A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 15 (Part 2 of 2)

“Imlonavar?  Imlon?”

The astronomer snapped out of the trance.  The scholars were rapidly filing out of the arena, their shoes thumping on the benches like hail on a flat roof, their conversation the driving wind.  He glanced up to see the aquiline features of Temith Callyrian staring down at him.

“I must speak with you.  I’ll be waiting at Exodus.”

The Erluethan hurried away.

Imlon did not move from his chair until most of the scholars and clerics had already left.  He was exhausted, far more so than he had been after his climb to the Nest.  Then, it was his chilled bones and aching muscles that begged for rest.  Now, it was his whole being.  What thoughts he had, of the Anvil, of his future, of Temith’s words and of that last, terrible question, were muffled, crying out from the corners of his mind toward the empty centre.

In time he stood and gathered his things together.  The attendants who had carried in his telescopes and papers were nowhere to be seen.  They only appeared once Imlon asked a reluctant clerk whether they might be fetched. 

Dean Raetho approached.  Imlon had seen him just outside the arena, speaking with the other Deans.

“Master Held, you are still expected at Exodus tonight, and for the foreseeable future.  I shall inform you if that changes.”

Imlon bowed, but he spoke to the Dean’s retreating back.  “Yes, sir.”

He picked up his remaining papers from the table and hurried after the attendants.  When he left by the side door to the stables, he found his telescope cases and satchels dumped on the straw.          

As he rode back to Exodus alone under grey skies, he thought of Emmares.  He remembered days spent on the headland just outside Casa Flow, watching the ships coming into port under sail and oar: little fishing skiffs, navy galleasses along the coast and the deep hulled ocean-goers breaching the horizon.  That time he had taken Syavessa there in the burning summer three years ago, her silks flowing beneath the cedars.  Her father had been proven right, he was not a good prospect – but despite or because of his family?  Imlon remembered those rare days he had dined on his brother’s estate at Temenesta.  The hall had always been too big for Isendrin, unless the knights of the Ship and Rose dined with their master.

The sad, empty face of his brother, as he had seen him at Speakerfield five days ago, entered his memory, but then Imlon saw his own face, as if every man he rode past was holding up a polished mirror.  He forced himself to lift his head, open his eyes wider and straighten his back as he approached the Exodus gatehouse.  The grass of the quadrangle was green without lustre, its colour leeched away into the grey walls.

Only one thing stood out – a man, dressed in blue and white, standing in the far corner of the square.  Imlon wondered how he had not seen Temith at Chancellor’s Hall.

“Here I am,” said the astronomer as he approached, shrugging his shoulders.  “What’s this about?”

“Might we speak in private?” said the theologian, passing a hand through his swept back grey hair.

Imlon assented.  After his horse was taken by a stable boy, he led Temith through the low stone corridors to his chambers.  He dropped his belongings without ceremony on the table and sat down.  It would be an ordeal getting them to Assossori, a three-week journey at the least.

“You did well,” said Temith.  “You did very well.  I don’t know quite how you did so.”

“How have I done well?” said Imlon.  “It’s done.  I’m finished here.”