Darkness and Light

Chapter 18

At last Wingover spied the great obelisk. The band had come to a place where the rocky ledges reared up as low, jagged peaks. Kitiara and Wingover climbed this saw toothed barrier and reported that beyond lay a magnificent bowl-shaped valley that stretched far beyond the limits of the horizon. Kitiara could not see the obelisk, but Wingover assured them that a single, tall spire stood forty miles away, in the exact center of the valley.

The gnomes took heart from the news. They had been uncommonly subdued on the trek from the village.

"Bellcrank's death has them hanging their heads," Kitiara said privately to Sturm. "I guess the little fellows have never faced death before."

Sturm agreed. What the gnomes needed was a problem, to stimulate their imaginations. He called them together.

"Here's the situation," Sturm began. "Wingover estimates the obelisk is forty miles away. Forty miles is a ten-hour march, if we don't stop for food or rest. Fifteen hours is a more reasonable estimate, but by then the sun will be up and the Lunitarians can be on the move, too."

"If only we had some way to get down in a hurry," said

Kitiara. "Horses, oxen, anything."

"Or carts, for that matter," Sturm mused.

Kitiara shot him a knowing glance. "Yes, the slope down from the saw-toothed ridge is steep but fairly smooth. We could roll quite a ways."

The spirit of technical challenge was infectious, and ideas — wild, gnomish ideas — began flashing about the little group. The gnomes dumped their packs into one big heap and went into a close huddle. Their rapid patter made no sense to Sturm or Kitiara, but the humans saw it as a good sign.

As suddenly as the gnomes had put their heads together, they broke apart. Tools appeared, and the gnomes pro ceeded to knock their wooden backpacks to pieces.

"What are you making this time?" Sturm asked Cutwood.

"Sleds," was the simple reply.

"Did he say 'sleds'?" asked Kitiara.

Within half an hour, each gnome had constructed, according to his lights, a sled — that is, a Single-Gnome Iner tia Transport Device. "By these we expect to descend the cliff slope at prodigious speed," announced Sighter.

"And break your reckless little necks," said Kitiara under her breath.

"These are for you and Master Sturm," said Roperig. He and Fitter pushed two flimsy sleds to the human's feet. Hav ing only short slats of wood to work with, the gnomes held their inventions together with nails, screws, glue, string, wire, and, in Rainspot's case, his suspenders. Wingover had designed his sled to let him ride on his belly; Sighter's allowed the rider to gracefully recline. Because of their rela tive size, Sturm's and Kitiara's sleds allowed them only a wide bit of plank for a seat.

"You can't be serious," Kitiara said dubiously. "Ride that down there?"

"It will be fast," encouraged Sighter.

"And fun!" Fitter exclaimed.

"We've calculated all the available data on stress and strength of materials," Cutwood noted. He brandished his notebook as proof; there were five pages covered with tiny, closely spaced letters and numbers. "In all cases except yours, there'll be a safety factor of three."

"What do you mean, 'in all cases except yours''" Kitiara felt obliged to ask.

Cutwood stowed his notebook in his vest pocket. "Being larger and heavier, you will naturally put more stress on the

Single-Gnome Inertia Transport Devices. Your chances of reaching the bottom of the hill without crashing are no more than even."

Kitiara opened her mouth to protest, but Sturm fore stalled her with a tolerant glance. "Those are better odds than the Lunitarians will give us," he had to admit. He boosted the flimsy sled to his shoulder. "Are you coming!"

She looked more than doubtful. "Why don't we stay here and break each others' necks? Then we'll at least save the trouble of tumbling and rolling."

"Are you afraid?"

He knew just how to provoke her. Kitiara flushed and took up her sled. "Want to..wager who gets to the bottom first?" she said.

"Why not?" he replied. "I haven't any money."

"What good is money here? How about if the loser has to carry the winner's bedroll all the way to the obelisk?"

"It's a wager." They shook hands.

Wingover was giving his colleagues an impromptu course on steering and braking. "Mostly you steer by leaning in the direction you want to go," he advised. "For stopping, use the heels of your shoes, not the toes. The downhill momentum can turn your feet under and break your toes."

Rainspot and Cutwood flipped open their notebooks and scribbled furiously. "Given a maximum velocity of fifty-six miles per hour — "

"And feet approximately seven inches long — "

"One can expect to break three toes on the left foot — "

"And four on the right," said Rainspot. The gnomes applauded.

"Wingover just told us not to use our toes, so why in the name of the suffering gods do you calculate something no one in his right mind would try?" Kitiara asked.

"The principle of scientific inquiry should not be limited to merely the practical or the possible," explained Sighter.

"Only by investigating the unlikely and the unthought-of is the sum total of knowledge advanced."

Sturm was looking at his feet. "What I don't understand is why more toes on the right foot would break than on the left."

"Don't encourage them!" Kitiara told Sturm. She dragged her shaky bundle of slats to the edge of the cliff. The glass smooth slope plunged down at a breathtaking angle. Kitiara inhaled sharply and looked back. The gnomes crowded for ward to the edge, quite unafraid.

"Obviously an example of vitreous concretion," observed

Cutwood, running a hand over the smooth, bubbly surface.

"Do you think? Volcanic?" Wingover said.

"Hardly. I should say this entire valley constitutes a ther moflexic astrobleme," theorized Sighter.

Kitiara uttered an angry snort that cut off further gnom ish theorizing. She dropped her sled and straddled it. When she let her weight down on it, the slats creaked ominously.

"You did say even odds?" she said to Cutwood. The gnome babbled something about "within two standard deviations," and Kitiara decided not to query further. She pulled herself forward by hands and heels until she teetered on the brink.

"C'mon, Sturm! Or do you want to pack my bedroll for the next forty miles?"

Sturm laid his sled on the ground. He told Wingover that he and Kit were going to race. Wingover replied, "Oh! Then you'll need someone at the bottom to see who wins! Wait, wait — I'll go down first, and when I'm in place, I'll call you."

"All right with you, Kit?" She waved a casual affirmative.

"All right, lads. Here I go!" said Wingover. "For science!" he proclaimed, and slid over. immediately, the other gnomes lined up and went right after him.

Cutwood called, "For Sancrist!" and went over.

"For technology!" cried Rainspot, as he tipped over the edge.

"For the Cloudmaster!" was Roperig's toast.

"For raisin muffins!" Fitter followed close behind his boss.

Sighter, the last, pushed his sled forward and slipped into the seat. "For Bellcrank," he said softly.

The gnomes' sleds bounded down the hill, swaying and leaping over bumps in the glasslike rock. Wingover, lying prone on his mount, steered skillfully around the worst obstacles. He'd built a front yoke on his sled, and weaved a serpentine course down the slope. On his heels, Cutwood howled straight down, knees tight against his chin, his silky beard clamped firmly between them. Sturm and Kitiara heard his high-pitched "Woo-haa!" as he hit bump after bump.

Rainspot had a drag-brake on the tail of his sled, and he coasted along at a relatively mild rate. Roperig, who had designed his sled to be ridden in a standing crouch, whistled by the weather seer, frantically waving his outstretched arms in an effort to keep his balance. His apprentice was having all sorts of trouble. Fitter's mount was wider than it was long, and it tended to rotate as it slid. This made his progress somewhat slower than the others but the spinning threatened to turn his stomach. Sighter, cool and rational, proceeded under perfect control. He would touch his heels to the ground at specific points to correct the direction he was taking.

All was going fairly well until Wingover reached bottom, four hundred feet away. There the glass cliff face changed to dry red gravel, and Wingover's sled stopped dead on its run ners. His stop was so sudden that the trailing gnomes piled right into him — Cutwood and Roperig immediately, Fitter and Rainspot a little later. Slats and tools and gnomes flew through the air after a series of hair-raising crashes. Sturm saw Sighter move unflinching toward the pile, but averted his eyes and missed Sighter's sharp turn, which left him two feet to the right of the scrambled group.

Kitiara burst out laughing. "Acres of slope, and they all have to stop on the same spot!"

Sturm frowned. "I hope no one's hurt."

Feet and legs and wreckage untangled into six shaky gnomes. Sighter helped them untangle themselves.

Wingover finally waved to the humans.

"That means go!" Kitiara shouted, and pushed herself off.

Sturm was caught off guard.

"Not fair!" he cried, but dug in his heels and tipped over the cliff lip in hot pursuit.

He immediately lost control. The sled careened sharply to the right, and Sturm leaned away from the turn. There was a sickening snap, and his seat sagged under him. Sturm less ened his lean, and the sled slowly corrected itself.

Kitiara barreled straight down the slope at full speed, her feet pressed together and her knees poking out on either side. "Ya-ha-ha-ha!" she crowed. She was far out in front of

Sturm, who couldn't seem to get his sled to run in a straight line for more than a few feet at a time.

Kitiara hit a hump and bounced several inches off her seat. Instead of frightening her, the bump only increased her delight. A whole series of bumps approached, and she didn't slacken speed at all.

It wasn't until she hit the fourth bump that she realized she was in trouble. That bump slammed her hard against the flimsy seat struts. The left runner splintered along its length.

Kitiara put her left boot down to slow herself. The hobnails in her shoe sole bit, and her left leg was yanked back. Mind ful of what Cutwood had said about breaking toes, she didn't resist the pulling and was swept off the sled. She land ed hard on her right shoulder and rolled over and over.

Sturm didn't dare try to stop his sled, and coasted to the bot tom. The second his runners stuck in the gravel, he was on his feet. Kitiara lay motionless on her stomach.

Sturm ran to her, closely followed by the gnomes. He dropped on one knee and gently turned her over. Her face was contorted, and she uttered a ferocious curse.

"Where does it hurt?" he said.

"My shoulder," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Could be a broken collarbone," said Rainspot.

"Is there any way to tell for sure?"

"Ask her to touch her left shoulder with her right hand," suggested Roperig. "If she can, the bone must not be bro ken."

"Such anatomical ignorance!" said Sighter. "One must probe with one's fingers in order to find the ends of the sepa rated bone — "

"Don't let them touch me," Kitiara whispered. "If they can't prove it any other way, they may decide to cut me open to examine my bones." Just then Sturm heard Cut wood saying something about "exploratory surgery."

Wingover, who was standing by Kitiara's feet, said, "No bones are broken."

"How do you know?" asked Cutwood.

"I can see them," he replied. "There don't even seem to be any cracks. It's probably a sprain."

"You can see through flesh nowt" Sturm asked incredu lously. Put so bluntly, Wingover suddenly realized what he was doing.

"By Reorx!" he said. "This is terrific! I wonder what else I can see through?" The gnomes crowded around him, Kitiara forgotten. They took turns having Wingover peer through their bodies and describing what he saw. Cries of "Hydro dynamics!" filled the air.

Kitiara tried to sit up, but the pain took her breath away.

"Keep still," Sturm cautioned. "I'll have to find something to bind up your shoulder."

He rummaged through his belongings and found his only change of shirt — a white linen blouse made by the best tailor in Solace. Regretfully, he tore it into inch-wide strips and tied their ends into one long bandage.

"You'll have to get your arm out of the sleeve," he said.

"Cut the seams," said Kitiara.

Sturm checked. "The seams are underneath. You'll still have to slip it off."

"All right. Help me up."

As easily as he could, Sturm helped Kitiara to sit up. Her face went pale, and as he tried to loosen the sleeve from her right arm, tears of pain trickled down her face.

"You know, I've never seen you cry before," he said in a low voice.

"Ah! Ah! — what's the matter, didn't you think I could?"

Sturm kept his mouth shut and turned her fur coat. The leather he could cut away, but underneath she still wore her mail shirt. "I'll have to bind you over the mail," he said.

"Yes, yes," she said. Pain made her impatient.

He sat down facing her and carefully lifted her right arm until she could rest it on his shoulder. Sturm wound the lin en bandage over Kitiara's shoulder and under her arm.

"Tight enough?"

Gasp. "Yes."

"I'll leave enough cloth to make a sling," he said sympa thetically.

'Whatever." She lowered her head into her left hand. Her face was flushed.

I thought she'd be stronger than this, Sturm thought, as he wrapped. Surely she's been wounded in battle worse than this! Aloud, he said, "With all your combat experience, you must be an old hand at field dressings. Am I doing this right?"

"I've never been wounded," Kitiara murmured through her hand. "A few cuts and scrapes, that's all."

"You've been lucky." Sturm was amazed.

"I don't let enemies get close enough to hurt me."

Sturm helped her stand. He draped the empty sleeve over

Kitiara's shoulder. The gnomes were energetically debating the nature of Wingover's expanding talent.

— "Obviously, he is seeing a subtle variety of light that nor mal eyes cannot detect," said Cutwood.

"Obvious to any fool," Sighter countered. "The method is this: Wingover is now emitting rays from his eyes that pierce flesh and clothing. The source of his sight must be his own eyes."

"Ahem." interrupted Sturm, "Could you manage this argument while walking? We have a long way to go and a short night to do it in."

"How is the lady?" asked Roperig. "Can she walk?"

"I can run. How about youl" said Kitiara challengingly.

There wasn't much left to salvage from the smashed remains of the sleds. Sturm realized that for the first time the gnomes were going to have to travel light; they had no means left by which to carry their heavy, useless gear. They dithered over what to take and what to abandon. The gnomes were about to adopt Roperig's suggestion that they assign numerical values to each item and then choose a total value of items not to exceed two hundred points per gnome.

"I'm going," Kitiara said shortly. She tried to sling her and

Sturm's bedrolls on her good shoulder. Sturm caught the straps and took both rolls away from her. "I lost the bet," she admitted.

"Don't be a fool," he said. "I'll carry them."

They walked about half a mile and stopped to let the gnomes catch up. How they rattled and jingled! Each gnome had a workshop's worth of tools dangling from his vest and belt.

"I hope we don't have to sneak up on anybody," muttered

Kitiara. The weary but steadfast party formed again and set out for the great obelisk and the Voice that inhabited it.

Ten miles had passed beneath their feet when Cutwood started complaining of a pounding in his head. His col leagues made jokes at his expense until Sturm shushed them.

Rainspot gave Cutwood a cursory examination.

"I see nothing out of the ordinary," he said.

"You needn't shout," Cutwood said, wincing.

Rainspot raised his wispy white eyebrows in surprise.

"Who's shouting?" he asked mildly.

Sighter dropped back behind Cutwood, and when he was out of his sight, snapped his fingers. Cutwood ducked his head and put his hands up to ward off some unseen blow.

"Did you hear that crack of lightning?" he said, his voice wavering.

"Most interesting. Cutwood's hearing has intensified, just as Wingover's vision has," said Sighter.

"Does this mean we're getting more of the power?" won dered Rainspot.

"It would seem so," Sighter said gravely.

"Stop screaming!" begged Cutwood in a whisper.

Roperig quickly made a crude pair of earmuffs for Cut wood out of strips of rattan from his water bottle and a wad of old socks. Ears muffled, Cutwood smiled.

"The pounding is much less now, thank you!"

"Don't mention it," Roperig said in a slightly lower than normal voice. Cutwood beamed and clapped his colleague on the back.

"Do you feel any different?" Sturm asked Kitiara.

"My shoulder still hurts."

"You don't feel any new access of strength?"

She shook her head. "All I feel is a crying need for a mug of Otik's best ale."

Sturm had to smile. It seemed eons since they'd all sat at the inn and enjoyed Otik's brew. It felt as if it would be eons before they could do so again.

At the twelve-mile mark, the gnomes were trailing out in a long line behind Kitiara and Sturm. Their short legs sim ply couldn't maintain the humans' rapid pace. Reluctantly,

Sturm called for a break. The gnomes dropped where they stood, as though felled by a shower of arrows.

The air stirred. Glimmers of roseate light showed in the east — the direction they'd decided was east. "Sunrise," Kiti ara said flatly.

Westward, toward the center of the valley, an answering flicker of light greeted the sunrise. Sighter tried to get his spyglass trained on the source of this second dawn.

Wingover moved over to him.

"It's the obelisk," he said. He squinted into the far dis tance. "I can see a glow surrounding the peak."

Brilliant white streaks — more shooting stars — sprayed across the heavens. A bright, steady glow in the east was soon mimicked in the west. The sun was coming up over the cliffs, yellow and warm; the glow from the obelisk was a stubborn and muddy scarlet.

The rim of the sun broke over the cliffs. There was a clap of thunder, and bolts of red fire snapped from the far-off obelisk toward the surrounding chain of hills. The explorers put their faces to the ground, and all felt a blast of burning as the red beams crackled overhead. Five times the scarlet lightning lashed out, and the resulting thunder pounded the sky with ringing blows. When the sun was fully above the valley walls, the strange storm ceased.

Sturm sat up. The ground around them steamed lightly.

Kitiara struggled to her feet and surveyed the valley by day light. Plants were beginning to emerge from the flaky soil.

Wingover dusted himself off and looked back at the cliff they had sledded down.

"Now I understand how the sides got to be as hard and smooth as glass," he said. "The lightning must hit them ev ery morning."

The gentlest gnome said shakily, "Those were not pluvial discharges." He tried to stand and failed. "The atmosphere is charged with another power."

"Magic." Sturm felt his face harden with distaste as he practically spat the word. Though hardly unexpected, the sudden onset of such enormous magical power left him feel ing vulnerable, exposed — and tainted.