He was not totally without human contact. He traded skins with someone in Ruatvil for the few essentials he needed—salt and needles and perhaps others. A comb would be an excellent innovation, Eleal thought, regarding the undergrowth in his beard.
He listened to her story with mad grimaces. He frowned when she mentioned reapers, leered when she talked about crazy old Sister Ahn, and pulled faces of fierce disapproval when she described the harlots in the temple, but he might be just reacting to her tone or facial expressions.
She wondered what T'lin and Sister Ahn had made of her disappearance. They would expect her to come staggering out of the forest all repentant. Well, she wasn't going to! She could stay here, with Porith. Tion had sent the caveman to help her.
Night had fallen. The festival would be starting about now, with the service in the temple. Funny—the temple was only a few miles from Ruatvil. She might even be able to see the lights of the procession if she went out to the cliff edge. She wasn't going to, though. Of course it was on the other side of the river and to reach it on foot would be a very long day's walk.
To break the chain of prophecy—that was how the Thargian had described Garward Karzon's attack on Iilah's sacred grove. The world may be changed, Dolm Actor had said. Dolm must still believe she was safely locked up in Ois's temple in Narsh, plucking chickens—unless Zath had informed him otherwise. Who could hide from the god of death?
Well, another god could, because gods were immortal. She must not forget that Tion had rescued her from prison and sent Porith to pull her up the cliff. Tion was on her side! He would protect her still.
"Trumb will eclipse tonight, won't he?” she said, and Porith nodded, pulling faces.
Why was she so apprehensive about an eclipse of the big moon? It happened just about every fortnight, if the weather was good. Sometimes Trumb eclipsed twice in a fortnight, and then the temples were filled as the priests sought to avert misfortune. There were even stories of three eclipses in one fortnight, which meant someone very important was about to die.
She was worried over that silly rhyme about reapers filling sacks, that was all. In a couple of days, very likely, Wyseth would eclipse too, and day turn to night. That ought to be a lot more hair-raising, but somehow it never was.
She chewed another root. She must not expect first-class fare while she stayed with a caveman. Seven days would do it. If her host would let her stay with him until the end of the festival, then she would feel safe to return to civilization, because the prophecy would no longer apply.
Tion had provided the aid she had prayed for. He had brought her to this sanctuary.
What did the god want in return, though? The prophecy fulfilled? If she had been saved by a miracle, then surely it must have been so that she could fulfill her destiny. She was a Historic Personage. She was to help the Liberator—Eleal shall wash him and so on. The Liberator would bring death to Death.
Death was Zath, Dolm's god, the god who had sent the reapers after her. If Eleal Singer wanted anything, surely she ought to want to get her own back on Zath?
Trumb would eclipse tonight. The festival had begun. The Liberator might come tonight. Maybe tomorrow or any other time in the next half fortnight—by night, she thought, not by day. And Trumb would eclipse tonight.
She looked across the glowing embers and their tiny flickering flames to mad old Porith, who was hugging his knees with arms like brown ropes, and watching her through the crazy glitter of his eyes.
"I have to go to the Sacrarium, don't I?” she whispered.
He nodded.
"Holy Tion brought me here to Sussland so that the prophecy can be fulfilled,” she said, working it out. Nod. “If I am ever to succeed in my chosen career as an actor, I must do as my god commands.” Nod. “He guided my steps today so I could overhear those two blasphemers, because I learned a lot from them."
For some reason Eleal Singer had to wash and clothe a grown man and then the world would be changed.
The Liberator was coming. If she did not go and watch, she would never forgive herself. Just watch—she need not do anything.
"That horrible Ois wants me kept away, so that means I should go!” Nod. “And afterward I'll be safe, too, because I'll have played my part in the prophecy!” Nod. “The Thargian said something about, ‘until the Liberator arrives!’ He meant that as soon as that happens, then the reapers will go for him and not me!” Nod, leer. “Then I won't matter to anyone anymore. So I'd better do what I have to do and get it over!"
Nod.
"Will you come with me?"
Porith shook his head violently.
She felt disappointed by that, but of course he was not protected by any god specially and not mentioned ... yes he was! “But I'll bring the Liberator back here?"
Another violent shake—so violent that the old man's white hair and beard seemed to lash to and fro.
"It is prophesied! I told you!"
Porith cringed down as if he were sinking into the ground. He made little whimpering noises. Probably he hid in his burrow if anyone came near—it was only her youth and distress that had persuaded him to reveal his existence to her. He was a crazy old recluse.
"The Testament doesn't say I bring the Liberator to the cave!” Eleal said sharply. “It says I bring him to the caveman! That's you! For succor. So you stay here and be prepared to give succor!"
The sky was darkening, Trumb glowing brighter. She felt sick with fear, but she had known that feeling before. It was only stage fright. That thought cheered her up. This was her greatest role! Tonight she played for history and the gods themselves were in the audience! All the same, she had better get on with it or she might lose her resolve. She might even faint.
"Now, what's the quickest way to the Sacrarium? Can I walk around the cliff edge?"
Nod.
She frowned at her bare feet, already sore and blistered. She eyed the pile of furs—moleskins, she assumed. “Could you make a pair of slippers? Just furs with sort of laces, maybe, to keep them on?"
Porith leered and nodded again, but made no move.
"Well, get started, then!” she said.
ACT IV
DUET
43
THE CLIFF EDGE WAS EASIER WALKING THAN THE JUNGLE, because there was a lot of bare rock there. At times she had to choose between undergrowth and hair-raising acrobatics, but she made good progress. Soon she saw a distant twinkle of lights and guessed they were the bonfires at the temple.
I do your bidding, Holy Tion. Watch over me!
She began to worry that she might go right past the Sacrarium without seeing it. She should have asked the mad old hermit to give her directions. Well, if she arrived at the ruined bridge, she would know she had gone too far. And in the end there was no doubt. The forest thinned and she saw bare pillars standing over the trees, palely shining in Trumb's uncanny light.
Then she became very cautious. The distance was not great, but she moved one step at a time, feeling for her footing so she would not crack twigs or stumble on rocks. Her fur slippers were very good for that. She lifted branches out of the way; she stooped and at times even crawled on hands and knees. She clambered carefully over the fragments of masonry strewn around. There was no hurry—she had all night. She assumed that the forest was full of reapers, and that helped her to concentrate.