Chapter 8. The People of the heights
The grey ridges seemed unbelievably close from the place where he was standing. The morning air, crystal clear, enabled Arios to see every crack, every hole in the stone walls which rose from the other side of the abyss. The terrace had a low stone-made wall, the only protection from the long fall. On the right side of the wall, an enormous brown eagle sat and watched him carefully. Tiny, round bird’s eyes were hiding whatever was happening in the eagle’s mind. What are you thinking about? - the sorcerer was wondering silently, looking at the big bird. Do you understand me or is my mind impregnable for you, as is yours for me? Do you consider me an enemy? Are you afraid of me, maybe? Human mind is also impossible to know, though he thought. What man could say that he really knows what’s happening in the mind of someone else? Who can say he really knows the other human being? People spend their lives surrounded with other people, but all this time, they are alone, closed in their own heads, behind the unbreakable walls and barriers. Luckily, most of the people never realize that. Only a few fools.
The world of the Eagle people was not similar to the world of any other human nation. What they did with their attackers, the way they treated the captured robbers, completely confused Arios. Five surviving, but wounded men were resting comfortably in a guest room near the top of the fort. One of them was the prince of the Plain Countries, who was lying unconsciously in bed, with brain concussion. The leader of the herder-robbers and three of his men were also lying, and awaited fearfully every arrival of the people who tended them. They believed that their enemies were trying to heal them only to put them to torture and execute them in the end. Arios knew it was not true. When they brought him into this room, five days ago, afraid and given to thinking of the ways to escape, an old shaman came to him and brought him to the balcony.
They stood there for some time, silently watching the horizon. The old man was wrapped in a black cloak, painted with white magic symbols Arios has never seen before. He had long, white hair, and dry, weather-beaten face darkened from the sun and time. His deeply-settled eyes were pale grey in colour. For a moment, the sorcerer thought they were covered with cataract, and blind, but then the man looked at him with a profound, long glance which didn’t leave place for any doubt. Arios was silent, staring back at the old man. He didn’t want to break the silence, not knowing what to expect. The shaman spoke first.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” asked he, not expecting an answer. “It makes a man feel complete.”
“Yes,” said Arios shortly. He looked at the man. “What are you going to do with us?”
The old shaman overheard the question. “The mountains are above everything,” said he, “and it has been given to eagles that they can fly above them. My people prize flying over everything else. It is our freedom. It is beauty.”
A short pause followed. “With you?” remembered he. “Well, you’ll have to recover first. And what will you do after that, I don’t know.”
Arios couldn’t understand. “We are your prisoners. We attacked you because of robbery, although some believed they are fighting for something rightful. They said you were stealing their children. We thought it was rescue attempt. It turned out they had only robbery on their minds.”
“You don’t need to apologize, or to explain,” said the old man. “You attacked us, we defended ourselves. Many men died. Now, it is over.”
“Aren’t you going to take you vengeance on us?” asked Arios.
“Revenge means lack of understanding. He who understands other man, loses his will to revenge.”
“You are justifying those who attacked you?”
The old man was looking at the stone cliff. Arios thought he was bored with the conversation, and wanted to enjoy the landscape.
Finally, the shaman answered.
“We aren’t justifying anybody. Nor are we judging them. When we are endangered, we defend ourselves. When we are safe, there’s no need for violence. Eagles kill their prey when they are hungry.”
“Yes. Animals do behave that way, but people almost never do.” said Arios.
“I have never flied far from this town,” said the shaman. “We have an agreement with the eagles. I don’t know the ways of other people. You should know them better.”
“What do you mean?” Arios looked at him sharply.
“I think once you were a great shaman of your people. I sense power in you.”
“True,” stated Arios. “And I helped the robbers to get to you. Without me, it would be much more difficult. And many innocent people would be alive right now. It is the truth about my power. It destroys everything it touches.”
“The power is an ability to make wishes come true,” said the shaman. “It does not decide what they will be. That depends on the one who is using it.”
“Yes,” answered Arios, “but a man who can fulfil all his wishes always wants more and more. The common sense is outweighed by passion in the end, so the distinction between good and evil is forgotten.”
“Such a man is weak, because he let his own power overcome him. It means the evil is hiding in the weakness of man, not in his strength. A strong man wouldn’t misuse his power.”
“Maybe you are right. But, it seems that in the world I’m coming from no such man exists.”
“The Eagle people are strong,” concluded the shaman. A long pause followed.
The closest mountain tops blocked the view at the north, but the distant Dragon Rock still mastered the horizon.
“How much does it take to get there?” asked Arios thoughtfully, looking at the distance. “It seems to me...”
“You are travelling there? Maybe it would be best to return.” Old man’s eyes were serious.
“It seems to me we were travelling for an eternity, but we couldn’t reach it, or even get any closer,” finished the sorcerer. “Its height is probably the reason. It’s much more distant than it seems.”
“When you cross this mountain ahead of us, you enter a strange country. Our flyers dare not to go further north. Many disappeared there forever. The country there is different from ours. Lower, more green. We don’t know it and don’t understand it. You see, our people are simple. We are happy because we have a gift of flying up in the skies, and we do not ask much about other things. Most of the others have been less lucky.”
Yes, but we who crawl on the ground still want something more, thought the sorcerer. The prince wants power, his needs are simple. And I? What do I want?
“If you want, we’ll carry you over those mountains. They are impassable,” said the shaman.
“When my companion recovers,” said Arios. “Your behaviour will not be forgotten. The people of Plain Countries, and all other countries, act differently toward their enemies.”
“Maybe that’s the reason they have enemies, don’t you think? Are our enemies born no matter what we do, or do we make them?” The old shaman laughed aloud, and his laughter became dry coughing. “I have seen innumerable winters, and still don’t know the answer to that question,” said he, breathing hardly. “I must take my potions. When you need something, call. Someone will hear you.”
The days went by slowly. The sorcerer spent his time wandering through the fort, learning about the life of Eagle people. It was a quiet nation; they wasted no words in vain. They made their living mostly by hunting and trading with other human settlements, who, in return for the gemstones, supplied them with food, clothing and other life’s necessities, which were hard to get on the top of the mountain. Indeed, it was crazy to believe the story about Eagle people living of robbery. Their wealth, however, was the object of desire for many robbers.
The possession of large amounts of the precious stones called Eagle’s Tears was one of the features of the Eagle people, and their greatest secret. The stones were transparent, with soft green nuances which changed in the sunlight. They used those stones to decorate their clothes, to make heavy necklaces and bracelets, but also as a strong remedy for many
diseases. He listened with interest to the tribal medicine man who explained to him how the stones cure colds, inflammations and poisonings, if they are melted in mouth. He took one stone in his mouth and discovered it was very firm, unusually light and tasteless, but after several minutes he felt the stone getting smaller. After few hours, it disappeared completely.
“But, where do you mine such unusual stones?” asked he the man, who laughed. “I haven’t seen mines on your cliff, there are no diggers?”
The man just kept laughing. “It is our secret,” he finally said. “I won’t tell it to you.”
With just one stone, it was possible to buy enough wheat to feed a grown man for three days, and with ten stones, one could buy a wolf skin. Eagle people flew on their birds far away, over distant mountaintops, carrying with them bags full of their stones; they returned with various goods. Other mountain dwellers knew they would never run out of the stones – such trade existed from the dawn of time. However, the wealth of the Eagle people was attractive plunder for many robbers.
The eagles nested on the tops of the high towers, where their eggs were safe from all dangers, and they descended at the call of their masters, carrying them to the heights. Their calm, graceful flight enchanted the sorcerer, who used to sit for hours on his balcony and watch them circling high above.
The narrow grey streets of the stone city were never crowded. Most of the public life was concentrated on the two small squares, where the people exchanged their goods, and done their daily tasks. The Eagle people dressed themselves in the warm clothes painted in vivid colours. Men wore caps decorated with eagle’s feathers, while women were mostly bareheaded - old tradition with few exceptions. Their community was small, but Arios got an impression they were deeply respectful about the privacy of the individuals. The conversations at the public places were discreet, and although the communication was filled with extreme kindness, people did not show too many emotions openly. With the newcomers talked only those who had to. Arios talked only to the old shaman, and only about issues from everyday life which interested him. Such isolation did not bother him, of course. It was the only way of life he was used to.
“What is the secret of the Eagle’s Tears?” he asked the shaman one afternoon, while they were sitting in a gazebo on the edge of eastern cliff and watching crystal clear peaks on the other side.
“No one in these mountains is allowed to find out where they come from,” said the shaman. “But you are a sorcerer and you know how to keep secrets. I can tell you.”
“I would like to know. The stones are very unusual. They remind me of diamonds, but they are not so hard, and they melt in the mouth. I never heard for stone which melts in mouth.”
“It’s because these are not really stones,” said the old man. “They don’t call them Eagle’s Tears without reason. The eagles are the real source. Their feathers are very sensitive, easily damaged by cold winds, rains and snow. Therefore, their bodies ooze some kind of ointment which covers the feathers and protects them. A long time ago, we discovered that the fallen feathers, which we always have in great quantities, are covered in this ointment. If the feathers are burned, the ointment melts. It becomes soft, almost liquid. Then we form it in balls or other shapes, and left it to cool down and to dry. In such way, Eagle’s Tears are created. They are much valued for their beauty in the mountains. Our forefathers discovered the healing properties of the ointment, so they started to use it as a remedy. There, this is the whole truth about our precious stones.”
Arios was fascinated. “It’s so simple! But, why you are keeping it a secret?”
“It’s much better to sell precious stones to people, than to sell birds’ ointment,” laughed the old man. “We get better prices. And everyone is happy.”
“Logical,” said Arios with a smile. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”
Orin woke one morning, after long nights spent in fever. The rest of the wounded men were taken away the day before, and Arios never saw them again. He had no interest in their destiny at all. They probably were left down on the pastures, to dream about unreachable treasure.
“You slept long,” said Arios to the prince, who was slowly rising from the bed.
“I think now is the right moment for me to ask what happened,” said Orin, smiling sardonically. “It seems I somehow succeeded in sleeping over the important things.”
“Everything’s all right if you didn’t loose your sense for humour. In fact, not much has happened. They brought us here to recover, and then they will release us.”
“What are you saying?” Orin was touching the painful spot on his head. “What a bump!”
“It hurts, eh?” the sorcerer smiled.
“Why would they release us? We attacked them and failed. They’ve won.”
“Exactly. We attacked them, tried to rob them...”
“Rob them?”
“You see, our employers tricked us. There weren’t any children. All they wanted were gemstones.”
“I don’t recall everything, but I know something seemed wrong,” said the prince, suddenly remembering: “Where are Keol and the twins?”
The sorcerer’s face was like a stone. “The twins disappeared. The eagles didn’t find them. I think they escaped.”
“And Keol?”
“Dead.”
For some time, Orin was silent, staring at the wall. Then he said quietly: “I didn’t think he could be killed. Not so stupidly. He was too good a fighter. No one could match him with the sword.”
“I don’t know,” said Arios. “In the east, they used to say that a man is already dead from the moment he takes the sword and decides to follow the way of the warrior. The time between that moment and the moment of real death is only borrowed. There’s no place for regret.”
Orin sighed. “It’s easy to quote wise proverbs,” said he, lowering his head. “But, the sorrow of us who stay behind isn’t less painful.”
“Right,” agreed the sorcerer. “And what can we do? Nothing.”
“Just so,” concluded Orin. “Nothing.”
Why do I feel so calm about death, the sorcerer asked himself. People go, so what? But, then, I never lived to see someone really close to me die. Probably because there never was someone really close to me, thought he cynically.
The next few days Orin did not talk much about the dead mercenary, but Arios knew his death fell hard on the prince. So he tried to occupy his mind with practical, everyday things. The decision will have to be made, about how to continue their journey, what to do next. The sorcerer told to his companion everything he’d heard about the lands beyond the mountain ridges. Orin, however, was not interested in difficulties. He was eager to go further.
“The eagles will carry us over,” said he. “When we get there, we’ll see what to do next.”
“I admire your caution,” said Arios sardonically. “So many times...”
“This isn’t the first time I was close to death,” interrupted the prince. “Don’t you have a feeling it was destined that I reach my goal? The caution would be unnecessary, then.”
“Destined? Maybe, if there is such thing as destiny,” said Arios. And all that happened confirms that this is true, thought he. Everything’s happening like it was already written somewhere. But, why cannot we be sure? Why cannot we have some proof, which could answer our questions? If everything is already written, why we are not given at least to know we are but a part of a great theatre, and therefore not responsible for our deeds? That it doesn’t matter what we do, because the outcome is already known?
A few days later, Orin, looking at the mountain from the balcony of their room, said: “We’ll go today.”
The midday sun was blinding. Protecting his eyes with his hand, Arios followed the flight of the great eagles on the sky.
“All right. Today is a good day. Prepare our equipment, and I’ll go to the shaman.”
Later, they stood on the square, waiting for the flyers to come. No one
spoke. Their hosts talked only when it was needed. Orin and Arios were too excited to talk. The flight was both frightening and attractive for them. Climbing the mountains was maybe dangerous, but neither of them had ever been above the ground. And, of course, both of them would rather die than show fear.
“So,” said the old shaman, “now we part. I don’t know what awaits you. You will have to discover for yourself what lies behind the mountain.”
“You never told me your name,” said the sorcerer.
“Nor have I asked for yours,” answered the old man. “You see, it is a common thing for all peoples in these mountains. They never give their names to the strangers, and use them only in some occasions.”
“Why?” asked Arios.
“Ah, no one knows for sure. There are stories about old times, when wizards existed, sorcerers who stole names from people, enslaving them in that way. Old women still claim that name could be used against its owner. But, it seems to me, it’s because the name is the only thing we really possess, the only thing which is really ours. When we give it to someone, it means we have nothing more to give. In that way, people who have our name, have us, too.”
“Yes.” said Arios. “I understand.”
Orin smiled.
“So, we will not know the names of our benefactors,” said he.
“No.” The old man turned his head. “Your eagles are coming.”
Three flying giants were descending in circles toward the square. They landed easily, gracefully, and folded their wings. Standing on the ground, they were almost twice as tall as the people who waited for them. One of them carried a rider, tied with leather belts to the small saddle which was attached between the wings. The other two eagles carried only saddles on them.
When the two travellers approached them, they lowered their heads, thus enabling men to climb on them.
“Tie yourself with those belts!” the flyer shouted to them, showing the prince and the sorcerer what to do. When everything was ready, the old shaman waved his hand in farewell, and the eagles went up, jumping and spreading their mighty wings. The next moment, they were gliding through air, above the square. In a few seconds, abyss opened below them. Arios loudly exclaimed, but regained control, trying to forget he was thousands of paces above the ground. The bird that carried him seemed like it had lost its weight. The sorcerer had an impression he was flying without help. If he hasn’t been tied to the saddle, he would surely drift down in the void.
Later, when Orin was trying to describe that moment, he hardly found words for his feelings. “I didn’t know if I would faint or jump from my own body,” he would say, but it could not do justice to the exhilaration of the flight on the great eagles.
When they passed over the top of the mountain, eternally covered in snow, in front of them a view was spreading at a broad countryside - green forests and rolling hills; it seemed much more pleasant than the lands they were passing through before. And far in the distance, the Dragon Rock loomed, threatening, imposing, and daring the two travellers with its mystery.
Cold wind stole the breath from their lungs. The eagles shrieked cheerfully, air currents under their wings; they floated in the void, sank down, and then went upward again, leaving the stone cliffs in the distance.
When their leader gave the signal, they started descending toward the green slopes. The magnificent moments of the flying were over. The birds landed on the wide meadow, above a hill-surrounded forest valley. After few awkward, jumping steps, they stopped and lowered heads, so their riders could climb down.
“We go no further!” shouted the flyer. “You are on your own from here.” He waved his hand, and his bird was in the air again. The eagles that carried Orin and Arios followed their leader, and soon were lost beyond the ridge.
The scent of the fresh grass, still wet from the melted snow, filled the air, chasing restlessness from the minds of two companions. Taking their backpacks, they started walking toward the forest.