Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong

by Greg Hamerton

  The building groaned as it moved around her. Strange sounds echoed through the corridors, the calls and taunts of its many unseen inhabitants. Ruddy daylight filtered through irregular slits and gaps in the outer walls. Her lens outlined each structure with scribed angles and warnings of stress-points and overload. Danger was all around. According to the principles of Order, the Pillar should have been a heap of rubble. Tabitha ignored what her eye told her. She knew she would become a nervous wreck if she clung on to Order here.

  There was no clear path to the top. Some of the floors sloped upward, some down. Wherever there was a choice, she took the upper route. Higher and higher she climbed, scrambling up piles of broken masonry and unstable metal plates in places, clambering up corded vines dangling from higher beams, sometimes even scaling the framework of the Pillar on the outside, where long pieces of lichen slipped slowly down the walls, leaving wet trails. A dead tree had been thrust through a broken window; Tabitha used it to climb to the next level. There were staircases in places, but none of them were whole, and some had crumbled away so badly they ended in midair. The higher she went, the worse the fear became, hammering away at her gut, telling her the entire structure was about to collapse. The shifting strands of Chaos her lens outlined began to converge; they centred upon the peak of the Pillar, only a few levels above where she stood—the Sorcerer’s chamber. She was almost there.

  The swaying movements became more pronounced. A tremor shook the building and an untidy column Tabitha was considering for a stair broke away and took a floor with it, tumbling down, breaking patches clear inside the Pillar, tearing out hollow sections which shouldn’t have been there; ripping out its own rotten core. She couldn’t look down. Far below, things slammed into other things. It went deeper than she’d expected. Metal shrieked, living things screamed. She clutched at a railing, but it broke in her hands, crumbling to grey dust. The floor tipped, and she had nothing with which to steady herself. She took a wild chance and hummed a single note. The floor tipped back and she slid against the wall. The upheaval settled.

  Had it settled because of the note, or had it just settled? She couldn’t tell, but she was beginning to suspect things in Turmodin were somehow fluid and responsive to her thoughts. So many years of Chaos in one place had weakened the permanence of reality. If that was true, she would have to be careful what she thought; particularly, what she feared. The pillar is strong, the way up is clear, and the Sorcerer will hear what I have to say, she told herself. The pillar is strong. The pillar is strong.

  In a way, the collapse of the column was a blessing, for it revealed the proper passage to the Sorcerer’s chamber. Across the inside of the tower a scalloped membrane looped over the displaced beams. It looked like the husk of some worm, twisting upward through the jumbled architecture. The membrane was holed in places, and once she was inside the tube, Tabitha found the going easy. Each ridge of skin provided a step, and in the places where the sides had decayed, rope-like thews remained to be used for balance. Her boots gripped the surface well. The passage smelled like dry parchment, yet it gave under her weight slightly as if it were still elastic. The translucent tube spiralled upward quickly, spanning great gaps in the ruins, looping sickeningly between the main tower and a tilted side turret, out through wind that moaned with altitude, then back again, until she emerged upon the highest level of the Pillar. The sun dived toward the horizon, and the wind began to whistle.

  The Pillar’s pinnacle was a terrifying plate of rock, upon which a bulbous building squatted, a deformed thing, like some chitinous insect killed when the heavy roof had been slammed down unevenly upon it—the Sorcerer’s chamber. It could be nothing else. Most of the windows faced away, into the clouds. A ruddy light spilled from the only doorway, on Tabitha’s side. Tabitha heard voices, but with all the recycled sounds of Turmodin plaguing the air she couldn’t tell if the voices were new, or just echoes. They rose and fell, as if people were arguing. A cluster of torches sputtered beside the open doorway, burning despite the weather. Great dead trees had tumbled against the one side of the building: an attempt at a garden, which had failed? Only blotches of moss grew upon the slab. She recognised the exposed area. Ametheus had reached for her from there; she had seen him standing where she stood now.

  The clouds whipped by, pressing moisture into her clothes. The passing wind tangled her hair and caused the strings of her lyre to whine softly. It was almost as if the lyre played a tuneless music of its own. The light of day began to fade. It was too early for sunset, Tabitha thought, too early by far. She tiptoed towards the open door. The voices became clearer.

  “Break them, break them all, Seus!” A barrel-deep baritone.

  “Patience, brother Amyar.” A clipped answer sounded in a cold voice. “This shard holds the wizard they call the Cosmologer, you can see from the violet colour. She might be useful to us if the Goddess fails to sing.”

  “She will deceive you! All the wizards have wickedness in their hearts. Have you forgotten what they have done to us? Have you forgotten the suffering? We must stamp out all traces of magic. They deserve to die!”

  “Of course they do, Amyar, but we have broken the Gyre. On their own, they cannot harm us and they cannot escape. They are imprisoned. Think of it, brother. To take their lives now would be merciful, their suffering will end, but if we keep these shards, they shall live on, trapped in their slivers of reality. For longer than all the years we have suffered, they shall suffer, in isolation. We have shattered three of them already. These last few should serve an age of penance. Besides, there’s the one who escaped. Maybe she is stupid enough to come here to save the others.”

  “It d-doesn’t m-matter what you d-do,” added a third man with a phlegmy voice. “If you idiots m-make the Goddess s-s-sing and you b-bring Him here, you will h-have little s-say in anything. It is all g-g-going to end.”

  “Oh shut up, Ethan!” ordered the man with a cold voice whom the others had called Seus. “You know nothing of the future!”

  “And you remember too little of the past!” added the deep-voiced one, Amyar. “Who asked you to wake up, anyway?”

  There was a groan, as if someone had been winded, or had fainted.

  How many people were there in the Sorcerer’s chamber? Should she wait for a better moment? She supposed there was no good time to approach the Sorcerer. There was no point in delaying the inevitable confrontation.

  “Now, what about this indigo one?” said the deep-voiced man. “The Riddler. Father knows how many headaches this one has given us. Shouldn’t we rather bust him? He worries me. He’s too clever. He’s not like the others.”

  Tabitha stepped into the room. Her mind was wild, unclear. She could not think or speak.

  For a long moment she was disorientated. The space inside the building was much greater than the outer dimensions had suggested, greater than what was possible. Strange places existed where she couldn’t even keep her eyes focused, as if her vision was repelled by the irreconcilable conflicts of geometry. The wide irregular windows, so far away, admitted a panoramic view of the ragged bottoms of the clouds. The real view was in the low roof overhead, contained in convex curves of glass. Images shifted across the ceiling: rumpled land, tilted at an awkward angle; shifting faces, crowds, beasts, villages, landscapes and starscapes.

  A dirty carpet stretched away under a litter of debris and ash. The air was hot and potent, like a brewing house with an added metallic tang. Only one figure inhabited the room. At a bench at the windows, his back toward her, stood a large man in a divided robe, a garment of uneven texture made of thick threads like gathered snakes. His face was obscured by his red headpiece whose engraved metal wings came down to his collar. The back of his head was covered with a loose fold of black silk with spiralled silver patterns upon it. An ugly mallet was clenched in his broad right hand. He was looking down at something on a bench before him—three big shards of a mirror.

  “I tend to agree, the Riddler is not like the o
thers,” he said in the cold voice. “He’s nothing but trouble.”

  “Ametheus,” she whispered to herself.

  He turned his head slightly toward her, as if she had spoken louder than she’d meant to. His youthful face, bracketed by the strips of metal, was dark-browed, intense, with lips as straight as a cold blade. He turned further and his icy blue eyes caught her from far across the room.

  Tabitha felt as if she was falling toward him. She had made a terrible mistake entering his chamber.

  “Where are the other minstrels?” he asked in that smooth cold voice, which seemed to come from many different directions. There was nothing welcoming about the way he looked at her.

  “I-er—” Tabitha stammered. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Well, play your piece. That is why you have come? To show off your talents? This is why they climb the Pillar. This is why they fall back down. You musicians seldom impress me.”

  “I haven’t come to play,” Tabitha asserted.

  Ametheus narrowed his eyes, and the walls seemed to press inward, squeezing Tabitha where she stood. “Who are you? I don’t remember bringing you here. Your looks are strange, unblemished. You are not from the lowlands. Where have you come from?”

  “I come from a ... long ... way away.”

  “Yet you speak in the way of the Three Kingdoms, as I learnt to speak. How is this so?”

  “Let me see!” the deep-voiced man demanded. That second person, whom she had heard before, was in the room, but Tabitha couldn’t identify where he was hiding.

  “Quiet, Amyar!” ordered the Sorcerer, speaking to the air. “No, you will not steal my attention. No! I am observing the newcomer.”

  “Let me see, Seus!” Amyar boomed in his deep voice. The Sorcerer jerked and twitched where he stood, but he kept watching her. Seus must be a nickname, a shortening of Ametheus, Tabitha decided, but who was Amyar, the man he was arguing with? And where was the third man, the one with the phlegm-choked voice she’d heard before she had entered?

  “You are a very strong-willed woman,” Seus said. “People very seldom find the door to my chamber.”

  Did he live entirely on his own?

  “I draw people here whenever I want, but no one ever enters until I wish them to, because there is no door.” He gestured behind her. “Look.” The red-plastered wall was continuous. No exits led from the room. Tabitha stared at the place she knew she had entered through. It was now solid stone. “Yet when you arrived, you found a door,” Seus continued from behind her. “You intrigue me, woman. You have a gift for change.”

  “I will see her now!” shouted the deep-voiced man. Tabitha turned back quickly.

  Seus had gone, and a different man stood before her. He was dressed the same, as large and stocky as Seus, but his features were completely different. Had Seus changed his face? He glared at her through bloodshot eyes. Fiercely ugly, a nasty scar cut deeply through his nose, pulling his lip into a permanent snarl. His cheeks were florid. He looked old but strong and embittered.

  “Who are you, intruder. Who are you?” It was the voice of Amyar. Where had Seus gone?

  “T-Tabitha, I am Tabitha Serannon, a singer.”

  “Ulaäan? Are you the one? No you’re not, you’re a wizard, aren’t you? You’re the one who slipped the trap. You’re the Gyre’s Mystery! Wizard-bitch, you are trying to trick me!”

  He took a step toward her. Tabitha backed away from his fearsome anger, but he kept on advancing.

  “I’m not from the Gyre!” she pleaded, but it came out with the sound of a lie. As he drew closer the space around her changed horribly, as if her own dimensions were becoming warped. Her composure eroded and the words tumbled out of her. “I know them, but I’m not one of them, I’m not the Mystery, I promise, I’m not the Mystery! I came here on my own. I came because my Goddess called me. I’m not here to fight with you, I just want to help my Goddess. Please, I’m telling the truth.”

  A heavy scent, like curing hides, washed against her. Amyar’s heat burnt against her skin. He had trapped her against the wall. His strong hand slammed her head back. Rough fingers parted her eyelids.

  “The songbird? I don’t believe it! Let’s see, what is your story?”

  She looked at him through her tearful right eye. Her lens flared. He was such a mass of tangled warnings and lore-marks that he could hardly bear the brightness. Closer and closer he came, until his bloodshot eye was wide across her vision, demanding her surrender, pouring his angry intent into her, and as he did so she was drawn into his soul. She saw a churning pool of memory, brief images of torment, moments of heart-wrenching sadness, seconds of agony, loaded with the analysis the lens provided, scribe-lines, levels and lore that stuttered at her in a barrage of information and ideas.

  “They gave me their lore,” she tried to explain.

  “There is no law!” he shouted into her face and her lens burst with light. In a horrible flash, she was blinded. Her Ordered sight had seen too much Chaos. She cried out and wrenched her head aside, and Amyar leapt back as if stung. He began to howl.

  “No, Amyar!” said Seus, from somewhere. “You will not break this one yet!”

  “She’s a wizard! Wizard! I saw it! Her eye is full of gold! Treacherous, traitorous, lying bitch-wizard! Die, witch, die!” He lunged for her. Something caught his feet. He tripped and toppled headlong onto the floor. With his arms outstretched, he almost caught her. She couldn’t judge the distance. She could only see out of her smarting left eye; her right eye smoked and spat with pain. Tabitha shook with terror as she stumbled aside and backed along the wall.

  He lay face down on the floor, the black silk hood covering the back of his wide head.

  “Seus you bastard!” Amyar shouted into the floor. “Seus! Release me! I will break you, brother!”

  “Wait!” Seus replied. “She might be the songbird. She might know how to make the Goddess sing.”

  “I will kill you!” Amyar screamed. He thrashed against invisible bonds, as if he were trying to rise but someone else was holding him down.

  “Amyar! Get a hold on yourself. We can overpower her. I see that we may yet need her talents.”

  “They must die!” shouted Amyar, spittle flying. “All of them must die! They force their Order upon the world.”

  “I am not here to bring Order!” Tabitha cried out, her voice small in the Sorcerer’s presence. “I am here to help the Goddess.”

  “Lies! Wizards always lie! Let’s burn her in the fire then she’ll tell the truth!”

  Amyar pushed himself up onto all fours. He glared at her. Madness swirled in his eyes, madness and bloodlust, but just when Tabitha thought he was going to leap at her, he shook, his head turned aside, and the other aspect of the Sorcerer was revealed: Seus, with his clear eyes and smooth, severe expression. The two brothers were joined. They were part of the same man, divided only by the headpiece he wore.

  “How can I believe you?” said Seus. “Give me something to believe, and be honest. I can’t hold my brother off for much longer.”

  Tabitha stared at the Sorcerer. Two brothers, in one body, yet their minds were separated—almost.

  There were three brothers, she remembered, then she knew what must be beneath the black silk hood. The one called Ethan was asleep. They had forced him to sleep, she had heard his phlegmy voice protesting, and his groan when he had been subdued. There were three brothers in one body and they fought with each other. Ametheus was the intersection between Amyar, Ethan and Seus. No wonder the Sorcerer was so savage in the use of his power. Ametheus was a battle for consciousness between three brothers.

  Seus was watching her. “You are not like the other wizards. None of them would have come here so unprepared. None would have taken such a great risk. You must have Chaos in your blood to attempt such wild things.”

  Chaos in her blood? That couldn’t be true. Eyri had been protected from Chaos.

  Tabitha wanted to curl up and cry. She wanted to hide from his
attention. He had burnt the sight out of her right eye. He was too powerful, too dangerous; too mad, but she knew if she didn’t speak she would have no chance; the brother Amyar would return and end her. “I am the voice of Ethea,” she said. “I am her singer. I have come to beg for her life. Please spare her life. Please, I beg you.” For a brief moment, the incessant sounds of Turmodin broke off then they returned, gathering, gathering, to a fever pitch.

  “The singer!” He looked surprised. “What are you doing here, now? You have come too early!”

  “You must listen, or you will get nothing from her!” Tabitha replied quickly. “She will die without performing the deed you want. Your tortures are wasted, they only give her pain. She can not give you what you want.”

  “How can you know that? You cannot know! I see the future, girl, I see it. I know that through her I will get what I want.”

  “She has no power because you have imprisoned her here. She needs to be in her godly plane; she should not be bonded here in flesh.”

  “She will call to Apocalypse. He will not be denied! He cannot be denied!”

  Tabitha took a chance. “If you have seen that future then it is only with my help that you shall get there. Spare her life. Let her go free.”

  “Who are you, to make such demands? What are you?”

  “I can sing her song, I am a Lifesinger.”

  “Ah.” He regarded her for a long moment. “Yes, I discussed this with the black one, I…forgot.”

  “I have little to work with while you keep the Goddess here,” Tabitha added.

  “You wish for me to release her, so that you can grow strong, and then you will help me?”

  Tabitha nodded.

  “Pah! I am not a fool. What’s to stop you from escaping as soon as she is free? Why would you wait around? Why would you ever bring the Destroyer to life?”