Read Online Shardik by Richard Adams - Free Book Online

fruit-trees and flowering plants. He came upon a clustering tendriona, trained on trellises to form an arbour, and could smell the ripe fruit among the leaves above him. Reaching up, he pulled one down, split the thin rind and ate as he wandered on.
    Scrambling over a low wall, he found himself on the brink of a channel perhaps six or seven paces across. Water-lilies and arrowhead were blooming in the scarcely-moving water at his feet, but in 48 the middle there was a smooth flow and this, he guessed, must be the re-gathered stream from the ledges. He crossed a narrow foot-bridge and saw before him a circular space, paved in a symmetrical pattern of dark and light. In the centre stood a flat-topped stone, roughly ovoid and carved with a star-like symbol. Beyond, the fire was glowing red in an iron brazier.
    His weariness and dread returned upon him. Unconsciously, he had thought of the waterside and the fire as the end of the night’s journey. What end he did not know; but where there was a fire, might one not have expected to find people - and rest? His impulse on the ledges had been both foolish and impertinent. The priestess had not told him to come here; her destination might be elsewhere. Now there were only the starlit solitude and the pain in his shoulder. He thought of returning, but could not face it. Perhaps, after all, they would come soon. Limping across to the stone, he sat down, elbow on knee, rested his head on his hand and closed his eyes.
    He fell into an uneasy, slightly feverish doze, in which the happenings of the long day began to recur, dream-like and confused. He imagined himself to be crouching once more in the canoe, listening to the knock and slap of water in the dark. But it was on the shendron’s platform that he landed, and once again refused to tell what he had seen. The shendron grew angry and forced him to his knees, threatening him with his hot knife as the folds of his fur cloak rippled and became a huge, shaggy pelt, dark and undulant as a cypress tree.
    ‘By the Bear!’ hissed the Baron. ‘You will no longer choose!’
    ‘ I can speak only to the Tuginda! ‘ cried the hunter aloud.
    He started to his feet, open-eyed. Before him, on the chequered pavement, was standing a woman of perhaps forty-five years of age. She had a strong, shrewd face and was dressed like a servant or a peasant’s wife. Her arms were bare to the elbow and in one hand she was carrying a wooden ladle. Looking at her in the starlight, he felt reassured by her homely, sensible appearance. At least there was evid ently cooking in this island of sorcery, and a straightforward, familiar sort of person to do it. Perhaps she might have some food to spare.
    ‘Crendro’ (I see you), said the woman, using the colloquial greeting of Orte lga.
    ‘Crendro,’ replied the hunter.
    ‘You have come down the Ledges?’ asked the woman.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘ Alone?’
    ‘The priestess and the High Baron of O rtelga are following - at least so I hope.’ He raised one hand to his head. ‘Forgive me. I’m tired out and my shoulder’s painful.’
    ‘Sit down again.’ He did so.
    ‘ Why are you here - on Quiso?’
    ‘That I must not tell you. I have a message — a message for the Tuginda. I can tell it only to the Tuginda.’
    ‘Yourself? Is it not for your High Ba ron, then, to tell the Tuginda?’
    ‘No. It is for myself to do so.’ T o avoid saying more, he asked, ‘ What is this stone?’
    ‘It’s very old. It fell from the sky. Would you like some food? Perhaps I can make your shoulder more comfortable.’
    ‘It’s good of you. I’d like to eat, and to rest too. But the Tuginda -my message -‘
    ‘It will be all right Come this way, with, me.’
    She took him by the hand and at the same moment he saw the priestess and Bel -ka-Trazet approaching over the bridge. At the sight of his companion the High Baron stopped, bent his head and raised his palm to his brow.
    8 The Tuginda
    In silence the hunter allowed