by Andre Norton
At first he had been drawn to her by a terrible need for some kind of companionship. Now it was more. There might be for him no tomorrow, no future, but if there were, then he wished to spend it with her. Still he allowed nothing to show, neither desire nor understanding. He would make it no harder for her than she was already making it for herself. He watched as she battled with her own fears. Watched her waver between wishing to storm the tower to his aid, and fearing she would lose all she had won in this new land.
Then the power began to draw more strongly again upon him so that for many nights he must stand alone. Eleeri guessed the reason he did not walk her dreams. Outside the canyon the Gray Ones bayed the hunt more often. The rasti seemed to grow in ferocity so that for some time she left them in peace. A warrior did not fight against foolish odds. But her heart burned to ignore the teachings of a lifetime. She soothed herself often, reminding herself of Far Traveler’s tales. So many had been warnings against the impetuousness of youth. But still she longed to see the face of one who had grown to be friend. To share her mind’s thoughts, to share her— No. A warrior did not fight against foolish odds. As for her heart, let it be kept for one with a better chance of life.
In her distress of mind, she roamed wider than ever before. Once she met a scout, at least so she believed him, though he said nothing of his reasons for being in the Keplian lands. She spoke with him politely before moving on. Something moved in his eyes and she was wary, keeping the pony beyond reach of any hand weapon. Tharna joined her a short time later.
*He follows.*
Eleeri swore irritably. “I don’t like this. What’s the man after?”
*He hunts.* Minds shared the scent of a predator on the trail. Eleeri turned over possibilities as they trotted on. Her eyes scanned the terrain they had been traversing as the man had appeared. Then she understood. Wordlessly she conveyed it to her friend. The mare faltered in her smooth gait as she, too, eyed the land and its contours.
*He saw us together. He will believe us both, then, of the Dark.*
“So I think. The question is, do we attempt to lose him or will he attack?”
A mental shrug was her only answer. The woman nodded. The mare was right. They could only wait and see. One thing she decided: she would not allow them to be trailed too far in the direction of the canyon. If others found them there, they, too, might leap to conclusions. That she would not risk.
She became aware that Tharna was distressed by the human’s assumption that the mare was of the Dark. Eleeri reached out to stroke the rough mane, to scratch gently at the base of the small erect ears.
“It isn’t your fault, kin-sister. We are in Keplian lands and not so far from the tower. He would have assumed I was of the Dark even if he had not seen us together. He knows me not; my clothing is not of the kind his people wear.” She glanced down at the hackamore she used to guide the sturdy dun. “Even my bridle is not of their kind. I remade this into one I preferred, and close as we were, he could see the differences. Let him hunt; we will lose him quickly.”
But in that she proved wrong. Whatever else the man might be, he was a tracker. He was falling back as the dusk deepened, but still he clung grimly to their trail.
“Best we do not return?”
Unspoken agreement.
Eleeri swung the pony away from their homeward trail to move instead parallel to the stream. Better not to approach their ford, either. The tracker might see enough to follow that across the stream and into the hills. She wavered, wanting to drift back in to cover and slay him as he passed. The man was a danger to all she held dear. If he followed them to the canyon, he would doubtless return with others to kill them all. Yet she was unwilling to kill him out of hand. They fought on the same side in this battle. Medicine could turn against one who killed his own.
*He still follows,* Tharna observed.
Eleeri shared her indecision. Perhaps if they continued they could make a wide circle around the Keplian lands, lose this one in the rougher foothills far to the southeast. That was if he would follow them on a trail for so many days. But if he would, then they might lose him without the need to slay. On that last they were in accord. They dropped to a steady walk, leaving clearer signs as they moved on. Let him trail them now—it was their wish.
That he did for two more days. But on the third night he seemed to have lost the trail. Woman and mare halted on a small hill to study their back trail.
“No sign of him. The last I saw was last night’s fire.”
*Do you think we’ve lost him, kin-sister?*
Eleeri looked doubtful. “There’s no reason we should have. He’s followed us through more difficult tracking than this. Why should he lose us now?”
*Perhaps he has wearied of following?*
“Maybe, but I have an unpleasant feeling there’s more to it. I think I’d like to backtrack.”
*You think he’s run into trouble. Surely we would have heard or seen something.* Eleeri considered as she recalled the night. The wind had shifted soon after dark so that it blew from them to their follower. It had increased until by moonhigh it had been blowing hard enough to take any sounds away from them with ease. By dawn it had fallen to a light breeze, but if there had been an attack on the man around the middle night . . .
*Is it for us to seek him out? He walks these lands by his own will. He chose to hunt us both.*
“I know that, but I’m curious.”
Her friend heaved a loud sigh, then turned to retrace their tracks. With a grin, Eleeri heeled the pony up with her again. Tharna was just as curious; she’d never say so, but she was as interested in reasons as her kin-sister. They moved cautiously, watching any cover they neared for signs any hid within.
Ahead lay the larger patch of taller trees in which their hunter had stopped the previous night. Both halted abruptly as the breeze switched directions. To their noses came the stink of blood, death, and Gray Ones.
“So now we know. Your nose is keener. Are any still there?”
*None living.* They moved forward slowly, both alert to danger.
Within the grove the scent became stronger. Eleeri held her nose. “What is that smell? It can’t be bodies; if the man is dead, it was only last night it happened.”
The mare fiddle-footed nervously. *It stinks now of power. Be wary.* They slid closer, eyes flicking from side to side. To their surprise, the grove was hollow, a thick triple circle of trees about an inner clearing.
*I knew not that this was here, kin-sister. It is on the edge of our lands, but I rarely traveled this way.*
The woman shrugged. “It feels like power, but nothing dangerous?” Silently Tharna sent doubt. Many things in this ancient land felt safe—to prove as deadly as any obvious danger. Eleeri moved closer to the bodies. She counted thoughtfully. Whoever their hunter, he had been a fighter. He lay sprawled in the clearing; around him four Gray Ones lay. Somehow she had no wish to go toward them. There was still no feeling of danger, but something about the way the bodies lay was ringing alarm bells.
She stared at them as Tharna fidgeted. About them the turf in the clearing was short, almost groomed. The trees, then? She studied them. Interesting that it was a triple circle. Perhaps this place had once been some kind of temple.
*I smell power, but no danger as yet. Let us remain still and think.* Eleeri’s eyes went back to the five bodies and it was then that she realized what had troubled her about them.
Although the grass was a bare inch high, the figures lying here seemed to be half hidden within it. She moved to one side; from a new perspective the view was the same. Tharna, too, stared as the idea was passed. Eleeri stepped forward delicately to pick up the hunter’s sword. A soft grinding made her jerk upright. On the west side of the clearing something they had taken to be a boulder was slowly unfolding. It turned dim black eyes on them.
“Mine!” A rusty voice proclaimed. “Not take mine.”
The woman bowed. Politeness cost nothing, and here it could save li
ves. As she straightened once more, her eye was caught by the nearest body. Surely it had slipped deeper into the grass? Understanding came. A temple of sorts, yes, a place that the dead might find honorable burial in a self-maintaining system.
She bowed again, more deeply. “Guardian of the Dead, we came only to retrieve the personal possessions of this one. We seek nothing else. Will you give them to us, then allow us to depart?”
*Never mind those bits and pieces. Let’s just leave,* Tharna sent. Eleeri shook her head slightly at her friend. The thing that faced them might take it amiss if it believed they had come for the wrong reasons.
The grating voice came slowly. “Give gift.”
Hoping she had understood that, Eleeri reached for the bundle tied to her saddlebow. It was second nature to her to hunt as they rode, even with one who pursued behind them. Three of the plains leapers hung there on a plaited grass thong. These she carefully laid out on the grass before the guardian.
“These three for the possessions of this one and free passage,” she offered.
The leapers were already sinking into the grass, so small they could be utilized at once. The dim black eyes closed and the thing began to curl into boulder-likeness again.
“I guess that means we’ve made a bargain.”
The mare snorted softly. She turned toward open land, the pony following obediently. Eleeri bent to gather the hunter’s sword and saddlebags. She wondered what had happened to his horse; the poor thing was probably meat in Gray Ones’ bellies by now. Still, it was odd none of the wolf-ones had plundered the dead already. An unpleasant thought crossed her mind. Maybe the guardian had other defenses. It had been very clear that she should not take anything without a fair exchange. She smothered a chuckle. It was possible the Gray Ones had tried that and got the worst of the bargain.
She headed for the gap through the circle of trees and turned to take one last look. By now the bodies were almost gone. Her pace suddenly quickened and she all but thrust Tharna from the grove. She continued to urge haste until they were well away from the dense growth.
The mare protested, *Why are we hurrying now? We’re away and free.*
“I know, but a few points occurred to me.”
*Such as—*
“Such as the bodies in that clearing were vanishing almost as we watched. But only the bodies of the Gray Ones. I’m sure the hunter’s body wasn’t disappearing nearly as fast and it seemed to be straightening, almost as if it were being properly laid out.”
Tharna looked baffled. *I do not understand. Why do these things bother you?*
“Because they lead to a couple of conclusions. One: If the Gray Ones’ bodies vanish that fast, it is possible they were not the ones who killed the hunter. This is supported by a fact. They appeared to have no injuries. If they had fought him and been slain, surely they’d have wounds. Two: The thing in here demanded a gift before it allowed us to leave. I was able to pay, what if I hadn’t been? Just how capable would it have been of punishing us?”
The Keplian was nodding by now. *You believe the Gray Ones tried to loot the bodies and leave,* she sent quietly. *You think the Guardian of the Dead killed them.*
“I have no proof, but that’s what I think. I also think that grove would be a good place to steer clear of in the future—unless we have a few dead bodies we don’t happen to want.” She swung into the saddle. “Let’s get out of here. I’m tired, dirty, and hungry. If we move fast, we can be home by dark, with luck.”
They held to a brisk canter toward the mountains. During much of the hunt they had traveled in a wide curve, which they now cut across. By nightfall, they were leg-weary but safe within the canyon. Eleeri lit a candle and opened the saddlebags she had retrieved from the grove. As she ate and drank, Tharna and Hylan crowded in to see what she uncovered within the supple leather.
Eleeri paused to take another bite of wheatcake. Then she tumbled the contents across the floor. There was little of interest, just the usual small odds and ends carried by any traveler. Nowhere could she find a name or information. But this was not like home, where every pocket carried papers, every bag identification. She turned the sword over in her hands. It was a good plain weapon, well cared for but never of great value.
She looked up at her friends. “What should I do with this?”
Hylan was practical. *There is nothing to say who this one was. He could even have been of the Dark. Pass all before the gate runes closely. If they give no warning, save the possessions. If fighting comes, one may need them. But I would speak of the human to no one, lest others come seeking more of you. He is dead and guardian-buried. Let him lie.*
It was a long speech for the stallion, but before he ended, both listeners were nodding agreement. The runes passed the rescued gear as innocent of evil. It was stowed away. Sooner or later it would be of use.
Eleeri retired to her bedding, her mind still mulling over the recent events. One thing she had not mentioned to her friends still troubled her. She was sure the hunter had been of Mayrin and Jerrany’s race. His face, too, had been thin with strong cheekbones, his body lean in the rough clothing. The wide-open eyes had been the gray of slate, and the hair black. For one horrified moment as she first saw him, her heart had slowed, then raced in fear. He had looked so like Romar. As she looked again, she had seen it was merely the likeness of kind, not kin. But that spasm of fear had chilled her. Even now as she recalled it, she shivered.
Her mind turned over this knowledge. Romar wasn’t kin to her. She owed him no kinswoman’s duty. But he had become a friend—and more?
She had known when she looked upon the dead hunter’s face that she loved Romar. Through the long nights of talking, of sharing hopes, beliefs, and dreams, she had grown to feel for him. But was that sufficient for her to risk all she was in an effort to free him? Slowly she decided it was.
She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the stone ceiling. This new land had given her so much, perhaps now it would give her love. Her thoughts wandered to Far Traveler, who had shown her the path. She had taken it knowing that she could never return. Yet so far she had held back from a full commitment.
Gradually she made her decisions. She would need power to free Romar, help from others. The help was easy. Mayrin and Jerrany would aid as soon as she spoke of Romar’s captivity and danger. It was time and past time she shared all she knew of that with them. But the power . . .
Still, the powers here had answered her in minor ways. She shook herself free of the blankets, walking steadily down toward the entrance to the canyon. There she placed her hand flat against the runes.
“I am not of your kind,” she said slowly, thinking as she spoke. “But I go to do battle against the evils you guard us from. I am not of your blood, but I stand with those who are against the Dark. I am not of your world, but I choose to be now, to remain for good or ill as it befalls me.”
She waited, watching as the runes showed a little more clearly. Their light grew, gathering as a soft mist sheening against the dark rock walls. Her fingers traced the signs of ward and guard.
“Show me what I should do.”
The answer came in a blaze of light so great she shut her eyes against the flame. Power seemed to pool about her, to gather like a shawl across her shoulders, to drip jewellike from her hands. Then the light shifted. Before her a great arrow stretched down the canyon. It met the golden mist and a path opened. Eleeri bowed her head. A question asked—and answered. She would follow the path the power showed. She began to walk toward the mist.
12
From either side of her Tharna and Hylan came then, to walk with her. From their minds she received no fear, only a growing sense of excitement and anticipation. No fear, only the belief that beyond hope they were about to receive a greatly longed-for gift. They reached the edge of the mist and paced slowly down the path the power had carved from it. Deeper and deeper they plunged. Behind them there was no sight of the canyon, only the mist closing in. It felt str
ange, Eleeri thought. As if she walked in a place that was not quite of this world.
Shadows formed, to vanish as the three came near. Then one came which grew more solid as they closed in. Eleeri strained her eyes but kept to the steady unhurried walk. There was nothing to fear, nor would she show any, for the power might take that as an insult. Beside her the Keplians moved, hooves almost spurning the ground. In them the joyous sense of hope lifted higher. Before them the mist darkened, developing edges, columns, a peaked roof carved with hanging vines and laden with fruit. The mist drew back then as they paused to stare in awe.
A sense of warmth gathered about them, a greeting to friends arrived. The Keplians waited as Eleeri moved; surely the welcome was not for them also, children of shade and shadow? A shaft of the golden mist curled out, drifting to encircle them like a lover’s arms. They were welcome, thrice welcome, let them enter where others of their kind had once stood in friendship with those who dwelled here. Eleeri felt the surge of joy from her friends, and her own mind echoed it. She slowed her pace so that her friends might walk beside her once more.
By now the entire structure was clear, and they halted to study it. Unused to buildings, the Keplians had nothing to compare it with save the Dark Tower and the ancient keep in their canyon. Eleeri had seen far more in reality and in pictures. The building reminded her of the many photographs she had seen of the ruined temples of ancient Greece. It was not one of them, but had the same air—great age and a lost power hung over it. It was built from massive blocks of some warm honey-colored stone. Within the stone, silvery streaks laced the rock—the colors of the mist that had finally parted to let them in, Eleeri noted.
Was this place even here? Could the mist have become solid to show them something which in truth was not there? Her eyes came back to the entrance. She drifted forward to touch the steps. Under her fingers the stone appeared real. She lifted her head. She’d been wondering what lay behind the mist ever since she came to the canyon. Now she would find out and no fear would stay her steps. She trod forward boldly, past a great bronze door cast with detailed images, although she would have loved to stop there, to peer at the tiny perfect scenes she saw out of the corners of her eyes.
