by Adrian Cole
Two hours later the fleet sailed into Sundhaven harbour and it looked as though most of the village stood upon the jetty. There was cheering, but not the excitement of better days. Brannog assumed they were afraid that the catch had been a poor one again. Hengrom and others stood in the prows of their vessels and called out loudly that there were fish a-plenty. Yet even this did not seem to raise the spirits of the villagers appreciably. The shadow over them remained. It darkened Brannog's mood. Where was Gronen? He was not to be seen, yet was usually the first to catch a mooring rope, for all his years. As Brannog climbed the jetty steps, his fears were confirmed. Some tragedy had come to pass.
'Gronen is dying,’ the women told him and at once he ran to the old man's home. Gronen's family was arranged around his bed. He had no sons, but the youth, Borgir, his nephew, was there, and must have been even more quickly away from his boat than Brannog. They made way for Brannog as the old man stretched out an arm to him, anxious to speak to him. Brannog knelt beside him and took his hand. Gronen had aged noticeably since the events of the night.
'Have they told you?’ the elder wheezed.
'Only that you are ill. Is it bad?’
'I will not see the next dawn,’ said Gronen. ‘Would that I had not seen today's!’
'We have had a magnificent harvest,’ Brannog encouraged him, but he knew that the elder spoke the truth. He was close to death already.
'They came,’ coughed Gronen, ignoring the good news. ‘I did not trust them.’
'Who came?’
The elder found it hard to speak, so one of his daughters described the Deliverers to Brannog. Brannog gasped: the description fitted perfectly the figure that Sisipher had conjured from the night. He hardly heard the girl speaking about the questions the villagers had been asked.
'We were true to our word,’ said Gronen. ‘We told them nothing of the man Korbillian and his companion, but they found his broken ship. Still we said nothing, and would have cheated them of the truth.’
'And yet?’
Gronen winced as pain shot through his chest. ‘Eorna.’
'What of her?’
'She told them.’
Brannog's fingers gripped the old man hard before he saw the pain and withdrew them. ‘What did she tell them?’
'Of Korbillian, and of his journey up into the mountains. And of your daughter.’
'Why were these creatures seeking Korbillian?’
'Because of power. They search for believers in power and gods. They call them transgressors. They deliver them from the error of their beliefs, so they say!’
'Where is Eorna?’ Brannog snarled at the family, but no one would answer. The eyes of the women were cast down, yet they knew.
'They repaid her for giving them the truth,’ murmured Gronen. ‘Their leader, Wargallow, spoke to us as if we were children. “You have done wrong in hiding the truth from me,” he told us. “Yet it was fear of this evil man Korbillian that moved you, so I am merciful. Know this: he is already dead and given back to the earth. And all who travel with him.” He said that, Brannog, “And all who travel with him."’
'When did they leave?’
'Some hours gone. After they had dealt with Eorna.’
Brannog's face clouded. Why had she betrayed them? Surely—not because he had spurned her? For that she had broken the vow of the village, compromised so many lives? ‘What did they do to her?’
'Do not trouble yourself, father,’ insisted the oldest of Gronen's daughters, Ursa. She drew Brannog away and to the door. ‘It was horrible. Wargallow told us that blood is the earth's. He spoke of Omara as if she were a person, a mother who had given birth to all life. Eorna, he said, was tainted. We all were, because we had not set upon and killed Korbillian for his wickedness. Therefore we must be cleansed. They took Eorna to a place away from the village. We did not see. Afterwards, each of the Deliverers came back. They—” Ursa faltered, her hand going to her mouth.
Brannog hugged her gently, as her father would have. ‘In your own time. But I must know. The men must be told.’
Ursa nodded. ‘They came back. Brannog—they do not have hands.’
He closed his eyes. ‘I understand. It was the steel?’
She looked only momentarily surprised. Tears welled in her eyes as though she still could not believe the things that had happened. ‘Steel, yes. Like claws. Each one returned, his claw slick with blood, and they wiped them clean before us.’
'So they killed her.’
'They said they had given her to the earth, to atone for our sins. After they had gone, we found the burial place. Gronen ordered no one to touch it. Eorna was not to be taken to the sea. She had betrayed us. Oh, Brannog, what must we do?’
'Eorna is not to be moved. Her grave will be a reminder to Sundhaven that there are enemies abroad. Is the place marked?’
'No, but it can be found.’
'We will erect a cairn.’
Gronen died within the hour, and no one pretended that it was his age that had killed him. He was taken to sea as the Sundhaven dead traditionally were. Afterwards Brannog supervised the building of the promised cairn. He stood to one side when it was done, shaken by differing emotions. Sisipher would be in real danger now. Eorna was dead. He had never loved her, but she should not be dead.
'Who speaks for Eorna?’ came a voice. Brannog jerked up to see a plump woman standing beside the grave. It was Eorna's only relative, her slovenly sister, Anar. ‘Well?’ Behind her stood her husband, a weak and cowardly man, for whom the village had little respect.
'You must speak for her now,’ said Brannog.
'Oh? Must I? Was I her keeper? Did my husband feed her and provide her with work in return for a roof? Did he warm her bed?’
Brannog flinched, but other villagers murmured their disapproval. Anar was out of order. Overwrought, perhaps, for though she had never been close to Eorna, the death had shaken her.
'Were you not her man?’ Anar challenged. ‘Will you let her lie there without seeking out her killers?’
In Sundhaven, such a responsibility rested upon the shoulders of the next of kin, or in the case of lovers, on the one left. Brannog was faced with a choice. He could, truthfully, deny Anar's charge. If he did so, no one would doubt him and no one would require of him a reckoning of the Deliverers. There would be no one to raise a party to pursue them. If Brannog decided to pursue them in order to prevent them from harming Sisipher, none of the villagers would be duty-bound to go with him. None of them had sought to go with Korbillian. Sisipher had chosen to. Brannog considered his second choice. He could accept that he was Eorna's ‘man'. As her keeper he was not obliged to avenge her, but as her lover, he could demand support for a reckoning. Good men would follow him into the mountains without question.
He knew already that he would follow. Sisipher was in obvious danger. Since these Deliverers were sworn to root out power and destroy its sources, it followed that they would seek her death. Whatever Korbillian's strength, it may not prevail. And Sisipher had foreseen the coming of the Deliverers. Brannog was certain that she would meet them. He must be there. And Eorna? Should he let her lie unavenged? Perhaps if he had encouraged her, taken her to his bed, she would have said nothing to this Wargallow, and would be alive. He had never loved her. She had been nothing to him; he could not force himself to make her otherwise. Perhaps her betrayal of the village did merit a bed of earth. But the idea filled him with revulsion.
'Yes, I was her man,’ he heard himself say, and there was no one present who saw shame in it.
'You were silent about it,’ said Anar coldly.
'I had no reason to speak of Eorna to you.’ Brannog returned with equal coldness. ‘Since you absolved yourself of any real kinship to her years ago, what did it matter to you, Anar? How long will you mourn your neglected sister?’
'If the dead could hear,’ said one of the elders, ‘Eorna would be weeping.’
Brannog straightened. ‘You are right. It is a disgrace
to argue before her grave. I must collect what I need. Where is Hengrom?’
'Here.’ Hengrom came forward, and in a moment walked with his friend back to his home.
'You wish me to go with you?’ he said. ‘I doubt if any of the men will refuse.’ No one would wish to leave Sundhaven, but this was an affair of honour.
Brannog shook his head, knowing already that Hengrom had no desire to leave his family. ‘I must go alone.’
Hengrom protested, but Brannog would have none of it. ‘I will not drag good men into this, Hengrom. Sundhaven must not suffer. And besides, I have reached a decision. I think I must have made it long ago, but have never had the courage to act upon it.’
'I don't understand.’
'I will leave Sundhaven, and I will not return. My home, my stores, my ship, I give to the village.’
'You are mad! What sort of talk is this from a man so loved and respected? You cannot be thinking of death—”
Brannog snorted. ‘We have lived with it at our shoulder throughout this winter. But no. I have no intention of dying.’
'Has the death of Eorna pained you so much?’
'No. I was never her man, but the village must not know that. You will say nothing.’
'Very well, but—”
'I am sure this man Wargallow will be dangerous, but alone, with surprise as my agent, I will deny him his goals.’
'Then why do you talk of not returning?’
'It is something I feel. I have no plans other than to avenge Eorna and stand by my daughter.’
'Her path lies with Korbillian, to pursue his strange destiny. You will go with them?’
'No, I will not tread another man's path. I must find my own.’
'This is wild talk, Brannog.’
'I left Sundhaven before, my friend. In Frostwalk I found love and a mystery. Korbillian has reopened the old wounds. My own daughter has filled me with premonition.’
'This is no more than your fear for her, surely.’
Brannog shook his head. ‘In Sundhaven I would be old within a year. There are no ghosts, Hengrom, yet the dead are not still, are they? They are here.’ He touched his head.
'You have not seen your future?’
'In a way. To remain in Sundhaven would make that clear. Each day would be mapped out. But beyond the snow, I see nothing.’
'Hah! There may be nothing for you. A grave of earth, like Eorna. Up there, you will not even hear the sea. At least she has that.’
Brannog looked out at the harbour. ‘There are things that one always hears.’ He was silent for a few distant moments. ‘Now, I will prepare. I leave at once.’
PART TWO
CROSSINGS
* * *
6
RATILLIC
The early morning was crisp but without wind or piled cloud, promising a day that would be like an oasis in a desert of tempests this winter. As Korbillian, Guile, Sisipher and the youth, Wolgren left Sundhaven, a few villagers watched secretly. Sisipher felt a stab of regret as she waved to her father, but soon the snow-hung mountains rose before her, not daunting, but somehow enticing her. Wolgren picked his way like a goat along sloping tracks up into the scree and snow-drifts, watching for boulders and outcrops that he read as clearly as signposts along the way. Guile whistled cheerfully to himself, but Korbillian was silent. The terrain did not trouble him, but his thoughts did.
Sisipher found herself wishing that the gift she possessed would allow her to read minds, to understand the truth of Korbillian's quest. She knew that there was a great fear in him, a dread that this path he had chosen would lead to ruin. Even so, she had been unable to refuse to go. As the wind came back gently from above, reminding her of the bleakness of the task, she clung to her intuitive faith in her own course. Something, she knew, waited beyond the mountains for her. Her only regret was her father's sorrow: her going must have seemed like a betrayal to him, yet he understood, or seemed to. Now I have cast my lot with a stranger, a man from a place of which I have never heard. I trust his power, yet why should I? She looked ahead at Wolgren. He, too, had thrown in with the stranger without a second thought. With a smile to herself, Sisipher recalled that the boy had done this before he had known that she would be going. She knew that she could rely on his help during a crisis, although he was so young!
Little was said on the ascent, as every effort was needed for the arduous climb. However, by mid morning Wolgren had successfully guided them high up the mountain, following paths they would not have seen or expected to find here. When the party elected to pause briefly, they looked back to see low cloud veiling most of the coastline and sea. Sundhaven was hidden by a shoulder of rock. Wolgren found a cluster of boulders that he considered safe and he motioned them to sit, evidently enjoying his position as guide.
'If a storm comes upon us,’ he told Korbillian seriously, ‘or if there is a heavy snowfall, I fear we will not reach the pass of the Mountain Owls.’
Surprisingly Korbillian did not seem at all perturbed by the boy's anxiety. ‘We need not fear the weather,’ he said as he sat. He did not amplify his odd remark, gazing instead out into the cloud.
Sisipher, who sat beside Guile, was not so sure. ‘Can he predict the storms, or is he able to control them?’
Guile grinned. ‘Can you not see ahead for us?’
He was teasing her, and she turned away, not sure yet if she liked or disliked him. She ought to be fair, she thought. ‘I can't see everything. Just fragments, and not always when I choose.’
Guile saw that he had offended her and sought to make amends. ‘Korbillian is no sorcerer. Such gifts as he has he controls adeptly, it is true. Though I am determined to help him and take up his cause, I know very little about him. I joined him by instinct, just as you have. But I trust him.’
Sisipher softened a little and turned back to him. ‘We must all be a little mad to follow him.’
Guile chuckled. ‘Yes. Best not to brood on the darker side of our quest. The eventual goal is so remote that I won't allow it to worry me yet. Besides, we must find allies! Perhaps when we at last reach this place of evil, we will have enough support to make a formidable force of ourselves.’
'I think we will grow, yes,’ she nodded, as though trying to reach far ahead with her mind.
'I'm sure we will not find the elements against us. If they come, as they did at sea, they will hit a wall, for Korbillian seems immune. He and I should be drowned, or frozen. Even here, though, I do not feel the cold as I ought. And you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Not cold.’
'Korbillian has told me a little about power as he knows it. He says that Ternannoc and Omara, and the other worlds are all alive, like single organisms. All life on each world is no more than a part of that world, the common bond being power, the life force. Korbillian had power on Ternannoc, for its people had attuned themselves very closely to their world and were able to draw on its life force at will. Here he has found it harder, for he is not of Omara, but he has learnt to attune himself to it.’
'And I?’ she said softly. ‘What am I?’ She was almost too frightened to ask.
'From the words spoken last night, it seems you have your mother's gift. You are from another village.’
'I've never seen it since we left it. I was three. I hardly remember my mother.’
'If I make a guess about her, will you not consider me rude?’ For once his face was serious. She shook her head. ‘Many people came here from Ternannoc as refugees. Your mother was probably—almost certainly—descended from them. Thus you would have the life force of Ternannoc in you, as well as that of Omara, through your father. You are, in some ways, stronger than Korbillian, and far stronger than I am.’
She looked away, not angry but afraid. Had her father known this? Why had he not told her? But he would have feared for her and could never have foreseen what her future held for her.
A cry from Wolgren alerted her. Guile drew his sword awkwardly as he jumped up. Wolgren was poi
nting at the sky, visible through a gap in the clouds. They could see what appeared at first to be a dark cloud, passing quickly, but parts of it swirled and detached from it so that they realised in a moment that these were birds, countless thousands of them.
'Is it not early for migrations?’ said Korbillian to the youth. Both were amazed by the sheer numbers, as the cloud streamed endlessly by.
Wolgren was scowling. ‘I've seen many flocks this winter, but this is the largest. Some of the birds are unlike any I've seen before.’
'Where do they go?’
'Out to sea. After that, who can say? This is the first winter they have come.’
'From the east?’ said Korbillian, but it was not really a question. Wolgren nodded and the party moved on. It was a long time before the cloud of birds had gone.
High up in the mountains, the visibility restricted, they wound between jagged peaks, Wolgren still sure of the way. The winter night fell upon them quickly and they selected an overhang and made themselves as comfortable as they could. They ate sparingly and said little. Sisipher wondered about the youth. He seemed very sure of himself and his knowledge of the terrain was surprising. To her each mountain looked alike, each valley a replica of the next. By the time she fell asleep, Guile was snoring and Wolgren's head had dropped onto his chest.
It seemed no more than a moment before she woke again, and yet it was daylight. The weather had still not broken. Wolgren was beyond the overhang, gently exercising and studying the white landscape. It was not easy to see far ahead as cloud covered nearly everything. Sisipher was struck by the absolute silence, conscious of the lack of whispering sea. The party seemed very closed in.