Slow Turns The World (28 page)

“We cannot walk while you rest there,” he said and sighed, utterly defeated by her.

Chapter 8

Shall they deny this truth forever? For dawn shall always come; even to the long night of the world.

The book of Tarcen. Ch. 31 V.12

He would not have progressed far without her.  She led him along the ridge, weaving to one side or the other, in and out of the sunlight.  She knew the dangers of the snow, of the fragile cornices and balanced slabs that hung ready to tumble into the valleys below.  Where the snow did not conceal it, she walked along the ridge top, stepping from rock to rock; savouring the gulf on either side, invigorated by the dizzy space that surrounded them.   She delighted in Torrin's slow white-knuckled clutching, at his eyes fixed firmly on the rock before him, and his dismay when he watched her balanced on some pedestal.  

When they were too tired to continue she found them a protected hollow, warmed by the sun, and they settled down to rest.  They slumbered, huddled together under Torrin’s cloak.  She rested her head upon his shoulder and her breath warmed and cooled upon his neck in a slow delicious rhythm.  He put his arms around her and felt the firmness of her body.  His fingers seemed to have their own desires and craved to slide within the folds of her clothing, to trace the contours of the flesh that lay beneath.   He tried to think of Varna, but could not see her face; she was growing fainter, fading slowly into the wastes of memory.  Soola stirred, mumbled and took his hand, holding it still within her fingers.  Then sleep came at last.

After ten long treks, ten attempts at restful sleep, and a long huddled wait for a snowstorm to pass, they reached the end of the ridge.   Below was a confluence of deep, shadow-filled valleys, and between them, rising from a plain of ice, set upon a craggy perch, was the city of Dh’lass.  It was not so great as Etoradom, its size being constrained by the rocky prominence, but its builders had compensated by a striving for height; by the many towers that rose from shadow into sunlight.  One reached above all others and then expanded, flaring into a cluster of lesser towers, each rearing up to a different height, each to a pinnacled head.

“It's beautiful,” said Soola. “Will you take me to the highest tower?  Where the sun shines upon it.”

“I surely will,” said Torrin, “if I have been told truly of how we can enter; if somebody, half a lifetime ago, did what the lords of Etoradom bribed them to do.”

They began the long scramble down into the cold valley. Soola led him down in long cautious zigzags, ever wary that the snow might avalanche and carry them to crashing ruin.   They were exhausted and chilled through when they finally stood upon the white wasteland that was the valley floor.  Snow was piled around in huge drifts, separated by meandering pathways of bare ice.  Towering over all was the mountain pedestal that rose and merged into the walls of Dh’lass.  

The single gate stood tall, wide, and shut fast, while high above the turrets bathed in sunshine seemed to taunt and beckon.  The plain of ice extended to a harbour below the city, where ships might berth when liquid water flowed.  Then it would be a fortress indeed, with a great river on three sides and unscalable cliffs on the fourth.  Torrin spread a map out on the snow, and then looked closely at the cliffs from which the city walls rose.

“The cave should be just over half way along the cliff face.  I would guess it will be hidden.”

They followed the wall, struggling up and over the drifts, scrutinising every shadow and hollow.  There were many flows of ice creeping down the rock, where water had seeped from cracks, and one was greater than all the rest.  It rose very steeply, a frozen buttress, seeping from what seemed no more than a tiny crevice high above.  Soola showed him how to scale it, hacking holds with a knife blade, making cautious steps until she reached the top and stepped upon a ledge.

“There is no cave here,” she shouted down, looking at the blank rock face around her.  Then she called again.

“Wait, I can feel a wind blowing from out of the rock.”

He climbed up to join her wishing he were blessed with her tolerance of heights and skill of climbing.  He hacked at the steps, making them larger, and comforted himself that if he slipped he might be lucky, and fall upon snow.   He joined Soola on the ledge and hoped, above all things that he would not need to reverse the climb.  

“Here,” she said, holding her outstretched palm before the rock, “feel the cold air blowing and look up here.”

Above them was an eyehole in the rock, worn and notched, as if by ropes.   Torrin tapped at the wall with his sword hilt until he heard a hollow echo.  He pushed and hacked at the rock, finding a small block that was loose, but he could not move it aside.   Then Soola tried, felt a little wobble with her fingers, gently pressed with one hand and pulled with the other until the rock turned, pivoting inwards.  A dark opening was revealed, barely large enough for passage, emitting a chill and powerful draught.

“This makes more sense now,” said Torrin, “it seemed queer that a city so protected should have a second entry but we could not have climbed here without the ice.  This served well as a way of escape; they never thought it could be easily used to gain entrance.”

Torrin had carried candles through all his journey, in readiness for this dark passage.  A tinderbox sparked and they flickered to life, guttering in the draught.  Soola squatted, peering through the opening, and turned to Torrin.

“Do you like small places?” she asked with a grin.

“No more than I like high places,” said Torrin, watching sullenly as she squirmed headfirst through the portal.  He crawled in after, pushing his leather bags before him on a floor of ice as clear as still water.  The arched roof pressed against his shoulders and kept him on his belly.  He twisted his head to look forward and saw Soola's feet ahead, scrabbling against the ice as she wriggled through a narrowing of the way.   She called back to him, struggling and breathing hard.

“There are ice columns here that nearly block the tunnel.  I can get through but you will need to make the passage bigger.”

Her feet wriggled again and she slid forward.  He struggled on until he reached the narrowing, then laid hacking at the ice with his knife.  There was little room to move his wrist, making the blows quite small and feeble.  He chipped away until his arm ached with pain, then he rested, cheek against the cold floor, the bitter wind chilling his sweat-damp body.  Soola returned, crawling headfirst back to him, and joined the attack upon the ice.

“There is a chamber ahead,” she said, “like no place you have ever seen.”

At last Torrin squeezed through and was able to crawl forward again.  Soola could not turn and so reversed, feet first up the slippery crawl-way, encouraging him to follow.   Torrin seemed to feel a huge weight of rock pressing down upon him and a dark pit of fear growing within.  He was made to walk the world under an open sky, not crawl like a worm within it and even the awful heights of the mountain suited him better than this.  But Soola squirmed on backwards, urging him on, squeezing his hand, chattering away as if they were walking in the sunlit woods again.  At last he wriggled, like some hatching insect, into a black and echoing space.  He held his candle aloft and was struck with wonder.  They were in a hallway wide and tall, filled with twinkling columns of ice.  It hung in huge daggers, rose in fluted towers and reflected the candle flames with a million tiny mirrors.  

“I have seen many great halls on my journey, that men have made,” whispered Torrin, “but none that matches the beauty here.  Is there a passage onwards?”

“Yes,” said Soola, “a winding way, rising steeply.  The wind blows through it.”

They climbed up through the cave; sometimes cutting steps in the steep ice that covered the floor, following the air current.  They were halted in a stooping passage by rock walls all around, but above them a slab of rock made a roof that echoed when Torrin beat upon it.   He lifted with his shoulders, straining and pushing, but could not move the lid.  

“Perhaps it is sealed above,” he muttered, “or weighted down or bolted; maybe it was never left as Etoradom intended.”

He pushed again with Soola helping; there was a crack of ice breaking above, and then the stone lifted and was pushed aside.  Torrin looked up into the chamber above, which was as black-dark as the cave, but walled in cut stone blocks.  He scrambled up and held the candle aloft, illuminating wooden beams above that were festooned with giant icicles.  There was a sharp intake of breath.

“What is it?” whispered Soola.

“Nothing for us to fear.  Come up and you will see.”

Lying on the floor of the chamber, close to the open hatch, and almost consumed in a column of ice, was a body.   Its frozen skin was dried and leathery; gnarled fingers clutched at the black wound in the chest.  Eyes stared glassily through the cocoon of ice, suspended in a moment of surprise, fear and pain.

“I guess,” said Torrin, “he came to check that this entry was sealed.  I wonder if it was some stranger lurking here that did this or if it was a companion, one he trusted when they were sent together to secure this way.”

A spiral staircase led them up into a larger chamber, still dark and icy.  There were many sacks and cases stacked all around which Torrin peered into as he passed.

“There is food here; grain, bread, some vegetables, all frozen.  I wonder if it can still be eaten after such a time?  Well, we shall find out.”  

The honey bread that had sustained them was now all consumed and hunger gnawed at them with little prospect of relief.  Torrin filled his sack with the heavy, frozen food.

“Here,” called out Soola behind him, “this might be useful.”  

She picked a small axe from the floor and waved it in her hand.  They followed another broader stair higher until it passed a heavy door.   Torrin unlatched it and pulled until the ice seal was broken.  Beyond lay a wall of snow, perfectly imprinted with the timbers of the door.

“We must climb higher before we can walk in the city,” said Torrin, and led them up the next twist of the stair.

Another chamber, spread with tables and benches, stretched before them, but with the shuttered windows outlined in faint daylight.   Torrin pushed a pair of the wooden flaps open and they looked down into a narrow shadowy street filled deep enough with snow that every doorway was buried.  Towers rose above them, bearded with dangling icicles.

“We must find our way to the highest tower,” said Torrin, “where the sun can warm us.”

They dropped from the window onto a deep drift close below and followed the winding snow-filled canyon through the city.   Above them a sunlit tower-top beckoned, rising from a spiky icicle collar where melted water had dribbled down into shadow and refrozen.  The tower rose from a great hall whose double doors were firmly locked, but a snowdrift took them up to a window, where an entry was easily forced.

They dropped down into an imposing chamber, lined either side with tall columns and carvings of dead kings.  Their feet echoed on the stone flags, as they walked through a second set of tall open doors and into another greater hall.  A huge throne stood empty before them, gilded with precious metals, glittering with gems.  Soola ran up the steps toward it and sat herself across the seat, back against one armrest, legs over the other, kicking her feet merrily in the air.

“Look at me,” she laughed, “at the queen of the city.  And only one subject to command.  You had better obey me or it will be off with your head, or off with something else.”  She grinned devilishly. “Approach your queen!”

Torrin raised his eyebrows and sighed, but did as she commanded.

“This is all just an adventure to you, just a game,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

“Silence! Kneel before the queen.”

He remained upright.

“Then your queen will kneel before you.”

She knelt before him and with a finger she traced a tiny circle on the part of him that was closest.  He squirmed a little, breathed faster, and she felt his shape changing, becoming firmer below the teasing digit. The she made a snap at the growing bulge with her teeth and he jumped back.  She lay laughing on the floor, leaning against the throne.

“Well at least some part of you stands up for your queen.  Now, are you going to take me somewhere warmer?”

The many passages, halls and chambers were a labyrinth, but eventually they found a rising stair that led them up in an endless spiral.   The air grew suddenly warmer and the light peeping in around the shutters shone brighter as they neared the topmost chamber.  They reached a door embellished with the carved symbol of the King, and passed through to stand in a broad circular chamber.  Soola's eyes were wide as an owl's when she saw what was before them.  An enormous bed upon a dais, with four posts supporting an ornate canopy like a roof, below which the carved shield of the King, bright with gilt and painted colours, hung suspended on golden chains.  

“Well,” she said, “Perhaps you do know how to treat your queen.”

Torrin pulled open the shutters and let the room flood with warm sunlight.  There was a large stone fireplace against one wall and a wooden chest beside it filled with coals.  

“This will give good heat,” said Torrin, “but we will need kindling to set it burning.”

“Firewood we have in plenty,” announced Soola, as she attacked an exquisitely carved table with the axe.  Torrin watched with a pained expression as the wood splintered under her joyful blows.

“Look, there's a cooking pot,” she halted her hacking for a moment and nodded towards an ornate golden bowl placed for the king's ablutions, “go and fill it with water.”

He obeyed without protest, and descended the stair until he could open a shutter and harvest the icicles that hung in ranks below the sunlit tower-top.  The fire was roaring when he returned and Soola was busy sifting through the other chests that lined the chamber walls.

“These were all sealed with wax.  There is bedding within which has not rotted, I guess because there are bags of herbs left too, which dry the air.”