He turned to Gizor for suggestions, but he had faded again as they climbed and was now only the faintest of outlines, without even a face. Roric knocked at the solid earth before him with his fists, but the dirt was mixed with rocks and sand and packed hard. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he said in case the wight could still hear him, for he did not want to be ungrateful although it was hard to sound sincere.
While he hesitated, breathing shallowly the fetid air that surrounded him, the entire earth trembled under him, and the roof of the tiny space in which he stood swayed and swayed again, threatening to collapse. He threw his arms protectively over his head, but the swaying ceased in a moment. He began digging wildly with his bare hands at the earth, and then heard a sound, the first living sound that had reached him: the muffled scream of a stallion. Then the earth again began to sway.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
1
Valmar saw firelight flickering ahead of him in the tunnel. Eirik’s men? he wondered. But he heard no sound, none of the outlaw king’s boisterous conversation, not even the snores he would have expected if they were all asleep. He crawled on as quietly as possible, his sword’s scabbard dragging behind him.
He came into a dimly lit chamber where something enormous and bulky reclined by the fire. His hand closed around his hilt. Against the far wall was a complicated web woven of string, but it looked as though it had been slashed in several places, for broken ends dangled. Beyond the web was an enormous mirror which seemed to reflect something other than this room. The bulky shape shifted and human eyes glinted at him. “Do not fear me, Valmar Hadros’s son.”
Valmar emerged from the tunnel and rose to his feet. “Are you the Witch of the Western Cliffs?” he asked cautiously. He made himself let go of his sword hilt. Karin had told him a little of the Witch. “And if you are, am I still in mortal realms?”
He had not been able to get any detail of the witch’s shape. She-or it-turned away from him, toward the web, and began slashing. It was impossible in the dim light to see if the witch was using a knife or fingernails. More rents opened, and more bits of string dangled down.
“You are in mortal realms, but not for long,” said the voice almost cheerfully. “You humans have given me an idea.”
“Humans? An idea?” Valmar found his fingers twitching and clenched his fists. He had come back to rescue or to avenge Roric, not to become caught in the webs of creatures of voima.
“Roric No-man’s son and Karin Kardan’s daughter,” said the witch in a matter-of-fact tone. “They are very unlike, with different goals, different purposes. In a mortal lifespan, there is no way they could ever possibly come to understand each other fully. Yet they love each other. They do not need complete agreement. They have learned through facing desperate dangers that even creatures as different as men and women can act together.”
The witch was speaking as though Roric was still alive. Valmar fought down shameful disappointment. He should be delighted his foster-brother lived. Karin was not his even if Roric was dead.
But a witch in mortal realms might not know what had happened in the realms of voima. “Are you creating desperate dangers in ripping your weaving?
“You humans gave me that idea too,” the witch continued, glancing quickly at him. “There are too many knots, too many tangles accumulated over the years. Roric No-man’s son deals with tangles by trying something desperate and bold. Karin Kardan’s daughter does not lose track of the final goal, no matter how difficult the way. The first of the dangers to the realms of voima were those men who went through the rift, being taunted by Roric. At his example, I then sent a dragon through. When a dragon settled at my door many years ago, I had not realized the potential advantages!”
“The Wanderers and Hearthkeepers fought the dragon together.”
“They worked together for a short time, it is true. But it will take more than that for our children to join together permanently. They have known all along that without someone to guide and instruct you mortals, you will lose order and direction, return to scattered and violent bands roving through the forest as you once were. But even that danger has not been enough to make them stop their attempts to circumvent the other’s power. I need something even more desperate.”
“Then what do you intend?” asked Valmar.
“The outlaws and the dragon in the realms of voima were an excellent distraction while I prepared what I do now. I am unmaking. ” The voice was harsh and booming, all its cheerful quality gone. A shiver went up Valmar’s back. No matter how strange and slow this witch might seem, if Karin was right it had given birth to the chief of the Wanderers. “We made the realms of voima for them to live in, and most of us, the makers, built ourselves into the very fabric of those realms, asleep. But now I who was left to watch am waking them. If they awake-and if our children do not ease them quickly back into slumber-then the very substance of immortal realms shall crumble.”
Valmar was swept with a horror that made his whole body go stiff. “And what will happen if immortal realms are destroyed?” he brought out between frozen lips.
“Then all the powers of voima will be destroyed, and all order in mortal realms will go with them.”
“You would destroy all you created-” For a moment he clenched his sword. But then those eyes, human and more than human, met his and the strength went out of him.
“We were not the creators of mortal lands any more than the Wanderers were. But yes. We no longer rule earth and sky, but we can still destroy. This is not a game. The danger would not be truly desperate if it was not real.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
The witch turned around to face him. The web was now little more than tatters. “I cannot do this myself, Valmar Hadros’s son. I have tried. Someone needs to bring those two forces together. If the powers of voima cannot do it, then it will have to be a mortal. If you are no more successful than I have been, then immortal and mortal realms will collapse together.”
Valmar crawled back the way he had come. The witch had said he would emerge into realms of voima. He gritted his teeth with the sick feeling that he was being sent back to the faeys to get him out of the way.
But when he saw light before him it was not the green of the faeys’ lanterns but the gray of twilight after the sun has set. There was a faint, steady splashing, the sound of a small waterfall. The voices he heard were hoarse, rough, and certainly not those of the faeys.
“That berserker sent the princess this way.” “Suppose this is just another path down to Hel?” “Then we’ll rejoin our king even sooner than we thought. But even Hel has to be better than what these people keep claiming is the Wanderers’ realm.”
Valmar rose and stepped forward by the pool, his sword drawn.
His abrupt appearance panicked the outlaws. They stared at him, eyes wide in the dimness. There were not many left of the once proud and desperate group of renegades who had followed Eirik into the sea and out of mortal realms.
And without their leader the courage had gone out of them. Valmar spoke in his deepest voice. “This tunnel may take you to your kingdom if that is your wish. Pass by me quietly, your swords sheathed, and I shall not harm you.”
The tunnel was only wide enough for one to pass at a time. The warriors edged by him, eyeing him warily. Valmar wondered without much interest if they would emerge in Hadros’s kingdom-in which case Dag and Nole might have an adventure of their own to tell about-or in the Witch’s cave. He considered asking them what had happened to Roric but did not want to hear the answer. When several had passed it occurred to him that they might rush him from both directions, but without Eirik they had no one to plot and only wanted to get to safety.