Cutting the motor, Steve descended, shaving the mountainous rock-face behind the bluff in a series of daredevil swoops then, before landing, he made a couple of low level passes over the heads of the spectators. To his surprise, he saw that Clearwater had joined Cadillac on the clifftop. Both waved to him as he swept past. Steve wondered how to handle the situation. Since meeting Clearwater and talking to Mr Snow, he had not mentioned her name to Cadillac. How much did the young wordsmith know? Was he to pretend he did not know who she was? Play it by ear, Brickman…
Steve brought Blue-Bird up into a stall and made a smooth, stand-up landing, coming to a stop after five paces. He quickly unbuckled his harness and, in response to a beckoning gesture from Cadillac, pushed his way through the excited crowd that surrounded Blue-Bird. Steve tried to keep his face in neutral as he came face to face with Clearwater. Cadillac made no attempt to introduce him but, on the other hand, did not act as if Clearwater wasn’t there. He congratulated Steve on his stylish performance then turned away briefly to tell the young Mutes not to tamper with the glider.
Steve took the opportunity to look deep into the Mute’s blue eyes.
They blazed briefly as Clearwater returned his look, then became veiled. ‘I envy you,’ she said. ‘How does it feel to fly like a bird?’
‘Fantastic. You get a wonderful sense of… it’s indescribable. Each time I go up I never want to come down. In fact, the truth is, when I circled that peak, I very nearly decided to go home.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ replied Clearwater guardedly. Again her eyes flashed briefly.
‘Oh, really?’ Steve tried to keep all expression out of his voice and face as Cadillac turned back to them.
‘Yes,’ said Cadillac. ‘You see – if you had tried to escape, you would have fallen out of the sky like a stone.’
Steve looked at them both and laughed disbelievingly.
Cadillac touched Clearwater’s shoulder. ‘Show him. Show our friend the power that, in the hands of Talisman, will drive the sand-burrowers back into their holes and bury them for ever.’
The word ‘friend’ carried a vague emphasis which made Steve uneasy. Cadillac had to know something. Probably knew everything. Steve tried to read their faces but neither gave anything away.
Clearwater closed her eyes and appeared to compose herself. Cadillac surveyed the ground nearby and picked up a rock about the size of a basketball. The sinews in his neck and chest drew taut under its weight. ‘Ready?’
Clearwater nodded, her eyes still closed.
Steve suddenly became aware that the crowd around Blue-Bird had fallen silent and had turned to watch what was happening. Cadillac tensed his arm and stomach muscles and, with a visible effort, heaved the rock into the air above their heads. As it went up, Clearwater’s eyes snapped wide open and her right arm shot out, the first two fingers aimed at the rock. From her throat, came a strange ululating cry that curdled Steve’s blood. To his amazement, the rock did not fall. It hung there for a moment then shot upwards into the sky as Clearwater raised her arm higher. When it was some two hundred feet above them, the wavering, unearthly sound coming from Clearwater’s throat stopped abruptly. The rock hovered, held in place by her pointing forefinger. As Steve and the others below watched raptly, Clearwater drew a circle in the air above her head. The rock began to move slowly round in a wide circle – as if it was on the end of an invisible length of string. Clearwater dropped her arm and turned with Cadillac to face Steve. Once again, incredibly, the rock didn’t fall. Steve watched open-mouthed as it continued to circle around in the air behind them.
‘Now make it fall,’ said Cadillac quietly.
Clearwater made a fist with her right hand and brought it down sharply on the open palm of her left. The rock plummeted out of the sky and smashed to pieces on the rocky slope below the bluff.
‘Heyy-YAAHH!!’ roared the watching M’Calls. ‘Heyy-yahh! Heyy-yahh! Heyy-yahh!’
‘Now do you understand why the Federation can never conquer us?’ asked Cadillac.
Steve looked at Clearwater, then at Cadillac, and back again, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Clearwater gazed at Steve with a hint of sadness. ‘He sees but he does not believe.’
Cadillac nodded. ‘His mind is still chained by the darkness below. He cannot understand because what he has seen does not follow the rules of his world.’ He smiled. ‘It does not compute.’
Steve eyed them silently then sat down on a nearby rock. Cadillac gripped his shoulder sympathetically then walked away with Clearwater towards the settlement escorted by their clan brothers and sisters. They began to chant a Plainfolk melody using a style of singing known as mouth music, full of complex counter-harmonies in which the voices were the instruments. There were no proper words but Steve knew as he sat there alone with the abandoned Blue-Bird, that it was a song of triumph.
SEVENTEEN
Clearwater’s unnerving mastery over the rock – the second manifestation of Mute magic that Steve had witnessed -blew away the last vestiges of disbelief, leaving him totally mystified and more than a little shaken. Anxious to know more, but not wanting to play into the hands of the wordsmiths by appearing overawed, Steve pushed the incident to the back of his mind and proceeded to give Cadillac his first flying lesson. Barely a week later, he found himself watching the young wordsmith handle the glider with all the ease and confidence of a wingman graduating after three years at the Flight Academy. Steve should have been pleased but he was not disposed to kid himself. He knew that, as an instructor, he wasn’t a patch on Carrol, yet Cadillac had acquired his flying skill with chilling speed. It was uncanny. But then, no more uncanny than the power that Clearwater had revealed.
Steve began to understand why Jodi Kazan had been so evasive on the subject of Mute magic. Somewhere along the trail during the ten years she had been flying the overground she must have stumbled across the truth as he had just done. And if she knew, then so did Grand Central – even though, officially, it had been decreed that Mute magic did not exist. Had he, by pure chance, uncovered another corner of a widespread conspiracy? The big brother of the plot that had prevented him from winning the top honours at the Academy? How many other things had the First Family, in its unchallenged wisdom, legislated out of existence? What were the untapped secrets guarded by Columbus, the Federation’s computer? How high did he have to go to get the inside story? How many levels of access were there?
After Cadillac gained his ‘wings’, he took Steve over to Mr Snow’s hut for a celebratory pipe of rainbow grass. It seemed like a good moment to seek an explanation for what had happened on the bluff. Had Clearwater really made a rock fly – or had he imagined it all? Both wordsmiths were remarkably forthcoming. They confirmed that what he had seen had actually taken place but, when pressed to explain how or why, neither was able to furnish a response that met the rational requirements of a mind shaped by the Federation.
Steve concealed his frustration and sought Mr Snow’s opinion on the questions that had begun to plague him regarding his search for the ultimate reality. Was it possible ever to know the true state of things? How high did he have to climb before he found this elusive Truth, with a capital T, that Mr Snow had referred to?
‘Climbing the mountain is not really the problem,’ observed Mr Snow. ‘It’s being able to appreciate the view when you get to the top. There are times during a man’s life when he looks upon the Truth but more often than not he fails to recognise it. The moment of understanding passes him by. It may take many years before he stands once again on the mountain top; others less fortunate are not offered that second chance.’ Mr Snow indicated Cadillac with a wave of his hand. ‘As I said to my able but head-strong successor shortly before you came to us, you must learn to ask the right questions. But your mind must also be open to understanding – like the deep waters of a lake in the still of evening. Only then will the great white birds of wisdom alight upon its surface. Until that moment arrives, I
suggest, for your own peace of mind, that you simply accept that certain Mutes are capable of performing magical acts. By “magic” I mean the power to manipulate the forces in the earth and sky – and they are given this power by Talisman.’
Steve listened patiently. ‘It’s amazing… you really do believe this guy exists?’
Mr Snow waved the palm of his right hand. ‘Who else do you think split Motor-Head’s hammer? It was his power that saved you – the same power that flowed through Clearwater and gave her mastery over that rock.’
Steve eyed both of them silently.
‘Why do you find that so difficult to accept?’ asked Cadillac.
Steve answered with a shrug. ‘Maybe because it’s hard for us Trackers to believe that there are… invisible people.’
‘The world will see The Thrice-Gifted One soon enough,’ said Mr Snow quietly.
‘Thrice-Gifted –?’
‘It is the other name by which Talisman is known. Perhaps you may live to see that day.’
‘And die regretting it.’ Cadillac smiled. ‘Let him hear the Prophecy, Old One. Let him know why we do not fear the iron snakes, or the wrath of the Federation.’
‘Prophecy –? Oh, yeah, I forgot,’ said Steve lightly. ‘You guys have got everything worked out.’
Cadillac’s eyes flashed angrily then died as he stifled all emotion.
Mr Snow’s calm remained undisturbed. ‘You’re wrong, Brickman. What we believe is that it has all been worked out for us. Some of us are blessed with an inner ear that can pick up the Sky Voices; a gift withheld from most of my clan-brothers. But they believe, as we do, that the pattern of future events is already drawn. The Cosmic Wheel turns, taking us along its eternal path – whether we want to go or not. You, too, despite your blindness, have a part to play. So thank your lucky stars we believe in prophecy, even if you don’t – because it’s the only thing that’s saved your ass.’
Steve adopted a chastened expression as the old wordsmith readjusted his cross-legged position.
‘I was going to ask you to try and open up your soul to what I’m about to say but,’ Mr Snow eyed him, ‘… you don’t understand.’
‘I don’t even know what the word “soul” means.’
‘Never mind. Listen well, and mark this. It was first transmitted through a wordsmith called Cincinatti-Red about six hundred and fifty years ago, and is known as the Talisman Prophecy.’ Mr Snow began to speak in a rich resonant tone he had not used before.
‘When the great mountain in the West speaks with a tongue of fire that burns the sky and the earth drowns in its own tears, then shall a child born of the Plainfolk become the Thrice-Gifted One who shall be Wordsmith, Summoner and Seer.
Man-child or Woman-child the One may be. Whosoever is chosen shall grow straight and strong as the Heroes of the Old Time. The morning dew shall be his eyes, the blades of grass shall be his ears, and the name of the One shall be Talisman.
The eagles shall be his golden arrows, the stones of the earth his hammer, and a nation shall be forged from the fires of War. The Plainfolk shall be as a bright sword in the hands of Talisman, their Saviour.
Then shall the cloud-warriors fall like rain. The iron snake shall devour its masters. The desert shall rise up and crush the dark cities of the sand-burrowers for heaven and earth have yielded their secret powers to Talisman.
Thus shall perish the enemies of the Plainfolk, for the Thrice-Gifted One is master of all. Death shall be driven from the air and the blood shall be drained from the earth. Soul-sister shall join hands with soul-brother and the land shall sing of Talisman.
In some inexpressible way, the Prophecy touched an inner chord buried deep within Steve’s psyche. Hearing it spoken for the first time, in the flickering light of a firestone, was an indelible experience whose impact equalled the discovery of Clearwater’s remote-control mastery over the rock. Although Steve could not have described it thus, the poetic imagery contained in the lines opened up another world; gave him a whole new perspective on the people he had been trained to regard as sub-human. The wily, poisonous Mute. But what was truly astounding was the date the Prophecy was alleged to have been composed. It meant that the appearance of wagon-trains and wingmen had been predicted by the Plainfolk some four hundred years before the Federation had envisaged their use! It seemed impossible but, if true – and if the other events that were predicted took place – the Federation’s future looked distinctly unpromising.
‘So tell me… is Clearwater a – summoner?’
‘Yes,’ replied Mr Snow. ‘As it says in the Prophecy, there are three gifts that are given to certain of the Plainfolk through the power of Talisman. The first is that of wordsmith, the second is that of summoner, the third is the gift of seership – the ability to read the past and future in the stones.’
Cadillac squared his shoulders. ‘I have this gift.’
Steve eyed him with evident disbelief. ‘Are you telling me that you can see pictures in stones?’
‘Only certain stones,’ explained Mr Snow. ‘Seeing stones.’ He saw Steve’s expression. ‘Don’t laugh. It was Cadillac who read the iron snake through a stone it had passed over. That was how we knew you were in its belly.’
Steve looked at each of them in turn. ‘Is this why you both went to so much trouble to keep me alive?’
‘Yes. The Sky Voices had spoken to me of the coming of a cloud-warrior whose destiny was linked to that of Talisman. Your face was made known to Cadillac through his gift of seership. Fate drew your separate strands of existence together and the knot was sealed by the bolt from his crossbow. And when he looked upon you in the blazing cornfield he recognized you as the one revealed by the stone.’
‘… and if I’d been just another Tracker?’
‘We’d have left you to burn,’ replied Cadillac.
Steve thought about that for a moment then asked, ‘Why is it that some of you call me The Death-Bringer? What is it that Motor-Head who fears nothing – has seen in his dreams?’
‘He is a warrior. Perhaps the death he dreams of is his own,’ said Cadillac. He looked expectantly at Mr Snow.
The old wordsmith smoothed his beard and fixed his eyes on Steve. ‘There are dreams that mirror the workings of the mind, dreams that reflect the desires of the body, and dreams that bridge the void between this world and that of the Sky People. It is true that over such a bridge certain knowledge comes but, alas, I am not a seer. I cannot say what Motor-Head’s words may mean, or know what he has seen. What I can say is that there will come a time when the role you are destined to play in the emergence of Talisman will be revealed to you.’ Mr Snow paused, then added enigmatically. ‘At that moment you will discover not only what it is you have to do but also who you are.’
The two wordsmiths watched Steve impassively as he reflected silently on what he had just been told. He lifted his eyes to theirs. ‘When is all this supposed to happen?’
Mr Snow spread a palm. ‘When the earth gives the sign.’
‘Yes, I know what the words say,’ said Steve, with a trace of irritation. ‘But when is that going to be? You’ve been waiting six hundred and fifty years already! Maybe the saviour of the Plainfolk isn’t coming. He may have decided that it’s safer to stay where he is.’
Mr Snow’s calm remained undisturbed. ‘He will come. Not in my lifetime, perhaps. But certainly in yours – an event you may regret, for you are destined to be a leader of your people.’
‘I, also, shall know Talisman,’ said Cadillac, not wishing to be left out of the discussion of such great events. ‘The Old One has told me this.’
Even though Mr Snow’s words seemed to confirm his own belief that he had been marked out for greater things, the conversation did little to ease Steve’s inner turmoil. Even his basic instinct for survival, which should have been telling him to head for cover, was being torn in two. Steve remained insatiably curious as to what his possible role might be but, at the same time, was frightened by what he might
discover. Despite his deep-seated responses to what he had seen and heard, Steve’s Tracker background, with its emphasis on unquestioning obedience, military-style discipline and rigorously applied logic, made him shy away from the darker side of the Mute persona with its predictive visions and its manipulative magic. The world of the Mutes was like a giant whirlpool waiting to trap the unwary. Those foolish enough to leap into the swirling currents in search of the answers to its mysteries were slowly sucked towards the dark vortex at its centre and disappeared without trace. And yet, and yet… Steve felt himself drawn back towards it, gripped by a shadowy power beyond his control.
Escorted by thirty Bears, Mr Snow and Cadillac left the settlement and, over the next three days, ran eastwards going far beyond the clan’s turf markers into the Middle Lands of the Plainfolk. Twice, during the outward journey, they encountered the markers of other clans; on each occasion they altered course to run around the territory involved. Once, they lay hidden until dark to avoid a large hunting party. Not because they feared a confrontation, but because it was unnecessary. It would have involved a needless waste of life. After the battle with the iron snake, the clan needed to husband its strength in readiness for the next confrontation with the sand-burrowers. Mr Snow’s purpose was to find a specific location which the Sky Voices had indicated to him in a recent message. Eventually, after running nearly four hundred miles, his inner ear told him that they had reached the approximate location – the point where the great river whose course they had followed all the way down from the Western Hills met its sister coming up from the south-west. A point which, on pre-Holocaust maps of the overground, marked the junction of the North and South Platte Rivers in Nebraska.
Sitting down thankfully under the wide branches of a tree, he sent Cadillac to search for a seeing stone. Motor-Head, who was charged with organising their escort, ordered them to disperse in pairs to patrol the area around them. When Cadillac’s search of the north bank proved fruitless, they crossed over onto the narrow strip of land where the two rivers ran side by side before becoming one. Then, when Cadillac again drew a blank, they tried on the far side of the southern river.
Cloud Warrior Page 30
