Sander prowled about the long room, taking note of its construction. Much work had gone into its building. He could not believe that this was only a temporary structure. Rather it must have been meant to stand. Perhaps it was intended for seasonal occupation.
In the far corner he came upon a circular piece of metal, pitted and worn, but still solid, set in the stone of the floor. There was a bar crossing its top, and he thought that with pressure applied through that the lid could be raised. Perhaps there was a store room below, with more supplies than the meager amount Fanyi had found.
He went back to the woodbox, chose a length and returned to lever up that strange door. It took some effort, but at last he could slide the round metal to one side. Crouching low he stared down into thick darkness. There was, he saw as the fireplace flames flickered a little in this direction, the beginning of a ladder of metal. So there was indeed a way into the depths.
Lying belly down, he ran his hands down the ladder as far as he could reach. The steps that formed it had been patched with a crude stripping of other bits of metal. But the smell that arose to him did not, he believed, come from any storage place. It was damp and unpleasant, so much so that he jerked back his head and coughed. The larger fisher had come to the opposite side of the hole, thrusting its head forward to sniff. Now Kai hissed, expressing his own dislike of the unknown. Sander wriggled the cover back into place. He had no desire to go exploring down there in the dark.
Sander took the further precaution of wedging a length of wood through the lifting handle so that it protruded against the hard floor on either side, hoping that this might provide a lock. He had no idea what might threaten from below, but his adventures in the forest and with the amphibians had been warning enough to take care in any strange circumstances.
Now and again the house shook from a gust of the wind. They had drawn as close as they could to the fire, shedding their soaked clothing by degrees to dry it piece by piece.
The wood box had been well filled, but Sander, fearful that the supply might not last through the storm, had been eyeing the shelves along the wall. He believed they could be battered free and used to feed the flames. For now it was enough to feel the heat and be sure they had found a shelter, not haunted and dangerous as the ruins might have been, one made by those of their own species.
The roar of thunder was often followed by a distant crash. Sander believed that the gale took new tribute from the rubble mounds. And the small windows high in the eaves gave frame to brilliant flashes of lightning. The fishers and Rhin seemed uneasy, no longer settling in the fire warmth as they had at first.
Sander watched them narrowly. He could not be sure that it was only the wildness of the display outside that affected the animals. Instead, his imagination suggested menaces creeping toward their shelter. Twice he got up, first to inspect the bar across the door, then that other he hoped would seal off the hole in the floor. Both seemed tight enough.
Once they had eaten, Fanyi seated herself near the hearth, her cloak belted about her while she spread to dry her scanter undergarment. Her mat of hair straggled in wild tufts, which she made no attempt to put into order. Instead she sat with her eyes closed, her hands once more clasped over her pendant. There was about her an aura of withdrawal. She might have been asleep, even though she sat straight-backed and rigid. If she was not sleeping, she must be using another method to block out the present, retiring fully into her own thoughts. That this might be part of her Shaman’s training Sander accepted.
In time the fishers quietly came to crouch, one on either side of her, their heads resting on their paws. But they were not asleep, for whenever Sander made the slightest move, he could see their bright eyes regarding him.
He was restless, feeling shut out and cut adrift by Fanyi’s absorption. Rhin at last lay down between the fire and the door. But Sander could see that the koyot’s ears were ever aprick, as if he still listened.
The thunder rolls were dying and the lightning no longer flashed in the high windows. However, the drum of rain on the roof over their heads did not grow lighter. After their trek by night, Sander longed to sleep and he found now that he nodded, started awake, only to nod again. He had no desire to climb into one of the bunks, his wariness keeping him from relaxing entirely. And his vigilance was proven necessary when Fanyi gave a start, her eyes snapping open, her head up as if she listened.
Yet none of the three animals displayed similar unease.
“What is it?” Sander demanded.
He saw the tip of her tongue sweep across her lips.
“There is thought—seeking thought—” she answered, but she spoke almost absently, and as if she did not want to lessen her concentration.
Her words meant nothing to him. Thought? What was seeking thought?
“There is some one—some one who is Shaman trained,” she continued. “But this—” Her hands moved away from her pendant. She held them up and out, lightly cupped, as if to catch in her palms some elusive stream of invisible water, “This is so strong! And it is not wholly pure thought—there is something else—”
“I do not understand what you are saying,” Sander replied brusquely, trying to break through the air of otherness that clung to her. “I do not know the ways of Shamans. Do you mean that someone is coming?”
Again he glanced at the animals. But they were quiet, even though they watched. He could not believe that Rhin would allow any stranger to approach without giving full warning.
Fanyi’s expression was one of excitement, not fear. It was as if she were a smith and before her lay some problem of smelting for which she now clearly saw the answer. He, himself, well knew the feeling of exultation such rare moments could bring.
“It—there is no enemy.” She appeared to be choosing words. “There is no awareness of us—that I could read at once. I feel the power of a sending, but it is not entirely like my power, and I cannot tell the nature of the matter with which it is concerned. Only there is one who sends. Ah—now it is gone!” She sounded disappointed. “There is no more reach—”
That she believed passionately in what she spoke of, Sander knew. But he could not accept those facts that seemed so much a part of her beliefs. A Rememberer, now, spent long years of “remembering”—of listening over and over again to chants of past events, which it was necessary the Mob be able to draw upon for help in untangling some new problem. The lineage of all the kin was so remembered that there not be too close uniting of birth relationships, weakening the people as a whole. The care of the herd, the very contours of the lands over which they had roamed in the seasons upon seasons since the Dark Time, all that lay in the mind of a Rememberer, to be summoned at will. But this seeking thought—? How could one seek save physically by eye, voice, body?
“The Traders have these seekers?” he asked now. That breed of organized wanderers, who had sought out the Mob, seemed little different from his own people. They were jealous of their secrets, yes. But those were secrets of trails and of the places where they found their basic stocks, the metal that was so necessary for making tools and weapons. They told wild tales of the lands they crossed to bring that metal, yet most of the Mob had been agreed that there was method in those stories—meant to warn off any curiosity on the part of outsiders. Traders had been known to kill lest some favorite supply place be tapped by those not of their own particular clan. But they said nothing of this mind-seek.
“I have never heard that such was so,” Fanyi replied promptly. “The Traders who came to Padford”—she shook her head again—”they were no more nor less than any of the villagers. Yet we have already seen strange peoples who are not of our blood. Think you of the forest savages or of those who swarm in the river. This world is very full of wonders, and he who travels learns.”
“The Traders tell wild enough tales, but those are meant to afright men and keep their own secrets safe.”