Chedan had told them how other lands had fallen into the sea, leaving only a few peaks to mark their former location. Ahtarrath, it was clear, would not disappear without a battle of titanic proportions. At the moment she could not decide whether to exult in that defiance or to whimper in fear.
A movement in the distance caught her eye—above the trees that surrounded the House of the Falling Leaves she saw one of the gleaming gold towers shiver, then topple. As it vanished from sight, a tremor like another earthquake shook the ground. She winced at the thought of the devastation that now lay beneath it. In the next moment the sound of a crash from the other side of the city reached their ears.
“The second tower . . .” whispered Damisa.
“The city is already half deserted. Perhaps there were not too many people there—”
“Perhaps they were the lucky ones,” Damisa replied, and Tiriki could not find words to disagree with her. But for the moment at least, it appeared that everything likely to fall was already on the ground.
“Someone get a broom,” muttered Aldel. “We should get the rubble off of this floor—”
“And who will sweep the rubble from the streets of the city?” asked Iriel, her voice trembling on the edge of hysteria. “The end is upon us! No one will ever live here again!”
“Control yourselves!” Tiriki pulled herself together with an effort. “You have been told what to do when this moment arrived. Get dressed and put on your strongest shoes. Wear heavy cloaks even if it grows warm—they will protect you when ash and cinders fall. Take your bags and get down to the ships.”
“But not everything is loaded,” exclaimed Kalaran, trying to control his fear. “We were not able to get half the things we were supposed to take. The shaking has stopped. Surely we have a little time—”
Tiriki could still feel tremors vibrating through the floor, but it was true that for the moment the violence had passed.
“Perhaps . . . but be careful. Some of you are assigned to carry messages for the priests. Do not enter any building that seems damaged—an aftershock might bring it down. And don’t take too long. In two hours you should all be on board. Remember, what men have made they can make again—your lives are more valuable now than anything you might risk them for! Tell me again what you are to do—”
One by one they listed their duties, and she approved or gave them new instructions. Calmer now, the acolytes scattered to gather their things. The architects of the House of the Falling Leaves had built better than they knew—though ornamentation littered the floor, the structure of the house was still secure.
“I must return to the palace. Damisa, get your things and come with me—”
Tiriki waited at the door until her acolyte returned, watching the steady fall of cinders into the garden. Now and again a bit that was still glowing would set one of the plants to smoldering. New smoke was billowing from the city. Numbly she wondered how long before it was all afire.
“I thought the sun was rising,” said Damisa at her elbow, “but the sky is dark.”
“The sun has risen, but I do not think that we will see it,” answered Tiriki, looking up at the dark pall rolling across the sky. “This will be a day without a dawn.”
Cinders were still falling as Tiriki and Damisa set forth from the House of the Falling Leaves, adding danger from above to the hazards of navigating streets whose pavements were buckled by the earthquake and littered with fallen debris. When a particularly large piece of lava barely missed Tiriki, Damisa dashed into an abandoned inn and came back with two large pillows.
“Hold it over your head,” she said, handing one to Tiriki. “It will look silly, but it may protect you if something larger falls.”
Tiriki caught the note of incipient hysteria in her own answering laughter and cut it short, but the thought of what they must look like, scuttling through the shadowed streets like mushrooms with legs, kept a weird smile on her lips as they picked their way toward the palace.
It was the only amusement she was to find during that journey. Shocking as the devastation from yesterday’s quakes had been, she had at least been able to recognize the city. Today’s jolts had transformed the skyline into a place she did not know. She told herself that this morning’s tremor was only an aftershock, bringing down structures already weakened, but she knew that this time the earth had been wrenched in a different direction, and with every step she became more aware that what she felt beneath her feet now was not equilibrium, but rather a tenuous balance that at any moment might fail.
The chains that bind the Man with Crossed Hands are breaking . . . she thought, shivering despite the warmth in the air. One more effort will snap the last of them and he will be free . . .
The palace was deserted. When they reached her rooms, she saw that both Micail and his bag were gone. He will be waiting for me at the docks, she told herself. Snatching up her own satchel, she followed Damisa back out to the street and started down the hill.
The House of the Healers had collapsed, blocking the road. Tiriki paused, listening, but she heard nothing from within. She hoped that everyone had gotten out safely. Indeed, it was some time since she had seen anybody at all. Obviously, she told herself, the priests and city functionaries who lived and worked here had taken the warning to heart and were already seeking safety on the docks or the hills, but she could not quite suppress the fear that everyone was dead, and that when she and Micail sought Captain Reidel’s ship at last they would find the harbor empty, and have only ghosts for company as they waited for the island to fall.
Guided by Damisa, whose experience as a messenger had taught her the back ways of the upper city, they retraced their steps, turning toward the House of the Priests just up the hill.
As they ascended the Processional Walk, littered with fallen statues and the ruins of archways, Tiriki caught sight of a hurrying figure in sea boots and a brown traveling cloak.
“Chedan!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Are the priests—”
“Those holy fools! They claim to command spirits, but they cannot control themselves. Your husband is there now, trying to talk some sense into those who remain. Some have gone down to the ships as they were bid, and others have fled, the gods alone know where. They’re all half mad, I think, begging him to use his powers to make it stop—” He shook his head in disgust.
“But Micail stretched himself to the utmost yesterday, and a little beyond. He can do no more. Can’t they understand?”
“Can’t, or won’t—” Chedan shrugged. “Frightened men are strangers to reason, but that husband of yours will sort them out. In the meantime, those of us who can still think straight have work to do. And who still survive,” he added grimly. “The man who was to have led the team to load the Omphalos Stone was killed by a falling wall. I told Micail I’d take care of it, but there’s no one left here, or no one that is of any use, anyhow.”
“There’s us,” Damisa said stoutly, “and the other acolytes will be all right if they have something definite to do!”
For the first time, Chedan smiled. “Then lead us, if you can still find your way in this chaos, and let us find them!”
They met Aldel surveying the House of the Healers in disbelief, having found no one to whom he might deliver his message, and Kalaran beside him, clutching an empty sack. Speechless, Tiriki and Damisa returned to the House of the Falling Leaves. Elis and Selast were just inside, packing. Flakes of ash powdered their dark hair.
“Are you the only ones left here?” asked Tiriki.
Elis nodded. “I hope the others reached the ships safely.”
“Aldel is waiting outside, and so is Kalaran, so at least you and your betrothed will be together,” said Tiriki bracingly. “And Kalhan is a strong lad,” she added to Damisa. “I’m sure that when we get to the docks he will be waiting for you.” As Micail will be waiting for me, she added silently.
“Kalhan? Oh, yes, I’m sure he will. . . .” Damisa said flatly.
&
nbsp; Tiriki looked at her curiously. This was not the first time she had thought that Damisa’s feelings about the boy to whom the Temple astrologers had mated her seemed tepid. Once more she realized how fortunate she and Micail had been when they were allowed to choose for themselves.
“Will they be enough?” asked Chedan as Tiriki shepherded the acolytes out the door.
“They will have to be,” she answered as a stronger tremor rocked the town. “We must go, now!” As they started down the road two more jolts made them stagger, and behind them they heard a crash as the porch of the House of the Falling Leaves came down.
“That was a very heavy leaf that just fell!” said Kalaran, lips twisting as he attempted a smile.
“That was the whole tree,” corrected Damisa tartly, but there were tears in her eyes, and she did not look back.
Elis was weeping softly. Selast, who despised such feminine weakness, looked at her in scorn. But all of them kept moving, picking their way around debris, and passing with no more than a sign of blessing when they saw bodies on the road. It was as well that they found no one in need of assistance. That would have put their discipline to too great a test. Indeed, Tiriki thought that if they had found a hurt child she would not have been entirely sure of her own self-control.
That which we seek to save will preserve the lives of generations yet unborn, she told herself, but the old sayings seemed meaningless in the face of the kind of catastrophe they were enduring now. Cinders had begun to fall once more. She flinched and drew her mantle over her head—she had discarded the pillow some time ago—then drew first one deep breath and then another, invoking the trained reflexes that would bring calm. There is no thought . . . there is no fear . . . there is only the right moment and the right deed.
With relief, she caught sight of the entrance to the Temple. Only now did she allow herself to look beyond it to the mountain. The pyramid at its top and the priest who kept it had been engulfed long ago. The smoke that billowed from its summit swirled now in a shapeless cloud, but the side of the mountain had opened, and lava was inscribing its own deadly message down the slope in letters of fire.
For a moment she allowed herself to hope that the escape of lava from within the mountain, like the lancing of a boil, would ease the pressure within. But the vibration beneath her feet spoke of unresolved tensions underground that were greater still.
“Quickly—” Chedan gestured toward the portico. Its structure still seemed sound, although parts of the marble facings littered the road.
Inside things were less reassuring, but there was no time to wonder how deep the cracks in the walls might run. The cabinet built to carry the Omphalos was waiting in the alcove, and the lamp still swung on its chains. As soon as they had lit the torches they took up the box by the long handles that supported it from the front and back, and hurried the acolytes past the cracked wall of the entry toward the passageway.
To descend that passage in formal procession with the priests and priestesses of Ahtarrath had been an experience to strain the soul. To hasten toward those depths in the company of a gaggle of half-hysterical acolytes was almost more than Tiriki could bear. They feared the unknown, but it was the memory of what had happened here only a few days ago that made her afraid. Seeing her falter, Chedan grasped her arm, and she drew on his steady strength gratefully.
“Is that lava?” came a frightened whisper from Elis as they rounded the last turn.
“No. The Stone is glowing,” answered Damisa, but her voice was shaking. As well it might, thought Tiriki, following her into the chamber. Vivid illuminations like those the ritual had wakened in the Omphalos were already pulsing in the depths of the Stone. Eerie light and shadows chased each other around the chamber, and each time the earth moved, flashes bounced from wall to wall.
“How can we touch it without being blasted?” breathed Kalaran.
“That’s why we have these wrappings,” said Chedan, lifting a mass of cloth out of the cabinet and dropping it on the floor. “This is silk, and it will insulate the energies of the Stone.”
I hope, Tiriki added silently. But the Omphalos had been carried safely from the Ancient Land, so moving it must be possible.
With their hearts pounding, she and Chedan took the folds of silk and carried them toward the Stone. Closer, its power radiated like a fire, though she felt it neither as heat nor any other sensation for which she had a name. Then the silk fell across it, muting the pressure, and she released a breath she had not known she was holding. They veiled it a second time and she felt her fear ease.
“Bring the cabinet,” rasped Chedan. White-faced, Kalaran and Aldel dragged the box up until it was almost touching the Stone and raised the panel on its side. Taking a deep breath, the priest set his hands about the Stone and tipped it in.
Light exploded around them with a force that sent Tiriki sprawling. Damisa grabbed more of the silk wrappings and thrust them into the cabinet around the Stone.
“Cover it—cover it completely!” Tiriki struggled to her feet again. Chedan was handing the rest of the silk to Damisa, who rolled it up to push into the corners until the pulsing glow of the Omphalos could no longer be seen.
It could be felt still, but now it was a bearable agony. Unfortunately, without the distraction of the Stone, there was nothing to shield them from the groaning of the rock around them.
“Pick it up! Aldel and Kalaran, you’re the strongest—take the front handles. Damisa and I will take the rear. The rest of you can keep the way clear and carry the torches. When we get out of here you can take a turn on the handles, but we must go, now!”
As he spoke the floor of the chamber trembled ominously. Tiriki snatched up her torch and hurried after them, realizing that only the presence of the Omphalos had kept it stable for this long!
The bearers staggered and grunted as if their burden were not only immensely heavy, but unstable. Seeing their distress, Elis and Selast set their hands beneath the midpoint of the cabinet and helped to lift it. But as they got farther away from the hidden chamber, the weight seemed to grow less, which was just as well, for with every step their footing was growing more treacherous.
That last jolt had buckled the floor of the passage in several places. Great cracks now showed in the walls, and in places the ceiling was beginning to give way. As they toiled upward they heard the crash of falling rock behind them, a high, discordant keening that seemed to come from all around.
“My spirit is the spirit of Life; it cannot be destroyed. . . .” Tiriki chanted, trying to make that awareness replace the dreadful singing of the stones. “I am the child of Light, that transcends the Darkness. . . .” The others joined her, but their words seemed thin and meaningless in this vortex of primordial energies.
“Hurry—” Damisa’s voice seemed to come from far away. “I can feel another quake coming!” They could see the pale light of the entryway before them now.
The earth jerked beneath them. With a crash that transcended all previous measures of sound, the left wall caved in.
The sounds of rockfall and the screams that followed now faded as dust billowed outward. Tiriki’s torch had gone out. She coughed, shielding her eyes. When she could see again, the dim illumination from outside showed her the cabinet knocked onto its side and the acolytes climbing to their feet around it.
“Is everyone all right?”
One by one, voices answered her. The last to reply was Kalaran.
“A little grazed, but whole. I was on the other side of the cabinet, and its bulk protected me. Aldel—”
There was a shocked silence. Then one of the girls began to sob.
“Help me get the rubble off him—” Chedan dropped to his knees, pulling frantically at the lumps of stone and plaster.
“Damisa, Selast, Elis! Let’s get the cabinet upright and pull it out of the way—” Tiriki took one handle and heaved. She felt the others take up the weight and they started forward.
“But Aldel—” whispered Elis.
“The others will bring him,” Tiriki said firmly. “Let’s get the cabinet outside.” The rock groaned and a little more dust sifted down as they dragged the Omphalos out through the portico. Tiriki looked back apprehensively, but in another moment she saw Chedan and Kalaran emerging from the gloom with the body of Aldel in their arms.
“He’s knocked out, isn’t he?” stammered Elis, looking from one to the other hopefully. “Let me hold him until he revives.”
“No, Elis, he has been taken from us—” Chedan said compassionately as they laid the body down. Through the dust they could see the distorted shape of the boy’s skull where the rock had crushed it. “It was over in an instant, without pain.”
Elis shook her head, uncomprehending, then knelt, smoothing the dust from her betrothed’s forehead and gazing into his empty eyes. “Aldel . . . come back, beloved. We’re going to escape together—we’ll always be together. You promised me.”
“He has gone before us, Elis,” Damisa said with a compassion Tiriki would not have expected. “Come now. Come with me.” She put her arm around the girl and drew her away.
Chedan bent over the still figure and closed Aldel’s eyes, then traced the sigil of unbinding upon his brow. “Go in peace, my son,” he murmured. “And in another life may this sacrifice be rewarded.” He stood and took Elis’s arm.
“But we can’t—just leave him there,” said Selast uncertainly.
“We must,” answered Tiriki. “But the shrine will be a noble tomb.”
She was still speaking when the earth heaved once more and propelled them out through the portico. As they sprawled on the roadway a pillar of fire exploded upward from the mountain and the Shrine of the Omphalos collapsed with a rending roar.
Muscles and balance told Tiriki that they were going downhill as they struggled onward. But that was all she knew for sure. She jumped and nearly dropped the handle of the cabinet that held the Omphalos as the front wall of a house slammed into the street. Beyond it a second building was collapsing with gentle deliberation, as if it were falling asleep. A dark figure emerged from one of the homes, hesitated, and then dashed back into the falling building with a cry.
Ancestors of Avalon Page 8