And the baby screamed. His voice rang out, a fretful hungry wail loud over the frosty ruins, scattering rats and skeats, sending flittermice screeching off like shadows.
The crowd surged forward. The woman, sobbing with joy and astonishment stared at the child, clutched him tight, kissing his head over and over, but Solon just turned and walked toward the cellar.
People fell back, making a way for him. The night was full of some terrified delight that Raffi could almost taste. Galen strode after him and Raffi followed, his sense-lines suddenly charged with energy as if it had risen through the earth.
In the cellar, Solon sat unsteadily by the fire.
Galen crouched before him. “Are you all right?”
“A little tired, my son. Nothing more.”
“I’m not surprised!” Galen shook his head. “Tallis was right. You have a rare gift.”
Solon shrugged and smiled up at Raffi, who said, “It was a miracle!”
“No, lad. The Makers put their strength back into him. I was only the channel.”
“The faith was yours,” Galen said. “But tell me, when you invoked the Makers, why include Kest? For healing?”
Solon stared at him. For a moment he seemed almost shocked, his breath clouding in the frosty air, and something like a vacancy passed over his face. He looked lost and bewildered. “Did I?” he whispered.
Then he grabbed Galen’s hand. “Listen, I have to warn you . . .”
The words choked, dried up.
Worried, Galen held his arms. “What is it?”
All the sense-lines rippled. For a second something black and terrible stood among the three of them, a flicker of evil that came and went like the leap of a flame. Solon looked around hopelessly.
“It’s gone. I thought ... But I might have been wrong. I’m so tired, Galen, that’s all.”
“We all are.” Weary, Galen sat down by him, stirring the fire up. It was very dark in the cellar now; most of the injured slept.
Abruptly Galen said, “I have something to tell you myself. Solon, you asked me once how I broke the ice at the Frost Fair.” He dragged both hands through his long hair. “It’s difficult to explain. The boy and I were in Tasceron.”
Solon was watching, with suppressed excitement. Raffi knew he had been waiting for this a long time. “You can trust me, my son,” he said gently.
“We found the House of Trees. It still exists, Archkeeper, deep below the ruined streets. And in the House we found . . . the Crow.”
Solon looked astonished. “Alive?”
Galen was silent a moment. Then he said, “The Crow is a relic. A device to speak through. For a few seconds we spoke with the Makers, Solon. So far away, they sounded. And so close. And then . . .” He shook his head, Solon caught his arm.
“Tell me, Galen,” he said fervently. “I feel a terrible struggle inside you. Tell me what it is.”
Galen looked up, sudden and bleak.
“I am the Crow now, Solon. The power of the relic burned into me. It lives deep in me like a spirit; sometimes it surges out like a wave of energy.” He smiled grimly. “That was how . . .”
Then he stopped.
A brick had slid from the rubble; someone stood there. The flames crackled in the wind and leaped up. Solon sighed bitterly.
“Marco.”
The bald man came out of the shadows and crouched to get warm. He stared at them both curiously. “I didn’t mean to listen. I don’t suppose you believe that.”
Galen stared back in cold fury. “You heard?”
“Everything.” Marco shook his head. “I never thought I’d have this sort of luck and not be able to use it. What would the Watch pay for the Crow!”
Galen’s eyes went cold, but Solon smiled. “Don’t tease us, old friend.”
“Oh, I won’t.” The bald man spread his hands and grinned at him. “Both of you are too much for a plain man like me. You’ll have to trust me, Galen.”
But Emmy had come clambering in, with Andred behind her. Her face was white. “Hurry!” she gasped. “You must go, all of you!”
“The Watch are here,” the stout man muttered. “A column of forty riding hard toward the town. You can see them from the walls.”
Wearily, Solon stood up. “But there’s still so much to do here.”
“For us, not you,” the man said, his voice harsh. He glanced at Galen. “I’ll think differently about the Order after this.”
As they turned away Emmy caught Galen’s sleeve. “Listen,” she whispered. “They know about you—the Watch. They knew you were keepers, but they warned me not to alarm you.”
Galen stared at her. “How! How did they know?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”
In five minutes they had grabbed the packs and a handful of food, and were at the walls, where the vortex had smashed an enormous breach.
Raffi looked back at the ruined town. “What will they do?” he murmured to Galen.
“The Watch will clear the place. Make its people refugees and beggars,” the keeper said harshly, watching Solon press the last coins into Emmy’s hand. “It’s no good to them after this.”
“But there are people still buried . . .”
Galen turned on him in wrath. “Yes, there are! And don’t you know the Watch by now, boy! They’ll leave them to die.” He rubbed his face with the back of one hand in exhaustion. “As we’re leaving them, God forgive us.”
Cage of Stories
18
“My people were deceived by the Makers and enslaved by the Watch. You can imagine we have been wary since then.
If we keep secrets we have our reasons.
If they think of us as animals, without minds, so much the better.”
Words of a Sekoi Karamax.
Recorded by Kallebran.
CARYS LOOKED AT THE MAP in bewilderment. It meant nothing, and turning it up the other way didn’t seem to help. The Watch had always taught that the Sekoi had no writing, but there were certainly letters on this; unreadable, spiky signs all down one side. She threw it aside in disgust and glared at the plate of dewberries. That was another thing. She was sick of dried fruit.
Scrambling up, she walked out of the cave.
Before her the beach was smooth, the wet, ridged sand shining in the glimmer of the moons. Strange wooden posts stuck out of it in a long line, their wood bleached and split into bizarre spiny sculptures by the tides, and far off a faint wash of small waves rippled, a hypnotic sound.
As she was watching the Sekoi came up and threw itself down near the cave mouth, brushing sand irritably from its fur. Without looking up it said, “It’s as we feared. The tribe tell me the weather is far worse to the north. There have been terrible snowstorms and floods, and three great vortexes. Millions of hidebeasts have begun to move down from the hills, trampling the fields.”
She sat down. “I hope Galen and Raffi are all right. Did you find out anything else?”
“Little.”
She glared at it. “Don’t lie to me! You’ve been gone hours!”
The creature sighed, narrowing its yellow eyes. “Carys, my people speak through their stories. I have been reliving their journey. Unlike you Starmen, we do not rob our words of all their echoes and senses.”
Carys smiled sourly. She sat and leaned back against the rocks, dipping her hand into a tiny moonlit pool. Suddenly phosphorescent shrimps scattered in panic. “What about the Coronet?”
The Sekoi shifted, awkward. “I have asked. No one knows for sure. But I have discovered why the Circling has been summoned.”
“The weather?”
“In a way.” It pointed with the longest of its seven fingers into the sky. “And for that.”
She craned her neck back. “Agramon?”
“Agramon. Do you notice anything strange about her?”
For a moment Carys was still. The complex phases of the moons was not a subject the Watch thought important for its spies, but she knew the famil
iar patterns well enough. “Shouldn’t it be a bit higher?” she said at last.
The Sekoi nodded. “Indeed. The moon you call Agramon is out of position. My people tell me it has been slowly drifting among the stars these four nights, each night a little farther. Or a little nearer.”
Appalled, she turned. “You mean it’s falling?”
“Who knows? This much is clear—that Galen’s vision on Sarres was a true one. From the observatory—if it still stands—it may be possible to see more clearly.”
“Then we should get back!” Carys tucked her dyed hair behind one ear. “We need to tell them!”
“I suspect they know by now.” The Sekoi made no attempt to move. Instead it stretched its legs out and said quietly, “I’m surprised you didn’t.”
Carys stared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know.”
“Well, I don’t. Stop hinting. Say what you’ve got to say. You could start with why you were so keen that I came with you.”
The Sekoi looked over to the campfires on the beach. “Very well,” it said, its voice dry. “I brought you with me to get you away from Galen.”
She sat up slowly. “What?”
“You heard. Cast your mind back to the river. That terrible beast that nearly devoured poor Marco. How lucky that was, Carys! Because without it we would never have dared the bridge, and I would never have found the truth out about you.”
It turned then and looked at her, its eyes sly in the moonlight, and instantly she felt a prickle of danger that amazed her, all her instincts wary.
“Me? What about me?”
“That you have betrayed us.”
She hissed her breath out in irritation. “Are you still wittering on about that! I’ve told you, I’m finished with them . . .”
But the Sekoi was not listening. It had reached into an inner pocket of its coat and now pulled out a white piece of paper with one corner torn off, which it unfolded with long fingers.
Carys stopped. “What’s that?”
“You may well look perturbed.” The Sekoi’s fur had thickened around its neck, a sure sign of anger. It looked at her steadily. “This is what I took from the notice-board of the Watchhouse.”
Carys clenched a fist of sand. “You took it!”
“I did.” Its eyes were slits of yellow malice. “Listen to this, Carys Arrin. Though I don’t think it will astonish you as much as it did me.”
Holding the sheet so that the moonlight fell on it, the Sekoi read the words in a dry, hard voice:
PRIORITY INTELLIGENCE.
TO ALL WATCHTOWERS, GUARDPOSTS, ROADBLOCKS, AND SURVEILLANCE UNITS. TRAVELING NORTH, ON FOOT. A GROUP OF SIX, DETAILED AS FOLLOWS: HARN, GALEN: KEEPER ...
Carys gasped. The Sekoi ignored her.
MOREL, RAFFAEL: KEEPER. KARNER, SOLON: KEEPER. FELANIS, MARCO: THIEF AND RELIC-DEALER. ARRIN, CARYS: WATCHSPY. SEKOI, NAME UNKNOWN. DESCRIPTIONS FOLLOW.
It glanced at her over the paper.
“But how could they ... ?”
“There’s more.
ROUTE: ASKER FIELDS, WYREN VALLEY, POSSIBLY ARRETO. DESTINATION: MAKER OBSERVATORY, MOUNT BURNA.
NOTE: IT IS VITAL THIS GROUP BE ALLOWED TO PASS WITHOUT HINDRANCE. NO, REPEAT NO, ARRESTS OR INTERROGATIONS ARE TO BE MADE. NO SURVEILLANCE NECESSARY. INSIDE INTELLIGENCE AVAILABLE.
“What!” Carys shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
“Indeed. Yet someone has told them our names and where we’re going.” Maddeningly calm, the creature folded the paper. “At the bottom,” it said acidly, “is simply the word Maar.”
Instantly, Carys leaped. She flung two handfuls of sand full in the Sekoi’s face, rolled, jumped up, and ran—straight into the aimed sights of a crossbow.
Her crossbow.
“Keep very still,” growled the tawny Sekoi who held it.
She froze.
All around, in the cave-shadows, in crevices, up on the cliff top, the tribe had gathered. They watched her in silence, their strange eyes unblinking. Behind her the Sekoi spat out sand and wiped its eyes.
“Nice try,” it snarled wrathfully. “Come back and sit down, Carys. We’re a peace-loving race, but we despise the Watch, and if I gave the word you’d be shot without mercy. That would be a shame—after all we’ve been through together.”
Ignoring its sarcasm she turned and stalked back, feeling the hostile gaze of the tribe. She felt utterly confused; she had to think straight. She sat down. “So there’s a traitor in the group. But it’s not me.”
“Despite this little escape bid?”
“That was a mistake.” She tried to stay calm and continued, “I know when I’m being trapped. But listen. Did you show that notice to Galen?”
“I did not.” The creature scratched its tribemark calmly.
“Why not?” Carys exploded.
“Because he would not believe it of you. He trusts you. I’ve remarked before that he is vulnerable because of this faith of his. He believes he has changed you, and you’re happy to let him think that. And yet all the time . . .”
“All the time nothing!” Furious, she leaped up, ignoring the taut bow at her back. “You stupid fool! Don’t you realize what you’ve done? You’re so anxious to blame me you just haven’t thought! I’m not the spy. So it has to be someone else. Someone still with them!”
“You mean Marco or Solon.” The Sekoi nodded. “I have considered that. But you see, Carys, Galen distrusts Marco and will never let him know anything important. For instance, neither Marco nor Solon know about the Crow . . .”
“Yes, but . . .”
“. . . And there is one sentence on that paper I haven’t read to you. The one that convinces me the traitor is you.” She stood stock-still. In the moonlight the Sekoi’s glance was sharp and melancholy.
“What sentence?”
“Simply this. After Galen’s name it adds: THIS MAN IS ALSO KNOWN AS THE CROW.”
In the utter silence the lap of the sea seemed nearer. Far out over the dim waves, a mew-bird squawked.
Carys sat down as if her legs had given way. She was so astonished she could hardly speak. “They know about the Crow?”
“I think you’ll agree,” the Sekoi said tartly, “that lets off Marco. And Solon. There’s no one else. Unless you think Raffi is a spy?”
She scowled at it. Then her face lightened. “Alberic! What about Alberic and his gang! They know!”
Just for a second the Sekoi frowned. “That one. But how would he find out where we are now, or that our destination is the observatory? Only we six know that. And if the Watch know it, they know everything. About the Crow. About the Coronet. And about Sarres.” It looked at her and its voice was a hiss of sudden bitter anger. “How could you do this, Carys? After all the Order has suffered? And Sarres! If I ever get back there and find Felnia gone and that sweet island blackened by Kest’s taint I will never forgive you for it. Never. Because it has to be you.”
In despair she glanced around. The tawny Sekoi with the crossbow had crouched. Now it stood up again.
“What are you going to do?” she said coldly. “Kill me?”
The Sekoi looked disgusted. “I’m going to find Galen. You will be kept here. In a cage.”
“A cage!” She laughed bitterly. “Do you really think you people have a prison that can hold me? I was trained by the best.”
“Indeed?” the Sekoi purred, icily polite. It drew its long knees up and leaned on them. “But we have, Carys,” it said quietly, the ripple of the sea in its voice. “We have chains the Watch never imagined and a prison no one can break out of. Because the chains are stories and the prison is your own mind.”
“No!” She leaped up instantly. “I won’t let you do that to me!”
“There are too many of us,” its voice said smoothly. “And besides, we’ve already begun.”
“No!” she screamed, grabbing at it.
But the Sekoi had faded into a rock and all the beach was empty. r />
The hand she held out was furred. And in her seven fingers she held a small basket full of clams.
19
“I suppose,” the Wolf said, “I should be scared?” It licked its great teeth with a long tongue.
“You should.” Pyra put down the clam basket and shrugged off the red cloak.
“Because I’m not what you think. And if you swallow me, all you’ll get is a fire in your belly that will never go out.”
The Wolf crouched. “If you don’t mind,” it said politely, “I’ll take my chances.”
“Fine. Whenever you’re ready.”
Pyra and the Wolf
AND THE WOLF LEAPED.
“No!” Carys screamed in fury. “This is just a story!” But the great maw opened and she was inside it, swallowed deep down red tunnels into a raw, pounding heat.
THE SUN WAS GOING DOWN. All the horizon was on fire and Herax knew the danger beacons had been lit; warning flames across the Karmor hills. Below her the Sekoi army was gathered, thousands strong, armed only with wooden staves, small knives, hastily cut spears. The Karamax went among the columns, encouraging them, firming their minds with legends.
Beyond the fires, over the edge of the world, the Watchmen were. They moved in dark rows on the high downs.
Herax tuned the final string on the saar. She struck a soft chord, and the music went down into the veins of Anara, and shivered in the leaves of the trees. All the Sekoi-host heard it; it entered their stories and memories, seeping into them, a great unsettling, stirring their wrath.
Herax sang the Song of Anger; a wordless song, a song without harmony, that had not been sung since before the Starmen came. It moved through the host like anxiety, like an ache, darkening their minds; and as she sang it she felt her own thought curl up and her mind go cold with the chilling anger of the Sekoi, knowing it was her skill that would bring so many to their deaths. Herax . . .
But her name wasn’t Herax.
She stopped, struck by that. Her fingers gripped the taut strings and she stared out at the smoky fires, not seeing them. Her name was . . .