Текст книги "The Quest"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 33 (всего у книги 41 страниц)

From the surface high above the burning lava sucked in gales of wind.

They roared, howled and tugged at his clothing so that he staggered before he could brace himself to resist them. Before him a spur of rock stretched out across the bubbling cauldron. It sagged in the middle, like a suspended rope bridge, and was so narrow that two men could not have walked across it side by side. He tucked the skirts of his tunic under his girdle and stepped out on to it. The wind that roared through the cavern was not constant. It gusted, then dropped. It swirled viciously, at times reversing its direction without warning. It sucked him backwards, then all at once propelled him forward again. More than once it unbalanced him and made him totter at the brink, windmilling his arms to regain his balance. At last it forced him to his hands and knees. He crawled on,

and when the stronger squalls howled over him he flattened himself against the bridge and clung to it. All the time the lava bubbled and seethed below.'

At last he saw the far side of the cavern ahead, another precipitous rock wall. He crawled towards it, until he saw, to his horror, that the last section of the rocky spur had crumbled away and fallen into the fiery cauldron below. There was a gap between the end of the spur and the far wall of the cavern as wide as three strides of a tall man. He went to the edge and looked across this gap. There was a small opening in the facing wall.

From Eos's memory he knew that she had not passed this way for hundreds of years. On her last visit the spur had been entire. This last section must have crumbled away only relatively recently. Eos had been unaware of it, and that was why he had not expected to be confronted by this obstacle.

He crawled back a short way, knelt up and kicked off his sandals, then shrugged the handle of the basket off his shoulder and discarded it. The sandals and the basket fell over the edge and plummeted into the lava lake. He knew he did not have the strength to go back, so he must go forward. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, then gathered the last of his physical strength and bolstered it with all his mental and psychic powers. Then he came up into a crouch like a marathon runner at the start of a race. He waited for a lull in the furious winds that swept over the spur. Then, in the momentary stillness, he drove himself forward along the narrow path, leaning forward and stepping high. He leapt out into space, and knew in that instant he would fall short. The cauldron waited below to receive him.

Then the wind was shrieking again. It had changed direction and doubled its fury. It came from directly behind him. It swept under the skirts of his tunic, billowed them and flung him forward. But not quite far enough. His lower body slammed into the cliff and he just caught hold of the lip of the opening. He hung there, his legs dangling over the drop, all his weight hanging on his arms. He tried to pull himself up high enough to hook one elbow over the lip, but could raise himself only a little way before he fell back at full stretch of his arms. Frantically he kicked and groped with his bare feet for a foothold on the cliff, but the rock was smooth.

A fountain of burning lava erupted from the cauldron below him.

Before it fell back, particles of molten magma splattered his bare legs and feet. The pain was unbearable and he screeched in agony.

'Taita!' Fenn had sensed his pain and called to him across the ether.

'Help me,' he sobbed.

'I am with you,' she replied. 'With all our might – now!'

The pain was a goad. He strained upwards until he felt the sinews of his arms popping, and gradually, achingly slowly, he drew himself up until his eyes were level with the lip, but then he could rise no further.

He felt his arms giving way.

'Fenn, help me!' he cried again.

'Together! Now!' He felt the surge of her strength. He drew himself up slowly until at last he could throw one arm over the lip. He hung on it for a moment, then heard her cry again.

'Together again, Taita. Now!'

He heaved upwards and threw out his other arm. It found purchase.

With both arms holding his courage returned. He ignored the pain of his burnt legs, heaved upwards and the top half of his body flopped over the lip. Kicking and panting, he dragged himself into the mouth of the opening. He lay there for a long time until he had recovered the strength to sit up. Then he looked down at his legs and saw the burns. He pulled off the lumps of lava that were still adhering to the soles of his feet, and lumps of his flesh came away with them. Upon his calves, blisters filled with transparent fluid were ballooning. He was crippled by pain but, using the wall as support, he dragged himself to his feet. Then he staggered on down the tunnel. The soles of his feet were raw, and he left bloody footprints on the rock. The glow from the fiery cauldron behind him lit his way.

The tunnel ran straight for a short distance then began to descend and the ruddy light faded. In its last glimmer he made out a half consumed torch jammed into a crack in the rock. It had been there since Eos's last visit so long ago. He had no means of igniting it, he thought.

Then he remembered the power he had taken from the witch and stretched out his hand towards it, pointing his forefinger at the charred end and focusing on it his psychic force.

A glowing spot appeared at the head of the dead torch. A thin spiral of smoke rose from it, and then, abruptly, it burst into flame and burnt up brightly. He took it down from the crack and, holding it high, hobbled on as fast as his scalded feet would carry him. He came to the head of another inclined shaft. This was also stepped, but the rock was not worn, the marks of the masons' chisels still fresh. He started down it, but the steps seemed endless and he had to stop repeatedly to rest. In one such interval he became conscious of a low susurration, a trembling

in the air and in the rock upon which he sat. The sound was not constant but rose and fell intermittently, like the slow beating of a gigantic pulse.'

He knew what it was.

Eagerly now, he came to his feet and started downwards again. As he went, the sound became stronger and clearer. Down again and still down Taita went, and the sound swelled, his excitement, too, until it was strong enough to dull the pain in his legs. The sound of the mighty pulse reached the peak of its volume. The rock walls shook. He dragged himself forward, then stopped, astounded. He had acquired the memory of this place from Eos but the tunnel had come to a dead end. Slowly, painfully, he went forward and stood before the wall.

It seemed to be of natural rough stone. There were no cracks or openings in it, but in its centre, level with his eyes, three signs had been carved. The first was so old and eroded by the sulphurous gas of the lava cauldron that it was illegible, its antiquity unfathomable. The second was only slightly fresher, and when he studied it more closely he saw that it was the outline of a tiny pyramid, the soul sign of a priest or a holy man.

The third was the most recent but, nevertheless, many centuries old. It was the cat's-paw outline of Eos's spirit sign.

The engravings were the signatures of those who had visited this place before him. Since the beginning time, only three others had found their way here. He touched the stone and found it cold, a marked contrast to the hellish craters and flaming lava that he had passed along the way.

'This is the gateway to the Font for which men have searched down the ages,' he whispered, in deep reverence. He laid his hand upon the cat's-paw symbol, which grew warm to his touch. He waited for a lull in the great pulse of the earth, then uttered the three words of power he had taken from the witch: her secret conjugation known to no other.

'Tashkalon! Ascartow! Silondela!'

The rock groaned and began to move under his hand. He pressed harder, and there was a harsh, grinding noise as the entire wall rolled ponderously aside, like a turning millstone. Behind it lay another short flight of stairs, then a bend in the tunnel from which came a roar like that of a wounded lion. No longer muffled by the stone door the full thunder of the earth pulse burst round him. Before he could brace himself, he was driven back a pace by its power. The tunnel ahead was lit by a weird blue light, which grew stronger in harmony with the great pulse, then faded as the sound receded.

Taita stepped through the portals. Two more torches were set into

slots in the walls on each side. He lit them, and when they were burning brightly, he limped on slowly down the passage towards the source. He was filled with a sense of awe far greater than he had ever known, even in the holy sanctums at the temples of the great deities of Egypt. He turned the corner at the end of the passage and stood at the top of another short stone staircase. At the bottom he could make out a smooth floor of white sand.

Filled with trepidation, he went down the steps and found himself standing in what appeared to be the dry bed of a great subterranean river.

He knew that, soon, the sound and light would burst out of the dark tunnel. What would be the consequences if he were to allow the mystical waters of the river of life to pour over him?

To live for ever might be a curse rather than a blessing. After the first aeons of time had passed, they might be followed by paralysing boredom and staleness from which there would be no escape. Would conscience and morality become eroded by time? Would high principles and decency fade until they were replaced by the perverse evil and wickedness in which Eos had indulged?

His nerve failed and he turned to flee. But he had hesitated too long.

Austere blue light filled the tunnel. Even if he had wished to, he could no longer escape it. He turned to face the tunnel and braced himself to receive the approaching thunder. From the mouth of the subterranean river burst a radiance that had no apparent source. Only when it swirled round his bare feet did he realized that it was neither gaseous nor liquid.

It was as light as air but at the same time dense and weighty. It was icy cold on his skin, but it warmed the flesh beneath.

This was the elixir of life eternal.

Swiftly it grew to a flood that rose to his waist. Had it been water its weight would have swept him off his feet and carried him down the river course into the depths of the earth. Instead it buoyed him up in its soft embrace. The thunder filled his head and the blue tide rose to his shoulders. He felt weightless and free, light as thistledown. He drew a last deep breath and shut his eyes as the tide rushed over his head.

He could still see the blue radiance through his closed eyelids, and the thunder filled his ears.

He felt the Blueness seeping into his lower body openings, filling him.

He opened his eyes and it washed over them. He exhaled the breath he was holding, then drew the next. He felt the blue elixir flow into his nostrils, down his throat and into his lungs. He opened his mouth and gulped in the Blueness. His heart pumped strongly as the Blueness filtered

from his lungs into his blood and was carried to every part of his body.

He felt it tingling in his fingertips and toes. His weariness fell away and he felt stronger than he could ever remember. His mind sparkled with a crystalline brilliance.

The Blueness warmed his tired and aged flesh, soothing and renewing it. The pain in his legs and feet was gone. The raw, burned skin was healing. He felt his sinews stiffen and his bones harden. His spine straightened and his muscles firmed. His mind was recharged with the wonder and optimism of the youth he had lost so long ago, but the innocence was tempered by the infinite store of wisdom and experience he now possessed.

Then, softly, the Blueness began to recede. The thunder abated and he heard it race away down the tunnel. He stood alone in the silent riverbed and looked down at himself. He raised one foot at a time. The burns on his calves and the soles of his feet were healed. The skin was smooth and unflawed. The muscles of his legs stood out hard and proud.

His legs wanted to run. He turned and bounded up the staircase towards the rolling stone gate. He took the rough-hewn steps three or four at a time. His legs hurled him up effortlessly. His feet never stumbled. He paused briefly at the portal of the chamber. He snatched down the torches from their brackets, and turned back to shout the words of power.

The rock gate rumbled shut. He saw that another signature was now engraved in the stone beside the other three, the symbol of the wounded falcon: his own spirit sign. He turned away and went on up the steep staircase. He heard the eternal thunder of the Font behind him as he climbed, and the mighty heartbeat of the earth was echoed in his chest.

He felt no need to pause for rest: his breathing was quick and light, his bare feet flew over the stone. Up he went, and the sound of the Font diminished until soon he heard it no more. The ascent seemed shorter than the descent had been. Before he expected it, he saw the furnace glow of the cauldron ahead. Once again he looked down into the seething lava lake. He paused only long enough to measure with his eye the broken gap in the rock spur. Once so deadly and intimidating, now it seemed insignificant. He backed off half a dozen paces, then sped forward. Holding the flaming torch high he jumped out from the mouth of the tunnel and flew across the gap. He landed in perfect balance three full paces beyond the fracture. Even though at the moment another furious gust struck him his balance was true: he did not waver.

He launched himself along the narrow rock causeway, running lightly where previously he had been forced to crawl. Though the wind clawed

I

404 I

at him and whipped the skirt of his tunic round his legs he never slowed his pace. He ducked his head under the stone roof of the tunnel at the end of the causeway and went on, following the twists and turns, not stopping until he reached the fork of the tunnel and stepped out into the main branch.

Even here he did not feel any need to linger. His breathing was deep but even, his legs as strong as cedarwood baulks. Nevertheless he jammed the torches upright into natural cracks in the wall, hiked up his tunic and sat on a stone step. He lifted his skirt as high as his waist and admired his legs. He ran his hands over the smooth skin: the muscles beneath it were full, each clearly defined. He touched them, and they were hard and resilient. Then he noticed his hands. The skin on the back was that of a man in his prime. The dark foxing blotches of age had disappeared. His arms were like his legs, hard and shapely. He raised his hands to his face and explored it with his fingertips. His beard felt thicker, the skin on his throat and under his eyes taut and devoid of wrinkles. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was dense and springing again.

He laughed aloud with pleasure at the thought of how his features must have altered. He wished he had brought with him the mirror that he had given him. He had not felt the satisfaction of justified vanity for a century at least.

'I am young again!' he shouted, as he jumped to his feet and took up the torches.

Before he had gone much further, he came to a seep where sweet water ran from a crack and dripped down the wall of the tunnel into a natural stone basin. He drank, then went on. Even as he ran, his mind was filled with Fenn. It was so many months now since he had last seen her and he wondered how much more her appearance had altered since he had overlooked her. During the two brief contacts he had made with her earlier that day he had sensed a sea change in her.

Of course she has changed, but not as much as I have. We will astonish each other when next we meet. She is a young woman now. What will she make of me? He felt heady in anticipation of their meeting.

He had lost all sense of the passage of time. He did not know whether it was night or day, but he went on. At last he reached a point where

the tunnel descended another steep flight of steps. When he reached the bottom he found the way forward closed off by a heavy leather curtain, decorated with mystic symbols and characters. He doused the torches, then moved closer to it. A soft ray of light showed through a chink in the leather. He listened intently, his hearing immeasurably sharper and clearer than it had been before he had entered the Font. Now he heard nothing. Cautiously he opened the chink in the curtain a little wider and peered through. He was looking into a small but magnificently furnished room. He searched quickly for any sign of life but he found no aura. He opened the curtain wider and stepped through.

This was Eos's boudoir. The walls and roof were covered with tiles of ivory, each carved with beautifully executed designs that had been painted with jewel-like colours. The effect was gay and enchanting. Four oil lamps were suspended from the ceiling on bronze chains. The light they threw was mellowy. Against the far wall a silk-covered couch was piled with cushions and a low ebony table stood in the centre of the floor. On it were set bowls of fruit, honey cakes and other sweetmeats, with a small crystal jug of red wine, its stopper in the shape of a golden dolphin. On another table lay a pile of papyrus scrolls and an astrological model of the heavens, depicting the tracks of the sun, the moon and the planets, fashioned in fine gold. The floor was covered with multiple layers of silk carpets.

He went directly to the central table and selected a bunch of grapes from a bowl. He had eaten nothing since he had left the witch's warren, and now he had the appetite of a young man. Once he had devoured half of the bowl's contents, he crossed to a second door in the wall beside the couch. It was screened by another richly decorated leather curtain, the twin to the one through which he had entered. He listened beside it but heard nothing, then slipped through the division in the curtains into a smaller anteroom. Here, a stool was set beside the far wall in which a peep-hole had been drilled. Taita went to it and stooped to peer through.

He found that he was looking into the Supreme Council chamber of the oligarchs. This was the spy-hole Eos used whenever she came down from the high mountain to preside over and direct the Council's proceedings. The chamber was the one in which Taita had first met Aquer, Ek-Tang and Caithor. Now it was deserted and in semi-darkness.

The high window at the back framed a square of the night sky, which included part of the constellation of Centaurus. From its angle to the horizon he made a rough estimate of the time. It was past midnight, and the palace was quiet. He returned to Eos's boudoir and ate the rest of the

fruit. Then he stretched out upon the couch, spun a web of concealment to protect him while he slept, closed his eyes and was almost immediately asleep.

He was awoken by voices coming from the Supreme Council chamber. The intervening walls should have muffled them, but his hearing was so enhanced that he could recognize Lord Aquer's.

Taita rose quickly from the couch and went to Eos's spy-hole. He looked through it. Eight warriors in full battledress were kneeling before the dais in attitudes of subservience and respect. The two oligarchs faced them. Lord Aquer was on his feet haranguing the men who knelt before him.

'What do you mean, they have escaped? I ordered you to capture them and bring them to me. Now you say that they have eluded you. Explain yourself.'

'We have two thousand men in the field. They will not be at liberty much longer.' The speaker was Captain Onka. He was cringing on his knees before Aquer's wrath.

'Two thousand?' Aquer demanded. 'Where are the rest of our troops?

I commanded you to call up the entire army to deal with this insurrection.

I will take the field at the head of the force. I will find the traitor That Ankut and all his fellow conspirators. All of them, do you hear? Especially the newcomer Meren Cambyses and the strangers he has brought with him to Jarri. I will personally oversee their torture and execution. I will make an example of them that will never be forgotten!'

He glared at his officers but none dared speak or even look at him.

'When I have dealt with the ringleaders, I will unleash my vengeance on every incomer in Jarri,' Aquer ranted. 'They are traitors. By order of this Council their property is confiscated by the goddess and the state.

The men will be sent to the mines – we are short of slaves. I want older women, and children over the age of twelve years, placed in the slave pens. The younger children without exception are to be put to the sword.

Any desirable girls will go to the farms for the breeding programme. How long will it take you to muster the remainder of our regiments, Colonel Onka?'

Taita realized that Onka must have been promoted to command the regiment that had formerly been Tinat's.

'We will be ready to ride before noon today, great lord,' Onka replied.

Taita listened in consternation. Everything in Jarri had changed during his sojourn in the mountains. Now his first concern was for Fenri and Meren. Perhaps they were already in Onka's hands. He must make contact with Fenn immediately to reassure himself of her safety, but it was vitally important, too, that he make the most of this opportunity to eavesdrop on Aquer's plans.

He stayed at the peep-hole while Aquer continued to issue orders.

He was an experienced commander and it seemed that his tactics would be effective. However, Taita could make his own plans to counteract them. At last Aquer dismissed his colonels, and the two oligarchs were left alone in the hall. Aquer threw himself angrily on his stool.

'We are surrounded by fools and poltroons,' he complained. 'How was this insurrection allowed to flourish under our very noses?'

'I smell the odour of the putative magus, Taita of Gallala, in this,'

Ek-Tang answered. 'I have no doubt that he has instigated this outrage. He comes directly from Egypt and Nefer Seti. No sooner do we welcome him into Jarri than the country is plunged into the first rebellion in two hundred years.'

'Two hundred and twelve years,' Aquer corrected him.

'Two hundred and twelve,' Ek-Tang agreed, his voice crackling with irritation, 'but such pedantry serves no good purpose. What is to be done about the rabble-rouser?'

'You know that Taita was the special guest of the goddess and that he has gone to meet her on the mountains. Those who are summoned by Eos never return. We need spare no further thought for him. You will never see him again. Those he brought with him to Jarri will soon be arraigned—' Aquer broke off and his angry expression cleared. He smiled with anticipation. 'His ward, the girl he called Fenn, will receive my special concern.' Taita saw his aura throw off sparks of lust.

'Is she old enough?' Ek-Tang asked.

'For me, they are always old enough.' Aquer made an expressive gesture.

'Each of us has his own tastes,' Ek-Tang conceded. 'It is as well that we do not all enjoy the same amusements.' The two oligarchs rose and, arm in arm, left the hall. Taita returned to the witch's boudoir and barred the door before he made the first cast for Fenn. Almost immediately her sign appeared in his mind's eye, and he heard her sweet voice ring in his head: 'I am here.'

'I cast for you earlier. Are you in danger?'

I

THE QUEST

'We are all in danger,' she replied, 'but for the moment we are safe.

The land is in turmoil. Where are you, Taita?'

'I have escaped from the mountain and I am hidden near the Supreme Council chamber.'

Even over the ether her surprise was clear. 'Oh, Taita, you never fail to amaze and delight me.'

'When we meet I will have much more for your delight,' he promised.

'Are you or Meren able to come to me or must I find you?'

'We are hidden too, but only five or six leagues from where you are,'

Fenn replied. 'Tell us where we must meet you.'

'To the north of the citadel a narrow valley is carved into the foothills.

It is not far from the mountain road, about three leagues from the palace.

The entrance is marked by a distinctive grove of acacia trees on the hillside above it. Seen from far off, it is shaped like the head of a horse.

This is the place,' he told her, and transmitted an image of the grove to her across the ether.

'I see it clearly,' she replied. 'Sidudu will recognize it. If she does not I will cast for you again. Go to the valley quickly, Taita. We have but little time left to flee this wicked place and the wrath of the Jarrians.'

Swiftly Taita searched the boudoir for a weapon or some form of disguise, but found neither. He was still bare-footed and dressed in the simple tunic, which was filthy with dust and soot and scorched by drops of burning magma. He went quickly to the outer door and let himself through into the empty audience hall. He had a clear memory of the route he must follow to reach the entrance through which That had brought him on his first visit to the citadel. He stepped out into the corridor to find it deserted. When the oligarchs had left, they must have dismissed the guards. He made for the rear of the building and had almost reached the tall double doors to the rear courtyard when a loud voice halted him.

'You there! Stand and give account of yourself.'

In his haste Taita had neglected to spin about himself a spell of concealment. He turned back with a friendly smile. 'I am confused by the size of this place, and I would be glad of your assistance in finding my way out.'

The man who had accosted him was of one of the citadel guards, a burly middle-aged sergeant in full uniform. He had drawn his sword and was striding towards Taita with a belligerent scowl.

'Who are you?' he shouted again. 'You have the look of a dirty, thieving rascal to me.'

'Peace, friend.' Still smiling, Taita held up both hands in a placatory gesture. 'I carry an urgent message for Colonel Onka.'

'The Colonel has left already.' The sergeant held out his left hand.

'Give the message to me, if you are not lying and you truly have one. I will see it gets to him.'

Taita pretended to grope in his pouch, but as the man came closer, he seized his wrist and pulled him off balance. Instinctively the sergeant pulled back with all his weight. Instead of resisting Taita went with him and used the impetus to crash with both elbows into his chest. With a shout of surprise the man lost his balance and went over backwards.

Quick as a leopard, Taita landed on top of him and drove the ball of his right hand up under his chin. The vertebrae of the sergeant's neck parted with a loud crack, killing him instantly.

Taita knelt beside him and began to untie his helmet, intending to use his uniform as a disguise, but before he could get the helmet off his head there was another shout and two more guards rushed down the corridor towards him with drawn swords. Taita prised the blade out of the dead man's hand, and sprang to his feet to face his attackers.

He hefted the sword in his right hand. It was a heavy infantry model but it felt familiar and comfortable in his grip. Many years ago he had written the manual of arms for Pharaoh's regiments, and swordsmanship was one of his passionate interests. Since then age had taken from him the force of his right arm, but now it was restored to him, as was his agility and fleetness of foot. He parried the thrust of the first assailant and ducked under the cut of the second. Keeping low, he slashed at the back of the man's ankle, neatly severing his Achilles tendon. Then he jumped up and pirouetted unexpectedly between the two before either could recover. The unwounded man turned to follow him, but as he did so he opened his flank and Taita stabbed deep in his armpit, sliding the point of his blade between the ribs. With a twist of his wrist, he turned it in the wound, opening it wide and freeing it from the suction of wet flesh. His victim dropped to his knees coughing up gouts of blood from pierced lungs. Taita spun away to face the trooper he had crippled.

The man's eyes filled with terror and he tried to back away but his maimed foot flopped nervelessly, and he almost fell. Taita feinted for his face and, when he raised his guard to protect his eyes, sent a thrust into his belly, cleared his blade and jumped back. The man dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. Taita stepped forward again and stabbed down into the back of his neck, under the rim of his helmet. The trooper dropped face down and lay still.

Taita jumped over the two corpses and went to the first man he had killed. Unlike the others, his uniform was not bloodstained. Swiftly he stripped off the man's sandals and laced them on to his own bare feet.

They were a tolerable fit. He strapped the sword belt and scabbard round his waist, then took the helmet and cloak and pulled them on as he ran for the rear doors of the citadel. He slowed to a walk as he reached them and spread the scarlet cloak to cover his torn, soiled tunic. As he marched towards the doors he sent out an impulse to lull the minds of the sentries who guarded them. They glanced at him with little interest as he passed between them and went down the marble steps into the courtyard.

The parade-ground was bustling with the men and horses of Onka's regiment preparing for campaign. Taita saw Onka himself strutting about and shouting orders to his captains. He mingled with the throng and passed close to Onka as he made his way towards the stables. Although Onka glanced in his direction he showed no sign of recognition.

Taita reached the stableyard without being accosted. Here, there was the same furious activity. The farriers were reshoeing the horses, the armourers were busy at the grindstones sharpening arrowheads and blades, and the grooms were saddling the officers' mounts. Taita thought of attempting to steal a horse from the lines, but he realized there was almost no hope of that plan succeeding. Instead he made his way towards the back wall of the palace compound.