Maia

pattering sounds, wooden susurrations and light scrapings like those of branches in the wind. A skilled player could lull his hearers like a stream in summer, or fill them with the frenzy of men eager to storm and loot a burning town.

The drummer, his lembas swinging slightly on his heavy belt as the upper part of his body swayed between one and the other, was beating out a deep, unvarying rhythm on the zhua, while from the lek came abrupt, intermittent sounds, like pecking or the snapping of sticks. The effect, in the darkened hall, was as though the quiet of some shadowy place-a ravine or forest-was being broken, at irregular intervals, by creatures moving unseen; concealed perhaps, yet not far away.

Slowly the drummer descended the steps and, keeping among the shadows, moved away into a recess of the hall, where he remained invisible, the sound of his lembas continuing to act like a spell upon his audience. Nennaunir leant across the table towards Maia.

"What is it-a kura? No one said anything to me about a kura."

"I don't know," answered Maia. The wine, the half-darkness and the unrelenting, rhythmic drumming were combining to intensify her disquiet. She found that unconsciously she had taken hold of something unnaturally cold and limp, and then realized that it was Bayub-Otal's withered hand. However, he did not remove it, and to spare him possible embarrassment she let it remain lightly in her own for some moments before gently relinquishing it and resting her chin on her fingers.

And now Occula was among them: Occula, a dark, lithe shape against the light at the top of the steps, the feathery tunic devoid of color, its outline like a shaggy cape, like a pelt stripped from a beast. As Maia stared up at her she turned quickly to one side, glanced down and gave it a little twist and tug, as though releasing it from invisible briars. Surrounded by the all-enveloping shadows and the throbbing beat of the zhua she came limping slowly, wearily down into the forest glade of the hall, picking her way between clumps of tall weeds, ducking under low branches, momentarily shading her eyes from a quick dazzle of last light falling between the trees. She was tired out-exhausted: they could all see that. She must have come miles: and the spear she seemed to be carrying, though only a

light, throwing javelin, would weigh heavy after so many hours afoot.

The light was fading. The drums said so. Yet as the daytime forest sank to sleep, another forest began to stir, rousing itself to people the falling night. The girl, it was clear, was unsure of her way. She hesitated, listening and gazing, once or twice retracing her steps to seek another track. The rustlings and whisperings about her were growing more numerous; yes, and more purposeful-sounds of night and active movement, no longer sounds of evening. Yet she herself stole among the trees without a sound, in and out of the last light; pausing to rest, raising one forearm to lean upon a tree-trunk, round which she peered fearfully into the dark, empty stillness beyond.

The rhythm of the zhua was changing-slower, more ponderous as the light ebbed. In the darkness, some larger creature was moving. The girl could hear it. Noiselessly she vanished between the hanging creepers, laying down her spear to part them with both hands and drawing it after her into the recesses of the undergrowth. Not a soul present but could feel, now, her dread as the unknown beast came nearer. Was it only by chance that it approached, or had it scented what it was seeking?

When the girl reappeared it was unexpectedly; from a different place, to which she must have crept, smooth as a serpent, through the close cover. She had shed her cloak now and stood naked, a black shadow in the forest agile and wary as a hunting cat. Her spear was raised, balanced in one hand. This was kill or be killed; and she, perforce, must become savage as her pursuer. She sniffed at the dark air, teeth bared, sweat gleaming on her bare shoulders. As she stole on through the gloom, the onlookers felt themselves brushed by the wing of fear-that fear which springs from the knowledge that sight and hearing are bewitched and playing false. Eud-Ecachlon, staring fascinated at the padding, prowling girl, suddenly started and turned, clapping one hand to his shoulder as though he felt the prick of thorns or the bite of an insect. A warm air seemed moving, foetid with the odor of swamp-mud and decaying leaves. The rapid, tremolo chattering of the lek had become the croaking of frogs.

But was this the huntress or the beast that came forth at length from the blackness at the foot of the steps? Its savage eyes, in a brief glimmer of lamplight, were blood-