The Shattered Stone

by Robert Newman

  When the sun was directly overhead and they were about to rest, they saw some tall, dark shapes in the distance. They looked as if they might be trees so they went towards them. But when they reached them, they saw that they were a strange kind of desert plant. They were greenish grey, taller than a man and almost as thick as a man’s body with a few upward thrusting limbs, and they bristled with fine thorns.

  Liall said that though he had never seen them before he had heard about them. They were called doranc, and they were only found here in the Morven.

  Though the doranc had no leaves and gave no shade, they were alive, the first living things they had seen since they entered the desert, and so the three sat down nearby for their midday meal. None of them was hungry and they ate as little as they had when they had broken their fast; but they were all thirsty and had to restrain themselves when Neva passed round her water gourd; Liall confessing that he could empty it by himself.

  Wrapping themselves in their cloaks, they rested and dozed until midafternoon, then went on again. They continued westward for some time, keeping their hoods well forward to protect their eyes from the sun’s glare. Shortly before sunset the flat whiteness of the desert was broken by a low range of weathered rocks. At the same time, high above them in the cloudless blue sky they saw two large birds wheeling and circling.

  “Vultures,” said Neva.

  Ivo nodded. Though none of them said any more, they all knew that the carrion birds were watching something, something on which they thought or hoped they could feast as they had on the dead horses in the Burnt Place. Was it the three of them?

  They trudged on towards the rocks. When they were little more than a bowshot from the nearest one, they saw something moving, something white. It came towards them unsteadily, uncertainly. Then, apparently seeing them, it turned away, stumbled a few hasty steps and collapsed on the sand.

  “It’s not an animal,” said Ivo. “It must be a Hilti.”

  “We were told to avoid them,” said Liall.

  Without knowing how, Ivo knew this, too.

  “But this one is hurt or ill,” said Neva, and she went towards the white shape, Ivo and Liall following her. When they reached it, they saw that it was a figure in a long white robe, its head swathed in a white turban, lying face down in the sand. Ivo and Liall kneeled, turned the figure over, and raised its head. Though the turban covered its face as well as its head, leaving only the eyes exposed, somehow they knew that it was not a man but a woman; an old woman.

  Her eyes were closed, but as they raised her head the lids fluttered up and she looked at them, first blankly, then with terror.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Liall. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

  She did not answer but only stared at them with eyes that were filled with fear. Kneeling also, Neva pulled down the cloth that covered the old woman’s face and saw that it was thin and drawn and that her lips were so dry that they had cracked.

  “She’s starving,” said Neva. “But she needs water more than anything else.” And she took the gourd from her belt and and removed the stopper.

  “Wait,” said Ivo. “You know that we’ve only what’s left in your gourd and Liall’s to see us across Morven.”

  “Of course I know,” said Neva. “But we can’t let her die, can we?”

  “No,” said Ivo. “Of course not.”

  Neva put the gourd to the old woman’s lips. Her hands went up, clutching it, and she began drinking greedily. Ivo watched, hoping she would stop, but she only lowered it when the gourd was empty and then looked hopefully at Ivo’s and Liall’s.

  “Mine’s empty, too,” said Ivo. “All we have left is his,” nodding towards Liall’s, “and we need that.”

  “Perhaps we can let you have some more later,” said Neva. “Carry her over there, and we’ll give her something to eat.”

  Ivo picked her up—she weighed no more than a child—carried her to the foot of the nearest rock and put her down in its shadow. Neva took some of the flat faring-bread from her basket and offered it. The woman took it and began eating it, but not as eagerly as she had taken the water.

  “Are you lost?” asked Liall.

  The old woman shook her head.

  “Where are your people?”

  The old woman pointed behind her, to the west.

  “Then why aren’t you with them? Why are you wandering around here by yourself?”

  The old woman gestured.

  “They chased you away?”

  The old woman nodded.

  “But why?” asked Neva.

  “I’ve heard,” said Liall, “that the Hiltis are hostile to everyone, even one another. They probably sent her away to die.”

  “Is that true?” asked Neva.

  Again the old woman nodded.

  “Well, we won’t let you die,” said Neva. “We’ll share what we have with you.”

  The old woman looked at her uncomprehendingly, then her eyes became veiled.

  “It’s getting late,” said Ivo, “and I don’t think she’s strong enough to travel any farther. We’d better camp here tonight.”

  Neva and Liall agreed, and they sat down next to the old woman. Though they knew they had to save their water, they had had none since noon and they were so parched that they could not eat until they had each taken a small swallow from Liall’s gourd. He gave some more to the old woman, then tied it to his belt again.

  The old woman lay back against the rock and closed her eyes.

  “What kind of people drive their old away to die?” asked Neva.

  “The Hiltis, for one,” said Liall.

  “But why?”

  “Because she is old, and it’s probably not easy for them to feed even themselves.”

  “What do they live on? And where do they find water?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps she’ll tell us in the morning.”

  “She’d better,” said Ivo grimly. “We still have another day’s journey ahead of us and less than a gourd of water to see us through.”

  “I’m sure she will,” said Neva. “She was afraid of us to begin with, but she’s not now.”

  The sun set, and wrapping themselves in their cloaks against the chill that came over the desert with the darkness, they stretched out on the sand at the foot of the rock. Ivo did not fall asleep at once but lay there for some time, looking up at the cold glitter of the stars and worrying about what was ahead of them. And when he did sleep it was lightly, uneasily.

  Liall woke him, shaking him.

  “What is it?” he asked, sitting up.

  “The old woman’s gone,” said Liall.

  It was some time before dawn, but there was enough light to see that this was true.

  “That’s not all,” said Liall. “She stole my water gourd.”

  Neva was awake now, too.

  “She couldn’t have!” she said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” said Liall. “It was tied to my belt, and it’s gone.”

  “But how could she?” asked Neva. “We tried to help her, shared what we had with her.”

  Ivo shrugged. “You asked what kind of people drive their old away to die and Liall said the Hiltis. Well, she’s a Hilti, and she probably cared no more about us than her people did about her. The question is, what we do now? Do you think we can follow and catch her?”

  Liall shook his head. “There’s no telling when she went or which way.”

  This was true, too. The wind that blew before dawn each day had covered her footprints.

  “Then we’ll have to go on without water,” said Ivo, “and hope we are out of the desert by nightfall.”

  “I can’t think of anything else that we can do,” said Liall.

  Since none of them was hungry, they set off at once, going around the rocks and then westward. By the time the sun was completely up, they had left the rocks far behind them and were on a flat expanse of sand where they could travel at a good pace. On they went, talking little to save their st
rength. Ivo had been thirsty when he woke—his sleep had been full of dreams of clear running brooks that disappeared when he approached them—and as the sun climbed higher his mouth and throat became even more parched. He glanced at Neva. Her face was set and drawn, but her stride was as long as ever.

  Several times during the morning they saw more doranc, but they saw nothing else.

  When the sun was directly overhead, they paused.

  “Shall we rest?” asked Neva.

  “If you’re not too tired, I think we should go on,” said Ivo.

  “I’m not tired,” she said, and so they went on again. But now there was a faint shadow on her face and occasionally she licked her lips, which were almost as dry and cracked as the old woman’s had been.

  The sun beat down on them, and even with their hoods pulled well forward the glare reflected from the white sand hurt their eyes. The heat was so intense that every breath became painful, searing their lungs. But they continued on, grimly, doggedly, as the sun moved on before them. Neva was not walking so steadily now. She stumbled once, and Ivo said, “Give me your basket.”

  She shook her head, but he took it from her and slung it next to his own. She smiled at him and then winced for even the slightest movement hurt her lips.

  Looking up shortly after this, Ivo saw the vultures again. They were wheeling and circling almost directly overhead, and this time he knew who they were watching. He looked ahead, narrowing his eyes against the dazzle and hoping to see something besides the endless expanse of sand. But there was nothing except a line of reddish dunes with another clump of doranc near them.

  And then Neva fell. Ivo and Liall both hurried to her and tried to pick her up, but she shook her head.

  “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can,” said Ivo. He and Liall lifted her to her feet and they went on for a while with the two of them supporting her. Then she stumbled and fell again.

  “I tell you I can’t,” she said. “Go on without me.”

  “Stop that, Neva!” said Ivo. “We’re not going to leave you.”

  “If you don’t, we’ll all die. Couldn’t you go on and see if you can get help or find some water?”

  “No!” said Ivo. He was just lifting her to her feet again, intending to carry her, when Liall said, “Look!”

  Another Hilti had appeared from behind the doranc. Though dressed like the old woman in a white robe, turban and veil, this was probably a man for he was taller than she had been and he carried a long spear. He seeemed to be stalking something, for he moved slowly and carefully, his spear poised. He threw it, then darted forward.

  Putting Neva down, Ivo stumbled towards him. The spear had transfixed a large lizard, pinning it to the ground. Pulling the spear free, the Hilti turned to face Ivo.

  “Help!” croaked Ivo. “You must help us.”

  “Help?” He looked at Ivo blankly.

  “Yes. My sister is dying.”

  The Hilti glanced at Neva, who was lying where Ivo had left her on the hot sand. Only his eyes were visible above the white veil, but their expression changed as if he were smiling.

  “Good,” he said. “It is almost a moon since I have seen anyone die.”

  Chapter 7

  Ivo stared at him.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said it is almost a moon since I have seen anyone die.”

  Throwing back his head he gave a long, wailing call, then picked up the lizard and walked to where Neva was lying. Dazed and certain that he had not understood him, Ivo stumbled after him. Liall, kneeling beside Neva, looked up at the Hilti.

  “How long since she ate?” asked the Hilti.

  “Last night,” said Liall.

  “Oh,” said the Hilti, disappointed. “Then it will take a long time—at least another few days.”

  “What will take a long time?” asked Liall.

  “Until she dies,” said the Hilti. “Unless you would like me to kill her for you. Would you?”

  Liall stared at him as incredulously as Ivo had.

  “Are you mad?” he asked.

  The Hilti blinked. “Of course not,” he said. “It is wrong to kill one of your own. But she is nothing to me, and I will be glad to do it for you.”

  Liall looked at him, then at Ivo.

  “He is mad,” he said.

  “No,” said Ivo. “He said something almost as unbelievable as that to me.”

  “But we don’t want her to die!” said Liall. “We want to save her!”

  Now it was the Hilti who looked astonished.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because she’s Ivo’s sister and my good friend! And even if she wasn’t … Will you help us or not?”

  “It is you who are mad,” said the Hilti. “Why should I help you? Whenever someone dies there is that much more food for everyone else.”

  Again Liall looked at Ivo.

  “It’s no use,” said Ivo.

  “I can see that,” said Liall. “What shall we do?”

  “Carry her,” said Ivo. “I’ll take her.”

  “No,” said Liall. “Let me.”

  Struggling to his feet, he lifted Neva to his shoulder, then paused. Probably in answer to the Hilti’s call, three more of the veiled and white robed nomads had appeared, one of them coming from behind the doranc, the other two from the far side of the dune. Like the man who had killed the lizard, they all carried spears.

  “What is it, Harnac?” asked one of them.

  “Strangers from outside,” said the first Hilti. “They say the woman is dying.”

  “Then why are they carrying her?”

  “Because, in spite of all of you, we’re going to save her!” said Ivo.

  Liall, with Neva over his shoulder, was starting to trudge off.

  “Come on, Ivo,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Ivo. The Hilti they had called Harnac was standing in front of him. “Get out of my way!”

  Harnac did not move.

  “Why are you being so foolish?” he said. “If you put her down, we can all watch her die together. If you don’t …”

  Sick with rage and despair, Ivo pushed him aside; pushed him so hard that he staggered and almost fell.

  The other three Hiltis sighed softly.

  “Who called?” said a voice behind Ivo. “Was it you, Harnac?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Strangers. One of them is dying. Now this one will die too.”

  Turning, Ivo saw that several more Hiltis had appeared. They were standing in a half-circle behind him.

  “He attacked Harnac,” said one of the original three. “Pushed him. Do not kill him too quickly, Harnac.”

  “It may be that that is what he wants,” said Harnac. “Is it?” he asked. “Or do you want to fight?”

  Ivo looked at him without answering.

  “I don’t think he understands,” said one of the Hiltis behind Ivo.

  “He understands,” said Harnac. “He talked to me.”

  Raising his spear he prodded Ivo gently in the chest, the sharp flint point just touching the skin.

  “Which will it be, fight or die?”

  “Fight,” said Ivo.

  Unslinging his basket and Neva’s, he dropped them. Liall, with Neva over his shoulder, had paused about a dozen yards away.

  “Go on, Liall.”

  “No,” said Liall.

  “You must!”

  “No,” said Liall again. “We can’t trust them. I’ll guard your back.” And lowering Neva to the sand, he drew his sword and came back towards Ivo, taking his stand behind him.

  “Why is he guarding him?” asked one of the Hiltis near him. “This is between the light-haired one and Harnac.”

  “Yes,” said Harnac. Then to Ivo, “Well?”

  Ivo drew his sword also. His throat was so dry that he could not swallow, but he no longer felt weak: he was too angry. He knew, however, that he must control that anger and that he must end the fight quickly for h
e had no reserves for a long engagement.

  He poised himself, sword ready, watching Harnac. Was he going to throw his spear? If he did, Ivo had little chance for he had no buckler. If he didn’t …

  He didn’t. Circling him, Harnac’s spear darted out, and Ivo parried his thrust, deliberately holding back and making the parry seem a little clumsy. Harnac’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, and Ivo knew that again he was smiling under the white veil. He feinted, then like a striking snake drove the spear at Ivo’s chest. Again Ivo warded it off, then struck—not at Harnac but at the spear—shearing through the shaft so that the flint head dropped to the sand, then bringing his blade around and up and driving the spear high in the air. Arms raised, Harnac staggered back, tripped and fell. Almost before his shoulders touched the sand, Ivo was standing over him, the point of his sword at his throat.

  Again the watching Hiltis sighed.

  “Do you yield?” asked Ivo.

  “Yield?”

  “Yes. Have you had enough?”

  “You mean you’re not going to kill me?”

  “I’m not a Hilti!”

  “He can talk,” said the man who stood just behind Ivo. “But what he says makes no more sense than what he does.”

  “No,” said another. “Well, at least I shall eat.” And he picked up Harnac’s lizard.

  “Why should you have it?”

  “Because I was the first one here.”

  “I will take this,” said another, picking up the flint head of Harnac’s spear. “It is a better one than mine. We will be watching the vultures,” he said to Harnac. “We will see you again when they begin gathering.” Then he and the others moved off, each going his separate way.

  Slowly Harnac got to his feet.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

  “I told you why,” said Ivo. “We’re not Hiltis, and we don’t believe in killing.” He sheathed his sword. “You take the baskets,” he said to Liall. “I’ll take Neva.”