Shadow of the Seer

by Michael Scott Rohan

  It spoke so much of life and home to her, that simple light, that she wanted desperately to weep, to howl and tear her hair. Yet she dared not, among the other women, lest she terrify them also. They were grudgingly let out, to bathe themselves as best they could by the cold river, drying themselves at a fire afterwards. The others slept in an untidy tangle, Ulie the princess with her thumb in her mouth; and there at last Savi let her head sink on her knees, and wept silently. Much as she longed to be even a little cleaner, she hated the touch of that dark meltwater, and feared the influences it was said to carry into better, cleaner lands.

  It was no mere qualm, that fear. More and more, as the women curled up to sleep in the carts, strange cries and noises encircled them in the dark. At times the marshes sucked and moaned like living souls, and the quaggy earth shook and quivered in places, as if to drink down the cart. At twilight pale glows danced in the distant mists, and the silhouettes of half-decayed trees swayed eerily over the carts, trailing stinking brown strings of fungus against unwary faces; but even dead trees soon became rare. The raiders themselves still ringed their camps with large watchfires, and tended to stay well within the overlapping circles of light. Yet late one sullen night there were terrible shrieks, and the next day the guards were moody and savage, beyond the usual. But nobody was foolish enough to ask. Only slaves would dwell in this country, indeed; and she could not escape it.

  Soon thereafter, though, there came a day when, among the dawn mists, the carts turned away from the road; but not inland. To everyone’s surprise they went bouncing down a much rougher road, sloping quite steeply downward towards the river itself. The guards drove the caravan slowly along the bank, evidently careful lest they slip a wheel on the path’s edge and topple into the black waters, now so close. Savi wondered if there would be a ford, but was surprised when the carts were drawn up, and then laboriously manhandled on to what were evidently wide flat boats. Most of the women had never been on board any such thing before, and moaned with terror at the swaying sensation, uneasy at every step or shift of weight. When the barges were poled off the bank and out into the stream, Savi didn’t much take to it either, but tried to stay composed. Her fear would break the rest, panic them even; and this was no time for that. The motion was gentle enough, though; and compared to the bruising jolts and jarrings of the road, it was peaceful. By the first day’s end she was almost enjoying it.

  Almost; for this was still no quiet land that went by them, as the barges were drawn north against the current, sometimes by the horses along the bank, sometimes by the guards with their long poles. By day, when the mists lifted, the winds moaned, and the river ran slow and heavy past sighing banks of reeds and sedge; all else was barren and bleak. Green soon faded from the land, to be replaced by dull browns, like a perpetual late autumn. They saw no more herds, but heard the harsh cries of beasts they did not know and could not see. Even the birdsong seemed muted and sad. And by night, as the barges were brought in and moored, and the guards built their fires, the land grew fearful.

  Evening wisps of mist drifted across the river, taking strange shapes, like phantoms, that even the reivers balked at and avoided. Wings fluttered in the dusk, small insects sang strange songs, and the hardfaced men with their pitiless eyes moved the horses nearer the fires, and muttered over amulets and charms.

  Savi’s was her sword.

  That, and the need of those around her. She would not be seen to fear by the other girls, and clutched the carven hilt close. But in the darkest night, sometimes, when cries like distant laughter awoke her, or some great beast wallowed by too close to the cart, she would give way to her loneliness and fear, hugging her breasts as if other hands comforted her.

  And then one such night the terror struck deepest of all into her soul, pinning her down, as it seemed, like some helpless creature speared to the earth. That chill midnight, as the murmur of the camp, already muted, faded into silence, she risked looking out of the cart with its stinking straw and rank jumble of bodies, to snatch great lungfuls of the clear, crisp air.

  She threw her head back to the chill, baring her neck and breast, wondering as ever if Alya also looked upon this full cold moon and star-silvered sky, and whether he still thought of her. She had little enough hope; but to think otherwise was too painful. But then she saw another gleam across the horizon, that seemed to reach back up from earth to heavens, silhouetting even at this great distance a range of shadowy clifftops studded with jagged mountain-teeth, as blue and bitter as edged steel.

  Thither they were heading, she could have no doubt about it now. That way lay their journey, straight to the heart of all she had most cause to loathe and fear. There lay her destiny, and fettered both by iron and the role she’d assumed, there was nothing she could do to prevent it. The barrier was already past and down behind her; for what would she do in these terrible lands? She had seen her way only in brief glimpses. Even if she should escape, somehow, she would never, ever be able to find her way back out of them, not with their legendary evils. She knew, without being told, that she looked upon the light of the Great Ice.

  ‘Can we not ride faster?’ demanded Alya, for the hundredth time. ‘This is taking us away from her, every step!’

  ‘Only to bring us closer in the end!’ said Vansha patiently, for an equal number. ‘Much faster and we’ll kill these poor beasts! But we’ll be at the Forest of Birds soon enough. All too soon, maybe!’

  They were heading south and west, and it felt ridiculous. Such tracks as they had found led west and north – not that that would be hard to guess, for that was where the land of the raiders lay, in the arms, it was rumoured, of the Ice itself. Alya shuddered at the thought of Savi, alone and helpless, without him, borne towards that terrifying embrace. He had the strong fancy of the Seer, the power to shape living images in the mind from scanty hints and clues; and the pictures that constantly came upon him made him goad the black mare still more sharply. He found himself digging his heels into its flanks as if the poor brute was somehow responsible for every delay. But he was not cruel, and realising that made him stop. ‘Right enough, Vansha. The next river we come to, they can rest and water.’

  ‘That’s wise. So can we. You seem to be living on the fire in your belly, but it won’t hurt to stoke it once in a while. Once we get more mounts, more weapons, some followers – then we can ride harder. I wish I could be more sure …’

  ‘Of what?’

  Vansha looked dark. ‘Nothing. Hope isn’t what we chase, is it?’

  Alya shook his head. ‘But hope there is, of a kind. If she were dead – I would know.’

  Vansha shrugged uncomfortably, and said little more. He was looking across the open plain ahead. For the first time in two days’ hard riding there was something new there, some definition to the endless horizon – a low smudge of dark green, shadowed and strange beneath the hazy grey sky. A steely thread wound its way among the low hillocks that lay between.

  ‘That’s it?’ demanded Alya.

  ‘It is. And there’s the forest river, flowing down from the north-west. The horses can smell it already.’

  It was midday when they halted by a dark pool between the hills, but the sun remained hidden under gathering clouds, and the air was heavy. Vansha dismounted stiffly, with many oaths. Too unused to riding,’ he groaned, easing his leather breeches about his thighs. ‘And never this far.’

  ‘But you’ve been to the Forest before!’

  ‘Its outskirts. Once. And not in such long rides.’

  Alya surprised himself at how easily he swung down, and how relaxed he felt. The fire in his back was no more than a welcome tingle, for now.

  ‘Aren’t your hams even aching?’ demanded Vansha enviously. He turned his horse loose by the stream, and sank gratefully down among the sparse grass. ‘They should be, damn it. Longer still since you rode! And yet you don’t even seem tired.’ He shivered. ‘What is it about you, man? What happened to you?’

  ‘You did, maybe.�
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  Vansha’s face twisted. ‘I know. I know! But have some mercy on me, at least, now such a miracle’s healed you. I was just a boy, then, still. I was terrified of you, you know that?’

  ‘Of me?’ Alya snorted.

  ‘Yes! Of you! The Citadel was my home, all I’d ever known. Oh, I longed for better, but I was going to stay and look after the folk, like my father said. Little use as a Seer, but better than nothing, he said. You know, this – here, to the Forest’s edge – this is as far as I’ve ever been from the Citadel? As much of the world as I’ve ever seen? I hadn’t even done that, back then. And suddenly, into my narrow world bursts this wild lad who’s lived twice the life I ever had, been places, seen twice the things, and they’re written all over his face – and he’s a Seer to boot. As good a shot and hunter, easily. And fairer, at that.’

  ‘Better-looking than you?’ Alya laughed.

  ‘Savi thought so,’ said Vansha sullenly, not laughing in the least. ‘There I was – and she hardly seemed to notice me any more. Nobody did, not the way they used to. You, always in the forefront, always striving—’ He choked, for a moment. ‘I was fighting, for my life – my old life! I had to keep a brake on your wheel, to pull you back down all the time. Or you’d have had everything. Everything! Whisked the mat right out from beneath my feet. Oh aye, there was plenty to be scared of. Most of all Savi … Savi …’

  Alya drew breath. ‘I knew you always sought to diminish me. But I never wished … I hardly knew what I was doing to you! Could you not have told me? Spoken to me?’

  ‘Would it have made any difference? Then, that fight, that was the last straw … Powers, how I hated you! How I feared you! Because on top of all else, you were winning! Winning! In my village, before my people, my girl, in my home that you’d usurped! Would it have made any difference, to speak, to plead with you?’

  Vansha rose abruptly, strode over to the stream where it flowed fast over fine gravel, and splashed his face.

  ‘No,’ said Alya, quietly. ‘I don’t think it would have.’ He flopped down on the grassy bank and began to scoop up water in his cupped hands. ‘We won’t take time to light a fire, not now.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Vansha, looking anxiously around. ‘It might … attract attention. Among the trees. Just a bite or two of bread and trail-meat, cold, for now. Then onward.’

  Alya gazed at the trees. ‘The Forest of Birds, that doesn’t sound so bad. Are you truly afraid?’

  ‘Yes. I am. When I came here with the hunters … it was bright sun then, and there was still a shadow among the leaves, and a cold breath of breeze that sucked the heat out of the day … There! Did you feel it?’

  ‘There’s no shortage of breezes, within or without. Was there more?’

  ‘Oh yes. Lights, at night, deep among the trees. We were camped back up there, on the hill, about a thousand paces away, and we still saw them. Not natural, like firelight or torches. More like will o’the wisps, or rotting fish – you know? And there were voices on the wind, horrible voices, whining, whistling. That was autumn, when night came earlier. We can try to get through by dark, at least to the other margin; and that means moving fast. Where’s that bread?’

  ‘The cloud’ll make it darker, though,’ said Alya, around his mouthful. ‘Especially if that breeze brings up any more. Whew! You’re right. Feel that chill!’

  ‘What did I tell you? But listen, man, you’re a Seer, are you not?’

  ‘While I did no more than sit in pain, I saw, almost without willing it. But it was never enough.’

  ‘Well, now you can dance again! Why not try and spy out something of our path?’

  Alya stared. ‘I should have thought of that. But I didn’t – why not? I’ll surely give it a try.’

  Vansha stared at the mask, as Alya slipped it on; but he said nothing of his thought. There on the bank Alya stamped and spun in the old remembered rhythm, this way and that; and the Trail traced its smouldering path behind his eyes, leading him on and in. In his mind the image growing in his mind of wings, wheeling black wings against the deeper blackness of the Wall. High, soaring above a country of arid stone, able to glimpse the cloudy depths of distance that lay beyond the distant barrier, higher, ever higher. It was the sun on black wings, maybe, that growing heat …

  He was on his knees, panting, while the flare of red cleared from his eyes. He felt as if he had looked straight into the noonday sun. Vansha gave him cold river-water to drink, and sprinkled the rest on his sweating face. ‘Well? Was what you saw so terrible?’

  Alya shook his head. ‘I saw nothing!’

  ‘Not even the Wall?’

  ‘Within sight of it, from far off. But then something stopped me, cast me down! Something that stung me like, like a shower of cinders at the smith’s. As if it was forbidding me, somehow. Holding me back.’

  ‘I’ve eaten enough!’ snapped Vansha, snagging the trailing reins and, for all his stiffness, springing back into the saddle. ‘And done lingering!’

  Alya shivered, and ruffled his mount’s mane. ‘I think you’re right!’ He also did not want to think about what had just happened, not even for a moment. Much longer, and they would lose their nerve. He swung himself up, and the two young men turned their mounts towards the wall of trees.

  It ended quite sharply against the grassland, with only patches of bushes and other low growth as a barrier. The trail among it was clear but narrow, an animal trail more than human, printed with the notched hooves of deer. Vansha swore as stinging plants brushed his bare ankles, and sharp thorns needled through Alya’s breeches. But as they came beneath the shade of the trees the growth seemed to diminish, and the path opened out. Vansha looked back, and pulled his horse up sharply. Alya wheeled, hand on blade.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Look!’ whispered Vansha. There was no trace of a trail behind them; the greenery bulked close and undisturbed.

  ‘Because we brushed through it!’ said Alya, unconvincingly. ‘Well, we weren’t planning to go back that way, especially.’

  ‘Just as well!’ whispered Vansha. ‘Ride on, then! Even with the branches overhanging, a trot is less of a risk!’

  The forest floor was soft beneath their hooves. Where the trees were densest, it was soft damp leaf mould and made little sound, but where the trail branched into open space, the choking greenery returned. All the time, though, the trees were becoming thicker and of kinds Alya hardly knew, broad-leaved and broad-limbed, like canopies rather than evergreen pillars. Their limbs stooped low, and before long the young men had to dismount to avoid rapping their heads continually.

  ‘I think I’m growing bark!’ complained Alya, tugging it out of his thick hair. ‘And this miraculous healing doesn’t stop lumps on the head, obviously. If this isn’t a cone.’

  ‘My eyes seem to be full of twig! This is useless, we’ll have to lead the mounts. For a while, anyhow. From what the other hunters told me, the main trail starts to rise here, towards the wood’s heart, and then falls away somewhat on the other side, a more thinly wooded slope. So most probably the worse part will be before then.’

  ‘So be it! But we must be ready to mount and flee at need. I am not going to leave my bones and quest here together.’

  ‘Nor I.’ Quickly Vansha strung his bow and laid it ready across his pommel. Alya clutched his great sword, and led his horse forward. It came willingly enough, glad to be without his weight, no doubt; but every so often, at some noise within the wood, some quick sharp scurry among the leaves or flurry within a bush, its ears would go back and its eyes roll. Vansha was reacting much the same way, suddenly twisting this way and that; and eventually he stopped and snarled.

  ‘I know what’s been bothering me! Bird Forest be damned – have you ever heard so few among trees, and at this time of year?’

  ‘I have not!’ agreed Alya, in sudden wonder. ‘There were some calls, at first – at the edge. But not now, none at all. As if something—’

  A sudden flurry
of wind whipped around him. A leaf danced high in the air above him, then struck, viciously as it seemed, down into his eyes, so hard he ducked. Rain came after it, dashed in his face almost in handfuls, and the branches sprung and whipped about him. The air howled, and drove them all staggering backwards, men and horses both, into the tangling embrace of the trees.

  Then other howls arose about them, as figures sprang up from the thickets around.

  So wild, so shapeless they seemed that it was hard to be sure what they were; long-limbed apes, maybe, baring yellowed fangs, slashing with filthy claws. The pungent stink that surrounded them was animal, if not worse. But the claws were metal, and what hung around them was not pelt but rags; and the wild eyes were still, after a fashion, human. As the wind failed the young men broke away, the horses rearing and plunging wildly; Vansha grabbed his bow as it fell from the saddle. The brigands, seeing their surprise had failed, hung back, tittering slightly, holding their weapons ready in long limbs, lank but strong-looking. Alya counted nine, but suspected a couple more among the greenery.

  ‘What d’you want of us?’ shouted Vansha. ‘We’re not rich! We’ve nothing!’

  ‘Horsies!’ jeered one of the creatures, smacking his lips robustly. ‘Your stickers, your slicers! Throw’m down an’ we won’t hurt yous!’

  ‘Have you home t’eat!’ sniggered another, and slurped back his drool as the others giggled. ‘Friends, huh?’

  ‘You want our weapons?’ demanded Vansha. ‘Have one!’ Unseen by them, he had already nocked an arrow to the string, and now he raised the bow, drew and loosed with a hunter’s smooth speed. Instantly, as it seemed, the leading brigand kicked up his legs and fell back into the green. Another sprang over him, screeching with rage, but Alya’s sword swept from its ancient scabbard. He felt his back and shoulders blaze, and he swung it. He was no swordsman, but it weighed like a light stick in his fingers. It smashed the brigand’s dagger from his hand and slashed down across his chest. Alya hardly felt the impact, but it sent the man flying backwards among the ferns, spraying them with red.