by Andre Norton
Climber joined me, sniffed at the hole I had dug, and then pushed at me, plainly urging me on. I obeyed, not wanting to lose sight of the others.
I scratched away with my staff, and what I uncovered was a hidden pavement. Stone-covered roads were known in the South, and great care was taken to preserve them. The Northling tracks on the other side of the border were just that: crude trails that did not encourage travel.
Yet another scrap of mystery. I was minded to share it with my companions, but my find receded into memory soon enough as we came out of the tunnel of thick growth into the open.
Here a jumble of stones, from gravel size to boulders near the proportion and shape of a landsman’s den, faced us. The ground was fairly level; I shut my eyes and opened them again, wanting to be sure I was not reading more into the site than was truth. Somehow I was sure that this had been a fort or perhaps a small settlement. Some of the larger stones had splotches, which caught the brighter sun as though shards of glass were embedded in them.
The three ahead of me had paused, and my sisters were looking back with growing impatience. I whacked at one of the glassy patches with my staff as I passed, and thereby made sure it was not a substance of the rock that bore it.
“What keep was this, Zolan? Who ruled it?” I asked as I came up.
“Who knows?” He shrugged. “It is very old. But, yes, it is part of a large shelter of sorts. I have dug here and there,” he confessed, “being curious. But nothing has lingered through time but the stones.”
“So?” I had gone to one knee and was using the stone-bladed knife issued me to pick at a glint where one of the stones lay half buried in the earth. What I freed was about the size of one of our Southern plums, and one end looked as if it had been shattered. But the rest was the texture of a carefully smoothed cabochon of precious stone.
As I rubbed the earth from it, the sunlight claimed it at once, giving a warm golden color yet not a metallic sheen. Though I had seen royal jewels aplenty, and handled some, this—mineral? metal?—was new.
“Sun stone!” Zolan looked down at my find.
“That gem is to be found here?” Again the treasure story took on more reality.
He was frowning as he stared at it closely, kneeling beside me to do so. “I have found no trace of any mine nor any stones in a rough state,” he commented slowly.
“But you recognized it—gave it a name.”
“I have found three of its kind—and the name is what I myself gave them.”
Like my sisters, I possessed a strong interest in the lore of stones. From the time when, as a small child, I watched my mother robe for court, her jewel chest open, I have had a fascination with gems, not for their value but rather for their shape and color. And when my later studies suggested that some minerals were used for the focusing of Talents, my desire for more knowledge became a need.
This stone—if stone it was—seemed warm. I felt an odd twinge in my hand where it lay like a distilled droplet of sunlight. Then it was a Power stone—and how it might be used, I knew I must speedily learn.
All at once I sensed a listener-in on my mind. Instinctively, I stiffened, and my hand made a fist to conceal what I held. Again this Dismal dweller had caught my thought as though it had been a Send. I looked up to meet his eyes. He had made a Send, strange and new—but mind-speech not unlike that I had known and answered all my life.
“Power stone.” He used that inner speech to confirm my belief. “It came to you, Lady Tamara. Use it well.”
I had been dubious about our little expedition, yet I was certain that, in some way, I had acquired a Gift meant for me. But why? And did it come from this man I was now watching warily—or another?
Sabina
TAM DID NOT have to reassure us by any Send that what she found was indeed a prize. And that she had found it meant, to both Cilla and me, it was intended for her use. We did feel the bite of envy, but, knowing the nature of such Power, we also knew that to neither of us would this earthborn treasure answer. Nor did Zolan appear to dispute her ownership; rather, he started ahead again with no further word. Could we take his abrupt departure as a sign that he might covet the find?
We wove a way through the tumble of stones to learn that the territory it covered was much larger than we had first thought. When our guide called a halt, we could see a cliff wall marking the end of this section of the Dismals.
A small stretch of level pavement remained, and on this rough flooring we settled now to chew on tough smoked meat curled into rods. These we rubbed in a sweet-sour paste and took careful sips from the clay water bottles we carried.
I settled myself to look back along the way we had come. I was sure that if a careful observer stared long enough, a pattern would begin to emerge from the ruins. Finally my attention centered on one of those ripples of glass which threaded a nearby stone.
As a child, I had watched clouds to see pictures form and dissolve, one after another. Now this glitter-encrusted line before me seemed to do likewise.
First it suggested a long triangular pattern, and the word viper flashed into my mind. However, it did not retain that shape: instead, it shifted on the stone, the portion pointing earthward becoming more sharply visible.
I closed my eyes—the reflection from it hurt! I knew glass in many forms, but none like this. In the South, the nobility and wealthy merchants had glass in the windows of dwellings and other buildings. Finely crafted, it formed drinking vessels for royal feasts, and, backed with silver, it could picture all who stood before it. It was also fashioned into beads and ornaments, some of which were able to outshine even true gems. Women as well as men spun subtleties of such substance—
Suddenly heat beat upon me, intense as that from a furnace where glass was so wrought. I felt confined, as the heat increased until I was gasping, and my skin felt ready to crack under heat and pressure.
“Bina!”
I tried to twist free from the hold on my shoulder, for its firmness only added to my torment.
“Bina!”
The darkness of my captivity departed; the heat vanished. I opened my eyes to look upon only a grayish white line crooking across stone.
“Glass.”
Tam looked from me to the crystal-shot boulder. “Of a sort,” she agreed. “Though how it was formed, who knows.” She stepped away to the side of the stone and picked at the encrusted line with her fingers. Cilla, at my other side, looked at me with concern.
“What is wrong, Bina?”
I forced a laugh. “Too much sun, I suppose—that, and far too many mysteries. I want answers.”
“So do we all,” declared Tam with some force.
I glanced around. Zolan appeared to have left us. But before I could comment on our host’s absence, Climber’s head showed at near ground level where an extra-large stone was earth-planted a little way ahead. Then Zolan reappeared, beckoning us forward.
For a short distance I felt light-headed, as if the upper part of my body was far too heavy and I might lose balance. When Cilia tried to help me, I shook my unsteady head and pushed her away, ashamed of my weakness. I continued to pick my way carefully, for I had dealt too many times with sprains and bone-breaks of others who had taken tumbles, and this ground was a maze of traps for the unwary.
The sun was well to westward when we came out of the ruins, much closer to the mountain-mark of the high cliff. Here, without any order from Zolan, Climber led the party.
His nose dropped now and then close to the ground. That very long tail lay curled up over his back, yet threatened to touch the earth. I could sense the rise of excitement in him—our four-footed companion was on the hunt. By Tam’s report, he had attacked the flying monster that could have been more than a match for him. Knowing that he held such strength within himself made one uneasy.
What we did come upon was a tree trunk, its more slender top jammed into a ragged hole in the cliff well above our heads. The branches remaining were but stubs but, upon closer stud
y, we could see that other short lengths had been inserted into the trunk to form a ladder of sorts.
Tamara
AT ZOLAN’S ORDER we shed our packs, and he tied them together with a section of rope he removed from his own. Not for the first time I was glad that we had been shorn of the full skirts to which we had been accustomed, since such a climb faced us.
As my father’s sometime companion, I was more used to such activity than Cilla, or Bina, toward whom I glanced at intervals since she appeared unlike herself. However, as we approached the rude ladder more closely, I decided that it looked safe enough, even though it had been set at a steep angle. Zolan swung up by foot- and handhold with the ease of one following a well-known trail. I started after as soon as he had pulled himself through the upper crevice, leaving the rope lashed to our packs dangling behind.
He flattened himself against the right wall of the portal and pulled me through. It was a tight passage, and rough stone rasped my left arm.
I pushed on into the gloom to leave room for the others. None of the dim glow shone from the walls here, so I hesitated against venturing too far from the entrance. Our guide might know this way well enough to move on without light, but I was wary.
At last we were all aloft and had once again taken up our packs, which Zolan had pulled up. Climber had come last, again forming a rear guard, while the Protector was at the van. However, now we were leashed together by his rope, and thus, as we headed into the night, we were forced to depend entirely on his choice of path.
As the light from the cave entrance finally gave way to the swallowing dark, uneasiness grew within me. My trust began to diminish. Zolan had said nothing of our goal. Perhaps he was now intent on showing us that he had spoken the truth: that this wall-rent might seem to promise a path to the Upper World, but that the promise was false.
On impulse I brought out my find from the ruins. It was warm to my touch, but it did not give forth any radiance. Yet that warmth began to build, cool, and build again. Each time the heat increased, more of it lingered at the fading. It was following a rhythm close to that of the beating of a heart.
The guide rope suddenly pulled to the right and down!
“Take it carefully.” Zolan’s voice seemed to boom through the dark, and the slight pull of the cord leading us slowed.
Underfoot, our support was indeed changing, dipping a little more with each step. We had not gone far before air moved about my head and shoulders and I felt a sensation as if I had advanced from under a roof into the open.
With this feeling of being in an unconfined place came also the beginning of light, though it was a very faint glow and it came from beneath us to the right. Now I understood: we traversed a ledge with a threatening drop to one side.
Still we continued to descend as the light grew brighter. But the pace Zolan set was even slower. He did not utter a second warning; he did not have to. It was very plain that this was a place of peril.
In my palm the power gem now pulsed rapidly. I wondered if indeed it was somehow linked to my heart; yet the Power it emitted gave, strangely, a constant assurance of safety. Our progress was now hardly more than a crawl, and our guide often paused for increasingly longer halts.
The flat but inclined surface of the ledge became steps, narrow and cramped. Certainly these stairs had not been fashioned for feet such as ours. About us, the walls to our left were now covered with ragged growths of dusky, ash-covered masses of small leaves, strung like beads on garish red stems. As these began to appear, Zolan made one of his frequent nods toward this show of vegetation.
“Stay clear.”
Having witnessed the unpredictability of the plant life outside, we were only too willing to follow such an order. But, even as the walls to our left supported growth, so did greenery arise on the open side of the path. These were not the trees we knew, but blackish stems as large around as two hands encircled, supporting ragged tags of thick slime.
The air about carried scents of rottenness such as could rise from growth in a stagnant pool. Suddenly one of the miserable “trees” shook violently. Zolan waved us back toward the left as a serpentlike head arose, jaws open to tear at flapping slime. The creature paid no heed to us, but plainly we should not attract its notice by any movement.
However, as the head, borne by a sinuous neck, rose higher still, I rubbed my hand, close-fisted about the stone, across my thigh. The scaled skin of the thing was clearly close kin to the substance of the breeches I had fashioned for myself. And for a flashing second I felt the rise of nausea.
At length the whole of the “tree” disappeared downwards. Very slowly our guide began to work his way along the too-narrow steps again. We must believe that, since such skin had been among the lengths gathered and preserved for future use, Zolan knew what he was about, knew enough about this monster to be able to deal with it.
I now understood, or so I thought, the reason for this journey. From the first he had assured us there was no way out of the Dismals. This day he had deliberately demonstrated native dangers, from a tuft of flowers to growths of fungi, and now to reptilian monsters.
The stairs came to an end. A crunching sounded, and occasionally a sharp crack that might indicate the breaking of one of the “trees.” The stench had grown worse, and I wished heartily for one of the pomanders Cilla made so well, to relieve ugly smells.
We were looking out as if through a vast window into a cavern where swirling mist formed clouds curtaining most of the open. From here we sighted the back and tail of the snake-headed, thin-necked thing. That head and neck were supported on a bloated body, and any feet the creature might have possessed were concealed by revolting green and yellow growths.
Of a sudden there came a loud croaking noise. Zolan jerked at our guide rope and hurried ahead at the greatest speed he had yet shown, drawing us after. I glanced back to see Snakehead shifting its thick body around. A trail of mist thinned and vanished to display a second monstrous head rising a little farther on. This one was blunt and bulbous-eyed, and more than half of it was taken up by a gaping mouth rimmed with pointed fangs.
The rope twitched again as a second croaking came, loud enough to make us long to cover our ears. We were headed once more into full night. I had expected our guide, having shown us another deterrent against exploration on our own, to turn back and retrace our way, but he kept on in the dark.
A Send flashed, and we three were united. It was Bina who stated:
“That—that second thing was a frog!”
I was forced to agree with her identification. Almost I would swear that some sorcery of the Black Path—from the legends used to frighten children—had been wrought here: creatures we knew as harmless had counterparts in the Dismals of nightmarish proportions.
Let us get out of here, I thought. Zolan had more than made his point—I wanted no more of this place!
Still our travel through the dark continued. The gloom thickened as we moved farther from the window on the twilight-hidden swamp. The stench receded far more slowly. Had we spent all the day here? My feet began to suggest that.
By now we had come upon more stairs and were climbing again. To find safe footing meant constant shifting of feet and body, and my pack was an ever-growing burden. However, from above came the beginning of light once more.
Thirteen
Tamara
The stair again narrowed as we scraped our way up through a trapdoor in the floor of a new cave. Here the like of those veins of crystal caught light that served the shelter latticed the walls, so we could see we had entered what might be the interior of a large bubble.
The walls supported no shelves or marks, nor was there any sign of permanent occupancy. Directly opposite the mouth of the well through which we had entered was a single break in a curve of wall, too well shaped to have been fashioned by nature. An arch opened, affording a view of honest twilight.
Zolan shed his pack and wordlessly headed for that opening, to be swiftly joined by Climber;
then both disappeared from sight. I sought to follow, only to strike, just at the arched doorway, an obstruction. My sweeping hands discovered an invisible barrier. Neither man nor beast had been halted by this ward, but as Bina and Cilla crowded up, the obstruction, felt rather than seen, was present. We could no more push through it than we would have been able to breach an iron-bound door.
“Trapped!” My Send melded into identical assessments from my sisters.
We might be able to retrace our way, but for the dangers of the swamp. I stretched the fingers of my right hand, still clutching the Power stone with my left.
Power—shared, enhanced by all the energy we three could raise—
Even as I shaped the Send, I gasped and whirled half around, propelled by a potent force I could neither see nor truly measure, back against the curve of the wall.
I struck that new barrier and slipped to the cave floor.
Sabina
AS TAM COLLAPSED, Cilla and I endured flows from the edges of the same Power that had sent her reeling back. The light of the crystal veins blinked out for me, and I swayed, but did not fall. Our Powers, such as they were—and none of us, I was sure, could tell how far our individual Talents extended—had been used to back Tam. However, that return surge must have been aimed mainly at her.
Slowly sight returned to me. Cilla caught at my arm. I grasped her hand and together we tottered, feeling utterly sapped of Power in body, toward Tam, who was lying still against the wall.
I had not rid myself of my pack when Zolan had shed his and, as I half fell, half settled by my sister, I dropped it free of my shoulders, tugging at its latching. Whether any of the remedies I had brought could aid Tam, I did not know—I could only try.
