In the Earth Abides the Flame (58 page)

'Neither does sleep, apparently,' growled Phemanderac from further away. 'Can you people quieten down a little? You're interrupting the noise of the rain.'

Eventually the night petered out into a drab, wet morning. The storm blew itself out some time in the night, but the cloud lowered about them. Conditions were similar to when the Arkhimm had passed the lake two days earlier. A misty drizzle filtered straight down from a grey ceiling, beading clothes, hair and skin with water.

'It doesn't look quite so beautiful in the fog,' Tua remarked.

A few yards away the lake lapped gently, quietly, at a stony shore. Despite what Tua said, Leith could see beauty in the way the perfectly clear water played with the grey, brown and white stones. The surface of the lake shimmered slightly, stirred by the faintest of breezes; further away it reflected the diffused grey above, until perhaps a hundred yards from shore it merged seamlessly with the fog. By the shore to their left the ghostly outline of a stunted tree counterpointed the gentle linelessness of lake and sky.

Breakfast was eaten, then the remnants packed away, in silence. No one had remained dry through the night, and the persistent moisture managed to penetrate their packs and dampen their clothes. Leith stretched uncomfortably, his body having not yet forgotten the exertions of the previous afternoon.

'We'd better go and look at this rope, then,' said the Haufuth casually. 'Leith?'

'To our right,' said the young man. Instinctively he knew the village headman was attempting to lighten the mood, and tried himself to match his leader's tone, but they had the elements themselves to overcome. The day of their testing had arrived, and Leith knew in spite of his thorough preparation on the fields and hills and in the cities and dungeons of Faltha, he was not ready for the examination. The tone of the day was sombre, and their mood echoed it.

They followed the lake shore about a hundred yards to their right until it came hard up against a spur of rock. A little way ahead a small stream found its way out of the lake and ran gurgling towards the spur, which allowed the stream through a deep, narrow slot. It looked to the company as though a giant axe had cleaved the ridge in two. Again a sense of smallness assailed them, encouraging them to regard themselves as misfits in a landscape writ too large. Interlopers, intruders, the land seemed to whisper. Trespassers! You do not belong here.

'Who said that?' Phemanderac cried out. Behind him Maendraga blanched and stood still.

'Someone is projecting a voice-thought. Who is it?' the disconcerted philosopher said.

'It is no man,' Maendraga said, genuine fear thinning his normally inscrutable voice. 'It is the land itself. My grandfather warned me of this. He said if the sacred lake felt the tread of the unworthy, it would cry out against the intruders until the very rock itself rose up to destroy them. I did not believe him, of course -I know the limits of magic as well as anyone - but the voice we hear does not come from human lips or mind.'

'But we are not trespassing! We have been called here!' Leith said desperately.

'It seems that you are wrong,' Maendraga pronounced. 'There are unworthy feet in this holy place. I should have known. My heart misgave me from the start. It was folly to come here.

We will not escape.' He sat down on a wet rock outcrop.

'Nothing has changed,' declared the Haufuth. 'If that voice was anything at all, it was a phantom, a shadow, another illusion set here to discourage seekers of the Arrow. It will take more than whispers to deter me! I will not leave here until we have the Jugom Ark.'

Yet the whispering continued: Trespassers.' Intruders! Begone from this place! It was all Leith could do to ignore it. His sense of foreboding, of imminent disaster, grew stronger.

As they drew close to the slot through which the lake drained, Leith caught sight of their first objective. A rope of sorts had been strung over the chasm - through what endeavour, he could not guess - and anchored in the mountain bedrock at each end. The others made way for him.

He stepped on to the top of the spur, then quickly sank to his knees: to his right the ground dropped away vertically into the mist, and the grey emptiness sucked at him the same way as had Helig Holth, the great sinkhole of Adunlok. He gritted his teeth and decided not to look in that direction again.

'Bit of a drop to the right, the top of the waterfall cliff, I expect,' he said as casually as he could. 'I'm going to have a look at the rope.'

But it was not rope. Or, at least, it was a cord; but a cord made from three steel strands, somehow woven together. He shook it, and raindrops scattered as the cord rippled into the distance. In a moment the ripple returned, reduced but still noticeable. 'About a hundred feet across,' he announced.

Leith had always been fascinated with ropes, but this one did not fascinate him. Slick with moisture, it offered a tenuous handhold at best. He took a deep breath, slid his hands along the wire, then pushed out with his legs.

Nausea instantly gripped him as his body swung back and forth. His hands closed tightly on the cord. He looked steadfastly up at them, refusing to look down. There was rock a yard or so under his feet, he knew, but he also knew that if he fell nothing would prevent him tumbling into the chasm below. He would then be dragged by the stream out over the lip of the cliff and pitched into white-grey space ... he would be dead as soon as he hit the first step.

'Leith! Get back!' Kurr cried. 'There must be an easier way!'

'We're all going to have to do it some time,' came another voice: Tua's, probably. 'Loosen your grip a little! Slide your hands along the rope!'

How could he dare to loosen his grip even the tiniest amount? He hung two thousand feet above the Vale of Neume. His mind shrieked at him to hold on tighter, tighter, tighter!

'Leith! Listen! I don't know what possessed you to go first, but Tua is right!' It was Prince Wiusago. He could not turn to look. 'If you keep gripping the wire tightly, your hands will lose their strength! Slide along the rope!'

I shall die, he thought, but he loosened his grip a little. The cable was not taut, and the weight of his body, combined with the slickness of the moisture on it, caused him to slide forward. It was a sickening feeling.

He stopped above the middle of the chasm. He took a look down below his feet. He shouldn't have, of course, but he did. For a second all was giddiness and vertigo, then the view resolved itself into a foaming white stream, shining black rocks, curling mist and the top of the waterfall. At that moment he nearly let go.

'Hand over hand, Leith. Hand over hand!' someone shouted to him. 'You can't come back now! You must go on! Hurry!'

This must be a dream!

He tried to assemble his shattered mind into some sort of working order. Hand over hand, he told himself. Take your left hand from the cable and place it in front of the right. He could feel the muscles in his hand tensing up; his shoulders ached agonisingly, his legs dangled uselessly below him. He had been on the rope perhaps a minute. His hands refused to obey his mind.

'Leith! Hand over hand!' Cries, sharp and urgent; but whether they came from behind him or from within his mind, he could not tell.

Suddenly his left hand slipped from the cable. He clung on with his right, groping with his left hand for the rope. For an endless moment he hung: then his hand found the cable.

'That's right! And again!'

This time his muscles obeyed his mind, or the voices behind him, or both. Hand over hand he struggled towards the far spur. There it was, looming blackly through the mist. Twenty feet.

Fifteen feet. His grip slipped a little, and he began sliding back down the cable. With an immense effort, he arrested his movement, then hung swaying while he recovered. Forward again, hand over hand, eyes closed now, concentrating fiercely, trying to feel rock under his feet. Release grip, swing forward, grab the cable, rest; release grip, swing forward, grab the cable, rest. . . then his right hand met the rock ahead, and his feet kicked against rock below at the same instant.

There he faced his most perilous moment. He opened his eyes. Somehow he had to swing himself up on to the spur, and there was no one to help him. He was all done in, he knew he hadn't the energy to lift himself up. There was no foothold on the rock from which to gain purchase. The knowledge dawned on him that he had come to the end of his strength. Then, on top of all this, the rope began to sway and jerk in his hands.

Now his life was measured in moments. He could taste death. A yawning blackness, a palpable thing, hovered just below him, reaching up with a black grasp. He could feel nothing but his hands. So close! his mind said, and the thought seemed far away. So close! You were almost worthy. Almost. It was over. He lost the feeling in his fingers, and they began to slip from the jerking cable. He let go.

He fell.

He fell back into the strong one-armed embrace of the Bhrudwan Achtal, who had swung across the cable behind him the moment it became clear he would not make it. That strong arm propelled him up on to the spur. A moment later, the Bhrudwan was up there with him, laying the frightened youth on the cold wet rock.

'Is he all right?' Hal called across the chasm. His voice barely carried. The Bhrudwan signalled his answer by an upraised arm.

'He's all right,' Hal told the others, his relief obvious.

'A little courage is a dangerous thing,' Te Tuahangata said quietly, but his voice carried respect rather than rebuke.

Prince Wiusago nodded. 'Foolish or not, he has shown us the way with a brave deed. Let us prove ourselves worthy to follow him.'

One at a time the questers measured their courage against the steel cable. Te Tuahangata went first, followed by strong-shouldered Kurr, who proved surprisingly adept at the crossing. Hal went next. His crossing took the longest, because he found it difficult to grip the cable with his crippled hand, and the Bhrudwan was forced to come out on the rope a little way to bring him safely in. Then came the Escaignian, who spluttered and cursed her way over the chasm.

Willing hands hauled her to safety, where she lay beside Leith's twitching form. Phemanderac took his time before beginning, withdrawing to the still place within to insulate himself from his fear. 'Leave your harp behind!' Wiusago told him; but the philosopher could not part with it, even though he knew it would unbalance him. Finally he struck out across the gulf and, in what seemed a moment later, found himself on the far side. He could never remember how he got there.

Now came the moment they all secretly feared: it was the Haufuth's turn to attempt the crossing. Wiusago steadied the big man, but it was obvious he did not have the strength in his arms and hands to support his considerable bulk.

'Wait!' came a cry from the far side. It was Hal. Achtal says he has the strength for one further crossing. Let him help you!'

Without waiting for any acknowledgement the Bhrudwan swung out over the chasm, slid gracefully to the lowest point of the cable, then swung powerfully, hand over fist, to the frightened headman's side.

'On my shoulders,' the warrior said; and the Haufuth had no choice but to obey. The Bhrudwan lifted him with apparent ease, but how could he return over the rope with the huge form clinging to his back? Wiusago shook his head: when he next looked, the Bhrudwan was halfway across.

Achtal brought his incredible strength and powers of concentration into focus. The stress on his shoulders was intolerable. It would pull him from the rope if he allowed its force to concentrate. So he dissipated it by continuing forward at a fast rate, swinging hand over hand, throwing his legs back and forth, making the dead weight on his back work in his favour. With a last great effort he swung upwards into the arms of his astonished comrades.

Wiusago motioned to Maendraga, offering him the next passage. The magician shook his head. 'I have done wrong to come this far,' he said. 'I am the only guardian to set foot here in two thousand years, and I have done so unworthily. I will be a part of this cursed quest no longer.'

At that his daughter drew in her breath sharply. 'My father, I cannot agree with you. These folk have demonstrated nothing but courage, imagination and faith. They seek nothing for themselves, and risk all for Faltha. If the Most High will not honour deeds such as theirs, then he does not deserve such servants. I will cross the rope.'

'No! You will not! I forbid it!' cried the magician, his voice edged with panic. 'Remain here with me!'

'You may have given in to despair, but I have not,' Belladonna said quietly. 'Remain here and wait for us. We will bring the Jugom Ark back with us.' With that, she put her hand to the cable.

'No!' cried Maendraga. 'No!' He made to drag her from the rope. Swiftly Prince Wiusago pinioned his arms behind his back.

'Let her go. There is nothing you can do save send her to her death. Wait here for us.'

When at last the magician's daughter reached the far side, Wiusago left Maendraga and made his way to the others. The cable taxed him sorely and, trained from childhood as he was, he marvelled at the northerners' accomplishment. However, sooner than he had feared, it was over. Ten questers stood together on the far side of the cable; only one remained behind.

'I thought I was dead,' said Leith, thanking the Bhrudwan. He had taken some little time to awaken from his swoon, and felt a mixture of relief and humiliation. Apart from the Haufuth, who was too humble to feel ashamed, he had been the only one to require the Bhrudwan's assistance. Even Hal had done better than he.

'You are alive,' Achtal stated. 'You will continue.'

The travellers rested for many minutes, then their thoughts turned away from the cable and on to the next step of their quest.

'Over water,' Phemanderac reminded them. 'There should be a boat somewhere about.'

The ten adventurers cast about for the boat. 'There is a boat, I presume?' Kurr asked. 'The magician was telling the truth?'

'I don't know,' said Phemanderac, turning to Belladonna. He opened his mouth to ask her, but saw the young woman stood facing the way they had come - the way her father had refused to go - and noticed she was quietly weeping. His heart softened. 'Come,' he said tenderly. 'We need your help.'