Leona, with Mimo and Werem at her side, stood at the lead wagon talking with the scouts; many of them had white hair and faces lined by years. Jasmine went to her in the darkness and pressed something into her hand. ‘The flask, Leona. There are many in your caravan, many only babies. If there should be sickness – or worse things, use this.’
Nothing of Leona could be seen except a fugitive gleam of starlight reflected from her eyes. Jasmine squeezed her hand and stepped away. Out of the darkness a whisper came. ‘Is it in this way that quests are fulfilled? By free gift? When the reason for the quest is long past?’
Jasmine whispered in return. ‘Your reason is past, Leona. My reason is now. There may be other reasons, yet. Take it with my love.’
For a long time the creak of the wagons came back to them as they stood in the high portal, peering into the night. At last there was only a low moaning of wind among the stones, and they turned to the northern portal from which Thewson and Jasmine would leave with a small group of riders. Dawn was only a short hour away, and the last of the ways was being closed. Only Old Aunt and Teraspelion stood beside them. Jasmine pleaded once more that the Sisters flee away south.
‘Don’t worry about us,’ said Old Aunt. ‘Teras will tell you that we are not martyrs or fanatics. We intend to be safe. We will know, deep in our burrow, what happens up here in the empty corridors, just as we know what happened in Rhees and Lakland. We will know what happens to you as well; so go safely and do not grieve over us. Do not fret over the Choir at Gerenhodh.’
Still, Jasmine hugged each of them, saying to Jaer, ‘I would go with you, Jaer – you know I would – but you do not need me now and Hu’ao does. Be fortunate in your seeking.’ Then they rode away, Jasmine still craning back to look at them until the forests came between. Even then the others stood in the portal gazing to the north. Kelner found them there and woke them to action with harsh screaming.
‘Host of Gahl almost at your doors, and you stand here asleep! You will be Gahl meat before noon!’ So they ended their time together running through the tunnels to the southeast portal and had only time for an uncomfortable gripping of shoulders from which Terascouros turned dry-eyed and anguished and Teraspelion with angry sobs. Then the last of the travellers, Terascouros, Medlo and Jaer, mounted and went from the Hill. When they had come almost halfway down the long slope toward the Gomilbata, the earth shuddered behind them. The last open ways had been sealed. Terascouros dried a few scanty tears and stared fixedly into the cold wind, speaking no word until a flurry of black wings tilted onto the horse’s crupper behind her. She said his name as though it were a curse. ‘Kelner.’
Thereafter he perched on one horse or another, rising to circle far above, teetering on the wind, dropping once more to clack beak and report the movement of the black hordes from Zales. They crossed the Gomilbata at the ford, black ice at either bank and black water beneath, the horses sliding and blowing, shaking their heads and snatching at the bits with their teeth. They went hastily on into the high grasses of the land between the rivers, pushing their way through dried tufts higher than their heads, seeds shedding from the plumes to coat them with itchy chaff and scratchy barbs. By midafternoon they were exhausted, so sore that each movement was torture. Jaer pulled up, half fell from the saddle to sprawl foolishly among the grasses, still holding the reins in lax fingers. Medlo dismounted stiffly, stumbled away to picket the animals. Kelner spiraled down to land beside them.
‘You are resting?’
‘Oh, Powers. We must,’ said Terascouros. ‘I have not ridden for many years. I had forgotten what it felt like.’
‘One forgets,’ said Medlow. ‘One grows soft.’
‘One simply hurts,’ said Jaer without expression.
‘I ask,’ said the bird, ‘because a mist moves from the Hill. A walking fog. It goes on and on.’
‘Oh, tashas,’ snarled Jaer. Terascouros looked shocked while Medlo barked quick laughter.
‘Where did you learn that language?’
‘From a drover. Now a man of the Hill. Why? Is it unlike me?’
‘Unlike the Jaer we knew, yes. Like a drover, yes. I suppose you are both, or think you are.’
Jaer regarded him with a measure of anger. Medlo had been behaving since her awakening as though nothing had happened, that Jaer was as before, i am a drover, yes. And a midwife, pulling at reluctant twins in some hamlet near Enterling. And a man at arms of some place far to the south in Dantland, aching from long marches. And a woman of Owbel Bay, one dedicated to the Stones who was rescued from that horror to come into the Hill, instead. Oh, Lord of Fire, Medlo. I am a thousand, Jaer of the Thousand Lives. Why pretend it is not so? Now those foul mists move again. Where? I do not believe they will follow us!’
Kelner opined that the mists came no nearer. ‘But the Gahlians have come to the Hill. They are within it. Like ants.’ His beak stabbed down to come up with a wriggling tininess. ‘Like black ants.’
Terascouros nodded. That is why the mist has moved again. Deep in the Hill, the Choir must sing its own invisibility, must create a curtain of concealment between them and the hordes. To
