by Andre Norton
There was fear behind his words, a fear born of horror, which he fought to control.
“Also, if you do not do as we wish we can merely sail and leave you on Usturt for the rest of your life. No ship goes there willingly. A long life for you perhaps, girl, alone with none of your own kind—think of that.”
He was silent for a moment before he added, “It is a bargain, girl, one we swear to keep. You deal with the weavers, we take you back to Rannock, or anywhere else you name. The captain, he can be set ashore with you even. No more harm done. And a portion of the silk for your own. Why, you can buy all of Rannock and make yourself a Keep lady!”
“There is one thing—” She was remembering Wak. “I am not such a one as any of your men can take at his will. Know you not what happens then to any Talent I may possess?”
When Vidruth answered her there was a deep note of menace in his voice, though it was not aimed at her.
“All men know well that the Talent departs from a woman who lies with a man. None shall trouble you.”
“So be it,” she returned, with an outward calm it was hard for her to assume. “Have you the bit of silk? Let me learn from it what I can.”
She heard him move away the grate of whatever door kept snug her prison. As that sound ceased she put out her hands to explore. The cubby was small; there was a shelflike bunk against the wall, a stool which seemed bolted to the deck, nought else. Did they have Captain Ortis pent in such a hole also? And how had this Vidruth managed so well the takeover of the Captain's command? What she had read of Sibbald Ortis during their brief meeting did not lead her to think he was one easily overcome by an enemy.
But she was sitting quietly on the stool when Vidruth returned to drop the length of ribband across her quiet hands.
“Learn all you can,” he urged her. “We have two days of sail if this wind continues to favor us, then we shall raise Usturt Food, water, what you wish, shall be brought to you, and there is a guard without so that you need Dot be troubled.”
With the silk between her hands, Dairine concentrated upon what it could tell her. She had no illusions concerning Vidruth. To him and the others she was only a tool in their hands. Because she was sightless, he might undervalue her, for all his talk of Talent and Power. She had discovered many times in the past that such was so.
Deliberately, Dairine closed out the world about her, shut her ears to creak of timber, wash of wave, her nose to the many smells which offended it Once more her “sight” turned inward. She could “see” the blue of those hands (which were not quite hands) engaged in weaving. Colors she had no words to describe were clear and bright. For the material she saw so was not one straight length of color, but shimmered from one shade to another.
Dairine tried now to probe beyond that shift of color to the loom from which it had come. She had an impression of tall, dark shafts. Those were not of well-planed and smooth wood; no, they had the crooked surface of—trees—standing trees!
The hands—concentrate now upon the moving hands of the weaver.
But the girl had only reached that point of recognition when there was a knock to distract her concentration. Exasperated, she turned her head to the door of the cubby.
“Come!”
Again the squeak of hinge, the sound of boots, the smell of sea-wet leather and man-skin. The newcomer cleared his throat as if ill at ease.
“Lady, here is food.”
She swirled the ribband about her wrist, put out her hands, for suddenly she was hungry and athirst
“By your leave, lady.” He fitted the handle of a mug into her right hand, placed a bowl on the palm of the other. “There is a spoon. It is only ship's ale, lady, and stew.”
“My thanks,” she said in return. “And what name do you go by, ship's man?”
“Rothar, lady. I am a blank shield and no real seaman. But since I know no trade but war, one venture is nigh as good as another.”
“Yet of this venture you have some doubts.” She had set the mug on the deck, kept upright between her worn sandals. Now she seized his hand, held it to read. It seemed to Dairine that she must not let this opportunity of learning more of Vidruth's followers go, and she sensed that this Rothar was not of the same ilk as Wak.
“Lady"—his voice was very low and swift—"they say that you have knowledge of herb craft. Why then has Vidruth not taken you to the captain that you may learn what strange, swift illness struck him down?”
There was youth in the hand Dairine held and not, she believed, any desire to deceive.
“Where lies the captain?” she asked in as low a voice.
“In his cabin. He is fevered and raves. It is as if he has come under some ensorcelment and—”
“Rothar!” From the door, another voice sharp as an order. The hand she held jerked free from hers. But not before she had felt the spring of fear.
“I promised no man shall trouble you. Has this cub been at such tricks?” Vidruth demanded.
“Not so.” Dairine was surprised her voice remained so steady. “He has been most kind in bringing me food and drink, both of which I needed.”
“And having done so—out!” Vidruth commanded. “Now"—she heard the door close behind the other—"what have you learned, girl, from this piece of silk?”
“I have had but a little time, lord. Give me more. I must study it.”
“See that you do” was his order as he also departed.
He did not come again, nor did Rothar ever once more bring her food. She thought, though, of what the young man had said concerning the captain. Vidruth's tale made her believe that the whole ship's company had been behind the mate's scheme to take command and sail to Usturt. There were herbs which, put in a man's food or drink, could plunge him into the depths of fever. If she could only reach the captain, she would know. But there was no faring forth from this cubby.
Now and again Vidruth would suddenly appear to demand what more she had learned from the ribband. There was such an avid greediness in his questions that sometimes rising uneasiness nearly broke through her control. At last she answered with what she believed to be the truth.
“Have you never heard, Captain, that the Talent cannot be forced? I have tried to read from this all which I might But this scrap was not fashioned by a race such as ours. An alien nature cannot be so easily discovered. For all my attempts, I cannot build a mind picture of these people. What I see clearly is only the weaving.”
When he made no answer, Dairine continued:
“This is a thing not of the body, but the mind. Along such a road one creeps as a babe, one does not race as one full grown.”
“You have less than a day now. Before sundown, Usturt shall rise before us. I know only what I have heard tell of witch powers, and that may well be changed by the telling and retelling. Remember, girl, your life can well ride on your ‘seeing'!”
She heard him go. The ribband no longer felt so light and soft Rather, it had taken on the heaviness of a slave chain binding her to his will. She ate ship's biscuits from the plate he had brought her. It was true time was passing, and she had done nothing of importance.
Oh, she could now firmly visualize the loom and see the silk come into being beneath the flying fingers. But the body behind those hands, that she could not see. Nor did any of the personality of the weavers who had made that which she held come clear to her, for all her striving.
Captain Ortis—he came in the reading, for he had held this. And Vidruth also. There was a third who was more distant, lying hid under a black cloud of fear. Was this day or night? She had lost track of time. That the ship still ran before the wind, she sensed.
Then—she was not alone in the cubby! Yet she had not heard the warning creak of the door. Fear kept her tense, hunched upon the stool, listening with all her might.
“Lady?”
Rothar! But how had he come?
“Why are you here?” Dairine had to wet her lips with her tongue before she could shape those words.
“The
y move now to put you ashore on Usturt, lady! Captain Ortis, he came up leaning on Vidruth's arm, his body all atremble. He gives no orders, only Vidruth. Lady, there is some great wrong here—for we are at Usturt And Vidruth commands. Such is not right.”
“I knew that I must go to Usturt,” she returned. “Rothar, if you have any allegiance to your captain, know he is a prisoner to Vidruth in some manner, even as I have been. And if I do not do as Vidruth says, there will be greater trouble—death—”
“You do not understand.” His voice was very husky. “There are monsters on this land. To see them even, they say, makes a man go mad!”
“But I shall not see them,” Dairine reminded him. “How long do I have?”
“Some moments yet.”
“Where am I and how did you get here?”
“You are in the treasure hold, below the Captain's own cabin. I have used the secret opening to reach you as this is the first time Vidruth and the captain have been out of it Now they must watch carefully for the entrance to the inner reef.”
“Can yon get me into the captain's cabin?” If in those moments she might discover what hold Vidruth had over Captain Ortis, she perhaps would be able to help a man she trusted.
“Give me your hands, then, lady. I fear we have very little time.”
She reached out, and her wrists were instantly caught in a hold tight enough to be painful, but she made no sound of complaint. Then she found herself pulled upward with a vast heave as if Rothar must do this all in a single effort. When he set her on her feet once more, she sensed she was in a much larger space. And there was the fresh air from the sea blowing in as if through some open port.
But the air was not enough to hide from her that telltale scent—a scent of evil.
“Let me go, touch me not now,” she told Rothar. “I seek that which must be found, and your slightest touch will confuse my course.”
Slowly she turned away from the wind, facing to her right
“What lies before me?”
“The captain's bed, lady.”
Step by step she approached in that direction. The sniff of evil was stronger. What it might be she had no idea, for though Ingvarna had taught her to distinguish that which was of the shadow, she knew little more. The fetid odor of some black sorcery was rank.
“The bed,” she ordered now, “do you strip off its coverings. If you find aught which is strange, be sure you do not touch it with your hand. Rather, use something of iron, if you can, to pluck it forth. And then throw it quickly into the sea.”
He asked no questions, but she could hear his hurried movements. And then—
“There is a—a root, most misshapen. It lies under the pillow, lady.”
“Wait!” Perhaps the whole of that bed place was now impregnated by what evil had been introduced. To destroy its source might not be enough. “Bundle all—pillow, coverings—give them to the sea!” she ordered. “Let me back then into the treasure cubby, and if there be time, make the bed anew. I do not know what manner of ensorcelment has been wrought here. But it is of the Shadow, not of the Power. Take care that you keep yourself also from contact with it.”
“That will I do of a certainty, lady!” His answer was fervent. “Stand well back, I will get rid of this.”
She retreated, hearing the click of his sea boots on the’ planking as he passed her toward the source of the sea wind.
“Now"—he was back at her side—"I shall see you safe, lady. Or as safe as you can be until the captain comes to his mind once more and Vidruth be removed from command.”
His hands closed upon her, lowered her back down into the cubby. She listened intently. But if he closed that trap door, and she was sure that he had, it had fallen into place without a sound.
3
She had not long to wait, for the opening on the floor level of the cubby was opened and she recognized Vidruth's step.
“Listen well, girl,” he commanded. “Usturt is an island, one of a string of islands, reaching from the shore. At one time, they may all have been a part of the coast. But now some are only bare rock with such a wash of sea around them as no man can pass. So think not that you have any way of leaving save by our favor. We shall set you ashore and keep down-sea thereafter. But when you have learned what we wish, then return to the shore and there leave three stones piled one upon another. . . .”
To Dairine, his arrangements seemed to be not well thought out. But she questioned nothing. What small hopes she had she could only pin on Rothar and the Captain. Vidruth's hand tightened about her arm. He drew her to a ladder, set her hands upon its rungs.
“Climb, girl. And you had better play well your part. There are those among us who fear witchcraft and say there is only one certain way to disarm a witch. That, you have heard. . . .”
She shivered. Yes, there was a way to destroy a witch—by enjoying the woman. All men were well versed in that outrage.
“Rothar shall set you ashore,” Vidruth continued. “And we shall watch your going. Think not to talk him out of his orders, for there is no place elsewhere. . . .”
Dairine was on the deck now, heard the murmur of voices. Where stood Captain Ortis? Vidruth gave her no time to try to sort out the sounds. Under his compelling, the girl came up against the rail. Then Vidruth caught her up as if she were a small child and lowered her until other hands steadied her, easing her down upon a plank seat.
Around her was the close murmur of the sea, and she could hear the grate of oars within their locks.
“Do you believe me witch, Rothar?” she asked.
“Lady, I do not know what you are. But that you are in danger with Vidruth, that I can swear to. If the captain comes into his own mind again—”
He broke off and then continued. “Through the war, I have come to hate any act which makes man or woman unwillingly serve another. There is no future before me, for I am wastage of war, having no trade save that of killing. Therefore, I will do what I may to help you and the captain.”
“You are young to speak so, of being without a future.”
“I am old in killing.” he told her bleakly. “And of such men as Vidruth leads, I have seen many. Lady, we are near the shore. And those on the ship watch us well. When I set you on the beach, take forth carefully what you find in my belt hide it from all. It is a knife made of the best star-steel, fashioned by the hand of Hamraker himself. Not mine in truth, but the Captain's.”
Dairine did as he ordered when he carried her from the sand-smoothing waves to the drier reach beyond. Memory stirred in her. Once there had been such a knife and—firelight had glinted on it—
“No!” she cried aloud to deny memory. Yet her fingers remained curled about that hilt.
“Yes!” He might not understand her inner turmoil, but his hold on her tightened. “You must keep it.
“Walk straight ahead,” he told her. “Those on the ship have the great dart caster trained on you. There are trees ahead—within those, there the spiders are said to be. But, lady, though I dare not move openly in your aid now, for that would bring me quick death to no purpose, yet what I can do, that I shall.”
Uncertainty held Dairine. She felt naked in this open which she did not know. Yet she must not appear concerned to those now watching her. She had the ribband of silk looped about her wrist. And within the folds of her skirt, she held also the knife. Turning her head slightly from one side to another, she listened with full concentration, walking slowly forward against the drag of the sand.
Coolness ahead—she must be entering the shade of the trees. She put out her hand, felt rough bark, slid around it, setting the trunk as a barrier between that dart thrower of which Rothar had warned, and her back.
Then she knew, as well as if her eyes could tell her, that it was not alone the ship's company who watched. She was moving under observation of someone—or something—else, Dairine used her sense of perception, groping as she did physically with her hands, seeking what that might be.
A m
oment later she gasped with shock. A strong mental force burst through the mind door she had opened. She felt as if she had been caught in a gaint hand, raised to the level of huge eyes which surveyed her outwardly and inwardly.
Dairine swayed, shaken by that nonphysical touch, search. It was nonhuman. Yet she realized, as she fought to recover her calm, it was not inimical—yet
“Why come you here, female?”
In Dairine's mind, the word shaped clearly. Still, she could build up no mental picture of her questioner. She faced a little to the right, held out the hand about which she had bound the ribband.
“I seek those able to weave such beauty,” she replied aloud, wondering if they could hear, or understand, her words.
Again that sensation of being examined, weighed. But this time she stood quiet, unshaken under it.
“You think this thing beautiful?” Again the mind question.
“Yes.”
“But you have not eyes to see it.” Harshly that came, as if to deny her claim.
“I have not eyes, that is the truth. But my fingers have been taught to serve me in their place. I, too, weave, but only after the manner of my own people.”
Silence, then a touch on the back of her hand, so light and fleeting Dairine was not even sure she had really felt it. The girl waited, for she understood this was a place with its own manner of barriers, and she might continue only if those here allowed it.
Again a touch on her hand, but this time it lingered. Dairine made no attempt to grasp, though she tried to read through that contact. And saw only bright whirls.
“Female, you may play with threads after the crude fashion of your kind. But call yourself not a weaver!” There was arrogance in that.
“Can one such as I learn the craft as your people know it?”
“With hands as clumsy as this?” There came a hard rap across her knuckles. “Not possible. Still, you may come, see with your fingers what you cannot hope to equal.”
The touch slid across her hand, became a sinewy band about her wrist as tight as the cuff of a slave chain. Dairine knew now there was no escape. She was being drawn forward. Oddly, though she could not read the nature of the creature who guided her, there flowed from its contact a sharp mental picture of the way ahead.
