Seeds of Earth by Michael Cobley Read Free Book Online

'Hurry - no dawdling! It will soon be time for the zinsilu.'
    With his longer legs, Faldri was over the crest ahead of Chel, who had to break into a run to catch up. On the other side the path led down into a great dark mass of leafy undergrowth, bushes and small trees intertwined with climbing plants and borrower-weeds. Faldri ducked into a dark opening and Chel followed. A lumpy path wound down through mossy trees and came out at last in a clearing dominated by three big vaskin trees standing around a still pool. Listener Faldri was kneeling between two of the trees, eyes closed, wide, thin-lipped mouth murmuring, long-fingered hands held · out, palms up. From some high opening in the canopy light filtered down and as he drew near Chel could see a fine mist of droplets falling between the three smooth, straight trunks.
    Chel felt a growing quiver of uncertainty. This was utterly unlike his previous zinsilu, which had been fascinating discussions between himself and senior scholars on the direction of his learning, held in comfortable surroundings. This place reminded him of the few times he had taken the vudron vigil, except that the presence here was stern and brooding rather than tranquil and contemplative.
    The fur on his scalp and neck prickled as he advanced. Faldri remained as he was, hands extended, lips muttering, his features just visible beneath the cowl. Chel halted at the edge of the pool, which he saw was not entirely still, its surface trembling very slightly now and then. Looking up he could see the falling mist and a shifting silvery radiance from above. Chel stood in silence for several moments before deciding to speak, but Faldri, eyes still closed, forestalled him with a fluid gesture. Wait.
    Long moments passed. Chel inhaled and exhaled in a slow rhythm, calming himself, smelling and tasting the odours of wet wood and green leaves. Then Faldri ceased murmuring and drew an audible deep breath.
    'The gate is now open, Great Elder. Your servants await.'
    The Listener's voice seemed to resonate in Chel's ears. His senses hummed to the lifesong of the daughter-forest which gathered in strength, climbing up his body like a slow fountain of energy, rising through his limbs, his veins, his spine. And suddenly he knew that he was in the presence of sacred Segrana . . . and another. There, in the radiant mist above the pool, was a hulking, stooped form draped in long folds, an indistinct image.
    Chel stared in awe and panic. Faldri had called out to the 'Great Elder', and Chel suddenly realised that he was looking at one of the legendary Pathmasters.
    But the histories say that the last of them died after the War of the Long Night, he thought. How could one still be alive after thousands of years}
    'There is no death,' came a sighing voice. 'Only a change in how the universe dreams about us . . .'
    In reflex, Chel bowed his head, his thoughts in a whirl. The long-lived Pathmasters were the third huskings of the Uvovo, which only the wisest, most enlightened of Listeners could achieve. But the War of the Long Night had decimated the Uvovo and destroyed much of the ancient strength of Segrana, without which the third huskings could not be carried out. The surviving Uvovo had been confined to the forest moon, their history fraying and fading into legend after the Pathmasters were gone, their knowledge shrivelling into litany, their customs into ritual, until the Humans came.
    'Dreams persist,' the Pathmaster sighed. 'The stronger the dreamer, the more resilient the dream. Some dream outward dreams, seeking unity with the eternal; others dream inwardly, dreams of hunger and conquest, of pain and the escape from pain. Some do not dream at all. Cheluvahar, do you dream?'
    'Great Elder, I . . .' Panic seized him, mind suddenly blank. 'I have dreamed lately but the details escape me for now.'
    'I know, I see them.' The voice faded to a whisper as the floating image of the Pathmaster tilted its hooded head to look upward,