Where The Ni-Lach

by Marcia J. Bennell

  A few minutes later they slipped into the robes, then Efan opened a wooden cupboard in the kitchen and swung an entire shelf section out and away. Saan Drambe helped with the hidden door. “The way is narrow. I think it would be easiest if one of you would carry Efan down to the next level.”

  “I can carry him over my shoulder,” Haradan offered.

  As Haradan moved into position, Saan Drambe touched Dhalvad’s shoulder and pulled him back a step or two. “There’s food on the boat and extra clothing,” he said softly. “I had a feeling that something like this would happen and I’ve been trying to think ahead. I’ve done much for you these past few days, Dhalvad, and you know what I want in return. If something should happen to me, will you give me your word that you’ll take care of Efan? You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I’ll do what I can. I promise.”

  Nodding once, Saan Drambe then turned to Efan, who lay over Haradan’s shoulder like a sack of dried grass. A whispered word of encouragement and a quick kiss, then Saan Drambe stepped back. “Go carefully, all of you.”

  Gi-arobi was the first into the darkness. Haradan, carrying Efan, went next. Dhal followed, with Efan’s crutches and a lighted candle. The cupboard door closed behind them.

  As they started down the flight of narrow steps, a whisper of sound swirled around them. “Wait no longer than three days, Green One. And remember your promise to me.”

  On the lower level, Efan led them through the winding corridors, swinging along on his crutches with practiced ease. Haradan carried him down each flight of steps, but he reclaimed his crutches when he reached level ground. Not once did he pause to speak to anyone. Every once in a while, Dhal could feel Gi’s furred hand against his leg. Hidden again beneath Dhal’s robe, the olvaar was finding it difficult to keep up.

  When eventually they reached the end of the tunnelways and emerged from the semidark, Dhal felt a terrible heaviness lift from his heart. He was free—free of the darkness and the ever-threatening weight of rock, free to breathe fresh air again. Looking back into the dark cavern they had just left, he shuddered.

  Haradan carried Efan down flight after flight of steps. Dhal followed with the crutches. By the time they reached the main docks, it was nearing the supper hour. Thankfully, there were few people about. Dhal looked skyward. Ra-shun was falling to the west, touching the clouds with gold, and Dhal wondered how much time had elapsed since they had left Saan Drambe’s apartments. How much longer did they have before the regent’s guards began looking for young Efan?

  On the last and lowest tier of docks, Efan caught one of his crutches for the third time in a crack. If not for Haradan and Dhal, he would have fallen. The boy was breathing hard. His body trembled.

  “Are you all right?” Dhal asked.

  Efan nodded, but one look at his sweaty face and Dhal knew that if the boy did not rest soon, he would collapse. He simply was not used to such strenuous exercise.

  “How much farther, Efan?” Haradan asked.

  “Just a little ways, on the other side of the next wharf.”

  “Can you make it?”

  For an answer Efan started off again, a determined look on his face. A minute later they turned onto a narrow pier leading out over the water and Efan indicated a small sailboat. “That’s the one.”

  After helping Efan and Gi-arobi into the boat, Haradan and Dhal pushed away from the dock and raised the sail. As they slipped past the last boat docked at the wharf, someone called out to them. A man was standing at the railing of a fishing boat no more than ten boat lengths away. “You!” he called again. “You in the boat!”

  Efan waved at the man but didn’t speak.

  “Late for taking your boat out. Wind is coming up.”

  “We’re not going far,” Efan answered.

  When the man nodded and turned away, Efan cursed softly. “He’ll remember us and they’ll know that we took the boat.”

  “It can’t be helped,” Haradan said. Sitting down, he took the length of rope controlling the bottom of the sail and swung it to the left. The sail filled and billowed outward, and immediately they began to pick up speed. Holding Gi-arobi in his lap, Dhal watched the docks become smaller and smaller. Then, turning, he looked forward to the open water ahead and was instantly lost to the movement of the boat. It was exciting and beautiful and quickly soothed away all fears. He was free.

  Dhalvad sat on the shore, gazing out over the inlet in which they had anchored the boat. It was late morning. Ra-shun was high overhead, her golden light reflected like scattered jewels across the water. The beach was peaceful, the air fresh and fragrant with the smell of kansa fruit. He turned and found Efan watching him thoughtfully. The stick the boy had been carving lay idle in his hands. “Something wrong?” Dhal asked.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Efan frowned. “It’s your eyes,” he said softly.

  Dhal faced Efan squarely. “What about my eyes?”

  “They keep changing. When I look at them I feel… lost.” Efan shook his head. “No, that’s not the word I want. I feel pulled away from myself. Damn, that’s not what I mean either!” Efan’s eyes dropped to the stick he held. He continued stripping the bark with his knife.

  Dhal threw a small pebble into the water causing rings of ripples to move outward in ever-widening circles. Without looking up at the boy, he asked, “Are you afraid of me, Efan?”

  “No,” Efan responded after a moment’s hesitation. “I know what they say about your people, but I’m not afraid of you.”

  Dhal looked up and smiled. “Good, because you have nothing to fear from me, nothing at all.” He glanced at the boy’s legs. They were thin, the muscles grown soft with disuse. “Efan, there is little chance that you will ever go back to Annaroth now. While we wait for Haradan and your father, would you like me to see what can be done about your legs?”

  Efan shook his head. “No, I’ll wait for Saan—for my father.”

  “All right, we can wait,” Dhal agreed.

  “Green One, do you think Haradan will be back tonight?”

  Dhal flinched at the name “Green One.” It had been Saan Omna’s favorite profanity. He turned to Efan and tried to answer his question without showing anger. “Haradan left early this morning and he said it would take him eight hours to reach the docks overland. Figuring the same time back and however long it takes him to reach your father, I don’t really expect him before tomorrow evening.”

  “Do you think he’ll be able to reach my father?”

  “We can hope, that’s all. Haradan still has a few old friends on the docks. He was sure he could learn something from them.”

  “What if my father has been arrested?”

  “Pray that he hasn’t. I’ve had a taste of Sarissa justice, one I will never forget. I think in some ways your people are more to be feared than mine.”

  A little while later Gi-arobi returned carrying two large, ripe kansa. One look at his fruit-dribbled fur and Dhal knew that while he and Efan sat talking, Gi had been happily gorging on the yellow fruit which grew on the low bushes near the rivulet where they had left their boat. While they tasted Gi’s offering, the olvaar waded out into the water to wash the juice from his fur.

  “I love to watch him,” Efan said. “Green One, could you teach me more of his language?”

  “Yes, if you will do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Please call me Dhalvad, or Dhal. It is my name.”

  As night closed, Gi-arobi entertained Efan with a story while Dhal repacked the leather pouches that contained their food supplies. Gi was a good storyteller, his lilting speech most pleasing to the ear. The story he told that night concerned a certain small but very wise olvaar named Re-sanar, who outwitted a gigantic ver-draak who was threatening an olvaar gathering. The hero of this story was suspiciously like Gi, though Dhal kept that to himself. The only draak Gi had ever tangled with were strictly in the “baby” category.

  Efan
was completely enthralled as Gi paraded before his knees, using gestures to emphasize how the hero killed the ver-draak with a silver lance. Suddenly Gi lunged forward and up into the air.

  Then Gi stood quietly, looking down at a place before his feet. “Ver-draak dead. Deep safe for olvaar now.” With a quick lift of his head, Gi looked at Efan. “Like story?”

  Grinning, his white teeth bright in the encroaching darkness, Efan nodded. “It was a wonderful story, Gi. Is it true?”

  “Lar-aval says is true,” Gi replied promptly.

  “When did it happen?”

  Gi shook his head. “Long past.”

  Though Dhal knew Gi had probably made some additions to the story Lar-aval had told him, there was one point that caught his interest. “Gi, this lance that killed the draak—you said that it was silver light. Do you mean metal?”

  “Lar-aval says.”

  “Was it a Sarissa weapon?”

  “No.”

  “Not Sarissa. Where then did this weapon come from?”

  “Gi not know, Dhal. Re-sanar lived before Sarissa come to Deep.”

  “Why do you ask?” Efan wanted to know.

  “I’ve never known the olvaar to carry or make any kind of a weapon, so where would they get a metal lance?”

  “Does he mean a sword?”

  “No,” Gi interrupted. “Lar-aval says silver light, like silver fire, burning.”

  “Who is this Lar-aval?” Efan asked.

  “An old olvaar, a patriarch in Gi’s family.”

  “How old?”

  “I’m not really sure, but from what I’ve learned from Gi, Lar-aval is somewhere around three hundred years old.”

  “But that’s impossible!”

  “Is it? Who can say? No one that I know of has ever studied the olvaar.”

  “But—” Efan sputtered to silence, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Gi,” Dhal said. “This weapon, does Lar-aval know what happened to it?”

  Gi came and stood before Dhal. It was getting harder to see in the growing dark. “Lar-aval says silver fire given to Ni-lach. Safe them.”

  “The olvaar had contact with the Ni-lach?” Efan asked quickly.

  “You never told me that, Gi,” Dhal said, wondering what other gems of information lay inside that furry little head. “Gi, why did the olvaar give this weapon to the Ni?”

  “Ni-lach friends. Lar-aval says Ni keep silver fire from others. Safe them.”

  “Others? What others, Gi?”

  “Men not Sarissa. Men who kill and eat olvaar!” Gi declared with repugnance.

  “These men were not Sarissa?”

  “Not! Lar-aval says Ral-jenobb come before Sarissa.”

  “Ral-jennob, sun travelers,” Dhal murmured aloud. He shook his head. “There’s something strange here. I wish I could speak to Lar-aval.”

  “Where is he?” Efan asked.

  “Back in the Deep. But to go back there now would be suicidal. Still… there is something about Gi’s silver fire that bothers me. I feel as if I’m looking into the dark, knowing there is something there, something important, yet not able to see it.”

  Reaching out, he drew Gi close. “Only recently did I learn about myself, Gi, and I’ve never spoken to you about my people. Tell me, what else do you know about the Ni-lach?”

  “Gi know what Lar-aval says. No more. Gi young when Ni go away.”

  “All right, then tell me what Lar-aval says about the Ni.”

  “Say many things. Ni are singing people. Here before Sa-rissa, before Ral-jennob. Ni-lach are water folk. Kind, gentle. Wrong for Sarissa to kill Ni-lach.”

  “Gi, do you know if there are any other Ni within the Deep?”

  “Lar-aval says no. All gone now.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Gi not know. Lar-aval says Ni find new home maybe.”

  Chapter 11

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. HARADAN HAD BEEN GONE THREE AND a half days and Dhal was growing worried. Leaving Efan to his carving with Gi-arobi as an audience, he went down to the beach.

  After a brief swim and a run up and down the beach, he rnoved into the blue-green depths of the uncut forest to gather some fresh kansa. A feeling of peace fell over him. How like the Deep this land is, he thought, green upon green, growing and ever watchful of the life within its embrace.

  While he was sorting through his pile of fruit, he happened to glance down at his ring. The green stone caught the sunlight as it filtered down through the branches of the trees. Flaming to life, the invisible crack opened and once more he was looking down into a swirl of color. Forgetting his promise to Haradan, he looked deeper into the golden lights, wondering if they would change as they had before.

  Seconds passed. He waited. Closing his mind to everything around him, Dhal pictured the face of the young Ni he had seen the last time and willed the colors to change. When it happened it was so sudden that he could not remember seeing the change: one second the swirling mist was gold, the next it was blue.

  As the mist receded, Dhal found himself in the middle of a scene of great activity. Ni-lach male, female, and young were all busy by a lake, pulling at nets and splashing in the shallow water. And above their excited voices he could hear the thread of music unlike any sound he had ever heard before.

  Startled by the appearance of so many Ni, he stood frozen, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Haradan had said that the Ni-lach had all been killed, that nowhere in Sarissa territory could any be found. Sarissa territory? Was that the answer? Was it possible that the scene he viewed was a place far from Sarissa lands? Or was he only dreaming it all, wishing for the impossible?

  From the position of Ra-shun, low in the eastern sky, he knew it was morning. A light fog lay over the water. Above the lake rose a series of moss-covered cliffs, and up beyond the cliffs stood a great mountain with twin peaks reaching skyward. He had never seen such mountains and was awed by their size and closeness.

  More and more of the Ni stopped talking and joined in the song. The music seemed to flow as a living thing across the openness of the water, beckoning. Though he could not understand the words, they seemed to pull at him. He felt himself move forward. Then he became aware of the echo of the song bouncing back from the cliffside, creating a strange harmonic effect.

  Dhal watched as some of the Ni males began to swim out into the lake, dragging a portion of the great nets behind them. He saw a great roiling motion in the water, then suddenly something broke the surface—it was a water draak, the largest he had ever seen, its head high above the water on a long, thin neck.

  He tried to yell a warning but no sound passed his lips. Those who were swimming seemed unaware of their danger. The singing continued. Dhal tried to run toward the people, to warn them of their danger, but movement was difficult, as if he were wading through hip-deep clingor grass.

  One of the females stood up and pointed. Like most of the others, she was naked. Other heads lifted, but no one seemed unduly disturbed by the fast-approaching draak. Then Dhal saw the churning of water just ahead of the draak.

  The men with the nets swam out and away from each other just as the draak closed on them. Whatever swam ahead of the draak had no time to escape the nets. As the men began swimming back inland, the Ni on shore began quickly pulling in the nets. The singing continued, but now it had changed to a slower beat. Then the draak slipped beneath the surface, and Dhal stood in gaping wonder as the full implications hit. The Ni had used the draak to help them with their fishing! Impossible! Yet he had seen it!

  Several of the younglings turned away, splashing out of the water. One small male almost walked into Dhal before seeing him. When he looked up, his crystal eyes went wide in surprise, then suddenly he cried out.

  Dhal lifted his hands in a gesture of peace, but his movement only frightened the child even more. Falling backward over his own feet, the little one rolled away, still crying.

  Then three Ni males ran toward Dhal, all naked but armed with throwin
g spears usually reserved for fishing. Behind them came others, nets forgotten, singing ended.

  Dhal panicked. Though he had neither meant nor done the child any harm, he did not think he could explain that to the angry-looking Ni coming at him. Lifting his ring hand, he quickly found the invisible crack and willed the stone colors back to gold and himself back to his own world.

  He was aware of bodies and strange voices closing around him, but he kept his eyes on the stone, not daring to look away even for a second. Gradually the lakeside voices began to fade. The last thing he heard was a softly whispered word that sounded like “stay.”

  When he opened his eyes, all was quiet and he was back sitting on the sand. He was startled to find Gi standing at his left elbow, his golden eyes round with interest. “How long have you been here?”

  “Small time. Gi watch for Dhal come back. No come. Gi find.”

  “Gi, did you see the people in the ring world? Did you hear them singing?”

  Gi shook his head.

  “You’re sure you didn’t hear any voices?”

  “No hear anything, Dhal.”

  For long moments, Dhalvad sat contemplating the strange Ni-lach ring that had come down to him from his father. Confused by what he had witnessed and not a little afraid of the new forces he had stirred in the green stone, he unlaced the cording at the neck of his tunic, slipped the ring onto it, then carefully knotted the cording around his neck, letting the ring slip down inside his tunic.

  “Dhalvad! Dhalvad!” It was Haradan’s voice.

  Dhal quickly made a sack of the front of his tunic and filled it with the fruit he had gathered. “Coming, Haradan!”

  A moment later he was running back toward the beach. “Everything all right?” he called when he saw Haradan.

  Haradan waited until Dhal stopped in front of him. “Saan Drambe is dead.” His voice was dulled by exhaustion. His clothes were torn, his face streaked with dirt and sweat.