Free Waking Olympus (The Singers of the Dark Book 1) by Peter Yard Page B

grass. They were entering the Plains on the northern side of the Inda River; soon to become the Great Plains. A place of legend and history. Even in Lind and through the Islands it was told how once the Cities had been great centers of learning and knowledge, how much of what he learned came originally from those places. This journey for a Wizard was almost like a pilgrimage. The Master Wizards didn't speak much about where such knowledge came from, they just insisted that the student master it and how they should all test it and challenge it, do experiments and publish, always question, and seek to improve or exceed; a relentless quest.
    The Cantas still towered to the north and south as they proceeded through the Gap, clouds forming on their upper snow-covered, eastern flanks. This would be their camp before entering the Plains. The air had a lush humidity, complementing the vibrant green hills and trees, not many farms here. He expected there to be more people. Bethor had been hit by the plague a dozen years ago but the Center histories described its effect as much milder than previous years.
    In the morning, just before sunrise, Mikel grabbed something to eat while the camp was being struck. The first morning sunlight was starting to light up the horizon and the air was full of birdsong. He walked to the top of a nearby hillock with his piece of bread and unidentified meat and stood on a small mound maybe three meters above the camp. It was enough. He saw the horizon clear, unhazed. The sun, Mellis, was not in sight but was lighting up the few clouds with violets and pinks. There in the distance was the food-bowl of the known world, the Great Plains of Arva. Once it had been the center of a great civilization before Bethor; he hoped he would have a chance to find out more about it. Mikel heard footsteps behind him crunching the gravel.
    “The Great Plains,” Tei said with a smile. “We will not be visiting the main towns. It is too risky. Even for us. They have no kindness for strangers, even Traders.”
    “Why?” Mikel was puzzled. The Traders delivered a valuable service, did not involve themselves in local politics (as far as anyone could tell) and were an important source of information.
    “Since the fall of the Cities of the Terrans the area has been troubled by rebellions and hatred. The Bethorese conquered the Cities over three centuries ago and so much was lost in the destruction.” She paused, the smile gone replaced now by a look of resignation.  
    “Most of the people in the towns now are descended from Bethorese immigrants whereas the farmers are Terrans. As I said we will be avoiding the towns. Lately they have become very dangerous. The Caravanserai lies on the other side of Lake Baikal at the end of the Plains. We will pass to the north of the lake avoiding the more populated regions.”
    Tei was quiet. Not finished but also not talking. Then she said, almost whispered, “Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”
    “I beg your pardon?” He had no idea what was meant though he was surprised that she had spoken in the language that preceded the Ancients, he knew a little of it, it was enough like Ancient to be understood though not the same.
    “An old poet of the Terrans, and us all, named Tennyson. You know, things change, even good things pass away and that isn’t necessarily bad because sometimes there has to be renewal.”
    Still looking to the East she continued, this time louder so he could hear.

    "The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
      And God fulfills Himself in many ways,
      Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”

    He still did not understand what she was talking about but figured this was a time to suspend curiosity and just go along. They looked at the sunrise, silent for minutes, the cool living breeze in their faces, the sound of green grass rustling all about, the fading dawn chorus. Finally, he spoke gently. “When do we head out?”
    Tei snapped