THE LETTERSEEKER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

            Beneath the blue tower in the light of the westering sun they stood, king and maiden, and he held her hand. “What is it, my king?” said Liesa. They had been speaking of the flowers that grew in Quastid's garden when he stopped and touched her.

            “I was taken by your hair,” said Trren, pulling her close. “It is like the straw at year's peak when the grain ripens. Liesa, Liesa— can you not see that I am filled with love for you?” He let go her hand and put both arms about her.

            “I see it well, King Trren,” Liesa replied, letting him hold her and gazing deep into his troubled eyes. She sighed. “—I see it well.”

            “Then you also see that I cannot let you go upon this mad journey? I will not have you taken from me as soon as I have found you. I have come to ask your father for your hand. Marry me, Liesa! If I know you are safe with me in Esti I will be free to give Threescar what support I can.”

            Liesa did not release the king from her gaze. She held him there, searching his eyes. “What I see,” she answered after a moment, “is more than love for me. A greater love.”

            Trren drew back but did not let go his embrace. “I swear I love none before you.”

            “Aye, you do. You love Esti—fair Esti with its towers and its arts.” And she moved then so gracefully that the king let her go as if he were a mere partner in a dance. She stepped close to the tower, her hair gleaming gold against the crystal-blue, and she gestured first to it, then out across the city.

            “This is your first love,” she said, “which you must keep safe even to the giving of your life.”

            “That is true,” said the king, “but—”

            “Nay, Trren! Say not that I may remain safe and also the city. Safety for the Lands, danger for me. These are bound together. I am under the command of the Goddess, have you not understood? I must face the shadows in a distant place. Cleva my mother foresaw it in her dying vision. Keep me here and you do harm to all. Oh, Trren, would you see both Esti and myself consumed?”

            Trren was taken aback. He had not expected such speech from a girl. He wrestled with his emotions but rage rose within him. He did not credit what he had been told, that the Goddess had come to her. That she should mention such things angered him. He wanted to see only a fair young woman bowing to his wishes. In a heat of jealousy, he accused.

            “Threescar has wrapped you in his spell along with Quastid!”

            “Spell?” said Liesa. And now a thought came to her mind more terrible and truthful than any Trren could research. King he was and twice her age but she had seen a Door of Arem gaping, a witch descend, a goddess appear. She knew from experience, as he did not, the difference between a blessing and a spell.

            “Aye, Trren Esti-king. May be there is a spell here. But not from Lord Stoneglow, and in your mind, not ours. So then, let us ward it off.”

            Liesa undid her blouse a bit, affording the king the briefest glance within. He took a step forward as she fumbled for a moment with something that rested there, a gesture so intimate he could scarcely bear to witness it. A red flame of desire seized his brain. But before he could reach her she withdrew what she had found.

            The sun had eased behind the promontory across the bay, casting twilight over the tower. But that quenched not the Light of Mind that surrounded the unearthly bud, which she now held out for him to see. Gentle, gentle it was—overwhelming kingly pride.

            Trren staggered back, his muscles opposing his prior thought so suddenly that he seemed struck a blow.

            “What's this!” he gasped.

            “The Truth, O king,” said Liesa. “A Rose of Vrrjhri left behind by Her as a token of Her faith in Stoneglow Threescar. He gave it to me, for he is generous and kind and he perceived my need for it. It eased my mother's dying moments. The shadows in her soul could not withstand it. Trren, if this is what the Mother of the Realms may lend the Letterseeker, and he not covet it, who are you to put conditions upon his errand?”

            So understanding came to Trren, but not shame: The aura of the Holy Calyx absolved such human weakness, leaving the king cleansed and stronger in mind than before, and in him now the pain of love was reconciled with duty. He dropped to one knee before the lovely maiden and held both hands out to her with the palms up as if to take the weight of the darkening sky upon them.

            “Forgive me,” he said.

* * *

            The water shook, for the Falling Mountains were shaking and the fjord cut through them from the Stonemote Stair to Zoak- Tschut. On the second eve after Rillqath's departure, the Ashgar approached Dlltr 'sa Tschut, the Flamedagger, that triangular lake which mirrors upon its cold surface the fires vented by the peak. Like the bloody'd sheen of a dirk the lake's point thrust toward the Stoneshield.

            The night was overcast and moonless, but against the clouds came flashes of fire at times. The light, twice reflected upon the upturned faces of those on deck, gave them all a sickly look. It was a look well suited to their inner turmoil, for not a man among them— Evram, Driek, sailors, the warrior watch—was without fear and deep foreboding.

            Evram kept the oars pulling, but secretly he ordered the oar crews to work less and backwater more, so the ship progressed slowly. Evram knew now how things stood. When Ferenth had awakened Thierknut had imprisoned him, taking over the ship. Evram did not openly defy the hotheaded prince; but he was loyal to Ferenth, and Ferenth to the wizard, so Thierknut had made Evram his enemy. And though old, Evram was capable, a seasoned veteran with many skills.

            Driek was disturbed for other reasons. He was a brave soldier, frightened now by the fearsome magic that had driven them to run from the Stonemote Stair. And now ahead of them another danger seemed growing, equally unwelcome and strange. They were headed into the teeth of a volcano that threatened to erupt, and the prince their leader was not on deck. Thierknut's illness had grown worse. A fever gripped him and he had fits of coughing, so he was abed— not with Gretta as he had hoped to be but alone sweating out his fever by herbal teas.

            Locked in her cabin, Gretta felt the water trembling against the hull and saw the light, dilute and mysterious, flick'ring upon the porthole-glass. She could not sleep and she had kept on her war garb. Somewhere in the ship, over the dull monotony of the oar-creak, she heard coughing. She guessed it was Thierknut and praised the prince's improvident midnight walk yestereve, for in making him ill it made him also less alert, giving her a better chance for escape. But how?

            Gretta paced the floor of the small room searching desperately for a plan. The door was of thick wood. The porthole was too small for her to pass through. And Stoneglow Threescar would not come, as he had before, to save her from captivity. He was in another of the realms.

            Well after midnight she sat upon her bunk, knees drawn up to her chin, and thought again of the Letterseeker, his errand, his vulnerability as a stranger in the Realms, unused to the ways of Narrow Lands and Broad. And she felt her heart melting with remorse over her ill treatment of him. She wished him with her, so that she might speak to him, tell him—

            Rap! Rap! Rap!

            Gretta started, half rising from the bunk, then she froze, listening. It came again: a cautious but insistent rapping—from the floor! There was a mat of knotted and braided line over the cabin-sole. Gretta pulled the mat away, slipping her dagger from its sheath as she did so. She knelt and put her ear to the boards.

            “Who's there?” she whispered.

            “Evram,” came the answer. “Help me take up the floorboards.”

            The board by her head began to rise as Evram pushed from beneath. It was stiff, for the floor had been soaked during the storm at Rivermouth when the ship was leaking and the wood was still swollen.

            Gretta sheathed her dagger, clapping her free palm to her head in a gentle reprimand. Why had she not known that the boards were made to be removable? What stupidity!

            She groped about in the dim light of the oil lamp that burned at a bulkhead. There it was, an iron ring set into the board. Rising, she braced herself and heaved. The board came free with a light noise. Evram, wet and dirty, emerged stiffly from the opening in the floor. He helped her place the board silently on the one next to it.

            “I came for your rede, mistress,” he said in a whisper. “Ferenth is locked up as you are and Prince Thierknut commands the vessel. I cannot get to Ferenth. His cabin is not accessible the way I came here. We head west. We have left the wizard, Flarann, and his archers behind. Have you been harmed? What shall we do?”

            “Nay, Evram, I am well,” replied Gretta. “Is that Thierknut I hear coughing at times? Is he ill?”

            “In bed and taking medicines. Driek's on deck. I was relieved at the helm and he let me go below to sleep.”

            “How did you get here? Where does this opening lead?”

            “It's the bilge, princess. It runs the length of the ship beneath the lower cabins.”

            “Ai!” Gretta breathed softly. “Where did you enter it?”

            “In a storeroom at the stern.”

            “I'll go there with you.” Gretta had earlier gathered a small bundle of belongings. This she now took up, moving toward the gap in the floor. Evram rushed after her.

            “Wait, princess,” he whispered urgently. “It—it's not easy. It's filthy down there. And where would you go? The prince will have the ship searched when he finds you gone.”

            “Ah, but he's busy coughing, hear you not? He won't find me. I'll leave the ship.”

            “What? You can't do that. The water's freezing, and even if you got to shore you would be in great danger.”

            “And you in less,” said Gretta. “It's me he wants, not the ship or Ferenth. If I go you'll be safe. The prince will likely have you take him south. But I can't stay. Garufel needs me and so does Stoneglow Threescar. I must return to the Stoneshield. The wizard said my presence there could help the Letterseeker. Come! Let's be quick!”

            Evram gave in, being used to commands and not knowing how to stop the princess without raising a fuss. She went down first, then he lowered the board slowly behind him as he entered, reversed so he could pull it back into place by the iron ring from beneath, with the mat draped over it.

            As Evram wrestled with the board Gretta nearly gagged, for the stale air and smell of brine was nearly overpowering in the cramped space. It was pitch dark—a jungle of unfamiliar shapes. She followed Evram by the sound of his voice and by clinging at times to his belt. At first they clambered over closely spaced floor timbers, which brace the ribs of the ship. Suddenly they came up against a bulkhead and she was up to her knees and elbows in icy bilge-soup.

            “There's an opening here,” whispered Evram. “Be careful.”

            She had to lie on her stomach in the bilgewater then, slipping without much room to spare through a low opening. They continued in this way through four more sections, the water growing deeper at each, then four after that, shallowing again. At last a dim light ahead showed where a lamp was burning above the hatch to the storeroom.

            Evram gave her a hand up, and even before he got the hatch closed behind them she found a cloth among the pile of supplies in the room and was wiping water and grime from her face and clothing. Evram took another cloth and dried himself.

            “Are there any guards nearby?” Gretta asked as she glanced attentively about the room.

            “Nay. This is an isolated part of the ship. They've no cause to guard here. There are six of them on deck besides Driek, though.”

            “You'll divert them. Aren't these floats of some kind?” Gretta stepped to a place where there were about a dozen skin bags filled with air, the size of large watermelons.

            “Markers,” said Evram. “They'll float you all right, if that's what you want to know. Look, princess, this will do you no good. There's no beach out there, just cliffs and rocks. You'll freeze, or drown, or both.”

            But Gretta was already lacing two of the floats together to make an improvised pair of water-wings. “I know that, Evram,” she said. “I don't intend to leave the ship now. We are coming to the lake, are we not?”

            “Aye, we are.”

            “I'll go ashore there. There is a beach, and some light I think— from the volcano.”

            “What then? Nothing but wilderness and strange animals.”

            “Evram, I have spent most of my life in wilderness. I know it, and animals, as well as you know the sea. You go to the galley. Bring back food, and an oilskin to cover this pack. When we reach the lake, you'll distract the soldiers while I go over the rail.”

            “All right then, princess,” said Evram with a sigh. “But there's no need for you to go on deck. There's an exit here. It's caulked now, as always when we're at sea. In port it's freed and used for loading. You've a knife?”

            Gretta pulled out her dagger.

            “Good,” he said. “While I'm gone to the galley, you can dig out the tar and oakum. Over here.”

            He picked up the lantern and led her to the side of the hull where there was a rectangular outline drawn in pitch, marking a large door hinged at the bottom and bolted in four places. A length of line ran from a ring in the middle of the door to a tackle hung from the cabin roof and down to a cleat.

            “This mayn't be easy,” said Evram. “It's been sealed from outside the hull too. But you should be able to loosen the caulking enough so we can force it open. When I get back I'll help you with it.” He showed Gretta what to do, then took his leave. She bolted the storeroom door behind him and began working at the pitch.

            After about an hour Evram returned. Gretta had the caulking out all the way around the door. Evram worked the bolts loose, slacked off on the cleated line, and put his shoulder to the door. After a few tries he nudged it out about two inches. Gretta could feel cold air coming in the crack.

            “You can open it easily now,” said Evram. “The tackle'll give you enough leverage.” He had brought a waterproof bag containing cheese, bread, smoked fish and a tin of thick tallow. He opened the tin and applied tallow to the door hinges to keep them from creaking. Then he had Gretta smear tallow on her face and hands to give protection against the cold water. While she did this Evram secured another line to a beam. It was long enough to reach out the door and down to the water, only a short distance, so Gretta could lower herself into the lake when the door was opened.

            “We're nearly to the lake,” Evram said. Gretta knew it because of the rumbling of the volcano. The ominous sound came out of the night through the cracks of the jarred door.

            “How are you going to get the attention of the guards on deck?” said Gretta.

            “Wait for a horn. Listen at the crack, you'll hear me better. I'm going to pick my moment—when it's easiest for you to make it to the shore.”

            The Ashgar passed silently out upon the dark waters of Dlltr 'sa Tschut. Mighty Zoak thundered over the lake, turning the night ruddy, and the air was singed acrid by a warm breeze that blew down from the mountain's skirts. It was enough wind to fill a sail. Evram had counted on that: It gave him an excuse to call the deck watch. He ordered the mizzen unfurled and in the bustle Thierknut's soldiers moved away from the rails and gathered about Driek to be out of the way. Evram leaned on the helm.

            The Ashgar veered starboard into line with the entrance to the north-fjord where it joins the lake. The canvas opened like a black wing to the nightwind's gentle touch. The ship's pace quickened. As they neared the break in the cliffs that marked the Srrnyo, Evram took his a ramshorn from his belt and blew a quick, authoritative pattern. It was the formal signal to ship oars, seldom used. Normally he would have called out the command, but the oarwatch understood the horn and the longstemmed blades dipped a last time, then clattered, withdrawing. The noise of the oars hid a faint creak and splash astern as Gretta, hearing the signal, lowered the door and slipped down the rope into the water.

            She stifled a scream. The fierce cold drank her vitality but the floats sustained her and the warm wind over the water helped her keep a grip on consciousness. She fought against the cold, and as the Ashgar sailed away she began to swim toward the shore. In the volcanic glow she could see a dim grey scar of beach not far off, where the lake point met the fjord.

            Gretta came to the shallows, dropped the floats, and walked across a span of gravel. This was not like the beach at the Stonemote where the sheer cliffs were broken only by the great stair. Here the land was ravaged and there were many hollows rent by aeons of earthstrife as if a giant talon had ripped the stone. Looking for shelter from the wind, which raised goosepimples as it blew across her wet clothing, Gretta found a deep rift in the rocks by the edge of the beach. She entered it, groping about in the dim light until she found a sloping ledge that provided a seat. She unslung her bow and quiver, then opened the oilskin bag. A sigh of relief slipped though her chattering teeth. The things inside were dry.

            She peeled off her wet clothes, took a folded woolen cloak from the bag, and began to open it out. Suddenly she paused. Naked, her chilled skin sensed warmth. It came from further back in the crevasse, volcanic warmth, from a steam-vent perhaps. She buckled about her naked waist the belt with the dagger sheathed upon it and cast the cloak over her shoulders, then felt her way deeper into the shaft. After a few minutes the air became comfortably warm There was a hiss and bubbling but it was too dark for her to see where it came from. Then her bare feet stepped onto something soft. It was warm, too, like a heated rug.

            She knelt and felt about with her fingers. The smooth rock floor was covered by an inches-deep growth of soft lichen. Gretta went forward on hands and knees and came to a hollow, almost a bed, warm and inviting. The lichen gave off a slightly pungent odor that was not unpleasant. She curled up within the furry cup, shut her eyes, and fell into an exhausted sleep. Beneath her the rock trembled at times. The mountain was still awake, watch-guard to her well earned slumber.

            Dawn broke grey over the Falling Mountains. Lifting from the Stonemote plain the light spilled over the eastern bluffs of the lake and fell upon the grottos of the west shore. The lake rested like a slate wiped clean. No sign was there upon its gelid waters of the night passage of the Ashgar.

            Desolate was the land but Trill lived there, the People of the Thunderbeads. A foraging party led by A-Zhl-u who was old, crept into the halflit grottos, coming out of the narrow twisting pipes and tunnels that led back into the vast honeycomb of caverns known to no others save the Leen-Csah, whom the Trill regard as gods.

            Rrll was what they called the edible growth that carpeted the warm steaming places. The rrll grottos of the northwest shore of the Flamedagger were special. A-Zhl-u was pleased to be forage leader there, for the rrll was of a superior quality and among its greyish green textures they found at times reddish tints. These red rrll were believed to have their color by the power of the lake, for the Trill thought the lake conveyed the earthfires of Zoak, by means of reflection, into the vitality of the plant. Thus the northwest grottos were revered as the haunt of waterspirits and the red rrll used only for ritual.

            The blade of the Flamedagger, say the Trill, meaning the surface of the lake, cuts between the World of Death where hide the True Forms of things and the World of Life which is but a reflection of those forms. If one could swim to the bottom of the lake one would meet with the True Form of Zoak. But the Trill also believe that it is certain death to immerse oneself in the waters of Dlltr 'sa Tschut, not because of the cold but because of the Deathspirits who dwell beneath.

            So think the Trill; and more than this, for their thought is subtle and takes strange paths because of the nature of their lives and abode. But on this day A-Zhl-u had little thought of metaphysics. She was bothered by news that had come from Lactha, from Tt-a. The youth Rt-u brought it. A flying monster had come to Vllkzha Nhrrn 'sa Lactha, said Rt-u. It had challenged the earthfires, then soared east toward the Solid Lands. Soon after shocks were felt coming from the Unpermitted Place where only the lions might go. Quakes and avalanches followed.

            The Trill of Zoak felt these too. Great Zoak himself shrugged in displeasure. Worse, the lion of Zoak, Rallnma-Csahhi, had yet to be found and told of the sighting at Lactha. She was away hunting and had not returned. All this was unsettling. A- Zhl-u gave orders to her crews that morning with a sharpness in her speech that the others did not fail to notice.

            It was Ptr-e who found Gretta. The Trill had been away from these farms for six weeks, the time needed to grow a new crop, and Ptr-e, newly assigned to harvest only the holy rrll, searched for red. In a hot place he found it, a whole hollow of it, like a garnet geode. In the center of that holy cache slept the princess, oblivious of her surroundings, wrapped in a brown woolen cloak.

            “Ss-la!” exclaimed Ptr-e. The sound, almost indistinguishable from the constant murmur of the steam vents nearby, did not waken Gretta.

            A Lakespirit! Ptr-e's heart trilled beneath his barrel chest and he backed away, watching. She did not move, so he gathered courage and crept close again. Ptr-e was only half Gretta's height but she was curled up and covered so she seemed not terribly big. Then as he came quite close he gasped again, “Sss-la, la,” as he saw her hair glowing copper against the carmine rrll. The Trill are bald, their skins dull ochre, and though they have only one eye they understand two, because the Leen-Csah are twoeyed. To the Trill any Twoeyes have supernatural powers.

            I have found it! I have found it! Ptr-e chanted to himself in the Trilltongue, not knowing what it was he had found; but he knew that it was red and twoeyed. He tried to remember a spell of binding, but he could not, so he hustled off to get others, to get the leader. Behind him Gretta, her dreams ruffled, sighed and turned over in her sleep.

            He came back with a dozen companions, and another sent to find A-Zhl-u. The group of Trill stood in a circle around Gretta, gripping their foot-long harvest sticks, which had short blades at the ends. Ptr-e approached Gretta again. It was her hair that drew him. He reached out with knobby fingers. He was brave. He touched the red.

            Gretta flew awake with a battle-cry. Before Ptr-e could recoil she had her dagger out and slashed upward at the yellow leprous thing that was pawing her. Trill-hide is tough but the dagger was sharp. It made a long cut from Ptr-e's short waist to his neck, not a deep cut, but it shocked the Trill. He reeled back. A vitreous purple fluid welled from the wound. Hissing, the other Trill surged forward holding their knifesticks before them. Gretta siezed one of the sticks, trying to pull it out of the hands of the Trill who grasped it, but the Trill had a firm grip and would not let go, so she swung him at the end of it in an arc, bowling over more than half of her attackers.

            The rrll! the rrll! screamed Ptr-e in the Trilltongue. The fight was trampling the precious crimson growth. Then Gretta leaped from the hollow, having cleared a way, and ran for the mouth of the grotto where she had left her clothing and weapons. It was too late. Trill were pouring in from the beach, blocking her way. A-Zhl-u had sent them out of other grottos after hearing Ptr-e's message, and they did not like to stay long on the beach, so they rushed her. Some held her pack, clothing, and arrows; one waved her bow in the air as if to beat her with it. She about- faced and ran back, but now there were over thirty of them in the grotto with Ptr-e.

            She brandished her knife but there were too many of them. In a moment she was siezed from behind and dragged down backward by a dozen hands. Her dagger was taken, her arms and legs bound by an abrasive cord. She screamed and kicked, so they tied a piece of her own clothing over her mouth. Then they wrapped her in her cloak and tied that, too. She was cocooned and gagged, so she stopped fighting and went limp.

            A-Zhl-u entered the grotto.

            “What is it?” she said in Trilltongue, peering apprehensively at the bundle.

            “It is red, forage leader,” said Ptr-e. “I found it here. It is a twoeyes. It cut me.” He pointed to his torso, where the purple blood had begun to form a scab.

            “It came from the lake, forage leader,” said Llt-o, who had been with the group on the beach. “We saw its footprints. They led to the water where these lay.” He held up the floats, which had not drifted away during the night but had remained at the water's edge where Gretta had discarded them.

            “It is evil,” said Tllt-a, whose body was bruised where Gretta had swung him about at the end of his own forage-stick. “A Deathspirit. Throw it into flame.”

            “It is good,” countered Ptr-e. “I found it in the holy rrll. It is red.”

            “Why then did it wound you and attack others?” inquired A- Zhl-u.

            “I disturbed it,” confessed Ptr-e. “I touched its holy crest. It was sleeping and we stood around it with our sticks raised.”

            “It attacked you because it is a Deathspirit,” contradicted Tllt-a. “It has desecrated holy rrll by trampling it. It has caused us to trample the holy rrll. Put it to flame!”

            Suddenly the grotto shook. It was an earth tremor, a real jolt, but the Trill were not disturbed. They lived all their lives beneath shaking earth. They knew earthstrong and earthweak, one to avoid, one to seek. Besides this the forage leader had her Tschut-u, a stone from Zoak's core. Zoak would not harm that. A-Zhl-u held out the stone, a purplescent ovoid about the size of a pigeon's egg. It gave out a single blue flash.

            “The grotto abides. Zoak protects.” said A-Zhl-u.

            Llä-A, Llä-A, Tt Llä-A! Chanted the Trill in unison. The tremor subsided.

            Gretta stared at them, eyes wide with fear of the quake. It was the first she had ever experienced and she had thought the grotto about to collapse. But A-Zhl-u acted as if nothing had happened. She dropped the Tschut-u back into a pouch at her belt. Then she looked from Ptr-e to Tllt-a.

            “It came from the lake,” she said, “so it may be a Deathspirit. But it is red, so it may be a Lifespirit. Come. We will let O-Trrt-a decide.”