The Crow (31 page)

Zelika drew in a sudden, sharp breath, as if something had hurt her. Saliman glanced at her.

"I warn you all: now we must be careful. Nothing will harm us here, save what we bring with us. So have a care of what you dream. Now," Saliman closed his eyes, "I remember, when I was a small boy, and like you, Hem, loved sweet fruits: sometimes I was allowed to go and stay with my grandmother. My grandmother lived in a house about twenty leagues from Turbansk, past the Jiela Hills. It was a little white stone house enclosed by a whitewashed stone wall, and around it were groves of almond and cherry trees, and a great stand of date palms.

"My grandmother was a famous gardener, and in her private garden she grew many aromatic plants for the herbalists and perfumers. There were frankincense trees, with their strange fleshy branches and fragrant sap, and galbanum and spikenard and camphor; and at the feet of the trees grew narcissi and geraniums and roses. I loved nothing better than to enter that garden of perfumes, to gather the white tears of the sap of galbanum, or to lie on the flagstones by the pond and close my eyes and let the scents drift over me."

Saliman's warm voice resonated through the stone passage, and the others listened, enchanted by the lovely vision. Hem could see the house and garden vividly with his inner eye, as if it stood before him.

"The gate to that garden was wrought of black iron," said Saliman. "It was shaped to fit the archway, and through its grille you could see the trees and flowers, and the breeze would bring you faint wafts of perfume. The iron was fashioned as little six-sided flowers, each fitting ingeniously into the other, and it was never locked. When you pushed it with your hand, it groaned faintly, and swung open. And then, you stepped through into my grandmother's garden."

There was a short silence, and Saliman lifted his head and stared toward the end of the passage. For the briefest moment it seemed to Hem that a white wall glimmered there, and a wrought-iron gate, and through it a sifting vision of sunlight and green leaves, which vanished to bare stone.

"Soron, you go last, and guide these children," said Saliman. "Remember what I have said. Each of us must make our own gate." Then he walked to the end of the passage, and seemed to pass straight through the blank wall.

Hem blinked and Zelika gasped. Soron looked at the children. He had hardly spoken at all in their long wending through the caves, and now it seemed to Hem that he had changed: there was a toughness in his voice that the boy had not heard before.

"Zelika, Hem; Saliman just showed you what to do. Now you must do it."

"But I'm not a Bard like you," said Zelika, her voice wavering. "I can't do magery."

"The magery does not come from you, but from this place," Soron answered. "Come, have faith. There is no other way."

There was a short pause, and Hem heard Zelika swallow.

"Do I have to say it out loud, like Saliman did?" she asked.

"No," said Soron. "You must just see it in your mind. The walls will hear, and shape themselves. Now, Zelika: you first."

Zelika shut her eyes, concentrating hard. There was a long silence, and she opened them.

"It won't work," she said flatly.
"1
told you."

"Zelika," said Soron patiently. "There is no other way. Think of a gate. Think of what it feels like. What it is like to open it. What lies beyond it."

She stared at Soron, her mouth a straight line. Then she shut her eyes again.

This time the darkness shimmered at the end of the passage, and Hem briefly glimpsed a nimbus of golden light and a hint of waving green and white, like a tree in flower. Zelika's eyes snapped open. An expression of wonder and delight flickered over her face, and she ran to the end of the passage and vanished through the wall.

Soron turned to Hem. "That was the hard one," he said. "Now you, Hem." Hem sorted through his memories, wondering what it was that Zelika had seen. As he did so, he felt a small stab of envy: his memories had not the beauty of Saliman's. He could remember best the gate of the orphanage. It was made of thick, weathered wood, and it was always bolted fast. There was the gate of the house in Edinur, where he had briefly stayed with the Hulls, but that memory filled him with horror, and he dismissed it.

He shut his eyes, and summoned the orphanage gate to his mind's eye. It was of silver wood, so hardened and polished with age it was impossible to tell of what kind, and almost completely plain. It had once been washed with lime, and near the top was a crack. If you looked closely, you could see, very faintly, the patterns of knotholes in the wood. To the side was a tarnished brass handle, which turned and lifted a latch. When you opened it...

Ire gave a soft caw. A breath of cool air, like the air of a street in far-off Edinur, buffeted Hem's cheek. He opened his eyes, and he gasped. He was standing in a tunnel of stone, but at the far end, bathed in shifting sunlight, stood the gate to the orphanage.

"Quick, go through," whispered Soron, who was watching Hem closely. "There is not much time."

Hesitantly, Hem walked to the end of the passage. He knew the gate was not real, he knew he stood deep inside the earth, hundreds of leagues from Edinur; and yet he walked in cool, silver sunlight down an Annaren street. He put out his hand and touched the latch; the gate opened, and he passed through.

The gate shut behind him, and the sunlight vanished. Ire, who had been standing on Hem's shoulder trembling with joy, made a small, woeful noise and hid his eyes again. They were in another rocky passage, stretching forward into the dark, and behind Hem was an unpassable wall of stone. Nearby, he could hear the sound of running water. After his brief vision of the outside world, it seemed even colder and darker than before.

Saliman and Zelika stood nearby, in the unwavering magelight. Zelika, Hem saw, was in tears, and Saliman's hand was on her shoulder; neither of them spoke when they saw Hem, but merely nodded in greeting.

Shortly afterward, as Hem watched, fascinated, the blank stone seemed to shimmer, and Soron emerged through the wall.

"Now for the final gate," said Soron softly.

"What is this one?" asked Hem.

"The Gate of Water," said Saliman. "Come."

Saliman led them briskly down the tunnel. The roof now ran lower, so Saliman and Soron both had to stoop. In the confined space the sound of running water became louder and louder, its echo bouncing around the walls so that it was impossible to tell where it came from. It could have been a river running behind a wall of rock next to them, or even above them.

Before long the passage widened again, the walls drawing away from them, and the ground changed beneath their feet from rock to pale sand. The sound of running water grew louder still. At last they reached a fall of water, sparkling silver in the magelight, that blocked their way. Hem realized that an underground river must run high over their heads, and now plunged down into a deep abyss in front of them. He could not see how far the water fell, or what was beyond it, and the spray struck up a fine mist, wetting his face.

The roar of the river was so loud that he could not at first hear what Saliman said, and knew he was speaking only because his mouth moved. Saliman gestured them close to him, shouting into their ears.

"This will take some time," he said. "We cannot make a magelight here: once past the water, there is a force that blocks all magery. Follow me closely, one by one. Soron, you come last. Hem, you first: stay very close to me, and step where I tell you. Take care that you do not slip; some of the rocks are slimy."

Hem nodded, and followed Saliman. He saw that a path curved around the extreme side of the tunnel, around the edge of the waterfall; it was certainly made by human hands. Saliman went cautiously, testing each step as he went, and Hem concentrated on placing his feet exactly where Saliman placed his. Saliman was right: the rock was in places very slippery.

Carefully and slowly they rounded the edge of the cave, and soon were almost underneath the waterfall, protected from being washed away only by an overhanging lip of rock. The path here was very narrow, scarcely wider than a man's foot was long, and there was nothing to hold on to. Saliman's magelight went out; and, his heart in his mouth, Hem leaned into the wall and tried to ignore the noise to his left, where massive volumes of water plunged down unseen – who knew how far – into some unimaginable gulf. Ire clung to his accustomed place on Hem's shoulder, hating the roar of the water and the utter blackness. It seemed to take an age, but at last the path widened, and then ran out onto a broader ledge.

Saliman paused here, breathing heavily. "The first part is over," he said. "We can rest here a short time."

Hem nodded and gingerly sat down, feeling the space with his hands. He felt more exhausted than their progress along the path, in truth a short way, seemed to warrant.

After too brief a break, they resumed their journey. This was challenging in a different way; they carefully made their way up a path as narrow as that which had skirted the waterfall, and so steep it was nearly vertical. Hem scrambled behind Saliman, feeling for each footand handhold, listening to Saliman's instructions, while Ire, night-blind, hung on painfully to his hair. The roar of the river gradually subsided behind them.

Despite the chill, Hem was dripping with sweat when they at last clambered over a lip of stone and fell onto level ground. He lay like a stranded fish, gulping in the air, dizzy with relief. Ire celebrated by pecking his face. Hem pushed the bird away.

It's all right for some,
he said to Ire.
Some creatures didn't have to climb.

Ire cawed complacently. He was more at ease now that they were no longer in an enclosed space.

"We're almost there, Hem," said Saliman. "I'll show you where you have come."

Saliman spread his hands, and a silver light filled the cavern. Hem blinked, and then crawled to the edge of the rock. What he saw made his whole body go cold. He was looking over the edge of a high cliff. He could see the dark line of the path he had just climbed, which plunged down some hundred spans and then turned sharply right onto the ledge where he and Saliman had rested. Then, if he squinted, he could see the narrow path that skirted the waterfall, until it disappeared into the spray of water and the darkness.

For the first time he realized what would have happened if he had slipped and fallen. The waterfall plunged down, long past the tiny path, into an abyss so deep he could not see the bottom. If he had known the full extent of the risk, he would have been almost paralyzed with fear. His blindness had been a mercy.

The illumination dimmed back to the tiny magelight, and Hem sat on the ledge, his heart hammering against his ribs with delayed terror.

"And you're going to do that four times?" he asked, sitting up and staring at Saliman with his mouth open. "Five, there and back, actually." Saliman smiled at him tiredly. "Make a magelight, Hem, and wait for me. It will seem a long time, waiting here. But I will come back. Zelika is next."

Impulsively, Hem leaned forward and embraced Saliman. "May the Light guide your feet," he said, his mouth dry.

Saliman returned Hem's embrace, with a sudden, surprised tenderness. Then he opened his pack and took out a length of rope. He tied it around an outcrop of rock, carefully testing the knot, and threw it down the path.

"Going down won't be as hard as coming up," he said, grinning. "I'll return. Be patient." Then he grabbed the rope in his hands and let himself down the side of the cliff, into the darkness. His magelight went out. Hem remembered Saliman's instruction to make his own, and swiftly conjured one. He drank a couple of mouthfuls of water, nibbled some dried dates from his pack, and gave Ire a bit of dried meat. Then he composed himself to wait, trying not to think of what might happen if something went wrong.

As Saliman had warned, it seemed a very long time before he appeared again with Zelika. Hem felt very alone and very small, sitting in the dim, unchanging light above that terrifying abyss, with nothing to mark the passing of time. He tried to rest, but anxieties kept running through his mind like little mice: what if? what if? what if? He couldn't rid himself of them. At last he saw the rope tighten, and he scrambled to the edge of the cliff, carefully looking down to see Zelika and Saliman clambering up the final steep path and, as Hem had, climbing over the edge and collapsing. For a time, Saliman lay on his back, his chest heaving.

"It's bad enough having to do this once," he said. "Well, I can't keep Soron waiting too long." Then he disappeared again.

With Zelika's company, the waiting was not so bad. The children whiled away the time playing an old Annaren game – knife, cloth, stone – that Hem had taught Zelika back in Turbansk. The rhythm of their chanting was soothing, and it seemed much quicker this time before Saliman reappeared with Soron.

Saliman simply lay down and didn't move for a while. Soron collapsed to the ground, his limbs trembling. After a short time he sat up and looked at the children. He reached for his pack and took out a flask of medhyl.

"By the Light, I hope I never have to journey that way ever again," he said. "That is the worst thing I have ever had to do."

"It was pretty bad," said Hem. "Saliman showed me what it looks like out there."

Soron shuddered. "I don't have to look," he said. "I could
feel
it." He took another gulp of the medhyl. "I do not like heights. And I almost fell."

"You slipped?" said Zelika.

"Aye, my feet are not so nimble as yours," said Soron. "I stumbled on that horrible narrow path. It felt like a very bad nightmare. I do not know how Saliman stopped me."

"Neither do I," said Saliman, from the ground. His chest was still heaving. "It was a near thing. But I did, and that is all that matters. Give me some of that medhyl, my friend; I need it too."

Soron shuddered again, and handed Saliman the flask. "I thank you, Saliman, from the bottom of my heart. Though my gratitude seems a poor return for my life."