by Julia Gray
THE JASPER FOREST
Book Two of The Guardian Cycle
JULIA GRAY
Copyright © 2001 by Julia Gray
Prologue
The mountain was still growing.
Although the movement could no longer be seen by the naked eye, Kerin Mirana could still feel the earth's adjustments through the soles of his well-worn boots. He had jasper feet - an invaluable asset for a traveller in the stone forests. He felt the rock grinding beneath him, and was aware of even the smallest variations, while his eyes could only measure the mountain's progress from one hour to the next.
Even in Macul, a land where - as Kerin knew better than most - little could be taken for granted, there had never been anything like this before. Earthquakes were common enough, even in the country's most stable regions. In certain areas the land rose or fell steadily -though gradually - so that where a man had once fished, now his grandson planted crops. Rivers changed course, broke their banks or dried up; victims of the movements of the earth, the vagaries of the weather and, closer to the
coast, the suddenly unpredictable tides. Subsidence and avalanches altered the shape of the landscape. Little remained static. During his travels, Kerin had witnessed much that had left him in a state of wonder. He had seen many awe-inspiring sights, but this . . .
Little more than one long month ago, this had been a valley, with a small lake, recently increased in size and fed by several streams from the surrounding hills. From where Kerin stood, he would have looked down over gentle green slopes to the placid surface of the water. Now he had to tip his head back in order to glimpse the upper reaches of the new-born mountain. The distant summit was too high to be seen, and the black rock towered over everything around it. And the forces that had created its unnatural bulk were driving it still. Before the prospector's disbelieving eyes, the mountain was growing higher yet.
The dark extrusion had erupted from the earth like a gigantic creature emerging from its chrysalis, splitting the skin of soil and vegetation and slewing it aside like an old husk as the black mountain made its shuddering reach for the heavens. It brought to mind ancient legends - of dragons and giant worms who lived beneath the world of men, in caves deep inside Nydus, and who came to the surface every so often, breathing flame and smoke into the air and making rocks flow in red waves or explode into the sky. But no one believed in those tales any more. In any case, there had been no fire here.
The mountain's rise had been astonishing but, by human standards, its movement had been almost stately. Nevertheless, it was still an unprecedented event — a geological disturbance so vast that the term 'earthquake' hardly seemed adequate.
The few people who had been nearby had fled in terror as the upheaval devastated the valley and shook the land for miles around.
There had been no warning. There had not even been a major conjunction of the moons during the time of its growth. Kerin glanced at the sky reflexively, even though he knew what he would see. No traveller in such inhospitable regions could afford to be ignorant of the prevailing lunar influences. The only visible moon was a pale sliver of amber, low in the eastern sky. In any case, Kerin knew that neither he nor the land was false-dreaming. He would have no need to plant a new prayer-flag - although many would, pointlessly in his view, from fear.
The mountain awed Kerin, but it did not frighten him. He was certain that he had been the first to return to the area, once the initial convulsions had slowed a little, and he knew that they would soon be over. And then he would move.
He had spent all but the earliest years of his life trekking over the region's forbidding terrain. He knew its secrets and its dangers better than any man alive. The faint trails, the hidden signposts, and the bizarre plant life of Vejar Province were all familiar to him. It was a remote, barren area of water and melting rock: of deeply-fissured plateaus, of pools studded with stone towers, of sinkholes, caverns and crevasses, and of rivers that plunged underground only to reappear many miles away. Near-vertical cliffs, conical peaks and crags that had been carved into improbable shapes by wind and water all contributed to the reputation of the province as a place of mystery and peril, but they held no terrors for Kerin.
Indeed, he had earned his due-name by being the first — and so far the only —
man brave enough to walk through the Tzi Gate. This was a huge hole in one particular ridge, formed when the old course of an underground river had been exposed by erosion and an earth tremor. Although Kerin had recognized it as a natural formation, others had been intimidated by the massive structure, and linked its existence to supernatural powers. No one had dared tempt fate by entering the so-called gate until Kerin had decided to do so, simply because he'd wanted to see what was on the other side. Staring up at the roof of the stone archway, half a mile above his head, had been a humbling experience, but the view from the other side had been disappointingly ordinary and Kerin had returned without mishap. After that he had known that there was no part of Vejar that was forbidden to him - provided, of course, that he always obeyed the dictates of the sky — and he had been travelling ever since, only seeing his wife and young sons for a few days each year.
Even so, he had never seen anything like this before. And yet he knew where the black rock had come from -even if he did not understand why — and was already studying its formations. He was shrewd enough to realize that such opportunities came only once in any lifetime, and he was determined to take his chance when the mountain finally grew still. He would be the first to climb the new peak. Excitement vibrated within him, in time with the trembling of the earth, but Kerin's eyes were calm and his gaze never shifted from the mass of dark stone.
PART ONE
FENDUCA
Chapter One
He could hear a voice. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from, or see the face of the man who spoke.
'I remember it now as I remember dreams; in fragments that make no sense by themselves; in the feeling that I have seen or experienced something before, without knowing when or where.'
There were faces then. Dozens of them, curious or indifferent, smiling or angry. So many faces - but never hers. Not even here, not even now.
'But it was not a dream. I wasn't even asleep.'
The voice droned on, a monotone. Boring. And yet he couldn't stop listening.
He was trapped.
'If I had been, the pain in my arm would have woken me.'
Why couldn't he see her face? Hadn't he been punished enough without that?
'No, I was not asleep. I know that now.'
The voice was growing quieter as it neared the end. But he knew that sooner or later it would begin again, another cycle in the endless round.
'I was waiting to be born.'
The fear came then, clutching at him with red fingers, pulsing in his blood, that other ocean. Thunder from within as well as from below. He was helpless in both tides. He knew that the voice, his voice, was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't understand what it was. And then he forgot everything again. No memory. Just movement, gentler now, and the faces. None of them real. Not even real ghosts.
He laughed at the thought before it was lost once more - until the next round.
'Farewell, brother.'
A new voice, one he did recognize. The enchanter was still pursuing him. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. Not even time. A circle has no end.
'I remember it now as I remember dreams . . .'
The raft drifted slowly on the sluggish tide, its single occupant curled up on the rough wooden planks. Water slopped lazily around him, and the parts of his clothing that were not sodden were encrusted with salt. His matted hair was stiff with the same gritty substance; ev
en his eyelashes were rimmed with white, as if too many tears had evaporated there.
His eyes were open but glazed - not blind, but unseeing. He twitched sometimes, like a sleeping dog when it dreams of chasing rabbits, but otherwise he lay still. Whatever life he still possessed lay hidden deep within his crumpled frame, behind the dwindling fire of tiiose pale, diamond-fever eyes.
Lamplight bent and twisted around him. He was floating, swimming in darkness, surrounded by an ancient loneliness. There was a star burning. Released, he fell upwards, landing awkwardly on the roof of the cave. A bird perched next to him. What's going on? Spiral winds carried her voice away, and a vast roaring deafened him as the darkness shifted.
Two skies, two mountains. The Dark Moon swallowing the sun, the winged huntress devouring her prey. A sword raised. More ghosts. Brother?
I was waiting to be born.
The star-maze glowed, beckoning. Hurry. Hurry!
The reason for haste eluded him. A circle has no end.
Terrel could no longer tell when he was dreaming or when he was awake. Both worlds seemed equally bizarre. Occasionally, something - usually a spasm of pain -reminded him that he must still be alive, but even that seemed doubtful now. Surely there were no animals of such gigantic size in his world. They towered over him, moving with a regular swaying rhythm that was both hypnotic and vaguely menacing. He could feel their eyes fixed upon him. The creatures were colourless for the most part, their skin hard and grey-looking, almost as if they were made from stone. But no rock could ever have contorted itself into such varied and fantastical shapes — it could not move, as these monstrous presences did. Rock did not grow patches of green fur or hair, nor did it whisper with the echoing voices of a gulping, hissing tongue. He had tried to listen to what they were saying, but he could make no sense of their wordless murmuring.
At least now there was something to see and hear. Until the animals came he had been alone for what seemed like a lifetime, riding on the waves of magic with only the sky above him and the sea below. Blue upon blue, striped with the reflections of the sun and moons, blinding glitter and heat balanced by the cold stars and the Amber, Red and White. He had been aware of the Dark Moon too, though he could not see it. He felt the invisible pull of the sky-shadow, and knew that its blind face would look down upon him at the moment of his death.
In his isolation, Terrel had peopled his world with ghosts — even with those whom he knew, or hoped, were still alive. They had all come eventually, friends and foes alike, all except one. Dreaming or awake, Alyssa's face eluded his thoughts and visions, even though he heard her voice sometimes or saw her spirit encased in other forms. Of all the cruelties he had to bear, that was the worst.
The dragging ache in his twisted limbs was something he had coped with all his life, but now it seemed irrelevant, unnoticed amid other torments of body and mind. He could hardly move the fingers of even his good hand without the muscles cramping and every joint being lanced by pain. His breath rattled in his lungs and he felt nauseous almost all the time, even though his stomach was empty. His lips were bloated and cracked, and his tongue was now like a dry clump of rough leather, so swollen that he could only just prise it away from the roof of his mouth. Thirst raged within him, although he only occasionally recognized it for what it was. For the rest, it was just one more helpless yearning among all the others.
His meagre supply of fresh water had run out several days ago, and now — in a rare lucid moment - his fluttering gaze fell upon the empty bottle, and he felt the Dark Moon draw closer. He was about to surrender, to answer the siren call of oblivion, when a stray thought emerged from the chaos of his disordered mind. At first he did not know what it was, but it nagged at him, as relentless as the ocean, until meaning followed. His promise. From the moment those words had been uttered, they had ruled his every action - and while there was still breath in his body they would not allow him to give up.
I will come back for you. The words seemed empty now, but he could not set them aside. The struggle had to continue. Even if it was to a bitter end.
Ignoring the renewed protests of his body and the weary groan that escaped from his parched lips, Terrel forced himself to sit up and look around. The giant creatures crowded about him, seeming to lean inwards as they encircled his flimsy raft, and he shrank into himself, fearing that he would be crushed.
But the animals had grown still, just as the waves that propelled him on his journey had now left him becalmed.
Understanding came slowly, fighting its way through the tangle of his delirium. The looming giants were indeed made of rock, lifeless but for the tufts of grass or fern that clung to their sides. Terrel could not imagine what forces had carved these outlandish and sinister shapes, but their movement had been an illusion brought on by the rise and fall of the gentle swell and languid currents that lapped around the bases of the overhanging cliffs. He had drifted into a labyrinth of stone, that rose from the ocean to form a water-born maze.
When the second realization came, it sent a desperate surge of energy pulsing through his mind and body. The rocks, no matter how strange their shape, represented land, the first he had seen since the Floating Islands had left him floundering in their massive wake. He might yet survive this ordeal.
Even though his dreams still tugged at the edges of his vision, Terrel could see one thing clearly now. The sides of the rocks were so precipitous that there was no chance of him disembarking there. What was more, there would be no point in even making the attempt. These stone pinnacles were clearly barren, devoid of any source of sustenance. The sparse vegetation might suck life from cracks in the surface, but he could not, and in any case, it was far above him, out of reach.
The next thought that came brought another spark of hope - and one on which he forced himself to act. If this was some part of a foreign land, then it was possible that the water below him was not the ocean that had propelled him into exile. If this was a river, then he might be able to drink.
Leaning down to the edge of the raft was a slow and arduous task that made his head spin and his vision blur, but hope lent him the power to persevere.
Dipping a finger into the water, he brought it to his mouth and dribbled a few drops onto his swollen tongue. Pain stung him, filling his cheeks, his teeth and eyes as well as his lips, but that was nothing compared to the wretchedness that filled him as his half-dead senses recognized the dread taste of salt. He retched convulsively, his empty stomach heaving. He knew better than to try to drink any more. He might as well have swallowed poison.
Exhausted by his efforts, and his spirit crushed, Terrel lay where he was and fell into another feverish hour of sleep. When he awoke, it was to find that the raft had not moved. Whatever current had been pushing him along had been caught up by the enveloping spires of grey stone, so that he was travelling round in slow circles, going nowhere. He would have cried out then
- if he'd had either the strength or the voice for it — because it seemed that he was doomed to stay in that rock-bound lagoon for ever. A pointless end to a pointless journey. The final nightmare — and the death of his promise.
'Alyssa!'
In his mind he was shouting, crying out in futile misery. But the only sound that came from his ruined mouth was a choking hiss of agony that echoed from the diffs about him, then died away into silence. He fell back into the shadow of the Dark Moon.
A new ghost, a new voice, crept into his dreams. He recognized neither. Nor could he understand what it said. The words were gibberish; meaningless sounds sent to A second interloper was talking now, but he made no more sense than the other. They seemed to be calling.
Was it to him? Terrel had no idea what they were saying, but he could recognize the urgency in their tone. Was this new torment in this world or the next?
The voices persisted, overriding the other delusions in his fevered mind, giving him no rest. At last, reluctantly, he opened his salt-encrusted eyes.
And saw two men in c
anoes, watching him from the edge of the lagoon.
Chapter Two
For a few moments, Terrel assumed that the two men were simply more of his strange delusions. He just could not believe that they were real. But he eventually realized that there was something substantial and resolute about the look of them, and this gave him hope. The men had fallen silent now, aware that he was looking at them, but they made no move to approach him. Terrel knew that if he were to be rescued, he would have to initiate the contact.
As he struggled into a sitting position, and raised his left hand in greeting, he wondered what was causing their hesitation. They were only some thirty paces away, in one of the lagoon's many entrances, and from that distance it must have been obvious that he posed no possible threat. Why then, given that they were clearly intrigued by his presence, were they not making any effort to come any closer? In fact, the two men were making small strokes with their paddles, to avoid moving any further forwards.
Their response to his feeble wave was to glance at each other, and to exchange a few words that Terrel could not
hear. They still did not move. Please,' Terrel croaked, trying to beckon to them with is shaking hand. But he managed only to exaggerate the trembling of his fingers, and could not be sure that they'd understand his signal. He was about to call for help, but realized that his first word had come out as no more than a hoarse sigh, which they could not possibly have heard. His tongue, long unused for speech and bloated by his ordeal, was useless. Sign language was his only hope.
He gazed at the strangers, his eyes imploring them to come to his aid, and tried to wave again, hoping to draw them to him. This provoked further conversation between the two, more animated this time, but Terrel could understand none of what they said. He waved until his strength gave out and he was forced to drop his arm again.
The newcomers' argument had become vehement now. One of the men pushed his paddle into the water, and was about to move forward when his companion - the lounger of the pair - barred his progress by thrusting his own oar across the other's chest. At the same time he shouted something, and the elder of the two abandoned his attempt to move. Then the more cautious sailor turned back to Terrel and called out to him. The boy understood none of the strange language, but it was clear that they were not going to come to his aid.
