The Crow Page 22

  "Zelika, Hem; Saliman just showed you what to do. Now you must do it."

  "But I'm not a Bard like you," said Zelika, her voice waver­ing. "I can't do magery."

  "The magery does not come from you, but from this place," Soron answered. "Come, have faith. There is no other way."

  There was a short pause, and Hem heard Zelika swallow.

  "Do I have to say it out loud, like Saliman did?" she asked.

  "No," said Soron. "You must just see it in your mind. The walls will hear, and shape themselves. Now, Zelika: you first."

  Zelika shut her eyes, concentrating hard. There was a long silence, and she opened them.

  "It won't work," she said flatly. "1 told you."

  "Zelika," said Soron patiently. "There is no other way. Think of a gate. Think of what it feels like. What it is like to open it. What lies beyond it."

  She stared at Soron, her mouth a straight line. Then she shut her eyes again.

  This time the darkness shimmered at the end of the passage, and Hem briefly glimpsed a nimbus of golden light and a hint of waving green and white, like a tree in flower. Zelika's eyes snapped open. An expression of wonder and delight flickered over her face, and she ran to the end of the passage and van­ished through the wall.

  Soron turned to Hem. "That was the hard one," he said. "Now you, Hem." Hem sorted through his memories, wondering what it was that Zelika had seen. As he did so, he felt a small stab of envy: his memories had not the beauty of Saliman's. He could remember best the gate of the orphanage. It was made of thick, weathered wood, and it was always bolted fast. There was the gate of the house in Edinur, where he had briefly stayed with the Hulls, but that memory filled him with horror, and he dis­missed it.

  He shut his eyes, and summoned the orphanage gate to his mind's eye. It was of silver wood, so hardened and polished with age it was impossible to tell of what kind, and almost com­pletely plain. It had once been washed with lime, and near the top was a crack. If you looked closely, you could see, very faintly, the patterns of knotholes in the wood. To the side was a tarnished brass handle, which turned and lifted a latch. When you opened it...

  Ire gave a soft caw. A breath of cool air, like the air of a street in far-off Edinur, buffeted Hem's cheek. He opened his eyes, and he gasped. He was standing in a tunnel of stone, but at the far end, bathed in shifting sunlight, stood the gate to the orphanage.

  "Quick, go through," whispered Soron, who was watching Hem closely. "There is not much time."

  Hesitantly, Hem walked to the end of the passage. He knew the gate was not real, he knew he stood deep inside the earth, hundreds of leagues from Edinur; and yet he walked in cool, silver sunlight down an Annaren street. He put out his hand and touched the latch; the gate opened, and he passed through.

  The gate shut behind him, and the sunlight vanished. Ire, who had been standing on Hem's shoulder trembling with joy, made a small, woeful noise and hid his eyes again. They were in another rocky passage, stretching forward into the dark, and behind Hem was an unpassable wall of stone. Nearby, he could hear the sound of running water. After his brief vision of the outside world, it seemed even colder and darker than before.

  Saliman and Zelika stood nearby, in the unwavering mage­light. Zelika, Hem saw, was in tears, and Saliman's hand was on her shoulder; neither of them spoke when they saw Hem, but merely nodded in greeting.

  Shortly afterward, as Hem watched, fascinated, the blank stone seemed to shimmer, and Soron emerged through the wall.

  "Now for the final gate," said Soron softly.

  "What is this one?" asked Hem.

  "The Gate of Water," said Saliman. "Come."

  Saliman led them briskly down the tunnel. The roof now ran lower, so Saliman and Soron both had to stoop. In the confined space the sound of running water became louder and louder, its echo bouncing around the walls so that it was impossible to tell where it came from. It could have been a river running behind a wall of rock next to them, or even above them.

  Before long the passage widened again, the walls drawing away from them, and the ground changed beneath their feet from rock to pale sand. The sound of running water grew louder still. At last they reached a fall of water, sparkling silver in the magelight, that blocked their way. Hem realized that an underground river must run high over their heads, and now plunged down into a deep abyss in front of them. He could not see how far the water fell, or what was beyond it, and the spray struck up a fine mist, wetting his face.

  The roar of the river was so loud that he could not at first hear what Saliman said, and knew he was speaking only because his mouth moved. Saliman gestured them close to him, shouting into their ears.

  "This will take some time," he said. "We cannot make a magelight here: once past the water, there is a force that blocks all magery. Follow me closely, one by one. Soron, you come last. Hem, you first: stay very close to me, and step where I tell you. Take care that you do not slip; some of the rocks are slimy."

  Hem nodded, and followed Saliman. He saw that a path curved around the extreme side of the tunnel, around the edge of the waterfall; it was certainly made by human hands. Saliman went cautiously, testing each step as he went, and Hem concentrated on placing his feet exactly where Saliman placed his. Saliman was right: the rock was in places very slippery.

  Carefully and slowly they rounded the edge of the cave, and soon were almost underneath the waterfall, protected from being washed away only by an overhanging lip of rock. The path here was very narrow, scarcely wider than a man's foot was long, and there was nothing to hold on to. Saliman's mage­light went out; and, his heart in his mouth, Hem leaned into the wall and tried to ignore the noise to his left, where massive vol­umes of water plunged down unseen – who knew how far – into some unimaginable gulf. Ire clung to his accustomed place on Hem's shoulder, hating the roar of the water and the utter blackness. It seemed to take an age, but at last the path widened, and then ran out onto a broader ledge.

  Saliman paused here, breathing heavily. "The first part is over," he said. "We can rest here a short time."

  Hem nodded and gingerly sat down, feeling the space with his hands. He felt more exhausted than their progress along the path, in truth a short way, seemed to warrant.

  After too brief a break, they resumed their journey. This was challenging in a different way; they carefully made their way up a path as narrow as that which had skirted the waterfall, and so steep it was nearly vertical. Hem scrambled behind Saliman, feeling for each foot­and handhold, listening to Saliman's instructions, while Ire, night-blind, hung on painfully to his hair. The roar of the river gradually subsided behind them.

  Despite the chill, Hem was dripping with sweat when they at last clambered over a lip of stone and fell onto level ground. He lay like a stranded fish, gulping in the air, dizzy with relief. Ire celebrated by pecking his face. Hem pushed the bird away.

  It's all right for some, he said to Ire. Some creatures didn't have to climb.

  Ire cawed complacently. He was more at ease now that they were no longer in an enclosed space.

  "We're almost there, Hem," said Saliman. "I'll show you where you have come."

  Saliman spread his hands, and a silver light filled the cav­ern. Hem blinked, and then crawled to the edge of the rock. What he saw made his whole body go cold. He was looking over the edge of a high cliff. He could see the dark line of the path he had just climbed, which plunged down some hundred spans and then turned sharply right onto the ledge where he and Saliman had rested. Then, if he squinted, he could see the narrow path that skirted the waterfall, until it disappeared into the spray of water and the darkness.

  For the first time he realized what would have happened if he had slipped and fallen. The waterfall plunged down, long past the tiny path, into an abyss so deep he could not see the bottom. If he had known the full extent of the risk, he would have been almost paralyzed with fear. His blindness had been a mercy.

  The illumination dimmed back to the
tiny magelight, and Hem sat on the ledge, his heart hammering against his ribs with delayed terror.

  "And you're going to do that four times?" he asked, sitting up and staring at Saliman with his mouth open. "Five, there and back, actually." Saliman smiled at him tiredly. "Make a magelight, Hem, and wait for me. It will seem a long time, waiting here. But I will come back. Zelika is next."

  Impulsively, Hem leaned forward and embraced Saliman. "May the Light guide your feet," he said, his mouth dry.

  Saliman returned Hem's embrace, with a sudden, surprised tenderness. Then he opened his pack and took out a length of rope. He tied it around an outcrop of rock, carefully testing the knot, and threw it down the path.

  "Going down won't be as hard as coming up," he said, grinning. "I'll return. Be patient." Then he grabbed the rope in his hands and let himself down the side of the cliff, into the darkness. His magelight went out. Hem remembered Saliman's instruction to make his own, and swiftly conjured one. He drank a couple of mouthfuls of water, nibbled some dried dates from his pack, and gave Ire a bit of dried meat. Then he com­posed himself to wait, trying not to think of what might happen if something went wrong.

  As Saliman had warned, it seemed a very long time before he appeared again with Zelika. Hem felt very alone and very small, sitting in the dim, unchanging light above that terrifying abyss, with nothing to mark the passing of time. He tried to rest, but anxieties kept running through his mind like little mice: what if? what if? what if? He couldn't rid himself of them. At last he saw the rope tighten, and he scrambled to the edge of the cliff, carefully looking down to see Zelika and Saliman clambering up the final steep path and, as Hem had, climbing over the edge and collapsing. For a time, Saliman lay on his back, his chest heaving.

  "It's bad enough having to do this once," he said. "Well, I can't keep Soron waiting too long." Then he disappeared again.

  With Zelika's company, the waiting was not so bad. The children whiled away the time playing an old Annaren game – knife, cloth, stone – that Hem had taught Zelika back in Turbansk. The rhythm of their chanting was soothing, and it seemed much quicker this time before Saliman reappeared with Soron.

  Saliman simply lay down and didn't move for a while. Soron collapsed to the ground, his limbs trembling. After a short time he sat up and looked at the children. He reached for his pack and took out a flask of medhyl.

  "By the Light, I hope I never have to journey that way ever again," he said. "That is the worst thing I have ever had to do."

  "It was pretty bad," said Hem. "Saliman showed me what it looks like out there."

  Soron shuddered. "I don't have to look," he said. "I could feel it." He took another gulp of the medhyl. "I do not like heights. And I almost fell."

  "You slipped?" said Zelika.

  "Aye, my feet are not so nimble as yours," said Soron. "I stumbled on that horrible narrow path. It felt like a very bad nightmare. I do not know how Saliman stopped me."

  "Neither do I," said Saliman, from the ground. His chest was still heaving. "It was a near thing. But I did, and that is all that matters. Give me some of that medhyl, my friend; I need it too."

  Soron shuddered again, and handed Saliman the flask. "I thank you, Saliman, from the bottom of my heart. Though my gratitude seems a poor return for my life."

  "It will do." Saliman's teeth flashed white as he grinned, and took a deep draught of medhyl. "Come, the worst is over. We are almost there."

  XIII

  NEWS FROM ANNAR

  After running the gauntlet of the entrance to Nal-Ak-Burat, the last thing Hem expected to see was an actual gate. But there it was, right in front of him: a plain gate of brass glimmering dully in the magelight, stretching up to twice his height.

  It was not far from the Gate of Water. They had walked away from the cliff, and the roof of the huge cavern had gradually become lower until once again they were walking through a cave, although this one was broad and high. Soon they had reached a wall that had clearly been made by human hands, and set into the wall was the brass gate.

  Saliman reached out his hand and pushed the gate, and slowly it opened. A warm, flickering rush light spilled out into the cold darkness. From behind Saliman's shoulder, Hem peered through curiously, but could see nothing, apart from a torch flaming in a bracket by the gate.

  Saliman quickly ushered them through, and soundlessly the brass gate closed behind them. They were in what appeared to be a broad thoroughfare, flagged with stone. It was lined on either side by windowless walls that were pierced irregularly with carved portals blocked by doors of the same dull brass as the gate they had just passed through. Others opened onto black passageways. The hair prickled on Hem's neck; perhaps someone stood in those black doorways and watched them.

  "How strange!" said Zelika, and jumped. Her voice sounded unexpectedly loud. Aside from the faint crackle of the burning torch and their own breathing, the street was utterly silent, and her voice bounced disconcertingly.

  "Yes, it is strange," said Saliman, taking the torch from its bracket and leading them down the street. "Strange and beauti­ful and sad. But let's find Hared. He won't be far from here."

  With more eagerness than he had felt since they had entered the caves, Hem followed hard on Saliman's heels, down the empty, dark streets. Sometimes they saw flights of steps between the walls, leading into darkness, and far off, on heights and gulfs they could only dimly perceive, the outlines of more buildings. Sheltered from the scouring of wind and sun, the stone looked as if it might have been carved yesterday; every now and then he saw a crack in a wall, where the earth might have shifted, but that was all.

  "What is this place?" Hem asked Saliman, as he hurried after him. "Who lived here?"

  "Nobody knows," said Saliman. "Once this city must have been fair and populous; it stretches a league at least from end to end. And yet scarcely anything remains in memory of those who lived here – a line in a song here, a child's rhyme there..."

  "Then how did you know about the Gates?" asked Zelika. "Somebody must have known."

  "Bards have long memories," Saliman answered. "The site of this city, and how to enter it, has been passed down through the ages, from Bard to Bard. So, Hem and Zelika, count your­selves fortunate! Not many alive have seen this city. In the Great Silence, after the Nameless One overran the Eastern Suderain, Nal-Ak-Burat was used as a base from which to harry his forces. Alas, we were stronger then than we are now: for neither Baladh nor Turbansk fell to the Nameless One in those dark times. It was wise to keep this place secret, against the time we might need it again."

  At this, they turned out of the street into a massive square, and Hem gasped. Here the roof of the cavern leaped away, out of sight, so it was almost as if they stood in the open air. Ire gave a hopeful caw; for a brief moment he had thought they were outside under a night sky. Nearby was a Bard lamp, and its pure, steady light falling onto the pale stone made Hem blink. They still could not see any sign of people. Hem wondered briefly why there were no guards or watchmen, but then thought of the Three Gates. They were surely guard enough.

  Carved into the rock wall to their left was a wide doorway, its lintel surrounded by the same strange runes they had seen by the Three Gates. Saliman led them inside, into a huge, well-illuminated chamber. The walls were covered in murals that must once have been bright, but now the colors were so faint it was hard to make them out; he saw the shape of an ibis, and a strange beast with the head of a lion and the body of a woman. There was an incongruous smell, faint but unmistakable, of cooking: spices and meat. Hem's mouth started to water.

  Saliman stood by the door and shouted Hared's name, mak­ing the children jump. It sounded much too loud in that silent place.

  "If I'm not mistaken, it is time for dinner," said Saliman, turning with a smile. "Or breakfast. Who knows what time it is in the upper world? A meal, anyway."

  "Something hot would be right welcome," said Soron. "I am sick to my back teeth of dried dates."

 
; But now they heard footsteps, and a man entered the cham­ber from the far end and came toward them. He was very tall, and his skin was very black, darker even than Saliman's, and he was dressed simply in a tunic and loose trousers. He looked older than Saliman, and tougher. Unconsciously Hem drew closer to Saliman as he approached them.

  "Greetings, Saliman," the man said soberly, taking his hand and embracing him. "I should be more glad to see you, if it were not for the news your presence brings. So Turbansk has fallen?"

  "Alas, it is so, Hared. You have not heard?"

  The man dropped his eyes, and was briefly silent.

  "News has been hard to come by, the past week," he said at last. "These are evil days. Alas, for my home! We must skulk in the heart of the earth, and struggle for better times. But tell me, who are your companions? You bring children here?" He stared with undisguised curiosity and a touch of disapproval at Hem and Zelika. Ire, who was recovering some of his normal equilib­rium, gave a defiant caw.

  "You know Soron of Til Amon," said Saliman shortly. "Hared of Turbansk, this is Hem of Turbansk, and our friend Zelika of the House of II Aran, of Baladh. Now, my friend, we have traveled far, and we are hungry: we can smell your dinner. Is there enough to share?"

  Hared nodded courteously in greeting, although the look of disapproval on his face did not fade. "There is plenty to share. Plain food, but good. Though now a famous cook has joined us, eh? Perhaps things are looking up."

  "Are the others inside?"

  "A few of us," said Hared. "Come."

  He strode to the far end of the room, and disappeared into a wide hallway, also well-lit. Zelika and Hem trailed after the oth­ers, feeling awkward and shy; Hared was rather intimidating. As they neared the end of the passage, they began to hear the murmur of people talking. It made Hem realize that he had not heard other people for days on end. They entered a small cham­ber, decorated like the larger room with faded murals, and warmed by a brazier of glowing coals. In the middle was a low table of polished stone, and around it were, surprisingly, a number of comfortable cushions, covered in brightly colored silks. The table itself was set for a meal, with many small brass dishes of sauces and even a jug of wine. Around it sat four people: a man and three women. Hem saw immediately that they were all Bards, but he didn't recognize any of them. The tallest woman stood up and greeted them.