The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Geraden hesitated, glancing at Terisa in appeal as though he believed she knew what he was about to say; as though he felt it would be more convincing if it came from her. But of course she had no idea what he had in mind. After a moment, he returned his gaze to King Joyse.

  “My lord King,” the Apt said, his own voice shaking with determination and alarm, “she is a Master of Imagery.”

  At that, the King fixed a watery and unreadable look on Terisa – a look which could have indicated surprise or boredom.

  Without a glance at the other people in the room, Havelock swept all the men off the board and began to set up a new game.

  “I believe,” Geraden went on softly, “her power pulled my translation away from where I thought I was going.”

  The assertion was so absurd that several moments passed before Terisa realized she was expected to answer it. Then, helplessly, she began to blush under the scrutiny of the two men.

  Close to panic, she replied, “No. No, of course not. That’s crazy. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  Carefully, Geraden said, “I found her in a room entirely walled with mirrors.”

  “So what?” A distant, self-conscious part of her mind was surprised by how this ludicrous conception frightened her. “Everybody has mirrors. A lot of people use them for decor. They’re just pieces of glass – with something on the back to make them reflect. They don’t mean anything.”

  In response to her alarm, King Joyse murmured as if he were trying to comfort her, “Perhaps in your world that is so. Here the truth is otherwise.”

  But Geraden was already saying as definitively as he could, “Each of her mirrors showed her own Image exactly. They showed my Image exactly. And she isn’t hurt. I’m not hurt. I ought to be raving by now. Or my mind should be completely empty. But I’m all right. She’s all right.

  “They were her mirrors.”

  An amazed dismay stopped Terisa’s mouth. She felt she couldn’t understand what was literally being said to her. Each of her mirrors showed her own Image exactly. Here that wasn’t true. Suddenly, her grasp on the ordinary details of life – the plain facts which showed that she was in contact with reality – was threatened, denied.

  And King Joyse peered at her with an intent interest that made everything worse. “Is this correct, my lady?” he asked as if she had just claimed to be some kind of exotic insect. “The story is told that an Imager once chanced to form a flat mirror which showed the exact spot on which he stood. Therefore he saw himself in the glass – and was immediately canceled. His body remained where it was until its balance failed, but his spirit had entirely ceased to exist. It was lost in translation. How do the people of your world avoid this fate?”

  Groping for sense, she countered, “That’s impossible. Mirrors can’t hurt anybody. They just show you what you look like. Except reversed. Like a pool of water. Haven’t you ever looked at yourself in a pool of water?”

  Both men studied her oddly. In a soft, musing tone, King Joyse said, “We’re taught from childhood to be wary of Images. We don’t seek them out.”

  Without any particular forewarning, Adept Havelock pounded his fist on the table, then picked up the checkerboard and threw it at the ceiling. The checkers made a sound like wooden rain against the granite of the ceiling and fell back to bounce noiselessly in the blue-and-red rug.

  Tottering to his feet, the old Imager roared, “Horror and ballocks!” His eyes squinted ferociously at both the King and Geraden; patches of scarlet burned on his face; his fat lips shook like wattles. “She’s a woman!” He struck a wild gesture in her direction with the back of his hand. “Are you and every man jack feeble-wit Imager of the Congery blind? She is female, fe-fe-fe-male.” Saliva sprayed from his mouth. “Oh, my groin!”

  Because she didn’t know what else to do, Terisa stood and stared at him.

  “Look at you!” Still using the back of his hand, he hit King Joyse across the chest – a blow which was more dramatic in intention than in effect. “And you!” With his other hand, he struck Geraden. “Or here!” Awkwardly but quickly, he bobbed toward the floor like a poorly constructed rooster, then pulled himself erect. “And here!” Another bob. “And here!” Each time he stood upright again, he brandished a checker in his open palm. “All men, every one! Every one of them!”

  But when his hand was full of checkers, he flung them down again. “By the hoary goat of the arch-Imager,” he shouted as if the three people in front of him had insulted him beyond mortal endurance, “she is a woman!”

  Moving with an attempt at vehemence which his frail limbs couldn’t support, he stamped/shuffled to the outer door of the chamber, jerked it open, and slammed it shut again without leaving. Then, somewhat unsteadily, he retrieved the checkerboard from the floor and set it squarely on the table. Oblivious to everyone else, he took his seat and began to study the empty board as if an intense game were in progress.

  King Joyse sighed delicately.

  Geraden said, “I’m sorry.”

  Terisa wasn’t quite sure why. Her heart pounded as if she had somehow escaped a crisis.

  “No matter, my boy,” replied the King, patting Geraden’s shoulder absentmindedly, as though the Apt had in fact committed some minor offense. For a moment, his gaze seemed to swim out of focus while he thought about something – or perhaps he was simply taking a quick nap on his feet. Then he nodded to himself. Smiling irrelevantly in Terisa’s direction, he said, “Geraden, it occurs to me to be surprised that the Congery released the lady Terisa in your company. She is here by Imagery – and some of the Masters, I know, are jealous. Also, I suspect that they would always prefer to keep what they do secret from me. Yet here you are. How do you account for that?”

  Geraden made an effort to look at the King squarely; but his discomfiture was too strong for him.

  “Did you tell the Masters that she may be a Master herself?”

  The Apt swallowed thickly. “No.”

  “Ah,” King Joyse said mildly. “That explains it, then. Of course they let her go, thinking her to be just another of your mishaps. But why didn’t you tell them?”

  A slow flush spread over Geraden’s face. Muscles knotted in his forehead. His embarrassment was so acute that it nearly brought tears to Terisa’s eyes. But he clamped his jaws shut and didn’t answer.

  “My boy, that may have been foolish.” The King’s hand still held Geraden’s shoulder; his expression was kind. “You’ve been trying for – what is it now? ten years? – to become an Imager, a member of the Congery. How can you hope to succeed, if you risk angering the very men who control the knowledge, skill, and position you crave?”

  “My lord King.” Geraden forced himself to let the King see the sharp pain in his eyes; and a sudden dignity came to him. “If I had told them, they would have commanded me to keep all this secret from you. Then I would have been compelled to disobey them directly—and my hope of a chasuble would be lost forever.” There was an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. “I can’t bear disloyalty to the King of Mordant. I can’t give up my dreams. So I act like a fool. They’ll believe I didn’t notice her mirrors—or didn’t understand the significance of what I saw.”

  In response, another of the smiles that had first touched Terisa’s heart lit the King’s face. For a moment, his age, weakness, and uncertainty fell away, and he became simply happy.

  “Thank you, Geraden. It pleases me to see such loyalty, especially in a son of my old friend the Domne. I’ll try to arrange that you don’t suffer for it.

  “Now” – his expression grew thoughtful – “let us consider. How best to do it?

  “Tell me.” Slowly, he lowered himself back into his chair across the table from Havelock. His robe settled about him like a tent with the ridgepole cut. “How did the Masters react to the lady Terisa of Morgan’s arrival?”

  Relieved by the King’s attitude, Geraden relaxed visibly. “That’s easy. You could guess all of it if you wanted
to. Everyone was astonished when she came out of the glass. Master Gilbur was furious. I’m sure he thinks I’m criminally perverse instead of” – he grimaced –“just unlucky. Master Eremis was, well, amused.”

  “Among other things, I don’t doubt,” the King commented. “Master Eremis,” he explained to Terisa, “has an eye for loveliness which never fails him.”

  Geraden nodded and went on. “Master Quillon saw her appearance the same way I did, as proof you’ve been right about Imagery all along. But nobody listened to him.

  “Master Barsonage made me responsible for her. He told me to give her all the hospitality and courtesy of Orison. But he told me not to answer any of her questions. Here she is, taken out of her own world for no reason except because I asked her to come, and put down in a place she has no way to understand, and he commanded me not to give her the simple decency of an explanation.”

  Terisa hardly heard him. She was wondering, Is that why he looked at me, looked at me as if I were real? The idea was so new that it seemed to be full of mysterious importance. Did he think I was lovely? Do you think I’m lovely? Is that possible?

  “Unless, of course,” the King returned quietly, “she is a Master Imager and had already chosen us before you met her.”

  Geraden scowled. “What difference does that make? Haven’t I been saying all along I think she’s an Imager? She still deserves –”

  “No.” King Joyse’s tone was mild and certain. “You make an assumption which may be unjustified.

  “Master Barsonage’s command was not unreasonable. When the Alend Monarch sends his ambassador to negotiate our treaties, and to probe my intentions, he understands much of his world and much of my own. We have that in common. Yet I do not make him privy to everything I know or think or hope, neither for policy nor for courtesy. I do not invite him into the secret places of Orison, or into the secret places of my heart. To do so would be dangerous – too dangerous for any responsible justification. Not knowing his secrets, I could not predict or control the use he made of mine. Still less would I answer any questions which an ambassador from the High King of Cadwal might venture to ask.

  “The same reasoning applies to the lady Terisa” – he looked toward her – “if you will pardon me for speaking of you as if you were absent.” Returning his gaze to Geraden, he continued, “If, as she says, she comes from a world in which mirrors have no meaning, and is therefore ignorant of us, then it is at best unkind to refuse her answers. But in that case – mark this, Geraden – it is also folly to have brought her here at all. I speak not of morality now, but of the simple question of our practical need. If she is not an Imager, what use can she possibly be to us?”

  Geraden held himself still and didn’t reply.

  Adept Havelock continued to study his blank board, deaf to whatever was being said.

  “Conversely, if she is an Imager – a Master of mirrors strong enough to wrest your translation away from its apparent Image – then she is here for purposes of her own, which we do not know. She is like an ambassador, similarly to be respected, and similarly dangerous.

  “Would you say, my lady,” he asked Terisa unexpectedly, “that I’ve summarized the dilemma fairly?”

  She stared at him, unable to follow his reasoning. In order to make sense of it, she had first to presuppose the existence of magical mirrors which didn’t reflect whatever was in front of them but instead showed alternative worlds or realities. Then she had to take seriously the notion that her own mirrors, the mirrors in her apartment, were like that, giving her, Terisa Morgan, power over the reality and even the sanity of other people. The whole argument collapsed into nonsense before it reached the lofty conclusion King Joyse asked her to endorse.

  Instinctively, she turned to Geraden. He was her only connection to her own life, with its ordinary facts and limitations. You saw me, she wanted to protest. You saw my apartment. There’s nothing magic about it. You didn’t lose your mind. None of this has anything to do with me.

  His attention was on the King, however. “But if she’s that strong,” he said slowly, “an Imager more powerful than we can imagine, then it’s folly for us to risk offending her. We don’t know her purposes – they might be good or bad for us. But they’re sure to turn bad if we don’t treat her well. We need her friendship, not her anger. We need to be open and decent with her.”

  Smiling softly, King Joyse glanced back and forth between the Apt and Terisa as Geraden spoke. When he was done, the King replied, “Your reasoning has merit. It is fortunate that only rulers are required to make those decisions.”

  “My lord King?”

  “Apt,” said King Joyse, his tone still mild but now faintly rueful as well, “here is my command. You are no longer responsible for the lady Terisa of Morgan. Your King thanks you for what you have done – and relieves you of any further interest in the matter. Your duties lie with the Congery, to which you are pledged. You will have no more reason to see or speak with the lady Terisa, and certainly no reason to answer any of her questions.

  “You may go. The lady Terisa will remain with me.”

  Geraden’s face went white: if he had closed his eyes, he would have looked like he was about to faint. But his eyes contradicted his pallor. They flamed with a quick, unflinching anger that seemed to burn all the boyishness out of him.

  Softly, he said, “You consider me unworthy.”

  At that, the King’s features crumpled into a grimace. He made an abrupt, dismissing gesture. “Oh, get out.” For the first time since Terisa had met him, he sounded like a querulous old man. “You’re breaking my heart.”

  The muscles of Geraden’s face twitched. “Yes, my lord King,” he said between his teeth. Roughly, he turned to Terisa and bowed. “My lady.”

  She had no reply. He was too hurt – and his hurt was too real. She was lost in it. He needed a response from her; but her responses were hidden behind years of silence and passivity.

  When he started toward the door, his foot came down on the edge of one of the scattered checkers. His ankle twisted, and he stumbled, nearly fell. Embarrassment darkened his cheeks. His ears were crimson as he made his exit.

  Watching the Apt go, Havelock began to giggle in a high, mad voice, as if his mirth were a place where reason or compassion couldn’t reach him.

  When he subsided, no one spoke for a moment. Then the King said, in an unsteady attempt at nonchalance, “Well, my lady Terisa of Morgan. We must give some thought to you. You must be made comfortable, with all the hospitality Orison can manage, as befits a guest of your station and importance. And then perhaps you’ll consent to a game or two of hop-board? I’m really very tired of Havelock’s incessant beatings.”

  Geraden had been hurt for nothing. There was no reason for anybody to take precautions against her. To her own astonishment, she heard herself say, “I’m not your lady. My name is Terisa Morgan, and I’m not anybody’s lady. You didn’t have to do that to him.”

  King Joyse tried to smile, but failed to lift the sadness from his face. “My lady, I am the King. I will call you by whatever name I choose. And I hope that someday you’ll understand.”

  With as much sarcasm as she had ever dared use, she returned, “But you’re not going to explain it to me. You don’t want to answer any of my questions.”

  Instead of replying, King Joyse slowly lowered his frail bones to the floor and started crawling around the room, picking up checkers.

  FIVE: WARDROBES FULL OF CLOTHES

  Like a baffled child, Terisa shook her head, blinked her eyes. Unfortunately, nothing changed. Adept Havelock went on peering at his board as if in his mind he were already playing future games. The King continued to collect the scattered checkers, moving on his hands and knees.

  The panic which had been gnawing at the back of her mind suddenly got worse. She shouldn’t have spoken so sarcastically, so assertively. She was dependent on these people. With one cross word, she could be dismissed from existence. The King could have he
r thrown into another of those mirrors, and she might end up somewhere even more impossible. The world of the Congery’s chosen champion suggested itself to her imagination. Or she might arrive nowhere – might simply dissolve into the gray, unacknowledged, pointless nothing she had feared and fought for most of her life.

  I’m sorry, she thought involuntarily, while her alarm increased. Let me stay. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.

  At that moment, King Joyse braced his arms, levered his legs under him, and tottered to his feet. Moving to the table, he dropped the checkers he had collected in front of Havelock. Then he turned his clean, good smile on Terisa.

  “Pardon me, my lady. What have I been thinking about? I’m rude to neglect you in this way. You must be fatigued from your translation, eager for rest and refreshment. Do you have any special requirements in sustenance or comfort? No?” His apology sounded sincere, but his questions were perfunctory. “Then I’ll summon someone to guide you to your rooms and care for you.”

  Still smiling, he hunted around him with an increasingly aimless air until he happened to slip one hand into a pocket of his robe, where he found a silver bell with a wooden handle. He rang it vigorously. Almost immediately the outer door opened, and one of the guards stepped into the room.

  “My lord King?”

  “Ah, thank you.” For an instant, King Joyse appeared confused, as if he had forgotten what he was doing. His damp eyes blinked at the bell in his hand. Then, abruptly, he said, “A maid for the lady Terisa of Morgan.”

  “At once, my lord King.” The guard saluted by tapping his mail shirt with his fist and left the room.

  Havelock reset the checkerboard, although King Joyse hadn’t retrieved all the pieces.