Part 22 (1/2)
He dreamed that he sat atop Green Angel Tower, perched like a gargoyle. Someone was moving beside him.
It was the angel herself, who had apparently left her spire and now seated herself beside him, laying a cool hand on his wrist. She looked strangely like the little girl Leleth, but made of rough bronze and green with verdigris.
”It is a long way down.” The angel's voice was beautiful, soft but strong.
Simon stared at the tiny rooftops of the Hayholt below him. ”It is.”
”That is not what I mean.” The angel's tone was gently chiding. ”I mean down to where the Truth is. Down to the bottom, where things begin.”
”I don't understand.” He felt curiously light, as though the next puff of wind might send him sailing off the tower roof, whirling like a leaf. It seemed that the angel's grip on his arm was the only thing that held him where he sat.
”From up here, the matters of Earth look small,” she said. ”That is one way to see, and a good one. But it is not the only one. The farther down you go, the harder things are to understand-but the more important they are. You must go very deep.”
”I don't know how to do that.” He stared at her face, but despite its familiarity it was still lifeless, just a casting of rough metal. There was no hint of friends.h.i.+p or kindness in the stiff features. ”Where should I go? Who will help me?”
”Deep. You.” The angel suddenly stood; as her hand released him, Simon felt himself beginning to float free of the tower. He clutched a curving bit of the roof and clung. ”It is hard for me to talk to you, Simon,” she said. ”I may not be able to again.”
”Why can't you just tell me?” he cried. His feet were floating off the edge; his body fluttered like a sail, trying to follow. ”Just tell me!”
”It is not so easy.” The angel turned and slowly rose back to her plinth atop the tower roof. ”If I can come again, I will. But it is only possible to talk clearly about less important things. The greatest truths lie within, always within. They cannot be given. They must be found.”
Simon felt himself tugged free of his handhold. Slowly, like a cartwheel spun loose from its axle, he began to revolve as he floated out. Sky and earth moved alternately past him, as though the world were a child's ball in which he had been imprisoned, a ball now sent rolling by a vengeful kick....
Simon awakened in faint moonlight, sweating despite the chill night air. The dark bulk of Swertclif hung above him like a warning.
The next day found Simon considerably less certain about things than he had been the night before. As they readied for the climb, he found himself worrying over the dream. If Amerasu had been right, if Simon had truly become more open to the Road of Dreams, could there be a meaning to what he had been told by the dream angel? How could he go deeper? He was about to climb a tall hill. And what answer was within? Some secret that even he didn't know? It just didn't make sense.
The company set out as the sun began to warm in the sky. For the first part of the morning they rode up through the foothills, mounting Swertclif's lower reaches. As the lower, gentler slopes fell away behind them, they were forced to dismount and lead the horses.
They stopped for a mid-morning meal-a little of the dried fruit and bread that Binabik had brought with him from Josua's camp stores.
”I am thinking it is time to leave the horses behind us,” said the troll. ”If Qantaqa is still wis.h.i.+ng to come, she will climb on her own instead of carrying me upon her back.”
Simon had not thought about having to leave Homefinder. He had hoped there would be a way to ride to the summit, but the only level path was the one on the far side of Swertclif, the funeral road that led across the top of the headland from Erchester and the Hayholt.
Binabik had brought a good quant.i.ty of rope in his saddlebag; he sacrificed enough of it for Simon and Miriamele to leave their mounts tied on long tethers to a low, wind-curled tree within reach of a natural rocky pool full of rainwater. The two horses had ample room to graze during the half a day or more they would be required to wait. Simon laid his face against Homefinder's neck and quietly promised her he would be back as soon as he could.
”Any other things there are that need doing?” asked Binabik; Simon stared up at the pinnacle of Swertclif and wished he could think of something that would forestall the climb a little longer. ”Then let us be going,” the troll said.
Swertclif's eastern face was not as sheerly vertical as it seemed from a distance. By traversing diagonally, the company, with Qantaqa trailing behind, were even able occasionally to walk upright, although more often than not they went crouching from handhold to cautious handhold. In only one spot, a narrow c.h.i.n.k between the cliff face and a standing stone, did Simon feel any worry, but he and his two companions inched through while Qantaqa, who had found some private wolfish path, stood on the far side with her tongue dangling pinkly, watching their struggles with apparent amus.e.m.e.nt.
A few hours after noon the skies darkened and the air grew heavy. A light rain swept across the cliff face, wetting the climbers and worrying Simon. It was not so bad where they were, but it looked to get more difficult very soon, and there was nothing pleasant about the idea of trying to cross some of the steeply angled stones if they were slick with rain. But the small shower pa.s.sed, and although the clouds remained threatening, no larger storm seemed imminent.
The climb did grow steeper, but it was better than Simon had feared. Binabik was leading, and the little man was as surefooted as one of his Qanuc sheep. They only used the rope once, tying themselves for safety as they leapt from one gra.s.sy shelf to another over a long, slanting scree of naked stones. Everyone made the jump safely, although Miriamele scratched her hands and Simon banged his knee hard when he landed. Qantaqa seemed to find this part laughably easy as well.
As they paused for breath on the far side of this crossing, Simon found that he was standing just a few cubits below a small patch of white flowers-starblooms- whose petals gleamed like snowflakes in the dark green gra.s.s that surrounded them. He was heartened by the discovery: he'd seen very few flowers since he and Miriamele had first left Josua's camp. Even the Wintercap or Frayja's Fire that one might expect to see at this cold time of the year had been scarce.
The climb up Swertclif's face took longer than they had antic.i.p.ated: as they toiled up the last long rise, the sun had sunk low in the sky, gleaming a handbreadth above the horizon behind the pall of clouds. They were all bent nearly double now and working hard for breath; they had been using their hands for balance and leverage so frequently in this last stage that Simon wondered what Qantaqa must think to see all her companions turned as four-footed as she. When they stepped up and could at last stand upright on the gra.s.sy verge of Swertclif's summit, a sliver of sun broke through, was.h.i.+ng the rounded hill with pale light.
The mounds of the Hayholt's kings lay before them, some hundred ells from where they stood struggling to regain breath. All except one of the barrows were nothing more than gra.s.sy humps, so rounded by time as to seem part of the hill: that one, which was surely John's, was still only a pile of naked stones. At the hill's distant western edge lay the dim bulk of the Hayholt; the needle-thin spire of Green Angel Tower was brighter than anything else in sight.
Binabik c.o.c.ked an eye up at the weak sun. ”We are being later than my hope. We will not be able to go down again before we are in darkness.” He shrugged. ”There is nothing that will help that. The horses will be able to feed themselves until the morning when we can return to them.”
”But what about ...” Simon looked at Qantaqa, embarra.s.sed; he had been about to say ”wolves,” ”... what about wild animals? Are you sure they'll be all right?”
”Horses can be defending themselves very well. And I have seen few animals of any kind or name in these lands.” Binabik patted Simon's arm. ”And also there is nothing we can be doing otherwise except risking a broken neck or other unfortunate crunching or snapping of bones.”
Simon took a breath and started off toward the barrows. ”Come on, then.”
The seven mounds were laid out in a partial circle. s.p.a.ce had been left for others to share this place. Simon felt a twinge of superst.i.tious fear as he thought about that. Who else would lie here someday? Elias? Josua? Or neither? Perhaps the events that had been set in motion meant that nothing expected would ever happen again.
They walked into the center of the incomplete circle and stopped. The wind stirred and bent the gra.s.ses. The hilltop was silent. Simon walked to the first barrow, which had sunk into the waiting earth until it was scarcely a man's height, though it stretched several times that in length and was nearly equally wide. A verse floated into Simon's head, a verse and a memory of black statues in a dark, silent throne room.
”Fingil first, named the b.l.o.o.d.y King.”
he said quietly, ”Flying out of the North on war's red wing.”
Now that he had spoken the initial verse, it seemed unlucky to stop. He moved to the next barrow, which was as old and weatherworn as the first. A few stones glinted in the gra.s.s, like teeth.
”Hjeldin his son, the Mad King dire Leaped to his death from the haunted spire.”
The third was set close to the second, as if the one buried there still sought protection from his predecessors.
”Ikferdig next, the Burned King hight He met the fire-drake by dark of night. ”
Simon paused. There was a gap between this trio of mounds and the next, and there was also another verse prodding his memory. After a moment, it came.
”Three northern kings, all dead and cold The north rules no more in lofty Hayholt.”
He moved to the second group of three, the song swiftly coming back to him now, so that he did not have to search for words. Miriamele and Binabik stood in silence, watching and listening.
”The Heron King Sulis, called Apostate Fled Nabban, but in Hayholt he met his fate ”The Hernystir Holly King, old Tethtain Came in at the gate, but not out again”Last, Eahlstan Fisher King, in lore most high The dragon he woke, and in Hayholt he died. ”
Simon took a deep breath. It almost seemed that he was saying a magical spell, that a few more words might bring the barrows' inhabitants up from their centuried sleep, grave ornaments clinking as they broke through the earth.
”Six kings have ruled in Hayholt's broad halls Six masters have stridden her mighty stone walls Six mounds on the cliff over deep Kynslagh-bay Six kings will sleep there until Doom's final day... ”
When he finished, the wind grew stronger for a moment, flattening the gra.s.s and moaning as it whirled across the hilltop ... but nothing else happened. The mounds remained silent and secretive. Their long shadows lay on the sward, stretching toward the east.
”Of course, there are seven kings here now,” he said, breaking the silence. Now that the moment had come, he was tremendously unsettled. His heart was rattling in his ribs and he suddenly found it hard to speak without the words catching in his throat. He turned to face the last barrow. It was higher than the rest, and the gra.s.s had only partly covered the pile of stones. It looked like the sh.e.l.l of an immense sea-creature stranded by the waves of some ancient flood.
”King John Presbyter,” said Simon.
”My grandfather.” grandfather.”
Struck by the sound of Miriamele's voice, Simon turned. She appeared positively haunted, her face colorless, her eyes hollow and frightened.