The Circle of Law Read online

  THE CIRCLE OF LAW

  The Ancients of Drandsil Series Book One

  Lia London

  All people, places and events in this book are purely fictional.

  Second edition ©2012 London Books

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art ©2012 Rachel Clark

  All rights reserved. Use of the cover art for anything other than publicity or marketing for the entire work of the The Circle of Law is strictly prohibited.

  ISBN-13: 978-1493709168

  ISBN-10: 149370916X

  For my son—Isaac—who also writes books.

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Pronunciation Guide

  1-Invocation

  2-The Ancients

  3-Drandsil

  4-Tepor

  5-Voberen’s Island

  6-Roddi Rock

  7-Gallah

  8-The Village

  9-Finding the Faithfuls

  10-Abduran

  11-The Nopeki

  12-Kimbir and Riesa

  13-The Water God Worshippers

  14-Quan and Larna

  15-Mt. Ori

  16-Lam’s Forest

  17-The King’s Ship

  18-Governors in the Palace

  19-Lessons

  20-The Prodigal Returns

  21-Rescues

  22-Understanding and Anger Cannot Live Together

  23-Death and New Life

  24-Realm’s End

  Epilogue

  Pronunciation Guide

  Abduran = AB-dyoo-ren

  Bobres = BOH-bress

  Buyu = BOO-yoo

  Cadeven = CAD-uh-ven

  Denute = Den-YOOT

  Drandsil = DRAND-sil

  Ega = EE-gah

  Enomewis = En-oh-MYOO-iss

  Idim = ID-im

  Ignori = Ig-NO-ree

  Isbi = IZ-bee

  Jenturo = Jen-TOO-roh

  Kimbir = KIM-bur

  Lingori = Lin-GO-ree

  Marki = MAR-kee

  Markitoran = Mar-kee-TOE-ren

  Nicolen = NICK-oh-len

  Notaren = NO-tar-en

  Riesa = REE-sah

  Sero = SEE-roh

  Tanat = TAN-et

  Tepor = Teh-PORE

  Voberen = VOE-ber-en

  Vontu = VAHN-too

  Ziboren = ZIB-oh-ren

  1-Invocation

  Marki tightened her grip on the shovel and struck the parched land as hard as she could one more time.

  Nothing.

  With a frustrated grunt, she threw the shovel across the garden where it clattered on the dry earth beside the withered bean stalks. She slumped to her knees and wiped the sweat and tears from her cheeks.

  The air felt stifling. Nothing stirred without effort. In a few moments, Isbi would be back from the well in The Village with water for the day and find that the grave was still not dug. Marki’s only consolation was the knowledge that Isbi would not be angry with her for failing.

  Her gaze slipped to the shadowy heap where her parents lay dead, still holding each other as they had when hunger overtook them. With dull eyes, Marki looked back across the garden to the solid stone and mortar home her father had built when he was the chief cutter at the quarry. Wiping her hands on her sleeveless tunic, she walked across the garden to retrieve the shovel.

  A piercing shriek filled her ears and a shadow passed over her. The black wings of a buyu spread wide and beat the air until, with a thud, the giant bird landed and hobbled awkwardly toward the bodies. Fear and rage exploded within Marki. Wielding the shovel over her shoulder like a club, she rushed at the bird. “No-o-o!” she roared, striking the buyu fiercely. “Don’t touch them! Get away!” The bird turned to fend off her attack, but Marki brandished the shovel in front of her, ready to jab if the buyu came closer. With enormous talons, it grasped the handle and lifted into flight. For a surprising moment, Marki grappled to stay grounded. Then she leaned and tugged at the shovel. The handle splintered and broke in the clutches of the buyu, and she tumbled backwards. Lying on the ground, she felt the wind of the buyu’s wings as it descended upon her like a black cape. She could no longer see the grey sky of dawn.

  “Marki!” Isbi’s scream distracted the bird long enough for Marki to thrust the broken handle into its chest like a spear. The blow struck high, near its neck. With a terrifying caw, the buyu faltered, and then flew away.

  Breathing heavily, Marki lay back and closed her eyes in relief. When she opened them, Isbi was kneeling over her, tears streaming down her face. “You could have been killed!”

  Marki looked at the corpses. “We need to get them buried or the buyu will be back.”

  “It’s my fault,” whispered Isbi. “I took eggs from its nest by the well.”

  Marki stared at her sister in alarm, and then shrugged. “We have to eat something. The food barrels are empty now.”

  Isbi nodded and sighed. Then she looked west across the plain and began to invoke a blessing of the Ancients. Marki rolled her eyes and stood, but she listened to the familiar Faithful prayer. The faint whispers brushed Marki’s ears with hope.

  “…Ancients…come now and guard us…we know you are kind…help as you will…”

  Marki did not understand Isbi’s love of the Ancient lore, but she agreed that the stories brought a feeling of peace—as long as they were whispered far from the ears of the Realm’s soldiers.

  Marki ran her fingers through her dark curly locks and shuffled her bare feet in the dust, waiting for Isbi to finish. Isbi’s honey-colored hair was pulled into a loose braid, revealing a delicate face despite the shadows of fatigue under her eyes. When Isbi’s invocation ended, Marki asked, “Will the Realm take our home?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m of age.”

  “Only just,” countered Marki.

  “Old enough to marry,” said Isbi with a wistful look.

  “But the Villagers might drive us out so they can take—”

  “There’s nothing to take.”

  “Grandfather’s carvings. Please don’t sell those, Isbi.”

  “I won’t,” promised Isbi. Grandfather’s sculptures remained inside, hinting at a more prosperous time before the drought had laid most of Cadeven to waste.

  Isbi sighed. “It wasn’t always like this. When the Ancients—”

  “Do you think Vontu would help us?” interrupted Marki.

  Isbi blushed and nodded. “We’ll go to the Hill and see if he’s there. He was leaving for Abduran today, but we might still find him.”

  ***

  Vontu looked down the slope to the Nopeki Plateau’s sero grasslands, dotted with idim brush and the occasional withered shade tree. The Village nestled itself against the quarry, a crumbling bowl in the ground marked with grey, black and white patches that revealed its mixed lode. Dirt roads webbed through the thatch-roofed stone homes and faded to footpaths that separated the dying crops.

  Two figures approached. Wary, Vontu stood. He had received enough threats from Villagers that he was ready to leave the town far behind him, but he pulled windblown hair from his hawk-like face and peered at the climbers. Immediately, he relaxed and smiled.

  Isbi waved. “Leaving without saying good-bye?” she accused gently. He blushed and studied the ground, weighing his answer before looking up at her. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat before she spoke again. “Please, we need your help. Our parents…I found them dead at sunset.”

  “The drought,” said Vontu.

  “No!” blurted Marki. “No, Vontu. I did it.”

  Vontu blinked.

  “Marki,” said Isbi, in a warning tone.

  “But I did, Vontu,” said Marki. “We argued, and I was so angry that—that
I wished them dead.” With clenched fists and trembling lips, she said, “Don’t you see? I wished them dead—and they died!”

  Vontu smiled sadly. “We all wish things like that when we’re angry, Marki, but you can’t wish people dead.” He tousled her hair and questioned Isbi with his eyes, but her face held no expression, and an awkward silence fell. Picking up his satchel and canteen, he looked at Marki with empathy, knowing the loneliness of being an orphan. “Come,” he said, putting his arm around her, “Show me where they are. I guess you’re going to need some help digging a grave.”

  As they walked back down the hill toward The Village, Isbi stole a glance at Vontu. “You’ve come to The Village at a good time. The winds have started again. Especially up here. It’s been years since I felt them, and they cure so much of the heat.”

  Vontu cocked his head at her curiously. “Is the Nopeki usually still?”

  “Very.”

  He considered this remark. “I’ve come before and didn’t notice. It seems as breezy as any other part of Cadeven.”

  Marki squinted up at the sky where heavy clouds sped westward. “Maybe the wind chases away the rain so it never has time to fall.”

  “True. The clouds never stand still, and the rain never falls.” Vontu reached into his satchel and pulled out three strips of dried meat. “Would you like some tanat meat? You must be hungry.” He offered each a portion and took a bite of his own.

  “You killed a tanat?” asked Marki, wide-eyed.

  “No, I think the buyu must have gotten it. It was already dead when I found it. I just cooked it over the fire.”

  Marki’s nostrils lifted as she inspected the piece more closely. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “Safer than starving to death.” He flinched as the words left his mouth and looked at Isbi for her reaction.

  She showed no emotion, but murmured, “Mother wanted to be buried near the sea.”

  Vontu slowed to a stop as her words sank in. “The sea is many days away. It would be a long, dangerous journey. Did she really—?”

  “I thought we could take them to the cliffs overlooking the desert,” said Isbi. “They say you can see the water from there, in the distance.”

  Relieved, Vontu asked, “Is there a cart we can use?”

  “Father’s old hand cart,” said Marki. “It should hold together if we’re careful.”

  “It may take us many days to get there and back,” said Isbi apologetically. “We’ll be keeping you from Abduran.”

  “Only for a little while,” he said cheerfully.

  “We’ll go quickly,” promised Isbi. “Thank you so much. I’ll feel much safer now that you’re with us.”

  Vontu’s mouth folded in a shy smile. “Of course.”

  ***

  People walking in The Village did not yield to the cart when they saw that Vontu and Marki pushed it. However, when they recognized Isbi, they murmured a greeting and let them pass. In the marketplace, Marki ran ahead and peered into the deep crevice well.

  “I can’t see any water,” said Marki.

  Isbi knelt beside the grey tree and reached for the rope tied there. It had been patched many times to add length as the water had withdrawn further into the earth. Her hands moved skillfully to tie off her bucket and lower the rope, and soon her knuckles whitened as weight was added. With easy strength, she pulled the full bucket to rest beside Marki.

  “How do you do that every time?” asked Marki.

  “I just know it’s in there. I imagine there’s a whole lake under the Nopeki.”

  Vontu poured the water into a large barrel in the handcart. As he turned back, a heavy foot kicked the bucket from his hands. It rolled to the edge of the well and tumbled in, dragging the rope with it.

  “You!” snarled a dusty man with a wide sero hat. His fist flew, catching Vontu on the jaw. “You come here and drink our water and give it to her!” He pointed at Marki. Punctuating each word with a hard shove, he growled “Don’t feed Death!”

  The ground gave way beneath Vontu’s feet, and he felt his stomach lurch as he fell into the well. He crashed against the uneven walls of the crevice in a series of stabbing flips. He came to a stop with his right knee wedged on an outcropping and his arms flexed hard against the walls to keep him from falling further. Below him, the shadows swirled with dust. Above him, harsh voices shrieked. The rope dangled near, and Vontu searched with his free leg for something to push against. Finding a point of leverage, he heaved himself forward, and the weight of his body swung the rope in a spinning pendulum, pounding his back against the jagged rock. When at last the rope was still, Vontu pulled himself up with strong, laboring arms.

  When Vontu reached the top and grabbed the well’s mouth, a wailing form flew past him. He felt something clawing at his back before arms closed around his waist, and he looked down to see Marki’s panicked face. Bracing his feet against the walls, he tugged her up to where she could hold him around his shoulders. Shouts and rocks flew down at them, one stone sharply grazing him above the eye, but he pulled himself again to the well’s edge.

  Looking out from under his bleeding brow, Vontu felt rage swell within him. A crowd had assembled, and Isbi cowered a few paces away, but no one moved to help. With a grunt, he lifted himself and Marki out of the crevice on mighty haunches and roared an oath at the onlookers.

  An eddy of dust swirled up and tore through the circle, and the people pulled back, shielding their faces. The wind settled, and from the stillness came Isbi’s voice. “Gerunt, please…We’re going to bury my parents by the cliffs. We need water for the journey.”

  The man who had knocked Vontu into the well shifted slightly and his back straightened. Something about the lines in his face softened.

  “They starved, Gerunt,” said Isbi. “Like your Faithful sister, Nadel, and all the others.” She stood and searched the face of each spectator in turn, and their heads dropped in shame. With strength that showed no anger, she turned back to Gerunt. A heavy moment pressed on them before he turned and pushed his way through the crowd. Slowly, the people dispersed, staying in tight clusters of muttering fear and spite.

  The three beside the well looked at one another. Marki’s voice rang hollow. “I’m not coming back.” She looked at Vontu. “I’ll walk all over Cadeven with you, but I’m not coming back to The Village ever again.”

  Vontu held her in a protective embrace, and together they ached and bled silently. Beside them, Isbi murmured, “Ancients who once walked the earth…come now and help us as you will…”

  ***

  A breeze blew with them, cooling their muscles and their grief. They took turns pulling the cart, heavy with the corpses, provisions, and the last of their memories of home. When the night blackened and the stars winked open, the suffocating heat dissipated. Vontu built a small fire of idim brush, and Isbi prepared tubers to boil. Marki could think of nothing to do, so she sat by the cart with her knees folded under her chin, staring blankly at the shadowy outline of her parents.

  Over the sound of the snapping fire, she heard Vontu whispering, “But why do they hate her? Why did he call her ‘Death’?”

  Marki held her breath and picked at the scrapes on her arms, listening to how Isbi would answer. The reply came carefully.

  “She has been unfortunate throughout her life in that death seems to follow her bursts of temper. She blames herself—says she made the people die, but she’s never hurt anyone. She only throws words.”

  “She made them die?”

  “That’s what she believes…and so do others in The Village. Gerunt, especially.” Isbi searched for a better explanation. “Once she fought with a neighbor and that night, the woman had a bad fall, and—”

  “—And they blamed Marki for the accident.”

  “Yes, even though she was nowhere near at the time. And when a man came to our home and criticized Grandfather—she loved Grandfather very much—Marki was furious. In the morning, the man was found dead on the road, half-
eaten by buyu.”

  “And now your parents die of hunger after years of drought, and she thinks it’s her fault because they argued last night,” said Vontu.

  “Yes.”

  “Those are sad coincidences, but that’s all they are.”

  “I know, but it hurts her. Gerunt has made her an outsider in the eyes of the Villagers. She’s been very alone.”

  “More than I am,” said Vontu. “When we’ve buried your parents, why don’t we go to Abduran and settle there? People there aren’t so superstitious, and it’s far from the Realm.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Many people there still speak openly of the Ancients. There are Faithfuls in great numbers. We would not have to hide our beliefs,” he added. Marki tensed, knowing what he said would tempt Isbi. He pressed further. “It has a lake and the Klume River. You won’t suffer any more with the drought.”

  “Is it safe to be so close to Lam’s Forest? What about the tanats? Don’t they attack people? I’ve heard their bite can break a man’s leg.”

  Marki closed her eyes and listened to the silence that followed. Vontu cleared his throat and said gently, “Isn’t it safer to be near a tanat or two than to have Gerunt kicking Marki into the well?”

  Isbi’s answer came as a quiet gift: “Yes. Yes, we’ll go with you to Abduran.”

  Grateful, Marki leaned against the cart. Though her stomach felt tight, sleep overcame her, and she slept without dreams.

  ***

  With the sun rising behind them, their shadows sprawled through the swells of sero grass to where the land fell away sharply. Below, rocks and scrubby plants marked the dusty plain. In the distance, the hint of a shining silver ribbon met the sky.

  Vontu pointed. “Somewhere between here and the sea is Drandsil. It’s deserted now, but the Council of Ancients once lived and governed there.”

  “Like the Regent Maid?” asked Marki.

  “Not like the Regent Maid,” said Vontu emphatically. “They ruled the elements and the creatures, not the people. They helped the people.”