The Key of the Keplian

by Andre Norton

  They swerved uphill, following a faint trail in the direction of the canyon. Linking by mind-touch, Tharna felt a pale echo of the ecstasy of Light the rider had brought her son. She wondered sadly if this pleasure was felt by those who carried the Dark ones. If so, then she could better understand their acceptance. Denied by the Light, they had chosen to still be greater than they were alone. She followed her son, hooves dully sounding on the rocky path. Next time it would be she who carried her kin-sister, who shared the union of Light. But she would be generous. She felt a gentle amusement at that. Yes, she would allow her son to carry a rider—sometimes.

  They reached the entrance to the canyon, the rasti long since left behind. Ahead the runes flamed brighter than she had ever seen before. Higher and higher until they were as torches that lit even the day. The blue-green changed slowly to the golden shade shot with silver that was the mist of the lower reaches. In it Eleeri could feel a gentle welcome, a tugging. She shrugged it off. Her pony had carried her, given all he had. What kind of rider would she be to leave him neglected, lathered, still saddled and bridled? She dropped from Hylan, turning to lay her head against his shoulder for a moment. Her hand reached out to pull the mare in so that they stood together.

  “I know what you did.”

  Tharna stirred. *He did no more than I would have done. Next time I will carry you. I am your battle-sister; it is right.*

  Eleeri felt the faint note of questioning. She hastened to send reassurance, then love. “Next time, kin-sister. You shall both bear me as you choose. Who would be borne by a horse when they could have the greater?”

  This close she could feel both thinking. The idea drifted through the three as they leaned together, touching. Maybe they had been right. Perhaps it had been for this that the Great Ones had created Keplian. Eleeri pulled herself away briskly then. “The pony—I have to see to him,” she explained to the soft complaint. Agreement came reluctantly. Her friends followed as she tended the small leg-weary animal. As she worked, they kept up an amused mind-send of comment. Finally the woman found the jests at the uncaring beast’s expense a little too much. She turned to face them, the look in her eyes serious.

  “Listen to me. I know he is not Keplian. I know he has no mind-speech, no great brains, and not the speed or beauty of either of you. But he does his best always. He would have died, running to save me out there today. I value his gentleness, his hard work, and his honesty. It does not mean I value my friends any the less.” She fixed them with a stare and waited.

  There was a long period of silence. The pony moved away to graze. Hylan’s head came up.

  *You are right. You value him for what he is, as you have always valued us. We are more, but—*

  His dam picked up the words. *But one does not ignore the moss just because the grass is juicy. Both are edible and of value to one who hungers.*

  The woman nodded. “Just so. Now, would you keep what we have done from the rest of our friends here?”

  The Keplians consulted, noses touched. Tharna turned great eyes on her friend. *Let them see; let them know. What have we to be ashamed about? If I carry my kin-sister, it is no more than my wish and hers.* Her head lifted, neck arching proudly. *I ask the permission of no one; nor does my son, who is lord here to them. Let any see. We care not!*

  Eleeri knew the step they took then as she vaulted lightly to the mare’s sleek back. In full view of all those who lifted amazed heads, she clung as Tharna whipped into her floating gallop down the canyon’s length. As they approached the mist, it seemed to shiver, blazing in golden shimmerings that beckoned. The mare shied away, circling to race back down the grass. Eleeri bent to her neck, crooning the ancient words that tied rider and mount. Tharna did not understand the speech of the Nemunuh, but the love behind the words, the caring and affection, those she understood fully.

  Two minds reached out, touched, clung closer than ever before. This—this was destined. Together they gloried. Eleeri could feel Tharna’s great heart pumping, joy in the speed of her powerful legs; she was the mare, the mare was her. Tharna, too, explored, it was as if her mind expanded. She had never understood the concept of far time. Now she did. She saw possible futures laid out before her. All the misty worlds that could be if—she leaned into them, peering, striving to discover. She realized the relative frailty of her companion. Eleeri must store food for winter, make herself coverings against the chill. She could not travel as swiftly as a Keplian. That was why she so valued the pony. Ah! That she now understood.

  She saw their differences, and their likeness. Felt friendship course warm through both. Slowly as she halted, a picture formed which explained much to her. A human was frail in comparison to Keplians, Gray Ones, even the beasts. Therefore they must always think of tomorrow. They must make weapons, change the land they lived in to fit them so they could survive. Since they could not live naked and shelterless, they must find or make shelter, stitch clothing, store food for the places, the times when there was none close at hand.

  Tharna felt strange, as if her mind were expanding, filling with new thoughts and ideas. Whole chains of logic built up and broke to re-form anew in different patterns. She stood, head hanging, a long slow shivering rippling along her body as the bonding continued.

  Hylan nosed her gently. *Is all well with you?*

  She roused herself, pulled back a little. *It is well, my son. So many new things, so much to think over.*

  Eleeri’s laughter tickled both Keplian minds. “I, too, have learned a few things I never considered. Your mind is treasure, kin-sister.”

  The truth of that touched them all for a moment. But the emotion was becoming too strong. The woman disengaged herself, sliding from the broad back. She trotted away across the grass toward the ancient keep. She was starving, and thirsty. She would eat, drink, and sleep on the day’s events. Behind her the Keplian knew what she would do. Without discussion, they moved away to drink and graze.

  That night Eleeri slept the sleep of the dead. The day had been more than exhausting. The full sharing with Tharna had drained her until she could barely remain awake long enough to cool her throat, fill her empty belly. She fell then into a sleep so deep that she lay motionless, utterly limp within her bedding.

  Into that sleep the man came walking. Tall and lean, eyes the gray-green hue, with black hair. The strong planes of his face denied the gentler molding of his mouth, matched the determined jut of chin. He was worn thin and the pallor of his skin betrayed a captivity, but pride still showed in the set of his head, in the litheness with which he yet moved.

  About Eleeri’s throat the Keplian pendant flared to life. In her sleep her fingers clutched at it. His mouth opened to speak and she strained to hear. Nothing. He was speaking, but she could hear no sound. It was as if a thick pane of glass stood between them, walling off all he wished to say. But she came from a people to whom the hands could speak as eloquently. Without her willing it, her fingers lifted and signed. For an instant, blue-green fire hung in the air, and his fingers rose to trace the rune. The fire deepened.

  Sound came then, so faint she must strain to hear, each word seeming to drain him. Quickly she signed that he should use his hands instead, remembering the sign language Cynan had taught her. He nodded, beginning quickly so that she understood they might not have long before what they did was noticed. She knew his name, but hesitated to give her own. Names had power in this place of dreaming, perhaps even more so than in waking life. He saw her thought and nodded. Eleeri grinned then. A name common enough to catch her attention, but no name of hers, that she would give.

  She touched her breast. “Tsukup.” It was the Nemunuh word for an experienced warrior. One who had learned wisdom where the arrow flew. It was a word that might draw her, but never too strongly, since it was only of her people, not of her. Then she stared at him until his eyes rose to meet hers. Silently she shaped his name with her lips. He started back, a question showing clear. She began to sign, her hands flowing in gracef
ul dance. Ah, he was nodding again. He grasped that she had learned of him from his sister. Gradually, with much signing, they were able to exchange some information.

  But all the time the sign hanging before them faded. Suddenly it was gone, and even as it faded, so did Romar. His last look was one of despair. He might have been asking himself what good they had done, save to hold out a hope that would die before the Dark.

  Eleeri came blinking awake in her bedding. She sat up cross-legged to ponder. Now she knew more of Romar. His limning had showed a boy, but it had been no boy she fronted this night. A man, a warrior had faced her. The boy had shown a sensitivity, an imagination in the lines of his face. This one might yet have those, but if so, they were deep buried.

  She counted over the points he had been able to tell. He was indeed captive in the Dark Tower, but who or what his captor, he could not say. He was used as a—the only word she could think of was power-line. Using Romar’s strength, the captor fed his will to the Gray Ones and those Keplian males who served it. Recently the drain had become far greater; Romar was failing as his strength was pulled from him to serve evil purposes. If he was not soon freed, there would be no more than a brainless husk remaining. The desperation he felt had come across to her strongly, as had the despair.

  She considered carefully. All her original reasoning still applied. More so now that she knew more. From hints she had received, she could guess that Mayrin, too, would be of use to the thing. Brother and sister could be linked to be far more than either was alone. But Eleeri could not be so used. She was not of Romar’s kin or blood, not even of this land. She had some of what they called the power here. But somehow she felt it was different, that the tower could not turn it against her. She marched to the beat of a different war drum. Her songs were not the songs of this place, but of another. Of a people tied to a different land, to other powers.

  Best she move carefully in this. Allow the enemy no crack in which to slip a lever. She would learn what she could. Tharna had been able to tell her somewhat of the powers. She would continue to visit the keep also. Mayrin had some of the minor gift. She could tell more and Eleeri would learn. Then, when Eleeri was ready, she would try to call Romar. Two heads were better than one. With greater knowledge and some preparation, there might be a way they could free him.

  11

  But she was not ready when Romar intruded on her dreams once more. His face was thinner, and his eyes weary. She watched as his fingers wove back and forth, paid attention to his words. Why did he waste strength so? Then she saw past the warrior who warned her of dangerous paths, to the fearful man within. He had been isolated, bereft of friends and family. He came to her out of simple loneliness, came to the only one he could reach to share with. In turn, her hands flashed in the sign language they were mutually building.

  “The Gray Ones fear you,” Romar signed.

  “That we have ensured. But what of your master? Does he recognize our enmity?”

  Romar nodded slowly. That which used him did indeed know something opposed it. As yet it was not greatly disturbed. It was confident in its own power and strength. The deaths of the Gray Ones were minor. There were always more.

  Eleeri grinned. “One day there may not be. We’ll see if we can’t thin their numbers to where that thing does start to worry.”

  “Well enough, so long as you do not cause too much notice to be taken. Better an enemy secure in its own mind.”

  To that she nodded. Warrior sense. She would keep a balance, kill as many of the enemy as possible without alarming the leader too greatly. The talk turned to other things. Romar was eager to hear of his keep and kin.

  “You have not told them?”

  “It seemed unwise.”

  He bit his lip saying nothing.

  “Be assured that if danger rises, I will ride to warn them. They have become my friends. It is just that—” she broke off, shrugging.

  “That you fear Mayrin’s reaction. You believe she will demand you storm the tower for me and at once, unprepared?”

  “Yes,” Eleeri admitted.

  Romar’s head bowed a little as he considered that. “You are probably right. Keep your counsel, then, but do not forsake me, I beg of you.” The last words were forced out through stiff lips and the woman was touched, although she allowed nothing to show.

  “I have no intention of that. I pause to gather knowledge and test the gifts I have. Already we can talk longer and more easily. This may be of aid when we come to free you. Gather your own strength and wait. The time of your freedom may not be far from you.”

  Before them the sign faded into nothingness, and Romar with it. Eleeri sat in her bedding, thinking hard.

  She hoped he could last out. It would be folly to attack before they knew more about the tower. To be truthful, even then she was not sure she wished to risk all she had. Romar drew her strangely, but he was not kin for whom she must shed blood. She shook her head. Captivity wore hard on him, that was plain. She could still speak to him whenever he came. That much she could and would do. She lay back again and allowed herself to relax. Sleep claimed her once more, a restful dreamless drowse so that she woke refreshed and eager to hunt.

  That night she slept peacefully, but the next night and the next, Romar was there. Gradually she came to know him until at length he was able to speak of his deeper fears. Of his pain and humiliation.

  “It is as I had always imagined rape to be. An invasion not of body alone, but a tearing at the spirit. Each time it uses my power, I retreat deep within myself, yet each time the place I have free grows smaller. One day it will wrench from me all that I am and there will be nothing left but a shell that walks and talks in my image.”

  Eleeri heard the bitter fear that edged the words. Without thinking, she responded. Let him know that he was not alone in his fears; she, too, had been abused and cowered beneath that terror. She spoke slowly of her aunt and uncle. Of their hatred for her blood and race.

  Romar was caught by her tale. “Then you are different in the world you left?”

  “So they counted me. But I am human, as were my people. They fought for their land, to keep the way of life they valued. No more than that.” Her hand movements slowed. “Too much hate; always there is hate. Why cannot people live in peace? Why must they always covet what others have?”

  A tired smile broke over the face of the man. “Because they are people. I sometimes think the urge to own and take what you do not is inbuilt in us all. A growth upon the animal need to hold territory.” He glanced at their sign. “Tomorrow night let us debate more of this. If naught else, it takes my mind from my own fears.” He was gone then, leaving Eleeri to her own dreaming. Two nights later, she was able to reach him once more. She had spent the time considering. Now she signed busily.

  “How were you taken?”

  “I do not know, I was struck on the head and remember little. I was hunting. I recall a campsite, lying down to sleep; then I was where I am now. I think perhaps I was taken as I slept. I did not know another had begun to use the tower. Therefore I slept no great distance away.” He shrugged. “It was folly. But I had hunted well and my horse was very weary. I camped to allow him time to recover. For that, both of us paid.”

  Her hands went out to him as her fingers flicked through the signs. “Do not blame yourself. But what of the tower? Can you tell me more? What of he who uses it?”

  Romar eyed her. “It is a place of very great power from the Dark. It seems to call to those of its kind who are lesser and would be more. They lose and are destroyed, but always there seems to be another. But I am called, dream well.” He was gone and she slept more deeply.

  Nights came and went after that. Sometimes they brought Romar and together they pondered philosophical questions, shared lives, and even small jokes as friendship grew. She knew her company was enabling him to hold on with more strength. Perhaps some of her own vitality was leaching across the barrier to replenish his own store. Whatever it was, he ha
d come to appear less worn as the nights of comradeship passed. By now they were as old friends, each comfortable with the other.

  Yet still Eleeri wavered. She knew this friendship had a claim upon her now. But so, too, did the older friendship with Tharna and Hylan. Was she to risk them, perhaps even those others who shared their home? The Dark Tower was feared by even the evil that served it. How much more, then, should those of the Light stand back from combat?

  Yet in her heart she knew what held her back. It was fear, quite simply—not of dying, but of losing all she had found here. The more she put the knowledge from her, the more it returned to nag at the fringes of her mind. At length she made a decision. She would wait. Once, long ago, she had heard some joke about that sort of decision. That put off, either it would grow to where something must be done, or the problem would solve itself. With that decided, she was more relaxed with Romar when he came again. She did not know he, too, had seen the battle and understood it.

  He would not demand of her more than she could give. He had long since realized that she was one who walked her own path. To urge her against her own wishes would only be to harden her mind against the thing he asked. Nor had he any rights in this. She was not even of his race, let alone his kin.

  He studied her as they talked. She was beautiful—oh, not by some standards, but he was not of a kind which lusted after a plump and witless prettiness. He admired the swift litheness of her movements, the slender body, pride in every line. His maleness was not challenged to anger by her weapons skill. She was one to guard a man’s back, to stand as an equal in an uneasy land. With her a man could be himself, not watching his tongue for fear of alarming a soft frail female.