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

She felt the silent laughter then, stood staring around her, frowning. Then she started toward that presence with sharp, unspoken challenge.

It laughed silently at her wariness, its voice exploding in her mind. You need not be wary of me, sister. A pale, huge wolf showed itself suddenly against dark boulders. But it moved into darkness again without seeming to move, was cloaked in shadows. Was it a wolf? Certainly no common wolf. Her pulse pounded. No common wolf could speak to her in silence. Were the great wolves here? Fawdref’s band? Was Ram here, traveling with the wolves who were his brothers? Tense with excitement, she reached out in silent speech, hoping, praying, this wolf band had to do with Ram. Do you come from Ramad?

I come alone, without Ram’s bidding, sister. Though he would have me here if he knew. We are far from Ramad. Far in years, sister. Far in generations. I followed you in the caves, you sensed me there. Then 1 followed you in Time. I was alone in the caves when I knew you wandered there. I was alone there with a sadness. The wolf closed her mind without revealing more and slipped once again into the moonlight where Skeelie could see her deep golden coat, her wise, ageless face, the broad forehead of the great wolves, the darker stripe running from forehead to nose between wide-set golden eyes, the great breadth of shoulder. A huge wolf, carrying herself with pride and wisdom. She lifted her head to stare across at the campfire, then pulled back into shadow with, it seemed to Skeelie, more of humor than of fear as Gravan rose to stand silhouetted against the fire, his bow drawn. Your friend has seen me, sister. He would protect his herd. Her laughter was silent and gentle. Skeelie stepped toward Gravan, past where the wolf stood hidden.

“Slack your bow, Gravan.”

But the man stood frozen, staring at the boulders waiting for the wolf to attack. The sense of him was not of fear, but only of protectiveness for his herd. Could this man, raised all his life in the protecting of the herds, stay his hand against one he thought a predator?

“This wolf will not harm your goats, Gravan.”

Did Gravan know what the great wolves were? Had he ever heard of them?

The goats themselves, those battle-wise, wary bucks, had made no move of alarm. Skeelie could see three bucks standing calmly, gazing unafraid toward where the wolf stood hiding in shadow. Gravan stepped forward meaning to seek the wolf out. Skeelie raised her bow. “Lay it down, Gravan! Lay down your bow!”

Slowly he lowered his bow, watching her. When he had laid his bow aside, the wolf came out and stood crowding close to Skeelie, the great broad head pushing against Skeelie’s waist. Skeelie spoke to her in silence. How are you called? Where have you come from? Was it—was it you who opened the warp of Time for me? Both Skeelie and the wolf watched the herder, who stood unmoving, utterly engrossed with the sight of the huge wolf that seemed as tame as a pup. Then the wolf looked up at Skeelie, her eyes appraising.

You are very full of questions, sister. I am Torc. I moved through Time when you did, but for my own reasons. I can control Time no more than you can. In that cave were talismans, things of power that helped us. The rune. The limited powers of Cadach. Things of which you did not know. You did not know that by your very presence, by your terrible wanting and searching, you made those talismans more powerful. You did not understand Cadach’s words about the accident of your birth.

And you? Did you understand them?

I am not sure, sister. I will think on it awhile.

Skeelie knelt, laid her head against Torc’s warm shoulder, nearly weeping with the pleasure of the wolf’s closeness. She felt like a child again, hugging another bitch wolf, pressing her face into the bitch’s thick coat, feeling her love and power. Torc licked her arm, then raised her head. Skeelie could feel her sudden wariness, and she grew quiet too. What is it, Torc? What do you sense? Not the herder. He is harmless.

There was another presence, sister, when you first went to the river. Did you not sense it when you stood beside the river? An evil presence—but perhaps it now is gone.

Skeelie felt every sense grow taut with questioning, but could feel nothing. There was something, Torc. I cannot sense it now. What was it?

I do not know how to call it. A dark shadow. It is the shadow I have followed, it is what brought me here. I must study it, sister, before I can know what it is. I do not like studying it. It sickens me.

Skeelie stood up, glanced at Gravan who still stood frozen, staring at Torc. The moons, risen higher, cast their light across his lined face. He began to limp toward them. Skeelie tensed, for though he had laid aside his bow, surely he had a knife. She felt Torc’s amusement. I could kill him with one quick slash, sister. But he means no harm. Skeelie saw that Gravan’s face was filled with wonder now. She reached to touch his thoughts, felt his awe; his voice was filled with awe. “She is no common wolf, lady.”

She hardly paused, but lied smoothly. “No, Gravan, she is not. She is quite unlike her wild brothers. I found her on the mountain and raised her from a cub.” Why did she feel it necessary to be so secretive about Torc’s true nature? Yet the fewer who knew what Torc was, and so what she herself must be, the safer they would remain. Only a Seer could speak with the great wolves.

“ You trained her? A wolf from the mountains? But she is so big. She is not . . .”

“I found her orphaned. I fed her as the herb woman bid me, to make her grow large. I trained her just as I have trained horses. Folk tell me I have a gift for such, for training the dumb brutes.”

She felt Torc’s silent laughter.

Gravan stared at her only half-believing, then settled once more by the fire, content, it seemed, to let her words lie. He said nothing more for a long time, then at last he drew his knife and began to slice meat from the roasting haunch and lay it on thick pieces of bread. She was ravenous, found the meat tender and juicy, and did not talk for some time—though she spoke in silence to Torc. Where are we Torc? Into what time have we come?

I do not know, sister. Nor do I care. I only follow the shadow.

But you gave me visions, back there by the river. As if you—

Visions that came to me, sister. I cannot say why. Some linking, something here that has to do with the powers you and Ramad have touched. Visions that came because of that power. But nebulous, sister, she said, feeling Skeelie’s rising excitement. Ramad is not here, nor does he come here, that I can surely sense. I do not know in what time we are. You must learn that from the herder.

Skeelie accepted another slice of bread heaped with deer meat, then began to reach into Gravan’s mind. She did not receive at once any sense of time, for his thoughts were filled with the knowledge of goats, more knowledge than she wanted. Finally she began to touch on Gravan’s childhood. He had come to these mountains when he was very young, she could see the child’s vision of his family and the Cherban tribe making their first rude camp. Yet something more interesting lay at the edges of his mind„ something shadowed, half-forgotten. Something she could not sort out unless he were to bring it directly to his own attention. Something to do with darkness, with Seers. Some old bitterness, a tribal bitterness that lay half-buried.

“Your people settled Dunoon, Gravan?”

“Yes, lady.”

“And where did they come from? Why did they come to this spot?”

“Oh, from the Bay of Pelli, lady. From the marsh country.”