The Firelings by Carol Kendall

Author:Carol Kendall [Kendall, Carol]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780689502262
Publisher: Argo Books
Published: 1981-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Far on the other side of the Spewing, Skarra had been dreaming a new dream of shadowy figures dancing . . . of laughter and voices, when suddenly it was bent into the old terror. A swirling mist curled round the figures, blotting out the bright meadow, and in the center of the mist was the bundled figure, the steam, and the terror that were always a part of his dreams.

At the second tremor he sprang up, calling out to his shadowy friends to be careful, but they had disappeared into the mist. The third brought him fully awake. He was standing alone in the dark hut clutching the blue beads so hard that his hand ached.

The beads’ He had fallen asleep in the midst of telling over the beads! MudLar would never have let him do that. MudLar would have prodded him awake until he finished. MudLar would have called him a thousand names and kicked his feet to bruises, but he would somehow have seen that the beads were read twice each day—he would have kept the wrath of Belcher from touching Skarra! MudLar . . . MudLar . . .

Belcher made a terrible rumbling sound directly below his feet that drove Skarra, terrified, into the open. The Rift glowed a red warning above him.

“I will! I will!” Skarra shouted over the noise of the jarring earth. “I’ll do it now! Only let MudLar come back!” He stumbled to the ledge above the mudpots and sank to his knees. “I’m here, I’m here,” he sobbed.

A sudden roar drowned his voice. The gusher! Pent up for two days, the steaming water jet shot boiling and hissing into the sky. Skarra covered his head. Scalding spray needled his back. The roaring went on and on as though all the water in the world was spouting from Belcher’s Body.

Frenziedly Skarra fumbled out the cone of Belcher and the five Hollow stones with his left hand, and with his right the Season of New Life. His mind wiped clean of all thought by his fear, he began telling over the days . . . Sky, Sunball. Moon, Star. . . .

The jet at last dropped off with a gurgling and a gargling, shot one final spurt into the air, and fell silent.

But Skarra remained crouched over the mudpots, his fingers picking up beads and dropping them for the next in turn. Through the long night, from the hours of Stealthy Rat through Creeping Footfalls to Deepest Dark, he told the endless cycle of days and seasons.

Sometimes he fell into a half-sleep, but each time a new tremor awakened him, and his fingers staggered on at their work.

At last Belcher was mollified. He gave a final shake; his flames paled in the coming dawn. The rough beads fell out of Skarra’s raw hands and he slept where he lay.

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