And on the mountain, Thorn and Oak Dar stood frozen with the wonder of the flight as the dark cloud moved over Burgdeeth and receded beyond the Kubalese hills.
Part Two: The Runestone
From the Book of Fire, Cloffi.
In the beginning there was order upon the land and men were obedient. But mortals grew covetous: they lusted after the powers of the gods, and their blasphemy spread to infect many. They rose in violence against the gods; and they laid siege to the holy city Owdneet and all was evil upon Ere.
So the Luff’Eresi made the earth to tremble. They made fires to spew from the mountains and rivers of fire to cover the land.
Few men survived the Fire Scourge, and those few went in fear to the south. This was a time of shadow when cinders fell from the sky, and the sun shone only dimly, and the minds of men were dark. There were few flocks and few seed and few women to husband. But still men made further evil; men sinned, and in sin the women conceived Children of Ynell; and these changelings could speak with closed mouths, and they could see visions invisible to men. The gods’ powers were usurped; and the gods were sore angered. And to appease the gods, men burned the Children of Ynell in sacrifice.
Then on the Eve of Harvest, when men were standing in their cut fields, one black cloud came covering the sky. And a voice cried out, “You have sinned. Kneel down.” And the men knelt in their fields. And the voice said, “You have taken what is ours. You have incurred the wrath of the Luff’Eresi. Your fields will die, and you will be hungry. You must bring a tithing of your crops: and you must burn your fields after harvest to propitiate the Fire: and nevermore will you sacrifice what is ours to sacrifice. Henceforth you will bring the Children of Ynell to the Death Stone, for the Luff’Eresi to kill as we see fit.”
SEVEN
Burgdeeth did not talk of war at first, but then people began to whisper. Even when Zephy had slipped into the Set with food for Thorn, her danger had not seemed so great, her possible discovery so shattering, with the thought of real danger raw in her mind. And she could tell Mama was worried and upset. Though in spite of it, Mama was as friendly with Kearb-Mattus as ever.
No one ever expected war, she guessed. Certainly the men of Urobb hadn’t expected it as they spread their nets; how could they know they would be dead in the morning? Everything we do is hinged on war, she thought. If we’re not attacked; if there’s no war in Cloffi; if life goes on at all.
Would the prayers at Fire Scourge help? Could they help, as the Covenants taught? Would the gods intervene? Zephy didn’t know, she felt she didn’t know anything. But Fire Scourge, the most dramatic supplication of the year, when the cut fields were lit with the long line of torches and the gods propitiated with fire, would such a strong supplication help Cloffi?
The volcanoes had stopped war twice in Ere’s history. But then it was the sacred cities themselves that had been attacked; no wonder the fires spilled forth.
Do I believe that? She thought suddenly. Do I really believe the gods made the volcanoes erupt to stop the attacks on their cities? Do I believe the gods can do such a thing?
If the gods are real, why do they let war come at all? And why did they let their own cities be attacked in the first place?
After Fire Scourge the fields would lie black and burned-smelling until the snows came to cover them. She felt so unsettled—as if life were taking a turning she could not prevent, nor yet hurry, and the waiting was unbearable; yet the finality would be worse. She remained edgy and cross even when she and Meatha managed to slip into Tra. Hoppa’s kitchen. All three felt too oppressed by the fate of Urobb to have lessons. Tra. Hoppa looked very tired.
Meatha clung to the old lady, fearful and wan. “It makes you feel so trapped, Tra. Hoppa. How could we escape, really? If the attack comes so suddenly, from all sides, the way it did in Urobb . . .”
“You could go to the mountain,” Tra. Hoppa said sternly. “You don’t think they’d search all the caves. Those mountains are honeycombed with caves.”
“But you—”
“Never mind about me. I’m a wily old thing. And if you can’t get to the caves, slip into the tunnel until you can get away.” She grinned at them. “You two can outsmart a few clumsy Kubalese soldiers if you keep your wits about you. Though we may be in for some difficult times. If Urobb had had the strength and determination of Carriol, Kubal would never have attacked her. Nor would Kubal threaten Cloffi now, if Cloffi were strong. But strength can only begin inside, with its people, and with Cloffi as she is now . . .”
“How could anything ever begin with Cloffi’s people?” Meatha said bitterly.
“It would take those who truly cared.”
“No one cares!”
It won’t happen, Zephy thought desperately. War can’t happen to us. The light from the window cut across Tra. Hoppa’s gray hair and made her wrinkles, as she turned, show plainly. It was strange to think of Tra. Hoppa as old, for she was nothing like the old ladies of Burgdeeth. It was as if all Tra. Hoppa’s life lay in stages there inside, still to be seen and touched. The other old women of Burgdeeth seemed to have retained nothing of their pasts but the bitterness.
When they left Tra. Hoppa, it was quickly, for the Horse had begun to drill on the road beyond the grove. Such a drill outside the Set was most unusual. “I suppose the Landmaster has taken some heed of the defeat of Urobb,” Tra. Hoppa said bitterly. “At least the Horse is doing more than their usual playful sparring. You must go by the tunnel, they can see all over the housegardens from that road.”
The tunnel was as old as Burgdeeth. It began in the plum grove where the old prison had stood, and ended beneath the sacred statue. It had been the means of escape for the Children of Ynell who had, as slaves, built much of the original town of Burgdeeth. They had dug the tunnel secretly at night and, when they cast and erected the statue, had made a hollow opening in its base to join the tunnel opening. Only Tra. Hoppa knew of the tunnel, and she had learned of it in Carrioclass="underline" the secret had been well kept from the landmasters of Burgdeeth. “It will be wanted one day,” she had said once, “as it was wanted before. It might be needed several times before Burgdeeth is free.”
Tra. Hoppa had them out the door before they could catch their breaths, the candle flame nearly invisible in the daylight. “Quick, Zephy, pivot the stone back. Hurry!”
The stone, a small pivoting boulder surrounded by humped gray rocks, moved with the pressure of Zephy’s shoulder. The tunnel would lead them, as it had those others, beneath Burgdeeth into the hollow base of the statue. When darkness had come, those Children had pushed back the bronze panel and fled Burgdeeth forever. Now Zephy and Meatha slipped down into darkness as, above them, Tra. Hoppa shouldered the stone back into place.
Beyond the light that the candle threw on dirt-mortared walls, the tunnel was utterly black. It smelled damp. They could just see the first supporting timber, a thick tree trunk sunk between the stones.
The weight of the earth above them seemed to press down intolerably as they made their way in the darkness, the candlelight dodging and shifting.
“I never liked it,” Meatha whispered.
“It’s better than getting caught.”
Why did they whisper? The tunnel made them do it. As if, if they spoke aloud, they might—what? Stir awake something alive in the tunnel walls themselves? Zephy snorted at herself and tried to concentrate on the little sphere of candlelight as Meatha pressed close behind, bumping her now and then in her impatience to get on.