A murmur of dismay started, but swiftly ceased as Wardyke’s burning eye fell upon them. Behind them walked six drummers. Again, Wardyke’s men.
Karne could have burst with the feelings that were racing through him, but he managed to keep control of himself. He had no doubt Wardyke had killed Maal and with the one act had frustrated their chances of reaching the Lords of the Sun and so rescuing the hapless villagers from his clutches, and at the same time frustrated Maal in his plan to influence his passage at the moment of death. All that they had been working for during the past few months was now wiped out. He thought of the sweat and the backache moving all those rocks, digging that tunnel. He thought of Kyra’s troubles, trying to link her mind with Maal’s.
It was strange she had felt nothing when Maal was killed. He had called to her when he was in trouble before. Why not this time?
The bier came nearer and nearer. The drumming grew louder and louder until he could feel the vibrations of it coming as it were from the thump, thump, thump of his own heart.
Maal was carried amongst the crowd of villagers, who drew back in respect as he passed. Karne could see him quite clearly for a few moments. His face was composed and white. The face of death. His body lying straight, hands folded on his breast. There was nothing to show that he had died violently.
For a moment a thought went spinning through Karne’s heart. What if Maal was not dead after all? What if he had managed to cheat and was doing what priests were quite capable of doing, feigning death?
With the coming of this thought everything became possible again. They would keep to the original plan! If Maal was truly dead it would not hurt to move him. If he was not, his passage through the many different planes of spirit could be made easier.
But against this hope he thought of the signs of violence he had seen in Maal’s house and he knew that if Maal was to feign death he would have needed a long time to compose himself. It could not be done under conditions of harassment and stress.
Karne wondered about Kyra. There was no doubt that Maal’s house was being burnt to the ground. Thorn must have set the torch because Thorn joined the meeting from the direction of Maal’s house almost immediately after they had seen the smoke. He hoped Kyra was safely away with Fern. How he longed to be with them, but he dare not leave. He was in danger both of missing something that they needed to know, and of drawing attention to himself.
After the bier had been carried right round the community it was lifted onto the platform to lie at Wardyke’s feet. Thorn made a move to step up and join him but, surprisingly, Wardyke gestured him down. Karne saw the look of puzzled fear that suddenly passed through Thorn’s eyes. Karne felt a sense of satisfaction at that. It looked as though Wardyke had used Thorn to come to full power, but now no longer needed him.
Seven men from Wardyke’s old community stepped up at this point and took their places behind Wardyke in the positions of the Sacred Stones, in the positions of the Elders of the village.
A gasp went round the confused villagers and a few men stepped forward as though they were going to protest, but immediately there was a move from behind them and they realized they were entirely ringed by Wardyke’s people, armed with axes and spears.
Without their realizing it the friendly, peaceful villagers had been taken over completely by a hostile group.
The rest of the meeting passed like a nightmare. Wardyke spoke the words of burial over Maal and the villagers listened to the age-old terms of respect and comfort, realizing for the first time that they meant nothing in themselves. Only the feeling that was in the heart of he who spoke to them meant anything. And in Wardyke’s heart was malevolence and greed.
After the words of burial he made a brief announcement that he had appointed seven new Elders for the Community, silenced any protest with a look of such ferocity that no one even dared to think dissent, and then gestured for the funeral procession to lead off to Maal’s tomb.
The six men carrying the bier went first. The drummers next. The villagers followed them in a straggling untidy line and Wardyke’s strangers came behind as though to make sure no one strayed.
Wardyke himself came last of all and they had to wait for him at the tomb, listening to the sullen and disturbing pulse of the drums and their own thoughts struggling to find a way out of the situation.
Karne could see Maal from where he stood and he had to admit to himself that he looked very dead. His thoughts went round and round, trying to decide whether to risk transferring Maal’s body to the other tomb and wondering if Wardyke would post a guard overnight. It was fortunate that they were having the burial ceremony so late in the afternoon for there would not be time to cover the burial chamber properly and complete the mound. The rest of the work would probably be done over the next few days, the whole community working in shifts.
There were no prayers said aloud while the villagers waited for Wardyke, only the insistent low throb of the drum, but Karne for one (and he did not think he was alone) was praying privately and silently. He had never wanted anything as much in his life as he wanted Maal to be alive at this moment. There were many of the villagers, even among those who had welcomed Wardyke and slighted Maal, who were now praying for Maal’s spirit, for his help in the dark days to come.
Just before Wardyke’s arrival, Fern and Kyra joined the crowd unnoticed. Karne’s first knowledge of their presence was when he felt a touch on his arm and Kyra’s hand slipped into his. She stood close to him, her eyes dark with sorrow, seeking comfort in him. He kissed her forehead, thankful that she had come to no harm in the fire. On his other side he felt another touch. He looked around and Fern was beside him, her bare arm against his. His whole body responded to it in spite of his sorrow. Her face was as grave and as pale as Kyra’s.
They had found a hiding place for the stone sphere and had hurried back to the village in time to see the funeral procession winding along the path to the tomb Wardyke had chosen for Maal. They had paused to weep and to compose themselves. Now they were with Karne and the combined strength of their love for Maal and for each other was helping to sustain them.
* * * *
Wardyke’s arrival was announced with an impressive roll on the drums. The day, which had been dark from dawn, was growing darker every moment. The magician strode between the silent rows of mourners and took his place at the entrance to the tomb, facing the crowd, the dark cavity they had dug for Maal behind him so that he seemed to have two cloaks, one of black fur and one of icy shadow.
A chill passed through the watching villagers. Kyra could feel it creeping along her flesh and she shuddered slightly, pressing closer to her brother. He put his right arm around her and made to put his left around Fern, but she had withdrawn from him since Wardyke’s arrival and was standing stiffly away from him. She shook her head sharply at his overture and insisted on standing clear. He looked at her closely, hurt and puzzled. Every muscle in her body was tense and taut. Kyra could see at once what was happening and drew Karne’s attention back to Wardyke.
The drums rolled again and then cut dead. The silence was palpable. Wardyke used it to full effect and then, sensing the tension was at breaking point, broke it himself with a high pitched and dreadful wailing sound that reminded the villagers of nights of fear in the forests surrounded by wolves.
Transfixed, they stared at their priest who at this moment seemed half-animal, half-god. He lifted his great arms slowly as he wailed until they were high above his head at the peak of the sound, and there he held them until the sound of the howl that came from him had penetrated the marrow of their bones.
No one could have moved. They were locked rigid in a kind of terrified fascination.
Kyra was paralysed like the rest, but what she saw was not quite what they saw.
In an arc behind Wardyke, but crowding him closely, were standing shadowy figures, and she knew with a deadly certainty that she had seen them before. Their bodies were those of men, brown and strong, clad only in me
tallic loincloths. Their heads were the heads of animals and their eyes were the eyes of demons. At their feet (at Wardyke’s feet) the body of Maal was lying and as she looked in horror at it it began to change from the calm, pale priest, lying as though asleep upon the bier, to an ugly, rotting corpse.
Inside her head she screamed.
‘No!’
No sound came from her. No movement of her body betrayed her, but she knew at this moment a force was working from her to blast the evil influence of their power away from Maal.
Her eyes, if anyone had looked, were blazing with a kind of vivid light. Her love for Maal, her longing to protect him, gave her the strength. Her training gave her the skill.
Even as her will cried yet again ‘No!’ the figures behind Wardyke seemed to cringe and waver, their eyes, no longer triumphant, seeking their enemy.
Standing among the crowd of villagers, no ordinary mortal could have noticed Kyra was different from the others, but these creatures’ eyes ranged everywhere and it was not long before they found the source of their discomfiture. As Kyra held with great strain the concentrated power of her will to protect Maal, the cringing creatures recognized her with demonic malevolence. She summoned up one last and desperate effort and in that moment the air around Wardyke seemed to vibrate in a way Kyra had seen it sometimes on a very hot day, and with the vibration the image of the creatures dissolved and disappeared.
Wardyke was alone again at the entrance to the tomb and, as Kyra’s eyes fell upon him, she thought that he too had momentarily lost strength. His arms were lowered and the once livid blaze of his eyes was dimmed. She fancied he too was looking around, seeking an answer to something that puzzled him.
Aching with exhaustion from her experience, she could face no more and took a step back so that she was hidden from his sight. Karne looked down at her questioningly. She looked ill. He held her tightly thinking that she might faint. She rested her head against him and shut her eyes. Oh, if only she could sleep!
It was fortunate for her and Karne that they were not the only ones to move at this time or they would certainly have been picked out by Wardyke. Kyra’s power had temporarily broken the spell with which he held them, and everyone was shifting and murmuring uneasily in their places.
Suddenly realizing this, Wardyke postponed his search and set about regaining the attention he had lost. He nodded sharply at his drummers and within seconds the pounding of their insistent beat had wound the villagers to a fever pitch of anxiety again. From there he took them through a range of emotions ending with passive acceptance of whatever he wished.
Kyra was not listening, but Karne, who was, was impressed with the way he handled the crowd. He watched it all as though he were somehow outside the whole scene, and when he realized this, and that he was not a slave to Wardyke’s power as the rest appeared to be, he was surprised. He looked at Kyra resting against his shoulder also unmoved by Wardyke’s will and Fern beside him still standing straight and independent, but he could feel the strength in her that was separate from the crowd.
‘Why are we three the only ones not to fall under Wardyke’s spell?’ he thought. ‘Not all these villagers are fools.’
His eye fell upon Maal, lying quietly almost forgotten on his bier. Wardyke was using the funeral for his own ends, for power weaving and establishing control. The ordinary human emotions of a burial had been forgotten. Karne studied Maal’s face, sadness returning to him. It was still calm, composed, pale as stone. There was no way of telling how he had died, or indeed if he was dead at all.
The key to their power to withstand Wardyke lay partly with Maal, partly with themselves. Maal had helped them develop certain tendencies already within themselves. He, Karne, had asked questions the other villagers never asked before Maal knew him. Kyra had seen into people’s heads before she had become Maal’s pupil. Fern had talked with trees. Each of them were what they were, but Maal had helped them to grow. He had not tried to change them into something they were not or could not be, but had helped them develop along the lines they were already going. The rest, and here Karne looked around him at family and friends, were content to stay as they were, content to use over and over again the things they already knew, too afraid to take in new knowledge, new skills, in case their comfortable routine would be disturbed, their comfortable view of existence have to be revised. That way they were easy prey for people like Wardyke. They followed him blindly, until too late they realized he was leading them away from the very comfortable and familiar world they were trying to preserve.
Maal was right, Karne thought, the most important thing in life is to grow inwardly, to move always towards greater awareness, greater understanding, of all the different levels in which things are existing and happening simultaneously.
The villagers shut off whole areas of thought as taboo, limiting themselves, stunting themselves.
Karne remembered Kyra’s description of her vision of the stars and the incredible web of constantly changing relationship between them, and yet the overall pattern of relationship staying the same. Everything is moving, he thought, changing, ceasing to exist one moment and coming into existence in a different form the next. If one did not accept this but tried to keep everything rigid, damage would certainly be done. One must move with the movement, flow with the flow, become new with each renewal . . . judge each person and each incident on its own merits, from its own unique standpoint . . . and yet see it in relationship to the whole.
Wardyke was evil because he was reducing the individuality of people and welding them into a single tool for his own use. This was very different from Maal who believed in the delicate balance of individual to whole, increasing people’s individuality while at the same time making them aware of their responsibility to the whole.
* * * *
After Wardyke’s peroration, Maal’s body was carried into the dark cavity of the tomb and the first stones were put in place to seal it overnight.
Darkness was moving in upon them now and the rest of the work was left until the morning.
As they turned to go the dark clouds that had hung above them all day began to leak, and before they reached the village it had grown to a steady downpour. Wet, bedraggled and discouraged villagers tramped sadly back to their homes. Karne could hear a group of strangers laughing as they passed on their way. They at least seemed pleased with the turn events had taken.
Fern was invited by Kyra’s mother to spend the night with them and she accepted gratefully. She helped prepare the meal and fitted so well into their family circle that Karne found his mother looking at him and then saying loudly to Fern, ‘You know, you really ought not to stay so much alone in that valley of yours. You are always welcome here!’
Fern smiled and Karne looked embarrassed. He was longing to find out why she had withdrawn herself so sharply from him at the funeral but he knew that they had much to arrange about the transference of Maal, and his personal affairs would have to wait.
It was Kyra’s weariness that gave them the opportunity for action earlier than expected. She was obviously so exhausted that her mother suggested they all retired to sleep earlier than usual. The day had been an unusually heavy one and no one was in a talking mood.
One by one the fires flickered out all around the village.
Karne lay a long time conscious of Fern not far from him, silent in the dark. Kyra was fast asleep and he was in a quandary as to what he should do about her. They needed her help. Two of them could scarcely handle the task that lay ahead and yet he realized that Kyra must have been through some particularly harassing experience at the tomb to make her so unnaturally and excessively tired. He did not know how much he dared push her beyond her normal strength. To add to this the rain was pouring down outside heavily and steadily as though it would rain forever. The whole project, which had seemed so feasible when he had first thought of it, began to look impossible. He again wondered if the point of it was now lost. Maal was dead, killed by Wardyke. There
was no way they could bring him back to life. He knew that Maal had wanted to be in conscious control of his death, in order to influence the progress of his life beyond death.
Having seen a vision of the magnificent potential of spiritual existence, Maal was anxious to progress as fast as he could without interruption or diversion.
Had Wardyke succeeded in thwarting him in this?
Maal had tried to describe existence to them once but Karne’s mind could not grasp the idea of everything being at once infinitely diverse and yet ultimately simple; many, and yet One.
‘Each entity, occupied with its own development, affects everything else.’
Here Maal had paused, looking at his three pupils, their faces a study in concentration and, in Karne’s case, bewilderment.
‘This, you will say,’ he said, smiling at Karne, ‘would make for complexity and confusion?’
Karne nodded dumbly.
‘It does not,’ Maal said quietly. ‘Look around. Be silent, “feel” the Universe. It is working with great efficiency. Out of all the disparate elements working at their own Being, the whole is evolving harmoniously as a single unit.’
‘So what we do at any given time does not really matter . . . everything will even up in the end and it will all go on working harmoniously?’ Karne said.
‘Yes, and no,’ Maal answered. ‘Although the universe as a whole, as a unit, will go on working harmoniously in spite of us, our own individual existence and that of those around us is affected dramatically by what we are and what we do.’
* * * *
Karne, lying in his fur rug on the night of Maal’s funeral, knew that he had a choice to make. His body cried out to stay warm and snug, protected from the cold needles of the rain and the exhausting and difficult, not to say dangerous, task that he knew he ought to be preparing for at that very moment. But he knew deep inside himself that he had committed himself to this action and could not shirk it. He did not understand the full implications of it, but Maal had wished it and he must honour that wish.
The Tall Stones Page 15