by Andre Norton
The man spoke first. “King’s Daughter, our road and Varm’s have long stretched in opposite directions. We accepted that there was no return. Perhaps he has sought to find one. Or else the servant he called to him can be armored to face return.”
Kadiya faced them squarely—her awe of them had been overcome.
“Noble Ones, do you now say that there is no aid you can give us? Do we lose our lives and our land to that creeping plague of the Dark? I do not think that even Haramis with all her learning can summon up a weapon against that!”
“There is a way.…” Once more she was aware of Lamaril beside her. “Were not the Silent Ones left … perhaps for this very purpose? Here is one who may summon them if you will.”
The woman’s nod was abrupt. “This evil sprang from us. We cannot remain unminding that it spreads again. There was an Oath sworn once, Commander of the Sindona.” Now she addressed Lamaril. “You wish to hold by it?”
“Lica, I do, and so do those others who swore it.”
17
Kadiya shifted from one foot to the other. Gone was her broken and battered shell armor, the dented helm, all her other travelworn clothing. Nor did she wear the gauzy robe. Rather her shoulders were tightly clasped by chain mail fashioned from the blue-green metal from the storehouse of the Vanished Ones. And below that breeches of something as tough as well-cured leather and yet as supple as the finest weaving her people knew.
At her left side her arm curved around a new helm made with a forepart like a half mask. When donned it fitted down as far as her mouth, and she peered through eyeholes filled with greenish glass. It was encircled with an embossed wreath in the form of trilliums, but these were yellow as the great flower which, to her right, now moved slightly in its altar bed.
They had told her what must be done, but certainly they had promised her little help in the doing of it. And the strangeness of the task seemed to make a matter of a bard’s tale only to be marveled at. Still, those ranked before her believed and so she must accept that such a thing could be.
Six of them to the fore, with Lamaril at their head. Twelve ranked behind, and she knew each face there—these were the people of stone, the Guardians—save those she fronted were living and breathing.
All were bare of body, nor did they carry weapons. Would they find the armor, the arms they needed beyond the Gate? Among the scrap heaps gathered by the Hassitti there was certainly much. But weapons? Unless their weapons were far different from sword and spear.
The great golden flower swung, shifting into the air those rainbow particles. Uono and Lica advanced the far side of the altar. In the woman’s hand there was a bowl of golden hue, yet near transparent. The man carried a flask of silver, wide-mouthed but no larger than could be easily fastened at a belt—a sword belt as shabby and stained as the one Kadiya wore.
A trilling of song carried from the flower to the company massed behind those who waited. Though Kadiya did not understand the words, she felt the swell of that invocation.
Trumpets might awaken her own people to battle. The shell horns of the Oddlings would sound harsh and rough toned here. This was not an urging on to victory, it was a farewell. There was a chance of return for those who waited, yes, but it was only that, and none could build upon it.
These were not her kind. She was not sure that she, no matter how strong the cause, could do what they were about to do. Her eyes kept going back to Lamaril. She saw not the one who stood before her, but rather that other, mud stained, footed in the muck of the swamplands.
Three of their timeless days she had waited and twice he had sought her out. He had asked pointed questions, the inquiries of a fighting man about to order troops to battle.
Trust—they accepted her with trust. She had known the exultation of victory against odds when they had gone up against Voltrik and Orogastus. This moment was deeper than any she had known before.
They had told her that this was a place lifted out of time as she knew it. There was no past, the future did not matter; there was only the present. She must step back into time from a place which had enfolded her with peace far greater than even the garden of Yatlan had bestowed—for that garden was but a pale echo of what was known here.
The singing melded into the trilling, the trilling into the singing. On its altar the flower began to move faster. Lica stepped forward, set the bowl with precision at the foot of that swaying stem. Out of the heart of the blossom there arose a puff of golden particles, pollen shed by the flower’s movements. The waiting bowl began to glow as the rain of tiny motes gathered within.
From the Vanished Ones the song soared. Perhaps they encouraged the flower to that shedding. When the bowl was half filled, the huge flower shuddered and drooped, its triangle of petals no longer so stiffly apart, its rich color fading.
Lica knelt before the altar. Her hands dug into the dark soil which rooted the plant there. Head flung back, eyes closed, lines of strain deepened about her mouth.
Kadiya could feel it! Just as her energy fed the eyed sword when she was using it, so was this woman of the Vanished Ones giving of her strength to feed the flower.
The singing grew softer, the trilling a mere scattering of notes. Lica slumped forward until her forehead rested against the edge of the altar. The flower straightened, its petals once more crisply apart, renewed.
It was Kadiya’s turn now. She had been drilled in what must be done as a part of this alien ceremony which she did not understand.
She placed her helm on the floor and carefully edged along to stand beside Lica. Reaching over the woman’s bowed shoulder, the girl took up the basin with both hands. What it held she knew was irreplaceable. She had been warned that such a shower of flower dust could not be summoned again.
Holding it breast high before her, Kadiya turned and descended the one step to the floor of the temple. Then she went forward.
Lamaril—he was the first. She was still not sure of what would happen, only that she must not lose hold on what she held, that which would bind those of this place to her, to what lay beyond the barrier she had passed to reach this place.
As she came before the Commander of the Sindona she raised the bowl a fraction. His hand came up, his fingers dipped to stir what rested within. A tiny spiral of the pollen climbed to wreath Lamaril’s head.
Mist widened from that thread of gold, lost its rich sheen, became a cloud which descended to cloak the man from head to foot. An end of thread emerged from that mist, spun its way back to the basin. Lamaril was gone.
Kadiya swallowed, took firmer grip on what she held. To be told that this would happen, and then to see it—they were two very different things.
One by one they vanished as she stood before each and watched. Yet the bowl was no fuller, no heavier in her hand. This was magic such as she had never witnessed.
Once the last of those who waited was gone, Kadiya came back to the altar with the bowl. Lica was on her feet, although she drooped against the stone wherein the flower was planted. She was plainly still drained of strength.
She put out her hand and Kadiya delivered the bowl to her. Then Lica turned to where Uono stood, the widemouthed flask ready. Into that she poured the pollen, so slowly that it might be falling grain by minute grain. Uono fitted the top over the mouth. He moistened the forefinger of his right hand and held that up before the flower. Once more it loosed some of the rainbow dust, and Uono smeared it carefully to seal lid to container.
Once that was done, he held it out to Kadiya. The girl took a deep breath; her fingers closed about the flask. She hooked it to her sword belt, making very sure that the fastening was tight.
Having done so, she took up once more her helm. What farewell could she make? They had done what they could for the sake of a land no longer theirs. She could mouth words assuring them that she would obey orders, but that much they already knew. She had always been quick of speech, even as she was often rash of action. Now there were no words, perhaps not even thought
s to be offered.
The two by the altar did not seem to expect such from her. Uono gestured and Kadiya obeyed. She turned with Lica on one side, the tall fellow Councilor on the other. With them as escort, she came to face a wall.
Even now Kadiya could not be sure of what might happen and she believed that they shared her unease. She could only do what seemed right to her.
Kadiya drew the sword. Those eyes, the edges of the lids still encrusted by the glitter of the plant’s bestowing, were fully open. She held the pointless blade firmly and turned the eyes upon the wall.
There came that united beam of force, and she knew the familiar drain of energy. Where the beam struck the stone the light spread, clung to the surface as might a cloak plastered tightly there.
Kadiya keeping her attention only on that block of light walked forward. This was the test. There was no stone there. No. This was an open doorway which was ready for her.
She held in mind the picture of that doorway. Again followed that attack of vertigo, that feeling of being wrenched apart from all that was stable and known. She stood again in that underground room to which they had traced Varm’s follower. Facing her, spear at ready, dart at pipe mouth, were Jagun and Smail, while behind them Salin’s fingers wove strange patterns of power in the air.
There was no welcome for her. All Kadiya could see was a distrustful wariness. Then she remembered the masking of her new helm and quickly pushed it up, to reveal her face.
“Farseer!” Jagun’s was a muted cry but one of excited welcome. “But—” His stare of astonishment was open. “You were gone. You come again. And now you wear new armor—”
“Come and gone—how long, Jagun?” She had the memory of days behind her, a hand’s fingers of them. Had these three lingered here for all that time?
“As long as it would take to skin a borick—a young one perhaps,” he returned.
“But—no. It was days!” Kadiya felt the chill of fear. What had those others said? That where they dwelt time had no meaning.
However, she was not the only one who might return here.
“The walking death, he of Varm—” she demanded. “Has that one also returned?”
All three of the Oddlings shook their heads.
“Only you, Farseer, and you have been away only a fraction of time—not days.”
She looked over her shoulder at the wall through which she had come. So in this she had won a little time as she knew time. That other one had not yet returned.
“The Skritek?” Kadiya asked.
“They have not returned either,” Jagun assured her. “Salin”—he nodded toward the wisewoman—“has set a warning, and nothing has come to disturb it.”
Once more luck had favored them. She stroked the flask so tightly clipped to her belt. There was a long journey ahead, and to have to fight their way to her goal would mean delay—if not defeat.
“King’s Daughter,” Salin asked, “what did you find beyond?”
“Those who once ruled,” she answered. “The Noble Ones.”
“And they come also to our aid?” The Uisgu woman looked beyond Kadiya to the wall.
“In their fashion,” Kadiya replied. “But they will not be with us in this place. And, it would be well to be away before that other returns. He carries with him a thing of black Power. We must go!”
She had already reached the end of the screen which concealed the secret entrance and, without further questions, the others crowded behind her. Once more they followed that staircase, this time back to the depths. There had been no trifling with the crude raft which had carried them here. Kadiya saw the nostrils of the three Oddlings distend and she knew that they strove to pick up any scent which might betray the Skritek. But if those creatures knew of this way they must not have used it for a long time.
Again they embarked on that clumsy raft and headed out into the open. Kadiya watched overhead for any movement which might betray the presence of the monster Weaver whose net they had destroyed. However, they passed the tattered strings unmolested.
Kadiya was still tense as they came out within the shadows of the tree root arches. This land of thorns and monsters still enclosed them. Somehow it was difficult for her to accept that they had passed even this far unchallenged. There were clouds overhead but no rain fell.
By that evening they reached the improvised shelter at the sinister ruins of the tower. They had not talked during the journey; all had been too much on guard. The uneasiness which burdened Kadiya was clearly shared by her companions. Still it was she who felt the greatest drive of all—the need to call into being the help they needed.
Before them lay a new danger—or rather an old one reinforced. That contagion sown by the follower of Varm had spread and they had to avoid patches of corruption with care. It was now deep twilight. Luckily those nauseous spots gave forth a wan purulent light in warning. They were being edged by that putrid growth away from a direct route. At last, they came to a place where they could not pass; the thorn hedge formed once more a barrier. Here the thorns themselves were diseased, covered with lumps like the pustules of incurable illness. Kadiya watched some break open and scatter minute flecks of greenish matter which soared and caught, to eat into whatever the breeze drove them toward.
She drew the sword. Though she well knew that what she would do would weaken her, she had no choice. The eyes had not closed since she had stood in the Temple of the Timeless Flower. Indeed, they appeared brighter, oddly more aware because of those sparking motes along the lids.
Kadiya hardened her will. Even as it had proved a key to the door wall, now the top orb sent forth a dagger of light which was joined by beams from the other two. That tongue of brilliance slashed at the corrupted vegetation before them as Kadiya swung it back and forth, her arm moving as if she were using the weapon against an armed enemy.
An answering burst of fire among the thorns spread as she advanced. The other three fell into a single line behind her. She could hear faintly a chant and then felt a touch on her shoulder. Salin had moved up beside her and from the wisewoman came a flow of strength in answer to her own need. That increased, once and then again. Jagun and Smail must have linked in turn.
The stink of death was half overborne by the odor of burning brush. Kadiya strove to push faster. This was betraying their presence and any roving Skritek would be drawn to investigate.
She stumbled once; half burned roots thrusting forth from the ground could catch the unwary. Still she used the sword, though her arm was growing heavy. She could not keep her original quick pace. The drain was continuous in spite of what the others gave to help.
Kadiya staggered again, caught herself. She could see that the beam of light she was wielding had shortened. Now it flickered once or twice. She bit her lower lip and pushed doggedly on. Her world had narrowed to that light, to the dark of the thorn wall immediately before her.
“Farseer!”
Not a vocal call, but a mind send, powerful enough to pierce her concentration.
“We have passed beyond the plague.”
“We are not clear of the thorn—” she said aloud, too wary of using the least bit of inner strength in mind speech.
“This is for us, Farseer. Let us clear the way.”
Jagun’s offer might have been a spell. Her arm fell to her side, and, though she gritted teeth and struggled, she could no longer hold the sword upright. The glow of light touched the ground, flicked in a rhythm like the beat of a heart, was gone. Nor could she flog her will into raising it again.
Salin moved in beside her, pulling Kadiya’s left arm across her bent shoulders, seemingly supporting them both with her staff. With the sword light gone Kadiya moved through a darkness close to blindness. She felt rather than saw the other two Oddlings push past.
What could they use to clear the road? she wondered dimly. She heard a crackling ahead, but not that of fire. Then Salin was urging her on, taking only three or four steps at a time. They did have a path, though
it was very narrow and thorns reached out now and then to grate across that silk-sleek armor of the Vanished Ones, scraping but finding no opening to score the flesh beneath.
“On,” Salin’s mind voice came only dimly. “They use the passage knives, Noble One. It will not be far now—there is water smell ahead.”
Kadiya wavered on only with the wisewoman’s aid. She became dimly aware that the brush was no longer so tightly woven. She looked up. The eye holes of the helm limited her vision but she thought she caught a glimpse of stars in the early night sky where the clouds had parted. She doubted that she could keep on her feet much longer.
Dimly Kadiya was amazed at the strength of the wisewoman who not only was keeping her standing now but leading her forward as well.
Then she was no longer on her feet at all, but lying, to look up at a star through a frame of clouds. The weight of those dark clouds closed down upon her. Her last act was to grip the sword lest she lose the one weapon she believed hers alone to the encroaching dark.
18
There was the sound of voices but Kadiya could not understand any words. As she opened her eyes she was struck by the full rays of the sun. Bracing herself on one elbow the girl looked about her.
The three Oddlings were together. Before Salin was her scrying bowl; on either side knelt the two males, all intent on what they were viewing. Salin’s fingers moved in a pattern. There came an exclamation from Jagun and his hand dropped to the spear lying beside him.
Kadiya need not look at the vision the wisewoman had summoned. She felt the fear exuding from the three like the swamp mist. With effort she pulled to her knees.
They were on a hillock which gave root to some bushes, but none of these sprouted thorns. The girl could smell that rottenness which clung to the deepest swamp, but sensed none of the plague threat.
“What comes?” Kadiya found her voice. Moving brought back some of the feeling of drained weakness.
She had startled the three. Jagun’s head jerked as he looked to her.