The Way of Light

by Storm Constantine

  He became aware he no longer had his companion’s attention and looked up from the heap of plucked grass he’d been building. A tall dark man had come into the garden.

  ‘Almorante,’ Tayven said in a low voice.

  ‘Prince Almorante?’ Rav said, but did not need an answer to his question. He had seen the prince at both the funeral and the coronation.

  Almorante came across the grass towards them and Rav could sense anxiety pouring from Tayven’s body.

  ‘She brought him here,’ Tayven said.

  Rav could ask no further questions because Almorante had reached them. He stared down in enquiry at Rav for a few moments, then said, ‘Are you not the son of Valraven Palindrake?’

  ‘Yes, your highness,’ Rav answered.

  ‘I had heard you were staying in Magrast, but I’m surprised your father has left you in the care of my mother.’

  ‘There are worse people he could have been left with,’ Tayven said. ‘Go indoors, Rav. The prince has an uncommon interest in young boys.’

  ‘Hello, Tayven,’ Almorante said. ‘You have lost your honey tongue, it seems. Have you no greeting for me after so many years? I grieved for you and searched for you, always hoping you still lived. How cruel is fate to give me this reassurance but to put a wasp of a changeling in your place.’

  ‘Rav,’ Tayven said,’ go indoors.’

  Rav sidled away a little, but had no intention of leaving. He was too interested in what was going on.

  ‘There is nothing I wish to say that the boy cannot hear,’ Almorante said, ‘though I am touched you wish to ensure our privacy. The witch of guile, my mother, has persuaded me to assist her. Does this mean we are on the same side again?’

  Tayven squinted up at the prince. ‘I am tempted to say we have never been on the same side, but of course that is not the case.’

  ‘An obscure reply,’ said Almorante.

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘For you to tell me about the artefact you recovered in Recolletine.’

  Tayven grimaced. ‘It is not yours, your highness. Did Tatrini tell you about it?’

  ‘I am tempted to say I divined its existence, but of course that is not the case. My mother told me, yes. She wants me to recover it. I can only presume you will tell me everything, simply from the evidence of finding you here and because you took my mother into your confidence.’

  Tayven made a dismissive gesture. ‘The information was forced from me. It is too late to take back what I said. The Crown of Silence is in the keeping of Lady Sinaclara. Her house lies in the Forest of Bree and I can give you no clear directions to find it. The forest is quite capable of keeping you travelling in circles. So you must use your art to outwit it. That is all I have to say.’

  Almorante was silent for a moment. Rav realised there were things he wanted to say but was unsure how to. Eventually, he said, ‘I never believed you were dead, and I never stopped looking for you. Not until Maycarpe let it be known he’d found you himself. Then, it was up to you, and you made your feelings clear.’

  Tayven raised a hand. ‘Please say no more. I know you never intended to hurt me, but you are a Malagash. I cannot muster warmth for you exactly.’

  ‘Without me, you would not have found the Crown. Who first took you to Recolletine?’

  Tayven looked down at the ground and began to run his fingers through Rav’s pile of grass. ‘The others already knew of Recolletine. It was a help I’d been there before, but even if I hadn’t we’d still have finished the quest.’

  ‘Tell me of Khaster,’ Almorante said. ‘I had great hopes for him. What happened to him was tragic.’

  Tayven shrugged, still staring at the ground. ‘You used him. He lost himself because of it. What lives on now is no longer Khaster as we knew him.’ He looked up and fixed Almorante with fierce eyes. ‘I will tell you all of it, as much as you want to know. The harm has been done. There is nothing more to spoil.’ He paused. ‘But not here, not now.’

  Almorante spoke quickly. ‘I will leave for Breeland tomorrow. Will you dine with me tonight?’

  Tayven considered, then nodded. ‘You must send someone for me, clear it with Tatrini.’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’

  Almorante gave a salute and left the garden.

  Rav stared at Tayven, troubled in his heart. He couldn’t express what was wrong with the conversation he’d just heard, but it had made him uncomfortable. Tayven had already told him the story of the Crown, and he was sure Almorante shouldn’t be going to fetch it. ‘Tayven,’ he said haltingly, ‘why are you going to see Almorante? You don’t want to and yet you do. I don’t understand.’

  ‘History,’ Tayven said, tearing grass from the lawn. ‘Almorante and I were once very close. Bizarrely, I was assailed by the desire to discuss things with him, as I always used to. I realise I must have missed it.’

  ‘What will you discuss?’

  ‘The Lakes quest.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  There was a tense silence. ‘Will Lady Sinaclara be all right?’ Rav asked.

  Tayven glanced at him, smiled briefly. ‘Don’t worry, Rav. She will know. I speak to her in dreams, like you speak to your demon women. If Tatrini is meant to keep the Crown, she will. If she isn’t, she won’t. This goes beyond mere desire and greed.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Tayven said, ‘that we must prepare ourselves for what will come. I know you don’t understand it yet, but that doesn’t matter. I will protect and serve you.’

  ‘Why?’ Rav asked.

  ‘For your father’s sake,’ Tayven replied.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Warning in Akahana

  Sinaclara and Nana had made the same journey that Shan had undertaken the year before. The Lady had sent psychic messages to Darris Maycarpe, but had received nothing from him in return, neither in dream nor trance. She could only hope he would be expecting her and take necessary precautions to safeguard the Crown.

  Now the two women stood in the dark reception hall of the governmental offices in Akahana, and had been told by the official on duty that Lord Maycarpe had recently returned from Magrast and was resting, not to be disturbed. Sinaclara fanned herself with a palm leaf she had purchased on the way from the harbour. She was unused to the stifling heat, which bore down upon her like burning fists, stealing the breath from her throat. She wanted to lean against the wall or sit down on the cool flagstones; it took all of her strength to remain standing. Nana, born in Jessapur, was not discomforted. She berated the official in halting Magravandian, trying to impress upon him that no matter how tired the governor was after his travels, it was essential they saw him immediately.

  Eventually, the man gave in. Sinaclara had the impression he was less concerned with the urgency of their request than with the need to rid himself of the hectoring woman who was ranting at him in pidgin language, and who would clearly not easily be moved.

  Within fifteen minutes, Sinaclara and Nana were being shown into Maycarpe’s private office.

  It was the first time Sinaclara had met Darris Maycarpe in the flesh, although they had communicated by letter many times, as well as by more esoteric means. In the dimness of the room, where the windows were shuttered against the beating heat outside, she saw a gauntly handsome man in early middle age, surrounded by a dark miasma of worry. Clearly, his visit to Magrast had brought its own troubles. He had not picked up any of Sinaclara’s psychic messages. He was preoccupied with his own concerns.

  After the customary offering of seats and an order for refreshments, Sinaclara told him why she had come to Akahana. Maycarpe then explained all that had transpired while he’d been in Magrast. Now, the Dragon Lord knew of the existence of the Crown and their ambitions for him. He said that Valraven had not received this news well.

  ‘It is too soon,’ Sinaclara said. ‘The destiny of the Crown has not yet be
en revealed to us, never mind to him.’

  ‘I think it has,’ Maycarpe said. ‘It demands to take its place, and this is why the fox has leapt into the chicken coop in Magrast. If we do not act now, we might miss our chance.’

  ‘But Valraven is our true, spiritual king and he has no empathy with us.’

  ‘Perhaps, but you heard what happened. Taropat has taken the Dragon Lord’s wife and daughter. This can be no coincidence and must have bearing on the whole picture. We must investigate this by magical means. Palindrake is being forced into play, whether he likes it or not. If Tatrini is looking for the Crown, it’s because she wants to crown someone with it. This will undoubtedly be Prince Bayard. Valraven cannot countenance that. No one can. He won’t be able to sit on the fence.’

  ‘But surely, from what you’ve told me, he’ll only back Gastern.’

  ‘Not if Gastern is already dead. Where will Valraven’s loyalty fall then, eh?’

  Sinaclara pondered this. ‘Tayven is in Magrast, as is Valraven’s son. We can only assume Tayven is our eyes and eyes at court and that we have his loyalty.’

  ‘Tayven will be in a precarious position,’ Maycarpe said, ‘but he’s squirmed his way out of worse. Again, we must attempt communication, although the fire mages keep Magrast cloaked. They are the last people we want to alert to this situation.’

  ‘The Crown must be hidden,’ Sinaclara said. ‘There’s a possibility the mages have already uncovered Tatrini’s plans and will come looking for it themselves.’

  ‘The Crown will be safe here,’ Maycarpe said. ‘Will you show it to me?’

  Nana went to fetch the artefact from their baggage. She unwrapped it with reverence and set it on Maycarpe’s desk. In the dim light, it seemed to glow: a coronet of delicate tall spines fashioned from coral and bone and bound with white metal wire. Maycarpe drew in his breath through his teeth. ‘I will call a meeting of the King’s Cabal,’ he said.

  ‘And who are they?’ Sinaclara enquired.

  ‘The men and women who have been your colleagues for many years, but who you do not yet know.’

  Evening brought some respite from the heat. Sinaclara dressed herself in the native costume that Maycarpe’s servants had left in her room. She went out onto the balcony that overlooked the governmental square and leaned upon the balustrade. She could hear chanting coming from the many temples, the sundry tunes and voices blending into a strange and eerie song. The air was thick with the pungent incense that burned on every altar. Mewt’s gods felt very much alive to her. She hoped that they would give her the protection she needed. As if in response to the unspoken plea, Maycarpe’s aide came to her door, to inform her that a carriage was waiting for her downstairs.

  Maycarpe took them to a small temple concealed in a narrow side street, deep in the heart of Akahana. Here, an obscure god named Munt was worshipped, although it quickly became clear that this was just a front for more serious commerce. A priest led them through the shadowed temple, where a few elderly people rocked in their evening devotions and paid no attention to the visitors. The priest took them behind the altar and opened a gate of wrought iron. Beyond it, steps led to an underground shrine.

  The small, low-ceilinged chamber was already full of people. It had retained the heat of the day, and its incense smell was tainted by a musty odour. Maycarpe said they were close to an underground tributary of the sacred river and that deeper shrines contained holy pools for scrying and healing.

  Sinaclara felt as if the weight of history was pressing down upon her head. It was difficult to breathe, and a band of pressure over her eyes indicated the presence of unseen entities.

  Maycarpe began to introduce all the people present, but to Sinaclara they were only names that she could not take in. Some of the faces were Mewtish, others Magravandian, and she was sure there were a few pale Cossics present too. Under normal circumstances, she would be more interested, but the world of the unseen was moving close to her. Soon it would sweep her up.

  ‘We are only a small proportion of the Cabal,’ Maycarpe said. ‘We have members in all countries of the world, every one of them waiting for the order to act. Agents in Magrast are already setting certain plans in motion. Whether Valraven Palindrake likes it or not, he is soon to become a rebel against the empire.’

  Sinaclara rubbed her brow. She sensed Nana’s concerned scrutiny and put out a hand to touch her assistant’s arm. Maycarpe’s voice boomed on, but she could barely understand his words, even though he spoke Magravandian. Her name was mentioned, but it was like listening to a foreign language. It was only when Maycarpe directed his attention upon her that she could comprehend him.

  ‘I think it would be appropriate if we all joined together in meditation,’ Maycarpe said to her. ‘Would you like to lead it, my lady?’

  Sinaclara shook her head. ‘No, I regret I am exhausted after our journey. Please let someone else take the role.’

  ‘Of course,’ Maycarpe said, inclining his head. ‘I will do so myself.’ He turned to the others. ‘Perhaps if we concentrate upon it, some indication of future action will be revealed to us.’

  There was not enough room for the company to sit down, so everyone present stood shoulder to shoulder in a circle, hands linked. Sinaclara was assailed by a wave of cold and began to shiver, even though the air in the chamber was hot. She had never suffered from claustrophobia in her life, but now the confined space seemed to squeeze the breath from her. It was as if her body had forgotten how to breathe automatically. She had to do it consciously, with effort. The people here were in accord with her. They shared her dreams and ambitions. There was no reason to feel oppressed and apprehensive, yet she could not dispel these negative feelings. She wanted to break free and run from the room.

  Maycarpe’s voice was a soft drone as he instructed the gathering to visualise themselves on the sacred hill in the centre of Magrast. ‘It is as it was at the dawn of the world,’ he said. ‘Go to this place and ask for guidance.’

  Sinaclara had no intention of joining in with the meditation. She was prepared to concentrate fully on breathing deeply to calm herself until she could reasonably escape without attracting unwanted attention. Then a splash of red exploded behind her closed eyes. She gasped and clung onto Nana’s hand, instinctively relinquishing the fingers of the person who stood on her other side. She could hear voices in the room, concerned mutterings, Nana’s soft murmur. But they were receding. She was being drawn away from them, unable to open her eyes. A pinprick of light was drawing closer in her inner darkness, getting brighter. It seared her eyes, which she knew were closed. She heard the beating of mighty wings, which conjured a burning wind that buffeted her body.

  The eternal spirit guardian of the Crown of Silence hung before her: Azcaranoth, the peacock angel, to whom she had devoted herself for life. His face was fierce and implacable, violet light poured from his eyes. ‘Are you still prepared to pay the price, Sinaclara?’ he asked. ‘Is your heart resolute, your step firm?’

  ‘I do your will,’ she replied, ‘as I have ever done.’

  ‘One must die and one must not,’ Azcaranoth said. ‘When the first death occurs, you must prevent the second. In so doing, you will break your oath to me. But it will and must proceed as I have spoken.’

  A blinding flash erupted across Sinaclara’s inner vision. She felt the constriction of chains around her, biting into her flesh. Her body was bruised, beaten, and she could hear the passionless, bestial laughter of enemies. Grief clawed her heart for a great loss. If she could only open her eyes, she would see who lay dead at her feet.

  Something smacked her hard across the face and she came to her senses. Her eyes opened and she saw a ring of concerned and puzzled faces around her. Nana’s arms encircled her body, holding her close. Maycarpe was standing just in front of her and she realised it had been he who had just struck her. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but you were screaming. We had to break the trance.’

  Sinac
lara slumped against Nana. The warmth emanating from the woman’s body felt so sweet and pure. Sinaclara never wanted to lose it. In the midst of uncertainty, Nana was always solid and dependable. ‘I knew something would occur,’ Sinaclara said. ‘I had a presentiment of it.’

  ‘What did you see?’ Maycarpe said.

  Sinaclara shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It was just a feeling that came to me. Terrible.’

  ‘But what was its flavour?’ Maycarpe asked. ‘We must know, my lady. You must try to tell us.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It was personal. It was mine.’

  Maycarpe drew back, eyeing her shrewdly, as if still full of questions.

  ‘I chose my path,’ Sinaclara said. ‘And it is hard. I must walk it alone sometimes.’

  Maycarpe blinked at her. ‘I understand.’ Clearly, that understanding irked him.

  Nana rubbed Sinaclara’s arm. ‘It’s over,’ she murmured. ‘Be at rest.’

  Sinaclara could not speak of what she had seen, because she knew without doubt that danger and horror awaited her, but that no one could do anything to avert it. She would have to live through it, or not.

  Maycarpe and Nana took her back up into the temple, where the air was a little cooler and the serene countenance of Munt gazed down upon the last of his frail worshippers. Sinaclara could only feel contempt for those who rocked and prayed before the cold stone idol. Gods can’t help you, she thought. Gods can’t influence the desires and greed of humankind.

  Beyond the temple door, Akahana was secretive yet serene in the ruddy gleams of sunset, immortal, inviolate. As they walked to the waiting carriage, the last strains of evening song drifted from the multitude of temples, both near and far. Maycarpe took Sinaclara’s free arm and sighed. ‘The gods of Mewt must be preserved from the inexorable march of Madragore.’

  Sinaclara said nothing. She did not fear for Mewt. Madragore was not a threat to them. The threat, as yet, had not revealed its true face.