Читать книгу Shadows of Prophecy - Rachel Lee - Страница 12

Archer sat astride his mount, watching the line of villagers as they made their way up into the crags of the mountains above the town. It was a moonless night, but somehow the cliff faces reflected enough starlight to make the path visible.

It was also a terrible night to be exposed to the elements. The bitter, icy wind rushed down from the north, bringing with it the smell of snow soon to fall. Men and women alike carried the younger children in their arms, even though they also bore heavy packs on their backs. Every single member of Gewindi-Tel had tried to bring enough to get them as far as Anahar.

Archer doubted they had succeeded. Even with his party’s packhorses loaded as fully as they could be, no one could carry enough. They would have to hope they would be given food as they passed through other villages.

And that they would grow this small seed of an army.

There were no elderly among the Anari. They did not age as did other men. Created at the hands of the Ilduin, they had been gifted with long life and extraordinary health. Aye, they could die from illness and injury, but illness seldom befell them. They grew older, more mature, and were less likely to want adventure than the younger members of the group, but until the day they died they worked the fields and the stones as strongly as anyone.

The reduction in their numbers, the shrinking of the clans, had come about only because of the Bozandari and their rapacious ways.

The long lives of the Anari, Archer thought, should have warned the Bozandari that eventually trouble would come. For among even this band of Anari, probably a third of them could still remember the times before the slavers had come and conquered them. These elders helped keep the flame of freedom alive in the hearts of their people.

Bowed but not broken, he thought. The Bozandari would never understand.

As the last members of the column passed him, he turned his mount and began to follow. When he reached a promontory, he paused to look back. He could see the torches of the approaching Bozandari army to the northeast, but they were yet a long way from the village.

This group would escape. Satisfied, he spurred after them.

Giri emerged from the night a short time later and fell in beside him. “We’ll be well away by first light.”

“Aye.”

Another icy gust of wind blew down the funnel of the mountains and into their faces. For an instant Archer felt the sting of sleet. Then it was gone.

“What I do not understand,” Giri said, when the wind would no longer snatch away his words, “is why the Bozandari have suddenly become…worse. ’Twas bad enough when they could come into the telners, taking the strongest and best to make into slaves or whores, but never before did it seem that they wanted to rid the world of all Anari. After all, we have been their garden of new slaves.”

Archer rode silently for a minute or two, thinking over how much he should tell his friend. He did not wish to dishearten Giri, but on the other hand…

“There is a worse evil afoot in this world, my friend, than Bozandar and its armies. I fear this evil is using the Bozandari as he used Lantav Glassidor and his minions.”

“What is this evil?”

“Some name him Chaos. Others call him the Enemy.”

Giri stiffened but questioned no further. Apparently the memory of the Anari was not as short as other races, who had long since forgotten such tales or abandoned them as fantasies.

Archer sighed and lifted his head to the heavens, noting that the stars were beginning to blur behind wisps of clouds.

The tight, cold knot that had never quite eased over the countless years seemed to be growing in his chest until it would consume him.

Thus it begins again.

* * * *

The first glow of dawn found them well away from Gewindi-Telner, hidden in the wild reaches of mountains only the Anari knew well enough to traverse. Even here, far out from civilization, there were signs that some rock had spoken to a mason and been harvested.

But the Anari also knew that some of the mountains and rock bound evil in their depths, an evil as old as the world itself. Here they passed quietly, as unobtrusive as might be. Remembering the fire creature they had fought in the Adasen basin, Tom could well understand the caution he saw in those around him.

But at other times there was apparently no evil to concern them, and the pace quickened and conversation resumed.

Eventually, before the canyons and ravines in the mountains had felt the sun’s touch, Jenah called a halt.

“It is safe here,” Jenah told Archer and the rest of his party. “Long have Anari camped safely in the embrace of these rocks.”

Embrace was a good word, Tom thought, looking around them, for it seemed as if they had entered a circle of level ground created by the stones themselves. Dismounting, he helped as much as he could, lifting packs from the tired shoulders of Anari mothers and fathers who carried children now awakening and famished. He helped build cook fires with a strange black rock that burned and seemed to be in abundance here, and carried buckets of water from the waterfall hidden behind the rocks.

Soon tantalizing smells filled the camp, and, not long after that, hungry children were being fed before their elders dipped in.

He was glad finally to rejoin his own little group: Archer, Ratha, Giri, Tess and Sara. Most especially Sara. Any weariness he might have felt was banished when she smiled at him and squeezed his hand as he sat beside her.

She passed him a bowl of the stew she had made, and he tucked in with great delight.

“You are sure it is he?” Ratha asked Archer.

“Aye. His ugly touch is all over the world right now. After Lorense, there can be no doubt.”

Tom leaned forward. “Who are you talking about?”

Archer looked at the lad gravely. “Have you heard the tales about Chaos?”

Tom felt his heart skip a beat. “He who would destroy the world?”

“Aye, lad. The same.”

“But I thought…” Tom’s voice trailed off as he looked inward and realized that what he had once thought to be a fairy tale for children was no such thing after all. He had sensed it ever since Lorense and what he had seen that day as Sara and Tess had battled Lantav Glassidor. The mage, skilled though he was, had been possessed by something darker and uglier, and Tom had seen it.

He looked at Archer once again. “Glassidor,” he said. “He was but a doorway.”

“Exactly,” Archer replied. Even in the warmth of the rising sun, the day remained cold, and Archer was wrapped deeply in his cloak. For a man who could look like vengeance on two feet when they faced trouble, he appeared singularly inoffensive at the moment.

“But not the only one,” Tom said, though he was hoping he was wrong.

“Not the only one,” Archer agreed, his voice heavy. “We have heard of other hives. You know that. But there is more afoot.”

Tess, who had been drawing in the dust at her feet with a twig, spoke. “There is a larger doorway open now.” She sounded almost as if she were in a trance. “Can’t you feel it?”

Tom felt a shivering within, an unpleasant sensation, not unlike when he feared he might fall from a great height. He closed his eyes, trying to deal with the feeling, trying to find his well of courage. But instead of courage, he found words that insisted on being spoken, though he had little idea what they meant.

“When the three approach, the Twelve must guard the unbound Enemy.”

His eyes popped open, and he found everyone staring at him.

“Well,” said Archer, “that’s clear enough. Would you could tell us the outcome, Tom.”

Tom merely shook his head, wondering at these times when he felt compelled to speak words that did not seem to be of his own design.

“I will tell you,” Archer said slowly, tossing yet another small coal on the fire, “that the Enemy has grown since last he and I crossed paths. In those days he could not have done what I saw him do in Lorense. Nor what I suspect he does with the weather. It will indeed take the Twelve to save us.”

As if his words had drawn the fury of the heavens down on them, the skies swiftly clouded over and the wind became a gale of sleet. From around the entire camp came cries of surprise as everyone hunkered down within cloaks and blankets.

Tom edged closer to the fire. Tess alone seemed oblivious but continued her tracings in the dust of the ages.

As quickly as the gale had arrived, it vanished, as if the peaks around them had swallowed it up. Above, the sky remained clouded but appeared benign enough otherwise.

“That was strange,” Tom muttered.

Ratha placed a hand on his shoulder. “Eat up, lad. Matters will get stranger yet.”

Tom turned to look the Anari in the eye. “If you seek to comfort me, that is an unusual way to do it.”

Ratha laughed, a sound that seemed to drive back the edges of evil. “I was just assuring you that you have much adventure to look forward to.”

It was hard now for Tom to remember that only a few short weeks ago he had been living with his family in the small town of Whitewater and dreaming of great adventures rather than the humdrum life of a gatekeeper’s son. Thinking back on it, he sighed. “I think, Ratha, that I have encountered more adventure than a lifetime needs.”

Ratha leaned close. “Aye, lad, you have. We all have. Unfortunately there seems to be no end in sight.”

Archer had taken note of Tess’s writing in the sand. “What do you seek, Lady?”

Slowly Tess looked up. “It is a symbol I saw in the temple at Gewindi-Telnah. I keep feeling that I should know what it means.”

Archer left the stone on which he had been sitting and went to crouch beside her. “Show me,” he said. “I have some command of the Old Tongue.”

Carefully she traced the flow and curve of the intricate symbol, trying as best she could to get it to resemble exactly what she had seen on the wall.

Archer nodded slowly. “It says, One who blazes with the light of the gods.”

“I wonder why it seems so familiar,” she said.

Sara leaned over. “You forgot part of it, Tess.” Taking the stick from the other woman’s hand, she drew a rounded triangle around the letters. “Does that mean anything?”

Archer’s expression now looked as stony as any Anari’s. “The enclosure means that it holds within a name. The name in this case is…Theriel.”

“The White Lady,” Tom breathed. “She of the legends.”

Reaching out suddenly, Archer rubbed away the symbol with his gloved hand. Then, without a word, he strode away from them.

Tess stared after him. “I upset him.”

“Much about the past upsets him, Lady,” Ratha said bracingly. “Especially when the present is but another maw of the past.”

“What does that mean?” Tom asked.

Ratha cocked his head to one side, as if considering his words with care. “We fight an old battle, Tom. What is to come has already been.”

* * * *

The fleeing villagers rested only long enough to see to their needs and catch a few hours of sleep. By midday they were on their way again, following a path that would have been invisible to all but the initiated.

Everywhere there seemed to be a recognition that they were leaving behind the familiar forever. That at the end of this march, one way or another, the world would change eternally.

Sara found herself walking among the Telneren, with Tom at her side. The women sang in an easy, lilting rhythm that matched their strides, and although Sara could not understand the words, the melodies and harmonies seemed to reach into her soul. She squeezed Tom’s hand and glanced over to him. The look on his face gave her pause.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“They sing with such joy,” he said. “I can’t find any joy in this journey.”

She favored him with a smile. “Not even with me, Tom Downey?”

“Of course,” he said, his voice faltering. “I didn’t mean…it’s just…so much…and so much more….”

“Don’t lose courage, Tom,” she said, giving his hand another squeeze. “They sing with the joy of courage. The joy of those who know their cause is just, who know they will overcome.”

“If the last two days are a portent,” Tom said, “the Bozandari can stamp them out Tel by Tel until there are none left.”

“And if they allowed themselves to stand Tel by Tel, that might happen. But this is why we march to Anahar. I suspect Gewindi-Tel are not the only Anari with this idea.” She pointed ahead. “Look at how Ratha and Giri and Jenah have fallen in as one. Bonds of kinship are strong among the Anari, just as they are in Whitewater. When trouble befalls any, all respond. The Bozandari will regret having burned the tail of this great desert adder.”

“Do you miss home?” he said. “At the mere sound of the word—Whitewater—I see my mother bringing a bowl of stew to my father, then sitting by the fireplace with her knitting. And my heart weeps. I wonder how they are surviving this winter, and whether we shall go home to a ghost town.”

“Now, Tom, you know Whitewater folk better than to say such a thing. Why, look at us. Much hardship have we seen on this journey, and yet we walk on. Why would you think our kinsmen capable of any less? Whitewater presses its shoulder to the mountains. Our people are good beasts of burden. When the load is heavy, we pull together. Let us not fear for them.”

“Your Lady speaks the truth,” Eiehsa said, during a pause in the singing. “Fret not about what you cannot affect, Lord Thomas. The sun will rise and the sun will set, but the heart beats during light or darkness.”

“Lord Thomas,” Tom said, chuckling. “I am quite certain I do not merit that title. I am merely Tom Downey, of the village of Whitewater, son of a gatekeeper.”

“Lady Sara is a noble Ilduin,” Eiehsa said with a deep smile. “I am sure her eye would not fall fair on one less noble than she.”

“She’s right,” Sara said. “You are the son of a gatekeeper, yes, and a noble thing indeed is that alone. But you are more than that, Tom, and you know this to be true. Much do you speak that a young man would not see, and when you do, I hear the voice of ages on the wind. You are a prophet, Tom Downey. Mark my words.”

“A master of the obvious, perhaps,” Tom said.

“Now, lad,” Eiehsa said, “I suspect the Lady will be for tanning your hide if you continue to speak thus. You wonder if you are worthy of her. But that is your wonder, Tom, not hers. Her eyes say she has no such doubts.”

“Not even the least,” Sara said, giving him a playful smack on the bottom. “So either you are indeed worthy, or I am a blind and stupid girl. I’ll thank you not to imply the latter.”

“Are you going to let her spank you like that?” Archer said with a deep, grumbling laugh, having suddenly appeared at their side.

“Um…yes?” Tom asked.

“Smart lad,” Archer said, winking at Sara. “He knows what is good for him. And I know what is good for me, and for all of us, if I may prevail upon Mother Eiehsa and her sisters for another song to lighten our steps.”

“Very well,” Eiehsa said. “In the presence of such nobility as Lord Archer and his companions, perhaps our oldest and most beautiful song is in order. We sing it but rarely, yet it is the song that binds our souls as can none other. Sisters, let us sing.”

Their voices rose together, and even Archer sang along, translating the words for the rest.

Our roots lie deep in mountain stone,

On desert sand we stand, alone,

But not alone, not e’er are we,

For graced by blessings each are we.

The rising sun and setting moon,

Bring rhythm to the heart’s own tune,

The summer warmth and winter rain,

Renew our strength to stand again.

We live as one, in joy and peace,

And know we all, when labors cease,

That in the arms of gods we sleep,

Our souls forever theirs to keep.

Weep not, Anari, tall and proud,

Let not thy burdened back be bowed,

Created one by Twelve are ye,

Live long in honor, brave and free.

Sara found herself singing along, her voice dancing with those of the Anari as if born of a strength beyond her own. If the Twelve had indeed created the Anari, then that grace must surely wash away any stain. For in the lilt of their voices, and hers, she found a peace like none she could remember.

Finally even Tom sang beside her, their voices rising like the dreams of lovers not yet met as if to play among the stars. Long had she wished for this, to hear his voice unite in song with hers. If it took a horrific flight through all the world to hear his voice thus, then every horror was paid in this moment.

“I do love thee, Tom Downey,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

In the instant that her lips tasted his sweetness, a brief, flitting whisper sounded. And then the arrow lodged in his side.