The mules were not going to go through the tunnel.
Getting the scouts to enter was a challenge enough, but the mules dug in their hooves and refused utterly to venture inside. Different mules, trained from birth to haul ore out of mines like the ones near Zanthos, would have gone in without complaint, but these were not such mules, and the expedition did not have the time or, in truth, the inclination to train them and get them accustomed to being underground.
After several hours of fruitless effort, Kagne flat out said that the mules would not go. This time there was no thought of sending men with the mules all the way back to Sirosfeld. Instead, the choice was between butchering the animals or setting them free. It was a choice like the one they’d made with the horses, but this time no one had any strong feelings one way or the other. The deciding factors were the time it would take to salt the meat and the fact that no one relished eating tough mule meat when they still had fresh venison to eat. So they set the mules free.
Now they had to choose what to keep and what to leave behind. Food and warm clothes were critical; extra weapons and armor were set aside. With great reluctance, the scouts put aside their shortswords and shields. Sir Ako put his mace and one of his daggers in the pile, saying ruefully to no one, “That is a month’s pay there.”
Two scouts, Damar and Wiyat, dug a deep hole and lined it with flat rocks taken from the shattered piles of stones near the cliffs. The weapons were carefully wrapped in the packs that the mules had been carrying. Everything was buried and a large stone set on top. They paced off the distance to a large tree and then scored the tree bark with the sign of Saint Hurin and the number of paces. Basil dutifully recorded the details on his personal map. Everyone acted as though they were coming back this same way.
The mules stood around the camp, puzzled by the preparations and the burying of their packs. The men waved good-bye to the animals and, one by one, climbed into the tunnel. The mules stood at the lip and brayed anxiously at them, their calls echoing in the darkness.
By the end of the day, everyone was outside again: cold, wet, bruised, and very happy to be through the pitch-black, freezing cave. Sandun collected all the glowing orbs from the men and locked them away in the armored pouch.
Four days of travel on the broken, rocky shoulders of these new mountains.
Four days of scrambling up and over strange rocks, some as light as wood chips and filled with small bubbles, others like vast snakes that had oozed out of the ground and then slithered down the slope only to freeze and remain motionless till the end of time.
On the morning of the second day, they came upon jets of steam that shot out of the ground with an eerie roar. Everyone hated the sound and smell. Downslope from the steam jets, scalding-hot, foul-smelling water trickled out of the ground and gathered into pools that steamed in the chilly morning air. They gave a wide berth to this cursed land, except Basil and Sandun. Both of them remembered the hot springs of their youth, and this seemed similar. Walking up closer to the hot pools, Sandun found strangely colored rocks. Inside a large pool were all the colors of a rainbow: red, orange, green, and blue. The vivid colors were so unexpected and Sandun and Basil were so excited that Sir Ako came over, and then all the other scouts overcame their fears and came up to the pool. Soon they were like young children, excited at seeing a sailboat for the first time, calling out and pointing at different spots of the pool. Then Padan stepped on a fragile piece of white stone that broke under his weight, and he fell forward with a cry. He put his hands into the steaming water to save his face; fortunately, the water at the edge of the pool turned out to be the temperature of soup, and he was not badly hurt.
“The rocks here are more like sandstone or dried seaweed,” said Sir Ako. “Best to keep a distance, despite the unearthly beauty to be found in the waters.”
They continued east. On the fourth day, a thunderstorm hit them. The sound of the thunder grew and grew till it seemed like a titanic drum as big as a mountain valley was being beaten by a gang of demented giants. Lightning split the afternoon sky, searing the eye with an image of crazy white lines. Soon the clouds lowered, and they were in a thick fog as the rain came down in fat drops. They huddled beside a large rock that offered no real shelter. Suddenly Sandun felt his skin crawl, a sensation like coming out of a bath when a stiff breeze blows open the window and fills the room with cold, dry air. A bolt of lightning came down not fifty feet away, blinding and deafening the expedition. All of them got down on their knees and prayed to Sho’Ash to save them. Fear was in everyone’s voice, and even Sir Ako stumbled over the prayers.
Sandun thought back on the words of the Mark of Sirosfeld: “The Tiralas will kill you with supreme indifference.”
He shouted out wildly, “We are on his journey! Sho’Ash protects the wanderer who travels through empty lands. Our mission serves his will!” Sandun didn’t know if he believed all of what he said, but as the lightning moved away and the thunder grew fainter, everyone else, in turn, took Sandun’s right hand and pressed it to their forehead, just like they did in the temple, as though he were the high priest.
The next day, after the sun had dried all the previous rain off the stones, the clouds that had followed them ever since they climbed out of the tunnel vanished, seeming to prefer the company of the great mountains behind them. The air became unusually hot and after lunch, some men took off their shirts. Kagne had to warn them against letting the sun shine for long on their pale chests and backs. “All men know of sunburn, but we tell stories about the sun in Tirala Mountains. It is not like the sunlight in Seopolis or Torobeus. It is stronger even if it is not as warm.”
Despite the warning, two of the men had angry red backs by the evening, and they slept poorly that night. After that, everyone tried to keep the sun off everything but their hands and arms.
The sixth day from the cave, the path they had been following bent northward and then took them into a steep canyon. The air was curiously hazy, but the cause of the haze was unclear. Coming out of the canyon, they found themselves in a large valley, about the same size as the Bent Blade Valley but with steep cliffs to the east and north. At the edge of sight, west of them, there looked to be a large lake.
Sandun first noticed nothing more than an odd line of hills running in the middle of the valley from the eastern cliffs toward the lake. But as he stared at them through his farseer glass, the hills became more and more curious. First, he noticed that they seemed spaced evenly across the valley. Next, he realized they were in a straight line. Lastly, and this was very hard to see in the haze, the hills seemed to be shaped like statues. Like giants.
Sandun went up to Basil and Sir Ako and quietly suggested they look at the hills in the middle of the valley. “A bit odd, don’t you know.” The two men took out their farseers, and they soon saw what Sandun had seen. There was no movement. The valley looked empty, but the line of giants was disturbing, or even frightening.
Sandun held a brief meeting with Sir Ako and Basil while Kagne used Sandun’s farseer glass.
“They don’t seem to move,” Sir Ako said.
“The line seems to extend into the lake,” Sandun offered.
“I believe there is something between each ‘giant,’ connecting them in some fashion,” said Basil, who had the best vision.
“We have to tell the men,” said Sir Ako. So they did, and they passed around the farseers.
For hours, the expedition silently watched the valley. Several streams, like the one beside them, flowed partway out into the valley but then turned and headed toward the lake. The valley floor was covered with small shrubs, and green rushes grew in the parts of the streambeds that they could see. Birds flew back and forth. Other than bird calls, it was utterly silent, but there was no sense of menace. Two of the other scouts also said they could see something connecting the “giants,” but as the light changed in the afternoon, the line of giants faded into th
e haze.
With no sound and no movement, the expedition members talked about going across the valley the next day to explore the closest “giant.” Going east did not seem possible, as the rock face of the canyon was tall and appeared nearly vertical. Damar suggested they could head west toward the lake and see if the line of giants existed on the western end of the lake. No one else thought that was a good idea.
As the sun set, Sandun stared at where he guessed the line of giants reached the eastern end of the valley. The reddish light illuminated the far cliffs. Then, for at least a minute it seemed like a glint of light was shining, reflecting off some glass-like surface. As the sun sank below the hills, the valley turned dark, and throughout the night there was no sound or light.
The next day, the expedition members all walked from their camp where the canyon trail reached the valley floor and toward the closest giant. The statue, which it clearly now was, had been carved in the shape of a man, about fifty feet tall, pulling with both arms on what looked like a rope that left his hands and formed a straight line to the next statue ahead. The figure was braced against a large pyramid with elaborate but abstract designs on it. Each statue they could see was facing the same way, toward the lake.
The statue was awe inspiring. It was larger than any that Sandun had seen, and to find it here, in the middle of the Tirala Mountains, was shocking—it was so drastically out of place. A hundred questions bubbled in his mind, most importantly: Who made them and why?
They all slowed as they approached the giant, instinctively keeping a healthy distance in case it started to move. From their stopping point, Sandun could tell that the rope the giant was holding was not a real rope but something metallic. It was a dull orange-red color, perhaps rusted iron, but other than the color, there was no sign of corruption, no staining of the giant’s hands.
The artistry was as impressive as its size, with bold sweeps in the simulated fabric of its chiton and a well-defined face. In shape, the giant was like a man with a flattened nose, mouth curved up in a smile, muscles tensed but not straining hard. The chiton it wore was like a long robe that went from its neck to its feet, which were covered in boots.
Sandun turned and headed east, away from the lake, to the next giant in line. Everyone followed.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Farrel said quietly.
The next giant was not identical to the first. The face was similar but with a different look and a different expression: less pleased, more tension in the mouth. Each statue was about a quarter of a mile apart. Sandun and Sir Ako veered from the line and walked closer to the rope that hung about twenty-five feet above the ground. The ground directly under the metal rope was eroded. Snow might have settled on the great rope above and then melted over years, decades, perhaps centuries.
“How old are these?” Sandun asked Sir Ako as they walked back to the others.
“I know something of old stone walls, at least the walls of my father’s castle outside Agnefeld. These are newer than the oldest walls. I’d guess two hundred years.”
“Excluding the makers, might we be the first men to have seen them?”
“Aye. But this work must have required the labor of thousands, unless those who did the work were close in size to the figures we see.”
“You speak the truth, though my mind has spun in circles trying to imagine a reason for all this.” Sandun had thought of several possible explanations, but all were deficient in some way.
The next giant they passed was clearly a woman but otherwise more alike the other statues than different, except the figure portrayed in rock was bald. The dome of the figure’s head was odd, somewhat out of proportion to its body.
“Think you can climb this one, Padan?” Farrel said. “You always talk of your days as a youngster climbing the hills around Lefkoati.”
Padan looked carefully at the stonework, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. “I could, but I don’t want to,” Padan replied.
As he approached the next statue, Sandun decided this one’s head also seemed a bit odd, though in truth it was very hard to tell as he was standing on the ground looking up at a face many body lengths above him.
By lunch, they were hot and thirsty. Although several streams came down from the hills on the south side of the valley, none of the streams approached the stone giants, possibly an accident but equally likely a product of engineering by the giants’ builders. They had almost reached the eastern cliff face, and they ate a lunch of dried fruits and nuts and salted ham while taking turns staring through the farseers at the wall where the final giant stood.
This last figure was different from the others in several respects. First, the face was carved in a great grin of mirth, as though the model for the statue had been close to laughter the whole time he was being sketched. Second, his chiton was different, with a high collar around his neck. Finally, hanging down from a carved necklace was a medallion, with some sort of figure in the middle. The farseer glass was no help in making it out as it was covered in shadow. The stone medallion was the first piece of jewelry they had seen on any of the statues.
“If that isn’t the ruler of the people who made these, then I am a toad,” Kagne announced to them all. It seemed a fair assumption to Sandun, but he kept turning over in his mind the question of who and why.
The last giant was braced against a cliff face that looked natural and yet seemed somehow cleaner than the other cliffs they had passed. Also, there was very little rubble at the foot of the cliffs on either side of the laughing statue. He thought about the light he had seen the previous sunset; he scanned the cliff face intently for more than half an hour, but he saw no sign of anything reflective.
The silence was oppressive near the rock wall. Even the birds seemed to shun the area. No streams or rivulets came down from the eastern cliffs. After consultation, Sir Ako and Sandun chose to walk up to the final statue and yell out a greeting.
“Why don’t we just leave this place?” said Farrel. “I’m not afraid of Issedonians, but I am afraid of giants.”
“No one has ever found giants,” Sandun said in his most reassuring voice. “To be sure, the Sogands are all thought to be more than six and a half feet tall, but they aren’t giants. If the stories from the latter days of the empire are to be believed, then no giants have ever been found in the world. Anyway, there is no sign of any life here, no paths, no doors, no farms.”
“Nothing but these giants, and someone built them.”
“You’ve seen the faces. Whoever built these statues at least had a sense of humor.”
Farrel grumbled, but no one had any other objections.
The two men strode toward the giants. Sandun felt much less confident than he hoped he looked. As they walked, Sir Ako said quietly, “You are sure about there being no giants?”
“Yes.”
“What about dragons?”
“One thing at a time, Sir Ako. Praise Sho’Ash we never see a dragon.”
Coming up to the cliff face, Sandun felt more certain that it was unnatural, but nothing leapt out. There was just a sense of symmetry to the rocks and steep stone faces. There were several grooves in the rock near the base of the cliff, as if heavy blocks of stone had been moved over the ground and then the marks had been imperfectly smoothed over. By his guess, they were standing in front of a nearly perfectly concealed gate.
Sir Ako put his mouth to his hands and yelled out at the wall, “We are travelers from the Kingdom of Kelten. We come in peace.” His voice echoed off the hard, sun-baked rocks, but there was no answer.
Sandun looked all around the last statue for clues. Like the others, it also had its back to a large pyramid of rock. But the pyramid continued all the way to the cliff face without any sign of obvious joins, and the shaped stone just merged smoothly into the “natural” rock. He saw that the great metal rope being held by the statu
e went straight back into the rock wall, as though a giant had pushed a stiff rod into a soft clay.
The two men rejoined the others, and they all walked over to the nearest stream coming down out of the western hills, where they made camp.
Before the sun set, Sandun went west toward the second-to-last statue. His goal was to line up in roughly the same angle to the sun as he had been the previous evening, in the hope that whatever had lit up in the evening would do so again.
He sat down beside a lone manzanita bush, its red, smooth bark contrasting with the dark-green oval leaves. He stared intently at the cliff face. Basil joined him a few minutes later, with his dog by his side.
“Here is the big mystery to me,” Basil announced. “No animal droppings. There are water, plants, shelter in the canyons. Why is there nothing on four feet here in this valley? No deer, no rabbits, no ground squirrels. It’s uncanny.”
“Perhaps the giant builders don’t allow burrowing animals to approach their precious statues.”
“Well, we cannot stay here for long. I’ve never seen hunting this poor. What are you looking for, anyway?”
Sandun replied, “I saw sunlight reflecting off something shiny last evening. I hope to see it again and investigate it.”
“You think there are people behind this rock face?”
“I do.”
Later, when the sun was at the horizon, a square of reflected sunlight again appeared about two-thirds of the way up the cliff face.
“Ha! I have you,” Sandun exclaimed. Basil was ready with his sketch paper, and he rapidly filled in the significant features of the cliff face around the presumed window. The sun set, the cliff turned gray, and the reflection vanished.
The Burning Tower Page 12
