The Jasper Forest

by Julia Gray

  In between the examinations, Terrel rested, sleeping when he could. He ate the food Imana brought him in mechanical fashion, without really tasting anything.

  He spent the rest of his time brooding, hoping for — but not expecting — a solution, and wondering about his own appointment with destiny. Each evening Amie came to

  speak with him, first to discuss the day's findings, and then to talk about anything else that seemed appropriate. She had told him that there were six touchstones in the valley, and that they were all consulted - about everyday matters - on a regular basis. It reminded Terrel of the way the farmers on Vadanis had consulted their almanacs. She had also told him a little of the valley's history, its sporadic contacts with the outside world, and its inhabitants' way of life. In return he told her about his healing

  - even demonstrating it on one occasion by relieving her headache - about his journeying, though not the specific reason for it, and about his time in Fenduca. The one topic they avoided was that of Terrel's impending departure.

  As dusk approached on his third day in the valley, Terrel was sitting at his table, eating something that Imana had informed him was fish from their lake.

  He would not have recognized it as such from the strange taste, but it made a welcome change from the bland, vegetarian diet of his previous meals.

  To one side of the table was set a dish of oil in which a floating wick burned, spluttering and wavering as it gave off a pungent smell and what was -

  to Terrel - a feeble light. He had asked if he might have a lamp, but the villagers had never heard of such a thing, and Imana had explained that although their communal fires were used for cooking and the provision of warmth in the winter, they were kept banked and carefully controlled. Torches were used only in exceptional circumstances, because the light from open flames hurt their eyes. Terrel had countered by saying that he wasn't used to such constant gloom

  - even at the height of the day - and that he was unnerved by the total darkness of the night. The oil-dish candle had been a compromise, but even then the women who came to the hut were careful not to look directly at the flame, often shading their eyes with a hand.

  Imana appeared as soon as Terrel had finished his meal - she always seemed to be there the instant anything needed to be done — and took the plates away. As the girl left, Amie came in, and went to sit as far from the candle as possible.

  'How are you feeling?'

  'Weary,' Terrel replied. He'd had a second session with Esera that afternoon, just to see whether anything had changed since the first time. It hadn't, and although he hadn't fainted — Esera had congratulated him on that -his efforts had left him drained.

  'Did you learn anything new?'

  'No.'

  'So you still think you can't help us?'

  'I wish it were otherwise, but this is quite beyond my scope. No ordinary illness could possibly affect the babies in this way and yet leave the mothers unscathed.'

  'So what is it?'

  'I've no idea.'

  'You must have some theory.'

  'I have two,' he conceded, 'but they're both going to sound very far-fetched.'

  'I would think it would need something far-fetched to explain our problem,'

  Amie said. 'Tell me.'

  'The first concerns the earthquake four years ago. It's possible it was caused by a very unusual force,' Terrel said, picking his words carefully, 'and that the aftereffects are lingering on even now.'

  'What kind of force is this?'

  'No one really understands it,' he replied truthfully, 'but it's been responsible for other tremors, and it may well be again.'

  Amie gave him a measuring look.

  'And the other idea?' she asked.

  'The Dark Moon. We know that the moons affect a great deal of what goes on on Nydus, and that's still true here, even though you can't see them. Maybe it's responsible for the time of change, and some previously unknown malign influence is creating this illness.'

  'You're right. They are far-fetched.'

  'And there's nothing my healing can do about either.'

  'So what can we do now?'

  'I don't think I can be the Messenger you've all been waiting for,' Terrel said, 'but I have an idea where he might come from.'

  Amie looked sceptical.

  'Where?'

  'Have you heard of the sharaken?'

  To his surprise, Amie began to laugh.

  'What's so funny?'

  'We have heard of the sharaken,' she told him, 'but they don't come here. Some would say they cannot.'

  'Why not?'

  'One of our legends tells us that long ago the sharaken created the darkness that surrounds our land, and set the cloud above us to hide their creation from the world. Ever since then, this has been a forbidden place for their kind.'

  'So they've never been to the valley?' Terrel queried, trying to work out the implications of what he was hearing.

  Amie nodded.

  'But you're not the first to suggest we should try to contact them.'

  'Really?'

  'This is another part of the jasper oracles. At each turning of the dark in the long cycle - you would call it mid-winter - we elect an "advocate". In the past, this was a purely ceremonial title, given to a man who made a symbolic journey to the edge of the cloud. However, over the past three years it's carried a more onerous burden. The chosen man has to leave the valley in reality, and try to summon the sharaken to help us. They leave in winter, when the dangers of the sky's burning are minimized, and their protective clothing is the best we can devise, but the hazards are still great. To be chosen is an honour, but it's the honour of sacrifice. None of the three has ever returned.

  We no longer expect them to.'

  The cold-blooded manner in which Amie spoke chilled Terrel to the bone.

  'You do all this because of a myth?' he said incredulously.

  'We do none of it lightly,' she replied. 'Our situation is desperate. Too many children have died.'

  Terrel had been appalled by what he'd heard, but it occurred to him now that this new knowledge had presented him with an opportunity, a possible way out.

  'I could go!' he said eagerly. 'I could be your advocate. I'd have a much better chance of succeeding than one of your own men, and you wouldn't have to wait until winter. I have to leave tomorrow anyway.'

  Amie looked surprised, then concerned, then she shook her head.

  'That won't be possible.'

  'Why not?'

  'You have to stay here,' she stated simply.

  'Even if it's against my will?' he demanded, getting angry now. 'Are you threatening me?'

  'No.' She sounded weary and resigned, but infuriat-ingly calm. 'This is also part of the jasper.'

  'Now you're just hiding behind words!' He had thought there had been the beginnings of respect and even friendship between the two of them, but now Amie's apparent intransigence had thrown all that aside. 'How are you going to stop me leaving? By force?'

  'We won't have to,' she replied sadly, steadfastly meeting his gaze. 'You are the Messenger, whether you believe it or not. And the valley won't let you leave until the oracles are satisfied.'

  Terrel pulled the straps of his pack over his shoulders and picked up the still-burning candle, listening for any sound from the porch. Outside the night was jet black, and all was silent. He moved slowly towards the doorway, praying that the floorboards would not creak and that he would not stumble. As he passed Imana, she sighed and fidgeted in her sleep and he froze, but then she grew quiet again, her eyes still closed.

  Using his clawed right hand to protect the candle flame as best he could, Terrel made his way to where the rushlights were stored, took two, then crept towards the edge

  if the slumbering village. He hadn't had the chance to explore since he'd arrived, but he'd noted as much as he

  could. He had decided to head first for the touchstone the elders had taken him to see, and then continue on in
r />   the same direction in the hope of finding a trail going north.

  Once he was clear of the houses, and no one had raised the alarm, he paused to light the first of the torches. When it was burning steadily, he extinguished the candle and left it on the ground before going on, moving faster now that he had a little more light and didn't need to be so quiet — though he was aware that the torch made it more likely that he would be seen if anyone did happen to wake up. The light from the flames seemed very bright, but it still didn't help him to see very far. Shadows jumped and flickered around him in alarming fashion.

  As he passed the touchstone, Terrel thought he heard a noise behind him, but he couldn't see anything, and decided that it had just been his imagination.

  He had learnt that the day-stone 'gate' by which he had entered the villagers'

  domain was part of a complete ring around the settlement, and he knew that once he was past that he'd be safe from any pursuit. The villagers' own superstitions would keep any would-be search party inside the circle until daybreak, whereas he was willing to risk the darkness beyond — inhuman spirits and all. It might well be his only chance of escaping. In spite of what Amie had told him, Terrel believed that the people of the valley would become his gaolers if they thought this was the only way to meet the demands of the jasper.

  His hopes rose when he saw another pair of huge monoliths ahead of him. This was surely another gate, and the chances were there'd be another trail on the far side. He was only a few paces short of the stones when he was startled by another sound behind him. He turned round slowly.

  'Terrel?'

  Imana emerged from the night, shielding her face with her hand. It occurred to Terrel that the rushlight might not only help him to see where he was going; given the sensitivity of the villagers' eyes, it could also be used as a weapon against them. But he immediately felt ashamed of the thought, and knew he could not use the light in such a way.

  'What are you doing?' Imana asked plaintively. When he did not answer, she added, 'Don't go.'

  'I have to.'

  'But the darkness—'

  'I can't help here. I'm not the Messenger, and I've promised—'

  'You'll die. And I'll get into trouble.' Her voice wavered. She was obviously distraught, and close to tears.

  'I'm not going to die,' he told her. 'And no one will blame you.'

  'Yes, they will,' she sobbed. 'I was supposed . . . to . . .'

  'I'm sorry, Imana. I have to go.'

  'No, please.'' It was no more than an anguished whisper.

  Feeling appalled by his own callousness, Terrel turned away from her and strode through the gate, his heart pounding.

  The damp breeze came first, then the fog closed in so thickly that - even with the light of the torch - Terrel could barely see his own feet. The trail had initially led him over level ground, then had begun to climb gently - which he'd taken for a good sign - but then he'd found himself among ghostly trees, and it had no longer been clear whether he was on the path or not. He'd gone on, hopeful still, until the mist enveloped him.

  He paused, considering his options. He could continue blindly, feeling his way ahead, reasoning that as long as he was still going uphill he would be making progress. Although the first torch was burning low now, he still had the second, and that ought to give him time to go a considerable distance.

  Alternatively, he could stay where he was and hope that the fog would clear.

  He could even wait for daylight. He ought to have enough of a head start on the villagers to make good his escape from the valley before they caught up with him.

  His clothes were damp now, and he shivered. The decision to go on was influenced as much by his need to keep warm as by anything else.

  Some time later, Terrel began to wonder if he was being foolish. He'd been forced to light the second torch, but because the fog was still dense, it hadn't really helped his progress. The trail was just a distant memory now, and at one point he found himself with no choice but to go downhill again, even though he was as certain as he could be that he was still heading in the right direction. It was only when he saw the standing stones looming up out of the mist ahead of him that he knew it had all gone horribly wrong.

  He couldn't tell whether the monolithic gate was the same one he'd left from earlier, but he was sure it must be part of the day-stone ring - which meant he had somehow gone round in a circle. He turned around, and - with dread in his heart - set off again, hoping at least to put some distance between himself and the village so that he might be able to escape when daylight returned. He knew now that there was no chance of the torch burning long enough for him to complete his journey during the night.

  A little while later, Terrel's skin was touched by an icy, burning cold and, inexplicably, the rushlight went out. Terror clutched at his chest, threatening to paralyze him completely. In the total darkness, he felt as though he might go mad. And then, as quickly as it had arrived, the cold was gone — and the torch was burning again.

  Almost panicking now, the boy stumbled on, only to find himself coming to the edge of the lake where - paradoxically — the mist was less thick. But even that was dispiriting. The lake was to the south of the village.

  Disorientated and close to despair, he turned again and made one last effort to break free of the spell that seemed to be entangling him. The fog closed in again, and a slow-rising, moaning sound - that seemed to come from all around

  - reminded him of Imana's tales of evil spirits. In the end it came as no real surprise — and even some-tiling of a relief - when he found himself approaching another massive standing stone. Finally admitting defeat, Terrel re-entered the day-stone circle and, as the rushlight burned down to its last glowing embers, he made his way back to the village.

  He found Imana sitting on the porch. She had obviously not raised the alarm.

  'Are you mad?' she whispered fearfully.

  'No.' And I'm not dead either, he added silently.

  'I hoped you'd come back.'

  'I didn't have any choice,' he said as he went inside and laid his pack on the floor. All of a sudden he felt unbelievably tired.

  'I won't tell anyone,' Imana volunteered.

  Terrel nodded, not really caring one way or another. The valley won't let you leave. It seemed that he was bound by the jasper oracles after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  At first the dream was the same as before. It began with omens and ended with the devastation of the earthquake - except that it didn't end there. Still flying, Terrel jumped back in time and saw the jewelled city from a different angle, another perspective. As the violent series of tremors spread out from the centre, he hovered over the mist-filled valley and saw - to his amazement

  - the waves of destruction part and flow around it, like the ripples of a stream dividing to pass on either side of a boulder. Even as the mountains that ringed the valley trembled and fell, the blanket of cloud — and the land beneath it - remained unaffected.

  Terrel was still trying to work out what that meant when another new element was added to the dream. Jax's earlier words had come from Terrel's own memory, but now the enchanter was there in person once more — and the tone of his voice was nowhere near as gleeful as it had been before.

  Who are you? How dare you—

  Another voice, remote and barely audible, was speaking too, but the words were lost amid the rushing sounds of the dream's passage.

  What do you mean, this is another test? Jax demanded angrily. Why should I care?

  Terrel knew that the prince had misunderstood. The unknown voice had been speaking to him, not to Jax.

  Alone? the enchanter shouted. Good. Then leave me alone!

  The interloper spoke again, and this time Terrel heard him clearly. The message came as a terse command, in a voice that seemed vaguely familiar but which was obviously under considerable strain.

  Look up.

  After that there was nothing but silence, and all Terr
el could do was obey.

  Tearing his gaze from the raging progress of the earthquake below, he looked up into the night sky.

  He found himself staring at the Amber Moon. It was full, beautiful and bright in all its glory. Then the sky-blinked, and the Amber was replaced by the White Moon. At first Terrel thought that it too was full, but then he noticed the slight inequality in the curve of its sides, and realized that it was three or four days short of its time of greatest influence. A moment later the scene changed again, as if a veil had been thrown over the boy's eyes and then drawn away to reveal a different portion of the heavens. This time it was the Red Moon, the merest crescent silver resting on a quilt of stars. The last of the four - and the last of the dream - was, inevitably, the Dark Moon. Terrel expected to see nothing, and was unprepared for the vision that greeted him. The Dark Moon was surrounded by a glowing halo, a shifting crown of light that stirred memories as well as a sense of wonder. He was not sure if it was a true eclipse - he was floating in the sky himself, after all - but he knew it was another omen, another message.

  When Terrel awoke, he was so tired that it felt worse than if he hadn't been to sleep at all. His terrifying nocturnal adventures and then the dream had combined to leave him totally exhausted, but with the coming of a new day he knew he would not be able to rest for long. He lay where he was, aware of the village beginning to stir outside the hut, and tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. As his conscious mind caught up with the memories of his unconscious imagery, he was sure of one thing at least. This dream had definitely been meant to tell him something.