Shadow of the Seer

by Michael Scott Rohan

  Back from their gaze he cast himself, barely in time. They swept the darkness, icily intent, stabbing like steel spears even into the sunglare, reflecting the fire at its fiercest, untouched. He fell back, outwards, away—

  And as he did so, he felt another thought stir in answer to that vicious will, linked to it somehow. It was no clear thought; it was more a response, that came welling up like a sudden wave upon an ocean of oily darkness, an uncoiling shadow, massive, all-embracing, monstrously malign. He called out once more, as he fell.

  Savi!

  A-Alya?

  It was the faintest of answers, the least believing; but it was an answer unmistakable. He sought to reach out, even in his peril; but he could not. The pivot turned. The balance shifted. The dark energies that bore him into the light bucked like a frantic horse beneath him. He was plunging down out of the sun, to the Wall beneath. Plummeting down among the lights that spun and pulsed there, shattering their instant of unison, losing hold of the rhythm. The drums beat frantically and shattered, and the leash of fear snapped, and recoiled upon them all.

  Their encircling minds fell howling into the void beneath him, and through them, through their masks of power, he felt the darkness leap out to envelop other glimmers there – the waiting warriors, huddled outside the Mouth, who had come running to see what was happening. Within them also the ground opened, and the bodies of the dead they had buried for so long, far beneath the reach of guilt and compassion, came snaking up like obscene plants to tear at their slayers. He saw them, through the eyes of others, scream and strike out at any other within their reach, seeing only fearful phantoms of their own cruelty; and be themselves struck down in turn, or strike at last at themselves, clawing out their own eyes to banish intolerable sight.

  Then he was seeing it through his own eyes and the mask’s, the screaming carnage around him. He snatched out his sword, barely in time. The bleeding maniac that rushed at him he cut down, and the snarling bear mask went bouncing away under the stamping feet and was smashed to flinders. They danced no longer at the Mouth, or it was a dance of death. The shamans clawed at one another’s naked flesh, kicked and trampled those who were down even as they died. The madness had been sent out, and would not die; for its roots were in them all. Even in the street beyond the gate men fought one another still, scrabbling in the slime.

  And Alya had to wrestle against the revulsion in his own mind for having occasioned this, well deserved as it was. He hauled the mask from his head, and fell back in horror. But all compunction was blown away by the stink of burned flesh from the longhouse. He would not go back in there, not even to retrieve his original disguise. He feared to bear a chieftain’s robe; it would be too visible, carry too many burdens. He snatched up one of the many cast-off black cloaks all around, and a helm that had rolled away unheeded. Backing anxiously around the jagged stones of the Mouth, striking down or throwing back the men who lunged at him, he reeled out into the street and away, before the voices and the torches that were approaching, barely in time.

  He staggered off through the shadows, deeply shaken. He had crested the Wall at last, if not wholly on his own, and found there a terrifying power. Had there been more minds within reach, he might have spread madness over this whole miserable township, engulfing victim and oppressor, friend and foe alike. He himself was marked by it. Yet that power had also almost delivered him into the hands of an enemy, and left him jarred to the depths of his soul.

  At least he knew now where Savi was, how he might come to her, all and everything. It was what he no longer knew that shook him most: what she was to him. That other form he had seen, that mind he had touched, that had stabbed at him with a power that might shatter the Wall itself – that he could guess, and the guess itself was agony. Yet he had heard a voice speak his name; and that was to him as her cool touch had become in his fever and despair, the only fixed point in a world of infinite dark.

  He clung to it, and questioned no longer, only ran.

  CHAPTER 11

  Winged Fire

  IT took Alya a long time to reach the slopes above the palace, or so it felt. He had been right not to take the outer robe. He might have walked more freely as a chieftain, but also been too noticeable, a man of consequence going about unescorted. So when he heard the clatter of armed men running, it seemed safer to slip into whatever murky doorway or side-street offered itself, though they were often awash with muck he was glad he could not see. At least the chieftain’s boots were sounder than those he had worn, and a better fit. But the way was not easy. He had to lurk for whole long hours behind a ruined wall in one foul warren, while two bands of warriors lounged and quarrelled in the street outside, and evil stenches caught at his throat. The thoughts in his mind were almost as choking.

  Yet it gave him time to settle them, to come to terms with what he had done and seen. When at last the warriors shambled sullenly off, he emerged much calmer. Nonetheless he promptly lost his way, and wandered almost up to the palace square before he found the direction again. He stared hungrily at those glittering walls; but there were guards on the alert, and few others visible. He turned away towards the dark slopes of the valley wall.

  There were no guards there, at least; for they led nowhere except to the Ice, that was its own sleepless sentinel. Its steep slopes seemed to dream under the moon, their dusting of powder snow glinting like pure jewels over the darker glint of the riven glacier. But he remembered that great grim awareness he had touched, and shuddered. If something so monstrous lurked out there, its dream was very far from pure. He was not going to risk awakening it.

  Even down here it was much colder, well above the warm, fetid air of the vale, and he had been sweating heavily through all his clothes. The blackened steel helm was making him colder, if anything, but when he hauled it off the wind chilled his clammy hair and stung his face with it. He had to find shelter and his friends, urgently.

  Chuen had spoken of rock formations, but they were all over the slopes as far as he could see. He went slipping and stumbling across the hill for some thousand paces, trying to find one that overlooked the palace. The low chittering cry of an owl made him jump, and he stared about suspiciously; there were huge white owls that dwelt among snow, he knew, but this place seemed devoid of life, even in the crevices of the stones. The cry came again, low and soft, and ducking down, he made his way awkwardly along the stony slope towards the rocks where he had heard it. But these were too low, he found; they had no view of the palace at all, and he was about to leave them and look upslope when an arm swung sharply around his neck.

  His hands clamped on the coarse cloth, and there was a gasp as he pulled free. ‘It’s me, bugger it!’ hissed Chuen, doubled over in pain. ‘Sod, you nearly tore out the muscle!’

  ‘You startled me. I didn’t think you’d be down here!’

  ‘Don’t think I’d lead someone straight to our vantage, do you?’ Chuen looked at him suspiciously. ‘Specially someone I wasn’t sure I’d see again. As it is, you’re watched already. Step out without me and you wouldn’t get ten strides.’ Another owl cry, repeated, sounded across the slope, and he nodded. ‘Well, they say you weren’t followed. Might as well come up. But let me go first, if you’re in no haste to stop an arrow!’

  The headman led him on a winding climb among the outcrops, over slopes so steep that they were reduced almost to crawling, and up behind what looked like a solid rock ledge, but which had a deep gully within, probably cut by meltwater from above. Shadowy figures scrambled around as they appeared; and then there was a soft harsh laugh in the darkness.

  ‘What’d I tell you, boy? Your dearest brother – he’s back, right enough!’

  A silhouette turned sharply. Vansha’s whisper was almost appalled. ‘Alya? Powers … did you …’

  Alya held up the mask, so it could be seen against the whiteness above.

  ‘What?’ Chuen caught his shoulder. ‘I thought you’d just given up! How? How, in all Hella’s realm?’ His voi
ce was heavy with distrust and amazement.

  Alya slumped down, his back to the rock. ‘I’ll tell you. When I’ve had a rest. Has anyone got anything to drink?’ He gulped down the chill meltwater gratefully. It had a strange taste, a tang of metal on the tongue, but wholesome enough. ‘How have you fared?’

  Rysha snorted impatiently, but it was Vansha who answered. ‘Poorly enough. We’ve scanned the palace for hours, till the light went, but even I saw hardly a damn thing. Save a fracas a while back. All manner of folk scuttling about like an ants’ nest, as if a thief’d got in. But Chuen said that was more likely over something happening down in the town. No sign of anyone who could remotely be Savi, of course, still less any sight of an easy way in … Wait, now. Down in the town – that was you?’

  ‘I think … they both were. The row in the palace, over what happened in town. And we have no need to watch now.’ Alya slumped down on a stone, with his back against the cold smooth gully side, and cradled the mask on his lap. ‘I’ve seen Savi. And I know how to reach her. Every finger’s breadth of the way!’

  Someone among the dimness began to laugh, softly; but the laughter faltered. ‘How, brother?’ demanded Vansha softly. ‘How?’

  But Alya felt as if he inhaled the darkness. The fire in him sank to embers, and his head fell forward on his chest. He slept.

  Only as he awoke was he aware of his dreams, a confused tangle of voices, of half-remembered visions, of the bulk of the Wall and the glorious sun that burgeoned atop it. But when he opened his eyes the sky was no more than a dark cloudy grey, unleashing a fine rain of wet snowflakes. They would melt when they reached the valley floor, but here settled annoyingly on hair and eyebrows, like lightly stinging reminders of the awesome wastes above. It would be hours yet before light touched the vale.

  Rysha lay, mouth open and snoring thinly, on a shelf not far off, and Vansha was a hunched silhouette, unmoving. Alya yawned and stretched his cold limbs, and Chuen, standing talking to what were evidently his guards, turned his way rapidly. There was no sign the bulky headman had slept, and he looked ragged and nervous. ‘You awake? There’s food, but no fire. And listen, I’ve let you sleep, ’cause your friends insisted; but what goes on down there’s my concern, all of it. I want to hear, right now!’

  There was a rustle of clothes, and Vansha slid down the sheer rockface to land on his feet. ‘I want to hear, too. Especially about Savi!’

  Alya told them as he ate, choking down disgustingly oily meal cakes with draughts of the metallic water. He told it as best he could, putting the Wall and all about it into terms he thought they might comprehend; for it was vital that they trust him now, Vansha and Rysha especially. They looked almost as dazed as the rest.

  ‘Lemme get this straight!’ muttered Chuen. ‘This … power you say you’ve been give – an’ I’m not denying that, no, not I, I’ve felt it! You say that’s helped you over this Wall?’

  Alya tossed his head, choked down some more cake. ‘No. I was able to draw upon it, briefly, by holding others in thrall; but all this time … I think it’s been preventing me crossing the Wall on my own.’

  ‘You said something of that,’ agreed Vansha. ‘One power for another! Well, it makes sense. The Powers rarely give without some fair exchange, they say. Something in what those old men said, too. But you’ve used it now, all right!’

  ‘Through others! And that … it was terrible. On my own I might have spoken to Savi. Vansha, think! I might even have flown to her, then and there! You remember, we talked of shamans who have managed that feat, though it taxes their power sorely; but then, just then I had power enough! I had it, for that one moment only; but I had it, I almost managed to use it …’ His clenched fists quivered, and he laughed a little at himself. ‘But as it was, I should be happy enough I escaped the other mind. That woman’s. And lucky there was no other will at the Mouth to equal mine. Either might have destroyed me!’

  ‘And all of them there you slew?’ demanded Chuen. ‘Every last one?’ While Alya talked he had been nervously strolling up and down the gully floor, watching the lightening sky with edgy impatience; but as the tale was told, he and the others had come to sit and listen with growing amazement. Now he eyed the mask with something between horror and hunger.

  ‘They slew one another, in their fear and guilt,’ repeated Alya wearily. ‘Which I only made them face. No, headman, before you ask. It is not a thing I would care to try again. Another time it might envelop us all. We all have our darker depths. I might encounter my own ghosts. Or you, any who haunt your memories!’

  Chuen backed off hastily. His men seemed to regard Alya with mingled awe and terror, as if he were something far more than human; and in Chuen he seemed to inspire feelings even more mixed. ‘Well, maybe, maybe!’ the headman muttered. ‘Best not meddle in such matters, maybe. I’ll allow it gave me a bad turn when we heard all the hubbub raised. I feared our plan was breaking too early!’

  Alya sighed. I’m sorry. I hope it won’t put the town too much on the alert.’

  Chuen shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t make much odds. But I guess it won’t. Not if it looks like a brawl, as you say. Such things do happen now and again, y’know. Clans are always touchy, ready to do each other down at the least excuse, and the chieftains most of all. One takes offence at another, and—’ He clicked his tongue with relish. ‘Stiffs everywhere! Running battles in the street, betimes.’

  ‘And the Ice permits that?’

  ‘Don’t know. Seems to.’

  ‘Likes it!’ put in one of his men, and spat. ‘Thinks it makes ’em fiercer!’

  ‘Or maybe it just assumes that’s the way all men behave,’ said Alya softly.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Chuen, with grim relish. ‘Well, I don’t mind either! Maybe when our plan does break, it’ll give ’em a bloody sight more to think about!’

  ‘No doubt!’ drawled Vansha sarcastically, his voice edged by impatience. ‘But dare one ask just when it is going to break?’

  Chuen surveyed him coldly. ‘Aye, as it so happens, ask you may!’ He jerked his head up at the sky, now bearing a trace of blue. Even as he did so, the first long beam of the hidden sun stretched out across the snows above, and tinged the very tip of the valley with the flame of dawn. ‘Listen!’

  Rysha looked around. ‘Listen? I can’t hear a bloody thing!’

  Chuen’s piggy eyes glittered. ‘Nor will you. First light’s touched the valley wall. Should be the first stirrings in the streets already – thralls spillin’ out of the barracks, defaulters beaten, beasts bleatin’ and fartin’, children cryin’, cookfires lighting. Same row I’ve heard each morn of my life, long as I can remember. An’ I don’t hear a trace of it now. Not a bloody trace. Not now.’

  ‘As if the town holds its breath!’ whispered Alya.

  ‘It’ll let it out soon enough!’ said one of the guards grimly. ‘When the Ekwesh see—’

  ‘Aye. A few heads’ll fall, somewhere. But folk’re ready. The first heads down won’t be theirs; and better that, than live on in this stinking hole. Still want to know when it’ll begin, lad? It began a long time back. Now’s only when it reaches the light.’

  Vansha said nothing. Chuen fastened his eyes on the town with a look of real hunger. His tongue licked his fat lips, and despite the biting wind a single sweat-drop slithered down over his unsteady jowl. The other men were with him, leaning eagerly out over the sharp rocks, staring like starving wolves at a fat quarry. Suddenly one hissed, and pointed. To the south of the town, by the great barracks, a thread of smoke was winding skyward. ‘Not a cookin’ fire!’ snapped Chuen. ‘It’s black. Wait now!’

  ‘I’ve had enough of your waiting!’ growled Vansha. ‘Come on, brother; and you, Rysha—’

  ‘No! We’ve got to let the uprising take hold, so we won’t be noticed! Rysha can’t help us much till we’re inside!’

  ‘Inside …’ echoed Rysha hollowly, and hugged herself against the gusting dawn breeze, staring at the coldly glittering walls. But
Alya paid her little heed, for the breeze was carrying things to him. A clamour, as of many voices; a low rumble as of feet that ran and trampled; a faint sharp tinge of smoke less sulphurous than earthfires, more acrid than cooking.

  Chuen’s fingers were clawing softly at the black stone, until at last he hauled himself up bodily on the gully wall, impatient of concealment. He cried out then, and pointed; and they all saw it, down among the still deeply shadowed streets: a thread of fire that ran and spread, that split at a barracks wall, vanished an instant and reappeared, stronger than before. From further down the town a red flame blossomed, and a moment later a rending crash came echoing crazily out to them, off the cold walls of the vale. ‘A roof gone!’ crowed Chuen. ‘Burning, and nobody to put it out!’

  ‘There goes another!’ shouted Vansha. A billow of greasy black smoke sprang up, too heavy for the breeze to disperse, high enough now so it caught the sun; and beneath it, like an undercurrent, came the murmur of many voices, rising like a spring torrent under melting snow, the release of a force too long held back. Screams rose, the screams of men and women, of agony and of madness. Now they could see the Ekwesh troops racing through streets nearer them, like thin black threads; and when two threads met in the same street there arose an angrier roar, and a clash of weapons.

  ‘They’re fighting each other!’ crowed Vansha in astonishment.

  ‘Aren’t they bloody just!’ Chuen’s face was transfigured. ‘That’ll be your friend here! And a sleepless night of rumours about clan clashes and massacres, patrols charging everywhere – there’ll be clans hot for each other’s blood, now! And all the better for us! See there!’

  Browner threads were filling streets higher up the town now, brown shot with little points of flame; and where they passed, fires sprang up, and manic howls. Alya looked up to the palace. The unrest was still half the town away, but the rumour of it was rising, and the guards there were evidently peering around anxiously.