The Eye of Night

by Pauline J. Alama

  “Trenara,” I said, “what did you just do?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “He only saw me.”

  “He knew Trenara,” Hwyn explained to me. “He used to sell her. Why he was afraid of her now, I don't know. Why, Trenara, for the gods' love?”

  “He saw who I was,” was her only answer.

  I started down the path again, too weary to puzzle over our latest visitation. “Jereth,” Hwyn said, “I told you I killed a man. Aren't you going to react to that?”

  “I know you,” I said. “I trust you. You didn't take revenge on Dannoth when it was offered to you. If you killed someone, you had a reason.”

  “He was beating Trenara,” Hwyn said, “and I thought, this time I'll fight back, for all the times I didn't fight my grandfather. I only meant to scare him, make him drop her, and flee. What I didn't realize was that it takes the strongest fighter to do that, to leave the fight with your enemy still alive and capable of retaliating. Once I started, I was fighting for my life.”

  “If you're waiting for someone to blame you,” I said, “you're talking to the wrong man.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it's a fearful thing, to kill someone.”

  “It's over now, and long past,” I said.

  “Long past it is,” she said. “But some things in the past—as you know well enough—are just never over.”

  “Well, there's one comfort,” I said. “Always before, the ghosts have been near deserted houses. We may find ourselves a real hearth to sleep by—if we dare use it.”

  “Oh, we'll dare,” said Hwyn. “The ghosts can do no worse to us than the wind.”

  I pushed on, hopeful, as the sun rose to my right. Still the lonely wilderness stretched on ahead of me. It occurred to me that, even if we'd been near a town, we might have passed it on either side. Hours passed, and clouds gathered. The chill sank into my bones. I had been carrying both Hwyn and the pack for hours without rest, and my back was one long cramp. At last I could go no farther. Without a word to either companion, I set Hwyn down gently, threw off the pack, stretched out in the snow, and was asleep before either of them could even ask me what I was doing.

  I must have slept a few hours before Hwyn shook me awake. “Jereth! It's snowing again. Wake up!” I shook my head, my eyes still screwed shut. “Jereth, come on. We'll die if we stay here.”

  I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and looked around. “Where's Trenara?”

  “I don't know. I dozed off, too. She must have wandered off alone.”

  We shouted after her until we heard her answer: “I'm here.” When we followed the sound, we found her leaning on a square stone pillar carved with four directional symbols: sun for south, moon for north, eastern key, and western vine. To either side of the pillar we could see a long swath cut out of the forest—tangled with saplings and brush, to be sure, but clear of full-grown trees.

  “A road,” I breathed. “Gods be praised! It must lead to some town.”

  “And it's going north,” said Hwyn.

  Our hopes were not disappointed. Toward evening we found a deserted cottage at the roadside, and broke years' worth of cobwebs to enter it. By then the air was thick with snow. I took in wood for a fire, but had to leave it to dry while I burned the broken remains of a cradle and chair the inhabitants had left behind. Over this fire I cooked the few small fish left from my last catch. This time, Hwyn took one eagerly—but seconds later was doubled over in the doorway, retching in the snow outside. I helped her up and brought her back in to the hearth. As she huddled dangerously close to the fire, which seemed to have no power to warm her, I noticed the sharp outlines of bones under her wind-burned skin, and terror welled up in my chest like a wave waiting to break.

  “I'll forage in the morning,” I promised her. “I'll look for something more fit to eat. Fish is no good for a disordered stomach.” She nodded, but I doubt she set her hopes on it. What could I promise? I'd be lucky to find acorns or thistle-roots. The two women fell asleep curled together on the hearthstones, as I kept vigil, waiting to banish any hostile ghost by its name. I watched the two sleepers, Trenara childlike, at ease, Hwyn restless, stirred by fever-dreams. Wearily I rubbed my burning eyes with my fists, unable to weep, afraid to seek refuge in dreams. When I uncovered my eyes, there was a guest in the room.

  It was a slender young woman with long, chestnut hair clutching something in one arm. There was something at once familiar and out of place about her hazel eyes. She smiled at me—decidedly at me—somewhat shyly as she came in, but went first to Trenara, laid a hand on the woman's belly, and looked content at what she felt. Then she crouched over Hwyn and, for a few moments, watched her sleep. A grieved look crossed her fair face, and she touched the sleeper gently. I felt confused, mistrusting any phantom that approached Hwyn, but seeing nothing but sympathy in her gestures. Then she stood, and I saw for the first time what she was carrying: a doll. A memory slid into place. “Anverth?” I said.

  Beaming, she stepped toward me, changing in an instant to the child I remembered, the sister who'd died so young. “I'm so glad to see you,” I said, reaching out to touch her—but of course, my hand met nothing. She looked sad for a moment. “It was good to see you grown at last,” I said, “and so beautiful.” Smiling, she took on her adult from again and crouched on the hearthstones near me. Her hand swept my forehead like the caress of a breeze, and I fell into dreams.

  I woke to dim gray half-darkness, perhaps at dawn. My companions still slept near the dying embers of the fire. Quietly, I tugged on my boots and ventured out the front door. Snow swirled down, and the wind cried like a living creature. Bracing myself, I stepped out into the wind and went as far as I dared go lest my tracks be lost under snowfall, but I found nothing of use: no stream where I could fish, no whiteberries, nothing edible growing in the ruins of orchards around the other deserted houses. When I returned, the women still lay curled together by the hearth, but Trenara was stirring in her sleep.

  “What?” Hwyn murmured groggily, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, Trenara, it's only you.” They sat up slowly. “You and the baby, that is. I felt it kicking. Doesn't that wake you?”

  Trenara only gave one of her slow, reflective smiles that seemed to mean everything and nothing. I shook the snow off my cloak, set down the fresh branches I'd brought for the fire, and crouched beside them. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “A little better. I must have slept a week,” Hwyn said. Then, as if to belie her words, a shudder came over her, and her face turned ash-gray. She lurched to the door, clutching her gut, and doubled over retching from an empty stomach. I helped her up off the threshold, pulling her gently indoors. The pressure in my chest rose to my throat, so that I could scarcely speak. She leaned against me, her face turned down. At last I recovered my voice. “Rest now. That's all you can do. Later you may want to eat; I'll try to find something.” I could feel her body shaking, or maybe I was the one trembling.

  “No,” she said at last. “I can't eat, and I don't have time to rest. I have to move on.”

  “Hwyn, it's snowing,” I said.

  “I saw,” she said. “I'm sorry. We have to go now.”

  “Sorry?” I said. “You must be mad! You can hardly stand, let alone travel. It's colder than Var's heart out there, and I haven't even found anything to eat.”

  “I'm sorry about that for your sake and Trenara's; for my part, it hardly matters. I know how insane I must sound, but the Eye of Night was burning in my dreams all night. The time is near. I can't afford to wait.”

  “How can you travel? The wind is from the north; that means against us all the way. Even here, out of the wind, you can hardly walk to the door.”

  “Can you bear to carry me a little longer?”

  “NO!” I shouted, startling Trenara to her feet, while Hwyn stared stubbornly back at me. “I will not murder you by taking you out into the cold. You can't make me do it. We have good shelter here, and we're staying until you're stronger.”

  “J
ereth, look at me!” Hwyn shouted back with more force than I thought she had left. “Listen to me! In here or out there, I'm dying. If we don't reach our destination in time, I will die for nothing. Do you understand now? I haven't come this far to fail in the last stretch.”

  Something exploded in me then, searing my brain. If I could have wept it might have released some of the blinding fury I felt. But instead I snapped back at her, “If you're strong enough to argue, then maybe you're strong enough to walk. No chain binds you; go where you will, but don't ask me to carry you. Kill yourself if you must, but don't make me do it for you.”

  “Fine, then!” she shot back. She grabbed the pack and went hobbling out into the storm, followed by the bewildered Trenara. I doused the fire in the hearth, snatched up the rest of our things, and stalked out after them, slamming the door behind me. It took only a few of my longer strides to pass Hwyn. Without speaking I grabbed the pack roughly from her. One of its straps tore, and she cursed shrilly. Stone-faced, I slung it over my shoulder on its one undamaged strap and carried it in silence, hating myself, furious at Hwyn. The snow continued.

  We'd not gone a mile when Hwyn fell face-down in the snow. With a wordless cry of pain I dropped the fire-pot and swept her up into my arms, relieved to see that she responded, holding on with desperate force.

  “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” I kept saying.

  “It's all right,” she murmured reflexively.

  “Nothing's all right,” I said. “This is tearing my heart out, piece by piece. Hwyn, if you died I'd lie down next to you and let the snow cover us both.”

  “No,” she said. “You mustn't do that. Promise me you won't do that.”

  But I could promise no such thing. Instead I carried her, letting Trenara take the fire-pot, while the pack on my shoulder hung crazily from its one strap—like us, barely hanging on. I realized, then, how naive I'd been to think that we were traveling to anything but death, walking northward into the winter. Even when we reached our goal, who would there be to take us in from the storm and tell us we'd done well? A ghost? Before or after reaching Larioneth, we'd all starve or freeze, and it was unlikely that I would be lucky enough to be first. I wondered if I would have to bury all three—my love, the lady, and her child. I wondered if I would have the strength, if it came to that, to finish Hwyn's quest without her.

  Once during the day's march, I had to stop to ease my aching back. I set Hwyn on her feet and sat on a boulder that jutted out of the snow at an angle. Hwyn came to put her arms around me, and I rested my head against her, holding her around the waist.

  Without my having to speak of it, she rubbed the muscles that ached along my neck and shoulders. “Will you be all right?” she said.

  “Only as long as I have you,” I said. “You know I could never go on without you. I'm not strong like you.”

  “You are strong,” she said.

  “I don't want to be told I'm strong enough to lose you.”

  She was silent a long while, as if searching for some word of comfort that would not seem a transparent lie. At last she said, “Remember in the mountains, when you offered to take on my quest for me? You would have gone alone into the North on a quest you scarcely understood, carrying me in your heart as your only comfort, not even able to tell yourself that I would know you did it for love. You were my strength then. Be strong for me again, I beg you. I will not die easily; I will not leave you easily. Do not despair easily—even if I die. Much depends on you.”

  I looked at her solemn, wind-beaten face, and could say nothing. What could I ask of her? She could no more promise to live than I could promise to calm the wind or dry the ground for a campsite; and here I was, plaguing her for a promise she could not make as I had plagued her for the secrets she could not bear to tell. “Forgive me,” I said at last.

  “For what? For loving me too much?” She smiled weakly.

  I kissed her slowly, my heart tight, afraid this might be the last kiss. Then I picked up the pack, and lifted her again to travel on.

  Toward midday the snow subsided and the clouds thinned, allowing a clean, cold light to shine from no particular point in the heavens. The forest, too, had thinned. With the veils of snow and branches taken from my eyes, I thought I glimpsed movement through the trees. “Look,” I said, “to the left and ahead. Something's moving.”

  “What is it?” Hwyn twisted in my grasp for a better view.

  “I don't know. It might be a ghost—or a wolf. I'd feel safer viewing it from a less exposed position. Trenara, come on, let's hide.” As we crept in among the brush on the other side of the road, a sudden flash of movement made me clutch Hwyn in shocked reflex. A stag leapt across the path and dove for the cover of brush on our side, its flailing heels barely missing our heads where we crouched, hearts pounding, waiting for whatever beast had sent the stag into desperate flight.

  The curtain of branches was broken, then, by a tall, proud horse. At the sight of us cowering in the bushes, its rider reined it to a halt and peered down at us, uncertain. She was a tall, dark-haired woman, as proud-featured as her mount, a bow in her hand, a quiver at her back, and a boar-spear at her side. “You're not ghosts, are you?” she said at last.

  “No,” murmured Hwyn, “but we will be soon without help.” I didn't think the huntress had heard her response, so I repeated it for her. Two more riders reined up near her and fixed us with the same look of astonishment. “Where do you come from?” one of them asked.

  “That's a long tale,” I said. “I met these two in Kelgarran; we've traveled together from there.”

  “You came from the South,” the woman marveled.

  “And what are you? You're not ghosts, surely?” I asked.

  One of the riders, a burly, thick-bearded man, laughed warmly. “Have you ever known ghosts to have a moment's doubt whether or not you're alive? We are three of the Holdouts of Lar-ioneth, and we have seen no living travelers from the South since before my memory.”

  “Larioneth,” Hwyn breathed. “Gods be praised!”

  “Please,” I said, “for the gods' love, if you have some place of shelter, take us there quickly, and we'll answer your questions there. We are nearly dead with cold and hunger, and Hwyn here is ill.”

  “Come, then,” the woman said. “Ride with us, and welcome. I am Syrc, and these are my brothers Hart and Hauvoc.”

  “You are of Larioneth?” Trenara asked, stepping out of the trees. Syrc nodded her assent, and Trenara announced, “I am the Lady Trenara of Larioneth.”

  “Hidden Goddess!” swore Syrc, “It's the Returner.” She slipped down from her horse to kneel at Trenara's feet. “My Lady, will you ride with me?”

  Trenara nodded. Syrc rose and held the stirrup while she mounted, then swung back into the saddle with her. Meanwhile, the burly man reached down to take Hwyn from my arms. “Ride with me, child. You'll be safe, I promise. I may look like a bear, but I've bitten no one yet.” I helped her into the saddle in front of him. “You're warm!” she exclaimed. “We've met no one but ghosts since the Feast of the Turning God.”

  Hearing the voice of a grown woman emerge from his tiny passenger, the man took a better look at her. “Why, you're no child! A thousand pardons, Lady.”

  “No lady either—just a common woman,” Hwyn said, “and no need to ask pardon. I'm well used to the mistake. I'm called Hwyn, but if you'll take me indoors by a fire, you can call me child all you like.”

  I rode with Hauvoc, a wiry adolescent with proud, dark features like his sister's. Along the broad road they went abreast, clearly expecting no other riders to approach. Soon we were out of the forest, passing snow-covered fields and meadows. I saw ahead vaguely, gray against the gray sky, a circle of tall, massive stones standing upright. “What are those stones?” I pointed. As we passed them by, I saw Hwyn, on Hart's horse, shift to squint at them.

  “That is our Sky-Temple,” Hauvoc said. “Have you no such thing in the South?”

  “I have never seen anything lik
e it,” I said, but some memory nagged at my mind, telling me that this might not be wholly true. “Are there other Sky-Temples in the North?”

  “I don't know,” the boy said. “I've never been anywhere but Larioneth. I thought every town must have a Sky-Temple, as well as an Earth-Temple, the kind like a round house. You do have those in the South?” I told him we did. “The Sky-Temple must be a northern kind, for the goddesses. The goddesses have always been close to this land,” he said proudly. “But of course, it's not the Sky-Temple we're using now. Not even we Holdouts are crazy enough to dance outdoors in winter.”

  The gates of the city rose before us, glittering with a bluish sheen even under the dull light of a cloudy day. We passed through unhindered, no guard in sight. Then we saw Larioneth in all its splendor. The high turrets of the great hall, cut in just such sleek shapes as the wind might have sculpted out of snow, gleamed blue-black wherever they were not white-mantled. Carved shapes of heroes and beasts jutted out over the doorways, their details half hidden by snow, enticing the eye. Beyond Lari-oneth Hall stood a temple resplendent with colors, painted with gods and saints, stars and trees, flowers and strange beasts. Even ordinary houses, with their steep-pitched, snow-swept roofs, were as gracefully shaped as the crests of waves. “Do you have any idea,” I said to Hauvoc, “how beautiful this place is? I've been all up and down Swevnalond, Kettra, Magya, and Iskarron, but never have I seen such a city.”

  I couldn't see his face, bent over the horse's neck, but I could picture him beaming with that half-charming, half-exasperating arrogance of adolescence. “You haven't begun to see Larioneth,” he said.

  We circled the hall to arrive at the stables in back. There a big, light-haired man ran up to Syrc. “What's this? Back so soon? And riding double? Was a horse hurt?”

  Just then Trenara turned to face the man, and he saw it was a stranger. “Who's this?” Without waiting for answers, he held the stirrup for the women to dismount. He gripped Syrc's hand even after she was steady on the ground.