“Because, Lord Arvath of the Linden,” I said, turning to face him full on, “I hold your name, and whoever does not follow his name loses it. Answer me, or go nameless into the emptiness before the world was born. Where is the Eye of Night?”
“It is not here,” Arvath muttered sullenly.
“Tell me all you know of it,” I said. “All.”
“The priestess of the Bright and Hidden Goddesses passed though this path in the night, carrying a great mystery. The land bloomed and flourished as she came. That, I think, is the mystery you seek. Why would you take it from us?”
“If the land is flourishing,” said Hwyn, “why does the air smell rancid?”
The ghost had no answer. I glanced back out at the landscape and watched the burgeoning greenery creeping across the surface of the pond. Indeed, the summer sweetness of the air had turned sickly. “This cannot last,” I said. “You must know that, if you spent your life on this land. Where did Halred go with this mystery?”
“Deeper,” the ghost said. “Deeper than I may go. That is all I know. Two are approaching who may know more. Let me go now.”
I glanced at Hwyn, and she nodded. “Very well, then. Go in peace, Arvath of the Linden.”
As he vanished, I became aware of a movement in the dim tunnel beyond.
A tenor voice came from the darkness, “I heard you were a scholar, but I did not know you were a priest, Traveler.”
“Who's there?” I peered through the gloom. This was no ghost; the voice, moreover, seemed familiar.
“No true names here,” he said. “Things listen here that cannot be trusted. I am a priest of the Rising God, like yourself.” With that, Anlaf stepped out of the shadows, followed by Night.
“I'm no priest anymore,” I said.
“So you say,” said Anlaf. “But the gods seem not to be done with you. I was wrong to oppose you in the Assembly. You have the Gift of Naming.”
“And you?” I said.
I thought I saw Anlaf smile through the green gloom. “In theory I should; my teaching was passed down from a long line of disciples of St. Tarvi. But I've never put it to the test. You, on the other hand, seem quite at home with the Gift, for one who claims he's no priest.”
“I've had more than one chance to practice,” I said. “But why are you here? And what do you know of our errand?”
Night spoke then. “We know something is not right: the balance of the world—oh!” For the first time, she took in the view from the cave mouth. “Hidden Goddess! Those branches—I can see them growing, crowding each other, choking each other. It's—it's what I've been trying to say: we've gone too far; the balance is lost. And I know now my teacher was wrong.”
“Not in everything,” Hwyn said softly.
Night looked at her in wonder. “Do you defend her, even now? No need, sister. I did not mean her teachings were wrong: only this one thing, the thing she has taken from you to safeguard our land. It must not stay here.”
“Do you know where it is?” Hwyn asked.
“No,” said Night, “but I can guess. It must be in the deepest of all the Paths of Mystery, in the mountain's heart. And that is deeper than I have ever gone, for I am not yet fully initiated. But I know some of the paths, at least. When I heard that you had disappeared in the cave—that the Entrails of the Mountain had opened out of season and taken you—I feared you would be lost, swallowed up, for I knew Halred had not told you about these paths. I knew the ghosts would be stirring, so I looked for the Priest of the Rising God—”
“And met me on the way to the cave,” said Anlaf. “Girnhild had summoned me when you disappeared. Fortunately, you are not so unprepared for this place as we had feared.”
“Have you come to help us?” Hwyn said. “Will you let us take the Eye of Night away with us?”
“I insist you take it away,” he said. “The land, like a grafted tree, is struggling to refuse what has been thrust upon it. I don't understand it, but even a Tarvon's curiosity must yield to the need of all things to take their proper name, their proper nature. By its nature, this thing does not belong here. Cut away the graft and let the tree heal.”
Still choosing the side opposite Halred in every quarrel, I noted inwardly; but I kept silent, too glad of any help to quibble.
“I will lead you as near the Heart of the Mountain as I can,” Night said. “After that, we must all hope for a lucky fall. Along the way, this place will come to know you: it will tease you with things drawn from your hearts. Remember what you have come for and pass on. Now link hands, and I will look for a gateway.”
We progressed in an awkward chain away from the creeping branches, holding hands like orphanage children on an outing. After a time the acolyte said, “I feel something. This may be the way. Be ready.” We fell, then, but not with the violence I had grown to expect. We were again in a lightless corridor, the walls of smooth, uncarved stone.
“That's odd,” said Night. “This isn't the path I expected.”
“Where are we?” said Hwyn.
“I don't know,” said Night. “Should I try again?”
“You said you don't know the chamber where the Eye of Night must be hidden,” said Hwyn. “We may be on the right path. Let's see where it leads.”
We followed it to a great chamber of stone lit with a single candle on a tall stand of brass. “Who was here to leave that candle burning?” I said.
“Maybe my teacher. Maybe no one at all,” said Night. “These are dreams, you know.”
In the circle of weak light around the candle, I could see old iron-bound chests, the largest as long as my arm, rusting away with age. “What are these?” I said. “No ashes of the dead are here.”
“I don't think the Eye of Night is here,” Hwyn said, “but we may as well look.”
The first chest we opened held armaments: short swords and a small round buckler of ancient style. The hilts of the swords were richly patterned with twisting designs like the tangled path we were traveling. The blades, however, showed they were no mere ornaments: notched, scarred, stained, the swords had been used hard. The leather buckler, too, was scarred and pitted with battle, the emblem on it scarcely recognizable as a wolf's head, teeth bared.
“The weapons our forebears carried in the war with the Kettrans, before the migration,” Night said, holding a sword up before the candle flame to stare at the deadly thing. “How finely they are made! We have lost this art, here in the mountains.”
Hwyn opened the second chest and gasped. “Look: it's beautiful.” She drew out a harp graceful as a swan, balanced it against her shoulder experimentally, ran her fingers across the strings. The bright, clear sound was startlingly alive in that place of old dead things. “I guess that proves it's just a dream,” she said wistfully. “It could never be in tune if it were real. Ah, but I've always wanted one of these. I think I could teach myself, if only I had the chance. It seems so natural. What a pity to leave it mouldering in a cave!”
“Take nothing with you from these caves,” said Night, “save what you brought, and what was taken from you. Remember why you came, or you will be lost.” With a sigh, she put away the snake-patterned vambrace she had been studying.
Reluctantly, Hwyn put the harp away, and I too repressed a sigh of disappointment, for it would have been a pleasant thing to have with us on the long journey ahead.
Meanwhile, Anlaf was rummaging in the third chest. “Look at these: the books of St. Arin, lost in the days of our forefathers. So much learning!”
“My good priest,” said Night tentatively, “we cannot—”
“Of course I won't take them away—just bring one of them into the light for a moment,” he said with an avidity I recognized. “Fascinating!”
“We really must go,” Hwyn said, “and take the false graft from the tree—remember?”
When at last we left the chamber, we found that the path that had led us there had disappeared. The corridor that opened before us was different, carved with smoo
th, undulating lines.
“I don't suppose we could take the candle?” I said.
Night shook her head, so we stumbled off into the darkness again.
After a time, even in the darkness, I sensed something that made my heart lighten. The air seemed different, fresher, more right somehow than it had in hours or years. “We must be near an opening,” I said. “I can smell the fresh air.”
“It smells strange to me,” said Anlaf.
The floor had softened, giving under our feet in a way I found familiar, comforting. The clean scent of the air, moist and briny, lifted my spirits. As soon as there was light enough, I quickened my pace and moved forward, desperate to be outside. Hwyn panted to keep up.
What I saw at the cave's mouth was impossible: the long stone houses of the Folc were still there, but instead of the contained blue of the lake, the hillside path led down to the sea. White waves crashed on a jetty, spray leaping skyward as it hit the stone. Farther off, I could see a stretch of level beach strewn with fishing boats. “Ah, Hwyn, if only we had the Eye of Night already! We must find it and bring it here. It's just as the Speaking Stone foretold: a journey by sea. From here, I can take you anywhere.”
“This is a dream,” Hwyn said, but I was already on my way down to the water, ignoring the others calling behind me. I was where I belonged at last. The shoreward crash and seaward hiss of the ocean, regular as a heartbeat, filled my ears, leaving room for no other voice. The downward path seemed easier than ever before, and I was careening downhill like a kicked pebble when someone coming up the hill toward me caught my arm, stopping me short.
“I thought we'd find you here!” cried Ethwin, his genial face beaming.
Remembering myself at last, I turned to stare. Trenara stood beside him, holding onto his arm.
“Rising God protect us,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“This is your place, isn't it?” said Ethwin, unperturbed. “One of the places you've seen in your travels?”
“Not exactly any one port, but a bit of this, a bit of that,” I said, “and a bit of the land of the Folc. Do you mean this came from me?”
“It must have,” said Ethwin, leading me back up the hill. “It's never been here before. I've never even seen the sea before. What a lot of noise it makes!”
Hwyn met us on the way and fell in step beside me. “Sky-Raven's Bones! You gave me such a scare, companion. I thought we'd lost you. And you—” She paused, as if suppressing the urge to call Ethwin and Trenara by name, “My friends, you are real, aren't you?”
“They're not ghosts,” I said.
“My Lady,” Hwyn said, “I asked you to stay in the house, where it was safe.”
“I missed you,” said Trenara.
We met Anlaf and Night on the ridge by the cave mouth. “St. Arin's fingerbone!” Night swore. “Is every innocent in the valley traipsing through the Paths of Mystery today? You, Traveler,” she said to me, “you mustn't run off like that. You could be lost forever. And you,” she turned to Ethwin, “what possessed you to bring the simpleton here?”
“She insisted on going after her friends,” said Ethwin. “I came along to protect her.”
“A gallant thought,” said Night, “but think what you're doing! You could both have been lost here.”
“Lost?” said Ethwin with a look of utter bewilderment. “In the mountain? I'm no outlander. I've been up and down these paths since I was six years old. Not this seacoast, of course— Jereth must have brought it here—”
“No true names,” hissed Night. “There are ghosts!”
“Oh, you're right. I guess they wouldn't take so well to the outlanders,” said Ethwin easily. “With me, of course, it's different. Most of them are my ancestors, the lords of the Linden. They know me.”
“Are you saying,” said Anlaf, his eyes round as platters, “that you have been coming at will into this—this labyrinth of tombs and worlds, untutored and unguided, for most of your life? Chatting with ghosts, coming and going as you please, all alone?”
“Not always alone,” Ethwin said, his eyes sliding toward Trenara. “Why? Is it forbidden?”
“It's impossible!” wailed Night. “How many paths have you found?”
“I lost count years ago,” said Ethwin. “But today, this is a new one. I wonder if I'll ever be able to find it again.”
“And when you've been to one of these paths, can you usually find it again?” Anlaf said.
“Of course I can,” said Ethwin. “I only thought, since this place is Jereth's, really—”
“Eth— Cousin,” Night stammered, “do you have any idea how much time, how much study it took me to learn to do that?”
Ethwin gaped at her. “I thought everyone could do it. Don't all the couples go into the mountain on their wedding nights?”
“Into the outer tomb, yes; not into the Paths of Mystery,” said Night.
“That you could even open the Paths of Mystery in this season is a wonder,” said Anlaf. “That you could find your way about them, without teaching and without trouble, is like lightning from a clear sky. My lad, if we'd had any idea, the priestess and I would have been vying for the privilege of teaching you.”
Ethwin looked a bit queasy at that thought. “What's so hard about it? It's like stepping between rocks to cross a stream. You look for one that will bear you and shift your weight into it.”
“Rest assured,” said Night, “it's not so easy for the rest of us.”
“You've been given a great gift,” said Anlaf. “When we're safe in the daytime world, I would very much like to hear more about your travels here.”
“In the meantime,” said Hwyn, “your gift could be the saving of all of us, friend. You said you knew many of these places in the mountain, the Paths of Mystery. We think the Eye of Night may be in the deepest of all these hidden places.”
“The Heart of the Mountain,” said Night.
“Do you think you can find that place?” said Hwyn.
Ethwin considered. “There was a place I found only recently, quite by accident: a chamber with no door. I've only been there once. It seemed different from all the other chambers, somehow: almost alive. Yes, I think that may have been the place.”
“Could you find it again?” said Hwyn.
“I think so,” he said.
“Let us take your hands,” said Night, “so you won't lose us on the way.”
And so we linked hands again, all six of us, and easy as a thought, Ethwin stepped forward and pulled us after him into a chamber without a door, deep in the mountain.
Was this the Heart of the Mountain? The beating of the heart was there, a dull thrumming noise from below that I felt in the soles of my feet. Without a crack or crevice even as large as a pore, nonetheless there seemed to be a soft sighing of wind in and out of the chamber, bearing the scents of the living world: the fresh dark earth of spring, the tang of sea air, the dried herbs on Halred's wall, the coarse odors of the paddock, the telltale musk that had clung to Ethwin after he had been with Trenara in these underground pathways. Was this stone or flesh we stood on? Ethwin was right: the place was alive.
In the center of the room, a small stone table—perhaps I should say an altar—held a few objects left almost haphazardly, like the possessions of one who died suddenly, leaving the house in disarray. A small, gleaming sickle-blade lay on a corner of the table. Beside it, a rough clay cup with four handles, somewhat misshapen, stood half full of a liquid that fell in slow drops from some unseen source above us, the musical plink of the drops a treble counterpoint to the deep drumming of the heartbeat.
Beside the cup stood an odd-shaped bowl of dark wood, like a long boat tapered equally at prow and stern. A promiscuous assortment of seeds, from the tiniest grains to long green acorns, lay in the bottom of the bowl. Nested upon them were three small bones like fingerbones, an arrowhead that seemed to bleed into the bed of seeds, and the Eye of Night, which illumined the whole chamber with a sort of pale moonlig
ht.
“Gods be praised,” breathed Hwyn, “it's not a Circle of Power.”
“It's the Mysteries,” said Night, half hiding her face with one hand, palm outward—but with gaps between her fingers, as if uncertain whether to hide her eyes or stare. “How can we take back the Raven's Egg? I am uninitiated; we all are. I cannot touch the Mysteries.”
“Have no fear,” Hwyn said. “Your part is done: this task is mine.”
“But you are not—”
“Peace. I will touch nothing but the thing I came for,” Hwyn said. She stretched forth her right hand slowly, speaking in gentle tones. “I have come back for you, my child. I will care for you as I promised. Come with me.” Delicately, she picked up the white stone between her bony forefinger and thumb, disturbing no least seed in the bowl.
For a time she held it against her heart, light leaking out between her fingers, her face bright with joy, eyes closed. Then she slipped it back into the breast of her shift. “It's done.” Only then did I realize that it was not the only source of light in the room: the silver sickle, the cup, the bowl, even the seeds themselves shone from within.
“We should go,” Hwyn said to Ethwin, who stood holding Trenara's hand, light eyes shining, dreaming awake. When he did not respond, she tugged his sleeve. “Friend, we should go.”
“Ah yes,” he said, rubbing one eye like a wakened sleeper. “Link hands. I will find the path.”
This time the traveling seemed to take longer, like the slow waking of a heavy sleeper. For a long time I felt nothing but Hwyn's hand in my right one and Night's in my left. Then I felt solid rock beneath my feet and saw a glimmer of light ahead of me, the mouth of the tunnel. Trenara and Ethwin stepped out at once, and we followed eagerly, hungry for the open air.
The view that met my eyes made me jump back in alarm. There were long stone houses, sure enough, and two round priest-huts, but they were dilapidated, the lime-wash nearly gone, a crumbled chimney here, an entire wall fallen there. What was more, they were in the wrong places. Even the sun seemed in the wrong place on the horizon. No lake filled the bottom of the valley, but a stream rushed down a canyon, threading between the lower hills in the distance. There was no sign that it had rained at all.
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