by Angus Wells
Blunt as ever, Colun said, “When?”
He shook his head, smiling still. As if forever imprinted on his eyes, he saw the vision still. “Soon,” he promised. “The Maker will show me soon.” He looked to where Kahteney sat. “You’ve pahé left?”
Kahteney nodded solemnly.
“Good.” Morrhyn stretched. “Do you give it me, I think I shall dream well.”
He was deep in dreams when the scouts came in on lathered horses, their reports all the same.
The Breakers were two days’ ride out, approaching from all directions. Like the migrating buffalo, they came fast, following the trails of all the clans, converging on the Meeting Ground which they must surely reach even as the Moon of the Turning Year reached its fullest.
Morrhyn lay dreaming as the news spread like wildfire through the camp. Racharran thought to wake him, but Kahteney warned against that.
“The pahé owns him now,” the Lakanti Dreamer explained, “and it should be dangerous to interrupt him. Likely you could not, anyway. And does he dream the means of our salvation …”
He shrugged, his eyes troubled as he faced Racharran. In them the Commacht akaman saw his own fear, his own dread doubt—and if he does not, then what point to waking him? We are doomed, so let him sleep on and die in his sleep.
Racharran nodded and turned to Colun. “You’ve Stone Shapers with you?”
“Yes.” Colun’s eyes narrowed under craggy brows. “Baran’s the strongest, but there are some seven others.
Swiftly, Racharran outlined his plan.
Colun frowned and tugged at his beard and said, “I don’t know if the golans can work their magic here.”
Racharran fought to hide his frustration at the slow, deliberate Grannach ways and asked, “Why not send for them, that we might find out?”
Colun grunted and shouted for a man to bring Baran.
When the squat Stone Shaper was put the question, he chewed on his luxuriant moustache awhile and gave the same answer. Then he grinned through his beard and said, “But we can find out, no?”
“The Breakers will be on us within two days,” Racharran said. “Two days at the most, and likely less.”
Baran nodded as if this were all the time in the world. “Then we’d best set to work, eh? This shall be interesting.”
He ambled away, voice raised in a bellow that summoned his fellow golans. Racharran turned back to Colun.
“Can your folk take the defenseless ones into the hills?” His voice was hoarse, his expression desperate. “Does Morrhyn not wake …”
“There’s no point.” Colun shook his head, his own face rueful. “We sealed our passages when we left.”
Racharran said, “Even so.”
Colun shook his head again. “The valleys are all sealed off, and nowhere else for so many. This Maker-cursed winter’s not yet all gone up there, and you’ve not enough food for all of them. Also”—he turned to glance mournfully toward his lost mountains—“the Breakers have left their foul beasts roaming up there.”
Racharran’s hands stretched wide and closed into fists. Almost, he shouted curses at the Maker, at Morrhyn. Almost, but not quite: a spark of faith still burned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Colun forestalled him.
“There’s no escaping into the hills. They’d die up there; better they die here. It should be easier.”
“At the Breakers’ hands?” Racharran stared at him, aghast. “Under the teeth of their beasts?”
“No.” Colun took a deep breath; sighed. “Remember, I saw what the Breakers did to the Whaztaye. It should be better if the defenseless ones took their own lives. Better none live if the Breakers prevail.”
That “if” sounded to Racharran most horribly like “when.” He nodded. “Then so be it.” He looked around, at the somber faces surrounding him. “We fight here. The Maker willing, we shall survive.”
Softly, Yazte said, “The Maker grant Morrhyn wakes and fulfills that promise.”
“The Maker grant.” Racharran ducked his head in earnest agreement. “But meanwhile, best we ready for the worst.”
They set to planning their defense, which did not take them long: there was little enough to decide. Less, could Baran and his fellow Stone Shapers not block the entrance; and even if they did, it could still be only a matter of time before the Breakers climbed the hills.
Rannach faced Nemeth and Zeil and bowed his head, saying solemnly, “I’d ask your forgiveness.”
Husband and wife exchanged a look, and Nemeth said, “For what?”
“For the unhappiness I’ve brought her.”
“Unhappiness?” Nemeth frowned, gesturing to where Arrhyna sat, her belly larger now. “Our daughter is unhappy?”
“I am not,” Arrhyna said.
Rannach said, “Had I not slain Vachyr, perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“Ach!” Zeil chopped air. “Vachyr stole your bride, our daughter.” He shaped a sign of warding. “The Maker forgive me, but I was glad when I saw Vachyr’s body across your saddle.”
“Even so; Morrhyn has told me that sin was a part of what delivered this.” His hand indicated the camp, all abustle with preparations for war.
Zeil said gently, “And also Morrhyn has said that he could not have survived the journey back without you.”
“And that he believes the Maker must forgive you, no?” Nemeth said. “Then how shall we not?”
“Still, it seems that we all shall …” Rannach shrugged, glancing at his wife.
Arrhyna smiled calmly and ended the sentence for him: “Die?” She turned, still smiling, to her parents. “Sometimes my husband’s faith wavers. He forgets Morrhyn’s promise.”
Rannach frowned. “Morrhyn lies adreaming.” He sighed and took Arrhyna’s hand. “Likely he’ll be dreaming when the Breakers come.”
Arrhyna said to her parents, “You see?” and set a hand on Rannach’s cheek so that his face was turned toward her. “You must believe, my husband. You must!”
Rannach said, eyes wide and loving, “Do you? Truly?”
Confidently, she answered, “Yes.”
He touched the hand that touched his cheek, and a darkness filled his eyes. “Even so—are you wrong, and I not with you …” His hand fell, a finger tapping the hilt of the small knife she wore.
She said, “It will not come to that. But should it, then I’d not live on without you.”
• • •
“It can be done.” Baran beamed as if proud of that knowledge. “I’d wondered if our magic would work here. But—yes: we can do it.”
Racharran sighed and offered silent thanks to the Maker. That must buy them a little time at least.
The Stone Shaper perched himself like a hairy rock on the very edge of the pass, peering curiously up and down its length, with Colun squatting beside him. Racharran, none too easy so close to the drop, watched them.
“How much?” Baran asked. “We can seal it all now, or just the egress.” He turned, grinning wickedly. “We might allow them entry and then bring down the stone. I should enjoy that.”
Racharran looked past him to where the lodges covered the Meeting Ground. They could be struck in moments. The horses were already gathered into one great herd. The People knew what came against them, and the defenseless ones wore blades now. Warriors were chosen to dispatch those too infirm to slay themselves. They waited: for Morrhyn to wake or the Breakers come, none—even those strongest in their faith—any longer certain which should come first.
The sun shone bright, warmer than ever, and the Moon of the Turning Year would reach its fullness in two more nights.
And the Breakers be on them before then.
Morrhyn, he thought, wake up!
He looked to Yazte and Chakthi, who stood a little way back from the rim with Perico and Kanseah, and asked, “How think you? All now, or as they enter?”
Colun said, “Seal the farther end now. Let their vanguard enter this end, and then …” He clapped his han
ds.
Baran nodded enthusiastically.
Yazte said, “Our bowmen might wait here.”
“And my Grannach,” Colun added.
Racharran sought Chakthi’s response: the Tachyn shrugged as if the decision were not his to make.
Kanseah said nervously, “Might it not be better to block all the pass?”
Colun grunted, twisting to eye the Naiche warrior. “They come in their thousands, no? Do they find a wall of stone before them, they’ll halt and look to climb it. And that shall not take them long.”
“And if it’s done as you suggest?” Perico asked.
Colun smiled. “We slay no few of them on the first day, perhaps that shall give them pause.” He rose, staring to where the Maker’s Mountain shone in the sun, and gestured obeisance. “Perhaps pause enough that Morrhyn wakes.”
Racharran said, “The Maker grant it be so.”
Yazte said, “It might at least surprise them.”
“And kill them,” said Baran.
“Your way.” Racharran touched the Stone Shaper on one broad shoulder. “With bowmen and Grannach stationed to the sides. Slay as many as you can; and when the rest attempt the climb, we’ll be waiting.”
The two Grannach exchanged a look of triumph and rose to their feet. Grinning, Colun said, “I told you these flatlanders would see sense.”
Baran chuckled and cupped his hands about his mouth. A long, loud wailing rang out.
“What’s that?” Racharran asked.
“The signal,” Colun replied. “The magic’s readied—now the walls go down.”
“The People!” Racharran clutched the Grannach. “They’ll not be harmed?”
“None, my word on it.” Colun’s smile spread like a crack splitting a rock. “My folk stand guard and hold yours back. We decided all this last night.”
Racharran began to speak, but his words were lost under the thunder of breaking stone. Where the pass fed onto the Meeting Ground, the walls shifted, bulging outward as if the stone lost its solidity, becoming for a moment elastic. Then great shards and boulders fell away from the walls to tumble down in one great, rumbling descent. Dust filled the afternoon air, darkening the sky like the smoke of a forest fire, hiding the Meeting Ground awhile. The cliff shuddered under Racharran’s feet and he sprang back, clear of the rim, where Colun and Baran stood grinning proudly. The others stood wide-eyed. Kanseah looked afraid, as if he doubted the safety of their position.
When the pall settled and the earth had ceased its trembling, Racharran saw the Meeting Ground was sealed off by a wall of jagged stone that stretched across the pass from rim to rim. A few last boulders still dropped, bouncing down the near-vertical face to shatter at the foot.
“That was well done!” Colun clapped an enthusiastic hand to Baran’s shoulder. “The rest?”
“We’ll work it now.” Baran pointed along the rimrock, to where his fellow Stone Shapers came running. He smiled, the expression prompting Racharran to think of wolves. “When they come, it shall be to a Grannach welcome.”
“We’ll leave you to it, then.” Colun beckoned the Matawaye away. “This is Stone Shaper work, and best left to them.”
Racharran nodded. His ears still rang with echoes of the avalanche. This surely shall buy us time, he thought. But how much?
“When Baran and the others have set their spells, we’d best set our guards.” Colun spoke as if toppling passes were an everyday event. “Meanwhile … has anyone a flask or two of tiswin?”
“You look weary.” Lhyn’s fingers were deft as they tied off her husband’s braids. “Shall you rest now?”
“I am weary.” Racharran flexed his shoulders, sighing. “I am weary to my soul. But no, not rest—there’s no time. Do the Breakers move by night …”
“The guards are set, no?” Lhyn fastened silver brooches in his hair, pinning the warrior’s braids. “Men watch, and the Stone Shapers are in place. What more can you do?”
“Be there; wait,” he answered. “Pray.”
“Wait here,” she said. “Pray here. With me.”
He smiled a slow, sad smile and took her in his arms, wondering all the while if it was for the last time. “I cannot,” he said against her cheek.
“Better the People see me; see all their akamans. We must go strutting about and pretend that all’s well. Besides, I’d be there on the cliff if they come.”
“Yes, I know.” She kissed him. “I am selfish—I’d have you to myself this night.”
He met her kiss and held her close a moment, then loosed his hold. “Have you any regrets?”
She smiled and stroked his cheek and shook her head. “None.”
“Good; nor I.” He reached for his weapons. “The Maker be with us all.”
“He is.” She rose with him, going to the lodgeflap. “Perhaps Morrhyn shall wake soon.”
Racharran nodded and tried to smile. “Perhaps.”
41 The Promise
Cloud scarred the moon’s face and curtained the stars. A wind gusted chill along the clifftop, whispering mournfully. A dog barked, was answered, and then fell silent. The night was filled with a palpable tension, as if the darkness possessed its own weight and pressed down upon the watchers.
Out on the flat beyond the hills, fires burned, myriad points of light that stretched out and back in a great mass that moved inexorably forward, toward the Meeting Ground. It was as if, Racharran thought, some vast funereal procession came to the People. He looked to the right and left, checking the warriors and the Grannach he knew were in place. It was hard to wait: the People fought on horseback, swift; not like this, nor by night. He spat, and glanced westward, to where the Maker’s Mountain stood. The peak was cloud-shrouded, only a dim bulk against the sky.
Morrhyn, wake!
He turned his face back to the plain. The lights were closer, massing until they seemed a solid line of fire, like a river of flame that ran in flood toward the pass. He checked his arrows, knowing they were sound: needing something to do. He glanced at his son. Rannach sat stroking a stone along the edges of his hatchet, his eyes fixed firm on the blade. To his other side, Colun squatted with Baran and three of the Grannach Stone Shapers. All carried battle-axes and wide knives; Colun was humming tunelessly. Spread out along the cliff’s rim were some two hundred Commacht, Perico with his Aparhaso warriors, and Kanseah with his Naiche. Across the width of the gap, invisible in the cloudy night, Yazte and his Lakanti waited with Chakthi and his Tachyn, four Stone Shapers with them. More men waited behind: reinforcements. Kahteney and Hadduth were amongst the lodges; and Morrhyn.
The fires came on: so fast. By the midpoint of the night they must surely reach the pass. Racharran felt a terrible certainty the Breakers would attack, not waiting for dawn but commencing their onslaught immediately, like the dark, shadow creatures they were. He murmured a prayer: that Morrhyn wake, and then that the People defeat these monstrous invaders. He asked the Maker’s forgiveness of his doubt, and prayed Lhyn die easily, and he with honor.
It was hard now to believe that any could survive.
He saw Rannach looking at him and smiled, wondering if the expression was truly as sour as it felt.
Rannach said, “Father, I’m sorry.”
Racharran nodded, his smile warmed by that, and clasped his son’s shoulder. “And I. But that’s in the past now, eh?”
Rannach ducked his head and touched his father’s hand. Then his face grew fierce and he indicated the waiting men, the cliff’s scarp. “We shall not die alone. They’ll not easily take the Meeting Ground.”
“No, not easily.”
“Arrhyna believes Morrhyn will wake.” Rannach’s smile was both tender and sad.
“Perhaps.” Racharran shrugged. It was momentarily harder to hope.
The lights drew closer, bobbing and dancing through the expectant night as if all the fireflies in the world had gathered, or a wall of scourging flame rushed at the People. Soon it was possible to see that each was a torch he
ld aloft by an individual rider. There were so many, Racharran thought, so very many, and all with the single, awful purpose. His mouth felt dry and he spat again; and wondered if he was afraid, or only sad that soon the People should be slaughtered, and Ket-Ta-Witko lost to them.
The wind got up and blew the cloud away to the east. The Moon of the Turning Year emerged huge and bright, a single night from its full girth. It lit the Maker’s Mountain with a silver radiance, the pinnacle blazing eerily above the lesser peaks. Stars pricked the sky; fewer, it seemed, than the approaching torches.
Colun said, “Good. We can see them clearer now.”
The great burning column slowed, bunching so that it became a single, vast mass. And still it moved forward, but now a group of riders came charging on ahead, almost to the ingress of the pass.
Men nocked arrows, and Racharran called softly, “Hold! Not yet! Wait on my word,” hoping that Yazte and Chakthi gave the same command.
The Breakers halted and he saw two dismount. Their torches burned atop long poles that they drove into the ground, one to either side of the pass like guiding beacons. Faces hid by garish helms stared at the opening, at the heights above, and then the Breakers swung back astride their weirdling mounts and with the others raced back to the main horde.
Now that the cloud was gone and the night was grown silvery, the watchers on the cliffs could see that each pole bore a crossbar, from which things were hung, swaying slowly, turning: heads.
From one pole, Juh and Hazhe gazed blindly toward the Meeting Ground; from the other, Tahdase and Isten fixed blank eyes on the pass.
Racharran heard Perico cry out softly, and when he looked in that direction, he saw Kanseah shape a sign of warding.
Then a single horn sounded and all the torches were doused.
By the moon’s light the Breakers’ bright armor glittered and shone ethereal, as if phantom rainbows spilled across the plain.
The horn sounded again and they charged.
Racharran heard Baran chuckle, and saw the Stone Shaper begin to move his hands, chanting lowly.