The Castle Of Hape. Caves Of Fire And Ice. The Joining Of The Stone

Her stomach was knotted. Her hand clutched her sword hilt. Her mind raced eagerly ahead between the dark reaches, seeking now with awe, pushing toward those other worlds that had begun again to shine around her, toward the cries of men in battle, listening for Ram’s voice. Voids and piercing space threatened to swallow her. She left each scene behind her for she could not find Ram. She sought deeper and deeper into the mountain.

There she came suddenly to a pillar carved with runes that made her catch her breath, for three words shone out at her. Words so familiar, so very painful: Eternal. Will sing. Those words had been carved on the splinter of the runestone that Ram had brought with him out of Tala-charen, the splinter that now lay at the bottom of the sea, lost when the Hape had nearly killed Ram. They had never known the whole rune that appeared on the complete, unbroken stone. Ram had not had time to read it in that instant before it shattered. But these three words were part of it, and they blazed at her like fire from the pillar.

 

Eternal quest to those with power.

Some seek dark; they mortal end.

Some hold joy; they know eternal life,

Through them all powers will sing.

 

Were these words the whole rune that was carved into the runestone? Who had carved it here in this buried place? She reached out, shaking, to touch the carved pillar. What linking did this tablet have to the runestone? What linking to Ram, in whose hands the stone had shattered? She turned suddenly, feeling watched, feeling another presence.

Or was it only the old man, still watching her? Her nerves were strung tight. Imagining things. Imagining for a moment a sense of dark evil drawing in around her; and then gone. She returned to puzzling over the carved tablet. The lantern was burning low, would soon need refilling. Were the words on the tablet the key for which she searched, the key into Time? She stood repeating the words, then turned away at last confused and dizzy, and felt space wheeling around her and sudden heat searing her. Then winds came, and scenes overlapped in wild succession. She felt she could not breathe. She saw children running in terror before a river of fire, saw volcanoes spewing out against the sky. She searched wildly for a glimpse of Ram as a hundred scenes overwhelmed her. She knew she must move, must launch herself into this melee if she was to hurdle Time’s barrier—but into which scene? She dared not fling herself a thousand years from Ram, yet how could she know? She searched frantically, could not see his face, was stifled by fear, by indecision. Her lantern sputtered, the flame died. But the scenes were dimly lit, taunting her, terrifying her. She dropped the lantern, heard the precious glass shatter. She wheeled around in impotent panic—and felt something brush her arm, solid and huge; leaped back in terror, sword drawn.

The flashing scenes were gone. Dim light shone above her from a star-struck sky. A black cliff rose beside her. She touched it again. The cliff of a mountain. She let out a long breath. She was no longer in the cave, had been swept without volition across the abyss. She was ashamed now of her fear and confusion. Looking up at the sky, at the stars, she felt their vast distance. A cold wind touched her face. The caves were gone, perhaps centuries gone. She had come at last into the unfathomable, where she could search for Ram.

Then she saw the fire.

It was some distance away, down to her left, a very small fire, like a campfire. Her heart was beating wild and quick with the knowledge that she had come through the impossible barrier. That campfire might mean anything: people or creatures beyond her comprehension.

The fire flickered, then was lost for a moment as something dark moved across it. Surely it was a campfire. The sharp tang of painon-wood smoke made her press her finger to her nose to keep from sneezing. The smell of searing meat brought water to her mouth. She was wild with hunger suddenly, like an animal. She stood staring down at the bright, small glow, trying in vain to make out figures or a shelter. Surely someone must be sitting huddled in shadow waiting for supper to cook. When a sharp, high noise cut the night, she startled terribly, swallowed, her hand tight on her drawn sword in quick mindless reflex.

But it had only been a goat, the high shrill bleat of a doe goat. The fire blazed bright as if its builder had laid on more wood. The meat smelled wonderful. She could see no one. She stood quietly, but her pulse still pounded wildly with the realization that she had at last left her own time. Suddenly a voice spoke. She spun and stared at the man before her, her sword pricking his chest.

“Good even,” he repeated.