The Silver Sun (28 page)

“He can rest later,” he remarked, “and for us it will be a long, arduous night. Sleep well."

But they did not sleep well at all, and arose with relief that the waiting would soon be over.

“Why does no one come here?” Trigg asked at supper.

“Folk say it is haunted,” Hal replied. Trigg shuddered, but Hal seemed not to notice. “And so it is, in a manner of speaking. When I was young, some lads of the castle went on a dare to explore that cave from which the bats come. They returned soon after, running and shouting, half crazed with terror. Yet, when they were asked what had frightened them, they could not say."

Alan caught his drift. “Hal,” he remonstrated, “how can you expect him to withstand it? Will he have you by him to help?"

“Nay. He must stay here with the horses. But I would put my hand in fire for Trigg,” answered Hal. “He is great of heart, and faithful even where his understanding does not reach."

“Withstand what?” demanded Trigg shakily.

“There can only be one meaning to what I have told you. The bats’ cave must lead to the catacombs, the charnel pits under the Tower. Alan and I will go into it that way."

“I ha’ often fought men,” Trigg gasped in protest, “but never spirits!"

Hal placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and met his honestly frightened eyes. “Now hear me well,” he charged him gently, “and forget all those false tales told to you by idle folk. If you do any fighting here tonight, it will indeed be with men, for only they would harm you. But your most difficult fight will be with your own fear."

“I hear ye,” muttered Trigg.

“Once Alan and I have found our friends, we must summon up the spirits to rid us of the guards. You are likely to see armed men run, and hear them scream. If you stand your ground, you will learn that they run from nothing, and substance of nothing, except the evil in their hearts reflected back to them in the form of the unknown."

Trigg gazed for a long moment into Hal's gray eyes, and a seed of wisdom took root in the good soil of his honest soul. “I think I grasp ye,” he murmured.

“Good. By the end of this night you shall be able to call yourself one of the dragon slayers, the true heroes of Isle."

Trigg laughed. “Pshaw!” he exclaimed, but stopped wide-eyed when he saw that Hal was not joking.

With the coming of dusk, the bats began to issue from their crevice in the rock. Alan and Hal equipped themselves with lantern, bread and bandages. “Have the horses in readiness, Trigg,” Hal instructed. “If we succeed, we must be off quickly, before the panic subsides. If any kingsmen come this way, keep out of their path if you can; protect yourself and the steeds if you must. And remember, fear is only fear—of itself, it cannot hurt you. Farewell."

“Go with all blessing,” Trigg whispered.

The cave of the bats was pitch dark, and the stench terrible. Hal whispered to the remaining bats as they entered: “
Este selle, bissel arledas, al donn tha ne riste
.” ["Be calm, little brothers, we mean you no harm."] So the small creatures were silent except for their usual rustlings and chirpings. But Hal and Alan did not dare to risk a light, not where eyes from the Tower might see, and their fingers grew foul and slimy as they felt their way along. Their feet slipped and squished across the uneven floor covered with dung.

After what seemed an eternity, they cautiously lighted their lantern. They moved more freely now, but Alan became sickeningly aware that the floor was one great writhing mass of maggots and insects feeding on the dung of the bats. His stomach turned, and he tried not to look at his feet.

Abruptly the realm of the bats ended, and gratefully the comrades made their way along bare, damp stone. The cave narrowed, turning into a crevice which descended at a steep angle into the depths of the earth. The two found themselves sliding down a crooked chimney of stone. Presently Hal felt his feet dangling in air. He lowered himself and dropped lightly to the floor below. Alan followed more slowly. These strait underground regions choked his heart. Grimly he steeled himself against whatever treacherous cavern might await him.

He landed beside Hal. But the lantern cast its light on a large domed passageway, and Alan realized at once that they stood in a work of man, not nature. The fissure through which they had entered showed as a dark flaw overhead. Alan stood gazing in amazement.

“Ancient people dug these,” Hal explained. “No one knows quite why. As mines, perhaps, or retreats in time of attack. My ancestor Herne, curse his name, very sensibly used one of them as the deepest dungeon of his despicable Tower. Let us go."

They padded along quietly but at a good pace until they came to a halt at a wall of rubble which blocked their way. Part of the tunnel had at some time fallen in.

“Confound it!” muttered Hal, poking about, then recklessly climbing up the huge crumbling mass. Near the top he stuck his head into a black hole and called down excitedly, “This goes through, Alan, I can feel it! Bring the light!"

Alan climbed gingerly up the sliding stones with the lantern. “Hal,” he asked in a low voice, “are you never frightened?"

Hal wheeled and looked at him sharply, then remorsefully took his hand. It was icy cold. Hal chafed it as he spoke. “Seldom. But you're far braver than I."

As Alan sputtered in protest he went on, sadly but without self-pity. “I have always held loosely to life. But you, who have the heart to embrace life, must brave the fear of losing it. The old fears that strike deepest, fear of dark, and depths, and heights—these I scarcely know, and I can only imagine the courage you spend to overcome them."

“Can you not imagine what it would be like to get stuck in a hole like that?” Alan broke in.

“Imagining doom! Why, Alan, that's not like you at all!” Hal chided, smiling. Then he sobered. “Do you really want to turn back?"

“Nay,” answered Alan ruefully, “go on, as ever. I will follow."

The next half hour might have been the worst in Alan's life if it were not for Hal's generous words. They wormed their way through the tiny tunnel, pushing their baggage before them. Sometimes they stuck fast, making their way through only by main force. Then rock fragments would shower them till, hearts frozen in terror, they were sure they would be buried alive. When they got through at last, it was tricky work not to go tumbling headfirst down the other side. But they reached the bottom and sat there for a few minutes, panting.

“How long have we been in here?” sighed Alan. “It seems like hours."

“Not so long, I hope,” murmured Hal, “but long enough. We had better be moving."

They had not walked too far when Alan felt the presence of the spirits of the dead, though only as a bodiless weight in the air. Within a few paces the dim lantern light began to reflect on jumbled human bones, many of them broken, intermingled with bits of hair and clothing. Through the darkness they sensed that the pile grew into a mountain, reaching far above their heads. This was the work of seven generations of oppression, thousands upon thousands dead. The stench struck them to the core, for it was the stench of death, of rotting flesh and the creatures which feed upon it. Hal and Alan could not face each other's eyes.

“You who died in pain and hatred,” Hal spoke to the waiting spirits, “we come not in idleness, but because we must."

The rustle like a breath of new air went through the still place. A deep voice rumbled, as if from afar: “We know you, Mireldeyn and Elwyndas, and we have waited long for your coming."

“We must ask your help,” Hal continued, “or we are not likely to live through the night."

“Wherever you move, you shall be the center of our circle of friendship and ringed with our Otherness.” As the voice spoke, Alan felt the heavy chill in the air turn to warmth and comfort. He raised his head and breathed deeply; the stench of death no longer troubled him.

“Many thanks,” said Hal. “But wait in this chamber until I call.” Businesslike, he began to climb up the latticework of skeletons. Alan's eyes widened in distress.

“Hal! Must we?"

“It is the only way to reach the door.” But Hal paused a moment, listening once again for the spirits. “Is it not, our friends?"

“The only way,” echoed the deep, distant voice. “Go, Elwyndas, with our blessing. We are proud that our shattered bodies can yet be of such use."

“It will cause you no pain?"

“None."

“Then, many thanks."

They toiled silently up the macabre slope. The light of their lantern fell sometimes on the half-rotted flesh of a more recent victim, or on the retreating forms of squeaking rats and scurrying beetles. Hal struggled along, eyes fixed on his footing, trying not to wonder whether they might find Roran and the others atop this grisly hill. From behind he heard a half-strangled gasp, and spun around just in time to save Alan from falling. Trembling, Alan sank to his knees, white as the bleached bones beneath him. From the tangled heap of remains protruded a skeletal hand, and on its chalky finger was a silver ring set with a deep black stone. Hal stared silently as Alan's shaky hand reached out as if to living flesh.

“Father,” Alan breathed, and he searched the darkness around him as if for a familiar face. Hal knelt beside him, gripped his shoulders.

“Alan,” he whispered, “even if he is here, you do him no service to call him."

“The dead can have no place in the lives of those they leave behind,” said the deep voice from its distance of Otherness. “Lover shall not speak to lover, nor father to son, but the Wheel shall spin out its seasons. So it is written in the Book.” Alan thought he heard tears in the voice.

“Alan,” urged Hal gently, “think of the living—if they are yet alive."

Alan raised his head and clenched his jaw a moment, and his trembling stopped. “May I take the ring?” he asked presently, in a voice he could not quite control.

“It belongs to the son of the one who wore it."

Alan removed the ring reverently and slipped it on his own finger. Then he rose, and they went on without looking back.

Streaks of dim light guided them to the door of the charnel chamber, over piles of fresh bodies which Hal examined hastily and turned from in relief. They extinguished their lantern and hid it among the gruesome contents of that cellar. On the threshold they listened a moment. The door was not barred; who would think to prevent the dead from escaping? So, hearing no voices or footsteps on the other side, they pushed it open.

Far above, Lord Roran lay in the darkness of his cell. The barred window overhead told him that it was night, but he did not sleep. He could not think. He had lost track of the days, for his head was light with hunger. Nothing but moldy bread and stale water had passed his lips. The first day he had been given a morsel of rotten meat, not fit for dogs, and he had scorned it. The guards had jeered at him. “By this time next week,” they had laughed, “you will be ready to beg for such as that” They were right.

Since then they had paid him no unwelcome attention. His lump of bread and pannikin of water were wordlessly thrust at him each day. But now he heard the sound of harsh laughter approaching. The creaky door of his cell swung open and a body was thrown roughly on the stone floor just out of his reach. As the door crashed to and the men tramped noisily away, the still form on the stones stirred and moaned.

“Father?"

“Robin!” Roran sprang to the end of his fetters like a maddened dog on a chain, lunging and wrenching in his frenzy to reach his son. It was no use, and as he sank back in the straw, exhausted, he heard Robin whispering, “Father, don't..."

“Robbie,” sobbed Roran, “what have they done to you?"

“Father, pray stop. Your tears hurt me worse than the blows."

Roran lay still, collecting himself. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. He could tell from Robin's panting that his son struggled to suppress great pain.

“I am better now, Robin. Tell me the truth. What have they done to you?"

“They have tied my hands behind my back, and forced a spear through my legs behind the knees.” Robin could not quite steady his voice. “I cannot move without crippling myself. I cannot come closer to you.” There was a long silence. Finally Robin asked, “Have you seen Cory?"

“Nay.” How like him to ask for Cory, Roran thought with painful pride. Since that autumn day nearly two years before, the boys had been inseparable. Boys! No more. In that time they had grown to tall youths, skilled in the arts of war and peace, bold in body and mind, and as alike in their regard for each other as they were different in appearance. Trust each to think of the other before himself!

“I hope he has not been hurt,” Robin whispered. “Probably they do not realize how high he stands in our affections, or that he knows anything...."

Slowly the last phrase sank into Roran's mind. “Anything about what?"

“Hal. They kept asking me about him. I told them that I knew nothing of him, but it seems they do not believe me."

“Hal!” breathed Roran. “So that is what this coil is for!” Abruptly he shouted, “Guard!"

“Father! What are you doing?"

“If it will get that spear out of your legs, I will tell them an earful about Hal! Ay. I would lead them to his front door if he had one!"

“Father, nay! You must not betray him. Do you think it would make any difference, even if you did? They would kill us all the sooner, having had their purpose of us."