The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you again yesterday,” he began at once; he couldn’t swallow the pleasure bubbling up in him. “I don’t know what came over Master Quillon. He isn’t usually that unreasonable. He took me down to his private workshop and put me to work grinding sand, of all things. That job is so menial and mindless even new Apts don’t usually have to do it. Then the message came that Prince Kragen was here and King Joyse was going to give him an audience. I thought that would save me. Despite whatever came over him, Master Quillon wouldn’t expect me to go on grinding sand at a time like that.”

  He grimaced. “I was right, as usual. I didn’t have to grind any more sand. Instead, he handed me instructions for the most complex tinct I’ve ever heard of and told me to prepare it three different ways. ‘For experimental purposes.’ Some Masters never let Apts do work that sophisticated. And it’s been years since any Master gave me a job like that. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or cut my throat.

  “Anyway, I didn’t finish until after midnight. I’m still not sure I got any of them right.

  “I guess I missed all the excitement.”

  Terisa’s throat felt like cotton wadding. She swallowed roughly. “You must have heard about it.”

  He nodded slowly, studying her: the strangeness of her manner cooled his ebullience. “Did you really play hop-board against Prince Kragen?”

  Unable to face him, she went to the window. The clear sky of the previous evening was gone: now low clouds as heavy as stone covered the castle and the surrounding hills, making everything gray. In that light, the gown she had chosen seemed as drab as her spirit.

  “Yes.”

  Geraden whistled his appreciation. “Amazing! And he didn’t know the game. How did you manage to maneuver him into a stalemate? That was impressive. The Alend Monarch ought to give you a title for treating his honor with so much courtesy.” Then his tone darkened. “Judging by the rumors, that was the most intelligent thing anybody did in that disaster. If King Joyse had half your sense, there would still be hope for us.”

  Oh, Geraden. Hating herself for what she had to do, she took advantage of the opening he had unintentionally given her, the chance to deflect – or at least postpone – his inevitable questions. Without turning her head, she said bitterly, “But that’s the point, isn’t it? He doesn’t have any sense. As far as I can tell, he arranged that whole audience for just one reason – to make fun of the Prince. He wants a war with Alend.”

  Then she did turn, forcing herself toward him because she was ashamed. “Geraden, why are you loyal to him? Maybe he was a great king once – I don’t know. But there’s none of that left.” She spoke as if during the audience she had been capable of refusing the King’s smile – as if she could have refused it now. “Why don’t you give him up?”

  The quick hurt in his eyes made her want to run into the bedroom and hide her head under the pillows. Lamely, she concluded, “That’s why the Masters don’t trust you. Because you’re loyal to him, and nobody can understand why.”

  “Is that what they told you?” he retorted at once. “They don’t trust me because I still like to serve my King? I thought it was because I haven’t done anything right since I was nine years old.”

  Stung, she returned to the window, leaning her forehead against the cold glass to cool the pain. Not talk to him? Not tell him the truth? How could she do that, even to save his life?

  “I’m sorry,” she heard him say, chagrined by her reaction. “I didn’t mean it that way. This is just a sore point for me. As you can probably tell.

  “But I have the strongest feeling—” He stopped.

  She waited, but he didn’t go on. Finally, she asked, “What is it this time?”

  As if the words were being forced out of him by a deep but involuntary conviction, he replied, “I have the strongest feeling he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Oh, Geraden!” She couldn’t restrain herself: she faced him again, showing her irritation plainly. “Do you really think that starting a war with Alend is wise? Do you think that’s a good answer to Mordant’s problems?”

  “No,” he admitted glumly. “I’ve already told you my feelings are always wrong. I just can’t ignore them.” After another hesitation, he said, “I haven’t told you about the first time I met him.”

  Thinking she knew what was coming, Terisa winced inwardly. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, thanks.” His manner was abstracted: his mind was on the story he meant to tell. “I spent too many hours yesterday hunched over a mortar. My back still hurts. “He began to pace slowly back and forth in front of her.

  “I must have been eleven or twelve years old at the time, and I had never been away from home. Oh, there was hardly a mile of Domne where I hadn’t ridden or worked, trailing after my brothers, doing the jobs I was given, or” – he smiled – “trying to avoid my chores. I don’t care what anybody else says. Domne is the most beautiful of the Cares – especially in the spring, when the apples trees and dogwood and redbud come out, and some of the hills as far as you can see are wooded in blooms – and I loved exploring it, playing in places like the Closed Fist, riding like wild around the skirts of the mountains.”

  He sighed happily. “But Houseldon was the center of my life. My father, the Domne, is a man who loves his home more than any place in the world. He prefers the company of his family to anyone else – even though people call him one of the King’s dearest friends. Every year or two, he had to go somewhere to do something for King Joyse or Mordant, and he always took at least two of my brothers with him. That was how Artagel discovered his talent for fighting, which he would never have done at home. But I was always too young to go. I was my mother’s baby, of course. And when she died, Tholden – he’s my oldest brother – he and his wife took over as if they thought I was never going to grow up.

  “In some ways, it’s difficult to describe why I didn’t take after my father. Tholden certainly did – when he becomes the Domne, even our father’s beloved cherry trees will hardly notice the difference. So did Minick and Wester – he’s the handsome one of the family. And the only reason I don’t count Stead is that he would rather court every village girl in Domne than do his share of the shearing. Did I tell you that our family raises sheep? We do all kinds of farming, of course. All the Cares do. But wool and cloth are what we’re known for.” He sounded proud. “As soon as my brothers found out how clumsy I was,” he continued wryly, “they refused to let me near the shears. But one summer I did so much herding that I knew every sheep within five miles by name.

  “Looking back on it, I think my father’s love should have been irresistible. He can still take off a sheep’s wool in one piece so even it can be used as it is. His eyes light up when he sees a new seed sprout or a new crop come up. And he enjoys the company of his sons as if they were the best people in the world. He even manages to appreciate my good points – whatever they are. Whenever I go home, I spend the first five days amazed at my good luck and wondering why I ever left.”

  Then he shrugged and grinned. “I spend the next five days trying to figure out how to tell the Domne I have to leave again. Maybe it’s because I never got to go with him when he traveled. I had to wait until he and my brothers came back and spent the next entire season telling stories about all the exciting things they saw and did. I was like Nyle in that. Except for me, he’s the youngest. He had to stay home a lot, too. When Artagel went into training with the armies of Mordant, Nyle and I treated him like visiting royalty. We wanted him to tell us everything.

  “Or maybe it’s because King Joyse sent Queen Madin and their daughters to stay with us for more than a year when I was five or six. What was happening, I think, was that the Alend Monarch and High King Festten were becoming desperate to defend their Imagers, and King Joyse was afraid they might try to stop him by attacking his family. Anyway, the lady Elega and I were about the same age, and we played together most of the time. Even then” – his
fondness was evident – “she was so full of being a king’s daughter that I hardly knew what to do with her. But I admired her for it. I loved her stories of wars and power, even though she credited herself with saving the realm more often than most five-year-old girls can manage. Young as I was, she made me ache to explore the whole world the way I did Domne.

  “Or maybe it was simply that the most exciting thing I knew about my father was his friendship with the King.

  “Whatever the reason, I haven’t been content with the idea of being a farmer or sheepherder for as long as I can remember.”

  Abruptly, he stopped and looked at Terisa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go into all that. I just wanted you to understand what kind of boy I was when I first met King Joyse.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she replied gently. She was grateful for anything that kept him from questioning her. And she liked hearing about his family. His background was as alien to her experience as Mordant and Imagery were; but it was also attractive – as strange and wondrous as a fairy tale. “If you didn’t point it out, I would never know you were digressing.”

  He bowed playfully. “You are too gracious, my lady.” Then he resumed his story.

  “As I say, it was probably thirteen years ago. Mordant was approximately at peace because Adept Havelock wasn’t ready to expose the arch-Imager and his cabal, and King Joyse was doing a royal circuit, getting ready for the days when his wars would actually be over. After Termigan, he came to Domne.

  “The day he arrived, I was weeding corn in one of the fields near Houseldon. It was as far away as I could bear to be, and I only went that far because the field was on a hill that let me watch the road. I was so excited that I kept forgetting to look where I swung the hoe. By the time the King and his party finally rode into view” – he chuckled to himself – “I had left a swath of ruined corn right through the middle of the field.

  “But that didn’t bother me. As soon as I saw him coming, I dropped my hoe and ran.

  “There’s a stockade around Houseldon, mostly to keep the animals out, and unfortunately there was a large pig wallow between me and the nearest gate. However, one of my brothers in an enterprising mood had tossed a long log into the wallow as a shortcut, and I headed for it to save time.

  “You can imagine what happened.” He grimaced in mock disgust. “But I didn’t stop. I absolutely had to meet King Joyse as fast as possible. It was the most urgent thing in my life. So I managed to arrive in front of our house just as the King and his people – Queen Madin with Elega, Torrent, and Myste, Adept Havelock in his scruffy chasuble, Castellan Lebbick and a handful of guards, two or three of the King’s counselors, and a small number of servants – you see, I remember it all – I got there just as they were dismounting.” He snorted. “I had cherry pits in my hair, orange peels on my clothes, melon rinds sticking to my feet, and I was still dripping mud.

  “A lot of people laughed – except Elega, who got angry – but my father and the King didn’t. The Domne said, ‘My lord King, this is my youngest son, Geraden,’ as if he had never loved me as much as he did right then. Then the King beckoned me to him. In spite of the muck, he put his hands on my shoulders and gripped me hard. ‘I like you, boy,’ he said. ‘Come to Orison in a few years.’ Just like that. ‘You already have one fighter in the family, and Artagel does it well. You will be an Imager.” ’

  Again, he stopped pacing to face Terisa firmly. “He made me happier than I had ever been in my life. And I can’t forget that. I’m not as loyal to him as I should be – he doesn’t want me to talk to you, remember? – but he is my King, and I won’t stop trying to serve him as well as I can.”

  Then he laughed self-consciously. “Anyway, that’s the best explanation I can give you. At the rate I’m going, if you ask me any more questions, I’ll never give you a chance to tell me what happened to you yesterday.”

  A pang went through her. Not quite able to meet his gaze, she said, “I like hearing about your family. Did you hear Saddith mention a tour? She was going to give me a tour of Orison. I would like to know this place a little better.” Deliberately duplicitous, she added, “This room is starting to give me cabin fever.”

  Forgetting self-consciousness, Geraden became immediately sober and intent. “I’ll gladly give you a tour. After yesterday, I can use the escape myself. But that meeting of the Congery is too important to talk about in public. With my luck, somebody would overhear us. Why don’t you tell me what happened after I had to leave? Then we’ll go.”

  If he secretly wanted to know what she had done with Master Eremis, he concealed the desire well. Nevertheless she needed some way to deflect him again and didn’t have any better ideas, so she said, “Are you sure it isn’t Master Eremis you want to hear about? You were eager enough to interrupt us.”

  She tried to make the words teasing – and failed completely. In fact, she sounded just like her mother, feigning playfulness to disguise the intended hurt in what she said.

  Involuntarily, Geraden scowled to keep himself from flinching; his face darkened. “Was I wrong, my lady?” he asked stiffly. “Does Master Eremis mean you well?”

  She couldn’t answer that. She was too ashamed of herself. Softly, as if she were apologizing, she said, “Do you know what he did? He proved I don’t exist. Or I didn’t exist until you found me in the mirror. You must have created me somehow.”

  Suddenly, the Apt was angry. His eyes burned. “He convinced you of that? You. That must have been quite a display of logic. What did he actually say? What argument did he use this time?”

  Surprised and a bit frightened by Geraden’s reaction, she answered, “Language. Mirrors don’t translate sound.” Confusedly, she repeated the gist of what Master Eremis had said to her.

  In response, Geraden threw up his hands. Stalking away to the window, he glared out at the winter. “That son of a mongrel,” he rasped. “Why does he do things like this?” Then, roughly, he swung toward her again.

  “That’s all pigslop, and he knows it. It’s an interesting argument, but it doesn’t prove anything.”

  She stared at him dumbly.

  “There is at least one alternative explanation. Translation changes things. That’s part of the magic. Language isn’t the only issue. When I put my head into that mirror – the one with the champion – I didn’t have any trouble breathing the air. But surely a world like that would have different air than we do. Why would a mirror create alien landscapes, alien people, alien power, alien creatures – and not alien air? That doesn’t make sense. I must have been changed by the translation so I could breathe. If those people hadn’t been so determined to kill me right away, we might have been able to talk to each other.

  “I can’t prove that either, of course. But proof isn’t the point. The point is, the answer Master Eremis gave you isn’t inevitable. There is another explanation.

  “It isn’t love that makes him talk to you like that.” His tone was hard, like a clenched fist. He didn’t seem to be aware that she was panicking in front of him.

  The past was real? She couldn’t simply turn her back on it and go ahead, as if she had a role to play and a right to play it? Then she didn’t belong here – and everything she did was too important. Her mistakes might do serious damage: the risk she had taken for Prince Kragen against King Joyse might have terrible consequences.

  She hardly heard Geraden saying, “There’s some reason why he wants you to believe I created you. He wants something from you.” He grimaced bitterly. “He wants to bed you – but that isn’t what I mean. If it were that simple, he wouldn’t take the chance of upsetting you.

  “My lady, what happened during the meeting of the Congery after I left? What did they decide?”

  She hardly heard him – but all at once the words came into focus, and she grasped what he had said. The color drained from her face. “Decide?” she breathed, trying not to pant. Even this might be wrong, the decision to protect him. Maybe she shouldn’t trust Master
Quillon. Or maybe Geraden needed to die – maybe he was a danger to Mordant in some way she could never understand because she didn’t belong here. She didn’t know enough: the right answer wasn’t available to her. A feeling of weakness washed through her, and darkness swirled around the edges of her vision. Her knees started to fold.

  Somehow, Geraden crossed the distance between them. He was holding her up, his hands clamped to her arms. “Terisa!” he hissed like a blaze. “What did they decide?”

  She couldn’t stand. If he let her go, she would be lost. A moment later, however, she found that the urgent need in his face brought her strength back. He was more at risk than she would ever be. Master Quillon was right about that: Geraden was too passionate and determined to be safe. She couldn’t let him be killed, couldn’t give his enemies an excuse to kill him.

  But as she straightened her knees, took her own weight, she realized that there was no way out. She couldn’t let him be killed. What good was that? She also couldn’t lie to him. It would be impossible for her to lie to any man who looked at her like that. Even if she had never existed before in her life, she would have become real at that moment because of the way he stared at her, simultaneously outraged on her behalf and desperate for her help.

  One after the other, she shrugged her arms free. Still feeling weak, she said, “They told me not to tell you. They told me that if you knew what the Congery was going to do your enemies would have you killed.”

  As quick as a slap, astonishment stretched his face, and he recoiled a step. “Killed—?” His eyes flashed from side to side, hunting for comprehension. “Me? What enemies? Why would anyone—?” Questions burst from him in fragments: he couldn’t frame them quickly enough to keep up with them. “And you—? They did that to you? Who are—?”

  Abruptly, he took hold of himself with an almost visible grip of will, forced down his confusion. In a clenched voice, he murmured, “You poor woman. You know something I don’t, and you know I need to know it, but you think it might cost me my life if you tell me. And if I tell you I don’t have any enemies – I can’t imagine having any enemies – you won’t know who to believe.”