"Blest be the fire!" called the officer in a voice that carried across the square.
"Blest be Lord Shardik!" replied the old man quaveringly, and as he spoke lit his torch from the other's.
Now a handsome middle-aged woman stepped forward, carrying in one hand her torch and in the other a yellow-painted wand, in token that she was deputizing for a husband absent at the war. There were many such in the crowd.
"Blest be the fire!" cried the young officer again, and "Blest be Lord Shardik!" she answered, looking him in the eye with a smile that said, "And blest be you too, my fine fellow." Holding her lit torch aloft, she turned and set out for home, while a rough, heavily built man dressed like a drover took her place before the plinth.
There was no jostling or haste but a measured and joyous solemnity as torch after torch was lit. None might speak until the gift of fire had been bestowed upon him. Not all waited to receive fire from the actual torch carried from the Palace. Many, eager, took it as it was offered by those who were moving away across the square, until on all sides resounded the happy shouts of "Blest be the fire!" and "Blest be Lord Shardik!" Gradually the square became full of more and more points of light, like sparks spreading across the back of a hearth or the surface of a smoldering log. Soon the tossing, dancing flames were flowing out in every direction along the streets, while loosened tongues chattered like birds at first light and the rekindled lamps began to shine in one window after another. Then, on the roofs of the houses up and down the city, smaller fires began to burn. Some were poles, in imitation of those already lit on the gates and towers, others braziers full of wood or clearer fires of scented gums and incense-sprinkled charcoal. Feasting began and music, drinking in the taverns, dancing in the squares. Everywhere, the gift of light and warmth by night manifested the power over cold and darkness bestowed by God on man and man alone.
Beside the Barb, in the upper city above the Peacock Gate, another, graver messenger had arrived with his torch--none other than General Zelda, his full armor dully reflecting the smoky light as he strode toward the ripples lapping on the shore. Here, too, suppliants were waiting, but fewer and less fervent, their emotions modified by that detachment and self-conscious restraint which characterizes the aristocratic, wealthy or powerful participating in popular customs. Zelda's invocatory "Blest be the fire" was spoken indeed with raised voice but in a formal, level tone, while the responding, "Blest be Lord Shardik," though uttered sincerely, lacked the hearty ring of flower girls or market porters in the lower city, breaking two hours' darkness and silence with the words appointed to commence one of the great frolics of the year.
Kelderek, robed in saffron and scarlet and attended by the priestesses of Shardik, stood waiting on the highest terrace of the Leopard Hill, surveying the city below: the torches spreading through the streets like water flowing from a sluice along dry irrigation channels; the multitudinous shapes of doors and windows emerging in light out of the darkness, as though called into existence by the new fires kindled within them; and nearer, the lines of flames lengthening, extending farther along the shore of the Barb. So sometimes may news actually be seen to spread through a crowd, wind across a dusty plain, or sunrise down the western slope of a valley. About him burned the salts and gums and oils prepared for the fire festival, mysterious and splendid in combustion--kingfisher blue, cinnabar, violet, lemon and frost-green beryl--each transparent, gauzy fire, in its bronze bowl, carried upon rods between the shoulders of two women. The gonglike bells of the Palace towers were ringing, their shuddering harmonies vibrating over the city, fading and returning like waves upon a shore. As he watched, the slip of the new moon sank at last below the western horizon and upon the lake appeared the gliding shape of a great dragon, a grinning monster all of fire, green-eyed and clawed, its jaws spouting a plume of white smoke that trailed behind it as it gathered way. Shouts of admiration and excitement broke out, young men's battle cries and the stylized calls of the chase. Then, as the dragon reached the center of the Barb, there sprang into being upon the farther shore another fiery shape, erect upon its hind legs, thirty feet tall, round-eared, long-muzzled, snarling, one clawed forepaw raised aloft. As the cries of "Shardik! Lord Shardik's fire!" rose higher and echoed from the walls about the garden, the figure of a naked man, bearing a torch in each hand, appeared in the bear's jaws. One moment he paused on that high, bright platform, then he leapt out above the water. Secured to his shoulders and unrolling behind him was a long strip of tarred canvas which, burning, made it appear as though the bear were salivating fire. The leaper, plunging into the water below, slipped out of his harness and swam to the shore. Another followed, and now it was the shape of a fiery arrow which fell from the bear's mouth to the water. Quicker and quicker came the leapers, so that the flaming shapes of swords, spears and axes poured from between the bear's teeth to hurtle down over the lake. At length, as the dragon, belching smoke, glided beneath the towering effigy of Shardik, a burning noose dropped to encircle the prow forming its throat. The lights of its hot eyes went out and amid shouts of triumph its smoky breath died away as it floated captive at the glowing, ember-shaggy feet.
Meanwhile, Kelderek and his train had already begun to descend the terraces in slow procession. The chanting of the priestesses rose about him with a sound that wrung his heart, for it was that same antiphony that he had first heard in the forests of western Ortelga. Then, the voices of Rantzay and the Tuginda had formed part of a wall of sound encircling a summit of the spirit, sublime above the mortal world of fear and ignorance. Yet of this memory his grave, lean face showed no outward sign. His clasped hands were untrembling and his body, beneath the heavy robes, moved firmly on toward the appointed destination. The plant-scents of the night, thin and evanescent in the early spring air, mingled with the resinous odors of the colored fires and the drift of torch smoke on the breeze; and bemused, perhaps, by these and by his fast since sunrise, by his memories and the sound of the Singing, he imagined first one and then another companion to be walking beside him toward the torch-lit garden and the dragon-reflecting lake: a dark girl wearing a broad golden collar, who laughed and plunged the point of an arrow into her white arm before turning to him a face wan with fear; a tall, gaunt woman, limping exhausted on a staff, her sweating hands clutching a box where bladders lay packed in moss; and an old, red-eyed hag, who tottered at his elbow in filthy rags, bearing in her arms a dead child and imploring his help in mumbled words beyond his understanding. So real did they seem that dread and foreboding came upon him, pacing on. "Shardik," he prayed, "Senandril, Lord Shardik. Accept my life. Redeem the world, and begin with me."
And now he is come to the garden, where the lords and ladies fall back before him and the barons raise their swords in salutation of the power entrusted by God to the priest-king. The priestesses' singing dies away, the copper bells are silent, the fiery bear and the dragon have done their strife and burn low with none to regard. The people about the shore cease their shouts and cheering, so that the distant sound of the lower city's riot rises up from below the walls. The priest-king walks forward alone, before the eyes of armed barons and of the envoys of his vassal provinces, toward the brink of a deep inshore pool--the Pool of Light. Here, unhelped by man or woman, he must divest himself of his heavy robes and crown and stand naked, in the sharp night air, to thrust his feet into sandals of lead placed ready for him on the verge. Below him, deep in the pool, there burns amidst the darkness and water a single light--a light enclosed in a hollow crystal sphere secured to a rock, fanned with air and emitting its heat and smoke through hidden vents. This is the fire of Fleitil, devised long ago for the worship of Cran, but now made a part of the fire festival of Shardik. Down the flight of underwater steps the king will go, his feet weighted to carry him to the floor of the pool, and thence release himself and rise through the water, bearing that miraculous globe of light. Already he has moved forward, feeling for each stone step wtih ponderous feet and slowly descending in a silence brok
en only by the water lapping about his knees, his loins, his neck.
But hark! What dreadful sound is that, breaking the reverent hush of Ortelgan warriors and Beklan lords, slicing like a sword across the crowded garden and the empty lake? Heads turn, voices break out. A moment's silence and it is repeated--the roar of a great animal in rage, in fear and pain, so loud, so fierce and savage that women clutch the arms of their men, as at the sound of thunder or of fighting, and young boys feign unconcern, ill-concealing their involuntary fear. The lady Sheldra, waiting close to the king at the water-steps, turns about and stands tense, raising one hand to shield her eyes from the torchlight as she tries to see across the garden to the dark outline of the King's House beyond. The roaring ceases and is followed by heavy, vibrating thuds, as though some soft but massive object were striking against the wall of that cavernous, echoing place.
Kelderek, who had already drawn breath to submerge and drop from the lowest step to the bed of the pool, gave an inarticulate cry and struggled to release himself from the weighted sandals. A moment more and he drew the pins, pulled himself out of the water and stood dripping on the paved verge. The murmurs about him grew louder, unfriendly and fearful. "What has happened?" "What is he about?" "To break off--unlucky!" "An unlucky act--no good will come of it!" "Sacrilege!" In the crowd nearby, a woman began to weep with quick, nervous whimperings of fear.
Kelderek, paying them no heed, bent down, as though to dress himself again in the stiff, heavy vestments lying at his feet. In his haste his hands fumbled with the fastenings, the robe fell sideways and, flinging it down, he began to push his way, naked as he was, through the group of priestesses about him. Sheldra put her hand on his arm.
"My lord--"
"Get out of the way!" answered Kelderek, roughly flinging her off.
"What's the matter, Kelderek?" said Zelda, coming forward and speaking low and quickly at his shoulder. "Don't be foolish, man! What are you about?"
"Shardik! Shardik!" shouted Kelderek. "Follow me, for God's sake!"
He ran, twigs and stones piercing his bare feet. Bleeding, his naked body shoved and forced its way between men in armor and shrieking, scandalized women, whose brooches and belt buckles scratched his flesh. A man tried to bar his path and he felled him with a blow of his fist, yelling again, "Shardik! Get out of the way!"
"Stop! Come back!" called Zelda, pursuing and trying to clutch him. "The bear's only frightened of the fire, Kelderek! It's the noise and smell of the smoke's upset it! Stop this blasphemy! Stop him!" he shouted to a group of officers a little way ahead.
They stared irresolutely and Kelderek broke through them, tripped and fell, got up and again dashed forward, his wet body smeared from head to foot with dirt, blood and the leafy fragments of the garden. Grotesque in appearance, as dirty and lost to dignity as some wretched butt of the barrack room, stripped, pelted and chased by his loutish comrades for their mean sport, he ran on, heedless of everything but the noise from the hall now close in front of him. As he reached that same terrace on which he had joined Zelda the day before, he stopped and turned to those following him.
"The roof! The roof's on fire! Get up there and put it out!"
"He's out of his mind!" cried Zelda. "Kelderek, you fool, don't you realize there's a fire burning on every roof in Bekla tonight? For God's sake--"
"Not up there! Do you think I don't know? Where are the sentries? Get them up there--send men to search around the far side!"
Alone, he rushed through the south door, along the ambulatory and into the hall. The place was dim, lit by no more than five or six torches fixed along the smoke-streaked walls. By the cage bars in the center of the hall Zilthe was sprawled face down, her head lying in a puddle of blood that oozed over the stones. From the roof above came sounds of crackling and burning, and something heavy shifted and slipped with a rending noise. A sudden spurt of flame came and went and sparks floated down, dying as they fell.
Shardik, swaying from side to side like a fir tree when woodmen rock it at the base to loosen the roots, was standing erect at the farther end of the hall, beating with his huge paws on the closed gate and roaring with rage and fear as the fire burned more strongly above him. In his back was a jagged gash as long as a man's forearm and near him lay a bloody spear which, evidently torn from one of the panoplies on the wall, must have fallen out of the wound as he rose on his hind legs.
Before the bars, with his back to Kelderek, stood a man armed with a bow. This also he must have snatched from the wall, for from either end still dangled the broken leather thongs by which it had been fastened. A heavy-headed arrow lay on the string and the man, no doubt unaccustomed to the weapon, was fumbling as he drew it. Kelderek, naked and unarmed as he was, rushed forward. The man, turning, dodged quickly, drew his dagger and stabbed him in the left shoulder. The next moment Kelderek had flung himself upon him, biting, kicking and clawing, and borne him to the ground. He did not feel whatever wounds he received, nor the pain in his thumbs as he pressed them, almost to breaking, into the man's throat and beat the back of his head against the floor. He sank his teeth in him like a beast, released his hold an instant to batter him, then clutched him once more and tore him, as a savage guard-hound tears a robber whom he has caught in his master's house.
When Zelda and those with him entered the hall, bearing the dead body of a sentry and holding under guard Elleroth, Ban of Sarkid and envoy of Lapan, whom they had overpowered in the act of climbing down from the roof, they found the king, covered from head to foot in blood and dirt, bleeding from five or six stab wounds and weeping as he bent over the young priestess on the floor. The lacerated body beside him was that of Mollo, envoy of Kabin, who had been actually torn and battered to death at the king's bare hands.
30 Elleroth Condemned
WITH A FLOW OF RELIEF like that felt by a child when light is brought into the dark room where he is lying afraid, Kelderek realized that he had been dreaming. The child desists from frightening himself with the fancy that the oak chest might be a crouching animal, and accepts that the grotesque face peering down upon him is nothing but a pattern of lines in the rafters; and at once other, true proportions, not actually revealed by, but nevertheless consequent upon, the bringing of the light are plain. The distant sound outside the window, though unaltered from a few moments before, is now, clearly, not faint, evil laughter but the croaking of frogs, while by a subtle shift of emphasis, the smell of new-sawn wood, of penned cattle or of drying skins, which just now seemed so menacing, the very smell of fear, alters in its effect as it becomes linked with familiar people and bright, diurnal things. But with those things return almost at once the shadows which they cast. Will he be scolded because he cried out in his fear? Or has someone perhaps discovered that yesterday he did what he should not? He has only exchanged one kind of anxiety for another.
In Kelderek's wakening mind, the misty topography of thought seemed to turn as though upon a pivot; dream and reality took up their proper places and he recognized the true aspect and features of his situation. He had not, he realized, been summoned to the presence of Bel-ka-Trazet--that was a dream--and therefore, thank God, he need no longer try to devise how best to defend himself. The aching pain in his body was certainly real, but was due not to blows received from the High Baron's men, but to his fight with the intruder in the hall. He was not, after all, in danger of death, yet instead there now returned to him the recollection of all that he had forgotten in sleep--the wounding of Shardik, the burning hall, Zilthe lying on the stones and his own injuries. How long had he been asleep? Suddenly, as a wall crumbles at the point where it is most vulnerable, the drowsy, undiscriminating progress of his awakening was broken by the realization that he did not know what had become of Shardik. At once he cried "Shardik!," opened his eyes and tried to start up.
It was daylight and he was lying on his own bed. Through the southern window, with its view over the Barb, a pale sun was shining. It seemed an hour or two after dawn. His left h
and was bound up--his shoulder too, he could feel, and the opposite thigh. Biting his lip with pain, he sat up and put his feet to the floor. As he did so, Sheldra came into the room.
"My lord--"
"Shardik! What has become of Lord Shardik?"
"My lord, General Zelda has come to speak with you. He is in haste. He says it is important."
She hurried out, while he shouted feebly after her, "Shardik! Shardik!" She returned with Zelda, who was cloaked and booted as though for a journey.
"Shardik!" he cried, and tried to stand, but stumbled back on the bed. "Is he alive? Will he live?"
"Like master, like man," replied Zelda with a smile. "Shardik is alive, but it's a deep wound and he needs rest and care."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"This is the second day since you were hurt."
"We gave you a drug, my lord," said Sheldra. "The knife blade broke off short in your thigh, but that we were able to take out."
"Zilthe? What of Zilthe?"
"She is alive, but her brain is damaged. She tries to speak, but can find no words. It will be long, or never, before she can serve Lord Shardik again."
Kelderek put his head in his hands, thinking with anguish of the quicksilver lass who had once mistaken him for the quarry and shot an arrow between his arm and body; she who, standing alone in the waning moonlight, had seen Lord Shardik strike down the treacherous messenger on the road to Gelt.
"Kelderek," said Zelda, interrupting his thoughts, "no doubt you need to rest; but nevertheless you must listen to me, for time is very short and I have to be gone. There are things to be done, but the ordering of them I must leave in your care. That should do well enough, for the whole city desires only to serve and obey you. They know that it was you alone who saved Lord Shardik's life from those villains."
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