The Hunter (9 page)

The sensation of probing ceased, withdrew, and was replaced by a vision. Braldt recognized the easternmost border of tribal
lands, saw the immense stone that gazed implacably outward, keeping watch, holding the savages at bay. Then he was speeding
over the land that was verdant and green, with lush grasses and immense ancient trees. Tiny streams and wide rushing rivers
crisscrossed the land, nurturing the abundant plant life, animals grazing on the thick grasses, their numbers vast and untroubled
by the thought of man. Predators, their flanks as sleek and well fed as their quarry, lounged beneath trees and sunned themselves
on rocks, oblivious and without fear. Nowhere was there evidence of man. If this land was the home of the gods, they did not
hunt or farm the land. Did gods eat? The irreverent thought popped into Braldt’s head unbidden, but he received no answer
and the images continued to fill his mind.

Crossing the broad savannah they entered the foothills of the mountains that were normally but a distant blue smear on the
horizon. The river that fed the fertile valley frothed and swept through a narrow gorge carved out of rock, not the familiar
red rock that formed the basis of the city, but
the shining black rock from which the Council chamber and the Temple of the Moon were constructed.

The vision continued, tracing the course of the river as it plunged down the mountain from the heights above. A brief glimpse
showed the peaks of the mountains towering above them, capped with a blanket of whiteness.

Braldt did his best to fix the images in his mind, picking out landmarks that he might recognize again when he and Carn were
part of that same landscape. The voyage of the mind continued, ever upward, scaling sheer walls of rock over which the river
plunged in foamy plumes of white, heights that no man but only gods could hope to ascend.

Then the scene switched abruptly, showing another river course, this one empty and dry, although it was evident that water
had recently filled its banks. This second course diverged from the first and rose in a southerly direction climbing the flank
of the mountain and entered the mountain itself beneath a huge overhanging boulder. This boulder seemed to bear the entire
weight of the mountain on its back.

Braldt held his breath as his mind’s eye swept beneath the boulder, entering a darkness that was not shadow but the course
of the riverbed, now empty and dry but for a narrow thread of water that trickled down the middle. Light appeared before them,
magically illuminating the way, showing them the subterranean passage that the water had carved from the stone. And then abruptly,
the passage ended in a fall of rock so dense that it sealed the course completely, allowing only the merest trickle of water
to escape. Back and forth the image roamed, exploring the face of the rockfall, searching for a weak spot, and Braldt understood
then what was wanted.

Back they flew, back through the curving dark passage, back into blessed daylight, out from beneath the dark rock, back to
the branch of the river that still flowed. Now they climbed again, higher and higher still to dizzying heights so that the
land was small and insignificant below them, like a child’s toy until they came to a gaping hole in the very peak
of the mountain from which the river arose, spewing forth under great pressure to begin its long descent to the land below.
The vision explored this new mouth of the great river in infinite detail as though searching for a way to enter. But the river
allowed no entrance, not even to the vision.

The image dissolved and then re-formed to show another cavern, this one lit by priest fire that was contained in clear crystal
orbs that hung from the black stone ceiling. It was obvious that the cavern had recently been inundated by water. But this
was no mere cavern for it was filled with mysterious objects clearly illuminated by the steady glow of the priest fire. Objects
that were unlike anything Braldt had ever seen. The vision skimmed over the wondrous contents of the room even though Braldt
longed to examine them more closely. But even this brief glimpse was enough to see that great damage had been inflicted upon
the place. It was in great disarray. Holes had been breached in smooth surfaces and objects torn from the walls, and the floor
was strewn with water-soaked debris.

The vision directed itself at the far end of the cavern where it was possible to see that the river had flowed at one time
through a precisely carved channel. Water still eddied at the bottom of this channel, butting up against a landslide of black
rock that filled the channel from its lowest point and rose to the roof above, solid and impenetrable. Finding no access,
the water had found another exit, punching its way through a wall that had proved weaker than its relentless strength.

Now he beheld a wall that bristled with strange objects and mysterious runes and a variety of blinking lights in all colors
of the rainbow. It was confusing and painful to see, for Braldt understood nothing, recognized not a single item that had
any reference to his life. The vision fixed on a single object, a handle of some sort, pressed flat against the wall. In his
mind the handle seemed to raise of its own will until it was fixed in an upright position in a direction completely opposite
the way it had been. The vision repeated itself twice again and then Braldt understood what was wanted. The handle was to
be raised upright and he was
to do it. The vision repeated itself a third time and a warm glow filled his mind and he knew that he had not been mistaken.

Then the view moved to another wall, this one damaged more heavily, and focused on a square object, white in color with a
crimson mark fixed in the exact center, two straight lines, one vertical, one horizontal, crossing in the center. The image
fixed itself on the white box and remained there until it faded away.

Braldt blinked and raised his head, looking straight at Attruk but seeing the image of the white box still, knowing that it
was the object they would seek; the thing that would save Auslic’s life.

They left the following morning after being blessed by
priests and cried over by Jos. Otius had laid his palm on their heads as well and then walked away, leaning on his walking
stick more heavily than was his custom, with head bowed as though he had become an old man overnight.

Before dawn Braldt had wakened, unable to sleep despite his extreme fatigue, and he had crept through the sleeping house and
entered Auslic’s chambers, needing to feel his presence. Much to his surprise, Auslic lay with his head turned toward the
door, awake and alert as though he had been awaiting Braldt’s arrival.

Braldt hurried to the bed and knelt beside him. Although his face was still contorted and fixed, it was obvious that Auslic
was far from the shores of the River of Death. He looked at Braldt and smiled fondly. “I knew you would come; you have never
failed me yet.”

“And never will I fail you, Father,” Braldt replied. “I must call Jos and your brother, they will rejoice to see you awake
and well.”

“No!” Auslic whispered harshly, seizing Braldt by the wrist and holding him firmly. “No one must know. I wish others to believe
that the River of Death laps at my feet. I will not die this night but neither am I well. This is no great tragedy for I have
lived far longer than other men and I will not argue when it is my turn to sail the Great River, but there is something to
be done before I take my leave. Something I should have done many turnings ago had I but had the courage.” Auslic’s face was
grave, the downward cast of his features lending his words a grim overtone.

“Tell me what you wish done, Father, and I will do it
for you,” said Braldt even as he wondered at the thought of Auslic lacking courage, for Auslic possessed more strength of
character than anyone Braldt had ever known.

“You are already doing it for me,” Auslic said as he shifted uncomfortably on his pallet, struggling into a seated position,
“you are going into the Forbidden Lands with the priest’s blessing, something I myself was never able to accomplish.”

“But why…”

“There are too many questions and too few answers, Braldt. Ask me nothing for I have only my suspicions and if they are correct…
Braldt, promise me that you will keep your eyes sharp when you enter these lands. Study things that seem strange and unusual.
Do not be swayed by outward appearance, but search for the real meaning of what you see and, most importantly, keep an open
mind, free of religion and superstition. Then, return and tell me and me alone of what you have discovered.”

“But what am I looking for? What am I to discover? Tell me what I am to seek,” Braldt begged for Auslic’s words were unsettlingly
vague.

“You will know it when you find it,” replied Auslic, tiring visibly. “Now, there is another matter we must speak of, one I
should have addressed long ago.” Fumbling within his robes, he brought his hand forth and held it toward Braldt, his eyes
filled with pain.

Braldt took the thing and studied it, seeing only a gold ring, unusual in that it was set with a clear red stone that had
an intricate emblem fixed in the heart of its bloodred depths. Braldt had never seen such a ring before, and while it was
extremely beautiful and unusual, it was only a ring. Why should a bit of jewelry cause Auslic such pain? Braldt held the ring
up to the faint light that seeped into the room and saw delicate runes, identical to those in the Guardian Stones, circling
the inner band.

“It was your father’s ring. I myself took it from his hand. The woman, your mother, wore a similar ring, only smaller on her
finger, but the priests seized it. They sought for this ring, suspecting that it existed, for its mark was
deeply graved on your father’s finger, but they could not search me without creating an awkward situation. They watched me
for a long time, but I hid the ring away and put all thought of it out of my mind, but I do not think that they have forgotten.”

Braldt stared at Auslic, hearing his words, feeling them sink deep within his being as though they were being engraved upon
his heart. “Why, Father, why do you tell me this now, after all these years? Why did you not speak of it sooner?” Braldt whispered.

“Pure jealousy, I suppose,” Auslic said wearily. “In the beginning I told myself that you were too young, that you wouldn’t
understand. After all, I myself did not understand. And what was there to say, really, only that two strangers appeared outside
our boundaries and died in the desert.

“I watched you grow from infant to toddler and always there was that look about you, courage and strength of character even
at that young age, and I wished that you were my son. My own wife had died years before and I had no wish to take another.
Against the priest’s wishes, I took you from the desert and gave you to Otius and Jos to raise and treated you as a nephew,
no different from Carn or Keri, but in my heart, I thought of you as the son I never had.

“Then, as you grew older and sought me out, seeming to desire my company rather than that of your young friends, I held back
the ring again, telling myself that you were still too young.

“I know myself well enough to admit that I was afraid that you would love that other man more, he who was your natural father,
rather than I who had merely loved you. But now, now that the river finally approaches, I know that I cannot keep it from
you any longer and can only hope that you will not hate me.”

A thousand questions filled Braldt’s mind, thoughts that he had pondered on a thousand sleepless nights throughout his youth.
Who had his parents been? Where had they come from? Why had they looked so different? Was there another tribe of people in
the world? And if so, where were
they and how could he find them. Endless questions to which there had never been any answers. Until now.

But the pain and despair in Auslic’s eyes brought him back to the present. “No, Father,” he said gently. “I do not hate you.
Another man may have sired me, but you are my father.”

Auslic’s tortured features relaxed at Braldt’s words and he sank back on his pillows.

“Do you think that my parents came from the east, from the Forbidden Lands?” Braldt asked.

“I do not know. I do not think so. Be careful… son. I could not bear to lose you, and beware of the priests. I do not know
what it is that they wish, but I am certain that they are permitting you this journey to fulfill some need of their own rather
than concern for my health.”

“Do not let the river take you, Father. I will do the priests’ bidding and bring back this thing that will help you as well.
They have their secrets, and we will have our own.”

And now he and Carn sped across the close-cropped rangeland searching the far horizon for the first glimpse of the Guardian
Stones that flanked the boundaries of their land. A cold silence had descended between them as soon as they left the small
gathering of priests and family members. Braldt could still see Keri’s drawn face, her eyes burning with anger and resentment
at being left behind. For it was Keri who had always sought out the highest balustrade of the ring and stared off at the distant
misty peaks, wondering, dreaming, imagining what the clouds concealed. It had always been her dream to journey beyond the
stones, to be the first to unravel the mystery. And now others would go there in her stead.