Chapter Five - Caelkirk

Two days later, the gates of Caelkirk were finally in sight. Its walls rose high above the fields around the city, casting long shadows across the ground, and Órlaith frowned. She didn't remember it looking quite so forbidding - but then again, she'd been much younger the last time she'd come here, and in the wagon half the time besides. It made sense that it would look different to her now as an adult. Especially since she was here to try and find forbidden information.

"The guards don't look as relaxed as the ones at the town," Leolin muttered as they approached. "How are we doing this?"

"It's fine," Órlaith said. "Places like this, they're just here to make sure nobody wants to start any trouble, or brings things into the city illegally. They mostly want to stop wagons and carts, to see what people are bringing with them. We're just travellers, we'll be fine - if anyone asks, though, your hair's covered because you burn easily and you didn't want to pass out and fall off the horse."

"What - you can't tell them that!" Leolin protested, turning to face Órlaith with only a little bit of a wobble. He'd gotten much better at riding in the past few days, Órlaith had noticed. He was a fast learner.

"I can," Órlaith said. "It'll make them laugh and it'll make them ignore you - if they just think it's funny, then they won't think there's anything else to look for." It was a tactic she'd used before - not for anything bad, but it was always useful to know how to misdirect people, get them to focus on something to distract them from the things you didn't want them to focus on. It was an absolutely essential skill for a spellweaver who had to spend her life hiding.

"That's a good idea," Leolin said, sounding a little surprised. "I wouldn't have thought of that. But what if -"

Órlaith shook her head - they were getting closer to the gates now. "Just nod and smile at them, and if they stop us, I'll do the talking," she murmured. "They'll probably just nod us through, but just in case."

As it turned out, Órlaith was right. The guards had bigger fish to fry than a pair of tired-looking young travellers, and gestured them through with barely a word other than to warn them they couldn't ride in the city. They dismounted a little way inside, in the arena set aside for it - plenty of people came to Caelkirk on horseback, so there was more than enough space for them to step aside and settle the horses.

"We'll take them with us, I remember Aneirin had stables," Órlaith told Leolin, "and even if he doesn't any more, there's plenty of stables in the city."

Leolin nodded mutely. His eyes were very wide, and he kept glancing around. Órlaith realised suddenly that Leolin probably didn't have huge amounts of experience in cities as big as this - and none of it would be positive.

"It'll be fine," she told him, giving him a reassuring smile. "It won't take long for us to find my uncle, and then we can stay there til the streets are quieter."

As it turned out, it was not fine.

When she'd noticed Leolin's discomfort, Órlaith had forgotten - he wasn't the only one who disliked cities and crowds. The caravan went to them so rarely, and Órlaith was never a part of the delegations that went into the cities proper. She'd forgotten why - and now she was being brutally reminded.

Only the comforting bulk of the horses between them and the crowd kept Órlaith from screaming or sobbing. Everything was so loud, the street stank in a way that suggested the street-cleaners had been slacking for a long time, and there were so many people everywhere, pushing past each other as they went about their business. It was too much, and Órlaith took the first opportunity she saw to turn down a narrower side street, still wide enough for the horses but far less busy.

"That's... a lot," Leolin said, voice cracking a little. Órlaith just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

That wasn't even the worst of it, though. Because it turned out that Órlaith's memories from nearly twenty years ago weren't all that reliable, nor were they much use when it came to navigating through the city streets. She remembered what Aneirin's house looked like, and the name of the street - she'd been taught to memorise that in case of getting lost. But when it came to actually getting there...

"This is ridiculous," Leolin muttered a while later, after hours of fighting through crowds and occasionally ducking into side streets for a breather. "It can't be this difficult to find, surely."

"You try it, then, if you're an expert," Órlaith snapped, and immediately regretted it. Leolin just stared at her, looking a little taken aback.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking away. "Sorry, I'm just..."

"It's fine," Leolin said. "It's been a difficult few days for you especially. And this isn't helping either of us."

"I don't know where to look," Órlaith admitted. "This place is so big - I think we're getting closer, I remember him living in the centre of the city somewhere, near the library. But I don't know where."

"Wait," Leolin said. "Do you remember what the library looked like?"

Órlaith frowned. "Yes, but -"

"It must be big, from what you said," Leolin went on, "so we would be able to see it from further away, wouldn't we?"

Órlaith's eyes widened. "Yes. Maybe," she said. "Let me think - it was big, huge. There were so many books there, and the ceiling..." She paused, trying to dredge up the memories. There wasn't much - but there was something. "There was some kind of beautiful glass canopy as the ceiling. I remember because I could see the sky through it, and that was what we wanted to find out about, so I said to my uncle that I could see it. I remember pointing it out. That has to be visible from the outside, I think. He said something about it being a landmark - I wasn't really listening to him, though, I was looking at the sky."

"That's still more than we had to go on before," Leolin said firmly. "And I think it will help us to have some kind of goal, at least. So let's look for the library?"

"Let's look for the library," Órlaith agreed, and they set off again.

With the library as their goal, it was far easier. As Leolin had thought, the library was obvious once they got to a good vantage point. Órlaith couldn't believe they hadn't noticed it before.

It sat in the centre of the city, and the glass ceiling that Órlaith had remembered glittered in the late afternoon sun like the surface of a lake, split into fragmented panels that might have made up some kind of pattern, if you could see beyond the glare of the sunlight. The rest of the building was beautiful, too, though it paled in comparison to the ceiling - it was built from white marble, with veins of silvery-grey wending their way lazily through the stone. Several of the seven walls had what looked like murals on them. From where they stood, Órlaith couldn't tell what the murals were meant to depict, or even how they had been made, but she hoped it would still be light enough to see them properly by the time they got closer.

Because, for all that the library seemed to dominate the city with its size, it still wasn't very close. Close enough to be obvious from the top of the hilly street they'd dragged themselves and the horses up, but far enough that the sun was beginning to set by the time they reached the library. It was just closing as they stood outside; the murals were illuminated by flickering magical lamps, and Órlaith itched to take a closer look.

Now wasn't the time, though. She turned to Leolin.

"You had the suggestion to look for the library," she said. "Do you have any ideas for how we can find my uncle's house from here?" She shrugged. "I don't even know which direction to start in." She wished they'd arrived a little earlier - she had thought of asking the library staff, but in the few minutes since she and Leolin had stopped, every staff member seemed to have vanished.

Leolin shrugged. "I suppose all we can do is pick a direction and start walking."

So they did, circling around the library in steadily widening circles, until finally Órlaith stopped in her tracks.

"There," she said, pointing at a little park where two streets joined. "That park, the fountain - I recognise it. I think. Let's go down that street."

With every step they took, Órlaith was more and more certain that this was it. The terraced houses, painted different shades of green, the elaborate railings that separated the tiny front courtyards from each other... All of it was familiar, like something out of a half-forgotten dream.

Finally, they reached the last house on the street. As soon as Órlaith laid eyes on it, she knew it was the one.

"Here it is," she said, handing Aelis' reins to Leolin so that she could climb the two steps up to the front door.

She knocked, and waited.

And waited.

Leolin shifted a little, glancing around the street.

"Maybe he isn't in," he said. "Or maybe he doesn't want to answer." He hesitated, then added, "Maybe he's called the guards."

Órlaith shook her head sharply. "No," she said, "he wouldn't -"

"Not like that," Leolin said quickly, going to hold his hands up before he was pulled short by the reins. Órlaith kept half an eye on the horses, but neither seemed too bothered. "Just - it's late. If somebody knocked on your door unexpectedly now, wouldn't you think it was strange? Dangerous, maybe?"

Ah. What kind of cities and towns was Leolin used to, that that was a threat?

"Not here," Órlaith said with complete certainty. "This area of the city is much too wealthy and well-guarded. Nobody would risk anything like that, and Aneirin always answered the door to us before, no matter how late it was."

"Are you sure he even still lives here?" Leolin asked. "It's been a while since you last visited, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Órlaith said firmly. "He wouldn't move, not unless he had no other choice - he always said that this was where he wanted to stay, if he couldn't be with the caravan."

"And stay I have."

Órlaith's eyes widened and she turned back to the door.

There he was, standing in front of the open door. He was older than she remembered; his face more lined, his hair entirely grey now, and he stooped more, one hand resting on the doorframe as though for support. But some things were the same - his bright blue eyes, the neat queue he tied his hair back in, the extravagantly coloured clothes he wore. And his smile, welcoming if a little bemused.

"Uncle Aneirin," she breathed, and when he opened his arms Órlaith all but flung herself into them.

---

Once they had gotten the horses situated in Aneirin's stables, he welcomed them in. With a little encouragement from Órlaith, Leolin had uncovered his hair, and they'd told Aneirin the whole story over mugs of cocoa, ensconced comfortably in the glasshouse at the back of his house. Everything, from when Órlaith had first met Leolin, to what had happened to the caravan, to their theft of the horses and subsequent escape, and how they'd finally ended up here. And, at last, why they'd sought Aneirin out.

"The City," he said, staring into his mug. "Well. I can't say you'd be the first to look for it, and I would imagine we would have some resources for you, certainly." He paused, then added, "Your mother, Órlaith - she spoke of it once or twice."

"The times you offered to help?" Órlaith asked. Aneirin's eyes widened, and an odd smile crossed his face, just for a moment.

"She told you about that, did she? Yes. In retrospect, of course, the help I wanted to offer was perhaps not entirely suitable at the time. Who would want to uproot their child, after all? But yes, at those times we did speak of the City. And I've done far more research on the topic since - it's become something of a research interest of mine, you see."

He stood, and went to one of the low tables that lined the walls. Like the rest, it was covered in potted plants; Aneirin began to move them, putting them onto the floor with the occasional wince.

"A secret storage space?" Leolin asked, even as Órlaith began to help move the plants. Some of them were surprisingly heavy, and she was more focused on not dropping them than on whatever Aneirin was doing with the table itself.

"Precisely," Aneirin said. "Órlaith, dear, you can leave those on the floor for now. I'm not expecting any guests, and really it's not essential that I hide these texts anyway." He chuckled. "I'm a little paranoid about protecting my research and resources, I must admit. Come, sit back down. Let me show you both what I was looking for."

He set a book on the table - there was no accompanying cloud of dust, given that it was clearly well-looked-after, but Órlaith felt like there should be. The book was ancient, with a peeling leather cover and thick, uneven pages. There was no title or author on the cover or spine, but there was a strange symbol tucked away in the top left corner, something that looked like some kind of spire or tower.

"Ah, you've spotted it," Aneirin said, tapping the symbol. "Good eye as always, Órlaith. Yes, that symbol's become rather useful to me. It seems that it was used, historically, to mark items created within the City itself. There are various forgeries, of course, but a little magic soon identifies those. It's not only a stamp or engraving, you see. It's imbued with magic as well. Fitting, for a community of spellweavers."

"It is real then," Leolin murmured, reaching out towards the symbol. He stopped before he touched it, though, glancing at Aneirin.

"Go ahead," Aneirin said, waving a hand. "Go carefully with it, of course. But that's one of the newer books in my collection, and City books tend to be rather more resilient than books made in the usual way. You too, Órlaith; both of you ought to be able to recognise these things."

Leolin touched the book first, resting just the tip of his finger on the symbol. Órlaith saw the magic wreath his hand almost immediately. She wasn't sure how much of it was Leolin's and how much was the book itself; it glittered, just as the library's glass ceiling had, and Leolin's eyes slipped closed. Eventually he pulled his hand away, grimacing, and opened his eyes again.

"That was..." He trailed off, shaking his head, and gestured at Órlaith.

Órlaith took a deep breath, and pressed her finger to the symbol.

She didn't even need to draw on her magic - the symbol did that for her. It felt alive, the same way as a plant or an animal or even a human did - everything had energy that could be manipulated, of course, but there was a vast difference between the energy of something inanimate like a rock and the energy of something living, and the symbol felt -

No, it wasn't even that it just felt like it - it was alive, Órlaith could tell. Its magic was curious, inquisitive, welcoming. It prodded at Órlaith's own power, and seemed to recognise something like itself in it. Was it the symbol she was feeling, or was it the spellweaver who'd imbued it with magic, however many decades or centuries ago? She couldn't tell.

Órlaith could have stayed there for hours just like that, learning and being learnt by that magic, foreign yet so familiar. But she knew she couldn't. She had people waiting for her, Leolin and Aneirin, and she had places to go. She had to find the City, maybe find out more about what this was. So, reluctantly, she untangled her magic from the symbol, and pulled her hand away.

She opened her eyes to see both Leolin and Aneirin staring at her. The closest word she could think of for Leolin's expression was awed. Aneirin... her uncle looked almost afraid, just for a moment, before delight replaced it.

"Remarkable, truly remarkable," he said, glancing between Órlaith and the book. "Of course, I'd hypothesised that the symbol might react differently to a spellweaver, someone more powerful than myself or the other academics who have examined it... but to that degree! Absolutely remarkable, really!"

"It liked you even better than it liked me," Leolin said, smiling a little. "I could see it."

Órlaith blinked. She hadn't seen what it looked like when she touched the book, only when Leolin had - but had it really been that different?

"Well, Órlaith always did have a knack with books," Aneirin said, smiling. "Even as a child! Now, fascinating as that was, it wasn't quite what I'd intended to show you. Take a look at this." He opened the book, flicking through the pages til he reached a point near the end.

"A map," Órlaith said, staring at the book.

"A map to the City," Leolin said, glancing between Órlaith and Aneirin. "That's - how?" He frowned. "And what do you want for this? You said it's part of your research, you can't be planning to share this with us for nothing."

Órlaith actually wasn't sure if the look her uncle put on at that was mock offence or genuine offence.

"Really, young man! Didn't I tell you when you arrived? Órlaith is family, and so is any friend of hers. Both of you are more than welcome here, and I will do my utmost to aid you both, in whatever way I can. It's hardly as if either of you will be undercutting my research, anyway!"

"He didn't mean it like that, Uncle," Órlaith assured him quickly, hoping to avoid an actual argument. "It's just... Leolin hasn't really had reasons to trust people. And most people don't really understand what family means to the caravan, anyway." What family had meant to the caravan, rather. But Órlaith wasn't going to correct herself every time. It would fall into place in the end, and besides, it would hurt too much to correct herself every single time.

Aneirin harrumphed, but seemed willing enough to let it go. Leolin frowned, but didn't say anything else.

"Do you think the map is accurate?" Órlaith asked, pulling the three of them back on topic. "Is there any way we can find out?"

Aneirin peered at the map, leaning closer to the book.

"As accurate as any other map, I believe," he declared. "I've compared it with numerous similar maps - ones not including the City itself, of course - ones that I know to be accurate. It matches them in every respect save the obvious. And I have also acquired records from those who have used the map to locate the City - very old records, I must admit. But they're quite clear that they were successful in locating the City, albeit unsuccessful when it came to gaining access. They weren't spellweavers, you see, and so the residents of the City took rather poorly to their attempts to visit."

Leolin nodded. "Sounds like what the magehunters used to talk about," he said. "People who said they had found it, or found a way to it, but barely made it close before being driven off."

"Indeed," Aneirin said. "So yes, I think the two of you will be quite alright using this map as a guide, and likely successful in entering the City itself, too. Although I'm afraid I don't have any further information on precisely how that works - spellweavers don't tend to keep records of that sort of thing, you understand, or if they do then they don't share them with others. Quite understandable, of course, I am aware of the danger it would put them in. But it does mean limitations on the knowledge I can share with you.

"What you've given us is already more than we expected, uncle," Órlaith said, smiling at him. "We thought you might know of some rumour or other, that was all. We never expected a map."

Aneirin beamed at her. "Well then, I'm glad to have helped beyond your expectations! Now, as for your journey... it's gotten rather late now, and as I said, I'm more than happy for the two of you to stay here as long as you wish. Perhaps we should reconvene in the morning? There's no rush, presumably. The City will remain where it's been for the past few centuries!" He laughed loudly.

"Thank you," Órlaith said. "We probably should leave tomorrow, to be safe, but we'd appreciate your hospitality tonight."

"Oh, certainly, certainly," Aneirin said, sounding a little disappointed. "Of course, young people are always keen to be moving on! But - well, I suppose we can discuss these things tomorrow. For now, let me show you the guest rooms - though I'm sure you remember them, Órlaith!"

She did, but it was still nice to be shown the way, Aneirin waxing lyrical on things that had changed about Caelkirk since she last visited and things that hadn't. Finally, he left them to it, pointing out their separate rooms with a half-joking (at least, Órlaith thought it was) admonition about being sensible and keeping to their own rooms.

As soon as he was gone, Leolin glanced at Órlaith and tipped his head towards the room Aneirin had directed him to. Órlaith followed him inside, trying not to think about her uncle's remark - Leolin certainly wouldn't be inviting her in for anything inappropriate, not when they had only known each other for a few days. And not with that serious look on his face.

The room was well-appointed, with a luxurious four-poster dominating the centre of it and a desk and bookshelf set against one wall. Órlaith grimaced at the bed - if her room was the same, and from her faint memories she thought it was, then she would be lucky to get a wink of sleep tonight. She wasn't used to the overly-soft, plush mattresses some people seemed to prefer; she'd always slept far better on a hammock, a bedroll, or a plain straw mattress.

Leolin pulled out the chair at the desk and sat on it. Órlaith glanced around, but that was the only place to sit in the room... unless she wanted to sit on the bed.

Leolin seemed to realise that at the same time as she did, and he went very pink as he nearly leapt off the seat, stumbling through an apology - Órlaith wasn't quite sure what he was apologising for, and she didn't think he really knew either.

"It's fine," she said, shaking her head and hoping she was managing to suppress her own blush. "No, honestly, it's fine, I'll just stand, we've been sitting for a while anyway."

Once they'd sorted that out, Leolin's expression grew serious again. He glanced at the closed door.

"You saw your uncle go downstairs, didn't you?" he asked. Órlaith nodded. "Good. Listen. Órlaith. I know he's your uncle, I know your mother said to go to him."

"But you don't trust him," Órlaith finished, closing her eyes in resignation.

"No," Leolin said. "And, Órlaith - nor do you. At least not completely. Because otherwise you wouldn't have said that so quickly."

"That's not -" Órlaith started, then she stopped.

Leolin wasn't wrong. That was the thing.

The uncle Órlaith remembered, the one who had helped her learn and looked after her and been kind to her... That had been Aneirin. The same Aneirin who'd welcomed them into his home today, who'd shown them the map to the City.

But there was something... Órlaith didn't know what it was. All she knew was that something didn't seem quite right - something in the way Aneirin had looked at them both after they'd touched the book, the way he'd spoken about his conversations with her mother.

"I want to trust him," she said quietly. "He's my uncle. He's family." She sighed. "But you're right. Something feels... wrong. It might just be that I haven't seen him in so long - I'm an adult now, and the last time we saw each other I was barely more than five."

"Five," Leolin echoed, face setting in grim lines. "Five, as in... Órlaith, when did your magic begin to show? When did they know you were a spellweaver?"

"I don't want you to be suggesting what I think you're suggesting." Órlaith swallowed. "I - you probably guessed it already. I was four or five. And I only ever saw my uncle once, after they realised. I think my mother suspected earlier. But once we were certain, once my hair started to fade... we only came here once, and then never again."

Leolin nodded.

"It might be coincidence," he said. "It might be like you said, that you just haven't seen him in too long, and it might just be that your mother was worried about you being in a city like this with untrained magic. But..." He left the words hanging in the air.

"Let's sleep on it," Órlaith said. "For now, let's just rest, whilst we can. And tomorrow, we can see if we can work out what's going on."

"Tomorrow," Leolin agreed. "Just - be careful? I hope you're right. I hope we can trust your uncle. But if we can't..." He shook his head. "It'd be easier for him - for anyone - to sell us out tonight, when we're tired and when we haven't been here long enough for him to get in trouble for harbouring us."

Leolin spoke with the voice of experience. As though it had happened to him before.

Órlaith wasn't going to ask. Not tonight.

Instead, she bid him goodnight and went to her own room, where she lay awake staring at the ceiling until, between one blink and the next, she was asleep.