Stormrider (11 page)

“Could those who have the amulet be here, somewhere within the walls of this deserted city?”

Wolfin silence.

“Littlefoot and One Eye—where are they?”

Coming.

“Soon?”

Coming.

That didn’t help.

Tanith gazed again at the gleaming walls, perfection against the backdrop of a starkly clear azure blue sky. It looked for all the world as if its inhabitants had all just stepped out for a time, perhaps to tend the gardens below or to a distant festival, and would return very soon. She had to see it closer. Had to enter dank, empty, cracked rooms to reassure herself there was nothing here. That this was all illusion and the city truly was a relic of times past. Strongheart was no help. But then he was wolf, not oracle. Something Tanith had to remind herself of frequently since her bonding with the pack.
 

She licked her lips against the dryness brought by the kiss of the soft, ethereal breeze. “Then we’ll have to see, you and I, what the city offers, because I can explain none of this to you.”

Strongheart looked up at her, golden eyes eloquent in his lack of comprehension.
I understand the laws of the pack, but now we are more; we have become more—no longer wolves or wolves and human—no longer just the pack. I do not understand it all but I know it is so. You called the pack together—sought the bond of the pack ñ we, with you, have made it more.

“I have come to cherish the pack, but I did not seek it,” Tanith corrected.

You might not have realized it, but you are of Nashira and you were seeking—even not knowing what you sought. You accepted the ways of the pack as if they were law as did we. But, it was your need which drew us together. You are of the few gifted of Nashira. There is much the Goddess would have you know and much she would prefer you not know.

“Then I wish she would just step up and tell me.”

She does, but you must listen. You are daughter of Nashira as much as I am her son.

“You don’t mean . . . that we . . . somehow you and I . . .”

Strongheart’s large, golden eyes spoke volumes, mostly

containing laughter of one sort or another.
No. I am wolf and you human, but we are one nonetheless, as all things are one . . . one and yet separate onto ourselves. One Eye. Littlefoot and I are different among our kind as you are different among yours. We are not whole. We were alone until you called the pack and we all found our places in it
.
 

Tanith thought of Littlefoot’s deformed paw and One Eye’s half-blindness. She gazed thoughtfully at Strongheart. “But you have no flaw—no difference.”

I do. Mine is merely less visible. I do not think like other wolves. I strategize. When you are not old or experienced enough in the eyes of the rest of the pack for such things, you are different—ostracized—and I was far too young.

Tanith felt sympathy for this now massive silver wolf who had been cut off from the closeness of his pack when he had been young. In her mind’s eye, she could see the sturdy cub he must have been, so wise, so controlled, but so alone.

You have a kind heart.
Strongheart accepted the emotion graciously. He rose with stately power contained in sleek limbs, pointing his muzzle toward the city in the cliff.
Come. No doubt there is much to see.

Together they walked up the slope, locating a long stairway carved from the native white stone, winding its way upward. The stairs were softly grooved as if hundreds, even thousands of feet had passed that way before them, but the stone was solid. There were no signs of crumbling.

Thoughts of The Amulet of the Suonetar plagued Tanith as she climbed, swiftly placing one foot in front of the other. First the diversion of the slavers and now this. And the problem of the slavers would not go away while she explored. Yet how could she not? There was something here. She could feel it. Strongheart could feel it. There was much more to Nashira than she had ever imagined. Indeed, much more than she had wanted. Here, her life was opening like a flower absorbing all the sun had to offer. Here she was truly becoming Stormrider. But, in becoming Stormrider what was she sacrificing of Tanith? She turned her face into the flowing breeze, a mannerism picked up among the wolves.

The air became heavier as Strongheart and Tanith approached the lowest level of the city’s buildings. The air flowed and eddied like a sluggish stream. And Tanith was so very aware of it. Its touch was like that of a lover, slow and smooth, tender and full of promise. Tanith turned to Strongheart.

The big wolf trotted smoothly ahead, massive form casting a black shadow across the whiteness of the stone from which the stairs were carved.
I feel it too. There is something here
.

Yes, he felt it, Tanith decided, but did he feel it the same way? Was whatever it was the same for them both? It drew them on until, together, they entered, through a massive arch, the first of the rooms. The stone of the interior walls was white, gleaming with a satin glow, but it was much softer, Tanith found when she brushed against it. It had a resilience peculiar for stone. The ceiling soared overhead, dome-shaped with great expanses of honey-colored wood in sweeping cathedral arches resembling spokes of a giant wheel. It was not dank or dusty. Nor was it inhabited by small animals or insects. It did not have the chill of desertion. It was simply empty. Long empty. An anomaly. Long empty but not deserted?

Tanith walked slowly forward. She was aware of the fall of her footsteps but there was no echo in the great vault of this huge, empty room. There was no furniture. Only a great stone dais dominated the room at its far end, flanked by an equally massive white fireplace. The blackening of it indicated many fires had burned in that hearth. Lions’ heads, jaws agape, were carved deeply into stone protuberances supporting a thick, imposing mantle. In its edge were carved strange figures Tanith could not begin to decipher. Like runes they marched its edge, now and again their continuity broken by a very distinctive face.

Without quite realizing how she got there, Tanith found herself at the foot of the dais, Strongheart close by her side. He pressed tight against her in furry support, whether for his assurance or for hers, she didn’t know.

There were feelings here so profound, so deep, Tanith could only stare about herself in awe. She turned slowly in place, her senses opening outward as a flower before the kiss of the first rays of the morning sun. She felt it; at some deep level she understood it. There was a power here so strong it had refused to die when the place had been abandoned. The city itself remained alive. The feeling was one of her being held within its embrace.

It is more.
Strongheart countered the direction of her thoughts.
It is still here.

Tanith was about to disagree when she became aware of the sluggish coalescence of the air. Felt again its sensuous caress. Impulsively she stepped up on the dais and almost reeled at the strength of presence there. It swirled and enveloped her until she felt she was at the vortex of a whirlpool, becalmed at dead center while all the powers of nature whirled around her.

Strongheart tried to follow her but, in some way, was rebuffed. She was aware of the massive wolf just outside the perimeters of her environment, pacing nervously, circling, occasionally giving voice to his frustration in an abbreviated howl. She tried to assure him she was all right, but she could not communicate with him. They were cut off, one from the other, with total completeness.

Despite that, Tanith was swept along by a kind of euphoria, an exhilaration which touched her soul. She was aware of each atom of self individually. She was aware of an attempt at communion, which she herself was in some way rebuffing totally involuntarily. For a frozen moment in time she was aware of all things and all times. The knowledge of and the understanding of self and creation were known to her.

She smiled and he appeared. One of the faces carved in the stone of the white mantle, serene and thoughtful. He shared the vortex, reaching out to her. He was as real as she. Yet she understood he was not of her reality. He was somehow somewhere, other than in this place.

Voice low and melodious, he spoke to her. “You must retrieve the Amulet, but it will not be as you have been charged.”

“I am a Janissary,” Tanith returned. “I will serve my loyalties.”

“You will find—discover—new loyalties, loyalties of the heart.”

“I must do as bid by the Circle of Nine. I cannot fail.”

 
“What you must do will not be failure.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You will, in time.”

Tanith, still confused, now challenged by fear, tried to ask more, but he was no longer there. As suddenly as he had arrived, he disappeared. The whirlpool failed and Tanith, exhausted, collapsed to the soft-stone surface of the dais.

Chapter 9

Tanith regained her senses slowly, marveling as she rose up through the mire that was her consciousness at how widely scattered her senses had become. It was serious work now to gather them to her and awaken. There had been some pretty strange dreams in there somewhere, or perhaps they’d been hallucinations, but she was having a devil of a time trying to recall anything specific at all. And trying was the truth of it. The effort alone was overwhelming. Gradually, circumventing the buzzing in her head, Tanith accomplished a higher degree of centered consciousness.

Yes, she could see the insides of her eyelids now. Very dark with subtle floating, striating bands of light imposing themselves upon the darkness with the calm desperation of lightning lost in deep clouds. She was aware of the rough, resilient surface upon which she lay, puzzling momentarily over what it might be. And the air. The air was much as she remembered it from before. Heavy, but with a quality of familiarity. Like the familiarity of a long-time lover; unsettling, yet comforting at the same time. Sounds were magnified. Louder, sharper. She could hear the soft, rasping of Strongheart’s large paws against stone. He would be worried. Time to come back. It would take nothing less than grinding effort.

Tanith opened first one eye and not more than a split second later, the other. The room was much the same as she recalled it. Tall, domed ceiling far above. White stone glistening in diffused sunlight leaking in from who knew where. Brilliant yet soft. Too bright considering how dark it had been behind closed eyelids.

But there was a difference. There was an addition. Focus . . . center . . . breathe. Someone of The People. Someone she remembered.

Song Dog, young warrior of The People stood uncertainly near the dais staring unabashedly down at her. His frown emphasized his prominent high forehead yet also highlighted the stark and innate beauty of The People reflected in his facial features. His mouth, though, was hanging open.

Well, that was nice. Maybe she was building on her respect among The People. On the other hand, what was he doing here? They were many days travel from the encampment of The People which was his home.

Directness was Tanith’s approach of choice. “What are you doing here?” she croaked the question in a raspy voice, her mouth extremely dry, crying out for water she had not realized she craved until she spoke.

She dragged herself into a sitting position with her buckskin-clad legs dangling over the dais. The move was not easy but she felt he had accomplished it with a modicum of grace. It was, after all, not easy to be graceful, let alone steady after such a strange, draining encounter.

“How much time?” She cast the question toward Strongheart, sure the great wolf would be aware of her confusion.

Strongheart’s response was instantaneous.
Moments.

She nodded. It figured. Drama rarely took long spans of time. Encounters with spirits, or whatever it was the strange man had been, should reasonably take even less. The reasoning side of Tanith’s brain was in full gear. She didn’t care much for mysteries, cared even less for the totally inexplicable. But there were times when one’s feelings must be faced, or perhaps put aside for future consideration before an explanation for even the inexplicable could be reached. She decided this was clouded, bleary logic. And too much effort.

Explanations and understanding could wait until later. For now, there was Song Dog. Why was there Song Dog? He still had not answered her. Just stood before her, young, very young mouth, hanging open.

Song Dog knew of the chosen of Nashira: those who could, and did, bond with certain animals, Tanith was sure of it. She had heard many of the legends of The People which dealt with people such as she, a couple of them from his own lips. And she had frequently caught him watching her move about her camp. Still, the reality of her strange abilities seemed to give even a powerful young warrior pause. She was aware of him watching her gather herself.

Tanith hopped down, soft stone marking her leggings, glad to note her knees had firmed slightly from jelly stage and supported her with little effort. She was no wilting flower, with impressive height even among The People. Song Dog was young still
very
young she noted again and was a good half-head shorter than she, though plainly he would gain his height later. Nonetheless, for the moment it gave her the advantage of being able to look down upon him. He was slender and wiry, undoubtedly strong for his size since life among The People was far from physically easy, and his brown skin shone in the soft light with the oils so favored by The People.