He stared for a moment, then nodded. They hurried to catch up.
At the bend in the road from which they had first seen Lord Kzuva’s palace they turned and looked back. The gaping hole into which the unfinished tower had fallen was invisible from where they stood, so the wonderful building seemed almost unchanged, apart from some tangles of smashed scaffolding in among the turrets and spires. The slow throb of the gong reverberated along the valley.
“He will never now set foot upon the Opal Stair,” said Zara, as if speaking to herself.
“He wanted to do that too?” asked Tahl.
“Too? You have met with another?”
“There was a magician we hired for our convoy,” said Tahl. “I think she knew you. She said that’s what had happened to her Landholder.”
Zara nodded.
“Every Landholder in the Empire has the same dream,” she said. “Only some go about it with more patience than others. Yes, Aileth was my friend. Where did you meet her?”
“Our convoy captain hired her on the road five days south of Talagh,” said Alnor. “She was going on north with the others when we turned off to come here.”
“She has twice my powers, and she has come to that,” said Zara, and sighed and shook her head. “Well, my friends, now we must leave you. You already have a warding round you, so that you are not noticed unless you choose to be, and I do not think you will be closely sought. But it is otherwise with us. Lord Kzuva’s heirs will want vengeance for his death.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” said Meena. “It was Varti’s.”
“Yes,” said Lananeth, “but who will believe that? My life, and my husband’s, and all his household are forfeit, so we must go to him, and go quickly. There are no other magicians of any power this side of the Pirrim Hills, so between us Zara and I can perhaps defend us all. And I would like to defend our people still against what is loose in the Empire, just as we did with Varti, though he was doing it for his own purposes.”
“I doubt we will be strong enough for that on our own,” said Zara.
“What about the magician we met on the road?” said Tahl. “Aileth, didn’t you say her name was? She told Tilja that if there was work to be done, she would help.”
“I will send to her,” said Zara, “but now . . .”
“One moment,” said Alnor. “We’ve been hoping to meet a magician somewhere on the road who’d help us to close our Valley off again, as it used to be. We were told whoever it is would find us on the road, but they haven’t so far. Is it either of you?”
“It is neither of us,” said Zara. “We do not have that kind of power. I do not know about Aileth.”
Alnor turned to Tilja, an unspoken question in his eyes. And in Meena’s too, now. Tahl was deliberately not looking at her, but she knew the same thought was in his mind.
“No,” she said sadly. “It’s supposed to be a man. Faheel talked about ‘he.’ ”
“Well, good-bye, my dears,” said Lananeth. “What has happened is no more your fault than it is ours, and if ever you return you will be welcome under my roof, if it still stands. But you must not come there now. Go straight to Salata. Her husband, Gahan, has returned. He knows the hills to the north, and will guide you as far as the old road to the forest.”
They all said their farewells and then Zara and Lananeth moved a little way up the road, followed by the two horses. They turned and faced the animals head-on. The horses bowed their heads. The two magicians, Lananeth glancing from time to time at Zara, like an apprentice following a master through some unfamiliar task, placed their hands on either side of the long skulls and lowered their own heads until the brows, horse and human, touched. Tilja felt nothing, but Meena and the boys reeled with the rush of magic as the human shapes shimmered, faded and vanished. The horses swung round, switched their tails and raced away up the road while Calico whinnied with distress at their going.
17
The Forest Edge
In their haste to be home they made long marches, and in no more time than the shorter outward journey from El-lion’s house had taken them they reached Salata’s encampment. She and her daughters ran to meet them, full of welcome, and then of confusion when Salata found not the Meena she knew and longed to thank, but a lively girl less than half her own age, so her thanks were confused and doubtful.
Her husband, Gahan, was a square, sturdy man who had been with his regiment in some western province at the time of the Emperor’s death. Like most of his comrades he had taken advantage of the confusion to desert, and had made his way home through the turmoil that followed the fall of the Watchers, and come through the Pirrim Hills before the waking of the pines. On the way he had seen enough horrors and marvels to be able to accept anything, so he could thank Meena more simply. He said he would be glad to take them as far as the old road that the Emperors had built before the sickness in the forest had closed the way north.
Salata told them that a third magician had already reached Ellion’s house, and so it was safe from any attack for the time being.
“It can’t be Aileth already,” said Tahl. “She’s right out on the Grand Trunk Road, and that’s days and days away, even for a galloping horse.”
“It must depend on the magician,” said Tilja. “Faheel told me he could have gone to Talagh in an instant without me, and Zara said Aileth had twice her powers.”
“You know what,” said Meena slowly. “I’m getting a feeling about all this—what’s been happening to us since we left the Valley. And before, I daresay. It’s felt like just one thing after another, no connection, but it wasn’t. It’s been all connected, like it was
meant
to happen. And the same with those three women at Ellion’s house. They haven’t just come there all on their own. They’re
supposed
to be there. I don’t know what for, no more than they do, but that’s what’s happening.”
“Why don’t you ask your spoons?” said Salata. “I’d love to see them again.”
Meena looked at her and sighed and shook her head. All the way north she had carried the spoons as before in the bag beneath her skirt. It would have been dangerous, of course, to try to use them, but she had never once even mentioned them. Partly, Tilja guessed, this was because they belonged in what Meena called her memory-room, and she didn’t go in there except for some definite purpose; but also, perhaps, there was a kind of grief involved. Axtrig had been alive, like a person, an old, old friend of the family. They had called her “she.” Now there was just this “it.” The old friend was dead.
“Oh, please, Meena,” said Salata’s younger daughter. “I want Da to see.”
Meena sighed again, shrugged and pulled out the bag, laid out the cloth and set the spoons on it. She picked up each of the darker ones and put them back, hesitated and picked up Axtrig. With another sigh she unstoppered the flask and rubbed a drop of oil onto the bowl. She laid the spoon down, leaned forward and concentrated.
“Yes,” she whispered, “yes . . . just a little something . . .”
It was a long time before she straightened and put the spoons away.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t like when we were here before, clear as clear. It was more like it used to be in the Valley, little bits of stuff you’ve got to decide what they mean. Anyway, far as I can make out, somebody’s coming. Or something. And there’s people waiting for him. Or her, or it, but somehow I think it’s a him. Waiting in two places, it looks like, but . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Tilja bowed her head, trying to hide the shock of recognition.
The three magicians at Ellion’s house
, she thought.
And me, here. And Meena and Alnor and Tahl. All waiting
for the Ropemaker.
And then, with a great surge of relief,
He’s coming. He’s alive.
Moonfist hasn’t found him yet. And I won’t need to send for him.
She felt the silence and looked up. Everyone’s eyes were on her. Even the two dogs were staring. But there were differences. The bright look of interest in the dogs’ eyes was just that, interest because they were aware of Tilja’s being the center of attention. Salata and her daughters were simply puzzled by the reaction of their visitors to what Meena had said, or rather started to say and not finished. Tahl had his head bowed and was gazing steadfastly at his own clenched fists, but Alnor and Meena were staring directly at her, all with a look that said,
Now, surely,
at last, you’re going to tell us.
“I . . . I . . . ,” she began, and bit her lip and turned away. She didn’t dare. All three were already far too close to the deadly knowledge. Soon, soon, the Ropemaker would be coming, and then they’d understand.
If Axtrig was right.
It was not yet dawn when they rose next morning and said goodbye to Salata. They reached the old road a little before dark, and there they built a fire and camped, Gahan staying the night to see them safely on their way next day.
The road wound north through barren scrubby hills. Despite its age, it was almost as easy going as the one they had traveled from Talagh, because the Emperor’s engineers had put it in order less than three years earlier, when he had sent his army north to try to fulfill his vow to recapture the Valley. The bridges were sound and the wells and rain cisterns held water for an army on the march.
On the second afternoon they climbed a low pass and saw the dark mass of the forest stretching away east and west, in the full glow of its autumn color. Already there was a smell of winter in the wind. Beyond the treetops, a little above the horizon, or so it seemed, ran a wavering white line, and they knew that they were looking at the snowy peaks of the northern mountains. The sight made Woodbourne seem so near that Tilja felt that she could almost have reached out over the trees and stroked its roofs. The thought steadied her for what she had to do.
The wind, which for many days had blown dry and gentle from the east, had swung unnoticed to the north, and had a new feel to it, colder but softer. Above the snow peaks clouds were massing.
“Looks like we’re in for a wet night,” said Meena.
“We’ll find a place to camp,” said Alnor. “Then, if there’s time before dark, we’ll go a little way in among the trees and see whether Tahl and I feel the sickness.”
“Best let me go in on my own first,” said Meena. “See if I can find a cedar, tell me what’s up.”
“Take Tilja along,” said Tahl. “It’s just the sort of place bad stuff might be hiding. All right, Til?”
Tilja hesitated. Meena should be all right in the forest, surely. The trees were her friends. And she ought to stay with Tahl. He was their danger point. But once again she couldn’t explain.
At
least,
she thought, with something like relief,
this is the last time.
Tomorrow I’ll be able to tell them everything. If we’re all four still
alive.
But perhaps it would be easier for Tahl if she wasn’t anywhere near him, and he could think about something else.
“All right,” she said.
“We’ll build a shelter while we’re waiting for you,” said Alnor. This turned out to be unnecessary. Shortly before they reached the trees they found several tumbledown buildings beside the road, temporary storehouses, they guessed, for the army that had come. Most were already ruinous, while those whose roofs were still sound were dark and rank with the stench of lairing beasts. Small creatures scuttled into hiding as they stood in the doorways.
“I’d sooner get wet,” said Meena, turning away. “What’s that over there?”
The strange little circular hut stood all on its own, well away from the road. It was walled on three sides but open toward the forest. Birds had roosted in the rafters and the floor was spattered with their droppings, but the roof was sound. At the center of the hut was a flat stone on which someone must have lit a small but intense fire, hot enough to redden and crumble the surface, though no ashes remained. They eyed it suspiciously.
“Anyone feel anything?” said Alnor.
“Nothing special,” said Tahl.
“Looks like something’s been going on here, but not that recent, judging by the mess,” said Meena. “There was magicians came with the army, Lananeth told us. It’ll be something to do with one of them. Why don’t we just clean it out—we don’t want to be doing that in the dark—but not move in here unless it comes on to rain? Then Tilja and me can have a go at the forest while you do your kick-fighting. And you may as well get stuff for a fire together, too.”
There was, for once, a decent patch of grazing just below the hut, so Tilja hobbled Calico and left her with the boys while she and Meena returned to the old road and followed it to the edge of the forest, only to find that the place where it had entered the trees was an entrance no more. Three years ago the Emperor’s engineers had started to hack a broad gouge into the forest, and had thus let in the light. Dormant seeds had sprung into growth all across the opening, even between the cobbles of the road itself. A mass of brambles tangled through the dense array of saplings.
“We’ll not do any good here,” said Meena. “And besides, if they’ve gone and cut everything down, where’ll I find a cedar old enough to talk to me? They need to be a hundred years old and more before they start that, and a couple of hundred before they say anything worth hearing. There’s got to be a way in somewhere along here. . . . Now look at that! What’s been happening here? That’s never woodmen who did that!”
They were now a little beyond the road, staring at a tangled jumble of smashed timber. Many great trunks had been snapped like twigs twenty feet above the ground. Trees that still stood had lost half their branches. Then, as they walked on along the edge of the forest, the damage ended as suddenly as it had begun and they could pick their way through the fringe of undergrowth to ancient standing woodland, like that above Woodbourne, shadowed leaf litter between the soaring trunks, with only here and there a shrub or smaller tree that could thrive in such darkness.
“What do you make of that?” said Meena, gazing back to the ruin they had passed. “That’s never a storm did that, just all in one place. That’s got to be magic, like I was saying back at the hut. Now, just stand still a moment, will you . . . ? Don’t tell me there’s none over this side . . . not a whisper . . . you’d’ve thought . . .”
“Can you tell where the lake is?”
“Should do . . . let’s try a bit further on—maybe it’s something to do with you. You just stay here . . .”
She ran off between the trees, halted a moment and waved to Tilja to join her.
“Got it,” she said, pointing. “Still a long way off, though. I was right, too—I can’t feel it now with you being so close.”
“I didn’t seem to do that to you that time we went to fetch Ma out of the forest.”
Meena paused, frowning, while she went to fetch the memory from the other room.
“Wasn’t the same, then. You’ve changed. Found yourself, if you know what I mean. There’s a lot more to you now. And that’ll be why I couldn’t hear the cedars. So if you’ll just keep a bit behind me . . .”
Again she ran off, but this time didn’t stop until she turned aside and disappeared. Tilja found her standing at the foot of one of a group of enormous cedars, their boles as broad as haystacks, their spires way out of sight above the canopy. She watched while Meena laid her hands against the ridged red bark, bowed her head and stood motionless. After some while she straightened, turned and came slowly back. Tilja had never seen her, either young or old, look so stricken.
“Just mumbles and mutters,” she said sadly. “Like when you wake someone up only they don’t want to be woken. The magic’s dying, Til. It’s dying!”
“Perhaps they’ll wake up when . . . What about the unicorns? Are they still there?”
“If they are, they’re hiding. Ah, well, there’s one way to find out. Let’s go and fetch the boys in before it gets dark.”
The answer came clearly. Barely twenty paces in under the trees Alnor stumbled and would have fallen if Meena hadn’t caught him. Close behind them, Tahl halted, swaying, and closed his eyes, waiting for Tilja to turn him and lead him back into the open. Her touch seemed to have no effect on the sickness. Calico watched the proceedings with a bored sneer.
“That’s the unicorns being so scared, and they’ve good reason,” said Meena when they’d helped the boys out and settled them down to rest beside a small grove of sweet chestnuts that stood separate from the forest.
“You mean they were there? Somewhere close by?” said Tilja.
“Don’t have to be,” said Meena. “It fills the whole forest, what they’re feeling. Maybe it’s worse when something’s happened to scare them, but they’ve no need of that just now. Like I say, they’ve reason enough without it. The cedars aren’t talking, and what that means is the magic’s dying out of the forest. Not just the sickness—that’s worse than ever, like you’ve just seen, but it’s not going to stay like that. Once the magic is gone, the unicorns can’t live here anymore, and they know it. That’s why they’re so scared right now. And when they’ve gone the sickness will go too, and anyone will be able to come through the forest—soldiers, tax collectors, anyone. That’s why we’ve got to get back, see it doesn’t happen.”
“There’s got to be a way through,” mumbled Alnor, lying with his head in Meena’s lap. “We’ve both got to get back, he said, and he’d have known if I couldn’t.”
“Oh, there’ll be a way all right,” said Meena, running her fingertips along his bare forearm. “We just need to find someone who knows where it is.”
She paused, and glanced sideways at Tilja.
“And tell us what to do when we get home,” she added.
There was a silence. Tilja shrank into herself. Tahl was looking directly at her now, and didn’t glance away when she caught his eye. Now that the moment had come, he had allowed himself to think it all through. He knew. She swallowed.
“All right,” she said. “He told me not to tell you, in case . . .”
“Then don’t,” said Alnor.
“Only if there’s anything we can do,” said Tahl.