‘The North Pole,’ Estarinel answered in a low voice. ‘I see no point in going anywhere else. It would save us weeks of travelling and end the whole thing quickly.’
‘But that is still the same trajectory,’ Ashurek pointed out, ‘the one that Hranna says is wrong.’
‘I will take you wherever you wish,’ the old man said. ‘Of course, you are welcome to wait for us to calculate a precise answer, but that may take months.’
‘We do not have months.’
‘Then I can only advise you that some sort of educated guess is in order. Don’t let me hurry you: a hasty decision could be disastrous.’
‘It seems that for once we are not being manipulated,’ said Ashurek slowly, ‘but genuinely helped. I may be wrong, of course. Medrian, you’ve been silent all this time. Have you any advice to give?’
She looked at him, her eyes shadowy caverns in her white, drawn face.
‘You know as well as I what is missing, Ashurek,’ she murmured tonelessly. ‘But I don’t know where to look, either.’
Ashurek found himself staring at her, engulfed by the bleakness of her eyes. Yes, she was M’gulfn’s child, there could be no doubt, but at the same time there was a quality of enigma about her that sometimes – as now – was awe inspiring. It wasn’t that he hated her. It was not even that he feared her; he only feared that she would cause the Quest to fail, whether she meant to or not. It was rather that he felt sympathy for her, and that sympathy welled from somewhere dark and grim, like a scarred mountainside where the wind mourned incessantly. It was the vista of his inmost soul, which he’d been forced to confront in the Dark Regions, the part of him that had driven armies to ravage nations, Alaak among them, and which was now driving him to be the world’s doom. It was Miril who had made him understand that that darkness was evil, the opposite of hope, and whenever he looked at Medrian it was the same as gazing into that void of hopelessness. He did not want to look there. Perhaps his wish to leave her behind was no more than a need to escape the darkness within himself, and as futile. He and Medrian were both starved of hope. They needed Miril.
I will fade, and hide myself in darkness to mourn and wait...
‘We might as well go straight to the Arctic, then,’ Estarinel said. ‘No one seems to have any better suggestions.’
Ashurek turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I know what Hranna means. I know where we have gone wrong,’ he said. Estarinel looked at him enquiringly. ‘We need to find Miril. She told me that unless I find her again, the world is doomed... do you see what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ Estarinel said, revelation dawning on him in golden light. ‘She is our only hope that the world might be saved and not destroyed.’
‘Just so. This is why she is called the Hope of the World. Without her, we have none. Hranna, I am more than grateful to you for this. Tell me, do you know anything of Miril?’
‘She may be a part of our calculations,’ said Hranna uncertainly, ‘but “hope” is something that cannot be defined mathematically, therefore I’m afraid... well, I am not at all sure what you are talking about.’
‘How do we go about looking for her, then?’ said Estarinel. ‘She could be anywhere.’
Ashurek fell silent for a while, thinking. Medrian stood a little apart from the others, her head bowed, hugging herself. Looking at her, Estarinel wished more than anything to pull her into his arms and comfort the unfathomable, private pain that she endured continually. The knowledge that to try would only worsen her anguish turned in him like a knife.
‘Darkness,’ Ashurek muttered. ‘She said she would wait in darkness. But she did not mean the Dark Regions. And I am sure she is nowhere on Earth, and certainly not on the White or Blue Planes. I think she is on the Black Plane.’
‘Are you sure?’ Estarinel said, alarmed.
‘No. It is only an intuition, but a very strong one.’
‘What if you are wrong? We could be trapped there. Hranna, have you no more definite advice for us?’
‘Ah, alas, I have not,’ the mathematician said apologetically. ‘If anything, I would advise against Hrunnesh, because I cannot guarantee that you would find an Exit Point. But if you feel that you must go there...’ he shook his head worriedly, ‘well, I suggest that you are very certain indeed before making what sounds a rather rash move.’
‘Ashurek, we cannot risk–’
‘I am as certain as I can be. Hranna, please can you arrange an Entrance Point to the Black Plane?’ There was something so commanding, almost menacing, in Ashurek’s quiet voice that Estarinel could not blame Hranna for obeying without further argument.
‘Oh – well, if you are sure – of course. I’ll go inside,’ he waved at the edifice that had once been Arlenmia’s house, ‘to arrange the operation of the mechanism to create the Entrance Point. I will endow it with a physical aspect so that you’ll be able to see it. It will appear in the centre of this square. I will come out and signal to you when it is ready. Well, then, I shall say goodbye again. I hope that if we chance to meet again, it will be in a happier time.’ Hranna was hurrying away as he spoke, his white hands clasped and his dazzling robe floating behind him. He went into the topaz structure.
‘Ashurek–’ Estarinel began.
‘If you are going to argue, give me the Silver Staff, and stay here.’
‘No, I’ll come with you,’ he sighed. ‘I can’t be altogether certain that you are wrong. Medrian, what do you think?’
She turned slowly and looked at him with such a blank, stony expression that it seemed her soul had fled from behind her eyes. She seemed unable to speak. There were drops of perspiration on her white forehead, and she was swaying slightly. Estarinel caught her arm, thinking she was about to pass out.
A dull buzzing noise began in the centre of the square. It was at the lowest threshold of hearing, unpleasantly penetrating. Dark particles appeared and swirled in the air like a swarm of great insects – headless, wingless black bees. Hranna emerged from the topaz structure, waving to indicate that the Entrance Point was ready, and that they should go through, quickly.
The buzzing grew louder, thrumming painfully through their skulls. Fear gripped Estarinel, and he saw the same suppressed dread on Ashurek’s face. But the Gorethrian moved purposefully towards the Entrance Point.
‘No,’ said Medrian, suddenly resisting Estarinel’s hold on her arm. Her face was glowing with a ghastly bluish-white light, and her eyes had turned cyan. ‘No – not there; not to her…’ and her expression was one of such absolute, abject terror that Estarinel almost let her go in shock. She began to fight, struggling violently to escape and run.
‘Come on!’ Ashurek exclaimed. ‘For the Lady’s sake, just let her go!’
Estarinel could not do that. Holding grimly onto her while she fought, he propelled her after Ashurek into the Entrance Point.
Particles battered them like a swarm of carbon-black locusts. The buzzing became intolerable. And suddenly the Glass City, the noise, and the Entrance Point were gone. A raven-black silence wrapped itself around them, softly, like a wing.
#
They were on the Black Plane Hrunnesh. Beneath their feet there was a firm surface that felt like rock, but they could see and hear nothing. At once Estarinel was convinced that they had made a terrible, irremediable mistake. A child-like fear of primitive intensity rose unbidden and ran through him like liquid fire. He hung onto Medrian like a drowning man to a branch.
Only the fact that she was still struggling against him brought him back to himself, as his concern for her subdued his own fear. Presently she stopped fighting him, but became rigid in his arms as if clenched against some terrible, imminent blow.
‘No,’ she rasped, her breathing convulsive, and her voice unlike itself. ‘No. I hate her. Don’t make me–’ She uttered a deep, un-human groan and flopped unconscious in Estarinel’s arms.
‘She appears to have completely lost her mind at last,’ came Ashurek
’s voice out of the darkness. ‘You should have left her behind.’
‘She’s passed out,’ Estarinel informed him through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t let her lie down, because I can’t see what we’re standing on. Coming here was the most incredible act of folly any of us could have devised! How are we to get back to Earth?’
‘Miril is here, somewhere. I know it,’ Ashurek said stubbornly.
‘And if you’re right, how are we going to find her? What if she did not mean that she would be in a specific place, but that we should find her in times of darkness?’
‘What makes you think her words had that meaning?’
‘I think I saw her – heard her, rather – in Gastada’s castle. She gave me the strength… not to die, suppose. And when I was looking for the Silver Staff, I almost gave up at one stage and she came to me and told me to carry on. Her presence was almost physical – I thought I could feel her claws as she perched on my hand. Both were times of extreme darkness, in every sense. What if we have already found her, and did not know it, and now it’s too late?’
‘Why did you not mention this before?’
‘Because–’ Estarinel could hardly find words to frame an answer, ‘It was personal, somehow.’
‘Yes. I understand. Have you seen her at other times?’ Ashurek’s voice was level.
‘Yes. In what I can only describe as visions, waking dreams. Many times. But always as something symbolic, not real.’
‘And black in colour? We have all seen Miril thus. Guiding us, reminding us to look for her. And always I tried to turn aside and push her from my thoughts, despite everything she said to me. I hope it is not too late for her to forgive me.’
‘But those times she came to me, do you think she was really there?’ As Estarinel spoke he realised that he could see Ashurek. It was only in silhouette, with little detail discernible, but it meant the Black Plane was not completely dark after all. ‘Or was it just in my imagination?’
‘I think you are capable of finding hope in the most desperate of situations. I envy you that,’ Ashurek replied more gently than usual. ‘I understand you, but I still believe that she is in a specific place. When I met her, she was not symbolic. She was unquestionably real, vulnerable flesh and blood and feathers. And her true colour is not black but tawny-gold.’ He paused, then continued thoughtfully, ‘I believe Miril is what Medrian is so afraid of. Miril is the antithesis of the Serpent, so any of its servants would be bound to loathe her. Thus Medrian’s terror proves that Miril is on Hrunnesh, and it proves that Medrian is working for the Serpent.’
‘It’s still not proof enough for me to abandon her!’ Estarinel answered heatedly.
‘No. Well, we will see,’ Ashurek said quietly. ‘My eyes seem to have adjusted to this darkness. I think it is enough for us to find our way.’
Supporting Medrian between them, they began to walk slowly through the strange landscape. If there was such a thing as black light, that was what illuminated Hrunnesh. It was unlike the night of Earth. The sky had the quality of light shining through black glass, dim yet of limpid clarity.
The Plane was flat, its surface as smooth and glossy as jet. Out of it there rose formations like clusters of ebony crystal thrown into fantastic shapes. There were arches and slender towers and minarets, plantlike forms, and others that could have been taken for graceful, unearthly animals frozen in mid-stride on an alien landscape.
There were even some resembling human figures, leaning together in love or combat. But all these shapes were ambiguous. If studied for too long, they reverted to mineral clusters imbued with no more meaning than their own crystalline harmony.
As their eyes adapted, they saw that the Black Plane was not wholly black, either. Everywhere it shimmered with the transient hues that glide over an ink bubble, magenta and bronze and indigo. The crystals contained flashes of silver, rose and blue-green, like the colours buried within a black opal.
Hrunnesh, they observed, possessed its own extraordinary beauty.
‘The Planes are supposed to be infinite,’ Estarinel said pessimistically, after they had walked for a while. Medrian was walking with help, but her face was cyanosed and mindless with private terror.
‘I believe their infinity to be of a paradoxical sort,’ said Ashurek, ‘as if they somehow repeat themselves infinitely. I believe that wherever we had entered Hrannekh Ol, we would still have met Hranna and the other Peradnians; likewise H’tebhmella.’
‘Then, if we do not have an infinite distance to walk, couldn’t we rest for a while?’ Estarinel suggested.
Ashurek acquiesced. They sat beneath a giant sable crystal that resembled a bizarre long-necked mammoth with its foot raised and its head turned. Here they ate a small portion of their rations and drank a little reviving H’tebhmellian wine. Medrian would not eat, but Estarinel got her to drink a few mouthfuls. There was a plastic stiffness about her limbs that disconcerted him; he feared for her more than ever. He expected Ashurek to insist again that they leave her behind, but the Gorethrian said nothing. Perhaps, for once, he had concluded that arguing with Estarinel was pointless.
Presently they saw something moving across the vitreous sky. It was a black globe, with the rainbow hues of oil iridescent on its surface.
‘What’s that?’ said Estarinel.
‘I know not, but I believe this Plane is inhabited, as the others are,’ Ashurek replied. The sphere began to descend and drift towards them until it was only a few yards away; then it floated silently to the ground, bouncing a little as it landed, as if almost weightless.
Ashurek and Estarinel were on their feet, swords drawn. As they watched, the surface of the globe was broken – whilst remaining intact – by a hand. Three more hands emerged, a head, a torso – and as the figure stepped out, the skin of the globe closed elastically behind it, like an inky bubble.
A neman stood before them. Like the nemen of Earth, it was tall and lean, with four arms and a long, sombrely handsome face. Its skin, however, was the colour of glossy ebony, as was its short hair, while the tunic it wore reflected no light at all, and might have been a window onto starless space. It stood looking at them, its whiteless eyes glistening like coal.
‘Men of Earth, why have you come to Hrunnesh?’ it said. Its voice was light, rich, and emotionless. They stared suspiciously at it and did not reply. It said, ‘Put away your swords. I have none, as you see. It is not our purpose to be warlike. That is, it has not been proved that it is.’
‘They are philosophers.’ Suddenly remembering, Ashurek lowered his blade.
‘Yes, indeed, we are philosophers,’ the neman agreed. ‘My name is Valcad. Who are you?’
‘Ashurek, Medrian and Estarinel, three travellers from Earth,’ the Gorethrian informed him.
‘And did you come to Hrunnesh by accident or by design?’
‘By design,’ said Ashurek, and the neman looked surprised.
‘This is wonderful,’ it said, almost smiling. ‘Let me take you without further delay to my fellow Hrunneshians – they will be fascinated by your arrival.’
‘How did you know we were here?’ asked Estarinel.
‘I was airborne in my sphere of solitary thought when I saw you,’ Valcad answered simply. ‘We think in isolation, and then we meet together to discuss our reflections.’
Ashurek turned to Estarinel and said, ‘I suggest that we go with the neman. I believe them to be harmless, and they may help us.’
‘For once, I agree,’ said Estarinel. He helped Medrian up; her eyes were open but she was catatonic and seemed unaware of what was happening. She walked apparently by reflex as the neman began to lead them through the forest of mineral forms.
‘The others are not far from here, so our feet will be quicker than the sphere,’ Valcad explained. Seeing them looking around as they went, it said, ‘You admire the beauty of our Plane? I know not why it is called merely “Black”. It is all colours to me.’
‘These crystals,’ Estarinel said, ‘
some of them resemble animals or plants. Have they been sculpted by the Hrunneshians?’
‘No, indeed.’ The neman sounded surprised. ‘They take these shapes of their own volition. Perhaps they aspire to a higher form than their own. Now, here we are.’
In front of them was a shining block of jet some twelve feet high that vaguely resembled a bird with outstretched wings. They heard voices, and as they drew closer they saw that thirty or so nemen were seated on the many ridges of the block.
‘But how can we know what truth is?’ one of the nemen was saying. ‘Men have a standpoint from which to define it, for example, “If I do not eat, I will die.” But we have no such basis. Unless we find one, our reflections must be intrinsically invalid.’
‘Not so,’ said another. ‘It is a decided advantage. Being outside any arbitrary Earthly standard of truth, we are unlimited. Ah, here is Valcad. Who are these beings with you?’
‘Greetings, Pellar. Here are three humans from Earth who have come here to study our philosophy. I believe that we may learn from them, as they may learn from us. We are fortunate.’
Estarinel looked at Ashurek with a touch of alarm as he realised that Valcad had jumped to this conclusion. But Ashurek’s glance seemed to say, ‘Never mind.’
All the nemen came down from the crystal block and gathered around the three, evidently fascinated by their arrival. Like Valcad, they were very tall, and there was something eerily intimidating about the sinuous co-ordination of their four hands. Coppery and purplish lights gleamed on their satin skins, multi-coloured flecks sparkled in their eyes, but their tunics were as black as nothingness. Some of them reached out and lightly touched the three as if trying to perceive their true nature.
‘Now, come and sit with us. We welcome you,’ said the one called Pellar. They all ascended the sloping wings and seated themselves on the various ridges of the crystal form, with Ashurek, Estarinel and Medrian in the centre.
A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) Page 31
