“And I was a brat, with no interest in the world beyond myself. But even I could sense that what you spoke of was of the gravest importance. Of course it was the rise of the Raven Society, and the danger it posed to all the South. If only we had heeded that warning!”
“Your father understood me,” said Ramachni, “but I think the shock of what I told him—the deep decay in Bali Adro Empire, the lateness of the hour—was more than he could face. A pity: the world might indeed be a very different place today.”
“But how did you find us, Sire?”
“My only accomplishment has been to stay alive, and for that I am indebted to Nyrex here—” He scratched the gray dog’s chin. “—and to the selk who found us, lost in the forests of the lower Sarimayat.”
“Your Highness!” blurted Big Skip. “You helped us plan this expedition! How could you stay so blary quiet about wonderful Uláramyth?”
“You great buffoon, Skip,” said Bolutu, laughing. “It’s the rule of the house; you know that.”
“Hmmph!” said Skip. “Yes, I know. But one little whisper, in private like? It would have made things so much simpler.”
“It would have made Uláramyth a wasteland, centuries ago, if that rule had been less than absolute,” said the prince. “Yes, silence is the rule of the house, and the selk have many ways of enforcing it. I should like to think that honor sealed my lips, but there are other seals in place as well.”
He swept his gaze over them again. “So many fallen! Seven dlömic warriors, two of your Turach marines. And where is my faithful Ibjen?”
When they told him that the dlömic boy had vanished into the River of Shadows, Olik’s pain was clear to all. “He was a brave lad, with a clear-thinking mind; there are not many like him. In another time I would have sent him to university, or to Castle Buriav to become a Defender of the Realm. But I have broken up your meeting. Forgive this weary castaway, Lord Arim.”
“It is for you to pardon us, for bringing you to a war-council within an hour of your arrival,” said the old selk.
“Even more to be regretted, Sire,” said Hercól, “is that we must part with you on the morrow, for we dare not delay.”
Prince Olik sighed. “I do not doubt you, though it wounds my heart.”
“We’ll be stronger just for having seen you, Prince,” said Thasha. “If you can escape Macadra all alone, surely we can do it with Thaulinin’s help.”
“You misunderstand me, Lady,” said Olik. “I will be going with you, and will share whatever fate is yours.”
Now there were more cries of joy and amazement. “Olik Ipandracon!” said Thaulinin. “We could hope for no better addition to our party than yourself.”
“But are you rested?” asked Hercól with concern, “Are you ready for the trial of the mountains?”
“I can fight, and I can march,” said Olik, “but I must beg you to endure my melancholy. Twenty years have I dreamed of stepping once more within these mountain walls, and now I am fleeing them at once. Ah well! I must hope to return before another twenty pass, and I become too old and stiff to make the journey. But as for rest, that I do not want for.”
“The selk kept His Highness in a safe house, a place like Sirafstöran Tor,” said Lunja. “He was there for a week, until they found a way to come here unobserved.”
“And then, of course, I was carried,” said the prince.
“There are no safe houses on the Nine Peaks Road,” said Thaulinin. “Rested or not, you must all— But what is this?”
He was gazing at the staircase once more. There, abashed and until this moment unnoticed, stood Myett. Ensyl ran toward her, then stopped. The two women exchanged words that Thasha could not hear; then Ensyl leaped up the stairs and embraced her kinswoman.
“The lady has changed her mind,” said Prince Olik. “Indeed the words I brought her from Lord Taliktrum would change the mind of anyone whose heart still loved.”
“But where is Taliktrum, Sire?” asked Thasha.
Olik inclined his head. “Somewhere beyond our help,” he said. “We parted on the banks of the Sarimayat, not two days out of Masalym. He told me he had a plan for survival should I be forced to flee downstream, but I never learned what it was.”
With his last remark the prince cast a pensive gaze over the assembly. Thasha looked at him, imagining his calculations, his doubts. A plan for survival, she thought. We left Masalym with one of those. And no one was hunting us then.
The council adjourned, and for the first time since their arrival the entire party returned as a group to the house in Thehel Urred. Thasha realized that she had begun to love it, in the same way that she had come to love the stateroom on the Great Ship: for an exile nothing is more seductive than the idea of home. “All these books,” said Pazel, gazing at the glass cases with longing, “I barely touched them.”
“We barely touched Uláramyth,” said Hercól. “I could read this country for a lifetime and never tire. But that is not our fate.”
Then he bent low beside Myett, and offered his hand like a platform. When she stood upon it he raised her to the level of his eyes.
“Never hide your darkness from us, sister,” he said. “We will meet it with whatever light we can. There is no shame in sadness. But also, there is no sadness that may claim us as its rightful prey. This lesson I myself struggle to remember. We dwell in pain, and journey from loss to loss, but there is also love and wonder about us, and bright sunlight on the peaks. For today I am merely glad that you choose to carry on at our side.”
Thasha saw that Neda was watching Hercól and Myett with a curious intensity. How much of what Hercól was saying could she understand?
“My choice scares me,” said Myett, “but not because of the dangers ahead. No, I fear that I shall seek what I cannot find. Or perhaps the opposite: that I shall find something I do not seek at all. But none of that matters now. It is the heart that chooses for us—”
“—and who may ask it to explain?” said Hercól with a smile. “Diadrelu taught me that.”
“In the world’s last hour, the Unseen shall demand explanations from us all,” said Cayer Vispek sternly. Neda, as if startled from a dream, turned and rushed from the chamber.
“Could be,” said Mandric, “but meanwhile, have a look at what the selk have brought us.”
Ranged neatly along the back wall of the chamber was a large assortment of knives, bows, baldrics, leather jerkins, warm furs, gauntlets, arm-guards, throat mail of fine steel chain. There were snow-picks and grapples and other climbing implements, a tent, a light telescope—and a fine selk sword for each. Cayer Vispek lifted one of the sheer blades, twirled it, tossed it from hand to hand.
“Exquisite,” he said, “and very old, though the edge on them is new, and lethal. I wonder how long these blades have slumbered here.”
“Find the sword that fits you,” said Ramachni. “Then try on your snow garb, ready your belongings, fill your packs. We must all try to slumber a little before our midnight climb.”
The preparations took longer than Thasha had expected. When they were done at last, many of the travelers did try to sleep. Thasha tried as well, and failed: she had never been able to sleep when the sun was high. She wanted to take Pazel back to their green field one last time, but he was deeply asleep; she did not have the heart to wake him. She took a swim with Bolutu instead, and he showed her river eels that flashed golden in the sunlight, and clouds of freshwater squid no larger than coins. Across the river she saw Lunja and Neeps walking close together among the trees. They were talking quickly, gesturing, and for the first time Thasha heard the soldier laugh.
At sundown they ate a light meal and returned to their beds. This time Thasha dropped into sleep as though falling into a well. She dreamed of stone breaking, a crack that spread like ivy on a granite wall. She pressed her fingers to the crack and sensed a hand on the far side doing the same, heard a woman’s voice berating her, Let me out, selfish girl, you claim to love them, when will
you prove it, who will save them if not me? and then a ghost passed through the fissure and her hand caught fire. She examined it: that blazing hand, that power. The flames were bright and sulphuric and she could not feel a thing. She was invulnerable; she had ceased to be herself.
18
Blood Upon the Snow
At midnight the party filed out of the snug little house, packs on shoulders and the dog Shilu at their heels. Pazel had expected a lonely walk through a sleeping Uláramyth, but what he found was quite different. Some two dozen selk had gathered outside. Each one carried a staff that curved at one end like a shepherd’s stick, and at the end of each hook dangled a pale blue lamp. The light danced in the sharper blue of the selk’s eyes. There was no other light from any quarter, save the heavy brilliance of the stars. But Pazel could see a line of the blue lamps, marking the path through the village and beyond.
As the travelers emerged the selk began to sing, their voices so soft that they merged with the night wind. As before the words defied Pazel’s understanding, but it did not matter; the feeling in them was clear. A nomadic people had come to witness another departure, another leave-taking, the very stuff of their lives.
When they started walking the crowd of selk went with them. They passed the workshop where Skip had become so enthralled with selk craftsmanship, the tree where the tortoise slumbered in his burrow, the little volcanic hill. Each selk they came upon fell in with the rest, taking up the melancholy song. But when they reached the great hall the singing ceased. Lord Arim stood among the pillars with his hand on Valgrif’s shoulder. Thaulinin too stepped from the shadows, and the three figures approached without a word.
Now the procession walked in silence, so that Pazel could hear the night birds, the autumn crickets, the gurgle of the streams. In this way the miles passed, and the hours. Lord Arim walked as swiftly as any, though now and then a look of pain creased his face.
They reached the end of the crater floor and began to climb. There were by now several hundred selk with them, and the lamps swayed close together like a school of deep-sea fish. Up they went, by stair and switchback. Pazel walked beside Thasha, now and then touching her arm, or holding her hand for a few paces. He noticed that both Neeps and Lunja, though they walked some distance apart, looked often for the other, as though to be certain the distance between them had not changed.
By the time they reached the North Door it was very cold. Here the path broadened into a great stone shelf, large enough for all the selk who had joined the climb: and surely almost the whole thousand were here, Pazel thought. The black triangle was just what it had seemed from below: a tunnel mouth, framed with great blocks of stone, and richly carved with both figures and words. An icy wind issued from it, much colder than the air about them. Pazel squinted at the carved words, but it was still too dark to read them. There was also a smaller door at one end of the shelf, and several windows carved into the stone: the Way-House, Pazel guessed.
Thaulinin called the travelers together and presented the ten warriors who were to join them. He told a little of their deeds and life-stories (a very little; the youngest was two thousand years old), and voices in the crowd called out with contributions of their own. Then the selk gave each traveler a folded cloth, silver in color but woven of some rough, sturdy fabric.
“Tie back your hair with these,” said Thaulinin, “or wash your face, or bundle them about something you do not wish to lose. They do not look like much, but they were woven by Arim’s mother, Irehi, before the journey from whence she never returned. And this week they have been soaked in the five sacred springs, and touched and blessed by every selk in Uláramyth. Still, you need not handle them like relics: they are strong, and meant for use.”
Then Pazel felt a hand on his shoulder. Lord Arim himself stood beside him, and his old lips formed a smile.
“You tried to read the words above the threshold,” he said, “and well you should: they are a parting wish for travelers. Shall I recite them for you?”
He spoke then in Sabdel, and Pazel was moved by the beauty and simplicity of the verse. Then Arim repeated the lines in the language of Bali Adro, for all to hear:
Behind you dieth a dream-land, ahead is the blinding day.
Still thy song is in all tongues and on all voices lifts,
And even the white range declares it to the skies.
Never but by you is it forsaken, no silence but thine own is its decay.
Go not mourning what is ended.
Go not with winter in your eyes.
“That is our hope for you all,” he said. “But come: we must rest in the Way-House. Your true journey begins at sunrise.”
Then the selk came forward in groups, touching their arms, whispering words of farewell. Pazel had come to know some by name, and dozens by sight, and felt a great sadness at this leave-taking. Very soon it was done, however, and Arim led the travelers into the Way-House, and a simple room where they could sleep.
Most did so quickly, but once more Pazel found himself wide awake, and unable to be otherwise. This is crazy, he told himself. Sleep, fool, or you’ll be useless at dawn. At last he gave up, as he had done on Sirafstöran Tor, and found his way back outside. He crossed the wide shelf, and saw a ribbon of blue lamps snaking down into the darkened Vale, and dispersing by many paths along the crater floor.
An hour later the party was on its feet, and the sun was gleaming on the crater wall. They glanced a last time at Uláramyth, and Prince Olik knelt on the trail where it began its descent into the crater, and kissed the earth. Then they all turned away, and followed Lord Arim into the tunnel, and not one of those travelers ever again set foot in the Secret Vale.
It was dark in the tunnel, but the selk still had their lamps. Pazel tightened his coat against the biting wind. Very soon he saw ice slicking the walls, felt his boot crunching a thin crust of snow. Every five or ten minutes they would climb a long, steep staircase. They were still ascending the mountain, only this time from within.
After an hour’s march they reached a gate very much like the one in the tunnel by which they had entered Uláramyth. Thaulinin opened it with the same key he had used before, and when they had passed through he locked it behind them. Shortly thereafter Neda remarked that the air was growing warmer, and so it was: decidedly warmer, until they were all loosening their coats. Walking beside Valgrif, Pazel asked what was happening, but the wolf said only that he would see soon enough.
Then the tunnel widened abruptly, the walls falling away left and right, and Pazel realized that they had stepped into a natural cave. The air here was dry and hot. By the dim lamplight he could just make out the ceiling, where stalactites hung like rows of teeth. Fifty feet or so ahead, a staircase climbed the left-hand wall. As they moved nearer he saw that it led to a large, round archway overlooking the cave below.
“Now,” said Lord Arim, “I must speak to the guardian of the North Door. You may come with me, Arpathwin; but the rest of you must wait for us to return. Do not approach, no matter what you see or hear! You cannot go on without the guardian’s consent.”
He started off at once, and Ramachni went with him. Pazel studied the archway. There was something about it he did not like at all. He glanced at the others and saw that they did not feel it. They were curious, and perhaps slightly worried by the mystery, but none was suffering from the dread he felt, the sense that something terrible was near.
Arim and Ramachni climbed the stair, and stepped before the archway—rather cautiously, Pazel thought. Then they walked inside. “Valgrif,” Pazel murmured, “what sort of creature is this guardian? Why was Lord Arim so concerned that we not approach?”
“Because we could not help, only imperil ourselves,” said the wolf. “Let us speak no more of it. They will return at any moment.”
But the selk and the mage were gone much longer than Valgrif predicted. Through the stone, Pazel thought he felt a low, angry rumble, as though thunder were shaking the earth. At last the two figur
es emerged from the opening and started back. Ramachni walked straight to Pazel, and in his black eyes was a look of concern.
“My lad,” he said, “the guardian is an eguar.”
“An eguar!” cried Pazel. “Oh credek, no!” Of all their party, he alone had ever faced one of the demonic reptiles—and it had savaged him, burned him, and dug like a mole into his mind. Worst of all, his Gift had forced him to learn its language, and it was the weirdest and most painful tongue Pazel had ever heard before that of the demon in the Infernal Forest.
“Ramachni,” he said, “I don’t want to see an eguar. Kirishgán told me the selk sometimes talked to them, but I didn’t know they used them as blary border guards.”
“The creature will not harm you,” said Ramachni. “Arim and I had words with it. They have an accord of long standing: the selk permit the beast to live on the doorstep of Uláramyth, hidden from enemy eyes by the same spells that hide the Vale itself. And in return the eguar keeps watch on the North Door.”
“It is a task well suited to the eguar’s stillness,” said Lord Arim. “Forty years have passed since last a traveler came to us by way of the Sky Road. But each door must have its watch, and this eguar has been a friend to Uláramyth for centuries. I am sorry, Pazel: I did not know that you had faced an eguar before. They are deadly, of course. But as a rule they are not evil—not given to killing for its own sake, or to mindless hatreds. The creature you met on Bramian is an exception. I know him: Ma’tathgryl, a wounded and embittered beast. This one is also an exception, but of the opposite sort. He has given us many timely warnings of the enemy’s deeds, and has even descended into the Vale, and bathed in the waters of Osir Delhin. He discarded his birth-name in favor of the one we gave him: Sitroth, which means ‘faithful.’ We selk revere him for his wisdom, and his guardianship.”
“But you protect him as well?” asked Bolutu. “What threatens him?”
“In the past, nothing,” said Arim. “But today the Platazcra madness has brought death to the eguar as it has to many others. You know that the Plazic weapons were made from their ancient bones and hides, dug from eguar Grave-Pits by the alchemists of Bali Adro. In time those pits were emptied, and the warlords faced an end to their power. They tried to leach that power from other materials, such as the bones of dragons and the teeth of the Nelluroq serpent. None of these efforts succeeded. At last, in desperation, they sought out living eguar to butcher and exploit—at a terrible cost in dlömic lives, needless to say. And these experiments too were failures.”
The Night of the Swarm Page 41