Liberty Roar

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Struck with amazement, Tyrion realized that this vast place was an artifact. He stood trembling-with awe indeed, but not with fear. Rather, he was filled with a kind of wild and expansive joy, like that of dance or festival, seeming to himself to be floating above his own exhaustion and the pain in his shoulder. 'You have never seen the Ledges?' said the priestess at his elbow.

'We have to descend them - are you able?' At once, as though she had commanded him, he set off down the wet as confidently as though upon level ground. The Chief called to him sharply and he stayed himself against the solitary island of a bank of ivy, smiling back at the two still above him for all the world as though they were comrades in some children's game. As the priestess and the Chief approached carefully, picking their way down the wet stones, he heard the latter say, 'He is light-headed, säiyett - a simple, foolish fellow, as I am told. He may fall, or even fling himself down.'

'No, the place means him no harm, Chief,' she replied. 'Since you brought him here, perhaps you can tell why.' 'No,' replied the Chief shortly. 'Let him go,' she said. 'On the Ledges, they say, the heart is the

foot's best guide. At this, Tyrion turned once more and bounded away, splashing sure-footed down and down. The dangerous descent seemed a sport, exhilarating as diving into deep water. The pale shape of the inlet below grew larger and now he could see a fire twinkling beside it. He felt the steep hillside ever higher at his back. The curves of the ledges grew shorter, narrowing at last to little more than a broad path between the trees. He reached the very foot and stood looking round him in the enclosed gloom. It was indeed, he thought, like the bottom of a well-except that the air was warm and the stones now seemed dry underfoot. From above he could hear no sound of his companions and after a little began to make his way towards the glow of the fire and the lapping water beyond.

It was irregular, this shore among the trees, and paved with the same stone as the ledges above. As far as he could discern, it was laid out as a garden. Patches of ground between the paving had been planted with bushes, fruit-trees and flowering plants. He came upon a clustering tendriona, trained on trellises to form an arbour, and could smell the ripe fruit among the leaves above him. Reaching up, he pulled one down, split the thin rind and ate as he wandered on. Scrambling over a low wall, he found himself on the brink of a channel perhaps six or seven paces across. Water-lilies and arrow head were blooming in the scarcely-moving water at his feet, but in the middle there was a smooth flow and this, he guessed, must be the re-gathered stream from the ledges. He crossed a narrow foot-bridge and saw before him a circular space, paved in a symmetrical pattern of dark and light. In the centre stood a flat-topped stone, roughly ovoid and carved with a star-like symbol. Beyond, the fire was glow ing red in an iron brazier.

His weariness and dread returned upon him. Unconsciously, he had thought of the waterside and the fire as the end of the night's journey. What end he did not know; but where there was a fire, might one not have expected to find people - and rest? His impulse on the ledges had been both foolish and impertinent. The priestess had not told him to come here; her destination might be elsewhere. Now there were only the starlit solitude and the pain in his shoulder. He thought of returning, but could not face it. Perhaps, after all, they would come soon. Limping across to the stone, he sat down, elbow on knee, rested his head on his hand and closed his eyes,

He fell into an uneasy, slightly feverish doze, in which the happen ings of the long day began to recur, dream-like and confused. He imagined himself to be crouching once more in the canoe, listening to the knock and slap of water in the dark. But it was on the Darmain's that he landed, and once again refused to tell what he had seen. The Darmain grew angry and forced him to his knees, threatening him with his hot knife as the folds of his fur cloak rippled and became a huge, shaggy pelt, dark and undulant as a cypress tree.

'By the Bear!' hissed the Chief. "You will no longer choose!'

'I can speak only to the Tugindal' cried the hunter aloud.

He started to his feet, open-eyed. Before him, on the chequered pavement, was standing a woman of perhaps forty-five years of age. She had a strong, shrewd face and was dressed like a servant or a peasant's wife. Her arms were bare to the elbow and in one hand she was carrying a wooden ladle. Looking at her in the starlight, he felt reassured by her homely, sensible appearance. At least there was evidently cooking in this island of sorcery, and a straightforward, familiar sort of spare. person to do it. Perhaps she might have some food to

'Crendro' (I see you), said the woman, using the colloquial greet ing of Ortelga.

'Crendro,' replied the hunter. 'You have come down the Ledges?' asked the woman.

'Alone?'

'Yes.' "The priestess and the High Chief of Ortelga are following - at least, so I hope.' He raised one hand to his head. 'Forgive me. I'm tired out and my shoulder's painful." 'Sit down again.' He did so.

"Why are you here - on Quiso?'

"That I must not tell you. I have a message - a message for the

Tuginda. I can tell it only to the Tuginda.' 'Yourself? Is it not for your High Chief, then, to tell the Tuginda?' 'No. It is for myself to do so.' To avoid saying more, he asked,

"What is this stone?"

'It's very old. It fell from the sky. Would you like some food? Perhaps I can make your shoulder more comfortable.' 'It's good of you. I'd like to eat, and to rest too. But the Tuginda -

my message-' 'It will be all right. Come this way, with me.' She took him by the hand and at the same moment he saw the priestess and Bel-ka-Trazet approaching over the bridge. At the sight of his companion the High Chief stopped, bent his head and raised

his palm to his brow.