by Roger Taylor
'Put it out,’ hissed Dar-volci furiously.
The torch flickered out instantly.
'I'll tell you when it's safe to strike it again, but when you do, keep it very dim,’ Dar-volci went on.
'Dar, what's going on?’ Hawklan and Andawyr asked the question simultaneously.
A further, stifled belch and a mumbled apology preceded the felci's reply. ‘They were sphrite, they were sphrite, they were sphrite,’ he babbled, excitement overriding his alarm. Hawklan could hear him running about and bumping into people.
'Dar!’ Andawyr shouted ferociously.
Regardless of the felci's injunction, he clicked his torch into life. ‘Dar!’ Andawyr shouted again. Shadows etched out the lines in his mobile face as he waved his torch about angrily. ‘What in thunder's name is going on? What were those things?'
'Put that damn thing out,’ shouted Dar-volci.
'No!’ Andawyr replied equally loudly, though at the same time he dimmed it.
'Look, they are like butterflies,’ Yrain said again, cutting across the brewing quarrel. ‘There's one on the ground here.'
The torchlight revealed her bending forward towards a small fluttering red shape on the ground. She had removed her glove and was reaching out gently to touch the insect with an extended finger.
'No!’ cried Dar-volci.
In almost the time of a single heartbeat, Hawklan saw Yrain's smile begin to change to a look of horror as the sphrite clambered on to her finger and closed its wings rapturously; saw Dar-volci leap forward and knock away the ecstatic insect with an extended claw; then saw him seize the woman's wrist in his powerful claws, and close his dreadful teeth around the finger end.
He was spitting the bloody stump out and shouting, ‘Seal the wound, seal the wound!’ before Yrain's piercing scream reached her lips.
Hawklan snatched the torch from Andawyr and, turning its dim yellow light into a glowing red heat, held it against the spurting finger end. The acrid smell of burning flesh rose up into the cold subterranean air. Yrain's scream of fear and pain rose past its peak and descended into one of monumental anger.
Quickly handing the torch back to Andawyr, Hawklan reached out to put his arm around Yrain's shoulders but, with a snarl, she brushed him aside, and snatched a knife from her belt. Her eyes turned, gleaming, towards Dar-volci but, recovering his balance, Hawklan seized her wrist and, spinning swiftly on his knees, twisted round, to take her gently but inexorably face down on to the ground.
Yrain struggled briefly, but Hawklan pinned her shoulder with his knee, and quietly slipped the knife from her already loosening grasp. Yrain beat her free hand on the ground in frustration for a moment, and then lay still.
'Are you quiet now, Helyadin?’ Hawklan said softly.
'Yes,’ said Yrain, her voice breaking.
Hawklan released her and gently helped her into a sitting position. She pushed him away, forcefully but not angrily, and began to nurse her injured hand. Tears were running down her face, glistening in the dull torchlight; but she was not sobbing and, though shocked, her expression was one of anger and bewilderment.
Hawklan swung a menacing finger round to Dar-volci, standing by the crouching Andawyr. ‘Explain,’ he said, his own shock showing as anger.
Unexpectedly, Yrain reached out and touched his arm. ‘No, no,’ she said, still breathing heavily. ‘It wasn't his fault. I think he's saved my life. There was something on that ... thing ... and it was doing something to me.’ She shuddered.
Hawklan looked at her and then turned back to Dar-volci. Andawyr had placed his arm protectively around the felci.
'Turn the torch down, Andawyr,’ Dar-volci said. ‘As low as it will go. And the rest of you keep a look-out in case any more come back.'
Andawyr reduced the torchlight to a dull glow and the group drew closer together.
'Explain,’ said Hawklan again, more quietly.
'We must get away from here, Hawklan,’ Andawyr said, before Dar-volci could reply. ‘We must get away while I've still some semblance of rock sense in this place.'
There was an urgency in his voice that Hawklan had not heard before. He nodded reluctantly. ‘Can you walk?’ he said to Yrain, standing up and extending his hand to her.
This time she took it. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I'll be all right if I keep moving.’ Hawklan felt her shaking as he helped her up and as they walked he supported her inconspicuously. He felt a grateful squeeze on his arm.
The group moved slowly in the low torchlight. At Andawyr's request, they walked in silence, though Dar-volci kept muttering to himself and occasionally whistling.
At one point, the terrain they moved over was strangely flat, and Isloman bent down to examine it. He made no comment when he stood up, though Hawklan sensed some turmoil in him.
Eventually, Andawyr stopped, and began turning from side to side like a weather vane in a blustery breeze. His face was concerned.
'Alphraan,’ he said.
There was a long silence, then, ‘This place is beyond us too, Cadwanwr,’ said the voice. ‘We follow you.'
The voice was full of awe and the words were surrounded by an aura of profound regret and self-reproach.
'There are dangers in all the ways,’ it went on. ‘But do not fear your doubts. You are better armed than you know.'
Andawyr looked round at the group, patient silhouettes in the faint torchlight, then, his face unreadable, set off again.
The ground became increasingly more uneven and after a while they found themselves scrambling carefully across a rocky plain. Again Andawyr cast about, then Hawklan caught the faint Alphraan whisper, ‘Here, Cadwanwr,’ and a hint of the guiding note that had led him once into the Alphraan's Heartplace.
Andawyr turned to follow it and within a few minutes the group was entering what appeared to be a large cave. Andawyr stared into it and nodded to himself. His manner became noticeably more relaxed.
Isloman stopped and peered back regretfully into the hazy darkness through which they had just travelled. As he did so, he rested his hand on the wall of the cave. At once, he started, almost violently, and again Hawklan felt his turmoil.
'What's the matter?’ he said.
Isloman struck a torch and held it close to the wall without speaking. He inclined his head significantly, and Hawklan followed his gaze. The wall was rough and uneven, but here and there, even in the small patch of torchlight, thin, straight, joint lines could be seen.
He gasped and turned to Andawyr. ‘This is man-made!’ he said.
'As was part of the pathway we trod,’ Isloman added, his voice almost shaking.
Andawyr looked at them. Though his manner was easier, his face was still agitated and Hawklan could sense that he was wilfully crushing some inner turmoil of his own.
'Another time,’ he said eventually, his face becoming impassive. ‘Another time.'
Hawklan noted the phrase's ambiguity.
Then, before anyone could speak, Andawyr began walking into the cavern, turning up his torch a little.
'There's no danger from the sphrite, now, is there Dar?’ he said.
The felci seemed preoccupied and Andawyr repeated the question.
'No, no,’ said Dar-volci, starting a little. ‘No danger to you now from ... sphrite.'
He hesitated over the last word and then began chattering excitedly again.
'When can we stop and get some proper light on Yrain's hand?’ Hawklan asked, sensing that Andawyr's own crisis had passed.
'Very soon,’ Andawyr replied, and within a few hundred paces he stopped and turned up his torch.
'Sit down, all of you,’ he said. ‘Just relax for a moment.'
Hawklan crouched down by Yrain and gently took her injured band.
'Tell us what happened,’ he said to Dar-volci as he studied it.
Andawyr nudged the felci, who jumped again, and Hawklan repeated the request.
'They were sphrite, Hawklan, sphrite.’ Dar-volci's answer babbled out, a
lmost uncontrollably. ‘They still exist. After all this time...'
'Slowly!’ Hawklan said sternly, without looking up. ‘Tell us what happened. What were those things?’ He glanced at the felci. ‘And don't say “sphrite” again.'
Dar-volci trotted over to him and stood up to look at the damage he had wrought on the woman's hand.
'I'm sorry,’ he said, both to Yrain and to Hawklan. Yrain reached out and stroked his head. ‘It's all right,’ she said. ‘I'm sorry I drew my knife on you, but...'
Dar-volci whistled softly and flopped down gently on to her lap. Yrain left her plea unfinished.
'They were sphrite,’ Dar-volci said to Hawklan, his voice much calmer though it was obviously with some effort. ‘They're part of our ... most ancient lore. In our games we tell of times when great swirling clouds of them swept down to the lure lights, and the deeplands would fill with leaping kin, feeding ... gorging.'
Hawklan became aware that the rise and fall of the felci's words were echoing strangely around the cavern. ‘Alphraan?’ he said, on an impulse. ‘What's your part in this?'
There was no answer, but the air was alive with some inaudible dancing.
Dar-volci looked around and tilted his head on one side as if he were listening. ‘Yes,’ he replied to some unheard question. ‘The ways will be as never before. Can you carry back the news?'
The atmosphere changed. ‘No,’ said the voice sadly. ‘We are bound to the humans and we are too far beyond.’ Then, more optimistically, ‘But the ways are known. We shall return.'
'Dar! Alphraan!’ Hawklan said as he began bandaging Yrain's hand. ‘I don't understand what you're talking about but you'll soon be too far beyond my patience.'
Dar-volci shook his head vigorously, as if to clear it. ‘The sphrite used to be our ... food,’ he said. ‘Long, long ago. Before the Alphraan, before Him, before even...’ He stopped.
’ ... Before...’ he said softly, almost to himself. An ancient silence hung in the cave. Dar-volci returned to his listeners. ‘Then, later, He came. With His digging and delving, and his foul poisons, first seeping through the rocks, then reaching down to corrode the ways. Reaching even the deeplands and destroying the sphrite's great breeding colonies.'
There was such venom in the deep, powerful voice, that Hawklan stopped his careful bandaging and stared at him wide-eyed. Andawyr too seemed taken aback by the felci's passion.
'And destroying us,’ Dar-volci went on. ‘Or those that didn't flee and learn about the lesser ways.'
'But I thought it was His creatures that drove you from your homes after the First Coming,’ Andawyr blurted out, unable to contain himself.
Dar-volci clicked his teeth and shook his head. ‘You know what we tell you,’ he said. ‘His creatures were the last straw. Drove us into the society of humans for our protection.'
There was a bitterness in his voice that made Andawyr wince. ‘Has that been so unpleasant for you?’ he asked, his tone genuinely injured.
Dar-volci did not answer at first, but seemed to be occupied again with troubling memories.
'We lived in the deeplands for a reason,’ he said almost off-handedly. ‘And it served us.’ Then, apologetically, ‘But we're all of us different now. And none of us would have chosen finer companions than your many brothers through the ages.'
He wriggled off Yrain's lap and began trotting off into the darkness.
'Dar,’ Hawklan cried. ‘Where are you going? Finish your tale. Why did you do this?’ He held out Yrain's bandaged hand.
The felci turned and stood on his hind legs, extending his tail as a counter-balance. ‘She knows,’ he said nodding to Yrain, and idly scratching his stomach. ‘The pain alone was reason enough.'
Hawklan looked at Yrain, who nodded. ‘But...'
'No buts, Hawklan,’ said Dar-volci dropping back on to all-fours and walking off into the darkness. ‘Be content that I recognized them and that you escaped them with so little hurt. Trust me. You don't want to know anything else about what the sphrite do to your kind.'
Hawklan made to stand up, but Andawyr laid a hand on his arm. ‘Leave him,’ he said. ‘I've never seen him like this. He's had some massive shock; something we can't begin to understand. Let's take his advice and be glad he was with us, whatever it is those things do.'
Hawklan stared into the darkness after the felci, then, reluctantly, nodded.
Andawyr took Yrain's bandaged hand from him and examined it professionally. ‘Neatly done, healer,’ he pronounced eventually, his tone bringing some normality back to the scene. ‘But you're no great weaver yet.'
'Let's move,’ Hawklan said tersely.
* * * *
For the rest of that day, they walked through tunnels and caverns such as they had encountered previously, Andawyr again leading them with at least a superficial confidence.
Dar-volci returned to them after a while, seemingly his old self, though he would occasionally pick up a pebble or a small rock and crunch it in his jaws with a sound that soon began to draw groans of agonized protest from everyone.
Nevertheless, for all that their progress seemed to be good, Hawklan still sensed a strangeness about the place that he could not define; and distant sounds still came to them through the echoing tunnels.
Towards what they felt to be evening, they came to a small chamber with a single exit, which a brief exploration by Dar-volci confirmed was going upwards quite steeply for some considerable distance.
The prospect of moving upwards again brought the first smiles to the group for some time.
'We'll make camp here,’ Hawklan said. ‘It's been a strange day amongst strange days and Yrain needs to rest. She's in pain, and still shocked.'
He waved aside Yrain's protests before they formed. ‘That's an order, Helyadin,’ he said. ‘We can use the extra rest to check all our supplies and make sure that your journal accounts are made up correctly.'
As the others erected the shelter, Isloman wandered around the chamber pensively, touching the walls.
Hawklan joined him. ‘This is natural, surely?’ he said softly, looking around at the uneven walls and roof.
Isloman nodded hesitantly and took Hawklan over to the entrance to the tunnel they were intending to use the following day.
'There are some strange marks here,’ he said. ‘Look.'
He bent down and brought his torch close to the floor. Its light revealed a mass of scratches scarring the floor. Some were quite deep and long, but the majority were shallow and short. All of them were running roughly parallel with the direction of the tunnel.
'There are some on the walls and ceiling too, but not as many,’ Isloman said.
Hawklan ran his finger along one of the scratches and shrugged. ‘They mean nothing to me,’ he said. ‘What do you think they are?'
Isloman shook his head. ‘I've never seen anything like them,’ he said. ‘They're not chisel marks for sure, and some of them are quite new.'
Hawklan stood up and peered into the gloom of the tunnel. ‘I think we'll post a watch tonight,’ he said. ‘We've been far from alone for a large part of this journey and after those sphrite, I don't think we should risk being caught unawares again.'
'Yes,’ Isloman said.
No one disputed Hawklan's decision, but it was not received with any great enthusiasm. The caves were still very cold, and while this was tolerable when walking, it was not conducive to standing about idly for any length of time.
Tybek won the first watch as a result of a highly suspect drawing of lots that Tirke organized. Jenna drew the second.
Eventually, all tasks completed, Tybek, with a menacing gesture towards an innocent-looking Tirke, left the shelter, and one by one the others fell asleep.
Hawklan, however, found some difficulty in catching his sleep. After a little tossing and turning, he lay back and, relaxing, stared up at the roof of the shelter, dimly lit by the radiant stones. Yrain too, was a little restless, turning over frequently, and muttering in her
sleep, and Hawklan knew that his own wakefulness was in response to her continuing distress at her sudden, explosive, mutilation—and whatever unknown torment her brief contact with the sphrite had brought her.
He dozed fitfully, waking occasionally for no apparent reason, sometimes drowsily, sometimes with a start.
He was vaguely aware of Tybek rousing Jenna, and the change in the weight of the measured tread outside the shelter as the young woman took over.
Then he was lying somewhere in Orthlund, breathing in the cool air and looking into the soft light of a burgeoning summer dawn. Outside, the wind was rustling through the trees, and someone was knocking at his door, and calling his name.
Urgently!
He was not in Orthlund! He was ...
The knocking was coming from outside.
It was Jenna. She was banging frantically on the shelter and shouting, ‘Hawklan, Hawklan!'
Suddenly wide awake, Hawklan seized his sword and a torch and stepping nimbly over his wakening companions, moved to the entrance.
Outside the shelter, Jenna was standing with her sword drawn, peering into the darkness. Echoing round the cave was the strange hissing that had intruded into Hawklan's dream. It was growing steadily louder.
'It started a few minutes ago,’ Jenna said. ‘It's coming from the tunnel.'
Hawklan strode forward to the mouth of the tunnel. The noise was indeed markedly louder there. He pointed the torch into the darkness.
At first, it showed him only the upward sloping floor, but then, somewhere beyond its apparent reach, a jostling mass of red, glinting eyes blinked into life.
* * *
Chapter 24
The galloping hooves threw up great showers of melting snow as the horsemen rode down the hill. At the bottom, they slowed as the road turned sharply to lead them into the village.
The single street that wound through it was deserted, the drizzling rain keeping everyone indoors who had matters to attend to that could safely be left for a day or so.
The riders halted and held a brief, arm-waving, discussion. Then, with a snort of annoyance, the leader swung down from his horse, strode up the short path of a nearby house, and banged urgently on the door. A small patch of snow on the roof gave up the uneven struggle against winter's demise and slid down suddenly to land noisily on the wet ground a pace or so away from the man.