Involuntarily, Terisa obeyed Gilbur’s pointing.
Her first impression was confirmed: the mirror didn’t reflect anything that she could see here – or that she had ever seen.
The tinted and faintly rippled glass showed a scene distant enough to be quite large, but not distant enough to weaken its primary figures. In the middle ground of a stark and alien landscape lit by the scarlet glow of an old, red sun stood a metallic shape which her mind instantly labeled a ‘spaceship.’ Forming a defensive perimeter around the ship were a number of manlike forms, also metallic: a moment passed before she realized that they actually were men, men in armor. They were under attack; but the destructive beams that chewed pieces off the landscape only glanced from the helmets and chestplates of the defenders. She couldn’t see the effect of the fire they returned, but it must have been adequate: they weren’t driven back toward their ship.
The central figure of the scene, however, wasn’t the ship or one of the fighters. Rather, it was another metal-clad individual who occasionally waved his arms or shifted his attention as though he were directing the battle. He was heavily armed: strange weapons hung on his hips, and strapped to his back was a rifle the size of a small cannon. But more than his armament, it was his stance that conveyed a staggering sense of power through the glass. He stood the alien ground as if he meant to decimate whole populations in order to claim it.
Terisa understood at once that he was the champion, the strong and violent being Geraden had been sent to find.
That was the kind of help Mordant needed? The danger was that severe? And Geraden wanted these men to take her seriously as an answer to their problem, an augured savior? Suddenly, she realized that Master Gilbur was right. If Geraden considered her a sane answer to a problem of that scope, he was out of his mind.
What kind of lunacy had possessed her to take his hand? She should absolutely have gone to the phone, called security, and accepted the consequences. The strain of having to face her father would have been preferable to the impossibility of where she was now.
It affected her like dizziness. What was she doing here? She turned away from the mirror in a blur and seemed to lose her balance. Then she found herself gazing up into Master Eremis’ face as if she were asking him for help. Though she didn’t know him at all, she felt his intelligence, his strength, his effectiveness. His humor was built on confidence, and it promised results even when he was jesting.
He met her appeal for a moment, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as though he were about to start laughing again. But he didn’t. Instead, he let a good-natured frown crease his high forehead. ‘Masters,’ he said in a musing tone, ‘it is a subtle question. We must not dismiss it lightly. Apt Geraden makes a point which deserves consideration.’
Over Master Gilbur’s growl of exasperation, Eremis went on, ‘That his taste in champions is suspect I grant you. But there is simple truth in his words. Either he has stumbled by chance into a miracle. Or he has secretly made himself greater than us all.’ Master Eremis put aside the protests of the Congery with a delicate wave of his fingers. ‘Or there is a power at work here which we do not comprehend – and which we must take into account.
‘I propose,’ he continued promptly, ‘that we adjourn for the present. We must have time to think. Mordant’s need is urgent, but it does not require foolish haste. What say you? Perhaps tomorrow we will understand these things better.
‘Master Barsonage?’
Terisa was faintly surprised to hear him suggest rather than announce an adjournment: she had assumed automatically that he was the leader of the Congery. But that role seemed to belong to the thick, bald man with the eyebrows like scrub and the pine-yellow skin. When Eremis addressed him, he glanced around the Masters for a moment, taking a consensus. After most of them had indicated their assent, he said, ‘It is likely a wise idea. I doubt that we will gain much insight into whether Apt Geraden is the victim of accident, genius, or intervention. But we must determine what we will do about it. Those of us who are already weary of argument will need rest before facing that debate.’
Brusquely, he concluded, ‘Let us meet again tomorrow.’
Master Eremis grinned his approval. ‘Very good.’ Then he turned to Terisa and extended his hand. ‘My lady, will you accompany me? Someone must offer you the hospitality of Orison. I will see you honorably quartered, as befits a woman of your obvious importance.’ He gave the word importance a slight, jesting stress, teasing either her or Geraden. ‘And there are many things of which I wish to speak with you.’
He was looking squarely at her again, and she doubted that she could have refused his offer even if she had wanted to: his direct attention was seductive and compelling. It seemed to make her throat dry and her knees unsteady. Involuntarily, she reacted to him as if he were the first man who had ever looked at her in that way. As far as she knew, he was the first.
But when she raised her hand to take Eremis’, Geraden suddenly said, ‘My lady, I prefer that you accompany me.’ His manner had become formal.
At once, an astonished silence dropped over the Masters; they stared at Geraden as though he had just insulted Eremis. The flush on Geraden’s skin betrayed that he was conscious of his audacity. Nevertheless the muscles of his jaw bunched stubbornly, and his eyes didn’t flinch.
Master Eremis raised an eyebrow; Terisa felt his concentration shift from her to Geraden. But after a brief flick away his gaze returned to hers. ‘Come,’ he said in an appealing – and commanding – tone. ‘The Apt has played his part in these matters, but now he must leave them to those of greater rank, ability, and experience. You will not complain of my company, I think, my lady.’
She almost went with him. She wanted to – or thought she wanted to – or perhaps she had no idea what she wanted, but if she went with him he might be able to answer that question for her.
The Apt wasn’t prepared to let her go, however. ‘My lady,’ he said, his voice clenched around his anxiety and determination, ‘Master Eremis believes that you do not exist.’
His assertion fell into the silence like a personal challenge, as if he were daring the Master to battle.
And a small sting of panic touched Terisa’s heart.
Vexation replaced the humor in Eremis’ face. He swung scowling away from her; his tall body seemed to poise itself for a scathing retort. But an instant later he drew back a step, his self-control restored.
‘That is not properly true, my lady,’ he said coldly, without a glance at her. ‘I believe that you did not exist until you were translated from the mirror.’
‘And therefore,’ Geraden went on, ‘he believes that you are an object, my lady, an artifact of Imagery – a thing to be used, not a woman to be respected.’
That was too much for Master Eremis. ‘Faugh!’ he spat. ‘I will not debate the meaning of Imagery with a puppy too hapless to earn a chasuble and too witless to respect his betters.’ He dismissed Terisa. ‘Go with him. He will drive me to distraction if you do not.’
Turning away, he strode through the crowd of Masters. A moment after he disappeared behind one of the pillars, Terisa heard the thud of a heavy wooden door.
Geraden didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the flagstones. He was so hot with embarrassment that beads of sweat stood on his forehead.
FOUR
THE OLD DODDERER
‘Arrogance,’ one of the Imagers muttered. Another smiled his relish for Eremis’ discomfiture; but most of the Congery felt otherwise. Master Gilbur gave a heavy shrug of disgust. The rabbity man twitched his nose.
They were glaring at Geraden.
Trembling inside, Terisa studied him too. Softly, hesitantly, she asked, ‘What do you mean, he believes I don’t exist? Or I didn’t exist until I was translated from the mirror?’ That idea hit her too hard, too deeply. Was the uncertainty of her being so plain that even strangers could see it? ‘It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense. You don’t even know who
I am.’
At once, Geraden began to apologize. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. I keep treating you badly, when that’s the last thing I want.’ He met her gaze with an expression of brave distress – unhappy about his talent for doing or saying the wrong thing, but determined to face the consequences. ‘I should have let you go with Master Eremis. I don’t know what came over me.’
Before she could protest, That isn’t what I meant, Master Barsonage intervened. ‘Apt Geraden,’ he said, ‘we have little patience for your contrition just now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Geraden again, reflexively.
‘It is a tale,’ the Master went on in a tone like a bar of lead, ‘we have heard many times. Silence it, therefore, and heed me instead. I will not command you not to speak to the King, since I know you would not obey me. I will say this, however. She is here through your agency. She is your responsibility. Give her the courtesy of Orison’s hospitality as well as the Congery’s respect. She is a mystery to us and must be well treated.
‘But’ – he clamped a hand onto Geraden’s shoulder – ‘do not answer her questions, Apt.’
At that, Geraden’s eyes widened. Ignoring Terisa, Barsonage tightened his grip and his tone. ‘As a mystery to us, she is dangerous. Do not betray Mordant or the Congery to her until we are sure of her.’
Geraden’s gaze slid away from the Master’s. He studied the stones under Terisa’s feet and said nothing.
Very quietly, the thick man asked, ‘Do you understand me, Apt? I am the mediator of the Congery. If I dismiss you, you will never again be considered for the chasuble of a Master.’
None of the other Imagers made a sound. Some of them looked vexed; some seemed to be holding their breath. The air in the room was still too cold for comfort.
Geraden’s shoulder twisted under the mediator’s grasp; then he straightened himself against the pressure. ‘I understand you, Master Barsonage.’ He sounded faraway and forlorn. ‘The lady is my responsibility.’
‘In all ways.’
‘In all ways.’
Slowly, Master Barsonage released his hand. ‘Admirable,’ he muttered. ‘Good sense becomes you.’
‘Ha!’ snorted Master Gilbur. ‘Admirable, indeed.’ He was glaring blackly at Geraden. ‘If you believe that he will keep his word, Barsonage, you have become old in your wits.’
At that, Master Barsonage put his hands like barrel staves on his sides. ‘Let me caution you against such statements, Master Gilbur. We are little trusted now – and less when you speak with such contempt. Apt Geraden springs from the honest and honorable line of the Domne. The sons of the Domne have always been true.’
Abruptly, then, he turned away from Geraden and Terisa. ‘These meetings consume too much time,’ he said in a friendly way to no one in particular. ‘Again I am late for my noontide meal.’ Slapping at his girth, he asked, ‘Masters, will you join me?’
Several of the Imagers assented; Gilbur and others declined with varying degrees of courtesy. The Congery began to break up as Masters left the open center of the chamber, moving toward the doors beyond the pillars. After a few backward looks and a murmured comment or two, they left Terisa and Geraden alone.
He continued staring at the stones under her feet as if he were ashamed.
She blinked at him, feeling vaguely stupid. No one was going to answer any of her questions? No one was going to tell her why Master Eremis thought she didn’t exist? Surely she had a right to protest?
As a little girl, however, she had occasionally made the mistake of protesting, of trying to stand up for herself. It isn’t fair why do I always have to go to bed you never want me around! The reactions she had received taught her at an early age the folly of what she was doing. Her parents had wanted her to impinge on their consciousness as little as possible. Her father, in particular, had seldom been gentle when she had called his notice down on herself. Following his example, most of his servants had treated her with bare tolerance. And the numerous private schools to which she had been shuttled at his whim all had specific instructions where she was concerned. A passive child was only dismissed from attention; an assertive one was punished. And it was punishment that had first convinced her that she might not be real. Over the years, she had learned to let herself feel less and less of the emotions that led to demands and rejection.
So instead of indulging herself in some kind of outcry, she did the next best thing: she watched the flush of Geraden’s shame and said nothing.
When he finally raised his head, he looked miserable.
‘I’m sorry, my lady. This isn’t what I thought was going to happen at all. I knew they would have to be convinced – especially Master Gilbur. But I didn’t think they—’ He grimaced. ‘It isn’t fair to drag you into this and then refuse to answer your questions. It just isn’t fair. And it’s my fault again, of course.’
To keep him talking, she asked, ‘How is it your fault?’
Glumly, he muttered, ‘I didn’t tell them about your mirrors.’
There seemed to be no point in reminding him that she couldn’t possibly understand what he meant, so she said, ‘Why didn’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘I meant to. But at the last second I had the strongest feeling—’ His voice trailed away, then came back more strongly. ‘I just don’t trust Master Eremis. Or Master Gilbur either, for that matter. I don’t want to tell them anything.’
Terisa considered him for a moment. ‘But you’re still not going to answer my questions.’ Thanks to her years of training, her tone betrayed almost no bitterness.
With a wince, he replied, ‘No. I can’t. You heard him. I think he’s wrong, but that doesn’t make any difference. He can have me dismissed. I’ve been trying to become a Master since I was fifteen. I can’t give it up.’ Again he said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Glowering, but unable to meet her gaze, he stopped. His dire expression made him look younger than he was – in fact, younger than she was herself. Unexpectedly, she found that she wasn’t angry at him, not even down in the secret places of her heart where she kept her dangerous emotions hidden. He seemed to be upset as much on her behalf as on his own. That was a degree of consideration to which she was unaccustomed.
In response, she surprised herself by inquiring, ‘Do you think I exist?’
He looked at her sharply, the glower suddenly gone from his face. ‘Well, of course. Isn’t it obvious? In fact, you’re the proof of what King Joyse and Adept Havelock have been saying all along. Masters like Eremis and Gilbur believe the mirrors create what we see in them. Those things only exist when they’re translated out of the glass. But that never made any sense to me. And now it sounds like nonsense – now that I’ve gone into a mirror for myself and met you.’ Excitement improved his appearance considerably. ‘That was a shock – when I stepped into the glass expecting to find the champion and found you instead – but it convinced me you’re real. Everything in the mirrors is real.’
Then he caught himself; the excitement faded from his face. He became distant and wary, ashamed again. ‘But I’m not supposed to answer your questions.’
Terisa almost laughed. Out of nowhere, he made her feel good – better than she had felt for a long time. Already, he had convinced her that if she kept him talking he wouldn’t be able to refuse her. He took her too seriously to refuse her. ‘Apt Geraden,’ she said, ‘if I’m real, I must be important. Even if I’m an accident, I must be important. Don’t you think it might be a good idea to ask me who I am?’
His eyes went wide: mouth agape, he stared at her. Apparently, he had been so wrapped up in her translation and his argument with the Imagers that he had forgotten the simple courtesy of asking for her name. The realization made him tremble on the brink of more contrition and misery; more apologies.
But an instant later he caught the spirit of her question. His face broke into a grin; he began to laugh. ‘Oh, good for you, Geraden,’ he said, shaking his head in amused horror. ‘You’re really doing well today.’
Then he took a step backward, assumed a pose of mock dignity, and bowed extravagantly. The effort tripped him; he barely avoided stumbling. ‘My lady,’ he intoned, ‘I prostrate myself before you most humbly. Will you deign to grant me the sublime honor of your name and station?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she replied, trying to conceal her enjoyment. ‘I don’t have any “station.” My name is Terisa Morgan.’
‘My lady Terisa of Morgan,’ he continued sententiously, ‘you are too kind. I am your most unworthy servant. But if you will accompany me, it will be my great joy to make you acquainted with Joyse, founder of the Congery, lord of the Demesne, and King of Mordant.’
Then he changed back to his normal manner. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you met him right away. He needs to know about you, no matter what some of the Masters say. He’ll understand how important you are. And he might be willing to tell you what’s going on around here.’
When he said this, her mood soured. The reference to ‘how important’ she was restored her sense of the unreality of the situation. One way or another, she was a mistake: she was the wrong person. In consequence, she felt a sudden, irrational reluctance to meet King Joyse. He might laugh like her father at the idea that she was important.
‘Geraden,’ she asked awkwardly, ‘is there really a reason for all this? You’re not just doing an experiment on me, are you? Practicing your translations?’
Somehow, he looked straight into her face and saw what she was feeling. At once, his expression sobered; empathy softened his gaze. ‘My lady, I swear to you on my heart that the need is urgent. King Joyse would have the head of any Imager who did frivolously what we’ve done to you – though there are some,’ he digressed momentarily, ‘who might attempt it, if they weren’t restrained by the Congery.
‘In addition, I swear to you,’ he went on, ‘if your translation is an accident – a mistake of any kind – I’ll do everything anybody can do to restore you to your own world.
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