The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels)

by Geraldine Harris

  The wind moaned in the tunnel and Kerish almost shrieked aloud. The Frian's lips were drawn tightly back in the grin of death and between his eyes was a terrible wound.

  "There's blood on the ornament and his hand," said Gidjabolgo.

  "He couldn't have done that to himself," protested Forollkin.

  "Do you think that tunnel leads to the city we saw?" asked the Forgite. "Will my Masters order their servant to bury him, or shall we go on?"

  Forollkin hesitated for a moment.

  "Go on," he said, "quickly."

  Gidjabolgo reached for the jewel in the dead man's hand.

  “Leave it!” ordered Forollkin. “He paid dearly enough for it.”

  "Lilahnee . . . " murmured Kerish, “I have to go back for her.”

  "She must follow in her own time. Come on."

  The pace Forollkin set was cruelly fast but neither of his companions complained.

  By nightfall they were five miles from the valley of the city. They stopped in a hollow only a few feet from the rushing waters. It was too dark try gather wood for a fire and they huddled together chewing scraps of dried meat and crumbled bread.

  Tired as they were, sleep would not come easily and Forollkin broke the tense silence. "Kerish, you know more history than I do. Did the priests ever teach you anything about this country?"

  "Nothing, but I have been wondering about the Western Wall."

  Gidjabolgo obviously could not sleep either.

  "What wall is that?" he asked.

  "It runs down the western boundary of the Empire," answered Kerish, "past Morolk and Tryfania from the mountains of the North to Fangmere. It was built by the grandson of Mikeld-lo-Taan, the first of the Emperors. None of our other borders are so guarded but in all our history what enemy ever came from the far Northwest? Perhaps the Book of Secrets gives a reason for the wall, but I do not know it."

  "And who can read this Book of Secrets?" enquired Gidjabolgo.

  "The reigning Emperor, High Priest and Priestess; no-one else."

  "You think the wall might have been built to keep out whatever lived in the city?" pursued Forollkin. "Well, it may be so but I wish the Emperor had built his wall in Jenoza to keep the Five Kingdoms out."

  "The strangest thing of all," said Kerish drowsily, "is that Galkis was empty when the first ships came, and where did the ships sail from? Where did we come from?"

  "From some other part of Zindar, I suppose," said Forollkin, "though even the priests don't seem to know."

  "You didn't come from Forgin," murmured Gidjabolgo. "Our legend is much the same as yours, though without a god to welcome us ashore. A long voyage and an empty land."

  Forollkin yawned. "We must ask the Sorcerer of Tir-Zulmar for an answer to the riddle."

  "If you can pay the price for knowledge," said Gidjabolgo. "Do you have mysteries to trade? I think not, though the Prince perhaps . . ."

  "I'm sure you've enough for the three of us," answered Forollkin. "For Zeldin's sake, let's get some rest."

  They did sleep in the end, so soundly that it was an hour after dawn when Gidjabolgo woke with a shout as Lilahnee leapt down into the hollow and padded across the others to lick Kerish's face. Forollkin sat up swearing and rubbing his stomach for the marsh cat was no light weight now. Kerish hugged her and Lilahnee backed off spitting, but her claws were sheathed and she had brought them a plump skon fowl, so they made a good breakfast.

  For the rest of the day they followed the path closely and never climbed the banks to see if there were other ruined cities. Kerish felt happier when the river dipped down and the banks rose until they were walking in a gorge. They were out of the wind at last but after two days Forollkin began to fear that the path might disappear and that their food supplies could not last.

  There proved to be a narrow space always running between the river and the cliff that looked as if it could have been the remains of some ancient road, but nothing grew in the gorge except moss and ferns too damp to burn. Nor was there anything to shoot, and they were forced to live on the dwindling sack of hard bread and dried meat. Lilahnee hunted small, slimy river creatures and devoured them growling with disgust. Once Forollkin and Gidjabolgo caught some tiny fish in a pool and ate them raw. Haughtily denying his hunger, Kerish refused to touch them.

  On their seventh day in the gorge they heard a distant rumble that increased to a thunderous roar as they walked. By noon they had reached the foot of a great waterfall. Drenched and deafened, the travellers stood hypnotised by the changing shapes and colours of the torrent until Forollkin pointed to the route Lilahnee was already taking up the cliff beside the waterfall. The rocks they must climb would be slippery with spray and he was worried that Kerish wasn't strong enough to make it to the top. Yet they couldn't stay in the gorge to starve.

  Forollkin cupped his hands to shout to his brother.

  “Untie your bundle. Gidjabolgo and I can divide the weight between us.”

  Unexpectedly, Kerish insisted that he could manage, so Forollkin strode to the bottom of the cliff, gesturing to Kerish to come next and Gidjabolgo last. Then he began to climb, testing the safety of each rock and showing the others where to find good foot and hand-holds.

  As Kerish looked up at the cliff, he wished he hadn't pretended to be confident of his own skill and strength. He felt sick with certainty that he would never reach the top. It took all his courage to grab at the spur of mossy rock and haul himself up the first few feet. After that he had to concentrate too hard on not falling to be frightened. The weight of his pack kept pulling him backwards and he was hampered by the zildar hanging loosely from one shoulder.

  Kerish soon got into a pattern – feet wedged into a crack or balanced on a ledge; right hand groping for a firm hold amongst slimy rocks and unstable ferns; left hand brought up to join the right; then a few seconds clinging by his fingertips while his right foot was brought up to a new crack or stable rock, followed by the left. Sometimes there was a long pause before Forollkin called down advice about where to find the next hold. Kerish would lean in against the rock-face, studying the colours in a patch of lichen or the tiny flowers on a hummock of moss, before beginning to move again.

  Two-thirds of the way up, Forollkin had to move sideways to avoid an overhang. As Kerish followed, bending double to duck below the projecting rock, the zildar slipped off his shoulder.

  “No!”

  Just as Kerish was imagining the precious instrument smashed on the rocks far below, Gidjabolgo instinctively reached out to grab the zildar. He caught it, but overbalanced and the Forgite's right foot slid off the ledge he had been standing on. As Gidjabolgo clawed at the air, Kerish grabbed his hand. The weight of the Forgite swinging from his arm nearly wrenched the Prince's shoulder from its socket but it only took a second for Gidjabologo to gain another foothold.

  Forollkin shouted down to ask why they weren't following him.

  “We're coming,” shouted Kerish.

  He forced himself to move again. Once they were safely past the overhang, the worst was over. Within minutes, the three travellers had hauled themselves out of the gorge and into the wind again.

  Kerish and Gidjabolgo were exhausted. It was Forollkin who made them change into dry clothes, who gathered twigs and handfuls of grass and struggled against the wind to get a fire alight. Muttering a brief prayer to Imarko, he unslung his bow to hunt for game. He was lucky almost at once and shot a small plump animal that seemed to be too stupid to run away. He skinned it quickly and roasted it on a stick. When it was done he woke the others and gave them the best share. They burned their fingers tearing at the hot meat and sucked the bones bare. Too tired to travel further in search of shelter, they slept on the windswept hill.

  Kerish woke when Lilahnee returned from her hunting before it was light. He lay looking up at the sky, forgetting the cold and his sore shoulder by trying to name each star. There was one he was not sure of. It could be Keshnarmeynee, the Star of Morning, for it was very bright
, but surely too low in the sky? He thought of the same stars shining on Galkis.

  It would be late autumn in his father's gardens, the time of the Hair Festival, when the lock of Imarko's own hair kept in her temple at Hildimarn, was shown to the people and every black-haired lady in the land cut off a matching lock to scatter on the fields. He had heard that in the country the women were chased and put up mock fights before letting the young men of the village cut their hair. Nothing so lively had ever happened in the Palace. Kerish's thoughts drifted through the Inner City as he watched the sudden Northern sunrise.

  The light woke Forollkin. He got up and surveyed the country ahead. On bleak grey hills mile upon mile of gaunt trees stood sentinel against the snowline. They had rations left for three or four days.

  "I wish to Zeldin we knew how long it will take us to reach Tir-Zulmar," Forollkin said aloud.

  "Elmandis only said `follow the river'," answered Kerish, "that must be all we have to do."

  So they followed the river as it dwindled into a mountain stream.

  Kerish never remembered much about that journey except the inescapable cold. No cloak could keep out the icy wind. When they did find enough wood for a fire it never gave enough heat to drive the aching coldness from their hands and feet. There was little for Forollkin to shoot. Once Gidjabolgo found some berries but he crammed them in his mouth before the others saw them. Lilahnee's ribs were showing through her fur. She growled when the Prince tried to stroke her but she would not leave them.

  On the fourth day they finished the last of their provisions and the next evening they reached the snowline. Forollkin knew they must turn back, but perhaps it was already too late. Kerish looked like a walking ghost.

  "We can't go on," Forollkin shouted against the wind. "We must go back down among the trees, or we'll freeze."

  "No, Forollkin we must go on. The river is still there beneath the snow. We're nearly at the end. I know we are."

  Kerish began to struggle uphill, though the snow was knee-deep in places. Lilahnee followed, sniffing suspiciously at the strange new whiteness.

  "Kerish, come back! It's nearly dark and you can see there's a storm rising."

  Forollkin stopped shouting and started in pursuit. Gidabolgo slumped down on the edge of the snow. It had begun to snow heavily and the wind caught the thick flakes and threw them in the travellers' faces.

  Half-blinded, Forollkin lost sight of Kerish and the shriek of the rising storm drowned his shouting. He blundered into a deep drift and as he struggled out again his sodden clothes froze to his body.

  Further up the slope Kerish forced himself on until his knees suddenly gave way and he collapsed into the snow. Exhausted as he was, the Prince continued to crawl upwards. His hands were so cold he could no longer feel them. He wanted to lie down and rest but he knew that that would be fatal. His eyelashes were freezing together but he still looked up into the driving snow.

  A little way above him a silver light was shining through the blizzard. He had an odd conviction that it was shining for him, to guide him to the source of the river. Once he reached it, he knew he would be safe, but he couldn't do it. He was too cold, too tired.

  "Zeldin, Imarko, help me. I must do it. I must."

  Kerish's breath frosted as he spoke but he crawled on and the light was nearer. As the snow swirled away from him for a few seconds, he saw that the light came from a silver door in the mountainside.

  `I must be dead', thought Kerish calmly.

  Just before he lost consciousness the Prince stretched out his hands and the tips of his fingers touched the silver gate.

  Chapter 5

  The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows

  Though you may build your house in the furthest desert or the highest mountain, the sorrows of the world will always be with you. Nor can true peace be found in solitude, for it must be shared to reach completion.

  Lapped in warmth, the Prince of the Godborn slept, high above the plains of Erandachu. When he finally stirred and opened his eyes what he saw confirmed his opinion that he was dead. Kerish lay on a low bed in a circular chamber carved from ice. The walls were translucent, glowing with changing colours as the morning sun-light filtered through. Intricate patterns were etched on the ceiling and set with ice crystals.

  Kerish shivered at the room's cold beauty and sat up. Forollkin and Gidjabolgo were sleeping on either side of him, beneath coverlets of fur, and Lilahnee was sprawled across his feet.

  Kerish slid out of bed. Someone had replaced his ragged travelling clothes with a soft robe of glimmering blue silk sewn with seed pearls. The floor sparkled with frost but Kerish's bare feet felt no cold. He paced across the room and found an archway hung with a jewelled curtain. Beyond lay another chamber, furnished with three chairs and a long table spread with steaming dishes of enticing food and flagons of wine. Kerish went back through the archway and shook his brother awake.

  "Kerish, curse you, come back..." Forollkin stopped and stared about him. "Where in Zeldin's name are we?"

  "I don't know. I've only just woken myself, but there's food in the next room."

  "I remember a snowstorm," Forollkin was saying bemusedly, "and falling into a deep drift and . . ."

  "Waking up here," finished Kerish, "dressed like a Loshite."

  Forollkin realized that he was wearing a clinging robe of amber silk.

  "Blood of Idaala! If you think I'm going to wear this cobweb . . ."

  "It's either that or go naked. There's no sign of our luggage."

  The Prince crossed to the third bed and jabbed the snoring Gidjabolgo in the ribs. He woke, gabbling in Forgish, and then stared mutely at the icy beauty of the room. Forollkin had climbed out of bed and was pacing the frosted floor.

  "I can't understand why I'm so warm and look at Lilahnee. How she's grown! As for you, Kerish, you were thin as an arrow and now you look strong and well."

  Kerish laughed. "I'm certainly plumper than I was." He ran his hands down his body but stopped with a jerk at his waist. "Forollkin, the keys, they're gone!"

  The brothers searched both rooms but the golden chain and its keys had vanished. Gidjabolgo watched them with interest.

  "What are these keys that cause my Masters such concern?"

  "The keys to a prison," answered Kerish curtly.

  "Perhaps our host, whoever he is, took them with our clothes, meaning no harm," suggested Forollkin.

  "Maybe, though he left me the jewel of Zeldin," said Kerish, "but if our host is the sorcerer of Tir-Zulmar, he would have every reason to steal the keys."

  "Well, we'll think better on a full stomach," proposed Forollkin. "You did say there was food?"

  The food had no smell but it tasted ordinary enough and the travellers ate in greedy silence for a while.

  Then Gidjabolgo asked, "What is this prison with many doors?"

  Kerish didn't answer so Forollkin said, "Since you're to travel with us, you might as well know. Kerish and I were sent by the Emperor of Galkis to seek seven keys. Each of the keys is guarded by a sorcerer but our scriptures say that they unlock the gates to a prison where the Saviour of Gallkis is kept. Once he is free, he will help our Empire in its darkest hour."

  "Where is this prison?" asked the Forgite.

  Forollkin looked down at his plate, "We don't know."

  "Who imprisons this saviour," persisted Gidjabolgo, "and why?"

  "I don't know," said Forollkin wearily. "I don't even know if there is a Saviour or a prison, but we're going to obey the Emperor's orders."

  "Obey a madman? Then you are greater fools than I took you for." Gidjabolgo's voice was harsh with contempt. "A saviour! Mere babble to lull fools into keeping quiet while their throats are cut."

  Forollkin stared at him and said softly, "What do you worship, Gidjabolgo?"

  "Myself," rasped the Forgite, "like any wise man."

  "You don't seem to have grown rich on the offerings . . ."

  Suddenly Kerish put down his cup and got u
p from the table. He paced round the room, searching for a way out.

  "Forollkin, we must find the keys!"

  He struck angrily at the ice and the colours faded from the wall. The ice became wholly transparent and then melted away. A long passage was revealed, shaped in green ice like an avenue of weeping trees.

  "A sorcerer's citadel if ever I saw one," growled Gidjabolgo, but his eyes were round with wonder.

  Kerish hurried back to the other room and woke Lilahnee. Her large fierce presence was comforting as they came out into the passage. They walked slowly and cautiously and only their footfalls disturbed the silence. They rounded a corner and were suddenly confronted with a huge window of clear ice.