We are groping in the dark. We have no idea of what we are dealing with. Therefore, any action by this Chamber regarding the sighting of Cold Flames or a possible interrealm conspiracy would be premature. Especially as we have no evidence that it directly concerns Tishaara.”
Glenleaf studied Digtry carefully during a long silence. She read enough in that look that she finally snatched the stick and said, “May I respectfully differ? You put it well, Vestmark, when you said that the conspiracy seeks to keep the secret of the island, possibly even the secret of the Cold Flames, from everyone. If that is their goal, and if their intent is malevolent, then one action, at least, is clear. We must do that which they fear, and spread the news far and wide. I propose we send messengers to beings of trustworthy and noble character: the beasts and the Color Gnomes of the Fourth Realm, to warn them of this conspiracy of the island and to seek anything they might know about it. Also an emissary must be sent to Orduna, the City of Knowledge in the Second Realm, to seek counsel in unraveling the secrets of the island of their neighbor, Rushbrook."
Vestmark leapt to his feet, nostrils flaring, and reached for the stick. He had pulled with Glenleaf as far as he could but now fear and distrust got the better of him. Glenleaf held the carved wood out to him but kept a firm grip on her half.
“Glenleaf, begging your pardon, but what is this meddling you suggest? Are the Tishaarans, upon mere speculation, to undertake a crusade to safeguard all creatures of all realms, without any clear idea of what we are saving them from?”
Rows of Tishaarans stared at the aged Chamber president, their brows creased with anxiety and doubt. A few nodded in agreement with Vestmark.
“This should be fun,” whispered Roland, defying an instinct that warned him to leave Delaney alone. “Tishaarans actually arguing.”
“You are such a loser!”
“Wards of the Chamber,” Glenleaf declared, rising. “I shall answer Vestmark’s worthy question with several of my own. Is it by a prank of naughty children that Cold Flames, the ancient mark of the Fifth Realm, burst upon on island in the lower realms, in defiance of the laws of nature? Where is the song in the lore of any nation that tells of an alliance moving in stealth across realm borders, recruiting forces to kill an innocent man for the sake of a secret? Is it idle `speculation’ that Raxxars spill forth from their caves and camp on our doorstep, howling for blood? Are we to shrug at all this with no more concern than if we missed our morning meal?
“My friends,” she said, turning to address the entire assembly. “Someone, working in secret and bearing the mysterious scent of the Fifth Realm turns the world upside down in seeking the life of an innocent man. That gives reason enough to doubt its intentions. The scope of its influence across the realm borders gives reason to fear its power. Although the air hangs breathless and no rain falls, yet we may read the signs that foretell the storm: a storm such as has never been witnessed in our lifetime. The time to prepare for the storm is now, while it lies on the horizon. When the rains fall and the winds howl, that will be too late.”
Her words of warning seemed to suck all the air out of the room. No one stirred, nor was a whisper uttered. Roland was shaken to the core. At last he began to gain an inkling of the magnitude of the hornet’s nest he had stirred up on the island. Even here in the peaceful haven of Tishaara, protected by impassable mountains and marsh, he felt the shadow of the sinister force whose path he had unluckily crossed. That force, wielding power beyond anything Roland had ever experienced, sought him. Even now it was stretching forth all its resources to find and destroy him and anyone with whom he had any contact.
“You paint a grim picture of the times,” said Vestmark. “If what you propose is true, that an alliance of realms led by a Fifth Realm force conspires against us, what use are schemes and strategies? What hope have we?”
“I fear the secret of the island is evil, and that its power is beyond reckoning,” conceded Glenleaf. “Yet the realm bonds protect us from the worst. And if these secret-holders were invincible, if their might was unassailable, they would not pursue Roland so desperately, nor would they hide behind the veil of secrecy. That means they are vulnerable. There is yet time to do something. And we, the people of Tishaara, are the ones whom fate or Providence has chosen to see that it is done.”
“What do you suggest we do to meet this faceless menace? It is not the Tishaaran way to use force.”
“Nor shall it ever be,” answered Glenleaf. “My proposal I have already declared: do that which this hidden menace fears. If it fears the spread of Roland’s report, we must spread that secret far and wide. We must tell all we know of this conspiracy and the appearance of the Cold Flames, and seek that which others may know about it. Though we cannot see the meaning of these Flames, nor detect the role of the Fifth Realm, perhaps others better versed in realm lore will enlighten us.”
Anxiety and doubt clouded the faces of the Tishaarans, the crowd as well as members of the Chamber. After a further hour of intense debate, the governing body could not reach consensus on Glenleaf’s proposal. At last she, with painful reluctance, placed the talking stick on the table and spun it. This signified that the motion was to be put to the ballot, a parliamentary maneuver that had not been used in the Chamber in living memory.
The vote went narrowly in Glenleaf’s favor. Yet, still uncomfortable with a lack of unanimity, she continued the discussion until a compromise of sorts was reached with Vestmark and one other member who clung to their opposition. The expedition to the Second Realm city of Orduna was approved, along with the already-sanctioned mission to the wolves. But no further expedition would be sent to the Fourth Realm beyond the emissaries to the wolves. The Chamber appointed one of its own, Alanwyck, to select those best suited for these expeditions.
Late in the night though it was, no one in the chamber drifted off or squirmed with impatience during the proceedings.
At last, Glenleaf rose from her seat and let out a heavy sigh. “If there is no further business, let the Chamber be adjourned.” Her hammer rang down and the room began to clear.