“But of course, if he is up to it.”
Hadrian helped Royce to his feet, and as the rest watched with envious stares, the two followed Fan Irlanu out of the ostrium. The sun had not yet set, but for what little light the jungle permitted, it might just as well have. Oil lamps hung from branches, illuminating the path, decorating the village like a Summersrule festival. The rain still poured, so they left the lodge under the protection of palm branches. Hadrian knew sarap translated to “meeting place,” or “talking place.” In this case, it was a giant oudorro tree, from which, he had recently learned, the village took its name.
The tree was not as tall as it was round. Great green leaves thrived on many of its branches despite the center of the trunk’s being completely hollow. The space within provided shelter from the rain and was large enough for the four of them. A small ornately decorated fire pit dominated the center of the floor and glowed with red coals. Around this they took seats on luxurious pillows of silk and satin. The interior walls were painted with various ocher and umber dyes smeared into the wood, apparently by stained fingers. The images depicted men and animals—twisted shapes of strange visions. There were also mysterious symbols and swirling designs. Illuminated by the glowing coals, the interior of the tree was eerily talismanic, creating a sensation that left Hadrian on edge.
Joqdan was already there. He had not waited for a boy with the palms, and his bare head and chest were slick with rain. They all exchanged bows respectfully.
“Pleased am I,” Joqdan greeted them. “Mine speech …is, ah … not good as the learned. I warrior—do not speak to outsiders. You are”—he paused for a moment, thinking hard—“special. Am honored. Welcome you to Oudorro, Galenti. I …” He paused, thinking again, and quickly became frustrated and turned to Fan Irlanu.
“The warlord Joqdan regrets that language skills are not good enough to honor you, and he asks that I speak words,” Fan Irlanu told them as she removed her wet wrap. “He says that he saw you fight in the arena at Drogbon. He has never forgotten it. To have such a legend here is great honor. You do not wear the laurel, so he thinks you do not wish be recognized. He has asked you here to pay proper respect in private.”
Hadrian glanced briefly at Royce, who remained silent but attentive. “Thank you,” he told Joqdan. “And he’s right—I would prefer not to be recognized.”
“Joqdan begs permission to ask a question of the great Galenti. He would like to know why you left.”
Hadrian paused only a moment, then replied, “It was time to seek new battles.”
The warlord of Oudorro nodded as Fan Irlanu translated his words.
At that moment, something about Fan Irlanu caught Royce’s attention and he rapidly approached her. She did not move, although given the ominous manner of his advance, Hadrian guessed that most anyone else would have taken a step back.
“Where did you get that mark on your shoulder?” Royce asked, indicating a small swirling tattoo.
“That is the mark of a seer,” Zulron declared, startling all of them as he entered.
Unlike the other men of the village, Zulron wore a full robe. Made from a shimmering cloth, it was open enough for them to see his misshapen body, covered in strange tattoos. The one that spread across his face resembled the web of a spider.
“Fan Irlanu is a vision-walker,” he explained, staring admiringly at her. “It is a talent and a gift bestowed by Uberlin upon those endowed with the hot blood of the Ghazel. Few are born each age, and she is very powerful. She can see the depths of a heart and the future of a nation.” He paused to run his fingers gingerly down the side of her cheek. “She can see all things except her own destiny.”
“You don’t suffer from a language barrier, I see,” Hadrian said.
Zulron smiled. “I am the oberdaza. I know the movement of the stars in the Ba Ran and the books of your world. All mysteries are revealed to me.”
“Is it true that you are a visionary?” Royce asked Fan Irlanu.
She nodded. “With the burning of the tulan leaves, I—”
“Give him a demonstration,” Zulron interrupted, causing her to look sharply at him. “Read this one’s future,” he said, gesturing toward Royce.
A puzzled look crossed her face, but she nodded.
Joqdan put a firm hand to Zulron’s shoulder and spun him around, but he spoke too quickly for Hadrian to understand. The two argued briefly, but all he caught was one word of Zulron’s reply: important.