Part 42 (2/2)
”We will search among your possessions, by your leave,” Yis-fidri said. ”In respect of your customs, my wife Yis-hadra only will touch them.”
Miriamele was bemused by the dwarrow's circ.u.mspection. What did they think she had brought down into the earth, the dainty small-clothes of a castle-dwelling princess ? Tiny, fragile keepsakes? Scented notes from admirers ?
Yis-hadra approached timidly and began to examine the contents of the saddlebags. Her husband came and kneeled beside Miriamele. ”We are sorely grieved that things should be thus. It is truly not our way-never have we pressed our will by force on another. Never.” He seemed desperate to convince her.
”I still do not understand the danger you fear.”
”It was the place you and your two companions walked. It is ... it is-there are no words that I know in mortal tongues to explain.” He flexed his long fingers. ”There are ... powers, things which have been sleeping. Now they awaken. The tower stairwell in which you climbed is a place where these forces are strong. Every day they become stronger. We do not yet understand what is happening, but until we do, nothing must happen which might upset the balance....”
Miriamele waved for him to stop. ”Slowly, Yis-fidri. I am trying to understand. First of all, that ... thing that attacked us on the stairs was not a companion of ours. Binabik seemed to recognize him, but I have never seen him before.”
Yis-fidri shook his head, agitated. ”No, no, Miriamele. Be not insulted. We know that what your friend fought was no companion-it was a walking hollowness full of Unbeing. Perhaps it was a mortal man once. No, I meant that companion who followed a little behind you.”
”Behind us? There were only two of us. Unless ...” Her heart skipped. Could it have been Simon, searching for his friends? Had he only been a short distance away when she had been taken? No, that would be too cruel!
”Then you were followed,” Yis-fidri said firmly. ”For good or ill, we cannot say. We just know that three mortals were upon the stairs.”
Miriamele shook her head, unable to think about it. Too much confusion was piled atop too much sorrow.
Yis-hadra made a birdlike sound. Her husband turned. The she-dwarrow held up Simon's White Arrow.
”Of course,” Yis-fidri breathed. The other dwarrows leaned closer, watching raptly. ”We felt it, but knew it not.” He turned to Miriamele. ”It is not our work or we would know it as verily as you know your own hand at the end of your arm. But it was made by Vindaomeyo, one of the Zida'ya to whom we taught our skills and craft. And see,” he reached to take it from his wife, ”here is a piece of one of the Master Witnesses.” He pointed to the cloudy blue-gray arrowhead. ”No surprise that we felt it.”
”And carrying it on the stairwell was a danger somehow?” Miriamele wanted to understand, but terror had battered her for a long time, and weariness was now pulling at her like an undertow. ”How could that be?”
”We will explain if we can. Things are changing. Balances are delicate. The red stone in the sky speaks to the stones of the earth, and we Tinukeda'ya hear the voices of those stones.”
”And these stones tell you to s.n.a.t.c.h people off the staircase?” She was exhausted. It was hard not to be rude.
”We did not wish to come here,” Yis-fidri said gravely. ”Things that happened in our home and elsewhere drove us ever southward, but when we reached this place through the old tunnels, we realized that the menace here is even greater. We cannot go forward, we cannot go back. But we must understand what is happening so that we can decide how best to escape it.”
”You're going to run away?” Miriamele asked. ”That's why you're doing all these things? To give yourself a chance to run away?”
”We are not warriors. We are not our once-masters, the Zida'ya. The way of the Ocean Children has always been to make' do, to survive.”
Miriamele shook her head in frustration. They had trapped her and torn her away from her friend, but only so they could escape something she did not understand. ”Let me go.”
”We cannot, Miriamele. We are sorry.”
”Then let me go to sleep.” She crawled away toward the wall of the cavern and curled herself in her cloak. The dwarrows did not hinder her, but began talking among themselves again. The sound of their voices, melodious and incomprehensible as cricket calls, followed her down into sleep.
22.
A Sleeping Dragon
Oh, please, G.o.d, G.o.d, don't let him be gone! G.o.d, don't let him be gone!
The wheel carried Simon upward. If Guthwulf still spoke in the darkness below, Simon could not hear him above the creak of the wheel and the clanking of the heavy chains.
Guthwulf! Could it be the same man Simon had so of ten glimpsed, the High King's Hand with his fierce face? But he had led the siege against Naglimund, had been one of King Elias' most powerful friends. What would he be doing here? It must be someone else. Still, whoever he was, at least he had a human voice.
”Can you hear me?” Simon croaked as the wheel brought him down again. Blood, regular as the tide at evening, was rus.h.i.+ng into his head once more.
”Yes,” Guthwulf hissed. ”Don't speak so loudly. I have heard others here, and I think they would hurt me. They would take away all I have left.”
Simon could see him, a dim, bent figure-but large, as the King's Hand had been, broad shoulders evident despite his stoop. He held his head in an odd way, as though it hurt him.
”Can I have ... more water?”
Guthwulf dipped his hands into the sluice beneath the wheel; as Simon swung low enough to reach, he poured the water over the prisoner's face. Simon gasped and begged for more. Guthwulf filled his palms three more times before Simon rose out of reach. ”You are on ... on a wheel?” the man said, as though he could not quite believe it.
His thirst quenched for the first time in days, Simon wondered at the question. Was he simple-minded? How could anyone who wasn't blind doubt it was a wheel?
Suddenly Guthwulf's odd way of holding his head made sense. Blind. Of course. No wonder he had felt at Simon's face.
”Are you ... Earl Guthwulf?” Simon asked as the wheel headed downward again. ”The Earl of Utanyeat?” Remembering what his benefactor had said, he kept his voice low. He had to repeat the question when he was nearer.
”I ... think I was.” The earl's hands hung limply, dripping. ”In another life. Before my eyes were gone. Before the sword took me....”
The sword? Had he been blinded in battle? In a duel? Simon dismissed the thought: there were more important things to think about. His belly was full of water, but nothing else. ”Can you bring me food? No, can you free me? Please!? They are tormenting me, torturing me!” So many words rasped his tender throat and he broke into a fit of coughing.
”Free you... ?” Guthwulf sounded distinctly shaken. ”But ... you do not wish to be here? I'm sorry, things are ... so different. I have trouble remembering.”
He's a madman. The only person who might help me, and he's mad!
Aloud, he said: ”Please. I am suffering. If you don't help me, I'll die here.” A sob choked him. Talking about it suddenly made it real. ”I don't want to die!”
The wheel began to carry him up again.
”I ... could not. The voices will not let me do anything,” Guthwulf whispered. ”They tell me that I must go and hide, or someone will take everything I have from me.” His voice took on a horribly wistful tone. ”But I could hear you there, making noises, breathing. I knew you were a real thing, and I wanted to hear your voice. I have not spoken to anyone for so long.” His words grew faint as the wheel took Simon away. ”Are you the one who left me food?”
Simon had no idea what the blind man was talking about, but heard him hesitating, troubled by Simon's pain. ”I did!” He tried to be heard above the wheel without shouting. Was the man out of hearing? ”I did! I brought you food!”
Please let him be there when I get back, Simon prayed. Simon prayed. Please let him be there. Please. Please let him be there. Please.
As Simon neared the bottom again, Guthwulf reached out his hand once more and let it trail across Simon's features. ”You fed me. I do not know. I am afraid. They will take everything from me. The voices are so loud!” He shook his s.h.a.ggy head. ”I cannot think now. The voices are very loud.” Abruptly, he turned and lurched away across the cavern and vanished into the shadows.
”Guthwulf!” Simon cried. ”Don't leave me!”
But the blind man was gone.
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