The Diamond Isle

by Stan Nicholls

  He was near enough to spit at the man, should he have wanted to, and now hung motionless in front of him. At first, the man seemed unaware of his presence, as everybody else had been. Then some kind of awareness came into his face, and he turned his head to stare.

  The man’s eyes were bottomless hollows.

  He had no recollection of closing his own eyes. When he opened them again, he was somewhere else. The heights he’d ascended to before were nothing compared to this.

  He floated in a starry firmament. The world lay far below, like an unfurled map, so large its edges curved away with distance. He saw all the realms there were, and the expanse of green-blue oceans separating them. One large, northernmost landmass drew his eye. Deep in its interior, something flashed. A pinprick. The flicker of a struck flint. It grew, a fleck of vivid crimson against russet. The stain spread, its tendrils seeping across the land, and into others. As it moved further, it flowed more rapidly. Whole segments of the terrain were coloured by it; regions, countries, continents.

  The tide was red, like blood, or perhaps it was light. The qualities of both resided in it. Strands probed, joined with others, filled in to engulf another patch of brown or green. Its very progress seemed to add to its own momentum, as though a pillar supporting a temple roof had toppled and caused an entire row to fall, each one upon the next. But this was no temple. It was a world. A world being swallowed by blood and light.

  Perhaps he should have felt bad about it.

  He didn’t.

  10

  ‘You saw the world drowning in blood and it seemed benevolent?’

  ‘That’s not exactly what I said.’

  ‘It’s near enough, Reeth. But the way you explain it, it doesn’t sound particularly benign.’

  ‘I didn’t say I understood what I saw. You asked me how I felt about it, and I told you.’

  Serrah snuggled deeper into the warmth of their bed. The window was ajar and the dawn’s feeble, wintry light coloured the sky.

  At last she said, ‘It has to be Zerreiss, doesn’t it? The man in your dream.’

  ‘He didn’t wear a label round his neck.’

  ‘But it’s logical, isn’t it? Everything you’ve described indicates it was the warlord you saw.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have taken him for that. I never set eyes on a man so…ordinary before. Not handsome, but not ugly. Not tall, not short; not thin or fat; neither old nor young. He was like a pot taken out of the kiln too soon. Just completely…commonplace.’

  ‘He doesn’t sound the way you expect a warlord to look.’

  ‘But that’s it. Despite his appearance, there was something…I don’t know, something about him that meant I didn’t doubt he was a leader. I can’t explain.’

  ‘And he saw you?’

  ‘It felt that way.’

  ‘How common is it to have people in your dreams recognise you, Reeth?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say he recognised me. He was aware of me, I think. And no, it never used to happen until these recent dreams, or visions, or whatever they are. In fact, these new ones are taking over. I hardly ever have the old visions anymore; the ones that seem to be about me as a child.’

  ‘Poor darling. Something new to torment you.’ Serrah rested her head against his chest. His arm came up to enfold her. ‘Could it be his doing? Zerreiss’s?’ she wondered. ‘Is he making it happen?’

  Caldason shrugged. ‘Who knows what he’s capable of? But why should he?’

  ‘That’s anybody’s guess.’ She sat up again and stretched a hand to the clutter on a small table by the bed.

  ‘You’re restless.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not. If I had the sort of experiences you’re having I’d be in a complete state.’ She hefted a water bottle and drank. ‘Like some?’

  He took it and quenched his own thirst. ‘I’m used to them. Though the new ones are a puzzle laid on a mystery.’

  ‘Right.’ Serrah straightened, business-like. ‘Let’s go through it.’

  He sighed. ‘You think I haven’t, a thousand times?’

  ‘Two heads and all that. Humour me on this. You’ve been having these…let’s settle on visions, shall we, for want of a better word? You’ve been having them how long?’

  ‘Long as I can remember.’

  ‘And we’re agreed that what they show is you? Scenes from your early days, so to speak?’

  He nodded. ‘It took me a long time to figure that out. Which makes me feel pretty stupid, frankly.’

  ‘You’re not stupid, Reeth.’ She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Anybody would be thrown by something like that.’

  ‘It was the last thing that occurred to me. That they were about me, I mean. Too close to it, I suppose.’

  ‘All right. I don’t imagine we’re going to get to the bottom of how these visions come to you. But maybe we could think about some of the things in them.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Who was the old man you kept seeing? Who was it that came close to killing you when your people were massacred, and how did that lead to your present part-immortal state?’

  ‘Yes, well, again I’ve thought about that a lot.’

  ‘And your birth, Reeth; the vision you had about coming into this world and your mother dying. Though I think you punish yourself about that unnecessarily. It’s not the child’s fault if their mother dies birthing them, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘There’s no perhaps about it, my love. You can’t blame yourself for something that isn’t your doing. Believe me, I know. It’s a lesson I think I’ve learned about Eithne, though it’s taken me long enough.’ Caldason didn’t answer, so she carried on. ‘The old man was obviously a guardian of some sort. He risked himself to protect you. But why?’

  ‘That’s a bigger question than the how, isn’t it? Why am I being shown these things? What’s their purpose?’

  ‘Does there have to be a purpose? Is there a reason the sun comes up every day or the birds sing? Maybe it just is.’

  ‘A lot of people believe these things happen because the gods will it. It’s what Tanalvah would say, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is that what you’re saying? You think the gods are responsible for what’s happening to you?’

  ‘An honest answer would be I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I think about the idea of gods.’

  ‘Hmm. So, you got one set of visions that plagued you for years, and they have to do with chunks of your life history. And they tie in somehow with the fits of rage you suffer. Right?’

  ‘They’re often connected. Though not always. The berserk I had during the last pirate raid, for instance. No visions that time.’

  ‘Now there are new visions, but they’re different, and they have something to do with Zerreiss.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘It’s a good bet. And you’re still getting the rages with these new visions, and–’

  ‘Where’s this getting us?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe nowhere. But I like getting things straight in my mind. As I said, the visions have changed but you’re still berserking. And now you’re perhaps being noticed by somebody in them.’

  ‘Can you draw any conclusions from all that?’

  ‘No. Beyond the obvious fact.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Magic. That has to be the link.’

  ‘I always assumed I was under some kind of hex, so that comes as no big surprise.’

  ‘Pretty powerful magic though, don’t you think? Unlike anything I’ve come across. Not to mention that whoever’s responsible hasn’t lifted the charm on you in over seventy years. That seems an awfully long time to pursue a vendetta without some kind of payoff to it.’

  ‘The curse, or whatever it is, is a payoff in itself. Whoever was responsible for my state had the satisfaction of knowing I’d suffer for a very long time.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense, Reeth. No ordinary human would live long e
nough to savour your pain. Unless you’ve been cursed by successive generations of wizards. Or else…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Or else there are others like you. People with incredibly extended life-spans for whom centuries mean nothing.’

  ‘We know at least one. Phoenix. He’s in his hundredth year, remember.’

  ‘That’s different. An exceptional case. He had access to a little bit of Founder knowledge that made it possible.’

  ‘Maybe he isn’t the only one. Who’s to say there aren’t caches of their lore in other hands? Hell, I’m going to be looking for the Founder’s knowledge trove myself.’

  ‘Which, of course, raises the question of whether somebody else has already found it.’

  ‘You know how to brighten my day, Serrah.’

  She grimaced at him. ‘Having said that, I don’t think anybody has.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I can’t. But remember what Phoenix himself said, and Karr: if the Source had been discovered we’d have seen the effects of it all around us. Whoever had access to it wouldn’t stop at merely extending their lives; they’d be running things by now. Or we’d all be dead.’

  ‘Perhaps they simply haven’t mastered it.’

  ‘After seventy years? I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t buy the whole hex thing, not really. I mean, what kind of curse is it that bestows something like immortality on the victim? Yes, I know that as a gift it’s been a two-edged sword for you, but you get my point. I reckon we’re looking at something quite different to an enemy’s enchantment. Though I’m damned if I know what.’

  Caldason smiled. ‘I think you’re beginning to see it isn’t a problem given to easy solutions.’

  She had to smile back. ‘I didn’t expect to solve it in five minutes. Dolt.’

  He laughed. ‘Really? I would have thought any self-respecting problem wouldn’t dare defy you.’

  ‘You cheeky…’ She snatched up a pillow and battered him until it split, releasing a cloud of tiny feathers.

  ‘Reeth,’ she said, plucking feathers from her lips and adopting a more serious tone, ‘is Kutch sharing these latest visions with you?’

  ‘He picked up on the first one or two. But it seems to have stopped since he quit his spotter training.’

  ‘There it is again: magic. There’s a link here somewhere. I’d swear these things connect.’

  ‘I’ve not been able to figure out how.’

  ‘We should talk to Kutch. You never know, he might come up with something. Some clue or–’

  He took her in his arms and gently nibbled her ear. ‘All right. But let’s do it later, shall we?’

  Their lips met.

  In one of the Diamond Isle’s remotest parts, at its eastern tip, sheer cliffs acted as a natural barrier to assault from the sea. At the cliffs’ top, on a stretch of grassland, there stood an assembly of chalets, a relic of the island’s days as a pleasure resort. It was here that the handful of Covenant sorcerers who had escaped Bhealfa chose to congregate, alongside the few wizards already in residence. A centre for retreat and meditation, the spot was universally respected as the island’s only private place.

  The cabins were dilapidated, and around them the snow had been trodden to slush. A small stand of trees acted as a windbreak, but in their wintry, denuded state the protection was minimal. Overall, the impression was cheerless.

  One hut stood well apart from the rest. The snow surrounding it was near pristine, bearing only a few sets of footprints, and all its windows were shuttered.

  Inside, Kutch Pirathon was finishing a study session with his surrogate mentor, who this day had eschewed a magical disguise. He appeared as he was; elderly, white-haired and furrow-faced.

  ‘And you’re sure you haven’t experienced any of Reeth Caldason’s visions lately?’ Phoenix asked.

  ‘No,’ Kutch repeated, irritated at the old man’s persistence. He slammed shut the hinged book he’d been perusing. ‘And I don’t lie about these things. That was something my master always insisted on.’

  ‘Then he taught you well. Don’t be offended, boy. I’m pressing you only because it’s important.’

  ‘As I said, we stopped sharing visions a couple of months ago.’

  ‘When you gave up spotting.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And dreams? What about those?’

  Kutch looked reticent. ‘Well…’

  ‘What was it your master always insisted on?’

  The youth sighed. ‘Occasionally, in dreams…yes, there’s a connection. But not often, and nowhere near as powerful as the visions I used to get. It’s not a problem, but…I thought stopping my training as a spotter would free me.’

  ‘Well, it seems it mostly has, as you say yourself. But I suspect some link between you and Caldason will go on as long as you practice magic of any kind.’

  ‘Oh.’ He was deflated. ‘That’s a depressing thought.’

  ‘Because you think that means you’re forced to make a choice? Between your friendship with Caldason and your devotion to magic?’

  Kutch looked up hopefully. ‘Doesn’t it?’

  ‘I think you’re misunderstanding me. The link will go on if you continue with magic, though it may be possible for us to dampen its effect on you. But nothing you do, including abandoning the craft, will make any difference to Caldason, if that’s what you were hoping. His entanglement with magic is beyond any action you take.’

  ‘But that seems so unfair. Reeth hates magic.’

  ‘I hate rain, but that doesn’t stop me getting wet.’ He added more soberly, ‘Use your common sense, boy. Caldason’s feelings in the matter are of no more account than a condemned man’s opinion of the rope he’s hanged with.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything for him?’

  ‘Our efforts have proved futile. Now his hopes reside in the Source, assuming he can find it, and if what’s left of Covenant can decipher it. Neither of which will be easy.’

  ‘Then we have to do all we can to help him find it.’

  ‘Indeed. Because if he fails, only one other way of breaking his bonds remains.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘His death.’ Phoenix gazed steadily at Kutch.

  ‘But he can’t be killed.’

  ‘You know that’s not true. His condition is one approaching immortality, not immortality itself. Ending his life would be difficult, but not impossible.’

  ‘You aren’t making me feel very happy about this, master.’

  ‘It’s not my job to ensure your happiness. But your survival does concern me. Which is why I needed to know the extent of your connection with Caldason’s visions.’

  ‘My survival? How could a glimpse of Reeth’s visions possibly–’

  ‘Are you ignorant of the potential destructive power of magic, despite all your studies? Caldason’s harnessed to some aspect of the potent art even we don’t understand. Remember what I told you about my Covenant brothers who were killed examining an exposed energy channel? This business with Caldason could prove just as fatal for you.’

  ‘We’re all going to die in this place anyway,’ Kutch muttered.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘So wouldn’t it be better to be doing something about that, rather than–’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do, beyond aiding our defences as best we can. I suppose I could try to have you smuggled off the island. It might work.’

  ‘No. I…I’d prefer to take my chances here, with the people I know.’

  A slight smile creased Phoenix’s ancient lips. ‘If that’s what you want. But the point I’m trying to make is that neglecting your studies doesn’t help Caldason, and it certainly doesn’t help you. It’s a shame you had to abandon spotting, given how rare a gift it is. That apart, you have a talent for the craft, and you’re bright enough to achieve full sorcerer status, if you work at it. Don’t throw that away.’

  The boy brightened. ‘You really think so?’

&
nbsp; ‘I’m not given to empty flattery.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that. There have been times lately when I’ve kind of wished I’d followed the path Varee took.’

  ‘Varee?’

  ‘My brother. He left to join the army when I was a kid.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, I’m glad you didn’t. It would have been a loss to the Craft.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And would have greatly disappointed your master, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘Yes, I think Domex would have been upset. But I’m pleased you’ve got confidence in me, Phoenix. It means a lot to me that you’d–’

  ‘Ssshh.’

  ‘What?’ Kutch whispered.

  ‘Someone approaches,’ the wizard replied in an undertone.

  ‘I don’t hear any–’

  Phoenix waved a hand, silencing him. Kutch strained to listen. He heard nothing at first, and doubted the sorcerer’s senses. Then he wondered at them. Very faintly, the sound of horses’ hooves could be heard. As they grew louder, the wizard moved to a window and peered through a crack in the shutter.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘It’s friends.’

  He went to the door and opened it, Kutch at his side. A blast of cold air slapped their faces.

  Two riders were approaching, travelling fast, urging their mounts on with cuffs from the reins. One was Caldason, bent low into the cutting wind, cloak billowing. Serrah rode alongside, barley hair flowing free.

  They arrived in seconds, their steaming horses kicking up clods of frozen earth as they were curbed. Caldason and Serrah quickly dismounted.

  ‘Reeth, Serrah,’ Kutch greeted them. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Well, we set out to talk something over with you,’ Serrah told him. ‘But events seem to have overshadowed that.’

  ‘What are you referring to?’ Phoenix asked, less than amused by the interruption.

  ‘Come and see for yourself,’ Caldason said.