A figure suddenly appeared on the opposite bank, and his heart pounded with relief. Zena; it must be Zena. No one else was in the village. He had searched all the huts, the clearing, had found no one. The villagers must have realized what was going to happen and fled for the hills.
But it was not Zena; to his astonishment, it was Larak. What was she doing here? Her face was transfigured by fear.
“Zena,” she cried out when she saw him. “Where is Zena?”
Lief did not waste time in questions. “She went to Runor’s hut,” he shouted back. “I think she is still there, but I cannot get across.”
Larak turned and shouted into the wind behind her. “Hular!” she screamed. Within moments, Hular appeared, with three men from the village.
“We must get Lief across,” Larak told them. But Zena, what of Zena, while they delayed? Even now, she must be with the Leader, with Korg...
“Rope,” one of the men said, and pulled a length of sturdy cord from his pack. Coiling it expertly, he threw with all his strength toward Lief, who tied it quickly around his waist. The three men began to pull him across.
Runor’s hut, where is it?” Larak asked urgently, unwilling to wait. A man pointed back into the trees. “Not far,” he said.” Straight back toward the ravine.” Larak plunged in the direction he had pointed. Never had she known anything as powerful as the fear that gripped her. It gave her legs a strength she did not know they had, made her breath come in urgent bursts as she ran.
She saw the hut ahead. “Zena,” she screamed. “Zena, are you there?”
A pair of stumbling figures approached her. Korg, she saw. He was dragging the Leader, who seemed hardly conscious. Korg stopped for a moment and examined Larak’s fear-filled face.
“Zena is in the hut,” he said. “You will find her well, I think.” He nodded at her, then picked up his burden and resumed his laborious trek.
For a moment, Larak could not move. What had he meant? “Zena,” she called again. “Zena, you must answer!”
Zena heard the voice but could not seem to move, even to speak. Korg, the man of whom she had been so afraid; Korg had saved her life, had even told her Teran was alive. It had not been Korg but the Leader who was so dangerous. Had Runor known? She must have.
The thought jerked her back into awareness, and she bent over Runor. Was she still breathing? Water swirled around her knees as she knelt, and the noise of it rushing past the hut was deafening.
Fearfully, she examined Runor’s ashen face, tried to feel a pulse at her flaccid wrist. Had she come too late to save her? There was no time to find out. Whether or not Runor lived, she must get her away.
Pulling the old woman into her arms, she staggered from the hut. She must go up, Lief had said. Only up, away from the water. But where was Lief? Why had he not come? And who had been calling?
She frowned. Not Lief. It had sounded like Larak. But how could Larak be here? “Larak,” she croaked, aware that she could hardly speak. “I am here!”
A figure suddenly materialized from the dimness, the swirling air. Larak! It really was Larak, and her face was wild with fear.
“Zena!” she cried. “Zena, I have been so frightened!” She ran to Zena and held her close, to make certain she was really alive.
“I am all right,” Zena assured her quickly in a hoarse whisper. “Korg saved me,” she added, astonishment still evident in her voice, and for the first time she began to understand that the words were true.
“Korg saved you?” Larak’s voice was incredulous, but only for a moment. “Yes,” she said, and nodded. “Yes, that I can understand.”
“He told me Teran was still alive.” Zena whispered the words, afraid to say them out loud lest they were not true. Had Korg been taunting her?
Larak stared at her. “Teran? Alive?” Could Zena have imagined the words? Or perhaps Korg had lied… But she must not think of that now. She must get Zena away from the rising water, the falling ice. That was most important.
She peered down at the woman in Zena’s arms. Not Teran, but Runor. “Does she live?”
“I cannot tell,” Zena answered shakily. “I might have come too late.”
Suddenly Lief was there, and behind him Hular and the men from the village. “Hurry,” Lief ordered. “The water is higher every moment.”
Taking Runor from Zena’s arms, he regarded her anxiously. “I think she breathes,” Zena told him. “There was no time to examine her further.”
Lief nodded, relieved, and all of them started up the hill.
“The others!” Zena asked suddenly. “Did you find the others?”
Lief shook his head. “No one was in the village,” he answered. “Runor had told all of them to go to the circle of stones and stay there for two days, but I did not know that then and looked everywhere for them. Hular told me. He and Larak stopped at the circle of stones on their way here to look for you, and saw the villagers there.”
Zena frowned. “But how did the villagers know about the glacier in time? They could not see it from here.”
“They did not, only that Runor had told them to go to the circles of stones and stay there,” he answered. “These men came to look for her anyway,” he added, and broke off as the hill became steeper, the water more fierce. It pulled forcefully at their legs, and wind sweeping down from the heights almost knocked them from their feet. They pressed on, crouching low, hauling their legs through the swollen water, filled now with debris.
A tree came charging at them. They leaped aside, all but Larak, who was not fast enough. As the swirling water dragged her into its grasp, Hular plunged toward her and grabbed her hand. Another man helped him pull her out and steadied her as she ran again. And then they were almost above the water; if they could just keep going they would soon be in the hills...
A thunderous crashing made them look toward the head of the valley to the south. “It has burst,” Lief shouted. “The whole dam has burst. Run!”
More crashes came, louder now. Up and up they went, clawing at the ground for purchase against the slippery, rain-soaked hillside, hauling each other up again when one of them fell. Wrenching, dragging sounds joined the cacophony in the valley behind them, and when Zena turned for a moment she saw the cause. Ice - great chunks of ice careened through the woods, knocking down trees, scouring the earth of everything that lay upon it. Even boulders were caught in their destructive path. She looked away, not wanting to think of what the torrent of debris might do to the village below.
How high would the floods reach? There was no way to tell, and so they forced themselves higher still. Finally, at the top of the lofty ridge that enclosed one side of the circle of stones, they dared to stop and look again at Runor.
“She breathes,” Larak confirmed, “but her breathing is very shallow.”
They lingered for a moment to look back, where the glacier was still falling in great chunks. Devastation met their unbelieving eyes, utter devastation. A great swath of forest had been leveled; still more trees toppled noisily as they watched. Boulders hung at crazy angles against the hillsides and were improbably balanced on upended trees or on other overturned rocks. And everywhere huge chunks of ice littered the expanse of ravaged land they had destroyed with their violence. Beneath it all was the water, swirling, churning, carrying its ponderous load as easily as if the boulders and ice and trees were no more than twigs, or pebbles caught momentarily in a current, or snow crystals light as feathers.
No one spoke; there were no words for such a fury of destruction. Here, there was only rain and wetness; where the glacier fell, all they could see was a chaotic landscape of still-tumbling masses of ice and rocks and trees and the wreckage they left behind.
Lief took Zena’s hand. “The village,” he said. His voice shook with an emotion she could not define.
Zena followed his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to know. But when she looked, her heart leaped with astonished relief. The village was there! The huts were rain-soaked and littered
with fallen branches, but they were intact. Even the clearing had been spared. Buried in debris, it was hardly visible, but she knew it was there.
A miracle, she murmured to herself, and then realized it was not. The people who had first come here had known the mountains well, and had set their village well away from the path of a possible avalanche. Only Runor’s hut, which lay closest to the end of the valley where the glacier hung, was gone, as if a giant hand had pushed the raging water toward it and then let the deluge sink back again.
Zena shuddered and looked the other way, toward the dense stand of woods where Korg and the Leader had built their hut. The destruction was not so bad there, though she knew it would be soon. The woods lay in the path the glacier must take as it continued its rampage. Had the two men gone there despite the threat? Or were they, too, climbing, Korg dragging the Leader up as best he could? She did not think so, though she did not know why. Something she had seen in Korg’s face, perhaps, some kind of resolve....
Her eye was caught by a jagged pile of ice and trees trapped by a sharp bend in the narrow ravine still further down the valley to the south. Once, the bend had enclosed a small waterfall that fell gently into a bubbling stream; now it had formed a barrier that trapped the towering mass of debris sent down by the raging torrent. Wordless with horror, she touched Lief’s arm and pointed. Even as they watched, more chunks of ice, more fallen trees charged down and hung restlessly above the churning pile, pounding against it with savage strength as they sought to continue their destructive journey.
That was why the woods, the whole lower end of the valley had not yet suffered much damage, Lief realized. When the huge accumulation of debris finally broke free, everything below would be destroyed.
He frowned, aware of movement at the edge of the water, just below the bend. An animal, he thought. A large dark animal. Could it be a bear? But surely a bear could not make such leaping, graceful movements.
Zena saw the creature too and peered into the wind, trying to identify it. And then she realized. It was Korg, must be Korg. No other man, no animal, could leap and bend in that way. Despite the sodden burden of furs that draped his slight body, the heavy mask that adorned his head, Korg whirled and jumped with manic energy, as if there were no weight to him at all. Once they saw him fall, then he was up again, leaping, prancing, twirling in the air, landing again with effortless grace. Beside him, laid majestically on the ground, his hands folded at his chest, was the motionless body of the Leader.
Neither of them spoke, only pointed. All eyes followed their fingers, watched mesmerized as Korg continued his frantic, graceful movements. On and on the dance went, and they thought he might never tire but go on leaping and twirling until the torrent of water that must surely come soon rose up to claim him.
And then he did tire. The leaps became lower, the whirls less frequent, and Korg’s whole body began to sag. The dance ceased and for a long moment he stood perfectly still, as if gathering the remnants of his strength. Then, with a last dramatic leap that rose higher than any before, he prostrated himself at the feet of the Leader.
Again he was still, and even from a distance they could see the heaving of his chest. Just when they wondered if he would ever move again, Korg pulled himself upright with a single effortless twist of his body. One piece at a time, he divested himself of the unwieldy skins that had once enclosed a living bear. His motions were slow and measured now, full of languorous grace. The mask-like head went first; then the paws, and after them the well-stitched furs that had covered his body. Carrying the heavy bundle in his arms, Korg went to the edge of the swirling water and stood still, staring into its depths. Zena thought he said words, though she could not hear them. After a moment Korg’s head came up again, proudly, defiantly. With an abrupt movement he raised the bearskins high in the air and threw them with fierce strength into the torrent. The furs disappeared quickly, but they saw the mask float for a moment, snout pointing up, eyes staring sightlessly, then it too was caught in the current and whirled out of sight. Korg was still again, and now Zena was certain he was speaking words. Perhaps, she thought, he was bidding farewell to the deity he had created.
Sadness came into her, and pity, a pity she knew Korg would have hated. She pushed it away and found compassion instead, and even admiration. Korg had tried in the only way he knew to control the demons that tormented his brother. There was nobility in him as he stood there, a fierce nobility she would not have expected.
And then she saw the grief. Korg turned away, his shoulders slumped and heavy now, as if he could not bear what must come next. With steps that seemed to drag him back even as they moved him forward, he approached the Leader and stood looking down at him. There was agony on his face; even from here they could all see it. Long moments passed; finally, Korg knelt and gathered the Leader tenderly into his arms. Half-lifting, half-dragging, he brought the inert form to the edge of the water. Again he paused and seemed to speak words. Then he slowly rolled his brother into the churning water.
What came next, none of them would ever forget for all the years of their lives. Korg’s body tensed, and then he rose into the air in a leap so high, so unlikely, that a gasp rose up from the watching people. For a long moment he seemed to hang in the wind like a great soaring bird, then his body curved forward in a long, arching fall and he plunged headfirst into the water. For a moment both men were visible, then the great pile of ice and trees broke through the barrier that had constrained it, and they disappeared beneath the deluge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
All through the night, the wind blew fitfully and ice and debris-laden water charged down the mountain. Runor’s frail body twitched restlessly, as if in rhythm with the sound of wind and rain and plunging ice, and her face was full of strain. Memories crowded into her mind, memories she had never allowed, did not want to think of now or ever again. Pieces of them filtered in anyway. She saw a tall young man, watched his lips curve into a smile and his eyes fill with ardor as persuasive words flowed from his lips. She saw herself smiling back and winced even as she smiled again. She had been young then, not nearly so young as him but young enough to be enticed…
Another memory surfaced and Runor writhed against her pallet as if she were once again trying to escape the man who pounced wordlessly on her as she lay on her pallet all those years ago. He was heavy and thick, with arms and legs as strong as a bear, and she could not wrench away from him. He had never made a sound as he raped her, not even a grunt - not until….
Runor twisted her head back and forth to drive the remembrance away. Korg’s face, his probing eyes, came insistently in its place. She had never been afraid of any man, but she had been afraid of Korg. He knew her secrets, all of them, and he used his knowledge well. His threats had been oblique, but she had understood. First one daughter, then the other. But it was the other warning that had finally broken her. If she did not stop speaking of the Goddess, he would do to Rofina what…
Closing her eyes hard, Runor fought to suppress the image that struggled to push through. She could not bear it, had never been able to bear it…
The heavy sensation of defeat sank anew into Runor’s body. After that, she had not dared to disobey. And so she had lost herself, lost the Goddess, lost everything but her life, and Mara. She still had Mara. One daughter at least was safe.
Her eyes flickered open, and Mara’s face appeared above her. Panic gripped Runor. Mara must not be here; she must go away again until the danger was past. Runor tried to say the words that would make Mara leave but she was too weak, and the world of words was too far away….
She groaned without knowing she had uttered the sound.
Mara watched her mother helplessly. Surely there was something she could do to ease Runor’s anxiety, but she did not know what it might be. Was Runor re-living the events of the day or dreaming of the Leader’s attack? Or perhaps some terror from the past made her writhe and moan. Mara did not know. She knew almost nothing of Runor’s past. Her
mother never spoke of it.
Of course, Mara reminded herself, her mother did not yet know that Korg and the Leader were dead, and she might be afraid they could still hurt someone. Would she rest more easily if Mara whispered the information in her ear? Would she even hear, or understand if she did hear?
Mara sighed. There was no way to tell. Runor had not responded to any of them since Zena and the others had brought her here. They had wrapped her in dry furs and warmed her, massaged her throat gently with unguents, and settled her near the fire in the rough shelter they had built beside the circle of stones. Throughout their ministrations, Runor had never responded to their questions, had not even opened her eyes. She seemed totally unaware of her surroundings. Mara had never seen her mother like that before, and it was terrifying.
Grateful for the distraction, Mara turned her attention her newborn daughter, who was whimpering with hunger. The tiny girl pulled vigorously at her breast, and Mara felt a prickle of delight course into her body. What a wonderful sensation this was, one she had missed with Mara-Sun. She smiled down at the eager little face, so intent on its purpose, the miniature fingers that scrabbled against her skin. How she looked forward to showing her mother this new baby! Rofina, she would call her, she decided, after her sister. Runor would be pleased.
The milky smell penetrated Runor’s consciousness and drove the memories away. She was thankful, but lacked the strength to open her eyes and see where the scent originated, though she thought the infant might be Mara’s. Maybe she would never open her eyes again, just listen to all that went on around her and then sink back into oblivion. It seemed a wondrous idea.
For a moment her body stilled and her face relaxed, then anxiety claimed her again. Mara should not be here, must not. How could she have forgotten? But where was she and how had she come to be here instead of under the water? She struggled to remember.
ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3) Page 23
