Eidhal was a boy again, a child who clung to the summit of his pinnacle and tried to forget all the rumors and inflated tales, the fears, the memories of those who had undertaken the ordeal and had not returned. A young lad, alone and frightened, as he watched the wheeling of the stars, heard the soft sough of the wind as it rose from the valley.
An illusion, he was not a child and he was not alone. Aryan sat on the finger of stone to his right, Croft beyond, Dumarest to his left. Two other volunteers from the guards further down, Usdon beyond them.
A bad place but he had insisted, insisted too that there be seven of them, the smallest number to undertake the initiation. The others of the Council were admitted to be too old. Barog would never have managed the climb, Vestaler had been overruled.
A scrabble and Eidhal kicked, a multi-legged body falling to the ground. Trust the ilden to scent prey. A nuisance more than anything else, but a sting could burn, cause a hand to slip, a body to fall. Below, the codors would be waiting.
He relaxed, forcing himself to ease an inner tension. There was nothing to worry about. He had done this before and remained unscathed. True, four others of his batch had failed and another had turned into a ghost, but that had been years ago. Yet, they had been as strong as he. Had he survived only because of the luck of the draw, as Dumarest had suggested? One of those who had not been attacked by the mysterious Kheld? Would he have survived if he had?
Odo, he had been strong too, a virile lad with a zest for life, quick at games, the delight of his mother, the pride of Chart. He had died a year later, slow to lift his spear, wanting to find a clean end, perhaps. Lyd also had not lasted long. She had mourned her husband and then had gone to walk among the predators which had taken him. Eidhal had followed her, too late. She had died in his arms, his only sister-why was life so unfair?
He stiffened as he heard a faint sound. The wind? It was possible. The soft breeze could play tricks with a straining ear. He listened again, concentrating, hearing a thin, high cluttering which died as soon as it registered. A familiar sound, one he had forgotten, his skin prickling as he recalled the past. Even then he had not been sure, dismissing it as a figment of imagination, remembering the advice he had been given.
'Remain calm, keep your head, be resolute.' Advice he had passed on.
A puff of wind and again the weird, eerie sound, this time accompanied by another. The soft impact of climbing boots, the rasp of a human breath.
'Varg-can you hear it?'
Dumarest, clinging to the stone, looking upwards, his face dim in the starlight.
'I'm not sure. I-'
'Come down. Quietly. You can handle the predators?'
'Yes.' Glad of action Eidhal climbed down the high pinnacle, stood at Dumarest's side. 'What is it?'
'Over there. Where Croft is. Don't make a noise.'
He moved to the right, soundless, Eidhal like a shadow at his side. He had expected the ground to be thick with codors, but none were in evidence. A chittinous body crushed beneath his foot, proof of their stealth. The things were normally wary.
'Listen!'
Dumarest had halted, looking upwards to where Croft sat perched on his finger of stone. The man was visible only as a blur against the stars. A blur which moved as the air filled with a faint stridulation, a chittering which grew stronger, lowered, seemed to hover over the dim shape, to engulf it.
Croft moaned. It was a sound barely louder than a sigh. A release of breath from constricted lungs, a prolonged exhalation. The chittering increased in volume and then, abruptly, stilled.
'God!' Eidhal felt his stomach contract, his skin crawl as he looked upwards. 'What the hell's happening?'
On the pinnacle, something was feeding. It was diaphanous, a thing of gauzy membranes which caught the starlight and reflected it in wispy shimmers. A web of near-invisible filaments which could ride the wind, falling as it condensed, rising as it extended. A web which was formed of a diffused kind of life, alien to human experience.
'Croft! We must-'
'No!' Dumarest held the man fast. There was nothing they could do-and a point had to be proven. 'He's gone,' he said. 'It's already too late. If he doesn't fall and kill himself, he'll be a ghost.'
Chapter Fourteen
'Croft.' Vestaler shook his head, conscious of his guilt, his relief that it had not been Usdon. Wine stood on the table and he poured himself a measure, sipping, his eyes thoughtful as he stared over the rim of the goblet. 'Why?' he demanded. 'Why Croft?'
'He was afraid,' said Dumarest. 'His own fear killed him.'
His own terror, the sweat of fear perhaps, attracting the Kheld to its scent. Usdon's face darkened as he remembered what he had seen. It had been a mercy the man had fallen, crushing his skull as he landed, to lie helpless for the predators.
They had been denied their prey. The body was taken, buried now with all honors. A ceremony Croft had deserved. By his death, he had saved the lives of others. No longer would the ordeal be held in the high places. The initiation would be changed, young lives saved, the uneasy presence of the ghosts eliminated for all time.
Usdon poured wine, handed Dumarest a goblet, lifted his own in salute.
'For what you have done, we thank you,' he said with formal courtesy. 'May your life among us be long and pleasant.'
The next barrier was to be surmounted. He and Iduna were safe, but still confined to the valley. A problem to be solved, but Dumarest said nothing as he returned the salute.
The wine was strong, rich with flavor, comforting to his stomach and easing his fatigue. The journey, the vigil, the return-and his full strength had yet to return.
'How did you know?' asked Vestaler. 'Did Leon tell you?'
'No, he betrayed none of your secrets. But what must have happened was obvious. He was curious and must have sneaked close to the high places to watch the ordeal. He saw something, or heard something, and it frightened him. He wore the yellow to gain time and, when it ran out, he could do nothing but run.' Dumarest lowered the empty goblet. 'In his way, he was very brave.'
'You liked him,' said Usdon with sudden understanding. 'He reminded you of someone, perhaps.'
Of himself when young, traveling, working, moving on. A little bewildered and unsure, a stranger in a constantly changing world. But Leon had lacked the one thing Dumarest possessed, the luck which had enabled him to survive.
There, but for the grace of God, went I! A sobering thought.
'What I can't understand is how you managed to escape the Kheld the first time you experienced them,' said Vestaler. 'When you were on your journey.'
'There were four of us,' said Dumarest. 'We were close. Chaque and I were awake and able to give each other strength. And I have met odd life forms before.'
'And you are not prone to fear,' said Usdon. 'Your courage saved the others.'
'Perhaps.' Dumarest helped himself to more wine. 'But I think Jalch saved us. He was dreaming, experiencing a nightmare, and he woke. Perhaps his thoughts, his hate-who can tell?'
'Yet you went to the high places knowing what could happen. The act of a brave man.' Again, Usdon lifted his goblet in salute. 'You and your woman will breed fine children. They, in turn, will add to the strength of others.'
'She is not my woman.'
'Not of the Original People?' Usdon frowned, then shrugged. 'It is not important. She can be indoctrinated into the mysteries, taught the things we know, the past which has to be remembered. It is unusual, but it can be done. We owe you that and more.'
There would be a house and a position, rank which would gain in stature as the years passed. There would be work to engage his hands and mind, boys to train, men to teach. He would tell them stories of other worlds and expand their horizons, far beyond that of the valley. Given time he could change their ways, introduce machines, encourage trade. Give them life.
