"Perhaps we should take her back to the upperlanders," Brandl suggested. "They have sorcerers. Let them heal her."
"Aye, that's exactly what the Witch would want us to do," grunted Collum, "show ourselves aboveground—" His voice grew vehement. "So that she can steal us away as she has done all our fellows…!"
"Peace, Collum," the duarough woman said. "We have all lost kith to the Witch. But we must not dwell on it—we must go on running the machinery of the world as best we can until the Ancient Ravenna returns to us. It is all we can do."
The upperlander tossed the beadlike stone in a circle before her, passing it from hand to hand. Other stones from the gameboard joined it, seemingly of themselves. Someone had taught her to toss stones so once, to pass the time—a blue-skinned girl in Bern? Memory teased, then darted away. Quickly, the pale girl willed her mind to emptiness. She tossed the stones without thinking.
His back to her, Collum murmured bitterly, "If the Ancientlady were ever to return to us, she would have done so by now. We are lost, and the world is lost."
"Courage, fool," exclaimed Maruha.
"The Ravenna is dead," the old man said.
With a look of alarm, Brandl whispered, "She can't be. If she is dead, then nothing matters…!" before Maruha shushed him.
"Give in to despair, and you give in to the Witch," she said to Collum.
Absently, the girl made a figure eight of the stone beads in the air before her and gazed beyond them into the fire, a warm dance of flame shooting upward from a metal vessel unlike any lamp she recognized.
Folding his arms and turning away from Maruha, Collum caught sight of her.
"Now what's she doing?" he cried.
"It's more of that tossing—what do you call it?—juggling," Brandl said. "She always does that."
Stringing beadstones through empty space, she felt the heat of the fire traveling over her skin. She had felt such heat once before—though far hotter—from a far greater and stranger Flame, which had lit the pearl and had taken her shadow away. Uneasily, she banished the thought.
"Make her stop." The bearded duarough shifted nervously. "It's witchery."
"It isn't," Maruha said. "Leave her alone."
Abruptly, the girl let the beads fall in a heap beside the board. Even that mindless activity sparked memories which the pin forbade. Pain bit at her skull. Wincing, she shut her eyes and waited for it to subside. She was so weary of the ache. If only she might sit here forever, warm and well fed, thinking of nothing—fearing, dreaming, anticipating nothing. Silence.
"Time I was off." Maruha stirred. She caught up the two waterskins that were empty and started away, calling over one shoulder, "Keep watch— and look after the girl."
Collum grunted. The pale girl basked in the warmth of the flame. The sound of Maruha's steps vanished down the corridor. Presently, the girl opened her eyes again. Collum had put up the beads and board and pulled the faded square of parchment from his pocket. Brandl opened his pack and drew out a tiny, slender harp made of silver wood with golden wires. The girl had never seen it before. He began tinkering with the tuning pegs and polishing it carefully with a fawnskin cloth.
"Best not let Maruha see you at that foolishness," Collum murmured. Brandl hunched protectively over the little instrument. At last he tucked the cloth away.
"Collum," he said.
The other made a wordless sound. The young duarough seemed to take it for encouragement.
"Tell me what you've heard," he said, with a glance surfaceward. "From up there. About the war."
Rattling his parchment, Collum turned away. "I wouldn't know anything of the sort."
Brandl bent closer. "You do! You're always listening. And I know you talk to the others, the ones who go surfaceward. You needn't fear to tell me. Maruha will never know."
The older duarough snorted and said nothing. The upperlander watched them, absently.
"I know I'm young," Brandl said. "But war doesn't frighten me. It's the not knowing that does.
There's a song they're singing now, about a sorceress aboveground who's gathered an army to fight the Witch."
Collum started and turned. "If you know that, then you've been listening."
"I have." Brandl caught the older duarough's arm. "But you could tell me more."
Collum glanced in the direction Maruha had gone. He shifted uneasily. "Oh, very well," he sighed. "I'll tell you what I know, young one— but only so long as not a word goes beyond you."
The young duarough nodded eagerly. Collum set down his parchment. The pale girl saw him glance once at her, but she kept her mind and features blank. Whatever the duaroughs were saying, she told herself it did not matter.
"Now hark," Collum began. "You know how, many ages past, this world was a dead and lifeless one—until the coming of the Ancients from Oceanus. The Ancients changed this world and kindled it to life, planted herbs and grasses, fashioned peoples and living creatures. They made the tall upperlanders for the surface above, and us to run the world's engines below."
He glanced again toward the girl at the mention of her kith, then back to Brandl.
"You know all that, boy?"
"Yes, yes," the young duarough said. "Maruha saw to my learning."
Collum humphed. "And you know that the Ancients ruled wisely and well for uncounted years, until suddenly, unexpectedly, Oceanus called them home. Most departed at once in their fiery chariots, never to return. But a handful stayed behind, unwilling to abandon us. Yet even those withdrew into the desert, sealing themselves away in their great domed Cities. Only the Ravenna's remained open, and people made pilgrimages to her City of Crystalglass."
The younger duarough nodded; Collum continued.
"The Ancientlady instructed our folk in the service of those devices that manufacture the world's water and air, and she created the Ions— great guardian-beasts—to shepherd the upper-landers above. But even she in all her wisdom could not keep the world from beginning to wind down: atmosphere bleeding off into the Void, weathermakers falling slowly into disrepair."
Brandl's breath quickened. "There's a word for it," he whispered. "An Ancient word: entropy."
Collura glowered at him to be still.
"Ravenna saw but one hope against our declining world's eventual collapse," he said, "against this entropy. Since Oceanus remained deaf to her entreaties, her fellows there refusing to lend their aid across the Void, she realized that she must conjure the means to rescue us herself. Thus she withdrew into her City a dozen thousand daymonths past to begin the weaving of a mighty spell that would halt the entropy and restore the world."
Collum toyed with the folded parchment and at last put it away.
"All of this you know, Brandl."
The young duarough snorted impatiently. "Yes!"
His companion cast another furtive glance over one shoulder as if to be sure Maruha were truly gone.
Brandl leaned forward intently. As the pale girl watched them, she tried not to listen, struggling to retain the blank emptiness of her mind- lest the pin take revenge.
"After the Ravenna withdrew, we strove to live as best we could without the Ancients' guidance. Then the Witch appeared. None know who she is or whence she came, save that she is a water demon, a lorelei. She dwells beyond the desert's edge, in parched regions known as the Waste. Beneath the dark surface of a still, silent lake, her palace stands, cold as poison and fashioned of transparent stone.
"She has, through her sorceries, beleaguered the whole world with drought. Even the once mighty wellsprings of Aiderlan have ceased to flow. Her weaselhounds sniff us out belowground. Who knows what fate awaits those they seize? And she harries the upperlanders as well, stealing their young boys over the years, half a dozen of them. These she has made into darkangels— the icari—each icarus a soulless demon with a dozen dark wings blacker than shadow. Her icari in turn conquered the six strongest nations of Westernesse, transforming the guardian Ions of those lands into gargoyles.
<
br /> "Then the Witch stole a seventh 'son," a prince of Avaric, Irrylath, gilding his heart with lead and making him into the beginning of a darkangel. As soon as her spell upon him could become complete, she knew she would have half the world in her grasp. In terror, the peoples of Westernesse cried out for the Ravenna to return and vanquish the Witch. But Ravenna has not returned. Her City remains sealed. None know her fate."
Collum choked, his words growing harsh.
"Some fear her dead."
Brandl tried to catch the other's eye, but the bearded duarough would not look at him. The pale girl shrugged nervously, drawn into the tale despite herself. She knew she should not listen— and yet a kind of hunger filled her, a longing for news, for word of the world above. She found herself harkening without meaning to, and the pin twinged warningly as the duaroughs resumed their talk.
"No, it is not the Ravenna who has come forth to oppose the Witch, but another, the dread sorceress Aeriel. Some say she is the Ravenna reborn; some say she is her heir. But whoever she may be, she has, by means of her great magic, freed both Prince Irrylath and the Ions from the Witch's enchantment. The Ions are no longer gargoyles, Prince Irrylath no longer a darkangel."
Collum laughed suddenly, as though hope were beginning to return to him as he warmed to his tale.
Wincing, the pale girl shuddered.
"Irrylath loathes his former mistress now and has raised a great army to Aeriel's cause. He has sworn to plunge his sword Adamantine into the Witch's heart with his own hand, for love of the sorceress Aeriel."
Brandl sighed, gazing up at the close stone ceiling above the white flame of their little fire. "Yes, that.
That is what I long to hear of. If only I could be with them," he murmured, "up there, where things matter,"
The upperlander shifted fitfully. A desperate restlessness seized her. The pain in her head throbbed.
She sat hunched, trying to block out the sound of the others' talk.
Collum grunted disapprovingly at Brandl's words. "Hold now, boy. Our life is here, along the underpaths—unless you want to run off like Maruha's worthless brother. There are few enough of us left as it is! The gears of the world won't go on turning of themselves."
"But on this war hangs the very fate of the world!" the younger duarough protested. "And it's the Witch's doing that our numbers are now so few..."
"All the more reason we should tend to our work." Once more, Collum cast his eye uneasily down the corridor Maruha had taken. "Where is she, I wonder?" he muttered. "She has been gone a rare long time."
Brandl paid no attention. He had lifted the little harp from his knees, strumming his fingers across it absently, and begun to sing.
"On Avaric's white plain,
where the icarus now wings
To steeps of Terrain
from tour-of-the-Kings,
And damozels twice-seven
his brides have all become:
Afar cry from heaven,
a long road from home—"
The pale girl listened in horror to the rime. Its music stirred her disjointed memory as words alone had not. The pin twitched, pricking her. Images swirled unbidden through her mind, stringing themselves together like beads of fire: the kingdom of Avaric ruled over by a darkangel, who stole young girls to be his brides. A darkangel become a mortal man again, astride a winged steed, raising an army to fight the Witch…
The girl gasped and trembled as the pin shivered, biting down. No force of will could stop the incomprehensible glimpses now juggling through her mind. Oblivious, Brandl in his clear, sweet voice sang on. Those words! She could not bear the tangled, shifting memories they brought. Every line of the rime caused unspeakable torment. The pin twisted, and another jab of pain went through the pale girl's head. A shriek of agony tore from her throat.
Springing to her feet, she plunged at the source of the music. Brandl looked up in astonishment as she snatched the harp from his hand. She flung it away, flailing at the young duarough. With a cry of surprise, Brandl fended her off. Collum jumped to his feet and seized her arms, pulling her away. She kicked and struggled, her bare feet shoving up sand. She felt hot metal underfoot for a moment, and then the fire went out.
"Blast!" exclaimed Collum. "She's overturned the lamp."
The girl scrambled free, one hand going to her breast, covering the pearl, hiding its light. In the pitch dark, she could see nothing, but neither could the other two. She heard them blundering about.
"Quick, boy, get it up before the oil runs out." That was Collum's harried voice.
"I'm trying!" Brandl's. "There, I've got it. Get your tinderbox."
The pale girl retreated, stumbling blindly down the jet-black corridor. Shadow: shadow everywhere!
She was wrapped in shadow, surrounded, smothered by it. She could not breathe to scream.
The sound of rummaging, of flint striking metal. A spark in the darkness behind her, then a second spark, a finger of flame. She ducked into an open tunnel's mouth. A little light strayed after her.
"What came over her, do you think?" That was Brandl, his voice already faint with distance and the distortion of the caves. "She was never wild before."
"Your blasted harp music," Collum growled. "That set her off."
"No. She was restless before, kept looking at us, like she wanted to speak."
"Nonsense!"
" You wouldn't have noticed."
Panicked, the girl turned and fled, hiding her light. She wanted only silence, blessed silence, free from pain and memories. The pin behind her ear nestled deeper, stabbing her mind. She started to whimper, and then bit off the sound, afraid of being heard. Their voices were the barest ghosts now, hardly audible above the whisper of her running feet.
"Trim the wick, boy. No need to waste oil—"
"Collum, where is she?"
"What?"
" Collum. She's gone!"
3
Weaselhounds
She lay in darkness, curled around the light of the pearl. If she stayed very still, then perhaps the horrible, tangled string of senseless images evoked by Brandl's song would not return. The pin behind her ear throbbed still, though the worst of its pain had passed. She was afraid of the Shadow, here in the dark, but the terrible rime frightened her even more. Exhausted, she dozed. A scuffing sound brought her sharp awake. How long she had slept, she had no way to tell. Her legs were cramped to numbness, her stomach tight, mouth dry. She was shivering so hard her jaw ached. Something moved beyond the bend in the narrow tunnel. Terror seized her for a moment as she realized it must be the Shadow. Then Maruha came around the curve of the tunnel, a fingerlamp flickering upon one hand.
"There you are!" the duarough exclaimed. "I had nearly despaired of ever finding you, you strange girl."
The pale girl stared at her, tensed and frightened still. She laid one hand over the pearl, hiding its light.
Maruha drew closer, carefully, as though afraid of startling her.
"Collum and Brandl swore they'd no notion why you ran off, but I got it out of them in the end."
The duarough laid her hand gently on the pale girl's arm, and when the upperlander did not bolt, she seemed glad. With a puff, she sat, obviously weary.
"That fool Brandl and his barding. He should know better than to sing of the Sorceress War in front of you."
The girl felt a breath of reassurance pass through her. Maruha would not recite the horrible rime that made the pin ache so. She felt safe now that Maruha had found her.
"And with the Witch's pin in your head, you doubtless know more of that grim conflict than we. How much of what we say do you understand, girl?" The little woman eyed her closely. The upperlander shifted uncomfortably, looked away. She did not want to understand, dared not. In a moment, Maruha shrugged. "No use asking, I suppose. If only you could talk!"
She patted the pale girl's arm.
"Here, child, are you hungry?" She fished in one of her many pockets and drew out a square cake
that smelled of honey and pungent dram. "It's been ten hours since you ran away."
She broke the cake and held up one half to the girl, who snatched it from her. The dense stuff tasted sweet and tart, but her mouth was so dry she could scarcely swallow. Maruha's little skin water bag had come out of another pocket in the sark. The girl wanted to reach for it, but hesitated, unwilling to remove her hand from her breast.
"Child, what are you holding?" the duarough asked, setting down the water bag and leaning closer.
"Will you show me?"
The upperlander drew back. The pearl was her secret, its wan glow visible only in near total darkness. Not even the Bird had known she had it, the terrible black bird that had…A sharp twinge behind her ear warned her away. Hastily, she shoved the almost—memory aside and stared at the duarough. Surely she could trust Maruha. Slowly, she drew back her hand. Beneath the yellow fabric of her gown, the clear blue light shone constant white.
The duarough gasped. "What is that? Did you find it here in the caves?"
The girl shook her head, making bold to follow the other's words a little now. The duarough reached for the pearl.
"May I see it, child?"
The upperlander's hand clapped down again, covering her treasure.
"Hi—migh—mine!" she gabbled. No words came out, only fragments. Maruha drew back.
"Very well, child. I'll not disturb it. But I've never seen the like. You never found it in these caves, I'll vow. Had it with you all along, I'll wager, and we never even noticed."
She lifted her fingerlamp from the floor and held it up so that its strong, dancing light drowned out the pearl's cool, gentle one. The red-haired duarough got to her feet and brushed the cave grit from her trousers distractedly. She donned the fingerlamp again.
"Wonders upon wonders," she murmured. "Who are you, girl?"
But the upperlander could not answer. Already the sense of the other's words was fading. She could no longer follow. A fog covered her thoughts. She was very tired. Maruha pulled her to her feet.
The Pearl of the Soul of the World Page 2
