They remembered.
They had argued then as well.
Their doubting tongues became still and they worked as Karne commanded them, harder than they ever had before.
Karne would have preferred to have had longer to prepare, better hide available, time to practice the technique, but he knew life had to be taken as it was and not as we would have it.
He was thankful for his curious and questioning nature. When Kyra had first told him about the bird-men he had questioned her about every detail and had drawn from her mind things she had not realized that she had noticed. He had pestered her so much with questions that she had grown impatient, but not before he had formed a very clear picture of how the gliding-frames were constructed.
Now was the time to test her powers of observation, and his own understanding and memory.
A thrill of excited fear passed through his body, but he did not let it show to the men who were now so willingly working for him.
They had found a friendly and courageous village to house them while they worked, and many of the villagers insisted on joining in the project, some visiting neighbouring villages to barter and borrow hides from friends.
He knew they did not have much time, so he divided them into two groups, making sure that the one rested while the other worked. He even kept them going through the night, huge fires lit by the villagers to give them light. It was fortunate that this particular village was so tucked behind a hill and forest that it was not easily come upon by Na-Groth’s men.
The children were only too happy to keep watch, thoroughly enjoying the bustle and the daring of the situation.
When the first sail-glider was finished, rough and crude, but possibly ready for flight, the question of testing it arose.
The villagers and Karne’s men were gathered at the top of the hill around the strange construction, talking excitedly, when he faced them with the problem.
There was a sudden silence.
They all knew that it had to be done, but it was Karne who had the difficult decision to make.
His wish was to take the risk himself, but he knew that if he were killed his men would turn round and go home. There was no one among them who had shown qualities of leadership necessary for such an unusual and dangerous mission.
Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to speak.
Slowly he described how he expected the construction to function. He told them the story of the people Kyra had seen. He spoke of movements in the air, pointed to the birds who drifted above them, some of them not even flapping their wings and yet still airborne.
He tried to pass on some of his enthusiasm for experiencing the wonders of flight.
‘Look at the birds,’ he cried. ‘They go where they will; they are not the slaves of Na-Groth! They fly above him and their droppings fall on his head!’
A nervous gust of laughter passed through the crowd at this, and when it had died down Karne found a young village lad standing before him, his eyes alight with vision.
‘Let me, my lord!’ he cried. ‘Let me!’
He was trembling with impatience to try the wings.
Karne looked doubtful.
‘No, lad,’ he said gently, ‘it is a man’s work.’
‘But I am light,’ the boy cried, ‘it will be easier for the wings to lift me.’
Karne hesitated.
There was good sense in what the boy said.
‘Let him try!’ one man cried, anxious to avoid risk to himself.
‘Please!’ the boy pleaded.
Karne looked around.
‘What do your parents say to this?’
The lad turned to his parents and his eyes burned with his longing to be the one to fly like a bird.
Hesitantly the father spoke.
‘If it is the only way to defeat Na-Groth...’
Karne looked at the boy’s mother.
‘I do not want him to go,’ she said, her voice low and full of emotion.
‘I do not blame you,’ Karne said gently. ‘I am sure it is possible for men to do this thing because my sister has seen it happen, but whether we have built...’
Before he could finish the sentence a shout so loud and so horrified went up from the assembled people that Karne spun round ... in time to see the boy launch himself off from the low hill on which they were standing. For a moment he hung dizzily in the air and then fell like a stone, his sails of hide buckling and the struts that had held them wide splintering as they hit the ground.
Screaming, the mother rushed to her son, but Karne reached him first and tore the mess of fabric off him.
‘O God! O God!’ Words ground from his dry throat. ‘Let him not be dead! Let him not be dead!’
How could things be undone that were done?
Karne would have given his life at this moment if he could have taken back the boy’s courageous, foolish act.
Crowding round him with eyes wide with horror the people saw the frail body bleeding, his flesh torn open to expose his bones.
But he was alive.
Cruelly Karne pushed the hysterical mother aside and set about binding the boy’s wounds.
He sent for water, for healing herbs, for rugs to keep his shivering body warm, and then when no more could be done he lifted him in his arms to carry him back to his home.
Walking beside him, his mother and his father were there when he opened his eyes briefly and smiled a rakish, lopsided smile, his mouth half swollen and some of his teeth missing.
‘I flew,’ he whispered triumphantly. ‘I flew!’
The joy in his voice was unmistakable, though he returned to unconsciousness almost immediately.
* * * *
Work was stopped on the sail gliders.
Morosely the villagers and Karne’s men discussed the accident.
The anxious parents waited beside their son.
Karne walked the night alone, thinking.
The obvious thing would be to abandon the whole idea and think of an alternative.
But Karne could not.
Whether it was his own stubborn interest in the possibility of gliding like a bird ever since he had heard Kyra’s description of it, or whether he had some command from the Spirit realms to go on with it, he could not decide – but he was determined to persist.
The boy’s attempt had been premature. There was a skill to the manoeuvring of the thing, quite apart from whether the construction was sound or not. He had jumped without preparation, before Karne could pass on the hints he had learned from Kyra about the essential updraught of air that would give the sails the necessary and initial lift.
He heard the rumble of the men’s voices around the evening fires and knew it would not be easy to persuade them to continue with the project.
Gloomily he paced about, worrying about the boy, worrying about Isar, worrying about Groth.
At last he sat down, wearily, his back against a small tree, leaning his head until it rested on the bark and he could see up through the branches of feathery leaves to the clear sky and the stars.
Gradually peace began to come to him and he thought he was falling asleep.
But he did not.
He could still see quite clearly all that was around him, the black hump of the hill, the small fires surrounded by dark figures, the glow of light from the house where the crushed boy was struggling for life...
But strangely he could no longer hear anything, and the thoughts that had been wrestling in his mind were still.
He held his breath.
He could have sworn he felt the presence of his wife.
Quickly he turned his head, but there was no one there.
And then he recognized the tree against which he was leaning.
It was a Rowan tree – a tree Fern had told him had magical properties, a tree that grew in their garden at home, and which many times he had seen her embracing, heard her talking to.
A Rowan tree.
He turned to it and in the secrecy of darkness c
lutched it to his breast.
He called to Fern.
He called to Kyra.
He asked for help.
Softly the feathery leaves rustled in the evening breeze.
The tree seemed to sigh.
‘Help me,’ he whispered, ‘tell me what to do.’
The tree did not speak, but as he shut his eyes and laid his forehead on a low branch he felt a sense of great confidence and rest.
Khu-ren stood beside him and told him what healing things to do for the boy.
Kyra stood beside him and told him what to do about the sail gliders.
Joyfully he opened his eyes and although he could see no one, he no longer felt alone.
* * * *
The night Karne spent with the Rowan tree was spent in a very different way by Na-Groth and his court.
A new supply of the precious plants that gave the Smoke of Dreams had arrived by ship.
Like stone images the guards stood around the hall while the lords and ladies of the palace rolled about in paroxysms of pleasure.
Lark stood beside her mistress and watched her as she lolled from her throne, drooling like a sick old crone, calling in a petulant high pitched voice for more music and more dancing.
Lark could hear the music and it was the worst she had ever heard. The musicians were afraid for their lives and the instruments they used were harsh sounding compared with those of her own people. They made a kind of scratching, wailing whine which started low and grew higher every moment, the ultimate sound of each rising cadence coinciding with a kind of frenzy in the limbs of those who were under the influence of the smoke.
The dumb girl looked around and shuddered.
Everyone was pawing everyone else. Clothes were being ripped off and sometimes even flesh, though the victims were so crazed with the effect of the smoke, they did not even notice that they were bleeding.
She wondered if she could slip away.
The guards were eagle-eyed, but the distractions were many. The smoke from the torches and from the fires in the stone enclosures combined with the fatal smoke itself to reduce visibility.
She crept as quietly as she could from behind the throne.
A guard made a move to stop her at the doorway, but she held her head high and nodded to the Queen as though to indicate that she had been sent on an errand for her mistress.
He let her pass.
What could such a feeble creature do to endanger the safety of Groth and his spokesman? She could not even speak, and her arms were as skinny as wren’s legs!
Thankfully she broke free of the noise and heat of the orgy.
She slipped down the cold corridors and found her way to where Isar was held, still working by the light of lamps and torches.
Again it was her apparent helplessness that persuaded the bored guards to let her through.
She had found some jars of ale and had brought as many as she could carry. They were accepted with rough humour and a few hearty slaps on the back.
While they were busy with the ale Lark stood beside Isar and looked at his work.
His eyes showed how pleased he was to see her, but he said nothing.
He put down his tools and stood close to her, both of them surveying the block of wood in silence.
She always made him feel peaceful and confident when she was near, though how she could do anything to help him in this harsh place he could not imagine.
He longed to protect her, but he did not know how.
The wood was intractable.
He worked at it because if he did not he would be killed, but he still could not feel the image in the wood and had no clear picture of what he was carving.
His instinct was to make a hideous monster face to match what he had learned of the nature of Groth, but he knew that that would be dangerous. Na-Groth and Maeged were expecting something grand and magnificent.
He looked at Lark helplessly.
She was not so thin and ill looking as she had been when they first met. Her shining brown hair was soft and combed to coil around her head, her eyes did not seem so sunken. He noticed for the first time what long lashes she had and how sweetly the curve of her cheek met her chin.
She looked at him with a quick and secret smile as though she had read his thoughts, and he flushed slightly.
What was he doing?
Deva was his love and Deva would be his love forever.
Lark moved away from him as though she had caught that thought as well.
With her slender back to him she rested her hands on the wood.
She seemed to be stroking it with her long and sensitive fingers.
Isar stepped sideways so that he could see what she was doing, but there was nothing to see except a girl touching dead wood.
When she was gone he picked up his blade and looked at the wood again.
Suddenly he could see the image in the wood that he must carve as clearly as though it were already there.
He gasped and looked at the guards to see if they had noticed the transformation.
But it was clear that no change was visible to them.
However it had come about, Isar now knew exactly what he must do, and from then on worked with an eagerness and a dedication that surprised the men who were closeted with him.
* * * *
The same eagerness and dedication were present in Karne’s heart as he struggled by himself to perfect the second of the sail gliders.
No one would help him and indeed, he asked no one, but he was determined to show them that it could be done.
The boy was amazingly much better after the treatment Karne gave him, but it would be a long time, if ever, that he walked again.
The villagers had become sullen and uncooperative, and his own men listless and depressed. They were murmuring again about retreat, but Karne managed to persuade them to wait for one more trial, and this time, he promised, he would test it himself.
In spite of themselves the men were curious and, although they would not help, they did not hinder him.
At last it was ready to Karne’s satisfaction and the whole population gathered round the small steep hill to watch what would happen.
Gerd, the boy who had made the first attempt, insisted on being carried to a place where he could see. His own suffering had not lessened his enthusiasm for flying like a bird, and he was determined to share the experience of the others in any way that was possible.
His mother did not try to stop him. She respected his need to know. The ways of the living spirit were mysterious, and she was not one to believe that our flesh and bones are all that we have.
She sat beside him and propped him up against a tree trunk so that he could see what Karne was doing. She was undecided whether the man was mad or inspired by Spirits, but at least now it was his own life he was risking.
Standing at the top of the hill at the edge of a low cliff, with the faces of so many doubting people turned up to him and the heavy harness of the sails chafing at his body, Karne felt sick with fear and realized just how brave the boy must have been to launch himself into the air.
Above him a bird wheeled slowly and gracefully. Karne watched it, remembering that Kyra had spoken of the use of unseen movements in the air. The bird was using them. He would use them too.
He looked down to the village and the greensward beside the Rowan tree where he had felt the presence of those he loved.
He called one of his men to fetch him a twig of the Rowan tree. Had not Fern said its magic properties extended to protecting one from harm? He would not like to make the leap without a talisman.
The people waited patiently as the man ran for the twig.
They understood, and quietly touched the things about their own bodies that they used for talismans, pebbles with holes threaded as pendants, rings and bracelets, and one comb of walrus ivory a sailor had brought home from cold and distant seas.
Karne took the twig and lashed it to the cross-beam of his frail craft.
Everyone was silent as Karne, the Spear-lord, looked once more at the sky and then, giving a wild, strange cry which was at once a prayer and a release of tension, leapt into the space that had so cruelly treated the boy Gerd.
Silently they watched, scarcely breathing, as he was taken up by the draught and then, gracefully, slowly, began to slide down the invisible slopes of the air currents, his flight curving as he turned the bar of wood in his hand, landing with nothing more than a jolt on the grass behind the hill.
Then there was no more silence.
Every throat was opened in joyous sound.
They had witnessed what no man among them had thought possible.
With one tremendous sound the people’s voice rose higher than the highest bird.
Gerd’s mother hugged her son, her own eyes so full of tears; she did not notice that his were the same.
‘But I was the first,’ he whispered. ‘I was the first! No one can take that away from me.’
They were left alone as the crowd rushed to congratulate Karne.
What damage he had escaped in the landing he almost sustained during the congratulations. Everyone was pounding on his back, tugging at his arms, kissing him, shaking him.
Laughing, he broke away at last.
‘Wait, wait!’ he cried, ‘you will break the wings. Stand back. Stand back.’
He managed to pull the sail glider clear and somehow break away from his admirers.
‘Tonight we will feast,’ he shouted, and the shout of their delight rang in his ears. ‘But,’ he added, ‘tomorrow we will go back to work, and we will work harder and faster than we have worked before!’
They laughed and groaned. He drove them hard, but who would not be proud to work for such a hero?
They danced and sang late into the night, but Karne insisted that the hero song should be given to the boy Gerd.
‘He was the first,’ he said. ‘He was the bravest one of all. The song must be of him and it will be sung when all who are here now have long since gone beneath the burial mounds. We will carry it to the great Temple of the Sun and it will be sung on the days of festival and rejoicing!’
The people cheered.
The people sang.
The boy hardly noticed the throbbing and the pain as the words of praise rang around him.
Shadow on the Stones Page 12
