The Hands of Lyr (Five Senses Series Book 1) Page 34

  Not all life! From where it rode on Bashar’s bag of grass harvested in the valley, the zark reared high, its forepaws reaching for the neck column of its mount. Now its throat swelled, its frill arose in ever growing color, and it shrilled forth a sound quite unlike its usual click-clocking.

  There was movement among the rocks and Nosh, from her former experience at seeing the ability of the creatures to hide in plain sight because their skins were the color of Ryft walls, detected more of his kind—or else of a cousinage to him, since none of these sported the brilliant scales he wore. They scuttled among the rocks and continued to parallel the march of the party, clicking among themselves sometimes in almost frantic choruses.

  Now the travelers had come near the end of the trail. The Ushurs, far more surefooted than one might judge, had found passage up slopes Nosh on her own would have hesitated to dare. And so at last they stood—the Ryft wide before them.

  Nosh made a slow survey and then was sure she was right…. “To the north.”

  Once more the old drive closed about her, shrilling somewhere inside her head—hurry—hurry…. She scrambled down to take the lead, Kryn close behind, and, like a string, the Ushurs and Hanka following.

  Perhaps it was memory, perhaps it was something else which set Nosh weaving a way among the upstanding rocks. Could she actually remember the trail Dreen had taken? Whether or not she did, she was certain this path was going to take her where she would go.

  As they neared the hidden way to the shrine she unloosed her pack and set it down against a tower of stone. Kryn followed her lead. Hanka turned toward the Ushurs. Her herd staff waved out. Bashar sounded an answer and when the three went on the animals remained behind, gathered into a close knot as with their teeth they tore at the nets of grass on each other’s backs. While the zark leaped to a rock top and there performed one of its frantic dances as the dull-colored others which had followed it closed in.

  This way—and this—and this…. With each step she took Nosh was certain that she was right. The grey of the day was fast darkening into night. But time was short—that she knew. They must move now.

  As she found the entrance Dreen had taken them through she began to be aware that the bag of Fingers which she held tight to her breast was humming, humming and throbbing as if each of those spears of crystal had a strange alien life of its own.

  There was no need for any torch or lantern here, the crystals’ glory shone before her, and when they turned at last into the shrine all those gems embedded in the walls came to life, their glitter seeming to project rainbows into the air, even as the mists of the bowl had done.

  However, that light was not supreme. Above the pedestal hung the globe. Now it did resemble a bag heavy with some foul liquid, while the dried-blood colors which coiled within its walls were in a mad race.

  Remembrance of her dream drew Nosh’s eyes beyond that whirl of foulness to where the misshapen shadow had crouched. Yes, there was indeed a splotch of thicker dark there, and it appeared to waver and weave as if it strove to reach the pedestal and what hung above it.

  Kryn moved before her, blade bared in his hold. Along those well-honed edges ran the myriad tiny sparks which they had seen first appear in the bowl. He was ready for attack; perhaps in his dream there had been instructions also.

  Nosh gave to him in that moment her full trust. She knew what she had to do and she could not be turned from it by shadows. There was a tug at her sleeve; Hanka stood beside her, her small face intent, her gaze fastened on the blazing bag of the Fingers. She kept that hold on Nosh, moving step by step forward with the older girl.

  She must not think of what she had done, turned her back on Kryn and what was fighting its way to life in the shadow. This was Her battlefield.

  Hanka held out her two hands and Nosh, as if Dreen stood by her shoulder telling her that this was what must be done, put into that hold the bag. It fell open as she gave a jerk to the restraining cord.

  Nosh reached in and took up the first Finger. She must strain up on tiptoe to place it where it had once been based. But as crystal touched crystal it adhered instantly as if there had never been a break.

  There was whiff of such foulness as made her cough. The bag was surely looming closer, dipping farther…. Nosh fitted the second Finger to the waiting Hand. Now there was a distant howling, a sound which echoed in the head, and she knew, without turning to see, that the skulking shadow was drawing to it substance from some evil place.

  She forced herself to ignore what might be gaining a true form behind her. Trust—she could only trust Kryn and keep to what must be done. Again foulness like smoke bit at her lungs so she breathed shallowly, panting.

  Weight—weight seemed to be closing down upon her as if the bag above could project its heaviness toward her hands and arms. It was harder and harder to reach so… Forget—put out of mind anything but what she did here. Another Finger in place—a full Hand!

  There was a deafening roar of rage which might have issued directly from the bag. The thing was dipping far now, plainly threatening, striving to elongate itself to touch her hands as she worked. For a third time that vile stench was puffed into her face and she stood coughing, her eyes streaming.

  Even the Fingers, which had blazed so high, were losing their glow now—seemed but broken shards of crystal without meaning. Before her eyes the Hands whirled dizzily, grew large until they might encircle her, and then shrank to a size her watering eyes could hardly distinguish. Surely she could not fit these large slivers to such tiny stumps.

  Nosh’s hands shook but she made contact and another Finger raised toward the bulging bag. But something— perhaps that bag—was drawing her strength out of her. She must race against time—for given time, that would have her helpless.

  Another Finger. No angry bellow this time—no— rather a cold wave of ice-rage—of rage beyond the experience of any true human. And the very menace of it was like slave chains bound about her arms.

  She had forgotten Kryn—she could only hold one thought in her pounding head—that she must do this— and this—and this. She was gasping for breath, the pressure against her was like a giant hand crushing her in. Nosh planted the last Finger in place.

  She reeled back as that bag-globe broke. A red, viscous flow poured from it downward toward the Hands. From above that, also centered in the globe, shot something else—a wave of black flame—if flame could be black.

  Nosh sank to the rough floor of wide-strewn crystals. Darkness was gathering in. It might be that one strip of the wall gem glow was quenched, and then another and another….

  She felt a small body crouched shivering beside her. Hanka. Dull memory supplied that. But she did not look down or try to soothe the fear she felt fan from that body.

  Stiffly Nosh turned her head to follow that line of black flame.

  That it went to feed the shadow she knew without being told.

  The shadow was thickening, filling out, producing a body which took on solid being. Nosh watched that growth from shadow to man. She was so spent she could not have raised hand in any defense.

  But there was another waiting. Even though the crystals about them were losing their life-lights, there was a line of fire traced in the gathering murk, outlining a blade. She could no longer see clearly the man who held it, who stood fast to confront what came out of the very depths of evil power.

  That Black One stood completely revealed to them now—and he was smiling gently as one smiles at children who have done something stupid and must now face punishment.

  There was a strangeness still about him—a kind of wavering when one looked at him closely. At times he appeared shrunken, aged beyond telling, and then he steadied and was once more a man of middle life, strong and vigorous.

  “Fools, such young fools….” His voice was soft, almost caressing. “Yet I am in your debt. You have returned into my control that which was lost—far spread— concealed by minor mage trick from my finding. You have brought what
I most desire. Behold now what will become of the Hands!”

  Nosh, under the pressure of that strong will, looked up to the pedestal. That viscid substance she had seen flow from the bag was still poised, not yet dripping, across the Hands. But they were dim—blighted.

  Her gaze swung back to the Dark One. He was raising a hand, negligently as one would to brush aside a fly.

  In that moment Kryn moved. Bringhope blazed brighter and it swung in a circle, not at the man who was set upon his magic, but on something else, that only half-visible cord which united that appearance with the globe. Down cut a blade which was now afire with green and blue, and the gold of open sunlight.

  Before the man could change the aim of his spell the blade sliced through that cord.

  There was a flash from the pedestal. Upward speared clean white fire from the tip of each Finger. The viscid mass was gone, the fair light was returning.

  “Noooooo….” The man born from shadow was moving his hands in frenzied gestures. Even as he did so the flesh shrank under the skin, he somehow drew in upon himself. From a man of middle years he aged before their eyes to an ancient whose toothless mouth still spewed forth useless black curses. Then that hairless head fell forward on a bony chest and the whole of him crumpled to the rock. Within the huddle of a silken, rune-patterned robe there was only the push of bones, until those also vanished from sight into ashes.

  But from the Hands of Lyr there struck upward flames which grew and reached, and in place of the foulness there was a taste of spring-warmed air. And those Finger flames sought out an upwards roof channel which had once been theirs and rose swiftly up and out—up and out.

  Kryn’s hand on her brought Nosh out of the exultation that sight had wrought in her. Under his urging she got to her feet. Hanka, still holding to her, was brought up with her.

  But Kryn’s sword lay across the foot of the pedestal and up and down the blade ran lights which might have been small stars taken from the sky. He made no move to take it up again.

  “Yes.” Nosh’s exhaustion was forgotten, she was again under a spell which must be obeyed. “Let us out—out into Lyr’s land.”

  Thus they went and the clouds overhead were breaking apart, so that for the first time in seasons beyond reckoning the sun shone full upon the land. Hanka loosed her hold on Nosh now and ran forward. To her came the Ushur. She twisted her staff free from the bindings of Bashar’s burden and again she ran, the beasts trumpeting as if they paraded for victory behind her. Then she reached a patch of free ground away from the stone pinnacles and there she used all her small strength to stab the butt of the rod into that waiting soil.

  Along its length there was a shimmering. There uncurled from the trunk twigs which grew into branches, branches putting out buds. This was not the season of cold and death but of renewal and life.

  Then, as if they were summoned, the three of them climbed to a tall look-out rock above the old highway. Above there was the rich warmth of the sun.

  Below, the grey dark soil showed the beginning of a green carpet. Beyond, the sluggish river moved with a cleansing current.

  Even as they watched in awe, tips of new saplings burst from charred stumps in the long-since ravaged orchards and woodlands.

  Breezes brought fragrance now. There were flower gems opening brightly in the new-risen grass—showing even as they had in the growth of the bowl.

  The Ushurs threw up their heads and galloped, chasing one another as if they were again kids. There came a clicking and a small rainbow form leaped through the air, caught hold on Nosh’s tunic, and then scrambled into the crook of her arm. On the rocks below, the zarks that had answered the call of this one climbed and performed their graceful leaps of spring mating.

  Following came another sound—a thud of shod hooves, a creak of wheels, the snorting of varges at a steady pull. Nosh turned her head, and her sight seemed to become lengthened so she could see every detail of those travelers, though they were still only on the border of the Ryft.

  A clumsy farm wagon, old, battered, pulled by two varges, gaunt animals, that now flung up their heads to sniff the air and then increased their lumber to a near trot. Their heads wavered from side to side as if they wished to be free of their yoke to taste of the spring green.

  By the side of the team strode a girl on the border of womanhood, varge prod in hand. But her head also turned wonderingly right and left. Behind her skipped another, still half child.

  In the cart was a woman cushioned as best could be done by unwieldy bundles. She cherished against her a baby lately born.

  While behind came four men. Their bony mounts, no better off than the half-starved varges, were showing as much eagerness as the draft animals for this miraculous forage. Two of the men trudged by the sides of their near-floundered steeds, the others rode. Alike in pattern they were, with weathered faces, eyes which bore shadows of unhappy dreams. Now they stared about them in almost childish awe.

  Nosh raised her right hand. Radiance leaped from her fingers—flew arrow straight toward the travelers.

  “The Ryft lives!” she cried, and that truly, for there were tears on her cheeks, “hither comes the needed seeding—the new heritage will begin.”

  “And what of you?” Kryn asked quietly, a small, strange note in his voice.

  That far-sight which had served her so magically for an instant or two faded. She could no longer see those travelers clearly but they were coming on.

  “Lyr is to be served.” She answered Kryn’s question almost absently.

  Hands which were hard, nearly flesh-bruising with their grip, closed about her upper arms as he drew her back into a half embrace.

  “Priestess, is that then your choice?”

  Her own hands moved swiftly up to close tightly, near demandingly as his had done over his flesh and bone.

  “Lyr welcomes closeness—love—of mind and body. She would have fruitfulness for all. There is nothing to harm here now. This is no Temple. And as once I told you, even of old, Lyr had her armsmen and they were as dear to her as her priests and priestesses.”

  His grip on her changed, she loosed hers and allowed herself to be turned to face him. Again her power-blessed hands moved up, setting palms to his gaunt cheeks. It was she who drew his head down so that their lips met—first in awkward tentativeness, and then in the same glowing warmth as filled the land and sky.

  It was said in later seasons that in the outer world chaos began to yield to order, dark to light, for Raskan no longer meddled in the affairs of men. The Light of Lyr spread outward from the Ryft, touched a woman here, a man there, even a child, so that those so called had much to give and gave it gladly.

  Lord Jarth, who had risen to the High King’s throne, rode south one season to stand in the Shrine below those Living Hands. He bowed his head and gave thanks and from that time forward his House prospered and his many feats were long remembered.

  He wore when he returned home a cloak woven so finely of Ushur fleece that it seemed to have the quality of the rarest western silks. It was plain of any decoration or broidery and was but fastened at the throat with a faceted ball of crystal which some said glowed in the dark. Plain though it was, he made it his robe of state and wore it for the rest of his long life.

  But that was all of the outer world. The Ryft had its own children and those were highly beloved and gifted by Lyr.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  One of the best-loved and most famous science fiction and fantasy authors of all time, Andre Norton was named Grand Master by the Science Fiction Writers of America and was awarded a Life Achievement Award by the World Fantasy Convention. She wrote over a hundred novels which have sold millions of copies worldwide, including her Witch World, Beast Master, Solar Queen, and Time Traders series, among others. She passed away in 2005. More can be learned at www.andre-norton-books.com.

  Table of Contents

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3<
br />
  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  INTERLUDE

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  INTERLUDE

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR