The Shadow of Malabron

by Thomas Wharton

  “If you need proof that the Stewards did not die,” Pendrake said, “all you have to do is look around you.”

  Will took a deep breath.

  “You said this world was where all the stories come from. Most of the books I’ve read had happy endings.”

  Pendrake smiled.

  “Does any story ever really end?” he said. “The storyteller falls silent or we close the book, but we know there’s more that hasn’t been told. And when we find ourselves in a story we try to make it stop at the ending we would like, but it keeps on going. Sometimes we find it’s no longer a story about us. Or it is, but we’re playing a new role. This is what Malabron, for all his cunning, does not understand. He wants there to be one story only. His own. And he wants it to end as he desires, with all under his dominion. He would destroy the world to bring about his own happy ending.”

  “But that can’t happen, can it?”

  The toymaker stood and stretched his arms over his head.

  “One thing ended a long time ago,” he said, taking off his spectacles, “and that was this day. Get some sleep, Will. The story will go on tomorrow.”

  Phoenix and Hedgehog sat in a boxwood tree,

  trying their hand at philosophy.

  Asked Hedgehog of his friend, when I come to an end,

  do I start once more as I was before, or is there nothing more?

  Said Phoenix, that must depend on whether you are me,

  or you, my friend.

  — from The Not-Poems of Sir Dagonet

  FOR THE NEXT FOUR DAYS they followed a path that wound and rose and fell through the still, green caverns of the wood, on and on, mile after long mile, until Will began to feel that he had never done anything in his life other than trudge through this endless forest. And every night was the same, too. They would find a snug, and when he went to sleep, Will would have the same disturbing dream he’d first had at the toymaker’s house. He would find himself in the clearing of the cloven tree, with snow falling, and then the man with the long white hair would appear and open his mouth to speak, but the dream would end before Will could hear what he was saying. Again he considered telling the toymaker about the dream, but once more he decided to keep it to himself. He didn’t want to hear anything worse than what he’d already been told.

  Each evening before keeping watch, Finn would read briefly from the small leather-bound book he kept in his pocket. Finally Will’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked Finn what he was reading. The young man quickly shut the book and looked at Will coldly. Then his face softened.

  “You’ve heard that there’s a book for everyone in the Great Library,” Finn said.

  “Yes, but I didn’t find mine.”

  “Well, this book is like that for me. A copy of it is given to every knight-in-training. It’s a kind of guidebook.”

  “With maps and landmarks, you mean?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What does it say about where we are now?”

  “Pretty much the same thing it says about everywhere else. Keep on your toes.”

  On the morning of their fifth day in Eldark, they came to a less gloomy part of the forest. The trees were not so large or close-set here, and shafts of welcome sunlight streamed down through the branches. When they halted to rest, Finn shared out some bannog and then began to pack up his gear. It was time for him to return to the Bourne.

  “The forest only gets darker and more dangerous from here on,” he said with a frown. “I feel I should stay with you.”

  “We’d all be happy if you did,” Pendrake said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “But you’ve seen us safely out of the Bourne, and you have other duties to return to. I hope your journey home will be uneventful.”

  “That’s the one thing a knight-in-training isn’t supposed to want. But I hope the same for your journey.”

  Will thanked Finn. Although he still felt awkward around the serious young man, he wasn’t happy to see him go. Finn wished him good luck.

  “If all goes as it should,” he said, “we won’t meet again, Will. I’m sorry for that. You could use more sword practice.”

  For the first time Will saw a quick smile pass across Finn’s face. Then he waved a farewell and slipped away into the shadows of the forest.

  As dusk fell the travellers left the path as before. Pendrake uncovered his waylight, but this time it stayed unlit and no answering glimmer appeared in the gloom. They walked on slowly, and night fell around them like a cloak, until they were only shadows to each other. After a while Will noticed a pale silver light all around him and looked up to see the moon flickering through the treetops. He was cheered by the sight, but Pendrake’s waylight still failed to glow.

  “Maybe there are no snugs in this part of the woods,” Rowen said.

  “The waylight calls them forth,” Pendrake said. “Sometimes it takes a while for a snug to appear. But this is strange.”

  They walked on until it grew completely dark. Pendrake continued to hold out his waylight, and finally a tiny blue star appeared in the blackness before them. Will started forward eagerly, but the toymaker held him back.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, and then Will saw that Pendrake’s waylight was still dark.

  “What does that mean?” Rowen whispered.

  “I’m not sure, but I intend to find out,” Pendrake said. “Shade, guard Will and Rowen well. If I do not return by the time the moon touches the top of that dead tree, flee this place. Head for the Bourne. Find a patrol of the Errantry, if you can.”

  The toymaker tucked the lantern away, took up his staff, and swiftly vanished. The others crouched down and waited. From time to time Will caught the faint gleam of Rowen’s drawn blade in the moonlight, but little else. He wanted to speak to her, to relieve the heavy silence, but he didn’t know what to say. The sound of her quickened breathing reached him and he knew she was as frightened as he was. He felt Shade’s shoulder against his, and he was grateful for the wolf’s nearness. After a long time, when he was about to speak aloud just to break the tension, he felt Shade stiffen and rise from a crouch.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “Other wolves,” Shade said excitedly. “Can’t you hear them?”

  “I can’t,” Will said. He strained to listen, and he did hear faint sounds, but not the howling of wolves. Instead he heard happy shouts and laughter, as if from a great distance. It sounded very much like his friends at home. Fooling around in the schoolyard. Teasing each other about girls and shoving one another about. What were they shouting about now? Which game console was the best, probably. Then one voice rose about the others.

  Will! Where are you?

  It was Jess’s voice. She sounded like she’d been crying.

  I don’t like this game, Will. Come out. I’m scared.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked Rowen. “It’s my sister. She’s looking for me.”

  Rowen shook her head.

  “I heard horns blowing,” she said. “It sounded like a troupe of the Errantry riding this way. But it’s gone now.”

  Just then Shade gave an excited yip and bounded off. Will shouted his name and the wolf reluctantly pulled up.

  “They’re singing,” he called back to Will. “The First Ones. They’re singing the song of gathering. They’re calling all of us together. All the Companions. I won’t be long. I’ll find them and bring them back.”

  “I can’t hear any singing, Shade,” Will said. “Don’t go, please. Something’s not right.”

  The wolf hesitated, his limbs trembling. Then he lowered his head and came plodding back.

  “It’s gone now,” he said sadly. “There’s nothing. How can that be?”

  Rowen suddenly stood up.

  “It’s Grandfather,” she cried. “He’s calling me. I can hear him calling for me.”

  Will listened.

  “I can’t hear it,” he said. “I don’t think it’s really him, Rowen.”

  R
owen stared at him, then turned away and pointed.

  “He’s just over there,” she said. “He sounds hurt. I have to…”

  “We’ve all heard different things,” Will said. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t think what we’re hearing is what we think it is.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. After another moment during which she seemed to be straining to hear, she turned to Will with an agonized look.

  “He’s getting further away. I must go to him. I have to make sure.”

  An instant later she had plunged into the shadows and was gone.

  “Rowen, wait,” Will called after her, leaping to his feet. “Come on, Shade, we’ve got to follow her.”

  He grabbed hold of the shaggy fur behind Shade’s ears and they started off together into the darkness. Without Shade, Will would have been utterly lost, but he trusted the wolf’s sense of smell and direction. The only problem was that he had to keep holding on to Shade so that he wouldn’t get left behind, and that meant they had to run at a slower pace. Will struggled to keep up his courage. Finn was gone. Pendrake seemed to have deserted them. And now Rowen… He should never have agreed to go on this foolish journey. Look where it had brought them.

  It was not long before the wolf halted, and for once he seemed uncertain.

  “She came this way,” he said. “I am sure of it. But now there’s nothing.”

  Will looked around the glade they had come to and noticed something odd. The trunks of the trees were all smooth and straight, like columns. The floor of the forest was hard, bare earth, almost completely free of leaves and other litter. There was no wind here, no creaking of tree limbs, no sounds of forest creatures. The dim amber light in the glade did not seem to be coming from the moon but from all over and from nowhere. It almost seemed as if they had left the forest without knowing and entered a vast pillared room lit by dim unseen fires.

  “Rowen?” Will called, and the echo of his voice seemed to return from all directions at once.

  “I’m here,” Rowen shouted, her voice echoing from all sides, as if bouncing like a ball around the glade.

  “Where are you?” Will said. “We can’t see you.”

  “I can’t see you either,” came the answer from many places. “But I’m not hurt. He just wanted someone to talk to.”

  Will and Shade exchanged a baffled look.

  “He?”

  Rowen didn’t answer.

  “Who’s … there with you?” Will asked warily.

  “I don’t know, exactly,” Rowen said, and then there she was, standing in the middle of the glade, as if she had materialized out of thin air. “I don’t know if anyone is.”

  Did you like the game? asked a strange voice, like a chorus of echoes. It seemed to come from far off and from right by Will’s ear, so that he jumped in surprise. Shade growled.

  “Who’s there?” Will said angrily.

  Who is who is who is who… the voice echoed, trailing off into silence.

  “Answer me!” Will shouted.

  “He’s all around us—” Rowen began, but she was cut off by a burst of giddy laughter.

  Who is all around who? said the voice, but now it was quieter and more urgent. Answer this true…

  “You’re the one who made us hear all those sounds, aren’t you?” Will said.

  “He did,” said Rowen. “I don’t think he meant any harm.”

  There was a sound like a gust of wind sweeping through the glade, though no wind touched their faces. They caught sight of shadowy shapes moving through the trees.

  Someone made the sounds, you heard them, the voice said eagerly. Or maybe you made them and someone heard them. Someone is never sure about that, but we did it together. That’s the game.

  “It’s not a game,” Will said. “We have to find—”

  Lost, the voice interrupted. That’s the game. The game and its name are the same. Shall we play some more? Someone can make many things. Someone can be many things. Because someone’s not really here. Isn’t that funny? Here, there, anywhere. Someone, somewhat, somewho.

  The sound of wind keened and moaned around them again, and then all the flitting shadows seemed to flock together into one spot, high among the branches of a tree. Something large and shaggy began to take shape. The amber light picked out the sheen of golden fur, wings, a curling tail. Two huge round yellow eyes gazed down at them.

  The game is getting lost and found, the voice from everywhere went on. To wit, to woo. To rue. Someone got lost a long time ago, and never found again. Isn’t that sad? Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it turns us inside out. But we can make it a game. That’s what we’re doing, now that we’re all not here. We’re all not here, together.

  “Whoever you are,” Will said, moving to stand beside Rowen, “we need to go now. We’re looking for someone. We can’t stay and … play. I’m sorry.”

  The creature in the tree seemed to shiver all over. All at once it vanished, and immediately reappeared higher up and in another tree, its yellow eyes peering out from a screen of leaves.

  There is another one, too, the voice said. Another someone looking for you.

  “Grandfather!” Rowen exclaimed. “Do you know where he is? An old man with a staff.”

  Not that one. No, this is another one. He is not old, not young. He is coming this way very quickly. He walks like a man, but he isn’t. That one is even more not here than we aren’t. Isn’t that strange? Or is it funny? Someone doesn’t think that one thinks it’s very funny. If he comes here, there will be no game. There will be no you, someone thinks. You won’t be lost, you’ll be gone. You’ll be Not. You don’t want to be Not. Not with that one.

  “You’re right about that,” Will said. “We don’t. So we need to go.”

  There was a sound like a vast sigh, or many sighs rushing together.

  So someone will let you go, the voice said at last, and its tone was no longer lively. The one who keeps his promises. But first you have to do something that someone wants. First we play another game.

  “Another game,” Rowen said, her shoulders drooping.

  The game is a riddle, the riddle is a game. Someone will riddle it, and you have to answer. One guess. Only one. One riddle, one answer. Are you ready?

  “We’re leaving,” Will said angrily.

  You can’t! the voice shouted in a thunder of echoes. The sound of wind rose to a roar. The leaves of the trees hissed and shivered.

  Ask that red-haired one, the voice said more softly after a long silence. She tried. She found out that here is there and there is here, where we aren’t. Until the game is done. Until the riddle finds its answer.

  Will turned to Rowen, who nodded.

  “This glade is his home,” she said. “It’s a maze. Only he knows the way out.”

  “Shade?” Will said.

  The wolf shook his head.

  “It’s as if we’re nowhere, to my nose and ears,” he muttered. “I don’t understand how that can be…”

  Will’s frustration was greater than his fear. He sighed.

  “Is this one of those riddles that no one could guess in a hundred years?” he asked.

  The creature in the tree disappeared again without answering. Shadows swooped high and low about the glade. Then the voice spoke again, and this time it came from behind them. They all whirled. Leaves were swirling round and round, like a small cyclone. They spun faster and faster, and drew closely together, until all at once they stopped and settled. A small, pale-skinned boy stood there, dressed in rough garments made of brown, brittle leaves. His eyes were large and seemed to shine with their own light, but there was something eerily familiar about him. Will realized with a shudder that he was looking at his own face.

  “This one will ask the riddle,” the boy said, and his voice had lost its echoes and had become one single voice, both Will’s and not Will’s. “Here it is. Pay attention now.

  “I have been many, but known to few.

  I wear
many faces, only one is true.

  Speak my true name, and I disappear.

  The moment I’m found, I’m no longer here.

  I live in the shadows, I die in the light.

  The answer you seek lies in plain sight.”

  He stopped and gazed at them expectantly.

  “So,” he said. “What am I?”

  Will and Rowen turned to each other with blank looks.

  “Do you have an answer?” the boy asked urgently, his wide eyes searching all three of them in turn. “You must have an answer. There has to be an answer.”

  “We need to think about it,” Rowen said. “Just give us a moment.”

  “It must be answered now,” the boy shouted, stamping his foot. “Before the one with the toys comes. He played the game before. He guessed. He knew.”

  “The one with the toys,” Rowen cried. “Is he coming this way?”

  “You don’t know the answer,” the boy said, ignoring her question. “You could guess another guess. Name another game. Game another name. You could tell someone the answer inside the answer.”

  “Where is the toymaker?” Rowen tried again. “Can you lead him to us?”

  The boy closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

  “He’s on his way,” he finally said. “Wait. No. He’s where we’re not now.”

  And there was Pendrake. The toymaker hurried to them, embraced Rowen, then turned to the boy.

  “The answer to the riddle,” he said, “is a riddle. When it’s answered, it’s not a riddle any more. The moment it’s found, it’s no longer here.”

  The boy gaped at Pendrake with hurt and fear in his eyes. The leafy garments he was covered in began to fly from him as if they were being torn from a tree in a strong gale. Again the wind roared and the trees thrashed. Moments later there was nothing but a swirl of dry leaves blowing across the ground. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the creature in the trees.

  It’s not fair, the strange echoing voice wailed from all around them. You guessed that when you were not here before. Someone let you go then, and now you’re not here again. Not fair. You didn’t let the others guess. It was their game. It was their turn.