by Andre Norton
The Weaver used a fingertip to trace out lines of blue-green, touching now and then on a spot of red. Kadiya fought down growing impatience. She thought of those other records stored hit or miss by the Hassitti. Would it now be necessary for her to return to the city and see if she could puzzle out more there? Her lack of knowledge was a frustrating barrier. She had no skill in reading those archaic symbols. Nor did she believe that any here could do any better. Haramis?
When Haramis had taken the Archimage’s cloak about her shoulders, she had also assumed the Guardianship Binah had held so long. Therefore this plague in the swamplands would certainly be a concern for her.
Kadiya reached for the amulet of amber at her throat. Once it had been a key to communication with her sister. Could it so serve again?
There was silence in the room, save for the scratching of the Weaver’s fingernail across the record strips. The girl cautiously edged back a little from the table, taking the amulet tightly in her grasp, closing her eyes, concentrating as best she could on a mental picture of her sister as she had seen her in that gloomy room.
“Haramis!” Her unvoiced call carried a note of command. “Haramis …”
It was as if a gauzy mist hid the one she would reach. She pushed toward it, only to feel as if she ran face-on into a barrier.
“Haramis?” There was nothing. A door might have been firmly closed between them. Yet she sensed this loss of communication was not of Haramis’s doing. Did forces stir now which were greater than any her sister could command? Kadiya squeezed the amulet as if to wring out the answer she needed.
“Ah …” the Weaver’s finger had paused at last. She turned to her nearer assistant.
“Bring the roll of Lysta, that of the fourth season!”
The Nyssomu girl arose and went to the far wall of the room. Her fingers swept along a shelf tight packed with rolls, one of which she brought to the table. The record had been sown into a transparent cylinder of fish skin and this the Weaver slit with care, using the same caution as she unrolled it inch by inch. Two of those watching her sneezed and Kadiya’s nose prickled from a scent she could not identify.
“That is word from very long ago,” the First commented. “Was there some hint of such an evil before?”
“Not of the plague, no.” The Weaver spread her fingers wide to keep the tough roll flat as she leaned forward to peer at its surface.
What Kadiya could see of that surface did not resemble the other woven rolls about them. There were lines in the fabric, yes, but they were not regular, instead they spiraled horizontally.
“In the fourth season of Lysta’s weavership there was a raid from Skritek territory. So serious was this invasion of our land that Uisgu and Nyssomu banded together to meet them. There was a clan march from this village which followed to here”—she tapped the roll—“well within Skritek holdings. They captured a Skritek Caller of Blood.
“In the guard was one of Power who could read the thought spears of the Caller. And this he learned: that within the heart of their foul land there is a place of blackness, like perhaps unto a door. Something in that time had issued forth from there ready to turn upon us. But the evil will was not strong enough to last—rather it dwindled and then vanished. It was said that the Noble Binah sent a mind message fierce enough to seal again that place which should never have been opened and blast into nothingness what had issued forth.
Kadiya could be quiet no longer. “And now this plague moves across the land, perhaps to this place known before?”
The Weaver glanced up at the girl. “It may be so.”
“There was a plague then, also?” Kadiya persisted.
“There is no record of such.”
The girl drew the sword and held it above the series of lines on the roll. A finger of light touched the weaving. It was the Vanished One’s eye which had answered this time.
“Saa—” The Weaver jerked back from the spot of light and there were answering hisses from the others.
The light was gone, the eye near-closed again. Kadiya lifted the sword.
“I have no Power such as the Archimage,” she said. “I would speak with my sister. The greater learning is hers and perhaps she can answer much. But I cannot reach her with my untrained mind. If you have such among you perhaps you can aid in this.”
“We have only one under this roof—the one who has come to us for aid, Salin of the Uisgu.” The First arose. “When she is rested let her try—have we not already witnessed her Powers? Weaver, let that be copied.” She indicated the roll on the table. “For there may well be need for a guide.”
It would seem that the records of the village had yielded all they would. Which was precious little, Kadiya thought. That the Uisgu wisewoman had Power, she had proved. However, if her Power had already been used up in seeking, then perhaps there was little she could do.
Kadiya returned to the quarters which had been assigned her. Once more she set about overhauling her trail pack. If she was to convey to Haramis the best information she could, she must see for herself this plague and where it led.
Cradling the sword in her hands, she attempted to use it as she had the amulet. But there was no result at all—not even that vision of a swirling mist.
Weary measures of waiting passed before they gathered once more: Salin with her bowl before her, the others grouped in the shadows where only two lamps burned.
The Uisgu woman looked even more frail and trail-worn. But her hands were sure as she prepared the bowl. When the liquid within grew dark she spoke to Kadiya without raising her own eyes from that basin pool.
“One of Power, think upon she whom you would call.”
Kadiya stared also into the opaque liquid.
“Haramis!”
Once more she called, fiercely, with all the strength she could raise, putting one hand to the amulet and one to the sword as she did so.
There was a haze gathering in the basin, a curling of mist. It wreathed around and around but it did not clear to show them any picture.
“Haramis!” Kadiya strove to reach out. Once more she struck against a wall which was not visible, with force enough to feel bruised as if her flesh had striven to break through stone.
Salin moved her hand out over the basin, her fingers crooked as if to scratch away that curtain. But to no purpose, the mist remained.
“There is something against us,” she said slowly, as if she resented each word. “Power grows, and it is not of the light.”
Kadiya let the amulet fall back against her breast but she did not loose her hold on the sword.
“Wisewoman, if you cannot reach my sister, can you see again the plague? Does it stretch still in the same direction?”
Salin brought her hands together in a clap over the basin. The mist was gone but the liquid therein had not cleared.
Instead it appeared to curdle and darken with shadows which then took on sharper form. Once more they looked upon a section of swampland where splotches of the yellow glistened like deadly slime. However, there was also something else: a black blot in the midst of that irregular patch of corruption. But that did not sharpen to allow them to see its nature.
Only for a space of a few breaths did it hold, then came a spurt of flame and the picture was gone. Salin drew back with a cry.
“Power … and Power which knows we spy upon it!”
11
“That place I know.” One of the First’s Council broke the silence. “It is the Isle of the Sal Tower.”
All of the women stirred. Once more that hissing “sssaaa” broke from the First.
She looked to the Weaver. “Unfold the waygoing for us now.”
Once more a section of the table was cleared and now a square wide enough to have to be rolled at the edges in order to fit into the space was brought forward. Kadiya could see lines which wavered and as she blinked there was a flash of recognition. She was looking upon a map—the curve of the Mutar was plain.
The First smoothed
it flat with her hand. “Summon Jagun,” she ordered. “This matter is for a far seeker.”
That a male of the clan be admitted to such a conference was plainly out of custom. There was a murmur of dissent from some of the women but the First looked to one of the lesser of the Council and the woman went reluctantly.
Salin had moved forward to stare down at the map. Now her hand came forward and she traced a line from one of the rolled edges to another point.
“Already it has spread so far!”
Though there was a map set upon the wall of the Great Hall at the Citadel Kadiya had seldom noted it. Fading lines of paint had so little meaning in her mind when compared to the living lands of the mires. Of that map now she could remember very little, especially in the western holdings of the Uisgu.
Jagun returned with the messenger, gave respectful greeting to the First.
“Hunter,” she came to the point at once, “you have been to Sal Tower.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Once. I met with Sinu of the Val Clan. He was well versed in that country since it was largely contained within his own. And the Sal Tower possessed certain legends which led me to wish to see it.”
Now the First spoke to Salin. “Wisewoman, point out to us which way this plague has spread from its first appearance.”
The older Oddling bent closer to the map and her finger traced a path from the west which led in what seemed almost a straight line to the point marking the tower. “So,” she said.
Jagun had watched her intently, then as her hand drew back he put out his own finger.
“It would seem that the line runs so, but the Sal Tower may not be the end. If it continues in that direction it will cut deeply into Skritek country.”
“Before it spreads farther,” Kadiya said, “we should know more. Since your Power, wisewoman, cannot make it plain to us what we face, then we must view it for ourselves. One cannot fight any foe without knowing the nature of the enemy and what weapons it holds. This Sal Tower is a place toward which we can travel.”
She refused to allow the memories of what Salin had shown them to come to the fore of her mind. Instead she held to another image—that of the sword in full strength when it had blasted forth with destructive power. It could be that if she confronted this invader, whatever or whoever it might be, she could so put an end to it.
The First rubbed a finger along the edge of the map roll.
“Powers, King’s Daughter, can often not be measured until it is too late. This we know—that we do not know enough. You have some protection which is yours alone. If it is your choice that this be done, then let it be so.”
Kadiya took firm grip on the sword. Well, she had offered; could she be sorry that her offer had been accepted? It was indeed far better, as she saw it, to track this creeping death to its source rather than to sit about a basin and watch it kill, knowing no more about it than that it could slay.
She turned to Jagun. “Shield mate, will you march?”
“Farseer, this venture is ours.”
But Kadiya had already considered another problem. “Ours, only.” She looked to the First. “Any large force could be easily discovered. With Jagun to pick the trail and but two of us, there is better chance to know without being known.”
“We, also, One of Power.” Salin raised her head to stare over the map at Kadiya. “This venture is truly mine, and I am sworn to it.”
Kadiya would have protested instantly but somehow she could not speak. There was a confidence in this wisewoman which was like that of the First. She was one who was not used to having any of her wishes countered.
At least the monsoon had nearly exhausted itself. When they took to boat again—this time in a more substantial craft than that which had brought Salin and her grandson—there was not the heavy lash of rain to make their trip a time of constant vigilance and bailing. Their supplies were the best which the village could provide. Also, with the weather less against them they could better live off the land—or rather the water, for Salin’s grandson Smail proved to be a master fisherman. Kadiya, who had long since learned the need for adapting to the trail, ate her shredded portions raw without protest.
Each night as they found campsites on some scrap of ground above water level, Salin would consult her scrying bowl. However, the clear results she had gained in the village no longer held. Shadows would appear on the surface but none of them sharpened into actual pictures. Twice she tried with Kadiya to reach Haramis, only to encounter that ever defeating mist.
Jagun guided them at last to a section of ground which was more than an islet. Here there was a trace of a ruin—a few blocks still piled one upon the other. He was able to spear a pelrik newly issued from its storm hibernation. By one of the stones Smail found some moss which had partially dried, enough so that its oily stems and minute leaves gave off a fraction of heat to at least sear their portions of the kill.
“From here,” the hunter announced, “we must go on foot. There is an ancient way beneath the mud and growth which will give us a road … though we must sound the way.”
In the morning’s light, which was no longer as storm-sodden gray, he and Smail drew the boat well ashore and anchored it firmly, piling brush around it. Kadiya divided their supplies into three packs, for Salin needed her full strength, the girl judged, to use her staff and keep her feet upon this broken land.
Wary of patches, they moved slowly. In some places the fury of the rains had washed away soil and plants and Kadiya could see the blocks of what indeed might have been an ancient road. She was thankful that they had as sturdy footing as they did, for they were able to make better time than she had believed possible.
They came out into an expanse where there was little in the way of growth and wide uncovered stretches of the stone way.
“’Ware!” Jagun’s mind-flashed warning brought Kadiya instantly alert and she held her spear at the ready. A dart blower had appeared in Smail’s hand.
Then it reached her also—a thrust of mind pain so intense it nearly rocked her. She heard Salin whimper and the Uisgu woman fell to her knees both hands to her head.
Out of the brush which walled the far side of the clearing there wavered a creature painfully dragging itself forward. It seemed to be hardly more than a heaving mass of puffy yellow, with stick thin limbs, catching desperately at any small hold to draw it forward.
The wind was blowing across it toward them and Kadiya gagged at a thick, putrid stench. In her mind that insane, never ending shriek of pain became harder and harder to combat.
“No—do not let it come near!” Salin cried out and caught at Kadiya as the girl moved a step forward.
It was Smail who raised his blow pipe, took careful aim and sent forth a dart that sunk in over its head in the monstrous mass of body. The thing shuddered, scrabbled vainly for a hold on the stones and then suddenly reared up and fell backward.
To Kadiya’s horror that movement revealed what it truly was. Half of an Oddling head protruded from the forepart of the loathsome mass.
“The plague.” Smail’s young face showed fear. He made no move forward to retrieve his dart. Salin pulled again at Kadiya.
“Do not go near it, take another path! It has sown the blight even as it crawled.”
Though she wanted nothing to do with the dead, Kadiya forced herself to remember that she must learn all she could about this thing of terror. Shifting her spear to her other hand she drew the sword and held it up, the eyes turned toward the miserable, tormented body.
Freeing herself from Salin’s hold she took one step and then another. Through the overcast of gray day shot a bolt of fire. All three eyes were fully open. From them streamed what appeared a twisted thread of radiance to strike full upon the body.
There was a brilliant flash of bluish light harsh enough to blind Kadiya for an instant. Then followed an explosion of fetid air. What was left was only a smear on the half exposed pavement.
A hold grasped at Kadiy
a’s legs, moved up to her waist. Salin had so drawn herself to her feet.
“Use the Power, King’s Daughter—cleanse our land!”
Kadiya staggered a fraction as the weight of the frail Uisgu leaned on her. She still gripped the sword and held it outward but now the pommel was dipping toward the ground. There was a weight dragging down her whole arm and inside her a weakness as if the fury of that burst of flame had drawn most of her energy from her.
Jagun had edged forward, near to that smear upon the stone, but he paused still a good way from it. Then his head turned and he looked beyond to where the tortured Uisgu had crawled into the open.
Kadiya could sight it, also. The brush wall was visibly withering, turning a ghastly yellow-white even as she watched. The crawler must have carried a dread contagion to everything it had touched.
And it was spreading, with a rapidity which was frightening. She could believe that it would soon contaminate all that wall of wet vegetation, perhaps encircle them.
With great effort she raised the sword a second time. Again she willed it to life, pointing it at those withering plants, those rotting vines.
Once more the light. This time she felt the draw as if all her strength, save that of will, was being pulled forth into feeding it.
The fire gave birth not to one major explosion but a number of minor flashes along branches and vine loops, opening a way ahead straight from the space in which they stood.
Kadiya fought to keep on her feet, to hold steady the sword. But she could not force it into further action. The light paled, was gone. The three eyes were once more lidded. She fell abruptly to her knees, too weak to remain upright. Jagun was instantly at her side.
“Farseer!”
“It—I can do no more—” Somehow she managed to get out. She was panting heavily as if she had run for a long distance, and her arms were so weak they had fallen by her sides, the pointless sword clanging against the stone pavement.
There was movement beside her, an arm around her shoulders.
“Smail! The drink of the foreseer!” That impatient order formed in the girl’s mind. It was Salin who was supporting her now, rather than she the wisewoman. The Uisgu youth had taken off his pack to bring out a lidded phial. When it was opened another scent warred with the choking stench which still hung about them, the clean odor of some herb. Kadiya drank.