The Night of the Swarm

‘Is the jungle guarded by the selk?’ asked Ensyl, peering up through a shaft.

‘Not here,’ said Thaulinin. He stopped and smiled. ‘Climb up, if you will, and look around. But on your life, do not go beyond the shaft!’

Ensyl glanced at Hercol. ‘I. . will look, if you’ll indulge me,’ she said.

The leap into the shaft was easy, as was catching hold of the lowest vines. Up she went, hand over foot. The sun warmed her, and a wet, fetid jungle smell filled her nostrils. When she finally raised her head above the shaft, she thought she had never seen such a lovely forest. By the height of the sun Ensyl knew it was midday, but the fierce beams slipped through only here and there, and cool shadows abounded. Every shade of green was here in abundance, caught in a thousand forms of leaf and shoot and stem and creeper. Bright droplets sparkled on leaf- tips, and gleamed in spiderwebs flung like a ship’s rigging from tree to tree. Birdsong fell in great melodious threads; bees flowed like minnows through a sunbeam, and on an outflung limb dangled an orchid in brilliant, blood-red flower.

Then Ensyl’s breath caught in her throat. Beyond the orchid hung row upon row of white, ropy vines, straight as piano wire, and as taut. She knew those vines, and the trees they were part of. She looked around, wildly: there! Huge grey trunks, towering over the lesser trees. Far above, those trunks would open in slitted mouths. And those vines, so innocent and still — they could tear a man apart.

She descended in a flash. Back on Hercol’s shoulder, she gasped, ‘The trees, those hideous trees from the Infernal Forest. They’re here.’

‘They are not hideous to the selk,’ said Thaulinin. ‘We have taught them manners, and a wider diet than flesh. For sixteen centuries they have secured this eastern approach to Ularamyth. They would not harm you if we stood at your side.’

They walked on, still climbing. The light shafts ended; one of the selk lit a lamp. Then came a great iron portcullis, barring their way. On the wall beside it was mounted an iron wheel, larger than the wheel of the Chathrand. Thaulinin took a key from about his neck and slipped it into a hole at the wheel’s centre. He turned the key clockwise, then gripped the wheel and spun it in the opposite direction. After a moment it began to turn on its own. Gears clattered, counterweights rumbled in the walls. The wheel spun faster. The great gate began to lift.

When everyone had passed within, Thaulinin removed his key, and ducked inside as the gate slowly descended. On they marched, faster now. A few of the selk asked Thaulinin’s leave to run ahead, which he granted.

They’re as eager as children, Ensyl thought.

A light wind began to blow in the tunnel — and with it came a song. Ensyl felt her heart lift suddenly. The music was high and mirthful, quite unlike the Creation-Song the selk had played for them in the ruins, and yet for all its joy, there was a strangeness to the song that unsettled even as it gladdened her. She could not tell if it was being sung or played on some strange wind instruments, nor even where it came from: ahead of them, or behind, or both?

‘I think the music is in the wind itself,’ she whispered to Hercol.

‘And the stone,’ he replied, gesturing. Now Ensyl saw that there were many small holes in the tunnel surface, scattered at random, and perhaps the music did come from them, indeed. She saw Thasha, her face still strange and radiant, put her ear to the wall.

‘I remember,’ she said. ‘The singing mountain. Just the same as before.’

The selk bearing the lamp glanced at her and smiled. ‘This tunnel we call Ingva, the Flute. It always plays to welcome the return of old friends.’

He blew out the lamp. In the deep darkness, the selk took up the song, full-throated and glad. A hand touched Hercol’s shoulder, guiding him. They walked on, and now the tune became both march and madrigal, a walking-chant and a song of praise.

At last a new light gleamed before them. The tunnel was ending. There was a carved chamber ahead, and stairs climbing up into daylight. Figures appeared, and raised their arms in welcome, but no one called out; no one interrupted the song. They reached the chamber; Ensyl shaded her eyes. They reached the sun-drenched stair, they climbed, she saw it: Mother Sky, she thought, there is goodness in the world after all.

It was what her heart felt, senseless though it might be. She clung to Hercol with both hands. Ularamyth was a great, green bowl, a hollow mountain, roofless and miles wide. A fire-mountain, a volcano: but the fire was long extinguished, and the crater teemed with life. They had passed through the wall of the mountain and stood halfway up the inner rim. Sweeping down and away from them was a lush land of jungle, streams, ponds, rice paddies, water wheels, citrus groves, white boulders, stone houses of fluid line and growing roofs, black horses, painted horses, flocks of restless birds, domes, towers, moss-green ruins, thickets of willow and bamboo. Parts of the crater wall sloped naturally; others were carved into great terraces, sweeping about the valley in concentric rings. Ensyl’s eyes devoured it all, spread there below her like a table buckling under the weight of treasure. So much was starkly visible, and yet there were hiding places everywhere: dense woods, dark tunnel-mouths, fog on a distant lake.

The staircase had brought them out onto a marble landing surrounded by willow trees. Ensyl raised her eyes: the upper rim of the crater was a circle of barren, toothlike stones, the highest of them sparkling with ice. There were no gaps, no fissures: Ularamyth was completely enclosed.

From the landing where they stood, many footpaths and staircases led away — up and down, and horizontally along the terraces — and by all of these routes selk were approaching. They sang as they converged on the newcomers. Some, with faces aglow, clasped the arms of Thaulinin and his party. If any were shocked to find living humans in their midst, they gave no sign.

The song ended, and in the silence Nolcindar came forward and placed the Nilstone at Hercol’s feet, making a deep thump like a cannonball dropped on the marble. For a moment everyone was still. Then another selk woman came forward with a water jug. She held it out to Lunja, who was nearest her.

‘Peace and the stars attend you, citizen,’ she said.

‘Joy to your home and hearth-kin,’ replied Lunja, startled. ‘Yet I fear you are mistaken. I have never been here before.’

‘You are citizens nonetheless,’ said Thaulinin. ‘All who pass the threshold of Ularamyth are granted citizenship, and none may deny them the same. But as for me, Tisani, you had best send for shackles, and conduct me to the Armoured Chamber. I will stand bond alone, if the Five allow it. The choice to bring these travellers here was mine.’

‘You must certainly go,’ said the woman sadly, ‘and perhaps the others may remain at liberty for now. Yet all who walked with you must be judged alike.’

‘What, straight to jail, for bringing us here?’ said Neeps.

‘It seems an unmerciful law, to punish such an act of charity,’ said Hercol.

‘These are unmerciful times,’ said Thaulinin, ‘but I would have you know that I do this gladly, and fear no injustice at the hands of my people.’

‘Nor will your people fail you, Ambrimar’s child,’ said a voice from below the terrace.

All the selk turned, and made a curious gesture: head slightly bowed, hands raised and open, as though to offer them in service. A figure was climbing the staircase with slow dignity. He wore a dark green robe, and a chain of thick silver rings about his neck, and on his head was a circlet of woven vines. He was the first selk Ensyl had yet seen who looked truly old — not just ancient, as they all did, but weathered, worn smooth, his flesh like driftwood on a beach. Ensyl found herself awed: how many years did a selk have to live before they took such a toll?

‘You shall not wear irons,’ he said, ‘and if I am heeded at the council, your stay in the Armoured Chamber will be brief.’ His old eyes passed over the newcomers. ‘Two dlomu, one ixchel — and eight human beings, wondrous to our sight. It is almost exactly as we were told.’

‘Told?’ said Pazel. ‘Told by whom, sir, if you please?’

The elder turned back to the staircase, gesturing. Shilu growled. A huge, snow-white animal padded up the stairs. It was a wolf, and when it stopped beside the selk its shoulder was level with his waist. The creature’s jaws lolled open, showing white teeth. Unblinking green eyes studied the newcomers.

‘By me, Pazel, if you must know.’

That voice! The wolf turned slightly — and Ensyl cried out, and flung herself from