Authors: Christopher Stasheff
“The
nights have not grown longer, Illbane,” Yocote pointed out. “How can that be?
It is high autumn!”
“Yes,
but we are traveling northward,” Illbane told him. “The farther north you go,
the longer the days—so as the autumn lengthens, the days do not.”
It
made no sense to Culaehra, but Yocote seemed to understand, nodding and
smiling, pleased. The big man's hatred for the gnome had been receding, but
this brought it back full-force.
The
land rose beneath them; in two days' travel they looked back and saw the plain
spread out below them, the trees already small enough to seem like curving
lines of weeds. Looking ahead, they saw mountains rising up to fill the sky.
“We
have to
climb
those?” Yocote stared up, appalled.
“Someday,
you will be able to sit cross-legged and rise from the ground in your shaman's
trance, Yocote,” Illbane told him. “Then you will be able to fly over mountains
such as these. But for now, you must climb, yes.”
Lua
shivered, staring. “We shall fall off!”
“No,
it is only walking,” Illbane told her, “for there is a pass between peaks, high
above. There is only walking, but a great deal of it.”
Culaehra
was tempted to ask how he knew, but thought better of it.
Climb
they did, and it was heavy, wearying work. The sky was overcast more often than
not, and with the shadow of the mountains, the light was gloomy—but the gnomes
still wore their goggles—until they met the stranger.
Now
it was Lua who occasionally stopped to pick up a rounded rock and admire it,
and a very few of them she saved. Yocote watched her, frowning, but said
nothing. But it was quite a surprise to all of them when one of the rocks said,
“Ouch!”
Lua
leaped back, staring, and Yocote was by her side in an instant. The others
stopped, frowning, but Culaehra and Kitishane could see nothing other than
rock.
“Your
pardon, Old One,” Lua stammered. “I did not realize that was your toe!”
“Are
you blind, then?” a gravelly voice said, and some of the rocks moved. Kitishane
gasped, because that movement suddenly revealed a human form!
Not
completely human, of course. It stood only as high as a man's waist, and was
the color of the rocks around it, even having skin of the same texture—but the
shoulders, arms, and head were the size of a grown man's, a very strong man's.
The torso was short and the legs shorter.
It
was a dwarf.
“Of
course you are blind.” The dwarf answered himself. “You are gnomes, and you
wear masks that block out most of the light!”
Lua
yanked her goggles up to her forehead and winced at the sudden brightness. “Yes,
now I see you—and the daylight is dim enough that it does not pain me. Foolish
I was not to raise them sooner!”
“Foolish
indeed,” the dwarf grated. “What do gnome-folk do in the company of humans?”
“We
learn from a sage,” Yocote answered, lifting his goggles. “What do
you
do abroad in daylight? I know dwarfs gather minerals from the surface now and
again, but always at night!”
“Our
eyes can bear the daylight,” the dwarf growled. “Get along with you now, though
if you had sense, you would stay with your own kind.”
Yocote's
face darkened; he readied a scathing retort.
Illbane
forestalled it. “He will say anything rather than ask for help.”
“Help?”
Lua looked the dwarf up and down—and gasped. “His foot is caught!”
Culaehra
looked, then stared. “A wonder that it is not flattened!”
“You
do not know how hard dwarfs are,” the stranger returned, but his eyes were on
Illbane, and he showed no surprise as he said, “So you are awake, are you? The
world must be in far worse condition than it seems!”
“Only
the part of it that lives,” Illbane assured him. He nodded at Culaehra. “Take
the crowbar from my pack, lean it over a small stone, and lift that boulder
enough for the dwarf to free himself.”
Culaehra
reflected that the dwarf would thereby scarcely be freeing himself, but was
wise enough not to say so. He took off the pack, found the crowbar, and pushed
its flattened end under the boulder, placing a small stone for a fulcrum,
reflecting that perhaps he really had learned something about people, after
all.
He
leaned down as heavily as he could, and the boulder vibrated.
“A
spell, Yocote,” Illbane said.
The
gnome began to chant, and the dwarf stared. Culaehra redoubled his efforts, and
the front of the boulder lifted two inches. The dwarf yanked his foot free,
then lifted it to rub with a hand, making a rasping sound. Culaehra let the
boulder drop and was glad to pull the crowbar loose.
“I
thank you,” the dwarf said slowly.
Yocote
and Lua stared.
Kitishane
understood. To the sage, she murmured, “Illbane— the stories say dwarfs are
never grateful.”
“The
stories lie,” he murmured back.
Lua
had recovered. “We were glad to aid you, Old One.”
“Yes,
glad indeed,” Yocote agreed, still staring.
“Weren't
we, Culaehra?”
“Absolutely
delighted,” the big man agreed. He put the crowbar away and tied the pack.
“I
shall repay,” the dwarf said, “or another dwarf shall. Call by Graxingorok.
Dwarfs honor debts.”
“There
is no debt,” Lua protested. “We have done what we have because it is right!”
“It
is a debt,” the dwarf insisted. “Farewell.” He stepped back against the bare
rock wall and disappeared.
The
humans stared, but Yocote pointed out, “He could still be right here, and us
unable to see him.”
“He
could indeed,” Illbane agreed. “You have done well, my friends.”
“Any
excuse to take off my pack for a few minutes.” Culaehra lifted the rucksack
again with a grunt. “Of course, that excuse is worn-out now, isn't it, Illbane?”
“Satisfied,
I should say, rather than worn-out,” the sage replied, amused. “But you are
right, Culaehra. We must go on.”
For
the rest of their travels in the mountains, though, the gnomes wore their
goggles up on their foreheads. They needed them only once, when the sun shone
for a few hours.
Fortunately,
even here Illbane put them to only half a day's travel; the other half, he
insisted on their practicing their fighting skills and learning new ones,
chiefly how to breathe when the air was so thin. They grew dizzy at first, but
became used to it. “Be wary when you come down the other side,” Illbane
cautioned them. “The air will seem like broth.”
Culaehra
wondered irritably why the old man forced them to learn to fight at such an
altitude. Did he expect them to meet an army in a high mountain pass? But he
held his tongue, reflecting that a true warrior must be ready for attack at any
time, in any place.
Then
they came to the pass at the top of the trail and were glad of Illbane's drill,
for a monster came hopping out to bar their way.
The
women gasped and recoiled in disgust, and even Culaehra expelled an exclamation
of surprise. “Illbane! It is half a man!”
It
was—a monster with only one huge, broad foot at the end of a single leg. There
was no cut-off stump beside it; it had grown that way, molding smoothly into
the torso; if there were a hip, it could not be discerned. It had a head with a
spiky thatch of hair, but only one eye square in the center, a snub of a nose
with a single nostril, and a wide, thin-lipped mouth below it. Its chest and
belly were lumpy with muscle, and a long, thick, sinewy arm grew out between
the massive pectorals that moved it. A single hand slapped up, palm out and
stiff, as if to bar their path. The creature uttered a threatening guttural
bark that communicated the same message. It wore no clothes, and all could see
that it had no genitalia.
Lua
shuddered.
“What
is it, Illbane?” Yocote asked, eyes wide.
“It
is called a fuchan,” Illbane told him, “and there is no going around it.”
“What!”
Culaehra stared. “Must we stand and await its convenience, then?”
The
monster uttered another harsh and threatening bark, and Illbane said, “It will
never be convenient. Bolenkar has stationed it here to keep folk from
penetrating farther into these mountains.”
Culaehra
frowned. “Why? What difference does it make to him?”
“If
the way is closed,” Illbane told him, “there can be no escape from the Vanyar
hordes he is pushing west.”
It
struck Culaehra as odd phrasing, but this was not the time to consider it. “Let
us at least test the creature.” He moved to the left, keeping his face toward
the fuchan and his guard up. The fuchan hopped even as he moved, always facing
him, its eye unblinking. Frowning, Culaehra leaped up on a crag, and it
imitated him, hopping high—but landing at the foot of the crag, clearly waiting
for him to leap down.
Yocote
dashed for the pass.
The
fuchan sprang high, its broad foot falling straight toward the spot where the
gnome would be when it landed. Yocote veered aside, but the fuchan, incredibly,
changed its trajectory and landed squarely in front of him.
At
the far side of the defile, Culaehra leaped down.
The
fuchan was on him in an instant, springing to lash out with a huge fist.
Culaehra fell back, raising an arm to block— and the fuchan spun, its fist
opening to scoop up Yocote as he tried to dash past. The broad hand hurled the
gnome high. He squalled in fright, but Illbane reached up to catch him. “It has
chosen its ground well, Yocote. The pass is too narrow for more than two people
to confront it at once, and it can deal with two.”
“But
can it deal with one?” Culaehra sprang straight toward the fuchan, hunching
over and slamming three quick blows at its belly.
It
was like pounding oak.
Culaehra
sprang back with an oath of surprise to cover his pain—and the fuchan's fist
caught him halfway, sending him sprawling. Lua was beside him in an instant,
but he shoved her aside with a snarl and pushed himself to his feet, glaring at
the fuchan to keep his world from tilting too badly.
“Remember
the arts I have taught you!” Illbane barked, and Culaehra fell into a guard
stance without even thinking about it—because he was realizing that, whether or
not his teacher had intended it this way, this was a test.
“I
had not thought it would be so strong,” he said.
“Strong
enough to chip rock, if it holds a stone in its fist! Go warily!”
Culaehra
moved around the monster in a chain step. Instead of merely pivoting to follow
him, it hopped bent-kneed in a grotesque parody of his steps. Culaehra timed
his kick to catch the fuchan in midair. He lashed out at what should have been
its groin—but the fuchan lifted its knee, deflecting the blow. Then its foot
blurred with speed, and Culaehra went smashing backward into his companions
with a howl of pain. He doubled over, retching, for the kick had caught him in
the stomach. Lua was beside him instantly, rubbing at the small of his back,
and he was too weak to bat her aside. Through the ringing in his ears he heard
Kitishane say, “It mirrors your movement.”
When
the haze cleared from his eyes, he saw her moving toward the monster. “No!” he
cried in sudden fear. “It will kill you!”
“I
will not go that close,” she assured him—and, incredibly, began to dance!
Left
foot over right, right swinging back, leaping in the air to click her heels—and
the fuchan mimicked her, springing to one side, then the other, then leaping up
and flexing its leg, mirroring her movements as well as it could with only one
leg. She began to move in more complex patterns, faster and faster, and the
fuchan kept imitating her, but began to fall behind. Its forehead wrinkled in
concentration, its foot began to move so quickly that its body seemed to hang
in midair—but the single steps were behind Kitishane by several seconds, and
grew more and more clumsy as the fuchan began to try to execute two or three
steps at a time.
“You're
confusing it!” Lua breathed, wide-eyed.
Kitishane
nodded, panting, eyes bright, and drew her sword. The fuchan suddenly went
still, staring warily, but Kitishane laid her sword on the ground, crying, “Illbane,
Culaehra's blade!”
Illbane
stepped forward, holding it out to her. She took the hilt and laid the blade
over her own sword in an X, then began to prance in the quarters formed between
steel edges, toes pointing, springing lightly. Her eyes glowed, her cheeks were
rosy, her bosom rose and fell with quick deep breaths—and Culaehra stared
spellbound, forgetting his pain in awe of her beauty.
The
fuchan began to imitate her movements again, hopping about in a parody of her
light-footed steps, faster and faster, falling behind and becoming confused
again, trying to catch up, to execute two or three figures at once.
Kitishane
swooped down, caught up a sword and lunged.
The
fuchan's fist blurred, knocking her blade aside and striking her breastbone.
“Kitishane!”
Lua cried, and ran to her as she struck the ground—but Culaehra was there
first.
He
cradled her head in his hand, and there was alarm in his voice. “Kitishane! Do
you live?”
Her
eyes opened, to stare at him in amazement. “Alive ... yes.” Then she went limp,
and Lua was there to stroke her forehead, murmuring.
Culaehra
left Kitishane to her ministrations, rising to glare at the fuchan. “Vile
monstrosity! To strike at so gentle and fragile a being!”
Kitishane's
head cleared enough for her to realize what he was about to do. “Culaehra, no!”
“It
deserves whatever it gets,” the big man growled, pacing toward the fuchan.
“Not
in anger!” Kitishane waved weakly. “Lua ... tell him...”
The
gnome laid her friend's head down and dashed to Culaehra's side. Her little
hand touched his big one timidly, but she said, “Do not strike for revenge,
Culaehra, not if ... you love her. Strike only to accomplish.”