Cyrion (16 page)

The Ha’rani carted and spread processed manure in irregular fields. The T’hanii, equipped with whips, stood on wooden platforms and barked orders. They would sometimes step down from the platforms to apply the whip on random laboring Ha’rani, for no reason Jon could discern.

Not that there’s ever a good reason to whip anyone.
Anya’s growing outrage roiled under her unspoken words.

He shot a glance at her.
I know. But we need to be inconspicuous
. Anya shrugged, and her outrage, mingled with reluctance, faded from his head.

“Jon, come on,” Saul said. Jon hurried towards his friend. They hid in a shadowed alley and waited for D’huri’s contact to arrive. G’hanjl asked Anya to slip the hood from her head for a moment when the contact arrived. The other goblin gasped. G’hanjl asked Anya to pull her hood back on, and three goblins went into a huddle. Jon’s attention wandered as furious whispers ensued from the three.

The T’hanii goblin children looked both better fed and dressed. They still hurried about their chores, fetching water, weeding their garden plots and feeding some hardy species of chicken. Not one of them showed the slightest interest in the canal running through their Quarter, except when they needed to throw away what looked like trash. The wooden bridge over the canal seemed solidly built and elaborately carved.

G’hanjl’s voice broke into his reverie. “Is done. Come. We go to D’hadhu Quarter.”

“G’hanjl, is this the same canal as the one in the Ha’ran Quarter?”

“Same canal in all Quarters.” G’hanjl quickly scanned the area, as though ensuring they had not caught the notice of any T’hanii.

“What are the T’hanii?” Jon said.

“T’hanii is to be makings and growing things.”

They continued to hurry along twisty, shadowed alleys.

“And the D’hadhu?” Saul asked.

G’hanjl spat into the frost-rimmed cobblestones. “D’hadhu is be D’hibuk’s caste. Officer class
ptuh
. We is needings to be more careful.”

Jon kept his head down when they passed through another gateway built of dressed stone with a door of solid oak.

The cobbled streets of the D’hadhu Quarter seemed to be organized in a strict grid pattern. Gone were the neat cottages. In their place stood stone buildings, which, if not for a few odd architectural touches, could have belonged along the any of the wealthier residential streets of Linwood.

Jon took a quick peek into the canal that ran through the D’hadhu Quarter as they walked along its banks. The water was still relatively clear, free of refuse, and did not smell. Jon even spotted a few wilted flower blossoms bobbing on the water surface. The spartan bridge they crossed when making their way over the canal was constructed of slabs of polished granite and completely devoid of ornamentation.

The goblins wandering on the streets of the D’hadhu Quarter resembled the goblins Jon first encountered. They were taller, of bigger build, and dressed in what looked like variants of the same uniform. Unlike the other two Quarters, Jon could not see a single goblin child from the moment they stepped into the D’hadhu Quarter. They were approaching an ornate brass gate when G’hanjl thrust them into a side alley.

“G’hanjl, what—?” Saul said.

“Shh.” His head ducked low, G’hanjl’s gaze darted around in alarm. He hunched his scrawny shoulders and stooped his back, as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. “Also to be keeping head down.”

Unable to contain his curiosity, Jon peeked around the corner. A Ha’rani, polishing the brass gate they were approaching, had his cleaning supplies scattered around him. A pair of D’hadhii, deep in conversation, was coming towards them and the working Ha’rani. One of the D’hadhii accidentally kicked the Ha’rani’s pot of polish, spilling its contents all over his boots. Hissing in fury, the D’hadhii pulled a steel stiletto, and casually plunged it into the Ha’rani’s exposed neck.

The Ha’rani slumped without a sound.

Both D’hadhii chatted and continued on their way, stepping over the goblin who was dying in a growing pool of his own blood. They clucked at the stained, still dripping stiletto, presumably for being irretrievably ruined by the blood of a Ha’rani. The D’hadhii casually tossed the blade. It clattered into the gutter, staining the pristine granite bright orange. Jon felt an alien surge of fury and outrage. He turned and noted Anya’s clenched jaws and fists.

“He should’ve kept out of way,” G’hanjl said in a toneless voice.

“G’hanjl,” Anya said, “how could you say that?” Her silver eyes glittered with fury.

G’hanjl shrugged. “We in D’hadhu Quarter. He knew rules.”

Despite his nonchalance, Jon thought he heard a note of bitterness in the little goblin’s voice.

“But those are bad rules,” Jon said.

“Is why we need
MataPerak
and Fat Watchers. Is why we have to leave.” G’hanjl waited until the pair of D’hadhii turned the corner. “Come, we go.”

“Shouldn’t we help him?” Anya asked as they approached the dying Ha’rani.

“Is too late for him,” G’hanjl said.

They skirted around the limp form.

His voice grew hard. “But not too late for others.”

G’hanjl’s face darkened as he picked up the discarded, bloodstained stiletto, glittering in the gutter. He tucked it into his belt, and then turned to the children. “Come.”

The five of them entered a cemetery, and ducked into a marble mausoleum. Various Ha’rani were inside, dusting and cleaning in the gloom.

“G’hanjl,” Jon said, “are Ha’rani not allowed to be in this Quarter?”

“No. Ha’rani must always do work. Ha’rani must all work in all Quarters. But Ha’rani must do work unseen and unheard.”

When D’huri’s contact came, G’hanjl asked Anya to show her face yet again. The goblins then conversed in terse voices, before leaving yet again.

“Come. Now we go to G’hur Quarter, meet J’hatk.”

According to G’hanjl, the G’hur Quarter housed the teachers and members of the religious orders in goblin society. Often, the teachers and priests were one and the same. The gateway leading to the Quarter was of flawless white marble. The door itself was constructed of solid dark mahogany.

They entered the gate into the G’hur Quarter.

After Anya showed her face to the contact and the goblins huddled to talk, Jon settled to observing the G’hur Quarter. The streets were also laid in a strict grid pattern, and covered with dressed paving stones.

This section of the goblin settlement was a city of carved marble and granite. The voices of goblin children rang out of schools as they chanted aloud. Jon understood a few snatches of the Common Tongue, and made out two or three more languages he couldn’t recognize. A whispered consultation with Anya revealed she could only identify a few more, and she was not fluent enough in any of these languages to make out what the children were actually chanting.

Well-dressed G’hurii females met and chittered in the pocket gardens that littered the Quarter. The Ha’rani, with their tattered attire and relatively smaller size, stood out even more to Jon, however hard they tried to be invisible. They swept the spotless streets and weeded the pocket gardens. They carried G’hurii females in lavish, veiled palanquins that thronged the streets. They stood on the banks and threw flower blossoms into the canal that ran through the Quarter. Jon supposed the Ha’rani couldn’t legally use the carved marble bridge, dotted with lavish statuary, which spanned the canal in this Quarter.

Their conversation completed, G’hanjl and J’hatk led them to the P’rabh Quarter, official residence of the goblin gods.

THROUGH THE APPLE WOOD GATE

Night had fallen by the time they reached the gateway to the P’rabh Quarter. The wooden door was carved with indecipherable glyphs and shone with an iridescent glow.

“Apple wood,” Anya said. “The symbol of magic, youth, beauty, and happiness. Also, these glyphs.”

She frowned and Jon felt Anya focusing his attention on them. “They look familiar.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“I’m not sure, exactly. They look like elven script, but I don’t recognize the dialect. Mother was supposed to teach me all of them, but she passed before she had the chance.”

“Bet you Grampa Naeem would know,” Saul said, lips pursed. “He knows everything.”

“Can you memorize the glyphs,” Jon said to Anya, “so you can reproduce them and we can show him later?”

She nodded without hesitation.

“We needings to hurrying. Come. Before we is caught.” G’hanjl motioned to the gate.

Jon ignored him for the moment, and kept his eyes trained on the elegant, flowing script. Anya’s torso stiffened as she focused on memorizing the glyphs, and then relaxed after the mysterious inscription was safe in her memory.

“Is the door magic?” Saul trailed his hands over the smooth, fine-grained wood.

Anya nodded. “Reeks of magic. The whole area behind the door, too.”

Jon studied the area around the gateway. All the roads in the G’hur Quarter seemed to lead to this gateway. He spotted not a single goblin. Not even a token Ha’rani sweeping or cleaning.

“G’hanjl,” Jon said, “do the G’hurii sleep early or something? This area is completely deserted.”

“No one wants to come here. Here is Apple Wood Gate to P’rabh Quarter. Is home of goblin gods.” G’hanjl fidgeted with the sleeves of his tunic and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Come,
MataPerak
to put your hand on door. To opening it.”

Anya touched her fingertips to the door. It swung open, and they stepped into the P’rabh Quarter.

Jon had gotten used to the bone-numbing cold that characterized the goblin settlement thus far. His head spun from the unexpected warmth of the P’rabh Quarter. It was as if they had walked into a temperate, balmy spring night at the Outpost.

“This is not natural. None of this is,” Anya muttered. She was taking in their first glimpse of the Quarter through his eyes.

The P’rabh Quarter did not resemble a city in the least. It was a tamed woodland. In place of neat cottages or imposing stone buildings were majestic trees that towered to the sky. There were no roads. Only winding trails, covered with fallen leaves of gold, and lined with blooming primroses. In place of a canal, a narrow, quick-flowing brook gurgled and chattered over water-polished pebbles that gleamed in the moonlight. Mingled scents of primroses and wild jasmine graced the very air itself. Eclipses of bioluminescent moths flitted between fragrant, long-stemmed clusters of mysterious glowing night-blooming flowers.

“This is wrong. It’s
all
wrong,” Anya said.

“Who cares?” Saul threw off his pack, cloak and peeled off the layers of fur underneath. “I can feel my toes again. I am warmer now than I can remember.”

“We’ve only been here about a day or so, Saul,” Jon said.

“Who. Cares?” Saul repeated, an exuberant smile on his face.

Jon understood exactly what Saul meant. He was nearly overwhelmed by an almost irresistible sense of well-being ever since he stepped through the gateway. More than he had ever known his entire life, it seemed. And for no specific reason he could discern.

Shaking his head and smiling at Saul, Jon bent and dug his fingers through the spring grass, to get to the soil underneath. He peered at the clumps of dirt in his hand, and then crumbled them with his fingers. Rich, coffee-ground dark, moist, and warm. His smile faded.
Why’d they bother trying to cultivate in the T’hany Quarter, when cultivating here would likely yield twice as much with half the effort?
He turned to Anya in puzzlement, and sensed only outrage mingled with foreboding. Anya directed his eyes up at the star-strewn sky. Jon’s breath caught in his throat when he realized that he could not identify a single constellation—not one—despite his best efforts and the months he spent under Geoff’s tutelage, solely to memorize constellations.

“Even the stars are wrong,” Anya said.

Meanwhile, Saul was laughing and doing cartwheels on the grass, his cloak and furs lay in an abandoned heap. Jon’s sense of unease melted away as he broke out in a smile. He almost tore off his own cloak and furs to join his childhood friend, when he sensed a flash of warning from Anya. G’hanjl and J’hatk were standing to the side, with smiles on their faces. They were calmly chatting and watching Saul’s antics. Jon was struck by how, up to this point, they had been almost paranoid about staying quiet. Staying unseen.

“Something in the air.” Anya scowled. “Even the air is enchanted.”

“Well, what can we do?” Jon said. “We can’t stop breathing.”

“No,” Anya said. “But we can be wary of its effects.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with alarm. “Grab Saul. Someone’s coming. A lot of someones.”

Jon dashed toward Saul. He bent to scoop up Saul’s discarded pack, cloak, and furs and tackled his friend in mid-cartwheel. He clapped his hand over Saul’s protests, shushing him into silence. He pulled Saul behind a clump of bushes. Anya grabbed G’hanjl and J’hatk by their elbows, steered them towards the same clump of bushes, then pushed them down. She glared them all into silence.

In the quiet that ensued, Jon detected what Anya’s more sensitive ears picked up earlier. The muffled drumming of booted feet and faint jingling of scaled armor. Jon peeked through the bushes and watched four D’hadhii, in full military dress, escort a scraggly line of Ha’rani children. He heard a sharp intake of breath from G’hanjl and, from the corner of his eye, glimpsed G’hanjl clap his hand over his own mouth.

These were unlike the band of Ha’rani Jon observed by the banks of the canal earlier. They giggled and kicked at the drifts of fallen leaves. The leaves scattered and fell all over in a glorious shower of gold. The children picked fragrant primroses, sniffed them, and tucked the blossoms into the holes in each other’s tattered clothes. The Ha’rani children seemed happy. They laughed, skipped and sang their merry way, paying little to no mind to their D’hadhii escorts. Each of them had a jaunty silk ribbon tied around their necks.