Chapter 7: The Road to Beletara

Our return to the Valley of the Wind was brief. The ice had already broken in the river before we arrived.

Master Jo had been riding pretty much non-stop while we were gone, and had relearned the comfortable manner atop a horse that he had as a young man on Temple. He certainly thought that the saddle helped. His home facet of Temple's idea of a saddle had been pretty similar to those of the Zadaru, a blanket and a leather pad.

The northern post road was clear, and had been clear for a while. The mountains that framed our valley had been the dividing line for the breaking weather, and south of the Neck the temperatures had been a good ten degrees warmer than the valleys for several weeks already.

We had a big going away breakfast at the Red Flag, though it was downplayed considerably, and sold as River and I wishing to replicate the trip my parents took before I was born. The mood was festive and the sky was overcast and the winds light as we rode out.

Pipertown, as the Durmiters had told us, sat in the middle of a muddy, swampy confluence of two rivers and was a cold, ugly town full of warm, ugly people. The farmland around it was rich and productive, and the apple orchards of Pipertown were well known across Arbor. There were some very large hog farms in the area as well, and a lot of the commercial pork and other hog meat sold in the north came from the Pipertown area. It was the Apples that made Pipertown famous, but it was the hogs that made them prosperous. The people weren't really ugly, they were just too earnest and hard working to spend time worrying about how they looked.

A Piperton, as they called themselves, pronounced 'pip'-erton, rather than 'pipe'-erton, were likely to be mud-streaked and calloused, unkempt and unashamed, from top to bottom of the community. Even the mayor of Pipertown, Blanch Grudene was as like as not out helping bring in a crop or wrangle some hogs on any given day. Today he was working his other job, tending the bar at his inn, the Hidden Smile, where we were eating our afternoon meal.

We'd asked for a bottle of Scarlet Heart, and he'd brought the bottle over himself, and stayed to visit.

"Beletara, eh?" He said jovially. "That's a long stretch to ride, such a small party. With all the spring caravans starting up and the early goods going north, there'll be a lot of traffic and a lot of thieves and road agents."

Road agents were his term for highwaymen. I knew I'd heard the phrase somewhere else, but couldn't place the reference in my mind.

"We're well trained, all of us." I answered. "Trunk here and me, we both went through the Academy on Silecia. What we didn't learn there, we learned from Master Jo here."

"Master Jo?" He asked. "Where have I heard that name before?"

Before we could any of us answer, he snapped his fingers.

"Say! Master Jo is supposed to be the name of the arms master in the Valley of the Wind. Is that you?"

"Well, I've retired from that position, but yes, I am that Master Jo."

"Well, a couple Academy boys and an arms master, I guess you would be a pretty tough nut to crack." The mayor said with a chuckle.

"And we're not even the tough ones." Trunk said. "River here lived three years among the Zadaru, and then took a vacation from that by wandering alone for months in the Imhur."

The mayor's eyes went wide at that, and he grinned. He looked over at Alianna and she just smiled back and tilted her head slightly.

"Okay, I won't even ask about you then. Whatever your story is, its probably out of this world too."

That cracked us all up instantly of course, and Blanch Grudene thought he had hit the mark with that comment, but he would never understand just how exactly right he was.

We were back on the road as soon as we'd finished the meal, headed north again after the slight turn south that had put us in Pipertown. This road was supposed to turn east again as soon as we hit the top of the False Pass mesa. We would be riding at some altitude from that point on until we were within twenty miles or so of Pelec's Crossing. As we rode, we sang the catchy little tune that a bunch of ranchers had been singing over their meal.

The Pipertons of Pipertown are piping all the day
as they ride to market with a cart of apple pies
a dozen hogs a-trailing all the way.
The hogs are mighty fit and mighty meaty beasts
The apple pies are sweet as sweet could be.
But the Pipertons have had their feasts.

Bring home coins of silver
Bring home coins of gold.
Come home to happy Pipertown
Pipertons please come home.

There were an endless number of stanzas, mostly funny or ridiculous, and we had only heard a few, but it kept our mood light as we rode up and out of the mud and mire of Pipertown.

False Pass Mesa was called such because it sat in front of higher mountains to the north, precursors to the High ranges of Sharhom, called the Spine of the World, that would rise much farther to the east, and there seemed to be a route across it that would lead through those mountains to the cold north of eastern Norhal beyond them. It was a cruel deception though, as there was nothing there but steep trails that died in the snows, or lead onto the endless high glaciers beyond.

Turning east on the mesa, the Northern Trade Road ran straight and true for fifty miles before the mesa faded away into the older, rocky hills that surrounded Pelec's Crossing and the Nider River. Well, straight as far as north and south went. It did have quite a bit of up and down to it, as the mesa was old and eroded by many centuries of rains and flooding coming off the mountains behind it.

This time of year the roads, even here on the high mesa, were muddy and the rains came frequently. It would be weeks before the rains began to lighten up, and this was going to be a lot wetter a journey than the one's my parents took. Perhaps the heavy spring rains would keep the bandits down, like it did the mosquitoes.

It was just five of us on the trail. Hawk didn't come, though we invited him. I think the bear attack had taken a big chunk out of his confidence, and I was worried that he might have some trouble regaining it. I mentioned it to our dads, and knew they would keep an eye on the situation.

Spring or not, rainy season or not, it still got cold at night at this altitude, and we did have frost overnight to accompany the soggy conditions we were met with during the day. we had sunshine only once during the eleven days journey from Pipertown to Pelec's Crossing. During that time we met two caravans, one headed to the Red Flag and the other making for the junction south to Esterton. Both were full of wool from the spring shearing in Porin, where sheep were the primary crop and the major industry, all in one. The winter wool, taken in the early spring was the densest, richest wool of the year, and Porin's wool in particular was well known in the north.

I don't remember my parent's discussing this stretch of their journey, except for mentioning meeting the Durmiters for the first time. It was probably too early in the season to meet those kind of travelers - families on the move. That sort of move was pretty uncommon on Arbor anyway.

We did run into plenty of game, moving down out of the mountain slopes into the valleys and plains to take advantage of the spring plants and grasses popping up. Hunting was easy.

We had to keep an eye out for predators though, as they were coming out of the mountains as well, following the deer, goats, hogs and other game. Rock cats and tree devils mostly. The tree devils were an Arborian version of the badger, at least that was how Dad classified them. These were not built as low to the ground, but they also had the formidable claws, though theirs were designed for climbing rather than digging.

No sign of bears though, and praise the Spirits for that!

Bears were singularly powerful an icon in Arborian legend, not just for their actual strength, size and ferocity, but also due to their rarity. The average Arborian was unlikely to see one in their lifetime. They were creatures of the high mountains and deep forests, and they were cunning predators. Despite their size, they were often known to surprise their prey, human or otherwise.

The average adult Arborian bear was fifteen feet tall and weighed well over a ton. They were fast, faster than all but the fastest horse on flat ground, and faster than anything else not boosted by Magic on broken or hilly ground. They were, as confirmed by the one I'd seen, cloaked in a heavy dark fur, brownish-black with silvery white markings, particularly across the back hump as they got older.

I had won my battle, but a bear had broken parts of me, in a form I thought near impervious, previously. I had my own internal struggles to overcome. Endless hours in the saddle were one of the places where that battle was waged.

We meditated every morning, and Master Jo was never more in his element than he was sitting at the center of our group in the frosty morning air, guiding us to someplace beyond our calm centers.

I still sparred with him in my Black Obsidian rock form. He matched me, attack for attack, move for move, always too fast to hit, but never strong enough to do any damage in return.

Strangely, the few times I slipped into my Dragonstone form, he would slip instantly into the mostly transparent form we had seen him in while dreaming with the Dragons. He seemed unable to control it if he was within even twenty feet of me when I went Dragonstone.

River meanwhile wondered if she was going to find a form beyond the watery blue one she had brought back from the Dream.

"Is there something beyond that for me?" She asked one night as we lay talking in our furs.

"I don't know." I answered honestly. "I had to move beyond the power of Arborian rock and into the Dragonstone, something that is more like stone than bone, but has that image, and more of the Dragons than of Arbor, I think. Is there an equivalent object for your moving waters? Spirits only know."

"I feel like there is." River said. "I feel like there is something more, but I just haven't figured out the direction I need to go in seeking it."

"You will, my love. You will." I said, sleep slowly beginning to take hold.

Sid was such a miracle to me that it hurt to see him brood.

Brood he did though, over his concern for Hawk, his memories of the pain the bear brought him. His concerns about what this trip was supposed to bring us to, and what it would mean from there.

We were supposed to find 'the sun', on this road somewhere, and he, she or it would be one of us, and lead us, we hoped, to 'the sky', who may or may not be one of us as well. Whatever we were. As Sid had said it once, 'prophesies suck'.

The drive and energy with which Sid, Master Jo and I met this task tended to leave Trunk and Alianna in the background, but it didn't much matter to them, because they were in the background together. They spent their time on the road sharing their knowledge and experience with each other. Trunk was teaching Alianna the basic skills an Arborian took for granted. Simple things like building a fire with flint and steel, hunting and tracking, telling time from the sun. A thousand minor and mundane things that she found amazing and fascinating, and found more so because it was Trunk doing the teaching.

Alianna in turn was making Trunk a master of the gifts. She had always been a particularly good at using the gifts for healing, and since meeting Ginny McKesson, had redoubled her efforts to master that aspect of the gifts. Even knowing that there was some part of it that came from outside the gifts for Ginny, something Alianna didn't have access to, as Ginny, or the rest of the McKessons and the other Guardians did. What she knew of healing, and what she was learning, she was passing on to Trunk, and at the same time he was learning the small skills of using the levitation and teleportation skills that came with the gifts.

We finally got that full story, of the guardians and the McKessons, spread over a handful of nights around the fire. It was an amazing story, all the more incredible for the seemingly unlikelihood of it all, and that it had become so much a defining characteristic of what it meant to be a McKesson. The concept of other worlds I could handle — I'd been to visit dragons in my dreams after all, and knew something of other places not normally within reach to Arborians. The scale of it was what I found hard to grasp. Entire worlds, and many of them! Then the thought of aliens from the stars, traveling in space — it was all too incredible.

We reached Pelec's crossing the evening of our eleventh day since leaving Pipertown. If things went well, that would be the longest stretch we would travel without passing through a town or village.

The northern trade road would turn south once we crossed the Nider river, and would cut a southern leaning diagonal across the northern half of Lamin. We were within fifty miles of the Sharhom border here, as close as we were to come to the Shar's official home during our journey. Of course, the Shar really lived everywhere on Arbor, beneath the surface.

Pelec's Crossing itself was a hub of activity this time of year, as it always was after the winter had lost its hold in the north. There were wagons and caravans and teamsters and drovers packed into the city like sliced apples in a pie. There was barely room to turn around, and there were far, far too many hands wishing to be familiar with parts of my anatomy, and Alianna's too. After making an example of a couple of the most egregious offenders, and pointing the sharp end of a throwing knife at a few others, things eased up a bit, but after a couple nights at the Stone Stream Inn, resting up and restocking our supplies, we left, crossing Weaver's Bridge, as it was called now, and heading out again on the trail.

As we rode out, I expressed my relief at being away from the pawing.

"Hah!" Sid said. "You enjoyed it, admit it."

I considered that for a moment. Sid watched me, an eyebrow raised and a twinkle in his eye.

"I enjoyed the concept of it." I admitted. "The knowledge that I could attract such attention."

"But not the attention itself?" Sid asked.

"No, and not the consequences of the attention even more so. I feel sullied, marked invisibly by the contact. You my love will have to spend some time tonight I think, kissing away those invisible marks."

"Yes my love." Sid said with an exaggerated sigh. "Ever am I ready to do my duty."

That got a giggle from Alianna, and a snort from Trunk. I looked over and even Master Jo was smiling at me.

Once we'd crossed the bridge, the terrain changed, becoming rolling hills with rocky outcrops here and there. We were still really at altitude here, and stayed so for a while. We were in Lamin now, and two days later the road turned sharply south, heading for Zadrain Junction and the crossroads to White River and to Reston, Lamin's capital. As we went south we passed into a true mountain valley setting, as the hills became mountains and the rocky outcrops became cliffs and peaks.

We met a detachment of the Lamin Royal Foot at the junction, and stopped to speak to Captain Guile, the troop's leader.

"Where you folks headed?" He asked.

"Beletara." Sid answered.

"A bit early in the season for such a ride, isn't it?"

"That it is," Sid said. "but you go when you are called, not when the weather says you should."

"True enough." The captain said. He scratched the gray stubble on his chin. "Well, you'll have an easier time of it once your out of the mountains and into the Zadrain leg. Its early enough in the spring that the heat won't have had time to build up yet, and the dust won't be too bad. You may even still get some rain."

"We could use some clear days." I said. "We haven't had many of them on the road so far."