Yet something within me fought that sentence of insignificance—that negation of spirit. I am a man, I told those faraway uncaring watchers, a man, and today I saved a life. The thought brought with it a measure of comfort. Closing my eyes, I willed sleep.
For the next ten days we rode, moving ever southward and to the east, our eyes searching the horizon for Obred’s looked-for mountains. On the morning of the eleventh day, when he chanced to ride beside me, I asked him why he and the Kioga had abandoned the mountains from whence Joisan and I had traveled—and if he and his people had originated in those heights.
“To answer your second question first, no. When I was still such a small one that I could barely ride alone, we came to this land. Nidu opened the way—” Catching my look of surprise, he nodded affirmation. “Yes, the same Wise One you have seen. My race is long-lived, true, but Nidu’s Powers have given her a lifespan known to few. She is old, yet seems not to age… It is best not to question one with Power. She drummed and sang, and we rode into a greyness… and when it faded, we were here, in this land.”
“Why did you leave your old land?” I asked, thinking that Joisan’s suspicion about these people having traversed some Gate from another world or time now had more substance in the face of Obred’s explanation.
“I was too young to understand much, and the Elders never liked to speak of it… but I remember hiding in one of the wagons and peering out, only to see some of our young men and women marched away in fetters, linked by neck-collars and chains. My mother was among them. Tall, thin men with light hair and eyes rode beside them with whips. Thus we were a strange band when we came into Arvon—numbering only the very old and the very young, with few riders who could be reckoned in their prime…”
“That is a heavy memory to bear,” I said slowly, thinking that, in its way, his fate had been even harsher than my own. “You must have missed your mother.”
“Perhaps in the beginning. I do not remember much. Only that one sight stayed with me. But here, things were different. We were free, roaming our mountain home with none to fear—until this past winter, that is, when that…” He paused, seeking for words. “That thing… that runner of mountain ridges claimed Jerwin’s life. Guret and I were among those who saw if, and one view was enough. We packed and marched with the breath of the he Dragon burning at our backs, lucky enough to traverse the passes without causing an avalanche, but none who had seen it ever thought of turning back.”
His words seemed to bypass my mind and sink directly into my body, causing a stirring at the back of my neck, as of little icy slivers pricking the flesh. My breath caught, then I managed, “It?”
“Everyone who saw it had a different perception of it, Lord, but all agreed it was uncanny—a thing against true nature. Yellowish, swirling, it seemed to me, and cold, colder than death, ranker than decay. It hurled itself up the ancient mountain road with the speed of a hunter, and young Jerwin happened to be caught in its path. He… froze… stood looking at it… while we shrieked for him to run. His face—” Obred’s voice caught, and it was a moment before he continued. “Jerwin was my sister’s boy, you see. It was his first scout. And I am haunted by the thought that he met a death that is not yet finished… an unclean death… a never-ending death.”
“I understand,” I whispered, stirred by the horror of his remembering and my own. “I, too, have seen it.”
“You? When?” Obred was plainly startled.
“Just before Joisan and I came into your land. I did not see its reality, only a shadow… a vision, if you will. It was horrible.”
“Aye.” Obred tugged absently at the heavy droop of his moustache, evidently thinking. “Did it appear to you much as I described it?”
“Yes. Streaks of red running through a yellowish mist… a droning sound like angry bees, or perhaps some insane music…”
“I heard nothing. So it was with each of us; some things seem the same, some perceptions differing with each watcher. Nidu was the only one who saw it clearly—or thought she did.”
“What did she see?”
“A hunt. Men and monsters pursuing a creature from legend. An unholy mixture of woman and bird-thing… grotesque and ugly. Like a harpy in Arvon’s old legends.”
Harpy? My mind skittered through memory, finally seizing on one of the tiny figures my friend Riwal had collected on one of our many forays into the Waste, hearing again his words as he labored to fit together a broken body and leg. “True, this is a woman’s body, Kerovan, and what looks to be the leg of a bird. But they join perfectly, so. See? It is a pity the other leg is lost.” And I had stood in wonder at the one-legged creature with a woman’s trunk bearing the head and extremities of a bird of prey. Something about the rapacious expression on the tiny face had made me shiver and draw back, as though the creature might snap its fanged beak suddenly, then launch itself at me.
“A fearful thing, a harpy,” I said, the memory of the tiny carving vivid before me.
Obred nodded. “Following Jerwin’s grim death—after the creature rolled over him, there was naught left we could even bury or burn—we decided that we must leave. We did, and now we search for mountains again, safe ones, clean of the Shadow.”
Automatically we both scanned the horizon, still featureless. There were only the plains—
Narrowing my eyes, I put out a hand toward Obred. “Look! To the west, there. What is that?” It seemed to me that a small mound broke the wave of the grass in the distance.
“I don’t—yes, I see it!” Signaling to our followers, we rode toward that hump.
Perception is distorted on such a featureless expanse. I realized in a few moments that the mound I had glimpsed was much closer than I had originally thought, and consequently much smaller. Nekia’s trot lengthened into a smooth canter, ground-covering and gently rocking. Moments later we drew rein before that solitary object.
“A well!” Obred exclaimed. “But how did it come here, so far from any dwelling?”
I studied the high sides, made of ordinary stone, mortared roughly together. From deep inside I could hear the entrancing gurgle of water. Small bushes clustered about the well’s base, bright with large orange blossoms.
Obred reached down and jerked his waterskin free of its fastening on his saddle. “At least we can replenish our supplies and drink our fill. It seems as though we’ve been short of water forever.” He began to dismount.
It was then that I felt the tingle on my wrist. Looking down, I saw the wristband of the Old Ones glow even in the brilliant sunlight, shining blue-green. Along its surface runes twisted, red-gold in color. I stared at the talisman in near disbelief, for the well was such an ordinary, homely structure, it was difficult to believe—
Heat erupted from the band, near searing me in its intensity. I found my voice. “Obred! No!”
The Kioga leader continued his slow pace forward, not even turning his head. I glanced back at the rest of our group. Most sat their horses with fixed gaze, eyes blank. A few looked uneasy. I seized upon a familiar countenance, putting all my will into my shout. “Guret! We have to stop him! To me!”
The boy pulled his eyes from their fixed stare at the well, his dark gaze centering on mine. Then, slamming heels into his stallion’s flanks, he crowded through the others, reaching me in moments.
Turning Nekia, I signaled to him, and together we followed Obred’s broad back. Even as we raced toward him, he had almost reached the bushes—
Bending down, I grasped the Kioga leader’s shirt with both hands, controlling Nekia with my knees and weight. Guret, on the man’s other side, did the same. “To the right!” I shouted, and as one, both mounts wheeled on their haunches, turning away from the well.