As
he stared toward the window, Zach realized that the light outside must
be from the full moon—it had been nearly full the previous night.
He rose and crept to the window, pushed the oiled skins to one side.
The clearing was empty, but the moon seemed to fill the sky, and he
thought of Evvy, and the many times they had shared the moon’s
beauty on their travels together. For a moment he wondered if Evvy
might be watching the moon too, across the continent, perhaps
standing next to her husband, Will. Wondered, with a pang of loss, if
she ever thought of him.
Now
his eye was caught by movement—shadows in the trees, seemingly
swaying with the rhythm of the music. What could he be hearing? he
wondered. Who could be making these beautiful sounds? Then he heard
something that made the hair on his arms stand on end. Interspersed
with the beautiful, insistent, rhythmic songs, were the unmistakable
strains of a feathered lyre.
“No!”
he muttered, so startled that he spoke aloud.
He
must have been followed after all—followed by whoever had purchased
his things. He looked frantically around the room for something he
could use as a weapon, but saw nothing.
The
music continued, the rhythmic drums and tambours being answered first
by the birdsong instrument, and then by the feathered lyre.
Presently, all four sections of music began to play together,
blending in a harmonious and hypnotic welter of sound.
Zach
no longer knew what to think. Despite the volume of sound, the
feathered lyre still stood out, almost as if its tones were calling
him. As he watched, the clearing filled with perhaps half a dozen
large men, their entire bodies seemingly covered with long, coarse
hair. Some held hand-drums, others played wooden flutes—the
birdsong he had heard. All swayed and danced with the rhythm, their
deep voices singing syllables in an unknown language and blending
with the music. These were not men, Zach now realized, but some sort
of animals—a distant memory from his childhood studies came back to
him of apes, large manlike creatures that had lived in jungles on the
other side of the world until they had all been driven to extinction.
I
am dreaming, he
thought.
He
scanned the group of ape-men closely, searching to see who was
playing the feathered lyre, but all of them had either drums or
flutes.
Now
a very tall, thin figure strode forth from the shelter of the woods.
His long, dark-skinned face was framed by wild, curly gray hair, and
he was very definitely human. In his hands he held the feathered
lyre. Though Zach could not see it clearly, he somehow knew that this
was his feathered
lyre. Looking directly at the gap between the oiled skins, the man
met Zach’s eyes, then deliberately stroked the strings, bringing
forth a loud discordant sound. Immediately, the other musicians
stopped playing and melted into the woods, leaving the clearing to
the tall stranger.
The
stranger stood, gazing fixedly at the cabin, his body relaxed and
offering no hint of threat. There was something familiar about him,
but Zach could not say what it was.
Not
knowing if he were walking into a trap, Zach crossed to the doorway
and stepped out into the bright moonlight. The stranger smiled.
“Greetings,
Zach,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. My name is
Shardyl.”
Zach
remained at the doorway staring at the tall man in the clearing. “How
do you know me?” he finally asked.
“I’ve
heard of you many times, in many places,” Shardyl replied. “I’ve
long hoped our paths would cross.” He stepped toward Zach, holding
out the feathered lyre. “I believe this is yours,” he said.
Zach
took it, his hands feeling an almost sensual relief as they touched
the familiar wooden frame. “How—how did you get this?” he
asked.
“I
did not steal it, if that is what you are thinking,” Shardyl said.
“At least not from you. It was sold by your Owner to one of the
players in the Pros. When he fell into a drunken stupor after the
Bowl Game I liberated it from him. I doubt he knew what it was, and
doubt also that he missed it.”
Zach
felt his head swimming with questions. “Are you... are you a member
of the Pros?” he asked.
Shardyl
laughed. “Not at all, but I know them well.” He pointed toward
the woods behind him. “I must get my pack,” he said. “Then
we’ll go inside and talk. I’ll try to answer as many of your
questions as I can.”
Zach
watched while Shardyl disappeared into the trees, then returned with
a very large leather pack. The man was nearly as tall as Zach
himself, though very lean, and apparently quite strong.
Inside
the cabin Shardyl placed his pack on the table, then sat on one of
the benches and opened it. He produced a large waterskin that proved
to contain brew, and several strips of salted dried meat.
“I’m
sure you’re hungry and thirsty,” he told Zach. “Please eat and
drink as much as you want.”
Zach
nodded his head in thanks. He had seen so many strange cultures,
encountered so many different people that he made the conscious
decision for the time being to take Shardyl at face value. Whatever
world this tall stranger came from seemed immensely different from
the many others he had seen.
He
gratefully accepted a drinking horn from Shardyl, filled it with
brew, and drank most of it in one long draught. As the bitter warmth
began to spread from his stomach through his body he felt himself
relax.
“What
are you thinking, Zach?” Shardyl asked after drinking from his own
horn.
“I
was just thinking.... that I look forward to telling my brother about
this encounter,” Zach said, so surprised at the question that he
blurted the answer.
Shardyl
again laughed, briefly. “Ah, Will the Principal,” he said. “No
doubt he would be very interested to hear what you have experienced.”
“You
have heard of the Principal?”
“I
have met him,” Shardyl said. “It’s difficult to believe that
two brothers could be so different.”
Zach
was so astonished he couldn’t think what to say in response, so
said nothing. “Please,” he said after a long moment. “Tell me
who you are and why you have followed me.”
“It
is a very long story,” said Shardyl. “And it started before the
Change.”
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