by Andre Norton
The rain had begun again; its steady drum against the skiff over their heads was loud. Stirring restlessly on her swamp scented bed Kadiya tried to push away thought. At last the blankness of deep sleep came.
When Jagun awakened her she sat, the sword balanced across her knees, staring into thickness of falling water. There could be no detection by eye in this dark, nor even by ear, with the constant sound of the rain. Awkwardly she loosed that other sense she had learned to use, mind searching for signs of life about them.
There were the flickers of small things, not intimidated as the larger populations were by the rain and mud traps. All Kadiya could gather from those fleeting touches were sensations of hunger and the need to fill protesting bellies; the completely centered mind of a predator hot on the trail. Otherwise the world about might have been devoid of life.
The girl became aware slowly of something else. The trillium amulet she had worn since birth was warm. When she drew it out from under her waterlogged jerkin, she saw a small gleam in its heart, a circling of pallid light around the opened flowerlet caught there. On impulse she raised it, touching it to her forehead just below the banding of her braids.
Certainly there was heat there. Something else too: a pulsing. That trapped inner flower might be breathing as would an animal. There had been life in her talisman before. It had served as a true guide when she had sought Binah. If she only knew more about what aid it might give! Haramis was the one with Power—she had fashioned the talismans using all they had won into such a potent weapon. Kadiya ran her hand along the pointless blade of her sword, careful not to finger the three eyes. This was her Power and she had killed with it. Must she do so again?
It was still a cloudy, twilight dark when they started in the morning. Jagun tested the footing ahead with the butt of his spear, striving to mark those treacherous pockets of mud which could engulf the unwary, and it was necessary to make many detours. This day they slogged doggedly ahead, not troubled by any peril save what the countryside itself might offer. In Kadiya’s amulet the light continued to glow, a beacon against the gloom of day and thought.
When at last that journey to the river was finished, with near four days of hard travel behind them, Kadiya drew a deep breath of relief as she followed Jagun’s orders helping to launch the skiff.
The current ran swift from the storm. Jagun had shipped a long steering oar and kept strict watch. Having no need to paddle, Kadiya crouched near the bow, widening her mind sense as far as she could. Life—there was enough of that—but she picked up no trace of anything really threatening.
They had put ten days’ travel from the city behind them when they came to that lake which surrounded the long pier which supported the houses of Jagun’s clan. The waters of the lake were much higher than Kadiya had seen on her first visit there. Much had changed with her and with the outer world since that day when she had dared to break the custom. As a fugitive with a price that cried aloud for her capture, she had sought out the Nyssomu in their own place, come to appeal for help against a common enemy. Yet, save for the water now washing higher against those platforms, all appeared as it had then.
As before, their arrival was announced by hidden sentinels. The whistle of greeting seemed still to echo as the craft in which Kadiya rode bumped the pile-supported walk of the center longhouse.
Again four of the Nyssomu women waited, seeming insensible of the rain which washed the painted patterns from their cheeks and slicked their robes against their bodies. Two of those women Kadiya recognized. What would be their greeting now?
Jagun bowed his head. “Greetings, First of the House. Safe may all be in the sight of Those Whom We Do Not Name.”
The Nyssomu woman eyed them for what seemed to the weary Kadiya to be an inordinately long moment before she made the formal answer:
“This roof be over you, hunter, and you, King’s Daughter, who comes to us again.”
Kadiya replied first with the gesture of respect she had learned long ago in Trevista when she had first taken to swamp running.
“I, Kadiya, wish all within well.” She fitted her muddy palm into that which the woman held out to her.
The Nyssomu smiled. “Well be with you at your coming, King’s Daughter. We have heard of what you and yours wrought afar, bringing down a great evil. We were battle kin there and so shall we be peace kin here.” Then her smile vanished and she stared up into the girl’s eyes as if she could read there some message.
“There is trouble in your heart. This kinhold welcomes you, who have chosen to come to us. All guest rights be yours.”
The women who stood at each door in the long hall bowed as the First of the House led Kadiya to the room she so well remembered. Its luxury, though strange, was much cherished by one just out of the mud and floods.
Kadiya bathed, remembering that other time when what these friends had offered had in a small way eased her sore heart even as their lotions and oils had eased her body. She had fled blood and fire and such monstrous cruelty she would not have thought possible. Her world had ended in a single day and night and there had been nothing to hold to except her will and the need for vengeance.
The soft fistful of soap, which she dug out of a shell set conveniently near, stung her scalp where the hair had been torn but that was only a small discomfort. She relaxed in the water and allowed all the peace and comfort which was Nyssomu-born to flow into her again.
She swathed herself in one of the fringed robes they had ready and combed out her wet hair with a fishbone comb. The scent of the bath petals clung to her still damp skin and she was grateful for this small escape from the swamp smell.
The six clan heads who formed the Council of the First gathered as they had upon Kadiya’s first nervous appearance before them. She settled herself on a cushioned stool to face them. A younger woman brought the hosting cup and each drank in turn, Kadiya very careful to drop to the floor the customary libation.
“King’s Daughter, I have seen you bear trouble with you as a burden. But there has come to us no tale of armies astir—not since the return of those of us who were a part of the victory when that dark overmountain king and his evil mage strove to grind us underfoot. You wear that”—she pointed to the amulet on Kadiya’s breast—“and carry that”—and now the finger indicated the sword the girl had laid down at her feet. “Both live. Thus, we are not yet done with trouble, after all. What new king arises to ravage our land?”
Kadiya hesitated and then decided that the story would best serve in its entirety.
“No king crosses our borders, Speaker. My sister Anigel wears the double crown of the two lands now and rules in outward peace. However, there is a warning that evil has not yet done with us—or else there is a new force of the Dark come to test our strength, one spreading from the mountains.”
So she began the story of what had happened since she had left the Citadel driven by that inner pressure to travel to the garden of the sword.
9
When Kadiya spoke of the Hassitti there was a stir among her listeners. She who governed the household interrupted:
“King’s Daughter, you speak of legends.”
“Legends who live,” Kadiya returned firmly. “Ones who consider themselves Guardians of all left by the Vanished Ones.”
Now there was a faint murmur among the Nyssomu women. One, Kadiya thought, not of denial but of wonder.
She plunged swiftly on to the adventure of Jagun in the maze of light and saw the First shake her head.
“Traps! So would they serve us, who were hands and feet in far places for the Vanished Ones! That is not to be accepted!”
Kadiya paused, then continued. “Lady of the House, I believe the little ones were not the setters of such traps. Rather those were in place ever since the Vanished Ones withdrew. It is the Hassitti claim that they are the Guardians and protectors of all which High Ones left behind. Indeed they seemed to have done their best to be so.” She described the many rooms with the stack
ed treasures within. Thus she came to the claims of the dreamers and again she was interrupted.
“These claim to catch dreams! And dreams that you say are dark warnings. Danger from the mountains. But did we not just fight a war with some who came over mountains? Surely they have not so risen again?”
“Other mountains—not to the north, but the west,” Kadiya answered. “These dreamers of theirs are carefully listened to and believed.”
“And you seek knowledge of these mountains from us, King’s Daughter? Why? Our folk have no dealing with the heights beyond the mire lands.”
“I have come because of this.” Kadiya opened the pouch of protective silis skin which she had retrieved from among her belongings before she began her tale. Now she unrolled the strip of patterned weaving which the orb of the talisman had revealed.
For a moment it seemed as if the First had no wish to touch it. Then, as if forcing herself to some duty she disliked, the Oddling accepted the strip to spread it wide across her knee. One of the others seated near her arose and moved quickly to view it over the First’s shoulder.
Those lines which the orb had drawn into distinct view had not faded into obscurity and could be easily seen. The First ran a fingertip along them, as if touching the substance would make the message they bore even clearer.
Then she looked up as if to consult eye to eye with that other who had joined her in inspecting the find.
“First,” it was that other who spoke, “the weave pattern runs true. This is Nyssomu.”
“But,” the First objected, “surely Old, Old. That which it speaks of is far seasons behind us. In my mother’s mother’s day it was already near forgot. Weaver, do we have a match for this record?”
Slowly the other nodded. “Yes, there are three patterns like unto it. Two of which it was needful to reweave during the last season of dry because they were so old they were like to vanish.
“There was such a message—that evil abode to the west but that it was fast held there and such safeguards set upon it that the mires need not stand to arms against it. The Vanished Ones set those bars. This one”—she looked to Kadiya—“speaks of one of their other safeguards being still a mighty trap. They had Power such as we cannot equal.
“The Great Old One, Binah, had Power. You have touched that Power, King’s Daughter—or some part of it—for yourself. One of your heart’s blood, your sister, holds Binah’s place. Still none can equal what the Vanished Ones used and knew. We do not reach for such Power. It is not in us to call upon that which is not born within our kind. In all the long seasons since the Vanished Ones went from us, we have only studied to hold our own people safe as we might. We have lived by the old Oaths, and this place from which you have just come has been Oath-closed to us. Perhaps that was because among us there might be born some so ill-minded and reckless as to wish to reach for what was not theirs.
“If evil stirs”—she had moved a little before the First, and there was a sternness about her—“perhaps it wakes because there has been overmuch of the old Power summoned during the moons just past. This sorcerer Orogastus who dabbled in things which were forbidden, using the very fires of the air for his weapons—how do we know that he did not overset some balance of old, loosing what was thought to be forever laid?”
The First raised her hand and her companion was silent.
“King’s Daughter, you have given us much to think on.” She smoothed the strip of weaving with the palm of her hand. “We have our records, kept as well and securely as we can hold them. Because of this—this dreamer’s warning—because of that which you hold, unable to return to its source”—she pointed to the sword—“we must believe that there is indeed a stirring. You are given host-right here and kin-aid in what must be done. Though we are a people who do not raise spear or send dart easily, yet neither do we close our eyes and ears against warnings.”
“First, I give to you thanks. For some things it takes many hands. What you have offered is good to hear,” Kadiya replied.
The women had risen and now they uniformly moved hands and head in a formal gesture. Led by the First they filed out of the chamber. Then there scurried in two young Oddlings who motioned for Kadiya to come with them. They ushered her into what she thought to be a hosting chamber for a visitor not of the kin.
There food awaited her and she ate heartily, savoring the tastes of dishes which she had learned from her early childhood ventures into the mire with Jagun to enjoy. This was far different from the soft mushes and pulpy fruits the Hassitti had given her and she relished the crisp crunch of tender lakareed roots.
When the young maid came to take away the tray, she indicated the piled reeds of the mat bed and raised invitingly one end of a well-woven grass blanket into which had been entwined the fragrant dried stems of flowers supposed to give good rest.
Kadiya settled down on the mats and was about to draw the blanket up about her shoulders when there came a soft call from the other side of the door curtain. When Kadiya answered it was not the maid returning, rather the older Oddling whom the First had addressed as Weaver and who had taken part in Kadiya’s interrogation.
The Nyssomu held both hands well away from her body as she carried an artifact. A stiff reed had been bent and worked into an oval. Within that was a weaving of an irregular, open pattern of string fiber—like a crooked web. From one side of the oval there dangled two reed cords which had been colored, one green, one blue. These were not equal in length, but the free end of each was bound about a tuft of feathers—these of a metallic brilliance even in the subdued light of the room.
“Have you seen this, King’s Daughter?”
“No, Weaver. What is this thing, one of Power?”
“Indeed of Power. This is a dream web, a catcher set to protect against evil visions in sleep. Since you have been told such are about, we shall be wise and set these aloft.”
Holding the dream web in one hand the Weaver reached so far overhead that she needed to stand on her toes to touch what she sought. She pulled down a near invisible line to which she hooked her “protection” so it hung free and twirled about, the feathered strings fluttering.
The Weaver eyed it critically, gave a small tug to one of the dangling lines which set it spinning again. Then she nodded briskly as one who finishes a good job.
“Sleep well, King’s Daughter. You need not feel the evil touch of black dreams now.”
Before Kadiya’s thanks were half uttered the door curtain dropped behind her. That lamp which had been left on a stool top flickered low and Kadiya lay back under the fragrant covering. There was a twitch of shadow against shadow in the dim light of the room. The dream trap was still in slight motion. She wondered what the Hassitti dreamer would have to say about this. It would seem that the Nyssomu were not as willing to open themselves to meaningful dreams as were the dwellers in the city.
Whether it was the fatigue which settled so heavily upon her that pushed her into the depths of truly dreamless sleep, or whether the protection worked, Kadiya did not know. She slid into a place of warm and welcome darkness and was content.
Where the library Kadiya had explored in the city had been a labyrinth of seemingly unsorted materials, the one she visited with the Weaver in Jagun’s village house was a model of neatness and a place of activity. The Nyssomu woman who commanded that activity made no move toward explaining much to her visitor and Kadiya quickly decided that the record weaving was one of those guild-like mysteries jealously preserved by those engaged in them.
The looms were small and table mounted, much like those she had seen used in Trevista for the production of scarves and ribbons. There were three here, two of which were in use. The balls of spun reed and grass fiber dyed a number of colors were in large spools to hand. Instead of shuttles the Weavers used long threaded needles to set lines which followed no pattern Kadiya’s eyes could detect.
By the third loom lay the strip she had brought and next to it a larger spool on which a section
of material nearly as wide as the ancient strip had been wound.
As the two younger Oddling women kept on with their work the Weaver herself brought Kadiya to that middle loom and began to unwind, with infinite care, the enspooled ribbon. A puff of motes arose as the coils reluctantly yielded to her gentle pull and Kadiya believed that this was a record which had been in existence for some time.
Though the shutters had been tight closed against the intermittent beating of the rain, there was enough light from lamps which swung from the beams overhead for Kadiya to see the lines of different colors twine and separate, become circles or patches at intervals.
The Weaver unwound but a portion of the length. Then she reached for the piece from the city and held it in one hand next to the weaving she had loosed in the other.
“This is the work of Jassoa who was Weaver a hundred seasons ago. It is excellent work which has held well against all aging. Here there is an account of the storms which overflowed our home site then. Also there is something else … that there came a rumor from the Uisgu that they feared a certain evil which dwelt upon their borders because there had been a shaking of the mountains. Wind and rain had brought about a slippage of ground from the heights—”
“Would that be considered evil drawn by intent?” Kadiya interrupted and then added swiftly, “Your pardon, Weaver, I am too quick for proper manners.”
The Weaver, whom she had thought far more dour than the First at their earlier meeting, smiled a fraction.
