‘What kind of a creature is it that lies in one place and has its eyes everywhere?’ Dacu said, frowning. ‘How can such a thing be?’
‘More to the point, how can we find it in this endless maze?’ Tybek added. ‘And if we do find it, how do we know we’ll fare any better than we did against those… things… down there?’
Andawyr looked at Dacu. ‘It’s His creature, Goraidin, an abomination, and like all his creatures, it does what it does at some great cost-either to someone or something, or both. Destroying it will do far greater good than just protecting us.’
He turned to Tybek. ‘And we’ll find it through knowledge,’ he said.
Tybek looked at him owlishly.
‘No, but I know about it,’ Andawyr said, answering his unspoken question. ‘I’ve faced it, wrestled with it, and made it know fear. For a timeless blink of the eye, I was it, and it, me. My knowledge of our needs will bring me to it just as they’ve brought us through these caves.’
‘I won’t pretend to understand,’ Tybek said. ‘But I’ve followed you blindly so far and I suppose I’ll continue to do so.’ He pounded his leg in emphasis. ‘But this thing could be anywhere.’
Andawyr smiled. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Not anywhere. It will be deep below ground. Bedded to a certain kind of rock. A rock that I fear you carvers will feel before I do. And thus it can only be in these southern mountains. As for destroying it, well, rest assured, we’ll have a greater chance than we had against the sphrite and the other denizens of these caves we’ve met.’
Hawklan looked at Tybek and the others. They were none of them wholly satisfied by what Andawyr had said, but the brief exchange had made them easier simply by voicing their hidden fears.
After they had rested a little longer, the consensus was to move on and make camp at such a time as the ‘elders’ declared it was evening.
Thus they set off once again, following Andawyr into the darkness. They moved steadily through the day, meeting no animals, nor coming upon any vast open spaces, though the tunnels and caverns through which they passed still had an eerie aura about them, the more so as the walls were not infrequently riddled with numerous smaller openings.
The route they followed was generally upwards. Indeed, some of the inclines they encountered were both rugged and steep, though the relief at moving dramati-cally nearer the surface far outweighed the discomfort of the effort involved.
When finally they camped, it was in a wide cavern through which a small stream tumbled noisily. Its water was bitterly cold, but it was pronounced fresh and, after everyone had refilled their water bags, the hardier amongst them endeavoured to remove the excess grime that had accumulated on their journey.
Isloman caused no small stir by stripping to the waist and then both scrubbing and drying himself with rolling handfuls of small pebbles that he had gleefully spotted on the bed of the stream. Having witnessed such a sight many times before Hawklan laughed openly at the discomfiture of the others. When he had finished, Isloman was glowing. Beaming, he held out two great handfuls of the pebbles to the gaping watchers, a look of invitation in his eyes, but the curious circle widened suddenly with much head shaking, and, with a loud chuckle and an oddly gentle movement, Isloman returned the pebbles back to the stream.
As the small commotion died away, Hawklan’s gaze fell on Yrain. She was drying her hands and looking at them closely: the bandaged finger, shorter than the others, the split and broken nails, the calluses and roughened skin that gloves had failed to prevent, the dirt which the cold stream water could not move. They were like those of a man who had been toiling long in the field. Quietly she walked away from the camp and sat on a rock with her head bowed.
After a while, Hawklan went over to her. She looked up as he approached; her face was tear-stained. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, streaking the tears across her face with the back of her hand.
‘Don’t be,’ he replied simply. ‘Do you want to talk about anything… your hand?’
Yrain held out her injured hand and turned it over once or twice, her face set. ‘I’d rather be doing almost anything in the world than this,’ she said, though her voice was quiet and calm.
Hawklan bowed his head. Yrain continued examin-ing her hands.
‘They cut that girl from Wosod Heath to pieces, didn’t they?’ she went on after a long silence, gently, curiously almost, massaging the end of her mutilated finger.
Hawklan frowned for a moment, until the memory of the fallen skirmisher charging alone against the enraged Morlider came back to him. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I don’t want that to happen to me,’ Yrain said.
Hawklan could not find the words to answer her. ‘She was dead when it happened,’ he offered.
Yrain’s eyes pivoted up to his though her head did not move. They were dark with scorn and anger. For a moment Hawklan felt a seething anger of his own rise in response, but he forced it down, and as he did so, Yrain’s own expression changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I suppose I’m in shock, aren’t I?’
‘A little, maybe,’ Hawklan replied. ‘But mainly you’re just facing up to feeling lost and frightened. You’ll be the stronger for it.’ She looked doubtful, and Hawklan sat down beside her. ‘Look at Isloman and Dacu, over there,’ he said. The big carver, dressed now, but still apparently aglow, was wandering about with the Goraidin, showing him different rocks and talking earnestly. ‘They seem so strong-they are strong-because they face their fears all the time, and they know that only fear of fear is the real enemy. They value everything and cling to nothing.’
Yrain watched the two men for a moment, then she turned to him, ‘And you, Hawklan?’ she said.
‘And me, I hope,’ Hawklan said, with a faint smile. ‘Like you, I’d rather be doing almost anything in the world than this.’ He looked at her and sensed her easing away from her pain a little. ‘But like them, I won’t let that desire burden me.’ He stood up and looked down at her. ‘Nor will you, Yrain; you know that. Or when they move to cut you to pieces, they’ll succeed, won’t they?’
She grimaced as she nodded, then pulled her gloves on determinedly. ‘Andawyr wants you,’ she said, standing up and nodding her head towards the Cadwanwr who was gesticulating vigorously from one end of the chamber.
Hawklan looked at her for a moment.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I’m all right now. It was just a little tiredness.’ She held up her gloved hand. ‘Look, five fingers,’ she said, smiling ruefully.
As Hawklan walked over to Andawyr, he saw that the little man was signalling Isloman also.
‘What is it?’ Hawklan said, as both he and Isloman reached him.
‘This way,’ Andawyr said. ‘See what you think.’
Turning up his torch he led them away from the camp and around a rocky outcrop. Beyond it lay another chamber about the same size as the one they were camped in.
‘Here,’ he said, moving up a small slope along one side.
As the two men followed him, the shadows gave way to reveal a series of openings in the wall.
‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Which way?’
The two men looked at him uncertainly. Apart from the Alphraan at the depths of their journey, not once had Andawyr asked for advice on the choice of route, and these openings seemed no different from countless others that he had chosen between previously.
‘Well…?’ he pressed.
Hawklan was about to protest his ignorance when Isloman stepped past him and walked to one of the openings. He stood there for a moment then stepped inside and, without turning, beckoned Hawklan.
As he walked forward, Hawklan faltered. Faintly, he felt something; something repellent. Then it was gone, like a distant cry carried by a powerful wind.
Isloman too was leaning forward, his face intent, as if trying to catch an elusive sound or scent.
Hawklan became aware of Andawyr by his side, expectant, but silent.
Isloman turned to the Cadwanwr. ‘This is the rock that this creature lives in?’ he asked.