Web of wind s-2

by J F Rivkin

  Here, at least she could move forward, and she breathed more freely. “I am so rutting sick of holes and tunnels and scurrying around in burrows like a mole,” she complained. “People belong on the earth, not under it-unless they’re dead.

  And don’t you tell me there’s an old Eswraine legend that folk first sprouted from the ground like carrots!”

  Nyctasia chuckled. “I don’t know of such a legend, but really there ought to be one. Corson, I believe you have the makings of a genuine philosopher.”

  Corson was uncertain, as ever, whether Nyctasia was mocking her. “I believe you have the makings of genuine half-wit. Come along, we’ll never catch up to Garast at this pace. I don’t trust that one out of my sight.” She stopped to wait for Nyctasia. The corridor had widened enough to allow them to stand side by side.

  “I can’t keep up with those long legs of yours, you know. If you’re in such a hurry, you’d best go on without me.” But despite this advice, Nyctasia took her hand, and they went on together.

  Corson soon began to feel calmer. “The worst of it is,” she said, smiling, “that Steifann won’t believe a word of all this.”

  24

  when they came to the first bend in the tunnel, they made their way around the corner warily. “If it branches into two ways, I swear I’ll turn back right now-”

  Corson began.

  But the tunnel ended only a few feet ahead of them. They stood at the edge of a terrace of sorts, overlooking a vast round cavern that stretched far into the distance in every direction. A waterfall plunged down the wall on one side, filling a wide pool and flowing on in a stream that meandered through the great chamber to disappear beneath the facing wall. The water had cut deep winding channels into the bedrock, and even pierced the masses of stone to form natural bridges in a few places.

  “The whole hill must be hollow,” Corson said, and her voice echoed back to them from the empty air.

  “Honeycombed, in fact.”

  A low parapet wall guarded the ledge from the sheer, steep drop to the stone floor below-probably to protect the children, Nyctasia thought. Corson took one look over the side and backed away hastily. “I hate heights,” she muttered,

  “especially when they’re depths.”

  They could not have seen so much by lanternlight, had the light not been given back a thousandfold by the facets of the gleaming gemstones that studded the walls of the cavern on all sides. Corson and Nyctasia seemed to be standing in the jeweled heart of the earth.

  Corson lost no time in prying loose one of the brilliant stones with her dagger and testing it, but to her disappointment she scratched it easily. “Well, the treasure’s not a diamond-mine,” she said sadly, “This is a lot of worthless crystal.”

  “Pity,” said Nyctasia. “Listen-Garast’s calling us.” She leaned over the stone balustrade to search the expanse of the great cavern. Echoes chased the sound from place to place, but she finally saw Garast standing on the far side of one of the bridges and waving for them to join him.

  “How did you get down there?” she shouted, but her words were lost in meaningless noise, along with his answer.

  They went on in the direction he pointed, following the terrace along toward the cascading water. They came to the mouth of another tunnel, but Garast waved them on, still pointing to the waterfall. He seemed much excited by something he’d found.

  “Does he expect us to dive down there?” Corson said, but the ledge did lead behind the wall of falling water, and there they found the opening to a deep spiral stairway.

  Nyctasia cupped her hands to catch a drink of the rushing water, and savored the clean, secret taste of ancient stone. “Perhaps the Cymvelans did have water for their gardens during the drought, after all,” she thought, as she followed Corson down the winding stairs. The descent was an easy one, since Garast had lit the wall-torches and left wide the heavy brass door at the foot of the stairs. A flagstone path bordered the broad pool, and they emerged from behind the waterfall a little dizzy, and dazed by the noise, but quite dry. Garast was waiting for them, trying to shout over the roaring of the water, beckoning them on.

  The immense chamber was even more breathtaking from within than from above. They followed the curving stream as it wound across broad shallows and swirled into small, perfectly round pools. It ran through deep, straight channels and fell into purling cataracts over stairlike formations of stone. The water, cutting through bare rock, was as clear and bright as the crystals that glittered all around the chamber. Nyctasia suddenly remembered how she and her brother Emeryc had played as children, lighting candle-ends stuck to bits of bark and floating them downstream at night, to see whose would burn the longest. What games children could have in a place like this!

  Strangest of all was a spring of seething hot water that bubbled up from a cleft boulder to fill a deep, steaming pool. Corson tested the water in disbelief-the pool was as hot as soup, and the spring was actually boiling at the source. “I don’t understand this,” she said, frowning. “How did they do it? It doesn’t seem like a spell, somehow, but how could it be natural?”

  “No one knows.” Nyctasia said quietly. “I’ve read of such springs, but I never thought to find one. This could be the true treasure, everlasting, precious beyond measure-the well-spring’s weal. Waters like this may possess astonishing healing properties!”

  “What about the danger and treachery?” asked Corson, who had begun to expect the worst of everything.

  “I’ve no idea. It’s said that all the world was water once, and that these are all that remains of the Mother of Waters. There’s no telling what powers this spring may have.”

  “So you know no more about it than I do. You’re just happy about all the baths you could take in it.” Corson turned to Garast. “Is this what you wanted to show us?”

  “No. It’s over there.” He started across the floor toward the far wall, and was soon lost to view among the strange stone structures that hung in graceful pillars. Some had been carved by wind and water into fantastic curving shapes, others sculpted by hand into beautiful or bizarre figures. A few of these natural columns had been hollowed, filled with oil, and fitted with wicks of waxed rope to create giants’ candles which Garast had already lit. Their light flickered eerily, glinting on the crystals and casting monstrous shadows over the walls, and behind every stone form. Bats began to skitter and swoop about the cave, disturbed by the unaccustomed noise and light.

  Corson and Nyctasia filled their lamps with oil and followed after Garast.

  Nyctasia would have liked to linger to study the detailed carvings, but he hurried them on to his new discovery, a large crack in the cave wall.

  Irritated by his look of self-satisfaction, Corson shoved him aside to look through the rift herself. “There’s something behind this wall. Look, Nyc, you can see all the way through to another cave.”

  But not even Nyctasia could fit through the fissure. “I knew I should have brought ’Lorin instead of you,” Corson grumbled as they followed along the wall, looking for another way in. When they came to the end they turned back, this time climbing over the high outcroppings of rock in the way, instead of skirting them. From the top of one of these, and only from the top, they could see the dark opening into the wall behind it. Corson clambered down the other side in an instant, followed by Garast. He pushed past her and went in while she was helping Nyctasia descend.

  Inside, they found a stark stone chamber, a low-ceilinged cave with none of the skillful embellishment of the crystal cavern. In the center of the floor was a small enclosure made of heaped stones, just large enough to hold one crouching person. Above it, crudely painted on the rock, were more of the bestial figures they had seen in the crypt, and they could just make out that something was stacked in small separate piles on the ground. They huddled closer to look at them and saw that they were animal skulls, dark brown with age, each lying atop a heap of bones. Finally, level with the top of Nyctasia’s head, was a large ho
le in the wall that was clearly some sort of passage. Two slabs of stone served as stairs leading up to it.

  “Where are we?” asked Corson, after a silence.

  “This,” Nyctasia said softly, “is the way to life and knowledge.”

  Garast agreed. “I remember whispers about the last part of the path-that it was narrow and arduous. That it led to the light through darkness, and to the new knowledge through the old. I was too young to understand all that, of course, We were supposed to learn the riddles first, and the dances…”

  “I’d guess that the Cymvelans used this place, made it part of their pattern,” said Nyctasia, “but it must have belonged to those who worshiped here before they came. That sort of tunnel”-she pointed to the hole-“is found in a number of very old, primitive fanes dedicated to the Mother of the World. To pass through it is to be reborn, you see.”

  “This is all most fascinating,” Corson broke in sharply, “but do you mean to say that we have to crawl through there?” The well had been nearly unbearable, but this narrow space would drive her mad. The thought of being trapped in the grip of stone, unable to move, with only the tunnel stretching before her, sent chills of unreasoning terror through her. She couldn’t climb into that hole. It was impossible.

  “Certainly we don’t have to,” said Nyctasia. “But whatever we’re seeking is probably on the other side.”

  Ever since she’d seen the empty crawlspace, Nyctasia had felt a keen desire to explore it. She saw that Corson was horrified at the prospect, and even Garast reluctant, and she wondered how they could resist the mystery of the tunnel, which drew her as strongly as it repelled Corson.

  “You don’t have to, perhaps, but I do,” said Garast grimly. He held his lantern up to the opening and peered down the passage, but could not see to the end.

  Nyctasia climbed the stone stairs to have a look. “It’s dry as far as I can see,” she said, pleased.

  “Oh, good,” said Corson, “we wouldn’t want to get dirty, would we? Nyc, you’re not going in there?”

  “I think I will… but perhaps you should wait here, Corson. The tunnel’s cut to human proportions, not to yours.”

  “Yes, you might not be able to get through,” Garast agreed-rather eagerly, Corson thought. “It looks as if it narrows farther on.”

  “We’ll see,” said Corson firmly. They were right, she told herself. They’d come too far to turn back now. And she’d die before she’d let the others think she was more frightened than they. “Nyc, you first. You’re the smallest and least likely to get stuck before we know what’s happening. You, go in after her. I’ll bring up the rear.” Her heart was hammering frantically, but she gave out her orders as sharply as an officer of the Imperial Army, and the others obeyed readily.

  Nyctasia pushed her lamp into the tunnel then heaved herself up into the hole.

  “Corson, are you sure you-”

  “Go,” Corson snapped, “it’s never going to be any easier.”

  It was just possible for them to move on their hands and knees, pushing their lamps ahead of them where the ground was smooth, or carrying them with their teeth. The oily taste of the leather strap made Nyctasia feel faintly ill, but she clenched her jaw tighter and crawled on as fast as she could. In places, the passage narrowed so drastically that they had to slide along on their bellies.

  We’re in the stone throat of the earth, Corson thought. Any moment it will close and swallow us. A few times she thought she’d be stuck in a particularly tight place, and she only wriggled through with difficulty.

  Once, panic-stricken, she called to the others to stop, sure that her shoulders were caught fast.

  “Garast, pull at her arms,” Nyctasia said calmly.

  “I can’t turn around,” he said, “there’s no room.”

  “No matter-Corson, dash some oil on the wall just above where you’re stuck. Once it seeps down between, you’ll be able to slide through easily, or pull back, at the least.” She sounded so completely confident that Corson took heart and tried to twist around to follow her advice, and her shoulders came loose of their own accord.

  “Never mind,” she said shakily, “I’m free, keep going.” No one spoke again except when Garast’s boot struck Corson in the face, and she cursed him roundly, which made her feel a little better.

  Soon they were crawling through a tight tunnel of solid crystal, glorious to see in the lamplight, but brutally hard on their knees and their unprotected hands.

  When they had to pull themselves along flat to the ground, Corson could feel the sharp facets even through her leather vest. Nyctasia was already covered with bruises. There was nothing to do but move forward slowly and painfully, and hope for an end. Corson suspected that it would be impossible for them to back up and get out the way they’d come in, but she kept that thought to herself.

  Nyctasia stopped abruptly. Garast tumbled into her and kicked Corson again.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Nyc?” Corson demanded. “What’s the trouble?”

  “It slopes downward just ahead, be careful. And the air’s getting colder. Can you feel it?”

  “It must be another cave.” Corson said, “It would be warmer if we’d reached the outside. Move!”

  Nyctasia wriggled forward again, more slowly. Again, there was nothing but the sounds of their bodies scraping against rock, and their tired breathing. Then Nyctasia gasped, and the light of her lantern disappeared. “What’s happened?”

  Corson shouted, and Garast, groping ahead, said, “I don’t see her. Stop pushing me! There’s a-” And he vanished as well. Corson was alone in the unbreakable hold of stone.

  For a long moment she froze, unable to think or feel a thing. Then, panting like a cornered animal, she began to inch forward slowly, until her fingers found the edge. How steep was the drop? How far? “Nyc…?” she called, in a strangled voice that did not carry far. She tried again.

  “Get off me, you clumsy oaf! You’ll set us both afire.”

  They were perhaps the most welcome words Corson had ever heard. “Nyc, where are you two?” she shouted.

  “Wait, my lantern went out when I dropped it. There.” Finally there was a light below, and Nyctasia’s head and shoulders appeared, not as far away as Corson had feared. “Garast fell on me,” she explained, “and knocked his head on the wall, too. He’s all right now. Can you climb down here without falling, do you think?

  It’s sloped, but quite sharply.”

  Unlike the others, Corson could reach to both sides of the passage to brace herself, and she managed to get nearly to the bottom before she lost hold and slid the rest of the way to the tunnel’s mouth. She emerged head first into another cavern, smaller than the first, and divided by a tall wall of marble masonry. At first she only stared, without even rising to her feet. There before her, like a vision in a fable, was the end of their quest. She was lying at the threshold of a towering brazen door.

  It was of a single bronze casting, molded to a masterpiece of sculptor’s skill.

  A great tree filled the frame, its limbs laden with fruit, each leaf and petal perfect in detail. The strings of a wind-harp were stretched among the branches, and a spider’s web delicately spanned two slender twigs. Golden bees clustered around the blossoms and ripe fruit, and Nyctasia saw with misgiving that the tree bore peaches.

  Corson took more interest in the inscription carved in the marble arch above the door. She spelled it out triumphantly:

  “Here in the earthen embrace

  Of the last hiding-place

  Answered is every riddle,

  Run is the race,

  Done is the chase.

  “I never want to hear another rhyme for the rest of my days,” she said. “But this is the end, and no mistake-we’ve found it. Now, we’ve only to-” She stopped short with a wail of dismay. “The key! I didn’t bring it with me-it’s back at the house!”

  “Fool!” exclaimed Garast. “We’ll have the whole household swarming down here
now. But there’s nothing for it, we’ll just have to go back and fetch the key.

  We’ll not get in by standing here staring.” He crouched down and crawled back into the tunnel without another word. They heard him scrabbling his way up the incline, sliding back then dragging himself up farther, cursing and kicking.

  Corson got down on one knee at the mouth of the passage, to watch his progress.

  “Well, it can be done,” she sighed. “You’d better go first so I can give you a push from below.”

  Nyctasia seemed not to hear. She still stood by the great brass portal, as if she were listening for something on the other side. At last she said in a low voice, “Corson, I’d not be in too great a hurry to open this door.”

  “Why not, in Asye’s name? Look, it spells ‘hoard’-what more do you want? This has to be the treasure.”

  “I fear you were nearer the mark when you said, ‘This is the end, and no mistake.’ Don’t you see that the answer to this riddle is Death? The ‘earthen embrace’ is the grave, the ‘last hiding-place’ is the tomb. It is death that answers all questions and crowns every effort. It may be a charnel house we’ll find behind this door, not a treasure-chamber.”

  A heavy silence hung between them for a few moments, till Corson said, “That would be just like my luck. ‘Neither in the open air, neither in a dwelling,’ eh? But we can’t come this far and not look, Nyc. I’d go mad wondering.”

  Nyctasia laid her hand against the tall bronze door. “You don’t feel it, then?”

  “What do you mean?” Corson asked uneasily.

  “The power-the spell-that we sensed at the ruins on the night we camped there.”

  It seemed a lifetime ago, somehow. “The source is here, I’m sure of it.”

  “You feel it still? I thought it was gone-I meant to ask you. Why don’t I…?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I think it’s because it’s daytime now, and the Valeice isn’t in the sky-the star of change.”

  “The Reaper’s Eye… Well, I’ll make sure it’s daytime when we unlock this door, but I have to know what’s in there, spell or no spell. Let’s get out of here now, before nightfall.”