Wheel of the Winds

by M J Engh

  They were making camp at the base of a snowy slope when Lethgro, stamping out a flat place to spread the Exile's sheet, put his foot through a crust of ice into a stream of running water. He snatched his foot back as if he had put it naked into fire, and then went down on his hands and knees to scrape away snow and break away ice; for in this frozen darkness, running water seemed like something escaped from a forgotten world. “Look at this, Repnomar,” he called a little hoarsely.

  It was indeed a stream, tinkling sweetly under the snow; and when, with the help of Broz, they had traced it a little way up the slope, the Captain and the Warden sat back on their heels and looked at each other. The Warden laughed a choking laugh. “This whole watch past,” he said, “I've thought the dark was getting a little lighter, and been afraid to mention it.”

  Repnomar reached across the narrow rivulet and thumped him on the chest. “I can see you, Lethgro!” she cried exultantly. “Like a hulk in a fogbank, but I swear I can see you. Didn't I tell you the world was round? We're coming to the light.”

  20

  Coming Out

  It was a good thing (so they all agreed) that the wind had helped them. For without its help, in the Exile's opinion, the pods would not have had strength left to carry them up the Mountains; and without the swiftness of the pods, they would have used up their rations before ever they reached the pass. This time there was no doubt that the Exile spoke the truth, for the pods were laboring badly by the time they reached the upper slopes, drooping so low, despite all Repnomar's pressing of buttons, that at times she felt her feet trail through the tops of the unwholesome vegetation that blotched the mountainside. It would not have been easy flying even with the pods at their best, for the mountain winds were gusty, veering and swooping so that often it was all the Captain could do to save them from wreck. Yet no one complained; for if flying was hard, walking would have been worse. For hours they had been moving upward through a dim landscape of ravines and rain squalls. The rocks below them were sometimes bare and streaming with water, sometimes sheathed in ice, but most often (so it seemed to Lethgro) thickly mantled with what was certainly an unfriendly mire of sodden snow.

  This was of much interest to the Warden, and he strained his eyes to make out as much as he could, when he was not distracted by the wild swoops and jerks of their flight. He was searching for some shelter, where they might be able to rest, or for some sign of better footing, in case it came to walking. If these were the Mountains indeed (and he was willing to believe it now) they were no small barrier. When the pods died (and he was certain they would die) they would have a weary journey before they reached Sollet Castle. The Rains must be almost over now, so that Streamrise would be well begun by then, and the going wet. They had already traveled without rest for what the Warden believed to be almost a double watch; and if the pods failed altogether, or a downdraft smashed them against the slush-covered rocks, they would need (supposing they were still alive) a good rest before they began to climb. They were soaked through from the rain and well-nigh frozen, and the Warden's shoulders ached miserably from the tug of his harness and the little wings. But despite all this, and despite the giddy swerves and terrifying dives of their flight, the Warden's soul was at peace for the first time since they had left Beng harbor so long ago.

  He had never really believed in the roundness of the world nor the likelihood of their finding an end to the dark, and all this while he had felt that the Captain and the Exile were dragging him against his will through countries he had no wish to understand. But now he felt, with a warm and unshakable confidence, that he was coming into his own land again. This faint light, that showed the snow-smeared slopes as a dim ghostliness beneath them, was the same light that shone so sweetly on the terraces of Sollet Castle; and these half-seen and unwelcoming mountains, on whose slippery rocks they were in instant danger of shipwreck, were in truth only the backside of the Mountains he knew well.

  So that he was almost glad when the wreck came at last, though he would have been glad more truly if they had reached a pass first. It came with a shout from the Captain as two of the pods stalled at once and the wind slammed them straight toward a cliffside. The Warden closed his eyes and resigned himself to death, as he had done more than once already. But at the last moment they swept upward along the cliff face, and struck it almost gently, so that they were only bruised and half stunned, not shattered, though they took a little more damage as they slid down the icy cliff and collected in a tangle at its base.

  The Exile, who had thudded into Lethgro's side and so escaped a worse blow, was the first to begin disengaging himself from the pile. The stove had given Repnomar a sharp rap on the knee; and though a great frenzy of yelping from one of the pods called her to action, she was too hurt and too entangled to do more at first than swear and thrash about in the wreckage.

  But the Exile, with much presence of mind, turned first to the Warden, who lay with his face in the snow and a heavy pod on his back. It was not easy, for a person of the Exile's size, to get him free, but he managed to lift the Warden's face out of the slush and support it so while he rolled the pod off, with difficulty and the use of both his legs. By then the Captain had loosened herself enough from the towlines to reach the pod where Broz was voicing his muffled outcry; and after a time of confusion, they were all arranged more or less comfortably (if misery could be comfortable) at the cliff's foot. The Warden had not come to himself, but he was breathing, and the expression of his face—so far as the others could make it out in the half-light—was benign. Broz was limping with a sprained foot, the Captain's right knee (the same one that had been lamed before) painful and swelling, and the crows were badly ruffled in plumage and disposition. But the worst damage (pending the Warden's account of himself) seemed to have been taken by the pods. It had been hard work releasing Broz, for the hatch of his pod had been jammed shut by the impact and all the panels of the walls knocked out of kilter, so that the Exile could no longer adjust them; while one of the smaller pods had smashed open like a ripe fruit, scattering its contents across the snow. The stove, to the Exile's great relief, still functioned, and he ascribed this to its having struck Repnomar's knee instead of the cliff (which brought a wry laugh from Repnomar). He himself had not been so lucky; for though not as broken as his pods, he had (as he admitted under the Captain's prodding) a cracked bone in his left arm. The Captain bound it up firmly, and there was no more to do for any of them, for the Exile's packet of medications had disappeared in the crash. Another drizzle had begun, this time of snow, not rain, and they made what warmth and shelter they could against the cliff face with stove and sheet and the wreckage of the pods. “And we could have had a worse landing,” the Captain said fretfully; “but why doesn't Lethgro come round?”

  Now, in fact Warden Lethgro had been at least partly conscious for some time, though to open his eyes had seemed to him an excessive and unnecessary labor. It was a great satisfaction to him to be lying motionless on solid ground, though it was a knobby rock covered with wet snow, and to know that when he did open his eyes he would be able to see, if only dimly. Bruised though he was, and still sodden from the icy rain, he was no longer ripped and tossed by the wind, and the heat of the stove was slowly penetrating his cold flesh. Most of all, he felt that he was almost home, being separated now from Sollet Castle only by the Mountains and the tempestuous course of the Upper Sollet; and he reflected peacefully that his notions of distance and of travel had changed since the long-ago time when he had dreaded a simple journey upriver from Beng.

  Now, however, hearing Repnomar's complaint, he exerted himself to answer, though he did not go so far as to raise his eyelids. “I'm tired, Rep,” he said comfortably. “That was a long watch you put us through.”

  Repnomar's face split with a grin, and she settled back against the rock wall and scratched Broz between the ears. “We might as well have another long one now,” she said. “Go to sleep. I'll take first guard.”

  “Don't f
orget,” Lethgro said sleepily, “to tie the Exile.” And after that he gave himself up to the warmth of the stove and the steadiness of the rock, and slept.

  When he woke, his first thought was that he should have seen to the binding of the Exile himself, and he started up violently, upsetting the shelter and waking Broz and Repnomar, and had to lean against the cliff wall until his head cleared again. For a little he thought that his fears were realized, for he could not make out any sign of the Exile. “Did you let him get away, Rep?” he asked bitterly. His head throbbed and his body ached, and he cursed himself for carelessness.

  Repnomar snorted, and made a movement that in the half-darkness he could not follow. “He's on leash,” she said, and put a rope into Lethgro's hand. “Give that a pull if you want him.”

  This was unnecessary, for the Exile was already clumping and clattering toward them through the wreckage. The Warden, however, did not apologize for his doubt till he had examined the Captain's leash arrangement. Then he did so very handsomely, for she had joined the Exile's elbows by a rope behind his back in such a way that he could use his hands but not get at the knots, and the other end of the rope she had tied to her own waist. Thus the Exile had been able to search for his scattered treasures while he kept guard; and though that in itself did not please the Warden, there seemed to have been no harm done, and the Exile was so childishly pleased to have collected a few of these objects unharmed, that the Warden could not bring himself to chide either him or Repnomar.

  “And you've had your easy watch, Lethgro,” Repnomar added. “The rest of us have had our fill of sleep, and you've had twice as much. Now put a little food in your stomach, and let's be moving on.”

  Indeed the Warden was very hungry, for he had eaten nothing since the beginning of the previous watch, and the ration that he sternly doled out to himself now was not enough to placate his stomach; but it did stop his head from spinning, and he was at least as eager as the Captain to be on their way. He thought it likely that they were no great distance from the summits—for he did not suppose that the Mountains were much higher on this side than on the other, and they had flown steeply upslope a long way with the pods—and he therefore judged that their first business was to find a pass.

  It was raining again, and their clothes, which had dried out somewhat with warmth and shelter, were quickly becoming sodden once more. The Warden turned his face upward into the rain and squared his shoulders. “We'd best find a stream and follow it up,” he said.

  Indeed this mountainside, though shrouded for the most part with snow and ice, was everywhere rustling and a-quiver with flowing water. The snow itself was soaked with it, collapsing underfoot into a frigid mush that got into shoes and caked between Broz's toes. The ice, where it sheathed the rocks closely, was wet and slick, and elsewhere apt to be rotten and undercut by rivulets. None of this made for pleasant traveling, but the rocks were carved by channels and broken by crosswise cracks, so that there were good holds to be found. The Exile was saddened by the loss of his pods, but he agreed that there was nothing for it but to leave them at the base of the cliff where they had wrecked. He packed them as securely as he could against its face, and they set soggily off, roped as they had been for their first climb at the other edge of the darkness, carrying stove, sheet, torch, rations, and not much else. And the crows flew above them.

  On Lethgro's advice, they had not tried to climb the cliff, but searched along its base till they found the kind of stream he wanted, one that ran at the bottom of a deep gully or crevice, and worked their way up this. The Exile's teeth chattered. The wind boomed and whistled around the crags. After a time their gully petered out, and they made a reluctant traverse across a slippery slope to where the torch showed a rockfall that gave them better footing. Here they rested a little, for, as Repnomar said, “We're out of practice for this, Lethgro”—though the truth was rather that they were all sadly weak from long cold and hunger, and still sore and shaken from the wreck.

  But the Warden urged them on, and after a time of struggling over the loose and icy rocks they found a stream still more to his liking, for it was a regular little river (though nowhere so deep that they could not wade across it) with scrawny plants growing along its bed. Here they could walk, or in the worse stretches scramble, which was easier than climbing; but they did not unrope, for they did not know what lay still ahead, and the untying of wet knots with frozen fingers was not to be undertaken lightly.

  From time to time the rain ceased, and began again. From time to time they gathered around the stove to warm themselves, for the wind so tore away the warmth that it did not carry far. The crows were often out of sight and hearing for longer than the Captain liked, for she feared they might be lost in the wind; but she had not been able to convince them that they were in no danger of being stuffed into some dark and dangerous pod if they stayed close at hand. “And besides,” she said, stretching her hands to the stove, “if we're as near to that pass of yours as you seem to think, Lethgro, they may sight it any time and give us a bearing.”

  “Feel the wind,” the Warden answered, with such satisfaction in his voice that Repnomar looked at him keenly. (Indeed the light was now enough to show faces.) Despite the Captain's words, he had no particular pass in mind, but he had felt sure for some time that they were nearing a pass of some sort; and at this moment, feeling the sweep and steadiness of the wind, he had concluded that it must be flowing straight on through a broad gap between mountain peaks.

  And at this propitious time, one of the crows came squawking above them, beating hard against the wind, and whirled away again. The Captain laughed with satisfaction, being relieved to know both that her crow was safe and that it had found a passage for them. “You were right, Lethgro,” she said. “I'll buy you that dinner yet.”

  The Warden swung the stove to his back (for they took it in turns to carry this comfortable burden) and they started on again. Yet even with these good omens, and the easing of the slope, and the dying away of the rain, they moved slowly. Repnomar's knee was now so stiff and sore that every step was a grim matter for her; Broz whimpered as he walked; and the Exile was in a sorry state, gasping as he trudged along on his short legs and cradling his wounded arm. The Warden himself was not much better off in body, but the nearness of his own country had lit a fire within him, and he strode on mercilessly, sometimes half dragging the others by the rope they still wore, so that at last the Captain was moved to complain that he seemed to think they must make the whole journey in one watch. “Is your pass going to close up if we take a rest, Lethgro? I for one could use a little sleep.”

  Now, in fact this jibe was not far from truth, for the Warden felt uneasily that it was important to reach the pass before they slept. If once they settled into camp, any number of calamities might strike them—the Captain's knee might stiffen so badly that she could not walk at all, the Exile might escape once more, or his people descend upon them from the clouds, another mountain might vomit and bury them in ash, or (more likely) a sudden storm bury them in snow. So long as they were awake and moving, and the omens were good, he felt very earnestly that they should press on until they were over the pass, or until they dropped.

  But there was clearly much to be said for Repnomar's view, for they were piteously in need of rest, and even after the pass they would have a hard journey before them. Indeed, the Warden reflected, he could leave the others to rest in camp, if need be, while he scouted the pass and looked for game. In his opinion, nothing would restore their strength and spirits so rapidly as a good roast or stew of fresh meat.

  But what settled him at last was the sight and sound of the Exile, swaying slightly on his feet and breathing heavily like an overloaded sheep. He did not seem much like a man plotting his escape, nor indeed capable of so much as taking his freedom if it were offered to him. So the Warden sighed, casting one more glance toward the unseen pass, and set down the stove. “Call in your crows, Rep,” he said. “Let's make camp.”


  They slept soundly, taking turns as usual. Only one of the crows had come in to the Captain's hoot, which troubled her. “But,” as she said, “it's likely found a roost that suits it better, and we'll pick it up when we cross the pass.” And she curled up with Broz and the Exile, who had already made themselves comfortable, and the one dutiful crow settled beside them and tucked its head under its wing.

  Tired as he was, the Warden was still restless, and spent his guard time setting snares in what seemed the least unlikely spots along the streambed and searching the vegetation and the waters of the stream for anything that looked edible. But in this he had little luck, finding not even such unsavory game as slugs or landkelp; and the plants were all sickly things with leaves like stiff leather and no fruits that he could find. Yet he did not despair, for there were creatures here—movements and rustlings that were not of the wind, small sounds and scents that made Broz stir in his sleep—and the plants looked to him like stunted and unfruitful versions of plants he knew from the light side of the Mountains. So in due time he woke the Exile and bound him, using Repnomar's system and being careful of his hurt arm, and lay down to sleep.

  It was a noise of talking that woke him, not because it was loud, but rather because it was secretive and low. His hand went to his knife before his eyes were well open. Broz and the Captain were waking at almost the same moment, Broz with a growl in his throat.

  In the half light, a circle of squat shapes showed whitish all around them, some with arms raised in what looked very much like threat, and others loomed in the dimness beyond. The Exile, seeing the others wake, cleared his throat apologetically and began to explain.