The Wanderer's Tale (65 page)

‘True!’ Kuthy protested, visibly offended. ‘I assure you. There is a secret tunnel that leads right down and under the mountains, and comes out the other side—’

‘A tunnel that passes under the entire range of the Giant Mountains!’ Finwald laughed, wondering why they were even bothering to have this conversation. ‘A tunnel that runs for over a hundred miles?’

‘He lies,’ agreed Paulus. ‘I say we kill him – he is not to be trusted.’

Ignoring this last suggestion, Nibulus said, ‘Mr Tivor, it would appear that you are trying to lead us out of our way. Please would you explain.’

‘And why should you bother going that way anyway?’ Bolldhe added, ‘It might halve our journey, but it would take you right out of
your
way. What’s in it for you?’

‘So why, if I’m lying, would Gwyllch have ever attempted to cross that terrible barrier?’ Kuthy protested. ‘Was there not an easier way for he and his exhausted and battle-scarred warriors to get home?’

‘He does have a point,’ Nibulus admitted, his curiosity somewhat aroused now, for it had always been a mystery exactly what had become of Gwyllch after the siege.

‘And your priests have a skill which they don’t appear to be using,’ Kuthy went on. ‘Well, boys, am I lying?’

It appeared not, the mage-priests eventually conceded with incredulity – though Appa still seemed troubled by something.

‘Thank you,’ Kuthy breathed. ‘Now if you’ll let me explain, the tunnel I speak of runs only for about half a day’s march beneath the mountains. It starts high up in a cleft that can be reached by a minimal amount of climbing; it bores through the mountain and emerges above the foothills of the land that lies beyond.’

‘Land that lies beyond?’ Nibulus asked dubiously.

‘Of course! The mountains don’t stretch all the way to the Last Shore; they merely
ring
around an isolated country that hardly anyone knows about. It shouldn’t take us more than five or six days to cross the intervening basin, and there at the foot of the northern perimeter we’ll reach another tunnel, leading out of the mountain-girdle.’

They looked round at each other doubtfully. Then at last, Bolldhe inclined his head to look Kuthy directly in the eyes. ‘You are talking about Eotunlandt, aren’t you?’

‘Ah!’ Kuthy responded, eyeing the wanderer shrewdly. ‘Another Asker of Questions. Yes, Bolldhe, I am talking about Eotunlandt.’

Tales of Eotunlandt had been told for centuries. It was claimed that within the fastnesses of some distant mountains at the Edge of the World, there lay a strange and marvellous realm that was locked away from the rest of the world: ‘
. . . a lost horizon, an Elysian Field, an undying land, forever sealed . . .
’ If any story seemed too fantastical to be true even by the skalds’ standards, it was attributed to that mythical land. But even the stories purporting to have originated from there were considered by most to be mere fables. In any case, there was no firm record of anyone actually climbing those mountains to find out.

Eotunlandt. Was it truly a fairy story? Did it truly exist? Did anyone truly care?

‘It is said to be a land closed to mortals,’ Paulus commented. Everyone turned to him. ‘’Tis the land of the elder spirits, and . . .
huldres
,’ he went on, almost disgorging the last word.

Nibulus was less impressed. ‘Well I never,’ he said. ‘All these years I’ve lived in Wyda-Aescaland, and I never realized the Land of Dreams lay so close to our home. And there was me under the impression that it supposedly lay on the very edge of the world.’

Kuthy’s ‘hat’ bristled, and slid forward a touch. ‘It
is
on the edge of the world. Where do you think the name “the Last Shore” comes from?’

Nibulus frowned, then stared at the hat and asked: ‘What d’you feed that thing on, anyway?’

‘Stupid questions, usually,’ Kuthy replied, ‘but in the absence of that, cowardice will do.’

Bristling in turn, Nibulus decided to bring the matters at hand forward. ‘And how would you know of this secret tunnel, Tivor? What does it, and this Eotunlandt of yours, have to do with
you
? Are
you
a huldre? Or an elder spirit?’

‘And who constructed this passageway?’ Finwald demanded, in more practical tenor.

‘The truth of the matter is,’ Kuthy replied, somewhat sheepishly, ‘that I don’t really know. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t got the foggiest idea. It certainly wasn’t the spirits, whoever or whatever they are – for theirs is a secret land shut away from the rest of the world, and they intend to keep it that way. It is however possible that huldres built it, maybe as a way into mortal lands—’

‘To plague us with their deviant ways!’ Paulus seethed.

‘I suppose so,’ Kuthy went on, glancing at the Nahovian curiously, ‘but the fact is, it is there. You have my oath on it.’

‘Hmn, very convincing, I’m sure,’ Nibulus commented, ‘but you still neglect to answer my question: how do
you
know about it?’

‘I’m an adventurer,’ he answered. ‘It’s my job to know about such things. There are so many stories about Eotunlandt all over the Far North, more than anywhere else I’ve been to, and when I first came here I was naturally intrigued. If such a land existed, imagine what treasures might lie within. And all as untouched as your mage-priests’ maidenhood.’

Appa coughed, and gave Finwald a knowing look that said:
Friend Kuthy here obviously hasn’t met Aluine . . .

No
. Finwald nodded back.
Nor Marla, come to that . . .

‘So,’ Kuthy continued, ‘I kept my ears open. For many years I made it my business to research the legend. I’d listen to the stories of the greybeards, the lays of the
akyns
; I’d ask questions, consult seers, even read books on the subject. In the end, whilst on a little jaunt through the ice-caves of Hoc-Valdrea, I came upon an old inscription. It was
extremely
old, too – a whole wall covered in petroglyphs of some ancient script. Fascinating stuff. Well, I was . . . preoccupied with other more pressing matters, as you might say, but in my line of work one doesn’t simply walk away from an entire wall of ancient inscriptions without doing anything, so I copied them down.

‘Anyway, months passed, then years, and I all but forgot about them. But one day, as I was selling some old scrolls to a theurgist in Drachrastaland, the parchment I’d written the inscriptions down on fell out of the pile, and before I knew it the old fellow was reading it – translating it for me, if you please! He said it was an ancient hieroglyphic system used by the stone-dwellers who had lived in the area around Wyrld’s Point, and that it described a legend, something about the “Land of the Second Ones”. So, for a fee he translated the whole of it for me, and it was then I realized it was a set of instructions on how to get into Eotunlandt!

‘Within weeks I was searching the mountains. The legend was vague, obscure, open to all sorts of misinterpretations; but with a little help from some friends of mine’ – he spread his arms, as if to imitate a bird – ‘within months I found it: the entrance to Eotunlandt!’

‘So?’ prompted Bolldhe. ‘What happened then?’ He was stirred by this tale, and did not care who knew it. In all his own travels he had never come across any legends carved in stone leading to hidden kingdoms.
Some people have all the luck!

‘What happened then,’ Kuthy continued, noting the glint in Bolldhe’s eye, ‘was that I followed the passage, and it did indeed usher me through to a land beyond. I tell you, it was the fairest, most wonderful realm that has ever beglammered my eyes: blue skies, soft, rich grass, and all within it – trees, beasts, birds, insects – unique. And it was bright and sunny almost every day; the rain, when it did fall, was sweet as dew—’

‘But what of those that dwelt there?’ demanded Paulus. ‘Were there no huldres?’

‘Oh yes,’ Kuthy replied, sensing the Nahovian’s anxiety, ‘huldres a-plenty; small, sweet, and charming; inquisitive and . . . trusting.’

Paulus’s sword-arm twitched with anticipation. He could almost feel a fit coming on.

‘I travelled through without mishap, heading north, right across the land. Eventually, I reached the mouth of a second tunnel. This one led steeply upwards until it came out high up in the northern foothills. All below, for miles around, I could see spread out before me like a map the Last Shore, the Jagt Straits, and Melhus Island just nigh, like a smoky, black patch of tar, all fiery, steaming and turbulent. It was a magnificent sight!’

With that, Kuthy reclined back on one elbow and stared into the flames of the campfire, his pitch complete.

It was all up to them, now.

Nibulus looked around at his company. Finwald was clearly at a loss, and merely returned his regard with a shrug. Appa seemed deep in thought. Bolldhe, however, actually looked enthusiastic for once. And Paulus was almost salivating at the thought of all those huldres, ‘small, sweet, charming, inquisitive . . . and
trusting
’.

‘Appa?’ the Peladane asked, interrupting the man from his rumination and drawing him aside. ‘I’ve trusted your sight up till now; what do you think? Is he telling the truth?’

Appa breathed out slowly, dreading the implications of what he was about to say. He looked troubled, as if somehow torn between two great evils. ‘I believe he
is
telling the truth,’ he replied eventually, ‘and he means us no harm . . . exactly. Though there is something, some small something, that he is holding back from us.’

‘But do you trust him?’

Appa, however, remained strangely non-committal and would say no more, even when the Peladane twisted his ears painfully.

The company did not discuss it further. They just sat around their fire and thought their thoughts: thoughts of a man whom nobody really believed in – of a
land
that nobody really believed in – did not want to believe in – yet
had
to believe in – a land of huldres, so hated, so against everything they stood for, and yet so desired – a land where the sun always shone and the grass was so rich.

A short cut.

And then this forest – its unrelenting miles of dreariness, of cold, of evil . . . and the beast that would be back for them, maybe not that night, maybe not the next, but sometime during their long trek through Fron-Wudu, on some dark night when they were not expecting it.

Five days later they emerged from the cover of the forest, and gazed at last upon the magnificence of the Giant Mountains.

Whilst still beneath the forest canopy they had slowly worked their way up the lower foothills. Soon the trees had begun thinning out sufficiently to allow the company their first brief glimpses of the mountains’ ice-capped peaks between the gaps in the treetops. It was a land of boulders and rock pillars; strange, mace-shaped flowers of brilliant amethyst that imbued the forest with the fragrance of aniseed; of twisted conifers hung with immense, hairy vines. Tumultuous streams of clearest water surged down deep-cut troughs to their side, and the air was alive with the croaking and screeching of frenetic birds.

The mood of the travellers had thereupon transformed from one of desperation and flight to an urgent hunger for adventure. The spirit of the soldier of fortune was clearly rubbing off on them.

Now as they stood atop the foothills, with the vast, dark sprawl of Fron-Wudu close behind them, the company gazed up in breathless awe at the dazzling white splendour of the fabled Giant Mountains before them. Cliffs, slopes, promontories and couloirs filled their vision, climbing up, up and up, further and further, piling one on top of the other until finally attaining heights that none of the southerners would ever have believed possible.

A chill wind blew down from the icy heights above, swept on past them and moaned eerily through the treetops behind. The boom and slither of an avalanche echoed down through the valleys and passes high above. Circling in the grey sky, a mere speck against the light, a lone bird of prey called out its plaintive cry.

‘Look!’ Kuthy called out to them. ‘This valley to the left – it’s at the top of that we’ll find the gateway to Eotunlandt. See, follow the line of darker rock as it reaches up that ridge there; you get to that odd-shaped stack of boulders at the summit, and beyond that, that’s where the cleft is, the one that leads to the gate.’

They stared hard through the tears the icy wind brought to their eyes, following the directions of their new guide, but they could only guess where he was pointing to. Wodeman had still not turned up, even after all this time, and though they all tried not to think about him, they could not help but wish he were here now, to use the evidence of his superior eyes to tell them whether or not Kuthy were bluffing.

Eventually, though, they found that they could spot it, that steep arête with its distant pinnacle, just barely visible if one concentrated hard enough.

‘But . . . it’s miles!’ Finwald exclaimed in genuine shock. ‘You didn’t mention anything about that!’

Appa, too, gaped in disbelief, positively cowering beneath the frown of the slope before him. ‘You surely can’t expect us to climb all the way up there?
Pech!
I’m an old man, not a mountain-goat!’

Kuthy completely ignored the pair of them. Even the others appeared unconcerned at their priests’ carping. Bolldhe, in fact, was wide-eyed with eagerness.

‘Nobody’s doing any climbing this evening,’ Kuthy informed them. ‘We need a full day’s light to ascend by, so we’re setting off at first light tomorrow. Right, Peladane?’

‘That’s the plan,’ Nibulus confirmed with a slight smile. ‘For now, men, get what rest you can. We camp here for the night.’

That night the company made camp beneath the sparse shelter of a few trees atop a hillock. The light of the waxing moon reflected off the snowy slopes of the mountains to cast a cold, silver sheen over the forest below. Just beneath the treetops hung a mist, giving the forest the appearance of a swampy marsh, but up here at the foot of the mountains where the frigid wind came in fits and gusts, it was clear. A man could see far on this night.

They would have to proceed, they knew, though Wodeman had still not shown up. If he did not return to them within the next few hours, that would be it. None there understood exactly how the shaman managed to find them again in the wilds after those long absences of his, or indeed why he disappeared off like that in the first place. But this time he did not even know where, or in which direction, they were heading; the idea of coming this way had been discussed
after
he had last vanished. Once they were inside the tunnel, they would surely be beyond even his perception.