by Ian Irvine
“Karan!” He shook her awake.
“Mmmm.”
“There’s two people on the other side, and they look like Whelm.”
She was awake in a flash, rolling over and peering through the gap in the rocks. Her scalp crawled. They were Whelm, though not the ones hunting her lately. A man and a woman, both young. There had been five before Hetchet and now there were five again.
“They must have tracked me here,” Llian fretted. “Several times I felt as though I was followed.”
“It doesn’t matter how they got here—they’ve found me plenty of times without you.”
“It looks like he’s going to cross.”
The two Whelm clasped arms and then the man leapt high and landed on an outcrop that stuck up out of the water. Two more huge, awkward, scissoring leaps followed and he was halfway across. The river was twice as wide as when Llian had crossed. The woman called to him; he raised a hand, then sprang out. He churned the water to foam with clumsy but powerful wheeling strokes, both arms striking the water together, then was snatched under. Llian watched with mouth agape, reliving his own experience. An arm briefly cut the surface then was gone again. The woman stared at the water; a long way downstream the Whelm reappeared, still thrashing, and ran aground on rock. Soon he was out of the water. He lay on the shore for a moment, got up on shaky legs, waved to the woman once more and set off in the direction of the ruins.
She raised her arm to him and went unhurriedly back in the direction of the ridge.
“What a feat!” said Llian in admiration. “What a sight for a teller! Already I am putting it into a tale.”
“Don’t forget that he is our deadly enemy,” said Karan coldly. “And she’s gone to guard the way down.”
“We wouldn’t have got across today anyway.”
“Not here,” she agreed, “but we might have further upstream. Now our only hope is to try and get past the other Whelm and go down the eastern way. And I don’t have much hope there either.”
“They will surely guard it too.”
“Doubtless, though there is a second way down. At least there once was. It won’t be easy to get to, though.”
Light snow began to fall as they turned back, Karan aiming to pass the ruins well to the south, for fear that the Whelm were searching there already. So it proved to be, for they heard a hollow rumbling cry, like the cries that Karan had heard at Fiz Gorgo and in the swamps, as they went past in the concealing snowfall. Shortly it was answered by a more high-pitched, squealing call that put Llian’s nerves on edge, for it reminded him of Gaisch and the knife at his throat.
“They must be looking for Idlis,” he said with a shiver.
“Or else they’ve found him, and now they’re after us.”
They wallowed on through thickening snow, veering over to the very edge of the escarpment.
“What are we trying to do?” Llian muttered. “Whatever it is I don’t like it.”
Karan gave him a quick verbal sketch. “The ridge runs down off the plateau not far ahead, and along it a little way there is a gorge, just a slot really, where the waterfall stream cuts through. That’s where the bridge used to be.”
“I saw the gap on the way here.”
“A path goes all the way down to the stream. You can cross there, when the river is not in flood. But there’s also a very old track, made long before the bridge was built, I suppose, that runs up the other side of the ridge. I saw it yesterday but it was too late to start down. The Whelm may not know it’s there. Here we are now.”
Karan led Llian out onto the ridge, which ran steeply down in the general direction of Tullin. It was much wider than the one Llian had come up yesterday, for the top had been leveled to make the road to the bridge, in the time when the climate had been warmer and the lands around the ruins populous. The road was overgrown but blown almost free of snow and they made good progress. Like the escarpment below the ruins, the ridge was bounded by a cliff of red rock. Light snow drifted down. Out of the gloom two black stone piers loomed, squatting at the end of the ridge like ominous sentinels. They were all that remained of the stone bridge that had once spanned the gorge.
“The path goes down there, just beside the pillar,” she said, pointing to the right one, “then winds its way down. We’re in luck; they’ve left it unguarded.”
Even as she spoke a tall Whelm stepped out from behind the pillar. It was Idlis, his head swathed in bloody bandages.
“Back,” she cried. She whirled and ran back the other way, and Llian stumbled after, clutching his side. Looking back, Llian saw that Idlis had not moved. He remained, guarding the way down, evidently having strict orders not to leave his post. The snow whirled, blotting him out, then a great cry boomed out, echoing across the slopes and cliff faces of the valley. Karan snapped a leafy branch off a bush and brushed out their tracks.
“That won’t gain us much,” said Llian irritably, for the pain in his ribs was intense.
“He’s calling them back,” she replied, continuing on, and when they were well away from Idlis she turned into the windswept scrub and headed down the ridge toward the red cliff.
The old path was hard to find under its blanket of snow. Eventually Karan picked up what seemed to be the trail, a treacherous ledge cut into the red rock, covered in snow, ice and fallen stones. They crept carefully along the slippery track, Llian’s fear of heights overwhelming the pain of his injuries. Now a long straight stretch of ledge lay ahead of them. It was narrow and sloped outwards. Idlis’s call echoed around them once again. If he were to come to the edge and look down he would see them, for the snow had almost stopped.
“Come on,” she cried, pulling Llian by the arm. “They can’t be far away.”
Llian started and tried to go a bit faster. He was increasingly afraid of falling. Ahead the ledge was glazed by an icy gel.
“Hurry,” she called.
He stepped gingerly on the ice, his foot slipped, he put the other down hastily and his feet went from under him. Llian landed flat on his back, put his left arm out to brace himself and it flapped uselessly over the edge. He cried out, almost a scream of terror.
The fall pulled Karan to her knees, nearly wrenching Llian’s wrist out of her hand. She slipped toward him. Afraid that she was going to knock him over, Llian cried out Then she got the toe of her boot in a crack and it held. Karan reached back to the crack with her free hand, the weak one, and slowly pulled them to safety.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” cried Llian.
He flung his arms around her. After a moment she pushed him away, squeezing her bad wrist with her other hand, grimacing.
“Not your fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have tried to hurry you. This path is more treacherous than I thought.”
She checked the way ahead once more. The icy patch went for three or four paces and covered the whole of the ledge. Dangerous for her, but deadly for Llian.
“What if I go ahead and run the rope from here to there?”
Llian still didn’t like it, but neither did he want to be a hindrance. “I suppose so,” he said very tentatively.
“Good. Stay here.” She tied the rope to a sturdy tree root, knotted the other end around her waist, then went forward slowly, making little cuts in the ice with her hatchet to improve her footholds. She reached the opposite side and tied the rope there too. “Can you manage it now?”
“I think so.”
He gripped the rope like a lifeline and took a first shuffling step. Just then Idlis shouted again, loud and urgent, right above. Llian looked up and saw the Whelm staring down at them. Idlis looked back along the track, then down again. Karan’s eyes followed the direction of his stare. The call was not answered, though that did not mean that no one was coming. Suddenly Idlis came to a decision—he put his shoulder to a boulder, one of a number near the edge. It wobbled.
“Llian,” Karan called frantically, afraid to hurry him but knowing that he had only seconds to get across.
Llian took another couple of uncertain steps, then stopped with his foot outstretched. His eyes were locked on the boulder. Idlis strained, grunted and the boulder slowly revolved. Llian was frozen, sure that the rock was aimed directly at him. Had he run he would have got through but he just shuffled forward. The boulder began to topple.
“Go back,” Karan screamed at the last moment and he flung himself backward just in time.
The boulder smashed down on the ledge right where he had been standing. Gravel stung his face and hands, the rock bounced away and fell. Eventually it struck far below and set off a landslide that rattled away for ages.
Llian was too shocked to stand; he crumbled to his knees, looking through the dust at Karan. The rope was gone and the ledge in front of him broken away for a couple of spans, revealing the raw irregular rock beneath. The wind swirled around the end of the ridge, chilling him. Snow began to fall, then a heavy flurry blotted out everything but the blood-colored rock.
Karan measured the gap. There was no chance of him getting across now, even if she went back and helped him. Why had he just stood there like a fool?
“Well, that’s that,” said Llian. “I’m stuck here, and nothing can be done about it. You’ll have to go on without me!”
Karan’s choice was agonizing. If she fled now they’d probably never catch her. In a few days she could be home in Bannador. Home! The temptation was overwhelming.
“Go on, I’ll be all right. There’s nothing you can do anyway.”
She did not move.
Llian could not bear it. “Fare well,” he called with a cheerfulness that he did not feel. Then, turning back to her, “Hey! I’ll come to Bannador to see you and find the ending of the tale. Don’t forget the least detail.” And his beautiful voice cracked just a trifle. “I’ll miss you, Karan,” he said. “Be careful.” He turned his back to her deliberately and started walking back the way they had come.
Karan was laughing and crying. Without that she might, just possibly, have gone on by herself. But she could not abandon Llian when his back was turned. Anyway, leaving him was as good as betraying him to his death. Even as she watched, his foot slipped and he almost fell. She clutched her breast, noticed that her heart was pounding. Llian steadied himself and went on without looking back.
“Come back,” she cried through the snow. “I won’t leave you. I think I can get across if I go down a bit, but I’ll need a hand back up.”
He turned and crept back, clinging onto every handhold. The freshly broken rock was not so difficult a climb for her, being rough and free from ice. With two hands it would not have bothered her at all, save for the precipice below. She limp-wristedly spidered her way down and across, wavered her hand up to Llian’s, missed, then he found the outstretched arm and pulled her up. His hand was warm. She was glad of his strength. It was her turn to embrace him and he didn’t push away.
“What are we going to do now?” he said miserably. “I’ve ruined…”
She put cold fingers across his lips. “Shhh! I have a last resort,” Karan whispered in his ear. “There is a track that goes further up into the mountains.”
“But you said…”
“We might be overheard. It really is a last resort, but better than the alternative.”
They hurried back along the path, Karan brushing away the tracks again. Once they had to take refuge in the scrub as the other Whelm pelted past just above. They continued on and eventually regained the plateau not far from the ruins. The snow continued to fall as they set out toward Mount Tintinnuin, but it was not heavy enough to conceal them completely.
“The path is supposed to begin east of Tintinnuin. I hope I can find it. It’s a long and hard trek, and a very dangerous one in winter. It leads south, into the high mountains. An ancient way, no longer used. If we can conceal our tracks, or the snow falls, we may just disappear. How are you feeling now?”
“Terrible.”
Later in the morning it stopped snowing and they saw that three Whelm were on their trail, though they were a couple of hours behind. By midday the Whelm had cut the distance by half, their long legs and big feet a distinct advantage in the snow. Llian gasped as he caught up to Karan. Every movement was like a beak tearing at his side, and his face was gray. “Does the path go to Bannador?”
“You can get to Bannador this way,” she said, giving a half-truth.
“Last night you said we couldn’t carry enough food.”
“I’m thinking on it.” She said no more, knowing that her evasiveness, and the contradictions, were vexing Llian. I’m doing just what Maigraith did to me, she realized. There were two possible destinations on this path—Bannador and Shazmak, the hidden mountain city of the Aachim. But Shazmak was a secret she was forbidden to reveal, and she would not betray that secret unless they were in mortal peril. Even then, to take an outsider there would be a terrible gamble. She would not do so if there was any alternative.
By mid-afternoon the distance between them and the Whelm was halved again. Now Karan led them into hilly, heathy country, an unpleasant place to walk, full of spiky, scratching leaves and thorns, and they lost sight of their pursuers. Again Karan brushed out their tracks. She was beginning to get very worried about Llian, who had long ago ceased complaining, was clearly exhausted and in considerable pain. At any moment she expected him to collapse, but somehow he kept on.
They were now quite close to a tributary of the waterfall stream. Karan turned along the rocky ground beside the stream, where the falling water had left the ground bare of snow. Then they went across, splashing in the icy water, up the other side, crossing and recrossing the branching tributaries, leaping from outcrop to outcrop, leaving no tracks, until not even a dog could have tracked them. They kept on until dark, the streams taking them further and further west, away from the path they were seeking, around the wrong side of the mountain.
At dusk they camped in the lee of a boulder, one of many strewn across the landscape, and gathered prickly heath for their beds. Dinner was bread, cheese and cold meat from Llian’s store, and water. They did not dare make a fire. As soon as the meal was ended Karan repaired to her bed, pulled her sleeping pouch around her and lay down, though she did not sleep.
She was too tired, too angry with herself and with Llian, though she tried not to show it. She went back over the scene at the ledge. If only Llian hadn’t been so clumsy, so useless! If only she had acted more quickly. Since then he had tried to be as inconspicuous and as helpful as possible, but she had ignored every overture. He had upset the equilibrium that she had achieved with so much effort—and the command of her talent and her emotions that had allowed her to get ahead of the Whelm. But really it was all her fault, for going so far off the path in the first place, days ago, for getting lost and having to take refuge in a place where her escape options were so limited.
Llian too slept badly, and each time he woke he sensed that Karan was awake as well, tense, observing him. Perhaps she was afraid to sleep, for fear of what he might do.
They rose at dawn, gnawed a little of Llian’s cold food, the stringy meat gone tooth-breakingly hard in the night, and drank tepid water from Karan’s bottle which she had kept in her bed. Llian had left his on the ground and it was frozen solid. Her toilet consisted of a futile struggle with a comb that left her hair as tangled as before, and a few dabs of the lime perfume.
“There’s no need to go to any trouble on my account,” said Llian, jamming his hat on his head. He had had a bad night because of his injuries, and the cold which he was quite unused to.
Karan threw the comb down on the ground. “I do nothing on your account,” she said in a voice that was like the grinding of ice floes, “save curse myself for bringing you. And scatter that pile of heath away, or they’ll know we slept here.”
Not even his banishment by Wistan had felt so cold, so cruel. Llian scurried off, his face blanched. Karan swept away the marks of the camp and they set off.
They struggled alon
g a valley, through deep snow. The weather was much worse on this side of the mountain, and it snowed all day, wet gritty granules that matted their hair to icy strands and froze in lumps on Llian’s week-old beard like wax at the base of a candle. The snow clung to their boots till each step was like lifting a brick and they constantly had to stamp the excess away. Karan grew more tired and more cross as the time passed, more withdrawn and wrapped up in her own troubles. How would she ever find the path from here, leagues away from anywhere she knew?
Next morning Karan woke to find that the weather had turned. The snow had stopped and the cloud was breaking up. Llian followed her up the valley without complaint, though he hurt all over.
Now they were confronted by an escarpment, an irregular cliff of rotten schist perhaps five or six spans high, covered in brown lichen. Though the layers of rock slanted out of the cliff like shallow steps they looked none too safe.
“Lesson one,” said Karan. “Follow the ridge, not the valley. Have you any rope?”
Llian shook his head. “Over there looks easiest,” pointing to a place where the slope was gentler and the steps a little wider.
“Yes. If we fell there we wouldn’t be in too much danger.”
The climb was more difficult than it looked because the rock was wet and crumbly. Once or twice Karan was glad of Llian’s assistance: a steadying hand as she strained above her head for the next hold, a lift when her pack caught on a thorn bush, a leg up over the last sheer face to the edge of the escarpment. She noticed that Llian was sweating as she helped him over the edge with her good hand.
“I’ve always been afraid of heights,” he said, sitting down on a rock and wiping his hands on his trousers.
Karan turned away, looking south across a sloping expanse of snow and the flank of the mountain rising steeply to her left. Evidently he was not without courage. It would be severely tested by the end of this journey.
