Five Senses Box Set

by Andre Norton

  24

  DID THE FLAME tree answer? Twilla believed that it did, for the fire it contained appeared to race the faster and the light it disbursed brought out of shadows all of that room with its many chests of records. Catha arose and gazed at those shelves and all they bore.

  “This is a mighty place of knowledge—” she murmured.

  Karla moved to the side of the under woman. “In the elder times it was a knowledge our peoples shared,” she said. “Let it be so again. You have the learning to read the First Tree script?”

  Catha nodded. “We are close to the beginning, we whom Khargel sealed away. Before his meddling there was a flow of power between our peoples—your seekers came to us—ours to you. Perhaps,” she smiled, “perhaps I stood here before—when we yet had friendship between us.”

  Oxyle swung on her. “That is the truth?”

  “It is. My clan were always guardians of power. When we were yet younglings we were brought here and shown many things—”

  She moved toward the nearest wall, reached out to touch one of the wooden boxes, running her fingers over the rough bark which surfaced it as if it were a script she could so read.

  “Here lies the musing of Occant. Your ancient kin, Forest Lord.” Her smile now had a mischievous quirk as if she in some way challenged him.

  “Occant!” It was plain that Oxyle was indeed impressed. He gestured toward the other shelves. “You be our guide, Lady. We have tried to keep the remembrance of things but it has been from sapling to tree long since any of us stood here.”

  Catha gave him a nod and walked along the shelves, pausing now and then again to finger one or other of the storage boxes and each time identifying the one she touched. Three such were eagerly taken up by Karla and the others. Even Twilla began to feel this was indeed a treasure hunt. They had reached the end of one set of shelves and were confronting another when Catha stopped short.

  Instead of reaching for a box she snatched her hand back. Oxyle stood beside her. For the first time he was the one to reach for a box. Like the lash of summer lightning the under woman responded, striking the container from his hold.

  It struck the floor, splintered. Up from the broken wood fluttered leaves. They might have been trying to escape—or attack. For, once in the air, the script which was traced upon them smoldered, broke into flame and they fluttered toward those nearby.

  Nor did that fire consume them, the floating particles continued to burn. While the fresh scent within the room was tainted with an overtinge of scorching which caught at the throat.

  Those about cowered away. Twilla saw a bit of floating drapery on Karla's skirt take fire as one of the burning scraps touched it. And she heard a cry of pain from one of the men who had brushed a similar bit from the shoulder of his jerkin. The still burning, still unconsumed leaves whirled in a faster circle, though they did not encroach on the vicinity of the tree, rather circled outward. They might have been sentient creatures in search of prey as they pushed the company back against the walls.

  Ylon! He could not see, dodge, as the others were doing. He had remained by the door, sword in hand, to defend that entrance. Now Twilla saw two of the leaves, like death pointed arrows—align themselves toward him.

  “Ylon, down!” Twilla screamed that even as she threw herself forward. She stumbled against Fanna and went to her hands and knees, then threw herself on until she struck against Ylon, bringing him down with her.

  However, the flame leaves were not to be so easily escaped. They altered course to swoop lower. Twilla flung out the mirror as one might hold a shield—though she had very little hope of that being of service.

  The flames wavered, like birds fighting against a net. It was plain that there was one power in battle with a second now. The leaves which were nearest hit the mirror full center. Twilla was rocked by the force of that. Something she would have believed had no weight now landed like the blow of a battled mace, driving the mirror down to strike against her.

  There came another and another. Somehow Twilla managed to move the mirror away from them out onto the rock floor. Now the flames were coming faster and faster and the smell was chokingly noisome. Yet as each struck the plate it was swallowed as if it were a stone sinking into water.

  Twilla felt dizzy, sick. Yet she could not turn her eyes away from that fall of flame—flames which struggled wildly now against their fate. There was something else, a sense of darkness which was not of the world she knew but beyond its borders. A darkness which hungered and now was raging with that hunger.

  The last of the flames was gone. She squatted, afraid to touch her talisman. That there was true evil in that shower of ignited leaves Twilla had no doubts. What had they done to her mirror? She put her hand to the surface only to jerk it back.

  Once more the reflecting disk had turned dull as of with a veiling of smoke.

  Catha spoke first. “A trap, Over Lord, and not one of the older days. But the power which set it"—she put her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes—"that power was two in one and not of your past or ours.”

  “Lotis—” Oxyle breathed that name, his expression rock hard. “And what beside?”

  He crossed to stand over Twilla. “We have you to thank, that such a trap did not close upon us all. There was—a summoning,” he appeared to pick his words carefully, “which brought that box to me. And, Lady,” he looked now to Catha, “what carried the alarm to you?”

  “A summoning also—I was drawn and I knew that that drawing was not true.”

  Slowly Twilla advanced her hand once more and caught at the cord of the mirror drawing it toward her across the floor. The sick feeling of revulsion was still alive in her. Can good swallow evil entirely?

  The disk lay in front of her knees now as she hunched still on the floor and she stared at its stained surface. There was no reflection of what was about them, the wonderous light of the tree brought no answer.

  However, she leaned forward, her hands on either side of the mirror but not touching it. There was a swirling movement beginning at its center, ripples running out toward the rim. No true reflection was patterned so—this was inner nor outer. She made no effort to use her own will to attempt to clear it, though she shivered.

  Now that center had become a core of light. Surely a light as belied the one time clean silver of its fashioning. Yellow-green-like the discharge of some foul disease feeding upon tormented flesh.

  She was dimly aware that her vigil was being shared now. The others had drawn in, as intently watching as she.

  A darker core in that poisonous yellow dab. Now the blot was taking on shape. A black hood encircling a head, the face within only a sliver of chin, the point of a beaked nose. But she knew it!

  “The Dandus priest!” Twilla cried her recognition aloud.

  Logic denied what she saw. She could be as certain as that she was alive, that that harbinger of evil had never been within this storehouse of knowledge. There were—memory stirred—Hulde had told tales in what now seemed the far past—power called upon power—like was drawn to like.

  “Lotis!” Again Oxyle repeated that name. “How has she made common cause with this invader? Why?”

  “Why?” Karla answered, “because the ancient, forbidden greediness is in her. We do not know what she has looted from here. As to how"—now she echoed Twilla's thought of a moment earlier—"like calls to like. Did we not sense, even when she was traveling over mountain, that Moon Daughter was coming into our land bringing strengths we could not access? Did we not send an anesgar to keep eye upon her? That she had rare gifts we guessed, though she was no threat to us. Was it not so decided until that pit-born daughter of foulness managed to change the minds of some?”

  Then she turned upon Ylon who still knelt beside Twilla, his head turning from one speaker to another as if he must not miss a word which might make plainer his ever-darkened world.

  “How powerful is this devil priest of yours?”

  “No priest of min
e,” he denied hotly. “As for his powers I cannot begin to reckon them. The tales out of the past speak of dire action, blasting death. Fire is one of the great weapons—it is fire which struck here.”

  Twilla continued to stare at the mirror. That hooded head had shown clearly for no more than two breaths. It was gone, with that thickening of shadow covering true reflection.

  A hand touched her cheek gently and she started in surprise, looking up to see Catha looking down at her.

  “Wise One, draw this focus of yours closer to the Frosnost—for that is strong in life and stands against the dark.”

  Slowly Twilla arose, the mirror dangling from her hand by its cord. She had no wish yet to touch it directly. Hesitatingly she approached the tree, those about her clearing a path to it.

  At last she raised the talisman with both hands and held its reflecting surface toward that ever flowing light which coursed through silver leaf and branch before her. Did this hold the same renewing she had found in the moon reflecting pool? She could only hope.

  Now she did summon her will, staring at the flowing tree, then at the mirror, striving very hard to summon the one to unite with the other. The stain—surely it was growing less! She caught a glint of green silver and then another! Until, with a fast beating heart, she saw clear pictured the tree.

  “Well done!” Karla stood on her other side as Catha already flanked her on the left.

  The others were moving cautiously about the shelves of boxes, touching none, yet holding their hands close to each as they passed. Feeling for what Oxyle had called a summoning, Twilla guessed. But there was no need for her to join in that. The silver bright mirror once more lying on her breast, she edged back to Ylon watching that search.

  In the end Oxyle, with Catha's help, sorted out four boxes. They had discovered no more set up as traps but they moved very warily. When they had these four he spoke:

  “We need time to study. That which Khargel added lying here we must not touch, for it is already tainted. Of that there are four coffers missing. Lotis must have those. We must get to the outerways—and since she has broken the mists we must go on foot. Vestel,” he spoke to the border guard, “and Fanna head now for the forest. We must know what is in progress there. Marse and Rogar,” two of the other men stepped forward, “will scout how much of the castleways are held by Lotis’ followers. Do not challenge them, yet.” He tapped one of the four boxes, “we need to stand in full strength before we do.”

  “Lady,” he spoke now to Catha, “do you fare with us or return to your kin?”

  “For a time with you, Lord Oxyle. We must learn what dangers lie ahead, and I think that is best done from the upper land than the lower.”

  He nodded. “So, the rest of us will go to the place of close conference. Guards sent there should have held. And once there,” he smiled at Ylon, “we have a guard which none of our blood will come against. Let us then move.”

  Thus their party split. Twilla walked with Ylon but he seemed to have withdrawn into his thoughts and she did not disturb him. They once more threaded the many passages, dim and bright, and though Twilla expected at any moment to come face to face with someone of Lotis's company scouting they all seemed deserted.

  Oxyle had slowed pace when they advanced into the better lighted ways. He would halt for a moment or two from time to time with all the appearance of listening. There was no sign of the silver mists having returned, and there was a kind of echoing silence which Twilla found daunting. This was akin to the great hall of the under people when they had returned from their enforced imprisonment, as if no one any longer lived there.

  It was apparent that the forest people were also finding something amiss in these surroundings. The two women drew together and Twilla saw that their lips were moving, though not even a murmur reached her. Now and then they gestured in the air, frowning as if what they did was not going according to what should be.

  They were back in the treasure-lined corridors now and the gleam of metal and gems seemed cold, repelling.

  Then Oxyle stopped so suddenly that Karla near ran into him. He stooped and picked something from the floor, looked down on it, his face grim set. Slowly he turned and held out his hand to Twilla.

  Across his palm lay one of the asprites, a male, very still, its small head hanging across Oxyle's thumb at a fatal angle, its rainbow wings crumpled. Some great hand might have gathered it up in fury and squeezed the life out of it.

  Twilla touched the small body lightly and shook her head. Even the mirror's power she was certain would fail here.

  “An Asprite—who would dare?” Karla broke silence first.

  Oxyle's rage was plain to be read. Still cradling the small dead flyer, he quickened step and the others fell in, now keeping together and often looking warily from side to side as they went.

  Their journey did not end in the council chamber as Twilla expected but rather in a side room which bore resemblance to that forgotten chamber where Khargel's knowledge had been stored. Here again were boxes, though of polished, squared-off wood, and they lined shelves. While at the center there was a long table, stools by it.

  “Will you guard this door—?” Oxyle did not address Ylon by name but he touched the other's arm.

  “What I can do, I shall,” the other returned.

  Oxyle laid that small body on the table, straightening the limbs gently, smoothing the crumpled wings. He threw back his head then and uttered a sound which might have been a bird's trill. Those who followed him gathered closely together, hand clasping hand in linkage. Only Catha, Twilla, and Ylon stood apart.

  Three times that achingly sweet cry arose. It was hard to believe that the forest lord could voice such. Then he reached within his jerkin and brought forth a small bag.

  Twilla heard a gasping sound from Karla who was nearest. Out of the bag he shook two rings, thick and broad, made to extend well up to the first knuckle of the fingers he put them on. Having so settled them he cupped his hands one at either side of the small body and once more gave the keening cry.

  He was holding, or else there existed now within the circle of his flesh, a ball of glimmering silver covering the small body as it expanded. Then the ball turned faster and faster. It arose from the table, where there no longer rested the dead, into the air.

  So free borne it soared away, out of the door.

  Oxyle stripped off the rings, returned them to hiding before he spoke. “It is plain that there is a great rising of the dark. Our far kin slain—” He hesitated. “For such a death there must be payment when it can be taken. Now we have these—” he pointed to the boxes which they had brought from the other storehouse which rested on the table top.

  “Do we do this fasting, Oxyle?” Karla demanded. “We have many gifts and talents but to go for too long without food and drink is not one of them.”

  “Well enough,” he agreed. “But neither can we scatter to seek those not here at this time.

  Catha moved up to the table, carefully avoiding that portion where the body of the asprite had lain. “Have all powers been rift from you? Can you not summon what you need?”

  Karla nodded. “Perhaps it is a time for testing. We can only know when we try.” She slipped around the table to the other side and then leaning forward caught the hands Musseline stretched out to her. When they had locked so together both women looked down upon the tabletop.

  Twilla felt a faint warmth from the mirror. Power was being unleashed and her focus was answering in its own way.

  There was a sudden curdling of the air—not of the moon-bright mists she had seen before. These were tarnished and dull but still they arrived in answer.

  A flagon reared as a shadow and became substance. There was also a platter of fruit. But these were not what she had seen at the feasting. They were small, too ripe, the cakes were pale as if taken too soon from the oven. When Karla and Musseline straightened up and dropped hands the food they had summoned was meager and flawed. But they ate and, though Tw
illa missed the fine flavor of that fare which had formed her first meal in the forest, she dutifully chewed and swallowed.

  They each drank in turn from the flagon which was an awkward business but there were no goblets. The liquid she swallowed was more tart than sweet this time, yet Twilla felt restored and satisfied. She had seen that Ylon was served with his share. He had not left his place by the door and he held the fateful iron in full sight.

  “Lotis would give us prisoner fare,” remarked one of the men. “But at least her spells do not make us go empty.”

  Now they turned to the boxes they had brought with them. Karla and Musseline soon emptied the first and spread out the leaves it contained flat on the surface of the table. Once more Twilla could see that these were covered with what looked to be a raised and intricate green veining but which must be a script.

  She could have no part in this. Though learned in two of the languages of ancient writing, she had nothing that Hulde had prepared her with to untangle this. She pulled a stool to the door and then went back for another.

  “You can guard as well seated,” she told Ylon. “Even Lotis will be wary of what you bear.”

  He hesitated for a moment and then sat down, but he had moved the stool sidewise so that he faced half room, half corridor. She pulled up her chosen seat beside him.

  “What did Oxyle—the farewelling?” he asked in a low voice and Twilla described the ceremony of the rings. “But the asprite,” she said with a flare of anger, “was killed—as if someone had squeezed the life from it. Would any, even a follower of Lotis, do that?”

  “The rot has found a door and where it touches—there grows the foulness of its being.” Ylon shifted his weight a little on the stool. “I do not know what now moves my father. A season ago I would have said that he tolerated the Dandus only because that was forced upon him. Now—perhaps he has joined—” Twilla saw his free hand clench. “But—to believe that—”

  She understood. In spite of all which lay behind his maiming and the contemptuous attitude of his kin, there was a common heritage he found it hard to deny. He must have many memories which would call out against his severing all those ties. Hulde had not been blood kin but in her heart Hulde would always abide. Was that true for Ylon also?