The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

TEN

Skeelie woke at dawn. Somewhere, Canoldir was singing in a deep, wild voice that stirred a memory she could not bring clear; as if she had slept all night hearing his song, as if she had dreamed of him. Puzzling, she rose and began to dress; then she remembered suddenly, stopped half dressed to stare into space, seeing the hall last night, seeing Canoldir’s face shadowed by firelight, hearing again his words.

Ram had left the hall, yawning. She had turned to leave when Canoldir stopped her with a look, and she had stood, her back to the dying fire, watching him.

“I cannot tell you what will happen, Skeelie, when you and Ramad follow the wraith. I can only tell you that I will put you where the wraith wanders. After that, there is nothing I can do. But I will tell you this. If you succeed in bringing Telien back with you, if you and Ramad succeed in rescuing her from the wraith and do not—are not destroyed yourselves, then—then, Skeelie of Carriol, I would speak with you.” He had turned then, paced the length of the hall, turned again in shadow to pause, a bear of a man, his force filling the room. Then he returned to stand looking down at her. “If Ramad brings Telien away from the wraith, they will be—you will be wanting to be away from them.”

Skeelie had stared into his eyes and nodded, her misery catching at her throat.

“If you will come to this place, Skeelie of Carriol, I would . . .” His dark eyes had looked so deep into hers she shivered. “I would court you!” he cried with a great shout. “I would court you! That is what I would do!” He had swung her around in a great dancing step like a bear, leaned to kiss her fiercely on the forehead, then had grown quiet, had led her down the corridor to her chamber, left her there with reluctance; she had felt his emotion like a tide, long after he had gone.

She stood clutching the door, filled with consternation. What was she to say to Canoldir this morning? That she would return if . . .? That she would not return? Yet she knew no answer was needed. No word need be spoken to Canoldir this morning—or ever, if she chose.

She thought of him with gladness, thought of his words with pleasure and with renewed strength. She stood daydreaming for some time, then took up her sword and bow at last and left the chamber to find Ram.

She never reached the hall. Darkness swept around her; she was whirling in darkness. Canoldir’s voice was singing deep but far away, his song ringing wildly. And Ram was there; they were tumbled on Canoldir’s song. Time and song were one. They fell, were swept through voids of Time into rising light, into golden morning light, buoyed by Canoldir’s song. Light burst through Time and through space as if they rode on liquid rays of sun. Ram shouted, but she could not make out the words. Canoldir’s song rang with joy; Time itself leaped in his singing as they touched moments in their lives all but forgotten, drowned in sudden emotions as Canoldir’s changing moods drowned them. His spirit surged; they could see his face sometimes as his shouting song rang down the wind; and the wolves came round them crying out in eerie mourning to join the song that leaped in cadences woven of all life.

Then Canoldir’s voice faded. Was a whisper. Was gone.

They fell, terror-ridden, into darkness, their loss painful, cold gripping them. Down and down in darkness . . .

They stood in a cave made all of ice, ice walls gleaming, the wolves close around them taut with power and wonder, their eyes filled with predatory fire. Skeelie knelt and hugged Torc to her. How far had they come, how many years? In what time were they, and where? She lay her cheek against Torc’s rough coat, hugged Torc hard, and the bitch wolf turned to lick her face. You are choking the breath out of me, sister.

Ram seemed confused. He stared at Skeelie for a long moment, hardly seeing her. Beyond the cave’s ice walls was a pale, milky sky. Ere’s two moons were thin crescents, white and lifeless. Skeelie approached the entrance, stood staring down appalled, then drew back. There was nothing there, nothing. No land below, only endless space. She shivered and pushed close to the others, chastened and afraid.

Ram made an effort to right his senses, felt for his sword, gave her a confused look that turned to defiance. Then at last he grinned, seemed himself again. “Great fires of Urdd, Skeelie, what kind of trip was that? Canoldir—great flaming thunder, what is he?”

“The man out of Time, Ramad. The man you went seeking.”

“Like a whirlwind. I feel—I feel as if I’ve been trampled. Did he do all that, twist us, belt us through Time like that. Send us reeling down into this wretched place? It was never like that before. Not with all that thundering madness.

“And Skeelie—the wraith has been in this place, has traveled here.”

“Yes.” She could sense it, too. Sense that it was down there deep now, through the mountain, back through that narrow ice tunnel somewhere. She did not like to think about going in there. She felt in her tunic for flint, realized only then that she had no pack, no lantern, no mountain meat or blanket. She stared reproachfully at the leather pack slung securely across Ram’s back. “Lantern, Ram? Food? I’ve nothing. Only my weapons.”

“Why don’t you have your pack? You were dressed. You—”

“I hadn’t time. He swept me up—I’d hardly dressed!” She did not say she’d been daydreaming. “I’d left my pack in the hall.”

“Yes, all right.” He swung a lantern from out his pack, sloshed the oil to see its level in the dim light, wondered that it had not all spilled away into unfathomable Time somewhere. He struck flint. The light caught and steadied. He held the lantern up. They stared. Skeelie shivered. It was not a cave to thrill them. All jagged ice, low. Cold went to the bone. Ram turned back to the cave mouth and stood looking, then returned. “No other way but this, then.” They began to follow Fawdref, who had started ahead. Skeelie and Ram had to crouch almost at once beneath the low ceiling. The lantern light reflected wildly. The ice ceiling was cold against their backs. Soon they were cramped with the hunching, then reduced to crawling, then to wriggling on their bellies, Ram pushing his pack and the lantern ahead of him, Skeelie pushing the bows, trying not to panic. Ice burned their faces and fell inside their collars. At last they could stand again—at the lip of an icy cavern that cut deep into the earth below them.

Ice steps led down. Ram chopped at them with the tip of an arrow until they were rough enough to walk on. It was a long, steep descent, and when they reached the floor at last, they were dizzy with the glinting movement of lantern light across ice. The wolves stared into the depths of the cave, growling softly. There is something there, Ramad. Fawdref moved ahead slowly. Something—though I cannot smell it. Something besides the wraith. The sense of the wraith led them ahead in spite of the danger, following blindly the trail it had left between ice pillars. Soon the wolves began to move away from Ram and Skeelie, to disappear among the towers of ice until the two were alone. They went on alone for some time uneasily. Then Ram stopped, set the lantern down. But now, though the lantern was still, light continued to move around them, flashing and scurrying against the ice. They stood staring, weapons drawn, could see nothing but light moving as if light stalked them. As they started on again, light slipped across jutting ice ahead of diem, then was still. High on their left, the ice seemed to move. On their right, a slithering motion caught in light. Where were the wolves? Not one was in sight. Their arrows were taut in their bows, but perhaps useless, for how can you kill light?

Then ahead of them a pale mass of light slithered, then turned and took shape. A giant white lizard, its scaly body nearly invisible against the white ice, its pale eyes on them, unseeing. They watched it for some moments.

“It is blind,” Ram said at last. “Maybe it’s harmless.”

“Then why is it stalking us?” Skeelie kept her arrow taut. “I don’t think it’s so harmless.”

They could see others now. Once their eyes grew accustomed, knew what to look for among the glancing ice, they could see three, four, then at last several dozen of the white creatures surrounding them, their blind faces turned toward them, their tongues curling in and out as if they could sense them by taste. Ram moved on. Skeelie followed. The lizards moved with them. There was no sign or sense of the wolves.

The attack came suddenly, a sound like breaking glass, an immense white shape flailing down at them across cracking ice. Ram sent an arrow into its soft belly as the creature twisted. Skeelie followed. One arrow, two. Then the wolves struck all at once. The creature screamed, blood flowed red against ice. It screamed again and sought them with blind eyes and reaching claws.

The wolves finished it quickly. It lay dying. The other lizards drew back, knowing danger in spite of their blindness, slithering away against pillars of ice. Ram and Skeelie pushed on, shivering with cold, the wolves close around them now. Suddenly Ram stopped, and pointed. “There. An opening. There is fire there! Look!”

She could see it then, a small cave opening far ahead through which fire glowed. She saw a flash of flame leap then die, then leap again. They started toward it, eager for warmth.

As they neared the fiery cave, the ice underfoot grew soft and they began to slosh through rivulets of water running down to puddle at their feet. Soon enough their boots were soaked. They moved eagerly toward the warming flame, watching it leap and die, stood at last in the entrance, warming themselves. Soon their leathers grew so warm they began to steam, though Skeelie could not get her feet warm inside her soaking boots.

The cave of fire was not large, and the fire they must skirt licked out to touch the walls. The heat grew so intense they began to sweat beneath their steaming leathers. They pushed ahead, but soon drew back again, nearly wild with the heat. They stood again in the archway between the two caves, heat pushing at their faces, the cold air from the cave behind swirling up in welcome draft. Ram opened his collar, shed his tunic. “We’ll try it again, running. Make for that opening at the far side.”

But fire flared in their faces; there was the smell of burning fur, and once more they pulled back, stood in the ice cave, several wolves rolling in water to stifle the smoldering. A hank of Ram’s hair was burnt.

“If we could stick ice to ourselves . . .” Skeelie offered. “Water would make it stick to fur, maybe to leathers.”

“The lizard skin would hold it, help protect us, it was thick enough.”

They returned to find a dozen lizards eating of the flesh of their dead mate. The creatures had not touched the tough, scaly skin, so Ram and Skeelie drove them off and began to skin the creature. They cut the hide into large squares, then began to break off slabs of ice from the pillars and walls. As each wolf wet his coat in the runlets of melting ice, Ram stuck ice slabs to him, and tied on a lizard skin. When at last Ram and Skeelie were armored the same, they entered the cave of fire and passed the flame, this time with ease, stood at last in its far opening. There the night sky shone with stars. The twin moons hung thin as scythes above jagged peaks. They pulled off the skins and scraped off the ice as best they could. A meadow rolled away down to a moonlit valley and low hills. The wolves shook free of the last of the ice and flung themselves out onto the meadow, rolling, drying themselves, giddy at being free of the mountain. Soon the smell of crushed grass filled the air. Ahead, beyond the hills, rose a diffused light as if houses stood there, with lamps burning.

They crossed three hills, and at last could see below them a large cluster of strange, cone-shaped dwellings. It appeared to be a city of rough earthen cones that might have been formed during some peculiar action of the volcanoes. Holes had been cut in the cones’ sides for doors and windows, and through these, pale lamplight came. The sense of the wraith was strong, and a sense of defeat or hopelessness permeated the city.

“It is there, Skeelie. The wraith is in that place.”

She could not answer, was cold with foreboding.

“We could wait for dawn,” Ram said, watching her.

“We hadn’t better. We’ll be seen less at night.”

“If you don’t want to go, you needn’t, you know.”

“I want to go,” she said quietly. He looked at her a long time and didn’t say any more, started on.

The cobbled streets were so narrow between the rough stone cones that Ram and Skeelie, walking side by side, felt themselves forced together. The wolves pushed along the silent streets crowding them, wanting to stay close. Here and there a face looked out, silent and shadowed, or a figure stood unmoving in a lighted doorway. There was no sense of threat, but little sense of awareness, either.

Then a figure stepped out before them into the center of the street and shuffled toward them, a sour vacancy about it. Skeelie’s hand trembled on her sword. But the being was only mindless and disgusting. Ram touched its dim instincts, twisted them, and made it turn back into the doorway. It stood there shuffling. It had been a man once, but was now a creature stripped of mind and soul. Nothing else approached them. They began to look inside the doors, where greasy lamps burned low. A grainery, long empty. A cobbler’s hovel with only a few scraps of leather scattered in the dust. A dozen shops, all gone to decay, but with inner steps, not so dusty, leading up to sleeping rooms. And in some of the shops idle men stared back at them. A sweet, sticky smell pervaded the place. Ram soothed each creature they encountered, turned its mind away from them. “The wraith has made a city of slaves. It must feed on them, take their souls, then leave them alive to do the work of the city.”

“Doesn’t look like they do much work. And when it runs out of men to feed on, what then?” She turned to look at him suddenly, realizing only then the full implication of the strangeness of this land. “We are—we are in the unknown lands, Ram. Are there men in the unknown lands, then? Or did the wraith bring these people here?”

“I think—look at them, Skeelie. Touch the sense of them. I think these people are not of our countries, that they are people of the unknown lands. I think the wraith came here to them, that it took their city, simply moved in and did with them as it pleased. People we never knew about. Perhaps they did not know how to battle it, were not used to fighting, or to those who can touch their minds, Simple men.”

“Why would it come here, so far? We don’t know how far. If it wants the runestones?”

“It knew I would follow Telien, no matter how far. Maybe—it wanted people, many people perhaps, to put under its power and draw strength from. Once it learned to take the strength from a person, I suppose its power has increased quickly.”

“And we go to challenge it.” She studied him, trying to look certain of their own strengths. Feeling shaky.

They stood at last before the cone that formed the central tower, a lopsided volcanic cone laid down by fire and silt and ash, then carved by water and wind into its thick coned shape. It had been hollowed out by men long before the wraith came. They saw a balcony high up and narrow. Did a shadow move inside? They could not be sure. The sense of the wraith was now so strong Skeelie felt sick with it: the sense of its desire to conquer them; of its greed for the runestones. Yet also a sense of its fear. Perhaps, even now, it did not feel certain of its power over this angry band armed with the shards of the runestone. Torc stood with flattened ears, her lips pulled back, her hatred risen to fury. The wolves flanked her, sharing her hatred, their heads lowered and fangs bared, watching the entrance to the tower. Skeelie laid her hand on Torc’s shoulder, but did not pull the wolf to her; there was too much anger there, too much hatred. You must not kill it, Torc.

Torc turned, snarling at her. I know that, sister. I know we must release Telien. But then, once Telien is free, then I can kill the wraith. Once you and Ramad are away.

Skeelie’s fear for Torc was painful. Torc ignored it, had no fear for herself, no thought for herself save revenge.

Ram had left them, gone back into a narrow street, entered a doorway. Skeelie, watching the empty street, could not sense what he was about. He emerged at last, propelling one of the mindless men before him, a big brute of a fellow who must once have been formidable indeed. She could touch no sense of what Ram was about. Why did he block her from his thoughts? Did he plan to force the wraith to take that man’s body, to leave Telien and enter that body? It was strong enough, surely. But how make the wraith do such a thing? It would rather have Ram, a Seer. Rather have her own Seer’s skills to add to its own. Did Ram think that with the power of the runestones he could force the wraith to abandon Telien?

She could feel his concentration, his single-minded commitment, but she could not read his intention. Did he, she wondered, growing cold, mean to make a trade? Give the wraith this hostage in return for Telien, but with some bribe it could not resist?

What bribe? What bribe except—her hands shook. She stared at Ram.

Did he mean to use the one bribe the wraith could never resist? Use the milestones? Trade the runestones of Eresu, trade all of Ere then, for the life of Telien? Oh, but he would not.

She followed Ram, cold and silent inside herself, watching him and unable to sense anything from his closed, remote state as he forced the hostage toward the wraith’s door. He did not pound on the heavy planks, but simply lifted the latch and forced the door in, pushing the captive ahead of him.

But the way was blocked by a little square woman no taller than Ram’s waist. She stared up at them with a face as sour as spoiled mash. “Go away. The goddess does not see strangers.” Her coarse brown skirt and apron were none too clean, and her hair seemed not to know what a comb was. She looked them up and down, looked disgusted at the crowding wolves, then began to push against the door in an effort to close it. Ram held it back with a light touch, watched her with amusement. She glowered. “Go away, I said! The goddess sees no one! She does not want strangers here.”

“She will see us,” Ram said. “The goddess will see us.” He stepped forward, propelling the prisoner, but the little woman held her ground. Behind her, in a dim sunken room, dozens of servants were working at an odd assortment of tasks, all crowded together among tables and benches and baskets with little order, seeming to be always in each other’s way. Their talk had died, but now began to rise again.

“The goddess Telien will see us,” Ram repeated, and had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s startled look, at the mention of Telien’s name. “If she does not see us, we will turn her magic to ashes, and you as well, old woman.” He pointed a finger at her nose. “If we do not see the goddess, you will be swept like dust, old woman, in the winds I will call forth to destroy your goddess!”

The little woman scurried away so fast that both Ram and Skeelie grinned. They watched her run almost agilely up a narrow stair carved into the stone wall. Then they stood looking down with curiosity upon the seething activity in the workroom, where folk scraped vegetables, mended furniture, butchered a sheep, kneaded bread, all side by side in a confused huddle. It seemed that all the tasks of this rough castle were performed in this one room—and performed mostly at night. Was night the natural time of waking, here in this land? The smells of paint and fresh-sawed wood and warm blood mixed with the smell of baking bread. On the rough walls, one could see pick marks where the soft stone had been carved away. But the walls were carved with other things, too, with the images of figures.

“Let’s have a look,” Ram said, and led her down the few steps to the main room. The wolves remained behind guarding the hunched, still figure that once had been a man.

There were goddesses carved into the walls. Tall, beautiful women carved into the stone; but with the taint of evil about them. Farther back in the room they ceased to be beautiful and became goddesses of lust in poses that made Skeelie blush. And in the shadows at the back of the room, there were goddesses sacrificing tortured men in savage ceremonies. Skeelie and Ram avoided looking at each other. Around them, the servants worked unheeding. Skeelie could smell rotting vegetables, rancid oil. They stepped over tools left lying where they had been dropped. As they circled the room, the carved images grew so disturbing that Skeelie wanted to turn away from them, yet could not turn away from their twisted ugliness. And each depraved image had the face of Telien.

Ram turned away at last, ashen. Skeelie could do nothing to comfort him, nothing to soften the ugliness.

The stumpy woman returned and, without speaking, led them across the littered floor, through sawdust and food trimmings, to the stair and up it. A narrow, steep stair unprotected by any railing. Skeelie felt she was climbing the side of the wall like a fly. The wolves came behind, pushing the prisoner along between them. The sense of the wraith there above, the sense of impending danger increased as the little band climbed up the side of the cavernous room. Skeelie wanted to turn and pelt down the stairs, did not want to face what could happen here. She shielded her thoughts from Ram, or hoped she was shielding them, forcing herself to climb, staring above her at Ram’s rigid leather-clad back.