The Shattered Stone Page 7

  “You’re going?” said Harnac.

  “Yes.”

  “But if you want to save the girl, why don’t you let her drink first?”

  “How can we? We have no water.”

  “Why do you need water? There is a doranc.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know how to get drink from a doranc? Carry her over there.”

  Puzzled, Ivo picked Neva up. Her eyes opened.

  “Ivo, you mustn’t …” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Ssh,” he said and carried her to where Harnac was waiting next to the tall, thorny plant.

  “Golka took my spear point,” said Harnac. “Give me your weapon.”

  Ivo hesitated.

  “Here, take mine,” said Liall, who had followed them. He drew his sword and gave it to him. Harnac thrust it into the thickest part of the doranc, then took a short length of hollow reed from inside his robe and pushed it into the hole.

  “Drink,” he said.

  Neva had been watching, and when Ivo set her down she put her mouth to the end of the reed and sucked, tentatively at first and then eagerly.

  “Then there is water here?” said Liall.

  “The doranc only grows where there is water,” said Harnac. “It is deep under the sand, too deep to dig, but the roots find it.”

  Finally, with a sigh, Neva took her mouth from the reed.

  “Is there more there?” asked Ivo.

  She nodded.

  “Go ahead, Liall.”

  He watched as Liall drank, then bent over the reed himself and drew on it. The water the plant had stored was warm and rather sweet, but it tasted as delicious to him as the clearest spring water. When he had had enough, he straightened up.

  “Thank you, Harnac,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re grateful to you,” said Neva.

  “I don’t know what that means either,” said Harnac. “What will you do now?”

  “Go on to the west,” said Ivo. “And you?”

  “I will wait here to die.”

  “Why must you die?” asked Liall.

  “I have no spear. How will I get food or protect myself?”

  “Can’t you make another spear?” asked Ivo.

  “The stones for the points come from the hills to the west. And since I have no food I would die before I could get there and back again.”

  “How far is it to the hills?”

  “A day’s journey. But I have not eaten for several days now.”

  Ivo exchanged glances with Neva and Liall.

  “We are going to the hills,” he said. “Why don’t you come with us? We have food, and we will protect you.”

  “You will give me food? Why?”

  “I told you why twice,” said Ivo. “We do not believe in killing, and we do believe in helping others when we can.”

  “Even though I tried to kill you?”

  “In the end, you helped us,” said Liall. “You showed us how to get water from the doranc. Will you come?”

  “I have never heard of people like you,” said Harnac. “It has always been said that those who live to the north and south of Morven hate everyone, one another even more than us. But if you mean it, I will come.”

  “Good,” said Ivo. He looked west to where the sun was about to set and then at Neva. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Much better,” she said. “If I can rest for a while, I’ll be ready to go on.”

  “Then I think we should eat now and then go.”

  “At night?”

  “If you do not need to hunt for food, that is the best time to travel,” said Harnac. “It is not so hot and the others will not see us.”

  “You think they will attack us?” asked Liall.

  “Not if we are all together and they know that you have weapons.”

  “We not only have them but if we need to use them, we will,” said Ivo.

  They ate there by the doranc, sharing their faring-bread with Harnac. Though he praised it, saying it was as good food as he had ever eaten and though he was clearly very hungry, he ate very little of it. Then they all drank from the doranc again and, as it became dark, they set off.

  Harnac led the way, guiding himself by the stars. He set a fast pace—Ivo was afraid it was too fast for Neva—but she insisted that it was not and so they pressed on over the sand that gleamed white in the faint light of the stars.

  They rested once at about midnight, then went on again. And when the sun rose, they saw the Wendery Hills ahead of them.

  The hills were still some distance off, dark against the sky. Though they were all tired, now that the end of their journey was in sight, they decided to press on. And by midmorning they had left the sandy waste behind them and were on the rocky but green slopes that led up to the hills.

  Chapter 8

  The sound of running water led them up the rocky slope to the banks of a rushing stream. They were no longer desperately thirsty, but the memory of what they had been through was still so vivid that Neva, Ivo and Liall knelt beside it and drank. The water, coming from somewhere high in the hills, was clear and very cold.

  “Is that water?” asked Harnac.

  “Yes, of course,” said Ivo. “Why?”

  “I have never seen so much of it. Where does it come from, and where does it go?”

  “It comes from up there,” said Liall. “And since it goes north from here it probably ends up in the sea.”

  Harnac knelt and drank also, somewhat cautiously at first.

  “It’s good,” he said. “Better than the water in the doranc.”

  “You’ve never been here before?” asked Neva.

  “No.”

  “Then where did you get the flint for your spear?”

  “From my father, who got it from his father,” said Harnac. “My drinking reed I got myself where we all get them: from a foul-smelling green place over there.” And he nodded towards the south.

  “There is a marsh there near the edge of the desert,” said Liall. “Where will you get your flint?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s try up there,” said Ivo.

  They went farther up the slope and found a ledge that had many flints in it, some still embedded in the softer rock, some lying loose on the ground. While Harnac searched for one of suitable size and shape, Ivo went to a small copse of ash and cut down a stout, straight sapling, trimming it and notching the end with his sword.

  “Here,” he said, giving it to Harnac.

  Harnac glanced at him, then took it and fitted a sharp, flat flint into the notch, tying it in place with strips of dried lizard skin.

  “It is a good spear,” he said, trying its balance. “Better than my old one.”

  “You are going now?” asked Neva.

  “Yes,” he said. “I know how to live in the desert, where to find food and water. I would not know how to live here.”

  He looked at them each in turn, his eyes speculative and a little puzzled. Then, shrugging, he turned and went back down the slope towards the desert.

  “A strange man,” said Liall.

  “A strange people,” said Neva. “At one time I would have said evil. But now, considering where and how they live and who lives on either side of them, I don’t know.”

  “We in Andor are not evil,” said Liall.

  “You hate no one?” asked Neva.

  “I can’t say I like those in Brunn.”

  “And the others in your country hate them,” said Neva. “And those in Brunn hate you enough to kill you on sight. Surrounded by this and living as they do, is it any wonder that the Hiltis are what they are?”

  “Perhaps not,” said Liall thoughtfully. Then to Ivo who was hunting among the flints that were lying near the ledge, “What are you looking for?”

  “A striking stone. When we get up into the hills, we’ll need a fire.”

  He found one he liked, put it in the pouch on his belt, and
then they went on up the slope towards the hills, following the stream.

  They climbed steadily all day, over scree slopes and through narrow valleys, towards Tarec, the tallest of the peaks that towered above them to the west. By dusk they were in a rocky pass high in the hills. The stream was only a rill now and finding a shallow cave that would give them some protection from the wind, they decided to spend the night there. As Ivo had expected, it was much colder in the hills than on the desert, and while Neva and Liall gathered wood, he used the flint he had picked up and the blade of his sword to strike sparks into a handful of dry moss. He fed the flames with small twigs, and when Neva and Liall returned with wood, he added that carefully until they had a roaring fire.

  “This bread is good,” said Liall as they took some of the flat cakes from their baskets. “But I wish we had something hot to go with it.”

  “It may be that we have,” said Neva.

  Digging down to the bottom of her basket, she took out a packet of dried herbs and an earthenware pot, which she filled with water from the rill and set on the fire. When the water boiled, she sprinkled some of the herbs into it. An aromatic smell filled the cave, and when they drank the infusion, they found that it not only warmed and cheered them but lessened their fatigue.

  Partially covering the fire with earth so that it would burn all night, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept. They had reason to be glad that they had found the cave to sleep in, for shortly before dawn a violent storm broke. It began with wind that whistled through the pass, making the fire leap and flicker. Then lightning flashed and thunder roared and the rain came down in sheets, turning the rill into a raging torrent. They had brought wood into the cave with them, and they built up the fire and brewed more of the herb tea to have with the faring-bread when they broke their fast. Though it was violent, the storm did not last long, and when it was over they slung their baskets and started on again.

  The pass took them to the foot of Tarec but at this point there was no way up it for it rose sheer in a rock wall. They went south along the base of the cliff, looking for a place where they could climb it. As they picked their way over the rough ground and between the large rocks that lay at the foot of the cliff, they heard a strange sound that was half screech and half squawk. Something moved near the cliff face and when they approached it they saw that it was an eaglet, too young to fly. It glared at them, flapping its dark wings, as they drew near it, but otherwise it did not move.

  “It must have fallen from its nest or been blown from it in the storm,” said Ivo.

  “Yes,” said Liall. “There it is.” And he pointed to a ledge about a hundred feet up the cliff where they could see a tangle of sticks.

  “What are we going to do about it?” asked Neva.

  “Why must we do anything?” asked Ivo.

  “We can’t leave it here. It will die or be killed. Couldn’t you put it back into its nest?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ivo, looking at the sheer face of the cliff. “I can climb a tree, but I don’t see how anyone can climb that.”

  “There’s a chimney,” said Liall, nodding to a crack that ran up the face of the cliff, passing close to the ledge. “I think I might be able to get up that.”

  “Will you try?” asked Neva.

  “If it would please you, yes,” he said smiling.

  Taking off her cloak, Neva talked softly and soothingly to the bird, then threw the cloak over it. She picked it up, wrapping it carefully in the cloak, and held it while Liall took off his cloak also. He put the bird inside his tunic, then edged sideways into the crack and began working his way up, pressing his feet against one side of the cleft and his back against the other. When he was some sixty or seventy feet up, the crack narrowed and he turned to face the cliff and continued on, finding foot- and handholds on the inside surfaces of the crack.

  He paused when he was slightly above the ledge, leaning out to see how he could get on to it from the crack. As he did, a shadow fell on him, and looking up Neva and Ivo saw a dark shape diving down on him from high above. It was the male eagle, enraged at what he took to be an assault on the nest. Down he came, the wind whistling through his plumage, talons extended.

  Then, as he was about to strike, Neva screamed. It was not an expression of fear, but the kind of scream the eagle might have uttered himself in calling to his mate. The huge bird, wings spread wide, veered away from Liall and began circling overhead. Neva looked up at him and though she did not make another sound, Ivo sensed that she was speaking to him. He made another circle, then landed on the ledge and waited there, his fierce, curved beak slightly open.

  “It’s all right, Liall,” called Neva. “I told him what you were doing. He won’t hurt you.”

  Liall, who had flattened himself against the cliff, looked down at her and then at the eagle.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said. She looked up at the eagle, and he moved off slightly to the far side of the nest.

  Tentatively, eyes on the bird, Liall stepped on to the ledge. Reaching into the breast of his tunic, he took out the cloak, unfolded it and put the eaglet into the nest. The young bird flapped its wings and screeched again, and the large male bent down as if to quiet it and also make sure that it was unhurt.

  Tucking Neva’s cloak into his tunic, Liall stepped back into the crack and began to make his way back down again.

  “How did you do that?” asked Ivo.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I just knew I could talk to him, and I did.”

  “And you don’t know where or how you learned to do it?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder if I can do it, too.”

  “Somehow I don’t think so.”

  By this time Liall had reached the base of the cliff.

  “Thank you,” he said, giving Neva back her cloak.

  “I’m sorry you had a bad moment there,” she said.

  “Not one. Several.” He waited, watching Neva as she stood there looking up at the eagle. “What is he saying now?”

  “He told me his name. It’s Akala. And he thanks us.”

  “Ask him how we can get to the top of Tarec,” said Ivo.

  “I did. And he said the best way is just ahead of us, a little farther to the south. But he doesn’t think we should go up there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s something dangerous there.”

  “Did he say what?”

  “No. He just said it’s large and fierce.”

  “Then the tales that are told about Tarec are true,” said Liall.

  “What tales?” asked Neva.

  “That it is not only a sacred mountain, forbidden, but that there is a watcher there, guarding the summit.”

  “But we’ve got to go up,” said Ivo.

  “I told him that,” said Neva. “And he said he’d go with us and if he can help us he will.”

  “Interesting,” said Liall, picking up his basket. “He’s a bird, not a man, but he knows the meaning of the words thanks and help when Harnac didn’t.”

  They set off again along the base of the cliff, and as they moved, Akala flapped his wings and began circling again, flying higher and higher until he was just a dark dot in the clear blue sky. They soon came to the place he meant: a fault or break in the cliff. They went into it and found that though the rock here was steep and covered with fragments, they could make their way up it. The climbing was difficult and slow, for the scree slid under their feet, but they struggled on and when they finally came out of the fault they were above the cliff and could see the top of Tarec ahead of them.

  They stood there for a moment, looking up, and Liall shivered.

  “Can you feel it?” he asked.

  “I can feel the wind,” said Ivo. “A cold, biting wind.”

  “It’s not just the wind,” said Neva. “There’s something else here—something that does not want us to go any f
arther.”

  “But we must,” said Ivo. “If Liall is right and we do not, we will not only be abandoning our quest but losing a chance to lift the spell that was put on us.”

  “I did not say we should not go on,” said Liall. “I just think, though the way is clear, that it will not be easy.”

  “Has any part of it been easy so far?” asked Ivo.

  “No,” said Liall. “Forward then.” And pulling their cloaks more closely about them, they started up the slope. The wind tore at them, holding them back, and now Ivo began to feel what Neva and Liall had sensed: some inimical force that bore down on them, making every plodding step an effort; something chill and inhuman that worked not only on their bodies but on their spirits, saying, “Who are you to dare this climb? Think you that your quest—any of your aspirations—has any real meaning? There is nothing here—nothing anywhere. There is no future as there is no past. Life is as unsubstantial as the morning mist and nothing endures.”

  Several times Ivo was on the point of giving up. Why should they struggle this way? Even if their quest was successful, would it have any significance in the great scale of things? And if they were nothing, then why should it matter that they did not know who they were?

  Looking at Neva and Liall, he knew that they felt as he did but still they went on, teeth clenched, something inside them burning like a carefully shielded candle flame, making them fight their way up the barren slope.

  It took them most of the morning to reach a rock wall that rose almost vertically to Tarec’s peak. Then the wind died. They were no longer oppressed by the force that had been holding them back. There was silence except for their labored breathing.

  This last pitch was so steep that they had to help one another up it. When they were just below the top, Ivo said, “Wait here.”

  “Why?” asked Liall.

  “You said yourself that there was something there-something dangerous—and so did Akala.”

  “All the more reason why I should come, too.”

  “Very well. But not you, Neva. Wait until we call you.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. Drawing their swords, Ivo and Liall climbed the last few feet and found themselves on a plateau that was several hundred yards across. It was dotted with large, weathered rocks as the slopes below had been, but in the center was one that looked as if it had been worked by man; a smooth black stone that was lying on the ground.