The Pearl of the Soul of the World - By Meredith Ann Pierce Page 0,4

figure eight of the stone beads in the air before her and gazed beyond them into the fire, a warm dance of flame shooting upward from a metal vessel unlike any lamp she recognized.

Folding his arms and turning away from Maruha, Collum caught sight of her.

"Now what's she doing?" he cried.

"It's more of that tossing—what do you call it?—juggling," Brandl said. "She always does that."

Stringing beadstones through empty space, she felt the heat of the fire traveling over her skin. She had felt such heat once before—though far hotter—from a far greater and stranger Flame, which had lit the pearl and had taken her shadow away. Uneasily, she banished the thought.

"Make her stop." The bearded duarough shifted nervously. "It's witchery."

"It isn't," Maruha said. "Leave her alone."

Abruptly, the girl let the beads fall in a heap beside the board. Even that mindless activity sparked memories which the pin forbade. Pain bit at her skull. Wincing, she shut her eyes and waited for it to subside. She was so weary of the ache. If only she might sit here forever, warm and well fed, thinking of nothing—fearing, dreaming, anticipating nothing. Silence.

"Time I was off." Maruha stirred. She caught up the two waterskins that were empty and started away, calling over one shoulder, "Keep watch— and look after the girl."

Collum grunted. The pale girl basked in the warmth of the flame. The sound of Maruha's steps vanished down the corridor. Presently, the girl opened her eyes again. Collum had put up the beads and board and pulled the faded square of parchment from his pocket. Brandl opened his pack and drew out a tiny, slender harp made of silver wood with golden wires. The girl had never seen it before. He began tinkering with the tuning pegs and polishing it carefully with a fawnskin cloth.

"Best not let Maruha see you at that foolishness," Collum murmured. Brandl hunched protectively over the little instrument. At last he tucked the cloth away.

"Collum," he said.

The other made a wordless sound. The young duarough seemed to take it for encouragement.

"Tell me what you've heard," he said, with a glance surfaceward. "From up there. About the war."

Rattling his parchment, Collum turned away. "I wouldn't know anything of the sort."

Brandl bent closer. "You do! You're always listening. And I know you talk to the others, the ones who go surfaceward. You needn't fear to tell me. Maruha will never know."

The older duarough snorted and said nothing. The upperlander watched them, absently.

"I know I'm young," Brandl said. "But war doesn't frighten me. It's the not knowing that does.

There's a song they're singing now, about a sorceress aboveground who's gathered an army to fight the Witch."

Collum started and turned. "If you know that, then you've been listening."

"I have." Brandl caught the older duarough's arm. "But you could tell me more."

Collum glanced in the direction Maruha had gone. He shifted uneasily. "Oh, very well," he sighed. "I'll tell you what I know, young one— but only so long as not a word goes beyond you."

The young duarough nodded eagerly. Collum set down his parchment. The pale girl saw him glance once at her, but she kept her mind and features blank. Whatever the duaroughs were saying, she told herself it did not matter.

"Now hark," Collum began. "You know how, many ages past, this world was a dead and lifeless one—until the coming of the Ancients from Oceanus. The Ancients changed this world and kindled it to life, planted herbs and grasses, fashioned peoples and living creatures. They made the tall upperlanders for the surface above, and us to run the world's engines below."

He glanced again toward the girl at the mention of her kith, then back to Brandl.

"You know all that, boy?"

"Yes, yes," the young duarough said. "Maruha saw to my learning."

Collum humphed. "And you know that the Ancients ruled wisely and well for uncounted years, until suddenly, unexpectedly, Oceanus called them home. Most departed at once in their fiery chariots, never to return. But a handful stayed behind, unwilling to abandon us. Yet even those withdrew into the desert, sealing themselves away in their great domed Cities. Only the Ravenna's remained open, and people made pilgrimages to her City of Crystalglass."

The younger duarough nodded; Collum continued.

"The Ancientlady instructed our folk in the service of those devices that manufacture the world's water and air, and she created the Ions— great guardian-beasts—to shepherd the upper-landers above. But even she in all her wisdom could not keep the world from beginning to wind down: atmosphere