The Skull of the World (9 page)

Thankfully Isabeau scrambled back into her clothes and then went to find a comfortable resting place. She would need to spend some time foraging and regaining her strength before she could face the World's Mouth. She wanted to have a full stomach herself before she was devoured by the gods.

It was black as Gearradh's womb inside the World's Mouth. Isabeau conjured a sphere of witch's light and looked about curiously as she made her way down a long tunnel, its walls black and glassy.

She could not help feeling uneasy. The air was full of moans and sighs, and a foul-smelling wind caressed her face with unpleasantly damp fingers. She reached her hand inside her sleeve to stroke Buba's soft feathers. The owl protested sleepily.

"Will ye no' come out and keep me company?" Isabeau coaxed. Despite herself, her voice was a mere thread of sound.

Snooze-hooh.

"It's dark as night in here," Isabeau whispered. "Your sharp eyes and ears would be most welcome." She added a plaintive hoot and felt the elf-owl sigh in resignation. Buba crawled out of her sleeve, flapped her wings, rotated her head around, then tried to crawl back inside the dark warmth of Isa-beau's sleeve. Isabeau caught her around the body, just under the wings.
Please-hooh?

Reluctantly the owl submitted to being placed on Isabeau's shoulder, where she dug her sharp talons into the fur and huddled her wings around her. Buba was a creature of the forests and did not like this long dark tunnel with its glittering walls and unpleasant odor. She grumbled away in Isabeau's ear as the apprentice witch traveled down through the tunnel.

The deeper into the mountain they penetrated the stronger the smell became and the louder the noises. Sometimes they sounded like someone snoring, other times like the grumble and roar of an unsettled stomach. The heat became unbearable and at last Isabeau removed her heavy coat and carried it draped over her arm. Still her palms and forehead were prickling with perspiration and she knotted up her curls so they did not hang on her neck.

The tunnel was angling down quite steeply now and Isabeau saw an angry red glow ahead. The smell was so strong it choked her throat so she could hardly breathe. Forcing herself on, she rubbed her stinging eyes and saw the tunnel floor was split by a glowing fissure. Her heart sinking, she crept close to its lip and peered over. The fracture in the stone plunged as far as she could see, bubbling with black fumes and burning with that sullen red light. Then an arc of boiling stone flung itself up as if reaching for her. She threw herself backward. Heart pounding, she stood pressed against the wall, almost overcome by the fumes and her own fear. The far side seemed a mile away, though if it had been a little burn of clear water dancing along below her Isabeau would have leaped the gap gaily and without a second thought.

She could have transformed into an owl and flown across the flickering red gap, but that meant leaving behind her furs, her skimmer, and her limp satchel with its handful of nuts, bark and lichens. No matter how scanty her supplies, it had taken Isabeau the better part of a day to collect them and she had no desire to emerge on the far side of the mountain naked, cold and hungry.

So she gathered together her strength and her courage, ran down the corridor and leaped the fissure, landing on the far side with space to spare. Her legs gave way beneath her and she stumbled and rolled in a tangle of fur, wood and flesh; lying still at last, rather shaken and bruised but alive. Buba flew down to rest on her hip, hooting in amusement.

"It's grand for ye," Isabeau said crossly. "Ye can just spread your wings and fly but I have to rely on my own two legs."

Yon-hooh could-hooh swoop-soar too-hooh,
the elf-owl replied smugly.

"Only if I left behind all my stuff and I dinna wish to do that!" Isabeau pushed the owl off her hip, got up rather gingerly, and rearranged the skimmer and satchel so they no longer banged together around her neck but hung down her back as they should. She then set off down the tunnel again, limping slightly and wishing her furs were not so heavy.

It had been early morning when Isabeau had entered the World's Mouth and by the grumbles in her stomach she judged it must now be nearing lunchtime. The tunnel had widened out into a series of small caves, some with odd structures like smooth stalactites hanging from the walls. She spread out her coat and sat down for a rest, rummaging through her satchel for something to eat. The contents were most depressing to a young woman with a healthy appetite, but she chewed away on what she had, stroking Buba's feathery head as the owl settled down for a snooze. Then on into the darkness she went, every fiber of her being longing for blue sky and a fresh cool breeze once more.

The caves grew larger and more spectacular. She came to one with a small loch in its center, the water bubbling and hissing and wreathed with steam. As Isabeau made her way around its shore, all pitted and stained with gray ash, a sudden fountain of boiling water shot up into the air, spraying her with sizzling hot droplets. Instinctively she flung up her arm with its drapery of shaggy fur, which took the brunt of the spray. Nonetheless one cheek and the back of one hand still stung and she had to fight back tears of shock and pain. She hurried away from the pool, almost tripping over the body of a young Khan'cohban boy who had not escaped so lightly. He had not been dead for long, horribly disfigured by the steam which had doused him. Isabeau saw with some relief that he was not the boy who had helped her. She drew the crossed circle, the sign of Ea's blessing, upon his blistered brow then moved away, her legs trembling. She crouched against the wall, as far away from the sinister pool as she could get, and dug around in her pack, until she found the little pot of healing salve she carried there. She tended the burns as well as she could with her maimed hand, then quickly hurried on, feeling a growing hatred for this dark journey.

A stream now ran down ©ne side of the tunnel, its waters hot and stinking. Isabeau followed it down into a great cavern, deep in the bowels of the mountain. It stretched as far as the eye could see, the stream widening into a chain of pools and small lo-chan that wound about among piles of gray ash and cinders. It was a most desolate scene, without the eerie beauty of the caves Isabeau was used to. The air was thick with fumes and she could see quite a few tunnels leading away, some glowing fiery red with puffs of evil, black smoke gusting out as if dragons slept within.

She did not know which way to go. Until now the route had been clear, for the tunnel had run down without any branches. Now Isabeau had to pick her way through the pyres of gray-black ashes, exploring each antechamber and tunnel in turn. Instinctively she kept away from the ones spitting sparks, choosing those that seemed safer. Buba flew ahead of her, saving her much time by discovering many dead ends. Some of the corridors ran for some distance before ending. In one Isabeau found a skeleton still dressed in rotten leather and fur, his horned skull fallen onto his chest as if the pile of bones merely slept, his staff resting between the bones of his hands.

She made the sign of Ea's blessing, the fingers and thumb of her left hand meeting in a circle, and crossed with one finger of her right. Then she hurried back down the tunnel, hoping she would find her way free soon and without any more horrible discoveries. The Khan'cohban children had been making the dangerous journey through the mountain for many years however, and there were remains of those who had failed everywhere. Some were recent and these were the most shocking. Isabeau found panic was welling up in her throat, clouding her judgment and making her hasty and anxious. She had to force herself to rest and eat again, and drink tea made from the hot, bitter water, and find somewhere safe to sleep.

She slept uneasily and woke in a sweat of terror. As there was no difference between night and day in the darkness of the caves, Isabeau got up and kept on walking, desperate to be free. She found a tunnel without obstacles or dead ends and her pace quickened. Buba was also uneasy and flew ahead, hooting occasionally in distress. The sound of her hoots echoed alarmingly and Isabeau had to bite her tongue to stop from snapping at her to be quiet.

The caves were different now, the walls of coarse granite and much broken. It was cold and the breathing sounds had changed, become recognizable as the roar of water. Isabeau's step quickened till she was almost jogging. She came out in a wide low cavern with a river that pounded through in a surge of foam and roiling gray waters. Isabeau's witch-light looked frail and small in that immense darkness. She saw, far away, a bobbing ball of orange flame and knew someone else was ahead of her, scrambling over the rocks in a desperate attempt to be free of the mountain. She followed the flaming torch and saw it pause as its carrier became aware she was there.

It was her friend from the river, the horned boy from the Pride of the Gray Wolf. His grim dark face lightened when he saw her and he made the gesture of greeting. "You have survived the eating by the gods then?"

"So far," Isabeau replied in his language and sat down beside him with a sigh. "Though I hope we are near the end for I fear I shall go stark staring mad if I do not see daylight soon."

He was uncomfortable, not recognizing the mordant humor of her words. "It has been known for madness to affect the name-questers but I hope this does not happen to you."

"So do I," Isabeau said, too tired to smile. He shared some of his bread and dried fruit with her and she ate gladly, sick of the bitter taste of bark and winter nuts. It was comforting to have company in that roaring darkness, and so they sat in silence for some time, half dozing despite the discomfort of the rough, wet rocks and the noise of the river.

"We should go on," she said after a long while. "I feel as if air and light are very close."

He nodded, his horned head casting strange shadows over the rocks. "I have not much light left," he said arid she saw his torch was indeed flickering very low. He helped her up with the grave courtesy of the Khan'cohban and together they went wearily down the side of the river. His eyes dilated a little as Buba crept out of Isabeau's fur coat to lead the way, but he said nothing.

At last a dim gray light began to filter through. The torrent of the river filled most of the cave, so that they clambered along the walls, slipping and stumbling, sometimes falling to their knees. They saw the rocks grow close all about, the river bursting from a gap in its walls. Together they knelt and peered out, despair filling them as they saw the water plunging down the side of a steep black cliff. Down, down, into a deep ravine the waterfall plunged, flinging spray high into the air where it gleamed like diamonds in the light of the rising sun. There was no way out except down that raging torrent.

Isabeau looked at the horned boy. He was pale, his mouth firmly compressed so two white dents appeared on either side of his mouth. "We have come the wrong way," he said. "We must go back."

"I canna!" Isabeau cried wildly in her own language, then controlled herself with an effort. "I do not think I can," she said then in his language, her hands gripped into fists. "I cannot stand the dark, and the smell, and those noises . . ."

"We shall die if we try and go out this way," he said reasonably. "Not even you who flies through water like an eagle through the air, not even you could survive that fall."

He was right, Isabeau knew it, but she stared out at the day longingly. "There must be some way," she whispered.

"There must, for many find their way free in the end," he answered, rather stiffly. She nodded and followed him back up the course of the river, despondency weighing her down.

Suddenly there was a sharp cry as the horned boy slipped and fell into the river. Immediately he was dragged down, his face disappearing beneath the tumult. Isabeau dragged off her skimmer and boots and dived into the water after him. The power of the current took her by surprise. She had trouble keeping her own head above the water, which was cold as ice. Isabeau felt her strength being sapped away and she struck out, searching desperately for any sign of her companion. Then she saw his white head break through and plunged after him. Her fingers brushed against the wool of his shirt. She gripped tightly and tucked one arm about his neck, keeping his face above the water. He was incredibly heavy, dressed as he was in furs and heavy boots, with his skimmer still strapped to his back and banging against lsabeau with every stroke. She would have freed him from his burdens if she could but there was no time and so she merely struggled to hold him afloat, using the buoyancy of the wooden skimmer as much as she was able.

Kicking as strongly as she could she struck out for the rocks, racing past at an incredible pace as the river dragged them toward the falls. At last she was thrown against the shore and managed to wedge her legs against a rock long enough to heave him halfway out of the water. Her legs slipped and she was dragged back into the torrent but lsabeau was a strong swimmer and managed to kick her way back to shore, dragging herself out some feet downriver from where the horned boy lay, half in, half out.

She was sick with weariness but she knelt beside him and managed to drag his slack body from the river, pressing the water out of his body with both hands on his chest and breathing her own breath into his lungs. He coughed and vomited, and she rubbed his cold limbs and squeezed the water out of his hair and clothes, trying to draw upon her powers to dry them. Her strength was all gone, though, and she could not summon even a glow of warmth to comfort them.

There was nowhere to rest beside this cold, roaring river and so together they stumbled back up the great length of the passage and into the warmth of the cavern above. lsabeau hung their clothes out to dry at the mouth of the largest tunnel, where hot air gushed out in a surge of smoke and flame. She made them a thin porridge with her nuts and herbs, his wild grain and the water from the bubbling pool, wishing she had some honey to sweeten its salty bitterness. Then they cuddled together in the warmth of Isabeau's fur coat until at last their shivering ceased.