Tales of Wind and Fire: Giver

Chapter 19

"How can you have a stone creature, anyway?" Said Cybil crossly. She'd been in a bad mood ever since losing her rapier.
"I don't know," said Bennu for the tenth time.
"And what creature? Boar? Lynx? We should've asked."
"He probably wouldn't have told us."
Cybil put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. "We've done everything he said. We've walked for two whole days. Crossed three valleys. Followed the stream he mentioned. Still nothing. I think he was just trying to get rid of us."
The same thought had occurred to Bennu, but he wasn't going to admit it. In two days, the fog hadn't lifted. It felt wrong. Everything about this place felt wrong.
After some persuasion, the Scarred-One had returned the rest of their weapons, and sent them on their way. Following his directions, they'd left the 'stream at the foot of the stony grey hill', and were climbing the trail that sneaked towards the top. It had a bleak, menacing feel. Stunted birches loomed out of the fog. Here and there they saw the gleam of naked rock, where the hill had been rubbed raw. The only sound was the hammer-like "Chack-Chack" of a woodpecker warning rivals away.
"He doesn't want us here," said Cybil. "Maybe we've come the wrong way."
"If we had, Mystigan would have told us."
Cybil looked doubtful. "Do you still believe that?"
"Yes," said Bennu, "I do. After all, if he hadn't led us to the Scarred-One's valley, we wouldn't have been able to figure out the next part of the riddle. One of that we tremble."
"Maybe. But I still think we've come too far east. We're getting too close to the High Mountains."
"How can you tell, when we can't see ten paces ahead?"
"I can feel it. That freezing air? It's coming off the ice river."
Bennu stopped and stared at her. "What ice river?"
"The one at the foot of the mountains."
Bennu set his teeth. He was getting tired of being the one who didn't know things.
They climbed on in silence, and soon even the woodpecker was left behind. Bennu became uneasily aware of the noise they were making: the creak of his pack, the rattle of pebbles as Cybil struggled ahead. He could feel the rocks listening, the twisted trees silently warning him back. Suddenly, Cybil turned and clattered down towards him.
"We got it wrong!" She panted, her eyes wide and scared.
"What do you mean?"
"The Scarred-One never said it was a stone creature! We were the ones who said that. He only ever said it was a stone mouth!" Grabbing his arm, she dragged him up the hill.
The ground levelled out and the trail ended. Bennu came to a dead halt in the swirling fog. As he took in what lay ahead, dread settled inside him.
A rockface towered above them, grey as a thundercloud. At its foot, guarded by a solitary yew tree, was a cavern of darkness like a silent scream: a gapping stone mouth.

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"We can't go in there," said Cybil.
"We—I—Have to," said Bennu. "This is the stone mouth the Scarred-One was talking about. It's where he found the stone claw. It's where I might find the next piece of the World-Soul."
Close up, the cave mouth was smaller than he'd first thought: a shadowy half-circle no higher than his shoulder. He put his hand on the stone lip and bent to peer inside.
"Be careful," warned Cybil.
The cave floor sloped away steeply. Cold flowed from it: an acrid uprush of air like the breath of some ancient creature that has never seen sun.
"Bad place," the Scarred-One had said. "Very bad place. The killing earth that gulps and swallows. The Faceless-Ones everywhere."
"Don't move your hand," said Cybil beside him.
Glancing up, he saw with a start that his fingers were a hair's breadth away from a large splayed hand that had been hammer-etched deep into the stone. He snatched his own away.
"It's a warning," whispered Cybil. "You see the three bars above the middle finger? Those are lines of power, warding off evil." She leaned closer. "It's old. Very old. We can't go in. There's something down there."
"What?" Asked Bennu. "What's down there?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe a doorway to the Otherworld. It must be bad, for someone to have carved that hand."
Bennu thought about that. "I don't think I have a choice. I'll go. You stay here."
"No! If you go, I'm going too—"
"Mystigan can't come with me, he couldn't take the smell. You stay here with him. If I need help, I'll call."
It took a while, but the more he argued, the more he convinced himself too.
He got ready by laying his Katana and pack under the yew tree along with his waterskin, and sleeping sack. Only his knife would be any use in the dark. Finally, he cut a rawhide leash for the cub. Mystigan wriggled and snapped until Bennu managed to explain that he had to stay with Cybil, who settled the matter by producing a handful of dried lingonberries from her food pouch. But Bennu couldn't find a way to tell Mystigan that he'd be back. Spirit-tongue didn't seem to deal with the future.
Cybil gave him a spring of rowan for protection, and one of her salmon-skin mittens on a cord. "Remember," she said, "if you find the world-soul, don't touch it with your bare hands. And you'd better let me have the pouch with the river eyes."
She was right. There was no telling what might happen if he took the acquired World-soul into the cave.
With an odd sense of giving up an unwelcome burden, Bennu handed her the ravenskin pouch, and she tied it to her belt. Mystigan watched what was happening with ears swiveling: as if, thought Bennu, the pouch was making some kind of noise.
"You'll need light," said Cybil, glad to be doing something practical. From her pack she brought out two rushlights: the peeled pith of rushes that had been soaked in deer fat, then dried in the sun. With her strike-fire, she lit a curl of juniper bark tinder, and one of the rushlights flared into life: a bright, clear, comforting flame. Bennu felt hugely grateful.
"If you need help," she said, kneeling and hugging Mystigan to stop herself shivering, "Shout. We'll come running."
Bennu nodded. Then he stooped and entered the stone mouth.

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He groped for the wall. It felt slimy, like dead flesh.
He shuffled forward, feeling the way with his feet. The rushlight trembled and shrank to a glimmer. The stench wafted up from the darkness, stinging his nostrils. After several halting steps, he came up against stone. The cave mouth had narrowed to a gullet: he'd have to turn sideways to get through. Shutting his eyes, he edged in. It felt as if he was being swallowed. He couldn't breathe. He kept thinking of the weight of the rockface pressing in on him. . .
The air cooled. He was still in a tunnel, but it was wider, and twisted sharply to the right. Glancing back, he saw that the daylight had vanished, and with it, Cybil and Mystigan. The stink got stronger as he followed the tunnel, hearing nothing but glimpses of glistening red stone.
A sudden chill to his left, and he nearly lost his footing. Pebbles rattled, then dropped into silence.
The left-hand wall had vanished. He was standing on a narrow ledge jutting out over darkness. From far below came an echoing 'plink' of water. One slip and he'd be over the edge.
Another bend—this time to the left— and a rock beneath his foot tilted. With a cry he grabbed for a handhold, righting himself just in time.
He froze.
"Bennu?" Cybil's voice sounded far away.
He didn't dare call out. Whatever had moved had gone still again: but it was horrible, waiting stillness. It knew he was there. "The Faceless-Ones everywhere. They see you, but you don't see them. Not till it's too late."
He forced himself to go on. Down, always down. The stink came at him in waves. Breathe through your mouth, said a voice in his head. That was what he and Ma used to do when they came upon a stinking kill-site or a bat-infested cave.
He tried it, and the stench became bearable, although it still caught at his eyes and throat.
Abruptly the ground levelled out, and he felt space opening up around him. A dim light had to be coming from somewhere, because he made out a vast, shadowy cavern. The fumes were almost overwhelming. He was in the dripping, reeking bowels of the earth.
The ledge he was standing on ended, and the floor beyond it was weirdly humped. In the middle of the cavern, a great, flat-topped stone gleamed like black ice. It looked as if it had stood untouched for thousands of year. Even from twenty paces away, Bennu could feel its power.
This was where the Scarred-One had found his stone claw. This was the reason for the warning hand at the cave mouth. This was what the Faceless-Ones guarded: a door to the Otherworld.
Bennu couldn't take another step. It was like the times when he awoke so heavy with sleep that to stir even a finger seemed impossible.
To steady himself, he put his free hand on the hilt of his knife. The sinew binding felt faintly warm, giving him the courage to step down onto the cave floor.
As he did, he cried out in disgust. The floor sank beneath his boot: a noisome softness sucking him down. "The killing earth that gulps and swallows. . ."
His cry rang round the walls, and far above him he heard a stealthy movement. Something dark detached itself from the roof and swooped towards him.
There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. The softness sucked at his boots like wet sand. A foetid downrush, and the thing was on him: greasy fur clogging his mouth and nose, sharp claws tearing at his hair. Snarling with horror, he beat at the silent attacker.
At last it lifted away with a leathery "thwap". But he knew that it wasn't vanquished. The Faceless-One had merely come to find out what he was. Once it knew, it had left. But what was it? A bat? A demon? Hoe many more were there?
Bennu floundered on. Halfway to the stone, he stumbled and fell. The stink was unbearable. He wallowed in choking blackness, he couldn't see, couldn't think. Even the rushlight turned black— a black flame flaring above him. . . He staggered to his feet, shaking himself free like a swimmer gasping for air. His mind steadied. The black flame burned yellow again.
He reached the stone. On its ancient smoothness, six stone claws had been arranged in a spiral, with a gap where the Scarred-One had snatched the seventh. At the centre lay a single black piece of earth.
"One of that we tremble." The second part of the World-Soul.
Sweat slid down his spine. He wondered what power he would unleash if he touched it.
He stretched out his hand, then snatched it back, remembering Cybil's warning. "Don't touch the World-Soul with your bare hands."
Where was the mitten? He must have dropped it. With the rushlight he cast around, plunging his hand into the stinking mounds. Again the dizziness mounted. Again the flame darkened. . .
Just in time, he found the mitten, tied to his belt. Yanking it on, he reached for the World-soul.
The rushlight glimmered on the cave wall behind the stone— and lit the gleam of thousands of eyes.
With his hand poised above the WorldSoul, he moved the flame slowly to and fro. It caught the liquid gleam of eyes. The walls were swarming with Faceless-Ones. Wherever the light touched, they rippled and heaved like a maggot- riddled carcass. If he took the World-Soul, they would come for him.
Suddenly everything happened at once.
From above came Mystigan's sharp urgent bark.
Cybil screamed. "Bennu! It's coming!"
The Faceless-Ones exploded around him.
The rushlight went out.
Something struck him in the back of the head and he fell forward onto the stone.
Again came Cybil's wild scream:
"Bennu! The Phoenix!"