CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Korg licked his lips nervously. He was afraid, and he did not like the feeling. It reminded him of the time he and Mordor had been forced to leave their village all those years ago. He remembered how the women had shouted and thrown stones at them, and the old men had glared, their eyes filled with loathing. But the young men had frightened him most. They had been ready to kill - not surprising, considering what Mordor had done. Had they known the rest, they would have killed. Even Korg had been shocked. That was when he had first understood what Mordor's voices could do to him, to them.

He took a step back, watching the women carefully. Their faces were hostile, their bodies tense with anger. To return to Niva's village had been a mistake, he realized, but he had been unable to think of another place to spend the winter. Always before, they had gone to Runor's village, but that was no longer possible. He had never dared to tell Mordor that Rofina was dead. To tell him that she had gone away with another man would be even worse. Mordor had always been certain that Rofina was devoted only to him, and to know that it was not true would destroy him completely.

Where was Niva? Why had she not come to defend him? The women would not dare to act like this if Niva was here. He had charged her with the task of restoring the Leader's authority when they had left, he remembered angrily. Why had she not done his bidding?

The women continued to stare at him. Korg tried to stare back but his eyes dropped in the face of the hatred in saw in some of their eyes. That did not surprise him, but their defiance did. Perhaps Zena's influence had lasted longer than he had anticipated. By this time, Niva should have been able to convince them that Zena was an imposter who should not be believed.

Still, the villagers might have left them alone if Mordor had not tried to persuade one of the girls to come to him, and sent Korg to get her when she failed to arrive. That was what had made the women so angry. The girl had been very young, which angered them further. Mordor preferred them as young as possible. He always had, but the craving had been worse since Rofina had gone. Without her he was restless, more easily angered, and he wanted the girls over and over again.

Nausea invaded Korg's belly. Mating had always disgusted him. Even to think of being so close to another person made him feel sick. When he had to mate, as he occasionally did, he always threw up any food he had eaten. Still, he rather enjoyed watching. He liked to see how the girls reacted to the potions he devised for them. Rofina especially had intrigued him. He had not expected such blatant desire, had thought that she at least was pure and would not be corrupted by his potions. He had been wrong.

Korg's lips twisted. Even he had been deceived by Rofina's innocent face. He had begun to care for her a little, as one might care for a child. What a fool he had been! Beneath her child-like exterior, she was as sinful as the others. All women were filled with lust, he reflected with scathing disdain. Rofina was no exception. He had not been surprised when he heard that she was dead, either. No one who needed the poppies as much as Rofina did could last for long without them.

The bitter taste of hatred filled him unexpectedly, not for Rofina but for the woman who had called herself his mother. He pushed it away ruthlessly. He must concentrate on what he should do next.

The women were silent, watching. He could not retreat as if he was afraid, but to take the girl now was impossible. They had surrounded her and would not give her up without a fight. Probably they would call in the men, and they might attack. Korg wished Gurd was nearby to protect him, but he had stayed with Mordor.

One of the women took a step toward him and raised a threatening fist. Korg backed away once more, but he forced himself to speak defiantly.

"To disobey the Great Spirit is wrong!" he warned them. "This will not be forgiven!" They did not answer or even move.

Korg took another step back; then he turned to walk away, trying to move with dignity. "I will return!" he shouted over his shoulder. Again, there was no answer, only their eyes boring into his back. He was grateful for the thick cover of trees that quickly made him invisible.

It was all the fault of the woman called Zena, he fumed as he retreated. Until she had spoken of the Goddess the girls had come willingly, flattered by special attention from the Leader. The people had listened eagerly to him, too, and had obeyed the commands of the Great Spirit. Now, many refused, even in the north where people had never before dared to disobey.

Korg's face twisted with fury; then he sighed heavily. Zena was not the only problem. There was also the restorative. Mordor's craving for that was worse, too. Korg was appalled at how quickly his brother had reverted to his old ways. Years ago, Mordor had drunk mead constantly; now he could indulge in his craving again because Gurd gave him mead whenever he asked. Even when Korg had expressly forbidden it, Gurd gave it to him. He had never been able to deny Mordor anything. Even girls.

The two cravings were inextricably combined, Korg thought with revulsion. The more mead Mordor drank, the more he began to mumble of witches and to stagger into the villages in search of girls. Once people had seen him intoxicated, they lost all respect for him - and for the Great Spirit. And if Gurd stole a girl for him, as he had from time to time, the villagers were ready to kill.

Somehow, he must wean his brother from the cravings, Korg thought with a sense of desperation. But how? The only way to calm Mordor when he became agitated was to give him mead, but then he wanted more and more, and then he demanded girls. Korg sighed. It was a vicious circle he could not seem to break.

When he arrived at the clearing he hesitated, wondering how best to handle his brother this time. Mordor would be angry when he returned without the girl. He always became upset when his wishes were not obeyed.

"Where is the girl?" Mordor demanded irritably when Korg appeared.

"There were none who were right for you," Korg lied smoothly.

"Then I will look for myself," Mordor replied, getting to his feet unsteadily. His eyes were glazed. Gurd must have given him still more mead, Korg realized. Worse, since their own supply was exhausted, he must have taken it from the supply hidden by the men of the village. They would not be pleased when they came at the end of the day and saw that much of their mead was gone.

Gurd appeared, holding a large bowl of mead. Korg hesitated, and then decided to let Mordor have it. That was better than having him stumble back to the village again in search of a girl.

"Why do you not have some more of the restorative before you look for a girl?" he told his brother soothingly. "I am sure that will help." Mordor hesitated, his face still stubborn, but the offer was too tempting to resist, and he nodded.

Korg watched in disgust as he gulped down the drink. His face hardened. He could not let mead destroy everything he had built. After this, there must be no more. And that meant he must find a way to keep Gurd away from Mordor until he was weaned from his cravings.

The best solution, Korg decided, would be to travel for a time, heading north. Traveling always seemed to calm Mordor. It also meant that Gurd could not make mead. Then, when snow made walking difficult, he would persuade Gurd to stay near one of the northern villages, while he took Mordor to a secluded place he knew of further to the south and east. He would tell Gurd that the Leader needed him to stay in the north to remind the villagers that it was dangerous to disobey the Great Spirit. Gurd would like that. He enjoyed intimidating people.

Korg's lips twisted with savage pleasure as another thought came. He would tell the villagers that Gurd was a spirit with great power who watched them all the time, even if he and the Leader were not there. That would keep them obedient. Many of the women already believed that, he suspected, so it should not be difficult.

The solution pleased him. He and Mordor could build a real hut, not just a shelter, and be alone as they had when they first set out together. No one would see them or know they were there, so there would be no temptations from mead or from girls. Once he had calmed Mordor, he would begin the lessons again, teach his brother how to make the voices work for him as the Great Spirit instead of making him do things no man would otherwise do.

"More!" Mordor held out the bowl imperiously. Korg's mind snapped reluctantly back to the present. He would allow his brother one more. Then they must leave, while Mordor could still walk and before the village men discovered that their mead was gone. He had known men to kill for less.

"Of course, dear Leader," he murmured, fetching Mordor another, much smaller portion. His brother looked gratified. He liked to be called dear Leader, especially at times like this.

Mordor drank, more slowly this time. He was already swaying on his feet. Korg let him finish, then he gestured to Gurd to fill a gourd with mead for Mordor to have later. Donning their disguises, he and Gurd supported the Leader on either side and led him up the steep hills and over the pass. Korg steered them away from Rofina's village once they had crested the high ridge and led them instead over the far side of the mountain to the north, where he was sure no one lived. It was an exhausting trek but Korg did not let them stop until they were far enough from Niva's village so no one would come after them.

Once they were settled around a small fire, Korg handed Mordor a cup of the mead Gurd had brought. Mordor consumed it greedily, and then gestured for another. Korg did not demur, but he added herbs to the concoction so Mordor would fall asleep before he could demand more. To have Mordor unconscious for a few hours would give him time to think.

He made sure Mordor was under the rough shelter Gurd had erected and steeled himself to watch as his brother slid lower and lower until he collapsed against the ground in a stupor. His face was flushed, his mouth wide open, and Korg's revulsion made him want to leave, to get up and go away and let Mordor find out what the people would do to him if they knew what he had done in the past. At the same time, he knew he could not. They were bound together, he and Mordor, had been from childhood. Now, he was the protector, but then it had been the other way. Mordor's big fists had always been ready to defend him from the other boys, who taunted him mercilessly because he would not join their rough games or hunt with them. Instead, he had gone by himself to the woods to dance, had taught his body to leap and bend and gyrate, but even more he had taught himself about herbs, what each one did and how to use them. There was power in knowing about herbs, he had sensed, and he had been right.

Only once had they let him down. No herb he had ever found could tame the demons in Mordor's mind, demons that grew stronger with each passing year. For them, he had been forced to find a different solution. And he had, Korg thought, permitting himself a moment of triumph at the transformation he had wrought. He had turned the brutal uncaring man who was Mordor into the Leader, had repeated the lessons over and over again until kindness and authority and gentleness were as natural to Mordor as violence and cruelty had been before. His voices too had been transformed, turned into the proclamations of the Great Spirit, which must always be obeyed. Even the voices that spoke to Mordor of witches and the sinfulness of women had been quelled, absorbed into the rules of mating laid down by the Great Spirit.

"Only a few women are pure enough to be chosen by the Great Spirit to bear the sacred young," Korg had explained. "The others you must initiate yourself. When you do that and then select a mate for them, they can no longer be sinful. Mordor had believed him, had listened to his own magnificent voice and believed. So had the people.

And they had obeyed. Korg's pale eyes glittered with satisfaction. Though they did not know it, they had obeyed him, the boy everyone had taunted, the man no one had ever liked. The villagers had vied to please him, to be chosen to assist him, had tried even more desperately to avoid his wrath and his accusing stare. A smile twisted Korg's lips. That, he enjoyed. To watch someone writhe in terror as his pointing finger and scathing voice drew attention to them gave him great pleasure. People soon understood that to cross him was not wise.

Or they had, until the woman Zena had come. The glitter disappeared from Korg's eyes and he began to pace with savage intensity. What was he going to do about her? She was destroying him, destroying everything he had created. Even if he succeeded in taming Mordor's cravings, in making him into the Leader again, Zena could still destroy them.

An unexpected thought came to him, and he tensed. What would happen if he convinced Mordor that Zena was a witch? But he knew what would happen. It had happened many times. Still, that would solve all his problems, would it not?

Korg shook his head quickly. The idea was tempting but it could not be done. For the Leader to think of witches again was dangerous. He might start obeying the voices again. The thought was too terrifying to contemplate.

No. He must find another way to deal with Zena. But that, too, must wait. She and the man Lief had returned to her village to spend the winter, and he could not confront her there. Zena was too strong. So was the woman called Larak. Besides, there was no hurry. Zena would not leave her home for many months. When she did, he would think of a way to handle her. Now, taming Mordor was most important. By the time winter had gone, he had to make certain his brother was ready for the challenge of being the Great Leader again.

Mordor began to snore loudly, a horrible, monotonous sound that grated in Korg's ears. Gurd seemed unaffected. Closing his eyes, he laid down beside the Leader and fell asleep. Grimacing, Korg went outside to wait.

A few hours later, Mordor stirred and sat up groggily. Korg handed him a cup of warm broth with a stimulant in it to revive him.

"Ah, that is good," Mordor grunted. "Still, a restorative would help as well."

Korg shook his head. "There is no more," he said firmly. "We must leave now. We will travel for a time and when the snows come we will build a hut away from the villages and be by ourselves, as we used to be. The people must learn that we will not help them unless they obey.

"You must rest, regain your powers," he added hastily as Mordor's face reddened with fury.

Placated by the words, Mordor nodded seriously. "You are right. No man can speak for the Great Spirit as I do unless he rests sometimes. After that, the people will listen and obey as they always have before."

They set off, and to Korg's relief, Gurd was excited by the idea of intimidating the northern villagers. Once they had arrived, he was persuaded to stay there more easily than Korg had dared to hope. They left him erecting a hut a short distance from one of the villages. Intent on his project, he seemed hardly to notice as they walked away. He was a strange man, Korg reflected. To know what he thought was impossible.

He and Mordor headed south and east to the secluded place he had in mind. The journey took longer than he had expected, but Korg did not worry. As he had hoped, Mordor became calmer with each passing day. He stopped asking for mead or for Gurd. He stopped asking for Rofina, too, and became quieter in his mind.

When they arrived, they built a sturdy hut, and when that was finished Korg began the lessons again. Mordor listened intently, and to Korg's relief, he seemed day by day to turn into the Leader again as he listened to the familiar words. Perhaps the voices had once again been tamed, Korg thought hopefully, or had even disappeared. Mordor seemed almost normal again, and he was pleased. If he could just keep his brother stable, everything would be as before.

His hopes were dashed when the first signs of spring appeared. Mordor's calm seemed suddenly to crack, and he became increasingly restless and agitated. He began to ask about Rofina again, wondering where she was and why they had not gone to her village to stay for the winter as they always had in the past.

Korg answered as he always had before. "We will find her when we return to her village," he told Mordor, postponing once again the moment when he would be forced to tell his brother the truth.

This time Mordor refused to be placated. "I would like to look for her now," he replied stubbornly. He wanted to find Gurd, too, but he did not mention this to Korg. Gurd would get him the restorative again, and Korg would not like that.

Korg searched for another excuse. "We must wait until the snows have passed before we leave," he said finally, unable to think of anything else.

"There is no snow," Mordor objected, looking at the bare ground all around him.

333.

"There is snow in the passes," Korg pointed out, but Mordor persisted, asking again and again to leave. Finally, to distract him, Korg brought in two young girls he found gathering berries by themselves in a field. As he always did, he gave the girls herbs to sedate them so they did not enrage Mordor by resisting, and once Mordor had finished with them, he returned them safely to the place where he had found them. As soon as they had recovered from their sleepiness, they would make their way home and have little memory of what had happened to offer those who questioned them.

After that, Mordor was quiet for a few days. Korg took advantage of the time to go to the path that led from Zena's village to Runor's and examine it for tracks. He did not think Zena would leave yet, but he wanted to be certain. Before, he and Mordor had followed her so the Leader could talk to the villagers before she came or after she had left, to warn them of her lies. Perhaps, though, it did not matter. With Mordor so volatile again, to follow Zena again would be impossible.

The sound of a branch snapping brought his head up. Could someone have come after him because of the two girls? The thought was terrifying. He went up and down the path peering into the trees, but saw no one. Perhaps it had been an animal.

He turned to stare at Zena's village, as if by looking hard enough he could tell if she was still there, then he strode rapidly in the direction of Runor's village, where he would find the smaller path that led to the hut he and Mordor had built.

The distraction of the girls did not last as long as Korg had hoped. "Now I must find Rofina," Mordor announced one morning, rising to his feet.

Alarmed, Korg took his arm. "We must wait until we know where Zena goes," he said. If you are to be Leader again, she must be stopped. She will leave her village soon, and then we can follow as we did before and warn the people of her coming so they will not listen to her."

Mordor did not answer, barely noticed Zena's name. All his thoughts were on Rofina, and he heard only the words that meant Korg still did not want to leave. Rofina needed him, he thought stubbornly. She had always needed him, and he did not want to wait any longer to find her. For him to have some of the restorative was also necessary. Without the mead he felt restless, unable to think, and if he was to be the Leader again, he must be able to think. Korg told him there was none because he did not want him to have it, but Mordor knew that was not true. In the hut they had used near Rofina's village, there was a supply. Gurd had made it a long time ago when they had spent the winters there.

If Korg would not look for Rofina, he would go by himself, he decided. But how could he go without Korg? They had always traveled together. To leave without him did not seem right. But for him to be without Rofina, without the mead, was not right, either. After all, he was the Leader, was he not? He could do as he wished. Korg did not always understand how forceful were his needs. Only mead had ever dampened the fires that seemed always to burn inside him, and only with Rofina could he be happy, could he truly be the Leader. To deprive him of Rofina, of the restorative when they were so important to him, was wrong.

Mordor made up his mind. He would leave as soon as Korg went off to look for food or herbs. He would find the path, walk all day and night if he had to. The thought was pleasing. He would be with Rofina again, taste the refreshing mead that made him feel so warm, so powerful, even as it dampened the fires. He could take Rofina as his mate, now that he had initiated her, and she would be happy in his arms, listening to his voice as she always had. Together, they would go to all the villages again, and he would tell the people the truth about Zena, that she was a witch...

Mordor frowned. Who had told him that? Not Korg, he was certain, but now that he thought of it, he was sure it was true. Zena must be a witch. How else could she have so much power over the people in the villages? Witches used their lust to draw power from men, and then they used the power to deceive the villagers, tell them falsehoods about the Great Mother and to cast spells over them. Their lust was so great that they would take any man they could find, and then their power grew and grew until it could not be stopped.

Zena would destroy them all, Mordor thought, alarmed. He should have realized long ago that she was a witch. Now that he knew, she must not be permitted to live. That was the task the voices had set him long ago, to rid the villages of witches. He must make certain, too, that Zena did not come near Rofina. Such innocence was easily spoiled. Korg had been right when he had said that they must find out where Zena was going. Perhaps he should wait for Korg after all.

Mordor shook his head forcefully. To wait any longer was not right, when there was so much danger. Besides, Korg might not believe him when he said that Zena was a witch, would try to stop him from acting. He had done that before. Korg did not like him to do what the voices told him to do. He never had.

No, Mordor decided, he must do this by himself. Rofina must be protected, the villages must be protected, and only he, chosen by the Great Spirit and even before that by the voices that told him what must be done to save the people, was equal to the task. The realization buoyed him, made him feel strong and calm.

When Korg returned, he was pleased at the change in Mordor. He would wait for a few days to see if the improvement continued, he decided. If it did, he would take advantage of the peace to spend a whole day replenishing his supply of herbs. He would need a large supply of them when Mordor began to travel to the villages as the Leader once again.

Mordor's calm mood persisted, and a few days later Korg set off early in the morning to look for herbs. When he returned late that afternoon, his brother was gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Durak felt almost happy as he trudged up the path that led to the high pass. Finally, he would be able to do what he had longed to do ever since Rofina had died. Night after night he had dreamed of this moment, when peace would finally come to him. There was no one to watch him, to urge him with well meaning pleas to forget what had happened, to try to cheer him up. Now he could do as he pleased. In a short time, he would go peacefully into death, as Rofina had.

When the first snow came, he decided. That would be the signal that it was time to go into the lake, as Rofina had. The others would understand; he was certain they would, but he had no desire to burden them with his intent. To do so would be cruel.

When he came to the lake, Durak settled down to wait for the snow. The wind at the top was strong, so he decided to go down a short way to the place where he had sheltered with Rofina and wait there. The overhanging rocks had protected them from gusts of wind, he remembered. He built a small fire and made a kind of tent with the extra furs the others had insisted he take. Now, he was glad had them. It would be good to take some time alone up here to remember Rofina, to dream of her waiting for him...

The images came immediately. Gritting his teeth, Durak thrust them away. It was wrong to think of Rofina like that during these last days, terribly wrong. Underneath, Rofina was not as she had been then and he must not sully her memory. He must think of her as he had seen her before that terrible night when she had taken the Leader into her...

But he would not even say those words even in his mind. That too was wrong in these last days. Instead, he must think of Rofina as she would have been if Korg and the Leader had not corrupted her. That would be best. Think of Rofina as she might have been, he told himself over and over each night as he prepared for sleep. Almost to his surprise, he succeeded. Rofina came to him pure and unsullied, night after night, in his dreams. Sometimes, the bad images came, but as soon as he reminded himself how wrong that was, he was able to push them away.

Pleased with this small success, Durak decided to set a few traps in the bushes to see if he could catch rabbits or any other small animal that might live up here while he waited for the snow. By morning, his first trap had yielded a rabbit. He blessed it in the Mother's name; then he skinned it, cooked it over his fire and ate ravenously. He was amazed. He had not been hungry for a long time. More days passed, and he was content, with his thoughts of Rofina, with the peace that seemed unexpectedly to have filled him.

Two days later, the first snowflakes drifted gently past him and settled on his clothing, then disappeared like phantoms, leaving spots of wetness where they had been. More flakes came, and then more. Durak watched them for a long time, fascinated, before he remembered what they meant. The time had finally come for him to do what he had longed to do...

For a moment he could not move. Then he forced himself to his feet, stamped out his fire and pulled the extra furs down from the tent of long sticks he had built for them. He left them where they lay and started slowly up to the pass again.

The wind was even stronger now, and he wondered if it had been that strong when Rofina had trudged up this slope. Had it stung her face, her eyes, as it stung his? Poor Rofina, she must have been so cold, so frightened and anxious, and he had not been there to help her...

Durak shuddered. He must think about the flowers instead, the lovely meadow where they had met and spent so many hours together. That would be better. Except it was hard to think of the warm meadow, with snow and wind blasting into his face. There had been no snow when Rofina had come, only the cold and the wind.

The snow was falling thickly now, heavy and persistent, as if it meant to keep snowing for many days. Soon, it would be hard to see, harder to travel. But he did not need to think of that, only of the peace that would soon come to him.

He had almost reached the lake. He looked ahead for a moment at the path that wound between Runor's village and Niva's, remembering how he had stared at it when he had been with Rofina and wondered fearfully who was coming. He had been so afraid for her until he recognized Sorlin and Hular. How kind they had been.

Durak frowned. Someone was coming now, too; a figure had just appeared over the crest of the pass above the lake. How strange. It was almost as it had been before except that this time there was only one figure, a woman, huddled over against the cold and snow. She held a small bundle in her arms. Why was she alone? And why was she climbing the high pass at this time of the year? Perhaps he could help.

He took a step forward, meaning to intercept her and then checked himself. That was not his purpose here. But she might need help, another part of him argued. He must offer it at least. Besides, he did not want her to see him go into the lake. That would be unkind, and she might try to save him. That would be worse.

Persuaded by these arguments, Durak began to lope toward her. The woman was bent over against the wind and the snow, and did not see him until he was almost upon her. When she did, she started violently in fright and began to run the other way, clutching the bundle closer.

"It is all right," Durak called after her. "I will not hurt you. I only wish to help."

The woman kept running as fast as she could, but within moments she stumbled and fell. Durak went to her and placed a gentle hand on her back.

"I will not harm you," he repeated. "I am a friend. I would like to help you."

The woman moaned, seeming unable to move, and Durak realized she was near collapse. "It is all right," he repeated. "I mean you no harm."

She turned to peer up at him, her round dark eyes filled with terror but also a kind of desperate determination. Her face was pale and strained.

Durak stared. "Teran," he breathed. The woman looked at him, perplexed, but some of the terror in her eyes diminished when she saw from his face that he really did not mean to harm her. He did not think she recognized him though, which was strange. They had played together as children, he and Zena and Teran. Perhaps she did not wish to let anyone know who she was and so was concealing any signs of recognition. She might have had terrible, frightening experiences that made her wary of revealing anything about her past. He would not press her.

"I would like to help you," he repeated. "I had a fire in a place just below, where the wind is not so strong, and some extra furs. I will build the fire up again so you can get warm and then we will see what you wish to do."

The woman, who was shivering violently now, made no objection or perhaps she could not through her chattering teeth. Durak took her silence for assent and helped her to her feet. "I will carry this for you," he said, reaching for her bundle. Snatching it back, she clutched it to her chest. Durak wondered what it was to bring such a frightened reaction. He was not long left in doubt. The bundle began to wriggle and a thin wail emerged from it. A baby!

"We must get the baby warm," Durak said, urging her along. "I am sure both of you must be very cold. I will make a fire for you."