They all said their farewells and then Zara and Lananeth moved a little way up the road, followed by the two horses. They turned and faced the animals head-on. The horses bowed their heads. The two magicians, Lananeth glancing from time to time at Zara, like an apprentice following a master through some unfamiliar task, placed their hands on either side of the long skulls and lowered their own heads until the brows, horse and human, touched. Tilja felt nothing, but Meena and the boys reeled with the rush of magic as the human shapes shimmered, faded and vanished. The horses swung round, switched their tails and raced away up the road while Calico whinnied with distress at their going.
17
The Forest Edge
In their haste to be home they made long marches, and in no more time than the shorter outward journey from El-lion’s house had taken them they reached Salata’s encampment. She and her daughters ran to meet them, full of welcome, and then of confusion when Salata found not the Meena she knew and longed to thank, but a lively girl less than half her own age, so her thanks were confused and doubtful.
Her husband, Gahan, was a square, sturdy man who had been with his regiment in some western province at the time of the Emperor’s death. Like most of his comrades he had taken advantage of the confusion to desert, and had made his way home through the turmoil that followed the fall of the Watchers, and come through the Pirrim Hills before the waking of the pines. On the way he had seen enough horrors and marvels to be able to accept anything, so he could thank Meena more simply. He said he would be glad to take them as far as the old road that the Emperors had built before the sickness in the forest had closed the way north.
Salata told them that a third magician had already reached Ellion’s house, and so it was safe from any attack for the time being.
“It can’t be Aileth already,” said Tahl. “She’s right out on the Grand Trunk Road, and that’s days and days away, even for a galloping horse.”
“It must depend on the magician,” said Tilja. “Faheel told me he could have gone to Talagh in an instant without me, and Zara said Aileth had twice her powers.”
“You know what,” said Meena slowly. “I’m getting a feeling about all this—what’s been happening to us since we left the Valley. And before, I daresay. It’s felt like just one thing after another, no connection, but it wasn’t. It’s been all connected, like it was meant to happen. And the same with those three women at Ellion’s house. They haven’t just come there all on their own. They’re supposed to be there. I don’t know what for, no more than they do, but that’s what’s happening.”
“Why don’t you ask your spoons?” said Salata. “I’d love to see them again.”
Meena looked at her and sighed and shook her head. All the way north she had carried the spoons as before in the bag beneath her skirt. It would have been dangerous, of course, to try to use them, but she had never once even mentioned them. Partly, Tilja guessed, this was because they belonged in what Meena called her memory-room, and she didn’t go in there except for some definite purpose; but also, perhaps, there was a kind of grief involved. Axtrig had been alive, like a person, an old, old friend of the family. They had called her “she.” Now there was just this “it.” The old friend was dead.
“Oh, please, Meena,” said Salata’s younger daughter. “I want Da to see.”
Meena sighed again, shrugged and pulled out the bag, laid out the cloth and set the spoons on it. She picked up each of the darker ones and put them back, hesitated and picked up Axtrig. With another sigh she unstoppered the flask and rubbed a drop of oil onto the bowl. She laid the spoon down, leaned forward and concentrated.
“Yes,” she whispered, “yes . . . just a little something . . .”
It was a long time before she straightened and put the spoons away.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t like when we were here before, clear as clear. It was more like it used to be in the Valley, little bits of stuff you’ve got to decide what they mean. Anyway, far as I can make out, somebody’s coming. Or something. And there’s people waiting for him. Or her, or it, but somehow I think it’s a him. Waiting in two places, it looks like, but . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Tilja bowed her head, trying to hide the shock of recognition. The three magicians at Ellion’s house, she thought. And me, here. And Meena and Alnor and Tahl. All waiting for the Ropemaker.
And then, with a great surge of relief, He’s coming. He’s alive. Moonfist hasn’t found him yet. And I won’t need to send for him.
She felt the silence and looked up. Everyone’s eyes were on her. Even the two dogs were staring. But there were differences. The bright look of interest in the dogs’ eyes was just that, interest because they were aware of Tilja’s being the center of attention. Salata and her daughters were simply puzzled by the reaction of their visitors to what Meena had said, or rather started to say and not finished. Tahl had his head bowed and was gazing steadfastly at his own clenched fists, but Alnor and Meena were staring directly at her, all with a look that said, Now, surely, at last, you’re going to tell us.
“I . . . I . . . ,” she began, and bit her lip and turned away. She didn’t dare. All three were already far too close to the deadly knowledge. Soon, soon, the Ropemaker would be coming, and then they’d understand.
If Axtrig was right.
It was not yet dawn when they rose next morning and said goodbye to Salata. They reached the old road a little before dark, and there they built a fire and camped, Gahan staying the night to see them safely on their way next day.
The road wound north through barren scrubby hills. Despite its age, it was almost as easy going as the one they had traveled from Talagh, because the Emperor’s engineers had put it in order less than three years earlier, when he had sent his army north to try to fulfill his vow to recapture the Valley. The bridges were sound and the wells and rain cisterns held water for an army on the march.
On the second afternoon they climbed a low pass and saw the dark mass of the forest stretching away east and west, in the full glow of its autumn color. Already there was a smell of winter in the wind. Beyond the treetops, a little above the horizon, or so it seemed, ran a wavering white line, and they knew that they were looking at the snowy peaks of the northern mountains. The sight made Woodbourne seem so near that Tilja felt that she could almost have reached out over the trees and stroked its roofs. The thought steadied her for what she had to do.
The wind, which for many days had blown dry and gentle from the east, had swung unnoticed to the north, and had a new feel to it, colder but softer. Above the snow peaks clouds were massing.
“Looks like we’re in for a wet night,” said Meena.
“We’ll find a place to camp,” said Alnor. “Then, if there’s time before dark, we’ll go a little way in among the trees and see whether Tahl and I feel the sickness.”
“Best let me go in on my own first,” said Meena. “See if I can find a cedar, tell me what’s up.”
“Take Tilja along,” said Tahl. “It’s just the sort of place bad stuff might be hiding. All right, Til?”
Tilja hesitated. Meena should be all right in the forest, surely. The trees were her friends. And she ought to stay with Tahl. He was their danger point. But once again she couldn’t explain. At least, she thought, with something like relief, this is the last time. Tomorrow I’ll be able to tell them everything. If we’re all four still alive.