Five Senses Box Set

by Andre Norton

  Twilla took the initiative. “Let us return and repeat your words to Oxyle. Remember, I am bond to you by oath—which, as you pointed out, will bring me only ill if I try to break it. This Lord,” she again pressed her hand on Ylon's arm, “is eldest son to the leader of the invaders. Though they cast him out when his sight was taken. Therefore he can well advise us as to what defenses we may need against them. Oxyle is already aware that they are stirring once more. And the fact that they have ravished one of the great trees to their purposes, even though it is fallen, will give them courage. By your favor let us return above.”

  Chard frowned. “You ask much, Wisewoman. If this Lord is whom you say then he may well be an excellent hostage— Unless,” his eyes narrowed a little, “the forest has indeed marked him forever. If that is so I do not think he would find favor with the invaders now. But—” he paused, “if he is also the prey this Lotis seeks we do not want him in our hall. Perhaps Oxyle can find a better use for him—bait for some trap he would set for Lotis.”

  “Then we can go?” Twilla asked firmly.

  “I play a wide game,” Chard spoke as if to himself. “But sometimes the chances offered by fortune are true. Yes, you shall return. But know you, and tell this also to this Oxyle, I do not believe that his kind shall again find us easy meat. And let Oxyle also remember who holds the river holds the way to the heartland. If we fall—that the trees also will find iron laid to their bark.”

  At least they were given some hospitality for Chard ordered food and drink for them, set aside in another chamber. Twilla made good use of her portion. Meals had been so scattered in the past few days that she was never sure when she might have opportunity to eat again. Ylon matched her her appetite. She was done first and she played with her tankard of water, pushing it back and forth, and trying to sort out her thoughts. He spoke first:

  “What manner of place is this?”

  Twilla was startled and then remembered, only too swiftly, that for Ylon all the world was a mystery until explained or explored by touch. Swiftly she described the great hall which was the center of the underworld.

  Ylon listened and at the word of the boar he frowned a little. “These undermen were seemingly bound away from life until you broke the bespelling which held them. Still that hoofed rover has been seen— Though we laughed at such reports thinking them born of forest madness. How then was such a creature unleashed if its masters were enspelled?”

  His voice had risen and now his hand fell away from the goblet and curled into a fist. “We stumble from one mystery to another. There is no end to what may be everlasting entanglement!”

  “There will be no end,” Twilla agreed, “unless there are some cool thinkers—among your people, Lord Ylon, among the forest ones, and among Chard's.”

  Ylon leaned a little forward, as if he was straining now to see her face. “You speak of ‘your people’ to me, Healer. Do you then say that we two are no longer of the same blood?”

  “I say that I have nothing in common with those of the settlements,” Twilla returned flatly. “I was taken and brought to this land by force. They tried to bend me to their will—” she hesitated and then continued. “That they did not, I have to offer thanks to you. I have no roots in plains, forest, or here beneath ground.”

  “Therefore,” Ylon cut in crisply, “it may well be that in the end you shall be a deciding factor. I was raised a man of arms, Healer—perhaps in an opposite fashion to your training. My teachers spoke of force, not mediation, for that was their creed. And it was mine until—” he paused for a long moment, “until,” he lifted his hand to his eyes, “I learned how helpless and hopeless one can be for all training and hardening. You were taught to heal even as I was trained to wastage and hurt. We must listen to another voice now or we shall all be lost.

  “My people deemed me no better than a shadow in their rooms when I returned to them. Therefore they spoke before me as they would before a halfwit who knew little and would remember less. My father has been promised full authority over this land—if he can bring it under permanent settlement and, as younger son of a younger son, there lies in him a great pride of blood and a need to rule. Perhaps if it can be shown to him that there is also a gain from more peaceful ways—” His voice died away.

  “Would he welcome a truce if the forest offered such?” she asked when he did not continue.

  Ylon shrugged. “How can I say? For near two seasons I have been a nothing, reduced to charity under his roof. Ustar is now his right hand and my brother is first a man of force—and perhaps nothing else. Nor does my father take kindly to any advice. The Dandus priest—” his mouth quirked as if he tasted something evil, “he was sent—and by those who have little wish to see my father rise in the king's favor. My father gives outward acceptance to him because it is the king's will, but the fellow dabbles in trouble. He is a fanatic as nearly all of his kind are—he would, I think, like to see the old ways of the Far Calling return.”

  Twilla shuddered. “No!” she protested. “Such are the acts of darkness and surely none would see them return. There would be outcry—the people would truly rise then!”

  “The Dandus priest has those who listen—how many are moved by true fear when it is set upon them? He has powers also.”

  Twilla's hands were on her mirror. There were so many different powers, and certainly she was only groping to learn the extent of that which Hulde had set upon her. Of old the Dandus priests were the stuff of nightmares. They enforced rule upon much of over mountain until the last of the Gardlian family of kings had brought down their head, losing his own life doing so. That they had been creeping back during the recent seasons was a threat. But in time all forget the ills which once were.

  “This Dandus—he feeds them fear and hate of the forest?” she speculated.

  “How else? To such a one any unknown power is a threat to himself.”

  Then—how fortune had favored her that in their meeting he had taken her for a healer, had not sensed that she might be more! Twilla wondered if the mirror itself had provided her with armor at that moment.

  “You think he will stand against any truce?”

  “He must, being who and what he is. That we shall remember if or when this leader gives us back to the forest.”

  They were summoned at last by Utin who seemed to be again the chosen guide. But once they were out of the great hall they did not turn toward the river with its hidden road but went directly back to the cavern wall.

  Utin grunted and struggled until he achieved some words they could understand:

  “Look—well,” he ordered. “This be true way.”

  Twilla saw a shadow behind a swinging curtain depending from the lichen above. The small warrior held that to one side and showed them a narrow portal in the wall and Twilla caught Ylon's hand explaining what must be done and leading him through. Utin scrambled after them as they came again into dimness which deepened ahead into the general dark she had found here.

  Utin pushed past them and gestured for them to follow. For a wonder this passage appeared to run straight with no side ways—which she could see as Utin produced a glimmering ovid he carried, held a little before him, on the palm of his left hand. In his other she noted, with a fading of confidence, he held one of the broad bladed swords bared and ready. What dangers did he expect?

  They tramped on. This way had one quality which had impressed her in the forest. There was a feeling of something just beyond her range of sight or hearing which was astir. And that roused a wariness in her.

  Utin had slowed his rocking gait. Under his ridged helm his head pointed forward and he began to swing back and forth that source of light, as if he looked for some traces on walls or flooring.

  There was an actual sound which broke through now, a slithering noise as if something was being drawn along the rock of the passage floor. Utin stopped short, turned his head to look back.

  “Bad—” he grunted out the word.

  Ylon's nostri
ls expanded. Now Twilla caught a whiff of the same odor. Part of it was of the rottenness of evil decay, but—there was something else—a hint of heavy fragrance she associated with Lotis. But here?

  Were they about to face one of the illusions which the forest woman used as her weapons? There was certainly movement beyond in the thicker darkness where Utin's limited hand light barely touched the fringe.

  “Ssssss—” A hiss, and from Utin in return a guttural cry.

  “What is it?” Ylon's hand jerked in hers, there were lines of strain about those eyes which would not serve him.

  “Something out of the dark—”

  But Twilla had no time to say more. The thing looped forward. If one had fashioned a giant worm from the field soil, one with the girth of a large tun, then this might be it. One pointed end wavered in the air, though Twilla could not see any indication of eyes. But there was a gaping hole of a mouth, fungi white against the darkness of the rest of the body. From that issued a thrumming note which scaled upward as the thing drew its slimy length forward.

  Another illusion? But Twilla also remembered the forest creature above which had been real. She drew Ylon's hand up and put it to rest on her shoulder, moving a step in front of him, her mirror held steady in both hands.

  The worm thing uttered again the whispering sound, and the pointed head struck with arrow's speed and skill at Utin. Stolid and thick of body as the underman was he eluded that first attack and struck in return, his blade sinking into the creature's body. But when he jerked it free again there was no sign of any wound mark where it had struck. The worm had withdrawn a little, its pointed forend wavering back and forth. Was it more cautious? Twilla thought so.

  Then, once more, with near lightning speed, it lunged! This time that point struck Utin and the underman uttered an audible grunt. But the gaping mouth had not caught him. He staggered back against the wall. The worm reared.

  Its attack was not now for the underman, but at Twilla. From the mouth frothed yellowish liquid and the foul odor of that flood caught at her throat. But she did not drop the mirror. That pointed forend swayed back and forth before her as if some wall stood between the thing and its prey and it now sought access through that barrier. The stuff it frothed forth spattered wide.

  Twilla gave a small cry as the heat of a glowing coal seared her skin. She could believe that the creature was now spraying poison. The girl edged back, pushing against Ylon.

  There was no blaze from the mirror. But some drops of that discharge touched its surface. Curls of smoke arose, intertwined. Then they began to glow, not with the clear silver she had seen echo from the mirror before but the pink of watered blood which deepened to a more fiery red.

  Now those loops reached out, wreathed the crawler point—closed. At the same time Utin sprang. He struck the creature from the side as it was ennetted by the smoke. Now he held his sword in both hands and he brought it down across the twisting back of the thing with a force which was well apparent to the eye.

  He was tossed aside by the writhing of the coils, crashed against the wall and slid down it. Only this time there was evidence of a wound—a gap. From the net of smoke, holding the thing in spite of its now wild writhing, there ventured a thread which spiraled down, entered into that hole in the thick rolls of flesh.

  Ylon's hand dropped from Twilla's shoulder. He moved to one side before she could hinder him and was groping until he found Utin, swinging up the limp body of the underman.

  Twilla could only hold—hoping that the mirror was the weapon which they needed. The lines spun from the thing's spittle when the disk faded, but the creature snapped the forepart of its body aloft and back and then lay rolling on the rock as if it would crawl but could not.

  Was it dying? They could not edge past it now for the coils still rounded and beat. And if they retreated it might come after them.

  “What happens?” Ylon demanded. She could feel his body against her tense. His head turned from side to side. He had laid Utin down but stood over him plainly ready to bear him away if that could be.

  “It is wounded—I think.” Swiftly she described what had happened with mirror and the threads seeming born of the worm's own poison. What had been told her—that evil could be turned back upon itself if the defense was strong enough.

  In the limited light provided by the fallen ovid Utin brought, the body was still quivering and pulsing. The headpoint raised once again, and from the creature burst a cry which was more than the hiss of its attack— a shriek against the coming of death. It beat against the ground, drew in upon itself—was still. Though Twilla yet eyed it with caution. So it had not been any illusion spun by Lotis after all. Yet she was sure she had sniffed that betrayal of fragrance. Did the forest woman somehow know the secret of the under ways? But how could she have come through the doors so long sealed against passage?

  Twilla drew a deep breath. She was sure that if the worm was not dead it was past further attack. Though to squeeze by it into the way beyond—that was another thing. And there was Utin—with the under man injured they should take him back to their people.

  It was Utin himself who answered that problem for them. He sat up, lifted his large hands to his helm and strove to wrench it off.

  Having freed his head from the iron piece which had been so tightly jammed down upon it, he rubbed his hands across his forehead and then shook himself all over, as might an animal emerging from deep water.

  With a grunt he pulled himself all the way up. He did not at once shake off the help Ylon stooped to offer him as he stood staring at the body of the worm. Then he turned his head and looked to Twilla. With his hand he made a gesture she took for a salute.

  “Arpse—” he mouthed, repeating the word twice as if to make sure she understood. After that he did loose himself from Ylon to waver forward.

  With deliberation he kicked at that eyeless head and then stood back watching. There was not even a quiver in the hulk of the body now. Then, slightly more steady on his feet, he made for the wall against which he had crashed and picked up his sword again before he also stooped for the light.

  “We go back?” Twilla gestured.

  Utin shook his head. Instead he pointed forward with the blade and set out to edge around the worm on into the unknown. They could do no more than follow, though Twilla took great care to avoid the patches of slime the thing had spat and see that Ylon did not come near them.

  It was when they got at last past the dead that they realized how great in size the thing was. Like the trees of the forest it was out of all nature.

  Utin gave it a last contemptuous kick when he reached the end. And they did not look back.

  The way continued straight and that persistent undercurrent of only half-sensed sound Twilla had noted before again took up. Then they faced a flat surface in which there was no opening—but there, above the level of where a door might be, she saw again such a mask of a boar as she and Wandi had come across on their wanderings.

  Utin sheathed his sword and took position straightway before that. He raised the odd lamp, positioning it carefully so that its strongest beams went straight into the mask. Under that light the thing looked as alive as if the boar of the inner meadow had furnished a trophy to hang there.

  Eyes gleamed in the head, and the light reflected also from the great tusks. There came a grating and suddenly there was a doorway outlined there. The outlines grew deeper, the barrier to that way was opening slowly and ponderously. Utin gave a jump backward as it came to a full swing.

  “On—” he waved. “On—” It was plain he was impatient with them. But he was standing aside—he did not move to follow his own suggestion.

  Twilla still held to the mirror with one hand but now tightened hold on Ylon again and drew him forward. On they went out of the grim darkness of the underworld into a dusky form of light.

  She had no more time than to realize that they must be back in the runways of the forest when two tall men drew in upon them, one from eit
her side. They held what she had seen in Lotis's hand—boughs with a single leaf at the tip. Those were pointed directly at them.

  20

  IT WAS PLAIN that these two did not face them with any thought of goodwill.

  “Go!” The one to Twilla's right made a sharp gesture. Ylon stood a little free of her, facing the speaker. There was straightness to his jawline and Twilla sensed that within him the anger born from his helplessness was stirring. However, she was wary enough of what those branches might evoke to catch again at his hand and draw him along.

  Both of their guards fell in behind as the girl explained in a few words to her companion that they were under that restraint. She began to fear that since her second passage into the underground the climate of the forest had drastically changed.

  There was no move to transport them via the mists, instead they were urged along the network of passages, mainly of the undecorated kind, a maze she feared she could never retrace. Then once more the splendor of the treasure halls burst into brilliancy around them as they came into the great hall.

  There was again an assembly around the table but it differed from the one Twilla had last seen. Oxyle, Karla, Fanna's mother, Musseline, and one other of the men were gone. In this room Lotis sat firmly in the great chair. There was another woman Twilla had never seen before, plus three men, but it was plain that Lotis was in command here.

  She smiled as Twilla and Ylon were urged up to the foot of the table.

  “So the far farers returned,” she observed. “To your place, bondman.” She clicked her fingers in that degrading way she had done before.

  Ylon did not move. Lotis's smile was abruptly wiped away. Her large green eyes gathered fire in their depths.

  “You will do my will!” She uttered that as a master bringing a rebel servant to heel.