by Andre Norton
“Stand steady,” Ravinga ordered. She had put away the rod but now she sing-songed in that strange tongue.
Under us there was indeed firm footing but that began to sink slowly. Kassca hissed in my ear and I could easily have done likewise. This was a strange trail we followed.
Hynkkel-ji:
Having made what provision I could for my people, I called a meeting of those I had already learned to depend upon and those I must win to me. My father and Kalikku, Queen Alompra and the captain of the city guard. Behind me, still bandaged, Murri waited.
There was no time to waste in formalities. Baldly I laid it out for them, translating Murri’s report of the kidnapping force—underlining the presence of the man-rat as well as the unusual weapon that had been used. And I ended with all the force I could summon—“The Plain is death, yes. However, there may be another way—the gate to it lying here in Kahulawe.”
The House of Hrangle was locked securely so that the Captain of the City Guard needed the Queen’s order to let us in. We entered a hallway where a deep chill and a daunting feeling of emptiness waited. This is the center of a clan, I thought, but it lacks any touch of life, as if, with the death of the House Mate, the continued illness of the Head had indeed brought an end to a line.
Murri pushed before us and he went as one knowing well the way. Down through the house offices he went. I alerted a bubble light to accompany us. The storerooms on a lower level—then another stairway, only to find ourselves in a small room without any other opening. Remembering well how what we hunted had been hidden in Valapa, I studied the wall against which Murri stood, his nose near rubbing the stone.
“Here, Brother,” he thought with utter confidence.
I joined him, to run my hands across the wall, seeking any irregularity, which might mask an entrance.
My father stepped up beside me, holding his sword by the blade that he might rap on the wall with the heavy, gem studded hilt. Into place directly behind him moved the Captain.
“A tougher hammer, Sir? Or a varied beat?”
My father varied his pounded assault but kept to it. I was about to suggest a search for a hammer when a final blow of the sword hilt sent a block of stones, man-high, swinging outward, pushing me, my father and the Captain and Murri backward, loosing a blast of damp air in our faces. That air I well knew—we had indeed found the river, if not a large body of water. As I waved the bubble light on, however, there already showed the green luminescence I remembered.
The passage now revealed was still shadowed. We pushed through onto a circular platform, surrounded on three sides by water. Here those festoons of slime, which had bannered the walls in Valapa, were missing,
There was, however, a surprise. Drawn to the side of the platform where we stood, indeed fastened to it by a chain of rusted metal was a curious object. Water transport was unknown in the Outer Regions. This was near in shape to a trail wagon though it narrowed at one end. Its sides appeared seamless; it might have been fashioned in a single casting, though it showed none of the chain’s rust.
Here was a hitherto unknown means of travel. But if we were to penetrate to the secret of Desolation (so I hoped) it could be by the water linkage between Queendoms, which appeared on the secret map found in this very house. Despite ignorance of its depth, or what monsters might hide in it—this water must be our road.
My father regarded first the moving water and then a disc, banded to his forearm. He caught my interest and held it out that I might also see its face where an arrow point first swung wide and then came to a halt.
“This belonged to the late Emperor, August One. He had it from an Inner Region trader, several seasons ago. He sent it that I might prove it. I did not use it in the desert lands as the roads there are well marked from Queendom to Queendom. And I have not gone on any hunting trip far enough to count. But without way markers I am certain it is what we need. It appears to register now, August One. The water does flow in the direction of the Plain.”
Surely the Essence watched over us. I gave inner thanks. It remained now that I must make best use of this favor.
CHAPTER 25
In the Forgotten City:
It could all end here. Shank-ji edged his body along, scraping the wall as he approached a side alley. He had no idea why the restraint, which had controlled him ever since they had been brought here, was gone. However he was thinking clearly now—there were no invisible bonds to hold him in fear and obedience. There was nothing in this side way he was scouting. He made a hand gesture to those following with the same wariness. Those who were still—men! At least the fear of becoming otherwise was bringing them to the highest level of action.
The side way led them to what he had been able to discover through his own efforts—the point of departure. Another gesture brought the squad about him. He pointed to Hywel. They had been comrade bonded since boyhood; he the only one Shank-ji now trusted completely.
The answer to his unspoken question came in a barely audible whisper.
“There are guards—”
“Men or rats?”
“Men and man-rats.”
This was no time to order others; Shank-ji must engage himself. He gestured to the squad again and whispered to Hywel, “If I do not return, do the best you can to save yourselves.”
Hywel’s protest was only a faint hiss as Shank-ji darted to the one story, windowless building, holding but a single room. He was at the wall, again pressing a shoulder to it as he moved. The entrance must exist on another side. He slunk around a corner to seek it.
The freedom with which he moved might not last; he must make the most of it. There had been five times in the past, Shank-ji knew, when the invisible leash had been dropped, however those short intervals followed no pattern. Each time it had meant another of his men had been seized.
Yes—there was the door! Though their swords had been confiscated, the city was large and exploring had provided them with weapons. He grasped a rod tightly in his left hand. Its original purpose, he did not know, but one end had been ground into a wicked point.
He listened, shook his head. No more delays. One could not tell how many were within by sound. The door had neither curtain nor any other barrier.
Two strides brought him in. Before the device, which he had seen only briefly on his entrance to the city, stood a single man-rat. The creature spun to face him, a queer object in one hand. Shank-ji leaped, as he had once leaped for the Imperial Crown, and this time did not meet with failure. His rod swung and connected. Under that blow the guard fell sidewise to crumple against the wall.
Fortune favored; there was only one guard. Shank-ji raced out and signaled his men to come. He did not wait their arrival but returned to the room and the device that filled almost half of it. He continually feared the resumption of the restraint. Surely he who ruled here must have set alarms.
What he faced was a mystery. But it was also the only chance they had. When they had entered the city he had tried to memorize everything he saw. Also Hywel, who had been pressed into the party which seized the women, had reported watching the opening of the gate. Now he crowded forward to Shank-ji’s side.
“It is thus, Brother,” he pointed to a large flat plate on the side of the box-like device. “One stands here, and places his hands—so.” Hywel flattened his palms against the plate. “This arm is then employed so,” he clasped a bar extending outward at one side of the outsized box. “Out there,” he nodded at the door, “beyond the wall, the gate appeared when they tested it—only there is something else which I did not see done.”
He stood aside as Shank-ji moved into his place. He wanted to pound his fist against that plate and demand that this devilish thing serve him. To win this far and then fail—
Anger would not serve. He had studied much of the history of Valapa but there had been nothing recorded about this city and no such strange devices in any account he had uncovered. And there was so little time. Shank-ji recalled the rows of recor
d scrolls he had once sought out in the Palace. There were scraps of knowledge he had found there and used now and then. But—“Great One!”
He heard the shuffle of feet and turned, dropping his hand from the plate—“Great One!” Hywel jerked Shank-ji’s hand, slapping it back against the plate. “Great one! The gate showed—out there—but a strange place—many shelves—records standing on them!”
“Out where?” demanded Shank-ji. “Out there!” Hywel motioned to the doorway. “You saw shelves and records?”
“Many—many!” Men were at the doorway now looking in.
He had been thinking of the library and so perhaps had produced it—or a likeness of it! Impossible! Yet in this place who dared to say that?
He might try to recapture the “impossible” and prove it true. Did not the barbarian communicate with his deadly cat by thought?
“Listen,” he looked back at the plate, not turning to see who listened. “Get you out there—wait. If anything appears—another place, go—as swiftly as you can!”
He heard the sound of their going. “You also,” he said to Hywel.
“I go only with you, Great One,” the other returned.
There was no wasting time when Hywel had taken that stand. The library?—No! Where? His own desert hold?
He concentrated on building a mental picture of the rock isle. There was a rise there, the crevices and caves they had used as shelters. Something moved—Sreko who had been left on guard to welcome messengers.
There were cries from without. Three others appeared on the site he had visualized—they were going through!
Hywel seized his shoulder—shook him—slammed one hand on the plate. “After them—get you after them!”
Instead Shank-ji raised his single hand to cover Hywel’s. He drew upon his full strength, hurled himself at the door, dragging the other with him. Was the scene fading—or once begun would it hold a while? He plunged forward, Hywel, no longer resisting. Then they were through, rough rock, instead of ancient buildings about them.
Hynkkel-ji:
We had no way of reckoning the passage of time, yet it seemed to stretch longer and longer. I was certain that already more than one day had passed. So far our voyage was undisturbed. The current carrying our craft continued the same, untroubled by the rise of any water dweller. Dividing into two squads we took turns between sentry duty and sleep, resting as we could in cramped positions. Twice we were all aroused, lying down to free our feet for kicking along the right hand wall and propelling the transport around a curve.
I hailed Murri, where he had taken his place at the fore.
“Brother, the walls seem clean; there is this water skimmer left here. Has this way been in use?”
“Not for a long time. There is only the faintest of scents.” He replied.
“August One,” Jaclan was near. “Look you.”
He had lain next to me when we had used our push power. Now he pointed to his feet. We wore the knee-high boots of desert travelers, fashioned from more than one layer of stiff hide. Where the soles met the tops there was now a minute pitting of green. He scraped at it with the blade of a sleeve knife. Flecks of green, like sparks, arose in the air. The man next to him on the other side cried out sharply, slapping his thigh where one of the sparks had lodged.
“Don’t touch!” I ordered. All were now examining their own boots.
“It eats!” That was Kalikku.
Men were moving and our transport wobbled unsteadily.
“Sit still!” commanded Ortaga.
“Ahead!” I caught a warning from Murri.
What I had feared since our small band of volunteers had set out appeared to be coming upon us. Beyond was a troubling of the waters. Something of size was moving under the surface directly on the path of the boat.
We are a desert people, living harshly with limited supplies of water. To enter the river itself had been to court unknown peril. What if that ahead would attack our craft, perhaps overturning it to throw us into the river? There were no ledges here as there had been at Valapa. One of the caravaners who had joined our party yelled and kicked out, sending sparks flying. The sole of his boot had begun to part from the uppers, eaten away by what had attacked the hide. Another peril—that which could eat through several layers of thick hide might easily strip our clothing, baring our bodies so that flesh might burn from the bones.
So far all we had seen was a movement within the water. That had drawn no closer—in fact, was keeping the same distance ahead.
I hefted the hunting spear that was part of my choice of weapons. Its barbed head was a wicked stretch of metal. I was against the left side of our transport near Murri’s perch. I spoke to Jaclan.
“Steady me, Leader.”
Instantly his hands were on me, and Ortaga moved to add support. I leaned forward, hands holding the spear so that its head clanged against the rock wall higher than our feet had touched, to rasp along the stones for a space. I saw no sparks of green, nor sign of any clinging to the metal, save that the point no longer shone but was dulled.
By my foot was a half empty pouch, which had held the dried rations we had been eating a short time before. I touched that with the butt of the spear.
“Empty this.”
Jaclan, Kalikku moving into his place to steady me, emptied the rest of its contents into a second bag. I reversed the spear and thrust the point into the first bag. There was a stench of burning—the hide shriveled.
“Yes!” Jaclan was with me once more and Kalikku was free, his hands already on an arrow quiver. He arose cautiously and the caravaner beside him moved to steady him as he scraped arrowheads two-by-two against the stone.
“Ware!” Murri’s warning.
The passage was suddenly cleared of the luminous mist to show our way ahead and the ceiling of the tunnel dipped unexpectedly. We saw not only the possible peril of being scraped off into the water, but perhaps having to fight in a very tight space. I gave the only possible order, since we could not retreat. We could only ride with the grip of the current.
Thus we huddled as flat as we could. I took one long look ahead before I settled so. The water now was churning faster. Whatever disturbed it was already passing under the low arch.
We were in the dark now. The light mist did not hold here. Weapons ready to hand, we waited—and waited. This took as much energy, it seemed to me—if not more—than fighting.
Murri growled—my hand was tightly stiff about the spear shaft. “Ahead—”
But that was too ambiguous—what lay ahead?
There was light ahead now and one could see the roof grow steadily higher. As the light increased, so did the disturbance in the water. One of those monsters such as I had fought in Valapa showed head above the surface. However, it was not facing us, but something else.
An ear-deafening shriek broke from it as it hurtled forward. Another water thing, enemy to the first?
The current would draw us on into that battle, since there was no way to halt our craft. We had come out onto a very wide space in which the water was cupped. Here once more a ledge lay to our left. Ortaga arose, his body steadied by two of the guards. In his hands he had a large double hook, such as is sometimes used in spire climbing, at the end of a thick length of rope. He whirled the hook aloft and sent it flying at the ledge.
By the favor of the Essence the hook caught. After a couple of vigorous jerks it still appeared caught. He and two others began to pull. More swiftly joined them and we moved toward the ledge.
There was indeed a battle at the other end of the pool. Scaled bodies showed dripping wounds. On the surface floated others who looked human. They too were being torn apart. None in the battle appeared to notice us, but we were quick to reach the dubious safety of the ledge.
A whistle sounded shrilly.
At the far end of the pool, there moved out on the ledge a kind of dark wave. This headed straight for the disturbance in the water, pouring over the edge. Rats—desert rats!
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Allitta:
Down the stone square under us dropped. Luckily it passed so slowly that my uneasiness waned a little. Since we passed no openings, I could not even guess how far we had gone, and were going.
Only there rose about us again a ghastly odor as if a pool of clotted blood might await us. However such a horror did not face us as we stopped at last. There was a greenish mist about us, perhaps exuded by the walls. But those walls no longer held us in such a confined space. Rather, we were standing together in the center of a chamber.
Ravinga stepped from the square without a word, but I knew I was to follow. There were splotches of shadow about the walls, marking doorways. She unhesitatingly headed for one of these. No curtain was to be looped aside but—Light blazed at us and with our coming another scent covered and dispersed the sickening one. There might have been a soft breeze blowing over the private garden of the Palace. Now the light began to change. It was still as bright, but it took on beams of color that faded one into another, only to be born again.
The radiance issued from a source—a large block of stone faced us, its surface covered with endless patterns emphasized here and there by the setting of the five gems of the Queendoms. And—Ravinga went forward as I sank to my knees. Kassca wriggled out of my hold and ran straight to the stone and rubbed against it.
Words came from me unbidden. Here was the Greatest Power of the Essence I had ever touched, so great I felt that such as I had no place here. Then I understood that a choice had fallen on me, unworthy that I was. I moved toward a service that was asked of me.
Ravinga had gripped the edge of the altar. I could see a sheen of sweat on her face. Her eyes were closed and I moved behind her to steady her body. She was shaking and her flesh felt chill. She moved—to turn so we stood breast to breast. Her right hand raised and with a forefinger she traced a pattern across my forehead.
“Remember!”
Yes, who could forget? If it was ever needful, I could find my way here again.
Now she clasped hands on my upper arms.