Read Norton, Andre - Chapbook 04 for Free Online Page B

forward, was the victim of that assault.
     
    There
was a keening wail... not from either man or beast in their struggle, nor from Rentam either.   The
guide threw himself backward, not only to escape the hooves of the animal but
in utter surprise .. . for the sound issued from the artifact he had
found.   Nor did it emit a single note,
rather a near scream which was suddenly cut off.   Neither the horse nor Modic turned to see what had made that cry.   Rather the horse sprung forward, near overrunning the man as it burst
out of the narrow way between the two tottering pillars of rubble.
     
    The
light from the moon was gone.   Clouds
built up in the northern sky. Rentam's instinct told
him a storm was on the way.
     
    But
that was of little importance when compared to this thing he had found.   It was emitting a droning beat, broken now
and then as if each portion of sound was a word of warning or a threat.
     
    He
could have turned in the moment and found his way out of this dead curl of
broken walls and mounds of stone.   The
horse and Modic had vanished around a turn in the
debris so that he could not be seen.
     
    It
was not curiosity, nor any sense of responsibility toward Modic ,
which brought him apart from the way where he had taken refuge some moments
earlier.   Seemingly of its own accord the
hand holding the weapon (if weapon it was) shook free from his cloak without
his willing it.   The colors within were
running as if he were turning the stone about in his hand.   It was .. .
     
    For
a second, perhaps even less, he opened his eyes to their greatest extent.   The thing was moving weapon-wise at last,
though there was no enemy before him.   His muscles responded as they never had to any journey knife or battle
staff, thrusting and recovering with a knowledge which he knew he had never
learned in any clan drill.   His hand and
arm might now be possessed by ... By the dead?   In all the lore taught by his people there was no room for such an
idea.   One was born, lived, and when the
time set had come, one died.   Nor had the
ken any tales of the walking of the dead, troubling from those who were past
all of this world's sorrows, acts, thoughts.   The dead spoke not... between them and the living there was not even the
thinnest crack of a doorway.
     
    It
was not the dead suspicioned so to frighten some of
the Seeker's people and be a part of the dangers of the Dry as far as they were
concerned.   The Betweeners hinted of dealing with dark powers.   Demons . . . some of his kin, he knew, believed that there were unseen malignant
forces at loose in ancient cities.   This
city . . .
     
    Rentam stopped short and stared unseeingly at the shard he held.   What of that story Modic had asked of him, a story long current among his own people?   The cloaked one from out of the desert who
had gone to the marsh pier and thereafter summoned a thing past any man's
knowing.
     
    Rentam , still keeping the broken sliver in his hand under a flap of clothing,
strode in the direction Modic and his mount had
taken. Rounding a tall heap of debris he came abruptly into the open once more.   There was just enough light to see a square
ahead and the facades of the buildings forming its sides had apparently
suffered less from whatever doom had erased Lonscraft .   Directly across from him was a seemingly
intact building which bore no signs of ruin at all.   The wide doorway was above the level of the
square so that a flight of broad steps led to its open doorway.   Strangest of all in this desert country,
there was a runnel which had cut its way through the steps, to a hole which
gaped at ground level.   Running
water?   No, the color was wrong.   Each drop of that small flood was as scarlet
as newly shed blood.   While above its
surface, back and forth, danced winged things which skimmed so closely to the
small flood that they might have been swallowed up, yet always they coasted to
safety beyond.
     
    Modic