Kelfor (The Orthomancers)

Chapter 7

It is only another day's march before we find ourselves approaching the Great Chasm.

You can hear the water from a mile away. There is a small heat haze over the winding gap in the plains. It stretches from one side of the horizon right across to the other. A thin band of mist to tell us that we are nearly there.

Water! I think. Water, at last.

The argents now bring continuous supplies to us, under Rannyl's direction. At last we are able to stop to wash our clothes and scrub most of the grime off our tunics and our bodies. We take a half day for the ablutions. In the heat, wet material dries on us in less than an hour. Kalyka becomes silly. Even I do, a little. I revel in being able to soak my scalp, feel my hair dust-free.

The respite lasts only for those few hours. Soon enough we are marching again, the luxury of being clean forgotten. We want to see this Great Chasm, we want to see what the future holds.

Ammeline and Koban have not spoken to any of us since the decision. They stick together and regard us from a distance. They are part of the group, yet separate. They don't come close to us unless they need food or drink. Doven has been walking with a face like thunder ever since we allowed the Scoriat to join us. He looks sick. I think he is wishing he had voted the other way.

Now the two speakers of the land are at the front. Karith and her daughter are zigzagging ahead of us, trying to find some age-old signs to tell them where the crossing may lie. They are supposed to know all these things but they are looking less and less confident with each hour that passes. I don't think they know very much at all.

Then something occurs to me. I am supposed to be something called the orthomancer, and I know absolutely nothing! What will happen if my turn ever comes, if we really do make it to Kelfor? I haven't a clue what any of this means, and I am pretty sure I don't have any hidden abilities. If I could shrivel people with my mind, then a whole bunch of Raths and Scoriats would already be dead. A whole big bunch.

The quondam stops suddenly, causing me to bump into her. Furian has to steady us both. He is, as usual, walking on her other side, his arm supporting hers, his strength at her disposal. She needs it; the air seems to have some difficulty in passing through to her lungs.

She touches my arm. "It is going to be up to you, Remeny. Only you. The rest of us ..." she spreads her hands to indicate in front and behind us, "... are just commodities. Expendable commodities to make sure you get inside Kelfor. When you become our orthomancer you must fight for the survival of the Inmuri, girl. Drive the Raths off Hethor, or take the Inmuri away. Promise!"

I can't help blinking again. It is taking me all my time just to follow the group across these punishing lands. Who does she think I am? There is only one of me. And I know nothing much about anything, except working in a dome. Now I am expected to save the entire Inmuri race. It seems a bit excessive.

She must know how I feel, because her face dissolves into hundreds of alarming wrinkles. Despite my best intentions I step back a little. Her eyes bore into mine. "I know that it seems a lot, now. But you will have the power to do it. Your birthright is to be an orthomancer."

I feel a spurt of anger. "What was my parents' birthright? To die? To die for the timeworn? And what about the unworn? What birthright have they?"

"I may have made some mistakes," she says. "The timeworn may have made some mistakes."

Mistakes? Mistakes? I am speechless. I shake my head. Furian looks at the ground.

She goes on: "I come from a long line of timeworn who have done little or nothing to help our race. We were born shackled and tired and we seem to have lost our way amid such apathy. It took your mother to convince me that we had run out of time."