Chapter 16
The Gyr Tarn was beautiful, thought Maeneb, even in this dull grey light. Or especially in this dull grey light. Its polished surface cradled the reflection of the domed hills like a leaden mirror.
She loved this place for its remoteness: for the sense of solitude. Nothing moved – not even the smallest breeze ruffled the metallic sheet of water laid before her. It looked so smooth she felt she could have walked across it. She had no idea how deep it was. The only flicker on the surface was not a wave but a reflection: she glanced upwards to see some bird of prey spiralling far above her in the sky.
And there was another, noisier movement behind her. Durba with the horses. It was impossible to have true solitude, even though the other woman was normally so quiet that Maeneb could almost forget that she was there. Almost. On all the long journey from Thield across the strange empty highlands and the rancid swamplands, Durba had made perhaps two dozen remarks. Say three a day.
“Shall we camp here?” being one. Durba said it now.
Maeneb nodded. “In the cave. But first we’d better do what we came here for.”
She wasn’t looking forward to it. She had the tool ready in her saddle-bag: a pair of slightly round-ended pliers. Best get it over with.
They led the horses along the last stretch of the tarn’s edge. Again she stopped to gaze out at its heavy beauty. So still, so obscure… she felt an odd emotion ripple through her: almost love. She could feel it for places if not for people.
Enough of that. Now she could see the cleft that led up to the Gyr cave, and had to set her mind to her task. Taking the pliers from her pack, she walked up the narrow passageway alongside the stream, towards the cavern with its hidden entrance.
The corpses were still there, although not in the pile in which the Riders had left them months ago, before the winter. They were scattered round like bits of scarecrow that the rooks had been at. Not rooks, though, in this case: the stonemen’s bodies were dismembered and several limbs were missing. Animals had torn at them – moorhounds, or perhaps even lions. She pulled a face at the disorder and the smell.
It wasn’t the fact that they were dead that was the problem. It was the fact that they were bodies. Maeneb disliked touching any bodies, alive or dead, and in some ways dead were preferable. At least they didn’t try to touch back.
Behind her Durba held out the bag that was to take the stones. Maeneb squatted down to the nearest body with a grimace. The head was partly eaten and what flesh remained was shredded and discoloured.
And the stones had gone. She turned the head with the pliers to make sure.
“They’ve already been taken.”
Standing up, she went to check the other bodies. They were all the same, with stained holes gaping in the skulls where the stones had once been. One had a full twelve holes; the others, between six and eight. Twelve stones denoted command, supposedly. Well, he wasn’t commanding anybody now.
And her journey had been wasted.
“Who did it?” said Durba. Her fourth remark today.
“Other stonemen – I presume. It certainly wasn’t animals. Let’s look around for any marks.” She could see no footprints on the cold wet rock.
But once they ventured through the narrow entrance to the cave – which was no colder than the outside – she pointed at the earthen floor. “There. Those are stonemen’s boot-prints: the crossed cord underneath the sole.”
Durba nodded and picked up a checked woollen square which lay damp and dirty on the ground. She gave Maeneb an inquiring look.
“Yaret left that,” said Maeneb. “I think she left a pan and other things as well: but they’ve gone now. I’m fairly sure that stonemen have been here for the same purpose as us – to take the stones. It’s hard to say how recently, however.”
Durba nodded again. Without being told, she went to fetch the horses and lead them carefully inside the spacious cave.
Maeneb looked around, remembering Yaret when she had been whole. And Eled, who had not been whole at all. Occasionally, when she was least expecting it, an image from the Farwth would blaze briefly in her mind: Eled in a Warden’s hut, or beside a pool, smiling, talking. It seemed that he was doing well. Or well enough. Of Yaret, although she asked, there came no word from the Farwth. It worried her a little. Although Yaret had been foreign to her she had not disliked her.
Durba began to fix the evening’s meal: the dried meat had been soaking in a leather bag all day, along with the dried fruit. They had finished the bread two days ago and made do with biscuit.
“A pointless journey,” Maeneb commented as they ate.
Durba shrugged.
Maeneb half-laughed. “You are allowed to talk,” she said.
The younger woman looked up at her a little shyly. “I know you prefer your companions to be quiet.”
“I do. But they don’t have to be silent. I’m not totally averse to speech.”
“I’m quite averse to talking, though,” said Durba. “So many of my thoughts sound like gibberish when they come out.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“I haven’t talked.”
“Well, try me now. I’ll tell you if it’s gibberish.”
But Durba hesitated. “You’ll think this remark is,” she said eventually, “but on the journey here – especially on the uplands – I kept thinking that I saw someone.”
“Who? A shepherd? Or a stoneman?”
“Neither. Somebody quite small, who disappeared when I looked harder. There wasn’t anybody there. I’m not explaining very well. But I wondered… if that area is known for mirages or something like that? I’ve never ridden out this way before.”
“No, not mirages,” said Maeneb thoughtfully, “although I believe the area may be known for lins. That’s what you’re seeing.”
“Lins?” Durba looked blank.
“Hobs? Secret folk. Well, folk isn’t the right word. They’re not people. Spirits of the land, maybe.”
“I’ve heard of hobs,” said Durba slowly, “only I thought they were just stories made up by old people to tease children with. Except…”
“What?”
“Well… in Thield’s last camp but one, that farm nearby that we bought supplies from: the old woman there wouldn’t sell me damsons because she said the hob liked them. I thought she was just being awkward when I saw her set them down before the hearthstone. But then…
“Then what?”
Durba shrugged. “Something seemed to flicker just beside her hearth. Even when there was no fire. Something…” She spread her hands and did not finish.
“Some people see them quite a lot. Yaret saw several lins, I think,” said Maeneb. “Hobs are indoor: lins are outdoor. So how many did you see on the uplands on the way here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty.”
“Twenty?”
“But it might have been all the same one, twenty times.” Durba looked embarrassed. “Or two or three of them, at least. They weren’t all the same size and shape.”
“What size and shape were they?” asked Maeneb, curious.
Durba spread her hands. “Ah… hard to say. But some were squat and some were taller. I don’t know. When I looked properly there was nothing there. It’s all just an impression.”
“It’s an impression that I’ve never had,” said Maeneb, aware that she felt a slight, unreasonable resentment. Wasn’t she meant to be the one with special powers?
“You’ve never… detected them, they way you can detect people?”
“No, I’ve never felt a lin. Tell me next time you see one.”
“I will.” Again the younger woman hesitated. “Maeneb. Can you… when you feel people in your mind, can you feel me?”
“I know you’re there,” said Maeneb. “Barely. You’re very quiet. In mind, I mean, as well as in speech. I can’t read your thoughts.”
Durba seemed to relax noticeably. “Well, I’ll try not to think loud thoughts while we sleep!”
“I’ll appreciate that,” said Maeneb.
Soon afterwards they blew out the lamp and lay in the cool peace of the cave, their breathing and the faint gurgling of the brook outside the only audible sounds.
Maeneb lay awake, listening not with her ears but with her other senses. They were such a long way from anybody that all that she could hear were distant murmurs. Quite a disturbing tone to some of them; there was a great mass of stonemen somewhere, but they were far away to the north and west and not near any of her kin.
Also to the north but closer was the Farwth, a dense green bulk, a barrier: just now it told her nothing. She could just feel the presence of the Riders back in Thield and elsewhere as faint prickles on her consciousness, but they were so far away as to be barely distinguishable.
Nearer to her though, Durba’s mind was perfectly distinguishable although she was pretending to be asleep. While it was true that Maeneb could not read her thoughts, she could sense the cast and colour of them. And she knew that Durba was happy.
Durba had been happy throughout this journey, which was slightly puzzling. Even the loss of the stones did not perturb her. This was their first time travelling together as riding partners, so maybe happiness was the norm for Durba. Maybe she just liked journeying. Maeneb could sympathise with that.
But she had the feeling it was more, because she’d sensed this happiness in Durba previously, before the trip. In Olbeth’s house at winterfest it had been quite noticeable. Maeneb had arrived a day after Durba, blown into the hall by the winter wind. Durba had been busy chopping something at the table; there’d been nothing unusual at all about her frame of mind until she looked up and saw Maeneb. And then her thoughts lit up like a lantern. She was happy.
It worried Maeneb slightly, that maybe she was happy because Maeneb was there.