Terascouros chuckled, almost lightheartedly. ‘Ahl di you may be, in which case I will witness it. Ahl di you may not be, in which case I may as well be with you as here under the Hill, huddling behind some stalactite waiting for the Gahlians.’
Jaer and Terascouros were both surprised at that moment, for Jaer kissed the old woman. Thereafter, though warned and warned again, Terascouros would not be dissuaded.
Kelner flew away at noon, promising to return. Near evening he came to tell them that Sybil was camped on a rocky mound not far from the walls of Zales talking with a delegation of red-robed Gahlians. Jaer shuddered at the words, and Old Aunt drove the Hill into swarming activity. Even with all the people of the Hill working from light to night, it would still take some days to ready the wagons for the trip south and to close the Hill against discovery. On the second day, Kelner reported no change, but on the third day he told them that hordes of Gahlians had left Zales and were being joined by others from the valleys and from Lakland as they came south along the Gomilbata.
He told them also that he had perched long enough in a tree above Sybil’s head to hear her telling of the defences and strongholds of the Hill in a defiant, hating voice. He hopped in lamplight repeating these words while Teraspelion, daughter of Terascouros, made notes on the charts she carried. Each day saw more of the outer caverns grow cold and empty as furnishings were removed into the deep places of the fastness and as hot springs were diverted away from the sunlit caves to those which lay deep in the endless dark below.
‘I thank the Powers that Sybil worked most with the Council,’ Teraspelion said. ‘She had little to do with the Choir, or the farms, for which we must now be grateful. She knew the ways to the great libraries, of course, and to the kitchens, but she did not interest herself in the deeper ways – so far as we know. Those ways are not generally known. Most have been in keeping for decades, and I have kept them private.’
‘Yes, we will pray she knew nothing of the old gates and devices,’ agreed Terascouros. ‘Some have been here since the time of Taniel. Some may be from before that time. When the traitor comes with her myrmidons,’ the old woman explained to the travellers, ‘she will find open tunnels, cold as winter, and a few deep shafts leading into caves pillared with growing stone iced by the slow trickle of wandering springs. Us she will not find.’
Though the Sisters sounded sure, the travellers did not share their sense of security. Jasmine, particularly, begged Old Aunt and the others to flee with Leona to the southlands. The Sisters would not leave the mountain, explaining without explaining that they must stay away from Orena. Jasmine supposed it had something, once more, to do with prophecy or belief, and eventually gave up begging. Instead, she spent her time poring over maps which showed all aspects of the land north. Sometimes she merely stared, measuring with her eyes the distance between the River Lazentien, where she and Thewson would go, and the Chornagam Mountains toward which Hu’ao had fled. It was no more than a finger’s space on the maps, but she remembered how weary real journeys were.
Thewson worked beside the men and women who were disassembling wagons in the farm tunnels in order to move them to the southern portal, piece by piece. The children were brought up in frightened coveys to learn their places and their assigned duties. Between times, Thewson began to learn to ride horseback. There was no horse large enough for him at the Hill. Leona went out into the world to return some days later bringing a great horse from the sloping green pastures of Sorgen where they had been bred for centuries. She rode one feather-footed monster and led another. Thewson, who had worn out eight or ten of the little Hill horses in learning what he could, regarded the huge beasts with favour. He was pleased to find that, when mounted, his feet did not touch the ground.
To Leona and the group of Sisters and men who would accompany the children to Orena, Old Aunt lectured on what she knew of that place and of the Sisterhoods to be found between. ‘Oh r’na,’ she said. ‘It is said Oh r’na, not oh-RAYna.’ There were many Choirs located in the Great Sea Desert of the east, a few in the lands of the cattle herders, a few more down the length of the Unnamed River which ran from the fork of the Del southerly into the wilderness past the junction of the River of Hanar. ‘Which,’ said Old Aunt, ‘once in a few hundred years runs red as blood. We have heard it does so now. This is the “time of Hanar” spoken of in the prophecy.’
‘Where did the prophecy come from?’ asked Leona.
Old Aunt shook her head. ‘A woman came out of nowhere to the Sisterhood, gave them the password, entered their stronghold, spoke to the Council and departed. Her words you know: “In the time of the River of Hanar, the Ahl di will come. The precursor sound is the sound of a baby crying in the night. One who cannot speak will speak of the coming.” Then she went away. No one thought to write down what she looked like, or where she went. We know only what she said.’
Jaer, Medlo, and Terascouros packed foodstuffs, filled flasks, went through the contents of their packs a dozen times, strengthened the seams of their clothing. They decided to leave as soon as the others had gone. So they were at the southern portal before dawn on the seventh day of the month of thaw, watching the shivering children
