The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 14

"No. That path is no longer open to you." Again the voice carried through the air from all three og'res.

"You have harmed one of your tribe."

Tol'chuk stopped. His eyes fixed on the worn rock. The ancient ones knew of his violation of the law.

Words slipped from his lips. "I didn't mean to kill-"

"Only one path is open to you now."

Tol'chuk raised his head just enough to spy the hunched forms. Three arms were raised and pointed toward the distant black eye, the tunnel that no og're except the Triad entered.

"You walk the path of the dead."

MOGWEED HID IN THE SHADOW OF A HUGE BOULDER AND stared east toward the mountains. Fardale, with his keener senses, had gone ahead to scout the route forward. After crossing the golden meadows of the low foothills, they had reached a more rocky and treacherous terrain.

Gnarled oaks and an occasional spray of pine dotted the higher foothills, but spiked hawthorn bushes covered most of the dusty ground. Luckily, after struggling through rocky gulches and up steep cliffs, Fardale had come upon a more hospitable path leading up to the peaks. The trail was a welcome sight.

Ever cautious, Fardale insisted on investigating the trail before trusting it.

After the day's journey, Mogweed's clothes stank of sweat and clung awkwardly. He picked at them and wondered how humans tolerated living in the drapings. He closed his eyes and willed the change, wis.h.i.+ng for the familiar feel of flowing flesh and bending bone. But as usual, nothing happened; the manlike form persisted. He swore under his breath and opened his eyes and looked east. Somewhere out there lay the cure to the curse on both him and Fardale.

Sweating from the climb, he stared longingly at the cold snow that tipped the tallest peak on the horizon,snow that even the hottest summer sun had failed to melt. The mountain, called the Great Fang of the North, towered over its many brethren. The range of craggy peaks, named the Teeth, ran from the frozen Ice Desert in the north to the Barren Wastes of the south, splitting the land in two.

Raising a hand to shade his eyes, Mogweed searched the range of mountains south. Somewhere thousands of leagues away rose this Fang's twin sister, the Great Fang of the South. From here, the southern Fang remained beyond the horizon. Even though countless leagues separated the peaks, rumor had it that if someone stood on the top of each Fang they could speak to one another. Even whispers could be sent back and forth, spanning the distance.

Mogweed frowned at such a preposterous notion. He had more important concerns than a child's fantasy. He hugged his arms around his chest and stared with a bitter expression at the wall of peaks, beyond which stretched the lands of the human race-territories he feared to tread, but knew he must.

Clouds began to build among the peaks, caught on the crags as the wind blew eastward. The snowy tip of the Great Fang was blotted out as black clouds churned. Lightning played among the thunderheads. If he and Fardale were to cross the Teeth before winter set its frozen hand upon the land, they needed to hurry.

Mogweed searched for his brother among the scraggly trees and brush. What was keeping that fool? A worry gnawed at his stomach. What if his brother had run off, abandoning him to this barren countryside?

As if he had heard him, Fardale suddenly appeared at the foot of the rocky slide. Anxious, panting from a sudden run, dancing on his paws, Fardale stared up toward Mogweed, requesting contact. Mogweed opened up.

Even from here, the wolf's eyes glowed amber. Fardale's thoughts whispered in his head: The stink of carrion rotting in the sun. Racing legs pursued by gnas.h.i.+ng teeth. An arrow's flight through the open sky. Hunters approached.

Men? Even though he appeared a man himself and would likely have to interact with men during the long journey ahead, Mogweed was in no hurry to meet any. He had secretly hoped to avoid the eyes of men, at least until they had pa.s.sed through the Teeth.

Mogweed slid down the rocky grade to join his brother. "Where do we hide?"

Racing legs. Pads cut by sharp stone. Fardale wanted them to run-and quickly.

Mogweed's legs ached. The thought of fleeing through this rugged terrain sapped his will. He sagged.

"Why can't we hole up somewhere until they pa.s.s, then return to the trail?"

Razor teeth. Claws. Wide nostrils swelling for scent.

Mogweed tensed. Sniffers! Here? How? In the wild forest, the beasts traveled in packs. Ravenous in their appet.i.tes, the creatures used their keen sense of smell to track down isolated si'lura and attack. He had not known the beasts could be domesticated by humans. "Where do we go?"

Fardale swung around and bounded up the trail, his tail flagging the way.

Mogweed hefted his pack higher on his shoulder and took off after his brother. His tired joints protested the sudden exertion. But the thought of the slavering sniffers and the beasts' shredding teeth drove Mogweed past his aches.

As he rounded a bend in the trail, he saw Fardale stopped just ahead, his nose reading the air. Suddenlythe wolf darted to the left, abandoning the trail.

With a groan, Mogweed pushed past a bramble bush, thorns tearing at his clothes, and followed his brother. Scrambling up a steep slope of sharp stones and loose dirt, Mogweed soon found himself crawling on all fours like his wolf brother. The footing was treacherous. Mogweed kept slipping and losing hard-won ground.

Gasping between dry lips, Mogweed stared up to the crest of the slope. Fardale had already reached the top and stood with his muzzle raised to the breeze. d.a.m.n this awkward body! Mogweed dug his raw fingers into the dirt and clawed his way upward. Slowly he fought the slope, careful where he placed each toe and hand. As he worked, a familiar buzzing bloomed behind his ears. Fardale sought contact.

Grimacing, Mogweed raised his eyes to meet his brother's.

Fardale was crouched at the lip of the ridge, his eyes aglow. With the contact established, his brother's images flowed into him: Teeth slas.h.i.+ng at heels. A noose of hemp strangling. The hunters were closing in.

Fear igniting his effort, Mogweed scrambled up the last few spans of the slope. He crawled up next to his brother. "Wh-wh-where are they?"

Fardale turned away and pointed his nose east toward the mountains.

Mogweed searched. The trail they had left wound among the steep foothills, a worn track disappearing into the wilder country of the peaks. "Where-?" He clapped his lips shut.

He spotted movement on the trail, much closer than he had expected!

Men dressed in forest green, with bows slung over their shoulders and sheaves of arrows feathering their backs, marched down the trail. Mogweed melted lower. Three sniffers, attached by leather leads and muzzled in iron, strained against their master's yoke. Even from this distance, Mogweed could see the wide nostrils fanning open and closed within the iron muzzles as the sniffers drank the scent of the trail.

Bulky with muscle and naked of fur, with skin the color of bruised flesh, they fought their leashes. Claws dug at the trail. Mogweed saw one pull back its lips in a snarl as another b.u.mped into it, revealing the four rows of needle fangs that gnashed between powerful jaws.

Mogweed lowered himself closer to the ground. "Go!" he whispered to his brother. "What are you waiting for?"

Suddenly a shrieking wail erupted around them, echoing through the hills. Mogweed knew that wail. He had heard it sometimes at night coming from the deep forest. A sniffer screamed for blood!

Fardale's eyes glowed toward him. Images intruded: A weanling pup scolded for mewling at night, revealing a hidden den. A nose glued to a trailing scent. The sniffers had caught Fardale's scent on the upper trail.

Mogweed bit back a venomous rebuke as Fardale sprang away. He raced after his brother's tail. The run was a blur of sc.r.a.ped skin and bruising falls. Screams chased them, but from how far behind was impossible to judge.

Using an old dry creek bed as a trail, Fardale led the way higher into the foothills. The water-smoothed rock that lined the dry bed made slippery footing. Mogweed's boots betrayed him, and a heel twisted on a teetering stone. He fell to his knees, his ankle flaring hotly.

Mogweed fought back to his feet as a wail erupted behind him. The beasts were getting closer! Fardaledanced anxiously just ahead. Mogweed tried to put weight on his injured foot, but red agony flared up his leg. He tried hobbling across the uneven surface and fell again. "I can't run!" he called to his brother.

Fardale raced to him and sniffed at his boot.

"Don't leave," Mogweed moaned.

Fardale raised his eyes to meet Mogweed's. Two wolves, back to back, protecting.

A scream echoed from behind them and was answered by another wail, closer still.

"What are we to do?"

A pack chasing a deer over a cliff. A flight of ducks taking to wing.

"What?" Fardale made no sense. Had his brother already been in this wolf shape too long? Was the wildness of the wolf overtaking his si'lura soul? Mogweed winced with pain, his shoulders hunched up in trepidation. "You send gibberis.h.!.+"

A she-wolf leads a litter. Fardale twisted away and started to climb out of the shallow creek bed. He glanced behind to Mogweed.

Mogweed pushed up onto one leg, using just the toe of his other boot for balance. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a handful of Fardale's tail. Between his hopping and Fardale's yanking, he scrambled out of the creek bed. But it took time, and Mogweed's lips were pulled thin with pain. Once up, he collapsed against the trunk of a pine, gasping. "Maybe we should stay put," he said. "Climb a tree. Wait for the hunters. In these forms, they may not know us as si'lura."

Fardale's eyes narrowed. The eye of an owl. Flesh torn from bone.

Mogweed groaned. But, of course, Fardale was right. These were forest men of the Western Reaches, not so easily tricked. Their only hope lay in avoiding men until they crossed the Teeth. It had been hundreds of winters since their people had ventured out of the forests and into the eastern lands. With luck, men on the far side of the Teeth would have forgotten the si'lura.

A scream echoed up from the lower washes of the creek bed.

Racing legs! The scent of the nearby pack. A mother's teat near one's nose.

Mogweed shoved off the tree. He hobbled beside his brother, one hand planted on Fardale's shoulder for support. It was slow progress, but as his brother had hinted, they didn't have far to go.

Fardale helped Mogweed over a rise to where even the thorn bushes failed to grow. Beyond the rise, only granite and shale spread before them, weatherworn rock where once an ancient glacier had carved a path through this region. Steep hills of gray rock were etched with black crevices.

The barren sight sucked hope from Mogweed's chest. "No," he whispered to the tumble of rock and shale. His brother was crazy! He stumbled back from the blighted area. "I would rather take my chances with the sniffers." Mogweed turned eyes of disbelief toward Fardale.

A fledgling caught in a tanglebriar, its young blood sucked through piercing thorns until it lay still . Behind lay certain death. A raging river beyond which the pack howled. As dangerous as it may seem, ahead lay a chance.

Suddenly a wail erupted behind them, and now even the cras.h.i.+ng of hunter's boots could be heard. Avoice called out, echoing up from the hidden creek bed. "Lookie here! See them tracks! Looks like them shape-s.h.i.+fters climbed out right here. C'mon, Blackie. Git at 'em!" The crack of a hand whip and the howl of the sniffers speared through the thin air. "Git them d.a.m.n s.h.i.+fters!"

Fardale's eyes drilled into Mogweed, full of satisfaction. Fardale had been proven right. The keening frenzy of the sniffers had alerted the forest hunters to what scent had caught the beast's attention: si'lura.

Or in the foul, thick-tongued language of the humans--shape-s.h.i.+fters.

A moan escaped Mogweed's clenched teeth. Why had he ever left his forest home? He should have just stayed and tried to make the best of it. So what if he remained an outcast? He would at least have survived.

But in his trembling heart, Mogweed knew the journey was necessary. The thought of being forever trapped in this one shape for all time scared him more than the howling sniffers or what might lie ahead.

Balanced on one boot, weak words tumbled from Mogweed's lips. "Go... let's go."

With Fardale's shoulders for support, Mogweed and his brother crossed the threshold of thorn bushes and entered the land of scarred rock, a land all those of the Western Reaches knew to avoid: the land of the og'res.

Tol'chuk balked at stepping farther into the cham-ber of the spirits. He stood silently with Fen'shwa's body sprawled at his feet. The trio of ancient og'res slowly swung and marched with bent backs toward the distant tunnel. Words trailed back to him from the Triad. "Follow. This is your path now."

Tol'chuk had known he'd be punished for his a.s.sault on Fen'shwa. Og're law was strict and often brutal.

But this? He stared at the black eye in the far wall, the entrance to the path of the dead. He now regretted his choice in returning Fen'shwa's body. He should have just fled into the wilds.

The last of the skeletal old og'res crept within the far tunnel. A single word echoed to him. "Come."

Advancing into the chamber of the spirits, Tol'chuk straightened his back and pulled upright. He had dishonored his tribe and no longer deserved to appear as an og're. The need for pretense had died with Fen'shwa. He stepped over the body of his tribe member and crossed the cavern. Torches of blue flame hissed at him. His many shadows writhed on the walls as he pa.s.sed, like twisted demons mocking his gait.

At the entrance to the tunnel, before his fright could drive him away howling, he bowed his head and pushed into the darkness. The sc.r.a.pe and shuffle of the ancient og'res led him farther into the bowels of their mountain home. No torches marked the walls here, and after rounding a bend in the tunnel, blackness swallowed him up. Only the sc.r.a.pe of claw on stone guided him forward.

Down this stone throat, his dead father's body had been swallowed, dragged by the Triad to the land of the spirits. Now, like his father, it was Tol'chuk's punishment to travel this path. He was as dead as Fen'shwa to his people.

What lay at the tunnel's end was known only to the Triad. For as far back as Tol'chuk could remember, the members of the Triad had never changed. He had once asked his father what happened if any of the Triad died. His father had boxed him aside and mumbled that he didn't know since no member of the Triad had died during his lifetime.

Tol'chuk knew little else about the three elders. To speak of them was frowned upon. Like mentioning the name of the dead, it was considered sour luck. Still, the Triad were a constant in the life of the tribe.Old and crookbacked, the three og'res guarded the spiritual well-being of his people.

Only they and the dead knew what lay at the end of this black tunnel.

Tol'chuk's feet began to slow as dread clutched his heart. His breathing rasped from his constricted throat, and a pain began to gnaw at his side. He crept more slowly down the twisting course as the air grew warm and dank. A whispering odor of salt and crusted mold penetrated his wide nostrils.

As he continued, the tunnel closed more tightly around him, as if trying to grab him and hold him from retreating. His head sc.r.a.ped the stone of the ceiling. Its touch sent s.h.i.+vers through his skin. He bowed his head away from the roof. The tunnel continued to lower as he wound into the depths of the mountain's heart. Finally, Tol'chuk was forced to hunker down and use the knuckles of his hand for support, returning again to an og're's shuffling gait.

Tol'chuk's knuckles were sc.r.a.ped and raw from crawling by the time a greenish light began glowing from the tunnel ahead. As he dragged himself forward, the light grew. He squinted in the light after so long in darkness.

The end of the tunnel must be near.

Deeper down the tunnel, the path began to widen again, and the source of the glow became clear. The walls of the tunnel crawled with thousands of thumb-sized glowworms emanating a pale green glow the color of pond sc.u.m. The worms undulated and throbbed, some in bunches tangled like roots, some on solitary trails that left an incandescent slime.

The ma.s.s of worms on the walls thickened and spread. As he continued, even the floor eventually churned with their grublike bodies. Dark splotches of crushed glowworms marked the footprints of the ancient og'res. Tol'chuk followed, trying to place his feet in the same steps as the others. Squas.h.i.+ng the worms with his bare feet disgusted him. The sight of the writhing bodies made his stomach tighten.

With his attention on the worms, he was well into a large cavern before he was even aware of leaving the tunnel. Only the guttural intoning of the Triad drew his attention. The three og'res were huddled in a group, facing each other with heads bowed.

His eyes glanced beyond the Triad, and beheld a towering arch of ruby heartstone. Tol'chuk fell to his knees. Heart-stone was a jewel that the mountain seldom released to the miners. The last heartstone discovered, a sliver of jewel no larger than a sparrow's eye, had caused such a stir among the og'res that a tribal war had begun for its possession. That war had killed his father.

The towering span dwarfed the three og'res huddled before it. Tol'chuk gawked at the bulk of heartstone, his neck straining back to see the distant peak of the arch.

Carved into countless facets, the surface reflected back the worm glow into countless colors, hues so stunning that his rough tongue had no way of describing them. He stood, basking in the light.

Where before the oozing sheen of the glowworms had sickened him, the reflected light now stirred something deep in his chest, penetrating even to the red core of his bones, and for the first time in his life, Tol'chuk felt whole. He sensed his spirit in every speck of his body. The bathing glow, like a cascading waterfall, washed clean the shame he felt in his body. He found his back straightening more fully than he had ever allowed it. Muscles knotted since he was young unclenched. He found his arms raising as he stretched his back up.

He was not a half-breed, not a fractured spirit. He was whole!Tears coursed down his face as he sensed his complete spirit and the beauty his skin and bone hid. He breathed the radiant air deeply, drawing the reflected glow into him. He never wanted to move from where he stood. Here he could die.

Let the Triad cut my throat, he thought. Let my lifeblood sweep the worms from around my feet. Bone and muscle were just a cage, while his spirit buried within could not be sundered by ax or dagger. It was whole and always would be!

He wanted nothing more of life than this moment, but others intruded.

"Tol'chuk."

His name only skittered at the edge of his awareness, but like a pebble dropped into a still pool, the word rippled away his sense of well-being.

His name was repeated. "Tol'chuk."

His neck twisted in the direction of the voice. As he moved, his tranquility shattered. He shook his head, searching for what he had lost. But it failed to return. The heartstone arch continued to spark and glint, but nothing more.

Tol'chuk's back began to bow, muscles knotting, as he discovered the three pairs of eyes studying him.

"Now it starts." The Triad's voice was more a moan than words.

Tol'chuk bowed his head. His heart thundered in fear.

One of the Triad crossed to him. He felt his wrist gripped by the bony paw of the og're. Tol'chuk's hand was raised, and something cool and hard was placed in his palm. The og're backed away.