by Andre Norton
“Is this Gunnora’s shrine, then?”
He shrugged. “For all the time my family has lived here, we have prayed to her. The Old Ones built this place, but if it was Hers when it was laid down, we do not know.”
Eleeri studied it. It was simple, of a spare elegant design. Merely a pavement laid out in a star made from many hues of marble. Around the edge on each star point stood a tall white pillar. Yet it breathed a tremendous feeling of peace. Of a harbor safely attained. She was drawn again, rising without hesitation to approach the edge.
“What do I do?”
“Think about your need to be guarded from evil. Then step forward to stand in the star center if you can.”
She obeyed. At first it was difficult. Cynan had told her of many creatures who fought against the Light. But she’d seen none. It was hard to create them in her mind, along with a request for protection against them. It became easier the longer she tried.
Holding them in her mind’s eye, she walked forward.
Behind her, walls of mist lifted between the pillars so that she vanished from Cynan’s sight. He relaxed. That which dwelled here had accepted her as Daughter to the Light. It might refuse her request, but she was safe.
Within the mist walls, Eleeri stepped to the star center. There she bowed her head in a polite acknowledgment. Warmth gathered around her. So, there was something here. She would ask for help.
She did so, to receive in turn a wordless question. How much would she value this favor? After that it seemed that her mind would burst, as into it flowed a montage of evils. She saw Gray Ones run mad, killing, rending with tooth and talon all who crossed their paths. She saw odd-looking small creatures covered with a long coarse hair like roots, who burrowed to bring a slow smothering death to those who fell into their traps. Pools of evil showed as blighted blotches on the land. Into them she saw those unguarded stray and be consumed, body and soul together.
She shuddered. “What do you want?” Fear grew as the images all but overwhelmed her.
You! Slay Cynan and I will give you power over anything you desire.
“NO!” Eleeri stepped back in anger. “You’re supposed to be Light.”
He is dying.
“His life is his own.”
There was the sensation of being gathered into strong, loving arms.
Well said, child. The guards you ask shall be given. Before her a figure grew: a woman taller than Eleeri, with shimmering hair. It flowed golden down the straight back of the figure, caressing the woman’s green gown, tendrils straying outward. Without volition Eleeri knelt. Her hands were caught in long fingers as she was lifted up again. Then Eleeri’s hands were turned over. Into them the woman dropped four small smooth stones.
“Cynan will show you how they may be used. Good fortune ride with you, Eleeri of another people.” She began to fade as the girl fumbled with the pouch about her throat.
“Wait, oh, please wait.”
The woman’s shape firmed again. “What is it, child?”
“A gift for a gift.” Purple and blue fire flashed in Eleeri’s hands. She held out the gems left to her by Far Traveler. Somehow it seemed right that she should offer them. The woman stooped. The green and gold seemed to deepen as she took into her hands the bright pebbles. Mist swirled, brightening in the woman’s colors as she faded once more.
“A gift for a gift indeed, child. You who bear my guards also bear my symbols. Call on me with them in darkest times. I shall not forget you. Light bless your path.” She was gone, and Eleeri felt almost bereft. Slowly, cradling her four stones, she walked from the pavement.
Cynan was waiting. He said nothing, seeing the stones and the strange look on the girl’s face. Silently he led her back to the patient ponies. That night he taught her the stones’ warding. He found it interesting how swiftly she learned. It had been a matter for gossip once. Did those who came through gates have a gift given by the passage? Or were only those with the gift drawn to gates? It was said that Simon Tregarth had had little of the power in his own land, but a far greater portion in this. Could it be that beyond the gates the power was damped, to bloom more powerfully once the gate was passed? A thought to consider over long nights.
It took a week for Eleeri to learn all Cynan could teach her of the four stones. By then she, too, was beginning to wonder about her power. Always she could remember her horse-gift. There had never been a time she did not possess that. But since her arrival in Karsten, it seemed the gift was growing, and expanding into other areas. Cynan had shared his own questions, so that she, too, suspected many in her own world might have latent abilities. Still she did not wish to hold power. From what her friend said, it made of one too good a target. Still, the four ward stones had replaced the gems in the pouch at her throat. She suspected they would be weapons to her hand once she began her travels again.
But before that she had something she wished to do. Many things, in fact. She must hunt the yearling buck, culling out the smaller and weaker. They would be meat for Cynan. The old man had been trying to hide his growing weakness. He talked of her departure as soon as the last of the mountain snows were gone and the trails well dried. She knew why well enough, but it was his choice. If she was not there when he finally died, she could remember him as he had been to her: a strong friend and a teacher.
She hunted well. Then, closer to leave-taking, she made up her mind. The next day she would ride to the graves of his kin. She would scythe the grass short above the graves, place flowers. In her hunting she had found a brightly flowering bush with sweet-scented blooms. Now she raised one carefully. Back at the graves she gathered stone to stack along the earth that bordered where Cynan might wish to lie. She replanted the bright shrub in a mound of earth and leaf mold, next door to the grave of his wife. If he chose to lie there, it would be a fine marker for him who would have no other.
A month later, they rode down to the sea. There they gathered as much of the salt as they could scrape from the rocks. One by one they filled rock hollows above the reach of the waves. Over the next week the water would evaporate, leaving more of the priceless crystals.
With the coming of the warmth again, Cynan was stronger. His muscles moved more smoothly, but the knowledge of his death was still there. Each season from now on would be his last for him. Still, he often forgot as he hunted with the child, raced her along the beach, horses pounding through the sand.
Spring began to shift into early summer. His larder was filled with meat both dried and smoked. His bins were full of fruit and nuts, and the gathered greens the hills provided. At last he spoke.
“The trails are dry. It is time you left.”
Eleeri nodded. “Next week.”
“No.” His head shook firmly. “That you said last week and the week before. Let you spend tomorrow with me, the next day preparing. Ride out the day after that. It is time.” His hand stretched out to touch hers. “Child, child, to all things there comes a time. This is yours—to go. It is mine also, that you know but we will not speak of it.” He eyed her sternly and nodded as he saw acceptance. It was well. He stood and yawned. “I’m for my bed, and you, too, youngling. In the morning I will show you I can yet run you into exhaustion.”
She made a small jeering noise and headed for her own bedding. “I’ll sleep eagerly to see that.”
All the next day they spent together. They talked, strolling about the upper rooms of the hold as he told her of how it had been. They picked berries, sweet and sun-warmed, laughing like children together. They waded at the river’s edge, spearing small fish. These were a wonderful evening meal spiced only with the sea salt and herbs from the hill’s bounty.
The following day they readied the horses. Eleeri would have left him the strongest, quietest beast, but Cynan refused.
“I have no need of a horse. I never needed one before they came, I do not require one when they can leave with you. Sell two of them, trade one for supplies, I care not. But they are of no use to me.” His r
eal reason was unspoken but understood by both.
The girl said no more. Quietly she filled her pack with articles she might need. The stirrups she bound high on the two beasts she would not ride. Her chosen mount was a sturdy dun, black of mane and tail, with legs dappled high in that same shade. A good horse in hills, surefooted and sensible, with hues that allowed him to fade into the landscape.
She studied the other two. Both were more showy, one chestnut, the other gray. Both wore polished mended gear and should fetch good prices if she chose to sell. Finally she ran out of things to do and returned inside. There she blinked in surprise. From somewhere Cynan had found a large cloth. This had been placed over the huge old table. Somehow he had moved that toward the fireplace and decorated it with branches and berries. Candles spread puddles of light across the feast that lay there.
Within the doorway Cynan bowed ceremoniously. “Be welcome to my house, Eleeri, Daughter of the House of Far Traveler. Feast with me before you take your road again.” He took her hand, drawing it through his arm as he conducted her to a seat.
She ate with determined appetite, laughing at his jests and storing all this in her mind. When they were done he stood.
“Long ago I had a thing made. It was to have gone to a daughter of my House. Her gift was friendship with beasts, and I deemed this which I had made to be right for her name day. But the turning came and she rode out to fight.” For a moment his eyes held ancient pain. “She never returned, nor could they bring her body back to me. She lies somewhere in these hills, holding still her watch against the enemy. Now I would give this gift to you, if you do not count it unlucky.” From under a leaf he produced the small gleaming casket and handed it to Eleeri.
The girl gasped. “It’s so beautiful.”
Cynan laughed. “The casket is not the gift, girl, that lies within. Open it and see.”
He watched as she gently lifted the carved lid. Her eyes lit with wonder as she twined fingers in the cord to lift the pendant free. It dangled from her hand, carved from some black stone with bright ruby eyes inset in the tiny arrogant head. A loop of silver was attached to a lock of flowing mane and through that the plaited cord Eleeri twisted in her fingers. It was a horse, and yet not quite a horse: there was something in the stance that betrayed intelligence. The eyes seemed to hold a life of their own and to look boldly up at her.
“Cynan, it’s wonderful. Where did it come from?”
“From these hills. I say that I had it made, but that is not correct. I had the loop attached, the cord plaited, the casket carved. The beast itself I found. Before the hills turned, there was a place of the Old Ones near here, perhaps an hour’s ride away. After my wife died, I went there often for the peace and comfort it brought me. One day I found that. I took it up and it seemed as if it was a gift of the Old Ones. I thanked them for it. Promised that she who would wear it was one of some power and would cherish it with respect.” He smiled. “I swear that it grew warm then in my hand. I took that as a sign it was truly right I should take it. Now it comes to you.”
Her hand closed around it tightly. “It’s the best present I’ve ever had. I’ll never part with it, Cynan, and I’ll always remember you when I see it.” She placed the cord about her neck and shifted the tiny horse to hang in front. “Now—I have something for you, too.”
She trotted away to return with a bundle clutched in her arms. “Here, shirt and breeches of deerskin and a fur cloak. You know how you feel the cold. And look, I made you moccasins to keep your feet warm. They have fur lining and triple soles.” She giggled. “Go and try them on. I want to be sure I got the sizes right.”
Cynan came down the stairs several minutes later. In the firelight she could almost believe him a warrior of the Nemunuh. His face broke into a happy grin as he advanced across the floor. He turned slowly.
“You have no need to worry. They fit well and they are warmer than any clothing I have had for more years than I would wish to number.” He straightened. “I will wear them to bid you farewell tomorrow. For now let us sleep; it is best to take the road early. That way you waste none of the day.”
It may have been a gift of the gods . . . they slept well and soundly that last night. Both had feared a wakeful night knowing this was good-bye. But their sleep was swift and their dreams kind. At first light both woke. Together they ate and drank in silence. Then Eleeri brought the horses and mounted. Beside her Cynan was dressed in the clothing she had made for him. She leaned down to take his hand.
“I will always remember you.” Her vision was blurred by tears. “I love you.” Her hand lifted. “For the feast you gave me, fair thanks. For the welcome of your gate, gratitude. To the ruler of this hold, all good fortune, and bright sun in the days to come.”
Cynan moved forward and as she leaned down, he reached up to hug her hard. “Ride in strength, warrior. May your weapons never fail and may Ka-dih bring you at last to a place befitting his daughter.” He slapped the pony firmly on its hindquarters and it started down the trail. As long as the road lay straight, Eleeri turned to watch him. At the bend, she lifted her hand and heard his final call echoing after her.
“Farewell, child. My love go with you.”
She rode on, tear-blinded, knowing she would never see or hear him again. Ahead lay an unknown future. Thus far she had prospered. What would her tomorrows bring?
4
She rode steadily while daylight lasted. By now she had learned minor spells, and with them she set up a secure camp. Gunnora was very similar to one prayed to by the Nemunuh, and Eleeri felt at home with the amber amulets and the lady. Holding her amber, she marched from corner to corner of her small encampment invoking the protection of Gunnora. The Place of the Old Ones might have vanished in the turning, but she now had her four pebbles from the ruins, a valued gift. In the half-light they glowed a soft comforting blue and she placed them with care.
To this routine she kept as the days moved past her. It may have been the amber, or the pebbles, she did not know. But she saw nothing more dangerous, as she journeyed upriver, than the occasional beast at its hunting. These she always bespoke in friendship. The only event of note was the appearance of a magnificent female falcon. The hawk was clearly hungry and Eleeri caught a brief mind-picture of a nest full of squawking babies. She grinned in sympathy, sending friendship and tossing up a plump rabbit previously transfixed by one of her arrows. The female snatched it out of midair with a sharp cry.
As she flew with her gift, a feather fell from her. Long, sharply marked in black and white. A prize. Eleeri dropped from her pony to gather it in. Tucking it into her headband and mounting her pony again, she sat straighter. There might be no eagles in this land she had found, but a hawk’s feather was good medicine, the more so since it appeared to have been a gift. She would wear it with pride, remembering her people.
Days slipped into weeks as she moved through the mountains. Often she was forced to backtrack when the trail she followed became blocked or simply vanished. But there was a growing sense that drew her always to the northwest.
It was as if she were wanted there, as if a calling grew louder as she traveled. She laughed softly at her fancies, but she held her course. It fitted with the small amount Cynan had been able to tell her of an ancient land new-found by his kin. She hunted as she went, sharing often with those of the wild. She saw a hunting falcon several times and each time Eleeri offered food. It was found acceptable, and while the birds would not come near her, she was clearly to be counted friend.
At last the river shallowed, narrowing even though the land was flatter. The girl began to scout farther from it across the broadening plains. It was on one of those side trips that she saw the village. She allowed the horses to graze while she studied it, lying flat atop a hill. Not a village, really, more one of those holds like Cynan’s. It seemed to consist of a main fortified building surrounded by other, smaller homes. Probably, if danger threatened, everyone retreated to the main protection. She’d be ca
utious. According to Cynan, they should be friendly, but it paid to be careful.
She called her beasts and swung into the saddle. Picking her way down the hillside, she allowed her mount to pace toward the gates. There was a considerable amount of noise coming from a fenced area behind one of the larger buildings. Over the babble of voices she heard the sudden blast of a furious horse, a whistle that rose in violent challenge. She made no attempt to resist that call, but kneed her pony around the building, there to halt in outraged fury.
Within a high-fenced corral a mare fought her captors. She was black as night, with a coat that gleamed in the sunlight. Behind her struggled a newborn foal, he, too, black, under the slime of birth. He fought to rise, but was as yet too weak to make his slender legs obey him. He fell again with a tiny squeal and the mare went crazy at the sound. Forgetting anything but the distress she witnessed, Eleeri raced her horses forward, almost trampling spectators.
Her voice rang out like a bell, “What happens here? What do you do?”
A dozen voices answered her. “A Keplian, lady. Gerae caught one of their mares.”
“Why treat her so?” She noticed that the ropes holding the mare from her foal had slackened as those who held her stopped to listen.
“Why? But lady—she’s a Keplian!” the man before her spluttered. He seemed to think that was explanation enough. Eleeri did not.
“I don’t care what you name her. Is that any way to treat a beast? What evil has she ever done you?” She eyed the man who hauled hardest on the ropes. “Do you claim this mare attacked you? Did she slay kin of yours, threaten your child? For what reason does she pay, and her foal with her?”
The man fell back at the sight of her anger. “She’s just a Keplian. We kill them where we find them. They’re evil.” He straightened proudly. “Yes, they’re of the Dark.”