In the dawn the fire left only a wraith of pale ashes moving on the chill air. They went east until the hills to the south became both steeper and closer to the city, while the city opened into long avenues running north and south. ‘Here,’ said Obonor. ‘This is a place to go through. We came this way.’
The troop turned as one and clattered into the city, hooves hammering harshly on stone, echoes pounding, a noise without relief. Within moments Thewson had to stuff his ears against the sound. He saw the others doing likewise with a grimace at him and at themselves. Obonor seemed to say something, his lips forming the words, ‘No other way…’ Thewson gritted his jaw and tried to ignore the thunder in his ears.
They did not stop until noon. Thewson asked then, ‘Why do we not wrap the horses’ feet? This is a horrid noise we make.’
Obonor moved away as though not to answer, then turned and said, ‘It is thought… the sound may keep certain creatures away.’
‘But you said there were none left here,’ argued Lain-achor.
‘I said there were few. One would be too many.’
Something did not ring true in this interchange. Thewson could detect no malice among the green men; they were respectful, even deferential. But something was not being said. He watched them as he ate a few mouthfuls, was aware of being watched in return. They eased saddles on the horses’ backs, mounted once more, and rode with a clatter down a narrow canyon of street, into an avenue, along a wall gaping with doors….
The hiss which came from a gaping throat of darkness at their side screamed above the noise of the hooves, above the sound of terrified screaming from the horses as they tried to break free. Thewson was suddenly alone as the northerners backed away from him, pulling the frantic horses back with iron arms, drawing Lain-achor with them even as he tried to thrust them away.
Thewson was unsurprised. He leapt from the panicking horse to bring solid pave beneath his feet, spear in hand, wondering only a little at their seeming lack of surprise. What came through the doorway could not have failed to surprise and terrify – unless those who now saw it had seen it before, hunted it perhaps, seen men killed by it certainly. The men from the north made no sounds of terror.
Thewson did not look behind him to see what actions they took – whether they protected themselves, fled, or even menaced him from behind. His attention was riveted to that which came from the black doorway, the pincer feet two by two in endless number, the eye-decked head coiling with slime-dripping tendrils. Fangs glittered and acid slaver dropped to smoke upon the pave. The head reared high above him as the first dozen pairs of feet pushed the body up into a pillar of metal-clawed menace.
He did not think as he measured the distance to the gouted fangs – arm, spear, blade at this angle, knees bending to that precise degree needed to launch him upward toward the spot of naked skin which stretched obscenely at the base of the thing’s neck….
And he leapt.
The green spear blade whipped upward, slicing its way through the jaw, through the roof of the horrid mouth, up and into the brain caverns, was levered over and down with Thewson’s full weight upon it so that he stood in that instant upon the creature’s neck, between the lashing pincer feet. He thrust the spear down to pin the hideous head to pave. The whole, monstrous length of the thing lashed in a frenzy against unyielding stone.
Thewson screamed then, echoing the horses, half in triumph and half in pain at the acid drip on arms and shoulders. The green-clad warriors gathered to hack at the thrashing feet with blades suddenly as willing as his own. Then Obonor drew him away from the beast and poured something upon his wounds, something which stilled the fire as abruptly as it had come. Stupidly, Thewson looked down at the black acid stains upon his skin, heard Obonor say as from a great distance, ‘They will heal clean, Lord. Forgive us, but it was necessary to be sure.’
Obonor knelt at Thewson’s feet in deep obeisance. The others knelt beside him, except one who kept watch upon the creature which died slowly upon the stone. Witlessly, Thewson watched two of the men take up his spear with enormous reverence, clean it of the envenomed blood and return it to his hand after bowing to the blade as well.
Thewson said, ‘The noise was to attract the beast. To make it hunt us.’
‘Yes, Lord.’
‘To test – what? The edge of my blade? My courage? The warriors of the Lion Courts need no test, no, even in these northlands!’
‘No, Lord. But the bearer of the Sword of Sud-Akwith, that one might be false even if the blade were true.’
Thewson could only stare, stupidly. ‘What is this? No more silence now. I will be told!’
‘This, Lord.’ Obonor touched the spear blade with great respect, touching his hand to his forehead and heart when he had done so. ‘This green blade, with the guard curved so, is the blade of Sud-Akwith, cast into the Abyss of Souls by Sud-Akwith himself, thousands of years ago. Then did the Prince, Widon the Golden, say he would not take up what had been cast away until it returned to him or to his people of its own will. Then did he and all the people of Widon – which was a host of the people of Akwith – go into the northlands in the time of my forebears.
‘There were they met by a man, a singer, a king among the people there, one who became greatly honoured among our people for he had built a goodly land. It was he who prophesied the return of the Sword of Power, the blade of Sud-Akwith, in the hands of a dark warrior from the south. He would bring it, said the prophecy, to call the people of Widon to the service of the Firelord once more.’
Thewson heard in the caverns of his mind a far-off whirr, a gentle laughter, a voice saying ‘Thewson’ almost affectionately. It was like the voice of a god, the voice of the blade when he had chosen it, or it had chosen him, calling him by name. He said, ‘It was not made as a spear blade? It is not a spear blade at all?’
‘It is as the Lord wills,’ answered Obonor. ‘It is in the Lord’s keeping.’
‘How do you know it is not false?’
‘Because, Lord, the Tharnel worm is kin to those demons, the Hagak d’tumek, which came from beneath the city of Tharliezalor in Sud-Akwith’s time. The Sword of Power can kill them, leaving the bearer scatheless. We can kill them with lesser weapons, but they take long to die and many of us die as well. Oh, Lord Thewson, surely you have come for some very great purpose and surely you know why you come at last, bearing this great gift.’
They were all gazing at him, including Lain-achor, eyes shining with expectant tears, while he sat wondering what he was to do or say next. He discarded the idea of telling them he had been sent by a bird. They would think that trivial, though Thewson was of the sudden opinion that that bird and the jewelled bird god of his youth might have more in common than mere wings. Still, now the gods left him without words, and he cursed at them futilely.
Presently, he said, ‘Well. In the Hill of Gerenhodh came a messenger of the Powers to say, “Remember the people of Widon the Golden and those of the Axe King.” I, Thewson, say to those people, “Evil walks in the world and the sisters of Taniel call upon them.” There, I have said.’
It seemed to be enough. They mounted, helping him quite unnecessarily in mounting the great horse, finding a quick way out of the place of stones to thunder across the northern moorlands, fleet as the wind toward their distant homeland, calling ‘Ris, Ris, the Dark Warrior comes,’ like madmen, embarrassing Thewson. Behind them it seemed that a part of the city withered and faded like a melting shadow under the lowering sky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ORENA
Day 1, Month of Flowers –
Days 9-10, Month of Sowing
To those in Leona’s wagon train it seemed that day succeeded day on the southern trail almost without differentiation. The logs kept by Old Eriden, the oldest scout, a white-haired veteran of a hundred such journeys, made little distinction between days except in the tally of the hunt and the number of minor injuries which the children managed to incur. Their track fell behind
them, each day warmer under the summering sun, until one morning came with a happening.
Bombaroba noticed it first in his early morning wandering about the camp, his gossipy nosings among the Sisters and scouts, his examination of animals on the picket lines. There was an unaccustomed silence, certain usual noises missing. There was, he was sure, no laughter of babies. The birds that built ground nests in the twined grasses were still. He trudged to the top of a rise to peer around, then ran to take Leona by the hand and tug her with him to see what he had seen.
‘The little animals are gone,’ he said at once. ‘All in the night. Where did they go?’
‘I don’t know.’ Before them the plain was broken by a new feature of the landscape, one she had never seen before. The earth was pocked by giant hemispheres of stone, grey and lifeless, so close together that there was no room for the train to wend itself between. ‘I feel… menace,’ she said. ‘Have the scouts come in?’
‘The night scouts are waiting at the cookfire. The day scouts have not gone out. They are not smiling.’
‘No. I should think not.’
Old Eriden rose to greet Leona. The others watched, muttering among themselves.
‘A strange place, Lady. No way around it unless we ford the river. That would mean going back, for the Unnamed River goes deep here in a canyon of its own making. Behind us, so say my brothers, comes a troop of armed men, perhaps black robes, a very large group. We can ride west to see if there is a way around, but it will be longer than some days, for I have ridden that way in the night.’
‘The hummocks. What do you make of them, Eriden?’
‘I have not seen anything like them before, Lady. Fardur and Bers have both been this far south, but they came by the land between the rivers seeking the ruins of Obnor Gahl. They do not remember any such.’
‘Possibly a new thing.’
‘How can we say? Possibly. But how?’
‘How? Well, I have been as far south almost as Orena, but I have not seen the like before. I shall try to see if there is a way around.’
The old man swallowed. ‘We will go with you.’
‘No, Eriden. I will see to this alone. I am well equipped to do so.’
So, after seeing to the ordering of the camp, she went with Mimo and Werem into the grasses of the hummocky land. There was no wind. The grass seemed yellowed, changed by the still light into carved or painted symbols of themselves which looked unreal. She picked a herb she knew, one often collected for its sharp, resinous fragrance, its cleanly bite, and crushed the leaves beneath her nose. There was only a ghost of odour, a dry, prickly smell as of ancient attics carpeted with dust. She dropped it to stare for long moments at the stains on her fingers, at the fingers themselves which were all at once like carved ivory, covered with a dusty brown crackle, as aged and ageless as a museum piece. Mimo whined and Leona caressed the dog’s head as she went stubbornly on, hour on endless hour.
A long swale opened suddenly into a flatter place, one where the huge stones stood upright in the yellow light, domes of lichened grey set in bristly fringes of furze. Leona stood very still, almost without breathing, as she felt the stones turn. They looked like the tops of great bare skulls with furzy eyebrows just above the surface of the earth and beneath the earth – eyes. A sound came from the deeps – a tiny quake, a shudder, a shimmer in the air. She stood still. From beneath the surface something watched. Listened.
Leona backed away, turned west for a long time, went south again. Here, from a slight rise, she peered down on another plain of the grey stones. Again she felt them turn beneath the earth to watch her. Again she went west.
Deep in the night she returned to the camp to find Bombaroba sitting beside her fire, feeding it with tiny sticks to keep the pot steaming. He ran to her with relief. ‘We have been very much afraid,’ he confessed in a whisper. ‘I promised Bers and Eriden to wake them when you returned, but I do not really think they are sleeping.’ He returned with the scouts in such a short time that Leona knew they had not slept. She told them what she had found.
‘Far to the west is a long swale which leads to the south. There were none of the stones there, but there were many elsewhere, everywhere. I do not want to come close to them, and the swale is the only free lane south I can find. You will think me mad, but we will muffle the wheels and the hooves, and we will start at once.’
So they did. They drove west for long miles, then turned south after tying cloths and leathers around the wheels and onto the hooves of the horses. Every child was cautioned and threatened with dire punishment if a sound was made. Every link of harness was tied up. Still, Leona almost cried out when she led them down toward the swale, for on the gentle slopes which had been empty before were a scatter of the high, stony foreheads of the watchers from below, standing as tall as two tall men from brambly eyebrows to skull top, six man heights wide, bare, grey, ominous.
‘The way is clear between,’ whispered Bombaroba.
‘Aie-yeh,’ declared Eriden. ‘But how far do we go between?’
‘Too far,’ breathed Leona. ‘And yet, we must go. So take a wagon, Eriden, and go. South, not right nor left, turn not nor stay, but gently go. And when you have come clear, go on. We will come behind you, slowly, gendy, one at a time.’
The white-haired old man, straight as a tree in his saddle, took the lead reins of the first wagon and rode forward. Around him the air shivered. Deep below something crated like huge laughter, muffled and withheld. Grim-faced Eriden rode south, the wagon trundling behind him in its muffling cloths, horses’ feet wrapped in rags plopping softly in the dust. The wagon receded into artificiality; they could not believe in its existence as it dwindled to the south. Only Leona’s firm voice drove the second wagon after the first.
‘You will feel as though you move in a dream,’ she instructed the driver. ‘As though it would be better to stop, to sleep. Do not. Go forward. Think of some song which you know and sing it silently. And do not stop.’
The second wagon moved off, and the third, then the others one by one in a long chain. Once a wagon slowed, stopped, the horses standing with heads down, legs splayed, the driver slumped forward. Leona rode forward, shook the man awake silently, stared deep into his face with eyes suddenly amber and gleaming like the eyes of a fierce bird. Gulping, he rode on and did not stop again.
Leona and Bombaroba were last, the boy seated in front of her on the low saddle, Mimo and Werem quiet at the horse’s flanks. Around them the air shivered in constant motion; beneath them the earth twitched like the skin of a horse beneath a tickling fly. On the slope the domes glittered in wan sunlight, constantly seeming to turn as though eyes moved along the line of wagons. Leona stared but could see no movement. No, no motion could be seen, but she did not doubt for a moment that it took place. They were being watched in some way she could not define or describe. Over her shoulder she peered to see a dome appear in the swale behind them, earth crumbling damply at its base. It had not moved there, nor risen into place. It was simply there, and it was not alone. They could not return this way.
Hours seemed to pass, and yet the sun had hardly moved in the wide sky when they came from between the last of the watching stones onto the open prairie. Behind them a cloud of dust rose to hang in still air, as though the earth trembled. Wordless, they took the wrappings from wheels and hooves, untied links of harness, moved eastward to regain the line they had left. Once more the train jingled and creaked; faces became faces again; colours took their usual brilliance. Leona broke off a leaf and smelled the sharp fragrance. Still, no one spoke, no one sang. Miles went behind them without sound except of the wagons.
At last, Bombaroba whispered from between her arms, ‘Lady, were they set there to keep us out?’
Leona spoke softly. To keep us out? Or let us through? To keep out those who come after us? Or to keep us in once we are here? Or to do some other thing, Bomba? It is a hard question to answer. I think they had nothing to do with us – not yet. I think
they were merely there, as a nest of serpents might be, or a waterfall, a thing to get safely by.’
‘I do not think the little animals will come back.’
‘No, Bomba. Nor do I.’
The scouts reported that the stone hummocks stayed behind them, but the same distance behind, keeping pace with the train.
They sweated beneath the sun of the southland, drawing ever nearer to the mountains, their way crossed by streamlets born in the snows of those mountains, the land rising. They walked to spare the horses, seeing to the east the great part of the south lying far below between the Unnamed River and the River of Hanar, flat and green as a meadow, dotted with copses of tall, black trees, falling away toward the Concealment. Scouts climbed tall pinnacles to report that the troop which had followed them from the River Del followed them still and that the stone hummocks lay a day’s journey to their rear. Whatever they might do, they could not return. Voices were raised in fear.
‘We did not plan to return,’ Leona told them coldly. ‘Not until we had reached the safety of the ancient city, the place of refuge. To be driven into refuge makes us think, of course, that our flight may be the will of others. Still, it was decided to go there by people of wisdom. Shall we panic now and drive witlessly away to the east, coming to bay at last between those behind us and the Concealment?’
She left them to their disenchanted murmuring. She overheard Bombaroba haranguing groups of children, Eriden lecturing the scouts, some of the older Sisters declaiming courage and resolution. By morning the mood of the train had solidified once more into calm and courage. They went on. They had travelled throughout the month of wings returning and into that month called ‘flowers’ or ‘growth.’ Thirty days more would bring them to midsummer time, right through the month of sowing. Surely before that time they would come to Orena.
The Revenants Page 32
