Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,12
own accounts. I’ve been assigned to research and write the biography of Domin High-Tower.”
Shirvêsh Mallet stopped chewing and stared at her. With a great gulp, he appeared to make great effort not to smirk at the absurdity of such a task.
“And so, you have come here,” he said with forced seriousness, “where Chlâyard sought his first calling.”
It took a moment for realization to set in. Wynn sat dumbstruck and then cleared her own throat.
“Chlâyard—I mean Domin High- Tower—was here . . . to become a shirvêsh to Bedzâ’kenge?”
Mallet’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Is that not why you came, to seek the tale of his life?”
Recovering quickly, Wynn nodded. “Yes, but journeyors assigned to this project were given no information and simply sent off. The biographies must be unbiased and come from a variety of sources. We are to seek the stories ourselves.”
“A’ye!” Mallet barked, slapping his hand firmly on the table. “That, at least, was a wise decision!”
Wynn’s guilt welled over lying so easily. More bad skills learned in Leesil’s company, no doubt, but she had to continue the ruse.
“I didn’t know High-Tower sought to become a shirvêsh.”
High-Tower was a private individual. He would be mortified at such information landing upon Wynn’s ears.
“He was my acolyte for only a short time,” Mallet replied. “But I can introduce you to a few who knew him better. We were all stunned by his decision to . . . to become a scribbler of words.”
Again, Wynn ignored the slight.
“I prefer to start with his earlier life,” she corrected. “Can you direct me to his family?”
At this, Mallet straightened on his stool as if thinking carefully.
Wynn grew worried that she’d asked the wrong thing but had no idea why it was wrong. Had she made Mallet suspicious?
He looked her straight in the eyes. “I do not know an exact location and can only point the way. He hails from the Yêarclág—the Iron-Braids, in your tongue. A small family, and the last I knew, they lived in Chemarré . . . in its underside.”
Wynn faltered once more. “Underground?”
Shirvêsh Mallet didn’t answer.
Chemarré, or “Sea-Side,” was one of the seatt’s four main settlements, situated on the mountain’s far side facing the open ocean and the Isle of Wrêdelîd. “Underside” was a polite reference for those living in the deepest—poorest—levels below the surface.
“Go back to the Cheku’ûn market and take the tram to Chemarré,” Mallet instructed. “I do not know that settlement’s underways, but someone at the Chemarré way station can start you off.”
His tone had changed, as if speaking of something embarrassing, but Wynn wasn’t finished.
“Shirvêsh, while I’m here, I wanted to conduct research for the guild’s archives on the Stonewalkers. So little is . . . known of . . .”
Wynn trailed off as Mallet’s eyes stopped blinking. His black pupils looked like hard pinpoints.
“Young Hygeorht . . .” he began, voice lowered, “your guild has ferreted out more than I realized . . . or did High-Tower mention this to you? How do you know of the Hassäg’kreigi?”
“I’ve heard the term only a couple of times,” Wynn replied. “I know little other than they are a sacred sect among your people.”
“Little more is known by my own people,” he countered, but the way he spoke implied that he knew more.
Mallet sighed through his nose, plainly resigned to an annoyance he couldn’t politely escape. This chat clearly covered much different ground than he’d expected.
“The Stonewalkers, as you call them, are guardians of our most honored dead.” He paused, either for emphasis or to weigh his words. “Only Thänæ, who wear the thôrhk around their necks, so marked for their great achievements, are tended by the Stonewalkers. When a thänæ dies . . . and is to pass into earth . . . Stonewalkers may come to take him or her to the underworld. In their care, a thänæ of the greatest renown might one far day become known to the people as one of the Bäynæ—what you call our Eternals—and an ancestor to all of us, like our blessed Bedzâ’kenge.”
Wynn’s fascination didn’t stop her from blurting out the obvious questions.
“This ‘underworld,’ where the Stonewalkers live . . . this is a real place? Where can I find it?”
Mallet rolled his eyes and rose, and this time his sigh was disapproving.
“That is not a question to be asked, let alone answered . . . or recorded!” His tone softened as he patted her shoulder like an indulgent grandfather. “What I have told you is all you need