The Hands of Lyr (Five Senses Series Book 1) Page 33

  So they changed course and left the well-marked trail behind them, climbing with Kryn not only in the lead but vanishing now and then on a circular ranging ahead to pick up any lead he could.

  Nosh found herself stumbling more often. The bag of Fingers was now so large that she must cradle it in the crook of her arm. She was aware not only of an ever-present glow but thought, though she did not say so aloud, that the crystals gave off a low hum, like the contented purr of a tothcat well fed and stretched before a warm fire. She waited—how long would it be before that other call came? The one which would again take over her mind and body to race in answer?

  Kryn found his trace before nightfall. They made their comfortless camp near that half-hidden mark. Nosh had dropped down as they halted, too tired to loose her pack for the moment. She thought suddenly of the comforts of Danus’s house—the only time she had known such living. Of the warm water for washing. Not the plunging of one’s hands and face in some cold spring rill, rather the washing of one’s whole aching body. Of soft soap to be gathered up by the handful and used without stint. Of fresh clothes to be worn.

  They had washed and rough-dried what they could at Dast before they had left but now her clothing clung, clammy with her own sweat, to her itching skin. She scrubbed her hand across her face and felt loosened dirt roll at the touch.

  Nosh wondered why cleanliness had suddenly come to haunt her. In the Ryft their water had been very scarce, drawn—for the river was suspect—from a rock pool, and she had never thought of that as being a deprivation. Surely her weeks with Danus had not weakened her so much.

  Wearily she went to sleep that night, Hanka curled against her under the same cloak, her last thought one of longing to be done with this eternal traveling, free in a world which would welcome and not sternly forbid.

  That this new thought of hers was shared she learned the next day when Kryn stood holding his helm in one hand. He had not been able to wear it until they had left Dast well behind because of his head wound. Now he lifted his face up to the wind which tugged at the fringe of hair plastered to his begrimed forehead.

  “It would be good to find a stream large enough to bathe in,” he commented. “But those do not lie in the Heights. Well, one takes what Fortune hands and there is no use to speak against it. We have been favored in many ways.”

  The packs of dried grass on the Ushurs’ backs were being emptied one by one, while the creatures grew gaunt under their shaggy fleece. Yet none of them strayed afar. They might bellow a protest at the morning’s setting out but still they followed Bashar faithfully even as he followed Hanka.

  Nosh cut off a portion of her own cloak and used it to cobble the boots they had improvised for Hanka. The best faring of their company now appeared to be the zark, who rode at ease, sometimes on Nosh’s shoulder clinging to the pack, and sometimes even leaping to Basilar’s, the Ushur making no protest.

  But when it grew chill with the wind, the lizard sought the inner part of its bag again, perhaps passing into a hibernation-like sleep.

  It was on the fifth day after they had left the varge road—though Nosh found it difficult now to keep track of any one day, each was so like the next—that Bashar suddenly lifted his head to the farthest extent of his long neck and blatted forth a sound which Nosh had never heard any of the beasts voice before. He pressed forward, lowered his head to butt at Hanka, not pushing her ahead but to the left.

  The little girl obeyed that rough command and swung away from the direction in which they had been traveling. Kryn was too far ahead to stop her, and Nosh, slowed all morning by that feeling of otherness which wore on her more and more, made no attempt to. Instead, as if she were one of the herd, she followed along, hearing the cry of “Stop” from Kryn but paying no heed.

  Bashar apparently knew where he would go and he was not about to be kept from his goal. While in Nosh grew a feeling—not the wide open call which had sent her plunging into the unknown before—but one that this was right and meant to be. Kryn caught up with her and tried to pass to get to Hanka and Bashar, but she roused to greater effort than she had made for several days and caught at him, setting her weight to slow him down.

  “Let go!” He raised his hand as if to push her away.

  Nosh numbly shook her head. His eyes narrowed. “Have those blasted crystals gotten to you again? Or to these beasts?”

  “We go… it is meant….” Yet this was not the pull she had waited for. A trick of the dark? She looked to the crystals. They were blazing through the bag. No— she did not think that a shadow illusion had trailed across her mind.

  Kryn was staring at her, but he had not shaken her hold away and now he matched steps with her.

  “You feel—too!” That was no question she spoke, rather an assertion.

  He scowled. “I do not know what I feel, what tricks you are playing, Talented One. But yes, I feel something—ahead.”

  “And it is not of the Dark.” She was also sure about that.

  He looked from her to the beasts pushing along about them, their rocking gait ever increasing and then his attention came back to her.

  “I understand nothing….”

  The gloom of the trees ahead was broken by rays of open sunlight and Nosh realized that their travel in these woods had always been shielded from that—they had been too sheltered by the towering trees. Bashar and Hanka, the girl clinging now to his shoulder fleece, broke out into the sun and Nosh and Kryn followed.

  Nosh drew a deep breath of wonderment. These were the first days of the cold season and they were in the Heights. Yet they came into a warmth like that of midsummer. Here grass grew tall and green and was bejeweled by gems of flowers.

  It was a valley shaped almost like a bowl. The rocky sides of it, save at this place where they had entered, were free of any of the luxury of the growth that floored it.

  Yet that rock was not dull grey as in the Ryft—the curtain of a place of death. Rather it was broken in irregular patches with sparks of fire, as many in color as the flowers below. These caught the sun and sent forth its rays again—seemingly in rainbows of light.

  The bowl valley was centered with a lake. Across the surface of that were spirals and drifting clouds of mist which almost appeared to take on a faint sheen of true rainbow. Nosh dropped where she stood, content for the moment to simply sit and look upon this glory.

  Down to the water of that lake padded the Ushurs, not quite so fast now that they seemed to reach that which they sought. Bashar waded out into the water, dragging Hanka with him. Then he shook himself vigorously and the little girl was sitting down with wavelets lapping at her chin.

  “It—it be warm!” Her thin little cry reached Nosh but she could not rouse herself as yet to go on. The strangeness of what Hanka reported was all a part of the Power which rested here. A mountain lake needs must be as chill as the winds which ruffled it. Here were warm winds and summer sun….

  Kryn had left her, striding along beside the last of the Ushurs, a strange look on his face as if he were a man who had strayed by chance into an illusion woven by a mage. Yet Nosh was certain this was no illusion.

  At the side of that lake Kryn dropped his pack. Deliberately he was also ridding himself of sword, of belt, then of mail shirt, of dark worn leggings, near-holed boots, dropping each discard as if he had no mind for it again. Hanka had stood up, the water rising to her middle. Now she waded back a little to the shore and pulled and tugged at her garments until she was a small, lean body bare to wind and water. Then joyously she splashed back to where Kryn was wading steadily forward, his own body as bare as hers, that strange look still holding.

  Nosh arose to her feet and went down the slope toward the water. She was warm—she was hot—she was tired of the smell of too-well-worn clothing. The Ushurs had ventured even farther out so they were hidden from sight now and then by that drifting mist.

  Her pack and hooded cloak she dropped before she set aside with more care the zark’s bag and that with the
Fingers. But the rest covering her she tore at with impatient fingers.

  “In—come in!” Hanka urged her. Kryn had reached a point where the water lapped at his shoulder. Hanka was plunging up and down between them and now she was splashing toward the shore. Without thought Nosh stepped out of her last grimy, body-clinging garment, and then Hanka’s hand reached hers, dragging her forward.

  “Come!”

  Water which felt as warm and caressing as the finest materials Danus had had to show rose about her. Hanka dragged her on, the water rising higher and higher. Nosh blundered through a tendril of mist and realized it must be steam born in this miracle of a lake.

  “Yes—come!” Kryn had ducked down under the water and then arose again, his dark hair plastered to his head, a strand of it hiding most of the scar on his cheek. He flung wide both of his arms. Looking upon him Nosh realized for the first time just how young he was. He looked like a boy who had taken absence from all responsibilities for the day.

  She moved on, Hanka paddling ahead now. The bottom under her feet had the smoothness of sand. There was no gravel such as she would expect to find here. Then Kryn’s hand caught hers.

  “Under with you!”

  She laughed and tried to resist. He stumbled back and went under, coming up sputtering and spitting water. Then he dipped again and rose again, one hand high, holding in it a brilliant flash of pure light.

  “Stepped on it….” His voice died away and he was staring at what he held. “But… I am… you are the searcher!” he said to Nosh, almost in accusation.

  “Lyr chooses, and this is her own domain!” she said slowly, and knew that what she said was true. Somewhere, in another place and time, a pattern had taken a new turn; and what would come of this they could not yet tell. But it was designed to serve the purpose of Power.

  More of that man shell he had been forced into so early was cracking. When he looked from her to what he held and then back again, Nosh could see there was here someone different from the Kryn she knew—but— not less dear!

  She gasped at the way that thought had ended. This was new and strange and must be studied over privately before she answered to any quick impulse.

  “I am no priest!”

  That was a sharp protest.

  “Not only priests served Lyr.” Again she found words which came from somewhere. “She had her armsmen, also. Many of them died in the Dark Days.”

  He waded to her side, holding out the Finger. “Where do you go, what do you do now?” he asked slowly.

  “That too will be shown to us. Kryn,”—she did not accept the Finger he held out, not yet, instead she placed her hand on his shoulder—“Kryn, learn for yourself—as I did. It will be shown to you also.”

  He waded past her to the shore and placed the Finger on the bag holding its fellows. Instantly there resounded over the water a sweet, heart-raising melody such as might be wrung from crystal wind-swayed against crystal.

  The Ushurs ceased their honking cries as that music echoed back from the bowl walls. Nosh found tears on her cheeks. She wanted to sing as the crystals but such a talent was not given her.

  Kryn stood looking down at the bag and the last gem rod he had laid across it. She could not see his face now but his whole body was tense, as if he faced some trial of strength. Then he turned abruptly and went back to his discarded gear. From its scabbard he drew Bringhope and he held it high into the bright sun of this strange pocket valley.

  No, she could not be mistaken. Along the cold grey of that blade there was a sparking of light, as if in its forbidding substance there were also crystals deep buried. Kryn must have seen so also, for he gave a hoarse cry and went to his knees, the sword dipping into the earth as he let his arm fall, chance setting the blade fast there so it stood upright. Kryn’s hands closed about the steel beneath the pommel, his head bowed until the knob on the hilt touched the skin above and between his eyes.

  The music of the crystals had died away. Kryn continued to kneel, his eyes closed from what Nosh saw as she waded ashore. How she understood she did not know, but Kryn was shaking away the last of the old shell, becoming a new one who would never be a stranger.

  At last he raised his hands from their achingly tight grip. He ran his fingers down the blade as one touches something long known and highly cherished.

  “No longer kin blade,” he said in a low voice which also harbored a break.

  “No less for that,” Nosh said as softly. She wanted to touch those slightly bowed shoulders, give comfort for what he must feel as a loss.

  He did not turn his head but she knew that when he spoke it was to her.

  “Your Lady of Power has me. For what that may gain her….” There was a trace of his old anger in that.

  “Wait and see, armsman pledged. The Lady is a good Lord.”

  To her surprise he laughed. “Well, all the heroics are not going to do me out of one pleasure. Hanka is making better use of time than we….”

  He gestured to the lake. The little girl was in the shallows, apparently far more intent on using handsful of the soft sand to scrub herself clean than on what her elders were doing.

  Nosh echoed his laugh. She felt light and free of spirit, more so than she ever had in her life before. Stepping back into the lake she knelt in shoulder-high water and began to echo Hanka’s firm use of the sand. It was not long before she heard Kryn likewise splashing nearby.

  The Ushurs finally had their fill of the water and were lumbering ashore, to fall upon the grass, making up for the lean days behind them.

  Nosh washed her hair in many dippings, combing the wet strands with her fingers. It had been growing and was now well below shoulder line. She tried to dry it by tossing the sodden locks in the air, then fell to combing it with the wooden comb Lathia had put in her pack.

  What was the guild mistress doing now? What happened in Kasgar when that blight struck those who had meddled with the Dark? Suddenly some of her childish pleasure in being clean, in being warm, was troubled. The Dark did not give up easily. What would face Lyr’s chosen now?

  Having washed their bodies, they turned to their clothing and spread that out under the sun. It was afternoon now but there was no need to move on this night. Nosh was reluctant to leave the bowl. She need not be ready ever again for that pull to take her as it would.

  Hanka, refusing to put on her damp clothing, burrowed into the grass and brought out handsful of small sweet berries, which lay like sun eyes against her flesh. They savored these and for the while sat in contented silence, glad to live only for the moment about them. This renewing—for Nosh thought of it as such—might be needed later on. But she would not think of that now.

  They ate also of their rations and, at twilight, bedded down in the grass beside the lake, the Ushurs peaceful at a little distance. Hanka went early to sleep but for a space Nosh looked to the stars overhead. It had been a long time since she had lain thus able to see them shine like faraway crystals. She did not know whether Kryn slept, but at last her eyes closed.

  She was in the shrine of Lyr, facing again that pedestal on which were the wrists of the broken hands. Over those swayed menacingly that dark globe, now shot with sullen fires which appeared to swell and swirl against the outer limits of the ill-omened thing as if they would burst forth and put an end to all of the Light.

  As the dream held her there Nosh knew what was to be done as if Dreen herself stood patiently instructing her, as the priestess had so many times in the past. If— if only Dreen would be there to meet her!

  Always the globe appeared to bulge the larger. Did its skin really thin with every surge of the light so that it would break—now? No, its power would not be summoned until she stood here in truth. Now there was another stirring, as against the crystal-studded wall of the cave, a hunched shadow twisted this way and that, like a wakwolf sniffing for prey. Still it did not turn in her direction and Nosh knew that for the moment she could not be detected.

  So vivid was her dream
that when she awoke she found her hands moving even as she had been instructed, though what they held now was only the lightsome air of the valley. But the drive was back—she had that to do which must be done and time was running out.

  Even as she sat up she saw Kryn busy putting together his pack.

  “We go to the Ryft,” she said.

  “You have dreamed? Well, so have I. Yes, it is your death valley for us, Nosh. But what of her?” He looked to Hanka.

  “We could leave her here….” Surely the child and her animals would be safe in this happy place.

  “You need us….” Hanka appeared out of nowhere to stand stolidly before Nosh, her hands on her hips in her usual pose when making a point. “We also go.”

  “Did you dream?” Nosh was surprised.

  Hanka smiled. “Maybe.” She had a teasing note in her voice. “Just wait and see.”

  CHAPTER 32

  The dull grey, dead world of the Ryft stretched before them. As usual, though it was full day, the clouds curtained out the sun and a sullen wind whistled among the pinnacles of rock which guarded the way from the west. Strangely enough, it had been the Ushur who had scouted out that road. On the third day after they had headed east from that place of renewal Bashar had shouldered his way to the fore, trumpeted a call which rounded up his followers.

  Nosh had seen no traces of any pathway. Kryn had been wary, unwilling to allow a beast to choose for them. Still, some of the bemusement they had felt in the bowl still held, enough that he only grumbled and did not try to force them in another direction.

  They came indeed to that shallow river which Nosh remembered of old. It was here that she and Dreen had met with Jarth and his men. Across that stream they traveled on into a land which grew ever more stark and forbidding. Where life failed…