Storms of Victory (Witch World: The Turning)

  He eyed us up and down one after another, but he did not speak. Instead he gestured toward the right of the height from which he had descended, turned and threw the axe with a smoothness of long practice. Again that cut the fog and he started down the cleared path, not glancing back to see if we followed or offering us any aid with the wounded man. Perforce we did follow.

  Luckily we were very near the end of that mist prison. We came out into the open and found our savior leaning against a rock, his axe again in his hand. Behind us lay the mist, night was gathering fast, and we had no knowledge of what waited before us. Food we needed badly and also water. Did he of die axe know, more about this land than we?

  He was striding on once more, finding passage between two outposts of stone, just as he had so confidently walked through the divided mist. Something crunched under my feet. I had trodden flat an arch of ivory—bones! They were lying thickly on the grounds We were making our way among and over relics of the dead! I caught one foot under another curve of ribs and took a fall, pulling the other, two down with me. My body slammed hard against the bone-littered ground and—

  Darkness, bewilderment such as is felt by someone being awakened too quickly from deep sleep. I was fleeing—

  One me then another me, which was I? Memory untangled itself from the talent as I made myself breathe deeply and look about me. It was as dark as it had been when I—no, the owner of the knife—had come this way. I turned my wrist quickly and let that blade thud to the ground. That took with it the last tatters of otherwhere, other time. I was a Sulcar half-breed, not that youth who had by chance, and certainly magic on the part of another, won his way out of part of a trap.

  Had he and those with him died here? I had found his knife, which I had used to unlock the door of knowledge. Looking back-now I could not remember where I had found it. Was it one of those still resting in a crumbling sheath or had it lain free? If so he might have dropped it in that fall and the four of them had defeated—at least for a while—that which kept the mist prison.

  I looked around me. There were hillocks here, and an opening to the west ahead. Did that mist still hang there? Were there those who moaned and cried and called for help caught in it?

  With the coming of the light tomorrow I must climb that cliff high enough to be able to see what lay beyond that rift. The scrying I had just incited was a warning. But for the moment I was too tired to even shift my body, though it ached. This use of the talent had been prolonged and I was already lacking in the strength which was born of regular food and rest.

  I wriggled back, planting my shoulder firmly against earth and stone in such a way as to leave me facing the west. By my side, within easy distance for quick seizing, I laid my knives (save the one I had used as a scry guide and which I had no wish to touch again), the sword, and my rod. Though the night was still and I could see no curl of mist in the heart of the rift, yet I-trusted nothing here.

  As I leaned back I thought of that warlock—for at least he was master enough of Power to fit life of a sort into his axe. Many of the adepts of old were said to be men. It was only when those who fled the wars in Escore reached Estcarp did the gift become the possession only of women. He had resembled no one of any clan or kin that I had heard of—however, that was the south and we knew not what peoples might dwell here. I remembered that men who had been at the retaking of Gorm had commented on the fact that many of the alive-dead slaves had been strange-looking people of no known race.

  How long ago had this happened, this escape from the mist? They had found skeletons here even as I had done. Was it so close to my own time that somewhere the four were still alive? That poor starving creature I had found— she might well have escaped this same trap only to die in the barren land because she had no training to search out that which might serve as food.

  Tomorrow—tomorrow I would know—I would climb and look and know!

  16

  I could deny sleep no longer. Thus I fell, thirsty and hungry, into a waiting pocket of darkness. What awoke me was as sharp as the call to deck and sail duty during a storm. But my famished body did not respond with the same vigor as might have been mine on one of the ships. I looked about—

  Sleep had taken me by the hillock and with my weapons beside me, in that place of ancient death. Now I stood on my feet and around me was a dull, greyish fog which bewildered my eyes even as the tail end of rest left me swaying where I stood, unwary and unprepared.

  That I dreamed was my first sluggish thought. So vividly had I relived that other life which had been shadowed by a like mist that I was once more caught by what I had past-seen or read from the knife. The knife! That was not with me, nor were any other of the weapons I had scavenged. I held only the rod I had earlier found.

  Catching a bit of flesh on my forearm between thumb and finger I gave it a vicious pinch. That I had certainly felt! No dream then—but how could I have come into this place unless something had commanded my body during sleep to move me here?

  I strained to hear—as had that earlier captive—the sounds of others caught within this blinding fog. But there was such a quiet as made me wonder for a moment if I were deaf.

  Those three who had won out of here had had the help of Power. What was my own power—but the twittering of a bird compared to that the painted man knew—he with his axe. Also I was sure that whatever—or whoever—had pulled me here would soon exert more of strength to compel me to its will.

  My power—no axe—I gave the rod a disparaging flick back and forth. Then I put hand to my shirt and drew forth the amulet. Instantly it blazed into almost eye- searing light. I pulled the cord on which it was strung over my head to flip the stone about. As it had done under the cutting edge of the axe, the fog retreated. It no longer enclosed me so tightly. I turned slowly, spinning the amulet by the cord in each direction, and the mist shrank.

  Well enough, for now I had my own clearer of ways. There stood one of the hillocks not too far away, and I headed straight for that, keeping off the mist as I went. However, I heeded a better guide—I wanted, to gain the top of the cliff, even as I had planned the night before.

  I was still listening for any sound to suggest that I was not alone here. Perhaps it was the thickness of the mist which made it so very quiet. I did not like the feeling which that silence aroused—was it a waiting, an anticipation of my coming within reach of that which saw me as prey? There were no bones on the hard-beaten clay of the ground here. I reached the hillock and once more settled Gunnora's gift in place, the cord safely about my neck. The light continued to blaze. The ground at the foot of the hillock was free. I climbed, a short pull and I was above the mist. It was midmorning by the height of the sun and the heat of Its rays struck almost like a blow.

  I was able now to see what I sought, the wall of the cliff lying to my right, and I made very sure, as I descended from my vantage point, that I was facing the cliff. Then, with the amulet in hand, I worked my way out of the blinding fog and saw once more tall rock. The surface was rough enough for me to be sure of handholds. I had gotten less than a third of the way up when I came to a part I remembered from my seeking. This was certainly the end of the ledge which the fleeing seaman had followed out of that bay of dead ships. I swung myself onto that, willing to return to the place I remembered so clearly from my glimpse into that other's life. Also, yes, it was certain—that was the same fatal bay I had farseen for our party much earlier.

  Lack of water and food made me unsteady. At times I had to lean against the cliff wall which formed one edge of that road. But I forced myself on. Though it seemed that sometimes I could barely set one foot before the other, I came out at last to view the bay.

  This I had seen from scrying and also through those other eyes. Now I could look at it in person and the sight was so overwhelming that I simply slipped down the cliff side against which I had leaned to huddle where I was, staring unbelievingly at what lay below.

  I had thought Varn's harbor large. I knew tha
t that which held Gorm itself and served Estcarp was probably the largest known in the north. But this—

  Perhaps the fact that it was filled with ships—not ordinary ships swinging at anchor or waiting against a wharf for a promised cargo—made it seem endless. Though I could not see the far western end of it even, from my place above.

  Many of the ships had been beached, as if their crews had deliberately aimed them for the shore. Among those were some which were only bits of weathered wrecks for on top of them, grinding them down into the grey sand, were other vessels—later comers. Masts had fallen; their liens of rotting rope formed traps on decks.

  Nor were these all sailing vessels—no, there were some—one very large—which resembled in part that ship Captain Harwic had brought into Gorm—ships which must have plied through the gate. Again this was a place of silence. As usual in this fateful south there were no birds. And certainly no one stirred on those decks below no matter how solid they still looked.

  I turned my head to shut out the sight of that vast graveyard of ships and gazed inland. There was again my memory of this place from the first farseeing to tell me that this cemetery on the edge of the sea was not all-important.

  Not too far from the cliff way there reached a wide stairway cut into rock set there as if armies of people came marching-to whatever lay above. As the survivor of the knife had seen it, stone steps were worn in dips and hollows, by hundreds of feet during unnumbered years.

  I looked upon that and there moved deep inside me a need for going up those stairs, for following all those who had marched that way before. Yet I also could sniff the evil from its crown. A mighty heap of refuse and filth might lay at the top, or back a little, for I could not sight such from here. However, the stench was sickening. The two-way struggle continued within me. I dropped from the ledge to the beach onto which ships had smashed. These must have been drawn by Power—a great Power which even nonliving products of men's hands could hot resist.

  The sand was below my bound feet when all the bemusement this place roused in me was pierced. I whirled with such vigor that I lost my balance and stumbled against boards spongy with rot, easily crushed by; my weight.

  “Destree!”

  There was no mistaking that call from the Lady Jaelithe. I downed the mind barriers I had held while so near to this unknown danger.

  “Hold!” came her order. “We are coming.”

  I tried to see between the wreckage of the ships if ours had entered that bay of disaster but I could perceive nothing of any movement on the outer fringe.

  That my companions were using me for a guide I did not doubt and I quickly built up in my mind the picture of where I now was.

  It was not from the ship-crowded bay they came, but as the Lady Jaelithe's touch grew the sharper and clearer, I pinpointed the source to the very beach on which I stood at a point farther westward. By the change in volume of linkage they were coming at a steady pace. I say “they” because I was aware that she was not alone. Others backed her, feeding Power that she might range the farther and discover more quickly what they sought. A shadow crossed my mind that what we now did might throw us open to whatever evil abode here. Instantly she reacted to that.

  “Yes. No more!” The tenuous link between us vanished instantly. I remained where I was looking ever westward and waiting.

  There was another who came first. Leaping down from the deck of one of the beached boats Chief padded through the sand to join me, pausing only to face die foot of those stairs and hiss, his tail fur straight out from the roots as he lashed that appendage from side to side. Then he was on me where I still sat in the sand, too weak to rise again. Purring loudly he rubbed his head back and forth on my breast where-the amulet lay. I rubbed his ears, the very touch of his fur freeing me yet further from the pull of that stairway.

  They were not far behind. The Lady Jaelithe, Lord Simon, Kemoc and Orsya, and, rather to my astonishment, also two Falconers and Captain Sigmun. The latter walked nearly sidewise so bemused was he by the sight of all those ships. Twice I saw him shake his head, and then rub his eyes with his fingers, as might a man who thought that he viewed something which was born only of clouds and sorcery.

  So entranced was he that he kept backing even farther up the beach the better to see all which had been entrapped there, until he was nearly at the foot of that stairway, so that I cried out.

  “No, Captain! Away from that stair!”

  He swung about to meet my eyes, then glanced behind him. His forehead puckered by a frown, he straightway put a good distance between himself and the foot of that way to death—or so I believed very firmly that it was.

  They had provisions with them and granted me a share of both dried fish and sweet water. Certainly no banquet, but to me now the finest viands I had ever tasted. When I had finished I knew they awaited my story and I straightway launched into an account of all which had befallen me since I had gone into the sea.

  I knew that at least the Lady Jaelithe could follow my words with mind touch and that she would so be able to attest that I spoke the truth. It was that portion of my story which dealt with the seeing brought by the knife which interested her the most. Though I had been aware that when I mentioned that first use of the amulet which had shown me the face of a woman of Power, she had seized upon that to store in memory.

  My tale of the adventures of the single sailor who had escaped the fate of his fellows held them all absorbed. At the coming of the man of Power and his axe they were all caught and held by every word I spoke, even the usually Unshakable Falconers. It was one of them who asked the first question when I had done.

  “What chanced to them—those out of the mist?”

  “Death?” suggested his fellow. “You found the knife among the bones”

  “The fall which put an end to the sight—he may well have dropped it then,” I returned. But would he not have rearmed himself, some part of me asked in chorus at that. Look at the weapons I myself had garnered from that place. There may not have been so many at his time of discovery but there should have been some. Had he just left the knife and went on, better armed with what he had found there? The old superstition that taking on another's arms also took on a part of the owner—I began to see that that might have been partly founded in truth. I had told my story in detail, but only when I had spoken of the scrying had it become different—I had been a part of him then, hardly aware of myself. What had happened after that tie had broken?

  If they had survived, those strangely assorted four, what had been their final fate? Starvation in the barren country I had transversed before I headed southwest? I found myself hoping that the warlock with the axe had dealt better by them than that.

  The Lady Jaelithe had seated herself, as she listened to my report, so that she faced the steps up which the captives had trod. Her mind touch withdrew. I saw tenseness in her figure, the fact that her eyes might not look but that she now called upon the inner sight. Lord Simon's hand went out to rest on her shoulder, and I knew that he was backing her with his own power. I could even sense the flow of force between the two of them.

  My hand went to my worn and grimed shirt and I brought out the amulet. That rested easily, fitting itself perfectly into the hollow of my palm. It was alight—though that glow was blue and not the brilliant beam which had cut a way for me through the mist.

  Kemoc sat cross-legged and Orsya half leaned against his shoulder. His maimed right hand was out, the first finger pointing to the stairs, his face also all concentration. Captain Sigmun and the Falconers had drawn a little apart.

  I knew well the Sulcars were wary of this kind of Power and the Falconers owned to having no talents except such as bonded them for life with their birds. But with Chief it was different. He put one paw on my wrist and exerted strength to bring my hands down an inch or two. Then he leaned his head against my arm at the same place where his paw: had rested. His eyes were wide open and glowing, fixed upon the stone.

  Strength
began to build. Slowly at first, like a single plank from one of the ships behind us floating on calm water. Then it picked up speed—the floating board could be motivated now by a rope attached and vigorously pulled.

  Something had lain quiescent—it had … fed. Now it stirred a little, some faint warning might have reached into its half sleep to urge waking. I could not catch any clear picture. I did not think that any of us did or we would have shared it all at the moment it came into even one of the minds among us.

  No, I “saw” no man, nor Witch, not even one of the monsters which had attacked before. There was a queer blankness about this thing of Power—it might be dead—lacking the spark of life which a user gives to the talent. Only it was not so—it was still able to function in a manner of its own.

  I strove to reach above it with the farsight. Once again I hung above a solid block of sheer blackness. It might have been that all which provided life and color had been cut away here—leaving nothingness in its place.

  Save that there was within that solid darkness something which sensed—sensed? How could that which was without life sense? Power, yes. It was a holder of Power, near filled with it. Until lately it had been emptied and it had to labor mightily to bring that to it which would once more make it ready to serve—to serve? What?

  Then, as Chief might strike out with claws to defend himself before the enemy was fully aware that he knew of its presence, that which we were attempting to spy upon knew of us!