Ширли Мерфи - The Shattered Stone [calibre]

Gredillon made a meal for him of tammi tea and boiled roots and a fried rock hare from the snares she set. Then she put Tayba to preparing packs for a journey. At Tayba’s fretful look, she said, “Young woman, there is no help for it. You and Ram must leave this place as quickly as you can. EnDwyl will reach Pelli soon enough, and there he will learn of our lie from the Seer who sent him. He will return at once, and very likely he will bring an apprentice Seer with him—to track Ram. This is not a game. This is Ram’s life in the balance. Don’t you realize what they want of him? They would make a slave of him, would have his soul and leave a thing twisted and cruel as themselves to rule with them—to rule after they are dead. Ram is the tool they need; Ram and the bell he commands. They want . . .” Gredillon paused in folding the blankets and stared absently around the room. “They would rule wolves again. In the old killing ways, when men were torn apart by wolves for transgressions against the masters, and women were. . . .” she glanced at Ram and went silent. They exchanged a long look, then Ram began to eat again, slowly; very pale.

Gredillon put her hand on Tayba’s shoulder. “Ram is not strong enough yet to battle the Pellian Seers. One day he will be. One day, if he works at mastering his skills, he will be stronger than HarThass and all his cold apprentices.”

“No one is stronger than the Pellian Seers,” Tayba said, taking up mountain meat to wrap.

Gredillon ignored her remark. “When Ram is finished eating, get that dye on his hair. Keep it away from his forehead or it will stain.” She was talking to Tayba as if she were a child. “Put the dye in the pack, you will need it. When you reach the river Owdneet, there will be sweet-burrow thickets. You must pick enough to make more. Now give me that pack, young woman, and I will saddle the mare.”

Gredillon balanced the weight of the packs so the pony would travel well. When Tayba and Ram came out, cloaked and ready, she stared at Ram, his hair as dark as Tayba’s. His tanned skin seemed darker, his eyes . . . his eyes looked more like his mother’s now, under the dark thatch. Huge, black as cinders. Before, they had caught golden lights from his tangle of red hair. A dark-haired stranger of a boy. She turned to Tayba, inspecting her critically. “Go to the pump, young woman, and scrub the dye from those hands again—use sand if you must. I’ll wager my kitchen table is a mess.”

Tayba returned at last with clean hands, red and sore from scrubbing. Gredillon said, “You must go quickly over Scar Mountain, quickly down onto the black plain, for you won’t be safe until you are in the city where your brother Theel dwells. And if Theel cannot protect you, you must then go on, up into the Ring of Fire.”

Tayba began to lose patience. What good would it do to go into the Ring of Fire?

“You must prepare yourselves to live on the mountain if need be,” Gredillon said, frowning at her. “Do not fool yourself into thinking that is not possible. It is quite possible. The caves of the old city are there. They may be blocked from easy entrance, and some surely are eaten away by fallen lava, but they are there and safe. And,” Gredillon straightened the bridle, then turned to hold Tayba’s gaze, “the wolves are there. The great wolves. Ram’s power will be greatest among them.” She tightened the girths, then moved to rub the mare’s ears for a moment. “If Theel cannot protect you, the wolves of the mountain will.”

Tayba stared back at her and knew that she was crazy. They could not live among wolves. She said nothing.

Gredillon placed the bell in Ram’s outstretched hands, then pulled the boy to her. Then she turned away toward the cottage to hide tears, and Ram and Tayba started up along Scar Mountain. Ram kept his face turned from Tayba for a long time before he blew his nose and looked ahead.

Quickly they lost sight of the house and garden plot. The way ahead was wild and lonely, and above the first peaks otero birds wheeled and screamed against the wind-driven sky.

TWO

The path was rough, blocked by jagged outcroppings, narrow and uncertain; they climbed northward up over the rim of Scar Mountain, and as night came the wind blew wild and cold as if icy hands pushed at their backs. Ram trudged on silently, leading the willing pony. Tayba shivered, chilled through, aching from the long climb. She missed Gredillon’s warm hearth. Near dark they found a shallow cave for shelter and built a little fire from brush and twigs, to half cook the rock hare Gredillon had tied to the pack. This would be their last fire for some time. For on the following evening they stood well down the mountain’s north slope staring out over the black plain, both afraid to build a fire that would be seen by someone—something—that might be watching unexpectedly from that desolate expanse. The wind bit through their clothes bitter cold, the blackened plain swept away alien and immense. Ram pushed on, saying little, but Tayba stared out at the gathering dusk over that empty plain and knew, suddenly and painfully, that they could not go there. They would die there. They must turn back in the morning, while still they could.

“We will go on,” Ram said, looking at her coldly. “And we will go on tonight for a little while. It looks—it looks more sheltered there, farther down.” He frowned and looked away, then forced the mare on, holding her head so she wouldn’t stumble among the shadowed rocks. Mamen puzzled him. Why was she so reluctant? He could feel nothing but her hesitancy, her fear. Below them on the plain, dark boulders rose twisting into nightmare shapes, seemed to grow larger as the light faded.

Tayba followed him reluctantly, thinking they had too little food to cross that immense expanse, thinking of a hundred excuses. What if the mare should break a leg? The plain was wrought with malevolence, she could sense it. Perhaps an evil had been laid upon it by the gods to protect the ruined city that lay ahead in the black mountains. Surely the gods would prevent them from crossing to that place.

Ram turned, scowling at her, then stopped abruptly, turned to stare behind them not toward Zandour, but in the direction of Pelli. Fear touched him, cold and hard. EnDwyl and an apprentice Seer had left Pelli this hour. “They are following us, Mamen. They ride big, rough horses that can cover many more miles than we can. The Seer knows my fear. He knows, Mamen, he makes in your mind the fear you feel. It is hard to—I cannot block him. He is too strong.” He took the mare’s bridle and pulled her on down the slope so fast she nearly fell, then turned to steady her. Behind him, Tayba stared back at the darkening mountain they had crossed and felt the vast emptiness and their utter aloneness here and tried to put down her fear and could not.

They kept on until it was too dark to see, then crouched behind a shallow outcropping, made a cold meal of mountain meat, and wrapped in their blankets. The mare grazed as best she could on the sparse grass. They slept little, and Ram tossed restlessly, feeling the Seer’s cold presence, trying to strengthen his own forces against the man’s power. They were awake at first light. Ram watched Tayba stare out toward the far mountains, nearly lost in low cloud, and felt her increased conviction that they could never reach those peaks.

“We can’t go on, Ram. We will . . . we will die out there. Would it be so bad to be a Pellian Seer?”

He flung the saddle on the mare irritably and secured the packs. “We won’t die. Come on. Walking will warm you. You’ll feel better when we’re moving.” He watched her share out the meager meal, ate quickly, then set out. She followed him sullenly. They came down onto the plain at last between monster-shaped black boulders. The wind swept at them like knives of ice. They tried to walk in the shelter of the mare, and she in turn pressed against them and kept wanting to turn tail to the wind.