“In Indallian, the peaceful land,
among dark pines glowering,
the hilts were hollowed by Inhuman hands
in the days of the Swallow’s flowering.”
“Hold,” said Ceravanne from the back of the wagon, and she reached out and touched Gallen’s hand, silencing him. “Please, Gallen, do not sing that song. It is long forgotten by those who dwell here, and … it hurts too much. Perhaps if it came from the voice of another bard-but not you. You remind me too much of Belorian.”
“He has been dead for many centuries,” Gallen said. “I would have thought that time had brought you peace.”
“Not today,” Ceravanne whispered. “The memories of him seem fresh today, and the pain still hot. If you must tell your friends of Indallian in its days of glory, I beg that you do not sing of it around me.”
“What’s Indallian?” Orick asked.
Gallen waved toward the wild hills before them, golden with fields of grass, green with forests. “All of this is the land of Indallian-from the rough coast to the ruined halls of Ophat beside the city of Nigangi, and beyond, even to the deserts south of Moree where the Tekkar dwell. Long ago Ceravanne ruled the empire from the great city of Indallian with her consort the good King Belorian, until the Accord fell. Even today if I judge right by Fenorah’s account, their love is remembered as the stuff of legend.”
“It is spoken of,” Fenorah said beside the wagon, “though I must confess that I have not heard that song. And the Land of Indallian is no more, while its capital is spoken of with dread.”
“Belorian was more than a consort,” Ceravanne said as if to correct Gallen. “He was my lover, my husband in all but name-for by the laws of his people, we could not marry. Yet our love was fierce, before he died.”
“I do not understand,” Orick said to Ceravanne. “Your people can bring the dead back to life. Why is he not beside you now?”
“Because,” Ceravanne said, “a man is more than his flesh. He is also his memories, his experiences, his dreams and ambitions. And shortly after Belorian died in battle, the crystals that stored his memories were destroyed, and that is a far truer and more permanent death than the sloughing off of the flesh. We could rebuild his body, but we cannot remake the man.” She looked sharply at Gallen, as if to censure him for bringing up such a painful subject, then turned away.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Gallen urged the travel beast forward with some strange words foreign to the human tongue. The beast responded as if Gallen had spoken in its own language, and it rushed through the hills.
And as Maggie rode that day, she watched the land roll by. Often she would see ancient lichen-crusted stones tumbled in the grass as they passed some ruin, and twice they passed ancient fortresses that sprawled upon the hills, covered with moss, with oaks growing in the courtyard, their branches reaching over the stone walls like great hands.
As the day drew to its close, a brief squall blew over, and Fenorah, unwilling to risk that his travelbeast should injure itself by slipping in the mud, decided to set camp in an old fortress, in a great hall without doors or windows. So they brought the travel beast inside.
The walls were made of huge stones, a meter thick, carved so that various grooves fit together. Maggie suspected that the stone might not deter the Inhuman’s signal as well as a dozen feet of solid dirt, but she hoped it would serve nearly as well. She found the most secluded corner and directed Gallen to sit there and rest.
Dried horse dung left by the mounts of previous travelers served as ample fuel to set a small fire, and Fenorah brought out stores for dinner. They had not had a formal meal since early morning, and everyone was tired, and the poor giant was most weary of all. He curled into a corner while Maggie cooked dinner, and he fell asleep before it was done.
After a brief dinner Ceravanne withdrew from the group, going out a back hall that led to a tower. Outside, the rain was falling steadily, hissing as it struck the leaves of trees, and the heavy scent of moisture pervaded the room. It was chill and dreary.
“That song you began to sing today,” Orick said. “Will you sing it to us now?” And Maggie hoped that he would, for the sound of music would do her heart good.
Gallen sang in a low voice the same time he had begun earlier in the day, and Maggie was amazed at his voice, at the easy grace and power in it, as if he’d been born to sing.
He sang of Indallian, the riches and glory that made it the envy of all the world. He sang of the peaceful peoples drawn by the Swallow to form the great Accord, where each species had equal voices in the open counsels.
But then the Rodim came, a greedy race lured by tales of the rich deposits of emeralds and gold found in Indallian, and they ravaged whole villages, looted and burned the caravanserais.
The Swallow’s love, Belorian, was a strong man, and he sought to protect his people by arming them. But the Swallow urged him to counsel with the Rodim peacefully, to reconcile with them, bring them into the Accord.
Yet when Belorian met with the savage chieftains of the Rodim in their mountain camps, they slew him and put his body upon a pole, then danced through the night, proclaiming victory over the land of Indallian, and they sent their armies to Belorian’s throne at the city of Indallian, where they heaped contempt upon the dead by destroying the crystal that held Belorian’s memories.
Ceravanne was there, in her tower, and she witnessed the abuses committed upon her people, and upon her lord. Then the Rodim’s head chieftain ravished Ceravanne in Belorian’s bedchamber.
Because of the atrocities, the peaceful people of Indallian gathered together and slaughtered the armies of the Rodim without mercy, then fell upon the villages of their women without restraint and murdered their children, removing the Rodim from the face of the land.
Many went to the Swallow, asking her to have mercy before the final slaughter of the Rodim, hoping to spare some remnant of the race.
But Ceravanne turned away so that not one child remained.
And when the Rodim were all dead, the Swallow put a single red rose upon the grave of Belorian, and another upon the grave of the chieftain of the Rodim, to signify that she forgave him and his people, though she had not spared them. Then she proclaimed a year of mourning for the Rodim who lay dead, and for those who were forced to kill them.
None who beheld her could miss the horror on her face, nor deny her torment. And hours later the Swallow disappeared, and her crystal scepter was found in the mud of her courtyard. Many thought she had chosen to die rather than live without Belorian; while others imagined that she was so horrified by the genocide that was done in her behalf that she turned her back on mankind forever; but her friends swore that she would return when her grief had run its course, and so the legends said that someday she would come back to lead the Accord.
“Four hundred and eighty years ago the Swallow left rich Indallian,” Gallen intoned. “And still her heart knows no peace. Yet in songs and legends, people here remember the days of the Accord.”
Maggie looked toward the door that led to the tower, understanding why Ceravanne sought refuge in silence. Ceravanne had said earlier that her love, Belorian, was fresh on her mind, and Maggie felt the pain of knowing that she was surely losing Gallen to the Inhuman, just as Ceravanne had lost Belorian to the Rodim.
Gallen lay beside Maggie and stared into the fire, unable to sleep for a long time. Sometimes, he thought he could hear snatches of whispers, and he saw brief visions, tatters of memories that belonged to other people. But the song of the Inhuman was weak tonight, possibly because of the storm. Even as this thought struck Gallen, he heard the distant rumble of thunder, confirming his suppositions.