Part 56 (1/2)
Jiriki extended his hand to the prince. ”Come, Prince Josua. I have some food and water. Take some nourishment, then we will find him.”
As the prince looked at him some of the hard edge of worry softened. ”Thank you. I am grateful you found me.” He took Jiriki's hand and stood, then laughed, mocking himself. ”I thought ... I thought I heard voices.”
”I have no doubt you did,” said Jiriki. ”And you will hear more.”
Tiamak could not help noticing that even the impa.s.sive Sithi did not look entirely comfortable with Jiriki's remark.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Tiamak's surroundings began to change. As he and Josua followed the immortals through the twisting pa.s.sages, he first noticed that the floors seemed more level, the tunnels a little more regular. Soon he began to see the undeniable marks of intelligent shapers, hard angles, arches of stone that braced the wider crossings, even a few patches in the rock walls that seemed to have been carved, although the decorations were little more than repet.i.tive patterns like waves or twining gra.s.s stems.
”These outermost reaches were never finished,” Aditu told him. ”Either they were built too late in Asu'a's life, or were abandoned in favor of more useful paths.”
”Abandoned?” Tiamak could not imagine such a thing. ”Who would do all the work of gouging through this stone and then abandon it?”
”Some of these pa.s.sages were built by my people, with the help of the Tinukeda'ya-the dwarrows as mortals call them,” she explained. ”And that stone-loving folk carved some just for themselves, unconcerned with finis.h.i.+ng or keeping, as a child might make a basket of gra.s.s stems and then toss it away when it is time to run home.”
The marsh man shook his head.
Mindful of their mortal companions, the Sithi stopped at last for a rest in a wide grotto whose roof was covered with a tracery of slender stalact.i.tes. In the mellow light of the globes, Tiamak thought it looked entirely magical; for a moment, he was glad he had come. The world below, it seemed, was full of wonders as well as terrors.
As he sat eating a piece of bread and a savory but unfamiliar fruit the Sithi had brought, Tiamak wondered how far they had come. It seemed they had walked most of a day, but the full distance on the surface between where they had begun and the walls of the Hayholt would not have taken a fourth of that time. Even with the circuitous track of the tunnels, it seemed they should have reached something, but they were still wandering through largely featureless caverns.
It is like the spirit-hut of Buayeg in the old story, he decided, only half in jest. he decided, only half in jest. Small outside, big inside. Small outside, big inside.
He turned to ask Josua if he had noticed the same oddity; the prince was staring at his own piece of bread as though he was too tired or distraught to eat. Abruptly the cavern shuddered-or seemed to: Tiamak felt a sensation of movement, of sudden slippage, but neither Josua nor the Sithi seemed to move in response to it. Rather, it was as though everything in the grotto had slid to one side, but the people inside had slid effortlessly with it. It was a frightening wrench, and for a long moment after it had pa.s.sed Tiamak felt as though he occupied two places at the same time. A thrill of terror ran up his spine.
”What is happening!?” he gasped.
The obvious uneasiness of the Sithi did nothing to make him feel better. ”It is that which I spoke of before,” said Aditu. ”As we draw closer to Asu'a's heart, it is getting stronger.”
Likimeya stood and slowly looked around, but Tiamak felt sure that she was using more than her eyes. ”Up,” she said. ”Time is short, I think.”
Tiamak scrambled to his feet. The look on Likimeya's stem face frightened him badly. He suddenly wished he had kept his mouth closed, that he had stayed above ground with the rest of his mortal companions. But it was far too late to turn back.
”Where are we going?” Miriamele gasped.
Yis-hadra, who had replaced her wounded husband as leader, turned to stare. ”Going?” said the dwarrow. ”We are fleeing. We run to escape.”
Miriamele stopped, bending over to catch her breath. The Noms had attacked them twice more as they fled through the tunnels, but without archers they had been unable to overcome the terrified dwarrows. Still, two more of the stone-tenders had fallen in the fighting, and the white-skinned immortals had by no means given up. Since the last struggle, Miriamele had already spotted the pursuers once when she had entered a pa.s.sageway long and straight enough to permit a backward look; in that glimpse they had truly seemed creatures of the lightless depths-pale, silent, and remorseless. The Norns seemed in no hurry, as if they were merely trailing Miriamele and her companions until more of their kind came bearing bows and long spears. It had been as much as she could do not to sink to the ground in surrender.
She knew that they had been lucky to escape the dwarrows' cavern at all. If the White Foxes had antic.i.p.ated any resistance, they had doubtless expected it to be close combat in a narrow corner. Instead, the dwarrows' desperate attack in the dark and the avalanches of falling stone they had engineered had caught the immortals by surprise, permitting Miriamele and her companions to flee. But she had no illusions they could trick the cunning Norns twice.
”We could be forced to run this way forever,” she told Yis-hadra. ”Perhaps you can outlast them, but we can't. In any case, our people are in danger up above.”
Binabik nodded. ”She speaks truth to you. Escaping is not enough for us. We have need of finding our way out from this place.”
The dwarrow did not reply, but looked to her husband who was limping up the pa.s.sageway toward them, trailed by the last of the dwarrows and Cadrach. The monk's face was ashen, as though he had been wounded, but Miriamele saw no injuries. She turned away, unwilling to waste sympathy on him.
”They are a distance behind us, now,” said Yis-fidri wearily. ”They seem full content to let us run ahead.” He leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest against the stone. Yis-hadra went to him and probed gently with her wide fingers at the arrow wound in his shoulder. ”Sho-vennae is dead, and three others,” he groaned, then fluted a few words to his wife, who gave a cry of grief. ”Smashed like delicate crystals. Gone.”
”If we had not run, they would all be dead anyway- and you and the rest of us would be, too.” Miriamele paused to fight back her anger and her horror of the pursuing Norns. ”Forgive me, Yis-fidri. I am sorry about your people. I am truly sorry.”
Sweat beaded on the dwarrow's brow, glimmering in the light of the batons. ”Few mourn for the Tinukeda'ya,” he replied softly. ”They make us their servants, they steal from us the Words of Making, they even beg our help when they are in need-but they seldom mourn us.”
Miriamele was ashamed. Surely he meant that she was as guilty of using the dwarrows-and Niskies, too, she thought, remembering Gan Itai's sacrifice-as even their one-time masters, the Sithi.
”Take us to where we can reach the world above,” she said. ”That is all I ask. Then go with our blessing, Yis-fidri.”
Before the dwarrow could reply, Binabik suddenly spoke up. ”The Words of Making. Were all all the Great Swords being forged with these Making-Words?” the Great Swords being forged with these Making-Words?”
Yis-fidri looked at him with more than a little suspicion, then winced at something his wife was doing to his shoulder. ”Yes. It was needful to bind their substance-to bring their being within the Laws.”
”What laws are these?”
”Those Laws that cannot be changed. The Laws that make stone be stone, make water be water. They can be ...” he searched for a word, ”stretched or altered for a short time, but that brings consequences. Never can they be undone.”
One of the dwarrows at the rear of the tunnel spoke anxiously.
”Imai-an says he can feel them coming,” Yis-hadra cried. ”We must run.”
Yis-fidri pushed himself away from the tunnel wall and the group began its uneven progress once more. Miriamele's weary heart was racing. Would there never be an end to this? ”Help us reach the surface, Yis-fidri,” she begged. ”Please.”
”Yes! It is more than ever important!” It is more than ever important!”
Miriamele turned at the distraught tone of Binabik's voice. The little man looked terrified. ”What is it?” she asked him.
Sweat was running on his dark forehead. ”I must think on this, Miriamele, but I have never had such fear as I do now. For the first time I believe I see behind the shadow that has been all our consideration, and I am thinking-Kikkasut! To be saying such words!-that the monk may have spoken rightly. There may be nothing left for our doing at all.”
With those words hanging in the air, he turned from her and hastened after the dwarrows. As though his sudden despair had pa.s.sed to her like a fever, she felt hopelessness enwrap her.
29.
The Hand of the North
The winds shrieked around Stormspike's summit, but beneath the mountain all was silent. The Lightless Ones had fallen into a deep slumber. The corridors of Under-Nakkiga were nearly empty. around Stormspike's summit, but beneath the mountain all was silent. The Lightless Ones had fallen into a deep slumber. The corridors of Under-Nakkiga were nearly empty.
Utuk'ku's gloved fingers, slender and brittle as cricket legs, flexed upon the arm of her throne. She settled her ancient bones against the rock and let her thoughts move through the Breathing Harp, following its twistings and turnings until Stormspike fell away and she became pure mind moving through the black between-s.p.a.ces.
The angry Dark One was gone from the Harp. He had moved himself to the place-if it could be called a place-where he could act in concert with her to enact the final step of their centuried scheme, but she could still feel the weight of his hatred and envy, personified in the net of storms that spread across the land above.
In Nabban, where the upstart Imperators had once ruled, snow piled high in the streets; in the great harbor high waves flung the anch.o.r.ed s.h.i.+ps against each other, or drove them into the sh.o.r.e where their splintered timbers lay like the bones of giants. The kilpa, frenzied, struck at everything that moved across the water, and even began to make sluggish forays into the coastal towns. And deep within the heart of the Sancellan Aedonitis, the Clavean Bell hung silent, immobilized by ice just as the mortals' Mother Church was frozen by fear.