by B. J. Beach
The thought that went out from his mind was bitterly scathing. “Was that really necessary?”
“We considered it so. It was only by subjecting you to a glimpse of a very possible future that we could make you begin to comprehend the true gravity of the situation.”
Leaning back on one of the doorposts, Karryl closed his eyes. His mind reeled as his memory flashed through the last few years. He recalled the finding of the book in the ruined cottage and his tumble at the Wyreditch, the discovery of the loss of the medallion, meeting Dhoum, and how quickly the time had passed as he trained and studied with Symon, Kimi, Mordas, D’ta and Lady Evalin. Fondly he recalled each face in turn. As the last one faded he grimly relived the terror of his first experience of grelfons, the short and hard-won battle, and the sorrow he felt for the people of Vellethen as their children fell prey to the cruel enchantment of unwakeable sleep. Every detail of his journey through the tunnels of Vedra was etched indelibly into his memory, the gut wrenching horror of the dark, oppressive temple, the shock of realising what Ghian had become, and his own euphoria as he recovered the medallion.
The voice which entered his mind seemed to Karryl detached and unemotional. “We agree. You have achieved a great deal for one so young. But this is not an adventure. Time is no longer on your side. The responsibility you have to bear is tremendous. What you have just seen barely scratches the surface of an appalling and very possible world, in the affairs of which we could have no part.”
Karryl’s knuckles shone white as he clung to the door-frame. “You knew Areel had already told me what would happen if I failed. Did you have to make it worse?”
“Yes, we did. But we drew the line at actually sending you in there. The prospect of having to retrieve an insanely gibbering mage held little appeal. Besides, allowing you to get in that state would be self-defeating.”
Sensing that something had changed, Karryl opened his eyes and looked down. He could see nothing. The wind had dropped, allowing a thick fog to roll in off the sea, totally obliterating the scene of desolation below him. The salt-tanged wetness stirred memories of times spent down by the harbour with Joel. In a perverse but natural progression his thoughts turned to Ghian, drunk with power in Vedra’s black temple, exulting in his possession of the medallion, gloating as his grelfon gorged. He knew then that this image of Ghian, and the deplorable example of inhumanity he had just been shown, would be the catalyst which kept him focussed.
“Good. It took some doing, but we got there eventually. I’m reliably informed they had a similar problem with Keril. He grew up almost overnight too.”
“Point taken. But wasn’t he much older than me when he fought his battle?”
“Not really. A year at the most. What gave you that idea?”
“Nothing specific. I just got that impression when I read the book. Unless… of course! He wrote the book a long time after!”
“Quite. He finished writing it just before Symon was born.”
Karryl thought about that for a while before turning a puzzled face up to the blue-white vastness above him. “Then why didn’t he just give the book to Symon’s mother, whoever she was, or even to Symon?”
“Suffice it to say it wasn’t possible. It was no mean feat that he arranged matters as he did. Had he lived his full span, things may have been quite different.”
“But why do we have to do it? What I mean is, why does it have to be a… a… living body that could get injured or even killed?”
“You mean a mortal?”
“Yes. Why does it have to be a mortal?”
Karryl would have sworn he heard a sigh. “For the reason that divine intervention is reserved solely for those times when mere mortals are found to be not possessed of the wit or wisdom to handle their own affairs for themselves, however badly.”
“Suppose I do badly.”
“You’ll do the best you can. Nobody can ask more of you than that. Now, please step back from the door.”
The change was instantaneous. He heard and saw nothing happen, but found his nose rather uncomfortably close to the familiar, white-painted kitchen door.
CHAPTER FORTYFOUR
Everything was as he had always remembered it. A shaft of soft golden light streamed through the small shining panes of the window, adding a warm glow to the polished surfaces of the comfortable and homely furniture. A log fire popped and crackled in the grate as the mingled aromas of sweet-smelling wood-smoke and freshly baked bread and pastries assailed his nostrils.
Sitting at the table, Karryl gave heartfelt thanks for the food before filling a plate with a large piece of pie and some favourite vegetables. As he ate, he deliberately ignored the third door taking up the space where the dresser which Harrel had made should have been. He had some hard thinking to do, and he always maintained that he did his best thinking on a full stomach. What could have proved to be a traumatic experience had instead only served to strengthen his resolve, his new found determination to succeed putting extra edge on an already healthy appetite. Having cleared his plate, he cut a thick slice of still warm bread, covered it with a generous layer of butter, an equally generous layer of honey, and sat down in Harrel’s fireside chair. Eating slowly, taking care to ensure that the honey stayed on the bread until he had finished it, he continued thinking. He devised plans and thought them through to their conclusions or rejected them out of hand. He assessed spells and counter-spells, relived in their entirety the two grelfon attacks and analysed every detail. Everything the entities had said to him was recalled, its significance carefully weighed and sifted. The golden light faded to twilight and twilight deepened to darkness. Still, he sat and thought.
“Excuse us, but don’t you think it’s time you got some sleep?”
Karryl smiled. “Thanks for the thought, but sleep is the last thing on my mind at the moment. I’ll doze off in the chair when I’m ready.”
“As you wish.”
He didn’t remember falling asleep or even feeling sleepy. When he awoke, the room was once again bathed in golden light flooding through the window. Pushing himself to his feet, he stretched, yawned and scratching at his stubble, headed out through the kitchen to the yard. After visiting the privy and performing his morning ablutions under the pump, which he was gratified to find actually worked, he wandered back indoors. Finding his favourite light breakfast of bread and cold meats set out on the table, he sat and broke his fast while thinking about nothing in particular. When he had finished he turned his mind to more immediate matters. A quick glance round the room confirmed that only one door remained. Banishing all negative thoughts he stepped forward and grasped the polished brass knob. The door was locked. Drawing in just sufficient power to suit the purpose, he began the ‘door open’ spell. The first syllable had hardly formed in his mind when, with a soft click, the door swung slightly ajar. The warm glow of summer sunlight washed around its edge. He reached out to push the door further open.
Barely more than a whisper, a voice penetrated his mind filling him with a sense of awe.
“Do not cross the threshold yet. Watch and wait.”
Karryl gulped as the thought came unbidden into his mind. “You’re not the same one, are you?”
There was a long silence, during which the door began to swing slowly open. “No. There are many of us.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re a bit more special?”
The other’s amusement was almost tangible. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”
“What are you exactly?”
“We are spirit.”
“You mean ghosts?”
“No. The hapless creatures you call ghosts have no place here. We are on a higher plane, a realm which nothing corporeal can easily enter unless we wish it.”
A long silence ensued while Karryl gave that concept some serious thought. He looked up into the air. “Does that mean you wanted me to be here?”
“It was imperative that we bring you here in order to teac
h you what you need to know and enhance your powers. All natural forces are at our command. We have already enhanced your powers of perception. You will shortly learn more of the truth about those against whom you would pit your strength.”
The other’s last statement brought to mind something Detelia had told him.
“…do not lose sight of the fact that somewhere on this world another has been identified and will be trained to oppose you.”
“Our dear daughter was correct.”
“Does that mean that Ghian has seen and experienced the same things that I have?”
“That is extremely unlikely. The entity he so misguidedly serves is cruel, devious and unforgiving. Ghian’s training will have been harsh and painful. On the rare occasions we have been able to observe him, we have found only hatred and anger. He has been robbed of any compassion or feelings except those of the basest kind, and harbours a fervent desire to rule your world in the name of his god.”
“I’ve heard of the Vedran god.”
“We will not utter his name here. When our daughter D’ta is in human form, she is permitted to tell you anything further you need to know.”
“He’s going to be hard to beat, isn’t he? Ghian I mean.”
“That will depend entirely on how you utilise your resources. Help will be available in various forms, all depending on what you ask for and the circumstances surrounding that request. What you must bear in mind is that for anything available to you, your opponent will have a counter-part. In order to achieve a satisfactory outcome it is vital that the balance is maintained. Now, it is time for you to move on.”
A slightly hollow feeling in his head told Karryl that the entity had broken contact. He returned his attention to the open door. He had been concentrating so intently on what the other was saying that, despite the instruction to watch, he had failed to notice what had been revealed until he was about to step through. It was Vellethen again, but one far different to the silent city he had first encountered, or the sorrowful ruin he had recently left. This appeared to be the noisy bustling city he had grown up in, but again he felt the wrongness as he stepped out from the cottage into the street. Uncertain why he was here, he decided to venture out and simply see what happened. He turned to his right and began to head for the Great Market. Feeling something flapping around his ankles, he stopped and looked down. His eyes widened as they took in the deep, tastefully embroidered hem of a cream coloured robe, and soft, brown leather sandals. Quickly he patted himself down, discovering long full sleeves gathered into embroidered cuffs, a cream silk rope girdle around his waist, and some kind of hat. Carefully he removed it. A plain matching biretta bearing a single embroidered sigil at the front lay in his hands.
He was just replacing the hat on his short-cropped hair when a soft voice made him turn. “Is something wrong Karryl?”
A slightly built, attractive young woman stopped beside him. A dark haired girl of about six and a blonde haired boy about the same age left her side to stand looking expectantly up at him. The woman was Aenys.
Karryl’s heart flipped and he smiled. “No. Nothing at all. I was just thinking about going into the Great Market. There was something I wanted to see.”
Aenys lifted the small basket on her arm. “Oh. We’ve just been there. We were just on our way back home when the twins spotted you. Of course, Andy immediately wanted to come over and Lilla naturally followed.
Karryl smiled warmly at the two children. “I can’t stop long. I’m looking into something for the palace.”
It had taken only a few seconds for Karryl to recognise that this was a Vellethen of the future. Unfortunately, having no real information he then realised that he wasn’t certain whether Vailin was still the king.
With a chuckle Aenys inadvertently provided the answer to his unasked question. “Well, Vailin seems to be keeping you busy, and I have things to do, so we’ll see you later. Come along, you two.”
As the little trio set off down the street, the twins turned, waved and called out in unison. “Bye Daddy!”
Karryl’s heart lurched again as he returned the wave and watched them out of sight. He stood gazing into the middle distance, seeing nothing but knowing he had already seen enough. Giving himself a mental shake, he turned, strolled the few paces back to the door, smiling grimly as it opened easily under his hand. He knew then that the decision was unanimous. He had been shown enough and had seen enough. As the door closed quietly behind him he crossed the room to Harrel’s chair. Still wearing the cap and robe he sat down to consider the significance of the things he had been shown. This was one of those occasions when he was really going to miss the benefit of Symon’s advice.
CHAPTER FORTYFIVE
The last of the day’s petitioners bowed his way out of the throne room and Vailin breathed a long sigh of relief. About to divest himself of his heavy fur-trimmed robe, he spotted his secretary Master Gibb entering through a side door. Briskly the secretary crossed the room to stand in front of him.
Raising an eyebrow, Vailin leaned forward. “Aren’t you a bit premature Master Gibb? I doubt whether the scribe has finished his notes yet.”
The secretary clasped his hands and also leaned forward. “I wasn’t expecting that he had sire. I have a person waiting somewhat impatiently outside who insists that he see you. I told him he would have to make a petition, but he became quite agitated. He keeps on jabbering something about a horse. I’m afraid he’s become quite incoherent and flatly refuses to go away.”
Vailin stole a glance at the water-clock. “Well, Master Gibb, as we have finished a little earlier than usual it may save us all some trouble later if I see him now. You may send him in but he is definitely the last. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely sire. Just one more thing if I may? If you have a scented kerchief about your person I feel it may be prudent to keep it to hand.”
Vailin leaned back, gripping the arms of his throne as he focussed on the ceiling. “Oh Gods! Not a rustic!”
With a deep sigh of resignation he sat upright, giving the shoulders of his robe a quick, straightening tug. “Right, Master Gibb. Let’s have him.”
The character which Gibb ushered into the throne room was quite plainly unaccustomed to such splendid surroundings. His eyes darted round the room, up and down, left and right, his gnarled weather-browned hands twisting what appeared to be a rather grubby and faded brown cotton hat. Catching sight of Vailin his jaw dropped. He turned panic-stricken eyes to Master Gibb.
Well accustomed to seeing first-time petitioners go all to pieces, the secretary gave the man an encouraging little nod. “You may bow, and address your king.”
The lean, broad shouldered, well muscled rustic dropped the shabby hat on the floor, clamped his arms to his sides and bowed from the waist.
After a pause of a few seconds during which the man had failed to straighten up, Vailin gave a discreet little cough. “Ahem. And you are?”
The man hurriedly stood upright. Realising his hat was still on the floor, he gestured nervously towards it, his eyes full of apology. Vailin nodded.
As the hat was being retrieved, Vailin favoured Master Gibb with a quizzical lift of the royal eyebrows before turning a steady gaze on the petitioner. “I believe you were about to tell me your name?”
The hat was subjected to a severe wringing. The voice which tumbled out of the ruddy, rather square face was tremulously indignant. “I be Alfric Peasemold, from the village of Mudlin. I were out ploughin’ thismornin’ when this great black thing with wings suddenly appears in the middle o’ my field, comes crashin’ through my new furrers, and without hany kind of by your leave, sets down and heats my ‘orse!”
Vailin, who had begun to slump a little, sat bolt upright. Master Gibb quietly slipped unnoticed out through the side door.
Alfric Peasemold had Vailin’s attention in a headlock. “It did what?”
“It het my ‘orse! Beg pardon…Your Majesty.”
“When was t
his?”
The rustic’s attitude changed to righteous indignation. “‘Smornin’, just arter sunup.”
Vailin looked at the water-clock again. “Eight hours ago. What did you do?”
“I legged it mate… oops… beggin’ your ‘ighness pardon. That thing were bigger’n me and my ‘orse put together. It het my flippin’ ‘orse!”
Despite the gravity of the moment, Vailin was hard pressed not to laugh. The entrance through a side door of the Lady Evalin, closely followed by Master Gibb, was sufficient to quell the urge.
He favoured the rustic with a slightly exasperated look. “I appreciate the concern you have for your horse, or should I say lack of said horse, but you may rest assured your loss will be made good. However, we will discuss that presently. Before that, the Lady Evalin wishes to speak to you.”
Alfric Peasemold’s eyes widened and the hat was subjected to another severe wringing. “Now, that be right decent of you, sire. Well, whatever ‘er ladyship wishes.”
Lady Evalin stepped forward. Apparently totally impervious to the mature odour of kine and swine emanating from his shabby clothing, she stood close to the gratified rustic. Placing a slender, manicured hand reassuringly on the coarse fabric of his sleeve, she smiled warmly at Alfric, at the same time fixing him with her brilliant blue gaze.
She began to speak, the melodious lilt of her voice producing an effect which reminded Vailin, who was watching intently, of nothing less than an adoring puppy. “Will you be telling me Master Peasemold, what is was you were after seeing in your field?”
Alfric’s muddy grey eyes took on a glassy sheen. In his unschooled Mudlin vernacular he proceeded to describe, unhesitatingly and in perfect detail, a grelfon and the events which had led to the unseemly demise of his horse. The worst fears of Vailin and Evalin were confirmed. Removing her hand from Alfric’s sleeve, Evalin made a tiny gesture then nodded at Vailin.
Alfric’s expression suggested that he had lost a pebble and found a jewel, as Vailin skilfully grafted his next words onto his previous statement. “So, if you can spare the time, I will have a man drive you to one of our farms where you may choose a replacement for your lost horse.”
