The Key of the Keplian

by Andre Norton

  She rose at first light to eat, and drink hot tea. Then she rolled the stone back into place, hiding the ashes of her fire. She rubbed the underside of the rock with pungent leaves before she did so. That should baffle any trailing noses.

  She trotted down to the trickle of water, carrying her pack. Once there, she stripped and washed. Then she packed her jeans and other clothing, taking out instead her deerskin shirt and pants. She put on the carved belt with its secrets, tucked the pouch into the front, and added the knife in its fringed sheath to the belt. Her bow and quiver were hung within easy reach on the pack corner.

  She looked at the map long and hard. From here on she would be in strange country. In her hunting she had ranged far, but never in this particular direction. She must now rely on the map and her good sense. Setting her shoulders, she began to follow a faint deer trail. It went in the right direction and would make for easier walking—for a while, at least. She moved steadily on as the sun rose. At midmorning she halted to drink a little and rest a few minutes. Then she was moving on again. By noon she was deep into unknown mountains on a trail that skirted a drop far down to canyons below. She wondered what the woman from social services was doing now.

  Then she turned her mind resolutely. To allow fear of pursuit to overcome one was folly, so Far Traveler had always said. It weakened the pursued, strengthened the pursuer. She was child to this land; it would not give her up lightly. She was warrior; she would not surrender easily. Far down her back trail, men dug frantically in a fresh slide. It would take them all day to be sure no child’s body lay under the weight of rocks and cold earth. But the feeling she had been tricked strengthened the rage and determination of the pursuer. The woman drove back down the road, cold fury in her eyes. She had been promised a helicopter the next morning.

  Another night, another camp, and Eleeri slept soundly, but by dawn she was gone, following the map. She was nearing her destination if she had not misread, and her heart was torn. To leave her own land, her own place, never to stand beside Far Traveler again . . . she shrugged that last away. No matter if she stayed or went, her kinsman and her home were gone.

  She pushed on through the day. By now she guessed that those who hunted her would have found the slide to be a trick. That would please nobody—to be made a fool of by a young girl. Still, what matter, if it had bought her another day?

  It was almost noon when she heard the first sounds of helicopter blades above her. At once she ducked into a crevice. As she stretched along it, her doeskins blended into the dry brown earth. She remained motionless as the helicopter swooped overhead. Nor did she turn her face upward—Far Traveler had warned her against that.

  Long ago he had fought in the white man’s war. Planes then had been able to see the shade of an upturned face. They would fly low to encourage movement. She stayed facedown and silent. The sound beat away to the east and she moved then, running lightly along the trail into the cover of brush ahead. From then on, she moved with caution, one ear open always to the sky. Twice more the helicopter swept overhead as it searched. She cursed it savagely. Why were they hunting her in this direction? What had led them to think she would be in this part of the mountains?

  Eleeri had no way of knowing that the woman had enlisted the aid of a rancher with dogs. It had taken long enough, but finally they had struck her trail where she had left the stream. Now they followed, the copter ranging ahead. Twice where it could, the machine had landed, airlifting man and dogs over a rougher time-consuming area of the trail.

  They were closing in on her, Eleeri thought. Somehow they were moving faster than she could. She halted in cover to stare at the map once more. There! She was to take the right-hand fork of a path that led from a certain rock. If the rock was still standing, if the path still existed. By now she was certain that the map was old, very, very old. The land had changed over the years. She could only press on and pray it had not changed more than she could recognize.

  At least the rock was there. She halted to peer at it. Yes, she was sure this was the one. It had the vague outline of a hawk. There was no longer any sign of a path, but if she went to the right, there was footing through a patch of upraised rock spikes. She prayed she was on the correct path.

  By now the baying of dogs carried to her ears. The copter was overhead more often, so that she could only advance in short rushes where there was cover as the aircraft swung away. But the depression she followed brought her to the next sign, a cave mouth she passed quickly. She halted for a moment in shadow to listen. The dogs must be a scant hour behind her now. Far less as the crow flew, but with the mountains as they were, only a crow could travel directly. Dark was closing in and the watcher overhead was departing.

  She gazed at her map in despair. There were still some miles to go. She sank to the ground, her shoulders aching, her legs leaden. She was hungry. She must rest, eat, and hope for a miracle. She ate and drank swiftly and lay down wrapped in the soft hand-woven blanket that had been in the pack.

  For a couple of hours she slept heavily, then something caused her to wake with a start. She sat up to gaze about her. Bright as the last days had been, the nights had clouded over with each dusk. Now above her the stars shone out.

  For a moment she bowed her head. The gods were kind to their daughter. Now she had light for her feet: the moonlight would make a path she could follow. She must go more slowly, the shadows could be treacherous, but she could walk—and walk she would. She gathered her pack onto still-weary shoulders. Slowly she trudged down the smoother way that lay before her. This way, or so the map claimed. If she could put enough distance between her and those who followed, she might reach sanctuary before they could take her. She had no idea what she would find at the end of the road. Only that Far Traveler had been certain that, once there, she could not be followed.

  She walked the moon down, then rested until faint light began to glow in the sky. Then she stood and walked again, more swiftly now, pushing herself, feeling the strength drain from her body. It no longer mattered. She would reach sanctuary and rest, or she would be taken. Either way, her growing exhaustion was of no account. She set her teeth and thrust herself onward grimly.

  The water bottle at her belt was all but empty. She kept herself to small sips. She brought out the map one last time—yes, here. She had almost reached the place. She stood in slumped weariness as she stared at the trail ahead. Her eyes teared. That—that was her sanctuary?

  Ahead, the path narrowed to nothing at the edge of a cliff. Two great rocks stood sentinel before the drop. Across them another had fallen, like the lintel of a doorway to thin air.

  A trickle of water ran over the cliff face where she stood. As one in a dream, she rinsed her water bottle, drank, and refilled it, hooking it back to her belt. A fatalism possessed her. It was ended, she had beaten them all to reach her sanctuary—and for what? For a place to die? Far below she could hear the roaring of the river. Then from behind a ridge the copter swooped. She could see a triumphant face staring out at her as it swung past.

  Warrior fury rose to possess her now. Once her people had been the rulers of the land. The Nemunuh, the enemy people. Was she now to be taken like a rat in a trap—she, daughter of the people, child of a line who had tamed the horse and ridden all the plain? Far Traveler would not have sent her here to die. This was a thing of medicine, a path of power. She would trust the power. She rose and stretched almost casually; then like a sprinter she hurtled forward, pack bouncing. Within the hovering machine, triumph turned to horror. The Social Services woman shrieked wildly.

  “Stop her, stop her!”

  Eleeri reached the rock guardians and, still running with all her fading strength, plunged through. A flash of chill, a flare of light, and she was still running, but on green, ankle-high grass. She halted, stared wildly about her, and then her legs gave way and she sprawled onto soft turf. Behind her was nothing: no rocks, and mountains only far into the distance. The air was sweet with bird song and the sc
ent of growing things.

  Silently she bowed her head. She had been right to trust. Here she would rest, and later she would travel toward the mountains. With a deep feeling of contentedness, she laid out her food and unhooked her water bottle. Silently, as she feasted, she thanked the gone-before ones for their mercy, and for their road.

  Above the mountains the helicopter had turned for town again. In it the woman from Social Services was busy with her excuses. She’d been right, the girl was suicidal, it had been correct to pursue her. No doubt they would find the body when the river chose to deliver it downstream. If not, well, it wasn’t important. There were other files, other people to be seen to.

  The man who rode with her was silent. He knew what he’d seen. He also knew better than to speak of it. But in his mind and to the end of his time he retained the memory of a green land, only a brief flash, but it would keep him wondering as long as his life lasted. There had been something about the place, something that had called him. Still, he would say nothing. If the child had escaped, what was it to him? Good luck to her.

  2

  A bird was singing loudly somewhere close by as Eleeri sat up. Her eyes were busy about this new land. Legend had it that there was no going back, that no one who walked the road of the gone-before ones ever returned. She shrugged. She could get killed just as easily back there as here. At least here there was no welfare and her aunt and uncle couldn’t reach her. She’d be careful, though. There might be worse things than those that had sent her running. She folded her blanket, putting everything but some food back in the pack tidily. Then she began to walk as she ate.

  The mountains drew her as they loomed in the distance. By her calculation it was some twenty miles before she would strike the foothills. She’d skirt them and continue east; there was something in that direction which seemed to draw her. She tramped cheerfully, eyes and ears alert. The land appeared deserted. It was strange: so fertile, so rich, yet without people or homes. She scanned the grass. Perhaps this area was like the plains her kind had roamed once. Perhaps there were other tribes here who would challenge her.

  She rested and ate at sunhigh, then moved on. Slowly out of the heat haze, buildings began to appear. They were a little off to her right and she veered away, moving more slowly. She could hear no sounds. Workers usually made noise, but here there was only silence. She circled cautiously, in no hurry; this was all unknown territory—wise to be watchful. As she moved in toward the clump of buildings, however, she could see that they must be abandoned. Here and there a roof had fallen in; signs of fire showed. Finally she allowed her feet to drift up to where the main door had once kept out all intruders.

  She slipped inside like a shadow, eyes flickering about. Her skin crawled. Something bad had happened here, and that not so very long ago. The wood still smelled of fire. She touched it, studying the black smudge that fouled her fingertips. She rubbed them together and sniffed. Whatever had happened here had occurred within the last year.

  A wind shift brought a ranker scent to her twitching nostrils. She knew that one. It was the stink of meat close to bones. She shivered and moved quietly in that direction. Better to know what it was she faced here.

  Her nose led her toward stairs that hung fire-blackened from stone supports. She padded upward, careful to test each step. Here was not the place to break bones.

  In the largest room above she found the source of the stench and bit back a cry of horror. They’d been a family once. Now they were just bones clothed with rags of flesh, tatters of once-good clothing. From the way they lay and what she could see of clothing and bones, there’d been parents and three small children. Even for the children there’d been no mercy from whomever had struck here.

  Now that she was face-to-face with the remains, she could better estimate the age of the destruction. Perhaps six months, more than four or five for sure. Was this an everyday occurrence here, or was the land at war? Eleeri padded lightly from room to room. In each she found death or signs that invaders had searched. This may have been a prosperous place once. She’d found enough signs to know that the occupants had been decently dressed, well housed, with several servants and a dozen workers.

  By then her hunt had taken her through the outbuildings as well. All had died, servants with masters; but there were no animal bones. Nor could she find, on casual search, any signs of valuables. The place had been thoroughly looted, and from the signs she suspected it had been before the bodies had cooled.

  She was eager now to be on her way. It might go ill for her to be found by those who had done this. Pack bouncing, she trotted briskly away from the roofless hold. She traveled far into dusk, halting only when it was too dark to see. She made no fire; a cold camp was better than an attack in the night.

  By daylight she was on her way again. The land was changing as she walked. At first there were only isolated clumps of brush, but gradually they merged into large areas that clothed the flanks of the hills before her. Large trees formed outcrops, islands in the brush and grass. Eleeri felt more comfortable with cover available.

  At midday she ducked into a patch of trees and found a small stream. Here she washed, lit her fire using dry wood, and settled to eat. Once the meal was ended, she checked her supplies. Plenty of tea, powdered milk, and salt remained, but most of the solid food was gone. She must find a place she could camp for a longer period and hunt. Meat must be dried or smoked, greens gathered, and a horse found.

  She sighed for want of a horse; all her life there’d been horses. All but the period with her aunt and uncle, when they’d refused to allow her one. A horse, a horse, her kingdom for a horse. She giggled softly at the words. She didn’t have a realm, but if she did, she might well give it up for a really good horse.

  A week later she was still skirting the mountains, but they had turned in a curve to the east, so it was now in that direction she traveled. Several times more she had found homesteads and searched. The results left her wary indeed. No two places had been destroyed at the same time. It meant that either war swept often over this land or there were some exceptionally efficient and unpleasant bandit bands out here somewhere.

  From the evidence in one of the homes she knew that the attackers had played the same games with women as that sort did in the world she had left. If she fell into their hands with not even a common language to plead in, events would be probably lethal. She reached up a hand to touch her bow. She would not be taken easily. Those who tried would pay.

  By now she was well east and, from the strong breeze, she knew she was traveling toward a sea. She crested a small hill to face that wind. It blew salt air in her nostrils, a promise of fish, driftwood fires, and salt to replenish her small supply. All these were hers in another day. She stood, staring out over the gray waters, wondering who sailed them and in what sort of ships. She had always been self-sufficient, but always before she had had her parents or her great-grandfather to fall back on. Now she was alone, and while it did not frighten her, she wished for company. A horse, Eleeri thought wistfully for the hundredth time. A horse would be wonderful.

  She laughed to herself. She was gaining an insight into her ancestors. This must have been how they had once felt, with all the plains spread before them and no way to travel from water source to water source except by foot. Here there was water enough. But she moved so slowly it was as if she were an ant crawling across the face of the land. With a horse she could travel more swiftly, hunt more easily, run from danger faster. She could talk to the horse, care for it, revel in the company of a friend.

  She looked ahead thoughtfully. Farther on the mountains seemed to close in towards the shore. They could prevent her continuing northeast. Yet that was the way she was drawn. She shrugged. She would travel in her preferred direction so long as she was able. She did not wish to take to the higher mountains above the foothills she now traversed. Those mountain heights had a strange look to them. The land there looked almost as if it had been wrung out and dried that way.<
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  She had continued to follow the seashore and was not surprised to see a river flowing into the salt water ahead. Rivers, of their nature, flowed seaward. Her head jerked up. People, of their nature, settled in such places. She slunk through cover and turned to follow upriver. Maybe here in this isolated place she might find those still living? She headed deeper into the mountains with every step. It contented her. Of plains blood she might be, but she was mountain-born. Here was her natural home.

  A day later she stood on the riverbank, ears alert, eyes watchful. At her feet hoofprints traveled before her, three horses carrying heavy loads, but not so heavy as to indicate double-riding. So, three men, all large and probably strong. There were no signs that others had come this way in a long time. This trio were either rovers or traders traveling to some settlement they knew upriver. But somehow she had the feeling they had not ridden this way to trade. She swung pack to shoulder, trotting swiftly but with ears alert for alien sounds. They came, a confused shouting followed by a man’s scream. A horse whinnied as Eleeri broke into a run. She halted within the edge of cover, staring at the scene below.

  There was a hollow here, like a sort of shallow dish. Within it were the walls of a small hold and a tiny patch of growing grain. Berry bushes showed bright fruit in a line along one side of the walls. A flowering vine climbed another. But part of the sheltering wall was broken down. Smoke had stained the roof. The violence had reached here, too, but perhaps the people had returned to guide their home into a second, weaker flowering.

  Below her a man lay sprawled. Beside him a scruffy pony grazed unconcerned. Her gaze swept on to where one man battled two more. Swords flashed in the weak sunlight and even as she watched, the man on foot staggered and fell.