To most dalesmen the Waste is a fearsome place. Outlawed men
were driven to refuge there, perhaps coming to regard it in time as
they had their native dales. And there are hunters, wild as any
outlaws in their own fashion, ranging it to bring back packloads of
strange furs as well as lumps of pure metal congealed into odd
shapes: not native ores, but substances that had been worked and
then reduced to broken pieces.
Such lumps of metal were greatly prized, though smiths had to
rework them with care. Swords and mail made from this metal were
stronger, more resistant to weathering. On the other hand,
sometimes it had fearsome properties, exploding in vast
conflagrations to consume all nearby — as if some power had struck
it. A metal-smith both yearned to use it for the promise of fine
craftsmanship and feared that each piece he brought to the forge
might be one of the cursed bits.
Those who found such metal and traded in it were notoriously
close-mouthed about the source. Riwal believed that they mined, not
the earth, but places of the Old Ones wherein some ancient and
unbelievably horrible conflict, had fused metal into these lumps.
He had attempted to win the confidence of one Hagon, a trader, who
had twice passed through our forest territory. But Hagon refused to
talk.
So it was not only the broken-off road that beckoned us. There
were other secrets to be uncovered. And I found this venture well
to my liking.
We reached the broken-off end of the road by mid-morning and
stood studying it before we set foot on its earth-drifted surface.
It was indeed a puzzle, for that break was as clean-cut as if some
giant swordsman had brought down his blade to sever the masonry.
Yet, if some such action had occurred, where was the rest? For
beyond the break there was not even a trace of old rubble to
suggest it had ever run beyond this point. And why would any road
come to such a purposeless ending? It may be true that the purposes
of the Old Ones were not the same as those of men, and we cannot
judge their actions by ours.
"How long ago since men walked here, Riwal?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Who knows? If it were men who did so. But if the
road ends thus, the beginning may be of more interest."
We were riding the small, desert-bred horses used by Waste
rovers, tough beasts with an inherited ability to go far on a
minimum of drink and forage. And we led a third horse with our
supplies in a pack. We went clothed as metal traders, so that any
spying upon us could believe we were of the Waste ourselves. We
traveled alert to sign and sound, for only he who is ever-watchful
can hope to best the traps and dangers of such a land.
The Waste is not pure desert, though much is arid land with a
scant covering of small, wind-beaten shrubs and sun-dried grass in
ragged clumps. At times, dark copses of trees grow so thick they
huddle trunk to trunk. And outcrops of stone stand like
pillars.
Some of these had been worked, if not by man, then by creatures
who used stone for monuments. But the pillars had been so scoured
by years of winds that only traces of the working remained. Here a
wall could be seen for a bit; there a pair of columns suggested a
past building of some pride.
We passed such a place soon after we took to the road, but there
was not enough left to explore. In the open there was silence, for
this was a windless day. The clop-clop of our mounts' feet on the
pavement seemed to echo, making far too loud a sound, so that I
found myself looking from side to side, and now and then over my
shoulder. The feeling grew stronger that we were being watched — by
outlaws?
In spite of myself I found my hand straying ever in the
direction of the sword hilt, ready to defend against attack. Yet
when I glanced at Riwal, I saw him riding easy, though he also
watched right and left.
"I feel" — I urged my mount closer to his — "that we are
watched." Perhaps I humbled my pride to admit that, yet this was
more his land than mine, and I relied on him.
"It is ever so — in the Waste," he returned.
"Outlaws?" My fingers closed about the hilt now.
"Perhaps. But more likely other things." His eyes did not quite
meet mine, and I sensed he was at a loss to explain. Perhaps he,
too, feared to display some weakness before me, a younger and
less-tried venturer.
"It is the truth then that the Old Ones left guardians?"
"What man among us knows?" He countered my question with
another. "This much is so: when one ventures into their ways, there
is often this feeling of being watched. Yet it has never been with
me more than just watching. If they left guardians, as you say,
those are now too old and tired to do more than watch."
I found that hardly reassuring. And still I continued to watch —
though nothing stirred out in that flat land across which the road
hammered a straight and level path.
At nooning we drew to the side of the pavement, ate and drank,
and gave our horses to drink also from the water skins we carried.
There was no sun, and the sky over us was gray; still I could see
no clouds gathering to threaten storm. But Riwal sniffed the air,
his head up to the sky.
"We must seek shelter," he said, and there was urgency in his
voice.
"I see no storm clouds."
"Storms come unheralded and swiftly in the Waste. There — "He
had been surveying the countryside around, and now he pointed ahead
to where there was a pile beside the road, perhaps another cluster
of time-eroded ruin.
We pushed on, to discover that sight-distance was deceptive in
this place. There was a haze that seemed to rise from the ground so
that things appeared closer than they were. But at length we
reached the spot he had appointed. And none too soon, for the sky
was no longer the gray of a gloomy day, but had darkened now into
twilight come hours too soon.
Chance had brought us to shelter. Though the ruins at the outset
of the road had been so formless as to only suggest they had once
had purpose, this ancient building was in better preservation.
There was actually part of a room or hall among the jumble of stone
blocks with a portion of roof over it. And into that we crowded
both ourselves and our animals.
Now the wind blew, whirling up the grit, hurling it in marching
columns to fill eyes, mouths, nostrils. We had to fight to gain the
last few strides to cover. Once inside, when we turned to look out,
it was to see a curtain of dust.
That did not last long. Overhead sounded the rumble of thunder
as if an army with a siege train marched. And the lash of lightning
followed with force enough to suggest it had struck not too far
away. Then came rain — quickly beating down the dust, yet not
clearing any path for our vision; rather providing a second
curtain, this time of moisture, not grit.
Water ran in a stream across the pitted floor, so we crowded
back into the farthest corner of the ruin. The horses whinnied and
snuffled, rolling their eyes, as if they found this fury of nature
frightening. But to me this gave an illusion of shelter, though I
flinched when the lightning struck again. Such fury deafened us. We
were reduced to the point of simple endurance and we kept hold of
the reins, lest our mounts break out into the storm. As they began
to quiet, no longer tossing their heads or stamping, I relaxed a
little.
The dark was close to that of true night, and we had no torch.
So crowded were we that Riwal's shoulder rubbed mine whenever he
moved even slightly, yet the rain was so tumultuous we could not
have heard each other without shouting, which we did not do.
What had been the original purpose of the ruin? Built so beside
the road, could it have been an inn? Or was it a guard post for
some patrol? Or even a temple? As Riwal had said, who knew the
purposes of the Old Ones.
With one hand I explored the wall. The surface of the stone was
smooth, not pitted as the more exposed portions were. My fingers
could detect no seam or joining, yet those blocks had been set
together somehow. Suddenly —
Men sleep and dream. But I will swear any oath I did not sleep.
And if I dreamed, then it was unlike any dream I had ever
known.
I looked out upon the road, and there were those moving along
it. Yet when I tried to see them through what appeared to be a
mist, I could not. They remained but shapes, approximating men.
Could they be men?
Though I could not see them clearly, their emotion flowed to me.
They were all moving in one direction, and this was a retreat.
There was a vast and overwhelming feeling of — no, it was not
defeat, not as if some enemy had pressed them into this withdrawal,
but rather that circumstances were against them. They seemed to
long for what they left behind, with the longing of those torn from
deep rooting.
Now I knew that they were not all alike or of one kind. Some as
they passed gave to me their sense of regret, or loss, as clearly
as if they had shouted it aloud in words I could understand. But
others were less able to communicate in this fashion, though their
emotions were none the less deep.
The main press of that strange and ghostly company was past. Now
there was only a handful of stragglers, or of those who found it
the hardest to leave. Did I or did I not hear the sound of weeping
through the rain? If they did not weep in fact they wept in
thought, and their sorrow tore at me so I could not look at them
any longer, but covered my eyes with my hands and felt on my dusty
cheeks tears of my own to match theirs. "Kerovan!"
The shadow people were gone. And so was the force of the storm.
Riwal's hand was heavy on my shoulder, as if he shook me awake from
sleep.
"Kerovan!" There was a sharp demand in his voice, and I blinked
at what I could see of him in the dusk. "What is the matter?"
"You — you were crying out. What happened to you?" I told him of
the shadow people withdrawing in their sorrow.
"Perhaps you have the sight," he said gravely when I had done.
"For that might well have happened when the Old Ones left this
land. Have you ever tried farseeing or tested a talent for the
Power?"
"Not I!" I was determined that I would not be cut off from my
fellows by a second burden. Different I might be in body because of
the curse laid on me before my birth, but I needed not add to that
difference by striving to follow those paths trod by Wisewomen and
a few men such as Riwal. And he did not urge me, after my quick
denial. Such a way must be followed by one wholly willing; not by
one led into it by another. It has its disciplines that are in some
ways more severe than any warrior training, and its own laws.
After the storm the day lightened again, and we were able to set
out at a brisk pace. The water still settled in pools and hollows,
and we refilled our smaller water bag, letting the horses drink
their fill before we moved on.
I wondered, when we rode that way, if I would have the sensation
of the company of those I had seen in the vision or dream. But that
was not so. And shortly I forgot the intensity of the emotion that
I had shared with them. For that I was thankful.
The road, which had run so straight, made a wide curve heading
toward the north and the greater unknown of the Waste. Now ahead we
caught sight of heights making a dark blue line across the sky of
evening, as if we headed for a mountain chain.
Here also the land was more hospitable. There were trees where
before had been mostly shrubs and stretches of grassland. We came
to where the road arched in a bridge over a stream of some size.
And it was beside that running water that we camped for the night.
In fact Riwal settled us, not on the bank of the stream, but on a
bar which thrust out into it. The water was high from the storm,
and there was flotsam carried with it, piled around the rocks
edging that bar.
I eyed his choice with some disfavor. To my mind he had
deliberately selected a site which would give us little room and
which appeared dangerous from the sweep of water. He must have read
my expression for he said, "This is chancy land, Kerovan. It is
best to take the common precautions when within it — some uncommon
ones too."
"Common precautions?"
He gestured at the stream. "Running water. That which is
ill-disposed to us, if it be of the Power and not human, cannot
cross running water. If we camp so, we have only one front to
defend."
So reasoned, it was common sense. Thus I pushed rocks and pulled
loose drift to clear a space between for us and the horses. Nor did
Riwal deny us a fire made from the driest of the drift. The river
was falling, but the current was still swift. It held life also,
for I saw a dark shape of a length to suggest that the fish of this
country were of a huge size, though I was teased by the disturbing
suggestion that that shadow beneath the surface did not altogether
resemble any fish I knew. I decided that in the Waste it was better
not to probe too deeply into the unknown.
We set a watch, as we would in enemy country. At first, during
my tour of duty, I was so uneasily alert that I found myself
peopling each shadow with an intruder, until I took my fancies in
hand and forced control over them.
Though the day had been sunless, we did not lack a moon. Its
rays were particularly strong, making the landscape all black and
silver—silver in the open, black in the shadows. There was life out
there, for once I heard the drum of hoofs, and our horses nickered
and tugged at their tethers, as if some of their wild kin had
pounded by. Once I heard a distant, mournful cry, like the howl of
a hunting wolf. And something very large with wings planed
noiselessly over our camp as if to inspect us. Yet none of these
were frightening in themselves, for all men know that there are
wild horses in the Waste, and wolves run through the dales as well.
And there are winged night-hunters everywhere.
No, it was not those sounds that disturbed me. It was what I did
not hear. For I was as certain as if I could see it that out there
in the black and silver land lurked something, or someone, who
watched and listened with the same intensity that I did. And
whether it was of good or ill I could not guess.
Sun and morning banished such fancies. The land was open, empty,
in the daylight. We crossed the hump of the bridge and headed on,
while before us the mountains grew sharper to the sight.
By nooning we were in the foothills, which were ridges sharper
than our dales, more like knife slashes in soil and rock. No longer
was the road straight. It narrowed to a way along which two of us
might still ride abreast, but no wider, and it twisted and curved,
ran up and down, as if its makers had followed always the easiest
route through this maze of heights. Here, too, the Old Ones had
left their mark. Carved on the walls of rock were faces, some
grotesque, some human-seeming and benign, and often bands of runes
that Riwal busied himself to copy.
Though no one could read the script of the Old Ones, Riwal had
hopes that someday he would be able to do so. We had dawdled so
while he copied the runes that noon found us in a narrow vale where
we took our rest under the chin of a vast face that protruded
strongly from the parent cliff of which it had been carved.
I had studied it as we came up, finding in it something vaguely
familiar, though what that was I could not say.
Oddly enough, though we were here surrounded by the work of
those who had vanished, I felt free of that watching, as if
whatever had been here once was long gone and had left no trace.
And my spirits rose as they had not since the storm caught us.
"Why all these carvings?" I wondered. "The farther we go, the
more they are clustered on the walls."
Riwal swallowed a mouthful of travel bread in order to answer.
"Perhaps we now approach some place of importance; a shrine, even a
city. I have gathered and sifted the stories of traders for years,
yet I know of none who have come this way, into the foothills of
the mountains."
That he was excited I could see, and I knew that he anticipated
some discovery that would be far greater than any he had made
during his years of wandering in the Waste. He did not lunger over
his food, nor did I, for his enthusiasm grew to be mine also. We
did not pause beneath that giant chin for long, but rode on.
The road continued to weave through the foothills, and the
carvings grew more complex. There were no more heads or faces. Now
runes ran in complex patterns of lines and circles. Riwal reined in
before one.
"The Great Star!" His awe was plain to see.
Surveying the complexity of that design, I could at last make
out a basic five-point star. But the star was overlaid with a
wealth of other curves and bits, so it took careful examination to
make it out at all.
"The Great Star?" I asked.
Riwal had dismounted and gone to the rock face in which that
pattern was so deeply chiseled, running his fingers along the lines
as far up as he could reach, as if he wished to assure himself by
touch that what his eyes reported was true.
"It is a way, that much we know, of calling upon one of the
highest of the Powers," he said, "though all save the design has
been lost to us. Never before have I seen it in so complex a
setting. I must make a drawing of this!"
Straightway he brought out his horn of ink, tight-capped for
journeying; his pen; and a fresh piece of parchment on which he
began to copy the design. So lost was he in the task that I grew
restless. At last I felt I could no longer just sit and watch his
slow stroke upon stroke as he studied each part of the design to
set it down.
"I shall ride on a little," I told him. He grunted some answer,
intent upon his labors.
Ride on I did, and the road took a last turning — to the
end!
Before me a flat rock face bore no sign of any gateway or door.
The pavement ended flush with that cliff. I stared in disbelief at
such an abrupt and seemingly meaningless finish to our quest. A
road that began nowhere and ended thus — ? What had led to its
making? What could its purpose have been?
I dismounted and went to run my fingertips along the surface of
the cliff. It was real, solid rock—the road ran to it and ended. I
swung first to one side and then to the other, beyond the
boundaries of the pavement, seeking some continuation, some reason.
There were two pillars standing, one on either hand, as if they
guarded some portal. But the portal did not exist!
I advanced to lay hand upon the left pillar, and, as I did so,
at its foot I caught a glimpse of something. It was a faint
glimmer, near-buried in the gravel. Straightway I was on my knees,
using first my fingers and then the point of my knife, to loosen my
find from a crack in which it had been half-buried.
The gleaming object I held cupped in my hand was a strange find.
It was a ball, a small globe of crystal, a substance one might have
thought would have been shattered among these harsh rocks long
since. Yet it did not even bear a scratch upon its smooth
surface.
Within it was a tiny image, so well-wrought as to be the
masterpiece of some gem-cutter's art — the image of a gryphon, the
beast that was my own House symbol. The creature had been posed
with one eagle-clawed foot raised, its beak open as if it were
about to utter some word of wisdom to which it bade me listen. Set
in the globe directly above its head was a twisted loop of gold, as
if it had once been so linked to a chain for wearing.
As I stood with it cupped in my hand, the glimmer of light that
had led me to its discovery grew stronger. And I will swear that
the crystal itself became warm, but only with such warmth as was
pleasing.
I held it on the palm of my hand, level with my eyes, that I
might study the gryphon closely. Now I could see that there were
small flecks of crimson in the head to mark the eyes. And those
flecks sparkled, even though there was no outer light to reflect
within them, almost as if they had life of their own.
Long had I been familiar with all the broken bits on Riwal's
shelves, but never before had such a thing been found intact — save
for the broken loop at the top, and that, I saw, could be easily
repaired. Perhaps I should offer it to Riwal. And yet as I felt its
warmth against my flesh, saw the gryphon's stance of wisdom and
warning within, I had the belief that this was meant for me alone
and that its finding was not by mere chance but by the workings of
some purpose beyond my knowledge. If it were true that my mother's
House had inter-mated with Old Ones, then it could well be that
some small portion of such blood in my own veins made me find the
crystal globe familiar and pleasant.
I took it back to Riwal. When he saw it, there was vast
amazement on his face.
"A treasure — and truly yours," he said slowly, as if he wished
what he said were not so.
"I found it — but we share equally." I made myself be fair.
He shook his head. "Not this. Is it mere chance that brings a
gryphon to one who wears that badge already?" Reaching forth, he
touched the left breast of the jerkin above my mail, on which was
discreetly set the small gryphon head I always wore. He would not
even take the globe into his hand, though he bent his head to study
it closely.
"This is a thing of Power," he said at last. "Do you not feel
the life in it?"
That I did. The warmth and well-being that spread from it was a
fact I could not deny.
"It will have many uses." His voice was low, and I saw that his
eyes were now closed, so he was not viewing it at all. "It shall
bind when the need is for binding; it shall open a door where there
is want of a key; it shall be your fate, to lead you into strange
places."
Though he had never said he could farsee, in that moment I knew
that he was gripped by a compelling force which enabled him to
envision the future uses of the thing I had found. I wrapped it
within a scrap of his parchment and stowed it against my flesh
within my mail for the greatest safety that I could give it.
About the bare cliff Riwal was as puzzled as I. All the signs
suggested a portal of some importance, yet there was no portal. And
we had, in the end, to be content with what we had discovered and
to begin the trek back from the Waste.
Never during that journey did Riwal ask to see the gryphon
again, nor did I bring it forth. Yet there was no moment during the
return that I was not aware of what I carried. And the two nights
that we lay encamped on the return road, I had strange dreams, of
which I could remember very little save that they left an urgency
upon me to return to the only home I had ever known, because before
me lay a task of importance.
To most dalesmen the Waste is a fearsome place. Outlawed men
were driven to refuge there, perhaps coming to regard it in time as
they had their native dales. And there are hunters, wild as any
outlaws in their own fashion, ranging it to bring back packloads of
strange furs as well as lumps of pure metal congealed into odd
shapes: not native ores, but substances that had been worked and
then reduced to broken pieces.
Such lumps of metal were greatly prized, though smiths had to
rework them with care. Swords and mail made from this metal were
stronger, more resistant to weathering. On the other hand,
sometimes it had fearsome properties, exploding in vast
conflagrations to consume all nearby — as if some power had struck
it. A metal-smith both yearned to use it for the promise of fine
craftsmanship and feared that each piece he brought to the forge
might be one of the cursed bits.
Those who found such metal and traded in it were notoriously
close-mouthed about the source. Riwal believed that they mined, not
the earth, but places of the Old Ones wherein some ancient and
unbelievably horrible conflict, had fused metal into these lumps.
He had attempted to win the confidence of one Hagon, a trader, who
had twice passed through our forest territory. But Hagon refused to
talk.
So it was not only the broken-off road that beckoned us. There
were other secrets to be uncovered. And I found this venture well
to my liking.
We reached the broken-off end of the road by mid-morning and
stood studying it before we set foot on its earth-drifted surface.
It was indeed a puzzle, for that break was as clean-cut as if some
giant swordsman had brought down his blade to sever the masonry.
Yet, if some such action had occurred, where was the rest? For
beyond the break there was not even a trace of old rubble to
suggest it had ever run beyond this point. And why would any road
come to such a purposeless ending? It may be true that the purposes
of the Old Ones were not the same as those of men, and we cannot
judge their actions by ours.
"How long ago since men walked here, Riwal?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Who knows? If it were men who did so. But if the
road ends thus, the beginning may be of more interest."
We were riding the small, desert-bred horses used by Waste
rovers, tough beasts with an inherited ability to go far on a
minimum of drink and forage. And we led a third horse with our
supplies in a pack. We went clothed as metal traders, so that any
spying upon us could believe we were of the Waste ourselves. We
traveled alert to sign and sound, for only he who is ever-watchful
can hope to best the traps and dangers of such a land.
The Waste is not pure desert, though much is arid land with a
scant covering of small, wind-beaten shrubs and sun-dried grass in
ragged clumps. At times, dark copses of trees grow so thick they
huddle trunk to trunk. And outcrops of stone stand like
pillars.
Some of these had been worked, if not by man, then by creatures
who used stone for monuments. But the pillars had been so scoured
by years of winds that only traces of the working remained. Here a
wall could be seen for a bit; there a pair of columns suggested a
past building of some pride.
We passed such a place soon after we took to the road, but there
was not enough left to explore. In the open there was silence, for
this was a windless day. The clop-clop of our mounts' feet on the
pavement seemed to echo, making far too loud a sound, so that I
found myself looking from side to side, and now and then over my
shoulder. The feeling grew stronger that we were being watched — by
outlaws?
In spite of myself I found my hand straying ever in the
direction of the sword hilt, ready to defend against attack. Yet
when I glanced at Riwal, I saw him riding easy, though he also
watched right and left.
"I feel" — I urged my mount closer to his — "that we are
watched." Perhaps I humbled my pride to admit that, yet this was
more his land than mine, and I relied on him.
"It is ever so — in the Waste," he returned.
"Outlaws?" My fingers closed about the hilt now.
"Perhaps. But more likely other things." His eyes did not quite
meet mine, and I sensed he was at a loss to explain. Perhaps he,
too, feared to display some weakness before me, a younger and
less-tried venturer.
"It is the truth then that the Old Ones left guardians?"
"What man among us knows?" He countered my question with
another. "This much is so: when one ventures into their ways, there
is often this feeling of being watched. Yet it has never been with
me more than just watching. If they left guardians, as you say,
those are now too old and tired to do more than watch."
I found that hardly reassuring. And still I continued to watch —
though nothing stirred out in that flat land across which the road
hammered a straight and level path.
At nooning we drew to the side of the pavement, ate and drank,
and gave our horses to drink also from the water skins we carried.
There was no sun, and the sky over us was gray; still I could see
no clouds gathering to threaten storm. But Riwal sniffed the air,
his head up to the sky.
"We must seek shelter," he said, and there was urgency in his
voice.
"I see no storm clouds."
"Storms come unheralded and swiftly in the Waste. There — "He
had been surveying the countryside around, and now he pointed ahead
to where there was a pile beside the road, perhaps another cluster
of time-eroded ruin.
We pushed on, to discover that sight-distance was deceptive in
this place. There was a haze that seemed to rise from the ground so
that things appeared closer than they were. But at length we
reached the spot he had appointed. And none too soon, for the sky
was no longer the gray of a gloomy day, but had darkened now into
twilight come hours too soon.
Chance had brought us to shelter. Though the ruins at the outset
of the road had been so formless as to only suggest they had once
had purpose, this ancient building was in better preservation.
There was actually part of a room or hall among the jumble of stone
blocks with a portion of roof over it. And into that we crowded
both ourselves and our animals.
Now the wind blew, whirling up the grit, hurling it in marching
columns to fill eyes, mouths, nostrils. We had to fight to gain the
last few strides to cover. Once inside, when we turned to look out,
it was to see a curtain of dust.
That did not last long. Overhead sounded the rumble of thunder
as if an army with a siege train marched. And the lash of lightning
followed with force enough to suggest it had struck not too far
away. Then came rain — quickly beating down the dust, yet not
clearing any path for our vision; rather providing a second
curtain, this time of moisture, not grit.
Water ran in a stream across the pitted floor, so we crowded
back into the farthest corner of the ruin. The horses whinnied and
snuffled, rolling their eyes, as if they found this fury of nature
frightening. But to me this gave an illusion of shelter, though I
flinched when the lightning struck again. Such fury deafened us. We
were reduced to the point of simple endurance and we kept hold of
the reins, lest our mounts break out into the storm. As they began
to quiet, no longer tossing their heads or stamping, I relaxed a
little.
The dark was close to that of true night, and we had no torch.
So crowded were we that Riwal's shoulder rubbed mine whenever he
moved even slightly, yet the rain was so tumultuous we could not
have heard each other without shouting, which we did not do.
What had been the original purpose of the ruin? Built so beside
the road, could it have been an inn? Or was it a guard post for
some patrol? Or even a temple? As Riwal had said, who knew the
purposes of the Old Ones.
With one hand I explored the wall. The surface of the stone was
smooth, not pitted as the more exposed portions were. My fingers
could detect no seam or joining, yet those blocks had been set
together somehow. Suddenly —
Men sleep and dream. But I will swear any oath I did not sleep.
And if I dreamed, then it was unlike any dream I had ever
known.
I looked out upon the road, and there were those moving along
it. Yet when I tried to see them through what appeared to be a
mist, I could not. They remained but shapes, approximating men.
Could they be men?
Though I could not see them clearly, their emotion flowed to me.
They were all moving in one direction, and this was a retreat.
There was a vast and overwhelming feeling of — no, it was not
defeat, not as if some enemy had pressed them into this withdrawal,
but rather that circumstances were against them. They seemed to
long for what they left behind, with the longing of those torn from
deep rooting.
Now I knew that they were not all alike or of one kind. Some as
they passed gave to me their sense of regret, or loss, as clearly
as if they had shouted it aloud in words I could understand. But
others were less able to communicate in this fashion, though their
emotions were none the less deep.
The main press of that strange and ghostly company was past. Now
there was only a handful of stragglers, or of those who found it
the hardest to leave. Did I or did I not hear the sound of weeping
through the rain? If they did not weep in fact they wept in
thought, and their sorrow tore at me so I could not look at them
any longer, but covered my eyes with my hands and felt on my dusty
cheeks tears of my own to match theirs. "Kerovan!"
The shadow people were gone. And so was the force of the storm.
Riwal's hand was heavy on my shoulder, as if he shook me awake from
sleep.
"Kerovan!" There was a sharp demand in his voice, and I blinked
at what I could see of him in the dusk. "What is the matter?"
"You — you were crying out. What happened to you?" I told him of
the shadow people withdrawing in their sorrow.
"Perhaps you have the sight," he said gravely when I had done.
"For that might well have happened when the Old Ones left this
land. Have you ever tried farseeing or tested a talent for the
Power?"
"Not I!" I was determined that I would not be cut off from my
fellows by a second burden. Different I might be in body because of
the curse laid on me before my birth, but I needed not add to that
difference by striving to follow those paths trod by Wisewomen and
a few men such as Riwal. And he did not urge me, after my quick
denial. Such a way must be followed by one wholly willing; not by
one led into it by another. It has its disciplines that are in some
ways more severe than any warrior training, and its own laws.
After the storm the day lightened again, and we were able to set
out at a brisk pace. The water still settled in pools and hollows,
and we refilled our smaller water bag, letting the horses drink
their fill before we moved on.
I wondered, when we rode that way, if I would have the sensation
of the company of those I had seen in the vision or dream. But that
was not so. And shortly I forgot the intensity of the emotion that
I had shared with them. For that I was thankful.
The road, which had run so straight, made a wide curve heading
toward the north and the greater unknown of the Waste. Now ahead we
caught sight of heights making a dark blue line across the sky of
evening, as if we headed for a mountain chain.
Here also the land was more hospitable. There were trees where
before had been mostly shrubs and stretches of grassland. We came
to where the road arched in a bridge over a stream of some size.
And it was beside that running water that we camped for the night.
In fact Riwal settled us, not on the bank of the stream, but on a
bar which thrust out into it. The water was high from the storm,
and there was flotsam carried with it, piled around the rocks
edging that bar.
I eyed his choice with some disfavor. To my mind he had
deliberately selected a site which would give us little room and
which appeared dangerous from the sweep of water. He must have read
my expression for he said, "This is chancy land, Kerovan. It is
best to take the common precautions when within it — some uncommon
ones too."
"Common precautions?"
He gestured at the stream. "Running water. That which is
ill-disposed to us, if it be of the Power and not human, cannot
cross running water. If we camp so, we have only one front to
defend."
So reasoned, it was common sense. Thus I pushed rocks and pulled
loose drift to clear a space between for us and the horses. Nor did
Riwal deny us a fire made from the driest of the drift. The river
was falling, but the current was still swift. It held life also,
for I saw a dark shape of a length to suggest that the fish of this
country were of a huge size, though I was teased by the disturbing
suggestion that that shadow beneath the surface did not altogether
resemble any fish I knew. I decided that in the Waste it was better
not to probe too deeply into the unknown.
We set a watch, as we would in enemy country. At first, during
my tour of duty, I was so uneasily alert that I found myself
peopling each shadow with an intruder, until I took my fancies in
hand and forced control over them.
Though the day had been sunless, we did not lack a moon. Its
rays were particularly strong, making the landscape all black and
silver—silver in the open, black in the shadows. There was life out
there, for once I heard the drum of hoofs, and our horses nickered
and tugged at their tethers, as if some of their wild kin had
pounded by. Once I heard a distant, mournful cry, like the howl of
a hunting wolf. And something very large with wings planed
noiselessly over our camp as if to inspect us. Yet none of these
were frightening in themselves, for all men know that there are
wild horses in the Waste, and wolves run through the dales as well.
And there are winged night-hunters everywhere.
No, it was not those sounds that disturbed me. It was what I did
not hear. For I was as certain as if I could see it that out there
in the black and silver land lurked something, or someone, who
watched and listened with the same intensity that I did. And
whether it was of good or ill I could not guess.
Sun and morning banished such fancies. The land was open, empty,
in the daylight. We crossed the hump of the bridge and headed on,
while before us the mountains grew sharper to the sight.
By nooning we were in the foothills, which were ridges sharper
than our dales, more like knife slashes in soil and rock. No longer
was the road straight. It narrowed to a way along which two of us
might still ride abreast, but no wider, and it twisted and curved,
ran up and down, as if its makers had followed always the easiest
route through this maze of heights. Here, too, the Old Ones had
left their mark. Carved on the walls of rock were faces, some
grotesque, some human-seeming and benign, and often bands of runes
that Riwal busied himself to copy.
Though no one could read the script of the Old Ones, Riwal had
hopes that someday he would be able to do so. We had dawdled so
while he copied the runes that noon found us in a narrow vale where
we took our rest under the chin of a vast face that protruded
strongly from the parent cliff of which it had been carved.
I had studied it as we came up, finding in it something vaguely
familiar, though what that was I could not say.
Oddly enough, though we were here surrounded by the work of
those who had vanished, I felt free of that watching, as if
whatever had been here once was long gone and had left no trace.
And my spirits rose as they had not since the storm caught us.
"Why all these carvings?" I wondered. "The farther we go, the
more they are clustered on the walls."
Riwal swallowed a mouthful of travel bread in order to answer.
"Perhaps we now approach some place of importance; a shrine, even a
city. I have gathered and sifted the stories of traders for years,
yet I know of none who have come this way, into the foothills of
the mountains."
That he was excited I could see, and I knew that he anticipated
some discovery that would be far greater than any he had made
during his years of wandering in the Waste. He did not lunger over
his food, nor did I, for his enthusiasm grew to be mine also. We
did not pause beneath that giant chin for long, but rode on.
The road continued to weave through the foothills, and the
carvings grew more complex. There were no more heads or faces. Now
runes ran in complex patterns of lines and circles. Riwal reined in
before one.
"The Great Star!" His awe was plain to see.
Surveying the complexity of that design, I could at last make
out a basic five-point star. But the star was overlaid with a
wealth of other curves and bits, so it took careful examination to
make it out at all.
"The Great Star?" I asked.
Riwal had dismounted and gone to the rock face in which that
pattern was so deeply chiseled, running his fingers along the lines
as far up as he could reach, as if he wished to assure himself by
touch that what his eyes reported was true.
"It is a way, that much we know, of calling upon one of the
highest of the Powers," he said, "though all save the design has
been lost to us. Never before have I seen it in so complex a
setting. I must make a drawing of this!"
Straightway he brought out his horn of ink, tight-capped for
journeying; his pen; and a fresh piece of parchment on which he
began to copy the design. So lost was he in the task that I grew
restless. At last I felt I could no longer just sit and watch his
slow stroke upon stroke as he studied each part of the design to
set it down.
"I shall ride on a little," I told him. He grunted some answer,
intent upon his labors.
Ride on I did, and the road took a last turning — to the
end!
Before me a flat rock face bore no sign of any gateway or door.
The pavement ended flush with that cliff. I stared in disbelief at
such an abrupt and seemingly meaningless finish to our quest. A
road that began nowhere and ended thus — ? What had led to its
making? What could its purpose have been?
I dismounted and went to run my fingertips along the surface of
the cliff. It was real, solid rock—the road ran to it and ended. I
swung first to one side and then to the other, beyond the
boundaries of the pavement, seeking some continuation, some reason.
There were two pillars standing, one on either hand, as if they
guarded some portal. But the portal did not exist!
I advanced to lay hand upon the left pillar, and, as I did so,
at its foot I caught a glimpse of something. It was a faint
glimmer, near-buried in the gravel. Straightway I was on my knees,
using first my fingers and then the point of my knife, to loosen my
find from a crack in which it had been half-buried.
The gleaming object I held cupped in my hand was a strange find.
It was a ball, a small globe of crystal, a substance one might have
thought would have been shattered among these harsh rocks long
since. Yet it did not even bear a scratch upon its smooth
surface.
Within it was a tiny image, so well-wrought as to be the
masterpiece of some gem-cutter's art — the image of a gryphon, the
beast that was my own House symbol. The creature had been posed
with one eagle-clawed foot raised, its beak open as if it were
about to utter some word of wisdom to which it bade me listen. Set
in the globe directly above its head was a twisted loop of gold, as
if it had once been so linked to a chain for wearing.
As I stood with it cupped in my hand, the glimmer of light that
had led me to its discovery grew stronger. And I will swear that
the crystal itself became warm, but only with such warmth as was
pleasing.
I held it on the palm of my hand, level with my eyes, that I
might study the gryphon closely. Now I could see that there were
small flecks of crimson in the head to mark the eyes. And those
flecks sparkled, even though there was no outer light to reflect
within them, almost as if they had life of their own.
Long had I been familiar with all the broken bits on Riwal's
shelves, but never before had such a thing been found intact — save
for the broken loop at the top, and that, I saw, could be easily
repaired. Perhaps I should offer it to Riwal. And yet as I felt its
warmth against my flesh, saw the gryphon's stance of wisdom and
warning within, I had the belief that this was meant for me alone
and that its finding was not by mere chance but by the workings of
some purpose beyond my knowledge. If it were true that my mother's
House had inter-mated with Old Ones, then it could well be that
some small portion of such blood in my own veins made me find the
crystal globe familiar and pleasant.
I took it back to Riwal. When he saw it, there was vast
amazement on his face.
"A treasure — and truly yours," he said slowly, as if he wished
what he said were not so.
"I found it — but we share equally." I made myself be fair.
He shook his head. "Not this. Is it mere chance that brings a
gryphon to one who wears that badge already?" Reaching forth, he
touched the left breast of the jerkin above my mail, on which was
discreetly set the small gryphon head I always wore. He would not
even take the globe into his hand, though he bent his head to study
it closely.
"This is a thing of Power," he said at last. "Do you not feel
the life in it?"
That I did. The warmth and well-being that spread from it was a
fact I could not deny.
"It will have many uses." His voice was low, and I saw that his
eyes were now closed, so he was not viewing it at all. "It shall
bind when the need is for binding; it shall open a door where there
is want of a key; it shall be your fate, to lead you into strange
places."
Though he had never said he could farsee, in that moment I knew
that he was gripped by a compelling force which enabled him to
envision the future uses of the thing I had found. I wrapped it
within a scrap of his parchment and stowed it against my flesh
within my mail for the greatest safety that I could give it.
About the bare cliff Riwal was as puzzled as I. All the signs
suggested a portal of some importance, yet there was no portal. And
we had, in the end, to be content with what we had discovered and
to begin the trek back from the Waste.
Never during that journey did Riwal ask to see the gryphon
again, nor did I bring it forth. Yet there was no moment during the
return that I was not aware of what I carried. And the two nights
that we lay encamped on the return road, I had strange dreams, of
which I could remember very little save that they left an urgency
upon me to return to the only home I had ever known, because before
me lay a task of importance.