THE LETTERSEEKER

CHAPTER FOUR

            The half-moon, white at the zenith, dimmed the weaker stars and added to the light of the cookfires within the circle of small skin tents—a splash of silver that gave the red flames sharp edges. Stoneglow Threescar, who had been known as Stalkworth and was now called Letterseeker because of his desire to achieve the worldshaping Stonesong, sniffed the pinesmoke and welcomed the heat.

            He, the wizard Garufel, and Erek the captain of the hunters sat by the largest of the fires. Twenty men, including Erek's brothers Shalley and Dock, gathered in a circle about them. Some of the men greeted Garufel by name, and the wizard answered them as old friends. Others were silent, especially the younger ones, gazing curiously at Stoneglow, his smaller stature, his outland clothing, and his scars.

            They sat on leather blankets. Hunters brought strips of cooked venison and roots that had been wrapped in leaves and baked. By now the effects of Garufel's tea had worn off, leaving a consuming hunger; Stoneglow ate ravenously.

            “Now for your news, Erek,” said the Golden Wizard as they finished the meal. “Has it to do with the Dark Maiden?”

            Erek looked up sharply. 

“Yes, it has to do with She-Who-Serves-Urtri! The daughter of Chief Mindilfir became separated from our party during a hunt, a few days past. Maegeth came upon her in the woods and took her captive. We found the trail and followed. Halfway to Grimdale, a party of mailed warriors intercepted us with a message.”

            “What message?” Garufel gazed at Erek as if to look through him to the very eyes and thoughts of Maegeth's messengers.

            “This, wizard,” said Erek: “The Dark Maiden holds Gretta the Proud, Princess of the Narrow Woods, under threat of death until Mindilfir pays ransom.”

            Stoneglow reached out and seized Erek's arm. “Gretta is the your Chief's daughter? A woman with red hair?”

            “The hair of Gretta Hunterchief, friend Threescar, is as red as beaten shllkrr in the firelight. But what have you to do with the daughter of Mindilfir-King?”

            “He has seen her,” said Garufel. “At the time of her capture Stoneglow was near and attempted to rescue her. It was then that the bear struck. I showed myself, so Maegeth fled. As you know I am forbidden direct combat with the Dark Maiden by the ancient law, and I knew not which of your people she had taken. I did not pursue. I carried Stoneglow to my cottage and tended him. Maegeth thought him dead, but he has recovered as you see.”

            At Garufel's speech the huntsmen grew excited, crowding about Stoneglow, their eyes gleaming in the camplight like the eyes of wolves. The Letterseeker swayed and placed his hands upon the ground to steady himself. He fought a nausea that suddenly rose within him. He did not wish to appear weak. His mind was fixed upon what Erek had said.

            “A strange tale this is, Loremaster!” said Erek. “Tell me then— have you seen the Bodla of Berainn?”

             Garufel's eyes narrowed.

            “What has this to do with the Bodla, Erek?” he demanded.

            “It is the ransom Maegeth seeks. She claims that the Bodla has been stolen from its High Seat, and that it has come to the Narrow Woods. She orders us to find it and bring it to her. Then she will release Proud Gretta unharmed.”

            Stoneglow began to be sick. His vitals writhed like a snake, then something gave way inside. He doubled up with a moan and rolled off the blanket, vomiting venison and tubers into the dark wet grass.

            Garufel jumped up and ran to him. The others sat quietly until it was over, watching with a cold light in their wolfish eyes. But Shalley brought a pail of water and Dock pulled a linen cloth from his pocket, and Stoneglow washed. Garufel stepped away and returned with a fur. He made Stoneglow lie down near one of the smaller fires. Shalley and Dock sat on either side, young faces watchful. The wizard folded the blanket over him.

            “Sorry.” said Garufel in a quiet voice. “I forgot to warn you. My tea often has an after-effect upon humans. It cannot be taken often. Sleep now. Erek and I will discuss business, and I will tell you all when you wake.”

            Following the nausea, the effect was as powerful as a sleeping draught. The Letterseeker fought it for a moment, but his eyes closed in spite of his effort. His slumber was untainted and healing of many wounds.

* * *

            The moon dipped near the western ridge, casting a grey glow over the expanse of trees across the valley. Beyond rose the halfmountain Gladheel, waiting for the moonset and the darker night when only star-points would prick its watery mantle. Stoneglow woke. The fire was embers. Shalley and Dock were gone. Only the wizard was near, watching as the Letterseeker sat up.

            “Feeling better?”

            “Yes. I've slept a while, judging from the moon. It must be close to midnight.”

            “It is, and I have spoken at length with Erek. Do you feel like a walk? If you do, we'll return to the cottage.”

            “Now? In the dark?”

            “Aye, in the dark. We'll have no trouble. I know the path well, and there is still the moon.”

            “Then I'll follow,” said Stoneglow. “—Provided you tell me what Erek said after I fell asleep.” 

Garufel smiled. “That I shall, since it concerns you as well as myself. You may take the blanket. Erek has given it to you.”

            Stoneglow accepted the offer gratefully. He stood up, wrapping the fur about his shoulders. He found a thong sewn into one side, which he drew up and knotted, making a cloak. They walked past dim shapes of tents and sleeping men. There was a sentry at the bridge. It was Dock. Garufel raised his hand in greeting.

            “Good-night, Dock,” he said. “We meet again in three days.”

            Dock lifted his spear in salute. “Pass, Loremaster. Pass, Stoneglow Threescar.”

            “Three days?” said Stoneglow as they crossed the bridge.

            “Erek carries the news of Gretta's capture to Mindilfir, who will—if I know him—raise an army and go against the Dark Maiden where she waits at Grimdale, the Valley of Caves. I intend to meet them there three days from now.”

            “How will Maegeth react if she sees an army coming? Won't that endanger Gretta?”

            “Armed men are what Maegeth expects,” said Garufel. “She has plenty of her own with her, or I'm no wizard! I think she intends to draw Mindilfir into a trap he cannot avoid with honor.”

            “Well, then, why not pay the ransom? What is a Bodla, anyway? Can it be found and given to her?”

            Garufel waved a hand in negation. “No! The Bodla is an emblem of the god Berainn.”

            “A god? Then this is a religious war?”

            “Not as you mean that. Berainn is real, a powerful being, not a myth. The Bodla is linked to his power. It is that power Maegeth desires above all else.”

            Stoneglow grew agitated. “But if Berainn is all that powerful, Garufel, isn't he greater than Maegeth? Can't he help?”

            “Berainn!” Garufel exploded. “You know not what you ask! He comes seldom here. We may not disturb his peace by calling him to defend our weakness. Aye, greater than Maegeth is Berainn, far greater. But there are forces behind Maegeth of which none know the reckoning. Even I am forbidden to engage her in personal combat. Such struggles may take place only at Realm's End; the destruction would be terrible!”

            Stoneglow walked in silence for a time, thinking. At last he spoke again: “The Bodla itself—you said it has power. Find out who stole it, and use it to rescue Gretta.”

            Garufel smiled strangely in the moonlight. “Perhaps we shall. But I said only that the Bodla is linked with Berainn's power. It was not stolen. It was placed in the hands of The O'Kuern for renewal, in accord with the ancient law.”

            “What? O'Kuern has the Bodla?”

            “It was placed in his protection. He—,” Just then Garufel stopped walking. “We've come to the rocks,” he said, turning off the path. “Follow me closely.”

            Stoneglow might have felt fear, for the wizard intended to descend the steep pile of rocks in the dark. But instead he felt a growing confidence, almost as though his light-path was visible again. He pulled the fur close about and threw himself into the wizard's rhythm: Everywhere the wizard stepped, he placed his foot a moment later. Everywhere the brawny hands gripped a branch or braced against a stone, the Letterseeker mirrored the motion after. Together, man and wizard, they made a single weave of movement down the rocky scree as they followed the flickering moonbeams.

* * *

            They reached the meadow before moonset. The carpet of flowers, which had been golden in the afternoon sun, now gleamed ghostly white. Everywhere there were threads of gossamer beaded with silver dewdrops. As they waded through the kneedeep grass the dew brushed their clothing, turning it damp, and they left a black trail where the glittering web was broken.

            Garufel entered the cottage first. At once he began puffing at tinder and hot coals. Flames leaped. The room warmed. Stoneglow spread the fur cloak to dry, then sat down.

            Garufel was heating milk over the flames. When it was steaming he poured it into cups and added honey. While the Letterseeker sipped the drink, the wizard lit a candle at the fire and took it behind the partition into the alcove opposite the one that held Stoneglow's bunk. Soon there was more light on the ceiling as Garufel lit candles there, humming as he moved about.

            Stoneglow was finishing the drink when the wizard called him in. The room was different than he had expected. It was not a sleeping room at all.

            Candles were placed upon a low three-tiered platform at the far end of the room. There were four candles for each tier, one to a corner. Between the candles at the front of the first tier, a pair of owl wings rested as in a position of honor. The feathers had been spread wide and the shoulder ends wrapped with leather and colored thread. On the second tier was a pair of hawk wings, treated in the same manner. At the top was a single crow's wing, not open but folded, the blueblack feathers gleaming in the candlelight. And behind the crow's wing was a white alabaster bowl.

            The walls of the alcove were hung with green and brown cloth. On the wall to the right were weapons, a long spear made of ash with a silver tip, and two swords in leather sheaths, each with a gem upon its hilt—one yellow, the other red. Next to the sword with the red hiltstone hung a small knife in a sheath of the same pattern. But Garufel gestured to the left wall. “This is for you,” he said.

            Stoneglow followed the wizard's gesture. There was an object hanging there, like the knifecase but larger. Garufel reached to the wall and took it down, handing it to the Letterseeker.

            It was a plain leather tube about as long as a knife, with a cap over the top and a leather carrying strap. The cap was held down by a short leather thong around a button made of bone. Stoneglow slipped the loop off the button and tilted the cover back. It was empty.

            “A carrying case—what for?”

            “It's for you, and it carries what fits it best—something else that is in your charge. Look there.” He pointed to the tiered altar at the end of the room.

            The Letterseeker stepped forward. The four candles illuminated the contents of the white bowl.

            “The alder stick! Where did you find it?”

            “On the slope not far above the place the bear struck you. It is well that you dropped it when you did. Had Maegeth been closer to it, matters would be far worse now.”

            “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

            “I had to be sure of you, Stoneglow Threescar! This is not just any piece of alder. It is the Bodla of Berainn, and you must carry it back to Stonehenge.” The Wizard took the stick from the bowl and placed it in Stoneglow's hand.

            Stonehenge! Bodla!

            The touch of the wood brought a thrill as it had when Stalkworth first held it.

            “Then it is valuable. I felt it was very old. But what do you mean by Stonehenge? That is in my own land, the Midlands. Am I to return there?”

            “Nay, Stonehenge is a mark of the earth,” said Garufel. “It appears in all the Realms of Erta. Here we call it the Stoneshield, for we know its purpose, which is to hold back the shadows. In the Midlands its stones have fallen; here it is untouched, with all the stones in place even as it was at the beginning. Yet it is the same Stonehenge.”

            “Stonehenge, here?”

            “Aye, but leagues distant. Beyond the river Mim and the Falling Mountains, northeast upon a high plain called the Stonemote. No one lives there. It is a cold and grim land peopled only by strange beasts.”

            “You said I must take the alder there. What for?”

            “That is where it belongs. It was placed there at the beginning of the Realms by Berainn, to prevent the intrusion of the Vengeful Mother, the Dark Mirror, into the lands; for it is a twig of Atalaté the Greatest of Trees, and She cannot abide it. But it must come out into the world from time to time, into danger and renewal, or it will decay. Stonehenge and the Bodla—periodically they separate, periodically they come together again, in the way one's heart beats. Did I say you were to carry it there? I would have said it better thus: It will take you there. It is in your charge, and that is where it goes. A simple equation!”

            “Why me? Why not take it yourself?”

            “The O'Kuern gave it to you, not to me,” insisted Garufel. “On the way to Grimdale I will have time to tell you more of the Bodla and its connection with the god.”

            “Gods again!” said Stoneglow. “Garufel, I know nothing of these gods. But I stand corrected. You are right. O'Kuern asked me to take care of it, so it's my responsibility after all. And if it is mine to dispose of, I would rather take it to Maegeth—to free Gretta.”

            “Speak not of giving her the Bodla! And tell no one you have it! Messengers from Mindilfir are carrying his word and mine to the west and southwest kingdoms. Soon we will be well reinforced and can bargain from strength, without involving the Bodla. And then we may also trap the trappers by rescuing Gretta from beneath their very noses.”

            “How, Garufel?”

            “The caves of Grimdale have their own secrets. One of them opens into a great cavern that has a river at its bottom. The river passes beneath the mountain of Barallas and emerges from a hidden cleft on its eastern slopes. Long ago I found that path: Needle-eye it is called, narrow and perilous. It is an exit, not an entrance, so that even if Maegeth has heard of it, she will not expect an intrusion there. But by my arts I believe I may reverse it and enter. Then I shall rescue Mindilfir's daughter, for I know the passages of Barallas better than any in the Three Realms, mortal or immortal, and I am not prevented from doing battle with Maegeth's underlings.”

            “That's taking a big chance,” said Stoneglow skeptically. “Suppose Maegeth does know about Needle-eye. Could she close it?”

            “Perhaps. But the mountain would resist. She would not undertake such an effort unless her attention were drawn that way—which it should not be, once she sees you.”

            “You want her to see me?” The Letterseeker was repelled and fascinated at the same time.

            “Aye. You are proof of her failure. She thinks you dead: We can show her otherwise. Doubt and fear will lie close to her mind after she knows you live. That will work to our advantage in many ways. Besides, Grimdale is on the way to the Stonemote. Once this business with the Dark Maiden is settled, you and I may continue on, coming at last to the Stoneshield by the southeast pass.”

            The Letterseeker smiled grimly and stroked his cheek.

            “You and the hunters are much more impressed with my `achievement' than I am. Where I come from, we still believe in plain luck.”

            “Where you come from, Stoneglow, there are no bears such as those that accompany Maegeth, and have done so for ages, always dealing death upon command! As Shalley has said: You know little of our laws.”

            “Granted, Garufel. Very well. I must go to Grimdale in any case, for Gretta's sake. On the way you will tell me more of the laws of this land. After Gretta has been freed we will discuss Stonehenge.”

            Thus the Letterseeker spoke, for he wished to see Gretta again above all other things. And as for Maegeth, the thought of her stirred emotions beyond his ability to comprehend.

* * *

            Threescar woke to find that the wizard had already made preparations for the journey. There was a small pack for him to carry, containing a generous amount of cheese, hardtack, and other necessities. After a good breakfast he donned his fur cloak and shouldered the pack. The alder, secure in its case, he slung from his left shoulder with the strap crossing over his chest to the right side. There was no possibility now of dropping it.

            Garufel's pack was larger and heavier, containing more clothes, food, and utensils. He carried a side-pouch too, that held flint, tinder, a long skein of cord, and sewing gear. When they were ready to leave, Garufel stepped back into the alcove. He came out again with one of the swords sheathed at his belt, the ashen spear in his right hand, and the other sword in his left. This latter he extended to Stoneglow. It was the sword with the red hiltstone.

            “Here, you may carry this. It is an old blade of good service, twin to my own.”

            Stoneglow hesitated. To him swords were decorations. They had looked fitting enough at the belts of Erek and his men, but for himself? It seemed ridiculous.

            “Not used to a sword?” said Garufel. “You'll get over that quickly here. A sword is handy for more than one purpose. Besides, this blade has virtues that may aid the unskilled hand. Here, take it...There are dangers in the world that not even I may predict or withstand; and no assurance we will avoid them or even stay together upon the path.”

            So it was supposed to be a magic sword, as well! That made up Stoneglow's mind.

            “Garufel, I'm not afraid to fight, if it comes to that, but I don't know anything about swords. Besides, this sword is big for me, don't you think? It would hang almost to my feet.”

            “Ho, ho! It's not that long,” laughed the wizard. “But I admit I had forgotten your stature. Nevertheless you must carry some blade.” He took the sword back into the alcove, returning in a moment with the little leather-sheathed knife.

            “Take this, then. It will cut cord and skin meat.”

            Stoneglow did not object. He bound the sheath to his belt while Garufel stepped to a shelf and took up two small cloth packets.

            “Since you are not familiar with cold steel as a weapon, you may carry these. You have drunk once at my well: Here are two more doses of the same herbs you had in your tea yesterday. If you are ever in extreme need, you should find its effect as useful in battle as in promoting peaceful visions.”

            Stoneglow took the packets gratefully, placing them in a pocket. He wanted that vision again—and soon, but his body told him that it was not yet ready for another dose of the powerful herb.

            At the door Garufel removed the great horn from its hook and slung it on his pack. Then they left the cottage. It was a cool morning. The sky was clouded thickly and darkly in the east. A fresh moist wind blew from that direction, stirring the meadowflowers, disintegrating the night's gossamer webs. Garufel drew a deep breath.

            “It smells like rain!”

            “What about the cottage, Garufel? Will the things inside be safe?”

            “Safe? Not even Maegeth could enter without permission. You are a privileged person, Threescar, to have been admitted within. That curtain has the look of iron bars to any would-be thief.”

            They took the path of the night before. At the bridge they paused, making a second breakfast of bread and honeycomb and drinking from the clear water of the stream. Stoneglow turned and looked back. The wind, pouring steadily out of the eastern hills, set free long ripples of movement among the fronds of the wooded ridge. Like an island in that dark green sea, distant Gladheel thrust upward. There the clouds were still broken. The halfmountain was clad in filtered light, its mirrors flickering as squadrons of cloudknights, heralding the storm, passed over. Then a crackle of thunder came from behind.

            “Come on,” said Garufel. “There is shelter not far away. We should reach it ahead of the rain.” 

            The wizard drew a hooded blue cloak of heavy wool from his pack and put it about his shoulders. Then they took up their bags and went on, crossing over the site of Erek's camp. There was no sign of the hunters. The path wound up from there toward the top of a ridge. Close to the top, just as the path turned quite steep, there was a flash of light followed by a thunderclap close by. A raindrop touched the back of Stoneglow's hand.

            “Hurry,” the wizard called through the rising wind.

            It was not easy. At a stony outcrop the path became a narrow ledge. They were almost at the end of the ledge when a flash turned the stones bluewhite. There was a tremendous boom. A downpour began. Garufel pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and loped forward. The path turned sharply to the right and opened into a small protected bay at the very top of the ridge.

            In a moment they were in the lee of a mass of stone, and at the back of the bay there was an opening. They entered. It was too dark to tell the extent of the space within, but Garufel rummaged in his pack, muttered quiet approval, and stooped. There was a click and sparks flew. Tinder caught. Soon the wizard had a cheery fire burning, the fuel a few disks of dried cowdung taken from a store left in the cave by hunters.

            It was a dry hollow with a bare sandy floor, the size of a small room. Masses of cobwebs covered the ceiling not far above the wizard's head. Small spiders hustled for cover as the light from the fire illuminated their closely woven nets. The smoke was sucked out neatly by the wind through a small opening at the rear.

            Stoneglow looked back through the entrance. The view was to the west. Gladheel was hidden by clouds. Only the tops of the nearer hills were visible. Moisture streamed down from the lower fringes of the clouds like strands of black hair combed earthward. Then the full force of the storm swept over the rocky crest, and it was as if a dull curtain had been drawn over the world.

* * *

            “We're lucky you knew about this cave,” said Stoneglow. They sat by the fire eating a stew of ingredients Garufel had produced from his pack and boiled together in a small metal pot.

            “This place is well known to the hunters. It is called Dilab- Vrrjhri in the old tongue, Vrrjhri's Blessing. Vrrjhri is a goddess, the wife of Berainn. In ancient times they were seen here often, for Berainn is a hunter—master of arrow, dart, spear and stone. Together, they would hunt the wild white kyn that roamed the Narrow Lands.”

            “I thought kyn were cows.”

            “Aye, but the ancient kyn of the Narrow Lands are not the slovenly creatures of the farm. They would easily outrun any deer. Vrrjhri used to aid Berainn in the chase with her net. She is The Guardian, and is mistress of all woven things: Webs, veils, cloth of every sort, clouds, and the skins of animals and of fruit. Vrrjhri and Berainn were also called Paellen and Vhialla, Fist and Curtain. In the chase, hunters would cry out to the Fist of Berainn to speed their missiles; but when protection from the fierce horns of the kyn-bulls was desired, it was to Vhialla, the Curtain of Vrrjhri, that they would call.”

            The wizard stood up, raising one hand to the dark hollows of the roof. His fist plunged into a thick mass of cobwebs. When he sat down again, he held the fist up to the firelight. It was coated by a fine grey film of dusty threads, as if a piece of delicate lace had been cast over it.

            “This is as the Fist of Berainn and the Curtain of Vrrjhri— Paellen nu Vhialla!”

            The wizard reached in his tunic and withdrew a kerchief, wiping the fibers from his hand. He pointed to the stewpot.

            “Here they are again: The mushrooms in the pot. And our fire, living its bright light within the protection of the stone. These, too, are Paellen nu Vhialla—the shapes that give order and meaning to our lives by the will of the gods. But listen—the rain has stopped. Let's take a look east.”

            Garufel drew his blue cloak over his broad shoulders and got up. Stoneglow retied the fur about his neck and followed the wizard out. It was early evening. The rain had diminished to a drizzle that dampened hair and clothing. In the west the storm had settled upon the Gladheel downs. A tiny streak of lightning broke the gloom there.

            They went through wet grass to the edge of the low rocks that sheltered the bay. The waxing moon was a dull white smudge behind the clouds overhead, but the light was enough to reveal dozens of hilltops that extended eastward to a panorama of dark mountains. The clouds had lifted there, and the peaks were silhouetted against a narrow band of luminous sky. Within that band a fragment of cloud drifted tardily above the summit of the highest mountain.

            “There it is: Barallas.” Garufel pointed to the peak beneath the cloud. “Soon we will stand upon the slopes and look down into the Valley of Caves, where the Dark Maiden waits.”

            The cold air stung Threescar's cheek. Barallas—and Maegeth! Cruelly, against his will it seemed, he was drawn toward her. Was it her beast, longing for its unfinished kill, that drew him? But no, it was surely his growing desire for Gretta. He could not drive away the thought that he had been given the alder stick by O'Kuern to trade it for Gretta's life. That made more sense to him than the wizard's tales of Stonehenge, the Bodla, and Berainn.

            “—Are you listening, Letterseeker?”

            Garufel had been saying something about Barallas, or the clouds that veiled its peak.

            “Go on, Garufel. I'm listening. I just felt a chill.”

            “We'll return to the fire,” said Garufel at once. “You're not ill?”

            “Not at all—just the opposite. I'm quite well. The air and food of this land seem to agree with me. What were you saying about Barallas?'

            But the wizard had turned back to the shelter. In the grotto, the little fire greeted them as a merry companion. The Letterseeker would have continued the conversation, but the wizard now refused, saying that the day had been long and hard. The two lay on either side of the fire. Stoneglow wrapped himself in the fur and made a rough pillow of his pack.

            For a while he listened to the wind upon the stones. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a rivulet of water. Slowly he passed to those inner dimensions accessed most often at the door of slumber. The Stonesong returned, telling of the day in a single curl of sound.