The Door Into Shadow totf-2

by Диана Дуэйн

  "… But if I speak with yon Lady bright, I wis my heart will bryst in three; Now shall I go with all my might Her for to meet beneath Her tree "

  "Tegane," Segnbora whispered, smiling. Moon-bright, the nickname said in Darthene. Eftgan had liked it; she had never been terribly fond of her right name. In fact, she had returned the favor, turning segnbora, "standard-bearer," into 'berend, a verb. It meant "swift-rushing": impetuous, always in a hurry, sometimes too much of one — as when the Maiden had let Death into the worlds by accident.

  And as their names, so they had been together while they were in love: Eftgan swinging slow and steady through her moods, like the Moon, waxing and waning, giving and with-holding; Segnbora pushing, hurrying, urging, not sure what she wanted but not willing to wait long for it. The senior Rodmistresses had paired them off to work to-gether in hopes that Eftgan's Fire, unusually intense for a sixteen year old, might influence Segnbora's enough to make her focus. They expected the play-sharing that usually took place between work partners to make the two novices' pat-terns match more closely. No one, however, had expected these two, who were so unlike — one a tall, loud, spindly daughter of hedge— nobility, the other a small, compact, quiet daughter of the Eagle — to fall in love. . Segnbora thought of the day Eftgan had had to leave the

  Precincts. It was sudden. Her brother Bryn had been killed by Fyrd while hunting.

  "They're going to make me be Queen," Eftgan had said, bitter, standing in the green shade with her face averted from Segnbora. She had been trying not to cry. Tegane—

  " 'Berend, you can't do anything for me. Any more than I've been able to do anything for you, all this while. Perhaps its better that I'm leaving now. You can't focus, and I can't be happy around you using the Fire and watching you suffer while I do wreakings. If this kept on much longer, we'd be hating each other."

  This was the truth, and it reduced anything Segnbora could have said in reply to a meaningless noise. The two of them stood in the shade, hardly able to look at one another, and made their good-byes. Each laid a kiss in the palm of the other's hand, the restrained and formal farewell between kinsfolk of the Forty Houses.

  Then Eftgan turned away and vanished among the green leaves of the outer Precincts; and Segnbora went in deeper, and didn't come out till her soul was cried dry, a matter of some days. .

  Now Segnbora stood bemused for a moment, then realized that a dark head seemed to loom just over her shoulder, though of course there was nothing between her and the stars of late spring.

  (When you forget me, when you let us be one, it can be this way,) Hasai said, dispassionately. (Do you prefer discomfort, apartness?) She almost said yes, but held her peace. "It was a very private memory," she said quietly. (Sdaha, you still don't understand. You must be who you have been to be who you are.)

  Segnbora shook her head, weary. Every time I think I under-stand the mdeihei, I find I don't at all. . She looked out across the field into which she had ducked when she came through the hedge. It was tall with green hay that whispered in the starlight. On an impulse she

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  tucked her robe up into her swordbelt and started across it, wading waist-deep, enjoying

  the sensations: the rasp and itch of the hay against her legs, the darkness, the cool wind. Hasai said nothing, his mind resting alongside hers, tasting the night as she did—

  She stopped short in the middle of the field. Something teased at her undersenses, a whiff of wrongness that was out of tune with the clean night. She stood there with eyes closed to "see" better—

  — and there, sharp as a cymbal-clash, came the clear percep-tion of a place just to the east that felt like an unhealed wound. A hidden thing meant to stay that way, and failing. (Hasai?)

  (I'm here. I feel it also.) (Come on.)

  Seven

  "You are cruel," Efmaer said. "More cruel than any legend has ever told."

  "No more cruel than humans to themselves, who keep hope as a precious jewel."

  Then the Shadow vanished, and Efmaer filled the air where lit had been with curses, and rode away after the soul of her loved..

  (Efmaer's Ride, traditional: part

  the Second)

  Segnbora unsheathed Charriselm and went off eastward through the standing hay. Another hedge loomed up before her, without stile or hedge-gate. With Charriselm she cut an opening, making certain that it would be too small for a cow to escape through in the morning, and squeezed through.

  The sour mind-stench she had smelled got stronger by the second, becoming so terrible that Segnbora wondered how she could have missed it from fifty miles away, let alone from the town. At the edge of the field the ground under her feet seemed to be burning with it. Her inner hearing buzzed and roared as if two powerful hands were choking her. She stopped and held still, forcing herself not to gag. The

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  stench was coming from beneath an old yew with peeling bark and drooping branches.

  She walked under the tree and went to her knees. The fallow ground had been plowed almost up to the tree trunk. The furrows lay neat and seemingly undisturbed, yet when Segnbora thrust her hands into the still soft ground and turned it over, she sat back on her heels, sick to her stomach and sicker at heart. There is no mistaking the smell of a grave, especially a shallow one.

  Nor was it the only grave. When she found strength to stand again, the death-taint led her to four others scattered around the edges of the field. All were deeper and better concealed, and all were older: the oldest perhaps three months old, the newest about three weeks. So much for Eftgan's messenger, Segnbora thought, standing over the last grave. From the intelligencer's grave and three others, the souls were long flown, despite the brutality of their

  deaths. But from the one under the yew tree came a sensation of vague, scattered, helpless loss. There were two souls trapped there, shattered by their murder, trying to coalesce in time to find the Door into Starlight before the strength to pass it was lost. Segnbora swore bitterly, torn with pity for the struggling dead and her own inability to do anything for them. Sorcery has no power over the opening or closing of that final Door. She knew the protocols for the laying of the dead, but without Fire they were useless to her. But Herewiss, or Eftgan—

  She headed back for town at a run, pausing outside the postern gate to remove the sticktights and hay blades from her clothes. The inn's

  common room was, if possible, noisier than it had been. There were perhaps one hundred people there, laughing, joking,

  singing — Segnbora's hair stood up at the thought that any one of them might be a murderer several times over.

  She found Freelorn relieving the barmaid of another bottle of potato wine, and swung him aside. "Lorn, where's Here-wiss gone?"

  "He's still out talking to—" Lorn stopped short of saying the Queen's name, then looked more closely at Segnbora. "You're shaking!"

  "Lorn, never mind. Smile! There's something very wrong and we're not supposed to know about it. Take your time but find Herewiss—"

  "— so if the others agree, we'll go to Barachael," Herewiss's voice said suddenly as he came up behind Freelorn from the other side. "It's as

  good a place to hide as any, and it's a lot closer to Arlen than we are now. . What's wrong?" he said, looking at Segnbora. His

  underhearing brought him an an-swer that made his eyes go wide with shock. "Show us," he said. "Lorn, go out the front way. I'll take the

  side. By the postern gate?"

  Segnbora nodded and went out the way she had come, doing her best to take her time. Lorn and Herewiss were through the postern and into the hay ahead of her. She tied up her gown again and hurried after. "Eftgan's gone to readjust her Door," Herewiss said when

  she reached them. "It may take her a little while — seven peo-ple, six horses, and Sunspark are a larger group than usually uses that gateway." He lowered his voice. "I think she's ready to back Lorn against Cillmod, openly. She'll give us t
he de-tails tomorrow, at Barachael."

  "That's wonderful," Segnbora said, "but with the problems she's been having she's hardly in a position to leave Barachael for a campaign in Arlen."

  "True. However, I believe I can help her, and thus free her to help us in return. You see, the Reavers are pouring through Chaelonde Pass, and it's a simple enough matter to close that avenue—"

  "But the Queen's Rodmis tresses have been doing illusion-wreakings there for years," Segnbora objected. "They're no longer strong enough. People have been dying in that pass for centuries, and the built-up negative energies are enough to ruin even the best Rodmis

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  tress's work."

  "Oh, I'm not planning mere illusions. I'm planning some-thing more powerful, and less subtle: a sealing."

  "You mean physically closing the pass?'* Freelorn said, stunned. "Shaking down a few mountains?" "That's right." "You call that simple?"

  "Simple, yes. And dangerous, too. It will require much Power, but then it's also less likely that something will go wrong …"

  They slowed as they approached the spot Segnbora had sensed before. Herewiss looked at her as he let drop what he had been saying. A long moment passed.

  "How long have the people in the grave been dead?" he asked her. "Grave?"

  "A week or so, I think. They're weak. They were getting along in years, I believe, and the shock of their death was considerable. You have the protocols—" "I have them."

  "Protocols, what protocols?" Freelom said. "For raising the dead,'"' Herewiss said. "Stay dose, Lorn, I'm going to need you. . Oh, sweet Mother," he added as

  the sour smell of murder hit him. Segnbora was already tear-ing — the psychic residue of violence became not easier, but harder to handle with exposure.

  "Goddess, what 15 that," Freelom said, and coughed. Both Segnbora and Herewiss looked at him, surprised. "You smell something?" Herewiss said. "Don't you? Like a channel pit." Freelom coughed again. Herewiss looked most thoughtful, for the graves were cov-ered and the night air was sweet even here; the stench was purely a matter of the undersenses.

  They came to the yew tree, and stopped. Quickly, for the smell was now overwhelming, Herewiss reached over his shoulder and drew Khavrinen. Its Fire, suppressed all through the evening, now flared up, a hot blue-white. Concerned, Segnbora threw a look over her shoulder at the walls of Chavi.

  "Only our own people and Eftgan will be able to see the Fire," Herewiss said, quiet-voiced, slipping into the calm he would need for his wreaking. "Now then. ."

  The wavering of Flame about Khavrinen grew less hurried as its master calmed, yet there was still a great tension in every curl and curve of the Flame. With the tip of the sword, Here-wiss drew a circle around the tree, the graves, Freelorn, and Segnbora. Where Kh&vrinen's point cut the fallow ground, Fire remained, until at the circle's end it flowed into itself, a seamless circle of blue Flame that licked and wreathed up-ward. Finally, when the three of them had stepped inside the circle, Herewiss thrust Khavrinen span-deep into the soft dirt, laid his hands, one over the other, on the sword's fiery hilt, and began the wreaking. "Erhn tot 'mis kuithen, dstehae sschur; nsven kes uibrm—"

  The words were in a more ancient dialect of Nhaired than any Segnbora had been taught. Even in Nhaired, which held within it many odd rhythms, the scansion of this wreaking-rhyrne was bizarre. Freelorn was fidgeting, watching his loved with unease as Herewiss reassured the trembling yew and the murder-stained earth that he was about to end their pain, not niake it worse. He stood and called the Power up out of him, sweating. The circle's Fire reached higher, twisting, wreathing, matching the interlock of word with word, of thought with rhyme—

  Herewiss poured out the words, poured out the Flame, profligate. Power built and built in the circle until it numbed the mind, until the eyes

  saw nothing anywhere but blue Fire, and a man-shaped shadow at the heart of it, the summoner.

  Segnbora was overwhelmed. She did the only thing safe to do — turned around inside herself and fled down to the dark place in search of Hasai. His Power, he has too much! No one can have that much! she thought. Once in her own depths she could see nothing but burning blue light, but at last she stumbled into Hasai and flung her arms around a hot, stony talon. Concerned, the Dragon lowered his head protectively over her.

  Outside, after what seemed an eternity of blueness, tension ebbed. Segnbora dared to look out of herself again and saw the pillar of Fire that wreathed about Herewiss diminish slightly as he released his wreaking to seek outside the circle for the fragments of the murdered people's souls. He spoke on, in a different rhythm now, low and insistent, urging out-ward the unseen web the Fire had woven of itself, moving it as an ebb tide pushes a thrown net away from shore. When the web had drifted across the entire field, he reversed the meter of his poetry and began pulling it in again.

  Segnbora swallowed hard. Light followed the blue-glitter-ing weave; dusts and motes and sparkles drifted inward, small coalescing clouds of pallid light. They drifted inward faster now, coiling into two separate sources; they grew brighter and brighter, tightening to cores of light that pulsed in time with Herewiss's verse. A last sharp word from Herewiss, a last burst of blue light, dazzling— The Fire of the circle died down to a twilight shimmer, though about Herewiss and Khavrineti, Flame still twined bright. Segnbora found herself looking at two solid-seeming people — a man, shorter than herself, middle-aged, stocky, with a blunt, worn face; a woman of about the same age, still shorter, but more slender for her height. They both looked weary and confused. Segnbora gazed at them pityingly in that first second or so, seeing strangers—

  — and then knew them.

  She could not move. " 'Kani, what happened? We were in bed. ." the man said, looking at the woman with distress. His voice, the voice that had frightened her, praised her, laughed with her. The woman turned to him. Her face. The sight of it made Segnbora weak behind the knees, as if struck by a deadly blow. "Mother," she whispered.

  "Hoi, no," Welcaen said. "The innkeeper woke us up, he said the horses were loose—" She broke off, horrified by the memory. Segnbora was stunned. That beautiful, sharp, lively voice was dulled now, like that of anyone who died by vio-lence. "They tricked us into coming out here," the voice continued, finally. "He had an axe. His wife had—"

  Her husband's eyes hardened, a flash of life left. "Why did they bother with such illusions? Wr e have no money—"

  Herewiss stood without moving, although through her shock Segnbora saw him swallow four times before he could get his voice to work.

  "Sir," he said, "madam … It was no illusion that was wrought upon you."

  "Hoi," Segnbora's mother said, stepping forward to get a better look at Herewiss. She moved like a sleepwalker. "Hoi, this isn't one of them—"

  Holmaern looked not at Herewiss's face, but at his sword. "That's impossible. Men don't have Fire!" The words came with a flash of disbelief and scorn. Segnbora remembered too well his bitterness over the fact that, despite all the money he had spent, she had never focused.

  "Tins man has it," her mother said, a touch of wonder piercing the sleepy sound of her voice. "Sir, did you save us?" "Lady Welcaen," Herewiss said. "I didn't save you. Of your courtesy, tell me what brought you to the inn here."

  "Reavers," she said, dreamy voiced, as if telling of a threat years and miles gone. "They came down through the moun-tains at Onther looking for food, and overran the farmsteads. We and a few of our neighbors had warning. Wr e got away north before the burnings, and told

  our news here, to the innkeeper, so he could spread it among those of this town. And tonight he woke us up—"'. '.vm' Holmaern turned to his wife, slow realization changing his expression to a different kind of dullness. " 'Kani," he said. He reached out to

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  touch her, but it was plain from his expres-sion that she didn't feel as he expected her to. " 'Kani, we're dead." Segnbora saw her mother's eyes go terrible with
the truth. "Oh. . but then. . where is the last Shore?"

  Herewiss stared down at Khavrinen, and Segnbora felt him calling up the Power again, a great wash of it. This time it took a strange and frightening shape, one she didn't know.

  "I am the way," he said, speaking another's words for Her. He let go of Khavrinen and lifted his arms, opening them to her mother and father. They gazed at him in wonder. Freelorn, across the circle, went pale. Segnbora trembled at the sight of him. Herewiss was still there as much as any of them, but within the outlines of his body the stars blazed, more brilliant than they had been even in Hasai's memory of the gulf between worlds. Herewiss trembled too, but his voice was steady. "Who will be first?" he said.

  Holmaern held Welcaen close. "Can't we go together?" Herewiss shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm too narrow a Door," he said. "Besides, even at the usual Door, everyone goes through alone.

  м

  Husband and wife looked at one another. "We have a daughter," her mother said after a moment. She glanced around the field, but saw nothing. "Will you send her word—?"

  Segnbora's heart turned over and broke inside her. "Segnbora d'Welcaen tai-Enraesi is her name," her father said, and even through the dullness it came out proudly. "She was eastaway in Steldin last we heard. Please tell her. . tell her that we love her." "Come on, Hoi," her mother said then. "We've got time to go-"

  Herewiss opened his arms. Welcaen moved into them, throwing a last glance at her husband on the threshold of true death. "I'll wait for you," she said.

  Herewiss embraced her, and she was gone. r; A aie? h?;y

  Next Holmaern stepped slowly forward. When he was still one pace away, however, he paused, a last glimmer of earthly concern showing in his eyes. He spoke to Herewiss. "Sir, you will tell her, won't you? She is my daughter, and although I have been slow to say so, she is very dear to me."

  "Your message has already reached her," Herewiss assured him.