by Julia Gray
There are dreams here, Alyssa remarked. Dreams inside the stone.
That's what the sharaken do, Terrel explained. They trade in dreams.
And not reality.
Terrel took a few moments to work out what she might be implying.
You think this place isn 't real? he asked.
It's real, she replied. It's just not as it appears to be.
What does that mean? Is it an illusion?
The moons rule everything here, she said, adding to his confusion. Inside the circle.
What circle?
They have their own form of the day-stone ring. Look.
Terrel looked, and on the far slope of the valley that separated their position from the fortress, he saw a line of paler colour. Although they were too far away to tell what it might be, it was clearly not a natural part of the landscape. The line stretched across all of the peak that was visible, and Terrel had no reason to doubt Alyssa's implication that it completely encircled the upper part of the mountain.
Do you know what it is?
A warning and a boundary, she replied. Be careful when you cross it, Terrel.
When I cross it? he asked, in sudden panic. Aren 't you coming with me?
I'm not the advocate, she said. I'll have to find my own way across.
With that, ignoring Terrel's silent plea, she ran off along the ridge and soon vanished from sight.
Knowing that the sharaken's domain was protected by a warning circle did nothing to calm Terrel's nerves - especially now that he was alone again - but once he was close enough to see what it was, he became more puzzled than afraid. This ring, like the day-stones, presented no physical barrier to his progress. It was made up of endless ranks of prayer-flags. They were packed tightly in places, but elsewhere the gaps between the tall poles were wide enough for him to walk through easily. The printed banners were of all shapes and sizes, and although most of the material had been bleached by sun and rain, it was still possible to see that they had once been dyed in a variety of bright colours. The flags snapped and fluttered like loose sails in a strong breeze, the wind carrying their messages up into the infinite sky.
It was only when Terrel was almost upon this strange boundary that he saw the skeleton that lay sprawled on the bare earth only a few paces from the nearest flags. All the flesh was long gone and only a few strands of cloth remained, clinging to bones that had been bleached by the elements. Terrel's immediate response to this macabre sight was to wonder if it had been one of the earlier advocates. If so, it seemed particularly cruel that, having come so far, the man had perished in sight of his goal. Had he simply run out of strength, succumbing to cold, heat or
thirst, or had his end been more sinister? It seemed unlikely that he would have died so close to the castle if he had gained an audience with the sharaken and was on his way home. So did that mean he'd been refused entry?
Had he been repelled by force? There were no obvious signs of violence, but with such pitiful remains - and after such a long time in the open - that meant little. The only other skeleton Terrel had ever seen had been Muzeni's, and he'd been able to tell that the old heretic had died peacefully, smoking the pipe that the boy still carried in his pack, but there was no way of knowing how this man had met his end.
Of course, it was possible that it wasn't one of the advocates at all. Perhaps none of them had ever made it this far, and the bones belonged to another unlucky pilgrim. In any case, Terrel would never know what had brought the traveller to this lonely place, and even if he had, it would have made no difference to his own situation. He had no choice but to go on now.
He turned back to the prayer-flags, and saw that set amongst them were other, much shorter poles, embedded in the ground. These bore no messages, but were so beautifully and intricately carved that he was immediately intrigued. Drawn to one decorated with the shapes of a hundred tiny flowers, he stretched out a hand to touch the delicate wooden petals, only to shout aloud and jump back as a searing pain flashed through his arm. It felt as if his entire limb had been plunged into a fire.
Breathless with shock, Terrel could only stare at the innocent-looking carving as the agony subsided to a dull ache. By the time he could move his fingers again without wincing, he had realized what Alyssa had meant.
A warning and a boundary. This was another test. And if he was to have any hope of completing his quest, it was one he could not afford to fail. Be careful. . . Stepping forward again, he took a deep breath and then deliberately grasped the handle, enduring the burst of pain as best he could.
This time he'd known what to expect, and so was able to deal with it more effectively, but he still gasped as the flames shot through his entire body.
He was blind and deaf, but he clung on, refusing to let go. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, his torment suddenly stopped.
'Tell us why you are here.'
The voice seemed to come from far away, but Terrel heard it clearly. His determination had made them notice him at least.
'I come in search of help,' he replied, speaking aloud even though he was reasonably certain that mere thought would have sufficed. 'For myself and for the valley beneath the cloud.'
There was a pause while his answer was apparently weighed in the balance.
'This is a sacred realm,' the voice intoned solemnly. 'Do you swear to respect its covenants and obey its laws?'
'I do.'
'Release the message-handle now,' the voice instructed him. 'Complete your journey. The circle is open.'
He had passed the test.
Having threaded his way through the forest of prayer-flags, Terrel looked up the slope to the fortress and wondered what awaited him there after such an introduction. The final climb was steep, over bare rock and patches of scree, and he spent most of his time looking down at the ground, afraid of losing his footing. Any accident now and he would probably end up as the next forgotten skeleton on the mountainside. However, when he finally got the chance to look ahead, the castle walls looked even more imposing than before. What was more, he could still see no sign of an entrance. He groaned at the thought of having to scramble round to the far side in order to find the way in.
When he eventually reached the foot of the ramparts, he was sweating from the exertion of the climb, but the wind was much stronger now and it was bitterly cold. The boy shivered, the dampness on his skin suddenly feeling like a film of ice, and glanced around for any clue as to what he should do next. The nearest tower was about a hundred paces away to his right, and he was about to head towards it when a sound behind him made him look back.
Set in a shadowed recess in the wall, the two halves of a huge, semi-circular door were swinging back, apparently of their own accord. Too stunned to question the advisability of his actions, Terrel hurried towards the opening, seeing only a dark tunnel on the other side. A gust of warm air blew out, fragrant with the scents of herbs and flowers, as if to welcome him.
He stepped forward, wondering what kind of dream he was entering, and passed through a gateway that, only a few moments ago, he would have sworn did not exist.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The curving walls and roof of the tunnel were made of solid rock and, having committed himself, Terrel had nowhere to go but straight ahead. At first there was nothing but darkness ahead of him, but then a second pair of doors opened at the far end. They were perhaps forty paces away, which meant that the castle walls were massively thick. When Terrel was halfway through the tunnel, a dull reverberating thud behind him prompted him to look round. The outer doors had closed, once more apparently moving of their own accord. He went on, and came out through an archway into the sunlight again. The courtyard in which he now stood was empty and absolutely silent. Even the air here was still, the bitter mountain wind no more than a memory. Heady scents filled the boy's nostrils, even though he couldn't see any plants or flowers. There were several doors and passages leading from the inner walls of the yard, but
> -having no idea which of these he should choose - Terrel decided to wait where he was. He could see several parts of the internal structure of the castle now, and knew that it would be easy to get lost in what was obviously a many-layered labyrinth.
His patience was finally rewarded when one of the doors opened and a man peered out at him. He was shaven-headed and barefoot, and was dressed in a plain brown robe tied at the waist with a length of rope. Terrel was about to speak when the man beckoned and turned back the way he'd come, leaving the door ajar. Unnerved by his surroundings, Terrel silently followed his guide, wondering if this was a sharakan or merely one of their acolytes. They made their way along numerous passages and cloisters, crossed two more courtyards and climbed three different flights of stairs before eventually reaching their destination. The robed man opened a door and, still without saying a word, ushered Terrel inside.
Sunlight slanted in from high windows, showing an austere chamber that contained no furniture or decoration of any kind. Sitting cross-legged on the bare stone floor was an old man. He too was shaven-headed and dressed in a drab robe, but his expression was serene, and he had about him an unmistakable air of calm authority. Terrel guessed that this must be one of the sharaken's leaders, and wondered what he had done to warrant such a reception. This man displayed none of the high-handedness of the Collector who had come to Fenduca, and the boy's hopes rose a little. However, lying on the floor in front of the sharakan was a staff that looked uncomfortably like the message-handle on the mountainside that had been the source of so much pain.
His host made an open-handed gesture, indicating that Terrel should also sit down and he did so, not wanting to break the silence, but wishing that the old man would say something. He got his wish a moment later, but he was taken aback by the sharakan's words.
'I've asked for refreshment to be brought for you, but I assume your companions will make their own arrangements.'
Terrel glanced round - and saw the three ghosts standing behind him. So the road is turning, he thought. He was not really surprised that they had followed him here, though he couldn't help wondering where Alyssa was. But the truly remarkable thing was that the sharakan could see them too - and had taken their arrival in his stride.
'Yes,' Terrel replied simply. 'Thank you.?
The old man resumed his quiet contemplation, and even though he was bursting with questions, Terrel realized that certain formalities had to be observed, so he just sat and waited. His guide returned, bearing a wooden platter that held flat bread, cheese and a variety of fruit, plus a pitcher of water. While the chamber door was open, the white fox trotted in and sat on its haunches next to Terrel.
'Good,' the sharakan remarked. 'Now we're all here.'
How did you get in? Terrel asked silently.
Any palace has many entrances, Alyssa replied.
'The snow fox is a harbinger of good fortune,' the sharakan said. 'Such a creature will always find one of our entrances open, no matter what spirit rides in her.'
Terrel glanced at the old man in alarm. It seemed there would be no point in trying to keep their secrets from him.
'You hear psinoma?' he asked.
'I am not familiar with that term, but I have studied the ways of thought. I can hear what is needful when the occasion demands it. However, among the sharaken it is considered impolite. We prize open communication.'
Terrel accepted the mild rebuke, but sought to justify his actions.
'My companions understand me when I speak aloud,' he explained, 'but they can only speak to me in thought. May they continue to do so?'
'If they will permit me to listen also.'
'Of course,' Terrel agreed readily, glancing round at the ghosts.
We would count it an honour, Muzeni said, with a small bow.
The sharakan nodded in acknowledgement.
'My name is Terrel.' The boy went on to introduce each of his friends in turn, then looked back at the old man expectantly. When there was no response, he asked, 'What should we call you?'
'My name is changing,' the sharakan replied mysteriously. 'It would probably be best if you think of me as Reader.'
Terrel nodded, and took a deep breath.
'I have two reasons for coming here,' he began.
'Not yet,' Reader decreed, holding up a hand. 'Eat first. Then we may talk.'
The boy's impatience almost got the better of his good sense, but he realized in time that the courtesies of
hospitality had to be respected. He had sworn as much when he'd been granted entry. He began to eat, intending only to have a mouthful or two, but the food was delicious - better than anything he'd eaten in a very long time - and he found that he was ravenously hungry. As a result he all but cleared the platter, and felt much better for the meal. While he ate, the fox lay down, her nose between her forepaws, and appeared to go to sleep. The ghosts merely waited, displaying uncharacteristic stoicism at the delay. It was only as Terrel finished that any of them risked making a comment.
I think eating's one of the few things I miss, Elam remarked. That looked good.
To Terrel's surprise, Reader laughed.
'Food is strength,' the sharakan said, 'but it can be pleasure too.' He leant forward, picked up the carved staff and held it upright in his left hand, the bottom end resting on the floor. 'It is time,' he said, his expression serious now. 'Tell us of your two reasons, Terrel.'
'The first concerns the valley beneath the cloud that I mentioned before,' the boy began, assuming that Reader would be aware of his request outside the fortress. 'I was chosen to represent them, to ask for your help. I am the fourth advocate to attempt the journey. Did any of the others get this far?'
'No. Visitors here are rare. Not many come, and of those that do, few are judged worthy.'
Terrel had the impression that he was supposed to be grateful or proud - or perhaps both - to have been granted such a privilege. He was neither. If anything, his earlier dealings with the Collector and the ordeal of the prayer-flag ring had made him feel resentful, but the dignified presence and impressive demeanour of Reader were beginning to change that. It was possible that the sharaken were honourable men after all - which meant that he might have a chance of persuading them to aid his causes.
However, he still owed it to the people of the valley to try to find out what had happened to their previous advocates.
'What happens to those who are not found worthy?' he asked, thinking of the skeleton outside.
'That is not our concern,' Reader answered, and for the first time Terrel heard a touch of the Collector's arrogance in the old man's tone. 'What is it the people of this place want? Do they wish us to take away the cloud?'
'No! That would kill them. But there are dark spirits there who turn their village into a prison at night. They say—'
'That we are responsible for these spirits,' Reader completed for him.
'Regrettably, that is true. Many generations ago, our trading released powers into this world that do not belong here. We chose to confine them to the valley rather than allowing them to roam free throughout the land. At the time it was thought that the place was uninhabited.'
'If your trading released them, couldn't it return them to their own world?'
'Alas, it is not as simple as that. Even if we had the strength to attempt such a feat, the darkness is now inextricably linked to the cloud. We could do nothing about ofte without affecting the other. Besides, this is ancient history, and your people seem to have adapted well enough to the presence of the spirits. I think it
best for all concerned if we leave the situation as it is.'
Terrel had reached the same conclusion, and knew it was time to move on.
'The valley has a second, more serious problem,' he said. 'One that is recent in origin. There is a kind of force, some would call it a curse, seeping up from the ground below them.'
'That is not of our doing,' Reader stated.
'I realize that, but is there nothing
you can do to help remove it?'
'A curse can only be removed by the one who placed it. Do you know who that was?'
'I can't be completely certain,' Terrel replied, 'but I believe I do. There is a strange creature which is now in Talazoria—'
'Anatek-Vori,' Reader cut in. 'The rock that walks.'
'You know about it?' Terrel exclaimed in astonishment.
'The White Moon brings us news of far places,' the sharakan told him. 'In her light, our dreams range far and wide. How is it that you know of this creature?'
Terrel did his best to explain, describing his encounter with the elemental on Vadanis as well as telling the sharakan everything that had happened since he'd arrived in Macul. It took a long time to tell the whole tale, but Reader rarely interrupted, and listened with unwavering concentration. The only times he asked for any further information was when Terrel related the images from his dreams and the conclusions he'd drawn from them. At the old man's insistence, the boy described each dream in as much detail as he could remember, but when he asked the sharakan if he agreed with his interpretations, Reader's answers were vague and noncommittal.
Throughout his recitation, Terrel glanced at Alyssa and the ghosts every so often, to see whether they wanted to add anything to his narrative, but they left it to him. When he finally reached the end of his story, he waited for Reader to respond, but the sharakan's only reaction was to lay down his staff and then to become very still. The silence stretched until Terrel was almost at breaking point, and he was about to speak again when his host belatedly gave his verdict.
'It seems to me that your two tasks are one and the same. If you are indeed destined to prevent this elemental from destroying all of Macul, you should have no difficulty in persuading it to lift the curse on the valley.'
That made a great deal of sense, but Terrel began to wonder whether Reader had actually believed everything he had heard. That 'if spoke of some doubts.
