The Anvil of Ice (42 page)

Elof could see their faces clearly then, and they surprised him. Men and women both were much alike, long fair faces, clean-lined and clear-skinned, with high cheekbones and square jaws. There was little expression in them but anger flickered about their mouths. The woman staggered to her feet and stumbled over to them, clutching her bandaged arm.

"If that'd been a man," growled Ils disgustedly, "you'd just have left him!"

"Of course," said Kermorvan absently, then looked slightly puzzled. Elof held up his hand impatiently; the woman had been saying something to the others, and it seemed to him that he almost understood it. He tensed as one man stepped forward, spear poised to stab, and looked at the three of them. He stood with his legs apart, shoulders bowed, but even so he seemed far taller than any normal man, looming over them all. Then he said something, and his voice was deep, but soft and gusty. Elof cocked his head, and the man repeated it.

"
Er' Aika' iya-wahsa?"

"He's asking us if we're Ekwesh!" exclaimed Elof. Ils gave a snort of disgust, and Kermorvan a rare peal of laughter. "No! Not Ekwesh!" barked Elof, hoping he would be understood as easily. "Ekwesh—" He clenched his fist, and made a gesture of hurling something aside. "Do you understand?"

"Tapiau's Children you called them, Ils," said Kermorvan softly. "Didn't I hear Ansker say you trade news with these folk?"

"More than news," said Ils tautly. "Those are duergar bows and blades—small comfort! But there is little contact, they are strange folk, and the duergar do not have the freedom of their realm. I have never before seen them myself, and I do not know their tongue. Indeed I am surprised to find them here, for they dwell mostly deep within the forest to the east." The woodman stepped forward, spear still poised, and stooped down to peer at her. "She is of the duergar, the lady Us," said Elof, slowly and clearly.

The woodsman turned to Kermorvan, who stood very straight, with folded arms. "lama warrior of the Southlands," he said calmly, "by name Kermorvan." The woodman stiffened slightly, but made no hostile move. Momentarily a strange, remote look shaded his eyes.

"And I am from the north," said Elof, pointing uphill. "A smith. Called Elof." He tapped his chest, because the woodman had looked at him so blankly. "Elof."

Abruptly the woodman grounded his spear, and called out an order. The bows were lowered, but the woodfolk swarmed forward, so quickly the travelers were caught off guard. Before they knew what was happening they were again pinioned in huge hands, strong enough, as Elof now knew, to sustain a heavy body swinging through branches. He felt his feet leave the ground, legs dangling, and then the forest seemed to rush at him as the woodfolk charged into the trees. He flinched, but nothing struck him, though he seemed surrounded by rushing walls of green; he could not tell who carried him, whether the others were with him, whether he was on the ground still or up among the branches. The mad whirl seemed to last minutes only, but when his sight steadied he was moving through a totally different part of the forest. Around him was deep gloom, and when he looked up there was nothing more, no trace of sky or light of any kind. Somewhere beyond his sight water ran hollow and deep. A sound of wind in branches seemed a distant thing, high up and far off; over his head the branches scarcely stirred, as if the wind from the world outside could hardly reach them. He could have been lost in the deepest delvings of the duergar, and the few immense boles that were gradually becoming visible in the gloom only some carved pillars, stout enough to be a mountain's roots. "
Ils
?" he called. "
Kermorvan
?"

"Here!" cried voices some way off, and then they stopped. A hand shook him roughly, and he said no more. Ahead of him a glimmer of light was growing, and he saw that his captors were moving across a forest floor now clear and almost bare of anything save leaf mold, fallen branches and strange fungi; small wonder at that, where no sunlight could reach. But ahead of it was a shaft of brightness, of dazzling brightness, a clearing in the deepest wood. Nothing grew in it higher than grass studded with small gold flowers, save at its heart a vast red trunk, alone and unsupported, glowing in the rich light of afternoon. Toward this he was rushed, half expecting to be tied to it. But instead they stretched out his arms and rested his palms flat against the bark. Then, almost reverently, they set him down and stepped back. He half turned to look up at them, taking one hand away. One, a woman, reached out an arm that seemed too long, like a spider's, and pressed the hand back, flat. Then she stepped away once more.

Bewildered, he turned to face the tree. He smelled the faint aroma of the sun-warmed wood and found it pleasant. It felt much as any other redwood, fibrous, flaky bark on a heavily ridged bole, softly rough to the touch. That, too, he found more pleasant than usual; it felt positive, as it did touching an animal with a soft coat, one of his old cattle perhaps, feeling the quickening of life beneath the skin, the play of muscle, the bloodpulse in the veins. Here, somehow, he seemed to feel the life of the tree, the moving sap, the sunning leaves, the drinking roots, the slow rhythm of unhurried, unhindered growth. It was a strange, a unique, exciting feeling, and he thought of a whole forest that pulsed with life like this, his mind racing from tree to tree, to shrub, stalk, fern, grassblade, seed, fungus, spore. And there too among them, darting like the very sparkles of the sunbeam, were patches of quicker, hotter vitality that enlivened the whole, spice that made a sweet dish more than bland—animal life among the plants. He felt his weariness, his shock, fade in the sun's warmth, the thirst in him melt away, almost as if he also could put down roots to tap the Earth. That struggle for existence he had noted now seemed more like a dance, a piece of music made of many themes in which each won itself a place, a time, and dared not outstay it without discord. It would fade when it was done, but grow again. He saw, in its totality, the interlinking, interwoven life of the forest, and the greater whole that its parts made up. A leaf trembled, a tree creaked, a hawk stooped, ants scuttled; in a clearing, startled by nothing, a bright-eyed deer leaped and sprang away. A thought awoke. And he understood.

Why have you come here?

"Why?" He stared wildly around, but he knew he had not heard that voice in his ears. It was a vast sound, and cold, like a great shout from afar. It had a strange wild note in it, waxing and waning like the gusty wind, like the clear horns of the village hunters he remembered, blowing in the distance near dusk. "My name is Elof—"

/
know your name. Why do you trespass in my domain
?

"I… I seek to reach the… the great city of the southmen. The Ekwesh besiege it now."

/
have had tidings. What would you there, you and your friends
?

Elof looked nervously at the tree, staring up toward its lowest branches, high above. He noticed then mat its summit was sharp, not rounded as so many tall trees were by strikes of lightning. Kermorvan had said the forest was his people's foe; did he dare risk telling it, this voice that seemed already to know so much, about his weapon, his quest? "I… and my companions… we bring help to them, that is all."

Three against thousands? They will scarcely miss you.

Elof pushed his lips against a bitter retort. "Do you favor the Ekwesh, then?"

The light seemed to be fading, and looking up Elof saw that the sun had sunk below the rim of the ring of trees. Gray clouds were drifting across the circle of sky above. Far distant in the wood a wolf howled, a sound of distant anguish and pain.

I? I do not favor the Aika' iya-wahsa, nor he who drives them on, Louhi's huntsman. Do you not Mow me?

"No!" said Elof, angry at being toyed with, yet won-dering even so if he spoke the truth. The wind rose, the trees shook and rustled, bending before it as if in obedience.

I am Tapiau.

Elof's fingers dug into the soft bark. "I know no more of you than that name."

Do you not
? There was almost a note of amusement in the words. A great cloud of pigeons flew up, whirred around, settled among the branches once again.
Know this, then. One Alone. That I am a power among these trees, that this is my domain, and I gave you no leave to tread within it. You should have chosen some other way south
.

"We did!" barked Elof, angry and shaken. "We tried to go by sea, but were forced ashore by whales!"

Even so? Then Niarad also will not have you within his domain. But I will be merciful. Go, take your companions, and retrace your steps!

"But this is vital!" pleaded Elof desperately. "We bear… something of great import. If we do not reach the southburg within a few days we will be too late!"

Wind whipped at him, the leaves crackled. He looked up, around. Gray cloud now blanketed the sky, and sunset was near. Drops pattered down among the leaves once more. No word was spoken, but Elof felt at once that wall of shadow he had first seen, an immense indifference. He beat his fist on the bark, but knew as he did so that it was useless. The voice was not in the tree; the voice was in the whole forest around him, stretching out to its remotest, unguessed-at distances. The tree was a focus only, a local one, like a window, a door. And now it was closed, barred, shuttered. The forest had turned away from him.

He bowed his head, and his hands sank down on the tree. He was about to take them away when he heard a harsh cry from above, saw a flickering speck of black out of the corner of his eye. He looked up again. The sky shivered with light, and there was a distant crackle of thunder. There were two of them, tossing and swirling around the blasts of the upper air, riding the coming storm as if for sport. Down they came, circling, spiraling, cawing carelessly to each other in tones he seemed almost to understand. Squawking and flapping, they burst in among the branches of the great tree, scattering a rain of dry scaly needles and cones down upon Elof's unprotected head, and with a final insolent caw they settled on a low thick branch that bent alarmingly under their weight.

One cocked its head and regarded him with beady amusement. "
Thinking
!" it croaked. He heard the word clearly.

"
Remembering
!" croaked the other.

"
Delay
!" said the first, and ruffled his wings.

"
Danger
!" said the second, and in high alarmed tones added "
Help
!" It rattled its long black beak loudly, and wiped it along the bark.

"
Storm!"
said the first.

"
Fly
!" croaked the second, and they took off in a thrashing flurry of wings. Thunder rumbled again, startlingly near, and again the sky was lit pale. Into the middle of it they vanished, dwindling to dark specks, and were no more seen.

"I could understand them!" said Elof aloud, staring after them.

Those who have tasted the blood of the worm may come to understand much, in time.

"You again!" gasped Elof. "What now?"

/
spoke in haste. You did not say enough of your errand. It is important, and I will not hinder you. But still you may not walk freely in this land, nor linger a moment longer than you must. My folk will bear you to its southern borders faster than you could go yourself
.

"Thank you, Lord of the Forest!" breathed Elof.

Do you call me that? I thank you, and for thanks, be warned
. The trees creaked softly.
That which you bear is not enough. More is needed
.

"More, lord?" breathed Elof, flooded suddenly with despair. "I have no more to give…"

Not yet. But I would aid your quest somewhat. Hold still
. There was a sharp, snapping crack, and something fell slithering down the great trunk, to land with a crash beside him. He looked, and saw that it was a small branch, a twig really, but thickly covered in the scaly redwood needles.
Take that, and guard it well. While there are needles on it, even withered and dead, something of the

virtue of forests will cling to it. It will not shield you in the brightness of day, nor in the clear moonlight, nor among the cold stoneworks of men, but among nature, in times of twilight and shadow it will help you pass unseen.

Elof stooped to take it, and bowed his head. "We will use it well, lord, and acknowledge the power of your realm. But what else must I…"

It is nothing I can give. You will know it, I think, when most you need it. Now go!

Again Elof felt his arms seized, found himself whirled round, and saw the trees come rushing at him. The stormy air whistled around him, the branches swung and nodded wildly, and now the movement did not stop, but went on and on, a great giddy rush that left him breathless, barely able to think. Then it ended. The onrush dropped suddenly, sickeningly downward, then the grip on his arms was released, foliage whirled about him, and he tumbled with a rustling crash into a drift of rotten leaves. He sat there a moment, winded, shaking his head in utter confusion. But still clasped in his hand was a long sprig of redwood.