by Roger Taylor
'It is done.' There was triumph in the voice. 'Further than ever before. My power grows yet.'
'Our power.'
'Our power.'
'Soon we shall come to His presence again.'
But as well as the triumph, there was strain also, and the distant unsteadiness began to move nearer.
'No!'
'Hold firm!'
Jeyan felt the trembling of their effort pass through her. But the wavering grew wilder and closer, gathering speed as it drew nearer. Then the walls of the tunnel immediately before her began to grow diffuse and to twist and turn until finally they were spinning giddily. An ear-rending screech began to grow out of the collapsing confusion.
The Gevethen's effort grew increasingly frantic, but she could feel it worsening the disintegration. It became a hypnotic maelstrom. Only when the onrush was nearly upon her did Jeyan manage to tear her gaze from it. With a cry she pushed backwards. But the Gevethen held her still, their grip firmer than ever, despite the battle they were waging for control of the shrieking vortex the tunnel had now become.
Then, with the noise so intense as to be almost tangible, the mysterious Way that the Gevethen had opened came to its crashing end, drawing into it all the shapes and patterns that were floating around Jeyan and crushing them at its heart into nothingness. Jeyan knew that her mouth was open and that she was screaming, but she could hear nothing above the awful din. For an instant it seemed that every part of her was being drawn into the terrible destruction and that soon she would be nothing more than a tiny glittering part of the whirling kaleidoscope.
Then there was darkness, and silence, save for her own piercing shriek.
And the grip of the Gevethen about her shoulders was no more.
She was alone.
* * * *
Where there had been a vast echoing emptiness, there was now milling confusion and colour and a cacophony of many voices and sounds. And floating amid this was Ibryen. There and not there. An awareness that was diamond-hard in its clarity yet tenuous as an idle summer breeze.
I should be afraid. The thought drifted through him. But he was not. He had had doubts about his sanity many times during these past few days, and this place, this state he was in, was so far beyond anything he could have imagined that those doubts should have become a screaming clamour. Yet they had not. For though he was not of this place, he knew that he was no intruder and that it was neither an unnatural rending of the fabric of reality nor the collapse of his mind that had carried him here. Strangely he felt less disturbed here than he had in the world of the Culmaren. That had been profoundly alien. It was as though he belonged here, albeit rather as he would belong as a guest in the domain of a neighbouring Lord.
Though there was no scrabbling fear however, there was concern. He was not a guest, nor was there any host. Rather he had wandered here inadvertently ... an aimless traveller, and one deeply ignorant of the ways of the land to which he had now come. And he was lost, though that seemed to be inherent in the nature of this place. But his real concern was for the other awareness that was with him, held at once free and bound, like a planet by a more massive neighbour. And Isgyrn indeed now seemed to be teetering on the edge of insanity.
Ibryen reached out to him. ‘Hold firm to me, Warrior,’ he said, repeating the injunction he had given before they had found themselves transported here. ‘This has little more substance than our thoughts. Our bodies are safe, guarded by Rachyl and the Traveller on the mountain.'
The authority in his manner surprised him in that it did not surprise him. For while he might perhaps belong here, he knew that Isgyrn definitely did not, and that he was responsible for bringing him here.
Yearning images suddenly flooded into his mind: clouds, bright against a blue, all-encompassing sky; spires and domes glittering silver and gold, and lesser buildings, many-hued, nestling amongst them. And beyond, a strange undulating landscape, and vast cloudscapes. And everywhere, people. People walking broad highways that soared like rainbows from building to building, and people gliding beneath many-coloured wings like great birds...
'Hold to me,’ Ibryen said again, powerfully, intruding with some regret into the vision. ‘You need no lessons from me, Warrior, to know that to survive you must see things as they are. Neither solace nor safety is to be found in such memories. They will sustain you in other ways. Hold to me. I will guide us from this place.'
Fear and panic replaced the longing memories, but at their heart Ibryen could feel Isgyrn's stern will struggling with them. He sought for something to say that would help the Dryenwr, but no inspiration came, only the knowledge that Isgyrn's inner battle was his alone, and beyond any helping. Whether at the end he would be returned to his body whole and wiser, or a gibbering shadow, was now his choice. All that Ibryen could do was wait and be there.
'Helplessness does not sit well with me either.'
Isgyrn's words startled Ibryen. The Dryenwr was suddenly in command of himself again. ‘I think I'd rather face that white-eyed demon and his shrieking mount than another such ordeal again,’ he went on. Then he answered Ibryen's question before it was asked. ‘Of my various aptitudes the most modest is that of Verser—I haven't the imagination to create a place like this. My friends ...’ He faltered briefly. ‘... my friends often rebuke me for being stern—too logical. It causes ... caused ... great amusement. Maybe I've been driven mad, maybe I've perished and am in some hellish limbo, but for the time being I'll consider myself and you, whatever we are, here, and all this around us, however strange, to be real simply because it seems to be so and because I remember setting off on this journey of my own free will knowing that places beyond our ordinary worlds existed and that I ventured thus without a guide at no small risk.’ There was a pause, then, ‘Though, warrior to warrior, and logic not withstanding, I confess I'm mightily afraid. You sit easier here than I do—do you know what this place is, or what's happened to us?'
'I've no answers, Isgyrn,’ Ibryen replied. ‘I think we must await events.'
Even as he spoke however, Ibryen felt a pattern in the shifting shapes and sounds about him. A feeling of hopefulness rose inside him, like the sun over the mountain tops. He took Isgyrn and moved into it.
And they were whole again.
Though they were not cramped in a noisy tent on top of a rain-swept ridge. They were standing on a small grassy hummock in a forest. Sunlight danced through the swaying tree-tops, sending dappling shadows everywhere; birdsong filled the air, counterpointing the rustling of the trees, and forest scents pervaded everything.
The two men stood for some time carefully testing hands and arms, then gazing at one another, before finally examining their new surroundings. Isgyrn's eyes were wide with inquiry, but Ibryen shook his head.
Tentatively he stepped forward, as though too sudden a movement might cause the whole scene to vanish. Soft woodland sward yielded under his foot. Isgyrn followed him. ‘This is a forest, isn't it?’ he said as they walked slowly down the hummock. ‘It's so beautiful. Such colours, such perfumes. How...?'
Ibryen shook his head again. ‘This is a forest, yes,’ he said. ‘But I've no more answers now than I had a few moments ago, only a great many more questions.'
Isgyrn rubbed a hand down his arm unhappily.
'Don't worry. You're still here,’ Ibryen said. ‘We're both here, though where here is belongs to that list of questions.'
'This is nowhere that you recognize then?’ Isgyrn said. ‘No part of your land?'
Ibryen chuckled softly. ‘I wouldn't pretend to be familiar with every tree and field of Nesdiryn, but no, I don't think it is. And it's summer, judging by the state of the trees and the temperature.'
Isgyrn nodded. ‘What shall we do?’ he asked simply.
'Await events still, I fear,’ Ibryen replied. ‘But we might as well try to answer your other question—where are we?—while we're waiting.'
They selected a direction at random and set off. As they disappeared
into the trees, a figure emerged moving in the opposite direction. It was a youth mounted on a well-groomed horse and leading a sturdy pack pony. His head was bowed and his face lowering, and unlike the two newcomers he seemed to be angrily oblivious to the beauty of his surroundings.
* * * *
The echoes of her scream faded, but a greater terror threatened to take possession of Jeyan as she stood blinking in the darkness. Carefully she extended her trembling arms forward. They touched nothing. Then, softly, she said, ‘Excellencies?'
There was no answer. She repeated the call, but still there was no reply.
And she could not feel their presence!
What had happened? It occurred to her that all this had been an elaborate trick so that she would be left abandoned in this dark world within the mirrors as her final punishment. But even as the idea formed, she dismissed it. The hissed quarrel she had overheard had been no act, nor the effort she had felt being exerted as their strange creation had slipped from their control. The terrifying memory of that onrushing power was still vivid in her mind. It seemed inconceivable that anything could have survived it.
Were they dead? Had that monstrous tunnel and its destruction destroyed them? Yet she was alive. But then, she had been a mere bystander—while they had been at the heart of it. And now there was not even a hint of their cloying presence about her. She felt a flicker of exhilaration. Maybe they were dead, maybe not, but they were gone from her. She was free!
True, she was utterly lost, and surrounded by darkness, but though she was afraid of many things, darkness was not one of them. Perhaps she was its creature, perhaps it was simply that as a hunter she knew that what she could not see, could not see her.
She was about to turn around when she remembered what the Gevethen had said when they first carried her through the mirrors. ‘You must not look back. Not yet. There is a deep and awful madness here for those who are unprepared.'
She paused for a moment, then sneered and turned around.
Nothing happened. The darkness was all about her.
Arms extended she began to walk slowly forward. Then she became aware of a familiar presence.
'Hagen?'
There was a shifting in the presence, as of something waking, or pulling itself away from a deep reverie.
'The new Lord Counsellor again, I presume.'
The voice was full of sour weariness. Gall rose in Jeyan's throat at the sound of it. ‘Indeed,’ she snarled. ‘The new Lord Counsellor. And your judge and executioner. I trust that whatever passes for your soul is burning endlessly here.'
There was a long silence.
'It seems you are to share this place with me, upstart. Sent here without their protection for me to dispose of. Have they discovered the flaw in you already?'
The presence closed about Jeyan. For an instant, fear threatened to flare up inside her but it was transformed into anger and hate almost immediately. The presence faltered. ‘You've no terrors to offer anyone, Hagen,’ Jeyan rasped. ‘Least of all me. I opened your veins. Sent you to this place. I've slept in your bed, eaten from your plates, sat in your grand seat of judgement, seen into your worthless soul. Whatever you are here, you are nothing in the real world. A mouldering corpse somewhere. Probably dumped in the death pits, where my dogs used to play, your precious limbs mingling with those of your victims, while this dried and shrivelled remnant lingers howling in the dark.'
'You'll see how dried and shrivelled a remnant I am when you look into your own worthless soul, Jeyan Dyalith.’ Hagen's voice was full of taunting rage. ‘Already I can feel the joy inside you that comes from the power of the Judgement Chair.'
A dreadful chill closed around Jeyan's stomach as memories returned of the relish she had taken at times as she had sat in Hagen's chair during the last two days. ‘No!’ she cried out. That had been in revenge for the betrayal of the Count, she wanted to say but dared not. As it was, there was grim disdain in the response.
'Too loud, Lord Counsellor. Too loud. Too shrill a protest. If you lift the veil that hides your true self you'll see me looking out at you. We are one and the same.'
The taunting continued. ‘How do you think I came here? Even after death I was to serve them. My body was committed to the Ways. They needed me to find the truth of them, but all I found was that those who come here without the gift or a true guide can look to be trapped in Ways of their own making. Like you, Lord Counsellor. Ask me why you're trapped in the Way that is mine and mine alone if you are not me?'
Jeyan found herself almost choking. ‘You're rambling, dead man. The Gevethen bound you here. They need nothing from you; they have the mirrors to bring them here and guide them.'
Black amusement and scorn washed about her. ‘Here is nowhere, child. A rough-hewn ante-chamber, crude and ill-formed, at best a window of bent and crooked glass.’ Then, incongruously confidential, ‘Great knowledge. Knowledge beyond our imagining made the mirrors, but they are as nothing to the gift. And they are dangerous. So dangerous. This I know now.'
'This you know,’ Jeyan echoed witheringly, recovering herself. ‘You know nothing. Leave me. You contaminate even the darkness with your bleating.'
The response was almost childishly petulant. ‘They needed me to find the truth of the Ways, to open again that which would bring them to ...'
It stopped abruptly and Jeyan felt the presence withdrawing. Suddenly suspicious, she seized it. ‘To where?’ she demanded, then, savagely, ‘To whom?'
There was no reply. ‘To Him, of course,’ she said slowly, testing the idea. ‘This Master of theirs.’ She felt Hagen's presence squirming. ‘Who is He, Hagen?’ she said, driving the words into the growing distress like stilettos. Still there was no reply. ‘Who is He, damn you!’ she blasted, suddenly furious. ‘Who is this creature that the Gevethen grovel before? Tell me!’ The darkness quivered with her rage, wringing a reply that was the merest of whispers.
'He is the One who gave them their powers. Gave them the mirrors to enter the Ways. Sent them here to prepare for His Coming, for the time when the Righting of the Beginning shall begin.'
Jeyan's anger became contempt once more. ‘You're parroting their words, Hagen. I've heard them. And they're as meaningless from you as they were from them. If you know anything worth knowing, tell me who He is and where He is, so that when I've finished with the Gevethen I can stick a knife in His throat like I did in yours and avenge us all.’ Hagen's presence began to flail and gibber in terror. Jeyan's rage grew in proportion. ‘Tell me why this all-powerful Master has abandoned His servants.’ Hagen finally tore himself away. Jeyan screamed after him, ‘He has, hasn't He? Abandoned them? TELL ME WHERE HE IS, DAMN YOU! I'll spill His blood like I spilled yours! I'll drown His every follower in a flood of it!'
Her scream dwindled into the empty darkness.
Then it was echoing back, ragged and broken, bringing with it shards of sound and light, glittering and shining. They hovered about her, merging imperceptibly into the chaos of movement and noise of where she had been with the Gevethen before her casual question to them had wrought such havoc. And, to her horror, in front of her, silhouetted against a brilliant, whirling maelstrom of light, were the Gevethen.
What had they heard?
Hastily she tried to calm herself, pushing from her mind the murderous frenzy into which she had wound herself. Should she turn and flee while she was still free?
But there was something strange about the Gevethen that held her there. It took her some time to realize what it was. They were motionless. Even the drifting birdlike hands were still. And they were leaning against one another, like two once-proud statues, now tilted with age. But the real strangeness lay in the fact that she could see only two of them. There were no mirror-bearers flowing about them making milling moon-faced crowds and marching ranks and files. There were just two men.
If she had a knife she could kill them both, she knew.
But she had not!
Rage and frustration f
looded through her, threatening to bring back the screaming passion with which she had just blessed Hagen. Mirror-imaged, the two figures started apart slightly, then slowly began to turn to face her. Quickly she dropped to her knees and bowed her head.
'Ah!'
She waited, holding her breath, still and silent. Had they heard?
There was a faint whispering, but she could not catch any of it through the all-pervading clamour. Well, knife or not, if she was threatened here she would rend at least one of these creatures with her bare hands! Mar their precious perfection!
'Ah!'
'You have learned ...'
'... learned.'
'We feel the spirit of Lord Hagen about you.'
'I have been in his presence, Excellencies,’ she said, choosing the truth in the absence of any other inspiration. It brought its own. ‘Seeking the benefits of his wisdom, the better to serve you.'
'How did you come there, Lord Counsellor?' There was uncertainty in the question and she could not avoid a hint of surprise in her answer.
'By your will, Excellencies.'
There was more whispering, then, 'Rise.'
As she stood up, the Gevethen's grip closed about her shoulders again. It was different, however. There was a hint of a tremor in it and a weight which told her that they were leaning on her as they had just been leaning on one another. Vulnerable, vulnerable, she thought. She had hurt them with the least of questions. She must seize the initiative again. Who could say what might follow?
She looked at the whirling confusion of lights in front of her.
'What is that, Excellencies?’ she asked, affecting a nervousness she did not truly feel.
There was a pause and the grip on her shoulders shifted.
'Beyond your understanding, Lord Counsellor.'
'A wonder few have seen.'
Liars! It's the wreckage left from your attempt to reach your precious Master, isn't it?
Oh for a knife, she could surely slay them both now!
Perhaps she could pitch them into this swirling violence? But while the Gevethen were obviously weakened in some way, they were not leaning so heavily on her that she could hope to unbalance them without throwing herself in as well. And too, what end would it serve even if she could? Would that maelstrom destroy them? She had no answer. Besides, she realized starkly, not only did she not know what it was, she did not even know where it was, so disorienting was this place. True, it was in front of her. But was it a dozen paces away, or ten dozen, or half a day's walk? She could not tell, nor was there anything nearby that could help her.
