Across the Face of the World (59 page)

'These men think they are the first of the season to bring furs to Vindstrop House,' Farr whispered to Kurr. 'I'll place a small wager on it.' The old farmer raised his eyebrows and nodded in reply.

After a few moments' conversation the fur traders shook their heads in disbelief, and looked over towards the men of the Company when directed by hordes of gleefully pointing old men.

Clearly, they had not expected to be beaten for first furs of the season, and were not pleased.

One of their number, a rangy young man with unkempt hair, came over to where the four men stood.

'I hear tell you people made the Southern Run early this spring,' he said in the common tongue, making it sound more like an accus¬ation than a statement.

Kurr nodded in reply.

'Came across with the Warden, from what I hear.'

Kurr nodded again.

'So what's your business in the land of the Fodhram?' The ques¬tion came out in a slow, lazy drawl, but carried an implicit threat.

'We have no business here,' Kurr replied amiably. 'We travelled the Westway from Firanes, seeking a path to Instruere. Our meeting with your Warden and his friends was mutually convenient, and we helped him bring his furs to Vindstrop House in exchange for free passage through his lands.' The meaning was clear: free passage had been obtained, and was not to be interfered with.

The young man was not so easily put off. 'Helped him?' he said loudly, with mock incredulity.

'Helped him? Fare-paying passen¬gers, more like. Dead weight.'

Farr stepped forward angrily, but was restrained by Kurr's outstretched arm. 'Take it quietly,'

he hissed through clenched teeth. 'He's trying to upset us.'

'He's doing a good job,' Farr hissed back.

'So how'd you get here so soon in the season?' continued their questioner, spurred on by the accumulating knots of old men looking for excitement on a dull afternoon. 'Did you tunnel through the snow, or fly over it? We were held up a week by the big white up north.'

'We ran Mossbank Cadence,' Farr snapped, before Kurr could stop him. 'Not bad for fare-paying passengers, don't you think?'

The wiry youth took a step backwards in surprise. 'Did the Warden claim Mossbank Cadence?' he asked the group of old men.

They nodded in reply.

A low whistle came from the youth; then he turned on his heel and went to help his companions unload their canoes.

One of the old men spoke up.

'Sorry about the youngster. His father was lost in Mossbank Cadence last year. Hasn't been the same since.'

Another old-timer spoke up, fingering his tumpline all the while.

'But the young'un made some fair points. What's a group of westerners doing on the Southern Run? More to the point, what was their business out near Steffi a few days ago? I hear they were out there about the time of the Widuz raid. Came back with different people than they went out with. Speak up, now. Who was the man in the grey cloak, the one you held as pris¬oner? Are you spies of the Widuz come to prepare for the big invasion?'

He looked at the four men with shrewd eyes, seeing that his questions had hit their mark.

'Let's get out of here,' Farr said quietly.

'No, we must clear this up,' Kurr responded. He took a deep breath. How much of the truth was it safe to tell?

'We came down the Westway into Withwestwa Wood to pursue ruffians from far away who had captured three of our friends. On the borders of Firanes, near Fort Brumal, we met up with the Warden and his three companions, who offered us passage to Vindstrop House as a shorter route than the Westway in the thaw. From there we went back to Steffi, where we ambushed the ruffians, reclaiming our friends. One of our number was killed, another was taken by the Widuz and a third went with the Warden in pursuit of them. The rest of us returned to Vindstrop House, where we recover from our ofdeal with the help of generous Fodhram hospi¬tality.'

The old farmer spread his arms wide. 'The Warden travelled with us for weeks. He was satisfied that we are what we claim to be. You might want to ask him about us when he returns.'

'Well answered!' came the reply. 'Yes, our hospitality is generous, certainly better than the weather we provide. It's a shame you did not visit in the autumn. The forest is at its best then.

Such colours!'

And so the conversation drifted into a series of pleasantries, as everyone tried to avoid the tension that had been kindled.

As evening drew near and the four men made to leave, the old man with the shrewd eyes came over to them. 'You did well in a hard place,' he said. 'Though you did not lie, it was obvious you did not tell all the truth. I can see that there is some great tale behind all this, one which I would love to hear around a camp-fire under the open stars.' He laughed. 'But it is easy to see that the tale is not finished yet. I hear that you plan to go on south to Stanlow and beyond. Were you merely rescuing your friends, you would return to the west from where you came. I hope one day to hear the full story.'

Kurr did not know what to say.

The shrewd old man laughed softly. 'Fuir af Himinn!' he said. 'Go with the blessing of the Most High!' And before they could respond, he sauntered off back to his friends.

'Well, what do you make of that?' Farr exclaimed, scratching his head as he watched the old man talking to his fellows.

'I have no idea,' Kurr replied, disquieted. 'Perhaps it is a good thing we leave tomorrow.'

It was still raining, but the rain was warm and came from the south, filtering across their path as the Company followed the right bank of the Mossbank, now a wider, more sluggish river, stained brown with leaf-tannin. Its course ran southeast from Vindstrop House down to Stanlow, a journey that would normally take two weeks, but on which Kurr judged they should spend an extra week recuperating from the rigours of the Bhrudwan pursuit.

Their captive remained silent, walking quietly among them, bloodstained grey robe and cowl masking the threat of his strength and bitter anger. His obvious ignorance of the common tongue enabled the others to talk freely, with no fear of betraying their purpose. The wrists of the Bhrudwan were bound together behind his back, and shackles had been placed around his ankles. A constant vigilance was maintained, and no concessions were made to him. Either Farr or Perdu, his two minders, would feed him and assist him to relieve himself. Otherwise, no acknowledgement was made of his existence.

The Acolyte, Mahnum had called him. Indrett mulled over this. It made him sound somehow less dangerous than the other Bhrudwans. But smaller doses of poison could still be fatal.

Whether this man had yet hardened into the pitiless killer his leader had been was not the issue. He could kill with his bare hands, and he would, given the slightest opportunity. Those hands, now hidden behind his back, had helped beat her, reducing her face to a swollen, bruised coagulum. She had seen the evil in his eyes as he struck her with his fists. The day the Bhrudwans had cut down the lone rider in the Torrelstrommen valley he had been there, wielding his sword to sickening effect. She had no illusions about the hatred and anger that coursed through his veins, and the plotting and planning of escape that ran through his mind.

The Company would need to keep a close watch on this beast. Travelling the Westway with the Acolyte felt like pulling a snow leopard along by its tail-As they walked day after day through the never-ending forest, they were able to observe the woods come to life. Winter had passed, and the period of hibernation, of enforced starvation, was over. In meadows beside the Westway deer played or nursed their young, while the tracks of small animals criss-crossed the muddy path. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of the larger beasts, but never saw one clearly enough to agree on whether it was a bear, a moose or a bison.

The rain-soaked air was laden with the scent of growing things, and the musty, somewhat acrid smell of decaying timber. Ferns unfolded their delicate green fronds at the fringes of the path, interspersed with starbursts of gold, the marsh marigold. Juneberry had begun to bloom, its tiny, delicate flowers a sure sign of warmer weather. Dogwood and juniper gladly soaked up the abundance of moisture. This far south the forest itself was made up in large part of pine and spruce, with birch and white cedar competing with aspen and alder for air space between the forest giants. The smell of a grove of white cedar was unmistakable, and the Company paused more than once to crush a green frond and savour the refreshingly pungent aroma.

Around them the hauntingly bittersweet song of the whitethroat competed with the incessant drumming of grouse and the strident calls of waterfowl, now far away, now close at hand.

Above them came flock after flock of birds returning to Withwestwa from their winter homes: the common ducks flying together serenely, with only the whirring of wings signalling their passage north; great V-shaped flocks of geese, honking and raising a racket; whistling swans spearing low over the swamps and copses of the Fenbeck plain; ravens rabble-rousing in the tree tops, arguing with each other with croaks that grated on the ear; and, just once, the huge and ungainly crane, mansized, ghost-coloured, with an eerie trumpet call that cut across all other sounds in the forest, even the sound of running water.

With all this rain, water was the dominant sound of the forest. It dripped off trees, off hair, off noses, cheeks and cloaks; chat¬tered against rocks, seeking out every crevice; gathered in depres¬sions that soon became pools; spilled and flowed into rivulets, streams and every channel, seeking the lowest place, ever falling, falling, eventually finding its way into the Mossbank River. The Westway became a small river itself - or, more correctly, a series of small rivers flowing downhill to ponds that forced the travellers to seek some dry alternative path.

Not surprisingly, they met few people. Though they were now in an area tliat was at least sparsely populated, those who lived in the southern margins of the great forest had the good sense to postpone all but the shortest journeys when the moisture-laden south wind blew.

Rather than turning to the north as it usually did, the wind remained in the southerly quarter day after day, sending rain sheeting down on the travellers with little or no respite. One after¬noon, still at least a week northwest of Stanlow, the Company found a dry place under the shelter of the base of a huge, uprooted tree, lit a fire and tried to dry out.

'We might have been wiser to have bought a canoe and travelled the Mossbank down to Stanlow,' Kurr mused. 'We certainly would have made better time.'

'I'll not be going on one of those things again!' said Perdu. 'I still have nightmares about the Mossbank Cadence.'

'There are no rapids below Vindstrop House, according to the Fodhram.'

'Even if the water was completely calm, I would have chosen land over water,' Perdu said, only half-joking.

Farr leaned over. 'With the way the weather is, it seems as though you have no choice. There is as much water on this road as there is in the river!'

Kurr laughed. 'We could do with a canoe or two, couldn't we?'

'What we could do with is a couple of days of sun,' Farr insisted. 'I keep imagining the Vinkullen Hills in the springtime. Not a patch on Withwestwa Wood, but at least it's sunny.'

The Company huddled around the fire, waiting for its tenta¬cles of heat to search them out.

As the air about them warmed, they were able to remove their sopping cloaks. Meanwhile, Indrett and Hal prepared a hot soup.

'Can you remember what land looks like without trees?' Indrett was getting to know these people, her rescuers, and had begun to recover her effervescence.

Perdu turned to her. 'We've been in this wood for weeks now, but I still remember the vidda.

These trees are but passing shadows; the snow lives forever.'

'But the snow melts in the spring, while the trees grow taller,' Indrett replied. 'The forest is therefore more permanent than the snow.'

'Wishful thinking,' the Fenni responded. 'Snow is the master of the north. We tell a story in the tents about the snow and the forest.'

'Well, let's hear it,' Kurr growled. 'I'm certain you have engi¬neered this discussion to regale us with another Fenni morality tale.'

'Actually, it is much better told by an expert storyteller.' He tapped Parlevaag on the shoulder, then spoke quietly to the shy, solemn woman. She shook her head, but he persisted. Indrett smiled encouragingly at her. Anything to bring her out of herself, she thought.

'The great god Qali ruled the world,' she said, with Perdu inter¬preting, 'keeping it in subjection under snow and ice. His breath lay on the land and the inhabitants could not escape his dominion, nor had they any hope of ending it.

'One severe winter a meeting took place near Styggesbreen, the great ice tongue in the Grossbergen of the Jawbone Mountains. Many were there: representatives from the birds, the animals and the insects joined with rivers and lakes, mountains and hills to discuss doing away with their god.

'"He wants the whole world for himself," complained the brown bear. "He cares not whether we live or die."

'"Perhaps he does care," said the deer, moving back nervously under the hungry eye of the bear. "If we were all destroyed, he would have nothing to make sport of, and no one to pay him homage."

'"Even if we could shorten the length of our winter prison," burbled one of the streams, "then life for us might be more toler¬able."

'And so the talk went on, each member laying out his or her complaint, but no one had a solution to the problem of the great god Qali.

'Just then, a human came rushing up to the meeting ground. "Why are you holding a meeting without inviting me?" he said.

'"We're sorry," came the reply. "We didn't know there were any humans still living in the domain of Qali."

'"Nor are there, though once there were. We have been forced southwards by successive winters. Our numbers have dwindled, until now we are forced to eke out our lives on the margin of land and sea."

'One of the birds - some say it was a pigeon, others a mallard - turned and spoke quietly to her neighbour. "Therefore the harsh winters have had one benefit! When Qali's power was not so great, humans hunted us by lake and stream. Now they leave us alone. Perhaps the winters of Qali can be endured!"