Beyond the Hanging Wall

by Sara Douglass

  Garth simply stood there, astounded. Eventually the men rose to their feet, their shoulders and backs straight now, pride and hope shining from their eyes. Several even smiled. As Maximilian moved forward, they fell in behind Garth and Egalion.

  “Egalion,” Maximilian called. “I leave it to you to arrange these men in some order. No doubt others shall be joining us soon enough.”

  “No!” Furst screamed, jamming his fingers into the wire of the door and shaking it furiously, “No! It’s not my fault! I don’t deserve to die!”

  Cavor’s eyes were now numb with terror; his right arm was unmoving, and the hand where it poked out of the sleeve of his jerkin was pale and veined like the finest marble. His left hand scrabbled ineffectually across the floor of the cage like a drunken spider.

  Slowly, slowly, the cage was sliding downwards, and with each passing moment, its slide increased.

  Along with the weight of Cavor’s arm.

  With each bend in the beautiful tunnel they came across further bands of men, more than Garth knew should be in this particular tunnel, but this was a dream, and oddities were allowed in dreams.

  At each group, all without exception huddled terrified by the unexplainable events about them, Maximilian squatted calmly and asked them to swear their allegiance to him, to trust their lives to him.

  None refused, nor even hesitated.

  The orderly file behind Garth soon stretched out of sight, the men stepping confidently and with obvious pride. Egalion had completely got over whatever surprise he’d felt and was now busily marching up and down the file of men himself, organising them into semi-regular units.

  Turning to watch them occasionally, Garth realised that without the presence of chains it was difficult if not impossible to tell which men had once been prisoners, and which guards. Along with the chains had fallen away subservience, hopelessness or bravado—as well as a good deal of the filthy gloam dust. With each step the column took, more of the loathsome grime evaporated away, until healthy flesh glowed in place of the caked darkness.

  Garth shook his head and paused as Maximilian reached yet another group; was this the fortieth or fiftieth group? He’d totally lost count.

  Now the wail of Cavor’s despair was matched only by the tortured scream of metal as the cage plunged into the depths of the Veins. Furst knew that they should have struck the bottom a long time ago—What was happening? What enchantments had them trapped in this nightmare?

  About them green light cradled them serenely, although strange dark shapes shadowed and flickered past the outside of the wire cage.

  Maximilian was the first to notice them. He rose from the group of men who had just pledged their allegiance, and frowned at the dark shapes that shadowed through the glass walls. They were not a part of the ocean at all—for the shapes of the ocean fish floated by well beyond them—but seemed trapped within the glass itself.

  Then Maximilian’s eyes dimmed and filled with tears as the shapes took form, and resolved into limbs and torsos and heads. Eyes pale with despair glowed at the watchers within the tunnel.

  “What is it?” Egalion asked softly from the rear. “Who are they?”

  “They are the lost souls of those who died in the Veins, Egalion,” Maximilian replied. “Dead, and cast into the pits to rot unlamented. I…I do not know what to do for them.”

  Drava stared at them—the light in the tunnel had dulled because of the profusion of dark shapes writhing through the glass. Abruptly he let Ravenna’s hand go and he placed both of his against the hanging wall, his face frowning in concentration.

  “They have watched you, Maximilian,” he said slowly. “They have watched you die and then live to laugh again.” His face softened. “They want to do the same.”

  Maximilian gestured helplessly. “The dead are beyond me, Drava. I cannot…I do not know…”

  “No,” Drava cut him off. “No. There is nothing you can do for them…but there is something I can do.” He turned his head slightly. “Ravenna, will you come stand with me, place your hand on my shoulder?”

  Garth watched a little jealously as Ravenna stepped up and did as Drava asked. He had not minded the attention that Maximilian had paid Ravenna—somehow that seemed only right—but this supernatural creature seemed too proprietary for his liking.

  “Ravenna,” Drava asked, “these lost souls want to live and laugh again, but I fear their human form is beyond me.”

  “They yearn for the sea,” Ravenna said softly. “To them it represents freedom.”

  “So what would you suggest, my Lady of Dreams?”

  She smiled slowly, then leaned close and whispered in Drava’s ear. He laughed delightedly, and his fingers twitched on the glass, as if he wanted to clap his hands.

  The shapes writhed with greater urgency.

  “So you have said,” Drava whispered, suddenly sombre. “And so it shall be.”

  The writhing ceased, and for a moment the trapped souls gazed at those inside the tunnel with wide, startled eyes.

  Then, gradually, very gradually, they began to change.

  Bodies thickened and darkened yet further. Legs melded and arms widened and shrank. Heads became smoother, and the features of their faces blurred and then ran together. Eyes rounded, then enlarged and blinked with serenity and humour.

  “Seals!” Garth cried in amazement. “They’re turning into seals!”

  “Can you think of anything better?” Drava called. “As seals they will enjoy limitless freedom. They can laugh and clap and bark their joy to the sky if they wish, or slip silently into the water to play with the dolphins in the shadowed depths. Their life will be one of constant laughter and delight. I can think of no better life.”

  “Nor I,” Maximilian said softly, tears running down his face. “Nor I.”

  Cavor was silent now, but Furst knew he was not dead because such pain could not shine from the eyes of a dead man.

  But apart from those agonised eyes, Cavor had turned completely to marbled stone.

  The cage continued to plummet downwards, weighted beyond recovery.

  On they continued, men in their hundreds and then their thousands rising from their huddled groups on the floor to pledge their allegiance to Maximilian.

  This would be, Garth thought a trifle numbly, an honour guard like no other.

  Eventually, when he thought he would drop in weariness, Maximilian called a halt. Unbelievably they had come to the end of the tunnel. Before them lay the shaft, but the cage had gone.

  Maximilian stepped to the lip of the chasm and peered upwards. “There is a ladder inside,” he called, his voice echoing about the shaft, “and I can see the sun burning overhead—no more than fifty or sixty paces above us.”

  Impossible, Garth thought wearily, but nothing was impossible wrapped as they were in this dream.

  Maximilian stepped onto the ladder and climbed swiftly upwards, disappearing from sight almost immediately.

  Sighing, Garth stepped on after him, then Egalion, and then the first of the thousands behind him.

  As the men filed onto the ladder, Drava took Ravenna by the hand and pulled her gently to one side.

  “Sometimes,” he said very quietly, “the Lord of Dreams finds his existence a lonely one indeed. And loneliness breeds sadness.”

  She remained still, silent, but she did not pull her hand from his.

  “And surely some days, Ravenna, you find the marsh tiresome, your days overlong.”

  Still she said nothing, her eyes on the men filing past them, but she leaned her body closer to his, and he could feel the slight tremor that rippled through her.

  “Lady,” he said, his voice barely audible, “will you keep me company through the dream paths of the night? Will you dare the dream with me?”

  Ravenna lifted her head until her eyes met his. She smiled. “Gladly.”

  Unnoticed by all those still filing past, tendrils of blue and green mist slid about the Lord of Dreams and his Lady, drawing them
back into the darkness until all that was left was a brief sliding shadow and the hint of a smile.

  They emerged into bright sunshine and the worried faces of those trapped above.

  “What happened?” Joseph hissed as he hauled Garth from the shaft, Vorstus close at his shoulder. “We heard the thunder of the sea below…how…what? Where’s Cavor?” He turned slightly. “Maximilian—did you prevail?”

  Maximilian, brushing himself down to one side, grinned weakly. “It is a long story, Joseph, but, yes, I did prevail.”

  Joseph’s eyes returned to the shaft and his mouth dropped open. “And who are all these men?”

  Garth took his father’s elbow and guided him away a few steps, attempting to explain the unexplainable.

  Only later did anyone realise that Drava and Ravenna had not emerged from the shaft.

  Furst slumped wearily to the floor of the cage and waited for death. That it would claim him he did not doubt, but he wondered why it should take so long.

  Cavor was immobile now, save for his darting eyes, and Furst did not doubt that he longed for death as well.

  Abruptly the screeching of the cage reached unbearable limits, and Furst screamed, his hands tight about his ears.

  The next instant the cage crashed through the glass floor of the shaft into the turbulent depths of the ocean beyond.

  It took a very, very long time to reach the ocean floor.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  ON THE BEACH

  Maximilian stood on the beach and let the stiff sea breeze whip his hair about his face. Far out to sea one of the vivid Corolean trading ships ploughed through the seas; no doubt heading for Narbon to disgorge its goods. He watched it for a while, wondering if it carried news of the strange realms to the west. Well, if it did, no doubt the news would reach his ears soon enough.

  In the eight weeks since he’d emerged from the Veins, Maximilian had worked tirelessly to consolidate his hold on the throne and on Escator. The people had by and large welcomed him, but there was seventeen years worth of news and developments to catch up on, ambassadors to receive and counsel, courts to preside over, decisions to be made, nobles and merchants to be entertained and listened to; and amid all this frantic activity, he’d had to find the quiet and the time to grieve for his parents.

  In all, this was his first opportunity to get away and think.

  Maximilian turned and smiled. “Do you see the ship, Garth?”

  Garth shaded his eyes against the glare of sun across water; wearing a fine linen shirt and a well-cut jacket, he was dressed almost as well as the king beside him. “Assuredly, Maximilian. Once I dreamed I would grow to be a pirate and sail such ships as that.”

  Maximilian returned his gaze to the sea for a moment. Garth had stayed by his side for these past eight weeks, providing sorely needed friendship and the benefit of advice offered from his fresh and uncorrupted perspective. Sometimes Maximilian found the court intrigues that had enveloped his life almost as restricting as his life beneath the hanging wall. Almost.

  Without speaking, both men began to walk slowly down the beach towards a small cliff that had partly collapsed into a tumble of rocks. Waves washed over them, and seals, barking with laughter, clambered from perch to perch before launching themselves back into the sea.

  Three days ago they’d ridden from Ruen to Myrna, and from there to the Veins, the Emerald Guard at their back. The men Maximilian had rescued from the Veins had quickly (some said magically) turned themselves into an elite fighting force, uniformed in distinctive emerald tunics with the outline of the Manteceros in brilliant blue prancing across their chests.

  As they walked, a comfortable silence between them, Garth smiled to himself. No wonder Nennius had chosen the Manteceros for his emblem; the ungainly blue creature hid a power and an authority that could only be guessed at. And a lesson there for the learning—always within sadness, there was hope.

  The Veins had almost proved unrecognisable. After he had risen from the depths, Maximilian had ordered that the iron poppet heads, and all the superstructures and buildings, be torn down. The Veins would operate no more. Indeed, even had he wanted to, Maximilian could not have ordered that gloam production continue. The sea had now completely claimed the Veins; yesterday Garth had stood at the lip of the main shaft for almost an hour, mesmerised by the lap of deep green water several paces below him. Below the surface were the shadowed shapes of fish while agile crabs clambered about the shaft walls.

  No-one would ever be sent down the Veins again.

  The mounds of gloam had been transported away, and only a few piles of iron girders and wheels were left. Soon even they would be gone. The filthy greyness had virtually disappeared from ground and building alike, and Garth could see that the health of the inhabitants of Myrna had improved dramatically.

  Now that the gloam production had ceased, no doubt the economic health of Escator would suffer. But Maximilian planned to expand the realm’s trading potential, perhaps even build a fleet of ships that could trade across the Widowmaker Sea, and he also wanted to rebuild the academies and universities that had fallen into disuse over past generations. Knowledge would replace degradation and pain, enlightenment would replace darkness. Vorstus was ecstatic.

  Their steps slowed as they approached the pile of rocks. Some of the seals paused briefly to gaze at them curiously, but otherwise paid them no attention. Maximilian stared at them a long time, then finally spoke.

  “I suppose your father wants you back in Narbon now that things have settled down, Garth.”

  Joseph had stayed a week in Ruen, then had hastened down to Narbon to be reunited with Nona.

  “The surgery is busier than ever, Maximilian.”

  Maximilian turned completely from the seals and stared intently at Garth. “Will you go?”

  “I need to finish my apprenticeship. And I’d like to see my mother.”

  “You are almost fully trained, Garth. And you could finish what training you need in Ruen. Visit your parents by all means, but…”

  Garth watched him carefully. “What are you saying?”

  Maximilian took a deep breath. “I have a palace and a realm and no friends with which to share them. “Will you stay awhile?”

  Garth laughed, breaking the tension between them. “Cavor tried his best to get a Baxtor back to court, Maximilian. Now you do the same.”

  “The court needs a Baxtor, Garth.”

  Garth hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I would be proud to serve at court, Maximilian. But only if, once my apprenticeship is done, you let me set up a surgery for the ordinary folk of Ruen as well.”

  Maximilian visibly relaxed. “I agree and I thank you, Garth. You do me honour.”

  Slowly they began to walk back the way they had come. In the distant dunes Garth saw a flash of green. The Guard waited there for them. No doubt they would ride for Ruen tonight. Maximilian had needed this visit to let go old ghosts.

  “Have you ever seen her?” he asked softly.

  Maximilian took a deep breath. “No. You?”

  Garth shook his head. “Where is she?”

  “With her Dream Lord, I suppose.”

  “We both lost her.”

  Maximilian rubbed the mark on his arm absently. “Yes, Garth. We both lost her. She is a lady of dream, and she always belonged to that dream.”

  They walked in silence for some way, then Garth grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that! No doubt we shall see her again.”

  Maximilian stared at him, then burst into laughter—and, laughing, they walked up the beach to where the Emerald Guard waited.

  Copyright

  Voyager

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia

  First published in Australia in 1996

  by Hodder Headline Australia Pty. Ltd.

  This edition published in 2010

  by HarperCollinsPublishers Pty Limited

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  Copyright © Sara Douglass 1996

  The right of Sara Douglass to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Douglass, Sara.

  Beyond the hanging wall.

  ISBN: 0 7322 6405 7 (pbk).

  ISBN: 978-0-730-49207-8 (ePub)

  I. Title.

  A823.3

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