A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2)

by Freda Warrington

  ‘Yes. The words to open their eyes were within me. You see, all that was negative within their souls had been absorbed by the Shana to feed their power. So all that was left within them was the positive, the very antithesis of the Shana’s evil. When they opened their eyes it was as if Miril’s eyes shone upon the Dark Regions, rendering the Shana powerless, and making them see the horror and futility of their own existence. That was what they feared. That alone made them walk out to Miril and destroy themselves in their despair.’

  ‘When that bird touched me,’ said Skord, seeming dazed, ‘everything that confused me began to make sense. As if I am not two or three different people after all, but just myself. None of it hurts so much now. I think – I think I should help you.’ He glanced hesitantly at Estarinel. ‘And when we go home, I will go back to Setrel. I think he cared about me.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Estarinel.

  ‘Damn it, she is on her way back,’ Ashurek muttered, looking across the snowfield. ‘I’d almost forgotten about her.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Silvren.

  Arlenmia, closely followed by Medrian, descended on them like a viridian tongue of fire, blazing with rage. She seized Skord by the shoulder and jerked him to his feet, shaking him violently.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me? Where are my demons?’ Arlenmia didn’t seem to notice the cloaked figure in Ashurek’s arms. She closed her eyes briefly and rested one hand on her chest, apparently using the Egg-Stone to glean the knowledge of what had transpired. Then her eyes flew open and the malevolent energy of the Egg-Stone seemed to be concentrated within them.

  Estarinel went straight to Medrian and was hugging her, relieved to find that Arlenmia had not harmed her. Skord was cringing at the enchantress’s feet, instantly plunged back into the nightmare from which Miril had woken him. Ashurek remained seated, looking levelly at Arlenmia.

  She approached him, knocking the H’tebhmellian fire out of the way as she came. She pulled back the hood of the figure in his arms. ‘Silvren,’ she said. All the anger left her face as she gazed at the woman who had once been her dearest – her only – friend.

  Silvren reached out of the cloak and seized her hand before she could move away.

  ‘I can see the Egg-Stone round your neck. How did you get it? Oh, Arlenmia, if you will listen to no one else, please listen to me.’

  ‘No,’ said Arlenmia, jerking her hand from Silvren’s grasp. ‘I have suffered enough of this pernicious nonsense. Least of all will I suffer it from you. Now hear me, all of you.’ Her compulsive will, joined to the Egg-Stone’s energy, began to reassert itself over them. ‘I suppose you think that this escapade was very clever. I suppose you are now full of hope that I may be stopped after all. Well, you are wrong. The Shana, although they served me, were conspiring against me. You think I didn’t know?’ She laughed mockingly. ‘They also thought themselves clever, but to me they were transparent; they did not want M’gulfn’s power to be whole, because then it would have had no need of them. They saw that they had no place in the future; their motives were utterly selfish. I knew that before the end they would have risen up and tried to thwart me. Who knows, Ashurek, they might have succeeded, if not for you.’ Her tone was acerbic. ‘So all you have achieved is the destruction of my enemies. I give you my heartfelt thanks for saving me the trouble. If you doubt what I am saying, ask yourselves why M’gulfn did not come to the Shana’s defence. It was because it wanted them destroyed.’

  Her power engulfed them, as sweet and languorous as sleep, yet suffocating and inescapable like a heavy green sea. And while their thoughts remained their own, it was beyond their ability to disobey her. ‘I don’t need to deprive you of that silver needle, nor destroy the bird who is a mere ghost of the human fear of change. I don’t even need to become the host. It is all irrelevant. Nothing now stands in my way. And you still imagine that you do not work for the Serpent? Come, get up. We are going to M’gulfn now, and we shall not rest again until we can repose within its glorious shadow.’

  Chapter Sixteen. Night Falls

  So it was that their final journey to the Serpent was like nothing they had ever envisaged. Arlenmia led the way, and the others stumbled after her, cold and helpless with exhaustion, lost in grey despair. Skord staggered along just behind her, and then came Ashurek carrying Silvren’s weightless frame. Medrian and Estarinel helped each other along as best they could. Reality and illusion became inseparable; they seemed to be floundering thigh-deep through treacherous, rotten snow, while Arlenmia walked lightly on the surface, a froth of ice crystals glittering round her feet. The sun glared at them like a colourless eyeball from which no light came. They were drowning in a grim, greenish twilight, but Arlenmia sparkled like a rare aquamarine, drawing light from the curtain of cold Serpent-fire that hung before them. They could not see M’gulfn, but they knew it awaited them within that rippling veil.

  It seemed a bizarre chase in which Arlenmia was rushing to deify the Serpent while the others struggled behind her to prevent it; and yet she was drawing them along, almost dawdling so that they could keep up.

  Now they were crossing mounds of snow like heaps of pewter-dark ash in the gloom. Horrible creatures kept pace with them. There were white bears with bright blue eyes; amorphous, tentacled reptiles; bald grey things with fanged jaws; primeval birds with faces as harsh as iron. These creatures hovered always in the periphery of their vision, disappearing when looked at directly. And they all felt a continual sense of panic that made them long to turn and retrace their steps, crying out in madness and horror. Still Arlenmia drew them on like a star.

  Everything seemed to be converging towards a central point. All life was gathering and rushing towards the Serpent. Sickly yellow lights glowed behind dark, indefinable masses, guiding them on their way. It seemed they walked for hours, days, forever, with each step becoming more aware of their smallness and helplessness, the futility of their existence compared to M’gulfn’s.

  Once or twice Ashurek thought he called out to Arlenmia, begging her to stop, but if he had she ignored him, drifting onwards like gossamer on a purposeful breeze. They were her abject prisoners, but they found no relief in giving up the struggle against her, only deeper anguish and misery.

  The snow-blanketed ground rose and the Serpent-fires grew paler and brighter, shining through Arlenmia so that she was like a diamond, filled with flashes of green fire. She led her captives up a slope that ended in an ice ridge, and there she held out her arms and stopped them. The Worm-fires flared.

  ‘Behold,’ she said.

  The journey had seemed endless and terrible, but how much worse it was to arrive. And it seemed sudden, as if they had drifted into sleep unawares, only to wake violently and find that it was later than they had thought.

  The fires turned to white; white lights burning on snow. All hints of discoloration and disease were miraculously bleached away. Before them stretched a valley of pure, smooth, untouched silver perfection, so vast that it took the breath away.

  Arlenmia turned to them, power streaming from her in wings of sapphire light. ‘We have only this dip to cross now,’ she said. ‘And thus we shall come in glory to M’gulfn!’

  The lights on the snow were dazzling, and on the far side of the valley they soared into the heavens through layer upon layer of ice crystals. The Serpent lay somewhere within that brilliance, veiled in magnesium-bright fire.

  Silvren was weeping, her head hidden against Ashurek’s shoulder. Medrian and Estarinel clung to each other, their hopelessness compounded by overwhelming awe. And Ashurek was thinking, how Meheg-Ba must have been laughing at me, all along, to know I imagined such a power as this could ever be vanquished.

  ‘Medrian,’ he whispered, his throat in spasm. ‘Did you know it would be like this?’

  ‘No,’ she choked. ‘I had no idea. Never a hint.’

  Arlenmia turned towards them, smiling triumphantly, exhilarated with power. ‘Come, let us not delay,’ she said.

 
They began the descent. The valley seemed infinite, and the further they went, the more the auroral fires towered over them and the more helpless they felt. They stumbled along with heads bowed, blinded and confused, but Arlenmia walked with her arms outstretched towards the aching light.

  And as they drew nearer, the white blaze paled and transformed so that touches of blue and green could be seen through it. As soon as they were able to look at it, they could not look away.

  Then, as if a veil had been torn aside, the Serpent itself was revealed.

  It had the appearance of a statue thousands of feet high, a vast and terrible dragon formed of blue-green ice, towering into the sky. It was glassy, translucent. An ultramarine core glowed through the shining ice layers of its body, and its surface was scaled and sparkling as if sprinkled with millions of stars. Chasms of sapphire and amethyst ice lay all around it.

  Terrible and splendid it was, its mighty head dripping white fire. It was poised motionless, yet it seemed to be gazing impassively down at them, its eyes indigo moons, omniscient and soulless. All life seemed to be centered upon it, going to and fro like blood in the veins and arteries of an all-powerful heart. They were servants and messengers going about its work, and its work covered the entire world, and every living thing thereon was its slave. And it seemed that the world was there before them, dwarfed beneath the vast Serpent-deity, a godhead formed of azure and emerald, flooded with diamond light.

  And although they were still half a mile away from it, its vast glory overshadowed them.

  ‘Who can see it and not worship?’ cried Arlenmia, falling to her knees. She was weeping with joy. Beside her, Skord prostrated his body full length on the snow. Unable to help himself, Ashurek dropped to his knees. He did not know how it had happened, but Silvren was no longer in his arms; she was kneeling at Arlenmia’s left side, and Estarinel was on the right. Arlenmia had her arms round them both, inducing them to join her in adoration of M’gulfn. Medrian curled up on the snow near Ashurek, turning her head from side to side like a blinded animal.

  ‘We will never destroy it now,’ she was groaning repeatedly. ‘Never.’

  The Serpent’s splendour beat down on them with cruel fierceness, and the intensity of its might vibrated outwards into space like the singing of an infinite choir. It was a song without words, yet it spoke of the Serpent’s eternal glory.

  And now Medrian was murmuring in a voice that was not her own, ‘Come to me. It is over.’

  #

  Estarinel felt he had knelt a lifetime under the Serpent’s shadow, its radiance burning down on his head. He was poised at the peak of an excruciating pain, intolerable but not to be escaped by losing consciousness. And he felt that he was doomed to be here forever; and the despair and rebellion inspired by that knowledge only increased his anguish. Every pain he had ever suffered came crowding back into his memory. Again and again he saw the attack on Forluin and the deaths of his family. The Serpent seemed to be mocking him, whispering, See how they needed you and see how you have failed them…

  ‘Arlenmia,’ he managed to say.

  ‘Yes, beloved, what is it?’ she asked, her voice melodious and gentle.

  ‘That is not the Serpent,’ he gasped. She betrayed no reaction, nor did her adoring gaze waver from M’gulfn. ‘The Serpent is low and foul – a vile colour – with a hideous head.’

  She did not answer him, and somehow he must have pulled himself out of her grasp, because he suddenly found himself on his feet, wandering to and fro on the snow like a madman. ‘This is not the Serpent!’ he cried. None of the others seemed able to hear him. ‘I have seen it. Alone of all of you, I have seen it. This is an illusion!’ He stared with dismay at the wide eyes and blank faces of his companions. ‘What is the matter with you? It’s only a Worm!’

  But they were all ensorcelled, and he fell to the snow again, weighed down by M’gulfn’s will and his own despair. And they stayed there for what must have been hours, although time was distorted beyond meaning within the Serpent’s awe inspiring domain.

  ‘Estarinel, the Serpent you saw was false. This is its true form,’ came Arlenmia’s voice out of the burning-cold nightmare. She was standing before them and looking down at them, seeming more than human, robed in a dire light. ‘All of you, attend to me. You have permission to look away from M’gulfn now. I don’t want you to stay in this trance of worship, because I wish you to be in full possession of your senses in order to witness the final act.’

  Her voice brought them back to themselves. Silvren stood up unsteadily and helped Skord to his feet. She led the youth over to the others and seated herself at Ashurek’s side. Medrian straightened up, pushing her black hair away from her ashen face. Estarinel put his arm around her, but it seemed an empty gesture; they could not comfort each other, and there was nothing to be said.

  ‘I am going to M’gulfn now,’ said Arlenmia. She loosened the neck of her fur cloak and drew out the chain on which the Egg-Stone hung in a pouch. Ashurek gasped, the Serpent momentarily forgotten; and yet it was all part of the same power. The dark part of him had triumphed. It seemed that all he had ever wanted and striven for was to become the Serpent’s emissary. He felt like laughing, striding to Arlenmia’s side to share her victory – or to take it from her.

  Only Silvren’s hand on his arm stayed him.

  ‘Know that you are privileged to witness the most glorious event – the only true event – in the history of this Earth, or any other. Watch carefully, and understand, and be joyous.’ Arlenmia stepped forward, and bent down to kiss Silvren. ‘I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, but I forgive your misguided ways. I am glad you are with me to see this after all.’

  Silvren wanted to beg her not to go, but her mouth was too dry. She could only shake her head like a frightened child.

  ‘What makes you so sure you will be able to relinquish the Egg-Stone?’ said Ashurek, his bitter feelings surfacing. ‘You will be unable to give it up, and as soon as the Serpent realises, it will kill you.’

  ‘No, you are wrong there, Ashurek,’ Arlenmia replied. ‘I am no slave to the Stone such as you were. And M’gulfn is not going to harm any of us; we have all served it in our way. I know not if we will meet again – in our present forms, at least. When M’gulfn’s power becomes whole, we may all be transformed beyond recognition. So I bid you farewell. Have no fear; M’gulfn will forgive your doubts, even you, Medrian. Soon we will all share the glorious rewards of worshipping the Serpent.’ She turned away and began to walk across the blazing valley.

  All they could do was stare after her, helpless. Into the silence Skord said brokenly, ‘I want to go back to Setrel. I will go back, won’t I?’ He was pulling at the edge of Silvren’s cloak, as if she were the only one he trusted and did not fear.

  ‘Of course you will, Skord,’ she said as calmly as she could, wiping tears out of her eyes. But Arlenmia must have heard him. She turned round and glared at him.

  ‘Skord,’ she called. ‘I want you to come with me, dear.’

  ‘No!’ he cried, his face blank with terror. Simultaneously Silvren exclaimed, ‘Oh, no, Arlenmia, let him stay here. As if he isn’t frightened enough!’

  ‘Skord, come to me,’ she repeated sternly. And the youth, unable to disobey, stumbled towards her, convulsed with dread. ‘You should share this glory. Truly, I do not know what is the matter with you – don’t you realise how honoured you are?’ And she gripped Skord’s shoulder and began to march him towards the Serpent.

  As if in a dream the others watched them dwindling, like two flies crawling infinitely slowly up a vast white wall.

  ‘Medrian, is that its true form?’ Estarinel asked. So intent was Arlenmia upon the Serpent that her will no longer weighed them down, but their awe of M’gulfn was paralysing in a different way.

  ‘I – I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I can’t read its thoughts, it’s closed to me. All I can see is that awful light and – and confusion. Terrible confusion.’

  �
��We must stop her,’ he groaned, as if articulating the need could make it possible. As he spoke, Ashurek stood up, his expression sinister and distant.

  ‘Ashurek, what are you doing?’ Silvren asked, alarmed.

  ‘I must have the Egg-Stone,’ he stated. And with a movement at once so unexpected and so deft that Estarinel had no chance of protecting himself, Ashurek seized the Silver Staff.

  ‘Meheg-Ba implied that the Staff might be used to get the Egg-Stone from her,’ he said, a pale, terrifying light in his green eyes.

  ‘Don’t – she’ll kill you!’ Silvren cried, but he disregarded her and began to stride mechanically after Arlenmia. Estarinel jumped to his feet, his fear of the Serpent suddenly swamped by his distress at the Silver Staff being taken from him. He remembered the Lady of H’tebhmella’s warning that the Staff might become like another Egg-Stone in Ashurek’s hands, and he began to run after Ashurek, shouting, ‘Miril! Miril, aid us!’

  Silvren stood up, but almost passed out. Medrian caught her, and said faintly, ‘There’s nothing you can do. Please stay with me. When M’gulfn sees the Silver Staff…’ she trailed off, her face chalk-pale. With no choice but to wait, she and Silvren sat huddled together, supporting each other as best they could.

  Ashurek caught up with Arlenmia and she swung round to face him, full of angry contempt. She prepared to use the power of the Egg-Stone against him, but the sight of the Silver Staff in his hands made her hesitate.

  ‘What on Earth do you imagine you are doing?’ she asked coldly. She gave Skord a push and he stumbled a few yards away, directionless without her.

  ‘Give me the Egg-Stone,’ Ashurek said. ‘This weapon is more powerful.’

  ‘You’ve gone mad!’ Arlenmia exclaimed. ‘And I strongly advise you not to touch me with that silver instrument. The consequences could be disastrous.’

  ‘Miril!’ Estarinel cried again as he ran towards them. ‘Ashurek, give me back the Staff – you’ll kill us all. It is not to be used like this.’