‘Him!’ snorted Ushaya, and several other grey heads nodded. ‘A wild lad, cracked in the head. Thought himself a Seer, and hared off into the blue after his visions.’
‘A Seer he was, nonetheless,’ said the stranger calmly. ‘One of the greatest in the realm, until his death years past. It was he sent me off into this part of the land, in search of those folk who might still scratch out a perilous living here.’
‘Ah,’ said the chieftain, with a wry smile. ‘You would be from the court of Volmur, then? What’s his interest in us now? Another message of brotherhood, or is it taxes and tribute this time?’
The stranger chuckled. ‘I think he has ceased to expect either, and has other concerns. From his court I come, for it lay on my road, but I am none of his. I am from the Eastlands, now, out of the rising sun and the Sea; and from thence are the tidings I bring.’
‘Then you’ve wasted your journey,’ said Ushaya curtly. ‘The sun sends us his light from there, and nothing else need concern us!’
Saquavan held up his hand sharply. ‘We need not be discourteous. Come within and tell us your tidings, stranger.’
The man bowed slightly, but still made no move to dismount. ‘I thank you; but what I have is for the ears of all. I am Tuma, Rider of the Lynx clan, born a paramount chieftain’s son in the forest realms of the coastlands, where men may still live as men, yet see the advancing threat more clearly than many closer to it. There we remember what once we had, and treasure what remains of it, and do not cling to brief mushroom kingdoms like Volmur’s. And there before us we have the Sea. It is daunting, but it also brings hope. Many have fled across it before; and now, before it is too late, many of us also plan to flee. We are calling men to us, all that we may; we are felling the great trees for planks and masts, and building huge ships. Already thousands flock to us; but thousands more do not yet know. So messengers like myself are being sent forth into the inner lands to gather all the friendly folk they may.’
The tall man stood in his stirrups, letting his voice carry down the vale. To unite before doom comes upon us one by one. As assuredly it will, if we delay! I beg you, leave this place, this prison, safe as it may now seem. Turn to the east, follow the sun that rises over new lands out there, safer and richer. Help build the ships that will carry us there—’
‘Enough!’ said Ushaya imperiously. ‘Is it not known among all Seers that the Sea is the world’s end, and that the lands beyond its mists can only be the Lands of the Dead, the ghostlands? Why should we hasten there?’
‘That is not so!’ protested Tuma.
‘How can you say?’ demanded Saquavan, almost as angry as Ushaya. ‘You may believe honestly enough, my friend – but why force your belief upon us? Have you trodden those lands? Has any living man? All we have of them are tales and legends long past, misty shores fishermen sighted, strange strands they beached upon once and dwelt in for a few seasons. How will you find them, if the waters are so wide as legend says?’
‘They are. You have only to look upon them to know that, to see the broad waves roll up towards you over the distant curve of the world. But it is said that there are currents and prevailing winds, that will guide us much of the way as on a road—’
‘It is said!’ Ushaya sneered. ‘And by what marks shall you know, over trackless waters? By what wayside stone or tree?’
‘Yet a mark there is,’ responded Tuma calmly. ‘The ancient lore says so. The tales of those who sailed there, as you say, who spoke with the pale folk and learned of them ancient arts we have forgotten, or been denied. Our loremasters seek out that mark, and in fair hope – the Eye of the Swan, some call it. But if it cannot be found, we will send out scout ships until the path is clear.’
Saquavan tossed his head in exasperation. ‘A word, here and there. A mark not yet found. Pale folk with strange arts – who can credit all that? Who would dare?’ He threw his arms wide. ‘I, I must weigh the fate of my folk, Sir Rider! Shall I cast them into the scale against mere hope?’
‘The Seers—’
‘All the Seers I know say nothing of your lands! A Seer am I myself, in some small wise. And in pursuing any thought of leaving this place, I have seen only a long bleak road, and the smoke of destruction!’
Vansha, who had been lounging in the background as usual, suddenly stepped forward beside his father. ‘If we went to the coasts,’ he said quietly, ‘we would have to stay there. We could not return, not safely. Landless, without shield, we would be at the mercy of those who dwell there now. Much might be demanded of us, in the name of such a dream, many sacrifices for some future good. Shipbuilding we might indeed be set to; but would that not make us, in the end, their slaves?’
It was so wise a caution, and so sinister a prospect, that even Alya faltered. But he too stepped forward. ‘Chieftain, forgive me, but I must speak. You know my heritage. Two nights past it showed me something also, a vision close to yours.’
‘Then I wish you had spoken at once,’ said the chieftain. ‘But do so now, freely.’
Alya’s mouth was dry, with the awareness of the eyes fixed upon him. ‘I say nothing of what it means; I can only describe it. There was a way, yes, a double way. There was smoke indeed, shadow and smoke, among which the way grew dim and threadlike and cold; but it lay only across the way westward. The eastern way was uncertain, misty, yes; it led strangely, into a region of haze. And yet this seemed filled with light, as if … As if it heralded the sunrise.’
Ushaya flung a glare at him like a spearshaft. ‘Another outcomer!’ he grated. ‘Sent to prepare the way for this popinjay!’
The chieftain shook his head wearily. ‘He walked too close to death for that. No, boy, I believe you are sincere. It does sound like what I saw. But which way the path led, I could not be sure; and perhaps you only read into it the image of your own desires. Tuma, you have spoken enough. Now, go your way in peace and seek others who may serve your turn. We cannot. None shall leave here, save alone and without aid. And if they try, they will never be allowed to return, or be received back among us. In the wilderness they shall meet the unseen enemy, to which all succumb, and leave their bones to wolf and bird. That is my decree. Go, and never return.’
‘I am sorry for it,’ said Tuma, and looked down at Alya. ‘Boy, you at least see clearly. There is a place for you among us, if you can make your way thither. I must pursue my mission and spread my word.’
‘Though few be fool enough to listen!’ sneered Ushaya. ‘Off with you, and give your masters this blessing from us!’
Before the chieftain could move Ushaya had thrown a rock, one he must already have had in hand. It struck Tuma on the breast, and rebounded; there was the clink of mail beneath his shirt. Ushaya roared with laughter. ‘Hear! He came prepared! He must have found others are not such fools, either!’
Vansha laughed, and hurled a stone of his own, and his friends joined in. Tuma had no choice; armour or no, he must escape or fall. They were stoning the horse’s legs already. It reared, and he hauled on the reins, twisting it around so it all but fell on the uneven ground, and spurred it towards the path. Away they galloped in a shower of stones and filth, whatever came to hand, hooves skidding on the uneven slope of the path, and away, to the malicious laughter of the crowd. But as the rider vanished among the trees at the summit the laughter hesitated and died before Saquavan’s anger.
‘That is enough! Am I yet chieftain? Did I not reject the man in courtesy, and was not that enough? Ushaya, your mean spirit will work us all harm one day; and you, Vansha, you grow too like him. Come with me, both, and hear some schooling you will not soon forget! The rest of you, to your labours! If you wish a peaceful home, keep peace among yourselves!’
Alya, face burning with shame and anger, saw many faces turned towards him as the crowd drifted away, some in contempt but also some in doubt. He had not seen Saviyal, and started when her voice spoke close beside him. There was something strange in its tone. ‘Do not look around at me. I also thought h
im sincere. And you.’
‘I believe him still,’ said Alya, staring out into the trees. ‘I would go, and seek his people and their ships, and the great sea.’
‘Why should you not?’ she said, her voice slightly tremulous. ‘Why should this little place hold you, when the wide world is yours?’
‘Surely you know!’ he said. ‘While you are here, Savi, I will never leave! Never! Unless you wish me to.’
‘You know I do not! Do not make it me that holds you! I would not be your fetter!’
‘Come, then! Come with me!’
Her voice shook. ‘I do not want to – no, I do, I do! But I was born here, here my mother died and her ashes are scattered, I have never seen anywhere else! Alya, I am frightened. You, you are strong and brave, you have fared far already. I cannot go, not yet. And there is …’
‘Yes. Always. Will you come to me tonight?’
‘I will … try.’ Then she was gone, like smoke, gliding light and graceful over the rough paths.
She came that night, for a moment; and then not for many nights. Alya strove to settle his restless mind with the disciplines of the Seer; but even the chill of the nights did not cool the fever in his mind. He starved himself of sleep, of food, but still his yearning blood distracted him as he danced, and all his vision turned upon her. The Seer’s vision felt more and more like something false, a gloss men laid upon mere dreams and fancies, something he was outgrowing. Why should absurd self-torment lay bare any truth? Why should prophecy be born of frenzy and pain?
Like as not he had been deluding himself as his father had taught him, turning himself into some swollen-headed charlatan like Ushaya, snarling like a stray dog at every foot lest it spurn him. He told himself again and again how free he would feel if he abandoned this fruitless quest, how liberated from lying shackles. But one night when Savi had promised to slip out, but did not, there came a change.
It was harvest time, and she might well be weary and asleep. Even hunters helped in the fields now, and this year the crops had been especially plentiful for such stony ground. The sun was blistering, the air heavy. Even now it was hot and hard to breathe. Everyone was exhausted, himself included, and tomorrow would bring more toil. Yet he danced still, to subdue his angry disappointment. He danced in the dark before his door, for there was neither moon nor star, and the air hung heavy in the vale, where no breeze could shift it. Unfair to expect her; yet still his resentment and jealousy simmered in the stamp of his feet. Soon it must be decided. Soon he must speak to the chieftain. Soon she must decide. Soon he must face Vansha …
It was as if the drumming of his feet found some echo in nature. Thunder rumbled, far distant, and the sky flared and pulsed along the rim of the world, from end to end of its canopy. It was a great storm, certainly; but seemed still greater, as if something magnified the lightnings that leaped like dragons between the hummocked clouds. He thought of the mountains of his homeland, and how sharply they had stood out under moon or storm, as their light was mirrored back by the vast white spaces beyond, the realm of the Ice.
With that thought, he was suddenly back on the ledge. He was looking, through the eye-slots of the Raven’s countenance, straight into his father’s long-dead face. Yet behind that stern, stony gaze, the dark sky still erupted with flickering fire; and the lightning traced the path of the Trail.
All at once it was no sky, but a glassy black barrier, jagged and terrible, its depths alive with flashing flame. Sinking down into them was the face. Stifling a cry, he reached out his arms, pressed his own face against the sharp stinging facets of the Wall. But white fires rushed by, and swept it away. Or were they fires? They rolled and roiled along a narrow channel, pent and fierce, glittering white …
His foot skidded sideways. His ankle turned. Stones shot out into emptiness, rattling against the valley face below. He danced at the path’s very edge. Stormlit trees swayed across the mask’s eyeholes, and he fought for balance. The gulf below was not so terrible as the ledge, but steep and deep enough to end him easily enough. He kept his foothold, but his legs trembled violently as he staggered back, and he sat down hard at the path’s edge. He snatched off the mask, and shook.
There had been human limbs in that turmoil, pathetic pale limbs dashed this way and that. Was that no more than some imaginary fancy, for the credulous to twist into meaning? He ought to believe that; but he was finding it unexpectedly hard. His whole being shouted against him, bidding him believe.
At last he clambered to his feet, plucking small sharp gravel from his scraped thighs. He could make nothing of the sight, no revelation, save the terror of that bleak face, still shaking his mind. He struggled to think instead of Savi, mingling her clean sharp scent with the resinous pines; and he succeeded, long enough to stow away the mask and fall exhausted upon his bedmat. Yet even as he sank into sleep the vision rolled over him once more, chill and unresolved.
When he awoke, at first light, it still hung haunting in the stifling air. But he could get no hold upon it, to see it more clearly or rip it apart, if need be. It clouded his mind as he arose to join the others who tramped past his door, on their way to the fields. Vansha, he noted grimly, was nowhere to be seen; he hated field-work, and avoided it when he could. No sign of Savi either, which awoke sinister little fancies in his mind. He looked so miserable that some of the married women swept him up, laughing, and took him off berrying with them along the sheltered banks of a nearby stream. It was labour much less backbreaking than the open fields, and one could dip in the stream when the heat got too much; but he hardly noticed it, drifting off to gather by himself.
The voice at his back made him jump. There was Savi, standing nervously in the water, limbs glistening red-gold with droplets. ‘I’m sorry I could not come,’ she whispered. ‘I was so tired, I slept …’
A burden lifted from Alya’s heart. ‘I also!’ he lied, springing down the bank and taking her in his arms. ‘We could have snored together!’
She laughed softly, looking constantly around, but making no move to free herself. ‘Maybe tonight, then.’
A harsh laugh sprang them apart. There stood Vansha, angry and sullen, with a bruise on his cheek, no doubt from his father. He skidded down the bank and splashed into the water. ‘So that’s where you’ve wandered off to! Well, I shouldn’t leave you alone with this outcomer brat – never know what he might get up to!’ He seized her arm. ‘Come! Back to where real men work!’
She shook her arm free, but stalked off down the stream, with the two splashing after her. Alya guessed she would not side with either openly, but he could not hold back; he had had more than enough of Vansha. The other women stared and whispered, while the two boys glared and sneered. Alya’s blood was up, roaring in his ears—
Alya stopped where he stood, staring; then he turned and shouted to the watching women. ‘Get up! Get out of here, all of you! For your lives!’
The stared, as well they might, so wild was his demeanour. Some of them turned, some hesitated. Then all of a sudden Vansha screamed at them, and at Saviyal. ‘Get away! Something’s coming!’
The gatherers believed him now, and turned to run; but Alya shouted, ‘No! Not that way! Up! Get up the bank! Up!’
Seizing Savi, he thrust her to the edge. Vansha, beside him, grabbed her other arm and they heaved her out of the water. The other women were moving up the bank now, but some went only a little way, looking back and whispering to each other. Then the air was suddenly roaring like a beast, and they screamed and scattered as the vast brown wall raced frothing around the bend in the little stream.
Saviyal shouted, and sprang like an antelope for the top of the bank, turning as she reached it to grab first Alya and then Vansha by the hand. Both of them were plucked from their feet as the torrent rumbled past, but they had already hold of the edge, and with Saviyal’s hand to pull on, they fell over the top of it, crashing together in a heap with gouts of spray breaking over them. Beneath their feet raced a turmoil of mud and ro
ck and bushes, tumbling together. And, held in horror, they saw among them like pale sticks the limbs of some who had not heeded the warning fast enough, already stripped bare in the mêlée. Outstretched, pleading for help; but among that turmoil they had no answer.
The young folk picked themselves up, bruised and sorry. Along the bank lamentations went up, frantic cries as one searched for another, mothers for children, sister for sister. In that close-knit tribe everyone heard the names that were called, and the silence that came after. Saviyal knelt and wept. Vansha cursed, monotonously, staring at the angry stream. Alya put his face in his hands to shut out the sight; but it was there behind them already.
The waters soon subsided, leaving a mass of tangled debris where there had been fruitful bushes; and, here and there, a worse loss. Saquavan, grim-faced, ordered the bodies borne back by their nearest kin, but put the rest to work all the harder. The harvest must still be gathered; more swiftly, if the rains were so close. But it was silent work, without the usual laughter and singing. Ten lives had been taken, among less than three hundred. Everyone knew them and their kin.
The villagers trailed back to the vale as the light began to fail, weary and despondent. And as they clambered along the rough paths to the granaries and foodstores of the Citadel, some were beginning to wonder aloud why so great a disaster was not foreseen, by those who claimed the art.
‘But it was!’ said Saviyal excitedly, as she emptied her baskets at the storerooms. ‘If they’d only heeded Alya …’
Vansha came leaping down the loose rocks beside the path, and caught her sharply by the arm. ‘What d’you mean – Alya? I gave warning, I!’
‘You’re hurting me! You called, yes – but only after he did!’
Shadow of the Seer Page 6
