Fire Rider Page 9

  Jaron was surprised to see beyond his curtain was a narrow, dark tunnel carved into the stone. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he admitted to himself he felt a little disappointed. Rella moved in front, holding her hand back to him but Jaron found it easier to lean on the cave wall. His hip was even stiffer with the enforced rest, his thigh still sore, and he was mindful not to put too much pressure on it. Inside the tunnel it felt cold and the dark narrow space made Jaron uneasy. Is the whole of the mountain like this? Do the Raken live like underground creatures? The thought dismayed him. But the tunnel was short and, looking past his mother, Jaron saw soft orange light up ahead. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, suspicious.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Rella said.

  They got closer to the end of the tunnel and his mother stepped out and turned to smile back at him with her hair glowing in the warm light. Jaron made to follow her – and stopped short. He could hear the faint babble of many voices.

  ‘Come along, Jaron.’ His mother beckoned him closer.

  He stepped out – and gaped.

  The mountain was hollow. A huge cavern yawned before him with row upon row of walkways set against the walls. All the paths were lit by brightly coloured lanterns, most hanging outside doors that were dotted at intervals along the walkways. He could see people, in groups or alone, some leaning on the railing looking down as they chatted with their neighbours, some passing into tunnels he judged were of a similar size to the one he had just stepped out from. He noticed there was a faint tinge of burning wood in the air.

  ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ his mother said.

  Jaron nodded, his eye travelling along the tiers of iron-railed paths with steps linking them to the floors above and below. Lowering his astonished gaze, he saw they were on a similar walkway, wide enough for four men to walk abreast. Tilting his head back to look up, he saw there was no tier above them; on this side they were on the top floor and the ceiling overhead disappeared into darkness. It amazed him that somehow the Raken had hollowed out a whole mountain.

  ‘Come closer, Jaron, it’s quite safe.’ Rella was holding out a hand to him and he unsteadily moved towards her. He clutched at her hand for balance and felt it give a squeeze. Looking behind him at his tunnel he saw it had its own door, now swung open on its hinges. Next to it a large glass lantern was hanging from the wall, its glass tinted a deep orange that gave off a warm glow.

  His mother drew him towards the iron railing and beckoned his gaze down. Peering over, Jaron saw more walkways below. At ground level and far below them, the cavern floor glowed white. With so much grey rock around here, he was surprised and wondered if it was made of the same stone Tiara was built from. Tiny figures of people were walking about down there. Half of the cavern was covered in a large number of tables and chairs placed in rows, more people walking in between them. He squinted, trying to see better and saw they were laying out plates and dishes. A feeding hall. As he watched, he was startled to see a green firedrake fly in. It landed to dispatch its rider at the beginning of the hall. As its rider walked away it jumped back into the air, making Jaron jerk back from the railing. As he warily peered over again it was to see the firedrake still far below him, flapping heavily as it turned before flying out again. Curious now, Jaron edged further along the railing to see where it had flown in from. A huge mouth of another cave tunnel came into his view, so big it yawned large enough to have two firedrake Tarp’s size fly in with wings spread fully.

  ‘Amazing,’ he muttered. Clutching the railing, his gaze travelled along the huge hall. The centre was dominated by a statue that even up here Jaron could see was of a red firedrake with wings half-opened. He couldn’t see the head for its neck looked to be tucked under. The statue flickered with the reflections of the torches burning in their alcoves and it glowed in a disjointed way like a many-faceted jewel, although he was too high up to see why that was. Around it people chatted, clustered in groups, or took their places at the tables. Jaron could see they were becoming laden with dishes, with yet more being brought in by servants through a cave entrance at the back of the hall.

  ‘Come on,’ Rella looped her arm through his. ‘You’re supposed to be exercising that leg.’

  They proceeded at a slow pace, occasionally meeting groups of Raken who, on seeing his limp and stick, stood to one side to let them by. Rella thanked them and Jaron cast a surreptitious glance at their faces. Ordinary men and women, no different from the Tiarians, except they had a tanned, outdoor look, which he assumed was from riding firedrake. They looked at him with interest and some smiled when they met his gaze. Mindful of his facial scar, he ducked his head and limped on by. Soon they were halfway round the walkway and as he walked, leaning on his stick, Jaron watched the hall below fill until every seat was taken and the dinner was in full flow. Faint chatter and laughter bubbled up.

  ‘Did you want to join them?’ He had noticed his mother often looked down at the diners.

  ‘I’m not going to leave you,’ she said, patting his arm. ‘Anyway, I ate earlier.’

  They continued on. Jaron grunted as his stiff hip and sore thigh began to jar him. He could feel beads of sweat standing out on his forehead with the effort. He hadn’t realised he had got so unfit.

  ‘Want to rest?’

  ‘Just for a little while. Mum, how long was I out for?’

  ‘Three days.’

  Jaron stared. ‘So long?’ That meant he had been bed bound for almost two weeks; no wonder he felt so stiff.

  ‘The healer gave you something to make you sleep. We stirred you for water and some soup, don’t you remember?’

  Jaron shook his head.

  As he rested, a man came walking along the walkway towards them. He was tall and moved with a graceful gait unusual for a man. His head was shaved yet his face was surprisingly young. Jaron squinted as he drew closer. His eyes looked to be lined with black and his lips were an unnatural deep red. Jaron blinked. His face reminded him of the high ladies in Tiara when they put rouge on and made themselves up for special occasions. The man caught him staring and winked. Embarrassed, Jaron dropped his eyes.

  ‘Ah, so the patient is out and about at last,’ he heard the man say in a rich deep timbre. Surprised, he looked up.

  His mother was smiling. ‘Hello, Oran.’

  ‘Rella,’ he bowed and took her hand in his then brushed his lips against the back of it. ‘Lovely as always.’ He straightened and reached for both her hands, swallowing them in his own large ones as he spread her arms wide. ‘I do like that dress, my dear, good choice – royal blue becomes you very well.’

  His mother laughed. ‘The years haven’t changed you much, Oran.’

  ‘Nor you, my dear. Your beauty is as radiant as ever.’ He looked over at Jaron who was silently watching them.

  Rella moved to stand next to her son. ‘Jaron, this is my very old friend Oran, you remember I told you he carved your stick?’

  Jaron nodded but he didn’t need her prompt – the man was strange and he wasn’t sure he liked his over-familiarity with his mother, but he did want to express his gratitude. ‘Thank you for carving it for me, it’s beautiful.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure.’ Oran tilted his head to one side and smiled slowly. ‘He becomes you very well, Rella, he has your hair but not your eyes.’

  Jaron looked away, not sure how to take such a compliment from a man. Couldn’t he see his scar?

  ‘Now, Oran,’ Rella’s voice had a slight bite to Jaron’s ears although he saw she was smiling. ‘Stop teasing.’

  Oran was appraising Jaron’s walking stick. ‘It might be slightly too long for you. Stand up a little straighter please, so I might see.’ Jaron did so and Oran held one large hand flat against his shoulder and seemed to be counting with the other. ‘Hmm, no, I think that will do, how does it feel to walk with?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘Try a few steps please.’

  Feeling self-conscious, Jaron walked along the walkway a short way and
back again. Oran rubbed at his chin, his hip jutting out to one side in a rather florid pose as he watched Jaron’s faltering steps with an intent look on his face.

  ‘He needs something else to help him, I think,’ he spoke to his mother. ‘Has he ever had any special insoles fitted?’

  ‘No, do you think he needs them?’ Rella’s voice was anxious.

  ‘The fire damage might have shortened the muscles. His left leg walks slightly shorter than the other.’

  ‘My leg is shorter?’ Jaron looked down at his legs, dismayed. Oran’s heavy hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, making him jump and scattering his thoughts.

  ‘Only by the tiniest of margins. An untrained eye wouldn’t spot it.’ His smile was kind and Jaron decided he quite liked this strange Oran after all. ‘I suspect your hip muscles pull a little harder on that side?’

  Surprised, Jaron nodded.

  ‘The burns on his hip make the skin tighter,’ his mother smiled at her son. Did everyone know about his past here? ‘Can you do anything, Oran?’ she asked.

  ‘Dear lady, do not fret. A simple wedge fitted within the boot will help him.’ He held up two fingers spread a tiny width apart. ‘You only need this much and you will be amazed at the difference it will make. Does your hip get tired when you walk, Jaron?’

  ‘Yes, it always has done since… since the attack.’

  Oran pointed a finger theatrically into the air. ‘I will get on it straightaway,’ he turned to Rella. ‘I will need an old pair of his boots please. Ones that have been worn with use.’

  ‘I brought a pair with me. We’re heading back to Jaron’s room now anyway, come back with us, Oran.’

  Jaron was glad to hear it. As he trekked back he leaned more heavily on his walking stick, exhausted. Yet it was Oran who offered his arm and, not wanting to appear rude, he accepted it. It wasn’t long before Oran was barking out instructions.

  ‘Do not lean so heavily! Keep your chin up, UP!’ Two boys coming in the opposite direction flattened themselves against the rough cavern wall as the entourage passed by. Jaron could feel their eyes on him. ‘You twist your body if you lean too hard on the stick. This will not help. Shoulders further back, that’s good. NO! Don’t look down, up, always up.’

  When they at last turned into the short tunnel and emerged into Jaron’s cave he nearly fell onto the bed. He lay flat out on his back, the sweat on his body drying quickly as the wound in his thigh throbbed. Oran pulled off one of his boots, and he raised his head off the pillow with a jolt. The carpenter had hold of his leg and was rubbing it, avoiding the bandage. Jaron hurriedly tried to sit up. ‘I’m fine,’ he muttered. But Oran continued to give his leg a pummelling.

  ‘Did the healer not tell you this? Rub your muscles! Hard. Like this.’

  The boy winced as long strong fingers dug into his screaming hip muscles through his thin woollen leggings. Oran was frowning in concentration as he worked and Rella sat down on the bed to watch. Jaron felt Oran’s fingers working inexorably into his ridged skin. ‘The scar tissue needs to be broken down, after exercise is best when the muscles are warm. Always do this after you have walked, you will see how much better it feels.’

  Not now, it doesn’t. Jaron threw a pleading look at his mother and she placed a hand on Oran’s arm. ‘Perhaps that’s enough for now, Oran. It is the first time he has been out of his room, after all.’

  ‘Very well.’ Oran patted Jaron’s knee and stood up, stooping to pick up a pair of old boots that Rella had brought out. ‘I will leave you now to rest.’ As he said this he turned the soles up and was examining them with interest. ‘Hmm, every boot tells a story. Good evening to you, lovely Rella.’ He bowed low and with a swirl of cloak was gone.

  Jaron let out a breath and his mother laughed. ‘You’ll like him when you get to know him.’

  ‘I think I already do. Is he a healer as well as a carpenter?’

  Rella shook her head. ‘No, but he has a feel for things; when he carves it’s like he’s working with the natural qualities of the wood. His work is wonderful – the sculpture of the firedrake in the hall is his.’

  ‘Really?’ Jaron asked in wonder.

  ‘Yes, and I think his innate artistry carries over into other living tissues as well.’ She looked down at Jaron. ‘Your leg, he can feel the wrongness,’ she put out a hand in apology at the word. ‘The tension in the leg, something you may not even notice yourself. When he works he’s trying to get it to remember how nature designed it to work.’

  Jaron stared up at the rock ceiling, watching the glow from the fire lamps dance across the ridged stone. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘Don’t be so defeatist,’ his mother’s voice was sharp. ‘Only eighteen months since the fire, Jaron, and if Oran sees room for improvement then believe me there’s room, he’s that good. His mother was blessed with the same gift and she was the best healer we ever had. Oran chose carpentry and art rather than healing.’

  Jaron propped himself up on an elbow. ‘Have you always missed it, Mum? Rakenar?’

  She smiled but her eyes were sad.

  ‘Then why did you leave?’ Jaron asked. ‘You never did tell me.’

  His mother brushed his fringe back, her eyes soft. ‘It’s a long story, for another time.’ Jaron made to protest but she stood up. ‘You must rest now. I’ll get you some water while you undress.’

  Jaron watched her pull back the curtain to pass into the small washroom beyond and listened to her soft humming. He realised he had never asked her about her life before Teel. As a child his questions had been only about the firedrake. Now he wondered why that was as he laid back onto the soft bed. Tired, he closed his eyes and for a moment the rippling Plains of Wake were before him as he watched from his vantage point on Caliber’s broad back. He wondered if the kelpra had been found. He thought of Liam and Sanra and realised how much he missed them both. His mother seemed like a different person to him here and it bothered him, this other life she had before him.

  Mulling over his thoughts his eyelids drooped of their own accord. He was already asleep when his mother returned to his bedside with a tankard of water.

  11

  To Jaron’s mind the sooner he was better the sooner he could leave this place. So, the next morning he stood at the tunnel end, hidden from view as he peered out to check the walkway was empty. His hand tightened around his stick as he stepped out. A further glance up and down the walkway proved there was nobody there to stare at one scarred, injured boy. Edging over to the railing he looked down. The hall below was quiet apart from a few servants clearing up what must be the remains of breakfast.

  Satisfied, Jaron started walking. Fewer torches were lit this morning yet it was lighter on the walkway, which came as a surprise, considering it was built inside a mountain. Jaron looked around for the source of light and far above and behind him he saw another entrance, a massive hole cut into the side of the mountain through which blue sky could be seen. He turned to stare up at it, aware this was potentially another entrance for the firedrake as well as a light source. However, there was nothing he could do about that so he shrugged and turned back to continue on, keeping Oran’s instructions in mind to remain upright and straight. The carpenter (although that description didn’t seem to go far enough to portray the talented Oran) had proved true to his word and when Jaron pulled on his boots he had found a small wedge inserted into the sole of one. With it, his hip felt lighter and his stiff muscles seemed to be able to push off better. He shook his head in disbelief – one small adjustment and it made so much difference. Proof then, that he really did have one leg now shorter than the other. At this thought he frowned. The result was what mattered, he told himself.

  His mother had already been in with his breakfast, so once back in his cave Jaron was left to his own devices for the rest of the morning. He tried to rest but after tossing and turning on the bed sat up and looked across to the view the open double doors afforded him. The sky was a brilliant blue above the mountain
s and the morning sun threw sharp, hard shadows across their craggy facades. Jaron got to his feet and, without his stick, limped gingerly across the cave in his socks. At the door frame, he peered out cautiously. The cloudless blue sky was empty.

  On the wide ledge sat a leather-coated chair and a stool. It had been brought out here for him days ago, although he had not yet dared to come out and use it. Jaron hesitated, but he felt starved of the sunlight and it was now over a fortnight since he had arrived. After another check on the sky he made his way towards the chair and eased himself into its sumptuous embrace. There was a blanket thrown thoughtfully across the arm rest.

  Looking around, Jaron saw that his mountain face curved away, and he took comfort that he couldn’t be seen by any close neighbours. He looked up to see another ledge hanging a little way above his head so he assumed there was another cave up there, but there was no firedrake head peering down at him. Shaking out the blanket he put his feet on the stool, covering his legs. Then he sat back and took in the view.

  From here he could get his first decent look at the verdant green valley basin with the wide glistening ribbon of river cutting across the valley, which widened out into a central lake. As before, he could see the tiny figures of people walking, and for the first time he noticed a road that ran along the base of the mountains rimming the valley. A few carts were trundling along it and they looked heavily laden. As he watched, one followed a split in the road and travelled off towards a large entrance that was carved into a mountain at ground level. He saw all the mountains had the same and supposed they were like his, with large caverns for eating and socialising. The scale was daunting and he wondered how long the Raken people had been living here. The work of digging into the rock and creating such a network of tunnels and caverns was amazing to him and he didn’t doubt firedrake brawn had made it possible. Rella had never spoken of her people’s history to him either, perhaps because by the time he was old enough the attack he had suffered had made his mother think he wouldn’t be interested. Jaron shook his head. Of course, he wasn’t, not really, but who wouldn’t be impressed by a place such as this?