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

Ram hardly heard her; he had taken Telien from Skeelie and now held her close. Telien clung to him weeping, her hands gripping his arm as if she were afraid he would disappear, or that she would again be torn from him. Skeelie was filled with pain, with empathy for them both. The broken man that was now the wraith lay unconscious, bleeding badly. Skeelie stared at it, knew if it awoke it could yet possess Ram.

Get them out of here, sister. Turn the servants out, get Ramad and Telien from this place.

Skeelie knelt to hug Torc, then left her, grabbed Ram’s arm and began to pull him and Telien toward the stair.

When you are gone from this place, when everyone is away, I will kill it. Or I will wait for it to die from the wounds of Ramad’s sword and from thirst. I will not leave this place, sister, until the soul of the wraith, with no other body to enter, fades and dies. It is weakened now from battle, it must have a body near, or it will fade—to nothing, sister! To nothing!

*

By the time dawn lit the city of cones, the wraith’s hall was vacant. The simple folk were streaming obediently away, out through the city to take refuge in the surrounding hills until they could return to their homes. Already the domination of the wraith had begun to lift, and it seemed to Ram and Skeelie that the folk would return to their own natures unharmed.

Ram carried Telien. They left the folk of the city of cones at the foothills and began to climb the first ridge, rocky and steep. Telien weighed no more than a child. There were no trails in this wild land. They ascended jagged rock shoulders until they stood at last high above the wraith’s city on the crest of a range that looked not over the countries they knew, but over land completely unknown to any of their own peoples. They were tired nearly beyond bearing, and once over the mountain’s high ridge and a bit down the northwest side, they found a sheltered grassy place tucked between boulders where they could sleep. They rested until the noon sun, lifting over the ridge, woke them.

They took a light meal of mawzee cakes and mountain meat, though Telien ate only a few bites. She was very weak and pale, shivering even in the warm cloak Ram had found for her in the wraith’s hall and she remained silent. It was as if the effort to speak, or even to gather her thoughts, was too great. They started down the mountain at last, Ram tense with worry over Telien, carrying her most of the way. Below them lay a deep valley, green and dotted with lakes and spanned down its length by a river. The scent of green came up to them, a scent of wildness that made the wolves raise their faces to the wind, then go melting off down the mountain far ahead of them, heads up, seeking out over the new land. There were trees here none of them had ever seen, unfamiliar plants. They had no idea how far into the unknown lands they had been cast.

They reached the valley at dusk, Telien asleep against Ram’s shoulder. There was no sign of people, and the returning wolves brought no word of any. The land is empty, Ramad, Fawdref told him quietly. Empty as far as we ranged. The wolves had come streaming back drunk with new scents and bringing game such as Ram and Skeelie had never seen: a small red deer no bigger than the wolves themselves; a fat fowl larger than a chidrack, gray and long-necked, with a crest to its head like a great fan.

They found an outcropping of granite that formed a shallow cave. Ram laid Telien inside and covered her with his blanket, then built a fire. Skeelie thought with longing of the blankets and food they had in their haste left behind in the cone tower, snatching up only the cloak for Telien; then thought of Torc alone there and went silent with worry. Rhymannie came to press against her, knowing her fears; knowing Skeelie could not understand why none of the wolves had remained with Torc, why they had left her so very alone. As she wanted to be, Rhymannie said. As any of us would want. It is different with wolves, perhaps. Alone with the thing you have to do. Or perhaps not so different. But, sister, Torc will come to us in her own time.

“If she comes at all,” Skeelie said, turning her face away. She rose and went out of the cave to stand on a little rise, looking out at the darkening valley.

When she returned to the shelter, Telien lay with her face turned to the inner wall of overhanging rock, her breathing shallow and fast, her skin clammy. Ram knelt beside her holding the waterskin, but Telien refused to drink. The pain on Ram’s face was terrible. Skeelie knew that even had she herbs she was not sure what she might have attempted to use, so alien was Telien’s sickness. When Telien opened her eyes at last, to stare up at Ram, she did not know him. He took her hand, but she drew away, wincing. Gently, Ram began to feel into her mind. Skeelie followed and was shocked at her sinking, empty weakness, at the feeling inside Telien as if she were falling down into blackness and could not stop. “Where is Ram?” Telien whispered. “Ram has not left me?”

“I am here, Telien. I am holding you.”

Telien stared up at him, her green eyes dull with the inner sickness, with the knowledge that rose within her of her own wasting.

Ram slept close to Telien that night, warming her, the wolves all around warming her as well, for she complained of cold that cut deep into her bones. Skeelie lay stretched out at the edge of the shelter as far from Ram and Telien as she could manage, so painful was it to see the two of them torn apart, to see Ram hurting, and she unable to help either of them. She tried to give Telien strength with her own powers, but the sinking, falling sensation that gripped Telien all but defeated her. If she gave Telien anything at all, she feared it was not enough.

Dawn came sharp with a cool wind. Skeelie sat up and looked back into the cave where all lay still asleep. We will go on this morning, she thought. The three of us and the wolves. Then when Telien is better, I will turn back, find my way back—home. Home? And where is that?

Where would home be now, for her? Now that Ram had Telien?

A place out of Time, perhaps. A place with Canoldir, if he still wanted her.

She turned to look back into the shelter, feeling uneasy suddenly, feeling something very out of place. Ram and Telien lay as before, close but not touching, Ram’s arm thrown over his face as he was wont to sleep when he was exhausted or very worried. As she watched, the wolves stirred, and Fawdref rose suddenly to look across at her, his golden eyes dark with grief. She saw Ram wake from sleep and pull Telien closer, looking down at her. Saw him go pale, touch Telien’s cheek. Then he pressed his face into Telien’s lifeless shoulder, and clutched her to him so her arm dragged limp across the blanket.

He remained that way until the sun came bright. He might have remained that way much longer, wanting to die there with her, had not Fawdref nosed him up at last and made him rise and turn away from her. Ram’s face was twisted and unnatural with his pain. Skeelie could not speak or look at him.

*

They buried her high on an alpine meadow, in a grave that could look out over lands no man of Ere had ever seen. Ram would have buried the starfire with her, which they had found folded into her gown—for luck, for safe travel, or in some wild pagan notion that it might carry her back through Time and make her live again. But at Skeelie’s look, he knew that he must take it. It was the core of the runestone; without it, though he might someday find and bring together all the other shards, the runestone would lie incomplete. She will travel far without it, Ramad, Fawdref told him. She will know other lives.

“How can you be sure! Our lives will never touch again!”