energies about I cannot detect them. I have hovered over many a Pectanile and peered down into its sump. I have even managed to enter some of the larger ones by the lower entrance and have floated up to the level of the pool with my every sensitive instrument at full pitch . . .
Nothing. I have felt nothing. Am I the poorer for that? Or are the humans and Tallines living in a sentimental delusion? That is a question I must leave open. However, such is the Pectanile.
In procession, we followed a path under high trees beside a roughstone wall. Set in the wall were openings like caves. These (now partly ruined) were a section of the garden’s Hall of Sanctuary. Medoc, you may remember, mentioned such. Two Talline women popped their heads out and watched us as we passed. Lily told me later that both women were recovering from illnesses and had chosen to convalesce in a traditional garden close to a Pectanile.
Beyond the Hall of Sanctuary we passed through another gate, which Lily carefully locked behind us, and entered the garden proper. Apart from native species such as the Ptana or Modesty Tree which has thousands of pink cup-like flowers which close into tight clusters of berries whenever anyone approaches, there were masses of roses and poppies and giant beech trees and old Earth myrtle.
Bordering the path that we walked was a low rambling shrub called Katarapa or The Travelers’ Friend. This plant has velvety black flowers which open during the day and turn white and pink when the sun goes down. The flowers and leaves glow in the dark and give off heat! According to stories, travelers have survived frosty nights out in the open by snuggling down among these plants. According to Talline legend, the Katarapa only grows where one of the earth spirits has slept. As we passed, the flowers were gradually turning pale and I could detect their warmth like a glow under ashes.
Lily led us steadily on. We heard the roar of a water-fell, though we could not see it, and a few moments later crossed a wooden bridge over a fast-flowing stream. Morning was advancing and the sun was already warming the earth and casting long shadows. Wraiths of mist moved between the trunks of the trees and twisted by the shrubs.
There were many trees here which are not native either to old Earth or Juniper and which were brought here by one of the early missionaries of St. Francis Dionysos named Daniel Culpepper. There was the giant Builder’s Tree whose wood, once cut, becomes harder and harder as it dries until nails cannot be driven into it. There were groves of the Savior Tree which produces berries which are very fortifying and whose roots contain blisters of water. The berries, eaten in the wrong season, can be addictive, however.
Finally we came to a high stone wall. This was part of the inner wall of the garden. Anchored to it was a small Talline house crafted from a single Drifter egg-case. It was bedded into the soil and its age obviously predated by many centuries the arrival of the Gentle Order. Here Lily paused. “Your retreat place, Jon Wilberfoss,” she said.
Wilberfoss nodded and carried his few belongings into the s mall , spotlessly clean cell and began to unpack. I shall describe this room to you in some detail since it was to this very same room that Jon Wilberfoss returned after the destruction of the Nightingale.
The room epitomized a quality which has been called “Talline poverty.” The walls were of gray/green plaster which had been applied directly onto the shell casing. There were no paintings or wall hangings. One circular window looked out into the garden. With regard to the furnishings, there was nothing more than was strictly required. There was a polished wood table. In addition to the table there was a low bed with a dark green cover of Talline flax. Matching this was an exercise bench of the type found in most Talline houses and which had been adapted to accommodate the size of Jon Wilberfoss. Beside it stood
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