The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

The rest of their preparations were made in silence and it was a sombre group that set off for the landing stage. Two Frians were waiting for them there on long, black boats, each hollowed from a single tree-trunk. Aűg and Lul complained in fractured Zindaric about the presence of Lilahnee. Forollkin told them she would give no trouble and sweetened his words with an extra gold piece. Dau had sworn that these dour, silent northerners were trustworthy. Forollkin prayed it was true.

  Gidjabolgo got into one boat with most of the luggage, and Kerish, Forollkin and Lilahnee into the other. Dau's uncle hurried off, clearly glad to be rid of his visitors. The boats moved away from the island of Lokrim and northwards across the lake. Kerish wrapped his new green cloak around him and tried not to think of Dau.

  *****

  It was a dreary journey. From dawn to noon each day the Frians paddled the narrow dug-outs, sometimes helped by Forollkin and Gidjabolgo. After a brief rest and a meal of bread and dried meat they would go on until dusk. When they had found a dry place to make camp, Aűg usually shot a bird for supper and roasted it over a fire of gir branches gathered by Lul.

  The days were warm but the nights were increasingly cold. The Frians smeared themselves with or-gar-gee grease and did not seem to mind the chill wind, and Lilahnee was thriving. She slept for most of each day curled up in the bottom of one of the boats and hunted each night. There were very few mornings when Kerish did not wake to find the bloody remains of her kill laid at his feet.

  In the spring, when the snows melted and the rains came, the river was a swollen torrent, and a voyage up-stream would have been impossible, but now the waters were low and sluggish. During the first week of their journey the reed thickets gave way to expanses of moss and treacherous suck-grass, studded with gir mounds. By the second week, the brilliant green of the bog plants had blended into the soft grey of flat grasslands, stretching into the distance to the shores of the ocean itself. They had reached the edge of the vast plains of Erandachu and Kerish realized that, for the first time, he was seeing the country where his mother had been born.

  Within a few more days the last of the gir mounds had disappeared and they had to carry enough wood to stiffen fires of moss and grasses. There were still plenty of birds for Aűg to shoot but Lilahnee had poorer hunting.

  One morning, as the mists cleared, the travellers had their first sight of the Forbidden Hill. Over the next week the shadow on the horizon grew and occasionally they glimpsed beyond it the foothills of the Ultimate Mountains.

  Several times Kerish tried to get the Frians to talk about the Forbidden Hill and what they believed to lie beyond it. Both Aűg and Lul muttered a few words about danger and relapsed into an inability to understand Zindaric.

  *****

  On the day they reached the Hill it was almost dusk and its upper slopes were hidden by mist. As Dau had warned them, the river itself vanished into a cleft and ran on underground. The travellers camped in a hollow, sheltered by a single wind-bowed tree. After a long cold wait, Lul managed to get a fire alight and cook a brace of small birds. As usual, they were burnt on the surface and half raw inside but the travellers ate them gratefully.

  Forollkin spread out one cloak to shield them from the damp grass and another to serve as a coverlet. He and Kerish shared a pillow of a rolled up tunic and Gidjabolgo curled up close by. For once, however, the marsh kitten stayed beside Kerish and the Frians sat by the fire as if they had no intention of sleeping.

  Kerish was never sure if it was the Frians' voices or Lilahnee's soft growling that woke him in the middle of the night. He reached out a hand to stroke the marsh kitten and felt the fur prickling along her spine. Kerish opened his eyes and was blinded by a sudden light.

  The dark slopes above them were ringed with a blue glow. For a few seconds it burned fiercely and then vanished. Kerish was suddenly reminded of the lights he had seen coming from the rocks of Lind, the lights of Lind that drove men mad. The brilliant blue seemed imprinted on his eyes, following him into the darkness when he closed them.

  Kerish sat up suddenly and for the first time the Frians noticed that he was awake. Their backs were to the Hill.

  "A light . . ." began Kerish.

  "Not look," hissed Aűg. "Sleep."

  Kerish felt Lilahnee's warm, rough tongue licking his hand and the light in his mind faded. It was a dark night and cold. Kerish huddled closer to his brother and went back to sleep.

  At dawn, before the mists had cleared, the two Frians returned to their boats. Once only, Aűg asked the Galkians to return with him to Lokrim. Forollkin refused and the Frians handed over the remaining provisions, a pouch of dried meat and a sack of hard, dry bread. They would support themselves by hunting on the voyage home. Forollkin was now equipped with a bow, but the Frians could not tell him how plentiful the game might be beyond the Forbidden Hill. Gidjabolgo watched the Frians paddle downstream while Forollkin divided the baggage.

  Kerish had wandered a little way up the slope, with Lilahnee at his side, and was staring at the Hill. Near its summit was a row of black pillars, or were they statues? They would soon know if they were to cross the Hill and rejoin the river.

  Forollkin strode up to his brother carrying a heavy bundle tied in a cloak.

  "Here, this is your load."

  The Prince of the Godborn stared at him blankly.

  "I'll strap it to your shoulders," continued his brother cheerfully, "so your arms will be free for climbing. Hold it for a moment."

  Kerish staggered under the weight.

  "Forollkin, have you slipped your senses? I have my zildar to carry. Give this to Gidjabolgo."

  "He already has more than enough to carry and so have I. Bear your own burdens or leave them behind."

  As Forollkin walked off, Kerish's anger got the better of his amazement.

  "Forollkin, come back here, come back!"

  The young captain ignored his brother. "Gidjabolgo, are you ready?"

  The Forgite nodded and looked curiously towards Kerish. "Is our Prince swallowing his pride or choking on it?"

  Forollkin slung his bow where the load at his back wouldn't bump against it and set off up the hill. Gidjabolgo followed, chuckling. When Kerish realized that they really were leaving him behind, he struggled after them with Lilahnee padding at his heels, sniffing the damp grass. By the time he caught up with his brother, he had thought of several unanswerable arguments but they were driven from his head by Forollkin's sudden exclamation of disgust or horror. Gidjabolgo had stopped but Kerish ran the last few feet to join his brother by the lowest of the circle of black pillars.

  "What is it? What's the matter?"

  "There's something inside, trapped inside. No, Kerish don't look!"

  But Kerish was staring at the pillar already. A shaft of light penetrated the dark stone and it was just possible to see a faint shape; long hands, an eyeless skull, a mouth distorted in a silent scream.

  "A trick of the light," snapped Gidjabolgo and pushed the Prince past the black pillar.

  For a moment, Kerish felt as if he were falling and the step he had just taken could never be retraced. Beside him, Gidjabolgo was an odd colour. Forollkin hesitated on the other side of the pillar and Lilahnee was growling. Kerish called to her but she didn't seem to hear. The marsh kitten backed away from the pillar, her ears flattened to her skull.

  "Pick her up, Forollkin, we'll have to carry her for a little way."

  Forollkin obeyed and the marsh kitten's scratches seemed to restore his confidence. He strode past the black pillar and dumped her down at his brother's feet.

  "She's getting too big to carry. Come on, let's see the view from the top."

  By the time they reached the summit, there were sharp pains in Kerish's chest and Gidjabolgo was gasping for breath, but such minor discomforts were forgotten in the wonder of what they saw. The Ultimate Mountains, still half-veiled in mist and unimaginably huge: the northern boundary of the world.

  "Well," said Forollkin, "it's going to be c
old."

  They walked slowly down the northern slope of the Forbidden Hill, to the narrow valley through which the river flowed before disappearing underground. Scrambling down a steep bank they chose a stony path beside the sleek, tumbling waters.

  "The King of Ellerinonn told us to follow the river to the feet of the mountains," said Kerish. "That should be easy enough."

  "And those are all the instructions you have?" demanded Gidjabolgo.

  "That's all," said Forollkin, trying to gauge the distance to the nearest mountain and the citadel of Tir-Zulmar. "The days are long. I'll need some light for hunting but we might manage nine or ten hours walking a day."

  "Ten hours!" exclaimed Kerish.

  "With one rest at noon," said Forollkin briskly. "You and Gidjabolgo both need hardening if we're to reach the mountains."

  All that day they walked. Forollkin chivvied his companions on, striding ahead, clambering over rocks, finding the easiest paths. As the light was dimming, he shot a scrawny bird that Gidjabolgo plucked and roasted over a fire of twigs and dead grass. The meat tasted bitter. Lilahnee refused to touch it and went off to forage on her own.

  Kerish unstrapped the load from his aching shoulders and bathed his blistered feet in the river. Only resentment had sustained him throughout the long day. Forollkin gave him the best portions of meat and gently bound up his feet.

  "I'll make a warrior of you yet," he said.

  The next morning Kerish woke in agony, his muscles rebelling at the slightest movement. Gidjabolgo was little better and muttered dark Forgite curses as he shouldered his load again.

  Forollkin eventually forced his companions to walk for most of the day. As soon as they stopped Kerish fell asleep and the Forgite curled into a ball and refused to move. Wearily, Forollkin gathered enough wood for a fire, soaked the hard bread to make it palatable and divided up the remains of the cold meat. He woke Kerish and Gidjabolgo to make them eat and spread out the ashes of the fire for them to sleep on.

  Forollkin would have preferred to keep a watch but the others were obviously too tired to take their turns. He lay down beside his brother, with his hand on his sword hilt; the marsh kitten between them.

  Kerish woke long before dawn. The wind had dropped and the night was almost unnaturally still, but in the distance there was music. At least, that was his first thought. As he sat up fully awake, it sounded more like the howling of an animal in anguish. Could an animal feel anguish? Now he listened carefully he didn't know why he had thought the noise sad either. The complex, broken rhythms seemed to pull each nerve in his body taut. Every few seconds there was silence and the silence seemed more potent than the sound, but he could not work out the pattern, though his fingers moved to it. Abruptly, he knew that he hated the noise but he had to find out what made it.

  Kerish began to slide from beneath the cloak he shared with Forollkin but it was Gidjabolgo who first stumbled to his feet and walked dazedly towards the sound.

  That jolted Kerish to his senses. He sprang up and shook the Forgite by his shoulders.

  "No, Gidjabolgo!"

  He stared blankly at the Prince. "I must go closer."

  The Forgite’s body moved to the pattern of the distant voice. Kerish snatched up his zildar and his cold fingers stumbled into the tune of a Galkian hymn. He played as loudly as he could, staring down at the gilded wood, forcing his hands not to stray into the weird rhythm that haunted him still.

  Forollkin sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

  "Idaala's Breasts, Kerish, what are you doing? If you don't care about squandering your own rest you might have a thought for mine."

  Kerish stopped playing. "Don't you hear it? It's faint now but..."

  "A wild beast, howling its hatred of men," broke in Gidjabolgo as he sat down beside them. "My Master has frightened it off with his music."

  "You're both sleep-sodden," said Forollkin and rolled over with his back towards Kerish. The Prince looked for a moment at the Forgite and then moved nearer to his brother, burying his head under his cloak.

  At sunrise Forollkin got up and bathed in the icy river. He woke his companions and they began their day's march. They were passing through a desolate land of bleak hills, wind-tortured trees and countless streams. In spite of the thin sunlight it seemed to be growing colder every hour. Forollkin still thought it preferable to the marshes and whistled Jenozan marching songs as he strode along the rocky paths. Kerish and Gidjabolgo were both very quiet. Lilahnee bounded ahead; she was growing fast and her coat was changing to a sleek, glossy green.

  At noon, they paused in a sheltered hollow to eat the meagre ration of dried meat that Forollkin allowed them. Afterwards, while the others rested, Forollkin strayed from the path a little and climbed a nearby hill.

  "Kerish, Gidjabolgo," his voice floated back towards them. "Come and look."

  They came slowly, complaining at the climb, and then stared in silence where Forollkin pointed.

  At the far end of a deep valley lay a vast stone city. Its buildings coiled and writhed in shapes that men could never have inhabited. The city was ringed with black pillars and statues crouched between them. Kerish was glad that he could not see them more clearly.

  "Is there anything moving there?" asked Forollkin. "Kerish, you've keener eyes than me."

  "Only shadows. It's a dead city, long dead, I would guess. Look - there are rents in the ground and most of the buildings seem to be broken; perhaps there was an earthquake or a flood."

  "Those pillars seem the same as the ones on the Forbidden Hill," said Forollkin.

  "Sentinels, " murmured Gidjabolgo, "with no-one left to guard."

  "I hope so." Kerish shivered. "Let's get down, out of the wind."

  As the day drew on, Forollkin began to find the silence of his companions oppressive.

  "Kerish, can you spare the breath for a song or a story?"

  The Prince shook his head.

  Determinedly cheerful, Forollkin tried again. "Gidjabolgo, then, if you can sing a civil song. We know you can play."

  "My Masters must excuse me, I was not trained to be civil."

  "And what were you trained for then in Forgin?" asked Forollkin.

  "Laughing at my fellow men, picking out others' faults for my Master's pleasure."

  "Not a job well paid in thanks or money I would guess."

  "On the contrary, my Masters always paid handsomely to watch their friends discomforted."

  "And the friends?"

  "Thought envy natural to such a miserable creature as myself and smiled at my offences," claimed Gidjabolgo.

  They went on in silence. Kerish hardly noticed his chafed shoulders and blistered feet any more. He felt curiously detached from his surroundings, almost as if he were floating, allowing himself to be carried along by some unseen current. Part of him knew that this was dangerous, but he was too tired to struggle.

  The river abruptly curved round and out of sight. The path narrowed, following the bend of the cliff with a twenty-foot drop on one side. Forollkin went first to test the way over the slippery rocks. The others followed, close behind. The young captain was edging cautiously along, hands flat against the rock, when Lilahnee gave a piercing yowl and fled back along the path, nearly knocking Gidjabolgo into the river.

  Forollkin clutched at his brother to make sure he was safe and found that Kerish was trembling violently.

  "Kerish, you can't fall. I'm holding you."

  "I can't see, Forollkin, it's too dark!"

  Fighting a surge of panic, Forollkin answered calmly, "Here's my hand, let's get down off this path. Then we'll . . ."

  "No." Kerish wrenched his hands away and staggered back to be caught by Gidjabolgo.

  "Keep still, Kerish. That's an order."

  Forollkin took his brother's hands again. "Close your eyes and take one step forwards."

  "It's forbidden."

  "Just one step," repeated Forollkin and this time his brother obeyed.

  Inch
by inch, Forollkin led Kerish along the narrow path and down to the river. When they had reached flat ground again Kerish opened his eyes.

  "Are you better now?" asked Forollkin. "It's a long time since you did that to me."

  "The night of Kor-li-Zynak's presentation." The Prince spoke quietly. "Yes, I'm better. Look behind you."

  A dark hole gaped in the bank. Before it stood two black pillars and between them lay a body.

  Reluctantly, Forollkin came closer. He saw the corpse was that of a Frian and not long dead, for there were no signs of decay. In one still hand the man clutched some kind of metal ornament, bright with jewels. Gidjabolgo came down the path and stood beside Forollkin as the Galkian knelt and gently turned the body over.