by Andre Norton
Teban did not come to say farewell nor was there any sight of the other. They might well now have the outpost to themselves. Once fed, her pack again on her shoulders, Thora was ready to go. Martan picked up Malkin and together they went down another narrow corridor coming once more into the open.
There was a trail as clearly marked as the roads pounded by the traders in the lower lands. The way was narrow but deeply cut, as if years of constant use had sunk it below the surface of the surrounding rock. Sometimes the track ran dizzily on the very edge of drops where Thora longed to close her eyes, then, again, it climbed as steps or crossed open plateaus.
At intervals were narrow stretches where it was necessary to set one foot almost directly before the other in order to proceed. Then would stand towers of stone, or else doors and narrow loopholes cut in the rock walls, as if these were points fashioned for easy defense against any invader.
Thora saw no guardians at any such point, but she felt herself under observation as they passed. What these height dwellers guarded themselves so against she could not guess. Surely not any beasts—the enemies must be men. And for a very long time, judging by all she saw, that enmity had continued. The homestead of the Craigs had never been so protected. Perhaps had her own people been more menaced and had had to live under fear, the Craigs would have survived the raiders.
By noon they had won to a much higher point. Twice during their journey Thora sighted a winged one riding air currents aloft. Martan called a halt at a spot where a number of tall, fang-shaped rocks were set in a cluster, and, into the heart of these he guided them.
There had been no talk among them as they journeyed. Thora was too filled by a growing resentment against these people, while Martan wore constantly a preoccupied look as if his mind was well removed from what they did. Now it was as if he shook himself free from some burden he had carried all morning. He smiled at her, seeming much younger, more akin to her own kind, Thora knew she must not betray any petulance, that showing such here and now would be akin to the pouting of a child who wished only her own way. She must meet any overture which he might make so to learn more—much more —concerning all these spiral wearers and their ways.
7
“Do you live here, Windrider—where even in summer there must lie some snow among the peaks?” she asked, as she took supplies from her backpack, offering a twist of meat to Kort. She had been handed a bag of trail rations that morning, to find such provided not unlike what she had been used to.
“Not here, Chosen.” Martan munched on a round of bread spread with a thick yellow paste. “We are not too far from the Valley's entrance. To reach that we must descend a little. Our land is far from being as grim as what you see about you here.”
“Have your people always lived here?” She did not know if these questions would be considered seemly, but she determined still to learn all she could.
“For a long time. Some of us came into shelter during the Days of Upheaval. A few had already found this place. It is a fertile land, our valley, and our numbers are such that there is room for all.”
Now came the question which had been with her all morning:
“Who is your enemy, Windrider? This trail we follow is one clearly planned for easy defense.”
She waited for a frown, perhaps even a rebuke for her curiosity. But his expression remained mildly friendly.
“The enemy has worn several faces through the years. Or perhaps all those were only masks, and that which was behind them was in truth always the same. The latter has come to be the belief of many of us. But these days it is the men of Set, openly so, and those who are their slaves or sworn servants.”
Thora remembered the body taken from the river. Yes, Set was plainly abroad in the low lands. Then a thought flashed across her mind—those pirates whose raids had grown very much worse through the years—were they more than just wild men intent on pillage? Could they also be servants of Set working with a planned purpose?
“Servants and slaves,” she repeated. “There are many of those?”
“Their numbers grow,” Martan returned as he chose a handful of dried berries. Malkin sheltered beside him, in her hand one of the vials. The furred one seemed intent on her feeding, paying them no heed.
“So you have been long at war—”
“Not at war if you mean large numbers of men engaged in open struggle. But we live with our eyes ready to spy the coming of the Dark. From time to time that laps up, to try and drag us down. Save that it never has succeeded. Still we are none the less vigilant because of that. Now—” he hesitated, “yes, the danger is increasing. Our people have been ruthlessly attacked several times on the plains. So far there has come no strike at even our outer ring of defense. But what we have learned argues that there is a new rise of Power among the Dark ones—and that they prepare to seek a goal. It may well be our valley or it may be something of which we are still ignorant.”
“Your people not only man these hills but also go out into the lowlands?”
He hesitated so long she felt rebuffed. Then he spoke:
“I do not know the extent of your Before Knowledge, Chosen. Do your people seek out places of the Former Ones to learn their secrets?”
Thora shook her head vigorously. “That is forbidden. Once—in the far past—it was tried. Those who did so died, and also the people to whom they brought their findings. There was such a sickness that not even the Three-In-One could heal. It ate up four clans before we fled to live afar from such a cursed place. The Lady gives us the knowledge we need, we do not turn back to the ways of the past.”
“Yes, there are places where it is death to venture. But some of the old sites are clean, and from those we have discovered much. The wings on which we ride the winds come from a place which one of our hunters found—and there are other marvels. You, yourself, traveled through a storehouse. There were dead there, but that death struck long ago. Perhaps there lies that which would benefit us all.”
Thora's fingers crooked in the warding-off sign. She had not thought of this before. Had she indeed broken the Law when she entered that storehouse under the earth? But—it was afterwards that she had found that forgotten shrine. The Power lingering there had not struck her down as if she had broken the Word, or stood against the Lady. She drew a deep breath. Even the thought of what she might have done unwittingly was daunting.
“We have come to seek such secrets, both for ourselves,” Martan continued, “and because those of Set seek them also and they must not gain knowledge which will allow them to rise and sweep us and that which we serve,” his hand touched the spiral on his breast, “wholly out of the world. It is on these expeditions of discovery that our people have come up against Dark Ones who are ever on the move, sniffing across the land, even as your good hound here goes guesting. Makil was on the track of a great discovery when he was attacked by the Dark Ones who used a new weapon of which we must Learn more.
“And you, Chosen, what brought you into this country which must be well away from your own, since our paths have not crossed before?”
“No searching for secrets, Windrider. I came because men of blood and war along the coast have taken now to haunt inland rivers.” She told him a few stark words of the fall of the Craigs and of why she had drifted west.
Martan listened with close attention. “It would seem that those who follow the ways of death are on the march in all places—”
She spoke aloud her thoughts of moments earlier. “Then perhaps our raid is another work of Set's own, not just that wild men move as they did the early days Afterward. Yet we have never heard of any priest among them.”
“It is not the priests who lead the van, rather their servants who are sent to prepare the way. Then when the land is ravaged and all resistance broken, the red cloaks show themselves. So have they worked in our past, so may they be working elsewhere. If this is so—” He frowned now and his fingers traced the spiral, following the line about and about to its center, �
��perhaps the evil is far more widely spread, the menace behind it greater than we have dreamed!”
A picture grew in her mind, summoned by his words. She seemed to be looking down upon a vast web being spun by a bloated bodied spider, the strands a foul black, crossing and recrossing, reaching out ever farther to shadow more of the clean earth.
“What can you do?” she challenged him. “Are there so many fighting men in this valley of yours, or are they so powerful, that they can rise up and push those of Set into the outer darkness forever?”
“Not so many, not so mighty—yet!” he answered her openly. “Still we learn, and, learning, we are better armed. And being better armed, we can indeed match evil where it springs. But two things you have brought, Chosen, which are of great value—first, news of the storage place of which we had only the vaguest hint that,it might exist somewhere. Second that your own people have fallen, and with them perhaps others along our borders, giving free passage to those, who if they are not already Set's agents, can speedily become so. This is indeed a time when there is open trouble and we must stir, lest we be swept away before we can rise to fight at all!”
He stowed away the remnants of his meal. Malkin was already on her feet, adjusting the cloak roll. Kort pushed out from among the stones. Thora stood up, swung her pack into its familiar position, checking as she always did the lashings of her throwing spear, the easy slide of her knife in its sheath.
They were faced by a stepped climb, sharper than any they had elsewhere fronted. On either side were twin towers from which men, in the same clothing Martan wore, emerged to view them, and then raised hands to wave them on.
At the top of that rise they issued out upon a platform—long and narrow—which extended for a long distance. Below them lay such a land as Thora had never seen. The far wall of it was far away enough so to be dim to the eyes, but she guessed from what she could perceive that she stood on the edge of a vast hollow— sharply sloping downward at first, then leveling out more where there were the green of fields. Its heart cupped a lake, from this distance as blue as the sky above, and, clustered to one side of that, what could only be dwellings.
White dots which must be sheep grazing were visible in the meadow land, and, beyond, the dun, or black and white of cattle. Small groves of trees spotted the countryside and there was the brown of fresh turned earth newly sowed. The far side of the lake was difficult to distinguish. The very size of this cup among the heights awed Thora. Indeed, with its wall so guarded, this could be a long-held place of safety. Martan had lingered, as if to give her a chance to see the extent of his land, but now Malkin hissed and he nodded.
“So be it, sister-blood. Yes, we go to Makil.”
He strode to the opposite side of the platform where there was the beginning of another stairway, and down they went, Kort, with a burst of speed, bounding ahead as if he were so wearied of rock that he could not wait to get good earth beneath his paws.
There came an end to the stair at last and Thora heard Kort bark, saw a party coming up a path to meet them. There were two men who might again be Martan's brothers, save they did not wear the form-fitting garment of the cliff sentinels, but rather more comfortable breeches and sleeveless jerkins which left their muscular arms bare and were akin to her own trail garments, except that on the breast of both jerkins the silver spiral appeared. They led a pony with a clipped mane and a well-curried coat, which tossed its head with a snort as it came to face Kort.
Malkin, whom Martan had carried down the stairs as he had carried her through most of the journey, slid down and ran, limping, to the pony which lowered its head to nose her with a force near strong enough to knock her off her unsteady feet. She raised both hands to catch at its cropped mane and so scrambled aloft, to seat herself firmly on its back, keeping her mane grip. Leaning forward she hissed into the animal's ear and it nickered, whisking about as one of the men loosed its halter, taking off at a rocking gallop down the slope.
Martan laughed and one of the men echoed him.
“The sister-blood is impatient. But Makil is no better—he made them bring him to a window seat even before the sun was high— when the message came. A good ending for both of them—this time—”
His companion nodded. “Far better than Makil dared hope. He has had the Loss Pain these many days and it was that which kept him to his bed, more than his wound. Now he will mend.”
Thora saw their eyes stray in her direction, but it would seem that she still remained officially invisible. Or so it was until Martan said:
“This is Thora who is named Chosen among her people. It was she who aided the sister-blood.”
Each of the men bowed his head to her, one saying “Dred” and the other “Jon,” which she took to be their names, though they added nothing of kin nor clan to that.
“This is Kort.” The girl laid her hand on the hound's head. “He is a great hunter and follower of trails.”
As gravely as they had bowed to her, so did they also salute the hound before they moved down path. Malkin was already a very small figure far ahead, for, as one advanced on into the valley, that spread out much larger than it had looked from above. Thora saw that as the sun descended behind the height, lights were showing in the lakeside village.
She was tired and would be glad for shelter, but her pride would not allow her to express her need. Instead she matched her escort stride for stride, though she paid less heed to the short bursts of talk among them. Most of that dealt with matters of the valley—the health or presence of this or that person— some mention of a Uniting, which, she gathered, was a wedding. That brought an exclamation of surprise from Martan, a chuckle from Jon.
“Yes, Windrider. The Lady Alvas smiled upon Peet at last. He is now cloudminded, and we do not expect any good sense from him until the end of the Flower Moon. It is good fortune, for he was near the second name time, and, had she not spoken soon, it would have been too late for him.”
“So it must be where there is only one lady and five or more ready to pay her court,” observed Dred. “It has been hard for him these past days—”
Five men to a woman? Thora was surprised at that scrap of information. In the Craigs the ratio was very different—so much so that if a maid was not Chosen she went into some house-room as a second, or even a third wife. For it was necessary that there be children to serve the Lady. Had she herself not been born marked these three years past she must have selected the house-husband she wished and been a sharer in his home. For so long she had been glad she was born Chosen and had escaped the Law of Hearth Choice.
It was darker than twilight when they reached the village, coming to a house which sat in a garden of sweet smelling herbs already well above ground. The door was wide open, with lamplight fanning out to welcome them. Dred and Jon spoke farewells and went on, but Martan motioned Thora to that doorway. As they approached it there came one to stand waiting them there. He rested one hand on a furred shoulder while Maikin appeared to brace herself to support a burden. There was enough side light to show his face in part and Thora was not surprised that this was the man of her vision, he who had used the sword light against the Dark.
She surveyed him warily. The stranger now was urged back to a waiting chair by Martan, Malkin promptly settled herself in his lap, pulling his arm about her. His face was gaunt and carried lines set there by pain, but it was still young.
He wore a loose robe as might be for the bedchamber, belted about him by a sash—but still with the silver spiral on the breast. His eyes were brilliant, seeming to glow as did Mal-kin's. Now he spoke polite words of welcome to Thora, and, more quickly, thanks for her aid to his familiar.
The girl was offered another chair, one of age-darkened wood, well cushioned, carved with the spiral. But she had hardly time to seat herself before the hide curtain to an inner room was lifted and a woman came in. Martan bowed low, but when Makil made as if to rise, the woman waved a hand. Her attention was fixed on Thora, and the girl, who had be
en on the point of getting to her feet in common courtesy, remained where she was, her chin high, her eyes meeting that cold gaze squarely and with a rising challenge she did not yet understand.
This female of the mountain valley could not be many years older than herself. But Thora saw her bleakly as one who wore a mask beneath which lay no liking for the Chosen. She was—soft—
Thora chose that word scornfully. The slender body was curved voluptuously here and there, her hands small, white, the feet in the ornamented sandals had never trod any trail. Her robe seemed to consist mainly of a number of nearly transparent strips or scarfs, rainbow colored and caught on her white shoulders with brooches which gave forth the glint of gems. Beneath her thrusting breasts the flowing garment was drawn in by a tight mesh belt in which more gems were set. The robe strips floated out freely as she moved, splitting now and then to show her ivory skin provocatively.
Her face was round, with a dimpled chin under a mouth pursed into a tight bud of deep pink, her nose slightly turned up at the tip. While her eyes were as brilliantly green as those of the men, her hair was not trimmed into the skull-tight cap, but hung long and loose. It was not entirely black either. Some strands were dark blue, others silver white— artificially colored, Thora guessed. There was a jeweled band across the top of the woman's head confining the locks to the back, and from that a second band protruded forward, dangling a small cluster of metal bells just above the forehead, bells which matched others edging the belt she wore. It was the strangest clothing Thora had ever seen, and one she found vaguely disturbing, for it emphasized so plainly the body of she who wore it.
More bells braceleted the wrists of the woman, and these rang as she held out both hands to Martan, he advancing eagerly to take what Thora decided were disgracefully soft and ineffectual fingers into his.
“My lady!” he bowed over those hands.