The Shadow at the Gate (50 page)

“Wait,” said Jute. “Don’t you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

The two men stared at him.

“There’s a breeze.”

“No, there isn’t,” said Ronan irritably. “Wind is one of the first things I would’ve sensed. Wind, scent, sign, even the residue of old magic. There’s nothing here.”

“There’s a breeze.”

The flames of their three torches burned motionless in the air. Their shadows waited on the walls around them, as still and as silent as they were themselves.

“It’s coming from the middle tunnel.”

“Remember who this boy is,” said the hawk.

Ronan glanced at Jute. His hand strayed up to his neck, and then he strode forward into the middle tunnel. He set a fast pace from there, so fast that Jute had to half run to keep up with him. Severan had the worst of it and stumbled along behind, grumbling until Ronan reminded him of what was hurrying along on their trail.

“They’ll have no trouble following us,” said Ronan grimly. “The smell of our sweat, the smell of our torch smoke.”

At every juncture they came to, Jute indicated which split in the tunnel they should take. He realized that he wasn’t precisely feeling a breeze as if it blew against his skin. There was no wind in the tunnels. Rather, it blew within his mind. He could feel it breezing on the edge of his thoughts.

The tunnel widened out into a sort of hall. Pillars lined the walls on either side, carved out of the rock. They rose up like tree trunks into the ceiling, which, upon closer inspection, was carved to resemble a matted expanse of branches.

“Here’s the bottomless hole you were hoping for,” said Ronan.

The floor was shattered in the center of the hall. A hole plunged down into the darkness below, surrounded by the rubble of paving stones. They skirted around the hole. Severan shuddered.

“Imagine the surprise of those standing here when the floor broke.”

“I think the floor was broken from underneath.” Ronan crouched down. “Look at how the stones are scattered.”

“What could’ve done something like that?” asked Jute. Fascinated, he stared at the hole. The hawk shifted on his shoulder.

There are creatures in this world unknown to man. Ancient creatures who have crept away from the light, down into the depths and the hidden places of the earth. There are paths in the darkness that should never be trod. Particularly for those of us who love the sky.

Jute realized then that the hawk trembled on his shoulder. That he had been quivering ever since they had entered the passages below the university. He could hear the light, jittering pulse of the bird’s heart. With a shock, he became aware of his own heart. Racing, unsteady, and uncertain. Sweat burned in his eyes. He gulped air, but there wasn’t enough. The torch shook in his hand and the shadows swayed around him.

Sky.

The ceiling was too low.

The ceiling was lowering.

Have to get out.

Sky.

Jute felt the hawk’s beak against his chin. The bird gazed into his eyes.

Peace.

And then, out of darkness, their torchlight shone on a stone stairway. It rose out of sight and past the reach of their light. They ran and it seemed if the stairs would never end. But there was the scent of water. A breeze sprang up and light glimmered ahead of them, higher up.

“It’s morning,” called out Ronan.

The steps were cracked and broken here. Tree roots reached through the rock in tangled masses. And then the steps ended and light blazed, shining through the roots. They blinked, blinded by it, and scrambled up through a small, choked hole, fighting past roots and feeling the earth crumbling away beneath their feet. The blaze of light was all around them and they could scarcely see for the brilliance of it.

“The sky,” said the hawk, and he launched free from Jute’s shoulder.

They stood at the base of a huge oak tree growing at the bottom of a steep bank. Brambleberries grew there in profusion, thick with blueberries and sweetly scenting the air. Further down the valley, beyond a tasseled cornfield, the Rennet flowed. Far behind them, the walls of Hearne rose in the west, painted gold and white in the morning light.

“We mustn’t rest here,” said Ronan.

He shrugged his cloak closer around his shoulders and then strode down toward the river. The others followed him, so weary and so glad that they could not speak.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

OLD FRIENDS IN THE LOME FOREST

It began to rain again that morning.

“Marvelous,” said Levoreth. “Drenched as well. What a dreadful day. I imagine it will get worse.”

It was difficult to see clearly in any direction. Everything was gray and wet and muddy. She guessed that she was somewhere in the southeastern fringe of the Scarpe plain. She trudged along, her shoes squelching through the mud. After some time, however, the ground began to rise. It was a gentle rise, but a rise nonetheless.

“There aren’t any hills on the Scarpe,” said Levoreth to herself. “At least, not here.”

When she came to the top of the rise, she found herself looking down an incline toward a line of trees in the distance. Beyond them stretched a darker mass that vanished into the rain and the gloom. She had come much farther east than she had thought—right to the edge of the Lome forest. Levoreth shrugged, sighed, and then made her way down the slope. At least there would be some shelter. It was considerably drier under the trees. The rain pattered in the branches and drip-dropped down into the undergrowth. She sat on a fallen branch and did her best to clean the mud from her shoes with a handful of pine needles.

“Drat,” she said.

A squirrel peered out of a hole in a nearby oak and stared at her. It disappeared again before she could say anything, but then instantly reappeared with something clutched in its paws. Tail flying, it scampered down the tree and across the ground to her.

A walnut?
Levoreth smiled.
Thank you, but I fear the shell too sturdy for my teeth.

Undeterred, the squirrel popped the walnut into its mouth and bit down.

Eat, eat.

Oh, well. Many thanks.

She picked out the shells and ate the nut. The squirrel hurried away and returned with another walnut.

Your charity becomes you, little one
, she said.
But I fear a long winter approaches. You should husband your hoard more shrewdly.

Nay, nay. Eat, eat.

The squirrel brought her a third walnut.

Do you wish something of me?

Nay, nay.

Surely,
said Levoreth
. Surely there is something.

The squirrel blinked and then bobbed its head.

Aye, Mistress.

What is it? Speak, little one.

The foxes, Mistress. The foxes come when we gather walnuts at the tree. They are quick and cruel and they’ve sharp, sharp teeth. Quick and cruel, Mistress. Can you bid them leave me and mine in peace? For we love the walnuts!

Nay
, she said gravely.
This cannot be done, for I cannot bid a fox be untrue to his nature, just as I cannot bid you to cease loving walnuts.

The squirrel retreated a few steps and hung its head.

But come
, she said, standing up.
Let us go to your walnut tree, for perhaps we shall see a remedy for your trouble. Come.

Instantly, the squirrel darted off a ways, stopped, ran back to her, and then dashed off again.

Walnuts. Such a tree, Mistress. A giant of trees. My father’s father’s father and his father before him gathered nuts there. It is a family tree, Mistress. Perhaps a squirrel planted it long ago? Perhaps?

Perhaps
, she said, smiling despite her weariness.

After some time they came to a clearing in the forest. The squirrel hopped up and down in excitement. In the middle of the clearing stood a walnut tree.

See? See? Walnuts.

I see, little one. But I also see that you must hurry across the ground to reach the tree. You cannot jump from the nearest tree to the walnut tree. It is surely too far.

Aye, Mistress. Too far. Much too far. So we run across the ground and the foxes catch us. Such sharp teeth, Mistress.

You must remain in the branches.

We cannot. We cannot!

The squirrel hopped about in frustration and then came close. It patted her foot and looked up at her.

Come
, said Levoreth.
We will speak with the trees. It is in their power to help you.

At the edge of the clearing stood an oak. Its branches reached up into the sky but none of them came near the walnut tree. Levoreth placed her hand on the trunk of the oak. It was an old tree, sleepy and preoccupied with memories and long, slow thoughts of water and sunlight.

Peace to you, friend oak
, she said.

Earth
, murmured the oak.
Deep earth. Deep sky. Suspended between the two. I have grown into both. I shall grow into both.

And you have. You shall.

Aye
, said the oak comfortably.
I shall.

It became aware of her then, and the bark seemed to shiver under her hand.

Mistress of Mistresses. I remember you. When I was a sapling. When the forest was still young. Before men came to this land. Before the Dark came.

Long years ago
, said Levoreth.

I have heard of the Dark, Mistress. I have heard of it whispered amidst the roots and rocks and in the deep earth.

What have you heard?

I have heard that the Dark has come to this land. That it has come here, for this is the last land.

Aye
, she said.
This is the last land. The others fell under the Dark, long years ago.

I have heard that a sceadu walks abroad. That it feeds on death to still its hunger. Fear is struck into the heart of the land like wood rot. I have no memory of such things, Mistress, for this land has ever been yours and your hand has kept it safe.

Levoreth leaned her forehead against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. The squirrel crept closer, and she felt it anxiously patting her foot.

My hand, oak
, she said wearily.
Mine and the hands of my sister and brothers. For earth is not alone, but stands with sea and wind and fire. The Dark shall not prevail. I promise you.

Good
, murmured the oak.
Good.

But Levoreth did not speak again for some time. The rain pattered down through the branches of the oak and dripped on her head. The wind sighed in the tree tops.

I would have a favor of you,
she said.

Aye, that I shall. Anything of wood and root.

Stretch out your branch to the walnut. Stretch out your branch so that the squirrels may run to and fro freely.

Ahh
, said the oak.
The little walnut. I did not notice her. How fast the saplings grow. I sleep, I dream, and when I wake, a hundred years have gone by. Of squirrels I know nothing, but I shall stretch out my branch. For you, I shall do this thing.

The oak quivered. Ever so slowly, one branch lowered and lengthened with a great many creaks and groans. The movement was almost imperceptible. The tip of it settled against the uppermost branch of the walnut tree.

It is done, Mistress.

I thank you.

The squirrel hopped up and down in such excitement that it could not speak.

It was raining even harder now. Within the clearing, the rain slashed down. Peering up through the branches, Levoreth could only see a gray, lowering darkness. She leaned against the oak’s trunk and tried to think. Her head ached and she was so tired that even curling up to sleep on the muddy ground seemed like a wonderful idea. She sank down to the ground, her back against the tree.

Oh, Min, I no longer know what to do. The Dark has come to Tormay after all these long years, and all I can manage to do is make a squirrel happy. The Dark has come. What had I been thinking? That it would have stayed content beyond the sea? Content in the east and the endless night it brought to those lands? My heart aches, for I still remember the white towers of Corvalea. They haunt my dreams. All I wish to do is sleep.

The squirrel shrieked. It shrieked and made a jump for Levoreth’s shoulder, bounding from there up into the branches of the oak.