"The Leader is alone," she said breathlessly.

"Ah! Then it may happen sooner than I thought," Runor answered serenely, "though Korg will not be long." She looked out at the lowering clouds, the relentless rain and driving wind. It was all as she had expected.

"Remember what I told you," she instructed the girl. "Everyone must go to the circle of stones. Wait there and do not return until two full days have passed. Then, all will be well. Bring all of them my blessings and remind them that no matter what happens, they must stay in the circle of stones," she repeated.

"I will tell them," the girl answered, and kissed Runor gently on the cheek before she darted out again.

Runor nodded to herself. She had always known that it was not Korg whose heart was evil, as most people thought. Still, even she had not been entirely certain until now which of them it was. Some of the Mother's creatures were very strange, hard to read, harder still to understand - or to forgive.

Her face softened with memory. He had not been like that before. But she must not think of that time. He had forgotten, though Korg had not. Or perhaps Mordor had never really known. To know what went on in such a mind was impossible. He had cared very much for Rofina,though. Had some part of him understood? Runor shook her head. She did not think so.

She set herself to wait. Soon, it would all be over.

The wait was not long. Runor heard feet splashing toward the hut and then a face appeared in the entrance. "Greetings, Leader," she said calmly.

Her voice came from the shadows and Mordor jumped. He had not seen her. He passed a hand across his forehead, trying to dispel the dizziness that had come over him when he had stooped to go through the entrance. Water streamed from him; he wiped at it impatiently.

Food, he thought. Perhaps I need food. He had not eaten for a long time, only drunk the mead. It had tasted very bitter but he had drunk most of it anyway. He wished he had more here to steady him.

Runor's voice startled him again because she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Will you sit and have a bowl of mead? The men prepared it only a few days ago. Perhaps some nuts and berries as well?"

"I thank you," Mordor mumbled, trying to regain his composure. Lowering himself to the floor, he took a long drink from the bowl and a handful of food. This mead tasted excellent, with none of the bitterness of the mead in the old hut. He took another swallow, savoring the flavor. The nuts and berries dropped from his hand.

"I thank you," he repeated in a stronger voice. "I have traveled many days to come here." He sounded more like the Leader now, he realized, and was pleased.

"Yes," Runor answered quietly. "We have been expecting you. For a long time we have expected you."

Mordor frowned. Why had they expected him? Had he planned a ceremony? He could not remember. The dizziness was better now that he was seated, but his mind felt far away, as if it belonged to someone else. For a moment he could not even remember why he was here with Runor. He peered into the dark corner where she sat, trying to see her more clearly. Perhaps her face would remind him.

Again, Runor seemed to read his mind. Reaching out, she lit a flare and set it in a container beside her. She did not speak, only sat quietly while he examined her face. She was very old, he saw, older than before. For an instant, he saw her when she was quite young, or he thought he did. Had he known her then or had it been someone else? He shook his head irritably, unable to remember. It was too long ago.

Another memory slipped abruptly into place. He was here to find Rofina. That was why he had come to see Runor. "I must find Rofina," he said imperatively. "Is she here? I must see her right away."

Runor shook her head. "Rofina is not here."

So he does not know what happened to her, she thought to herself. She must be careful what she said.

"Where is she then? I must find her." Mordor's voice was demanding, almost threatening.

"She is in the meadow," Runor answered calmly. "The big meadow where the flowers grow. It is very peaceful there."

"I will go to her." Mordor began to stand, but Runor's voice interrupted him.

"Have some more mead first, to give you strength," she suggested, pouring some into his bowl. She must keep him here, must keep him until the Goddess was ready. The sound of rain pounding hard on the roof of her hut penetrated her mind. Already it had rained for many days. How much time did she have?

Mordor subsided. Picking up the bowl of mead, he stared at her with narrowed eyes. "The people do not obey as they should," he told her angrily. "That is why I must have the mead. It is the fault of the people. They must learn to obey!"

"That is difficult," Runor murmured, watching his face carefully. He was volatile, very volatile. Something had happened to him. He was not the Leader any more and he was certainly not the Mordor from before, but the person he must have become after that. She could understand better now.

"I must find the woman Zena, as well," Mordor said abruptly.

"Why do you wish to find Zena?"

Rage transformed Mordor's features. "She is a witch; I have learned that she is a witch, that is why," he said forcefully. "A witch must not be permitted to live."

Runor did not allow her expression to change, and her voice was neutral when she spoke. "You have known other witches?"

"Many," he replied. "So many I am weary with them."

He realized abruptly that it was true. He was weary of being the only person who could deal with them, the only one who knew that they must be killed.

"Tell me of them," Runor suggested.

"You do not know?" Mordor sounded surprised. "I had thought all people knew." He rubbed his belly, aware that there was pain inside it. He should have more food. He picked up another handful of nuts but put them down again without eating. His other hand brought the mead to his lips and he drank.

Runor did not answer, just waited expectantly, and after a moment Mordor spoke again. "There are witches everywhere," he told her seriously, "but only I know which are the real ones. Even Korg does not know. He does not like me to speak of witches, only of the Great Spirit."

"But you know the real ones," Runor prompted. She must keep him speaking.

Mordor smiled, the kindly smile they had seen so many times. Runor tried not to flinch. "The voices tell me," he confided. "Even before the Great Spirit the voices came, and I obeyed them. The people did not like that and we had to leave. She was dead, the big one, the one we called mother, but she was not mother, she was a witch. I knew this but the others did not, so they were angry."

His face changed, became scathing and full of hatred. "She deserved to die! It was her fault. Over and over she had the men, all of them, every man she could find, young and old; she did not care. No one but a witch could do such things. That is how I knew. The others should have known too but they would not see!" His voice rose to a pitch of fury, and his face was so suffused with anger that Runor almost cried out in alarm.

The Leader passed a trembling hand across his damp forehead. "But she is gone now," he said in a calmer tone. "Yes, she is gone. After that, I went to the villages to look for other witches," he told Runor proudly, looking at her for approval. "I found them when they were still young, and then I made sure they were gone before they could do harm, before they could infect us all." He smiled again, and nodded to himself in satisfaction.

So what she had suspected was true. He had killed them all. Pity assailed Runor, for the young women who must have felt such terror, but also, unexpectedly, for Mordor. He too was a victim, even as he was a killer. How strange this man was, and how terrible! No wonder Korg watched him constantly.

Mordor looked at her expectantly, waiting for her praise. Runor concealed a shudder. "The witches are dead now," she replied, keeping sadness from her face.

Mordor nodded craftily. "I went at night so no one would see me," he explained. "Korg did not know. He thinks he knows all things but it is not so." Korg had found out about some of them, he remembered - but not all. Sometimes he had found witches without Korg knowing. That had been exciting, to sneak into the villages by himself and wait for the young women to come out of their huts to go to the bushes or to get firewood. He always knew which ones were witches. Even without the voices it was easy to tell because they were always full-bodied and eager, with lust in their hearts. When he whispered to them of pleasure they did not draw back in fear but laughed and came closer. He did not like it when they struggled, though. They had no right to struggle when they were supposed to die.

He sighed. It had been a long time since he had looked for a witch. Korg did not let him go anywhere by himself now, and Gurd was always watching.

Korg always told him what to do, he thought petulantly, as if he knew what was best always. But he did not. Still, to be without his brother felt strange. How had he come to be without Korg?

"Where is Korg?" he asked, suddenly agitated. "Korg should be here to help me."

"Korg will come soon," Runor soothed him. "He will be here very soon."

"I will look for him," Mordor said, alarmed now that Korg was not here. He should not be without Korg. He tried to stand but the dizziness overcame him again and he sat back. He took more nuts but even the feeling of them in his hand made him nauseous, and they fell from his fingers again.

There was something he must do. Rofina; that was it. He must find Rofina, and the woman called Zena.

A dreadful suspicion came into him. They were hiding Rofina; that was it. They did not want him to see her. "Someone must bring Rofina to me," he thundered, pounding the ground with his fist. "I must see Rofina!"

The force of his demand made Runor jump, but she kept her voice soothing. "I will ask someone to bring her," she said, and hoped the desperation in her heart did not show in her eyes. She had to keep him here, just for a little longer...

His face rebellious, Mordor tried again to stand. Runor put out her hand to stop him. "In just a moment someone will come," she said emphatically, "and then I will ask." To her relief, Mordor fell back into a sitting position.

Runor listened to the sounds outside her hut. There was a rushing noise in the air now, almost a roaring. The wind must have risen, or perhaps it was something more. She hoped it was. She could not wait much longer.

"Yes, have someone bring her," Mordor agreed, looking at her with unfocussed eyes. "That is good. Then we will go together to the villages, tell them the truth...."

"The truth?" Runor was startled again. Did he know after all?

Mordor leaped to his feet, stood there swaying. "The truth that the woman Zena is a witch! They must know the truth!"

He was deathly pale. Runor stared. Why was he suddenly so pale? There must be something wrong with him, something besides the madness, and the mead. "You are not well," she said, concerned. "Perhaps you should sit again and rest for a time."

Mordor heard her words, but he could not seem to see her properly. Maybe she was right and he should stay here until this weakness passed. Nausea invaded his belly as he lowered himself to the ground, then receded as he stopped moving.

"You have been Leader for many years." Runor forced admiration into her voice, hoping to steady him with praise.

Mordor seemed suddenly to recover. "That is true. I am still the Leader, the only one who can speak for the Great Spirit," he told her. His voice rang with authority, and for the first time since he had come Runor felt the familiar magnetism of his presence. It had always been there, that magnetism. She remembered it well.

"You have been to many villages to speak of the Great Spirit," she went on, in the same admiring tone.

"Indeed I have," he answered proudly.

In an instant, his expression changed to fury. "But now the woman Zena goes there before me and the people will not listen! The girls will not come and the people do not obey and it is all the fault of the witch..." His voice trailed off as the nausea returned.

He frowned, bewildered. Why did he feel so ill? He sat brooding on all that had happened. Before, everyone had listened to him, obeyed him, and now they did not, and he had felt all right, but now he felt ill, but the witch Zena was not here....

Runor watched him in growing alarm. His skin was waxen, and there was sweat all over his face. Truly, he was not well. This, she had not expected. Madness she had planned for, but not illness. She was afraid suddenly, terribly afraid. He was too volatile, too unpredictable; she did not know what was wrong with him, what might come next...

The fear left her as quickly as it had come. It did not matter. The end was the same.

Mordor seemed to feel her gaze on his face. He looked up at her suddenly, and his eyes widened as understanding came. Runor! It was Runor who was doing this to him, making everything go wrong, making him feel dizzy and sick. Zena was not here, but Runor was. She was draining his strength, keeping Rofina from him, keeping him here with her words, her mead...

Another thought came, and he stiffened. Maybe she was even giving him some kind of poison in the mead. Was that why he felt so ill?

He threw the bowl onto the ground and lurched toward her, still staring into her face, and Runor saw that all the madness in his eyes was directed now at her.

"You!" he said. "You are the one. You have poisoned me!"

Runor frowned. What did he mean? But that did not matter either. The rushing noise outside was very loud now, the wind more fierce. And then she heard the other sound. Water; was it water lapping at the edges of her hut. She listened carefully and knew it was true. The waters were coming. Soon it would all be over.

She waited, motionless, as Mordor came closer and closer, like a man drawn by a rope. His eyes were intent, murderous. There was no more time.

"Great Goddess," she breathed, "Help me now to do the task you showed me how to do... Great Goddess, I come..."

Before the final words could leave her lips, Mordor spoke again. "You!" he repeated incredulously. "You are the witch. Why did I not see this before?"

Runor ignored the beating of her heart. "Yes," she told him, and her voice was strong and clear. "Zena is not the witch. I, Runor, am the witch you seek. I am the Great Witch, and when I am gone there will be no more."

Mordor hesitated only a moment, and then he was upon her. Runor clasped the slender dart firmly in her fingers and held it upright so the tip would jab his belly as his heavy body pressed against her. She had felt his weight like this before...

The dart slipped away, bent sideways. Pushing hard against his chest, she fought to jab it in again, but could not tell if she succeeded.

No, Great Goddess; no, I cannot fail, she thought frantically as his fingers closed around her throat. His body slumped suddenly against her, as if all strength had left him. So the dart must have found its target. Runor felt a terrible, aching sadness for what she had been compelled to do, then blackness came and she ceased to feel at all.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"We must go faster. Something is wrong, terribly wrong." There was panic in Zena's voice. Never had she felt such a sense of terror. She tried to run but the wetness of the steep slope defeated her.

Lief struggled to keep up with her. He was worried, but she was panic-stricken. She kept saying that Runor's whole village was in danger, not just Runor herself. Lief could not argue - he felt it too. Some unknown disaster threatened them, a menace unlike anything they had known before.

"We will be there soon," he comforted Zena. She seemed not to hear; she just climbed faster still, her head lowered against the driving rain. It was coming down in sheets now, as if a massive waterfall in the sky was plunging down to the earth. Ankle deep rivulets charged down the meadows, and the streams were so high they could hardly be crossed. Zena and Lief charged through them anyway.

They crested the ridge finally and started down the other side, able now to run if they watched their footing. Zena slowed at the place where she and Lief had stopped on that first trip to look for Mara. It was as something pulled at her, trying to check her headlong rush. Her eyes roved the across the slopes and paused on the glacier that hung above Runor's village. There was something unusual about it.

Lief stopped too, glad of the chance to control his heaving chest. His eyes followed Zena's. "The dam," he burst out. "Look at the ice dam on the glacier." There was horror in his voice, and awe.

Zena saw it then, a trickle of water coming through a gaping hole in the side of the huge glacier that faced the village far below. Always before a thick barrier of ice had blocked the melt water behind the glacier, seemingly impenetrable. Except it had been penetrated. Swollen by constant rain, the water had finally broken through. It was only a trickle now, but soon it would become a stream, and then it would be a torrent; it would charge down the steep ravine that ran along the southern edge of the village, and everything below would be swept away...

"Run!" Zena screamed, plunging down the slope. "Run! We must warn them!" Terror made her feet clumsy and she plunged headlong to the ground. She pulled herself up and ran again. From the village they could not see what she and Lief had seen. No one would know the water was coming until it was too late. The massive onslaught would drag everything into its grasp, rocks and trees and huge unyielding hunks of ice; it would all crash down upon them... The villagers would be trapped, hauled into the maelstrom. All of them would be killed, their helpless bodies sucked into the relentless wall of water and tossed mercilessly among the displaced boulders, the uprooted trees...

Lief, who had lingered a moment to study the size of the hole, caught up with her and grabbed her hand. "Hold on to each other," he told her, "so we do not fall."

Zena clasped his fingers, her grip tight with fear. Together, they ran down and down the rain-slick slopes, chests heaving, legs aching with the strain. But still they ran. Zena dared not pause even for a moment to look at the mouth of the glacier again, but then Lief pulled at her hand, forcing her to stop, and pointed up.

"We will be too far to see in a moment," he panted. "Look now."

Zena drew in a great shaky breath and looked. The hole had grown, was a chasm now, and the trickle was already a gushing stream, big enough to uproot trees and to carry boulders. No one could struggle free... Were they already too late?

They ran again. They should separate when they got to the trees, she thought. That would be faster. Runor's hut was at the edge of the village above the stream, the other huts were clustered in the fields below.

"I will go to Runor," she shouted to Lief, hardly stopping to catch her breath despite the terrible thudding of her heart. "You go warn the others."

Lief let go of her hand reluctantly. "I will send someone to help you," he yelled back as he veered in the direction of the village. "But do not wait. Take Runor up, up as high as you can get. Do not come down to us." He raced on.

Zena nodded, but her ears were focused now on the sounds of rushing water and wind whistling through the trees. Together, they would destroy everything before them and pull it down, suck it into a huge roiling river and destroy it...

Gasping, she reached the head of the valley where Runor lived. The wind was stronger here, the sound of water louder. She did not have much time.

"Runor!" she screamed, trying to make herself heard through the noise. "Runor!"

The hut was before her. Zena darted in. At first, she could see nothing in the dimness, and then she made out a large body bending over Runor's pallet. It was the Leader, must be the Leader; it was too big for Korg. And under it...

"No!" she shouted. "No, you cannot!" With frantic strength, she pulled at the massive shoulders, saw that the Leader's hands were still on Runor's throat. He shoved her away with an imperious gesture, and she fell heavily. Bounding back, she hauled at him again. This time he resisted for only a moment; then he gasped and collapsed against the ground. No sounds came from him now. Startled, Zena looked at him more closely and saw the terrible pallor of his skin. He was dead, she thought. But how was that possible?