Ashurek seized the sea-horses’ reins and shouted to Estarinel, ‘Find something to throw into the Fire – I’m ready to turn the ship if it burns!’
Estarinel found some coils of rope on deck and hurled one into the pink aura. There was a spurt of flame. A sprinkle of ash floated down where the rope had been.
‘There’s your answer, Estarinel – we cannot sail through it.’ They shouted to the horses to turn, while the Gorethrian hauled on the reins, trying to guide them to starboard.
The sea-horses began to fight the waves. The swell was keeping the creatures almost continually submerged. They were powerful, however. The strength of the current was pushing them towards the fire, but gradually they were forcing their way into a curve.
Meanwhile, Medrian, feet spread to balance herself, was divesting herself of cloak and sword. A thin streak of darkness, she suddenly dived off the side of the ship into the abyss below.
‘What in hell’s she doing?’ cried Ashurek. He and Estarinel leaned gasping over the rail. Medrian, tossed by the waves, was clinging to one of the horses, fumbling with a strap. She was unharnessing the beasts from the ship.
‘Stop!’ Ashurek shouted over the noise of the storm. ‘Don’t unharness them!’
Medrian’s voice was faint as she upturned her pale, spray-soaked face. ‘They’ll be swept into the fire!’
‘They won’t! They’re pulling us clear!’
Medrian ignored him. She unharnessed the horses and they swam free of the ship, but stayed close as if reluctant to leave her to drown. The ship, without the help of the sea-horses, was now being swept straight towards the Roseate Fire.
Estarinel, meanwhile, had thrown Medrian a rope.
‘Help me pull her up,’ he told Ashurek. Even as he spoke, the heat grew unbearable. The figurehead entered the pink aura and caught fire. Medrian could not reach the rope, but was swallowed by a great wave that hurtled, steaming, into the glow.
‘Jump!’ cried Ashurek, leaping off the side of the ship. Estarinel followed. He thought of their horses as he fell towards the dark waves, feeling flames catching at his cloak.
Chapter Five. Hrannekh Ol
Estarinel landed, to his shock, in four feet of fine white ash. It caved in on top of him, filling his nostrils, mouth, eyes. He struggled to regain his feet, floundering and choking, unable to breathe for the dust. At last he was standing waist deep in the ash, which floated in a cloud around him. He stood still, waiting for it to settle as he looked about him. On his left was The Star of Filmoriel, half-submerged in drifts, her figurehead badly scorched. Medrian was leaning against the ship’s bow, her back to him and an arm across her face. Coughing, Ashurek emerged from the ash.
They were standing on a white plain that stretched endlessly in all directions. The sky, too, was the white of bleached bone. The air felt as dry as the dust. Although it was not hot, their water-sodden clothes were already drying as if the air were sucking the moisture from them.
‘Is everyone all right?’ asked Estarinel between coughs.
‘It seems so,’ said Ashurek. ‘This must be the White Plane Hrannekh Ol. When we entered the Roseate Fire we must have passed through an Entrance Point. I suppose neither of you have been here before?’
‘No,’ both replied.
‘Nor I,’ he said. ‘I have no idea what to expect; I have never made a study of the Planes. Now to my regret.’
Medrian was leaning back against the ship, facing them, her eyes closed. A crust of salt was forming on her grey tunic and breeches.
Estarinel went to her. ‘Are you sure you’re well?’
‘Perfectly,’ she answered shortly. Her sharp-featured face was always pale, making it impossible to judge her state of health. ‘Our being here is my fault. I misjudged the sea-horses’ strength. They could have pulled us clear.’
Ashurek looked doubtfully at her, but kept his thoughts to himself.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let us sort ourselves out.’
The clambered back on board the stranded ship with some difficulty. Below deck, their horses were uneasy, noticing the change of motion and air. The three settled the animals as best they could. Back on deck, as Medrian retrieved her sword and cloak, they saw a slight rise in the ground nearby and decided to explore.
‘There can’t be life in this desolate place,’ said Ashurek. ‘We must find an Exit Point back to Earth.’
They took a flask of water with them. Their mouths were dry and a cold sweat formed on their skin, quickly evaporating. As they struggled through the four feet of fine ash, every move sent up puffs of choking dust to catch in their throats.
It was a strange place. There was nothing menacing about it. It was absolutely impassive. There was no sun and the light never changed. They were in a white cocoon that stretched infinitely in all directions. Such was the White Plane Hrannekh Ol.
They waded to the crest of the low hill and discovered, as they had feared, that there was nothing to see in the whole featureless terrain. Whether the Plane had been different in the past they did not know, but now it was like the inside of a perfect egg-shell that had never contained the promise of life. They stood looking about them, sipping water to moisten their mouths. Their ship lay in the ash like a dead swan.
‘Poor Star, said Estarinel, distraught. ‘How can I ever make amends to the H’tebhmellians? Perhaps it’s lucky you unharnessed the sea-horses or they’d be trapped here as well.’
‘I don’t know,’ Medrian muttered, handing the flask of water to Ashurek. Estarinel could not forget how strangely she had behaved during the storm, nor could he understand it. Whatever the reason, she was her normal quiet self now.
They kept their eyes on the ship, for it was the only relief from the monotonous whiteness.
In such a dead place, they could not have suspected that four figures were creeping silently up the slope behind them. Sensing their presence too late, Ashurek spun round, sweeping his sword from its sheath. The four had long white spears at the ready, and quickly surrounded them. There were a few moments of absolute stillness. The four strangers were tall, pale-skinned men, clad in a translucent membrane that covered every inch of their bodies, even their faces. They looked grotesque, like snakes shedding skin; but through slits in the membrane masks, narrow human eyes peered out.
‘There’s no need to threaten us,’ Estarinel said calmly. ‘We mean you no harm.’ He glanced at Ashurek glowering over the point of his keen sword and grimaced at the nonsense this made of his statement.
With a flick of his spear tip, one of the men caught Ashurek’s sword at the hilt and sent it flying. A lucky blow. Ashurek did not react openly, but his whole body became dangerous with fury.
‘Come with us,’ one said, poking Estarinel sharply in the back. ‘We’ve waited a long time for this.’
‘All we want is to find an Exit Point back to Earth,’ said Estarinel. His heart sank as he realised the pointlessness of arguing with the white warriors.
‘Ah, sweet Earth! Don’t we all!’ the man spat.
‘You have nothing to fear from us,’ Estarinel persisted.
‘Nothing to fear, plenty to gain,’ growled another of them. ‘Your ship – how much water is aboard?’
‘Water?’ Estarinel looked at the man’s face and saw it was wrinkled like a dried fruit. Painfully he thought of the horses. He felt breathless, weak and thirsty. ‘Are you taking us prisoner?’
‘It seems so. Stop talking, it wastes moisture.’
Without warning Ashurek spun about, wresting the spear from the man behind him. Medrian and Estarinel drew their own swords as the pale warriors swung their spears. The blows were easily blocked; but the fourth man struck at Medrian’s legs from behind and took her down. He sprang to her side and held her down with a spear at her back.
‘Give up or I’ll kill her!’ he shouted. His spear tip tore her tunic. There was a savage desperation about the four men. Ashurek emerged coughing from the ash, but his opponent now lay buried i
n the dust, unmoving. He found a spear on either side of him. Estarinel, sword in hand, shoulder throbbing from a wound he hadn’t noticed receiving, looked at the man who was threatening Medrian.
‘Drop the sword,’ the man commanded. Estarinel gave in and Medrian was allowed to rise. Then they saw five more figures approaching, clad in dust-caked membrane, stirring up ash clouds. One, who seemed to be in charge, grinned with greed as he addressed the attackers.
‘So, you’ve made a find that’ll save your own skins for a while.’ Looking down at their dead comrade he added brusquely, ‘One less mouth to feed. Bring his body along with the prisoners. Quickly now, before they start to dry out.’
The captives were prodded down through thick, dry ash. Squinting against the flat light, Ashurek made out a shallow valley and ahead, another ridge rising before them, as if the Plane rippled like sand dunes beneath the ash.
As they gained the crest of the second ridge, they saw the floating plateau of whiteness stretching on to infinity… and marooned below them, the dessicated hulk of another ship. With her hull split and fragile as the carapace of a dead insect, her broken masts leaning into the dead air, all plastered grey-white with dust, she was a ghost.
Ashurek heard Estarinel’s soft gasp. They paused to look, only to be forced on again, stumbling down another slope.
In the far side of the ridge lay a low tunnel mouth with the dust swept away from around it. The three prisoners were pushed inside and found themselves in a round tunnel carved out of a glistening white stone like rock salt; man-made or natural, it was impossible to determine. There were no lamps or torches. Instead the walls were lit by the same diffuse, shadowless white light as outside. Other smaller caverns and passages led off but everything looked flat, making it hard to judge distance.
Their captors manhandled them along the curving tunnel until they reached a blind wall. Their cloaks and scabbards were forcibly removed and thrown in a careless heap. A couple of the men lifted spears and inserted the tips into cracks in the rock. A round section pivoted, revealing the entrance to a large white cavern about the height of three men.
This entrance, however, was nearer to the roof of the cavern than to the floor.
‘Right,’ said the leader, ‘in with them.’ The men prodded Estarinel first, towards the hole.
‘It’s a ten-foot drop to the ground!’ he protested.
‘And how will you remove us from this… larder?’ Ashurek enquired.
‘We’ll pull you up on ropes,’ said the leader, with a hard, joyless laugh. ‘Slaughtered enough animals on the farm, back on dear Earth.’
‘How did you come to be here?’ Estarinel asked quickly.
‘Jump!’ snarled the leader, and his spear drew blood from Estarinel’s side.
They had no choice. One by one they jumped down as gently as they could, rolling as they landed, sustaining bruises but no broken bones. High above them the rock was pushed back into place, sealing them in the white cavern. Estarinel touched the flesh wound in his side; the skin felt dry and hot.
‘This waterless place will take every drop of moisture in our bodies before long,’ he said. ‘That strange membrane they’re wearing must be to prevent dehydration.’
‘That “strange membrane”, as you so delicately put it,’ said Ashurek, ‘looks remarkably like – never mind. This is a sound prison. We should have fought better, if only we’d been more alert.’
‘Who would have expected life in this place?’ Estarinel asked.
Ashurek scratched the wall with a fingernail but the rock was quartz-hard. He was surprised and relieved to see how calmly Estarinel was reacting. He had feared the Forluinishman might panic at the first crisis.
‘There must be a way out,’ Ashurek muttered, surveying the cave.
‘Those people,’ said Estarinel, ‘obviously Tearnian.’
‘Morrenish, at a guess.’
They looked at each other.
‘The Morrenish at the House of Rede? They said their companion ship suffered a fate like ours. I wonder how long they’ve been here?’
‘Two or three months, perhaps. They’re obviously a very resourceful people. Even Gorethrians could never be so terrifyingly self-sufficient.’ Ashurek grinned like a wolf at Estarinel.
‘I can’t understand how they’ve managed to survive here,’ the Forluinishman continued innocently. ‘What on earth do they do for food?’
Medrian and Ashurek stared at him. Ashurek raised his eyebrows and looked around their prison. ‘What do you think?’ he said.
They were silent for a time. Thirst grew unbearable. Above them, the rock slid back and two pale, membrane-clad faces peered over greedily. One was the leader of their band of captors; the other an older, thickly-built man they had not seen before.
‘Here are the prisoners, Captain,’ said the first. ‘We’ve got three horses and plenty of water, too.’
‘Excellent,’ said the captain, running a dry tongue over his lips. His voice was low and gravelly. ‘They fell through an Entrance Point, did they? They look a little better than those skinny Peradnians, eh! Make the preparations. Bring them out in half an hour’s time.' The faces retreated and the rock slid back.
‘How do they measure half an hour, without the sun?’ said Estarinel, shuddering.
‘We may have a chance to escape when they take us out of here,’ said Ashurek. ‘There are many things that can be done with a rope, if we take our chance.’ Ashurek felt he could rely only on himself to make an escape. Estarinel’s gentle, fair face and dark eyes were troubled; and the Forluinish were not noted for courage. ‘This is no place for diplomacy,’ he added.
‘Yes, that’s obvious,’ Estarinel said with a half-grin. ‘I’m learning.’ Then he frowned. ‘The Quest cannot end so suddenly, like this… can it?’
Medrian stared at him, her eyes even blacker than her salt-crusted hair. ‘As Ashurek said, we must take our chance,’ she said, her voice as dry as the air.
They sat on the floor of the cavern, watching their prison door. Estarinel struggled to turn his mind from thoughts of Forluin, and from the knowledge that the Worm could so effortlessly thwart their mission and trap them in a white cell. And even if they should escape the clutches of these doomed cannibals, how would they ever find a way back to Earth? He sighed and buried a hand in his long hair, feeling it grainy with salt and dust.
About twenty minutes had passed when there was a grating sound of rock sliding over rock. They looked up at the entrance but the rock was not moving. The sound was coming from the ground. A round section of the floor sank slowly to reveal a hole in the stone, some seven feet across. After a moment a head poked up through the hole; the bony, white head of an old man. His face was round and small-featured, and he looked pleased to see them.
‘Oh good,’ he said in an aged, gentle voice. ‘I’ve found you before they took you away. Come on, follow me, quickly.’
‘Who are you?’ gasped Estarinel.
‘Er – a rescuer,’ the old man replied. ‘Call me Hranna. I’ll explain when we get to the other side.’
‘Come on,’ urged Ashurek. ‘Never mind questions.’
The old man climbed delicately out of the hole. He came up only to Estarinel’s chest and he was wizened and hairless, with milk-white skin; yet he moved with grace and nimbleness. He was clothed in a robe of soft, glittering gossamer of dazzling whiteness that confused the eye.
‘Down the hole with you. I’ll follow. Quickly, now!’
Ashurek lowered himself into the aperture. To his astonishment, he was struck by swimming dizziness and for a few moments was completely disorientated. It was as if the centre of gravity had shifted beneath his feet. The shaft had dropped vertically into the ground but now he was walking along it horizontally. Behind him, Medrian and Estarinel staggered, caught their balance by putting out hands to the wall.
‘What–?’ Estarinel began.
‘Walk,’ said Hranna. ‘Just keep going, fast as you can.’
>
The old man slid the section of rock back into place and followed them.
They walked for what seemed hours, disoriented and snow-blind from the relentless white curve of the passage. At last Ashurek saw a round pale disc ahead. Not another blank wall, but the tunnel mouth.
First to reach it, he looked out and saw that it appeared to be set in a sheer, vertical plane. White walls rushed away in all directions. He hesitated, stomach sinking.
‘Climb out,’ urged Hranna behind him.
‘Onto what?’
‘Just go. It’s perfectly all right.’
Ashurek began cautiously to lower himself over the lip of the tunnel-mouth, only to be struck again by dizziness, a feeling of the ground rocking beneath his feet. Suddenly he was kneeling on flat ground looking down into a vertical shaft.
He rose, helping Estarinel; but Medrian shook off his dark hand. Gradually they orientated themselves and looked about them.
It was a flat, salt-white landscape of hard rock, but very different from the ash-submerged place they had left. Everywhere stood crystalline formations like snow-covered trees, raising their branches to the white sky in delicate, glittering webs. It was like a forest after a thick fall of snow; ground, trees and sky all sparkling white. It was beautiful, but the endless whiteness was tiring to the eye; there was no escape from it.
The air was still. There seemed not a drop of moisture on the entire Plane. They were all dizzy and breathless from thirst, and Estarinel’s wounds were aching sharply.
Hranna made a quick beckoning gesture with his skeletal hand. ‘Follow me,’ he said, starting to walk. They followed slowly, winding through the crystalline trees in silence.
Presently Estarinel stirred himself to ask, ‘Where are we?’
The old man was ready to talk and to answer questions at last.
‘On the other side of the White Plane, as you call it. It is flat, therefore it has two sides. I believe you use the ancient name Hrannekh Ol, but we also call it Peradnia.’
A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) Page 12
