ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

Then they withdrew to wait. The herd moved on, two bulls flanking the stricken victim, seeking to protect her from further harm. But she was dying now, and all that was required of the hunters was patience.

As Karesh Var sat upon his pony and watched, the cow pitched to her side, her long trunk rising and falling, seeking perhaps to taste the air for one last time. Around her the bulls had ceased in their efforts to raise her body. They fell back, and the whole herd lifted their trunks and trumpeted to the skies. Perhaps it was a farewell song. Karesh Var did not know, but it touched him. Alongside her now two of the bulls gouged the earth with their tusks. Then the herd moved around the body in a slow circle before heading away towards the east.

Karesh Var watched them go, then rode his pony down the slope, dismounting alongside the massive corpse. Moving to the great head he placed his palm on her brow. ‘You died so that my people may live,’ he said. ‘I thank you for the gift of life, and I pray that your soul walks in the garden of all things.’

His riders arrived within the hour. Two of them set about sawing away the tusks, which would later be trans­formed into buttons, bracelets, buckles and ornaments, many to be sold to the people of the eastern cities. The meat would be cut and salt-dried, the bones reduced to powder for medicinal remedies and animal feed. The skin would be dried and used in the making of boots, jerkins and other clothing. This one mammoth represented great wealth to the Zheng tribe.

The legendary Karesh Var had succeeded once more, and his people would survive the long winter in relative comfort.

One of his men brought him a bloody strip of meat. Karesh Var threw it over his shoulder and mounted his pony, carrying the meat downwind, hurling it out on to the snow. Sabre-tooths, wolves and krals would have picked up the scent of blood long before now, and were probably already tracking the kill. The meat would give them something to fight over until the wagons arrived.

By mid-afternoon the wagons were loaded and the long trek back to camp began. No krals had appeared, which pleased Karesh Var greatly, and he had left enough meat behind to satisfy the sabre-tooths. All in all this had been a good day.

The riders and wagons slowly climbed the mountain road. The sun was bright, though not warm, and Karesh Var tied down the ear-flaps of his fur hat. These last two years, since he had turned thirty-five, he had felt the cold more, though he told no-one – except his wife. She had made him the hat from rabbit fur. Karesh Var smiled. Most of the tribesmen felt he was foolish to have only one wife. But she was worth any ten women he had known. He was looking forward to seeing her again, when one of his scouts came riding down the trail.

‘The black boat has returned, Karesh,’ he said. ‘There are Blue-hairs upon the ice.’

It was nearing noon when the first of the six silver pyramids began to glow. Questor Ro, cold and exhausted now after hours upon the ice, saw it begin. At first he rubbed his tired eyes, thinking the glow merely a dream-like symptom of weariness coupled with desire. He stared hard at the four-foot-high triangular structure, its interlinked silver poles wrapped in gold wire. Was it just reflected brightness he was seeing? Then he sensed the excitement in the Vagars around him. They too could see it, a halo of white light radiating from the structure. All weariness vanished from Questor Ro.

Beside him a slim Vagar was holding the small wooden box from which golden wires trailed to the snow, spread­ing out to link with each of the six pyramids. ‘Stand very still,’ Questor Ro told him. Moving alongside the man he carefully lifted the lid, holding it at an angle which prevented the Vagar from seeing inside. Two of the white crystals set into the mica were glowing brightly. The third was flickering with a soft gentle light. Questor Ro set the lid back in its place. A second pyramid began to glow, then a third.