Shadow on the Stones

by Moyra Caldecott

  No sooner was Na-Groth’s special troop at the top of the pass than Na-Groth’s guards let fly spears and arrows at them.

  Caught by surprise, the men stumbled helplessly about, attacked on all sides by their own people.

  Those that survived the first onslaught and recovered their wits fought fiercely back.

  Before the startled eyes of Karne’s troop, a bloody and vicious battle raged without their having to risk a man.

  ‘What is happening?’ they gasped.

  They could not know that the escaped Captain had brought a message to the guards that a troop of enemy disguised as Na-Groth’s men was approaching the Pass and must be stopped at all costs.

  Too late the Captain realized the mistake they had made and leapt out to call for a halt to the slaughter.

  An arrow from one of Na-Groth’s bowmen hit him in the face and he died before the words could leave his mouth.

  * * * *

  ‘Now!’ shouted Karne. ‘Now is the time to move.’

  And they moved... swiftly and neatly and full of courage.

  What exactly was happening they did not know, but it seemed clear that the advantage was on their side.

  They reached the pass unnoticed and with ease took those who were left alive.

  * * * *

  Under the leaden lid of the sky the prayers to Groth were mounting feverishly.

  Stamping in the dusty earth, a host of dancers clad in animal skins and wearing fearful masks was causing a red haze to rise around his mighty legs.

  Innumerable drummers brought thunder to the air, while the high-pitched wail of a goatskin and pipe threaded a note of hysteria through the crowd.

  Everyone on the plain was gathered around the feet of Groth.

  Everyone was doing obeisance, sobbing and wailing.

  Na-Groth himself, and his queen, were silent, mounted on raised wooden thrones before him, watching with gloating intensity as priests climbed dangerously on the immense body, dragging the mask on long hide ropes to its position over the blank face.

  Isar was on his knees, bound, before the throne of Na-Groth.

  He too was silent, though the pain of his bindings almost made him cry out, and the fear of the torturous death that he knew he was to suffer at the high point of the ceremony made his stomach hurt.

  He tried to ignore the wild and demonic sounds of the mob around him, tried to go into the Silence that Kyra and Fern used so often for comfort and renewal, but the fear and the pain were too strong. He regretted that he had not trained himself as they had trained themselves, making a habit of meditation and quiet. He had been content to enter the Silence only while he was absorbed in carving, forgetting that under such peaceful circumstances, to slip from one level of awareness to another was easy and natural, and required no skill.

  The Mask was finally lashed in place just before noon, but not before one of the priests had lost his footing on the massive shoulders of the god and had fallen, screaming, to his death at the feet of Na-Groth. A momentary shocked silence had come upon the people then. Na-Groth filled it with his voice.

  ‘All who climb upon the god will die. No man can live who has profaned the god!’

  The priests who were fixing the Mask went cold at this, but the crowd roared its approval, and the dancing and the drumming started up again.

  There were those who did not enjoy Groth’s ways, but were afraid to be seen to dissent. They shouted louder than the rest, and stamped with greater fury.

  Gaa-ak looked up at the sun.

  He knew the point it must reach before it began its long slow slide to evening.

  He raised his arms and all Groth’s priests took their places for the noon ceremony.

  He did not notice that Na-Groth had half risen from his seat and was staring at the Mask of Groth with fascinated horror.

  ‘What is it my lord?’ whispered Maeged urgently, the only one to notice the expression on her husband’s face.

  He did not reply.

  His eyes did not leave the Face of Groth.

  Gaa-ak gave the final signal and all noise and movement instantly ceased.

  All eyes turned to the Mask of Groth.

  Painfully Isar raised his eyes with the rest and gazed bitterly at his handiwork.

  Had he been born for this, to give strength to a cruel and wrathful deity and destroy his own people?

  If they would only kill him he would gladly die.

  He should have killed himself before he used his skill for such a purpose.

  * * * *

  No one noticed a small, thin girl and a tall, slender boy slip into position. She was carrying a bundle of marsh reeds dipped in fat and set on fire. He was carrying a finely made bow and a quiver full of arrows, bound with cloth and dipped in oil.

  ‘Now!’ Berka whispered.

  He fitted an arrow, touched it to the flame of her torch, drew back the bowstring, his eye gazing with deadly accuracy into the dark depths of the eye of Groth.

  Silent were the people at the feet of Groth.

  Silent the monstrous god.

  But through that silence came the whine of a single arrow flying to its mark.

  ‘Ai-i-i...’ wailed the crowd as the flaming arrow passed dead centre through the eye of Groth and the straw that was packed behind the Mask caught fire.

  Within moments the face of Groth was transformed.

  Fire leapt from his eyes and through his open mouth.

  The people cringed and howled, falling back upon those behind them and crushing many in their haste to get away from the god who had become too terrifying to look upon.

  But there were many who turned to Na-Groth for comfort in this moment of horror, only to find that he was screaming and cringing like themselves, his arms covering his face, his voice high pitched like a child’s.

  ‘Take it away! Kill it!’ he shrieked, beating with his arms as though it were attacking him.

  The dreadful memory of the wild cat lived again in the blazing animal face of Groth.

  ‘Destroy it!’ he roared at his horrified priests and soldiers, pointing a shaking finger at Groth.

  ‘Destroy it! I command it! Death to the man who does not do my bidding!’

  The sound of the crowd changed, the mood turned, the fear they had felt for Groth was released in hate.

  ‘Destroy!’ they screamed and charged the sagging god.

  As the flames gained power the whole figure began to disintegrate, the onslaught of the people accelerating the process.

  The face that had seemed so fearful at first began to appear ludicrous as it was half consumed by fire.

  There was an expression almost of bewilderment for a moment.

  Some of those who were throwing the rocks paused to laugh.

  Had they been afraid of this?

  The thrones of Na-Groth and Maeged were overturned as the hysterical crowd surged forward, but the two managed to jump free, Maeged pulling at the arm of her distraught lord, his face bleeding from the scratches of his own nails as he tried to pull the imaginary animal from his flesh, his eyes crazed with fear.

  But even as the people thought they were clear of Groth a new menace appeared to threaten them.

  In the sky, gliding like giant bats, seven Beings were hovering over them.

  Their shadows made the people look up and, as Groth finally fell to earth in a shower of sparks, the crowd gasped at what they saw.

  On the ridge beyond the plain a strange and beautiful light, centred in two shining Beings, broke the gloom and darkness of the sky.

  Above them the winged shadows hovered.

  Behind them the fire of their god’s destruction roared, and beyond and around them every house in the plain was a plume of black smoke.

  Karne’s warriors had set the whole encampment on fire.

  With nowhere to turn the people fell upon their faces.

  Na-Groth turned on his wife and gripped her throat. In his crazed mind, because she was plucking at him, he ass
ociated her with the animal he feared, the animal who yet again was causing his downfall.

  ‘Die!’ he screamed.

  And together they fell to death as the spear of one of his own men pierced his heart.

  * * * *

  When the crowd charged, Isar would certainly have been killed had Lark not swiftly pulled him aside, and then, with the help of Berka and Gya, removed him to a safe place where they unbound and hugged him.

  The four of them were scarcely aware of what was happening on the plain,they were so happy to be with each other.

  ‘What on earth?’ gasped Isar at last.

  Gya laughed and shook his head.

  ‘The world has gone mad!’

  Isar looked up and stared open mouthed at the sail gliders that were now coming in to land, the people scattering before them like chaff before the wind.

  ‘Those are your father’s creations,’ Gya said to Isar. ‘He is a great man.’

  ‘Karne?’ cried Isar, finding it difficult to understand all that was happening.

  ‘Yes, Karne. He built the sails for flying. He led us here. He is a great leader and a great hero.’

  Gya’s eyes shone with admiration.

  Tears were in Isar’s eyes and he was struggling to his feet, Lark’s arms around him to help him up.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He will be with the sails,’ said Gya. ‘Come,’ and he put his arm under the other arm of Isar and he and Lark helped him towards the place where the sail birds had landed.

  When Karne saw him he squeezed him so close to his heart with joy and relief that Isar had to cry out for mercy. There were many places on his body that hurt from the beatings and the tortures he had endured.

  Karne held him at arm’s length and saw how the boy had been treated. Tears of pity came to his eyes.

  ‘I am all right,’ Isar said, seeing his look. ‘Everything is all right now.’

  One of Karne’s men began to tug at Karne’s arm.

  ‘My lord,’ he said urgently, ‘you must come. The crowd is restless and uneasy. You must speak to them.’

  Quickly Karne took command again and with a few brief orders caused a platform of unburnt wood to be raised.

  His sail gliders were arranged in such a way around the platform that they formed a kind of winged sanctuary, out of which he appeared to rise.

  He raised his hand and, meekly, those who had survived the recent disorders gathered before him.

  Leaderless, they were very different from the people who had terrorized the land of Klad.

  The first order he gave was for the burning of the Palace of Skulls.

  The next was for the election of a Council of Elders to rule in Na-Groth’s place.

  He was about to raise his arm again when the two shining Beings who had loomed so hugely on the ridge of hills, appeared on either side of him.

  The vibrations of fear and hate that had kept Khu-ren and Kyra out during Na-Groth’s reign were now much weaker. The two Lords of the Sun were free at last to enter the place.

  Everyone gasped and gazed and fell at their feet.

  ‘Rise up,’ Kyra said. ‘No man should crawl before another.’

  ‘But you are gods!’

  ‘No,’ Khu-ren said. ‘We are priests of the Temple of the Sun, beings like yourselves.’

  ‘Tell us who your god is and we will worship him!’

  ‘Our God is not like Groth. You cannot decide to worship him one day and to destroy him the next.’

  ‘Tell us where he is!’ someone cried. ‘We will follow him!’

  Khu-ren and Kyra looked at each other and smiled.

  ‘The beginning is within yourselves,’ they said. ‘No further than that.’

  Bewildered the people stared at the two bright strangers, and even as they stared the air on either side of Karne began to shimmer, the images to break up.

  The Lords of the Sun were gone.

  All eyes turned to Karne.

  He spoke boldly and firmly.

  ‘All those who want to stay in our country must learn our ways and live as we do.

  ‘Those who do not wish to, are free to go, but they must go now.

  ‘We have no time for recriminations, for revenge and misery.

  ‘There is too much to do, and too much to undo.’

  11

  The Lifting of the Shadow

  When Kyra returned to her body she was quick to look for Deva, in spite of great weariness.

  When she could find her nowhere near her home, or the Temple, she was filled with alarm and went straight to the haunted mound, remembering that it was there that Deva had sacrificed to Groth, and there that she had ‘lived’ as a shade for so long before her present incarnation.

  She found the girl unconscious once again, the ceremonial knife beside her, bleeding from both wrists.

  Her face as pale as her daughter’s, Kyra tore strips from her own gown and bound the arms so that the bleeding would stop.

  ‘O child, when will you learn?’ she wept, and gathered the limp body in her arms.

  Khu-ren, informed by Lea of Kyra’s whereabouts, found them there and carried Deva home, Kyra trailing behind, sick with unhappiness in spite of the great joy she should have been feeling for the victory they had just won.

  * * * *

  The Temple community knew of no such unhappiness.

  Everywhere was dancing and singing.

  Feasting was being prepared and a special ceremony of thanksgiving.

  Everyone seemed on the move, talking and laughing.

  Garlands were strung from house to house.

  Children were running about underfoot and no one was chiding them.

  This was a great day for the people of the Sacred Stones and it would be long remembered.

  * * * *

  Unwilling to put a shadow over their happiness, Khu-ren and Kyra slipped through back ways to their home, and drew the door hangings tightly.

  Only Vann and Lea were summoned, old friends and skilful priests. They worked long and hard on Deva and at last managed to encourage a flicker of life in her.

  Her wounds were bound with healing leaves, and a beneficial potion made from other herbs was held to her white lips.

  ‘Drink my love,’ Kyra whispered, holding the girl propped up in her arms.

  Deva’s eyes opened.

  Vann looked into them and they were dark and fathomless wells.

  She showed no sign of recognizing him.

  ‘You are gracious my lord,’ she whispered as faintly as a summer breeze through grass, ‘to take me in the place of the lord Isar.’

  Vann looked at Kyra quickly, a question in his eyes.

  Kyra looked puzzled and held her daughter closer.

  ‘Deva’ she said gently. ‘You are safe. You are at home with those you love and Isar is alive and will soon be here.’

  ‘I know,’ murmured the girl dreamily. ‘My lord Groth has given Isar life. He has taken me instead. I shall live at his court and be his queen.’

  ‘No, Deva, no! Groth is destroyed. Groth never was a god.’

  ‘You will be punished lady for such blasphemy!’ Deva’s voice grew stronger and she looked at Kyra with a hard dark look.

  ‘No one will be punished any more,’ Kyra said sharply. ‘Those days are over. We are taught, we learn, we experience the results of our actions ... we are not punished!’

  ‘Those are the ways of the old god, mother. You will have to learn the new ways or you will not be allowed to visit me at court.’

  ‘Deva!’ sighed Kyra, her heart close to breaking.

  But there seemed to be no way through to her.

  * * * *

  Karne stayed on in Klad to supervise the beginning of the new era, Gya his right hand man.

  Isar was sent home with those of Karne’s men who could be spared. Lark was to travel part of the way with him, leaving him when she reached her own village.

  Berka and her family joined with them too, seek
ing a new home, the associations of Na-Groth’s plain being too unpleasant for them.

  * * * *

  The news of Na-Groth’s defeat spread like fire before a wind throughout a dry country.

  Most of Na-Groth’s men who were left cut off in isolated places fled towards the coast, hoping to find trading ships to take them far away, but some surrendered to the local communities and asked for pardon.

  Some villages were merciful.

  Some were not.

  * * * *

  Gerd’s village sent people to welcome Isar and his group with pipes and lutes, and danced them back to the village.

  There they found the Rowan tree had been decked with flowers from all the fields and hills around and was the centre of the celebration. Round and round the people danced and sang, certain that its magic properties had had something to do with the success of the whole expedition.

  Isar asked at once to meet Gerd and found him seated on a special carrying chair that had been constructed for him out of young willow wands. The boy’s eyes shone to hear the tale that Isar had to tell, and Isar in his turn was sung the song of Gerd’s first flight.

  As soon as Gerd’s mother saw Berka’s pale, pinched face and festering sores, she took her in hand and mixed her up special concoctions of herbs. She insisted that Berka and her family should stay with them awhile.

  How different this green and fertile village was from the over-crowded plain Berka had known before. Here there was air and light, white water falling from a hill and trees growing in lovely profusion everywhere.

  ‘Let us stay here forever!’ she whispered to her mother.

  ‘If only we could!’ sighed the woman, afraid even to think of such a wonderful thing. Her life had been one of constant movement and readjustment, from one hostile environment to another. This place was like something she had seen in a dream, and the people were warm and kind and happy in a way she had never known before.

  She relaxed under their kindness very quickly, but for her husband it was more difficult. He had been trained to suspicion and resentment so long that to trust people did not come easily to him.

  * * * *

  Although Isar was anxious to return to his own home, he was persuaded to rest a day or two amongst the friendly villagers. He had been through a great deal and they could see that he was not really fit enough to make the journey.