Korg closed his eyes and groaned, an agonizing groan that he heard himself. The sound roused him, forced him to try to think. No one must know he was here. That would bring death as surely as the claws, the fangs…
With a vast effort he pushed the terror away and focused on the village again. The three people were setting off on the path that wound past him and then led toward Runor’s village, Rofina’s village too…
Rofina! The name penetrated the chaos in Korg’s mind. Of course! That was where Mordor had gone. Why had he not realized that right away?
Because he had allowed himself to lose control; that was why. Furious at himself, Korg jumped up and retraced his steps. The trembling and his long vigil had stiffened him, and his legs would hardly bend. He forced them to move. He must hurry, must get to Rofina’s village before Larak and the others. Had Zena gone there too? Korg shook his head, trying to clear it so he could think. Then he realized that it did not matter. All that mattered was finding Mordor. That was most important.
Uncaring of the shaking that tormented his body, his empty belly or the rain that was still falling in torrents, he loped ahead, keeping well ahead of the three behind him but hardly caring now if they saw him. He was certain they could not catch him. His legs were strong and resilient from all the leaping and they would not let him down. His mind was harder to control. It kept going back to places he did not want to go, to his mother, surrounded always by men. They were as attracted to her full body as bees were to flowers. One at a time she took them into her hut, but sometimes she took two or three or even more, and inside the hut she laughed and groaned and shouted with pleasure; five of them she took in a night sometimes, if she could find them, but still she was eager.
“Away!” she had screamed at him if he came near. “Away, or into the woods with you.” Her temper was as huge as her lust – and her thirst. She had loved the mead as much as Mordor.
After a time she left his mind too, and then nothing was left but the legs that propelled him endlessly forward, the wet dirt beneath his feet, and the sound of the rain falling ceaselessly all around him. There was no meaning to anything except the need to get to Mordor before it was too late. Only once did he turn to see if Larak and the others were keeping pace. They were far behind, he saw, and he felt a spurt of triumph. After it came anger, a deep invigorating anger that spurred him on to faster and longer strides. They were destroying him, these women, Zena and now Larak too, destroying everything he had built with Mordor, with the Great Spirit. They were his creations, fashioned from Mordor’s demons, and no one had the right to take them from him…
He gritted his teeth. Mara was one of them; he was certain of it now. He had never trusted her. Even the old wise one Runor could still be one of them, though he had thought she had learned her lesson, had finally been cowed, when the Great Spirit had chosen both her daughters. First one, then the other. She had understood who had done this to her, and why. She had believed the threat he had made about Rofina, too. He had seen it in her face.
Did the others know Runor’s secrets as he did? But they could not; he was sure they could not. Runor would not have spoken, would not dare after the threat, and he certainly had not. Not to anyone would he reveal what he knew of Runor. His knowledge was too useful. Secrets were of little use if they became known.
He still had that power, Korg thought triumphantly. Runor would bend to his will if he threatened to tell her secrets, especially to Larak. She would be shocked.
Korg glanced once more at the tall woman behind him, a glance filled with malevolence and anger, then he ceased to think at all and simply ran on.
Larak saw the look and shuddered. The man was Korg, she was sure. The hatred that festered in him seemed to reach her across the distance that separated them. She had known he must be nearby as soon as the two girls had stumbled in and told what had happened to them, or what they could remember of it. She saw again their hurt and bewilderment that anyone would harm them. They had thought they would be given food, perhaps a drink. They had been drugged instead, and violated. Larak had heard many times about the initiations of young girls but until now the words had been hard to believe.
Hular was watching Korg too.” That must be Korg,” he said. “No one else has legs like that. It is strange, though, that the Leader is not with him. They always travel together.”
Terror slashed through Larak, so sharp it left her breathless. If Korg was alone, the Leader was alone, and it was the Leader who terrified Larak most. He, not Korg, was the greatest threat to Zena. The Leader believed what Korg told him, what the Great Spirit told him, believed it with all his heart and mind, and the most dangerous people of all were those who were certain they were right. Without Korg to restrain him, the Leader might do anything… She had been right to set off on this journey, to follow Zena and make sure she was all right… But she must hurry…
She glanced up again at Korg’s retreating figure. There was a desperate urgency in his movements; he never stopped or rested, hardly slowed even when the path steepened sharply as it wound toward the heights. Was it the Leader he sought with such frantic haste? Could the Leader already be in the village, already be with Zena? It must be so; there was no other explanation.
An uncontrollable tremor shook Larak. Always before when she had worried about Zena, she had felt the Goddess reassuring her. This time, there was no reassurance, only the overwhelming sense that Zena was in mortal danger.
“Great Goddess, keep Zena safe for us,” she whispered, and forced herself to go faster. Deep in her bones, she knew there was not much time.
*******************
Mordor had walked all day and into the night, hardly aware that it had begun to rain heavily. Once, he had stopped briefly to sleep, uncomfortable and restless but paying no attention to the cold or the rain or to food. His mission was too important to stop for anything, even darkness. He knew this path well and did not fear that he would take a wrong step.
He saw the pass ahead and was cheered. He would be there soon. Bending down, he struggled into the wind. The rain came harder, slashing into his face with demonic force. For all these days, it had not stopped. Mordor shivered, suddenly fearful in this high lonely place, with the rain pelting down mercilessly. The spirit of death was here, or evil spirits; he could feel them all around him. He must get away.
Relief filled him when he caught sight of huts below. Intent now on his purpose, he hurried on. First, he would have some mead, to restore him; then he would find Rofina. Probably she was with her mother. Surely she must be, but if she was not Runor would know where she was. Perhaps she would know where Zena was as well, or the girl would, Mara. He would make them tell him if they knew.
Pine scent, sharpened by the rain, came to his nostrils as he entered the woods, and he drew in a long breath, savoring the familiar smell. Soon the hut Gurd had built for them showed against the trees. He went straight to the mead and took a great gulp. It had a bitter, rancid taste, but he did not care. The long journey had tired him, and to feel strong was important now. He would have Gurd make some fresh mead later. Where was Gurd? He must find him.
When he entered the village later, the people looked up, surprised, not that he had come but because he was alone. Runor had told them Korg and the Leader would come soon, had told them exactly what they should do. They were not happy with her instructions, but they trusted her and would obey. Still, that the Leader was here alone was surprising. Quick as a deer, a young girl ran to Runor’s hut to tell her.
“The Leader is alone,” she said breathlessly.
“Ah! Then it may happen sooner than I thought,” Runor answered serenely, “though Korg will not be long.” She looked out at the lowering clouds, the relentless rain and driving wind. It was all as she had expected.
“Remember what I told you,” she instructed the girl. “Everyone must go to the circle of stones. Wait there and do not return until two full days have passed. Then, all will be well. Bring all of them
my blessings and remind them that no matter what happens, they must stay in the circle of stones,” she repeated.
“I will tell them,” the girl answered, and kissed Runor gently on the cheek before she darted out again.
Runor nodded to herself. She had always known that it was not Korg whose heart was evil, as most people thought. Still, even she had not been entirely certain until now which of them it was. Some of the Mother’s creatures were very strange, hard to read, harder still to understand - or to forgive.
Her face softened with memory. He had not been like that before. But she must not think of that time. He had forgotten, though Korg had not. Or perhaps Mordor had never really known. To know what went on in such a mind was impossible. He had cared very much for Rofina,though. Had some part of him understood? Runor shook her head. She did not think so.
She set herself to wait. Soon, it would all be over.
The wait was not long. Runor heard feet splashing toward the hut and then a face appeared in the entrance. “Greetings, Leader,” she said calmly.
Her voice came from the shadows and Mordor jumped. He had not seen her. He passed a hand across his forehead, trying to dispel the dizziness that had come over him when he had stooped to go through the entrance. Water streamed from him; he wiped at it impatiently.
Food, he thought. Perhaps I need food. He had not eaten for a long time, only drunk the mead. It had tasted very bitter but he had drunk most of it anyway. He wished he had more here to steady him.
Runor’s voice startled him again because she seemed to read his thoughts.
“Will you sit and have a bowl of mead? The men prepared it only a few days ago. Perhaps some nuts and berries as well?”
“I thank you,” Mordor mumbled, trying to regain his composure. Lowering himself to the floor, he took a long drink from the bowl and a handful of food. This mead tasted excellent, with none of the bitterness of the mead in the old hut. He took another swallow, savoring the flavor. The nuts and berries dropped from his hand.
“I thank you,” he repeated in a stronger voice. “I have traveled many days to come here.” He sounded more like the Leader now, he realized, and was pleased.
“Yes,” Runor answered quietly. “We have been expecting you. For a long time we have expected you.”
Mordor frowned. Why had they expected him? Had he planned a ceremony? He could not remember. The dizziness was better now that he was seated, but his mind felt far away, as if it belonged to someone else. For a moment he could not even remember why he was here with Runor. He peered into the dark corner where she sat, trying to see her more clearly. Perhaps her face would remind him.
Again, Runor seemed to read his mind. Reaching out, she lit a flare and set it in a container beside her. She did not speak, only sat quietly while he examined her face. She was very old, he saw, older than before. For an instant, he saw her when she was quite young, or he thought he did. Had he known her then or had it been someone else? He shook his head irritably, unable to remember. It was too long ago.
Another memory slipped abruptly into place. He was here to find Rofina. That was why he had come to see Runor. “I must find Rofina,” he said imperatively. “Is she here? I must see her right away.”
Runor shook her head. “Rofina is not here.”
So he does not know what happened to her, she thought to herself. She must be careful what she said.
“Where is she then? I must find her.” Mordor’s voice was demanding, almost threatening.
“She is in the meadow,” Runor answered calmly. “The big meadow where the flowers grow. It is very peaceful there.”
“I will go to her.” Mordor began to stand, but Runor’s voice interrupted him.
“Have some more mead first, to give you strength,” she suggested, pouring some into his bowl. She must keep him here, must keep him until the Goddess was ready. The sound of rain pounding hard on the roof of her hut penetrated her mind. Already it had rained for many days. How much time did she have?
Mordor subsided. Picking up the bowl of mead, he stared at her with narrowed eyes. “The people do not obey as they should,” he told her angrily. “That is why I must have the mead. It is the fault of the people. They must learn to obey!”
“That is difficult,” Runor murmured, watching his face carefully. He was volatile, very volatile. Something had happened to him. He was not the Leader any more and he was certainly not the Mordor from before, but the person he must have become after that. She could understand better now.
“I must find the woman Zena, as well,” Mordor said abruptly.
“Why do you wish to find Zena?”
Rage transformed Mordor’s features. “She is a witch; I have learned that she is a witch, that is why,” he said forcefully. “A witch must not be permitted to live.”
Runor did not allow her expression to change, and her voice was neutral when she spoke. “You have known other witches?”
“Many,” he replied. “So many I am weary with them.”
He realized abruptly that it was true. He was weary of being the only person who could deal with them, the only one who knew that they must be killed.
“Tell me of them,” Runor suggested.
“You do not know?” Mordor sounded surprised. “I had thought all people knew.” He rubbed his belly, aware that there was pain inside it. He should have more food. He picked up another handful of nuts but put them down again without eating. His other hand brought the mead to his lips and he drank.
Runor did not answer, just waited expectantly, and after a moment Mordor spoke again. “There are witches everywhere,” he told her seriously, “but only I know which are the real ones. Even Korg does not know. He does not like me to speak of witches, only of the Great Spirit.”
“But you know the real ones,” Runor prompted. She must keep him speaking.
Mordor smiled, the kindly smile they had seen so many times. Runor tried not to flinch. “The voices tell me,” he confided. “Even before the Great Spirit the voices came, and I obeyed them. The people did not like that and we had to leave. She was dead, the big one, the one we called mother, but she was not mother, she was a witch. I knew this but the others did not, so they were angry.”
His face changed, became scathing and full of hatred. “She deserved to die! It was her fault. Over and over she had the men, all of them, every man she could find, young and old; she did not care. No one but a witch could do such things. That is how I knew. The others should have known too but they would not see!” His voice rose to a pitch of fury, and his face was so suffused with anger that Runor almost cried out in alarm.
The Leader passed a trembling hand across his damp forehead. “But she is gone now,” he said in a calmer tone. “Yes, she is gone. After that, I went to the villages to look for other witches,” he told Runor proudly, looking at her for approval. “I found them when they were still young, and then I made sure they were gone before they could do harm, before they could infect us all.” He smiled again, and nodded to himself in satisfaction.
So what she had suspected was true. He had killed them all. Pity assailed Runor, for the young women who must have felt such terror, but also, unexpectedly, for Mordor. He too was a victim, even as he was a killer. How strange this man was, and how terrible! No wonder Korg watched him constantly.
Mordor looked at her expectantly, waiting for her praise. Runor concealed a shudder. “The witches are dead now,” she replied, keeping sadness from her face.
Mordor nodded craftily. “I went at night so no one would see me,” he explained. “Korg did not know. He thinks he knows all things but it is not so.” Korg had found out about some of them, he remembered - but not all. Sometimes he had found witches without Korg knowing. That had been exciting, to sneak into the villages by himself and wait for the young women to come out of their huts to go to the bushes or to get firewood. He always knew which ones were witches. Even without the voices it was easy to tell because they were always full-bodied an
d eager, with lust in their hearts. When he whispered to them of pleasure they did not draw back in fear but laughed and came closer. He did not like it when they struggled, though. They had no right to struggle when they were supposed to die.
He sighed. It had been a long time since he had looked for a witch. Korg did not let him go anywhere by himself now, and Gurd was always watching.
Korg always told him what to do, he thought petulantly, as if he knew what was best always. But he did not. Still, to be without his brother felt strange. How had he come to be without Korg?
“Where is Korg?” he asked, suddenly agitated. “Korg should be here to help me.”
“Korg will come soon,” Runor soothed him. “He will be here very soon.”
“I will look for him,” Mordor said, alarmed now that Korg was not here. He should not be without Korg. He tried to stand but the dizziness overcame him again and he sat back. He took more nuts but even the feeling of them in his hand made him nauseous, and they fell from his fingers again.
There was something he must do. Rofina; that was it. He must find Rofina, and the woman called Zena.
A dreadful suspicion came into him. They were hiding Rofina; that was it. They did not want him to see her. “Someone must bring Rofina to me,” he thundered, pounding the ground with his fist. “I must see Rofina!”
The force of his demand made Runor jump, but she kept her voice soothing. “I will ask someone to bring her,” she said, and hoped the desperation in her heart did not show in her eyes. She had to keep him here, just for a little longer…
His face rebellious, Mordor tried again to stand. Runor put out her hand to stop him. “In just a moment someone will come,” she said emphatically, “and then I will ask.” To her relief, Mordor fell back into a sitting position.
ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3) Page 21