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

And she thought of Ram, now, with joy. No matter the future, her life was remade with Ram’s. How could you know someone so short a time yet feel you had belonged together forever? She spoke his name into the night like a litany, “Ram. Ramad of wolves.” An immensity of space seemed to surround Ram, the very air around him to break into fragments that revealed a world beyond, revealed wonders and freedom she could hardly imagine. The freedom of Carriol was a part of it, but more than that: a freedom of spirit such as she had never known. There would be no lies with Ram. If there was pain and danger, they would know these things together. She would accept pain gladly now, so that Ram should not bear it alone.

*

In the hills south of Kubal, most of Jerthon’s battalion slept soundly, their heads couched on saddles, their bows and swords close beside them—colder companions than women but sometimes steadier. Jerthon, riding guard, saw the signal fire first. It flared three times, then twice, then three. Ram’s signal. Jerthon and the other three who rode guard woke the battalion to saddle up, then all sat their fidgeting horses waiting to see what would come down out of the hills. Maybe Ram. Maybe something else. The journey through Folkstone had been strange, with dark, unsettling winds and a heavy blackness sweeping the stars above them, then gone; and something unseen running through the woods jibbering so the horses were strung tight with fear.

They waited in silence, the horses restive. The night wind had stilled and the cold increased. At last they could make out a rider moving down toward them, then another, finally could see three riders. And then Emern’s voice came suddenly, Emern who had been captive of the Kubalese; Emern’s voice light and questioning on the cold night air. “Captain? Is it Jerthon?”

“Yes! Great Eresu, man, where have you come from? Who rides with you?”

“Cald and Lorden, Captain!”

They rode down fast, their horses sliding and blowing. The three men leaped from their saddles to be embraced by their fellows and by Jerthon. “Shadows of Urdd!” Jerthon bellowed, “How did you get free? Where are the rest?”

He had the story quickly and with confusion from the three of them, how Ram had come captive into Kubal, how the stallion of Eresu had killed AgWurt. Ram had then ridden off into the mountains and the rest of the captives headed straight for Blackcob. The elation among Jerthon’s troops was as wild as if foxes danced, and a jug was passed, then soon enough the battalion was heading for home double-time across the night hills; and all of them knowing they would meet their comrades and brothers and wives safe in Carriol. They rode hard and forded the Urobb near dawn to come onto Carriol land, the narrow valley that marked her western border.

Strange that no herd animals could be seen, for the herds grazed heavily here. At the first farmhouse they found all the animals crowded into barn and sheds, gates locked. They approached the house, saw it was shuttered and bolted.

Jerthon dismounted and approached the door, bow drawn. A tiny opening in the door was bared, a face looked out, and then the door was thrown open and Jerthon could see the farmer’s family inside blinking in the sudden light like a bunch of owls; and they had nine young colts in there with them corralled between cots and table. He stood staring in, wondering if the whole tribe had gone mad. Old Midden Herm, the patriarch, said gruffly, “Something came here, Captain. Something dark and wild is come down out of the sky.”

Jerthon stared at Midden. “Out of the sky?”

“Yes, Seer. Out of the sky. Something dark and huge as the clouds and so fast you never see it. It is there and gone, and the animals lay stripped of flesh where they stood.” He led Jerthon out and showed him five horses’ skeletons stripped clean, scattered on the turf. “You see the darkness come, the wind goes wild, you see the dark that is its shadow maybe. It is all screaming wind, then it is gone and the horses are like that.” Midden stood staring sickly at the scattered bones. “Like that, Seers. Our animals—our poor animals.”

Jerthon put his arm around the old man. He had worked so hard with the breeding, had taken such care with the selection of a stallion, with the nurturing of the mares and the careful, gentle training of the colts. He felt the old man’s sickness as his own at this mindless destruction.

Mindless? Was it mindless?

“And the dark—the thing of dark moves eastward, Seer. Toward the ruins.”

Jerthon and his troops rode fast then to the east, pounding hard across the early morning hills, arrived on sweating, blowing horses to find the town shuttered and bolted just as Midden’s farm had been. Every house and shop closed tight. No animal to be seen, no person.

He stared up at the citadel and saw that the portals had been covered with the slabs of stone that slid across from within.

*

The council and the townsfolk all had gathered in the citadel, sealed the portals, had chambered the horses and cattle in the lower caves and sealed these portals, too, as the invisible dark murmured and swept round the tower.

At last the council drew together and began to make its way down stone flights toward the main portal that led to the town. Skeelie stared at Drudd’s broad back where he marched before her and thought she had never been this afraid, even in Burgdeeth. Behind her, behind Pol and the others, the people of Carriol crowded down the stairs too, all of them armed. And in front of Skeelie, Tayba held the runestone. Their minds—their every strength—were linked to it to create one power against the dark; and beyond the portals as they descended, the dark creature screamed out is fury, and it descended too, its great maw lusting after flesh. At the far end of the deserted town, Jerthon and his battalion came silently, walking their sweating, spent horses in between the farthest cottages.

And neither group of Seers touched the thoughts of the other, each blinded in silence by the dark; and the dark increased until morning was as night. And creatures began to be born from the dark, horned, slithering creatures that swept the blackened sky with leathery wings then descended without sound onto the thatched rooftops and began to creep in silence down the stone walls.

In the portal, the runestone glowed in Tayba’s hands as the Seers’ powers gathered, as slowly they tried to force the creature of dark back, to force half-seen monsters back and back into darkness; but still the dark advanced: their powers were not enough.

Without, the dark creatures lurched and faded, became winds raging. Became, then, a part of the sea, so waves lashed in fury upon the tower seeking to break it away. The sea pounded in tidal humpings against the lower caves, and they filled with rushing water then drained, then filled again and the frantic cattle and horses swam in the cave blindly and in terror, and the weakest among them drowned.

The runestone shone with the power of the Seers as Tayba held it high, battling the wind and the raging sea, battling the dark with every fiber she possessed. Then as Jerthon came closer, the dark swept down in the form of a huge bird-monster, silently above him, changeable as wind, brother to wind, and clawed, with great beak reaching; he did not sense it; it dropped low over Jerthon’s band and followed them, invisible to them, as the battalion came through the narrow streets in darkness knowing there was danger but blinded to its source, every man’s weapon drawn. The sweating horses cowed in fear as unseen creatures shadowed them and crouched waiting among houses and shops.

Tayba saw Jerthon come, a sudden glimpse, tried to cry out to him and could not, tried to run through the streets to him and couldn’t move, was held as if she were stone, and her voice would not come in her throat.