Ширли Мерфи - The Shattered Stone [calibre]

Elodia was at the beginning of the line. And the thin, bent figure of Tra. Thorzen was there in back, carrying little Bibb over her shoulder as if the baby had gone to sleep during the ceremony. Zephy wondered again if she should be so sure about a child yet unable to speak. It was lucky, she thought, that half the men of Burgdeeth would ride guard this night, and among them Tr. Thorzen and Tr. Dreeb—she had winnowed that information out of Shanner who, though curious, had talked freely enough. Shanner! she thought, and a pang touched her. What would happen to him this night in the attack? He rode front guard in the Burgdeeth Horse. Shanner could help me, she thought for the second time. If I’d asked him, somehow he could. But she would not have dared to ask him. And he would never have believed her, anyway; not about what Kearb-Mattus planned for the Children of Ynell; not about how he had stolen them. He would only laugh, in spite of his hate for Kearb-Mattus, and say she was imagining things. And he would never believe about Anchorstar or the stone; surely not that she was a Child of Ynell; nor about the wonder of the vision she had seen.

Where was Kearb-Mattus now? The Kubalese never came to Temple. What was he doing, had he slipped out of Burgdeeth to join the Kubalese army? Or was he lying in wait, to create havoc when the time came? She moved forward, received her taper, felt shaken with guilt for her thoughts, and followed the line down the steps.

Ahead, the moons touched the statue just behind the Luff’Eresi’s wings. The blowing, moonlit clouds were pale as silk. All their lives she and Meatha had walked this procession together, carrying their lit torches side by side. All their lives they had watched the sky, but on this night most of all, for sight of the Luff’Eresi or the Horses of Eresu, moving on the moon-washed clouds. And they had thrilled beyond speaking when dark winged shapes did move there, silent on the winds, looking down on Fire Scourge.

The marching line of guttering torches wound beneath the statue’s raised hooves, then moved away toward the cut whitebarley field that had been chosen for the ceremony this year; the other fields would be burned in secondary ceremonies after the flames from this field died. The chant of the Deacons was soft now, sibilant, their low voices making a prayer that was snatched away by the breeze and muted by the shuffle of feet. The line was beginning to curve, to make the circle of the field, winding like a fiery snake. Zephy’s heart scurried—not yet—not yet . . .

Her torch smelled of rancid oil. She followed Toca’s low-held torch, nearly paralyzed with fear. The stubble of the cut field crackled under her feet. She shivered, then suddenly bile came into her mouth and she ran, stumbling, and heaved her supper into the irrigation ditch.

The line had moved ahead. She hurried, swallowing the ugly taste as people near her turned to stare. She found Toca and slipped in behind him, sweating and shaken. Toca marched on, perhaps unknowing, perhaps not. She tried to shield her thoughts from him, to calm them, to think only of the ceremony, the fire, and not what she was about to do. But in her memory she saw Clytey’s pale face and heard her cry, “The fire, they are behind the fire.” She almost grabbed Toca and ran; not now, she thought. Not yet.

How could she get all three Children away when they were so spread out? And then she knew that she must try to speak to Elodia silently. Even without the stone, she must try. Could she make the younger girl understand? Washed with doubt, she stared at the licking flame of her torch and tried to center her thoughts, to bring her very being into Elodia, to feel she was Elodia . . .

She could not make words, words did not come. Only a feeling. Of desperation and fear and of challenge. She tried to give Elodia what she had felt with Anchorstar, to press a sense of urgency upon her. Elodia marched resolutely, staring straight ahead. Zephy had no idea whether she was reaching the child. She thought of Elodia slipping out of line and following her unseen, thought of her wanting to. But Elodia only walked on with her usual straight, light pace, her taper held high, away from the heads of her elders. Follow me, Zephy thought. Follow me when the field is lit. She tried to think of herself as someone else would see her, tried to make a yearning for herself in Elodia, a desire to follow. The procession had wound almost completely around the field now, the ring of fire wavering and bright. Zephy could see the dark shapes of the Burgdeeth Horse riding behind the marchers. Were the Kubalese there in the night too? But the moons were higher now, and brighter; wouldn’t such riders be seen? They could be in the groves, though, or behind the rises north of the housegardens. But the Captains of the Burgdeeth Horse must have thought of that. She shivered. In spite of the Landmaster’s traitorous plan, she felt sure the men of the Horse did not know. At least she felt Shanner didn’t. Could the Captains be part of it? Surely they must think that the Horse would all go free, then; that the battle would be but a mock one. And that was not the case.

She felt a cold terror for Shanner.

And Anchorstar was there among the hills waiting for her and the Children. Were the Kubalese there around him, had they discovered him? But she couldn’t think of that now. Her distress and uncertainty made her falter. I can’t do it, she thought suddenly. Think of Elodia, she cried silently. Bring Elodia to me . . .

The snake of fire had joined itself, the field was surrounded by flame. There was a hush as the Deacons stepped forward. They raised their arms to begin the blessing of the field. The Landmaster’s torch blazed high above his head against the sky. The cry of the Deacons rang out in a prayer harsh on the night breeze, high and piercing.

Then at last the gentler litany began, like a honey-song, like a true blessing, and the voices of Burgdeeth rose with it in unison and in joy, in thanks for the successful harvest and for another year of safety and surcease from the wrath of the Luff’Eresi.

When the prayer was finished and the Deacons had stepped back, the Landmaster knelt, and all Burgdeeth knelt as one around the edge of the field. They brought their torches forward and struck the fire in unison so the field burst into flame with a sharp crack. Zephy stood frozen, then dropped her taper in a panic and turned to little Toca. “Come with me, Toca, I have a surprise. It’s beautiful . . .” She searched Toca’s blue eyes, trying to think what would rouse him. He looked up at her blankly. This moment when his mother was praying and not attending to him would last but an instant. “Come on,” Zephy breathed, smiling. “We will go to Elodia and find the triebuck in the moonlight . . .” and she thought hard of the triebuck standing with his head lifted and his three horns gleaming the way she had always pictured it The little boy’s eyes grew huge. He put his hand in hers and stepped out of line, away from the blazing field.

They ran across the stubble in the darkness behind the line. When they reached Elodia, Toca flung himself at her shouting, “The triebuck, we’re going to see the triebuck,” so that Zephy dropped his hand and clapped her own hand over his mouth. “It’s a secret,” she whispered, terrified. “We must keep it a secret” A few heads turned and stared, but most were too caught up in the ceremony.

Elodia gave Zephy a strange, cool look and rose at once. She put her hand in Zephy’s without question and her arm around Toca and began to pull the little boy away. When they were somewhat back from the fire and the kneeling line, she said softly, “You spoke to me. You spoke like Ynell.” Zephy said nothing. She could feel Elodia’s trust and her fear mixed. She wished they could run now, at once, get away. But there was still the baby. “Bibb,” Zephy whispered. “It’s Bibb Thorzen, too.” She searched the younger girl’s face. “Can you see him?”