although the mountains were raised in relief, they were below the surface, which was smooth and so cold that when Nish touched it with a finger, his skin stuck to the glass and had to be eased off.
‘Don’t touch,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘There could be … unexpected consequences.’ He drew on a pair of silken gloves and traced a fingertip across the surface, which had hardly any dust on it. ‘It’s my life’s work.’
‘Surely not?’ said Nish. A skilled artisan, such as Irisis, could have made it in a few months.
‘It’s more than it seems,’ Gilhaelith said mildly. ‘This is not just a globe, Nish. It’s a geomancer’s model of the world, meaning that each part of the model corresponds to a part of the world. Had I power enough, I could change the world, within limits, by changing the model.’
‘Is that why you want it?’ asked the pilot in a meek little voice.
‘No, Kimli. I’ve never sought to change the world, merely to understand it. But I have a different purpose today. That call Daesmie picked up was from Matriarch Gyrull, one of the six matriarchs, and pre-eminent among them on the rare occasions when a supreme leader is required, as at the moment. She must have escaped from the collapsed tunnels in Oellyll, but the infection has taken hold. She’ll soon be incapacitated, if she’s not already.’
‘That must be the bitterest of blows to them,’ said Nish.
‘Not in the sense that we value a leader. The moment Gyrull became matriarch, she would have begun training successors. It’s what she’s bearing that’s important.’
‘What are the Sacred Ones?’ said Nish. ‘Her children?’
‘The cultural relics of the lyrinx.’
‘I didn’t know they had any culture.’
‘They gave up their ancient culture in their struggle to exist in the void. That’s why the relics found in the Great Seep are so important. They’ll do anything to protect them. The matriarch must have been ferrying the relics to a safe place, far away, but was struck down by the disease. Perhaps her escort is similarly afflicted; they’re calling for help and we have the chance I never imagined would come.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’ He held up his hand as Nish began to speak. ‘But my geomantic globe may tell me.’
‘How?’
‘If you keep quiet, you’ll find out. Stay here.’
He was only gone a few minutes, returning carrying a small timber box which he set on the table. Inside were many lemon-yellow crystals, pyramidal on each end.
‘Brimstone, or sulphur,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘Don’t touch them.’
‘Why not?’
Irritated, Gilhaelith picked out the smallest and placed it in the palm of Nish’s hand. It lay there for a few seconds; then, with a crackling sound, shattered to pieces. ‘That’s why. Just the warmth of a human hand can fracture them. But if one is careful …’
With gloved fingers he stroked another crystal, faster and faster, then held it out between forefinger and thumb. He passed it back and forth over the surface of the globe, without ever touching it, sweeping a series of closely spaced lines from the Sea of Thurkad to the curve of the Great Mountains. Gilhaelith began in the south, at the shores of the Karama Malama, and continued north, every so often stopping to rub the crystal vigorously.
Nish didn’t question him. Gilhaelith’s attention was focussed on the surface of the globe. Nish did the same. Finally, as the lines swept across the drylands of the Tacnah Marches, between the City of the Bargemen and the Ramparts of Tacnah, a tiny lemon-yellow light winked through the surface.
Gilhaelith thrust the box of brimstone crystals in his pocket and gave him a triumphant look. ‘That’s where they are.’
‘How do you know. What was all that about?’
‘Like calls to like, Nish. Among the relics is a large crystal, and some smaller ones. The larger one is known as The Brimstone. My crystal called and The Brimstone answered.’ Gilhaelith gathered the geomantic globe up. ‘Bring that crate over, would you?’
Nish lugged the box across. Gilhaelith nestled the globe inside, carefully protected in folds of indigo velvet, packed the turned base, put down the top, took one of the rope handles and signed to Nish to take the other. They carried the crate out to the thapter.
‘I know one should never become sentimental about material things,’ said Gilhaelith, ‘but I spent the most contented years of my life here. If you would give me a moment. Please wait in the flier.’
Nish and Kimli handed the crate up into the thapter. Gilhaelith stood on