Then, abruptly, there was silence, falling so suddenly that Kedryn started, staring as Cord turned and said, “They agree.”
“When?” he asked.
The Ulan scratched in his beard and said, “Two nights from now they say the signs are most propitious.”
Kedryn ducked his head and said, “I thank you, Ulan. And them.”
Cord apparently relayed this to the shamans, for they stared at the trio from beneath the frameworks of their masks and the bull-head nodded as though in acknowledgment, then the medicine men rose and filed from the lodge, followed by the ala-Ulans.
Cord snorted when they were gone and tossed back a horn of ale.
“They were loath to aid you,” he remarked conversationally, “and I needed to remind them you are the hef-Alador, and that I am their Ulan. I think the promise of the eagle persuaded them.”
He laughed at this, pounding a meaty fist on the table until it seemed the portable frame must shatter under his blows. Kedryn felt nervous that such threat had been needed and asked, “They will do it? There will be no dissent?”
“When you go beyond?” Cord shook his head, recognizing Kedryn’s concern. “No—I explained to them that should any ill befall you through their offices, I shall offer them as sacrifice.”
This amused him further, and he chuckled. “There will be no treachery, my friend. You will be safe as their gramaryes can make you.”
“Thank you,” Kedryn murmured, not entirely reassured.
“It is nothing.” Cord waved a dismissive hand, his words confirming Kedryn’s earlier suspicions. “The shamans grow too proud and I welcomed the opportunity to remind them of my own power. The ala-Ulans, too, were with me—too many died storming your fortress on the word of a messiah who deserted us.”
Kedryn nodded, stretching stiffened legs, and Cord rose to his feet, beckoning them. “Come, let my people see the hef-Alador; then we shall eat.”
They followed him from the lodge and the Gehrim fell into step around them as they were promenaded about the Gathering, warriors staring with open-eyed curiosity, women holding children aloft that they might see the slayer of Niloc Yarrum. It was dark and fires burned before the lodges, their glow overwhelmed by the blaze of the great pyre topping Drul’s Mound. The light washed against the sky, driving back the night, though Kedryn saw that the moon approached its full corpus.
“When Mother Moon is bellied,” Cord told him, “then it will be done.”
Kedryn ducked his head in agreement, his heart beating faster.
For the two days that followed they were the wonder of the camp. As it had been in High Fort, after the battle, Kedryn was required to relive his fight with Niloc Yarrum; women brought babies that he might touch them; Kalar and Wyll, basking in the glory of their finding, invited him into their lodges, showing him the possessions they had gained from Ragnal and Narr; Tepshen Lahl warily showed his sword; and Wynett replenished her stock of herbs; they ate heartily, and at night slept in Cord’s lodge, Wynett modestly separated from the two men by a curtain.
And then came the night of the full moon.
During the day a lodge was erected between Cord’s hogan and the mound. It was small and contained only one chamber, the hides that formed its roof and walls laced tight to the uprights, the floor the hard dirt of the clearing. The shamans appeared one by one to daub the outer walls with runes and symbols and the Gehrim set a circle of torches on ribboned poles about the structure. There was no evening meal offered Wynett or Kedryn, nor any beer, and as dusk fell the medicine men presented themselves before the Ulan’s lodge.
“It is time,” Cord said as rattles dinned outside, counterpoised by a thin wailing. He gestured at Tepshen Lahl and said, “They go alone. No other may be present.”
Kedryn rose, clutching Wynett’s hand, smiling at Tepshen.
“May your Lady be with you,” said the kyo gravely, his face unmoving.
“Aye,” Kedryn answered. “And should we not return, remember my promises to Cord.”
The easterner nodded his agreement and Cord said, “You have courage. Both of you. May your gods and mine look on you with favor. ”
They went out of the lodge then, to find the Gehrim, full- armored and clutching spears, lined to form a narrow avenue between the hogan and the smaller structure, beyond them the watching, anticipatory mass of forest folk. The shamans stood at the entrance to the smaller construction and save for the noise of their rattles and the ululation there was no sound, even the roaring of the bonfire atop the mound seeming dimmed. Kedryn felt Wynett’s hand tighten and he smiled at her.
“Lady bless us,” she whispered as they walked between the Gehrim toward the waiting medicine men.
The shamans were painted now, their faces decorated in semblance of the beasts they took as spirit kin, their torsos bare and striped with bars of yellow, green, red, white and black. They ceased their wailing as the two drew close, then moved with shuffling, terpsichorean steps to surround them, shaking the rattles close to their faces, then down, and up again, in a movement akin to sweeping. Kedryn and Wynett stood silent, awaiting instruction, and the man wearing the guise of the bull beckoned them forward as the wolf-skinned man held back the entrance flap.
Inside the lodge a fire burned in a low metal brazier, giving off a hear fiercer than was natural for the amount of coals therein, the flames granting the pictograms on the inner walls a life of then- own, so that the cat and the bear, the bull, the wolf and the boar painted there seemed to move, prowling restlessly. The shamans entered behind them, the last drawing the flap tight, and each one delved in his belt pouch to produce a handful of powdery leaves that they scattered into the brazier.
The fire flared then, long tongues of incandescent red and yellow lapping toward the roof, and a sickly-sweet odor filled the confined space. Kedryn and Wynett were motioned to the far side of the lodge, facing the entrance, and ordered by gestures to sit. Sweat began to course down Kedryn’s cheeks, his eyes stinging as aromatic smoke coiled about his head. He felt Wynett’s palm grow slick, and from the comer of his eye saw her brush strands of darkened blond hair from her face.
The five shamans settled cross-legged around the brazier, the cat-man to Kedryn’s right, the bull to Wynett’s left. Again they fumbled in their pouches, this time producing sticks of dyed wood that they used to mark the cheeks and foreheads of the nervous pair. Then each in turn chanted in high-pitched syllables, dropping the sticks into the fire, the chant taken up by the next man until they sang in unison.
The strange singing ceased as though cut off in midsentence and five fists thrust toward the initiates, the fingers opening slowly, like the petals of a flower at dawn, to reveal tiny mushrooms, the pale flesh blotched with red. The bull-man nudged Wynett, touching his lips, and she took the mushroom he offered, swallowing the fungus with an expression of distaste. Kedryn followed suit, seeing that the bear-shaman facing him across the fire held two of the growths. He took one, Wynett the other. The mushrooms were slimy on the tongue, faintly bitter, but there was no immediately noticeable effect. He waited, aware of the painted faces watching him, wondering what would happen, how they would pass from this corporeal world into the insubstantiality of the netherworld.
The shamans began to sing again, but now it was a low, crooning sound, dirgelike and soporific. The heat seemed to grow, and the cloying odor filled his nostrils, extending tendrils of scent that became colors that danced before his eyes. He felt Wynett slump against him but could not turn his head because his gaze was fastened on the boar painted on the flap of the lodge, fascinated by its movements, by the way it raised its head and flung up its tusks. He turned his head slowly, the effort tremendous, but before Wynett came within his line of vision he became caught by the sporting of the painted wolf and heard it howl as it threw back its head, the jaws opening wide. Dimly, feeling that he should be surprised but was not, he realized that he could no longer see the fire; it was a faint glow at the lower periphery of hi
s vision, a dull redness that barely marked the shadowy darkness that now appeared to roil and shift of its own accord within the tent. He blinked but it did nothing to clear his sight, though, as if dreaming, he grew aware that he no longer held Wynett’s hand, feeling her slump lower against him, her head a faraway pressure on his thighs.
He tried to shake his head, but his neck seemed held, too solid to move, and all his attention was caught by the shifting of the shadows, the weird dance that slowly resolved into shapes he recognized, yet could not define.
Across the fire sat a bear. Not a man dressed in the creature’s hide, but a massive, ivory-fanged bear, thick brown hair flowing over huge shoulders that extended into short arms ending in taloned paws. Next to it a wolf crouched on its hindquarters, studying him through cold, yellow eyes, a pink tongue lolling from jaws lined with wicked fangs. On the bear’s other side sat a forest cat, all reddish yellow fur and slitted eyes, the blunt muzzle whiskered and toothed, the canines curving over black lips, a paw reaching as though in salute, claws extended toward him, His eyes flickered sideways and saw a grizzled, gray boar, tiny red orbs implacable as death behind the upthrust tusks, the flattened snout pulsing pinkly, one blunt-toed hoof pawing at the ground. Beside that was a bull, seated but still massive, all glistening black hide and swooping horns, its bovine gaze fixed solemnly on his face.
It said, “Come,” and the sound was thunder that dinned against his ears, ringing in his head, allowing no refusal.
He rose and felt Wynett take his hand, knowing that it was for comfort rather than the granting of sight, for he was aware that they both realized he could see, or had no need of eyes in this place, or that to which the beasts took them.
The bull lurched to its feet and he saw that it stood on its hind legs, a minotaur, a human hand gesturing that they follow. He obeyed, Wynett moving beside him, the animals that were also men forming about them as though a guard of honor, or protective, for he sensed awe in them, and fear.
“Come,” said the bull again, and they began to walk through the darkness, through the shadows, to where a light burned very bright, so radiant it seemed they approached the sun itself, though it gave no heat.
As they drew close the brilliance diffused, spreading and softening like the sun at dawn, driving back the shadows so that when the bull creature halted they stood in a penumbra, the half-light hinting at the contours of a cavern, or a tomb, the outlines not quite clear, lost in the mists that swirled restlessly at the edges of their sight. Before them was a dais of stone, on it a sarcophagus, ancient runes marking the sides. The light was brighter there and the were-creatures stood before it, respectfully.
“We ask entry to the portal.”
Again it was the bull that spoke, though now the booming voice was echoed by the others, each in turn, their request ringing from whatever walls confined the place, echoing into dying whispers that hissed away into silence.
From the sarcophagus there came a creaking as of ancient armor stirring, of unoiled leather stretched close to breaking point, and something rose, slowly at first, as if brought from a long sleep, but then swifter as it flung a hand to the stone and hauled itself clear of the kist It stepped to the ground, if ground it was on which they stood, and faced them. Kedryn stared at it, seeing a harness of a style unknown in long ages. The helm descended in sweeping wings to the metaled shoulders of a brigandine, curving forward to encompass the face, leaving only a lightless gap where nose and eyes and mouth should have shown. Vambraces molded with indiscernible, eroded figures were belted to the arms, extending into gauntlets that hid most of the hands, save that no hands were visible, only a darkness that gripped a massive, wide-bladed glaive. Beneath the brigandine the legs were warded by greaves latched over boots to which plates of rusted metal were sewn. Of physical feature there was no sign: it was as though the creature consisted of shadow, blackness where flesh should be.
It spoke, and its voice was rusted as its armor, sending a waft of putrescence billowing noisome across the strange chamber.
“Who would enter that is not dead?”
“These two,” the bull-man answered, gesturing briefly at Kedryn and Wynett.
“Living flesh.” It seemed a condemnation. “What business has living flesh here in the realm of the dead?”
The great sword rose as the thing spoke, swinging ponderously to its shoulder, poising there as the empty helm turned eyeless gaze on the intruders.
“He is the hef-Alador,” the bull-man said, his voice nervous, his own eyes flickering toward the upraised blade. “He lost his sight to one dead, and would ask its return. She is his boon companion, and needful to his quest.”
“You have no need of eyes in this place. Stay and help me guard the gate. ”
Kedryn felt the power of the creature as the blank casque faced him. He felt fear, and Wynett’s hand tight in his. He said, “I have a duty to those still living, and my time is not yet done. I was blinded by one now dead and would ask him for my eyes that I might dispense that duty. Wynett stands with me because I need her. Let us go by. I ask as hef-Alador.”
Noxious laughter rang through the chamber and the thing said, “The one you slew is here. And many others. Perhaps some you would rather not face. I know you, hef-Alador, and I tell you—go back!”
“I cannot,” Kedryn answered, not sure where the words came from, knowing only that they were right and that he must say them. “I have traveled far to come to this place, and lost good friends in the coming. Did I go back now it would betray their trust, and that I will not do.”
“Said well,” declared the shadow creature, “but know that if I grant you passage, you may not return. He who rules here is not a friendly master. A price may be demanded. Will you pay it?”
“I do not know what that price may be,” Kedryn replied, “so I cannot say that I will pay it.”
“You tread dangerous ground,” the thing warned.
“All ground is dangerous to the blind,” said Kedryn. “I would have back my sight—and I will risk much for that.”
Again the laughter echoed, foul stench reeking, the corruption of flesh, the words coming thick through it.
“You are brave, and you are the hef-Alador. For those things I will let you by. Though you may regret the passing. And you may not return.”
“I will chance that,” Kedryn said.
“Then go.” The thing nodded its ornate helm, the great blade lowering, the shadow-filled armor turning back to the sarcophagus, clambering heavily into the stone coffin.
“You have passed the first test,” said the bull-shaman. “It is not the hardest, and we can go no farther. We return now to await you; you go there.”
Kedryn followed the direction of the pointing arm and saw beyond the kist an opening. “My thanks for what you have done,” he said and moved with Wynett toward the orifice.
It seemed no more than a gap in the rock of the funerary chamber and he halted before it, looking back. The shamans were gone and the light began to fade, darkness creeping oily about the dais, no exit visible. He experienced a flood of panic, hope evaporating. From the opening before him came the nauseating stink of corruption, of decayed flesh and ordure, a growing, susurrating sound as if a myriad blowflies feasted on corpses. It rang in his ears, filling his head as the charnel reek filled his nostrils, and he felt his legs weaken beneath him.
“The talisman!” Wynett said, her voice thick as she gagged on the stink. “Trust in the talisman and the Lady!”
He saw that she had drawn her own from the neck of her tunic and held it clasped firm in her left hand. He fetched his out and held it in his right, taking Wynett’s free hand in a firm grasp. Instantly he felt a return of confidence, optimism surging, and, his eyes watering with the horrible odor, he stepped into the opening.
It was dark there, black as his blindness, but filled with shifting, writhing things that pulped beneath his feet and brushed against his face so that he held his mouth tight closed for fear they
might enter and contaminate him with their corruption. Wynett pressed hard against him and he let go her hand to curve an arm about her shoulder, feeling her reach across her breast to link their fingers again. The smooth surface of the talisman was warm to his touch and as they proceeded into the occultation it began to glow, gradually lighting their way with a soft blue radiance that in itself was comforting.
He saw that they passed along a tunnel, the roof curving low above them, the walls slimy with moisture and reeking as if the midden of the Gathering drained there. The things that had touched them went with the light, as if creatures of the blackness and unable no bear the effulgence of the talismans. Before them, and behind, on the edges of the soft-hued illumination he caught glimpses of them, white wormy undulations like the maggots that cluster in untreated wounds, in the eye sockets of dead things, loathsome to observe and emanating a sightless malevolence. They slithered from the glow and Kedryn, still clutching Wynett hard against his side, trod more swiftly down the ominous passage.
It ended abruptly in a vast, gray-lit cavern, the way ahead sloping down, the walls sweeping up to immeasurable heights, the roof lost in opalescent mist that seemed to rise like fetid steam from the lake that filled the entire center of the vault. All was gray and gloomy, walls and floor and water mingling in viscid union so that perspective was impossible to judge, the descent before them seeming simultaneously gradual and horrendously steep. Gray things with wings like tattered cloth flapped painfully in the heated air, emitting shrieking cries that stabbed at eardrums, while from the lake came a steady moaning as though a thousand thousand souls wailed in hopeless remorse. Confronted with some degree of light, the talismans lost part of their radiance, and as Kedryn began the descent he let go the stone, needing his arm free for balance as he felt the surface beneath his feet slick and treacherous. He brought his arm from Wynett’s shoulder, taking her hand again that they might support one another on the gradient.
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