Shardik

1 The Fire

Even in the dry heat of summer's end, the great forest was never silent. Along the ground – soft, bare soil, twigs and fallen branches, decaying leaves black as ashes – there ran a continuous flow of sound. As a fire burns with a murmur of flames, with the intermittent crack of exploding knots in the logs and the falling and settling of coal, so on the forest floor the hours of dusky light consumed away with rustlings, patterings, sighing and dying of breeze, scuttlings of rodents, snakes, lizards and now and then the padding of some larger animal on the move. Above, the green dusk of creepers and branches formed another realm, inhabited by the monkeys and sloths, by hunting spiders and birds innumerable -creatures passing all their lives high above the ground. Here the noises were louder and harsher – chatterings, sudden cacklings and screams, hollow knockings, bell-like calls and the swish of disturbed leaves and branches. Higher still, in the topmost tiers, where the sunlight fell upon the outer surface of the forest as upon the upper side of an expanse of green clouds, the raucous gloom gave place to a silent brightness, the province of great butterflies flitting across the sprays in a solitude where no eye admired nor any ear caught the minute sounds made by those marvellous wings.

The creatures of the forest floor – like the blind, grotesque fish that dwell in the ocean depths – inhabited, all unaware, the lowest tier of a world extending vertically from shadowless twilight to shadcless, dazzling brilliance. Creeping or scampering upon their furtive ways, they seldom went far and saw little of sun and moon. A thicket of thorn, a maze of burrows among tree-trunks, a slope littered with rocks and stones – such places were almost all that their inhabitants ever knew of the earth where they lived and died. Born there, they survived for a while, coming to know every inch within their narrow bounds. From time to time a few might stray further – when prey or forage failed, or more rarely, through the irruption of some uncomprehended force from beyond their daily lives.

Between the trees the air seemed scarcely to move. The heat had thickened it, so that the winged insects sat torpid on the very leaves beneath which crouched the mantis and spider, too drowsy to strike. Along the foot of a tilted, red rock a porcupine came nosing and grubbing. It broke open a tiny shelter of sticks and some meagre, round-cared little creature, all eyes and bony limbs, fled across the stones. The porcupine, ignoring it, was about to devour the beetles scurrying among the sticks when suddenly it paused, raised its head and listened. As it remained motionless a brown, mongoose-like creature broke quickly through the bushes and disappeared down its hole. From further away came a sound of scolding birds.

A moment later the porcupine too had vanished. It had felt not only the fear of other creatures near by, but also something of the cause – a disturbance, a vibration along the forest floor. A little distance away, something unimaginably heavy was moving and this movement was beating the ground like a drum. The vibration grew until even a human ear could have heard the irregular sounds of ponderous movement in the gloom. A stone rolled downhill through fallen leaves and was followed by a crashing of undergrowth. Then, at the top of the slope beyond the red rock, the thick mass of branches and creepers began to shake. A young tree tilted outwards, snapped, splintered and pitched its length to the ground, springing up and down in diminishing bounds on its pliant branches, as though not only the sound but also the movement of the fall had set up echoes in the solitude.

In the gap, half-concealed by a confused tangle of creepers, leaves and broken flowers, appeared a figure of terror, monstrous beyond the nature even of that dark, savage place. Huge it was – gigantic -standing on its hind legs more than twice as high as a man. Its shaggy feet carried great, curved claws as thick as a man's fingers, from which were hanging fragments of torn fern and strips of bark. The mouth gaped open, a steaming pit set with white stakes. The muzzle was thrust forward, sniffing, while the blood-shot eyes peered short-sightedly over the unfamiliar ground below. For long moments it remained erect, breathing heavily and growling. Then it sank clumsily upon all fours, pushed into the undergrowth, the round claws scraping against the stones – for they could not be retracted -and smashed its way down the slope towards the red rock. It was a bear – such a bear as is not seen in a thousand years – more powerful than a rhinoceros and heavy as eight strong men. It reached the open ground by the rock and paused, throwing its head uneasily to one side and the other. Then once more it reared up on its hind legs, sniffed the air and on the instant gave a deep, coughing bark. It was afraid.

Afraid – this breaker of trees, whose tread shook the ground – of what could it be afraid? The porcupine, cowering in its shallow burrow beneath the rock, sensed its fear with bewilderment. What had driven it wandering through strange country, through deep forest not its own? Behind it there followed a strange smell; an acrid, powdery smell, a drifting fear.

A band of yellow gibbons swung overhead, hand over hand, whooping and ululating as they disappeared down their tree-roads. Then a pair of genets came trotting from the undergrowth, passed close to the bear without a glance and were gone as quickly as they had come. A strange, unnatural wind was moving, stirring the dense mass of foliage at the top of the slope, and out of it the birds came flying – parrots, barbets and coloured finches, brilliant blue and green honeycreepers and purple jackdaws, gentuas and forest kingfishers -all screaming and chattering down the wind. The forest began to be filled with the sounds of hasty, pattering movement An armadillo, apparently injured, dragged itself past; a peccary and the flash of a long, green snake. The porcupine broke from its hole, almost under the bear's feet, and vanished. Still the bear stood upright, towering over the flat rock, sniffing and hesitating. Then the wind strengthened, bringing a sound that seemed to stretch across the forest from end to end – a sound like a dry waterfall or the breathing of a giant – the sound of the smell of the fear. The bear turned and shambled away between the tree-trunks.

The sound grew to a roaring and the creatures flying before it became innumerable. Many were almost spent, yet still stumbled forward with open mouths set in snarls and staring eyes that saw nothing. Some tripped and were trampled down. Drifts of green smoke appeared through gaps in the undergrowth. Soon the glaucous leaves, big as human hands, began to shine here and there with the reflection of an intermittent, leaping light, brighter than any that had penetrated that forest twilight. The heat increased until no living thing – not a lizard, not a fly – remained in the glade about the rock. And then at last appeared a visitant yet more terrible than the giant bear. A single flame darted through the curtain of creepers, disappeared, returned and flickered in and out like a snake's tongue. A spray of dry, sharp-toothed leaves on a zeltazla bush caught fire and flared brightly, throwing a dismal shine on the smoke that was now filling the glade like fog. Immediately after, the whole wall of foliage at the top of the slope was ripped from the bottom as though by a knife of flame and at once the fire ran forward down the length of the tree that the bear had felled. Within moments the place, with all its features, all that had made a locality of smell, touch and sight, was destroyed for ever. A dead tree, which had leaned supported by the undergrowth for half a year, fell burning across the red rock, splintering its cusps and outcrops, barring it with black like a tiger's skin. The glade burned in its turn, as miles of forest had burned to bring the fire so far. And when it had done burning, the foremost flames were already a mile downwind as the fire pursued its way.

2 The River

The enormous bear wandered irresolutely on through the forest, now stopping to glare about at its unknown surroundings, now breaking once more into a shambling trot as it found itself still pursued by the hiss and stench of burning creepers and the approach of the fire. It was sullen with fear and bewilderment. Since nightfall of the previous day it had been driven, always reluctant yet always unable to find any escape from danger. Never before had it been forced to flight. For years past no living creature had stood against it. Now, with a kind of angry shame, it slunk on and on, stumbling over half-seen roots, tormented with thirst and desperate for a chance to turn and fight against this flickering enemy that nothing could dismay. Once it stood its ground at the far end of a patch of marsh, deceived by what seemed a faltering at last in the enemy's advance; and fled just in time to save itself from being encircled as the fire ran forward on either side. Once, in a kind of madness, it rushed back on its tracks and actually struck and beat at the flames, until its pads were scorched and black, singed streaks showed along its pelt. Yet still it paused and paced about, looking for an opportunity to fight; and as often as it turned and went on, slashed the tree-trunks and tore up the bushes with heavy blows of its claws.

Slower and slower it went, panting now, tongue protruding and eyes half-shut against the smoke that followed closer and closer. It struck one scorched foot against a sharpened boulder, fell, and rolled on its side, and when it got up became confused, made a half-turn and began to wander up and down, parallel to the line of the on-coming flames. It was exhausted and had lost the sense of direction. Choking in the enveloping smoke, it could no longer tell even from which side the fire was coming. The nearest flames caught a dry tangle of quian roots and raced along them, licking across one fore-paw. Then from all sides there sounded a roaring, as though at last the enemy were coming to grips. But louder still rose the frenzied, angry roaring of the bear itself as it turned at last to fight. Swinging its head from side to side and dealing tremendous, spark-showering blows upon the blaze around it, it reared up to its full height, trampling back and forth until the soft earth was flattened under its feet and it seemed to be actually sinking into the ground beneath its own weight. A long flame crackled up the thick pelt and in a moment the creature blazed, all covered with fire, rocking and nodding in a grotesque and horrible rhythm. In its rage and pain it had staggered to the edge of a steep bank. Swaying forward, it suddenly saw below, in a lurid flash, another bear, shimmering and grimacing, raising burning paws towards itself. Then it plunged forward and was gone. A moment later there rose the sound of a heavy splash and a hissing, quenching after-surge of deep water.

In one place and another, along the bank, the fire checked, diminished and died, until only patches of thicker scrub were left burning or smouldering in isolation. Through the miles of dry forest the fire had burned its way to the northern shore of the Telthearna river and now, at last, it could burn no further.

Struggling for a foothold but finding none, the bear rose to the surface. The dazzling light was gone and it found itself in shadow, the shadow of the steep bank and the foliage above, which arched over, forming a long tunnel down the river's marge. The bear splashed and rolled against the bank but could get no purchase, partly for the steepness and the crumbling of the soft earth under its claws, and partly for the current which continually dislodged it and carried it further downstream. Then, as it clutched and panted, the canopy above began to fill with the jumping light of the fire as it caught the last branches, the roof of the tunnel. Sparks, burning fragments and cinders dropped hissing into the river. Assailed by this dreadful rain, the bear thrust itself away from the bank and began to swim clumsily out from under the burning trees towards the open water.

The sun had begun to set and was shining straight down the river, tingeing to a dull red the clouds of smoke that rolled over the surface. Blackened tree-trunks were floating down, heavy as battering-rams, driving their way through the lesser flotsam, the clotted masses of ash and floating creeper. Everywhere was plunging, grinding and the thump and check of heavy masses striking one another. Out into this foggy chaos swam the bear, labouring, submerging, choking, heaving up again and struggling across and down the stream. A log struck its side with a blow that would have stove in the ribs of a horse and it turned and brought both fore-paws down upon it, half clutching in desperation, half striking in anger. The log dipped under the weight and then rolled over, entangling the bear in a still-smouldering branch that came slowly down like a hand with fingers. Below the surface, something unseen caught its hind-paws and the log drifted away as it kicked downwards and broke free. It fought for breath, swallowing water, ashy foam and swirling leaves. Dead animals were sweeping by – a striped makati with bared teeth and closed eyes, a terrian floating belly uppermost, an ant-eater whose long tail washed to and fro in the current. The bear had formed some cloudy purpose of swimming to the further shore – a far-off glimpse of trees visible across the water. But in the bubbling, tumbling midstream this, like all else, was swept away and once more it became, as in the forest, a creature merely driven on, in fear of its life.

Time passed and its efforts grew weaker. Fatigue, hunger, the shock of its burns, the weight of its thick, sodden pelt and the continual buffeting of the driftwood were at last breaking it down, as the weather wears out mountains. Night was falling and the smoke clouds were dispersing from the miles of lonely, turbid water. At first the bear's great back had risen clear above the surface and it had looked about it as it swam. Now only its head protruded, the neck bent sharply backwards to lift the muzzle high enough to breathe. It was drifting, almost unconscious and unaware of anything around it. It did not see the dark line of land looming out of the twilight ahead. The current parted, sweeping strongly away in one direction and more gently in the other. The bear's hind feet touched ground but it made no response, only drifting and tripping forward like a derelict until at length it came to rest against a tall, narrow rock sticking out of the water; and this it embraced clumsily, grotesquely, as an insect might grasp a stick.

Here it remained a long time in the darkness, upright like some tilted monolith, until at last, slowly relaxing its hold and slipping down upon all fours in the water, it splashed through the shallows, stumbled into the forest beyond and sank unconscious among the dry, fibrous roots of a grove of quian trees.

3 The Hunter

The island, some twenty-five miles long, divided the river into two channels, its upstream point breaking the central current, while that 20 downstream lay close to the unburned shore which the bear had failed to reach. Tapering to this narrow, eastern end, the strait flowed out through the remains of a causeway – a rippling shallow, dangerously interspersed with deep holes – built by long-vanished people in days gone by. Belts of reeds surrounded most of the island, so that in wind or storm tie waves, instead of breaking directly upon the stones, would diminish landwards, spending their force invisibly among the shaking reed-beds. A little way inland from the upstream point a rocky ridge rose clear of the jungle, running half the length of the island like a spine.

At the foot of this ridge, among the green-flowering quian, the bear slept as though it would never wake. Below it and above, the reed-beds and lower slopes were crowded with fugitive creatures that had come down upon the current Some were dead – burned or drowned – but many, especially those accustomed to swim – otters, frogs and snakes – had survived and were already recovering and beginning to search for food. The trees were full of birds which had flown across from the burning shore and these, disturbed from their natural rhythms, kept up a continual movement and chatter in the dark. Despite fatigue and hunger, every creature that knew what it was to be preyed upon, to fear a hunting enemy, was on the alert. The surroundings were strange. None knew where to look for a place of safety: and as a cold surface gives off mist, so this lostness gave off everywhere a palpable tension – sharp cries of fear, sounds of blundering movement and sudden flight – much unlike the normal, stealthy night-rhythms of the forest. Only the bear slept on, unmoved as a rock in the sea, hearing nothing, scenting nothing, not feeling even the burns which had destroyed great patches of its pelt and shrivelled the flesh beneath.

With dawn the light wind returned, and brought with it from across the river the smell of mile upon mile of ashes and smouldering jungle. The sun, rising behind the ridge, left in shadow the forest below the western slope. Here the fugitive animals remained, skulking and confused, afraid to venture into the brilliant light now glittering along the shores of the island.

It was this sunshine, and the all-pervading smell of the charred trees, which covered the approach of the man. He came wading knee-deep through the shallows, ducking his head to remain concealed below the feathery plumes of the reeds. He was dressed in breeches of coarse cloth and a skin jerkin roughly stitched together down the sides and across the shoulders. His feet were laced round the ankles into bags of skin resembling ill-shaped boots. He wore a necklace of curved, pointed teeth, and from his belt hung a long knife and a quiver of arrows. His bow, bent and strung, was carried round his neck to keep the butt from trailing in the water. In one hand he was holding a stick on which three dead birds – a crane and two pheasants – were threaded by the legs.

As he reached the shadowed, western end of the island he paused, raised his head cautiously and peered over the reeds into the woods beyond. Then he began to make his way to shore, the reeds parting before him with a hissing sound like that of a scythe in long grass. A pair of duck flew up but he ignored them, for he seldom or never risked the loss of an arrow by shooting at birds on the wing. Reaching dry ground, he at once crouched down in a tall clump of hemlock.

Here he remained for two hours, motionless and watchful, while the sun rose higher and began to move round the shoulder of the hill. Twice he shot, and both arrows found their mark – the one a goose, the other a ketlana, or small forest-deer. Each time he left the quarry lying where it fell and remained in his hiding-place. Sensing the disturbance all around him and himself smelling the ashes on the wind, he judged it best to keep still and wait for other lost and uprooted creatures to come wandering near. So he crouched and watched, vigilant as an Eskimo at a seal-hole, moving only now and then to brush away the flies.

When he saw the leopard, his first movements were no more than a quick biting of the lip and a tightening of his grasp on his bow. It was coming straight towards him through the trees, pacing slowly and looking from side to side. Plainly it was not only uneasy, but also hungry and alert – as dangerous a creature as any solitary hunter might pray to avoid. It came nearer, stopped, stared for some moments straight towards his hiding-place and then turned and padded across to where the kedana lay with the feathered arrow in its neck. As it thrust its head forward, sniffing at the blood, the man, without a sound, crept out of concealment and made his way round it in a half-circle, stopping behind each tree to observe whether it had moved. He turned his head away to breathe and carefully placed each footstep clear of twigs and loose pebbles.

He was already half a bowshot away from the leopard when suddenly a wild pig trotted out of the scrub, blundered against him and ran squealing back into the shadows. The leopard turned, gazed intently and began to pace towards him.

He turned and walked steadily away, fighting against the panic impulse to go faster. Looking round, he saw that the leopard had broken into a padding trot and was overtaking him. At this he began to run, flinging down his birds and making towards the ridge in the hope of losing his terrible pursuer in the undergrowth on the lower slopes. At the foot of the ridge, on the edge of a grove of quian, he turned and raised his bow. Although he knew well what was likely to come of wounding the leopard, it seemed to him now that his only, desperate chance was to try, among the bushes and creepers, to evade it long enough to succeed in shooting it several times and thus either disable it or drive it away. He aimed and loosed, but his hand was unsteady with fear. The arrow grazed the leopard's flank, hung there for a moment and fell out. The leopard bared its teeth and charged, snarling, and the hunter fled blindly along the hillside. A stone turned beneath his foot and he pitched downwards, rolling over and over. He felt a sharp pain as a branch pierced his left shoulder and then the breath was knocked out of him. His body struck heavily against some great, shaggy mass and he lay on the ground, gasping and witless with terror, looking back in the direction from which he had fallen. His bow was gone and as he struggled to his knees he saw that his left arm and hand were red with blood.

The leopard appeared at the top of the steep bank from which he had fallen. He tried to keep silent, but a gasp came from his spent lungs and quick as a bird its head turned towards him. Ears flat, tail lashing, it crouched above him, preparing to spring. He could see its eye-teeth curving downward, and for long moments hung over his death as though over some frightful drop, at the foot of which his life would be broken to nothing.

Suddenly he felt himself pushed to one side and found that he was lying on his back, looking upwards. Standing over him like a cypress tree, one haunch so close to his face that he could smell the shaggy pelt, was a creature; a creature so enormous that in his distracted state of mind he could not comprehend it. As a man carried unconscious from a battlefield might wake bemused and, glimpsing first a heap of refuse, then a cooking-fire, then two women carrying bundles, might tell that he was in a village: so the hunter saw a clawed foot bigger than his own head; a wall of coarse hair, burned and half-stripped to the raw flesh, as it seemed; a great, wedge-shaped muzzle outlined against the sky; and knew that he must be in the presence of an animal. The leopard was still at the top of the bank, cringing now, looking upwards into a face that must be glaring terribly down upon it. Then the giant animal, with a single blow, struck it bodily from the bank, so that it was borne altogether clear, turning over in the air and crashing down among the quian. With a growling roar that sent up a cloud of birds, the animal turned to attack again. It dropped on all fours and as it did so its left side scraped against a tree. At this it snarled and shrank away, wincing with pain. Then, hearing the leopard struggling in the undergrowth, it made towards the sound and was gone.

The hunter rose slowly to his feet, clutching his wounded shoulder. However terrible the transport of fear, the return can be swift, just as one may awaken instantly from deep sleep. He found his bow and crept up the bank. Though he knew what he had seen, yet his mind still whirled incredulously round the centre of certainty, like a boat in a maelstrom. He had seen a bear. But in God's name, what kind of bear? Whence had it come? Had it in truth been already on the island when he had come wading through the shallows that morning; or had it sprung into existence out of his own terror, in answer to prayer? Had he himself perhaps, as he crouched almost senseless at the foot of the bank, made some desperate, phantom journey to summon it from the world beyond? Whether or not, one thing was sure. Whencesoever it had come, this beast, that had knocked a full-grown leopard flying through the air, was now of this world, was flesh and blood. It would no more vanish than the sparrow on the branch.

He limped slowly back towards the river. The goose was gone and his arrow with it, but the kedana was still lying where it had fallen and he pulled out the arrow, heaved it under his good arm and made for the reeds. It was here that the delayed shock overtook him. He sank down, trembling and silently weeping by the water's edge. For a long time he lay prone, oblivious of his own safety. And slowly there came to him – not all at once, but brightening and burning up, littl by little, like a new-lit fire – the realization of what – of who – it must truly be that he had seen.

As a traveller in some far wilderness might by chance pick up a handful of stones from the ground, examine them idly and then, with mounting excitement, first surmise, next think it probable and finally feel certain that they must be diamonds; or as a sea-captain, voyaging in distant waters, might round an unknown cape, busy himself for an hour with the handling of the ship and only then, and gradually, realize that he – he himself – must have sailed into none other than that undiscovered, fabled ocean known to his forbears by nothing but legend and rumour; so now, little by little, there stole upon this hunter the stupefying, all-but-incredible knowledge of what it must be that he had seen. He became calm then, got up and fell to pacing back and forth among the trees by the shore. At last he stood still, faced the sun across the strait and, raising his unwounded arm, prayed for a long time: a wordless prayer of silence and trembling awe. Then, still dazed, he once more took up the ketlana and waded through the reeds. Making his way back along the shallows, he found the raft which he had moored that morning, loosed it and drifted away downstream.

4 The High Baron

It was late in the afternoon when the hunter, Kelderek, came at last in sight of the landmark he was seeking, a tall zoan tree some distance above the downstream point of the island. The boughs, with their silver-backed, fern-like leaves, hung down over the river, forming an enclosed, watery arbour inshore. In front of this the reeds had been cut to afford to one seated within a clear view across the strait. Kelderek, with some difficulty, steered his raft to the mouth of the channel, looked towards the zoan and raised his paddle as though in greeting. There was no response, but he expected none. Guiding the raft up to a stout post in the water, he felt down its length, found the rope running shorewards below the surface and drew himself towards land.

Reaching the tree, he pulled the raft through the curtain of pendent branches. Inside, a short, wooden pier projected from the bank and on this a man was seated, staring out between the leaves at the river beyond. Behind him a second man sat mending a net. Four or five other rafts were moored to the hidden quay. The look-out's glance, having taken in the single kedana and the few fish lying beside Kelderek, came to rest upon the weary, blood-smeared hunter himself.

'So. Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. You have little to show and less than usual. Where are you hurt?' 'The shoulder, shendron: and the arm is stiff and painful.' 'You look like a man in a stupor. Are you feverish?' The hunter made no reply. 'I asked, "Are you feverish?" ' He shook his head. 'What caused the wound?'

Kelderek hesitated, then shook his head once more and remained silent,

'You simpleton, do you suppose I am asking you for the sake of gossip? I have to learn everything – you know that. Was it a man or an animal that gave you that wound?' 'I fell and injured myself.' The shendron waited. 'A leopard pursued me,' added Kelderek.

The shendron burst out impatiently. 'Do you think you are telling tales now to children on the shore? Am I to keep asking "And what came next?" Tell me what happened. Or would you prefer to be sent to the High Baron, to say that you refused to tell?'

Kelderek sat on the edge of the wooden pier, looking down and stirring a stick in the dark-green water below. At last the shendron said, 'Kelderek, I know you are considered a simple fellow, with your "Cat Catch a Fish" and all the rest of it. Whether you are indeed so simple I cannot tell. But whether or not, you know well enough that every hunter who goes out has to tell all he knows upon return. Those are Bel-ka-Trazet's orders. Has the fire driven a leopard to Ortelga? Did you meet with strangers? What is the state of the western end of the island? These are the things I have to learn.' Kelderek trembled where he sat but still said nothing.

'Why,' said the net-mender, speaking for the first time, 'you know he's a simpleton – Kelderek Zenzuata – Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. He went hunting – he hurt himself – he's returned with littl to show. Can't we leave it at that? Who wants the bother of taking him up to the High Baron?'

The shendron, an older man, frowned. 'I am not here to be trifled with. The island may be full of all manner of savage beasts; of men, too, perhaps. Why not? And this man you believe to be a simpleton – he may be deceiving us. With whom has he spoken today? And did they pay him to keep silent?'

'But if he were deceiving us,' said the net-mender, 'would he not come with a tale prepared? Depend upon it, he -' The hunter stood up, looking tensely from one to the other.

'I am deceiving no one: but I cannot tell you what I have seen today.'

The shendron and his companion exchanged glances. In the evening quiet, a light breeze set the water clop-clopping under the platform and from somewhere inland sounded a faint call, 'Yasta! The firewood!'

'What is this?' said the shendron. 'You are making difficulties for me, Kelderek, but worse – far worse – for yourself.'

'I cannot tell you what I have seen,' repeated the hunter, with a kind of desperation.

The shendron shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, Taphro, since it seems there's no curing this foolishness, you'd better take him up to the Sindrad. But you are a great fool. Kelderek. The High Baron's anger is a storm that many men have failed to survive before now.' 'This I know. God's will must be done.'

The shendron shook his head. Kelderek, as though in an attempt to be reconciled to him, laid a hand on his shoulder; but the other shook it off impatiently and returned in silence to his watch over the river. Taphro, scowling now, motioned the hunter to follow him up the bank.

The town that covered the narrow, eastern end of the island was fortified on the landward side by an intricate defensive system, part natural and part artificial, that ran from shore to shore. West of the zoan tree, on the further side from the town, four lines of pointed stakes extended from the water-side into the woods. Inland, the patches of diicker jungle formed obstacles capable of little improvement, though even here the living creepers had been pruned and trained into almost impenetrable screens, one behind another. In the more open parts thorn-bushes had been planted – trazada, curlspike and the terrible ancottlia, whose poison burns and irritates until men tear their own flesh with their nails. Steep places had been made steeper and at one point the outfall of a marsh had been damned to form a shallow lake – shrunk at this time of year – in which small alligators, caught on the mainland, had been set free to grow and become dangerous. Along the outer edge of the line lay the so-called 'Dead Belt', about eighty yards broad, which was never entered except by those whose task it was to maintain it. Here were hidden trip-ropes fastened to props holding up great logs; concealed pits filled with pointed stakes – one contained snakes; spikes in the grass; and one or two open, smooth-looking paths leading to enclosed places, into which arrows and other missiles-could be poured from platforms constructed among the trees above. The Belt was divided by rough palisades, so that advancing enemies would find lateral movement difficult and discover themselves committed to emerge at points where they could be awaited. The entire line and its features blended so naturally with the surrounding jungle that a stranger, though he might, here and there, perceive that men had been at work, could form little idea of its full extent. This remarkable closure of an open flank, devised and carried out during several years by the High Baron, Bel-ka-Trazet, had never yet been put to the proof. But, as Bel-ka-Trazet himself had perhaps foreseen, the labour of making it and the knowledge that it was there had created among the Ortelgans a sense of confidence and security that was probably worth as much as the works themselves. The line not only protected the town but made it a great deal harder for anyone to leave it without the High Baron's knowledge.

Kelderek and Taphro, turning their backs on the Belt, made their way towards the town along a narrow path between the hemp fields. Here and there women were carrying up water from among the reeds, or manuring ground already harvested and gleaned. At this hour there were few workers, however, for it was nearly supper time. Not far away, beyond the trees, threads of smoke were curling into the evening sky and with them, from somewhere on the edge of the huts, rose the song of a woman: 'He came, he came by night. I wore red flowers in my hair. I have left my lamp alight, my lamp is burning. Senandril na kora, senandril na ro.'

There was an undisguised warmth and satisfaction in the voice. Kelderek glanced at Taphro, jerked his head in the direction of the song, and smiled. 'Aren't you afraid?' asked Taphro in a surly tone. The grave, preoccupied look returned to Kelderek's eyes.

'To go before the High Baron and say that you persisted in refusing to tell the shendron what you know? You must be mad I Why be such a fool?'

'Because this is no matter for concealment or lying. God -' he broke off.

Taphro made no reply, but merely held out his hand for Kelderek's weapons – knife and bow. The hunter handed them to him without a word.

They came to the first huts, with their cooking, smoke and refuse smells. Men were returning from the day's work and women, standing at their doors, were calling to children or gossiping with neighbours. Though one or two looked curiously at Kelderek trudging acquiescently beside the shendron's messenger, none spoke to him or called out to ask where they were going. Suddenly a child, a boy perhaps seven or eight years old, ran up and took his hand. The hunter stopped. 'Kelderek,' asked the child, 'are you coming to play this evening?'

Kelderek hesitated. 'Why – I can't say. No, Sarin, I don't think I shall be able to come this evening.'

'Why not?' said the child, plainly disappointed. 'You've hurt your shoulder – is that it?'

'There's something I've got to go and tell the High Baron,' replied Kelderek simply. Another, older boy, who had joined them, burst out laughing. 'And I have to see the Lord of Belda before dawn – a matter of life and death. Kelderek, don't tease us. Don't you want to play tonight?'

'Come on, can't you?' said Taphro impatiently, shuffling his feet in the dust.

'No, it's the truth,' said Kelderek, ignoring him. 'I'm on my way to see the High Baron. But I'll be back: either tonight or – well, another night, I suppose.' He turned away, but the boys trotted beside him as he walked on.

'We were playing this afternoon,' said the little boy. 'We were playing "Cat Catch a Fish". I got the fish home twice.' 'Well done' said the hunter, smiling down at him.

'Be off with you!' cried Taphro, making as though to strike at them. 'Come on – get out!' You great dunder-headed fool,' he added to Kelderek, as the boys ran off. 'Playing games with children at your age!'

'Good night!' called Kelderek after them. 'The good night you pray for – who knows?'

They waved to him and were gone among the smoky huts. A man passing by spoke to Kelderek but he made no reply, only walking on abstractedly, his eyes on the ground.

At length, after crossing a wide area of rope-walks, the two approached a group of larger huts standing in a rough semi-circle not far from the eastern point and its broken causeway. Between these, trees had been planted, and the sound of the river mingled with the evening breeze and the movement of the leaves to give a sense of refreshing coolness after the hot, dry day. Here, not only women were at work. A number of men, who seemed by their appearance and occupations to be both servants and craftsmen, were trimming arrows, sharpening stakes and repairing bows, spears and axes. A burly smith, who had just finished for the day, was climbing out of his forge in a shallow, open pit, while his two boys quenched the fire and tidied up after him. Kelderek stopped and turned once more to Taphro.

'Badly-aimed arrows can wound innocent men. There's no need for you to be hinting and gossiping about me to these fellows.' 'Why should you care?' 'I don't want them to know I'm keeping a secret,' said Kelderek.

Taphro nodded curdy and went up to a man who was cleaning a grindstone, the water flying off in a spiral as he spun the wheel. 'Shendron's messenger. Where is Bel-ka-Trazet?'

'He? Eating.' The man jerked his thumb towards the largest of the huts. 'I have to speak to him.'

'If it'll wait,' replied the man, 'you'd do better to wait Ask Numiss – the red-haired fellow – when he comes out. He'll let you know when Bel-ka-Trazet's ready.'

Neolithic man, the bearded Assyrian, the wise Greeks, the howling Vikings, the Tartars, the Aztecs, the samurai, the cavaliers, the anthropophagi and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders: there is one thing at least that all have known in common – waiting until someone of importance has been ready to see them. Numiss, chewing a piece of fat as he listened to Taphro, cut him short, pointing him and Kelderek to a bench against the wall. There they sat. The sun sank until its rim touched the horizon upstream. The flies buzzed. Most of the craftsmen went away. Taphro dozed. The place became almost deserted, until the only sound above that of the water was the murmur of voices from inside the big hut. At last Numiss came out and shook Taphro by the shoulder. The two rose and followed the sen-ant through the door, on which was painted Bel-ka-Trazet's emblem, a golden snake.

The hut was divided into two parts. At the back were Bel-ka-Trazet's private quarters. The larger part, known as the Sindrad, served as both council-chamber and mess-hall for the barons. Except when a full council was summoned it was seldom that all the barons were assembled at once. There were continual journeys to the mainland for hunting expeditions and trade, for the island had no iron or other metal except what could be imported from the Gelt mountains in exchange for skins, feathers, semi-precious stones and such artifacts as arrows and rope; whatever, in fact, had any exchange value. Apart from the barons and those who attended upon them, all hunters and traders had to obtain leave to come and go. The barons, as often as they returned, were required to report their news like anyone else and while living on the island usually ate the evening meal with Bel-ka-Trazet in the Sindrad.

Some five or six faces turned towards Taphro and Kelderek as they entered. The meal was over and a debris of bones, rinds and skins littered the floor. A boy was collecting this refuse into a basket, while another sprinkled fresh sand. Four of the barons were still sitting on the benches, holding their drinking-horns and leaning their elbows on the table. Two, however, stood apart near the doorway – evidently to get the last of the daylight, for they were talking in low tones over an abacus of beads and a piece of smooth bark covered with writing. This seemed to be some kind of list or inventory, for as Kelderek passed, one of the two barons, looking at it, said, 'No, twenty-five ropes, no more,' whereupon the other moved back a bead with his fore-finger and replied, 'And you have twenty-five ropes fit to go, have you?'

Kelderek and Taphro came to a stop before a young, very tall man, with a silver torque on his left arm. When they entered he had had his back to the door, but now he turned to look at them, holding his horn in one hand and sitting somewhat unsteadily on the table with his feet on the bench below. He looked Kelderek up and down with a bland smile, but said nothing. Confused, Kelderek lowered his eyes. The young baron's silence continued and the hunter, by way of keeping himself in countenance, tried to fix his attention on the great table, which he had heard described but never before seen. It was old, carved with a craftsmanship beyond the skill of any carpenter or woodworker now alive on Ortelga. Each of the eight legs was pyramidal in shape, its steeply-tapering sides forming a series of steps or ledges, one above another to the apex. The two corners of the board that he could sec had the likeness of bears' heads, snarling, with open jaws and muzzles thrust forward. They were most life-like. Kelderek trembled and looked quickly up again.

'And what ekshtra work you come give us?' asked the young baron cheerfully. 'Want fellows repair causeway, zattit?'

'No, my lord,' said Numiss in a low voice. 'This is the man who refused to tell his news to the shendron.'

'Eh?' asked the young baron, emptying his horn and beckoning to a boy to re-fill it. 'Man with shensh, then. No ushe talking shendrons. Shtupid fellowsh. All shendrons shtupid fellowsh, eh?' he said to Kelderek.

'My lord,' replied Kelderek, 'believe me, I have nothing against the shendron, but – but the matter 'Can you read?' interrupted the young baron. 'Read? No, my lord.'

'Neither c'n I. Look at old Fassel-Hasta there. What's he reading? Who knows? You watch out; he'll bewitch you.'

The baron with the piece of bark turned with a frown and stared at the young man, as much as to say that he at any rate was not one to act the fool in his cups.

'I'll tell you,' said the young baron, sliding forward from the table and landing with a jolt on the bench, 'all 'bout writing – one word -'

'Ta-Kominion,' called a harsh voice from the further room, 'I want to speak with those men. Zelda, bring them.'

Another baron rose from the bench opposite, beckoning to Kelderek and Taphro. They followed him out of the Sindrad and into the room beyond, where the High Baron was sitting alone. Both, in token of submission and respect, bent their heads, raised the palms of their hands to their brows, lowered their eyes and waited.

Kelderek, who had never previously come before Bel-ka-Trazet, had been trying to prepare himself for the moment when he would have to do so. To confront him was in itself an ordeal, for the High Baron was sickeningly disfigured. His face – if face it could still be called – looked as though it had once been melted and left to set again. Below the white-seamed forehead the left eye, askew and fallen horribly down the cheek, was half buried under a great, humped ridge of flesh running from the bridge of the nose to the neck. The jaw was twisted to the right, so that the lips closed crookedly; while across the chin stretched a livid scar, in shape roughly resembling a hammer. Such expression as there was upon this terrible mask was sardonic, penetrating, proud and detached -that of a man indestructible, a man to survive treachery, siege, desert and flood.

The High Baron, seated on a round stool like a drum, stared up at the hunter. In spite of the heat he was wearing a heavy fur cloak, fastened at the neck with a brass chain, so that his ghastly head resembled that of an enemy severed and fixed on top of a black tent. For some moments there was silence – a silence like a drawn bow-string. Then Bel-ka-Trazet said, 'What is your name?'

His voice, too, was distorted; harsh and low, with an odd ring, like the sound of a stone bounding over a sheet of ice. 'Kelderek, my lord.' 'Why are you here?' 'The shendron at the zoan sent me.' 'That I know. Why did he send you?' 'Because I did not think it right to tell him what befell me today.'

'Why does your shendron waste my time?' said Bel-ka-Trazet to Taphro. 'Could he not make this man speak? Are you telling me he defied you both? '

'He – the hunter – this man, my lord,' stammered Taphro. 'He told us – that is, he would not tell us. The shendron – he asked him about – about his injury. He replied that a leopard pursued him, but he would tell us no more. When we demanded to know, he said he could tell us nothing.' There was a pause. 'He refused us, my lord,' persisted Taphro. 'We said to him -' 'Be silent.'

Bel-ka-Trazet paused, frowning abstractedly and pressing two fingers against the ridge beneath his eye. At length he looked up.

'You are a clumsy liar, Kelderek, it seems. Why trouble to speak of a leopard? Why not say you fell out of a tree?' 'I told the truth, my lord. There was a leopard.'

'And this injury,' went on Bel-ka-Trazet, reaching out his hand to grasp Kelderek's left wrist, and gently moving his arm in a way that suggested that he might pull it a good deal harder if he chose, 'this trifling injury. You had it, perhaps, from someone who was disappointed that you had not brought him better news? Perhaps you told him, "The shendrons are alert, surprise would be difficult," and he was displeased?' 'No, my lord.'

'Well, we shall see. There was a leopard, then, and you fell. What happened then?' Kelderek said nothing. 'Is this man a half-wit?' asked Bel-ka-Trazet, turning to Zelda.

'Why, my lord,' replied Zelda, 'I know little of him, but I believe he is known for something of a simple fellow. They laugh at him – he plays with the children -' 'He does what?' 'He plays with children, my lord, on the shore.' 'What else?'

'Otherwise he is solitary, as hunters often are. He lives alone and harms no one, as far as I know. His father had hunter's rights to come and go and he has been allowed to inherit them. If you wish, we can send to find out more.' 'Do so,' said Bel-ka-Trazet: and then to Taphro, 'You may go.'

Taphro snatched his palm to his forehead and was gone like a candle-flame in the wind. Zelda followed him with more dignity.

'Now, Kelderek,' said the twisted mouth, slowly, 'you are an honest man, you say, and we are alone, so there is nothing to hinder you from telling your story.'

Sweat broke out on Kelderek's face. He tried to speak, but no words came.

'Why did you tell the shendron a few words and then refuse to tell more?' said the High Baron. 'What foolishness was that? A rogue should know how to cover his tracks. If there was something you wished to conceal, why did you not invent some tale that would satisfy the shendron?'

'Because – because the truth – ' The hunter hesitated. 'Because I was afraid and I am still afraid.' He stopped, but then burst out suddenly, 'Who can lie to God? – ' Bel-ka-Trazet watched him as a lizard watches a fly. ' Zelda P he called suddenly. The baron returned.

'Take this man out, put his arm in a sling and let him eat Bring him back in half an hour – and then, by this knife, Kelderek -' and he drove the point of his dagger into the golden snake painted on the lid of the chest beside him – 'you shall tell me what you know.'

The unpredictable nature of dealings with Bel-ka-Trazet were the subject of many a tale. With Zelda's hand under his shoulder, Kelderek stumbled out into the Sindrad and sat huddled on a bench while the boys brought him food and a leather sling.

When next he faced Bel-ka-Trazet night had fallen. The Sindrad outside was quiet, for all but two of the barons had gone to their own quarters. Zelda sat in the firelight, looking over some arrows which the fletcher had brought Fassel-Hasta was hunched on another bench at the table, slowly writing, with an inked brush on bark, by the light of a smoky earthenware lamp. A lamp was burning also on the lid of Bel-ka-Trazet's chest. In the shadows beyond, two fire-flies went winking about the room. A curtain of wooden beads had been let fall over the doorway and from time to time these clicked quietly in the night breeze.

The distortion of Bel-ka-Trazet's face seemed like a trick of the lamplight, the features monstrous as a devil-mask in a play, the nose appearing to extend to the neck in a single, unbroken line, the shadows under the jaw pulsing slightly and rhythmically, like the throat of a toad. And indeed it was a play they were now to act^ thought Kelderek, for it accorded with nothing in life as he had known it A plain man, seeking only his living and neither wealth nor power, had been mysteriously singled out and made an instrument to cross the will of Bel-ka-Trazet

'Well, Kelderek,' said the High Baron, pronouncing his name with a slight emphasis that somehow conveyed contempt, 'while you have been filling your belly, I have learned as much as there is to be known about a man like you – all, that is, but what you are going to tell me now, Kelderek Zenzuata. Do you know they call you that?* 'Yes, my lord.'

'Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. A solitary young man, with no taste for taverns, it seems, and an unnatural indifference towards girls: but known nevertheless for a skilful hunter, who often brings in game and rarities for the factors trading with Gelt and Bekla.' 'If you have heard so much, my lord -'

'So that he is allowed to come and go alone, much as he pleases, with no questions asked. Sometimes he is gone for several days at a time, is he not?' 'It is necessary, my lord, if the game – 'Why do you play with the children? A young man unmarried – what sort of nonsense is that?' Kelderek considered.

'Children often need friends,' he said. 'Some of the children I play with are unhappy. Some have been left with no parents – their parents have deserted them -'

He broke off in confusion, meeting the gaze of Bel-ka-Trazet's distorted eye over the ridge. After some minutes he muttered uncertainly, 'The flames of God -' 'What? What did you say?'

'The flames of God, my lord. Children – their eyes and ears are still open – they speak the truth -'

'And so shall you, Kelderek, before you are done. You'd be thought a simple fellow, then, soft in the head perhaps, a stranger to drink and wenches, playing with children and given to talk of God; for no one would suspect such a man, would he, of spying, of treachery, of carrying messages or treating with enemies on his lonely hunting expeditions -' 'My lord -'

'Until one day he returns injured and almost empty-handed from a place believed to be full of game, too much confused to have been able to invent a tale -' 'My lord!' The hunter fell on his knees.

'Did you displease the man, Kelderek, was that it? Some brigand from Deelguy, perhaps, or slimy slave-trader from Terekenalt out to make a little extra money by carrying messages during his dirty travels? Your information was displeasing, perhaps, or the pay was not enough?' 'No, my lord, no!' 'Stand up!'

The beads clicked in a gust that flattened the lamp-flame and made the shadows dart on the wall like fish startled in a deep pool. The High Baron was silent, collecting himself with the air of a man repulsed by an obstacle but still determined to overcome it by one means or another. When he spoke again it was in a quieter tone.

'Well, so far as I am any judge, Kelderek, you may be an honest man, though you are a great fool with your talk of children and God. Could you not have asked for one single friend to come here, to testify to your honesty?' 'My lord -'

'No, you could not, it seems, or else it never occurred to you. But let us assume that you are honest, and that something took place today which for some reason you have neither concealed nor revealed. If you had gone about with ginning to conceal it altogether, I suppose you would not have been compelled to come here – you would not be standing here now. No doubt, then, you know very well that it is something that is bound to come to light sooner or later, so that it would have been foolish for you to try to hide it.'

'Yes, I am sure enough of that, my lord,' replied Kelderek without hesitation.

Bel-ka-Trazet drew his knife and, like a man idly passing the time while waiting for supper or a friend, began to heat the point in the lamp-flame.

'My lord,' said Kelderek suddenly, 'if a man were to return from hunting and say to the shendron, or to his friends, "I have found a star, fallen from the sky to the earth," who would believe him?'

Bel-ka-Trazet made no reply, but went on turning the point of the knife in the flame.

'But if that man had indeed found a star, my lord, what then? What should he do and to whom should he bring it?'

'You question me, and in riddles, Kelderek, do you? I have no love for visionaries or their talk, so be careful.'

The High Baron clenched his fist but then, like a man determined to exercise patience, let it fall open and remained staring at Kelderek with a sceptical look. 'Well?' he said at length.

'I fear you, my lord. I fear your power and your anger. But the star that I found – it is from God, and this, too, I fear. I fear it more. I know to whom it must be revealed -' his voice came in a strangled gasp – 'I can reveal it – only to the Tuginda!'

In an instant Bel-ka-Trazet had seized him by the throat and forced him to the floor. The hunter's head bent sharply backwards, away from the hot knife-point thrust close to his face.

'I will do this -1 can do only that! By the Bear, you will no longer choose what you will do when your bow-eye is out! You'll end in Zeray, my child!'

Kelderek's hands stretched upwards, clutching at the black cloak bending over him and pressing him backwards from knee to wounded shoulder. His eyes were closed against the heat of the knife and he seemed about to faint in the High Baron's grasp. Yet when at length he spoke – Bel-ka-Trazet stooping close to catch the words – he whispered, 'It can be only as God wills, my lord. The matter is great -greater, even, than your hot knife.' The beads clashed in the doorway. Without relinquishing his hold the Baron peered over his shoulder into the gloom beyond the lamp. Zelda's voice said,

'My lord, there are messengers from the Tuginda. She would speak with you urgently, she says. She requests that you go to Quiso tonight.'

Bel-ka-Trazet drew in his breath with a hiss and stood straight, shaking off Kelderek, who fell his length and lay without moving. The knife slipped from the High Baron's hand and stuck in the floor, transfixing a fragment of some greasy rubbish, which began to smoulder with an evil smell. He stooped quickly, recovered the knife and trod out the fragment. Then he said quietly,

'To Quiso, tonight? What can this mean? God protect us! Are you sure?'

'Yes, my lord. Would you speak yourself with the girls who brought the message?'

'Yes – no, let it be. She would not send such a message unless -Go and tell Ankray and Faron to get a canoe ready. And see that this man is put aboard.' 'This man, my lord?' 'Put aboard.'

The bead curtain clashed once more as the High Baron passed through it, across the Sindrad and out among the trees beyond. Zelda, hurrying across to the servants' quarters, could sec in the light of the quarter moon the conical shape of the great fur cloak striding impatiently up and down the shore.

5 To Quiso by Night

Kelderek knelt in the bow, now peering into the speckled gloom ahead, now shutting his eyes and dropping his chin on his chest in a fresh spasm of fear. At his back the enormous Ankray, Bel-ka-Trazet's servant and bodyguard, sat silent as the canoe drifted with the current along the south bank of the Telthearna. From time to time Ankray's paddle would drop to arrest or change their course, and at the sound Kelderek started as though the loud stir of the water were about to reveal them to enemies in the dark. Since giving the order to set out Bel-ka-Trazet had said not a word, sitting hunched in the narrow stern, hands clasped about his knees. More than once, as the paddles fell, the swirl and seethe of bubbles alarmed some nearby creature, and Kelderek jerked his head towards the clatter of wings, the splash of a dive or the crackle of undergrowth on the bank. Biting his lip and clutching at the side of the canoe, he tried to recall that these were nothing but birds and animals with which he was familiar – that by day he would recognize each one. Yet beyond these noises of flight he was listening always for another, more terrible sound and dreading the second appearance of that animal to whom, as he believed, the miles of jungle and river presented no obstacle. And again, shrinking from this, his mind confronted dismally another life-long fear – the fear of the island for which they were bound. Why had the Baron been summoned thither and what had that summons to do with the news which he himself had refused to tell?

They had already travelled a long way beneath the trees overhanging the water, when the servants evidently recognized some landmark. The left paddle dropped once more and the canoe checked, turning towards the centre of the river. Upstream, a few faint lights on Ortelga were just visible, while to their right, far out in the darkness, there now appeared another light, high up; a flickering, red glow that vanished and re-emerged as they moved on. The servants were working now, driving the canoe across the stream while the current, flowing more strongly at this distance from the bank, carried them down. Kelderek could sense in those behind him a growing uneasiness. The paddlers' rhythm became short and broken. The bow struck against something floating in the dark, and at the jolt Bel-ka-Trazet grunted sharply, like a man on edge. 'My lord -' said Ankray. 'Be silent!' replied Bel-ka-Trazet instantly.

Like children in a dark room, like wayfarers passing a graveyard at night, the four men in the canoe filled the surrounding darkness with the fear from their own hearts. They were approaching the island of Quiso, domain of the Tuginda and the cult over which she ruled, a place where men retained no names – or so it was believed – weapons had no effect and the greatest strength could spend itself in vain against incomprehensible power. On each fell a mounting sense of solitude and exposure. To Kelderek it seemed that he lay upon the black water helpless as the diaphanous gylon fly, whose fragile myriads clotted the surface of the river each spring; inert as a felled tree in the forest, as a log in the timber-yard. All about them, in the night, stood the malignant, invisible woodmen, disintegrators armed with axe and fire. Now the log was burning, breaking up into sparks and ashes, drifting away beyond the familiar world of day and night, of hunger, work and rest. The red light seemed close now, and as it drew nearer still and higher above them he fell forward, striking his forehead against the bow.

He felt no pain from the blow; and to himself he seemed to have become deaf, for he could no longer hear the lapping of the water. Bereft of perceptions, of will and identity, he knew himself to have become no more than the fragments of a man. He was no one; and yet he remained conscious. As though in obedience to a command, he closed his eyes. At the same moment the paddlers ceased their stroke, bowing their heads upon their arms, and the canoe, losing way entirely, drifted with the current towards the unseen island.

Now into the remnants of Kelderek's mind began to return all that, since childhood, he had seen and.learned of the Tuginda. Twice a year she came to Ortelga by water, the far-off gongs sounding through the mists of early morning, the people waiting silent on the shore. The men lay flat on their faces as she and her women were met and escorted to a new hut built for her coming. There were dances and a ceremony of flowers: but her real business was first, to confer with the barons and secondly, in a session secret to the women, to speak of their mysteries and to select, from among those put forward, one or two to return with her to perpetual service on Quiso. At the end of the day, when she left in torchlight and darkness, the hut was burned and the ashes scattered on the water.

When she stepped ashore she was veiled, but in speaking with the barons she wore the mask of a bear. None knew the face of the Tuginda, or who she might once have been. The women chosen to go to her island never returned. It was believed that there they received new names; at all events their old names were never spoken again in Ortelga. It was not known whether the Tuginda died or abdicated, who succeeded her, how her successor was chosen, or even, on each occasion of her visit, whether she was, in fact, the same woman as before. Once, when a boy, Kelderek had questioned his father with impatience, such as the young often feel for matters which they perceive that their elders regard seriously and discuss little. For reply his father had moistened a lump of bread, moulded it to the rough shape of a man and put it to stand on the edge of the fire. 'Keep away from the women's mysteries, lad,' he said, 'and fear them in your heart, for they can consume you. Look the bread dried, browned, blackened and shrivelled to a cinder – 'do you understand?' Kelderek, silenced by his father's gravity, had nodded and said no more. But he had remembered.

What had possessed him, tonight, in the room behind the Sindrad? What had prompted him to defy the High Baron? How had those words passed his lips and why had not Bel-ka-Trazet killed him instantly? One thing he knew – since he had seen the bear, he had not been his own master. At first he had thought himself driven by the power of God, but now chaos was his master. His mind and body were unseamed like an old garment and whatever was left of himself lay in the power of the numinous, night-covered island.

His head was still resting on the bow and one arm trailed overside in the water. Behind him, the paddle dropped from Ankray's hands and drifted away, as the canoe grounded on the upstream shore, its occupants slumped where they sat, tranced and spell-stopped, not a will, not a mind intact. And thus they stayed, driftwood, flotsam and foam, while the quarter moon set far upstream and darkness fell, broken only by the gleam of the fire still burning inland, high among the trees.

Time passed – a time marked only by the turning of the stars. Small, choppy river-waves chattered along the sides of the canoe and once or twice, with a rising susurration, the night wind tossed the branches of the nearest trees: but never the least stir made the four men in the canoe, huddled in the dark like birds on a perch.

At length a nearer, smaller light appeared, green and swaying, descending towards the water. As it readied the pebbly shore there sounded a crunching of footsteps and a low murmur of voices. Two cloaked women were approaching, carrying between them, on a pole, a round, flat lantern as big as a grindstone. The frame was of iron and the spaces between the bars were panelled with plaited rushes, translucent yet stout enough to shield and protect the candles fixed within.

The two women reached the edge of the water and stood listening. After a little they perceived in the dark the knock of the water against the canoe – a sound distinguishable only by ears familiar with every cadence of wind and wave along the shore. They set down the lantern then, and one, drawing out the pole from the ring and splashing it back and forth in the shallows, called in a harsh voice, 'Wake!'

The sound came to Kelderek sharp as the cry of a moorhen. Looking up, he saw the wavering, green light reflected in the splashed water inshore. He was no longer afraid. As the weaker of two dogs presses itself to the wall and remains motionless, knowing that in this lies its safety, so Kelderek, through total subjection to the power of the island, had lost his fear.

He could hear the High Baron stirring behind him. Bel-ka-Trazet muttered some inaudible words and dashed a handful of water across his face, yet made no move to wade ashore. Turning his head for a moment, Kelderek saw him staring, as though still bemused, towards the dimly-shining turbulence in the shallows.

The woman's voice called again, 'Come!' Slowly, Bel-ka-Trazet climbed over the side of the canoe into the water, which reached scarcely to his knees, and waded towards the light. Kelderek followed, splashing clumsily through the slippery pools. Reaching the shore, he found confronting him a tall, cloaked woman standing motionless, her face hidden in her cowl. He too stood still, not daring to question her silence. He heard the servants come ashore behind him, but the tall woman paid them no heed, only continuing to gaze at him as though to perceive the very beating of his heart. At last – or so he thought – she nodded, and thereupon at once turned about, stooped and passed the pole through the iron ring on the lantern. Then she and her companion took it up between them and began to walk away, unstumbling over the loose, yielding stones. Not a man moved until, when she had gone perhaps ten paces, the tall woman, without turning her head, called 'Follow!' Kelderek obeyed, keeping his distance behind them like a servant.

Soon they began to climb a steep path into the woods. He was forced to grope among the rocks for hand-holds, yet the women went up easily, one behind the other, the taller raising the pole above her head to keep the lantern level. Still they climbed and still he followed breathlessly in the dark until, the way growing less steep and at last level, he thought that they could not be far below the very summit of the island. The trees grew thickly and he could no longer see the light ahead. Groping among the ferns and drifts of leaves he could hear – louder as he went on – the sound of cascading water and suddenly found himself standing on a spur of rock overlooking a ravine. On the opposite side lay a stone-paved terrace, in the middle of which were glowing the embers of a fire. This, he felt sure, must be the source of that light, high up, which he had seen from the river – a beacon lit to guide them. Beyond, a wall of rock rose into the dark, and this he could see plainly, for round the edges of the terrace stood five tripods, each supporting a bronze bowl from which rose translucent flames, yellow, green and blue. There was little smoke, but the air was filled with a resinous, sweet scent.

More disturbing and awe-inspiring than the empty terrace, with its basins of flame, was the square opening cut in the rock wall behind. A carved pediment overhung it, supported by a pillar on either side, and to him it seemed that the black space between was gazing upon him inscrutably, like the unseen face of the cowled woman on the shore. Disturbed, he turned his eyes away, yet still, like a prisoner standing in a crowded court, felt himself watched; and, looking back once more, saw again only the flame-lit terrace and the opening beyond.

He stared downwards into the ravine. A little to his right, scarcely visible in the flickering darkness, he could make out a waterfall, not sheer, but cascading steeply over rocks until lost in the deep cleft below. In front of this, close to the falling water and gleaming wet with spray, a felled tree-trunk, no thicker than a man's thigh, spanned the ravine from bank to bank. The upper side had been roughly planed; and upon this, with no hand-rail, the two women were now crossing as easily as they had walked over the shore. The pliant trunk sprang beneath their weight and the lantern tossed upon its pole, yet they moved with an unhurried grace, like village girls at evening carrying their pitchers from the well.

Slowly Kelderek descended from the spur. Coming to the nearer end of the bridge he began, fearfully, to put one foot before the other. The cascade at his elbow showered him with its cold spray; the invisible water below sent up its echoes about him; after a few steps he crouched upon his knees, fumbling one-handed along the undulating tree-trunk. He dared not raise his eyes to look ahead. Staring down at his own hand, he could see besides nothing but the grain of the wood, knot after knot coming into his circle of vision and disappearing under his chin as he edged forward. Twice he stopped, panting and digging his nails into the curved under-side as the trunk swayed up and down.

When at last he reached the further end, he continued groping blindly along the ground on his hands and knees, until by chance he caught and crushed a handful of creeping locatalanga and, with that pungent scent about him, came to himself and realized that he was no longer clutching and tossing above the water. He stood up. Ahead, the women were crossing the centre of the terrace, one behind the other as before. Watching, he saw them reach the edge of the heap of embers within their fleece of ash. Without a pause they stepped into it, lifting the hems of their cloaks exactly as though wading a ford. As the hindmost raised her hem he glimpsed for a moment her bare feet. Ash and sparks rose in a fine dust, as chaff rises about the feet of a miller. Then they were pacing on beyond, leaving behind them an exposed, dull-red track across the circle of the dying fire.

Kelderek, moaning, sank to the ground and buried his face in the crook of his arm.

This, then, was the manner of his coming to the Upper Temple upon Quiso of the Ledges – this bringer of the tidings that generations had awaited but never heard: injured, drenched, grovelling and half-hysterical, shutting out what lay before his eyes, determined – strange determination – only upon the surrender of whatever shreds of will-power the island had left him. When at length the High Baron and his servants came to the edge of the ravine and in their turn tottered like cripples along the leaping tree, they found him lying prone on the edge of the terrace, cackling and gasping with a sound more dreadful than the laughter of the deaf and dumb.

6 The Priestess

As Kelderek became quiet and seemed to fall asleep where he lay, a light appeared within the opening in the rock wall. It grew brighter and two young women came out, each carrying a burning torch. They were sturdy, rough-looking girls, bare-footed and dressed in coarse tunics: but no baron's wife could have matched the half of their ornaments. Their long ear-rings, which swung and clicked as they walked, were formed of separate pieces of carved bone, strung together in pendants. Their triple necklaces, of alternate penapa and ziltate, shone rose and tawny in the firelight On their fingers were wooden rings, carved to resemble plaiting and stained crimson. Each wore a broad belt of bronze plates with a clasp fashioned like the head of a bear; and on the left hip an empty dagger-sheath of green leather, whorled like a shell, in token of perpetual virginity.

On their backs they carried wicker baskets filled with fragments of a resinous gum and a black fuel hard and fine as gravel. At each tripod they stopped and, taking handfuls from each other's panniers, threw them into the bowls. The fuel fell with a faint, ringing sound, lingering and overtoned: and the girls, as they worked, paid no more attention to the waiting men than if they had been tethered beasts.

They had almost finished their task and the terrace was bright with fresh light, when a third young woman came pacing slowly from the darkness of the cave. She was dressed in a pleated, sheathlike robe of white cloth, finer than any woven in Ortelga, and her long, black hair hung loose at her back. Her arms were bare and her only ornament was a great collar of fine gold links, more than a span broad, which completely covered her shoulders like a vestment. As she appeared the two girls slipped their baskets from their backs and took up places side by side upon the edge of the ashes.

Bel-ka-Trazet raised his eyes to meet those of the young woman. He said nothing, however, and she returned his look with an impassive air of authority, as though every man had a face like his and they were all one to her. After a few moments she jerked her head over her shoulder and one of the girls, coming forward, led the servants away, disappearing into the darkness under the trees near the bridge. At the same moment the hunter stirred and rose slowly to his feet Ragged and dirty, he stood before the beautiful priestess with an air less of callowness than of simple unawareness either of his appearance or his surroundings.

Like the tall woman on the beach, the priestess stared intently at Kelderek, as though weighing him in some balance of her mind. At length she nodded her head two or three times with a kind of grave, comprehending recognition, and turned once more towards the High Baron.

'It is meant, then', she said, 'that this man should be here. Who is he?'

'One whom I have brought, saiyett,' replied Bel-ka-Trazet briefly, as though to remind her that he too was a person of authority.

The priestess frowned. Then she stepped close to the High Baron, put her hand upon his shoulder and, assuming the air of a wondering and inquisitive child, drew his sword from the scabbard and examined it, the Baron making no attempt to stop her.

'What is this?' she asked, moving it so that the light of the flames flashed along the blade. 'My sword, saiyett,' he answered, with a touch of impatience.

'Ah, your -' she paused, hesitating a moment, as though the word were new to her -'sword. A pretty thing, this – this sword. So – so -so -' and, pressing hard, she drew the edge three or four times across her forearm. It made no cut and left no mark whatever. 'Sheldra,' she called to the remaining girl, 'the High Baron has brought us a – a sword! The girl approached, took the sword in both hands and held it out horizontally at the height of her eyes, as though admiring the sharpness of the edge.

'All, now I see,' said the priestess lightly. Drawing the flat of the blade against her throat and motioning the girl to hold it firmly, she made a little jump, swung a few moments by her chin on the sharp edge and then, dropping to the ground, turned back to Bel-ka-Trazet.

'And this?' she asked, plucking his knife from his belt This time he made no reply. Assuming a puzzled look, she drove the point into her left arm, twisted it, drew it out bloodless, shook her head and handed it to the girl. 'Well – well – toys.' She stared coldly at him. 'What is your name?' she asked.

The Baron opened his mouth to speak, but after a moment the twisted lips closed askew and he remained looking at her as though she had not yet spoken. 'What is your name?' she said to Kelderek in the same tone.

As though in a dream, the hunter found himself perceiving on two planes. A man may dream that he is doing something – flying, perhaps – which, even in the dream, he knows that he cannot do. Yet he accepts and lives the illusion, and thus experiences as real the effects following from the discounted cause. In the same way Kelderek heard and understood the priestess's words and yet knew that they had no meaning. She might as well have asked him, 'What is the sound of the moon?' Moreover, he knew that she knew this and would be satisfied with silence for an answer. 'Come!' she said, after a pause, and turned on her heel.

Walking before them – the grim, mutilated Baron and the bewildered hunter – she led them out of the circle of blue-flaming bowls and through the opening in the rock.

7 The Ledges

The darkness was broken only by the indirect flame-light from the terrace outside; but this was sufficient to show Kelderek that they were in a square chamber apparently cut out of the living rock. The floor beneath his feet was stone and the shadows of himself and his companions moved and wavered against a smooth wall. On this he glimpsed a painting which seemed, as he thought, to represent some gigantic creature standing upright. Then they were going on into the dark.

Feeling his way after the priestess, he touched the squared jamb of an opening in the wall and, groping upwards – for he feared to strike his head – could find no transom above. Yet the cleft, if tall, was narrow enough – scarcely as wide as a man – and to save his injured shoulder he turned sideways and edged into it, right arm first. He could see nothing – only those mysterious, faintly-coloured clouds and vaporous screens that swim before our eyes in darkness, seeming exhaled, as it were, from our own sightlessness as mists rise from a marsh.

The floor sloped steeply downwards underfoot. He stumbled on, groping against the wall as it curved away to the right. At last he could make out, ahead, the night sky and, outlined against it, the figure of the waiting priestess. He reached her side, stopped and looked about him.

It was not long after midnight by the stars. He was high up in some spacious, empty place, standing on a broad ledge of stone, its surface level but the texture so rough that he could feel the grains and nodules under the soles of his feet. On either side were wooded slopes. The ledge stretched away to the left in a long, regular curve, a quarter-circle a stone's throw across, ending among banks of ivy and the trunks of trees. Immediately below it extended another, similar ledge and below that fell away many more, resembling a staircase for giants or gods. The pitch was steep – steep enough for a fall to be dangerous. The faintly-shining, concentric tiers receded downwards until the hunter could no longer distinguish them in the starlight. Far below, he could just perceive a glimmering of water, as though from the bottom of a well: and this, it seemed to him, must be some land-locked bay of the island. All around, on either side, great trees towered, an orderly forest, the spaces between them free from the creepers and choking jungle of the mainland. As he gazed up, the night wind freshened and the rustling of leaves became louder and higher, with a semblance of urgent repetition – 'Yess! Yess, yess!' followed by a dying fall – 'Sshow! – Sssh-ow!' Mingled with this whispering came another sound, also liquid and continuous, but unaltering in pitch, lower and lightly plangent. Listening, he recognized it for the trickling and dropping of water, filling all the place no less than the sound of the leaves. Whence might this come? He looked about.

They were standing near one end of the uppermost tier. Further along its length a shallow stream – perhaps that of the ravine he had crossed earlier that night – came whelming smoothly out of the hillside and across the ledge. Here, no doubt because of some tilting of the stones, it spread in either direction, to become at the edges a mere film of water trickling over the rough, level surface. Thence, it oozed and dripped and splashed its way downward, passing over one terrace after another, spreading all abroad, shallow as rain on the pitch of a roof. This was the cause of the faint shining of the ledges in the starlight and of the minute, liquid sounds sparkling faindy about them, myriad as windy heather on a moor or crickets in a meadow.

Struck with amazement, Kelderek realized that this vast place was an artifact. He stood trembling – with awe indeed, but not with fear. Rather, he was filled with a kind of wild and expansive joy, like that of dance or festival, seeming to himself to be floating above his own exhaustion and the pain in his shoulder.

'You have never seen the Ledges?' said the priestess at his elbow. 'We have to descend them – are you able?'

At once, as though she had commanded him, he set off down the wet slabs as confidently as though upon level ground. The Baron called to him sharply and he stayed himself against the solitary island of a bank of ivy, smiling back at the two still above him for all the world as though they were comrades in some children's game. As the priestess and the Baron approached carefully, picking their way down the wet stones, he heard the latter say, 'He is light-headed, saiyett – a simple, foolish fellow, as I am told. He may fall, or even fling himself down.'

'No, the place means him no harm, Baron,' she replied. 'Since you brought him here, perhaps you can tell why.' 'No,' replied the Baron shortly.

'Let him go,' she said. 'On the Ledges, they say, the heart is the foot's best guide.'

At this, Kelderek turned once more and bounded away, splashing sure-footed down and down. The dangerous descent seemed a sport, exhilarating as diving into deep water. The pale shape of the inlet below grew larger and now he could see a fire twinkling beside it. He felt the steep hillside ever higher at his back. The curves of the ledges grew shorter, narrowing at last to little more than a broad path between the trees. He reached the very foot and stood looking round him in the enclosed gloom. It was indeed, he thought, like the bottom of a well – except that the air was warm and the stones now seemed dry underfoot. From above he could hear no sound of his companions and after a little began to make his way towards the glow of the fire and the lapping water beyond.

It was irregular, this shore among the trees, and paved with the same stone as the ledges above. As far as he could discern, it was laid out as a garden. Patches of ground between the paving had been planted with bushes, fruit-trees and flowering plants. He came upon a clustering tendriona, trained on trellises to form an arbour, and could smell the ripe fruit among the leaves above him. Reaching up, he pulled one down, split the thin rind and ate as he wandered on.

Scrambling over a low wall, he found himself on the brink of a channel perhaps six or seven paces across. Water-lilies and arrowhead were blooming in the scarcely-moving water at his feet, but in the middle there was a smooth flow and this, he guessed, must be the re-gathered stream from the ledges. He crossed a narrow foot-bridge and saw before him a circular space, paved in a symmetrical pattern of dark and light. In the centre stood a flat-topped stone, roughly ovoid and carved with a star-like symbol. Beyond, the fire was glowing red in an iron brazier.

His weariness and dread returned upon him. Unconsciously, he had thought of the waterside and the fire as the end of the night's journey. What end he did not know; but where there was a fire, might one not have expected to find people – and rest? His impulse on the ledges had been both foolish and impertinent. The priestess had not told him to come here; her destination might be elsewhere. Now there were only the starlit solitude and the pain in his shoulder. He thought of returning, but could not face it. Perhaps, after all, they would come soon. Limping across to the stone, he sat down, elbow on knee, rested his head on his hand and closed his eyes.

He fell into an uneasy, slightly feverish doze, in which the happenings of the long day began to recur, dream-like and confused. He imagined himself to be crouching once more in the canoe, listening to the knock and slap of water in the dark. But it was on the shendron's platform that he landed, and once again refused to tell what he had seen. The shendron grew angry and forced him to his knees, threatening him with his hot knife as the folds of his fur cloak rippled and became a huge, shaggy pelt, dark and undulant as a cypress tree. 'By the Bear!' hissed the Baron. 'You will no longer choose!' 'I can speak only to the Tuginda!' cried the hunter aloud.

He started to his feet, open-eyed. Before him, on the chequered pavement, was standing a woman of perhaps forty-five years of age. She had a strong, shrewd face and was dressed like a servant or a peasant's wife. Her arms were bare to the elbow and in one hand she was carrying a wooden ladle. Looking at her in the starlight, he felt reassured by her homely, sensible appearance. At least there was evidently cooking in this island of sorcery, and a straightforward, familiar sort of person to do it. Perhaps she might have some food to spare.

'Crendro' (I see you), said the woman, using the colloquial greeting of Ortelga. 'Crendro,' replied the hunter. 'You have come down the Ledges?' asked the woman. 'Yes.' 'Alone?' 'The priestess and the High Baron of Ortelga are following – at least so I hope.' He raised one hand to his head. 'Forgive me. I'm tired out and my shoulder's painful.' 'Sit down again.' He did so. 'Why are you here – on Quiso?'

'That I must not tell you. I have a message – a message for the Tuginda. I can tell it only to the Tuginda.'

'Yourself? Is it not for your High Baron, then, to tell the Tuginda?'

'No. It is for myself to do so.' To avoid saying more, he asked, 'What is this stone?'

'It's very old. It fell from the sky. Would you like some food? Perhaps I can make your shoulder more comfortable.'

'It's good of you. I'd like to eat, and to rest too. But the Tuginda -my message -' 'It will be all right Come this way, with, me.'

She took him by the hand and at the same moment he saw the priestess and Bel-ka-Trazet approaching over the bridge. At the sight of his companion the High Baron stopped, bent his head and raised his palm to his brow.

8 The Tuginda

In silence the hunter allowed himself to be led across the circle and past the iron brazier, in which the fire had sunk low. He wondered whether it too had been lit for a signal and had now served its turn, for there seemed to be none to keep it burning. Overtaking them, the baron spoke no word, but again raised his hand to his forehead. It shook slightly and his breathing, though he controlled it, was short and unsteady. The hunter guessed that the descent of the steep, slippery ledges had taxed him more than he cared to show.

They left the fire, ascended a flight of steps and stopped before the door of a stone building, its handle a pendent iron ring made like two bears grappling each with the other. Kelderek had never before seen workmanship of this kind, and watched in wonder as the handle was turned and the weight of the door swung inward without sagging or scraping against the floor within.

Crossing the threshold, they were met by a girl dressed like those who had tended the cressets on the terrace. She was carrying three or four lighted lamps on a wooden tray which she offered to each of them in turn. He took a lamp, but still saw little of what was round him, being too fearful to pause or stare about. From somewhere not far away came a smell of cooking and he realized once again that he was hungry.

They entered a firelit, stone-floored room, furnished like a kitchen with benches and a long, rough table. The hearth, set in the wall, had a cowled chimney above and an ash-pit below, and here a second girl was tending three or four cooking-pots. The two exchanged a few words in low voices and began to busy themselves about the hearth and table, from time to time glancing sideways at the Baron with a kind of shrinking fascination.

Since they had left the paved circle the hunter had been overcome by the knowledge that he had committed sacrilege. Clearly, the stone on which he had sat was sacred. Had he not, indeed, been told that it had fallen from the sky? And the woman – the homely woman with the ladle – she could be only -

As she approached him in the firelight he turned, trembling, and fell upon his knees. 'Saiyett -I -I was not to know -'

'Don't be afraid,' she said. 'Lie down here, on the table: I want to look at your shoulder. Melathys, bring some warm water; and Baron, will you please hold one of the lamps close?'

As they obeyed her, the Tuginda unlaced the hunter's jerkin and began to wash the clotted blood from the gash in his shoulder. She worked carefully and deliberately, cleaned the wound, dressed it with a stinging, bitter-scented ointment and finally bound his shoulder with a clean cloth. From behind the lamp the Baron's disfigured face looked down at him with an expression which made him prefer to keep his eyes shut.

'Now we will eat – and drink too,' said the Tuginda at last, helping him to his feet, 'and you girls may go. Yes, yes,' she added impatiently, to one who was lifting the lid from the stew-pot and lingering by the fire, 'I can ladle stew into bowls, believe it or not.'

The girls scurried out and the Tuginda, picking up her ladle, stirred the various pots and filled four bowls from them. Kelderek ate apart, standing up, and she did nothing to dissuade him, herself sitting on a bench by the hearth and eating slowly and little, as though to make sure that she would finish no sooner and no later than the rest. The bowls were wooden, but the cups into which Melathys poured wine were of thin bronze, six-sided and flat-based, so that, unlike drinking-horns, they stood unsupported without spilling. The cold metal felt strange to the hunter's lips. When the two men had finished, Melathys brought water for their hands, took away the bowls and. cups and made up the fire. The Baron, with his back against the table, sat facing the Tuginda, while the hunter remained standing in the shadows beyond.

'I sent for you, Baron,' began the Tuginda. 'As you know, I asked you to come here tonight.'

'You have put me to indignity, saiyett,' replied the Baron. 'Why was the fear of Quiso unloosed upon us? Why must we have lain bemused in darkness upon the shore? Why -'

'Was there not a stranger with you?' she answered, in a tone which checked him instantly, though his eyes remained fixed upon hers. 'Why do you suppose you could not reach the landing-place? And were you not armed?'

'I came in haste. The matter escaped me. But in any case, how could you have known these things, saiyett?'

'No matter how. Well, the indignity, as you call it, is ended now. We will not quarrel. The girls who carried my message to Ortelga – they have been looked after?'

'It is hard to reach Ortelga against the current. They were tired. I said they should remain there to sleep.' She nodded.

'My message, as I -suppose, was unexpected, and you have made me an unexpected reply, bringing me a wounded man whom I find sitting alone and exhausted on the Tereth stone.' 'Saiyett, this man is a hunter – a simple fellow whom they call -' He stopped, frowning. 'I know of him,' she said. 'On Ortelga they call him Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. Here he has no name, until I choose.' Bel-ka-Trazet resumed.

'He was brought to me tonight on his return from a hunting expedition, having refused to tell one of the shendrons whatever it was that he had seen. At first I treated him with forbearance, but still he would say nothing. I questioned him and he answered me like a child. He said, "I have found a star. Who will believe that I have found a star?" Then he said, "I will speak only to the Tuginda." At this I threatened him with a heated knife, but he answered only, "It must be as God wills." And then, in this very moment, saiyett, arrived your message. "So," thought I, "this man, who has said that he will speak only to you – who ever heard a man say this before? – let us take him at his word, if only to make him speak. He had better come to Quiso too – to his death, as I suppose, which he has brought upon himself." And then he sits down upon the Tereth stone, God help us! And we find him face to face and alone with yourself. How can he return to Ortelga? He must die.'

"That is for me to say, while he remains on Quiso. You sec much, Baron, and you guard the people as an eagle her brood. You have seen this hunter and you are angry and suspicious because he has defied you. Have you seen nothing else from your eyrie on Ortelga this two days past?'

It was plain that Bel-ka-Trazet resented being questioned: but he answered civilly enough, 'The burning, saiyett. There has been a great burning.'

'For leagues beyond the Telthearna the jungle has burned. All yesterday it rained ashes on Quiso. During the night animals came ashore from the river – some of kinds never seen here before. A makati comes tame as a cat to Melathys, begging for food. She feeds it and then, following it to the water, finds a green snake coiled about the Tereth. Of whom are these the forerunners? At dawn, the brook in the high ravine left its course and streamed down over the Ledges: but at the foot it gathered itself, flowed back into its channel and did no harm. Why? Why were the Ledges washed, Baron? For the coming of your feet, or my feet? Or was it for the coming of some other feet? What messages, what signs were these?'

The Baron slid his tongue along the jagged edge of one lip and plucked the fur of his cape between his fingers, but answered nothing. The Tuginda turned to face the firelight and remained silent for some time. She sat perfectly still, her hands at rest in her lap, her composure like that of a tree when the wind has dropped. At length she said,

'So I ponder and pray and call upon such little wisdom as I may have acquired over the years, for I know, no more than Melathys, or Rantzay or the girls, what these things may mean. At last I send for you. Perhaps, it seems to me, you may be able to tell me something that you have seen or heard. Perhaps you may give me some clue.

'Meanwhile, if he should come, how should I receive him – he whom God means to send? Not with power or display; no, but as a servant. What else am I? So in case he should come, I dress myself like the ignorant, poor woman that God sees me to be. I know nothing, but at least I can cook a meal. And when the meal is ready I go out to the Tereth, to wait and pray.' Again she was silent. Melathys murmured, 'Perhaps the High Baron knows more than he has told us.' 'I know nothing, saiyett.'

'But it did not occur to me,' went on the Tuginda, 'that the stranger whom I knew to be with you -'

She broke off and looked across the room to where Kelderek was still standing by himself, away from the light, 'So, hunter, you maintained to the High Baron's hot knife, did you, that you had a message for my ears alone?'

'It is true, saiyett,' he answered, 'and it is true also, as the High Baron says, that I am a man of no rank – one who gets his living as a hunter. Yet I knew – and know now – beyond doubt or gainsaying, that none must hear this news before yourself.'

'Tell me, then, what you could not tell to the shendron or the High Baron.'

He began to speak of his hunting expedition that morning and of the undergrowth full of bewildered, fugitive animals. Then he told of the leopard and of his foolhardy attempt to pass it and escape inland. As he spoke of his ill-aimed arrow, his panic flight and fall from the bank, he trembled and gripped the table to steady himself. One of the lamps had burned dry, but the priestess made no move and the wick remained smoking until it died.

'And then,' said the hunter, 'then there stood over me, where I lay, saiyett, a bear – such a bear as never was, a bear tall as a dwelling-hut, his pelt like a waterfall, his muzzle a wedge across the sky. The leopard was as iron on his anvil. Iron – no – ah, believe me! – when the bear struck him he became like a chip of wood when the axe falls. He spun through the air and tumbled like a pierced bird. It was the bear – the bear who saved me. He struck once and then he was gone.' The hunter paused and came slowly forward to the fire.

'He was no vision, saiyett, no fancy of my fear. He is flesh and bone – he is real. I saw the burns on his side – I saw that they hurt him. A bear, saiyett, on Ortelga – a bear more than twice as tall as a man!' He hesitated, and then added, almost inaudibly, 'If God were a bear -'

The priestess caught her breath. The Baron stood up, tipping back the bench against the table as his hand clutched at his empty scabbard.

'You had better be plain,' said the Tuginda in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. 'What do you mean, and what is it that you are thinking about the bear?'

To himself the hunter seemed like a man setting down at last a heavy burden which he has carried for miles, through darkness and solitude, to the place where it must go. But more strongly still, he felt once again the incredulity which had filled him that morning on the lonely, upstream shore of Ortelga. How could it be that this was the appointed time, here the place and himself the man? Yet it was so. It could not be otherwise. His eyes met the shrewd, intent gaze of the Tuginda. 'Saiyett,' he replied, 'it is Lord Shardik.'

There was dead silence. Then the Tuginda answered carefully, 'You understand that to be wrong – to deceive yourself and others – would be a sacrilegious and terrible thing? Any man can see a bear. If what you saw was a bear, O hunter who plays with children, for God's sake say so now and return home unharmed and in peace.'

'Saiyett, I am nothing but a common man. It is you that must weigh my talc, not I. Yet as I live, I myself feel certain that the bear that saved me was none other than Lord Shardik.'

'Then,' replied the Tuginda, 'whether you are proved wrong or right, it is plain what we have to do.'

The priestess was standing with palms outstretched and closed eyes, praying silently. The Baron, frowning, paced slowly across to the further wall, turned and paced back, gazing down at the floor. As he reached the Tuginda she laid her hand upon his wrist and he stopped, looking at her from one half-closed and one staring eye. She smiled up at him, for all the world as though no prospect lay before them but what was safe and easy.

'I'll tell you a story,' she said. 'There was once a wise, crafty Baron who pledged himself to guard Ortelga and its people and to keep out all that could harm them: a setter of traps, a digger of pits. He perceived enemies almost before they knew their own intents and taught himself to distrust the very lizards on the walls. To make sure that he was not deceived, he disbelieved everything; and he was right. A ruler, like a merchant, must be full of craft; must disbelieve more than half he hears, or he will be a ruined man.

'But here the task is more difficult. The hunter says, "It is Lord Shardik," and the ruler, who has learned to be a sceptical man and no fool, replies, "Absurd." Yet we all know that one day Lord Shardik is to return. Suppose it were today and the ruler were in error, then what an error that would be! All the patient work of his life could not atone for it.' Bel-ka-Trazet said nothing.

'We cannot take the risk of being wrong. To do nothing might well be the greatest sacrilege. There is only one thing we can do. We must discover beyond doubt whether this news is true or false; and if we lose our lives, then God's will be done. After all, there are other barons and the Tuginda does not die.'

'You speak calmly, saiyett,' replied the Baron, 'as though of the tendriona crop or the coming of the rains. But how can it be true

'You have lived long years, Baron, with the Dead Belt to strengthen today and the tax to collect tomorrow. That has been your work. And I – I too have lived long years with my work – with the prophecies of Shardik and the rites of the Ledges. Many times I have imagined the news coming and pondered on what I should do if ever it were to come indeed. That is why I can say to you now, "This hunter's talc may be true," and yet speak calmly.'

The Baron shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as though unwilling to argue. 'Well, and what are we to do?' he asked.

'Sleep,' she replied unexpectedly, going to the door. 'I will call the girls to show you where.' 'And tomorrow?' 'Tomorrow we will go upstream.'

She opened the door and struck once upon a bronze gong. Then she returned and, going across to Kelderek, laid her hand on his sound shoulder.

'Good night,' she said, 'and let us trust that it may indeed be that good night that the children are taught to pray for.'

9 The Tuginda's Story

The narrow passage from the land-locked inlet to the Telthearna bent so sharply that it was only just possible for a canoe to negotiate it. The rocky spurs on either side overlapped, closing the inlet like a wall, so that from within nothing could be seen of the river beyond.

The little bay, running inland between its paved shores, ended, among coloured water-lilies, at the outfall of the channel by the Tereth stone. Waiting with Melathys while the servants loaded the canoes, Kelderek gazed upwards, past the bridge which he had crossed the night before, to where the Ledges opened above, their shape like that of a great arrow-head lying point downward on the hillside between the woods. The stream, he saw, was no longer flowing over them: it must have returned, during the night, to its normal course. High up, he could make out the figures of girls stooping over hoes and baskets, weeding and scouring among the stones.

When the loading of the canoes had begun, the sun had not yet reached this north-facing shore, but now it rose over the Ledges and shone down upon the inlet, changing the opaque, grey water to a depth of slow-moving, luminous green. Sharp shadows fell across the pavements from the small stone buildings standing here and there along the edges, some secluded among the trees, others in the open among grass and flowers.

He wondered how old these buildings might be. There was none such on Ortelga. The whole place could be the work only of people long ago. What sort of people could they have been, who had constructed the Ledges?

Blinking, he turned away from the sun to watch the grave, silent girls loading the canoes. On Ortelga there would have been gossip, banter, songs to lighten the work. These women moved deliberately and spoke only such few words as were needed. They were silent, he supposed, by custom and the rule of the island. What a release it would be to leave this shady, mind-bemusing place of secrets and sorcery! Then he recalled whither they were bound and felt again the clutch of fear in his stomach.

An elderly, grey-haired woman, who had been directing the girls at their work, left the waterside and approached Melathys.

'The loading is done, saiyett,' she said. 'Do you wish to check that all is there?' 'No, I will trust you, Thula,' replied the priestess absently. The old woman laid a hand on her arm.

'We do not know where you are going, my dear, or for how long,' she said. 'Will you not tell me? Do you remember how I comforted you as a child, when you used to dream of the slave-traders and the war?'

'I know all too well where we are going,' replied Melathys, 'but not when I shall return.' 'A long journey?' persisted the old woman.

'Long or short,' answered Melathys, with a quick, nervous laugh, 'I promise you that whoever may die, I will take good care that I do not.' She stooped, plucked a red flower, held it for a moment to the other's nostrils and then tossed it into the water.

The old woman made a restrained gesture of impatience, like a trusted servant who is privileged to express her feelings.

'There is danger, then, my child?' she whispered, 'Why do you speak of death?'

Melathys stared a moment, biting her lip. Then she unclasped the broad, golden collar from her neck and put it into the old woman's hands.

'At all events I shall not need this,' she said, 'and if there is danger I shall run faster without the weight of it. Ask me no more, Thula. It is time for us to set out Where are the Baron's servants?'

'He said that they were to return to Ortelga,' replied the old woman. 'They have already taken their canoe and gone.'

'Then go yourself now and tell the Baron that we are ready. Good-bye, Thula. Remember me in your prayers.'

She made her way across the pavement, stepped down into the nearest of the four canoes and motioned to the hunter to take his place behind her. The two girls in the stern dipped their paddles and the canoe drew away from the shore. They crossed the inlet and began to edge their way out through the narrow cleft between the rock spurs.

The bow skirted a curtain of trailing, purple-leaved trazada and Kelderek, knowing how the little thorns tear and smart, dropped his head, shielding his face with his good arm. He heard the stiff leaves clashing against the side of the canoe, then felt a freshness of wind and opened his eyes. They were outside and rocking in a bay of slack water under the northern shore. The green shadow of the woods above them stretched upstream and across the river. Beyond, the water was blue and choppy, glittering in the sun and broken, here and there, into small, white-topped waves. Far off lay the blackened, desolate line of the left bank. He looked back over his shoulder but could no longer discern, among the tangle of green, the cleft from which they had emerged. Then the bow of the second canoe appeared, thrusting through the foliage. Melathys, following his gaze, smiled coldly.

'There is no other landing place on the island where a canoe can come to shore. All else is cliff or shoal, like the place where you landed last night.' 'The Tuginda, then?' he asked. 'Is she not coming with us?'

The priestess, watching the two remaining canoes as they came out, made no immediate reply, but after a while said, 'Do you know the tale of Inanna?'

'Why, yes, saiyett. She went to the underworld to beg for a life and as she passed each gate they took from her her clothes, her jewels and all that she had.'

'Long ago, whenever the Tuginda set out from Quiso to seek Lord Shardik, it was the custom that she should have nothing whatever upon her when she left the island.' She paused and then added, 'The Tuginda does not wish it to be known on Quiso that she is leaving. By the time they learn that she is gone -'

'But if there is no other landing place?' he blurted out, interrupting her. She spoke to the girls at the paddles.

'Nito! Neelith! We will go up the shore now, as far as the quarries.'

At the westward end of the bay the shore extended to form a point Below this the sheltered water was smooth, but once they had rounded it their progress became laborious, for the head-wind was troublesome and on this side of the island the current ran strongly. They moved slowly upstream, the canoes jumping and bouncing in the choppy water. At length Kelderek could see that some way ahead the steep, green slopes gave place to cliffs of grey rock. The face of these cliffs appeared to have been cut and broken into. There were several straight-sided openings, like great windows, and at the foot of the lowest he noticed a kind of sill – a flat, projecting shelf of rock, perhaps three or four times the height of a man above the water. Through these openings, as they neared, he could catch glimpses of a deep, rock-sided excavation, on the floor of which, here and there, were lying boulders and a few squared slabs of stone; but all seemed neglected and desolate.

Melathys turned her head. 'That is where they quarried the stone for the Ledges.' 'Who, saiyett? When?'

Again she made no answer, merely gazing across at the little waves slap-slapping against the foot of the cliff. Suddenly Kelderek started, so that the canoe rocked sideways and one of the girls struck the water sharply with the flat of her paddle to recover its balance. On the flat shelf above them stood a naked woman, her hair flowing loose over her shoulders. She stepped forward to the edge and for a few moments stood looking down, moving her feet for a firm hold. Then, without hesitation, she dived into the deep water.

As she came to the surface, the hunter realized that this was none other than the Tuginda. She began swimming gently towards the third canoe, which was already cutting across to meet her. The Baron's canoe had turned away. Confused, the hunter first closed his eyes and then, to make sure that the priestess should not rebuke him, buried his face in his hands.

'Crendro, Melathys!' called the Tuginda, whom Kelderek could hear laughing as she climbed into the canoe. 'I thought I had brought nothing with me but a light heart, but now I remember that I have two things more – their names, to be restored to our guests. Bel-ka-Trazet, can you hear me, or are you hastening out of earshot as well as out of sight?'

'Why, saiyett,' answered the Baron gruffly, 'you startled us. And am I not to respect you as a woman?'

'The breadth of the Telthearna is respect indeed. Are your servants not here?' 'No, saiyett. I have sent them back to Ortelga.' 'God be with them. And with Melathys, for her pretty arms have been scratched by the trazada. Hunter – shy, pondering hunter -what is your name?' 'Kelderek, saiyett,' he replied, 'Kelderek Zenzuata.'

'Well, now we can be sure that we have left Quiso. The girls will enjoy this unexpected trip. Who is with us? Sheldra, Nito, Neelith -'

She began chatting and joking with the girls, who from their answers were clearly convinced that she was in excellent spirits. After a time her canoe drew alongside and she touched Kelderek's arm. 'Your shoulder?' she asked. 'Better, saiyett,' he answered. 'The pain is much less.' 'Good, for we are going to need you.'

Although the Tuginda had kept her departure secret, someone besides Melathys had evidently known what she meant to do and loaded her canoe accordingly, for she was now dressed, as though for hunting, in a tunic of stitched and over-lapping leather panels, with leather greaves and sandals, and her wet hair, coiled about her head, was bound with a light, silver chain. Like the girls, she was carrying a knife at her belt.

'We will not go up the shore of Ortelga, Melathys,' she said. 'The shendrons would see us and the whole town would be talking within the hour.

'How then, saiyett? Are we not making for the western end of the island?'

'Certainly. But we will cross to the further side of the river and then return.'

Their journey, thus extended, lasted almost until evening. As they crossed, the current carried them downstream, especially when they were obliged to give way to avoid the heavy, floating debris still drifting here and there. By the time they had reached the desert of the further bank, with its scorched, ashen smell, the girls were tired. There was little or no true shade and they were forced to rest as best they could, partly in the canoes and partly in the river itself – for they could all swim like otters. Only Melathys, preoccupied and silent, remained in her place, apparently indifferent to the heat They ate selta nuts, goat's cheese and rose-pale tendrionas. The long afternoon was spent in working slowly upstream along the dead bank. It was hard going, for every reach was obstructed inshore with half-burned trees and branches, some submerged, others spreading tangles of twigs and leaves across the surface. There was a continual drift of fine, black grit through the air and the sides of the canoes above the water-line became coated with a froth of ash suspended in the slack water.

The sun was nearing the horizon when the Tuginda at last gave the word to turn left and head out once more across the current. Kelderek, who knew the difficulty of judging the ever-changing currents of the Telthearna, realized that she was evidently an experienced and skilful waterman. At all events her judgment now was excellent, for with little further effort on the part of the weary girls, the river carried them across and down so that they drifted almost exactly upon the tall, narrow rock at the western point of Ortelga.

They waded ashore, dragging the canoes between them through the reeds, and made camp on dry ground among the soft, fibrous root-tangles of a grove of quian. It was a wild shore; and as their fire burned up – so that the shapes of the tree-trunks seemed to waver in its heat – and outside, the sunset faded from the expanse of the river, Kelderek felt again, as he had felt two days before, the unusual restlessness and disturbance of the forest around them.

'Saiyett,' he ventured at last, 'and you, my lord Baron, if I may be allowed to advise you, we should let no one wander away from the fire tonight. If any must do so, let them go to the shore but nowhere else. This place is full of creatures that are themselves strangers, lost and savage with fear.'

Bel-ka-Trazet merely nodded and Kelderek, afraid of having said too much, busied himself in rolling a log to one side of the fire and scraping it clean to make a seat for the Tuginda. On the further side the girl Sheldra was setting up the servants' quarters and allotting them their duties. She had said nothing whatever to Kelderek throughout the day and he, unsure what his place might be, was about to ask her whether he could be of use, when the Tuginda called him and asked him to take the first watch.

As it fell out, he remained on guard half the night. He felt no desire to sleep. What sort of sentries would they make, he asked himself – dicsc silent, self-contained girls, whose lives had been enclosed so long by the solitude of Quiso? Yet he knew that he was merely trying – and failing – to deceive himself; they were reliable enough and this was not the reason for his wakefulness. The truth was that he could not be free – had not been free all day – from the fear of death and the dread of Shardik.

Brooding in the darkness, fresh misgivings came upon him as he thought first of the High Baron and then of Melathys. Both felt fear – of this he was sure; fear of death no doubt, but also – and it was in this that they differed from himself – fear of losing what each already possessed. And because of this fear there lay in both their hearts an actual hope, of which neither would speak before the Tuginda, that he had told them false and that this search would end in nothing: for to each it seemed that even if what he had told them were the truth, he or she stood to gain nothing from it.

It occurred to him – troubling his heart and heightening still further his sense of loneliness – that the High Baron was actually unable to grasp what to himself was plain as flame. There came into his mind the recollection of an old, miserly trader who had lived near his home some years before. This man had amassed a competence by a lifetime of petty, hard bargaining. One night some swaggering young mercenaries, returned to Ortelga from a campaign in the service of Bekla and reluctant to call an end to a drunken frolic, had offered him three great emeralds in return for a jar of wine. The old man, convinced of some trick, had refused them and later had actually boasted of how he had shown himself too sharp for such rogues.

Bel-ka-Trazet, thought Kelderek, had spent years in making Ortelga a fortress, and looked now to reap his harvest – to grow old in safety behind his pits and stakes, his river moat and his shendrons along the shore. In his world, the proper place for anything strange or unknown was outside. Of all hearts on Ortelga, perhaps, his was the least likely to leap and blaze at news of the return of Shardik, the Power of God. As for Melathys, she was already content with her role as priestess and her island sorcery. Perhaps she hoped to become Tuginda herself in time. She was obeying the Tuginda now merely because she could not disobey her. Her heart, he felt sure, shared neither the Tuginda's passionate hope nor the Tuginda's deep sense of responsibility. It was natural, perhaps, that she should be afraid. She was a woman, quick-witted and young, who had already attained to a position of authority and trust. She had much to lose if a violent death should strike her down. He recalled how he had first seen her the night before, asserting her dismaying power on the flame-lit terrace; discerning, among the night-travellers from Ortelga, the presence of the secret lying unspoken in his heart and in none other. At the memory he was overcome by a keen pang of disappointment. The truth was that the incomparable news which he had brought she would have preferred not to learn.

'They are both far above me,' he thought, pacing slowly across the grove, his ears full of the incessant croaking of the frogs along the shore. 'Yet I – a common man – can see plainly that each is clinging – or trying to cling – to that which they fear may now be changed or swept away. I have no such thoughts, for I have nothing to lose; and besides, I have seen Lord Shardik and they have not. Yet even if we find him again and do not die, still, I believe, they will try by some means or other to deny him. And that I could never do, come of it what might.'

The sudden, harsh cry of some creature in the forest recalled him to the duty he had undertaken, and he turned back to his watch. Crossing the clearing once more, he threaded his way among the sleeping girls.

The Tuginda was standing beside the fire. She beckoned, and as he approached looked at him with the same shrewd, honest smile which he had first seen at the Tereth stone, before he had known who she was. 'Surely, Kelderek, your watch is long over?' she asked. 'If another were to take my place, saiyett, I could not sleep, so why should I not watch?' 'Your shoulder hurts?'

'No – my heart, saiyett.' He smiled back at her. 'I'm ill at ease. There's good cause.'

'Well, I'm glad you're awake, Kelderek Play-with-the-Children, for we need to talk, you and I.' She moved away from the sleepers and he followed her until she stopped and faced him in the gloom, leaning against a quian trunk. The frogs croaked on and now he could hear the waves lapping in the reeds.

'You heard me say to Melathys and the Baron that we ought to act as though your news were true. That was what I said to them: but you yourself, Kelderek, must know this. If I were unable to perceive the truth that flows from a man's heart into his words, I would not be the Tuginda of Quiso. I am in no doubt that it is indeed Lord Shardik that you have seen.'

He could find no reply and after a little she went on, 'So – of all those countless thousands who have waited, we are the ones, you and I.'

'Yes. But you seem so calm, saiyett, and I – I am full of fear -ordinary, coward's fear. Awe and dread I feel indeed, but most, I am afraid simply of being torn to pieces by a bear. They are very dangerous creatures. Are you not afraid too?' She replied to his question with another. 'What do you know of Lord Shardik?'

He thought for a time and then answered, 'He is from God – God is in him – he is the Power of God – he departed and he is to return. Nay, saiyett, one thinks he knows until another calls for the words. Like all children, I learned to pray for that good night when Shardik will return.' 'But there is such a thing as getting more than we bargain for. Many pray. How many have really considered what it would mean if the prayers were granted?'

'Whatever may come of it, saiyett, I could never wish that he had not returned. For all my fear, I could not wish that I had never seen him.'

'Nor I, for all mine. Yes, I am afraid too; but at least I can thank God that I have never forgotten the real, the true work of the Tuginda – to be ready, in all sober reality, night and day, for the return of Shardik. How often, by night, have I walked alone on the Ledges and thought, "If this were the night – if Shardik were to come now – what should I do? " I knew I could not but fear, but the fear is less -' she smiled again – 'less than I feared. Now you must know more, for we are the Vessels, you and I.' She nodded slowly, holding his eyes among the shadows. 'And what that means we shall learn, God help us, and in His good time.'

Kelderek said nothing. The Tuginda folded her arms, leaned back once more against the tree and went on.

'It is more than a matter of the people falling flat on their faces – much, much more.' Still he said nothing. 'Do you know of Bekla, that great city?' 'Of course, saiyett.' 'Have you ever been there?'

'I? Oh no, saiyett. How should a man like me go to Bekla? Yet many of my skins and feathers have been bought by the factors for the market there. It is four or five days' journey to the south, that I know.' 'Did you know that long ago – no one knows how long – the people of Ortelga ruled in Bekla?' ' We were the rulers of Bekla?'

'We were. Of that empire which stretched nordi to the shores of the Telthearna, west to Paltesh and south to Sarkid and Ikat-Yeldashay. We were a great people – fighters, traders and, above all, builders and craftsmen – yes, we who now skulk on an island in thatched sheds and scratch for a living with ploughs and mattocks on a few pebbly miles of the mainland.

'It was we who built Bekla. To this day it is like a garden of sculpted and dancing stone. The Palace of the Barons is more beautiful than a lily pool when the dragon-flies hover over it. The street of the builders was full, then, of rich men's messengers from far and near, offering fortunes to craftsmen to come and work for them. And those who condescended to go travelled swiftly, for there were broad, safe roads to the frontiers. 'In those days, Shardik was with us. He was with us as the Tuginda is with us now. He did not die. He passed from one bodily home to another.' 'Shardik ruled in Bekla?'

'No, not in Bekla. Shardik was worshipped and Shardik blessed us from a lonely, sacred place on the borders of the empire, to which his suppliants journeyed in humility. Where was that, do you think?' 'I cannot tell, saiyett.'

'It was Quiso, where the shreds of Shardik's power still cling like rags on a windy hedge. And it was the craftsmen of Bekla who made of the whole island a temple for Shardik. They built the causeway from the mainland to Ortelga – the causeway that is now broken -for the bands of pilgrims, after they had assembled on the mainland shore among the Two-Sided Stones, would be brought first to Ortelga and thence make the night-journey to Quiso, just as you made it last night Our craftsmen, too, levelled and paved the terrace where Melathys met you; and over the ravine in front of it they made the Bridge of the Suppliants, a span of iron slender as a rope, by which all strangers had to cross or else go back. But that bridge is fallen this many a year – fallen long before we were born, you and I. Behind the terrace, as you know, lies the Upper Temple, which they cut out of the rock. You did not see the interior, for you were in darkness. It is a high chamber, twenty paces square, hewn throughout thirty years, flake by flake out of the living rock. And more than all this, they made -' 'The Ledges!'

'The Ledges: the greatest artifact in the world. Four generations of stone-masons and builders worked for more than a hundred years to complete the Ledges. Those who began it never saw the end. And they paved the shores of the bay below and built the dwellings for the priestesses and the women.' 'And Shardik, saiyett? How was he housed?'

'He was not. He went where he would. He roamed free – sometimes among the woods, sometimes on the Ledges. But the priestesses hunted for him, fed him and looked after him. That was their mystery.' 'But did he never kill?'

'Yes, sometimes he would kill – a priestess in the Singing, if such was God's will, or perhaps some over-bold suppliant who had approached him rashly or provoked him in some way. Also, he knew the truth in men's hearts and could tell when one was secrctly his enemy. When he killed he did so out of his own divining – we did not set him on to kill. Rather it was our mystery and our skill to tend him so that he did not. The Tuginda and her priestesses walked and slept near Shardik – this was their art, the wonder that men came to see, the wonder that gave Bekla its luck and mastery.' 'And was he mated?'

'Sometimes he was mated, but it did not have to be so. Whom God made Shardik was a matter of signs and omens, of His will rather than of human intent. Sometimes, indeed, the Tuginda would know that she must leave Quiso and go into the hills or the forest with her girls, to find and bring back a mate for Shardik. But again, he might live until he seemed to die, and then they would go to find him reborn and bring him home.' 'How?'

'They had ways of which we still know – or hope that we know, for they have been long unused – both drugs and other arts by which he could be controlled, though only for a little time. Yet none of these was sure. When the Power of God appears in earthly form, he cannot be driven here and there like a cow, or where would be the wonder and the awe? Always, with Shardik, there was uncertainty, danger and the risk of death: and that at least is one thing of which we can still be sure. Shardik requires of us all that we have, and from those who cannot offer so much freely, he may well take it by force.'

She paused, gazing unseeingly into the dark jungle, as though remembering the power and majesty of Shardik of the Ledges and his Tuginda long ago. At last Kelderek asked, 'But – those days came to an end, saiyett?'

'They came to an end. The full story I do not know. It was a sacrilege too vile to be fully known or spoken. All I can tell is that the Tuginda of that time betrayed Shardik and betrayed the people and herself. There was a man – no, not fit to be called a man, for who but one lost to God would dare to contrive such a thing? – a wandering slave-trader. She became – with him – ah!' – and here the Tuginda, overcome, stood silent, her body pressed back against the trunk of the quian, shuddering with disgust and horror. At lcngdi, recovering herself, she went on,

'He – he slew Shardik; and many of the sacred women also. The rest he and his men took for slaves, and she who had once been called Tuginda fled with him down the Telthearna. Perhaps they came to Zeray – perhaps to some other place – I cannot say – it does not greatly matter. God knew what they had done and He can always afford to wait.

'Then the enemies of Bekla rose up and attacked it and we were left without heart or courage to fight them. They took the city. The High Baron died at their hands and what was left of the people fled over the plain and the Gelt mountains to the shores of the Telthearna, for they hoped that if they fled as suppliants to these islands, they might save at least their lives. So they crossed to Ortelga and broke up the causeway behind them. And their enemies left them there, to scratch in the earth and scavenge in the forest, for they had taken their city and their empire and it was not worth their while to attack desperate men in their last stronghold. Quiso too they left them, for they feared Quiso, even though it had become an empty, defiled place. Yet one thing they forbade. Shardik was never to return; and for a long time, until there was no more need, they kept watch to make sure of this.

'The years passed and we became an ignorant, impoverished people. Many Ortelgan craftsmen drifted away to sell their skill in richer places; and those who were left lost their cunning for lack of fine materials and wealthy custom. Now, we venture as far on the mainland as we dare and trade what resources we have – rope and skins – for what we can get from beyond. And the barons dig pits and post shendrons to keep themselves alive on a spit of jungle that no one else requires. Yet still the Tuginda, on her empty island, has work – believe me, Kelderek, she has work – the hardest. Her work is to wait. To be ready, always, for Shardik's return. For one thing has been plainly foretold, again and again, by every sign and portent known to the Tuginda and the priestesses – that one day Shardik will return.'

Kelderek stood for some time looking out towards the moonlit reeds. At length he said, 'And the Vessels, saiyett? You said that we were the Vessels.'

'I was taught long ago that God will bless all men by revealing a great truth through Shardik and through two chosen vessels, a man and a woman. But those vessels He will first shatter to fragments and then Himself fashion them again to His purpose.' 'What does this mean?'

'I don't know,' answered the Tuginda. 'But of this you can be sure, Kelderek Zenzuata. If this is indeed Lord Shardik, as I, like you, believe, then there will be good reason why you and none other have been chosen to find and to serve him – yes, even though you yourself cannot guess what that reason may be.' 'I am no warrior, saiyett. I -'

'It has never been foretold that Shardik's return will necessarily mean that power and rule is to be restored to the Ortelgans. Indeed, there is a saying, "God does not do the same thing twice." ' 'Then, saiyett, if we find him, what are we to do?'

'Simply wait upon God,' she replied. 'If our eyes and cars are open in all humility, it will be shown us what we are to do. And you had better be ready, Kelderek, and submit yourself with a humble and honest heart, for the accomplishment of God's purpose may well depend upon that He can tell us nothing if we will not hear. If you and I are right, our lives will soon cease to be our own to do with as we will.' She began to walk slowly back towards the fire and Kelderek walked beside her. As they readied it she clasped his hand. 'Have you the skill to track a bear?' 'It is very dangerous, saiyett, believe me. The risk -' 'We can only have faith. Your task will be to find the bear. As for me, I have learned in long years the mysteries of the Tuginda, but neither I nor any woman alive has ever performed them, nor ever seen them performed, in the presence of Lord Shardik. God's will be done.'

She was whispering, for they had passed the fire and were standing among the sleeping women.

'You must get some rest now, Kelderek,' she said, 'for we have much to do tomorrow.'

'As you say, saiyett. Shall I wake two of the girls? One alone may give way to fear.'

The Tuginda looked down at the breathing figures, their tranquillity seeming as light, remote and precarious as that of fish poised in deep water. 'Let the poor lasses rest,' she said. 'I will take the watch myself.'

10 The Finding of Shardik

As the sun rose higher and moved southward round the hill, the watery glitter from the reed-beds, reflected into the trees along the shore, was sifted upwards through the translucent leaves, to encounter at last and be dimmed by the direct rays penetrating among the higher branches. A green, faint light, twice-reflected, shone down from the under-sides of the leaves, speckling the bare ground between the tree trunks, placing the faintest of shadows beside fallen twigs, glistening in tiny points upon the domes of pebbles. Dappled by the continual movement of the sunlit water, the leaves seemed stirred as though by a breeze. Yet this apparent disturbance was an illusion: there was no wind, the trees were still in the heat and nothing moved except the river flowing outside. 68

Kelderek was standing near the shore, listening to the sounds from the jungle inland. He could tell that since his adventure of two days before – even since their landing the previous night – the confusion in the forest had lessened and the agitation of movement subsided. There were fewer cries of alarm, fewer stardings of birds and flights of monkeys through the trees. No doubt many of the fugitive creatures had already fallen prey to others. Of those surviving, most must have begun to move eastwards down the island in search of food and safety. Some, probably, had taken to the water again, making for the Telthearna's southern bank on the opposite side of the strait. He had seen prints here and there in the mud and narrow passages broken through the reeds. The thought came to him, 'Suppose he should be gone? Suppose he is no longer on the island?'

'We would be safe then,' he thought, 'and my life, like a stream after a cloudburst, would return between the banks where it ran two days ago.' He turned his head towards the Tuginda who, with Bel-ka-Trazet, was standing a little way off among the trees. 'But I could not become once more the man who fled from the leopard. Two days – I have lived two years! Even if I were to know that Shardik will kill me – and like enough he will – still I could not find it in my heart to pray that we should find him gone.'

The more he considered, however, the more he felt it probable that the bear was not far away. He recalled its clumsy, weary gait as it made off through the bushes and how it had winced in pain when it scraped its side against the tree. Huge and fearsome though it was, there had been something pitiable about the creature he had seen. If he were right and it had been hurt in some way, it would be more than dangerous to approach. He had better put out of his mind for the moment all thought of Shardik the Power of God, and address himself to the daunting task – surely sufficient to the day, if ever a task was – of finding Shardik the bear.

Returning to the Tuginda and the Baron, he told them how he read the signs of the forest. Then he suggested that for a start, they might go over the ground which he had covered two days before, and so come to the place where he had first seen the bear. He showed them where he had come ashore and how he had tried to slip unseen past the leopard and then to walk away from it. They made their way inland among the bushes, followed by Melathys and the girl Sheldra,

Since they had left the camp Melathys had spoken scarcely a word. Glancing behind him, Kelderek saw her drawn face, very pale in the heat, as she lifted a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from her temples. He felt full of pity for her. What work was this for a beautiful young woman, to take part in tracking an injured bear? It would have been better to have left her in the camp and to have brought a second girl from among the servants; one dour and stolid as Sheldra, who looked as though she would not notice a bear if it stood on her toe.

As they approached the foot of the hill he led the way through the thicker undergrowth to the place where he had wounded the leopard. By chance he came upon his arrow and, picking it up, fitted the notch to the string of the bow he was carrying. He drew the bow a little, frowning uneasily, for he disliked it and missed his own. This was the bow of one of the girls – too light and pliant: he might have saved himself the trouble of bringing it. He wondered what that surly fool Taphro had done with his bow. 'If ever we get back,' he thought, 'I'll ask the Baron to order it to be restored to me.'

They went on cautiously. 'This is where I fell, saiyett,' he whispered, 'and see, here are the marks the leopard made.' 'And the bear?' asked the Tuginda, speaking as quietly as he.

'He stood below, saiyett,' replied Kelderek, pointing down the bank, 'but he did not need to reach up to strike the leopard. He struck sideways – thus.'

The Tuginda gazed down the extent of the steep bank, drew in her breath and looked first at Bel-ka-Trazet and then back at the hunter. 'Are you sure?' she asked.

'The leopard, as it crouched, was looking upwards into the bear's face, saiyett,' replied Kelderek. 'I can see it still, and the white fur beneath its chin.'

The Tuginda was silent, as though trying to imagine more clearly the gigantic figure that had reared itself, brisding and snarling, above the level of the bank on which they stood. At length she said to Bel-ka-Trazet, 'Is it possible?'

'I would think not, saiyett,' replied the Baron, shrugging his shoulders.

'Well, let us go down,' she said. Kelderek offered her his arm, but she gestured to him to turn back for Melathys. The priestess's breathing was quick and irregular and she leaned hard on him, hesitating at every step. When they reached the foot of the bank she set her back against a tree, bit her lip and closed her eyes. He was about to speak to her when the Tuginda laid a hand on his shoulder. 'You did not sec the bear again after it left you here?'

'No, saiyett,' he replied. 'That's the way it went – through those bushes.' He went across to the tree against which the bear had scraped its injured side. 'It has not returned this way.' He paused a few moments and then, trying to speak calmly, asked, 'Am I to track it now?'

'We must find the bear if we can, Kelderek. Why else have we come?'

'Then, saiyett, it will be best if I go alone. The bear may be close and above all I must be silent.' *I will come with you,' said Bel-ka-Trazet.

He unclasped the chain at his throat, took off his fur cloak and laid it on the ground. His left shoulder, like his face, was mutilated – humped and knotted as the exposed root of a tree. Kelderek thought, 'He wears the cloak to conceal it.'

They had gone only a few yards when the hunter perceived the tracks of the leopard, partly trodden out by those of the bear. The leopard, he supposed, had been injured but had tried to escape; and the bear had pursued it. Soon they came upon the leopard's body, already half-devoured by vermin and insects. There were no signs of a struggle and the bear's trail led on through the bushes to emerge in open, stone-strewn woodland. Here, for the first time, it was possible to see some distance ahead between the trees. They halted on the edge of the undergrowth, listening and watching, but nothing moved and all was quiet save for the chittering of parakeets in the branches.

'No harm in the women coming this far,' said Bel-ka-Trazet in his ear: and a moment later he had slipped noiselessly back into the undergrowth.

Kelderek, left alone, tried to guess which way the bear might have taken. The stony ground showed no tracks, however, and he felt himself at a loss. The Baron did not return and he wondered whether perhaps Melathys might have fainted or been taken ill. At last, growing weary of waiting, he counted a hundred paces to his right and then began to move slowly in a wide half-circle, examining the ground for the least sign – tracks, claw-marks, droppings or shreds of hair.

He had completed perhaps half this task without success when he came once more to the edge of a belt of undergrowth. It did not extend far, for he could glimpse open ground beyond. On impulse he crept through it and came out at the top of a grassy slope, bordered on each side by forest and stretching away to the northern shore of the island and the Telthearna beyond. Some little way from where he stood was a hollow – a kind of pit about a stone's throw across. It was surrounded by bushes and tall weeds, and from somewhere in the same direction came a faint sound of water. He might as well go and drink, he thought, before returning. To recover the bear's tracks, now that they had lost them, would probably prove a long and arduous business.

Setting off across the open ground, he saw that there was indeed a brook running down the slope beyond the hollow. The hollow was not directly in his way, but out of mere curiosity he turned aside and looked down into it. Instantly he dropped on his hands and knees, concealing himself behind a thick clump of weeds near the verge.

He could feel the pulse behind his knee like a finger plucking the tendon and his heart was beating so violently that he seemed to hear it. He waited, but there was no other sound. Cautiously he raised his head and looked down once more.

In contrast to the heat-parched forest all about, the ground below was fresh and verdant. On one side grew an oak, its lower branches level with the top of the pit and spreading over the ground near the brink. The foot of the trunk was surrounded by short, smooth turf and close by, in its shade, lay a shallow pool. There was no outfall and, as he watched, the water, still as glass, reflected two duck, which flew across a shield-shaped cloud, wheeled in the blue and passed out of sight. Along the further edge rose a bank and over this grew a tangle of trepsis vine – a kind of wild marrow, with rough leaves and trumpet-shaped, scarlet flowers.

Among the trepsis the bear was lying on its side, its head drooping towards the water. The eyes were closed, the jaws a little open and the tongue protruding. Seeing for the second time its enormous shoulders and the unbelievable size of its body, the hunter was possessed by the same trance-like sense of unreality that he had felt two days before: yet now, with this, there came a sense of being magnified, of being elevated to a plane higher than that of his own everyday life. It was impossible that there should be such a bear -and yet it lay before him. He had not deceived himself. This could indeed be none other than Shardik, the Power of God.

There was no more room for the least doubt and all that he had done had been right. In an anguish of relief, in fear and awe, he prayed, 'O Shardik, O my lord, accept my life. I, Kelderek Zenzuata -1 am yours to command for ever, Shardik my lord!'

As his first shock began to subside, he saw that he had also been right in guessing that the bear was sick or injured. It was clearly sunk in a coma altogether different from the sleep of a healthy animal. And there was something else – something unnatural and disturbing – what? It was lying in the open certainly, but that was not all. Then he perceived. The trepsis vine grows quickly: it will grow across a doorway between sunrise and sunset. The bear's body was covered here and there with trailing stems, with leaves and scarlet flowers. How long, then, had Shardik lain beside the pool without moving? A day? Two days? The hunter looked more closely, his fear turning to pity. Along the exposed flank, bare patches showed in the shaggy pelt. The flesh appeared dark and discoloured. But surely even dried blood was never so dark? He went a little forward down the slope of the pit. There was blood, certainly; but the wounds appeared dark because they were covered – crawling – with torpid flies. He cried out in disgust and horror. Shardik the leopard-slayer, Shardik of the Ledges, Lord Shardik returned to his people after untold years – was lying fly-blown and dying of filth in a jungle pit of weeds!

'He will die,' he thought 'He will die before tomorrow – unless we can prevent it. As for me, I will go down to help him no matter what the danger.'

He turned and ran back across the open ground, smashed his way noisily through the belt of undergrowth and raced on between the trees towards the place where the Baron had left him. Suddenly he felt himself tripped and fell sprawling with a jolt that left him dazed and winded. As he rolled over, gasping for breath, the floating lights before his eyes cleared to reveal the face of Bel-ka-Trazet, awry as a guttering candle with one staring eye for flame.

'What now?' said the twisted mouth. 'Why do you run about making a noise like a goat in a market pen, you coward?' '… Tripped… my lord…* gasped Kelderek.

'It was I who tripped you, you craven fool! Have you led the bear upon us? Quick, man, where is it?'

Kelderek stood up. His face was cut and he had twisted his knee, but mercifully his wounded shoulder had escaped.

'I was not running from the bear, my lord. I have found him -I have found Lord Shardik: but he may well be in the sleep of death. Where is the Tuginda?'

'I am here,' she said, from behind him. 'How far away, Kelderek?'

'He is close, saiyett – injured and very ill, so far as I can judge. He cannot have moved for over a day. He will die -'

'He will not,' replied the Tuginda briskly. 'If it is indeed Lord Shardik, he will not die. Come, lead us there.'

Halting on the edge of the pit, Kelderek pointed in silence. As each of his four companions reached the verge he watched them closely. Bel-ka-Trazet started involuntarily and then – or so it seemed – averted his eyes, as though actually fearful of what he saw. If fear it was, he had recovered himself in an instant and dropped, like Kelderek, behind the cover of the weeds, whence he stared down into the pit with an intent, wary look, like that of a boatman scanning rough water ahead.

Melathys barely looked down before raising her hands to either bloodless cheek and closing her eyes. Then she turned her back and sank to her knees, like a woman stricken to the heart by dreadful tidings.

Sheldra and the Tuginda remained standing on the verge. Neither appeared startled or made any move to conceal herself. The girl, impassive, had halted behind and a little to the left of her mistress, her feet apart, her weight on her heels, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. It was certainly not the posture of one who was afraid. For a few moments she stood looking down without moving. Then, raising her head with the air of one recalling herself to her proper business, she looked towards the Tuginda and waited.

The Tuginda's hands were clasped together at her waist and her shoulders rose and slowly fell as she breathed. Her stance gave a curious impression of weightlessness, as though she might actually be about to float down into the hollow. The poise of her head was alert as a bird's; yet for all her eager tension she seemed no more afraid than the servant standing at her elbow.

Bel-ka-Trazet rose to his feet and the Tuginda turned and stared at him gravely. Kelderek remembered yet again how Melathys, two nights before, had gazed silently into the faces of the men who had stumbled their way to the Upper Temple; and how he himself had been in some way divined and selected. No doubt the Tuginda too possessed the power to perceive without asking questions.

After a few moments, turning away from Bel-ka-Trazet, the Tuginda said calmly, 'Sheldra, you sec that it is Lord Shardik?'

'It is Lord Shardik, saiyett,' replied the girl, in a level tone of liturgical response.

'I am going down and I wish you to come with me,' said the Tuginda.

The two women had already descended some yards when Kelderek, coming to himself, started after them. As he did so Bel-ka-Trazet caught him by the arm.

'Don't be a fool, Kelderek,' he said. 'They'll be killed. Even if they're not, this nonsense need be no business of yours.'

Kelderek stared at him in astonishment. Then, without contempt, certainly, for this grey and ravaged warrior, but with a new and strange sense of having travelled beyond his authority, he answered, 'Sir, Lord Shardik is close to death.' Quickly inclining Ids head and raising his palm to his forehead, he turned and followed the two women down the steep slope.

The Tuginda and her companion had reached the floor of the hollow and were walking swiftly, with as little hesitation as the women with the lantern had walked into the fire: and Kelderek, since he judged it better not to leap or run for fear of rousing the bear, had not overtaken them before they stopped on the nearer side of the pool. The grass was damp underfoot and he guessed that it must be watered and the pool filled from the same underground source as that which fed the brook on the open slope beyond.

The pool, knee-deep and perhaps a little broader than a man could jump, was fringed all along the further side by the scarlet trumpet-flowers, half-hidden among their masses of palmate, hairy leaves. There was a foetid smell of filth and sickness and a buzzing of flies. The bear had not moved and they could hear its laboured breadiing – a sodden, injured sound. The muzzle was dry, the pelt staring and lustreless. A glimpse of the bloodshot white of one eye showed beneath the half-closed lid. At close quarters its size was overwhelming. The shoulder rose above Kelderek like a wall, beyond which could be seen only the sky. As he stood uncertain the bear, without opening its eyes, lifted its head for a moment and then wearily let it fall again. Even so a man in grave illness tosses and moves, seeking relief, but then, finding in movement nothing but wretchedness and futility, desists.

Without thought of danger Kelderek took half a dozen splashing steps across the pool, plucked the cloth from his wounded shoulder and, soaking it in the water, held it to the bear's muzzle and moistened its tongue and lips. The jaws moved convulsively and he, seeing that the great beast was trying to chew the cloth, soaked it once more and squeezed the water into the side of its mouth.

The Tuginda, bending over the bear's flank with a frond of green fern in one hand, had evidently got rid of the flies in one of the wounds and was examining it. This done, she began searching over the whole body, sometimes parting the pelt with her fingers, sometimes using the stalk of the frond as a probe; Kelderek guessed that she was removing flies' eggs and maggots, but her face showed no disgust, only the same care and deliberation that he had seen while she dressed his shoulder.

At length she paused and beckoned to him where he stood in the pool. He scrambled up the bank, the hollow stems of the trepsis bursting under his feet with a soft 'Nop! Nop!' Feeling for a hold, he inadvertently grasped for a moment the curved claws of the off fore-paw, each as long as his hand and thick as his finger. He reached the top, stood beside Sheldra and looked down at the body.

The bear's belly and flank were marked with long, singed streaks, black or dirty grey in colour, as though scored with a burning torch or hot iron bar. In several places the pelt, four fingers thick, had been burned away altogether and the bare flesh, withered and contracted into furrows and proud ridges, was split by cracks and open sores. Here and there hung a cluster of bluebottles' eggs or a maggot that the Tuginda had overlooked. Several of the wounds were putrescent, oozing a glistening, green matter that had discoloured the shaggy hair and clotted it into stiff, dry spikes. A pulpy mess of yellow, withering trepsis showed that the helpless creature had urinated where it lay. No doubt, thought Kelderek, the hind-quarters too were fouled and full of maggots. But he felt no revulsion – only pity and a determination at all costs to play his part in saving Shardik's life.

'There is much to be done,' said the Tuginda, 'if he is not to die. We must work quickly. But first, we will go back and speak with the Baron and I will tell the priestess what we require.'

As they made their way up the side of the pit she said to Kelderek, 'Take heart, clever hunter. You had the skill to find him and God will grant us the skill to save him, never fear.'

'It was no skill of mine, saiyett -' he began, but she motioned him to silence and, turning her head, began speaking in low tones to Sheldra. ' – need both tessik and theltocarna he heard, and a few moments later,'- if he recovers we must attempt the Singing.'

Bel-ka-Trazet was standing where Kelderek had left him. Melathys, white as the moon, had risen to her feet and was standing with eyes fixed on the ground.

'There are many wounds,' said the Tuginda, 'and several are flyblown and poisoned. He must have fled from the fire across the river – but of that I was already sure when Kelderek first told us his tale.'

Bel-ka-Trazet paused as though deliberating with himself. Then, with the air of one resolved, he looked up and said, 'Saiyett, let us understand one another, you and I. You are the Tuginda and I am the High Baron of Ortelga – until someone kills me. The people consent to obey us because they believe that each of us, by one means or another, can keep them safe. Old tales, old dreams – people can be ruled and led by these, as long as they believe in them and in those who draw from them power and mystery. Your women walk on fire, take away men's names out of their minds, plunge knives into their arms and take no hurt. That is good, for the people fear and obey. But of what help to us is this business of the bear, and what use do you mean to make of! it?'

'I don't know,' answered the Tuginda, 'and this is no time to be discussing such things. At all costs we have to act quickly.'

'Nevetheless, hear me, saiyett, for you will need my help and I have learned from long experience what is most likely to follow from this deed and that. We have found a large bear – possibly the largest bear that has ever lived. Certainly I would not have believed that there could be such a bear – that I grant you. But if you heal it, what will follow? If you remain near it, it will kill you and your women and then become a terror to the whole of Ortelga, until men are forced to hunt and destroy it at the risk of their lives. Even supposing that it does not kill you, at the best it will leave the island and then you, having tried to make use of it and failed, will lose influence over the people. Believe me, saiyett, you have nothing to gain. As a memory and a legend, Shardik has power and that power is ours, but to try to make the people believe that he has returned can end in nothing but harm. Be advised by me and go back, now, to your island.'

The Tuginda waited in silence until he had finished speaking. Then, beckoning to the priestess, she said,

'Melathys, go at once to the camp and tell the girls to bring here everything we are going to need. It will be best if they paddle the canoes round the shore and land down there.' She pointed across the pit to the distant, northern shore at the foot of the long slope.

The priestess hurried away without a word and the Tuginda turned back to the hunter.

'Now, Kelderek,' she said, 'you must tell me. Is Lord Shardik too sick to cat?'

'I am sure of that, saiyett. But he will drink, and he might perhaps drink blood, or even take food which has been chewed small, as they sometimes do for babies.'

'If he will, so much the better. There is a medicine which he needs, but it is a herb and must not be weakened by being mixed with water.' 'I will go at once, saiyett, and kill some game: I only wish I had my own bow.' 'Was it taken from you at the Upper Temple?' 'No, saiyett.' He explained.

'We can see to that,' she said. 'I shall need to send to Ortelga on several matters. But go now and do the best you can.'

He turned away, half-expecting Bel-ka-Trazet to call him back. But the Baron remained silent and Kelderek, walking round the pit, made his way to the brook and at last drank his fill before setting out.

His hunting lasted several hours, partly because, remembering the leopard, he moved through-the woods very cautiously, but mainly because the game was shy and he himself nervous and disturbed. He had trouble with the bow and more than once missed an easy mark. It was late in the afternoon before he returned with two brace of duck and a paca – a poor bag by his usual standards, but one for which he had worked hard.

The girls had lit a fire down-wind of the pit. Three or four were bringing in wood, while others were making shelters from branches bound with creeper. Melathys, seated by the fire with a pestle and mortar, was pounding some aromatic herb. He gave the duck to Neelith, who was baking on a hot stone, and laid the paca aside to draw and skin himself. But first he went across to the pit.

The bear was still lying among the scarlet trepsis, but already it looked less foul and wretched. Its great wounds had been dressed with some kind of yellow ointment. One girl was keeping the flies from its eyes and ears with a fan of fern-fronds, while another, with a jar of the ointment, was working along its back and as much as she could reach of the flank on which it was lying. Two others had brought sand to cover patches of soiled ground which they had already cleaned and hoed with pointed sticks. The Tuginda was holding a soaked cloth to the bear's mouth, as he himself had done, but was dipping it not in the pool but in a water-jar at her feet. The unhurried bearing of the girls contrasted strangely with the gashed and monstrous body of the terrible creature they were tending. Kelderek watched them pause in their work, waiting as the bear stirred restlessly. Its mouth gaped open and one hind leg kicked weakly before coming to rest once more among the trepsis. Recalling what the Baron had said, Kelderek thought for the first time, 'If we do succeed in healing it, what, indeed, will happen then?'

11 Bel-ka-Trazet's Story

Waking suddenly, Kelderek was aware first of the expanse of stars and then of a black, shaggy shape against the sky. A man was standing over him. He raised himself quickly on one arm.

'At last!' said Bel-ka-Trazet, thrusting his foot once more into his ribs. 'Well, before long you will be sleeping sounder, I dare say.'

Kelderek clambered to his feet. 'My lord?' He now caught sight of one of the girls standing, bow in hand, a little behind the Baron.

'You took the first watch, Kelderek,' said Bel-ka-Trazet. 'Who took the second?' 'The priestess Melathys, my lord. I woke her, as I was told.' 'How did she strike you? What did she say?'

'Nothing, my lord; that is, nothing that I remember. She seemed – as she seemed yesterday; I think she may be afraid.' Bel-ka-Trazet nodded. 'It is past the third watch.' Again Kelderek looked up at the stars. 'So I see, my lord.'

'This girl here woke of her own accord and went to take her watch, but found no one else awake except the two girls with the bear. The girl who was supposed to have the watch before her had not been woken and the priestess is nowhere to be found.' Kelderek scratched an insect-bite on his arm and said nothing.

'Well?' snarled the Baron. 'Am I to stand here and watch you scratch yourself like a mangy ape?' 'Perhaps we should go down to the river, my lord?'

'I had thought as much myself,' replied the Baron. He turned to the girl. 'Where did you leave the canoes yesterday afternoon?'

'When we had unloaded them, my lord, we pulled them out of the water and laid them up among some trees near by.'

'You need not wake your mistress," said Bel-ka-Trazet. 'Take your watch now and be ready for us to return.'

'Should we not be armed, my lord?' asked Kelderek. 'Shall I get a bow?'

'This will do,' replied the Baron, plucking the girl's knife from her belt and striding away into the starlight.

It was easy going to the river, following the course of the brook over the dry, open grass. Bel-ka-Trazet walked with the help of a long thumb-stick which Kelderek remembered to have seen him trimming the evening before. Soon they could hear the night-breeze hissing faintly in the reeds. The Baron paused, gazing about him. Near the water the grass grew long and the girls, in dragging the canoes, had trampled a path through it. This Bel-ka-Trazet and Kelderek followed from the shore to the trees. They found only three canoes, each stowed carefully and covered by the low branches. Near them, a single furrow ran back towards the river. Kelderek crouched down over it. The torn earth and crushed grass smelt fresh and some of the weeds were still slowly moving as they re-erected their flattened leaves.

Bel-ka-Trazet, leaning on his stick like a goat-herd, stood looking out over the river. There was a smell of ashes on the breeze but nothing to be seen. 'That girl had some sense,' he said at length. 'No bear for her.'

Kelderek, who had been hoping against hope that he might be proved wrong, felt a dreary disappointment; an anguish like that of a man who, having been robbed, reflects how easily all might have been prevented; and a sense of personal betrayal by one whom he had admired and honoured, which he knew better than to try to express to the Baron. Why could Melathys not have asked him to help her? She had turned out, he thought sorrowfully, like some beautiful, ceremonial weapon, all fine inlay and jewels, which proved to have neither balance nor cut. 'But where has she gone, my lord? Back to Quiso?'

'No, nor to Ortelga, for she knows they would kill her. We'll never see her again. She'll end in Zeray. A pity, for she could have done more than I to persuade the girls to go home. As it is, we've simply lost a canoe; and one or two other things as well, I dare say.'

They began to make their way back beside the brook. The Baron walked slowly, jabbing with his stick at the turf, like one turning something over in his mind. After a time he said, 'Kelderek, you were watching me when I first looked down into the pit yesterday. No doubt you saw that I was afraid.'

Kelderek thought, 'Does he mean to kill me?' 'When I first saw the bear, my lord,' he answered, 'I threw myself on the ground for fear. I -' Bel-ka-Trazet raised a hand to silence him.

'I was afraid, and I am afraid now. Yes, afraid for myself – to be dead may be nothing, yet who relishes the business of dying? -but afraid for the people also, for there will be many fools like you; and women, too, perhaps, as foolish as those up there,' and he swung the point of his stick towards the camp.

After a little, 'Do you know how I came by my pretty looks?' he asked suddenly. And then, as Kelderek said nothing, 'Well, do you know or not?' 'Your disfigurement, my lord? No – how should I know?' 'How should I know what tales are told in the pot-houses of Ortelga?*

'I'm something of a stranger to those, my lord, as you know, and if there is a tale, I never heard it.'

'You shall hear it now. Long ago, while I was still little more than a lad, I used to go out with the Ortelgan hunters – now with one and now with another, for my father was powerful and could require it of them. He wanted me to learn both what hunting teaches lads and what hunters can teach them; and I was ready enough to learn on my own account. I travelled far from Ortelga. I have crossed the mountains of Gelt and hunted the long-horned buck on the plains south-west of Kabin. And I have crossed to Deelguy and stood two hours up to my neck in the lake of Klamsid to net the golden cranes at dawn.'

They had reached the lower end of a pool into which the brook came down in a little fall something higher than a man. On either side extended a steep bank, and beside the pool a melikon stretched its trim, crisp-leaved branches over the water. This is the tree that the peasants call 'False Lasses'. The bright, pretty berries that follow the flowers are unfit to eat and of no use, but towards summer's end their colour turns to a glinting, powdery gold and they fall of their own accord in the stillest of air. Bel-ka-Trazet stooped, drank from his hands and then sat down with his back against the bank and the long stick upright between his raised knees. Kelderek sat uneasily beside him. Afterwards, he remembered the harsh voice, the slow turning of the stars, the sound of the water and now and again the light plop as a berry fell into the pool.

'I have hunted with Durakkon, and with Senda-na-Say. I was with the Barons of Ortelga thirty years ago, when we hunted the Blue Forest of Katria as the guests of the king of Terekenalt and killed the leopard they called the Blacksmith. That was King Karnat, who was almost a giant. We were merry after the hunt and we weighed him against the Blacksmith; but the Blacksmith turned the scale. The Barons were pleased with the part I had played in the hunt and they gave me the Blacksmith's eye-teeth: but I gave them to a girl later. Yes,' said Bel-ka-Trazet reflectively, 'I gave them to a girl who used to be glad to sec my face.

'Well, it's no matter, lad, what I've seen or known, though I sit here bragging to the stars that saw it long ago and can tell the truth from the lies. By the time I had become a young man there was not a baron or a hunter in Ortelga who was not eager and proud to hunt with me. I hunted with whom I would and declined company that I thought too poor for the name I had made for myself. I was -ah I -' He broke off, thumping the butt of his stick on the grass -'You have heard old, wrinkled women round a fire, have you, talking of their lovers and their beauty?

'One day a lord from Bekla, one Zilkron of the Arrows, came to visit my father with presents. This Zilkron had heard of my father in Bekla – how he drew the best hunters about him and of the skill and courage of his son. He gave my father gold and fine cloth; and the heart of it was that he wanted us to take him hunting. My father did not fancy this soap-using lord from Bekla but, like all the flea-bitten barons of Ortelga, he could not afford to refuse gold; so he said to me, "Come, my lad, we'll take him across the Telthearna and find him one of the great, savage cats. That should send him home with a tale or two." '

'Now the truth was that my father knew less than he supposed about the great cats – the cats that weigh twice as much as a man, kill cattle and alligators and rip open the shells of turtles when they come ashore to lay their eggs. The plain truth is that they are too dangerous to hunt, unless one traps them. By this time I knew what could and could not be done and did not need to prove to myself that I was no coward. But I did not want to tell my father that I knew better than he. So I began to think how I could best go to work behind his back to save our lives.

'We crossed the Telthearna and began by hunting the green-and-black water-serpents, the leopard-killers, that grow to four or five times the length of a man. Have you hunted them?' 'Never, my lord,' replied Kelderek.

'They are found by night, near rivers, and they are fierce and dangerous. They have no poison, but kill by crushing. We were resting by day, so that I spent much idle time with Zilkron. I came to know him well, his pride and vanity, his splendid weapons and equipment which he did not know how to use, and his trick of capping hunters' talk with tales he had heard elsewhere. And always I worked on him to make him think that the great cats were not worth his while and that he would do better to hunt some other beast. But he was no coward and no fool and soon I saw that I would have to pay some real price to change his mind, for he had come of set purpose to buy danger of which he could go home and boast in Bekla. At last I spoke of bears. What trophy, I asked, could compare with a bearskin, head and claws and all? Inwardly I knew that the danger would still be great, but at least I knew of bears that they are not constantly savage and that they have poor sight and can sometimes be confused. Also, in rocky or hilly country you can sometimes get above them and so use a spear or an arrow before they have seen you. The long and short of it was that Zilkron decided that what he wanted was a bear and he spoke to my father.

'My father was in two minds, for as Ortelgans we had no business to be killing bears. At first he was afraid of the idea, but we were far from home, the Tuginda would never get to hear and none of us was pious or devout At length we set off for the Shardra-Main, the Bear Hills, and reached them in three days.

' We went up into the hills and hired some villagers as trackers and guides. They led us higher, on to a rocky plateau, very cold. The bears, they said, lived there but often came down to raid farms and hunt in the woods below. No doubt the villagers had learned something from the bears, for they too stole all they could. One of them stole a tortoiseshell comb that Zilkron had given me, but I never found out which was the thief.

'On the second day we found a bear – a big bear that made Zilkron point and chatter foolishly when he saw it moving far off against the sky. We followed it carefully, for I was sure that if it came to feel that it was being driven, it would slip away down one or another side of the mountain, and we would lose it altogether. When we reached the place where we had seen it, it had disappeared, and there was nothing to do but to go higher and hope to get a sight of it from above. We did not see it again all that day. We camped high up, in the best shelter we could find; and very cold it was.

'The next morning, just as it was getting light, I woke to hear strange noises – breaking sticks, a sack dragged, a pot rolling on its side. It was not like fighting, but more like some drunken fellow stumbling about to find his bed. I was lying in a little cleft like a passage, out of the wind, and I got up and went outside to see what was amiss.

'What was amiss was the bear. The Beklan lout on guard had fallen asleep, the fire had burned low and no one had seen the bear come shambling into the camp. He was going through our rations, such as they were, and helping himself. He had got hold of a bag of dried tendriona and was dragging it about. The village fellows were all lying flat, and still as stones. As I watched, he patted one of them with his paw, as much as to tell him not to be afraid. I thought, "If I can get up on some high spot, where he can't reach me, I can wait until he is clear of the camp and then put an arrow in him": for I was not going to wound him in the camp, among men who had had no-warning. I slipped back for my bow and climbed up the side of the little cleft where I had been sleeping. I came out on top of the rock and there was our fine friend just below me, with his head buried in the bag, munching away and wagging his tail like a lamb at the ewe. I could have leaned down and touched his back. He heard me, pulled his head out and stood up on his hind legs: and then – you may believe this or not, Kelderek, just as you please -he looked me in the face and bowed to me, with his front paws folded together. Then he dropped on all fours and trotted away.

'While I was staring after him, up comes Zilkron and two of his servants, all set to follow. I put them off with some excuse or other – a lame one it must have been, for Zilkron shrugged his shoulders without a word and I saw his men catch each other's eye. I left them to make what they cared out of it. I was like you, Kelderek -and like every man in Ortelga, I dare say. Now that I had come face to face with a bear, I was not going to kill him and I was not going to let Zilkron kill him either. But I did not know what to do, for I could not say, "Now let us all turn round and go home."

'My father, after he had heard Zilkron's story, asked me privately whether I had been afraid. I tried to tell him something of what I felt, but he had never actually encountered a bear and merely looked perplexed.

'That day I bribed the leader of the villagers to guide us in such a way that it would look as though we were after the bear, but actually to take us where we were unlikely to find it. It was nothing to him -he merely grinned and took the price. By nightfall we had seen nothing more and I fell asleep wondering what I should do next

'I was woken by Zilkron. A full moon was setting and frost was glittering on the rocks. His face was full of triumph – and mockery too, I fancied. He whispered, "He's here again, my lad!" He was holding his big, painted bow with the green silk tassels and handgrip of polished jet. As soon as he was sure I was awake, he left me. I got up and stumbled after him. The villagers were huddled behind a rock but my father and Zilkron's two servants were standing out in the open.

'The bear was certainly coming. He was coming like a fellow on his way to the fair – trotting along and licking his lips. He'd seen our fire and smelt the food. I thought, "He has never come across men until yesterday. He does not know we mean to kill him." The fire was burning bright enough but he did not seem afraid of it. He came clambering over a little pile of rocks and began nosing round the foot. I suppose the cooks had left some food there.

'Zilkron laid a hand on my shoulder and I could feel his gold rings against my collar-bone. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Don't be afraid, my lad. I'll have three arrows in him before he has time even to think of charging." He went closer. I followed him and the bear turned and saw us.

'One of Zilkron's men – an old fellow who had looked after him since he was a child – called out "No nearer, my lord." Zilkron flapped his hand behind him without looking back and then drew his bow.

'At that moment the bear stood up once more on his hind legs and looked straight at me, his head inclined and his front paws one over the other, and gave two little grunts, "Ahl Ahl" As Zilkron loosed the string I struck his arm. The arrow split a branch in the fire and the sparks flew up in a shower.

'Zilkron turned on me very quietly, as though he had been half-expecting something of the sort. "You stupid little coward," he said, "get back over there." I stepped in front of him and walked towards the bear – my bear, who was begging a man of Ortelga to save him from this golden oaf.

' "Get out of the way!" shouted Zilkron. I looked round to answer him and in that instant the bear was down upon me. I felt a heavy blow on my left shoulder and then he had wrapped me about and was clutching me against him, gnawing and biting at my face. The wetness and sweetness of his breath was the last thing I felt.

'When I came to myself, it was three days later and we were back in the hill village. Zilkron had left us, for my father had heard him call me coward and they had quarrelled bitterly. We stayed there two months. My father used to sit by my bed and talk, and hold my hand, and tell old tales, and then fall silent, the tears standing in his eyes as he looked at what was left of his splendid son.'

Bel-ka-Trazet gave a short laugh. 'He took it hard. He'd learned less of life than I, now I'm his age. But that's no matter. Why do you think I sent my servants back from Quiso and came here unattended? I will tell you, Kelderek, and mark me well. As you are a man of Ortelga, so you cannot help feeling the power of the bear. And every man in Ortelga will feel it, unless we see to it – you and I – that things go otherwise. If we cannot, then in one way or another all Ortelga will be set awry and smashed, just as my face and body have been smashed. The bear is a folly, a madness, treacherous, unpredictable, a storm to wreck and drown you when you think yourself in calm water. Believe me, Kelderek, never trust the bear. He'll promise you the power of God and betray you to ruin and misery.'

Bel-ka-Trazet stopped and looked up sharply. From beyond the top of the bank a heavy, stumbling tread shook the branches of the mclikon so that a perfect cascade of berries tumbled into the pool. Then, immediately above them, there appeared against the brilliant stars a huge, hunched shape. Kelderek, springing to his feet, found himself looking up into the bleared and peering eyes of Shardik.

12 The Baron's Departure

Without getting up or taking his eyes from the bear, Bel-ka-Trazet groped in the water behind him, picked up a stone and tossed it into the darkness beyond the bank. As it fell the bear turned its head and the Baron stepped quickly into the pool, wading under the cascade and into the narrow space between the curtain of falling water and the bank behind. Kelderek remained where he was as the bear once more looked down at him. Its eyes were dull and there was a trembling, now in the front legs and now in the head itself. Suddenly the creature's massive shoulders convulsed. In a low, sharp voice, Bel-ka-Trazet said, 'Kelderek, come back here!'

Once more the hunter found himself without fear, sharing, with spontaneous insight at which he had no time to wonder, the bear's own perceptions. They, he knew, were dulled with pain. Feeling that pain, he felt also the impulse to wander blindly away, to seek relief in restlessness and movement. To strike, to kill would have been a still greater relief, but the pain had induced an insuperable feebleness and confusion. He realized now that the bear had not seen him. It was peering, not at him but at the slope of the bank and hesitating, in its weakness, to descend it As he still stood motionless, it sank slowly down until he could feel upon his face the moisture of its breath. Again Bel-ka-Trazet called, 'Kelderek!'

The bear was sliding, toppling forward. Its fall was like the collapse of a bridge in a flood. As though through the creature's own dimmed eyes, Kelderek saw the ground at the foot of the bank rising to meet him and lurched aside from the suddenly-perceived figure of a man – himself. FIc was standing in the water as Shardik, with a commotion like that of shipwreck, clawed, fell and rolled to the edge of the pool. He watched him as a child watches grown men fighting – intensely, shockingly aware, yet at the same time unafraid for himself. At length the bear lay still. Its eyes were closed and one of the wounds along its flank had begun to bleed, slow and thick as cream, upon the grass.

It was growing light and Kelderek could hear from behind him the first raucous cries in the awakening forest. Without a word-Bel-ka-Trazet stepped through the waterfall, drew his knife and dropped on one knee in front of the motionless bulk. The bear's 86 head was sunk on its chest, so that the long jaw covered the slack of the throat. The Baron was moving to one side for his blow when Kelderek stepped forward and twisted the knife out of his hand.

Bel-ka-Trazet turned on him with a cold rage so terrible that the hunter's words froze on his lips.

'You dare to lay your hands on me!' whispered the Baron through his teeth. 'Give me that knife!'

Confronted, for the second time, by the anger and authority of the High Baron of Ortelga, Kelderek actually staggered, as though he had been struck. To himself, a man of no rank or position, obedience to authority was almost second nature. He dropped his eyes, shuffled his feet and began to mutter unintelligibly. 'Give me that knife,' repeated Bel-ka-Trazet quietly.

Suddenly Kelderek turned and fled. Clutching the knife, he stumbled through the pool and clambered to the top of the bank. Looking back, he saw that Bel-ka-Trazet was not pursuing him, but had lifted a heavy rock in both hands and was standing beside the bear, holding it above his head.

With a hysterical feeling like that of a man leaping for his life from a high place, Kelderek picked up a stone and threw it. It struck Bel-ka-Trazet on the back of the neck. As he flung back his head and sank to his knees, the rock slipped from between his hands and fell across the calf of his right leg. For a few moments he knelt quite still, head thrown upwards and mouth gaping wide; then, without haste, he released his leg, stood up and looked at Kelderek with an air of purposeful intent more frightening even than his anger.

The hunter knew that if he were not himself to die, he must now go down and kill Bel-ka-Trazet – and that he could not do it. With a low cry he raised his hands to his face and ran blindly up the course of the brook.

He had gone perhaps fifty yards when someone gripped his arm. 'Kelderek,' said the Tuginda's voice, 'what has happened?'

Unable to answer, bemused as the bear itself, he could only point, with a shaking arm, back towards the fall. At once she hastened away, followed by Sheldra and four or five of the girls carrying their bows.

He listened, but could hear nothing. Still full of fear and irresolution, he wondered whether he might yet escape Bel-ka-Trazet by hiding in the forest and later, somehow, contriving to cross to the mainland. He was about to resume his flight when suddenly it occurred to him that he was no longer alone and defenceless against the Baron, as he had been three days before. He was the messenger of Shardik, the bringer of God's tidings to Quiso. Certainly the Tuginda, if she knew what had been attempted and prevented by the pool that morning, would never stand by and allow Bel-ka-Trazet to kill him.

'We are the Vessels, she and I,' he thought. 'She will save me. Shardik himself will save me; not for love, or because I have done him any service, but simply because he has need of me and dicrefore it is ordained that I am to live. God is to shatter the Vessels to fragments and Himself fashion them again to His purpose. Whatever that may mean, it cannot mean my death at the hands of Bel-ka-Trazet.'

He rose to his feet, splashed through the brook and made his way back to the fall. Below him the High Baron, leaning on his staff, was deep in talk with the Tuginda. Neither looked up as he appeared above them. One of the girls had stripped herself to the waist and, on her knees, was staunching with her own garments the flow of blood from the bear's opened wound. The rest were standing together a little distance away, silent and watchful as cattle round a gate.

'Well, I have done what I could, saiyett,' said the Baron grimly. 'Yes, if I could I would have killed your bear sure enough, but it was not to be.' 'That in itself should make you think again,' she answered.

'What I think of this business will not change,' said he. 'I do not know what you intend, saiyett, but I will tell you what I intend. The fire has brought a large bear to this island. Bears are mischievous, dangerous creatures, and people who think otherwise come to loss and harm through them. As long as it remains in this lonely place, to risk lives is not worthwhile, but if it moves down the island and begins to plague Ortelga, I promise you I will have it killed.'

'And I intend nothing but to wait upon the will of God,' replied the Tuginda.

Bel-ka-Trazet shrugged again. 'I only hope the will of God will not turn out to be your own death, saiyett. But now that you know what I intended, perhaps you have it in mind to tell your women to put me to death? Certainly I am in your power.'

'Since I have no plans and you have been prevented from killing Lord Shardik, you are doing us no harm.' She turned away with an air of indifference, but he strode after her.

'Then two things more, saiyett. First, since I am to live, perhaps you will permit me now to return to Ortelga. If you will give me a canoe, I will see that it returns to you. Then, as for the hunter fellow, I have already told you what he has just done. He is my subject, not yours. I trust you will not hinder me from finding and killing him.'

'I am sending two of the girls to Quiso with a canoe. They will put you off at Ortelga. I cannot spare the hunter. He is necessary to me.'

With this the Tuginda walked away and began speaking to the girls with complete absorption, pointing first up the slope and then down towards the river as she gave her instructions. For a moment, the Baron seemed about to follow her again. Then he shrugged his shoulders, turned and climbed the bank, passed Kelderek without a glance and walked on in the direction of the camp. He was suppressing a limp and his terrible face appeared so grey and haggard that Kelderek, who had been preparing to defend himself as best he could, trembled and averted his eyes as though from some fearful apparition. 'He is afraid!' he thought, 'He knows now that he cannot prevail against Lord Shardik, and he is afraid!'

Suddenly he sprang forward, calling, 'My lord! O my lord, forgive me!' But the Baron, as though he had heard nothing, stalked on and Kelderek stood looking after him – at the livid bruise across the back of his neck and the heavy, black pelt swinging from side to side above the grass. He never saw Bel-ka-Trazet again.

13 The Singing

All that day Shardik lay beside the brook, shaded, as the sun crossed the meridian, by the bank above and the boughs of the melikon. The two girls who had been watching in the pit during the night had acted prudently enough when the bear first struggled to its feet and wandered up the slope. At first they had thought that it was too weak to reach the top, but when it had actually done so and then, though almost exhausted, had begun to make its way downhill towards the brook, the older girl, Muni, had followed it, while her comrade went to wake the Tuginda. In fact, Muni had been only a short distance away when Shardik collapsed beside the pool, but had not seen Kelderek in her haste to return and bring the Tuginda to the place.

The girls sent to Quiso were back before midnight, for without the long detour across the river their upstream journey was much shorter than the first. They brought fresh supplies of the cleansing ointment, together with other medicines and a herbal narcotic. This the Tuginda immediately administered to the bear herself, soaked in thin segments of tendriona. For some hours the drug had little effect, but by morning Shardik was sleeping heavily and did not stir while the burns were cleaned once more.

On the afternoon of the following day, as Kelderek was returning from the forest, where he had been setting snares, he came upon Sheldra standing on the open grass a little way from the camp. Following her gaze he saw, some distance off, the figure of an unusually tall woman, cloaked and cowled, striding up the slope beside the brook. He recognized her as the lantern-bearer whom he had met by night upon the shore of Quiso. Still further away, by the river, six or seven other women were evidently setting out for the camp, each carrying a load. 'Who is that?' asked Kelderek, pointing.

'Rantzay,' replied Sheldra, without turning her eyes towards him.

There was still not one of the girls with whom Kelderek felt at case. Even among themselves they spoke little, using words as they used knives or thread, simply as a means to complete their tasks. There was no contempt for him, however, in their sombre reticence, which in fact he found daunting for precisely the opposite reason – because it suggested respect and seemed to confer upon him a dignity, even an authority, to which he was unused. They saw him, not as the girls in Ortelga saw a young man but, as they saw everything else, in the light of the cult to which their lives were devoted. Their manner showed that they felt him to be a person of importance, the one who had first seen and recognized Lord Shardik and had then come, at the risk of his. life, to bring the news to the Tuginda. Sheldra's present reply was not intended contemptuously. She had answered him as briefly as she would have answered any of her companions and had even, perhaps, forgotten that he, unlike them, did not know the island priestesses by name. She felt it an omission rather than a slight that she should in effect have told him nothing. She had not used as many words as were necessary for informing him, just as she might (though practical and competent) have put too little water in a pail or not enough wood on the fire. Sure of this at least, he summoned the confidence to speak firmly.

'Tell me who Rantzay is,' he said, 'and why she and those other women have been brought here.'

For a few moments Sheldra did not answer and he thought, 'She is going to ignore me.' Then she replied, 'Of those who came with the Tuginda, Melathys was the only priestess. The rest o? us are novices or servants.'

'But Melathys must have been at most as young as any,' said Kelderek.

'Melathys was not an Ortelgan. She was rescued from a slave-camp during the Beklan civil wars – the wars of the Heldril – and brought to the Ledges when she was a child. She learned many of the mysteries very early.' 'Well?' demanded Kelderek, as the girl said no more.

'When the Tuginda knew that Lord Shardik had indeed returned and that we must remain here to tend and cure him, she sent for the priestesses Anthred and Rantzay, together with the girls whom they are instructing. When Shardik recovers they will be needed for the Singing.'

She fell silent again, but then broke out suddenly, 'Those who served Lord Shardik long ago had need of all their courage and resolution.'

'I believe you,' answered Kelderek, looking down to where the bear, like a crag beside the pool, still lay in drugged sleep. Yet in the same moment there rose in his heart an abandoned elation and the conviction that to none but the Tuginda herself had it been given to feel so intensely as he the fierce and mysterious divinity of Shardik. Shardik was more than life to him, a fire in which he was ready -nay, eager – to be consumed. And for that very reason Shardik would transform but not destroy him – this he knew. As though with foreboding, he trembled for an instant in the sultry air, turned, and made his way back to the camp.

That night the Tuginda talked with him again, walking slowly back and forth along the bank above the fall, where stood burning that same flat, green-rush-shaded lantern that he had followed across the leaping tree-trunk in the dark. Rantzay, a head taller than himself, kept pace with them on the Tuginda's other side, and as he saw her checking her long stride out of deference to the Tuginda and himself, he remembered with a certain wry amusement how he had groped and clambered after her through the steep woods. They spoke of Shardik, and the gaunt, silent priestess listened attentively.

'His wounds are clean,' said the Tuginda. 'The poison has almost left them. The drugs and medicines always work strongly on any creature, whether human or animal, that has never known them before. We can be almost certain now that he will recover. If you had found him only a few hours later, Kelderek, he would have been past our help.' Kelderek felt that now at last was the time to ask her the question that had been flickering in his mind for the past three days, vanishing and reappearing like a firefly in a dark room. ' What are we going to do, saiyett, when he recovers?'

'I do not know any more than you. We must wait until we are shown.'

He blundered on. 'But do you mean to take him to Quiso – to the Ledges?'

'I mean?' For a moment she looked at him coldly, as she had looked at Bel-ka-Trazet; but then answered in a brisk, matter-of-fact tone, 'You must understand, Kelderek, that it is not for us to make schemes and put them into practice upon Lord Shardik. It is true, as I told you, that sometimes, long ago, it was the Tuginda's task to bring Shardik home to the Ledges. But those were days when we ruled in Bekla and all was ordered and sure. Now, at this moment, we know nothing, except that Lord Shardik has returned to his people. His message and his purpose we cannot yet discern. Our work is simply to wait, to be ready to perceive and to carry out God's will, whatever it may be.' They turned and began to walk back towards the fall.

'But that does not mean that we are not to think shrewdly and act prudently,' she went on. 'By the day after tomorrow the bear will no longer be drugged and will begin to recover its strength. You are a hunter. What do you think it will do then?'

Kelderek felt perplexed. His question had been returned to him without an answer. In spite of what he had heard her say to Bel-ka-Trazet, it had never occurred to him that the Tuginda had not in her mind some plan for bringing Shardik to the Ledges. What had been puzzling him was how it was to be done, for even if the bear were to remain drugged the difficulties seemed formidable. Now he realized, with a shock, that she intended simply to stand by while this enormous wild animal regained its natural strength. If this was indeed – as she evidently believed – the course of humility and faith in God, it was of a kind beyond his experience or understanding. For the first time his trust in her began to waver.

She read his thoughts. 'We are not buying rope in the market, Kelderek. or selling skins to the factor. Nor are we labouring for the High Baron by digging a pit in the forest; or even choosing a wife. We are offering our lives to God and Lord Shardik and pledging ourselves humbly to accept whatever He may vouchsafe to give in return. I asked you – what is the bear likely to do?'

'It is in a strange place that it does not know, saiyett, and will be hungry after its illness. It will look for food and may well be savage.' 'Will it wander?'

'I have been thinking that soon we shall all be forced to wander. We have little food left and I cannot hunt alone for so many.'

'Since we can be sure that the High Baron would refuse to send us food from Ortelga, we must do the best we can. There are fish in the river and duck in the reeds, and we have nets and bows. Choose six of the girls and take them out to hunt with you. There may be little enough to share at first, but there will be more as they learn their business.' 'It can be done for a time, saiyett -' 'Kelderek, are you impatient? Whom have you left in Ortelga?' 'No one, saiyett. My parents are dead and I am not married.' 'A girl?' He shook his head, but she continued to gaze at him gravely.

'There are girls here. Commit no sacrilege, now of all times, for the least ill to follow would be our death.' He broke out indignantly, 'Saiyett, how can you think -'

She only looked steadily at him, holding his eyes as they paced on and turned about once more under the stars. And before his inward sight rose the figure of Melathys on the terrace; Melathys, dark-haired, white-robed, with the golden collar covering her neck and shoulders; Melathys laughing as she played with the arrow and the sword; trembling and sweating with fear on the edge of the pit. Where was she now? What had become of her? His protest faltered and ceased.

Next day began a life which he was often to recall in after years; a life as clear, as simple and immediate as rain. If he had ever doubted the Tuginda or wondered what was to come of her humility and faith, he had no time to remember it. At first the girls were so awkward and stupid that he was in despair and more than once on the point of telling the Tuginda that the task was beyond him. On the first day, while they were driving a kedana towards open ground, Zilthe, a mere child and the youngest of his huntresses, whom he had picked for her quickness and energy, mistook his movement in a thicket for that of the quarry and loosed an arrow that passed between his arm and body. They killed so little all day that he felt compelled to spend the night fishing. In the starlit shallows they netted a great bramba, spine-finned and luminous as an opal. He was about to spear it when the ill-fixed anchor-stake carried away and the fish, plunging heavily, took half the net down with it into the deep water. Nito bit her lip and said nothing.

By the second evening the whole camp was hungry and the thin, ragged bear was kept half-drugged and fed with scraps of fish and ill-spared flour-cakes baked in the ashes.

But necessity brings out a desperate skill in the clumsiest. Several of the girls were at least passable shots and on the third day they were lucky enough to kill five or six geese. They feasted that night by the fire, telling old stories of Bekla long ago, of the hero Deparioth, liberator of Yelda and founder of Sarkid, and of Fleitil, immortal craftsman of the Tamarrik Gate; and singing together in strange harmonies unknown to Kelderek, who listened with a kind of tremulous uncase as their voices followed each other round and down, like the fall of the Ledges themselves between the woods of Quiso.

Soon, indeed, he had forgotten everything but the life of the moment – the wet grass of early morning, when he stood to pray with hands raised towards the distant river; the smell of the trepsis as they searched beneath its leaves for the little gourds that had ripened since the day before; the green light and heat of the forest and the tense glances between the girls as they waited in ambush with arrows on the string; the scent of jasmine at evening and the chunk chunk, regular as a mill-wheel, of the paddles as they made their way upstream to net some likely pool. After the first few days the girls learned quickly and he was able to send them out by twos and threes, some to fish, some to follow a trail in the forest or hide in the reeds for wildfowl. He was kept busy making arrows – for they lost far too many – until he had taught Muni to make them better than he could himself. Ortelga he put from his mind, and his fear of Bel-ka-Trazet's revenge. At first he dreamed vividly of the Baron, who rose out of the ground with a face of broken stones and beckoned him to follow into the forest, where the bear was waiting; or walked upon the shore and threw back his cowl to reveal a face of flickering heat, half-consumed, red and grey as the glowing surface of a log flaking in the fire. But soon his dreams changed, turning to vaporous, elusive impressions of stars and flowers reflected in dark water, or of clouds drifting over ruined walls far off upon an empty plain; or he would seem to hear the Tuginda speaking sorrowfully, accusing him, in words that he could never recall, of some ill deed as yet unperformed. It was not that he had ceased either to fear for his life or to believe that the future held danger. He had simply put these things aside, living, like the other creatures of forest and river, from hour to hour, his senses full of sounds and smells, his mind concerned only with his craft. Often he snatched sleep as a beast snatches it, by night or day wherever he found himself: and would be roused by a grave, breathless girl, with news of a flight of duck off-shore or a band of monkeys approaching through the trees a mile away. All quarry brought in was accepted without question; and often, when Neelith gave him his share out of the iron pot hanging over the fire, he could not imagine what meat it might be, only feeling glad that some of the girls had evidently been successful without his help.

It was on the fifth or sixth day after Sheldra had returned from Ortelga with his bow (which she had apparently been able to recover without troubling Bel-ka-Trazet) that Kelderek was standing with Zilthe a little inside the forest, about half a mile from the camp. They were in hiding beside a barely-visible track that led to the shore, waiting for whatever animal might appear. It was evening and the sunlight had begun to redden the branches above him. Suddenly he heard at a distance the sound of women's voices singing. As he listened, the hair rose on his neck. He remembered the wordless songs by the fire. To his mind those had suggested, transmuted indeed yet still familiar, the sound of wind in leaves, of waves on the river, of the pitching of canoes in choppy water and the falling of rain. What he heard now resembled the movement, over centuries, of things that to men seem motionless only because their own lives are short: the movement of trees as they grow and the, of stars altering their relative places in the heavens, of mountains slowly ground away through millennia of heat, frost and storm. It was like the building of a city. Great, squared blocks of antiphonal sound were swung and lowered into place, one upon another, until the heart stood far below, gazing up at the clouds marching endlessly across the dark line of the completed ramparts. Zilthe was standing with closed eyes and outstretched palms. Kelderek, though he saw nothing and felt afraid, seemed to himself to have been lifted to some plane on which there was no more need of prayer, since the harmony that is continually present to the mind of God had been made audible to his own prostrate, worshipping soul. He had sunk to his knees and his mouth was twisted like that of a man in agony. Still listening, he heard the singing diminish and then slide quickly into silence, like a diver into deep water.

He rose and began to walk slowly towards the edge of the forest. Yet it was as though he, awake, observed himself moving in a dream. The dream was his own life of time and sensation, of hunger and thirst, which he now watched from a pinnacle of shining silence. He saw his forearm scratched by a spray of trazada and felt, far-off in his flesh, an echo of pain. Slowly, very slowly, he floated down to rejoin his body. They came together as broken reflections resolve on the surface of a pool returning to stillness: and he found himself looking out across the open grass and scratching his arm.

Shardik, the sun sinking behind him, was approaching down the slope, now rambling uncertainly here and there, now halting to gaze about at the trees and the distant river. At some distance from him, in a wide half-circle, moved eight or nine of the women, among them Rantzay and the Tuginda. When he hesitated they too paused, swaying in the rhythm of their chant, equidistant one from another, the evening wind stirring their hair and the fringes of their tunics. As he went on they moved with him, so that he remained always central and ahead of them. None showed haste or fear. Watching, Kelderek was reminded of the instinctive, simultaneous turning of a flock of birds in the air, or a shoal of fish in clear water.

It was plain that Shardik was half-bemused, though whether from the continuing effect of the drug or the hypnotic sound of the singing the hunter could not tell. The women pivoted about him like wind-tossed branches radiating from the trunk of a tree. Suddenly Kelderek felt a longing to join in their dangerous and beautiful dance, to offer his life to Shardik, to prove himself one among those to whom the power of Shardik had been revealed and through whom that power could flow into the world. And with this longing came a conviction – though if he were wrong it mattered nothing – that Shardik would not harm him. He stepped out from beneath the trees and made his way up the slope.

Until he was less than a stone's throw off, neither the women nor the bear gave any sign of having seen him. Then the bear, which had been moving towards the river rather than the forest, stopped, turning its lowered head towards him. The hunter also stopped and stood waiting, one hand raised in greeting. The setting sun was dazzling him, but of this he was unaware. Through the bear's eyes, he saw himself standing alone on the hillside.

The bear peered uncertainly across the sunlit grass. Then it came towards the solitary figure of the hunter, approaching until it appeared as a dark mass before his light-blinded eyes and he could hear its breathing and the dry, clashing sound of its claws. Its rank smell was all about him, yet he was aware only of the smell of himself to Shardik, puzzled and uncertain in his awakening from illness and drugged sleep, afraid because of his own weakness and his unfamiliar surroundings. He sniffed suspiciously at the human creature standing before him, but remained unstartled by any sudden movement or act of fear on its part. He could hear once more the voices, now on one side of him, now on the other, answering each other in layers of sound, bewildering him and confusing his savagery. He went forward again, in the only direction from which they did not come, and as he did so the human creature, towards whom he felt no enmity, turned and moved with him towards the twilight and safety of the woods.

At a signal from the Tuginda the women stood still, each in her place, as Shardik, with the hunter walking beside him, entered the outskirts of the forest and disappeared among the trees.

14 Lord Kelderek

That night Kelderek slept on the bare ground beside Shardik, with no thought of fire or food, of leopards, snakes or other dangers of darkness. Nor did he think of Bel-ka-Trazet, of the Tuginda or of what might be taking place in the camp. As Melathys had laid the sword's edge to her neck, so Kelderek lay secure beside the bear. Waking in the night, he saw its back like a roof-ridge against the stars and returned at once into a sleep tranquil and reassured. When morning came, with a grey cold and the chittering of birds in the branches, he opened his eyes in time to catch sight of Shardik wandering away among the bushes. He rose stiffly to his feet and stood shivering in the chill, flexing his limbs and touching his face with his hands as though his wondering spirit had but newly entered this body for the first time. In some other place, he knew, in some other region, invisible yet not remote, insubstantial yet more real than the forest and the river, Shardik and Kelderek were one creature, the whole and the part, as the scarlet trumpet-flower is part of the rough-leaved, spreading stolon of the trepsis vine. Musing, he made no attempt to follow the bear, but when it was gone turned back to seek his companions.

Almost at once he came upon Rantzay alone in a clearing, cloaked against the cold and leaning upon a staff. As he approached she bent her head, raising her palm to her brow. Her hand shook, but whether from cold or fear he could not tell. 'Why are you here?' he asked with quiet authority.

'Lord, one of us remained near you all night, for we did not know – we did not know what might befall. Are you leaving Lord Shardik now?'

'For a while. Tell three of the girls to follow him and try to keep him in sight. One should return at noon with news of where he is. Unless he can find it for himself he will need food.'

She touched her forehead again, waited as he walked away and then followed behind him as he returned to the camp. The Tuginda had gone down to bathe in the river and he ate alone, Neelith bringing him food and drink and serving him in silence on one knee. When at last he saw the Tuginda returning he went to meet her. The girls with her at once fell back, and again he talked with her, alone beside the fall. Now, however, it was the hunter who questioned, the Tuginda paying him close heed and answering him carefully yet without reserve, as a woman answers a man whom she trusts to guide and help her.

'The Singing, saiyctt,' he began. 'What is the Singing and what is its purpose?'

'It is one of the old secrets,' she replied, 'of the days when Lord Shardik dwelt upon the Ledges. It has been preserved from that time to this. Those long ago who offered the Singing showed, by that, that they offered their lives also. This is why no woman on Quiso has ever been ordered to become a singer. Each who determines to attain to it must do so of her own accord: and though we can teach her what we know ourselves, always there is a part which remains a matter of God's will and her own. The art cannot be sought for self-advancement or to please others, but only to satisfy the singer's own longing to offer all that she has. So if the will and devotion of the singers were to falter – or so I was taught – the power of the Singing would falter too. Before yesterday evening no woman now alive had ever taken part in offering the Singing to Lord Shardik. I thanked God when I saw that its power had not been lost.' 'What is the power?'

She looked at him in surprise. 'But you know what it is, Lord Kelderek Zenzuata. Why do you ask for words, to go on crutches, when you have felt it leaping and burning in your heart?'

'I know what the Singing did to me, saiyett. But it was not to me that it was offered last night.'

'I cannot tell you what takes place in the heart of Lord Shardik. Indeed, I believe now that you know more of that than I. But as I learned long ago, it is a way by which we come nearer to him and to God. By worshipping him thus we put a narrow, swaying bridge across the ravine that separates his savage nature from our own; and so in time we become able to walk without stumbling through the fire of his presence.'

Kelderek pondered this for some little time. At length he asked, 'Can he be controlled, then – driven – by the Singing?'

She shook her head. 'No – Lord Shardik can never be driven, for he is the Power of God. But the Singing, when it is offered devoutly, with sincerity and courage, is like that power which we have over weapons. It overcomes for a time his savagery and as he grows accustomed to it, so he comes to accept it as the due worship which we offer to him. Nevertheless, Kelderek she smiled – 'Lord Kelderek, do not think that any man or woman could have done what you did last night, simply because of the Singing. Shardik is always more dangerous than lightning, more uncertain than the Telthearna in the rains. You are his Vessel, or you would now be broken like the leopard.' 'Saiyett, why did you let the Baron go? He hates Lord Shardik.'

'Was I to murder him? To overcome his hard heart with a harder? What could have come of that? He is not a wicked man, and God sees all. Did I not hear you yourself begging him for forgiveness as he strode away?'

'But do you believe that he will be content to leave Lord Shardik unharmed?'

'I believe, as I have always believed, that neither he nor anyone can prevent Lord Shardik from performing that which he has come to perform and imparting that which he has come to impart. But I say yet again – what will ensue we can only await with humility. To devise some purpose of our own and try to make use of Lord Shardik for that end – that would be sacrilege and folly.'

'So you have taught me, saiyett; but now I will dare to advise you also. We should perfect our service of Lord Shardik as a man prepares the weapons with which he knows he will have to fight for his life. Worship yields nothing to the slipshod and half-hearted. I have seen men's worship which, if it had been a roof they had built, would not have kept out half an hour's rain; nor had they even the wit to wonder why it left their hearts cold and yielded them neither strength nor comfort. Lord Shardik is in truth the Power of God, but his worshippers will reap only what they sow. How many women have we, both here and on Quiso, who are adept in the Singing and able to serve close to Lord Shardik without fear, as they did long ago?'

'I cannot yet tell – perhaps no more than ten or twelve. As I said, it is more than a matter of skill and brave hearts, for it may turn out that Lord Shardik himself will accept some but not others. You know how a child in Ortelga may train to be a dancer and dream of breaking hearts in Bekla; but she grows up unshapely or too tall and there's an end.'

'All this we must search out and prove, saiyett – his singers must be sure as an Ortelgan rope in a storm, his hunting-girls observant and tireless. He will wander now; and as he wanders, so we can perfect our work, if only we are given time.' 'Time?' she asked, standing still to face him – and he saw once more the shrewd, homely woman with the ladle who had met him below the Ledges. 'Time, Kelderek?'

'Time, saiyett. For sooner or later, either Shardik will go to Ortelga, or Ortelga will come to him. On that day, he will either prevail or be extinguished; and whichever way it goes, the issue will come about through us alone.'

15 Ta-Kominion

Kelderek crouched listening in the dark. There was no moon and the forest overhead shut out the stars. He could hear the bear among the trees and tried once again to make out whether it was moving away. But silence returned, broken only by the vibrant rarking of the frogs on the distant shore. After some time his straining ears caught a low growl. He called, 'Peace, Lord Shardik. Peace, my lord,' and lay down, hoping that the bear might rest if it felt that he himself was tranquil. Soon he realized that his fingers were thrusting into the soft ground and that he was holding himself tense, ready to leap to his feet He was afraid: not only of Lord Shardik in this uncertain, suspicious mood, but also because he knew that Shardik himself was uneasy – of what, he could not tell.

For days past the bear had been wandering through the woods and open places of the island; sometimes splashing among the reeds along the southern, landward shore, sometimes turning inland to climb the central ridge, yet always tending eastwards, downstream, towards Ortelga behind its jungle wall of traps and palisades. Night and day his votaries followed him. In all their hearts burned the fear of violent death, overborne by a wild hope and faith – hope for they knew not what, faith in the power of Lord Shardik returned to his people through fire and water.

Kelderek himself remained constantly near the bear, observing all that it did, attentive to its moods and ways – its frightening habit of ramping from side to side in excitement or anger; its indolent curiosity; the slow-moving strength, like that of a great head of water, with which it would turn over a heavy stone, lift a fallen log or push down a young tree; the dog-like snarling of its lip in suspicion, its shrinking from the heat of the rocks in the mid-day glare and its preference for sleeping near water. At each sunset the Singing was repeated, the women forming their wide half-circle about the bear, sometimes smoothly and symmetrically in open ground, often with more difficulty among trees or on rocky slopes. During the early days most of those in the camp, ecstatic in their wonder and joy at the return of Shardik, came forward to offer themselves, eager to show their devotion greater than their fear and to put to the proof the age-old skills they had learned on the Ledges but never envisaged that they would be required to practise in earnest On the fourth evening, when the singers had formed a wide circle round a grove near the shore, the bear suddenly burst through the undergrowth and struck down the priestess Anthred with a blow that almost broke her body in two. She died at once. The Singing ceased, Shardik disappeared into the forest and it was not until noon of the following day that Kelderek, having tracked him with difficulty for many hours, found him at the foot of a rocky bank on the further side of the island. When the Tuginda reached the place she walked forward alone and stood in prayer until it became plain that Shardik would not attack her. That evening she led the Singing herself, moving without haste and gracefully as a girl whenever the bear came towards her.

A day or two later Sheldra, stepping backwards on a steep slope, stumbled and struck her head. Shardik, however, ignored her, shambling past as she lay dazed among the stones. When Kelderek raised her to her feet she resumed her place without a word.

At length, as the Tuginda had envisaged in speaking to Kelderek of the days gone by, Shardik seemed to become accustomed to the attendance of the women and at times almost to play his part -towering erect and gazing at them, or prowling back and fordi as though to try whether they had their art at command. Three or four – Sheldra among them – proved able to carry themselves steadily in his presence. Others, including some who had spent years in the service of Quiso and acquired every inflection and cadence, after a few evenings could no longer control their fear. To these Kelderek allowed respites, calling in turn upon one or another to play her part as best she could. As the Singing began he would watch them closely, for Shardik was keen to perceive fear and seemed angered by it; glaring with a look half-intelligent, half-savage, until the victim, her last shreds of courage consumed, broke the circle and turned tail, weeping with shame. As often as he could Kelderek would forestall this anger, calling the girl out of the circle before the bear came down upon her. His own life he risked daily, but Shardik never so much as threatened him, lying quictly while the hunter approached to bring him food or examine his almost-healed wounds.

Indeed, as the days passed, returning thoughts of Ortelga and the High Baron came to cause him more fear than did Lord Shardik. Daily it grew harder to find and kill sufficient game, and he realized that in their eastward course down the island they must already have come close to exhausting its never-plentiful resources. As often as their wanderings brought them to the southern shore, the mainland bank of the Telthearna showed nearer across the tapering strait How far were they now from Ortelga? What watch was Bel-ka-Trazet keeping upon them and what would happen when they came – as at last they must – to the Dead Belt, with its maze of concealed snares? Even if he were able in some way to induce Shardik to turn back, what could follow but starvation? Daily, with the women looking on, he and the Tuginda stood before the bear and prayed aloud, 'Reveal your power, Lord Shardik! Show us what we are to do!' Alone with the Tuginda, he spoke of his anxieties, but was met always by a calm, untroubled faith with which, had it come from anyone else, he would have lost patience.

Now, crouching in the dark, he was full of doubt and uncertainty. For the first time since he had found him in the pit, he knew himself afraid of Shardik. All day they had killed no game and at sunset, such had been the bear's threatening ferocity that the Singing had faltered and ceased, ragged and unpropitious. As night fell, Shardik had wandered away into dense forest Kelderek, taking Sheldra with him, had followed as best he could, expecting at any moment to find himself the quarry and the bear the hunter; until at last after how long he could not tell (for he could not see the stars), he had suddenly caught the sounds of Shardik's rambling movement not far off. There was no telling whether the bear would return to attack them, settle to sleep or go further into the forest and Kelderek, already weary, set himself to remain alert and wait.

After a time Sheldra slept, but he himself lay listening intently to each minute noise in the dark. Sometimes he thought he could hear the bear's breathing or the rustle of leaves disturbed by its claws. As the hours wore on he became intuitively aware that its mood had changed. It was no longer surly and ready to attack, but uneasy. He had never known or imagined Lord Shardik afraid. What could be the cause? Might some dangerous creature be close at hand – a great cat swum from the north bank, or one of the giant, nocturnal snakes of which Bel-ka-Trazet had spoken? He rose to his feet and called once more, 'Peace, Lord Shardik. Your power is of God.' At this moment, from somewhere in the darkness, a man whistled. Kelderek stood rigid. The blood pulsed in his head – five, six, seven, eight. Then, quietly but unmistakably, the whistler ran through the refrain of a song, 'Senandril na kora, senandril na ro'. An instant later Sheldra grasped his wrist 'Who is it, my lord?' 'I cannot tell,' he whispered. 'Wait'

The girl strung her bow with barely a sound and then guided his hand to the hilt of the knife at her belt He drew it and crept forward. Close by, to his left, the bear growled and coughed. The thought of Lord Shardik pierced by the arrows of unseen enemies filled him with a desperate haste and anger. He began to push his way more quickly through the bushes. Immediately, from the darkness on his right a low voice called, 'Who's there?'

Whoever had spoken, at least he himself was now between him and Shardik. Peering, he could just make out the trunks of trees black against a paler darkness – the open sky above the river. A faint wind stirred the leaves and a star shone twinkling through.

Now came the sound of movement like his own – the snapping of sticks and rusde of foliage. Suddenly he saw what he had been waiting for – an instant's flicker between one tree trunk and the next, so close that he was startled.

Ten paces – eight? He wondered whether Bal-ka-Trazet himself might be close at hand and in the same moment remembered the Baron's trick by the pool, when he had distracted the bear. His groping fingers could not find a stone, but he squeezed together a handful of moist earth and tossed it upwards through the space between the tree-trunks. It fell beyond with a disturbance of leaves, and as it did so he dashed forward. He blundered into a man's back – a tall man, for his head struck him between the shoulders. The man staggered and Kelderek, flinging one arm up and round his neck, jerked him backwards. The man fell heavily on top of him and he twisted clear, raising Sheldra's knife.

The man had not uttered a sound and Kelderek thought 'He is alone.' At this he felt less desperate, for Bel-ka-Trazet would have known better than to send one man to tackle Lord Shardik and his armed and devoted followers. He pressed the point of the knife against his throat and was about to call to Sheldra when the man spoke for the first time. 'Where is Lord Shardik?*

'What's that to you?' answered Kelderek, thrusting him back as he tried to sit up. 'Who are you?'

The man, amazingly, laughed. 'I? Oh, I'm a fellow who's come from Ortelga through the Dead Belt with a fancy to be knocked half silly for whistling in the dark. Was it Lord Shardik that taught you to crush a man's throat from behind like a Deelguy footpad?'

Whether really unafraid or only concealing his fear, he certainly seemed in no hurry to get away.

'Come through the Dead Belt by night?' said Kelderek, startled in spite of himself. 'You're lying!'

'As you please,' replied the other. 'It's no matter now. But in case you don't know it, you're only a few yards from the Belt yourself. If the wind changes you'll smell the smoke of Ortelga. Shout loud and the nearest shendron will hear you.'

This, then, was the cause of Shardik's uneasiness and sullen fear! He must already have smelt the town ahead. Suppose he should wander into the Dead Belt before morning? 'God will protect him,' thought Kelderek. 'When daylight comes, he may turn back. But if he does not, I will follow him into the Belt myself.'

It crossed his mind also that by morning the bear would be close to starving and therefore still more savage and dangerous: but he put the thought aside and spoke once more to the stranger. 'Why have you come?' he asked. 'What are you seeking?' 'Are you the hunter, the man who first saw Lord Shardik?'

'My name is Kelderek, sometimes called Zenzuata. It was I who brought the news of Lord Shardik to the Tuginda.'

'Then we have met already; in the Sindrad, on the night when you set out for Quiso. I am Ta-Kominion.'

Kelderek remembered the tall young baron who had sat on the table and bantered him in his cups. He had felt confused and uncertain then, a common man among his betters, facing trouble alone. But matters had changed since.

'So Bel-ka-Trazet sent you to murder me,' he said, 'and you found me less helpless than you expected?'

'Well, you're right this far,' replied Ta-Kominion. 'It's true that Bel-ka-Trazet is seeking your death, and it's true that that's the reason why I'm here. But now listen to me, Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. If you suppose that I've come alone through the Dead Belt on the off-chance of coming across one man in miles of forest and killing him, then you must believe I'm a sorcerer. No, I came to look for you because I want to talk to you; and I came by land and darkness because I didn't want Bel-ka-Trazet to know of it. I had no idea where you might be, but it seems I've been lucky – if what you call luck's a half-broken neck and a blow on the elbow. Now tell me, is Lord Shardik here?'

'He is not a bow-shot away. Speak no ill of him, Ta-Kominion, if you want to live.'

'You must understand me better, Kelderek. I'm here as Bel-ka-Trazet's enemy and the friend of Lord Shardik. Let me tell you something of what has been happening in Ortelga since you left.'

'WaitI' Kelderek gripped the other's arm. Crouching together and listening, they could both hear Shardik moving in the forest 'Sheldral' called Kelderek. 'Which way is he going?'

'He is returning, my lord, by the way he came. Shall I go back and warn the Tuginda?' 'Yes, but try not to lose him if he should wander further.'

'So,' said Ta-Kominion after a few moments, 'they obey you, do they, Lord Kelderek? Well, if all I hear is true, you deserve it. Bel-ka-Trazet told the barons that you struck him down.'

'I threw a stone. He was about to kill Lord Shardik while he lay helpless.'

'So he said. He spoke to us of the folly and danger of allowing the people to believe that Lord Shardik had returned. "Those women'll ruin us all," he said, "with that half-burnt bear they've got hold of. God knows what superstitious rubbish will come of it if they're not packed off where they belong. It'll be the end of all law and order." He sent men out to look for you at the western end of the island, but you'd gone from there, it seems. One of them tracked you eastwards almost as far as this; but when he came back, it was to me he spoke and not to Bel-ka-Trazet.' 'Why?' Ta-Kominion laid a hand on Kelderek's knee.

'The people know the truth,' he said. 'One of the Tuginda's girls came to Ortelga – but even if she had not, truth blows through the leaves and trickles between the stones. The people are weary of Bel-ka-Trazet's harshness. They are speaking secretly of Lord Shardik and waiting for him to come. If need be they are ready to die for him. In his heart, Bel-ka-Trazet knows this and he is afraid.'

'Why,' answered Kelderek, 'that morning when he left the Tuginda, I saw the fear already in his eyes. I pitied him then and I still pity him, but he has set himself up against Lord Shardik. If a man chooses to stand in the path of a fire, can the fire take pity on him?' 'He thinks -' Kelderek cut him short. 'What do you want with me, then?'

'The people are not BcI-ka-Trazet. They know that Lord Shardik has returned to them. I have seen decent, simple men in Ortelga weeping for joy and hope. They are ready to rise against Bel-ka-Trazet and to follow me.' 'To follow you? Follow you where?'

In the solitude of the forest, Ta-Kominion dropped his voice still lower. 'To Bekla, to regain what is ours.'

Kelderek drew in his breath. 'You're seriously planning to attack Bekla?'

'With the power of Lord Shardik we cannot fail. But Kelderek, will you join us? They say you have no fear of Shardik and can persuade him as you will. Is that true?'

'Only in part. God has made of me a vessel let down into Shardik's well and a brand lighted at his fire. He suffers me; nevertheless, to be near him is always to be in danger.' 'Could you bring him to Ortelga?'

'Neither I nor anyone can drive Lord Shardik. He is the Power of God. If it is so ordained, he will come to Ortelga. Yet how can he pass the Dead Belt? And what is it that you mean to do?'

'My own men are ready to strike now. They will make him a path through the Belt: along this shore – that's the easiest place. Only let Lord Shardik come and every man will join us – yes, join you and me, Kelderek! As soon as we are sure of Ortelga, then we'll march at once on Bekla, before they can learn the news.'

'You make it sound easy, but I tell you again – I cannot bring Lord Shardik here and dierc like an ox. He acts by the will of God, not by my will. If you had seen him – faced him – you would understand.'

'Let me face him, then. I will stand before him and beg him to help us. I'm not afraid. I tell you, Kelderek, all Ortelga is eager only to serve him. If I entreat him, he will give me a sign.'

'Very well. Come with me. You shall speak with the Tuginda and face Lord Shardik for yourself. But if he gives you death, Ta-Kominion -'

'He will give much where much is offered. I have come to offer my life. If he takes it, why then I shall not live to be disappointed. If he gives it back to me, I will spend it in his service.'

For answer Kelderek got to his feet and began to lead the way through the undergrowth. The night was still so dark, however, that he found it all but impossible to tell in which direction the camp lay. Feeling before them, they stumbled repeatedly; once Ta-Kominion nearly put out his eye on a pointed branch that pierced him under the lower lid. Kelderek could not tell how far they had gone or whether they might not have wandered in a circle. At last he glimpsed, still some distance off, the glow of the fire. He made towards it cautiously, expecting at any moment to be challenged by one of the girls, or even to come upon Lord Shardik himself, prowling in his angry hunger. But they met no one and at length, looking about him in perplexity, he realized that they had already reached the outskirts of the camp. They walked on side by side over the open ground, strewn with cut branches and garments, where the women had been sleeping, and so up to the untended remains of the fire.

Kelderek's perplexity became bewilderment. The place was deserted. Apparently there was no one whatever in the camp. He called, 'Rantzay! Sheldra!' Receiving no reply, he shouted, 'Where are you?'

The echo died and for some moments he could hear only the frogs and the rustle of the leaves. Then he was answered.

'Lord Kelderek!' It was Rantzay's harsh voice from the direction of the shore. 'Come quickly, my lord!'

He had never heard her so much excited. He began to run and as he did so realized that it was growing light – light enough, at all events, to enable them to see their way to the river. As they approached he could make out the canoes and closer at hand the cloaked shapes of the women crowding together, some apparently up to their knees in the water. All were pressing forward, pointing, moving their heads one way and another and peering through the reeds. Beside the tall figure of Rantzay he recognized that of the Tuginda and ran towards her. 'What is it, saiyett? What has happened?*

Without speaking she took his arm and led him down into the shallows, among the reeds taller than his head. Between these, something had smashed a path and down this narrow lane he gazed out towards the Telthearna beyond. Over it the light was increasing, a windless, twilit grey without shadows. The far trees were motionless, the flowing water smooth. Still the Tuginda waded forward and still he followed, wondering at her haste. Waist-deep, feet groping, they reached the outer edge of the reed-belt and to right and left the extent of the river opened before them. The Tuginda, one hand on his shoulder, pointed downstream to where a wide ripple like an arrow-head was breaking the calm surface. At its apex, the only living thing to be seen in all the expanse of trees and water, Shardik was swimming, his muzzle thrust upwards at the sky as the current carried him towards Ortelga.

16 The Point and the Causeway

Without an instant's hesitation Kelderek flung himself forward into the deep water. Immediately – almost before his shoulders had broken the surface – he felt the current turning him bodily and sweeping him downstream. For a few moments he struggled, afraid as he found himself helpless against it. Then, awkwardly, he began to swim, bending back his neck to keep his head above water, splashing with his arms and bobbing up and down. Looking ahead, his water-blurred eyes could still make out the shape of the bear like a rick swept away in a flood.

Soon he realized that some freak of the river was carrying him towards the centre, where the flow was swifter yet. Even if he should happen to touch upon a random spit or submerged bank, such as formed and dissolved continually in the strait, he would not be able to stand up in a current of this strength. Already he was beginning to tire. He tried to look about him for a floating branch or anything to which he might cling, but could see nothing. His feet, trailing deep, encountered some tangled, loom-like thing, intersticed and pliant, and as he jerked himself free pain flickered up his leg and was gone as quickly as a spurt of flame. An instant later he spun round in an eddy, swallowed water, sank and, as his head came up again, found that he was facing upstream and still drifting on. The women among the reeds were now far-off, indistinguishable figures, appearing and disappearing as his eyes rose and fell. He tried to turn and face ahead, and as he did so heard across the water a spluttering call – 'Kelderek! Inshore!'

Ta-Kominion, swimming behind him, was about half-way between himself and the shore which they had left. Although he appeared to be holding his own more easily than Kelderek, it was nevertheless clear that he had little breath for talking. He flung up one arm and gestured sharply towards the reeds, then fell once more to his task. Kelderek saw that he was trying to overtake him, but could not because of the slower current inshore. Indeed, the gap between them was widening. Ta-Kominion raised his head and seemed to shout again, but Kelderek could hear nothing except his own hard breathing and the splash and gurgle of the water. Then, as he bobbed upwards for a moment, he caught faintly the words shore before the point!'

As he grasped the baron's meaning, fear overcame him. He was being carried along the south-eastern shore of Ortelga at a speed as fast as that of a man walking. As long as he remained in midstream he could not count on drifting against the submerged causeway that ran from the eastern point to the mainland. More likely he would be carried over or through it, pummelled down by this very current in which he was now struggling for his life. And if he were carried below Ortelga, he could not hope to come ashore alive.

He began to kick out and to clutch at the surface, panting and tiring himself still further. How far was it now to the point? The right, mainland bank seemed actually closer than that of Ortelga: yet how could that be? Then he recognized the place. The reeds had been cut back, exposing a sheet of open water beyond which, on the island shore, stood the zoan tree. Tall and far off it looked – much further than when last he had sighted it, returning to Ortelga on his raft. He thought of the shendron, perhaps looking out at this very moment through the silvery fronds. But the shendron, for all his vigilance, would never catch sight of him. He was nothing but flotsam, a dot moving in the grey light and grey water of early morning.

By God, but there was something else, though, that the shendron could not have failed to seel A little behind, but directly between himself and the zoan tree, Shardik was drifting like a cloud through a pale sky. There was no commotion of the water round him and the long wedge of his jaw lay half-submerged, the nostrils just clear, like those of an alligator. As the hunter watched, the bear turned his head for a moment and seemed to be staring towards him.

At this, desperate though he was, Kelderek felt a return of that brave impulse upon which he had thrown himself into the river to follow Shardik. Shardik had called him for some purpose of his own. Shardik had power to preserve and raise up those who gave him all, doubting nothing. If only he could reach Shardik, Shardik would save him, Shardik would not let him drown. As the zoan tree dropped out of sight he set himself, with the last of his strength, to swim inshore across the current Slowly, very slowly, he began to converge upon the bear. As he came by degrees into the slacker stream the distance between them lessened, until at last they were floating side by side and only a few yards apart

He could do no more. He was exhausted, conscious of nothing but the deep water beneath him, the fear of drowning and, somewhere far out of reach, the presence of Shardik. He could see neither sky nor shore. 'Accept my life, Lord Shardik. I regret nothing I did for you.' Losing the power of thought, sinking, no longer breathing: arms flung upwards, fingers clawing at the black, fainting dark; and now, in death, he felt once more the shaggy hair, the flank of Shardik, just as he had felt it when he walked beside him at nightfall into the forest and slept in the safety of his presence.

The darkness burst apart. He caught his breath and drew in the air. Sunlight was glittering on the water and sparkling in his eyes. He was clutching Shardik's flank, hanging by his clenched hands, tossing up and down, while beside him the great off-hind leg trod water as fast as mill-wheels strike. Scarcely able at first to realize what had happened, he knew only that he was alive and that he could still get ashore before the town was left behind.

The bear had not turned its head or tried to shake him off, and indeed seemed unaware of him. He was puzzled by its indifference. Then, as his head and sight grew clearer, he sensed that it was intent upon something else, some purpose of its own. It was turning shoreward, to the left, and swimming more strongly. He could not see over the ridge of its back, but as it turned still further, land appeared beyond its shoulder. A moment later it was wading. He let his feet drop, touched bottom and found himself standing, submerged almost to his shoulders, on firm stones.

They came ashore together, the bear and the man, close to the now cold cooking-fires, the duster of storage huts and servants* quarters lying shoreward of the Sindrad. Shardik, in his eagerness, thrust the water aside, splashing and shouldering through the shallows as though in pursuit of prey. Suddenly Kelderek saw the way of it The bear was hungry – famished – desperate for food at any cost Something had turned it back from the Dead Belt, but nevertheless it must have smelt food while lying in the forest and this was why it had plunged into the river. He remembered what Bd-ka-Trazet had said before leaving the Tuginda, 'If it begins to plague Ortelga, I promise you I will have it killed.'

Stumbling and still half-drowned, he began to follow Shardik up the slope of the shore, but tripped and fdl his length. For some moments he lay inert, then raised himself on one elbow. As he did so two men appeared from behind the nearest hut, carrying an iron cauldron between them and making for the water. They were bleary-eyed and tousled, scullions routed out of bed to the first chores of the day. The bear was almost on top of them before they looked up and saw it The cauldron fell to the stones with a booming sound and for an instant they stared, fixed in grotesque attitudes of shock and terror. Then, shrieking, they turned to run. One disappeared by the no way he had come. The other, blind with fear, blundered into the wall of the hut, hit his head and stood dazed, swaying on his feet Shardik, following, reared up and struck him. The blow knocked the poor wretch bodily through the wattle-and-daub of the hut wall, smashing it open in a ragged gap. Shardik struck a second time and the wall collapsed, bringing down part of the roof above. The air was filled with dust and with smoke from the new-lit hearth buried beneath the ruins. Women were screaming, men running and shouting. A burly man in a leather apron, holding a hammer, appeared suddenly through the haze, stared a moment petrified, and was gone. Above all the hubbub rose the growling roar of Shardik, a sound like the sliding of heavy stones down a hillside.

Kelderek, watching from where he had fallen, saw the bear lumber away into the smoke and confusion. Suddenly he felt hands under his armpits and a voice shouted in his ear.

'Get up, Kelderek, get up, man! There's no time to lose! Follow me!'

Ta-Kominion was beside him, his long hair streaming water as he dragged Kelderek to his knees. In his left hand he was holding a long, sharp-pointed dagger. 'Come on, man! Have you got a weapon?' 'Only this.' He drew Sheldra's knife. 'That'll do! You can soon grab yourself a better.'

They dashed forward round the burning ruins. On the further side was lying a man's body, the backbone like a snapped bow. Beyond, the bear was dragging the carcase of a sheep from beneath the debris of a second hut A little further off four or five men, on the point of flight stood staring back over their shoulders.

Ta-Kominion leapt to the top of a pile of logs, shouting, 'Shardik! Lord Shardik is come!' Round him the tumult spread wider as the whole town woke to the alarm. It was clear that there were those who had been awaiting his return. Already men were gathering about him, some already armed, others, half-naked from their beds, clutching spits, axes, clubs, whatever had come first to hand.

Dragging the end of a burning roof-pole from the ruins behind him, Ta-Kominion brandished it above his head. The second hut had caught fire and smoke had begun to obscure the sunlight As the heat and noise increased Shardik, disturbed from the sheep's carcase, became uneasy. At first he had glared about him, defying the strange surroundings as he satisfied his hunger, crouching in the posture of a cat to rip and chew the bloody flesh. As the dusky air began to waver and cinders blew out towards the river, he winced and snarled, cuffing at a spark that fell on his car. Then, as the centre-post of the second hut fell its length with a crash like that of a felled tree, he turned, still clutching the haunch in his mouth, and made off towards the shore.

Ta-Kominion, surrounded now by a shouting crowd, pointed with his dagger and raised his voice above the din. 'Now you have seen for yourselves! Lord Shardik has returned to his people! Follow me and fight for Shardik!' 'He is going!' cried a voice.

'Going? Of course he's going!' yelled Ta-Kominion. 'Going where we shall follow him – to Beklal He knows Ortelga's as good as taken for him already! He's trying to tell you there's no time to be lost! Follow me!'

'Shardik! Shardik!' shouted the crowd. Ta-Kominion led them forward at a run towards the Sindrad. Kelderek heard the shouting grow to a roar. Fresh smoke rose, followed by the unmistakable sounds of fighting – orders, the clashing of weapons, curses and the cries of wounded men. Picking up a stout, woven hurdle leaning against the log pile, he began to fasten it on his left arm for a shield. It was awkward, contrary work and he knelt down to it, fumbling and forcing at the wicker plaiting.

Looking up, he suddenly found the Tuginda standing beside him. Her clothes were dry, but the black, powdery ash blowing in the air had streaked her face and arms and lay grimy on her hair. Although she was carrying a bow, ready strung, and a quiver of arrows, she seemed indifferent to the fighting, which was now filling the entire town with its uproar. She said nothing, but stood looking down at him.

'I must go and join in the fight, saiyett, he said. 'The young baron will think me a coward. He may be hard-pressed – I cannot tell.'

Still she said nothing and he paused, looking up at her and at the same time trying to thrust his left arm further through the rent which he had made in the hurdle. 'Lord Shardik is leaving Ortelga,' said the Tuginda at length. 'Saiyett, the fighting-' 'His work here is done – whatever it may have been.' 'You can hear that it is not! Do not delay me, saiyett, I beg you!' 'That may be others' work. It is not our work.' He stared at her. 'Why, what then is our work, if not to fight for Lord Shardik?' 'To follow the one whom God has sent.'

She turned and began to walk back towards the river. Still hesitating, he saw her stoop and pick something up from among the ashes of the burned hut. She stood a moment, weighing it in her hand, and as she moved he saw that it was a wooden ladle. Then she was gone, through the smoke, down the sloping shore. Kelderek let fall his hurdle, thrust the knife into his belt and followed her.

On the bank, Rantzay and Sheldra were waiting beside a canoe drawn up on the pebbles. Staring out over the water, they paid him no attention. Following their gaze, he saw Shardik splashing towards the mainland, along the line of the broken causeway. Close by, shading her eyes against the glitter, the Tuginda was standing on a flat, squared block of stone in the shallows. He took her arm, and together they began to follow Shardik across the strait.