uppermost. ‘I shall always wear it,’ she said sadly. ‘It is all I have to remember my father by.’
Huw nodded solemnly, trying to keep his thoughts from his face. It was the thing he had used to convince Rhiannon her father was dead — and evidence of his lies. He would have been far happier never to see it again.
‘As long as it doesn’t fall off when you dance,’ he managed to say.
‘It won’t,’ she promised. ‘I wonder who will be the audience tonight?’ she continued, dabbing her lips with the berry juice.
‘No one of interest,’ he assured her.
Sendatsu hurried down the hill towards the village. He doubted he would find the answers he sought at the first village he found but, for the sake of Mai and Cheijun, he hoped he might find something. The rain swept in then, a thick curtain of it, dropping down from the skies with a vengeance. The path he took, already muddy, turned treacherous in the downpour. His boots were tall, of rich leather and bearskin, but he had to work hard notto become bogged, dragging them out of the clinging muck, and doubly hard to avoid slipping and falling.
Grunting with the effort, he made it to the bottom of the small hill and began to walk into the village. To someone used to the stone precision and beauty of Dokuzen, it was horrifying. The rain seemed to have brought out the worst of its smell, although it looked just as bad; crude wooden circular huts, plastered with mud, their roofs thatched but the thatch covered in a bedraggled mass of grass and moss. They were built low, the roofs sweeping down almost to the ground, while dung heaps were stacked against side walls, almost reaching to the roof, their stink making the gorge rise in his throat. It was hard to tell the difference between one and the other. Dogs tried to shelter from the rain, while the people stayed hidden. A few dogs barked half-heartedly but quietened when someone yelled at them.
Smoke curled despondently out of the very top of these roofs, as well as from the doorways, but not from a chimney. None had anything so fancy. And none had a window. The walls were blank, featureless, unless chunks of missing mud, showing the rough wattle walls beneath, counted as decoration.
Even with the rain, he found it hard not to stare. How could they live like this? Even the esemono, the lowest of the low classes, lived better than this in Dokuzen. There they had brick homes, proper chimneys, proper food. He began to fear he would find no answers at all.
He walked towards the nearest house, but the rank smell coming out of its open doorway made him turn away. Unwashed humans, wet animals, thick smoke and dung. Nothing that smelled that bad could hold anything useful.
He squelched down the middle of the road through the village until he came to a building that was different to all the rest. He stood in the middle of the crude street, heedless of the rain, and stared at it, hope rising in his heart.
It was elven — had to be elven. It looked nothing like the crude huts he had walked past. Two storeys high, made of stone andwith a tiled roof, it towered above the rest of the village. His heart beat faster. Perhaps in there he would find answers.
He slopped over until he could step onto the crude flat rock that served as the door stone. He kicked it with his boots, but the mud and dung that clung to the soles were reluctant to leave.
‘Get inside! No day to be outside and there’s just as much mud in here as out there!’ someone boomed from within the smoke wafting out the door.
He scraped his boots once more, this time almost revealing the rich brown leather, then stepped inside.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the smoke that filled the room. While his eyes were adjusting, he did not think his nose would ever get used to the assault. The smoke from the fire was actually a help, disguising unwashed bodies and clothes, dung, animals and cooking food, which seemed to coat the back of his
Huw nodded solemnly, trying to keep his thoughts from his face. It was the thing he had used to convince Rhiannon her father was dead — and evidence of his lies. He would have been far happier never to see it again.
‘As long as it doesn’t fall off when you dance,’ he managed to say.
‘It won’t,’ she promised. ‘I wonder who will be the audience tonight?’ she continued, dabbing her lips with the berry juice.
‘No one of interest,’ he assured her.
Sendatsu hurried down the hill towards the village. He doubted he would find the answers he sought at the first village he found but, for the sake of Mai and Cheijun, he hoped he might find something. The rain swept in then, a thick curtain of it, dropping down from the skies with a vengeance. The path he took, already muddy, turned treacherous in the downpour. His boots were tall, of rich leather and bearskin, but he had to work hard notto become bogged, dragging them out of the clinging muck, and doubly hard to avoid slipping and falling.
Grunting with the effort, he made it to the bottom of the small hill and began to walk into the village. To someone used to the stone precision and beauty of Dokuzen, it was horrifying. The rain seemed to have brought out the worst of its smell, although it looked just as bad; crude wooden circular huts, plastered with mud, their roofs thatched but the thatch covered in a bedraggled mass of grass and moss. They were built low, the roofs sweeping down almost to the ground, while dung heaps were stacked against side walls, almost reaching to the roof, their stink making the gorge rise in his throat. It was hard to tell the difference between one and the other. Dogs tried to shelter from the rain, while the people stayed hidden. A few dogs barked half-heartedly but quietened when someone yelled at them.
Smoke curled despondently out of the very top of these roofs, as well as from the doorways, but not from a chimney. None had anything so fancy. And none had a window. The walls were blank, featureless, unless chunks of missing mud, showing the rough wattle walls beneath, counted as decoration.
Even with the rain, he found it hard not to stare. How could they live like this? Even the esemono, the lowest of the low classes, lived better than this in Dokuzen. There they had brick homes, proper chimneys, proper food. He began to fear he would find no answers at all.
He walked towards the nearest house, but the rank smell coming out of its open doorway made him turn away. Unwashed humans, wet animals, thick smoke and dung. Nothing that smelled that bad could hold anything useful.
He squelched down the middle of the road through the village until he came to a building that was different to all the rest. He stood in the middle of the crude street, heedless of the rain, and stared at it, hope rising in his heart.
It was elven — had to be elven. It looked nothing like the crude huts he had walked past. Two storeys high, made of stone andwith a tiled roof, it towered above the rest of the village. His heart beat faster. Perhaps in there he would find answers.
He slopped over until he could step onto the crude flat rock that served as the door stone. He kicked it with his boots, but the mud and dung that clung to the soles were reluctant to leave.
‘Get inside! No day to be outside and there’s just as much mud in here as out there!’ someone boomed from within the smoke wafting out the door.
He scraped his boots once more, this time almost revealing the rich brown leather, then stepped inside.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the smoke that filled the room. While his eyes were adjusting, he did not think his nose would ever get used to the assault. The smoke from the fire was actually a help, disguising unwashed bodies and clothes, dung, animals and cooking food, which seemed to coat the back of his
Similar Books
