Ширли Мерфи - The Shattered Stone [calibre]

Behind them a horse had snorted, and now there were galloping hoofbeats. “Run! Oh, run!” she whispered, pushing the donkey into a canter and trying to hold Toca and Bibb both as she ran along side; they ran until they were breathless, but when Zephy looked back she could see nothing; then the ear-splitting wail of a donkey rose behind her, and Dess lurched into view, running at full clip.

Zephy pulled Nida up, exhausted, exasperated, and glowered at Dess. The fool donkey had surely alerted the Kubalese.

Dess fetched up close to Nida, shoving Zephy aside. Quickly, Zephy stole a rope from the blanket pack, secured her, and gave the responsibility of her to Elodia. They went on to the top of the first rise as fast as they could and down it as the sky began to lighten in earnest.

They had put three rises behind them when the Kubalese patrol came riding out along the east edge of town and up in the direction of Dunoon. Three soldiers loomed on the skyline as the little band knelt in a shallow. Zephy could not make the donkeys lie down, never having needed to before, and only hoped their gray color would hide them. Tra. Hoppa held Toca’s hand, and winked conspiratorially at him. Elodia had taken the baby in her arms and was concentrating on keeping him still, pushing a feeling of quiet into him until he lay relaxed, staring happily up into the little girl’s face.

After an eternity, Zephy crept up the side of the rise and looked over, then sighed thankfully. The patrol was a dark line going up the mountain.

But what did they want in Dunoon?

When she looked back toward the east, the sun was coming up. They could not climb the rises now, it had grown too light: they must go around, in the low places.

It was a slow tedious business, making their way so, and the day was indeed bright when at last they slipped behind the first boulders at the foot of the mountain. Zephy half expected to see the Kubalese patrol waiting for them, but there was nothing, only the tall black boulders and some stunted grass, and the mountain, sheer as a wall. But there were breaks in that wall where the thrusting columns of stone overlapped. Now they could travel unseen, among those jutting columns. And now Zephy must decide: would they go east to safety or west toward Dunoon, where her heart tugged? To the east lay Carriol, and shelter. To the west was a burned, defeated village patrolled by the Kubalese.

She led the band straight into the mountain between tall black stones, then began to wind among the jagged pillars until she found, at last, a protected place where the donkeys could rest and graze. Dess lurched at once into the tallest stand of grass, her ears flat back to her head. Above them, the sablevine was already turning copper with the coming of winter. Zephy undid the food bundle and set it on a rock and passed Elodia the milk jug. The younger girl’s sandy hair and gray, steady eyes made her look older than nine. Or maybe it was her expression. There was a touch of sadness about Elodia that was not childlike. “How did you manage without water?” Zephy asked. “I half expected . . . I thought you might be gone, that you might have come out.”

“We did come out. In the night, late when it was quiet Or, I did. I took water and food from Tra. Hoppa’s house,” she said, grinning at Tra. Hoppa. She pulled up her tunic and showed them the lumpy linen package hanging from her waist. It contained scallions and dry bread and a bit of berry cake. She shared this out equally, and they sat eating and staring about them at the lifting, monolithic stones that stood black and silent around them.

They could see a bit of the valley, and Burgdeeth directly below. They could not see Kubal to the east or the low hills that separated it from Cloffi. And the desert lands on their right were cut off by an outcropping of stone.

Zephy watched Elodia as the child began to draw away from them in her mind, her face turning inward. She was seeing something, or she was hearing something. They all became very quiet; Zephy tried to make herself receptive, but she could not. Elodia’s hand stroked the dirty leather of Nida’s saddle as if she were stroking something else entirely, in another place. And when at last she came back to them, she did so suddenly, seemed to see Zephy so suddenly that she gave a start. Then she said flatly, “Dunoon is burned. The patrol rides through it, all black. There is no one. They are going to go back down the river. They—they make a fear in me.”

“ No one?” Zephy said. “No one?”

“I don’t think so. Not in the village, the huts are empty!” But now Elodia’s voice was uncertain.

Zephy rose and went to stand among the boulders. When she came back to them at last, she could say only, “I must go to Dunoon. And you must wait for me.”

*

They climbed the rocks until they found a secure place so high it seemed nearly at the top of the Ring of Fire, though of course it was not. They pushed between boulders until they found a minute valley with a shallow cave at one side. They rolled several stones across the valley entrance, then turned the donkeys loose. The baby drank the last of the milk from the jug and went to sleep at once.

This was foolishness, to leave these four alone. But she knew she must go to Dunoon; she could think of nothing else. And she must not send them on ahead. Tra. Hoppa did not try to change her mind; it seemed to Zephy that Tra. Hoppa knew there were currents and forces moving around her that she herself could not touch. And Elodia—the feeling from Elodia was one of silent support. As if the younger girl read, could touch, the depth of whatever pulled at Zephy so strongly.

She had made no explanation to them about Anchorstar, about the stone. Something held her back. If something happened in Dunoon, if she did not return, they would be safe in Carriol. They had the donkeys and food. When she returned, she would tell them. She thought once that perhaps she should make her pledge Elodia’s pledge, too, so the younger girl could carry on. But then she turned resolutely away, looking toward Dunoon.

She took a little food, accepted Elodia’s cloak, and started off alone. She took no waterskin. She could move lighter and quicker without, and there were places among the black rock where little springs seeped down. She could hear the sharp call of a flock of otero diving after insects above her, and once the sweet clear cry of a mabin bird, filling her with a terrible longing. There was no other sound save an occasional pebble she dislodged. The sun was moving down toward the horizon ahead of her so its brightness blinded her except when part of the mountain cut it off.

Then she came around a tall stone shelf to see another group of Kubalese soldiers coming straight up toward Dunoon, riding fast; she was close enough to Dunoon now to catch an occasional glimpse of the clearing and the blackened huts. She stood in the shadow of a stone, watching the ascending riders; only when they were just at the lower pastures of Dunoon, below the village, did they spread out so some were riding directly toward her. She spun around, frantic for a place to hide.

She found only a small chink between outcroppings and she wedged herself there, where a horse could not come, and stood still, hardly breathing, wondering if her light tunic would be like a signal flag; she pulled the cloak around herself, wanting to run; but she knew she must be still.

She heard them come: a clatter of hooves struck stone close to her; she could smell the sweat of the horses and of the men. She heard them climb above her, then stop suddenly. There was a sharp command to dismount. She stood as helpless and palpitating as a bird caught in a net.

Then at last she heard the command to climb, and some swearing. They had not seen her after all. They were up there scrambling over the rocks and had left their horses tethered.