‘Aie-yeh,’ declared Eriden. ‘But how far do we go between?’
‘Too far,’ breathed Leona. ‘And yet, we must go. So take a wagon, Eriden, and go. South, not right nor left, turn not nor stay, but gently go. And when you have come clear, go on. We will come behind you, slowly, gendy, one at a time.’
The white-haired old man, straight as a tree in his saddle, took the lead reins of the first wagon and rode forward. Around him the air shivered. Deep below something crated like huge laughter, muffled and withheld. Grim-faced Eriden rode south, the wagon trundling behind him in its muffling cloths, horses’ feet wrapped in rags plopping softly in the dust. The wagon receded into artificiality; they could not believe in its existence as it dwindled to the south. Only Leona’s firm voice drove the second wagon after the first.
‘You will feel as though you move in a dream,’ she instructed the driver. ‘As though it would be better to stop, to sleep. Do not. Go forward. Think of some song which you know and sing it silently. And do not stop.’
The second wagon moved off, and the third, then the others one by one in a long chain. Once a wagon slowed, stopped, the horses standing with heads down, legs splayed, the driver slumped forward. Leona rode forward, shook the man awake silently, stared deep into his face with eyes suddenly amber and gleaming like the eyes of a fierce bird. Gulping, he rode on and did not stop again.
Leona and Bombaroba were last, the boy seated in front of her on the low saddle, Mimo and Werem quiet at the horse’s flanks. Around them the air shivered in constant motion; beneath them the earth twitched like the skin of a horse beneath a tickling fly. On the slope the domes glittered in wan sunlight, constantly seeming to turn as though eyes moved along the line of wagons. Leona stared but could see no movement. No, no motion could be seen, but she did not doubt for a moment that it took place. They were being watched in some way she could not define or describe. Over her shoulder she peered to see a dome appear in the swale behind them, earth crumbling damply at its base. It had not moved there, nor risen into place. It was simply there, and it was not alone. They could not return this way.
Hours seemed to pass, and yet the sun had hardly moved in the wide sky when they came from between the last of the watching stones onto the open prairie. Behind them a cloud of dust rose to hang in still air, as though the earth trembled. Wordless, they took the wrappings from wheels and hooves, untied links of harness, moved eastward to regain the line they had left. Once more the train jingled and creaked; faces became faces again; colours took their usual brilliance. Leona broke off a leaf and smelled the sharp fragrance. Still, no one spoke, no one sang. Miles went behind them without sound except of the wagons.
At last, Bombaroba whispered from between her arms, ‘Lady, were they set there to keep us out?’
Leona spoke softly. To keep us out? Or let us through? To keep out those who come after us? Or to keep us in once we are here? Or to do some other thing, Bomba? It is a hard question to answer. I think they had nothing to do with us – not yet. I think they were merely there, as a nest of serpents might be, or a waterfall, a thing to get safely by.’
‘I do not think the little animals will come back.’
‘No, Bomba. Nor do I.’
The scouts reported that the stone hummocks stayed behind them, but the same distance behind, keeping pace with the train.
They sweated beneath the sun of the southland, drawing ever nearer to the mountains, their way crossed by streamlets born in the snows of those mountains, the land rising. They walked to spare the horses, seeing to the east the great part of the south lying far below between the Unnamed River and the River of Hanar, flat and green as a meadow, dotted with copses of tall, black trees, falling away toward the Concealment. Scouts climbed tall pinnacles to report that the troop which had followed them from the River Del followed them still and that the stone hummocks lay a day’s journey to their rear. Whatever they might do, they could not return. Voices were raised in fear.
‘We did not plan to return,’ Leona told them coldly. ‘Not until we had reached the safety of the ancient city, the place of refuge. To be driven into refuge makes us think, of course, that our flight may be the will of others. Still, it was decided to go there by people of wisdom. Shall we panic now and drive witlessly away to the east, coming to bay at last between those behind us and the Concealment?’
She left them to their disenchanted murmuring. She overheard Bombaroba haranguing groups of children, Eriden lecturing the scouts, some of the older Sisters declaiming courage and resolution. By morning the mood of the train had solidified once more into calm and courage. They went on. They had travelled throughout the month of wings returning and into that month called ‘flowers’ or ‘growth.’ Thirty days more would bring them to midsummer time, right through the month of sowing. Surely before that time they would come to Orena.
Leona thought of changing, of going up into the high air above the mountains to see exactly what was before them, to spy out the way. Something warned her against it. Whenever her thoughts turned that way, some better part of wisdom councelled patience. She had to breathe deeply to fight the urge to find out. But no, she would not take up talons against whatever pursued them or the wings of the gryphon to lift her from this earthbound
