Quest for Lost Heroes (23 page)

'It shouldn't be that way,' argued Kiall.

'Wrong, boy. It is the only way it can be.' He picked up the empty jug and passed it to Kiall. 'What do you see?'

'What is there to see? You finished it all.'

'Exactly. The wine was good, but now it isn't here any more. Worse, I'll piss it against a tree tomorrow - then no one could tell if it was wine or water.'

'We're not talking about wine - we're talking about people. About Ravenna.'

'There's no difference. They mourned . . . now they're living again.'

Soon after dawn Okas vanished into the hills to seek the spirit trails. Kiall wandered in search of Ravenna's sister and found her at the house of Jarel. She smiled and invited him inside where Jarel was sitting by the window, staring out over the mountains. Karyn poured Kiall a goblet of watered wine.

'It is good to see you again,' she said, smiling. She looked so like Ravenna that his heart lurched - the same wide eyes, the same dark hair gleaming as if oiled.

'And you,' he replied. 'How are you faring?'

'I'm going to have Jarel's child in the autumn,' she told him.

'I congratulate you both,' he said.

Jarel swung from the window. He was a strongly built young man with black, tightly curled hair and deep-set blue eyes.

'Why must you pursue this business?' he asked. 'Why chase after the dead?'

'Because she is not dead,' answered Kiall.

'As good as,' snapped Jarel. 'She is tainted . . . finished among civilised people.'

'Not for me.'

'Always the dreamer. She used to talk of you, Kiall; she used to laugh at you for your silly ideas. Well, don't bring her back here, she won't be welcome.'

Kiall put the goblet down on the table-top and rose, his hands shaking. 'I will say this once to you, Jarel. When I bring her back, if there is one evil word from you I will kill you.'

'You?' snorted Jarel. 'Dream on, Kiall.'

Kiall walked forward to where Jarel stood with hands on hips, grinning. He was a head taller than Kiall and far the heavier. Kiall's fist slammed into the bigger man's face, rocking him back on his heels. Blood spurted from his smashed lips and his jaw dropped, then anger blazed in his eyes and he sprang forward - only to jerk to a stop as he saw the long hunting-knife in Kiall's hand. Fear touched him then.

Kiall saw it and smiled. 'Remember my warning, Jarel. Remember it well.'

'I'll remember,' said the farmer, 'but you remember this: no one here wants the women back. So what will you do? Build a new place for them? Two of the men whose wives were taken have remarried. Twenty other families have gone, and no one knows where. What do the captives have to come back to? No one cares any more.'

'I care,' said Kiall. 'I care very much.' He turned to Karyn. 'Thank you for your hospitality.' She said nothing as he sheathed his knife and walked out into the sunlight.

Okas sat cross-legged beneath a spreading elm and concentrated on the village below. His vision swam and the buildings blurred and faded like mist under sunlight. He had no control now, and time ceased to have meaning. He saw mountains of ice swelling on the land, filling the hollows, rearing from the peaks. Slowly, reluctantly though the centuries, the ice gave way and the long grass grew. Huge lumbering creatures moved across the face of the valley, their massive limbs brushing against new trees and snapping the stems. Aeons passed and the grass grew. The sharp hills were smoothed by the winds of time. The first oak tree took root on the southern hill, binding the soil. Birds flocked to its branches. Seeds in their droppings caused other trees to grow and soon Okas saw a young forest stretching across the hills.

The first group of men appeared from the west, clad in skins and furs and carrying weapons of bone and stone. They camped by the stream, hunted the great elk and moved on.

Others followed them, and on one bright day a young man walked the hills with a woman by his side. He pointed at the land, his arm sweeping to encompass the mountains. He built a home with a long sloping roof. There was no chimney; two holes were left at the points of the roof's triangle and Okas saw the smoke drifting from them as the snows fell. Other travellers settled close by over the years and the young man, now a leader, grew old.

A savage tribe entered the valley, slaying all who lived there. For some time they took over the homes but then, like all nomads, they moved on. The houses rotted and fell to feed the earth; grass grew over the footings.

Okas watched as the centuries slid by, waiting with limitless patience, judging the passage of time by the movement of the stars. At last he saw the familiar buildings of the near present and moved his spirit close to the village. Focusing on Kiall, he found himself drawn to a small house on the western side. There he watched the birth of a boy, saw the proud smile on the face of the weary mother, saw the happiness in the eyes of Kiall's father as he tenderly lifted his son.

Okas relaxed and let the vision flow. He saw Kiall's mother die of a fever when the boy was first walking, saw the father injured in a fall and losing his life to gangrene from the poisoned wound. He watched the boy - raised by strangers - grow tall. Then he saw the dark-haired girl, Ravenna.

At last he came to the raid, the Nadren thundering into the village with bright swords and gleaming lances.

Okas pulled his gaze from the slaughter and waited until the raiders had taken their captives back into the hills, where wagons stood loaded with chains and manacles.

He followed them for a hundred miles to a stockaded town, but there the vision faded.

He opened his eyes and stretched his back, suppressing a groan as the ligaments above his hip creaked and cracked. The wind was cold on his skin and he was mortally tired.

Yet still there was another flight to be made. The call was still strong and he allowed himself to link to it, his spirit lifting from his body to be drawn swiftly across the Steppes. The mountains were beautiful from this height, cloaked in snow and crowned with clouds. His spirit fell towards the tallest peak, passing through it deep into the dark. At last he entered a cavern where torches flickered on the walls and an old man sat before a small fire. Okas looked at him closely. He wore a necklace of lion's teeth around his scrawny throat, and his thin white beard had no more substance than woodsmoke. When the man's dark eyes opened and fixed on Okas there was pain in them, and a sorrow so deep that Okas was almost moved to tears.

'Welcome, brother,' said Asta Khan. The Nadir shaman winced and cried out.

'How can I help you?' asked Okas. 'What are they doing to you?'

'They are killing my children. There is nothing you can do. Soon they will send their forces against me and that is when I shall require your aid. The demons will fly, and my strength will not be enough to send them fleeing back to the pit. But with you I have a chance.'

'Then I shall be here, brother . . . and I will bring help.'

Asta Khan nodded. 'The
ghosts-yet-to-be
.'

'Yes.'

'Will they come if you ask it?'

'I think that they will.'

'They will face nightmares beyond description. The demons will sense their fears - and make them real.'

'They will come.'

'Why do you do this for me?' asked Asta. 'You know what I desire. You know everything.'

'Not everything,' said Okas. 'No man knows it all.'

Asta screamed and rolled to the floor. Okas sat quietly and waited until the old shaman pushed himself upright, wiping the tears from his eyes. 'Now they are killing the little ones; I cannot block out their anguish.'

'Nor would you wish to,' said Okas. 'Come forth and take my hand.'

The spirit of Asta Khan rose from the frail body. In this form he seemed younger, stronger. Okas took the outstretched hand and allowed his own strength to flow into the shaman.

'Why?' asked Asta once more. 'Why do you do this for me?'

'Perhaps it is not for you.'

'Who then? Tenaka? He was not your lord.'

'It is enough that I do it. I must return to my flesh. When you have need, I will be here.'

*

Kiall's anger was short-lived. As the questors waited on the edge of the woods for Okas, the young man sat beside Chareos and vented his rage.

Chareos cut across his words. 'Follow me,' he said sharply. The Blademaster stood and walked away into the trees, out of earshot of the others. Once there he turned on Kiall, his dark eyes angry, his face set.

'Do not waste your self-righteous wrath on me, boy. I'll not have it. When the raiders came, you - and all these villagers - did nothing. Of course they
think
they don't want the captives back. And why? Because it would be like looking in a mirror and seeing their own cowardice. They would have to live every day with that mirror. Every time they passed a former prisoner, they would see their own shortcomings. Now stop whining about it.'

'Why are you so angry?' Kiall asked. 'You could have just explained it to me.'

'Explained . . . ?' Chareos threw back his head and stared at the sky. He said nothing for several seconds and Kiall realised he was fighting for control of his temper. Finally he sat down and indicated that Kiall should join him. The young man did so. 'I don't have time to explain everything, Kiall,' said the older man patiently, 'and I do not have the inclination. I have always believed that a man should think for himself. If he relies on others for his thoughts and his motives, then his brain becomes an empty, useless thing. Why am I angry? Let us examine that for a moment. How do you think the Nadren know which villages to hit, where attractive young women live?'

'I don't know.'

'Then think, damn you!'

'They send out riders to scout?' ventured Kiall.

'Of course. How else?'

'They listen to traders, merchants, tinkers who pass through such villages?'

'Good. And what do you think they are listening for?'

'Information,' Kiall answered. 'I do not understand where this is taking us.'

'Then give me time. How does one village know what is going on at another village?'

Traders, travellers, poets - all carry news,' said Kiall. 'My father said it was one way in which they encouraged trade. People would gather round their wagons to hear the latest gossip.'

'Exactly. And what
gossip
will the next trader carry?"

Kiall reddened and swallowed hard. 'He will tell the tale of the heroes of Bel-azar who are hunting Ravenna,' he whispered.

'And who will hear of this band of heroes?' asked Chareos - his eyes narrowing, his mouth a thin tight line.

'The Nadren,' admitted Kiall. 'I'm sorry. I didn't think.'

'No, you did not!' stormed Chareos. 'I heard of your dispute with the farmer and your threat with the knife. Bear this in mind, Kiall, that what we do is easy. Understand that. Easy! What the villagers do is hard. Hoping and praying for just enough rain to make the seeds grow and just enough sun to ripen the harvest; never knowing when drought, famine or raiders will destroy your life and take away your loved ones. Do not ever ask me for explanations. Use your mind.'

Finn pushed through the undergrowth. 'Okas is back. He says we have a hundred miles to travel. And it's rough country, for the most part. I've sent Maggrig back to purchase supplies. Is that all right, Blademaster?'

'Yes. Thank you, Finn. We'll set off once he's back and camp away from here. I couldn't stand another night with that sanctimonious bore.'

'Just think, Blademaster. Tonight he'll be entertaining the villagers with how you complimented him. You'll be remembered in future times as Chareos, the friend of the great Norral.'

'There's probably truth in that,' agreed Chareos, chuckling.

He strode through the undergrowth to where Okas was sitting quietly with Beltzer. The old man looked dreadfully weary.

'Would you like to rest for a while?' Chareos asked him.

'No rest. It is a long journey ahead. I will sleep tonight. There is a good camping place some four hours' ride to the south.'

'Is the girl alive?' asked Chareos. Kiall moved in behind him.

'She was when they took her to the fort town,' said Okas. 'I could not see beyond that; the distance is too great for me. And I have no hold on her - but for the love of Kiall. It is not enough. Had I known her, I would be able to find her anywhere.'

'How long for the journey?'

'Maybe three weeks. Maybe a month. It is rough country. And we must move with care. Nadir tribesmen, outlaws, Wolfsheads, Nadren. And . . . other perils.'

'What other perils?' asked Beltzer.

'Demons,' answered Okas. Beltzer made the Sign of the Protective Horn on his brow and chest, and Finn did likewise.

'Why demons?' Chareos asked. 'What has sorcery to do with this quest?'

Okas shrugged his shoulders and stared down at the ground. He began to trace circular patterns in the dust.

Chareos knelt beside him. 'Tell me, my friend, why demons?'