Up on deck, Erienne returned to her position of yesterday, soaking up a watery sun that shone through a thickening cloud bank. The wind was brisk but even and the Ocean Elm made slow and steady progress through the archipelago.
Throughout an anxious day, they crawled between islands. An idyllic lagoon setting would give way to a scatter of lifeless rock fists or a sweeping volcanic atoll, its ridges obscured by cloud. Up in the rigging, the crew stood waiting as they had yesterday, ready to reef or unfurl sail on barked command, and the jib was slackened any time the wind picked up pace.
The threat beneath the waves removed the romance of this final leg of the voyage, and though Erienne never ceased to marvel at the sheer scale and beauty of Ornouth, she couldn't help but feel they were somehow unwelcome. A paradise of tranquillity it might be but, lurking close by, a sense of malevolence. The Ocean Elm was here under sufferance and failure to show respect would be met with the dread sound of reef ripping through timber.
In the middle of the afternoon, with the cloud blowing away to leave a blanket of blue sky, the temperature rose as the wind dropped. Lyanna, who had joined Erienne late in the morning, scrambled to her feet, using Erienne's back to steady her as she peered forward intently.
'What is it, sweet?' asked Erienne.
'We're here,' said Lyanna, her voice soft and almost inaudible above the creaking of spars and the gentle bow wave that ran past the ship. Erienne looked too. The captain had been holding the Ocean Elm on a starboard tack, taking the ship past a sweeping sandy beach at the back of which cliffs soared hundreds of feet into the air, giving a home to thousands of sea birds whose calls surrounded them.
Skirting the edge of the island, the ship turned slowly to run down a channel barely more than three ship's widths across. Bleaker
cliffs towered above them on both sides now, closing in above their heads, the shrill cries of gulls echoing down to them from where they circled high above or sat on precariously sited nests.
But it was at the end of the channel that Lyanna stared, because closing with every passing heartbeat was Herendeneth. Like the cliffs by which they passed, the island was dominated by a sheer rock face that scaled many hundreds of feet into the afternoon sky. And slowly revealed was a shore from which spears of stone protruded and cliffs tumbled down to the sea, the scattering of huge boulders evidence of ancient tumultuous movement.
Moving steadily down the widening channel, the Ocean Elm was silent once more. Herendeneth reached out with an aura that demanded reverence and quiet contemplation. Any sailor not tending sails or wheel, dropped briefly to one knee with bowed head, touching the centre of his forehead with his right index finger.
'You are here, Lyanna,' said Ren'erei. Erienne started; she hadn't heard the elf approach. 'Soon you will be standing with the Al-Drechar.'
The name sent shivers down Erienne's spine. Al-Drechar was a name written in legend and ancient texts. They were the holders of the faith, the guardians of true magic. They were the Keepers of the One. There had never been any doubt that a substantial sect had survived the Sundering, the cataclysmic battles that had seen four Colleges emerge from the ruins of the one that had previously dominated Balaian magic. But that had been over two thousand years before and they were assumed to have died out as time passed and peace returned to Balaia. All that was heard were rumours, explained away by the clashing of charged mana or the unpredictability of nature.
Yet the idea that descendants of the One had survived had never been conclusively disproved and through the centuries, enough mages had been strong enough to state their beliefs and perpetuate what had appeared at best a myth.
Now, Erienne knew different. She knew. And in a while, she would physically meet with those who many dreamed still lived, but more prayed were dead.
'How many are there?' she asked.
'Only four remain,' replied Ren'erei. 'Your daughter truly
represents the last hope for furtherance of our cause.' She placed a hand on Lyanna's head who looked up and smiled, though a frown chased it quickly away.
'Are they dying then?' Erienne asked.
'They are very old,' replied the elf. 'And they've been waiting for you a long time. They couldn't have waited too much longer.'
Erienne noticed tears standing in Ren'erei's eyes.
'What will we find there?' she mused, not really expecting an answer.
'Peace, goodness, purity. Age.' She looked into Erienne's eyes and the mage saw desperation burning in those of the elf. 'They can't be allowed to fade uselessly. I and the Guild, we've watched them grow steadily weaker over the years. She must be the one.'
'She is,' said Erienne, Ren'erei's fervour unsettling her. Lyanna felt it too and had leant against her mother. She was gazing again at the island that would be her home for the Gods only knew how long.
'Tell me, Ren'erei, how many of you serve them? The Al-Drechar, that is.'
'We are few. Forty-three in all, but our sons and daughters will carry on the work until we are not needed any more, one way or another. We've served them for generations, ever since the Sundering, but the honour is undiminished.' She stood tall, pride on her face. 'We are the Guild of Drech and we will not falter until our service is fulfilled. All else is secondary.' She turned from Erienne and looked towards Herendeneth, touching index finger to forehead as she bowed.
The ship dropped anchor about a quarter of a mile off the bleak northern coast of the island. Only the most tenacious of vegetation clung to the towering rock wall ahead of them and waves raced into crash against hard stone. In the sky, a few birds circled, their calls lost in the breeze.
Immediately they were stationary, the crew began unlashing the three long boats and lowering them into the water. Scrambling-nets and ladders followed, and a brief flurry of activity saw luggage and supplies passed swiftly down to be securely fastened to two of the craft. Each boat took four oarsmen and a skipper. Erienne was invited to climb down a ladder while Lyanna sat on Tryuun's broad
shoulders, very quiet and pale, as the elf descended swiftly to the boat that would carry them ashore.
The crews pulled away strongly, heading for a shore apparently barren of landing sites. But rounding a spit hidden from shipboard view, they beached on a narrow stretch of shingle, away from which a path climbed up and disappeared through a cleft in the rocks. Ren'erei helped Erienne and Lyanna out of the boat, smiling as they skipped through the cold shallows to escape the water and joining them as they stared down, wet above their knees.
'Not far now,' she said. 'Just one last climb. The crew will bring up all your things.'
The path was well kept, its steps long, carefully carved and shallow in the rise, and it wound up in a deliberately gende incline overlooked by birch trees.
Looking back down the stairway, Erienne could see the scope of the illusion. This was no harsh rock island. True, the landing points were difficult and crowded with reefs, but the height of any cliff had been hugely exaggerated. And beyond the shore line, the island rolled gracefully up to a low pinnacle through tumbledown rock and rich green forest under which the heat of the day was captured. Away from the sea breeze, the air was humid and Erienne felt sweat beading and running all over her body.
Beside her, Lyanna trotted along, clutching her doll in one hand, humming to herself, her face intent.
'Are you all right, darling?' Erienne trailed a hand across Lyanna's head.
'Yes,' she affirmed. 'Will you do the walking song again?'
Erienne smiled. 'If you like.' She held out her hand and Lyanna gripped it tightly. 'Here we go,' Erienne said, changing to a shorter stride.
'I step with my right foot, And the left follows on. If I do it once again, Then the journey soon is done. If I don't move my left foot, Then the right one gets away. If I don't move my right foot, Then just here is where we'll stay.'